This is a modern-English version of Wanderings of a pilgrim in search of the picturesque, Volume 1 (of 2) : During four-and-twenty years in the east; with revelations of life in the zenāna, originally written by Parlby, Fanny Parkes. It has been thoroughly updated, including changes to sentence structure, words, spelling, and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If you click on a paragraph, you will see the original text that we modified, and you can toggle between the two versions.

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SRI GŬNÉSHŬ.

SRI GŬNÉSHŬ.


[i]

[i]

WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM,
IN SEARCH OF
The Picturesque,
DURING FOUR-AND-TWENTY YEARS IN THE EAST;
WITH
REVELATIONS OF LIFE
IN
THE ZENĀNA.

PILGRIM'S JOURNEY,
Looking for
The Scenic,
DURING TWENTY-FOUR YEARS IN THE EAST;
WITH
REVELATIONS OF LIFE
IN
THE ZENĀNA.

BY
‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

BY
‎‏Fannie Parks‏‎

ILLUSTRATED WITH SKETCHES FROM NATURE.

ILLUSTRATED WITH NATURE SKETCHES.

“Let the result be what it may, I have launched my boat.”

“Whatever the outcome, I have set my boat in motion.”

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. 1.

LONDON:
PELHAM RICHARDSON, 23, CORNHILL.
1850.

LONDON:
PELHAM RICHARDSON, 23, CORNHILL.
1850.

[ii]

[ii]

LONDON:
GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
ST. JOHN’S SQUARE.

LONDON:
GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
ST. JOHN’S SQUARE.

[iii]

[iii]


[iv]

[iv]

To the Memory
OF
MY BELOVED MOTHER,
AT WHOSE REQUEST IT WAS WRITTEN,
THIS NARRATIVE IS DEDICATED:
AND IF ANY OF THE FRIENDS,
WHOSE KIND PARTIALITY HAS INDUCED THEM TO URGE
ITS PUBLICATION,
SHOULD THINK I HAVE DWELT TOO MUCH
ON MYSELF, ON MY OWN THOUGHTS, FEELINGS, AND ADVENTURES,
LET THEM REMEMBER THAT
THIS JOURNAL WAS WRITTEN FOR THE AFFECTIONATE EYE
Of Her
TO WHOM NOTHING COULD BE SO GRATIFYING
As THE SLIGHTEST INCIDENT CONNECTED WITH HER
BELOVED AND ABSENT CHILD,
‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

In Memory
OF
MY DEAR MOM,
AT WHOSE REQUEST IT WAS WRITTEN,
THIS STORY IS DEDICATED:
AND IF ANY OF THE FRIENDS,
WHOSE KIND PARTIALITY HAS LED THEM TO ASK
FOR ITS PUBLICATION,
SHOULD FEEL I HAVE FOCUSED TOO MUCH
ON MYSELF, ON MY OWN THOUGHTS, FEELINGS, AND EXPERIENCES,
LET THEM REMEMBER THAT
THIS JOURNAL WAS WRITTEN FOR THE LOVING EYE
About Her
TO WHOM NOTHING COULD BE SO FULFILLING
As THE SLIGHTEST INCIDENT CONNECTED WITH HER
BELOVED AND ABSENT CHILD,
Fanny Parks


[v]

[v]

श्री
N/A

Work-perfecting Gŭnéshŭ! Salamut.
Gănésh!—Gănésh!
Two-mothered! One-toothed!
Portly-paunched! Elephant-faced Gŭnéshŭ!
Salām!!
Moon-crowned! Triple-eyed!
Thou who in all affairs claimest precedence in adoration!
Calamity-averting Gănésh!
Salām!!
Thou who art invoked on the commencement of a journey,
the writing of a book,
Salām!!
Oh! Gănésh, “put not thine ears to sleep[1]!”
“Encourage me, and then behold my bravery;
Call me your own fox, then will you see me perform
the exploits of a lion[2]!”
“What fear need he have of the waves of the sea,
who has Noah for a pilot[3]?”
First-born of Mahādēo and Parvutī!
God of Prudence and Policy!
Patron of Literature!
Salām!!
May it be said,
“Ah! she writes like Gănésh!”

[vi]

[vi]

“The Camels were being branded for the Public Service and the Spider came to be marked also.”

“The camels were being branded for the public service, and the spider was marked too.”

In stone by Major Parlby

In stone by Major Parlby

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

Vani Parks


[vii]

[vii]

श्री
INTRO.

GĂNÉSH, THE PATRON OF LITERATURE.

“WHATEVER THE WANDERING TRAVELLER SAYS, HE DOES SO FROM HAVING SEEN THAT OF WHICH HE SPEAKS[4].”

“WHATEVER THE WANDERING TRAVELLER SAYS, HE DOES SO FROM HAVING SEEN THAT OF WHICH HE SPEAKS[4].”

So many admirable works have appeared of late, illustrating scenes in India, both with pen and pencil, that I offer these sketches in all humility, pleading the force of example.

So many impressive works have come out recently, showcasing scenes in India, both through writing and art, that I present these sketches with all humility, citing the strong influence of those examples.

“THE CAMELS WERE BEING BRANDED WITH HOT IRONS FOR THE PUBLIC SERVICE, AND THE SPIDER CAME TO BE MARKED ALSO[5].”

“THE CAMELS WERE BEING BRANDED WITH HOT IRONS FOR THE PUBLIC SERVICE, AND THE SPIDER CAME TO BE MARKED ALSO[5].”

For four-and-twenty years have I roamed the world,—

For twenty-four years, I have wandered the world,—

“I NEITHER WENT TO MEKKA NOR MUDĪNA, BUT WAS A PILGRIM NEVERTHELESS[6].”

“I DIDN’T GO TO MEKKA OR MUDĪNA, BUT I WAS A PILGRIM ANYWAY[6].”

The Frontispiece represents the idol Gănésh, the deified infant whom I have invoked.

The Frontispiece represents the idol Gănésh, the divine child I have called upon.

The sign Sri, at the top of the page, implores his triple eyes to look with favour on the undertaking,—in the same manner that this sign, ♃, the old heathen invocation to Jupiter, sought his blessing; and is equivalent to the usual invocation of the poets to the Muses,—the Muhammadan authors to the Prophet,—or the “Laus Deo,” with which merchants’ clerks formerly began their books,—a practice not yet quite extinct.

The sign Sri, at the top of the page, asks his three eyes to look favorably on the project, just like this sign, ♃, the ancient pagan call to Jupiter, sought his blessing; and it's similar to the usual appeal of poets to the Muses, or of Muslim authors to the Prophet, or the “Laus Deo” that merchants’ clerks used to start their ledgers with—a practice that’s not completely gone yet.

[viii]

[viii]

“Sri” is written at the top of all Hindi writings; the meaning of the word is “prosperity;” it is put as a title of respect before proper names; frequently they write the same word twice over (“Sri, Sri,”)—or they write “Sri Gănésh.” The Muhammadans, in a similar manner, dedicate their writings to God by a character on the first page, which, as in short-hand writing, implies a whole sentence.

“Sri” is written at the top of all Hindi texts; it means “prosperity” and is used as a title of respect before names. Sometimes, it’s written twice (“Sri, Sri”) or they write “Sri Ganesh.” Similarly, Muslims dedicate their writings to God with a symbol on the first page that represents a whole sentence, similar to shorthand.

The history of Gănésh is as follows:

The history of Gănésh is as follows:

“I SPEAK TO THOSE WHO HAVE DAUGHTERS, AND LET THOSE WHO HAVE SONS LISTEN[7]!”

“I'M TALKING TO THOSE WITH DAUGHTERS, AND LET THOSE WITH SONS PAY ATTENTION[7]!”

Parvutī, the mountain-born, the daughter of the Himalaya, the mountain goddess, the mother of Gănésh the wisest of deities, on the birth of her son, charmed with his beauty, and proud of the infant, in the presence of the gods assembled in council, requested their congratulations on the happy event.

Parvutī, born from the mountains and the daughter of the Himalayas, the mountain goddess and mother of Gāneś, the wisest of the gods, was enchanted by her son's beauty and filled with pride for the newborn. In front of the assembly of gods, she asked for their congratulations on this joyful occasion.

Shivŭ the destroyer, although he paid the compliments necessary on the occasion, ever avoided looking upon the child. The mother naturally reproved him; Shivŭ, annoyed at the rebuke, gazed upon the infant, whose beautiful head instantly withered away beneath a glance which none can endure and live.

Shivŭ the destroyer, while he offered the usual compliments for the occasion, always avoided looking at the child. The mother understandably scolded him; Shivŭ, irritated by the criticism, looked at the baby, whose lovely head immediately withered away under a gaze that no one can withstand and survive.

Indra, the abode of the gods, resounded with the lamentations of Parvutī, who, struck with dismay, was inconsolable.

Indra, the home of the gods, echoed with the cries of Parvutī, who, filled with distress, could not be comforted.

Brahma, having pity on her distress, bade her be comforted, and commanded Shivŭ to bring the head of the first animal that he should find lying with its head to the north.

Brahma, feeling sorry for her distress, told her to be comforted, and instructed Shivŭ to bring the head of the first animal he found lying with its head facing north.

This sleeping with the head to the north is unlucky, and ever to be avoided, it being forbidden by the Shăstr, and the penalty thereof death.

This practice of sleeping with your head facing north is considered unlucky and should always be avoided, as it is prohibited by the Shăstr, with the punishment being death.

Shivŭ went forth: the first animal he encountered in the above-mentioned unlucky position being an elephant, he cut off its head, and, returning to the assembly of the gods, fixed it upon the body of Gănésh. Seeing this, the mother became[ix] frantic, nor could she be consoled until Brahma thus addressed her: “Lament not the fate of your child;—with the head of an elephant he shall possess all sagacity. In pūja Gănésh shall be invoked ere any other god be worshipped, hence shall he be greater than all the gods. Ere a pious Hindū commence any sort of writing, the sign of Gănésh shall he make at the top of the page, otherwise his words shall be folly, and his traffic a matter of loss. He shall be the patron of learning, his writing shall be beautiful.

Shiv went out, and the first animal he encountered in that unfortunate situation was an elephant. He cut off its head and, returning to the assembly of the gods, placed it on Ganesha's body. Seeing this, the mother became frantic and couldn't be consoled until Brahma spoke to her: “Don’t mourn the fate of your child; with the head of an elephant, he will have all wisdom. In worship, Ganesha will be invoked before any other god, making him greater than all the gods. Before a pious Hindu begins any writing, they must mark the sign of Ganesha at the top of the page; otherwise, their words will be foolish, and their efforts will lead to loss. He will be the patron of learning, and his writing will be beautiful.”

“‘Behold! he writes like Gănésh!’ who shall say more?—with the simplicity of the child shall be united the wisdom of the elephant, his power shall be all-seeing—The patron of literature and work-perfecting.”

“‘Look! He writes like Gănésh!’ What more can be said?—with the innocence of a child combined with the wisdom of an elephant, his power will be all-seeing—The supporter of literature and craftsmanship.”

The daughter of the Himalaya listened to the words of Brahma, and the heart of the mother found consolation in the honours bestowed upon her child.

The daughter of the Himalayas listened to Brahma's words, and the mother's heart found comfort in the honors given to her child.

He is called two-mothered, uniting the elephant’s head to his natural body, therefore having a second mother in the elephant.

He is referred to as two-mothered, merging the elephant’s head with his own body, thus having a second mother in the elephant.

In the wars of heaven he lost one tusk, hence his appellation one-toothed.

In the battles of heaven, he lost one tusk, which is why he's called one-toothed.

His quadruple hands and arms denote power. In one of his hands is the ānkus, the instrument with which the elephant is guided; in another a battle-axe. Being a child, and therefore fond of sweetmeats, a third hand bears a small cup filled with pera, a sweetmeat common in all bazārs; in the fourth he carries a short rosary, wherewith he counts his beads. Around his neck is twined the Cobra-di-capello, the holy serpent, whose hood is outspread upon his breast. This image is dignified by a frontal eye, signifying the sun, encircled by a crescent, a sol lunar emblem and mystical mark, hence “moon-crowned,” “triple-eyed.” His attendant, a rat, holding a pera, sweetmeat, is placed at his side: on his head is a crown, and around his limbs a yellow dhotī, a cloth of Benares tissue edged with gold. His body is covered with ornaments of rich jewellery, such as are[x] worn by men in the East,—his single tusk is bound with gold,—his hands and feet are dyed with menhdī, hinnā. On each of his four arms are two bāzūbands, or armlets; and chūrīs, or bracelets, of massive gold, adorn his wrists. A golden plate on the back of the hand is fastened round the wrist by chains of gold, and from the upper part similar but finer chains pass over the back of the hand, and unite with rings on all the fingers and the thumb. This ornament is very peculiar; both hands are thus adorned. The chaunrīs above his head, emblems of royalty, are used by the attendant Brahmāns to keep off the flies; they wave them over the head of the idol during pūja.

His four arms and hands represent strength. In one hand, he holds the ānkus, the tool used to guide the elephant; in another, he wields a battle-axe. As a child, and therefore fond of sweets, a third hand carries a small cup filled with pera, a popular sweet treat found in all markets; in the fourth, he holds a short rosary to keep track of his prayers. Wrapped around his neck is the Cobra-di-capello, the sacred serpent, whose hood spreads across his chest. This image is accentuated by a frontal eye, symbolizing the sun, surrounded by a crescent, a symbol of both sun and moon, thus “moon-crowned” and “triple-eyed.” His companion, a rat holding a pera, sweet treat, is positioned at his side: he wears a crown, and around his body is a yellow dhotī, a Benares cloth trimmed in gold. His body is adorned with lavish jewelry, similar to what men in the East wear—his single tusk is wrapped in gold—his hands and feet are colored with menhdī, henna. Each of his four arms is decorated with two bāzūbands, or armlets; his wrists are adorned with chūrīs, or heavy gold bracelets. A gold plate on the back of his hand secured around his wrist with gold chains, while finer chains connecting the upper part of the hand also pass over the back and link to rings on all fingers and the thumb. This ornament is quite distinct; both hands are similarly embellished. The chaunrīs above his head, symbols of royalty, are used by the attending Brahmins to keep flies away; they wave them over the idol’s head during pūja.

Gănésh is seated on an altar, such as is used in the mut’hs, Hindū temples, surrounded by divers idols, sacred shells, and instruments of worship; small brass cups filled with oil, called chirāghs, are burned as lamps before the shrine. The worshippers pour oil and the holy water of the Ganges over the head of the god, which is thus bathed daily, and offerings of boiled rice and flowers are made at the time of prayer. The conch shell, which lies before him, is blown by the Brahmāns during the hours of pūja at different times—it is considered very holy—the priest holds it clasped in both hands, and blows into it from the top. The sound can be heard afar off, especially when on the river at the time of evening worship; it resounds from every side of the water, mingled with the ringing of the priest’s bells and the sound of a sort of brass castanet, which they strike whilst chanting forth their prayers.

Gāneś is sitting on an altar, like those found in the mut’hs of Hindu temples, surrounded by various idols, sacred shells, and worship tools. Small brass cups filled with oil, called chirāghs, are used as lamps in front of the shrine. Worshippers pour oil and the holy water from the Ganges over the god's head, giving it a daily bath, and they offer boiled rice and flowers during prayers. The conch shell in front of him is blown by the Brahmins at different times during the hours of pūja—it is considered very sacred. The priest holds it tightly with both hands and blows into the top. The sound carries far, especially on the river during evening worship; it echoes from all around the water, mixed with the ringing of the priest's bells and the sound of a type of brass castanet that they strike while chanting their prayers.

The opening of these shells is on the left side; but they say a shell is sometimes found with the opening on the right side, and its spiral involutions reversed; it is then called Dūkshina Vŭrtŭ, and is valued at from three to five hundred rupees. Vishnŭ is said to hold a shell of this sort in his hand. Shells are placed with flowers around the idol, the bull-mouthed is considered sacred, and often adorns the shrine.

The opening of these shells is on the left side, but they say a shell can sometimes be found with the opening on the right side, and its spiral twists reversed; it’s then called Dūkshina Vŭrtŭ, and is valued at three to five hundred rupees. It's said that Vishnŭ holds a shell like this in his hand. Shells are arranged with flowers around the idol, the bull-mouthed one is considered sacred, and often decorates the shrine.

Small brass bells are used in worship; some are decorated with the image of Hŭnoomān, some with the sacred cow. They are[xi] rung during pūja, not only, it is said, to amuse the god, but to keep off evil spirits.

Small brass bells are used in worship; some are decorated with the image of Hŭnoomān, while others feature the sacred cow. They are[xi] rung during pūja, not only to please the god, but also to ward off evil spirits.

The shape of the spoon with which the rice or oil is put upon the head of the image is remarkably beautiful and antique. The top of the spoon bears the image of Gănésh, crowned by the Nāgā, or holy serpent, with a hundred heads, which are outspread, to screen him from the sun.

The design of the spoon used to place rice or oil on the head of the statue is strikingly beautiful and old-fashioned. The top of the spoon features a likeness of Gănésh, adorned by the Nāgā, or sacred serpent, with a hundred heads spread out to shield him from the sun.

This idol is made of solid white marble, and weighs three hundred weight and a quarter. It is painted and gilt, as in the Frontispiece. It was brought down from Jeypūr to the sacred junction of the triple rivers at Prāg, at which place it came into my possession.

This idol is made of solid white marble and weighs three hundred and a quarter pounds. It is painted and gilded, like in the Frontispiece. It was transported from Jeypūr to the sacred meeting point of the three rivers at Prāg, where I obtained it.

Although a pukka Hindū, Gănésh has crossed the Kālā Pānī, or Black Waters, as they call the ocean, and has accompanied me to England.

Although a pukka Hindū, Gănésh has crossed the Kālā Pānī, or Black Waters, as they call the ocean, and has come with me to England.

There he sits before me in all his Hindū state and peculiar style of beauty—my inspiration—my penates.

There he sits in front of me, in all his Hindu glory and unique style of beauty—my inspiration—my protector.

O Gănésh, thou art a mighty lord! thy single tusk is beautiful, and demands the tribute of praise from the Hājī of the East. Thou art the chief of the human race; the destroyer of unclean spirits; the remover of fevers, whether daily or tertian! The pilgrim sounds thy praise; let her work be accomplished!

O Ganesha, you are a powerful lord! Your single tusk is stunning and deserves praise from the Haji of the East. You are the leader of humanity, the vanquisher of evil spirits, the healer of fevers, whether they occur daily or every third day! The pilgrim sings your praises; may her efforts be fulfilled!

Salām! Salām!

Hello! Hello!

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

فاني پارکس

[xii]

[xii]


[xiii]

[xiii]

CONTENTS
TO
VOLUME I.

PAGE
INTRODUCTION.
Gănésh, the Patron of Literature—Parvutī—The Gods in Council—Chaunrīs of the Yāk—The Conch Shell—Bells used in Pūja—The Sacred Spoon—The Kālā-Pānī—The Salām vii
CHAPTER I.
DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND.
1822, April.
Flying Visit to Switzerland—The good Ship ‘Marchioness of Ely’—H. M. 16th Lancers—Porto Santo—Fellow-Passengers—Isle of Palma—Divine Service—The Band—Quadrilles—The first Shark—Bristol Water—Skip-jacks—Prickly Heat—Crossing the Line—Amusements on Board—A Blue Shark—Sucking-Fish—Bonito—Santa Trinidada and Martin Vas Rocks—The Albatross—Thoughts of Home—A Calm—Shooting Season on the Ocean—Three Days of Battue—Whale-Shooting—A deep Calm—Scarcity of Water—Anchored at Carnicobar 1
CHAPTER II.
CARNICOBAR.
1822, October.
Appearance and Attire of the Islanders—Canoes—Visit to their Village—Ornaments of the Natives—Departure from the Island—The Andamans—Anchorage at Saugor—The Hoogly—Arrival in Calcutta 14
CHAPTER III.
LIFE IN INDIA.
1822, November.
Calcutta—First Impressions—Style of Indian Houses—Furniture—Mats—Arabs—Departure of the Marquis of Hastings—Fogs—Christmas-Day—Indian Servants—The Sircar—Thieves—The Hot Winds—Pankhās—Fire-flies—North-Westers—The Foliage—Musquitoes—Elephantiasis—Insects—The Chŭrŭk Pooja—Religious Mendicants 20[xiv]
CHAPTER IV.
RESIDENCE IN CALCUTTA.
1823.
Baboo Ramohun Roy—Nāch girls—Children in India—Sickness in the Fort—The Rains—Vessels for a Voyage on the Ganges—Indian Fever—Arrival of Lord Amherst—Introduction of Steam-boats on the Hoogly—Interest of Money in Calcutta—Robberies—Jamh o Deen, Prince of Mysore—The Doorga Pooja—Images of Clay—The Races—Chinese Screens—The Dog Crab 29
CHAPTER V.
RESIDENCE IN CALCUTTA.
1824.
Advantages and Disadvantages—Interest never sleeps—Barrackpore—Cairipoor—The Fakīr—The Menagerie—Hyena—Change of Residence to Chowringhee Road—Mouse and Spotted Deer—Bengallee Goats—Lotteries—Trial by Rice—The Toolsee—Epidemic Fever—Burmese War—Major Sale—Haileybury—The Hooqŭ—Dr. Kitchener—Death of Lord Byron—Early Marriages—Pleasures of the Cold Season—Indian Hospitality—Knack of Fortune-making lost 37
CHAPTER VI.
RESIDENCE IN CALCUTTA.
1825.
A Day in March—The Furlough and Pension Funds—Bandicote Rats—The Strand—The Cutting System—Harrow-on-the-Hill—Sickness in Amman—The Golden Feet—Arrival of Lord Combermere—Bhurtpore—La Pucelle—Marsh Fever—Change of Residence to Middleton Row, Chowringhee—Fogs up to the Second Story—Burrā Bazār—Seed Pearl 50
CHAPTER VII.
DEPARTURE FROM THE PRESIDENCY.
1826.
Fulbertus Sagittarius—Billiards—The Recall of Lord Amherst—Zenāna of an opulent Hindoo—The Death of Bishop Heber—Affliction in the Family of the Governor-General—Appointment to Allahabad—Sale of ‘Scamp’—March up the Country—Dāk Bungalows—Fakīrs en route—The Soane River—Sassaram—Suttees at Nobutpoor—Benares—Pooja in a Hindoo Temple—Brāhmani Bulls—The Minarets—Beetle Wings—Hindoo House—Benares Hackeries—Dāk to Allahabad—Visit to Papamhow 58[xv]
CHAPTER VIII.
LIFE IN THE MUFASSIL.
1827, January.
First Visits in the East—Papamhow—Runjeet Singh’s Illness—Death of Lord Hastings—Lord Amherst created Earl of Arracan—Marriage of a Neem to a Peepul—The Bacäin—A Koord Arab—Visit to Lucnow—His Majesty Nusseer-ood-Deen Hyder—Lord Combermere—Kywan Jab—Presents not allowed to be accepted—Fights of Wild Beasts—Quail—Departure of Lord Combermere—Skinner’s Horse—Return to Prāg 70
CHAPTER IX.
RESIDENCE AT ALLAHABAD.
1828.
Sinking a Well—Hurriannah Cows—Delhi Goats—The Jumnapār—Doomba Sheep—Buffalo Humps—Water-cresses—Marrowfat Peas—Carrots—The Chatr—The Oleander—The Ice-pits—Cream Ice, how to freeze—Burdwan Coal—Indian Fevers—Mr. Bayley, Viceroy—Fear of the Invasion of the Russians and Persians—Intense Heat—Deaths in the Farm-yard—Chota Jehannum—The Verandah at Noon—Mad Pariah—Trelawny—Châteaux en Espagne—Height of the two Rivers—Death of the Bishop of Calcutta—An Hummām—The first Steamer at Prāg 77
CHAPTER X.
LIFE IN THE ZENĀNA.
1828, October.
Zenāna of the King of Oude—Regiment of Females—The Favourite Wife—The English Begam—The Princess of Delhi, the Begam par excellence—Colonel Gardner—Mirza Sulimān Sheko and his fifty-two Children—The Forty Princesses—Mootee, the Pearl of the Desert—Hunting Season at Papamhow—Jackals and Foxes—A Suttee at Prāg—Report of a Suttee—An Ill-starred Horse 87
CHAPTER XI.
RESIDENCE AT PRĀG.
1829.
March to Benares—Misfortunes en suite—The Hummām of the Rajah—Flowers of Wax and Ubruk—Return to Prāg—Storm en route—Gram—A Central Government—Thieves, Domestic—Snake in the Stable—Death in a Pālkee—Power of the Sun to change the Sex—Lord William[xvi] Bentinck—Half-Batta—The Jaws of the Crocodile—The Clipper—Discontent of the Army—Recovery of the Stolen Rupees—The Gosāin—Ram Din—The Ancient Temple 98
CHAPTER XII.
SKETCHES AT ALLAHABAD.
1829.
The Snake-charmer—Ram Leela—Board of Works—The Hukāk—Kurand Patthar—Pebbles from the Soane and Cane Rivers—Raj Ghāt—The Dhrumsāla—The Ginee—Temple of Hŭnoomān, Ram, and Seeta—Ravuna the Giant—Bene-Māhadēo—The Adansonia—Little Jack Bunce—Encampment of the Governor-General—Ashes of a Rajah consigned to the Ganges—Christmas-boxes 107
CHAPTER XIII.
REMOVAL TO CAWNPORE—CONFESSIONS OF A THUG.
1830, January.
Removal to Cawnpore—Failure of Messrs. Palmer and Co.—An Appointment at Cawnpore—Removal from Allahabad—The Mowa Tree—Futtehpore—Dead Body in a Well—The Kutcherry—Confessions of a Thug 121
CHAPTER XIV.
RESIDENCE AT CAWNPORE.
1830, March.
The Iron-shod Lāthī—Coins of Sekunder al Sāni—Hindostanī Song—The first Thermantidote—Dāk to Cawnpore—The Barkandāz—The Station—Sand-storm—Indian Method of Washing the Hair—Pukka Houses and Bungalows—The Ayha’s Revenge—Horses Poisoned—The Isle of France—The Visionary Old Man—Influence of Women in India—Gambling—Eating the Air—The Ayha’s Trowsers—Darzees—Refuge of the Distressed—Signet-rings—The Durwān—Ganges Water—Small-pox—Grass-cutters—Beauty of a Night in India—Forgery—Qui hy?—Winged Ants and Bugs—The Moon—A Set-to—Revenge of a Sā’īs—Soldiers in Hospital—Arrak—The Chārpāī—A New Servant—Unpopularity of the Governor-General 132
CHAPTER XV.
THE THUG’S DICE.
1830, October.
The Thug’s Dice—Execution of Eleven Thugs 151[xvii]
CHAPTER XVI.
RESIDENCE AT CAWNPORE—THE DEWĀLĪ.
1830, October.
Aghā Meer the Nawāb—Elephants Swimming the Ganges—Cashmere Goats—Discontent of the Soldiers—Buffaloes—Methodism—Desertion of Soldiers to Runjeet Singh—Marks of Age on Stud-bred Horses—Abolition of Sŭtēē—Pilgrim Tax—The Dewālī—The Phŭlŭ-hŭrēē Festival—Arrival of Aghā Meer and his Zenāna—Vicious Horses—Turquoise Mines in Persia—Lament of the Hindoo Women—Burning the Dead—The Mug Cook—Brutal Punishment—Plagues of Egypt—Conversion of Hindoo Women—The Races—The Riding School—Kishmish Bakhshish—Apples and Grapes from Cabul—Arab Merchants 159
CHAPTER XVII.
SCENES IN OUDE.
1831, January.
New Year’s Day—Meeting of the King of Oude and the Governor-General—Visit of Lord William Bentinck to Lucnow—A Native Christian—Elephant, Tiger, Buffalo, and Bear Fights—Constantia—Beautiful Buildings—Departure of the Governor-General—The Padshāh Bāgh—The Royal Hummām—The King’s Stables—The Party at the Residency—Dil-Kushā—Zoffani’s Picture—Doves released from Captivity—The Menagerie—A Zenāna Garden—Letter of Introduction to the Begams at Delhi—Gardner’s Horse—The Sorrows of the Begam 173
CHAPTER XVIII.
REVELATIONS OF LIFE IN THE ZENĀNA.
1831.
Pedigree of the Kings of Oude—Lucnow Mohurs—Anniversary of the Coronation—The Prime Minister—Khema-jah—Feredooa Buckht—Evil Omens—Mossem-ood-Dowla—Largesse—Hārs, Pān, and Atr—The Zenāna—Sultana Boa—Mulka Zumanee—Gosseina—Tajmahŭl—Plurality of Wives 186
CHAPTER XIX.
THE RETURN TO ALLAHABAD—EXECUTION OF TWENTY-FIVE THUGS.
1831, February.
Removal to Allahabad—Crocodiles—Aurunzebe’s Fort—The Old Well at Kurrah—Arrival at Allahabad—The Thermantidote—The King’s[xviii] Picture and the Celestials—Pattū—Execution of Twenty-five Thugs—Cholera—The Effect on the Insane—The Arabian Leprosy—Elephantiasis—Asylums for the Blind and for Lepers—Lachhmī, the Goddess of Prosperity—Intense Heat—Early Rising—Danger of a Thermantidote—List of Servants 196
CHAPTER XX.
SCENES AT ALLAHABAD—PILGRIMAGE TO THE TRIVENI.
1831, July.
The old Brahman—The Triveni—The Achivut—The Pātal Pooree—Temples of Bhardoajmun—Radha Krishnŭ—Hindoo Oath—The Tulsī—The Peepul-tree—Skeleton Leaves—Lamps in the Air—Paintings on Ubruk—Impressions on Leaves and Flowers—The Mootee Musjid—The Crows a Pest—Byā Birds—Haymaking—The Silver Tankard—An Earthquake—Transferring Diseases to Flowers—Perjury—Farming Operations—Oats—Bhoodder Ram the Dwarf—The Camel—The Powder Works and Rocket Manufactory 212
CHAPTER XXI.
LIFE IN THE ZENANA.
1832, February.
Devotees at the Great Fair—Wild Ducks—Quail Shooting—Price of English Hounds—Colonel Gardner—Life in the Zenāna—The Grass Cutter—Dūb Grass—The Gram-grinder—The Chakkī—Jack Fruit—Duty of a Sā’īs—Arrangement of a Turban—The young Princes of Lucnow—Archery—Indian Bows and Arrows—Whistling Arrows—The Bows, Arrows, and War Hatchet of the Coles—The Pellet Bow—Witchcraft practised with a charmed Bow 227
CHAPTER XXII.
ADVENTURES IN THE EAST.
1832, May.
Gaiety of Allahabad—Lucnow Chutnee—Tails of the Yāk—Horn of the Unicorn—The Looking-glass Shawl—The First Flight of Locusts—An Adventure—The Rats’ Granary—Balls—Profiles—The Leaf Grasshopper—Appointed to Allahabad—Ramohun Roy—The Bottle of Horrors—Narrative of a Thug—The Quicksand—Meteors and Falling Stars—Hanging oneself for spite—The Sipahī Guard—The Ghurī—The Sitar—The Ektara—The Gynee Club—Soonghees—Colonel Gardner 238[xix]
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE GREAT FAIR AT ALLAHABAD.
1833, January.
Booths at the Fair—Diamonds, Pearls, Shawls, Sable, Coral—The Triveni—Suicide—Religious Mendicants—The Sacred Ginī—Consecration of an Idol—Household Gods—Rosaries—Pilgrims, Carriers of Holy Water—Snakes—Arrival of Lady William Bentinck—Visit to the Fair—Description of the Frontispiece—Chamelee, the Brahmanical Bull 253
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE NUT LOG.
1833, February.
The Hounds—A Gumuki—The Eade—Trelawny—The Rev. J. Wolff—The Nut Log—Balancing Goat—Sirrākee Grass—A Dividend—Ear-rings of Jasmine—A Rat given to a Cow—The Mādār—Enamelled Grasshoppers—The Shaddock—The Agra Gun—Corruption of Words—Variegated Locusts—Beautiful Flowers 267
CHAPTER XXV.
THE CHOLERA.
1833, August.
Hindū Method of Frightening away the Cholera recommended to the Faculty—Death of the Darzee—Necromancy—The New Moon—A Bull laden with the Pestilence—Terror of the Natives—The Pathan—An Earthquake—Sola Hats—Importation of Ice from America—Flight of Locusts—Steam Navigation—The Civil Service Annuity Fund—The Bāghsira—Rajpūt Encampment—Hail Storm—Delights of the Cold Weather 280
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE MUHARRAM.
1834, May.
The Imāms the Leaders of the Faithful—The Muharram—The Procession—The Banners—The Band—The Sword-bearer—The Mourners—Dhul Dhul—The Reader—The Fakīr—The Taziya—Tomb of Kasim—Palkī and Trays of Mehndi—Charkh-charkhī Wālā—The Bihīshtī—Camels—Elephants and Charity—The Chameleon—The Ghirgit—An Alligator—The Tiger on his Travels—A well-educated Snake—Indian Fevers—Depression of Spirit 293[xx]
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE BRAHMANICAL THREAD.
1834, June.
The Janao—The Fakir—The Fair—Pūja of the Cow—Cusa Grass—The Flying Fox—Air Plants—Musk Deer—Nāg-panchamī—The Snake—The Pinnace—City of Allahabad—The Pillar in the Fort—Sealing-wax—Butea Frondosa—The Dewālī—The Bower—Climbers and Creepers—The Humming Birds—The Pellet Bow—White Ants—Chintz—The Horseradish Tree—The Ichneumon—The Garden—The Bouquet—Cold Mornings for Hunting—The Moustache 304
CHAPTER XXVIII.
PILGRIMAGE TO THE TĀJ.
1834, December.
The Seagull—The Patelī—Chapātīs—Sujawan Deota—Burriaree Rocks—Thieves—Parbosa—Temple of Parisnāth—Darogahs—Utility of a Pellet-bow—The Cane River—The Leak—A Storm—Kalpee—Belaspoor—Alligators in their own Wildernesses—River Shells—Passage through the Rocks—A Pilot—Badowra—Fossil-bones—The Chumbal River—Bhurrage—Burning the Dead—A Woman Drowned—Cutting through a Sandbank on a Chain Cable—A Leak—White Ants—Picturesque Scenes—A Tufān—The Mem Sāhiba’s Speech—River Dogs—Presents of Sweetmeats 321
CHAPTER XXIX.
PILGRIMAGE TO THE TĀJ.
1835, January.
Etaweh—Moonlight Ride—The Wolves—Bird-catchers—Peacocks—The Bar of Sand—The Good Luck of the Mem Sāhiba—Narangee Ghāt—Betaizor—The Silk-cotton Tree—Fields of the Cotton Plant—The Chakwā Chukwaee—Eloquence of a Dhobee—Aladīnpoor—Noon, or Loon—Modelling in Khuree—Cotton Boats—The Ulāk—Vessels on the River—Plantations of the Castor Oil Plant—Cutting through a Sandbank—First Sight of the Tāj—Porcupines—Bissowna—Quitted the Pinnace—Arrival at Agra 336
CHAPTER XXX.
THE TĀJ MAHUL.
1835, January.
The Tāj Mahul—Arzumund Bānoo—Shāhjahān—The Screen—The Echo of the Dome—Momtâza Zumâni—Her Sons and Daughters—Asaf-jāh—Noormāhul—Ruins of the second Tāj—Offerings at the[xxi] Shrine—The Wall—The Kālūn Darwāza—The Fountains—Melā of the Eed—The Burj—The Jāmma Khāna—The Masjid—The Bāo’lī—Tomb and Masjid of the Fathīpooree Begam—Tomb of the Akbarābādee Begam—Ground-plan of the Tāj—The Minarets—Stones used in the Mosaic—Tomb of the Simundee Begam—The Sitee Khanam—A Farewell to the Tāj 348
CHAPTER XXXI.
PLEASANT DAYS IN AGRA.
1835, February.
The Fort—The Mosque of Pearl—The Jahāngeeree Mahul—Mher-ul-Nissa—Selīm Ghar—The Palace in the Fort—The Dewanī Khas—Noor-jahān Burj—Zenāna Masjid—The Shīsha-Mahal—Hall of Audience—The Vault of Secret Murder—The Black Marble Slab—The Throne of Akbar—The Steam Baths—The Worship of the Rising Sun—View from the Bridge of Boats on the Jumna 360
CHAPTER XXXII.
REMARKABLE BUILDINGS AROUND AGRA.
1835, February.
The House of the Wuzeer—The Jāma Masjid—Tomb of Jahānārā Begam—The Tripolia—The Mahookma Masjid—The Madrissa—Etmad-od-Doulah—Cheen-ke-Masjid—Rām Bagh—Syud Bagh—Secundra—The Chamber of Gold—Miriam Zemānee—Kos Minārs 370
CHAPTER XXXIII.
REVELATIONS OF LIFE IN THE ZENANA.
1835, February.
Invitation to Khāsgunge—Kutchowra—The Zenāna—A Timoorian Princess—Opium-eating—Native Dishes—The Evening Party—The Beautiful Begam—Musalmanī Attire and Ornaments—Timūr-lung—Gold and Silver Beds—Atr of various sorts—Perfume of the Body of the Prophet—Dye for the Hands and Feet—Churees 378
CHAPTER XXXIV.
LIFE IN THE ZENĀNA, AND CHĪTĀ HUNTING.
1835, February.
Plurality of Wives—Intrigues and Hatred—Arrival at Khāsgunge—The Four Walls—Arwarī Shooting—The Pūtlī-nāch—The Lynx—Introduction to Colonel Gardner’s Begam—The Morning Star—The Evening Star—The Nawab of Cambay—The Beautiful Gardens—The Bara Deri—Rattler—Chītā Hunting—Antelopes—The Sulky Chītā—Heera Sing—Chītā Hunting attended by Native Ladies 390[xxii]
CHAPTER XXXV.
FATHIPOOR SICRI AND COLONEL GARDNER.
1835, March.
Pilgrimage of Akbar Shāh to Fathīpoor Sicri—Shaikh Selīm Cheestie—The Jodh Bā’ī—Birth of Selīm—The Tomb of the Saint—The Gateway—A Tradition—The Temple of Magic—The Zenāna—The Pachīsī Board—The Mint—Akbārābādee Rupees and Gold Mohurs—The Elephant Minār—A Child destroyed by a Wolf—Tomb of the Jodh Bā’ī—Agra built by Akbar—Sketches of Remarkable Living Characters in India—Legality of a Marriage between a Christian and one of the Faithful—Colonel Gardner’s Letter—Letter of Colonel Tod—Insult offered by Holkar—Colonel Gardner’s Marriage—Tomb of Colonel Hessing—Cure of Influenza within the Four Walls—Death in a Steam-Bath 401
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE MARRIAGE.
1835, March.
Pedigree of the Bride and Bridegroom—Reports concerning the Beauty of the Bride—Anxiety of English Gentlemen to marry into Colonel Gardner’s Family—Mirza Unjun Shekō—The First Procession—The Bride’s Dress—Necessity of Weeping—The Oily Mixture—Strict Seclusion—Dress of the Bridegroom—The Oily Mixture complimentary—The Hoolī—Bridal Songs—The Sāchak—The Bridegroom’s Procession—Nāch Girls on Platforms—The Menhdi—The Grand Display in the Bride’s Procession—The Parda—The Prince dyed with Hinnā—Midnight the Fashionable Hour for Dinner—Wedding Dishes—Silvered Food—Conclusion of the Day—Mr. James Gardner—Mulka Begam highly respected; her will is law 420
CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE BURĀT.
1835, March.
The Bridegroom fights for his Bride—The Grand Procession—Superstition of the Prince—Bridal Attire—The Bride’s Consent—Signing the Contract—The Nose-ring—Dress of the Bride—The Prince enters the Zenāna—He beholds his Bride—He carries her off—Colonel Gardner’s Distress—Fanī Bhū’a—The Bride’s Dower carried in Procession with the newly-married Couple to the Prince’s Tents—A Singular Custom—Pān 437[xxiii]
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE CHĀOTREE.
1835, April.
The Chāotree—Timūrian Dance—Churees—Finale of the Wedding—Jhanee Khanum—The Zenāna Doll—Jealousy of the Natives—Meals of the Slave Girls—Tara, the Pretty Slave—Conduct of English Ladies considered extraordinary—Poppy-heads—Devotion of Native Women to their Husbands—Illness of Colonel Gardner—Burial-ground of the Family—My Departure—Death of Colonel Gardner, and of his Begam—Orders of Knighthood—Remarks on the Muhammadān Religion, and the Punishments of the Grave 447

[xxiv]

[xxiv]

LIST OF PLATES
TO
VOL. I.

No. To face page
1. Frontispiece—Gănésh, to face the Title.
2. Introduction—The Camels vii
3. The Albatross 8
4. Carnicobar 14
5. The Sircar 21
6. The Chŭrŭk Pūja 27
7. Pūja of the Tulsī 43
8. Bengali Woman 60
9. The Ice Pits 77
10. Temple of Bhāwanī, and Suttees, Alopee Bāgh 95
11. A Dhrumsālā, Bene Mahādēo Ghāt 107
12. Adansonia Digitata 116
13. A Kutcherry 121
14. Hindōstanī Song 133
15. A Barkandāz 135
16. The Durwān 142
17. The Thug’s Dice 151
18. Elephant Fights 173
19. Pedigree of the Kings of Oude 186
20. Lachhmī, the Goddess of Beauty 207
21. The Grass-cutter 231
22. Hebrew Hymn 270
23. The Imāms the Leaders of the Faithful 293
24. The Tāj 348
25. Ground-plan of the Tomb of the Tāj 357
26. The Tomb of Akbar Shāh 374
27. Tomb of Shaikh Selim Cheestie 403
28. Pedigree of Colonel William Gardner 420

[xxv]

[xxv]

GLOSSARY.

A.

Āb, water. Ābdār, water-cooler.

Āb, water. Ābdār, water cooler.

Abīr, red powder used in the Holī.

Abīr, red powder used during Holi.

Ābnūs, ebony.

Ebony.

Achchhā, good.

Okay, good.

Ādāb, salutation, respects, politeness.

Etiquette, greeting, respect, politeness.

Adālut, court of justice.

Adālut, courtroom.

Ādam-ḵẖor, a cannibal.

Ādam-ḵẖor, a cannibal.

Afgan, overthrowing.

Afghanistan, overthrowing.

Afg̱ẖān, the name of a race of people who inhabit the country to the north-west of Lahore; called also Pathans. They are supposed to be of Jewish extraction.

Afg̱ẖān, the name of a group of people who live in the country northwest of Lahore; also known as Pathans. They are believed to have Jewish ancestry.

Afīm, or aphīm, opium.

Afīm, or aphīm, opium.

Agārī pichhārī, the ropes with which horses are tied.

Agārī pichhārī, the ropes used to tie up horses.

Agast, æschynomene grandiflora.

Agast, æschynomene grandiflora.

Āghā, lord master.

Āghā, lord master.

Aghan, the eighth Hindū solar month.

Aghan, the eighth Hindu solar month.

Aghorī, professing ughorpanth, an order of religious mendicants, who eat every thing, however filthy, even human carcases; hence, a gross or filthy feeder.

Aghorī, belonging to ughorpanth, a group of religious beggars, who eat anything, no matter how disgusting, including human corpses; thus, a profoundly unclean eater.

Ā’īna, a mirror.

Ā’īna, a mirror.

Ākās, the sky, the firmament.

Sky, the firmament.

Ākās-bel, the air-creeper; it has no root nor leaves, but grows on the tops of trees.

Ākās-bel, the air creeper; it has no roots or leaves, but grows on the tops of trees.

Ākās-diya, a lamp which the Hindūs hang aloft on a bamboo in the month Kārtik.

Ākās-diya, a lamp that Hindus hang high on a bamboo pole in the month of Kārtik.

Akbar, very good, greatest.

Akbar, excellent, the greatest.

Akbarābādī, of Akbar.

Akbarābādī, from Akbar.

’Alam, a spear, a standard.

’iAlam, a spear, a flag.

’Alam-dār, standard-bearer (Abbās).

’Alam-dār, standard-bearer (Abbās).

’Ālam-gīr, conqueror of the universe.

'i'Ālam-gīr', conqueror of the universe.

Allāh, God. Allāhu akbar, God is great!

Allah, God. Allah is awesome!

Ām, mango (mangifera Indica).

Ām, mango (Mangifera indica).

Amarī, a seat with a canopy to ride in on an elephant.

Amarī, a canopy-covered seat for riding on an elephant.

Ānā, a copper coin, the sixteenth part of a rupī.

Ānā, a copper coin, one-sixteenth of a rupee.

Anannās, pine-apple.

Pineapple

Āndhī, storm, tempest.

Āndhī, storm, hurricane.

Angethī, chafing-dish, brazier.

Angethī, cooking pot, brazier.

Angiya, a native boddice.

Angiya, a traditional bodice.

Ankus, the elephant goad.

Ankus, the elephant prod.

Arghā, a vessel shaped like a boat, used by the Hindūs for making libations in their devotions.

Arghā, a container shaped like a boat, used by Hindus to make offerings in their prayers.

Ārsī, a mirror, particularly a mirror in a thumb-ring.

Ārsī, a mirror, especially a mirror in a thumb ring.

Asārh, the third Hindū solar month (June and July).

Asārh, the third Hindu solar month (June and July).

Aswina, the first month of the Hindū lunar year.

Aswina, the first month of the Hindu lunar year.

Ātashbāzī, fireworks.

Fireworks.

Ātash-khwar, fire-eater; name of a bird, the chakor.

Ātash-khwar, fire-eater; the name of a bird, the chakor.

Atr, perfume. Atr-dan, perfume-box.

Atr, fragrance. Atr-dan, fragrance box.

Avatār, a descent.

Avatar, a descent.

Ayb, or aib, spot, mark, defect.

Ayb, or aib, flaw.

Ayha, a lady’s maid.

Ayha, a woman's maid.

Azan, the summons to prayers, generally proclaimed from the minārs or towers of a mosque.

Azan, the call to prayer, is usually announced from the minarets or towers of a mosque.

[xxvi]

[xxvi]

B.

Baboo, a Hindū gentleman, a Calcutta merchant.

Baboo, a Hindu gentleman, a merchant from Calcutta.

Babūl, mimosa Arabica.

Babul, mimosa Arabica.

Badrī-nāth, a celebrated place of pilgrimage.

Badrī-nāth, a popular pilgrimage site.

Badshah, or pādshāh, a king.

King Badshah.

Bāgh, a tiger.

Bāgh, a tiger.

Bāgḥ, a garden.

Bāgḥ, a garden.

Bāghsira, gryllus monstrosus.

Bāghsira, giant cricket.

Bāghīchar, a small garden.

Bāghīchar, a small garden.

’baghnā, an ornament made of tigers’ claws.

’baghnā, an accessory made of tiger claws.

Bahādur, champion, boaster.

Bahādur, champion, braggart.

Bahangī, a stick with ropes hanging to each end, for slinging baggage to, which is carried on the shoulder.

Bahangī, a stick with ropes attached to each end for carrying luggage, which is slung over the shoulder.

Bahut, much, most.

Many, much, most.

Bā’ī, mistress, lady amongst the Mahrattas.

Bā’ī, master, lady among the Mahrattas.

Bailī, bullock carriage.

Bailī, ox cart.

Bairāgī, a fakīr.

Bairāgī, a mystic.

Bājrā, panicum spicatum.

Bājrā, spiked millet.

Bakāyan, melia sempervirens.

Bakayan, melia sempervirens.

Baḵẖshish, a gift; bakhshnā, to give.

Baḵẖshish, a gift; bakhshnā, to give.

Bakrā, he-goat.

Bakrā, male goat.

Bandar, a monkey.

Bandar, a monkey.

Bandh, an embankment.

Dam, an embankment.

Banglā, a thatched house.

Banglā, a straw hut.

Baniya, shop-keeper.

Baniya, store owner.

Bāns, the bamboo.

Bāns, the bamboo.

Bā’olī, a large well.

Bā’olī, a big well.

Barā, great.

Barā, awesome.

Barā-dīn, a holiday.

Barā-dīn, a celebration.

Bāra-singha, twelve-horned stag (cervus elaphus).

Bāra-singha, twelve-horned deer (cervus elaphus).

Barāt, marriage procession.

Wedding procession.

Bardār, a bearer.

Bardār, a carrier.

Barha’ī, a carpenter.

Barha’ī, a carpenter.

Bārī, a garden house.

Bārī, a garden home.

Barkandāz, a native policeman.

Barkandāz, a local cop.

Basantī, yellow, the favourite colour of Krishna.

Basantī, yellow, Krishna's favorite hue.

Bastī, a village.

Bastī, a town.

Baṭer, quail.

Baṭer, quail.

Batū’ā, a small bag.

Batū’ā, a tiny bag.

Baunā, a dwarf.

Baunā, a gnome.

Bāwarchī, cook.

Bāwarchī, chef.

Bayā, loxia Indica.

Bayā, loxia indica.

Bāzār, market.

Bāzār, marketplace.

Bāzūbands, armlets.

Bāzūbands, arm cuffs.

Begam, lady.

Lady.

Bel, ægle marmelos (cratæva religiosa).

Bel, bael fruit (cratæva religiosa).

Belā, jasminum zambac.

Belā, jasmine zambac.

Bengālī, a native of Bengal.

Bengali, a native of Bengal.

Bér, or bar, ficus Indica.

Bér, or bar, prickly pear.

Besan, flour or meal of pulse, particularly of chanā (cicer arietinum).

Besan, flour or meal made from pulses, especially from chanā (chickpeas).

Betī, daughter.

Girl, daughter.

Bhabhūt, ashes which the fakīrs use.

Bhabhūt, ashes that the fakirs use.

Bhagat, a devotee of a religious order, peculiar to the low tribes, whose initiation consists in putting a necklace of beads around the neck, and marking a circle on the forehead; after which the initiated person is bound to refrain from spirituous liquors, flesh, &c.

Bhagat, a follower of a religious group specific to the lower tribes, is initiated by having a necklace of beads placed around their neck and a circle marked on their forehead. After this initiation, the person is obligated to avoid alcoholic drinks, meat, etc.

Bhāgulpūr, the town of.

Bhāgulpūr, the town of.

Bhagwān, the Deity, the Supreme Being, fortunate.

God, the Deity, the Supreme Being, fortunate.

Bhains, buffalo.

Bhains, buffalo.

Bhaiyā, brother.

Brother.

Bhang, or bhengh, cannabis Indica.

Bhang, or bhengh, cannabis indica.

Bhātā, an extra allowance to troops on service.

Bhātā, an additional allowance for troops on duty.

Bhū’a, a father’s sister.

Bhū’a, an aunt.

Bhūsā, chopped straw.

Bhūsā, chopped straw.

Bichchhū, the scorpion.

Bichchhū, the scorpion.

Bidrī, a kind of tutanag, inlaid with silver, used to make hukka bottoms, cups, &c.

Bidrī, a type of tutanag, inlaid with silver, used to make hukka bottoms, cups, etc.

Bīghā, a quantity of land, containing 20 katthās, or 120 feet square, or 1600 square yards, which is nearly one-third of an English acre; in the Upper Provinces it is nearly five-eighths of an acre.

Bīghā is an area of land that measures 20 katthās, or 120 square feet, which equals 1600 square yards, making it about one-third of an English acre. In the Upper Provinces, it's nearly five-eighths of an acre.

Bihisht, paradise.

Paradise.

Bihishtī, a water-carrier.

Bihishtī, a water bearer.

Bilva, or bilwa, cratæva marmelos (Linn.).

Bilva, or bilwa, cratæva marmelos (Linn.).

Binaulā, seed of the cotton tree.

Binaulā, seed of the cotton plant.

Biskhopra, lacerta iguana.

Biskhopra, iguana lizard.

Bismillāh, in the name of God.

Bismillāh, in the name of God.

Boxwālā, an itinerant merchant with a box of goods.

Boxwālā, a traveling vendor with a case of merchandise.

Brahm, or Brŭmhŭ, the one eternal God.

Brahm, or Brŭmhŭ, the one eternal God.

Brahma, the first person of the Hindū trinity.

Brahma, the first member of the Hindu trinity.

Brahman, an Hindū priest.

Brahmin, a Hindu priest.

Brahmand, the mundane egg of the Hindūs.

Brahmand, the worldly egg of the Hindus.

Bṛindāban, the forest of Bṛindā, in the vicinity of Mathurā, celebrated as the scene of Krishna’s sports with the Gopīs.

Bṛindāban, the forest of Bṛindā, near Mathurā, is known for being the setting of Krishna’s playful activities with the Gopīs.

Burāk, Muhammad’s steed.

Burāk, Muhammad's horse.

Burhiyā, old woman.

Burhiyā, elderly woman.

Burj, a bastion, tower; burūj, pl.

Burj, a stronghold, tower; burūj, pl.

Burjī, a turret, a small tower.

Burjī, a turret, a small tower.

Burka, a dress, a disguise.

Burka, a garment, a disguise.

[xxvii]

[xxvii]

C.

Chabenī, parched grain.

Chabenī, roasted grain.

Chābuk, a whip.

Chābuk, a whip.

Chabūtāra, a terrace to sit and converse on.

Chabūtāra, a patio to sit and chat on.

Chādir, Chādar, mantle, garment.

Chādir, Chādar, shawl, garment.

Chakkī, a mill-stone.

Chakkī, a millstone.

Chakor, partridge (perdix chukar).

Chakor, chukar partridge.

Chakwā, Brāhmanical duck.

Chakwa, Brahmanical duck.

Chakwī, the female of the chakwā.

Chakwī, the female chakwā.

Chamār, currier, shoemaker.

Chamār, leather worker, shoemaker.

Champā kalī, a necklace.

Champā kalī necklace.

Chanā, gram (cicer arietinum).

Chickpea, gram (cicer arietinum).

Chānd, the moon.

Chānd, the moon.

Chandnī-chauk, a wide and public street or market.

Chandnī-chauk, a broad and open street or market.

Chandnī kā mār-janā, a disease in horses, supposed to proceed from a stroke of the moon. “The moonlight has fallen on him,” is said especially of a horse that is weak in the loins.

Chandnī kā mār-janā, a disease in horses, believed to originate from a lunar influence. “The moonlight has affected him,” is said particularly about a horse that is weak in the lower back.

Chāotree, or chauthī, a marriage ceremony, the fourth day.

Chāotree, or chauthī, a wedding ceremony, the fourth day.

Chapātī, a thin cake of unleavened bread.

Chapātī, a flatbread made without yeast.

Chaprāsī, a messenger or servant wearing a chaprās, badge.

Chaprāsī, a messenger or servant wearing a chaprās badge.

Chār, four.

Chār, four.

Charḵẖī, a spinning-wheel, &c.

Charḵẖī, a spinning wheel, etc.

Chārpāī, bed, four-legged.

Chārpāī, bed, four-post.

Chatā’ī, mat.

Chatā’ī, cool.

Chatr, umbrella.

Chatr, umbrella.

Chauk, market.

Chauk market.

Chaukīdār, watchman.

Chaukīdār, security guard.

Chaunrī, fly-flapper.

Chaunrī, fly swatter.

Chhach hūndar, musk-rat.

Chhach hūndar, muskrat.

Chhallā, thumb or great toe ring.

Chhallā, thumb or big toe ring.

Chhappar, a thatched roof.

Thatched roof.

Chhat, roof.

Chhat, ceiling.

Chhattak, about an ounce.

Chhattak, about an ounce.

Chilamchī, washhand bason.

Chilamchī, washbasin.

Chirāgh, lamp.

Chirāgh, light.

Chirāgh-dān, stand for lamps.

Chirāgh-dān, means lamp holders.

Chiṛi-mār, bird-catcher.

Bird-catcher.

Chītā, hunting leopard.

Chītā, hunting leopard.

Chītthī, note.

Chītthī, message.

Chob-dār, mace-bearer.

Chob-dār, staff bearer.

Chor, or cho’ār, thief.

Chor, or cho’ār, thief.

Chūlee, a fire-place.

Chūlee, a fireplace.

Chūnā, lime.

Chūnā, lime.

Chūrī, bracelets.

Chūrī, bangles.

Chŭrŭk-pūja, a festival.

Chŭrŭk-pūja festival.

Chyūnta, black ant.

Chyūnta, black ant.

Compound, ground around a house.

Yard around a house.

Conch, a shell.

Conch shell.

Corook. See Kurk.

Corook. Check out Kurk.

D.

Dabāo, pressure.

Dabāo, pressure.

Daftarī, the paper-ruler, penmaker, &c.

Daftarī, the stationery maker, etc.

Dāk, post, post-office.

Mail, post office.

Dakait, or dākū, a robber.

Dakait, or dākū, a thief.

Daldal, bog, quagmire.

Daldal, swamp, marsh.

Dālī, basket of fruit.

Dālī, fruit basket.

Damṛī, a coin, four to a paisā.

Damṛī, a coin, four for one paisā.

Dānd, oar.

Oar.

Dāndī, boatman.

Dāndī, fisherman.

Darbār, hall of audience.

Darbār, meeting hall.

Dārogha, head man of an office, inspector.

Dārogha, head of an office, inspector.

Darwāza, a door; darwān, doorkeeper.

Darwāza, a door; darwān, gatekeeper.

Daryā-i, or daryā, the sea, river.

Daryā-i, or daryā, the sea, river.

Darzī, a tailor.

Darzī, a clothing maker.

Dastkhatt, signature.

Dastkhatt, signature.

Dastūrī, perquisites paid to servants by one who sells to their master.

Dastūrī, tips given to servants by someone who sells to their boss.

Daulut-khāna, house of fortune.

Daulut-khāna, wealth house.

Derā, a dwelling, a tent.

Derā, a home, a tent.

Devī, a goddess.

Devī, a goddess.

Dewālai, dewāl, or dewālaya, temple of idols.

Dewālai, dewāl, or dewālaya, idol temple.

Dewālī, an Hindū festival, celebrated on the day of the new moon of Kārtik; when the Hindūs, after bathing in the Ganges, perform a shraddhā, and at night worship Laksḥmī; the houses and streets are illuminated all night; and in Hindostan the night is universally spent in gaming.

Dewālī is a Hindu festival celebrated on the new moon day of Kārtik. On this day, Hindus bathe in the Ganges, perform a shraddhā, and worship Laksḥmī at night. Homes and streets are lit up all night, and in India, the evening is commonly spent playing games.

Dhān, rice before it is separated from the husks.

Dhān, rice before it is removed from the husks.

Dhanuk, a bow, a bowman.

Dhanuk, a bow, an archer.

Dhobī, washerman.

Dhobī, laundry worker.

Dhotī, a cloth, passed round the waist, passing between the limbs, and fastening behind.

Dhotī is a piece of cloth wrapped around the waist, going between the legs and securing at the back.

Dighī, a large tank or reservoir, in the form of an oblong square.

Dighī, a large tank or reservoir, shaped like a long rectangle.

Dil, heart; dil-kushā, heart-expanding.

Dil, heart; dil-kushā, heartwarming.

Dillī, or Dihlī, the metropolis of Hindūstan; generally called by Musalmāns Shah-jehan-abad, and by Europeans Delhi.

Dillī, or Dihlī, the capital of Hindustan; commonly known by Muslims as Shah-jehan-abad, and by Europeans Delhi.

Dinghee, a small boat.

Dinghy, a small boat.

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[xxviii]

Dīwak, white ant.

Dīwak, termite.

Dīwān-i-am, public hall of audience.

Dīwān-i-am, public gathering space.

Dīwān-i-ḵẖās, privy-council chamber.

Dīwān-i-ḵẖās, private council chamber.

Dog̱ẖ, buttermilk.

Dog̱ẖ, buttermilk.

Dohā’ī, or duhā’ī, mercy.

Dohā’ī, or duhā’ī, compassion.

Dolī, a kind of sedan for women.

Dolī, a type of women's carriage.

Domra, the name of a caste of Musalmāns, the males of which are musicians, and the females sing and dance in the company of females only.

Domra is the name of a caste of Muslims, whose males are musicians, and the females sing and dance in the company of women only.

Donī, a native vessel or boat.

Donī, a traditional type of boat.

Dopatta, or dupatta, a sheet of two breadths.

Dopatta, or dupatta, a piece of two widths.

Do-shāla, or du-shāla, two and shawl, two shawls being always worn together by the natives.

Do-shāla, or du-shāla, means two and shawl, with two shawls always worn together by the locals.

Dosūtā, two-threaded cloth.

Dosūtā, two-ply fabric.

Dūb, name of a grass (agrostis linearis).

Dūb, the name of a type of grass (agrostis linearis).

Dūdhiyā, milky.

Dūdhiyā, creamy.

Duldul, a hedgehog; the name of the horse of ’Ali, the prophet’s son-in-law.

Duldul, a hedgehog; the name of the horse of Ali, the prophet’s son-in-law.

Dūlhā, or dūlha, bridegroom.

Dūlhā, or dūlha, groom.

Dulhān, bride.

Dulhān, wedding dress.

Dumba, a kind of sheep with a thick tail.

Dumba, a type of sheep with a thick tail.

Durga, one of the names of Bhawānī, the goddess Durgā.

Durga, one of the names of Bhawānī, the goddess Durga.

Durga-pūja, the festival in honour of Durgā.

Durga Puja, the festival in honor of Durgā.

Durgah, a tomb, a shrine.

Durgah, a mausoleum, a shrine.

E.

Eed, a festival, a solemnity.

Eed, a festival, a ceremony.

F.

Fajr, morning; barī-fajr, early dawn.

Fajr, morning; barī-fajr, early dawn.

Faḵẖr, glory, nobility.

Faḵẖr, glory, honor.

Fakīr, a religious mendicant.

Fakīr, a spiritual beggar.

Falīta, fusee; falīta-dār, a matchlock.

Falida, fusee; falida-dar, matchlock.

Fānūs, a shade to keep the wind from a candle.

Fānūs, a cover to protect a candle from the wind.

Fatḥ, victory.

Victory.

Fāṭīma, the daughter of the prophet, and the wife of the caliph ’Ali.

Fatima, the daughter of the prophet, and the wife of the caliph Ali.

Fidwī, devoted (your devoted servant).

Fidwī, dedicated (your loyal servant).

Fīl, elephant.

Fīl, elephant.

Fīl-ḵẖāna, elephant shed.

Fīl-ḵẖāna, elephant enclosure.

Fīl-pāī, elephantiasis.

Fīl-pāī, lymphedema.

G.

Gaddī, sovereign’s throne.

Sovereign's throne.

Gāgrī, a water-vessel of brass.

Gāgrī, a brass water vessel.

Gainā, a species of small bullock.

Gainā, a type of small bull.

Gaini, a carriage for a gainā.

Gaini, a carriage for a girl.

Galahi, forecastle.

Galahi, front deck.

Gal’haiya, boatswain, forecastle-man.

Gal’haiya, bosun, crew member.

Gālī, abuse.

Gālī, insults.

Gāndar, a kind of grass, of which khas-khas is the root (andropogon muricatum).

Gāndar, a type of grass, which has khas-khas as its root (andropogon muricatum).

Ganjha, or gānja, the young buds on the leaves of the hemp-plant.

Ganjha, or gānja, the young buds on the leaves of the hemp plant.

Garh, a fort, as fatīh-garh.

Garh, a fort, as fatīh-garh.

Garī, a cart, a carriage.

Garī, a cart, a vehicle.

Garī-wan, carter, driver.

Garī-wan, driver.

Gaur, an ancient city, formerly the capital of Bengal.

Gaur, an ancient city, was once the capital of Bengal.

Ghantā, a clock.

Ghantā, a clock.

Ghar, a house.

Ghar, a home.

Gharā, an earthen water-pot.

Gharā, a clay water jug.

Gharāmī, a thatcher.

Gharāmī, a roofer.

Gharī, an instrument for measuring time, a water-clock.

Gharī, a device for keeping track of time, a water clock.

Gharis, division of time.

Gharis, time division.

Ghariyāl, a crocodile, a plate of brass for beating time.

Ghariyāl, a crocodile, a brass plate for keeping the beat.

Ghariyālī, the person who attends the gharī, and strikes the hours.

Ghariyālī, the person who keeps time at the gharī, and chimes the hours.

Gharna’ī, a raft supported by empty pots (gharā, an earthen water-pot).

Gharna’ī, a raft held up by empty pots (gharā, a clay water pot).

Ghī, clarified butter.

Ghee, clarified butter.

Ghirgut, or girgut, lizard, chameleon.

Ghirgut, or girgut, lizard, chameleon.

Ghulām, slave.

Ghulām, servant.

Ghunghrū, a small bell, or little bells on a string for the ankles.

Ghunghrū, a small bell, or little bells on a string for the ankles.

Ghur, or ghorā, a horse.

Ghur, or ghorā, a horse.

Ghur-daur, race-course.

Ghur-daur, racetrack.

Ghuwā, a coarse kind of cotton cloth.

Ghuwā, a rough type of cotton fabric.

Go-mukhī, a cloth bag, containing a rosary, the hand being thrust in counts the beads; the chasm in the Himalaya mountains, through which the Ganges issues.

Go-mukhī, a fabric bag, holds a rosary as the hand reaches in to count the beads; the gap in the Himalaya mountains, where the Ganges flows out.

Gobar, cow-dung.

Cow dung.

Gola, a granary.

Gola, a food storage facility.

Gop, a cow, a caste.

Gop, a cow, a class.

Gopī, feminine of gwālā, a cowherd.

Gopī, feminine of gwālā, a cowherd.

Gor-istān, burying-ground.

Gor-istān, burial ground.

Gosā’īn, a holy man.

Gosā’īn, a spiritual leader.

Gul-āb, rose-water.

rose water

Gul-badan, a kind of silk cloth.

Gul-badan, a type of silk fabric.

Gulistān, rose garden.

Gulistān, rose garden.

Gun, track rope.

Gun, climbing rope.

Gūnth, a pony.

Gūnth, a pony.

Gurū, spiritual director.

Guru, spiritual guide.

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H.

Hājī, pilgrim.

Hājī, traveler.

Hajjām, a barber.

Barber Hajjām.

Hakīm, a physician, a learned man.

Hakīm, a doctor, a knowledgeable person.

Hakrī, a cart.

Hakrī, a cart.

Hammām, a hot bath.

Hammām, a steam bath.

Hān, yes.

Yes.

Hāndī, a pot, a small cauldron.

Hāndī, a pot, a small cooking pot.

Hār, a necklace of pearls, a wreath, a chaplet of flowers.

Hār, a pearl necklace, a garland, a flower crown.

Hargilla, the adjutant, or gigantic crane.

Hargilla, the assistant, or huge crane.

Harkāra, running footman.

Runner.

Harphārewrī, or harphāraurī, the name of a sour fruit (averrhoa acida, Linn.).

Harphārewrī, or harphāraurī, the name of a sour fruit (Averrhoa acida, Linn.).

Hāth, the hand, a cubit, or eighteen inches.

Hāth, the hand, a cubit, or eighteen inches.

Hāthī, an elephant.

Hāthī, an elephant.

Hathī-wān, elephant-driver.

Hathī-wān, elephant handler.

Hawāldār, a native military officer of inferior rank.

Hawaldar, a local military officer of lower rank.

Hāzim, digestive.

Hāzim, gut health.

Hāzir, present.

Hāzir, here.

Hāzirī, breakfast.

Hāzirī, breakfast.

Ḥaẓrat, a title addressed to the great; majesty; highness.

Ḥaẓrat, a title given to someone of great importance; majesty; highness.

Ḥaẓrat’īsā, Jesus Christ.

Ḥaẓrat’īsā, Jesus Christ.

Hinnā, the tree lawsonia inermis.

Hinnā, the henna plant.

Hirdāwal, the name of a defect in horses.

Hirdāwal, the term for a flaw in horses.

Hisāb, accounts, computation.

Hisāb, accounting, calculation.

Howā, air.

Howā, air.

Howdah, a seat to ride in on an elephant, without a canopy.

Howdah, a seat used for riding on an elephant, without a roof.

Hubāb, a bubble.

Hubāb, a bubble.

Hubāb-i, bubbling.

Hubāb-i, fizzy.

Hukāk, stone-cutter, lapidary.

Hukāk, stone carver, gem cutter.

Huḳḳa, or hooqŭ, a pipe.

Huqqa, or hookah, a pipe.

Huḳḳa-bardar, pipe-bearer.

Hookah bearer.

Hukm, order.

Hukm, command.

Huzūr, the presence.

Presence.

I. J.

Jādū, enchantment.

Jādū, magic.

Jādū-garī, magic.

Jādū-garī, magic.

Jafari, lattice-work.

Jafari, lattice design.

Jāgīr, land given as a reward for service.

Jāgīr, land awarded as a reward for service.

Jahānārā, world adorning.

Jahānārā, world-beautifying.

Jahān-gīr, world-taking.

Jahān-gīr, world conqueror.

Jahān-pannāh, world protection, his majesty, your majesty.

World protector, your majesty.

Jahannam, the infernal regions.

Jahannam, the underworld.

Jahaz, a ship.

Jahaz, a boat.

Jahāzi, a sailor.

Jahāzi, a ship crew member.

Jai, or jaya, triumph, victory, bravo! huzza! all hail!

Jai, or jaya, triumph, victory, awesome! Cheers! All hail!

Ja’ī, oats.

Ja’ī, oats.

Jamadār, head of the harkāras.

Jamadār, head of the harkāras.

Jān, life, soul, spirit.

Jān, life, soul, spirit.

Janao, Brāhmanical thread.

Janao, sacred thread.

Jangal, forest.

Jangal, forest.

Janglī-kawwa, a raven.

Janglī-kawwa, a crow.

Janwār, an animal.

Janwār, a creature.

Jawāb, an answer.

Jawāb, an answer.

Jhaīhar, cymbals or bells for the ankles.

Jhaīhar, ankle bells.

Jhāmā, pumice-stone, bricks burnt to a cinder.

Jhāmā, pumice stone, bricks burned to ash.

Jhāmp, a matted shutter.

Jhāmp, a tangled curtain.

Jhārū, a broom.

Jhārū, a broom.

Jhārū-bardar, a sweeper.

Jhārū-bardar, a cleaner.

Jinn-ī, genii.

Jinn-i, genies.

Ikbal, good fortune.

Ikbal, good luck.

Imām, a leader in religious affairs.

Imām, a leader in religious matters.

Indra, the Hindū heaven.

Indra, the Hindu heaven.

Joār, or jwār, millet (andropogon sorghum).

Joār, or jwār, millet (sorghum).

Ishk-peshā, ipomea quamoclit.

Ishk-peshā, morning glory.

Islām, the religion of Muhammad.

Islam, the religion of Muhammad.

Istrī, a smoothing iron, a wife.

Istrī, a flat iron, a wife.

Jum’a, Friday.

Jum’a, Friday.

Jum’a-rāt, Thursday, eve of Friday.

Thursday, the evening before Friday.

Izār-bund, the string with which trowsers are tied.

Izār-bund, the string used to tie trousers.

K.

Ka’ba, the temple of Mecca.

Kaaba, the mosque in Mecca.

Kabr, a grave, a tomb.

Grave, tomb.

Ḳabūl or ḳubūl, consent, assent.

Ḳabūl or ḳubūl, agreement, approval.

Kābul, the capital of Afg̱ẖanistān.

Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan.

Kacharī, or kacherī, court of justice, an office.

Kacharī, or kacherī, is a court of justice, a government office.

Kachchhī, a horse with a hollow back, from the province of Kachchh, on the banks of the Sind.

Kachchhī, a horse with a dip in its back, from the region of Kachchh, along the banks of the Sind.

Kachnār, bauhinia variegata.

Kachnār, bauhinia variegata.

Ḳadam, a footstep.

Footstep.

Ḳadam-bos, one who kisses the feet of a superior.

Ḳadam-bos, someone who kisses the feet of a superior.

Kadam-chūṃṇā, to kiss the feet, to bid adieu.

Kadam-chūṃṇā, to kiss the feet, to say goodbye.

Kāfir, infidel.

Kāfir, non-believer.

Kāfūr, camphor.

Camphor

Kāghaz, paper.

Kāghaz, paper.

Kāghazī, paper-case.

Kāghazī, paper holder.

Kāhan, an aggregate number, consisting of 17 pans, or 1280 kaurīs.

Kāhan, a total number, made up of 17 pans, or 1280 kaurīs.

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Kahār, a palkī bearer.

Kahār, a palanquin bearer.

Kahwa, coffee.

Kahwa, coffee.

Kālā, black.

Black.

Kālā chor, an unknown person, a domestic thief.

Kālā chor, an unidentified individual, a domestic thief.

Kālā namak, a kind of rock salt, impregnated with bitumen and sulphur.

Kālā namak, a type of rock salt, enriched with bitumen and sulfur.

Kālā pānī, the ocean, the black water.

Kālā pānī, the sea, the dark water.

Kālā zīra, the seeds of the nigella Indica.

Kālā zīra, the seeds of nigella Indica.

Kalam, a pen, a reed.

Kalam, a pen, a stylus.

Kalam-dan, inkstand.

Kalam-dan, pen holder.

Kalg̱ẖī, an ornament on a turban, an aigrette, a plume.

Kalg̱ẖī, a decorative piece on a turban, a feather ornament, a plume.

Kālī, the goddess; or, Kālī Mā, the black mother.

Kālī, the goddess; or, Kālī Mā, the black mother.

Kalsā, the spire or ornament on the top of a dome, a pinnacle.

Kalsā, the spire or decoration on the top of a dome, a peak.

Kam-baḵẖt, unfortunate.

Unlucky.

Kam de’o, the god of love.

Kam de’o, the god of love.

Kamān, a bow.

Kamān, a bow.

Kamān-dār, an archer.

Kamān-dār, an archer.

Kamarband, a girdle.

Kamarband, a belt.

Kammal, a blanket.

Kammal, a comforter.

Kanāt, canvas enclosure, walls of a tent.

Kanāt, canvas enclosure, walls of a tent.

Kanauj, the ancient city.

Kanauj, the historic city.

Kangan, an ornament worn on the wrists of Hindū women, a bracelet.

Kangan, a bracelet worn on the wrists of Hindu women.

Kangni, millet (panicum Italicum).

Kangni, millet (panicum italicum).

Kanhaiyā, a name of Kṛisḥṇa.

Kanhaiya, a name of Krishna.

Kans, or Kansa, the tyrant whom Kṛisḥṇa was born to destroy.

Kans, or Kansa, the tyrant that Kṛisḥṇa was born to defeat.

Kapās, cotton undressed, the cotton plant (gossypium herbaceum).

Kapās, cotton in its raw form, the cotton plant (gossypium herbaceum).

Kaprā, cloth.

Kaprā, fabric.

Karbalā, the name of a place in Irāk, where Ḥusain, the son of ’Ali, was murdered.

Karbalā, the name of a location in Iraq, where Husain, the son of Ali, was killed.

Karbī, the stalk or straw of jo’ār or bājrā (holcus sorgum and spicatus).

Karbī, the stalk or straw of jo’ār or bājrā (holcus sorgum and spicatus).

Kār-khāna, workshop.

Kār-khāna, shop.

Kark-nath, a fool with black bones.

Kark-nath, a fool with dark bones.

Karn-phūl, a kind of ear-ring.

Karn-phūl, a type of earring.

Karor, ten millions.

Karor, ten million.

Kārtik, a Hindū month, our October and November.

Kārtik, a Hindu month, is our October and November.

Karwā-tel, oil made from mustard-seed, bitter oil.

Karwā-tel, oil made from mustard seeds, bitter oil.

Kās, a kind of grass of which rope is made (saccharum spontaneum).

Kās is a type of grass used to make rope (saccharum spontaneum).

Ḳaṣā’ī, a butcher, cruel, hard-hearted.

Ḳaṣā’ī, a ruthless butcher.

Kāshī, the city of Benares.

Kāshī, the city of Varanasi.

Kāsid, courier, a runner.

Courier, a runner.

Kath, an astringent vegetable extract.

Kath, a bitter vegetable extract.

Katmiram, (vulgo: catamaran,) a very small raft, used as a fishing boat on the coast of Madras.

Katmiram, (also known as catamaran,) a very small raft used as a fishing boat along the coast of Madras.

Kaurī, a cowrie, a small shell used as a coin (cypræa moneta).

Kaurī, a cowrie, a small shell that was used as money (cypræa moneta).

Kāwar, the baskets in which the holy water is carried.

Kāwar, the baskets used to carry the holy water.

Kawwā, a crow.

Kawwā, a raven.

Kāzī, a judge.

Kāzī, a judge.

Ḵẖāla, mother’s sister.

Aunt, mother's sister.

Ḵẖalāsī, a sailor, a native artilleryman, a tent pitcher.

Ḵẖalāsī, a sailor, a local artilleryman, a tent builder.

Khān, a lord, a title of respect.

Khān, a lord, a respected title.

Ḵẖāna, a house.

Ḵẖāna, a home.

Ḵẖānā, food.

Ḵẖānā, meal.

Khāna-pīnā, meat and drink.

Food and drink.

Khānsāmān, head table-servant.

Khānsāmān, head server.

Ḵẖarītạ, bag, a letter.

Bag, a letter.

Khas-khas, root of gāndar.—See Gāndar.

Khas-khas, root of gāndar.—See Gāndar.

Kḥatrī, the second of the four grand Hindū castes, being that of the military.

Kḥatrī, the second of the four major Hindu castes, represents the military class.

Kazānchī, treasurer.

Kazānchī, finance officer.

Khet, a field.

Khet, a field.

Khidmatgar, table-servant.

Khidmatgar, server.

Khil’at, dress of honour.

Khil’at, honorific dress.

Khīsā, a rubber used in baths.

Khīsā, a type of rubber used in bathtubs.

Khraunchī, a native carriage.

Khraunchī, a traditional carriage.

Ḵẖudā, God.

Ḵẖudā, God.

Ḵẖudā-wand, master.

God, master.

Ḵẖudā-yā, O God!

O God!

Khūnd, a well, a spring.

Khūnd, a well, a spring.

Khush-bo, perfume, odour.

Fragrance, perfume, scent.

Khusrū, the king; Khusrau, the sultan.

Khusrū, the king; Khusrau, the sultan.

Kibla-gāh, the place turned to when at prayer; a father, or the one beloved.

Kibla-gāh, the direction you face when praying; a father, or the one you love.

Kibla, Mecca, an altar.

Qibla, Mecca, a shrine.

Kimḵẖwab, silk brocade worked in gold and silver flowers.

Kimḵẖwab, silk brocade featuring gold and silver flowers.

Kishan, the Hindū god Kṛisḥṇa.

Kishan, the Hindu god Krishna.

Kishtī, (prop. kashtī), a ship, boat, barque.

Kishtī, (prop. kashtī), a ship, boat, barge.

Kismat, fate, destiny.

Destiny.

Kitāb, a book.

Kitāb, a book.

Kohī, mountain.

Kohī, mountain.

Kohī-nūr, the mountain of light, the great diamond.

Kohī-nūr, the mountain of light, the great diamond.

Kohirawān, the moving mountain, i.e. the elephant.

Kohirawān, the moving mountain, i.e. the elephant.

Kot, a fort.

Kot, a stronghold.

Krānī, a clerk.

Krānī, a clerk.

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Krishna, a descent of Vishnŭ.

Krishna, an incarnation of Vishnu.

Kū’ā, a well.

Kū’ā, a water source.

Kudalī, a small pickaxe.

Kudalī, a small mining pick.

Ḳulfī, a cup with a cover, in which ice is moulded.

Ḳulfī, a cup with a lid, used for shaping ice.

Kumbhīr, an alligator.

Kumbhīr, an alligator.

Kumhār, potter.

Kumhār, ceramic artist.

Kum’hir, a crocodile.

Kum’hir, a croc.

Kur’ān, (vulgo: koran,) the precepts of Muhammad.

Qur'an, (commonly known as koran,) the teachings of Muhammad.

Kurand, corundum stone (adamantine spar).

Kurand, corundum stone (diamond spar).

Kurk, an order made public, that no one may be seen on the road on pain of death.

Kurk, a publicly announced order, that no one is allowed on the road under penalty of death.

Kurtā, a kind of shirt, a tunic.

Kurtā, a type of shirt, a tunic.

Kurtī, a short garment for women, jacket for soldiers, coat.

Kurtī, a short outfit for women, jacket for soldiers, coat.

Kusūr, fault.

Kusūr, mistake.

Ḳuṭb, the polar star, the north pole.

Qutub, the polar star, the north pole.

Kuttā, a dog.

Kuttā, a pup.

Kutwāl, native magistrate, head of the police.

Kutwāl, local magistrate, head of the police.

L.

Lachḥman, the half-brother of Rāmachandra.

Lachḥman, Rāmachandra's half-brother.

Lachḥmī, the goddess of beauty.

Lachḥmī, the beauty goddess.

Lailī, also Lailā, the beloved of Majnūn.

Lailī, also Lailā, the love of Majnūn.

Lākh, one hundred thousand; gum lac, a kind of wax formed by the coccus lacca.

Lākh, one hundred thousand; gum lac, a type of wax made by the coccus lacca.

Lāṭ, or lāṭh, obelisk, pillar, club, staff.

Lāṭ, or lāṭh, obelisk, pillar, club, staff.

Lāṭhī, staff, stick.

Lāṭhī, staff, stick.

Lāw, a rope, cable.

Rope, cable.

Līchī, a fruit (dimocarpus litchi).

Litchi, a fruit (dimocarpus litchi).

Līl, indigo.

Lilac, indigo.

Log, people.

Log in, people.

Lon, salt.

Lon, sea salt.

Lota, a drinking vessel.

Lota, a drink pitcher.

Lubāda, or labāda, a wrapper, great coat.

Lubāda, or labāda, a wrap, long coat.

Lūnī, the salt that effloresces from walls.

Lūnī, the salt that forms crystals on walls.

Lunj, or langrā, lame.

Lunj, or langrā, disabled.

M.

, mother.

, mom.

Mā-bāp, mother and father, parents.

Parents.

Machh, or Machchh, the name of the first avatār.

Machh, or Machchh, the name of the first avatar.

Machchhar, a gnat.

Machchhar, a mosquito.

Machhlī, or Machhī, a fish.

Fish.

Madrasa, a Muhammadan college.

Islamic school.

Magar, an alligator.

Magar, a crocodile.

Magrela, a seed (nigella Indica).

Magrela, a seed (black cumin).

Mahā-bhārat, the great war.

Mahā-bhārat, the epic battle.

Mahādēo, or Mahā-deva, a descent of Shiva.

Mahādēo, or Mahā-deva, a manifestation of Shiva.

Mahā-kalī, or Kalī-mā, a terrific form of Durgā, the consort of Shiva.

Mahā-kalī, or Kalī-mā, an awe-inspiring version of Durgā, the partner of Shiva.

Māhā-nimba, melia sempervirens.

Māhā-nimba, neem tree.

Mahārāj, great king, excellency.

Mahārāj, great king, your excellence.

Mahārājā, an Hindū emperor.

Maharaja, a Hindu emperor.

Mahạl, house.

Mahal, home.

Mahāwat, elephant driver.

Mahāwat, elephant handler.

Mahū’ā, or mahu’ā, bassia longifolia, bearing flowers which are sweet, and from which a spirituous liquor is distilled; the nuts afford an oil used instead of butter.

Mahū’ā, or mahu’ā, bassia longifolia, has sweet-smelling flowers and is used to make a strong alcoholic drink; the nuts provide an oil that is used instead of butter.

Maidān, a plain.

Maidān, a field.

Makka, vulgo: Mecca.

Makka, also known as Mecca.

Makrī, a spider.

Makrī, a spider.

Mālā, Hindū rosary, a garland.

Mālā, Hindu prayer beads, a garland.

Mālī, gardener, florist.

Mālī, gardener, florist.

Mālik, lord, master.

Mālik, lord, master.

Manḍap, or mandul, a house, a temple.

Mandap, or mandul, a house, a temple.

Mangūs, or newalā (viverra mungo), ichneumon.

Mongoose, or water mongoose (viverra mungo), ichneumon.

Mānjhī, master of a vessel, steersman.

Mānjhī, captain of a boat, helmsman.

Maṣālaḥ, spices, drugs, materials.

Maṣālaḥ, spices, meds, materials.

Mash’al, a torch.

Mash’al, a light.

Mash’al-chi, torch-bearer.

Mash’al-chi, flame-keeper.

Mashk, water bag.

Mashk, water pouch.

Masīḥ, or Masīḥā, the Messiah, Christ our Lord.

Masīḥ, or Masīḥā, the Messiah, Christ our Lord.

Masjid, mosque.

Mosque.

Masjid-i-jāmī, a great mosque.

Masjid-i-jāmī, a historic mosque.

Masnad, a throne, a large cushion.

Masnad, a seat, a big cushion.

Māyā, idealism, illusion; a deception depending on the power of the Deity, whereby mankind believe in the existence of external objects, which are in fact nothing but idea.

Māyā, idealism, illusion; a trick based on the power of the Deity, that leads people to believe in the existence of external objects, which are actually just ideas.

Melā, a fair.

Melā, a festival.

Mem sāhiba, madam, the lady of the house.

Mem sāhiba, ma'am, the lady of the house.

Menhdī, lawsonia inermis.

Henna, lawsonia inermis.

Mihtaranī, sweeper’s wife.

Mihtaranī, wife of the sweeper.

Mik’hal, the instrument with which collyrium is applied to the eyes.

Mik’hal, the tool used to apply eye drops.

Mirg, a deer.

Mirg, a deer.

Mirg nābbī, musk, a bag of musk.

Mirg nābbī, musk, a bag of musk.

Mirzā, a prince.

Mirzā, a royal.

Misī, or missī, a powder to tinge the teeth black.

Misī, or missī, a powder used to color the teeth black.

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Misrāb, a steel frame for the fore-finger when playing on the sitar.

Misrāb, a steel finger pick used while playing the sitar.

Motī, a pearl.

Motī, a pearl.

Muazzin, the call to prayers.

Muezzin, the call to prayer.

Mufassal, the country.

Mufassal, the nation.

Mugdar, a club.

Mugdar, a club.

Muḥammad, the Arabian prophet.

Muhammad, the Arabian prophet.

Muḥarram, the first Muhammadan month.

Muḥarram, the first Islamic month.

Mulākāt, interview.

Mulākāt, meeting.

Mulk, kingdom, realm.

Mulk, kingdom, territory.

Mumtāz, distinguished, exalted.

Mumtāz, distinguished and elevated.

Mŭn, a weight, forty ser.

Mŭn, a weight, 40 ser.

Mund-māl, a necklace of human heads.

Mund-māl, a necklace made of human heads.

Munh, mouth.

Munh, mouth.

Muniyā, amadavat.

Muniyā, amadavat.

Munkir, Nakīr, the names of the two angels who examine the dead in the tomb.

Munkir, Nakīr, the names of the two angels who question the dead in the tomb.

Murabbā, a preserve, confection.

Murabbā, a fruit preserve.

Musāfir, a traveller.

Musāfir, a traveler.

Muṣāhib, aide-de-camp, companion.

Muṣāhib, aide, companion.

Muṣallā, a carpet to pray upon.

Muṣallā, a prayer mat.

Musalmān, a Muhammadan.

Muslim, a follower of Muhammad.

Musalmanī, fem. of Musalmān.

Musalmanī, female of Musalmān.

Mushk, musk.

Mushk, musk.

Mut’h, Hindū temple.

Mut’h, Hindu temple.

N.

Nāch, an Indian dance.

Nāch, a traditional Indian dance.

Nadī, or naddī, a river.

Nadī, or naddī, a river.

Nadir-shāh, the king.

Nadir Shah, the king.

Nā’echa, a small reed, hukka snake.

Nā’echa, a small reed, hukka snake.

Nāgā, the holy serpent.

Nāgā, the sacred serpent.

Nahīn, or nā’īch, not, no.

No.

Nālā, a rivulet.

Nālā, a small stream.

Nālkī, a sort of litter used by people of rank.

Nālkī, a type of litter used by people of high status.

Nānd, a large earthen pan.

Nānd, a big clay pan.

Nārangī, an orange.

Nārangī, an orange fruit.

Nārjīl, cocoa-nut, or cocoa-nut tree.

Coconut, or coconut tree.

Nasīb, fortune; balā-nasīb, unfortunate.

Nasīb, fate; balā-nasīb, unlucky.

Nawab, vulg. Nabob.

Nawab, slang for Nabob.

Nazr, a gift especially offered to a superior.

Nazr, a gift specifically given to someone of higher status.

Newala, mungoose (viverra mungo).

Newala, mongoose (Viverra mungo).

Newār, tape.

Newār, tape.

N’hut, a nose-ring.

N’hut, a nostril hoop.

Nīl-gāw, lil-gā’ī, or rojh, the white-footed antelope of Pennant, antilope picta of Pallos.

Nīl-gāw, lil-gā’ī, or rojh, the white-footed antelope of Pennant, Antilope picta of Pallos.

Nīm, or neemb, margosa tree (melia azadirachta).

Nīm, or neemb, margosa tree (Melia azadirachta).

Nīmbu, or līmu, a fruit, the lime.

Nīmbu, or līmu, is a fruit, the lime.

Nūn, non, or lon, salt.

Nūn, non, or lon, salt.

Nūr, light.

Nūr, illumination.

Nut-log, tumblers.

Nut log, tumblers.

P.

Pābos, kissing the feet.

Pābos, kissing the feet.

Pachāsī, a game, so named from the highest throw, which is twenty-five.

Pachāsī is a game named after the highest roll, which is twenty-five.

Padshāh, a king.

Padshah, a ruler.

Pāgal, fool; pāgal-i-nāch, a fancy-ball.

Pāgal, fool; pāgal-i-nāch, a gala.

Pahār, a mountain.

Mountain.

Pahar, a watch of three hours.

Pahar, a period of three hours.

Pahare-wālā, a sentry.

Pahare-wālā, a guard.

Pahār-i, a hill, a mountain.

Pahār-i, a hill, a mountain.

Pā’ī, the fourth part of an ānā.

Pā’ī, the fourth part of an ānā.

Paisā, copper coin.

Paisā, copper coin.

Pājāma, trowsers, long drawers.

Pājāma, pants, long underwear.

Pakkā, exact, expert, built of brick.

Pakkā, precise, skilled, made of brick.

Palang, couch, cot.

Palang, sofa, bed.

Palīta, match (of a gun).

Palīta, gun match.

Pālkī, or palkee, a palanquin.

Pālkī, or palkee, a carriage.

Palwār, a boat.

Palwār, a boat.

Pān, leaves of piper betel.

Pān, betel leaf.

Panchāyāt, a court of inquiry.

Panchāyat, an inquiry court.

Pānī, water.

Pānī, water.

Pankhā, a fan.

Pankhā, a hand fan.

Pā-posh, slipper.

Pā-posh, slip-on.

Pāras-patthar, the philosopher’s stone.

Pāras-patthar, the philosopher's stone.

Pārbatī, pārvatī, mountaineer.

Pārbatī, pārvatī, climber.

Parbut, mountain.

Parbut, mountain.

Parda-nishīn, remaining behind the curtain.

Parda-nishīn, staying behind the curtain.

Parī, fairy.

Parī, fairy.

Pāt, a leaf, ornament worn in the upper part of the ear.

Pāt, a leaf, ornament worn on the upper part of the ear.

Pātā, a plank on which washermen beat clothes.

Pātā, a board that washermen use to beat clothes.

Pātāl, the infernal regions.

Pātāl, the underworld.

Patelā, or patailā, a flat-bottomed boat.

Patelā, or patailā, a flat-bottom boat.

Patelī, a small flat-bottomed boat.

Patelī, a small flat boat.

Pāthur, or patthar, a stone.

Pāthur, or patthar, a rock.

Pattar, puttī, or pattī, a leaf.

Pattar, puttī, or pattī, a leaf.

Pattū, a kind of woollen cloth.

Pattū, a type of wool fabric.

Pera, a sweetmeat.

Pera, a candy.

Peshkār, minister, deputy.

Peshkār, minister, vice minister.

Peshwā, Mahratta minister.

Peshwa, Maratha minister.

Peshwāz, a gown.

Peshwāz, a dress.

Phāns, a bamboo.

Phāns, a type of bamboo.

Phānsī-gār, a strangler, a ṭhag.

Strangler, thief.

Phānsnā, to noose.

Phānsnā, to hang.

Phurr, the noise of a bird, as a partridge or quail, suddenly taking wing.

Phurr, the sound of a bird, like a partridge or quail, suddenly taking flight.

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Phuslānā, to decoy.

Phuslānā, to lure.

Phuslā’ū, wheedling.

Phuslā’ū, flattering.

Pīlī-bhīt, the name of a town in Rohilkhand, famous for the smallness and fineness of its rice.

Pīlī-bhīt, the name of a town in Rohilkhand, known for its tiny and high-quality rice.

Pinnace, a yacht.

Pinnace, a boat.

Pīpal, ficus religiosa.

Pipal, ficus religiosa.

Pīr, a saint.

Pīr, a holy person.

Pitārā, a basket.

Pitārā, a basket.

Piyāla, a glass, a cup.

Piyāla, a glass, a mug.

Prāg, the ancient name of Ilāhābād, commonly Allahabad.

Prāg, the old name for Ilāhābād, now commonly known as Allahabad.

Pūjā, worship, adoration.

Worship, adoration.

Pul, a bridge.

Pul, a bridge.

Pulā’o, a dish of flesh and rice.

Pulā’o, a dish of meat and rice.

Pur, a town, a city.

Pur, a town, a city.

Purā, a large village, a town.

Purā, a big village, a town.

Purāṇ or purāṇa, the Hindū mythological books.

Purāṇ or purāṇa, the Hindu mythology books.

Putla, a puppet, an image.

Putla, a puppet, an icon.

Pūtlī, a small puppet or image.

Pūtlī, a small puppet or figure.

Puwāl, straw.

Puwāl, straw.

R.

Rahīm, merciful, compassionate.

Rahīm, kind, caring.

Rahmān, forgiving.

Rahmān, merciful.

Ra’īyat, tenants, subjects.

Ra’īyat, tenants, citizens.

Rāj, kingdom.

Rāj, realm.

Rājā, a prince, a king.

Rājā, a prince, a ruler.

Rāj-rānī, a queen, royal consort.

Queen and royal consort.

Rājput, a descendant of a rājā, the name of a celebrated military caste.

Rājput, a descendant of a rājā, the name of a famous warrior class.

Rākkī, a bracelet or amulet, which the Hindūs tie on their arms on a certain festival, held in the full moon of Sāwan, in honour of Ḳrisḥṇa.

Rākkī, a bracelet or amulet, that Hindus tie on their arms during a specific festival celebrated on the full moon of Sāwan, in honor of Krishna.

Rām, the seventh Hindū incarnation.

Rām, the seventh Hindu avatar.

Rām-rām, a Hindū form of salutation.

Rām-rām, a Hindu hello.

Rāmtur’aī, hibiscus longifolius.

Rāmtur’aī, long-leaf hibiscus.

Rānī, a Hindu queen or princess.

Rānī, a Hindu queen or princess.

Rā’ō, a prince.

Rā’ō, a prince.

Rās, the circular dance performed at the festival of Krishna.

Rās, the circular dance performed at the Krishna festival.

Rās-dhārī, a dancing boy.

Rās-dhārī, a dancer.

Rasūl, a messenger.

Messenger.

Rāt-alū, the yam (dioscorea sativa).

Rāt-alū, the yam (Dioscorea sativa).

Rat-aundhā, blindness at night (nyctalopia).

Night blindness (nyctalopia).

Rath, a four-wheeled carriage.

Rath, a four-wheeled cart.

Rauza, mausoleum.

Rauza, tomb.

Rāwtī, a kind of tent.

Rāwtī, a type of tent.

Ṛezai, or razā’ī, a native counterpane.

Rezai, or razā’ī, a traditional blanket.

Rikhi or ṛisḥi, a sage, a saint.

Rikhi or ṛisḥi, a sage, a saint.

Rohū, a fish (cyprinus denticulatus).

Rohū, a fish (cyprinus denticulatus).

Rotī, wheaten cakes baked on an iron plate, called tawā.

Rotī, wheat cakes cooked on a flat iron surface called tawā.

Rūpiya, a rupee.

Rūpiya, a rupee.

Rustam, a hero.

Rustam, a legend.

S.

Sach, truth.

Sach, truth.

Sāchak, hinnā presented to the bride on the day of marriage.

Sāchak, this was given to the bride on her wedding day.

Sadr’adālut, supreme court of justice.

Sadr’adālut, supreme court.

Sāgar, the sea, the ocean.

Sāgar, the sea, the ocean.

Sāgūn, teak, a forest tree.

Sāgūn, teak, a tree species.

Sahajnā, horseradish tree.

Sahajnā, moringa tree.

Sāhib, master, gentleman of the house.

Sāhib, boss, guy of the house.

Sāhiba, lady.

Sāhiba, ma'am.

Sā’īs, a groom.

Sā’īs, a driver.

Sajjāda, a carpet or mat on which the Muhammadans kneel at prayers.

Sajjāda, a carpet or mat that Muslims kneel on during prayers.

Sālagrām, a stone containing the impression of one or more ammonites.

Sālagrām is a stone that holds the imprint of one or more ammonites.

Salām, salutation, peace, safety.

Hi, greeting, peace, safety.

Salāmut, salvation, safety.

Salāmut, salvation, safety.

Sallam, cloth.

Salaam, fabric.

Sālotarī, horse doctor.

Sālotarī, equine veterinarian.

Samāt, signs.

Samāt, signals.

Samudr, the sea.

Samudr, the ocean.

Sānchā, a mould.

Sānchā, a mold.

Sang-i-miknātīs, the loadstone.

Sang-i-miknātīs, the lodestone.

Sang-i-sulaimānī, agate, onyx.

Sang-i-sulaimānī, agate, onyx.

Sang-tarāsh, a stone-cutter, lapidary.

Sang-tarāsh, a stone cutter, gem cutter.

Sang-i-yashm, a kind of jasper or agate.

Sang-i-yashm, a type of jasper or agate.

Sangtara, an orange (cintra).

Sangtara, an orange (satsuma).

Sankh, a conch which the Hindūs blow, a shell.

Sankh, a conch shell that Hindus blow.

Sānkho, shorea robusta.

Sānkho, Shorea robusta.

Sarā’e, a native inn.

Sarā’e, a local inn.

Sarā’ī, a small cover.

Sarā’ī, a tiny cover.

Sārangī, a musical instrument like a fiddle.

Sārangī is a musical instrument similar to a fiddle.

Sāras, a species of heron (ardea antigone), saras phenicopteros.

Sāras, a type of heron (ardea antigone), saras phenicopteros.

Sardar, headman.

Sardar, leader.

Sarhang, (corrupt: serang,) or galaiya, master of a vessel, commander.

Sarhang, (corrupt: serang,) or galaiya, master of a ship, captain.

Sarī, a dress, consisting of one long piece of cloth or silk, worn by Hindū women.

Sari, a dress made of one long piece of cloth or silk, worn by Hindu women.

Sarkār, a superintendent.

Sarkār, a manager.

Sarp, a serpent.

Sarp, a snake.

Sarpat, a kind of reed or grass (saccharum procerum).

Sarpat, a type of reed or grass (saccharum procerum).

Sarpesh, an ornament worn in the turban.

Sarpesh, an accessory worn in the turban.

Sarposh, cover, lid.

Sarposh, cover, lid.

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Satī, a woman who burns herself on her husband’s funeral pile, chaste, virtuous, constant.

Satī, a woman who self-immolates on her husband’s funeral pyre, pure, virtuous, and unwavering.

Sawār, a horseman.

Sawār, a rider.

Ser, two pounds.

To be, two pounds.

Shab-bo, polianthes tuberosa.

Shab-bo, tuberose.

Shaddā, the banners that are carried with the Taziya in the Muharram.

Shaddā, the flags that are carried with the Taziya during Muharram.

Shādī, a wedding, marriage.

Shādī, a wedding.

Shāh, king.

Shāh, monarch.

Shāh-bāsh! bravo!

Shāh-bāsh! awesome!

Shāh-zāda, a prince.

Shahzada, a prince.

Shāhī, kinglike.

Shāhī, royal.

Shaikh, (vulgo: Shekh,) a chief, a venerable old man.

Shaikh, (commonly known as Shekh,) a leader, an esteemed elderly man.

Sharāb, wine.

Sharāb, wine.

Sharm, shame.

Sharm, embarrassment.

Shāstr, Hindū scriptures.

Shāstr, Hindu scriptures.

Shatrang-i or sutraengī, a kind of carpet.

Shatrang-i or sutraengī, a type of carpet.

Sher, a tiger, a lion.

Sher, a tiger, a lion.

Shī’a, a follower of the sect of ’Alī.

Shī’a, a follower of the group of ’Alī.

Shikār, chase.

Shikār, hunt.

Shīsha, glass.

Shisha, glass.

Shīsha-mahul, a house adorned with glass.

Shisha-mahul, a house decorated with glass.

Shīsham, dalbergia sissoo (Roxb.).

Shisham, dalbergia sissoo (Roxb.).

Shiva, the third person of the Hindū triad.

Shiva, the third figure in the Hindu trinity.

Sholā, (commonly pronounced sola,) æschynomene paludosa (Roxb.).

Sholā, (commonly pronounced sola,) æschynomene paludosa (Roxb.).

Sihrā, a chaplet worn on the head by the bridegroom and bride at the marriage ceremony.

Sihrā, a garland worn on the head by the groom and bride during the wedding ceremony.

Silā, the stone on which cooks grind, with the looreea or rolling pin of stone.

Silā, the stone where cooks grind, with the looreea or stone rolling pin.

Singhārā, trapa natans.

Singhārā, water chestnut.

Sipāh’ī, (whence seapoy,) a soldier.

Sipāh’ī, (from seapoy,) a soldier.

Sir, head.

Sir, boss.

Sircar. See Sarkār.

Sircar. See Sarkār.

Sirjāh-tālū, black mouthed.

Sirjāh-tālū, black-mouthed.

Sītalpatī, a fine and cool mat.

Sītalpatī, a beautiful and cool mat.

Siwālā, or shīwālā, a temple dedicated to Mahadēo.

Siwālā, or shīwālā, a temple dedicated to Mahadeo.

Sonā, gold; sonahla, golden.

Sonā, gold; sonahla, golden.

Sontā, a club.

Sontā, a club.

Sonte-bardār, a mace-bearer; a person in the retinue of the great, armed with a short curved club, generally covered with silver.

Sonte-bardār, a mace-bearer; someone in the entourage of the powerful, equipped with a short, curved club, typically covered in silver.

Sraddha, funeral obsequies in honour of ancestors.

Sraddha, funeral rituals in honor of ancestors.

Srī or Shrī, a name of Laksḥmī, the wife of Visḥṇu. It is written as a mark of respect at the beginning of Hindū proper names of persons.

Srī or Shrī, a name for Laksḥmī, the wife of Visḥṇu. It is used as a sign of respect at the start of Hindu names for individuals.

Sū’ar, a hog.

Sū’ar, a pig.

Sūbadār, governor of a province.

Sūbadār, provincial governor.

Sulaimān, Solomon.

Solomon

Sultān, king, emperor.

Sultan, king, emperor.

Sunn, hemp.

Sun, hemp.

Sunnī, an orthodox Muhammadan, who reveres equally the four successors of Muhammad. The Turks are Sunnīs, the Persians are Shī’as.

Sunnī, a traditional Muslim, who respects equally the four successors of Muhammad. The Turks are Sunnīs, while the Persians are Shī’as.

Sūp, a kind of basket for winnowing corn.

Sūp, a type of basket used for winnowing corn.

Supyāri, betel nut.

Supyāri, betel nut.

Surāh-ī, a long-necked goblet.

Surāh-ī, a long-necked cup.

Surma, collyrium.

Surma, eye makeup.

T.

Taat, paper made of hemp, i.e. sunn.

Taat, paper made from hemp, also known as sunn.

Tāj, a crown.

Tāj, a crown.

Takā, a copper coin, equal to two paisā.

Takā, a copper coin, worth two paisā.

Takht, a throne; padshah-i-takht, the king’s throne.

Takht, a throne; padshah-i-takht, the king's throne.

Taksāl, the mint.

Taksāl, the minting facility.

Tamāshā, fun, sport.

Tamāshā, entertainment, games.

Tana, a spider’s web.

Tana, a spider web.

Tanjan, a chair carried by natives.

Tanjan, a chair carried by local people.

Tarāi, marsh meadows.

Tarāi, wetland meadows.

Tasar, a cloth.

Tasar, a fabric.

Tattī, a screen or matted shutter.

Tattī, a screen or mesh shutter.

Tattoo, a pony.

Tattoo, a horse.

Tawā, the iron plate on which (rotī) bread is baked.

Tawā, the metal plate used for baking (rotī) bread.

Taziya, the representation of the tomb of Hasun and Husain, used during the Muharram.

Taziya, a representation of the tomb of Hasun and Husain, used during Muharram.

Thaili, purse, bag.

Thaili, wallet, handbag.

Thiliyā, water pot.

Thiliyā, water jug.

Tīkā, a mark or marks made with coloured earths, or unguents, upon the forehead and between the brows, either as ornament or sectorial distinction; an ornament worn on the forehead.

Tīkā, a symbol or symbols created with colored powders or ointments on the forehead and between the eyebrows, either for decoration or to signify a specific role; a decoration worn on the forehead.

Tilak, a mark the Hindūs make on the forehead.

Tilak, a symbol that Hindus place on the forehead.

Tiriyā, wife.

Tiriyā, spouse.

Tiriyā-raj, Amazon country, petticoat government.

Tiriyā-raj, Amazon region, petticoat government.

Top, cannon.

Best cannon.

Tope, plantation.

Top, plantation.

Tri-benī, or tri-venī, the junction of the three sacred rivers.

Tri-benī, or tri-venī, the meeting point of the three holy rivers.

Tūfān, a hurricane, a storm of wind whirling round.

Tūfān, a hurricane, a swirling windstorm.

Tulsī, a plant, basil (ocymum sanctum).

Tulsī, a plant known as holy basil (ocimum sanctum).

[xxxv]

[xxxv]

U. V.

Visḥṇu, the second person of the Hindū triad.

Vishnu, the second figure of the Hindu triad.

Ulāk, a small boat.

Ulāk, a small vessel.

Ummed-wār, an expectant.

Ummed-wār, a hopeful.

Voirājī, or bairāgī, a religious mendicant.

Voirājī, or bairāgī, a spiritual renunciant.

Uplā, cakes of dried cow-dung.

Uplā, cakes of dried manure.

W.

Walī-uhd, heir apparent.

Walī-uhd, next in line.

Y.

Yāk, the small cow of Thibet.

Yāk, the small cow from Tibet.

Yug, or yuga, an age of the world. The Hindūs reckon four yugas, or ages, since the creation of the present world.

Yug, or yuga, an era of the world. The Hindus recognize four yugas, or eras, since the creation of the current world.

Yugānt, the end of the four yugas, or ages, when, according to the Hindūs, a total destruction of the universe takes place.

Yugānt, the end of the four yugas, or ages, when, according to Hindus, a complete destruction of the universe occurs.

Z.

Zaban-i-urdū, the court language.

Urdu, the court language.

Zāmin, guarantee.

Zāmin, warranty.

Zamīndar, landlord.

Zamīndar, landowner.

Zanāna, or zenāna, female apartments, feminine, effeminate.

Zanāna, or zenāna, women’s quarters, feminine, soft.

Zūl-jana, the horse of Husain, i.e. the winged wolf.

Zūl-jana, Husain's horse, i.e. the winged wolf.

Zunnār, the Brahmanical thread.

Zunnār, the sacred thread.


[1]

[1]

WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM.

CHAPTER I.
Leaving England.

1822, April.—Flying Visit to Switzerland—The good Ship ‘Marchioness of Ely’—H. M. 16th Lancers—Porto Santo—Fellow-Passengers—Isle of Palma—Divine Service—The Band—Quadrilles—The first Shark—Bristol Water—Skip-jacks—Prickly heat—Crossing the Line—Amusements on Board—A Blue Shark—Sucking-Fish—Bonito—Santa Trinidada and Martin Vas Rocks—The Albatross—Thoughts of Home—A Calm—Shooting Season on the Ocean—Three Days of Battue—Whale-Shooting—A deep Calm—Scarcity of Water—Anchored at Carnicobar.

1822, April.—Quick Trip to Switzerland—The good Ship ‘Marchioness of Ely’—H. M. 16th Lancers—Porto Santo—Travel Companions—Isle of Palma—Worship Service—The Band—Quadrilles—The first Shark—Bristol Water—Skip-jacks—Prickly heat—Crossing the Line—Entertainment on Board—A Blue Shark—Sucker Fish—Bonito—Santa Trinidada and Martin Vas Rocks—The Albatross—Thoughts of Home—A Calm—Shooting Season on the Ocean—Three Days of Hunting—Whale-Shooting—A deep Calm—Water Shortage—Anchored at Carnicobar.

In April, 1822, Monsieur mon mari took me to Switzerland. For the first time, I quitted England. How beautiful was the Valley of Chamouni! how delightful our expedition on the La Flegère! The guides pronounced it too early in the year to attempt the ascent of Mont Blanc. We quitted the valley with regret, and returned to Geneva: but our plans were frustrated, and our hopes disappointed; for, on reaching the hotel, we found a letter requiring our instant return to England. The ‘Marchioness of Ely,’ in which we had taken our passage to Bengal, was reported to be ready to sail in a few days: no time was to be lost; we started immediately, travelled night and day incessantly, and arrived, greatly harassed, in town. The illness brought on by the over-fatigue of that journey never quitted me for years. The vessel, however, was merely preparing for her departure, and did not sail until long after.

In April 1822, my husband took me to Switzerland. It was my first time leaving England. The Valley of Chamouni was so beautiful! Our trip to La Flegère was delightful! The guides said it was too early in the year to try to climb Mont Blanc. We left the valley with regret and returned to Geneva, but our plans fell through, and our hopes were dashed because, when we got to the hotel, we found a letter needing us to return to England right away. The ‘Marchioness of Ely,’ which we had booked passage on to Bengal, was reportedly ready to sail in a few days. We couldn’t waste any time; we set off immediately, traveled nonstop day and night, and arrived in the city feeling extremely exhausted. The illness caused by the over-fatigue of that journey stayed with me for years. However, the ship was only getting ready to leave and didn't actually sail until much later.

Happily the pain of separation from the beloved home of my[2] childhood was broken by the necessity of exertion in preparation for the voyage.

Happily, the pain of leaving the beloved home of my[2] childhood was eased by the need to get ready for the trip.

June 13th.—We went to Gravesend, to see the ship: it was scarcely possible to enter our destined abode, the larboard stern cabin; so full was it to overflowing—boxes of clothes, hampers of soda water, crates of china and glass—a marvellous confusion! After a time the hampers and boxes were carried below, the furniture cleated and lashed, and some sort of order was established.

June 13th.—We went to Gravesend to check out the ship. It was almost impossible to get into our planned living space, the left stern cabin, because it was completely packed—boxes of clothes, hampers of soda water, crates of china and glass—a chaotic mess! After a while, the hampers and boxes were taken below, the furniture secured and tied down, and some kind of order was created.

We had carefully selected a ship that was not to carry troops: we now found the ‘Ely’ had been taken up to convey four troops of H. M. 16th Lancers; the remainder of the regiment was to sail in the ‘General Hewitt.’ Some of our fellow-passengers were on board on the same errand as ourselves.

We had carefully chosen a ship that was not supposed to carry troops: we now learned that the ‘Ely’ had been assigned to transport four troops of H. M. 16th Lancers; the rest of the regiment was set to sail on the ‘General Hewitt.’ Some of our fellow passengers were on board for the same purpose as us.

June 18th.—We had lingered with our friends, and had deferred the sad farewell until the last moment: half uncertain if we should be in time to catch the ship in the Downs, we posted to Deal, took refuge at the ‘Three Kings,’ and had the satisfaction of watching the ‘Marchioness of Ely,’ and the ‘Winchelsea’ her companion, as they bore down. At 11 P.M. we went on board, and sailed the next day. There was such a glorious confusion on deck, that those who were novices in military and naval affairs might deem, as they gazed around, it could never subside into any thing approaching order. Every one, however, was saying it would be very different when the ship was at sea; of which, indeed, there was little doubt, for to go on as we were would have been impossible. Off the Isle of Wight the pilot left us to our captain’s guidance; the breeze was favourable; we were sailing so smoothly, there was scarcely any motion. The last farewell tears dropped as I passed the Needles and the coast of Hampshire, whilst memory recalled the happy days I had spent there, and in the Forest, the beautiful Forest!

June 18th.—We had stayed with our friends, putting off the sad goodbye until the very last moment. Half unsure whether we would make it in time to catch the ship in the Downs, we hurried to Deal, took shelter at the ‘Three Kings,’ and felt pleased to see the ‘Marchioness of Ely’ and her companion, the ‘Winchelsea,’ approaching. At 11 P.M., we boarded the ship and set sail the next day. There was such a wonderful chaos on deck that anyone inexperienced in military and naval matters might think it could never settle into anything resembling order. However, everyone was saying it would be very different once the ship was at sea; indeed, this lacked doubt since continuing as we were would have been impossible. Off the Isle of Wight, the pilot left us to our captain’s guidance; the breeze was favorable, and we were sailing so smoothly that there was hardly any movement. The last farewell tears fell as I passed the Needles and the coast of Hampshire, while memories brought back the happy days I had spent there, and in the beautiful Forest!

Such thoughts and feelings it was necessary to throw aside. I joined the party in the cuddy, scrutinized the strange faces, and retired to my cabin, with as solitary a feeling as if my husband and I had been exiles for ever.

Such thoughts and feelings had to be put aside. I joined the group in the small lounge, examined the unfamiliar faces, and went back to my cabin, feeling as alone as if my husband and I were exiles forever.

[3]

[3]

The voyage began prosperously; I was satisfied with the captain, with my cabin, with my servant, and happy with my lord and master.

The journey started off well; I was pleased with the captain, my room, my servant, and happy with my lord and master.

We regretted we had taken our passage in a ship full of troops, and anticipated we should be debarred taking exercise on the quarter-deck, and enjoying ourselves with walk and talk during the fine moonlight nights. In the ‘Ely’ it appeared as if it would be impossible; were you to attempt it, you would be sure to blunder over some sleeping Lancer. However, the band was on board—some small consolation; and as the society was large, there was more chance of entertainment.

We regretted choosing to travel on a ship filled with soldiers and expected that we wouldn't be able to exercise on the quarter-deck or enjoy walking and talking during the beautiful moonlit nights. On the 'Ely,' it seemed impossible; if you tried, you’d probably trip over a sleeping Lancer. However, the band was on board—small consolation though it was; and since there were so many people, there was a better chance of having some fun.

July 1st.—Porto Santo looked beautiful, its head enveloped in clouds. The rocky island rises boldly out of the sea; its mountains are very picturesque. The sight of land and white châteaux was quite charming.

July 1st.—Porto Santo looked stunning, its peak shrouded in clouds. The rocky island rises dramatically from the sea; its mountains are really scenic. The view of the land and white villas was quite lovely.

I now began to recover from the maladie de mer, and to regain my usual good spirits. Creatures of habit, we soon grew accustomed to the small space. The stem cabin, twelve feet by ten, at first sight appeared most extremely inconvenient; but now it seemed to have enlarged itself, and we were more comfortable. Still sleep would scarcely visit me, until a swinging cot was procured. From that time I slept calmly and quietly, whatever pranks the old ‘Ely’ might choose to play.

I was starting to bounce back from the maladie de mer and get my good mood back. Being creatures of habit, we quickly got used to the small space. The stem cabin, measuring twelve feet by ten, initially seemed really cramped; but now it felt like it had gotten bigger, and we were more at ease. Still, I hardly slept until I got a swinging cot. After that, I slept soundly, no matter what tricks the old 'Ely' decided to pull.

The comfort or discomfort of a voyage greatly depends upon your fellow-passengers. In this respect we were most fortunate; one-half the officers of the 16th Lancers were in the ‘Ely.’ The old 16th to me were friends; my father, who had been many years in the regiment, was forced to quit it, in consequence of a severe wound he received in action in the Pays Bas, under the command of the Duke of York. My uncle had commanded the gallant regiment in Spain, and other relatives had also been many years with the regiment. Chance had thrown us amongst friends.

The comfort or discomfort of a journey really depends on your fellow travelers. We were quite lucky in this regard; half of the officers from the 16th Lancers were on the ‘Ely.’ The old 16th felt like friends to me; my father, who served in the regiment for many years, had to leave due to a serious injury he sustained in action in the Low Countries, while under the Duke of York's command. My uncle had commanded the brave regiment in Spain, and other relatives had also spent many years with the regiment. Fate had brought us together with friends.

Perhaps no friendships are stronger than those formed on board ship, where the tempers and dispositions are so much set forth in their true colours.

Perhaps no friendships are stronger than those formed on board a ship, where people's tempers and personalities are clearly revealed.

July 4th.—We passed the Isle of Palma; it looked beautiful,[4] rising abruptly from the sea; the trees appeared fine and numerous. We are in the trade winds, going generally about eight knots an hour; the evenings are delicious; little or no dew falls so far from land; in the evening we sit on deck, and enjoy the breeze. The moon is reflected so beautifully on the waves, the nights are so warm, the air so pure, the climate so agreeable, I could willingly turn canary bird, and take up my residence in this latitude.

July 4th.—We passed the Isle of Palma; it looked beautiful,[4] rising sharply from the sea; the trees seemed lush and plentiful. We’re in the trade winds, cruising at about eight knots an hour; the evenings are amazing; there’s little to no dew falling this far from land. In the evenings, we relax on deck and enjoy the breeze. The moon reflects so beautifully on the waves, the nights are warm, the air feels so fresh, and the climate is so pleasant that I could happily become a canary bird and make my home here.

Sometimes quadrilles are danced by the light of the moon; sometimes by the glare of half-a-dozen lanterns. There is little or no motion in the vessel; no events occur; yes—let me not forget—a little boy fell into the pea-soup and got a ducking; luckily for him, it was nearly cold. “The misfortunes of the stable fall on the head of the monkey[8].” The deck presents a curious assemblage: Lancers at extension exercise, women working, sailors hauling, children at school, ladies reading or talking in groups—altogether an amusing scene.

Sometimes quadrilles are danced under the moonlight; sometimes under the bright glow of several lanterns. The boat hardly moves; nothing much happens; oh—let me not forget—a little boy fell into the pea soup and got soaked; luckily for him, it was almost cold. “The misfortunes of the stable fall on the head of the monkey[8].” The deck showcases a fascinating mix: Lancers practicing, women busy at work, sailors pulling lines, kids studying, and ladies reading or chatting in groups—altogether a lively scene.

On Sundays Divine service is performed; the psalms are sung in very good style, accompanied by the Lancer band. The weather is hot; the thermometer 79° in our cabin, 81° in the cuddy, which at dinner-time contains six-and-thirty people. To-day a shark was caught; it was attended by three pilot fish, which, they say, guide the shark to its prey. These small fish are very pretty, and striped like zebras. The shark was hooked and dragged up by the stern windows; he struggled manfully, but was soon despatched.

On Sundays, a church service is held; the psalms are sung quite well, accompanied by the Lancer band. The weather is hot; the thermometer reads 79° in our cabin and 81° in the dining area, which has thirty-six people during dinner. Today, a shark was caught; it had three pilot fish with it, which supposedly help guide the shark to its prey. These little fish are very pretty and striped like zebras. The shark was hooked and pulled up through the stern windows; it fought hard, but was soon taken care of.

A little flying-fish flew into one of the ports to escape the pursuit of a larger fish; it was small and curious, but not so pretty as one would imagine. Two large fins spread out on its sides, like wings. It was a novelty to most of the passengers.

A small flying fish flew into one of the ports to get away from a bigger fish; it was tiny and curious, but not as pretty as you might think. Two large fins spread out on its sides like wings. It was a novelty for most of the passengers.

July 22nd.—What a strange, bustling life! This is baggage-day; all the trunks are on deck—such a confusion! I am suffering from maladie de mer; the wind is contrary; we tack and veer most tiresomely; the ship pitches; we cling about like cats, and are at our wits’ end, striving to endure our miseries with patience.

July 22nd.—What a chaotic, busy life! It’s baggage day; all the suitcases are on deck—what a mess! I’m feeling seasick; the wind is against us; we keep changing direction, which is really exhausting; the ship is rocking; we’re hanging on like cats and are completely at our wit's end, trying to put up with our troubles patiently.

[5]

[5]

The Bristol water is invaluable, the ship water very black, and it smells vilely. I knew not before the value of good water; and, were it not for the shower bath, should be apt to wish myself where Truth is—at the bottom of a well.

The water in Bristol is priceless, the ship's water is really dark, and it smells terrible. I didn't realize before how important good water is; if it weren't for the shower, I'd be tempted to wish I were somewhere else—at the bottom of a well.

Yesterday such a noise arose on deck, it brought me to the scene of action in a minute: “Come here! come here! look! look! There they go, like a pack of hounds in full cry!” I did come, and I did look; and there were some hundred of skip-jacks leaping out of the water, and following each other with great rapidity across the head of the ship. When many fish leaped up together, there was such laughing, shouting, pointing, and gazing, from four hundred full-grown people, it was absurd to see how much amusement the poor fish occasioned. I looked alternately at the fish and the people, and laughed at both.

Yesterday, a huge commotion broke out on deck that got me to the scene in no time: “Come here! Come here! Look! Look! There they go, like a pack of hounds on the hunt!” I went over to see, and there were hundreds of skip-jacks jumping out of the water, rapidly racing across the front of the ship. When many fish jumped at once, there was so much laughing, shouting, pointing, and staring from four hundred grown adults that it was ridiculous how much joy these poor fish brought. I looked back and forth between the fish and the people and laughed at both.

A kind of rash teases me; in these latitudes they call it prickly heat, vow you cannot be healthy without it, and affirm that every one ought to be glad to have it. So am not I.

A kind of rash teases me; in these areas, they call it prickly heat. They claim you can't be healthy without it and insist that everyone should be happy to have it. But I'm not.

Having beaten about the line for a fortnight, with a contrary wind, at length we entertained hopes of crossing it, and letters were received on board from Neptune and Amphitrite, requesting to be supplied with clothes, having lost their own in a gale of wind.

Having struggled with the line for two weeks against a headwind, we finally started to hope we could cross it. We received messages on board from Neptune and Amphitrite asking for clothes, as they had lost their own in a storm.

July 30th.—Neptune and his lady came on board to acquaint the captain they would visit him in form the next day. The captain wished the god good night, when instantly the deck was deluged with showers of water from the main-top, while a flaming tar-barrel was thrown overboard, in which Neptune was supposed to have vanished in flame and water.

July 30th.—Neptune and his lady boarded the ship to let the captain know they would formally visit him the next day. The captain wished the god good night, and immediately the deck was drenched with streams of water from the main-top, while a burning tar-barrel was tossed overboard, from which Neptune was thought to have disappeared in fire and water.

July 31st.—At 9 A.M. the private soldiers who were not to be shaved were stationed on the poop with their wives; on the quarter-deck the officers and ladies awaited the arrival of the ocean-god. First in procession marched the band, playing “God save the King;” several grotesque figures followed; then came the car of Neptune—a gun-carriage—with such a creature for a coachman! The carriage was drawn by six half-naked seamen, painted to represent Tritons, who were chained to the vehicle. We beheld the monarch and his bride, seated in the[6] car, with a lovely girl, whom he called his tender offspring. These ladies were represented by the most brawny, muscular, ugly and powerful fellows in the ship; the letters requesting female attire having procured an abundance of finery. The boatswain’s mate, a powerful man, naked to the waist, with a pasteboard crown upon his head and his speaking-trumpet in his hand, who represented Neptune, descended from his car, and offered the captain two fowls as tropical birds, and a salted fish on the end of a trident, lamenting that the late boisterous weather had prevented his bringing any fresh. A doctor, a barber with a notched razor, a sea-bear and its keeper, closed the procession.

July 31st.—At 9 AM, the private soldiers who were not going to get shaved were gathered on the poop deck with their wives; while on the quarter-deck, the officers and ladies waited for the arrival of the ocean god. The band led the procession, playing “God Save the King.” Following them were several amusing figures, and then came Neptune's carriage—a gun carriage—driven by a strange character! The carriage was pulled by six half-naked sailors painted to look like Tritons, who were chained to the vehicle. We saw the king and his queen sitting in the[6] carriage, along with a beautiful girl he called his dear child. These ladies were actually the strongest, most muscular, and ugliest guys on the ship; the requests for female costumes had resulted in a lot of fancy outfits. The boatswain’s mate, a strong man, bare-chested with a cardboard crown on his head and a speaking trumpet in hand—who was playing Neptune—got down from his carriage and presented the captain with two fowls as tropical birds, and a salted fish on the end of a trident, lamenting that the recent rough weather had prevented him from bringing any fresh ones. A doctor, a barber with a notched razor, a sea bear, and its handler rounded out the procession.

Re-ascending the car, they took their station in front of the poop, and a rope was drawn across the deck to represent the line. Neptune then summoned the colonel-commandant of the Lancers to his presence, who informed him he had before entered his dominions. The major was then conducted, by a fellow calling himself a constable, to the foot of the car: he went up, expecting to be shaved, but the sea god desired him to present his wife to Amphitrite. After the introduction they were both dismissed.

Reboarding the car, they positioned themselves in front of the deckhouse, and a rope was stretched across the deck to mark the line. Neptune then called the colonel-commandant of the Lancers to his side, who informed him that he had already entered his realm. The major was then escorted, by someone claiming to be a constable, to the base of the car: he climbed up, expecting to be shaved, but the sea god instructed him to introduce his wife to Amphitrite. After the introduction, they were both sent away.

My husband and myself were then summoned: he pleaded having crossed the line before. Neptune said that would not avail, as his lady had entered the small latitudes for the first time. After a laughable discussion, of to be shaved or not to be shaved, we were allowed to retire. The remainder of the passengers were summoned in turn. The sentence of shaving was passed upon all who had not crossed the line, but not carried into execution on the officers of the ship. The crew were shaved and ducked in form, and in all good humour. In the mean time the fire-engine drenched every body on deck, and the officers and passengers amused themselves for hours throwing water over each other from buckets. Imagine four hundred people ducking one another, and you may have some idea of the frolic. In the evening the sailors danced, sang, recited verses, and spliced the main brace[9], until very late,[7] and the day ended as jovially as it began. Several times they charmed us with an appropriate song, roared at the utmost pitch of their stentorian lungs, to the tune of “There’s na luck about the house.”

My husband and I were then called up: he argued that he’d crossed the line before. Neptune said that wouldn’t matter since his lady had entered those waters for the first time. After a funny debate about whether to shave or not, we were allowed to go back. The other passengers were called up in turn. The shaving sentence was passed for everyone who hadn’t crossed the line, but it didn’t apply to the ship's officers. The crew got shaved and dunked in a formal way, all in good spirits. Meanwhile, the fire hose soaked everyone on deck, and the officers and passengers spent hours splashing water on each other from buckets. Picture four hundred people soaking each other, and you can imagine the fun. In the evening, the sailors danced, sang, recited verses, and had a drink until late,, and the day ended as merrily as it began. Several times, they entertained us with a fitting song, belting it out at the top of their lungs to the tune of “There’s na luck about the house.”

“We’ll lather away, and shave away,
And lather away so fine,
We always have a shaving day
Whenever we cross the line.”

With sorrow I confess to having forgotten the remainder of the ditty, which ended—

With sadness, I admit that I've forgotten the rest of the song, which ended—

“There’s nothing half so sweet in life
As crossing of the line.”

“Rule Britannia,” with a subscription for the ruler of the seas, was the finale, leaving every one perfectly satisfied with his portion of salt water. It was agreed the rites and ceremonies had never been better performed or with greater good humour.

“Rule Britannia,” with a salute for the ruler of the seas, was the grand finale, leaving everyone completely satisfied with their share of salt water. It was agreed that the rituals and ceremonies had never been executed better or with more good humor.

Colonel Luard’s beautiful and faithful sketches have since been presented to the public. Watching his ready pencil, as it portrayed the passing scene, was one of the pleasures of the ‘Ely;’ and I feel greatly obliged to him for having given me permission to add copies of some of his original sketches to my journal.

Colonel Luard’s stunning and accurate sketches have since been shared with the public. Observing his quick pencil capture the moment was one of the joys of the ‘Ely’; and I’m very grateful to him for allowing me to include copies of some of his original sketches in my journal.

Neptune was accompanied on board by a flying-fish that came in at one of the ports, perhaps to escape from an albicore: a lucky omen. The gentlemen amuse themselves with firing at the albatross, as they fly round and round the vessel; as yet, no damage has been done—the great birds shake their thick plumage, and laugh at the shot.

Neptune was joined on board by a flying fish that had come in at one of the ports, maybe to get away from an albacore: a lucky sign. The men are having fun shooting at the albatross as it circles the ship; so far, no harm has been done—the huge birds shake their thick feathers and mock the shots.

The favourite game is pitch-and-toss for dollars. Boxing is another method of spending time. Chess and backgammon-boards are in high request; when the evenings are not calm enough for a quadrille or a waltz on deck, the passengers retire to the cuddy, to whist or blind hookey, and dollars are brought to table in cases that formerly contained Gamble’s most excellent portable soup! On the very general introduction of caoutchouc[8] into every department of the arts and sciences, some of the principal ship-builders proposed to form the keels of their vessels of indian-rubber, but abandoned the project apprehending the entire effacement of the equinoctial line.

The favorite game is pitch-and-toss for dollars. Boxing is another way to pass the time. Chess and backgammon boards are in high demand; when the evenings aren't calm enough for a quadrille or a waltz on deck, the passengers head to the cuddy to play whist or blind hookey, with dollars brought to the table in containers that used to hold Gamble's amazing portable soup! With the widespread introduction of rubber[8] into every area of the arts and sciences, some of the main shipbuilders suggested making the keels of their ships out of rubber, but they dropped the idea fearing the complete erasure of the equinoctial line.

Aug. 1st.—Caught a bonito and a sea-scorpion; the latter was of a beautiful purple colour, the under part white: also a nautilus and a blue shark; in the latter were four-and-twenty young ones. The shark measured seven feet; its young from twelve to fourteen inches. The colour of the back was blue, of the belly white; several sucking-fish were upon the monster, of which some were lost in hauling him on board: one of those caught measured nine inches and a half; it stuck firmly to my hand in an instant.

Aug. 1st.—I caught a bonito and a sea scorpion; the latter was a stunning purple color with a white underside. I also caught a nautilus and a blue shark, which had twenty-four young ones inside it. The shark was seven feet long, and its young were between twelve and fourteen inches. The shark's back was blue, and its belly was white; several remoras were attached to the shark, and some were lost while we were pulling it on board. One of the ones we caught was nine and a half inches long; it clung to my hand immediately.

Our amusements concluded with viewing an eclipse of the moon.

Our fun ended with watching a lunar eclipse.

A stiff gale split the mainsail and blew the foretop and mizentop sails to pieces: no further damage was sustained. I enjoyed the sight of the fine waves that tossed the vessel as if she were a cockle-shell.

A strong wind tore the mainsail and ripped the foretop and mizentop sails apart; no more damage occurred. I loved watching the beautiful waves that tossed the ship around like it was a tiny shell.

We caught two Cape pigeons, very beautiful birds; the moment they were brought on deck they suffered extremely from maladie de mer!

We caught two Cape pigeons, really beautiful birds; the moment they were brought on deck they suffered terribly from mal de mer!

Aug. 11th.—During Divine service we came in sight of San Trinidada and Martin Vas Rocks; the former distant twelve miles, the latter thirty.

Aug. 11th.—During the church service, we saw San Trinidada and Martin Vas Rocks; the first one was twelve miles away, and the second was thirty.

Aug. 16th.—Lat. 27° S., long. 19° W.—The annexed lithograph is from an original drawing of Colonel Luard’s, and the following extract from his “Views in India:”—

Aug. 16th.—Lat. 27° S., long. 19° W.—The attached lithograph is from an original drawing by Colonel Luard, and the following excerpt is from his “Views in India:” —

“This drawing represents the numerous birds that constantly follow ships from lat. 27° S. to lat. 40° S., constantly hovering about the ship, and picking up anything eatable which may be thrown overboard. The pintado, or Cape pigeon, a very pretty bird, black and white striped all over, is the most numerous. They fly backwards and forwards across the ship’s wake, in such numbers and so carelessly, that they are frequently caught by entangling their wings in lines thrown over the stern of the ship to catch the albatross. This immense bird is also portrayed in[9] the drawing, whose astonishing power, fierceness, and fleetness, render him formidable amongst the feathered tribe of these regions. There is an instance on record of a man having fallen overboard from a ship-of-war, when a noble-minded midshipman instantly jumped overboard, and, from his power as a swimmer, would probably have rescued the sailor from a watery grave, had not an albatross passing at the moment stooped upon the generous youth, and struck him upon the head: he sank to rise no more! Both he and the sailor were drowned.”

“This drawing shows the many birds that constantly follow ships from lat. 27° S. to lat. 40° S., always hovering around the ship and grabbing any food that gets thrown overboard. The pintado, or Cape pigeon, which is a very pretty bird with black and white stripes, is the most common. They fly back and forth across the ship’s wake in such large numbers and so recklessly that they often get caught by their wings in lines thrown over the stern of the ship to catch the albatross. This huge bird is also depicted in[9] the drawing, whose astonishing strength, fierceness, and speed make it a formidable presence among the birds in this area. There’s a recorded instance of a man who fell overboard from a warship, and a noble-minded midshipman immediately jumped in after him. With his swimming skills, he likely could have saved the sailor from drowning, but at that moment, an albatross swooped down and struck the brave young man on the head: he sank and was never seen again! Both he and the sailor drowned.”

S. LAT: 27°. W. LONG: 19°.

S. LAT: 27°. W. LONG: 19°.

On Stone by Major Parlby. From an Original Drawing by Colˡ Luard.

On Stone by Major Parlby. From an Original Drawing by Col Luard.

Aug. 23rd.—There is a ship alongside! a ship bound for England! it speaks of home and the beloved ones, and although I am as happy as possible, my heart still turns to those who have heretofore been all and everything to me, with a warmth of affection at once delightful and very painful.

Aug. 23rd.—There's a ship alongside! A ship headed for England! It reminds me of home and my loved ones, and even though I'm as happy as I can be, my heart still reaches out to those who have always meant everything to me, with a mix of warmth and a bittersweet pain.

Aug. 27th.—Lat. 32° 9′ S., long. 4° 25′ E.—A dead calm! give me any day a storm and a half in preference! It was so miserable—a long heavy swell, without a ripple on the waves; the ship rolled from side to side without advancing one inch; she groaned in all her timbers: the old ‘Marchioness’ appeared to suffer and be as miserable as myself. The calm continued the next day, and the rolling also; the captain kindly allowed the jolly-boat to be lowered, in which some of the Lancers and my husband went out shooting.

Aug. 27th.—Lat. 32° 9′ S., long. 4° 25′ E.—It was completely still! I'd take a storm over this any day! It was just awful—a long, heavy swell with no ripples on the water; the ship rocked side to side without moving forward at all. She creaked in every joint: the old ‘Marchioness’ seemed to feel just as miserable as I did. The calm dragged on the next day, along with the rocking; the captain generously let us take the jolly-boat down, and some of the Lancers along with my husband went out to shoot.

This day, the 28th of August, was the commencement of the shooting season: game was in abundance, and they sought it over the long heavy swell of the glasslike and unrippled sea. The sportsmen returned with forty head of game: in this number was an albatross, measuring nine feet from the tip of one wing to that of the other; a Cape hen, a sea-swallow, with several pintado and other birds.

This day, August 28th, marked the start of the hunting season: there was plenty of game, and they searched for it over the long, smooth expanse of the calm, glassy sea. The hunters came back with forty pieces of game: among them was an albatross with a wingspan of nine feet, a Cape hen, a sea swallow, along with several pintado and other birds.

When the boat returned, it brought good fortune; the wind instantly sprang up, and we went on our way rejoicing. This day a whale was seen at a distance; if it had approached the vessel, a captain of the Lancers had prepared a Congreve rocket for its acceptance.

When the boat got back, it brought good luck; the wind immediately picked up, and we continued on our journey happy. That day, a whale was spotted in the distance; if it had come closer to the ship, a Lancers captain had a Congreve rocket ready for it.

Sept. 1st.—We spoke a Dutchman off the Cape, looking in a very pitiable condition: the same gale which had damaged her overtook us, and blew heavily and disagreeably for three[10] days. The weather was very cold and wet, and we felt disappointed at not touching at the Cape.

Sept. 1st.—We encountered a Dutchman off the Cape, who looked to be in a very bad state: the same storm that had harmed her caught up with us and blew hard and unpleasantly for three[10] days. The weather was really cold and rainy, and we felt let down for not stopping at the Cape.

Sept. 10th.—Lat. 36° 43′ S., lon. 45° 30′ W., ther. 64°.—Another calm, and another battue: the gentlemen returned from the watery plain with great éclat, bringing seven albatross, thirty pintados, a Cape hen, and two garnets. One of the albatross, which was stuffed for me, measured fifty-three inches from head to tail, and nine feet ten inches across the wings.

Sept. 10th.—Lat. 36° 43′ S., lon. 45° 30′ W., temp. 64°.—Another calm day, and another hunt: the guys came back from the wet plain with a lot of excitement, bringing seven albatrosses, thirty pintados, a Cape hen, and two garnets. One of the albatrosses that was stuffed for me measured fifty-three inches from head to tail and nine feet ten inches across the wings.

Sept. 20th.—In the evening we passed St. Paul’s and Amsterdam, but the haziness of the weather prevented our seeing them. This, the most southerly point of our voyage, was also the coldest. The cold was really painful.

Sept. 20th.—In the evening, we passed St. Paul’s and Amsterdam, but the foggy weather kept us from seeing them. This was the southernmost point of our trip, and it was also the coldest. The chill was actually painful.

Sept. 23.—A school[10] of twenty or thirty whales passed near the ship; it was almost a calm; they were constantly on the surface, frolicking and spouting away. They were, the sailors said, of the spermaceti order, which are smaller in size, and do not spout so high as the larger race. I was disappointed. Two of the officers of the Lancers rowed within ten yards of a large whale, and fired a Congreve rocket into its body; the whale gave a spring and dived instantly. The rocket would explode in a few seconds and kill him: a good prize for the first ship that falls in with the floating carcase. They fired at another, but the rocket exploded under water and came up smoking to the surface. The boat returned safely to the ship, but it was rather a nervous affair.

Sept. 23.—A school[10] of twenty or thirty whales swam near the ship; the water was almost calm; they were often at the surface, playing and spouting. According to the sailors, these were from the spermaceti family, which are smaller and don’t spout as high as the larger species. I was disappointed. Two of the Lancer officers rowed within ten yards of a large whale and shot a Congreve rocket into its body; the whale leaped and immediately dived. The rocket would explode in a few seconds, likely killing it: a valuable find for the first ship that comes across the floating carcass. They aimed at another, but the rocket detonated underwater and surfaced smoking. The boat made it back safely to the ship, but it was a rather tense situation.

Sept. 25th.—Another calm allowed of more shooting, and great was the slaughter of sea game. I must make an extract from Colonel Luard’s work, speaking of a battle that took place on the 10th:—“The Cape hen was a large fierce black bird, and only having its wing broken, tried to bite every person’s legs in the boat. When she was placed on the ship’s quarter-deck, a small terrier belonging to one of the officers attacked her, and they fought for some time with uncertain advantage; the bloody streams from the dog proving the severity of the bird’s bite: at last the terrier seized his adversary by the throat, when the battle and the bird’s life ended together. In lat. 4° 13′ S., long.[11] 93° 11′ E., the thermometer in the sun standing at 130°, and in the shade 97°, two small birds, in every respect resembling the English swallow, came about the ship. One of them was caught, and died; the other (probably in hopes of rejoining its companion) remained with the ship fourteen or fifteen days, frequently coming into the cabins and roosting there during the night. It was at last missing; and, not being an aquatic bird, perhaps met a watery death.”

Sept. 25th.—Another calm day allowed for more shooting, and there was a significant kill of sea game. I need to quote Colonel Luard’s work about a battle that happened on the 10th:—“The Cape hen was a large, fierce black bird, and although it only had a broken wing, it tried to bite everyone’s legs in the boat. When it was placed on the ship’s quarter-deck, a small terrier belonging to one of the officers attacked it, and they fought for some time with no clear winner; the bloody streams from the dog showed how severe the bird’s bite was. Finally, the terrier grabbed the bird by the throat, ending both the battle and the bird’s life. In lat. 4° 13′ S., long.[11] 93° 11′ E., with the thermometer reading 130° in the sun and 97° in the shade, two small birds that looked exactly like English swallows came near the ship. One was caught and died; the other (likely hoping to find its companion) stayed with the ship for fourteen or fifteen days, often coming into the cabins and roosting there at night. Eventually, it went missing; and since it wasn’t an aquatic bird, it probably met a watery end.”

During the time of the battue on the third day, three sharks were astern; we caught one that had a young one by her side. When opened on deck, a family of twenty-four were found, each about twelve or fourteen inches long; the mother measured seven feet. The shark is said to swallow its young when in peril, and to disgorge them when the danger has passed. The curious birds and fish we see relieve the tedium of the voyage.

During the battue on the third day, we had three sharks behind us; we caught one that was accompanied by a young one. When we opened it up on deck, we found a total of twenty-four young sharks inside, each measuring about twelve or fourteen inches long; the mother was seven feet long. It’s said that sharks swallow their young when they're in danger and then spit them out once it's safe. The interesting birds and fish we encounter help break up the monotony of the journey.

We now looked impatiently for the end of our passage, and counted the days like schoolboys expecting their vacation. It was amusing to hear the various plans the different people on board intended to pursue on landing—all too English by far for the climate to which they were bound.

We now waited eagerly for the end of our journey and counted the days like kids anticipating their school break. It was funny to hear the different plans that the passengers onboard had for when we arrived—all way too typically English for the kind of place we were heading to.

The birds were numerous south of the tropics; we saw few within them. The flying-fish are never found beyond the tropics.

The birds were plentiful south of the tropics; we saw very few within them. The flying fish are never found outside the tropics.

Oct. 11th.—Lat. 4° 20′ S., long. 93° 11′ E.—The heat was very great; the vertical sun poured down its sickening rays, the thermometer in the shade of the coolest cabin 86°; not a breath of air; we felt severely the sudden change of temperature. The sails flapped against the mast, and we only made progress seventeen knots in the twenty-four hours! Thus passed eleven days—the shower bath kept us alive, and our health was better than when we quitted England. M. mon mari, who was studying Persian, began to teach me Hindostanee, which afforded me much pleasure.

Oct. 11th.—Lat. 4° 20′ S., long. 93° 11′ E.—The heat was intense; the blazing sun beat down with unbearable intensity, the thermometer in the shade of the coolest cabin read 86°; there wasn't a hint of a breeze; we really felt the sudden change in temperature. The sails slapped against the mast, and we made just seventeen knots in the entire day! Eleven days passed like this—the shower kept us cool, and our health was better than when we left England. My husband, who was studying Persian, started teaching me Hindostanese, which I enjoyed a lot.

In spite of the calm there was gaiety on board; the band played delightfully, our fellow-passengers were agreeable, and the calm evenings allowed of quadrilles and waltzing on the deck, which was lighted up with lanterns and decorated with flags.

In spite of the calm, there was a lively atmosphere on board; the band played beautifully, our fellow passengers were pleasant, and the quiet evenings made it possible to dance quadrilles and waltzes on the deck, which was lit up with lanterns and decorated with flags.

We spoke the ‘Winchelsea,’ which had quitted the Downs[12] seven days before us and experienced heavy weather off the Cape: it was some consolation to have been at sea a shorter time than our companion. But little sickness was on board; a young private of the Lancers fell overboard, it was supposed, during a squall, and was lost; he was not even missed until the next day: a sick Lancer died, and a little child also; they were buried at sea: the bill of health was uncommonly good. A burial at sea, when first witnessed, is very solemn and impressive.

We were on the ‘Winchelsea,’ which had left the Downs[12] seven days before us and had faced rough weather off the Cape: it was somewhat comforting to know we had been at sea for a shorter time than our companion. There was little sickness on board; a young private from the Lancers fell overboard, apparently during a squall, and was lost; he wasn't even noticed missing until the next day. A sick Lancer died, and a small child also; they were buried at sea: the health report was unusually good. Witnessing a burial at sea for the first time is very solemn and impactful.

We passed an English ship—the Lancer band played “God save the King,” the vessel answered with three cheers. It was painful to meet a homeward-bound ship; it reminded me of home, country, and, dearer still, of friends. The sailors have a superstition, that sharks always follow a ship when a corpse is on board: the night after the man fell overboard, the Lancer and the child died; the day they were buried three sharks were astern. I thought of the sailors’ superstition; no sharks had been seen alongside for three weeks. The sunsets on and near the line are truly magnificent, nothing is more glorious—the nights are beautiful, no dew, no breeze, the stars shining as they do on a frosty night at home, and we are gasping for a breath of air! A sea-snake about a yard and a half long was caught—many turtle were seen, but they sank the moment the boat approached them. A subscription lottery was made; the person whose ticket bears the date of our arrival at Saugor will win the amount.

We passed an English ship—the Lancer band played “God Save the King,” and the crew responded with three cheers. It was hard to see a ship heading home; it reminded me of home, my country, and, even more, my friends. The sailors have a superstition that sharks always follow a ship when there’s a dead body on board: the night after the man fell overboard, both the Lancer and the child died; on the day they were buried, three sharks were trailing behind us. I thought about the sailors’ superstition; there hadn’t been any sharks in sight for three weeks. The sunsets on and around the equator are truly stunning; nothing is more beautiful—the nights are lovely, no dew, no breeze, and the stars shining like they do on a chilly night at home, yet we are gasping for a breath of air! A sea snake about a yard and a half long was caught—many turtles were spotted, but they sank as soon as the boat approached. A subscription lottery was organized; whoever has the ticket with the date of our arrival at Saugor will win the prize.

Oct. 22nd.—Becalmed for eighteen days! not as when off the Cape; there it was cool, with a heavy swell, here there is no motion, the sun vertical, not a breath of air, the heat excessive. At length a breeze sprang up, and we began to move: one day during the calm we made seven knots in the twenty-four hours, and those all the wrong way!

Oct. 22nd.—Stuck in the same place for eighteen days! It wasn’t like being off the Cape; there it was cool with big waves, but here there's no movement at all. The sun is directly overhead, there's not a whisper of wind, and the heat is overwhelming. Finally, a breeze picked up, and we started to move: one day during the calm, we managed to cover seven knots in twenty-four hours, and it was all in the wrong direction!

“Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.”

Our voyage advanced very slowly, and the supply of fresh[13] water becoming scanty, we were all put on short allowance; any thing but agreeable under so hot a sun. Captain Kay determined to make the land, and water the ship, and made signals to our companion, the ‘Winchelsea,’ to that effect.

Our journey progressed very slowly, and since our supply of fresh[13] water was running low, we were all put on limited rations; which was anything but pleasant under such a hot sun. Captain Kay decided to reach land and replenish the ship with water, signaling our companion, the ‘Winchelsea,’ to that effect.

Oct. 30th.—To our great delight we arrived at, and anchored off, Carnicobar, one of the Nicobar Islands, lat. 9° 10′ N., long. 92° 56′ E. Boats were immediately sent on shore to a small village, where the landing was good, and two springs of delicious water were found for the supply of the ship.

Oct. 30th.—We were thrilled to arrive at and anchor off Carnicobar, one of the Nicobar Islands, at latitude 9° 10′ N and longitude 92° 56′ E. Boats were immediately sent to a small village where the landing was good, and we found two springs of delicious water to supply the ship.


[14]

[14]

CHAPTER II.
CARNICOBAR.

“A HANDSOME SISTER, WITH A MAT FOR A PETTICOAT[11].”

“A beautiful sister, wearing a mat as a petticoat[11].”

1822, October.—Appearance and Attire of the Islanders—Canoes—Visit to their Village—Ornaments of the Natives—Departure from the Island—The Andamans—Anchorage at Saugor—The Hoogly—Arrival in Calcutta.

1822, October.—Looks and Clothing of the Islanders—Canoes—Visit to Their Village—Native Ornaments—Leaving the Island—The Andamans—Anchorage at Saugor—The Hoogly—Arriving in Calcutta.

The island where we landed was covered to the edge of the sand of the shore with beautiful trees; scarcely an uncovered or open spot was to be seen. Off the ship the village appeared to consist of six or eight enormous bee-hives, erected on poles and surrounded by high trees; among these, the cocoa-nut, to an English eye, was the most remarkable.

The island we landed on was lined with beautiful trees all the way to the sandy shore; hardly a bare spot was visible. From the ship, the village looked like it was made up of six or eight huge beehives, raised on poles and surrounded by tall trees; among them, the coconut tree stood out the most to an English observer.

CAR NICOBAR.

CAR NICOBAR.

On Stone by Major Parlby. From an original drawing by Col.ˡ J. Luard.

On Stone by Major Parlby. From an original drawing by Col. J. Luard.

The ship was soon surrounded by canoes filled with natives; two came on board. The ladies hastened on deck, but quickly scudded away, not a little startled at beholding men like Adam when he tasted the forbidden fruit: they knew not they were naked, and they were not ashamed. I returned to my cabin. The stem of the vessel was soon encircled by canoes filled with limes, citrons, oranges, cocoa-nuts, plantains, yams, eggs, chickens, little pigs, and various kinds of fruit. The sight of these temptations soon overcame my horror at the want of drapery of the islanders, and I stood at the port bargaining for what I wished to obtain until the floor was covered. Our traffic was thus conducted—I held up an empty jam-pot, and received in return a basket full of citrons; for two empty phials, a couple of fowls; another couple of fowls were given in[15] exchange for an empty tin case that held portable soup; the price of a little pig was sixpence, or an old razor: they were eager at first for knives, but very capricious in their bargains: the privates of the Lancers had glutted the market. On my holding up a clasp-knife, the savage shook his head. I cut off the brass rings from the window-curtains,—great was the clamour and eagerness to possess them. On giving a handful to one of the men, he counted them carefully, and then fitted them on his fingers. The people selected those they approved, returned the remainder, and gave me fruit in profusion. Even curtain-rings soon lost their charm—my eye fell on a basket of shells, the owner refused by signs all my offers—he wanted some novelty: at length an irresistible temptation was found—an officer of the Lancers cut off three of the gay buttons from his jacket, and offered them to the savage, who handed up the shells.

The ship was soon surrounded by canoes packed with locals; two came on board. The women rushed on deck but quickly ran away, quite startled to see men like Adam after he ate the forbidden fruit: they didn’t realize they were naked, and they weren’t ashamed. I went back to my cabin. The back of the ship was soon surrounded by canoes filled with limes, citrons, oranges, coconuts, plantains, yams, eggs, chickens, little pigs, and various types of fruit. The sight of these tempting goods quickly made me forget my shock at the islanders’ lack of clothing, and I stood at the side of the ship negotiating for what I wanted until the floor was covered. Our trading was straightforward—I held up an empty jam jar and got a basket full of citrons in return; for two empty bottles, I received a couple of chickens; another two chickens were given in exchange for an empty tin that had held portable soup; a little pig cost sixpence or an old razor: they were initially keen for knives but very unpredictable in their deals: the soldiers had flooded the market. When I held up a pocket knife, the local shook his head. I took off the brass rings from the window curtains—there was much excitement and eagerness to get them. When I gave a handful to one of the men, he counted them carefully and then slipped them onto his fingers. The people chose the ones they liked, returned the rest, and gave me plenty of fruit. Even the curtain rings soon lost their appeal—I spotted a basket of shells, but the owner wouldn’t accept any of my offers—he wanted something unique: finally, an irresistible temptation was found—an officer from the Lancers cut off three of the colorful buttons from his jacket and offered them to the local, who then handed over the shells.

“Figurez-vous,” said the Lancer, “the Carnicobarbarian love of that fellow, matted with straw and leaves from the waist to the knee, decked with three Lancer buttons suspended round her neck by a cocoa-nut fibre, and enraptured with the novelty and beauty of the tout ensemble!!”

“Can you believe it,” said the Lancer, “the Carnicobarbarian love of that guy, tangled with straw and leaves from the waist to the knee, adorned with three Lancer buttons hanging around her neck by a coconut fiber, and totally captivated by the novelty and beauty of the whole thing!!”

The dress, or rather the undress of the men was very simple; a handkerchief tied round the waist and passed between the limbs so as to leave the end hanging like a tail: some wore a stripe of plantain-leaf bound fillet-like round their heads; the necks of the chiefs were encircled either with silver wire in many rings, or a necklace of cowries.

The outfit, or really the lack of outfit, of the men was very simple; a handkerchief tied around the waist and pulled between the legs so it hung down like a tail: some wore a strip of plantain leaves bound around their heads like a headband; the chiefs had their necks adorned either with silver wire in several rings or a necklace made of cowrie shells.

One of the canoes which came from a distant part of the island was the most beautiful and picturesque boat I ever saw; it contained twenty-one men, was paddled with amazing swiftness, and gaily decorated. Of the canoes, some were so narrow that they had bamboo outriggers to prevent their upsetting. The natives appeared an honest, inoffensive race, and were much pleased with the strangers. After dinner it was proposed to go on shore in the cool of the evening: the unmarried ladies remained on board. I could not resist a run on a savage island, and longed to see the women, and know how they were treated.[16] Really the dark colour of the people serves very well as dress, if you are not determined to be critical. On landing, I was surrounded by women chattering and staring; one pulled my bonnet, but above all things they were charmed with my black silk apron; they greatly admired, and took it in their hands. They spoke a few words of English, and shook hands with me, saying, “How do? how do?” and when they wished to purchase my apron they seized it rather roughly, saying, “You buy? you buy?” meaning, Will you sell it? they were kind after the mode Nicobar.

One of the canoes that came from a far corner of the island was the most beautiful and picturesque boat I’ve ever seen; it had twenty-one men, was paddled with incredible speed, and was brightly decorated. Some of the canoes were so narrow that they had bamboo outriggers to keep them from tipping over. The locals seemed like a genuine, harmless people and were quite happy to see the newcomers. After dinner, it was suggested that we go ashore in the cool of the evening, while the unmarried women stayed on the boat. I couldn’t resist exploring a wild island; I was eager to see the women and find out how they were treated.[16] Honestly, the dark skin of the people serves just as well as clothing, unless you’re set on being critical. When I landed, I was surrounded by women chatting and staring; one of them tugged at my bonnet, but what fascinated them the most was my black silk apron; they admired it greatly and handled it with curiosity. They spoke a few words of English and shook my hand, saying, “How do? how do?” When they wanted to buy my apron, they grabbed it a bit roughly, saying, “You buy? you buy?” meaning, Will you sell it? They were friendly in their own Nicobarese way.

The natives are of low stature, their faces ugly, but good-humoured; they are beautifully formed, reminding one of ancient statues; their carriage is perfectly erect. A piece of cloth is tied round the waists of the women, which reaches to the knee. Some women were hideous: of one the head was entirely shaved, excepting where a black lock was left over either ear, of which the lobes were depressed, stretched out, and cut into long slips, so that they might be ornamented with bits of coloured wood that were inserted. She had the elephantiasis, and her limbs were swollen to the size of her waist. They are very idle; in fact, there appears no necessity for exertion—fruits of all sorts grow wild, pigs are plentiful, and poultry abundant. Tobacco was much esteemed. Silver they prized very much, and called coin of all sorts and sizes dollars—a sixpence or a half-crown were dollars. The only apparent use they have for silver is to beat it out into thick wire, which they form into spiral rings by twisting it several times round the finger. Rings are worn on the first and also on the middle joint of every finger, and on the thumb also. Bracelets formed after the same fashion wind from the wrist half-way up the arms. Rings ornament all their toes, and they wear half-a-dozen anklets. The same silver wire adorns the necks of the more opulent of the men also. They are copper-coloured, with straight black hair; their bodies shine from being rubbed with cocoa-nut oil, which smells very disagreeably. Their huts are particularly well built. Fancy a great bee-hive beautifully and most carefully thatched, twelve feet in diameter, raised on poles about five feet[17] from the ground; to the first story you ascend by a removeable ladder of bamboo; the floor is of bamboo, and springs under you in walking; the side opposite the entrance is smoked by a fire: a ladder leads to the attic, where another elastic floor completes the habitation. They sit or lie on the ground. Making baskets appears to be their only manufacture.

The locals are short with unappealing faces, but they're friendly; they have well-proportioned bodies that resemble ancient statues, and they stand tall. The women wear a piece of cloth tied around their waists that reaches their knees. Some women are very unattractive; one had her head completely shaved except for a black lock over each ear, with her earlobes stretched and cut into long strips for decorating with bits of colored wood. She suffered from elephantiasis, and her limbs were swollen to match the size of her waist. They are quite lazy, as there seems to be no need for hard work—fruits grow wild, pigs are plentiful, and there’s abundance of poultry. They highly value tobacco. Silver is particularly prized, and they refer to all types of coins as dollars—even a sixpence or a half-crown is considered a dollar. The main use they have for silver is to flatten it into thick wire, which they twist several times around their fingers to make spiral rings. They wear rings on their first and middle joints of every finger, and on their thumbs too. Bracelets made in the same style wrap around from their wrists halfway up their arms. Their toes are adorned with rings, and they wear multiple anklets. Wealthier men also decorate their necks with the same silver wire. Their skin is copper-colored, and they have straight black hair; their bodies shine from being rubbed with coconut oil, which has a very unpleasant smell. Their huts are particularly well-constructed. Imagine a large beehive that is beautifully and carefully thatched, about twelve feet in diameter, elevated on poles about five feet from the ground; you access the first floor via a removable bamboo ladder. The floor is made of bamboo, which bounces as you walk, and the side opposite the entrance is blackened by smoke from a fire. A ladder leads to the attic, where another flexible floor completes the living space. They either sit or lie on the ground. Basket weaving seems to be their only craft.

From constantly chewing the betel-nut, their teeth are stained black, with a red tinge, which has a hideous effect. I picked up some beautiful shells on the shore, and bartered with the women for their silver wire rings.

From constantly chewing betel nut, their teeth are stained black with a hint of red, which looks pretty grotesque. I collected some beautiful shells on the beach and traded them with the women for their silver wire rings.

The colours of my shawl greatly enchanted Lancour, one of their chief men; he seized it rather roughly, and pushing three fowls, tied by the legs, into my face, said, “I present, you present.” As I refused to agree to the exchange, one of the officers interfered, and Lancour drew back his hand evidently disappointed.

The colors of my shawl really captivated Lancour, one of their main guys; he grabbed it somewhat roughly and, shoving three chickens tied by their legs into my face, said, “I give this, you give that.” When I declined to accept the trade, one of the officers stepped in, and Lancour pulled back his hand, clearly disappointed.

The gentlemen went on shore armed in case of accidents; but the ship being in sight all was safe. I have since heard that two vessels, which were wrecked on the island some years afterwards, were plundered, and the crews murdered.

The men went ashore armed just in case something went wrong; but since the ship was in sight, everything was safe. I later heard that two ships, which wrecked on the island a few years later, were robbed and the crews were killed.

Many of the most beautiful small birds were shot by the officers. As for foliage, you can imagine nothing more luxuriant than the trees bending with fruits and flowers. No quadrupeds were to be seen but dogs and pigs; there are no wild beasts on the island. They say jackals, alligators, and crabs are numerous: the natives were anxious the sailors should return to the ship at night, and as they remained late, the Nicobars came down armed with a sort of spear; they were cautious of the strangers, but showed no fear, and told the men to come again the next day. It must be dangerous for strangers to sleep on shore at night, on account of the dense fog, so productive of fever.

Many of the most beautiful small birds were shot by the officers. As for the foliage, you can’t imagine anything more lush than the trees bending under the weight of fruits and flowers. The only animals you could see were dogs and pigs; there were no wild beasts on the island. They say jackals, alligators, and crabs are plentiful: the locals wanted the sailors to return to the ship at night, and since they stayed out late, the Nicobarese came down armed with a kind of spear; they were cautious around the strangers but showed no fear, and invited the men to come back the next day. It must be risky for outsiders to sleep on the shore at night due to the thick fog, which is known to cause fever.

The scene was beautiful at sunset; the bright tints in the sky contrasted with the deep hue of the trees; the shore covered with men and boats; the bee-hive village, and the novelty of the whole. Many of the savages adorned with European jackets,[18] were strutting about the vainest of the vain, charmed with their new clothing; Lancour was also adorned with a cocked-hat! The woman who appeared of the most consideration, perhaps the queen of the island, wore a red cap shaped like a sugar-loaf, a small square handkerchief tied over one shoulder, like a monkey mantle, and a piece of blue cloth round her hips; a necklace of silver wire, with bracelets, anklets, and rings on the fingers and toes without number. The pigs proved the most delicate food; they were very small, and fattened on cocoa-nuts: the poultry was excellent.

The scene was stunning at sunset; the bright colors in the sky contrasted with the deep green of the trees; the shore was filled with people and boats; the bustling village, and the overall excitement of it all. Many of the locals, dressed in European jackets,[18] were strutting around proudly, thrilled with their new outfits; Lancour also sported a cocked hat! The woman who seemed to have the highest status, perhaps the queen of the island, wore a red cap shaped like a sugar loaf, a small square handkerchief tied over one shoulder like a cape, and a piece of blue cloth wrapped around her hips; she had a necklace made of silver wire, along with numerous bracelets, anklets, and rings on her fingers and toes. The pigs were the most delicately flavored food; they were very small and fattened on coconuts: the poultry was excellent.

The natives make a liquor as intoxicating as gin from the cocoa-nut tree, by cutting a gash in the bark and collecting the juice in a cocoa-nut shell, which they suspend below the opening to receive it; it ferments and is very strong—the taree or toddy of India.

The locals produce a drink as strong as gin from the coconut tree by making a cut in the bark and gathering the sap in a coconut shell, which they hang underneath the cut to collect it; it ferments and becomes very potent—known as taree or toddy in India.

Little did I think it would ever have been my fate to visit such an uncivilized island, or to shake hands with such queer looking men; however, we agreed very well, and they were quite pleased to be noticed: one man, who made us understand he was called Lancour, sat down by my side, and smoked in my face by way of a compliment. They delight in tobacco, which they roll up in a leaf, and smoke in form of a cigar. I cannot refrain from writing about these people, being completely island struck.

Little did I think I would ever end up visiting such an uncivilized island or shaking hands with such strange-looking men; however, we got along really well, and they were quite happy to be acknowledged. One man, who let us know his name was Lancour, sat next to me and smoked right in my face as a sort of compliment. They love tobacco, which they roll up in a leaf and smoke like a cigar. I can’t help but write about these people since I’m completely taken by the island.

It was of importance to the ‘Winchelsea,’ in which there were a hundred and twenty on the sick list, to procure fruit and vegetables, as the scurvy had broken out amongst the crew.

It was crucial for the ‘Winchelsea,’ which had a hundred and twenty people on the sick list, to get fruit and vegetables, as scurvy had broken out among the crew.

We landed, Oct. 30th, and quitted the island, Nov. 2nd, with a fair wind: all the passengers on board were in good spirits, and the ship presented a perfect contrast to the time of the calm.

We landed on October 30th and left the island on November 2nd with a nice breeze. All the passengers on board were in good spirits, and the ship was a complete contrast to the previous calm.

Nov. 3rd.—We passed the Andaman Islands, whose inhabitants are reported to have a fondness for strangers of a nature different to the Carnicobarbarians,—they are Cannibals!

Nov. 3rd.—We passed the Andaman Islands, where the locals are said to be welcoming to outsiders in a way that's different from the Carnicobarbarians—they're Cannibals!

A steady, pleasant monsoon urged us bravely onwards: a[19] passing squall caught us, which laid the vessel on her side, carried away the flying jib, and split the driver into shreds: the next moment it was quite calm.

A consistent, nice monsoon pushed us forward: a[19] sudden storm hit us, tipping the boat on its side, ripping away the flying jib, and tearing the driver into pieces: then, in an instant, everything became totally calm.

7th.—We fell in with the Pilot Schooner, off the Sandheads, the pilot came on board, bringing Indian newspapers and fresh news.

7th.—We met up with the Pilot Schooner near the Sandheads, and the pilot came on board with Indian newspapers and the latest news.

10th.—We anchored at Saugor.—Here we bade adieu to our fellow-passengers, and the old ‘Marchioness of Ely:’ perhaps a more agreeable voyage was never made, in spite of its duration, nearly five months.

10th.—We anchored at Saugor.—Here we said goodbye to our fellow passengers and the old ‘Marchioness of Ely.’ It was possibly the most enjoyable voyage we've ever taken, despite lasting nearly five months.

Our neighbours, in the stern cabin, very excellent people, and ourselves, no less worthy, hired a decked vessel, and proceeded up the Hoogly; that night we anchored off Fulta, and enjoyed fine fresh new milk, &c.; the next tide took us to Budge-Budge by night, and the following morning we landed at Chandpaul Ghaut, Calcutta.

Our neighbors in the stern cabin, who are really great people, and we, equally deserving, rented a decked boat and headed up the Hoogly. That night we anchored near Fulta and enjoyed some nice fresh milk, and so on. The next tide took us to Budge-Budge at night, and the following morning we arrived at Chandpaul Ghaut in Calcutta.

The Hoogly is a fine river, but the banks are very low; the most beautiful part, Garden Reach, we passed during the night. The first sight of the native fishermen in their little dinghees is very remarkable. In the cold of the early morning, they wrap themselves up in folds of linen, and have the appearance of men risen from the dead. Many boats passed us which looked as if

The Hoogly is a beautiful river, but its banks are really low; the prettiest part, Garden Reach, we saw at night. The first glimpse of the local fishermen in their small boats is quite striking. In the cold of the early morning, they wrap themselves in layers of cloth, looking like men who have just come back to life. Many boats passed us that seemed as if

“By skeleton forms the sails were furled,
And the hand that steered was not of this world.”

13th.—In the course of a few hours after our arrival, a good house was taken for us, which being sufficiently large to accommodate our companions, we set up our standards together in Park-street, Chowringhee, and thus opened our Indian campaign.

13th.—A few hours after we arrived, we found a nice house that was big enough for all of us. We set up our banners together on Park Street, Chowringhee, and kicked off our campaign in India.


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[20]

CHAPTER III.
Life in India.

“I HAVE SEEN BENGAL: THERE THE TEETH ARE RED AND THE MOUTH IS BLACK[12].”

“I'VE SEEN BENGAL: THE TEETH ARE RED AND THE MOUTH IS BLACK[12].”

1822, November.—Calcutta—First Impressions—Style of Indian Houses—Furniture—Mats—Arabs—Departure of the Marquis of Hastings—Fogs—Christmas-Day—Indian Servants—The Sircar—Thieves—The Hot Winds—Pankhās—Fire-flies—North-Westers—The Foliage—Musquitoes—Elephantiasis—Insects—The Chŭrŭk Pooja—Religious Mendicants.

1822, November.—Calcutta—First Impressions—Style of Indian Homes—Furniture—Mats—Arabs—Departure of the Marquis of Hastings—Fogs—Christmas Day—Indian Servants—The Sircar—Thieves—The Hot Winds—Pankhās—Fireflies—North-Westers—The Foliage—Mosquitoes—Elephantiasis—Insects—The Chŭrŭk Pooja—Religious Beggars.

The four troops of the 16th Lancers, from the ‘Ely,’ disembarked, and encamped on the glacis of Fort William; the ‘General Hewitt,’ with the remainder of the regiment, did not arrive until six weeks afterwards, having watered at the Cape.

The four troops of the 16th Lancers, from the ‘Ely,’ got off the ship and set up camp on the slope of Fort William; the ‘General Hewitt,’ along with the rest of the regiment, didn't arrive until six weeks later, having stopped for water at the Cape.

Calcutta has been styled the City of Palaces, and it well deserves the name. The Government House stands on the Maidān, near the river; the city, and St. Andrew’s Church, lie behind it; to the left is that part called Chowringhee, filled with beautiful detached houses, surrounded by gardens; the verandahs, which generally rise from the basement to the highest story, give, with their pillars, an air of lightness and beauty to the buildings, and protecting the dwellings from the sun, render them agreeable for exercise in the rainy season.

Calcutta is known as the City of Palaces, and it absolutely deserves that title. The Government House sits on the Maidān, close to the river; the city and St. Andrew’s Church are located behind it; to the left is Chowringhee, filled with stunning standalone houses surrounded by gardens. The verandahs, which typically extend from the basement to the top floor, lend an airy and beautiful vibe to the buildings, and by shielding the homes from the sun, make them pleasant for outdoor activities during the rainy season.

The houses are all stuccoed on the outside, and seem as if built of stone. The rent of unfurnished houses in Chowringhee is very high; we gave 325 rupees a month for ours, the larger ones are from 4 to 500 per month.

The houses are all covered in stucco on the outside and look like they're made of stone. The rent for unfurnished houses in Chowringhee is quite high; we pay 325 rupees a month for ours, while the larger ones go for 400 to 500 rupees a month.

[21]

[21]

The style of an Indian house differs altogether from that of one in England.

The style of an Indian house is completely different from that of one in England.

The floors are entirely covered with Indian matting, than which nothing can be cooler or more agreeable. For a few weeks, in the cold season, fine Persian carpets, or carpets from Mirzapore are used. The windows and doors are many; the windows are to the ground, like the French; and, on the outside, they are also protected by Venetian windows of the same description. The rooms are large and lofty, and to every sleeping-apartment a bathing-room is attached. All the rooms open into one another, with folding-doors, and pankhās are used during the hot weather. The most beautiful French furniture was to be bought in Calcutta of M. de Bast, at whose shop marble tables, fine mirrors, and luxurious couches were in abundance. Very excellent furniture was also to be had at the Europe shops, made by native workmen under the superintendence of European cabinet and furniture makers; and furniture of an inferior description in the native bazaars.

The floors are completely covered with Indian matting, which is cooler and more pleasant than anything else. For a few weeks during the colder season, fine Persian carpets or carpets from Mirzapore are used. There are many windows and doors; the windows stretch to the ground like French ones, and on the outside, they are also protected by Venetian blinds of the same style. The rooms are spacious and airy, with a bathroom attached to every bedroom. All the rooms connect to each other with folding doors, and ceiling fans are used during the hot weather. The most beautiful French furniture could be bought in Calcutta from M. de Bast's shop, where marble tables, fine mirrors, and luxurious couches were plentiful. Excellent furniture was also available at the European shops, made by local craftsmen under the supervision of European cabinet and furniture makers, and lower-quality furniture could be found in the local bazaars.

On arriving in Calcutta, I was charmed with the climate; the weather was delicious; and nothing could exceed the kindness we experienced from our friends. I thought India a most delightful country, and could I have gathered around me the dear ones I had left in England, my happiness would have been complete. The number of servants necessary to an establishment in India, is most surprising to a person fresh from Europe: it appeared the commencement of ruin. Their wages are not high, and they find themselves in food; nevertheless, from their number, the expense is very great.

On arriving in Calcutta, I was enchanted by the climate; the weather was wonderful, and the kindness we received from our friends was beyond anything. I thought India was a truly delightful country, and if I could have gathered my loved ones from England around me, my happiness would have been complete. The number of servants needed for a household in India is quite surprising to someone coming from Europe: it seemed like the start of financial trouble. Their wages aren't high, and they provide their own food; however, because there are so many, the overall cost is very high.

The Sircar.

A very useful but expensive person in an establishment is a sircar; the man attends every morning early to receive orders, he then proceeds to the bazaars, or to the Europe shops, and brings back for inspection and approval, furniture, books, dresses, or whatever may have been ordered: his profit is a heavy per centage on all he purchases for the family.

A very useful but pricey person in a place is a sircar; he shows up early every morning to take orders, then goes to the markets or European shops and returns with furniture, books, clothes, or whatever else has been requested for inspection and approval. He makes a significant profit on everything he buys for the family.

SIRCAR.

SIRCAR.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

فاني پارکس

One morning our sircar, in answer to my having observed that[22] the articles purchased were highly priced, said, “You are my father and my mother, and I am your poor little child: I have only taken two annas in the rupee, dustoorie.”

One morning, our boss, in response to my comment that the things we bought were really expensive, said, “You are like my mother and father, and I’m just your poor little child: I’ve only taken two annas on the rupee, dustoorie.”

This man’s language was a strong specimen of Eastern hyperbole: one day he said to me, “You are my mother, and my father, and my God!” With great disgust, I reproved him severely for using such terms, when he explained, “you are my protector and my support, therefore you are to me as my God.” The offence was never repeated. The sketch of “the sircar” is an excellent representation of one in Calcutta: they dress themselves with the utmost care and most scrupulous neatness in white muslin, which is worn exactly as represented; and the turban often consists of twenty-one yards of fine Indian muslin, by fourteen inches in breadth, most carefully folded and arranged in small plaits; his reed pen is behind his ear, and the roll of paper in his hand is in readiness for the orders of the sāhib. The shoes are of common leather; sometimes they wear them most elaborately embroidered in gold and silver thread and coloured beads. All men in India wear mustachoes; they look on the bare faces of the English with amazement and contempt. The sircar is an Hindoo, as shown by the opening of the vest on the right side, and the white dot, the mark of his caste, between his eyes.

This man had a strong flair for Eastern exaggeration: one day he said to me, “You are my mother, my father, and my God!” I was quite taken aback and scolded him for using such words, to which he replied, “You are my protector and support, so to me, you are like my God.” He never made that mistake again. The sketch of “the sircar” perfectly represents someone in Calcutta: they dress with extreme care and impeccable neatness in white muslin, just like shown; the turban often uses twenty-one yards of fine Indian muslin, fourteen inches wide, meticulously folded and arranged in small pleats; a reed pen is tucked behind his ear, and the roll of paper in his hand is ready for the orders of the sāhib. The shoes are made of regular leather; sometimes they’re elaborately embroidered with gold and silver thread and colored beads. All men in India sport mustaches; they gaze at the bare faces of the English with astonishment and disdain. The sircar is a Hindu, as indicated by the opening of the vest on the right side and the white dot, the mark of his caste, between his eyes.

Dustoorie is an absolute tax. The durwān will turn from the gate the boxwallas, people who bring articles for sale in boxes, unless he gets dustoorie for admittance. If the sāhib buy any article, his sirdar-bearer will demand dustoorie. If the mem sāhiba purchase finery, the ayha must have her dustoorie—which, of course, is added by the boxwalla to the price the gentleman is compelled to pay.

Dustoorie is a total rip-off. The gatekeeper will turn away the box sellers, those who bring items for sale in boxes, unless he gets a bribe for letting them in. If the gentleman buys anything, his chief servant will ask for a tip. If the lady buys something fancy, the maid also needs her tip—which, of course, the box seller adds to the price that the gentleman has to pay.

Dustoorie is from two to four pice in the rupee; one anna, or one sixteenth of the rupee is, I imagine, generally taken. But all these contending interests are abolished, if the sircar purchase the article: he takes the lion’s share. The servants hold him in great respect, as he is generally the person who answers for their characters, and places them in service.

Dustoorie is worth two to four pice in the rupee; one anna, or one sixteenth of the rupee, is usually accepted. However, all these conflicting interests disappear if the sircar buys the item: he takes the largest portion. The servants hold him in high regard, as he is typically the one who vouches for their reputations and secures their jobs.

It appeared curious to be surrounded by servants who, with[23] the exception of the tailor, could not speak one word of English; and I was forced to learn to speak Hindostanee.

It was strange to be surrounded by servants who, except for the tailor, couldn't say a single word in English; so I had to learn to speak Hindostanee.

To a griffin, as a new comer is called for the first year, India is a most interesting country; every thing appears on so vast a scale, and the novelty is so great.

To a newcomer, known as a griffin for their first year, India is a fascinating country; everything seems to be on such a grand scale, and the novelty is overwhelming.

In December, the climate was so delightful, it rendered the country preferable to any place under the sun; could it always have continued the same, I should have advised all people to flee unto the East.

In December, the weather was so amazing that it made the country better than anywhere else on earth; if it could have stayed that way forever, I would have urged everyone to head East.

My husband gave me a beautiful Arab, Azor by name, but as the Sā’īs always persisted in calling him Aurora, or a Roarer, we were obliged to change his name to Rajah. I felt very happy cantering my beautiful high-caste Arab on the race-course at 6 A.M., or, in the evening, on the well-watered drive in front of the Government House. Large birds, called adjutants, stalk about the Maidān in numbers; and on the heads of the lions that crown the entrance arches to the Government House, you are sure to see this bird (the hargilla or gigantic crane) in the most picturesque attitudes, looking as if a part of the building itself.

My husband got me a beautiful Arabian horse named Azor, but since the stable hands kept calling him Aurora, or a Roarer, we had to change his name to Rajah. I felt really happy riding my gorgeous high-bred Arab at the racetrack at 6 AM or in the evening on the well-kept drive in front of the Government House. Large birds called adjutants roam the Maidān in large numbers, and on the heads of the lions that sit at the entrance of the Government House, you can always spot this bird (the hargilla or giant crane) in the most picturesque poses, looking like part of the building itself.

The arrival of the 16th Lancers, and the approaching departure of the Governor-general, rendered Calcutta extremely gay. Dinner parties and fancy balls were numerous; at the latter, the costumes were excellent and superb.

The arrival of the 16th Lancers and the upcoming departure of the Governor-General made Calcutta very lively. There were many dinner parties and fancy balls; at the balls, the outfits were amazing and stunning.

Dec. 16th.—The Marquis of Hastings gave a ball at the Government-house, to the gentlemen of the Civil and Military Services, and the inhabitants of Calcutta; the variety of costume displayed by Nawābs, Rajahs, Mahrattas, Greeks, Turks, Armenians, Mussulmāns, and Hindoos, and the gay attire of the military, rendered it a very interesting spectacle. Going to the ball was a service of danger, on account of the thickness of one of those remarkable fogs so common an annoyance during the cold season at the Presidency. It was impossible to see the road, although the carriage had lights, and two mashalchees, with torches in their hands, preceded the horses; but the glare of the mashals, and the shouts of the men, prevented our meeting with any accident in the dense cloud by which we were surrounded.

Dec. 16th.—The Marquis of Hastings hosted a ball at the Government House for the gentlemen of the Civil and Military Services and the residents of Calcutta. The diverse costumes worn by Nawābs, Rajahs, Mahrattas, Greeks, Turks, Armenians, Muslims, and Hindus, along with the bright uniforms of the military, made it a fascinating event. Getting to the ball was risky due to the thickness of one of those notable fogs that are a common nuisance during the cold season at the Presidency. It was impossible to see the road, even with the carriage lights and the two mashalchees with torches leading the horses. However, the bright light from the torches and the shouts of the men helped us avoid any accidents in the dense fog surrounding us.

[24]

[24]

Palanquins were novel objects; the bearers go at a good rate; the pace is neither walking nor running, it is the amble of the biped, in the style of the amble taught the native horses, accompanied by a grunting noise that enables them to keep time. Well-trained bearers do not shake the pālkee. Bilees, hackeries, and khraunchies, came in also for their share of wonder.

Palanquins were new and interesting objects; the bearers move at a good pace; it’s not quite walking or running, but more like the relaxed stride taught to local horses, along with a grunting sound that helps them stay in sync. Well-trained bearers don’t jostle the palanquin. Bilees, hackeries, and khraunchies also added to the sense of wonder.

So few of the gentry in England can afford to keep riding-horses for their wives and daughters, that I was surprised, on my arrival in Calcutta, to see almost every lady on horseback; and that not on hired hacks, but on their own good steeds. My astonishment was great one morning, on beholding a lady galloping away, on a fiery horse, only three weeks after her confinement. What nerves the woman must have had!

So few wealthy people in England can afford to have riding horses for their wives and daughters that I was surprised, when I arrived in Calcutta, to see almost every woman on horseback; and not on rented horses, but on their own good ones. I was really astonished one morning when I saw a woman galloping away on a spirited horse, just three weeks after giving birth. What incredible nerves that woman must have had!

Dec. 16th.—The Civil Service, the military, and the inhabitants of Calcutta, gave a farewell ball to the Marquis and Marchioness of Hastings, after which the Governor-general quitted India.

Dec. 16th.—The Civil Service, the military, and the people of Calcutta threw a farewell ball for the Marquis and Marchioness of Hastings, after which the Governor-General left India.

On Christmas-day the servants adorned the gateways with hārs, i.e. chaplets, and garlands of fresh flowers. The bearers and dhobees brought in trays of fruit, cakes, and sweetmeats, with garlands of flowers upon them, and requested bakhshish, probably the origin of our Christmas-boxes. We accepted the sweetmeats, and gave some rupees in return.

On Christmas Day, the servants decorated the entrances with wreaths and fresh flower garlands. The workers and laundrymen brought in trays of fruit, cakes, and candies, all decorated with flower garlands, and asked for tips, which might be the origin of our Christmas boxes. We accepted the sweets and gave them some rupees in return.

They say that, next to the Chinese, the people of India are the most dexterous thieves in the world; we kept a durwān, or porter at the gate, two chaukidārs (watchmen), and the compound (ground surrounding the house) was encompassed by a high wall.

They say that, next to the Chinese, the people of India are the most skilled thieves in the world; we had a durwān, or porter, at the gate, two chaukidārs (watchmen), and the area around the house was surrounded by a high wall.

1823. Jan. 12th.—There was much talking below amongst the bearers; during the night the shout of the chaukidārs was frequent, to show they were on the alert; nevertheless, the next morning a friend, who was staying with us, found that his desk with gold mohurs and valuables in it, had been carried off from his room, together with some clothes and his military cloak. We could not prove the theft, but had reason to believe it was perpetrated by a khansāmān (head table servant) whom we had discharged, connived at by the durwān and chaukidārs.

1823. Jan. 12th.—There was a lot of chatter below among the bearers; throughout the night, the shout of the watchmen was frequent, to indicate they were on the lookout. However, the next morning a friend who was staying with us discovered that his desk containing gold mohurs and valuable items had been stolen from his room, along with some clothes and his military cloak. We couldn't prove the theft, but we suspected it was carried out by a head servant (khansāmān) we had dismissed, with the help of the doorman and watchmen.

[25]

[25]

March 20th.—I have now been four months in India, and my idea of the climate has altered considerably; the hot winds are blowing; it is very oppressive; if you go out during the day, I can compare it to nothing but the hot blast you would receive in your face, were you suddenly to open the door of an oven.

March 20th.—I have now been four months in India, and my view of the climate has changed a lot; the hot winds are blowing; it’s really stifling; if you go out during the day, it feels just like being hit in the face with the heat when you open the door of an oven.

The evenings are cool and refreshing; we drive out late; and the moonlight evenings at present are beautiful; when darkness comes on, the fire-flies illuminate the trees, which appear full of flitting sparks of fire; these little insects are in swarms; they are very small and ugly, with a light like the glow-worm’s in the tail, which, as they fly, appears and suddenly disappears: how beautifully the trees in the adjoining grounds are illuminated at night, by these little dazzling sparks of fire!

The evenings are cool and refreshing; we go out late; and the moonlit nights right now are stunning; when darkness falls, the fireflies light up the trees, which look like they’re full of flickering sparks; these tiny bugs come in swarms; they are really small and not very pretty, with a glow like the glow-worm’s in their tails, which appears and vanishes as they fly: how beautifully the trees in the nearby grounds are lit up at night by these little dazzling sparks!

The first sight of a pankhā is a novelty to a griffin. It is a monstrous fan, a wooden frame covered with cloth, some ten, twenty, thirty, or more feet long, suspended from the ceiling of a room, and moved to and fro by a man outside by means of a rope and pullies, and a hole in the wall through which the rope passes; the invention is a native one; they are the greatest luxuries, and are also handsome, some being painted and gilt, the ropes covered with silk, and so shaped or scooped, as to admit their vibratory motion without touching the chandeliers, suspended in the same line with the pankhā, and when at rest, occupying the space scooped out. In the up country, the pankhā is always pulled during the night over the chārpāī or bed.

The first time a griffin sees a pankhā, it's quite a sight. It's a huge fan, a wooden frame covered with fabric, measuring ten, twenty, thirty feet or more, hanging from the ceiling of a room. A person outside operates it by pulling a rope through a hole in the wall using pulleys. This unique invention is local, and it represents luxury; they can be beautifully decorated, some painted and gilded, with the ropes wrapped in silk and designed to move back and forth without hitting the chandeliers aligned with the pankhā. When not in motion, it fits perfectly in the carved-out space. In rural areas, the pankhā is always pulled at night over the chārpāī or bed.

The weather is very uncertain; sometimes very hot, then suddenly comes a north-wester, blowing open every door in the house, attended with a deluge of heavy rain, falling straight down in immense drops: the other evening it was dark as night, the lightning blazed for a second or two, with the blue sulphureous light you see represented on the stage; the effect was beautiful; the forked lightning was remarkably strong; I did not envy the ships in the bay.

The weather is really unpredictable; sometimes it's super hot, and then out of nowhere, a northwesterly wind comes in, slamming every door in the house, accompanied by a torrential downpour, with huge drops falling straight down. The other evening it was as dark as night, the lightning flashed for a second or two, with that blue, sulfurous light you see in theater productions; the effect was stunning; the forked lightning was incredibly intense; I definitely did not envy the ships in the bay.

The foliage of the trees, so luxuriously beautiful and so novel, is to me a source of constant admiration. When we girls used to laugh at the odd trees on the screens, we wronged the Chinese in imagining they were the productions of fancy; the whole[26] nation was never before accused of having had a fanciful idea, and those trees were copied from nature, as I have found from seeing the same in my drives and rides around Calcutta. The country is quite flat, but the foliage very fine and rich. The idleness of the natives is excessive; for instance, my ayha will dress me, after which she will go to her house, eat her dinner, and then returning, will sleep in one corner of my room on the floor for the whole day. The bearers also do nothing but eat and sleep, when they are not pulling the pankhās.

The leaves on the trees are incredibly beautiful and unique, and I can’t help but admire them constantly. Back when we girls used to laugh at the strange trees on the screens, we were unfair to the Chinese by thinking they were purely imaginative creations; the entire nation has never been accused of having fanciful ideas. Those trees are based on real life, as I've seen when driving and riding around Calcutta. The area is mostly flat, but the greenery is really vibrant and lush. The laziness of the locals is quite remarkable; for example, my ayha will dress me, then go home, have her lunch, and afterward come back to sleep in a corner of my room on the floor for the entire day. The bearers also do nothing but eat and sleep when they're not fanning me.

Some of the natives are remarkably handsome, but appear far from being strong men. It is impossible to do with a few servants, you must have many; their customs and prejudices are inviolable; a servant will do such and such things, and nothing more. They are great plagues; much more troublesome than English servants. I knew not before the oppressive power of the hot winds, and find myself as listless as any Indian lady is universally considered to be; I can now excuse, what I before condemned as indolence and want of energy—so much for experience. The greatest annoyance are the musquito bites; it is almost impossible not to scratch them, which causes them to inflame, and they are then often very difficult to cure: they are to me much worse than the heat itself; my irritable constitution cannot endure them.

Some of the locals are really good-looking, but they don’t seem very strong. It’s impossible to get by with just a few servants; you need a lot. Their customs and biases are strict; a servant will do certain tasks and nothing else. They can be a real hassle; much more annoying than English servants. I hadn’t realized before how oppressive the hot winds can be, and I now feel as uninspired as any Indian woman is often thought to be; I can now understand what I previously judged as laziness and lack of energy—experience changes things. The biggest annoyance is the mosquito bites; it’s nearly impossible not to scratch them, which makes them inflamed, and they can be really hard to heal afterward. To me, they’re way worse than the heat itself; my sensitive constitution just can’t handle them.

The elephantiasis is very common amongst the natives, it causes one or both legs to swell to an enormous size, making the leg at the ankle as large as it is above the knee; there are some deplorable objects of this sort, with legs like those of the elephant—whence the name. Leprosy is very common; we see lepers continually. The insects are of monstrous growth, such spiders! and the small-lizards are numerous on the walls of the rooms, darting out from behind pictures, &c. Curtains are not used in Calcutta, they would harbour musquitoes, scorpions, and lizards.

Elephantiasis is very common among the locals; it causes one or both legs to swell to an enormous size, making the ankle as thick as the leg above the knee. There are some truly unfortunate individuals with legs resembling those of an elephant—hence the name. Leprosy is also widespread; we constantly see lepers. The insects are massive, especially the spiders! Small lizards are plentiful on the walls of the rooms, darting out from behind pictures, etc. Curtains are not used in Calcutta since they would attract mosquitoes, scorpions, and lizards.

The Chŭrŭk Pooja.

THE CHŬRŬK PŪJĀ

THE CHŬRŬK PUJA

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

فاني پارکس

The other day, hearing it was a Burra Din, (day of festival in honour of the goddess Kālee, whose temple is about a mile and a[27] half from Calcutta,) I drove down in the evening to Kālee Ghaut, where, had not the novelty of the scene excited my curiosity, disgust would have made me sick. Thousands of people were on the road, dressed in all their gayest attire, to do honour to the festival of the Chŭrŭk Pooja, the swinging by hooks. Amongst the crowd, the most remarkable objects were several Voiragee mendicants; their bodies were covered with ashes, their hair clotted with mud and twisted round their heads; they were naked all but a shred of cloth. One man had held up both arms over his head until they had withered and were immoveable, the nails of the clenched fists had penetrated through the back of the hands, and came out on the other side like the claws of a bird. To fulfil some vow to Vishnoo this agony is endured, not as a penance for sin, but as an act of extraordinary merit. At first the pain must be great, but it ceases as the arms become benumbed. A man of this description is reckoned remarkably holy, having perfect dependence upon God for support, being unable, his arms having become immoveable, to carry food to his mouth or assist himself. Two or three other mendicants who were present had only one withered arm raised above their heads. Some Hindoos of low caste, either for their sins or for money, had cut three or four gashes in the muscular part of the arm, and through these gashes they kept running a sword, dancing violently all the time to hideous music; others ran bamboos as thick as three fingers through the holes in the arm, dancing in the same manner. One man passed a spit up and down through the holes, another a dagger, and a third had a skewer through his tongue.

The other day, I heard it was a Burra Din (a festival day honoring the goddess Kālee, whose temple is about a mile and a[27] half from Calcutta), so I drove down to Kālee Ghaut in the evening. If the novelty of the scene hadn't piqued my curiosity, I would have felt sickened. Thousands of people filled the road, dressed in their brightest clothes to celebrate the Chŭrŭk Pooja, the swinging by hooks. Among the crowd, the most striking figures were several Voiragee beggars; their bodies were covered in ashes, and their hair was matted with mud and twisted around their heads. They wore nothing except a small piece of cloth. One man had held his arms above his head for so long that they had withered and were unable to move; the nails of his clenched fists had pierced the backs of his hands, sticking out like a bird's claws. He endured this agony to fulfill a vow to Vishnoo, not as penance for sin but as an act of great merit. At first, the pain must be intense, but it fades as the arms become numb. A person like this is considered extremely holy, completely relying on God for support since he can no longer bring food to his mouth or help himself. Two or three other beggars nearby had only one withered arm raised above their heads. Some low-caste Hindus, either for their sins or for money, had made three or four cuts in the muscle of their arms, and through these wounds, they would repeatedly run a sword, dancing vigorously to horrible music; others pierced their arms with bamboos as thick as three fingers, dancing in the same way. One man moved a spit back and forth through the holes, another used a dagger, and a third had a skewer through his tongue.

A little further on were three swinging posts erected in this fashion; a post some thirty feet in height was crossed at the top by a horizontal bamboo, from one end of which a man was swinging, suspended by a rope, from the other end another rope was fastened to a horizontal pole below, which was turned by men running round like horses in a mill. The man swung in a circle of perhaps thirty feet diameter, supported by four iron hooks, two through the flesh of his back, and two in that of his chest, by which, and a small bit of cloth across the breast, he was entirely supported: he carried a bag in one hand, from[28] which he threw sweetmeats and flowers to the populace below. Some men swing with four hooks in the back and four on the chest without any cloth, eight hooks being considered sufficient to support the body. The man I saw swinging looked very wild, from the quantity of opium and bengh he had taken to deaden the sense of pain. Bengh is an intoxicating liquor, which is prepared with the leaves of the Gánja plant (Cannabis Indica).

A little further on were three swinging posts set up like this; a post about thirty feet high was crossed at the top by a horizontal bamboo, from one end of which a man was swinging, hanging by a rope. From the other end, another rope was attached to a horizontal pole below, which was turned by men running in circles like horses in a mill. The man swung in a circle of about thirty feet in diameter, supported by four iron hooks, two in his back and two in his chest. With just those and a small piece of cloth across his chest, he was completely supported. He held a bag in one hand, from which he tossed sweet treats and flowers to the crowd below. Some men swing with four hooks in their back and four on their chest without any cloth—eight hooks are considered enough to support the body. The man I saw swinging looked really out of it, likely from the amount of opium and bengh he had taken to numb the pain. Bengh is an intoxicating drink made from the leaves of the Gánja plant (Cannabis Indica).

Hindoos of the lower castes are very fond of this amusement, accidental deaths occasioned by it are reckoned about three per cent. Sometimes four men swing together for half an hour; some in penance for their own sins; some for those of others, richer men, who reward their deputies and thus do penance by proxy.

Hindus from the lower castes really enjoy this activity, and it's estimated that accidental deaths from it happen around three percent of the time. Sometimes, four people swing together for half an hour; some do it as penance for their own sins, while others do it for richer people, who pay their representatives and effectively do penance through them.

Khraunchies full of nāch girls were there in all their gaily-coloured dresses and ornaments, as well as a number of respectable men of good caste.

Khraunchies packed with dance girls were there in all their brightly colored outfits and jewelry, along with several respectable men of good standing.

I was much disgusted, but greatly interested.

I was really grossed out, but also really intrigued.

Sentries from the Calcutta militia were stationed round the swings to keep off the crowd.

Sentries from the Calcutta militia were positioned around the swings to keep the crowd away.

The men on the mound at the foot of the second swing run round with the bamboo frame which is connected with the pole, at the summit of which are the cross bamboos. As they proceed, the four men above swing merrily on their hooks, scattering flowers and sweetmeats on the people, and repeating verses and portions of the shāstrs.

The men at the base of the second swing are running around the bamboo framework that’s attached to the pole, with cross bamboo at the top. As they move, the four men above happily swing on their hooks, tossing flowers and treats to the crowd while reciting verses and sections from the scriptures.


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[29]

CHAPTER IV.
Residence in Kolkata.

“DEBT IS A MAN’S HUSBAND[13].”

"DEBT IS A MAN'S WIFE__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__."

“i.e. A man in debt is always at the mercy of his creditors, as a woman at her husband’s.”

“i.e. A man in debt is always at the mercy of his creditors, just like a woman is with her husband.”

1823.—Baboo Ramohun Roy—Nāch girls—Children in India—Sickness in the Fort—The Rains—Vessels for a Voyage on the Ganges—Indian Fever—Arrival of Lord Amherst—Introduction of Steam-boats on the Hoogly—Interest of Money in Calcutta—Robberies—Jamh o Deen, Prince of Mysore—The Doorga Pooja—Images of Clay—the Races—Chinese Screens—The Dog Crab.

1823.—Baboo Ramohun Roy—Dance girls—Kids in India—Illness in the Fort—The Monsoon—Boats for a trip on the Ganges—Indian Fever—Lord Amherst's arrival—Introduction of steam boats on the Hooghly—Interest rates in Calcutta—Thefts—Jamh o Deen, Prince of Mysore—The Doorga Pooja—Clay idols—Horse racing—Chinese screens—The Dog Crab.

1823, May.—The other evening we went to a party given by Ramohun Roy, a rich Bengallee baboo; the grounds, which are extensive, were well illuminated, and excellent fireworks displayed.

1823, May.—The other evening we attended a party thrown by Ramohun Roy, a wealthy Bengali gentleman; the large grounds were beautifully lit up, and there were impressive fireworks.

In various rooms of the house nāch girls were dancing and singing. They wear a petticoat measuring, on dit, one hundred yards in width, of fine white or coloured muslin, trimmed with deep borders of gold and silver; full satin trousers cover the feet; the doputta, or large veil, highly embroidered, is worn over the head, and various ornaments of native jewellery adorn the person.

In different rooms of the house, the nāch girls were dancing and singing. They wear petticoats that are said to measure one hundred yards in width, made of fine white or colored muslin, trimmed with deep borders of gold and silver; full satin trousers cover their feet; the doputta, or large veil, which is highly embroidered, is worn over their heads, and various pieces of native jewelry adorn their bodies.

They dance, or rather move in a circle, attitudinizing and making the small brass bells fastened to their ankles sound in unison with their movements. Several men attended the women, playing on divers curiously-shaped native instruments.

They dance, or more accurately, move in a circle, posing and making the small brass bells attached to their ankles ring in sync with their movements. Several men accompanied the women, playing various uniquely shaped traditional instruments.

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[30]

The style of singing was curious; at times the tones proceeded finely from their noses; some of the airs were very pretty; one of the women was Nickee, the Catalani of the East. Indian jugglers were introduced after supper, who played various tricks, swallowed swords, and breathed out fire and smoke. One man stood on his right foot, and putting his left leg behind his back, hooked his left foot on the top of his right shoulder; just try the attitude pour passer le temps. The house was very handsomely furnished, everything in European style, with the exception of the owner.

The singing style was interesting; sometimes the notes came through their noses quite nicely; some of the melodies were really lovely; one of the women was Nickee, the Catalani of the East. Indian jugglers were brought in after dinner, who performed various tricks, swallowed swords, and breathed out fire and smoke. One guy stood on his right foot, and with his left leg behind his back, hooked his left foot on top of his right shoulder; just try that pose pour passer le temps. The house was very nicely furnished, everything in European style, except for the owner.

The children of Europeans in India have a pale sickly hue, even when they are in the best of health; very different from the chubby brats of England.

The kids of Europeans in India have a pale, sickly look, even when they're in good health; completely different from the chubby little ones in England.

All the Indian fruits appear very large, and a new comer thinks them inferior in point of flavour to the European; as for the far-famed mangoes, I was disgusted with them, all those to be had at that time in Calcutta being stringy, with a strong taste of turpentine.

All the Indian fruits look really big, and a newcomer thinks they taste worse than the European ones; as for the famous mangoes, I was disappointed with them. All the ones available at that time in Calcutta were stringy and had a strong turpentine flavor.

The fort is spacious and handsome, but very hot from the ramparts that surround it. The 44th Queen’s have lost three officers by death, nine more have returned to England on sick certificate, and three hundred of the privates are in hospital; this in six months! The mortality amongst the privates has been dreadful, owing, I believe, to the cheapness of spirituous liquors, and exposure to the sun.

The fort is large and impressive, but it's really hot on the ramparts surrounding it. The 44th Queen’s have lost three officers to death, nine more have gone back to England due to illness, and three hundred of the enlisted members are in the hospital; all of this happened in just six months! The death rate among the enlisted personnel has been terrible, which I believe is due to the availability of cheap alcoholic drinks and exposure to the sun.

Port or sherry is seldom seen on table, during the hot weather; Madeira is not much used; Burgundy, Claret, and light French wines are very rationally preferred.

Port or sherry is rarely found on the table during hot weather; Madeira isn't used much either; Burgundy, Claret, and light French wines are more commonly preferred.

Where the climate is so oppressive, what are luxuries indeed at home, are here necessary to health and existence; to walk is impossible, even the most petty Europe shop-keeper in Calcutta has his buggy, to enable him to drive out in the cool of the evening.

Where the climate is so harsh, what are luxuries at home are here essential for health and survival; walking is impossible, even the smallest shopkeeper from Europe in Calcutta has his buggy to help him get out in the cool of the evening.

June 1st.—This is the first day of the month; the morning has been very hot, but at this moment the rain is descending, as if the windows of heaven were again opened to deluge the earth; the thunder rolls awfully, and the forked lightning[31] is very vivid. I never heard such peals of thunder in Europe. No one here appears to think about it; all the houses have conductors, and as the storm cools the air, it is always welcomed with pleasure by those on shore.

June 1st.—This is the first day of the month; the morning has been really hot, but right now the rain is coming down, as if the heavens have opened up to flood the earth; the thunder is rolling loudly, and the lightning[31] is very bright. I've never heard such loud thunder in Europe. No one here seems to be worried about it; all the houses have lightning rods, and since the storm cools the air, it's always welcomed with joy by those on shore.

Our friends who are going to Lucnow have hired their boats, an absolute fleet! I must describe the vessels.

Our friends heading to Lucknow have rented their boats, an entire fleet! I need to describe the vessels.

1st. A very fine sixteen-oared pinnace, containing two excellent cabins, fitted up with glazed and Venetian windows, pankhās, and two shower-baths. In this vessel our friend, his lady, and their infant, will be accommodated.

1st. A very nice sixteen-oared boat, with two great cabins, outfitted with glass and Venetian windows, fans, and two shower-baths. In this vessel, our friend, his wife, and their baby will be accommodated.

2dly. A dinghee for the cook, and provisions.

2dly. A small boat for the cook, and supplies.

3rdly. An immense baggage boat, containing all their furniture.

3rdly. A huge cargo boat, filled with all their furniture.

4thly. A vessel for the washerman, his wife, and the dogs.

4thly. A container for the laundry worker, his wife, and the dogs.

5thly. A large boat with horses. 6thly. A ditto. What a number of boats for one family! The hire of the pinnace is twenty rupees a-day, about 2l.; the other boats are also very expensive. They will be three or four months before they arrive at Lucnow; they quitted us the 12th of June.

5thly. A big boat with horses. 6thly. The same. What a lot of boats for one family! The rental for the small boat is twenty rupees a day, about £2; the other boats are also really pricey. They'll take three or four months to get to Lucknow; they left us on June 12th.

I have now become acquainted with the three seasons in India; the cold weather, the hot winds, and the rains. The last have set in; it is quite warm; nevertheless, the rains descend in torrents for some hours daily: pankhās are still necessary.

I have now gotten to know the three seasons in India: the cold weather, the hot winds, and the rainy season. The rains have begun; it's quite warm, yet the downpours come in heavy bursts for several hours each day: fans are still needed.

The natives are curious people; my ayha was very ill yesterday, and in great pain, she would take no medicine unless from a doctor of her own caste; brandy was prescribed; she would not take it, said it was very wicked to drink it, that she would sooner die; therefore I was obliged to leave her to her fate, and sent her home to her friends; she is a good and honest servant.

The locals are quite curious; my caregiver was really sick yesterday and in a lot of pain. She refused to take any medicine unless it was from a doctor of her own caste. They suggested brandy, but she wouldn’t drink it, saying it was wrong to do so and that she would rather die. So, I had to leave her to her own devices and sent her back to her family. She is a good and honest worker.

In July, my husband was seized with one of those terrific Indian fevers, which confined him to his bed about fourteen days; he got up looking very transparent and ghostlike, and in a state of great debility, from which he was some time in recovering. Happily, he was saved from a premature epitaph.

In July, my husband came down with one of those awful Indian fevers that kept him in bed for about two weeks; when he finally got up, he looked really pale and ghostly, and he was extremely weak, from which it took him a while to recover. Fortunately, he was spared a premature gravestone.

[32]

[32]

I had great trouble with the servants, with the exception of five of them; a speech made by the ayha is worthy of record:—“It would be a great pity if the sāhib should die, for then—we should all lose our places!”—symptoms of fine feelings!

I had a lot of trouble with the servants, except for five of them; a comment made by the ayha is worth noting: “It would be such a shame if the sāhib died, because then—we would all lose our jobs!”—real signs of sensitivity!

Lord Amherst arrived, and we attended a party given to those over whom he had come to reign.

Lord Amherst arrived, and we went to a party held for those he had come to rule.

There is much talk here of a passage to India by steam. “Cœlum ipsum petimus stultitiâ,” which means, “On veut prendre la lune par les cornes.” Heaven forefend that I should find myself in a steam-boat, in a fine rolling sea and a brisk gale, off the Cape. I should not hesitate to give the preference to the twelve hundred ton ship. Some of the old rich Indians, as they are called at home, will have full opportunity to try its safety before my time is come. We have, however, established a steam-boat upon the Hoogly, which goes about four knots against tide; something prodigious in a river where the tide runs like lightning, and with tremendous force.

There’s a lot of talk here about a steam route to India. “Cœlum ipsum petimus stultitiâ,” which means, “We want to grab the moon by the horns.” Heaven forbid I end up on a steamship in a rough sea and a strong wind off the Cape. I would definitely prefer a twelve-hundred-ton ship. Some of the old wealthy Indians, as they’re called back home, will have plenty of chances to test its safety before my time comes. However, we have set up a steamboat on the Hoogly that travels about four knots against the tide, which is impressive for a river where the tide moves like lightning and with tremendous force.

At this time we became anxious for an appointment up the country, at a cooler and healthier station than Calcutta, far removed from the damp, low, swampy country of Bengal Proper.

At this time, we grew eager for a trip to the countryside, to a cooler and healthier place than Calcutta, far away from the damp, low, swampy areas of Bengal Proper.

August 29th.—The Governor-general and Lady Amherst are great favourites in Calcutta; the latter renders herself particularly agreeable to her guests at the Government-house. The new Governor-general is so economical he has discharged a number of servants, quenched a number of lamps; on dit, he intends to plant potatoes in the park at Barrackpore; people are so unaccustomed to anything of the sort in India, that all this European economy produces considerable surprise.

August 29th.—The Governor-General and Lady Amherst are very popular in Calcutta; she makes herself especially pleasant for her guests at Government House. The new Governor-General is quite frugal; he has let go of several servants and dimmed many lights. Rumor has it that he plans to plant potatoes in the park at Barrackpore. People are so unaccustomed to this kind of thing in India that all this European thrift is causing quite a stir.

It happens that in India, as in other places, they have an absurd custom of demanding a certain portion of the precious metals in exchange for the necessaries and luxuries of life, to procure which, if you have them not, you are forced to borrow from agents, the richest dogs in Calcutta: and why? Because, forsooth, they merely require now eight per cent, (formerly ten) added to which, after your debt reaches a certain[33] amount, they oblige you to ensure your life, and in this ticklish country the rate of insurance is very high.

It turns out that in India, just like in other places, there's a ridiculous custom of asking for a certain amount of precious metals in exchange for the basic necessities and luxuries of life. If you don't have these metals, you have to borrow from agents, who are the wealthiest people in Calcutta. And why is that? Because they only ask for a whopping eight percent interest now (it used to be ten). Plus, once your debt reaches a certain amount, they force you to get life insurance, and in this unpredictable country, insurance rates are really high.

In the third place, which to us is the argumentum ad hominem, many and many are the lives that have been sacrificed, because poor miserable invalids have been unable from their debts to leave India. Interest—horrible interest—soon doubles the original sum, and a man is thus obliged to pay the debt three or four times over, and after that he may put by a fortune to support him in his native land.

In the third place, which we see as the argumentum ad hominem, countless lives have been sacrificed because struggling, sick individuals couldn't escape India due to their debts. The interest—terrible interest—quickly doubles the original amount, forcing a person to repay the debt three or four times, and after that, he might save enough to support himself back in his homeland.

Do not suppose I am painting; this is the plain fact, of which almost every month furnishes an example.

Do not think I'm painting; this is the plain truth, which almost every month provides a clear example of.

A man on first arrival (a griffin) cannot or will not comprehend that “one and one make eleven[14].”

A man upon first arriving (a griffin) cannot or will not understand that “one and one make eleven[14].”

Sept. 7th.—Since our arrival we have been annoyed with constant robbery in the house. Seventy rupees were stolen one day, and now they have carried off about eighteen silver covers that are used to put over tumblers and wine-glasses to keep out the flies; in consequence we have discharged our Ooriah bearers, who we suspect are the thieves, and have taken a set of up country men.

Sept. 7th.—Since we got here, we've been dealing with nonstop theft in the house. One day, seventy rupees were stolen, and now they’ve taken about eighteen silver covers that we use to cover tumblers and wine glasses to keep the flies out. As a result, we've let go of our Ooriah bearers, whom we suspect are the thieves, and hired a group of men from the countryside.

Oct. 1st.—We have had a singular visitor, Shahzadah Zahangeer Zaman Jamh o Deen Mahomud, Prince of Mysore, the son of Tippoo Sāhib, and one of the two hostages.

Oct. 1st.—We had a unique visitor, Shahzadah Zahangeer Zaman Jamh o Deen Mahomud, Prince of Mysore, the son of Tippoo Sāhib, and one of the two hostages.

He resides in a house near us, and sent us word he would honour us with a visit. The next morning he called, and sat two hours. He had studied English for twelve months. Seeing a bird in a cage, he said, “Pretty bird that, little yellow bird, what you call?”—“A canary bird.” “Yes, canary bird, pretty bird, make fine noise, they not grow here.” In this style we conversed, and I thought my visitor would never depart. I was ignorant of the oriental saying, “Coming is voluntary, but departing depends upon permission[15];” his politesse made him remain awaiting my permission for his departure, whilst I was doubting if the visit would ever terminate. At last he arose, saying, “I take leave now, come gen soon.” The next day he sent[34] three decanters full of sweetmeats, very like the hats and caps that used to be given me in my childish days, mixed with caraway comfits, and accompanied by this note:—

He lives in a house nearby and let us know he would pay us a visit. The next morning he came over and stayed for two hours. He had been studying English for twelve months. Seeing a bird in a cage, he said, “Pretty bird, that little yellow bird, what do you call it?”—“A canary.” “Yes, canary, pretty bird, makes a nice noise, they don’t grow here.” We talked like this, and I thought my visitor would never leave. I didn’t know the saying, “Coming is voluntary, but departing depends upon permission[15];” his politeness made him wait for me to say he could go, while I was wondering if the visit would ever end. Finally, he got up, saying, “I’m leaving now, come again soon.” The next day he sent[34] three decanters filled with sweet treats, quite similar to the hats and caps I used to receive as a child, mixed with caraway candies, along with this note:—

“Some sweetmeats for Missess ⸺ with respectful thanks of P. Jamh o Deen.” I suppose my visitor Prince Jamh o Deen did not understand the difference between compliments and thanks. I did not comprehend why the sweetmeats had been sent, until I was informed it was the custom of the natives to send some little valueless offering after paying a visit, and that it would be considered an insult to refuse it.

“Some treats for Misses ⸺ with respectful thanks from P. Jamh o Deen.” I guess my visitor Prince Jamh o Deen didn’t get the difference between compliments and thanks. I didn’t understand why the treats were sent until I learned it was a local custom to offer a small, trivial gift after a visit, and refusing it would be seen as an insult.

13th.—We went to a nāch at the house of a wealthy Baboo during the festival of the Doorga Pooja or Dasera, held in honour of the goddess Doorga. The house was a four-sided building, leaving an area in the middle; on one side of the area was the image of the goddess raised on a throne, and some Brahmins were in attendance on the steps of the platform. This image has ten arms, in one of her right hands is a spear with which she pierced a giant, with one of the left she holds the tail of a serpent, and the hair of the giant, whose breast the serpent is biting; her other hands are all stretched behind her head, and are filled with different instruments of war. Against her right leg leans a lion, and against her left leg the above giant. In the rooms on one side the area a handsome supper was laid out, in the European style, supplied by Messrs. Gunter and Hooper, where ices and French wines were in plenty for the European guests. In the rooms on the other sides of the square, and in the area, were groups of nāch women dancing and singing, and crowds of European and native gentlemen sitting on sofas or on chairs listening to Hindostanee airs. “The bright half of the month Aswina, the first of the Hindu lunar year, is peculiarly devoted to Doorga. The first nine nights are allotted to her decoration; on the sixth she is awakened; on the seventh she is invited to a bower formed of the leaves of nine plants, of which the Bilwa[16] is the chief. The seventh, eighth, and ninth are the great days, on the last of which the victims are immolated to her honour, and[35] must be killed by one blow only of a sharp sword or axe. The next day the goddess is reverently dismissed, and her image is cast into the river, which finishes the festival of the Dasera.

13th.—We went to a dance at the house of a wealthy Baboo during the festival of Doorga Pooja or Dasera, celebrated in honor of the goddess Doorga. The house was a square building with an open area in the middle; on one side of the area was the image of the goddess placed on a throne, and some Brahmins were attending at the steps of the platform. This image has ten arms; in one of her right hands is a spear with which she killed a giant, and with one of her left hands she holds the tail of a serpent that is biting the giant's chest, while her hair hangs from it; her other hands are all positioned behind her head, each holding various weapons. Leaning against her right leg is a lion, and against her left leg is the giant. In the rooms on one side of the area, a nice supper was set up in European style, provided by Messrs. Gunter and Hooper, where there were plenty of ices and French wines for the European guests. On the other sides of the square, and in the open area, groups of dance performers were dancing and singing, while crowds of European and local gentlemen relaxed on sofas or chairs, listening to Hindostanee melodies. “The bright half of the month Aswina, the first of the Hindu lunar year, is especially dedicated to Doorga. The first nine nights are set aside for her decoration; on the sixth night she is awakened; on the seventh, she is invited to a bower made from the leaves of nine plants, with the Bilwa being the most important. The seventh, eighth, and ninth are the major days, with the last day featuring sacrifices made in her honor, where the victims must be killed with a single blow from a sharp sword or axe. The following day, the goddess is respectfully dismissed, and her image is immersed in the river, marking the end of the Dasera festival.

“On the fifteenth day, that of the full moon, her devotees pass the night in sports and merriment, and games of various sorts: it is unlucky to sleep; for on this night the fiend Nicumbha led his army against Doorga, and Lukshmi, the goddess of prosperity, descended, promising wealth to those who were awake[17].”

“On the fifteenth day, during the full moon, her followers spend the night in fun and celebration, playing different games: it’s considered unlucky to sleep; because on this night, the demon Nicumbha marched his army against Doorga, and Lukshmi, the goddess of prosperity, came down, promising wealth to those who stayed awake[17].”

A short time before this festival, the Sircars employed in Calcutta generally return home to enjoy a holiday of some weeks.

A little while before this festival, the officials working in Calcutta usually head home to take a break for a few weeks.

Immense sums are expended by the wealthy Baboos during the Doorga Pooja.

Immense amounts are spent by the wealthy Baboos during the Durga Puja.

Dec. 2nd.—Would you believe that we sit at this time of the year without pankhās, with closed windows, and our floors carpeted! In some houses, fires are adopted. We have not yet come to this, though I occasionally have found it cold enough to desire one. The mornings are delightful, and the nights so cold, I sleep under a silk counterpane quilted with cotton, called a Rezai.

Dec. 2nd.—Can you believe that we’re sitting here at this time of year without fans, with the windows closed, and our floors covered in carpet? Some homes even have fires going. We haven't started that yet, although there have been times when it’s been cold enough that I wished we did. The mornings are lovely, and the nights are so chilly that I sleep under a silk quilt filled with cotton, called a Rezai.

The natives form images in clay; the countenances are excellent; the eyes, eyelids, and lips move remarkably well; they are very brittle; they represent servants, fakīrs, and natives of all castes: the best, perhaps, are to be procured in or near Calcutta; they are attired according to the fashion of the country, and cost from eight annas to one rupee each.

The locals create figures out of clay; the faces are outstanding; the eyes, eyelids, and lips move quite effectively; they are very fragile; they represent servants, holy men, and people from various backgrounds: the best ones, perhaps, can be found in or around Calcutta; they are dressed in traditional attire and cost between eight annas and one rupee each.

We are in the midst of our gaieties, balls, plays, and parties, agreeably varied. Our first meeting (the races) is held during this month; for we have our Derby, and Oaks, and Riddlesworth. The Riddlesworth is with us a very interesting race, all the riders being gentlemen, and sometimes ten or twelve horses starting. From the stand, of a clear morning, there is a good view of the horses during the whole of their course.

We are in the middle of our fun events, dances, shows, and get-togethers, all pleasantly diverse. Our first gathering (the races) takes place this month; we have our Derby, Oaks, and Riddlesworth. The Riddlesworth is quite an exciting race for us, with all the riders being gentlemen, and sometimes ten or twelve horses compete. From the stands, on a clear morning, you can see the horses for the entire race.

We have just received from China two magnificent screens, of eight panels each; they are exceedingly handsome, and keep[36] out the glare by day and the air by night: I think I may say they are magnificent.

We just got two beautiful screens from China, each with eight panels. They look amazing and block the brightness during the day and the drafts at night. I can confidently say they are stunning.

Amongst the ornaments of the household, let Crab the terrier be also mentioned; he is much like unto a tinker’s dog, but is humorous and good-tempered, plays about, chases cats, and kills rats, not only in the stable, but house, and serves us in the place of a parvulus Æneas.

Among the household decorations, we should also mention Crab the terrier; he's somewhat like a tinker’s dog, but he's funny and easygoing. He runs around, chases cats, and catches rats, not just in the stable but also in the house, and he acts as our little Æneas.


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CHAPTER V.
Residence in Kolkata.

1824—Advantages and Disadvantages—Interest never sleeps—Barrackpore—Cairipoor—The Fakir—The Menagerie—Hyena—Change of residence to Chowringhee road—Mouse and Spotted Deer—Bengallee Goats—Lotteries—Trial by Rice—The Toolsee—Epidemic Fever—Burmese War—Major Sale—Haileybury—The Hooqŭ—Dr. Kitchener—Death of Lord Byron—Early Marriages—Pleasures of the Cold Season—Indian Hospitality—Knack of Fortune-making lost.

1824—Pros and Cons—Interest never sleeps—Barrackpore—Cairipoor—The Fakir—The Zoo—Hyena—Relocation to Chowringhee Road—Mouse and Spotted Deer—Bengal Goats—Lotteries—Trial by Rice—The Toolsee—Epidemic Fever—Burmese War—Major Sale—Haileybury—The Hooqŭ—Dr. Kitchener—Death of Lord Byron—Early Marriages—Pleasures of the Cold Season—Indian Hospitality—Lost the knack for making fortunes.

January, 1824.—The advantages of a residence in Calcutta are these: you are under the eye of the Government, not likely to be overlooked, and are ready for any appointment falling vacant; you get the latest news from England, and have the best medical attendance. On the other hand, you have to pay high house-rent; the necessary expenses are great; and the temptations to squander away money in gratifying your fancies more numerous than in the Mofussil.

January, 1824.—Living in Calcutta has its perks: you’re closely monitored by the Government, making it less likely you'll be ignored, and you'll be ready for any open positions; you receive the latest updates from England and have access to top-notch medical care. On the downside, rent is expensive; everyday costs are high; and there are more temptations to waste money on indulgences than in the countryside.

A friend, now high in the Civil Service, contracted, on his arrival here about eighteen years ago, a debt of 15,000 rupees, about 1500l. or 1800l. Interest was then at twelve per cent. To give security, he insured his life, which, with his agent’s commission of one per cent, made the sum total of interest sixteen per cent. After paying the original debt five times, he hoped his agents upon the last payment would not suffer the interest to continue accumulating. He received for answer, “that interest never slept, it was awake night and day;” and he is now employed in saving enough to settle the balance.

A friend, who is now well-established in the Civil Service, took on a debt of 15,000 rupees, around £1,500 or £1,800, when he arrived here about eighteen years ago. At that time, interest was twelve percent. To secure the loan, he took out a life insurance policy, and with his agent’s one percent commission, the total interest ended up being sixteen percent. After paying off the original debt five times, he hoped that his agents wouldn’t let the interest keep piling up after the last payment. He was told, “Interest never sleeps; it’s awake day and night.” Now, he’s working to save enough to pay off the remaining balance.

I wish much that those who exclaim against our extravagances here, knew how essential to a man’s comfort, to his[38] quiet, and to his health it is, to have every thing good about him—a good house, good furniture, good carriages, good horses, good wine for his friends, good humour; good servants and a good quantity of them, good credit, and a good appointment: they would then be less virulent in their philippics against oriental extravagance.

I really wish that those who criticize our extravagance here understood how important it is for a person’s comfort, peace of mind, and health to have everything good in his life—a nice house, quality furniture, great vehicles, fine horses, good wine for his friends, a cheerful attitude; reliable staff and plenty of them, good credit, and a solid position: then they would be less harsh in their attacks on eastern extravagance.

15th.—The Governor-general has a country residence, with a fine park, at Barrackpore; during the races the Calcutta world assemble there: we went over for a week; it was delightful to be again in the country. Lady Amherst rendered the Government-house gay with quadrilles and displays of fireworks; but I most enjoyed a party we made to see the ruins of an ancient fort, near Cairipoor, belonging to the Rajah of Burdwan, about five miles from Barrackpore, and thought them beautiful.

15th.—The Governor-General has a country house with a nice park at Barrackpore; during the races, everyone from Calcutta gathers there. We went for a week, and it was wonderful to be back in the countryside. Lady Amherst made the Government House lively with dance parties and fireworks; but I really enjoyed a trip we took to see the ruins of an old fort near Cairipoor, owned by the Rajah of Burdwan, about five miles from Barrackpore. I thought they were beautiful.

The road was very bad, therefore I quitted the buggy and mounted an elephant for the first time, feeling half-frightened but very much pleased. I ascended by a ladder placed against the side of the kneeling elephant; when he rose up, it was like a house making unto itself legs and walking therewith.

The road was really rough, so I got out of the buggy and climbed onto an elephant for the first time, feeling a bit scared but also really excited. I climbed up using a ladder that was leaned against the side of the kneeling elephant; when he stood up, it felt like a house growing legs and walking away.

We went straight across the country, over hedges and ditches, and through the cultivated fields, the elephant with his great feet crushing down the corn, which certainly did not “rise elastic from his airy tread.” The fields are divided by ridges of earth like those in salterns at home; these ridges are narrow, and in general, to prevent injury to the crops, the mahout guides the elephant along the ridge: it is curious to observe how firmly he treads on the narrow raised path.

We went straight across the country, over hedges and ditches, and through the cultivated fields, the elephant with his huge feet crushing the corn, which definitely did not “spring back from his light step.” The fields are separated by ridges of earth like those in salt flats back home; these ridges are narrow, and generally, to avoid damaging the crops, the mahout guides the elephant along the ridge: it’s interesting to see how confidently he walks on the narrow raised path.

By the side of the road was a remarkable object:—

By the side of the road was an impressive sight:—

“The appearance of a fakir is his petition in itself[18].” In a small hole in the earth lay a fakir, or religious mendicant; the fragment of a straw mat was over him, and a bit of cloth covered his loins. He was very ill and quite helpless, the most worn emaciated being I ever beheld; he had lain in that hole day and night for five years, and refused to live in a village; his only comfort, a small fire of charcoal, was kindled near[39] his head during the night. Having been forcibly deprived of the property he possessed in the upper provinces, he came to Calcutta to seek redress, but being unsuccessful, he had, in despair, betaken himself to that hole in the earth. An old woman was kindling the fire; it is a marvel the jackals do not put an end to his misery. The natives say, “It is his pleasure to be there, what can we do?” and they pass on with their usual indifference: the hole was just big enough for his body, in a cold swampy soil.

“The appearance of a fakir is his request in itself[18].” In a small hole in the ground lay a fakir, or religious beggar; a frayed straw mat was draped over him, and a piece of cloth covered his lower body. He was very sick and completely helpless, the most worn-down and emaciated person I had ever seen; he had been in that hole day and night for five years and refused to live in a village. His only comfort was a small charcoal fire lit near[39] his head at night. After being forcibly stripped of the property he owned in the upper provinces, he came to Calcutta to seek justice, but when that failed, he, in despair, took refuge in that hole in the ground. An old woman was tending the fire; it’s surprising that the jackals don’t put an end to his suffering. The locals say, “It’s his choice to be there, what can we do?” and they move on with their usual indifference: the hole was just big enough for his body, in a cold, swampy soil.

There is a menagerie in the park at Barrackpore, in which are some remarkably fine tigers and Cheetahs. My ayha requested to be allowed to go with me, particularly wishing to see an hyena. While she was looking at the beast, I said, “Why did you wish to see an hyena?” Laughing and crying hysterically, she answered, “My husband and I were asleep, our child was between us, an hyena stole the child, and ran off with it to the jungle; we roused the villagers, who pursued the beast; when they returned, they brought me half the mangled body of my infant daughter,—that is why I wished to see an hyena.”

There is a zoo in the park at Barrackpore, which has some really impressive tigers and cheetahs. My helper asked if she could come with me, really wanting to see a hyena. While she was watching the animal, I asked, “Why did you want to see a hyena?” Laughing and crying at the same time, she replied, “My husband and I were sleeping with our child between us when a hyena took our child and ran off with it into the jungle; we woke the villagers, who chased the animal; when they came back, they brought me half of my little girl's mangled body,—that’s why I wanted to see a hyena.”

Before we quitted Calcutta, we placed the plate in a large iron treasure chest. A friend, during his absence from home, having left his plate in a large oaken chest, clamped with iron, found, on his return, that the bearers had set fire to the chest to get at the plate, being unable to open it, and had melted the greater part of the silver!

Before we left Calcutta, we put the plate in a large iron treasure chest. A friend, while he was away from home, had left his plate in a large oak chest reinforced with iron. When he returned, he found that the bearers had set fire to the chest to access the plate because they couldn’t open it, and most of the silver had melted!

It appears as if the plan of communicating with India by steam-boats will not end in smoke: a very large bonus has been voted to the first regular company who bring it about, and the sum is so considerable, that I have no doubt some will be bold enough to attempt it.

It seems that the idea of connecting with India using steam boats is not just a pipe dream: a significant bonus has been approved for the first regular company that makes it happen, and the amount is so substantial that I’m sure some will be daring enough to take it on.

In Calcutta, as in every place, it is difficult to suit yourself with a residence. Our first house was very ill defended from the hot winds; the situation of the second we thought low and swampy, and the cause of fever in our household. My husband having quitted college, was gazetted to an appointment in Calcutta, and we again changed our residence for one in Chowringhee road.

In Calcutta, just like anywhere else, it's tough to find a good place to live. Our first house was poorly protected against the hot winds; we thought the location of the second was too low and marshy, which could lead to fevers in our home. After my husband graduated from college, he received a job offer in Calcutta, and we moved again, this time to a place on Chowringhee Road.

[40]

[40]

Prince Jamh o Deen, hearing me express a wish to see what was considered a good nāch, invited me to one. I could not, however, admire the dancing; some of the airs the women sang were very pretty.

Prince Jamh o Deen, hearing me say I wanted to see what was considered a good dance, invited me to one. However, I couldn’t appreciate the dancing; some of the songs the women sang were very nice.

Calcutta was gay in those days, parties numerous at the Government-house, and dinners and fancy balls amongst the inhabitants.

Calcutta was lively back then, with plenty of parties at the Government House and dinners and fancy balls among the locals.

A friend sent me a mouse deer, which I keep in a cage in the verandah; it is a curious and most delicate little animal, but not so pretty as the young pet fawns running about the compound (grounds) with the spotted deer. The cows’ milk generally sold in Calcutta is poor, that of goats is principally used: a good Bengallee goat, when in full milk, will give a quart every morning; they are small-sized, short-legged, and well-bred. The servants milk the goats near the window of the morning room, and bring the bowl full and foaming to the breakfast-table.

A friend sent me a mouse deer, which I keep in a cage on the porch; it’s a cute and very delicate little animal, but not as pretty as the young pet fawns running around the yard with the spotted deer. The cows’ milk usually sold in Calcutta isn’t great, so goat's milk is mostly used: a good Bengali goat, when fully milked, will produce a quart every morning; they’re small, short-legged, and well-bred. The staff milks the goats near the window of the morning room and brings a full, frothy bowl to the breakfast table.

Feb. 27th.—My husband put into one of the smaller lotteries in Calcutta, and won thirteen and a half tickets, each worth 100 rupees: he sent them to his agents, with the exception of one, which he presented to me. My ticket came up a prize of 5000 rupees. The next day we bought a fine high caste grey Arab, whom we called Orelio, and a pair of grey Persian horses.

Feb. 27th.—My husband entered one of the smaller lotteries in Calcutta and won thirteen and a half tickets, each worth 100 rupees. He sent them to his agents, except for one, which he gave to me. My ticket turned out to be a prize of 5000 rupees. The next day, we bought a beautiful high-caste grey Arab horse, which we named Orelio, along with a pair of grey Persian horses.

Feb. 28th.Trial by Rice.—The other day some friends dined with us: my husband left his watch on the drawing-room table when we went to dinner: the watch was stolen, the theft was immediately discovered, and we sent to the police. The moonshee assembled all who were present, took down their names, and appointed that day seven days for a trial by rice, unless, during the time, the watch should be restored, stolen property being often replaced from the dread the natives entertain of the ordeal by rice. On the appointed day the police moonshee returned, and the servants, whom he had ordered to appear fasting, were summoned before him, and by his desire were seated on the ground in a row.

Feb. 28th.Trial by Rice.—The other day, some friends had dinner with us. My husband accidentally left his watch on the drawing-room table, and it was stolen. We quickly found out about the theft and called the police. The police officer gathered everyone who was there, took down their names, and scheduled a trial by rice for seven days later, unless the watch was returned during that time, as stolen items are often returned due to the fear of the ordeal by rice. On the scheduled day, the police officer came back, and the servants, whom he had instructed to come fasting, were called in front of him and asked to sit on the ground in a row.

The moonshee, having soaked 2lbs. weight of rice in cold water, carefully dried it in the sun: he then weighed rice equal to the weight of the square rupee in a pair of scales, and, calling one of the servants to him, made him take a solemn oath that he had not taken the watch, did not know who had taken it, where it was, or any thing about it or the person who stole it. When the oath had been taken, the moonshee put the weighed rice into the man’s hand to hold during the time every servant in the room was served in like manner. There were thirty-five present. When each had taken the oath, and received the rice in his hand, they all sat down on the ground, and a bit of plantain leaf was placed before each person. The moonshee then said,—

The moonshee, after soaking 2 pounds of rice in cold water, carefully dried it in the sun. He then weighed out a portion of rice equal to the weight of a square rupee in a pair of scales and called one of the servants over. He made the servant take a solemn oath that he hadn’t taken the watch, didn’t know who had taken it, where it was, or anything about it or the person who stole it. Once the oath was taken, the moonshee placed the weighed rice into the man’s hand to hold while every servant in the room was treated the same way. There were thirty-five people present. After each had taken the oath and received the rice in their hand, they all sat down on the ground, and a piece of plantain leaf was laid out in front of each person. The moonshee then said,—

“Some person or persons amongst you have taken a false oath; God is in the midst of us; let every man put his portion of rice into his mouth, and having chewed it, let him spit it out upon the plantain leaf before him; he who is the thief, or knows aught concerning the theft, from his mouth it shall come forth as dry as it was put in; from the mouths of those who are innocent, it will come forth wet and well chewed.”

“Some person or people among you have sworn a false oath; God is here with us; let everyone take a portion of rice and eat it, and after chewing it, let them spit it out onto the plantain leaf in front of them; the one who is the thief, or knows anything about the theft, will spit it out as dry as it was when it went in; from the mouths of those who are innocent, it will come out wet and well chewed.”

Every man chewed his rice, and spat it out like so much milk and water, with the exception of three persons, from whose months it came forth as dry and as fine as powder. Of these men, one had secreted two-thirds of the rice, hoping to chew the smaller quantity, but all to no purpose; it came perfectly dry from his mouth, from the effect of fear, although it was ground to dust. The moonshee said, “Those are the guilty men, one of them will probably inform against the others;” and he carried them off to the police. It is a fact, that a person under great alarm will find it utterly impossible to chew and put forth rice in a moistened state, whilst one who fears not will find it as impossible to chew and to spit it out perfectly dry and ground to dust. An harkāra, in the service of one of our guests, was one of the men whom the moonshee pronounced guilty; about a fortnight before, a silver saucepan had been stolen from his master’s house, by one of his own servants.[42] Against another, one of our own men, we have gained some very suspicious intelligence, and although we never expect the watch to be restored, we shall get rid of the thieves. So much for the ordeal by rice, in which I have firm faith.

Every man chewed his rice and spat it out like it was just milk and water, except for three people, from whose mouths it came out as dry and as fine as powder. One of these men had hidden two-thirds of the rice, hoping to chew a smaller amount, but it didn’t matter; it came out perfectly dry from his mouth due to fear, even though it was ground to dust. The moonshee said, “Those are the guilty men; one of them will probably snitch on the others,” and he took them to the police. It’s true that when someone is under extreme stress, they literally cannot chew and spit out rice while it’s moist, while someone who isn’t scared can’t chew and spit it out perfectly dry and powdered. A servant, in the employ of one of our guests, was one of the men the moonshee deemed guilty; about two weeks earlier, a silver saucepan had been stolen from his master’s house by one of his own staff.[42] We’ve also received very suspicious information about another one of our own men, and although we don’t expect to get the watch back, we will get rid of the thieves. That’s my take on the ordeal by rice, in which I have full confidence.

May 4th.—The weather is tremendously hot. A gentleman came in yesterday, and said, “this room is delightful, it is cold as a well;” we have discovered, however, that it is infested below with rats and musk-rats, three or four of which my little Scotch terrier kills daily; the latter make him foam at the mouth with disgust. My little dog Crab, you are the most delightful Scotch terrier that ever came to seek his fortune in the East!

May 4th.—The weather is extremely hot. A guy came in yesterday and said, “this room is wonderful, it’s as cool as a well;” however, we’ve discovered that it’s infested below with rats and musk-rats, three or four of which my little Scotch terrier kills every day; the latter make him foam at the mouth with disgust. My little dog Crab, you are the most charming Scotch terrier that ever came to try his luck in the East!

Some friends have sent to us for garden-seeds. But, oh! observe how nature is degenerated in this country—they have sent alone for vegetable-seeds—the feast of roses being here thought inferior to the feast of marrowfat peas!

Some friends have reached out to us for garden seeds. But, wow! look at how nature has declined in this country—they’ve only asked for vegetable seeds—the celebration of roses is considered less significant than the celebration of marrowfat peas!

THE TOOLSEE.

An European in Calcutta sees very little of the religious ceremonies of the Hindoos. Among the most remarkable is the worship of the toolsee, in honour of a religious female, who requested Vishnoo to allow her to become his wife. Lukshmee, the goddess of beauty, and wife of Vishnoo, cursed the woman on account of the pious request she had preferred to her lord, and changed her into a toolsee plant. Vishnoo, influenced by his own feelings, and in consideration of the religious austerities long practised by the enamoured devotee, made her a promise that he would assume the form of the shalgramŭ, and always continue with her. The Hindoos, therefore, keep one leaf of the toolsee under and another upon the shalgramŭ.—See Fig. 5, in the plate entitled “The Thug’s Dice.”

A European in Calcutta sees very little of the Hindu religious ceremonies. Among the most notable is the worship of the Tulsi plant, dedicated to a woman who asked Vishnu to allow her to become his wife. Lakshmi, the goddess of beauty and Vishnu's wife, cursed the woman because of her pious request to her husband and transformed her into a Tulsi plant. Vishnu, moved by his feelings and considering the religious devotion the love-stricken devotee had shown, promised that he would take the form of the Shaligram and always be with her. Therefore, Hindus keep one leaf of the Tulsi under and another on the Shaligram.—See Fig. 5, in the plate entitled “The Thug’s Dice.”

“The sweet basil is known by its two leaves[19].” Throughout a certain month they suspend a lota (earthen vessel) over the toolsee filled with water, and let the water drop upon it through a small hole. The Hindoo, in the sketch “Pooja of the Toolsee,” is engaged in this worship, perhaps reading the[43] Purana, in which a fable relates the metamorphosis of the nymph Toolsee into the shrub which has since borne her name. The whole plant has a purplish hue approaching to black, and thence, perhaps, like the large black bee of this country, it is held sacred to Krishna, in whose person Vishnoo himself appeared on earth.

“The sweet basil is known by its two leaves[19].” During a certain month, they hang a lota (clay pot) over the tulsi filled with water, allowing the water to drip onto it through a small hole. The Hindu, in the sketch “Pooja of the Toolsee,” is engaged in this worship, possibly reading the [43] Purana, which tells the story of the nymph Tulsi transforming into the plant that now bears her name. The entire plant has a purplish hue that leans toward black, and perhaps because of this resemblance to the large black bee found in this region, it is considered sacred to Krishna, in whose form Vishnu himself appeared on earth.

PŪJA OF THE TULSĪ.

Tulsi Puja.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

فاني باركس

The Hindoos venerate three kinds of toolsee—the kala (ocimum sanctum), purple-stalked basil; the small-leaved toolsee; and the suffaid toolsee, white basil or Indian tea. The leaves of the latter are used by those in India who cannot afford the tea of China; they are highly aromatic. The Hindoos have faith in their power to cure diseases, and use them with incantations to dispel the poison of serpents.

The Hindus respect three types of tulsi—the kala (ocimum sanctum), purple-stalked basil; the small-leaved tulsi; and the suffaid tulsi, which is white basil or Indian tea. The leaves of the latter are used by those in India who can’t afford Chinese tea; they are very aromatic. The Hindus believe in their ability to heal diseases and use them with chants to get rid of snake venom.

This plant is held in estimation by the Mussulmāns as well as the Hindoos. It is recorded of the prophet that he said: “Hásan and Húsain are the best young princes of paradise. Verily, Hásan and Húsain are my two sweet basils in the world.”

This plant is valued by both Muslims and Hindus. It is said of the prophet that he remarked: “Hassan and Hussein are the best young princes of paradise. Truly, Hassan and Hussein are my two sweet basils in the world.”

At Benares I saw, on the side of the Ganges, a number of pillars hollowed at the top, in which the Hindoos had deposited earth and had planted the toolsee; some devotees were walking round these pillars, pouring water on the sacred plant and making sālām. My bearers at Prag had a toolsee in front of their house, under a peepul tree; I have seen them continually make the altar of earth on which it was placed perfectly clean around it with water and cow-dung; and of an evening they lighted a little chirāgh (small lamp) before it. If one of these sacred plants die, it is committed in due form to Gunga-jee: and when a person is brought to die by the side of the sacred river, a branch of the toolsee, the shrub goddess, is planted near the dying man’s head.

At Benares, I saw several pillars along the Ganges, hollowed out at the top, where the Hindus had placed soil and planted the tulsi. Some devotees were walking around these pillars, pouring water on the sacred plant and offering salutations. My bearers in Prag had a tulsi in front of their house, beneath a peepul tree; I watched them constantly clean the earthen altar it was on with water and cow dung. In the evenings, they lit a small lamp (chirāgh) in front of it. If one of these sacred plants dies, it's properly buried with respect in the Ganges. Additionally, when someone is about to pass away near the sacred river, a branch of tulsi, the goddess shrub, is placed by the dying person's head.

The shalgramŭ is black, hollow, and nearly round; it is found in the Gunduk river, and is considered a representation of Vishnoo; each should have twenty-one marks upon it, similar to those on his body. The shalgramŭ is the only stone which is naturally divine; all the other stones worshipped are rendered sacred by incantations.

The shalgramŭ is black, hollow, and almost round; it’s found in the Gunduk River and is seen as a representation of Vishnoo. Each one should have twenty-one marks on it, like those on his body. The shalgramŭ is the only stone that is naturally divine; all the other stones that are worshipped are made sacred through incantations.

[44]

[44]

A pan of water is suspended over this stone during the hottest month in the year, exactly in the same manner as over the toolsee in the sketch; and during the same month another pan is placed under the stone, in which the water is caught, and drunk in the evening as sanctified.

A pan of water is hung over this stone during the hottest month of the year, just like the one over the toolsee in the sketch; and during that same month, another pan is placed underneath the stone to catch the water, which is then consumed in the evening as a sacred drink.

Ward mentions that some persons, when ill, employ a Brahmin to present single leaves of the toolsee sprinkled with red powder to the shalgramŭ, repeating incantations. A hundred thousand leaves are sometimes presented. It is said that the sick gradually recover as each additional leaf is offered. When a Hindoo is at the point of death, a Brahmin shows him the marks of the shalgramŭ, of which the sight is supposed to insure the soul a safe passage to the heaven of Vishnoo. When an Hindoo takes an oath, he places a sprig of toolsee on a brass lota, filled with the sacred water of the Ganges, and swears by Gunga-jee[20]. If a small part of the pebble god be broken, it is committed to the river. I bought several of these stones from a Brahmin at the great Mela at Prag. I gave two old Delhi gold mohurs to a native jeweller, to make into an ornament for the forehead after a native pattern. My jemmadār took the mohurs, and, rubbing them on a shalgramŭ, gave it to me to keep, in order to compare the purity of the gold on its return when fashioned, with that of the red gold I had given the man to melt. In making fine jewellery the natives put one-fourth alloy; they cannot work gold so impure as that used by English jewellers, and contemptuously compare it to copper.

Ward notes that some people, when they're sick, hire a Brahmin to offer individual leaves of tulsi sprinkled with red powder to the shaligram while reciting chants. Sometimes, they present up to a hundred thousand leaves. It's believed that the sick person slowly recovers with each additional leaf given. When a Hindu is close to death, a Brahmin shows them the marks of the shaligram, which is thought to guarantee the soul a safe journey to Vishnu's heaven. When a Hindu takes an oath, they place a sprig of tulsi on a brass lota filled with the holy water of the Ganges and swear by Gunga-jee[20]. If a small piece of the pebble god breaks, it's placed in the river. I bought several of these stones from a Brahmin at the major Mela in Prag. I gave two old Delhi gold mohurs to a local jeweler to create a forehead ornament in a traditional style. My jemmadār took the mohurs, rubbed them on a shaligram, and gave it to me to keep, so I could compare the gold's purity when it returned fashioned to that of the red gold I had given to the man to melt. When crafting fine jewelry, the locals use one-fourth alloy; they can't work with gold as impure as that used by English jewelers and disdainfully compare it to copper.

In the plate entitled “The Thug’s Dice,” Fig. 6 represents the shalgramŭ, shalgram, or salagrama; it is a small heavy black circular stone, rather flattened on one side, with the cornu Ammonis strongly marked upon it.

In the plate titled “The Thug’s Dice,” Fig. 6 shows the shalgramŭ, shalgram, or salagrama; it's a small, heavy black circular stone, somewhat flattened on one side, with the cornu Ammonis clearly defined on it.

Fig. 5 is one covered by the leaves of the kala toolsee, purple-stalked basil.

Fig. 5 is one that's hidden by the leaves of the kala toolsee, purple-stemmed basil.

No. 7 is still heavier, perfectly black and smooth, without any marks. This was the touchstone, and a little gold still remaining upon it.

No. 7 is still heavier, completely black and smooth, with no marks at all. This was the touchstone, and there's still a bit of gold left on it.

[45]

[45]

“Gold is known by the touchstone, and a man by living with him[21].”

“Gold is recognized by the touchstone, and a person by spending time with them[21].”

“Some salagrams are perforated in one or more places by worms, or, as the Hindoos believe, by Vishnŭ in the shape of a reptile; some are supposed to represent his gracious incarnation, but when they border a little in colour on the violet they denote a vindictive avatār, such as Narasinga, when no man of ordinary nerve dares keep them in his house. The possessor of a salagrama preserves it in clean cloth; it is frequently perfumed and bathed; and the water thereby acquiring virtue, is drunk, and prized for its sin-expelling property.”

“Some salagrams have one or more holes made by worms or, as the Hindus believe, by Vishnu in the form of a reptile. Some are thought to represent his kind incarnation, but when they have a bit of violet color, they indicate a vengeful avatār, like Narasinga, which no person of average nerve would dare to keep in their home. The owner of a salagrama keeps it wrapped in clean cloth; it’s often perfumed and bathed; and the water used in this process is believed to have special qualities. This water is then drunk and valued for its ability to remove sins.”

The shalgrams, which are in my possession, are of exactly the shape and size represented in the sketch.

The shalgrams I have are exactly the shape and size shown in the sketch.

July 17th.—On this day, having discovered a young friend ill in the Writer’s Buildings, we brought him to our house. Two days afterwards I was seized with the fever, from which I did not recover for thirteen days. My husband nursed me with great care, until he fell ill himself, and eleven of our servants were laid up with the same disorder.

July 17th.—On this day, after finding a young friend sick in the Writer’s Buildings, we took him to our home. Two days later, I got the fever, and I didn’t recover for thirteen days. My husband took care of me diligently until he got sick himself, and eleven of our staff were also struck down with the same illness.

The people in Calcutta have all had it; I suppose, out of the whole population, European and native, not two hundred persons have escaped; and what is singular, it has not occasioned one death amongst the adult. I was so well and strong—over night we were talking of the best means of escaping the epidemic—in the morning it came and remained thirty-six hours, then quitted me; a strong eruption came out, like the measles, and left me weak and thin. My husband’s fever left him in thirty-six hours, but he was unable to quit the house for nine days: the rash was the same. Some faces were covered with spots like those on a leopard’s skin. It was so prevalent, that the Courts of Justice, the Custom House, the Lottery Office, and almost every public department in Calcutta, were closed in consequence of the sickness. In the course of three days, three different physicians attended me, one after the other having fallen ill. It is wonderful, that a fever producing so much pain in the head and limbs, leaving the patient[46] weak, reduced, and covered with a violent eruption, should have been so harmless; after three weeks, nobody appeared to have suffered, with the exception of two or three children, whom it attacked more violently than it did grown-up people, and carried them off.

The people in Calcutta have all experienced it; I guess, out of the whole population, European and native, not more than two hundred have gotten away unscathed; and what's strange is that it hasn’t caused a single death among adults. I felt completely fine—just the night before, we were discussing the best ways to avoid the epidemic—then it hit me in the morning and lasted for thirty-six hours before leaving; I had a strong rash come up, similar to measles, and it left me feeling weak and thin. My husband's fever also ended in thirty-six hours, but he couldn’t leave the house for nine days: the rash was the same. Some faces had spots like a leopard's skin. It spread so widely that the Courts of Justice, the Custom House, the Lottery Office, and almost every public agency in Calcutta had to shut down because of the sickness. Over three days, three different doctors treated me, one after the other, each falling ill. It's remarkable that a fever causing so much pain in the head and limbs, leaving the patient weak, depleted, and covered in a severe rash, could be so harmless; after three weeks, no one seemed to have suffered, except for a few children who experienced it more severely than adults and didn’t survive.

The politicians at home have anticipated us in reckoning upon the probability of a Burmese war. We have hitherto been altogether successful. I saw yesterday a gold and a silver sword, and a very murderous looking weapon resembling a butcher’s knife, but on a larger scale. A necklace (so called from its circling the neck, for it was composed of plates of gold hammered on a silken string), and some little squab images, gods, perhaps, taken from a chief, whom Major Sale of H. M. 13th, dispatched in an attack upon a stockade, leaving the chief in exchange part of the blade of his own sword, which was broken in his skull by the force of the blow that felled him.

The politicians back home have been anticipating a potential war with Burma. So far, we've been completely successful. Yesterday, I saw a gold sword, a silver sword, and a very intimidating weapon that looked like a large butcher's knife. There was also a necklace (so-called because it wraps around the neck; it was made of gold plates hammered onto a silk string) and some small figurines, possibly gods, taken from a chief whom Major Sale of H. M. 13th attacked while charging a stockade, leaving the chief part of his own sword's blade, which had cracked against his skull from the force of the blow that took him down.

It is an unlucky business: the Company certainly do not require at present more territory on that side India, and the expense to which Government is put by this elegant little mill, as Pierce Egan might call it, is more than the worthies in Leadenhall-street suppose.

It’s a bad situation: the Company definitely doesn't need more territory in that part of India right now, and the costs that the Government incurs for this nice little mill, as Pierce Egan might say, are more than the folks in Leadenhall Street realize.

I see Lord Hastings is made Civil Governor of Malta! “To what base uses we may return!” I observe the motion to prevent the necessity of parents sending their sons to Haileybury has been lost. The grand object of the students should be the acquisition of the oriental languages; here nothing else tells.

I see Lord Hastings has been appointed Civil Governor of Malta! “To what base uses we may return!” I notice that the motion to stop parents from having to send their sons to Haileybury has failed. The primary goal of the students should be to learn the eastern languages; nothing else really matters here.

If a young man gets out of college in three or four months after his arrival, which, if he crams at college in England, he may easily effect, he is considered forthwith as a brilliant character, and is sealed with the seal of genius. Likewise pockets medals and money, and this he may do without knowing any thing else.

If a young man graduates from college just three or four months after arriving, which he can easily achieve by studying hard in college in England, he is immediately seen as a brilliant individual and marked as a genius. He may also pocket medals and cash, and he can do this without knowing anything else.

To a person fresh from England, the number of servants attending at table is remarkable. We had only a small party of eight to dinner yesterday, including ourselves; three-and-twenty servants were in attendance! Each gentleman takes his own[47] servant or servants, in number from one to six, and each lady her attendant or attendants, as it pleases her fancy. The Hooqŭ was very commonly smoked at that time in Calcutta: before dinner was finished, every man’s pipe was behind his chair. The tobacco was generally so well prepared, that the odour was not unpleasant, unless by chance you sat next to a man from the Mofussil, when the fume of the spices used by the up country Hooqŭ Bardārs in preparing the tobacco, rendered it oppressive and disagreeable.

To someone just arriving from England, the number of servants at the dinner table is astonishing. We had a small gathering of eight for dinner yesterday, including ourselves; there were twenty-three servants present! Each gentleman brings his own servant or servants, ranging from one to six, and each lady has her attendant or attendants, according to her preference. The hookah was commonly smoked in Calcutta at that time: by the end of dinner, every man had his pipe resting behind his chair. The tobacco was usually well-prepared, so the smell was not unpleasant, unless of course you happened to sit next to someone from the countryside, where the spices used by the local hookah makers in preparing the tobacco made it heavy and unpleasant.

Sept. 1st.—The fever has quitted Calcutta, and travelled up the country stage by stage. It was amusing to see, upon your return to the Course, the whole of the company stamped, like yourself, with the marks of the leech upon the temples. Its origin has been attributed to many causes, and it has been called by many names. The gentlemen of the lancet are greatly divided in their opinions; some attribute it to the want of rain, others to the scarcity of thunder and lightning this season. There was an instance of the same general fever prevailing in the time of Warren Hastings. Not a single instance has been heard of its having proved mortal to adults.

Sept. 1st.—The fever has left Calcutta and moved up country stage by stage. It was amusing to see, when you returned to the Course, that everyone was marked, like you, with the signs of the leech on their temples. Its origin has been linked to various causes and it has been given many names. The medical experts are very divided in their views; some blame it on the lack of rain, while others point to the absence of thunder and lightning this season. There was a similar widespread fever during the time of Warren Hastings. There hasn’t been a single case reported of it causing death in adults.

Extract from a homeward-bound epistle.

Excerpt from a letter home.

“The cold season is fast approaching, when every one becomes, per force, most amiable. Indeed we are all creatures of a different order during this delightful time. You in England cannot fancy the sensible feeling of actual enjoyment our bodies and minds experience from this exhilarating change. We live upon the thought of it for months; it must beat the snake casting his skin. I feel quite invigorated even at describing its effects.

“The cold season is quickly coming, when everyone becomes, per force, really pleasant. Honestly, we all turn into different beings during this wonderful time. You in England can’t imagine the genuine enjoyment our bodies and minds feel from this refreshing change. We look forward to it for months; it must be like a snake shedding its skin. I feel totally recharged just by talking about its effects.”

“We both continue excellently well, and persist in defying the foul cholera and all other tropical maladies. The hot season has passed, and the rains are setting in, rendering the air more temperate. We now occasionally enjoy a cool fresh breeze. A few days since I felt gay enough to fetch a walk in the evening, and got well ducked for my reward; also an appetite for dinner. Apropos, I rejoice to see that feeding is assuming the high place among the sciences which was always its legitimate right.

“We're both doing really well and continue to stand strong against the nasty cholera and other tropical diseases. The hot season has ended, and the rains are beginning to come in, making the air more pleasant. We occasionally get to enjoy a cool, fresh breeze. A few days ago, I felt cheerful enough to take a walk in the evening, and I ended up getting drenched as a result; it also gave me an appetite for dinner. By the way, I'm happy to see that the study of feeding is finally getting the respect it deserves among the sciences.”

[48]

[48]

‘Oh Dick! you may talk of your writing and reading,
Your logic and Greek, but there’s nothing like feeding.’

Dr. Kitchener has borrowed the most erudite and savoury parts of his two books from the ‘Almanach des Gourmands,’ a work well worthy of being placed in the hands of the rising generation as a standard book; I am sure it would be a perfect Kurān for an English lady. But, alas! in this savage place, dindon aux truffes, omelette soufflée, vol au vent à la financière, coquille de volaille, pâté de Strasbourg, exist but in name. The thousand temptations which fascinate the eye and distract the choice in a French carte à dîner, rarely, very rarely appear. The beef of to-day succeeds to the mutton of yesterday; none of those ‘coruscations of genius, breaking like lightning from a cloud,’ which must now so frequently illumine the horizon of the London mahogany. But all is tame and unvaried, and man remains here comparatively dead to one of the noblest ends of his creation. I endeavour to struggle against this lifeless life by anticipating the time when I shall return to Europe, at the proper gourmand age of forty-five, with a taste corrected by experience, and a mouth open as day to melting delicacies.

Dr. Kitchener has taken the most insightful and delicious parts of his two books from the ‘Almanach des Gourmands,’ a work truly deserving to be handed down to the younger generation as a standard reference; I’m sure it would be a perfect guide for an English lady. But, unfortunately, in this harsh place, dindon aux truffes, omelette soufflée, vol au vent à la financière, coquille de volaille, pâté de Strasbourg, exist only in name. The countless temptations that catch the eye and make choosing difficult in a French carte à dîner rarely, if ever, appear. The beef today follows the mutton of yesterday; none of those “flashes of brilliance, breaking like lightning from a cloud,” that now frequently brighten the horizon of London’s dining scene. Instead, everything is bland and monotonous, and people here remain largely indifferent to one of the noblest purposes of their existence. I try to fight against this dull life by looking forward to when I can return to Europe, at the ideal gourmet age of forty-five, with a refined palate and an open-minded appreciation for exquisite delicacies.

Oct.—We have heard with sorrow of the death of Lord Byron; the other evening, as we were driving past a Greek chapel on the banks of the Hoogly, prayers were being offered for the repose of the soul of the departed. We cannot join with the yelpers who cry him down on the score of his immorality; the seed he sowed must have fallen upon a soil villainously bad to have brought forth nothing but an unprofitable harvest. Mr. Hunt is publishing a translation of a work capable of producing more evil than any of his lordship’s—Voltaire’s ‘Dictionnaire Philosophique’ to wit. What is the correct story about the Memoirs? Are we to believe the papers?

Oct.—We were saddened to hear about the death of Lord Byron; the other evening, as we were driving past a Greek chapel by the Hoogly River, prayers were being said for the peace of his soul. We can’t join those who criticize him for his immorality; the impact he made must have landed on some truly terrible ground to yield nothing but a disappointing result. Mr. Hunt is putting out a translation of a work that could cause more harm than anything by Lord Byron—Voltaire’s ‘Dictionnaire Philosophique,’ to be specific. What’s the real story about the Memoirs? Can we trust the newspapers?”

“The cold weather has now begun. We have weddings and rumours of weddings. The precipitate manner in which young people woo and wed is almost ridiculous; the whole affair, in many cases, taking less than a month. Many young gentlemen become papas before they have lawfully passed their years[49] of infancy. Marrying and giving in marriage is, in this country, sharp, short, and decisive; and where our habits are necessarily so domestic, it is wonderful how happily the people live together afterwards.

“The cold weather has now begun. We have weddings and rumors of weddings. The way young people rush to court and marry is almost comical; in many cases, the whole process takes less than a month. Many young men become dads before they have legally finished their teenage years[49]. Getting married and finding partners in this country is quick, short, and straightforward; and given how domestic our lifestyles are, it's amazing how happily people live together afterward."

Dec.—The races are beginning, the theatre in high force, fancy-dress balls and dinner-parties on the tapis, water-parties to the botanical gardens, and I know not what. My beautiful Arab carries me delightfully; dove-like, but full of fire.

Dec.—The races are starting, the theater is bustling, costume balls and dinner parties are on the agenda, and there are boat outings to the botanical gardens, and who knows what else. My gorgeous Arab horse carries me beautifully; gentle like a dove, but full of spirit.

“We shake off dull sloth, rise early, and defy the foul fiend. Many a nail is extracted, by this delightful weather, from our coffins. Calcutta opens her palaces, and displays hospitality, after a fashion which far outdoes that of you cold calculating islanders. And there is such a variety in our pastimes, and the season is so short,—about four months,—that we have no time to ‘fall asleep in the sameness of splendour.’

“We shake off laziness, get up early, and confront the nasty challenges ahead. This lovely weather pulls many of us out of our comfort zones. Calcutta opens its grand buildings and welcomes visitors in a way that definitely surpasses the hospitality of you cold, calculating islanders. There's such a variety in our activities, and the season is so brief—about four months—that we have no time to ‘fall asleep in the sameness of splendor.’”

“We were glad to hear our friend would not come out to India. It is a pity that men like him should be sacrificed—and for what? To procure a bare subsistence; for the knack of fortune-getting has been long since lost. Show me the man in these latter days who has made one,—always provided he be no auctioneer, agent, or other species of leech,—and we will sit down and soberly endeavour to make one for ourselves.

“We were happy to find out our friend wouldn’t be coming to India. It’s a shame that men like him should be sacrificed—and for what? Just to scrape by; the skill of getting rich has long been forgotten. Show me the person nowadays who has achieved that—assuming he’s not an auctioneer, agent, or some other type of parasite—and we’ll sit down and seriously try to figure out how to do it ourselves.”

“A merry Christmas to you, dear friends; may you find it as great a restorer as we favourites of the sun and minions of the tropics!”

“A merry Christmas to you, dear friends; may you find it as great a revitalizer as we favorites of the sun and followers of the tropics!”


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[50]

CHAPTER VI.
Residence in Kolkata.

1825.—A Day in March—The Furlough and Pension Funds—Bandicote Rats—The Strand—The Cutting System—Harrow-on-the-Hill—Sickness in Arracan—The Golden Feet—Arrival of Lord Combermere—Bhurtpore—La Pucelle—Marsh Fever—Change of Residence to Middleton Row, Chowringhee—Fogs up to the Second Story—Burrā Bazār—Seed Pearl.

1825.—A Day in March—The Furlough and Pension Funds—Bandicote Rats—The Strand—The Cutting System—Harrow-on-the-Hill—Sickness in Arracan—The Golden Feet—Arrival of Lord Combermere—Bhurtpore—La Pucelle—Marsh Fever—Change of Residence to Middleton Row, Chowringhee—Fogs up to the Second Floor—Burrā Bazār—Seed Pearl.

January, 1825.—The cold weather is delightful, and a Persian carpet pleasant over the Indian matting, but a fire is not required—indeed, few houses in Calcutta have a fire-place. Ice is sent from Hoogly, and is procurable in the bazaar during the cold weather; it is preserved in pits for the hot season.

January, 1825.—The cold weather is nice, and a Persian carpet feels great over the Indian mat, but a fire isn't necessary—actually, few homes in Calcutta have a fireplace. Ice is shipped from Hoogly and can be found in the market during the cold season; it's stored in pits for the hot months.

March 23rd.—I will describe a day at this time of the year. At 6 A.M. it is so cold that a good gallop in a cloth habit will just keep you warm. At 9 A.M.—a fine breeze—very pleasant—windows open—no pankhā.

March 23rd.—I will describe a day at this time of year. At 6 AM it's so cold that a good run in a long coat will just keep you warm. At 9 AM—a nice breeze—really pleasant—windows open—no fans.

3 P.M.—Blue linen blinds lowered to keep off the glare of the sunshine, which is distressing to the eyes; every Venetian shut, the pankhā in full swing, the very musquitoes asleep on the walls, yourself asleep on a sofa, not a breath of air—a dead silence around you.

3 PM—Blue linen blinds pulled down to block out the harsh sunlight that hurts your eyes; every Venetian blind closed, the fan spinning at full speed, even the mosquitoes resting on the walls, you lying asleep on a sofa, not a single breath of air—a complete silence surrounding you.

4 P.M.—A heavy thunder-storm, with the rain descending in torrents; you stop the pankhā, rejoice in the fraîcheur, and are only prevented from taking a walk in the grounds by the falling rain.

4 PM—A heavy thunderstorm, with rain pouring down in torrents; you stop the fan, enjoy the coolness, and are only kept from taking a walk in the garden by the falling rain.

5 P.M.—You mount your Arab, and enjoy the coolness for the remainder of the day;—such is to-day.

5 P.M.—You get on your Arab horse and enjoy the coolness for the rest of the day;—that's today.

April 11th.—The hot winds are blowing for the first time this year.

April 11th.—The hot winds are blowing for the first time this year.

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[51]

We understand that after twenty-five years’ service, and twenty-two of actual residence in India, we of the Civil Service are to retire upon an annuity of 1000l. a year, for which we are to pay 50,000 rupees, or about 5000l. This, on first appearance, looks well for us and generous in the Company; but I should like first to know, how many will be able to serve their full time of bondage? secondly, what the life of a man, an annuitant, is then worth, who has lingered two and twenty years in a tropical climate?

We understand that after twenty-five years of service, and twenty-two of actual living in India, we in the Civil Service are set to retire with an annuity of 1000l. a year, for which we will pay 50,000 rupees, or about 5000l. At first glance, this seems good for us and generous from the Company; but I would like to know, how many will be able to serve their full term of service? Secondly, what is the value of a man's life, as an annuitant, after he has spent twenty-two years in a tropical climate?

May 9th.—The heat is intense—very oppressive. I dare not go to church for fear of its bringing on fits, which might disturb the congregation; you have little idea of the heat of a collection of many assembled in such a climate—even at home, with all appliances and means to boot for reducing the temperature, the heat is sickening. You in England imagine a lady in India has nothing to do. For myself, I superintend the household, and find it difficult at times to write even letters, there is so much to which it is necessary to attend. At this moment I would willingly be quiet, but am continually interrupted. The coachman, making his salām, “Mem sāhiba, Atlas is very ill, I cannot wait for the sāhib’s return; I have brought the horse to the door, will you give your orders?” The durwān (gate-keeper), “Mem Sāhiba, the deer have jumped over the wall, and have run away.” The sirdar-bearer, “Mem sāhiba, will you advance me some rupees to make a great feast? My wife is dead.” The mate-bearer then presented his petition, “Will the mem sāhiba give me a plaister? the rats have gnawed my fingers and toes.” It is a fact that the lower part of the house is overrun with enormous rats, they bite the fingers and feet of the men when they are asleep on the ground.

May 9th.—The heat is intense—very suffocating. I can’t go to church because I’m worried it might trigger fits, which could disturb everyone there; you can’t imagine how hot it gets with so many people gathered in this climate—even at home, with all the tools and methods to cool things down, the heat is unbearable. You in England think that a lady in India has nothing to do. Personally, I manage the household, and sometimes I find it hard to even write letters because there’s so much that needs my attention. Right now, I would love to just relax, but I keep getting interrupted. The coachman, making his salām, says, “Madam, Atlas is very sick; I can’t wait for the master’s return. I’ve brought the horse to the door; what are your orders?” The gatekeeper, “Madam, the deer jumped over the wall and ran away.” The sirdar-bearer, “Madam, can you lend me some rupees to throw a big feast? My wife has died.” Then the mate-bearer came with his request, “Will you give me a bandage? The rats have gnawed my fingers and toes.” It’s true that the lower part of the house is infested with huge rats—they bite the fingers and feet of the men while they sleep on the ground.

The other evening I was with my beautiful and charming friend, Mrs. F⸺, she had put her infant on a mat, where it was quietly sleeping in the room where we were sitting. The evening darkened, a sharp cry from the child startled us—a bandicote rat had bitten one of its little feet!

The other evening, I was with my lovely and delightful friend, Mrs. F⸺. She had laid her baby on a mat, where it was peacefully sleeping in the room with us. As the evening grew darker, a sudden scream from the child startled us—a bandicoot rat had bitten one of its tiny feet!

It is reported the Burmese war is nearly finished. I hope it may be true; it is a horrible sacrifice of human life, a war in[52] such a climate! I hear much of all the hardships of fighting against the climate endured by the military, from friends who return to Calcutta on sick leave.

It’s been said that the Burmese war is almost over. I hope that's true; it’s a terrible loss of human life, a war in[52] such a harsh climate! I hear a lot about the struggles of soldiers battling against the climate from friends who return to Calcutta on sick leave.

When we arrived in Calcutta the only drive was on the Course, which was well-watered; a fine broad road has since been made along the side of the river, about two miles in length; it is a delightful drive in the evening, close to the ships.

When we got to Calcutta, the only drive was on the Course, which was well-maintained; a nice wide road has since been built along the river, about two miles long; it’s a lovely drive in the evening, right by the ships.

The Course is deserted for the Strand.

The Course is empty for the Strand.

June 25th.—The Furlough and Pension Fund for the Civil Service has been established; we subscribe four per cent. from our salary, for which we are allowed by Government six per cent. interest, towards the purchase of an annuity of 1000l. after twenty-five years service. A very strong inducement this to economy—yet human nature is very contrary.

June 25th.—The Furlough and Pension Fund for the Civil Service has been set up; we contribute four percent from our salary, for which the government offers us six percent interest, aimed at buying an annuity of 1000l. after twenty-five years of service. This is a compelling reason to save—yet human nature often works against it.

“J’avois juré d’être sage,
Mais avant peu j’en fus las.
Ah! raison, c’est bien dommage,
Que l’ennui suive tes pas.”

Nevertheless, we will return home as soon as we can.

Nevertheless, we will head home as soon as we can.

Our friend Mr. C⸺ is going down to Bulloah, a savage spot, where he is to make salt; he takes down three couple of hounds to assist him in his labours.

Our friend Mr. C⸺ is heading to Bulloah, a rough place, where he will be making salt; he’s bringing three pairs of hounds to help him with his work.

Provided there is a good bulky dividend at the end of the year upon India Stock, the holders think the country flourishing in the greatest security. Every governor who is sent out is told that the principal thing to be considered is economy. Lord Moira, who had a becoming horror of such petitesses, and who saw the political danger of carrying the cutting system into practice, in several instances refused to adopt the measures he was intrusted to execute. Yet India was never in a more flourishing state; dividends on India Stock never looked up more cheerfully. Lord Amherst has applied the paring-knife, and much good it has done;—the military ran riot[22], the civilians were inclined to grow rusty, and India Bonds were very dismal and looking down.

As long as there’s a solid dividend at the end of the year from India Stock, the investors believe the country is thriving safely. Every governor sent out is reminded that the main focus should be on saving money. Lord Moira, who had a rightful disdain for such trivial matters, and who recognized the political risks of implementing strict budget cuts, often refused to carry out the directives he was given. Still, India has never been in a better position; dividends on India Stock have never looked more promising. Lord Amherst has made budget cuts, and it hasn’t helped much—military officers were out of control, civilians were getting complacent, and India Bonds were looking quite bleak.

[53]

[53]

A letter appeared in the Gazette the other day, in which the Harrow boys were spoken of in an irreverend manner, which elicited the following answer from the sāhib[23]:—

A letter showed up in the Gazette recently, where the Harrow boys were mentioned in a disrespectful way, prompting the following response from the sāhib[23]:—

To the Editor of the Government Gazette.

To the Editor of the Government Gazette.

“June, 1825.

June 1825.

Sir,

"Sir,"

“In one of your late papers I was much amused by a report of the proceedings of a ‘Morning at Bow Street,’ during which the behaviour of the Harrow boys was brought to the notice of that worthy magistrate, Sir R. Birnie. To suppose that these young gentlemen are accustomed to parade the streets with sticks charged with lead, searching for snobs with heads to correspond, and carrying pistols loaded with the same metal in their pockets to confer the coup-de-grâce upon these unfortunates, would be to believe, what

“In one of your recent articles, I found the report on a ‘Morning at Bow Street’ quite amusing, especially the part where the behavior of the Harrow boys was highlighted to the honorable magistrate, Sir R. Birnie. To think that these young men typically roam the streets with lead-tipped sticks, looking for snobs with heads to match, and carrying pistols loaded with the same material in their pockets to deliver the coup-de-grâce to these unfortunate individuals would be to believe what

‘Nec pueri credant, nisi qui nondum ære lavantur.’

Excuse Latin, the English proverb is somewhat coarse.

Excuse the Latin, the English proverb is kind of rough.

“I recollect the operative artisan Jones: he succeeded an excellent farrier, who emigrated with Sir Bellingham Graham, one of our worthies. Unless Jones had in the first instance made himself obnoxious to the boys, which from W. L.’s account is more than possible, they would not have interfered with him. The whole account I know to be sadly exaggerated; you are, perhaps, an advocate for the publicity of these reports, so should I be, were they not for the most part so outrageously surchargés. The ‘Gentlemen of the Press’ think truth needs the aid of foreign ornament, for in this particular instance neither pistols nor sticks, loaded or unloaded, were seen, or afterwards discovered to have been in the possession of the boys, but were gratuitously conferred upon them by the reporters.

“I remember the skilled worker Jones: he took over from a great farrier who went abroad with Sir Bellingham Graham, one of our respected figures. Unless Jones initially made himself disliked by the boys, which based on W. L.’s story is quite possible, they wouldn’t have bothered him. I know the whole account is greatly exaggerated; you might support the publication of these reports, and so would I, if they weren’t mostly so ridiculously surchargés. The ‘Gentlemen of the Press’ believe that truth needs some extra flair, because in this case, neither guns nor sticks, loaded or unloaded, were seen or later found with the boys, but were fancifully attributed to them by the reporters.

“Shall such fellows as these be allowed to bespatter an institution which reckons Sir William Jones, Lord Byron, Parr, and others ‘dear to memory and to fame,’ among her mighty dead—and Lord Teignmouth, the Marquis of Hastings, Messrs. Peel, Barry Cornwall, and myself, among her mighty living[24]?

“Should people like these be allowed to tarnish an institution that counts Sir William Jones, Lord Byron, Parr, and others ‘dear to memory and to fame’ among its esteemed deceased—and Lord Teignmouth, the Marquis of Hastings, Mr. Peel, Barry Cornwall, and myself among its distinguished living—A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__?

[54]

[54]

“You will, I know, excuse me. I am by nature modest, even as an American, but having been hitherto particular as to my society, if I am to be damned to everlasting fame, it must be in good company!

“You will, I know, forgive me. I'm naturally modest, even as an American, but since I've been selective about my company, if I'm going to be destined for eternal fame, it better be with good company!”

“We are so few and far between in this country, that we cannot form a corps to show our esprit, yet even in this wilderness will I upraise my solitary voice in praise of Harrow-on-the-Hill.—Floreat in æternum!—Hoping that I have said enough ‘to Harrow up your soul,’

“We are so few in this country that we can't create a group to demonstrate our spirit, yet even in this wilderness, I will raise my solitary voice in praise of Harrow-on-the-Hill.—Floreat in æternum!—Hoping that I have said enough 'to Harrow up your soul,'

“I am, your’s,

“I am yours,"

One of the Old School.”

A Classic.”

“Jungle Mehals.”

“Jungle Malls.”

August 6th.—The natives, especially the Hindūs, are dying by hundreds daily in the damp and marshy part of Calcutta; 410 died in one night of cholera and fever, both of which are raging fearfully. They sleep in such swampy places, in the open air, it is only surprising they are not all carried off. Last month a fever amongst the Europeans was universal, many died of it; it has disappeared, and Calcutta is tolerably healthy; the cholera has not attacked the Europeans.

August 6th.—The locals, especially the Hindus, are dying by the hundreds every day in the damp and marshy areas of Calcutta; 410 died in just one night from cholera and fever, both of which are spreading alarmingly. They sleep in such swampy conditions, out in the open air, it's a wonder that they aren’t all wiped out. Last month there was a widespread fever among Europeans, and many died from it; it has since disappeared, and Calcutta is fairly healthy now; cholera has not affected the Europeans.

September 18th.—We now consider ourselves fairly fixed in Calcutta; the climate agrees with us; and though we hold existence upon a frailer tenure than those in England, we still hope to see many happy years.

September 18th.—We feel pretty settled in Calcutta now; the climate suits us; and even though our situation is less stable than those in England, we still hope to enjoy many happy years.

“’Tis in vain to complain, in a melancholy strain,
Of the money we have spent, which will never come again.”

Furlough and the pension must make amends.

Furlough and the pension need to be reconciled.

The cold season is the only time in which we live, and breathe, and have our being, the rest of the year is mere “leather and prunella,” and we “groan and sweat under a weary life.”

The cold season is the only time we truly live, breathe, and exist; the rest of the year is just “leather and prunella,” and we “groan and sweat under a tiring life.”

But then in Calcutta, we do not die of the blue devils, ennui, or from want of medical attendance, as those do who are far removed; and even the maladie du pays is relieved by the constant letters and news we receive from our native land.

But in Calcutta, we don’t suffer from the blues, boredom, or lack of medical care like those who are far away; even the homesickness is eased by the regular letters and updates we get from our homeland.

The Burmese seem to have adopted the plan of the Russians,[55] and left their infernal climate to fight their battles; it has done it most wofully—fever has killed more men than the sword. Our troops are now waiting for the breaking up of the rains, to recommence operations. It is supposed that they will meet with little difficulty in making their way to Amrapūrā, the capital; but if they do, it seems that the king and his court will not wait for their arrival, but start with their valuables to the mountains. There has been a sad waste of life and money. Commissioners have now been appointed. Report says that Sir Archibald Campbell’s spirit is too bellicose; and the deputation (civil) to Rangoon is to check his warlike excesses. The company profess that they do not wish for an extent of territory; so that the present war has been entered into solely for the purpose of avenging the insults that have been offered to their arms. I wish most sincerely that they had been contented with holding what they had, instead of proclaiming war; and probably they may be of the same opinion. The papers say that a truce has been entered into with the Burmese, for the purposes of negotiation. Within these few days we have heard that it has been prolonged, in order that our terms might be submitted to the Golden Feet. It is to be hoped that they will not trample upon them, and that this most detestable war, which has cost so many lives and so much money, may be honourably concluded.

The Burmese seem to have taken a page from the Russians' playbook, [55] leaving behind their harsh climate to fight their battles; and it's been devastating—more soldiers have died from fever than from combat. Our troops are now waiting for the rains to stop so they can resume operations. It's believed that they won't face much trouble getting to Amrapūrā, the capital; however, if they do, it seems the king and his court will flee to the mountains with their valuables before our arrival. There has been a tragic loss of life and resources. Commissioners have now been appointed. Reports suggest that Sir Archibald Campbell is too eager for conflict, and the civil delegation to Rangoon aims to rein in his aggressive tendencies. The company claims they don't seek to expand their territory; thus, this war is purely about avenging the insults to their forces. I truly wish they had been satisfied with what they had instead of declaring war; they might share that sentiment. The news indicates that a truce has been established with the Burmese for negotiation purposes. In recent days, we’ve heard that it has been extended so that our terms can be presented to the Golden Feet. Let’s hope they won't dismiss them, and that this horrible war, which has claimed so many lives and consumed so much money, can be brought to a dignified end.

Lord Combermere has determined to proceed immediately to the Upper Provinces, and to have a fling at Bhurtpore. There is no doubt as to the event being successful, but the natives have a great conceit about it; it is another Pucelle, as it has never yet been taken. In Lord Lake’s time, our troops were three times repulsed; but that is a tale of the times of old, when these matters were conducted on too small a scale. Now there is to be a fine park of artillery, fully capable of making an impression on the heart of this obdurate maiden. It will do much service in taking the conceit out of these people. They have songs, and even caricatures, in which Europeans are drawn as craving for mercy under their victorious swords, to the number of three or four to one Mahratta horseman. It is an old grudge, and our sipahīs fancy the affair hugely. We took Bhurtpore[56] last night over the whist-table, by a coup de main; I trust we shall be able to play our cards as well when before it. This will be of a different nature altogether from the vile Burmese war. Those who fall will die nobly in battle, not by the host of diseases by which our poor fellows have been sacrificed at Rangoon and Arracan.

Lord Combermere has decided to head straight to the Upper Provinces and take a shot at Bhurtpore. There's no doubt it will be successful, but the locals think highly of it; it's like another Pucelle since it has never been captured. Back in Lord Lake’s time, our troops were turned back three times; but that's a story from the past when things were on a much smaller scale. Now, there will be a strong artillery presence, more than capable of making an impact on this stubborn target. It will do a lot to knock the arrogance out of these people. They have songs and even caricatures where Europeans are depicted begging for mercy under their victorious swords, often depicted as outnumbered by three or four Mahratta horsemen. It's an old grievance, and our sipahīs are really into it. We claimed Bhurtpore[56] last night over a game of whist, with a coup de main; I hope we can play our cards as well when we actually face it. This will be completely different from the disgraceful Burmese war. Those who fall will die valiantly in battle, not from the diseases that have taken so many of our brave men in Rangoon and Arracan.

The early marriages which take place in India were brought under my eye this morning. My ayha being ill, sent another to act for her during her absence; she is a pretty little woman, aged twenty-five, and has been married fourteen years!

The early marriages that happen in India caught my attention this morning. My nanny was sick, so she sent someone else to fill in for her while she was away; this woman is attractive and twenty-five years old, and she has been married for fourteen years!

The sickness in Arracan is dreadful; ship-loads of officers and men are arriving daily, with shaved heads and white faces, bearing testimony of the marsh fever, considering themselves most fortunate in having quitted the country alive.

The sickness in Arracan is terrible; shiploads of officers and crew are arriving daily, with shaved heads and pale faces, showing signs of the marsh fever, feeling extremely lucky to have left the country alive.

Imagine living in a straw-shed, exposed to the burning sun and the torrents of rain that fall in this country; the nights cold, raw, and wet; the fog arising from the marshes spreading fever in every direction. Where the sword kills one, the climate carries off an hundred.

Imagine living in a straw hut, exposed to the blazing sun and the heavy rain that falls in this country; the nights cold, chilly, and damp; the fog rising from the marshes spreading disease everywhere. While the sword takes one life, the climate claims a hundred.

Oct.—Lord Combermere intends to render the cold weather gay with balls and dinner parties. His staff are quite a relief to the eye, looking so well dressed, so fresh and European. They express themselves horrified at beholding the fishy hue of the faces on the Course; wonder how they are ever to stay at home during the heat of the day, and sigh for gaiety and variety. Speaking of the ladies in the East, one of them said, “Amongst the womankind, there are some few worth the trouble of running away with; but then the exertion would be too much for the hot season; and in the cold, we shall have something else to think about!”

Oct.—Lord Combermere plans to brighten up the chilly weather with balls and dinner parties. His staff is a welcome sight, looking well-dressed, fresh, and European. They are horrified by the pale, unhealthy appearance of the people at the Course and wonder how they will manage to stay indoors during the heat of the day, longing for fun and variety. Speaking of the ladies in the East, one of them remarked, “Among the women, there are a few worth the trouble of running away with; but the effort would be too much for the hot season, and in the cold, we’ll have other things to think about!”

Dec. 1st.—We changed our residence for one in Middleton-row, Chowringhee, having taken a dislike to the house in which we were residing, from its vicinity to tanks and native huts.

Dec. 1st.—We moved to a place on Middleton Row, Chowringhee, as we didn’t like the house we were living in because it was close to tanks and local huts.

The house has a good ground floor and two stories above, with verandahs to each; the rent 325 rupees per month; the third story consists of bed-rooms. The deep fogs in Calcutta rise thick and heavy as high as the first floor; from the[57] verandah of the second you may look down on the white fog below your feet, whilst the stars are bright above, and the atmosphere clear around you. The spotted deer play about the compound, and the mouse deer runs about my dressing-room, doing infinite mischief.

The house has a nice ground floor and two stories above, each with verandas; the rent is 325 rupees a month. The third story has bedrooms. The thick, heavy fogs in Calcutta can rise all the way to the first floor; from the second-floor veranda, you can look down at the white fog below you, while the stars shine brightly above and the air is clear around you. Spotted deer play around the yard, and the mouse deer scurries around my dressing room, causing all sorts of trouble.

The Barā bazār, the great mart where shawls are bought, is worth visiting. It is also interesting to watch the dexterity with which seed pearls are bored by the natives. This operation being one of difficulty, they tell me seed pearls are sent from England to be pierced in Calcutta.

The Barā bazār, the big market where shawls are sold, is definitely worth a visit. It's also fascinating to see how skillfully the locals drill holes in seed pearls. Since this task is quite challenging, I've been told that seed pearls are shipped from England to be pierced in Calcutta.


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[58]

CHAPTER VII.
Leaving the presidency.

Fulbertus Sagittarius—Billiards—The Recall of Lord Amherst—Zenāna of an opulent Hindū—The Death of Bishop Heber—Affliction in the Family of the Governor-General—Appointment to Allahabad—Sale of ‘Scamp’—March up the Country—Dāk Bungalows—Fakīrs en route—The Soane River—Sassaram—Satīs at Nobutpoor—Benares—Pūjā in a Hindū Temple—Brāhmanī Bulls—The Minarets—Beetle Wings—Hindū House—Benares Hackeries—Dāk to Allahabad—Visit to Papamhow.

Fulbertus Sagittarius—Billiards—The Recall of Lord Amherst—Zenāna of a wealthy Hindu—The Death of Bishop Heber—Grief in the Family of the Governor-General—Appointment to Allahabad—Sale of ‘Scamp’—March up the Country—Dāk Bungalows—Fakīrs along the way—The Soane River—Sassaram—Satīs at Nobutpoor—Benares—Pūjā in a Hindu Temple—Brāhmanī Bulls—The Minarets—Beetle Wings—Hindu House—Benares Hackeries—Dāk to Allahabad—Visit to Papamhow.

1826.—Lady Amherst is on horseback at gun-fire; few young women could endure the exercise she takes. She is an admirable equestrian, and possesses all the fondness of an Archer for horses. Her ladyship has won my heart by expressing her admiration of my beautiful Arab. His name originally was Orelio; but having become such a frisky fool, he has been rechristened ‘Scamp.’

1826.—Lady Amherst is riding at dawn; few young women could handle the kind of riding she does. She is an excellent rider and has all the passion of an Archer for horses. She has won my heart by admiring my beautiful Arab. His original name was Orelio, but since he has become such a playful troublemaker, we’ve renamed him ‘Scamp.’

On the death of Lord Archer, in 1778, she “who knew and loved his virtues,” inscribed the following sentence on his tomb: “He was the last male descendant of an ancient and honourable family that came over with William the Conqueror, and settled in the county of Warwick in the reign of King Henry the Second, from whom his ancestors obtained the grants of land in the said county.”

On the death of Lord Archer in 1778, she “who knew and loved his virtues,” wrote the following on his tomb: “He was the last male descendant of an ancient and honorable family that came over with William the Conqueror and settled in the county of Warwick during King Henry the Second's reign, from whom his ancestors gained the land grants in that county.”

When it was recorded on his monument at Tanworth that Lord Archer was the last of the male branch of the Archers who came over with the Conqueror, little did Lady Amherst (then the Hon. Miss Archer) imagine that, in her future Indian career, she would cross the path of the poor Pilgrim, the child of one of the noblest and best of men, who through Humphrey[59] Archer, deceased 1562, is a direct descendant, in the male line, from our common ancestor, Fulbertus Sagittarius[25].

When it was inscribed on his monument at Tanworth that Lord Archer was the last male descendant of the Archers who came over with the Conqueror, little did Lady Amherst (then the Hon. Miss Archer) think that, in her future career in India, she would encounter the unfortunate Pilgrim, the son of one of the noblest and best men, who, through Humphrey[59] Archer, who passed away in 1562, is a direct descendant, in the male line, from our shared ancestor, Fulbertus Sagittarius[25].

March.—Lord Amherst has been recalled, a circumstance we regret. He has had great difficulties to contend with since his arrival; and now, just at the moment his troubles are nearly ended, he has been recalled. I believe his lordship signified to the Home Government his wish to resign.

March.—Lord Amherst has been recalled, which we regret. He has faced significant challenges since he arrived; and now, just when his troubles are almost over, he has been recalled. I believe he informed the Home Government of his desire to resign.

In a climate so oppressive as this, billiards are a great resource in a private house; the table keeps one from going to sleep during the heat of the day, or from visiting Europe shops.

In such an oppressive climate, playing billiards is a fantastic way to pass the time in a private home; the table helps you stay awake during the heat of the day and keeps you from browsing European stores.

April 17th.—The perusal of Lady Mary Wortley Montague’s work has rendered me very anxious to visit a zenāna, and to become acquainted with the ladies of the East. I have now been nearly four years in India, and have never beheld any women but those in attendance as servants in European families, the low caste wives of petty shopkeepers, and nāch women.

April 17th.—Reading Lady Mary Wortley Montague’s work has made me very eager to visit a zenāna and get to know the women of the East. I have now been in India for almost four years, and I’ve only seen women who work as servants in European households, the low-caste wives of small shopkeepers, and nāch women.

I was invited to a nāch at the house of an opulent Hindū in Calcutta, and was much amused with an excellent set of jugglers; their feats with swords were curious: at the conclusion, the baboo asked me if I should like to visit his wives and female relatives. He led me before a large curtain, which having passed I found myself in almost utter darkness: two females took hold of my hands and led me up a long flight of stairs to a well-lighted room, where I was received by the wives and relatives. Two of the ladies were pretty; on beholding their attire I was no longer surprised that no other men than their husbands were permitted to enter the zenāna. The dress consisted of one long strip of Benares gauze of thin texture, with a gold border, passing twice round the limbs, with the end thrown over the shoulder. The dress was rather transparent, almost useless as a veil: their necks and arms were covered with jewels. The complexion of some of the ladies was of a pale mahogany, and some of the female attendants were of a very dark colour, almost black. Passing from the lighted room, we entered a dark balcony, in front of which were fine bamboo[60] screens, impervious to the eye from without, but from the interior we could look down upon the guests in the hall below, and distinguish perfectly all that passed. The ladies of the zenāna appeared to know all the gentlemen by sight, and told me their names. They were very inquisitive; requested me to point out my husband, inquired how many children I had, and asked a thousand questions. I was glad to have seen a zenāna, but much disappointed: the women were not ladylike; but, be it remembered, it was only at the house of a rich Calcutta native gentleman. I soon quitted the apartments and the nāch.

I was invited to a nāch at the home of a wealthy Hindu in Calcutta, and I was quite entertained by a great group of jugglers; their sword tricks were fascinating. At the end, the baboo asked if I wanted to meet his wives and female relatives. He took me to a large curtain, and after passing through it, I found myself in almost complete darkness. Two women took my hands and guided me up a long flight of stairs to a well-lit room, where I was welcomed by the wives and relatives. Two of the women were pretty; seeing what they were wearing, I understood why only their husbands were allowed in the zenāna. Their outfits consisted of a long strip of thin Benares gauze with a gold border, wrapped around their bodies twice and thrown over their shoulders. The clothing was quite sheer, hardly serving as a proper veil; their necks and arms were adorned with jewelry. Some of the women had a pale mahogany complexion, while some of the attendants were very dark, almost black. After leaving the bright room, we entered a dark balcony, in front of which were fine bamboo[60] screens, which blocked the view from outside, but from inside, we could look down on the guests in the hall below and see everything clearly. The ladies in the zenāna seemed to recognize all the men by sight and told me their names. They were very curious, asking me to point out my husband, how many children I had, and a thousand other questions. I was glad to have seen a zenāna, but was rather disappointed: the women didn’t seem very ladylike; but keep in mind, this was just at the home of a rich native gentleman in Calcutta. I soon left the rooms and the nāch.

The sketch of “a Bengālī woman” represents the style of attire worn by the ladies of the baboo’s zenāna, with this difference, that the dress of the woman called a sārī is of muslin, edged with a bright blue border; it is passed several times round the figure, but the form of the limbs and the tint of the skin is traced through it: no other attire is worn beneath the sārī; it forms, although in one long piece, a complete dress, and is a remarkably graceful one. Her nose-ring, ear-rings, and necklaces are of gold; her armlet of silver; the anklets of the same metal. A set of chūrīs (bracelets) adorn her arms, below which is a row of coral, or of cornelian beads. Silver chains are around her waist; her hands and feet are stained with hinnā. She is returning to her home from the river, with her gāgri, a brass vessel filled with water; her attitude may appear peculiar, but it is natural; by throwing out one hip, a woman can carry a heavy water-jar with ease. A child is often carried astride the hip in the same manner; hence the proverb, speaking of a vicious child, says, “Perched on your hip, he will peck your eyes out.” The dark line of surma is distinctly seen around her eyes, and a black dot between the eyebrows.

The sketch of “a Bengālī woman” shows the style of clothing worn by the ladies of the baboo’s zenāna, with one key difference: the dress of the woman, called a sārī, is made of muslin and trimmed with a bright blue border. It wraps around her figure multiple times, allowing the shape of her limbs and the color of her skin to show through. No other clothing is worn underneath the sārī; it serves as a complete dress in one long piece, and it is very elegant. Her nose ring, earrings, and necklaces are made of gold; her armlet is silver, and the anklets are made from the same metal. She wears a set of chūrīs (bracelets) on her arms, with a row of coral or cornelian beads below them. Silver chains adorn her waist, and her hands and feet are stained with hinnā. She is coming home from the river, carrying her gāgri, a brass vessel filled with water. Her stance might look unusual, but it's natural; by jutting out one hip, a woman can easily carry a heavy water jar. A child is often carried in the same way on the hip, which is where the saying comes from about a troublesome child: “Perched on your hip, he will peck your eyes out.” A distinct line of surma can be seen around her eyes, along with a black dot between her eyebrows.

April.—We heard, with sorrow, the death of Bishop Heber, from my sister at Cuddalore, whose house he had just quitted for Trichinopoly; after preaching twice in one day, he went into a bath, and was there found dead. It was supposed, that bathing, after the fatigue he had undergone, sent the blood to the head and occasioned apoplexy.

April.—We learned with sadness about Bishop Heber's death from my sister in Cuddalore, whose house he had just left for Trichinopoly; after preaching twice in one day, he went to take a bath and was found dead there. It was believed that bathing after the exhaustion he had experienced caused blood to rush to his head, leading to a stroke.

A BENGALEE WOMAN.

A Bengali woman.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

[61]

[61]

May 18th.—Killed a scorpion in my bathing-room, a good fat old fellow; prepared him with arsenical soap, and added him to the collection of curiosities in my museum.

May 18th.—I killed a scorpion in my bathroom, a nice fat one; I treated it with arsenical soap and added it to my collection of curiosities in my museum.

My Italian master praises me for application: he says, the heat is killing him, and complains greatly of the want of rain. When I told him we had had a little during the last two days, he replied, “You are the favoured of God in Chowringhee, we have had none in Calcutta.” The natives suffer dreadfully. Cholera and the heat are carrying off three and sometimes five hundred a day.

My Italian teacher praises me for my dedication; he says the heat is unbearable and complains a lot about the lack of rain. When I told him we had a little rain over the last two days, he replied, “You are blessed by God in Chowringhee; we haven't had any in Calcutta.” The locals are suffering terribly. Cholera and the heat are claiming three to five hundred lives a day.

An eclipse has produced a change in the weather, and the sickness has ceased in the bazārs.

An eclipse has caused a change in the weather, and the illness has stopped in the markets.

August.—A gloom has been thrown over Calcutta; and Lord Amherst’s family are in the deepest affliction, caused by the death of Captain Amherst, which took place a short time ago. His lordship, his son, and his nephew were seized with fever at the same time; Captain Amherst’s became typhus, and carried him off. The family have proceeded up the country. All those who have the pleasure of their acquaintance, sympathize most deeply in their affliction; they are much respected.

August.—A shadow has fallen over Calcutta; Lord Amherst’s family is in deep sorrow following the death of Captain Amherst, which happened recently. His lordship, his son, and his nephew all caught a fever at the same time; Captain Amherst’s developed into typhus and took his life. The family has moved upcountry. Everyone who knows them feels a deep sense of sympathy for their loss; they are highly respected.

Oct. 18th.—My husband having received an acting appointment at Allahabad, we prepared to quit Calcutta. The distance by the river being eight hundred miles, and by land five hundred, we determined to march up stage by stage, sending the heavy baggage by water.

Oct. 18th.—Since my husband got an acting position in Allahabad, we got ready to leave Calcutta. The river distance is eight hundred miles, and by land it's five hundred, so we decided to travel stage by stage, shipping the heavy luggage by water.

On quitting the Presidency, a great part of our furniture, horses, &c. were sold. I had refused 2000 rupees for my beautiful Arab; but determined, as economy was the order of the day, to fix his price at 2500. The pair of greys, Atlas and Mercury, carriage-horses, sold for 2200 rupees, 300 less than they cost; they, as well as Scamp, were too valuable to march up the country. This will give you some idea of the price of good horses in Calcutta. One morning a note was sent, which I opened (having received instructions to that effect), requesting to know if the grey Arab was for sale. I answered it, and mentioned the price. The gentleman enclosed the amount, 2500 rupees, about 250l., in a note to me, requesting me to[62] keep and ride the horse during the remainder of my stay in Calcutta, and on my departure to send him to his stables. For this charming proof of Indian politesse, I returned thanks, but declined the offer. I felt so sorry to part with my beautiful horse, I could not bear the sight of him when he was no longer my own: it was my own act; my husband blamed me for having sold a creature in which I took so much delight, and was not satisfied until he had replaced him by a milk-white Arab, with a silken mane and long tail. Mootee, the name of my new acquisition, was very gay at first, not comprehending the petticoat, but on becoming used to it, carried me most agreeably. A fine Scotch terrier was given me to bear me company on the journey, but he was stolen from us ere we quitted Calcutta.

When I left the Presidency, a lot of our furniture, horses, etc., were sold. I had turned down 2000 rupees for my beautiful Arab horse, but decided to set his price at 2500 since saving money was a priority. The pair of grey carriage horses, Atlas and Mercury, sold for 2200 rupees, which was 300 less than what I paid for them; they, along with Scamp, were too valuable to take upcountry. This gives you an idea of the price of good horses in Calcutta. One morning, I received a note, which I opened (as I had been instructed to do), asking if the grey Arab was for sale. I replied and mentioned the price. The gentleman sent me the amount, 2500 rupees, about 250l., along with a request to keep and ride the horse during my remaining time in Calcutta and to send him to his stables when I left. I was grateful for this lovely gesture of Indian politesse, but I declined the offer. I felt so sad about parting with my beautiful horse that I couldn't stand to see him once he wasn't mine anymore. It was my decision; my husband criticized me for selling a creature I loved so much and didn’t feel satisfied until he replaced him with a milk-white Arab with a silky mane and long tail. My new horse, named Mootee, was very lively at first, not quite understanding the riding skirt, but once he got used to it, he carried me quite nicely. A lovely Scottish terrier was given to keep me company on the journey, but he was stolen from us before we left Calcutta.

The people in Calcutta abused the Upper Provinces so much, we felt little inclination to quit the city, although we had applied for an appointment in the Mufassil. Imagining the march would be very fatiguing, I went on board several pinnaces; they did not please me; then I crossed the river to see the first dāk bungalow, and brought back a good account.

The people in Calcutta talked so negatively about the Upper Provinces that we weren’t very eager to leave the city, even though we had applied for a position in the Mufassil. Thinking the journey would be quite tiring, I checked out several small boats; I wasn’t impressed by them. Then I crossed the river to check out the first dāk bungalow and returned with a positive report.

Nov. 22nd.—We quitted Calcutta, crossed the river to the bungalow, on the New Road, stayed there one day to muster our forces, and commenced our journey the next.

Nov. 22nd.—We left Calcutta, crossed the river to the bungalow on the New Road, stayed there for one day to gather our team, and started our journey the next day.

Our marching establishment consisted of two good mares for the Stanhope, two fine saddle Arabs for ourselves, two ponies, and nine hackeries, which contained supplies and clothes, also a number of goats, and two Arabs, which we had taken charge of for a friend. We travelled by the Grand Military road, riding the first part of the stage, and finishing it in the buggy.

Our group had two solid mares for the Stanhope, two lovely saddle Arabs for ourselves, two ponies, and nine carts loaded with supplies and clothes, along with several goats and two Arabs we were looking after for a friend. We traveled along the Grand Military road, riding the first part of the journey and finishing it in the buggy.

30th.—I now write from Bancoorah, some hundred miles from the Presidency. Thus far we have proceeded into the bowels of the Mufassil very much to our satisfaction. The change of air, and change of scene, have wrought wonders in us both. My husband has never felt so well in health or so désennuyé since he left England. I am as strong as a Diana Vernon, and ride my eight or ten miles before breakfast without fatigue. We have still some four hundred miles to march; but[63] the country is to improve daily, and when we arrive at the hills, I hear we are to be carried back, in imagination, to the highlands of Scotland. I have never been there; n’importe, I can fancy as well as others. We rejoiced in having passed Bengal Proper, the first one hundred miles; the country was extremely flat, and, for the greater part, under water, said water being stagnant: the road was raised of mud, high enough to keep it above the swamp; a disagreeable road on a fly-away horse like my new purchase; low, marshy fields of paddy (rice) were on either side: sometimes we came to a bridge, surrounded by water, so that instead of being able to cross it, you had to ford the nullah (stream) lower down. No marvel, Calcutta is unhealthy, and that fevers prevail there; the wind flowing over these marshes must be charged with malaria.

30th.—I’m now writing from Bancoorah, about a hundred miles from the capital. So far, our journey into the heart of the Mufassil has been very satisfying. The change of air and scenery have done wonders for both of us. My husband has never felt healthier or more content since leaving England. I’m as strong as ever and can ride eight or ten miles before breakfast without feeling tired. We still have about four hundred miles to go, but [63] the country is supposed to get better every day, and I’ve heard that when we reach the hills, it will remind us of the Scottish highlands. I’ve never been there; n’importe, I can imagine it just as well as anyone else. We were glad to have passed through Bengal Proper, the first one hundred miles; the land was extremely flat and mostly underwater, with stagnant water everywhere. The road was raised from mud, high enough to stay above the swamp—an unpleasant ride on my new, skittish horse. On either side, there were low, marshy fields of paddy (rice), and sometimes we encountered a bridge surrounded by water, which meant that instead of crossing it, we had to find a place to ford the nullah (stream) further down. It’s no wonder Calcutta is unhealthy, and fevers are common there; the wind blowing over these marshes must carry malaria.

Bancoorah has a bad name. It is remarkable that almost all the horses that are any time at the station, go weak in the loins.

Bancoorah has a bad reputation. It's astonishing that nearly all the horses that spend time at the station become weak in the hindquarters.

Dec. 2nd.—We reached Rogonautpoor, a very pretty spot, where there are some peculiar hills. Here we found Sir A. B⸺ and his daughters; we accompanied them in a ramble over the hills in the evening. Sir A. took his Sipahee guard with him, having heard the hills were infested with bears, but we found none.

Dec. 2nd.—We arrived at Rogonautpoor, a really beautiful place with some unique hills. There, we met Sir A. B⸺ and his daughters; we joined them for a walk over the hills in the evening. Sir A. brought along his Sipahee guard since he had heard the hills were home to bears, but we didn't see any.

At Chass, quail and partridge, snipe and pigeons, were abundant. I generally accompanied my husband on his sporting expeditions in the evening, either on foot or on a pony, and enjoyed it very much.

At Chass, there were plenty of quail and partridge, snipe and pigeons. I usually went with my husband on his hunting trips in the evening, either on foot or on a pony, and I really enjoyed it.

At Hazāree Bāgh I became possessed of the first pellet bow I had seen, and found it difficult to use. We travelled from bungalow to bungalow. They are built by government, and are all on the same plan; at each a khidmutgar and a bearer are in attendance. At Khutkumsandy we were on the hills. Partridges were in plenty by the nālā.

At Hazāree Bāgh, I got my hands on the first pellet bow I had ever seen, and I struggled to use it. We moved from one bungalow to another. They're built by the government and all follow the same design; at each one, there's a khidmutgar and a bearer ready to help. At Khutkumsandy, we were up in the hills. There were plenty of partridges by the stream.

At one of the stages the bearer of the dāk bungalow stole a large silver spoon off the breakfast-table. Happening, from his defending himself with great vehemence, to suspect him of the theft, we sent for the police, to whom he confessed he had hidden the spoon in the thatch of his own house. They carried him on a prisoner.

At one point, the person in charge of the dāk bungalow took a large silver spoon from the breakfast table. When he defended himself very fiercely, we started to suspect him of the theft, so we called the police. He admitted that he had hidden the spoon in the roof of his own house. They took him away as a prisoner.

[64]

[64]

The country from this place, through Ranachitty to Dunghye, is most beautiful; fine hills, from the tops of which you have a noble and extensive view. Sometimes I was reminded of my own dear forest, which in parts it much resembles. The weak Calcutta bullocks finding it hard work, we were obliged to hire six more hackeries. We rode the whole of this stage. The road was too bad, and the hills too steep, for the buggy; but as it was nearly shaded the whole distance by high trees, the heat of the sun did not affect us. Tigers are found in this pass; and when Mootee my Arab snorted, and drew back apparently alarmed, I expected a sortie from the jungle. At this stage a horse ran away in a buggy, alarmed by a bear sleeping in the road.

The area from here, through Ranachitty to Dunghye, is stunning; there are beautiful hills that offer a grand and extensive view from the top. At times, it reminded me of my beloved forest, which it closely resembles in some parts. The weak bullocks from Calcutta were struggling, so we had to hire six more hackeries. We rode the entire way. The road was too rough and the hills too steep for the buggy, but since it was mostly shaded by tall trees, we didn’t feel the heat of the sun. Tigers are found in this pass, and when Mootee, my Arab horse, snorted and seemed startled, I expected something to come out of the jungle. At this point, a horse ran away while in a buggy, scared by a bear that was sleeping in the road.

At the Dunghye bungalow some travellers had been extremely poetical:

At the Dunghye bungalow, some travelers had been quite poetic:

“Dunghye! Dunghye! with hills so high,
A sorry place art thou;
Thou boasts not e’en a blade of grass,
Enough to feed an hungry ass,
Or e’en a half-starved cow.”

Nevertheless, we saw fine jungle and grass in plenty on every side, and were told partridge and jungle fowl were abundant.

Nevertheless, we saw plenty of beautiful jungle and grass all around us, and we were told that partridges and jungle fowl were abundant.

En route were several parties of fakirs, who said they were going to Jugunnath. These rascals had some capital tattoos with them. Several of these men had one withered arm raised straight, with the long nails growing through the back of the hand. These people are said to be great thieves; and when any of them were encamped near us on the march, we directed the chaukidārs (watchmen) to keep a good look out, on our horses as well as our chattels. The adage says of the fakir, “Externally he is a saint, but internally a devil[26].”

On the way were several groups of fakirs, who claimed they were heading to Jugunnath. These guys had some impressive tattoos. Many of them had one withered arm raised straight up, with long nails growing through the back of their hands. These people are said to be skilled thieves; and whenever they camped near us during the march, we instructed the chaukidārs (watchmen) to keep a sharp eye on both our horses and our belongings. There’s a saying about the fakir, “On the outside, he appears to be a saint, but on the inside, he's a devil[26].”

At Sherghattee we delivered the stealer of the spoon over to the magistrate. In the evening I went out with the gentlemen on an elephant; they had some sport with their guns.

At Sherghattee, we handed over the spoon thief to the magistrate. In the evening, I went out with the guys on an elephant; they had some fun with their guns.

At Baroon we bought some uncut Soane pebbles, which turned out remarkably good when cut and polished. We rode[65] across the Soane river, which was three miles in breadth, and had two large sandbanks in the middle of the stream. Wading through the water was most troublesome work on horseback. Twice we were obliged to put the horses into boats, they struggled, and kicked, and gave so much trouble. The Arab ‘Rajah’ jumped fairly out of the boat into the stream. The mares worked hard getting the buggy across the deep sand; they went into and came out of the boats very steadily.

At Baroon, we bought some uncut Soane pebbles that turned out to be excellent once they were cut and polished. We rode[65] across the Soane River, which was three miles wide and had two large sandbanks in the middle of the stream. Wading through the water while on horseback was quite a hassle. Twice we had to put the horses into boats, and they struggled, kicked, and made things difficult. The Arab ‘Rajah’ even jumped out of the boat into the water. The mares worked hard to get the buggy across the deep sand; they got in and out of the boats very steadily.

On our arrival at Sahseram, a native gentleman, Shah Kubbeer-oo-deen Ahmud, called upon us. At tiffin-time he sent us some ready-dressed native dishes; I was much surprised at it, but the natives told me it was his usual custom. In the evening, some fireworks, sent by the same gentleman, were displayed, particularly for my amusement. The town is very ancient, and there are numerous remains of former magnificence rapidly falling into decay. The tombs are well worth a visit.

On our arrival at Sahseram, a local gentleman, Shah Kubbeer-oo-deen Ahmud, came to see us. At lunchtime, he sent us some ready-made native dishes; I was quite surprised by this, but the locals told me it was his usual custom. In the evening, some fireworks, sent by the same gentleman, were put on for my entertainment. The town is very old, and there are many ruins of past grandeur that are quickly falling into decay. The tombs are definitely worth a visit.

Dec. 23rd.—We arrived at Nobutpoor, a very pretty place. The bungalow is on a high bank, just above the Curamnassa river. To the right you have a view of a suspension-bridge, built of bamboo and rope; on the left is a suttee-ground, to me a most interesting sight. I had heard a great deal regarding suttees in Calcutta, but had never seen one; here was a spot to which it was customary to bring the widows to be burned alive, on the banks of the Curamnassa, a river considered holy by the Hindoos.

Dec. 23rd.—We arrived at Nobutpoor, a really beautiful place. The bungalow is on a high bank, right above the Curamnassa river. To the right, you can see a suspension bridge made of bamboo and rope; on the left is a suttee ground, which I find to be a very intriguing sight. I had heard a lot about suttees in Calcutta but had never witnessed one; here was a place where it was customary to bring widows to be burned alive, on the banks of the Curamnassa, a river that Hindus consider holy.

In the sketch I took of the place are seven suttee mounds, raised of earth, one of which is kept in good repair, and there are several more in the mango tope to the left. The people said, no suttee had taken place there for twenty years, but that the family who owned the large mound kept it in repair, and were very proud of the glory reflected on their house by one of the females having become suttee. A fine stone bridge had been begun some years before by a Mahratta lady, but was never finished; the remains are in the river. The touch of its waters is a dire misfortune to an Hindoo; they carefully cross the suspension-bridge.

In the sketch I took of the place, there are seven funeral mounds made of earth, one of which is well-maintained, and several more located in the mango grove to the left. The locals said that no funeral had happened there in twenty years, but the family who owns the large mound keeps it in good condition and takes pride in the honor it brings their household from one of their women having undergone the funeral rites. A beautiful stone bridge was started some years ago by a Mahratta woman but was never completed; the remnants are in the river. Touching its waters is considered a serious misfortune for a Hindu, so they carefully cross the suspension bridge.

The next stage took us to the Mogul Serai; and, some rain[66] having fallen, we felt the difference between the cold of the up-country and the fogs of Calcutta.

The next stage took us to the Mogul Serai; and, after some rain[66] had fallen, we noticed the difference between the cold of the inland area and the mists of Calcutta.

Dec. 25th.—Arrived at Benares; and here, again, crossing the Ganges was a great difficulty. The Arab ‘Rajah’ was so extremely violent in the boat, that we were obliged to swim him over. At length we reached the house of a friend in the civil service, and were well pleased to rest from our labours. Rising and being on horseback by four A.M. daily, is hard work when continued for a month.

Dec. 25th.—I arrived in Benares, and once again, crossing the Ganges was a major challenge. The Arab 'Rajah' was so aggressive in the boat that we had to swim him across. Finally, we made it to a friend’s house in the civil service, and were glad to take a break from our efforts. Getting up and being on horseback by four A.M. every day is tough work when it goes on for a month.

My husband, finding it necessary to reach Allahabad by the 30th, left me at Benares, to discharge the Calcutta hackeries, to get others, and to continue my journey. During my stay, our friend took me into the holy city, and showed me a great deal of what was most remarkable. Long as I had lived in Calcutta, I had seen very little of native life or the forms of pooja. The most holy city of Benares is the high place of superstition. I went into a Hindoo temple in which pooja was being performed, and thought the organ of gullibility must be very strongly developed in the Hindoos.

My husband, needing to get to Allahabad by the 30th, left me in Benares to take care of the Calcutta transport, arrange for others, and continue my journey. While I was there, our friend took me around the holy city and showed me a lot of the remarkable sights. Even though I had lived in Calcutta for a long time, I had seen very little of local life or the rituals of worship. Benares, the most sacred city, is a hub of superstition. I visited a Hindu temple where a ritual was happening and thought that the tendency to believe in such things must be very strong among the Hindus.

It was the early morning, and before the people went to their daily avocations, they came to perform worship before the idols. Each man brought a little vessel of brass, containing oil, another containing boiled rice, another Ganges’ water and freshly-gathered flowers. Each worshipper, on coming into the temple, poured his offering on the head of the idol, and laid the flowers before it; prayed with his face to the earth, then struck a small bell three times, and departed. The Hindoo women follow the same custom.

It was early morning, and before people started their daily routines, they came to worship the idols. Each person brought a small brass container with oil, another with boiled rice, one with Ganges water, and fresh flowers. Each worshipper, upon entering the temple, poured their offering over the idol's head and placed the flowers in front of it; they prayed with their faces to the ground, then rang a small bell three times, and left. Hindu women followed the same practice.

There were numerous uncouth idols in the temple. A black bull and a white bull, both carved in stone, attracted many worshippers; whilst two living bulls stood by the side, who were regarded as most holy, and fed with flowers.

There were many rough idols in the temple. A black bull and a white bull, both made of stone, drew in a lot of worshippers; meanwhile, two living bulls stood nearby, seen as very sacred, and were fed with flowers.

If an Hindoo wishes to perform an act of devotion, he purchases a young bull without blemish, and presents him to the Brāhmans, who stamp a particular mark upon him; he is then turned loose, as a Brāhmani bull, and allowed to roam at pleasure. To kill this animal would be sacrilege. When they get[67] savage they become very dangerous. The Brāhmani bulls roam at pleasure through the bazaars, taking a feed whenever they encounter a grain shop.

If a Hindu wants to perform an act of devotion, he buys a young bull that is flawless and gives it to the Brahmins, who put a specific mark on it. It is then released as a Brahmani bull and allowed to wander freely. Killing this animal would be a sacrilege. When they become aggressive, they can be quite dangerous. The Brahmani bulls roam freely through the markets, stopping to eat whenever they come across a grain shop.[67]

We ascended the minarets, and looked down upon the city and the Ganges. Young men prefer ascending them at early dawn, having then a chance of seeing the females of some zenāna, who often sleep on the flat roof of the house, which is surrounded by a high wall. From the height of the minarets you overlook the walls. I thought of Hadji Baba and the unfortunate Zeenab, whom he first saw spreading tobacco on the roof to dry. The shops of the kimkhwāb and turban manufacturers, as also of those who prepare the silver and gold wire used in the fabric of the brocade worked in gold and silver flowers, are well worth visiting.

We climbed the minarets and looked down at the city and the Ganges. Young men usually prefer going up at dawn, hoping to catch a glimpse of the women from some zenāna, who often sleep on the flat rooftop of the house, which is surrounded by a tall wall. From the height of the minarets, you can see over the walls. I thought about Hadji Baba and the unfortunate Zeenab, whom he first saw spreading tobacco on the roof to dry. The shops of the kimkhwāb and turban makers, as well as those who create the silver and gold wire used in the brocade with gold and silver flowers, are definitely worth a visit.

Beetle wings are procurable at Benares, and are used there for ornamenting kimkhwāb and native dresses. In Calcutta and Madras, they embroider gowns for European ladies with these wings, edged with gold; the effect is beautiful. The wings are cheap at Benares, expensive at other places.

Beetle wings are available in Benares and are used there to decorate kimkhwāb and local clothing. In Calcutta and Madras, they stitch these wings onto gowns for European women, trimmed with gold; the result is stunning. The wings are inexpensive in Benares but costly in other places.

I was carried in a tanjan through Benares. In many parts, in the narrow streets, I could touch the houses on both sides of the street with my hands. The houses are from six to seven stories high.

I was carried in a palanquin through Benares. In many areas, on the narrow streets, I could touch the buildings on both sides with my hands. The buildings are six to seven stories tall.

In one of these narrow passages it is not agreeable to meet a Brāhmani bull. Four armed men, barkandāzes, ran on before the tanjan to clear the road. I procured a number of the brazen vessels that are used in pooja. On my return we will have it in grand style; the baby shall represent the idol, and we will pour oil and flowers over his curly head.

In one of these tight alleyways, running into a Brāhmani bull isn't exactly pleasant. Four armed guards, barkandāzes, rushed ahead of the tanjan to clear the way. I got a bunch of the metal containers used for pooja. When I come back, we'll do it up big; the baby will stand in for the idol, and we'll pour oil and flowers over his curly head.

The cattle live on the ground-floor; and to enter a gay Hindoo house, you must first pass through a place filled with cows and calves; then you encounter a heavy door, the entrance to a narrow, dark passage; and after ascending a flight of steps, you arrive at the inhabited part of the house, which is painted with all sorts of curious devices. I visited one of these houses; it was furnished, but uninhabited.

The cattle live on the ground floor, and to enter a lively Hindu house, you have to walk through a space filled with cows and calves. Next, you come to a heavy door that leads to a narrow, dark hallway. After going up a flight of steps, you reach the part of the house where people live, which is decorated with all kinds of interesting designs. I visited one of these houses; it was furnished but empty.

The contents of the thirteen small hackeries were stowed away[68] upon four of the large hackeries of Benares, which started on their march with the buggy and horses. For myself, a dāk was hired. Our friend drove me the first stage, and then put me into my palanquin. I overtook the hackeries, and could not resist getting out and looking into the horses’ tents. There they were, warm and comfortable, well littered down, with their sā’īses asleep at their sides; much more comfortable than myself during the coldness of the night, in the pālkee. The bearers broke open one of my bahangīs, and stole some articles.

The contents of the thirteen small carts were packed onto four of the large carts from Benares, which set off with the buggy and horses. I hired a dāk for myself. Our friend drove me for the first leg, and then helped me into my palanquin. I caught up with the carts and couldn't resist getting out to check on the horses' tents. They were warm and cozy, well-bedded down, with their caretakers asleep beside them; much more comfortable than I was during the cold night in the palanquin. The bearers broke open one of my bags and stole some items.

I reached Raj Ghāt early, and crossed the river. The fort, with its long line of ramparts, washed by the river, and the beauty of a Dhrumsālā, or Hindoo alms-house, on the opposite bank, under one of the arches of which was an enormous image of Ganesh, greatly attracted my attention. I watched the worshippers for some time, and promised myself to return and sketch it[27].

I got to Raj Ghāt early and crossed the river. The fort, with its long stretch of walls by the riverside, and the lovely Dhrumsālā, or Hindu alms-house, on the other side, caught my eye. Under one of its arches was a huge statue of Ganesh. I watched the worshippers for a while and promised myself I’d come back to sketch it. A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

The carriage of a friend was in waiting at this spot, and took me to Papamhow, where I rejoined my husband. Notwithstanding the difficulties, which according to report we expected, we made good progress, and arrived at Allahabad on the 1st of January, after a very pleasant trip. Indeed, this short time we agreed was the most approaching to delightful that we had passed in India; the constant change of scenery, and the country very beautiful in some parts, with the daily exercise, kept us all, horses included, in high health and spirits. We travelled at the rate of about fifteen miles a day, making use of the staging bungalows that have been erected for the accommodation of travellers, as far as Benares; thence we travelled by dāk to Prāg, the distance being only ninety miles. So much for our journey, which, considering our inexperience, I think we performed with much credit to ourselves.

A friend's carriage was waiting for me at this spot and took me to Papamhow, where I rejoined my husband. Despite the difficulties we were told to expect, we made good progress and arrived in Allahabad on January 1st, after a very enjoyable trip. We agreed that this short time was the closest to delightful that we had spent in India; the constant change of scenery and the beautiful countryside in some areas, combined with our daily exercise, kept us all, including the horses, in great health and high spirits. We traveled about fifteen miles a day, using the staging bungalows set up for travelers as far as Benares; from there, we traveled by dāk to Prāg, which was only ninety miles away. So much for our journey, which, given our inexperience, I think we accomplished with a lot of credit to ourselves.

A friend received us at Papamhow with the utmost kindness, housed and fed us, and assisted us in arranging our new residence, which, by the bye, has one great beauty, that of being rent free: no small consideration where the expense of an[69] unfurnished house is equal to that of a small income in England. Said house is very prettily situated on the banks of the Jumna, a little beyond the Fort. We like our new situation, and do not regret the gaiety of the City of Palaces; indeed, it now appears to me most wonderful how we could have remained there so long: in climate there is no comparison, and as to expense, if we can but commence the good work of economy, we may return on furlough ere long.

A friend welcomed us to Papamhow with incredible kindness, provided us with shelter and food, and helped us set up our new home, which, by the way, has one major advantage: it's rent-free. That's quite a big deal considering the cost of an unfurnished house is about the same as a small income in England. The house is beautifully located along the banks of the Jumna, just past the Fort. We really like our new place and don't miss the lively atmosphere of the City of Palaces at all; in fact, I find it amazing how we managed to stay there for so long. The climate is incomparable, and when it comes to costs, if we can start budgeting wisely, we might be able to come back on leave before long.

The peaceful termination of the war with Ava was one of the happy events of this year.

The peaceful end of the war with Ava was one of the joyful events of this year.


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[70]

CHAPTER VIII.
Life in the countryside.

“PLANT A TREE, DIG A WELL, WRITE A BOOK, AND GO TO HEAVEN[28].”

“Plant a tree, dig a well, write a book, and go to heaven[28].”

First Visits in the East—Papamhow—Runjeet Singh’s illness—Death of Lord Hastings—Lord Amherst created Earl of Arracan—Marriage of a neem to a peepul—The Bacäin—A Koord Arab—Visit to Lucnow—His Majesty Nusseer-ood-Deen Hyder—Lord Combermere—Kywan Jah—Presents not allowed to be accepted—Fights of Wild Beasts—Quail—Departure of Lord Combermere—Skinner’s Horse—Return to Prāg.

First Visits in the East—Papamhow—Runjeet Singh’s illness—Death of Lord Hastings—Lord Amherst made Earl of Arracan—Marriage of a neem to a peepul—The Bacäin—A Koord Arab—Visit to Lucnow—His Majesty Nusseer-ood-Deen Hyder—Lord Combermere—Kywan Jah—Presents not allowed to be accepted—Fights of Wild Beasts—Quail—Departure of Lord Combermere—Skinner’s Horse—Return to Prāg.

January 1827.—It is usual in India for those newly arrived to call upon the resident families of the station; the gentleman makes his call, which is returned by the resident and his family; after which, the lady returns the visit with her husband. An invitation is then received to a dinner-party given in honour of the strangers, the lady being always handed to dinner by the host, and made the queen of the day, whether or not entitled to it by rank.

January 1827.—In India, it's common for newcomers to visit the local families. The man pays a visit first, which is then reciprocated by the resident and their family; afterward, the woman returns the visit accompanied by her husband. Then, they receive an invitation to a dinner party celebrating the newcomers, with the host always escorting the lady to dinner and treating her like the guest of honor, regardless of her social status.

Our début in the Mufassil was at the house of the judge, where we met almost all the station, and were much pleased that destiny had brought us to Prāg. Prāg was named Allahabad when the old Hindoo city was conquered by the Mahomedans. We were very fortunate in bringing up our horses and baggage uninjured, and in not having been robbed en route. Lord Amherst has lost two horses, and his aide-de-camp three: guards are stationed around the Governor-general’s horse-tents and baggage night and day, nevertheless native robbers have carried off those five animals. His lordship is at present at Lucnow.

Our debut in the Mufassil was at the judge's house, where we met almost everyone from the station and were really happy that fate had brought us to Prāg. Prāg was called Allahabad when the old Hindu city was taken over by the Muslims. We were lucky to bring our horses and luggage up without any damage and not to have been robbed en route. Lord Amherst lost two horses, and his aide-de-camp lost three: guards are posted around the Governor-General’s horse tents and baggage day and night; still, local thieves managed to take those five animals. His lordship is currently in Lucnow.

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[71]

We have spent the last three weeks most delightfully at Papamhow. Every sort of scientific amusement was going forward. Painting in oil and water colours, sketching from nature, turning, making curious articles in silver and brass, constructing Æolian harps, amusing ourselves with archery, trying the rockets on the sands of an evening, chemical experiments, botany, gardening; in fact, the day was never half long enough for our employment in the workshop and the grounds.

We’ve spent the last three weeks having a great time at Papamhow. There were all kinds of scientific activities happening. We were painting in oils and watercolors, sketching from nature, working with lathes, creating interesting items in silver and brass, building Aeolian harps, having fun with archery, testing rockets on the beach in the evenings, doing chemical experiments, studying botany, and gardening; honestly, the day never felt long enough for all the things we wanted to do in the workshop and the grounds.

Papamhow is five miles from our own house, standing on higher ground and in a better situation, on the Ganges; when we can make holiday, we go up and stay at our country house, as our neighbours call it.

Papamhow is five miles from our house, located on higher ground and in a better spot by the Ganges. When we can take a break, we go up and stay at our country house, as our neighbors call it.

The old moonshee is cutting out my name in the Persian character, on the bottom of a Burmese idol, to answer as a seal. What an excellent picture the old man, with his long grey beard, would make! I have caught two beautiful little squirrels, with bushy tails and three white stripes on their backs; they run about the table, come to my shoulder, and feed from my hand.

The old teacher is carving my name in Persian script on the bottom of a Burmese idol to serve as a seal. What a great image the old man, with his long gray beard, would create! I've caught two beautiful little squirrels with bushy tails and three white stripes along their backs; they run around the table, come to my shoulder, and eat from my hand.

May.—Our friend at Papamhow is gunpowder agent to the Government, and manager of the rocket manufactory; his services are likely to be fully exerted, as it is reported that Runjeet Singh is not expected to live four months, being in the last stage of a liver complaint, and that his son, it is thought, will hoist the standard of rebellion. What gives foundation for this, is, that Lord Combermere is about to make the tour of the Upper Provinces, and that a concentration of forces is to take place on the frontier, under the pretext of a grand military inspection and review. There is no doubt as to who will go to the wall.

May.—Our friend at Papamhow is the gunpowder agent for the government and runs the rocket factory; his skills are likely to be in high demand, as it's rumored that Runjeet Singh is not expected to survive more than four months due to severe liver issues, and it's believed that his son will lead a rebellion. The basis for this speculation is that Lord Combermere is planning to tour the Upper Provinces, and there will be a buildup of forces at the border, under the guise of a major military inspection and review. There's no doubt about who will end up facing the consequences.

We have just received news of the death of Lord Hastings, and learn from the same papers, that Lord Amherst has been created an earl, and Lord Combermere a Viscount.

We’ve just heard the news of Lord Hastings’ death, and from the same articles, we learn that Lord Amherst has been made an earl, and Lord Combermere a viscount.

We have been occupied in planting a small avenue of neem-trees in front of the house; unlike the air around the tamarind, that near a neem-tree is reckoned wholesome:—according to the Guzrattee Proverb, we had made no advance on our heavenward[72] road until the avenue was planted, which carried us on one-third of the journey. No sooner were the trees in the ground, than the servants requested to be allowed to marry a neem to a young peepul-tree (ficus religiosa), which marriage was accordingly celebrated by planting a peepul and neem together, and entwining their branches. Some pooja was performed at the same time, which, with the ceremony of the marriage, was sure to bring good fortune to the newly-planted avenue.

We’ve been busy planting a small row of neem trees in front of the house; unlike the air around the tamarind, the air near a neem tree is considered healthy:—according to the Guzrattee proverb, we hadn’t made any progress on our path to heaven[72] until the avenue was planted, which took us a third of the way there. As soon as the trees were in the ground, the servants asked if they could marry a neem tree to a young peepul tree (ficus religiosa), which was celebrated by planting the peepul and neem together and intertwining their branches. Some pooja was performed at the same time, which, along with the marriage ceremony, was sure to bring good fortune to the newly-planted avenue.

The neem is a large and beautiful tree, common in most parts of India (melia azadirachta), or margosa-tree; its flowers are fragrant—a strong decoction of the leaves is used as a cure for strains.

The neem is a large and beautiful tree, common in most parts of India (melia azadirachta), or margosa-tree; its flowers are fragrant—a strong brew of the leaves is used as a treatment for strains.

Oil is prepared from the berry of the neem, (neem cowrie, as they call it,) which is esteemed excellent, and used as a liniment in violent headaches brought on by exposure to the sun, and in rheumatic and spasmodic affections. The flowers are fragrant: any thing remarkably bitter is compared to the neem-tree; “yeh duwa kŭrwee hy jyse neem:” this medicine is bitter as neem.

Oil is made from the neem berry, often referred to as neem cowrie, which is highly valued. It's used as a liniment for severe headaches caused by sun exposure, as well as for rheumatic and spasmodic conditions. The flowers have a pleasant scent. Anything that's very bitter is compared to the neem tree; “this medicine is as bitter as neem.”

The bacäin, or māhā nimba, (melia sempervirens,) a variety of the neem-tree, is remarkably beautiful. “The neem-tree will not become sweet though watered with syrup and clarified butter[29].”

The bacäin, or māhā nimba, (melia sempervirens), a type of neem tree, is exceptionally beautiful. “The neem tree won’t become sweet even if it’s watered with syrup and clarified butter[29].”

My pearl of the desert, my milk-white Arab, Mootee, is useless; laid up with an inflammation and swelling in his fore-legs; he looks like a creature afflicted with elephantiasis—they tell us to keep him cool—we cannot reduce the heat of the stable below 120°!

My precious desert gem, my pure white Arabian, Mootee, is no good; he's suffering from inflamed and swollen forelegs. He looks like he has elephantiasis—they tell us to keep him cool—but we can't get the stable temperature below 120°!

I feel the want of daily exercise: here it is very difficult to procure a good Arab; the native horses are vicious, and utterly unfit for a lady; and I am too much the spoiled child of my mother to mount an indifferent horse.

I really need to get some exercise every day: here it’s really hard to find a good Arab horse; the local horses are nasty and totally unsuitable for a woman; plus, I’ve been pampered by my mother too much to ride a mediocre horse.

August 28th.—Last week we made our sālām to the Earl of Arracan and his lady, who stopped at Allahabad, en route, and were graciously received.

August 28th.—Last week we greeted the Earl of Arracan and his wife, who were passing through Allahabad, and they welcomed us warmly.

The society is good and the station pretty and well-ordered;[73] the roads the best in India, no small source of gratification to those whose enjoyment consists in a morning and evening drive: a course is also in progress, round which we are to gallop next cold weather, when we have, indeed, the finest of climates, of which you, living in your dusty, damp, dull, foggy, fuliginous England, have no idea.

The community is nice, and the station is charming and well-organized;[73] the roads are the best in India, which is quite satisfying for those who enjoy a morning and evening drive. There’s also a course being developed where we’ll be riding next cold season, when we truly have the best weather, something you, living in your dusty, damp, dull, foggy, smoky England, can’t even imagine.

About the middle of April the hot winds set in, when we are confined to the house, rendered cool by artificial means; after this come four months of the rains, generally a very pleasant time; then a pause of a month, and then the cold weather.

About mid-April, the hot winds start, forcing us to stay indoors, kept cool by air conditioning; after that comes four months of rain, usually a nice time; then a break of a month, followed by the cold weather.

Sept. 20th.—I have just received a most charming present, a white Arab, from Koordistān: he is a beautiful creature, and from having been educated in the tents of the Koords, is as tame as a pet lamb. His colour grey, his mane long and dark; his long white tail touches his heels; such a beautiful little head! he looks like a younger brother of Scamp, the Arab I sold on quitting Calcutta. I hear that when a lady was riding Scamp the other day, he threw her, and nearly fractured her skull. She was for some time in danger, but has recovered.

Sept. 20th.—I just received a lovely gift, a white Arab horse from Koordistān. He’s a stunning animal, and since he was raised in the tents of the Koords, he’s as gentle as a pet lamb. His color is gray, his mane is long and dark, and his long white tail reaches his heels; he has such a beautiful little head! He looks like Scamp’s younger brother, the Arab I sold when I left Calcutta. I heard that the other day, while a lady was riding Scamp, he threw her off and almost caused a serious head injury. She was in danger for a while, but she’s recovered now.

Oct. 27th.—The weather is now very pleasant, cold mornings and evenings; the end of next month we hope to begin collecting the ice, which is quite a business in this country. The next four months will be delightful; March will bring in the hot weather, and in April we shall be roasted alive.

Oct. 27th.—The weather is really nice now, with chilly mornings and evenings; by the end of next month, we plan to start gathering ice, which is a big deal around here. The next four months will be wonderful; March will bring the heat, and in April, we’ll be feeling absolutely sweltering.

Dec. 31st.—For the last three weeks I have been gadding about the country, the gayest of the gay. A friend at Lucnow invited me to pay her a visit, at the time Lord Combermere was to stay at the residency. Having a great desire to see a native court, and elephant and tiger fights, I accepted the invitation with pleasure.

Dec. 31st.—For the past three weeks, I've been roaming around the countryside, living my best life. A friend in Lucknow invited me to visit while Lord Combermere was staying at the residency. Eager to see a native court and watch elephant and tiger fights, I happily accepted the invitation.

Accompanied by an aide-de-camp who was going to see the tamāshā, I reached Lucnow after a run of three nights. Mr. Mordaunt Ricketts received me with great kindness; I spent a few days at the residency, and the rest with my friend.

Accompanied by an aide-de-camp who was going to see the tamāshā, I reached Lucknow after traveling for three nights. Mr. Mordaunt Ricketts welcomed me warmly; I spent a few days at the residency and the rest with my friend.

On the arrival at Lucnow of his excellency the commander-in-chief, the king of Oude, Nusseer-ood-Deen Hyder, as a compliment to that nobleman, sent his son, prince Kywan Jah, with[74] the deputation appointed to receive his lordship, by whom the prince was treated as the walī-uhd, or heir-apparent.

On the arrival of the commander-in-chief at Lucknow, the king of Awadh, Nusseer-ood-Deen Hyder, sent his son, Prince Kywan Jah, as a gesture of respect to welcome him, along with the delegation set up to greet his lordship. The prince was treated as the walī-uhd, or heir-apparent.

The first day, Lord Combermere and the resident breakfasted with the king of Oude; the party was very numerous. We retired afterwards to another room, where trays of presents were arranged upon the floor, ticketed with the names of the persons for whom they were intended, and differing in their number and value according to the rank of the guests. Two trays were presented to me, the first containing several pairs of Cashmere shawls, and a pile of India muslin and kimkhwāb, or cloth of gold. The other tray contained strings of pearl, precious stones, bracelets, and other beautiful native jewellery. I was desired to make my sālām in honor of the bounty of his majesty. As soon as the ceremony had finished, the trays were carried off and placed in the Company’s treasury, an order having arrived, directing that all presents made to the servants of the Company should be accepted,—but for the benefit of the state.

The first day, Lord Combermere and the resident had breakfast with the king of Oude; there were a lot of people in the group. Afterwards, we moved to another room, where trays of gifts were set up on the floor, labeled with the names of the recipients, varying in quantity and value depending on the rank of the guests. I was presented with two trays, the first holding several pairs of Cashmere shawls and a stack of Indian muslin and kimkhwāb, or cloth of gold. The other tray had strings of pearls, precious stones, bracelets, and other beautiful local jewelry. I was asked to make my sālām in appreciation of the king’s generosity. Once the ceremony was over, the trays were taken away and placed in the Company’s treasury, following an order that required all gifts given to the Company’s servants to be accepted—but for the benefit of the state.

That night his majesty dined at the residency, and took his departure at ten P.M., when quadrilles immediately commenced. The ladies were not allowed to dance while his majesty was present, as, on one occasion, he said, “That will do, let them leave off,” thinking the ladies were quadrilling for his amusement, like nāch women. The second day, the king breakfasted with Lord Combermere, and we dined at the palace.

That night, the king had dinner at the residence and left at 10 P.M., after which the quadrilles started right away. The ladies weren't allowed to dance while the king was there since, on one occasion, he remarked, “That’s enough, let them stop,” thinking the ladies were dancing for his entertainment, like courtesans. The next day, the king had breakfast with Lord Combermere, and we had dinner at the palace.

During dinner a favourite nāch woman attitudinized a little behind and to the right of his majesty’s chair; at times he cast an approving glance at her performance. Sometimes she sang and moved about, and sometimes she bent her body backwards, until her head touched the ground; a marvellously supple, but not a graceful action.

During dinner, a favorite nāch woman posed a bit behind and to the right of his majesty's chair; occasionally, he glanced at her performance with approval. Sometimes she sang and danced around, and sometimes she bent her body backwards until her head touched the ground; it was an impressively flexible, but not a graceful move.

The mornings were devoted to sports, and quadrilles passed away the evenings. I saw some very good elephant fights, some indifferent tiger fights, a rhinoceros against three wild buffaloes, in short, battles of every sort; some were very cruel, and the poor animals had not fair play.

The mornings were spent on sports, and we danced quadrilles in the evenings. I witnessed some amazing elephant fights, some mediocre tiger fights, and a rhinoceros battling three wild buffaloes. In short, there were battles of all kinds; some were quite brutal, and the poor animals didn’t stand a chance.

The best fight was seen after breakfast at the palace. Two battaire (quails) were placed on the table; a hen bird was put[75] near them; they set to instantly, and fought valiantly. One of the quails was driven back by his adversary, until the little bird, who fought every inch of his forced retreat, fell off the table into my lap. I picked him up and placed him upon the table again; he flew at his adversary instantly. They fight, unless separated, until they die. His majesty was delighted with the amusement. The saying is, “Cocks fight for fighting’s sake, quails for food, and the Lalls for love.” It appeared to me the quails were animated by the same passion as the Lalls:

The best fight happened after breakfast at the palace. Two quails were placed on the table, and a hen was set nearby; they immediately started fighting fiercely. One of the quails was pushed back by his opponent, and despite his forced retreat, the little bird fought hard until he fell off the table into my lap. I picked him up and set him back on the table; he flew at his rival right away. They keep fighting, unless separated, until one of them dies. His majesty was thrilled by the spectacle. The saying goes, “Roosters fight for fighting’s sake, quails for food, and the Lalls for love.” It seemed to me that the quails were driven by the same passion as the Lalls:

“Deux coqs vivaient en paix: une poule survint,
Et voilà la guerre allumée.
Amour, tu perdis Troie!”

On quitting the presence of his majesty, a harrh, a necklace of silver and gold tissue, very beautifully made, was placed around the neck of each of the guests, and atr of roses put on their hands.

On leaving the presence of his majesty, a beautiful necklace made of silver and gold thread was placed around each guest's neck, and a bouquet of roses was given to them.

The resident having sent me a fine English horse, I used to take my morning canter, return to cantonments, dress, and drive to the presidency to breakfast by eight A.M. The horse, a magnificent fellow, had but one fault,—a trick of walking almost upright on his hind legs. It was a contest between us; he liked to have his own way, and I was determined to have mine.

The resident sent me a beautiful English horse, so I would go for a morning ride, come back to the cantonments, get dressed, and drive to the presidency for breakfast by eight A.M. The horse, a magnificent creature, had only one flaw—a tendency to walk almost upright on his hind legs. It turned into a bit of a competition between us; he wanted to do things his way, and I was set on doing things my way.

The dinners, balls, and breakfasts were frequent. Lord Combermere was in high good humour. His visit lasted about eight days, during which time he was entertained by the resident in Oriental style.

The dinners, balls, and breakfasts were common. Lord Combermere was in a great mood. His visit lasted about eight days, during which he was hosted by the resident in an Oriental style.

My journey having been delayed for want of bearers for my palanquin from Cawnpore, I arrived at Lucnow too late to see the ladies of the royal zenāna. The lady of the resident had been invited to visit their apartments the day before my arrival. She told me they were very fine, at least the dopatta (veil) was gay in gold and silver, but the rest of the attire very dirty. They appeared to have been taken by surprise, as they were not so highly ornamented as they usually are on a day of parade. I felt disappointed in being unable to see the begams; they would[76] have interested me more than the elephant fights, which, of all the sights I beheld at Lucnow, pleased me the most.

My journey was delayed because I couldn’t find people to carry my palanquin from Cawnpore, so I arrived in Lucknow too late to see the ladies of the royal zenana. The resident's wife had been invited to visit their quarters the day before I got there. She told me they were very lovely, at least the dopatta (veil) was colorful in gold and silver, but the rest of their outfits were quite dirty. They seemed to be caught off guard, as they weren't as elaborately dressed as they usually are on a parade day. I felt disappointed that I couldn’t see the begums; they would have intrigued me more than the elephant fights, which, out of all the sights I witnessed in Lucknow, were the most enjoyable for me.

I returned home at the end of December. The resident had the kindness to give me an escort of Skinner’s horse, to protect my palanquin, and see me safely out of the kingdom of Oude, as far as Cawnpore, which, being in the Company’s territories, was considered out of danger; and during the rest of the journey I was accompanied by two gentlemen.

I got back home at the end of December. The local offered to send me off with Skinner’s horse to safeguard my palanquin and ensure I left the kingdom of Oude safely, getting me all the way to Cawnpore, which was in the Company’s territories and thought to be safe. For the rest of the trip, I was joined by two gentlemen.

Colonel Luard thus speaks of Skinner’s horse: “This is a most effective irregular corps, taking its name from its gallant colonel. An extraordinary feat is performed with the lance: a tent-peg is driven into the ground, nearly up to the head; and the lancer, starting at speed some distance from the peg, passes it on the near side, at his utmost pace, and, while passing, with considerable force drives his lance into the tent-peg, allowing the lance instantly to pass through his hand, or the shock would unhorse him; then, by a dexterous turn of the wrist, forces the peg out of the ground at the point of his lance, and bears the prize in triumph over his shoulder.”

Colonel Luard describes Skinner’s horse like this: “This is a highly effective irregular unit, named after its brave colonel. An impressive stunt is done with the lance: a tent peg is driven deep into the ground, almost up to the head; then the lancer, starting at high speed from a distance, passes it on the near side at full speed and, while passing, powerfully drives his lance into the tent peg, letting the lance slide right through his hand, or he would be thrown off; then, with a quick twist of the wrist, he pulls the peg out of the ground at the tip of his lance and proudly carries the prize over his shoulder.”

In my vanity I had flattered myself dulness would have reigned triumphant at Prāg; nevertheless, I found my husband had killed the fatted calf, and “lighted the lamp of ghee[30];” i.e. made merry.

In my vanity, I had convinced myself that boredom would rule at Prāg; however, I discovered that my husband had prepared a feast and “lit the lamp of ghee[30];” i.e. celebrated.

I sent a little seal, on which this motto was engraved, “Toom ghee ka dhye jalāo,” to a lady in England, telling her ghee is clarified butter. When a native gives a feast, he lights a number of small lamps with ghee. If he say to a friend, “Will you come to my feast?” the answer may be, “Light thou the lamp of ghee;” which means, “Be you merry, I will be there.” Therefore, if you accept an invitation, you may use this seal with propriety.

I sent a small seal with the motto, “Toom ghee ka dhye jalāo,” to a woman in England, explaining that ghee is clarified butter. When someone from our culture hosts a feast, they light several small lamps with ghee. If they ask a friend, “Will you come to my feast?” the response might be, “Light the lamp of ghee;” which means, “Have a good time, I’ll be there.” So, if you accept an invitation, you can use this seal appropriately.


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CHAPTER IX.
Residence in Allahabad.

1828.—Sinking a Well—Hurriannah Cows—Delhi Goats—The Jumnapār—Doomba Sheep—Buffalo Humps—Water-cresses—Marrowfat Peas—Carrots—The Chatr—The Oleander—The Ice-pits—Cream Ice, how to freeze—Burdwan Coal—Indian Fevers—Mr. Bayley, Viceroy—Fear of the Invasion of the Russians and Persians—Intense Heat—Deaths in the Farm-yard—Chota Jehannum—The Verandah at Noon—Mad Pariah—Trelawny—Châteaux en Espagne—Height of the two Rivers—Death of the Bishop of Calcutta—An Hummām—The first Steamer at Prāg.

1828.—Drilling a Well—Hurriannah Cows—Delhi Goats—The Jumnapār—Doomba Sheep—Buffalo Humps—Watercress—Marrowfat Peas—Carrots—The Chatr—The Oleander—The Ice Pits—How to Freeze Cream Ice—Burdwan Coal—Indian Fevers—Mr. Bayley, Viceroy—Fear of Russian and Persian Invasion—Extreme Heat—Deaths in the Barnyard—Chota Jehannum—The Verandah at Noon—Mad Pariah—Trelawny—Châteaux en Espagne—Height of the Two Rivers—Death of the Bishop of Calcutta—A Hummām—The First Steamer at Prāg.

Jan., 1828, Leap Year.—I before mentioned we had accomplished one-third of our way to heaven, by planting an avenue; we now performed another portion of the journey, by sinking a well. As soon as the work was completed, the servants lighted it up with numerous little lamps, and strewed flowers upon its margin, to bring a blessing upon the newly-raised water. From Hissar we received six cows and a bull, very handsome animals, with remarkably fine humps, such as are sold in England under the denomination of buffalo humps, which are, in reality, the humps of Indian cows and oxen.

Jan., 1828, Leap Year.—I previously mentioned that we had completed one-third of our journey to heaven by planting an avenue; we now took another step forward by digging a well. Once the work was finished, the servants lit it up with lots of little lamps and scattered flowers around the edges to bless the newly-raised water. From Hissar, we received six cows and a bull, which were very beautiful animals, with particularly impressive humps, like those sold in England as buffalo humps, which are actually the humps of Indian cows and oxen.

Tame buffaloes are numerous at Prāg. The milk is strong, and not generally used for making butter, but is made into ghee (clarified butter), useful for culinary purposes. Some most beautiful Barbary goats arrived with the cows; they were spotted brown and white or black and white, and almost as beautiful as deer. The Bengālee goats yield a much larger portion of milk. I had also a Jumnapār goat, an enormous fellow, with very broad, long, thin, and silky ears, as soft as velvet. The Jumnapār are the best adapted for marching. Unless they can go into the jungle and browse, they become thin and lose their milk.[78] These goats, bred on the banks of the Jumna, thence called “Jumnapār,” are remarkably fine, and of a large size.

Tame buffaloes are common in Prāg. Their milk is rich and isn’t typically used for making butter, but it is turned into ghee (clarified butter), which is handy for cooking. Some beautiful Barbary goats came with the cows; they were spotted brown and white or black and white, almost as stunning as deer. The Bengālee goats produce a much larger amount of milk. I also had a Jumnapār goat, a big guy with very broad, long, thin, silky ears, as soft as velvet. The Jumnapār are the best suited for traveling. If they can’t roam in the jungle and graze, they get skinny and their milk production drops.[78] These goats, raised along the banks of the Jumna, hence called “Jumnapār,” are particularly impressive and large.

We had a Doomba ram at Prāg. The Doomba sheep are difficult to keep alive in this climate. Their enormous tails are reckoned delicacies; the lambs are particularly fine flavoured.

We had a Doomba ram at Prāg. The Doomba sheep are tough to keep alive in this climate. Their huge tails are considered delicacies; the lambs are especially flavorful.

Jan.—Our garden was now in good order; we had vegetables in abundance, marrowfat peas as fine as in England, and the water-cresses, planted close to the new well, were pearls beyond price. Allahabad is famous for the growth of the finest carrots in India. At this time of the year we gave our horses twelve seer each daily; it kept them in high health, and French-polished their coats. The geraniums grew luxuriantly during this delightful time; and I could be out in the garden all day, when protected by an enormous chatr, carried by a bearer. The up-country chatr is a very large umbrella, in shape like a large flat mushroom, covered with doubled cloth, with a deep circle of fringe. Great people have them made of silk, and highly ornamented. The pole is very long, and it is full employment for one man to carry the chatr properly.

Jan.—Our garden was in great shape; we had plenty of vegetables, marrowfat peas as good as those in England, and the watercress planted near the new well was truly priceless. Allahabad is known for growing the best carrots in India. At this time of year, we fed our horses twelve seer each daily; it kept them in excellent health and made their coats shiny. The geraniums thrived beautifully during this lovely season, and I could spend all day in the garden as long as I was shielded by a large chatr carried by a bearer. The up-country chatr is a very large umbrella, shaped like a big flat mushroom, covered with double cloth and trimmed with a deep fringe. Upscale people have them made of silk and decorated elaborately. The pole is very long, and it's a full-time job for one person to carry the chatr properly.

The oleander (kanér), the beautiful sweet-scented oleander, was in profusion,—deep red, pure white, pink, and variegated, with single and double blossoms. I rooted up many clusters of this beautiful shrub in the grounds, fearing the horses and cows might eat the leaves, which are poisonous. Hindoo women, when tormented by jealousy, have recourse to this poison for self-destruction.

The oleander (kanér), the lovely, sweet-smelling oleander, was everywhere—deep red, pure white, pink, and mixed colors, with both single and double flowers. I dug up many clusters of this beautiful shrub from the yard, worried that the horses and cows might eat the leaves, which are toxic. Hindu women, when consumed by jealousy, sometimes turn to this poison to end their own lives.

THE ICE-PITS.

Jan. 22nd.—My husband has the management of the ice concern this year. It is now in full work, the weather bitterly cold, and we are making ice by evaporation almost every night. I may here remark, the work continued until the 19th of February, when the pit was closed with 3000 mann,—a mann is about 80lbs. weight. There are two ice-pits; over each a house is erected; the walls, built of mud, are low, thick, and circular; the roof is thickly thatched; there is only one entrance, by a small door, which, when closed, is defended from the sun and air by a jhamp, or frame-work of bamboo covered with straw.

Jan. 22nd.—My husband is in charge of the ice business this year. It's now in full swing, the weather is freezing cold, and we're making ice through evaporation almost every night. I should mention that the work continued until February 19th, when the pit was sealed with 3000 mann—one mann is about 80 lbs. There are two ice pits; each has a house built over it; the walls, made of mud, are low, thick, and circular; the roof is heavily thatched; there’s only one entrance, through a small door, which, when closed, is protected from the sun and air by a jhamp, or bamboo framework covered with straw.

THE ICE PITS.

THE ICE PITS.

On Stone by Major Parlby.

On Stone by Major Parlby.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

فاني باركس

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The diameter of the pit, in the centre of the house, is large, but the depth not great, on account of the dampness of the ground. At the bottom is a small well, the top of which is covered over with bamboo; a channel unites it with a dry well on the outside, still deeper than itself, so constructed, that all the water collected in the pit may immediately run off through this duct, and be drawn up from the external well. This keeps the pit perfectly dry—a material point. The interior is lined, from top to bottom, with chatā’īs (mats), three or four deep, which are neatly fastened by pegs round the inside; mats are also kept ready for covering in the top of the pit. Some ābdārs recommend a further lining of sulum (cotton-cloth), but it is unnecessary.

The diameter of the pit in the center of the house is large, but it isn't very deep due to the dampness of the ground. At the bottom, there's a small well covered with bamboo. A channel connects it to a drier external well, which is deeper, designed so that all the water collected in the pit can drain out through this pipe and be drawn from the outside well. This keeps the pit completely dry, which is really important. The inside is lined, from top to bottom, with chatā’īs (mats), three or four deep, neatly secured with pegs around the inside; mats are also kept ready to cover the top of the pit. Some ābdārs suggest adding another layer of sulum (cotton cloth), but that's not necessary.

The ground belonging to the ice concern is divided into keeārees, or shallow beds, very like saltern-pans in England, about six feet square and a cubit in depth; between them are raised paths.

The land owned by the ice company is divided into keeārees, or shallow beds that resemble salt pans in England, each about six feet square and a cubit deep; there are raised paths between them.

When the weather in December is cold enough to induce us to suppose water will freeze at night with artificial aid, the business of ice-making commences. At the bottom of the keeārees, the shallow square beds, a black-looking straw is spread about a foot in depth, called “pooāl,” which is reckoned better for the purpose than wheat-straw. Some ābdārs think sugar-cane leaves the best thing to put under the pans in the ice-beds; next in estimation is the straw or grass of kodo (the paspalum frumentaceum); and then rice-straw, which is called “puwāl,” or “pooāl,” though the term “pooāl” is not applied exclusively to the straw of rice. The highest temperature at which ice was made in 1846, at Cawnpore, was 43° of Fahrenheit, or 11° above freezing point. At each of the four corners, on the pathway, is placed a thiliyā (an earthen jar), which is filled by a bihishtī with water[31]. The pooāl straw in the shallow beds must be kept perfectly dry, to produce evaporation and the freezing of the water in the little pans placed upon it; should rain fall, the straw must be taken up and thoroughly dried before it can again be used.

When December's cold weather leads us to believe that we can freeze water at night with a little help, ice-making begins. At the bottom of the keeārees, the shallow square beds are covered with a black straw about a foot deep, known as “pooāl,” which is considered better for this purpose than wheat-straw. Some ābdārs think sugar-cane leaves work best under the pans in the ice-beds; next is the straw or grass of kodo (the paspalum frumentaceum); and after that is rice-straw, referred to as “puwāl” or “pooāl,” although the term “pooāl” isn’t limited to rice straw. The highest temperature at which ice was made in 1846 in Cawnpore was 43° Fahrenheit, or 11° above freezing. At each of the four corners along the pathway, there’s a thiliyā (an earthen jar), filled with water by a bihishtī[31]. The pooāl straw in the shallow beds must remain completely dry to allow evaporation and freezing of the water in the small pans placed on top; if it rains, the straw must be removed and thoroughly dried before it can be reused.

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It is amusing to see the old ābdār who has charge of the ice concern, walking up and down of an evening, watching the weather, and calculating if there be a chance of making ice. This is a grand point to decide, as the expense of filling the pans is great, and not to be incurred without a fair prospect of a crop of barf (ice) the next morning. He looks in the wind’s eye, and if the breeze be fresh, and likely to increase, the old man draws his warm garment around him, and returning to his own habitation,—a hut close to the pits,—resigns himself to fate and his hubble-bubble. But should there be a crisp frosty feeling in the air, he prepares for action about 6 or 7 P.M., by beating a tom-tom (a native hand-drum), a signal well known to the coolies in the bazaar, who hasten to the pits. By the aid of the little cup fastened to the long sticks, as shown in the sketch, they fill all the rukābees with the water from the jars in the pathway. Many hundred coolies, men, women, and children, are thus employed until every little pan is filled.

It’s funny to see the old ice vendor pacing back and forth in the evening, checking the weather and figuring out if there's a chance of making ice. This is a crucial decision because it costs a lot to fill the pans, and he doesn't want to spend the money unless there’s a good chance of getting a decent amount of ice by the next morning. He studies the wind, and if it's breezy and seems likely to pick up, the old man wraps his warm clothing around him and heads back to his home—a hut close to the ice pits—accepting whatever comes his way along with his hookah. But if there’s a sharp frost in the air, he gets ready for action around 6 or 7 P.M. by beating a drum, a signal well-known to the workers in the market, who quickly rush to the ice pits. With the help of a small cup attached to long sticks, as shown in the sketch, they fill all the containers with water from the jars nearby. Hundreds of workers, including men, women, and children, are busy until every single pan is filled.

If the night be frosty, without wind, the ice will form perhaps an inch and a half in thickness in the pans. If a breeze should blow, it will often prevent the freezing of the water, except in those parts of the grounds that are sheltered from the wind.

If it's a cold, still night, the ice can build up to about an inch and a half thick in the pans. But if there's a breeze, it usually stops the water from freezing, except in the areas that are protected from the wind.

About 3 A.M. the ābdār, carefully muffled in some yards of English red or yellow broad cloth, would be seen emerging from his hut; and if the formation of ice was sufficiently thick, his tom-tom was heard, and the shivering coolies would collect, wrapped up in black bazār blankets, and shaking with cold. Sometimes it was extremely difficult to rouse them to their work, and the increased noise of the tom-toms—discordant native instruments—disturbed us and our neighbours with the pleasing notice of more ice for the pits. Each cooly, armed with a spud, knocked the ice out of the little pans into a basket, which having filled, he placed it on his head, ran with it to the ice-house, and threw it down the great pit.

About 3 AM, the ābdār, bundled up in yards of English red or yellow broadcloth, would be seen coming out of his hut. If the ice was thick enough, you could hear his tom-tom, and the shivering coolies would gather, wrapped in black bazār blankets, shaking from the cold. Sometimes, it was really hard to get them to start working, and the louder noise of the tom-toms—jarring native instruments—disturbed us and our neighbors, bringing the welcome news of more ice for the pits. Each cooly, equipped with a spud, would break the ice out of the small pans into a basket, which he would then place on his head, run to the ice house, and dump it down the big pit.

When all the pans had been emptied, the people assembled around the old ābdār, who kept an account of the number at work on a roll of paper or a book. From a great bag full of pice (copper coins) and cowrie-shells, he paid each man his hire.[81] About ten men were retained, on extra pay, to finish the work. Each man having been supplied with a blanket, shoes, and a heavy wooden mallet, four at a time descended into the pit by a ladder, and beat down the ice collected there into a hard flat mass; these men were constantly relieved by a fresh set, the cold being too great for them to remain long at the bottom of the pit.

When all the pans were emptied, the people gathered around the old ābdār, who was keeping track of the number of workers on a roll of paper or in a book. From a large bag filled with pice (copper coins) and cowrie shells, he paid each man their wages.[81] About ten men were kept on, receiving extra pay, to finish the job. Each man was given a blanket, shoes, and a heavy wooden mallet. Four at a time climbed down into the pit using a ladder and pounded the ice that had built up there into a solid flat mass; these men were continually replaced by a fresh group, as the cold was too intense for them to stay down in the pit for long.

When the ice was all firmly beaten down, it was covered in with mats, over which a quantity of straw was piled, and the door of the ice-house locked. The pits are usually opened on the 1st of May, but it is better to open them on the 1st of April. We had ice this year until the 20th of August. Each subscriber’s allowance is twelve ser (24 lbs.) every other day. A bearer, or a cooly is sent with an ice-basket, a large bazār blanket, a cotton cloth, and a wooden mallet, at 4 A.M., to bring the ice from the pit. The ābdār, having weighed the ice, puts it into the cloth, and ties it up tightly with a string; the cooly then beats it all round into the smallest compass possible, ties it afresh, and, having placed it in the blanket within the ice-basket, he returns home. The gentleman’s ābdār, on his arrival at his master’s house, re-weighs the ice, as the coolies often stop in the bazaars, and sell a quantity of it to natives, who are particularly fond of it, the man pretending it has melted away en route.

When the ice was thoroughly packed down, it was covered with mats and piled with straw, then the ice-house door was locked. The pits are usually opened on May 1st, but it's better to open them on April 1st. This year, we had ice until August 20th. Each subscriber gets twelve ser (24 lbs.) every other day. A bearer, or a coolie, is sent with an ice basket, a large market blanket, a cotton cloth, and a wooden mallet at 4 AM to get the ice from the pit. The ābdār weighs the ice, wraps it in the cloth, and ties it tightly with a string; then the coolie beats it all around to compress it as much as possible, ties it up again, and places it in the blanket within the ice basket before heading back home. When the ābdār arrives at his master’s house, he weighs the ice again, since coolies often stop in the bazaars to sell some of it to locals who really enjoy it, the coolie claiming it has melted while traveling en route.

The natives make ice for themselves, and sell it at two annas a seer; they do not preserve it for the hot winds, but give a good price for the ice stolen from the sāhib loge[32].

The locals make ice for themselves and sell it for two annas a seer; they don’t save it for the hot winds, but pay a decent price for the ice taken from the sāhib loge[32].

As the ābdārs generally dislike rising early to weigh the ice, the cooly may generally steal it with impunity. The ice-baskets are made of strips of bamboo covered inside and out with numdā, a thick coarse woollen wadding. The interior is lined with dosootee (white cotton cloth), and the exterior covered with ghuwā kopra, a coarse red cloth that rots less than any other from moisture.

As the ice workers typically don't like getting up early to weigh the ice, the laborers can usually take it without getting caught. The ice baskets are made from strips of bamboo, lined inside and out with numdā, a thick, coarse wool padding. The inside is lined with dosootee (white cotton cloth), and the outside is covered with ghuwā kopra, a rough red cloth that resists rotting better than any other fabric when exposed to moisture.

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The basket should be placed on a wooden stool, with a pan below to catch the dripping water.

The basket should be set on a wooden stool, with a pan underneath to catch the dripping water.

Calcutta was supplied, in 1833, with fine clear ice from America, sent in enormous blocks, which sold at two annas a seer, about twopence per pound: this ice is greatly superior to that made in India, which is beaten up when collected into a mass, and dissolves more rapidly than the block ice. It is not as an article of luxury only that ice is delightful in this climate, medicinally it is of great use: there is much virtue in an iced nightcap to a feverish head. The American ice has not yet penetrated to the Up Country; we shall have ice from Calcutta when the railroads are established. No climate under the sun can be more delightful than this during the cold weather, at which time we enjoy fires very much, and burn excellent coal, which is brought by water from Calcutta. The coal mines are at Burdwan, 100 miles from the presidency. In Calcutta it costs eight annas a mann; here, if procurable, it is one rupee: this year we had fires until the 29th of February.

Calcutta received high-quality clear ice from America in 1833, delivered in huge blocks that sold for two annas a seer, approximately twopence per pound. This ice is much better than the locally made ice, which clumps together and melts faster than the block ice. Ice isn't just a luxury in this climate; it's also very helpful medicinally—there's a lot of value in an iced nightcap for a feverish head. The American ice hasn't reached the Up Country yet; we'll have ice from Calcutta once the railroads are built. No climate can be more pleasant than this during the cold season, when we really enjoy our fires and use excellent coal transported by river from Calcutta. The coal mines are in Burdwan, 100 miles from the presidency. In Calcutta, it costs eight annas a mann; here, if available, it's one rupee. This year, we had fires going until February 29th.

After a good gallop round the Mahratta Bund, on Master George, a remarkably fine Arab, with what zest we and our friends partook of Hunter’s beef and brawn!—as good as that of Oxford; the table drawn close to the fire, and the bright blaze not exceeding in cheerfulness the gaiety of the party!

After a nice run around the Mahratta Bund on Master George, an exceptionally fine Arab horse, we and our friends thoroughly enjoyed Hunter’s beef and brawn! It was just as good as what you get in Oxford; the table was pulled close to the fire, and the lively flame matched the cheerful atmosphere of the gathering!

March 31st.—How fearful are fevers in India! On this day my husband was attacked; a medical man was instantly called in, medicine was of no avail, the illness increased hourly. On the 9th of April, the aid of the superintending surgeon was requested; a long consultation took place, and a debate as to which was to be employed, the lancet, or a bottle of claret; it terminated in favour of the latter, and claret to the extent of a bottle a day was given him: his head was enveloped in three bladders of ice, and iced towels were around his neck. On the 17th day, for the first time since the commencement of the attack, he tasted food; that is, he ate half a small bun; before that, he had been supported solely on claret and fresh strawberries, being unable to take broth or arrow-root.

March 31st.—Fevers in India are terrifying! On this day, my husband fell ill; a doctor was called right away, but the medicine didn’t help and his condition worsened by the hour. On April 9th, we sought help from the supervising surgeon; a long consultation took place, debating whether to use the lancet or a bottle of claret. It ended in favor of the claret, and he was given a bottle a day. His head was wrapped in three ice bags, and iced towels were around his neck. On the 17th day, for the first time since the illness began, he tried food; that is, he ate half a small bun. Before that, he had been surviving on claret and fresh strawberries, unable to handle broth or arrowroot.

Not daring to leave him a moment night or day, I got two[83] European artillerymen from the fort, to assist me in nursing him. On the 23rd, the anxiety I had suffered, and over-exertion, brought on fever, which confined me to my chārpāī for seven days; all this time my husband was too ill to quit his bed; so we lay on two chārpāīs, under the same pankhā, two artillerymen for our nurses, applying iced towels to our heads, while my two women, with true native apathy, lay on the ground by the side of my bed, seldom attending to me, and only thinking how soon they could get away to eat and smoke. The attention and kindness of the medical men, and of our friends at the station, were beyond praise. Thanks to good doctoring, good nursing, and good claret, at the end of the month we began to recover health and strength.

Not daring to leave him for a moment, day or night, I got two[83] European artillerymen from the fort to help me take care of him. On the 23rd, the anxiety I had experienced, along with over-exertion, caused me to develop a fever that kept me in bed for seven days; during this time, my husband was too ill to get up. We lay on two chārpāīs under the same pankhā, with the two artillerymen as our nurses, applying iced towels to our heads. Meanwhile, my two women, showing true native apathy, lay on the ground beside my bed, rarely attending to me and only thinking about how soon they could break away to eat and smoke. The care and kindness of the doctors and our friends at the station were exceptional. Thanks to good medical care, attentive nursing, and some nice claret, by the end of the month we started to regain our health and strength.

May 18th.—The ice-pits were opened, and every subscriber received twenty-four pounds weight of ice every other day—perfectly invaluable with a thermometer at 93°! Our friends had kindly allowed them to be opened before, during our fevers. It is impossible to describe the comfort of ice to the head, or of iced-soda water to a parched and tasteless palate, and an exhausted frame.

May 18th.—The ice pits were opened, and every subscriber got twenty-four pounds of ice every other day—absolutely priceless with the thermometer hitting 93°F! Our friends had generously let us have access to it earlier, while we were dealing with our fevers. It's hard to explain how comforting ice feels on your head or how refreshing iced soda water is for a dry, flavorless mouth and a worn-out body.

April.—Lord Amherst was requested by the directors to remain here until the arrival of Lord William Bentinck; and such was his intention, I believe, had he not been prevented by the dangerous illness of lady Sarah; and by this time, it is possible the family are on their way home. Mr. Bayley is Viceroy, and will reign longer than he expected, as Lord William Bentinck does not sail before January.

April.—The directors asked Lord Amherst to stay here until Lord William Bentinck arrived; he planned to do so, I believe, until he was held back by the serious illness of Lady Sarah. By now, it's possible the family is on their way home. Mr. Bayley is the Viceroy and will serve longer than he thought since Lord William Bentinck won’t set sail until January.

Our politicians are all on the qui vive at the mêlée between the Russians and Persians, and the old story of an invasion of India is again agitated:—we are not alarmed.

Our politicians are all on high alert at the chaos between the Russians and Persians, and the old tale of an invasion of India is being stirred up again:—we are not worried.

June 7th.—The weather is more oppressive than we have ever found it; the heat intolerable; the thermometer, in my room, 93°, in spite of tattees and pankhās. Allahabad may boast of being the oven of India; and the flat stone roof of our house renders it much hotter than if it were thatched.

June 7th.—The weather is more unbearable than we have ever experienced; the heat is insane; the thermometer in my room reads 93°, despite fans and coolers. Allahabad might claim to be the oven of India, and the flat stone roof of our house makes it even hotter than if it were covered with thatch.

We were most fortunate in quitting Calcutta; this past year the cholera has raged there most severely; the Europeans have[84] suffered much; many from perfect health have been carried to their graves in a few hours.

We were really lucky to leave Calcutta; this past year the cholera has hit there really hard; Europeans have[84] suffered a lot; many healthy individuals have been taken to their graves in just a few hours.

A novel and a sofa is all one is equal to during such intense heat, which renders life scarcely endurable.

A novel and a sofa is all anyone can handle during such intense heat, which makes life barely tolerable.

Ice is our greatest luxury; and our ice, made from the cream of our own cows, and Gunter’s jam, is as good as any in England. My thoughts flow heavily and stupidly under such intolerable heat: when the thermometer is only 82°, we rejoice in the coolness of the season; to-day it is 92°, and will be hotter as the day advances; the wind will not blow. If a breeze would but spring up, we could be comfortable, as the air is cooled passing through the wet khus-khus: what would I not give for a fresh sea-breeze! Let me not think of it.

Ice is our biggest luxury, and our ice, made from the cream of our own cows and Gunter’s jam, is as good as any in England. My thoughts are sluggish and dull under this unbearable heat: when the thermometer is only 82°, we rejoice in the coolness of the season; today it’s 92°, and it will get hotter as the day goes on; the wind will not blow. If only a breeze would pick up, we could be comfortable, as the air would cool down passing through the wet khus-khus: I would do anything for a fresh sea-breeze! Let me not dwell on that.

Horses at this season of the year are almost useless; it is too hot to ride, and even a man feels that he has scarcely nerve enough to mount his horse with pleasure: in the buggy it is very oppressive, the fiery wind is so overpowering; and a carriage is too hot to be borne. I speak not of the middle of the day, but of the hours between 7 P.M. and 6 A.M.,—the cool hours as we call them!

Horses at this time of year are nearly useless; it's too hot to ride, and even a guy feels he hardly has the nerve to get on his horse with any enjoyment. In the buggy, it’s really stifling, and the scorching wind is just overwhelming; and a carriage is too hot to handle. I'm not talking about midday, but about the hours between 7 P.M. and 6 A.M.—the cool hours, as we like to call them!

From Madras they write the thermometer is at 96°! How can they breathe! Here at 93° it is fearfully hot—if they have a sea-breeze to render the nights cool, it is a blessing; here the heat at night is scarcely endurable, and to sleep almost impossible.

From Madras, they say the temperature is 96°! How do they manage to breathe? Here at 93°, it's extremely hot—if there's a sea breeze to cool down the nights, that's a blessing; here, the nighttime heat is barely bearable, and sleeping is nearly impossible.

I had a very large farm-yard. The heat has killed all the guinea-fowls, turkeys, and pigeons, half the fowls, and half the rabbits.

I had a really big farmyard. The heat has wiped out all the guinea fowl, turkeys, and pigeons, half of the chickens, and half of the rabbits.

12th.—We have had a most miserable time of it for the last two months; this has been one of the hottest seasons in recollection, and Allahabad has well sustained its sobriquet of Chōtā Jahannum! which, being interpreted, is Hell the Little. Within these two days the state of affairs has been changed; we are now enjoying the freshness of the rains, whose very fall is music to our ears: another such season would tempt us to quit this station, in spite of its other recommendations.

12th.—We’ve had a really miserable time for the past two months; this has been one of the hottest seasons in memory, and Allahabad has certainly earned its nickname of Chōtā Jahannum, which means Little Hell. In just the last two days, things have changed; we’re now enjoying the refreshing rains, and the sound of them falling is music to our ears. If we had another season like this, it might push us to leave this place, despite its other perks.

Lord William Bentinck arrived July 3rd. The new Bishop[85] of Calcutta is gone home, obliged to fly the country for his life; indeed, he was so ill, that a report of his death having come up here, some of his friends are in mourning for him; but I trust, poor man, he is going on well at sea at this minute.

Lord William Bentinck arrived on July 3rd. The new Bishop[85] of Calcutta has gone home, forced to leave the country for his safety; in fact, he was so sick that a report of his death reached here, and some of his friends are mourning him; but I hope, poor guy, he is recovering well at sea right now.

Sept. 8th.—My verandah presents an interesting scene: at present, at one end, two carpenters are making a wardrobe; near them is a man polishing steel. Two silversmiths are busy making me some ornaments after the Hindostani patterns; the tailors are finishing a gown, and the ayha is polishing silk stockings with a large cowrie shell. The horses are standing near, in a row, eating lucerne grass, and the jumadār is making a report on their health, which is the custom at twelve at noon, when they come round for their tiffin.

Sept. 8th.—My porch offers a lively scene: at one end, two carpenters are building a wardrobe; nearby, a man is polishing steel. Two silversmiths are busy creating some ornaments based on Hindostani designs; the tailors are putting the finishing touches on a gown, and the maid is shining silk stockings with a large cowrie shell. The horses are lined up nearby, eating lucerne grass, while the groom is giving a report on their health, as is customary at noon when they come around for their lunch.

Yesterday a mad pariah dog ran into the drawing-room; I closed the doors instantly, and the servants shot the animal: dogs are numerous and dangerous at some seasons.

Yesterday, a wild stray dog burst into the living room; I immediately shut the doors, and the staff took the dog down: dogs can be a lot and dangerous during certain times.

Exchanged a little mare—who could sing, “I’m sweet fifteen, and one year more”—for a stud-bred Arab, named Trelawny; the latter being too impetuous to please his master.

Exchanged a little mare—who could sing, “I’m sweet fifteen, and one year more”—for a thoroughbred Arab named Trelawny; the latter being too headstrong to satisfy his owner.

Our friend Major D⸺ is anxious to tempt us to Nagpore, if we could get a good appointment there. “He rides a steed of air[34];” and we have indulged in building châteaux d’Espagne, or castles in Ayrshire.

Our friend Major D⸺ is eager to persuade us to move to Nagpore if we can secure a good position there. “He rides a horse made of air[34];” and we've enjoyed dreaming up châteaux d’Espagne, or castles in Ayrshire.

Aug. 21st.—It is thought the gentleman, for whom my husband now officiates, will not rejoin this appointment; should he be disappointed of his hope of reigning in his stead, he will apply for something else rather than return to Calcutta, which we do not wish to see till the year of furlough, 1833-4. Meantime we must make it out as well as we can, and live upon hope, with the assurance that if we live, we shall not die fasting.

Aug. 21st.—People think the gentleman my husband is currently working for won't come back to this position. If he doesn't get his wish to take over, he will look for something else instead of returning to Calcutta, which we hope to avoid until our year off in 1833-4. In the meantime, we have to manage as best we can and stay hopeful, confident that if we stay alive, we won't die without food.

I wish the intermediate years would pass by as quickly as the river Jumna before our house, which is in such a furious hurry, that it is quite awful to see the velocity with which the boats fly along. Both the Ganges and the Jumna have this year been unusually high, and much mischief to the villages on the banks[86] has been the consequence. There was a report the day before yesterday, that the Ganges, about a mile from this, had burst its banks. Luckily it was false; but it was a very near thing. Since then the river has sunk nearly twenty feet, so that we have no fear at present. The Jumna was within six feet of our garden bank.

I wish the years in between would go by as fast as the river Jumna in front of our house, which rushes by so quickly that it's actually scary to see how fast the boats zoom along. Both the Ganges and the Jumna have been unusually high this year, causing a lot of damage to the villages along the banks[86]. There was a report the day before yesterday that the Ganges, about a mile from here, had overflowed its banks. Fortunately, it turned out to be false; but it was a close call. Since then, the river has dropped nearly twenty feet, so we’re not worried right now. The Jumna was just six feet away from our garden bank.

Of the climate we cannot form a fair opinion, but it is certainly very superior to any they have in Bengal. This year has been most unnatural; no regular hot winds, unexpected storms, and the rains delayed beyond their proper season. Allahabad is called the oven of India, therefore I expect to become a jolie brune, and the sāhib well-baked.

Of the climate, we can't really make a fair judgment, but it's definitely much better than anything in Bengal. This year has been really strange; there have been no consistent hot winds, unexpected storms, and the rains have come late. Allahabad is known as the oven of India, so I expect to become a jolie brune, and the sāhib to be well-baked.

We have just received telegraphic intelligence of the bishop’s death at the Sandheads, where he was sent on account of severe illness, which terminated fatally on the 13th instant. It is said, that three bishops are to be imported, the late consumption having been so great. They ought to make bishops of the clergy who have passed their lives in India, and not send out old men who cannot stand the climate.

We just got a telegram about the bishop's death at the Sandheads, where he was sent due to a serious illness that ended fatally on the 13th. It's said that three new bishops will be brought in because the last ones were overworked. They should make bishops from the clergy who have spent their lives in India instead of sending out elderly men who can’t handle the climate.

We have the use of a native steam-bath, which is most refreshing when the skin feels dry and uncomfortable. There are three rooms—the temperature of the first is moderate; that of the second, warmer; and the third, which contains the steam, is heated to about 100°. There you sit, until the perspiration starts in great drops from every pore; the women are then admitted, who rub you with besun[35] and native hand-rubbers[36], and pour hot water over you until the surface peels off; and you come out a new creature, like the snake that has cast its skin. One feels fresh and elastic, and the joints supple: the steam-bath is a fine invention.

We have access to a traditional steam room, which feels amazing when your skin is dry and uncomfortable. There are three rooms—the first is at a moderate temperature, the second is warmer, and the third, with the steam, is heated to about 100°F. You sit there until sweat pours out from every pore; then the women come in, who rub you down with herbal oils and native hand massagers, and pour hot water over you until your skin starts to peel off; and you emerge feeling completely rejuvenated, like a snake shedding its skin. You feel fresh, energized, and your joints are more flexible: the steam room is truly a great invention.

Oct. 1st.—The first steamer arrived at Allahabad in twenty-six days from Calcutta; the natives came down in crowds to view it from the banks of the Jumna; it was to them a cause of great astonishment.

Oct. 1st.—The first steamer arrived at Allahabad in twenty-six days from Calcutta; locals gathered in large numbers to see it from the banks of the Jumna; it was a huge surprise for them.


[87]

[87]

CHAPTER X.
Life in the Zenana.

“SHE WHO IS BELOVED, IS THE WIFE[37].”

“SHE WHO IS LOVED, IS THE WIFE[37].”

Zenāna of the King of Oude—Regiment of Females—The Favourite Wife—The English Begam—The Princess of Delhi, the Begam par excellence—Colonel Gardner—Mirza Sulimān Sheko and his fifty-two Children—The forty Princesses—Mootee, the Pearl of the Desert—Hunting Season at Papamhow—Jackals and Foxes—A Suttee at Prāg—Report of a Suttee—An ill-starred Horse.

Zenana of the King of Oude—Regiment of Women—The Favorite Wife—The English Begum—The Princess of Delhi, the Begum par excellence—Colonel Gardner—Mirza Suliman Sheko and his fifty-two Children—The forty Princesses—Mootee, the Pearl of the Desert—Hunting Season at Papamhow—Jackals and Foxes—A Sati at Prag—Report of a Sati—An unfortunate Horse.

Oct. 1828.—A letter just received from a lady, a friend of mine, at Lucnow, is so amusing and so novel, I must make an extract:—

Oct. 1828.—I just got a letter from a lady friend of mine in Lucnow, and it's so entertaining and unique that I have to share an excerpt:—

“The other day, (Oct. 18th,) was the anniversary of the King of Oude’s coronation; and I went to see the ceremony, one I had never witnessed before, and with which I was much gratified. But the greatest treat was a visit to the begam’s afterwards, when the whole of the wives, aunts, cousins, &c., were assembled in state to receive us.

“The other day, (Oct. 18th,) was the anniversary of the King of Oude’s coronation; and I went to see the ceremony, which I had never seen before, and I was really pleased by it. But the best part was visiting the begam’s afterwards, when all the wives, aunts, cousins, etc., were gathered in style to receive us.”

“The old begam (the king’s mother), was the great lady, of course, and in her palace were we received; the others being considered her guests, as well as ourselves. It was a most amusing sight, as I had never witnessed the interior of a zenāna before, and so many women assembled at once I had never beheld. I suppose from first to last we saw some thousands. Women-bearers carried our tanjans; a regiment of female gold[88] and silver-sticks, dressed in male costume, were drawn up before the entrance; and those men, chiefly Africans, who were employed inside the zenāna (and there were abundance of these frightful creatures), were all of the same class as the celebrated Velluti. The old begam was without jewels or ornaments, likewise a very pretty and favourite wife of the late king, their state of widowhood precluding their wearing them. But the present king’s wives were most superbly dressed, and looked like creatures of the Arabian tales. Indeed, one was so beautiful, that I could think of nothing but Lalla Rookh in her bridal attire.

“The old begam (the king’s mother) was the great lady, of course, and we were received in her palace; the others were considered her guests, just like us. It was quite a sight, as I had never seen the inside of a zenāna before, and I had never encountered so many women gathered in one place. I guess we saw thousands from start to finish. Women-bearers carried our tanjans; a group of female gold[88] and silver-sticks, dressed in male clothing, were lined up at the entrance; and those men, mainly Africans, who worked inside the zenāna (and there were plenty of these frightening figures), were all of the same type as the famous Velluti. The old begam had no jewels or ornaments, as did a very pretty and favored wife of the late king; their state of widowhood prevented them from wearing them. But the current king’s wives were dressed magnificently and looked like characters from Arabian tales. In fact, one was so beautiful that I couldn't help but think of Lalla Rookh in her bridal attire.”

“I never saw any one so lovely, either black or white. Her features were perfect; and such eyes and eyelashes I never beheld before. She is the favourite queen at present, and has only been married a month or two: her age about fourteen; and such a little creature, with the smallest hands and feet, and the most timid, modest look imaginable. You would have been charmed with her, she was so graceful and fawn-like. Her dress was of gold and scarlet brocade, and her hair was literally strewed with pearls, which hung down upon her neck in long single strings, terminating in large pearls, which mixed with and hung as low as her hair, which was curled on each side her head in long ringlets, like Charles the Second’s beauties.

“I never saw anyone so beautiful, whether black or white. Her features were flawless; and I've never seen such eyes and eyelashes before. She’s the favorite queen right now and has only been married for a month or two; she’s around fourteen years old; and such a tiny thing, with the smallest hands and feet, and the most timid, modest look you can imagine. You would have been charmed by her; she was so graceful and fawn-like. Her dress was made of gold and scarlet brocade, and her hair was literally decorated with pearls, which hung down her neck in long single strands, ending in large pearls that mixed with and hung as low as her hair, which was curled on each side of her head in long ringlets, like the beauties of Charles the Second.”

“On her forehead she wore a small gold circlet, from which depended (and hung half-way down her forehead) large pear-shaped pearls, interspersed with emeralds. The pearls were of this size and form, and had a very becoming effect, close upon the forehead, between the eyes. Above this was a paradise plume, from which strings of pearls were carried over the head, as we turn our hair.

“On her forehead, she wore a small gold circlet, from which large pear-shaped pearls hung halfway down her forehead, mixed with emeralds. The pearls were this size and shape, and looked really good positioned on her forehead, between her eyes. Above this was a paradise plume, with strings of pearls draping over her head, like we style our hair.”

“I fear you will not understand me. Her ear-rings were immense gold-rings, with pearls and emeralds suspended all round in long strings, the pearls increasing in size. She had a nose-ring also, with large round pearls and emeralds; and her necklaces, &c., were too numerous to be described. She wore long sleeves, open at the elbow; and her dress was a full petticoat, some dozen yards wide, with a tight body attached, and only open at the throat. She had several persons to bear her[89] train when she walked; and her women stood behind her couch to arrange her head-dress, when in moving her pearls got entangled in the immense dopatta of scarlet and gold she had thrown around her. How I wished for you when we were seated! you would have been delighted with the whole scene. This beautiful creature is the envy of all the other wives, and the favourite, at present, of the king and his mother, both of whom have given her titles—the king’s is after the favourite wife of one of the celebrated kings of Delhi, ‘Tajmahŭl,’ and Nourmahŭl herself could not have been more lovely.

“I’m afraid you won’t understand me. Her earrings were huge gold hoops, with pearls and emeralds hanging all around in long strings, with the pearls getting larger in size. She also had a nose ring, featuring large round pearls and emeralds; and her necklaces and other jewelry were too many to describe. She wore long sleeves that were open at the elbow, and her dress was a full petticoat, about a dozen yards wide, with a fitted bodice attached that was only open at the throat. She had several people carrying her train as she walked, and her ladies stood behind her couch, fixing her headpiece when her pearls got tangled in the massive scarlet and gold dupatta she had draped around her. How I wished you were there when we were seated! You would have loved the entire scene. This beautiful woman is the envy of all the other wives and the current favorite of both the king and his mother, who have both given her titles—the king’s being after the favored wife of one of the famous kings of Delhi, ‘Tajmahal,’ and Nourmahal herself couldn’t have been more beautiful.”

“The other newly-made queen is nearly European, but not a whit fairer than Tajmahŭl. She is, in my opinion, plain, but is considered by the native ladies very handsome; and she was the king’s favourite until he saw Tajmahŭl.

“The other newly-made queen is almost European, but not any fairer than Tajmahŭl. In my view, she’s plain, but the local women think she’s really attractive; and she was the king’s favorite until he laid eyes on Tajmahŭl."

“She was more splendidly dressed than even Tajmahŭl; her head-dress was a coronet of diamonds, with a fine crescent and plume of the same. She is the daughter of an European merchant, and is accomplished for an inhabitant of a zenāna, as she writes and speaks Persian fluently, as well as Hindostani, and it is said she is teaching the king English; though, when we spoke to her in English, she said she had forgotten it, and could not reply. She was, I fancy, afraid of the old begam, as she evidently understood us; and when asked if she liked being in the zenāna, she shook her head and looked quite melancholy. Jealousy of the new favourite, however, appeared the cause of her discontent, as, though they sat on the same couch, they never addressed each other. And now you must be as tired of the begams, as I am of writing about them.

“She was dressed more beautifully than even the Taj Mahal; her headpiece was a coronet of diamonds with a delicate crescent and plume to match. She is the daughter of a European merchant and is quite accomplished for someone living in a zenana, as she writes and speaks Persian and Hindustani fluently, and it’s said she is teaching the king English; though when we spoke to her in English, she claimed to have forgotten it and couldn’t respond. I think she was afraid of the old begam, as she clearly understood us; when asked if she liked being in the zenana, she shook her head and looked quite sad. However, jealousy of the new favorite seemed to be the reason for her unhappiness, as even though they sat on the same couch, they never spoke to each other. And now you must be as tired of the begams as I am of writing about them.”

“The mother of the king’s children, Mulka Zumanee, did not visit us at the old queen’s, but we went to see her at her own palace: she is, after all, the person of the most political consequence, being the mother of the heir-apparent; and she has great power over her royal husband, whose ears she boxes occasionally.

“The mother of the king’s children, Mulka Zumanee, didn’t come to visit us at the old queen’s place, but we went to see her at her own palace: she is, after all, the most politically important person, being the mother of the heir-apparent; and she has a lot of influence over her royal husband, whom she occasionally gives a piece of her mind to.”

“The Delhi princess, to whom the king was betrothed and married by his father, we did not see; she is in disgrace, and confined to her own palace. The old begam talked away to us,[90] but appeared surprised I should admire Tajmahŭl more than the English begam, as she is called,—my country-woman as they styled her!

“The Delhi princess, to whom the king was engaged and married by his father, was not seen; she is in disgrace and kept in her own palace. The old begam chatted with us,[90] but seemed surprised that I admired Taj Mahal more than the English begam, as they called her—my countrywoman as they referred to her!

“Poor thing, I felt ashamed of the circumstance, when I saw her chewing pān with all the gusto of a regular Hindostanee.”

“Poor thing, I felt embarrassed about the situation when I saw her chewing pān with all the enthusiasm of a typical Hindostanee.”

The above letter contains so charming an account of Lucnow, that I cannot refrain from adding an extract from another of the same lady.

The letter above has such a delightful description of Lucknow that I can't help but include an excerpt from another one by the same woman.

“At the residency, on such a day as this, the thermometer is seldom short of 100°!

“At the residency, on a day like this, the thermometer is rarely below 100°!

“Did you ever hear of Colonel Gardner? he is married to a native princess. The other day he paid Lucnow a visit. His son’s wife is sister to the legal queen of our present worthy sovereign of Oude. Colonel Gardner came on a visit to the begam’s father, Mirza Sulimān Sheko, a prince of the house of Delhi, blessed with fifty-two children, twelve sons and forty daughters! Did you ever hear of such enormity? the poor papa is without a rupee, his pension from government of 5000 rupees a month is mortgaged to his numerous creditors. He has quarrelled with his illustrious son-in-law, the king of Oude; and Colonel Gardner has come over with the laudable purpose of removing his family from Oude to Delhi, where they will have a better chance of being provided for.

“Have you heard of Colonel Gardner? He's married to a native princess. Recently, he visited Lucknow. His son's wife is the sister of the legal queen of our current respected ruler of Oudh. Colonel Gardner came to see the begum’s father, Mirza Sulimān Sheko, a prince from the house of Delhi, who has fifty-two children—twelve sons and forty daughters! Can you believe that? The poor dad has no money; his pension from the government of 5000 rupees a month is mortgaged to his many creditors. He’s had a falling out with his famous son-in-law, the king of Oudh, and Colonel Gardner has come with the good intention of moving his family from Oudh to Delhi, where they might have a better chance of being taken care of.”

“Indeed, the other day, seventeen of the daughters were betrothed to seventeen princes of Delhi: this is disposing of one’s daughters by wholesale! is it not? Colonel Gardner, who is a very gentlemanlike person, I hear, of the old school, was educated in France some fifty years ago. He gave a description of his sojourn amongst this small family in the city, in these words,—‘I slept every night with the thermometer at 100°, and surrounded by 500 females!’

“Indeed, the other day, seventeen of the daughters were engaged to seventeen princes of Delhi: isn’t that marrying off your daughters in bulk? Colonel Gardner, who I hear is quite a gentleman from the old school, was educated in France about fifty years ago. He described his time with this small family in the city like this: ‘I slept every night with the thermometer at 100° and surrounded by 500 women!’”

“What a situation! I do not know which would be the most overpowering, the extreme heat, or the incessant clack of the forty princesses and their attendants. It reminds me of the old fairy tale of the ‘Ogre’s forty daughters with golden crowns on their heads.’”

“What a situation! I don’t know which is more overwhelming, the intense heat or the constant chatter of the forty princesses and their attendants. It brings to mind the old fairy tale of the ‘Ogre’s forty daughters with golden crowns on their heads.’”

On dit, the English begam was the daughter of a half caste[91] and an English officer; her mother afterwards married a native buniyā (shop-keeper). She had a sister; both the girls lived with the mother, and employed themselves in embroidering saddle-cloths for the horses of the rich natives. They were both very plain; nevertheless, one of them sent her picture to his majesty, who, charmed with the portrait, married the lady. She had money in profusion at her command: she made her father-in-law her treasurer, and pensioned her mother and sister.

It is said, the English woman was the daughter of a mixed-race parent[91] and an English officer; her mother later married a local shopkeeper. She had a sister; both girls lived with their mother and spent their time embroidering saddle cloths for the horses of wealthy locals. They were both quite plain; however, one of them sent her picture to the king, who, taken by the portrait, married her. She had plenty of money at her disposal: she made her father-in-law her treasurer and provided pensions for her mother and sister.

The Sati.

A rich buniyā, a corn chandler, whose house was near the gate of our grounds, departed this life; he was an Hindoo. On the 7th of November, the natives in the bazār were making a great noise with their tom-toms, drums, and other discordant musical instruments, rejoicing that his widow had determined to perform suttee, i.e. to burn on his funeral-pile.

A wealthy merchant, who sold corn and lived close to our property, passed away; he was Hindu. On November 7th, the locals in the market were making a lot of noise with their drums and other loud instruments, celebrating that his widow had decided to perform suttee, meaning to be cremated on his funeral pyre.

The magistrate sent for the woman, used every argument to dissuade her, and offered her money. Her only answer was, dashing her head on the floor, and saying, “If you will not let me burn with my husband, I will hang myself in your court of justice.” The shāstrs say, “The prayers and imprecations of a suttee are never uttered in vain; the great gods themselves cannot listen to them unmoved.”

The magistrate called for the woman, tried every argument to convince her otherwise, and even offered her money. Her only response was to bang her head on the floor and say, “If you won't let me burn with my husband, I will hang myself in your courtroom.” The scriptures say, “The prayers and curses of a widow are never ignored; even the great gods can’t remain unaffected by them.”

If a widow touch either food or water from the time her husband expires until she ascend the pile, she cannot, by Hindoo law, be burned with the body; therefore the magistrate kept the corpse forty-eight hours, in the hope that hunger would compel the woman to eat. Guards were set over her, but she never touched any thing. My husband accompanied the magistrate to see the suttee: about 5000 people were collected together on the banks of the Ganges: the pile was then built, and the putrid body placed upon it; the magistrate stationed guards to prevent the people from approaching it. After having bathed in the river, the widow lighted a brand, walked round the pile, set it on fire, and then mounted cheerfully: the flame caught and blazed up instantly; she sat down, placing the head of the corpse on her lap, and repeated several times the usual form,[92] “Ram, Ram, suttee; Ram, Ram, suttee,” i.e. “God, God, I am chaste.”

If a widow touches any food or water from the moment her husband passes away until she climbs onto the pyre, according to Hindu law, she cannot be burned with his body. Because of this, the magistrate kept the corpse for forty-eight hours, hoping hunger would drive the woman to eat. Guards were placed around her, but she never touched anything. My husband went with the magistrate to observe the suttee; about 5000 people gathered on the banks of the Ganges. The pyre was built, and the decomposing body was placed on it. The magistrate set up guards to keep the crowd away. After bathing in the river, the widow lit a torch, walked around the pyre, ignited it, and then climbed up cheerfully. The flames caught fire instantly; she sat down, resting the corpse's head on her lap, and repeated several times the usual phrase, [92] “Ram, Ram, suttee; Ram, Ram, suttee,” which means “God, God, I am chaste.”

As the wind drove the fierce fire upon her, she shook her arms and limbs as if in agony; at length she started up and approached the side to escape. An Hindoo, one of the police who had been placed near the pile to see she had fair play, and should not be burned by force, raised his sword to strike her, and the poor wretch shrank back into the flames. The magistrate seized and committed him to prison. The woman again approached the side of the blazing pile, sprang fairly out, and ran into the Ganges, which was within a few yards. When the crowd and the brothers of the dead man saw this, they called out, “Cut her down, knock her on the head with a bamboo; tie her hands and feet, and throw her in again;” and rushed down to execute their murderous intentions, when the gentlemen and the police drove them back.

As the wind pushed the intense fire towards her, she flailed her arms and legs as if in pain; finally, she jumped up and moved to the edge to escape. A Hindu police officer, placed near the pyre to ensure she wasn't forced to burn, raised his sword to strike her, causing the poor woman to retreat back into the flames. The magistrate arrested him and sent him to prison. The woman then moved again to the edge of the blazing pyre, jumped out, and ran into the Ganges, which was just a few yards away. When the crowd and the dead man's brothers saw this, they shouted, “Cut her down, hit her with a bamboo; tie her hands and feet, and throw her back in!” and rushed forward to carry out their violent plans, but the gentlemen and police pushed them back.

The woman drank some water, and having extinguished the fire on her red garment, said she would mount the pile again and be burned.

The woman drank some water, then put out the fire on her red clothing and said she would get back on the pyre and be burned.

The magistrate placed his hand on her shoulder (which rendered her impure), and said, “By your own law, having once quitted the pile you cannot ascend again; I forbid it. You are now an outcast from the Hindoos, but I will take charge of you, the Company will protect you, and you shall never want food or clothing.”

The magistrate put his hand on her shoulder (which made her unclean) and said, “According to your own law, once you leave the pyre, you can't go back; I won’t allow it. You are now an outcast from the Hindus, but I will look after you, the Company will keep you safe, and you will never be without food or clothing.”

He then sent her, in a palanquin, under a guard, to the hospital. The crowd made way, shrinking from her with signs of horror, but returned peaceably to their homes; the Hindoos annoyed at her escape, and the Mussulmans saying, “It was better that she should escape, but it was a pity we should have lost the tamāshā (amusement) of seeing her burnt to death.”

He then sent her in a palanquin, accompanied by guards, to the hospital. The crowd parted, recoiling from her in horror, but then peacefully returned to their homes; the Hindus were upset about her escape, while the Muslims remarked, “It’s better that she got away, but it’s a shame we missed out on the entertainment of watching her burn to death.”

Had not the magistrate and the English gentlemen been present, the Hindoos would have cut her down when she attempted to quit the fire; or had she leapt out, would have thrown her in again, and have said, “She performed suttee of her own accord, how could we make her? it was the will of God.” As a specimen of their religion the woman said, “I[93] have transmigrated six times, and have been burned six times with six different husbands; if I do not burn the seventh time, it will prove unlucky for me!” “What good will burning do you?” asked a bystander. She replied, “The women of my husband’s family have all been suttees, why should I bring disgrace upon them? I shall go to heaven, and afterwards re-appear on earth, and be married to a very rich man.” She was about twenty or twenty-five years of age, and possessed of some property, for the sake of which her relatives wished to put her out of the world.

Had the magistrate and the English gentlemen not been there, the Hindus would have killed her when she tried to leave the fire; or if she had jumped out, they would have thrown her back in and claimed, “She performed suttee on her own, how could we stop her? It was the will of God.” In explaining her beliefs, the woman said, “I[93] have been reincarnated six times and have been burned six times with six different husbands; if I don’t burn this seventh time, it will be bad luck for me!” “What good will burning do you?” asked someone nearby. She answered, “The women from my husband’s family have all become suttees, why should I bring shame on them? I will go to heaven, and then I’ll come back to earth and marry a very wealthy man.” She was about twenty or twenty-five years old and had some property, which was why her relatives wanted to get rid of her.

If every suttee were conducted in this way, very few would take place in India. The woman was not much burned, with the exception of some parts on her arms and legs. Had she performed suttee, they would have raised a little cenotaph, or a mound of earth by the side of the river, and every Hindoo who passed the place returning from bathing would have made sālām to it; a high honour to the family. While we were in Calcutta, many suttees took place; but as they were generally on the other side of the river, we only heard of them after they had occurred. Here the people passed in procession, flags flying, and drums beating, close by our door. I saw them from the verandah; the widow, dressed in a red garment, was walking in the midst. My servants all ran to me, begging to be allowed to go and see the tamāshā (fun, sport), and having obtained permission, they all started off, except one man, who was pulling the pankhā, and he looked greatly vexed at being obliged to remain. The sāhib said, the woman appeared so perfectly determined, he did not think she would have quitted the fire. Having performed suttee according to her own account six times before, one would have thought from her miraculous incombustibility, she had become asbestos, only purified and not consumed by fire. I was glad the poor creature was not murdered; but she will be an outcast; no Hindoo will eat with her, enter her house, or give her assistance; and when she appears they will point at her and give her abuse. Her own and her husband’s family would lose caste if they were to speak to her: but, as an example, it will prevent a number of women from becoming suttees, and do[94] infinite good: fortunately, she has no children. And these are the people called in Europe the “mild inoffensive Hindoos!”

If every suttee happened like this, very few would occur in India. The woman wasn’t burned much, just a few spots on her arms and legs. If she had gone through with suttee, they would have built a small memorial or a mound of dirt by the river, and every Hindu passing by after bathing would have paid their respects to it—a high honor for the family. While we were in Calcutta, many suttees happened, but since they were mostly on the other side of the river, we only heard about them afterward. Here, people passed in a procession, flags waving and drums beating, right by our door. I watched from the verandah; the widow, dressed in red, was walking in the middle. My servants rushed to me, asking for permission to go see the spectacle, and once they got the go-ahead, they all took off, except for one man who was fanning me, and he looked really annoyed to have to stay behind. The sahib commented that the woman looked so determined, he didn’t think she would leave the fire. Having gone through suttee herself six times before, one might think her miraculous resistance to burning had made her like asbestos—only purified, not consumed by fire. I was relieved that the poor woman wasn’t killed; however, she will now be an outcast—no Hindu will eat with her, enter her house, or help her; and when she appears, they will point at her and insult her. Both her family and her husband’s family would lose their caste if they spoke to her. But as a warning, her case may prevent many women from becoming suttees and do[94] infinite good: luckily, she has no children. And these are the people that Europeans call the “mild, inoffensive Hindus!”

The woman was mistress of a good house and about 800 rupees; the brothers of her deceased husband would, after her destruction, have inherited the property.

The woman was in charge of a nice household and about 800 rupees; her late husband's brothers would inherit the property after her demise.

The burning of the widow is not commanded by the shāstrs: to perform suttee is a proof of devotion to the husband. The mountain Himalaya, being personified, is represented as a powerful monarch: his wife, Mena; their daughter is called Parvuti, or mountain-born, and Doorga, or difficult of access. She is said to have been married to Shivŭ in a pre-existing state when she was called Sŭtēē. After the marriage, Shivŭ on a certain occasion offended his father-in-law, King Dŭkshŭ, by refusing to make sālām to him as he entered the circle in which the king was sitting.

The burning of the widow isn't required by the scriptures: committing suttee is seen as a sign of devotion to the husband. The Himalayas, which are personified, are portrayed as a powerful king: his wife is Mena; their daughter is known as Parvati, meaning mountain-born, and Durga, meaning difficult to reach. It's said that she was married to Shiva in a pre-existing state, when she was called Sati. After the marriage, Shiva once upset his father-in-law, King Daksha, by not greeting him properly as he entered the circle where the king was sitting.

To be revenged, the monarch refused to invite Shivŭ to a sacrifice which he was about to perform. Sŭtēē, the king’s daughter, however, was resolved to go, though uninvited and forbidden by her husband. On her arrival, Dŭkshŭ poured a torrent of abuse on Shivŭ, which affected Sŭtēē so much that she died.

To get back at Shivŭ, the king decided not to invite him to a sacrifice he was planning. However, Sŭtēē, the king’s daughter, was determined to attend, even though she wasn't invited and her husband had forbidden her. When she arrived, Dŭkshŭ unleashed a stream of insults towards Shivŭ, which affected Sŭtēē so deeply that she died.

In memory of this proof of great affection, a Hindoo widow burning with her husband on the funeral-pile, is called a Sŭtēē.

In memory of this demonstration of deep love, a Hindu widow who burns with her husband on the funeral pyre is called a Sati.

The following passages are from the Hindoo Shāstrs:—

The following passages are from the Hindu Shāstras:—

“There are 35,000,000 hairs on the human body. The woman who ascends the pile with her husband, will remain so many years in heaven.”

“There are 35,000,000 hairs on the human body. The woman who climbs the pile with her husband will stay there for so many years in heaven.”

“As the snake draws the serpent from its hole, so she, rescuing her husband (from hell), rejoices with him.”

“As the snake pulls the serpent out of its hole, she, saving her husband (from hell), celebrates with him.”

“The woman who expires on the funeral-pile of her husband, purifies the family of her mother, her father, and her husband.”

“The woman who dies on her husband’s funeral pyre cleanses the family of her mother, father, and husband.”

“So long as a woman, in her successive transmigrations, shall decline burning herself, like a faithful wife, on the same fire with her deceased lord, so long shall she not be exempted from springing again to life in the body of some female animal.”

“So long as a woman, in her future lives, chooses not to burn herself, like a devoted wife, on the same pyre with her deceased husband, she will not be free from being reborn in the body of some female animal.”

TEMPLE OF BHAWĀNĪ AND SUTTEES ALOPEE BĀGH.

TEMPLE OF BHAWĀNĪ AND SUTTEES ALOPEE BĀGH.

On Stone by Major Parlby.

On Stone by Major Parlby.

Sketched on the Spot by ‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

Sketched on the Spot by Fanny Parks

“There is no virtue greater than a chaste woman burning[95] herself with her husband:” the term Sŭtēē, here rendered “chaste” is thus explained; “commiserating with her husband in trouble, rejoicing in his joys, neglecting herself when he is gone from home, and dying at his death.”

“There is no greater virtue than a chaste woman who is devoted to her husband:” the term Sŭtēē, translated here as “chaste,” is explained as follows; “sharing in her husband’s troubles, celebrating his successes, putting herself aside when he is away, and grieving at his death.”

“By the favour of a chaste woman the universe is preserved, on which account she is to be regarded by kings and people as a goddess.”

“Thanks to the blessing of a pure woman, the world is sustained, which is why she should be honored by rulers and the public as a goddess.”

“If the husband be out of the country when he dies, let the virtuous wife take his slippers (or any thing else which belongs to his dress) and binding them, or it, on her breast, after purification, enter a separate fire.”

“If the husband is out of the country when he dies, the virtuous wife should take his slippers (or anything else that belongs to his attire) and, after purifying herself, bind them to her chest and enter a separate fire.”

Mothers collect the cowries strewn by a sŭtēē as she walks round the pile, ere she fires it, and hang them round the necks of their sick children as a cure for disease.

Mothers gather the cowries scattered by a sŭtēē as she walks around the pile before she burns it, and they hang them around the necks of their sick children as a remedy for illness.

The suttee took place on the banks of the Ganges, under the Bund between the Fort and Raj Ghat, a spot reckoned very holy and fortunate for the performance of the rite.

The suttee happened on the banks of the Ganges, under the Bund between the Fort and Raj Ghat, a place considered very sacred and lucky for carrying out the ritual.

Several of our friends requested me, in case another suttee occurred, to send them timely notice. Five days afterwards, I was informed that a rānee[38] was to be burned. Accordingly I sent word to all my friends. Eight thousand people were assembled on the suttee-ground, who waited from mid-day to sunset: then a cry arose—“The mem sāhiba sent us here! the mem sāhiba said it was to take place to-day! see, the sun has set, there can now be no suttee!” The people dispersed. My informant told me what he himself believed, and I mystified some 8000 people most unintentionally.

Several of our friends asked me, in case another suttee took place, to give them a heads-up. Five days later, I learned that a rānee[38] was going to be burned. So, I let all my friends know. Eight thousand people gathered at the suttee site, waiting from noon until sunset. Then a shout went up—“The mem sāhiba sent us here! The mem sāhiba said it would happen today! Look, the sun has set; there can't be a suttee now!” The crowd dispersed. My source shared what he believed, and I unintentionally confused about 8000 people.

TEMPLE OF BHAWĀNĪ AND SUTTEES, ALOPEE BAGH.

The temple of Bhawānī is shaded by a most beautiful peepul-tree, from the centre of which a fakīr’s flag was flying; it stands in a plantation of mango-trees. I desired an Hindoo, who was present when I sketched the temple, to count the suttee-graves around it. As he counted them, he repeatedly made sālām to each mound.

The temple of Bhawānī is shaded by a stunning peepul tree, with a fakir's flag flying from the center; it stands in a grove of mango trees. I asked a Hindu who was there while I sketched the temple to count the suttee graves around it. As he counted them, he kept bowing to each mound.

The kulsa, Fig. 8, is made of common unglazed red pottery: there are five points—one at the top, the others placed at equal spaces around it; between the points are two figures of human beings, and two emblems like a moon and a crescent, see Fig. 9. The kulsa is hollow, and has five holes, through which the points, which are of solid earthenware, are introduced before baking, see Fig. 10: height, ten inches and a half; circumference just below the points, twenty-six inches; diameter at bottom, six inches. The kulsa, Fig. 7, is another from a large suttee at the same spot, of a different form; they call it a topee walla kulsa. The suttees in the sketch of the temple of Bhawānī are all of masonry; the mounds are invisible, lying at the back of the temple.

The kulsa, Fig. 8, is made of common unglazed red pottery: it has five points—one on top and the others evenly spaced around it. Between the points are two human figures and two symbols resembling a moon and a crescent, see Fig. 9. The kulsa is hollow and has five holes where the solid earthenware points are inserted before firing, see Fig. 10: it measures ten and a half inches in height, twenty-six inches in circumference just below the points, and six inches in diameter at the bottom. The kulsa, Fig. 7, is another one from a large suttee at the same site, but with a different shape; it’s called a topee walla kulsa. The suttees in the sketch of the temple of Bhawānī are all made of masonry; the mounds are hidden, lying behind the temple.

Nov.—My beautiful Arab, Mootee, after taking a most marvellous quantity of blue vitriol and opium, has recovered, but will be unfit for my riding; the sinews of his fore-leg are injured; besides which, he is rather too playful; he knocked down his sā’īs yesterday, tore his clothes to pieces, bit two bits of flesh[97] out of his back, and would perhaps have killed him, had not the people in the bazār interfered and rescued the man. It was an odd freak, he is such a sweet-tempered animal, and I never knew him behave incorrectly before.

Nov.—My beautiful Arab horse, Mootee, has recovered after taking a huge amount of blue vitriol and opium, but he's not fit for riding; the tendons in his front leg are hurt. On top of that, he's been a bit too playful; he knocked his groom down yesterday, shredded his clothes, bit two chunks of flesh out of his back, and might have seriously hurt him if the people in the market hadn't stepped in to save the guy. It was such an unusual thing for him to do; he’s usually a sweet-tempered animal, and I’ve never seen him act out like this before.

We spent the month of December, our hunting season, at Papamhow; and purchased several couple of the Berkeley hounds, from the Calcutta kennel, for the pack at Allahabad. I received a present of an excellent little black horse with a long tail; and, mounted on him, used to go out every day after the jackals and foxes. I am rich in riding-horses, and the dark brown stud Arab Trelawny bids fair to rival Mootee in my affections. Returning from chasing a jackal one evening, it was very dark, and as Captain A⸺ S⸺ was cantering his Arab across the parade-ground, the animal put his foot into a deep hole, and fell; our friend thought nothing of it, and refused to be bled; a few days afterwards the regiment quitted Allahabad, and he died the second day, on the march to Benares. He was an ill-fated animal, that little horse of his: they called him an Arab pony, but no good caste animal would have been so vicious; he had one fault, a trick of biting at the foot of his rider—he bit off the toe of his former master, mortification ensued, and the man died. I often wished to mount him, but they would never allow me: the creature was very handsome, and remarkably well formed; doubtless a native would have found unlucky marks upon him—at that time I was ignorant respecting samāt, or unlucky marks on horses.

We spent December, our hunting season, at Papamhow and bought several pairs of Berkeley hounds from the Calcutta kennel for the pack in Allahabad. I got a wonderful little black horse with a long tail as a gift, and I would ride him every day to hunt jackals and foxes. I have plenty of riding horses, and my dark brown Arab stallion, Trelawny, seems likely to rival Mootee in my affections. One evening, returning from chasing a jackal, it was very dark, and as Captain A⸺ S⸺ was riding his Arab across the parade ground, the horse stepped into a deep hole and fell. Our friend didn't think much of it and refused treatment. A few days later, the regiment left Allahabad, and he passed away two days into the march to Benares. That little horse of his was unfortunate: they called him an Arab pony, but no decent horse would be so aggressive. He had one flaw—he had a bad habit of biting at his rider's foot; he had bitten off the toe of his previous owner, which led to infection, and the man died. I often wanted to ride him, but they would never let me; the horse was very beautiful and well-built. I'm sure a local would have spotted bad signs on him—at that time, I was unaware of samāt, or bad marks on horses.


[98]

[98]

CHAPTER XI.
Residence in Prague.

“I KEEP WRITING ON UPON THE PRINCIPLE OF A GOOD ECONOMIST, THAT IT IS A PITY SO MUCH PAPER SHOULD BE LOST, WHICH, LIKE THE QUEER LITTLE OLD MAN IN THE SONG, ‘HAS A LONG WAY TO GO.’”

“I keep writing on the principle of a good economist, that it’s a shame so much paper should be wasted, which, like the quirky little old man in the song, ‘has a long way to go.’”

“WHAT RELIANCE IS THERE ON LIFE[40]?”

“WHAT RELIANCE IS THERE ON LIFE[40]?”

“HE WHO HAS ILL-LUCK FOR HIS COMPANION WILL BE BITTEN BY A DOG ALTHOUGH MOUNTED ON A CAMEL[41].”

“WHOEVER HAS BAD LUCK AS HIS COMPANION WILL GET BITTEN BY A DOG EVEN IF RIDING A CAMEL[41].”

1829—March to Benares—Misfortunes en suite—The Hummām of the Rajah—Flowers of Wax and Ubruk—Return to Prāg—Storm en route—Gram—A Central Government—Thieves, Domestic—Snake in the Stable—Death in a Pālkee—Power of the Sun to change the Sex—Lord William Bentinck—Half-Batta—The Jaws of the Crocodile—The Clipper—Discontent of the Army—Recovery of the Stolen Rupees—The Gosāin—Ram Din—The Ancient Temple.

1829—March to Benares—Unfortunate events that followed—The Rajah's Bathhouse—Wax Flowers and Ubruk—Return to Prāg—Storm on the way—Gram—A Central Government—Domestic Thieves—Snake in the Stable—Death in a Pālkee—The Sun's power to change gender—Lord William Bentinck—Half-Batta—The Crocodile's Jaws—The Clipper—Army Discontent—Recovery of the Stolen Rupees—The Gosāin—Ram Din—The Ancient Temple.

Jan. 1829.—In the beginning of this month, having promised to meet Captain A. S⸺ at the races at Ghazeepore, we started by land, having sent tents and provisions by water to await our arrival. A violent headache preventing me from mounting my horse, I proceeded in a pālkee, much against medical advice, and slept half-way to Benares, in our tents.

Jan. 1829.—At the start of this month, after agreeing to meet Captain A. S⸺ at the races in Ghazeepore, we set off on land, sending our tents and supplies by boat to meet us there. A bad headache kept me from riding my horse, so I traveled in a pālkee, despite what the doctor recommended, and rested halfway to Benares in our tents.

Rising late the next day, we had a hot ride before reaching the Stanhope, where we learnt that our pitaras had been stolen. My husband rode forward in pursuit of the thieves, leaving me seated by the side of the road; the sun becoming very hot, I got into the buggy, overcome from my recent illness, the sā’īs[99] holding the horse. I was startled from a doze by the sound of the bells of a native cart passing with flags flying; the horse alarmed sprang from the sā’īs’s hands, pulling away the reins, which fell to the ground; away galloped the horse, a strong animal fifteen hands high; he looked down the steep ditch on one side the raised road, turned round, looked over the ditch on the other side, made one more sudden turn in alarm, and upset the buggy. I was thrown head foremost through the opening in the back, my limbs remaining under the buggy-hood, which was broken to pieces; the horse fairly kicked himself out of the shafts, and galloped off; I was glad when I found he was free, and knew he could not break my legs, which were still under the hood: at length I dragged them out, with my long habit-skirt, and made an attempt to go after the horse, but was obliged to sit down—blue and yellow suns, stars, and bright objects floated before my eyes—I was unable to stand: my dressing-case having been thrown out of the buggy, I drank some sal volatile, which took off the giddiness. My husband returned at this moment, and an officer from some tents near at hand came to our assistance. The Stanhope was carried forward by coolies; we had a Calcutta buggy also with us, in which we proceeded. The road was covered with the finest sand, rendering it impossible to see the deep holes in every direction. The horse, a powerful English imported creature, was going very fast, when he put both his fore feet into a deep hole, and came down; the high Calcutta buggy swung forwards with such force I was pitched out over the wheel on my head, and remained insensible for a few seconds. My husband was not thrown out. He was unable to leave the frightened horse; it was a relief when he heard a voice from the dust, saying, “I am not hurt;” a voice he feared he should never hear again. The bruises I had before received, united with this blow on my head, which cut through my riding-hat, made me very nervous; and when at the last stage we had to drive a run-away mare, laid for us by a friend, I really sat in fear and trembling. At last we arrived at Benares. I was carried up-stairs to bed, my limbs being stiff and painful. For ten days I could scarcely move, so much was my body[100] bruised by the iron rail and hood of the buggy, and my right arm was greatly swollen.

Rising late the next day, we had a rough ride before reaching the Stanhope, where we found out that our bags had been stolen. My husband rode ahead to chase the thieves, leaving me sitting by the side of the road. As the sun got really hot, I got into the buggy, feeling weak from my recent illness, while the sā’īs[99] held the horse. I was jolted awake from a nap by the sound of bells from a passing native cart with flags flying; the horse startled and jumped from the sā’īs’s hands, pulling the reins free, which fell to the ground. The horse, a strong animal fifteen hands high, galloped away; he looked down into the steep ditch on one side of the road, turned to look over the other side, made one more sudden turn in fright, and toppled the buggy. I was thrown headfirst through the back opening, with my limbs trapped under the broken buggy hood; the horse kicked himself free from the shafts and took off. I was relieved to see he was free and realized he couldn't break my legs, which were still under the hood. Eventually, I managed to drag them out with my long skirt and tried to chase after the horse, but I had to sit down—blue and yellow suns, stars, and bright spots floated before my eyes; I was unable to stand. My dressing case had been thrown out of the buggy, so I took some sal volatile, which cleared the dizziness. My husband returned at that moment, and an officer from nearby tents came to help us. The Stanhope was carried forward by coolies; we also had a Calcutta buggy with us, in which we continued our journey. The road was covered in fine sand, making it impossible to see the deep holes in every direction. The horse, a powerful English import, was going very fast when he suddenly stepped into a deep hole and fell. The high Calcutta buggy swung forward with such force I was thrown over the wheel onto my head, losing consciousness for a few seconds. My husband stayed in the buggy; he couldn't leave the scared horse. It was a relief when he heard a voice from the dust saying, “I am not hurt,” a voice he feared he’d never hear again. The bruises I had from before, combined with this blow to my head that cut through my riding hat, made me very anxious; when we had to drive a runaway mare, set up for us by a friend, I was really nervous and trembling. Finally, we arrived at Benares. I was carried upstairs to bed, my limbs stiff and painful. For ten days, I could hardly move because my body was so badly bruised by the iron rail and hood of the buggy, and my right arm was very swollen.

My recovery was brought about by having four women to shampoo me for five hours daily, and by going into a vapour-bath belonging to the Rajah of Benares. In the bath the women shampooed, and twisted, and pinched my limbs, until I could walk without assistance—that vapour-bath was a great relief.

My recovery happened because four women shampooed me for five hours every day and I used a steam bath that belonged to the Rajah of Benares. In the bath, the women would shampoo, twist, and pinch my limbs until I could walk on my own—that steam bath was a huge relief.

One morning the rajah sent me a bouquet of flowers, they were beautifully made of ubruk (talc, mica) and coloured wax, the first I had seen well executed.

One morning, the rajah sent me a bouquet of flowers that were beautifully crafted from ubruk (talc, mica) and colored wax—the first one I had ever seen done so well.

My husband at the billiard-table, said: “I am uncertain respecting that stroke, I wish A⸺ S⸺ was here.” “Do you not know he is dead?” said his opponent, “he died in consequence of his fall with that Arab pony at Papamhow.” We were greatly shocked.

My husband at the pool table said, “I'm not sure about that shot, I wish A⸺ S⸺ was here.” “Don’t you know he’s dead?” replied his opponent, “he died after falling off that Arabian pony at Papamhow.” We were very shocked.

Jan. 29th.—We quitted our kind friends at Benares to return home: ill-luck pursued us—the first stage the horse fell lame, and we reached our tent with difficulty. During the night a heavy storm came on; the tent being old was soon saturated, and the water poured in on our chārpāīs. The horses picketed outside were drenched, they neighed and shook their chains; the sā’īses crept under the corners of the rāwtī, and we had the floorcloth put over us, to protect us from the rain and cold.

Jan. 29th.—We left our kind friends in Benares to head back home; bad luck followed us—the horse went lame at the first stage, and we struggled to reach our tent. During the night, a heavy storm hit; the old tent soaked through quickly, and water poured in on our cots. The horses tied outside got drenched, neighing and shaking their chains; the grooms huddled under the edges of the tent, and we had to use the floorcloth to cover ourselves for protection from the rain and cold.

The next day we galloped to our second tent, which we found soaked through from the rain of the night. There was the tent, and nothing else. One of the camels having fallen lame, the servants had made it a pretext for not continuing their march, and we were planté in the jungle without food, bedding, or warm clothing! A camel-driver caught a chicken, and drawing out a long queer crooked blade, killed it, and dressed an excellent curry in a few minutes; having had no food all day, and much exercise, we devoured it to the last grain of rice. I thought of the saying, “If you ask a hungry man how much two and two make—he answers, ‘Four loaves[42].’” The night[101] was miserable, the wind blowing through the wet canvass; we could not even borrow a blanket from the horses, everything was drenched. A pukka ague and fever was the consequence, which lasted seven or eight days, and returned regularly once every four weeks for three months.

The next day we rode over to our second tent, which was completely soaked from the rain the night before. There it was, just the tent, and nothing else. One of the camels had gone lame, and the servants used that as an excuse to stop our march, leaving us stuck in the jungle without food, bedding, or warm clothes! A camel driver caught a chicken, and using a long, oddly shaped blade, he killed it and made a delicious curry in minutes; after having no food all day and a lot of exercise, we devoured it down to the last grain of rice. I remembered the saying, “If you ask a hungry man how much two and two makes—he answers, ‘Four loaves[42].’” The night was terrible, with the wind blowing through the wet canvas; we couldn’t even borrow a blanket from the horses, since everything was soaked. As a result, I caught a nasty fever and chills that lasted seven or eight days and came back every four weeks for three months.

Nor did our misfortunes end here. Much to the surprise of my husband, his Arab Rajah, whom he had had for seven years, threw him over his right shoulder. Rajah was particularly pleased; for having looked at him, he cocked his tail and went off at his best pace towards home. Monsieur was not hurt, and received only a few bruises for his carelessness, which, considering he now weighs fourteen stone, shows that, like Cæsar, he has much respect for his person and can fall in proper form.

Nor did our misfortunes stop there. To my husband's surprise, his Arab horse, Rajah, whom he had owned for seven years, threw him over his right shoulder. Rajah seemed quite happy about it; after looking at him, he lifted his tail and took off at his fastest pace towards home. Monsieur wasn't injured and only got a few bruises from his own carelessness, which, considering he now weighs fourteen stone, shows that, like Caesar, he has a lot of respect for himself and knows how to fall gracefully.

Another malheur! a box from England on its way up the river was stolen at Patna; it contained letters and presents for me, amongst the rest a veritable tête montée à la Giraffe, a serious loss, qui pourrait bien faire monter la tête—but I bear the misfortune bravely.

Another malheur! A box from England was stolen while making its way up the river at Patna; it contained letters and gifts for me, including a genuine tête montée à la Giraffe, a significant loss, qui pourrait bien faire monter la tête—but I'm handling the misfortune with courage.

The arrival of a friend from England has pleased us greatly. What pleasure reminiscences Etonian and Harrovian give him and the sāhib! “Economy, esperanza, and 1833,” is our motto. “In five years,” says an old Harrovian, “we may hear the bell and going up—sounds worth listening to.”

The arrival of a friend from England has made us really happy. What joy the memories of Eton and Harrow bring him and the guy! "Economy, esperanza, and 1833," is our motto. "In five years," says an old Harrovian, "we might hear the bell and going up—sounds worth listening to."

Cicer arietinum (chickweed), is called arietinum because the young seed bears a very curious resemblance to a ram’s horn. The crops being favourable this year, this chickweed (chāna or gram) was sold in the city one mŭn twenty-two ser per rupee; and in the district, one mŭn thirty-five ser for the same.

Cicer arietinum (chickpea) is named arietinum because the young seeds look a lot like a ram's horn. This year, the crops have been good, so this chickpea (chāna or gram) was sold in the city for one mŭn twenty-two ser per rupee; and in the district, it was one mŭn thirty-five ser for the same price.

March 8th.—At this time my husband was attacked with ague and fever, the consequence of our expedition to Benares.

March 8th.—At this time, my husband came down with chills and fever, a result of our trip to Benares.

There is a rumour of a central government being established, the location to be hereabouts, so that Allahabad may again become a city of repute.

There’s a rumor about a central government being set up nearby, so that Allahabad can once again become a well-known city.

We have had much annoyance of late from the servants stealing all sorts of little things, as also wine. Two of the khidmatgārs were the culprits: one has been rataned, and put in irons to work on the road; we could not punish the[102] other, but it was a pleasure to get him out of the house. In India, amongst so many servants, it is very difficult to discover the thief.

We’ve had a lot of trouble lately with the servants stealing all kinds of little things, including wine. Two of the attendants were the ones responsible: one has been punished and put in chains to work on the road; we couldn’t punish the other one, but it was a relief to get him out of the house. In India, with so many servants, it's really hard to find out who the thief is.

May 31st.—How I rejoice this month is over!—this vile month! It appears almost wicked to abuse the merry merry month of May, so delightful at home, but so hot in India. Mr. M⸺ started from Calcutta to come up dāk on the 7th instant, and died in his pālkee of brain-fever only three days afterwards, in consequence of the intense heat! We spare no expense to keep the house cool, and have fourteen men whose sole business night and day is to throw water on tattīs to cool the rooms; unless the wind blows, the tattīs are useless. The heat makes you as sick as if you were to shut your head up in an oven.

May 31st.—How glad I am that this month is finally over!—this awful month! It feels almost wrong to complain about the cheerful month of May, which is so lovely back home, but it's so hot in India. Mr. M⸺ left Calcutta to come up dāk on the 7th, and he died in his pālkee from brain fever just three days later because of the extreme heat! We spare no expense to keep the house cool and have fourteen guys whose only job, day and night, is to throw water on the tattīs to cool the rooms; unless the wind blows, the tattīs are useless. The heat makes you feel as sick as if you were stuck in an oven.

A young bullock was standing in the stable to-day by the side of three horses, a snake bit the animal, and it died in a few minutes; the horses escaped,—and so did the snake, much to my sorrow.

A young bull was standing in the stable today next to three horses when a snake bit him, and he died within a few minutes; the horses got away—and so did the snake, which upset me.

July 19th.—The other evening Major P⸺ was with us, when Ram Din, a favourite Hindoo servant, brought into the room a piece of cotton cloth containing 150 rupees tightly tied up in it; the man placed it on the table by my side, and retired. Major P⸺, who thought the cloth looked dirty, took it up, and saying, “Oh the vile rupees!” let it drop upon the ground between his chair and mine. We took tea; and I retired to rest, entirely forgetting the bag of rupees. When I looked for it the following morning, of course it had disappeared. By the advice of the jāmadār of the office we sent for a gosāin, a holy personage, who lived in a most remarkable temple on the ruins of an old well by the side of the Jumna, close to our house. The gosāin came. He collected the Hindoos together, and made pooja. Having anointed a sacred piece of wood[43] with oil and turmeric, and placed it in a hut, he closed the door; and coming forth, said: “To show you that I am able to point out the thief, I have now left a gold ring in front of the idol in that house; go in and worship, every man of you. Each man must[103] put his hand upon the idol. Let one amongst you take the ring, I will point out the man.”

July 19th.—The other evening Major P⸺ was with us when Ram Din, a favorite Hindu servant, brought in a piece of cotton cloth that contained 150 rupees tightly tied up in it. He placed it on the table next to me and left the room. Major P⸺, thinking the cloth looked dirty, picked it up and said, “Oh, the filthy rupees!” before dropping it on the ground between his chair and mine. We had tea, and I went to rest, completely forgetting about the bag of rupees. When I looked for it the next morning, of course, it was gone. Following the advice of the jāmadār of the office, we called for a gosāin, a holy man, who lived in a remarkable temple on the ruins of an old well by the Jumna, close to our house. The gosāin arrived, gathered the Hindus, and performed pooja. He anointed a sacred piece of wood[43] with oil and turmeric, placed it in a hut, and closed the door. He then came out and said, “To prove that I can identify the thief, I have left a gold ring in front of the idol in that house; each of you should go in and worship. Every man must[103] put his hand on the idol. Let one of you take the ring, and I will identify the man.”

The Hindoos looked at him with reverence; they all separately entered the dwelling, and did as they were ordered. The jāmadār performed the same ceremony, although he was a Mussulmān. On their appearing before the gosāin, he desired them all to show their hands, and having examined them with much attention, he exclaimed, looking at the hands of the jāmadār, “You are the thief!” The man held up his hands to heaven, exclaiming, “God is great, and you are a wonderful man! I, a Mussulmān, did not believe in your power; your words are words of truth; I took the ring, here it is: if it be your pleasure, you can, doubtless, point out the man who stole the rupees.”

The Hindus looked at him with respect; they each entered the house and did what they were told. The jāmadār did the same ritual, even though he was a Muslim. When they stood before the gosāin, he asked them all to show their hands, and after closely inspecting them, he exclaimed, looking at the jāmadār's hands, “You are the thief!” The man raised his hands to the sky, saying, “God is great, and you are an incredible man! I, a Muslim, didn't believe in your power; your words are true; I took the ring, here it is: if you wish, you can surely reveal the person who stole the rupees.”

The gosāin then told the people, that unless the money were forthcoming the next day, he would come and point out the thief. That evening the jāmadār roamed around the house, calling out in the most dismal voice imaginable, “You had better put back the rupees, you had better put back the rupees.” The police came, and wished to carry off Ram Din to prison, because he was the servant who had put the money by my side. The man looked at me. “Is it your will? I am a Rajpoot, and shall lose caste; I have served you faithfully, I am present.”

The gosāin then told the people that if the money wasn’t returned by the next day, he would come and identify the thief. That evening, the jāmadār wandered around the house, calling out in the most mournful voice possible, “You better return the rupees, you better return the rupees.” The police arrived and tried to take Ram Din to prison since he was the servant who had placed the money next to me. The man looked at me and said, “Is that what you want? I’m a Rajpoot, and I’ll lose my caste; I have served you faithfully, and I’m here.”

“Who will be security that you will not run away?” said the barkandāz. I replied, “I will be his security: Ram Din will remain with us, and when the magistrate sends for him, I will answer for it he will be present.” The man’s eyes filled with tears: it was the greatest compliment I could pay him: he made a deep sālām, saying, “Mem sāhiba! Mem sāhiba!” in an agitated and grateful tone. The next morning the jāmadār informed me that a bag was on the top of the wardrobe in my dressing-room, and none of the servants would touch it. I went to the spot, and desired Ram Din to take it down.

“Who will guarantee that you won’t run away?” said the barkandāz. I replied, “I will guarantee him: Ram Din will stay with us, and when the magistrate calls for him, I’ll make sure he’s there.” The man’s eyes filled with tears: it was the highest compliment I could give him. He made a deep sālām, saying, “Mem sāhiba! Mem sāhiba!” in a shaky and appreciative tone. The next morning, the jāmadār informed me that a bag was on top of the wardrobe in my dressing room, and none of the servants would touch it. I went to the spot and asked Ram Din to take it down.

“This is the cloth that contained the rupees,” said the man, “and it has never been opened; I know it by a peculiar knot that I always tie.” He opened the bag, and found the whole of the money.

“This is the cloth that held the rupees,” said the man, “and it has never been opened; I recognize it by a unique knot that I always tie.” He opened the bag and found all the money.

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We had reason to believe one of the under bearers committed the theft. The Hindoos have such faith in their gosāins, and their influence over them is so great, they dare not do otherwise than as they are ordered by the holy men. I got back the 15l., and gave 4l. to those who had exerted themselves to find it.

We had a good reason to think that one of the assistants committed the theft. The Hindus have such trust in their spiritual leaders, and their influence is so strong that they wouldn't dare act against the instructions of the holy men. I got back the 15l., and I gave 4l. to those who worked hard to recover it.

The Gosain's Temple.

Just above the Fort of Allahabad, on the banks of the Jumna, close to the Jāmma Musjid, or large mosque, amongst the ruins of the ancient city of Prāg, within a Boorj (or Bastion), is an old well, from which the bank has been washed away by the river, and which now stands within the edge of the stream.

Just above the Fort of Allahabad, on the banks of the Jumna, near the Jāmma Musjid, or large mosque, amidst the ruins of the ancient city of Prāg, there is an old well located within a Boorj (or Bastion), from which the bank has been eroded by the river, and now it sits right at the edge of the stream.

The well in the centre of the Boorj descends into the Jumna; over it is built a most peculiar, circular, and singular temple; this and a small square outer building is the residence of the gosāin, who by his incantations, made the servants restore the 150 rupees that had been stolen.

The well in the center of the Boorj goes down to the Jumna; above it is a really unusual, round, and unique temple; this and a small square outer building is where the gosāin lives, who, with his chants, made the servants return the 150 rupees that had been stolen.

The pillars are peculiar—Ionic—no further ornamental work is visible: perforated stone fills up the openings above: some have been blocked up: the Nagree writing in red letters at the foot of the pillar is recent: several boorj (bastions) beyond this one, which contains the water-gate, have sunk into the river: there were eight originally, seven of which are still visible. Accompanied by a gentleman, I went to sketch it, and asked the gosāin to allow us to see the interior. The holy man made some difficulty in allowing us to enter; sweet words induced him to open the door.

The pillars are unusual—Ionic—without any extra decorative work visible: perforated stone fills the gaps above: some have been blocked off: the Nagree writing in red letters at the base of the pillar is recent: several bastions beyond this one, which has the water gate, have sunk into the river: there were originally eight, and seven of them are still visible. Accompanied by a gentleman, I went to sketch it and asked the holy man to let us see the inside. The priest hesitated to let us enter; kind words persuaded him to open the door.

“By sweet words and gentleness you may draw an elephant by a hair[44].”

“By sweet words and kindness, you can lead an elephant by a hair[44].”

Within was a small room, in which was the gosāin’s bed, and a large green painted chest, iron clamped, on wheels, which, I suppose, contained his valuables: it must have been put together in the room, being too large to have come in through the door-way. In a nitch of the wall was a small brazen image of Krishna, with a smaller one of Rhada, the latter dressed in a[105] full red and yellow petticoat, stretched out like a fan, and many times wider than the height of the idol.

Inside was a small room that had the gosāin's bed and a large green-painted chest, reinforced with iron and mounted on wheels, which I guess held his valuables. It must have been assembled in the room since it was too big to fit through the doorway. In a nook of the wall was a small brass statue of Krishna, alongside a smaller one of Radha, the latter dressed in a[105] full red and yellow skirt that flared out like a fan, much wider than the height of the idol.

This is the second time I have seen a place consecrated to these images. The worship is very impure, I am told; and, in spite of the holy character of the priest, histories are whispered about which account for the marvellous properties of the seeds of the peepul-tree. Women principally worship at this shrine.

This is the second time I've seen a place dedicated to these images. I've been told the worship here is very corrupt; despite the priest's sacred role, there are rumors about the amazing qualities of the peepul tree seeds. Women primarily come to this shrine to worship.

The circular temple above the well, to which there is a grating, contains either the gosāin’s money or zenāna, or both: he would not allow us to take a view of the interior. On the outside, at the foot of the temple, is a neglected and broken image, in stone, of Varaha, the avatār of Vishnoo with the head of a boar.

The round temple above the well, which has a grate, holds either the gosāin’s money or a women's quarters, or both: he wouldn't let us see inside. On the outside, at the base of the temple, there's a worn and damaged stone statue of Varaha, the avatar of Vishnu with the head of a boar.

Whilst sketching the temple, we remarked its strong resemblance to the temple of the Sibyl, and were greatly surprised at its Ionic style of architecture.

While sketching the temple, we noted how much it resembled the temple of the Sibyl, and we were very surprised by its Ionic architectural style.

On my return to England, a gentleman, seeing the sketch, said, “You must have painted from imagination, no such architecture is in the East.” This remark annoyed me. I defended the truth and faithfulness of my pencil, and determined, should fate ever carry me back to the ancient city of Prāg, to pay most particular attention to the architecture, and to re-sketch the temple. The mystery of its similarity to that of the Sibyl will be explained hereafter.

On my return to England, a man, seeing the sketch, said, “You must have painted from imagination; there’s no architecture like that in the East.” This comment annoyed me. I stood up for the truth and accuracy of my drawing and decided that if fate ever took me back to the ancient city of Prāg, I would pay close attention to the architecture and re-sketch the temple. The mystery of its resemblance to that of the Sibyl will be explained later.

I must give a specimen of the natives. I asked the man who has the charge of the rabbits, why a remarkably handsome buck was missing, and a white doe was in its place?

I need to provide an example of the locals. I asked the guy in charge of the rabbits why a particularly beautiful buck was gone and a white doe had taken its place.

The man vowed that “the day being extremely hot, the sun had turned the black buck white, and had altered the sex also!” I called a chaprāsī, desired him to pay the man’s wages, deducting the value of the buck, and turn him out of my service: his penitence and recantation were in vain. “I wish you would give me a beating, and let me remain in your service,” said the man. “You may have a beating if you wish it,” said I, “but unless it changes your sex, you shall not remain in my service.”

The man insisted that "the day was so hot that the sun had turned the black buck white and also changed its sex!" I called a helper, asked him to pay the man’s wages while deducting the value of the buck, and let him go from my service: his remorse and apology were useless. "I wish you would just beat me and let me stay in your service," the man said. "You can have a beating if that's what you want," I replied, "but unless it changes your sex, you can't stay in my service."

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“THE DIVER WHO THINKS ON THE JAWS OF THE CROCODILE, WILL NEVER GATHER PRECIOUS PEARLS[45].”

“THE DIVER WHO THINKS ON THE JAWS OF THE CROCODILE, WILL NEVER GATHER PRECIOUS PEARLS[45].”

This saying is very applicable to Europeans in India: the climate is worse than the jaws of the crocodile; and as for the pearls—when large appointments, in the hope of attaining which men have been slaving upon small allowances, fall vacant, the shears are applied, and a reduction of one-third or more follows. It is rumoured, but upon doubtful evidence, that the Governor-general and members of Council determined to sacrifice part of their allowances to contribute to the general exigencies of the state, but found they were restricted from receiving less by the Act of Parliament, by which their salaries are fixed. The Governor-general, in common parlance, is called “the clipper.”

This saying really applies to Europeans in India: the climate is worse than the jaws of a crocodile; and as for the benefits—when high-ranking jobs, for which people have been working hard on low pay, become available, pay cuts of one-third or more often happen. There’s a rumor, though it’s not confirmed, that the Governor-General and the Council decided to give up some of their salaries to help with the state's needs, but they discovered they couldn’t receive less due to the Act of Parliament that sets their salaries. The Governor-General is commonly referred to as “the clipper.”

It is to be hoped the Half Batta measure will be abandoned; if it is insisted upon, the experiment will be somewhat perilous. Let the Board of Control look at the numbers carried off by the climate, and they must acknowledge their pay is blood-money. The sipahīs are deserting from different stations, eight and nine a day, and some regiments are almost in a state of mutiny. The men desert to Runjeet Singh; and I understand the officers of many regiments will not dine at the Government-house, and only make their appearance when obliged by order. Heaven help those poor fellows who have wives and children to starve on half batta!

It’s hoped that the Half Batta measure will be dropped; if it continues to be enforced, the situation will be quite dangerous. The Board of Control should consider the number of people lost to the climate, and they must realize that their compensation is essentially blood-money. Soldiers are deserting from various posts at a rate of eight or nine a day, and some regiments are nearly in a state of mutiny. The men are defecting to Runjeet Singh, and I hear that many regiment officers won't dine at Government House and only show up when they're ordered to. God help those poor guys who have wives and children facing starvation on half batta!

A DHURMSĀLĀ BENE MAHADĒO CHAUT.

A DHURMSĀLĀ BENE MAHADĒO CHAUT.

Sketched on the spot and on Stone by Major Parlby.

Sketched on the spot and on stone by Major Parlby.


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CHAPTER XII.
SKETCHES IN ALLAHABAD.

“THE LAMP BURNS NOT BEFORE THE BLACK SNAKE[46],”

“THE LAMP DOESN'T BURN BEFORE THE BLACK SNAKE[46],”

Which, like the Burmese idols, is supposed to carry a bright jewel in its head.

Which, like the Burmese idols, is said to have a bright jewel in its head.

1829.—The Snake-charmer—Ram Leela—Board of Works—The Hukāk—Kurand Patthar—Pebbles from the Soane and Cane Rivers—Raj Ghāt—The Dhrumsāla—The Ginee—Temple of Hŭnoomān, Ram, and Seeta—Ravuna the Giant—Bene-Māhadēo—The Adansonia—Little Jack Bunce—Encampment of the Governor-general—Ashes of a Rajah consigned to the Ganges—Christmas-boxes.

1829.—The Snake-charmer—Ram Leela—Board of Works—The Hookah—Kurand Stone—Pebbles from the Soane and Cane Rivers—Raj Ghāt—The Dhrumsāla—The Genie—Temple of Hanuman, Ram, and Sita—Ravana the Giant—Bene-Mahadeo—The Adansonia—Little Jack Bunce—Camp of the Governor-General—Ashes of a Raja placed in the Ganges—Christmas gifts.

1829, Oct.—Snakes are very numerous in our garden; the cobra de capello, and the black snake, whose bite is just as mortal. This morning I turned over some tiles with my foot, when a cobra I had disturbed glided into the centre of the heap, where we killed him.

1829, Oct.—There are a lot of snakes in our garden; the cobra and the black snake, which has a lethal bite. This morning, I kicked some tiles aside, and a cobra I had disturbed slithered into the middle of the pile, where we ended up killing it.

Mohummud said, “Kill snakes, and kill the snake which has two black lines upon its back, and kill the snake called abter, on account of its small tail; for verily these two kinds of snake blind the eyes as soon as they are looked at. You must not kill the snakes that live in the houses, because they are not snakes but a kind of genii. Domestic snakes, which are genii, must be warned to depart; if they do not, they are to be killed. The genii are of three kinds, one kind have wings, and fly; another are snakes and dogs; and the third move about from place to place like men.”

Mohummud said, “Kill snakes, especially the one with two black stripes on its back, and the snake called abter because of its small tail; these two types of snakes can blind you just by looking at them. Don’t kill the snakes that live in your houses, as they aren't really snakes but a kind of spirit. You need to warn these domestic spirits to leave; if they refuse, then you can kill them. There are three types of spirits: some have wings and can fly; others are snakes and dogs; and the third kind move around like humans.”

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“But do not hurry in killing them, but say, ‘do not incommode me, if you do, I shall kill you.’ Then, if it goes away, so much the better; but if not, kill it, because it is an infidel genius.”

“But don’t rush to kill them; instead, say, ‘don’t bother me, or I’ll kill you.’ If it leaves, great; but if not, take it out, because it’s an infidel genius.”

“Kill all snakes, except the small white one, which is not poisonous[47].”

“Kill all snakes, except the small white one, which isn't venomous[47].”

Several were in the stable and hen-house. A snake-charmer came, who offered to fascinate and catch the snakes for me at one rupee a head. He caught one, for which I gave him a rupee; but as I had it killed, he never returned—the charm was broken—it was a tame fangless snake, which he had tried to pass off as the wild one.

Several were in the stable and hen-house. A snake charmer came and offered to mesmerize and catch the snakes for me at one rupee each. He caught one, for which I paid him a rupee; but after I had it killed, he never came back—the charm was gone—it was a tame, fangless snake that he had tried to pass off as a wild one.

We killed three scorpions in the dining-room, of rather large dimensions. Our friend and neighbour had much compassion on frogs. Many an enormous bull-frog he rescued alive from the jaws of the snakes he killed in his garden. The poor frogs lost their defender on his return to England, and we an excellent friend.

We killed three pretty big scorpions in the dining room. Our friend and neighbor really cared about frogs. He saved many huge bullfrogs from the snakes he killed in his garden. The poor frogs lost their protector when he went back to England, and we lost a great friend.

During the Burmese war I had presents made me of seven or eight idols: one was of gold, several of silver; some of black, some of white marble, others of bronze. The soldiers in Burmah opened the heads of many of the large idols, and found jewels within them. I have never disturbed the “reflecting gems” within the brains of my Burmese gods; they may contain, for aught I know, “heaps of gold, inestimable jewels,”—there let them rest.

During the Burmese war, I received gifts of seven or eight idols: one was made of gold, several were silver; some were black, some were white marble, and others were bronze. The soldiers in Burma opened the heads of many of the large idols and found jewels inside them. I have never disturbed the “reflecting gems” within the minds of my Burmese gods; for all I know, they could hold “heaps of gold, inestimable jewels”—I'll let them be.

Oct. 29th.—We drove to the Parade-ground, to view the celebration of the Ram Leela festival. Ram the warrior god is particularly revered by the sipahīs. An annual tamāshā is held in his honour, and that of Seeta his consort. A figure of Rawan the giant, as large as a windmill, was erected on the Parade-ground: the interior of the monster was filled with fireworks. This giant was destroyed by Ram. All sorts of games are played by the sipahīs, on the Parade. Mock fights and wrestling matches take place, and fireworks are let off. Two[109] young natives, about ten or twelve years old, are often attired to represent Ram and Seeta; and men with long tails figure as the army of monkeys, headed by their leader Hŭnoomān.

Oct. 29th.—We drove to the Parade-ground to check out the celebration of the Ram Leela festival. Ram, the warrior god, is especially honored by the sipahīs. An annual event is held in his and his consort Seeta's honor. A figure of Rawan the giant, as big as a windmill, was set up on the Parade-ground: the inside of the giant was filled with fireworks. This giant was defeated by Ram. All kinds of games are played by the sipahīs on the Parade. There are mock fights and wrestling matches, and fireworks go off. Two[109]young boys, around ten or twelve years old, are often dressed as Ram and Seeta; and men with long tails represent the army of monkeys, led by their leader Hŭnoomān.

On dit, that the children who personate Ram and Seeta, the handsomest they can select, never live more than a year after the festival—for this I vouch not—it is said they are poisoned.

They say that the children who play Ram and Seeta, the best-looking ones they can pick, never live more than a year after the festival—I'm not vouching for this—it's said they are poisoned.

One ceremony was very remarkable: each native regiment took out its colours and made pooja to the standards, offering them sweetmeats, flowers, rice, and pān, as they do to a god! At Cawnpore I saw the men of the third cavalry riding round the image of the giant, with their colours flying, after having made pooja to them.

One ceremony was really impressive: each local regiment brought out its flags and honored the standards, offering them sweets, flowers, rice, and betel leaves, just like they would to a deity! In Cawnpore, I saw the soldiers of the third cavalry riding around the statue of the giant, with their flags waving, after they had honored them.

At the conclusion of the tamāshā, the figure of Rawan is blown up by the conqueror Ram. At the great Mela at Allahabad, I procured a large marble image of Ram, which came from Jeypore; it is highly gilt and ornamented: in his left hand is the bow of power, and the quiver full of arrows in his right: the trident mark adorns his forehead, and on his head is a crown. See the figure on the left of Ganesh in the frontispiece.

At the end of the tamāshā, the character of Rawan is defeated and blown up by the conqueror Ram. At the big Mela in Allahabad, I got a large marble statue of Ram that came from Jeypore; it's beautifully gilded and decorated: in his left hand, he holds the bow of power, and in his right, there's a quiver full of arrows: the trident mark is on his forehead, and he wears a crown. Check out the figure on the left of Ganesh in the frontispiece.

“Ram, the deified hero, was a famous warrior, and a youth of perfect beauty. He was the happy possessor of the divine bow Danush, which the giant Ravuna could not bend, and with which he contested for, and won, the hand of the goddess Seeta. It was ordained, that he only who could bend this bow, and with it shoot a fish, while revolving on a pole, through the left eye, not seeing the fish, but its reflection in a pan of oil, should espouse Seeta. The name of Ram is used beyond the pale of his own sectarists, in supplication and praise.”

“Ram, the revered hero, was a legendary warrior and a young man of perfect beauty. He was fortunate to possess the divine bow Danush, which the giant Ravuna could not bend, and with it, he competed for and won the hand of the goddess Seeta. It was decreed that only the one who could bend this bow and shoot a fish revolving on a pole through its left eye—without seeing the fish, but rather its reflection in a pan of oil—would marry Seeta. The name of Ram is invoked beyond the followers of his own belief, in prayer and admiration.”

Rám, rám, is a usual salutation, like our good-morrow, between friends at meeting or parting. It is reverently reiterated at times in aid of abstraction, and in moments of enthusiasm or distress.

Rám, rám, is a common greeting, like our good morning, between friends when they meet or say goodbye. It is respectfully repeated sometimes to help with focus, and in moments of excitement or worry.

On the birthday of this god the Hindoo merchants in general begin their year’s accounts; and on this day the gods caused a shower of flowers to fall from heaven.

On the birthday of this god, the Hindu merchants typically start their annual accounts; and on this day, the gods made a shower of flowers fall from the sky.

“Ravuna, a giant who reigned at Ceylon, having seized Hŭnoomān, ordered his tail to be set on fire. The enraged[110] monkey, with his burning tail, leaped from house to house, and set all Lŭnka (Ceylon) on fire; after finishing which, he came to Seeta, and complained that he could not extinguish the fire that had kindled on his tail. She directed him to spit upon it; and he, raising it to his face for this purpose, set his face on fire. He then complained, that when he arrived at home with such a black face, all the monkeys would laugh at him. Seeta, to comfort him, assured him, that all the other monkeys should have black faces also; and when Hŭnoomān came amongst his friends, he found that, according to the promise of Seeta, they had all black faces as well as himself.

“Ravuna, a giant who ruled Ceylon, captured Hŭnoomān and ordered his tail to be set on fire. The furious monkey, with his flaming tail, jumped from house to house, igniting all of Lŭnka (Ceylon); after that, he went to Seeta and complained that he couldn’t put out the fire on his tail. She told him to spit on it; and as he raised it to his face to do so, he accidentally set his face on fire. He then lamented that when he got home with such a blackened face, all the other monkeys would make fun of him. To reassure him, Seeta promised that all the other monkeys would have black faces too; and when Hŭnoomān returned to his friends, he found that, just as Seeta had promised, they all had black faces like his own.”

“Mŭndodŭrēē, the chief wife of Ravuna the giant, whom Ram had killed, came to Ram weeping; and he, not knowing who she was, gave her this blessing, that she should never become a widow. Finding his mistake, having just killed her husband, he ordered Hŭnoomān continually to throw wood upon the fire, according to a proverb amongst the Hindoos, that as long as the body of the husband is burning, a woman is not called a widow.

“Mundoduree, the chief wife of Ravuna the giant, whom Ram had killed, came to Ram crying; and he, not knowing who she was, gave her this blessing, that she should never become a widow. Realizing his mistake, having just killed her husband, he ordered Hanuman to keep throwing wood on the fire, based on a saying among the Hindus that as long as the husband's body is burning, a woman is not considered a widow.

“To this day, therefore, Hŭnoomān keeps laying logs on the fire; and every time a Hindoo puts his fingers in his ears and hears a sound, he says he hears the bones of the giant Ravuna burning[48].”

“To this day, Hŭnoomān still keeps adding logs to the fire; and every time a Hindu puts his fingers in his ears and hears a sound, he says he hears the bones of the giant Ravuna burning[48].”

The marks on the foreheads of Ram’s followers very much resemble a trident.

The marks on the foreheads of Ram's followers look a lot like a trident.

At the time of death many Hindoos write the name of Ram on the breast and forehead of the dying person, with earth taken from the banks of the Ganges; and thence those persons after death, instead of being dragged to Yamu, the Holy King, the Judge of the Dead, to receive sentence, immediately ascend to heaven.

At the time of death, many Hindus write the name of Ram on the breast and forehead of the dying person using soil from the banks of the Ganges; as a result, those individuals, after death, instead of being taken to Yama, the Holy King and Judge of the Dead, to receive judgment, immediately ascend to heaven.

The mock fights at the Ram Leela are in remembrance of the time when Hŭnoomān and his monkeys constructed a bridge from the continent of India to Ceylon (Lŭnka), over which Ram’s army passed, and rescued the imprisoned Seeta from the[111] hands of the giant Rawan or Ravuna, who had carried her off. Seeta then passed through the ordeal of fire, and by her miraculous incombustibility assured the world of her purity; Ram placed the mālā, the chaplet of marriage, around her neck, and the monkeys capered and gambolled with delight.

The mock fights at the Ram Leela are a tribute to the time when Hanuman and his monkeys built a bridge from the continent of India to Ceylon (Lanka), which Ram’s army crossed to rescue the imprisoned Sita from the [111] hands of the giant Ravan, who had taken her. Sita then underwent the trial by fire, and her miraculous immunity to flames proved her purity to the world; Ram placed the garland, the symbol of marriage, around her neck, and the monkeys danced and celebrated with joy.

The white marble figure in the frontispiece to the left of Ganesh represents Ram, the deified hero, with his bow and quiver. The brass figure in front of the latter is Hŭnoomān, bearing Ram Seeta on his shoulders.

The white marble statue in the frontispiece to the left of Ganesh represents Ram, the god-like hero, holding his bow and quiver. The brass statue in front of him is Hŭnoomān, carrying Ram and Seeta on his shoulders.

THE BOARD OF WORKS.

Nov.—The cold season is a busy time. Having procured a quantity of teak timber and toon wood, we established a Board of Works in the verandah, consisting of five carpenters, two sawyers, two turners, six iron-smiths, one stone-cutter, and one harness-maker. Most excellent and very handsome were the dining-tables, sideboard, horseshoe-table, wardrobes, &c., and a Stanhope made by these men, from our own designs.

Nov.—The cold season is a busy time. After getting a supply of teak timber and toon wood, we set up a Workshop on the verandah, featuring five carpenters, two sawyers, two turners, six blacksmiths, one stone-cutter, and one harness-maker. The dining tables, sideboard, horseshoe table, wardrobes, etc., and a Stanhope created by these guys, based on our own designs, were all really excellent and very attractive.

The carpenters carve wood extremely well. On my return to England, I saw and admired a round table in a friend’s drawing-room; “Do you not remember,” said she with surprise, “you made up that table yourself?” On looking at it, I recognized the pedestal and claw carved with broad leaves, copied from a model I made for my carpenter of Ganges mud.

The carpenters are really skilled at carving wood. When I got back to England, I saw and admired a round table in a friend's living room. “Don't you remember?” she said, surprised, “you made that table yourself!” After looking at it, I recognized the pedestal and claw carved with wide leaves, based on a model I made for my carpenter from Ganges mud.

The furniture was of various kinds of wood, as follows:—

The furniture was made from different types of wood, as follows:—

Teak sāgūn (tectona grandis) or Indian oak—a fine heavy timber, in colour resembling oak; strong and good wood. The teak I made use of came from Ava, and was brought up from the salt-water lake near Calcutta; good sāgūn was also to be purchased at Cawnpore.

Teak (tectona grandis) or Indian oak—a high-quality, dense wood, similar in color to oak; it's strong and durable. The teak I used came from Ava and was sourced from the saltwater lake near Calcutta; you could also buy good teak in Cawnpore.

The finest is brought from Java and Ava. I saw one plank of Java teak which, even when made up, measured five feet six inches in diameter. It was the top of an oval table. It bears a good polish, and is suited for tables, wardrobes, and the beds of billiard-tables. In the up-country the usual price is one rupee per foot when the plank is one inch in thickness; in Calcutta, the same price when the plank is four inches in thickness. The[112] general size of the timber brought from Ava is eighteen inches in breadth.

The best timber comes from Java and Ava. I saw one plank of Java teak that, even when finished, measured five feet six inches in diameter. It was the top of an oval table. It has a nice polish and is suitable for tables, wardrobes, and the beds of billiard tables. In the countryside, the usual price is one rupee per foot for planks that are one inch thick; in Calcutta, the same price applies for planks that are four inches thick. The[112] average size of the timber from Ava is eighteen inches in width.

Sāl, sānkho or sākoo (shorea robusta)—a heavy strong wood, from the up-country; fit for beams of houses, wardrobes, frames, window-frames, kitchen-tables, &c. Price, when thirty feet in length by seventeen inches in breadth, twenty-six rupees; when twenty-one feet in length by twenty-two in breadth, thirty-two rupees. It is sold cheap at Cawnpore in September and October.

Sāl, sānkho, or sākoo (Shorea robusta)—a heavy, strong wood from the countryside; suitable for beams in houses, wardrobes, frames, window frames, kitchen tables, etc. The price is twenty-six rupees for pieces that are thirty feet long and seventeen inches wide; thirty-two rupees for those that are twenty-one feet long and twenty-two inches wide. It’s sold at a low price in Cawnpore during September and October.

Shīsham, sissoo or sesoo (dalbergia sissoo)—from the up-country; fit for tables, chairs, carriage-wheels and bodies; very heavy, takes a good polish, fine grained. Price, eighteen feet in length by fourteen in breadth, thirteen rupees; good for bullock-collars; cheap in September.

Shisham, sissoo, or sesoo (Dalbergia sissoo)—from the northern regions; suitable for making tables, chairs, carriage wheels, and bodies; very heavy, takes a nice polish, and has a fine grain. Price for wood that's eighteen feet long and fourteen feet wide is thirteen rupees; great for bullock collars; inexpensive in September.

Toon—a light soft-grained wood, very much resembling mahogany; fit for tables, chairs, billiard-table frames, book-cases, &c.; reasonable at Cawnpore.

Toon—a light, soft wood that looks a lot like mahogany; suitable for tables, chairs, billiard table frames, bookcases, etc.; reasonably priced in Cawnpore.

Soondry—comes from Calcutta; the best wood for shafts and carriage-wheels.

Soondry—originates from Calcutta; it’s the best wood for making shafts and carriage wheels.

Arnoose, or bastard ebony, also called teenoo—a common timber, found on the banks of the Jumna; used for firewood; three or four mŭns per rupee. In the centre of the wood the ebony is found, which is lighter, both in colour and weight, than the ebony from the hills (abnoos), which is very heavy, hard, and difficult to cut; also of a good blackness; useful for handles of seals, chess-men, &c.

Arnoose, or bastard ebony, also known as teenoo—a common wood found along the banks of the Jumna; used for firewood; three or four mŭns per rupee. In the center of the wood, the ebony is found, which is lighter in both color and weight than the ebony from the hills (abnoos), which is very heavy, hard, and tough to cut; it is also a rich black color and is useful for making handles of seals, chess pieces, etc.

Cocoa-nut tree, naryul—from Calcutta; also one of the best for shafts; the bark is curious; when petrified and polished it is made into ornaments, brooches, &c.

Coconut tree, naryul—from Calcutta; also one of the best for shafts; the bark is interesting; when petrified and polished it is made into ornaments, brooches, etc.

Sutsaul—something like rosewood; comes from the Nepaul Terāee.

Sutsaul—similar to rosewood; it comes from the Nepali Terai.

Tindoa—hard, tough, and very good for turning.

Tindoa—strong, durable, and great for shaping.

Rouswood (rous)—from the hills; extremely delicate and fine grained; turns beautifully; colour light. I procured rouswood fit for turning in the jungles near Allahabad.

Rouswood (rous)—from the hills; very delicate and finely grained; turns beautifully; light in color. I found rouswood suitable for turning in the jungles near Allahabad.

Neem or neemb (melia azadirachta)—extremely heavy and tough; colour light—almost white; turns well.

Neem or neemb (melia azadirachta)—very dense and durable; light color—almost white; machines well.

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Mango-wood, amrā, (spondias mangifera)—fit for common work, out-house doors and beams, kitchen-tables, &c.

Mango wood, amrā, (spondias mangifera)—suitable for general use, outbuilding doors and beams, kitchen tables, etc.

Babul—a very heavy and extremely hard wood (acacia Arabica).

Babul—a very dense and tough wood (acacia Arabica).

Patang—a red wood, used in colouring cloths.

Patang—a red wood used for dyeing fabrics.

Lall chundun—a cedar.

Lall chundun—a cedar wood.

Chucrassy—also walnut-wood from the hills.

Chucrassy—also walnut wood from the hills.

From the Soane and Cane rivers we procured about half a bushel of pebbles, consisting of chalcedony, moss-agate, tree and fortification agate, cornelian, cinnamon-stone, goree (a sort of spar); and from Lucnow and Agra, bloodstone, lapis-lazuli, jet, petrified cocoa-nut bark, plum-pudding-stone, fossil-stone, gold-stone, and amethyst.

From the Soane and Cane rivers, we collected about half a bushel of pebbles, including chalcedony, moss agate, tree and fortification agate, carnelian, cinnamon stone, goree (a type of spar); and from Lucknow and Agra, bloodstone, lapis lazuli, jet, petrified coconut bark, plum pudding stone, fossil stone, gold stone, and amethyst.

The tree-agate, or tree-stone, is so called by the natives from the marks on the surface resembling trees and flowers. In other agates the marks lie deep in the stone, in these they are all on the surface, and in grinding and polishing are easily destroyed, unless care be taken not to go too deep; they reminded me of a stone I saw in England, called Mocha-stone, which was set in small brilliants.

The tree-agate, also known as tree-stone, gets its name from the patterns on its surface that look like trees and flowers. In other types of agate, the patterns are found deep within the stone, but in tree-agate, they are all on the surface and can be easily damaged during grinding and polishing if you're not careful not to go too deep. This reminded me of a stone I saw in England called Mocha-stone, which was set with small diamonds.

The pebbles from the Soane river are generally esteemed more than those of the Cane.

The pebbles from the Soane River are usually valued more than those from the Cane.

The process of cutting, and grinding, and polishing pebbles is as follows:—

The process of cutting, grinding, and polishing pebbles is as follows:—

The pebble is kept firm by being fastened on a board by a bit of lac—not sealing-wax. It is cut in halves by a small bamboo bow, strung with fine iron wire; powdered kurand patthar and water are put upon it during the time. The bow is used by the hand. The natives cut the pebbles by this simple method wonderfully even.

The pebble is held securely on a board with a piece of lacquer, not sealing wax. It’s split in half using a small bamboo bow, strung with fine iron wire; powdered kurand patthar and water are applied while doing this. The bow is operated by hand. The locals use this simple method to cut the pebbles surprisingly evenly.

The Indian lathe for grinding and polishing stones is turned by the hŭkāk, or stone-cutter, with a long bow in his right hand, whilst with the left hand he applies the pebble to the wheel.

The Indian lathe for grinding and polishing stones is operated by the hŭkāk, or stone-cutter, who holds a long bow in his right hand while using his left hand to press the pebble against the wheel.

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It has four wheels—three of them are made of kurand patthar: the first wheel is of coarsely-pounded particles; in the second the particles are finer; and, in the third, are reduced to a fine powder. The wheels are merely kurand patthar mixed with glue, and formed into a large broad flat cake; in the centre a hole is cut to allow their being put upon the lathe. The pebble having been cut by the stone-cutter, is now ready for grinding, which is performed by pressing it against the first wheel with the right hand, and using water and pounded kurand patthar at the same time, until the most uneven parts on the surface are removed; the second wheel is then put on, and the surface a little more reduced; after which the third wheel is used, and the stone becomes perfectly even: the kurand patthar, in powder, and water, is used with all the three wheels.

It has four wheels—three of which are made of kurand patthar: the first wheel consists of coarsely-ground particles; the second has finer particles; and the third is made from a fine powder. The wheels are simply kurand patthar mixed with glue and shaped into a large, flat cake; a hole is cut in the center so they can be placed on the lathe. The pebble, once shaped by the stone-cutter, is now ready for grinding, which is done by pressing it against the first wheel with the right hand while also using water and ground kurand patthar until the rough spots on the surface are smoothed out. Next, the second wheel is applied to refine the surface a bit more; finally, the third wheel is used, making the stone perfectly smooth: powdered kurand patthar and water are used with all three wheels.

The pebbles, bloodstone, lapis-lazuli, and agates which I had cut and polished for bracelets, brooches, and snuff-boxes, were beautiful, and did honour to the hŭkāk.

The pebbles, bloodstone, lapis lazuli, and agates that I had cut and polished for bracelets, brooches, and snuff boxes were beautiful and did justice to the hŭkāk.

During the time of the burra mela (great fair) at Prāg, natives used to come round to the houses of the gentry with boxes full of polished pebbles for sale—in sets for necklaces and bracelets, and large stones for snuff-boxes.

During the burra mela (great fair) in Prāg, locals would visit the homes of the wealthy, carrying boxes filled with polished pebbles for sale—organized into sets for necklaces and bracelets, along with larger stones for snuff-boxes.

Raj Ghāt is on the banks of the Ganges, about a mile and a half above the Fort of Allahabad, and the village of Daragunge extends along the side of the Mahratta Bund above for some distance. To the right of the spot where travellers land on coming from Benares is a fine building, called a dhrumsālā, or place to distribute alms; it is dedicated to a form of Māhadēo, which stands in the shiwālā, or little temple, above: the form of this octagonal temple, as well as that of a similar one, which stands at the other side of the building, is very beautiful. On the left are the remains of a very large and curious old well. “Why is a woman like a Hindoo temple[49]?”

Raj Ghāt is located on the banks of the Ganges, about a mile and a half upstream from the Fort of Allahabad, with the village of Daragunge stretching along the Mahratta Bund for some distance. To the right of the spot where travelers arrive from Benares is a beautiful building known as a dhrumsālā, or place for distributing alms; it is dedicated to a form of Māhadēo, which is situated in the shiwālā, or small temple, above it. The shape of this octagonal temple, along with a similar one across from the building, is quite attractive. On the left, you can see the remains of a very large and interesting old well. “Why is a woman like a Hindoo temple[49]?”

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After sketching this dhrumsālā, we ascended the bank to Daragunge, to see the inner court, and found it filled with elephants, tattoos, cows, and natives. It is used as a sarāe, or abode for travellers. I saw there a most beautiful and exceedingly small gynee (a dwarf cow), with two bars of silver round each of her little legs; she looked so pretty, and was quite tame. Through the doorways of this court you look into the little octagonal temples, and, through their arches, on a fine expanse of the Ganges which flows below.

After sketching this dhrumsālā, we climbed up the bank to Daragunge to check out the inner court and found it packed with elephants, tattoos, cows, and locals. It serves as a sarāe, or a place for travelers to stay. I saw a really beautiful and incredibly small gynee (a dwarf cow), with silver bands around each of her little legs; she looked so cute and was very tame. Through the doorways of this court, you can see the little octagonal temples, and through their arches, there's a lovely view of the Ganges flowing below.

You cannot roam in India as in Europe, or go into places crowded with natives, without a gentleman; they think it so incorrect and so marvellous, that they collect in crowds to see a beebee sāhiba who is indecent enough to appear unveiled. A riding-habit and hat, also, creates much surprise in unfrequented bazārs, where such a thing is a novelty.

You can't wander around India like you would in Europe, or enter areas filled with locals, without a gentleman by your side; they find it so inappropriate and astonishing that they gather in crowds to see a lady who is bold enough to appear without a veil. Wearing a riding outfit and a hat also causes a lot of surprise in less visited markets, where such attire is a novelty.

We proceeded through the bustee (village) on foot, and up a dirty alley, through which I could scarcely pass, to the Temple of Hŭnoomān, the black-faced and deified monkey, and found there an enormous image of the god painted red and white, and made either of mud or stone. A great number of worshippers were present. The bearers hold Hŭnoomān in the greatest reverence.

We walked through the village on foot, navigating a narrow, filthy alley that was barely passable, to the Temple of Hŭnoomān, the deified monkey with a black face. There, we saw a huge statue of the god, painted red and white, made from either mud or stone. A large number of worshippers were present. The caretakers hold Hŭnoomān in the highest regard.

In another apartment were forty or fifty large and small figures, representing Ram and Seeta his consort, with his brother Lutchman, Hŭnoomān, and all his army of monkeys. Seeta was carried off by the giant Ravuna, Hŭnoomān fought for and restored her to Ram, therefore they are worshipped together.

In another apartment were forty or fifty large and small figures, representing Ram and his wife Seeta, along with his brother Lutchman, Hŭnoomān, and all his army of monkeys. Seeta was taken by the giant Ravuna, and Hŭnoomān fought to bring her back to Ram, which is why they are worshipped together.

These figures were decorated with coloured cloth and tinsel, much in the same manner in which the saints are clothed in the churches in France. I had never but once before seen idols, in India, tricked out after this fashion. Many lamps were burning before the shrine. We were allowed to behold them from the door, but not to enter the apartment.

These figures were adorned with colorful fabric and tinsel, similar to how the saints are dressed in churches in France. I had only seen idols like this once before, in India. Many lamps were lit before the shrine. We were allowed to look at them from the doorway, but we couldn’t go inside the room.

The evening was very fine; my companion, as well as myself, enjoyed rambling about and exploring such queer, curious, and out-of-the-way places.

The evening was really nice; my friend and I enjoyed wandering around and discovering such strange, interesting, and hidden places.

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A DHRUMSĀLĀ BĒNE MĀHADĒO GHĀT.

We descended to the side of the Ganges, and walked on until we came to the Ghāt of Bene-Māhadēo which is represented in the sketch, where there is another dhrumsālā. This building is also dedicated to Shivŭ; the mystical symbol is in the small temple above. Under the arches in the lower part, by the side of the Ganges, is an enormous figure of Ganeshŭ; many worshippers were present, who were pouring oil and Ganges water over the image, with rice and flowers, and hanging chaplets of flowers around his neck. The idol was dripping with oil.

We walked down to the edge of the Ganges and continued until we reached the Ghāt of Bene-Māhadēo, shown in the sketch, where there’s another dhrumsālā. This building is also dedicated to Shivŭ; the mystical symbol is in the small temple above. Under the arches on the lower level, next to the Ganges, is a huge statue of Ganeshŭ. Many worshippers were there, pouring oil and Ganges water over the idol, along with rice and flowers, and draping flower garlands around his neck. The statue was dripping with oil.

Above the god, over the arch, three long thin bamboos were stuck up, each bearing the red flag of a fakīr, adding greatly to the picturesque beauty of the scene. These flags denoted that three holy men had there taken up their abode for a time. This temple is very picturesque, and the fine trees around it add to its beauty.

Above the god, over the arch, three long, thin bamboo poles were stuck up, each holding the red flag of a fakīr, greatly enhancing the picturesque beauty of the scene. These flags indicated that three holy men had made this place their home for a while. This temple is very charming, and the beautiful trees surrounding it contribute to its appeal.

We ascended the banks, and entered the dhrumsālā. It fronts the Ganges, and a high wall around the other three sides separates it from the bazār. We entered by a gateway of three arches. The court in the interior contained three long buildings supported on arches, and two octagonal temples, one at each end. The front facing the Ganges had no wall, being built on the edge of a high cliff. In the arched building to the right, in which were many apartments, we found a number of devotees singing and making a great religious noise with small brazen cymbals.

We climbed the banks and entered the dhrumsālā. It faces the Ganges and has a tall wall on the other three sides that separates it from the bazaar. We went in through a gateway with three arches. The courtyard inside had three long buildings supported by arches and two octagonal temples, one at each end. The side facing the Ganges had no wall, as it was built on the edge of a high cliff. In the arched building to the right, which had many rooms, we found several devotees singing and creating a loud religious atmosphere with small brass cymbals.

ADANSONIA DIGITATA.

Dec. 5th.—The gunpowder agency at Papamhow has been done away with by the government, and our friend has quitted us for England. I must not take leave of Papamhow without mentioning the remarkable trees in the grounds. The natives call them veläitee imlee. They are enormous trees, natives of Africa. Adansonia digitata, from Michel Adanson, a French botanist. M. G. Mollien thus speaks of this tree—the boabab, Ethiopian sour-gourd, or monkeys’-meat tree—in his travels in[117] Africa: “This was the first time that I saw the boabab, that enormous tree which has been described by Adanson, and which bears his name ‘Adansonia.’ I measured one, and found it to be forty feet in circumference. This majestic mass is the only monument of antiquity to be met with in Africa. To the negroes the boabab is perhaps the most valuable of vegetables. Its leaves are used for leaven, its bark furnishes indestructible cordage, and the bees form their hives in the cavities of its trunk. The negroes, too, often shelter themselves from storms in its time-worn caverns. The boabab is indisputably the monarch of African trees.” It is also called monkeys’-bread. Several measured by Adanson were from sixty-five to seventy-eight feet in circumference, but not extraordinarily high. The bark furnishes a coarse thread, used in Africa for cloth and ropes; the small leaves are used as bread in times of scarcity, and the large for covering their houses, or, by burning, for the manufacture of soap.

Dec. 5th.—The gunpowder agency at Papamhow has been shut down by the government, and our friend has left us for England. I can’t say goodbye to Papamhow without mentioning the remarkable trees on the grounds. The locals call them veläitee imlee. They are massive trees, native to Africa. Adansonia digitata, named after Michel Adanson, a French botanist. M. G. Mollien describes this tree—the baobab, Ethiopian sour-gourd, or monkey bread tree—in his travels in [117] Africa: “This was the first time that I saw the baobab, that enormous tree which has been described by Adanson, and which bears his name ‘Adansonia.’ I measured one, and it was forty feet in circumference. This majestic mass is the only monument of antiquity found in Africa. To the natives, the baobab is perhaps the most valuable of all plants. Its leaves are used for fermentation, its bark provides strong cordage, and bees make their hives in the cavities of its trunk. The natives often seek shelter from storms in its ancient hollows. The baobab is undoubtedly the king of African trees.” It’s also known as monkey bread. Several measured by Adanson were from sixty-five to seventy-eight feet in circumference, but not particularly tall. The bark produces a coarse thread, used in Africa for fabric and ropes; the small leaves are eaten as bread in times of scarcity, and the large ones are used to cover their houses or burned to make soap.

ADANSONIA DIGITATA.

Baobab tree.

On Stone by Major Parlby

On Stone by Major Parlby

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

Vani Parks

This tree may be styled the Jugunnāth of the forest, from the style in which it grows; its large branches terminating in an abrupt end, from which the small branches are given off.

This tree could be called the Jugunnāth of the forest because of the way it grows; its large branches end suddenly, from which smaller branches extend.

Ropes made of the boabab-tree are indestructible; there is a saying, “As secure as an elephant bound with a boabab rope.” Two of these fine trees are still standing in the grounds, there were originally three; the sketch was taken in January, 1827. One of the trees fell down in the rains of that year, on the day Lord Amherst arrived at Allahabad on his return from the hills; it measured thirty-five feet in circumference, and we were surprised to find it had scarcely any roots. It did not fall from age, or from the wind, but because the branches on one side were much heavier than those on the other. It was so full of juicy sap that, when the tree was cut, the sap ran out like water, and the agent preserved some of it in bottles. The wood was woolly, spongy, of little or no use as timber, and useless even as firewood—it would not burn.

Ropes made from the baobab tree are unbreakable; there’s a saying, “As secure as an elephant tied with a baobab rope.” Two of these magnificent trees are still standing on the grounds; there were originally three. The sketch was made in January 1827. One of the trees fell during the rains that year, on the day Lord Amherst arrived in Allahabad returning from the hills. It measured thirty-five feet around, and we were surprised to see it had barely any roots. It didn’t fall due to age or wind, but because the branches on one side were much heavier than those on the other. The tree was so filled with juicy sap that when it was cut, the sap flowed out like water, and the agent saved some of it in bottles. The wood was soft and spongy, not useful for timber, and even useless as firewood—it wouldn’t burn.

Another of these trees, which measured thirty-seven feet in circumference, is still in the grounds, which are on the banks of the Ganges.

Another one of these trees, which has a circumference of thirty-seven feet, is still on the property, located along the banks of the Ganges.

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The tree that fell was supposed by the natives to be 1100 years old. It is only wonderful, from the short distance the roots penetrated into the ground, it had not long ago been laid prostrate by a tūfān. These trees are natives of Senegal, and are known in central India; but those at Papamhow are the only ones on our side the country.

The tree that fell was thought by the locals to be 1100 years old. It’s remarkable considering the shallow depth of its roots that it had recently been knocked down by a storm. These trees are native to Senegal and are also found in central India, but those at Papamhow are the only ones in our region.

Adanson supposed this tree to exceed almost any other in longevity. He inferred that the one he measured, and found to be thirty feet in diameter, had attained the age of 5150 years. Having made an incision to a certain depth of the stem, he first counted 300 rings of annual growth, and observed what thickness the tree had gained in that period. The average rate of growth of younger trees of the same species was then ascertained, and the calculation was made according to the supposed mean rate of increase.

Adanson believed this tree to be one of the longest-lived in existence. He determined that the one he measured, which had a diameter of thirty feet, was about 5,150 years old. After making a cut into the trunk, he counted 300 rings of annual growth and noted how much the tree had thickened during that time. He then figured out the average growth rate of younger trees of the same species and made calculations based on that estimated average increase.

Had we known the proverb at this time, we would have made ropes of its bark. On the very topmost bough of one of the trees a vulture had built its nest, and appeared to have made the boabab its city of refuge; the aerie was filled annually.

Had we known the saying at that time, we would have made ropes from its bark. At the very top of one of the trees, a vulture had built its nest and seemed to have made the baobab its safe haven; the nest was filled every year.

The flower is large, beautiful, and smells like a ripe apple; the fruit small and granular; the leaves large and fine. It is said there are several species of this tree in Africa, one of which yields a large fruit.

The flower is big, beautiful, and smells like a ripe apple; the fruit is small and grainy; the leaves are big and delicate. It’s said that there are several types of this tree in Africa, one of which produces a large fruit.

During the annual fair held in the grounds at Papamhow in the month of August, the gaily dressed natives congregated under the widely spreading branches of the Adansonia, increased the picturesque beauty of the trees.

During the annual fair at Papamhow in August, the vibrantly dressed locals gathered under the broad branches of the Adansonia, enhancing the scenic beauty of the trees.

Let me record the death of little Jack Bunce, my pet squirrel. On our arrival at Prāg I went into the stable to see a sick horse, and, hearing a chirping noise, looked up, and saw a young squirrel, which, having escaped from its nest, was in great perplexity on its first expedition from home. I caught it. Its eyes were open; but it could not run very fast. For the first week it lived either in my husband’s pocket or on my shoulder; if alarmed, it took refuge with him. It became very tame, and never ran away. A gay house with two rooms was built for it. At first it drank milk and ate sweetmeats (pera); as it grew[119] older it had bread, grain, milk, and whatever it pleased during meals, at which time it would quit my shoulder for the table. We caught several young ones, and put them into Jack’s cage; he was pleased, and tended them like a little old nurse; but they grew very wild, and we let them go, with the exception of one little female whom Jack reared as his helpmate, and appeared very fond of her; she was very wild, and would not allow me to touch her. They went with me to Lucnow. One night I heard Jack and his wife quarrelling violently—she bit off his beautiful long tail, and Jack killed her for it: the wretches also ate their young one. Jack returned with me, and, to complete his education, I took him to the holy city of Benares, that he might gain absolution for his little improprieties. Never was there so travelled a squirrel! He lived with us three years, always fat, sleek, and merry; and very fond of us, chirping and running to us when we called him; at last he fell ill, and died quickly. Sometimes he would run off into the garden, but when I called him would return, run up my gown to my shoulder, and give a shrill peculiar whistle; he was the largest of the kind I ever saw, and the three streaks down his back were beautiful. Poor little Jack! you were a nice and sensible little animal! The males are more courageous, and more easily tamed, than the females.

Let me share the story of little Jack Bunce, my pet squirrel. When we arrived in Prāg, I went to the stable to check on a sick horse, and, hearing a chirping sound, I looked up and saw a young squirrel that had escaped from its nest and was clearly confused on its first trip away from home. I caught it. Its eyes were wide open, but it couldn’t run very fast. For the first week, it either stayed in my husband's pocket or on my shoulder; if it got scared, it would seek refuge with him. It quickly became very tame and never ran away. We built a cheerful little house with two rooms for it. Initially, it drank milk and ate sweets; as it grew older, it enjoyed bread, grains, milk, and whatever else it wanted during meals, at which point it would leave my shoulder for the table. We caught several young squirrels and put them in Jack's cage; he was happy and looked after them like a little nurse, but they became very wild, so we released them, except for one little female that Jack raised as his companion, and he seemed quite fond of her; she was very wild and wouldn’t let me touch her. They traveled with me to Lucnow. One night, I heard Jack and his mate arguing fiercely—she bit off his lovely long tail, and Jack killed her for it. They even ate their young one. Jack came back with me, and to finish his education, I took him to the holy city of Benares so he could seek forgiveness for his little misdeeds. Never was there a more well-traveled squirrel! He lived with us for three years, always plump, sleek, and cheerful; he loved us dearly, chirping and running to us when we called him. Eventually, he got sick and died quickly. Sometimes he would dart off into the garden, but when I called him, he would return, climb up my dress to my shoulder, and let out a distinctive squeak; he was the largest of his kind I ever saw, and the three stripes down his back were beautiful. Poor little Jack! You were such a nice and clever little creature! Males are bolder and easier to tame than females.

At this time the plain in front of the fort, by the avenue on the side of the Jumna, was exceedingly picturesque. It was covered by an encampment awaiting the arrival of the Governor-general. There were assembled 200 elephants, 1000 camels, horses and hackeries, servants and natives without number. A double set of new tents for the Governor-general were pitched on the plain; the tents which were new the year before, and which cost a lac, having been discarded. These new tents, the elephants, camels, horses, and thousands of servants, will cost the Company more than half-batta saves in the course of a year.

At this moment, the open area in front of the fort, along the avenue by the Jumna, looked really beautiful. It was filled with a camp waiting for the Governor-General to arrive. There were 200 elephants, 1,000 camels, horses, and numerous servants and locals. A new set of double tents for the Governor-General was set up on the plain; the tents from the previous year, which had cost a lakh, were no longer in use. These new tents, along with the elephants, camels, horses, and thousands of servants, will cost the Company more than half the savings from the battalion over the course of a year.

News have just arrived that the Directors have rendered all this encampment useless, by sending orders to Lord William Bentinck not to proceed up the country at their expense; in consequence Lord William has discharged the people. I am[120] glad they are going away. Last night a friend of ours, who is in tents in our grounds, had his gun and dressing-case stolen, no doubt by thieves from the encampment.

News has just come in that the Directors have made this encampment pointless by instructing Lord William Bentinck not to move upcountry at their expense; as a result, Lord William has let everyone go. I'm[120] glad they are leaving. Last night, a friend of ours who is camping on our grounds had his gun and dressing case stolen, likely by thieves from the encampment.

20th.—The ashes of a rajah were brought to Prāg this morning to be thrown into the Ganges at the holy junction; they were accompanied by the servants of the rajah, bearing presents to be given, as is the custom, to the Brahmans, amongst which were two remarkably fine Persian horses. One of these horses, a flea-bitten grey from Bokhara, was bought by us from the Brahman to whom it had been presented. On Christmas-day my husband gave me this horse, making my own particular riding-stud amount to a fair number—Mootee, Black Poney, Trelawny, Bokhara. Are ladies in England as fond of their horses as I am? They cannot make pets of them in that country as we can in India.

20th.—This morning, the ashes of a rajah were brought to Prāg to be scattered in the Ganges at the holy junction. They were accompanied by the rajah's servants, who were carrying gifts for the Brahmans, including two exceptionally fine Persian horses. One of these horses, a flea-bitten gray from Bokhara, was purchased by us from the Brahman who received it as a gift. On Christmas day, my husband surprised me with this horse, bringing my personal riding collection to a nice number—Mootee, Black Poney, Trelawny, Bokhara. Are ladies in England as passionate about their horses as I am? They can’t treat them as pets like we do here in India.

25th.—How many presents I received this day—and such odd ones—the Bokhara grey, a sketch of Lord William Bentinck, Martin’s Deluge, a proof-print, a bag of walnuts, a diamond ring, a hill-shawl, two jars of jam, and two bottles of hill-honey! All farewell-gifts from friends bound to England. We spent the evening around the horseshoe-table, the coal fire blazing brightly as we cracked the hill-walnuts and enjoyed the society of our friends. Of all the offerings of that day, the most welcome was a packet of letters from the beloved and absent ones in England. “A letter is half an interview[50].”

25th.—I received so many gifts today—and such unique ones—the Bokhara grey, a sketch of Lord William Bentinck, Martin’s Deluge, a proof-print, a bag of walnuts, a diamond ring, a hill-shawl, two jars of jam, and two bottles of hill-honey! All farewell gifts from friends heading to England. We spent the evening around the horseshoe table, the coal fire blazing brightly as we cracked the hill walnuts and enjoyed the company of our friends. Of all the gifts from that day, the most cherished was a bundle of letters from the loved ones far away in England. “A letter is half an interview[50].”

A KUTCHERRY.

A Kutcherry.

C. D’Oyly, delᵗ.

C. D’Oyly, designed.

On Stone by Major Parlby.

On Stone by Major Parlby.


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[121]

CHAPTER XIII.
REMOVAL TO CAWNPORE.—CONFESSIONS OF A THUG.

“WHAT VARIETY OF HERBS SOEVER ARE SHUFFLED TOGETHER IN THE DISH, YET THE WHOLE MASS IS SWALLOWED UP IN ONE NAME OF sallet. IN LIKE MANNER I WILL MAKE A HODGE-PODGE OF DIFFERING ARTICLES.”

“WHATEVER VARIETY OF HERBS ARE MIXED TOGETHER IN THE DISH, THE WHOLE THING IS KNOWN BY ONE NAME: sallet. IN THE SAME WAY, I WILL CREATE A MISHMASH OF DIFFERENT THINGS.”

1830.—Removal to Cawnpore—Failure of Messrs. Palmer and Co.—An Appointment at Cawnpore—Removal from Allahabad—The Mowa Tree—Futtehpore—Dead Body in a Well—The Kutcherry—Confessions of a Thug.

1830.—Move to Cawnpore—Collapse of Messrs. Palmer and Co.—A New Position in Cawnpore—Relocation from Allahabad—The Mowa Tree—Futtehpore—Corpse in a Well—The Kutcherry—Confessions of a Thug.

Jan. 1830.—The failure of Messrs. Palmer and Co., early in this month, caused the greatest consternation in India, and fell most severely on the widows and orphans of military men, who, having left their little portions in Palmer’s house, had returned to England.

Jan. 1830.—The collapse of Messrs. Palmer and Co. at the beginning of this month created widespread panic in India and hit the widows and orphans of soldiers the hardest, as they had deposited their small inheritances in Palmer’s firm before returning to England.

9th.—My husband gave over charge of his office to Mr. N⸺, who had returned from the Cape, and we began to speculate as to our destiny.

9th.—My husband handed over control of his office to Mr. N⸺, who had come back from the Cape, and we started to wonder about our future.

March 1st.—My husband, having applied to remain up the country, was informed he might proceed to Cawnpore as acting-collector for eight months, on condition that he consented to give up the deputation-allowance, to which he was entitled by the rules of the Civil Service. The conditions were hard, although offered as a personal favour, and were accepted in preference to returning to Calcutta.

March 1st.—My husband, who requested to stay in the countryside, was told he could go to Cawnpore as an acting collector for eight months, but he had to agree to give up the deputation allowance that he was entitled to under Civil Service rules. The terms were tough, even though they were presented as a personal favor, and he accepted them instead of going back to Calcutta.

Cawnpore, 150 miles from Allahabad, and 50 from Lucnow, a large station, is on a bleak, dreary, sandy, dusty, treeless plain, cut into ravines by torrents of rain; if possible, the place is considered hotter than Prāg.

Cawnpore, 150 miles from Allahabad and 50 miles from Lucnow, is a large station located on a bleak, dreary, sandy, dusty, treeless plain, which has been carved into ravines by heavy rain. If anything, the place is thought to be hotter than Prāg.

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Like the patriarchs of old we travelled with our flocks and herds, or, rather, we sent them on in advance, and followed dāk.

Like the patriarchs of old, we traveled with our flocks and herds, or, more accurately, we sent them on ahead and followed later.

March 27th.—We quitted Allahabad, and drove the first stage to Allumchund, where we were kindly received by friends. At this place I first remarked the mowa-tree (bassia longifolia). The fruit was falling, and the natives were collecting it to make bazār srāb (ardent spirits). The fruit, which is white, only falls during the day-time; when dried, it is given to cows as cheap food—from it the butter takes a fine yellow colour.

March 27th.—We left Allahabad and drove the first leg to Allumchund, where we were warmly welcomed by friends. Here, I first noticed the mowa-tree (bassia longifolia). The fruit was dropping, and the locals were gathering it to make bazār srāb (hard liquor). The fruit, which is white, only falls during the day; when dried, it's fed to cows as inexpensive food—this gives the butter a nice yellow color.

In the evening we proceeded dāk, and arrived the next morning at the house of the judge of Futtehpore. Just before entering his compound, (grounds around a house,) I stopped my palanquin, and desired a bearer to draw me a lota full of water from a well at the road side. The man took the brass vessel, which was fastened to a very long string, and threw it into the well; then drawing it up, he poured the contents on the ground, saying, “A thuggee has been committed, you cannot drink that water. Did you not hear the lota—bump—bump upon a dead body in the well[51]?” I reported the circumstance on my arrival, and not having before heard of the Thugs, was very much interested in the following account of “The Confessions of a Thug.”

In the evening we set off and arrived the next morning at the judge's house in Futtehpore. Just before entering his yard, I stopped my palanquin and asked one of the bearers to fetch me a lota full of water from a well by the roadside. The man took the brass vessel, which was attached to a very long string, and dropped it into the well; then, pulling it up, he spilled the water on the ground, saying, “A thuggee has been committed; you can’t drink that water. Didn’t you hear the lota—bump—bump against a dead body in the well[51]?” I reported this when I arrived and, having never heard of the Thugs before, was really intrigued by the following account of “The Confessions of a Thug.”

These fellows, it appears, roam about the country in gangs, strangling people for their money; it is their only employment. During the three weeks of my stay at Futtehpore, the bodies of three men were found in the neighbouring wells—thugged, that is, strangled. Some years ago the Thugs were in great force, but they were well looked after by the police, and a thuggee was seldom committed: within a few months they have become very daring, especially around Cawnpore, Humeerpore, and Futtehpore.

These guys, it seems, wander around the country in groups, choking people for their money; it's their only job. During the three weeks I spent in Futtehpore, the bodies of three men were discovered in nearby wells—thugged, meaning strangled. A few years back, the Thugs were very active, but the police kept a close eye on them, and a thuggee was rarely committed: in the last few months, they have become very bold, especially around Cawnpore, Humeerpore, and Futtehpore.

A KUTCHERRY OR KACHAHRĪ.

The sketch represents the examination of a criminal before the judge of the station, who is taking notes. The fat moonshee[123] on his right hand is reading the deposition, and the native officers of the court are in attendance. The scene of the kachahrī, or court of justice, is a room in the house of the magistrate. The duffadār stooping by the side of the table is putting the seal of office to the paper that will consign the criminal for trial to the suddur dewani. The hooqŭ bārdar with his snow-white beard, standing behind his master’s chair, has just brought a fresh chilam for the hooqŭ, which the gentleman has laid aside during the examination of the Thug. The criminal, who appears to have suffered from a blow on the head from one of those iron shod lātees, of which a description is given in the next chapter, is attempting to prove his innocence; and the man to the right, who was speaking in his defence to the judge, has stopped in the midst of his sentence, and is cocking his ear to catch the words of the defendant. A sketch of the lātee is in the plate entitled “The Thug’s Dice,” Fig. 2.

The sketch shows a criminal being examined by the station judge, who is taking notes. The plump clerk on his right is reading the deposition, and the local court officials are present. The scene takes place in the court of justice, which is a room in the magistrate's house. The assistant by the table is sealing the paper that will send the criminal for trial to the higher court. The man with the snow-white beard, standing behind the judge's chair, has just brought a new smoking pipe for the judge, which he set aside during the examination of the Thug. The criminal, who seems to have a head injury from being struck by one of those iron-tipped sticks, which will be described in the next chapter, is trying to prove his innocence; meanwhile, the man to the right, who was speaking on his behalf, has paused mid-sentence to listen closely to the defendant’s words. A sketch of the stick is in the plate titled “The Thug’s Dice,” Fig. 2.

Copy of “The Confessions of a Thug,” from a circular dated August, 1829, sent by the Governor-general to the judges of the different stations on this subject. The reason for the Governor-general sending this circular to all the judges and magistrates, was to induce them to be on the alert after Thugs, in consequence of a party of them having been seized up the country by Captain Borthwick, four of whom turned evidence against the others. They were examined separately, and their confessions compared.

Copy of “The Confessions of a Thug,” from a circular dated August, 1829, sent by the Governor-General to the judges of the different stations on this subject. The reason for the Governor-General sending this circular to all the judges and magistrates was to encourage them to stay alert for Thugs, since a group of them had been caught in the countryside by Captain Borthwick, four of whom testified against the others. They were questioned separately, and their confessions were compared.

The following is the confession and statement of the principal witness:—

The following is the confession and statement of the main witness:—

“My father was a cultivator of land in Buraicha and other neighbouring villages, and I followed the same occupation until I entered my thirtieth year, when I joined the Thugs, with whom I have been more or less connected ever since, a period of upwards of thirty years.

“My father was a farmer in Buraicha and other nearby villages, and I did the same job until I turned thirty, when I joined the Thugs, with whom I have been involved more or less ever since, for over thirty years.”

“During this time, however, I have not accompanied them on every excursion; but, on the contrary, for intervals of two, three, and even six years, have remained at home and earned a subsistence by cultivating land, so that I have been engaged in only six predatory excursions: four under a leader, since dead,[124] called Oo-dey Singh, and two under my present chief and fellow-prisoner, Mokhun Jemadar.

“During this time, though, I haven't joined them on every trip; instead, I've stayed home for periods of two, three, or even six years, making a living by farming. I've only participated in six raids: four led by a now-deceased leader named Oo-dey Singh, and two under my current chief and fellow prisoner, Mokhun Jemadar.[124]

“Whilst residing at home during the last interval alluded to, I was apprehended on suspicion of being a Thug, but the proofs I adduced of having been for so many years employed in husbandry were the means which restored me to liberty.

“While living at home during the last period mentioned, I was arrested on suspicion of being a Thug, but the evidence I provided of having worked in farming for so many years was what got me released.”

“By this event, however, my circumstances became so greatly embarrassed, that I was forced to go to Salany to borrow money from Mokhun Jemadar, who I knew had generally some at command; but he would not agree to relieve my wants except on condition of my engaging to bring my family to Salany and becoming one of his gang. These conditions I was forced by my destitute state to comply with, and I accordingly accompanied him in his last two excursions.

“However, due to this event, my situation became really difficult, and I had to go to Salany to borrow money from Mokhun Jemadar, who I knew usually had some available. But he wouldn’t agree to help me unless I promised to bring my family to Salany and join his group. I had no choice but to accept these terms because of my desperate situation, so I went with him on his last two trips.”

“Oo-dey Singh my former leader was, at the period of my joining his gang, beyond the prime of life, although, at the same time, active and enterprising; but gradually becoming unfit for the exertion required of him by his situation, and his son Roman being seized, with other Thugs, and cast into prison at Jubbalpore, he abandoned his former course of life, and shortly after died.

“Oo-dey Singh, my former leader, was past his prime when I joined his gang. However, he was still active and full of ambition. Gradually, he became less able to handle the demands of his role. After his son Roman, along with other Thugs, was captured and thrown into prison at Jubbalpore, he gave up his previous way of life and shortly thereafter passed away.

“At the time I was serving under Oo-dey Singh, tranquillity had not been established throughout the country, and our excursions were neither carried to so great a distance, nor were they so lucrative or certain as they have since been; for in those days travellers, particularly those possessed of much property, seldom ventured from one place to another unless in large parties, or under a strong escort; and we ourselves held the Pindaries and other armed plunderers in as much dread as other travellers.

“At the time I was working under Oo-dey Singh, peace hadn’t been established across the country, and our trips weren’t taken as far, nor were they as profitable or reliable as they are now; because back then, travelers, especially those with significant wealth, rarely moved from one location to another unless they were in large groups or had strong protection; and we were just as afraid of the Pindaries and other armed robbers as any other travelers.”

“About three months after I had joined Mokhun’s gang, which consisted of forty men, we set out from Bundelkund for the Dekkun, this was in the month of Phagoon Summet, 1883 (about March, 1826). We proceeded by regular stages, and crossed the Nerbudda at the Chepanair Ghāt, where we fell in with Chotee Jamadar (a Brahman), who joined us with his gang, the strength of which was about the same as our own.

“About three months after I joined Mokhun’s gang, which had forty men, we left Bundelkund for the Dekkun. This was in the month of Phagoon Summet, 1883 (around March 1826). We traveled in regular stages and crossed the Nerbudda at the Chepanair Ghāt, where we met Chotee Jamadar (a Brahman), who joined us with his gang, which was about the same size as ours.”

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[125]

“We then continued our course towards Mallygaow, and at Thokur, near that cantoonment, celebrated the Hooly; after which we resumed our route and reached Mallygaow, where we struck off by the Nassuk road, intending to turn from Nassuk to Poona and Aurungabad.

“We then continued our journey towards Mallygaow, and at Thokur, near that area, we celebrated the Hooly; after that, we got back on our way and arrived at Mallygaow, where we took the Nassuk road, planning to head from Nassuk to Poona and Aurungabad.”

“After proceeding a coss or two on this road we met a relation of Mokhun’s, belonging to Oomrao and Ruttyram’s gangs, who informed us that these two leaders with their gangs were near at hand on the Poona road, engaged in the pursuit of some angriahs with treasure. It was proposed that Mokhun should join them with some of his men, in order to be entitled to a share of the spoil. Mokhun at first thought of going himself, but recollecting that Oomrao and himself were not on good terms, he sent twenty-five men with Chotee Jamadar. On the day following we heard the business was effected, and that they intended to proceed with Oomrao and Ruttyram to Bhoorampore, at which place they requested us to meet them. We accordingly proceeded to that quarter, and found Chotee Jemadar and his party at Bhoorampore, Oomrao and Ruttyram having returned to their homes.

“After traveling a couple of miles down this road, we ran into a relative of Mokhun's, who was part of Oomrao and Ruttyram's groups. He told us that these two leaders and their crews were nearby on the Poona road, chasing some treasure hunters. It was suggested that Mokhun should join them with some of his men to earn a share of the loot. Initially, Mokhun considered going himself, but remembering his bad relationship with Oomrao, he sent twenty-five men with Chotee Jamadar instead. The next day, we learned that the mission was successful, and they planned to head to Bhoorampore with Oomrao and Ruttyram, where they asked us to meet them. We then made our way there and found Chotee Jamadar and his group at Bhoorampore, while Oomrao and Ruttyram had gone back to their homes.”

“Here we learnt that the angriahs had been attacked and murdered near Koker (the place where we had celebrated the Hooly), and that no less a sum than 22,000 rupees was found on their persons in gold, bullion, mohurs, and pootlies. Of this 6000 rupees had been received as the share of our two gangs, and was disposed of in the following manner.

“Here we learned that the angriahs had been attacked and killed near Koker (the place where we had celebrated Hooly), and that a total of 22,000 rupees was found on them in gold, bullion, mohurs, and pootlies. Out of this, 6,000 rupees had been received as the share of our two gangs, and was distributed in the following way.

“Mokhun received one-third for himself and gang, a third was given to Chotee Jamadar for himself and his gang, and the remainder was reserved for the mutual expenses of the two gangs. Mokhun and Chotee despatched the two-thirds above mentioned to their homes: that sent by the latter reached its destination safely; but one of Mokhun’s men in charge of our share having got drunk at Jansy, blabbed that he was a Thug, and returning with others with a large amount of treasure; he was consequently seized by the sirdar of the place, and the money taken from him. We now quitted Bhoorampore, and proceeded to Aurungabad, but, meeting with little or no success, we[126] returned by Dhoolia and Bhopaul to Bundelcund, and reached our several homes before the rains set in. Our next excursion was towards Guzerat, but in this nothing occurred worthy of note.

“Mokhun kept one-third for himself and his crew, another third went to Chotee Jamadar for him and his crew, and the rest was set aside for the shared expenses of both groups. Mokhun and Chotee sent the two-thirds mentioned above back to their homes: Chotee's share reached its destination safely, but one of Mokhun's men, who was in charge of their portion, got drunk at Jansy and accidentally revealed that he was a Thug. He returned with others carrying a large amount of treasure, but was caught by the local sirdar, who took the money from him. We then left Bhoorampore and headed to Aurungabad, but had little to no luck, so we[126] returned by Dhoolia and Bhopaul to Bundelcund, reaching our homes before the rains started. Our next trip was toward Guzerat, but nothing significant happened during that time.”

“I have never, during my connexion with the Thugs, known a single instance of their committing a robbery without the previous destruction of life, which is almost invariably accomplished by strangulation. This is effected either by means of a roomal (handkerchief) or shred of cloth well twisted and wetted, or merely by the hands, though the latter is rarely practised, and only had recourse to from accidental failure in the former and usual mode.

“I have never, during my time with the Thugs, known a single instance of them committing a robbery without first taking a life, which is almost always done by strangulation. This is carried out using a roomal (handkerchief) or a strip of cloth that is tightly twisted and wet, or simply by hand, although the latter is rarely used and only happens when there's an unexpected failure in the usual method.”

“A preconcerted signal being given, the victim or victims are instantly overpowered, and death, either by the roomal or hands, is the act of a moment. In perpetrating murder it is an invariable rule with the Thugs never, if possible, to spill the blood of their victims, in order that no traces of murder may appear, to awaken suspicion of the deed in the minds of those who may happen to pass the spot, and detection be the consequence. In the hurry in which it is sometimes necessary to dispose of the bodies, holes cannot be dug sufficiently large to contain them in an entire state, particularly when the number of them is great; the bodies are then cut in pieces and packed therein.

“A prearranged signal is given, and the victim or victims are quickly overpowered; death, whether by strangulation or hands, happens in an instant. When committing murder, the Thugs always follow the rule of not spilling the blood of their victims, so no traces of the crime are left that could raise suspicion in the minds of passersby, leading to detection. When there isn’t enough time to dig holes large enough to bury the bodies intact, especially if there are many, the bodies are then cut into pieces and packed in.”

“When these holes are near the road side, and especially in an exposed spot, it is usual, after covering them with earth, to burn fires over them, to do away with the appearance of the earth having been newly turned. Murders, in the manner just described, are perpetrated as frequently, and with equal facility and certainty, whilst the victims are walking along the road, as when they have been enticed to our places of encampment, and, unconscious of what is to befal them, are sitting amongst us with every thing carefully and leisurely arranged for their destruction.

“When these holes are near the roadside, especially in a visible spot, it’s common practice, after covering them with dirt, to light fires over them to disguise the fact that the ground has been disturbed. Murders carried out in this way happen just as often and with the same ease and certainty while the victims are walking along the road as when they have been lured to our camps, and, unaware of their fate, are sitting among us with everything meticulously and calmly set up for their demise.”

“These murders frequently take place near villages where we encamp, and usually during twilight; and always, whilst the business is going on, the hand-drum is beaten and singing commenced, to drown any noise that might be made by the victims.

“These murders often happen near the villages where we camp, usually at twilight; and always, while it's happening, the hand-drum is played and singing starts, to cover up any sounds the victims might make.”

[127]

[127]

“The several persons actually engaged commence their operations simultaneously at a preconcerted signal given.

The various individuals involved start their tasks at the same time when a predetermined signal is given.

“The signal is an arbitrary one; generally a common, coarse expression is used, not likely to strike the attention of the victims, such as, ‘Tumbākoo lao,’ (bring tobacco).

“The signal is random; usually, a simple, blunt phrase is used that’s unlikely to catch the attention of the victims, such as, ‘Tumbākoo lao,’ (bring tobacco).”

“I have never seen the phansy (or noose) made of cord employed for strangling, though I am fully aware of the general supposition, that it is with it that we strangle people; but if such has ever been employed, which I greatly doubt, it has long since been laid aside, for the obvious reason, that if a Thug were seized having it about his person, it would inevitably lead to his detection.

“I have never seen the fancy (or noose) made of cord used for strangling, though I know the common belief is that it’s the method we use to kill people; but if it has ever been used, which I seriously doubt, it has long been abandoned for the obvious reason that if a Thug was caught with it on them, it would definitely lead to their capture.

“A direct understanding with the local authorities in Bundelcund is constantly kept up by Oomrao, Mokhun, and all the other leaders and jāmadārs, who on their return from their excursions reside in that part of the country, and these authorities are conciliated and their favour gained by suitable presents.

“A direct understanding with the local authorities in Bundelcund is consistently maintained by Oomrao, Mokhun, and all the other leaders and jāmadārs, who, upon returning from their trips, settle in that region, and these authorities are appeased and their favor secured through appropriate gifts.

“Assistance and support from the English authorities, being likewise indispensable, are obtained through artifice. This is effected by means of their emissaries, who, by misrepresentation and falsehood, frequently contrive to extricate them from the difficulties in which persons of our habits are constantly involved. A relation of Oomrao’s, Motee by name, and Lala Hajain, an inhabitant of Secundra, render important services in this way. Motee, who was himself a Thug formerly, has for some years past discontinued going on predatory excursions. He first brought himself into notice with European gentlemen by informing against a gang, which was seized in consequence, and confined at Jubbulpore, where the greater part still remain.

“Help and support from the English authorities, which is also essential, are obtained through clever means. This is done by their agents, who often use deceit and lies to help people like us out of the troubles we constantly find ourselves in. A relative of Oomrao, named Motee, and Lala Hajain, who lives in Secundra, provide important assistance in this way. Motee, who was once a Thug himself, has stopped going on criminal missions for several years now. He first caught the attention of European gentlemen by informing on a gang, which was captured as a result and imprisoned in Jubbulpore, where most of them still are.”

“Since then Motee has advanced in favour with these gentlemen, who are led to suppose he acts as a check upon the Thugs and other plunderers; at least, he persuades us that such is the case, the consequence of which is, that he exercises great influence over us; making us pay well for his connivance, and the good offices he no doubt frequently performs in our behalf.

“Since then, Motee has gained favor with these gentlemen, who are led to believe he keeps the Thugs and other thieves in check; at least, he makes us think that's true. As a result, he has significant influence over us, charging us well for his cooperation and the helpful actions he undoubtedly often takes on our behalf.”

[128]

[128]

“He principally exerts himself in protecting and assisting Oomrao, Ruttyram, Hera Mandeen, and their gangs.

“He mainly focuses on protecting and helping Oomrao, Ruttyram, Hera Mandeen, and their groups."

“Lala Hajain, by means of representations to different persons of his acquaintance in the adālut at Cawnpore, renders great assistance to Mokhun in getting him through matters of difficulty. The latter, after his return to Bundelcund from his last excursion but one, when he heard the mishap which had befallen the share of the plunder sent by him to Boorampore, had recourse, as was usual with him, to his patron Lala Hajain. Lala lost no time in waiting on his friend Madee Moonshee, at Cawnpore, to whom he represented matters in such a light, that the moonshee wrote himself, or had instructions sent by his superiors to the Tausy Rajah, intimating that, it having been made known that he, the Rajah, had seized four travellers of respectable and inoffensive character passing through his territories, and plundered them of their property—he was directed to restore them to liberty, with whatever property he had taken from them.

“Lala Hajain, by reaching out to various acquaintances in the court at Cawnpore, provides significant help to Mokhun in navigating challenging situations. After Mokhun returned to Bundelcund from his second-to-last trip and learned about the trouble his share of the loot had faced on its way to Boorampore, he naturally turned to his supporter, Lala Hajain. Lala quickly visited his friend Madee Moonshee in Cawnpore, presenting the situation in such a way that the moonshee either wrote directly or had his superiors instruct the Tausy Rajah, informing him that it had come to their attention that he had captured four travelers of respectable and innocent character passing through his lands and had stolen their belongings—he was ordered to release them along with any property he had taken from them.”

“A day or two before the receipt of the letter containing this order, the Rajah had released Mokhun’s men, having first obtained from them an acquittance of the money he had taken; but now, thinking that unless he could prove the men to be Thugs, and that their true characters had been misrepresented, he should get a bad name with Europeans, he immediately sent after them, and had them again apprehended. What became of these men afterwards I have never been able to learn.

“A day or two before the letter with this order arrived, the Rajah had released Mokhun’s men, after getting them to sign an acknowledgment of the money he had taken; but now, worried that he would get a bad reputation with Europeans unless he could prove the men were Thugs and that their actual identities had been misrepresented, he quickly sent for them and had them arrested again. I’ve never been able to find out what happened to these men afterward.”

“Besides Lala Hajain, who manages matters favourably for him through his acquaintance at the courts and kutcherries at Cawnpore, Etaweh, Humeerpore, Auria, and Mynpoor, Mokhun has a great friend and supporter in the Tauzie Vakeel, Gunesh Lall, who resides at Humeerporah.

“Besides Lala Hajain, who handles things in his favor through his connections at the courts and local offices in Cawnpore, Etaweh, Humeerpore, Auria, and Mynpoor, Mokhun has a close friend and supporter in the Tauzie Vakeel, Gunesh Lall, who lives in Humeerporah.”

“Oomrao may have other patrons besides his relation Motee, who watches over his interests principally at Jubbulpore. Makay Sahib, at Kytah, is a great friend of Motee’s, and it was from him that the English pass, which Oomrao showed the horsemen when we were apprehended at Dekhola, was obtained.

“Oomrao might have other supporters apart from his relative Motee, who mainly looks after his interests in Jubbulpore. Makay Sahib, in Kytah, is a close friend of Motee’s, and it was from him that Oomrao got the English pass, which he showed to the horsemen when we were stopped at Dekhola."

“Passing through a country in so numerous a body as our[129] gangs sometimes form, is certainly calculated to awaken suspicion, but when this happens, it is always lulled to rest by our being all prepared with the same story or explanation.

“Passing through a country as a large group like ours sometimes does, is definitely likely to raise suspicion, but when that happens, it’s always calmed because we’re all ready with the same story or explanation.[129]

“Few of us carry arms, indeed, amongst fifteen or twenty persons not more than two or three swords may be found.

“Few of us carry weapons; in fact, among fifteen or twenty people, there are likely only two or three swords present.”

“When Thugs, though strangers to each other, meet, there is something in their manner which discovers itself; and, to make ‘assurance doubly sure,’ one exclaims ‘Alee khan!’ which being repeated by the other party, recognition takes place, but is never followed by a disclosure of past acts.

“When thugs, even though strangers to each other, meet, there’s something in the way they act that reveals their intentions. To make sure there’s no doubt, one of them calls out ‘Alee khan!’ which the other repeats, signaling recognition, but it never leads to sharing any details about their past actions.”

“In the division of plunder the jāmadārs receive seven and a half per cent., besides sharing equally with the rest of the gang; but, before any division is made, a certain portion is devoted to Bhawānī, our tutelar deity. This applies only to money in gold or silver; for when the plunder consists of diamonds and pearls, the leader draws blood from his hand, and having sprinkled a little over them, the sanction of the goddess to a division is thereby obtained without any other alienation. But the omission of this ceremony, or neglecting, when success attends us, to propitiate a continuance of Bhawānī’s favour by laying aside a part of our acquisitions for her service, would, we firmly believe, bring heavy misfortune upon us.

“In the distribution of loot, the jāmadārs get seven and a half percent, in addition to sharing equally with the rest of the group; however, before any distribution happens, a portion is dedicated to Bhawānī, our protective deity. This only applies to money in gold or silver; when the loot consists of diamonds and pearls, the leader draws blood from his hand and sprinkles a little over them to gain the goddess's approval for the division without any other sacrifices. But if this ceremony is skipped or if we fail to show gratitude to ensure Bhawānī’s continued favor by setting aside some of our gains for her service when we are successful, we strongly believe it would bring serious misfortune upon us.”

“The office of strangler is never allowed to be self-assumed, but is conferred with due ceremony, after the fitness of the candidate in point of firmness, activity, and bodily strength, has been ascertained, and a sufficient degree of expertness in the use of the roomal has been acquired by long sham practice amongst ourselves.

“The role of strangler is never something that can be taken for oneself, but is given with proper ceremony after the candidate's suitability in terms of determination, agility, and physical strength has been evaluated, and a sufficient level of skill in using the roomal has been gained through extensive practice among us.”

“When thus qualified, the person on whom the office is to be conferred proceeds to the fields, conducted by his gooroo (spiritual guide), previously selected, who carries with him the roomal (or handkerchief), and anxiously looking out for some favourable omen, such as the chirping of certain birds, or their flight past the right hand, knots the roomal at each end the moment that either occurs, and delivers it to the candidate, imploring success upon him.

“When qualified, the person receiving the office goes to the fields, guided by their chosen gooroo (spiritual guide), who carries a roomal (or handkerchief). As they look for a favorable sign, like the chirping of specific birds or their flight past the right side, the gooroo ties the roomal at both ends the moment either happens and hands it to the candidate, wishing him success.”

“After this they return, when the ceremony is closed by a[130] feast, or distribution of sweetmeats. The seniors only confer this office, generally old Thugs held in some estimation, but who from infirmity or age have ceased to accompany the gangs in their expeditions, and whose chief support is received from the voluntary contributions of those on whom they have conferred the privilege of using the roomal.

“After this, they come back when the ceremony ends with a [130] feast or handing out sweets. Only the seniors give this honor, usually older Thugs who are respected, but who, due to age or weakness, no longer join the groups on their missions, and their main support comes from the voluntary donations of those they have granted the right to use the roomal.”

“Certain terms, known to ourselves alone, are made use of to distinguish certain circumstances, events, &c., connected with our proceedings: viz.

“Certain terms, known only to us, are used to distinguish certain circumstances, events, etc., related to our actions: namely,

The persons whose office it is to strangle the victims are called Luddya, also Bullod.

The people whose job it is to strangle the victims are called Luddya, also Bullod.

Those who dig the graves or holes, Lucka.

Those who dig the graves or holes, Lucka.

Those who carry away the bodies, Gutnee Walow.

Those who take away the bodies, Gutnee Walow.

A scout or spy, Tulha.

A scout or spy, Tulha.

A traveller on whom designs are formed, Betoo.

A traveler who's the subject of plans, Betoo.

If a Musulmān, Sultan Betoo.

If a Muslim, Sultan Betoo.

If a Hindoo, Bundoo Betoo.

If a Hindu, Bundoo Betoo.

A murder committed at the halting-place or encampment-ground, Topa.

A murder that happened at the rest stop or campsite, Topa.

A murder committed whilst the victims are walking along the road—if during the day, Phoolkee; if during the night, Kootul.

A murder that happens while the victims are walking down the street—if it’s during the day, Phoolkee; if it’s at night, Kootul.

The spot where the bodies are buried, Kurwa.

The spot where the bodies are buried, Kurwa.

The spot where the murder is committed, Balee.

The place where the murder happens, Balee.

A female victim, Ecmud.

A woman, Ecmud.

A child victim, Chumota.

A child victim, Chumota.

Horse, Poornkna or Pootra.

Horse, Poornkna or Pootra.

Bullock, Subba.

Bullock, Subba.

Gold, Sirya.

Gold, Sirya.

Sword, Lumberee.

Sword, *Lumberee*.

Silver or rupee, Peeky.

Silver or rupee, Peeky.

Matchlock, Puttakee.

Matchlock, Puttakee.

Gold mohurs, Tandya.

Gold mohurs, Tandya.

Turban, Kassee.

Turban, Kassee.

A ring, Pulbya.

A ring, Pulbya.

Dhotee, Kurdhunny.

Dhotee, Kurdhunny.

Pearls, Punnyara.

Pearls, Punnyara.

[131]

[131]

Diamonds, Kukreya.

Diamonds, Kukreya.

A knife, Booky.

A knife, Booky.

The roomal with which people are strangled, Phyloo and roomal.

The roomal that people are strangled with, Phyloo and roomal.

If one person is strangled, it is called Eloo.

If someone is strangled, it's referred to as Eloo.

If two persons are strangled, it is called Beetsee.

If two people are strangled, it's referred to as Beetsee.

If three ... Singod.

If three ... Singod.

If four ... Bhurra.

If four ... Bhurra.

If five ... Puckrao.

If five ... Puckrao.

If six ... Chutroo, &c.

If six ... Chutroo, & etc.

“These terms are used by the Thugs in all parts of the country. The numerals exclusively apply to travellers, and are used to denote the number that fall into the hands of detached parties.”

“These terms are used by the Thugs across the country. The numbers specifically refer to travelers and are used to indicate how many fall into the hands of separate groups.”

This is the end of the “Thug’s Confession.”

This is the end of the “Thug’s Confession.”

The other men, on their examination, acknowledged having murdered a bearer, on whom they found four rupees. They also met with twelve seapoys; eight of the soldiers took one road, and the other four another. The Thugs, therefore, divided into two parties, overtook the seapoys, and killed them all.

The other men, during their questioning, admitted to having killed a bearer who had four rupees on him. They also encountered twelve sepoys; eight of the soldiers went one way, while the other four took a different route. The Thugs then split into two groups, caught up with the sepoys, and killed them all.

One Thug said, that on a certain day eleven men were killed and buried. The other Thug said, that on the same day only seven were strangled: on re-examination he replied, “Yes, it is true I only mentioned seven—there might have been eleven, or more, I cannot remember; we strangled people so constantly, that I took little account of the numbers buried, I only know on that day about seven or eleven were buried.”

One Thug said that on a certain day, eleven men were killed and buried. The other Thug said that on the same day, only seven were strangled. When asked again, he replied, “Yes, it’s true I only mentioned seven—there might have been eleven or more, but I can't remember; we strangled people so often that I didn’t keep track of how many were buried. I only know that on that day, about seven or eleven were buried.”

The Thugs never attack Europeans.

The Thugs never target Europeans.


[132]

[132]

CHAPTER XIV.
Residence at Kanpur.

1830.—The iron-shod lāthī—Coins of Sekunder al Sāni—Hindostanī Song—The first Thermantidote—Dāk to Cawnpore—The Barkandāz—The Station Sand-storm—Indian method of washing the hair—Pukka houses and bungalows—The Ayha’s revenge—Horses poisoned—The Isle of France—The visionary old man—Influence of women in India—Gambling—Eating the air—The Ayha’s trowsers—Darzees—Refuge of the distressed—Signet-rings—The Durwān—Ganges water—Small-pox—Grass-cutters—Beauty of a night in India—Forgery—Qui hy?—Winged ants and bugs—The moon—A set-to—Revenge of a sā’īs—Soldiers in hospital—Arrak—The Chārpāī—A new servant—Unpopularity of the Governor-general.

1830.—The iron-shod lāthī—Coins of Sekunder al Sāni—Hindostanī Song—The first Thermantidote—Dāk to Cawnpore—The Barkandāz—The Station Sand-storm—Indian method of washing the hair—Pukka houses and bungalows—The Ayha’s revenge—Horses poisoned—The Isle of France—The visionary old man—Influence of women in India—Gambling—Eating the air—The Ayha’s trousers—Darzees—Refuge of the distressed—Signet rings—The Durwān—Ganges water—Smallpox—Grass cutters—Beauty of a night in India—Forgery—Qui hy?—Winged ants and bugs—The moon—A set-to—Revenge of a sā’īs—Soldiers in the hospital—Arrak—The Chārpāī—A new servant—Unpopularity of the Governor-general.

1830, March.—The natives use a very dangerous weapon, which they have been forbidden by the Government to carry. I took one as a curiosity, which had been seized on a man in a fight in a village. It is a very heavy lāthī, a solid male bamboo, five feet five inches long, headed with iron in a most formidable manner. The man was brought before the judge for murder, and this lāthī was the weapon with which two men were supposed to have lost their lives. There are six jagged semicircular irons at the top, each two inches in length, one in height; and it is shod with iron bands sixteen inches deep from the top; diameter of the iron ornament on the top, six inches. Sticks headed with brass put on in the same fashion, are often carried by the native servants for protection when returning to their homes at night[52].

1830, March.—The locals use a very dangerous weapon that the Government has prohibited them from carrying. I picked one up as a curiosity; it had been taken from a man during a fight in a village. It's a heavy lāthī, a solid male bamboo, five feet five inches long, with a very intimidating iron head. The man was brought before the judge for murder, and this lāthī was the weapon believed to have caused the deaths of two men. There are six jagged semicircular iron pieces at the top, each two inches long and one inch high; it is reinforced with iron bands that are sixteen inches deep from the top; the diameter of the iron ornament at the top is six inches. Sticks topped with brass in a similar way are often carried by local servants for protection when they're heading home at night. [52].

[133]

[133]

During my stay at the house of the judge at Futtehpore, he allowed me to purchase some coins from the office, which are very curious. I took four of them; they are of fine silver, rather larger and heavier than the common rupee. About 125 of these coins were found by some children in a field five miles from Kurrah, in August, 1829, buried in an earthen pot. The letters are in the Arabic character, and the date corresponds with A.D. 1313, being 516 years ago. The greater part of the coins are perfectly bright, and look quite new; between the letters, the spaces are filled with the fine white sand in which they were buried.

During my stay at the judge's house in Futtehpore, he let me buy some very interesting coins from the office. I picked up four of them; they’re made of fine silver and are larger and heavier than a regular rupee. About 125 of these coins were discovered by some kids in a field five miles from Kurrah in August, 1829, buried in an earthen pot. The letters are in Arabic, and the date on them corresponds to CE 1313, which is 516 years ago. Most of the coins are in perfect condition and look brand new; the spaces between the letters are filled with the fine white sand they were buried in.

On one side of the coin is written in Arabic,—fig 2,

On one side of the coin, it’s written in Arabic,—fig 2,

“Sekunder al Sāni[53], illuminating the state, Commander of the Faithful.”

“Sekunder al Sāni[53], shining a light on the state, Commander of the Faithful.”

On the other side,—fig. 1,

On the other side — fig. 1,

“The mighty Sultan, glory of the world and of religion,
The victorious Mahmood Shāh, the Imperial.”

“The great Sultan, pride of the world and of faith,
The victorious Mahmood Shah, the Emperor.”

Round the edge of the coin is written,—fig. 3,

Round the edge of the coin is written,—fig. 3,

“This silver deposited in a ditch in the year 3 and 10 and 700.”

“This silver was placed in a ditch in the year 3, 10, and 700.”

I brought the coins to England. The above translation of the Arabic is by the munshī of the office. At the bottom of the plate entitled “Hindostanī Song,” is a copy of the Arabic inscription, written from the coins by the same munshī[54].

I took the coins to England. The translation of the Arabic above is done by the clerk from the office. At the bottom of the plate titled “Hindostanī Song,” there's a copy of the Arabic inscription, written from the coins by the same clerk[54].

The Hindostanī song, written in the Persian character, may amuse the dear friends around the hearth of my childhood’s home; and the translation into Hindostanī is annexed, lest errors may have occurred either in the written character or in putting it on stone: the oriental scholar is requested to draw the veil of kindness over any incorrectness in the Persian caligraphy of a poor hàjī in search of the picturesque.

The Hindostanī song, written in Persian script, might entertain my dear friends gathered around the hearth of my childhood home. The translation into Hindostanī is included to avoid any errors that may have happened in the script or while carving it into stone. The eastern scholar is kindly asked to overlook any mistakes in the Persian calligraphy of an inexperienced hàjī looking for beauty.

[134]

[134]

HINDOSTANI SONG.

Transcriber’s Note: In the image, the second word of the first line appears as ‎‏حان‏‎. In the transcription, it has been corrected to ‎‏جان‏‎.

Transcriber’s Note: In the image, the second word of the first line appears as ‎‏حان‏‎. In the transcription, it has been corrected to ‎‏جان‏‎.

‎‏ميري جان کہيں ديکھا کمپني نشان‏‎
‎‏بانکي ليک نے مار ليو ہندوستان‏‎
‎‏ميري جان کہيں ديکھا کمپني نشان‏‎
‎‏لال لال کورتي قوي جوان‏‎
‎‏ہاتھ ميں پتھرکلا پيٹھ پر توسدان‏‎
‎‏ميري جان کہيں ديکھا کمپني نشان‏‎
 
‎‏آگے آگے پلٹن پيچھے پيچھے سوار‏‎
‎‏توپ کي دنکار سے بھاگے ہندو مسلمان‏‎
‎‏ميري جان کہيں ديکھا کمپني نشان‏‎
‎‏دس دس کمپني جن ميں گورے گورے کپتان‏‎
‎‏گڈامي فير بولتے نکل جاوے اوسان‏‎
‎‏ميري جان کہيں ديکھا کمپني نشان‏‎

HINDOSTĀNI SONG.

HINDUSTANI SONG.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

Vani Parks

1

1

‎‏السلطان الاعظم‏‎

السلطان الأعلى

‎‏علاء الدنيا والدين‏‎

Alif, the world and religion

‎‏ابو المظفر محمد شاہ‏‎

ابو المظفر محمد شاه

‎‏السلطان‏‎

Sultan

SEKUNDER
AL SANI

SEKUNDER
AL SANI

2

2

‎‏سکندر الثاني‏‎

سکندر the Second

‎‏منير الخلافة ناصر‏‎

منير الخلافة ناصر

‎‏امير المومنين‏‎

Commander of the Faithful

3

3

‎‏هذه الفضة مجفرة رهين سنة ثلاث عشر و سبعمائة‏‎

‎‏هذه الفضة مجترة رهينة سنة 713.

“Mere jan khyn dekha Company neshān
Bankee Leek ne marlēō Hindostān
Mere jan khyn dekha Company neshān.
Lall, lall kourtee koēē jawān
Hart min Putter kullee, pet per tosdān
Mere jan khyn dekha Company neshān.
Agi, agi, Pultān, peche peche sowār
Top ke dunkar se baghe Hindoo Musulmān
Mere jan khyn dekha Company neshān.
Dūs dus Company jin min goree goree Captān
Godamee fire bolte, nikul jaōē aōūsān
Mere jan khyn dekha Company neshān.”

March 29th.—My husband proceeded dāk to Cawnpore, to take charge of his appointment and to engage a house, leaving me with my friends. On one stage of the road he had such a set of coolies, instead of bearers, to his pālkee, that they could not continue to carry it—at last, setting it down, they all ran away, and he had to wait six hours on the road until other bearers came: as this happened during the night, it was of no further consequence than making the latter part of his dāk very hot, as he did not reach his destination until 11 A.M. The bearers on this road are proverbially bad.

March 29th.—My husband took a fast travel option to Cawnpore to start his new job and find a house, leaving me with friends. At one point on the journey, he had a group of coolies instead of bearers for his palanquin, and they couldn't keep carrying it. Eventually, they set it down and ran off, so he had to wait six hours on the road for another group of bearers to show up. Since this happened at night, it didn't really matter except that the later part of his ride became very uncomfortable, and he didn't reach his destination until 11 A.M. The bearers on this route have a bad reputation.

Here I saw the first thermantidote, and took a sketch of it, in order to make one for myself. Here, also, I saw the first alligator, a snub-nosed fellow, which was caught in the Jumna, and sent up on a chārpāī. Mr. W⸺ had the kindness to give me skulls of alligators, crocodiles, hyenas, and tigers beautifully prepared, to add to my cabinet of curiosities.

Here, I saw my first thermantidote and sketched it to make one for myself. I also saw my first alligator, a snub-nosed guy, which was caught in the Jumna and sent up on a chārpāī. Mr. W⸺ kindly gave me beautifully prepared skulls of alligators, crocodiles, hyenas, and tigers to add to my collection of curiosities.

Collecting Persian and Hindostanī proverbs and sayings, and having them cut on seals, was another of my amusements.

Collecting Persian and Hindostani proverbs and sayings and having them engraved on seals was another one of my hobbies.

April 19th.—This day brought a letter, saying a good bungalow had at length been procured, and I started dāk the next day. The judge, that I might meet with no adventures on the road, gave me a guard, which was relieved at the different chaukees, police stations.

April 19th.—Today I received a letter saying that a nice bungalow had finally been found, and I would head out the next day. The judge, wanting to ensure that I didn't have any issues on the way, provided me with a security detail that was switched out at the different police stations along the route.

A BARKANDĀZ.

A BARKANDĀZ.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

فاني باركس

A barkandāz, or policeman, and two chaukidārs (watchmen) ran by the side of my palanquin all the way; in consequence I[135] was not detained one moment more than necessary on the road. One of the barkandāz was armed with two swords and a great bamboo!

A barkandāz, or policeman, and two chaukidārs (watchmen) ran alongside my palanquin the whole way; as a result, I[135] wasn't delayed even a moment longer than needed on the road. One of the barkandāz was armed with two swords and a large bamboo stick!

THE BARKANDĀZ.

A man of this description is too picturesque a personage to be omitted. The annexed portrait was taken by S. Mahumud Ameer; it represents a policeman in Calcutta with his sword, shield, and small-arms: the style of the turban and the dress altogether is remarkable; on the leathern band across his shoulder is the chaprās, or badge of the station to which he belongs.

A man like this is too striking to leave out. The attached portrait was taken by S. Mahumud Ameer; it shows a policeman in Calcutta with his sword, shield, and firearms: the style of his turban and overall outfit is quite impressive; on the leather band across his shoulder is the chaprās, or badge of the station he belongs to.

The shield is generally of black leather adorned with brass knobs. Native gentlemen have shields well painted, sometimes bearing the portrait of some native lady, and richly ornamented with silver. We purchased a shield of the hide of the rhinoceros at the fair at Allahabad; there are numerous indentations upon it, the marks of bullets, which appear to have been turned off by the thickness and strength of the hide. My husband used to cut it up to leather the tips of billiard cues—therefore I carried it off, and added it to my museum.

The shield is usually made of black leather with brass knobs. Local gentlemen have shields that are beautifully painted, often featuring the portrait of a native woman, and are richly decorated with silver. We bought a shield made from rhinoceros hide at the fair in Allahabad; it has many dents on it from bullets, which seem to have been deflected by the thickness and toughness of the hide. My husband used to cut it up to cover the tips of billiard cues—so I took it and added it to my collection.

The journey was very unpleasant, very hot, and not a breath of air.

The trip was really uncomfortable, super hot, and there wasn't a single breath of air.

The dust from the trampling of the bearers’ feet rolled up in clouds, filling my eyes and mouth, and powdering my hair; and my little terrier, Fairy Poppus, as the natives call her, in imitation of my “Fury, pup, pup,” was very troublesome in the pālkee.

The dust from the bearers’ footsteps swirled up in clouds, getting into my eyes and mouth, and covering my hair; and my little terrier, Fairy Poppus, as the locals call her, mimicking my "Fury, pup, pup," was quite a handful in the pālkee.

I arrived at Cawnpore at 7 A.M., and was glad to take shelter in my new house, which I found very cool and pleasant, after a hot drive during the last stage in a buggy.

I got to Cawnpore at 7 AM and was happy to find some shelter in my new house, which I discovered to be quite cool and nice after a hot ride in a buggy during the last part of the journey.

The house, or rather bungalow[55], for it is tiled over a thatch, is situated in the centre of the station, near the theatre; it stands on a platform of stone rising out of the Ganges, which flows below and washes the walls. The station is a very large[136] one: besides the gentlemen of the Civil Service, there are the artillery, the eleventh dragoons, the fourth cavalry, and three or four regiments of infantry.

The house, or more accurately a bungalow[55], since it has a tiled roof over thatch, is located in the center of the station, close to the theater; it sits on a stone platform that rises from the Ganges, which flows beneath it and washes against the walls. The station is quite large[136]: in addition to the Civil Service officials, there are the artillery, the eleventh dragoons, the fourth cavalry, and three or four regiments of infantry.

The work of this day began by what is really an operation in India, and constantly repeated, that is, washing the hair. My ayha understood it remarkably well; for the benefit of those ladies having beautiful tresses in the East, I give the receipt[56].

The work for today started with what is typically done in India, which is washing hair. My ayha knew how to do this perfectly; for the benefit of those ladies with gorgeous hair in the East, I’m sharing the method[56].

June 9th.—The deaths are numerous in our farm-yard; in such weather it is a matter of surprise that any thing can exist. At 4 P.M. the thermometer outside the verandah, in the sun, stood at 130°; in the shade, at 110°! From this time to the end of August we lost 280 Guinea fowls from vertigo, and three calves also died.

June 9th.—There are many deaths in our yard; with this weather, it's surprising that anything can survive. At 4 PM, the thermometer outside on the porch read 130° in the sun and 110° in the shade! From this point until the end of August, we lost 280 Guinea fowls to vertigo, and three calves also died.

A storm is raging: it arose in clouds of dust, which, sweeping over the river from the Lucnow side, blow directly on the windows of the drawing-room; they are all fastened, and a man at every one of them, or the violence of the wind would burst them open; my mouth and eyes are full of fine sand; I can scarcely write;—not a drop of rain, only the high wind, and the clouds of dust so thick we cannot see across the verandah. I feel rather afraid lest some part of the house, which is not in good repair, should give way if it continue to blow in such gusts. This bay-windowed room feels the whole force of the tufān, which is the heaviest I have seen. In Calcutta we had severe storms, with thunder and lightning; here, nothing but clouds of sand—reaching from earth to heaven—with a hot yellow tinge, shutting out the view entirely. The storm has blown for an hour, and is beginning to clear off; I can just see the little white-crested waves on the river beneath the verandah.

A storm is raging: it started with clouds of dust that swept over the river from the Lucknow side, blowing directly against the windows of the drawing room. All the windows are shut, and there’s a man at each one, or the force of the wind would blow them open; my mouth and eyes are full of fine sand; I can barely write;—there’s not a drop of rain, just the strong wind and dust clouds so thick we can't see across the veranda. I'm a bit worried that some part of the house, which isn’t in great shape, might give way if it keeps blowing like this. This room with bay windows feels the full force of the tufān, which is the worst I’ve seen. In Calcutta, we had severe storms with thunder and lightning; here, just clouds of sand—stretching from the ground to the sky—with a hot yellow hue, completely blocking the view. The storm has been blowing for an hour and is starting to clear up; I can just make out the little white-capped waves on the river below the veranda.

In the open air the thermometer stands at 130°; in the drawing-room, with three tattīs up, at 88°. The heat is too oppressive to admit of an evening drive.

In the open air, the thermometer reads 130°; in the living room, with three fans on, it's 88°. The heat is too intense for an evening drive.

A high caste and religious native gentleman, Shah Kubbeer-oo-deen Ahmud, requested to be allowed to play at chess with me; the natives are passionately fond of the game, which is[137] remarkable, as chess was one of the games forbidden by the prophet. On the arrival of my opponent, I recognized the native gentleman who had entertained me with fireworks at Sahseram. I have spoken of him as of high caste—that term is only correct when applied to an Hindoo, Musulmāns have no distinction of caste.

A high-ranking and religious native gentleman, Shah Kubbeer-oo-deen Ahmud, asked to join me for a game of chess; the locals are extremely passionate about the game, which is[137] interesting, considering chess was one of the games prohibited by the prophet. When my opponent arrived, I recognized him as the native gentleman who had entertained me with fireworks at Sahseram. I've referred to him as of high caste—that term is only accurate when referring to a Hindu, as Muslims do not have a caste system.

14th.—A tufān, a sand storm, or rather a storm of sand and dust, is now blowing; indeed, a little while ago the darkness was so great from that cause, I was obliged to leave off writing, being unable to distinguish the letters.

14th.—A tufān, a sandstorm, or rather a storm of sand and dust, is blowing right now; in fact, a little while ago, the darkness was so thick because of it that I had to stop writing since I couldn't see the letters.

The Ganges opposite Cawnpore is about three miles in breadth; and, at this season, the water being low, the natives cultivate melons, cucumbers, wheat, &c., on the islands in the centre of the stream; some of the melons are delicious, remarkably fragrant, and very cheap. During the rains the islands are entirely under water, and the river, when there is a breeze, swells into waves like a little sea.

The Ganges across from Cawnpore is about three miles wide; and, during this time of year, with the water levels low, the locals grow melons, cucumbers, wheat, etc., on the islands in the middle of the river. Some of the melons are delicious, incredibly fragrant, and very affordable. When it rains, the islands are completely submerged, and the river, when there’s a breeze, swells into waves like a small sea.

If a house has a flat roof covered with flag-stones and mortar, it is called a pukka house; if the roof be raised and it be thatched, it is called a bungalow; the latter are generally supposed to be cooler than the pukka houses. The rooms of our house are lofty and good; the dining-room forty feet by twenty-eight, the swimming-bath thirty feet by twenty-one, and all the other rooms on a suitable scale. There is a fine garden belonging to and surrounding the house, having two good wells, coach-house, stables, cow-house, &c. In India the kitchen and all the servants’ offices are detached from the dwelling on account of the heat. We pay 150 rupees a month, about 150 guineas per annum, a heavy rent for an up-country house: the houses are always let unfurnished.

If a house has a flat roof made of flagstones and mortar, it's called a pukka house; if the roof is sloped and thatched, it's referred to as a bungalow. Bungalows are generally believed to be cooler than pukka houses. Our house has high-quality, spacious rooms; the dining room is forty feet by twenty-eight, the swimming pool is thirty feet by twenty-one, and all the other rooms are appropriately sized. There’s a lovely garden that surrounds the house, complete with two good wells, a coach house, stables, a cow shed, etc. In India, the kitchen and all the staff quarters are separate from the main house because of the heat. We pay 150 rupees a month, which is about 150 guineas a year, a steep rent for a house in the countryside: the houses are always rented unfurnished.

Very fine white grapes are now selling at fourpence-halfpenny per pound. Cawnpore is famous for its fruit-gardens.

Very fine white grapes are now selling for four and a half pence per pound. Cawnpore is famous for its fruit gardens.

The natives are curious people! My ayha, a Musulmāne, asked me to allow her to go to a dinner-party given by some khidmatgārs, friends of hers; and on her return, she said to me, “Mem sāhiba, we have had a very fine khānā (dinner), and plenty to eat—I am quite full;” patting her body with great glee, “but[138] we have had a great quarrel.” She then explained that at a native feast every guest sits down in a circle, or in a line, and before each person a freshly gathered leaf is placed as a plate; then the giver of the feast comes round, and puts an equal portion of curry and rice before each guest. When all have been helped, they start fair—and, in general, the host refills all the plates. It sometimes happens that some of the guests eat so fast they get a greater share than the others, this puts the rest into a rage, and they quietly vent their spite by slyly cutting holes in the clothes worn by the great eaters. It happened at this feast that my ayha sat next a man who was helped three times, and I suspect she cut holes in his attire, which caused the disturbance.

The locals are really curious people! My ayha, a Muslim woman, asked if she could go to a dinner party hosted by some of her friends who work for us; and when she returned, she said to me, “Mem sāhiba, we had a wonderful dinner, and plenty to eat—I’m completely full,” patting her belly with joy, “but we got into a big argument.” She then explained that at a local feast, every guest sits in a circle, or in a line, and a freshly gathered leaf is placed in front of each person as a plate; then the host comes around and serves everyone an equal portion of curry and rice. Once everyone is served, they all dig in—and usually, the host refills all the plates. Sometimes, some guests eat so quickly that they end up with more than the others, which makes the rest really angry, and they secretly express their frustration by cutting holes in the clothes of the big eaters. At this feast, my ayha sat next to a man who was served three times, and I suspect she cut holes in his clothing, which led to the disagreement.

During this month of June we have lost two very fine grey carriage-horses, the first we have lost during a residence of nearly eight years in India; they have been poisoned by the grass-cutters for the sake of their skins, each skin being worth about six rupees. The first stage out of Cawnpore is famous as a place where horses die on their march, and hides are there procurable for tanning. The poison is made into small balls, scarcely larger than pills, which are thrown into the manger, or into the grass. In the evening I observed about twenty natives surrounding the entrance-gates, who had come in the hope of carrying the carcase away, to sell the hide, and to feast themselves upon the flesh, for the people of the Jullah or Doom caste eat carrion. They were disappointed in their hope of a repast; we had the horse put into a boat, and sunk in the Ganges.

During this month of June, we have lost two very fine grey carriage horses, the first we've lost during our nearly eight years in India; they were poisoned by the grass-cutters for their hides, each hide being worth about six rupees. The first stage out of Cawnpore is notorious for horses dying on their way, and hides can be obtained there for tanning. The poison is made into small balls, barely larger than pills, which are thrown into the feed or onto the grass. In the evening, I saw about twenty locals gathered at the entrance gates, hoping to take the carcass away to sell the hide and to feast on the meat, as the people of the Jullah or Doom caste eat carrion. They were disappointed in their hopes for a meal; we had the horse placed in a boat and sunk in the Ganges.

Extract from the Letter of a Friend Homeward-bound.

Extract from the Letter of a Friend Heading Home.

June.—“After leaving the Sandheads we were obliged to put into Trincomalee, Ceylon, in consequence of an accident to the chain-cable, and having sprung a leak. We put to sea again, but the leak was as bad as before whenever the sea made the vessel pitch; fortunately, we reached the Isle of France, March 19th, and were in quarantine three days and a half. On landing I thought I had never seen a dirtier place nor filthier people than Port Louis and its inhabitants. And now I will tell you an odd story.

June.—“After leaving the Sandheads, we had to stop in Trincomalee, Ceylon, because of an accident with the chain-cable and a leak we had sprung. We set sail again, but the leak got just as bad as before whenever the waves made the ship pitch. Luckily, we reached the Isle of France on March 19th and were in quarantine for three and a half days. When I landed, I thought I had never seen a dirtier place or filthier people than Port Louis and its residents. Now, let me share an odd story.

[139]

[139]

“There is an old French soldier living on this island, who has the power of seeing in the clouds the reflections of approaching ships, and this when the ships are at the distance of 300 or 400 miles. Three days before we came in, he made his public report at the proper office that five ships and three brigs were approaching the island, pointing out the different directions in which they lay. The exact number and description of vessels, of which our ship, the Lady Flora, was one, came in; we were the first at anchor, and the others came in during the day of our arrival and the next. At the time he reported seeing us, we must have been at least 350 miles from the island. The old man died suddenly the day after our arrival. He was an European, born in France, and had been thirty-six years on this island. Buonaparte made him liberal offers to go home to France, but he would not—as he said that it was only in a particular atmosphere, such as that round this island, that he could exert his singular faculty. The old man used to lie or sit nearly all day, with a telescope in his hand, looking at the clouds all round the island. He foretold the number and description of ships when the British expedition to this island was approaching, and, as I understand, quite correctly.

“There's an old French soldier living on this island who has the ability to see the reflections of approaching ships in the clouds, even when they are 300 or 400 miles away. Three days before we arrived, he reported to the proper office that five ships and three brigs were approaching the island, indicating their different directions. The exact number and descriptions of the vessels, including our ship, the Lady Flora, were accurate; we were the first to anchor, and the others arrived on the day we got here and the next. When he reported seeing us, we must have been at least 350 miles from the island. The old man died suddenly the day after our arrival. He was a European, born in France, and had lived on this island for thirty-six years. Buonaparte made him generous offers to return to France, but he refused, claiming that he could only use his unique ability in the specific atmosphere around this island. The old man would lie or sit nearly all day with a telescope in his hand, watching the clouds all around the island. He accurately predicted the number and types of ships when the British expedition to this island was on its way.”

“Once he reported that there were either two brigs lashed together, or a four-masted ship coming to the island; and this turned out to be a large 1200 ton ship, which had lost all her masts in a storm, and had put up four temporary spars to supply the place of masts. The reflection, therefore, in the clouds must have been very correct. And surely the power of seeing these reflections is not confined to one individual, but many have the power of vision equal to this man’s, if they had the patience and time to make the trial.”

“Once, he reported seeing either two brigs tied together or a four-masted ship approaching the island. It turned out to be a large 1200-ton ship that had lost all its masts in a storm and had set up four temporary spars to replace the masts. So, the reflection in the clouds must have been quite accurate. And clearly, the ability to see these reflections isn't limited to just one person; many others have the same vision if they take the time and effort to try.”

My friend spoke with great pleasure of the kindness he received from the governor of the island, during his stay at Reduit; and in raptures of a most beautiful waterfall. The thermometer at Reduit was only 75°, the elevation above the sea being 1200 feet. He says; “The island is an unhealthy place for animals; out of 212 Java ponies that arrived here two months before, fifty or sixty are dead.”

My friend spoke enthusiastically about the kindness he received from the governor of the island during his stay at Reduit, as well as about the stunning waterfall. The temperature at Reduit was only 75°F, with an elevation of 1200 feet above sea level. He mentioned, “The island isn’t healthy for animals; out of the 212 Java ponies that arrived here two months ago, fifty or sixty have died.”

[140]

[140]

How much I like the description of the visionary life the old man led, lying idly on the shore and gazing on the clouds! It brought to memory the happy days I formerly passed on the western shore of Hampshire, seeing or fancying the most beautiful visions in the clouds, whilst I listened to the sweet monotony of the waves—

How much I love the description of the imaginative life the old man lived, lounging on the shore and watching the clouds! It reminds me of the wonderful days I spent on the western shore of Hampshire, seeing or imagining the most beautiful visions in the clouds while I listened to the soothing rhythm of the waves—

“I may not muse—I must not dream—
Too beautiful those visions seem
For earth or mortal man; but when
Shall by-past times come back again?”

Women have more influence over men in India than in any other country. All out-door amusements are nearly denied to the latter by the climate, unless before sunrise or after sunset; therefore the whole time of military men, generally speaking, is spent in the house, devoted either to music or drawing, which of course they prefer in the society of ladies, or in the study of the languages, or in gaming. The young officers at this station play exceedingly high, ruinously so—two guinea points at short whist, and 100 guineas on the rubber, is not unusual amongst the young men.

Women have more influence over men in India than anywhere else. Due to the climate, men can hardly engage in outdoor activities unless it’s before sunrise or after sunset. As a result, military men usually spend most of their time indoors, focusing on music or drawing, which they naturally enjoy more in the company of women, or studying languages, or playing games. The young officers at this station gamble quite heavily, sometimes recklessly—betting two guineas on short whist and 100 guineas on the rubber is not uncommon among the young men.

Happily the gentlemen in the Civil Service have too much employment to admit of their devoting their time to gambling.

Thankfully, the gentlemen in the Civil Service are too busy with their work to spend their time gambling.

If you ask a native—“Where is your master gone?” if the gentleman be from home, you are sure to receive the answer—“Howā khānā-ke-wāste” (to eat the air); this chamelion-like propensity of eating the air is always the object during the early morning ride and the evening drive.

If you ask a local, “Where did your master go?” when the gentleman is away, you’re likely to get the response, “Howā khānā-ke-wāste” (to eat the air); this chameleon-like habit of eating the air is always the goal during the morning ride and the evening drive.

Our servants at present only amount to fifty-four, and I find it quite difficult enough to keep them in order; they quarrel amongst themselves, and when they become quite outrageous, they demand their discharge.

Our staff currently consists of only fifty-four people, and I find it challenging to manage them; they argue with each other, and when things get out of hand, they threaten to quit.

My ayha and the ābdār had a laughable quarrel. She was making herself a pair of Europe Chintz pajamas (trousers) such as they usually wear, made very full round the body, and quite tight from the knee to the ancle.

My aunt and the servant had a funny argument. She was sewing herself a pair of European chintz pajamas (trousers) like the ones they usually wear, full around the waist and pretty tight from the knee to the ankle.

Musulmāne women never wear a petticoat when amongst[141] themselves; it is the badge of servitude, and put on to please European ladies; the moment an ayha gets into her own house, she takes off her full petticoat and the large white mantle (chādar) that covers her head and the upper part of her body, and walks about in the curiously shaped trousers I have described, with a sort of loose jacket of muslin over the upper part, beneath which is the angiya.

Muslim women never wear petticoats when they’re with each other; it symbolizes servitude and is worn to please European women. The moment a woman enters her home, she removes her petticoat and the large white mantle (chadar) that covers her head and upper body, and walks around in the uniquely shaped trousers I described, with a loose muslin jacket over the top, underneath which she wears the angiya.

The ayha was sitting on her chārpāī (native bed) working away with great eagerness, when her friend the ābdār advised her to make the trousers full to the ankle; and she came to me to give warning to quit my service, vowing revenge upon the ābdār, because nāch women wear trousers of that description. The old ābdār, Sheik-jee, was sitting down very quietly making chapāties (flour-cakes), and smoking his narjil (cocoa-nut shell hooqŭ) at intervals, enjoying the ayha’s anger, until she stood up, and, screaming with passion, gave him gālee (abuse); he then flew into a rage, and I had some trouble to restore peace and quietness. Natives seldom, indeed hardly ever, come to blows, but they will go on for hours abusing each other in the grossest language, screaming out their words from passion.

The ayha was sitting on her charpoy (traditional bed) working diligently when her friend the abdār suggested that she make the pants reach the ankle; she then came to me to give notice that she was quitting my service, swearing revenge on the abdār because naach women wear pants like that. The old abdār, Sheik-jee, was sitting calmly making chapatis (flatbreads) and smoking his narghile (hookah) from time to time, enjoying the ayha's anger, until she got up and, screaming with rage, started cursing him; he then got really angry, and I had some trouble calming things down. Natives rarely, and almost never, resort to physical fights, but they can spend hours hurling the most vile insults at each other, shouting their words out of anger.

A darzee (tailor) is an Indian luxury: they work beautifully—as strongly and finely as the French milliners; they have great patience—because they are paid by the month, and not by the piece. In Calcutta I found my tailors great thieves—knives, scissors, seals—they would steal anything. One man carried off a present I had just received, a necklace and bracelets of a very curious pattern, and a box full of polished pebbles, in sets, from the Soane river.

A darzee (tailor) is a luxury in India; they create stunning work—just as strong and detailed as French hat makers. They have a lot of patience—since they’re paid monthly, not per piece. In Calcutta, I found that my tailors were quite the thieves—knives, scissors, seals—they would take anything. One guy even stole a present I had just received: a necklace and bracelets with a really unique design, plus a box filled with polished pebbles, arranged in sets, from the Soane river.

Bishop Heber, who did not understand native character, and possessed much simplicity, was surprised when the up-country natives thus addressed him: “Defender of the poor, peace be unto you! Refuge of the distressed, sālāmut[57]!” and imagined it was from respect to his holy office. I was playing with the son of the judge, a little fellow of two years old; the child offered to shake hands, and presented his left hand—his[142] native attendant, shocked at what he considered an insult, desired him to give the right hand; the child did so, when the chaprāsī cried out with great pleasure, “Well done! well done! Refuge of the distressed! defender of the poor!”

Bishop Heber, who didn’t really understand local people and was quite naive, was taken aback when the villagers greeted him like this: “Defender of the poor, peace be upon you! Refuge of the distressed, sālāmut[57]!” He thought it was out of respect for his holy position. I was playing with the judge’s son, a little two-year-old kid; the child reached out to shake hands and offered his left hand—his[142] local attendant, horrified by what he saw as an insult, told him to use his right hand. The child did so, and the chaprāsī shouted with delight, “Well done! well done! Refuge of the distressed! Defender of the poor!”

Ram Din, the man mentioned in Chapter XI., was a Rājput sipahī in the Company’s service, from which, after twelve years’ service, he obtained his discharge; he was in many engagements. In Calcutta the man came to us, and, making salām, presented his chitthīs (written vouchers of conduct), saying; “Refuge of the distressed, having heard of your great name, I am present to offer my services; I have served the Company faithfully twelve years, I will serve you faithfully.” He was a fine native, about six feet high or upwards; he lived with us many years, and had always charge of the boats or the tents when we moved about the country.

Ram Din, the man mentioned in Chapter XI, was a Rajput soldier in the Company’s service, from which he was discharged after twelve years. He participated in many battles. In Calcutta, he approached us, made a respectful greeting, and presented his letters of recommendation, saying, “Refuge of the distressed, having heard of your great reputation, I’m here to offer my services; I have served the Company faithfully for twelve years, and I will serve you just as faithfully.” He was an impressive man, over six feet tall, and he stayed with us for many years, always in charge of the boats or the tents when we traveled around the country.

A native is very fond of wearing a plain silver ring on the little finger, with a stone on the top, on which is engraved his own name, and sometimes that of the god he particularly worships, if the man be an Hindoo. They usually stamp any petition they may have to send to any gentleman with it, by putting Hindostanī ink on the seal, wetting the paper, and pressing the seal down upon it[58].

A local person really likes to wear a simple silver ring on their pinky finger, featuring a stone on top with their own name engraved on it, and sometimes the name of the deity they especially worship, if they are Hindu. They typically stamp any request they want to send to someone using this ring by applying Indian ink to the seal, moistening the paper, and pressing the seal onto it[58].

On the signet-ring of the Rājput above mentioned was “Ram Din Mahādēo.” The engraver invariably puts the date of the year on the corner of the stone, unless it be expressly forbidden. Engraved on the ruby of a signet-ring, brought to me from Persia, was “Allah, Muhammad, Ali, Fatima, Hussen, Hossein[59].”

On the signet ring of the mentioned Rājput was "Ram Din Mahādēo." The engraver usually includes the date of the year on the corner of the stone, unless specifically requested not to. Engraved on the ruby of a signet ring that was brought to me from Persia was "Allah, Muhammad, Ali, Fatima, Hussen, Hossein[59]."

THE DURWĀN.

THE DURWAN.

The Doorman.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

Vanny Parks

The durwāns are very fond of brilliant colours, and are generally well dressed; their food consists principally of curry made of kid, fish, chicken, prawns, or vegetables, with a great quantity of Patna rice boiled to perfection, every grain separate, and beautifully white. My ayha brought me one day a vegetable curry of her own making, to show me the food on which she lived with her friend the durwān; it would have been excellent, had it not been made with moota tel, i.e. mustard oil.

The doormen love bright colors and usually dress well. Their meals mainly consist of curry made with goat, fish, chicken, shrimp, or vegetables, accompanied by plenty of Patna rice perfectly cooked so that every grain is separate and beautifully white. One day, my maid brought me a vegetable curry she made herself to show me the food she shared with her friend the doorman; it would have been great if it hadn't been cooked with moota tel, i.e. mustard oil.

16th.—The native boys whom I see swimming and sporting in the river of an evening, are much better off than the poor people in England. I wish we had some of them here, on whom to bestow a fine cold saddle of mutton. A round of beef would be of importance to them. You may imagine how much must be thrown away, when you cannot with the greatest care, at this season, keep meat good for more than twenty-four hours; and roasted meat will only keep until the next day.

16th.—The local boys I see swimming and having fun in the river in the evening are way better off than the struggling people in England. I wish we could bring some of them here to enjoy a nice cold saddle of mutton. A round of beef would mean a lot to them. You can imagine how much goes to waste when, despite our best efforts, we can't keep meat fresh for more than twenty-four hours during this season; and roasted meat is only good until the next day.

In Calcutta, the tank water being unwholesome to drink, it is necessary to catch rain water, and preserve it in great jars; sixty jars full will last a year in our family. It is purified with alum, and a heated iron is put into it. Here we drink the Ganges water, reckoned the most wholesome in India; it is purified in jars in the same manner. The water of the Jumna is considered unwholesome, and in some parts, my old ābdār declares, it is absolutely poisonous.

In Kolkata, since the tank water is not safe to drink, we have to collect rainwater and store it in large jars; sixty full jars will last our family a year. We purify it with alum and heat iron before putting it in. Here, we drink the Ganges water, which is regarded as the healthiest in India; it’s also purified in jars the same way. The water from the Yamuna is seen as unsafe, and in some areas, my old water supplier says it is actually toxic.

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We were glad to quit Allahabad, the small-pox having commenced its ravages at that station. On our arrival at Cawnpore, we found it raging still worse; the magistrate took it, and died in three days. Hundreds of children are ill of this disease in the bazār; and the government, in their humanity, have done away with the vaccine department here. Surely it is a cruel act, where there are so many regiments and so many European children, who cannot now be vaccinated. It is very severe, and numbers of adults have been attacked.

We were relieved to leave Allahabad, as smallpox had started spreading there. When we got to Cawnpore, we found it even worse; the magistrate caught it and passed away in three days. Hundreds of kids are suffering from this illness in the market, and the government, in what they call humanity, has shut down the vaccine department here. This is definitely a cruel move, especially with so many regiments and European children who can’t get vaccinated now. It’s really bad, and many adults have also been affected.

In India wax candles are always burned. A bearer will not touch a mould because they say it is made of pig’s fat. We burn spermaceti generally. The first time the bearers saw them, they would not touch the spermaceti, and I had great difficulty in persuading them the candles were made from the fat of a great fish. Some bearers in Calcutta will not snuff a candle if it be on the dinner-table, but a khidmatgār having put it on the ground, the bearer will snuff it, when the other man replaces it. In the upper provinces they are not so particular.

In India, wax candles are always used. A bearer won't handle a mold because they believe it's made from pig fat. We typically use spermaceti. The first time the bearers saw it, they wouldn't touch the spermaceti, and I had a hard time convincing them that the candles were made from the fat of a large fish. Some bearers in Calcutta won’t snuff a candle if it’s on the dinner table, but if a khidmatgār places it on the ground, the bearer will snuff it when the other person puts it back. In the upper provinces, they aren't as particular.

One of the grass-cutters has been sent to the hospital, dying, I fear, of fever. Every horse has a sā’īs (groom) and a grass-cutter allowed him: the latter goes out every morning, perhaps some four or five miles, cuts a bundle of grass, and brings it home on his head. The men are exposed to the sun so much, and live so badly, it is no wonder they fall ill of fever; besides which, they are extremely fond of arrak (bazār spirits). Wine they delight in: when the empty bottles are carried from the house to the godown, the grass-cutters often petition to have the dregs of the wine. They pour off into their lotas (brass drinking cups) the remains of all the bottles, mixing beer, sherry, claret, vinegar, hock, champagne, in fact, any thing of which they can find a drop; and then, sitting down, each man drinks a portion and passes the cup to his neighbour, often saying “Bahut achchhā, bahut achchhā,” very good, very good, and eagerly looking out for his turn again, and fair play.

One of the grass-cutters has been sent to the hospital, and I'm afraid he's dying from a fever. Every horse has a sā’īs (groom) and a grass-cutter assigned to it: the latter goes out every morning, probably about four or five miles, cuts a bundle of grass, and brings it back on his head. The men are out in the sun all day and live under poor conditions, so it's no surprise they get sick with fever; plus, they really love arrak (local spirits). They enjoy wine, and when the empty bottles are taken from the house to the storage, the grass-cutters often ask to have the leftovers. They pour whatever's left from all the bottles into their lotas (brass drinking cups), mixing beer, sherry, claret, vinegar, hock, champagne—anything they can find a drop of; then, they sit down, each man drinks a bit and passes the cup to the next guy, often saying “Bahut achchhā, bahut achchhā,” meaning very good, very good, and eagerly waiting for their turn again, hoping for fairness.

I have several times made them put this vile mixture away for another day, or they would have drunk it until the whole was finished.

I’ve had them put this awful mix away several times for another day, or they would have drunk it all down.

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21st.—Finding the night very oppressive, I quitted my chārpāī, and putting on a cambric dressing-gown and slippers, went out on the platform by the river and stayed there an hour, there being a little breeze to refresh me. You may imagine how dry the air must be; I had no fear of cold, no want of a shawl, and my light dress was sufficiently warm. It was as fine a starlight night as I have seen in India. The horses are sick, burnt up in their stables, which are made on a bad principle; they feel the want of the large, cool, loose boxes they had at Allahabad.

21st.—Feeling the night was really stuffy, I left my daybed, put on a light dressing gown and slippers, and went out to the platform by the river, where I stayed for an hour, enjoying a slight breeze that was refreshing. You can imagine how dry the air is; I wasn’t worried about being cold or needing a shawl, and my light outfit was warm enough. It was one of the most beautiful starlit nights I’ve experienced in India. The horses are unwell, overheated in their stables, which were poorly designed; they miss the spacious, cool boxes they had in Allahabad.

August 4th.—It is said, the Earl of C⸺ lost 65,000 rupees a short time ago, by forgeries committed in Calcutta: the person at the head of the forgeries was Rajah Buddinath Roy, a native prince in high favour with Lord Amherst; and I rather imagine his lordship has suffered also by the Rajah’s forged bills. On dit, he used to talk about Christianity as if in time he might be converted; he subscribed to schools and missionary societies, and distributed Bibles—the bait took—in return he was allowed such and such honorary attendance, as by the Company’s regulations a native may not have without permission. This flattered his pride, and his seemingly religious disposition secured him from suspicion falling upon him as a forger, especially of passing forged bills on the Governor-general. The case is now being tried in Court.

August 4th.—It’s been reported that the Earl of C⸺ lost 65,000 rupees recently due to forgeries that took place in Calcutta. The mastermind behind these forgeries was Rajah Buddinath Roy, a local prince who was in good standing with Lord Amherst; I suspect that his lordship has also been a victim of the Rajah’s forged bills. It’s rumored that he used to discuss Christianity as if he might eventually convert; he donated to schools and missionary organizations, and handed out Bibles—the strategy worked—in exchange, he received certain honorary titles, which a native can’t have without permission under the Company’s rules. This boosted his ego, and his apparent religious interest kept him from being suspected as a forger, especially for passing fake bills to the Governor-General. The case is currently being heard in Court.

People think of nothing but converting the Hindoos; and religion is often used as a cloak by the greatest schemers after good appointments. Religious meetings are held continually in Calcutta, frequented by people to pray themselves into high salaries, who never thought of praying before.

People are only focused on converting the Hindus, and religion is often used as a disguise by the biggest manipulators seeking good positions. Religious gatherings happen all the time in Calcutta, attended by those looking to pray their way into high salaries who never even considered praying before.

In India we use no bells to call servants; but as the chaprāsīs are always in attendance just without the door, if you want one, you say “Qui hy?” i.e. “is there any one?”—or “Kon hy?”—“who is there?” when a servant appears. For this reason old Indians are called Qui hys.

In India, we don’t use bells to call servants; instead, since the chaprāsīs are always waiting just outside the door, if you need one, you say “Qui hy?” (which means “is there anyone?”) or “Kon hy?” (which means “who is there?”) when a servant shows up. Because of this, old Indians are referred to as Qui hys.

7th.—The plagues of Egypt were not worse than the plagues of India. Last night the dinner-table was covered with white ants, having wings: these ants, at a certain period after a[146] shower, rise from the earth with four large wings. They fly to the lights, and your lamps are put out in a few minutes by swarms of them: they fall into your plate at dinner, and over your book when reading, being most troublesome. Last night heavy rain fell, and the rooms were swarming with winged-ants, which flew in; their wings fell off almost immediately, verifying the proverb: “When ants get wings they die[60].”

7th.—The plagues of Egypt were not worse than the plagues of India. Last night, the dinner table was covered with white ants that had wings. After a rain shower, these ants emerge from the ground with four big wings. They fly toward the lights, and within minutes, they put out your lamps with their swarms. They drop into your plate at dinner and onto your book while you read, making them quite annoying. Last night, there was heavy rain, and the rooms were filled with winged ants that flew in; their wings fell off almost instantly, proving the saying: “When ants get wings, they die[60].”

To-night we are suffering under a more disagreeable infliction; a quantity of winged-bugs flew in just as dinner was put on the table, the bamboo screens having been let down rather too late. They are odious; they fly upon your face and arms, and into your plate; if you brush them away, they emit such terrible effluvia it is sickening, and yet one cannot bear them to crawl over one’s body, as one is at this minute doing on my ear, without pushing them off.

To night we are dealing with a more annoying issue; a bunch of flying bugs came in just as dinner was being served, because the bamboo screens were pulled down a bit too late. They’re disgusting; they land on your face and arms, and even in your food. If you try to swat them away, they give off such a dreadful smell that it's nauseating, and yet you can't stand them crawling on your skin, like one is doing on my ear right now, without having to push them off.

21st.—There has been a great fire in the Fort of Allahabad, and the magazine of gunpowder was with difficulty saved. What an explosion it would have caused had it taken fire!

21st.—There was a massive fire in the Fort of Allahabad, and the gunpowder magazine was barely saved. What an explosion it would have triggered if it had caught fire!

Oh! how I long for the liberty and freshness of a country life in England—what would I not give for a fine bracing air, and a walk by the sea-side, to enable me to shake off this Indian languor, and be myself again! The moon is so hot to-night, I cannot sit on the Terrace; she makes my head ache. A chatr (umbrella) is as necessary a defence against the rays of the moon at the full, as against the sun.

Oh! how I crave the freedom and freshness of country life in England—what wouldn’t I give for some crisp air and a walk by the seaside to help me shake off this Indian fatigue and feel like myself again! The moon is so intense tonight, I can’t sit on the terrace; it’s giving me a headache. A chatr (umbrella) is just as essential to shield against the rays of the full moon as it is against the sun.

These natives are curious people. Two of our khidmatgārs were looking at the weather; the one said, “It is a good thing that from the pleasure of Allah the rain has been stopped; otherwise, so many houses would have fallen in.” The ābdār answered, “Those are the words of an unbeliever.” Kaffir ke bat. “You are a Kaffir,” exclaimed the first man, in a great rage. It being high abuse to use the term, the ābdār took off his shoe and flung it at the other, on which the first man struck him a good blow with his fist, which cut his cheek open. Here ended the fight—they were both frightened at the sight of[147] blood—it is the only instance we have met with of a native using his fists like an Englishman.

These locals are quite curious. Two of our servants were discussing the weather; one said, “It’s a good thing that, thanks to Allah’s mercy, the rain has stopped; otherwise, so many houses would have collapsed.” The other replied, “Those are the words of a non-believer.” “You’re a non-believer,” the first man shouted in anger. Since it’s a serious insult to call someone that, the other man took off his shoe and threw it at him, which prompted the first man to hit him hard in the face, opening a cut on his cheek. That ended the fight—both were shocked at the sight of blood—it’s the only time we’ve seen a local use his fists like an Englishman.

The other affair was this: my sā’īs (groom) had bought some ganja, an intoxicating herb, which he put into his hooqŭ to smoke, and offered it to the other sā’īses. To refuse to smoke from an offered hooqŭ, is a high offence. The sā’īses would not smoke the ganja, abused the man for buying it, and getting intoxicated daily from its effect. He said, “I will not stay in service, if you will not smoke with me.” “Well, go and give warning,” said the head groom. My sā’īs gave him gālee (abuse); at which the head groom took a stick and beat him. The sā’īs immediately said, “My life be on your head,” and running to the well, he let himself drop down into the water; but when at the bottom, he began to halloo for assistance, the well being very deep, and the water also. He was drawn up by ropes. I do not think he meant to kill himself; and yet dropping down such a distance was a great risk. He said, if he had died of the fall, the head groom would have been hung, and he should thus have had his revenge. The next time he plays such a prank, he is to remain at the bottom of the well.

The other situation was this: my groom had bought some weed, an intoxicating herb, which he put into his hookah to smoke and offered it to the other grooms. Refusing to smoke from an offered hookah is a serious offense. The grooms wouldn’t smoke the weed, criticized him for buying it, and getting high every day from it. He said, “I won’t stay in this job if you don’t smoke with me.” “Well, go ahead and quit,” said the head groom. My groom cursed at him, causing the head groom to grab a stick and hit him. The groom immediately exclaimed, “If I die, it’s on you,” and ran to the well and dropped himself into the water. But when he got to the bottom, he started shouting for help, as the well was very deep and the water was deep, too. He was pulled up with ropes. I don’t think he really meant to kill himself; still, jumping down that far was a big risk. He said if he had died from the fall, the head groom would have been hanged, and he would have gotten his revenge that way. Next time he tries such a stunt, he should just stay at the bottom of the well.

22nd.—They tell me the people in Calcutta are dying fast from a fever resembling the yellow fever. The soldiers, European, here are also going to their graves very quickly; three days ago, six men died; two days ago, six more expired; and one hundred and sixty are in the hospital. The fever, which rages, tinges the skin and eyes yellow; perhaps only the severe bilious fever of India brought on by drinking brandy and arrak, a bazār spirit extremely injurious, to say nothing of exposure to the sun. Almost every evening we meet the two elephants belonging to the hospital carrying each about ten sick men, who are sufficiently recovered to be able to go out “to eat the air,” and for exercise; the poor fellows look so wan and ghastly. The sā’īs before-mentioned added the leaves of hemp (cannabis sativa) to his tobacco, and smoked it to increase its intoxicating power. Bhang, an intoxicating liquor, is prepared from the same leaves. Pariah arrak, an inferior sort of spirituous liquor,[148] is sold extremely cheap, from one to four ānās a quart: it is most unwholesome, and mixed with most injurious articles to increase its intoxicating power, such as the juice of the thorn-apple and ganja. There are many kinds of arrak; that distilled from cocoa-nut toddy is, they say, the least injurious. Who can be surprised at the number of deaths that occur amongst men in the habit of drinking this heating and narcotic spirit, called rack by the soldiers? Flax is grown in great quantities in India, but is little used for cloth. Taat, which is made from sunn (hemp), is manufactured into paper. Linseed oil is extracted from the seed, and the remainder, the cake, is given to cows. The waste land in our compound (grounds around the house) was covered with thorn-apple plants. I had them rooted out, leaving only two or three of different kinds in the garden. Abdārs have been known to administer this plant (datura) to their masters in the hooqŭ: an over-dose produces delirium.

22nd.—I've heard that people in Calcutta are dying quickly from a fever that resembles yellow fever. The European soldiers here are also passing away fast; three days ago, six men died; two days ago, six more passed away; and one hundred sixty are in the hospital. The fever is intense, causing yellowing of the skin and eyes; it might just be the severe bilious fever of India from drinking brandy and arrak, a locally made spirit that is very harmful, especially in combination with sun exposure. Almost every evening, we see the two elephants from the hospital carrying about ten sick men each who are well enough to go outside “to get some fresh air” and exercise; the poor guys look so pale and ghostly. The aforementioned sā'ī added hemp leaves (cannabis sativa) to his tobacco and smoked it to enhance its intoxicating effects. Bhang, an intoxicating drink, is made from these same leaves. Pariah arrak, a lower-quality spirit, [148] is sold very cheaply, costing between one to four ānās per quart: it’s very unhealthy and mixed with harmful substances to increase its intoxicating effects, like the juice from thorn-apple and ganja. There are various types of arrak; the one distilled from coconut toddy is said to be the least harmful. Who can be surprised by the high number of deaths among those who regularly drink this hot and narcotic spirit, known as rack by the soldiers? Flax is grown in large amounts in India, but it’s rarely used for cloth. Taat, made from sunn (hemp), is turned into paper. Linseed oil is extracted from the seeds, and the leftover cake is fed to cows. The waste land in our yard was filled with thorn-apple plants. I had them removed, leaving only two or three of different types in the garden. Abdārs have been known to give this plant (datura) to their masters in the hooqŭ: an overdose can lead to delirium.

There are several species of this beautiful plant:

There are several types of this beautiful plant:

Common datura (Datura stramonium), thorn-apple.
Kala datura (Datura fastuosa), a triple flower of a most beautiful dark purple.
Suffeid datura (Datura metel), flowers white, hairy thorn-apple.
Another (Datura ferox), flowers yellow.
Ditto (Datura canescens), a variety, flowers always single, and of a yellowish white colour.

Qualities, intoxicating and narcotic.—The Mahomedans give kala datura in those violent headaches that precede epilepsy and mania. It produces vertigo when taken in large doses, and has the effect of dilating in a singular manner the pupil of the eye. Some writers call it “Trompette du jugement,” and “Herbe aux sorciers.” The leaves of the datura ferox are sometimes used to make arrak more intoxicating: its seeds produce delirium. Stramonium is an abbreviation of the Greek “Mad apple,” on account of the dangerous effects of the fruit of that species. Metel is an Arabic name, and expresses the narcotic effect of the plant.

Qualities, intoxicating and narcotic.—The Muslims use kala datura for those severe headaches that come before epilepsy and mania. It causes dizziness when taken in high doses and uniquely dilates the pupil of the eye. Some writers refer to it as “Trompette du jugement” and “Herbe aux sorciers.” The leaves of datura ferox are sometimes used to make arrak more intoxicating: its seeds can cause delirium. Stramonium is a shortened form of the Greek term for “Mad apple,” because of the dangerous effects of that fruit. Metel is an Arabic term that conveys the narcotic effect of the plant.

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[149]

What can be more wretched than the life of a private soldier in the East? his profession employs but little of his time. During the heat of the day, he is forced to remain within the intensely hot barrack-rooms; heat produces thirst, and idleness discontent. He drinks arrak like a fish, and soon finds life a burden, almost insupportable. To the man weary of the burden of existence, to escape from it, transportation appears a blessing. The great source of all this misery is the cheapness of arrak mixed with datura, and the restlessness arising from the want of occupation; although a library is generally provided for the privates by the regiment.

What could be worse than the life of a private soldier in the East? His job takes up very little of his time. During the hottest part of the day, he has to stay inside the sweltering barrack rooms; heat makes him thirsty, and doing nothing makes him unhappy. He drinks arrak like crazy and soon finds life to be an unbearable burden. For someone tired of the weight of existence, the thought of being transported elsewhere seems like a blessing. The main cause of all this misery is the low price of arrak mixed with datura, along with the restlessness that comes from having nothing to do, even though a library is usually provided for the privates by the regiment.

You at home, who sleep in gay beds of carved mahogany, with handsome curtains, would be surprised at sight of the beds used by us during the hot winds. Four small posts, and a frame, on which very broad tape (newār) is plaited and strained very tight, over this a sītal-pātī, a sort of fine cool Manilla mat, then the sheets, and for warmth, either an Indian shawl, or a rezai, which is of silk quilted with cotton, and very light. We use no musquito curtains, for each chārpāī is placed just before an open window, with the east wind blowing on it, and a pankhā, with a deep double frill, is in full swing over the beds all night, pulled by a string which passes through a hole in the wall—the wind it creates drives off the musquitoes, and the man who pulls the pankhā is relieved every two hours.

You at home, who sleep in stylish beds made of carved mahogany, with nice curtains, would be surprised at the beds we use during the hot winds. Four small posts and a frame, with very wide tape (newār) woven and pulled tight, over which lies a sītal-pātī, a kind of fine, cool Manila mat, then the sheets, and for warmth, either an Indian shawl or a rezai, which is a light silk quilted with cotton. We don’t use mosquito nets because each chārpāī is placed right in front of an open window, with the east wind blowing over it, and a pankhā, with a deep double frill, is swinging over the beds all night, pulled by a string that goes through a hole in the wall—the breeze it creates keeps the mosquitoes away, and the person who pulls the pankhā gets relieved every two hours.

“A NEW SERVANT WILL CATCH DEER[61].”

A gentleman in the Civil Service had succeeded, after much trouble, in rearing some very fine strawberry plants, and he visited his garden daily to admire the blossoms. One day, when he called a chaprāsī, a new man, a stupid fellow, came into the room; the gentleman would not tell him what he wanted, but said, “Send another servant to me;” the man went out, and after some time returned with his hands full of the beautiful strawberry-blossoms! Had you seen how the countenance of the sāhib fell when he saw them, you would have[150] laughed as I did. He desired the man to put his chaprās on the table, and quit his service at once. The gentleman was an excellent linguist, but the new servant would willingly have caught deer.

A man in the Civil Service had managed, after a lot of effort, to grow some really impressive strawberry plants, and he visited his garden every day to admire the flowers. One day, when he called for a servant, a new guy, who was a bit clueless, came into the room; the man wouldn't say what he needed, but said, “Send me another servant;” the guy left and after a while came back holding a bunch of beautiful strawberry flowers! If you had seen the gentleman's face drop when he saw them, you would have laughed as I did. He told the man to put his hat on the table and leave his job right away. The gentleman was great at languages, but the new servant would have much preferred chasing deer.

The Governor-general left Calcutta on the 11th inst., and proposes to be at Benares on the 10th December. Lady William Bentinck accompanies him in his tour. They say that she is dreadfully nervous about him. His unpopularity is increasing, and some ill-regulated person, in a moment of disappointment and frenzy, might perhaps cause a scene. The events of the last few years, since Mr. Canning’s death, have been astounding. I wonder if there is more room for amazement. I hope his Grace the Duke will not take us under his charge. We are satisfied with King Log, provided he stands in the way of King Stork.

The Governor-General left Calcutta on the 11th of this month and plans to be in Benares on December 10th. Lady William Bentinck is joining him on his trip. People say she is really anxious about him. His unpopularity is growing, and some poorly managed person, in a moment of frustration and anger, might cause a scene. The events of the past few years since Mr. Canning’s death have been incredible. I wonder if there’s more to be shocked by. I hope his Grace the Duke won’t take us under his wing. We're fine with King Log, as long as he keeps King Stork at bay.

Lord William has been doing away with all the good appointments in the Civil Service; and the army have been cruelly treated, with respect to the half-batta. Perhaps, when the renewal of the Charter is concluded, the Directors will again be enabled to treat those living under their command with the generosity which has ever distinguished them, and which has rendered their service one of the finest in the world.

Lord William has been cutting all the good positions in the Civil Service; and the army has been harshly treated regarding the half-batta. Maybe, when the Charter is renewed, the Directors will be able to treat those serving under them with the generosity that has always set them apart and made their service one of the best in the world.


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CHAPTER XV.
THE THUG'S DICE.

The Thug’s Dice—Execution of Eleven Thugs.

The Thug’s Dice—Execution of Eleven Thugs.

1830, Oct.—Mr. S⸺, the acting magistrate, has sent me a present of the dice used by the Thugs; they were taken from a Thug in the magistrate’s office. There are three dice, made of brass roughly filed. In the sketch entitled “The Thug’s Dice,” (Fig. 3.) they are represented exactly of the size and shape of the originals, which are all of one size and shape. Two sides are perforated by a large hole that goes through the centre.

1830, Oct.—Mr. S⸺, the acting magistrate, sent me a gift of the dice used by the Thugs; they were taken from a Thug in the magistrate’s office. There are three dice, made of brass and roughly filed. In the sketch titled “The Thug’s Dice,” (Fig. 3.) they are shown exactly the size and shape of the originals, which are all the same size and shape. Two sides have a large hole that goes through the center.

Two of the sides are marked with three small circles placed in a triangular form; one side has two circles, and four are on the other side.

Two of the sides have three small circles arranged in a triangular shape; one side has two circles, and the other side has four.

THE THUG’S DICE.

THE THUG'S DICE.

On Stone by Major Parlby

On Stone by Major Parlby

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

فاني پارکس

When the Thugs are going out on a strangling expedition, they throw these dice to see what days will prove lucky or unlucky.

When the Thugs go out on a strangling mission, they roll these dice to determine which days will be lucky or unlucky.

Oct. 16th.—In the Government Gazette of this evening is an account of the execution of eleven Thugs, in a letter from a man up the country to the editor: the account is so interesting, I cannot refrain from copying it.

Oct. 16th.—In this evening's Government Gazette, there's a report about the execution of eleven Thugs, written in a letter from someone in the countryside to the editor: the account is so fascinating that I can’t help but share it.

Sir,—I was yesterday present at the execution of eleven Thugs, who had been seized in the neighbourhood of Bhilsa, convicted of the murder of thirty-five travellers, (whose bodies were disinterred as evidence against them at the different places along the lines of road between Bhopaul and Saugor, where[152] they had been strangled and buried,) and sentenced to death by the agent to the Governor-general, Mr. Smith.

Dude,—Yesterday, I witnessed the execution of eleven Thugs who had been captured near Bhilsa. They were found guilty of murdering thirty-five travelers, whose remains were dug up as evidence from various locations along the road between Bhopaul and Saugor, where[152] they had been strangled and buried, and were sentenced to death by the Governor-general’s agent, Mr. Smith.”

“As the sun rose, the eleven men were brought out from the jail, decorated with chaplets of flowers, and marched up to the front of the drop, where they arranged themselves in line with infinite self-possession.

“As the sun rose, the eleven men were brought out from the jail, adorned with flower crowns, and marched up to the front of the platform, where they lined up with complete calm.”

“When arranged, each opposite the noose that best pleased him, they lifted up their hands and shouted, ‘Bindachul ka jae! Bhawānī ka jae!’ i.e. ‘Glory to Bindachul! Bhawānī’s glory!’ every one making use of precisely the same invocation, though four were Mahomedans, one a Brahman, and the rest Rajpoots, and other castes of Hindoos; they all ascended the steps, and took their position upon the platform with great composure, then, taking the noose in both hands, made the same invocation to Bhawānī, after which they placed them over their heads and adjusted them to their necks; some of the younger ones laughing at the observations of the crowd around them.

“When they were arranged, each in front of the noose that suited him best, they raised their hands and shouted, ‘Bindachul ka jae! Bhawānī ka jae!’ i.e. ‘Glory to Bindachul! Glory to Bhawānī!’ Everyone used exactly the same chant, even though four were Muslims, one a Brahmin, and the others Rajputs and members of various Hindu castes. They all climbed the steps and took their places on the platform with great calm. Then, holding the noose in both hands, they invoked Bhawānī again, after which they placed the nooses over their heads and adjusted them around their necks, while some of the younger ones laughed at the remarks of the crowd surrounding them.”

“One of the youngest, a Mahomedan, impatient of the delay, stooped down so as to tighten the rope, and, stepping deliberately over the platform, hung himself as coolly as one would step over a rock to take a swim in the sea! This man was known to have assisted in strangling a party of six travellers at Omurpatan, in the Rewah Rajah’s territories, in December last, and closely pursued—to have gone off, joined another gang, and, in less than a month, to have assisted in strangling thirty more in Bhopaul; he was taken at Bhilsa, the last scene of his murders. Omurpatan is 100 miles east of Jubulpore; and the place in which the Thug assisted in strangling in the Bhopaul territories, a month afterwards, is 200 miles west of Jubulpore. Such is the rapidity with which these murderers change the scene of their operations, when conscious of keen pursuit! He was taken at Bhilsa by the very man whom he found upon his trail at Omurpatan, 300 miles distant.

“One of the youngest, a Muslim, tired of waiting, bent down to tighten the rope and, stepping carefully over the platform, hung himself as casually as if he were stepping over a rock to take a swim in the sea! This man was known to have helped strangle a group of six travelers at Omurpatan, in the Rewah Rajah’s territories, last December. He was closely pursued and managed to escape, joining another gang, and in less than a month, he assisted in the strangling of thirty more in Bhopaul. He was captured at Bhilsa, the last scene of his crimes. Omurpatan is 100 miles east of Jubulpore, and the location where the Thug assisted in the strangling in the Bhopaul territories a month later is 200 miles west of Jubulpore. This shows how quickly these murderers change their location when they feel the heat of pursuit! He was caught at Bhilsa by the same man who had been following him since Omurpatan, which is 300 miles away.”

“On being asked whether they had any wish to express to the magistrate, they prayed that for every man hung, five convicts might be released from jail, and that they might have a little money to be distributed in charity.

“Upon being asked if they had any wishes to share with the magistrate, they asked that for every man hanged, five convicts might be set free from jail, and that they might receive a bit of money to be given to charity.”

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“Their invocation of Bhawānī at the drop, was a confession of their guilt, for no one in such a situation invokes Bhawānī but a Thug, and he invokes no other deity in any situation, whatever may be his religion or sect. She is worshipped under her four names, Devi, Kalee, Doorga, and Bhawānī, and her temple at Bindachun, a few miles west of Mirzapore on the Ganges, is constantly filled with murderers from every quarter of India, who go there to offer up a share of the booty acquired from their strangled victims in their annual excursions.

“Their calling on Bhawānī at that moment was an admission of their guilt, because no one in such a situation calls on Bhawānī except a Thug, and he doesn’t pray to any other deity regardless of his religion or sect. She is worshipped under her four names: Devi, Kalee, Doorga, and Bhawānī, and her temple at Bindachun, a few miles west of Mirzapore on the Ganges, is always crowded with murderers from all over India, who go there to offer a portion of the loot they've gained from their strangled victims during their yearly raids.”

“This accounts for the invocation—‘jae Bindachul!’ made use of by these men in approaching and ascending the drop. These pilgrimages to the temple are made generally at the latter end of the rainy season, and whilst on their road from their homes to the temple, nothing can ever tempt them to commit a robbery. They are not, however, so scrupulous on their way back.

“This explains the invocation—‘jae Bindachul!’ that these men use when they approach and climb the drop. These pilgrimages to the temple usually happen toward the end of the rainy season, and while traveling from their homes to the temple, nothing can lure them into committing a robbery. However, they aren't as careful on their way back.”

“The priests promise the Thugs impunity and wealth, provided a due share be offered to the goddess. If they die by the sword in the execution of murders, she promises them paradise in all its most exquisite delights; if taken and executed, it must arise from her displeasure, incurred by some neglect of the duties they owe her, and they must, as disturbed spirits, inhabit mid-air until her wrath be appeased. After they have propitiated the goddess by offering up a share of the preceding year, and received the priest’s suggestions on the subject, they prepare for the next year’s expedition.

“The priests promise the Thugs immunity and wealth, as long as they offer a proper share to the goddess. If they die by the sword while committing murders, she guarantees them paradise with all its finest pleasures; if they are caught and executed, it’s because she’s displeased, likely due to some failure to perform their duties to her, and they will be stuck as restless spirits in limbo until her anger is settled. After they have appeased the goddess by giving her a portion from the previous year and have followed the priest’s advice on the matter, they get ready for the next year’s mission.”

“The different members who form the gang assemble at the village of the leader at a certain day, and, after determining the scene of operations, they proceed to consecrate their kodalee, or small pickaxe, which they use to dig the graves of their victims, and which they consider as their standard. They believe that no spirit can ever rise to trouble their repose from a grave dug by this instrument, provided it be duly consecrated, and they are fearfully scrupulous in the observance of every ceremony enjoined in the consecration, and never allow the earth to be turned with any other instrument. It is a neatly made pickaxe of about four or five pounds’ weight, six or eight inches long, and with one point.

The different members of the gang gather at the leader's village on a specific day, and after deciding where to operate, they go on to consecrate their kodalee, or small pickaxe, which they use to dig the graves of their victims, and which they see as their standard. They believe that no spirit can rise to disturb their peace from a grave dug with this tool, as long as it is properly consecrated, and they are extremely careful to follow every ritual involved in the consecration, never allowing the earth to be turned with any other tool. It is a well-made pickaxe that weighs about four or five pounds, is six to eight inches long, and has one pointed end.

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“They sacrifice a goat, and offer it up, with a cocoa-nut, to Bhawānī; they then make a mixture of sandal and other scented woods, spirits, sugar, flour, and butter, and boil it in a cauldron.

“They sacrifice a goat and present it, along with a coconut, to Bhawānī; then they prepare a mixture of sandalwood and other fragrant woods, alcohol, sugar, flour, and butter, and cook it in a cauldron."

“The kodalee, having been carefully washed, is put upon a spot cleared away for the purpose, and plastered with cow dung, and the mixture is poured over it with certain prayers and ceremonies.

“The kodalee, after being thoroughly cleaned, is placed on a designated spot that has been cleared for this purpose, covered with cow dung, and the mixture is poured over it while certain prayers and rituals are performed.”

“It is now wiped and folded in a clean white cloth by the priest, and the whole gang proceed some distance from the village upon the road they intend to take, and stand until they hear a partridge call, the priest having in his mind some one as the bearer of the sacred deposit. If the partridge call on the right, he places it in the hands of that individual, and in a solemn manner impresses upon him the responsibility of the charge. If a partridge call on the left, or one do not call until the sun is high, they all return, and wait until the next morning, when they proceed to another spot, and the priest fixes his mind upon some other individual; and so every morning, until the deity has signified her approbation of the choice by the calling of the partridge on the right.

“It is now wiped and wrapped in a clean white cloth by the priest, and the whole group walks a distance from the village along the road they plan to take, standing still until they hear a partridge call, with the priest having someone in mind as the bearer of the sacred item. If the partridge calls from the right, he hands it to that person and solemnly emphasizes the responsibility of the task. If the partridge calls from the left, or if there’s no call until the sun is high, they all return and wait until the next morning, when they go to a different spot, and the priest thinks of another person; and this continues every morning until the deity indicates her approval of the choice by having the partridge call from the right."

“If the kodalee should fall to the ground at any time, the gang consider it as an evil omen, leave that part of the country without delay, and select another standard-bearer. If no accident happen, the man first elected bears it the whole season; but a new election must take place for the next. The man who bears it carries it in his waistband, but never sleeps with it on his person, nor lets any man see where he conceals it during the night, or whilst he takes his rest.

“If the kodalee falls to the ground at any time, the gang sees it as a bad omen, quickly leaves that area, and chooses a new standard-bearer. If nothing happens, the man who was initially chosen carries it for the entire season; however, a new election must be held for the next. The man who carries it keeps it in his waistband but never sleeps with it on him and doesn’t let anyone see where he hides it at night or while he rests.”

“All oaths of the members of the gang are administered upon this instrument, folded in a clean white cloth, and placed on ground cleared away and plastered with cow dung: I have heard the oldest of them declare, that they believe any man who should make a false oath upon it would be immediately punished by some fatal disease. If any man be suspected of treachery, they make him swear in this manner.

“All oaths of the gang members are taken on this tool, wrapped in a clean white cloth, and placed on ground that has been cleared and covered with cow dung: I have heard the oldest among them say that they believe anyone who makes a false oath on it will be immediately punished by a serious illness. If anyone is suspected of betrayal, they make him swear this way.”

“The standard-bearer, immediately after his election, proceeds[155] across the first running stream in the direction of the country to which the gang intend to proceed, accompanied by only one witness, to wait for a favourable omen. When they come to the Nurbudda, Jumna, or any other river of this class, the whole gang must accompany him. A deer on the right of the road is a good omen, especially if single, according to the verse—

“The standard-bearer, right after being elected, goes[155] across the first flowing stream heading towards the region where the group plans to go, accompanied by just one witness, to look for a positive sign. When they reach the Nurbudda, Jumna, or any similar river, the entire group must follow him. Spotting a deer on the right side of the road is a good sign, especially if it’s alone, according to the verse—

“Leela Mirga daena—Suda daena Tas.
Kishunrut hark doo, bhule kure Bhugwan.”

“If a wolf is seen to cross the road, either before or behind them, they must return, and take another road. If they hear a jackal call during the day, or a partridge during the night, they leave that part of the country forthwith. An old man once told me, in proof of the faith to be placed in these signs, that he was, in his youth, one of a gang of fifty, who were sleeping under some date-trees, between Indore and Ojeya, when a partridge was heard to call out of one of them about two in the morning. They got up in great alarm, moved off instantly, but about daylight met a party of horse going from Ojeya to Indore. Some dispute took place between them, and they were taken back to Indore.

“If a wolf is seen crossing the road, either in front of or behind them, they must turn back and choose another route. If they hear a jackal call during the day or a partridge at night, they must leave that area immediately. An old man once told me, as proof of the trust to be placed in these signs, that when he was young, he was part of a group of fifty who were sleeping under some date trees between Indore and Ojeya when a partridge called out from one of them around two in the morning. They woke up in a panic, moved away right away, but around dawn, they encountered a group of horsemen traveling from Ojeya to Indore. Some conflict occurred between them, and they were taken back to Indore."

“They had murdered the gooroo (or chief priest) of the Holcar family and his followers; and their leader taking a liking to a parrot of his, had brought it with them.

“They had killed the gooroo (or chief priest) of the Holcar family and his followers; and their leader, who had taken a liking to one of his parrots, had brought it along with them."

“On arriving at Indore the parrot began to talk, and was almost immediately recognized by one of Holcar’s family as the parrot of the gooroo who had gone off for Ojeya some days before. One of the youngest of them was immediately tied up and flogged, and after a couple of dozen, he confessed the robbery and murder. The bodies were taken up and recognized, and five-and-forty Thugs were blown off at once from the mouths of cannon. He was one of the five who were pardoned on account of their youth, and taken into service.

“Upon arriving in Indore, the parrot started talking and was quickly recognized by someone from Holcar’s family as the parrot belonging to the guru who had left for Ojeya a few days earlier. One of the youngest family members was immediately tied up and beaten, and after a few dozen lashes, he confessed to the robbery and murder. The bodies were retrieved and identified, and forty-five Thugs were executed right away by cannon fire. He was one of the five who were pardoned because of their age and taken into service.”

“The handle of the kodalee is made and put on when it is required, and thrown away the moment the work is done, so that it forms no essential part of the consecrated instrument.

“The handle of the kodalee is created and attached when needed, and discarded right after the task is completed, so it doesn’t become an essential part of the consecrated instrument."

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“The investiture of the roomal (or handkerchief) is the next religious ceremony performed. No man can strangle until he has been regularly invested by the priest with the cloth with which it is performed. Cords and nooses are no longer used. A common handkerchief or cummerbund is all that men north of the Nurbudda will now use, though it is said, that in some parts of the Peninsula the cord and noose are still in use, owing to the Thugs there being less liable to be searched.

“The next religious ceremony is the investiture of the roomal (or handkerchief). No man can strangle until he has been properly invested by the priest with the cloth used for this purpose. Cords and nooses are no longer employed. Now, men north of the Nurbudda simply use a common handkerchief or cummerbund, although it's said that in some areas of the Peninsula, the cord and noose are still in use because the Thugs there are less likely to be searched.”

“After a man has passed through the different grades, and shown that he has sufficient dexterity, nerve, and resolution, which they call ‘hard breastedness,’ to strangle a victim himself, the priest, before all the gang assembled on a certain day, presents him with the roomal, and tells him how many of his family have signalized themselves by the use of it, how much his friends expect from his courage and conduct, and implores the goddess to vouchsafe her support to his laudable ambition and endeavours to distinguish himself in her service.

“After a man has moved through the various levels and proven that he has enough skill, bravery, and determination, which they refer to as ‘hard breastedness,’ to personally take down a victim, the priest, in front of all the members gathered on a particular day, gives him the roomal and explains how many of his family have made a name for themselves by using it, how much his friends look forward to his bravery and actions, and asks the goddess to grant her support for his admirable ambition and efforts to stand out in her service.”

“The investiture of the roomal is knighthood to these monsters; it is the highest object of their ambition, not only because the man who strangles has so much a head over and above the share which falls to him in the division of the spoil, but because it implies the recognition, by his comrades, of the qualities of courage, strength, and dexterity, which all are anxious to be famed for.

“The investiture of the roomal is like knighthood to these monsters; it’s the ultimate goal of their ambition, not just because the man who strangles gets a greater portion beyond what he receives from the loot, but because it signifies that his peers acknowledge his qualities of bravery, strength, and skill, which everyone wants to be celebrated for."

“The ceremony costs the candidate about forty rupees; and is performed by a gooroo, or high priest of the gang, who is commonly an old Thug, no matter whether Musulmān or Hindoo, who has retired from service, and lives upon the contributions of his descendants and disciples, who look up to him with great reverence for advice and instruction, and refer to his decision all cases of doubt and dispute amongst themselves.

“The ceremony costs the candidate about forty rupees and is performed by a guru, or high priest of the gang, who is usually an old Thug, regardless of whether he is Muslim or Hindu, who has retired from active duty and lives off the contributions from his descendants and students. They look up to him with great respect for guidance and instruction and refer to his decisions in all cases of doubt and disputes among themselves.”

“Many attain this degree of knighthood before the age of twenty, having been taken out by their masters when young, and early accustomed to assist by holding the hands of the victims while the roomal-bearers strangle them; and a man must show good evidence of the ‘kura chatee,’ or hard breast, before he is admitted even to this office; some men never[157] attain to this honour, particularly those who have adopted the profession late in life, and remain all their lives as decoys, watchmen, grave-diggers, and removers of bodies. An attempt has been made, and with some success, to impress Thugs with the belief that the souls of their victims attain paradise, as in the case of other human victims, offered in sacrifice to this goddess, and become the tutelar saints of those who strangle them.

“Many reach this level of knighthood before they turn twenty, having been trained by their masters from a young age, and used to helping by holding the victims' hands while the roomal-bearers strangle them; a person must demonstrate strong evidence of the ‘kura chatee,’ or hard breast, before being admitted to this role; some people never achieve this honor, especially those who take on the profession later in life, and spend their entire lives as decoys, watchmen, grave-diggers, and body removers. An effort has been made, and with some success, to convince Thugs that the souls of their victims reach paradise, similar to other human victims offered in sacrifice to this goddess, and become the guardian saints of those who strangle them.

“This is, however, somewhat at variance with their notion, that the spirits of those who have been buried with the consecrated pickaxe can never rise from their graves; but it reminds me of an opinion that prevails amongst the people in wild and mountainous parts of India, that the spirit of a man destroyed by a tiger, sometimes rides upon his head and guides him from his pursuers.

“This is, however, somewhat at odds with their belief that the spirits of those buried with the consecrated pickaxe can never rise from their graves; it reminds me of an opinion held by people in wild and mountainous areas of India, that the spirit of a man killed by a tiger sometimes rides on his head and guides him away from his pursuers.”

“The person invested with the roomal has long used it in play before the practised eye of his gooroo, and has been long accustomed to see others use it in earnest; but it is still thought necessary to select for him easy victims at first, and they do not employ him indiscriminately, like the others, until he has shown his powers in the death of two or three travellers of feeble form and timid bearing. The maxim that ‘dead men tell no tales’ is invariably acted upon by these people, and they never rob a man until they have murdered him.

“The person who wields the roomal has practiced with it for a long time under the watchful eye of his mentor and has grown used to seeing others use it seriously. However, it's still considered important to choose easy targets for him at the beginning, and he isn’t used indiscriminately like the others until he has demonstrated his skills by killing two or three weak and timid travelers. The saying 'dead men tell no tales' is always followed by these individuals, and they never rob someone until after they have killed them.”

“In the territories of the native chiefs of Bundelcund, and those of Scindia and Holcar, a Thug feels just as independent and free as an Englishman in a tavern, and they will probably begin to feel themselves just as much so in those of Nagpore, now that European superintendency has been withdrawn. But they are not confined to the territories of the native chiefs; they are becoming numerous in our own, and are often found most securely and comfortably situated in the very seats of our principal judicial establishments; and of late years they are known to have formed some settlements to the east of the Ganges, in parts that they formerly used merely to visit in the course of their annual excursions.

“In the areas controlled by the local chiefs of Bundelcund, as well as those of Scindia and Holcar, a Thug feels just as independent and free as an Englishman in a pub. They’ll likely start to feel similarly in the regions of Nagpore, especially now that European oversight has been lifted. However, they aren’t limited to the territories of the local chiefs; they’re increasingly present in our own areas and are often found comfortably settled right within our main judicial centers. In recent years, they are known to have established some communities to the east of the Ganges, in regions they previously only visited during their annual trips.”

“I should mention that the cow being a form of Doorga, or[158] Bhawānī, the Mahomedans must forego the use of beef the moment they enlist themselves under her banners; and though they may read their khoran, they are not suffered to invoke the name of Mahommed.

“I should mention that the cow is a representation of Doorga, or [158] Bhawānī, so Muslims must give up eating beef the moment they join her followers; and even if they read their Quran, they are not allowed to call upon the name of Muhammad.”

“The khoran is still their civil code, and they are governed by its laws in all matters of inheritance, marriage, &c.

“The Koran is still their civil code, and they are governed by its laws in all matters of inheritance, marriage, etc.”

“Your obedient servant,

"Yours sincerely,"

“H.[62]

“H.__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__”

I have been greatly interested in the above account: there are numerous Thugs in and around Cawnpore; they never attack Europeans; but the natives are afraid of travelling alone, as a poor bearer with one month’s wages of four rupees has quite sufficient to attract them. They seldom bury them in these parts, but having strangled and robbed their victim, they throw him down a well, wells being numerous by the side of the high roads.

I have been very interested in the account above: there are many Thugs in and around Cawnpore; they never attack Europeans, but the locals are scared to travel alone, as a poor bearer with one month's wages of four rupees is enough to catch their attention. They rarely bury their victims around here; instead, after strangling and robbing them, they toss them down a well, which are common along the main roads.


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CHAPTER XVI.
Cawnpore Residence—The Diwali.

1830.—Āghā Meer the Nawāb—Elephants swimming the Ganges—Cashmere Goats—Discontent of the Soldiers—Buffaloes—Methodism—Desertion of Soldiers to Runjeet Singh—Marks of age on stud-bred Horses—Abolition of Sŭtēē—Pilgrim Tax—The Dewālī—The Phŭlŭ-hŭrēē Festival—Arrival of Āghā Meer and his Zenāna—Vicious Horses—Turquoise mines in Persia—Lament of the Hindoo Women—Burning the dead—The Mug Cook—Brutal punishment—Plagues of Egypt—Conversion of Hindoo Women—The Races—The Riding School—Kishmish Bakhshish—Apples and grapes from Cabul—Arab Merchants.

1830.—Agha Meer the Nawab—Elephants swimming in the Ganges—Kashmiri Goats—Discontent among the Soldiers—Buffaloes—Methodism—Desertion of Soldiers to Ranjit Singh—Signs of age on thoroughbred Horses—Abolition of Sati—Pilgrim Tax—Diwali—The Phool Mahotsav Festival—Arrival of Agha Meer and his Zenana—Vicious Horses—Turquoise mines in Persia—Grief of Hindu Women—Cremation—The Mug Cook—Brutal punishment—Plagues of Egypt—Conversion of Hindu Women—The Races—The Riding School—Kishmish Bakhshish—Apples and grapes from Kabul—Arab Merchants.

1830, Oct.—Mooatummud-ood-Dowlah, generally known as Āghā Meer, the deposed Prime Minister to the King of Oude, Ghazee-ood-Deen Hyder, is coming over to Cawnpore; his zenāna, treasures, two lacs of shawls, &c. &c., have arrived on the other bank of the Ganges, escorted by the military. The ex-minister has not yet arrived; and a large detachment of the military from this station has been sent to escort him in safety to the Company’s territories.

1830, Oct.—Mooatummud-ood-Dowlah, better known as Āghā Meer, the ousted Prime Minister to the King of Oude, Ghazee-ood-Deen Hyder, is on his way to Cawnpore; his zenāna, treasures, two lacs of shawls, etc., have already reached the other side of the Ganges, being escorted by the military. The ex-minister hasn't arrived yet, and a large military detachment from this station has been sent to safely escort him to the Company's territories.

This morning, from the verandah, I was watching what appeared to be a number of buffaloes floating down the stream, with their drivers; but, as they approached, found them to be sixteen of Aghā Meer’s elephants swimming over.

This morning, from the porch, I was watching what looked like a bunch of buffaloes floating down the stream, along with their handlers; but as they got closer, I realized that they were actually sixteen of Aghā Meer’s elephants swimming across.

The distance from the Camp on the opposite side the river to our garden, under which they landed, must be four miles, or more. Elephants swim very low, and put down their trunks occasionally to ascertain if they are in deep water. Their heads are almost invisible at times, and the mahāwats strike them with the ānkus (goad) to guide them.

The distance from the camp on the other side of the river to our garden, where they landed, must be about four miles or more. Elephants swim very low and occasionally dip their trunks down to check if they're in deep water. Their heads can be nearly invisible at times, and the mahouts use the ankus (goad) to guide them.

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On reaching the bank just below our verandah, they set up a loud bellowing, which was answered by those still struggling to get to land, a work rather difficult to accomplish on account of the rapidity of the river.

On reaching the bank just below our porch, they let out a loud bellowing, which was answered by those still trying to get to shore, a task that was quite challenging due to the river's swift current.

What would not the people at home give to see sixteen fine elephants swimming four miles over a rapid river, with their mahāwats on their backs, the men hallooing with all their might, and the elephants every now and then roaring in concert! It was an interesting sight, and my first view of their power in the water.

What wouldn't people back home do to see sixteen amazing elephants swimming four miles across a fast river, with their handlers on their backs, the guys hollering at the top of their lungs, and the elephants occasionally roaring together! It was a captivating sight, and my first glimpse of their strength in the water.

2nd.—A friend, just returned from the hills, brought down with him some forty Cashmere goats; the shawl goats, such as are found in the hills: they die very fast on quitting the cold regions; he has lost all but three females, which he has given to me; they will scarcely live in this burning Cawnpore.

2nd.—A friend, just back from the hills, brought down about forty Cashmere goats; the shawl goats that come from those areas: they die quickly after leaving the cold regions; he has lost all but three females, which he has given to me; they can hardly survive in this scorching Cawnpore.

Report says the Governor-general has put off his journey for a month longer; it is supposed he will, if possible, avoid this large military station; the soldiers are in so discontented a state, he may perchance receive a bullet on parade. The privates here have several times attempted the lives of their officers, by shooting and cutting them down, sometimes upon the slightest cause of complaint, and often without having any to provoke such conduct.

The report states that the Governor-General has postponed his trip for another month; it is believed he will, if possible, steer clear of this large military base. The soldiers are so unhappy that he might get shot during a parade. The enlisted men have tried several times to harm their officers, using guns and knives, sometimes over the tiniest grievances and often without any real reason to act that way.

7th.—I have just returned from calling on a friend of mine, and overheard the remarks of a gentleman, who was speaking of her to another; they amused me.

7th.—I just got back from visiting a friend of mine and overheard a guy talking about her to someone else; it made me laugh.

“Really that is a noble creature, she has a neck like an Arab, her head is so well set on!”

“Wow, that’s a beautiful horse; she has a neck like an Arabian, and her head is positioned so perfectly!”

Buffaloes from Cawnpore swim off in the early morning in herds to the bank in the centre of the river, where they feed; they return in the evening of their own accord. The other evening I thought a shoal of porpoises were beneath the verandah—but they were buffaloes trying to find a landing-place; they swim so deeply, their black heads are only partly visible, and at a little distance they may easily be mistaken for porpoises.

Buffaloes from Cawnpore swim out in groups early in the morning to the bank in the middle of the river, where they graze; they come back on their own in the evening. The other evening, I thought a school of porpoises was under the veranda—but they were actually buffaloes looking for a place to land; they swim so deep that only their black heads are partly visible, and from a distance, they can easily be mistaken for porpoises.

Sometimes I see a native drive his cow into the river; when he wishes to cross it, he takes hold of the animal by the tail,[161] and holding on, easily crosses over with her; sometimes he aids the cow by using one hand in swimming.

Sometimes I see a local person lead their cow into the river; when they want to cross, they grab the animal by the tail,[161] and holding on, they easily make it across with her; sometimes they help the cow by using one hand to swim.

“What is that going down the river?” exclaimed a gentleman. On applying a telescope, we found fifty or sixty buffaloes all in a heap were coming down with the stream, whilst ten natives swimming with them kept thrashing them with long bamboos to make them exert themselves, and keep all together: the natives shouting and urging on the animals, and the buffaloes bellowing at every blow they received. At what a rate they come down! the stream flows with such rapidity during the rains! This is the first time I have seen such a large herd driven in this curious fashion.

“What’s that going down the river?” a man exclaimed. When we looked through a telescope, we saw fifty or sixty buffaloes all huddled together coming downstream, while ten locals swimming alongside them kept hitting them with long bamboo poles to make them move and stay together. The locals were shouting and encouraging the animals, and the buffaloes were bellowing with every hit they took. They were moving so fast! The current flows so quickly during the rainy season! This is the first time I’ve seen such a large herd being driven this way.

Methodism is gaining ground very fast in Cawnpore; young ladies sometimes profess to believe it highly incorrect to go to balls, plays, races, or to any party where it is possible there may be a quadrille. A number of the officers also profess these opinions, and set themselves up as New Lights.

Methodism is quickly gaining popularity in Cawnpore; young women sometimes claim that it's totally wrong to attend balls, plays, races, or any gatherings where a dance might happen. Several officers also share these views and consider themselves New Lights.

9th.—I was remarking to an officer to-day, I thought it very unlikely any one would attempt the life of the Governor-general. He replied: “The danger is to be feared from the discharged sipahīs, who are in a most turbulent and discontented state. Squadrons of them are gone over to Runjeet Singh, who is most happy to receive well-disciplined troops into his service.”

9th.—I was telling an officer today that I found it very unlikely anyone would try to kill the Governor-general. He responded, “The real threat comes from the discharged soldiers, who are very restless and unhappy. Many of them have gone over to Runjeet Singh, who is more than happy to take well-trained troops into his army.”

I have just learned how to tell the age of a stud-bred horse. All stud horses are marked on the flank, when they are one year old, with the first letter of the stud and the last figure of the year. Our little mare, Lachhmī, is marked K. 0., therefore she was foaled at Kharuntadee in 1819, and marked in 1820—making her age now eleven years.

I just found out how to determine the age of a thoroughbred horse. All stud horses get a mark on their flank when they turn one year old, showing the first letter of the stud's name and the last digit of the year. Our little mare, Lachhmī, is marked K. 0., which means she was born at Kharuntadee in 1819 and marked in 1820—so she is now eleven years old.

Oct. 10th.—I see in the papers—“A member in the House of Commons expressed his satisfaction that so abominable a practice as that of sŭtēē should have been abolished without convulsion or bloodshed. Great credit was due to the noble lord at the head of the Government there, and to the missionaries, to whom much of the credit was owing.”

Oct. 10th.—I read in the news—“A member of the House of Commons expressed his relief that such a terrible practice as suttee has been abolished without any riots or violence. A lot of praise goes to the noble lord leading the Government there, and to the missionaries, who deserve much of the credit.”

How very absurd all this is, was proved to me by what came to my knowledge at the time of the sŭtēē at Allahabad. If[162] Government at that time had issued the order to forbid sŭtēē, not one word would have been said. The missionaries had nothing to do with it; the rite might have been abolished long before without danger.

How absurd all this is was shown to me by what I learned during the sŭtēē at Allahabad. If[162] the Government had issued an order to ban sŭtēē at that time, no one would have said a word. The missionaries weren’t involved in it; the ritual could have been abolished much earlier without any risk.

Women in all countries are considered such dust in the balance, when their interests are pitted against those of the men, that I rejoice no more widows are to be grilled, to ensure the whole of the property passing to the sons of the deceased.

Women in every country are regarded as insignificant when their interests conflict with those of men. I’m relieved that no more widows are to be subjected to such treatment just to ensure that all the property goes to the deceased's sons.

The Government interferes with native superstition where rupees are in question—witness the tax they levy on pilgrims at the junction of the Ganges and Jumna. Every man, even the veriest beggar, is obliged to give one rupee for liberty to bathe at the holy spot; and if you consider that one rupee is sufficient to keep that man in comfort for one month, the tax is severe.

The government steps in regarding local superstitions when money is involved—just look at the tax they impose on pilgrims at the meeting point of the Ganges and Yamuna rivers. Every person, even the poorest beggar, has to pay one rupee for the chance to take a holy dip; and when you think about the fact that one rupee can keep that person comfortable for a whole month, the tax is pretty harsh.

THE DEWĀLĪ.

16th.—This is the great day of the Dewālī, celebrated by the Hindoos in honour of Kālī, also called Kālee-pooja. This evening, happening to go down to the river just below the verandah to look at a large toon-wood tree lying in a boat, which some people had brought in hopes we should purchase it, my attention was attracted to a vast quantity of lamps burning on Sirsya Ghāt, and I desired the boatmen to row to the place; I had never been on the river before, nor had I seen this ghāt, although only a stone’s throw from our bungalow, it being hidden by a point of land.

16th.—This is the big day of Dewālī, celebrated by Hindus in honor of Kālī, also known as Kālee-pooja. This evening, while I went down to the river just below the verandah to check out a large toon-wood tree lying in a boat that some people had brought in hopes we'd buy it, I noticed a huge number of lamps lit on Sirsya Ghāt. I asked the boatmen to take us there; I had never been on the river before, nor had I seen this ghāt, which was just a stone’s throw from our bungalow but hidden by a point of land.

On reaching the ghāt, I was quite delighted with the beauty of a scene resembling fairy land. Along the side of the Ganges, for the distance of a quarter of a mile, are, I should think, about fifty small ghāts, built with steps low down into the river, which flows over the lower portion of them. Above these ghāts are, I should imagine, fifteen small Hindoo temples, mixed with native houses; and some beautifully picturesque trees overshadow the whole.

Upon arriving at the ghat, I was really pleased by the beauty of a scene that felt like a fairy tale. Stretching along the Ganges for about a quarter of a mile, there are around fifty small ghats, with steps leading down into the river that flows over their lower parts. Above these ghats, I would estimate there are about fifteen small Hindu temples mixed in with local houses, and some beautifully picturesque trees provide shade over everything.

The spot must be particularly interesting by daylight—but imagine its beauty at the time I saw it, at the Festival of Lights.

The place must be especially interesting during the day—but just picture how beautiful it was when I saw it at the Festival of Lights.

On every temple, on every ghāt, and on the steps down to the[163] river’s side, thousands of small lamps were placed, from the foundation to the highest pinnacle, tracing the architecture in lines of light.

On every temple, on every ghat, and on the steps down to the[163] river’s edge, thousands of small lamps were set up, from the ground to the highest point, outlining the architecture with lines of light.

The evening was very dark, and the whole scene was reflected in the Ganges. Hundreds of Hindoos were worshipping before the images of Mahadēo and Gŭnéshŭ; some men on the ghāts standing within circles of light, were prostrating themselves on the pavement; others doing pooja standing in the river; others bathing. The Brahmans before the idols were tolling their bells, whilst the worshippers poured Ganges water, rice, oil, and flowers over the images of the gods.

The evening was very dark, and the whole scene was reflected in the Ganges. Hundreds of Hindus were worshipping before the images of Mahadeo and Ganesha; some men on the ghats, standing within circles of light, were prostrating themselves on the pavement; others were doing puja while standing in the river; others were bathing. The Brahmins in front of the idols were ringing their bells, while the worshippers poured Ganges water, rice, oil, and flowers over the images of the gods.

Numbers of people were sending off little paper boats, each containing a lamp, which, floating down the river, added to the beauty of the scene. I saw some women sending off these little fire-fly boats, in which they had adventured their happiness, earnestly watching them as they floated down the stream: if at the moment the paper boat disappeared in the distance the lamp was still burning, the wish of the votary would be crowned with success; but if the lamp was extinguished, the hope for which the offering was made was doomed to disappointment. With what eagerness did many a mother watch the little light to know if her child would or would not recover from sickness! The river was covered with fleets of these little lamps, hurried along by the rapid stream.

Many people were sending off little paper boats, each holding a lamp, which floated down the river and added to the beauty of the scene. I saw some women releasing these tiny firefly boats, where they had risked their happiness, intently watching them as they drifted down the stream: if the paper boat disappeared in the distance with the lamp still burning, the wish of the person would come true; but if the lamp went out, the hope for which the offering was made would end in disappointment. How eagerly many mothers watched the little light to see if their child would recover from illness! The river was filled with fleets of these small lamps, carried along by the swift current.

The stone ghāts are of all shapes and sizes, built by the Cawnpore merchants according to their wealth. Some are large and handsome—some not a yard in diameter. A good one, with arches facing the water, is put aside for the sole use of the women; and all were most brilliantly lighted. The houses in the city were also gaily illuminated. But to see the Dewālī in perfection, you must float past the temples during the dark hours on Gunga-jee. I was greatly pleased: so Eastern, so fairy-like a scene, I had not witnessed since my arrival in India; nor could I have imagined that the dreary-looking station of Cawnpore contained so much of beauty.

The stone ghâts come in all shapes and sizes, built by the Cawnpore merchants based on their wealth. Some are large and beautiful—others are just a yard wide. A nice one, with arches facing the water, is reserved exclusively for women, and they were all brilliantly lit up. The houses in the city were also brightly illuminated. But to truly experience Dewālī at its best, you have to float past the temples at night on Gunga-jee. I was really impressed: such an Eastern, fairy-tale scene, I hadn’t seen since I arrived in India; nor could I have imagined that the dreary-looking station of Cawnpore held so much beauty.

The goddess Kālee, to whom this festival is dedicated, is the black goddess to whom human sacrifices are offered. This[164] evening beholding the pretty and fanciful adorations of the Hindoos, offering rice and flowers, and sending off their floating lamps upon the river, I could scarcely believe the worship could be in honour of Kālee.

The goddess Kālee, to whom this festival is dedicated, is the dark goddess to whom human sacrifices are offered. This[164] evening, watching the beautiful and elaborate worship of the Hindus, as they offer rice and flowers and release their floating lamps on the river, I could hardly believe that the worship was in honor of Kālee.

I have seen no temples dedicated to her up the country. Her celebrated shrine is at Kāli Ghāt, near Calcutta. A Hindoo often makes a vow, generally to Kālee, that if she will grant his prayer, he will not cut off a particular lock of his hair for so many years; at the end of that time he goes to the shrine, makes pooja, and shaves the lock: at particular times of the year, they say, piles of hair are shaved off at Kālee Ghāt.

I haven't seen any temples dedicated to her in the countryside. Her famous shrine is at Kāli Ghāt, near Kolkata. A Hindu often makes a vow, usually to Kālee, that if she fulfills his request, he won't cut a specific lock of his hair for a certain number of years; after that period, he goes to the shrine, performs a pooja, and shaves the lock. They say that during certain times of the year, huge piles of hair are shaved off at Kāli Ghāt.

When we were residing in Chowringhee we heard of the body of a man, who had been sacrificed to the goddess, having been found before the image at Kālee Ghāt. It was supposed he was some poor wanderer or devotee, possessing no friends to make inquiries concerning his fate. When a victim is sacrificed, it is considered necessary to cut off the head at one blow with a broad heavy axe.

When we were living in Chowringhee, we heard about the body of a man who had been sacrificed to the goddess, found in front of the image at Kālee Ghāt. It was believed he was just some poor wanderer or devotee with no friends to ask about what happened to him. When a victim is sacrificed, it’s thought to be essential to chop off the head in one strike with a big, heavy axe.

At Benares I purchased thirty-two paintings of the Hindoo deities for one rupee! and amongst them was a sketch of the goddess Kālee.

At Benares, I bought thirty-two paintings of Hindu deities for just one rupee! Among them was a sketch of the goddess Kālee.

PHŬLŬ-HŬRĒĒ.

A figure of Kālee, exactly similar to the one purchased at Benares, and attired in the same manner, I saw worshipped at Prāg under the name of Phŭlŭ-hŭrēē (she who receives much fruit). She is worshipped at the total wane of the moon, in the month Jyoishthŭ—or any other month, at the pleasure of the worshipper. Her offerings are fruits especially. Animals are sacrificed in her honour, and Jack-fruit and mangoes are presented to her in that particular month.

A statue of Kālee, exactly like the one bought in Benares and dressed the same way, was worshipped at Prāg under the name of Phŭlŭ-hŭrēē (she who receives much fruit). She is worshipped during the full moon's waning phase in the month of Jyoishthŭ—or any other month, based on the worshipper's preference. Her main offerings are fruits. Animals are sacrificed in her honor, and jackfruit and mangoes are given to her during that month.

The day after the worship the people carried the goddess in state down to the river Jumna, and sank her in its deep waters: the procession was accompanied by the discordant music of tom-toms, &c., and all the rabble of Kydgunge. The image, about three feet in height, dressed and painted, was borne on a sort of platform.

The day after the worship, the people took the goddess in a grand procession down to the river Jumna and submerged her in its deep waters. The procession was filled with the clashing sounds of drums and the noise of the crowd from Kydgunge. The image, around three feet tall, was dressed and painted, and was carried on a kind of platform.

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The goddess is represented as a black female with four arms, standing on the breast of Shivŭ. In one hand she carries a scymitar; in two others the heads of giants, which she holds by the hair; and the fourth hand supports giants’ heads.

The goddess is shown as a black woman with four arms, standing on the chest of Shivŭ. In one hand, she holds a scimitar; with two other hands, she grips the heads of giants by the hair; and the fourth hand supports more giants’ heads.

“She wears two dead bodies for ear-rings, and a necklace of skulls. Her tongue hangs down to her chin. The heads of giants are hung as a girdle around her loins, and her jet black hair falls to her heels. Having drunk the blood of the giants she slew, her eyebrows are bloody, and the blood is falling in a stream down her breast. Her eyes are red, like those of a drunkard. She stands with one leg on the breast of her husband Shivŭ, and rests the other on his thigh.”

“She wears two dead bodies as earrings and a necklace of skulls. Her tongue hangs down to her chin. The heads of giants are strapped around her waist like a belt, and her jet black hair reaches her heels. After drinking the blood of the giants she killed, her eyebrows are stained red, and blood streams down her chest. Her eyes are red, like those of a drunk person. She stands with one leg on her husband Shivŭ's chest and rests the other on his thigh.”

Men are pointed out amongst other animals as a proper sacrifice to Kālee: the blood of a tiger pleases her for 100 years; the blood of a lion, a reindeer, or a man, for 1000 years. By the sacrifice of three men she is pleased for 100,000 years.

Men are identified among other animals as a suitable sacrifice to Kālee: the blood of a tiger satisfies her for 100 years; the blood of a lion, a reindeer, or a man, for 1000 years. By sacrificing three men, she is pleased for 100,000 years.

Kālee had a contest with the giant Ravŭna, which lasted ten years; having conquered him, she became mad with joy, and her dancing shook the earth to its centre. To restore the peace of the world, Shivŭ, her husband, threw himself amongst the dead bodies at her feet. She continued her dancing, and trampled upon him. When she discovered her husband she stood still, horror-struck and ashamed, and threw out her tongue to an uncommon length. By this means Shivŭ stopped her frantic dancing, and saved the universe. When the Hindoo women are shocked or ashamed at anything, they put out their tongues as a mode of expressing their feelings. Nor is this practice confined to the women of the East alone, it is common amongst the lower orders of the English.

Kālee had a contest with the giant Ravŭna that went on for ten years; after defeating him, she became overwhelmed with joy, and her dancing shook the earth to its core. To bring peace back to the world, Shivŭ, her husband, threw himself among the dead bodies at her feet. She kept dancing and trampled on him. When she realized her husband was there, she froze, horrified and ashamed, and stuck out her tongue unusually far. This action made Shivŭ stop her wild dancing and saved the universe. When Hindu women are shocked or embarrassed by something, they stick out their tongues to express their feelings. This practice isn’t just limited to women in the East; it’s also common among lower-class English people.

18th.—Āghā Meer, the ex-minister of Oude, has come over. His train consisted of fifty-six elephants, covered with crimson clothing deeply embroidered with gold, and forty gārees (carts) filled with gold mohurs and rupees.

18th.—Āghā Meer, the former minister of Oude, has arrived. His caravan included fifty-six elephants dressed in crimson garments richly embroidered with gold, and forty carts filled with gold mohurs and rupees.

His zenāna came over some days ago, consisting of nearly 400 palanquins; how much I should like to pay the ladies a visit, and see if there are any remarkably handsome women amongst them!

His zenāna arrived a few days ago, made up of almost 400 palanquins; I would really like to pay a visit to the ladies and see if there are any exceptionally beautiful women among them!

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19th.—Mr. M⸺ rode my Arab Mootee on the course last night; how beautiful he looked! not Mr. M⸺, but the horse; there was not a man who did not turn to admire him; nor was there a horse that might compare with my Pearl of the Desert.

19th.—Mr. M⸺ rode my Arabian Mootee on the track last night; he looked amazing! Not Mr. M⸺, but the horse; there wasn't a single person who didn't stop to admire him, nor was there any horse that could compare to my Pearl of the Desert.

In consequence of the number of troop horses with the artillery and regiments of cavalry at this station, riding is almost dangerous, especially in the early morning, when the horses are out for exercise. You sometimes see a vicious native horse,—a man-eater, as they call him,—walking with his eyes bandaged, and led by two natives, one on each side his head; every now and then, a beast of this description will turn restive, rear and fight with his fore-feet, and shout out lustily; when such animals break away from their attendants, they attack other horses, and become very dangerous. Some gentlemen at the station allow their sā’īses to carry hog-spears to defend them from loose horses. To-day, whilst our horses were out in the early morning for exercise, a troop horse, that had broken loose, attacked our English-imported grey mare; she galloped off, he pursued her, and the men could not secure him before he had bitten her severely on the neck in several places, and had cut her leg. I shall make my sā’īs carry a bamboo in future, lest my Arab Trelawny should be attacked whilst I am on his back.

Due to the number of troop horses with the artillery and cavalry units at this station, riding is nearly risky, especially in the early morning when the horses are out for exercise. You might occasionally spot a fierce native horse—a man-eater, as they call it—walking with its eyes covered, led by two locals, one on each side of its head. Every now and then, such a horse will get restless, rear up, and lash out with its front legs, making loud noises. When these animals break free from their handlers, they tend to attack other horses and can become very dangerous. Some people at the station let their sā’īses carry hog spears to protect them from loose horses. Today, while our horses were out in the early morning for exercise, a troop horse that had broken loose attacked our English-imported grey mare. She took off running, and he chased her, and the men couldn’t catch him before he bit her severely on the neck in several spots and cut her leg. From now on, I will have my sā’īs carry a bamboo stick in case my Arab Trelawny gets attacked while I'm riding him.

20th.—In the evening I went with Mr. A⸺ to Sirsya Ghāt; whilst we were sketching the mut’hs (Hindoo temples), about fifty women came down, two by two, to the ghāt. After having burnt the corpse of a Hindoo by the side of the Ganges, they came in procession, to lament, bathe, and put on clean garments; one woman walked in front, reciting a monotonous chant, in which the others every now and then joined in chorus, beating their breasts and foreheads in time to the monotonous singing.

20th.—In the evening, I went with Mr. A⸺ to Sirsya Ghāt; while we were sketching the mut’hs (Hindu temples), about fifty women came down, two by two, to the ghāt. After cremating a Hindu by the side of the Ganges, they came in a procession to mourn, bathe, and change into clean clothes; one woman led the way, reciting a rhythmic chant, which the others occasionally joined in, beating their chests and foreheads in sync with the dull singing.

They assembled on the steps of the ghāt. Each woman wore a white chudda (in shape like a sheet), which was wrapped so closely around her that it covered her body and head entirely, the eyes alone being visible. Standing on the steps of the ghāt, they renewed their lament; beating their breasts, foreheads, and limbs, and chanting their lament all the time; then they all sat down, and beat their knees with their hands in time to the dirge;[167] afterwards, they descended into the river to bathe and change their clothes; such an assortment of ugly limbs I never beheld! A native woman thinks no more of displaying her form as high as the knee, or some inches above it, than we do of showing our faces. This being rather too great an exhibition, I proposed to my companion to proceed a little further, that the lovely damsels might bathe undisturbed.

They gathered on the steps of the ghāt. Each woman wore a white chudda (shaped like a sheet), wrapped so closely around her that it covered her entire body and head, with only her eyes visible. Standing on the steps of the ghāt, they expressed their grief; beating their breasts, foreheads, and limbs while continuously chanting their sorrow; then they all sat down, rhythmically beating their knees with their hands in time to the dirge;[167] afterwards, they went into the river to bathe and change their clothes; I had never seen such an array of unattractive limbs! A local woman thinks nothing of showing her legs up to the knee or a bit higher, just like we don’t think twice about showing our faces. Since this was quite a display, I suggested to my companion that we move a little further so the lovely ladies could bathe in peace.

25th.—I have been more disgusted to-day than I can express: the cause is too truly Indian not to have a place in my journal; I fancied I saw the corpse of a European floating down the Ganges just now, but, on looking through the telescope, I beheld the most disgusting object imaginable.

25th.—I have been more disgusted today than I can say: the reason is too characteristically Indian not to include in my journal; I thought I saw the body of a European floating down the Ganges just now, but when I looked through the telescope, I saw the most revolting sight imaginable.

When a rich Hindoo dies, his body is burned, and the ashes are thrown into the Ganges; when a poor man is burned, they will not go to the expense of wood sufficient to consume the body. The corpse I saw floating down had been put on a pile, covered with ghee (clarified butter), and fire enough had been allowed just to take off all the skin from the body and head, giving it a white appearance; any thing so ghastly and horrible as the limbs from the effect of the fire was never beheld, and it floated almost entirely out of the water, whilst the crows that were perched upon it tore the eyes out. In some parts, where the stream forms a little bay, numbers of these dreadful objects are collected together by the eddy, and render the air pestiferous, until a strong current carries them onwards. The poorer Hindoos think they have paid all due honour to their relatives when they have thus skinned them on the funeral pile, and thrown them, like dead dogs, into the Ganges.

When a wealthy Hindu dies, their body is cremated, and the ashes are scattered in the Ganges; when a poor person is cremated, they won't spend enough on wood to completely burn the body. The corpse I saw floating down the river had been placed on a pile, covered in ghee (clarified butter), and only enough fire was used to remove the skin from the body and head, giving it a white appearance. Nothing so gruesome and horrifying as the charred limbs I've seen was ever witnessed, and the body floated almost entirely out of the water while crows perched on it, pulling out the eyes. In some areas where the current creates a little bay, many of these dreadful remains gather together in the eddy, making the air foul until a strong current carries them away. The poorer Hindus believe they have honored their relatives by skimming their bodies on the funeral pyre and tossing them, like dead dogs, into the Ganges.

The Musulmāns bury their dead—generally under the shade of trees, and erect tombs to their memory, which they keep in repair; they burn lights upon the graves every Thursday (Jumarāt), and adorn the tomb with flowers.

The Muslims bury their dead—usually under the shade of trees—and build tombs in their memory, which they maintain. They light candles on the graves every Thursday (Jumarāt) and decorate the tomb with flowers.

27th.—As we floated down the stream this evening, I observed the first ghāt was lighted up, and looked very brilliant, with hundreds of little lamps; the Dāndees said, it was not on account of any particular festival, but merely the merchant, to whom the ghāt and temple belonged, offering lamps to Gunga-jee.

27th.—As we drifted down the river this evening, I noticed the first ghāt was illuminated and looked stunning, filled with hundreds of tiny lamps; the Dāndees mentioned that it wasn't due to any special festival, but simply the merchant, who owned the ghāt and temple, offering lamps to Gunga-jee.

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Nov. 8th.—My husband received an order to return to Allahabad; this gave us much satisfaction.

Nov. 8th.—My husband got an order to head back to Allahabad; this made us very happy.

17th.—Mr. S⸺, of the Civil Service, told me to-day, speaking of the Thugs, “It is about a year ago that Major H⸺, the assistant to the agent for the Governor-general, had a narrow escape from a Thug. He was sleeping in his tent at Powergong, a place between Saugor and Dinapore, when a Thug entered, and put a noose over his head! The gentleman stirred, and his nightcap prevented the noose slipping over his face; he awoke, the Thug fled, leaving the noose in the tent, nor were they able to secure him.”

17th.—Mr. S⸺ from the Civil Service told me today about the Thugs, “About a year ago, Major H⸺, the assistant to the agent for the Governor-General, had a close call with a Thug. He was sleeping in his tent at Powergong, a spot between Saugor and Dinapore, when a Thug came in and tried to put a noose over his head! The man stirred, and his nightcap stopped the noose from slipping over his face; he woke up, and the Thug ran away, leaving the noose in the tent, and they couldn’t capture him.”

Mr. S⸺ tells me he has seen, on the Nurbudda, numerous images in stone of Bhawānī, and that they are very beautiful, she being one of the most beautiful of the Hindoo idols! I have requested him to send me an image, or a picture of the goddess, as the likenesses I have seen are any thing but agreeable. He has been looking over my cabinet of curiosities, and promises to send me some turquoise he procured at the turquoise mines in Persia, as specimens of really good stones. He tells me, at those mines you purchase the stones just as they come from the beds at two rupees eight ānās a sēr, about five shillings for two pounds’ weight of turquoise!

Mr. S tells me he has seen many stone carvings of Bhawānī along the Nurbudda, and that they're very beautiful, as she’s one of the most stunning Hindu idols! I've asked him to send me an image or a picture of the goddess, since the ones I've seen are anything but pleasing. He’s been checking out my collection of curiosities and promises to send me some turquoise he got from the mines in Persia, as examples of really good stones. He says that at those mines, you buy the stones just as they come out of the ground for two rupees and eight ānās per sēr, which is about five shillings for two pounds of turquoise!

I gave him a rough emerald, one of five that I purchased of a native, who found them in the Soane river, and brought them to the door for sale.

I gave him a rough emerald, one of five that I bought from a local who found them in the Soane River and brought them to my door for sale.

Another fire has taken place in the fort at Allahabad, and sulphur, valued at two lacs of rupees, melted by the heat, ran over the square like lava; fortunately the fire did not reach the powder magazine. This is the second attempt that has been made within the space of a few weeks to burn the fort; the discharged natives who used to work at the powder mills are supposed to be the persons who kindled the fires.

Another fire has happened at the fort in Allahabad, and sulphur worth two hundred thousand rupees melted from the heat, flowing over the square like lava; luckily, the fire didn’t reach the ammunition depot. This is the second time in a few weeks that someone has tried to set the fort on fire; it’s believed that the discharged locals who used to work at the powder mills are the ones who started the fires.

The damage done by these fires is much greater than the saving which has arisen to Government from cutting the pay of the men, or from dismissing them; so much for economy!

The damage caused by these fires is far greater than the savings the government has gotten from reducing the men's pay or laying them off; so much for being economical!

18th.—To-day, our Mug cook died suddenly after a short illness; the corpse will be burned, and the ashes thrown into[169] the Ganges; the man came from Ava. The Mugs are reckoned better cooks than the Musulmāns. He was an excellent artiste and a good servant; we shall replace him with difficulty. He professed himself a Hindoo, and during their festivals would give money, and worship according to their fashion.

18th.—Today, our Mug cook died suddenly after a brief illness; his body will be cremated, and the ashes scattered in the Ganges. He was from Ava. Mugs are considered better cooks than the Muslims. He was an excellent chef and a good servant; it will be hard to find a replacement. He identified as Hindu and would donate money and worship according to their traditions during their festivals.

During the Muharrum he called himself a follower of the prophet; he gave forty rupees to assist in building a Taziya, performed all the ceremonies peculiar to the faithful, and was allowed to be considered a Musulmān for the time; at the conclusion, when the Taziya was thrown into the river, he became a Mug again.

During Muharrum, he referred to himself as a follower of the prophet; he contributed forty rupees to help build a Taziya, participated in all the rituals unique to the faithful, and was accepted as a Musulmān for that time; at the end, when the Taziya was cast into the river, he returned to being a Mug.

22nd.—With a westerly wind, and the thermometer at 65°, we Indians find it very cold, the contrast to the hot winds is so great. I have worn a shawl all the morning, and to-night, for the first time this year, we have begun fires; and have had the horse-shoe table placed in front of the fire-place, that we may enjoy the warmth during dinner-time. The room looks so cheerful, it puts me into good humour and good spirits; I feel so English, without lassitude, so strong and well. My husband has just sallied out in his great coat to take a very long walk; and the little terrier is lying under the table, watching a musk rat, which has taken refuge in a hole under the grate.

22nd.—With a west wind and the temperature at 65°, we Indians find it pretty cold; the contrast to the hot winds is so intense. I’ve worn a shawl all morning, and tonight, for the first time this year, we’ve started fires; we’ve moved the horse-shoe table in front of the fireplace so we can enjoy the warmth during dinner. The room looks so cozy, it lifts my mood and my spirits; I feel so English, without any tiredness, so strong and healthy. My husband just stepped out in his big coat for a really long walk, and the little terrier is lying under the table, watching a muskrat that has taken refuge in a hole under the grate.

26th.—I have just heard of an occurrence at Lucnow, which is in true native style. The Nawāb Hukeem Mehndee Ali Khan, the present minister, poisoned the King of Oude’s ear against one of his people by declaring that the man betrayed some state secrets and intrigues; the king accordingly, without judge or jury, ordered the man’s head to be fixed, and a heavy weight to be fastened on his tongue until the tongue should be so wrenched from the roots that it should ever after hang out of his mouth. This brutal punishment was inflicted some two or three months ago, and the poor creature’s life has been preserved by pouring liquids down his throat, as, of course, he is unable to eat at present. They have now discovered the man is innocent! but what does it avail him? His accuser, the Nawāb Hukeem Mehndee, is rich; money is power. The king is displeased with the minister, I[170] understand, for his misrepresentations; he is also on bad terms with the resident,—they do not speak.

26th.—I just heard about something that happened in Lucknow, which is quite typical. The Nawab Hukeem Mehndee Ali Khan, the current minister, poisoned the King of Awadh’s mind against one of his own people by claiming that the man had betrayed some state secrets and was involved in intrigues; as a result, the king, without any trial, ordered that the man be executed, and a heavy weight be attached to his tongue until it was wrenched from its roots and would hang out of his mouth forever. This brutal punishment was carried out two or three months ago, and the poor man’s life has been sustained by pouring liquids down his throat since he can't eat right now. They’ve now found out that the man is innocent! But what good does it do him? His accuser, Nawab Hukeem Mehndee, is wealthy; money gives you power. I understand that the king is upset with the minister for his lies; he’s also not on good terms with the resident—they’re not speaking.

Any lady having a horror of the plagues of Egypt would not admire what is going on at this moment; several lizards are peering about, as they hang on the window frames, with their bright round eyes; a great fat frog or toad, I know not which, is jumping across the floor, under the dinner-table; and a wild cat from the jungles, having come in, has made her exit through the window, breaking a pane of glass; a musk-rat is squeaking in the next room, I must go and prevent the little terrier from catching it: I do not like to see the dog foam at the mouth, which she always does after killing this sort of rat.

Any woman who fears the plagues of Egypt wouldn't enjoy what's happening right now; several lizards are poking around, hanging on the window frames with their bright, round eyes; a big fat frog or toad, I can't tell which, is hopping across the floor under the dinner table; and a wild cat from the jungle has come in and jumped out through the window, breaking a glass pane; a musk rat is squeaking in the next room, so I need to go stop the little terrier from catching it. I really don’t like seeing the dog foam at the mouth, which she always does after she kills that kind of rat.

Dec. 1st.—A marriage has taken place this day, between the widow of the Mug cook, a low caste Hindoo, old and ugly, and one of our khidmātgars, a Mahommedān. On account of her caste the man cannot eat with her without pollution; therefore, having taken her to a mosque, and the kurān having been read before her, she declares herself a convert. The musulmān servants have dined with her; she is now a follower of the prophet. They are very fond of making converts, but the Hindoos never attempt to convert any one; in fact, they will not admit converts to their faith, nor will they embrace any other religion; here and there a woman becomes a musulmāne, on her marriage with a man of that faith.

Dec. 1st.—A marriage took place today between the widow of the Mug cook, who is from a low caste in Hinduism and is old and unattractive, and one of our khidmātgars, a Muslim man. Because of her caste, the man cannot share a meal with her without risking pollution; therefore, after taking her to a mosque and having the Quran read in her presence, she declares that she has converted. The Muslim servants have dined with her; she is now a follower of the prophet. They really enjoy converting people, but Hindus never try to convert others; in fact, they won’t accept converts into their religion, nor will they adopt any other faith. Occasionally, a woman becomes a Muslim when she marries a man of that religion.

5th.—To-day’s news is, that the Governor-general met the 3rd cavalry at Allahabad, on their march from Cawnpore to Benares. His lordship reviewed the regiment, and asked the officers to dinner; an invitation they all refused. This annoyed his lordship very much, being the first display of resentment manifested towards him on his march by the army, and he ordered them to dine with him on pain of forfeiting their rank, pay, and allowances, pending a reference to the Court of Directors. Of course the officers obeyed the order; they were obliged to do so: what an agreeable party the Governor-general must have had, with guests whom he had forced to partake of the feast!

5th.—Today’s news is that the Governor-General met the 3rd Cavalry in Allahabad while they were on their way from Cawnpore to Benares. His Lordship reviewed the regiment and invited the officers to dinner; an invitation they all turned down. This upset him greatly, as it was the first sign of resentment shown towards him by the army during his march, and he ordered them to join him for dinner on the threat of losing their rank, pay, and allowances until the Court of Directors was consulted. Naturally, the officers complied with the order; they had no choice. What a delightful gathering the Governor-General must have had, with guests he had forced to join the feast!

Dec. 11th.—I went to the races at sunrise: the first race was between two beautiful Arabs; Sultan looked so handsome at[171] starting, and shot ahead of the other, keeping him in the rear until he very nearly gained the stand at the end of the three miles; of a sudden his speed relaxed, the other horse came up, and passed the post just before him. Sultan looked wild; the jockey dismounted; the horse fell, regained his feet three times, reared with pain, and, falling again, died in the space of a minute.

Dec. 11th.—I went to the races at sunrise: the first race was between two beautiful Arabian horses; Sultan looked so handsome at[171] the start and took off ahead of the other, keeping him behind until he almost reached the finish line after three miles. Suddenly, Sultan slowed down, and the other horse caught up, passing the finish line just before him. Sultan looked frantic; the jockey got off; the horse collapsed, got back up three times, reared in pain, and fell again, dying within a minute.

The Cawnpore races have been unfortunate; two years ago, a jockey was thrown, and broke his neck on the spot. Last year, the favourite Arab broke his hind leg and was shot: this year, Sultan has been killed, and two other horses have gone lame.

The Cawnpore races have had a rough time; two years ago, a jockey was tossed and broke his neck instantly. Last year, the favorite Arab broke his hind leg and had to be put down: this year, Sultan has been killed, and two other horses are crippled.

13th.—I accompanied some ladies to the riding-school of the 11th dragoons, and, being much pleased, requested to be allowed to take lessons with them; afterwards, riding there during those hours that the school was unoccupied by the dragoons, formed one of our greatest amusements. As for the corporal, the rough-rider of the 11th dragoons who attends in the riding-school, his affections are quite divided between my horse Trelawny and myself; I heard him say the other day, speaking of the former, “I like that little chap, he looks so innicent.”

13th.—I went with some ladies to the riding school of the 11th dragoons, and I was so impressed that I asked if I could take lessons with them. Riding there during the times when the dragoons weren’t using the school became one of our favorite pastimes. As for the corporal, the rough-rider from the 11th dragoons who helps out at the riding school, he seems to be quite fond of both my horse Trelawny and me; I heard him say the other day, talking about Trelawny, “I like that little guy, he looks so innocent.”

My sā’īs cannot accomplish putting me on my horse after the English fashion; therefore, he kneels down on one knee, holding the horse in his left hand, and the stirrup in the right; I step from his knee to the stirrup, and take my seat on the saddle; rather a good method, and one of his own invention.

My sā’īs can't help me mount my horse the English way, so he kneels on one knee, holding the horse with his left hand and the stirrup with his right. I step from his knee onto the stirrup and then take my seat in the saddle. It's a pretty good method, and it's his own invention.

Christmas Day.—The house is gaily decorated with plantain trees, roses, and chaplets of gaudy flowers, but no holly; we miss the holly and misletoe of an English Christmas. The servants are all coming in with their offerings,—trays of apples, grapes, kishmish, walnuts, sugar, almonds in the shell, oranges, &c. The saddler, who is also a servant, has brought five trays in honour of kishmish (Christmas); these presents are rather expensive to the receiver, who returns kishmish bakhshish (Christmas boxes) in rupees; the apples au naturel, brought down at this time of the year by the Arab merchants from Cabul, are rather insipid, yet the sight is very grateful to the eye; they are large, fine, and of a roseate hue. The grapes,[172] which are in small round boxes, are picked off the bunch, and placed in layers of cotton. The dates are excellent. Kishmish are small raisins without stones, which have an agreeable acidity; they are known in England as sultana raisins. These Arab merchants bring pattū, pushmeena, cashmere gloves and socks, curiously illuminated old Persian books, swords and daggers, saleb misree, and Persian cats, saffron, and various other incongruous articles, which are all laden on camels, which they bring in strings, in large numbers. The men are fine, hardy, picturesque looking personages, independent in their bearing; and some of the younger ones have a colour on their cheeks like the bright red on their apples. Their complexions are much fairer than any I have seen in India.

Christmas Day.—The house is cheerfully decorated with banana trees, roses, and bright flower garlands, but there's no holly; we miss the holly and mistletoe of an English Christmas. The staff is coming in with their gifts—trays of apples, grapes, raisins, walnuts, sugar, shelled almonds, oranges, etc. The saddler, who also works for us, has brought five trays in honor of raisins (Christmas); these gifts can be quite costly for the recipient, who returns with cash gifts (Christmas boxes) in rupees. The apples, fresh and brought down by Arab merchants from Kabul at this time of year, are a bit bland, but they look very pleasing; they are large, beautiful, and have a rosy hue. The grapes, [172] wrapped in small round boxes, are picked from the bunch and layered in cotton. The dates are excellent. Raisins are small, seedless, and have a pleasant tartness; they’re known in England as sultana raisins. These Arab merchants bring fabrics, fine Cashmere gloves and socks, beautifully illuminated old Persian books, swords and daggers, sweet drinks, Persian cats, saffron, and various other odd items, all loaded on camels, which they bring in large groups. The men are strong, rugged, and good-looking individuals, carrying themselves confidently; some of the younger ones have a complexion as bright as the red on their apples. Their skin tones are much fairer than any I've seen in India.


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CHAPTER XVII.
SCENES IN OUD.

New Year’s Day—Meeting of the King of Oude and the Governor-General—Visit of Lord William Bentinck to Lucnow—A Native Christian—Elephant, Tiger, Buffalo, and Bear Fights—Constantia—Beautiful Buildings—Departure of the Governor-General—The Padshāh Bāgh—The Royal Hummām—The King’s Stables—The Party at the Residency—Dil-Kushā—Zoffani’s Picture—Doves released from Captivity—The Menagerie—A Zenāna Garden—Letter of Introduction to the Begams at Delhi—Gardner’s Horse—The Sorrows of the Begam.

New Year’s Day—Meeting with the King of Oude and the Governor-General—Visit by Lord William Bentinck to Lucknow—A Native Christian—Fights with Elephants, Tigers, Buffaloes, and Bears—Constantia—Stunning Buildings—Departure of the Governor-General—The Padshāh Bāgh—The Royal Hummām—The King’s Stables—The Party at the Residency—Dil-Kushā—Zoffani’s Painting—Doves Set Free—The Menagerie—A Zenāna Garden—Introduction Letter to the Begams in Delhi—Gardner’s Horse—The Struggles of the Begam.

1831. Jan. 1st.—New Year’s Day was celebrated with all due honour at home, the party separating at 4, A.M.; punch à la Romaine and fine ices making men forget the lapse of time. The people here are ice-making mad; I flatter myself I understand the mystery of icefication better than any one in India.

1831. Jan. 1st.—New Year’s Day was celebrated with great enthusiasm at home, the gathering breaking up at 4, AM; punch à la Romaine and delicious ice desserts causing everyone to lose track of time. The people here are obsessed with making ice; I believe I understand the secret of ice-making better than anyone in India.

5th.—The view from our verandah is remarkably good; the King of Oude, Ghazee-ood-Deen Hyder, has pitched his tent on the opposite side of the Ganges, and has constructed a bridge of boats across the river. In attendance upon him, they say, there are 2000 elephants, camels, and men in proportionate number; the sides of the river swarm with troops, animals, and tents.

5th.—The view from our balcony is really good; the King of Oude, Ghazee-ood-Deen Hyder, has set up his tent on the other side of the Ganges and built a bridge of boats across the river. They say he has about 2000 elephants, camels, and an equal number of people with him; the banks of the river are filled with troops, animals, and tents.

Early on the morning of the 6th, the Governor-general, Lord William Bentinck, arrived at Cawnpore; and her Ladyship received the station. We paid our devoirs; and, in conversation with Lady William on the subject of the zenāna of the King of Oude, I excited her curiosity so much by my account of Tajmahŭl, that I feel convinced she will pay her a visit on her arrival at Lucnow.

Early on the morning of the 6th, the Governor-General, Lord William Bentinck, arrived at Cawnpore, and his wife received the station. We paid our respects, and during a conversation with Lady William about the zenāna of the King of Oude, I piqued her interest so much with my account of Tajmahŭl that I’m sure she will visit her when she gets to Lucnow.

7th.—We were invited to breakfast with the Governor-general,[174] with whom the King of Oude was to breakfast in state. We rode to the tents—but let me commence the narrative from the dawn of day. Long before sunrise the guns and drums in the king’s encampment announced that all were in preparation to cross the bridge of boats. About 7 A.M. an enormous train of elephants, camels, and troops crossed over, brilliantly decorated, and proceeded to the camp of the Governor-general. We then cantered off—I on the Bokhara grey, who became very impetuous; but, although surrounded with elephants, camels, galloping horses, and guns firing, I never lost my courage for an instant: nevertheless, I will play no such game again, it is too hazardous.

7th.—We were invited to have breakfast with the Governor-General,[174] who was having a formal breakfast with the King of Oude. We rode to the tents, but let me start the story from the break of day. Long before sunrise, the cannons and drums at the king’s camp signaled that everyone was getting ready to cross the bridge of boats. Around 7 A.M., an immense parade of elephants, camels, and troops crossed over, all beautifully decorated, and made their way to the Governor-General’s camp. We then set off at a canter—I was on the Bokhara grey, who was quite restless; however, even with elephants, camels, riding horses, and guns firing all around me, I never lost my nerve for a second: still, I won’t take that risk again; it’s too dangerous.

Lord William met the king half-way, and having been invited to enter the royal howdah, he took his seat on the king’s elephant, and they proceeded together to the breakfast-tent through a street of dragoons, infantry, &c. Lady William, with all her visitors assembled around her, was in the tent awaiting the entrance of the great people; on their arrival, after the usual embracings and forms were over, we proceeded to breakfast.

Lord William met the king halfway, and after being invited to climb into the royal howdah, he took his seat on the king’s elephant, and they made their way to the breakfast tent through a street of dragoons, infantry, etc. Lady William, surrounded by all her guests, was in the tent waiting for the arrival of the dignitaries; once they arrived, after the usual greetings and formalities were done, we moved on to breakfast.

The whole scene was one of extreme beauty. The magnificent dresses of the natives, the superb elephants, covered with crimson velvet embroidered with gold, the English troops, the happy faces, and the brilliant day, rendered it delightful.

The entire scene was incredibly beautiful. The impressive outfits of the locals, the majestic elephants draped in crimson velvet embroidered with gold, the English soldiers, the smiling faces, and the bright day made it a fantastic sight.

After breakfast Lord William received all visitors who asked for a private audience in a separate tent: my husband made his sālām, and requested permission to visit Lucnow in his Lordship’s train; having received a kind affirmative, we returned home.

After breakfast, Lord William met with all visitors who requested a private audience in a separate tent. My husband greeted him and asked for permission to travel to Lucnow in his Lordship’s group. After receiving a kind yes, we returned home.

8th.—The Governor-general returned the king’s visit, and, crossing the bridge of boats, breakfasted with his majesty on the territories of Oude.

8th.—The Governor-General visited the king in return and, crossing the boat bridge, had breakfast with His Majesty in the territories of Oude.

10th.—Lady William gave a ball to the station.

10th.—Lady William hosted a party at the station.

11th.—His lordship was invited to dinner—and dined with the eleventh dragoons, he being their colonel; the next day the Governor-general’s party commenced their march to Lucnow, the king having quitted the day before.

11th.—His lordship was invited to dinner and had dinner with the eleventh dragoons, since he was their colonel. The next day, the Governor-general’s group began their march to Lucknow, after the king had left the day before.

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18th.—Having sent on our camels and tents beforehand, we started for Lucnow, intending to drive the whole distance in one day, for which purpose we had laid eight buggy horses on the road, the distance being only fifty-five miles.

18th.—After sending our camels and tents ahead, we set out for Lucknow, planning to cover the entire distance in one day. To that end, we had arranged for eight buggy horses along the route, as the distance was just fifty-five miles.

Going over the sandy bed of the Ganges, the horse being unable to drag the Stanhope, we mounted an elephant, which took us some miles; being obliged to return the elephant, we got into a native cart drawn by bullocks, and so arrived at the spot where the second horse was laid. But the horses found it almost impossible to get through the sand, the country had been so much cut up from the multitudes that had crossed and recrossed it. In consequence night overtook us in the middle of Oude without a tent or food, and a dark night in prospect; whilst debating where to find shelter, we espied a tent in the distance, which proved to be an empty one belonging to a friend of ours, and there we took up our quarters.

Crossing the sandy bed of the Ganges, the horse couldn't pull the Stanhope, so we got on an elephant that carried us for a few miles. After returning the elephant, we climbed into a local cart pulled by bullocks, which brought us to the place where the second horse was resting. However, the horses struggled to get through the sand because the area had been heavily worn down by countless travelers. As a result, nightfall caught us in the middle of Oude without a tent or food, facing a dark night ahead. While we were trying to find shelter, we spotted a tent in the distance, which turned out to be an empty one belonging to a friend of ours, and there we settled in for the night.

A boy came forward, and saying, “I Christian,” offered to procure a chicken and give us a curry, which we ate off red earthen dishes, with two bits of bamboo as a knife and fork, after the style of chop-sticks. I must not forget to mention, that after our repast, Christian came forward and repeated the Creed and the Lord’s Prayer in Hindostanee; he repeated them like a parrot, but, judging from his answers when questioned, did not appear at all to comprehend his newly-acquired religion.

A boy stepped up and said, “I’m Christian,” offering to get a chicken and make us a curry, which we ate off red clay dishes using two pieces of bamboo as makeshift chopsticks. I shouldn't forget to mention that after our meal, Christian came forward and recited the Creed and the Lord’s Prayer in Hindostanee; he recited them like a parrot, but from his answers when we questioned him, it seemed like he didn’t really understand his new religion at all.

The sutrāengī, the cotton carpet of the tent, served to defend us from the cold during the night; and the next morning we recommenced our journey, but did not reach Lucnow in time to join the dinner-party at the Residency, to which we were invited to meet Lady William Bentinck.

The sutrāengī, the cotton carpet of the tent, kept us warm during the night; the next morning we started our journey again but didn't arrive in Lucnow in time for the dinner party at the Residency, where we were invited to meet Lady William Bentinck.

Our camels, tents, and horses had gone on in advance. On our arrival, I found the camel that carried my trunks had fallen down in crossing part of the river, and both my finery and my journal were soaked in the stream; much damage was done to the wardrobe—and, as for the journal, it was quite mouldy and almost illegible: for the benefit of distressed damsels in a similar predicament, I give a receipt to restore the colour of faded[176] writing, to which I had recourse with good success on this occasion[63].

Our camels, tents, and horses had already moved ahead. When we arrived, I discovered that the camel carrying my trunks had fallen while crossing part of the river, leaving both my fancy clothes and my journal soaked. A lot of damage was done to my wardrobe, and the journal became quite moldy and nearly unreadable. To help any distressed damsels in a similar situation, I'm sharing a method to restore the color of faded writing, which I successfully used in this case.[176]

18th.—The Governor-general breakfasted with the king. The whole party quitted the Residency on elephants most beautifully clothed, and were met half-way by his majesty. The scene was magnificent. The elephants, the camels, the crowds of picturesque natives, the horsemen, and the English troops, formed a tout ensemble that was quite inspiring. The Governor-general got into the king’s howdah, and proceeded to the palace, where breakfast was laid in a fine service of gold and silver. After breakfast we proceeded to a verandah to see various fights, and, having taken our seats, the order was given to commence the tamāshā.

18th.—The Governor-General had breakfast with the king. The whole group left the Residency on beautifully adorned elephants and was met halfway by His Majesty. The scene was stunning. The elephants, camels, crowds of colorful locals, horsemen, and English troops created an overall view that was truly impressive. The Governor-General climbed into the king’s howdah and headed to the palace, where breakfast was served on a fine set of gold and silver. After breakfast, we went to a verandah to watch various fights, and once we were settled, the signal was given to start the tamāshā.

THE ELEPHANT FIGHTS.

The river Goomtee runs in front of the verandah; and on the opposite side were collected a number of elephants paired for the combat. The animals exhibited at first no inclination to fight, although urged on by their respective mahāwats, and we began to imagine this native sport would prove a failure.

The Goomtee River flows in front of the veranda, and on the other side, a bunch of elephants were gathered, ready to battle. The animals showed no interest in fighting at first, even though their mahouts encouraged them, and we started to think that this local sport would be a bust.

ELEPHANT FIGHTS

Elephant fights

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

Vani Parks

At length two elephants, equally matched, were guided by the mahāwats on their backs to some distance from each other, and a female elephant was placed midway. As soon as the elephants turned and saw the female they became angry, and set off at a long swinging trot to meet each other; they attacked with their long tusks, and appeared to be pressing against each other with all their might. One elephant caught the leg of the other in his trunk, and strove to throw his adversary or break his fore-leg. But the most dangerous part appeared to be when they seized one another by their long trunks and interlaced them; then the combat began in good earnest. When they grew very fierce, and there was danger of their injuring themselves, fireworks were thrown in their faces, which alarmed and separated them, and small rockets were also let off for that purpose.

Eventually, two elephants, equally strong, were led by their handlers a distance apart, with a female elephant placed in between them. As soon as the elephants spotted the female, they got angry and charged toward each other at a fast trot; they attacked with their long tusks and seemed to be pushing against each other with all their strength. One elephant grabbed the other's leg with his trunk, trying to throw his opponent or break his foreleg. The most intense part was when they wrapped their long trunks around each other; that’s when the real battle started. When they became extremely aggressive and it looked like they might hurt themselves, fireworks were shot in their faces to frighten and separate them, and small rockets were also launched for that purpose.

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The situation of a mahāwat during the fight is one of danger. The year before, the shock of the combat having thrown the mahāwat to the ground, the elephant opposed to him took a step to one side, and, putting his great foot upon him, quietly crushed the man to death!

The situation of a mahāwat during the fight is one of danger. The year before, the shock of the combat had knocked the mahāwat to the ground. The elephant he was facing took a step to the side and, placing its massive foot on him, calmly crushed the man to death!

Sometimes the elephant will put up his trunk to seize his opponent’s mahāwat and pull him off: skill and activity are requisite to avoid the danger.

Sometimes the elephant will lift its trunk to grab its opponent's mahāwat and pull him off: skill and quickness are necessary to avoid the danger.

The second pair of elephants that were brought in front of the verandah hung back, as if unwilling to fight, for some time; several natives, both on horseback and on foot, touched them up every now and then with long spears to rouse their anger. One of the elephants was a long time ere he could be induced to combat—but, when once excited, he fought bravely; he was a powerful animal, too much for his adversary—for having placed his tusks against the flank of his opponent, he drove him before him step-by-step across the plain to the edge of the river, and fairly rolled him over into the Goomtee. Sometimes a defeated elephant will take to the water, and his adversary will pursue him across the river.

The second pair of elephants that were brought in front of the veranda held back for a while, as if they didn’t want to fight. Several locals, on horseback and on foot, occasionally poked them with long spears to stir up their anger. One of the elephants took a long time to get riled up for the fight—but when he finally did, he fought fiercely; he was a strong animal, too much for his opponent. After pressing his tusks against the side of his adversary, he pushed him step by step across the plain to the river's edge and then tipped him into the Goomtee. Sometimes, a defeated elephant will head into the water, and his opponent will follow him across the river.

The animals are rendered furious by giving them balls to eat made of the wax of the human ear, which the barbers collect for that purpose!

The animals get really angry when they're fed balls made from the wax of human ears, which the barbers gather for that reason!

The hair on the tail of an elephant is reckoned of such importance, that the price of the animal rises or falls according to the quantity and length of the hair on the tail. It is sometimes made into bracelets for English ladies.

The hair on an elephant's tail is seen as so important that the price of the animal goes up or down based on how much hair there is and how long it is. Sometimes, it's made into bracelets for English ladies.

A great number of elephants fought in pairs during the morning; but, to have a good view of the combat, one ought to be on the plain on the other side the river, nearer to the combatants; the verandah from which we viewed the scene is rather too distant.

A large number of elephants fought in pairs during the morning, but to get a good view of the battle, you should be on the plain on the other side of the river, closer to the fighters; the veranda from which we watched the scene is just too far away.

When the elephant fights were over, two rhinoceros were brought before us, and an amusing fight took place between them; they fought like pigs.

When the elephant fights wrapped up, two rhinoceroses were brought out for us to see, and a hilarious fight broke out between them; they battled like pigs.

The plain was covered by natives in thousands, on foot or on horseback. When the rhinoceros grew fierce, they charged the[178] crowd, and it was beautiful to see the mass of people flying before them.

The plain was filled with thousands of natives, either on foot or horseback. When the rhinoceros became aggressive, they charged at the[178] crowd, and it was striking to witness the throng of people scattering in front of them.

On the Goomtee, in front of the verandah, a large pleasure-boat belonging to his Majesty was sailing up and down; the boat was made in the shape of a fish, and the golden scales glittered in the sun.

On the Goomtee, in front of the porch, a big pleasure boat owned by the king was cruising back and forth; the boat was designed like a fish, and the golden scales sparkled in the sun.

The scene was picturesque, animated, and full of novelty.

The scene was vibrant, lively, and full of new experiences.

In an inclosed court, the walls of which we overlooked, seven or eight fine wild buffaloes were confined: two tigers, one hyena, and three bears were turned loose upon them. I expected to see the tigers spring upon the buffaloes, instead of which they slunk round and round the walls of the court, apparently only anxious to escape. The tigers had not a fair chance, and were sadly injured, being thrown into the air by the buffaloes, and were received again when falling on their enormous horns. The buffaloes attacked them three or four together, advancing in line with their heads to the ground. I observed that when the buffaloes came up to the tiger, who was generally lying on the ground, and presented their horns close to him—if the animal raised his paw and struck one of them, he was tossed in a moment; if he remained quiet, they sometimes retreated without molesting him.

In a fenced-off courtyard, we had a view of the walls where seven or eight beautiful wild buffaloes were kept: two tigers, one hyena, and three bears were set loose among them. I thought I would see the tigers leap at the buffaloes, but instead, they kept creeping around the walls of the courtyard, seemingly only wanting to escape. The tigers didn’t stand a chance and were badly hurt, being tossed into the air by the buffaloes and landing on their massive horns. The buffaloes charged at them in groups of three or four, advancing with their heads low. I noticed that when the buffaloes approached the tiger, who was usually lying on the ground, and presented their horns close to him—if the tiger raised his paw and hit one of them, he was thrown away in an instant; if he stayed still, they sometimes backed off without bothering him.

The bears fought well, but in a most laughable style. The scene was a cruel one, and I was glad when it was over. None of the animals, however, were killed.

The bears put up a good fight, but in a really silly way. It was a brutal scene, and I was relieved when it ended. Fortunately, none of the animals were killed.

A fight was to have taken place between a country horse and two tigers, but Lady William Bentinck broke up the party and retired. I was anxious to see the animal, he is such a vicious beast; the other day he killed two tigers that were turned loose upon him.

A fight was supposed to happen between a country horse and two tigers, but Lady William Bentinck interrupted and left. I was eager to see the animal; he’s such a fierce beast. Just the other day, he killed two tigers that were let loose on him.

Combats also took place between rams: the creatures attacked each other fiercely—the jar and the noise were surprising as head met head in full tilt. Well might they be called battering rams!

Combats also happened between rams: the animals attacked each other aggressively—the clash and the noise were shocking as heads collided at full force. They could certainly be called battering rams!

21st.—We visited Constantia, a beautiful and most singular house, built by General Martine; it would take pages to describe it; the house is constructed to suit the climate; ventilation[179] is carried up through the walls from the ground-floor to the top of the building, and the marble hall is a luxurious apartment. The king having refused to give General Martine the price he asked for Constantia, the latter declared his tomb should be handsomer than any palace in his Majesty’s dominions. He therefore built a vault for himself under the house, and there he lies buried; this has desecrated the place, no Musulmān can inhabit a tomb.

21st.—We visited Constantia, a beautiful and unique house built by General Martine; it would take pages to describe it. The house is designed to suit the climate; ventilation[179] flows through the walls from the ground floor to the top of the building, and the marble hall is a luxurious space. After the king refused to pay General Martine the price he wanted for Constantia, Martine stated that his tomb should be more magnificent than any palace in his Majesty’s realm. He subsequently built a vault for himself beneath the house, and that’s where he is buried; this has made the place uninhabitable, as no Muslim can live in a tomb.

The monument stands in the vault; a bust of the general adorns it. Lights are constantly burned before the tomb. The figures of four sipahīs large as life, with their arms reversed, stand in niches at the sides of the monument. In the centre of the vault, on a long plain slab, is this inscription:

The monument is located in the vault, featuring a bust of the general. Lights are always lit in front of the tomb. Four life-sized figures of sipahīs, with their arms crossed, stand in niches on either side of the monument. In the center of the vault, on a long flat slab, is this inscription:

“Here lies Major-General Claude Martine, born at Lyons, 1735; arrived in India a common soldier, and died at Lucnow, the 13th December, 1800.

“Here lies Major-General Claude Martine, born in Lyons, 1735; arrived in India as a common soldier, and died in Lucknow on December 13, 1800.”

PRAY FOR HIS SOUL.”

"Pray for his soul."

Claude Martine was a native of the city of Lyons. He was originally a common soldier, and fought under Count Lally; he afterwards entered the service of the East India Company, and rose to the rank of a Major-general. He died possessed of enormous wealth, and endowed a noble charity in Calcutta, called La Martinière.

Claude Martine was from the city of Lyon. He started as a regular soldier and fought alongside Count Lally; later, he joined the East India Company and advanced to the rank of Major-General. He passed away with immense wealth and established a significant charity in Calcutta, known as La Martinière.

The house is a large and very singular building; a motto fronts the whole, “Labore et Constantiâ,”—hence the name of the house.

The house is a big and unique building; there's a motto on the front that says, “Labore et Constantiâ,”—which is where the name of the house comes from.

Returning from this interesting place, we proceeded on elephants to see the Roomee Durwāza, a gateway built at the entrance of the city, on the Delhi road, by Ussuf-ood-Dowla; it is most beautiful and elegant, a copy of a gate at Constantinople.

Returning from this fascinating place, we continued on elephants to see the Roomee Durwāza, a gateway built at the entrance of the city, on the Delhi road, by Ussuf-ood-Dowla; it is stunning and elegant, a replica of a gate in Constantinople.

Near this spot is the Imām-Bārā, a building almost too delicate and elegant to be described; it contains the tomb of Ussuf-ood-Dowla, the second king of this family. Within the court is a beautiful mosque.

Near this spot is the Imām-Bārā, a building so delicate and elegant that it’s hard to describe; it contains the tomb of Ussuf-ood-Dowla, the second king of this family. Within the courtyard is a beautiful mosque.

We were delighted with the place and the scene altogether—the time being evening, and the streets crowded with natives.

We were thrilled with the place and the scene overall—it was evening, and the streets were bustling with locals.

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[180]

22nd.—The Governor-general quitted Lucnow at daybreak. On account of some points of etiquette respecting the queen-mother and the king’s favourite wife, Gosseina, Lady William Bentinck did not visit the royal zenāna.

22nd.—The Governor-General left Lucknow at dawn. Due to some etiquette issues regarding the queen mother and the king's favorite wife, Gosseina, Lady William Bentinck did not go to the royal harem.

This day we visited a palace called Padshāh-i-Takht, containing the king’s throne and the banquetting-rooms, a delightful place; on quitting it we crossed the river to a new house and garden, built by the present king, called Padshāh Bāgh; of which I must give a description, it being the most luxurious palace I have seen in India.

This day we visited a palace called Padshāh-i-Takht, which has the king's throne and the banquet rooms, a lovely place. After leaving, we crossed the river to a new house and garden, built by the current king, called Padshāh Bāgh. I need to describe it, as it's the most luxurious palace I've seen in India.

A large space has been enclosed as a garden within a high wall; it contains three houses and two gateways; the first house is a most delightful one, all you can wish for in such a climate as this; beautiful rooms, with six fountains playing in them, and everything in fairyland style; then such an hummām! or steam baths, containing rooms heated to different temperatures, the heat of each increasing until you arrive at the steam bath itself.

A large area has been fenced off as a garden within a tall wall; it includes three houses and two gates. The first house is truly charming, everything you could want for a climate like this; stunning rooms, with six fountains flowing in them, and everything designed like something out of a fairy tale; then there’s an amazing hummām, or steam bath, featuring rooms heated to various temperatures, with the heat increasing until you reach the steam bath itself.

The apartments are built of white variegated marble, and the roofs arched; the rooms were so delightful, we felt every inclination to remain in the hummām, the temperature was so luxurious.

The apartments are made of white variegated marble, and the roofs are arched; the rooms were so lovely that we felt a strong desire to stay in the hummām, as the temperature was so pleasant.

Crossing from this palace to the centre of the garden, we entered another elegant building, supported on white marble pillars, beautifully finished, and adorned and furnished with crimson and gold.

Crossing from this palace to the center of the garden, we entered another elegant building, supported by white marble pillars, beautifully crafted, and decorated and furnished with red and gold.

On the left of the garden is a third palace, sacred to the ladies of the zenāna; this house is built of marble, and covered with flower-work of pounded tālk (talc), which has exactly the appearance of silver, giving an eastern style to the place. There are two handsome gateways, a steam-engine to supply the fountains, and a superb tiger in a cage. Every luxury of life may be contained within the walls of this garden; it is at present scarcely finished, but displays great taste and beauty.

On the left side of the garden is a third palace, dedicated to the women of the zenāna; this house is made of marble and adorned with designs made from crushed talc, which looks just like silver, adding an eastern flair to the place. There are two beautiful gateways, a steam engine to power the fountains, and a stunning tiger in a cage. Every luxury of life can be found within the walls of this garden; it’s not quite finished yet, but shows amazing taste and beauty.

On our return we visited the king’s stables, and saw 200 horses, amongst which were some very fine Arabs. His Majesty has 500 horses in his private stables. This day was one of much[181] fatigue; we were on elephants, and exposed to the sun throughout the whole day.

On our way back, we checked out the king’s stables and saw 200 horses, including some really impressive Arabs. His Majesty keeps 500 horses in his private stables. This day was exhausting; we were on elephants and exposed to the sun all day long.[181]

23rd.—Mr. M⸺ invited us to quit our tents, and come into the Residency, giving us the apartments vacated by the Governor-general, which are delightful; and here we are installed with some most agreeable people. First and foremost, our kind host the Resident; Mr. G⸺, the Resident of Nagpore; Mr. H⸺, the Resident of Delhi; and Col. Gardner, a most charming old gentleman;—but he will require pages to himself, he is one of many thousand.

23rd.—Mr. M⸺ invited us to leave our tents and move into the Residency, offering us the rooms previously occupied by the Governor-General, which are lovely; and here we are settled in with some really pleasant people. First and foremost, our generous host, the Resident; Mr. G⸺, the Resident of Nagpore; Mr. H⸺, the Resident of Delhi; and Col. Gardner, a truly charming old gentleman;—but he will need pages just for himself, as he is one of many thousand.

But I can write no more—my aide-de-camp, a young Bhopaul Chieftain, is in attendance, to invite me to ride with the Resident. This little native chief is a fine intelligent boy about fourteen years of age; he rides well, on a small horse covered with silver ornaments; and his own dress, with two and sometimes three swords at his waist, is so curious, I should like to have his picture taken. The young chief, with his followers, often attends me on horseback to do my bidding.

But I can’t write any more—my assistant, a young Bhopaul chieftain, is here to invite me to ride with the Resident. This young native chief is a bright and intelligent boy, around fourteen years old; he rides well on a small horse adorned with silver decorations. His outfit, complete with two or sometimes three swords at his waist, is so interesting that I would love to have his picture taken. The young chief, along with his followers, often rides with me to carry out my requests.

The king has a charming park near Lucnow, called Dil-Kushā, or “Heart’s Delight,” filled with game; deer, nil-gā’ī, antelopes, bears, tigers, peacocks, and game of all sorts; the drive through it is most agreeable, the road being kept constantly watered: the house is good, and very convenient. His Majesty visits the place often for shooting.

The king has a lovely park near Lucknow, called Dil-Kushā, or “Heart’s Delight,” filled with wildlife; deer, nilgai, antelopes, bears, tigers, peacocks, and all kinds of game; the drive through it is very pleasant, with the road constantly watered. The house is nice and quite convenient. His Majesty visits the place often for shooting.

Just beyond the park is a second park called Beebeepore, formerly the residence of Mr. Cherry, who was murdered at Benares.

Just beyond the park is another park called Beebeepore, which used to be the home of Mr. Cherry, who was killed in Benares.

24th.—I took a steam bath in true oriental style, which was very delightful; when the pleasing fatigue was over, I joined a party, and proceeded to Daulut Khāna, a palace built by Ussuf-ood-Dowla, but now uninhabited, except by some of the ladies and attendants of the old king’s zenāna.

24th.—I enjoyed a steam bath in authentic Eastern fashion, which was really nice; after the satisfying exhaustion wore off, I met up with a group and headed to Daulut Khāna, a palace built by Ussuf-ood-Dowla, but now mostly empty, except for some of the women and attendants from the old king’s harem.

We went there to see a picture painted in oil by Zoffani, an Italian artist, of a match of cocks, between the Nawāb Ussuf-ood-Dowla and the Resident, Colonel Mordaunt; the whole of the figures are portraits; the picture excellent, but fast falling into decay.

We went there to see an oil painting by Zoffani, an Italian artist, of a cockfight between Nawāb Ussuf-ood-Dowla and the Resident, Colonel Mordaunt; all the figures are portraits; the painting is excellent but is deteriorating quickly.

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[182]

The next place visited was the country-house of one of the richest merchants in India, a place called Govinda Bāgh. It is one of the handsomest houses I have entered, and beautifully furnished, with fine mirrors and lustres; its painted ceilings are remarkably well done, and have a very rich effect; the pillars also in imitation of porphyry look extremely well. The owner, Govind Lall, lives in a mean dirty house, in one of the meanest gulīs (lanes) in the city, that his wealth may not attract robbers or cause jealousy.

The next place we visited was the country house of one of the richest merchants in India, called Govinda Bāgh. It's one of the most beautiful houses I've been to, elegantly furnished with stunning mirrors and chandeliers; the painted ceilings are incredibly well done and have a very luxurious feel. The pillars, designed to look like porphyry, also look exceptional. The owner, Govind Lall, lives in a shabby, dirty house on one of the most rundown streets in the city so that his wealth won't attract robbers or create envy.

25th.—My husband accompanied the Resident and a party to breakfast with the King, and I called on my charming friend, Mrs. F⸺, in cantonments.

25th.—My husband went with the Resident and a group to have breakfast with the King, and I visited my lovely friend, Mrs. F⸺, in the cantonments.

In the evening I accompanied the Resident, in his barouche, drawn by four fine horses, round the grounds of Dil-Kushā. The carriage was attended by an escort on horseback; when it passed the guards, arms were presented, and trumpets blown: and sometimes men with baskets of birds running by the side of the carriage, let them fly whenever they caught his eye, in the hope of some reward being thrown to them for having liberated their captives in compliment to the great man.

In the evening, I rode with the Resident in his carriage, pulled by four beautiful horses, around the grounds of Dil-Kushā. An escort on horseback accompanied the carriage; when we passed the guards, they saluted and trumpets were blown. Sometimes, men with baskets of birds would run alongside the carriage and let the birds fly whenever they caught his attention, hoping to receive some kind of reward for releasing their captives as a compliment to the distinguished man.

To release captive birds propitiates the favour of heaven. A great man will release prisoners from jail when he is anxious for the recovery of a relative from illness, or to procure an heir!

Releasing captive birds earns the favor of the heavens. A great person will free prisoners from jail when they are concerned about a relative's recovery from illness or to secure an heir!

The Jānwar Khāna, a menagerie filled with wild beasts, animals of every sort, and birds in profusion, next attracted my attention. You may talk of Le Jardin des Plantes, but the Jānwar Khāna at Lucnow is far better worth visiting. There was an immense Doomba sheep, with four horns, and such a tail! perfectly enormous.

The Jānwar Khāna, a zoo filled with wild animals, all kinds of creatures, and lots of birds, caught my eye next. You can talk about Le Jardin des Plantes, but the Jānwar Khāna in Lucknow is way more worth a visit. There was a huge Doomba sheep with four horns, and the tail was just massive!

We paid a visit to the tomb of Saadut Ulee Khan, the king’s grandfather, a beautiful building, near which is the tomb of the begam, both worth seeing.

We visited the tomb of Saadut Ulee Khan, the king’s grandfather, a stunning building, next to which is the tomb of the begam, both worth checking out.

20th.—I rode with the Resident to his country-house, a short distance from Lucnow, situated in the midst of delightful gardens; there are about twenty of these gardens, filled with fine tanks, wells, and beautiful trees; the Resident contemplates turning them into a park.

20th.—I went with the Resident to his country house, a short distance from Lucknow, set in the middle of lovely gardens; there are about twenty of these gardens, filled with nice ponds, wells, and beautiful trees; the Resident is thinking about transforming them into a park.

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[183]

28th.—We went over a zenāna garden; the house, dedicated to the ladies, was a good one, situated in a large garden surrounded by a high stone wall. The orthodox height for the four walls of a zenāna garden is, that no man standing on an elephant can overlook them. The building is surrounded with fine trees; and a fountain played before it, in which gold and silver fish were swimming. Near it was an avenue, in which was a swing, the invariable accompaniment of a zenāna garden. The season in which the ladies more particularly delight to swing in the open air is during the rains. I cantered back to the Residency at ten A.M.; the sun was warm, but I thought not of his beams.

28th.—We visited a zenāna garden; the house, meant for the ladies, was quite nice and located in a large garden surrounded by a tall stone wall. The standard height for the walls of a zenāna garden is such that no man can see over them while standing on an elephant. The building is framed by beautiful trees, and a fountain in front had gold and silver fish swimming in it. Nearby, there was a walkway with a swing, which is always found in a zenāna garden. The ladies particularly enjoy swinging outdoors during the rainy season. I rode back to the Residency at ten AM; the sun was warm, but I didn’t pay much attention to its rays.

After breakfast, I retired to write my journal (knowing how much pleasure it would give her for whom it was kept), although I had that delightful man, Colonel Gardner, to converse with; such a high caste gentleman! how I wish I had his picture! He is married to a native princess, and his grand-daughter is betrothed to one of the princes of Delhi. The begam, his wife, is in Lucnow, but so ill that I have been unable to pay my respects to her. Colonel Gardner has promised me, if we will visit Agra or Delhi next year, which we hope to do, he will give me letters of introduction to some of the ladies of the palace, under which circumstances I shall have the opportunity of seeing Delhi to the greatest advantage.

After breakfast, I went to write in my journal (knowing how much happiness it would bring the person I’m keeping it for), even though I had the charming Colonel Gardner to talk to; he’s such a gentleman! I really wish I had a picture of him! He’s married to a local princess, and his granddaughter is engaged to one of the princes of Delhi. His wife, the begam, is in Lucknow but is so ill that I haven’t been able to visit her. Colonel Gardner has promised that if we visit Agra or Delhi next year, which we hope to do, he will give me letters of introduction to some ladies in the palace, allowing me to see Delhi at its best.

A very fine corps of men, called Gardner’s Horse, were raised by him; single-handed nothing can resist them, such masters are they of their horses and weapons. I told him, I was anxious to see good native riding, and feats of horsemanship; he said, “An old servant of mine is now in Lucnow, in the king’s service; he is the finest horseman in India. I gave that man 150 rupees a month (about 150l. per annum) for the pleasure of seeing him ride. He could cut his way through thousands. All men who know any thing of native horsemanship, know that man: he has just sent me word he cannot pay his respects to me, for if he were to do so, the king would turn him out of service.” I asked why? He answered, “There is such a jealousy of the English at court: as for the king, he[184] is a poor creature, and can neither like nor dislike. Hakīm Mehndie the minister rules him entirely, and he abhors the English.”

A really impressive group of men, known as Gardner’s Horse, was formed by him; nothing can stand in their way single-handedly, as they are such experts at handling their horses and weapons. I told him I was eager to see some excellent native riding and horsemanship skills; he replied, “An old servant of mine is currently in Lucknow, working for the king; he’s the best horseman in India. I used to pay him 150 rupees a month (about 150l. per year) just for the pleasure of watching him ride. He could cut through thousands. Anyone who knows anything about native horsemanship knows that man: he just informed me he cannot come to pay his respects to me because if he does, the king will dismiss him from service.” I asked why. He replied, “There’s such jealousy of the English at court: as for the king, he[184] is quite weak and can neither like nor dislike. Hakīm Mehndie, the minister, completely controls him, and he detests the English.”

It is a curious circumstance that many of the palaces in Lucnow have fronts in imitation of the palaces in Naples and Rome, &c.; and the real native palace is beyond in an enclosed space.

It’s interesting that many of the palaces in Lucknow have facades that mimic those in Naples and Rome, etc.; while the authentic native palace is located further back in a secluded area.

Being tired with writing, I will go down and talk to Colonel Gardner; should no men be in the room, he will converse respecting the zenāna, but the moment a man enters, it is a forbidden subject.

Feeling tired from writing, I'm going to go downstairs and chat with Colonel Gardner; if there are no men in the room, he will talk about the zenāna, but as soon as a man walks in, it's off-limits.

Lucnow is a very beautiful city; and the view from the roof of the Residency particularly good.

Lucnow is a really beautiful city, and the view from the roof of the Residency is especially nice.

I am fatigued with my ride through the sun; nevertheless, I will go out on an elephant this evening, and view all the old part of the city. I like this barā sāhib life; this living en prince; in a climate so fine as this is at present it is delightful.

I’m worn out from riding in the sun; however, I’ll go out on an elephant this evening and check out the old part of the city. I enjoy this fancy lifestyle; living like royalty; in such beautiful weather right now is delightful.

The subjects of his Majesty of Oude are by no means desirous of participating in the blessings of British rule. They are a richer, sleeker, and merrier race than the natives in the territories of the Company.

The people of the King of Oude do not want to be part of the benefits of British rule. They are a wealthier, more polished, and happier group than those in the Company's territories.

What a delightful companion is this Colonel Gardner! I have had the most interesting conversation with him, which has been interrupted by his being obliged to attend his poor sick wife, as he calls the begam. She is very ill, and her mind is as much affected as her body: he cannot persuade her to call in the aid of medicine. A short time ago, she lost her son, Allan Gardner, aged twenty-nine years: then she lost a daughter and a grandson; afterwards a favourite daughter; and now another young grandson is dangerously ill. These misfortunes have broken her spirit, and she refuses all medical aid. That dear old man has made me weep like a child. I could not bear the recital of his sorrows and sufferings. He said, “You often see me talking and apparently cheerful at the Resident’s table, when my heart is bleeding.”

What a wonderful companion Colonel Gardner is! I’ve had the most engaging conversation with him, which got interrupted because he had to attend to his poor sick wife, as he refers to her. She is very unwell, and her mind is just as affected as her body; he can’t get her to seek medical help. Recently, she lost her son, Allan Gardner, who was only twenty-nine. Then she lost a daughter and a grandson; later, another beloved daughter; and now her young grandson is seriously ill. These tragedies have shattered her spirit, and she refuses all medical assistance. That dear old man has made me cry like a child. I couldn’t handle hearing about his sorrows and suffering. He said, "You often see me chatting and seemingly cheerful at the Resident’s table, while my heart is breaking."

We have had a long conversation respecting his own life, and[185] I have been trying to persuade him to write it. He says, “If I were to write it, you would scarcely believe it; it would appear fiction.” He is gone to the sick begam. How I long for another tête à tête, in the hope of learning his private history!

We had a long talk about his life, and[185] I’ve been trying to convince him to write it down. He says, “If I were to write it, you’d hardly believe it; it would seem like fiction.” He has gone to the sick begam. I really wish for another tête à tête, hoping to learn more about his personal history!

He must have been, and is, very handsome; such a high caste man! How he came to marry the begam I know not. What a romance his love must have been! I wish I had his portrait, just as he now appears, so dignified and interesting. His partiality flatters me greatly.

He must have been, and still is, very attractive; what a distinguished guy! I have no idea how he ended up marrying the begam. His love story must be quite a tale! I wish I had his picture, just as he looks now, so poised and captivating. His affection flatters me a lot.


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[186]

CHAPTER XVIII.
REVELATIONS OF LIFE IN THE ZENĀNA.

1831.—Pedigree of the Kings of Oude—Lucnow Mohurs—Anniversary of the Coronation—The Prime Minister—Khema-jah—Feredooa Buckht—Evil omens—Mossem-ood-Dowla—Largesse—Hārs, Pān, and Atr—The Zenāna—Sultana Boa—Mulka Zumanee—Gosseina—Tajmahŭl—Plurality of wives.

1831.—Lineage of the Kings of Oudh—Lucknow Mohurs—Anniversary of the Coronation—The Prime Minister—Khema-jah—Feredooa Buckht—Bad omens—Mossem-ood-Dowla—Generosity—Hārs, Pān, and Atr—The Zenāna—Sultana Boa—Mulka Zumanee—Gosseina—Tajmahŭl—Multiple wives.

Saadut Khan, known at first under the name of Meer Muhammad Ameen, descended in a direct line from the Imām Mousa Kasim, of the family of Ali, esteemed in Persia as of the highest and most noble extraction. During the civil wars, he quitted Khorasān, his native province, and repaired to Lahore, where he took the name of Saadut Khan. On the accession of Mahmud Shāh, he was created a noble of the empire, and Soobadar of Oude, with the titles of “Pillar of the empire, confident support of the state, Meer Muhammad Ameen Khan, the Glory of War.”

Saadut Khan, originally known as Meer Muhammad Ameen, was a direct descendant of Imam Mousa Kasim, from Ali's family, which was highly regarded in Persia for its noble lineage. During the civil wars, he left his home province of Khorasān and moved to Lahore, where he adopted the name Saadut Khan. When Mahmud Shāh came to power, he was appointed as a noble of the empire and Soobadar of Oude, receiving the titles “Pillar of the empire, trusted supporter of the state, Meer Muhammad Ameen Khan, the Glory of War.”

Fortune having proved favourable, he sent for his only sister, the widow of a nobleman, Jaafer Beg, and her two sons, and bestowed his only daughter in marriage on the elder brother, the young Nawāb Munsoor Ulee Khan, commonly called Sefdar Jung, who on the death of his uncle was confirmed by the king in his government of Oude. He died in 1756, leaving Soojah-ood-Dowla his son and successor.

Fortune smiled upon him, so he called for his only sister, the widow of a nobleman, Jaafer Beg, and her two sons. He arranged the marriage of his only daughter to the elder brother, the young Nawāb Munsoor Ulee Khan, commonly known as Sefdar Jung, who, upon his uncle's death, was confirmed by the king in his governance of Oude. He passed away in 1756, leaving his son Soojah-ood-Dowla as his successor.

Soojah-ood-Dowla, the first prince of the race, died leaving two sons, Ussuf-ood-Dowla and Saadut Ulee Khan. Ussuf-ood-Dowla ascended the masnud; he built Lucnow, and most of the palaces around the city, also the Roomee Durwazah, and the Imām-Bārā; in the latter he was buried.

Soojah-ood-Dowla, the first prince of the lineage, died leaving behind two sons, Ussuf-ood-Dowla and Saadut Ulee Khan. Ussuf-ood-Dowla took the throne; he established Lucnow and most of the palaces in the city, along with the Roomee Durwazah and the Imām-Bārā, where he was later buried.

Pedigree of the Kings of Oude.

Pedigree of the Kings of Awadh.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

فاني باركس

[187]

[187]

The Daulut Khāna was also built by him; in it is his picture, by Zoffani. In fact, whenever you ask who built this or that place, the answer is sure to be Ussuf-ood-Dowla.

The Daulut Khāna was also built by him; inside, there's his portrait by Zoffani. In fact, whenever you ask who built this or that place, the answer is always Ussuf-ood-Dowla.

He died, leaving no issue, and was succeeded by Wuzeer Ulee Khan, an adopted son, but whom he declared to be his own. Mr. Cherry was at this time Resident of Lucnow. Sir John Shore deposed Wuzeer Ulee Khan, on account of his not being the real son of the late king, and raised Saadut Ulee Khan to the throne, the brother of Ussuf-ood-Dowla.

He died without any children and was succeeded by Wuzeer Ulee Khan, who he had adopted and considered his own. Mr. Cherry was the Resident of Lucknow at that time. Sir John Shore removed Wuzeer Ulee Khan from power because he wasn't the biological son of the late king and placed Saadut Ulee Khan, the brother of Ussuf-ood-Dowla, on the throne.

The deposed Wuzeer went to Benares, and attempted to rouse the natives to murder all the English. In pursuance of which plan, Ulee Khan came to Mr. Cherry’s house, he being at that time Resident at Benares, and murdered him, while sitting at breakfast. The house of Mr. and Mrs. Davis, of the Civil Service, was attacked. Mr. Davis and his wife ran up a narrow winding staircase to the roof of the house, where, with a hog-spear, he defended the door of the staircase, and kept his pursuers at bay until the arrival of the military from cantonments. The roof of the house being flat, as is the custom in India, and the narrowness of the winding stair admitting only one person at a time, Mr. Davis was able to defend himself, and killed several of the assailants. Wuzeer Ulee Khan was confined for life in the Fort, in Calcutta, and died a few years ago.

The deposed Wuzeer went to Benares and tried to incite the locals to kill all the English. As part of this plan, Ulee Khan went to Mr. Cherry's house, who was the Resident in Benares at the time, and killed him while he was having breakfast. The home of Mr. and Mrs. Davis, who were part of the Civil Service, was attacked. Mr. Davis and his wife ran up a narrow winding staircase to the roof of their house, where he defended the staircase door with a hog-spear and held off his attackers until the military arrived from the cantonments. The roof was flat, as is typical in India, and the narrow winding stairs only allowed one person to go up at a time, which helped Mr. Davis defend himself and led to him killing several of the attackers. Wuzeer Ulee Khan was imprisoned for life in the Fort in Calcutta and died a few years ago.

Saadut Ulee Khan, the brother of Ussuf-ood-Dowla, amassed thirteen millions of money, and left the throne to his son, Ghazee-ood-Deen.

Saadut Ulee Khan, the brother of Ussuf-ood-Dowla, accumulated thirteen million in assets and passed the throne to his son, Ghazee-ood-Deen.

The Nawāb Wuzeer, Ghazee-ood-Deen Hydur, assumed the sceptre by the advice of his minister, Āghā Meer. He cast off allegiance to Delhi, and stamped coins in his own name.

The Nawab Wuzeer, Ghazee-ood-Deen Hydur, took control based on the advice of his minister, Agha Meer. He broke away from Delhi's authority and minted coins under his own name.

The gold mohurs struck by him, bear the following inscription in the Persian character:—

The gold mohurs he minted have the following inscription in Persian:—

“Coined in the Royal Treasury of Lucnow, Soubah Oude, in the 3rd year of the great and auspicious reign. Struck in silver and gold, by the grace of God, the giver of all good, by Ghazee-ood-Deen Hydur, the Great Lord, the King of Time.”

“Coined in the Royal Treasury of Lucknow, Soubah Oude, in the 3rd year of the great and blessed reign. Struck in silver and gold, by the grace of God, the giver of all good, by Ghazee-ood-Deen Hydur, the Great Lord, the King of Time.”

The crown is placed between two standards, on each of[188] which is a fish: the standards are supported by leopards: beneath the crown is the double-handled dagger, a most formidable weapon; and at the base of the whole are two large fish.

The crown is set between two poles, each featuring a fish: the poles are held up by leopards. Under the crown is a double-handled dagger, a very intimidating weapon; and at the bottom are two big fish.

Ghazee-ood-Deen Hydur had no son, and one only daughter, who married her cousin, and had issue Mossem-ood-Dowla, the true heir to the throne; a man whom you may see constantly at the present king’s table.

Ghazee-ood-Deen Hydur had no son, only one daughter, who married her cousin and had a child, Mossem-ood-Dowla, the true heir to the throne; a man you can often see at the current king’s table.

Ghazee-ood-Deen, instead of leaving the throne to his true heir and grandson Mossem-ood-Dowla, left it to Nusseer-ood-Deen Hydur, a boy whom the king declared to be his own son by a slave girl; but who, they say, is in reality the son of a dhobee (washerman) belonging to the palace. This man is the present king of Lucnow. The English are aware of these facts. On the decease of the present king, the succession will be disputed, as he wishes to place a boy, named Khema-jah, on the masnud, instead of his own son, Feredooa Buckht Moona-jah: but for the history of these two boys, I refer you to the lives of the wives of the king.

Ghazee-ood-Deen, instead of passing the throne to his rightful heir and grandson Mossem-ood-Dowla, handed it over to Nusseer-ood-Deen Hydur, a boy the king claimed was his son by a slave girl; however, it's said that he is actually the son of a washerman from the palace. This boy is the current king of Lucnow. The English know about these facts. When the current king passes away, the succession will be contested, as he wants to put a boy named Khema-jah on the throne instead of his own son, Feredooa Buckht Moona-jah; but for the backstory of these two boys, I direct you to the lives of the king's wives.

The Muhammadan law allows an adopted son to take the place of a legitimate son at the pleasure of the parent, by which law Nusseer-ood-Deen Hydur claimed the throne, and put aside Mossem-ood-Dowla, the grandson of Ghazee-ood-Deen Hydur.

The Muslim law permits an adopted son to take the place of a biological son at the parent's discretion, which is how Nusseer-ood-Deen Hydur claimed the throne and set aside Mossem-ood-Dowla, the grandson of Ghazee-ood-Deen Hydur.

29th.—We drove to Barouda, a palace built in the French style; I saw there nothing worthy of remark, but two marble tables, inlaid in the most delicate and beautiful manner with flowers of the convolvulus.

29th.—We drove to Barouda, a palace designed in the French style; I didn't see anything noteworthy there, except for two marble tables, intricately inlaid with beautiful convolvulus flowers.

30th.—The Resident and all his party breakfasted with the King on the anniversary of his coronation, which takes place in any month, and on any day, according to his Majesty’s pleasure.

30th.—The Resident and his entire group had breakfast with the King on the anniversary of his coronation, which happens in any month and on any day, at the King’s discretion.

During breakfast my attention was deeply engrossed by the prime minister, the Nawāb Mootuzim-ul-Dowla, Mehndee Ulee Khan Bahadur, commonly called Nawāb Hakīm Mehndi. I conversed with him at times, and eyed him well as he was seated next to me, and opposite the King, telling his beads the whole[189] time, for good luck perhaps; his rosary was composed of enormous pearls.

During breakfast, I was completely captivated by the prime minister, Nawāb Mootuzim-ul-Dowla, Mehndee Ulee Khan Bahadur, who was often referred to as Nawāb Hakīm Mehndi. I chatted with him occasionally and studied him closely as he sat next to me, across from the King, constantly counting his beads, maybe for good luck; his rosary was made up of huge pearls.[189]

His majesty’s hooqŭ was presented to the Nawāb; Lord William Bentinck and the Resident were honoured with the same: it is a great distinction; no subject can smoke, unless by permission, in the royal presence. Hooqŭs are only presented to the Governor-general, the Commander-in-chief, the Resident, and the Bishop of Calcutta—if he likes a pipe.

His majesty’s hookah was given to the Nawab; Lord William Bentinck and the Resident were also honored with one. It's a significant privilege; no subject can smoke in the royal presence without permission. Hookahs are only given to the Governor-General, the Commander-in-Chief, the Resident, and the Bishop of Calcutta—if he enjoys a pipe.

Numerous histories respecting the prime minister were current in the bazār, far too romantic and extraordinary to be believed, of which the following is a specimen:

Numerous stories about the prime minister were going around in the bazār, far too romantic and extraordinary to be believed, of which the following is an example:

“The truth or falsehood of the story rests on the head of the narrator[64].”

“The truth or falsehood of the story depends on the narrator[64].”

“The dagger in his bosom and salutation in his mouth[65].”

“The dagger in his chest and greeting on his lips[65].”

The hakīm (physician or learned man) was formerly employed on a salary of about twenty rupees a month. The commencement of his enormous fortune began thus:—He was in tents in the district; a very rich Hindoo was with him, within the (kanāts) canvass walls, with which tents are surrounded. This man was said to have died during the night; his corpse was given to his relations, who were in the camp, to be burned according to Hindoo custom. There were two black marks round the neck of the corpse. It is a custom amongst Hindoos to put sweetmeats into the mouth of a dead body. When they opened the mouth of the corpse for this purpose, within it was found a finger, bitten off at the second joint. On that very night the confidential servant of the hakīm lost his finger! The hakīm seized the man’s treasure, which laid the foundation of his fortune. He next took into pay a number of thieves and murderers, who made excursions, and shared the booty with the hakīm. They say the man’s art is such that he keeps in favour both with natives and Europeans, in spite of his crimes.

The hakīm (physician or knowledgeable person) used to earn a salary of about twenty rupees a month. His massive fortune began like this: he was camping in the district, and a very wealthy Hindu was with him inside the canvas walls of the tents. This man was said to have died overnight, and his body was given to his relatives in the camp to be cremated according to Hindu customs. There were two dark marks around the neck of the body. It's a custom among Hindus to place sweets in the mouth of a deceased person. When they opened the mouth for this purpose, they found a finger, bitten off at the second joint. That very night, the hakīm's confidential servant lost his finger! The hakīm seized the man's wealth, which set the stage for his fortune. He then hired a group of thieves and murderers who went out on raids and shared the loot with the hakīm. It's said that his skills allow him to maintain good relationships with both locals and Europeans, despite his crimes.

Having been unable to bring the Resident over to his views, he is his sworn enemy, and would give thousands to any one who would poison him. Many of the servants now standing[190] behind the Resident’s chair know the reward they might obtain. They would not poison any dish from which many might eat, the most likely thing in which it would be administered would be coffee or ice!

Having failed to convince the Resident to see things his way, he has become his sworn enemy and would pay a fortune to anyone who would poison him. Many of the servants now standing[190] behind the Resident’s chair are aware of the potential reward. They wouldn’t poison any dish that multiple people might share; the most likely option for the poison would be coffee or ice!

After breakfast, the King went into the next apartment, where the Resident, with all due form, having taken off the King’s turban, placed the crown upon his head, and he ascended the masnud.

After breakfast, the King went into the next room, where the Resident, with all due respect, removed the King’s turban, placed the crown on his head, and he took his seat on the throne.

Khema-jah, the eldest boy, about fourteen years of age, is an ill-looking low caste wretch, with long, straight, lank hair, coarse, falling lips, and bad teeth. The manners and looks of the boy proclaim his caste. He was the first person presented to his Majesty, and received four or five dresses of honour, made of thick Benares gold and silver kimkhwāb, which were all put upon his person one over the other. A jewelled turban was put on his head, and a necklace of pearls and precious stones round his neck; and over all these dresses of honour were placed four or five pairs of Cashmere shawls. A sword, dagger, and shield were given him; an elephant, a horse, and a palanquin. Having made his sālām to his majesty, and offered some gold mohurs, he retired.

Khema-jah, the oldest boy at around fourteen, looks rough and has a low social status. He has long, straight, thin hair, coarse lips, and bad teeth. His appearance and behavior clearly show his background. He was the first person introduced to the king and received four or five ceremonial outfits made of thick Benares gold and silver kimkhwāb, which were all layered on him one after another. A jeweled turban was placed on his head, and a necklace of pearls and precious stones was put around his neck. Over all these ceremonial outfits, he wore four or five pairs of Cashmere shawls. He was given a sword, dagger, and shield, as well as an elephant, a horse, and a palanquin. After bowing to the king and offering some gold mohurs, he left.

The younger boy, Feredooa Buckht, a bold and independent child, then came forward and received the same presents in the same style.

The younger boy, Feredooa Buckht, a brave and independent child, then stepped up and received the same gifts in the same manner.

The khil’ats (dresses of honour) are sometimes given away to dependents on the same day; this, if known, would be considered an insult.

The khil’ats (dresses of honor) are sometimes handed out to dependents on the same day; if this is known, it would be seen as an insult.

Then appeared the minister, the Nawāb Hakīm Mehndi: when the first dress of honour was put on him, it being too small, he could only put in one arm; and there he stood shaking, perhaps from an idea of its being a bad omen. The Nawāb prostrated himself before the King, and took off his own turban; his Majesty himself immediately placed a jewelled one on the uncovered head of the minister. Imagine the old man, sinking beneath the weight of years, his head totally bald, and his person overwhelmed with dresses of honour, shawls, and presents, like those before given to the young princes: he trembled so much,[191] the elephant-goad fell from his hand, a sign of his own fall; and the gold mohurs he attempted to retain in his hands fell at the foot of the throne. The people say there is a prophecy he will come to an untimely end next February:—“A bad omen ought not to be mentioned[66].”

Then the minister, Nawāb Hakīm Mehndi, appeared: when he was given the first ceremonial robe, it was too small, so he could only get one arm in. He stood there trembling, possibly because he felt it was a bad omen. The Nawāb bowed down before the King and removed his own turban; the King immediately placed a jeweled one on the minister's bare head. Picture the old man, weighed down by age, completely bald, surrounded by ceremonial robes, shawls, and gifts, similar to those previously given to the young princes: he shook so much that the elephant-goad slipped from his hand, symbolizing his own decline; and the gold mohurs he tried to hold onto fell at the foot of the throne. People say there's a prophecy that he will meet an early end next February:—“A bad omen ought not to be mentioned[66].”

When Mossem-ood-Dowla (the true heir) approached, he was coldly received, and a deep cloud for some time darkened his countenance. Mossem-ood-Dowla is a fine, handsome man, with a keen eye, and a very intelligent, good-natured countenance. It was a painful sight to see him do homage to one who had no right to the throne, but through the power of an unjust law.

When Mossem-ood-Dowla (the rightful heir) arrived, he was met with a cold reception, and for a while, a deep frown clouded his face. Mossem-ood-Dowla is a tall, handsome man with sharp eyes and a very smart, kind expression. It was painful to watch him pay respects to someone who had no right to the throne except for the strength of an unfair law.

I was standing next to the Resident and the Prime Minister, when, during a part of the ceremony, a shower of precious stones was thrown over us; I looked at the Resident, and saw him move his arm to allow the valuables that had fallen upon him to drop to the ground; I imitated his example by moving my scarf, on which some were caught; it would have been infra dig. to have retained them; they fell to the ground, and were scrambled for by the natives; the shower consisted of emeralds, rubies, pearls, &c., &c.

I was standing next to the Resident and the Prime Minister when, during part of the ceremony, a shower of precious stones rained down on us. I glanced at the Resident and saw him move his arm to let the valuables that had landed on him fall to the ground. I followed his lead by shifting my scarf, on which some had landed; it would have been infra dig. to keep them. They fell to the ground and were quickly grabbed by the locals. The shower included emeralds, rubies, pearls, and so on.

A magnifique style of largesse!

A fabulous style of generosity!

After all the dresses of honour had been presented to the different persons, a hār (a necklace of gold and silver tinsel, very elegantly made,) was placed around the neck of each of the visitors; atr of roses was put on my hands, and on the hands of some other visitors, in compliment to the Resident, by his Majesty himself. Pān was presented, and rose water was sprinkled over us; after which ceremonies, we all made our bohut bohut udūb sālām[67] to the King of Oude, and took our departure. The gold and silver tinsel hārs have been substituted for strings of pearl, which it was customary to present to visitors, until an order of government, promulgated four years ago, forbade the acceptance of presents.

After all the ceremonial dresses were given to the various guests, a hār (a necklace made of gold and silver tinsel, very elegantly crafted) was placed around the neck of each visitor; a garland of roses was placed on my hands and on the hands of a few other guests as a tribute to the Resident, presented by his Majesty himself. Pān was offered, and rose water was sprinkled over us; following these ceremonies, we all paid our deep respects to the King of Oude and took our leave. The gold and silver tinsel hārs have replaced the strings of pearls that were traditionally given to visitors until a government order issued four years ago prohibited the acceptance of gifts.

[192]

[192]

THE ZENĀNA.

“LOVE AND MUSK DO NOT REMAIN CONCEALED[68].”

“LOVE AND MUSK DO NOT STAY HIDDEN[68].”

“WHEREVER THERE IS A FAIRY-FACED DAMSEL, SHE IS ATTENDED BY A DEMON[69].”

“WHEREVER THERE IS A FAIRY-FACED GIRL, SHE IS FOLLOWED BY A DEMON[69].”

The following account of the Begams was given me by one whose life would have paid the forfeit, had it been known he had revealed the secrets of the zenāna; he desired me not to mention it at the time, or he should be murdered on quitting Oude.

The following story about the Begams was shared with me by someone whose life would be at risk if it became known that he revealed the secrets of the zenāna; he asked me not to mention it at the time, or he would be killed upon leaving Oude.

SULTANA BOA.

The Queen is the daughter of his Royal Highness Mirza Muhammad Sulimān Shekō, the own brother of the present Emperor of Delhi, Akbar Shāh.

The Queen is the daughter of his Royal Highness Mirza Muhammad Sulimān Shekō, the biological brother of the current Emperor of Delhi, Akbar Shāh.

“From the first day after marriage, neglected and ill-treated, she was only allowed, until lately, twenty rupees a day; she has now 2000 rupees a month, but is not permitted to leave her apartments; the servants of her family have all been discharged, and she is in fact a prisoner. Neither the King nor any of his family ever visit her, and no other person is permitted to approach her apartments.

“From the first day after getting married, she was neglected and mistreated. She was allowed only twenty rupees a day until recently; she now gets 2000 rupees a month, but she isn’t allowed to leave her rooms. All her family’s servants have been let go, and she is basically a prisoner. Neither the King nor any of his family ever visits her, and no one else is allowed near her quarters.”

“The lady of the Resident told me, ‘She is a great beauty, the handsomest woman she ever saw;’ I have seen her sister, and can easily believe she has not exaggerated. The Queen is now about sixteen or seventeen years old (1830), and has been married, I believe, about five years.

“The lady of the Resident told me, ‘She is a great beauty, the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen;’ I’ve met her sister and can easily believe she isn’t exaggerating. The Queen is now around sixteen or seventeen years old (1830) and has been married, I think, for about five years.”

“Mirza Sulimān Shekō, the father, lived at Lucnow since the time of Ussuf-ood-Dowla, and was forced by the late King of Oude to give him his daughter in marriage. The mehn (dower) of the Princess was settled at five crores[70], and the father had a grant of 5000 rupees a month, which is not paid; and in June, 1828, the Prince was insulted, and obliged to quit Lucnow with every sort of indignity.”

“Mirza Sulimān Shekō, the father, lived in Lucknow since the time of Ussuf-ood-Dowla and was forced by the late King of Oudh to marry off his daughter. The mehn (dowry) for the Princess was set at five crores [70], and the father received a grant of 5000 rupees a month, which has not been paid; and in June, 1828, the Prince was insulted and had to leave Lucknow under all sorts of humiliation.”

MULKA ZUMANEE.

“The second begam is the wife of Ramzānee, a cherkut or[193] elephant servant, who is now pensioned on thirty rupees a month, and kept in surveillance at Sandee; some time after her marriage the lady proved naughty, and was next acknowledged as the chère amie of an itinerant barber; she left him, and took service with Mirza Jewad Ali Beg’s family as a servant-of-all-work, on eight anās a month and her food. She was next heard of as a gram-grinder at ⸺serai, where her eldest son, by name Tillooah, was born; her next child was a daughter.

“The second begam is the wife of Ramzānee, a cherkut or[193] elephant servant, who is now retired on thirty rupees a month and monitored at Sandee. Some time after her marriage, the lady became rebellious and was later recognized as the chère amie of a traveling barber. She left him and took a job with Mirza Jewad Ali Beg’s family as a general servant, earning eight anās a month plus her meals. She was next known as a gram-grinder at ⸺serai, where her eldest son, named Tillooah, was born; her next child was a daughter.”

“At this time Moonah Jāh (Feredooa Buckht) was born in the palace; and, amongst others who sought the situation of nurse, Ramzanee’s wife attended; she was approved of by the hākims, and was installed nurse to the heir-apparent.

“At this time, Moonah Jāh (Feredooa Buckht) was born in the palace, and among those who sought the position of nurse, Ramzanee’s wife applied. She was approved by the hākims and was appointed as the nurse to the heir-apparent.”

“Her age was then near forty, her size immoderate, her complexion the darkest; but she soon obtained such influence over the King, that he married her, and gave her the title of—(the daughter of the Emperor Furrukshere, and the wife of the Emperor Mohummud Shāh,)—Mulka Zumanee! Well may she exclaim, ‘Oh Father! I have got into a strange difficulty, I have left off picking up cow-dung, and am employed in embroidery[71]!’

“By then, she was almost forty, quite large, and had the darkest complexion; but she quickly gained enough influence over the King that he married her and gave her the title of—(the daughter of the Emperor Furrukshere and the wife of Emperor Mohummud Shāh)—Mulka Zumanee! It’s no wonder she might say, ‘Oh Father! I’ve landed in a strange situation. I’ve stopped picking up cow dung and now I’m focused on embroidery[71]!’”

“She has a jagheer of 50,000 rupees a month, and the power of expending 50,000 rupees more from the treasury monthly. Her son Tillooah was about three years of age when she was entertained as nurse, but such was her power, that his Majesty publicly declared himself the father of the boy, and he was in consequence recognised as heir to the crown, with the title of Khema Jāh!”

“She has a monthly allowance of 50,000 rupees, plus she can spend an additional 50,000 rupees from the treasury each month. Her son Tillooah was around three years old when she started as his nurse, but she had such influence that the king publicly acknowledged himself as the boy's father, and as a result, he was recognized as the heir to the throne, bearing the title of Khema Jāh!”

The King has five queens, although by Muhammadan law he ought only to have four. His Majesty of Oude possesses, to a considerable extent, that peculiarly masculine faculty of retaining the passion, and changing the object.

The King has five queens, even though according to Islamic law he should only have four. His Majesty of Oude has, to a significant degree, that distinctly masculine ability to keep the passion while changing the object.

He heeds not the proverb, “Do not put your beard into the hands of another[72].”

He doesn't pay attention to the saying, “Don't put your beard in someone else's hands[72].”

As far as I recollect the history of his last and favourite wife, it is this:

As far as I remember the story of his last and favorite wife, it goes like this:

The Nawāb Hakīm Mehndi, finding his influence less than usual, adopted a Nāch girl as his daughter, because the King[194] admired her, and induced his Majesty to marry her. Her name is Gosseina; she is not pretty, but possesses great influence over her royal lover. This girl, some fourteen months ago, was dancing at the Residency for twenty-five rupees a night: and a woman of such low caste not even a sā’īs would have married her. The King now calls the hakīm his father-in-law, and says, “I have married your daughter, but you have not married her mother; I insist on your marrying her mother.” The hakīm tries to fight off, and says he is too old; but the King often annoys him by asking when the marriage is to take place.

The Nawab Hakim Mehndi, feeling his influence was lacking, adopted a dance girl as his daughter because the King[194] liked her and encouraged his Majesty to marry her. Her name is Gosseina; she's not attractive, but she holds significant sway over her royal partner. This girl, about fourteen months ago, was performing at the Residency for twenty-five rupees a night, and a woman of such low status wouldn’t have even been considered for marriage by a servant. Now, the King refers to the hakīm as his father-in-law and insists, “I’ve married your daughter, but you haven’t married her mother; I demand that you marry her mother.” The hakīm tries to decline and says he’s too old, but the King frequently bothers him by asking when the wedding will happen.

“There is no bird like a man[73],” i.e. so volatile and unsteady.

“There is no bird like a man[73],” i.e. so unpredictable and restless.

The beautiful Tajmahŭl, whom I mentioned in Chapter X., is entirely superseded by this Gosseina, the present reigning favourite; Tajmahŭl has taken to drinking, and all the King’s drunken bouts are held at her house.

The beautiful Tajmahŭl, whom I mentioned in Chapter X., has been completely replaced by this Gosseina, the current favorite; Tajmahŭl has started drinking, and all the King's drunken parties are held at her place.

When he marched to Cawnpore, he took Tajmahŭl and Gosseina with him, and their retinue was immense. It is said, that the beautiful Timoorian, Sultana Boa, the Princess of Delhi, was so much disgusted at her father’s being forced to give her in marriage to Nusseer-ood-Deen Hydur, and looked upon him as a man of such low caste, in comparison with herself, that she never allowed him to enter her palace,—a virgin queen.

When he marched to Cawnpore, he took Tajmahŭl and Gosseina with him, and they had a huge entourage. It’s said that the beautiful Timoorian, Sultana Boa, the Princess of Delhi, was so disgusted that her father forced her to marry Nusseer-ood-Deen Hydur, viewing him as someone of such low status compared to her, that she never allowed him to enter her palace — a virgin queen.

Her sister, Mulka Begam, married her first cousin, Mirza Selim, the son of the emperor, Akbār Shah; from whom she eloped with Mr. James Gardner, and to the latter she was afterwards married. This elopement was the cause of the greatest annoyance and distress to Col. Gardner, nor did he grant his forgiveness to his son for years afterwards.

Her sister, Mulka Begam, married her first cousin, Mirza Selim, the son of Emperor Akbar Shah. She later ran away with Mr. James Gardner, to whom she eventually got married. This elopement caused Col. Gardner a lot of annoyance and distress, and he didn’t forgive his son for many years afterward.

Affairs being in so unpleasant a state at the Court of Lucnow, was the cause of Lady Wm. Bentinck’s being unable to visit the zenāna; and after her ladyship’s departure, I was prevented going there by the same reason.

Affairs were in such an unfortunate state at the Court of Lucknow that Lady Wm. Bentinck couldn’t visit the zenāna, and after her departure, I was also unable to go there for the same reason.

One cannot be surprised at a Musulmān’s taking advantage of the permission given him by his lawgiver with respect to a plurality of wives.

One can't be surprised that a Muslim takes advantage of the permission granted to him by his law regarding having multiple wives.

[195]

[195]

The Prophet himself did not set the best possible example in his own domestic circle, having had eighteen wives! Nevertheless, his code of laws respecting marriage restricted his followers to four wives, besides concubines.

The Prophet himself didn't exactly set the best example in his own home life, considering he had eighteen wives! Still, his marriage laws limited his followers to four wives, in addition to concubines.

In a book published in England, it is observed, “there are some instances of remarkable generosity in the conduct of good wives, which would hardly gain credit with females differently educated.” This, being interpreted, means, a good wife provides new wives for her husband!

In a book published in England, it is noted, “there are some examples of outstanding generosity in the behavior of good wives, which would likely be hard to believe for women raised differently.” This, when put simply, means a good wife finds new wives for her husband!

The King is very anxious the Resident should patronize Khema Jāh, his adopted son, and is much annoyed he can gain no control over so independent and noble-minded a man.

The King is very eager for the Resident to support Khema Jāh, his adopted son, and is quite frustrated that he can't manage such an independent and strong-minded person.


[196]

[196]

CHAPTER XIX.
THE RETURN TO ALLAHABAD—EXECUTION OF TWENTY-FIVE THUGS.

“WHO HAS SEEN TO-MORROW?”

"WHO HAS SEEN TOMORROW?"

i.e. Enjoy to-day, no one knows what will happen to-morrow[74].

i.e. Enjoy today, no one knows what will happen tomorrow[74].

Removal to Allahabad—Crocodiles—Aurunzebe’s Fort—The Old Well at Kurrah—Arrival at Allahabad—The Thermantidote—The King’s Picture and the Celestials—Pattū—Execution of Twenty-five Thugs—Cholera—The Effect on the Insane—The Arabian Leprosy—Elephantiasis—Asylums for the Blind and for Lepers—Lachhmī, the Goddess of Prosperity—Intense Heat—Early Rising—Danger of a Thermantidote—List of Servants.

Removal to Allahabad—Crocodiles—Aurunzebe’s Fort—The Old Well at Kurrah—Arrival at Allahabad—The Thermantidote—The King’s Picture and the Celestials—Pattū—Execution of Twenty-five Thugs—Cholera—The Effect on the Insane—The Arabian Leprosy—Elephantiasis—Asylums for the Blind and for Lepers—Lachhmī, the Goddess of Prosperity—Intense Heat—Early Rising—Danger of a Thermantidote—List of Servants.

1831. Feb. 1st.—We quitted the Residency at Lucnow, feeling greatly gratified by the kindness we had experienced from the Resident, and returned to Cawnpore.

1831. Feb. 1st.—We left the Residency at Lucknow, feeling very thankful for the kindness we had received from the Resident, and returned to Cawnpore.

We now prepared for our removal to Allahabad, the horses and carriages having been dispatched by land; the furniture, &c., was put into six great country boats, one of which, an immense 900 mŭn patailā, contained cows, sheep, goats, besides a number of fowls, guinea-fowls, turkeys, &c.; and on the top of all was a great thermantidote.

We were now getting ready to move to Allahabad. The horses and carriages had been sent ahead by land, while the furniture and other items were loaded onto six large country boats. One of these boats, a huge 900 mŭn patailā, carried cows, sheep, goats, along with several chickens, guinea fowl, turkeys, and more. On top of it all was a large thermantidote.

17th.—We quitted Cawnpore, and commenced our voyage down the Ganges.

17th.—We left Cawnpore and started our journey down the Ganges.

18th.—The low sandbanks in the river swarm with crocodiles; ten are basking on a bank to the left of our boat, and five or six are just ahead. The sāhib has fired at them several times, but they are beyond the reach of pistol shot. They are timid[197] animals; as soon as you approach them they dive down into the river. We have only seen the long-nosed crocodiles, none of the snub-nosed alligators. What a monster there is very near us, and such a winsome wee one by its side! I want a baby crocodile very much for my cabinet.

18th.—The low sandbanks in the river are full of crocodiles; ten are lounging on a bank to the left of our boat, and five or six are just ahead. The sahib has shot at them several times, but they’re too far away for a pistol to reach. They’re skittish animals; as soon as you get close, they dive into the river. We’ve only seen the long-nosed crocodiles, none of the snub-nosed alligators. There’s a huge one really close to us, and what a cute little one beside it! I really want a baby crocodile for my collection.

At Sheorajpore our friends tried to tempt us to remain with them, showing us a nil-gā’ī, a wild boar, hares, black partridges, and the common grey partridges, that they had shot; and offering us an elephant to enable us to join the sportsmen the next day.

At Sheorajpore, our friends tried to persuade us to stay with them. They showed us a nilgai, a wild boar, hares, black partridges, and the usual gray partridges that they had shot, and they even offered us an elephant to join the hunters the next day.

How much I enjoy the quietude of floating down the river, and admiring the picturesque ghāts and temples on its banks! This is the country of the picturesque, and the banks of the river in parts are beautiful.

How much I love the peace of drifting down the river, and admiring the beautiful ghâts and temples along its shores! This is a land of beauty, and the riverbanks in some areas are stunning.

On the morning of our quitting Lucnow, my aide-de-camp, the young Bhopaul chieftain, was made quite happy by being allowed to make his salām to his Majesty, who gave him a dress of honour.

On the morning we were leaving Lucnow, my aide-de-camp, the young Bhopaul chieftain, was really happy to be given the chance to salute his Majesty, who rewarded him with a dress of honor.

I can write no more; the sāhib’s vessel has lugāoed, that is, has made fast to the bank; I must go out shooting with him, and mark the game.

I can't write anymore; the boss's boat has docked, that is, has tied up to the bank; I have to go out shooting with him and track the game.

19th.—We slept off Nobusta; the wind was very high, it blew a gale, but the high bank afforded us protection. Our boats are large, flat-bottomed, shallow, and broad country boats, on each of which a great house is built of bamboo and mats, and the roof is thatched. The interior is fitted up with coloured chintz, like that used for tents. Such unwieldy vessels are very likely to be upset in a storm. The great patailā, which contains the cows, &c., has given us much trouble; she has been aground several times, being, from her height and bulk, almost unmanageable in a strong wind.

19th.—We rested at Nobusta; the wind was really strong, blowing like a gale, but the tall bank shielded us. Our boats are large, flat-bottomed, shallow, and wide country boats, each with a big house made of bamboo and mats, topped with a thatched roof. The inside is decorated with colorful chintz, similar to what's used for tents. These heavy boats are very prone to capsizing in a storm. The big patailā, which holds the cows, has caused us a lot of trouble; it's run aground several times, being almost impossible to handle in strong winds due to its height and size.

It is very cold, the rain is falling fast; all the servants and the crew look so deplorable, and keep their shoulders to their ears. The horses on their march will be exposed to it; they are merely sheltered by a tree at night,—a cold berth for animals accustomed to warm stables.

It’s freezing, and the rain is pouring down; all the servants and crew look miserable, hunching their shoulders up to their ears. The horses on their journey will have to endure it; they’re only protected by a tree at night—a cold spot for animals used to cozy stables.

20th.—This has been a day of rain and contrary wind; we[198] have made but little way, and being unable to reach Mirzapore, have lugāoed off a sandbank.

20th.—Today has been a rainy day with strong winds against us; we[198] haven’t made much progress, and since we couldn’t reach Mirzapore, we’ve been stuck on a sandbank.

21st.—We breakfasted at Mirzapore, and reached Kurrah at night, where we moored our little fleet under an old fort built by Aurunzebe. No sooner had we made fast, than a heavy storm came on, accompanied by thunder and lightning, hail and rain; the latter was so heavy, it soaked through the thatch of the bamboo houses on the boats, and rendered us very uncomfortable. The large patailā was missing, but came in the next day with her cargo of cows and sheep; from her height she must have been in danger, as she had not gained the land when the storm came on.

21st.—We had breakfast in Mirzapore and arrived in Kurrah at night, where we anchored our little fleet under an old fort built by Aurunzebe. As soon as we secured our boats, a heavy storm hit, bringing thunder, lightning, hail, and rain; the downpour was so intense that it soaked through the thatch of the bamboo houses on the boats, making us very uncomfortable. The large patailā was missing but arrived the next day with her load of cows and sheep; given her height, she must have been in danger since she hadn’t reached land when the storm hit.

We have moored just below Aurunzebe’s fort, over which I have roamed; it is an excellent subject for a sketch; the view from the height is beautiful.

We have anchored just below Aurunzebe’s fort, which I have explored; it’s a great subject for a sketch; the view from up here is beautiful.

On the other side is an old well, built of the very small Hindostani bricks; the river has washed away all the bank in which the well was originally sunk, and it now stands naked on the sand,—a remarkable object.

On the other side is an old well, made of tiny Hindostani bricks; the river has eroded all the bank where the well was originally sunk, and it now stands exposed on the sand—a striking sight.

24th.—We arrived at Allahabad, and my husband took charge of his appointment. Then commenced dinner-parties given in honour of our return by our old friends at the station.

24th.—We reached Allahabad, and my husband took over his new position. Then the dinner parties started, hosted by our old friends at the station to celebrate our return.

Am I not happy once more in dear old Prāg? We have no troubles as at Cawnpore; no one poisons our horses; all the people around us appear pleased at our return, and eager to serve us; our neighbours here are friends interested in our welfare. My old carpenters, the saddler, the ironsmith, the painter, the stone-cutter, and the sealing-wax-maker, are all in their old nooks in the verandah.

Am I not happy once again in dear old Prague? We have no troubles like we did in Cawnpore; no one is poisoning our horses; everyone around us seems happy about our return and eager to help us; our neighbors here are friends who care about our well-being. My old carpenters, the saddler, the blacksmith, the painter, the stone cutter, and the seal maker are all back in their usual spots on the porch.

March 1st.—It was so cold we had fires of an evening, which were not discontinued until the 5th of the month.

March 1st.—It was so cold that we had fires in the evening, which continued until the 5th of the month.

Our friend Capt. B⸺ is going home; he will tell those we love of our goings out and comings in, and will be as a connecting link to those, betwixt whom and us this great gulph of distance is fixed. It really requires an exile from home to be able to enjoy its blessings. He will, or ought to run about almost demented for the first year. Heaven prosper the good country![199] I hope to turn Hampshire hog myself, either here or hereafter, after the Pythagorean system.

Our friend Capt. B⸺ is going home; he will tell our loved ones about our daily lives and serve as a link between us and them across this huge distance. It really takes being away from home to fully appreciate its blessings. He will, or should, be almost frantic for the first year. May heaven bless the good country![199] I hope to become a Hampshire hog myself, either now or later, following the Pythagorean way.

The weather is becoming very hot; we are making our house look cool and comfortable, colouring it with French grey, and hanging pankhās in preparation for the hot winds. We hope to feel cool by the aid of a thermantidote, for which we are building a terrace and verandah.

The weather is getting really hot; we are making our house look cool and comfortable, painting it French grey, and putting up fans to prepare for the hot winds. We hope to stay cool with a cooling system, which is why we are building a terrace and porch.

The thermantidote is a structure awful to behold; but we shall benefit from its good effect; and, like a steam-boat, shall be able to do without wind, which, with the tattīs commonly in use, is the sine quâ non for fraîcheur.

The thermantidote is a terrible sight; however, we will gain from its positive effect. Just like a steamboat, we'll be able to function without wind, which, with the commonly used tattīs, is the sine quâ non for fraîcheur.

A thermantidote is an enormous machine for forcing cool air into the house; it is made of amrā (mango wood), or of sākoo (shorea robusta): the wheels and axle are of iron. In height, it is about seven feet, in breadth four or five, and some nine or ten or twelve feet in length.

A thermantidote is a giant machine designed to pump cool air into a house. It’s made from amrā (mango wood) or sākoo (shorea robusta), with wheels and an axle made of iron. It's about seven feet tall, four or five feet wide, and nine, ten, or twelve feet long.

There is a little machine sold in England, under the name of a fire-blower, which is on the same principle, and is almost a miniature thermantidote. It also resembles in some respects a machine for winnowing corn, but on a larger scale.

There’s a small device sold in England called a fire-blower, which works on the same principle and is basically a tiny thermantidote. In some ways, it also looks like a larger version of a machine used for winnowing corn.

The thermantidote, which is hollow, and of circular form, has a projecting funnel, which is put through and fixed into a window of the house, from the machine which stands in the verandah.

The thermantidote, which is hollow and circular in shape, has a funnel that extends through and is secured into a window of the house, coming from the machine that's located on the porch.

In the interior, four large fans are affixed to an iron axle, which, passing through the centre of the machine, is turned round by two men on the outside; by which means the fans revolve, and force the air out of the thermantidote through the funnel into the house.

In the interior, four large fans are attached to an iron axle, which runs through the center of the machine and is turned by two men on the outside. This setup makes the fans spin and pushes the air out of the thermantidote through the funnel into the house.

To render the outer air cool, which is thus driven into the house, a circle of about four feet in diameter is cut out in the planks which form the two broad sides of the thermantidote; and beyond these circles khās-khās tattīs are affixed; so that the vacuum produced by forcing the air out of the machine is supplied by air passing through the tattīs.

To cool the outside air that gets pushed into the house, a circle about four feet in diameter is cut into the boards that make up the two wider sides of the thermantidote; and outside these circles, khās-khās tattīs are attached, so that the vacuum created by forcing the air out of the machine is filled with air coming through the tattīs.

On each side of the thermantidote, on the outside at the top, a long trough is fixed, perforated with small holes in its bottom.[200] Water is constantly poured into these troughs, which, dropping through the holes upon the tattīs placed below them, keeps them constantly wetted. This water is received below in two similar troughs, and, passing through a little spout at the side, is collected in tubs, or in large high earthen pans. Coolies are constantly employed in handing up this water, in thiliyas (earthen waterpots), to other coolies on the top of the thermantidote, whose business it is to keep the tattīs constantly dripping wet. By this means, all the air that passes into the body of the machine through the wetted khās-khās is rendered cool, and fit to be forced into the house by the action of the fans in their circular course.

On each side of the thermantidote, at the top outside, a long trough is fixed, with small holes in its bottom.[200] Water is continuously poured into these troughs, which drips through the holes onto the tattīs below, keeping them wet all the time. This water is collected below in two similar troughs, and it flows out through a small spout on the side into tubs or large high earthen pans. Workers are always busy bringing this water in thiliyas (earthen waterpots) to other workers at the top of the thermantidote, whose job is to ensure the tattīs stay dripping wet. This way, all the air that enters the machine through the wet khās-khās is cool and ready to be pushed into the house by the fans in their circular motion.

The thermantidote stands upon four small wheels, which facilitate the movement of so cumbersome and ponderous a machine.

The thermantidote sits on four small wheels, making it easier to move such a heavy and bulky machine.

Khās-khās was put on the thermantidote to-day; you have no idea how fragrant, delicious, and refreshing is the scent of the fresh khās-khās, which is the root of a high jungle grass, called gāndar (andropogon muricatum). These fibrous roots are thinly worked into bamboo frames, which fit exactly into the thermantidote, or into windows. These frames are kept constantly watered, for the purpose of cooling the hot wind; which, passing through the wetted roots, is lowered many degrees in temperature, owing to the evaporation that is produced.

Khās-khās was added to the thermantidote today; you have no idea how fragrant, delicious, and refreshing the scent of fresh khās-khās is. It comes from the root of a tall jungle grass called gāndar (andropogon muricatum). These fibrous roots are carefully woven into bamboo frames that fit perfectly into the thermantidote or windows. These frames are kept constantly watered to cool down the hot wind; as it passes through the wet roots, the temperature drops significantly due to evaporation.

Our station is about to be increased by the addition of two Boards; one of Revenue, and one of Criminal and Civil Justice. The station is already sufficiently large for quiet society.

Our station is about to grow with the addition of two Boards: one for Revenue and one for Criminal and Civil Justice. The station is already big enough for a peaceful community.

We have received the news of a Chinese revolution; or rather the old squabble, but of a more violent sort, between the Factory and the Hong merchants. Trade is stopped, and the papers here are talking of the necessity of fitting out an expedition to chastise the celestials. The mob broke into the Factory, and, amongst other extravagancies, amused themselves with spitting at the King’s picture, and then turning it with its face to the wall!

We’ve heard about a revolution in China; or more accurately, the same old conflict, just more intense, between the Factory and the Hong merchants. Trade has come to a halt, and the news is discussing the need to organize an expedition to punish the locals. The mob stormed the Factory and, among other reckless acts, amused themselves by spitting at the King’s picture and then turning it to face the wall!

The Arabs bring down a sort of coarse shawl, called puttuah or pattū; it is extremely light, and remarkably soft and warm.[201] I was examining some, intending to purchase it: “This is not a good piece,” said I. “The name of God is better than this!” exclaimed the man, with indignation; meaning, nothing is superior to it but the name of God[75].

The Arabs have a type of coarse shawl called puttuah or pattū; it’s very light and surprisingly soft and warm.[201] I was looking at some, planning to buy one: “This isn’t a good piece,” I said. “The name of God is better than this!” the man exclaimed with indignation, meaning that nothing is better than it except for the name of God.[75].

EXECUTION OF TWENTY-FIVE THUGS.

EXECUTION OF 25 THUGS.

May 9th.—The inhabitants at Jubbulpore were this morning assembled to witness the execution of twenty-five Thugs, who were all hanged at the same time, arrangements having been previously made. It would be impossible to find in any country a set of men who meet death with more indifference than these wretches; and, had it been in a better cause, they would have excited universal sympathy.

May 9th.—The people in Jubbulpore gathered this morning to watch the execution of twenty-five Thugs, who were all hanged simultaneously, as planned in advance. It would be hard to find a group of men anywhere who face death with more indifference than these miserable souls; and, had it been for a nobler cause, they would have stirred widespread sympathy.

As it was, there was something dreadful in the thought that men, who had so often imbrued their hands in blood, should meet their death with such carelessness. I believe they had previously requested to be allowed to fasten the cord around their necks with their own hands; certain it is that each individual, as soon as he had adjusted the noose, jumped off the beam, and launched himself into eternity; and those who first mounted the ladder selected their ropes, rejecting such as did not please them. One of them, who had leaped off the beam, and had been hanging for more than three seconds, put his hand up and pulled his cap over his face.

As it was, there was something terrifying about the idea that men, who had so often stained their hands with blood, would meet their end with such indifference. I believe they had previously asked to tie the noose around their own necks; what’s certain is that each person, once they had adjusted the rope, jumped off the beam and sent themselves into eternity. Those who climbed the ladder first chose their ropes, discarding any that didn’t suit them. One of them, after jumping off the beam and hanging there for more than three seconds, raised his hand and pulled his cap over his face.

This is the second execution of Thugs that has taken place here, but no accident happened this time, nor did a single rope break.

This is the second execution of Thugs that has happened here, but this time there were no accidents, and not a single rope broke.

However satisfied with the justice of their sentence, of which, from the many sanguinary murders proved, there can be no doubt; still, it cannot but be lamented that the course of justice is so slow; as these men, who were this day executed, have been in prison for more than eight years, for want of sufficient evidence.

However satisfied with the fairness of their sentence, which, given the numerous brutal murders proven, there can be no doubt; still, it is regrettable that the course of justice takes so long; since these men, who were executed today, have been in prison for over eight years due to insufficient evidence.

The number of Thugs in the neighbouring countries is enormous; a hundred and fifteen, I believe, belonged to the party of[202] which twenty-five were executed, and the remainder are to be transported; and report says there are as many more in the Saugor jail.

The number of Thugs in the neighboring countries is huge; a hundred and fifteen, I think, were part of the party of[202], of which twenty-five were executed, and the rest are going to be transported; and reports say there are as many more in the Saugor jail.

Too much credit cannot be given to the principal assistants of this district, who have succeeded in capturing so many of them; and Capt. S⸺ has the satisfaction of knowing that by his endeavours these men have been seized.

Too much credit can’t be given to the main aides of this district, who have managed to capture so many of them; and Capt. S⸺ can take pride in knowing that because of his efforts, these men have been caught.

The extent of murder committed by the Thugs exceeds belief; and some time since a serjeant-major was murdered by a party of them. One of the principal assistants, some time ago, when marching in the district, received information that some bodies which had been strangled were under his tent, and upon digging, he discovered a great many!

The scale of murders carried out by the Thugs is unbelievable; not long ago, a sergeant major was killed by a group of them. One of the main associates, while on patrol in the area, got word that several strangled bodies were beneath his tent, and after digging, he found quite a lot!

One of the men who were executed this morning was a chaprāsi, who had been sent towards Nagpore to seize the party, but who joined himself with them, and by his presence protected them.

One of the men executed this morning was a chaprāsi, who had been sent to Nagpore to capture the group, but instead, he joined them and protected them with his presence.

A guard of a company of sipahīs, under the command of Lieut. G⸺, was in attendance; but there was not the slightest disturbance, nor did the natives betray the slightest emotion of any kind, except one Nujeeb, who fainted.

A guard from a company of sipahīs, under the command of Lieut. G⸺, was present; however, there was not the slightest disturbance, nor did the locals show any emotion at all, except for one Nujeeb, who fainted.

A Spectator.

An Observer.

13th.—Deep grief and affliction has fallen upon us: the happiness of our lives is overcast: the stroke of death has deprived us of one beloved most tenderly.

13th.—Deep sadness and sorrow have come upon us: the joy of our lives is clouded: the blow of death has taken away one we loved dearly.

Our physician has just quitted us: we have had a conversation on the subject of the dreadful malady that has wrought for us so much misery: he says,

Our doctor just left us: we had a conversation about the terrible illness that has caused us so much suffering: he says,

“Cholera is the endemic of Ceylon: from the year 1813 to 1817 I never met with it in India. In 1817 it burst out in a madhouse, of which I had the charge, and the patients confined there died daily, in the course of a few hours after the first seizure. The horror produced amongst the unfortunate insane was so great that many became perfectly sane. One instance was remarkable.

“Cholera is the endemic in Ceylon: from 1813 to 1817, I never encountered it in India. In 1817, it broke out in a mental institution that I was managing, and the patients there died daily, just a few hours after the first symptoms appeared. The fear created among the unfortunate inmates was so intense that many became completely lucid. One case was particularly notable.”

“A man who had attempted to destroy himself in a fit of[203] frenzy, by cutting his own throat, and stabbing himself, became perfectly sane; and coming to me, entreated to be allowed to leave the madhouse, as he was sure he should die of the cholera. It was utterly impossible his request could be granted at the moment; in the course of the week he fell a victim to the malady he dreaded.”

“A man who had tried to kill himself in a fit of[203] frenzy by cutting his own throat and stabbing himself became perfectly sane. He came to me and begged to be allowed to leave the asylum, claiming he would surely die of cholera. It was completely impossible for his request to be granted at that moment; during the week, he fell victim to the illness he feared.”

Our medical man added, “The causes of cholera are quite unknown. I know that the disease is often confined to a space of two or three hundred yards: for instance, deaths occur daily in the madhouse. In the jail, which contained five hundred prisoners, and was not three hundred yards distant, not a case appeared. I was so well convinced of the disease being confined to a certain spot, that I applied for leave to remove all the insane to a spare room in the jail; from the time of their entering the jail, not one man died of cholera.

Our doctor said, “The causes of cholera are still unknown. I’ve seen that the disease typically affects a limited area, like how people die every day in the psychiatric hospital. Meanwhile, in the jail just three hundred yards away, which housed five hundred inmates, there were no cases at all. I was so convinced that the disease was localized that I requested permission to move all the mentally ill patients to an empty room in the jail; since they arrived there, not a single person died from cholera.”

“The environs, as well as the interior of the madhouse were quite clear and pure; no stagnant water, nothing that could generate disease in any shape.”

“The surroundings, as well as the inside of the asylum, were very clean and fresh; no standing water, nothing that could cause illness in any way.”

I mentioned that it was supposed our beloved one had been exposed to the baneful influence of cholera, in passing through Arcot, where it was known to be. He said, “Certainly not, it would not lurk about a person twenty-four hours.” Until the moment she was seized she was in perfect health. “I once saw a man, previously in good health, seized with cholera; he was sitting in a chair, talking to me: he dropped—his nervous power quite prostrated; he was perfectly sensible the whole time, and died in a few hours.”

I mentioned that it was thought our loved one had come into contact with the harmful influence of cholera while passing through Arcot, where it was known to be present. He replied, “Of course not, it wouldn’t linger around someone for twenty-four hours.” Up until the moment she fell ill, she had been in perfect health. “I once saw a man, who was previously healthy, suddenly struck by cholera; he was sitting in a chair, talking to me: he collapsed—his nervous system completely overwhelmed; he was fully aware the entire time and died within a few hours.”

I asked, if the sufferings were not very great—the physician replied, “I should think not, from the extreme want of life in the body. The effect of the illness is such, that the vital spark is almost extinguished whilst still the body breathes.” He said, “You should not grieve at the speedy termination of her illness; from severe cholera it is hardly possible to recover. Those who do recover, generally linger on for twelve or fourteen days, and then expire in a melancholy state: it is better it should terminate at once[76].”

I asked if the suffering was not too intense, and the doctor replied, “I don’t think so, considering how little life is left in the body. The illness is so severe that the vital spark is almost gone even while the body still breathes.” He added, “You shouldn’t be upset about the rapid end of her illness; it’s almost impossible to recover from severe cholera. Those who do recover usually hang on for twelve to fourteen days before passing away in a sad state: it’s better for it to end quickly[76].”

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[204]

It came from Ceylon, and broke out with dreadful severity in 1817; especially in what we call Bengal, which is 100 miles around the Presidency; since which time, it has raged partially in Calcutta, and all the Lower Provinces, also in the higher; but in the Central Provinces, in which Allahabad is situated, it is very rare, only one case of cholera having occurred during the last two years at this station.

It originated in Ceylon and erupted with intense severity in 1817, particularly in what we now refer to as Bengal, which is 100 miles around the Presidency. Since then, it has spread intermittently in Calcutta and all the Lower Provinces, as well as in the higher regions; however, in the Central Provinces, where Allahabad is located, it is quite rare, with only one case of cholera reported at this station in the past two years.

At Berhampore it is dreadfully prevalent; the 48th regiment quitted this a short time ago by the river, and lost nine men at that place. No diet, no care, can avail. Our medical man said, “I can compare it to nothing but a flash of lightning; its effects are instantaneous; the nerves from the first moment are powerless, dull, and torpid.”

At Berhampore, it's really widespread; the 48th regiment just left the area by the river and lost nine men there. No diet or care seems to help. Our doctor said, “I can compare it to nothing but a flash of lightning; its effects are immediate; the nerves from the very start are weak, numb, and sluggish.”

If I were to be seized with it to-morrow, I should only strive to resign myself quietly to my fate, feeling, that to strive against the malady is hopeless: in fever you have hope, in cholera scarcely a shadow of it; it is better not indulged; but the disease is so powerful it dulls the senses,—mercifully dulls them.

If I were to get hit with it tomorrow, I would just try to accept my fate quietly, knowing that fighting against the illness is pointless: when you have a fever, there's hope, but with cholera, there's hardly any. It's better not to dwell on it; still, the disease is so strong that it numbs the senses—thankfully numbs them.

The cholera is raging at Malda; all the public works are stopped in consequence.

The cholera is spreading rapidly in Malda; all public works have been halted because of it.

18th.—The thermantidote has been put up in our verandah. The rooms are ten degrees cooler than when we had only tattīs. For the first time I have been laid up with a strong attack of rheumatism and lumbago. My medical man says, “The thermantidote pours forth such a volume of cold air, that if you have fallen asleep near it, it has caused all these aches and pains. ‘Nulla rosa senza spine.’”

18th.—The thermantidote has been set up on our porch. The rooms are ten degrees cooler than when we just had the fans. For the first time, I’ve been stuck in bed with a bad case of rheumatism and lower back pain. My doctor says, “The thermantidote releases such a blast of cold air that if you’ve fallen asleep close to it, it’s caused all these aches and pains. ‘No rose without thorns.’”

THE ARABIAN LEPROSY (KOOSTUM).

Happily this dreadful disease is not as common as the other forms of leprosy: but once I beheld a dreadful specimen of its virulence; going into the verandah at 7 A.M., where the carpenters were all at work, a close and most disagreeable effluvium annoyed me—the cause could not be discovered.

Happily, this terrible disease is not as common as other types of leprosy. But once, I saw an awful example of its severity. I went out to the verandah at 7 A.M., where the carpenters were working, and a strong and very unpleasant smell bothered me—the cause couldn't be found.

Just beyond, in the garden, lay a lump under a black blanket. “What is this?” said Lutchman, the carpenter, “the smell proceeds[205] from this lump.” He raised the blanket, beneath it was a leper. Lutchman desired the man to quit the grounds. The poor wretch held up his hands and showed his feet; the fingers and toes of which were festering and rotten from the black Arabian leprosy!

Just beyond, in the garden, there was a lump under a black blanket. “What is this?” said Lutchman, the carpenter. “The smell is coming from this lump.” He lifted the blanket, and beneath it was a leper. Lutchman wanted the man to leave the grounds. The poor wretch raised his hands and showed his feet; the fingers and toes were festering and rotting from the black Arabian leprosy!

I desired he might be carried to the hospital. “We will not touch him,” said the servants; “let him go to the leper hospital.” I sent the man a rupee. “What is the use of a rupee?” said Lutchman, “he cannot enter the bazār; how can he change it?” I sent him some copper coins. “Perhaps some one of low caste will bring him food and take the ānās,” said the carpenter. The poor wretch raised himself, made salām for the money, and crawled away on his knees and elbows.

I wanted him to be taken to the hospital. “We won’t touch him,” said the servants; “let him go to the leper hospital.” I gave the man a rupee. “What good is a rupee?” Lutchman asked, “he can’t go into the bazaar; how can he exchange it?” I gave him some small coins. “Maybe someone of low caste will bring him food and take the ānās,” said the carpenter. The poor guy propped himself up, bowed in gratitude for the money, and crawled away on his knees and elbows.

The next day he was found dead in a field: some of the copper coins had been expended, the remainder and the rupee were on his person.

The next day, he was found dead in a field: some of the copper coins were gone, but the rest and the rupee were on him.

The man had come up from Calcutta on a boat, had been put ashore under our garden bank, and had crawled up; he had not a cowrie. “There was not even left a sigh in his heart[77].”

The man had come up from Calcutta on a boat, had been put ashore under our garden bank, and had crawled up; he didn't have a single cowrie. “There wasn’t even a sigh left in his heart[77].”

He was totally destitute: but of this I was ignorant, until the next day. The effluvium was so bad, and the danger of infection so fearful, it was necessary to remove him at once from the garden.

He was completely broke: I didn't realize this until the next day. The smell was awful, and the risk of infection was so serious that we had to get him out of the garden immediately.

There is a pink leprosy very common: I have often seen a man—once I saw two men—bathing amongst a multitude of men and women, their skins were pink, like the pink of salmon; the disease is not catching, I understand, and they are not avoided.

There is a common type of leprosy that causes a pink skin condition: I have often seen one man—once I saw two men—bathing among a crowd of men and women, their skin was pink, like salmon; the disease is not contagious, as I understand, and they are not shunned.

Another leprosy shows itself in white spots on their dark skins. I was practising archery one morning early; suddenly from behind a tree, a woman came to me, and throwing herself on the ground, laid hold of my foot with both hands, and bent her head upon it; saying, “Mercy, mercy, Beebee Sāhiba!” “May you bathe in milk, and be fruitful in children[78]!” A gentleman present caught me by the shoulder, and pulled me back, at the[206] same time speaking angrily to the woman. “Do you not see,” said he, “she is a leper? She is covered with spots, come away, I am very sorry she touched you.” I gave her some ānās, and told her to go to the hospital—one established by the contributions of the gentlemen at the station, and supported by subscription. There is, also, an asylum for the blind, supported in the same manner.

Another form of leprosy appears as white spots on their dark skin. I was practicing archery one early morning when a woman suddenly emerged from behind a tree, fell to the ground, grabbed my foot with both hands, and rested her head on it, saying, “Have mercy, mercy, Beebee Sāhiba!” “May you bathe in milk and be blessed with many children[78]!” A gentleman nearby grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back, speaking angrily to the woman. “Can’t you see,” he said, “she’s a leper? She’s covered in spots, let’s get away. I’m really sorry she touched you.” I gave her some coins and told her to go to the hospital—one funded by contributions from the gentlemen at the station and supported by subscriptions. There’s also an asylum for the blind that’s supported in the same way.

If I remember correctly, in the course of six weeks after the opening of the Leper Hospital, it contained sixty patients. I have often walked my horse round the compound, during my morning ride, to look at the poor creatures.

If I remember right, within six weeks after the Leper Hospital opened, it had sixty patients. I've often ridden my horse around the compound during my morning ride to see the poor souls.

The elephantiasis, called by the natives fīl-paī, from fīl, an elephant, and paī a foot, is sometimes seen in the Up Country, but is not as common as in Bengal; perhaps the chapāties, thin cakes of unleavened bread which the natives here eat, conduce more to health than rice, the principal food in Bengal. However that may be, it is certain so many miserable objects are not to be seen here afflicted with fīl-paī, as in that low, marshy, and swampy country.

The condition known as elephantiasis, referred to by the locals as fīl-paī—where fīl means elephant and paī means foot—is occasionally found in the Up Country, but it’s not as prevalent as in Bengal. This might be because chapāties, which are thin unleavened bread cakes eaten by the locals here, are healthier than rice, the main staple in Bengal. Regardless, it's clear that there are significantly fewer people suffering from fīl-paī here compared to that low, marshy, and swampy region.

Divine service is performed at Allahabad, either in the Fort or at the Circuit Bungalow, the resident families being unable amongst themselves to raise a sum sufficient to build a handsome church: nevertheless they are the most liberal contributors to all charitable institutions.

Divine service takes place in Allahabad, either at the Fort or at the Circuit Bungalow, since the local families can't raise enough money among themselves to build a nice church. However, they are very generous supporters of all charitable organizations.

LACHHMĪ, THE GODDESS OF BEAUTY.

There is to be a raffle for an English imported chestnut horse. I have taken a ticket, but not without first invoking Lachhmī, the goddess of beauty and prosperity. She who is painted yellow, and dwells in a water-lily, the goddess of fortunate signs; she who holds the water-lily in her hands, she in whom all take refuge, the wife of Hŭrēē.

There will be a raffle for an English-imported chestnut horse. I bought a ticket, but not before calling on Lachhmī, the goddess of beauty and prosperity. She is depicted in yellow and resides in a water lily, the goddess of good omens; she holds the water lily in her hands, and everyone seeks refuge in her, the wife of Hŭrēē.

If a man be growing rich, the Hindoos say, “Lachhmī is gone to abide in his house:” if he be sinking into poverty, “Lachhmī has forsaken him.” If they wish to abuse a man they call him “Lachhmī-chara,” i.e. luckless.

If a man is getting rich, the Hindus say, “Lachhmī has come to live in his house:” if he is falling into poverty, “Lachhmī has left him.” If they want to insult someone, they call him “Lachhmī-chara,” meaning unlucky.

LACHHMĪ THE GODDESS OF BEAUTY.

Lachhmī, the goddess of beauty.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

Vani Parks

Vishnoo obtained this goddess of beauty from the sea, when[207] it was churned by the good and evil spirits for the amrita, or immortal beverage. Like Venus she arose beautiful from the foam of the ocean, ascended to the heavens, and captivated all the gods.

Vishnoo got this goddess of beauty from the sea when[207] it was churned by the good and evil spirits for the amrita, or immortal drink. Like Venus, she emerged beautifully from the ocean's foam, rose to the heavens, and enchanted all the gods.

In the sketch which I copied from a native picture at Prāg, the beautiful goddess, seated in a water-lily, is bathing in a novel style. Four elephants, from their trunks, are pouring the Ganges water over her.

In the sketch I copied from a local image at Prāg, the beautiful goddess, sitting in a water-lily, is bathing in a unique way. Four elephants are pouring Ganges water over her from their trunks.

Oh! Lachhmī, send the chestnut horse to abide in my stables! let me rejoice in Akbal! (good fortune.)

Oh! Lachhmī, send the chestnut horse to stay in my stables! Let me celebrate Akbal! (good fortune.)

“From the body of Lachhmī the fragrance of the lotus extends 800 miles. This goddess shines like a continued blaze of lightning!”

“From Lachhmī's body, the scent of the lotus spreads 800 miles. This goddess radiates like a constant flash of lightning!”

It is as well to remark, with respect to this sketch, that at the end of each of the trunks of the four elephants there is a turn, which, in the original old Hindoo drawing from which I copied it, I could not comprehend. In putting it on stone I left those four turns, but not quite so large as in the original. Since which time I have minutely examined a marble image in my possession, of two elephants pouring water over the head of the beautiful goddess, who appears seated on a water-lily, with a chatr, the emblem of royalty, over her head, and the buds of the lotus in her hands.

It’s worth noting about this sketch that at the end of each of the trunks of the four elephants, there’s a twist that I couldn’t understand in the original old Hindu drawing I copied. When I transferred it to stone, I kept those four twists but made them not quite as large as in the original. Since then, I have closely examined a marble statue I own, depicting two elephants pouring water over the head of the beautiful goddess, who is seated on a water lily, with a chatr, the symbol of royalty, above her head, and lotus buds in her hands.

Each of these elephants holds in his trunk one of those long-necked globe-shaped bottles, in which the pilgrims carry holy water, and from them they are pouring the liquid. It is possible that the circles that are indistinct in the Hindoo drawing of the four elephants may have been the outlines of such bottles.

Each of these elephants has a globe-shaped bottle with a long neck in its trunk, which pilgrims use to carry holy water, and they're pouring the liquid out. It's possible that the faint circles seen in the Hindu drawing of the four elephants were the outlines of these bottles.

However, the sea-born goddess is placed in a much more picturesque point of view, if you imagine her as she appears, floating in the beautiful and pure blossom of the lotus, while bathed from the trunks of the elephants with the sacred water of the Ganges.

However, the sea-born goddess looks much more beautiful if you picture her floating in the lovely and pure blossom of the lotus, while being showered with the sacred water of the Ganges from the trunks of the elephants.

Since our arrival from Cawnpore, I have never mounted my horse, my spirits have been too much depressed.

Since we got here from Cawnpore, I haven't ridden my horse; I've been feeling too down.

June 1st.—Finding myself ill for want of exercise, I commenced rising early; dressing by candlelight, going out by[208] moonlight, and mounting my horse at half-past 3 A.M.! What an unnatural life! The buggy is always sent forward to await my arrival at a certain spot; I never draw my horse’s rein until I arrive at the place, the heat is so much greater when you walk your horse. I return in the buggy at 6 A.M., go to bed for a couple of hours, bathe, and appear at breakfast.

June 1st.—Feeling unwell from lack of exercise, I started getting up early; dressing by candlelight, going out by[208] moonlight, and getting on my horse at 3:30 AM! What an odd lifestyle! The buggy is always sent ahead to wait for me at a specific spot; I never pull on my horse’s reins until I get there, as it's much hotter when you ride your horse slowly. I come back in the buggy at 6 AM, sleep for a couple of hours, take a bath, and then join everyone for breakfast.

How often “Chār vajr, barī fajr,” i.e. four o’clock in the early dawn, sleepy and unwilling to exert myself, have I thought of the proverb:—“Oh, thou who art so fond of sleep, why don’t you die at once[79]?”

How often, “Chār vajr, barī fajr,” i.e. four o’clock in the early dawn, feeling sleepy and reluctant to get up, have I thought about the saying:—“Oh, you who love sleep so much, why don’t you just die already[79]?”

To-day the heat is dreadful; 89° even at the mouth of the thermantidote, and in the other parts of the house six degrees higher! After my early canter, I did not quit my chārpāī until 3 P.M., so completely was I exhausted by the heat.

ToDay the heat is unbearable; 89°F even at the mouth of the thermantidote, and in other parts of the house, it's six degrees higher! After my early ride, I didn't leave my chārpāī until 3 P.M., I was so completely exhausted by the heat.

Although by nature not inclined to the melting mood, I felt as if I should dissolve, such streams from my forehead, such thirst, and lassitude; I really “thaw, and resolve myself into a dew.” The call all day is soda-water, soda-water.

Although I’m not usually one to get emotional, I felt like I was going to melt, with the sweat pouring from my forehead, and feeling so thirsty and tired; I really “thaw and turn into a dew.” All day, I just crave soda water, soda water.

To the 21st of June, this oppressive weather held its sway; our only consolation grapes, iced-water, and the thermantidote, which answers admirably, almost too well, as on the 22nd I was laid up with rheumatic fever and lumbago, occasioned, they tell me, by standing, or sleeping before it after coming in from a canter before sunrise.

By June 21st, this unbearable weather had taken over; our only relief was grapes, iced water, and the thermantidote, which worked almost too well, because on the 22nd I ended up stuck in bed with rheumatic fever and back pain, caused, I’m told, by either standing or sleeping near it after coming in from a ride before sunrise.

22nd.—Heavy rain fell, the thermantidote was stopped, and the tattīs taken down; nor were they replaced, as the rain poured down almost night and day from that time until the end of the month.

22nd.—It rained heavily, the thermantidote was shut off, and the tattīs were taken down; they weren't put back up, as the rain fell almost continuously day and night from that point until the end of the month.

30th.—We had a party at home: the thermometer during the day 88°; after dinner it rose to 91°, in consequence of the numerous lamps in the rooms, and the little multitude of servants in attendance.

30th.—We had a party at home: the temperature during the day was 88°; after dinner it went up to 91° because of the many lamps in the rooms and the bunch of servants helping out.

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[209]

A LIST OF SERVANTS IN A PRIVATE FAMILY.

A LIST OF STAFF IN A PRIVATE HOUSEHOLD.

No. Wages.
Rupees
per month.
1 A khānsāmān, or head man; a Musalmān servant who purchases the provisions, makes the confectionary, and superintends the table 12
2 The ābdār, or water-cooler; cools the water, ices the wines, and attends with them at table 8
3 The head khidmatgār; he takes charge of the plate-chest, and waits at table 7
4 A second khidmatgār, who waits at table 6
5 A bāwarchī, or cook 12
6 Mate bāwarchī 4
7 Mashalchī; dish-washer and torch-bearer 4
8 Dhobee, or washerman 8
9 Istree wālā, washerman for ironing 8
10 A darzee, or tailor 8
11 A second tailor 6
12 An ayha, or lady’s maid 10
13 An under woman 6
14 A doriya; a sweeper, who also attends to the dogs 4
15 Sirdar-bearer, an Hindoo servant, the head of the bearers, and the keeper of the sāhib’s wardrobe; the keys of which are always carried in his kamarband, the folds of cloth around his waist 8
16 The mate-bearer; assists as valet, and attends to the lamps 6
22 Six bearers to pull the pankhās, and dust the furniture, &c. 24
23 A gwālā, or cowherd 4
24 A bher-i-wālā, or shepherd 5
25 A murgh-i-wālā, to take care of the fowls, wild-ducks, quail, rabbits, guinea-fowls, and pigeons 4
26 A mālee, or gardener 5
27 A mate, do 3
28 Another mate, or a cooly 2[210]
29 A gram-grinder, generally a woman who grinds the chanā for the horses 2
30 A coachman 10
38 Eight sā’īses, or (grooms), at five rupees each, for eight horses 40
46 Eight grass-cutters, at three rupees each, for the above 24
47 A bihishti, or water-carrier 5
48 A mate bihishti 4
49 A Barha’ī mistree, a carpenter 8
50 Another carpenter 7
52 Two coolies, to throw water on the tattīs 4
54 Two chaukīdārs, or watchmen 8
55 A durwān, or gate-keeper 4
57 Two chaprāsīs, or running footmen, to carry notes, and be in attendance in the verandah 10
57 total. Rupees per month 290
or about 290l. per annum.

During the hot winds, a number of extra coolies, twelve or fourteen, are necessary, if you have more than one thermantidote, or if you keep it going all night as well as during the day; these men, as well as an extra bihishti, are discharged when the rains set in.

During the hot winds, several extra laborers, around twelve or fourteen, are needed if you have more than one cooling device, or if you want to keep it running all night as well as during the day; these workers, along with an additional supervisor, are let go once the rains start.

We, as quiet people, find these servants necessary. Some gentlemen for state add an assa burdar, the bearer of a long silver staff; and a sonta burdar, or chob-dar, who carries a silver club, with a grim head on the top of it. The business of these people is to announce the arrival of company.

We, as reserved individuals, find these attendants essential. Some dignitaries have an assa burdar, the one who carries a long silver staff; and a sonta burdar, or chob-dar, who holds a silver club with a grim-looking head on it. The role of these individuals is to announce the arrival of guests.

If many dogs are kept, an extra doriya will be required.

If you have many dogs, you'll need an extra doriya.

The above is a list of our own domestics, and the rate of their wages.

The list above shows our household staff and their wage rates.

The heat of the climate, added to the customs and prejudices of the natives, oblige you to keep a number of servants; but you do not find them in food as in England. One man will not[211] do the work of another, but says, “I shall lose caste,” which caste, by the bye, may be regained by the expenditure of a few rupees in a dinner to their friends and relatives. The Mohammadan servants pretend they shall lose caste; but, in fact, they have none: the term is only applicable to the Hindoos.

The hot climate, combined with the customs and biases of the locals, forces you to hire a number of servants; however, their food quality isn’t like that in England. One person won’t do another’s job, claiming, “I’ll lose my status,” which, by the way, can be regained by spending a few rupees on a dinner for their friends and family. The Muslim servants claim they’ll lose their status too, but really, they don’t have any; that term only applies to the Hindus.

If your khānsāmān and sirdar-bearer are good and honest servants, you have little or no trouble with an Indian household; but, unless you are fortunate with your head servants, there is great trouble in keeping between fifty or sixty domestics in order.

If your cook and head servant are good and honest, you won't have much trouble managing an Indian household; but if you're not lucky with your main servants, it can be very difficult to keep fifty or sixty staff in line.


[212]

[212]

CHAPTER XX.
SCENES AT ALLAHABAD—PILGRIMAGE TO THE TRIVENI.

The old Brahman—The Triveni—The Achivut—The Pātal Pooree—Temples of Bhardoajmun—Radha Krishnŭ—Hindoo oath—The Tulsī—The Peepul-tree—The Letin leaves—Lamps in the air—Paintings on Ubruk—Impressions on leaves and flowers—The Mootee Musjid—The Crows a pest—Byā birds—Haymaking—The silver Tankard—An Earthquake—Transferring diseases to flowers—Perjury—Farming operations—Oats—Bhoodder Ram the Dwarf—The Camel—The Powder-works and Rocket manufactory.

The old Brahman—The Triveni—The Achivut—The Pātal Pooree—Temples of Bhardoajmun—Radha Krishna—Hindu oath—The Tulsī—The Peepul tree—The Letin leaves—Lamps in the air—Paintings on Ubruk—Impressions on leaves and flowers—The Mootee Masjid—The crows are a nuisance—Byā birds—Haymaking—The silver tankard—An earthquake—Transferring diseases to flowers—Perjury—Farming activities—Oats—Bhoodder Ram the Dwarf—The Camel—The powder works and rocket factory.

1831, July 6th.—I study the customs and superstitions of the Hindoos so eagerly, that my friends laugh and say, “We expect some day to see you at pooja in the river!”

1831, July 6th.—I’m so fascinated by the customs and superstitions of the Hindoos that my friends joke, “One day, we expect to see you at pooja in the river!”

In one of the temples near the Circuit bungalow, I was surprised at seeing two small brazen figures of Krishnŭ and his love Radha, or, to speak more correctly, of Radha Krishnŭ, dressed up in silks and satins. Making a reverence, “Salāmut,” I exclaimed, in Hindostani, “yah! yah!” “Oh, my father, what a beautiful Krishnŭ is this! and there is Radha the beloved. This is, indeed, a Krishnŭ; I never saw so beautiful a fellow!” The old Brahman made many salāms and reverences, exclaiming, “There is an excellent mem sāhiba! she understands all, she understands every thing!” As Krishnŭ of yore charmed every woman who beheld him, so that quitting all on earth they followed and worshipped him alone, I suppose the old Hindoo imagined his god still retained the power of fascination.

In one of the temples near the Circuit bungalow, I was surprised to see two small bronze figures of Krishna and his love Radha, or more accurately, of Radha Krishna, dressed in silks and satins. Bowing, I said, “Salāmut,” and exclaimed in Hindostani, “yah! yah!” “Oh, my father, what a beautiful Krishna this is! And there’s Radha, the beloved. This is truly a Krishna; I’ve never seen such a beautiful figure!” The old Brahman made many bows and gestures of respect, exclaiming, “There’s an amazing mem sāhiba! She understands everything!” Just as Krishna once charmed every woman who saw him, leading them to leave everything behind and worship him alone, I suppose the old Hindu thought his god still had that same captivating power.

PILGRIMAGE TO THE TRIVENI.

The Hindoos think it most meritorious to make a pilgrimage[213] to the holy city of Prāg (Allahabad); but this is not perfect, unless they visit three different places on that spot:

The Hindus believe it is very commendable to take a pilgrimage[213] to the holy city of Prāg (Allahabad); however, this isn't complete unless they visit three different locations at that site:

1st. The junction of the Ganges and Jumna.

1st. The confluence of the Ganges and Yamuna.

2nd. The holy Achibut, or Akhivut.

2nd. The sacred Achibut, or Akhivut.

3rd. The temples of Bhardoajmun.

3rd. The temples of Bhardoajmun.

One of the holiest spots of the Ganges is where it joins the Jumna (Yamuna), just below the fort. The Saraswati is supposed to unite with them underground, whence the junction is called Triveni or Tribeni. This spot is deemed so holy that a person dying there is certain of immediate moskh or beatitude, without risk of further transmigration.

One of the holiest places along the Ganges is where it meets the Yamuna, just below the fort. The Saraswati is said to connect with them underground, which is why the meeting point is called Triveni or Tribeni. This location is considered so sacred that anyone who dies there is guaranteed immediate moksha or bliss, without the risk of being reborn.

There is a mythological representation of the Triveni, or mystical union of the three divine rivers personified,—“Gunga, Yamuna, Saraswati.” The drawing represents a female with three heads and six arms, riding astride upon a fish. The Hindoos say the Ganges and Jumna unite above ground; the Saraswati joins them below; this they see with the eye of faith. In reality, the Saraswati falls into the Jumna a little below Delhi; and, therefore, they all three unite below the fort at Prāg. Saraswati, the wife of Vishnoo, by the curse of a Brahman was turned into the river which bears her name.

There is a mythological depiction of the Triveni, or mystical union of the three divine rivers represented as “Ganga, Yamuna, Saraswati.” The illustration shows a woman with three heads and six arms, riding on a fish. Hindus believe that the Ganges and Yamuna meet above ground; the Saraswati joins them below, which they perceive with faith. In reality, the Saraswati flows into the Yamuna just below Delhi; therefore, they all three come together below the fort at Prāg. Saraswati, the wife of Vishnu, was turned into the river that bears her name due to a Brahman's curse.

The Purānas declare that the sight, the name, or the touch of Gunga takes away all sin, however heinous; that thinking of Gunga when at a distance is sufficient to remove the taint of sin; but that bathing in Gunga has blessings in it, of which no imagination can conceive. At the Tribeni they bathe and make pooja.

The Purānas state that seeing, naming, or touching the Ganges washes away all sins, no matter how serious; that just thinking about the Ganges from afar is enough to clear away the stain of sin; but that bathing in the Ganges brings blessings beyond imagination. At the Tribeni, people bathe and perform rituals.

THE HOLY ACHIBUT.

This tree grows in, or is enclosed within the walls of the fort, in such a manner that you cannot see it from any place. They take you into a room, which was formerly one of an hummām, or steam bath. This room is called the Achibut chamber, and there, with the eye of faith, the pilgrims behold the everlasting tree; which they believe has been there from the beginning of time, and will remain there to all eternity. They showed me a crack in the roof, and said, “Do you not see the branch of the[214] tree has cracked the roof in three places?” I certainly saw three cracks, but whether from a tree or ivy I cannot say; not a leaf was visible. The door of this chamber has been blocked up, on account of a native in the collector’s office wishing to put up his idol there; the man is a worshipper of Parisnāth, the god of the heretical Hindoos. No orthodox Hindoo will worship in a temple where there is an image of Parisnāth; and as this man had raised an altar in the Achibut chamber, and wished to place his idol thereon, it caused a great commotion; to quell which, the Commandant of the fort bricked up the door, and has never allowed the people entrance since that time.

This tree grows inside the fort's walls in such a way that you can't see it from anywhere. They take you into a room that used to be a steam bath. This room is called the Achibut chamber, and there, with faith, the pilgrims claim to see the everlasting tree, which they believe has been there since the beginning of time and will remain forever. They pointed out a crack in the roof and said, “Do you see how the tree's branch has cracked the roof in three places?” I did see three cracks, but whether they were from a tree or ivy, I can't say; not a single leaf was visible. The door of this chamber has been sealed off because a local official wanted to place his idol there; he is a worshipper of Parisnāth, the god of the heretical Hindus. No orthodox Hindu will worship in a temple that has an image of Parisnāth, and since this man had built an altar in the Achibut chamber and wanted to put his idol on it, it caused quite a stir. To calm the situation, the Commandant of the fort bricked up the door and has since denied people entry.

There are about four hundred heretical Hindoos at Prāg; I did not know until to-day such a caste existed.

There are around four hundred heretical Hindus in Prayag; I didn't realize until today that such a caste existed.

The sacred Achibut is the bér, or great banyan tree, the Ficus Indica; the burgot of the Mahrattas; the Portuguese arbor de rayz, i.e. the rooting-tree. It is sacred to Vishnoo, who was born on its leaves. It is called the rooting tree, from the circumstance that it propagates itself by letting a kind of gummy string fall from its branches, which takes root, grows large, and by this means the branches often spread to a vast circuit, affording the most delightful shade in a hot climate; it is one of the largest and most majestic trees in the world.

The sacred Achibut is the bër, or great banyan tree, the Ficus Indica; the burgot of the Mahrattas; the Portuguese arbor de rayz, i.e. the rooting tree. It’s sacred to Vishnoo, who was born on its leaves. It’s called the rooting tree because it propagates itself by letting a kind of gummy string fall from its branches, which takes root, grows large, and allows the branches to often spread over a vast area, providing the most delightful shade in a hot climate; it’s one of the largest and most majestic trees in the world.

At the gate of the magazine is a very fine young bér tree. Although sacred to Vishnoo, the preserver, nevertheless, it is said that “a demon resides under a bér tree.[80]” The goblin attached to this tree is reported to be exceedingly obstinate. Demons or goblins are said to be attached to different places; as to Musans, or places where the dead are burned; and to various trees and shrubs.

At the entrance of the magazine is a really nice young bér tree. Even though it's sacred to Vishnoo, the preserver, people say that “a demon lives under a bér tree.[80]” The spirit connected to this tree is said to be very stubborn. Demons or spirits are believed to be associated with different locations; like Musans, where the dead are cremated; and with various trees and shrubs.

There is a remarkable passage in the Brahma Purāna, respecting the Achibut.

There is a remarkable passage in the Brahma Purāna regarding the Achibut.

“Let the man who is afflicted with a grievous and incurable disease enter a burning fire, or procure his death by starvation, or by plunging into unfathomable waters, or by precipitating himself from an eminence, or by ascending to Paradise by a[215] respectful pilgrimage to the Himalaya mountains; whoever relinquishes life under these circumstances,—by precipitating himself from the sacred bér tree at Prāg (Allahabad), or his time being come destroys himself; that high-minded person shall receive a great reward in the future state, and shall not be considered a suicide; even although he may have been a great sinner, he shall meet with supreme bliss in Paradise.”

“Let the person suffering from a serious and incurable disease enter a blazing fire, starve to death, dive into deep waters, jump from a height, or reach Paradise through a respectful pilgrimage to the Himalayas; whoever chooses to end their life in these ways—by jumping from the sacred bér tree at Prāg (Allahabad), or when their time comes self-destructs; that noble individual will receive a great reward in the afterlife and will not be labeled a suicide; even if they were a significant sinner, they will experience ultimate happiness in Paradise.”

The pooja of the Achibut takes place on the 9th of June (jet ke pondrah tarik). All bér trees are holy; no Hindoo will cut them.

The pooja of the Achibut takes place on June 9th (jet ke pondrah tarik). All bér trees are sacred; no Hindu will cut them.

On the outside of the magazine is a subterraneous passage, called Pātal Pooree; it is built of stone. From the entrance, you pass down a long stone passage, the walls of which on both sides are covered with idols; you arrive at a chamber, supported by pillars; in this place there are forms of Mahadēo, that are worshipped.

On the outside of the magazine is an underground passage, called Pātal Pooree; it's made of stone. From the entrance, you walk down a long stone passage, with walls on both sides covered in idols; you reach a chamber supported by pillars; in this space, there are representations of Mahadēo that are worshipped.

When the Achibut chamber was blocked up, the Brahmans set up the stump of a bér tree in the Pātal Pooree, and declared that it was a branch of the real Achibut, that had penetrated through the walls.

When the Achibut chamber was sealed off, the Brahmans placed the stump of a bér tree in the Pātal Pooree and claimed that it was a branch of the true Achibut that had broken through the walls.

They certainly have established it firmly in that situation, making good the proverb, “Its roots have already reached to Pātal[81]” (the infernal regions). The morning I visited the Pātal Pooree, I saw this stump, which must have been freshly worshipped, as the earth at its base was covered with oil, ghee, boiled rice, and flowers. The passage itself, and the chamber also, were oily, dark, very hot, and slippery: we saw it by lamp-light; the chirāgh (lamp) was carried by a portly Brahman, who has charge of the place, and makes much money during the time of the fair. The resident Hindoos of Prāg, who know the trick the Brahmans have played, do not pooja the false Achibut. In this place is the mysterious passage which they say leads underground to Delhi; devotees were making pooja before it.

They have definitely secured it in that situation, proving the saying, “Its roots have already reached to Pātal[81]” (the underworld). The morning I visited Pātal Pooree, I saw this stump, which must have been freshly worshiped, as the ground at its base was covered with oil, ghee, boiled rice, and flowers. The passage itself, and the chamber too, were oily, dark, very hot, and slippery: we saw it by lamp-light; the lamp was carried by a stout Brahman, who oversees the place and makes a lot of money during the fair. The local Hindus of Prāg, who know the tricks the Brahmans have pulled, do not perform pooja for the false Achibut. Here is the enigmatic passage that supposedly leads underground to Delhi; devotees were making pooja in front of it.

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THE TEMPLES OF BHARDOAJMUN.

The third holy spot visited by the devotees are some mhuts, Hindoo temples, about two miles from the fort, near the circuit Bungalow. This spot was formerly the abode of Bhardoajmun, a fakir, and here he displayed his red flag from a bamboo. This Bhardoajmun was a very holy man; after his departure, or after his ashes had been consigned to Gunga-jee, some temples were raised on the spot, and dedicated to Mahadēo, the great god. There are three principal mhuts, in one of which is a white marble image or form of Mahadēo, with four faces, very well executed. In the second is an image in stone of the old fakir himself, about fifteen inches high, to which divine honours are paid. There are, counting all the small mhuts, some nine or ten temples, under the shade of very fine tamarind trees, which are very picturesque. The eyes of the images are covered with thin silver plates, and the eyes themselves are about five times larger than the natural size; in one of the temples the face of the idol was covered or made of a thin plate of gold.

The third holy place that visitors go to is a few mhuts, Hindu temples located about two miles from the fort, near the circuit bungalow. This place used to be home to Bhardoajmun, a holy man, who hung his red flag from a bamboo pole here. Bhardoajmun was a very revered figure; after he passed away, or after his ashes were scattered into the Ganges, some temples were built in his memory and dedicated to Mahadēo, the great god. There are three main mhuts, one of which features a white marble statue of Mahadēo with four faces, which is beautifully crafted. The second contains a stone statue of the old fakir himself, about fifteen inches tall, which is worshipped. Including all the smaller mhuts, there are about nine or ten temples set under beautiful tamarind trees that add to the scenic view. The eyes of the statues are covered with thin silver plates, and the eyes themselves are about five times larger than normal. In one of the temples, the face of the idol is covered with a thin layer of gold.

One of the temples is dedicated to Varaha, an avatār or incarnation of Vishnoo; and represents a man with a boar’s head, on whose tusks rests a crescent, containing in its concavity an epitome of the earth, which had been immerged in the ocean as a punishment for its iniquities,—the story of the deluge. Vishnoo, in the form of a boar, dived into the abyss, and restored the earth on the points of his tusks. This is the first temple I have seen dedicated to Varaha: also, for the first time, I here saw a shrine, sacred to Radha Krishnŭ, the wife of a cowherd, whom Krishnŭ carried off from her husband to a forest on the banks of the Jumna, where they resided for some time; she has been deified with the god, and her image is worshipped at his festivals. If a Hindoo be charged with any particular act, of which he wishes to express his abhorrence, he exclaims “Radha Krishnŭ!” Many persons repeat, “Ram, Ram, Ram!” on such occasions, but no one says Seeta Ram; yet, when Krishnŭ’s name is to be repeated they always join to it that of his beloved Radha. It has passed into a proverb, “Apne Radha ko yad ker.”[217] As Krishnŭ always thought of Radha, so they say, “Attend to your own Radha[82],” either in anger or laughingly; i.e. attend to your own business.

One of the temples is dedicated to Varaha, an avatar of Vishnu, and depicts a man with a boar’s head. On his tusks rests a crescent, which holds a representation of the earth that was submerged in the ocean as punishment for its wrongdoings—the story of the flood. Vishnu, in the form of a boar, plunged into the depths and lifted the earth on the tips of his tusks. This is the first temple I've seen dedicated to Varaha. For the first time, I also encountered a shrine dedicated to Radha Krishna, the wife of a cowherd, whom Krishna abducted from her husband to a forest by the Yamuna, where they lived for a while. She has been deified alongside the god, and her image is venerated during his festivals. If a Hindu is accused of something they find particularly objectionable, they exclaim “Radha Krishna!” Many people say, “Ram, Ram, Ram!” in such situations, but no one says Seeta Ram; however, whenever Krishna's name is mentioned, they always pair it with his beloved Radha. It has become a proverb, “Apne Radha ko yad ker.”[217] Just as Krishna always thought of Radha, they say, “Mind your own Radha,” whether in anger or jokingly; in other words, mind your own business.

What a noise the people are making! a Hindoo is taking an oath. The man is holding in both hands a lota, a brass drinking vessel, filled with Ganges water, on which is placed a sprig of the sacred tulsī, and by Gunga-jee he swears. I would bet ten to one all he is swearing is false, from the elevation of his voice, and his insisting so strongly on its being true. In the plate, entitled “The Thug’s Dice,” figure 4 represents a highly ornamented small brass lota, containing the Ganges water, and a sprig of the kālā tulsī on the top of it.

What a racket the crowd is making! A Hindu is taking an oath. The man is holding a brass drinking vessel, called a lota, filled with Ganges water, with a sprig of sacred tulsī placed on top, and he swears by Gunga-jee. I would bet ten to one that everything he’s swearing to is a lie, judging by the way he’s raising his voice and insisting so strongly that it’s true. In the plate titled “The Thug’s Dice,” figure 4 shows a beautifully decorated small brass lota, filled with Ganges water, topped with a sprig of kālā tulsī.

The tulsī or tulasī is a native of India, and there are several sorts of it. The kālā tulsī, purple-stalked basil, (ocymum sanctum,) is more especially worshipped by the Hindoos, and is the most sacred of all the tulsīs. The Malays cultivate this plant with care, for the purpose of strewing on graves; it is highly aromatic.

The tulsī or tulasī is native to India, and there are several varieties of it. The kālā tulsī, or purple-stalked basil (ocymum sanctum), is particularly revered by Hindus and is considered the most sacred of all tulsīs. The Malays grow this plant diligently to scatter on graves, as it is very fragrant.

Suffaid tulsī, white basil, or Indian tea, (ocymum album,) seldom rises more than a foot high; the stem is of a greenish white colour, and woody at the base; the leaves, which are two or three inches long, have an aromatic taste and agreeable smell.

Suffaid tulsī, white basil, or Indian tea (Ocimum album), rarely grows more than a foot tall. The stem is a greenish-white color and woody at the base. The leaves, which are two to three inches long, have a fragrant taste and pleasant aroma.

Mummerree, or nazbo, (ocymum pilosum,) ciliated basil: the scent is delicious and powerful; the bruised leaves have an odour resembling that of lemon. The Baghuts (a class of Hindoos who neither eat meat nor drink wine,) wear rosaries made of the root of the tulsī. These plants are all considered sacred. But to return to the man of whose veracity I felt in doubt: Their own proverbs condemn the Hindoos: “What need of economy in telling lies[83]?” and to a man who has an unconquerable habit of lying, they apply a very singular proverb[84].

Mummerree, or nazbo (ocymum pilosum), ciliated basil: the scent is delicious and strong; the crushed leaves smell similar to lemon. The Baghuts (a group of Hindus who neither eat meat nor drink wine) wear rosaries made from the root of the tulsī. All these plants are considered sacred. But back to the man whose honesty I questioned: Their own sayings criticize Hindus: “What need is there for saving money when telling lies[83]?” and for someone with an unstoppable tendency to lie, they have a very unique saying[84].

THE PEEPUL TREE (FICUS RELIGIOSA).

A peepul tree grows on the banks of the Jumna, just in front of our house; the fine old tree moans in the wind, and the[218] rustling of the leaves sounds like the falling of rain; this is accounted for by the almost constant trembling of its beautiful and sacred leaves, which is occasioned by the great length and delicacy of the foot stalks; whence it is called Chalada, or the tree with tremulous leaves. The leaves are of a beautiful bright glossy green, heart-shaped, scalloped, and daggered; from their stalks, when gathered, a milky juice pours out; on wounding the bark of the trunk this milk is also poured out, with which the natives prepare a kind of birdlime.

A peepul tree grows by the banks of the Jumna, right in front of our house; the beautiful old tree sighs in the wind, and the rustling of the leaves sounds like rain falling; this is due to the almost constant quivering of its lovely and sacred leaves, which happens because of their long and delicate stalks; that’s why it’s called Chalada, or the tree with trembling leaves. The leaves are a stunning bright glossy green, heart-shaped, scalloped, and dagger-like; when they are picked, a milky sap oozes from their stalks; if the bark of the trunk is damaged, this milky sap also flows out, which the locals use to make a type of birdlime.

There is a remarkable similarity between the Ancient Britons and the Hindoos: on the sixth day of the moon’s age, which is called Aranya-Shashti, “women walk in the forests, with a fan in one hand, and eat certain vegetables, in hope of beautiful children. See the account, given by Pliny, of the druidical misletoe, or viscum, which was to be gathered when the moon was six days old, as a preservative from sterility[85].” The Hindoo women eat the fruit of the peepul tree, and believe it to have the same wondrous qualities. There is another similarity between the hill tribes and the Ancient Britons, which will be mentioned hereafter. The peepul is sacred to Vishnoo, one of the Hindoo Triad; they believe a god resides in every leaf, who delights in the music of their rustling and their tremulous motion.

There’s a striking similarity between the Ancient Britons and the Hindus: on the sixth day of the moon’s cycle, known as Aranya-Shashti, “women walk in the forests with a fan in one hand and eat specific vegetables, hoping for beautiful children. Check out the account from Pliny about the druidic mistletoe, or viscum, which was to be picked when the moon was six days old, as a remedy for infertility[85].” Hindu women eat the fruit of the peepul tree, believing it has the same magical properties. There’s another similarity between the hill tribes and the Ancient Britons that will be discussed later. The peepul tree is sacred to Vishnu, one of the Hindu Trinity; they believe a god lives in every leaf, who enjoys the sound of their rustling and their gentle movement.

During the festival of the Muharram, the followers of the prophet suspend lamps in the air, and in their houses, made of the skeleton leaves of the peepul tree, on which they paint figures; some of these lamps are beautifully made; no other leaves will form such fine and delicate transparencies; I have tried the large leaf of the teak tree, but could not succeed as well with it as with that of the ficus religiosa. The Chinese paint beautifully on these leaves, first putting a transparent varnish over them. At Schwalbach, in Germany, I purchased skeleton leaves of the plane, in the centre of which the figure of Frederick the Great was preserved in the green of the leaf, whilst all around the skeleton fibres were perfect; how this is accomplished, I know not. The skeleton leaves are very beautiful, and easily prepared[86].

During the Muharram festival, followers of the prophet hang lamps in the air and in their homes, made from the skeleton leaves of the peepul tree, which they decorate with paintings; some of these lamps are really beautifully made; no other leaves create such fine and delicate transparencies; I’ve tried using large leaves from the teak tree, but I couldn’t get the same results as with those from the ficus religiosa. The Chinese paint beautifully on these leaves, first applying a transparent varnish over them. In Schwalbach, Germany, I bought skeleton leaves from the plane tree, in which the figure of Frederick the Great was preserved in the green of the leaf, while the skeleton fibers around it were intact; I don’t know how this is done. The skeleton leaves are very beautiful and easy to prepare[86].

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The peepul is universally sacred; the Hindoo women, and the men also, are often seen in the early morning putting flowers in pooja at the foot of the tree, and pouring water on its roots. They place their idols of stone beneath this tree, and the bér (banyan), and worship them constantly; nor will they cut a branch, unless to benefit the tree.

The peepul tree is considered sacred everywhere; Hindu women and men can often be seen early in the morning putting flowers for worship at the base of the tree and pouring water on its roots. They place their stone idols beneath this tree and under the banyan tree, and they worship them regularly; they won't cut a branch unless it's to help the tree.

The native panchāyats (courts of justice) are often held beneath it. The accused first invokes the god in his sylvan throne above him, to destroy him and his, (as he himself could crush a leaf in his hand,) if he speak anything but the truth; then gathering and crushing a leaf, he makes his deposition.

The local panchayats (courts of justice) are often held underneath it. The accused first calls on the god sitting in his forest throne above him, asking to be destroyed along with his loved ones (just like he could crush a leaf in his hand) if he says anything but the truth; then, by gathering and crushing a leaf, he makes his declaration.

The Hindoos suspend lamps in the air on bamboos, in the month Kartiku, in honour of their gods; these lamps are generally formed of ubruk (talc). Sometimes they are formed of clay, pierced through with fretwork, in remarkably pretty patterns. This offering to all the gods in this month procures many benefits, in their belief, to the giver; and the offering of lamps to particular gods, or to Gunga-jee, is also esteemed an act of merit.

The Hindus hang lamps in the air on bamboo poles during the month of Kartik to honor their gods. These lamps are usually made of talc. Sometimes they are made of clay, with intricate patterns cut through them. This offering to all the gods during this month is believed to bring many blessings to the giver, and offering lamps to specific gods, or to Ganga, is also considered a good deed.

Speaking of ubruk reminds me of the many uses to which it is applied. The costumes of native servants, Nāch women and their attendants, the procession of the Muharram, the trades, &c., are painted upon it by native artists, and sold in sets; the best are executed at Benares. By the aid of ubruk, drawings can be very correctly copied; they are speedily done, and look well[87]. We also used ubruk in lieu of glass for the windows of the hummām.

Speaking of ubruk makes me think of the many ways it's used. Native artists paint the costumes of local servants, Nāch women, their attendants, the Muharram procession, and various trades on it, and these are sold in sets; the best ones come from Benares. With the help of ubruk, drawings can be copied accurately and quickly, and they look great[87]. We also used ubruk instead of glass for the windows of the hummām.

It was a source of great pleasure to me, at Allahabad, to ride out long distances in the early morning, hunting for rare plants and flowers; on my return I took off the impressions in a book of Chinese paper, and added to it the history of the tree or plant, its medicinal virtues, its sacred qualities, and all the legends attached to it, that I could collect[88].

It brought me a lot of joy in Allahabad to ride long distances in the early morning, searching for rare plants and flowers. When I got back, I pressed them in a book made of Chinese paper and recorded the history of each tree or plant, its medicinal benefits, its sacred attributes, and all the legends connected to it that I could find.[88].

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From the Calcutta John Bull, July 26th, 1831.

From the Calcutta John Bull, July 26th, 1831.

“The Governor-general has sold the beautiful piece of architecture, called the Mootee Musjid, at Agra, for 125,000 rupees (about £12,500), and it is now being pulled down! The taj has also been offered for sale! but the price required has not been obtained. Two lacs, however, have been offered for it. Should the taj be pulled down, it is rumoured that disturbances may take place amongst the natives.”

“The Governor-General has sold the stunning piece of architecture known as the Mootee Musjid in Agra for 125,000 rupees (around £12,500), and it’s currently being demolished! The Taj has also been put up for sale, but the asking price hasn’t been met. However, an offer of two lacs has been made for it. If the Taj is destroyed, there are rumors that unrest could occur among the locals.”

If this be true, is it not shameful? The present king might as well sell the chapel of Henry the Seventh in Westminster Abbey for the paltry sum of £12,500: for any sum the impropriety of the act would be the same. By what authority does the Governor-general offer the taj for sale? Has he any right to molest the dead? To sell the tomb raised over an empress, which from its extraordinary beauty is the wonder of the world? It is impossible the Court of Directors can sanction the sale of the tomb for the sake of its marble and gems. They say that a Hindoo wishes to buy the taj to carry away the marble, and erect a temple to his own idols at Bindrabund!

If this is true, isn't it shameful? The current king might as well sell the chapel of Henry the Seventh in Westminster Abbey for the meager sum of £12,500; the inappropriateness of the act would be the same regardless of the amount. By what authority does the Governor-general offer the Taj for sale? Does he have any right to disturb the dead? To sell the tomb built for an empress, which is a wonder of the world because of its incredible beauty? There's no way the Court of Directors can approve the sale of the tomb just for its marble and gems. They claim that a Hindu wants to buy the Taj to take the marble and build a temple for his own idols at Bindrabund!

The crows are a pest; they will pounce upon meat carried on a plate, and bear it off: they infest the door of the Bawarchī Khānā (cook room), and annoy the servants, who retaliate on a poor kawwā, if they can catch one, by dressing it up in an officer’s uniform, and letting it go to frighten the others. The poor bird looks so absurd hopping about. Sometimes they drill a hole through the beak, and passing a wire through it, string thereon five cowries; this bears the poor crow’s head to the ground, and must torture it. Such cruelty I have forbidden. The crow is a bird of ill omen.

The crows are a nuisance; they swoop in on meat resting on a plate and take it away. They swarm around the cook's area and bother the staff, who sometimes take out their frustration on a hapless crow, if they manage to catch one, by dressing it in an officer’s uniform and letting it go to scare the others. The poor bird looks so silly hopping around. Sometimes they drill a hole through its beak and thread a wire through it, attaching five cowrie shells; this keeps the poor crow's head pressed down and must be painful for it. I've put a stop to such cruelty. The crow is considered a bird of bad luck.

The wood of the babūl (acacia Arabica) is extremely hard, and is used by the Brahmans to kindle their sacred fire, by rubbing two pieces of it together, when it is of a proper age, and sufficiently dried. It produces the Indian gum Arabic. The gold ear-rings made in imitation of the flower of the babūl, worn by Indian women, and by some men also, are beautiful.

The wood of the babūl (acacia Arabica) is very hard and is used by the Brahmins to start their sacred fire by rubbing two pieces together when it's the right age and properly dried. It also produces Indian gum Arabic. The gold earrings designed to resemble the flower of the babūl, which are worn by Indian women and some men, are beautiful.

My ayha is ill with cholera: there is no hope of her recovery. The disease came across the Jumna, about four miles higher up than our house, and is regularly marching across the country to the Ganges: as it proceeds no fresh cases occur in the villages it leaves behind.

My mom is sick with cholera: there’s no hope for her recovery. The disease came across the Jumna, about four miles upstream from our house, and is steadily moving across the country towards the Ganges: as it spreads, no new cases happen in the villages it leaves behind.

The old peepul moans and rustles in the wind so much, that deceived by the sound, we have often gone into the verandah joyously exclaiming “There is the rain!” To our sorrow it was only the leaves of the tree agitated by the wind.

The old peepul tree moans and rustles in the wind so much that, fooled by the sound, we have often rushed out to the verandah joyfully saying, “It’s raining!” To our disappointment, it was just the leaves of the tree being stirred by the wind.

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In such a climate and during the hot winds, you cannot imagine how delightful the noise of the wind (like rain) in the old peepul appeared to us, or the lullaby it formed. It is a holy tree, every leaf being the seat of a god. They do not listen to the music of its rustling with greater pleasure than I experience; indeed, my penchant for the tree is so great, I am half inclined to believe in its miraculous powers.

In that weather and during the hot winds, you can't imagine how wonderful the sound of the wind (like rain) in the old peepul tree felt to us, or the soothing lullaby it created. It’s a sacred tree, with every leaf being the home of a god. They don’t enjoy the music of its rustling more than I do; in fact, my love for the tree is so strong that I’m almost tempted to believe in its magical powers.

August 31st.—The ice has lasted four months and fifteen days, which we consider particularly fortunate. It was opened the 15th of April.

August 31st.—The ice has lasted four months and fifteen days, which we think is especially lucky. It melted on April 15th.

Oct.—We are collecting grass and making hay for use during the hot winds. The people cut the grass in the jungles, and bring it home on camels. We have one stack of hay just finished, and one of straw.

Oct.—We are gathering grass and making hay to use during the hot winds. People cut the grass in the jungles and bring it home on camels. We've just finished one stack of hay and one stack of straw.

“Bring me the silver tankard.” “I have it not, I know not where it is,” said the khidmatgār. The plate-chest was searched, it was gone.

“Bring me the silver tankard.” “I don’t have it, I have no idea where it is,” said the servant. They searched the plate chest, but it was missing.

It was the parting gift of a friend; we would not have lost it for fifty times its value. The servants held a panchāyat, and examined the man who had charge of the plate. When it was over, he came to me, saying, “I had charge of the tankard—it is gone—the keys were in my hands; allow me to remain in your service; cut four rupees a month from my pay, and let another silver cup be made.” The old man lived with us many years, and only quitted us when he thought his age entitled him to retire on the money he had earned honestly and fairly in service.

It was a farewell gift from a friend; we wouldn’t have traded it for fifty times its worth. The staff held a meeting and questioned the man responsible for the plate. When it was done, he came to me saying, “I was in charge of the tankard—it’s missing—the keys were in my possession; please let me stay in your service; reduce my pay by four rupees a month, and have another silver cup made.” The old man stayed with us for many years and only left when he felt his age justified taking the money he had earned honestly and fairly during his time with us.

My tame squirrel has acquired a vile habit of getting up the windows and eating all the flies; if he would kill the musquitoes, it would be a very good employment, but he prefers the great fat flies—a little brute. The little squirrel is the only animal unaffected by the heat; he is as impudent as ever, and as cunning as possible.

My pet squirrel has picked up a disgusting habit of climbing up the windows and eating all the flies; if he would just go after the mosquitoes, that would be a much more useful activity, but he chooses to feast on the big fat flies—a little monster. The little squirrel is the only animal not bothered by the heat; he’s just as cheeky as ever and incredibly sneaky.

Oct. 24th.—A slight earthquake has just taken place—this instant. I did not know what was the matter; there was a rumbling noise for some time, as if a carriage were driving over the roof of the house. My chair shook under me, and the[223] table on which I am writing shook also. I became very sick and giddy, so much so, that I fancied I had fallen ill suddenly. When the noise and trembling ceased, I found I was quite well, and the giddy sickness went off. I never felt the earth quake before. Every one in the house was sensible of it. At the Circuit bungalow, nearly three miles off, it was felt as much as on the banks of the Jumna.

Oct. 24th.—A slight earthquake just happened—right now. I wasn’t sure what was going on; there was a rumbling noise for a while, like a carriage driving over the roof. My chair shook beneath me, and the[223] table where I’m writing shook too. I felt really nauseous and dizzy, so much that I thought I had suddenly fallen ill. Once the noise and shaking stopped, I realized I was completely fine, and the dizziness went away. I’ve never felt an earthquake before. Everyone in the house noticed it. Even at the Circuit bungalow, nearly three miles away, they felt it just as much as we did by the banks of the Jumna.

In a native family, if a person be ill, one of the relations takes a small earthen pan, filled with water, flowers, and rice, and places it in the middle of the road or street, in front of the house of the sick person, believing that if any one en passant should touch the offering, either by chance or design, the illness would quit the sufferer and cleave to the person who had touched the flowers or the little pan containing the offering. A native carefully steps aside and avoids coming in contact with the flowers.

In a native family, if someone is sick, a relative takes a small clay pot filled with water, flowers, and rice, and places it in the middle of the road or street, in front of the sick person's house. They believe that if anyone happens to touch the offering, whether by accident or on purpose, the illness will leave the sick person and attach itself to the person who touched the flowers or the pot. A native person carefully steps aside to avoid coming into contact with the flowers.

To-day, a man was punished for perjury in this manner; he was mounted on a donkey, with his face to the tail of the animal; one half of his face was painted black, the other white, and around his neck was hung a necklace of old shoes and old bones. Surrounded by a mob of natives, with hideous music and shouts, he was paraded by the police all through the town! An excellent punishment.

To day, a man was punished for lying under oath in this way; he was placed on a donkey, facing its tail; one half of his face was painted black, the other white, and around his neck was a necklace made of old shoes and bones. Surrounded by a crowd of locals, with awful music and shouting, he was marched by the police all through the town! A fitting punishment.

Our farming operations commenced last September. On the banks of the Ganges, near the fort, we planted thirty beeghās with oats, and expect a crop sufficient to feed our horses and sheep, with plenty of straw to cut into bhoosa. The oats are not so large and heavy as those of England, nevertheless, very good. During the hot weather, we give our horses half oats half gram (chanā); in the cold season, oats and carrots; the latter are remarkably fine, we purchase them by the beeghā. A beeghā, or bīghā, is a quantity of land, containing twenty katthās, or 120 feet square.

Our farming started last September. By the Ganges, close to the fort, we planted thirty beeghās with oats and expect to harvest enough to feed our horses and sheep, plus plenty of straw for bhusa. The oats aren't as large and heavy as the ones in England, but they’re still quite good. During hot weather, we mix half oats and half gram (chanā) for our horses; in the cold season, we feed them oats and carrots, which are especially great, and we buy them by the beeghā. A beeghā, or bīghā, is a plot of land that measures twenty katthās, or 120 feet square.

In Calcutta, oats are procurable in abundance, and are usually to be had at those stations where there are race-horses; but they are not generally cultivated, and where they are a novelty the natives speak of them as “wheat gone mad.” At Allahabad,[224] the gentlemen at the station cultivate large quantities on the river side.

In Calcutta, oats are readily available, especially at places where there are racehorses, but they aren't commonly grown. In areas where they are new, locals refer to them as “wheat gone mad.” In Allahabad, [224] the men at the station grow a lot of them by the riverbank.

I have just taken a sketch of a dwarf, a Hindoo, called Bhoodder Ram; he is fifty years of age, is married, and has a tall son, aged twelve years.

I just drew a sketch of a dwarf, a Hindu named Bhoodder Ram. He's fifty years old, married, and has a tall twelve-year-old son.

Bhoodder Ram measures three feet one inch and seven-eighths of an inch in height; his face bears the stamp of more than his age; his body is like a child’s; he is a native of Gyah. His brother, a tall man, accompanied him; the dwarf rode on a little pony. I asked him, “How old is your wife?” He answered, “She is tall, and like your sirdar-bearer,—as old as he is; and her face resembles his as nearly as nineteen is equal to twenty!” The dwarf is of low caste; he makes a great deal of money by asking charity, and travelling about the country.

Bhoodder Ram is three feet, one inch, and seven-eighths of an inch tall; his face looks older than his years; his body is childlike; he comes from Gyah. His brother, who is tall, was with him; the dwarf rode a small pony. I asked him, “How old is your wife?” He replied, “She’s tall, and like your sirdar-bearer—she’s the same age as him; and her face looks a lot like his, as close as nineteen is to twenty!” The dwarf is of low caste; he earns a lot of money by begging and traveling around the country.

I questioned him as to whom he made pooja to: he said, “God has made me little, and I go about asking charity; I was never taught how to make pooja to any god.” He wears a turban of gold and silver tinsel; but some foolish people, instead of allowing him to wear an Hindoo dress, have decked him out in the blue cloth frock and linen trowsers of an European child; a crimson scarf is thrown over his shoulders, and in his ears are gold hoops.

I asked him who he worshipped. He replied, “God made me small, and I go around asking for help; I was never taught how to worship any god.” He wears a turban made of gold and silver tinsel, but some foolish people, rather than letting him wear Hindu clothing, have dressed him in a blue cloth frock and linen trousers like a European child; a crimson scarf is draped over his shoulders, and he has gold hoops in his ears.

A man from Cabul passed me this morning, leading a beautiful high caste camel, with two humps on its back: the animal was very handsome, its hair remarkably long. I wished to sketch it, but the Arab was too great a gentleman to come out of his way for a rupee. The animals in general use have only one hump; they are, in fact, dromedaries, although generally called camels. The dokaha (camelus bactrianus), the real camel, has two humps or elevations on the back.

A man from Kabul walked past me this morning, leading a stunning high caste camel with two humps on its back. The animal was really beautiful, with exceptionally long hair. I wanted to sketch it, but the Arab was too well-mannered to go out of his way for a rupee. Generally, the camels people use only have one hump; they are actually dromedaries, though they're usually just referred to as camels. The dokaha (camelus bactrianus), the true camel, has two humps on its back.

Nov. 7th.—We took the hounds to Papamhow, and soon found a jackal in the grounds: he took shelter in a field of joār or jwār, millet (andropogon sorghum), from which he could not again be started. Hounds in this country are extremely expensive; it is scarcely possible to keep them alive. Out of eight couple brought from England and added to the pack at Allahabad a few months ago, only three couple are alive. We[225] rode over the grounds: how deserted they looked! the flowers dead, the fountain dry.

Nov. 7th.—We took the hounds to Papamhow and quickly found a jackal in the area: it took refuge in a field of joār or jwār, millet (andropogon sorghum), from which it couldn’t be flushed out again. Hounds are extremely expensive in this country; it's nearly impossible to keep them alive. Out of eight pairs brought from England and added to the pack in Allahabad a few months ago, only three pairs are still alive. We[225] rode around the grounds: how deserted they appeared! The flowers were dead, and the fountain was dry.

“’Twas sweet of yore to see it play
And chase the sultriness of day;
As springing high, the silver dew
In whirls fantastically flew,
And spread luxurious coolness round
The air, and verdure on the ground.”

“Demons take possession of an empty house[89];” the place is a wilderness. The old Brahman, who lives at a picturesque temple in the grounds by the side of the Ganges, did not remember me; he spoke in the warmest terms of the agent for gunpowder to the Government, who formerly lived here; and said he prayed to Mahadēo to send him back to Papamhow, as the natives had never had so good a master, either before or since.

“Demons take possession of an empty house[89];” the place is a wilderness. The old Brahman, who lives at a beautiful temple on the grounds by the Ganges, didn’t remember me; he spoke highly of the agent for gunpowder to the Government, who used to live here; and he said he prayed to Mahadēo to send him back to Papamhow, as the locals had never had such a good master, either before or since.

A fair is annually held in these grounds, at which period the old Brahman reaps a plentiful harvest of paisā. The people who attend the fair make pooja at his little temple. The old man had an idiot son, who, having a great dislike to clothes, constantly tore all his attire to pieces; in the sketch, entitled Adansonia Digitata, he is represented in his usual attitude, with both arms stretched out, remonstrating (after his fashion) with his father, on the impropriety of wearing clothes. The poor boy was speechless, but not dumb, for he could utter the most horrible sounds: and when enraged at his father’s attempting to clothe him, he would howl, make angry gestures, and tear off the obnoxious attire. During the time of the fair, the groups of natives, of horses, and odd-looking conveyances are very picturesque beneath the spreading branches of the great Adansonia trees.

Every year, a fair takes place in this area, during which the old Brahman enjoys a hefty profit from paisā. The visitors to the fair offer prayers at his small temple. The old man had a son who was somewhat slow-witted and had a strong aversion to clothing; he constantly ripped apart all his outfits. In the illustration titled Adansonia Digitata, he is shown in his typical position, arms stretched out, arguing (in his own way) with his father about the absurdity of wearing clothes. The poor boy couldn’t speak, but he wasn’t mute; he could produce the most dreadful sounds. When his father tried to dress him, he would scream, make furious gestures, and rip off the unwanted clothing. During the fair, the various groups of people, horses, and quirky vehicles create a vibrant scene under the wide branches of the towering Adansonia trees.

Our friend was not only agent for gunpowder, but also, by the order of Government, he had established a manufactory for rockets at Papamhow, in consequence of the congreve rockets sent from England having proved unserviceable. He was obliged[226] to make many experiments, to suit the composition to our burning climate, and to test the result of exposure to the sun. When the trials were to be made, and the rockets proved, I often went down upon the white sands in the bed of the river, to see the experiments.

Our friend was not only an agent for gunpowder, but also, at the government's request, he set up a factory for rockets in Papamhow because the Congreve rockets sent from England turned out to be ineffective. He had to conduct many experiments to adjust the composition for our hot climate and to check how it reacted to sunlight. Whenever the tests were conducted and the rockets were lit, I often went down to the white sands in the riverbed to watch the experiments.

The Ganges is from forty to forty-five feet deeper during the rains than during the dry season; and banks of the finest white sand, of immense extent, are left dry for many months in the bed of the river when the rains have passed away. The sands extended three or four miles, and being without cultivation or inhabitants, were exactly suited to the purpose. When the rockets were laid upon the sands, and fired, it was beautiful to see them rushing along, leaving a train of fire and smoke behind them; the roar of the large rockets was very fine,—quite magnificent.

The Ganges is about forty to forty-five feet deeper during the rainy season than in the dry season, and vast banks of fine white sand are left exposed for many months in the riverbed once the rains have gone. The sands stretched three or four miles and were perfect for the purpose since they were uncultivated and uninhabited. When the rockets were set on the sands and launched, it was stunning to watch them speed away, leaving a trail of fire and smoke behind; the roar of the large rockets was impressive—truly magnificent.

When the rockets were fired from an iron tube at an elevation, it was surprising to see them ranging through the air for a mile and a half or two miles before they came to the sands, where, a certain distance being marked by range pegs at every fifty yards, the extent of their ranges was accurately ascertained: one of the large rockets ranged 3700 yards, upwards of two miles. I should think they would prove most formidable weapons in warfare.

When the rockets were launched from a metal tube at an angle, it was astonishing to watch them soar through the air for a mile and a half or two miles before landing in the sand. A certain distance was marked with range pegs every fifty yards, which allowed for accurate measurement of their distances: one of the large rockets reached 3700 yards, over two miles. I believe they would be extremely powerful weapons in warfare.

Nov. 14th.—Some natives have just brought a lynx to the door,—such a savage beast! it was caught in the grounds of the circuit Bungalow; the first animal of the sort I have beheld. At Papamhow we found a wolf, and had a long chase, until the hounds lost him in an immense plantation of sugar-cane, from which there were too few dogs to dislodge him.

Nov. 14th.—Some locals just brought a lynx to the door—what a fierce animal! It was caught in the grounds of the circuit Bungalow; it’s the first one I’ve ever seen. At Papamhow, we spotted a wolf and had a lengthy chase until the hounds lost him in a huge sugar-cane plantation, where there weren’t enough dogs to flush him out.

15th.—This is delightful weather; we ride from six to eight, A.M., and take a drive at four in the evening, returning to dinner at six, at which time a coal fire is agreeable. I am in stronger health than I ever before enjoyed in India, which I attribute to the cold weather and great exercise.

15th.—The weather is lovely; we ride from six to eight, Morning., and take a drive at four in the afternoon, getting back for dinner at six, when a coal fire feels nice. I’m healthier now than I’ve ever been in India, which I credit to the cool weather and plenty of exercise.


[227]

[227]

CHAPTER XXI.
LIFE IN THE ZENANA.

Devotees at the Great Fair—Wild Ducks—Quail shooting—Price of English Hounds—Col. Gardner—Life in the Zenāna—The Grass-cutter—Dūb Grass—The Gram-grinder—The Charkhī—Jack fruit—Duty of a Sā’īs—Arrangement of a Turban—The young Princes of Lucnow—Archery—Indian Bows and Arrows—Whistling Arrows—The Bows, Arrows, and War Hatchet of the Coles—The Pellet Bow—Witchcraft practised with a charmed Bow.

Devotees at the Great Fair—Wild Ducks—Quail hunting—Cost of English Hounds—Col. Gardner—Life in the Zenāna—The Grass-cutter—Dūb Grass—The Gram-grinder—The Charkhī—Jackfruit—Role of a Sā’īs—Turban tying—The young Princes of Lucknow—Archery—Indian Bows and Arrows—Whistling Arrows—The Bows, Arrows, and War Axe of the Coles—The Pellet Bow—Witchcraft performed with a magical Bow.

1832. Feb. 2nd.—I went to the Burā Mela, the great annual fair on the sands of the Ganges, and purchased bows and arrows, some curious Indian ornaments, and a few fine pearls. On the sands were a number of devotees, of whom the most holy person had made a vow, that for fourteen years he would spend every night up to his neck in the Ganges; nine years he has kept his vow: at sunset he enters the river, is taken out at sunrise, rubbed into warmth, and placed by a fire; he was sitting, when I saw him, by a great log of burning wood; is apparently about thirty years of age, very fat and jovial, and does not appear to suffer in the slightest degree from his penance. Another religious mendicant lies all day on his back on the ground, his face encrusted with the mud of the Ganges. The Hindoos throw flowers over them, and feed them, paying the holy men divine honours.

1832. Feb. 2nd.—I went to the Burā Mela, the big annual fair on the sands of the Ganges, and bought bows and arrows, some interesting Indian ornaments, and a few fine pearls. On the sands, there were several devotees, including one man who made a vow to spend every night for fourteen years up to his neck in the Ganges; he has kept his vow for nine years now. At sunset, he enters the river and is taken out at sunrise, then rubbed warm and placed by a fire. When I saw him, he was sitting next to a big log of burning wood; he looked to be about thirty years old, quite overweight and cheerful, and shows no signs of suffering from his penance. Another religious beggar lay on his back on the ground all day, his face caked with mud from the Ganges. The Hindus throw flowers over them and feed them, honoring the holy men as divine.

The fair this year is thinly attended, the people not amounting to a lākh, in consequence of the very heavy rain which fell throughout December last, and prevented many of those from attending who had to come from a very great distance.

The fair this year has a low turnout, with the crowd not reaching a lakh, due to the heavy rain that fell all throughout December and kept many people from coming, especially those traveling from far away.

25th.—I went with my husband into tents near Alumchund, for the sake of shooting; and used to accompany him on an[228] elephant, or on my little black horse, to mark the game. Quail were in abundance, and particularly fine; common grey partridge, plentiful; a few black partridges, most beautiful birds; and some hares. Instead of dogs, we took twenty men with us, armed with long bamboos, to beat up the game; as for dogs in such high plantations, they are useless and invisible.

25th.—I went with my husband to some tents near Alumchund to go shooting. I would ride on an[228] elephant or my little black horse to spot the game. There were plenty of quail, especially nice ones; common grey partridges were abundant; we saw a few beautiful black partridges; and some hares as well. Instead of bringing dogs, we had twenty men with us, armed with long bamboos, to flush out the game because dogs aren’t useful or visible in such dense vegetation.

March 14th.—During the cold weather we collect wild ducks, and keep them for the hot winds. We have just finished a new brick house for the birds, consisting of a sleeping apartment, with a tank in front, in which they have a fine supply of running water; the whole surrounded by lattice work, covered with an immense climber, the gāo pāt, or elephant creeper, of which the large velvet-like leaves shade the birds from prying eyes[90]. Unfortunately, by some mischance or other, a jackal got into the place at night, and killed fifty out of one hundred: very unlucky, as the season for collecting them is nearly over, and we require wild ducks and teal during the hot winds, when beef and mutton are disagreeable, even to see on table; fowls, turkeys, rabbits, wild fowl, game, and fish, are the only things to tempt one’s appetite in the grilling season, when curries and anchovies are in requisition.

March 14th.—During the cold weather, we catch wild ducks and keep them for the hot winds. We just finished building a new brick house for the birds, which has a sleeping area and a tank in front with a great supply of running water; the whole thing is surrounded by lattice work covered in an enormous climber, the gāo pāt, or elephant creeper, whose large velvet-like leaves provide shade for the birds from prying eyes[90]. Unfortunately, due to some mishap, a jackal got in at night and killed fifty out of one hundred: very unfortunate, as the season for collecting them is almost over, and we need wild ducks and teal during the hot winds when beef and mutton are unpleasant to even look at; chicken, turkey, rabbit, wild birds, game, and fish are the only things that can whet one’s appetite in the scorching season when curries and anchovies are in demand.

Speaking of wild ducks; we used to send out men into the jungle to catch them, which was performed in a singular manner. The man, when he got near water on which the wild fowl were floating, would wade into the stream up to his neck with a kedgeree pot upon his head; beneath this mask of pottery the birds would allow him to approach them without taking alarm, they being used to the sight of these thiliyas (earthen pots), which are constantly to be seen floating down the stream, thrown away by the natives. When close to a bird, the man puts up his hand, catches its legs, pulls it instantly under water, and fastens it to his girdle. Having caught a few, he quits the river, and secures them in a basket. The wild ducks are in beautiful condition, and very fine when first brought in. They pine and waste away in confinement[229] for the first fortnight; then resigning themselves with all due philosophy to their fate, they devour barley with great glee, and swim about in the tank, eating principally at night. They must be surrounded by mats to keep them quiet and composed: in a short time they again become fat, and are most excellent. As soon as the rains commence, the wild ducks lose all their flavour; it is then better to open the door and let the survivors escape. They are good for nothing if kept for the next season. The teal are as good, if not superior to the wild ducks.

Speaking of wild ducks, we used to send guys into the jungle to catch them, which was done in a unique way. The guy, when he got close to the water where the wild birds were floating, would wade into the stream up to his neck with a kedgeree pot on his head; under this pottery disguise, the birds would let him get close without getting scared, as they were used to seeing these thiliyas (earthen pots) floating down the stream, discarded by the locals. When he was near a bird, he would raise his hand, grab its legs, pull it underwater instantly, and attach it to his belt. After catching a few, he would leave the river and secure them in a basket. The wild ducks are in great shape and very nice when first brought in. They lose weight and become weak in captivity for the first two weeks; then, accepting their fate with a certain philosophy, they happily eat barley and swim around in the tank, mainly feeding at night. They need to be surrounded by mats to keep them calm and settled: soon enough, they become fat again and are excellent to eat. Once the rains start, the wild ducks lose all their flavor; at that point, it’s better to open the door and let the ones that are still alive escape. They aren’t worth keeping for the next season. The teal are just as good, if not better than the wild ducks.

Quail shooting is now to be enjoyed; my husband and his companion bring home forty brace and upwards daily. The quail take shelter in the khets (fields, plantations) of jwār, millet, (andropogon sorghum,) and bājrā (panicum spicatum), from which it is difficult to dislodge them, and in which dogs are useless. The birds are driven out by some twenty-five or forty beaters, natives, armed with long latīs (male bamboos), with which they beat the high stems of the plants, and drive them out. Quail are sold twenty-five per rupee; if kept in cages, in darkness, and fed with kungnee-seed (panicum Italicum), they are excellent in the hot winds: when first caught, they are in high condition.

Quail shooting is now a great activity; my husband and his friend bring home forty pairs or more every day. The quail find refuge in the fields of jwār, millet, and bājrā, making it hard to get them out, and dogs are useless in this. About twenty-five to forty local beaters, equipped with long bamboo sticks, drive the birds out by hitting the tall stems of the plants. Quail are sold at twenty-five for a rupee; if they're kept in dark cages and fed kungnee-seed, they are fantastic during the hot winds. When they are first caught, they are in top condition.

We hunt jackals in the grounds at Papamhow; and sometimes have a canter after a wolf in the ravines. The gentlemen have a pack of hounds: ten English imported dogs were added to the pack last year. It is disheartening to see those fine dogs die daily. The price now asked in Calcutta for English hounds is considered too high, even by us Indians, being fifty guineas a couple! Of the ten bought last year, two only are alive. Perhaps accidents have occurred; from ignorance at the time, that castor-oil, when not cold-drawn, is certain death to dogs. The natives have a great objection to using castor-oil medicinally when the seeds have been heated before putting them into the mill.

We hunt jackals on the grounds at Papamhow, and sometimes we chase after wolves in the ravines. The gentlemen have a pack of hounds, and last year, they added ten imported English dogs to the pack. It's discouraging to see those great dogs die every day. The price for English hounds is now considered way too high in Calcutta, even by us Indians, at fifty guineas a pair! Out of the ten we bought last year, only two are still alive. Maybe accidents happened; we didn't know back then that castor oil, when not cold-pressed, is deadly for dogs. The locals really don’t want to use castor oil medicinally if the seeds have been heated before grinding them.

March 19th.—The arrival of Colonel Gardner pleased us greatly: his boats were anchored in the Jumna, under our bank. He came down from Lucnow to visit the quarries, in order to build a bridge for the King of Oude; and after having[230] spent nine days with us, he departed for Benares. He is a great favourite at present, both with the king and the minister at Lucnow; and if he is allowed to retain the jagīr he now holds, upon the same terms for a few years, he will be a rich man. He deserves it all; we found him the same kind, mild, gentlemanly, polished, entertaining companion I have before described him. He was looking ill; but now that his fatigues are over, and he is once more at rest, he will soon recover. I requested him to inform me how native ladies amuse themselves within a zenāna, and he gave me the following account:—

March 19th.—We were really happy about Colonel Gardner’s arrival: his boats were anchored in the Jumna, on our side of the river. He came down from Lucknow to check out the quarries for building a bridge for the King of Oude, and after spending nine days with us, he left for Benares. He’s currently a favorite with both the king and the minister in Lucknow; if he gets to keep the jagīr he currently holds under the same conditions for a few more years, he’ll become quite wealthy. He deserves every bit of it; we found him to be the same kind, mild, gentlemanly, polished, and entertaining companion I described before. He looked unwell, but now that his exhausting tasks are done and he can relax again, he’ll be back to normal soon. I asked him to tell me how native ladies pass their time in a zenāna, and he shared the following account:—

“They have ponies to ride upon within the four walls of the zenāna grounds. Archery is a favourite amusement; my son, James Gardner, who is a very fine marksman, was taught by a woman.

“They have ponies to ride within the zenāna grounds. Archery is a favorite pastime; my son, James Gardner, who is an excellent marksman, was taught by a woman."

“A silver swing is the great object of ambition; and it is the fashion to swing in the rains, when it is thought charming to come in dripping wet. The swings are hung between two high posts in the garden.

“A silver swing is the ultimate goal; and it is the trend to swing in the rain, as it's considered delightful to come in soaking wet. The swings are hung between two tall posts in the garden.

“Fashion is as much regarded by the Musulmāne ladies as by the English; they will not do this or that, because it is not the fashion.

“Fashion is just as important to Muslim women as it is to English women; they refuse to do certain things because it’s not in style.”

“It is general amongst the higher and the middle classes of females in Hindostān to be able to read the Kuran in Arabic (it is not allowed to be translated), and the Commentary in Persian.

“It is common among the upper and middle-class women in Hindostān to be able to read the Kuran in Arabic (it cannot be translated) and the Commentary in Persian.”

“The ladies are very fond of eating fresh whole roasted coffee. When a number of women are sitting on the ground, all eating the dry roasted coffee, the noise puts me in mind of a flock of sheep at the gram trough.

“The women really enjoy eating fresh whole roasted coffee. When a group of women is sitting on the ground, all eating the dry roasted coffee, the noise reminds me of a flock of sheep at the grain trough.”

“The most correct hour for dinner is eleven or twelve at night: they smoke their hooqŭs all through the night, and sleep during the day.

“The best time for dinner is around eleven or twelve at night: they smoke their hookahs all night long and sleep during the day.

“Nothing can exceed the quarrels that go on in the zenāna, or the complaints the begams make against each other. A common complaint is ‘Such an one has been practising witchcraft against me.’ If the husband make a present to one wife, even if it be only a basket of mangoes, he must make the same[231] exactly to all the other wives to keep the peace. A wife, when in a rage with her husband, if on account of jealousy, often says, ‘I wish I were married to a grass-cutter,’ i.e. because a grass-cutter is so poor he can only afford to have one wife.

“Nothing can match the arguments that happen in the women's quarters, or the complaints the wives have against each other. A common complaint is, ‘So-and-so has been practicing witchcraft against me.’ If the husband gives a gift to one wife, even if it's just a basket of mangoes, he has to give the same exact gift to all the other wives to keep the peace. When a wife is angry with her husband, often out of jealousy, she will say, ‘I wish I were married to a grass-cutter,’ meaning because a grass-cutter is so poor he can only afford to have one wife. [231]

THE GRASS-CUTTER AND GRAM-GRINDER.

The Lawn Mower and Grain Grinder.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

فاني پارکس

“My having been married some thirty or forty years, and never having taken another wife, surprises the Musulmāns very much, and the ladies all look upon me as a pattern: they do not admire a system of having three or four rivals, however well pleased the gentlemen may be with the custom.”

“My being married for about thirty or forty years and never having taken another wife surprises the Muslims quite a bit, and the women all see me as an example: they don’t admire the idea of having three or four rivals, no matter how happy the men may be with the tradition.”

Colonel Gardner admired the game of “La Grace.” I requested him to take a set of sticks and hoops for the ladies of his zenāna: he told me afterwards they never took any pleasure in the game, because it was not the dastūr, the custom.

Colonel Gardner admired the game of “La Grace.” I asked him to get a set of sticks and hoops for the women in his zenāna: he later told me they never enjoyed the game because it wasn't the dastūr, the tradition.

The account of the style in which affairs are conducted amused us exceedingly.

The way things are run really entertained us.

“I wish I were married to a grass-cutter!” To enable you to comprehend the sort of person to whom a begam, an eastern princess, wishes herself united, in order to avoid the pangs of jealousy, I introduce a portrait of Chungua, the grass-cutter of my horse Mootee, the Pearl of the Desert.

“I wish I were married to a grass-cutter!” To help you understand the kind of person an eastern princess, or begam, wishes to be with in order to escape the pains of jealousy, I present a portrait of Chungua, the grass-cutter of my horse Mootee, the Pearl of the Desert.

A cloth wrapped round the head in the form of a turban, and another cloth bound round the loins, is the usual dress of the lower orders, if dress it may be called. But it gives no idea of impropriety; the natural hue of the skin being of itself a sort of mahogany coloured covering.

A cloth wrapped around the head like a turban, and another cloth tied around the waist, is the typical attire of the lower classes, if you could call it that. However, it doesn't suggest any immodesty; the natural color of the skin serves as a sort of mahogany-colored covering.

Every horse has a sā’īs to groom him, and a grass-cutter to bring in his daily allowance of dūb-grass: this grass is a most luxuriant creeper; it is jointed, and shoots out to a surprising length, covering a great space of ground in the rains: the men grub it up close to the roots; nevertheless the portion that remains in the earth soon springs up, you cannot eradicate it: in the hot winds, the men grub up the roots, wash them, and give them to the horses: sometimes the people have to go four or five miles to bring it in, and are therefore exposed very much during the hot weather. Their pay is three rupees or three and a half per month, on which they feed and clothe themselves.

Every horse has a groom to take care of him and a grass-cutter to bring in his daily supply of dūb-grass. This grass is a very lush creeper; it has joints and can grow to an impressive length, covering a large area during the rainy season. The men dig it up close to the roots, but the part that stays in the ground quickly grows back; you can't get rid of it. When the hot winds blow, the men dig up the roots, wash them, and give them to the horses. Sometimes they have to travel four or five miles to collect it, which exposes them a lot to the heat. They get paid three or three and a half rupees a month, which is what they use to feed and clothe themselves.

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[232]

Doorba, doova, or dūb grass, (Linear bent grass, agrostis linearis, or panicum dactylon,) is thus described:—The flowers of dūb grass in their perfect state appear, through a lens, like minute rubies and emeralds in constant motion, from the least breath of air; it is the sweetest and most nutritious pasture for cattle, and its usefulness, added to its beauty, induced the Hindoos, in their earliest ages, to believe that it was the mansion of a benevolent nymph. Even the Veda celebrates it, as in the following text.

Doorba, doova, or dūb grass (Linear bent grass, agrostis linearis, or panicum dactylon) is described as follows: The flowers of dūb grass, when viewed through a lens, look like tiny rubies and emeralds constantly moving with the slightest breeze. It is the sweetest and most nutritious forage for cattle, and its usefulness, along with its beauty, led the Hindus in ancient times to believe that it was the home of a kind nymph. Even the Veda praises it, as noted in the following text.

“May Durva, which rose from the water of life, which has a hundred roots, and a hundred stems, efface a hundred of my sins, and prolong my existence on earth for an hundred years.”

“May Durva, which grew from the waters of life, which has a hundred roots and a hundred stems, wipe away a hundred of my sins and extend my life on earth for a hundred years.”

“Landed property is like the root of the dūb grass[91],” i.e. it is not easily destroyed.

“Landed property is like the root of the dūb grass[91],” i.e. it can't be easily destroyed.

Grass is to be procured in the bazār, but it is generally very bad, and the supply uncertain. In Calcutta, grass-cutters are not kept, as excellent hay is always to be purchased, which is much better for the horses.

Grass can be bought in the market, but it's usually of poor quality and the supply is unreliable. In Calcutta, they don't hire grass-cutters, as you can always buy great hay, which is much better for the horses.

“The pendant part of the turban should be in proportion to the learning[92].”

“The pendant part of the turban should match the level of knowledge.”

This will not exactly apply to grass-cutters and sā’īses, who generally wear a long end pendant from the turban. If the carriage comes to the door ere the sā’īs has arranged his clean turban, the fellow will come bounding along, absolutely flinging his turban around his head as he runs; and thus will often put it on with a negligent grace, that is quite inimitable, the long end usually hanging far below the shoulder. Chungua, the original of the sketch, was raised from being a grass-cutter on three rupees a month, to the dignity of a sā’īs on five, for his good conduct.

This doesn't really apply to grass-cutters and sā’īses, who typically wear a long end hanging from their turbans. If the carriage arrives at the door before the sā’īs has arranged his clean turban, the guy comes running up, literally flinging his turban onto his head as he goes; and he often puts it on in a casual way that's totally unique, with the long end usually hanging well below his shoulder. Chungua, the inspiration for the sketch, went from being a grass-cutter making three rupees a month to the respectable position of sā’īs making five, due to his good behavior.

The woman sitting on the ground is the wife of one of our grass-cutters; she grinds the gram for the horses at two rupees a month[93]. The charkhī is formed of two flat circular stones, the lower of which is generally fixed in the earth, and from its[233] centre a peg passes through a hole in the upper stone, and forms the pivot on which the upper stone works. In her left hand she holds a peg, which is fixed on the upper stone, by which she forces it round; the inner surfaces are rough; the gram is put in through a hole in the upper stone, and the flour works out at the edges between the two stones. The ornaments on her ankles are of pewter, and very heavy; they weigh six pounds; her bracelets and armlets of heavy solid brass. The petticoat and the part that goes over the head are only one piece of coarse cloth, bound like a petticoat around the limbs, and the end thereof brought over the head; it is called a sāree. The damsel is a Hindoo, and her garment is sometimes of a very dirty brown colour, and sometimes blue.

The woman sitting on the ground is the wife of one of our grass cutters; she grinds the gram for the horses for two rupees a month. The charkhī is made up of two flat circular stones, with the lower stone usually fixed in the ground. A peg passes through a hole in the upper stone and acts as the pivot for the upper stone to rotate. In her left hand, she holds a peg attached to the upper stone that helps her turn it; the inner surfaces are rough. The gram is added through a hole in the upper stone, and the flour comes out between the two stones. The ornaments on her ankles are made of pewter and weigh six pounds; her bracelets and armlets are made of heavy solid brass. The petticoat and the part that goes over her head are just one piece of coarse cloth, wrapped like a petticoat around her legs, with one end brought over her head; it's called a sāree. The young woman is Hindu, and her garment is sometimes a very dirty brown color and sometimes blue.

When there is much work to be done, two women will sit on the ground and grind the same mill, which is placed between their legs; this is the sort of mill spoken of in Scripture,—“Two women were grinding at the mill, the one shall be taken, and the other left.” Every native has a charkhī, and grinds his own corn. English corn mills were erected in Calcutta; they failed, I understand; as the natives objected to the grain brought by all castes of people being ground in the same mill.

When there's a lot of work to do, two women will sit on the ground and use the same mill, which is placed between their legs; this is the kind of mill mentioned in Scripture—“Two women were grinding at the mill, one will be taken, and the other left.” Every local person has a charkhī and grinds their own grain. English corn mills were built in Calcutta; they didn't succeed, I hear, because the locals were against having grain from all castes being ground in the same mill.

The woman is seated beneath the kuthul, the jack or jake tree, (atrocarpus integrifolia); the fruit measures eighteen inches in length, by twenty-three and a half in circumference, and is covered with sharp small cones. The situation of the fruit varies with the age of the tree, being first borne on the branches, then on the trunk, and finally on the roots. The roasted seeds exactly resemble chesnuts: it is a species of bread-fruit. In the sketch, the fruit is placed both on the trunk and on the roots; I have never seen it on both at the same time, and have only thus placed it in the drawing to show the manner in which it grows upon the roots.

The woman is sitting under the kuthul, the jack or jake tree (atrocarpus integrifolia); the fruit is eighteen inches long and twenty-three and a half inches around, covered in sharp small cones. The location of the fruit changes as the tree ages, initially growing on the branches, then on the trunk, and finally on the roots. The roasted seeds look just like chestnuts; it’s a type of breadfruit. In the sketch, the fruit is shown on both the trunk and the roots; I've never seen it on both at once, but I included it this way in the drawing to demonstrate how it grows on the roots.

“The jack-fruit is upon the tree, and oil on your lips[94],” is a proverb used to express premature precautions.

“The jackfruit is on the tree, and oil is on your lips[94],” is a proverb used to express premature precautions.

This fruit has a very glutinous juice, on which account, those[234] who pluck it previously rub their hands with oil; and if its adhesive juice remain on the lips after eating, it is removed by the same means.

This fruit has a very sticky juice, which is why those[234] who pick it beforehand rub their hands with oil; and if the sticky juice stays on the lips after eating, it can be removed the same way.

I had made over a sā’īs of mine to a gentleman just arrived in the country ⸺; he wished to send his horse some sixteen miles, and desired the man to ride it, thinking the distance too great for him to lead the animal. The sā’īs came to me to complain; he wished to quit the gentleman’s service, saying, “You hired me, Mem sāhiba, to take care of the gentleman’s horse, and to lead him; he has no right to force me to ride him.” I told him the gentleman had just arrived in the country, and gave the order from a kind motive. “Ah well!” said the sā’īs, “if that be the case, I consent to stay in his service,—but not to ride the horse;” adding, with a contemptuous shrug and look of condescending pity, “if he has only just come from England, what should he know?”

I had assigned one of my grooms to a gentleman who had just arrived in the country; he wanted to send his horse about sixteen miles and asked the man to ride it, thinking the distance was too far for him to walk with the animal. The groom came to me to complain; he wanted to leave the gentleman’s service, saying, “You hired me, ma’am, to take care of the gentleman’s horse and to lead him; he has no right to make me ride him.” I told him that the gentleman had just arrived in the country and that the order came from a kind intention. “Well then!” said the groom, “if that’s the case, I agree to stay in his service—but I won’t ride the horse;” adding, with a dismissive shrug and an air of condescending pity, “if he just came from England, what should he know?”

Col. Gardner tells me that the two boys, Khema Jāh and Feredooa Buckht, whom I saw at Lucnow, and whom the King declared to be his heirs, are now out of favour, and are not allowed to enter the palace; I am glad that low caste boy has no chance of being raised to the throne. The King has taken another wife; his taste is certainly curious, she is an ugly low caste woman. The old Nawāb Hakīm Mehndi has the whole power in his hands; the King amuses himself sitting up all night and sleeping all day; leaving the cares of state to the Hakīm. The revenue, under his superintendence, has increased very considerably; the Hakīm’s passion is saving money, and he appears to take as much pleasure in saving it for the King as for himself.

Col. Gardner tells me that the two boys, Khema Jāh and Feredooa Buckht, whom I saw in Lucknow and whom the King named as his heirs, have now fallen out of favor and aren’t allowed in the palace. I’m glad that the low-caste boy has no chance of becoming king. The King has taken another wife; his choice is certainly interesting—she’s an unattractive low-caste woman. The old Nawāb Hakīm Mehndi holds all the power; the King spends his nights entertaining himself and sleeps all day, leaving the state's responsibilities to the Hakīm. Under his supervision, the revenue has increased significantly; the Hakīm is passionate about saving money and seems to enjoy saving it for the King just as much as for himself.

Col. Gardner gave us some instructions in archery, for which we have a great penchant; nor could I resist going continually into the verandah, to take a shot at the targets, in spite of the[235] heat—84°, or the annoyance of an ague and fever from which I was suffering. Archery, as practised in India, is very different from that in England; the arm is raised over the head, and the bow drawn in that manner: native bowmen throw up the elbow, and depress the right hand in a most extraordinary style, instead of drawing to the ear, as practised by the English. A very fine bow was given me, which was one of the presents made by Runjeet Singh to Lord Wm. Bentinck; it is formed of strips of buffalo horn, and adorned with bareilly work; when strung, it resembles the outline of a well-formed upper lip, Cupid’s bow.

Col. Gardner gave us some tips on archery, which we really enjoy; I couldn't help but keep stepping out onto the verandah to take shots at the targets, even with the heat—84°—and the annoyance of the chills and fever I was dealing with. Archery in India is very different from what it's like in England; the arm is raised above the head, and the bow is drawn that way: local archers lift their elbow and lower their right hand in a really unusual way, instead of drawing to the ear like the English do. I received a beautiful bow as a gift, one of the presents Runjeet Singh gave to Lord Wm. Bentinck; it's made from strips of buffalo horn and features bareilly work; when strung, it looks like the shape of a well-formed upper lip, like Cupid’s bow.

During the rains, the natives unstring their bows, and, bending them backwards until they curl round almost into a circle, fix them between two slips of bamboo, until the rains are over, when they re-string them: the string of this bow is of thick silk. To bring back the bow to its proper form is a difficult affair; they warm it over a charcoal fire, and bend it back by fixing two iron chains upon it; after this it is usually strung by taking one end of the bow in the left hand, passing it behind the left leg, and over the shin bone of the right, then bending it by forcing the upper end round towards the opposite side; when the string, which has been previously secured on the lower horn, is slipped into its place by the right hand.

During the rainy season, the locals take the strings off their bows and bend them backward until they almost form a circle. They then secure the bows between two pieces of bamboo until the rain stops, at which point they re-string them. The bowstring is made from thick silk. Getting the bow back into its original shape is tricky; they heat it over a charcoal fire and then bend it back using two iron chains. After that, they typically string it by holding one end of the bow in the left hand, passing it behind the left leg, over the right shin, and then bending it by pulling the top end toward the opposite side. Finally, the string, which was secured on the lower horn earlier, is fitted into place with the right hand.

The quiver, which is of crimson velvet, embroidered with gold, is very handsome. The arrows are steel-headed, and bound with brass rings, to render the pile more secure; the shafts are made of beautifully smooth, straight, hard reeds; the heads are either plain, or of a fish-hook shape; and the whole are highly ornamented with bareilly work.

The quiver, made of red velvet and embroidered with gold, looks really attractive. The arrows have steel tips and are wrapped with brass rings to keep the tips secure; the shafts are smooth, straight, and made from sturdy reeds. The heads are either plain or shaped like fish hooks, and the entire set is beautifully decorated with Bareilly work.

The natives do not draw the bow with two or three fingers, as practised in Europe; they make use of a thumb-ring, of which I have seen two kinds.

The natives don’t use two or three fingers to pull back the bow like they do in Europe; they use a thumb ring, and I’ve seen two different types of them.

Whistling arrows are reeds, on which, in lieu of a pile of steel, a hollow bit of wood is affixed, in form not unlike a small egg; when shot perpendicularly into the air they produce a shrill whistling sound. Sometimes a slip of paper is rolled up and put into the hole in the head, when the arrow is shot into a zenāna garden, over the high wall, or into a fortress.

Whistling arrows are made from reeds, with a hollow piece of wood attached to the tip, shaped somewhat like a small egg. When fired straight up into the air, they create a high-pitched whistling sound. Sometimes, a small roll of paper is inserted into the hole at the tip when the arrow is shot into a zenāna garden, over a tall wall, or into a fortress.

[236]

[236]

N.B. First consider, ere you shoot your arrow, if your beloved can read the enclosed epistle.

N.B. First think about whether your loved one can read the enclosed letter before you shoot your arrow.

Bows, and very powerful ones, in shape like those of England, are also made use of in India; they are formed of one piece of bamboo, covered with ornaments in bareilly work, and strung with catgut; I have two of these, the largest measures four feet, the smaller three feet and a half.

Bows, and some really powerful ones, similar to those in England, are also used in India; they are made from a single piece of bamboo, decorated with bareilly work, and strung with catgut. I have two of these; the larger one is four feet long, while the smaller one is three and a half feet long.

The bow used by the Coles is of the same shape, made of one piece of black bamboo, the string a strip of cane. The Cole places one end of the bow on the ground, kneels on his right knee, and pressing his left foot against the bow, fires in that position.

The bow used by the Coles is shaped the same way, crafted from a single piece of black bamboo, with a string made from a strip of cane. The Cole rests one end of the bow on the ground, kneels on his right knee, and presses his left foot against the bow before taking the shot from that position.

The Cole quiver is of leather, the workmanship very coarse. The arrows, most villainous weapons, are double-barbed; one of them entering the flesh must be cut out, and it would be a severe operation to extract the double-barbed head, which is of rough iron; they are often poisoned in war. The shaft is a rough reed of the commonest sort, with three bits of feather tied upon the end of it; the length of the arrow from twenty-seven to thirty-five inches; nothing can be ruder than the workmanship.

The Cole quiver is made of leather, and the craftsmanship is very rough. The arrows, which are quite dangerous, have double barbs; if one gets lodged in the flesh, it must be cut out, and removing the double-barbed head, made of rough iron, would be a serious procedure; they are often poisoned during battles. The shaft is a basic reed, and three pieces of feather are tied to the end; the arrows range from twenty-seven to thirty-five inches long; nothing can be cruder than the craftsmanship.

The war hatchet carried by the Coles is a fearful-looking weapon; it is used to cut down horses in action: sometimes they fix it at the end of a long bamboo, to enable them to hamstring a horse at a distance. These weapons were taken during the Cole war, and presented to me.

The war hatchet used by the Coles is a really intimidating weapon; it’s meant for taking down horses in battle: sometimes they attach it to the end of a long bamboo stick to be able to hamstring a horse from a distance. These weapons were collected during the Cole war and given to me.

A more particular description of the poisoned arrows, and of the bows used by the Hill-men, is inserted in another chapter.

A more detailed description of the poisoned arrows and the bows used by the Hill-men is included in another chapter.

The Pellet bow, in form like the common English bow, is strung with two catgut strings, which are confined above by a bit of wood, and below, in the centre, by a small cotton sling, which is woven in between the two strings. The pellet is placed in the sling, between the first finger and thumb of the right hand, which draws the bow, and lets fly the pellet.

The Pellet bow looks similar to a regular English bow and is strung with two catgut strings. Above, the strings are held in place by a piece of wood, and below, in the middle, they are secured by a small cotton sling woven between them. The pellet is positioned in the sling, between the index finger and thumb of the right hand, which pulls back the bow and releases the pellet.

At the instant the pellet is loosed, the wrist of the left hand[237] should be turned to prevent the striking of the ball on the bow; the sling should be a little higher than the centre of the bow, or the pellet will be liable to strike the left thumb,—a painful accident.

At the moment the pellet is released, the wrist of the left hand[237] should be turned to avoid the ball hitting the bow; the sling should be slightly above the center of the bow, or the pellet might hit the left thumb—a painful mishap.

The pellets should be made about the size of a large marble, of stiff clay, with which a little cotton-wool should be mixed, and dried in the sun.

The pellets should be about the size of a large marble, made from stiff clay, mixed with a little cotton wool, and dried in the sun.

The shikar-ke-tilee, ammunition-pouch, is of ornamented leather.

The shikar-ke-tilee, ammunition pouch, is made of decorative leather.

Sorcery is practised with a charmed bow. At a sŭtēē, bamboo levers are often brought down over the whole pile, to hold down the woman, and the corpse of her husband; and several persons are employed to keep down the levers, whilst others throw water upon them that the wood may not be scorched.

Sorcery is performed with a magical bow. During a sŭtēē, bamboo levers are often lowered over the entire pile to hold down the woman and her deceased husband; several people are assigned to keep the levers in place while others pour water on them to prevent the wood from burning.

A person sometimes takes one of these bamboo levers after the bodies are burnt; and, making a bow and arrow with it, repeats incantations over it. He then makes an image of some enemy with clay, and lets fly the arrow at it. The person whose image is thus pierced is said to be immediately seized with a pain in his breast.

A person sometimes takes one of these bamboo levers after the bodies are burnt; and, making a bow and arrow with it, repeats incantations over it. They then create a figure of an enemy out of clay and shoots the arrow at it. The person whose figure is pierced is said to be immediately struck with a pain in their chest.

April 1st.—What would the people at home think of being up at five A.M., and in church by six o’clock! This is the usual hour for divine service at this time of the year. To us Indians, accustomed to early rising, it is no fatigue.

April 1st.—What would the people back home think about being up at five A.M. and in church by six o’clock? This is the usual time for church services this time of year. For us Indians, who are used to getting up early, it’s not tiring at all.

7th.—This morning I cantered down to see our fields of oats by the side of the Ganges, which they have just begun to cut; such a fine crop! When they are stacked, we shall have three or four large ricks.

7th.—This morning I rode over to check on our oat fields by the Ganges, which they've just started harvesting; it's such a great crop! Once they’re stacked, we’ll have three or four big heaps.


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[238]

CHAPTER XXII.
Adventures in the East.

Gaiety of Allahabad—Lucnow Chutnee—Tails of the Yāk—Horn of the Unicorn—The Looking-glass Shawl—The first flight of Locusts—An Adventure—The Rats’ Granary—Balls—Profiles—The leaf Grasshopper—Appointed to Allahabad—Ramohun Roy—The Bottle of Horrors—Narrative of a Thug—The Quicksand—Meteors and falling Stars—Hanging oneself for spite—The Sipahī Guard—The Ghurī—The Sitar—The Ektara—The Gynee Club—Soonghees—Colonel Gardner.

Gaiety of Allahabad—Lucknow Chutney—Tails of the Yak—Horn of the Unicorn—The Looking-glass Shawl—The first wave of Locusts—An Adventure—The Rats’ Granary—Balls—Profiles—The leaf Grasshopper—Assigned to Allahabad—Ramohun Roy—The Bottle of Horrors—Story of a Thug—The Quicksand—Meteors and Falling Stars—Hanging oneself out of spite—The Sipahi Guard—The Ghuri—The Sitar—The Ektara—The Ghani Club—Soonghees—Colonel Gardner.

1832, May.—Allahabad is now one of the gayest, and is, as it always has been, one of the prettiest stations in India. We have dinner-parties more than enough; balls occasionally; a book society; some five or six billiard-tables; a pack of dogs, some amongst them hounds, and (how could I have forgotten!) fourteen spinsters!

1832, May.—Allahabad is now one of the liveliest and, as it always has been, one of the prettiest places in India. We have plenty of dinner parties, occasional balls, a book club, around five or six billiard tables, a pack of dogs, some of which are hounds, and (how could I have forgotten!) fourteen single women!

2nd.—Colonel Gardner has sent us twelve jars of the most delicious Lucnow chutnee, the very beau idéal of mixtures of sharp, bitter, sour, sweet, hot, and cold!

2nd.—Colonel Gardner has sent us twelve jars of the most delicious Lucknow chutney, the perfect blend of spicy, bitter, sour, sweet, hot, and cold!

This station, which in former days was thought one of the least-to-be-coveted positions, has now become, what from the first we always pronounced it to be, one of the most desirable. We have a kind neighbourly society, as much, or even more of gaiety than we sober folks require, and, mirabile, no squabbling. I hope his lordship will not disturb our coterie by moving the Boards of Revenue and of Criminal and Civil Justice higher up the country, which some think not improbable.

This station, which in the past was considered one of the least desirable positions, has now become what we always said it would be: one of the most sought-after. We have a friendly community here, with as much, if not more, fun than we serious people need, and surprisingly, no arguing. I hope his lordship won’t disrupt our group by relocating the Boards of Revenue and Criminal and Civil Justice further up the country, which some believe is a possibility.

A friend has made me a present of a pair of the most magnificent cow-tails, of the yāk or cow of Thibet. They are great curiosities, and shall go with my collection to England. These[239] tails I have had made into chaunrīs by having them fastened into leaves of embossed silver, which have been affixed to the horns of deer of the Himalaya. The hair on the chaunrī (fly-flapper) is on the original bone as it was on the yāk; and the hair, which is perfectly white, is considered the most valuable, the dark coloured hair being reckoned inferior. They were brought by some Hill-men from Bhootan. The horns came from Landour, brought from the interior of the Himalaya, by the Pahārees (Hill-men). Three more of the same sort were also sent me from Almorah, but they are very scarce.

A friend gifted me a pair of stunning cow-tails from the yāk or cow of Tibet. They are fascinating items and will be added to my collection in England. These[239] tails have been crafted into chaunrīs by attaching them to embossed silver leaves, which are mounted on deer horns from the Himalayas. The hair on the chaunrī (fly-flapper) is the same as it was on the yāk; the perfectly white hair is considered the most precious, while the darker hair is regarded as inferior. They were brought by some Hill-men from Bhutan. The horns came from Landour, brought in from the interior of the Himalayas by the Pahārees (Hill-men). I also received three more of the same kind from Almorah, but they are very rare.

The horn is said to be that of a deer of the Himalaya, which, when first brought down, was supposed to be unicorn. These two horns came from Landour, brought down by Hill-men. Three more were sent me from Almorah. The men described the animal as having but one horn in the centre of its forehead; when questioned particularly on this point, they were firm; and, being ignorant that we believe the unicorn fabulous, could have no motive for the assertion. During my residence in the East, I saw only five of these horns, which are all in my possession, and not one of them will pair with another. The men were requested to bring the head of the animal with the horn upon it; they have not done so, and there is no further proof to convince unbelievers of the existence of the unicorn of the Himalaya. Chaunrīs of peacock’s feathers are emblems of royalty, and are used by servants in attendance on the Governor-general, who stand behind his chair and wave them over his head. The sā’īses carry them of horse-hair, to wisk the flies off the horses; and a very common sort are made of grass. Very beautiful white chaunrīs are also made of strips from the quill of the peacock’s feather. The chaunrīs are represented in the frontispiece, over the head of Gănéshŭ. The Brahmans use them in pooja, waving them over the idol.

The horn is said to belong to a deer from the Himalayas, which, when it was first found, was thought to be a unicorn. These two horns came from Landour, brought down by local hillmen. Three more were sent to me from Almorah. The men described the animal as having just one horn in the center of its forehead; when I questioned them specifically about this, they were adamant, and since they were unaware that we consider the unicorn a myth, they had no reason to lie. During my time in the East, I saw only five of these horns, all of which I now own, and not one of them matches another. The men were asked to bring the head of the animal with the horn still attached; they haven't done this, and there's no further evidence to convince skeptics of the unicorn's existence in the Himalayas. Chaunrīs made of peacock feathers are symbols of royalty and are used by servants attending the Governor-General, who stand behind his chair and wave them over his head. The sā’īses carry horsehair ones to swat flies off the horses, and a more common type is made from grass. Very beautiful white chaunrīs are also crafted from strips taken from peacock quills. The chaunrīs are depicted in the frontispiece, above Gănéshŭ's head. The Brahmans use them in pooja, waving them over the idol.

A lady has sent me a great curiosity—a common dark brown-red shawl, worn by low caste women at Hissar. It is worked all over in large flowers, in orange silk; the centre of the flower contains a circular bit of looking-glass about an inch and a half in diameter, round which the flower is worked in coarse silk.[240] The appearance of the dress as the light falls on the looking-glass is most strange and odd. I never saw a shawl of the sort before. It is too coarse to be worn by any but poor people: when working in the fields, in what an extraordinary manner the light must be caught on all those reflecting circles of glass!

A lady sent me something really interesting—a typical dark brown-red shawl worn by low-caste women in Hissar. It's covered with large orange silk flowers; each flower has a round piece of mirror about an inch and a half across in the center, surrounded by coarse silk. [240] The way the dress looks when the light hits the mirror is really strange and unusual. I've never seen a shawl like this before. It's too rough to be worn by anyone but poor people: when they work in the fields, just imagine how the light must reflect off all those shiny circles of glass!

June 19th.—We drove into the Fort to call on a fair friend at 5 P.M. No sooner had I entered the house, than we saw clouds of locusts in the air: immediately afterwards a heavy storm of rain fell, and the locusts were beaten down by it in great numbers to the ground. The native servants immediately ran out and caught them by handfuls, delighted to get them to make a curry; for which purpose they may, perhaps, be as delicate as prawns, which are most excellent. I took some to preserve with arsenical soap: they look like very large grasshoppers. I never saw a flight of locusts before; on our return home the air was full of them.

June 19th.—We drove into the Fort to visit a friend at 5 PM As soon as I entered the house, we noticed clouds of locusts in the air: shortly after, a heavy rainstorm hit, and the locusts were knocked down in large numbers. The local servants quickly ran outside and gathered them by the handful, thrilled to collect them for a curry; they might be as tasty as prawns, which are truly excellent. I took some to preserve with arsenical soap: they look like really big grasshoppers. I had never seen a swarm of locusts before; on our way home, the air was filled with them.

The food of St. John in the wilderness was locusts and wild honey: very luxurious fare, according to the natives, who say, either in a curry or fried in clarified butter, they are excellent. I believe they divest them of their wings, and dress them after the fashion of woodcocks.

The food of St. John in the wilderness was locusts and wild honey: quite a treat, according to the locals, who say that whether in a curry or fried in clarified butter, they taste great. I think they remove the wings and prepare them like woodcocks.

Some assert that St. John did not live upon locusts, but upon the bean of a tree called by the Arabs Kharroùb, the locust-tree of Scripture[95]—a point too difficult to be decided by a poor hājī[96] in search of the picturesque.

Some say that St. John didn’t survive on locusts, but rather on the pods from a tree known to Arabs as Kharroùb, which is the locust-tree mentioned in Scripture[95]—a claim that's too complicated for a simple hājī[96] looking for something interesting.

20th.—At 5 A.M. I rode out with a friend, and met the hounds under the Mahratta Bund; no other persons were present, and we had not gone twenty yards before two jackals crossed the road just before the dogs: away they went, in the prettiest style imaginable. Mr. B⸺ galloped off across a ploughed field: the horse had scarcely gone ten yards when his legs sunk into a deep soft hole; the creature could not recover himself; over he went, falling on his back, with his rider under him; and there the horse lay kicking with all four legs in the air for a short time, ere the gentleman had the power to extricate[241] himself from under the animal. I was not five yards behind, and, jumping off my horse, went to his assistance. The blood was pouring from his mouth and nose, and his right shoulder was dislocated. Two natives came up. Leaving the fainting man in their care, I galloped off for a surgeon. During my absence, a medical man fortunately arrived at the spot: he found the gentleman senseless. Having set his shoulder and bled him, he put him into a palanquin, and sent him home. My search for a surgeon was unsuccessful for a length of time: at last I rode into the court of the Hospital at Kyd Gunge, in search of Dr. S⸺, when the first object I beheld was the corpse of a man being carried out, marked with blood on the head; it made me shudder: the medical man was just on the point of opening the head of a European, who had died suddenly. This was rather a nervous adventure and a frightful sight. My friend was so much stunned by the blow and the dislocation of his arm, he could make but feeble efforts to extricate himself from his horse. I thought at first he was killed by the way in which the two streams of blood poured from the corners of his mouth when I raised his head. It was unfortunate being alone at such a moment.

20th.—At 5 A.M., I went out with a friend and found the hounds under the Mahratta Bund; no one else was around, and we hadn't gone more than twenty yards when two jackals crossed the road right in front of the dogs. Off they went in the most graceful way imaginable. Mr. B⸺ galloped across a plowed field, but the horse barely went ten yards before his legs sunk into a deep, soft hole; he couldn’t recover balance and fell backward, landing on his rider. There the horse lay, kicking with all four legs in the air for a brief moment before the gentleman could manage to get out from under him. I was only five yards behind, so I jumped off my horse to help. Blood was pouring from his mouth and nose, and his right shoulder was dislocated. Two locals came over. After leaving the unconscious man in their care, I raced off to find a surgeon. Thankfully, while I was away, a doctor arrived at the scene and found the gentleman unconscious. He set the shoulder, bled him, and then placed him in a palanquin to send him home. My search for a surgeon took a while before I finally rode into the courtyard of the Hospital at Kyd Gunge looking for Dr. S⸺. The first thing I saw was a bloodied corpse being carried out, making me shudder; the doctor was just about to perform an autopsy on a European who had died suddenly. It was quite a nerve-wracking experience and a horrific sight. My friend was so dazed from the impact and the dislocated arm that he could barely try to get off his horse. At first, I thought he was dead from the way the blood streamed from the corners of his mouth when I lifted his head. It was unfortunate to be alone at that moment.

The rats during the harvest-time collect grain in holes; and the poor people dig wherever they think they may chance to find a rat’s store, for the sake of the grain: sometimes on one spot they find 20lb. weight secreted by these provident animals, generally in the midst of the fields. The natives steal the grain, and leave the holes open, which are very dangerous for horses. The place into which Mr. B⸺’s horse fell was an opening of the sort, filled by the rain of the day before with light mould, therefore he could not see he was upon treacherous ground. I escaped from being five yards in the rear of his horse; had he passed over, I should, in all probability, have gone in; the ground appeared perfectly good, instead of being like a quicksand.

The rats during harvest time collect grain in burrows, and the poor people dig wherever they think they might find a rat's stash for the grain. Sometimes in one spot, they find 20 pounds of grain hidden by these resourceful animals, usually in the middle of the fields. The locals steal the grain and leave the holes open, which are very dangerous for horses. The place where Mr. B's horse fell was one of those openings, filled with light soil from the rain the day before, so he couldn’t see he was on unstable ground. I barely avoided being five yards behind his horse; if he had crossed over, I would probably have fallen in too, as the ground looked perfectly solid instead of being like quicksand.

The other night, for the first time up the country, I saw a glow-worm; it was very thin, about half an inch in length, and more like a maggot in a cheese than any thing else.

The other night, for the first time in the countryside, I saw a glow-worm; it was very thin, about half an inch long, and looked more like a maggot in cheese than anything else.

[242]

[242]

Aug. 14th.—Last week we were at a ball given by the officers of the 6th Native Infantry to the station; in spite of the heat, the people appeared to enjoy dancing very much, and kept it up until very late. A ball-room in India, with all the windows open, and the pankhās in full play, is not half so oppressive as a ball-room in London: the heat of pure air is much better than the heat of a number of persons, all crowded together and breathing the same atmosphere over and over again. Balls up the country take place principally during the hot winds and rains; they make a variety at a quiet station. During the cold months the people are dispersed on duty in divers parts of the district.

Aug. 14th.—Last week we attended a ball hosted by the officers of the 6th Native Infantry at the station. Despite the heat, everyone seemed to really enjoy dancing and kept going until late. A ballroom in India, with all the windows open and the fans working overtime, isn’t nearly as suffocating as a ballroom in London. The heat from fresh air is much more tolerable than the heat generated by a crowd of people breathing the same air over and over. Balls in the countryside mainly happen during the hot winds and monsoons; they add some excitement to a quiet station. During the colder months, people are spread out on duty in various parts of the district.

I amuse myself turning profiles in rous wood on my lathe; the likenesses of Buonaparte and the Duke of Wellington are good, because it is less difficult to turn a strong profile. I look at the drawing whilst turning the wood; when finished it is cut open, and the profile, if properly done, is exact.

I keep myself entertained by carving profiles in rosewood on my lathe; the likenesses of Napoleon and the Duke of Wellington turn out well because it's easier to carve a strong profile. I refer to the drawing while shaping the wood; once it's done, I cut it open, and the profile, if done right, is accurate.

Snakes are in abundance: I caught a small venomous whip-snake in my dressing-room to-day, and put it into the bottle of horrors. A lady stepped upon the head of one a short time ago; the reptile curled round her leg; when she raised her foot in a fright, it glided off, and was found half killed in the next room.

Snakes are everywhere: I caught a small venomous whip snake in my dressing room today and put it into the bottle of horrors. A woman stepped on the head of one a little while ago; the snake coiled around her leg. When she lifted her foot in a panic, it slipped away and was found half dead in the next room.

A great fire has taken place in the Fort in Calcutta; an immense quantity of stores have been destroyed in the magazine, report says to the amount of ten lakh. Some suppose the fire may have been occasioned by the cutting system having rendered the natives revengeful.

A huge fire broke out in the Fort in Calcutta; a massive number of supplies were destroyed in the magazine, with reports estimating the damage at ten lakh. Some people believe the fire might have been caused by the cutting system making the locals angry.

Sept. 2nd.—A number of beautiful butterflies have been caught for me in the garden; they are attracted by the lucerne grass, as well as the flowers. Some are very rich in colour, and very delicate. Amongst the insects collected, the most curious are the locusts, and the leaf-grasshopper—a marvellous insect! an immense grasshopper, with two wings exactly like narrow leaves, of a beautiful spring green, and two wings beneath them of the most delicate gauze. One might imagine two narrow leaves had been fastened on as wings to a grasshopper!

Sept. 2nd.—I’ve caught a bunch of beautiful butterflies in the garden; they’re drawn to the alfalfa as well as the flowers. Some have really rich colors and are super delicate. Among the insects I collected, the most interesting are the locusts and the leaf-grasshopper—a remarkable insect! It’s a huge grasshopper with two wings that look exactly like narrow leaves, in a lovely spring green, and two wings underneath that are the most delicate gauze. You’d think two narrow leaves were attached as wings to a grasshopper!

On the 11th of this month, the sāhib was appointed collector[243] at Allahabad: the comfort of holding a fixed situation is great, and we rejoice exceedingly.

On the 11th of this month, the boss was appointed collector[243] at Allahabad: it's great to have a stable job, and we're very happy about it.

Our great Bengal Lion Rajah Ramohun Roy appears to have created no small sensation on the other side of the water. He is one of the few well-educated natives we possess, and is, decidedly, a very remarkable person. He holds his title of Rajah from the king of Delhi, the great Mogul, whose ambassador he is to the British Court in a suit versus John Company.

Our remarkable Bengal Lion Rajah Ramohun Roy seems to have caused quite a stir across the ocean. He is one of the few well-educated natives we have, and he is definitely a very notable individual. He holds his title of Rajah from the king of Delhi, the great Mogul, whose ambassador he is to the British Court in a case against John Company.

Extract from a homeward-bound letter.

Excerpt from a letter home.

“The Mem sāhiba’s present fureur, for she always has one darling passion for the time, is making a collection of butterflies and coleopteræ, she is deeply read in taxidermy, and we have, besides, many other prepared subjects, such as tigers, and hyenas’ skulls, alligator’s skeleton whole; a delightful little pet in spirits of wine, a young crocodile, skin and all. Then there is ‘The Bottle of Horrors!’ containing cobra de capello, scorpions, lizards, millepieds, centpieds, grillus monstrosus, and I know not what. Mephistopheles himself would be affrighted; and I, the Faust of this Margaret, am sitting in a quiet unconcern, smoking my cigar, as happy as if I was one of the party in the bottle, the daily object of admiration!”

“The Mem sāhiba’s current obsession, which she always has, is collecting butterflies and beetles. She is quite knowledgeable about taxidermy, and we also have many other preserved specimens, like tiger and hyena skulls, a complete alligator skeleton, and a charming little pet preserved in alcohol, a young crocodile, skin and all. Then there’s ‘The Bottle of Horrors!’ containing a cobra, scorpions, lizards, millipedes, centipedes, monstrous crickets, and who knows what else. Even Mephistopheles himself would be scared; yet here I am, the Faust of this situation, sitting calmly, smoking my cigar, as happy as if I were one of the curiosities in that bottle, the daily focus of admiration!”

NARRATIVE OF OOMEID THUG.—(August 10th, 1832.)

The following is a narrative of the Thugs, translated from the ‘Indian Gazette,’ and the ‘Agra Ukbar,’ dated 10th October, 1832.

The following is a story about the Thugs, translated from the ‘Indian Gazette’ and the ‘Agra Ukbar,’ dated October 10, 1832.

“In the month of Koar, I do not recollect the year, I, with five others, went to Lochun Singh, jamadar in Muoza Seeapore, Purguna Bethoor. This village was about twelve cos from Kusooapore, the place where we lived. Having assembled a gang of thirty-one men, including the jamadar, we set off towards Lucnow. The braying of an ass and the sound of a peacock necessarily arresting our ears, we took them for good omens, and breakfasted under a tree. On the same day we fell in with three travellers of the Rajpoot caste, proceeding from Lucnow to Etawa. We put up for the night together, agreeing[244] to travel together the next morning. While it was dark, we took our journey in company with the travellers; and as we passed a well, finding the opportunity friendly to our purpose, we fell upon and killed the travellers; and throwing their bodies into the well, we went forward. Our booty amounted to 200 rupees in cash, and some other property, which we divided, and took the road to Cawnpore. On the road we met two travellers proceeding from Jeypore to Lucnow; we travelled back with them to the village whence we had started; and having remained there for the night, we set off the next morning while it was dark with the travellers. Meeting with a well on the road, we asked the travellers to rest awhile and smoke; and while smoking they were struck with nooses, and strangled. We threw the bodies into the wells. The spoil, amounting to rupees in cash 250, and other property, we divided. After this occurrence Lochun, jamadar, hearing that his wife was delivered of a son, proposed our going to our homes for a time, and we accordingly dispersed.”

“In the month of Koar, I don’t remember the year, I, along with five others, went to see Lochun Singh, the jamadar in Muoza Seeapore, Purguna Bethoor. This village was about twelve cos from Kusooapore, the place where we lived. After gathering a group of thirty-one men, including the jamadar, we set off towards Lucknow. The braying of a donkey and the sound of a peacock caught our attention, and we took them as good signs, so we had breakfast under a tree. That same day, we came across three travelers from the Rajput caste, who were heading from Lucknow to Etawah. We decided to stay the night together and agreed to travel as a group the next morning. In the dark, we continued our journey with the travelers; and as we passed a well, seizing the opportunity, we attacked and killed the travelers, throwing their bodies into the well before moving on. Our loot amounted to 200 rupees in cash and some other possessions, which we divided up, and then headed toward Cawnpore. On the way, we met two travelers coming from Jeypore to Lucknow; we returned with them to the village we had started from and stayed there for the night. The next morning, we set off again while it was still dark with the travelers. When we came across a well, we asked the travelers to take a break and smoke; while they were smoking, we trapped them with nooses and strangled them. We tossed their bodies into the wells. The loot amounted to 250 rupees in cash and other valuables, which we split. After this, Lochun, the jamadar, heard that his wife had given birth to a son, and he suggested we go home for a while, so we all went our separate ways.”

SECOND ENTERPRISE OF OOMEID THUG.

“About a year ago, in the month of Phagoon, I left my home in Kussooapoor, in company with twenty-two other Thugs, and hearing the sound of an owl, which we regarded as a good omen, we sat down to breakfast, and then took the road to Etawa. Alighting at an inn (sarae) in the night, we found a traveller there, proceeding from Kalpee to Jypoor. My son Gunesh (who was afterwards sentenced to be hung) gained him over to our party, and we set off together the next morning; and travelling towards Agra, we halted at night in the sarae of Juswuntnugar: leaving which place, we stopped near a tank, and in the act of helping some tobacco to the traveller, he was strangled with a noose. His body we threw into the tank. The booty consisted of one brass lota and one thalee, some clothes, and fifteen rupees in cash: these we divided. We arrived next at Huteepoor, and put up in the inn there. Here we fell in with five travellers, proceeding from Jeypoor to Lucnow; of them, two were of the Koormee caste, two Aheers,[245] and one Kuhar. We persuaded them that we were likewise travellers, and were on our way to Lucnow. They readily joined us; and thus, next morning, we started together; and as we were passing by a well, we asked the travellers to rest awhile, and smoke tobacco; and while smoking, we strangled them with nooses, and threw their bodies into the well. The booty, consisting of 100 rupees in cash, and some clothes and utensils, we divided.

“About a year ago, in the month of Phagoon, I left my home in Kussooapoor with twenty-two other Thugs. Hearing the sound of an owl, which we considered a good sign, we sat down for breakfast and then set out for Etawa. When we arrived at an inn (sarae) that night, we found a traveler who was coming from Kalpee to Jypoor. My son Gunesh (who was later sentenced to hang) won him over to our group, and we left together the next morning. Traveling towards Agra, we stayed overnight at the sarae of Juswuntnugar. After leaving there, we stopped near a tank, and while offering some tobacco to the traveler, we strangled him with a noose. We disposed of his body in the tank. The loot included one brass lota, one thalee, some clothing, and fifteen rupees in cash, which we divided among ourselves. Next, we arrived at Huteepoor and stayed at the inn there. There, we encountered five travelers heading from Jeypoor to Lucnow; two were from the Koormee caste, two Aheers, and one Kuhar. We convinced them that we were also travelers on our way to Lucnow. They happily joined us, and the next morning we set off together. As we passed by a well, we asked the travelers to take a break and smoke some tobacco. While they were smoking, we strangled them with nooses and disposed of their bodies in the well. The loot this time was 100 rupees in cash, along with some clothes and utensils, which we divided.”

“We then went to Sersa Gung, seven cos from Huteepoor, in the way to Mynpooree, and put up in an inn. Here we met two travellers, journeying from Juodhpoor to Byswara. As our custom was, we soon persuaded them to join our party; we started in the morning, and as we reached a well, we stopped there on the pretence of smoking, and strangled the two travellers with nooses. Their property, amounting to sixty rupees in cash, and their clothes, &c., we divided. Travelling five cos more, we came to the inn of Mukhan: here two Buggals arrested our attention; they were travellers, journeying from Jeypoor to Lucnow. From their eluding all inquiries, we naturally concluded that they had money in specie with them; we were not mistaken: they started by sunrise, and we followed them. When they reached near a tank, we found the opportunity friendly to our purpose, and with nooses strangled them. In haste, we threw the bodies into the tank, it being broad daylight, and departed. On examining the booty, we found the bags we had taken contained one thousand five hundred rupees; with this money we came to Agra. We then left Agra, and halting at Bhurtpoor, took the road to Jeypoor; on our way, we were joined by a party of twelve Thugs, and passing Jeypoor, we reached the village of Dosa. Here we saw three men, who were travelling from Juodhpoor to Lucnow; we found no difficulty in prevailing on them to join us, and in the night we killed and buried them. The booty amounted to sixty rupees in cash, and some utensils and clothes. We met four more travellers in a village hard by; they were proceeding to Benares; we invited them to warm themselves by the fire we had lighted, and while warming themselves we strangled them with nooses, and their[246] bodies we buried. Our spoil amounted to thirty rupees in cash, and some utensils and clothes. Some miles from this place, in a village, the name of which I do not recollect, we halted: here we found three travellers going from Nusseerabad to Cawnpore; at night we fell upon and killed them; their bodies we buried in the same place. We found on them sixty rupees in cash, and some utensils and clothes. One cos from this place, under a burgut tree, we met with three Buggals, who joined us; and as we set off by dawn, we killed the Buggals by a jhaoo (tamarisk) field; we despoiled them of fifty rupees in cash, and some clothes, &c.; the bodies were afterwards buried.

“We then went to Sersa Gung, seven cos from Huteepoor, on the way to Mynpooree, and stayed at an inn. Here we met two travelers, on their way from Juodhpoor to Byswara. As was our usual practice, we quickly got them to join our group; we set out in the morning, and when we reached a well, we stopped there under the pretense of smoking, and strangled the two travelers with nooses. We divided their belongings, which totaled sixty rupees in cash, along with their clothes, etc. After traveling five more cos, we arrived at the inn of Mukhan: here we noticed two Buggals; they were travelers going from Jeypoor to Lucnow. Since they avoided all questions, we naturally assumed they had cash with them; we were right: they left at sunrise, and we followed them. When they got close to a tank, we found the situation favorable for our plan, and we strangled them with nooses. In a hurry, we dumped the bodies into the tank, it being broad daylight, and left. After checking our loot, we found the bags we had taken contained one thousand five hundred rupees; with this money, we made our way to Agra. We then left Agra, and after a stop at Bhurtpoor, we took the road to Jeypoor; along the way, we were joined by a group of twelve Thugs, and after passing Jeypoor, we reached the village of Dosa. Here we saw three men traveling from Juodhpoor to Lucnow; we had no trouble convincing them to join us, and at night we killed and buried them. The loot amounted to sixty rupees in cash, along with some utensils and clothing. We encountered four more travelers in a nearby village; they were heading to Benares; we invited them to warm themselves by the fire we had started, and while they were warming up, we strangled them with nooses, and buried their bodies. Our spoils included thirty rupees in cash, and some utensils and clothes. A few miles from there, in a village whose name I don't remember, we stopped: here we found three travelers going from Nusseerabad to Cawnpore; at night we attacked and killed them; we buried their bodies in the same place. We found sixty rupees in cash on them, along with some utensils and clothes. One cos from this place, under a burgut tree, we met three Buggals, who joined us; and as we set off at dawn, we killed the Buggals by a jhaoo (tamarisk) field; we took fifty rupees in cash from them, along with some clothes, etc.; their bodies were later buried."

“On our return, near to Jeypoor, by a tank, we obtained another prey in a person proceeding to Cawnpore; we gained upon him by soft, tender expressions, and then at night strangled him with a noose; his property amounted to ten rupees in cash, and two bullocks.”

“On our way back, close to Jaipur, by a water tank, we caught another victim in someone heading to Kanpur; we got close to him with gentle, kind words, and then at night we strangled him with a noose; his belongings totaled ten rupees in cash and two bullocks.”

I could not omit inserting the above narrative, on account of the quiet coolness with which the Thug Oomeid relates the murders committed by himself and his gang.

I couldn't skip including the above story because of the calm and cool way that the Thug Oomeid talks about the murders he and his gang committed.

Oct. 25th.—The sale of the property of a friend took place to-day. Many valuable works in octavo sold for twopence a volume! The furniture went at about one fourth of its value. We took the opportunity of getting rid of extra sofas and chairs; much furniture is a great inconvenience in this climate; it harbours musquitoes.

Oct. 25th.—The sale of a friend's property happened today. Many valuable octavo books sold for two pence each! The furniture went for about a quarter of its value. We took the chance to get rid of some extra sofas and chairs; too much furniture is really inconvenient in this climate; it attracts mosquitoes.

Through the stupidity of our servants, some animal got into the quail-house last night, and killed seventy-nine fat quail; very provoking,—but as this is the season for them it is not of much consequence, we can replace them; had it been during the hot winds, when no quail are to be procured, it would have been a great loss in the eating department.

Due to our servants' carelessness, an animal got into the quail house last night and killed seventy-nine plump quails. It's really frustrating—however, since it's the season for them, it's not a huge deal; we can easily replace them. If it had happened during the hot winds when there are no quails available, it would have been a significant loss for our meals.

All my finery coming from England has been totally lost, about twenty days’ journey from this place, by the swamping of the boat; all my presents gone “at one fell swoop,” leaving me sans pompons, sans souliers, sans everything; my pen is bad, my knife blunt, and my new penknife is feeding the fish at the bottom of the Ganges, off Monghir.

All my fancy clothes that I got from England have been completely lost, about twenty days' journey from here, due to the boat sinking; all my gifts gone "in one fell swoop," leaving me without decorations, without shoes, without anything; my pen is useless, my knife is dull, and my new penknife is now feeding the fish at the bottom of the Ganges near Monghir.

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Nov. 8th.—Last night we dined at Mr. F⸺’s; a Capt. W⸺, who is rather a curiosity, was of the party; he brought us a letter of introduction from Col. Gardner. He is the brother of Sir H. W⸺, the late ambassador in Persia; he wears a native dress, with a long beard that hangs half way down his breast; and his imitation of native style is good. He commenced his travels in 1829, passing through Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Persia, and so on to Allahabad, and will return viâ Constantinople; he is a captain in the navy.

Nov. 8th.—Last night we had dinner at Mr. F⸺’s; a Captain W⸺, who is quite an interesting character, was part of the group; he brought us a letter of introduction from Col. Gardner. He is the brother of Sir H. W⸺, the former ambassador to Persia; he wears native clothing, with a long beard that reaches halfway down his chest, and he does a good job of imitating the local style. He started his travels in 1829, going through Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Persia, and then to Allahabad, and he plans to return vià Constantinople; he is a captain in the navy.

This morning, it being a holiday with the Hindoos, and a great bathing-day at the junction of the rivers, we agreed to meet Capt. W⸺ on the spot before sunrise, to witness the tamāshā. He, having started before us, rode down to the bathing-place, and getting into a quicksand on the banks of the river, had a roll in the mud. Mr. B⸺ and I rode down to meet him, and coming on a daldal (quicksand), my horse sank into it up to his tail, struggling violently, and beating up and down like a boat in a short sea; I rolled off, or rather Mr. B⸺ pulled me from the horse, which, with great exertion and difficulty, at length scrambled out. Mr. B⸺’s grey Cabul horse refused to pass the daldal; he snorted, beat the ground with his fore-feet, and stood firm, evidently alarmed. Remounting my horse Trelawny, we pursued our way to the Triveni, where we met Capt. W⸺, and laughed at our misfortunes. This is the first time my horse and I have parted company; I used to boast of never having quitted my saddle.

This morning, since it was a holiday for the Hindus and a big bathing day at the river confluence, we decided to meet Capt. W⸺ at the spot before sunrise to see the festivities. He left before us and rode down to the bathing spot, but got stuck in a patch of quicksand by the riverbank and ended up rolling in the mud. Mr. B⸺ and I rode down to meet him, and when we encountered another patch of quicksand, my horse sank into it up to his tail, struggling wildly and thrashing around like a boat in choppy water. I fell off, or rather Mr. B⸺ yanked me off the horse, which eventually managed to scramble out with a lot of effort. Mr. B⸺’s grey Cabul horse refused to go past the quicksand; he snorted, stomped his front feet, and stood his ground, clearly scared. I got back on my horse Trelawny, and we continued to the Triveni, where we met Capt. W⸺ and laughed about our mishaps. This is the first time my horse and I have been separated; I used to brag about never leaving my saddle.

Capt. W⸺ went to the bathing-place, to see the junction of the three rivers, the Gunga, the Jumna, and the Saraswati; the two first are above ground, the third joins them underground,—at least, so say the pious Hindoos. Capt. W⸺ keeps a journal; if he publish it, I fear he will immortalize this quicksand adventure, and say, “being unable to discover the river Saraswati above ground, we were searching for it in the regions below.”

Capt. W⸺ went to the bathing spot to check out where the three rivers—Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati—meet. The first two are visible above ground, while the third is said to connect with them underground, at least according to the devout Hindus. Capt. W⸺ keeps a journal; if he decides to publish it, I worry he will make this quicksand experience legendary and claim, “unable to find the river Saraswati above ground, we were searching for it in the depths below.”

Nov. 13th.—We were out riding about 5 A.M.; the sky was cloudy, with a rainy appearance, and we saw a great number of meteors falling in every direction; at first I did not know what[248] they were; afterwards I counted eight; two of them fell, leaving a stream of blue light for a second, and then vanished. I never before observed these meteors.

Nov. 13th.—We went out riding around 5 A.M.; the sky was overcast, looking like it might rain, and we saw a lot of meteors streaking across the sky in every direction. At first, I wasn't sure what they were; later, I counted eight in total. Two of them fell, leaving a trail of blue light for a second before disappearing. I had never seen these meteors before.

The followers of the Prophet assert, that falling stars are believed by the idolaters to be on account of the birth or death of some great man; but are in reality weapons thrown at the devils. While the friends of Muhammud were sitting with him one night, a very bright star shot; and his Highness said, “What did you say in the days of ignorance when a Star shot like this?” They said, “God and his messenger know best; we used to say, A great man was born to-night, and a great man died.” Then his Majesty said, “You mistook; because the shooting of these stars are neither for the life nor death of any person; but when our Cherisher orders a work, the bearers of the imperial throne sing hallelujahs; and the inhabitants of the regions who are near the bearers repeat it, till it reaches the lowest regions. After that, the angels which are near the bearers of the imperial throne say, ‘What did the Cherisher order?’ Then they are informed; and so it is handed from one region to another, till the information reaches the people of the lowest region. Then the devils steal it, and carry it to their friends, that is, magicians; and these stars are thrown at these devils; not for the birth or death of any person. Then the things which the magicians tell, having heard from the devils, are true; but these magicians tell lies, and exaggerate in what they hear.” Kutadah said, “God has created stars for three uses; one of them, as a cause of ornament of the regions; the second, to stone the devil with; the third, to direct people going through forests, and on the sea. Therefore, whoever shall explain them otherwise does wrong, and loses his time, and speaks from his own invention, and embellishes[97].”

The followers of the Prophet believe that falling stars are thought by idolaters to signify the birth or death of some important person; however, they are actually weapons thrown at devils. One night, while the friends of Muhammad were with him, a bright star shot across the sky, and he asked, “What did you say back in the days of ignorance when a star shot like that?” They replied, “Only God and his messenger know best; we used to say, A great man was born tonight, and a great man died.” Then he said, “You were mistaken; these shooting stars are not linked to anyone's life or death. When our Creator commands something, the angels closest to the throne rejoice, and those in the nearby regions repeat it until it reaches the lowest realms. Then, the angels near the throne ask, ‘What did the Creator command?’ Once they are informed, the message spreads from one realm to another until it reaches the lowest region. After that, the devils steal it and share it with their allies, the magicians; and those stars are thrown at these devils—not for the birth or death of anyone. Thus, the things the magicians say, having heard from the devils, are true, but these magicians also lie and exaggerate what they hear.” Kutadah said, “God created stars for three purposes: one, as decoration for the skies; two, to cast at devils; and three, to guide people traveling through forests and across the sea. Therefore, anyone who interprets them differently is mistaken, wastes their time, speaks from their own imagination, and embellishes[97].”

An officer in the sixteenth lancers, at Cawnpore, thus describes some meteors he saw on the 12th of this month. “On going to field exercise this morning, soon after daybreak, the air presented a very singular phenomenon, being as it were filled with[249] innumerable meteors, descending like vivid streaks of fire. These continued for about half-an-hour, and one passed so near me as to frighten my horse.”.

An officer in the sixteenth lancers at Cawnpore describes some meteors he saw on the 12th of this month. “When I went out for field exercise this morning, shortly after daybreak, the air displayed a very unusual phenomenon, appearing as if it were filled with[249] countless meteors, falling like bright streaks of fire. This lasted for about half an hour, and one flew by so close that it scared my horse.”

Nov. 22nd.—Two days ago there was an immense flight of locusts; we caught a great number. The natives turned out, and with hideous noises, waving flags and sticks, drove them from settling on their plantations.

Nov. 22nd.—Two days ago, there was a massive swarm of locusts; we caught a lot of them. The locals came out, making terrible noises, waving flags and sticks, to chase them away from landing on their farms.

The jamadar has just brought in a curious pigeon; it has four legs; the pair in front have four toes like all pigeons’ feet, the other pair are placed behind, they are smaller, and each foot has only two toes; all the four legs hang down, after the fashion in which pigeons wear their legs.

The jamadar just brought in a strange pigeon; it has four legs. The front pair has four toes like typical pigeon feet, while the pair in back is smaller and has only two toes on each foot. All four legs hang down like pigeons usually do.

What strange people these natives are! A traveller who came here this morning complained to my husband that his coachman and sā’īs had robbed and beaten him. The coachman said, “The traveller was going a short cut to the bazār by a road in your grounds you had ordered to be stopped; we turned him back, therefore we had a quarrel.” The traveller, to spite them, hung himself on a tree opposite the stables, and was cut down by the guard. Natives are fond of hanging themselves for spite when they are sure of being cut down! It is better to let them please themselves, if you do they will seldom kill themselves in reality; a good caning in such circumstances would be of great service.

What strange people these locals are! A traveler who came here this morning complained to my husband that his coachman and assistant had robbed and beaten him. The coachman said, “The traveler was taking a shortcut to the market via a road on your property that you had ordered closed; we turned him back, so that’s why we had a fight.” To get back at them, the traveler hung himself from a tree in front of the stables, and the guard had to cut him down. Locals often hang themselves out of spite when they know they’ll be rescued! It’s better to let them do as they please; if you do, they’ll rarely go through with it. A good spanking in such situations would be very effective.

A man has brought a heron’s plume for sale; the natives put them into jewelled ornaments on their turbans, called jika, and also on the heads of their horses. These feathers are extremely expensive in Paris; I was asked two hundred francs for a small plume.

A man is selling a heron’s feather; the locals use them to decorate jeweled ornaments on their turbans, called jika, and also on their horses' heads. These feathers are very pricey in Paris; I was quoted two hundred francs for a small feather.

The pine-apple shaped figure on the Cashmere shawls is the representation of the jewelled jika worn in front of the turban; the plume rises from it.

The pineapple-shaped design on the Cashmere shawls represents the jeweled jika worn in front of the turban; the plume rises from it.

Speaking of the guard, who cut down the traveller who hung himself, I must remark, we had a guard of twelve sipahīs and a hawāldār; a sentry in front of the guard-room kept the time by striking the hours on a gong; non mi recordo, how I became possessed of the following scientific description of the Ghurī, which I insert on account of its excellence.

Speaking of the guard who took down the traveler who had hanged himself, I should mention that we had a guard of twelve sipahīs and a hawāldār; a sentry in front of the guardroom kept track of the time by striking the hours on a gong; non mi recordo, how I came across the following scientific description of the Ghurī, which I include because of its quality.

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[250]

“The Brahmanical method of computing time, which is generally followed all over India, is this:—

“The Brahmanical way of calculating time, which is commonly used throughout India, is as follows:—

“60 Nimeshu, or twinklings of the human eye, are considered equal to one Pal.

“60 Nimeshu, or twinklings of the human eye, are considered equal to one Pal.

“60 Pals equal to one Ghurī.

"60 pals equal one Ghurī."

“60 Ghurīs to one day and night.

“60 Ghurīs in one day and night.”

“60 Days and nights one Ritu.

60 days and nights for one Ritu.

“6 Ritu (seasons of two calendar months each) one solar year.

“6 Ritu (seasons of two months each) in one solar year.

“60 Solar years one cycle.

"60 solar years per cycle."

“And during that period they believe that a complete revolution of terrestrial circumstances takes place. The only method of measuring the ghurī is by the simple clepsydra, formed of a brass cup, perforated with a single hole in the bottom, and placed in a vessel of water: the cup floats on the water, filling and sinking by degrees; when full the cup sinks, and the hour is completed. The cup is merely of brass or copper, beaten out very thin, without any marks or gradations upon it. When the cup sinks, the hour is struck upon a gong, which is generally hung upon three bamboos. The ghurī, or copper cup, floats usually in a vessel of coarse red pottery filled with water, called a nān.”

"And during that time, they believe that a complete change in earthly conditions occurs. The only way to measure the ghurī is with a simple water clock made from a brass cup that has a single hole in the bottom and is placed in a container of water: the cup floats on the water, gradually filling and sinking; when it's full, the cup sinks, marking the end of the hour. The cup is just thinly beaten brass or copper, with no markings or measurements on it. When the cup sinks, the hour is signaled by a gong, which is usually hung from three bamboo poles. The ghurī, or copper cup, typically floats in a coarse red pottery vessel filled with water, called a nān."

In the plate entitled “The Thug’s Dice,” figure 1 represents a sipahī, with the stick in his hand, watching the brass cup, which is just on the point of sinking; the moment it disappears, he will strike the gong; a spare cup is on the ground, by the side of the nān, or large earthen vessel that holds the water.

In the plate titled “The Thug’s Dice,” figure 1 shows a sipahī holding a stick, watching the brass cup that’s about to sink. The moment it disappears, he will hit the gong. There’s a spare cup on the ground next to the nān, which is the large clay pot that holds the water.

I have received a present that pleases me greatly, a sitar, a musical instrument, in general use all over India; it was made at Lucnow from a hollow gourd, and is very beautifully put together. It has four strings; the first is of steel wire, the two next are of brass wire, and the fourth and smallest of steel. It is played with the first finger of the right hand alone, on which is placed a little steel wire frame, called a misrāb, with which the strings are struck; the left hand stops the notes on the frets, but you only stop the notes on the first string; the other three strings produce a sort of pedal sound as the misrāb passes over them, from the manner in which they are tuned. The instrument is most elegantly formed.

I received a gift that makes me very happy: a sitar, a musical instrument that's commonly used all over India. It was crafted in Lucknow from a hollow gourd and is beautifully made. It has four strings; the first is made of steel wire, the next two are brass wire, and the fourth, the smallest, is steel. You play it using just the first finger of your right hand, which has a small steel wire frame called a misrab that strikes the strings. The left hand stops the notes on the frets, but you only stop the notes on the first string; the other three strings create a sort of pedal sound as the misrab passes over them, based on how they're tuned. The instrument is very elegantly designed.

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[251]

The ektara, a one-stringed instrument, as the name implies, is used by wandering minstrels. A man of this description, the veritable Paganini of the East, appeared before me the other day; he was an Hindoo mendicant, carrying an ektara, which was formed of a gourd; and on its one string he played in a strange and peculiar style. From the upper end of the ektara two peacock’s feathers were displayed. The man’s attire was a rope around his waist, and a bit of cloth; a black blanket hung over his shoulder; on his forehead, breast, and arms were the sectarial marks, and the brahmanical thread was over his shoulder; three necklaces and one bracelet completed the costume. His hair fell to his shoulders, and, like all natives, he wore a moustache. My friends laugh at me when I play on the sitar, and ask, “Why do you not put a peacock’s feather at the end of it?”

The ektara, a one-stringed instrument as its name suggests, is used by traveling musicians. A man fitting this description, the true Paganini of the East, came before me the other day; he was an Indian beggar carrying an ektara made from a gourd, and he played it in a strange and unique style on its single string. At the top of the ektara, two peacock feathers were displayed. The man's outfit consisted of a rope around his waist and a small piece of cloth; a black blanket draped over his shoulder; sect marks were visible on his forehead, chest, and arms, and he wore a sacred thread over his shoulder; three necklaces and one bracelet completed his look. His hair fell to his shoulders, and, like all natives, he had a mustache. My friends laugh at me when I play the sitar and ask, “Why don’t you put a peacock feather on it?”

Dec. 1st.—We have become great farmers, having sown our crop of oats, and are building outhouses to receive some thirty-four dwarf cows and oxen (gynees), which are to be fed up for the table, and produced after some eight months’ stuffing. The gynee club consists of eight members, and it gives us better food than we could procure from the bazār: “Whose dog am I that I should eat from the bazār?”

Dec. 1st.—We’ve become skilled farmers, having planted our oat crop, and we’re building outbuildings to take care of about thirty-four dwarf cows and oxen (gynees), which will be fattened up for the table after about eight months. The gynee club has eight members, and it provides us with better food than we could get from the market: “Whose dog am I that I should eat from the market?”

A little distance from the stacks the unmuzzled bullocks are treading out the corn: “Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn.” This patriarchal method breaks and renders the straw soft and friable; the corn is winnowed by taking it up in a basket and pouring it out; the grain falls to the ground, while the west wind blows the chaff into a heap beyond. The corn is deposited in a large pit, which has been duly prepared by having had the walls well dried and hardened from a fire burning in it for many days. These pits are carefully concealed by the natives, and their armies have people, called soonghees or smellers, whose business it is to find out these underground and secret granaries.

A bit away from the stacks, the unrestrained oxen are treading out the corn: “You shall not muzzle the ox that treads out the corn.” This traditional method breaks the straw down and makes it soft and crumbly; the corn is separated by scooping it up in a basket and pouring it out; the grain falls to the ground, while the west wind blows the chaff into a pile further away. The corn is stored in a large pit, which has been properly prepared by drying and hardening the walls with a fire burning for several days. These pits are carefully hidden by the locals, and their armies have people known as soonghees or smellers, whose job it is to locate these underground and secret granaries.

Our friend Col. Gardner is still at Lucnow, which, in all probability, will speedily be taken into the hands of the British government for its better protection! The King has lately[252] dismissed a man of great talent, who was his prime minister, and put in a fool by way of a change. The consequence is already felt in the accounts of the royal treasury. It is said it is impossible to collect the revenue without force, and that where that has been used, his Majesty’s forces have been beaten.

Our friend Col. Gardner is still in Lucknow, which will probably soon be taken over by the British government for better protection! The King recently[252] fired a highly skilled man who was his prime minister and replaced him with someone foolish just for a change. The effects are already being seen in the royal treasury’s accounts. It’s said that collecting revenue without force is impossible, and where force has been used, the King’s troops have been defeated.

A friend writes from England, “I shall always regret having quitted India without having seen Col. Gardner and the Taj.”

A friend writes from England, “I will always regret leaving India without having seen Col. Gardner and the Taj.”

He is a very remarkable man; his age nearly seventy, I believe. I had a long letter from him two days since, full of all the playfulness of youth, and of all kindness. I never met so entertaining or so instructive a companion; his life, if he would publish it, would be indeed a legacy, and shame our modern biography.

He is a truly remarkable man; I think he's nearly seventy. I received a long letter from him two days ago, filled with youthful playfulness and kindness. I've never met such an entertaining or instructive companion; if he published his life story, it would indeed be a legacy and put our modern biographies to shame.

20th.—For the first time this year it has been cold enough to collect ice; during my early ride this morning I saw the coolies gathering it into the pits.

20th.—For the first time this year, it has been cold enough to collect ice; during my early ride this morning, I saw the workers gathering it into the pits.


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CHAPTER XXIII.
THE BIG FAIR AT ALLAHABAD.

“TALKING TO A MAN WHO IS IN ECSTACY (OF A RELIGIOUS NATURE PRACTISED OR FEIGNED BY FAKĪRS) IS LIKE BEATING CURDS WITH A PESTLE[98].”

“TALKING TO A MAN WHO IS IN ECSTASY (OF A RELIGIOUS NATURE PRACTICED OR FAKED BY FAKIRS) IS LIKE BEATING CURDS WITH A PESTLE[98].”

Booths at the Fair—Diamonds, Pearls, Shawls, Sable, Coral—The Triveni—Suicide—Religious Mendicants—The sacred Ginī—Consecration of an Idol—Household Gods—Rosaries—Pilgrims, Carriers of Holy Water—Snakes—Arrival of Lady Wm. Bentinck—Visit to the Fair—Description of the Frontispiece—Chamelee, the Brahmanical Bull.

Booths at the Fair—Diamonds, Pearls, Shawls, Sable, Coral—The Triveni—Suicide—Religious Beggars—The sacred Ginī—Consecration of an Idol—Household Gods—Rosaries—Pilgrims, Carriers of Holy Water—Snakes—Arrival of Lady Wm. Bentinck—Visit to the Fair—Description of the Frontispiece—Chamelee, the Brahmanical Bull.

1833, Jan.—The burā melā at Prāg, or the great fair at Allahabad, is held annually on the sands of the Ganges below the ramparts of the Fort, extending from the Mahratta Bund to the extreme point of the sacred junction of the rivers. The booths extend the whole distance, composed of mud walls, covered with mats, or thatched. This fair lasts about two months, and attracts merchants from all parts of India, Calcutta, Delhi, Lucnow, Jeypore, &c. Very good diamonds, pearls, coral, shawls, cloth, woollens, China, furs, &c., are to be purchased. Numerous booths display brass and copper vessels, glittering in the sun with many brazen idols: others are filled with Benares’ toys for children. Bows and arrows are displayed, also native caps made of sable, the crowns of which are of the richest gold and silver embroidery.

1833, Jan.—The burā melā at Prāg, or the big fair at Allahabad, takes place every year on the sands of the Ganges below the Fort's walls, stretching from the Mahratta Bund to the farthest point of the sacred river confluence. The booths run the entire length, made of mud walls covered with mats or thatch. This fair lasts around two months and draws in vendors from all over India, including Calcutta, Delhi, Lucknow, Jaipur, etc. You can find high-quality diamonds, pearls, coral, shawls, fabrics, wool, ceramics, furs, and more for sale. Numerous booths showcase brass and copper items, sparkling in the sunlight alongside many bronze idols; others are packed with kids' toys from Benares. You’ll also find bows and arrows on display and local caps made of sable, adorned with intricate gold and silver embroidery.

The pearl merchants offer long strings of large pearls for sale, amongst which some few are fine, round, and of a good colour.[254] The natives value size, but are not very particular as to colour; they do not care to have them perfectly round, and do not object to an uneven surface. They will allow a purchaser to select the best at pleasure from long strings.

The pearl sellers have long strands of large pearls for sale, and a few of them are nice, round, and well-colored.[254] The locals appreciate size but aren’t too picky about color; they don’t need them to be perfectly round and don’t mind if the surface is uneven. They let buyers pick out the best ones from the long strands at their convenience.

The deep red coral is valued by the natives much more than the pink. I bought some very fine pink coral at the fair: the beads were immense; the price of the largest, eleven rupees per tola; i.e. eleven rupees for one rupee weight of coral. The smallest, six or four rupees per tola; it was remarkably fine. Some years afterwards the Brija Bā’ī, a Mahratta lady, a friend of mine, called on me; she observed the long string of fine pink coral around my neck, and said, “I am astonished a mem sāhiba should wear coral; we only decorate our horses with it; that is pink coral, the colour is not good; look at my horse.” I went to the verandah; her horse was adorned with a necklace of fine deep red coral. She was quite right, and I made over mine to my grey steed.

The natives value deep red coral much more than pink. I bought some really nice pink coral at the fair: the beads were huge; the price of the largest was eleven rupees per tola; i.e. eleven rupees for one rupee weight of coral. The smallest ones were six or four rupees per tola; they were remarkably nice. A few years later, Brija Bā'ī, a Mahratta lady and a friend of mine, visited me. She noticed the long string of fine pink coral around my neck and said, “I’m surprised a mem sāhiba would wear coral; we only use it to decorate our horses; that’s pink coral and the color isn’t good; look at my horse.” I went to the verandah; her horse was wearing a necklace of fine deep red coral. She was absolutely right, and I transferred mine to my grey horse.

Some of the prettiest things sold at the Melā are the tīkas, an ornament for the forehead for native women. The tīka is of different sizes and patterns; in gold or silver for the wealthy, tinsel for the poorer classes; and of various shapes. The prettiest are of silver, a little hollow cup like a dew-drop cut in halves: the ornament is stuck with an adhesive mixture on the forehead, just in the centre between the eyebrows. Some tīkas are larger, resembling the ferronnière worn by European ladies.

Some of the most beautiful items sold at the Melā are the tīkas, a forehead ornament for local women. Tīkas come in different sizes and designs; gold or silver for the wealthy, tinsel for those with less money; and in various shapes. The prettiest ones are made of silver, shaped like a small hollow cup resembling a dew drop cut in half: the ornament is applied with an adhesive mixture on the forehead, right in the center between the eyebrows. Some tīkas are larger, similar to the ferronnière worn by European women.

The Allahabad hukāks are famous for their imitation in glass of precious stones. I purchased a number of native ornaments in imitation of the jewellery worn by native ladies, which were remarkably well made, and cost only a few rupees. I also bought strings of mock pearls brought from China, that are scarcely to be distinguished from real pearls, either in colour or weight.

The Allahabad hukāks are known for their glass replicas of precious stones. I bought several local ornaments that imitate the jewelry worn by local women, which were impressively crafted and only cost a few rupees. I also got strings of fake pearls imported from China, which are hardly distinguishable from real pearls, both in color and weight.

The toys the rich natives give their children, consisting in imitations of all sorts of animals, are remarkably pretty; they are made in silver, and enamelled: others are made of ivory very beautifully carved; and for the poorer classes they are of pewter, moulded into the most marvellous shapes.

The toys that wealthy locals give their kids, which are replicas of all kinds of animals, are really beautiful; they're made of silver and enamel. Others are crafted from intricately carved ivory, and for those who are less fortunate, they're made of pewter, shaped into amazing designs.

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At this time of the year lākhs and lākhs of natives come to bathe at the junction of the Ganges and Jumna; they unite at the extremity of a neck of land, or rather sand, that runs out just below the Fort. On this holy spot the Brahmans and religious mendicants assemble in thousands. Each fakīr pitches a bamboo, from the end of which his flag is displayed, to which those of the same persuasion resort. Here they make pooja, shave, give money to the fakīr, and bathe at the junction. The clothes of the bathers are put upon charpāīs to be taken care of, for so many pāisa. Every native, however poor he may be, pays tribute of one rupee to Government before he is allowed to bathe.

At this time of year, thousands of locals come to bathe at the meeting point of the Ganges and Yamuna rivers; they gather at the tip of a piece of land, or rather a sandbank, that extends just below the Fort. On this holy ground, thousands of Brahmins and religious beggars congregate. Each fakir sets up a bamboo pole with a flag to identify their group, and people of the same faith come here. They perform rituals, shave, give money to the fakir, and bathe at the confluence. The clothes of those bathing are placed on charpoys for safekeeping, for a small fee. Every local, no matter how poor, must pay a tribute of one rupee to the government before they are allowed to bathe.

Two boats, by order of Government, are in attendance at this point to prevent persons from drowning themselves or their children. The mere act of bathing in the waters of the Gunga, on a particular day, removes ten sins, however enormous, committed in ten previous births. How much greater must be the efficacy at the junction of the Gunga and Yamuna, which the Saraswati, the third sacred river, is supposed to join underground! The benefit arising from bathing at the lucky moment of the conjunction of the moon with a particular star is very great, or at the time of eclipse of the sun or moon.

Two boats, ordered by the government, are stationed here to stop people from drowning themselves or their children. Simply bathing in the waters of the Ganga on a specific day washes away ten sins, no matter how serious, from ten past lives. Just imagine how much more powerful it must be at the point where the Ganga and Yamuna meet, which is believed to be joined underground by the Saraswati, the third sacred river! The benefits of bathing at the fortunate moment when the moon aligns with a particular star are significant, or during a solar or lunar eclipse.

The holy waters are convenient for washing away a man’s sins, and as efficacious as a pope’s bull for this purpose. Groups of natives stand in the river whilst their Brahman reads to them, awaiting the happy moment at which to dip into the sacred and triple waves. They fast until the bathing is over. Suicide committed at the junction is meritorious in persons of a certain caste, but a sin for a Brahman!

The holy waters are great for washing away a person's sins and are just as effective as a pope's decree for this purpose. Groups of locals stand in the river while their Brahmin reads to them, waiting for the moment to immerse themselves in the sacred waters. They fast until the bathing is finished. Committing suicide at the junction is considered honorable for people of a certain caste, but a sin for a Brahmin!

The holy men prefer the loaves and fishes of this world to the immediate moksh or beatitude, without further risk of transmigration, which is awarded to those who die at the sacred junction.

The holy men prefer the bread and fish of this world over the instant liberation or bliss, without the ongoing risk of being reborn, which is granted to those who pass away at the holy junction.

Bathing will remove sins, gain admittance into heaven, and the devotee will be reborn on earth in an honourable station.

Bathing will cleanse sins, allow entry into heaven, and the believer will be reborn on earth in a respectable position.

A married woman without children often vows to Gunga to cast her first-born into the river: this in former times was often[256] done at Prāg, it now rarely occurs. If the infant’s life is preserved, the mother cannot take it again.

A married woman without children often promises Gunga to throw her first-born into the river; this used to be common at Prāg, but it rarely happens now. If the baby's life is saved, the mother can't take it back.

RELIGIOUS MENDICANTS.

The most remarkable people at this Melā are the religious mendicants; they assemble by hundreds, and live within inclosures fenced off by sticks, a little distance from the booths. These people are the monks of the East; there are two orders of them; the Gosāins, or followers of Shivŭ, and the Byragies, disciples of Vishnoo. Any Mahomedan may become a fakīr, and a Hindoo of any caste, a religious mendicant. The ashes of cow-dung are considered purifying: these people are often rubbed over from head to foot with an ashen mixture, and have a strange dirty white, or rather blue appearance. Ganges mud, cow-dung, and ashes of cow-dung, form, I believe, the delectable mixture.

The most remarkable people at this Melā are the religious beggars; they gather in the hundreds and live in enclosures made of sticks, a bit away from the booths. These individuals are the monks of the East; there are two orders among them: the Gosāins, or followers of Shivŭ, and the Byragies, disciples of Vishnoo. Any Muslim can become a fakīr, and a Hindu of any caste can become a religious beggar. The ashes from cow dung are considered purifying: these people are often covered from head to toe with an ashen mixture, giving them a strange dirty white, or rather blue look. Ganges mud, cow dung, and ashes from cow dung make up, I believe, this delightful mixture.

The sectarial marks or symbols are painted on their faces according to their caste, with a red, yellow, white, or brown pigment, also on their breasts and arms. Their only covering is a bit of rag passed between the legs and tied round the waist by a cord or rope.

The sect marks or symbols are painted on their faces based on their caste, using red, yellow, white, or brown pigment, and also on their chests and arms. Their only clothing is a piece of cloth passed between their legs and tied around the waist with a cord or rope.

One man whom I saw this day at the Melā was remarkably picturesque, and attracted my admiration. He was a religious mendicant, a disciple of Shivŭ. In stature he was short, and dreadfully lean, almost a skeleton. His long black hair, matted with cow-dung, was twisted like a turban round his head,—a filthy jŭta[99]! On his forehead three horizontal lines were drawn with ashes, and a circlet beneath them marked in red sanders—his sectarial mark. If possible, they obtain the ashes from the hearth on which a consecrated fire has been lighted. His left arm he had held erect so long that the skin and flesh had withered, and clung round the bones most frightfully; the nails of the hand which had been kept immoveably clenched, had pierced through the palm, and grew out at the back of the hand like the long claws of a bird of prey. His horrible[257] and skeleton-like arm was encircled by a twisted stick, the stem, perhaps, of a thick creeper, the end of which was cut into the shape of the head of the cobra de capello, with its hood displayed, and the twisted withy looked like the body of the reptile wreathed around his horrible arm. His only garment, the skin of a tiger, thrown over his shoulders, and a bit of rag and rope at his waist. He was of a dirty-white or dirty-ashen colour from mud and paint; perhaps in imitation of Shivŭ, who, when he appeared on earth as a naked mendicant of an ashy colour, was recognized as Mahadēo the great god. This man was considered a very holy person. His right hand contained an empty gourd and a small rosary, and two long rosaries were around his neck of the rough beads called mundrāsee. His flag hung from the top of a bamboo, stuck in the ground by the side of a trident, the symbol of his caste, to which hung a sort of drum used by the mendicants. A very small and most beautifully formed little gynee (a dwarf cow) was with the man. She was decorated with crimson cloth, embroidered with cowrie shells, and a plume of peacock’s feathers as a jika, rose from the top of her head. A brass bell was on her neck, and around her legs were anklets of the same metal. Numbers of fakīrs come to the sacred junction, each leading one of these little dwarf cows decorated with shells, cowries, coloured worsted tassels, peacock’s feathers, and bells. Some are very small, about the size of a large European sheep, very fat and sleek, and are considered so sacred that they will not sell them.

One man I saw today at the fair was striking and caught my attention. He was a religious beggar, a follower of Shiva. He was short and extremely thin, almost skeletal. His long black hair, caked with cow dung, was twisted like a turban around his head—a filthy mess! On his forehead, three horizontal lines were drawn with ashes, and a circlet beneath them was marked in red sand—his sect's symbol. They try to get the ashes from a hearth where a sacred fire has been lit. His left arm was held up for so long that the skin and flesh had shriveled, clinging to the bones in a frightening way; the nails of his hand, which he kept tightly clenched, had pierced through the palm and extended out the back like the long claws of a bird of prey. His terrifying and skeletal arm was wrapped with a twisted stick, perhaps from a thick vine, the end of which was shaped like a cobra's head, with its hood spread wide, making it look like the snake's body coiled around his ghoulish arm. His only clothing was a tiger skin draped over his shoulders, and a rag and rope around his waist. He was a dirty white or grayish color from mud and paint; possibly mimicking Shiva, who when he appeared on earth as a naked beggar with ashy skin, was recognized as Mahadeo, the great god. This man was seen as very holy. In his right hand, he held an empty gourd and a small rosary, while two long rosaries made of rough beads called mundrāsee hung around his neck. His flag was hoisted on top of a bamboo pole stuck in the ground beside a trident, the symbol of his caste, from which hung a drum used by beggars. A small, beautifully formed dwarf cow was with him. She was adorned with crimson cloth embroidered with cowrie shells, and a plume of peacock feathers topped her head. A brass bell dangled from her neck, and she wore anklets of the same metal on her legs. Many fakirs come to the sacred junction, each leading one of these little dwarf cows decked out with shells, cowries, colored tassels, peacock feathers, and bells. Some are very small, about the size of a large European sheep, quite fat and sleek, and they are considered so sacred that they won't sell them.

Acts of severity towards the body, practised by religious mendicants, are not done as penances for sin, but as works of extraordinary merit, promising large rewards in a future state. The Byragee is not a penitent, but a proud ascetic. These people bear the character of being thieves and rascals.

Acts of harshness toward the body, practiced by religious beggars, are not performed as penances for sin but as acts of remarkable merit that promise great rewards in the afterlife. The By ragee is not a penitent; instead, they are a proud ascetic. These individuals are often known to be thieves and scoundrels.

Although the Hindoos keep their women parda-nishīn, that is, veiled and secluded behind the curtain, the fakīrs have the privilege of entering any house they please, and even of going into the zenāna; and so great is their influence over the natives, that if a religious mendicant enter a habitation leaving his[258] slippers at the door, the husband may not enter his own house! They have the character of being great libertines.

Although the Hindus keep their women veiled and secluded behind curtains, the fakirs have the right to enter any house they want, even going into the women's quarters. Their influence over the locals is so strong that if a religious beggar enters a home and leaves his slippers at the door, the husband may not be allowed to enter his own house! They are known for being quite unruly.

On this day I purchased curious old china dishes and brass circular locks of remarkable form. Also some brass idols that are scarce and very valuable. I have a large collection of idols of all sorts and sizes: some have undergone pooja for years, others are new. A native will buy a new brass idol, Gopalu, perhaps, for fourpence (two ānās); he takes it to his gooroo, or priest, who dips it in the Ganges; and having performed pooja with divers ceremonies, the spirit of the god enters the idol, upon which the gooroo receives ten or twelve rupees from the Hindoo, and restores the idol a pukkā god! Before the money was paid or the pooja performed it was nothing. Every Hindoo has some particular god whom he worships especially; he keeps his image tied up in a little bag, sometimes in his kamarband (cloth round the waist), at times in his turban, and sometimes stuck into the thatch of the roof of his house. It accompanies him wherever he goes: these little lares are seldom more than an inch, or two inches in height. When a man bathes, he takes his little god out of some corner of his attire, bathes the idol, and replaces it most carefully: to lose it is a sign of ill luck[100].

On this day, I bought some interesting old china dishes and uniquely shaped brass circular locks. I also found some brass idols that are rare and quite valuable. I have a large collection of idols of all kinds and sizes: some have been worshipped for years, while others are brand new. A local person might buy a new brass idol, like Gopalu, for four pence (two ānās); he takes it to his guru, or priest, who dips it in the Ganges; and after performing rituals with various ceremonies, the spirit of the god enters the idol. The guru then receives ten or twelve rupees from the worshipper, making the idol a genuine god! Before the payment or the rituals were done, it was just an object. Every Hindu has a specific god they particularly worship; they keep the image in a small bag, sometimes in their waist cloth, sometimes in their turban, or even stuck in the thatch of their roof. It goes with them wherever they travel: these little deities are usually only an inch or two tall. When a man bathes, he takes his little god from one of his garments, washes the idol, and puts it back very carefully: losing it is considered bad luck[100].

The rosary is made use of in Persia and India by Muhammadans as well as Hindoos, and appears with both to answer the same purpose. A bead is dropped through the finger and thumb at the contemplation of certain names and attributes of God, who has many appellations. The Brahmans are constantly seen with rosaries in their hands. It is remarkable that Christians, Hindoos, and Muhammadans, people so distant and distinct, should use rosaries for the same purpose.

The rosary is used in Persia and India by both Muslims and Hindus, serving the same purpose for both. A bead is moved between the fingers while reflecting on certain names and qualities of God, who has many titles. Brahmins are often seen with rosaries in their hands. It's interesting that Christians, Hindus, and Muslims, who are so different and far apart, use rosaries for the same reason.

Moor mentions,—“The thousand names of Vishnŭ and Siva are strung together in verse, and are repeated on certain occasions by Brahmans, as a sort of Litany, accompanied sometimes by the rosary; as each name is mentally recited, with the attention abstractedly fixed on the attribute, or character, that[259] such name excites the idea of, a bead is dropped through the finger and thumb: such operation is supposed to assist and promote abstraction, an attainment that enthusiastic Hindoos think exceedingly efficacious.”

Moor mentions, “The thousand names of Vishnu and Shiva are listed in verse and recited at certain times by Brahmins, like a sort of litany, sometimes with the help of a rosary. As each name is mentally repeated, with the focus often on the attribute or quality that each name brings to mind, a bead is slid through the fingers. This practice is believed to help with concentration, a goal that passionate Hindus find very effective.”

I have a short rosary which I obtained from a fakīr in Bengal with five or six small idols that had been worshipped for years: he gave the whole for a few rupees. The rosary consisted of beads of chalcedony, sulimāni stones, coral, amber, cornelian, agate, and other stones, curious and of some value.

I have a small rosary that I got from a fakir in Bengal, along with five or six small idols that had been worshipped for years. He sold the whole set to me for a few rupees. The rosary was made of chalcedony beads, sulimani stones, coral, amber, carnelian, agate, and other interesting and somewhat valuable stones.

The rosaries usually worn by the Byragies are of large rough berries, called mundrāsee; I believe they come from Madras: they are the seeds of a tree, and are sacred. They wear them of different lengths, but the beads are all of the same size. Brahmans wear them, and fakīrs are seldom without one. These long mālās are worn round the neck, falling to the knees, or over the right shoulder, and under the left arm. They exclaim, “Ram, Ram,” as they count each bead[101].

The rosaries typically worn by the Byragies are made of large, rough berries called mundrāsee; I think they come from Madras. They are the seeds of a sacred tree. They wear them in different lengths, but the beads are all the same size. Brahmans wear them, and fakīrs usually have one as well. These long mālās are worn around the neck, hanging down to the knees, or over the right shoulder and under the left arm. They say, “Ram, Ram,” as they count each bead[101].

Another mālā or rosary, which is reckoned extremely holy, is always made of the wood of some sacred tree. On every head is carved the name of their warrior god Ram; and they count it, saying at every bead, “Ram, Ram.” These are made at Benares, and sold at the Melā at Prāg. They are either black and white, or pink and white. The longest I procured at the fair, contained one hundred and eight beads; the small ones, for the hand, contain only twenty-three[102]. Necklaces are also made of the babūl, and every other sort of sacred wood. The men wear them, and consider them very holy. Other rosaries are formed of the grey nut, the seed of the bonduc-tree. During the fair time, you will see turners sitting on the sands and turning these very minute wooden beads. It is remarkable that they bore the beads at the same time that they turn them, with great rapidity—bored and turned at once. The smaller the bead, the more expensive the necklace; but the utmost price amounts only to two ānās.

Another mālā or rosary, considered very sacred, is always made from the wood of a holy tree. Each bead is engraved with the name of their warrior god, Ram, and as they count it, they say with each bead, “Ram, Ram.” These are made in Benares and sold at the Melā in Prāg. They come in either black and white or pink and white. The longest one I got at the fair had one hundred and eight beads; the smaller ones for wearing on the hand have only twenty-three. Necklaces are also made from babūl and other types of sacred wood. Men wear them and regard them as very holy. Other rosaries are made from the grey nut, the seed of the bonduc tree. During the fair, you will see artisans sitting on the sand crafting these tiny wooden beads. Interestingly, they create the holes in the beads while turning them, working remarkably fast—bored and turned at the same time. The smaller the bead, the more costly the necklace; however, the highest price only reaches two ānās.

I also bought a mālā for a horse, which the natives say possesses great power as a charm; of what it is composed, I know[260] not: the beads are somewhat of the shape and size of a pigeon’s egg, and opaque white, but appear not to be of glass or china. It looks well on the neck of a black horse. The natives tie one bead of this sort upon a horse’s fetlock to avert the evil eye and keep off maladies. With a whole mālā the horse must bear a charmed life!

I also bought a mālā for a horse, which the locals say has great power as a charm; I’m not sure what it’s made of: the beads are roughly the size and shape of a pigeon’s egg, and they're an opaque white, but they don’t seem to be glass or porcelain. It looks nice on the neck of a black horse. The locals tie one of these beads to a horse’s fetlock to ward off the evil eye and prevent illness. With a full mālā, the horse is bound to be protected!

Rosaries are counted for devotion, but oftener for good luck. The rosary counted by the prime minister during breakfast, at the King of Oude’s, consisted of pearls of enormous size. No one could be more superstitious than the Nawāb Hakīm Mehndi; doubtless he told his beads for good luck.

Rosaries are often used for devotion, but more often for good luck. The rosary counted by the prime minister during breakfast at the King of Oude’s had huge pearls. No one was more superstitious than the Nawāb Hakīm Mehndi; he surely counted his beads for good luck.

Pilgrims, carriers of the holy water, come in gangs from great distances to the Triveni; the processions are most picturesque, and they are very remarkable people. They carry two baskets, suspended by a bamboo over their shoulders, with a canopy above them, gaily decorated with bells and flags; these baskets contain small stumpy bottles of the thinnest green glass, having long necks; they are filled with Ganges water at the junction, and sealed with the seal of a Brahman at the Bene (bathing-place). These people travel all over the country, selling the sacred water at a high price at the distant stations. Some of the bottles are not above two inches high, others contain a quart; they are of all sizes, and the price varies accordingly. The salutation of these people on passing is, “Ram ram,” or “Bom bom mahadēo;” a pilgrim of this class is called a Kanwar Wālā. The men come for this water to place it in their houses for religious and medicinal uses, and sometimes perform a journey on the occasion of five or six months; it is also used in the English courts of justice, in administering an oath to an Hindoo.

Pilgrims, who carry holy water, travel in groups from far and wide to the Triveni; the processions are quite colorful, and the people are truly remarkable. They carry two baskets hung from a bamboo pole over their shoulders, with a canopy above them, brightly decorated with bells and flags. These baskets hold small, stout bottles made of thin green glass with long necks; they're filled with Ganges water at the junction and sealed with the stamp of a Brahman at the bathing spot. These people journey across the country, selling the sacred water at a high price in distant places. Some of the bottles are just two inches tall, while others can hold a quart; they come in all sizes, and the price varies accordingly. As they pass by, they greet others with "Ram ram" or "Bom bom mahadēo;" a pilgrim of this kind is called a Kanwar Wālā. The men come to collect this water to keep in their homes for religious and medicinal purposes, sometimes undertaking a journey that lasts five or six months; it’s also used in English courts of justice when administering an oath to a Hindu.

Jan. 11th.—Some natives are at the door with the most beautiful snakes, two of them very large, and striped like tigers; the men carry them twisted round their bodies, and also round their necks, as a young lady wears a boa; the effect is good. The two tiger-striped ones were greatly admired as a well-matched pair; they are not venomous. A fine cobra, with his great hood spread out, made me shrink away as he came towards me, darting out his forked tongue.

Jan. 11th.—Some locals are at the door with the most beautiful snakes, two of which are very large and striped like tigers; the men are carrying them twisted around their bodies and also around their necks, like a young woman wearing a boa. It looks impressive. The two tiger-striped ones were highly admired as a perfect pair; they are not poisonous. A magnificent cobra, with its large hood spread out, made me flinch as it slithered toward me, flicking out its forked tongue.

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There were also two snakes of a dun yellow colour, spotted with white, which appeared in a half torpid state; the men said they were as dangerous as the cobra. They had a biscobra; the poor reptile was quite lame, the people having broken all its four legs, to prevent its running away. They had a large black scorpion, but not so fine a fellow as that in my bottle of horrors.

There were also two snakes that were a dull yellow color, spotted with white, and they seemed to be in a semi-torpid state; the men claimed they were as dangerous as a cobra. They had a biscuit cobra; the poor creature was completely lame, as the people had broken all four of its legs to stop it from escaping. They also had a large black scorpion, but he wasn't as impressive as the one in my bottle of horrors.

The melā is very full; such beautiful dresses of real sable as I have seen to-day brought down by the Moguls for sale! Lined with shawl, they would make magnificent dressing-gowns. I have bought a Persian writing-case, and a book beautifully illuminated, and written in Persian and Arabic: the Moguls beguile me of my rupees.

The melā is very crowded; I’ve seen such beautiful real sable dresses brought down by the Moguls for sale today! Lined with shawl, they would make stunning dressing gowns. I bought a Persian writing case and a beautifully illuminated book written in Persian and Arabic: the Moguls are tempting me to spend my rupees.

We are going to a ball to-night at Mr. F⸺’s, given in honour of Lady Wm. Bentinck, who is expected to arrive this evening. The natives have reported the failure of Messrs. Mackintosh & Co., in Calcutta; I do not think it is known amongst the Europeans here; the natives always get the first intelligence; I will not mention it, lest it should throw a shade over the gaiety of the party. An officer, who got the lākh, and 60,000 rupees also in the lottery last year, passed down the river to-day, to place it in Government security; it is all gone; a note has been despatched to inform him of the failure, and save him a useless trip of eight hundred miles; he lost twenty-five thousand only a few weeks ago, by Messrs. Alexander’s failure. Lachhmī abides not in his house.

We are going to a ball tonight at Mr. F⸺'s, held in honor of Lady Wm. Bentinck, who is expected to arrive this evening. The locals have reported the collapse of Messrs. Mackintosh & Co. in Calcutta; I don’t think it’s known among the Europeans here; the locals always get the news first. I won’t mention it, so it doesn’t cast a shadow over the festivities. An officer who won a lakh and 60,000 rupees in the lottery last year passed down the river today to put it into Government security; it’s all gone now. A note has been sent to inform him of the failure and save him a pointless trip of eight hundred miles; he recently lost twenty-five thousand due to Messrs. Alexander’s collapse. Lachhmī does not reside in his house.

12th.—The ball went off very well, in spite of Messrs. Mackintosh’s failure being known; and people who had lost their all danced as merrily as if the savings of years and years had not been swept away by “one fell swoop!”

12th.—The party went great, even though everyone knew that Messrs. Mackintosh had failed; and people who had lost everything danced just as joyfully as if years of savings hadn't been wiped out in an instant!

20th.—It is so cold to-day, I am shivering; the cocoa-nut oil in the lamps is frozen slightly; this weather is fit for England. I must get all the bricklayer’s work over before the hot winds, that I may be perfectly quiet during the fiery time of the year.

20th.—It's really cold today; I'm shivering. The coconut oil in the lamps is slightly frozen; this weather is more suited for England. I need to finish all the bricklayer work before the hot winds arrive so I can be completely at ease during the scorching time of year.

21st.—This being a great Hindoo holiday and bathing day, induced me to pay another visit to the fair. Amongst the tamāshā (sport) at the melā, was a Hindoo beggar, who was[262] sitting upon thorns, up to his waist in water!—an agreeable amusement. One man played with his right hand on a curious instrument, called a been, while in his left hand he held two pieces of black stone, about the length and thickness of a finger, which he jarred together in the most dexterous manner, producing an effect something like castanets, singing at the same time. The passers by threw cowries, pāisa (copper coins), and rice to the man.

21st.—This being a major Hindu holiday and bathing day, I decided to visit the fair again. Among the entertainment at the melā, there was a Hindu beggar who was sitting on thorns, up to his waist in water!—a fascinating sight. One man played with his right hand on a unique instrument called a been, while in his left hand he held two pieces of black stone, about the size and thickness of a finger, which he clashed together skillfully, creating a sound similar to castanets, all while singing. The people passing by tossed cowries, pāisa (copper coins), and rice to the man.

I purchased two musical instruments, called surinda, generally used by the fakīrs, most curious things; Hindoo ornaments, idols, china, and some white marble images from Jeypore.

I bought two musical instruments called surinda, which are usually used by fakīrs; they're really interesting. I also got Hindu ornaments, idols, china, and some white marble statues from Jeypore.

Amongst other remarkable objects of worship which I beheld at the sacred spot, was one joint of the backbone of some enormous fish or animal; two great staring circular eyes were painted upon it, and the ends of the bone stood out like the stumps of amputated arms; a bit of ghuwā (red cloth) covered the lower part; and this was an image of Juggernath[103]! It had worshippers around it; rice and cowries were the offerings spread before it.

Among the other amazing objects of worship I saw at the holy place was a piece of the backbone from some gigantic fish or animal; two large, wide-open circular eyes were painted on it, and the ends of the bone stuck out like the stumps of amputated arms; a piece of red cloth covered the lower part; and this was an image of Juggernath[103]! There were worshippers gathered around it; rice and cowries were the offerings laid out before it.

On platforms raised of mud and sand, some ten or twelve missionaries were preaching; every man had his platform to himself, and a crowd of natives surrounded each orator. Seeing one of my own servants, an Hindoo, apparently an attentive listener, I asked the man what he had heard. “How can I tell?” said he; “the English padre is talking.” I explained to him the subject of the discourse, and received for answer, “Very well; it is their business to preach, they get pāisa for so doing; what more is to be said?”

On platforms made of mud and sand, about ten or twelve missionaries were preaching; each man had his own platform, and a crowd of locals surrounded each speaker. Seeing one of my servants, a Hindu, seemingly paying close attention, I asked him what he had heard. “How am I supposed to know?” he replied. “The English padre is talking.” I explained the topic of the sermon to him, and he answered, “That’s fine; it’s their job to preach, they get paid for it; what more is there to say?”

A large number of fine marble images having been brought down from Jeypore, for sale at the great fair, I sent a Rajpūt to the owner, and, after much delay and bargaining, became the possessor of the large white marble image of Gŭnéshŭ which adorns the frontispiece. The man had scruples with regard to allowing me to purchase the idol, but sold it willingly to the[263] Rajpūt. In this place, I may as well describe the frontispiece. The history of Gŭnéshŭ is fully related in the Introduction; and the chaunrīs above his head of the tail of the yāk, the cow of Thibet, have been described in the Twenty-second Chapter, page 239.

A lot of beautiful marble statues were brought down from Jeypore for sale at the big fair, so I sent a Rajput to the owner and, after a lot of delays and haggling, became the proud owner of the large white marble statue of Ganesha that decorates the frontispiece. The man had some doubts about selling me the idol, but he willingly sold it to the [263] Rajput. Here, I might as well describe the front cover. The story of Ganesha is completely detailed in the Introduction, and the chaunris above his head, which are made from the tail of the yak, the cow of Tibet, have been described in the Twenty-second Chapter, page 239.

Ram, the deified hero, with his bow of marvellous power, stands on the left of the shrine; the image is carved in white marble, painted and gilt, and is twenty-one inches in height; its history is related in the Ram Leela festival, page 108.

Ram, the revered hero, with his incredibly powerful bow, stands to the left of the shrine. The statue is carved from white marble, painted, and gilded, standing twenty-one inches tall. Its story is celebrated during the Ram Leela festival, page 108.

On the right, Krishnŭ the beloved is playing on his pipe; the figure is of black marble, sixteen inches high; his life and history will be explained hereafter, in a chapter entitled Radha Krishnŭ.

On the right, Krishna the beloved is playing his flute; the figure is made of black marble, sixteen inches tall; his life and story will be explained later in a chapter called Radha Krishna.

On the second step of the altar, to the right of Gŭnéshŭ, the first figure, is that of a woman supporting a five-wicked lamp in her hands, which is used in pooja. The figure is of brass, and has a handle to it. The receptacles for oil or ghee are small, and of a mystic shape; a lamp of this description is called pancharty.

On the second step of the altar, to the right of Gŭnéshŭ, the first figure is of a woman holding a five-wicked lamp in her hands, which is used in pooja. The figure is made of brass and has a handle. The containers for oil or ghee are small and have a unique shape; a lamp like this is called pancharty.

Next to this figure, on the same step, are two little chirāghs (lamps), with small cotton wicks; they are lighted; the little cups are of brass. Lamps of this sort are burned before every shrine; and at the Dewālī, the temples and ghāts are illuminated with thousands of these chirāghs, which are then formed of red pottery.

Next to this figure, on the same step, are two small lamps with cotton wicks; they are lit; the cups are made of brass. Lamps like these are lit in front of every shrine; during Diwali, the temples and riverbanks are decorated with thousands of these lamps, which are made of red pottery.

Next to the lamps is a small lota, for carrying Ganges water, wherewith to bathe the idol.

Next to the lamps is a small lota for carrying Ganges water, used to bathe the idol.

Near them are two bells, which are used in pooja.

Near them are two bells that are used in worship.

The bell (gant’ha) is essential in holy ceremonies, and is rung at certain times to scare away evil spirits. Bells are much used in and about Hindoo temples, but were rejected by Mahommedans, by order of their prophet, who deemed them relics of superstition. Those used by the Hindoos differ in make according to the deity in whose honour pooja is performed.

The bell (gant’ha) is crucial in religious ceremonies and is rung at specific times to drive away evil spirits. Bells are commonly used in and around Hindu temples, but were rejected by Muslims, based on their prophet's order, who considered them remnants of superstition. The bells used by Hindus vary in design depending on the deity for whom the pooja is performed.

The bells are of brass; the handle of one of them is composed of two images of Hŭnoomān back to back; the handle of the other represents Hŭnoomān and Garuda, in the same attitude;[264] on the top of the handle of another the holy cow is couchant.

The bells are made of brass; one of them has a handle featuring two images of Hŭnoomān back to back; the other has a handle that shows Hŭnoomān and Garuda in the same position; [264] on the top of another handle, the holy cow is couchant.

The spouted vessel (jari) holds lustral water, and is of brass.

The spouted vessel (jari) holds ceremonial water and is made of brass.

Next to the jari are three more lamps; and beyond them is a Nāga Linga Nandī, carved in black marble; it represents Nandī the bull kneeling and supporting a Linga on his back, in the centre of which rise Siva’s five heads,—four heads supporting the fifth,—over which protrudes the head of a snake. The exterior is beaded; a snake is within it, the tail of which nearly reaches the end of the figure. The scale is too small to allow of a distinct representation.

Next to the jari are three more lamps, and beyond them is a Nāga Linga Nandī, carved from black marble. It depicts Nandī the bull kneeling and supporting a Linga on his back. In the center, Siva’s five heads rise—four heads supporting the fifth—over which protrudes the head of a snake. The exterior is beaded, and there’s a snake inside; its tail nearly reaches the end of the figure. The scale is too small for a clear representation.

On the first step of the altar, at the feet of the black marble image of Krishnŭ is the bull-mouthed shell, which is considered holy, and often placed on a shrine. Shells as well as flowers are used for adornment.

On the first step of the altar, at the feet of the black marble statue of Krishna, is the bull-mouthed shell, which is considered sacred and is often placed on a shrine. Shells and flowers are used for decoration.

The white conch shell (Sankh) has been described in the Introduction; the sankh or shŭnkhŭ, a shell conferring victory on whomsoever should sound it, was one of the fourteen articles, usually called fourteen gems, that were obtained at the churning of the sea. Shell ornaments worn by females on the wrist are prescribed by the Shastr. At the hour of death, a female leaves her ornaments to whomsoever she pleases; sometimes to her spiritual guide, or to the family priest. A person not bequeathing something to these people is followed to the next world with anathemas.

The white conch shell (Sankh) is described in the Introduction; the sankh or shŭnkhŭ, a shell that brings victory to anyone who blows it, was one of the fourteen items, commonly referred to as fourteen gems, that were obtained during the churning of the sea. The Shastr prescribes shell ornaments for women to wear on their wrists. At the time of death, a woman can leave her ornaments to whoever she chooses; sometimes to her spiritual guide or the family priest. If a person doesn’t bequeath anything to these individuals, they are cursed in the next world.

Next to the conch is a brazen lota, highly polished and engraved; it is used for Ganges water, oil, or ghee; water is always presented to bathe the idol.

Next to the conch is a shiny lota, highly polished and engraved; it is used for Ganges water, oil, or ghee; water is always offered to bathe the idol.

The figure adjoining is a brazen image of Devi, a goddess (the term is generally applied to Doorga), but I know not of what particular goddess this is the representation. In her right hand she bears a mirror; in the left, a small lamp of mystic shape, similar to the boat-like argha. She stands upon a tortoise, which is made to contain Ganges water: the head of the tortoise unscrews, to admit the liquid. The Devi is ornamented with necklaces and bracelets; and in her ears are enormously thick ear-rings: to insert them, it is necessary to elongate the[265] lobe of the ear; and having cut in it a slit nearly an inch in length, the end of the ear-ring is inserted. These ear-rings are worn by women of the lower orders, made of bamboo, painted and gilt. Some wear them of pewter, ornamented in colours; and some of the richer classes have them of silver, set with precious stones.

The figure next to this is a bold statue of Devi, a goddess (this term usually refers to Durga), but I'm not sure which specific goddess this represents. In her right hand, she holds a mirror; in her left, a small lamp with a mystical shape, resembling a boat-like argha. She stands on a tortoise, which is designed to hold Ganges water: the tortoise's head can be unscrewed to let the liquid in. Devi wears necklaces and bracelets, and her ears have extremely thick earrings. To put them in, the earlobe needs to be stretched; a slit is cut almost an inch long, and the end of the earring is inserted. These earrings are worn by women from lower classes; they're made of bamboo, painted, and gilded. Some have pewter earrings, decorated in colors, while wealthier individuals wear silver ones, set with precious stones.

Against the edge of the step next to the Devi is a small circular copper-plate, the edges of which are scalloped. In front of it is another little plate made of brass, of which the interior is engraved.

Against the edge of the step next to the Devi is a small circular copper plate with scalloped edges. In front of it is another little plate made of brass, featuring an engraved interior.

The lustral spoons are called Sruva and Druva, in Sanscrit: by the Mahrattas and other Hindoos, Pulahi and Atchwan; and have different forms according to the rites or objects of adoration. One of the spoons represents Naga the holy serpent, overspreading Gŭnéshŭ; on the other, the Naga overspreads the image of some deity, of whose name I am ignorant; and on another, the spread hood of the snake appears to cover Hŭnoomān.

The lustral spoons are called Sruva and Druva in Sanskrit; by the Marathas and other Hindus, they are referred to as Pulahi and Atchwan. They come in different shapes depending on the rituals or objects of worship. One of the spoons features Naga, the holy serpent, covering Ganesha; on another, Naga covers the image of a deity whose name I don’t know; and on a third, the hood of the snake seems to envelop Hanuman.

Next to the spoon is the argha, a vessel shaped like a boat, used by the Hindoos in lustrations; it is of spout-like form, so that liquids may be poured from it. Lustral ceremonies are deemed very important by Brahmans, and are attended to as prescribed in their books, with the most minute particularity. Images are frequently bathed with water, oil, &c.; indeed, there is no end to lustral ceremonies, and spoons and arghas are therefore in extensive use. In marriage, and in funeral ceremonies, as well as in the Sraddha, funeral obsequies in honour of deceased ancestors, an argha is indispensable.

Next to the spoon is the argha, a vessel shaped like a boat, used by Hindus in purification rituals; it has a spout-like design, making it easy to pour liquids from it. Brahmins consider purification ceremonies very important and follow the guidelines in their texts with great detail. Statues are often bathed with water, oil, etc.; in fact, there is no shortage of purification ceremonies, which is why spoons and arghas are commonly used. In weddings, funerals, and Sraddha, the funeral rites honoring deceased ancestors, an argha is essential.

In the centre of the shrine is a brazen image of Gunga the deified river, which was also procured at this great bathing festival. It represents a woman sitting on an alligator, or the sea animal Mŭkŭrŭ. One hand is open in charity, one forbids fear, one bears a water-lily, and the fourth a lota. She is the daughter of Mount Himavŭt. This idol is rare and valuable. Gunga-jee-ke-jy! “Victory to Gunga-jee!”

In the center of the shrine is a bronze image of Gunga, the deified river, which was also acquired during this big bathing festival. It shows a woman sitting on an alligator, or the sea creature Mŭkŭrŭ. One hand is raised in generosity, another dismisses fear, one holds a water-lily, and the fourth carries a lota. She is the daughter of Mount Himavŭt. This idol is unique and precious. Gunga-jee-ke-jy! “Victory to Gunga-jee!”

Other heathen nations appear to have held certain rivers sacred: hence, Naaman the Syrian said, “Are not Abana and[266] Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? May I not wash in them and be clean?”

Other non-Christian nations seem to have regarded some rivers as sacred: for instance, Naaman the Syrian said, “Aren't Abana and[266] Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Can I not wash in them and be clean?”

The Dŭshŭhŭra festival is held in commemoration of Gunga’s descent on earth. Crowds of people assemble from the different towns and villages near the river, especially at the most sacred places, bringing their offerings of fruit, rice, flowers, fresh garlands, cloth, sweetmeats, &c. “O goddess! the owl that lodges in the hollow of a tree on thy banks is exalted beyond measure; while the emperor, whose palace is far from thee, though he may possess a million of stately elephants, and may have the wives of millions of conquered enemies to serve him, is nothing.”

The Dŭshŭhŭra festival is celebrated to remember Gunga’s arrival on earth. People gather from various towns and villages near the river, especially at the holiest spots, bringing offerings of fruit, rice, flowers, fresh garlands, cloth, sweets, etc. “O goddess! The owl that makes its home in the hollow of a tree by your banks is cherished beyond measure; while the emperor, whose palace is far from you, even if he owns a million magnificent elephants and has the wives of countless conquered foes to serve him, is insignificant.”

The next object is a pair of small cymbals, which are sounded by the priest in time to his chanted prayer.

The next item is a pair of small cymbals, which the priest plays in time with his chanted prayer.

Beyond them is a large highly-ornamented circular brass dish, containing a peealu or brass drinking cup, in which is either oil or holy water: this cup has figures carved upon it. By its side is a small brass plate, filled with rice, which the devotee takes up in the spoon, and puts upon the head of the idol. Various sacred flowers are also carried in the circular dish, to strew over and before the god. In the early morning you often see the Hindoos, both men and women, going to a shrine with a circular brass dish of this description similarly filled.

Beyond them is a large, highly decorated circular brass dish, containing a peealu or brass drinking cup, which holds either oil or holy water; this cup has carved figures on it. Next to it is a small brass plate filled with rice, which the devotee scoops up with a spoon and places on the head of the idol. Various sacred flowers are also carried in the circular dish, to sprinkle over and in front of the god. In the early morning, you often see Hindus, both men and women, heading to a shrine with a circular brass dish like this, filled in the same way.

The next figure is Hŭnoomān, the monkey god, carrying Ram and Seeta on his shoulders in commemoration of his bringing them in safety from Ceylon.—See p. 110.

The next figure is Hŭnoomān, the monkey god, carrying Ram and Seeta on his shoulders to honor his safe return of them from Ceylon.—See p. 110.

Beyond this figure is a conch shell and another bull-mouthed shell; and thus ends the description of the shrine of Gŭnéshŭ in the frontispiece.

Beyond this figure is a conch shell and another bull-mouthed shell; and that concludes the description of the shrine of Gŭnéshŭ in the frontispiece.

In front of my cabinet stands a very large Brahmanical bull, by name Chamēlee, carved in white marble, painted and gilt. A curious Persian writing has just been offered to the Nandī (the bull), which Chamēlee has been graciously pleased to accept and add to the cabinet over which he presides.

In front of my cabinet stands a very large Brahman bull named Chamēlee, carved from white marble and decorated with paint and gold. A unique Persian inscription has just been presented to Nandī (the bull), which Chamēlee has kindly accepted and added to the cabinet he oversees.

The image of the sacred bull in black or white marble is worshipped in the temples of the Hindoos.

The statue of the sacred bull, made of black or white marble, is worshipped in Hindu temples.


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CHAPTER XXIV.
THE NUT LOG.

The Hounds—A Gumuki—The Eade—Trelawny—The Rev. J. Wolff—The Nut Log—Balancing Goat—Sirrākee Grass—A Dividend—Ear-rings of Jasmine—A Rat given to a Cow—The Mādār—Enamelled Grasshoppers—The Shaddock—The Agra Gun—Corruption of words—Variegated Locusts—Beautiful Flowers.

The Hounds—A Gumuki—The Eade—Trelawny—The Rev. J. Wolff—The Nut Log—Balancing Goat—Sirrākee Grass—A Dividend—Ear-rings of Jasmine—A Rat given to a Cow—The Mādār—Enamelled Grasshoppers—The Shaddock—The Agra Gun—Corruption of words—Variegated Locusts—Beautiful Flowers.

1833, Feb. 1st.—The new hounds have just arrived; such little animals by the side of Jan Peter (Trumpeter) and Racer! Out of eight couple there is not a good dog; the gentlemen say three hundred rupees, i.e. £30, is a long price for dogs not worth their food, and who would be better out of than in the pack.

1833, Feb. 1st.—The new hounds just arrived; they’re so tiny compared to Jan Peter (Trumpeter) and Racer! Out of eight pairs, there isn’t a good dog among them; the gentlemen say three hundred rupees, i.e. £30, is way too high for dogs that aren’t even worth their food and would be better off outside the pack than in.

At the fair to-day, I purchased a gumuki, a sort of loose bag, the shape of a carpenter’s square, large enough to admit the hand at one end, but sewed up at the other. It is made of blue cloth, embroidered with figures of the holy cow. A Hindoo will perform pooja seated on the ground, his right hand passed into a bag of this sort. His hand holds, and he counts most sedulously, a rosary of round beads (mālā), containing in number one hundred and eight, exclusive of connecting beads, differently shaped: the attention is abstractedly fixed on the deity, assisted by the rosary. Sometimes it is composed of amber, sometimes of certain rough berries sacred to the gods. Such rosaries, when used to promote abstraction, are called jap-mālā. During the time, a cloth is bound over his mouth, to prevent the entrance of insects; and he is supposed to be in holy meditation.

At the fair today, I bought a gumuki, a type of loose bag shaped like a carpenter’s square, wide enough to fit a hand at one end but stitched closed at the other. It's made of blue cloth, decorated with images of the holy cow. A Hindu will perform pooja sitting on the ground, with his right hand inside a bag like this. His hand carefully holds and counts a rosary of round beads (mālā), which has one hundred and eight beads, not counting the differently shaped connecting beads. His focus is intently on the deity, aided by the rosary. Sometimes the beads are made of amber, and other times from specific rough berries that are sacred to the gods. These rosaries, when used for meditation, are called jap-mālā. During this time, he covers his mouth with a cloth to keep insects out and is believed to be in a state of holy meditation.

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Feb. 22nd.—To-day is the Eed: it is customary for the Musulmāns to put on very gay new clothes on this day, and to go to prayers at the Jāmma Musjid, the large mosque on the banks of the Jumna. A camel is often sacrificed on the Buckra Eed, on the idea that the animal will be in readiness to carry the person who offers it over the bridge of Sirraat, safe to heaven. The poorer classes will offer a goat (Buckra), or a sheep, lambs, or kids. This festival is to commemorate Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac. The Musulmāns contend it was Ishmael not Isaac who was the offering.

Feb. 22nd.—Today is Eid: it’s customary for Muslims to wear bright new clothes on this day and to go to prayers at the Jāmma Masjid, the large mosque by the banks of the Yamuna. A camel is often sacrificed on Bakra Eid, based on the belief that the animal will be ready to carry the person who offers it safely over the bridge of Sirraat to heaven. Those with less means will offer a goat (Bakra), or a sheep, lambs, or kids. This festival commemorates Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac. Muslims argue it was Ishmael, not Isaac, who was the offering.

I have lost my companion, my horse Trelawny: he was so quiet, and good-tempered, and good-looking; he was as pretty a boy as Hindoo or Musulmān might look on in the Central Provinces. Poor Trelawny, Jumna-jee rolls over my good steed! He died this morning of inflammation, caused by some internal injury he received when we were plunging together in the quicksands on the banks of the Ganges.

I have lost my companion, my horse Trelawny: he was so calm, friendly, and good-looking; he was as attractive a horse as any Hindu or Muslim might admire in the Central Provinces. Poor Trelawny, the river Jumna has taken my good steed! He passed away this morning from inflammation, caused by some internal injury he sustained when we were struggling together in the quicksand along the banks of the Ganges.

I am reading Captain Mundy’s “Sketches in India,” a much more amusing journal than I can write. I have no tigers to kill, no hurdwar to visit; nor have I even seen the taj. His journal is very spirited, very correct, and very amusing; I am pleased to hear the praises bestowed upon it in England.

I’m reading Captain Mundy’s “Sketches in India,” which is a much more entertaining journal than I could ever write. I don’t have any tigers to hunt, no Haridwar to explore, and I haven't even seen the Taj. His journal is lively, accurate, and really fun; I'm happy to hear the compliments it's getting back in England.

Have you heard of the Rev. Joseph Wolff? He is a German Jew converted to the faith of Christ: “Unto the Jews a stumbling-block, and unto the Greeks foolishness.” He roams about the world in search of the lost tribes of Israel, “preaching Christ, and him crucified,” in the churches, and delivering lectures on the subject of the divinity of our Saviour, and his own wanderings. When at Simla, he was with Lord William Bentinck, and preached every Sunday in the presence of the Governor-general, which he would not have been allowed to do had he not been an ordained clergyman. He arrived here three days ago. In the evening he delivered a lecture in the Fort, which was attended by all the inhabitants of Allahabad. Curiosity is, I fear, stronger than religion; for I never before saw the church so crowded.

Have you heard of Rev. Joseph Wolff? He's a German Jew who converted to Christianity: “To the Jews a stumbling block, and to the Greeks foolishness.” He travels the world looking for the lost tribes of Israel, “preaching Christ, and him crucified,” in churches, and giving lectures on the divinity of our Savior and his own journeys. When he was in Simla, he was with Lord William Bentinck and preached every Sunday in front of the Governor-General, which he wouldn’t have been allowed to do if he hadn’t been an ordained clergyman. He arrived here three days ago. In the evening, he gave a lecture in the Fort, which was attended by all the people of Allahabad. I fear curiosity is stronger than faith; I've never seen the church so packed.

My husband accompanied me to hear Mr. Wolff. He is a[269] strange and most curious-looking man; in stature short and thin; and his weak frame appears very unfit to bear the trials and hardships to which he has been, and will be, exposed in his travels. His face is very flat, deeply marked with small-pox; his complexion that of dough, and his hair flaxen. His grey eyes roll and start, and fix themselves, at times, most fearfully; they have a cast in them, which renders their expression still wilder. Being a German, and by birth a Jew, his pronunciation of English is very remarkable; at times it is difficult to understand him: however, his foreign accent only gives originality to his lectures, aided occasionally by vehement gesticulation. His voice is deep and impressive; at times, having given way to great and deep enthusiasm, and having arrested the attention of his hearers, he sinks at once down into some common-place remark, his voice becoming a most curious treble, the effect of which is so startling, one can scarcely refrain from laughter. He understands English very well; his language is excellent, but evidently borrowed more from reading than from conversation. He makes use of words never used in common parlance, but always well and forcibly applied. He carries you along with him in his travels, presenting before you the different scenes he has witnessed, and pointing out those customs and manners still in use, which prove the truth of Scripture. His descriptions at times are very forcible, and his account of the lives of St. Augustine and other holy men very interesting.

My husband came with me to hear Mr. Wolff. He is a[269] strange and very unusual-looking man; short and thin in stature, and his weak frame seems ill-equipped to handle the challenges and hardships he has faced and will face in his travels. His face is very flat, heavily scarred from smallpox; his complexion is doughy, and his hair is light. His gray eyes roll and dart around, sometimes locking onto something with a frightening intensity; there's a quirk in them that makes his expression even more wild. As a German and a Jew by birth, his English pronunciation is quite notable; sometimes it's hard to understand him. However, his foreign accent just adds a unique flair to his lectures, which are sometimes accompanied by intense hand gestures. His voice is deep and commanding; at times, when he gets really passionate and captures the audience’s attention, he suddenly drops to a mundane comment, and his voice shifts to an unexpectedly high pitch, creating an effect that's so surprising it’s hard not to laugh. He understands English very well; his language is excellent, although it seems to come more from reading than from talking. He uses words that are rarely found in everyday conversation, but he applies them effectively and powerfully. He takes you along with him on his travels, vividly presenting the various scenes he’s observed, highlighting the customs and traditions still in practice that support the truth of Scripture. His descriptions can be very compelling, and his accounts of the lives of St. Augustine and other holy figures are truly interesting.

In the midst of his discourse he said, “It is the custom in Jerusalem, every Friday, for the Jews, the veils over their heads, in mourning and lamentation, to proceed to the ruins of the walls of Jerusalem: for this they pay tribute to the Turks. I will give you an idea of the hymn they sing—the whole congregation:—

In the middle of his speech, he said, “Every Friday in Jerusalem, it’s a tradition for the Jews, with their head coverings, to go to the ruins of the walls of Jerusalem in mourning and sadness: they do this as a sign of respect to the Turks. Let me share with you the hymn that the whole congregation sings:—

“‘The Mighty shall build his Temple speedily:
Lord, build, Lord, build, build thy Temple speedily:
In haste, in haste, even in our days,
Build thy Temple speedily.
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He is beloved, he is great, he is glorious, he is sweet!
Lord, build, build thy Temple speedily:
In haste, in haste, even in our days,
Lord, build thy Temple speedily!’”

Having repeated this hymn in English, Mr. Wolff sang it in Hebrew, as the Jews sing it before the wall of the Temple. His voice is fine, and the words are melodious; I give them as written by himself.

Having repeated this hymn in English, Mr. Wolff sang it in Hebrew, like the Jews do before the wall of the Temple. His voice is beautiful, and the words are melodic; I present them as he wrote them.

HEBREW HYMN.

Hebrew Hymn.

Hebrew Song.

Transcriber’s Note: Click on the [Listen] link to hear the music and on the [MusicXML] link to download the notation.

Transcriber’s Note: Click on the [Listen] link to hear the music, and on the [MusicXML] link to download the sheet music.

| [MusicXML]

| [MusicXML]

The music contains two errors, both corrected in the audio file. Third system, bass clef, second bar, first note: Arpeggio is missing. Fourth system, bass clef, first bar, first chord: Note written as F is meant to be played as G.

The music has two mistakes, both fixed in the audio file. Third system, bass clef, second bar, first note: Arpeggio is missing. Fourth system, bass clef, first bar, first chord: Note written as F should be played as G.

“Ader ho, ader ho, yebne beitho bekarob,
Bimbeira, bimbeira, beyameenoo bekarob.
Eil bene, Eil benei, benei beitkha bekarob
Bimbeira, bimbeira, beyameenoo bekarob
Eil bene, Eil bene, benei beitkha bekarob.
Barokh hoo, gadol hoo, yebne beitho bekarob
Bimbeira, bimbeira, beyamenoo bekarob.
Eil bene, Eil benei, benei beitkha bekarob
Bimbeira, bimbeira, beyameenoo bekarob.
Eil bene, Eil bene, benei beitkha bekarob.”

I could not but feel for the man when I thought of the glory of his nation that had passed away, the Temple that had been destroyed, and the Jews wanderers on the face of the earth. Their supplication to the Lord is affecting. “Even in our days build thy Temple speedily.” Mr. Wolff repeated the hymn of the Carāites, and then chanted it in Hebrew: it is beautiful and touching. The Rabbi, Simon Ben Nuhai, stood forth from the congregation, and chanted these words:—

I couldn't help but feel for the man when I thought about the lost glory of his nation, the Temple that had been destroyed, and the Jews wandering the earth. Their plea to the Lord is moving: “Even in our days, build your Temple quickly.” Mr. Wolff repeated the hymn of the Carāites and then sang it in Hebrew; it's beautiful and touching. The Rabbi, Simon Ben Nuhai, stepped forward from the congregation and chanted these words:—

The Rabbi—

The Rabbi

“On account of our Palace which is destroyed.”

And the people answer—

And the people respond—

“We sit alone and weep!”
“On account of our Temple which is laid waste.”
“We sit alone and weep!”
“On account of Jerusalem which is desolate.”
“We sit alone and weep!”
“On account of our Princes who have sinned.”
“We sit alone and weep!”

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The Rabbi—

The Rabbi—

“On account of our Kings who have committed iniquity.”

And the people answer—

And the people respond—

“We sit alone and weep!”
“On account of our High Priests who have done wickedly.”
“We sit alone and weep!”
“On account of our Prophets who have seen false visions.”
“We sit alone and weep!”
“On account of our precious stones which are burned.”
“We sit alone and weep!”

Rabbi—

Rabbi

“Let shine thy government upon Zion.”

People—

People—

“And build thou the walls of Jerusalem.”

Rabbi—

Rabbi

“Have mercy upon Zion.”

People—

Everyone—

“A branch shall spring forth at Jerusalem!”

A lady brought Mr. Wolff to call upon me, he being anxious to see my collection of Hindoo idols. On his arrival, he introduced himself in these words:—“I am of the tribe of Benjamin, and Benjamin was a ravening wolf,—and so, they call me Wolff!”

A woman brought Mr. Wolff to visit me because he wanted to see my collection of Hindu idols. When he arrived, he introduced himself by saying, “I am from the tribe of Benjamin, and Benjamin was a fierce wolf,—and so, they call me Wolff!”

On Sunday he preached, or rather gave us a homily, which was sufficiently startling for even us Indians. What you sober people in England would think of it, I know not. We dined at Mr. F⸺’s house, and met Mr. Wolff. After dinner, he was very anxious all the ladies should write their names in his Bible, which is seldom out of his hands, and was in such a state I did not like to touch it. Should he visit Hampshire, he will give lectures: they are worth hearing. Perhaps he will repeat the story of the mother of St. Augustine. All that I recollect of it is, the mother, weeping bitterly, spoke to some holy man respecting her son, whose conduct gave her pain. He answered, “The child of a mother of so many tears cannot be lost.” This child was afterwards St. Augustine. It is very beautiful, “The child of a mother of so many tears cannot be lost!”

On Sunday, he preached, or rather gave us a homily, which was surprising enough to even catch us Indians off guard. I can't imagine what you serious folks in England would think of it. We had dinner at Mr. F⸺’s house, where we met Mr. Wolff. After dinner, he was eager for all the ladies to write their names in his Bible, which he rarely puts down, and it was in such bad shape that I didn't want to handle it. If he visits Hampshire, he'll give lectures: they're worth attending. Maybe he'll share the story of St. Augustine's mother. All I remember is that the mother, crying heavily, spoke to a holy man about her son, whose behavior troubled her. He replied, “The child of a mother with so many tears cannot be lost.” This child later became St. Augustine. It's truly beautiful: “The child of a mother with so many tears cannot be lost!”

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I gave Mr. Wolff two Hindoo idols, with which he was much pleased: he interests himself in the Muhammadan religion, but is entirely ignorant respecting the worship of the Hindoos.

I gave Mr. Wolff two Hindu idols, which he was really pleased with: he has an interest in the Muslim religion, but he knows nothing about Hindu worship.

THE NUT LOG.

19th.—Yesterday, some wandering gypsies (Nut Log) came to the door; they were a family of tumblers. Nut is the name of a tribe who are generally jugglers, rope-dancers, &c. There was one girl amongst them whose figure was most beautiful, and her attitudes more classic and elegant than any I have ever beheld; Madame Sacci would hide her diminished head before the supple and graceful attitudes of this Indian girl.

19th.—Yesterday, some wandering gypsies (Nut Log) came to the door; they were a family of performers. Nut is the name of a tribe known for juggling, tightrope walking, and similar acts. There was one girl among them whose figure was stunning, and her poses were more classical and elegant than anything I’ve ever seen; Madame Sacci would be embarrassed by this Indian girl's flexible and graceful movements.

A man placed a solid piece of wood, of the shape of an hour-glass, and about eighteen inches in height, on his head; the girl ran up his back, and, standing on one foot on the top of the wood, maintained her balance in the most beautiful attitude, whilst the man ran round and round in a small circle; she then sprang off his head to the ground. After this she again ran up his back, and kneeling on the hour-glass-like wood on his head, allowed him to run in the circle; then she balanced herself on the small of her back, her hands and feet in the air! After that, she stood on her head, her feet straight in the air, the man performing the circle all the time! The drapery worn by the natives falls in the most beautiful folds, and the girl was a fit subject for a statuary: I was delighted.

A man balanced a solid piece of wood shaped like an hourglass on his head, standing about eighteen inches tall. The girl climbed up his back and, while balancing on one foot on top of the wood, held her posture beautifully as he ran in a small circle. Then she jumped off his head to the ground. After that, she climbed up his back again and knelt on the hourglass-shaped wood while he ran in a circle; she managed to balance herself on her lower back, with her hands and feet in the air! Then she stood on her head, her feet pointing straight up, while the man kept running in the circle! The way the locals draped their clothing created stunning folds, and the girl looked like she could be a statue: I was thrilled.

They placed a brass vessel, with dust in it, behind her back on the ground, whilst she stood erect; she bent backwards, until her forehead touched the dust in the vessel, and took up between her eyelids two bits of iron, that looked like bodkins; the brass pan in which they were laid was only about two inches high from the ground! She threw herself into wonderful attitudes with a sword in her hand. A set of drawings, illustrating all the graceful positions which she assumed would be very interesting; I had never seen any thing of the kind before, and thought of Wilhelm Meister. The Nut Log consisted of five women, one little child, and one man, who performed all these extraordinary feats; another man beat a tōm-tōm to keep[273] time for them, and accompanied it with his voice; the poor little child performed wonderfully well. She could not have been more than six years old; the other girl was, I should suppose, about eighteen years of age.

They put a brass container filled with dust on the ground behind her while she stood straight. She leaned back until her forehead touched the dust in the container and picked up two pieces of iron that looked like small needles between her eyelids; the brass pan they were on was only about two inches off the ground! She posed in incredible positions with a sword in her hand. A set of drawings showcasing all the graceful poses she struck would be really interesting; I had never seen anything like that before and thought of Wilhelm Meister. The Nut Log featured five women, one small child, and one man who all performed these amazing acts; another man played a drum to keep time for them and sang along; the poor little girl performed impressively well. She couldn’t have been more than six years old, and the other girl seemed to be around eighteen years old.

Another exhibition worth seeing is an Hindostanī juggler, with his goat, two monkeys, and three bits of wood, like the wood used in England to play the devil and two sticks. The first bit of wood is placed on the ground, the goat ascends it, and balances herself on the top; the man by degrees places another bit of wood on the upper edge of the former; the goat ascends, and retains her balance; the third piece, in like manner, is placed on the top of the former two pieces; the goat ascends from the two former, a monkey is placed on her back, and she still preserves the balance. I have seen this curious performance many times. The man keeps time with a sort of musical instrument, which he holds in his right hand, and sings a wild song to aid the goat; without the song and the measured time, they say the goat could not perform the balance.

Another exhibition worth checking out is a Hindustani juggler, with his goat, two monkeys, and three pieces of wood, similar to the wood used in England for the game devil sticks. He places the first piece of wood on the ground, and the goat climbs up and balances on top. Gradually, he sets another piece of wood on the top edge of the first; the goat climbs up and maintains her balance. A third piece is then placed on top of the previous two; the goat ascends from the two below, and a monkey is placed on her back, and she still keeps her balance. I've seen this fascinating performance many times. The juggler keeps time with a kind of musical instrument held in his right hand and sings a lively song to support the goat; they say that without the song and the rhythmic timing, the goat wouldn’t be able to maintain her balance.

When I first came up the country, nothing excited my admiration more than the sirrākee[104] grass in full flower, bending to the wind, and recovering its position so elegantly. This magnificent grass is often sixteen feet high, on which the bloom gracefully waves, like bending feathers.

When I first moved to the countryside, nothing impressed me more than the sirrākee[104] grass in full bloom, swaying in the wind and gracefully returning to its place. This stunning grass is often sixteen feet tall, with blooms that wave elegantly, like drooping feathers.

May 1st.—“Notice was given in the supreme Court, that Messrs. Gould and Campbell would pay a dividend, at the rate of nine gundahs, one cowrie, one cawg, and eighteen teel, in every sicca rupee, on and after the first of June.”

May 1st.—“It was announced in the Supreme Court that Messrs. Gould and Campbell would pay a dividend of nine gundahs, one cowrie, one cawg, and eighteen teel for every sicca rupee, starting June 1st.”

A curious dividend,—not quite a farthing in the rupee[105]!

A strange little bonus—hardly a penny for every rupee[105]!

10th.—O! Western shore! on which I have passed so many happy days; what would I not give for your breezes, to carry away this vile Indian languor, and rebrace my nerves? In front of the thermantidote, and under a pankhā, still there appears to be no air to breathe! This easterly wind is killing; I have in general liked the hot winds, and have found my health good during the time; but this heavy, unnatural atmosphere overpowers[274] me. I see a man crossing the parched and dusty compound, with a lota (brass bowl) and a phleme in his hand, to bleed eleven gynees (dwarf cows), and two horses,—all ill of infectious fever! I must return to my book and my sofa, and dream away the hours.

10th.—Oh! Western shore! where I've spent so many happy days; what wouldn't I give for your breezes to blow away this terrible Indian sluggishness and refresh my nerves? Even in front of the thermantidote, and underneath a pankhā, it still feels like there's no air to breathe! This easterly wind is unbearable; usually, I enjoy hot winds and my health has been good during those times, but this heavy, unnatural atmosphere is overwhelming.[274] I see a man crossing the dry, dusty yard, carrying a lota (brass bowl) and a phleme in his hand, to bleed eleven gynees (dwarf cows) and two horses—all suffering from infectious fever! I guess I should just go back to my book and my sofa, and let the hours slip away.

Shall I ever see again those beautiful scenes which I now see? Shall I ascend again that Mont Anvert, and look down upon the Mer-de-glace? Twenty mosquitoes, of which I have just caught one, say, No; but I say, Yes; and I hope once more to behold the lovely vistas in the New Forest, and once again to muse by the sad sea waves on the Western shore.

Shall I ever see those beautiful views again that I see now? Will I hike up Mont Anvert again and look down at the Mer-de-glace? Twenty mosquitoes, one of which I've just swatted, say no; but I say yes, and I hope to once again gaze at the beautiful landscapes in the New Forest and ponder by the melancholy sea waves on the Western shore.

17th.—My ayha was decorated last night with ear-rings, made of freshly gathered jasmine flowers, strung double on a wire, and hanging down to her shoulders; the scent was so powerful, I could not endure it in the room. Under her chādar they had a good effect; she wore the bela, the double Arabian jasmine (jasminum sambac pleno; jasminum, from the Arabian ysmyn).

17th.—My ayha was adorned last night with earrings made of freshly picked jasmine flowers, strung double on a wire, hanging down to her shoulders; the scent was so strong, I couldn’t stand it in the room. Under her chādar, they looked beautiful; she wore the bela, the double Arabian jasmine (jasminum sambac pleno; jasminum, from the Arabian ysmyn).

The flowers are most overpoweringly sweet, pure white, and double. Native women are extremely fond of decorating themselves with necklaces, ear-rings, and bracelets, formed of freshly gathered flowers.

The flowers are incredibly sweet, pure white, and double. Local women love to adorn themselves with necklaces, earrings, and bracelets made from freshly picked flowers.

The champa is a flowering tree (michelia champaca), sweet-scented michelia. From the bud of the champa flower is taken the pattern of the champa-kullee necklaces the Indian women wear; kullee, a bud.

The champa is a flowering tree (michelia champaca), known for its sweet scent. The pattern of the champa-kullee necklaces worn by Indian women is inspired by the bud of the champa flower; kullee means bud.

21st.—We have had heavy storms, with hailstones of most surprising magnitude; I wish the wind would change; the new moon has “the old moon in her arms,” and if the wind change not now, we shall still have to endure this dreadful weather. The garden is a cake of parched white earth, all split and cracked.

21st.—We've experienced severe storms, with hailstones of unexpected size. I hope the wind changes soon; the new moon has the "old moon in her arms," and if the wind doesn't shift now, we’ll have to keep dealing with this awful weather. The garden is just a dry, white patch of earth, all broken and cracked.

What plagues these servants are! This morning, one of the cows being very ill, I ordered a mixture for her; at sunset it had not been given to her, because, to use the man’s own words, “he wished to send a man into the district, to dig up a certain sort of rat, which rat, having been mixed up with hot spices, he would give to the cow, and she would be well!”

What troubles these servants! This morning, one of the cows was very sick, so I ordered a mixture for her; by sunset, it still hadn't been given to her because, in the man's own words, “he wanted to send someone to the area to dig up a certain kind of rat, which, when mixed with hot spices, he would give to the cow, and she would be fine!”

Very provoking! the animal will die on account of not having[275] had a proper remedy administered in time. One has to fight against the climate and the servants until one is weary of life.

Very provoking! The animal will die because it didn’t receive the right treatment in time.[275] One has to struggle against the weather and the servants until one is exhausted by life.

23rd.—Such a disaster in the quail-house! Through the negligence, or rather stupidity, of the khānsāmān, 160 fat quail have been killed.

23rd.—What a disaster in the quail house! Due to the carelessness, or rather ignorance, of the cooks, 160 fat quail have been killed.

June 1st.—The Muharram is over; I am glad of it, it unsettles all the servants so much, and nothing is ever well done whilst they are thinking of the Taziya.

June 1st.—The Muharram is over; I’m glad about that. It throws all the servants off so much, and nothing is done right while they’re focused on the Taziya.

4th.—Last night we drove to the churchyard, to visit the tomb of one of the most charming girls I ever met with, who had departed in her youth and beauty’s prime: it was a melancholy visit.

4th.—Last night we drove to the cemetery to visit the grave of one of the most lovely girls I’ve ever known, who passed away in the prime of her youth and beauty: it was a sad visit.

One of the Fitzclarences died at Allahabad, and was buried here, without any name or inscription on the tomb; within the last six months an inscription has been put upon it, by order of Lord William Bentinck.

One of the Fitzclarences died in Allahabad and was buried here, without any name or inscription on the grave; in the last six months, an inscription has been added to it, by order of Lord William Bentinck.

In the churchyard was a great number of plants of the mādār or ark, (asclepias gigantea,) gigantic swallow-wort. Upon them we found the most beautifully spotted creatures, like enamelled grasshoppers; they appear partial to this plant, the ark; when alive, their spots are most beautiful, in dying, all their brilliancy vanishes. I gathered a quantity of the fine down from the pods of the mādār, and gave it to a gentleman fond of experiments, who says he will weave it as a shawl is woven, and see if it will answer.

In the churchyard, there were a lot of mādār or ark plants (asclepias gigantea), also known as gigantic swallow-wort. On them, we found the most beautifully spotted creatures that looked like enamelled grasshoppers; they seem to prefer this plant, the ark. When alive, their spots are stunning, but when they die, all their brightness disappears. I collected a bunch of the fine down from the pods of the mādār and gave it to a gentleman who enjoys experiments. He says he will weave it like a shawl and see how it turns out.

19th.—The air is so oppressive, it appears full of dust, so white, so hot! the atmosphere is thick and dull,—no rain! This day last year a fine storm refreshed the earth. The leaves are all falling off the trees, dried up by the sun; numerous trees are dead, burnt up; not a blade of grass! every thing so dusty! I wish the rains would come; this easterly wind, with a thermometer at 91° at noon, is terrible! The pummelo-tree presents a curious appearance; the whole of the leaves are parched, and have fallen from the tree, leaving sixty fine green pummeloes hanging on the naked branches!

19th.—The air is so heavy; it feels full of dust, so white and hot! The atmosphere is thick and dull—no rain! This day last year, a nice storm refreshed the earth. The leaves are all falling off the trees, dried up by the sun; many trees are dead, scorched; not a blade of grass! Everything is so dusty! I wish the rains would come; this easterly wind, with the thermometer at 91° at noon, is awful! The pummelo tree looks strange; all its leaves are shriveled and have fallen off, leaving sixty nice green pummeloes hanging on the bare branches!

The pummelo, called by the natives batavi-nemoo, is the citrus decumana, orange pampelmouse, or shaddock; it was[276] brought from the West Indies by Capt. Shaddock, from whom it derives its name; the fruit grows to the size of a child’s head, and is very delicious; it is a native of China and Japan.

The pummelo, known to the locals as batavi-nemoo, is the citrus decumana, orange pampelmouse, or shaddock; it was[276] brought from the West Indies by Capt. Shaddock, after whom it is named. The fruit can grow to the size of a child's head and is really delicious; it originates from China and Japan.

25th.—Any thing like the severity of these hot winds we have never experienced; the thermometer to-day 93°! Our khānsāmān, Suddu Khān, has had a stroke of the sun; he went out about two miles and a half, to buy grapes, which at this season are very fine and excellent; returning, he fell down by the churchyard, and was conveyed home: it shows how the natives feel the severity of the weather. Grapes, mangoes, mango-fool, and iced-water are our luxuries. The fields of sugar-cane are all burnt up, the cotton-plants dying for want of rain, and in the mango topes (plantations) half the trees are destroyed.

25th.—We've never experienced anything like the intensity of these hot winds; the thermometer hit 93°F today! Our cook, Suddu Khan, suffered a heatstroke; he went out about two and a half miles to buy grapes, which are really nice this time of year. On his way back, he collapsed by the churchyard and had to be taken home. This shows how tough the weather is for the locals. Our treats include grapes, mangoes, mango pudding, and iced water. The sugar-cane fields are all scorched, the cotton plants are dying from lack of rain, and in the mango groves, half the trees are gone.

A swarm of locusts have passed over the cantonments; the natives say they foretel rain; would it were come! The people are dying daily, and the Europeans also at Dinapore are carried off three and four a day.

A swarm of locusts has passed over the military camps; the locals say they predict rain; I wish it would come! People are dying every day, and Europeans in Dinapore are being taken too, three or four a day.

THE GREAT GUN AT AGRA.

“The utmost offer that has yet been made for the metal of the great gun is sixteen rupees per maund; it is proposed to put it up now for sale by auction, at the Agra-Kotwallee, in the course of next month; the upset price of the lots to be fourteen ānās per seer.

“The highest bid that's been made for the metal of the big gun is sixteen rupees per maund; it’s planned to put it up for auction at the Agra-Kotwallee sometime next month; the starting price of the lots will be fourteen ānās per seer.

“The destruction of the Agra gun, our readers are aware, has, for some time past, been entrusted to the executive engineer. As stated in the last Meerut Observer, an attempt was made first to saw, and afterwards it was intended to break it to pieces. In the mean time, it is lying, like Robinson Crusoe’s boat, perfectly impracticable under the fort. Though there is a tradition in the city of its weight being 1600 maunds, it has not been found, on actual measurement, to contain more than 845 mds. 9s., which, at the rate of two lbs. to the seer, would be equal to 30 tons, 3 cwt. 2 qrs. 18 lbs. The analysis of the filings made by the deputy Assay Master in Calcutta was, we understand, as follows:—

“The destruction of the Agra gun has been in the hands of the executive engineer for some time now. As mentioned in the last Meerut Observer, there was an attempt to saw it first, and then it was planned to break it apart. Meanwhile, it’s sitting under the fort, completely unusable, like Robinson Crusoe’s boat. Although there’s a local belief that it weighs 1600 maunds, actual measurements show it to be only 845 mds. 9s., which, at two lbs. per seer, equals about 30 tons, 3 cwt. 2 qrs. 18 lbs. The findings from the filings examined by the deputy Assay Master in Calcutta, as we understand, were as follows:—

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Copper. Tin.
1 29·7 7·3
2 92·2 7·8
3 88·3 11·7
Mean 91·06 8·94

“The gun, from its size, is naturally regarded by the native population as one of the lions of our city. Of the Hindoos, too, many are accustomed to address their adorations to it, as they do, indeed, to all the arms of war, as the roop of Devee, the Indian Hecate. Beyond this, Hindoo tradition has not invested the gun with any character of mythological sanctity. The antiquaries of our city, indeed, say that it was brought here by the Emperor Acbar, perhaps from the fortress of Chittore. We have, however, ourselves been unable to find any mention of it in tawareek of that reign, or of any subsequent period. Among its other just claims to be saved from the hands of the Thatheras, we must not forget the fact of its having once fired a shot from Agra to Futtehpoor Sicri, a distance of twenty-four miles. A stone ball now marks the spot where it fell to the student in artillery practice, putting him entirely out of conceit of the vaunted power of Queen Elizabeth’s pocket pistol, which we believe can scarcely carry one-third of that distance. The fellow of the Agra gun is stated to be still embedded in the sands of the Jumna.

“The gun, due to its size, is naturally considered by the local population as one of the prominent symbols of our city. Many Hindoos also tend to show their reverence towards it, just as they do towards all weapons of war, seeing it as the roop of Devee, the Indian Hecate. However, beyond this, Hindoo tradition hasn’t given the gun any sort of mythological significance. The historians in our city claim that it was brought here by Emperor Akbar, possibly from the fortress of Chittore. Yet, we have been unable to find any mention of it in the tawareek from that era or any later period. Among its many valid reasons to be preserved from the Thatheras, we must not overlook the fact that it once fired a shot from Agra to Fatehpur Sikri, a distance of twenty-four miles. A stone ball now marks the spot where it landed, which completely dispelled the student's confidence in the supposed power of Queen Elizabeth’s pocket pistol, which we believe can barely reach one-third of that distance. The counterpart of the Agra gun is said to still be buried in the sands of the Jumna.”

“Its destruction seems as unpopular with the natives as it is with the European community. Its doom, however, being, we believe, sealed, we are gratified to think that the proceeds of its sale are to be devoted to the erection of a permanent bridge of boats over the Jumna at this city, the estimate for which, the supposed value of the gun, with an advance of one or two years’ ferry tolls, is expected to meet. The future surplus funds derived from the bridge will probably, we hear, be expended in forming a new branch road from Raj-ghaut to Mynpoory, to unite with the grand trunk now making between Allahabad and Delhi, under Captain Drummond. We shall, however, postpone till another opportunity our remarks on this and other[278] plans to improve the means of communication in this quarter.”—Mofussil Achbar.

“Its destruction seems as unpopular with the locals as it is with the European community. Its fate, however, appears to be sealed, and we are pleased to think that the proceeds from its sale will go towards building a permanent bridge of boats over the Jumna in this city, which is expected to be financed by the estimated value of the gun, along with an advance of one or two years’ ferry tolls. The future surplus funds from the bridge will likely be used, we hear, to create a new branch road from Raj-ghaut to Mynpoory, connecting with the grand trunk road currently being constructed between Allahabad and Delhi under Captain Drummond. We will, however, save our comments on this and other plans to enhance transportation in this area for another time.” —Mofussil Achbar.

“At five o’clock on Wednesday morning, the Great Gun at this place was burst, other means of breaking it up having proved unsuccessful. The gun was buried about twenty feet deep in the ground, and 1000 lbs. of gunpowder was employed for the explosion. The report was scarcely heard, but the ground was considerably agitated, and a large quantity of the earth was thrown on all sides. As far as we can learn, the chief engineer has at length been completely successful. A large portion of the European community and multitudes of natives were present to witness the novel spectacle. The inhabitants of the city were so alarmed, that a considerable portion abandoned their houses, and that part of the town in the vicinity of the Fort was completely deserted.”—Mofussil Achbar, June 29.

“At five o’clock on Wednesday morning, the Great Gun here exploded after other methods to dismantle it had failed. The gun was buried about twenty feet underground, and 1000 lbs. of gunpowder were used for the blast. The sound was barely audible, but the ground shook significantly, and a large amount of earth was thrown in all directions. From what we understand, the chief engineer has finally succeeded. A significant portion of the European community and many locals were there to witness this unusual event. The city’s residents were so frightened that many left their homes, and the area around the Fort was completely deserted.” —Mofussil Achbar, June 29.

July 18th.—Last night, as I was writing a long description of the tēz-pāt, the leaf of the cinnamon-tree, which humbly pickles beef, leaving the honour of crowning heroes to the laurus nobilis, the servants set up a hue and cry that one of our sā’īses had been bitten by a snake. I gave the man a tea-spoonful of eau-de-luce, which the khānsāmān calls “Blue-dee-roo,” mixed with a little water. They had confined the snake in a kedgeree-pot, out of which he jumped into the midst of the servants; how they ran! The sā’īs is not the worse for the fright, the snake not being a poisonous one; but he says the mem sāhiba has burnt up his interior and blistered his mouth with the medicine. I hope you admire the corruption of eau-de-luce—blue-dee-roo! Another beautiful corruption of the wine-coolers is, soup-tureen for sauterne! Here is a list of absurdities:—

July 18th.—Last night, while I was writing a detailed description of the tēz-pāt, the leaf of the cinnamon tree, which modestly pickles beef while leaving the glory of honoring heroes to the laurus nobilis, the servants raised a commotion because one of our sā’īses had been bitten by a snake. I gave the man a teaspoon of eau-de-luce, which the khānsāmān calls “Blue-dee-roo,” mixed with a bit of water. They had trapped the snake in a kedgeree pot, and it jumped out right in front of the servants; you should have seen them run! The sā’īs is fine after the scare, as the snake wasn’t poisonous, but he claims that the mem sāhiba has burned his insides and blistered his mouth with the medicine. I hope you enjoy the mispronunciation of eau-de-luce—blue-dee-roo! Another amusing mix-up with the wine coolers is using soup-tureen for sauterne! Here is a list of absurdities:—

  • Harrico, harry cook.
  • Parsley, peter selly.
  • Mignionette, major mint.
  • Bubble-and-squeak, dublin cook.
  • Decree, diggery.
  • Christmas, kiss miss.
  • Butcher, voucher.
  • Prisoner, bridgeman.
  • Champagne, simkin.
  • Trumpeter, jan peter.
  • Brigade major, bridget.
  • Knole cole, old kooby.

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[279]

An officer in the 16th Lancers told me he was amused the other day by his servant designating the trumpeter a “poh poh walla.”

An officer in the 16th Lancers told me he was amused the other day when his servant referred to the trumpeter as a “poh poh walla.”

The gardener has just brought in a handful of the most beautiful scarlet velvet coloured insects, about the size of two large peas, but flattish, and commonly found on reddish sandy soil, near grass; these insects are used as one of those medicines which native doctors consider efficacious in snake bites: they call them beerbotie; the scientific name is mutella occidentalis.

The gardener just brought in a handful of the most beautiful scarlet velvet colored insects, about the size of two large peas but flatter, commonly found on reddish sandy soil near grass. These insects are used as one of those remedies that local healers believe are effective for snake bites; they call them beerbotie, and the scientific name is mutella occidentalis.

The carpenter, in cutting down the hedge of the garden, found in the babūl and neem-trees such beautiful creatures; they appear to be locusts; the variety and brilliancy of their colours are wonderful. The upper wings are green, lined out with yellow, the under wings scarlet, the body green, yellow, and black: they are most beautifully marked. I have had some prepared with arsenical soap.

The carpenter, while trimming the garden hedge, discovered some amazing creatures in the babūl and neem trees; they seem to be locusts. The variety and brightness of their colors are stunning. The upper wings are green with yellow outlines, the under wings are scarlet, and the body is green, yellow, and black: they are marked beautifully. I had some treated with arsenical soap.

Aug. 4th.—I have just received a present of the first number of Colonel Luard’s most beautiful views in India; how true they are! his snake-catchers are the very people themselves. Apropos, we caught a young cobra yesterday in my dressing-room; the natives said, “Do not kill it; it is forbidden to kill the snake with the holy mark on the back of its head,”—a mark like a horse-shoe. However, as it was the most venomous sort of snake, I put it quietly into my “Bottle of Horrors.” They say snakes come in pairs; we have searched the room and cannot find its companion. It is not pleasant to have so venomous a snake twisting on the Venetian blinds of one’s dressing-room.

Aug. 4th.—I just got a gift of the first issue of Colonel Luard’s stunning views of India; they look so accurate! His snake-catchers are exactly the same as the real ones. Speaking of which, we caught a young cobra yesterday in my dressing room; the locals said, “Don’t kill it; it’s forbidden to harm the snake with the holy mark on the back of its head,”—a mark that looks like a horse-shoe. Still, since it was the most poisonous type of snake, I carefully put it into my “Bottle of Horrors.” They say snakes come in pairs; we’ve searched the room and can’t find its mate. It’s not exactly comforting to have such a venomous snake writhing on the Venetian blinds in my dressing room.

8th.—Yesterday, at dinner, our friends were praising the fatted quail, and remarking how well we had preserved them. This morning all the remainder are dead, about two hundred; why or wherefore I know not—it is provoking.

8th.—Yesterday, at dinner, our friends were raving about the well-cooked quail and how well we'd managed to keep them. This morning, though, all the leftovers are gone, about two hundred; I have no idea why—it’s so frustrating.

We had the most beautiful bouquet on the table last night! an enormous bowl full of flowers, in such luxuriant beauty! some few of which you may find in hot-houses and green-houses at home. With what pleasure I looked at them! and how much amusement taking off the impressions, or practising the black art, as we call it, will afford me!

We had the most beautiful bouquet on the table last night! An enormous bowl full of flowers, so lush and vibrant! Some of these you might find in greenhouses and hothouses back home. I enjoyed looking at them so much! And how much fun it will be to create impressions or practice the black art, as we call it!


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CHAPTER XXV.
THE CHOLERA OUTBREAK.

“IT WAS HAMMERED UPON MY FOREHEAD[106].”

“IT WAS HAMMERED ON MY FOREHEAD[106].”

i.e. It was my destiny.

It was my fate.

“WHERE IS THE USE OF TAKING PRECAUTIONS, SINCE WHAT HAS BEEN PRE-ORDAINED MUST HAPPEN[107]?”

“WHAT'S THE POINT OF TAKING PRECAUTIONS IF WHAT'S MEANT TO HAPPEN WILL HAPPEN ANYWAY[107]?”

Hindoo Method of frightening away the Cholera recommended to the Faculty—Death of the Darzee—Necromancy—The New Moon—A Bull laden with the Pestilence—Terror of the Natives—The Patān—An Earthquake—Sola Hats—Importation of Ice from America—Flight of Locusts—Steam Navigation—The Civil Service Annuity Fund—The Bāghsira—Rajpūt Encampment—Hail Storm—Delights of the Cold Weather.

Hindu Method of scaring away Cholera suggested to the Doctors—Death of the Tailor—Magic—The New Moon—A Bull carrying the Plague—Fear of the Locals—The Pathan—An Earthquake—Sola Hats—Importing Ice from America—Swarm of Locusts—Steam Navigation—The Civil Service Pension Fund—The Bāghsira—Rajput Camp—Hail Storm—Pleasures of the Cold Season.

1833. Aug. 8th.—The same terrible weather continues, the thermometer 90° and 91° all day; not a drop of rain! They prophesy sickness and famine; the air is unwholesome; the Europeans are all suffering with fever and ague and rheumatism. The natives, in a dreadful state, are dying in numbers daily of cholera; two days ago, seventy-six natives in Allahabad were seized with cholera—of these, forty-eight died that day! The illness is so severe that half an hour after the first attack the man generally dies; if he survive one hour it is reckoned a length of time.

1833. Aug. 8th.—The same awful weather continues, with the thermometer hitting 90° and 91° all day; not a single drop of rain! They predict sickness and famine; the air is unhealthy; all the Europeans are suffering from fever, chills, and rheumatism. The locals, in terrible condition, are dying daily from cholera; two days ago, seventy-six people in Allahabad were struck by cholera—of those, forty-eight died that same day! The illness is so severe that usually, half an hour after the first symptoms, the person dies; if they survive an hour, that’s considered a long time.

A brickmaker, living near our gates, buried four of his family from cholera in one day! Is not this dreadful? The poor people, terror-stricken, are afraid of eating their food, as they say the disease follows a full meal. Since our arrival in India we have never before experienced such severely hot winds, or such unhealthy rains.

A brickmaker who lives near our gates buried four family members from cholera in just one day! Isn’t that awful? The poor people, terrified, are scared to eat their meals because they believe the disease comes after eating. Since we got to India, we’ve never faced such intensely hot winds or such unhealthy rains.

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“Every country hath its own fashions[108].” The Hindoo women, in the most curious manner, propitiate the goddess who brings all this illness into the bazār: they go out in the evening about 7 P.M., sometimes two or three hundred at a time, carrying each a lota, or brass vessel, filled with sugar, water, cloves, &c. In the first place they make pooja; then, stripping off their chādars, and binding their sole petticoat around their waists, as high above the knee as it can be pulled up, they perform a most frantic sort of dance, forming themselves into a circle, whilst in the centre of the circle about five or six women dance entirely naked, beating their hands together over their heads, and then applying them behind with a great smack, that keeps time with the music, and with the song they scream out all the time, accompanied by native instruments, played by men who stand at a distance; to the sound of which these women dance and sing, looking like frantic creatures. Last night, returning from a drive, passing the Fort, I saw five or six women dancing and whipping themselves after this fashion; fortunately, my companion did not comprehend what they were about. The Hindoo women alone practise this curious method of driving away diseases from the bazār; the Musulmānes never. The men avoid the spot where the ceremony takes place; but here and there, one or two men may be seen looking on, whose presence does not appear to molest the nut-brown dancers in the least; they shriek and sing and smack and scream most marvellously.

“Every country has its own customs[108].” The Hindu women, in a very unusual way, try to appease the goddess who brings all this sickness into the market: they go out in the evening around 7 PM, sometimes in groups of two or three hundred, each carrying a lota, or brass vessel, filled with sugar, water, cloves, etc. First, they perform a pooja; then, taking off their chādars and tying their only petticoat around their waists, as high above the knee as they can pull it, they engage in a wild dance, forming a circle while five or six women in the center dance completely naked, clapping their hands over their heads, then slapping their hands behind them in time with the music, and singing loudly, accompanied by native instruments played by men who stand at a distance. To this sound, the women dance and sing, appearing completely frenzied. Last night, while returning from a drive and passing the Fort, I saw five or six women dancing and whipping themselves in this way; fortunately, my companion didn’t understand what was happening. Only Hindu women practice this strange method of driving away diseases from the market; Muslim women do not. The men stay away from the area where the ceremony occurs; however, occasionally one or two can be seen watching, and their presence doesn’t seem to bother the dark-skinned dancers at all; they scream, sing, slap, and make incredible noise.

The moonshee tells me the panic amongst the natives is so great, that they talk of deserting Allahabad until the cholera has passed away.

The moonshee tells me that the panic among the locals is so intense that they are considering leaving Allahabad until the cholera is gone.

My darzee (tailor), a fine healthy young Musulmān, went home at 5 P.M., apparently quite well; he died of cholera at 3 P.M., the next day; he had every care and attention. This evening the under-gardener has been seized; I sent him medicine; he returned it, saying, “I am a Baghut (a Hindoo who neither eats meat nor drinks wine), I cannot take your medicine; it were better that I should die.” The cholera came[282] across the Jumna to the city, thence it took its course up one side of the road to the Circuit Bungalow, is now in cantonments, and will, I trust, pass on to Papamhow, cross the Ganges, and Allahabad will once more be a healthy place.

My tailor, a strong young Muslim, went home at 5 PM, apparently in good health; he died of cholera at 3 PM the next day, despite receiving all necessary care and attention. This evening, the assistant gardener started feeling unwell; I offered him medicine, but he refused it, saying, “I’m a Baghut (a Hindu who neither eats meat nor drinks alcohol), I can’t take your medicine; it’s better if I die.” The cholera spread across the Jumna River to the city, then moved up one side of the road to the Circuit Bungalow, and is now in the military area. I hope it will move on to Papamhow, cross the Ganges, and Allahabad will once again be a healthy place.

“Magic is truth, but the magician is an infidel[109].” My ayha said, “You have told us several times that rain will fall, and your words have been true; perhaps you can tell us when the cholera will quit the city?” I told her, “Rain will fall, in all probability, next Thursday (new moon); and if there be plenty of it, the cholera may quit the city.” She is off to the bazār with the joyful tidings.

“Magic is truth, but the magician is a fraud[109].” My ayha said, “You’ve told us several times that it will rain, and you’ve been right; maybe you can tell us when the cholera will leave the city?” I replied, “It will probably rain next Thursday (new moon); and if there’s a lot of it, the cholera might leave the city.” She rushed off to the bazaar with the good news.

The Muhammadans believe the prayers of those who consult magicians are not accepted, and that rain is given by the favour of God, not by the influence of the moon. Muhammad forbade consulting fortune-tellers, and gave a curious reason why they sometimes hit on the truth. “Aa’yeshah said, ‘People asked the Prophet about fortune-tellers, whether they spoke true or not?’ He said, ‘You must not believe any thing they say.’ The people said, ‘O messenger of God! wherefore do you say so? because they sometimes tell true.’ Then his Highness said, ‘Yes; it may be true sometimes, because one of the genii steals away the truth, and carries it to the magician’s ear; and magicians mix a hundred lies with one truth.’ Aa’yeshah said, ‘I heard his Majesty say, ‘The angels come down to the region next the world, and mention the works that have been pre-ordained in Heaven; and the devils, who descend to the lowest region, listen to what the angels say, and hear the orders pre-destined in Heaven, and carry them to fortune-tellers; therefore they tell a hundred lies with it from themselves.’ ‘Whoever goes to a magician, and asks him any thing about the hidden, his prayers will not be approved of for forty nights and days.’ Zaid-Vin-Rhálid said, ‘His Highness officiated as Imām to us in Hudaibiah, after a fall of rain in the night; and when he had finished prayers, he turned himself to the congregation, and said, ‘Do ye know what your Cherisher said?’ They said, ‘God and his messenger[283] know best.’ His Highness said, ‘God said, Two descriptions of my servants rose this morning, one of them believers in me, the other infidels; wherefore, those who have said they have been given rain by the favour of God, are believers in me, and deniers of stars; and those who have said, we have been given rain from the influence of the moon, are infidels, and believers in stars.’” “An astrologer is as a magician, and a magician is a necromancer, and a necromancer is an infidel[110].”

The followers of Muhammad believe that the prayers of those who seek guidance from magicians are not accepted and that rain comes as a blessing from God, not due to the moon's influence. Muhammad prohibited consulting fortune-tellers and explained a curious reason why they sometimes get things right. “Aa’yeshah said, ‘People asked the Prophet if fortune-tellers ever spoke the truth.’ He replied, ‘You should not believe anything they say.’ The people responded, ‘O messenger of God! Why do you say this? They sometimes tell the truth.’ Then he said, ‘Yes, it may be true sometimes, because one of the jinn might steal the truth and whisper it into the ear of the magician, who then mixes a hundred lies with that one truth.’ Aa’yeshah recounted that she heard him say, ‘The angels come down to the nearest heaven and discuss the deeds that have been decreed in Heaven; and the devils, who descend to the lowest level, listen to what the angels say and hear the divine decrees, which they then relay to fortune-tellers. That’s why they mix a hundred lies with one truth.’ ‘Whoever visits a magician and asks him anything about the unseen, his prayers will not be accepted for forty nights and days.’ Zaid-Vin-Rhálid said, ‘His Highness led us in prayer in Hudaibiah after it had rained during the night; when he finished, he turned to the congregation and asked, ‘Do you know what your Lord said?’ They replied, ‘God and His messenger know best.’ He said, ‘God said, “Two types of my servants rose this morning, one believing in me and the other disbelieving; those who say they received rain by the grace of God are believers in me and rejectors of the stars; those who say we received rain from the moon’s influence are disbelievers and believers in the stars.”’ “An astrologer is like a magician, a magician is a necromancer, and a necromancer is a disbeliever.[110].”

Aug. 17th.—The new moon has appeared, but Prāg is unblessed with rain; if it would but fall! Every night the Hindoos pooja their gods; the Musulmāns weary Heaven with prayers, at the Jamma Musjid (great mosque) on the river-side, near our house;—all to no effect. The clouds hang dark and heavily; the thunder rolls at times; you think, “Now the rain must come,” but it clears off with scarcely a sprinkling. Amongst the Europeans there is much illness, but no cholera.

Aug. 17th.—The new moon has appeared, but Prāg is not blessed with rain; if only it would come! Every night, the Hindus worship their gods; the Muslims tire Heaven with prayers at the Jamā Masjid (great mosque) by the river, near our house;—all to no avail. The clouds hang dark and heavy; thunder occasionally rolls, and you think, “Now the rain must come,” but it clears up with hardly a sprinkle. Among the Europeans, there is a lot of illness, but no cholera.

22nd.—These natives are curious people; they have twice sent the cholera over the river, to get rid of it at Allahabad. They proceed after this fashion: they take a bull, and after having repeated divers prayers and ceremonies, they drive him across the Ganges into Oude, laden, as they believe, with the cholera. This year this ceremony has been twice performed. When the people drive the bull into the river, he swims across, and lands or attempts to land on the Lucnow side; the Oude people drive the poor beast back again, when he is generally carried down by the current and drowned, as they will not allow him to land on either side.

22nd.—These locals are quite fascinating; they've sent cholera across the river twice to get rid of it in Allahabad. They do this in a specific way: they take a bull and, after saying various prayers and performing rituals, they drive it across the Ganges into Oude, believing it carries the cholera with it. This year, they've done this ceremony twice. When the people push the bull into the river, it swims across and tries to land on the Lucknow side; however, the Oude people push the poor animal back again, and it usually gets swept away by the current and drowned since they won't let it land on either side.

During the night, my ayha came to me three times for cholera mixture; happily the rain was falling, and I thought it would do much more good than all the medicine; of course I gave her the latter.

During the night, my caregiver came to me three times for the cholera mix; fortunately, it was raining, and I thought it would help a lot more than all the medicine; of course, I gave her the latter.

Out of sixty deaths there will be forty Hindoos to twenty Musulmāns; more men are carried off than women, eight men to two women; the Musulmāns eat more nourishing food than the Hindoos, and the women are less exposed to the sun than the men.

Out of sixty deaths, there will be forty Hindus to twenty Muslims; more men die than women, with a ratio of eight men to two women; Muslims consume more nutritious food than Hindus, and the women are less exposed to the sun than the men.

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Extract from the journal of an officer in the 16th Lancers, at Cawnpore:—

Extract from the journal of an officer in the 16th Lancers, at Cawnpore:—

Aug. 20th.—A most savage and barbarous act was this day committed on our grand parade; several officers and numbers of sipahīs stood round and witnessed it. A Patān of high caste, and of such great muscular powers as to be a celebrated pehlwān or wrestler, was taken up on suspicion of theft. A barkandāz (native policeman) was sent with the prisoner to his house, that he might eat his dinner; the Patān endeavoured to enter his house, when the barkandāz struck him with his shoe on the mouth (the very grossest insult that can be offered to a native). The prisoner managed to get his hands loose, ran into a sword cutler’s (sikligur’s), snatched up the first sword that presented itself, and cut down the barkandāz. The Patān then ran through the city, crying, ‘Now, who will take me?’ When he got on the grand parade he halted, and when told that he could easily escape into the King of Oude’s territories,—‘for what is the Ganges for such a man as you to swim?’—he answered, ‘No; I cannot live after the insult I have received; but I will teach those rascally barkandāz how to insult a Patān.’ He was soon surrounded by numbers of the native police, variously armed, but he kept them all for a length of time at defiance; at last, after receiving a great many wounds, and with his left arm nearly severed, he fell, but still continued fighting desperately; a musket was now sent for, and the third shot killed this brave fellow. An officer, who stood by, and saw this brutal murder committed, told me the prisoner cut down and wounded eleven men, and received upwards of forty wounds. This outrage was committed in broad daylight, in front of the sipahī lines. An occurrence of this nature would, I think, make some little stir in England.”

Aug. 20th.—A brutal and barbaric act took place today during our grand parade; several officers and many sipahīs surrounded and witnessed it. A high-caste Patān, known for his incredible strength as a renowned pehlwān or wrestler, was taken in on suspicion of theft. A barkandāz (local policeman) was sent with the prisoner to his house so he could have dinner; as the Patān tried to enter his home, the barkandāz struck him in the mouth with his shoe (the most severe insult that can be given to a native). The prisoner managed to free his hands, ran into a sword maker's shop (sikligur), grabbed the first sword he saw, and cut down the barkandāz. The Patān then ran through the city, shouting, ‘So, who wants to take me on?’ When he reached the grand parade, he paused, and when told he could easily escape into the King of Oude’s territories—‘What’s the Ganges to such a man as you to cross?’—he replied, ‘No; I can’t live after the disrespect I’ve faced; but I will show those nasty barkandāz how to disrespect a Patān.’ He was soon surrounded by several armed native police, but he held them off for quite a while; eventually, after suffering many wounds and nearly having his left arm severed, he fell but continued to fight fiercely. A musket was then brought in, and the third shot killed this brave man. An officer who witnessed this brutal murder told me the prisoner had wounded eleven men and received over forty wounds himself. This outrage occurred in broad daylight, right in front of the sipahī lines. An incident like this would, I believe, cause quite a stir in England.

The same gentleman mentions, “The natives in the bazār and surrounding villages suffer shockingly from cholera, and you can scarcely go into any of the thoroughfares to the ghāts, without seeing several dead bodies being carried to the Ganges. Large groups of women, preceded by their noisy, inharmonious music, are at all hours proceeding towards the river, to offer up their[285] supplications to the Gunga. The Brahmans have forbidden any woman to sleep inside her house, and, I believe, last night every Hindū woman in the city slept in the open air.”

The same gentleman says, “The locals in the bazaar and nearby villages are suffering terribly from cholera, and you can hardly walk down any of the main streets leading to the ghats without seeing several dead bodies being taken to the Ganges. Large groups of women, followed by their loud, discordant music, are constantly making their way to the river to offer their[285] prayers to the Gunga. The Brahmans have banned any woman from sleeping inside her house, and, as far as I know, last night every Hindu woman in the city slept outdoors.”

26th.—I was sitting in my dressing-room, reading, and thinking of retiring to rest, when the khānsāmān ran to the door, and cried out, “Mem Sāhiba, did you feel the earthquake? the dishes and glasses in the almirahs (wardrobes) are all rattling.” I heard the rumbling noise, but did not feel the quaking of the earth. About half-past eleven, P.M., a very severe shock came on, with a loud and rumbling noise; it sounded at first as if a four-wheeled carriage had driven up to the door, and then the noise appeared to be just under my feet; my chair and the table shook visibly, the mirror of the dressing-glass swung forwards, and two of the doors nearest my chair opened from the shock. The house shook so much, I felt sick and giddy; I thought I should fall if I were to try to walk; I called out many times to my husband, but he was asleep on the sofa in the next room, and heard me not; not liking it at all, I ran into the next room, and awoke him; as I sat with him on the sofa, it shook very much from another shock, or rather shocks, for there appeared to be many of them; and the table trembled also. My ayha came in from the verandah, and said, “The river is all in motion, in waves, as if a great wind were blowing against the stream.” The natives say tiles fell from several houses. A shoeing-horn, that was hanging by a string to the side of my dressing-glass, swung backwards and forwards like the pendulum of a clock. The giddy and sick sensation one experiences during the time of an earthquake is not agreeable; we had one in September, 1831, but it was nothing in comparison to that we have just experienced. Mr. D⸺ and Mr. C⸺, who live nearly three miles off, ran out of their bungalows in alarm.

26th.—I was sitting in my dressing room, reading and thinking about going to bed when the housekeeper rushed to the door and shouted, “Ma'am, did you feel the earthquake? The dishes and glasses in the cupboards are all rattling.” I heard a rumbling noise but didn’t feel the ground shake. Around 11:30 PM, a strong jolt hit, accompanied by a loud rumbling; it initially sounded like a four-wheeled carriage had pulled up outside, and then the noise seemed to come from right beneath my feet. My chair and table shook visibly, the mirror of the dressing table swung forward, and two doors close to my chair flew open from the force. The whole house trembled so much that I felt dizzy and nauseous; I thought I would fall if I tried to get up. I called out several times to my husband, but he was asleep on the sofa in the next room and didn’t hear me. Disliking the situation, I ran next door and woke him up. As I sat with him on the sofa, it shook heavily again from another shock—or rather, several shocks; it felt like there were many of them, and the table shook too. My maid came in from the veranda and said, “The river is churning, with waves as if a strong wind is blowing against the current.” Local people reported that tiles fell from several houses. A shoehorn hanging by a string on the side of my dressing table swung back and forth like a pendulum. The dizzy and sick feeling during an earthquake isn’t pleasant; we had one in September 1831, but it was nothing compared to what we just went through. Mr. D⸺ and Mr. C⸺, who live almost three miles away, ran out of their bungalows in panic.

Sept. 5th.—The rain fell in torrents all night; it was delightful to listen to it, sounding as it was caught in the great water jars, which are placed all round the house; now and then a badly made jar cracked with a loud report, and out rushed the water, a proof that most of the jars would be full by morning.[286] From the flat clean pukkā roof of the house the water falls pure and fresh; from the thatch of a bungalow it would be impure. To-day it is so dark, so damp, so English, not a glimpse of the sun, a heavy atmosphere, and rain still falling delightfully. There is but little cholera now left in the city; this rain will carry it all away.

Sept. 5th.—It rained heavily all night; it was lovely to listen to it as it filled the large water jars placed all around the house. Occasionally, a poorly made jar would crack loudly, sending water spurting out, a sign that most of the jars would be full by morning.[286] From the flat, clean roof of the house, the water comes down pure and fresh; from the thatch of a bungalow, it wouldn’t be clean. Today is dark, damp, and very English, with no sign of the sun, a heavy atmosphere, and the rain still falling beautifully. There is very little cholera left in the city now; this rain will wash it all away.

Our friend Mr. S⸺ arrived yesterday: he was robbed ere he quitted Jaunpore of almost all he possessed: the thieves carried off all his property from the bungalow, with the exception of his sola topī, a great broad-brimmed white hat, made of the pith of the sola.

Our friend Mr. S⸺ arrived yesterday: he was robbed before he left Jaunpore of almost everything he owned: the thieves took all his belongings from the bungalow, except for his sola topī, a wide-brimmed white hat made from the pith of the sola.

The best sola hats are made in Calcutta; they are very light, and an excellent defence from the sun: the root of which the topī is formed is like pith; it is cut into thin layers, which are pasted together to form the hat. At Meerut they cover them with the skin of the pelican, with all its feathers on, which renders it impervious to sun or rain; and the feathers sticking out beyond the rim of the hat give a demented air to the wearer. The pelicans are shot in the Tarāī.

The best sola hats are made in Calcutta; they are very lightweight and provide excellent protection from the sun. The material used to make the topi is similar to pith, which is cut into thin layers and glued together to create the hat. In Meerut, they cover these hats with the skin of a pelican, feathers and all, making them resistant to both sun and rain. The feathers sticking out beyond the rim of the hat give the wearer a slightly crazy look. The pelicans are hunted in the Tarāī.

“Sholā (commonly sola), (æschynomene paludosa), the wood of which, being very light and spongy, is used by fishermen for floating their nets. A variety of toys, such as artificial birds and flowers, are made of it. Garlands of those flowers are used in marriage ceremonies. When charred it answers the purpose of tinder[111].”

“Sholā (commonly known as sola), (æschynomene paludosa), is a very light and spongy wood used by fishermen to float their nets. It’s also made into various toys, like artificial birds and flowers. Garlands made from these flowers are used in wedding ceremonies. When burned, it serves as tinder.[111].”

How dangerous the banks of the river are at this season! Mr. M⸺ lugāoed his boats under a bank on the Ganges; during the night a great portion of the bank fell in, swamped the dog-boat, and drowned all the dogs. Our friend himself narrowly escaped: his budjerow broke from her moorings, and went off into the middle of the stream.

How dangerous the riverbanks are during this season! Mr. M⸺ tied his boats under a bank on the Ganges; during the night, a large part of the bank collapsed, sinking the dog-boat and drowning all the dogs. Our friend himself narrowly escaped: his budgerow broke free from its moorings and drifted into the middle of the stream.

19th.—The weather killingly hot! I can do nothing but read novels and take lessons on the sitar. I wish you could see my instructor, a native, who is sitting on the ground before me, playing difficult variations, contorting his face, and twisting his[287] body into the most laughable attitudes, the man in ecstacies at his own performance!

19th.—The weather is unbearably hot! All I can do is read novels and take sitar lessons. I wish you could see my teacher, a local guy, sitting on the ground in front of me, playing complex variations, making funny faces, and bending his body into the most ridiculous positions, completely lost in his own performance!

CONSUMPTION OF ICE.

One of the most striking instances of the enterprise of the merchants of the present age, is the importation of a cargo of ice into India from the distant shores of America; and it is to be hoped, that the experiment having so far succeeded, it will receive sufficient encouragement here to ensure the community in future a constant supply of the luxury. The speculators are Messrs. Tudor, Rogers, and Austin, the first of whom has been engaged for fifteen or twenty years in furnishing supplies of ice to the southern parts of America and the West Indian islands.

One of the most remarkable examples of modern merchants' ventures is the importation of a shipment of ice into India from the far-off shores of America; and it is hoped that since the experiment has been successful so far, it will get enough support here to guarantee a steady supply of this luxury for the community in the future. The entrepreneurs are Messrs. Tudor, Rogers, and Austin, with the first having spent fifteen to twenty years providing ice to the southern parts of America and the West Indian islands.

The following particulars will furnish an idea of the plan pursued in this traffic, and of the cost incurred in it:—

The following details will give an idea of the approach taken in this trade, and of the expenses involved in it:—

The ice is cut from the surface of some ponds rented for the purpose in the neighbourhood of Boston, and being properly stowed, is then conveyed to an ice-house in the city, where it remains until transported on board the vessel which has to convey it to its destined market. It is always kept packed in non-conducting materials, such as tan, hay, and pine boards, and the vessel in which it is freighted has an ice-house built within, for the purpose of securing it from the effects of the atmosphere. The expense to the speculators must be very considerable, when they have to meet the charges of rent for the ponds, wages for superintendents and labourers, and agents at the place of sale; erection of ice-houses, transportation of the article from the ponds to the city, thence to the vessel, freight, packing, and landing, and the delivery of the article at the ice-house which has been built for it in Calcutta.

The ice is cut from the surface of some ponds rented for this purpose in the Boston area, and after being properly stored, it is transported to an ice house in the city, where it stays until it’s loaded onto a ship that will take it to its intended market. It's always kept packed in materials that don’t conduct heat, like tan, hay, and pine boards, and the ship has an ice house built inside it to protect the ice from the outside environment. The costs for the speculators must be quite high, as they have to cover the rent for the ponds, pay wages for supervisors and workers, and agents at the sales location; they also need to build ice houses, transport the ice from the ponds to the city, then to the ship, pay for freight, packing, and unloading, and finally deliver the ice to the ice house that has been set up for it in Calcutta.

The present cargo has arrived without greater wastage than was at first calculated on, and the packing was so well managed to prevent its being affected by the atmosphere, that the temperature on board during the voyage was not perceptibly altered. This large importation of ice may probably give rise to experiments[288] to ascertain in what way it may be applied to medicinal uses, as it has already elsewhere been resorted to for such purposes; but the chief interest the community generally will take in it, will be the addition it will make to domestic comfort.

The current shipment has arrived with less waste than initially expected, and the packing was done so well that it wasn’t affected by the atmosphere, so the temperature on board during the journey didn’t change noticeably. This large delivery of ice might lead to experiments[288] to find out how it can be used for medicinal purposes, as it has been used for that before; however, the main interest for the general public will be the boost it brings to home comfort.

Sept. 23rd.—Yesterday, at 5 P.M., whilst we were at dinner, a flight of locusts came across the Jumna, from below the fort. The greater part alighted on our compound: those that did not settle on the ground, flew round and round in upper air, while thousands of them descending in streams gave the appearance of a very severe storm of snow falling in large dingy flakes. The air was really darkened; they settled on the thatched roofs of the outhouses, covering them entirely. They were so numerous the whole ground was thickly spread with them. A chaprāsī went out with my butterfly net, and running against the stream of descending locusts, at one attempt caught from twenty to thirty in the net; you may therefore imagine how numerous they were. The bearers ran out, beating brass chilamchees (washhand basons), while others, with frying-pans and pokers, increased the din in order to drive them away, which was not accomplished for half an hour. All the servants, Musalmān and Hindoo, were eager to catch them; the two washermen (dhobees) showed the greatest cleverness in the business; holding a sheet spread out between them, they ran against the flight of descending locusts, caught great numbers, folded the sheet quickly up to secure their prizes, and having deposited them in a jar, spread the sheet for more.

Sept. 23rd.—Yesterday at 5 PM, while we were having dinner, a swarm of locusts came over the Jumna from below the fort. Most of them landed in our yard; those that didn’t settle on the ground flew around in the air, while thousands descended in waves, making it look like a really intense snowstorm with large, dirty flakes falling. The air actually got dark; they settled on the thatched roofs of the outbuildings, completely covering them. There were so many that the ground was thickly covered with them. A chaprāsī went out with my butterfly net, and by running into the stream of falling locusts, he managed to catch twenty to thirty in one go; you can imagine how many there were. The bearers ran out, banging brass chilamchees (wash basins), while others used frying pans and pokers to make noise and drive them away, which took about half an hour to achieve. All the servants, Muslim and Hindu, were eager to catch them; the two washermen (dhobees) were the most skillful at it; they held a sheet stretched between them, ran into the flow of falling locusts, caught a lot, quickly folded the sheet to secure their catch, and after putting them in a jar, spread the sheet out again for more.

My little terrier Fury caught twenty or thirty, if not more, and ate them raw; it was amusing to see her run at the locusts and catch them so cleverly.

My little terrier Fury caught twenty or thirty, if not more, and ate them raw; it was funny to watch her chase down the locusts and catch them so skillfully.

The gentlemen rose from table, and were well repaid for their trouble, never having seen such a marvellous flight of locusts before.

The men got up from the table, and they were glad they did, having never seen such an incredible swarm of locusts before.

The khānsāmān Suddu Khān said, “In curry they are very good, like prawns, but roasted whole the moment they are caught, they are delicious!” I desired him to bring some to table, but we had not resolution enough to taste them. Little[289] Fury ate them all most greedily, barking and jumping until she had finished them.

The cook Suddu Khān said, “In curry they’re really good, like prawns, but roasted whole right after they’re caught, they’re amazing!” I asked him to bring some to the table, but we didn’t have the courage to try them. Little[289] Fury ate them all very eagerly, barking and jumping around until she had finished.

Going for our evening drive, such a smell of roasted locusts issued forth as we passed the stables! The flight consisted of red locusts, but amongst them were some of a bright yellow colour. Brown locusts are the most common; the red as well as the yellow are scarce; the red in dying become nearly quite brown.

Going for our evening drive, we caught a strong smell of roasted locusts as we passed the stables! The swarm was mostly made up of red locusts, but there were also some bright yellow ones mixed in. Brown locusts are the most common; red and yellow ones are rare; the red ones turn almost completely brown as they die.

It is recorded that Ibn-Abu-Awfi said, “I fought seven battles along with the prophet Mahommud, and we used to eat locusts with his highness.”

It is recorded that Ibn-Abu-Awfi said, “I fought seven battles with the prophet Muhammad, and we used to eat locusts with him.”

The khānsāmān prepared many of the bodies with arsenical soap, and filled them with cotton. An enormous death’s head moth flew in at the moment, and experienced the same fate. Moths, locusts, great beetles, and cockroaches are prepared like small birds[112].

The cook prepared many of the bodies with arsenic soap and stuffed them with cotton. An enormous death's-head moth flew in at that moment and met the same fate. Moths, locusts, large beetles, and cockroaches are prepared like small birds[112].

They say red locusts predict war, the others famine. The latter prediction is likely to prove true; the little rain that fell made the crops spring up, since which time the sun has killed the greater part of the young plants. All grain is very dear, and the people are exclaiming, “We shall die, if the rain does not fall.”

They say red locusts signal war, while the others signal famine. The latter prediction is likely to come true; the little rain that fell caused the crops to sprout, but since then the sun has destroyed most of the young plants. All grain is very expensive, and people are crying out, “We’ll die if it doesn’t rain.”

Famine, earthquakes, pestilence! What do these portend? Let us not sit in judgment man on man, or declare “The hand of God is on the earth, until one-third of the wicked are swept away from the face of it[113].”

Famine, earthquakes, disease! What do these mean? Let’s not judge each other or say, “The hand of God is on the earth until one-third of the wicked are removed from it[113].”

All the three Residencies are agog about steam navigation once again. I think there is a fair chance of success, if the whole of the funds are voted in support of the Bombay scheme, by which communication might be established in fifty days; and if the overland dāk from Bombay was put on a more speedy footing, we might hear from England within two months. Nearly £15,000 has been already subscribed, and the work of collection still goes on: the newspapers are flattering the rich[290] baboos, and dependent and independent Rajahs, and some have given their thousands.

All three Residencies are excited about steam navigation once again. I think there's a good chance of success if all the funds are allocated to support the Bombay plan, which could establish communication in fifty days. If the overland mail from Bombay was made faster, we might hear from England within two months. Nearly £15,000 has already been raised, and fundraising is still ongoing: the newspapers are praising the wealthy baboos and both dependent and independent Rajahs, and some have donated thousands.

The interference with the Company’s charter, that people in England may drink their tea cheaper, which result, however, appears doubtful, and that the surplus population may come out to colonize, and cholerize, has done the Service no benefit. Economy is still the rage, and we of the present day have nothing to look to but the pension from our Civil Annuity Fund, after twenty-two years’ actual residence, of £1000, for which we are to pay one-half, or 50,000 rupees, when we can hoard up as much. The generality of men’s lives after twenty-two years’ residence, and twenty-five of service, three years of these being allowed for furlough, which few are able to take, is scarcely worth five years’ purchase. Numbers, of course, do not live out their time; and if they have subscribed for twenty-one years and eleven months, the whole goes to the fund, principal and interest.

The interference with the Company’s charter, so that people in England might pay less for their tea, seems questionable, and the idea that the extra population can come over to colonize and get sick hasn’t benefited the Service at all. Saving money is still the trend, and we in this day and age have nothing to rely on except for our pension from the Civil Annuity Fund after twenty-two years of actual residence, which is £1000, for which we have to pay half, or 50,000 rupees, when we can save up that much. The average life of a person after twenty-two years of residence and twenty-five years of service, with three of those years allowed for leave that few can actually take, is hardly worth five years’ worth of investment. Many, of course, don’t last that long; if they have contributed for twenty-one years and eleven months, the entire amount, both principal and interest, goes to the fund.

Nov. 3rd.—There are some most wondrous animals called Gungun Medha, or Bāghsira, the latter Hindoo word meaning tiger-headed, from the shape of the animal’s horrible head. I was told they could be dug out of the sands on the river-side. I therefore sent the jamadar and a cooly across the river this morning, and they brought back eight or nine of these beasts; their wings curl up in a most singular fashion, and make them appear as if they had four curly tails, all close together; their great jawbones are edged like a coarse saw. They are very fierce; they fight, kill each other, and the conqueror eats up his adversary. Their legs and wings are most remarkable. We put two under a wire dish-cover, and they fought fiercely, although, from having been dug up some hours, they were not as active as at first. They bite terribly; it is necessary to seize them by their backs like crabs to avoid a bite.

Nov. 3rd.—There are some amazing creatures called Gungun Medha, or Bāghsira, which means tiger-headed in Hindi, referring to the shape of the animal’s horrible head. I was told they could be dug out of the sand by the riverbank. So, I sent the jamadar and a coolie across the river this morning, and they came back with eight or nine of these beasts. Their wings curl up in a very unusual way, giving them the appearance of having four curly tails all close together; their large jawbones are serrated like a rough saw. They are extremely fierce; they fight, kill each other, and the winner eats the loser. Their legs and wings are quite remarkable. We put two under a wire dish cover, and they fought fiercely, although, after being dug up for several hours, they weren’t as energetic as before. They bite viciously; it’s important to grab them by their backs like crabs to avoid getting bitten.

I had some Sarāta lizards dug out of the sands near the Parade ground; they are not half as curious as these tiger-headed beasts, which are in thousands in the sandbanks, their holes six or seven feet deep. A Rajpūt Rana of high degree[291] has pitched his tents in Alopee Bāgh: nineteen guns were fired in honour of his arrival. This great man has a numerous retinue: to bathe at the sacred junction of the rivers has brought him to Prāg. I drove a young lady through his encampment the other evening; many of his people came out of their tents, and absolutely ran on by the side of our carriage, staring at us as if we were bāgh-siras (grylli monstrosi), or animals as wonderful.

I had some Sarāta lizards dug out of the sand near the Parade ground; they're not nearly as interesting as these tiger-headed creatures, which are everywhere in the sandbanks, their burrows six or seven feet deep. A high-ranking Rajput Rana has set up camp in Alopee Bāgh: nineteen guns were fired to honor his arrival. This important figure has a large entourage: coming to bathe at the sacred meeting point of the rivers has brought him to Prāg. The other evening, I drove a young lady through his camp; many of his people came out of their tents and actually ran alongside our carriage, staring at us as if we were bāgh-siras (grylli monstrosi), or extraordinary animals.

Their astonishment was great, occasioned most likely by the sight of unveiled ladies driving about. Passing through the encampment was a service of danger; it was difficult, in keeping clear of the teeth of the camels, not to run against a number of stalls where cakes and sugar were displayed for sale. No sight do I like better than a native encampment; the groups of strange-looking men, the Arab horses, the camels, elephants, and tents are charming. No country can furnish more or so many picturesque scenes as India.

Their astonishment was huge, probably because of the sight of unveiled women driving around. Passing through the camp was risky; it was hard to avoid the camels' teeth without bumping into several stalls selling cakes and sweets. I can't think of a better sight than a native encampment; the groups of unique-looking men, the Arabian horses, camels, elephants, and tents are delightful. No country can offer more or such vibrant scenes as India.

Dec. 5th.—People talk of wonderful storms of hail. I have just witnessed one so very severe, that had I not seen it, I think I should scarcely have believed it. At ten at night a storm, accompanied by thunder and lightning, came on; the hail fell as thick as flakes of snow,—I can scarcely call it hail, the pieces were ice-bolts. I brought in some which measured four inches and a half in circumference, and the ground was covered some inches deep; it appeared as if spread with a white sheet, when by the aid of the lightning one could see through the darkness around. The old peepul-tree groaned most bitterly, the glass windows were all broken, the tobacco-plants cut down, the great leaves from the young banyan-tree were cut off, and the small twigs from the mango and nīm trees covered the ground like a green carpet. It was a fearful storm. The next morning for miles round you saw the effect of the hail, and in the bazār at eight A.M. the children were playing marbles with the hailstones.

Dec. 5th.—People talk about amazing hailstorms. I just experienced one so intense that if I hadn't seen it, I would hardly believe it. At ten at night, a storm hit with thunder and lightning; the hail fell thick like snowflakes—I can barely call it hail, the chunks were like ice missiles. I brought some in that were four and a half inches in circumference, and the ground was covered several inches deep; it looked like a white sheet spread out, illuminated by the lightning in the darkness. The old peepul tree groaned painfully, every glass window was shattered, the tobacco plants were destroyed, big leaves from the young banyan tree were torn off, and small twigs from the mango and nīm trees littered the ground like a green carpet. It was a terrifying storm. The next morning, for miles around, you could see the damage from the hail, and in the bazaar at eight A.M., the kids were playing marbles with the hailstones.

31st.—I trust we have now become acclimated, for we have nearly passed through this year,—the most fruitful in illness and[292] death I recollect, both among civilians and soldiers,—without much sickness. I have had fever and ague. My husband has suffered from acute rheumatism, and the little pet terrier, Fury, has been delicate, but we are all now re-established. I am on horseback every morning rejoicing in the cold breezes, feeling as strong and full of spirit as the long-tailed grey that carries me; and Fury is chasing squirrels and ferrets, and putting the farm-yard to the rout.

31st.—I hope we’ve now gotten used to things, as we’ve almost made it through this year—the most challenging in terms of illness and[292] death I can remember, both for civilians and soldiers—without too much sickness. I’ve had fever and chills. My husband has been dealing with severe rheumatism, and our little dog, Fury, hasn't been well, but we’re all back on our feet now. I ride every morning, enjoying the chilly breezes, feeling as strong and energetic as the long-tailed grey horse I ride; and Fury is out chasing squirrels and ferrets, causing chaos in the barnyard.


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CHAPTER XXVI.
THE MUHARRAM.

‎‏ بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم‏‎

‎‏ Bismillah (In the name of God)‏‎

1834, May 19th.—The Imāms the Leaders of the Faithful—The Muharram—The Procession—The Banners—The Band—The Sword-bearer—The Mourners—Dhul Dhul—The Reader—The Fakīr—The Taziya—Tomb of Kasim—Palkī and Trays of Mehndi—Charkh-charkhī Wālā—The Bihīshtī—Camels—Elephants and Charity—The Chameleon—The Ghirgit—An Alligator—The Tiger on his travels—A well-educated Snake—Indian Fevers—Depression of Spirit.

1834, May 19th.—The Imāms, the Leaders of the Faithful—The Muharram—The Procession—The Banners—The Band—The Sword-bearer—The Mourners—Dhul Dhul—The Reader—The Fakīr—The Taziya—Tomb of Kasim—Palkī and Trays of Mehndi—Charkh-charkhī Wālā—The Bihīshtī—Camels—Elephants and Charity—The Chameleon—The Ghirgit—An Alligator—The Tiger on his travels—A well-educated Snake—Indian Fevers—Depression of Spirit.

“BISM ILLAH UR RAHMAN UR RAHĪM.”
“IN THE NAME OF GOD, THE COMPASSIONATE, THE MERCIFUL.”

“BISM ILLAH UR RAHMAN UR RAHĪM.”
“IN THE NAME OF GOD, THE COMPASSIONATE, THE MERCIFUL.”

This is written at the commencement of all Persian books and writings; but at the top of the first page of every letter, purwanah, or short writing, they almost invariably put only ا the letter A or alif, which is a symbol of God, and is considered an abbreviation of the whole sentence above. Alif is the first letter in the Arabic and Persian alphabets, and in the representation of numbers it stands for one; whence it is also used as a symbol of the Deity; it signifies moreover the first day in the week, or Sunday; and in astronomical descriptions, the sign Taurus of the zodiac.

This is typically found at the beginning of all Persian books and writings; however, on the first page of every letter, purwanah, or short writing, they almost always just write ا the letter A or alif, which symbolizes God and is seen as a shorthand for the whole sentence above. Alif is the first letter in both the Arabic and Persian alphabets, and in numerical representation, it stands for one; thus, it is also a symbol of the Deity. Additionally, it represents the first day of the week, or Sunday, and in astronomy, the sign Taurus in the zodiac.

THE IMĀMS THE LEADERS OF THE FAITHFUL.

Muhammad, the founder of the system of religion which is named after him, descended from the tribe of Koreish, and the family of Hashem, the most illustrious of the Arabs. He was[294] the grandson of Abdalmotalleb, and the son of Abdallah and Amina. He was born at Mecca, four months after the death of Justinian. He was educated by his uncle, Abutalib, as a merchant, his grandfather, father, and mother having died during his infancy. In his twenty-fifth year he married a wealthy widow, Khudaijah Koobia; and, in the fortieth year of his age, he assumed the title of Prophet, and promulgated the religion of Islam; which asserts, “There is no god but God, and Muhammad is the prophet of God.” In the same year, he lost his uncle Abutalib, and his wife Khudaijah, and for this reason that year was called the year of mourning. The prophet fled with his friend Abubekr from Mecca to Medina, to escape from the violence of the Koreishites, who sought his life: this flight fixed the era of the Hegira. After an exile of seven years, Muhammad achieved the conquest of Mecca: he was acknowledged prince and prophet by the Koreish, who embraced Islam, and the idols in the Caaba were destroyed. In the seventh year of the Hegira, Muhammad began to propagate his religion beyond the boundaries of Arabia; and the last great act of his life was a pilgrimage to Mecca, accompanied by his wives, and also by numerous camels for sacrifice.

Muhammad, the founder of the religion named after him, came from the tribe of Koreish and the family of Hashem, the most prominent among the Arabs. He was[294] the grandson of Abdalmotalleb and the son of Abdallah and Amina. He was born in Mecca, four months after the death of Justinian. He was raised by his uncle, Abutalib, as a merchant, since his grandfather, father, and mother had all died during his childhood. At twenty-five, he married a wealthy widow named Khudaijah Koobia, and at the age of forty, he took the title of Prophet and introduced the religion of Islam, which proclaims, “There is no god but God, and Muhammad is the prophet of God.” That same year, he lost his uncle Abutalib and his wife Khudaijah, which is why that year was referred to as the year of mourning. To escape the Koreishites who wanted to kill him, the prophet fled from Mecca to Medina with his friend Abubekr; this journey marks the start of the Hegira. After seven years of exile, Muhammad conquered Mecca, where he was recognized as both prince and prophet by the Koreish, who accepted Islam, and the idols in the Caaba were destroyed. In the seventh year of the Hegira, Muhammad began to spread his religion beyond Arabia’s borders, and the final significant event of his life was a pilgrimage to Mecca, joined by his wives and many camels for sacrifice.

The Imàms the Leaders of the Faithful.

The Imams are the Leaders of the Faithful.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

فاني باركس

He died at the age of sixty-three, and a most interesting account of his last illness and death has been given by his favourite wife Aa’yeshah, the daughter of his friend Abubekr: this lady was the first veiled female; and by her he had two sons, Ishmael and Ibrahim. He was interred at Medina. The prophet had eighteen wives, one of whom was Hafna, the daughter of his friend and companion Omer.

He died at the age of sixty-three, and a fascinating account of his final illness and death has been provided by his favorite wife Aa’yeshah, the daughter of his friend Abubekr. This woman was the first veiled female, and he had two sons with her, Ishmael and Ibrahim. He was buried in Medina. The prophet had eighteen wives, one of whom was Hafna, the daughter of his friend and companion Omer.

Fátímah, the daughter of Muhammad and Khudaijah Koobia, married Ali, the nephew of the prophet and the son of his uncle Abutalib.

Fátímah, the daughter of Muhammad and Khudaijah Koobia, married Ali, the prophet's nephew and the son of his uncle Abutalib.

Fátímah and Ali were the parents of Hussun and Hussein, the first martyrs, from whom the Syuds descend.

Fátímah and Ali were the parents of Hussun and Hussein, the first martyrs, from whom the Syuds are descended.

Hussun married Ashea, by whom he had a son Kasim, who married Sakeena Koobraah, the daughter of his brother Hussein.

Hussun married Ashea, and together they had a son named Kasim, who married Sakeena Koobraah, the daughter of his brother Hussein.

Hussein had another child, a son, who was saved at the battle of Kraabaallah; Abbas was the brother of Hussun and Hussein.

Hussein had another child, a son, who was saved at the battle of Kraabaallah; Abbas was the brother of Hussun and Hussein.

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Muhammad was succeeded in the regal and sacerdotal office by his friend and convert Abubekr; who, after a reign of two years, was followed by Omer: the latter, after an interval of twelve years, was succeeded by Othman, the secretary of Muhammad, and twenty-four years after the death of the Prophet, Ali became the Imām.

Muhammad was succeeded in both the leadership and religious roles by his friend and follower Abubekr; who, after a two-year tenure, was succeeded by Omer. Omer, after twelve years, was followed by Othman, who had been Muhammad's secretary, and then, twenty-four years after the Prophet's death, Ali became the Imam.

After the death of Muhammad, his followers divided into two great factions; the one acknowledged Abubekr, the father-in-law of the prophet, as his successor, and were denominated Soonees; the other adhered to Ali, the son-in-law of Muhammad, and were known by the title of the Sheas, who look up to the Imāms as the leaders of the faithful. The Caliphas are the leaders of the Soonees, who slew Imām Ali, and the descendants of the prophet: in Hindostan the Soonees are as ten to one Shea; in Arabia Proper Sheas are not tolerated.

After Muhammad's death, his followers split into two main groups: one group accepted Abubekr, the prophet's father-in-law, as his successor and were called Sunnis; the other group supported Ali, Muhammad's son-in-law, and were known as Shias, who regard the Imams as the rightful leaders of the faithful. The Caliphs are the leaders of the Sunnis, who killed Imam Ali and the descendants of the prophet. In India, Sunnis outnumber Shias by about ten to one; in Arabia, Shias are not accepted.

THE MUHARRAM.

1834, May 19th.—The mourning festival of the Muhammadans in remembrance of their first martyrs, Hussun and Hussein, lasts ten days; on the last day the Taziya, the model of the tomb of Hussein, is interred.

1834, May 19th.—The mourning festival of the Muslims to remember their first martyrs, Hussun and Hussein, lasts ten days; on the final day, the Taziya, which is a replica of Hussein's tomb, is buried.

Yuzeed, a Soonee, the king of Shawm, had a quarrel respecting the succession with the Syuds, the descendants of Muhammad. Ali, the husband of Fátíma, was first murdered by him. He left two sons, Hussun and Hussein. Hussun, his wife Ashea, and his nurse, Be Halima, were poisoned.

Yuzeed, a Sunni, the king of Shawm, had a dispute over the succession with the Syuds, the descendants of Muhammad. Ali, the husband of Fatima, was killed by him first. He had two sons, Hussun and Hussein. Hussun, along with his wife Ashea and his nurse Be Halima, were poisoned.

To discover the state of affairs at Shawm, Hussein first sent his cousin Moslem, who, with his two sons, quitted Medina for that purpose. He, as well as his sons, were seized and put to death. This event is commemorated with deep sorrow during the mourning festival. Hussein, ignorant of the fate of Moslem, was proceeding from Medina to Shawm, in the hope of being proclaimed the “Imām, the leader of the faithful.” He was accompanied by all his family; on the road on the plains of Kraabaallah, they were attacked: they defended themselves with the utmost bravery, until every man found his grave upon the spot. This event occurred on the tenth day of the Arabian[296] month Muharram. The females and one infant son were taken prisoners and conveyed to Shawm, the residence of Yuzeed, the king. Kasim, the son of Hussun and Ashea, was engaged to Sakeena Koobraah, his cousin, the daughter of Hussein. Hence the night of the Mehndi and the wedding procession of the Muharram.

To find out what was happening in Shawm, Hussein first sent his cousin Moslem, who, along with his two sons, left Medina for that reason. He and his sons were captured and killed. This event is remembered with great sadness during the mourning festival. Hussein, unaware of Moslem's fate, was on his way from Medina to Shawm, hoping to be recognized as the "Imām, the leader of the faithful." He was traveling with his entire family; on the plains of Kraabaallah, they were attacked: they fought back with incredible bravery until every man fell there. This happened on the tenth day of the Arabian month of Muharram. The women and one infant son were taken captive and brought to Shawm, the residence of Yuzeed, the king. Kasim, the son of Hussun and Ashea, was engaged to Sakeena Koobraah, his cousin and the daughter of Hussein. Thus, the night of the Mehndi and the wedding procession of Muharram began.

The ceremony takes place annually on the first day of the moon (Muharram). Their year has twelve moons only, and they do not add a moon every third year, as some persons suppose.

The ceremony happens every year on the first day of the moon (Muharram). Their calendar has twelve moons only, and they don't add an extra month every third year, as some people think.

The Imām-bara is expressly built for commemorating the Muharram. In this building the Taziya is placed facing Mecca, with the banners, the sword, the shield, and the bow and arrows supposed to have been used in the battle of Kraabaallah. The most magnificent Taziyas remain in the Imām-bara. The less costly, which are used in the processions on the tenth day, are buried, with funeral rites, in cemeteries named Kraabaallah.

The Imām-bara is specifically built for commemorating Muharram. In this building, the Taziya is placed facing Mecca, along with the banners, the sword, the shield, and the bow and arrows believed to have been used in the battle of Karbala. The most impressive Taziyas are kept in the Imām-bara. The less expensive ones, which are used in the processions on the tenth day, are buried with funeral rites in cemeteries called Karbala.

Although the Taziya, the model of their Imām’s tomb, at Kraabaallah belongs, by right, only to the Sheas, it is remarkable that many Soonees have Taziyas, and also some Hindoos. My cook, who was a Mug, used to expend sometimes as much as forty rupees on a Taziya of his own; and after having performed all the ceremonies like a good Musulmān, returned to his original Hindooism, when he had placed his Taziya in the burial-ground, accompanied by rice, corn, flowers, cups of water, &c.

Although the Taziya, the model of their Imām’s tomb, in Kraabaallah rightfully belongs only to the Sheas, it's interesting that many Soonees have Taziyas, and even some Hindus do too. My cook, who was a Mug, sometimes spent as much as forty rupees on a Taziya of his own; and after completing all the ceremonies like a good Muslim, he would return to his original Hinduism once he placed his Taziya in the burial ground, along with rice, corn, flowers, cups of water, etc.

But little or no attention is paid to the models of the Taziya: they are of different forms, and of every variety of material, according to the wealth of the person who sets up this remembrance of Hussein. On the Taziya is placed a small portion of corn, rice, bread, fruits, flowers, and cups of water; this is in accordance with the Musulmān funerals, at which food is invariably conveyed to the tomb with the corpse.

But very little attention is paid to the models of the Taziya: they come in different shapes and various materials, depending on the wealth of the person who creates this tribute to Hussein. A small amount of corn, rice, bread, fruits, flowers, and cups of water are placed on the Taziya; this follows the Muslim funerals, where food is always brought to the grave along with the body.

The Taziya displayed by the king of Oude during the Muharram is composed of green glass, with or-molu or brass mouldings. Some are of ivory, ebony, sandal-wood, cedar, &c.,[297] or of wrought filligree silver: those for the poor are of coloured talc.

The Taziya shown by the king of Oude during Muharram is made of green glass, with gold or brass decorations. Some are made of ivory, ebony, sandalwood, cedar, etc.,[297] or of ornate filigree silver; those for the poor are made of colored talc.

In front of the Taziya two standards are erected, between which are laid strings of the fresh flowers of the sweet-scented bela (jasmine); and a chaunrī, made of the tail of the yāk, fixed in a silver handle, is used to fan away the flies.

In front of the Taziya, two flags are set up, and between them are strings of fresh, fragrant jasmine flowers; a chaunrī, made from the tail of a yak and attached to a silver handle, is used to fan away the flies.

When the Taziya is placed in the Imām-bara, the face is turned to Mecca. The institution of carrying the Taziya in procession first took place in the A.H. 352, at Bagdad, under Noez-od-Dowla Dhelmé, and is never omitted in Persia.

When the Taziya is set up in the Imām-bara, it faces Mecca. The tradition of carrying the Taziya in procession started in A.H. 352, in Baghdad, during Noez-od-Dowla Dhelmé, and is always observed in Persia.

Hussein, on his favourite horse Dhul Dhul, was pierced by arrows without number; the animal shared the same fate, and the Soonee Musulmāns were the extirpators of all the race of Hussein, the son of Ali, with the exception of one infant son and the females of the family. This is the cause of the battles that so often take place between the Sheas and the Soonees (whom the former regard as an accursed race) at the annual celebration of the Muharram.

Hussein, riding his favorite horse Dhul Dhul, was pierced by countless arrows; the horse met the same fate. The Sunni Muslims sought to wipe out all of Hussein's lineage, the son of Ali, except for one infant son and the female members of the family. This is the reason for the frequent battles between the Shia and the Sunnis (whom the Shia consider a cursed group) during the annual observance of Muharram.

The usual arrangement of the procession is as follows:—In the order of march the elephants first appear, on which men are seated, displaying the consecrated banners, crowned by the spread hand. The banners are of silk, embroidered in gold or silver. The spread hand on the top of them represents five: Muhammad, Fátíma, Ali, Hussun, Hussein; the three fingers, the Caliphas Omer, Osmun, and Abubekr. The Soonees favour the latter; the Sheas uphold Imām Ali. The ends of the banners are fringed with bullion, and they are tied with cords of gold. Then follows the band, which is always in attendance, and is composed of Arab music only.

The usual arrangement of the procession is as follows: In the order of march, the elephants first appear, carrying seated individuals who display the consecrated banners, topped with the spread hand. The banners are made of silk, embroidered with gold or silver. The spread hand at the top represents five: Muhammad, Fátíma, Ali, Hussun, Hussein; the three fingers represent the Caliphs Omer, Osmun, and Abubekr. The Soonees prefer the latter, while the Sheas support Imām Ali. The ends of the banners are fringed with bullion, and they are tied with gold cords. Next comes the band, which is always present and composed solely of Arab music.

The jilādār or sword-bearer carries a pole, from which two naked swords, each tipped with a lemon, are suspended from a bow reversed. The arrows are fixed in the centre. The sword-bearer is generally dressed in green, the mourning colour of the Syuds. The standard-bearers and a band of musicians attend him, carrying the banner of Hussun and Hussein.

The jilādār or sword-bearer carries a pole, from which two bare swords, each topped with a lemon, hang from an inverted bow. The arrows are secured in the center. The sword-bearer is usually dressed in green, the mourning color of the Syuds. Accompanying him are the standard-bearers and a group of musicians, who carry the banner of Hussun and Hussein.

Some men, the mourners of the procession, bear long black[298] poles, on which are fixed very long streamers of black unspun silk, which are intended to represent grief and despair.

Some men in the procession, the mourners, carry long black[298] poles with very long streamers of black unspun silk attached to them, meant to symbolize grief and despair.

The horse Dhul Dhul next appears: in the procession he sometimes bears a Taziya, at other times he is caparisoned as if in readiness for his master. After the Muharram, the animal and all its attire are given to a poor Syud; the bloody horse-cloth and the legs stained red, are supposed to represent the sufferings of the animal. The tail and mane are dyed with mehndi or lakh dye. The horse is attended by a man carrying the afthaadah, which is a sun embroidered on crimson velvet, affixed to the end of a long staff, and carried in an elevated position, in order to shelter a man of rank on horseback from the rays of the sun. Men with chaunrīs attend to whisk away the flies from the horse: assa burdars, men with long silver sticks, and sonta burdars, with short silver tiger-headed staffs, walk at the side, and harkāras (running footmen) are in attendance. An embroidered chatr (umbrella) is supported over the head of the horse.

The horse Dhul Dhul next appears: in the procession, he sometimes carries a Taziya, and other times he's dressed up as if ready for his master. After Muharram, the horse and all its gear are given to a poor Syud; the bloody horse blanket and its red-stained legs are meant to symbolize the animal's suffering. The tail and mane are dyed with mehndi or lakh dye. A man carries the afthaadah, which is a sun embroidered on crimson velvet, attached to the end of a long staff, held high to shield a person of importance on horseback from the sun's rays. Men with chaunrīs are there to swat away flies from the horse; assa burdars, who carry long silver sticks, and sonta burdars, with short silver tiger-headed staffs, walk alongside, while harkāras (running footmen) keep pace. An embroidered chatr (umbrella) is held over the horse's head.

In the cavalcade is a chaunter or reader; he repeats affecting passages descriptive of the death of Hussein, during which time the procession halts for a few minutes, whilst the Musulmāns give way to the most frantic expressions of grief, beating their breasts with violence, throwing dust upon their heads, and exclaiming “Hussun! Hussein! Hussun! Hussein!”

In the parade, there's a singer or speaker; he recites emotional passages about Hussein's death, during which the procession stops for a few minutes as the Muslims express their deep sorrow, beating their chests hard, throwing dust on their heads, and shouting, “Hussun! Hussein! Hussun! Hussein!”

The Paīk, a Fakīr, is a remarkable person, wearing the bow, arrows, sword, pankhā, and chaunrī of the martyred Imām. Some men in the procession carry censers, suspended by chains, which they wave about, and perfume the air with the incense of a sweet-scented resin; rose-water, for sprinkling, is also carried in long-necked bottles, called gulāb-pash.

The Paīk, a Fakīr, is an extraordinary individual, adorned with a bow, arrows, sword, pankhā, and chaunrī of the martyred Imām. Some men in the procession carry censers hanging from chains, which they wave around, filling the air with the fragrance of sweet-scented resin incense; rose water, for sprinkling, is also carried in long-necked bottles known as gulāb-pash.

Then follows the Taziya, attended by its proprietor, his relatives, and friends; it is surrounded by banners, and covered by a canopy upheld by poles supported by men.

Then comes the Taziya, attended by its owner, his family, and friends; it is surrounded by banners and covered by a canopy held up by poles supported by men.

A Taziya of shields and swords, each tipped with a lemon or an orange, is carried in procession, and on it are suspended written petitions to Hussun and Hussein, and it is adorned with strings of freshly-gathered jasmine flowers.

A Taziya made of shields and swords, each topped with a lemon or an orange, is carried in a procession, with written petitions to Hussun and Hussein hanging from it, and it's decorated with strings of freshly picked jasmine flowers.

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The model of the tomb of Kasim is the next object; it is covered with gold brocade, and a canopy is supported over it, the poles carried by men. The palkee of his bride, Sakeena Koobar, follows the tomb; and her chandol, a sort of palanquin.

The model of Kasim's tomb is the next item; it's covered in gold brocade, and a canopy is held above it, with poles carried by men. The palanquin of his bride, Sakeena Koobar, follows the tomb, along with her chandol, which is a type of palanquin.

Then follow trays of mehndi, carried on the heads of men, with presents, &c., such as are usually sent during the marriage ceremony, with flowers of ubruk.

Then come trays of mehndi, balanced on the heads of men, along with gifts, etc., typically sent during the wedding ceremony, accompanied by flowers of ubruk.

The charkh-charkhī wālās are numerous; the charkhī is composed of ebony or any hard wood, about the size of a cricket-ball, divided in halves. Each man has a pair; they are beaten in a particular manner on the flat surface, so as to produce the sound of horses galloping; and where some fifty or one hundred men are engaged in the performance the imitation is excellent.

The charkh-charkhī players are many; the charkhī is made of ebony or another hard wood, about the size of a cricket ball, split in half. Each person has a pair; they strike them in a specific way on the flat surface to create the sound of horses galloping. When around fifty to a hundred people are participating, the imitation is outstanding.

The females during the battle were perishing of thirst; Abbas, the brother of Hussein, and his standard-bearer, made great efforts to procure water for them, in doing which the former was severely wounded.

The women during the battle were dying of thirst; Abbas, Hussein's brother, and his standard-bearer worked tirelessly to get water for them, during which the former was badly injured.

Hence the bihishtī with his mashk; and, in remembrance of this event, sherbets are also distributed gratis, in red earthen cups, from temporary sheds; abdār khanas, as they call them by the road-side. The awnings of these sheds are reared on poles, and they are lighted by lamps made of ubruk, or of the skeleton leaves of the peepul-tree. The bihishtī bears the standard of Hussun and Hussein.

Hence the heavenly being with his water jug; and, in memory of this event, free sherbets are also served in red clay cups from temporary stalls, known as abdār khanas, along the roadside. The canopies of these stalls are set up on poles, and they are illuminated by lamps made of glass or the delicate leaves of the peepul tree. The heavenly being carries the banner of Hussun and Hussein.

The camels carrying the tent equipage and luggage of Hussein represent the style of his march from Medina to Kraabaallah. Sometimes, in pictures, a small Taziya is drawn on the back of a camel, and the animal is represented as issuing from a rocky pass.

The camels carrying the tent gear and luggage of Hussein show how he traveled from Medina to Kraabaallah. Sometimes, in pictures, a small Taziya is depicted on the back of a camel, and the camel is illustrated as coming out of a rocky pass.

Barkandāz attend, and fire their matchlocks singly and at intervals during the march.

Barkandāz pay attention and fire their matchlocks one by one and at intervals while on the march.

Great sums are expended in charity during this mourning festival, and food is always distributed by the richer Taziyadars during the ten days.

Large amounts are spent on charity during this mourning festival, and food is consistently given out by the wealthier Taziyadars throughout the ten days.

The procession is closed by several elephants, and men seated upon them distribute food and money to the poor.

The procession ends with several elephants, and the men sitting on them hand out food and money to the poor.

Natives of all ranks, from the highest to the lowest, walk on[300] the tenth day with their heads uncovered, and without slippers, to the Kraabaallah, whatever may be the distance; and they fast until the third watch has passed, refraining from the hooqŭ, or from drinking water. At the Kraabaallah the funeral ceremony is performed, and the Taziya is committed to the grave with a solemnity equal to that which is observed when their dead are deposited in the tomb. The native ladies within the walls of the zenāna keep the fast with the greatest strictness, and observe all the ceremonies of the Muharram.

Natives of all ranks, from the highest to the lowest, walk on[300] the tenth day with their heads uncovered and without shoes, to the Kraabaallah, no matter how far away it is; they fast until the third watch has passed, avoiding the hooqŭ, or drinking water. At the Kraabaallah, the funeral ceremony is held, and the Taziya is laid to rest with a solemnity equal to that observed when their dead are buried in the tomb. The native ladies within the walls of the zenāna fast with the utmost strictness and observe all the rituals of the Muharram.

A religious man will neither ride nor wear shoes during the Muharram; and a pious Musulmān will neither eat nor drink out of a silver or a gold vessel.

A religious person will neither ride nor wear shoes during Muharram; and a devout Muslim will neither eat nor drink from a silver or gold vessel.

“That person who shall drink out of a silver cup or cup of gold, you may say drinks a draught of hell-fire.” Muhammud said, “Do not wear silk clothes nor satin, nor drink out of gold or silver vessels, nor eat out of golden dishes; because these are for the infidels in the world, and for you in futurity.”

“Anyone who drinks from a silver or gold cup is basically drinking a taste of hellfire.” Muhammad said, “Don’t wear silk or satin clothes, nor drink from gold or silver containers, nor eat from gold dishes; these are for non-believers in this world and for you in the afterlife.”

The lamps, which are made of ubruk (talc), or of the skeleton leaves of the peepul-tree, and lighted up in the houses of the faithful at this time, are beautifully made.

The lamps, made of ubruk (talc) or the skeleton leaves of the peepul tree, and lit in the homes of the faithful during this time, are beautifully crafted.

One day, on entering the verandah, my darzee (tailor), a Musulmān of the Shea sect, was sitting on the ground, holding a ghirgit (the scaly lizard, a sort of chameleon,) in one hand, while he beat it with a twig, exclaiming with each stroke he gave the poor little beast, “Ever to be accursed, and never sufficiently to be beaten!” The man was very unwilling to give up his captive, or to desist from putting it to torture; the creature was changing colour at every stroke. I made him release it, and asked him why he had beaten and cursed it so vehemently? The man replied, “Blessed be the spider! ever to be accursed, and never sufficiently to be beaten be the ghirgit! When the Imām, on whom be blessings, hid himself in a well from his pursuers, the spider weaved his web across the mouth of the well, to hide him from his enemies; the ghirgit,—the prying, inquisitive beast!—the ghirgit went to the well, he peered over, he stretched his neck this way, he stretched his neck that way (here he imitated the curious motion of the head[301] natural to the animal); the pursuers were attracted, they observed the ghirgit looking over the well; they imitated his example, they discovered the Imām, they murdered him! Ever to be accursed, never sufficiently to be beaten be the ghirgit!”

One day, as I walked onto the porch, my tailor, a Muslim from the Shia sect, was sitting on the ground, holding a chameleon in one hand while beating it with a stick. With each hit he gave the poor little creature, he exclaimed, “Forever to be cursed, and never enough to be beaten!” He was very reluctant to let go of his captive or to stop torturing it; the creature was changing color with every blow. I made him free it and asked him why he had been so harsh and cruel. He replied, “Blessed be the spider! Forever to be cursed, and never enough to be beaten be the chameleon! When the Imam, peace be upon him, hid in a well from his pursuers, the spider wove its web across the well's opening to hide him from his enemies. The chameleon—the nosy, curious creature!—went to the well, peered over it, stretching its neck this way, then that way (here he mimicked the curious head motion natural to the animal); the pursuers were drawn in, noticing the chameleon looking into the well; they followed its example, found the Imam, and killed him! Forever to be cursed, and never enough to be beaten be the chameleon!”

Mohammud ordered a chameleon to be killed, and said, “it was a chameleon which blew the fire into which Nimrod threw Abraham.” “Whoever shall kill a chameleon at one stroke shall have one hundred good acts written for him; and whoever kills one at two strokes shall have less than one hundred good deeds written for him; and whoever shall kill one by three strokes shall have less written for him than the second.”

Mohammud ordered that a chameleon be killed and said, “It was a chameleon that blew the fire into which Nimrod threw Abraham.” “Whoever kills a chameleon in one stroke will have a hundred good deeds recorded for him; and whoever kills one in two strokes will have fewer than a hundred good deeds recorded for him; and whoever kills one in three strokes will have even fewer recorded than the second.”

His Highness forbade the killing of four animals, the ant (before stinging), the bee, the woodpecker, the starling. It is criminal in a Shea, and indeed with Soonees, to kill pigeons, though they are recommended to eat them!

His Highness banned the killing of four animals: the ant (before it stings), the bee, the woodpecker, and the starling. It's considered a crime among Sheas, and even with Soonees, to kill pigeons, even though they are suggested for eating!

An alligator, seven feet in length, was caught in the Jumna, below our house, a few days ago; I had it prepared with arsenical soap, stuffed, and set out in the verandah, where it grins in hideous beauty, nailed down upon the carpenter’s large table, where it will remain until it stiffens into proper form.

An alligator, seven feet long, was caught in the Jumna below our house a few days ago. I had it prepared with arsenical soap, stuffed, and placed out on the porch, where it now shows off its grotesque beauty, nailed down on the carpenter’s large table, where it will stay until it hardens into the right shape.

My cabinet of curiosities and fondness of horrors ensured many a strange present from absent friends. A small military party were dispatched to capture a mud fort; on reaching the spot no enemy was to be discovered; they entered with all due precaution against ambush; an enormous tiger in a cage was the sole occupant. The tiger was sent down per boat to me,—the first prize of the campaign; on my refusal to accept the animal, he was forwarded to the accoutrement-maker of the officer, in Calcutta, in liquidation of his account! The tiger was sold at length to an American captain for 250 rupees, which just or very nearly paid the expenses of boat-hire, servants, meat, &c., contracted on his the tiger’s account. Such changes in his way of life must have puzzled his philosophy; the capture, the Ganges, and sea voyage ending in North America, will give him a queer idea of the best of all possible worlds; but he well deserves it, being a cruel, treacherous, bloodthirsty brute.

My collection of oddities and love for horror led to many strange gifts from friends far away. A small military group was sent to seize a mud fort; when they arrived, they found no enemy in sight. They entered cautiously, ready for an ambush, only to discover an enormous tiger in a cage, the only occupant. The tiger was shipped to me by boat—the first prize of the campaign—but when I declined to accept the animal, he was sent on to the officer's outfitter in Calcutta to settle the account! Eventually, the tiger was sold to an American captain for 250 rupees, which nearly covered the expenses for the boat ride, staff, food, and so on, charged to the tiger's account. Such drastic changes in his lifestyle must have baffled his understanding; the capture, the trip down the Ganges, and the sea journey ending in North America would give him a strange idea of the best possible world. But he deserves it, being a cruel, treacherous, bloodthirsty beast.

My eccentric friend also wrote to say he had at length[302] procured for me an offering after my own heart, an enormous boa constrictor, perfectly tame, so domestic and sweet tempered, that at meals it would cross the room, displaying, as it advanced with undulating motion, its bright-striped and spotted skin, until, having gained your chair, it would coil its mazy folds around you, and tenderly putting its head over your shoulder, eat from your hand!

My quirky friend also wrote to say that he finally[302] found me a gift that I would love: a huge boa constrictor, completely tame, so friendly and gentle, that during meals it would glide across the room, showing off its brightly striped and spotted skin, until it reached your chair, coiling its winding body around you, and gently putting its head over your shoulder to eat from your hand!

I was greatly tempted to accept this unique offering. They tell us mankind have a natural antipathy to a snake; an antipathy I never shared. I have killed them as venomous reptiles, but have a great fancy for them as beautiful ones. No child dislikes snakes until it is taught to fear them.

I was really tempted to accept this unique offer. They say that people have a natural dislike for snakes; a dislike I never felt. I have killed them as dangerous reptiles, but I really admire them as beautiful creatures. No child dislikes snakes until they're taught to be afraid of them.

Those Indian fevers! the state to which a man is reduced may be gathered by the following note: “I never could have believed that lowness of temperament would have afflicted me with such mental suffering as the doctor has just brought on me: I wander about in this beautiful clear air and sunshine perfectly disgusted with life. Will the spring of my spirits return? for they are just now in their December. When happy, I seldom write to any one; when doleful, I become communicative. I hope you like to hear from even your selfish friends, and I have not a soul with whom to exchange an idea; consider that I am English, and may hang myself from the pankhā! Man certainly is a gregarious animal, and I could wish just now to be put into a large flock, even with the chance of being killed off every Monday.”

Those Indian fevers! The state to which a person is reduced can be summed up by this note: “I never thought that feeling low could cause me such mental suffering as the doctor has just made me endure: I wander around in this beautiful clear air and sunshine completely disgusted with life. Will my spirits ever recover? Because right now they are in their winter. When I'm happy, I seldom write to anyone; when I'm down, I become more communicative. I hope you don’t mind hearing from your selfish friends, and I have no one to share a thought with; remember, I’m English, and I might hang myself from the fan! Humans are definitely social creatures, and right now, I would love to be part of a big group, even with the risk of getting picked off every Monday.”

“My only portion of the rose is the thorn[114].”

“My only share of the rose is the thorn[114].”

June 1st.—I have scarcely energy enough to write; an easterly wind renders the tattīs useless; the thermometer at 93°! The damp air renders me so heavy and listless, it is an exertion either to eat or drink, and it is almost impossible to sleep, on account of the heat. At 7 P.M. I take a drive through the burning air, and come in parched and faint, eager for the only comfort during the twenty-four hours, a glass of English home-made black-currant wine, well iced, in a tumbler of well iced soda water; the greatest luxury imaginable.

June 1st.—I barely have the energy to write; an easterly wind makes the fans useless; the thermometer is at 93°! The humid air makes me feel so heavy and sluggish that it's a struggle to eat or drink, and sleeping is nearly impossible because of the heat. At 7 P.M., I take a drive through the sweltering air, and come back feeling parched and faint, craving the only comfort I get in a 24-hour period: a glass of homemade black-currant wine from England, well chilled, mixed with iced soda water; the greatest luxury I can imagine.

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[303]

I have not heard from home for six months, heart-sick with hope deferred. These tardy ships! Will the steam communication ever be established?

I haven't heard from home in six months, feeling heartbroken with hope postponed. These slow ships! Will we ever get steam communication set up?

“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine, but a broken spirit drieth the bones.”

“A cheerful heart is good like medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.”

“I could lie down like a tired child,
And weep away this life of care,
Which I have borne, and still must bear.”

When shall I feel energy enough to mount my horse again? for three months I have been unable to ride. Nothing is going forward, stupid as possible, shut up all day, languid and weary: this India is a vile country!

When will I have enough energy to ride my horse again? I haven't been able to ride for three months. Nothing is happening, it feels so dull, stuck inside all day, tired and drained: this place in India is terrible!

“The heart knoweth its own sorrows, and no man interfereth with its joys.”

“The heart knows its own sorrows, and no one interferes with its joys.”

Woe is me that I sojourn in this land of pestilence, that I dwell afar from the home of my fathers!

Woe is me that I stay in this land of sickness, that I live far from the home of my ancestors!


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CHAPTER XXVII.
THE BRAHMIN THREAD.

The Janao—The Fakīr—The Fair—Pooja of the Cow—Cusa Grass—The Flying Fox—Air Plants—Musk Deer—Nāg-panchamī—The Snake—The Pinnace—City of Allahabad—The Pillar in the Fort—Sealing-wax—Butea Frondosa—The Dewālī—The Bower—Climbers and Creepers—The Humming Birds—The Pellet Bow—White Ants—Chintz—The Horseradish Tree—The Ichneumon—The Garden—The Bouquet—Cold Mornings for Hunting—The Moustache.

The Janao—The Fakīr—The Fair—Pooja of the Cow—Cusa Grass—The Flying Fox—Air Plants—Musk Deer—Nāg-panchamī—The Snake—The Pinnace—City of Allahabad—The Pillar in the Fort—Sealing-wax—Butea Frondosa—The Dewālī—The Bower—Climbers and Creepers—The Humming Birds—The Pellet Bow—White Ants—Chintz—The Horseradish Tree—The Ichneumon—The Garden—The Bouquet—Cold Mornings for Hunting—The Moustache.

1834, June.—This morning I was on the sofa, fancying myself not quite well, when Ram Din came in with a Brahmanical thread; as soon as I had any thing to amuse me, all my illness vanished; the history thereof is as follows:—The name in common use for what we call the sacred thread is janao; it is not confined merely to Brahmans, for in the Veda called Bhagavat, which relates to Krishnŭ, it is allowed to be worn by three out of the four great tribes into which the Hindoos are divided. The three privileged tribes are the Brahmans, the Chuttri or Rajpūt, and the Khuttri or Vaisya. However, many others now wear the sacred thread who by the Vedas have no right to do so. The janao must be made by the hands of a Brahman; it is worn one month, and then either thrown into the Ganges, or hung upon the sacred peepul-tree, when a fresh one is made. After six years old, a boy may receive the janao, from which time he must observe all the rules respecting eating and drinking, according to the custom of his tribe.

1834, June.—This morning I was on the sofa, thinking I wasn’t feeling well, when Ram Din came in with a sacred thread; as soon as I had something to entertain me, all my sickness disappeared. Here’s the story: The common name for what we call the sacred thread is janao; it’s not limited to just Brahmans, because in the Veda called Bhagavat, which talks about Krishna, it’s permitted for three out of the four major tribes of Hindus. The three tribes that are allowed to wear it are the Brahmans, the Chuttri or Rajput, and the Khuttri or Vaisya. However, many others now wear the sacred thread even though they don’t have the right to do so according to the Vedas. The janao has to be made by a Brahman; it’s worn for a month, and then either thrown into the Ganges or hung on the sacred peepul tree when a new one is made. After a boy turns six, he can receive the janao, and from that moment he has to follow all the eating and drinking rules according to his tribe's customs.

The janao is composed of three threads, each measuring, as the Hindoos say, four less than one hundred—that is, ninety-six—hāt:[305] one hāt is the length measured twice round the breadth of the hand, or one cubit. These three threads are twisted together, and folded into three, then twisted again, making it to consist of nine threads; these are again folded into three, without twisting, and each end fastened with a knot.

The janao is made up of three threads, each measuring, as the Hindus say, four less than one hundred—that is, ninety-six—hāt:[305] one hāt is the length measured twice around the width of the hand, or one cubit. These three threads are twisted together and folded into three, then twisted again, resulting in nine threads; these are then folded into three again, without twisting, and each end is tied with a knot.

It is put over the left shoulder next the skin, and hangs down the right thigh as far as the fingers can reach; two of these threads are worn by a Brahman. After a certain age, if a boy be not invested with the janao, he becomes an outcast.

It is worn over the left shoulder next to the skin and hangs down the right thigh as far as the fingers can reach; a Brahman wears two of these threads. After a certain age, if a boy is not given the janao, he becomes an outcast.

There are four great tribes amongst the Hindoos, which are subdivided into innumerable classes; in the second tribe there are, they say, upwards of five hundred subdivisions!

There are four major tribes among the Hindus, which are divided into countless classes; in the second tribe, there are said to be over five hundred subdivisions!

1st tribe, Brahmans or priests; however, many Brahmans are not priests.

1st tribe: Brahmans or priests; however, many Brahmans aren't priests.

2nd tribe, Chuttri,—Rajpūts, Rajahs, and warriors.

2nd tribe, Chuttri—Rajputs, Kings, and warriors.

3rd tribe, Vaisya or merchants,—artizans, cultivators, &c.

3rd tribe, Vaisya or merchants—artisans, farmers, etc.

4th tribe, called Soodra,—mechanics, artizans, and labourers: the natural duty of the Soodra is servitude.

4th tribe, called Soodra—mechanics, artisans, and laborers: the natural role of the Soodra is to serve.

Ram Din tells me he more especially worships Krishnŭ: he also makes pooja to Radha, also to Rām; the former the love, the second the warrior god and brother of Krishnŭ. On his forehead, as the mark of his worship, he paints three perpendicular lines, the centre of white, the two others of red clay. Ram Din is of the second tribe, a Rajpūt.

Ram Din tells me he primarily worships Krishna; he also performs rituals for Radha and Rama. Radha represents love, while Rama is the warrior god and Krishna's brother. On his forehead, as a sign of his devotion, he paints three vertical lines: the middle one is white, and the two on the sides are red clay. Ram Din belongs to the second tribe, a Rajput.

It is scarcely possible to write, the natives are making such a noise overhead, repairing the flat roof of the house, which is made of flag-stones, supported by large beams of wood; over that brick-dust and lime, mixed with water, is laid a foot in depth, which they are now beating down with little wooden mallets, holding one in each hand.

It’s almost impossible to write right now because the locals are making such a racket up on the roof, fixing the flat top of the house, which is made of flagstones supported by big wooden beams. On top of that, there’s a foot-deep layer of brick dust and lime mixed with water that they’re currently pounding down using little wooden mallets, one in each hand.

“The sight of a beggar is a request personified[115].” On the plain near the fort, just before you come to the Mahratta Bund, a fakīr had taken up his abode, where abode there was none. Ascetics of the orthodox sect, in the last stage of exaltation, put aside clothing altogether. This man’s only garment was a chatr[306] (an umbrella made of basket-work), his long hair, matted with cow-dung and ashes, hung in stiff, straight locks nearly to his waist; his body was smeared all over with ashes; he was always on the same spot, sitting doubled up on the ground, and when suffering from illness, a bit of tattered blanket was thrown over his shoulders.

“The sight of a beggar is a request personified[115].” On the plain near the fort, just before you reach the Mahratta Bund, a fakir had made his home where there was none. Ascetics from the orthodox sect, in their final stage of elevation, completely forgo clothing. This man's only garment was a chatr[306] (an umbrella made of woven material); his long hair, matted with cow dung and ashes, hung stiff and straight nearly to his waist; his body was covered in ashes; he was always in the same spot, sitting hunched on the ground, and when he was ill, a tattered blanket was draped over his shoulders.

Night and day the fakīr was to be seen, a solitary wretched being, scarcely human in appearance. The passers-by threw cowries and grains of boiled rice to him; sometimes a woman would come and kindle a few bits of charcoal, and then quit him; the hot winds, the rains, the bitter frosty nights of the cold weather, were unheeded; nothing appeared to disturb the devotee. Was his frame insensible to the power of the elements? When I first saw him he had occupied that spot for twelve years, and I know he never quitted it for five years afterwards, until he was consigned to the Ganges on his decease. One night, some thieves demanded rupees of the holy man; he pleaded poverty. “I have killed such a poor man as you, and have got nine mŭns of fat out of him[116],” said one of the fellows. They beat and tortured the poor wretch until he revealed his secret hoards: he showed them a spot on the plain; they dug up some ghāras (coarse earthen vessels), which contained two thousand rupees! Content with their plunder, they quitted the holy man. The next morning he went to the General Commandant of the garrison, and told his tale, ending by producing seven hundred rupees, which the thieves had not discovered, and requesting the General to place it in security for him! His request having been granted, the fakīr returned to the plain, where he and his chatr remained until his spirit was summoned to the presence of Yamu, the judge of the dead. The police did not molest him in the out-of-the-way spot he had chosen for his retreat; they would not have allowed him to roam about the station.

Night and day, the fakir could be seen, a lone and miserable figure, hardly human in appearance. People passing by tossed cowrie shells and bits of boiled rice at him; sometimes a woman would come and light a few pieces of charcoal and then leave him. The hot winds, the rain, and the bitterly cold nights didn't seem to bother him; nothing appeared to shake the devotee’s focus. Was his body indifferent to the power of the elements? When I first saw him, he had been in that spot for twelve years, and I know he stayed there for five more years after that, until he was laid to rest in the Ganges upon his death. One night, some thieves demanded money from the holy man, but he claimed he was poor. “I’ve killed someone as poor as you and got nine müns of fat from him,” one of the thieves sneered. They beat and tortured the poor man until he revealed his hidden stash: he pointed to a spot on the ground; they dug up some ghāras (coarse earthen pots), which contained two thousand rupees! Satisfied with their loot, they left the holy man alone. The next morning, he went to the General Commandant of the garrison and recounted his story, finishing by revealing seven hundred rupees that the thieves hadn’t found, asking the General to keep it safe for him! His request was granted, and the fakir returned to the plain, where he and his chatr remained until his spirit was called to the presence of Yamu, the judge of the dead. The police didn’t disturb him in the secluded spot he had chosen for his retreat; they wouldn’t have let him wander around the station.

Speaking of this fakīr reminds me I forgot to mention, that, when I visited the fair early in February last, I rode there before sunrise, and was greatly amused. Hundreds of Hindoos[307] were undergoing penance, not for their sins, but for copper coins; some were lying on their backs upon thorns, each with a child upon his breast, asking charity; one man was standing upon one leg, in meditation; he began his penance at sunrise, and ended it at sunset.

Talking about this fakir reminds me that I forgot to mention that when I visited the fair early last February, I rode there before sunrise and found it quite entertaining. Hundreds of Hindus[307] were performing penance, not for their sins, but for copper coins; some were lying on their backs on thorns, each with a child on their chest, begging for alms; one man was standing on one leg, meditating; he started his penance at sunrise and finished it at sunset.

We rode down to the water’s edge, and saw the Hindoos doing pooja to living cows. One man, the shawl over whose shoulders was tied to the end of the chādar, worn over the head by a woman, came to a cow, the woman following him; he took hold of the cow’s tail in his hand, holding in it at the same time the sacred cusa-grass; the woman did the same; the Brahman muttered a prayer, which the man repeated; he then, followed by the woman, walked round the cow many times turning to the left, which having done a certain number of times, he whispered into the cow’s right ear; the woman came to the same ear, and also whispered to the cow; which ceremony being accomplished, they were sent into the river to bathe at the junction. The rites I witnessed, are, I believe, a portion of the marriage ceremonies of the Hindūs. The cusa-grass is the poa cynosurides; almost every poem in Sanscrit contains allusions to the holiness of this grass. Some of the leaves taper to a most acute point; it is an Hindoo saying, speaking of a very sharp-minded man, “his intellects are as acute as the point of a cusa leaf.”

We rode down to the water’s edge and saw the Hindus performing pooja for living cows. One man, whose shawl was tied to the end of the chadar worn over a woman's head, approached a cow, followed by the woman. He grabbed the cow’s tail in one hand while holding sacred cusa-grass in the other; the woman did the same. The Brahman chanted a prayer that the man repeated. Then, followed by the woman, he walked around the cow several times, turning to the left. After doing this a specific number of times, he whispered into the cow’s right ear. The woman also came to that ear and whispered to the cow as well. Once that ceremony was complete, they went into the river to bathe at the confluence. The rites I witnessed are, I believe, part of the marriage ceremonies of the Hindus. The cusa-grass is poa cynosuroides; almost every poem in Sanskrit includes references to the holiness of this grass. Some of the leaves taper to a very sharp point; there’s a Hindu saying about a very sharp-minded person, “his intellect is as sharp as the point of a cusa leaf.”

Some of the marble images at the fair were very fine ones; the price demanded was three hundred rupees, or £30 a-piece.

Some of the marble sculptures at the fair were really impressive; the asking price was three hundred rupees, or £30 each.

I received a present this morning of a flying fox, an enormous bat with leathern wings; I had previously thought such creatures were mere fables; the one presented to me is a prepared specimen. The next day, I sent some sipahīs to shoot flying foxes; they found a number in a large tree, and killed two of them; they are such savage, but intelligent-looking animals, curious and wonderful, but disgusting creatures.

I got a gift this morning of a flying fox, a huge bat with leathery wings; I had previously believed such creatures were just tales; the one I received is a preserved specimen. The next day, I sent some soldiers to catch flying foxes; they spotted several in a big tree and killed two of them; they are savage yet smart-looking animals, fascinating and amazing, but also pretty gross.

During the cold weather I gathered a handful of a very sweet-smelling air-plant on the Mahratta Bund; taking it home, I threw it on the top of a biar-tree (zizyphus jujuba) to see if it would really grow in the air; it died away, as I thought, and I forgot it; the other day, by chance, glancing at the biar-tree, I[308] saw my air-plant in high beauty, covering about two yards of the top of the tree, and hanging in long light green strings, like sea-weed, down towards the ground. The natives call it amur bel, the undying climber, and ākās bel, air creeper; the flowers are white, small, bell-shaped, and five-cleft; the plant leafless; the running stalks greenish yellow, shining, and spreading over the top of a tree like a sheet thrown over it; the scent very fragrant. The ākās nīm is a parasite, growing on nīm-trees: the ākās pussun is the cuscuta reflexa, dodder, or air-plant.

During the cold weather, I collected a handful of a very fragrant air plant from the Mahratta Bund. When I got home, I tossed it on top of a biar tree (zizyphus jujuba) to see if it could actually grow in the air. I thought it had died and forgot about it. The other day, purely by chance, I glanced at the biar tree and saw my air plant in full bloom, covering about two yards of the tree’s top and hanging down in long light green strands, like seaweed. The locals call it amur bel, the undying climber, and ākās bel, air creeper. Its flowers are small, white, bell-shaped, and have five lobes; the plant has no leaves. The greenish-yellow stems shine and spread over the tree top like a sheet draped over it, giving off a very pleasant fragrance. The ākās nīm is a parasite that grows on nīm trees, while the ākās pussun is the cuscuta reflexa, dodder, or air plant.

Last month we were unlucky in the farm-yard; forty-seven fat sheep and well-fatted lambs died of small-pox; a very great loss, as to fatten sheep on gram for two or three years makes them very expensive; it is remarkable that none of the goats, although living in the same house, were attacked.

Last month we had bad luck on the farm; forty-seven fat sheep and well-fed lambs died from smallpox; it was a huge loss since fattening sheep on grain for two or three years makes them quite expensive. It’s interesting that none of the goats, even though they lived in the same barn, got infected.

This morning three musk-deer, prepared and stuffed, were shown to me; they are a present for Runjeet Singh, and are now en route from Nepal. The men had also a number of musk-bags for the Lion of the Punjab. The hair of the musk-deer is curious stuff, like hog’s bristles; and their two tusks are like those of the walrus. Buffon gives an admirable description of this animal. Some time ago a musk-bag was given me as a curiosity; the scent is extremely powerful. The musk-deer is rare and very valuable.

This morning, I was shown three musk deer that had been prepared and stuffed; they’re a gift for Runjeet Singh and are currently on their way from Nepal. The men also had several musk bags for the Lion of the Punjab. The musk deer’s hair is strange, similar to hog’s bristles, and their two tusks resemble those of a walrus. Buffon provides an excellent description of this animal. Not long ago, I received a musk bag as a curiosity; the scent is incredibly strong. The musk deer is rare and highly valuable.

Aug. 9th.—This is a holiday, the nāg-panchamī, on which day the Hindūs worship a snake, to procure blessings on their children; of course, none of the carpenters or the other workmen have made their appearance. The other day, a gentleman, who is staying with us, went into his bathing-room to take a bath; the evening was very dark, and, as he lifted a ghāra (an earthen vessel), to pour the water over his head, he heard a hissing sound among the waterpots, and, calling for a light, saw a great cobra de capello. “Look at that snake!” said he to his bearer, in a tone of surprise. “Yes, sāhib,” replied the Hindoo, with the utmost apathy, “he has been there a great many days, and gives us much trouble!”

Aug. 9th.—Today is a holiday, nāg-panchamī, when Hindus worship a snake to ask for blessings on their children; naturally, none of the carpenters or other workers have shown up. The other day, a gentleman who’s staying with us went into his bathroom for a bath; it was very dark in the evening, and as he lifted a ghāra (an earthen vessel) to pour water over his head, he heard a hissing sound among the water pots. Calling for a light, he saw a large cobra. “Look at that snake!” he said to his bearer, surprised. “Yes, sāhib,” replied the Hindu, completely indifferent, “he has been here for many days and gives us a lot of trouble!”

Sept. 11th.—We purchased a very fine pinnace, that an officer had brought up the river, and named her the Seagull. She is as[309] large as a very good yacht; it will be pleasant to visit those ghāts on the Ganges and Jumna, during the cold weather, that are under the sāhib’s control. The vessel is a fine one, and the natives say, “She goes before the wind like an arrow from a bow.”

Sept. 11th.—We bought a really nice small boat that an officer brought up the river and named her the Seagull. She's about the size of a great yacht; it'll be enjoyable to visit those ghāts on the Ganges and Jumna during the cool weather that are under the sāhib’s control. The boat is impressive, and the locals say, “She sails with the wind like an arrow from a bow.”

The city of Allahabad, considered as a native one, is handsome: there are but few pukka houses. The rich merchants in the East make no display, and generally live under bamboo and straw. The roads through the city are very good, with rows of fine trees on each side; the drives around are numerous and excellent. There is also a very handsome sarā’e (caravansary), and a bā’olī, a large well, worthy a visit. The tomb and garden of Sultan Khusrau are fine; a description of them will be given hereafter. The fort was built by Akbar in 1581, at the junction of the Ganges and Jumna. Within the fort, near the principal gateway, an enormous pillar is prostrate; the unknown characters inscribed upon it are a marvel and a mystery to the learned, who as yet have been unable to translate them. The bazār at Allahabad is famous for old coins.

The city of Allahabad, known as a local gem, is quite attractive: there are only a few solid houses. The wealthy merchants in the East don’t show off their wealth and mostly live in bamboo and straw structures. The roads in the city are very good, lined with beautiful trees on either side; the surrounding drives are numerous and excellent. There’s also a lovely sarā’e (caravansary) and a bā’olī, a large well, which are definitely worth visiting. The tomb and garden of Sultan Khusrau are impressive; a description of them will be provided later. The fort was built by Akbar in 1581 at the meeting point of the Ganges and Jumna rivers. Inside the fort, near the main entrance, there’s a massive fallen pillar; the unknown inscriptions on it fascinate and baffle scholars, who have yet to translate them. The bazār in Allahabad is famous for its old coins.

Having been requested to contribute to a fancy fair for charitable purposes, I had some sealing-wax made in the verandah, under my own eye; the lākh was brought to me in little cakes from the bazār, enclosed in leaves of the palās or dhāk (butea frondosa), fastened together with wooden pins like long thorns. Many articles are wrapped up in this way in lieu of using paper; and packets of the leaves freshly gathered are to be seen in the shops ready for use. The lākh is the produce of an insect (chermes lacca), in which its eggs are deposited; it is found on the dhāk, the peepul, the banyan, and the biar, as well as on several other trees. The wood and leaves of the dhāk are used in religious ceremonies; the bark is given with ginger in snake bites, and the calyx of the fruit is made into jelly, which has a pleasant acid taste. When the bark is wounded a red juice issues, which soon hardens into a ruby-coloured, brittle, astringent gum; a solution of it in water is of a deep red colour; the addition of a little sal martis changes it into a good durable ink. An infusion of the flowers dyes cotton, which has been steeped previously in a solution of alum, a[310] beautiful bright yellow; a little alkali added changes it to a deep reddish orange. The flowers are papilionaceous, of a deep red, shaded orange and silver, and very numerous. Another species, a large twining shrub, is the butea superba. The leaves are large and fine, and give beautiful impressions when taken off with the preparation of lamp-black and oil. The Chupra lākh is the best for sealing-wax, to which we merely added the colouring. It is very hard and brittle, and will not melt with the heat of the climate. The seal of a letter, stamped on English wax, in which there is always a large portion of resin, often arrives merely one lump of wax, the crest, or whatever impression may have been on the seal, totally obliterated; and the adhering of one seal to another en route is often the cause that letters are torn open ere they reach their destination.

Having been asked to contribute to a fancy fair for charity, I had some sealing wax made on the veranda, under my own supervision; the lākh was brought to me in small cakes from the market, wrapped in leaves from the palās or dhāk (butea frondosa), held together with wooden pins that look like long thorns. Many items are packaged this way instead of using paper, and you can find fresh bundles of leaves in shops ready for use. The lākh comes from an insect (chermes lacca), where its eggs are laid; it's found on the dhāk, peepul, banyan, and biar trees, among others. The wood and leaves of the dhāk are used in religious ceremonies; the bark is given with ginger for snake bites, and the calyx of the fruit is made into jelly that has a nice tangy taste. When the bark is cut, a red juice comes out, which quickly hardens into a red, brittle, astringent gum; when dissolved in water, it turns deep red; adding a bit of sal martis turns it into a good, durable ink. An infusion of the flowers dyes cotton that has been previously soaked in an alum solution a beautiful bright yellow; adding a bit of alkali changes it to a deep reddish orange. The flowers are butterfly-like, deep red with shades of orange and silver, and are very abundant. Another type, a large climbing shrub, is the butea superba. The leaves are large and fine, leaving beautiful impressions when taken with a mix of lamp-black and oil. Chupra lākh is the best for sealing wax, to which we just added color. It’s very hard and brittle, and won't melt in the heat. A letter sealed with English wax, which always contains a significant amount of resin, often arrives as just a lump of wax, with the crest or any impression from the seal completely lost; sometimes, one seal sticking to another in transit causes letters to be torn open before reaching their destination.

Ainslie mentions, “Scarlet was, till of late years, produced exclusively with the colouring matter of the cochineal insect; but it would appear that a more beautiful and lasting colour can be obtained by using the lākh insect.”

Ainslie says, “Scarlet was, until recently, made solely from the coloring of the cochineal insect; but it seems that a more beautiful and lasting color can be achieved by using the lākh insect.”

Oct. 7th.—Yesterday being the Hindoo festival of the Dewalī, a great illumination was made for my amusement; our house, the gardens, the well, the pinnace on the river below the bank of the garden, the old peepul-tree, and my bower, were lighted up with hundreds of little lamps. My bower on the banks of the Jumna-jee, which is quite as beautiful as the “bower of roses by Bendameer’s stream,” must be described.

Oct. 7th.—Yesterday was the Hindu festival of Diwali, and they put on a spectacular display of lights for my enjoyment. Our house, the gardens, the well, the boat on the river below the garden, the old peepul tree, and my gazebo were all illuminated with hundreds of tiny lamps. My gazebo by the banks of the Yamuna, which is just as lovely as the "bower of roses by Bendameer's stream," definitely deserves a description.

It was canopied by the most luxuriant creepers and climbers of all sorts. The ishk-pechā, the “Twinings of Love[117],” overspread it in profusion; as the slender stems catch upon each other, and twine over an arbour, the leaves, falling back, lie over one another en masse, spreading over a broad surface in the manner in which the feathers of the tail of a peacock spread over one another, and trail upon the ground; the ruby red and starlike flowers start from amidst the rich green of its delicate leaves as bright as sunshine. This climber, the most beautiful and luxuriant imaginable, bears also the name of kamalāta, “Love’s[311] Creeper.” Some have flowers of snowy hue, with a delicate fragrance; and one, breathing after sunset, the odour of cloves!

It was covered by the most vibrant vines and climbing plants of all kinds. The ishk-pechā, the “Twinings of Love,” spread over it abundantly; as the slender stems catch onto each other and twist over an arbour, the leaves fall back and layer over one another en masse, spreading across a wide area like the feathers of a peacock’s tail that overlap and trail on the ground. The ruby red and star-like flowers emerge from the rich green of its delicate leaves, shining bright like sunlight. This climber, the most beautiful and lush you can imagine, is also called kamalāta, “Love’s Creeper.” Some have flowers that are snowy white with a delicate scent, and one releases the sweet aroma of cloves after sunset!

The doodēya[118], so called because it gives forth a milky juice, also denominated chābuk churree, from the resemblance of its long slender shoots to a whip, displayed over the bower its beautiful and bell-shaped flowers; it also bears the name of swallow-wort, from the fancied resemblance of its seed-vessels to a swallow flying.

The doodēya[118], named for its milky juice, also called chābuk churree because its long, slender shoots look like a whip, showcased its beautiful, bell-shaped flowers in the bower. It's also known as swallow-wort because its seed pods are thought to resemble a flying swallow.

In wondrous profusion, the gāo-pāt, the elephant climber, spread its enormous leaves over the bower; the under part of the leaf is white, and soft as velvet; the natives say it is like the tongue of a cow, whence it derives its name gāo-pāt[119]. In the early morning, or at sunset, it was delightful to watch the humming-birds as they fluttered over and dived into its bell-shaped flowers, seeking nectar; or to see them glancing over the crimson stars of the ishk-pechā. The bower was the favourite resort of the most beautiful butterflies,—those insect queens of Eastern Spring,—not only for the sake of the climbers, but for the blossoms of the Lucerne grass that grew around the spot. Observing one day there were but few butterflies, I asked the reason of the jāmadār? he replied, “The want of rain has killed the flowers, and the death of the flowers has killed the butterflies.”

In beautiful abundance, the gāo-pāt, the elephant climber, spread its huge leaves over the shelter; the underside of the leaf is white and as soft as velvet. The locals say it resembles a cow's tongue, which is how it got its name gāo-pāt[119]. In the early morning or at sunset, it was a pleasure to watch the hummingbirds flit around and dive into its bell-shaped flowers, searching for nectar, or to see them darting around the crimson stars of the ishk-pechā. The shelter was the favorite hangout for the most stunning butterflies—those insect queens of Eastern Spring—not just because of the climbers but also for the blossoms of the Lucerne grass growing nearby. Noticing one day that there were few butterflies, I asked the jāmadār why. He replied, “The lack of rain has killed the flowers, and the death of the flowers has killed the butterflies.”

From the topmost branches of the surrounding trees, the moon-flower[120] hung its chaste and delicate blossoms, drooping and apparently withered; but as the night came on they raised their languid heads, and bloomed in beauty.

From the highest branches of the surrounding trees, the moonflower[120] hung its pure and delicate blossoms, drooping and looking lifeless; but as night fell, they lifted their tired heads and bloomed beautifully.

“The Nymphæa[121] dwells in the water, and the moon in the sky, but he that resides in the heart of another is always present with him[122].” The Nymphæa expands its flowers in the night, and thence is feigned to be in love with the moon. The water-lily[312] as it floats on the stream, luxuriating in the warmth of the moonbeams, has a powerful rival in the burā luta, the beautiful moon-flower, whose luxuriant blossoms of snowy whiteness expand during the night.

“The Nymphæa dwells in the water, and the moon in the sky, but the one who resides in another's heart is always with them.” The Nymphæa opens its flowers at night, and so it's said to be in love with the moon. The water-lily[312] floats on the stream, basking in the warmth of the moonlight, but it has a strong rival in the burā luta, the beautiful moon-flower, whose lush white blossoms bloom at night.

The sorrowful nyctanthes, the harsingahar, is it not also a lover of the moon, its flowers expanding, and pouring forth fragrance only in the night? Gay and beautiful climber, whence your name of arbor tristis? Is it because you blossom but to die? With the first beams of the rising sun your night flowers are shed upon the earth to wither and decay.

The sorrowful nyctanthes, the harsingahar, isn’t it also a lover of the moon, its flowers blooming and releasing their fragrance only at night? Cheerful and beautiful climber, where does your name of arbor tristis come from? Is it because you bloom just to die? With the first light of the rising sun, your night flowers fall to the ground to wither and fade.

The flowers of the harsingahar, which are luxuriously abundant, are collected by perfumers and dyers; the orange-coloured stem of the white corolla is the part used by the latter. The flowers are sold in the bazār, at one and a half or two rupees the sēr. It is one of the most beautiful climbers I have seen.

The flowers of the harsingahar, which grow in rich abundance, are gathered by perfumers and dyers; the orange-colored stem of the white corolla is what the dyers use. The flowers are sold in the market for one and a half to two rupees per sēr. It's one of the most beautiful climbing plants I've ever seen.

My humming-birds were sacred; no one dared molest them, not even a rover with a pellet-bow was allowed a shot at my favourites.

My hummingbirds were sacred; no one dared to disturb them, not even a traveler with a pellet bow was allowed to take a shot at my favorites.

Speaking of a pellet-bow, I have seen small birds and butterflies shot with it. One day a gentleman, seeing a pigeon flying across the garden, just above my spaniel’s head, brought it down with a pellet. The dog looked up, opened his mouth, and caught the stunned bird as it fell upon him. Ever afterwards, he was constantly in the garden watching the pigeons with his mouth wide open, expecting they also would fall into it!

Speaking of a pellet bow, I've seen small birds and butterflies shot with it. One day, a guy saw a pigeon flying across the garden, just above my spaniel’s head, and brought it down with a pellet. The dog looked up, opened his mouth, and caught the stunned bird as it fell onto him. From then on, he was always in the garden watching the pigeons with his mouth wide open, expecting they would fall into it too!

The bower, which was supported on bamboo posts, was constantly falling in from the havoc occasioned by the white ants. I sent for a hackery (cart) load of the flower-stems of the aloe, and substituted the stems for the bamboos: in consequence, the white ants gave up the work of destruction, having an antipathy to the bitterness of the aloe. It is said the aloe flowers only once in a century; what may be its vagaries in a colder climate I know not; the hedges here are full of the plant, which flowers annually.

The bower, propped up on bamboo posts, was constantly collapsing due to the damage caused by the white ants. I ordered a cartload of aloe flower stems and replaced the bamboos with them. As a result, the white ants stopped their destruction because they dislike the bitterness of the aloe. It's said that aloe only blooms once every hundred years; I’m not sure how it behaves in a colder climate, but the hedges here are full of the plant, which flowers every year.

I wish I had tried the teeth of the white ants by putting up[313] pillars of stone. An orthodox method of killing these little underminers is by strewing sugar on the places frequented by them: the large black ants, the sworn enemies of the white ants, being attracted by the sugar, quickly appear, and destroy the white ones. The white ants are sappers and miners; they will come up through the floor into the foot of a wardrobe, make their way through the centre of it into the drawers, and feast on the contents. I once opened a wardrobe which had been filled with tablecloths and napkins: no outward sign of mischief was there; but the linen was one mass of dirt, and utterly destroyed. The most remarkable thing is, the little beasts always move under cover, and form for themselves a hollow way, through which they move unseen, and do their work of destruction at leisure. The hollow way they form is not unlike pipe maccaroni in size, and its colour is that of mud. I never saw them in Calcutta; up the country they are a perfect nuisance. The queen ant is a curious creature; one was shown me that had been dug out of an ants’ nest: it was nearly four inches long by two in width, and looked something like a bit of blubber. The white ants are the vilest little animals on the face of the earth; they eat their way through walls, through beams of wood, and are most marvellously troublesome. They attack the roots of trees and plants, and kill them in a day or two. To drive them away it is advisable to have the plants watered with hing (assafœtida) steeped in water. If a box be allowed to stand a week upon the floor without being moved, it is likely at the end of that time, when you take it up, the bottom may fall out, destroyed by the white ants. Carpets, mats, chintz, such as we put on the floors, all share, more or less, the same fate. I never saw a white ant until I came to India. They resemble the little white maggots in a cheese, with a black dot for a head, and a pair of pincers fixed upon it.

I wish I had tried to deal with the white ants by setting up [313] stone pillars. A common way to get rid of these pesky little critters is by spreading sugar where they usually hang out: the large black ants, who are fierce enemies of the white ants, are drawn to the sugar, show up quickly, and wipe out the white ones. The white ants act like sappers and miners; they can come up through the floor into the bottom of a wardrobe, travel through the center of it into the drawers, and feast on what’s inside. I once opened a wardrobe packed with tablecloths and napkins: there was no visible sign of trouble, but the linen was totally filthy and completely ruined. The most surprising thing is that these little pests always operate in secret, creating a hidden tunnel for themselves, allowing them to move unseen and work their destruction at their own pace. The tunnel they make is about the size of macaroni and looks like mud. I never saw them in Calcutta; in the countryside, they are a real nuisance. The queen ant is an odd creature; I once saw one that had been dug out of an ant nest: it was nearly four inches long and two inches wide, resembling a piece of blubber. White ants are the most despicable little creatures on the planet; they chew their way through walls, wooden beams, and are extraordinarily troublesome. They attack the roots of trees and plants, killing them in just a day or two. To drive them away, it's a good idea to water the plants with hing (assafœtida) steeped in water. If a box is left sitting on the floor for a week without being moved, you might find when you pick it up that the bottom has fallen out, destroyed by the white ants. Carpets, mats, and chintz that we put on the floors all suffer a similar fate. I never saw a white ant until I came to India. They look like little white maggots from cheese, with a black dot for a head and a pair of pincers attached to it.

The Calcutta matting is little used for rooms in the Upper Provinces, as it is soon destroyed by the ants; in lieu thereof, gaily-coloured chintz, manufactured by the natives after the patterns of Brussels carpets, is put down in the rooms, and gives them a handsome appearance, but it is not so cool as the[314] matting. A cloth (called sallam), dyed with indigo, ought to be put down under the chintz to keep off the white ants, which dislike the smell of the indigo.

The Calcutta matting is rarely used in rooms in the Upper Provinces because it's quickly ruined by ants. Instead, brightly colored chintz, made by local artisans based on Brussels carpet designs, is laid down in the rooms, giving them an attractive look, but it's not as cool as the [314] matting. A cloth (called sallam), dyed with indigo, should be placed underneath the chintz to deter the white ants, which dislike the smell of indigo.

The following passage, showing the ideas of the Muhammadans respecting ants, is remarkable:—

The following passage, which highlights the beliefs of Muslims about ants, is noteworthy:—

“An ant bit a prophet, and he ordered the ant-hill to be burnt, which was done. Then God sent a voice to the prophet, saying, ‘Have you burnt, on account of one biting you, a whole multitude of those that remembered God, and repeated his name?’”

“An ant bit a prophet, and he commanded that the ant hill be burned, which was done. Then God sent a voice to the prophet, saying, ‘Have you burned, because one bit you, a whole crowd of those who remembered God and praised His name?’”

By the side of the bower are two trees, the roots of which, dug up and scraped, have exactly the appearance and taste of horseradish, and are used on table for the same purpose. The tree grows very quickly; the flowers are elegant, but the wood is only useful for dying a blue colour: the sahjana, hyperanthera moringa, horseradish-tree.

By the side of the shelter, there are two trees whose roots, when dug up and scraped, look and taste just like horseradish, and are used at the table for the same reason. The tree grows very quickly; the flowers are beautiful, but the wood is only good for dyeing a blue color: the sahjana, hyperanthera moringa, horseradish tree.

The ichneumons, mungūs, or newalā, were numerous in the garden, lurking in the water-courses; they committed much havoc occasionally in the poultry-yard. A mungūs and a snake will often have a battle royal; if the mungūs be bitten, he will run off, eat a particular plant, and return to the charge. He is generally the conqueror. Never having seen this, I will not vouch for the fact; the natives declare it to be true. The name of the plant has escaped my memory. The newalā may be easily tamed if caught young: I never attempted to keep one in the house, on account of the dogs. The moon-flower is supposed to have virtue in snake bites. I know of no remedy but eau-de-luce applied internally and externally.

The ichneumons, mungūs, or newalā were common in the garden, hiding in the waterways; they often caused a lot of trouble in the poultry yard. A mungūs and a snake will frequently engage in a fierce battle; if the mungūs gets bitten, it will run off, eat a certain plant, and return to fight again. It usually comes out on top. I haven't seen this myself, so I can't guarantee it's true; the locals say it is. I can't remember the name of the plant. The newalā can be easily tamed if caught young: I never tried to keep one in the house because of the dogs. The moon-flower is thought to be effective for snake bites. I know of no remedy except eau-de-luce, used both internally and externally.

I must not quit the garden without mentioning my favourite plants. The kulga, amaranthus tricolor, a most beautiful species of sāg, bearing at the top a head or cluster of leaves of three colours, red, yellow, and green, which have the appearance of the flower: it is very ornamental, and used as spinach (sāg). If the head be broken off, similar clusters form below.

I can't leave the garden without mentioning my favorite plants. The kulga, amaranthus tricolor, is a stunning type of sāg, featuring a cluster of leaves at the top that showcases three colors: red, yellow, and green, resembling a flower. It's very decorative and used as spinach (sāg). If you break off the top cluster, new ones grow below.

There is another plant, amaranthus gangeticus (lal sāg), or red spinach, which is most excellent; when on table its ruby[315] colour is beautiful, and its agreeable acidity renders it preferable to any other kind of spinach.

There’s another plant, amaranthus gangeticus (lal sāg), or red spinach, which is excellent; when served, its ruby[315] color is beautiful, and its pleasant acidity makes it better than any other kind of spinach.

The koonch, or goonja (abrus precatorius), is an elegant little plant, of which there is only one species; the seeds, which are smooth, hard, and of a glowing scarlet colour, form the retti weight of the Hindostanī bazārs. The seeds are strung and worn as beads for ornament, and also as rosaries, hence the specific name precatorius.

The koonch, or goonja (abrus precatorius), is a delicate little plant, and there’s just one species. Its seeds are smooth, hard, and a bright scarlet color, making up the standard weight used in the markets of Hindostanī. The seeds are often strung together to be worn as beads for decoration and are also used as rosaries, which is why it has the specific name precatorius.

The rāmturáī, or binda (hibiscus longifolius), adorned the kitchen garden; its corolla is of a beautiful sulphur colour, the interior purple. The pods, when plain boiled, and eaten when quite hot, are excellent; the French use them in soups, and pickle them as capers.

The rāmturáī, or binda (hibiscus longifolius), decorated the kitchen garden; its petals are a lovely yellow color with a purple interior. The pods, when boiled plain and eaten hot, are great; the French use them in soups and pickle them like capers.

Perhaps a touch of superstition induced me to be careful of a very fine specimen of the salvia Bengalensis, which grew near the bower; or perhaps the well-known verse,

Perhaps a bit of superstition made me cautious about a really beautiful example of salvia Bengalensis that grew near the bower; or maybe it was the famous verse,

“Cur moriatur homo, cui salvia crescit in horto?”

showing the estimation in which it was held in former days, contributed to the care with which it was preserved. The gardener calls it sistee, perhaps a corruption of sage; and on account of the strong scent of its leaves, it is also called (velāitie kāfūr-ke-pāt), the leaf of the English camphor.

showing how it was valued in the past, contributed to the care with which it was preserved. The gardener calls it sistee, possibly a variation of sage; and because of the strong scent of its leaves, it’s also called (velāitie kāfūr-ke-pāt), the leaf of English camphor.

I had a curious plant, which I was told was an air-plant; the natives called it pēr-pāt, or rus-putta: if a leaf dropped on the ground, a little root would strike out on each side of it, and thus a fresh plant would be formed. I buried several leaves, and they took root in that manner. The botanical name of the plant is unknown to me.

I had a strange plant that I was told was an air plant; the locals called it pēr-pāt or rus-putta. If a leaf fell on the ground, little roots would grow out from each side, and a new plant would form. I buried several leaves, and they took root like that. I don't know the botanical name of the plant.

The hibiscus mutabilis flourished in great perfection: the flowers of this rose hibiscus change their hue in the course of a few hours.

The hibiscus mutabilis thrived beautifully: the flowers of this rose hibiscus change color within just a few hours.

The lajwantee, the sensitive plant, grew in profusion, covered with its tuft-like blossoms, and shrinking from the touch. Near it were some very fine specimens of Bourbon cotton, which flourished admirably; this gossypium differs from the herbaceum, because the down which lines the capsules which contain the[316] seeds is of a brown colour, whereas the down of the common cotton plant, grown in the fields in India, is beautifully white.

The lajwantee, or sensitive plant, thrived abundantly, adorned with its tuft-like flowers, and recoiled from touch. Close by were some excellent specimens of Bourbon cotton, which flourished wonderfully; this gossypium is different from the herbaceum because the fluff lining the capsules that hold the[316] seeds is brown, while the fluff of the common cotton plant, found in fields across India, is pure white.

A small quantity of the bhuta (zea mays) was in the garden: when the corn had formed, just before it hardened, whilst it was soft, and green, and milky, it was brought to table fried until brown, and eaten with pepper and salt; a most excellent vegetable. It is called common Indian corn; but it appears to me it was very little used for making bread in the Up Country, as I never saw any thing generally used but wheat for the unleavened cakes, which constitute the bread of the natives.

A small amount of corn (zea mays) was in the garden: when the corn was formed, just before it hardened while it was still soft, green, and milky, it was brought to the table fried until brown and eaten with pepper and salt; it was a fantastic vegetable. It’s called common Indian corn; however, it seemed to me that it was rarely used to make bread in the Up Country, as I never saw anything commonly used but wheat for the unleavened cakes that make up the bread of the locals.

We have the burā shim (dolichus), horse-eye bean; the pods are cut and dressed like French beans, but are inferior; the bean itself is large.

We have the burā shim (dolichus), also known as horse-eye bean; the pods are cut and prepared like French beans, but aren't as good; the bean itself is large.

The rut aloe (dioscorea sativa) was not only a most useful vegetable when potatoes were losing their excellence, but the beautiful leaves of this climber were in themselves an ornament. The roots grow to a great size; those the most valued for culinary purposes are a much smaller sort, which, when broken, are perfectly white and milk-like in appearance.

The rut aloe (dioscorea sativa) was not just a handy vegetable when potatoes were declining in quality, but the gorgeous leaves of this vine were also decorative. The roots can grow quite large; the ones most prized for cooking are a smaller variety that, when broken, are completely white and have a milk-like look.

Perhaps one of the best things in the garden was the patūā, the Indian hibiscus; the corolla is sulphur-coloured and reddish purple; the fruit, of a bright red colour, is excellent in tarts; and when made into a jelly, has something of the appearance and taste of fresh damson cheese; but the patūā jelly is transparent, and its hue brilliant. In the West Indies it is called red sorrel. The bark of the hibiscus cannabinus (hemp-leaved hibiscus), as well as that of the sabdariffa is made into cordage.

Perhaps one of the best things in the garden was the patūā, the Indian hibiscus; the petals are a yellowish color with reddish-purple accents; the fruit, which is bright red, is great in tarts; and when turned into jelly, it resembles both the look and taste of fresh damson cheese; however, the patūā jelly is clear, and its color is vibrant. In the West Indies, it’s known as red sorrel. The bark of the hibiscus cannabinus (hemp-leaved hibiscus) and that of the sabdariffa are used to make ropes.

Tambācu, Virginian tobacco (nicotiana tabacum), also flourished with us; but that for the hooqŭ was usually procured from Chunar, a place celebrated for the excellence of its tobacco.

Tambācu, Virginian tobacco (nicotiana tabacum), also thrived with us; however, the tobacco used for the hooqŭ was usually sourced from Chunar, a place known for its high-quality tobacco.

Every morning it is the custom of the Mālee (gardener) to appear at breakfast time to present a dālī (a basket of vegetables) and a bouquet of flowers. Amongst the latter many were novelties to an European.

Every morning, the Mālee (gardener) makes it a habit to show up at breakfast with a dālī (a basket of vegetables) and a bouquet of flowers. Many flowers in the bouquet were new and interesting to a European.

The āgāst (æschynomene grandiflora) was remarkable; the[317] corolla of a most brilliant rose colour; but on some of the trees the flowers were white.

The āgāst (æschynomene grandiflora) was impressive; the[317] petals were a vibrant rose color, but on some of the trees, the flowers were white.

The amultas (cassia fistula) was there, with its long, beautiful, pendant, yellow, and fragrant flowers. The tree is sometimes fifty feet in height, and remarkable for the fruit, which is a brownish-coloured pod, about the thickness of a thumb, and some two feet or more in length; it is divided into numerous cells, upwards of forty, each containing one smooth, oval, shining seed. This pod is called by the natives “Bunda-ke-lāt,” the monkey’s staff; the seeds are used medicinally, and the pods are for sale in every bazār.

The amultas (cassia fistula) stood there, with its long, beautiful, dangling, yellow, and fragrant flowers. The tree can reach up to fifty feet tall and is notable for its fruit, which is a brownish pod about the thickness of a thumb and can be over two feet long. It is divided into many compartments, totaling over forty, each holding a smooth, oval, shiny seed. Locally, this pod is called “Bunda-ke-lāt,” meaning the monkey’s staff; the seeds are used for medicinal purposes, and the pods are sold in every market.

One of the most beautiful of shrubs is the gooltura or gooliturah (Poinciana pulcherrima), fleur de Paradis; from the extreme beauty of this flower Burmann gave it the appellation of “crista pavonis flore elegantissimo variegato.”

One of the most beautiful shrubs is the gooltura or gooliturah (Poinciana pulcherrima), fleur de Paradis; due to the stunning beauty of this flower, Burmann named it “crista pavonis flore elegantissimo variegato.”

The pomegranate-tree, anār (punica granatum), was abundant; the following description gives a perfect idea of it:—

The pomegranate tree, anār (punica granatum), was plentiful; the following description provides a clear idea of it:—

“The finest fruit is brought from Persia and Cabul: there are two sorts, the sweet and acid pomegranate. Sherbet is made with the fruit; the tree is singularly beautiful, and much cultivated in India. The leaves are of a rich dark green, very glossy, and the tree is adorned at the same time with every variety of bud, bloom, and fruit, in the several stages of vegetation, from the first bud to the ripe fruit in rich luxuriance, and this in succession nearly throughout the year. The bright scarlet colour of the buds and blossoms, which seldom varies in its shade, contrasts beautifully with the glossy dark green of the foliage. There is a medicinal benefit to be derived from every part of this tree, from the root upwards, even to the falling blossoms, which are carefully collected. The rind of the fruit is dried and sold as a medicine, and each part of this tree possesses a distinct medicinal property. The pomegranate was introduced into India from Persia.” As a medicine, a decoction of the roots, or of the rind, was of great use in the farm-yard and in the kennel.

“The best fruit comes from Persia and Cabul: there are two types, the sweet and sour pomegranate. Sherbet is made from the fruit; the tree is uniquely beautiful and widely grown in India. The leaves are a rich dark green, very shiny, and the tree is decorated with all kinds of buds, flowers, and fruit at different stages of growth, from the first bud to the fully ripe fruit, thriving almost all year round. The bright scarlet color of the buds and flowers, which rarely changes shade, contrasts beautifully with the glossy dark green of the leaves. Every part of this tree, from the root to the falling blossoms, which are carefully gathered, has medicinal benefits. The rind of the fruit is dried and sold as a medicine, and each part of the tree has its own distinct medicinal property. The pomegranate was brought to India from Persia.” As medicine, a decoction of the roots or the rind was very useful on the farm and in the kennel.

Sometimes a small specimen of the kȳá-pootie-tree was brought to me (melaleuca kȳá-pootie). I regarded it with[318] interest on account of its fragrant oil. There are three varieties of this tree: from the leaf of the smaller, by distillation, the fragrant essential oil is obtained, called by the ignorant cajeput. Mr. Crawford observes in his History of the Indian Archipelago: “The kȳá’-pootie-trees are gigantic myrtles; the largest sort is a mountain tree, and grows in extensive continuous forests. The smaller, which yields the oil, thrives near the sea-coast, and has got its name from its colour, kāyu-puti, which signifies white wood, and hence its appellation arbor alba.” The oil is distilled from leaves which have been previously infused in water and left to ferment for a night. The oil I procured in India was limpid, transparent, and of a brilliant emerald green, extremely powerful, and the scent delicious; the bruised leaves also emit a powerful odour.

Sometimes, a small sample of the kȳá-pootie tree (melaleuca kȳá-pootie) was brought to me, and I found it interesting because of its fragrant oil. There are three types of this tree: the smaller one produces a fragrant essential oil through distillation, often incorrectly referred to as cajeput. Mr. Crawford notes in his History of the Indian Archipelago: “The kȳá’-pootie trees are enormous myrtles; the largest variety is a mountain tree that grows in vast, continuous forests. The smaller one, which produces the oil, thrives along the coast and gets its name from its color, kāyu-puti, which means white wood, and that's why it's also called arbor alba.” The oil is distilled from leaves that have been soaked in water and left to ferment overnight. The oil I obtained in India was clear, transparent, and a bright emerald green, very strong, and the fragrance was delightful; the crushed leaves also released a strong scent.

“The mistress of the night,” the polyanthes tuberosa, was in profusion in the garden. It is used in pooja: the natives call it gōl-shub-boo, from shub, night; and boo, scent; because it gives forth its odours during the night.

“The mistress of the night,” the polyanthes tuberosa, was plentiful in the garden. It's used in rituals: the locals call it gōl-shub-boo, from shub, meaning night; and boo, meaning scent; because it releases its fragrance at night.

The kudum (nauclea orientalis) is one of the holiest trees in the opinion of the Hindoos. The flowers have an odour very agreeable in the open air, which the ancient Indians compared to the scent of new wine; and hence they call the plant Halyprya, or beloved of Halim; that is, by the third Ráma, who was the Bacchus of India. The corolla of the kudum-tree is of a pale yellow, and very fragrant; the flowers are borne in round heads, perfectly globular, and covered uniformly with gold-coloured florets. One species, nauclea gambir, is said to yield the gamboge gum of the bazār.

The kudum (nauclea orientalis) is regarded as one of the holiest trees by Hindus. The flowers have a very pleasant scent in the open air, which ancient Indians compared to the smell of fresh wine; that's why they call the plant Halyprya, or beloved of Halim, named after the third Ráma, who was the Bacchus of India. The petals of the kudum tree are pale yellow and highly fragrant; the flowers grow in perfectly round heads, uniformly covered with golden florets. One species, nauclea gambir, is said to produce the gamboge gum found in the market.

Of all the flowers brought to me, the perfume of the ketgi, keura, or keora (pandanus odoratissimus), was the most overpowering. From the flower of this green-spined screw-tree, arrak and atr are made: the tough fibres of the roots are used by basket-makers, and the roots themselves are used by the Malays as cords. The flowers of the male plant yield the most overpowering fragrance, which is esteemed very highly by the natives.

Of all the flowers I received, the scent of the ketgi, keura, or keora (pandanus odoratissimus) was the strongest. From this green-spined screw-tree, arrak and atr are made. The tough fibers of its roots are used by basket-makers, and the roots themselves are used by Malays as cords. The flowers of the male plant produce the most intense fragrance, which the locals greatly value.

An atr is also prepared from the mulsari or múlasrí (mimosops[319] elengi). Children eat the fruit of this tree: the flowers are agreeably fragrant in the open air, but the perfume is too strong for an apartment. In the Puranas this tree is called bacula, and placed amongst the flowers of the Hindoo Paradise.

An atr is also made from the mulsari or múlasrí (mimosops[319] elengi). Kids eat the fruit of this tree; the flowers smell pleasantly in the open air, but the scent is too overpowering for indoors. In the Puranas, this tree is referred to as bacula and is categorized among the flowers of the Hindu Paradise.

Another remarkable plant was the martynia proboscidea, horn-capsuled martynia, called by the natives the insect seed, from the resemblance of the capsule to a horned beetle, if there be a beetle with two curled horns.

Another remarkable plant was the martynia proboscidea, horn-capsuled martynia, known to the locals as the insect seed, due to the capsule's resemblance to a horned beetle, assuming such a beetle has two curled horns.

Oct.—I have just returned from taking a sketch of the Circuit bungalow; it reminds me of very many pleasant mornings, although to an English ear it may not give an idea of pleasure to rise at three A.M., to take coffee by candlelight, or by the light of the mist in the verandah!—The buggy waiting, the lamps lighted, and the horse covered with a blanket, to keep him from taking a chill.—A drab coat with many capes, a shawl beneath, and another round the neck, a drive of two or three miles by lamp-light. Just as you come up to the dogs, a gentleman comes forward to assist the mem sāhiba from the buggy, saying, “Very cold! very cold! one could not be more delightfully cold in England—half-frozen!” Those fine dogs, Jānpeter, Racer, Merrylass, and the rest of them emerge from the palanquin carriage in which they have been brought to Papamhow, much tamāshā! many jackals! Then the canter through the plantations of Urrah, wet with dew—dew so heavy that the sā’īs wrings out the skirt of the mem sāhiba’s habit; nevertheless, the lady and the black pony are very happy. Master General carries his rider in most jemmy style; a gallant grey by his side takes beautiful leaps, and the mem sāhiba and her black horse scramble up and down ravines, over which the others leap, and by little détours and knowledge of the country, find much amusement in the course of the morning.

Oct.—I just got back from sketching the Circuit bungalow; it brings back so many enjoyable mornings, although to someone from England, getting up at three A.M., having coffee by candlelight, or in the dim light of the mist on the verandah probably doesn’t sound pleasant!—The buggy is ready, the lamps are lit, and the horse is covered with a blanket to keep him warm.—Wearing a drab coat with lots of capes, a shawl underneath, and another wrapped around my neck, I take a drive of two or three miles by lamp-light. Just as we approach the dogs, a gentleman steps up to help the mem sāhiba out of the buggy, saying, “Very cold! very cold! one couldn’t be more delightfully cold in England—half-frozen!” Those fine dogs, Jānpeter, Racer, Merrylass, and the others come out of the palanquin carriage where they were brought to Papamhow, so much excitement! many jackals! Then it’s a canter through the dew-soaked plantations of Urrah—so heavy that the sā’īs have to wring out the hem of the mem sāhiba’s habit; yet, the lady and her black pony are very happy. Master General carries his rider in the most stylish way; a gallant grey beside him takes beautiful leaps, and the mem sāhiba and her black horse navigate up and down ravines that the others jump over, using little detours and their knowledge of the area to find plenty of fun during the morning.

All natives, from the highest to the lowest, sport the moustache, and pride themselves upon its blackness. My old khānsāmān, Suddu Khan, whose hair, beard, and moustache were perfectly white, came before me one morning, and making sālām, requested me to allow him some hours’ leave of absence to dye his hair. In the evening he was in attendance at table;[320] his hair, beard, and moustache in the most perfect order, and jet black! The 16th Lancers, on their arrival in India, wore no moustache; after the lapse of many years, the order that allowed them the decoration arrived in India, and was hailed with delight by the whole corps. The natives regarded them with much greater respect in consequence, and the young dandies of Delhi could no longer twirl their moustachoes, and think themselves finer fellows than the Lancers. As a warlike appendage it was absolutely necessary; a man without moustachoes being reckoned nā-mard, unmanly. Having been often consulted on the important subject of the best dye, I subjoin a recipe which was given me in the Zenāna[123]. A dandified native generally travels with a handkerchief bound under his chin, and tied on the top of his turban, that the beauty and precision of his beard may not be disarranged on the journey.

All locals, from the highest ranks to the lowest, rock a mustache and take pride in its darkness. One morning, my old cook, Suddu Khan, whose hair, beard, and mustache were completely white, came to me and, after greeting me, asked for a few hours off to dye his hair. When he returned to dinner that evening, his hair, beard, and mustache were impeccably styled and jet black! The 16th Lancers, when they first arrived in India, didn’t have mustaches; after many years, the order allowing them to sport one finally arrived, and it was celebrated by the entire regiment. As a result, the locals viewed them with significantly more respect, and young guys in Delhi could no longer twirl their mustaches and think they were better than the Lancers. A mustache was seen as a crucial part of a man’s appearance; a man without one was considered nā-mard, unmanly. Since I've been frequently asked about the best dye for mustaches, I’m sharing a recipe I got in the Zenāna[123]. A trendy local usually travels with a handkerchief tied under his chin and atop his turban, so his beard stays perfect during the journey.


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CHAPTER XXVIII.
Trip to the Taj.

“RESOLUTION OVERCOMES GREAT DIFFICULTIES[124].”

“Determination conquers major challenges __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.”

“You will require the patience of an angel, or of a whole heaven of angels, to reach Agra in a pinnace. I was a month in a boat that I built for the very purpose of threading this Meander, to which that of Troy was a nālā, as straight as an arrow. I fear your voyage will be much protracted, but as for the wind, you are sure to have it favourable two or three times a day, let it blow from what quarter it will, for you will have your course during the twenty-four hours to every point of the compass, and these cold days too! Here am I shivering in the warmest room in my house!”

“You're going to need the patience of an angel, or even a whole heaven full of them, to get to Agra in a small boat. I spent a month in a boat I built specifically to navigate this twisty river, which is as winding as the one in Troy. I’m afraid your journey will take much longer, but at least you can count on having favorable winds two or three times a day, no matter which direction they come from. You’ll be able to steer your course at all hours, even with these chilly days! Here I am, shivering in the warmest room of my house!”

W. L. G⸺, Khasgunge.

W. L. G⸺, Khasgunge.

The Seagull—The Patelī—Chapātīs—Sujawan Deota—Burriaree Rocks—Thieves—Parbosa—Temple of Parisnāth—Darogahs—Utility of a Pellet-bow—The Cane River—The Leak—A Storm—Kalpee—Belaspoor—Alligators in their own Wildernesses—River Shells—Passage through the Rocks—A Pilot—Badowra—Fossil-bones—The Chumbal River—Bhurrage—Burning the Dead—A Woman drowned—Cutting through a Sandbank on a Chain Cable—A Leak—White Ants—Picturesque Scenes—A Tufān—The Mem Sāhiba’s Speech—River Dogs—Presents of Sweetmeats.

The Seagull—The Patelī—Chapātīs—Sujawan Deota—Burriaree Rocks—Thieves—Parbosa—Temple of Parisnāth—Darogahs—Utility of a Pellet-bow—The Cane River—The Leak—A Storm—Kalpee—Belaspoor—Alligators in their own Wildernesses—River Shells—Passage through the Rocks—A Pilot—Badowra—Fossil-bones—The Chumbal River—Bhurrage—Burning the Dead—A Woman drowned—Cutting through a Sandbank on a Chain Cable—A Leak—White Ants—Picturesque Scenes—A Tufān—The Mem Sāhiba’s Speech—River Dogs—Presents of Sweetmeats.

Dec. 1834.—To look forward to the cold season is always a great pleasure in India; and to plan some expedition for that period is an amusement during the hot winds and rains. We had often determined to visit the Tāj Mahul at Agra—the wonder of the world.

Dec. 1834.—Looking forward to the cold season is always a great pleasure in India, and planning some trip for that time is a fun distraction during the hot winds and rains. We often talked about visiting the Tāj Mahal in Agra—the wonder of the world.

Our beautiful pinnace was now in the Jumna, anchored just below the house, but the height of the banks and the lowness[322] of the river only allowed us to see the top of her masts. My husband proposed that I should go up the Jumna in her, as far as Agra, and anchor off the Tāj; and promised, if he could get leave of absence, to join me there, to view all that is so well worth seeing at that remarkable place. Accordingly, the pinnace was prepared for the voyage, and a patelī was procured as a cook-boat. Books, drawing materials, and every thing that could render a voyage up the river agreeable, were put on board.

Our beautiful little boat was now in the Jumna, anchored just below the house, but the high riverbanks and the low water level only let us see the tops of her masts. My husband suggested that I take her up the Jumna as far as Agra and anchor near the Tāj. He promised that if he could get time off, he would join me there to see all the amazing things at that remarkable place. So, the boat was readied for the trip, and a small cookboat was hired. We loaded books, drawing supplies, and everything else that could make our journey up the river enjoyable.

Dec. 9th.—I quitted Prāg: the Seagull spread her sails to the breeze, and, in spite of the power of the stream, we made good way against it: at night we lugāoed off Phoolpoor, i.e. made fast to the bank, as is always the custom, the river not being navigable during the darkness.

Dec. 9th.—I left Prague: the Seagull caught the wind in her sails, and, despite the strength of the current, we made good progress against it. At night we lugāoed off Phoolpoor, i.e. secured ourselves to the bank, as is always the practice, since the river isn’t navigable after dark.

10th.—Saw the first crocodile to-day basking on a sandbank; a great long-nosed fellow, a very Indian looking personage, of whom I felt the greatest fear, as at the moment my little terrier Fury, who was running on the shore with the dāndees, seeing me on deck, swam off to the pinnace. I was much pleased when a dāndee caught her in his arms and put her on the cook-boat.

10th.—Saw the first crocodile today lounging on a sandbank; a big long-nosed guy, really looking the part of an Indian creature, and I felt a lot of fear, especially since my little terrier, Fury, was running along the shore with the dāndees and, seeing me on the deck, swam over to the pinnace. I was really relieved when a dāndee scooped her up in his arms and set her on the cook-boat.

On the commencement of a voyage the men adorn the bows of the vessel with hārs, (chaplets of fresh flowers,) and ask for money: on days of pooja, and at the end of the voyage, the same ceremony is repeated, and half-way on the voyage they usually petition for a present, a few rupees for good luck.

On the start of a journey, the crew decorates the front of the boat with hārs (wreaths of fresh flowers) and asks for money. On days of pooja, and at the end of the journey, the same ritual is repeated, and halfway through the trip, they typically request a gift, a few rupees for good luck.

I must describe the Seagull:—She was built in Calcutta to go to Chittagong, and has a deep keel, therefore unfit for river work, unless during the rains: two-masted, copper-bottomed, and brig-rigged. She requires water up to a man’s waist; her crew consist of twenty-two men, one sarang, who commands her, four khalāsīs, who hold the next rank, one gal’haiya, forecastle man (from galahi, a forecastle), fourteen dāndees, one cook and his mate, all Musalmāns; total twenty-two. The crew, particularly good men, came from Calcutta with the pinnace; they cook their own food and eat and sleep on board. My food and that of my servants is prepared in the cook-boat. The food of the dāndees usually consists of curry and[323] rice, or thin cakes of flour (unleavened bread) called chapātīs: the latter they bake on a tawā (iron plate) over the fire, on the bank, and eat whilst hot. It is amusing to see how dexterously they pat these cakes into form, between both hands, chucking them each time into the air: they are usually half an inch in thickness, and the size of a dessert plate.

I need to describe the Seagull:—She was built in Calcutta to sail to Chittagong and has a deep keel, making her unsuitable for river work except during the rainy season: she's a two-masted, copper-bottomed brig. She needs water up to a man's waist; her crew consists of twenty-two members, one sarang who commands her, four khalāsīs who rank just below him, one gal’haiya, a forecastle man, and fourteen dāndees, along with one cook and his assistant, all of whom are Muslims; the total is twenty-two. The crew, who are particularly skilled, came from Calcutta with the pinnace; they prepare their own meals and both eat and sleep on board. My food and that of my servants is cooked in the cook-boat. The dāndees typically eat curry and rice or thin unleavened bread called chapātīs: they cook the latter on a tawā (iron plate) over a fire on the bank and eat it while it's hot. It’s entertaining to watch them skillfully shape these bread cakes by patting them between their hands, tossing them into the air each time: they’re usually about half an inch thick and the size of a dessert plate.

When these common chapātīs are made thin, and allowed to blow out on the fire until they are perfectly hollow, they are delicious food, if eaten quite hot. Thus made they are much better than those generally put on the table of the sāhib loge (gentry), which are made of fine flower and milk.

When these regular chapātīs are rolled out thin and cooked over a fire until they puff up beautifully, they are a tasty dish, especially when served hot. When prepared this way, they are far superior to those usually served to the gentry, which are made with fine flour and milk.

Being unable to find a boat for hire that would answer as a cook-boat, the jamadār purchased a patelī, a small boat built after the fashion of a large flat-bottomed patailā, for which he gave eighty rupees; and we proceeded to fit it up, by building a large house upon it of mats and bamboo, thickly thatched with straw. This house was for the cook, the servants, and the farm-yard. On the top of it was a platform of bamboos, on which the dāndees (sailors) could live and sleep. The crew consisted of seven men, Hindoos; therefore they always cooked their food on shore in the evening, it being contrary to the rules of their religion to eat on board. The sheep, goats, fowls, provisions, wine, &c. were all in the cook-boat, and a space was divided off for the dhobee (washerman). The number of servants it is necessary to take with one on a river voyage in India is marvellous. We had also a little boat called a dinghee, which was towed astern the pinnace.

Unable to find a boat to rent that would serve as a cooking boat, the jamadār bought a patelī, a small boat designed like a large flat-bottomed patailā, for eighty rupees. We then set about outfitting it, building a large shelter from mats and bamboo, thickly thatched with straw. This shelter was for the cook, the servants, and the farmyard. On top of it was a bamboo platform where the dāndees (sailors) could live and sleep. The crew included seven men, all Hindus, so they always cooked their meals on shore in the evening since their religion prohibits eating on board. The sheep, goats, chickens, provisions, wine, etc., were all kept in the cook-boat, and a section was reserved for the dhobee (washerman). The number of servants needed for a river journey in India is quite astonishing. We also had a small boat called a dinghee, which was towed behind the pinnace.

This morning we passed Sujawan Deota, a rock rising out of the river, crowned with a temple, a remarkably picturesque spot, and adorned with trees. A pinnace is towed by one thick towing line, called a goon, carried by ten men. Native boats containing merchandize are generally towed by small lines, each man having his own line to himself. The wind having become contrary, the men were obliged to tow her; the goon broke, the vessel swerved round, and was carried some distance down the stream; however, she was brought up without damage, and we moored off Sehoree.

This morning we passed Sujawan Deota, a rock rising out of the river, topped with a temple, a really picturesque spot, and surrounded by trees. A small boat is being towed by a thick line called a goon, pulled by ten men. Local boats carrying goods are usually towed by shorter lines, with each person having their own line. Since the wind changed direction, the men had to tow the boat; the goon snapped, the vessel turned around, and drifted a bit downstream; however, it was brought back without any damage, and we anchored off Sehoree.

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11th.—In passing the Burriaree rocks I felt a strange sort of anxious delight in the danger of the passage, there being only room for one vessel to pass through. The serang, a Calcutta man, had never been up the Jumna; and as we cut through the narrow pass I stood on deck watching ahead for a sunken rock. Had there been too little water, with what a crash we should have gone on the rocks! The river is full of them; they show their black heads a foot or two above the stream that rushes down fiercely around or over them: just now we ran directly upon one. The vessel swerved right round, but was brought up again soon after.

11th.—As we passed the Burriaree rocks, I felt a mix of anxious excitement about the danger of the narrow passage, where only one boat could go through at a time. The serang, a guy from Calcutta, had never traveled up the Jumna before, and as we navigated the tight spot, I stood on deck looking out for any submerged rocks. If the water had been too shallow, we would have crashed right into them! The river is filled with them; their dark tops stick up about a foot or two above the rushing water that swirls around or over them. Just then, we nearly ran straight into one. The boat swerved sharply but managed to stabilize shortly afterward.

We track or sail from 6 A.M., and moor the boats at 7 P.M. On anchoring off Deeya I received two matchlocks, sent to me by my husband, on account of his having heard that many salt-boats on the Jumna have been plundered lately; the matchlocks are to be fired off of an evening when the watch is set, to show we are on our guard. At night a chaprāsī and two dāndees hold their watch, armed, on deck; and two chaukidārs (watchmen) from the nearest village keep watch on shore. My little fine-eared terrier is on board, and I sleep without a thought of robbery or danger. If you take a guard from the nearest village, you are pretty safe; if not, perhaps the chaukidārs themselves will rob you, in revenge for your not employing them.

We leave at 6 A.M. and dock the boats at 7 PM When we anchored near Deeya, I received two matchlocks from my husband because he heard that many salt boats on the Jumna have been raided recently; the matchlocks are meant to be fired in the evening when the watch is set, as a way to show we’re on guard. At night, a chaprāsī and two dāndees are on watch, armed, on the deck, and two chaukidārs (watchmen) from the nearest village keep an eye on the shore. My little fine-eared terrier is on board, and I sleep without any worries about theft or danger. If you get a guard from the nearest village, you’re pretty safe; if you don’t, the chaukidārs themselves might rob you out of spite for not hiring them.

PARISNĀTH.

12th.—The passage off Mhow was difficult,—rocks and sands. We were on a sandbank several times. The temple of Parisnāth at Pabosa was to me a very interesting object. At Allahabad I procured a small white marble image of this god, and while considering whom it might represent, the moonshee came into the room. The man is a high-church Hindoo: on seeing the image, he instantly covered his eyes and turned away, expressing his disapprobation. “That is the idol Parisnāth,” said he, “a man of the pure faith may not look upon it, and will not worship in a temple desecrated by its presence.” There are about four hundred heretical Hindoos at Prāg. The image is[325] represented in a sitting posture, not unlike the attitude of the Budha idol of Ava, but from which it differs in the position of the right hand.

12th.—The passage off Mhow was tough—rocks and sand. We got stuck on a sandbank several times. The temple of Parisnāth at Pabosa was really interesting to me. In Allahabad, I got a small white marble statue of this god, and while I was trying to figure out who it represented, the moonshee walked into the room. He is a staunch Hindoo: upon seeing the statue, he immediately covered his eyes and turned away, showing his disapproval. “That is the idol Parisnāth,” he said, “a person of pure faith shouldn’t look at it and won’t worship in a temple tainted by its presence.” There are about four hundred heretical Hindoos at Prāg. The statue is[325] shown sitting, similar to the Buddha idol of Ava, but it differs in the position of the right hand.

Colonel Tod says, “The 23rd of the Jain Apostles was Parswanáth—Parswa the god. There is a column in Cheetore dedicated to Parswanáth, Budhist, or Jain.”

Colonel Tod says, “The 23rd of the Jain Apostles was Parswanáth—Parswa the god. There is a column in Cheetore dedicated to Parswanáth, Buddhist, or Jain.”

I imagine the white marble images in my possession are the same as those mentioned in the “Annals and Antiquities of Rajah’stan.” I have before given, in p. 214, an account of the disturbance occasioned at Allahabad from an attempt made by a man to place an image of Parisnāth in the Achibut chamber. Moored the pinnace off Surawal.

I think the white marble statues I have are the same as those referred to in the “Annals and Antiquities of Rajah’stan.” Earlier, in p. 214, I related the chaos caused in Allahabad when someone tried to install a statue of Parisnāth in the Achibut room. I anchored the boat at Surawal.

13th.—Aground off Kuttree, again off Shahpoor, and, for the third time, off Jumnapoor: lugāoed off Mowhie.

13th.—Stuck off Kuttree, again off Shahpoor, and, for the third time, off Jumnapoor: pulled off Mowhie.

13th.—Aground on a sunken rock off Toolseepoor, again off Dampour. During the rains the river is deep; but at this time of the year it is late to undertake a voyage to Agra, and I think it not impossible it may be impracticable to take the pinnace so far up the river. Nevertheless, we have come on very well, with occasional difficulties, such as going over sunken rocks at times, bump, bump, under the vessel. I have felt half afraid of seeing their black heads through the floor of the cabin. We have grounded on sandbanks four and five times a day in avoiding the rocks. The Jumna is full of them, and the navigation dangerous on that account. The contrary wind has generally obliged us to track, as our course lies right in the teeth of the west wind, which is strong, and generally blows pretty steadily at this time of the year. There is one consolation, the river winds and twists so much, the wind must be fair somewhere or other.

13th.—Aground on a submerged rock off Toolseepoor, again near Dampour. During the rainy season, the river is deep; but this time of year isn’t ideal for traveling to Agra, and I’m starting to think it might not be feasible to take the boat that far up the river. Still, we’ve managed quite well, despite some challenges, like hitting submerged rocks from time to time, thump, thump, under the boat. I’ve been half afraid of seeing their dark heads through the cabin floor. We’ve run aground on sandbanks four or five times a day to avoid the rocks. The Jumna is full of them, making navigation risky. The opposing wind usually forces us to track, since our path goes directly against the strong, steady west wind typical for this time of year. There’s one bit of comfort: the river twists and turns so much that the wind must be favorable somewhere along the way.

Every twelve miles a dārogha comes on board to make salām to the mem sāhiba, and to ask her orders. I send letters to Prāg by this means; the dārogha gives them to our own chaprāsīs, who run with them from station to station. There is no dāk (post) in these parts. The dāroghas bring fish, eggs, kids, any thing of which I am in need; and I pay for them, although they are brought as presents, it being against the orders of Government[326] to receive the gift even of a cabbage or beet-root from a native. The tracking ground was fine; moored off Bhowna.

Every twelve miles, a dārogha comes on board to greet the mem sāhiba and to ask for her instructions. I send letters to Prāg this way; the dārogha hands them over to our own chaprāsīs, who run with them from station to station. There’s no post service in this area. The dāroghas bring fish, eggs, kids, anything I might need; I pay for them, even though they're brought as gifts, since it's against government rules to accept even a cabbage or beet from a local. The tracking ground was nice; we were moored off Bhowna.[326]

15th.—Strong west wind, very cold: the river broad and deep; the thermometer at 9 A.M. 60°. The darzee in the after-cabin is at work on a silk gown: the weather is just cold enough to render warm attire necessary. The other day I was on deck in a green velvet travelling cap, with an Indian shawl, put on after the fashion of the men, amusing myself with firing with a pellet-bow at some cotton boats en passant for tamāshā. Some natives came on board to make salām, and looked much surprised at seeing a ghulel (a pellet-bow) in feminine hands. The cotton boats would not get out of the way, therefore I pelted the manjhīs, (masters, or steersmen) of the vessels, to hasten the movements of the great unwieldy lubberly craft. Of whom can I talk but of myself in this my solitude on the Jumna-jee? Now for the telescope to look out for the picturesque.

15th.—There’s a strong cold west wind; the river is wide and deep; the thermometer reads 60° at 9 AM The tailor in the after-cabin is making a silk gown: the weather is just chilly enough to need warm clothing. The other day, I was on deck wearing a green velvet travel cap and an Indian shawl draped like the men do, having fun shooting at some cotton boats that were passing by for entertainment. Some locals came on board to greet me and looked quite surprised to see a pellet-bow in a woman's hands. The cotton boats wouldn’t move out of the way, so I threw pellets at the manjhīs (the boatmasters) to hurry them along with those big, clumsy boats. Who can I talk to but myself in this solitude on the Jumna-jee? Now it’s time to grab the telescope and look for something scenic.

17th.—Wind strong, cold, and westerly: the stream broad and deep, anchored off Jerowlee in a jungle: just the place for a sportsman. A quantity of underwood and small trees amongst the ravines and cliffs afford shelter for the game. Here you find nil-gā’ī, peacocks, partridge, and quail. Several peacocks were quietly feeding on the cliffs; others roosting on the trees. At this place they told me there is a bura kund, which is, I believe, a well, or spring, or basin of water, especially consecrated to some holy purpose or person; but I did not visit the spot.

17th.—The wind was strong, cold, and coming from the west: the river was wide and deep, anchored off Jerowlee in the jungle: just the right spot for an outdoor enthusiast. A lot of underbrush and small trees among the ravines and cliffs provide shelter for the wildlife. Here, you can find nil-gā’ī, peacocks, partridges, and quails. Several peacocks were calmly feeding on the cliffs, while others were roosting in the trees. They told me there’s a bura kund here, which I believe is a well, spring, or water basin, especially dedicated to some sacred purpose or figure; however, I didn’t go to see it.

20th.—Passed Chilla Tara Ghāt and the Cane River, in which agates, cornelians, calcedony, &c., are found. The day was pleasant, the water deep, but there being but little wind we were obliged to track. Moored off Arouwl, at which place the patelī got upon the rocks.

20th.—We passed Chilla Tara Ghāt and the Cane River, where you can find agates, cornelians, chalcedony, etc. The day was nice, the water was deep, but since there was little wind, we had to use tracks. We anchored near Arouwl, where the patelī ran aground on the rocks.

21st.—A strong east wind: we had a fine sail, but went aground off Bindour: moored at Serowlee.

21st.—A strong east wind: we had a great sail, but we ran aground near Bindour: anchored at Serowlee.

22nd.—After a very pleasant day, and pretty good sailing, we lugāoed off Humeerpore: during the night we were kept on the qui vive by a very severe storm, accompanied by thunder, lightning, and very heavy rain.

22nd.—After a really nice day and decent sailing, we set off from Humeerpore; during the night, we stayed alert due to a severe storm with thunder, lightning, and heavy rain.

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23rd.—A wretched day; cold, damp, and miserable, a most powerful wind directly against us. To add to the discomfort, we sprang a leak, which gave sixty buckets of water in twenty-four hours. The leak was found under the rudder. We had to take down a part of the aft-cabin, and to take up some boards before we could get at it: and when found, we had nothing on board fit to stop it. At last it was effectually stopped with towels, torn up and forced in tight, and stiff clay beaten down over that. I thought this might last until our arrival at Kalpee, where proper repairs might take place: moored off Bowlee.

23rd.—It was a terrible day; cold, damp, and gloomy, with a brutal wind blowing right against us. To make things worse, we sprang a leak, taking in sixty buckets of water in just twenty-four hours. The leak was located under the rudder. We had to dismantle part of the aft cabin and pull up some boards to access it. Once we found the leak, we realized we had nothing on board that could fix it. Finally, we managed to plug it effectively with towels, ripped up and shoved in tightly, covered with packed clay on top. I thought this might hold until we got to Kalpee, where we could make proper repairs: moored off Bowlee.

25th.—Christmas Day was ushered in by rain and hail, the wind high and contrary. At noon the wind decreased, and we got on better, tracking along the banks, with fourteen men on the goon (track-rope). At seven in the evening, just as we had moored, a storm came on, accompanied with the most brilliant forked lightning; and the most violent wind, blowing a gale, united with the strong stream, bearing full down against us. It was really fearful. After a time the vivid and forked lightning became sheeted, and the rain fell, like a second deluge, in torrents. The peals of thunder shook the cabin windows, and all the panes of glass rattled. We had lugāoed off a dry nālā (the bed of a stream); the torrents of rain filled the nālā with water, which poured down against the side of the pinnace with great force and noise. Fearing we should be driven from our moorings by the force of the current, I ran on deck to see if the men were on the alert. It was quite dark: some were on shore taking up the lāwhāsees by which she was secured to the bank; the rest were on deck, trying with their long bamboos to shove her out of the power of the current from the nālā. Having succeeded in this, we were more comfortable. It was out of the question to take rest during such a storm, while there was a chance of being driven from our moorings; and being quite alone was also unpleasant. At length the gale abated, and I was glad to hear only the rain for the rest of the night. Daylight closed my weary eyes: on awaking refreshed from a quiet slumber, I[328] found the Seagull far from Ekouna, near which place we had passed so anxious a night.

25th.—Christmas Day started with rain and hail, the wind strong and against us. By noon, the wind calmed down, and we made better progress, tracking along the banks with fourteen men on the goon (track-rope). At seven in the evening, just as we moored, a storm hit, bringing brilliant forked lightning and violent winds, blowing like a gale and pushing hard against us. It was truly terrifying. Soon, the bright forked lightning turned into sheets, and the rain poured down like a second flood, coming in torrents. The thunder shook the cabin windows, rattling all the glass. We had moved off a dry nālā (streambed); the heavy rain filled the nālā with water, which rushed against the side of the pinnace with great force and noise. Worried we might be swept away from our moorings by the strong current, I ran on deck to check if the men were alert. It was completely dark: some were on shore securing the lāwhāsees that held us to the bank; the others were on deck, trying with their long bamboos to push the boat away from the current coming from the nālā. Once they succeeded, we felt more at ease. Resting during such a storm was out of the question while we risked being pulled from our moorings, and being completely alone was also unsettling. Finally, the gale died down, and I was relieved to only hear the rain for the rest of the night. Daylight closed my tired eyes: when I awoke, refreshed from a peaceful sleep, I found the Seagull far from Ekouna, near which we had spent such a restless night.

26th.—Moored off Kalpee, famous for its crystalized sugar. Here a large budget of letters was brought to me. I remained the whole day at the station to procure provisions and answer the letters. Nor did I forget to purchase tools and every thing necessary for the repair of the leak in the vessel, although we forbore to remove the towels and clay, as she now only made half a bucket in twenty-four hours.

26th.—Anchored near Kalpee, known for its crystallized sugar. A huge pile of letters was delivered to me here. I spent the entire day at the station gathering supplies and responding to the letters. I also made sure to buy tools and everything needed to fix the leak in the ship, although we decided not to take away the towels and clay since it was now leaking just half a bucket every twenty-four hours.

28th.—North-west wind very cold: the river most difficult to navigate in parts; rocky, sandy, shallow. Anchored off Palpoor; found a quantity of river shells; they are not very pretty, but some are curious.

28th.—The north-west wind is really cold: parts of the river are hard to navigate; it's rocky, sandy, and shallow. We anchored off Palpoor and found a bunch of river shells; they aren't very pretty, but some are interesting.

29th.—We were in the midst of great sandbanks, in a complete wilderness; the stream was strong and deep, the tracking-ground good; here and there the rocks appeared above water under the high cliffs. Off Belaspoor, on one sandbank, I saw ten crocodiles basking in the sun, all close together; some turtle and great white birds were on a rock near them; on the river’s edge were three enormous alligators, large savage monsters, lying with their enormous mouths wide open, eyeing the boats. The men on board shouted with all their might; the alligators took no notice of the shout; the crocodiles, more timid than the former, ran into the water, and disappeared immediately. These are the first alligators I have seen in their own domains; they are very savage, and will attack men; the crocodiles will not, if it be possible to avoid them. I would willingly have taken the voyage for this one sight of alligators and crocodiles in their native wildernesses; the scene was so unusual, so wild, so savage. At sunset, anchored off Gheetamow, and found some shells during my evening ramble.

29th.—We found ourselves surrounded by huge sandbanks, in a total wilderness; the river was strong and deep, and the tracking ground was good; here and there, rocks surfaced under the tall cliffs. Off Belaspoor, on one sandbank, I spotted ten crocodiles sunbathing close together; some turtles and large white birds were perched on a nearby rock; at the river's edge lay three massive alligators, fierce creatures, with their huge mouths wide open, watching the boats. The men on board yelled at the top of their lungs; the alligators paid no attention to the noise; the crocodiles, which were more skittish than the alligators, splashed into the water and vanished instantly. These are the first alligators I've seen in their natural habitat; they're very dangerous and will attack humans; crocodiles usually won't if they can avoid it. I would gladly have made this trip just to witness these alligators and crocodiles in their wild territory; the scene was so extraordinary, so raw, so wild. At sunset, we anchored off Gheetamow, and I found some shells during my evening stroll.

At the sale of the effects of the late Col. Gough, in Calcutta, was the head of a magar (alligator) of incredible size, caught in the Megna; which, though deficient in not having an under-jaw, was a good weight for a man to carry, stooping to it with both hands. The creeks of a bend of the Sunderbunds, not far[329] below Calcutta, are the places frequented, I hear, by the patriarchs of their race.

At the auction of the belongings of the late Col. Gough in Calcutta, there was the head of an enormous alligator caught in the Megna River. Although it was missing its lower jaw, it was heavy enough for a person to lift with both hands while bending over. I've heard that the creeks of a bend in the Sunderbans, just a bit below Calcutta, are where the elders of their kind often hang out.[329]

The next day we entered a most difficult part of the river; it was impossible to tell in which direction to steer the vessel; rocks on every side; the river full of them; a most powerful stream rushing between the rocks; to add to the danger, we had a strong westerly wind directly in our teeth, which, united to the force of the stream, made us fear the goon might break; in which case we should have been forced most violently against the rocks. We accomplished only one mile in four hours and a half! I desired the sarang to anchor the vessel, and let the men have some rest; they had been fagging, up to their waists in water, all the time, and I wished the wind to abate ere we attempted to proceed further. After the dāndees had dined, we pushed off again. At Kurunka a pilot came on board, which pleased me very much, as it was impossible to tell on which side of the rocks the passage might be: the pilot took us up with great difficulty through the rocks to the land-mark off the bungalow at Badoura; there he requested leave to anchor until the wind might abate; he was afraid to try the stream, it being still stronger higher up. Of course I consented; after which, accompanied by the pilot, I walked some three miles to collect fossil bones; these bones were discovered by the sappers and miners on the river-side, at the little village of Badoura; the bones are petrified, but to what animal they belonged is unknown; some cart-loads of them have been taken to Allahabad, to be shown to the scientific; I brought back five or six of the bones we found at the place. A short time ago this part of the river was impassable; the Company sent sappers and miners, who, having surrounded each rock with a fence that kept out the water, blew them up, and made a passage down the centre of the river; of course this was a work of time; the fences were then removed, and the stream flowed unconfined. Large boats can now go up and down in safety, if they know the passage. The next morning the pilot accompanied us as far as Merapoor, when he made his salām, and returned to the sappers’ and miners’ bungalow. The river now became good and clear; we[330] encountered no more difficulties, and moored quietly off Seholee at six in the evening.

The next day we entered a really challenging part of the river; it was impossible to figure out which way to steer the boat. There were rocks everywhere, and the river was full of them, with a strong current rushing between. To make things worse, we had a powerful westerly wind hitting us head-on, which, combined with the force of the current, made us worry the boat might break apart; if that happened, we would have been slammed against the rocks. We only covered one mile in four and a half hours! I asked the captain to anchor the boat so the crew could rest; they had been working hard, up to their waists in water the whole time, and I wanted the wind to die down before we tried to move on. After the crew had lunch, we set off again. At Kurunka, a pilot came on board, which relieved me a lot since it was hard to tell which side of the rocks we should pass. The pilot guided us with great difficulty through the rocks to the landmark off the bungalow at Badoura; there, he asked if he could anchor until the wind calmed down because he was afraid to tackle the stronger current further up. I agreed; after that, accompanied by the pilot, I walked about three miles to collect fossil bones that had been discovered by the sappers and miners along the riverside, at the little village of Badoura. These bones are petrified, but we have no idea what animal they belonged to; some cartloads of them have been taken to Allahabad for scientific study, and I brought back five or six of the bones we found. Not long ago, this part of the river was impossible to navigate; the Company sent sappers and miners who surrounded each rock with a fence to keep out the water, then blew them up to create a passage down the center of the river. This took a lot of time, but then the fences were removed, and the current flowed freely. Now, large boats can safely navigate up and down if they know the way. The next morning, the pilot accompanied us as far as Merapoor, then he bid us farewell and returned to the sappers’ and miners’ bungalow. The river became nice and clear; we encountered no more difficulties and anchored peacefully off Seholee at six in the evening.

1835, Jan. 1st.—New Year’s Day was as disagreeable as Christmas Day; cold, frosty; a wind in our teeth; rocks and crocodiles. My pet terrier was taken ill; with difficulty she was brought through the attack; poor little Poppus,—she has a dozen names, all of endearment. Passed Juggermunpoor, where the fair for horses is held.

1835, Jan. 1st.—New Year’s Day was just as unpleasant as Christmas Day; cold and frosty, with a biting wind; rocky terrain and crocs. My beloved terrier got sick; we managed to get her through it, but it was tough. Poor little Poppus—she has a dozen affectionate names. We passed through Juggermunpoor, where the horse fair takes place.

2nd.—A fair wind brought us to the Chumbal river. The fort and Hindoo temple of Bhurrage are very picturesque objects. This is one of the most difficult passes on the river, on account of the sand banks, and the power of the stream from the junction of the Jumna and Chumbal. I am directed not to stop a moment for any thing but letters on my way to Agra; on my return I shall go on shore (D.V.), and visit all the picturesque places I now behold merely en passant. The Chumbal is a beautiful river; never was a stream more brilliant or more clear; the water, where it unites with the Jumna, is of a bright pellucid green.

2nd.—A nice breeze got us to the Chumbal River. The fort and Hindu temple of Bhurrage are very scenic spots. This is one of the toughest passages on the river because of the sandbanks and the strong current from the junction of the Jumna and Chumbal. I'm instructed not to stop for anything except letters on my way to Agra; on my return, I plan to go ashore (D.V.) and check out all the beautiful places I’m just passing by now. The Chumbal is a gorgeous river; never has a stream been more vibrant or clearer; the water, where it meets the Jumna, is a bright, crystal-clear green.

From the force of the united streams we had great difficulty in passing the junction; the wind dropped, and we could not move the pinnace on the towing-rope; we sent a hawser in the dinghee to the opposite shore, and then, with the united force of the crews of both vessels, hauled the pinnace across the junction into the quiet waters of the Jumna; it was 6 P.M. ere this was effected. Whilst the people anchored, and got the cook-boat over, I walked to a beautiful Hindoo temple, close to the river’s edge. The fort beyond put me in mind of Conway Castle; the towers are somewhat similar: on my return I must stop and sketch it. A wealthy native has sent to petition an audience; he is anxious to make salām to the mem sāhiba. I have declined seeing him, as we must start at daybreak; but have told him on my return I shall stay a day or two at this picturesque place, and shall then be happy to receive his visit.

We had a tough time getting through the junction because of the strong currents. The wind died down, and we couldn't move the pinnace using the towing rope. We sent a heavy rope in the dinghy to the other side, and then, with the combined efforts of the crews from both boats, we pulled the pinnace across the junction into the calm waters of the Jumna; it was 6 PM by the time we accomplished this. While everyone anchored and got the cook-boat ready, I strolled over to a beautiful Hindu temple near the riverbank. The fort in the distance reminded me of Conway Castle; the towers look somewhat alike. I need to stop and sketch it on my way back. A wealthy local has sent a request for a meeting; he's eager to greet the memsahib. I’ve turned him down since we need to leave at dawn, but I told him that when I return, I’ll stay a day or two in this lovely spot and would be happy to welcome his visit then.

Nothing is so shocking, so disgusting, as the practice of burning bodies; generally only half-burning them, and throwing them into the river. What a horrible sight I saw to-day![331] crowds of vultures, storks, crows, and pariah dogs from the village glutting over a dreadful meal; they fiercely stripped the flesh from the swollen body of the half-burned dead, which the stream had thrown on a sand bank; and howled and shrieked as they fought over and for their fearful meal!

Nothing is as shocking or disgusting as the practice of burning bodies; usually just partially burning them and tossing them into the river. What a horrifying sight I saw today! [331] Crowds of vultures, storks, crows, and stray dogs from the village were feasting on a gruesome meal; they viciously tore the flesh from the bloated body of the half-burned dead, which the current had washed up onto a sandbank, howling and screaming as they fought over their terrible meal!

How little the natives think of death! This morning, when I was on deck, the body of a woman floated by the pinnace, within the reach of a bamboo; she was apparently dead, her long black hair spread on the stream; by the style of the red dress, she was a Hindoo; she must have fallen, or have been thrown into the river. I desired the men to pull the body to the vessel’s side, and see if she might not be saved. They refused to touch it even with a bamboo; nobody seemed to think any thing about it, further than to prevent the body touching the vessel, should the stream bring it close to the side. One man coolly said, “I suppose she fell into the river when getting up water in her gharā” (earthen vessel)!

How little the locals care about death! This morning, while I was on deck, a woman's body floated by the boat, close enough to reach with a bamboo pole. She looked dead, her long black hair spread out in the water. By the style of her red dress, she was Hindu; she must have fallen or been thrown into the river. I asked the men to pull the body to the ship's side and see if she could be saved. They refused to touch it, even with a bamboo stick; nobody seemed to care about it, except to make sure the body didn’t bump into the ship if the current brought it close. One man casually said, “I guess she fell into the river while getting water in her gharā” (earthen vessel)!

How easily a murdered man might be disposed of! On account of the expense of fuel, the poorer Hindoos only slightly burn the bodies of the dead, and then cast them into the river; by attiring the corpse after the fashion of a body to be burned, and throwing it into the stream, it would never attract attention; any native would say, “Do not touch it, do not touch it; it is merely a burnt body.”

How easily a murdered man could be disposed of! Because of the cost of fuel, poorer Hindoos only partially burn the bodies of the dead and then toss them into the river; by dressing the corpse like a body meant for cremation and throwing it into the water, it would never draw attention; any local would say, “Don’t touch it, don’t touch it; it’s just a burnt body.”

This life on the river, however solitary, is to me very agreeable; and I would proceed beyond Agra to Delhi, but that I should think there cannot be water enough for the pinnace; with a fair wind there is much to enjoy in the changing scene, but tracking against a contrary one is tiresome work.

This life on the river, though lonely, is quite enjoyable for me; I would go beyond Agra to Delhi, but I don’t think there’s enough water for the boat. With a good wind, there’s a lot to appreciate in the changing view, but going against the current is exhausting work.

3rd.—A most unpleasant day; we were aground many times, contending against the stream and a powerful wind. The new goon broke, and we were at last fixed most firmly and unpleasantly on a bank of sand; in that position, finding it impossible to extricate the pinnace, we remained all night.

3rd.—It was a really rough day; we got stuck several times, struggling against the current and a strong wind. The new boat broke, and we ended up firmly stuck on a sandbank; in that situation, unable to get the small boat free, we stayed there all night.

4th.—We were obliged to cut our way through the sandbank to the opposite shore, a distance of about a quarter of a mile; this took twelve hours to accomplish; the anchor was[332] carried to a distance with a chain cable, and there dropped; and the pinnace was pulled by main force through the sand, where there was not water enough to float her. When out of it, we came upon a stream that ran like a torrent, aided by a most powerful and contrary wind. To remain where we were was dangerous; the men carried a thick cable in the dinghee to the shore, made it fast, and were pulling the vessel across; when half-way, just as we thought ourselves in safety, the cable broke, the pinnace whirled round and round like a bubble on the waters, and was carried with fearful velocity down the stream. The sarang lost all power over the vessel, but, at last, her progress was stopped by being brought up fast on a sandbank. By dint of hard work we once more got the cable fastened to the opposite shore, and carried her safely to the other side; where, to my great delight, we anchored, to await the decrease of the wind, that howled through the ropes as though it would tear them from the masts.

4th.—We had to cut our way through the sandbank to the other side, a distance of about a quarter of a mile; this took us twelve hours to complete. The anchor was[332] taken a distance away with a chain cable and dropped there; the pinnace was pulled through the sand by sheer force, where there wasn't enough water to float her. Once we got past that, we encountered a stream running like a torrent, made even stronger by a very powerful headwind. Staying where we were was risky; the men took a thick cable in the dinghy to the shore, secured it, and started pulling the vessel across. Just as we thought we were safe halfway across, the cable broke, and the pinnace spun around like a bubble on the water, being swept downstream at a terrifying speed. The sarang lost all control over the vessel, but eventually, we managed to stop her by getting her stuck on a sandbank. After a lot of hard work, we managed to secure the cable to the opposite shore again and safely brought her to the other side; there, to my great relief, we anchored and waited for the wind to die down, which howled through the ropes as if it wanted to rip them from the masts.

Thinking the vessel must have received a violent strain under all the force she had endured, we opened the hold, and found she had sprung a leak, that bubbled up at a frightful rate; the leak was under planks it was impossible to remove, unless by sawing off two feet from three large planks, if we could procure a saw; such a thing could not be found. I thought of a razor, the orthodox weapon wherewith to saw through six-inch boards, and get out of prison; no one would bring forward a razor. At length I remembered the very small fine saw I make use of for cutting the soap-stone, and, by very tender and gentle usage, we at length cut off the ends of the planks, and laid open the head of the leak, under the rudder, below water-mark. Here the rats and white ants had been very busy, and had worked away undisturbed at a principal beam, so that you could run your fingers some inches into it. With a very gentle hand the tow was stuffed in, but as we stopped the leak in one part, it sprang up in another; all day long we worked incessantly, and at night, in despair, filled it up with stiff clay. I went to rest, but my sleep was disturbed by dreams of water hissing in mine ears, and that we were going down stern foremost.[333] During the night I called up the men three times to bale the vessel; she gave up quantities of water. We anchored off Mulgong.

Thinking the ship must have taken a serious hit from all the force it endured, we opened the hold and discovered it had developed a leak that was bubbling up at a terrifying rate; the leak was beneath planks that couldn't be removed unless we sawed off two feet from three large planks, and we couldn't find a saw. I thought about using a razor, the usual tool for cutting through six-inch boards, but no one was willing to bring one. Eventually, I remembered the tiny fine saw I use for cutting soapstone, and with careful and gentle handling, we finally cut off the ends of the planks and exposed the source of the leak under the rudder, below the waterline. Here, the rats and white ants had been quite active, eating away undisturbed at a main beam, so much so that you could run your fingers several inches into it. With a gentle touch, we stuffed in the tow, but while we stopped the leak in one spot, it popped up in another; we worked tirelessly all day, and at night, out of desperation, we filled it with stiff clay. I went to sleep, but was disturbed by dreams of water hissing in my ears, and the feeling that we were going down stern first.[333] During the night, I called the men up three times to bail out the ship; it was taking in a lot of water. We anchored off Mulgong.

5th.—Detained by the strong and contrary wind; the leak still gave up water, but in a less quantity; and it was agreed to leave it in its present condition until we could get to Etaweh. I was not quite comfortable, knowing the state of the rotten wood, and the holes the rats had made, through which the water had bubbled up so fast. The next day, not one drop of water came from the leak, and the vessel being quite right afterwards, I determined not to have her examined until our arrival at Agra, and could never understand why she did not leak.

5th.—We were held back by the strong and opposing wind; the leak was still letting in water, but in smaller amounts. We decided to leave it as it was until we could reach Etaweh. I wasn't feeling very secure, considering the state of the rotting wood and the holes the rats had created, through which the water had seeped in so quickly. The next day, not a single drop of water came from the leak, and the ship seemed fine afterward, so I decided not to have it checked until we got to Agra. I could never figure out why it had stopped leaking.

9th.—Ever since the 4th we have had the most violent and contrary winds all day; obliged generally to anchor for two hours at noon, it being impossible to stem the stream, and struggle against the wind; most disagreeable work; I am quite tired and sick of it. Thus far I have borne all with the patience of a Hindoo, the wish to behold the Tāj carrying me on. It is so cold, my hand shakes, I can scarcely guide my pen; the thermometer 50° at 10 A.M., with this bitter and strong wind. I dare not light a fire, as I take cold quitting it to go on deck; all the glass windows are closed,—I have on a pair of Indian shawls, snow boots, and a velvet cap,—still my face and head throb with rheumatism. When on deck, at mid-day, I wear a sola topī, to defend me from the sun.

9th.—Since the 4th, we've had really strong and conflicting winds all day. We usually have to anchor for two hours around noon because it's impossible to fight against the current and the wind. It's really frustrating work, and I'm pretty tired and fed up with it. So far, I've handled everything with the patience of a saint, driven by my desire to see the Tāj. It's so cold that my hands are shaking, making it hard to write; the thermometer reads 50° at 10 AM, with this harsh and strong wind. I can't light a fire because I get cold leaving it to go on deck; all the windows are closed. I'm wearing two Indian shawls, snow boots, and a velvet cap, yet my face and head are still aching from the cold. When I'm on deck at noon, I wear a sola topī to protect myself from the sun.

This river is very picturesque; high cliffs, well covered with wood, rising abruptly from the water: here and there a Hindoo temple, with a great peepul-tree spreading its fine green branches around it: a ruined native fort: clusters of native huts: beautiful stone ghāts jutting into the river: the effect greatly increased by the native women, in their picturesque drapery, carrying their vessels for water up and down the cliffs, poised on their heads. Fishermen are seen with their large nets; and droves of goats and small cows, buffaloes, and peacocks come to the river-side to feed. But the most picturesque of all are the different sorts of native vessels; I am quite charmed with the boats. Oh that I were a painter, who could do justice to the[334] scenery! My pinnace, a beautiful vessel, so unlike any thing else here, must add beauty to the river, especially when under sail.

This river is stunning; tall cliffs, lush with trees, rise sharply from the water. Occasionally, you’ll spot a Hindu temple, with a large peepul tree spreading its vibrant green branches around it, a crumbling native fort, clusters of local huts, and beautiful stone ghats extending into the river. The scene is even more enhanced by the local women in their colorful outfits, balancing water vessels on their heads as they navigate the cliffs. Fishermen can be seen with their large nets, while herds of goats, small cows, buffaloes, and peacocks come to the riverside to graze. But the most striking of all are the various types of local boats; I’m completely enchanted by them. Oh, if only I were an artist who could truly capture this scenery! My pinnace, a lovely vessel so different from anything else here, surely adds to the river’s beauty, especially when it’s sailing.

Aground on a sandbank again! with such a wind and stream it is not pleasant—hardly safe. What a noise! attempting to force her off the bank; it is terribly hard work; the men, up to their waists in water, are shoving the vessel with their backs, whilst the wind and stream throw her back again. Some call on Allah for aid, some on Gunga, some on Jumna-jee, every man shouting at the height of his voice. What a squall! the vessel lies over frightfully. I wish the wind would abate! forced sideways down on the sandbank by the wind and stream, it is not pleasant. There! there is a howl that ought to succeed in forcing her off, in spite of the tufān; such clouds of fine sand blowing about in every direction! Now the vessel rocks, now we are off once more,—back we are again! I fancy the wind and stream will have their own way. Patience, mem sāhiba, you are only eight miles from Etaweh: when you may get over those eight miles may be a difficult calculation. The men are fagging, up to their breasts in the river; I must go on deck, and make a speech. What a scene! I may now consider myself really in the wilderness, such watery waists are spread before me!

Aground on a sandbank again! With this wind and current, it's not enjoyable—barely safe. What a racket! Trying to get her off the bank; it's really exhausting; the guys, up to their waists in water, are pushing the boat with their backs, while the wind and current push her back again. Some are calling on Allah for help, some on Gunga, some on Jumna-jee, everyone yelling at the top of their lungs. What a storm! The boat is leaning dangerously. I wish the wind would die down! Being pushed sideways onto the sandbank by the wind and current is no fun. There! That howl should manage to get her off, despite the storm; clouds of fine sand are blowing everywhere! Now the boat rocks, now we’re off again—back we go! I think the wind and current will win this one. Patience, mem sāhiba, you're only eight miles from Etaweh: figuring out when you'll cover those eight miles might be tricky. The men are exhausted, up to their chests in the river; I need to go on deck and give a speech. What a sight! I can really say I’m in the wilderness now; such watery stretches are spread out before me!

THE MEM SĀHIBA’S SPEECH.

“Ari! Ari! what a day is this! Ahi Khudā! what a wind is here! Is not this a tufān? Such an ill-starred river never, never did I see! Every moment, every moment, we are on a sandbank. Come, my children, let her remain; it is the will of God,—what can we do? Eat your food, and when the gale lulls we may get off. Perhaps, by the blessing of God, in twelve months’ time we may reach Etaweh.”

“Ari! Ari! What a day this is! Oh God! What a wind we have! Is this not a storm? I’ve never seen such a cursed river! Every moment, we’re stuck on a sandbank. Come, my children, let’s stay here; it’s the will of God—what can we do? Eat your food, and when the wind dies down, we might get moving. Maybe, if we’re lucky, in twelve months’ time we’ll reach Etaweh.”

After this specimen of eloquence, literally translated from the Hindostanee in which it was spoken, the dāndees gladly wrapped their blankets round them, and crept into corners out of the wind, to eat chabenī, the parched grain of Indian corn, maize. Could you but see the men whom I term my children! they are just what in my youth I ever pictured to myself cannibals must be: so wild and strange-looking, their long, black, shaggy hair[335] matted over their heads, and hanging down to their shoulders; their bodies of dark brown, entirely naked, with the exception of a cloth round the waist, which passes between the limbs. They jump overboard, and swim ashore with a rope between their teeth, and their towing-stick in one hand, just like dogs,—river dogs; the water is their element more than the land. If they want any clothes on shore they carry them on the top of their heads, and swim to the bank in that fashion. The mem sāhiba’s river dogs; they do not drink strong waters; and when I wish to delight them very much, I give them two or three rupees’ worth of sweetmeats, cakes of sugar and ghee made in the bazār; like great babies, they are charmed with their meetai, as they call it, and work away willingly for a mem sāhiba who makes presents of sweetmeats and kids.

After this impressive speech, which was literally translated from Hindostanee, the dāndees happily wrapped their blankets around themselves and found sheltered corners away from the wind to eat chabenī, the roasted grains of Indian corn, maize. If you could see the men I call my children! They are exactly what I imagined cannibals would look like in my youth: wild and unique-looking, with their long, black, shaggy hair[335] tangled over their heads and hanging down to their shoulders; their dark brown bodies completely naked, except for a cloth around their waists that passes between their legs. They leap overboard and swim to shore with a rope between their teeth, towing a stick in one hand, just like dogs—river dogs; the water is more their element than the land. If they want clothes on shore, they balance them on their heads and swim to the bank that way. The mem sāhiba's river dogs; they don’t drink strong liquor; and when I really want to please them, I give them two or three rupees' worth of sweets, cakes made of sugar and ghee from the bazār; like big kids, they are delighted with their meetai, as they call it, and eagerly work for a mem sāhiba who offers them treats and playmates.

Saw the first wolf to-day; I wish we were at Etaweh,—to anchor here is detestable: if we were there I should be reading my letters, and getting in supplies for Agra. How I long to reach the goal of my pilgrimage, and to make my salām to the “Tāj beebee ke rauza,” the mausoleum of the lady of the Tāj!

Saw the first wolf today; I wish we were at Etaweh—anchoring here is awful: if we were there, I’d be reading my letters and stocking up on supplies for Agra. How I long to reach the end of my journey and pay my respects to the “Tāj beebee ke rauza,” the mausoleum of the lady of the Tāj!


[336]

[336]

CHAPTER XXIX.
Pilgrimage to the Taj.

“HE WHO HAS NOT PATIENCE POSSESSES NOT PHILOSOPHY[125].”

“HE WHO HAS NOT PATIENCE POSSESSES NOT PHILOSOPHY[125].”

“Whether doing, suffering, or forbearing,
You may do miracles by persevering.”

Etaweh—Moonlight Ride—The Wolves—Bird-catchers—Peacocks—The Bar of Sand—The Good Luck of the Mem Sāhiba—Narangee Ghāt—Betaizor—The Silk-cotton Tree—Fields of the Cotton Plant—The Chakwā Chukwaee—Eloquence of a Dhobee—Aladīnpoor—Noon, or Loon—Modelling in Khuree—Cotton Boats—The Ulāk—Vessels on the River—Plantations of the Castor Oil Plant—Cutting through a Sandbank—First Sight of the Tāj—Porcupines—Bissowna—Quitted the Pinnace—Arrival at Agra.

Etaweh—Moonlight Ride—The Wolves—Bird-catchers—Peacocks—The Bar of Sand—The Good Luck of the Mem Sāhiba—Narangee Ghāt—Betaizor—The Silk-cotton Tree—Fields of the Cotton Plant—The Chakwā Chukwaee—Eloquence of a Dhobee—Aladīnpoor—Noon, or Loon—Modeling in Khuree—Cotton Boats—The Ulāk—Vessels on the River—Plantations of the Castor Oil Plant—Cutting through a Sandbank—First Sight of the Tāj—Porcupines—Bissowna—Quitted the Pinnace—Arrival at Agra.

1835, Jan. 10th.—Ours is the slowest possible progress; the wind seems engaged to meet us at every turn of our route. At 3 P.M. we lugāoed at Etaweh; while I was admiring the ghāts, to my great delight, a handful of letters and parcels of many kinds were brought to me. In the evening, the chaprāsī in charge of my riding horses, with the sā’īses and grass-cutters who had marched from Allahabad to meet me, arrived at the ghāt. The grey neighed furiously, as if in welcome; how glad I was to see them!

1835, Jan. 10th.—We’re making the slowest progress possible; the wind seems determined to challenge us at every turn. At 3 P.M., we stopped at Etaweh; while I was admiring the riverside, I was thrilled to receive a handful of letters and various parcels. In the evening, the assistant in charge of my riding horses, along with the helpers and grass-cutters who had traveled from Allahabad to meet me, arrived at the riverside. The grey horse neighed excitedly, as if to welcome me; I was so happy to see them!

In a minute I was on the little black horse; away we went, the black so glad to have a canter, the mem sāhiba so happy to give him one: through deep ravines, over a road through the dry bed of a torrent, up steep cliffs; away we went like creatures[337] possessed; the horse and rider were a happy pair. After a canter of about four miles it became dark, or rather moonlight, and I turned my horse towards the river, guided by the sight of a great cliff, some 150 or 200 feet high, beneath which we had anchored. I lost my way, but turned down a bridle road in the bed of a ravine, which of course led somewhere to the river. I rode under a cliff so high and overhanging, I felt afraid to speak; at last we got out of the cold and dark ravine, and came directly upon the pinnace. I had met, during my ride, two gentlemen in a buggy; one of them, after having arrived at his own house, returned to look for me, thinking I might turn down by mistake the very road I had gone, which at night was very unsafe, on account of the wolves; but he did not overtake me.

In no time, I was on the little black horse; off we went, the horse so happy to canter, and the lady so excited to let him. We raced through deep ravines, over a path in the dry riverbed, and up steep cliffs; we dashed along like we were on fire; the horse and I made a joyful pair. After about four miles of cantering, it turned dark, or rather, it was illuminated by the moon, and I aimed my horse towards the river, guided by the sight of a massive cliff, about 150 or 200 feet high, where we had anchored. I lost my way but took a side path down into a ravine, which obviously led somewhere to the river. I rode beneath a cliff so towering and overhanging that it made me afraid to speak; finally, we emerged from the cold, dark ravine and came right to the pinnace. During my ride, I encountered two men in a buggy; one of them, after reaching his own house, came back looking for me, worrying that I might mistakenly take the very road I had already traveled, which was quite dangerous at night because of the wolves; but he didn’t catch up to me.

The next morning he called on me, and brought me a letter from a relative; therefore we were soon acquainted, and agreed to have a canter, when the sun should go down. He told me, on his way down, the police had brought him a basket, containing half the mangled body of a child; the wolves had seized the poor child, and had devoured the other half the night before, in the ravines. It was fortunate I did not encounter a gang of them under the dark cliff, where the black horse could scarcely pick his way over the stones.

The next morning, he came to see me and brought a letter from a relative. We quickly got to know each other and decided to go for a ride when the sun started to set. On the way down, he told me that the police had found a basket with half of a mutilated child's body; the wolves had attacked the poor child and had eaten the other half the night before in the ravines. It was lucky that I didn't run into a pack of them under the dark cliff, where the black horse could barely make his way over the stones.

11th.—I rode with Mr. G⸺ through the ravines and the Civil Station, and saw many beautiful and picturesque spots. We returned to the pinnace; he came on board, and we had a long conference. It was not to be marvelled at that the mem sāhiba talked a great deal, when it is considered she had not spoken one word of English for thirty-three days; then she did talk!—ye gods! how she did talk! Mr. G⸺ offered to send armed men with me if I felt afraid, but I declined taking them; and he promised to forward my letters by horsemen every day, to meet the pinnace. Nothing can be greater than the kindness one meets with from utter strangers in India. He gave my husband and me an invitation to pay him a visit on our way back, which I accepted for the absent sāhib.

11th.—I rode with Mr. G⸺ through the canyons and the Civil Station, and saw many beautiful and scenic spots. We returned to the boat; he came on board, and we had a long discussion. It’s no surprise that the mem sāhiba talked a lot, considering she hadn't spoken a word of English for thirty-three days; and talk she did!—oh my, how she talked! Mr. G⸺ offered to send armed men with me if I felt scared, but I turned them down; and he promised to send my letters by horseback every day to catch up with the boat. There’s no greater kindness than what you receive from total strangers in India. He invited my husband and me to visit him on our way back, which I accepted for the absent sāhib.

I was amused by an officer’s coming down to the river, which he crossed; he then mounted a camel, and his servant another;[338] he carried nothing with him but some bedding, that served as a saddle, and a violin! In this fashion he had come down from Sabbatoo, and was going, viâ Jubbulpore, across to Bombay! thence to sail for England. How charmingly independent! It is unusual for a gentleman to ride a camel; those who understand the motion, a long swinging trot, say it is pleasant; others complain it makes the back ache, and brings on a pain in the liver. At Etaweh every thing was to be had that I wished for; peacocks, partridges, fowls, pigeons, beef, were brought for sale; atr of roses, peacocks’ feathers, milk, bread, green tea, sauces; in short, food of every sort. I read and answered my letters, and retired to rest perfectly fagged.

I was amused when an officer came down to the river, crossed it, then got on a camel while his servant took another one; he had nothing with him except some bedding that doubled as a saddle and a violin! This is how he had traveled down from Sabbatoo and was heading, via Jubbulpore, to Bombay! After that, he planned to sail for England. How charmingly independent! It's not common for a gentleman to ride a camel; those who know how to handle the motion, which is a long, swinging trot, say it’s nice; others complain that it makes their back hurt and causes liver pain. In Etaweh, I could find everything I wanted; peacocks, partridges, chickens, pigeons, and beef were all for sale; there were also rose water, peacock feathers, milk, bread, green tea, sauces; in short, food of every kind. I read and responded to my letters and went to bed completely exhausted.

12th.—At daybreak the pinnace started once more for Agra,—once more resumed her pilgrimage; it is seventy-two miles by the road from Etaweh; how far it may be by this twisting and winding river remains to be proved. For some days two bird-catchers (chirī-mārs) have followed the pinnace, and have supplied me with peacocks; to-day they brought a hen and three young ones; they also brought their nets and the snares with them, which I had seen them use on shore. The springes are beautifully made of buffalo-horn and catgut. I bought one hundred and six springes for catching peacocks, cyrus, wild ducks, &c., for four rupees, and shall set them in the first jungle we meet. I set them immediately in the cabin, and caught my own two dogs: it was laughable to see the dismay of the dogs, nor could I help laughing at my own folly in being such a child. My head began to throb bitterly, and I spent the rest of the day ill in bed.

12th.—At daybreak, the small boat set out again for Agra, continuing its journey; it’s seventy-two miles by road from Etaweh, but how far it is by this winding river is yet to be determined. For a few days, two bird catchers have been following the boat, providing me with peacocks; today they brought a hen and three chicks. They also came with their nets and traps, which I had seen them using onshore. The traps are well-crafted from buffalo horn and catgut. I bought one hundred and six traps for catching peacocks, geese, wild ducks, etc., for four rupees, and I’ll set them out in the first jungle we encounter. I immediately set them up in the cabin and caught my own two dogs; it was amusing to see the dogs' distress, and I couldn’t help but laugh at my own foolishness for being so childish. My head started to throb painfully, and I spent the rest of the day sick in bed.

15th.—At 8 A.M. the thermometer was 46°, at 1 P.M. 66°, a great difference in five hours. The peacocks, in the evening, were calling from the cliffs, and came down to feed by the river-side, looking beautiful; there were four male birds on one spot, quite fearless, not taking any notice of the men on the goon. Anchored at Purrier.

15th.—At 8 A.M., the thermometer read 46°, and by 1 P.M. it had risen to 66°, a significant change in just five hours. In the evening, the peacocks were calling from the cliffs and came down to feed by the riverbank, looking stunning; there were four male birds in one area, completely unafraid, ignoring the men nearby. Anchored at Purrier.

16th.—A good day’s tracking; no obstacles; good water, i.e. deep water; anchored late at Dedowlee ke Nuggra.

16th.—A productive day of tracking; no obstacles; plenty of good water, i.e. deep water; anchored late at Dedowlee ke Nuggra.

17th.—Found a bar of sand directly across the river; about[339] fourteen enormous boats all aground; numbers of vessels arriving hourly; every one going aground, as close as they could lie together; in the midst of the bar was one vessel which had been there four days. The sarang of the pinnace came to me and said, “Until that salt-boat gets off we cannot move; in all probability, we shall be utterly unable to cross the bar.” The whole day, in the dinghee, did the men sound the river; in the evening I went with them, to see and satisfy myself of the impossibility of crossing; even the dinghee grounded; where, then, could the pinnace find water?

17th.—I found a sandbar right across the river; there were about[339] fourteen huge boats stuck on it; a lot of vessels arriving every hour; each one getting stuck, as close as they could park together; in the middle of the sandbar was one boat that had been there for four days. The captain of the small boat came to me and said, “We can't move until that salt-boat gets free; it's very likely we won’t be able to cross the sandbar at all.” All day long, the men in the small boat were checking the river depth; in the evening, I went with them to see for myself that crossing was impossible; even the small boat got stuck; so, where could the small boat find deep water?

I determined to send on the servants, the baggage, and food in the flat-bottomed cook-boat, to Agra; to write for a dāk for myself, and to remain quietly in the pinnace, until its arrival; went to bed, out of spirits at the unlucky accident of the bar across the river. In the morning, hearing a great noise, I went on deck; the salt-boat was gone, all the vessels but one were off, and the crew were preparing to pull the pinnace by main force through the bar of sand; remembering the leak, I viewed these preparations with anxiety; that leak being only stopped with mud and towels. They pulled her into the place from which the salt-boat had at last extricated herself; a little more exertion, and the pretty Seagull slipped and slid out of the sandbank into deep water. Such a shout as arose from the crew! “We shall see the Tāj beebee ke Rauza: it is our destiny; the mem sāhiba’s kismat (fate) is good: to be sure, what a number of rupees has not the mem sāhiba spent on the pinnace! Her luck is good; this her pilgrimage will be accomplished; and the sāhib will be pleased also!”

I decided to send the staff, the luggage, and food on the flat-bottomed boat to Agra; to request a ride for myself, and to stay quietly in the small boat until it arrived; then I went to bed, feeling down about the unfortunate accident with the sandbar across the river. In the morning, hearing a lot of noise, I went on deck; the salt boat was gone, all but one of the vessels had left, and the crew was preparing to pull the small boat through the sandbar with all their strength; remembering the leak, I watched their efforts with worry since the leak was only plugged with mud and towels. They pulled her into the spot where the salt boat had finally freed itself; with a little more effort, the lovely Seagull slipped and slid off the sandbank and into deep water. The shout that erupted from the crew was incredible! “We will see the Tāj beebee ke Rauza: it is our fate; the mem sāhiba’s kismat (fate) is good: just think of how many rupees the mem sāhiba has spent on the small boat! Her luck is good; her pilgrimage will be successful; and the sāhib will be happy too!”

And the mem sāhiba was pleased; for we had got over a bar in half an hour, that, the night before, we calculated might take two or three days to cross, with great risk to the vessel. I had determined to give up attempting to take the Seagull further, not liking the chance of straining the timbers so severely, the vessel not being a newly-built one. “Once more upon the waters!” Thank God, we are not upon the sand!

And the lady was happy; we had crossed a barrier in half an hour that we thought the night before could take two or three days, with a lot of risk to the ship. I had decided to stop trying to take the Seagull further, not wanting to risk damaging the ship since it wasn't newly built. “Once more upon the waters!” Thank God we’re not stuck in the sand!

An acquaintance, the Hon. Mrs. R⸺, has just arrived at Allahabad from England; nothing could exceed her astonishment[340] when she heard I had gone up the Jumna alone, on a pilgrimage of perhaps two months or more to see the Tāj, not forced to make the voyage from necessity. I have books, and employments of various sorts, to beguile the loneliness; and the adventures I meet with, give variety and interest to the monotony of life on the river. Could I follow my own inclinations, I would proceed to Delhi, thence to the Hills, and on to the source of the Jumna; this would really be a good undertaking. “Capt. Skinner’s Travels,” which I have just read, have given me the most ardent desire to go to the source of the Jumna.

An acquaintance, the Hon. Mrs. R⸺, has just arrived in Allahabad from England; nothing could match her surprise[340] when she found out I had traveled up the Jumna alone, on a pilgrimage that might last two months or more to see the Tāj, not having to make the journey out of necessity. I have books and various activities to help pass the time during the solitude; and the adventures I experience add variety and interest to the monotony of life on the river. If I could follow my own preferences, I would go to Delhi, then to the Hills, and on to the source of the Jumna; that would truly be a great adventure. "Capt. Skinner's Travels," which I just finished reading, has ignited a strong desire in me to visit the source of the Jumna.

18th.—Stags, of the chicara sort, with small straight horns, come down to drink by the river-side; wild geese and cyrus are in flocks on the sandbanks. A slight but favourable breeze has sprung up, we are going gently and pleasantly before it. Nārāngee ghāt,—what a beautiful scene! The river was turned from its channel by the Rajah Buddun Sing, and directed through a pass, cut straight through a very high cliff: the cut is sharp and steep; the cliffs abrupt and bold; some trees; native huts; a temple in the distance; numbers of boats floating down the stream, through the pass; the pinnace and patelī, in full sail, going up it; ferry-boats and passengers; cows and buffaloes swimming the ferry; a little beyond, before the white temple, on a sandbank, are six great crocodiles, basking in the sun. Am I not pleased? One of the fairest views I have seen: what a contrast to yesterday, when my eyes only encountered the sandbank, and the fixture of a salt-boat, our particular enemy! Anchored at Hurrier; fagged and ill from over-exertion.

18th.—Deer of the chicara kind, with small straight antlers, come down to drink by the riverside; wild geese and cyrus are flocking on the sandbanks. A slight but favorable breeze has picked up, and we are moving gently and pleasantly with it. Nārāngee ghāt,—what a stunning scene! The river was diverted from its channel by Rajah Buddun Sing and directed through a cut straight through a very high cliff: the cut is sharp and steep; the cliffs are steep and dramatic; some trees; local huts; a temple in the distance; plenty of boats drifting down the stream through the cut; the pinnace and patelī, sailing up it; ferry boats and passengers; cows and buffaloes crossing the ferry; a bit further ahead, before the white temple, on a sandbank, there are six large crocodiles basking in the sun. Am I not happy? One of the most beautiful views I’ve seen: what a contrast to yesterday, when all I saw was the sandbank and the sight of a salt-boat, our particular nemesis! Anchored at Hurrier; worn out and unwell from overexertion.

19th.—We arrived at the city of Betaizor, which is built across the bed where the Jumna formerly flowed. The Rajah Buddun Sing built this ghāt, and very beautiful it is; a perfect crowd of beautiful Hindoo temples clustered together, each a picture in itself, and the whole reflected in the bright pure waters of the Jumna. I stopped there for an hour, to sketch the ghāt, and walked on the sands opposite, charmed with the scene,—the high cliffs, the trees; no Europeans are there,—a place is spoiled by European residence. In the evening we[341] anchored off the little village of Kheil: rambling on the river’s bank, I saw five peacocks in the shimoul (the silk-cotton tree), and called Jinghoo Bearer, who ran off to fetch a matchlock, which he loaded with two bullets; the birds were so unmolested, they showed no fear when I went under the tree with the dogs, and only flew away when Jinghoo fired at them; the report aroused two more peacocks from the next tree; a flock of wild geese, and another of wild ducks, sprang up from the sands; and the solitary chakwā screamed āw! āw! The shimoul is a fine high-spreading tree, the flower a brilliant one; and the pod contains a sort of silky down, with which mattresses and pillows are often stuffed. The natives object to pillows stuffed with silk-cotton, saying it makes the head ache. The large silk-cotton tree (bombax ceiba) is the seat of the gods who superintend districts and villages; these gods, although minor deities, are greatly feared. Punchaits, or native courts of justice, are held beneath the shimoul, under the eye of the deity in the branches. There are fields of kāpās, the common white cotton plant, (gossypium herbaceum,) on the side of the river; the cotton has just been gathered; a few pods, bursting with snowy down, are hanging here and there, the leavings of the cotton harvest: the plant is an annual. In my garden at Prāg are numerous specimens of the Bourbon cotton, remarkably fine, the down of which is of a brown colour.

19th.—We arrived in the city of Betaizor, which is built across the riverbed where the Jumna used to flow. The Rajah Buddun Sing constructed this ghāt, and it's truly beautiful; a perfect collection of stunning Hindu temples clustered together, each one a work of art, with the entire scene reflecting in the clear waters of the Jumna. I stayed there for an hour to sketch the ghāt and wandered along the sands across from it, enchanted by the view—the tall cliffs, the trees; there are no Europeans around—this place would be ruined by their presence. In the evening, we[341] anchored off the small village of Kheil; while strolling along the riverbank, I spotted five peacocks in the shimoul (the silk-cotton tree) and called Jinghoo Bearer, who hurried off to grab a matchlock, which he loaded with two bullets; the birds were so unbothered that they didn't show any fear when I approached the tree with the dogs and only flew away when Jinghoo shot at them; the sound scared two more peacocks from the next tree; a flock of wild geese and another of wild ducks took off from the sands; and a lone chakwā cried out āw! āw! The shimoul is a lovely, wide-spreading tree with brilliant flowers, and its pod contains a kind of silky down often used to stuff mattresses and pillows. The locals dislike pillows filled with silk-cotton, claiming they cause headaches. The large silk-cotton tree (bombax ceiba) is considered the home of the gods who oversee districts and villages; these gods, though lesser deities, are greatly feared. Punchaits, or local courts of justice, are held beneath the shimoul, under the watchful gaze of the deity in the branches. There are fields of kāpās, the common white cotton plant (gossypium herbaceum), on the riverside; the cotton has just been harvested, with a few pods bursting with fluffy white down still hanging here and there, remnants of the harvest: the plant is an annual. In my garden at Prāg, I have many specimens of Bourbon cotton, which is exceptionally fine and has brown down.

I have met hundreds of enormous boats, laden with cotton, going down to Calcutta, and other parts of the country; they are most remarkably picturesque. I said the report startled the solitary chakwā. The chakwā is a large sort of reddish-brown wild duck (anas cæsarca), very remarkable in its habits. You never see more than two of these birds together; during the day they are never separate,—models of constancy; during the night they are invariably apart, always divided by the stream; the female bird flies to the other side of the river at night, remains there all solitary, and in the morning returns to her mate, who during the livelong night has been sitting alone and crying āw! āw! The male calls āw! some ten or twelve times successively; at length the female gives a single response, “nā’īch!” Leaving[342] the people, some cooking and some eating their dinners, I rambled on alone, as was my custom, to some distance from the boats, listening to and thinking of the chakwā. The first man who finished his meal was the dhobee, a Hindoo, and he started forth to find me. I questioned him respecting the birds, and he spake as follows: “When the beautiful Seeta was stolen away from the god Rām, he wandered all over the world seeking his love. He asked of the chakwā and his mate, ‘Where is Seeta, where is my love, have you seen her?’ The chakwā made answer, ‘I am eating, and attending to my own concerns; trouble me not, what do I know of Seeta?’ Rām, angry at these words, replied, ‘Every night henceforth your love shall be taken from you and divided by a stream; you shall bemoan her loss the livelong night; during the day she shall be restored.’

I have seen hundreds of massive boats, loaded with cotton, making their way to Calcutta and other parts of the country; they are incredibly picturesque. I mentioned that the report startled the solitary chakwā. The chakwā is a large reddish-brown wild duck (anas cæsarca), known for its unique habits. You never see more than two of these birds together; during the day they never separate—true models of loyalty. At night, however, they are always apart, separated by the stream; the female flies to the other side of the river at night, stays there all alone, and in the morning returns to her mate, who has spent the entire night sitting by himself and calling out, āw! āw! The male calls āw! about ten or twelve times in a row; eventually, the female replies with a single response, “nā’īch!” Leaving[342] the people, some cooking and some eating their dinners, I wandered off alone, as I often do, away from the boats, listening to and thinking about the chakwā. The first person to finish his meal was the dhobee, a Hindu, and he set off to find me. I asked him about the birds, and he responded, “When the beautiful Seeta was taken from the god Rām, he roamed the world searching for his love. He asked the chakwā and his mate, ‘Where is Seeta? Have you seen her?’ The chakwā replied, ‘I’m eating and taking care of my own business; don’t bother me, how would I know about Seeta?’ Rām, angered by these words, said, ‘From now on, every night your love will be taken from you and separated by a stream; you will mourn her loss all night long, and during the day she will be returned.’”

“He asked of the stars, ‘Where is Seeta?’ the silent stars hid their beams. He asked of the forest, ‘Where is my beloved?’ the forest moaned and sighed, and could give him no intelligence. He asked of the antelope, ‘Where is she whom I seek, the lost, the beloved?’ The antelope replied, ‘My mate is gone, my heart is bowed with grief, my own cares oppress me. Her whom you seek mine eyes have not beheld.’”

“He asked the stars, ‘Where is Seeta?’ but the silent stars hid their light. He asked the forest, ‘Where is my beloved?’ and the forest groaned and sighed, unable to give him any answers. He asked the antelope, ‘Where is she I’m looking for, the lost, the beloved?’ The antelope replied, ‘My partner is gone, my heart is heavy with sorrow, and my own troubles weigh me down. The one you seek, I have not seen.’”

It is true the birds invariably live after this fashion: they are great favourites of mine, the chakwās; and I never hear their cry but I think of Seeta Rām.

It’s true that birds always live this way: I really like the chakwās; and whenever I hear their call, I think of Seeta Rām.

21st.—The wind westerly and bitterly cold. Loon or noon, from which salt is made, is in large quantities on the river-side. We lugāoed at Aladīnpoor, the village of Ullah-o-deen, or Aladdin, as you call it; and I can think of nothing but his wonderful lamp. I walked through the village; the moment the people caught sight of me and the chaprāsīs, away they ran and hid themselves. In the middle of the village we found some young men sitting on the ground round a fire, warming their hands over the blaze: they did not show any fear, like the rest of the villagers, and I talked to them for some time. They pointed out their fields of the castor-oil plant, all nipped by the frost. I requested them to let me buy a[343] couple of kids to give to the dāndees, a kid feast would warm them such a cold evening. This morning I saw men brushing what is called noon off the clayey banks of the river: they steep it in water, then boil it, when a very good salt is produced. We sometimes use it at table. A poor man in this way brushes up a little noon, and makes enough for his own consumption, which is of great advantage to him. The natives consume salt in large quantities.

21st.—The wind was coming from the west and it was bitterly cold. Loon, or noon, which is used to make salt, is found in large quantities by the riverside. We lingered in Aladīnpoor, the village of Ullah-o-deen, or Aladdin, as you know it; and all I can think about is his amazing lamp. I walked through the village; as soon as the people saw me and the guards, they ran away and hid. In the center of the village, we found some young men sitting on the ground around a fire, warming their hands over the flames: they didn’t seem afraid, unlike the rest of the villagers, and I talked to them for a while. They showed me their fields of castor-oil plants, all damaged by the frost. I asked if I could buy a couple of kids to give to the dāndees, as a kid feast would warm them up on such a cold evening. This morning, I saw men brushing what’s called noon off the clay banks of the river: they soak it in water, then boil it, which produces very good salt. We sometimes use it at our meals. A poor man can brush up a little noon and make enough for his own needs, which is a big help. The locals consume salt in large amounts.

All day long I sit absorbed in modelling little temples, or ghāts, or some folly or another, in khuree, a sort of soap-stone. I can scarcely put it aside, it fascinates me so much. I cannot quit my soap-stone. Any thing I see, I try to imitate; and am now at work on a model of the bā’olī (great well) at Allahabad. Captain K⸺ gave me a tomb he had modelled in soap-stone, and some tools. I copied it, and have since modelled a temple on a ghāt and the bā’olī aforesaid; the stone is easily cut with a saw, or with a knife, and may be delicately carved. That bought in the bazār at Allahabad, weighing two or three sēr, is generally of a darkish colour, because the men who bring it from the Up Country often use it to form their chūlees (cooking places) on the road; it becomes discoloured by the heat. A relative sent me some khuree (soap-stone) from a copper mine hill, near Baghesur on the road to Melun Himalaya, which is remarkably pure and white.

All day long I sit focused on crafting little temples, or ghāts, or some other trinket out of khuree, a type of soapstone. I can hardly put it down; I'm so captivated by it. I can't let go of my soapstone. Everything I see, I try to replicate, and I'm currently working on a model of the bā’olī (great well) in Allahabad. Captain K⸺ gave me a tomb he had created in soapstone, along with some tools. I copied it and have since made a model of a temple on a ghāt and the bā’olī mentioned earlier; the stone is easy to cut with a saw or a knife and can be intricately carved. The stone sold in the bazaar in Allahabad, weighing two or three sēr, is usually a dark color because the men who bring it from the Up Country often use it to build their chūlees (cooking places) on the road, which makes it discolored from the heat. A relative sent me some khuree (soapstone) from a copper mine near Baghesur on the way to Melun Himalaya, which is exceptionally pure and white.

A great deal of the clayey ground on the river’s edge that we have passed to-day looks like a badly frosted cake, white from the loon or noon. A little more work at the soap-stone, and then to rest.

A lot of the muddy ground by the riverbank that we passed today looks like a poorly frosted cake, white from the moon or midday sun. A bit more work with the soapstone, and then it's time to relax.

23rd.—I could scarcely close my eyes during the night for the cold, and yet my covering consisted of four Indian shawls, a rezaī of quilted cotton, and a French blanket. A little pan of water having been put on deck, at 8 A.M. the ayha brought it to me filled with ice. What fine strong ice they must be making at the pits, where every method to produce evaporation is adopted! I am sitting by the fire for the first time. At 8 A.M. the thermometer was 46°; at 10 A.M. 54°. The dāndees complain bitterly of the cold. Thirteen men on the goon are[344] fagging, up to their knees in water, against the stream and this cold wind; this twist in the river will, however, allow of half an hour’s sail, and the poor creatures may then warm themselves. I will send each man a red Lascar’s cap and a black blanket, their Indian bodies feel the cold so bitterly. When the sails are up my spirits rise; this tracking day by day against wind and stream so many hundred miles is tiresome work. My solitude is agreeable, but the tracking detestable. I must go on deck, there is a breeze, and enjoy the variety of having a sail. At Pukkaghur eight peacocks were by the river-side, where they had come for water; on our approach they moved gently away. They roost on the largest trees they can find at night. I have just desired three pints of oil to be given to the dāndees, that they may rub their limbs. The cold wind, and being constantly in and out of the water, makes their skin split, although it is like the hide of the rhinoceros; they do not suffer so much when their legs have been well rubbed with oil. What a noise the men are making! they are all sitting on the deck, whilst a bearer, with a great jar of oil, is doling out a chhattak to each shivering dāndee.

23rd.—I could hardly close my eyes last night because of the cold, even though I was wrapped in four Indian shawls, a quilted cotton blanket, and a French blanket. A small pan of water was set on deck, and by 8 AM, the ayha brought it to me filled with ice. They must be making some really strong ice at the pits, where they use every method to create evaporation! I'm sitting by the fire for the first time. At 8 AM, the thermometer read 46°; by 10 Morning., it was 54°. The dāndees are complaining bitterly about the cold. Thirteen men on the goon are[344] toiling away, up to their knees in water, battling the current and this frigid wind; however, the bend in the river should allow for half an hour of sailing, and the poor guys can then warm themselves. I will send each man a red Lascar’s cap and a black blanket since their Indian bodies feel the cold so acutely. When the sails go up, my spirits lift; this daily tracking against the wind and current for hundreds of miles is exhausting. I enjoy my solitude, but tracking is terrible. I need to go on deck, there's a breeze, and it's nice to have a sail. At Pukkaghur, I saw eight peacocks by the river getting water; they gently moved away as we approached. They roost on the tallest trees they can find at night. I've just requested three pints of oil for the dāndees so they can rub their limbs. The cold wind and constant exposure to water make their skin crack, even though it's as tough as a rhinoceros's hide; they feel less pain when their legs have been well-oiled. What a racket the men are making! They’re all sitting on the deck while a bearer, with a large jar of oil, is handing out a chhattak to each shivering dāndee.

24th.—Another trouble! The river is very broad, with three great sandbanks in the centre, and there is scarcely any water among the divided channels. Two great cotton boats are aground in the deepest part. They must be off ere there will be room for the Seagull. Whilst the cook-boat anchors, the washermen will set to work to wash the clothes on the river’s edge, and will dry them in the rigging; and the crews of both vessels will unite to cut the pinnace through the sand. Noon: the cotton boats are off; the dinghee is moving about, sounding the passage.

24th.—Another problem! The river is really wide, with three big sandbanks in the middle, and there’s barely any water in the split channels. Two large cotton boats are stuck in the deepest area. They need to get moving before there’s enough space for the Seagull. While the cook boat drops anchor, the washermen will start washing clothes at the riverbank and will hang them to dry in the rigging. The crews of both boats will work together to drag the dinghy through the sand. Noon: the cotton boats are free; the dinghy is navigating around, checking the passage.

I have had a ramble on the sands, and have found a shell, the shape of the most curious of the fossils we used to find in the cliffs at Christ Church in Hampshire. I have only found three small ones, and must look for more; they are rarely on the sands. Whilst we were waiting for the cotton boats to get off, I sketched them. The boat called an ulāk is beautiful, like a bird upon the waters—graceful and airy—with bamboos in all[345] directions, which add to the picturesque effect. The natives say there is a soul in every vessel: the spirit of an ulāk must be a fairy, flitting and fanciful. An ulāk will spread her high and graceful sails; her slender mast, a bamboo, will bend to the wind; and she will be out of sight almost ere you have gazed upon her—hidden from you by some steep cliff, crowned with a peepul-tree overshadowing some old Hindoo temple; below may be a ghāt, jutting into the river, with a sandbank before it, on which the crocodiles are basking and the wild ducks feeding, while the sentinel bird keeps a sharp look out, and gives warning to the flock if danger approach them. How many boats I have counted of divers shapes and sizes! there is the pinnace, the pinnace budjerow, the budjerow, the bauleah,—these are all pleasure-boats; the kutcher or kutchuā, the kuttree, the ghurdowl, the ulāk, the pulwar, the burra patailā, the surree or soorree, the ferry-boat, and the dinghee; the beautiful vessels used by the Nawab during the festivals at Moorshedabad, and the snake-boats—nor must I forget the boats hollowed out of a single tree, with their shapeless sterns and bows. One of their methods of painting and ornamenting a ulāk is simple and original. They paint the vessel black; and then, dipping one hand into white paint, lay the palm flat on the vessel; this they repeat, until they have produced a border of white outspread hands. A golden eye is placed at the head, to enable the spirit of the vessel to see her way through the waters.

I took a stroll on the beach and found a shell shaped like the most interesting fossils we used to discover in the cliffs at Christ Church in Hampshire. I've only found three small ones so far and need to search for more; they don't often wash up on the shore. While we waited for the cotton boats to leave, I sketched them. The boat called an ulāk is stunning, like a bird on the water—graceful and light—adorned with bamboos in every direction, adding to its picturesque look. The locals believe there’s a soul in every vessel: the spirit of an ulāk must be a fairy, whimsical and playful. An ulāk will raise her tall, elegant sails; her slender bamboo mast will bend with the wind; and she'll be out of sight almost before you’ve had a chance to really look at her—hidden behind some steep cliff topped with a peepul tree shadowing an old Hindu temple; below might be a ghāt extending into the river, with a sandbank in front where crocodiles bask and wild ducks feed, while a sentinel bird keeps a vigilant watch, warning the flock of any approaching danger. I’ve counted so many boats of various shapes and sizes! There’s the pinnace, the pinnace budjerow, the budjerow, the bauleah—these are all pleasure boats; the kutcher or kutchuā, the kuttree, the ghurdowl, the ulāk, the pulwar, the burra patailā, the surree or soorree, the ferry-boat, and the dinghee; the beautiful vessels used by the Nawab during festivals at Moorshedabad, and the snake-boats—also, I shouldn't forget the boats carved from a single tree, with their irregular sterns and bows. One of their techniques for painting and decorating an ulāk is simple and original. They paint the boat black; then, dipping one hand in white paint, they lay their palm flat on the boat. They repeat this until they've created a border of white handprints. A golden eye is placed at the front, so the spirit of the vessel can see its way through the waters.

I walked to a small village, where there was a plantation of castor-oil plants, and of cotton plants. The people were working the finest well I have seen, with the exception of the Persian wheel wells: this employed ten bullocks, and the water came up in five very large skins, which are used as buckets.

I walked to a small village that had a plantation of castor-oil and cotton plants. The people were operating the best well I have ever seen, except for the Persian wheel wells: this one used ten bullocks, and the water came up in five large skins that served as buckets.

25th.—Was there ever any thing so provoking! we are fast in the centre of a sandbank, cutting through it on a chain-cable; it will take the whole day to get through it,—perhaps a day or two. There is a fine favourable wind, the first we have had for ages, and we should be at Agra by sunset, could we cross this vile sandbank. I go on deck every now and then to see[346] the progress: we advance about one yard in an hour! then we leave off work, the stream loosens the sand, and the work begins again, until another yard is accomplished, and then we wait for the stream. It is sadly tiresome work: however, the wind is a warm one, and we have only to contend with the stream and the sandbank.

25th.—Is there anything more frustrating? We're stuck right in the middle of a sandbank, trying to get through it on a chain-cable; it will take us all day—maybe a day or two. There's a nice favorable wind, the first we’ve had in ages, and we could reach Agra by sunset if we could just get past this awful sandbank. I go on deck every now and then to check the progress: we move about one yard in an hour! Then we stop working, the current loosens the sand, and we start again, making another yard, and then we wait for the current. It’s incredibly tedious work; however, the wind is warm, and we only have to deal with the current and the sandbank.

From 7 A.M. to 3 P.M. we worked away on the bank; at last we cut through into deep water. I was delighted to see a chaprāsī from Agra, with a packet of letters for me. How little did the dear ones in England imagine their letters would find me all alone in my beautiful pinnace, fast stuck in a sandbank in the middle of the Jumna!

From 7 AM to 3 PM, we worked hard on the bank; finally, we broke through into deep water. I was thrilled to see a messenger from Agra with a stack of letters for me. How little did my loved ones back in England expect that their letters would reach me all alone in my lovely boat, stranded on a sandbank in the middle of the Jumna!

26th.—This morning from the cliff the white marble dome of the Tāj could just be discerned, and we made salām to it with great pleasure. The pinnace anchored below Kutoobpoor, unable to proceed in consequence of another great sandbank, a quarter of a mile broad. The sarang says, “To attempt to cut through this on a chain-cable would draw every bolt and nail out of her frame.” The Ghāt Mānjhī is of the same opinion. I have been out in the dinghee sounding, and, fearless as I am, I dare not attempt cutting through such a bank; it would injure the vessel. There are two more sandbanks besides this ahead. It is folly to injure the pinnace, and I have made up my mind to quit her. Is it not provoking, only sixteen miles from Agra, and to be detained here? I have written to the Hon. H. D⸺ to request him to send down my horses; they must have arrived long ago, and a palanquin: his answer, I must await with due patience. What a pity I am not a shot! I saw three deer yesterday whilst I was amusing myself in an original fashion, digging porcupines out of their holes, or rather trying to do so, for the dogs found the holes; but the men could not get the animals out of them. Picked up a chilamchī full of river-shells. Before us are thirteen large boats aground on this sandbank. In the evening I took a long walk to see the state of another shallow ahead, which they say is worse than the one we are off. Six of the great cotton boats have cut through the sand; perhaps they will deepen the channel, and we shall[347] be able to pass on to-morrow. There are peacocks in the fields: what a pity my husband is not here, or that I am not a shot!

26th.—This morning, from the cliff, we could just make out the white marble dome of the Tāj, and we greeted it with great pleasure. The boat is anchored below Kutoobpoor, unable to move because of another big sandbank, a quarter of a mile wide. The captain says, “Trying to cut through this with a chain-cable would pull every bolt and nail out of the boat.” The crew member agrees with him. I’ve gone out in the small boat to take soundings, and as brave as I am, I won’t risk cutting through such a bank; it could damage the vessel. There are two more sandbanks ahead of us. It’s foolish to hurt the boat, and I’ve decided to leave her. Isn’t it frustrating to be only sixteen miles from Agra and stuck here? I’ve written to the Hon. H. D⸺ to ask him to send my horses; they must have arrived by now, along with a palanquin: I’ll have to wait patiently for his reply. What a shame I'm not a good shot! I saw three deer yesterday while I was entertaining myself in an unusual way, digging porcupines out of their holes – or at least trying to, since the dogs found the holes, but the men couldn’t get the animals out. I picked up a chilamchī full of river shells. In front of us are thirteen large boats stuck on this sandbank. In the evening, I took a long walk to check on another shallow area ahead, which they say is worse than the one we’re at now. Six of the large cotton boats have cut through the sand; maybe they will make the channel deeper, and we can pass tomorrow. There are peacocks in the fields: what a shame my husband isn’t here, or that I’m not a good shot!

27th.—Not being satisfied to quit the pinnace without having inspected the river myself, I went up to Bissowna in the patelī this morning, and found it would be utter folly to think of taking the Seagull further; besides which, it is impossible. I might upset her, but to get her across a bank half a mile in length is out of the question. The water in the deepest parts is only as high as a man’s knee, and she requires it up to the hip-bone. It is very provoking—I am tired of this vile jungle—nothing to look at but the vessels aground; besides which, the noise is eternal, night and day, from the shouts of the men trying to force their boats off the sand into deeper water.

27th.—Not being happy to leave the small boat without checking the river myself, I went to Bissowna in the smaller boat this morning and realized it would be completely foolish to think about taking the Seagull any further; in addition, it's impossible. I could capsize her, but getting her over a bank half a mile long is out of the question. The water in the deepest spots only reaches a man's knee, while she needs it up to the hip. It's really frustrating—I'm tired of this awful jungle—there's nothing to see but grounded vessels; plus, the noise is nonstop, day and night, from the shouting men trying to push their boats off the sand and into deeper water.

28th.—My riding horses having arrived, I quitted the pinnace, desiring the sarang to return to Dharu-ke-Nuggeria, and await further orders.

28th.—Now that my riding horses have arrived, I left the small boat and told the crew to return to Dharu-ke-Nuggeria and wait for further instructions.

I sent off the cook-boat and attendants to Agra, and taking my little pet terrier in my arms cantered off on the black horse to meet the palanquin a friend had sent for me. Late at night I arrived at Agra, found a tent that had been pitched for me within the enclosure of the Tāj, in front of the Kālūn Darwāza or great gateway, and congratulated myself on having at length accomplished the pilgrimage in a voyage up the Jumna of fifty-one days! Over-exertion brought on illness, and severe pains in my head laid me up for several days.

I sent the cook-boat and staff to Agra, and taking my little pet terrier in my arms, rode off on the black horse to meet the palanquin a friend had arranged for me. Late at night, I arrived in Agra and found a tent set up for me inside the Tāj enclosure, right in front of the Kālūn Darwāza, or main gateway. I congratulated myself on finally completing the pilgrimage after a fifty-one-day journey up the Jumna! However, overdoing it led to illness, and severe headaches kept me in bed for several days.


[348]

[348]

CHAPTER XXX.
THE TAJ MAHAL.

“I have paid two visits to Agra since I returned from Lucnow, and thought of you and the sāhib whilst admiring the Tāj. Do not, for the sake of all that is elegant, think of going home without paying it a visit. I shall, with great delight, be your cicerone in these regions: if you put it off much longer (if alive), I shall scarce be able to crawl with old age. Do not think of quitting India; it is a country far preferable to the cold climate, and still colder hearts of Europe.”

"I've visited Agra twice since I got back from Lucknow and thought of you and the sir while admiring the Taj. For the love of everything elegant, don't even think about going home without seeing it. I would be thrilled to be your guide here: if you delay much longer (if I'm still around), I might barely be able to move due to old age. Don't even consider leaving India; it's so much better than the cold weather—and even colder attitudes—of Europe."

W. L. G⸺, Khasgunge.

W. L. G⸺, Khasgunge.

The Tāj Mahul—Arzumund Bānoo—Shāhjahān—The Screen—The Echo of the Dome—Momtâza Zumâni—Her Sons and Daughters—Asaf-jāh—Noormāhul—Ruins of the second Tāj—Offerings at the Shrine—The wall—The Kālūn Darwāza—The Fountains—Melā of the Eed—The Burj—The Jāmma Khāna—The Masjid—The Bāo’lī—Tomb and Masjid of the Fathī pooree Begam—Tomb of the Akbarābādee Begam—Ground-plan of the Tāj—The Minarets—Stones used in the Mosaic—Tomb of the Simundee Begam—The Sitee Khanam—A Farewell to the Tāj.

The Tāj Mahal—Arzumund Bānoo—Shāh Jahan—The Screen—The Echo of the Dome—Mumtaz Mahal—Her Sons and Daughters—Asaf Jah—Noormāhul—Ruins of the second Tāj—Offerings at the Shrine—The Wall—The Kālūn Gate—The Fountains—Eid Fair—The Tower—The Gathering Place—The Mosque—The Stepwell—Tomb and Mosque of the Fathī Pooree Begum—Tomb of the Akbarābādee Begum—Ground plan of the Tāj—The Minarets—Stones used in the Mosaic—Tomb of the Simundee Begum—The Sitee Khanam—A Farewell to the Tāj.

1835, Jan.—I have seen the Tāj Mahul; but how shall I describe its loveliness? its unearthly style of beauty! It is not its magnitude; but its elegance, its proportions, its exquisite workmanship, and the extreme delicacy of the whole, that render it the admiration of the world. The tomb, a fine building of white marble, erected upwards of two centuries ago, is still in a most wonderful state of preservation, as pure and delicate as when first erected. The veins of grey in the marble give it a sort of pearl-like tint, that adds to, rather than diminishes its beauty. It stands on a square terrace of white marble, on each angle of which is a minaret of the same material. The whole is carved externally and internally, and inlaid with ornaments formed of blood-stones, agates, lapis lazuli, &c. &c., representing natural[349] flowers. The inscriptions over all the arches are in the Arabic character, in black marble, inlaid on white. The dome itself, the four smaller domes, and the cupolas on the roof, are all of the same white marble carved beautifully, and inlaid with flowers in coloured stones.

1835, Jan.—I have seen the Tāj Mahal; but how can I describe its beauty? Its otherworldly elegance! It’s not just its size, but its grace, proportions, exquisite craftsmanship, and the incredible delicacy of the entire structure that make it awe-inspiring. The tomb, a beautiful building made of white marble, was constructed over two centuries ago and remains in a remarkable state of preservation, as pure and delicate as when it was first built. The gray veins in the marble give it a pearlescent hue that enhances, rather than diminishes, its beauty. It sits on a square terrace of white marble, with a minaret made of the same material at each corner. The entire structure is intricately carved both inside and out and adorned with inlaid decorations made of bloodstones, agates, lapis lazuli, etc., depicting natural[349] flowers. The inscriptions above all the arches are in black marble, inlaid on white, written in Arabic characters. The dome, the four smaller domes, and the cupolas on the roof are also made of beautifully carved white marble, inlaid with flowers crafted from colored stones.

THE TĀJ MEHUL.

THE TAJ MEHAL.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

فاني پاركس

The outline of the Tāj, that I have annexed, was executed by Luteef, a native artist at Agra. It merely gives a faint idea of the style of architecture; the beauty of the tomb, the handsome buildings that appertain to it, the marble courts, the fine garden, the fountains, the beautiful trees, the river Jumna,—all are omitted, the mere elevation is represented in the sketch. The dome of the Tāj, like all domes erected by the Muhammadans, is egg-shaped, a form greatly admired; the dome in Hindoo architecture is always semicircular; and it is difficult to determine to which style of building should be awarded the palm of beauty.

The outline of the Tāj that I've included was created by Luteef, a local artist from Agra. It only gives a vague idea of the architectural style; it leaves out the beauty of the tomb, the impressive buildings surrounding it, the marble courtyards, the lovely garden, the fountains, the beautiful trees, and the river Jumna—all that's shown in the sketch is the basic elevation. The dome of the Tāj, like all domes built by Muslims, is egg-shaped, which is highly admired; meanwhile, the dome in Hindu architecture is always semicircular, making it hard to decide which style deserves the title of most beautiful.

This magnificent monument was raised by Shāhjahān to the memory of his favourite Sultana Arzumund Bānoo, on whom, when he ascended the throne, he bestowed the title of Momtâza Zumâni (the Most Exalted of the age).

This amazing monument was built by Shāhjahān in memory of his beloved Sultana Arzumund Bānoo, who he honored with the title of Momtâza Zumâni (the Most Exalted of the age) when he became king.

On the death of Shāhjahān, his grandson Alumgeer placed his cenotaph in the Tāj, on the right hand, and close to that of Arzumund Bānoo; this is rather a disfigurement, as the building was intended alone for the Lady of the Tāj, whose cenotaph rests in the centre. Formerly, a screen of silver and gold surrounded it; but when Alumgeer erected the tomb of Shāhjahān by the side of that of the Sultana, he removed the screen of gold and silver, and replaced it by an octagonal marble screen, which occupies about half the diameter of the building, and encloses the tombs. The open fretwork and mosaic of this screen are most beautiful: each side is divided into three panels, pierced and carved with a delicacy equal to the finest carving in ivory; and bordered with wreaths of flowers inlaid, of agate, bloodstone, cornelian, and every variety of pebble. I had the curiosity to count the number contained in one of the flowers, and found there were seventy-two; there are fifty flowers of the same pattern. The cenotaphs themselves are inlaid in the same[350] manner; I never saw any thing so elegant; the tombs, to be properly appreciated, must be seen, as all the native drawings make them exceedingly gaudy, which they are not. The inscriptions on both are of black marble inlaid on white, ornamented with mosaic flowers of precious stones.

Upon the death of Shāhjahān, his grandson Alumgeer placed his cenotaph in the Tāj, to the right and close to that of Arzumund Bānoo; this is somewhat of an eyesore, as the building was originally meant solely for the Lady of the Tāj, whose cenotaph is in the center. Previously, a screen made of silver and gold surrounded it; however, when Alumgeer built the tomb of Shāhjahān next to that of the Sultana, he removed the gold and silver screen and replaced it with an octagonal marble screen that covers about half the diameter of the building and encloses the tombs. The open fretwork and mosaic of this screen are incredibly beautiful: each side is divided into three panels, intricately carved with a delicacy comparable to the finest ivory work, and bordered with inlaid floral wreaths made of agate, bloodstone, cornelian, and various pebbles. I was curious enough to count the stones in one of the flowers and found there were seventy-two; there are fifty flowers of the same design. The cenotaphs themselves are inlaid in the same manner; I have never seen anything so elegant; the tombs must be viewed in person for proper appreciation, as all the native drawings depict them as excessively gaudy, which they are not. The inscriptions on both are made of black marble inlaid on white, decorated with mosaic flowers of precious stones.

The first glance on entering is imposing in the extreme: the dim religious light, the solemn echoes,—at first I imagined that priests in the chambers above were offering up prayers for the soul of the departed, and the echo was the murmur of the requiem. When many persons spoke together it was like thunder,—such a volume of powerful sounds; the natives compare it to the roar of many elephants. “Whatever you say to a dome it says to you again[126].” A prayer repeated over the tomb is echoed and re-echoed above like the peal of an organ, or the distant and solemn chant in a cathedral.

The first impression upon entering is incredibly striking: the dim, sacred light and the serious echoes—at first, I thought that priests in the upper chambers were praying for the soul of the deceased, and the echo was the sound of the requiem. When many people spoke at once, it sounded like thunder—such a powerful volume of sound; the locals compare it to the roar of many elephants. “Whatever you say to a dome, it says back to you.” A prayer recited over the tomb is echoed and re-echoed above like the sound of an organ or the distant, solemn chant in a cathedral.

Each arch has a window, the frames of marble, with little panes of glass, about three inches square. Underneath the cenotaphs is a vaulted apartment, where the remains of the Emperor and the Sultana are buried in two sarcophagi, facsimiles of the cenotaphs above. The crypt is square, and of plain marble; the tombs here are also beautifully inlaid, but sadly defaced in parts by plunderers. The small door by which you enter was formerly of solid silver: it is now formed of rough planks of mango wood.

Each arch has a window with marble frames and small glass panes, about three inches square. Underneath the cenotaphs is a vaulted room where the remains of the Emperor and the Sultana are buried in two sarcophagi that look just like the cenotaphs above. The crypt is square and made of plain marble; the tombs here are also beautifully inlaid, but unfortunately damaged in places by thieves. The small door you enter through used to be solid silver, but now it's made of rough mango wood planks.

It is customary with Musulmāns to erect the cenotaph in an apartment over the sarcophagus, as may be seen in all the tombs of their celebrated men. The Musulmāns who visit the Tāj lay offerings of money and flowers, both on the tombs below and the cenotaphs above; they also distribute money in charity, at the tomb, or at the gate, to the fakīrs.

It is common for Muslims to build a cenotaph in a room above the sarcophagus, as seen in all the tombs of their notable figures. Muslims visiting the Taj offer money and flowers on both the tombs below and the cenotaphs above; they also give money to charity at the tomb or at the entrance for the beggars.

The Sultana Arzumund Bānoo was the daughter of the vizier, Asaf-jāh; she was married twenty years to Shāhjahān, and bore him a child almost every year; she died on the 18th July, 1631, in childbed, about two hours after the birth of a princess. Though she seldom interfered in public affairs, Shāhjahān owed the empire to her influence with her father: nor was he[351] ungrateful; he loved her living, and lamented her when dead. Calm, engaging, and mild in her disposition, she engrossed his whole affection; and though he maintained a number of women for state, they were only the slaves of her pleasure. She was such an enthusiast in Deism, that she could scarcely forbear persecuting the Portuguese for their supposed idolatry, and it was only on what concerned that nation she suffered her temper, which was naturally placid, to be ruffled. To express his respect for her memory, the Emperor raised this tomb, which cost in building the amazing sum of £750,000 sterling. The death of the Sultana, in 1631, was followed by public calamities of various kinds. Four sons and four daughters survived her,—Dara, Suja, Aurunzebe, and Morâd: Aurunzebe succeeded to the throne of his father. The daughters were, the Princess Jahânārā (the Ornament of the World), Roshenrāi Begam (or the Princess of the Enlightened Mind), Suria Bânū (or the Splendid Princess), and another, whose name is not recorded. Arzumund Bānoo was the enemy of the Portuguese, then the most powerful European nation in India, in consequence of having accompanied Shāhjahān to one of their settlements, when she was enraged beyond measure against them, for the worship they paid to images.

The Sultana Arzumund Bānoo was the daughter of the vizier, Asaf-jāh; she was married to Shāhjahān for twenty years and gave birth almost every year. She passed away on July 18, 1631, during childbirth, about two hours after delivering a princess. Although she rarely got involved in public matters, Shāhjahān owed his empire to her influence with her father. He was not ungrateful; he loved her when she was alive and mourned her after she died. Calm, charming, and gentle by nature, she had his complete affection. Even though he kept several women for diplomatic reasons, they were merely at her service. She was such a devout believer in Deism that she could hardly refrain from persecuting the Portuguese for what she considered their idol worship, and it was only matters concerning them that disturbed her naturally peaceful temperament. To honor her memory, the Emperor built this tomb, which cost an astonishing £750,000. The Sultana's death in 1631 was followed by various public disasters. Four sons and four daughters survived her—Dara, Suja, Aurunzebe, and Morâd; Aurunzebe eventually took over the throne from his father. The daughters were Princess Jahânārā (the Ornament of the World), Roshenrāi Begam (or the Princess of the Enlightened Mind), Suria Bânū (or the Splendid Princess), and another daughter whose name is not recorded. Arzumund Bānoo was an opponent of the Portuguese, who were the most powerful European nation in India at the time, because she joined Shāhjahān on a visit to one of their settlements and felt extremely angry over their worship of images.

Such is the account given of the Most Exalted of the Age; but we have no record of her beauty, nor have we reason to suppose that she was beautiful. She was the niece of one of the most celebrated of women, the Sultana of Jahāngeer, whose titles were Mher-ul-nissa (the Sun of Women), Noor-mâhul (the Light of the Empire), and Noor-jahān (Light of the World).

Such is the story of the Most Exalted of the Age; however, we don't have any description of her beauty, nor do we have any reason to think she was beautiful. She was the niece of one of the most famous women, the Sultana of Jahāngeer, known by titles like Mher-ul-nissa (the Sun of Women), Noor-mâhul (the Light of the Empire), and Noor-jahān (Light of the World).

Noor-jahān was the sister of the Vizier Asaf-jāh, and aunt to the lady of the Tāj. Many people, seeing the beauty of the building, confuse the two persons, and bestow in their imaginations the beauty of the aunt on the niece. Looking on the tomb of Shāhjahān, one cannot but remember that, either by the dagger or the bow-string, he dispatched all the males of the house of Timūr, so that he himself and his children only remained of the posterity of Baber, who conquered India.

Noor Jahan was the sister of Vizier Asaf Jah and the aunt of the lady of the Taj. Many people, struck by the beauty of the building, mistakenly associate the aunt's beauty with her niece. When looking at the tomb of Shah Jahan, one cannot help but remember that he eliminated all the male members of the Timurid family, either by dagger or bowstring, so that only he and his children were left of Babur's descendants, who conquered India.

In former times no Musulmān was allowed to enter the Tāj,[352] but with a bandage over his eyes, which was removed at the grave where he made his offerings. The marble floor was covered with three carpets, on which the feet sank deeply, they were so soft and full. Pardas (screens) of silk, of fine and beautiful materials, were hung between all the arches. Chandeliers of crystal, set with precious stones, hung from the ceiling of the dome. There was also one chandelier of agate and another of silver: these were carried off by the Jāt Suruj Mul, who came from the Deccan and despoiled Agra.

In the past, no Muslim was allowed to enter the Taj,[352] except with a blindfold, which was taken off at the grave where they made their offerings. The marble floor was covered with three carpets, so soft and plush that your feet sank into them. Elegant silk screens hung between all the arches, made of fine and beautiful materials. Crystal chandeliers adorned the ceiling of the dome, embellished with precious stones. There was also one chandelier made of agate and another of silver; these were taken by the Jat Suruj Mul, who came from the Deccan and looted Agra.

It was the intention of Shāhjahān to have erected a mausoleum for himself, exactly similar to the Tāj, on the opposite side of the river; and the two buildings were to have been united by a bridge of marble across the Jumna. The idea was magnificent; but the death of Shāhjahān took place in 1666, while he was a prisoner, and ere he had time to complete his own monument.

It was Shāhjahān's plan to build a mausoleum for himself, just like the Tāj, on the opposite side of the river; and the two buildings were supposed to be connected by a marble bridge across the Jumna. The idea was grand; but Shāhjahān died in 1666 while he was a prisoner, before he had a chance to finish his own monument.

The stones were prepared on the opposite side of the Jumna, and were carried off by the Burtpoor Rajah, and a building at Deeg has been formed of those stones. A part of the foundation of the second Tāj is still standing, just opposite the Tāj Mahul.

The stones were readied on the other side of the Jumna and were taken away by the Burtpoor Rajah, leading to the construction of a building at Deeg with those stones. A section of the foundation of the second Tāj still stands, right across from the Tāj Mahul.

An immense space of ground is enclosed by a magnificent wall around the Tāj, and contains a number of elegant buildings, surrounded by fine old trees, and beds of the most beautiful flowers; the wall itself is remarkable, of great height, of red stone, and carved both inside and outside.

An expansive area is surrounded by a stunning wall around the Tāj, featuring several elegant buildings, lush old trees, and vibrant flower beds; the wall itself is impressive, tall, made of red stone, and intricately carved inside and out.

The Kālūn Darwāza, or great gateway, is a fine building; the four large and twenty-two smaller domes over the top of the arched entrance are of white marble; the gateway is of red granite, ornamented with white marble, inlaid with precious stones.

The Kālūn Darwāza, or great gateway, is a beautiful structure; the four large and twenty-two smaller domes above the arched entrance are made of white marble; the gateway itself is made of red granite, decorated with white marble and inlaid with precious stones.

From the second story is a fine view of the Tāj itself, to which it is directly opposite. I sat in this superb gateway some time, looking at the durwān’s snakes; he keeps, as pets, cobra de capellos, caught in the gardens of the Tāj. There are four rooms in this gateway, in which strangers, who are visitors, sometimes live during the hot weather.

From the second floor, there’s a great view of the Tāj itself, which is right across from it. I sat in this amazing gateway for a while, watching the doorman’s snakes; he keeps cobras, caught in the gardens of the Tāj, as pets. There are four rooms in this gateway where visitors sometimes stay during the hot weather.

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A long line of eighty-four fountains runs up through the centre of the garden from this gateway to the tomb itself, eighty of which are in perfect order. Twenty-two play in the centre of the garden; ten are on the sides of the tomb in the courts before the Masjids, and the rest run up in the line from the gate to the tomb. The water is brought across a fine aqueduct from the Jumna. Of an evening, when the fountains are playing, and the odour of exotic flowers is on the air, the fall of the water has a delightful effect, both on the eye and ear: it is really an Indian paradise.

A long line of eighty-four fountains stretches through the center of the garden from this gateway to the tomb itself, with eighty of them in perfect condition. Twenty-two fountains flow in the middle of the garden; ten are on the sides of the tomb in the courtyards before the Masjids, and the rest continue in a line from the gate to the tomb. The water is brought over through a beautiful aqueduct from the Jumna. In the evening, when the fountains are working and the scent of exotic flowers fills the air, the sound of the water creates a lovely effect on both the eyes and ears: it truly feels like an Indian paradise.

Feb. 1st.—A fair, the melā of the Eed, was held without the great gateway; crowds of gaily-dressed and most picturesque natives were seen in all directions passing through the avenue of fine trees, and by the side of the fountains to the tomb: they added great beauty to the scene, whilst the eye of taste turned away pained and annoyed by the vile round hats and stiff attire of the European gentlemen, and the equally ugly bonnets and stiff and graceless dresses of the English ladies. Besides the melā at the time of the Eed, a small fair is held every Sunday evening beyond the gates; the fountains play, the band is sent down occasionally, and the people roam about the beautiful garden, in which some of the trees are very large and must be very ancient.

Feb. 1st.—A fair, the melā of the Eed, took place outside the great gateway; crowds of brightly dressed and visually striking locals filled the area, walking through the avenue of tall trees and past the fountains to the tomb. They added a lot of beauty to the scenery, while the refined eye was disappointed and irritated by the ugly round hats and formal clothes of the European men, as well as the equally unattractive bonnets and rigid, unflattering dresses of the English women. In addition to the melā during the Eed, there's a small fair every Sunday evening beyond the gates; the fountains are on display, a band plays occasionally, and people wander through the lovely garden, where some of the trees are very large and must be quite ancient.

A thunderbolt has broken a piece of marble off the dome of the Tāj. They say during the same storm another bolt fell on the Mootee Masjid, in the Fort, and another on the Jamma Musjid at Delhi.

A thunderbolt has shattered a piece of marble from the dome of the Tāj. They say during the same storm another bolt struck the Mootee Masjid in the Fort, and another hit the Jamma Musjid in Delhi.

The gardens are kept in fine order; the produce in fruit is very valuable. A great number of persons are in attendance upon, and in charge of, the tomb, the buildings, and the garden, on account of the Honourable Company, who also keep up the repairs of the Tāj.

The gardens are well-maintained; the fruit produced is very valuable. A lot of people are present to oversee and take care of the tomb, the buildings, and the garden, on behalf of the Honourable Company, which also handles the repairs of the Tāj.

At this season the variety of flowers is not very great; during the rains the flowers must be in high perfection. The mālī (gardener) always presents me with a bouquet on my entering the garden, and generally points out to my notice the wall-flower as of my country, and not a native of India.

At this time of year, there aren’t many types of flowers; they really bloom during the rainy season. The gardener always greets me with a bouquet when I enter the garden and usually points out the wallflower, saying it’s from my country and not native to India.

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All the buildings in the gardens on the right are fitted up for the reception of visitors, if strangers: they are too cold at this time of the year, or I would take up my abode in one of the beautiful burj (turrets) next to the river.

All the buildings in the gardens on the right are set up to welcome visitors, especially strangers. They're too chilly this time of year, or I would settle down in one of the beautiful turrets next to the river.

The two jāmma khānas are beautiful buildings, on each side of the tomb, of red stone, carved outside, and ornamented with white marble and precious stones. One of them is a masjid: the domes are of white marble; the interior is ornamented with flowers in white chūnā and carved red stone. One of the burj near the masjid contains a fine bā’olī (well). The four burj at each corner of the enclosure are of the most beautiful architecture, light and graceful; they are of the same fine red stone, and the domes are of white marble. From the one generally used as a residence by visitors to the tomb, the view of the Tāj, the gardens, the river, and the Fort of Agra beyond, is very fine. During the rains the river rises, and flows against the outer wall that surrounds the gardens. The view from the river of this frost-work building, the tomb, is beautiful: the fine trees at the back of it, the reflection of its marble walls, and of the two jāmma khānas, with that of the elegant bastions or towers in the stream is very lovely.

The two jāmma khānas are stunning buildings on each side of the tomb, made of red stone, intricately carved outside, and decorated with white marble and precious stones. One of them is a mosque: its domes are white marble, and the interior is adorned with flowers made from white chūnā and carved red stone. One of the towers near the mosque has a lovely bā’olī (well). The four towers at each corner of the enclosure feature beautiful, light, and graceful architecture; they are made of the same fine red stone, with white marble domes. From the one usually used as a residence by visitors to the tomb, the view of the Tāj, the gardens, the river, and Agra Fort in the distance is spectacular. During the rainy season, the river rises and flows against the outer wall surrounding the gardens. The view of this intricate building, the tomb, from the river is lovely: the fine trees behind it, the reflection of its marble walls, and that of the two jāmma khānas, along with the elegant bastions or towers in the water, is very beautiful.

The fretwork appearance of the Tāj is produced by the quantity of carving on the white marble, which is also ornamented externally with inlaid Arabic characters, and precious stones worked into flowers, around the arches and the domes. The marble is cleaned every year, and kept in a state of perfect purity and repair. Constant attention is requisite to remove the grass and young trees that shoot forth in any moist crevice: the birds carry the seeds of the peepul-tree to the roofs, and the young trees shoot forth, injuring those buildings that are in repair, while they impart great beauty to ruins.

The intricate design of the Tāj is created from the extensive carving on the white marble, which is also decorated on the outside with inlaid Arabic letters and precious stones shaped into flowers, surrounding the arches and domes. The marble is cleaned annually, maintaining it in perfect condition and cleanliness. Ongoing attention is needed to remove the grass and young trees that sprout in any damp crack: birds bring the seeds of the peepul-tree to the roofs, and the young trees grow, damaging buildings that are in repair while also adding beauty to the ruins.

Beyond the Great Gate, but still within the enclosure of the outer wall of the Tāj, are the tombs of two begams, erected by Shāhjahān. The sarcophagus over the remains of the Fathīpooree Begam is of white marble, carved very beautifully: its pure white marble, without any inlaid work or mosaic, is particularly to be admired. The building which contains it is of[355] the lightest and most beautiful architecture, and of carved red stone; the dome of plain white marble.

Beyond the Great Gate, but still within the outer wall of the Tāj, are the tombs of two begams, built by Shāhjahān. The sarcophagus of the Fathīpooree Begam is made of beautifully carved white marble; its pure white surface, without any inlaid work or mosaic, is especially commendable. The structure that houses it features the lightest and most beautiful architecture, made of carved red stone, with a dome of plain white marble.

On the other side the enclosure, to correspond with this tomb, is that of the Akbarābādee Begam. The building of red carved stone, the dome of white marble; the floor and the sides of the apartment that contains the sarcophagus are of white marble. The latter is beautifully inlaid with precious stones. On the top of the upper slab is a sort of royal coronet of precious stones, inlaid on the marble.

On the other side of the enclosure, adjacent to this tomb, is the one belonging to the Akbarābādee Begam. The structure is made of red carved stone, topped with a dome of white marble; the floor and the walls of the room housing the sarcophagus are also made of white marble. The sarcophagus itself is beautifully inlaid with precious stones. Atop the upper slab, there's a type of royal crown made of precious stones, inlaid on the marble.

Both these tombs are in tolerable preservation from being within the enclosure of the walls of the Tāj.

Both of these tombs are in decent condition because they are located within the walls of the Tāj.

In speaking of the red-stone of which the buildings are formed, let it not be supposed it is of a red, like the flaming and varnished red in the pictures by the native artists. The red granite is of a sober and dingy reddish colour, and looks very handsome in buildings; the stones are very large, and generally beautifully carved; they are of three sorts: the first is of pure red granite, the second mottled with white spots, and the third sort streaked with white; all very handsome in architecture. I brought away a bit of the fallen ornament of red granite from the tomb of the Akbarābādee Begam as a specimen. The same granite is in quantities in the quarries at Futtehpoor Sickri. The buildings in the old city of Agra are of the same material, and some of them, which must be very ancient, are of this highly-carved red freestone.

When talking about the red stone used in the buildings, don’t think it's the bright, shiny red seen in the paintings by local artists. The red granite has a more subdued and dull reddish color, yet looks very impressive in structures; the stones are quite large and usually beautifully carved. There are three types: the first is pure red granite, the second is mottled with white spots, and the third is streaked with white; all are very attractive in architecture. I took a piece of fallen red granite ornament from the tomb of the Akbarābādee Begam as a sample. This same granite is abundant in the quarries at Futtehpoor Sickri. The buildings in the old city of Agra are made from the same material, and some of them, which must be very old, are made of this finely carved red freestone.

I laid an offering of rupees and roses on the cenotaph of Arzumund Banoo, which purchased me favour in the eyes of the attendants. They are very civil, and bring me bouquets of beautiful flowers. I have stolen away many times alone to wander during the evening in the beautiful garden which surrounds it. The other day, long after the usual hour, they allowed the fountains to play until I quitted the gardens.

I placed a tribute of cash and roses on Arzumund Banoo's memorial, which earned me goodwill from the staff. They are quite polite and bring me stunning flower bouquets. I've snuck away many times to stroll alone in the lovely garden that surrounds it during the evenings. Just the other day, well past the usual time, they kept the fountains running until I left the gardens.

Can you imagine any thing so detestable? European ladies and gentlemen have the band to play on the marble terrace, and dance quadrilles in front of the tomb! It was over the parapet of this terrace a lady fell a few months ago, the depth of twenty feet, to the inlaid pavement below. Her husband beheld this[356] dreadful accident from the top of the minaret he had just ascended.

Can you imagine something so awful? European ladies and gentlemen have a band playing on the marble terrace and dance quadrilles right in front of the tomb! A few months ago, a lady fell over the edge of this terrace, a drop of twenty feet, onto the inlaid pavement below. Her husband witnessed this[356]terrible accident from the top of the minaret he had just climbed.

I cannot enter the Tāj without feelings of deep devotion: the sacredness of the place, the remembrance of the fallen grandeur of the family of the Emperor, and that of Asaf Jāh, the father of Arzumund Banoo, the solemn echoes, the dim light, the beautiful architecture, the exquisite finish and delicacy of the whole, the deep devotion with which the natives prostrate themselves when they make their offerings of money and flowers at the tomb, all produce deep and sacred feelings; and I could no more jest or indulge in levity beneath the dome of the Tāj, than I could in my prayers.

I can’t walk into the Tāj without feeling a deep sense of reverence: the holiness of the place, the memory of the fallen greatness of the Emperor’s family, and of Asaf Jāh, the father of Arzumund Banoo, the solemn echoes, the soft lighting, the stunning architecture, the exquisite details and delicacy of everything, the profound devotion with which the locals bow down when they present their offerings of money and flowers at the tomb, all evoke deep and sacred emotions; and I could no more joke or act frivolously under the dome of the Tāj than I could while praying.

THE KALUN DARWĀZA.

The gateway to the garden is very grand; it is of red stone, inlaid with marble, and surmounted by a row of little marble cupolas.

The entrance to the garden is really impressive; it's made of red stone, inlaid with marble, and topped with a line of small marble domes.

Through a magnificent pair of brass gates you enter a dome, fifty feet in diameter, through which you pass on to the Tāj. The spandrils of all the arches are filled up with elegantly-arranged groups of flowers; there are also broad inscriptions running round the greater arches, both at the gate and the Tāj.

Through a stunning pair of brass gates, you enter a dome that’s fifty feet wide, leading you to the Tāj. The spaces between all the arches are filled with beautifully arranged groups of flowers; there are also wide inscriptions wrapping around the larger arches, both at the gate and the Tāj.

The approach is from the south, through the grand gateway of the garden; up the whole length of which, in the centre of fine trees, is a line of beautiful fountains; the vista is finished by the Tāj. At the end of this fountain-adorned avenue, you ascend by a hidden staircase of twenty solid blocks of marble, and arrive on the terrace above, formed of the same material, from which you go on to the interior of the Tāj, which is an octagon, surmounted by a dome seventy feet in diameter. The lower range of arches has an entablature, which is filled with extracts from the Kur’ān inlaid in black marble.

The approach comes from the south, through the grand entrance of the garden; running the entire length of it, in the center of beautiful trees, is a line of stunning fountains; the view is completed by the Tāj. At the end of this fountain-lined path, you go up a hidden staircase made of twenty solid blocks of marble, and reach the terrace above, which is also made of the same material, leading you into the interior of the Tāj, an octagon topped with a dome that’s seventy feet in diameter. The lower row of arches features an entablature filled with excerpts from the Kur’ān inlaid in black marble.

GROUND PLAN OF THE TOMB OF THE TĀJ.

The general form of the building is square, with the angles cut off, each front having a large elliptic gothic arch (with a very deep recess) in the centre; and the two wings have each two smaller arches, one above the other, and recessed in the same manner as the larger ones; the obtuse angles are divided in the same way, and appear to belong commonly to each of the four fronts, as you happen to stand opposite them. The whole is surmounted by the great dome, surrounded with four smaller ones. Strangers, when visiting the Tāj, are so much occupied in viewing the centre apartment, which contains the tombs, that they often omit visiting the eight rooms that surround that central apartment; four of which are of square, and four of octagonal form; on the upper floor are eight rooms of a similar description. The ground plan annexed I copied from an original plan, shown to me at the tomb.

The building has a square shape, with the corners cut off. Each front features a large elliptical Gothic arch (with a very deep recess) in the center. The two wings each have two smaller arches, one on top of the other, also recessed like the larger ones. The obtuse angles are divided similarly, making it look like they belong to each of the four fronts as you stand in front of them. The entire structure is topped with a grand dome, surrounded by four smaller domes. Visitors to the Tāj are so focused on the central room that holds the tombs that they often miss the eight rooms surrounding it; four are square, and four are octagonal. On the upper floor, there are eight similar rooms. I copied the attached ground plan from an original one shown to me at the tomb.

Ground Plan of the Tomb of the Tāj.

Ground Plan of the Tomb of the Tāj.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

Vanny Parks

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It covers an area of two hundred feet square, upon a terrace of white marble, about twenty feet above the one of stone, and three hundred and fifty feet square. At each angle is a minaret upon an octagonal base, eighty feet in circumference: the bottom of the shaft is twenty feet in diameter, so that I should think the minarets are at least one hundred and fifty feet high. The minarets, of white marble, inlaid with precious stones, are specimens of the most beautiful architecture it is possible to imagine. Lastly; the stone or lower terrace extends on each side of the Tāj, and is finished by a mosque on each side, and four beautiful octagonal bastions, surrounded by dark red stone verandahs, covered with elegant marble domes. The whole extent of the lower terrace is, I should say, full nine hundred feet; the pavement is inlaid with black and white marble.

It covers an area of two hundred square feet, set on a terrace of white marble that is about twenty feet above the stone terrace, which is three hundred and fifty square feet. Each corner has a minaret with an octagonal base, measuring eighty feet around: the bottom of the shaft is twenty feet wide, so I estimate the minarets are at least one hundred and fifty feet tall. The minarets, made of white marble and inlaid with precious stones, are stunning examples of beautiful architecture. Finally, the lower stone terrace extends on each side of the Tāj, and it's completed by a mosque on each side and four lovely octagonal bastions, surrounded by dark red stone verandahs topped with elegant marble domes. The entire length of the lower terrace is about nine hundred feet, and the pavement features intricate designs in black and white marble.

The Tāj was twelve years in building; two lākhs per annum were allowed to keep it in order, and support the establishment of priests and servants. It is situated on the western bank of the Jumna, three miles from the town of Agra; it is nineteen yards square; and the dome about seventy feet in diameter: the stones used in the mosaic are:—

The Tāj took twelve years to build; two lākhs a year were set aside for its maintenance and to support the staff of priests and servants. It's located on the western bank of the Jumna, three miles from Agra; it measures nineteen yards on each side, and the dome is about seventy feet wide. The stones used in the mosaic are:—

  • 1 Lapis Lazuli.
  • 2 Jasper.
  • 3 Heliotrope.
  • 4 Calcedony agate.
  • 5 Calcedony.
  • 6 Cornelians.
  • 7 Moss agate.
  • 8 Plasma, or quartz, or chlorite.
  • 9 Yellow and striped marbles.
  • 10 Clayslate.
  • 11 Nephrite.
  • 12 Shells—limestone, yellow, and variegated.

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A single flower in the screen sometimes contains one hundred stones, exactly fitted, forming a correct representation; many hundred flowers have equal numbers. It is impossible to estimate the cost: the most valuable materials were furnished by the sūbadārs of provinces.

A single flower on the screen sometimes has one hundred stones, perfectly arranged, creating an accurate depiction; many hundreds of flowers have the same number of stones. It's hard to determine the cost: the most precious materials were provided by the sūbadārs of the provinces.

Tavernier, who saw this building commenced and finished, asserts, that it occupied twenty thousand men for twenty-two years. The mausoleum itself, and all the buildings that pertain to it, cost 3,17,48026,—three crore, seventeen lākhs, and forty-eight thousand and twenty-six rupees; or, £3,174,802,—three millions, one hundred and seventy-four thousand, eight hundred and two pounds sterling. Colonel Sleeman, in his “Rambles of an Indian Official,” remarks,—“This magnificent building, and the palaces at Agra and Delhi, were, I believe, designed by Austin de Bordeux, a Frenchman of great talent and merit, in whose ability and integrity the Emperor placed much reliance. He was called by the natives Oostan Eesau Nadir ol Asur, the Wonderful of the Age; and, for his office of nuksha nuwees, or plan-drawer, he received a regular salary of one thousand rupees a month, with occasional presents, that made his income very large. He died at Cochin, on his way back from Goa, whither he had been sent by the Emperor; and is supposed to have been poisoned by the Portuguese, who were extremely jealous of his influence at court. Oostan Eesau, in all the Persian accounts, stands among the salaried architects.”

Tavernier, who witnessed the construction and completion of this building, claims that it took twenty thousand men twenty-two years to finish. The mausoleum itself, along with all its related structures, cost 3,17,48026—three crore, seventeen lākhs, and forty-eight thousand and twenty-six rupees; or £3,174,802—three million, one hundred seventy-four thousand, eight hundred two pounds sterling. Colonel Sleeman, in his "Rambles of an Indian Official," notes, “This magnificent building, along with the palaces in Agra and Delhi, was, I believe, designed by Austin de Bordeux, a talented and skilled Frenchman, whom the Emperor relied on greatly for his ability and integrity. The locals referred to him as Oostan Eesau Nadir ol Asur, the Wonderful of the Age; for his role as a plan-drawer, or nuksha nuwees, he received a regular salary of one thousand rupees a month, along with occasional gifts that made his income quite substantial. He died in Cochin while returning from Goa, where the Emperor had sent him; it is believed he was poisoned by the Portuguese, who were very jealous of his influence at court. In all the Persian accounts, Oostan Eesau is recognized as a salaried architect.”

Beyond the gate, outside the walls, is the tomb of the Simundee Begam, built by Shāhjahān; the place is in ruins. A cowherd feeds his cattle on the marble pavement within the tomb; and sacrilegious hands have picked out all the precious stones with which the white marble sarcophagus was inlaid. The same royal coronet adorns this grave: the masjid, close to it, which is in ruins, is of carved red granite, ornamented with white marble, and surmounted by three white marble domes. The tomb is of red granite, with a white marble dome.

Beyond the gate, outside the walls, lies the tomb of the Simundee Begam, built by Shāhjahān; the place is in ruins. A cowherd is feeding his cattle on the marble pavement inside the tomb, and sacrilegious hands have removed all the precious stones that once decorated the white marble sarcophagus. The same royal coronet rests upon this grave. The nearby masjid, which is also in ruins, is made of carved red granite, adorned with white marble, and topped with three white marble domes. The tomb itself is constructed of red granite, crowned by a white marble dome.

Beyond the outer gate, to the right, is a masjid belonging to the tomb of the Fathīpooree Begam, built of red carved granite, now in ruins: within, a number of young natives were[359] winding and twisting silk; the bright red and golden-coloured silks gleamed in the light,—a curious contrast to the ruin of sober red granite.

Beyond the outer gate, to the right, there's a mosque next to the tomb of the Fathīpooree Begam, made of red carved granite, which is now in ruins. Inside, several young locals were winding and twisting silk; the bright red and gold silks shone in the light—an intriguing contrast to the crumbling red granite.

A short distance beyond is the Sitee Khānam, which, as well as the masjid opposite, was built by Shāhjahān; it is of red granite, the dome is also of the same material,—unlike the other tombs, of which the domes are of white marble: the interior is of white marble, and contains the graves of two sisters. The graves are of slightly-carved white marble, with coronets of an inferior sort carved on the upper slab; probably they were attendants or dependents on the Begam.

A short distance away is the Sitee Khānam, which, along with the mosque across from it, was built by Shāhjahān. It’s made of red granite, and the dome is also made from this material—unlike the other tombs, where the domes are made of white marble. The interior is lined with white marble and contains the graves of two sisters. The graves are made of lightly carved white marble, featuring simple coronets carved on the upper slab; they were likely attendants or dependents of the Begam.

The erection of the Tāj was the most delicate and elegant tribute, and the highest compliment, ever paid to woman.

The construction of the Tāj was the most delicate and elegant tribute, and the highest compliment, ever given to women.

And now adieu!—beautiful Tāj,—adieu! In the far, far West I shall rejoice that I have gazed upon your beauty; nor will the memory depart until the lowly tomb of an English gentlewoman closes on my remains.

And now goodbye!—beautiful Tāj,—goodbye! In the far, far West I will celebrate that I have seen your beauty; and the memory will stay with me until the simple grave of an English lady covers my remains.


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CHAPTER XXXI.
Nice days in Agra.

The Fort—The Mosque of Pearl—The Jāhangeeree Mahul—Mher-ul-Nissa—Selīm Ghar—The Palace in the Fort—The Dewanī Khas—Noor-jahān Burj—Zenāna Masjid—The Shīsha-Mahal—Hall of Audience—The Vault of Secret Murder—The Black Marble Slab—The Throne of Akbar—The Steam Baths—The Worship of the Rising Sun—View from the Bridge of Boats on the Jumna.

The Fort—The Pearl Mosque—The Jāhangeer Palace—Mher-ul-Nissa—Selīm Ghar—The Palace in the Fort—The Dewanī Khas—Noor-jahān Tower—Women’s Mosque—The Shīsha Palace—Hall of Audience—The Vault of Secret Murder—The Black Marble Slab—The Throne of Akbar—The Steam Baths—The Worship of the Rising Sun—View from the Bridge of Boats on the Jumna.

1835, Feb. 3rd.—I visited the Fort: one I particularly admire; it is perfectly native. An engineer will perhaps say it wants the strength of an European fortification. An admirer of the picturesque, it pleases me better than one more regularly and scientifically built. There are two gateways; the principal one is called the Delhi Gate, and to the second, named after the Rajah Umrāo Sing, is attached a tradition. Akbar demolished the old Fort of Agra, and replaced it in four years by one of red freestone. It contains innumerable buildings of high interest, among which, its brightest ornament, is the

1835, Feb. 3rd.—I visited the Fort, which I really admire; it feels completely natural. An engineer might say it lacks the strength of a European fortification, but as someone who appreciates the picturesque, I find it much more appealing than something more orderly and scientifically designed. There are two gates; the main one is called the Delhi Gate, and the second, named after Rajah Umrāo Sing, comes with its own legend. Akbar tore down the old Fort of Agra and built a new one made of red freestone in four years. It has countless fascinating buildings, among which its most striking feature is the

MOOTEE MASJID, THE MOSQUE OF PEARL.

From the gate of entrance you do not expect to see much, the mosque being completely hidden by a high screen of stone. Having passed the gate, you find yourself in a court of marble one hundred and fifty feet square. On the opposite side is the mosque itself; its seven arches of Gothic mould are surmounted by three domes, of oval form, and nine cupolas; the interior is formed of arches, three in depth. The mosque fills up one side of the court; on the right and left are ranges of arcades and[361] two gateways. It is built entirely of white marble, finely carved; the arches are deeply scalloped, and extremely beautiful. Next to the Tāj, I prefer the Mootee Masjid to any building I have seen. It was built by Shāhjahān, and completed in the year 1656. It is in good repair, but is seldom used as a place of worship. It has no ornamental work in mosaic of precious stones, but is elegant and lovely in its simplicity.

From the entrance gate, you don't expect to see much, as the mosque is completely hidden behind a tall stone wall. Once you pass through the gate, you enter a marble courtyard that's one hundred and fifty feet square. On the opposite side is the mosque itself, featuring seven Gothic arches topped by three oval domes and nine smaller cupolas. The interior consists of three layers of arches. The mosque occupies one side of the courtyard, while on the right and left are rows of arcades and two gateways. It's made entirely of finely carved white marble; the arches are deeply scalloped and incredibly beautiful. After the Tāj, I prefer the Mootee Masjid over any other building I've seen. It was built by Shāhjahān and finished in 1656. It's well-maintained but rarely used for worship. There’s no intricate mosaic work with precious stones, but it’s elegant and lovely in its simplicity.

The Jahāngeeree Mahul, or Palace of Jahāngeer, which is in the Fort, was built by Akbar; the whole is of red freestone, richly carved, but greatly in decay. I viewed this palace with the greatest interest, thinking it might be the one in which Jahāngeer confined the beautiful Mher-ul-Nissa, the Sun of Women, for four years, ere she became his favourite sultana. History relates, that Selim, the son of Akbar, in his youth, ere he took the pompous title of Jahāngeer, the Conqueror of the World, beheld and became enamoured of Mher-ul-Nissa, the betrothed of Sher Afgan, a Turkomanian nobleman of high renown, whom she afterwards married. He was a man who had served with great reputation in the wars of Akbar, and was dignified by the title of Sher Afgan, or the Overthrower of the Lion.

The Jahāngeeree Mahul, or Palace of Jahāngeer, located in the Fort, was built by Akbar. The entire structure is made of red sandstone and is elaborately carved, but it is now in serious disrepair. I explored this palace with great interest, wondering if it was the one where Jahāngeer kept the stunning Mher-ul-Nissa, the Sun of Women, for four years before she became his favorite sultana. History tells us that Selim, Akbar's son, fell in love with Mher-ul-Nissa in his youth, before he assumed the grand title of Jahāngeer, the Conqueror of the World. At the time, she was engaged to Sher Afgan, a renowned nobleman from Turkomania, whom she later married. Sher Afgan was a man of great reputation in Akbar’s wars and was honored with the title of Sher Afgan, which means the Overthrower of the Lion.

The passion which Jahāngeer had repressed returned with redoubled violence when he mounted the throne, and after several ineffectual attempts to take the life of Sher Afgan, he at length succeeded. The brave man, after a noble resistance, fell, six balls having entered his body. The officer who, by the command of the Emperor, had committed this murder, hastened to the house of Sher Afgan, and sent Mher-ul-Nissa, with all imaginable care, to Delhi. The Emperor’s mother received her with great tenderness, but Jahāngeer refused to see her; probably remorse had taken possession of his soul. Be that as it may, he gave orders to shut her up in one of the worst apartments of the palace. He would not deign to behold her; and, contrary to his usual munificence to women, he allowed her but fourteen ānās, less than two shillings a day, for the subsistence of herself and some female slaves. This coldness, unless the offspring of remorse, was unaccountable towards[362] a woman whom he had passionately loved when not in his power.

The passion that Jahāngeer had suppressed came back even stronger when he took the throne, and after several unsuccessful attempts to kill Sher Afgan, he finally succeeded. The brave man, after a valiant fight, fell, having been shot six times. The officer who, under the Emperor's orders, carried out this murder rushed to Sher Afgan's house and sent Mher-ul-Nissa, with utmost care, to Delhi. The Emperor’s mother welcomed her warmly, but Jahāngeer refused to see her; he was probably consumed by guilt. Regardless, he ordered her to be locked away in one of the worst rooms in the palace. He wouldn’t even look at her, and contrary to his usual generosity towards women, he gave her only fourteen ānās, less than two shillings a day, to support herself and some female slaves. This cold behavior, unless it stemmed from guilt, was inexplicable towards[362] a woman he had passionately loved when he had no power over her.

Mher-ul-Nissa was a woman of haughty spirit, and disappointment preyed upon her mind; she trusted to the amazing power of her own beauty, which, to conquer, required only to be seen; as the Emperor persisted in his refusal to see the widow of Sher Afgan, she had recourse to the following expedient: to raise her own reputation in the palace, and to support herself and her slaves with more decency than the scanty pittance allowed her would admit, she called forth her invention and taste, in working some pieces of admirable tapestry and embroidery, in painting silks with exquisite delicacy, and in inventing female ornaments of every kind; these articles were carried by her slaves to the different apartments of the zenāna, and to the harems of the great officers of state. They were bought with the greatest avidity; nothing was fashionable amongst the ladies of Agra and Delhi but the work of her hands. She accumulated by this means a considerable sum of money, with which she repaired and beautified her apartments, and clothed her slaves in the richest tissues and brocades; whilst she herself affected a very plain and simple dress.

Mher-ul-Nissa was a proud woman, and disappointment weighed heavily on her mind; she relied on the incredible power of her own beauty, which only needed to be seen to captivate. Since the Emperor continued to refuse to see the widow of Sher Afgan, she came up with a clever plan: to enhance her reputation at the palace and provide for herself and her slaves with more dignity than the meager allowance she received would allow. She tapped into her creativity and skill, producing beautiful tapestries and embroidery, painting silks with exquisite finesse, and designing various female ornaments. Her slaves took these items to different rooms in the zenāna and to the harems of influential state officials. They were eagerly purchased; nothing was in vogue among the ladies of Agra and Delhi but her creations. Through this, she amassed a significant amount of money, which she used to renovate and beautify her living quarters, dressing her slaves in the finest fabrics and brocades, while she opted for a very simple and modest outfit.

In this situation the widow of Sher Afgan continued for four years, without having once seen the Emperor. Her fame reached his ears from every apartment of the zenāna, and from all quarters: curiosity vanquished his resolution; he resolved to surprise her, and suddenly and unexpectedly entering her apartments, found every thing so elegant and magnificent that he was struck with amazement. But the greatest ornament of the whole was the beautiful Mher-ul-Nissa herself, in a plain dress of white muslin, whilst her slaves were attired in rich brocades. She received the Emperor with the usual salām, touching first the ground, and then her forehead, with her right hand; she was silent, and stood with downcast eyes. Jahāngeer remained equally silent for some time, in admiration of her stature, shape, beauty, grace, and that inexpressible voluptuousness of mien, he found impossible to resist.

In this situation, Sher Afgan's widow went four years without seeing the Emperor. Her reputation spread throughout the entire zenāna, and from all directions: curiosity overcame his determination; he decided to surprise her. When he unexpectedly entered her quarters, he was amazed by the elegance and grandeur of everything. But the most stunning aspect was Mher-ul-Nissa herself, dressed simply in a plain white muslin outfit, while her maidens wore luxurious brocades. She greeted the Emperor with the traditional salām, touching the ground and then her forehead with her right hand; she remained silent, her eyes cast down. Jahāngeer also stayed silent for a while, captivated by her height, figure, beauty, grace, and that indescribable allure that he found impossible to resist.

On recovering from his confusion, he seated himself; and,[363] placing her by his side, inquired, “Why this difference between the Sun of Women and her slaves?” She very shrewdly replied, “Those born to servitude must dress as it shall please those whom they serve; these are my servants, and I lighten the burthen of bondage by every indulgence in my power: but I, who am your slave, O Emperor of the World, must dress according to your pleasure, and not my own.” In spite of the sarcasm, Jahāngeer, greatly pleased, took her in his arms; and the next day a magnificent festival was ordered to be prepared, for the celebration of his nuptials with the widow of Sher Afgan. Her name was changed by edict into Noor-Mahul, the Light of the Harem. The Emperor’s former favourites vanished before her, and during the rest of the reign of Jahāngeer she held the chief power in the empire. Her father was raised to the office of vizier, and her two brothers to the first rank of nobility; one of whom, Asaf-jāh, was the father of the Lady of the Tāj. Although Mher-ul-Nissa was anxious to become the Empress, she was innocent of any participation in the murder of her husband, Sher Afgan. A second edict changed her name to Noor-jahān, or Light of the World; to distinguish her from the other wives of the Emperor, she was always addressed by the title of Shahee or Empress. Her name was joined with that of the Emperor on the current coin; she was the spring that moved the great machine of state. Her family took rank immediately after the princes of the blood; they were admitted at all hours into the presence, nor were they secluded from the most secret apartments of the zenāna. During an insurrection, it is mentioned, that the Shahee, mounted on an elephant, plunged into the stream, with her daughter by her side; the latter was wounded in the arm, but Noor-jahān pressed forward; three of her elephant-drivers were successively killed, and the elephant received three wounds on the trunk; in the mean time she emptied four quivers of arrows on the enemy. The Rajpūts pressed into the stream to seize her, but the master of the household, mounting the elephant, turned him away, and carried her out of the river, notwithstanding her threats and commands. Such is the history that is recorded of the Light of the World,[364] which imparted a strong interest to my visit to the Jahāngīree Palace. Noor-jahān had one child, a daughter, by Sher Afgan, but no offspring by Jahāngeer.

After regaining his composure, he sat down and, placing her beside him, asked, “What’s the difference between the Sun of Women and her servants?” She cleverly answered, “Those born into servitude must dress to please those they serve; these are my servants, and I ease their burden of bondage by indulging them as much as I can. But I, who am your slave, O Emperor of the World, must dress according to your wishes, not my own.” Despite the sarcasm, Jahāngeer was very pleased and took her in his arms; the next day, he ordered a grand celebration for his marriage to the widow of Sher Afgan. Her name was changed by decree to Noor-Mahul, the Light of the Harem. The Emperor’s former favorites disappeared in her presence, and throughout Jahāngeer's reign, she held significant power in the empire. Her father was elevated to the position of vizier, and her two brothers were raised to the highest rank of nobility; one of them, Asaf-jāh, was the father of the Lady of the Tāj. Although Mher-ul-Nissa desired to be Empress, she had no involvement in the murder of her husband, Sher Afgan. A second decree changed her name to Noor-jahān, or Light of the World; to differentiate her from the other wives of the Emperor, she was always addressed with the title of Shahee or Empress. Her name was included alongside the Emperor’s on the current currency; she was the driving force behind the great machinery of the state. Her family ranked just below the princes, and they were allowed access to the Emperor at all times, including the most private areas of the zenāna. During a revolt, it’s noted that the Shahee, riding an elephant, plunged into the river with her daughter beside her; the daughter was wounded in the arm, but Noor-jahān pressed on; three of her elephant-drivers were killed in succession, and the elephant suffered three wounds on its trunk; meanwhile, she shot four quivers of arrows at the enemy. The Rajpūts rushed into the river to capture her, but the master of the household climbed onto the elephant, turned it around, and carried her out of the river despite her threats and commands. This is the story recorded about the Light of the World, which made my visit to the Jahāngīree Palace incredibly interesting. Noor-jahān had one child, a daughter, with Sher Afgan, but she had no children with Jahāngeer.

THE SELĪM GHAR.

The Selīm Ghar was formerly a large building, but the outer part has been pulled down by the Honourable Company. One centre room of red granite still remains, in the style of the Jahāngīree Palace; it was built by Akbar, and, no doubt, was called Selīm Ghar after his son, ere he took the title of Jahāngeer.

The Selīm Ghar used to be a large building, but the Honourable Company has demolished the outer section. One central room made of red granite still stands, designed in the style of the Jahāngīree Palace; it was constructed by Akbar and was likely named Selīm Ghar after his son before he adopted the title of Jahāngeer.

THE PALACE IN THE FORT

contains magnificent buildings, which are all of white marble, and were erected by Shāh-jāhan. The dewanī-khas, or hall of private audience, is a noble structure; the arches are beautiful; so is the building, which is of the same material, inlaid with coloured stones. In the interior, the roof and sides are beautifully and delicately ornamented with the representations of various flowers, beautifully combined, and formed of precious stones; the whole of the ornaments are also richly gilt. The apartments of the zenāna, which adjoin this building, are of white marble, exquisitely carved, and inlaid with precious stones, in the style of the mosaic work at the Tāj. These apartments were converted into a prison for Shāhjahān, during the latter part of his reign. The central room is a fountain, which plays in, and also falls into a basin of white marble, inlaid with the most beautiful designs, so that the water appears to fall upon brilliant flowers.

contains magnificent buildings, all made of white marble, built by Shah Jahan. The Dewani Khas, or hall of private audience, is an impressive structure; the arches are stunning, as is the building itself, which is made of the same material and inlaid with colored stones. Inside, the roof and walls are beautifully and intricately decorated with designs of various flowers, expertly combined and made from precious stones; all the decorations are also richly gilded. The apartments of the zenana, which connect to this building, are made of exquisitely carved white marble and inlaid with precious stones, similar to the mosaic work at the Taj. These apartments were turned into a prison for Shah Jahan during the later years of his reign. The central room features a fountain that flows into a basin of white marble, inlaid with the most beautiful patterns, making it look like the water falls onto bright flowers.

The Noor-jahān burj, or turret of Noor-jahān, is of the same exquisitely carved marble, inlaid in a similar manner. In an apartment on the opposite side of the court the same style is preserved; the water here falls over an inlaid marble slab, which is placed slanting in the side of the wall, and, being caught, springs up in a fountain.

The Noor-Jahan tower is made of the same beautifully carved marble, decorated in a similar way. On the other side of the courtyard, the same style is maintained; the water here flows over a marble slab set at an angle in the wall, and, being caught, shoots up in a fountain.

Some wretches of European officers—to their disgrace be it said—made this beautiful room a cook-room! and the ceiling, the fine marbles, and the inlaid work, are all one mass of blackness[365] and defilement! Perhaps they cooked the sū’ar, the hog, the unclean beast, within the sleeping apartments of Noor-jahān,—the proud, the beautiful Sultana!

Some unfortunate European officers—shame on them—turned this beautiful room into a kitchen! The ceiling, the exquisite marbles, and the inlaid work are all covered in a layer of blackness[365] and filth! Perhaps they cooked the sū’ar, the pig, the unclean animal, right in the sleeping quarters of Noor-jahān—the proud, beautiful Sultana!

In this turret I took refuge for some time, from the heat of the noon-day sun. What visions of former times passed through my brain! How I pictured to myself the beautiful Empress, until her portrait was clear and well defined in my imagination: still, it bore an European impress. I had never entered the private apartments of any native lady of rank, and I longed to behold one of those women of whose beauty I had heard so much; I had seen two paintings of native women, who were very beautiful; but the very fact that these women had been beheld by European gentlemen, degraded them to a class respecting which I had no curiosity. I was now in the deserted zenāna of the most beautiful woman recorded in history; and one whose talents and whose power over the Emperor, made her, in fact, the actual sovereign; she governed the empire from behind the parda. The descendants of Jahāngeer, in their fallen greatness, were still at Delhi; and I determined, if possible, to visit the ladies of the royal zenāna now in existence.

In this turret, I took refuge for a while from the scorching noon sun. So many visions of the past swept through my mind! I imagined the beautiful Empress until her portrait was clear and vivid in my imagination; however, it still had a European influence. I had never entered the private quarters of any native noblewoman and was eager to see one of those women whose beauty I had heard so much about. I’d seen two paintings of native women who were stunningly beautiful, but the fact that these women had been viewed by European gentlemen lowered them to a level that didn’t pique my curiosity. Now, I was in the deserted zenāna of the most beautiful woman in history; a woman whose talents and influence over the Emperor made her the actual sovereign—she ruled the empire from behind the veil. The descendants of Jahāngeer, despite their fallen status, were still in Delhi, and I was determined, if possible, to visit the ladies of the royal zenāna that still existed.

The zenāna masjid, a gem of beauty, is a small mosque, sacred to the ladies of the zenāna, of pure white marble, beautifully carved, with three domes of the same white marble.

The zenāna masjid, a beautiful gem, is a small mosque, sacred to the women of the zenāna, made of pure white marble, intricately carved, with three domes of the same white marble.

The shīsha-mahal, or house of glass, is both curious and elegant, although the material is principally pounded tālc and looking-glass. It consists of two rooms, of which the walls in the interior are divided into a thousand different panels, each of which is filled up with raised flowers in silver, gold, and colours, on a ground-work of tiny convex mirrors! The idea it impresses on the mind is that of being inside some curiously worked and arched box, so unlike is the apartment to a room! The roof reminds you of the style of ceiling that prevailed during the time of Louis the XIV., and resembles the ceilings at Versailles. Pounded mica has the effect of silver. Fronting the entrance, in the second room, are three rows of niches for lights, and below, standing forward a little, there are more rows of marble niches for the same. From the top, the[366] water pours out, and falls in a broad sheet over the upper lights, and is received below in a basin, from which it again pours forth in another fall over the lower row of lights, so that you see the lights burning behind the falling waters. The waters are then received in a fountain, which springs high and sparkles in the glare, and then, running over a marble causeway, fills another beautifully carved white marble basin, from the centre of which springs another fountain, which is in the first apartment.

The shīsha-mahal, or house of glass, is both fascinating and elegant, even though it’s mainly made of crushed tālc and mirrors. It has two rooms, and the walls inside are divided into a thousand different panels, each one filled with raised flowers in silver, gold, and colors, set against a background of tiny convex mirrors! The effect is like being inside a uniquely crafted, arched box, making it feel nothing like a regular room! The ceiling reminds you of the style that was popular during the time of Louis XIV and looks similar to the ceilings at Versailles. The crushed mica looks like silver. Facing the entrance in the second room are three rows of niches for lights, and below, slightly protruding, are more rows of marble niches for the same purpose. Water flows from the top, cascading over the upper lights and collecting below in a basin, from which it pours again over the lower row of lights, allowing you to see the lights glowing behind the falling water. The water then collects in a fountain that shoots high and sparkles in the light, before running over a marble pathway into another beautifully carved white marble basin, from which another fountain springs in the first room.

The lall petarah, or audience hall, is an immense hall, now used as an armoury.

The lall petarah, or audience hall, is a large space that’s currently used as an armory.

I have just returned from an expedition that has taken a marvellous hold of my fancy. Yesterday Mr. C⸺ said that, if I would promise to pay the Shīsha-Mahal a visit, he would have it lighted up: the apartments are usually only lighted up to satisfy the curiosity of the Governor-general. I went with pleasure; the place was illuminated with hundreds of little lamps: there was not time to have the water raised from the river, or we should have seen the effect of the sheets of water pouring over and beyond the rows of lights in the marble niches. After viewing the Shīsha-Mahal, the effect of which was not as good as I had imagined it would be, Mr. C⸺ asked me if I should like to see the apartments under ground, in which the padshah and his family used to reside during the hot winds. We descended to view these tykkanahs and the steam-baths belonging to them. Thence we went by the aid of lighted torches to view a place that made me shudder. An officer examining these subterranean passages some time ago, observed, that he was within the half of a vault of an octagon shape, the other half was blocked up by a strong, but hastily formed wall. Tradition amongst the natives asserted, that within the underground passages in the Fort, was a vault in which people had been hanged and buried, but no one could say where this vault was to be found.

I just got back from an expedition that really captivated my imagination. Yesterday, Mr. C⸺ said that if I promised to visit the Shīsha-Mahal, he would have it lit up; the rooms are usually only illuminated to satisfy the curiosity of the Governor-General. I happily agreed; the place was lit with hundreds of tiny lamps. There wasn't enough time to raise the water from the river, or we would have seen the stunning effect of the water cascading over and beyond the rows of lights in the marble niches. After checking out the Shīsha-Mahal, which didn't look as amazing as I had expected, Mr. C⸺ asked if I wanted to see the underground apartments where the padshah and his family used to stay during the hot winds. We went down to explore these tykkanahs and their steam baths. Then, guided by lighted torches, we went to a place that sent chills down my spine. An officer who was examining these underground passages some time ago noted that he was inside half of an octagonal vault, with the other half blocked by a solid but hastily built wall. Local legends claimed that within the underground passages of the Fort, there was a vault where people had been hanged and buried, but no one knew where this vault could be found.

The officer above-mentioned, with great toil and difficulty, cut through a wall eight feet in thickness, and found himself in an inner vault of large dimensions, built of stone, with a high[367] and arched roof. Across this roof was a thick and carved beam of wood, with a hole in its centre, and a hook, such as is used for hanging people. Below and directly under this hole in the beam, and in the centre of the vault, was a grave; this grave he opened, and found the bangles (ornaments for the arms) of a woman. Such is the place I have just visited. My blood ran cold as I descended the steps, the torches burning dimly from the foulness of the air, and I thought of the poor creatures who might have entered these dismal passages, never to revisit the light of day. I crept from the passage through the hole which had been opened in the thick wall, and stood on the ransacked grave, or perhaps graves of secret murder. Close to this vault is another of similar appearance; the thickness of the wall has baffled the patience of some person who has attempted to cut through it; however, the officers who were with me this evening say they will open it, as well as a place which they suppose leads to passages under the city. An old sergeant who has been here thirty years, says he once went through those passages, but the entrance has subsequently been bricked up, and he cannot discover it: the place which it is supposed is the blocked-up entrance, through which he passed, will, they say, be opened to-morrow. Having seen this spot of secret murder and burial, I can believe any of the horrible histories recorded in the annals of the padshahs: only imagine the entrance having been blocked up by a wall eight feet in thickness!

The officer mentioned earlier, with great effort and difficulty, cut through a wall eight feet thick, and found himself in a large inner vault made of stone, featuring a high [367] and arched roof. There was a thick, carved wooden beam across this roof, with a hole in the center and a hook, typically used for hanging people. Right below this hole in the beam, in the center of the vault, was a grave; he opened this grave and discovered the bangles (arm ornaments) of a woman. This is the place I just visited. My blood ran cold as I went down the steps, the torches flickering dimly from the foul air, and I thought about the poor souls who might have entered these grim passages, never to see the light of day again. I crept from the passage through the hole that had been cut in the thick wall and stood over the disturbed grave, or possibly graves, of secret murders. Nearby is another vault that looks similar; the wall's thickness has frustrated someone who tried to cut through it. However, the officers with me tonight say they will open it, along with another area they believe leads to passages underneath the city. An old sergeant who has been here for thirty years says he once went through those passages, but the entrance has since been bricked up, and he can't find it now; they say the supposed blocked entrance he used will be opened tomorrow. After seeing this site of secret murder and burial, I can believe any of the terrible stories recorded in the histories of the padshahs: just imagine, the entrance was blocked by a wall eight feet thick!

Quitting the Fort, we drove to the Tāj: the moon was at the full, adding beauty to the beautiful; the Tāj looked like fairy frost-work, yet so stately and majestic. And this superb building—this wonder of the world—is the grave of a woman, whilst only a short distance from it, is the vault of secret murder,—the grave also of a woman! What a contrast! How different the destiny of those two beings! The grave of the unknown and murdered one only just discovered amidst the dismal subterraneous passages in the Fort: the grave of the other bright and pure and beautiful in the calm moonlight. The damp, unwholesome air of the vaults is still in my throat; we[368] were some time exploring and hunting for the passage, which, they say, leads to the temple of an Hindoo, who lives in the Tripolia; he will suffer no one to enter his temple, and declares the devil is there in propriâ personâ.

Quitting the Fort, we drove to the Tāj: the moon was full, enhancing its beauty; the Tāj appeared like a fairy’s frostwork, yet so grand and impressive. And this magnificent structure—this wonder of the world—is the tomb of a woman, while not far from it lies the hidden vault of a secret murder—the tomb of another woman! What a contrast! How different the fates of these two beings! The grave of the unknown murdered woman was only recently discovered amid the gloomy underground passages in the Fort; the other’s grave is bright, pure, and beautiful in the calm moonlight. The damp, unhealthy air of the vaults still lingers in my throat; we[368] spent some time exploring and searching for the passage, which, they say, leads to a Hindu temple, where the priest lives in the Tripolia; he won’t let anyone enter his temple and claims the devil is there in propriâ personâ.

When I retired to rest on my charpāī, I found it difficult to drive away the fancies that surrounded me.

When I lay down to rest on my charpāī, I struggled to push away the thoughts that surrounded me.

The walls of the Fort, and those buildings within it that are of carved red freestone, were built by Akbar: the marble buildings were erected by Shāhjahān.

The walls of the Fort, along with the carved red freestone buildings inside it, were constructed by Akbar; the marble buildings were built by Shāhjahān.

The seat of the padshah is an immense slab of black marble, the largest perhaps ever beheld; it was broken in two by an earthquake. A Burā Bahādur, from this throne of the padshah, exclaimed, “I have come, not to succeed Lord Auckland, but Akbar!” The convulsion of the earth, that split in two the throne of black marble, could not have astonished it more than this modest speech—Allāhu Akbar!

The padshah's throne is a huge slab of black marble, probably the largest anyone has ever seen; it was split in two by an earthquake. A Burā Bahādur, from the padshah's throne, declared, “I have come, not to take over from Lord Auckland, but Akbar!” The earthquake that fractured the black marble throne couldn’t have shocked it more than this humble statement—Allāhu Akbar!

In front, and on the other side of the court, is the seat of the vizier; a slab of white marble. The seat on which the padshah used to sit to view the fights of the wild beasts in the court below, is one of great beauty; the pillars and arches, of the most elegant workmanship, are beautifully carved; the whole plain and light.

In front, on the opposite side of the courtyard, is the vizier's seat, made of white marble. The chair where the king used to sit to watch the wild animal fights below is stunning; the pillars and arches are crafted with exceptional elegance, and everything has a bright and airy feel.

The steam-baths are octagonal rooms below, with arched roofs; three of these rooms are of white marble, with inlaid marble pavements; and there is a fountain, from which hot water springs up from a marble basin. The baths in the apartments below the palace, which most probably belonged to the zenāna, were broken up by the Marquis of Hastings: he committed this sacrilege on the past, to worship the rising sun; for he sent the most beautiful of the marble baths, with all its fretwork and inlaid flowers, to the Prince Regent, afterwards George the Fourth.

The steam baths are octagonal rooms below, with vaulted ceilings; three of these rooms are made of white marble, featuring inlaid marble floors; and there's a fountain, from which hot water jets up from a marble basin. The baths in the rooms beneath the palace, which most likely belonged to the zenāna, were dismantled by the Marquis of Hastings: he committed this act against history to honor the rising sun; he sent the most beautiful of the marble baths, complete with its intricate designs and inlaid flowers, to the Prince Regent, who later became George the Fourth.

Having thus destroyed the beauty of the baths of the palace, the remaining marble was afterwards sold on account of Government; most happily, the auction brought so small a sum, it put a stop to further depredations.

Having destroyed the beauty of the palace baths, the remaining marble was later sold for the Government; fortunately, the auction fetched such a small amount that it prevented further damage.

At sunrise, from the Bridge of Boats, nothing can be more[369] beautiful than the view up and down the river: there are an hundred domed bastions jutting out from the banks amid the gardens and residences of the nobles of former days: the Fort, with its marble buildings, peeping over the ramparts; the custom house, and many other prominent objects; form a magnificent tout ensemble.

At sunrise, from the Bridge of Boats, nothing is more[369] beautiful than the view up and down the river: there are a hundred domed bastions sticking out from the banks among the gardens and homes of the nobles from the past: the Fort, with its marble buildings, peeking over the ramparts; the customs house, and many other notable sites; create a magnificent overall picture.


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CHAPTER XXXII.
Amazing Buildings Around Agra.

The House of the Wuzeer—The Jāmma Masjid—Tomb of Jahānārā Begam—The Tripolia—The Mahookma Masjid—The Madrissa—Etmad-od-Doulah Cheen-ke-Masjid—Rām Bagh—Syud Bagh—Secundra—The Chamber of Gold—Miriam Zemānee—Kos Minārs.

The House of the Wuzeer—The Jāmma Masjid—Tomb of Jahānārā Begam—The Tripolia—The Mahookma Masjid—The Madrissa—Etmad-od-Doulah Cheen-ke-Masjid—Rām Bagh—Syud Bagh—Secundra—The Chamber of Gold—Miriam Zemānee—Kos Minārs.

1835, Feb.—The residence of the Wuzeer close upon the Jumna, and without the walls of the Tāj, is a house now in ruins, with a large garden containing the tombs of the Wuzeer of Shāhjahān and of his family.

1835, Feb.—The residence of the Wuzeer near the Jumna, just outside the walls of the Tāj, is now a ruined house with a big garden that holds the tombs of the Wuzeer of Shāhjahān and his family.

An Eastern writer says, “He rendered the field flourishing and fruitful: he passed through life with reputation and lustre; and when he sank into the grave, a cloud of sorrow obscured the face of the empire.”

An Eastern writer says, “He made the fields thriving and productive: he moved through life with honor and brilliance; and when he passed away, a shadow of grief fell over the entire empire.”

THE JĀMMA MASJID,

Or great mosque, was built by Jahānārā, the favourite daughter of Shāhjahān and Arzamund Banoo. The princess Jahānārā (the Ornament of the World) was an unmarried lady, and devoted to religion. She is described as fourteen years of age when her father mounted the throne; sensible, lively, generous, elegant in person, and accomplished in mind. Her influence over her father was unbounded.

Or great mosque was built by Jahānārā, the favorite daughter of Shāhjahān and Arzamund Banoo. Princess Jahānārā (the Ornament of the World) was an unmarried woman devoted to her faith. She is described as being fourteen years old when her father took the throne; sensible, lively, generous, elegant in appearance, and well-educated. Her influence over her father was limitless.

The Masjid is a fine mass of building of red carved granite; the court and fountains handsome. The three domes, with their peculiar adornments, are beautifully formed; they are inlaid with red granite and white marble. This immense masjid is very handsome: over the doors are Arabic characters in black[371] and white marble, and the outside is ornamented with the same. Within it is ornamented with chūnā and white marble. The workmanship cost five lākh, and the time it took in building was five years. The stones and marbles were sent from different Dependents as presents to the princess. The masjid was much shaken forty years ago by an earthquake, which also did injury to the Tāj.

The mosque is an impressive structure made of red carved granite, with a beautiful courtyard and fountains. The three domes, adorned in a unique way, are elegantly shaped and inlaid with red granite and white marble. This huge mosque is quite stunning: above the doors, you can see Arabic characters in black and white marble, and the exterior features the same design. Inside, it is decorated with plaster and white marble. The craftsmanship cost five lakh, and it took five years to build. The stones and marbles were sent from various regions as gifts to the princess. The mosque was significantly damaged forty years ago by an earthquake, which also harmed the Taj.

The Jāts from the Deccan, who were in Agra about ten years, despoiled this masjid: they were expelled by the Vukeel of the Delhi Padshah. There are three domes on the roof, and four burj at the corners. In the court of this mosque the sixtieth regiment of Native Infantry saw some fighting some thirty-three years since, and the old place certainly shows marks of hot work; however, they succeeded in taking it. From the top of this masjid you have a good view of the city of Agra, with Akbar’s tomb at Secundra in the distance. This princess also made the garden called “Bagh Zaarrai” on the opposite bank of the Jumna.

The Jāts from the Deccan, who were in Agra about ten years ago, looted this mosque: they were removed by the representative of the Delhi Emperor. There are three domes on the roof and four towers at the corners. In the courtyard of this mosque, the sixtieth regiment of Native Infantry had some fighting about thirty-three years ago, and the old place definitely shows signs of intense conflict; however, they managed to take it. From the top of this mosque, you get a great view of the city of Agra, with Akbar’s tomb at Secundra visible in the distance. This princess also created the garden called “Bagh Zaarrai” on the opposite bank of the Jumna.

About one mile east of the city (of Delhi) is the tomb of the celebrated Jahānārā Begam, eldest daughter of the emperor Shāhjahān, no less famous for her wit, gallantry, and beauty, than for her filial attachment in undergoing a voluntary confinement of ten years with her father in the castle of Agra. The tomb is of fine white marble, with a hollow space at the top, which was formerly filled with earth and flowers. At the head of the grave is a tablet of white marble, with an inscription in black characters; the slab is decorated at its corners with cornelians of different colours.

About a mile east of the city of Delhi is the tomb of the renowned Jahānārā Begam, the eldest daughter of Emperor Shāhjahān, known for her intelligence, bravery, and beauty, as well as her deep devotion in choosing to spend ten years in voluntary confinement with her father at the Agra fort. The tomb is made of beautiful white marble, featuring a hollow space at the top that was once filled with soil and flowers. At the head of the grave, there's a white marble tablet with an inscription in black letters; the slab is adorned at its corners with colored cornelian stones.

‎‏١٠٩٤‏‎

١٠٩٤

‎‏بحجز کياه و سبزي نپوشد مزار ما‏‎

‎‏بحجز کياه و سبزی نپوشد مزار ما‏‎

‎‏که قبرپوش غريبان همه کياه و بس‏‎

‏که قبرپوش غريبان همه کياه و بس‏

‎‏الفقره العاجلت جهان ارا بيکم بنت شاه جهان مريد‏‎

‎‏الفقره العاجلت جهان ارا بيکم بنت شاه جهان مريد‏‎

In English thus:

Please provide the short piece of text you would like me to modernize.

“Let no one scatter over my grave aught besides earth and verdure, for such is best befitting the sepulchre of one of an humble mind.”

“Let no one throw anything on my grave except dirt and grass, for that is most suitable for the resting place of someone with a humble mind.”

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[372]

On the margin,

On the edge,

“The perishable fakīr, Jehanarai Begam, daughter to Shāhjahān, and disciple of the saints of Cheesty, in the year of the Hijerah 1094[127].”

“The temporary fakīr, Jehanarai Begam, daughter of Shāhjahān, and student of the Cheesty saints, in the year 1094 of the Hijrah [127].”

From the Delhi Gate of the Fort of Agra, which is grand and solid, but sadly disfigured by fanciful patterns in whitewash, you come to the Tripolia, so called from its three gates, I imagine, but it may be three any thing else. A low arcade of stone runs all round the area, and forms the Fort Bazār. It is built of red granite.

From the Delhi Gate of the Fort of Agra, which is impressive and sturdy, but unfortunately marred by whimsical whitewash designs, you arrive at the Tripolia, named for its three gates, I assume, but it could also be three of anything else. A low stone arcade surrounds the area and makes up the Fort Bazaar. It's made of red granite.

The Mahookma Masjid beyond the wall is remarkable for its five domes; it was built by Jahāngeer, and is now used as a Company’s Godown (magazine of stores).

The Mahookma Masjid beyond the wall is notable for its five domes; it was built by Jahāngeer and is currently used as a Company’s warehouse (storage facility).

The Madrissa, a Muhammadan College, erected two years ago by the Government, is a handsome building.

The Madrissa, a Muslim college established two years ago by the government, is an impressive building.

THE MAUSOLEUM OF ETMAD-OD-DOULAH.

This tomb is situated on the opposite side of the Jumna: to arrive at it, you cross a bridge of boats. It is situated in a walled garden, to which there are four gateways of red granite ornamented with black and white marble. The building stands on a quadrangular terrace of white marble, on each side of which is a marble fountain. The tomb is of white marble inlaid with precious stones, and fretwork of the same material, both internally and externally. The roof is ornamented with four turrets and a sort of dome in the centre.

This tomb is located on the other side of the Jumna River; to get there, you cross a boat bridge. It’s set in a walled garden that has four gateways made of red granite, decorated with black and white marble. The building rests on a square marble terrace, with a marble fountain on each side. The tomb itself is made of white marble inlaid with precious stones and features intricate carvings of the same material, both inside and out. The roof is adorned with four turrets and a dome in the center.

Chaja Aiass, a native of Tartary, of ancient family, was raised to the rank of absolute Wuzeer by Jahāngeer, under the title of Etmad-od-Doulah, after his marriage with his daughter, the beautiful Mher-ul-Nissa, the widow of Sher Afgan. The centre room in the tomb contains the sarcophagus of the Wuzeer and that of his wife, of yellow marble, carved. The walls of the room are of white marble, inlaid, the pavement of the same. The ceiling is a mass of the most curious, the most elaborate workmanship in gold and silver, and coloured flowers,[373] raised in compartments. What labour must have been bestowed on such a ceiling! The effect is rich, curious, and fairy-like. In one of the four apartments at the side is the tomb of his son, in another that of his daughter. The pavement is very handsome, of coloured and white marbles and precious stones, lapis lazuli, bloodstone, agate, &c. The place is quickly going to decay, no care whatever being taken of it further than to prevent any persons carrying off the marbles. The name of Etmad-od-Doulah is revered to this day in India, both on account of his own merits, and his being celebrated as the parent of the “Sun of Women.”

Chaja Aiass, originally from Tartary and from an ancient family, was elevated to the position of absolute Wuzeer by Jahāngeer, receiving the title of Etmad-od-Doulah after marrying his daughter, the beautiful Mher-ul-Nissa, who was previously the widow of Sher Afgan. The main room in the tomb houses the sarcophagus of the Wuzeer and that of his wife, both made of intricately carved yellow marble. The walls of the room are lined with inlaid white marble, matching the pavement. The ceiling showcases an elaborate and detailed design in gold and silver, adorned with colorful flowers, all raised in sections. The craftsmanship of such a ceiling is incredible! The overall effect is rich, intriguing, and almost magical. In one of the four side chambers is the tomb of his son, and in another, the tomb of his daughter. The flooring is quite stunning, featuring colored and white marbles along with precious stones like lapis lazuli, bloodstone, and agate. Sadly, the place is rapidly falling into decay, with little care taken other than to prevent people from stealing the marbles. The name Etmad-od-Doulah is still revered in India today, both for his own contributions and for being known as the father of the “Sun of Women.”

THE CHEEN KE PADSHĀDĀNEE, KE MASJID,

Or the mosque of the Princess of China, is on the same side of the river as the tomb of the Wuzeer, situated to the left of the Bridge of Boats. It is built directly upon the river. The effect of the reflection of the brilliant porcelain enamel with which it is inlaid must have been most beautiful in the clear stream below. The building consisted of the tomb itself, on each side of which was a masjid, and beyond each masjid was a burj, as the natives call them, a pavilion or turret. These five buildings were all of the same brilliant enamel, like finely coloured porcelain—flowers in compartments, and Arabic inscriptions over the arched doorways. The interior was of the same work, mixed with much gold. As bits fall from the ceiling the natives melt them and sell the gold. Within the tomb are some sarcophagi which have been completely destroyed by the gardeners, who live within the tomb and tie their bullocks to the graves! When the sun shines on the outside of the building the remains of the porcelain dazzle the sight. The river flows by and washes the walls. A native boy offered to bring me some of his toys, bits of enamel which had fallen from the roof; but the father interposed, and rather angrily prevented his showing them; of course, on account of the value of the gold mixed up with the enamel. This place, they tell me, belongs to the Government, by whose order they say the ceilings have been sold to merchants in Agra, by which means the two[374] mosques and the two burj have been quite destroyed. To whom this monument and mosque belonged I could not discover. “When he died and when the worms ate him I know not[128].”

Or the mosque of the Princess of China is on the same side of the river as the tomb of the Wuzeer, located to the left of the Bridge of Boats. It’s built right on the river. The way the brilliant porcelain enamel reflects in the clear water below must have looked stunning. The structure included the tomb itself, with a mosque on each side, and beyond each mosque was a burj, as the locals call it, a pavilion or turret. These five buildings were made of the same vibrant enamel, resembling finely colored porcelain—flower designs in sections, and Arabic writing above the arched doorways. The interior featured similar craftsmanship, mixed with a lot of gold. When pieces fall from the ceiling, the locals melt them down and sell the gold. Inside the tomb are some sarcophagi that have been completely wrecked by the gardeners, who live inside and tie their bullocks to the graves! When the sun shines on the exterior of the building, the remaining pieces of porcelain dazzle the eye. The river flows by, washing the walls. A local boy offered to show me some of his toys, bits of enamel that had fallen from the roof; but his father intervened, and rather angrily stopped him from showing them, of course, because of the value of the gold mixed with the enamel. I was told that this place belongs to the Government, who supposedly ordered the ceilings sold to merchants in Agra, which is why the two mosques and the two burj have been completely damaged. I couldn’t find out who this monument and mosque originally belonged to. “When he died and when the worms ate him, I don’t know[128].”

The Rām Bagh, adjoining this tomb, is a fine native garden, laid out, by the Empress Noor-jahān, in stone walks, terraces, temples, pavilions, and a building in the centre, on the side of the river.

The Rām Bagh, next to this tomb, is a beautiful local garden created by Empress Noor-jahān, featuring stone paths, terraces, temples, pavilions, and a building in the center by the riverside.

Invalids come here to reside for the benefit of their health; I sat down under the shade of the fine trees, and spent some of the hottest hours of mid-day, reading the history of the mighty dead, and pondering over the fallen greatness of former days. It was cool and pleasant, and the scene a gay one: the garden was filled with gaily-dressed Hindoos, who came to visit the place during the fair that is annually held near the spot; the fruit sells for about one thousand rupees a year.

Invalids come here to stay for their health; I sat down in the shade of the beautiful trees and spent some of the hottest hours of the day reading about the powerful dead and reflecting on the lost greatness of the past. It was cool and pleasant, and the scene was lively: the garden was filled with brightly dressed Hindus who came to visit during the annual fair held nearby; the fruit sells for about one thousand rupees a year.

The Syud Bagh, a garden next to it, although in ruins, is a much finer one than the Rām Bagh: the pavilions on the river-side are remarkably beautiful, of richly-carved red granite; it was laid out by—non mi ricordo.

The Syud Bagh, a garden next to it, though in ruins, is a much nicer one than the Rām Bagh: the pavilions by the riverside are stunning, made of intricately carved red granite; it was created by—non mi ricordo.

19th.—My husband having arrived dāk, with great delight I accompanied him to visit the Fort, and displayed for his benefit all my recently-acquired knowledge.

19th.—My husband arrived in the afternoon, and I was thrilled to go with him to visit the Fort, eager to share all my newly learned knowledge.

SECUNDRA.

As the burial-place of Akbar Shāh, this is the most interesting spot near Agra; and I accepted an invitation to spend the day there with much pleasure. The tomb is on the Delhi road, about seven miles from Agra; we drove there in the early morning. It is situated in a fine piece of park-like ground, encompassed by a high wall, filled with noble trees and fountains,—a quadrangle of forty acres. To this enclosure there are four gateways; the principal gateway is of red granite, richly carved, inlaid with ornaments in white marble, with inscriptions in the Persian character in black marble. The form of the gateway is reckoned very fine, and likely to be durable. It is very lofty,[375] and the roof is ornamented by four shattered white marble minarets, one at each angle, which are all broken off about the centre; this appears like the effect of time or storm, but I have some idea that they were left in this unfinished state, for some particular reason.

As the burial place of Akbar Shah, this is the most fascinating spot near Agra, and I gladly accepted an invitation to spend the day there. The tomb is on the Delhi road, about seven miles from Agra; we drove there early in the morning. It's located in a beautiful park-like area, surrounded by a tall wall, filled with impressive trees and fountains—a 40-acre quadrangle. There are four gateways to this enclosure; the main gateway is made of red granite, richly carved, with white marble inlays and black marble inscriptions in Persian script. The design of the gateway is considered very elegant and likely to last. It is quite tall, and the roof is adorned with four damaged white marble minarets, one at each corner, all of which are broken off about the middle. This looks like the result of time or storm, but I suspect they were left in this incomplete state for a specific reason.[a id="Page_375">

THE TOMB OF AKBAR SHAH.

THE TOMB OF AKBAR SHAH.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

Vani Parks

Having passed the gateway, you proceed to the mausoleum, a magnificent pile of red granite, erected by Jahāngeer in memory of his father; the design of the building is most remarkable, and consists of a series of terraces, rising one above the other, until finished by one of white marble; all the arches of which are filled with lattice-work of different patterns. The terraces are ornamented with numberless small turrets, of the most beautiful shape; their domes of white marble, with the exception of eight, which are covered with enamelled porcelain. The sketch annexed was taken by Luteef, a native artist at Agra; it merely gives the outline of the building.

Having passed through the gate, you make your way to the mausoleum, an impressive structure of red granite, built by Jahāngeer in honor of his father. The design of the building is truly remarkable, featuring a series of terraces that rise one above the other, topped with a layer of white marble. All the arches are adorned with lattice-work in various patterns. The terraces are decorated with countless small turrets of beautiful design; their domes are made of white marble, except for eight that are covered in colorful porcelain. The sketch attached was created by Luteef, a local artist from Agra; it only shows the outline of the building.

THE SONAHLĀ MAHAL.

On entering the building, the first apartment into which you are conducted is the sonahlā mahal, or Chamber of Gold. The sides and ceiling of this vaulted room are in compartments, ornamented with flowers raised in gold, in silver, and enamel; Arabic characters, in gold, are raised upon a blue ground; and the ornaments are of different coloured stones, and enamelled tiles, richly gilt. This chamber is thirty-four feet and a half square; the conjectured height thirty feet. From this a low, vaulted, narrow passage leads to the vault containing the sarcophagus, in which is deposited the remains of the mighty Akbar, covered with a plain marble slab, over which a lamp is kept continually burning. The tomb is seen as represented by Luteef, of Agra, in his sketch of the golden chamber, but not quite so distinctly. The length of the passage is thirty-five paces; the square vault thirty-seven feet and a half. The building is of red granite, until you reach the upper or marble terrace, which is four stories high; in the inside of which is a beautiful court-yard, with an arcade running round it. The pavement is of white and coloured marble, inlaid; at each angle is a white[376] marble turret, and the whole is surrounded by a screen of the most exquisitely carved fretwork in white marble. This terrace is entirely open to the winds and the sun, having no roof. The cenotaph in the centre is of white marble, beautifully carved in flowers; and inscribed in Persian characters are the “Now Nubbey Nām,” the ninety-nine names or attributes of the Deity, from the Kur’ān. “Verily there are ninety-nine names of God; whoever remembers them shall enter into Paradise.” At the head of the monument is inscribed “Allāhu Akbar!” carved in the Persian character; the whole is covered by a wretched chhappar or awning, which the old Muhammadan, who was in attendance, informed me was to protect the “words of God” from the rain; had he not told me this, I should have thought it was intended to protect the tomb from the weather.

Upon entering the building, the first apartment you see is the sonahlā mahal, or Chamber of Gold. The walls and ceiling of this vaulted room are divided into sections, decorated with flowers crafted in gold, silver, and enamel; Arabic letters, in gold, stand out against a blue background; and the decorations include various colored stones and beautifully designed enamel tiles, richly gilt. This chamber measures thirty-four and a half feet square, with an estimated height of thirty feet. From here, a low, vaulted, narrow passage leads to the vault that holds the sarcophagus, where the remains of the great Akbar are laid to rest, covered by a plain marble slab, over which a lamp is always kept burning. The tomb is depicted as shown by Luteef of Agra in his sketch of the golden chamber, though not as clearly. The passage is thirty-five paces long; the square vault is thirty-seven and a half feet. The building is made of red granite until you reach the upper or marble terrace, which is four stories high; inside is a beautiful courtyard, with an arcade surrounding it. The flooring features white and colored marble inlays; at each corner is a white marble turret, and the entire area is encircled by a screen of exquisitely carved white marble fretwork. This terrace is completely open to the air and sunlight, as it has no roof. The cenotaph in the center is made of white marble, intricately carved with flowers; inscribed in Persian characters are the “Now Nubbey Nām,” the ninety-nine names or attributes of God, from the Qur'an. “Indeed, there are ninety-nine names of God; whoever remembers them shall enter Paradise.” At the head of the monument is inscribed “Allāhu Akbar!” in Persian script; the whole structure is covered by a shabby chhappar or awning, which the elderly Muslim attendant told me was meant to protect the “words of God” from the rain; had he not mentioned this, I would have thought it was meant to shield the tomb from the elements.

A chiraghdānee (the place of a lamp), of white marble, finely carved, stands at the head of the grave. It is a tomb worthy of him who reposes beneath it. The unfortunate Emperors of Delhi! shadows of royalty! well may they look at the tomb of Akbar, and exclaim, “My dead are better than your living[129].”

A chiraghdānee (a place for a lamp), made of beautifully carved white marble, stands at the head of the grave. It's a tomb fit for the person resting beneath it. The tragic Emperors of Delhi! Shadows of royalty! They could easily gaze at Akbar's tomb and say, “My dead are better than your living[129].”

The lower verandah of this building is immense; you may judge of its capacity, when I mention, it was once used as a barrack, and held a whole regiment of dragoons! Ten of the arches contain tombs; in one of them are two monuments of carved white marble; on the larger of the two is this inscription in Persian,—“This is the grave of Arām Banū.” The tomb of the infant daughter, Asalut Banū, is at the side, which is of plain, undecorated marble; on the top of it is a hollow space, which used to be filled with milk. The followers of the prophet make a difference in the architecture of a tomb for a man or woman: on the slab of a man’s tomb a portion is raised and finished with stone, on which there is often an inscription; the tomb of a woman is hollowed out at the top some few inches in depth, to receive earth, in which flowers are planted; and, for the water to run off, there is a small hole at the end. The first archway on the left contains the grave of Shuker Nisa Begam,[377] another of the daughters of the Emperor; the pavement is inlaid, and the tomb of carved white marble. The second archway contains the tomb of Sultan Banū, in the same style as the former; the screens in front of the arches are of exquisite open-work in white marble.

The lower verandah of this building is huge; you can get an idea of its size when I tell you it was once used as a barracks and housed an entire regiment of dragoons! Ten of the arches have tombs; in one of them, there are two monuments made of carved white marble. On the larger one, there's an inscription in Persian that reads, “This is the grave of Arām Banū.” The tomb of the infant daughter, Asalut Banū, is beside it and is made of plain, undecorated marble; on top of it, there's a hollow space that used to be filled with milk. The followers of the prophet differentiate the architecture of a tomb for a man or a woman: on a man’s tomb, a section is raised and finished with stone, often with an inscription; a woman’s tomb is hollowed out on top, a few inches deep, to hold earth where flowers are planted, and there's a small hole at the end for water to drain. The first archway on the left holds the grave of Shuker Nisa Begam,[377] another daughter of the Emperor; the pavement is inlaid, and the tomb is made of carved white marble. The second archway contains the tomb of Sultan Banū, designed in the same style as the previous one, and the screens in front of the arches feature exquisite open-work in white marble.

The daughters of the Emperor were destined to remain single, there being no prince worthy of alliance with the family of Akbar. Jahāngeer married the Jodh Baee, the daughter of Rao Sing of Bikaner; she was the mother of Shāhjahān; her tomb is at Secundra. The natives call the garden Bihishtabād, or the Paradise. The Government keep this noble tomb in repair.

The Emperor's daughters were meant to stay single, as there was no prince deemed worthy to join the Akbar family. Jahāngeer married Jodh Baee, the daughter of Rao Sing from Bikaner; she was the mother of Shāhjahān, and her tomb is at Secundra. Locals refer to the garden as Bihishtabād, or Paradise. The Government maintains this impressive tomb.

Our tents having been pitched under one of the fine trees in the garden, we partook of a most luxurious tiffin; and the wine, which was iced to perfection, proved very acceptable after the fatigues of the day.

Our tents were set up under one of the beautiful trees in the garden, and we enjoyed a very indulgent lunch; the wine, perfectly chilled, was greatly appreciated after the tiring day.

In the cool of the evening we visited the tomb of Miriam Zumanee, one of the wives of Akbar: it is a large building of carved red granite, half a mile from the Emperor’s monument. The sarcophagus is below; the cenotaph, of plain white marble, above in the open air; and the structure is ornamented with turrets of red granite. The whole is rapidly falling to decay.

In the cool of the evening, we went to visit the tomb of Miriam Zumanee, one of Akbar's wives. It's a large building made of carved red granite, about half a mile from the Emperor’s monument. The sarcophagus is below, while the cenotaph, made of plain white marble, is above in the open air. The structure is decorated with red granite turrets. Unfortunately, the whole thing is quickly falling into decay.

Driving to Secundra, I observed two of the Kos Minār, which were erected by Akbar, at a distance of every two miles on the road from Agra to Delhi; one of them was in a very perfect state of preservation. As they will be mentioned hereafter, I will close this account of a pleasant day in the East.

Driving to Secundra, I noticed two of the Kos Minār, which Akbar had built, positioned about two miles apart along the road from Agra to Delhi; one of them was in nearly perfect condition. Since they will be discussed later, I’ll wrap up this account of a nice day in the East.


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[378]

CHAPTER XXXIII.
REVELATIONS OF LIFE IN THE ZENĀNA.

“WHOEVER HATH GIVEN HIS HEART TO A BELOVED OBJECT, HATH PUT HIS BEARD INTO THE HANDS OF ANOTHER[130].”

“WHOEVER HAS GIVEN HIS HEART TO A LOVED ONE HAS PUT HIS BEARD IN THE HANDS OF ANOTHER[130].”

Invitation to Khasgunge—Kutchowra—The Zenāna—A Timoorian Princess—Opium-eating—Native Dishes—The Evening Party—The beautiful Begam—Musalmanī Attire and Ornaments—Timūr-lung—Gold and Silver Beds—Atr of various sorts—Perfume of the Body of the Prophet—Dye for the Hands and Feet—Churees.

Invitation to Khasgunge—Kutchowra—The Zenāna—A Timoorian Princess—Opium consumption—Local Dishes—The Evening Party—The beautiful Begam—Muslim attire and ornaments—Timūr-lung—Gold and Silver Beds—Various types of food—Perfume from the Body of the Prophet—Dye for Hands and Feet—Churees.

1835, Feb.—Khasgunge, the residence of my friend Colonel Gardner, is sixty miles from Agra: he wrote to me expressing a wish that I should visit him, and regretting he was too unwell to meet me at Agra, and conduct me to his house. I was delighted to accept the invitation, particularly at this time, as he informed me a marriage was to take place in his family which might interest me.

1835, Feb.—Khasgunge, the home of my friend Colonel Gardner, is sixty miles from Agra. He wrote to me expressing a desire for me to visit him and regretted that he was too unwell to meet me in Agra and take me to his house. I was thrilled to accept the invitation, especially since he mentioned that there was going to be a marriage in his family that might interest me.

His grand-daughter, Susan Gardner, was on the eve of marriage with one of the princes of Delhi, and he wished me to witness the ceremony. I was also invited to pay a visit en route to his son, Mr. James Gardner, who was married to a niece of the reigning emperor, Akbar Shāh.

His granddaughter, Susan Gardner, was about to get married to one of the princes of Delhi, and he wanted me to witness the ceremony. I was also invited to visit his son, Mr. James Gardner, who was married to a niece of the reigning emperor, Akbar Shāh.

Was not this delightful? All my dreams in the Turret of Noor-māhāl were to be turned into reality. I was to have an opportunity of viewing life in the zenāna, of seeing the native ladies of the East, women of high rank, in the seclusion of their own apartments, in private life: and although the emperors[379] of Delhi have fallen from their high estate, they and their descendants are nevertheless Timoorians and descendants of Akbar Shāh.

Wasn't this amazing? All my dreams in the Turret of Noor-māhāl were about to come true. I was going to get a chance to experience life in the zenāna, to see the native ladies of the East, women of high status, in the privacy of their own homes and personal lives. And even though the emperors[379] of Delhi have fallen from their lofty positions, they and their descendants are still Timoorians and descendants of Akbar Shāh.

I know of no European lady but myself, with the exception of one, who has ever had an opportunity of becoming intimate with native ladies of rank; and as she had also an invitation to the wedding we agreed to go together.

I know of no European woman other than myself, except for one, who has ever had the chance to get close to native women of high status; and since she also got an invitation to the wedding, we decided to go together.

21st.—We started dāk for Kutchowra, the residence of Mr. James Gardner. This is not that Kutchowra which yearly used to bring such treasure into the Company’s coffers in boat-loads of cotton; but that Kutchowra which stopped and fought Lord Lake, and killed the famous Major Nairn of tiger-killing memory.

21st.—We set off dāk for Kutchowra, where Mr. James Gardner lives. This isn’t that Kutchowra that used to fill the Company’s coffers with boatloads of cotton every year; it’s the Kutchowra that fought against Lord Lake and was responsible for the death of the well-known Major Nairn, famous for his tiger hunting.

We arrived at noon the next day; Mr. James Gardner, whom I had never seen before, received us with much pleasure; his countenance reminded me of his father, whom, in manner, he greatly resembled; he was dressed in handsome native attire, a costume he usually wore.

We arrived at noon the next day. Mr. James Gardner, whom I had never met before, welcomed us warmly. His expression reminded me of his father, and he greatly resembled him in mannerisms. He was dressed in stylish traditional clothing, which was his usual outfit.

His grounds contain two houses; the outer one, in which he receives visitors and transacts business, and the second, within four walls, which is sacred to the Begam, and has its entrance guarded night and day.

His property has two houses; the outer one is where he welcomes visitors and handles business, and the second, enclosed within four walls, is reserved for the Begam, with its entrance guarded around the clock.

Mr. James Gardner married Nuwāb Mulka Humanee Begam, the niece of the emperor Akbar Shāh, and daughter of Mirza Sulimān Shekō (the brother of the present emperor), who lives at Agra.

Mr. James Gardner married Nuwāb Mulka Humanee Begam, the niece of Emperor Akbar Shāh and the daughter of Mirza Sulimān Shekō (the brother of the current emperor), who lives in Agra.

I was taken to the zenāna gates, when three very fine children, the two sons and a daughter of Mr. James Gardner, and the princess, in their gay native dresses of silk and satin, embroidered in gold and silver, ran out to see the new arrival. They were elegant little creatures, and gave promise of being remarkably handsome. I was surprised to see the little girl at liberty, but was informed that girls are not shut up until they are about six years old, until which time they are allowed to run about, play with the boys, and enjoy their freedom. Quitting the palanquins, we walked across the court to the entrance of the zenāna; there we took off our shoes and left them, it being a point of etiquette not to appear in shoes in the[380] presence of a superior; so much so, that Mr. Gardner himself was never guilty of the indecorum of wearing shoes or slippers in the presence of his wife.

I was taken to the zenāna gates when three lovely children, Mr. James Gardner's two sons and daughter, along with the princess, wearing their bright native outfits of silk and satin, embroidered with gold and silver, ran out to see the new arrival. They were charming little beings, showing the potential to be quite beautiful. I was surprised to see the little girl free to roam, but I learned that girls aren’t restricted until they’re about six years old, allowing them to run around, play with the boys, and enjoy their freedom. After leaving the palanquins, we walked across the courtyard to the zenāna entrance; there, we took off our shoes and left them behind, as it’s a sign of respect not to wear shoes in front of someone of higher status. In fact, Mr. Gardner himself would never wear shoes or slippers in the presence of his wife.

The Begam was sitting on a charpāī when we entered the apartment; when Mrs. B⸺ presented me as the friend of Col. Gardner, she shook hands with me, and said, “How do you do, kŭrow?”—this was all the English she could speak. The Begam appeared ill and languid: perhaps the languor was the effect of opium. I had heard so much of Mulka’s wonderful beauty, that I felt disappointed: her long black and shining hair, divided in front, hung down on both sides of her face as low as her bosom, while the rest of her hair, plaited behind, hung down her back in a long tail.

The Begam was sitting on a charpāī when we walked into the apartment. When Mrs. B⸺ introduced me as Col. Gardner's friend, she shook my hand and said, “How do you do, kŭrow?”—this was the only English she knew. The Begam looked sick and weak; maybe the weakness was due to opium. I had heard so much about Mulka’s amazing beauty that I felt let down: her long black, glossy hair was parted in the front and fell down on both sides of her face to her chest, while the rest was braided at the back and hung down her back in a long braid.

Her dress consisted of silk pājāmas (full trowsers), over which she wore a pair of Indian shawls, and ornaments of jewellery were on her hands and arms. En passant, be it said that ladies in the East never wear petticoats, but full pājāmas: the ayhas, who attend on English ladies in the capacity of ladies’ maids, wear the petticoat; but it is a sign of servitude, and only worn to satisfy the ideal delicacy of English ladies, who dislike to see a female servant without a petticoat. The moment an ayha quits her mistress, and goes into her own house, she pulls off the petticoat as a useless incumbrance, and appears in the native trowsers which she always wears beneath it.

Her dress was made of silk pants, topped with a couple of Indian shawls, and she wore jewelry on her hands and arms. Just so you know, ladies in the East don’t wear petticoats, but full pants: the ayhas, who serve English ladies as maids, wear petticoats; however, it signifies servitude and is only worn to meet the ideal delicacy of English ladies, who don’t like to see a female servant without a petticoat. As soon as an ayha leaves her mistress and goes home, she takes off the petticoat as it feels unnecessary and wears the native pants she always has on underneath.

The room in which the Begam received us was the one in which she usually slept; the floor was covered with a white cloth. She was sitting on a charpāī (a native bed); and as the natives never use furniture, of course there was none in the room.

The room where the Begam met us was her usual bedroom; the floor was covered with a white cloth. She was sitting on a charpāī (a traditional bed); and since the locals typically don't use furniture, there wasn't any in the room.

Two or three female attendants stood by her side, fanning her with large feather fans; the others drove away the mosquitoes and flies with chaunrīs made of peacocks’ feathers, which are appendages of royalty.

Two or three female attendants stood next to her, fanning her with large feather fans; the others swatted away mosquitoes and flies with chaunrīs made of peacock feathers, which are symbols of royalty.

Some opium was brought to her; she took a great bit of it herself, and put a small bit, the size of half a pea, into the mouth of each of her young children; she eats much opium[381] daily, and gives it to her children until they are about six years old.

Some opium was brought to her; she took a large piece for herself and gave a small piece, about the size of half a pea, to each of her young children; she consumes a lot of opium[381] every day and gives it to her kids until they’re around six years old.

Native ladies, when questioned on the subject, say, “It keeps them from taking cold; it is the custom; that is enough, it is the custom.”

Native women, when asked about it, say, “It keeps them from getting cold; it’s the tradition; that’s all, it’s the tradition.”

If a native lady wish to keep up her reputation for beauty, she should not allow herself to be seen under the effect of opium by daylight.

If a native woman wants to maintain her reputation for beauty, she shouldn't let herself be seen under the influence of opium in daylight.

When the Princess dismissed us from her presence, she invited us to pay her a visit in the evening; Mrs. B⸺, with whom she was very intimate, and to whom she was very partial, said,—“I trust, Mulka Begam, since we are to obey your commands, and pay you a visit this evening, you will put on all your ornaments, and make yourself look beautiful.” The Begam laughed, and said she would do so. On our quitting the apartments, she exclaimed, “Ah! you English ladies, with your white faces, you run about where you will, like dolls, and are so happy!” From which speech I conjecture the princess dislikes the confinement of the four walls. She always spoke urdū (zaban-i-urdū), the court language, which is Hindostanee, intermixed largely with Persian; her manners were very pleasing and very ladylike. So much for the first sight of the Princess Mulka Begam.

When the Princess sent us away from her, she invited us to visit her in the evening. Mrs. B⸺, who was very close to her and favored by her, said, “I hope, Mulka Begam, since we will follow your wishes and come to see you tonight, you'll wear all your jewelry and make yourself look lovely.” The Begam laughed and said she would. As we left her quarters, she exclaimed, “Ah! You English ladies with your pale skin, you wander around freely like dolls, and you’re so happy!” From this, I guess the princess doesn’t like being confined within four walls. She always spoke Urdu (zaban-i-urdū), the court language, which is primarily Hindostanee with a lot of Persian mixed in; her manners were charming and very ladylike. That’s all for the first impression of Princess Mulka Begam.

The history I heard in the zenāna is as follows: Mulka Begam, the wife of Mirza Selīm, the brother of Akbar Shāh, was on a visit to her sister, the beautiful Queen of Oude; his Majesty fell in love with Mulka, and detained her against her will in the palace; Col. Gardner, indignant at the conduct of the King, brought Mulka from Lucnow, and placed her in his own zenāna, under the care of his own Begam. Marriages are generally dependant on geographical position; the opportunity Mr. James Gardner had of seeing the Princess, added to her extreme beauty, and the romance of the affair, was more than he could withstand; he carried her off from the zenāna. Col. Gardner was extremely angry, and refused to see or communicate with his son; they lived in the jungle for nearly two years. One day, Mr. James Gardner, who had tried every method to induce his father to be reconciled to him in vain, seeing him in a boat, swam after him,[382] and vowed, unless Col. Gardner would take him into the boat, he would perish: Colonel Gardner remained unmoved, until, seeing his son exhausted, and on the point of sinking, paternal feelings triumphed; he put forth his hand, and saved him. “Whatever a man does who is afflicted with love, he is to be excused for it[131].”

The story I heard in the women's quarters goes like this: Mulka Begam, the wife of Mirza Selīm, who is the brother of Akbar Shāh, was visiting her sister, the lovely Queen of Oude. His Majesty became infatuated with Mulka and kept her in the palace against her will. Col. Gardner, outraged by the King's behavior, brought Mulka from Lucknow and placed her in his own zenāna, under the care of his own Begam. Marriages often depend on location; the chance Mr. James Gardner had to see the Princess, combined with her incredible beauty and the romantic nature of the situation, was more than he could resist; he took her away from the zenāna. Col. Gardner was very upset and refused to see or communicate with his son; they lived in the jungle for nearly two years. One day, Mr. James Gardner, who had tried every way unsuccessfully to get his father to forgive him, saw him in a boat and swam after him, vowing that unless Col. Gardner took him into the boat, he would drown. Colonel Gardner stayed indifferent until he saw his son exhausted and about to sink; paternal instincts took over, and he reached out his hand to save him. “Whatever a man does when he's in love, he should be forgiven for it[131].”

“Durd ishk-e kushīdu’um ki m ’ purs
Zahir hijree chushīdu’um ki m ’ purs”
...
“Hum ne dil sunum ko dya
Phir kissee ko kya?”
“I have felt the pain of love, ask not of whom:
I have felt the pangs of absence, ask not of whom:”
...
“I have given my heart to my beloved,
What is that to another?”

Mulka was divorced from Mirza Selīm, and legally married to her present husband. We dined with Mr. Gardner in the outer house; the dinner was of native dishes, which were most excellent. During the repast, two dishes were sent over from the Begam, in compliment to her guests, which I was particularly desired to taste, as the Timoorian ladies pride themselves on their cookery, and on particular occasions will superintend the making of the dishes themselves; these dishes were so very unlike, and so superior to any food I had ever tasted, that I never failed afterwards to partake of any dish when it was brought to me, with the mysterious whisper, “It came from within.” It would be incorrect to say, “The Begam has sent it;” “It came from within,” being perfectly understood by the initiated.

Mulka was divorced from Mirza Selīm and legally married to her current husband. We had dinner with Mr. Gardner in the outer house; the meal consisted of local dishes, which were outstanding. During the meal, two dishes were sent over from the Begam as a compliment to her guests, and I was especially encouraged to try them, as the Timoorian women take pride in their cooking and will sometimes oversee the preparation of the dishes themselves on special occasions. These dishes were so different and so much better than anything I had ever tasted that I always made sure to try any dish brought to me afterwards, accompanied by the mysterious whisper, “It came from within.” It wouldn’t be accurate to say, “The Begam has sent it;” “It came from within” was fully understood by those in the know.

In the evening we returned to the zenāna, and were ushered into a long and large apartment, supported down the centre by eight double pillars of handsome native architecture. The floor of the room was covered with white cloth; several lamps of brass (chirāgh-dāns) were placed upon the ground, each stand holding, perhaps, one hundred small lamps. In the centre of the room a carpet was spread, and upon that the gaddī and[383] pillows for the Begam; the gaddī or throne of the sovereign is a long round pillow, which is placed behind the back for support, and two smaller at the sides for the knees; they are placed upon a small carpet of velvet, or of kimkhwāb (cloth of gold); the whole richly embroidered and superbly fringed with gold. Seats of the same description, but plain and unornamented, were provided for the visitors. A short time after our arrival, Mulka Begam entered the room, looking like a dazzling apparition; you could not see her face, she having drawn her dopatta (veil) over it; her movements were graceful, and the magnificence and elegance of her drapery were surprising to the eye of a European.

In the evening, we returned to the zenāna and were led into a long, spacious room supported in the middle by eight double pillars of beautiful local design. The floor was covered with white cloth, and several brass lamps (chirāgh-dāns) were placed on the ground, each stand holding maybe a hundred small lamps. In the center of the room, a carpet was spread out, and on that, there was a gaddī and pillows for the Begam. The gaddī, or throne of the sovereign, is a long round pillow placed behind for back support, with two smaller pillows on the sides for the knees. They were arranged on a small carpet made of velvet or kimkhwāb (gold cloth), all richly embroidered and elaborately fringed with gold. Plain, unadorned seats of the same kind were set up for the visitors. Shortly after we arrived, Mulka Begam entered the room, appearing like a stunning vision; her face was hidden beneath her dopatta (veil). Her movements were graceful, and the magnificence and elegance of her drapery captivated the eye of a European.

She seated herself on the gaddī, and throwing her dopatta partly off her face, conversed with us. How beautiful she looked! how very beautiful! Her animated countenance was constantly varying, and her dark eyes struck fire when a joyous thought crossed her mind. The languor of the morning had disappeared; by lamp-light she was a different creature; and I felt no surprise when I remembered the wondrous tales told by the men of the beauty of Eastern women. Mulka walks very gracefully, and is as straight as an arrow. In Europe, how rarely—how very rarely does a woman walk gracefully! bound up in stays, the body is as stiff as a lobster in its shell; that snake-like, undulating movement,—the poetry of motion—is lost, destroyed by the stiffness of the waist and hip, which impedes the free movement of the limbs. A lady in European attire gives me the idea of a German mannikin; an Asiatic, in her flowing drapery, recalls the statues of antiquity.

She sat down on the couch, partially pulling her scarf off her face to chat with us. She looked so beautiful! Really stunning! Her lively expression kept changing, and her dark eyes sparkled when a happy thought crossed her mind. The morning's drowsiness had faded; under the lamp light, she seemed like a completely different person. I wasn't surprised when I recalled the amazing stories from men about the beauty of Eastern women. Mulka walks with such grace and she’s as straight as an arrow. In Europe, how rarely—how very rarely does a woman walk with grace! All restricted by corsets, the body becomes as rigid as a lobster in its shell; that snake-like, flowing movement—the beauty of motion—vanishes, hindered by the stiffness at the waist and hips, which limits the natural movement of the limbs. A lady in European clothing reminds me of a German mannequin; an Asian woman in her flowing attire brings to mind the statues of ancient times.

I had heard of Mulka’s beauty long ere I beheld her, and she was described to me as the loveliest creature in existence. Her eyes, which are very long, large, and dark, are remarkably fine, and appeared still larger from being darkened on the edges of the eyelids with soorma: natives compare the shape of a fine eye to a mango when cut open. Her forehead is very fine; her nose delicate, and remarkably beautiful,—so finely chiselled; her mouth appeared less beautiful, the lips being rather thin. According to the custom of married women in the East, her teeth were blackened, and the inside of her lips also, with missee[384] (antimony); which has a peculiarly disagreeable appearance to my eye, and may therefore have made me think the lower part of her countenance less perfectly lovely than the upper: in the eye of a native, this application of missee adds to beauty. Her figure is tall and commanding; her hair jet black, very long and straight; her hands and arms are lovely, very lovely.

I had heard about Mulka’s beauty long before I actually saw her, and she was described to me as the most beautiful person in the world. Her eyes, which are long, large, and dark, are exceptionally stunning and looked even bigger because the edges of her eyelids were enhanced with kohl. Locals compare the shape of a beautiful eye to a mango when cut open. Her forehead is very elegant; her nose is delicate and incredibly beautiful—so finely sculpted; her mouth seemed less attractive since her lips are a bit thin. Following the tradition of married women in the East, her teeth and the inside of her lips were blackened with missee[384] (antimony); which looks quite unappealing to me, and may have led me to think the lower part of her face was not as lovely as the upper part: for a local, this use of missee enhances beauty. Her figure is tall and impressive; her hair is jet black, very long, and straight; her hands and arms are beautiful, truly beautiful.

On the cloth before Mulka were many glass dishes, filled with sweetmeats, which were offered to the company, with tea and coffee, by her attendants. Mulka partook of the coffee; her hooqŭ was at her side, which she smoked now and then; she offered her own hooqŭ to me, as a mark of favour. A superior or equal has her hooqŭ in attendance, whilst the bindah khāna furnishes several for the inferior visitors. Mrs. Valentine Gardner, the wife of Colonel Gardner’s brother, was of the party; she lives with the Begam.

On the cloth in front of Mulka were many glass dishes filled with sweets, which her attendants offered to the guests along with tea and coffee. Mulka enjoyed her coffee; her hookah was beside her, which she smoked occasionally. She offered her own hookah to me as a gesture of kindness. A superior or equal has their hookah present, while the bindah khāna provides several for lesser guests. Mrs. Valentine Gardner, the wife of Colonel Gardner’s brother, was part of the group; she lives with the Begam.

Mulka’s dress was extremely elegant, the most becoming attire imaginable. A Musalmānī wears only four garments:—

Mulka’s dress was incredibly elegant, the most flattering outfit you could imagine. A Musalmānī wears only four garments:—

Firstly, the angīya: a boddice, which fits tight to the bosom, and has short sleeves; it is made of silk gauze, profusely ornamented.

Firstly, the angīya: a bodice that fits snugly to the chest and has short sleeves; it is made of silk gauze and is richly decorated.

Secondly, the kurtī: a sort of loose body, without sleeves, which comes down to the hips; it is made of net, crape, or gauze, and highly ornamented.

Secondly, the kurtī: a type of loose-fitting garment without sleeves that extends to the hips; it is made from netting, crêpe, or gauze, and is very decorative.

Thirdly, pājāmas: of gold or crimson brocade, or richly-figured silk; made tight at the waist, but gradually expanding until they reach the feet, much after the fashion of a fan, where they measure eight yards eight inches! a gold border finishes the trowser.

Thirdly, pajamas: made of gold or red brocade or richly patterned silk; fitted at the waist but gradually flaring out to the feet, similar to a fan, where they measure eight yards eight inches! A gold border completes the pants.

Fourthly, the dopatta: which is the most graceful and purely feminine attire in the world; it is of white transparent gauze, embroidered with gold, and trimmed with gold at the ends, which have also a deep fringe of gold and silver.

Fourthly, the dupatta: which is the most graceful and purely feminine garment in the world; it is made of white transparent fabric, embroidered with gold, and has gold trimming at the ends, which also feature a deep fringe of gold and silver.

The dopatta is so transparent it hides not; it merely veils the form, adding beauty to the beautiful, by its soft and cloud-like folds. The jewellery sparkles beneath it; and the outline of its drapery is continually changing according to the movements or coquetry of the wearer. Such was the attire of the Princess![385] Her head was covered with pearls and precious stones, most gracefully arranged: from the throat to the waist was a succession of strings of large pearls and precious stones; her arms and hands were covered with armlets, bracelets, and rings innumerable. Her delicate and uncovered feet were each decorated with two large circular anklets composed of gold and precious stones, and golden rings were on her toes. In her nose she wore a n’hut, a large thin gold ring, on which was strung two large pearls, with a ruby between them. A nose-ring is a love token, and is always presented by the bridegroom to the bride. No single woman is allowed to wear one.

The dupatta is so sheer that it doesn’t really conceal; it simply drapes over the body, enhancing beauty with its soft, cloud-like folds. The jewelry shines through it, and the shape of its drapery constantly shifts with the wearer’s movements or flirtations. Such was the dress of the Princess![385] Her head was adorned with pearls and precious stones, arranged elegantly: from her neck to her waist, there was a series of strings made of large pearls and gems; her arms and hands were covered with countless bangles, bracelets, and rings. Her delicate and bare feet each had two large round anklets made of gold and precious stones, with golden rings on her toes. In her nose, she wore a n’hut, a large thin gold hoop, strung with two large pearls and a ruby in between. A nose ring is a love token and is always given by the groom to the bride. No single woman is permitted to wear one.

In her youth Mulka learned to read and write in Persian, but since her marriage has neglected it. Music is considered disgraceful for a lady of rank, dancing the same—such things are left to nāch women. Mulka made enquiries concerning the education of young ladies in England; and on hearing how many hours were devoted to the piano, singing, and dancing, she expressed her surprise, considering such nāch-like accomplishments degrading.

In her youth, Mulka learned to read and write in Persian, but she's neglected it since getting married. Music is seen as inappropriate for a woman of her status, and dancing is viewed the same way—those are activities for nāch women. Mulka asked about the education of young ladies in England, and when she found out how many hours were spent on piano, singing, and dancing, she was surprised, thinking those nāch-like skills were degrading.

A native gentleman, describing the points of beauty in a woman, thus expressed himself:

A local gentleman, talking about what makes a woman beautiful, said:

“Barā barā nāk, barā barā ānkh, munh jaisa chānd, khūb bhāri aisa.” A very very large nose, very very large eyes, a face like the moon; very very portly, thus!—stretching out his arms as if they could not at their fullest extent encircle the mass of beauty he was describing!

“Big big nose, big big eyes, face like the moon; really really chubby, like that!”—stretching out his arms as if they couldn’t fully wrap around the beauty he was talking about!

When a woman’s movements are considered peculiarly graceful, it is often remarked, “She walks like a goose, or a drunken elephant.” “One must behold Laīlī with the eyes of Majnūn[132].”

When a woman moves in a way that’s seen as unusually graceful, people often say, “She walks like a goose, or a drunk elephant.” “You have to see Laīlī through the eyes of Majnūn[132].”

Mr. Gardner has a fine estate at Kutchowra, with an indigo plantation: his establishment is very large, and completely native. I imagine he is greatly assisted in the management of his estate by the advice of the Begam: with the exception of this, she appears to have little to amuse her. Her women sit[386] round her working, and she gives directions for her dresses. Eating opium and sleeping appear to occupy much of her time. Sometimes her slaves will bring the silver degchas and hāndīs (small caldrons and cooking pots) to her, and, guided by her instructions, will prepare some highly-esteemed dish, over charcoal in a little moveable fire-place, called an angethī.

Mr. Gardner has a beautiful estate at Kutchowra, complete with an indigo plantation. His setup is quite large and entirely local. I think he gets a lot of help managing his estate from the Begam’s advice; aside from that, she doesn’t seem to have much to keep her entertained. Her women sit around her working, while she gives instructions for her outfits. Taking opium and napping seem to take up a lot of her time. Occasionally, her servants will bring her the silver degchas and hāndīs (small caldrons and cooking pots), and following her guidance, they prepare a highly regarded dish over charcoal in a small portable fireplace called an angethī.

Her husband, who is very proud of her, often speaks of her being a descendant of Timur the Tartar. Timurlane, as we call him, which is a corruption of Timurlung, or the lame Timur: he was a shepherd, and as he sat on the mountain one day watching his flocks, a fakīr came up, who, striking him on the leg, said, “Arise, and be King of the World.” He did so, but was lame ever after from the blow. The Timoorians are remarkable for their long, large, and fine eyes. English dresses are very unbecoming, both to Europeans and Asiatics. A Musulmanī lady is a horror in an English dress; but an English woman is greatly improved by wearing a native one, the attire itself is so elegant, so feminine, and so graceful.

Her husband, who is very proud of her, often talks about her being a descendant of Timur the Tartar. Timurlane, as we call him, which is a variation of Timurlung, or the lame Timur: he was a shepherd, and one day while sitting on a mountain watching his sheep, a holy man approached him, and, striking him on the leg, said, “Get up, and be King of the World.” He did, but he was lame forever after that. The Timoorians are known for their long, big, and beautiful eyes. English clothing doesn’t look good on either Europeans or Asians. A Muslim lady looks terrible in English dress; however, an English woman looks much better wearing a native outfit, as the attire is so elegant, feminine, and graceful.

Mr. Gardner gave me a room within the four walls of the zenāna, which afforded me an excellent opportunity of seeing native life. At first the strong scent of atr of roses was quite overpowering, absolutely disagreeable, until I became reconciled to it by habit.

Mr. Gardner gave me a room inside the zenāna, which provided me with a great chance to observe local life. At first, the strong smell of rose attar was overwhelming and really unpleasant, until I got used to it.

The Muhammadans, both male and female, are extremely fond of perfumes of every sort and description; and the quantity of atr of roses, atr of jasmine, atr of khas-khās, &c., that the ladies in a zenāna put upon their garments is quite overpowering.

The Muslims, both men and women, really love perfumes of all kinds; and the amount of rose oil, jasmine oil, vetiver oil, etc., that the women in a harem put on their clothes is quite overwhelming.

The prophet approved of scents: “Next to women he liked horses, and next to horses perfumes.” Ja’bir-bin-Samurah said, “I performed noon-day prayer with his majesty; after that, he came out of the masjid; and some children came before him, and he rubbed their cheeks in a most kind manner with his blessed hand, one after another. Then his majesty touched my cheek, and I smelt so sweet a smell from it, that you might say he had just taken it out of a pot of perfumes.”

The prophet enjoyed fragrances: “After women, he liked horses, and after horses, perfumes.” Ja’bir-bin-Samurah said, “I prayed with him at noon; afterward, he came out of the mosque, and some kids came up to him. He gently rubbed their cheeks one by one with his blessed hand. Then he touched my cheek, and I smelled such a sweet fragrance from it that you’d think he had just taken it out of a jar of perfumes.”

Mulka Begam, and all the females in attendance on her,[387] stained their hands and feet with menhdī. Aa’yeshah said, “Verily, a woman said, ‘O prophet of God! receive my obedience.’ He said, ‘I will not receive your profession, until you alter the palms of your hands; that is, colour them with hinà; for without it one might say they were the hands of tearing animals.’” Aa’yeshah said, “A woman from behind a curtain made a sign of having a letter; and his highness drew away his hand and said, ‘I do not know whether this is the hand of a man or a woman.’ The woman said, ‘It is a woman’s.’ His highness said, ‘Were you a woman, verily you would change the colour of your nails with hinà.’”

Mulka Begam and all the women with her [387] stained their hands and feet with henna. Aa'yeshah said, “Indeed, a woman said, ‘O prophet of God! I pledge my loyalty to you.’ He replied, ‘I won’t accept your pledge until you change the color of your hands; that is, dye them with henna; otherwise, people might think these are the hands of animals.’” Aa'yeshah continued, “A woman behind a curtain indicated she had a letter; and the Prophet withdrew his hand and said, ‘I can't tell if this is the hand of a man or a woman.’ The woman replied, ‘It’s a woman’s.’ The Prophet said, ‘If you were truly a woman, you would change the color of your nails with henna.’”

To the slave girls I was myself an object of curiosity. They are never allowed to go beyond the four walls, and the arrival of an English lady was a novelty. I could never dress myself but half a dozen were slily peeping in from every corner of the pardas (screens), and their astonishment at the number and shape of the garments worn by a European was unbounded!

To the slave girls, I was a source of curiosity. They could never go outside the four walls, and the arrival of an English lady was something new for them. I could never get dressed without half a dozen of them sneaking glances from every corner of the pardas (screens), and their amazement at the variety and style of the clothes worn by a European was limitless!

Ladies of rank are accustomed to be put to sleep by a slave who relates some fairy tale. To be able to invent and relate some romantic or hobgoblin adventure, in an agreeable manner, is a valuable accomplishment. I have often heard the monotonous tone with which women of this description lulled the Begam to sleep. To invent and relate stories and fables is the only employment of these persons. The male slaves put their masters to sleep in the same fashion.

Ladies of high status are used to falling asleep to a slave telling them a fairy tale. Being able to come up with and share a romantic or fantastical story in a pleasing way is a useful skill. I've frequently listened to the dull tone with which these women lulled the Begam to sleep. Creating and telling stories and fables is the main job of these individuals. Male slaves put their masters to sleep in the same way.

Native beds (charpāī) are about one foot high from the ground; people of rank have the feet of these couches covered with thick plates of gold or silver, which is handsomely embossed with flowers. A less expensive, but still a very pretty sort, are of Bareilly work, in coloured flowers; some are merely painted red, green, or yellow; and those used by the poor are of plain mango wood. From the highest to the lowest the shape is all the same, the difference is in the material and the workmanship; no posts, no curtains. The seat of the bed is formed of newār (broad cotton tape), skilfully interlaced, drawn up tight as a drum-head, but perfectly elastic. It is the most luxurious couch imaginable, and a person accustomed to the charpāī of India[388] will spend many a restless night ere he can sleep with comfort on an English bed.

Native beds (charpāī) are about a foot high off the ground; people of high status have the feet of these beds covered with thick plates of gold or silver, beautifully embossed with flowers. A more affordable yet still attractive option features Bareilly craftsmanship with colored flowers; some are simply painted red, green, or yellow, and those used by the less fortunate are made of plain mango wood. From the highest to the lowest, the shape remains the same; the only differences lie in the materials and craftsmanship—no posts, no curtains. The bed's surface is made of newār (broad cotton tape), expertly interlaced, pulled tight like a drumhead, but perfectly elastic. It is the most luxurious bed imaginable, and someone used to the charpāī of India[388] will spend many a restless night before they can sleep comfortably on an English bed.

A Musalmānī lady will marry an English gentleman, but she will not permit him to be present during the time of meals. Mr. Gardner and Mulka have three children, two boys and a girl; they are remarkably handsome, intelligent children, and appeared as gay and happy as possible. They always wore rich native dresses,—a most becoming style of attire. The name of the eldest is Sulīman, the second is William Linnæus, and the little girl is called Noshaba Begam.

A Muslim woman will marry an English man, but she won’t allow him to be around during meals. Mr. Gardner and Mulka have three kids, two boys and a girl; they are strikingly attractive and smart, and they seem as cheerful and joyful as can be. They always wore beautiful traditional outfits—a very flattering style of clothing. The oldest is named Suliman, the second is William Linnaeus, and the little girl is called Noshaba Begam.

When I retired to my charpāī, my dreams were haunted by visions of the splendour of the Timoorians in former days; the palace at Agra, and the beautiful Begam with whom I had spent the evening.

When I settled down on my charpāī, my dreams were filled with images of the glory of the Timoorians from long ago; the palace in Agra, and the lovely Begam I had spent the evening with.

23rd.—Mr. Gardner proposed a chītā or cheeta hunt: he had a fine hunting leopard; we went out to look for antelopes; the day was very hot, we had no success, and returned very much fagged; Mrs. B⸺ was laid up in consequence with an ague. There was a fine elephant at Kutchowra, a great number of horses, and a few dogs.

23rd.—Mr. Gardner suggested going on a cheetah hunt: he had a great hunting leopard; we set out to find antelopes. It was a really hot day, we didn’t have any luck, and came back quite exhausted; Mrs. B⸺ was sick with a fever as a result. There was a magnificent elephant at Kutchowra, a lot of horses, and a few dogs.

The next morning I spent an hour with the Begam, and took leave of her; it is difficult to find her awake, she sleeps so much from opium. If you call on a native lady, and she does not wish to receive a visitor, the attendants always say, “The lady is asleep,—” equivalent to Not at home. Sometimes she employs herself in needle-work, and her attendants sit around, and net kurtīs for her on a sort of embroidery frame.

The next morning I spent an hour with the Begam and said goodbye to her; it’s hard to find her awake since she sleeps so much due to opium. If you visit a native lady and she doesn’t want to see anyone, her attendants always say, “The lady is asleep,” which means she’s not home. Sometimes she keeps herself busy with needlework while her attendants sit around and make kurtīs for her on an embroidery frame.

It may be as well to remark, that the opium given by the Begam to her children was remarkably fine and pure; grown in her own garden, and collected daily from incisions made in the pod of the deep red poppy.

It might be worth noting that the opium the Begam gave to her children was exceptionally high quality and pure; it was grown in her own garden and harvested daily from cuts made in the pod of the deep red poppy.

On my departure, the Begam presented me with a beautifully embroidered batū’ā (a small bag) full of spices; it was highly ornamented, and embroidered in gold and silver, interwoven with coloured beads.

On my way out, the Begam gave me a beautifully embroidered batū’ā (a small bag) filled with spices; it was richly decorated, embroidered in gold and silver, and woven with colorful beads.

She wished me to put on churees, which are bracelets made of sealing-wax, ornamented with beads; they are extremely pretty,[389] but of little value. I consented, and the churees were put on in this manner: a churee, having been cut open with a hot knife, it was heated over a charcoal fire, opened a little—just enough to allow it to pass over the arm; it was then closed, and the two ends were united by being touched with a hot knife. I wore these churees until they broke and dropped off, in memory of my first visit to the zenāna.

She wanted me to wear churees, which are bracelets made of sealing-wax, decorated with beads; they’re really pretty,[389] but not worth much. I agreed, and the churees were put on like this: a churee was cut open with a hot knife, heated over a charcoal fire, and opened slightly—just enough to slip it over my arm; it was then closed, and the ends were sealed together with a hot knife. I wore these churees until they broke and fell off, remembering my first visit to the zenāna.


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CHAPTER XXXIV.
LIFE IN THE ZENĀNA AND CHĪTĀ HUNTING.

“TEN DURWESH MAY SLEEP UNDER THE SAME BLANKET, BUT TWO KINGS CANNOT EXIST IN ONE KINGDOM[133].”

“Ten poor people can share the same blanket, but two kings can't rule in the same kingdom[133].”

“A CONTEMPORARY WIFE, THOUGH A HOORI, IS WORSE THAN A SHE DEVIL[134].”

“A modern wife, even if she's beautiful, is worse than a she-devil[134].”

Plurality of Wives—Intrigues and Hatred—Arrival at Khāsgunge—The Four Walls—Arwarī Shooting—The Pūtlī-nāch—The Lynx—Introduction to Colonel Gardner’s Begam—The Morning Star—The Evening Star—The Nawab of Cambay—The beautiful Gardens—The Bara Deri—Rattler—Chītā Hunting—Antelopes—The sulky Chītā—Heera Sing—Chītā Hunting attended by native Ladies.

Plurality of Wives—Drama and Rivalry—Arrival at Khāsgunge—The Four Walls—Arwarī Shooting—The Puppet Dance—The Lynx—Meeting Colonel Gardner’s Begam—The Morning Star—The Evening Star—The Nawab of Cambay—The stunning Gardens—The Bara Deri—Rattler—Chītā Hunting—Antelopes—The moody Chītā—Heera Sing—Chītā Hunting accompanied by local Ladies.

1835, Feb.—When a woman of rank marries, two female slaves are given with her, who are also the wives of her husband: this is so completely a custom it is never omitted: nevertheless, “The very voice of a rival wife is intolerable[135].”

1835, Feb.—When a woman of high status gets married, two female slaves are given to her, who are also her husband's wives: this is such a common practice that it never fails to happen; however, “The very voice of a rival wife is unbearable[135].”

A number of women are considered to add to a man’s dignity: they add to his misery most decidedly. This custom being more honoured in the breach than the observance, was not put in force at the marriage of Mr. Gardner with Mulka Begam. “The malice of a fellow-wife is notorious[136].” It would only be surprising if such were not the case. “A contemporary wife is intolerable, even in effigy[137].” In native life the greatest misery is produced from a plurality of wives: they, very naturally, hate[391] each other most cordially, and quarrel all day. The children, also, from their cradles are taught to hate the children of the other wives; nevertheless, the following extract proves, that she is considered a wife worthy of praise, who loves the offspring of her husband and another woman:—

A number of women are thought to enhance a man’s dignity; however, they definitely add to his misery. This tradition is often more honored in its violation than in its practice, as was the case at the wedding of Mr. Gardner to Mulka Begam. “The rivalry with a co-wife is well-known[136].” It would be surprising if it were any different. “A contemporary wife is unbearable, even in a caricature[137].” In native culture, having multiple wives brings about the greatest misery: they naturally dislike each other intensely and argue all day. The children are also taught from a young age to resent the children of the other wives; yet, the following excerpt shows that she is regarded as a commendable wife who loves her husband’s children with another woman:—

“A woman may be married by four qualifications; one, on account of her money; another, on account of the nobility of her pedigree; another, on account of her beauty; the fourth, on account of her faith: therefore, look out for a religious woman; but if you do it from any other consideration, may your hands be rubbed in dirt.”—“The world and all things in it are valuable; but the most valuable thing in the world is a virtuous woman.”—“The best women, that ride on camels, I mean the women of Arabia, are the virtuous of the Koreish; they are the most affectionate to infants, whether they be their own or their husband’s by other women; and they are the most careful of their husband’s property.” The proverb is at variance with the opinion of the prophet, since the former asserts, “A contemporary wife may be good, but her child is bad[138].” As the means of power over their husbands, native women value their children very much, and are miserable if they have none.

“A woman can be married for four reasons: one, her wealth; two, her noble ancestry; three, her beauty; and four, her faith. So, seek out a religious woman; but if you choose for any other reason, may your hands be dirtied.” — “The world and everything in it has value; but the most valuable thing in the world is a virtuous woman.” — “The best women, those who ride on camels, referring to the women of Arabia, are the virtuous ones from the Koreish; they are the most loving to infants, whether these are their own or their husbands’ from other women; and they take great care of their husband’s property.” The proverb contradicts the opinion of the prophet, who states, “A contemporary wife may be good, but her child is bad[138].” As a way of gaining power over their husbands, native women greatly value their children and are unhappy if they have none.

A zenāna is a place of intrigue, and those who live within four walls cannot pursue a straight path: how can it be otherwise, where so many conflicting passions are called forth? If a man make a present to one wife, he must make a similar offering to all the rest, to preserve peace and quietness. The wives must have separate houses or apartments; were it not so, they would agree as well as caged tigers. The kur’ān permits a Musalmān to have four wives; the proverb says, “The man is happy who has no she goat[139].” Atàa records, that the prophet had nine wives; and from Safíah, who was the last of them who died, he wished to be divorced; but she said, “Keep me with your wives, and do not divorce me, peradventure I may be of the number of your wives in paradise.”

A zenāna is a place full of secrets, and those who live within those walls can't take a straightforward path: how could it be any different when so many conflicting emotions are ignited? If a man gives a gift to one wife, he has to give a similar gift to all the others to keep peace and harmony. The wives need separate houses or apartments; if not, they would get along as well as caged tigers. The Qur'an allows a Muslim man to have four wives; there's a saying, “The man is happy who has no she goat[139].” Atàa notes that the prophet had nine wives; and from Safíah, the last of them to die, he wished to divorce, but she said, “Keep me among your wives and don't divorce me, in case I might be one of your wives in paradise.”

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Some authorities assert, that the prophet had eighteen wives: Atàa only mentions nine. To recompense his warlike followers for allowing them only four wives each, he gives them the mutâh marriage for any period they may choose with the wives of their enemies taken in battle.

Some authorities claim that the prophet had eighteen wives; Atàa only mentions nine. To reward his warrior followers for permitting them only four wives each, he allows them the mutâh marriage for any duration they prefer with the wives of their enemies captured in battle.

In the beginning of Islàm, the followers of the prophet, the shī’as were allowed to marry for a limited time; this temporary marriage was called mutâh. “Verily the prophet prohibited, on the day of the battle of Khaiber, a mutâh marriage, which is for a fixed time, and he forbade the eating of the flesh of the domestic ass.” “His highness permitted, in the year in which he went to Awtàs, mutâh for three days; after which he forbade it.” At length a revelation came down which rendered every connexion of the sort unlawful for the faithful, “excepting the captives which their right hands possess.”

In the early days of Islam, the followers of the prophet, known as the Shia, were allowed to enter into temporary marriages called mut'ah. "Indeed, the prophet prohibited mut'ah marriage, which is for a set period, on the day of the Battle of Khaybar, and he also forbade the eating of domestic donkey meat." "His highness allowed mut'ah for three days in the year he went to Awtas, after which he prohibited it." Eventually, a revelation came down that made any connection of this sort unlawful for the faithful, "except for the captives that their right hands possess."

If a woman of high rank and consequence has no heir, this farce is often played. The lady appears to expect one; she is fattened up in the same curious manner in which they fatten their horses: five or six low caste women, who really expect children about the same time, are secreted in the zenāna: when one of them is delivered of a son, the Begam takes it, the farce of an accouchement is acted, and the child is produced as the heir; the real mamma has 500 rupees (£50) given her,—and perhaps a dose of poison to secure her silence.

If a high-ranking woman has no heir, this ridiculous charade often takes place. She seems to be expecting one; she's put on weight in a peculiar way similar to how they fatten horses. Five or six lower-caste women, who actually expect to give birth around the same time, are hidden away in the zenana. When one of them has a son, the Begam takes him, plays out the farce of childbirth, and presents the child as the heir. The real mother is given 500 rupees (£50)—and maybe even a dose of poison to ensure her silence.

The father of Mulka Begam, the Huzūr Mirza Sulimān Shekō, the brother of the present Emperor of Delhi, resides at Agra, on a pension from Government; he has children innumerable, all young princes and princesses; there are, it is said, some forty of his children now alive, proud and poor. By Mulka’s first marriage with Mirza Selīm, the second son of the present King of Delhi, she had three children. The first wife of the King of Oude is a sister of Mulka’s, and is reckoned more beautiful than even Mulka herself.

The father of Mulka Begam, Huzūr Mirza Sulimān Shekō, the brother of the current Emperor of Delhi, lives in Agra on a government pension. He has countless children, all young princes and princesses; it’s said there are about forty of his kids still alive, both proud and impoverished. Mulka’s first marriage to Mirza Selīm, the second son of the current King of Delhi, resulted in three children. The King of Oude’s first wife is Mulka’s sister and is considered even more beautiful than Mulka herself.

24th.—We drove over to Khāsgunge, Colonel Gardner’s residence, thirteen miles, over roads that were hardly passable. On our arrival, we found our dear friend seated on the steps in front of his house, with many gentlemen, both English and[393] native, around him. I thought I had never seen so dignified and graceful a person; he was dressed in a lubāda of red figured Indian shawl, the rest of the dress was English, but the style of the lubāda was particularly good, and suited to an old man; his half brother, Mr. Valentine Gardner, was with him, also an old nawāb from Cambay.

24th.—We drove to Khāsgunge, Colonel Gardner’s home, thirteen miles, over roads that were barely passable. When we arrived, we found our dear friend sitting on the steps in front of his house, surrounded by several gentlemen, both English and native. I don't think I had ever seen someone so dignified and graceful; he was wearing a red patterned Indian shawl for his lubāda, while the rest of his outfit was English, but the style of the lubāda was particularly nice and suited an older man. His half-brother, Mr. Valentine Gardner, was with him, along with an elderly nawāb from Cambay.

Colonel Gardner has a fine estate at Khāsgunge; the outer house is dedicated to his friends and English acquaintance; within four high walls is the barā-deri, or pavilion, in the centre of the zenāna gardens, in which his begam resides.

Colonel Gardner has a beautiful estate in Khāsgunge; the outer house is for his friends and English acquaintances; inside four high walls is the barā-deri, or pavilion, located in the center of the zenāna gardens, where his wife lives.

Apartments were given to my husband and me in the outer house, where the English visitors resided. The dinners at first consisted of European, as well as native dishes; but the latter were so excellent, I soon found it impossible to partake of dishes dressed after the English fashion, and as all the guests were of the same opinion, Colonel Gardner had the kindness to banish European dishes from the table.

Apartments were assigned to my husband and me in the outer house, where the English visitors stayed. At first, the dinners included both European and local dishes; however, the local cuisine was so amazing that I soon found it impossible to enjoy the dishes prepared in the English style. Since all the guests felt the same way, Colonel Gardner kindly decided to remove European dishes from the table.

I must not forget to mention the arwarī fish, the finest and most delicious I ever tasted; the Kālā-naddī is famed for its arwarī, a sort of mullet; the fish delights to bask in the sun, floating on the surface of the water. Colonel Gardner kept two shīkarees (native sportsmen), for the purpose of shooting these fish; one man fired, and the other instantly plunged into the water, and brought out the fish that were killed or stunned. The Musalmāns object to eating fish having no scales; such fish was also forbidden to the Jews.

I can’t forget to mention the arwarī fish, the best and most delicious I’ve ever eaten; the Kālā-naddī is known for its arwarī, a type of mullet. These fish love to soak up the sun, floating on the water’s surface. Colonel Gardner employed two shīkarees (local hunters) to catch these fish; one would shoot while the other immediately jumped into the water to retrieve the fish that were killed or stunned. Muslims avoid eating fish without scales; this also applies to Jewish dietary restrictions.

In the evening, the native mimics came to perform before us; they imitated Europeans very well, and mimicked the gentlemen of the party. A pūtlī-nāch was afterwards brought forward; I was surprised to see the natives, young and old, so eager and fond of this absurdity, until Colonel Gardner said, “The natives are madly fond of this pūtlī-nāch; indeed, it is all the English have left them of their former glory. You see, represented by puppets, Shāhjahān and all his Court and Durbar: one puppet is brought forward, and the manager, whilst it bows to the audience, relates the whole history of the minister whom it represents; giving a true account of his pedigree, riches,[394] influence, &c. At this moment, standing behind my chair, at a salary of four rupees a month, is the lineal descendant of one of the first lords in the Court of Shāhjahān. The managers of the show mix up infinite wit with their relation of events, and sarcasms on the English.”

In the evening, the local performers came to entertain us; they imitated Europeans really well and mimicked the gentlemen in the group. A puppet show was brought out afterward; I was surprised to see the locals, both young and old, so eager and fond of this silliness, until Colonel Gardner said, “The locals are crazy about this puppet show; in fact, it’s all the English have left them of their former glory. You see, they portray Shāhjahān and all his Court and Durbar with puppets: one puppet is presented, and the manager, while it bows to the audience, shares the entire history of the minister it represents; providing a true account of his ancestry, wealth, influence, etc. Right now, standing behind my chair, earning a salary of four rupees a month, is the direct descendant of one of the first lords in Shāhjahān’s Court. The show managers mix endless humor with their storytelling, including jabs at the English.”

After this explanation, I could see the reason of the fondness of the old natives for this puppet-show, which before, in my ignorance, I had not comprehended. One by one every puppet is brought forward, and its history recounted. This evening fatigued me a good deal; we sat under the verandah to see the sights, the glare of the torches was painful to my eyes, and the noise made my head ache.

After this explanation, I could understand why the old locals loved this puppet show, which I hadn't grasped before due to my ignorance. One by one, each puppet is brought out, and its story is shared. This evening really tired me; we sat under the porch to watch the performances, the brightness of the torches hurt my eyes, and the noise gave me a headache.

27th.—A lynx (the caracal), the property of Colonel Gardner, a most extraordinary looking beast, killed a goa samp: I was told, the animal catches crows by springing several feet into the air after them as they rise from the ground.

27th.—A lynx (the caracal), owned by Colonel Gardner, an incredibly unusual-looking animal, killed a goat. I was told that this animal catches crows by leaping several feet into the air after them as they take off from the ground.

The cheeta, or chītā, (hunting leopard), killed two antelopes: some nāch girls danced and sang in the evening, and thus closed the day.

The cheetah, or chītā, (hunting leopard), killed two antelopes: some nāch girls danced and sang in the evening, and thus closed the day.

My husband, who had accompanied me to Khāsgunge, now took leave of Colonel Gardner, and returned to Allahabad, leaving me with our dear friend to witness the Muhammadan marriage ceremonies. My husband quitted us with regret, being obliged to depart on account of the expiration of his leave of absence.

My husband, who had come with me to Khāsgunge, now said goodbye to Colonel Gardner and went back to Allahabad, leaving me with our dear friend to experience the Muhammadan wedding ceremonies. My husband left us with a heavy heart, having to go because his leave of absence had ended.

Colonel Gardner married Nawab Matmunzel ool Nissa Begam, of the Cambay family; she resides in the house or pavilion within the four walls, with her relatives, attendants, and slaves. This morning the Begam sent word she would receive visitors in the evening; Colonel Gardner took me over, and introduced me to her as his adopted daughter; she rose and embraced me, putting her cheek to mine on each side the face, after the fashion of the French, and her arms around me: having received her guests, she sat down on her gaddī of purple velvet, embroidered with gold; and we seated ourselves on plain white gaddīs on either side.

Colonel Gardner married Nawab Matmunzel ool Nissa Begam from the Cambay family; she lives in the house or pavilion within the four walls, along with her relatives, attendants, and servants. This morning, the Begam sent word that she would receive visitors in the evening; Colonel Gardner took me over and introduced me to her as his adopted daughter. She stood up and embraced me, touching her cheek to mine on each side of my face, following the French custom, with her arms around me. After greeting her guests, she sat down on her purple velvet gaddī, embroidered with gold, while we took our seats on plain white gaddīs on either side.

The Begam is a very lively little old woman; she was magnificently[395] dressed in pearls, diamonds, and emeralds,—as many as it was possible to put on her little body; she wore a peshwāz, or very short full gown, with a tight body, made of red and gold Benares tissue; this is a dress Of state; pigāmās of silk; and, over all, a dopatta of red and gold Benares tissue, which, as she sat, covered her entirely; and she looked more like a lump of glittering gold and crimson and pearls, than a living woman. A golden hooqŭ, with four nā’echas (snakes) was placed before her on a hooqŭ carpet of raised flowers, curiously cut out in paper. The room was covered with a carpet, over which white cloths were spread after the usual fashion, and the lamps all stood on the ground.

The Begam is a very lively little old woman; she was magnificently[395] dressed in pearls, diamonds, and emeralds—more than could possibly fit on her small frame. She wore a peshwāz, a very short full gown with a fitted bodice, made of red and gold Benares fabric; this is a formal dress; silk pajama pants; and, over everything, a dupatta of red and gold Benares cloth that completely covered her as she sat, making her look more like a sparkling lump of gold and crimson and pearls than a living woman. A golden hookah with four nā’echas (snakes) was set before her on a hookah carpet adorned with raised flowers, intricately cut from paper. The room had a carpet covering the floor, over which white cloths were typically spread, and the lamps were all placed on the ground.

At the other end of the room sat fourteen slave girls, belonging to the Begam, who played on different instruments, whilst one or two of them nāched before us.

At the other end of the room, fourteen slave girls who belonged to the Begam sat playing various instruments, while one or two of them danced in front of us.

The ladies of the family were seated on the Begam’s left hand.

The women of the family were sitting on the Begam’s left side.

There was Hinga Beebee Sāhiba, the Widow of Allan Gardner, the eldest son of Colonel Gardner; her eldest daughter, Hirmoozee, married Mr. Stuart William Gardner, an officer in the 28th Native Infantry, and son of Admiral Francis Gardner, a relative of Colonel Gardner’s.

There was Hinga Beebee Sāhiba, the widow of Allan Gardner, the oldest son of Colonel Gardner; her oldest daughter, Hirmoozee, married Mr. Stuart William Gardner, an officer in the 28th Native Infantry and the son of Admiral Francis Gardner, a relative of Colonel Gardner.

Her second daughter, Susan, generally called Shubbeah Begam, was not present; being engaged to be married to a young Prince of Delhi, she was kept in pārda. At her feet were the two daughters of James Gardner by a former marriage; the eldest, Alaida (the Morning Star), about fifteen years old, very fair, with a round pretty face; but her great charm was a remarkably sweet and interesting manner; she of them all was the one whom Colonel Gardner best loved; and indeed she was a sweet girl. Her younger sister (the Evening Star) was darker than Alaida, pretty and lively. They, like the Begam, had Tartar faces, in which the eyes are wide apart; but were both, nevertheless, very pretty and interesting girls.

Her second daughter, Susan, usually called Shubbeah Begam, wasn’t there; she was busy preparing to marry a young prince from Delhi, so she was kept in seclusion. At her feet sat the two daughters of James Gardner from a previous marriage; the older one, Alaida (the Morning Star), about fifteen years old, was very fair with a round, pretty face. Her greatest charm was her exceptionally sweet and engaging personality; she was the one that Colonel Gardner loved the most, and she truly was a lovely girl. Her younger sister (the Evening Star) was darker than Alaida, but she was pretty and full of energy. Like the Begam, they had Tartar features, with eyes that were widely spaced, but they were both still very pretty and captivating girls.

Two English gentlemen, who were fond of native life, and fascinated with Khasgunge, requested me to mention to Colonel Gardner their wish to become of his family; I did so. Colonel[396] Gardner replied, “Shubbeah is engaged to the Prince:” but, said I, “Do you think she likes him?” “How little you know of the natives!” he replied; “it would be considered the greatest indelicacy for a girl to prefer one man to another, or to have seen the man to whom she is to be united. Tell Mr. ⸺ I am flattered by his wish to be of my family, and would willingly give him my grand-daughter, but the Begam is bent on this grand alliance, as she considers it: I have withheld my consent for years; ‘The house may be filled with the falling of drops[140];’ i.e. continual dripping wears away stones. She has carried the point. I have been happy in my marriage, but I would not advise an European gentleman to marry a native lady. With respect to the proposals of the other gentleman, in a worldly point of view it would be a good match; but I do not like the man; I cannot bestow upon him the Morning Star.”

Two English gentlemen, who enjoyed local culture and were intrigued by Khasgunge, asked me to tell Colonel Gardner about their desire to become part of his family; I did. Colonel[396] Gardner responded, “Shubbeah is engaged to the Prince.” But I asked, “Do you think she likes him?” “You really don't understand the locals!” he replied; “it would be seen as incredibly rude for a girl to prefer one man over another or to have met the man she is supposed to marry. Tell Mr. ⸺ I appreciate his wish to join my family and would be happy to give him my granddaughter, but the Begam is set on this grand alliance, as she sees it: I’ve withheld my consent for years; 'The house may be filled with the falling of drops[140];’ i.e. constant dripping erodes stone. She has won her point. I have been happy in my marriage, but I wouldn’t recommend an European gentleman marrying a native woman. Regarding the other gentleman’s proposal, from a practical standpoint it would be a good match; however, I don’t like the man; I can’t give him the Morning Star.”

Bānā Beebee Sāhiba was also there; in her younger days she must have been pretty; her liveliness she still retained.

Bānā Beebee Sāhiba was there too; she must have been attractive in her younger days, and she still had her lively spirit.

The guests smoked the hooqŭ, and ate pān; some very delicate pān was prepared for me, of which I partook for the first time, and rather liked it.

The guests smoked the hooqŭ and ate pān; some very delicate pān was prepared for me, which I tried for the first time and actually liked.

At the end of the evening, the Begam gave her guests liberty to depart; pān and atr of roses were presented to us; rose-water was sprinkled over us; we made salām in due form, and returned to the outer house.

At the end of the evening, the Begam allowed her guests to leave; we were offered pān and rose extract; rose water was sprinkled on us; we saluted properly and headed back to the outer house.

The Begam has a guard of honour of forty men, who live at the entrance of the zenāna, and guard the gateway night and day.

The Begam has a guard of honor consisting of forty men who stay at the entrance of the zenāna, watching over the gateway day and night.

I must not forget the old Nawāb of Cambay, the uncle of the Begam; he is quite a character, and a very singular one; he has visited England; he used to dine at the table with us, and would take sherry with the guests. When a lady was at table he would take sherry; if gentlemen only were present, the sherry was discarded for brandy: one day I observed he drank some white spirit, and found it was a strong spirit he himself distilled[397] from different flowers: to my surprise, he used also to play backgammon. Natives have names and titles innumerable, of which his are a good specimen: Fakhr-ul-dawla Moomtaj ul Moolk Nawab Meer Momun Khan Bahadur Delme Delawor Jung.

I can’t forget the old Nawab of Cambay, the Begam’s uncle; he’s quite a character and definitely unique. He has traveled to England and used to join us for dinner, enjoying sherry with the guests. When women were at the table, he would sip sherry; but if only men were present, he switched to brandy. One day I noticed he drank some white spirit, and it turned out to be a strong liquor he distilled himself from various flowers. To my surprise, he also played backgammon. Natives have countless names and titles, and his are a great example: Fakhr-ul-dawla Moomtaj ul Moolk Nawab Meer Momun Khan Bahadur Delme Delawor Jung.[397]

Colonel Gardner’s name is William Linnæus, so called after his godfather, the great botanist; he is himself an excellent botanist, and pursues the study with much ardour. His garden at Khāsgunge is a very extensive and a most delightful one, full of fine trees and rare plants, beautiful flowers and shrubs, with fruit in abundance and perfection; no expense is spared to embellish the garden: in the centre is a delightful pavilion, under the shade of fine trees. It is one of the pleasures of the Begam and her attendants to spend the day in that garden: guards are then stationed around it, to prevent intrusion. She is herself extremely fond of flowers, and, although not a botanist, after the European fashion, she knows the medicinal qualities of all the Indian plants, and the dyes that can be produced from them; and this knowledge is of daily account in the zenāna.

Colonel Gardner's full name is William Linnæus, named after his godfather, the famous botanist. He is also a skilled botanist and studies it with great enthusiasm. His garden in Khāsgunge is quite large and incredibly charming, filled with beautiful trees, rare plants, lovely flowers and shrubs, with plenty of perfect fruit; no expense is spared to enhance the garden. At the center, there’s a lovely pavilion shaded by magnificent trees. The Begam and her attendants enjoy spending the day in that garden, and guards are placed around it to keep out intruders. She has a deep love for flowers, and although she isn't a botanist in the European sense, she knows the medicinal properties of all the Indian plants and the dyes that can be made from them; this knowledge is valuable in the zenāna.

March 1st.—Took a gallop on a fine English horse, Rattler by name; being accustomed to ride Arabs, this great monster appeared like a frisky mountain under me.

March 1st.—I took a ride on a great English horse named Rattler; since I'm used to riding Arabs, this big creature felt like a lively mountain beneath me.

2nd.—Mr. James Gardner invited us to return to his house at Kutchowra, that we might enjoy chītā hunting. We drove over, and in the evening some nāch women exhibited before us for our amusement.

2nd.—Mr. James Gardner invited us to come back to his house in Kutchowra so we could go chītā hunting. We drove over, and in the evening, some dance women put on a show for our entertainment.

3rd.—In the early morning I mounted a white pony, and we all rode out eight miles to breakfast in a tent which had been sent out over night. After breakfast the party got into the buggies.

3rd.—In the early morning, I got on a white pony, and we all rode eight miles to have breakfast in a tent that had been set up overnight. After breakfast, the group got into the buggies.

We went directly across the country; there were no roads,—over banks, and through ditches, where it appeared a miracle we were not upset. We came to a deep, narrow, stone water-course: my companion said, “If you will get out of the buggy, I will leap the mare over; if I attempt to walk her over, she will be sure to get her foot in, and break her leg.”[398] I got out accordingly; away went the mare; she took a leap at the drain, and carried the buggy over in excellent style. Buggies in India have the remarkable faculty of leaping, being accustomed to such freaks.

We traveled straight across the country; there were no roads—just over banks and through ditches, where it felt like a miracle we didn’t tip over. We reached a deep, narrow stone ditch: my friend said, “If you get out of the buggy, I’ll jump the mare over; if I try to walk her across, she’ll definitely get her foot stuck and break her leg.”[398] I got out as requested; the mare took off and jumped the ditch, effortlessly carrying the buggy over. Buggies in India have this amazing ability to jump since they’re used to such stunts.

We arrived at the estate of a native gentleman, called Petumber, where, on the plain, we saw a herd of about three hundred antelopes, bounding, running, and playing in the sunshine; and a severe sun it was, enough to give one a brain fever, in spite of the leather hood of the buggy. The antelopes are so timid, they will not allow a buggy to come very near the herd; therefore being determined to see the hunt, we got out of the carriage and mounted upon the hackery (cart) on which the cheetā was carried, without even an umbrella, lest it should frighten the deer. The cheetā had a hood over his eyes and a rope round his loins, and two natives, his keepers, were with him.

We arrived at the estate of a local gentleman named Petumber, where we saw a herd of around three hundred antelopes on the plain, leaping, running, and playing in the bright sunshine; and it was a hot sun, enough to give anyone a headache, even with the leather hood of the buggy. The antelopes are so shy that they won’t let a buggy come too close to the herd; so, determined to see the hunt, we got out of the carriage and climbed onto the cart carrying the cheetah, without even an umbrella, so we wouldn’t scare the deer. The cheetah wore a hood over its eyes and a rope around its waist, and there were two locals, its keepers, with it.

I sat down by accident on the animal’s tail:—O-o-o-wh, growled the cheetā. I did not wait for another growl, but released his tail instantly. The bullock hackery was driven into the midst of the herd. The bandage was removed from the eyes of the cheetā, and the cord from his body: he dropped from the cart and bounded, with the most surprising bounds, towards an immense black buck, seized him by the throat, flung him on the ground, and held him there. The keepers went up, they cut the buck’s throat, and then they cut off the haunch of the hind leg, and, dipping a wooden spoon into the cavity, offered it full of blood to the cheetā. Nothing but this would have induced the cheetā to quit the throat of the buck. He followed the men to the cart, jumped upon it, drank the blood, and the men then put his bandage over his eyes. The haunch was put into the back of the cart, the reward for the animal when the hunting was over. The herd had passed on; we followed, taking care the wind did not betray our approach. The cheetā was leaning against me in the hackery, and we proceeded very sociably. Another herd of antelopes went bounding near us, the cheetā’s eyes were unbound again, and the rope removed from his loins; a fine buck passed, we expected he[399] would instantly pursue it as usual, but the animal turned sulky, and instead of dropping down from the hackery, he put both his fore-paws on my lap and stood there two or three seconds with his face and whiskers touching my cheek. O-o-o-wh—O-o-o-wh, growled the cheetā!—my heart beat faster, but I sat perfectly quiet, as you may well imagine, whilst I thought to myself, “If he seize my throat, he will never leave it until they cut off my hind quarter, and give him a bowl of blood!” His paws were as light on my lap as those of a cat. How long the few seconds appeared whilst I eyed him askance! Nor was I slightly glad when the cheetā dropped to the ground, where he crouched down sulkily and would not hunt. He was a very fine-tempered animal, but they are all uncertain. I did not like his being quite so near when he was unfastened and sulky.

I accidentally sat on the animal’s tail:—O-o-o-wh, growled the cheetah. I didn’t wait for another growl but instantly let go of his tail. The bullock cart was driven into the middle of the herd. They removed the blindfold from the cheetah’s eyes and the rope from his body: he leaped from the cart and bounded, with astonishing leaps, toward a massive black buck, caught it by the throat, threw it to the ground, and held it there. The handlers approached, cut the buck’s throat, then cut off the haunch of its hind leg, and, dipping a wooden spoon into the cavity, offered it full of blood to the cheetah. Nothing but this would have made the cheetah let go of the buck's throat. He followed the men to the cart, jumped on it, drank the blood, and then the men put the blindfold back over his eyes. The haunch was placed in the back of the cart, a reward for the animal when the hunting was finished. The herd had moved on; we followed, being careful that the wind didn’t give away our presence. The cheetah was leaning against me in the cart, and we continued very amicably. Another group of antelopes bounded nearby; the cheetah’s eyes were unbound again, and the rope removed from his waist; a nice buck passed, and we thought he would immediately chase it like usual, but he became stubborn, and instead of jumping down from the cart, he placed both his front paws on my lap and stood there for two or three seconds with his face and whiskers against my cheek. O-o-o-wh—O-o-o-wh, growled the cheetah!—my heart raced, but I sat perfectly still, as you can imagine, thinking, “If he grabs my throat, he won’t let go until they cut off my hind quarter and give him a bowl of blood!” His paws were as light on my lap as a cat’s. Those few seconds felt like an eternity while I eyed him sideways! I was quite relieved when the cheetah dropped to the ground, where he sulked and refused to hunt. He was a very well-tempered animal, but they can all be unpredictable. I didn’t like him being so close when he was untied and sulky.

The next time I took care to get off the cart before the creature was freed from restraint. It is painful to witness a cheetā hunt, the beautiful antelope has so little chance of escape.

The next time, I made sure to get off the cart before the creature was let loose. It’s hard to watch a cheetah hunt; the gorgeous antelope has almost no chance to get away.

During the day, we killed three fine antelopes; the horns of one of them, remarkably large, with five turns on them, I brought to England. We rested under some trees by a well to partake of tiffin, when one of the party observed, “This wood and well are remarkable. Heera Sing, the father of Petumber, was a Thug, and made by Thuggee a large fortune. In this plantation and by the side of this very well his people used to wait for travellers, lure them to the shade and water to refresh themselves, strangle them, and cast their bodies into the well.

During the day, we hunted three great antelopes; I brought back the remarkably large horns of one, which had five twists. We took a break under some trees by a well to have lunch when someone in the group pointed out, “This wood and well are quite notable. Heera Sing, Petumber's father, was a Thug who earned a lot of money through Thuggee. In this plantation and right by this well, his gang would wait for travelers, entice them into the shade and near the water to refresh themselves, strangle them, and throw their bodies into the well."

“After having amassed a fortune, Heera Sing repented, and gave orders that life should not be taken on his estate. He would not allow the antelopes to be killed; and his son having followed his example, accounts for the large herds of antelopes we have found here: it is an excellent preserve.” We then returned home; I was almost dead with the heat, having been out in such a powerful sun during a drive of about thirty miles.

“After becoming very wealthy, Heera Sing felt regret and ordered that no lives should be taken on his estate. He wouldn’t allow the antelopes to be killed; and since his son followed his example, that explains the large herds of antelopes we’ve found here: it’s a great preserve.” We then went back home; I was nearly exhausted from the heat after being out in such strong sunlight for a drive of about thirty miles.

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[400]

Mulka Begam sometimes goes out cheetā hunting in a native carriage, drawn by two magnificent bullocks, adorned with crimson housings, and their horns covered with plates of gold.

Mulka Begam sometimes goes cheetah hunting in a local carriage, pulled by two magnificent bullocks, dressed in red coverings, and their horns plated in gold.

In this manner the princess can behold the sport, and enter into the amusement, while she is completely secluded from the profane eye of man.

In this way, the princess can watch the fun and join in the entertainment while being completely hidden from the unrefined gaze of men.


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[401]

CHAPTER XXXV.
Fathīpoor Sicri and Colonel Gardner.

Pilgrimage of Akbar Shāh to Fathīpoor Sicri—Shaikh Selīm Cheestie—The Jodh Baā’ī—Birth of Selim—The Tomb of the Saint—The Gateway—A Tradition—The Temple of Magic—The Zenāna—The Pachīsī Board—The Mint—Akbārābādee Rupees and Gold Mohurs—The Elephant Minār—A Child destroyed by a Wolf—Tomb of the Jodh Bā’ī—Agra built by Akbar—Sketches of remarkable Living Characters in India—Legality of a Marriage between a Christian and one of the Faithful—Colonel Gardner’s Letter—Letter of Colonel Tod—Insult offered by Holkar—Colonel Gardner’s Marriage—Tomb of Colonel Hessing—Cure of Influenza within the Four Walls—Death in a Steam-Bath.

Pilgrimage of Akbar Shah to Fatehpur Sikri—Sheikh Selim Chishti—The Jodh Bai—Birth of Selim—The Tomb of the Saint—The Gateway—A Tradition—The Temple of Magic—The Zenana—The Pachisi Board—The Mint—Akbarabadi Rupees and Gold Mohurs—The Elephant Minar—A Child Killed by a Wolf—Tomb of the Jodh Bai—Agra built by Akbar—Sketches of Notable Living Characters in India—Legality of a Marriage between a Christian and a Believer—Colonel Gardner’s Letter—Letter of Colonel Tod—Insult by Holkar—Colonel Gardner’s Marriage—Tomb of Colonel Hessing—Cure of Influenza within the Four Walls—Death in a Steam Bath.

1835, March.—The wedding having been deferred for a short time, I took the opportunity of returning dāk to Agra, having promised Colonel Gardner to be at Khāsgunge again in time to witness the ceremony. All this time my pretty pinnace had been awaiting my arrival. I determined to send her back to Allahabad with the cook-boat, and she sailed immediately. I also sent back the carriage and horses, keeping the buggy, Bokharu, the grey and black horse, to accompany me to Khāsgunge. The dāk trip gave me a severe cough and cold, and on my reaching Agra I was little fit for exertion. However, a party was proposed to visit Fathīpoor Sicri, formerly the residence of Akbar Shāh; my curiosity prevailed, and, notwithstanding my illness, I consented to accompany them.

1835, March.—With the wedding postponed for a little while, I took the chance to return dāk to Agra, having promised Colonel Gardner I'd be at Khāsgunge in time to see the ceremony. All this while, my lovely little boat had been waiting for me. I decided to send her back to Allahabad with the cook-boat, and she set sail right away. I also sent back the carriage and horses, keeping the buggy, Bokharu, the gray and black horse, to take with me to Khāsgunge. The dāk trip left me with a bad cough and cold, and by the time I got to Agra, I wasn't really fit for much. However, a group suggested visiting Fathīpoor Sicri, which used to be the home of Akbar Shāh; my curiosity got the better of me, and despite my sickness, I agreed to join them.

11th.—Chār vajr, barī fajr, i.e. four o’clock A.M., I was ready to start: the party of four dwindled to two, the others being laid up with influenza, and unable to quit their beds. My[402] relative, Mr. D⸺, drove me over: tents and provisions had been sent on before. In spite of my illness I was delighted with Fathīpoor Sicri. The gateway, with its superb flight of steps, is a beautiful object; it is built on a fine commanding site. The buildings, which are very extensive, are on high ground; and from an immense quarry on the spot, they daily convey quantities of stone to all parts of India. The Fort of Agra is built of this stone.

11th.—At four o’clock A.M., I was ready to go: our group of four shrank to two, since the others were stuck in bed with the flu. My[402] relative, Mr. D⸺, drove me there: tents and supplies had been sent ahead. Despite my illness, I was thrilled with Fathīpoor Sicri. The gateway, with its impressive staircase, is an incredible sight; it's built on an excellent elevated site. The buildings, which are quite extensive, are situated on high ground; and from a massive quarry on location, they regularly transport large amounts of stone to various parts of India. The Fort of Agra is made from this stone.

Before I say more of the place, I must relate an anecdote of the founder.

Before I say more about the place, I need to share a story about the founder.

Akbar Shāh was extremely unhappy and deeply grieved at being childless. Hearing of the fame of a fakīr who lived at Fathīpoor Sicri, and of the wonderful birth of a child to a couple of poor manufacturers of pottery ware, who lived at that place, from the power of the prayers of the holy man: hearing all this, he determined to make a pilgrimage to Fathīpoor; àpropos, the house of the kumhār (potter) and his descendants are still shown to visitors. Akbar commenced his hājī (pilgrimage), but, like all the race of Timur, being rather lame, he found two miles a day (one kos) as much as he could accomplish; therefore, at every day’s resting-place he ordered a kos minār to be erected, which now serve as mile-stones. Two of these minārs I saw between Agra and Secundra on my visit to his tomb, as before-mentioned. On his arrival at Sicri, he consulted the holy man Shāh Selīm Cheestie; and, in pursuance of his advice, the Empress, the Jodh Bā’ī, was brought to live at Fathīpoor. She was the daughter of Oodi Sing of Jodhpoor. Her zenāna, inclosed within four walls, is still to be seen. The prayers of the holy man were heard, and the Jodh Bā’ī presented Akbar with a son, who, in honour of the saint, I suppose, was called Selīm, which name was afterwards almost forgotten in the appellation of Jahāngeer, the Conqueror of the World. In the Fort of Agra there are still the remains of the Selīm Ghar built by Akbar.

Akbar Shah was very unhappy and deeply saddened by being childless. After hearing about a famous fakir who lived in Fathipore Sikri and the miraculous birth of a child to a couple of poor potters in that area, thanks to the prayers of the holy man, he decided to make a pilgrimage to Fathipore. By the way, the house of the potter and his descendants is still shown to visitors. Akbar began his pilgrimage, but, like all of Timur's descendants, he was somewhat lame, so he could only manage about two miles a day (one kos); therefore, at each stop, he had a kos minar built, which now serve as milestone markers. I saw two of these minars during my visit between Agra and Secundra when I went to his tomb, as previously mentioned. Upon arriving in Sikri, he consulted the holy man Shah Selim Chishti, and following his advice, the Empress, Jodh Bai, was brought to live in Fathipore. She was the daughter of Oodi Sing of Jodhpur. Her zenana, enclosed within four walls, is still visible today. The prayers of the holy man were answered, and Jodh Bai gave Akbar a son, who, in honor of the saint, I suppose, was named Selim, a name that was later almost forgotten in the title of Jahangeer, the Conqueror of the World. In the Agra Fort, the remains of the Selim Ghar built by Akbar are still there.

The Emperor, charmed at the birth of a son, bestowed lands and showered rupees upon the sagacious fakīr; and the greatest ornament of the place is,

The Emperor, delighted by the birth of a son, granted land and generously rewarded the wise fakīr with rupees; and the most remarkable feature of the place is,

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THE TOMB OF SHAIKH SELĪM CHEESTIE.

This beautiful mausoleum, in the centre of the quadrangle, is still in a state of the most perfect preservation; it is of white marble; the open work of the screen is of the most exquisite workmanship. The descendants of the shaikh still live at Sicri, and gain large sums by showing the tomb of the holy man, whose name is held in the highest veneration. The coffin, containing the mortal remains of the saint, is within the building, and is covered with a large pall of silk and brocade. When speaking of the Shaikh they continually denominated him Shāh Selīm Cheestie. The annexed sketch will give an idea of the outline of the tomb, and of the beauty of the fretwork of its walls of marble.

This stunning mausoleum, located in the center of the courtyard, is still perfectly preserved. It's made of white marble, and the intricate design of the screen is crafted with exceptional skill. The descendants of the shaikh still reside in Sicri and earn significant income by showing visitors the tomb of the revered holy man. Inside the building lies the coffin containing the saint's remains, covered by a large silk and brocade pall. When referring to the Shaikh, they consistently call him Shāh Selīm Cheestie. The attached sketch provides an idea of the tomb's outline and the beauty of the marble fretwork on its walls.

THE TOMB OF SHAIKH SELIM CHEESTIE.

THE TOMB OF SHAIKH SELIM CHEESTIE.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

Vani Parks

In 1570, Akbar founded Fathīpoor Sicri, the City of Victory. Colonel Sleeman mentions, “The quadrangle which contains the mosque on the west side, and the tomb of the old hermit in the centre, was completed in the year 1578, six years before his death; and is, perhaps, one of the finest in the world. It is five hundred and seventy-five feet square, and surrounded by a high wall, with a magnificent cloister all around within. On the outside is a magnificent gateway, at the top of a noble flight of steps, twenty-four feet high. The whole gateway is one hundred and twenty feet in height, and the same in breadth, and presents beyond the wall five sides of an octagon, of which the front face is eighty feet wide: the arch in the centre of this space is sixty feet high by forty wide. On the right side of the entrance is engraven on stone, in large letters, standing out in bas relief, the following passage in Arabic: ‘Jesus, on whom be peace, has said, The world is merely a bridge; you are to pass over it, and not to build your dwellings upon it.’

In 1570, Akbar established Fathīpoor Sicri, the City of Victory. Colonel Sleeman notes, “The courtyard that features the mosque on the west side and the tomb of the old hermit in the center was finished in 1578, six years before his death, and is likely one of the finest in the world. It measures five hundred seventy-five feet square and is encircled by a high wall, with a stunning cloister all around the inside. On the outside, there’s an impressive gateway at the top of a grand flight of stairs, which is twenty-four feet high. The entire gateway stands one hundred twenty feet tall and the same in width, showcasing beyond the wall five sides of an octagon, with the front face being eighty feet wide. The arch in the center of this space rises sixty feet high by forty feet wide. To the right of the entrance, there’s a stone engraving in large letters that stand out in bas relief, displaying the following passage in Arabic: ‘Jesus, upon whom be peace, has said, The world is merely a bridge; you are to pass over it, and not to build your dwellings upon it.’”

“Where this saying of Christ is to be found, I know not, nor has any Muhammadan yet been able to tell me; but the quoting of such a passage in such a place is a proof of the absence of all bigotry on the part of Akbar.”

“Where this saying of Christ can be found, I don’t know, nor has any Muslim been able to tell me; but quoting such a passage in such a context shows that Akbar had no bigotry at all.”

The mosque within the quadrangle was finished in 1576, and Akbar’s three sons were born in the houses of the saint.

The mosque in the courtyard was completed in 1576, and Akbar's three sons were born in the homes of the saint.

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A very intelligent person, by name Bisharut Ali, who acted as cicerone, was much pleased to show off the place, and relate his wonderful stories. Amongst other traditions, he told me that, “in former times, Fathīpoor Sicri was infested with wild beasts, and the people who came to see the saint marvelled he was not afraid to live in such a wilderness; the next day, they found a lion and a wolf at the holy man’s door; the lion walking up and down and keeping guard, and the wolf brushing away the dust and dirt before the habitation of the saint”—with his tail, I suppose, for they say nothing of a broom. This Bisharut Ali is a pensioner on three rupees eight ānās a month; his profile, and that of Mulka Begam’s, who is a descendant of Akbar’s, were so much alike, that I could not help asking him if he were of Selīm Cheestie’s family? He replied, “No; my ancestor was the teacher (oostād) of the saint!”

A very intelligent guy named Bisharut Ali, who acted as a guide, was really excited to show me around the place and share his amazing stories. Among other legends, he told me that, “in the past, Fathīpoor Sicri was full of wild animals, and the visitors who came to see the saint were amazed that he wasn’t scared to live in such a wild area; the next day, they found a lion and a wolf at the holy man’s door; the lion was walking back and forth, keeping watch, while the wolf was clearing away the dust and dirt in front of the saint’s home”—with its tail, I assume, since they didn’t mention a broom. This Bisharut Ali is living on a pension of three rupees and eight ānās a month; his profile, and that of Mulka Begam’s, who is a descendant of Akbar’s, looked so similar that I couldn’t help asking him if he was related to Selīm Cheestie’s family. He replied, “No; my ancestor was the teacher of the saint!”

There is much to visit at this place: the mosque, the numerous tombs, and also a very curious building, in which the council of the nation was held.

There’s a lot to see at this place: the mosque, the many tombs, and also a very interesting building where the national council met.

The place that most interested my imagination was the Temple of Magic, in which Akbar used to study. How much the Emperor, who was greatly addicted to the art, must have been interested in casting the nativity of the sons of his pilgrimage, and in the important task of selecting fortunate names!

The place that fascinated me the most was the Temple of Magic, where Akbar used to study. The Emperor, who was really into this art, must have been so interested in casting the horoscopes of the sons of his pilgrimage, and in the crucial job of picking out lucky names!

On the birth of the heir, the City of Victory must have resounded with the roar of cannon, in honour of the happy event; even the poorest Musulmān testifies his rejoicing on such an occasion by firing off a matchlock; but should the offspring be a girl, the cannon is silent, and no matchlocks are in requisition. There are five different modes of naming children, two of which are as follow:—

On the birth of the heir, the City of Victory must have echoed with the sound of cannons, celebrating the happy event; even the poorest Muslim expresses his joy on such an occasion by firing a matchlock; but if the child is a girl, the cannons fall silent, and no matchlocks are used. There are five different ways to name children, two of which are as follows:—

Sometimes the infant obtains the name of some one of the family, as that of the parent’s father, (it is not customary among Musulmāns to give their own names to their children,) the grandfather, great-grandfather, or the tutelary saint venerated in the family; hence the name of Selīm was given to the first-born of the Emperor.

Sometimes the infant is given the name of a family member, like the father's father (it's not common among Muslims to name their children after themselves), the grandfather, great-grandfather, or a revered family saint; that's how the name Selīm was given to the Emperor's first-born.

“Amongst some people it is customary to choose a name from[405] among those that begin with the same letter which is found at the commencement or termination of the name of the planet in whose hour the child is born. In order to ascertain this, it is requisite to consult the horoscope of nativity[141].” The planets, seven in number,—namely, the Sun, Venus, Mercury, the Moon, Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars, are supposed to preside over the twenty-four hours of the day and night, and to exert many favourable and unfavourable influences on the human race. With what anxiety must the great magician Akbar have consulted the horoscope, to ascertain under the reign of what particular planet his son was born! With what care he must have cast his nativity, and thereby predicted his future destiny!

“Some people have a tradition of choosing a name from[405] those that start with the same letter found at the beginning or end of the name of the planet that is dominant at the time of the child's birth. To figure this out, you need to look at the birth horoscope. The planets—seven in total: the Sun, Venus, Mercury, the Moon, Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars—are believed to oversee the twenty-four hours of each day and night, influencing humanity in both positive and negative ways. How anxiously must the great magician Akbar have examined the horoscope to determine under which specific planet his son was born! How carefully he must have calculated his birth chart and thus predicted his future!"

The ladies of the zenāna were not only followers of the prophet, but Rajpūtnees were admitted, Akbar considering it good policy to marry the daughter of a subjugated Hindoo prince. Beauty, also, was and is sufficient to give the possessor a chance of gaining the rank of Begam. I went over the zenāna with much interest, and thought of the innumerable ceremonies that must have been observed within its walls.

The women of the zenāna were not just followers of the prophet, but Rajpūtnees were also included, as Akbar saw it as a smart move to marry the daughter of a conquered Hindu prince. Beauty, too, was and remains enough to give someone the opportunity to rise to the rank of Begam. I explored the zenāna with great interest and thought about the countless ceremonies that must have taken place within its walls.

Particular rites take place on the fortieth day after the birth of a child, which is esteemed an important festival; the mother is then allowed to touch the kurān, and enter the masjid. In fancy, I beheld the Jodh Bā’ī taken out into the air, with the “child of the pilgrimage” in her arms, that she might count a few stars; after which, according to Muhammadan custom, her attendants would shoot off two arrows into the air.

Particular ceremonies occur on the fortieth day after a child's birth, which is seen as a significant celebration; the mother is then permitted to touch the Qur'an and enter the mosque. In my imagination, I saw Jodh Bā’ī being taken outside, holding the “child of the pilgrimage” in her arms so she could count a few stars; afterward, following Muslim tradition, her helpers would shoot off two arrows into the sky.

With what care the Emperor must have selected verses from the kurān, to engrave in the Arabic character upon tablets, called tawīzī; destined to adorn the person of the infant prince, and to guard him as a spell! These tablets, which are of gold or silver, are strung on a long cord of gold thread, and suspended over one shoulder of a child, crossing his body, and hanging down on the other side below the hip.

With what care the Emperor must have chosen verses from the Quran to engrave in Arabic on tablets, known as tawīzī; meant to decorate the infant prince and protect him like a charm! These tablets, made of gold or silver, are strung on a long cord of gold thread and hung over one shoulder of the child, crossing his body and hanging down on the other side below his hip.

The pachīsī-board gives one a glimpse of the manner in which the great Akbar spent his time amongst his lady-loves;[406] the pachīsī-board is in an open court of the zenāna; the squares of the board are formed of coloured marbles, and on so large a scale, that women were used as counters. Imagine the great Akbar playing at pachīsī with eight cowries, and sixteen ladies of the zenāna squatting down on the squares of the board as counters! Jīta rako Akbar!

The pachīsī board gives a glimpse into how the great Akbar spent time with his beloved ladies;[406] the pachīsī board is located in an open courtyard of the zenāna; the squares are made of colored marble, and it's so big that women acted as counters. Picture the great Akbar playing pachīsī with eight cowrie shells, while sixteen ladies of the zenāna sit on the squares of the board as counters! Jīta rako Akbar!

The game is played with eight cowries, or with three long narrow dice, and so named from the highest throw, which is twenty-five. The shape of the board is a cross, covered with squares, alternately of a different colour. The natives have them made of red and purple cloth, which can be folded up, and easily carried about; they are passionately fond of this game, and play it at the Dewālī. The counters are sixteen in number, in sets of four, each set of a different colour.

The game is played with eight cowries, or three long narrow dice, named for the highest roll, which is twenty-five. The board is shaped like a cross and has squares that alternate in color. The locals have them made from red and purple cloth, which can be folded and easily transported; they are very enthusiastic about this game and play it during Dewālī. There are sixteen counters in total, organized into sets of four, with each set in a different color.

Adjoining the temple of the magician is the anannās-i-ghur, built in the shape of a pine-apple (anannās), as the natives aver.

Adjoining the magician's temple is the anannās-i-ghur, designed to look like a pineapple (anannās), according to the locals.

The taksāl (the mint) is at this place; in it rupees were first coined; unlike the circular rupees of the present day, those coined by Akbar are square; he also coined square gold mohurs, and eight ānā pieces of the same form. The square rupee, if without a blemish, is reckoned of great value; it is used in conjuring the truth out of thieves, who are much afraid of it, and often confess the truth from a belief in its virtue.

The taksāl (the mint) is located here; this is where rupees were first minted. Unlike today’s round rupees, those minted by Akbar are square. He also produced square gold mohurs and eight ānā coins in the same shape. A square rupee, if flawless, is considered highly valuable; it is used to reveal the truth from thieves, who fear it and often confess due to their belief in its power.

If a rich native can obtain one of Akbar’s rupees, or, what is better, an akbārābādee gold mohur, he puts it away with his hoard of riches, firmly believing that by its virtue robbers will be prevented from discovering his gold. There is an old saying, “To get possession of the wealth without disturbing the snake that guards it[142].” The square rupee appears to act chaukidār as well as the snake. An akbārābādee rupee and an eight ānā piece were procured at Sicri, and added to my museum. The mint has been dug up in every direction by treasure-hunters.

If a wealthy local can get one of Akbar’s rupees, or, even better, a gold mohur from Akbarabad, he stashes it away with his other valuables, truly believing that its power will keep thieves from finding his gold. There's an old saying, “To acquire wealth without disturbing the snake that guards it[142].” The square rupee seems to act as both a guard and a snake. I sourced an Akbarabad rupee and an eight ānā piece from Sicri and added them to my collection. The mint has been dug up everywhere by treasure hunters.

There is a remarkable entrance called the Elephant Gate, below which is the Elephant Minār, to which we walked by moonlight; on the top of this minār Akbar used to sit; game, of all descriptions, was driven towards it from the surrounding country, which the Emperor from that spot could shoot at his ease. “When death approaches the game, it goes towards the sportsman[143].” This tower is studded with elephants’ tusks, carved in white stone.

There’s an impressive entrance called the Elephant Gate, underneath which is the Elephant Minar, where we walked by moonlight. At the top of this minar, Akbar would sit; all kinds of game were driven toward it from the surrounding area, which the Emperor could shoot at from that spot with ease. “When death approaches the game, it goes towards the sportsman[143].” This tower is adorned with elephants’ tusks carved from white stone.

The people showed me the skin of a leopard that was shot a year ago amongst the ruins. I requested my companion during this ramble to take a stick, for fear of the wolves, who, the week before, had torn a native child to pieces under the walls; the bones and bangles of the poor child had been brought to my companion, who was the magistrate.

The people showed me the skin of a leopard that was shot a year ago among the ruins. I asked my companion on this walk to grab a stick, worried about the wolves that had torn a local child to pieces under the walls the week before; the bones and bangles of the poor child had been brought to my companion, who was the magistrate.

The tomb of the Jhod Bā’ī, who was a Rajpootnee daughter of the Hindoo chief of Jhodpore, by tradition beautiful and amiable, is still to be seen on the Chand-maree, the artillery practice ground, a few miles from Fathīpoor Sicri. It was in ruins, but still you could trace its form and dome. Some artillery officers, out of pure idleness and ignorance, I suppose, about a year ago, blew up the dome of this tomb by way of getting rid of some damaged powder! The sacrilege of destroying the tomb of the mother of Jahāngeer, and the wife of Akbar Shāh!

The tomb of Jhod Bā’ī, who was a Rajput princess and the daughter of the Hindu chief of Jodhpur, known for her beauty and kindness, can still be seen on the Chand-maree, the artillery practice ground, a few miles from Fatehpur Sikri. Although it was in ruins, you could still make out its shape and dome. About a year ago, some artillery officers, probably out of boredom and ignorance, blew up the dome of this tomb just to get rid of some damaged powder! It’s a disgrace to destroy the tomb of the mother of Jahangir and the wife of Akbar Shah!

The whole of the buildings at Sicri were built by Akbar; at this place he resided, and held his court: it is most interesting to wander over the ruins.

The entire complex at Sicri was constructed by Akbar; he lived here and held his court. It's really fascinating to explore the ruins.

In the “Rambles of an Indian Official” it is mentioned,—“Sheikh Saleem had, he declared, gone more than twenty times on pilgrimage to the tomb of the holy prophet; and was not much pleased to have his repose so much disturbed by all the noise and bustle of the imperial court. At last, Akbar wanted[408] to surround the hill by regular fortifications; and the sheikh could stand it no longer. ‘Either you or I must leave this hill,’ said he to the Emperor; ‘if the efficacy of my prayers is no longer to be relied upon, let me depart in peace!’ ‘If it be your Majesty’s will,’ replied the Emperor, ‘that one of us should go, let it be your slave, I pray.’ The old story: there is nothing like relying upon the efficacy of our prayers, say the priests—nothing like relying upon that of our sharp swords, say the soldiers; and as nations advance from barbarism, they generally contrive to divide between them the surplus produce of the land and labour of society. The old hermit consented to remain, and pointed out Agra as a place which he thought would answer the Emperor’s purpose extremely well! Agra—then an unpeopled waste—soon became a city, and Futtehpore Sicri was deserted.”

In “Rambles of an Indian Official,” it says, “Sheikh Saleem had mentioned that he had gone on pilgrimage to the tomb of the holy prophet more than twenty times, and he was not happy about having his peace disrupted by all the noise and activity of the imperial court. Eventually, Akbar wanted[408] to build regular fortifications around the hill, and the sheikh could no longer tolerate it. ‘Either you or I must leave this hill,’ he said to the Emperor; ‘if my prayers are no longer effective, let me go in peace!’ ‘If it is your Majesty’s wish,’ replied the Emperor, ‘that one of us should leave, let it be your servant, I beg.’ The age-old tale: priests say there’s nothing like trusting in the power of our prayers, while soldiers say there’s nothing like depending on our sharp swords; and as nations progress from barbarism, they often manage to split the extra produce of the land and labor of society between them. The old hermit agreed to stay and suggested Agra as a place he thought would suit the Emperor’s needs perfectly! Agra—then an empty wasteland—quickly turned into a city, while Futtehpore Sicri was abandoned.”

The influenza having attacked our party, and my having fallen ill from being drenched in a severe storm, on my return to Agra, which increased the cough and cold from which I was suffering, prevented our prosecuting the tour we had planned for visiting Deeg, Burtpore, and other remarkable places.

The flu hit our group, and I got sick after getting soaked in a heavy storm on my way back to Agra, which made the cough and cold I had even worse. This stopped us from going on the trip we had planned to visit Deeg, Burtpore, and other interesting places.

Extract from “the Asiatic Journal” of Oct. 1844.

Extract from “the Asiatic Journal” of Oct. 1844.

“SKETCHES OF REMARKABLE LIVING CHARACTERS IN INDIA.”

“SKETCHES OF REMARKABLE LIVING CHARACTERS IN INDIA.”

No. 1.—COLONEL GARDNER.—THE BEGAM SUMROO.

No. 1.—COLONEL GARDNER.—THE BEGAM SUMROO.

“A few years ago India presented a wide field for adventure: the distracted state of the country, the ambitious projects and conflicting interests of native princes, were highly favourable circumstances to those who brought with them a competent knowledge of the art of war, and of military discipline; and who preferred a wild, erratic, roving life, amongst the children of the soil, to the regular service of the India Company. There are two individuals still living in the Bengal Presidency, and occupying a distinguished, though singular position in society, whose eventful career, if circumstantially related, could not fail to prove highly interesting. The general outlines of the history[409] of the Begam Sumroo, and of Colonel Gardner, of Khāsgunge, are known to every person who has visited the theatre of their exploits, but very few are acquainted with the details; for such is the shifting nature of Anglo-Indian society, that it is impossible to gain more than the passing information of the day, in places rendered memorable from circumstances of universal notoriety, but of which nobody can give the particulars.

A few years ago, India offered a vast opportunity for adventure: the chaotic state of the country, the ambitious plans and conflicting interests of local rulers created ideal conditions for those who had a solid grasp of military tactics and discipline; and who preferred a wild, unpredictable, roaming lifestyle among the native people instead of the structured service of the India Company. There are still two individuals living in the Bengal Presidency, holding a notable but unique position in society, whose remarkable lives, if described in detail, would be very fascinating. The main outlines of the stories of Begam Sumroo and Colonel Gardner of Khāsgunge are known to everyone who has visited the sites of their adventures, but very few know the specifics; the ever-changing nature of Anglo-Indian society makes it impossible to gain more than just fleeting knowledge of the day in places made memorable by widely recognized events, but where no one can share the details.

“Some apology ought, perhaps, to be made for associating the name of so gallant and highly respected an officer as Colonel Gardner with that of the Begam, and her still more worthless husband; but as those readers of the ‘Asiatic Journal,’ who have not been in India, are puzzled by the announcement of marriages, or projected marriages, of the daughters of this gentleman with the nephews of the King of Delhi, an explanation of the circumstances which have produced these apparently extraordinary alliances will doubtless prove acceptable. The writer of these pages does not pretend to know more of Colonel Gardner than the tongue of rumour could tell, or a casual meeting in society could afford; but so remarkable a person naturally made a strong impression, and the anecdotes extant concerning him were too singular to be easily forgotten. Colonel Gardner’s tall, commanding figure, soldier-like countenance, and military air, render his appearance very striking. When at his own residence, and associating with natives, it is said that he adopts the Asiatic costume; but while visiting a large military station, in company with the Resident of Lucnow, he wore a blue surtout, resembling the undress uniform of the British army, but profusely ornamented with silk lace.

“An apology might be in order for linking the name of such a brave and highly respected officer as Colonel Gardner with that of the Begam and her even less admirable husband; however, for those readers of the ‘Asiatic Journal’ who have not been to India, the announcements of marriages, or potential marriages, involving the daughters of this gentleman and the nephews of the King of Delhi might be confusing. An explanation of the circumstances surrounding these seemingly unusual alliances will likely be appreciated. The writer of these lines doesn’t claim to know more about Colonel Gardner than what gossip could tell or a casual encounter in social settings could reveal; yet, such a remarkable individual inevitably leaves a strong impression, and the stories surrounding him are too unusual to be easily forgotten. Colonel Gardner’s tall, commanding figure, soldierly face, and military demeanor make his appearance very striking. When at home and mingling with locals, it is said that he wears traditional Asian clothing, but during a visit to a large military base alongside the Resident of Lucnow, he wore a blue coat similar to the informal uniform of the British army, but heavily decorated with silk lace.”

“Colonel Gardner, who is a connexion of the noble family bearing that name, came out to India in the King’s service, which he soon afterwards quitted; the cause of his resignation is variously related; in the absence of an authentic account, it would, perhaps, be wrong to give sanction to any one of the reports afloat concerning it. At this period, it was impossible to foresee that the tide of fortune would bring the British Government of India into actual warfare with the sovereigns of provinces so far beyond the frontier, that human ambition dared[410] not contemplate their subjugation. Many loyal men were, therefore, induced to follow the banners of native princes, under the expectation that they never could be called upon to bear arms against their own country; but fate decreed it otherwise, and, in the Mahratta war, those officers who had enlisted in Holkar’s service, found themselves in a very awkward predicament; especially, as they were not permitted a choice, or even allowed to remain neutral, their new masters endeavouring to force them, upon pain of death, to commit treason to the land of their birth by fighting in the ranks of a hostile force.

“Colonel Gardner, who is connected to the noble family of that name, came to India in service of the King but soon left. The reasons for his resignation are told in various ways; without an official account, it might be unfair to endorse any of the rumors. At that time, it was impossible to predict that the changing fortunes would lead the British Government of India into actual conflict with rulers of provinces so far beyond the frontier that no one dared to envision their defeat. Many loyal individuals, therefore, chose to support the banners of local princes, believing they would never be asked to fight against their own country. However, fate had other plans, and during the Mahratta war, those officers who had joined Holkar's service found themselves in a very difficult situation; particularly since they were not allowed a choice or even the option to stay neutral, as their new leaders tried to force them, under threat of death, to betray their homeland by fighting for an opposing army.

“In some of the native courts, the English were immediately put to death upon the approach of the enemy, or on the slightest suspicion of their fidelity. Upon more than one occasion, Colonel Gardner, who, independent of his military skill, possessed a thorough knowledge of the native character, and very considerable talent, penetrated the designs of his employers, and withdrew in time from meditated treachery; but his escape from Holkar was of the most hazardous description, not inferior in picturesque incident and personal jeopardy to that of the renowned Dugald Dalgetty, who was not more successful in all lawful strategy than the subject of this too brief memoir. Anxious to secure the services of so efficient an officer, after all fair means had failed, Holkar tied his prisoner to a gun, and threatened him with immediate destruction, should he persist in refusing to take the field with his army. The Colonel remained staunch, and, perhaps in the hope of tiring him out, the execution was suspended, and he was placed under a guard, who had orders never to quit him for a single instant. Walking one day along the edge of a bank, leading by a precipitous descent to a river, Colonel Gardner suddenly determined to make a bold effort to escape, and perceiving a place fitted to his purpose, he shouted out ‘Bismillah!’ (‘in the name of God,’) and flung himself down an abyss some forty or fifty feet deep. None were inclined to follow him; but the guns were fired and an alarm sounded in the town. He recovered his feet, and, making for the river, plunged into it. After swimming for some distance, finding that his pursuers gained upon him, he took shelter in[411] a friendly covert, and, with merely his mouth above the water, waited until they had passed; he then landed on the opposite side, and proceeded by unfrequented paths to a town in the neighbourhood, which was under the command of a friend, who, though a native, and a servant of Holkar, he thought would afford him protection. This man proved trustworthy; and, after remaining concealed some time, the Colonel ventured out in the disguise of a grass-cutter, and reaching the British outposts in safety, was joyously received by his countrymen. He was appointed to the command of a regiment of irregular horse, which he still retains; and his services in the field, at the head of these brave soldiers, have not been more advantageous to the British Government than the accurate acquaintance before-mentioned, which his long and intimate association with natives enabled him to obtain of the Asiatic character. It was to his diplomatic skill and knowledge of the best methods of treaty, that we owed the capitulation of one of those formidable hill-fortresses (Komalmair in Mewar), whose reduction by arms would have been at the expense of an immense sacrifice of human life. The Commandant of the division despatched to take possession of it, wearied out by the procrastinating and indecisive spirit of the natives, would have stormed the place at every disadvantage, had not Colonel Gardner persuaded him to entrust the negotiation to his hands. The result proved that he made a just estimate of his own powers: the garrison agreed to give up the Fortress on the payment of their arrears; and Colonel Tod, in his ‘Annals of Rajast’han,’ mentions the circumstance as one highly honourable to the British character, that, there not being more than four thousand rupees at the time in the English camp, an order, written by the Commandant for the remainder, upon the shroffs or bankers in the neighbourhood, was taken without the least hesitation, the natives not having the slightest doubt that it would be paid upon presentation.

“In some native courts, the English were immediately executed upon the enemy's approach or even at the slightest suspicion of their loyalty. On more than one occasion, Colonel Gardner, who, aside from his military skills, had a deep understanding of the native character and considerable talent, saw through the plans of his superiors and managed to escape from plotted betrayal in time; however, his escape from Holkar was extremely perilous, not lacking in dramatic moments and personal risk, similar to that of the famous Dugald Dalgetty, who was not more successful in all lawful strategy than the subject of this too brief memoir. Desperate to keep such an effective officer, after all fair attempts had failed, Holkar tied him to a cannon and threatened immediate execution if he continued to refuse to join his army. The Colonel stood firm, and perhaps in hopes of exhausting him, the execution was put on hold, placing him under constant guard. One day while walking along the edge of a bank that dropped steeply to a river, Colonel Gardner suddenly decided to make a daring escape. Spotting a suitable spot, he shouted ‘Bismillah!’ (‘in the name of God’) and jumped into a chasm about forty or fifty feet deep. No one was willing to follow him; yet the guns fired, and an alarm rang out in the town. He got back on his feet and made for the river, diving in. After swimming for some distance, realizing his pursuers were closing in, he took cover in a friendly thicket and, with just his mouth above water, waited until they had passed. Afterward, he made his way to the other side and traveled through less-frequented paths to a nearby town, which was under the command of a friend who, although a native and a servant of Holkar, he believed would protect him. This man proved to be trustworthy; and after hiding for a time, the Colonel disguised himself as a grass-cutter and safely reached the British outposts, where he was joyfully welcomed by his countrymen. He was appointed to command a regiment of irregular cavalry, which he still leads; and his contributions in the field, at the helm of these brave soldiers, have been as beneficial to the British Government as the deep understanding he gained from his long and close association with the natives regarding their character. It was due to his diplomatic acumen and understanding of effective negotiation strategies that we achieved the surrender of one of those formidable hill fortresses (Komalmair in Mewar), whose capture by force would have resulted in a huge loss of life. The commander of the division sent to take control of it, frustrated by the natives' delaying and indecisive tactics, would have assaulted the fortress under disadvantageous conditions had Colonel Gardner not convinced him to let him handle the negotiations. The outcome proved he accurately assessed his capabilities: the garrison agreed to surrender the fortress in exchange for payment of their back wages; and Colonel Tod, in his ‘Annals of Rajast’han,’ highlights this as a remarkable honor to the British character, noting that with only four thousand rupees available in the English camp at the time, an order written by the commander for the remaining amount from the local bankers was accepted without hesitation, the natives having no doubt it would be paid upon demand.”

“The marriage of Colonel Gardner forms one of the most singular incidents in his romantic story.

“The marriage of Colonel Gardner is one of the most unique events in his romantic story.

“In the midst of his hazardous career, he carried off a Mahomedān princess, the sister of one of the lesser potentates of the[412] Deccan, who, though now reduced to comparative insignificance, during the rise and progress of the Mahrattas, were personages of considerable consequence.

“In the middle of his dangerous career, he abducted a Muslim princess, the sister of one of the minor rulers of the[412] Deccan, who, although now diminished in importance, were significant figures during the rise and development of the Mahrattas.”

‘Ever the first to climb a tower,
As venturous in a lady’s bower,’

the sacred recesses of the zenāna were penetrated by the enterprising lover, who, at the moment in which his life was threatened by the brother’s treachery, bore away his prize in triumph, and sought an asylum in another court. A European, of popular manners and military experience, could in those days easily place himself at the head of a formidable body of soldiers, ready to follow his fortunes, and trusting to his arrangements with the princes, whose cause he supported, for their pay, which was frequently in arrear, or dependent upon the capture of some rich province. In the command of such a troop Colonel Gardner was a welcome guest wherever he went; and, until the affair with Holkar, he had always contrived to secure his retreat whenever it was prudent to commence a new career in another quarter.

the sacred private quarters of the zenāna were breached by the daring lover, who, at the moment when his life was threatened by the brother’s betrayal, triumphantly took away his prize and sought refuge in another court. A European with popular charm and military experience could, in those days, easily position himself at the head of a strong group of soldiers, ready to follow him and relying on his agreements with the princes he supported for their payments, which often lagged or depended on the capture of some wealthy territory. In command of such a troop, Colonel Gardner was a welcome guest wherever he went; and until the situation with Holkar, he had always managed to ensure his escape whenever it was wise to start a new chapter in another place.

“It is difficult to say what sort of bridal contract is gone through between a Moslem beauty and a Christian gentleman, but the ceremony is supposed to be binding; at least it is considered so in India, a native female not losing the respect of her associates by forming such a connexion. The marriage of Colonel Gardner seems perfectly satisfactory to the people of Hindostān; for the lady has not only continued stedfast to the Mahomedan faith, and in the strict observance of all the restrictions prescribed to Asiatic females of rank, but has brought up her daughters in the same religious persuasion, and in the same profound seclusion,—points seldom conceded by a European father. They are, therefore, eligible to match with the princes of the land, their mother’s family connexions and high descent atoning for the disadvantage of foreign ancestry upon the paternal side. Educated according to the most approved fashion of an Oriental court, they are destined to spend the remainder of their lives in the zenāna; and this choice for her daughters[413] shows, that their mother, at least, does not consider exclusion from the world, in which European women reign and revel, to be any hardship.

“It’s hard to say what kind of marriage agreement happens between a Muslim woman and a Christian man, but the ceremony is believed to be official; at least that's how it is viewed in India, where a local woman doesn’t lose the respect of her peers by entering into such a relationship. Colonel Gardner’s marriage seems completely acceptable to the people of Hindostān; the woman has not only remained committed to the Muslim faith and strictly followed all the rules for Asian women of nobility, but she has also raised her daughters in the same faith and in deep seclusion—practices rarely accepted by a European father. Therefore, they are eligible to marry princes of the land, and their mother’s family connections and noble heritage make up for the foreign ancestry on their father’s side. Educated in the standard way of an Eastern court, they are set to spend the rest of their lives in the zenāna; and this choice for her daughters[413] shows that their mother, at least, doesn’t view being shut off from the world where European women thrive as a hardship.

“So little of the spirit of adventure is now stirring in India, that the Misses Gardner, or the young begams, or whatsoever appellation it may be most proper to designate them by, have not attracted the attention of the European community. Doubtless, their beauty and accomplishments are blazoned in native society; but, excepting upon the occasion of an announcement like that referred to in the Calcutta periodicals, the existence of these ladies is scarcely known to their father’s countrymen residing in India. We are ignorant whether their complexions partake most of the eastern or the northern hue, or whether they have the slightest idea of the privileges, from which their mother’s adherence to Mahomedan usages has debarred them. Their situation, singular as it may appear in England, excites little or no interest; nobody seems to lament that they were not brought up in the Christian religion, or permitted those advantages which the half-caste offspring of women of lower rank enjoy: and, acquainted with the circumstances of the case, the Editors of the aforesaid periodicals do not enter into any explanation of intelligence of the most startling nature to English readers, who, in their ignorance of facts, are apt to fancy that European ladies in India are willing to enter into the zenānas of native princes.

“So little of the spirit of adventure is now stirring in India that the Misses Gardner, or the young begams, or whatever title might be appropriate to call them, have not caught the attention of the European community. Undoubtedly, their beauty and talents are celebrated in local society; however, except for occasions like the announcements mentioned in the Calcutta newspapers, hardly anyone in their father's country who lives in India knows of these ladies' existence. We don’t know if their skin tones lean more toward eastern or northern hues, or if they have the slightest understanding of the rights that their mother’s adherence to Muslim customs has denied them. Their situation, as unusual as it might seem in England, generates little to no interest; no one appears to mourn that they were not raised in the Christian faith or given the opportunities that the mixed-race children of women from lower classes receive. And being aware of the facts, the editors of those newspapers do not offer any explanations that would shock English readers, who, in their ignorance of the situation, tend to believe that European women in India are eager to join the zenānas of native princes.”

“Colonel Gardner has, of course, adopted many of the opinions and ideas of the people with whom he has passed so great a portion of his time, and in his mode of living he may be termed half an Asiatic; this, however, does not prevent him from being a most acceptable companion to the European residents, who take the greatest delight in his society whenever he appears among them. His autobiography would be a work of the highest value, affording a picture of Indian manners and Indian policy, with which few besides himself have ever had an opportunity of becoming so intimately acquainted. As he is still in the prime and vigour of existence, we may hope that some such employment of these piping times of peace may be suggested[414] to him, and that he may be induced to devote the hours spent in retirement at Khāsgunge, to the writing or the dictation of the incidents of his early life. In looking back upon past events, the Colonel occasionally expresses a regret that he should have been induced to quit the king’s service, in which, in all probability, he would have attained the highest rank; but, eminently qualified for the situation in which he has been placed, and more than reconciled to the destiny which binds him to a foreign soil, the station he occupies leaves him little to desire; and he has it in his power to be still farther useful to society by unlocking the stores of a mind fraught with information of the highest interest.”

“Colonel Gardner has, of course, adopted many of the opinions and ideas of the people he has spent so much time with, and in his way of living, he could be considered half an Asiatic; however, this doesn’t stop him from being a highly valued companion to the European residents, who really enjoy his company whenever he joins them. His autobiography would be incredibly valuable, providing a glimpse into Indian customs and policies that few, besides him, have had the chance to know so deeply. Since he is still in the prime of his life, we can hope that he might be encouraged to use this peaceful time to write or dictate about the experiences of his early life during his quiet hours in Khāsgunge. Looking back on past events, the Colonel sometimes feels regret about having left the king’s service, where he likely would have reached the highest rank; but, well-suited to his current role and completely at peace with his life on foreign soil, he finds little to wish for. He also has the opportunity to be even more helpful to society by sharing the wealth of knowledge he possesses.”

1835, March 5th.—Two letters having appeared in the “Mofussul Akhbar,” a provincial paper, Colonel Gardner published this answer:—

1835, March 5th.—After two letters were published in the “Mofussul Akhbar,” a local newspaper, Colonel Gardner released this response:—

To the Editor of the Mofussul Akhbar.

To the Editor of the Mofussul Akhbar.”

Dear Sir,—In your paper of the 28th ultimo, just received, I find I have been unwillingly dragged from my obscurity by the author of ‘Sketches of Living Remarkable Characters in India.’ This I should not have noticed, but for a mistake or two that it is my duty to correct. In the first place, it was Colonel Casement who ordered me, and instructed me in his name, to attempt the negotiation for the surrender of the garrison of Komalmair. I obeyed his order successfully, only demurring at the sum demanded, 30,000 rupees, which, for so weak a garrison, I considered extravagant: but the resident Colonel Tod arrived at this stage of the business with superior diplomatic power. Colonel Casement was no longer consulted, and my poor rushlight was hidden under a bushel. But who can feel any thing against the author of such a splendid and correct work as ‘Rajustan?’ The writer of the extract has probably mistaken Komalmair for the Fort of Rampoora,—where, under the instructions of Colonel Vauzemen, the negotiation for the evacuation was entirely entrusted to me; and, for the sum of 7000 rupees, a siege was prevented at a very advanced season of the year,[415] when, as General Ouchterlony wrote to me, he would otherwise have been obliged to order the battering-train from Agra.

Dear Sir/Madam,—I just received your article from the 28th of last month, and I see that I've been unintentionally brought into the spotlight by the author of ‘Sketches of Living Remarkable Characters in India.’ I wouldn’t have addressed this if it weren't for a couple of mistakes that I need to correct. First of all, it was Colonel Casement who instructed me, in his name, to negotiate the surrender of the garrison at Komalmair. I followed his order successfully, although I hesitated at the amount requested, 30,000 rupees, which I thought was excessive for such a weak garrison. However, Colonel Tod arrived at that point with greater diplomatic authority. Colonel Casement was no longer consulted, and my minor contribution went unnoticed. But who could have anything against the author of such a remarkable and accurate work as ‘Rajustan?’ The author of the excerpt likely confused Komalmair with the Fort of Rampoora, where I was completely in charge of the negotiation for the evacuation under Colonel Vauzemen’s instructions. For the amount of 7,000 rupees, I successfully prevented a siege at a very late time of year,[415] when, as General Ouchterlony informed me, he would otherwise have had to order the battering train from Agra.”

“When I made my escape, as detailed, by swimming the Taptee, it was from the tender mercies of the gentle Brahman, our late pensioner Emurt Row’s force, by whom I was then in close confinement, and not from Holkar.

“When I escaped, as described, by swimming the Taptee, it was from the kind intentions of the gentle Brahman, our former pensioner Emurt Row’s forces, who were keeping me in close confinement, not from Holkar.”

“I fear I must divest my marriage with her highness the Begam of a great part of its romantic attraction, by confessing that the young Begam was only thirteen years of age when I first applied for and received her mother’s consent; and which marriage probably saved both their lives. Allow me to assure you, on the very best authority, that a Moslem lady’s marriage with a Christian, by a Cazee, is as legal in this country as if the ceremony had been performed by the Bishop of Calcutta; a point lately settled by my son’s marriage with the niece of the Emperor, the Nuwab Mulka Humanee Begam; and that the respectability of the females of my family amongst the natives of Hindostān has been settled by the Emperor many years ago, he having adopted my wife as his daughter; a ceremony satisfactorily repeated by the Queen, on a visit to my own house in Delhi. I can assure my partial sketcher, that my only daughter died in 1804, and that my grand-daughters, by the particular desire of their grandmother, are Christians. It was an act of her own, as by the marriage agreement, the daughters were to be brought up in the religion of the mother; the sons in that of your

“I’m afraid I have to strip away some of the romantic allure of my marriage to Her Highness the Begam by admitting that she was only thirteen when I first asked for and got her mother’s permission; a marriage that probably saved both of their lives. Let me assure you, on the very best authority, that a Muslim woman’s marriage to a Christian, officiated by a Cazee, is completely legal here, just like if the ceremony was performed by the Bishop of Calcutta; a fact recently established by my son’s marriage to the Emperor’s niece, the Nuwab Mulka Humanee Begam. The respectability of the women in my family among the natives of Hindostān was confirmed by the Emperor years ago when he adopted my wife as his daughter; a ceremony that was reaffirmed by the Queen during a visit to my home in Delhi. I can assure my biased sketcher that my only daughter passed away in 1804, and that my granddaughters, at their grandmother's specific request, are Christians. This was her own decision, as the marriage agreement stated that the daughters were to be raised in their mother’s religion; the sons in yours.”

“Very obedient, humble servant,

"Very obedient, humble servant,"

“W. L. G⸺.”

“W. L. G⸺.”

“Khasgunge, 5th March, 1835.”

“Khasgunge, March 5, 1835.”

Colonel Tod, in a letter to the editor of “the Asiatic Journal,” thus speaks of Colonel Gardner:—“A day or two previous to this number (of your journal) being lent me, an intimate friend of Colonel Gardner’s spent the evening with me; and as it is almost impossible that any two men, at all acquainted with his diversified life, could talk of him without expressing a wish that he would become his own biographer,—the subject being started,[416] we mutually agreed, that, qualified in every way as he is for the task, the result would be both interesting and instructive. Amongst other remarks, I observed that, although he was well known to me by character, and I had to bear testimony to the brave conduct of a part of his corps, attached to me in 1817; the only time I ever had the pleasure of seeing him was the day following the surrender of Komulmér, when he dined with me.

Colonel Tod, in a letter to the editor of “the Asiatic Journal,” says of Colonel Gardner:—“A day or two before I was lent this issue of your journal, an close friend of Colonel Gardner’s spent the evening with me; and since it's nearly impossible for anyone who knows about his varied life to talk about him without wishing that he would write his own biography,—once the topic came up, [416] we both agreed that, with his qualifications, the outcome would be both fascinating and educational. Among other things, I noted that, even though I knew him well by reputation, and I had to testify to the brave actions of part of his corps that was attached to me in 1817; the only time I ever had the pleasure of meeting him was the day after the surrender of Komulmér, when he dined with me.

“I trust your correspondent will proceed with ‘the sketches,’ and that the outline he has now furnished of Colonel Gardner’s history may stimulate the original to give, what no other can, his biography in full. Colonel Gardner is one of the many remarkable men, who have passed a most extraordinary life, floating, as circumstance or ‘nuseeb’ propelled, amidst the chaotic elements of Indian society, during the half-century preceding the halcyon days of 1818; when, by the vigorous mind and measures of the Marquess of Hastings, peace, for the first time in its history, reigned from the Himalaya to Cape Comorin. Aristides was banished Athens!

“I trust your correspondent will move forward with ‘the sketches,’ and that the outline he has provided of Colonel Gardner’s history will encourage the original to give his complete biography, which no one else can provide. Colonel Gardner is one of many remarkable individuals who have lived an extraordinary life, navigating the chaotic elements of Indian society under various circumstances during the fifty years leading up to the peaceful times of 1818; when, thanks to the strong leadership and policies of the Marquess of Hastings, peace finally prevailed from the Himalayas to Cape Comorin. Aristides was banished from Athens!

I greatly wished Colonel Gardner would consent to tell me the history of his remarkable life, which I was anxious to write down from his dictation. One evening he said, “Merā Betee, (my child) when in Holkar’s service, I was employed as an envoy to the Company’s forces, under Lord Lake, with instructions to return within a certain time; my family remained in camp. Suspicion of treachery was caused by my lengthened absence, and accusations were brought forward against me at the Darbār, held by Holkar on the third day following that on which my presence was expected. I rejoined the camp while the darbār was still assembled; on my entrance, the Mahārāj, in an angry tone, demanded the reason of the delay; which I gave, pointing out the impossibility of a speedier return. Holkar exclaimed, in great anger, ‘Had you not returned this day, I would have levelled the khanats of your tents.’ I drew my sword instantly, and attempted to cut his highness down, but was prevented by those around him; and ere they had recovered from the amazement and confusion caused by the attempt, I[417] rushed from the tent, sprang upon my horse, and was soon beyond reach of the pursuers.”

I really wanted Colonel Gardner to agree to tell me the story of his amazing life, which I was eager to write down as he spoke. One evening he said, “My child, while I was in Holkar’s service, I worked as an envoy to the Company’s forces under Lord Lake, with orders to return within a specified time; my family stayed in camp. My lengthy absence raised suspicions of treachery, and accusations were made against me at the Darbār, which Holkar held on the third day after I was expected back. I returned to camp while the Darbār was still in session; when I walked in, the Mahārāj angrily asked why I was late, and I explained, highlighting that a quicker return was impossible. Holkar shouted in great anger, ‘If you hadn’t come back today, I would have destroyed the tents you set up.’ I immediately drew my sword and tried to attack his highness, but those around him stopped me; and before they could recover from the shock and confusion of my attempt, I rushed out of the tent, jumped on my horse, and was soon out of reach of my pursuers.”

To account for Colonel Gardner’s indignation, it must be remembered, that the kanāts are walls of canvas, that surround the tents of the ladies of the zenāna; to have thrown down those screens, and to have exposed women within parda to the gaze of men, would have been an insult for which there could be no atonement. Colonel Gardner’s high spirit was as prompt to avenge the threat as it would have been willing to take the life of Holkar, had he intruded on the privacy of the Begam’s apartments.

To understand Colonel Gardner's anger, it's important to remember that the kanāts are canvas walls surrounding the tents of the ladies in the zenāna. If those screens were torn down, exposing women who were in parda to the eyes of men, it would be an unforgivable insult. Colonel Gardner's strong nature was just as quick to respond to that threat as it would have been ready to take Holkar's life if he had intruded on the privacy of the Begam’s quarters.

Through the influence of friends, the Princess and her family were allowed, unmolested, to quit Holkar’s dominions, and rejoin her husband.

Through the influence of friends, the Princess and her family were allowed, without any trouble, to leave Holkar’s territory and reunite with her husband.

The account Colonel Gardner gave me of his marriage with the Begam was this:—

The story Colonel Gardner shared with me about his marriage to the Begam was this:—

“When a young man, I was entrusted to negotiate a treaty with one of the native princes of Cambay. Darbārs and consultations were continually held; during one of the former, at which I was present, a parda (native curtain) near me was gently moved aside, and I saw, as I thought, the most beautiful black eyes in the world. It was impossible to think of the treaty; those bright and piercing glances, those beautiful dark eyes, completely bewildered me.

“When I was a young man, I was given the responsibility to negotiate a treaty with one of the native princes of Cambay. Meetings and discussions were held constantly; during one of those meetings, while I was present, a parda (native curtain) near me was gently moved aside, and I saw what I thought were the most beautiful black eyes in the world. It was impossible to focus on the treaty; those bright and intense gazes, those stunning dark eyes completely mesmerized me.”

“I felt flattered that a creature so lovely as she of those deep black, loving eyes must be, should venture to gaze upon me; to what danger might not the veiled beauty be exposed, should the movement of the parda be seen by any of those at the darbār! On quitting the assembly I discovered that the bright-eyed beauty was the daughter of the Prince. At the next darbār, my agitation and anxiety were extreme again to behold the bright eyes that had haunted my dreams by night, and my thoughts by day! The parda again was gently moved, and my fate was decided.

“I felt flattered that such a beautiful person with those deep black, loving eyes would dare to look at me; what danger could the veiled beauty face if anyone at the court noticed the movement of the curtain! When I left the gathering, I learned that the gorgeous girl was the Prince's daughter. At the next court meeting, I was filled with anxiety and excitement once more to see the bright eyes that had filled my dreams at night and my thoughts during the day! The curtain was gently moved again, and my fate was sealed.”

“I demanded the Princess in marriage; her relations were at first indignant, and positively refused my proposal; however, on mature deliberation, the ambassador was considered too[418] influential a person to have a request denied, and the hand of the young Princess was promised. The preparations for the marriage were carried forward; ‘Remember,’ said I, ‘it will be useless to attempt to deceive me; I shall know those eyes again, nor will I marry any other.’

“I asked for the Princess's hand in marriage; her family was initially furious and outright rejected my proposal. However, after some serious consideration, they saw the ambassador as too important to ignore my request, and they agreed to promise me the hand of the young Princess. The wedding preparations began; 'Just so you know,' I said, 'there's no point in trying to fool me; I'll recognize those eyes again, and I won’t marry anyone else.'”

“On the day of the marriage I raised the veil from the countenance of the bride, and in the mirror that was placed between us beheld the bright eyes that had bewildered me; I smiled,—the young Begam smiled also.”

“On the day of the wedding, I lifted the veil from the bride's face, and in the mirror set between us, I saw the bright eyes that had captivated me; I smiled— the young Begam smiled too.”

Such was Colonel Gardner’s account of the first time he beheld his bride. Well might she smile when she gazed upon that noble countenance!

Such was Colonel Gardner’s account of the first time he saw his bride. It’s no wonder she smiled when she looked at that noble face!

THE TOMB OF COLONEL HESSING.

15th.—This beautiful Mausoleum is in the Catholic burial ground at Agra, and is well worthy a visit. It was built by a native architect, by name Luteef, in imitation of the ancient Muhammadan tombs. The material is the red stone from Fathīpoor Sicri, which is highly carved, but not inlaid. The tomb is beautiful, very beautiful, and in excellent taste. Its cost is estimated at about one lākh of rupees. Luteef’s drawings of the Tāj and of all the ancient monuments around Agra are excellent; they cost from three to forty rupees each. I bought a large collection of them, as well as of marbles and other curiosities. Luteef inlays marble with precious stones, after the style of the work in the Tāj. A chess-table of this sort, with a border of flowers in mosaic, costs from eight to twelve hundred rupees, £80, or £120, and is beautifully executed.

15th.—This stunning mausoleum is located in the Catholic cemetery in Agra and is definitely worth a visit. It was designed by a local architect named Luteef, inspired by the ancient Muslim tombs. The structure is made from red stone sourced from Fathīpoor Sicri, which features intricate carvings, though it isn't inlaid. The tomb is gorgeous, really gorgeous, and tastefully designed. Its estimated cost is around one lakh rupees. Luteef’s sketches of the Tāj and other historical sites in Agra are outstanding; they range in price from three to forty rupees each. I purchased a large collection of these, along with marbles and other curiosities. Luteef inlays marble with precious stones, similar to the craftsmanship seen in the Tāj. A chess table of this type, with a flower mosaic border, costs between eight hundred to twelve hundred rupees, £80, or £120, and is beautifully crafted.

16th.—My affairs at Agra having come to a conclusion, and the pinnace, carriage, and horses being on their way home, I once more turned my steps to Khāsgunge, and arrived there dāk, accompanied by a friend, who was extremely anxious to see the marriage ceremony, although all that the eye of a man is permitted to behold is the tamāshā that takes place without the four walls. All that passes within is sacred.

16th.—My business in Agra wrapped up, and with the boat, carriage, and horses on their way back home, I headed back to Khāsgunge, arriving there by postal service, accompanied by a friend who was really eager to witness the wedding ceremony. However, all that a man can see is the spectacle that happens outside the walls. Everything that occurs inside is sacred.

On my arrival the whole party at Khāsgunge were going out to tents by the Ganges to hunt wild boars and otters; to shoot[419] crocodiles, floriken, black partridge, and other game. Even for people in good health it was, at that season of the year, a mad expedition, and I declined going; I longed indeed to accompany them, but my cold and cough were so severe I was forced to give up the idea.

On my arrival, everyone at Khāsgunge was heading out to the tents by the Ganges to hunt wild boars and otters, and to shoot crocodiles, floriken, black partridges, and other game. Even for those in good health, this was a crazy idea at that time of year, so I decided not to go. I really wanted to join them, but my cold and cough were so bad that I had to let it go.

18th.—My dear Colonel Gardner, seeing how ill I was, said, “You will never recover, my child, in the outer house; I will give you a room in the inner one, and put you under the care of the begam; there you will soon recover.” He took me over to the zenāna; the begam received me very kindly, and appointed four of her slaves to attend upon me, and aid my own women. They put me immediately into a steam-bath, shampooed, mulled, and half-boiled me; cracked every joint after the most approved fashion, took me out, laid me on a golden-footed bed, gave me sherbet to drink, shampooed me to sleep, and by the time the shooting party returned from the Gunga, I had perfectly recovered, and was able to enter into all the amusement of seeing a Hindostanee wedding.

18th.—My dear Colonel Gardner, noticing how sick I was, said, “You won't get better, my child, in the outer house; I'll give you a room in the inner one and put you in the care of the begam. You'll recover quickly there.” He took me to the zenāna, where the begam welcomed me warmly and assigned four of her slaves to assist me alongside my own women. They immediately put me in a steam bath, massaged me, treated me, and pampered me; they cracked every joint expertly, lifted me out, laid me on a bed with golden feet, offered me sherbet to drink, massaged me to sleep, and by the time the shooting party returned from the Gunga, I had fully recovered and was ready to enjoy watching a Hindostanee wedding.

I must here anticipate, and remark that Suddu Khan, our excellent little khānsāmān, died in June, 1841. He had been ill and unable to attend for months. There is a story, that being in an hummām, he received some injury in the spine while being shampooed and joint-cracked by a barber, who placed his knee to his back, and then forcibly brought his two arms backwards. The story says poor Suddu fainted, and the barber was so much alarmed, he fled, and has never been seen since at Cawnpore, where the scene took place.

I should mention that Suddu Khan, our wonderful little khānsāmān, passed away in June 1841. He had been sick and unable to work for months. There’s a story that while he was in a hummām, he hurt his spine during a shampoo and massage session with a barber, who pressed his knee into his back and pulled his arms back forcefully. It’s said that poor Suddu fainted, and the barber was so scared that he ran away and hasn’t been seen since in Cawnpore, where it all happened.


[420]

[420]

CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE WEDDING.

“TO DRESS ONE’S OWN DOLL[144].”

“Dress Your Own Doll __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.”

Spoken of a father who defrays the whole expense of his daughter’s marriage, her dress, ornaments, &c., without any charge to the bridegroom or his family.

Spoken of a father who covers the entire cost of his daughter’s wedding, her dress, jewelry, etc., without any expense to the groom or his family.

“HE WHO BUILDS A HOUSE AND TAKES A WIFE HEAPS SEVENTY AFFLICTIONS ON HIS HEAD[145].”

“THE PERSON WHO BUILDS A HOUSE AND MARRIES A WIFE BRINGS SEVENTY TROUBLES UPON THEMSELVES[145].”

Pedigree of the Bride and Bridegroom—Reports concerning the Beauty of the Bride—Anxiety of English Gentlemen to marry into Colonel Gardner’s family—Mirza Unjun Shekō—The first Procession—The Bride’s Dress—Necessity of Weeping—The Oily Mixture—Strict Seclusion—Dress of the Bridegroom—The Oily Mixture Complimentary—The Hoolī—Bridal Songs—The Sāchak—The Bridegroom’s Procession—Nāch Girls on platforms—The Menhdi—The grand Display in the Bride’s Procession—The Parda—The Prince dyed with hinnā—Midnight the fashionable hour for Dinner—Wedding Dishes—Silvered Food—Conclusion of the Day—Mr. James Gardner—Mulka Begam highly respected; her will is law.

Pedigree of the Bride and Groom—Reports about the Bride's Beauty—The eagerness of English gentlemen to marry into Colonel Gardner’s family—Mirza Unjun Shekō—The first Procession—The Bride’s Dress—The need for weeping—The Oily Mixture—Strict seclusion—The Groom’s attire—The Oily Mixture as a compliment—The Hoolī—Bridal Songs—The Sāchak—The Groom’s Procession—Nāch Girls on platforms—The Menhdi—The grand display in the Bride’s Procession—The Parda—The Prince dyed with henna—Midnight as the trendy dinner time—Wedding Dishes—Silvered Food—End of the Day—Mr. James Gardner—Mulka Begam is highly respected; her wishes are law.

1835, March 18th.—Before entering on a description of the marriage ceremonies, it may be as well to explain the singular manner in which Colonel Gardner’s family has intermarried with that of the Emperor of Delhi, which the annexed pedigree will exemplify.

1835, March 18th.—Before describing the marriage ceremonies, it might be helpful to explain the unique way in which Colonel Gardner's family has intermarried with the Emperor of Delhi's family, as shown in the attached pedigree.

William Gardner, Esq., of Coleraine, left a son.

William Gardner, Esq., from Coleraine, had a son.

William Gardner, Esq., Lieut.-Colonel in the 11th regiment of Dragoons. He married Elizabeth, daughter of Valentine Farrington, Esq., and had issue Valentine, born 1739, Allan,[421] and other children. Allan was created a baronet, and afterwards elevated to the peerage in Ireland in 1800; and created a peer of the United Kingdom, 1806.

William Gardner, Esq., Lieutenant Colonel in the 11th Regiment of Dragoons. He married Elizabeth, daughter of Valentine Farrington, Esq., and had children Valentine, born 1739, Allan, [421] and others. Allan was made a baronet and later elevated to the peerage in Ireland in 1800; he was made a peer of the United Kingdom in 1806.

Pedigree of Colⁿ. William Linnæus Gardner.

Pedigree of Col. William Linnaeus Gardner.

‎‏فاني پارکس‏‎

Vanny Parks

Valentine, the eldest son, a Major in the army, married, first, Alaida, daughter of Robert Livingstone, Esq., by whom he had a son, William Linnæus, Captain in the army; and, secondly, Frances, daughter of Samuel Holworthy, Esq., by whom he had another son, Valentine.

Valentine, the oldest son and a Major in the army, was first married to Alaida, the daughter of Robert Livingstone, Esq., with whom he had a son, William Linnæus, who is a Captain in the army. He then married Frances, the daughter of Samuel Holworthy, Esq., and they had another son named Valentine.

Colonel William Linnæus Gardner married Nawab Matmunzel-ool-Nissa Begam Delme, and by her had two sons, Allan and James, and a daughter; the last mentioned died young.

Colonel William Linnæus Gardner married Nawab Matmunzel-ool-Nissa Begam Delme, and they had two sons, Allan and James, as well as a daughter, who sadly passed away in childhood.

Allan, the eldest son, married Beebee Sāhiba Hinga, and left one son, Mungo, who died young, and two daughters, Hirmoozee and Susan. Hirmoozee married her relative, Stewart William Gardner, Esq., son of Rear-Admiral Francis Gardner, the brother of Allan Hyde Lord Gardner. Susan, the second daughter, or Shubbeah Begam as she is called, is the one whose marriage is on the tapis.

Allan, the oldest son, married Beebee Sāhiba Hinga and had one son, Mungo, who died young, along with two daughters, Hirmoozee and Susan. Hirmoozee married her relative, Stewart William Gardner, Esq., who is the son of Rear-Admiral Francis Gardner, the brother of Allan Hyde Lord Gardner. Susan, the second daughter, also known as Shubbeah Begam, is the one whose marriage is currently being planned.

James Gardner, the second son of Colonel William Linnæus Gardner, married, first, Beebee Sāhiba Banoo, by whom he had one son, Hinga, and two daughters, Alaida, the Morning Star, and the Evening Star. He married, secondly, Mulka Humanee Begam, and by her had four children, two sons and two daughters: Sulimān and William Linnæus; Nashaba Begam, and another girl.

James Gardner, the second son of Colonel William Linnæus Gardner, first married Beebee Sāhiba Banoo, with whom he had one son, Hinga, and two daughters, Alaida, the Morning Star, and the Evening Star. He then married Mulka Humanee Begam, and they had four children together: two sons, Sulimān and William Linnæus, and two daughters, Nashaba Begam and another girl.

Mirza Sulimān Shekō, son of Shāh Allum, the late Emperor of Delhi, and brother of Akbar Shāh, the present Emperor, has a numerous family. Two of the daughters were celebrated for their beauty: one of them, Mulka Humanee Begam, married her cousin, Mirza Selīm, the son of Akbar Shāh, from whom she was divorced: she married, secondly, Mr. James Gardner. Sultana Bōa, the other daughter, married Nusseer-ood-Deen Hydur, the King of Oude. Mirza Unjun Shekō, son of Mirza Suliman Shekō, and half-brother of Mulka Begam, is engaged to Susan Gardner, as before-mentioned.

Mirza Sulimān Shekō, son of Shāh Allum, the late Emperor of Delhi, and brother of the current Emperor, Akbar Shāh, has a large family. Two of his daughters were famous for their beauty: one, Mulka Humanee Begam, married her cousin, Mirza Selīm, the son of Akbar Shāh, but they got divorced; she then married Mr. James Gardner. The other daughter, Sultana Bōa, married Nusseer-ood-Deen Hydur, the King of Oude. Mirza Unjun Shekō, son of Mirza Suliman Shekō and half-brother of Mulka Begam, is engaged to Susan Gardner, as mentioned earlier.

Colonel Gardner was exceedingly unwilling to allow of the marriage of his grand-daughter with the young prince, but the[422] old Begam, his wife, had set her heart upon it. He would rather have seen her married to a European gentleman; but the Begam, who is an adopted daughter of the Emperor of Delhi, is delighted with the match,—in her eyes a fine alliance.

Colonel Gardner was very reluctant to permit his granddaughter to marry the young prince, but the[422] old Begam, his wife, was determined about it. He would have preferred to see her marry a European gentleman; however, the Begam, who is an adopted daughter of the Emperor of Delhi, is thrilled with the match—she sees it as a great alliance.

I must describe the bride, Susan Gardner, or, as she is called in the zenāna, Shubbeah Begam, every lady having her name and title also. She had been cried up by the people at Agra as a great beauty, and Colonel Gardner had received several proposals for her, both from European and native gentlemen. She was also described as very accomplished for the inhabitant of four walls, being able to read, and write, and keep accounts with gram. She is about twenty years of age, very old for a bride in this country, where girls marry at eleven or twelve, and the proverb describes them as “shrivelled at twenty.”

I need to describe the bride, Susan Gardner, or as she's known in the zenāna, Shubbeah Begam, since every lady has her name and title too. People in Agra had praised her as a great beauty, and Colonel Gardner had received several marriage proposals for her from both European and native gentlemen. She was also considered quite skilled for someone confined to four walls, being able to read, write, and manage accounts well. She's about twenty years old, which is quite old for a bride in this country, where girls typically marry at eleven or twelve, and there's a saying that describes them as “shriveled at twenty.”

My surprise was great when I saw her in the zenāna. Her complexion is pale and sallow, her face flat, her figure extremely thin, and far from pretty. Her flatterers called her “so fair!” but she has not the fairness of a European, or the fine clear brown of some Asiatic ladies: her manners were also admired, but I did not like them, nor did she move stately as an elephant, an epithet applied to a woman having a graceful gait.

My surprise was huge when I saw her in the women's quarters. Her skin is pale and unhealthy-looking, her face is flat, her figure is very thin, and she's not attractive at all. Her admirers called her “so beautiful!” but she doesn’t have the beauty of a European woman, or the lovely warm brown color of some Asian ladies. People also praised her manners, but I didn’t like them, and she didn’t move with the grace of an elephant, which is a term used to describe a woman with an elegant walk.

Unjun Shekō, the bridegroom, who is about twenty years of age, is a remarkably handsome man; his black curling hair hangs in long locks on each side his face; his eyes very large, long, and bright; his features fine; his complexion a clear brown; his figure the middle size; and like all natives, he wore a beard, moustache, and whiskers. His three brothers, who came to the wedding with him, are ugly, low caste looking men. Unjun’s manners are good, theirs are cubbish. For four or five years he has been trying to bring about this marriage; but Colonel Gardner opposed it on account of his extravagance. His father, Sulimān Shekō, has refused to give one rupee to the young couple, so that the whole expense of the wedding falls upon Colonel Gardner: he pays for both sides. The young prince has only an allowance of 100 rupees a month! Natives, especially native women, are curious beings; the whole pride of their lives consists in having had a grand wedding: they talk[423] of it, and boast of it to the hour of their death. Colonel Gardner said, “If I were to give Shubbeah the money that will be fooled away in display at this marriage, I should make her miserable; she would think herself disgraced; and although by custom she is not allowed to stir from her room, or to see the sight, still it will charm her to hear the road was lighted up for so many miles, the fireworks were so fine and the procession so grand! She would have this to talk of in preference to the money, even if she were forced to deprive herself of half her food all her life; she is a pakkā Hindostānee!” They were horrified at my description of an English marriage. A carriage and four, attended by five or six other carriages, made a good wedding; when the ceremony had been performed by the padre, the bride and bridegroom drove away: no procession, no fireworks; the money put in the banker’s hands, the parents gave a dinner and ball, and all was finished.

Unjun Shekō, the groom, is about twenty years old and incredibly good-looking; his black, curly hair falls in long strands on either side of his face; his eyes are large, bright, and expressive; his features are well-defined; his skin has a clear brown tone; his build is average; and like all locals, he has a beard, mustache, and sideburns. His three brothers, who came to the wedding with him, are unattractive and look low caste. Unjun has good manners, while theirs are rather awkward. For four or five years, he has been trying to make this marriage happen, but Colonel Gardner opposed it because of his extravagance. His father, Sulimān Shekō, has refused to give a single rupee to the young couple, which means Colonel Gardner is covering all the wedding expenses for both families. The young prince has only a monthly allowance of 100 rupees! Locals, especially local women, are quite curious; their entire pride comes from having a grand wedding; they talk about it and brag about it until the end of their lives. Colonel Gardner remarked, “If I gave Shubbeah the money that will be wasted on show for this marriage, I would make her miserable; she would feel disgraced; and even though custom doesn’t allow her to leave her room or witness the events, she will still be thrilled to hear that the road was lit for miles, the fireworks were spectacular, and the procession was impressive! She would much prefer these stories over the money, even if it means she has to go without half her food for the rest of her life; she is a true Hindostānee!” They were shocked when I described an English wedding. A horse-drawn carriage with four horses, accompanied by five or six other carriages, was considered a good wedding; once the ceremony was completed by the padre, the bride and groom simply drove away: no procession, no fireworks; the money was deposited in the bank, and the parents hosted a dinner and dance, and that was that.

The Begam was in a perfect agony from morning till night, lest any one thing should be forgotten,—lest any, even the smallest gift might be omitted; if it were, the people would say, “What a shabby wedding!” and, in spite of all the expense, she would lose her good name.

The Begam was in constant anxiety from morning till night, afraid that she might forget something—afraid that even the tiniest gift might be overlooked; if that happened, people would say, “What a pathetic wedding!” and despite all the costs, she would lose her reputation.

It would be utterly impossible for me to recount the innumerable ceremonies performed at the wedding of a Muhammadan; the following are a few of the most remarkable.

It would be totally impossible for me to describe all the countless ceremonies that take place at a Muslim wedding; here are a few of the most notable ones.

March 12th.—The ceremonies began: In the first place, the bridegroom’s party, consisting of Mr. James Gardner, Mulka Began, Mrs. B⸺, and Mr. V⸺, went into tents four miles distant; while the bride’s party, consisting of Colonel Gardner, his Begam, the bride, and myself, remained at Khāsgunge. We had also, in the outer house, Mr. Valentine Gardner, a party of English gentlemen, and the old Nawab of Cambay. It appeared curious to me to sit down to dinner with these gentlemen, who were all attired in native dresses, and do the honours, at times when my dear Colonel Gardner was too unwell to quit the zenāna, and join the dinner party in the outer house. The turban is not a necessary appendage to Asiatic attire; in all friendly or familiar intercourse the skull cap is worn,—the[424] turban in company; it is disgraceful to uncover the head.

March 12th.—The ceremonies began: First, the groom’s party, which included Mr. James Gardner, Mulka Began, Mrs. B⸺, and Mr. V⸺, went into tents four miles away; while the bride’s party, made up of Colonel Gardner, his Begam, the bride, and me, stayed at Khāsgunge. We also had Mr. Valentine Gardner, a group of English gentlemen, and the old Nawab of Cambay in the outer house. It struck me as odd to sit down to dinner with these gentlemen, all dressed in traditional attire, and host the event while my dear Colonel Gardner was too unwell to leave the zenāna and join the dinner party in the outer house. The turban isn’t a necessary part of Asian attire; during friendly or casual interactions, a skull cap is worn, while the turban is worn in formal company; it’s considered disgraceful to leave the head uncovered.

But to return to my story. About 3 P.M., Mulka Begam came in procession to bring the bride’s dress, which is a present from the bridegroom. The procession consisted of elephants, raths (four-wheeled native carriages drawn by bullocks), palanquins, led horses, &c.; and one hundred trays, carried on men’s heads, containing the dress for the bride, sweetmeats, and basun (flour of gram), wherewith to wash the lady. Mulka Begam came in a covered palanquin, screened from the gaze of men.

But let’s get back to my story. At around 3 PM, Mulka Begam arrived in a parade to deliver the bride's dress, a gift from the groom. The procession included elephants, raths (four-wheeled local carriages pulled by bullocks), palanquins, and led horses, among others; and there were one hundred trays, carried on men's heads, filled with the bride’s dress, sweets, and basun (gram flour) for washing the lady. Mulka Begam arrived in a covered palanquin, hidden from the eyes of men.

I, as in duty bound, had made my salām to Shubbeah Begam, and was in attendance in the zenāna, to receive the bridegroom’s party.

I, feeling obligated, had greeted Shubbeah Begam and was present in the women's quarters to welcome the groom's party.

“Women of the lower class, on entering the female assembly, must not say ‘salām;’ if the hostess be a lady of rank, they perform kudumbosee (the ceremony of kissing the feet) to her, and merely make salām to the rest. When going away they request permission, in the same way as the men in the male assembly, and take their departure.

“Women from the lower class, when entering the female assembly, must not say ‘hello;’ if the hostess is a woman of high status, they perform kudumbosee (the ceremony of kissing her feet) to her, and just greet the others. When leaving, they ask for permission, just like the men in the male assembly, and then take their leave.”

“Kudumbosee, or the ceremony of kissing the feet, is, rather, to touch the feet of the hostess with the right hand, and then kiss the latter, or, more generally, make salām with it; while her ladyship, scarce allowing it to be done, out of politeness and condescension, withdraws her foot; and, taking hold of her hands, says, ‘Nay, don’t do that!’ or ‘Enough!’ ‘Long may you live!’ ‘Come, be seated!’ Or, if she be married, ‘May God render your sohag durable!’ i.e. May God preserve your husband: if he be dead, ‘May God cause your end to be happy!’

"Kudumbosee, or the ceremony of kissing the feet, is really about touching the hostess's feet with your right hand and then kissing it, or more generally, greeting her with it. Meanwhile, she often barely allows it to happen, out of politeness and kindness, pulling her foot away and, taking your hands, saying, 'No, don’t do that!' or 'That's enough!' 'May you live a long life!' 'Please, have a seat!' If she is married, she might say, 'May God make your sohag last!' meaning, may God keep your husband safe; if he has passed away, she would say, 'May God grant you a happy ending!'"

“The men of the better ranks of society, however, when coming in or going away, say, ‘Salām, bundugee tuslemat!’ i.e. ‘My blessing, service, or salutation to you!’ according to the rank of the lady of the house.

“The men of the higher social classes, however, when arriving or departing, say, ‘Salām, bundugee tuslemat!’ i.e. ‘My blessing, service, or greeting to you!’ depending on the status of the lady of the house.”

“The salām made by females is not like that of the males—touching the forehead with the right hand—but it consists in touching the puttee, or hair above the right temple[146].”

“The greeting made by females is not the same as that of males—who touch their forehead with their right hand—but involves touching the puttee, or hair above the right temple[146].”

[425]

[425]

Speaking of men entering a zenāna, the place is considered so sacred, that, in a native family, only the nearest male relatives, the father and grandfather, can unrestrainedly obtain admission; the uncles and brothers only on especial occasions. The bride was once allowed to be seen by the brothers of Mirza Selīm, her betrothed husband; but he requested that no other persons but Colonel and Mr. James Gardner might behold her, and said, after marriage, he should not allow her to be seen even by his own brothers.

Speaking of men entering a zenāna, this space is regarded as so sacred that, in a traditional family, only the closest male relatives, like the father and grandfather, can enter freely; uncles and brothers can only go in on special occasions. The bride was once allowed to be seen by the brothers of Mirza Selīm, her fiancé; however, he requested that only Colonel and Mr. James Gardner be allowed to see her, and he stated that after their marriage, he wouldn’t permit even his own brothers to see her.

The trays containing the presents, brought in procession from the Prince, were received by the female slaves, conveyed by them into the zenāna, and placed before Colonel Gardner’s Begam and the Princess Mulka. It is a custom never to send back an empty tray; if money be not sent, part of the contents of the tray is left, fruit, flowers, &c. The presents were displayed on the ground before the bride, who was sitting on a charpāī, wrapped in an Indian shawl, hiding her face, and sobbing violently; I thought she was really in distress, but found this violent sorrow was only a part of the ceremony. Mulka Begam took a silver bowl, and putting into it sandal-wood powder and turmeric and oil, mixed it up, whilst both she and Colonel Gardner’s Begam repeated with great care the names and titles on both sides; it being unlucky if any name be forgotten, as any evil that may chance to befall the bride hereafter would be occasioned by forgetfulness, or mistaking the name over this oily mixture. The bride was then rubbed from head to foot with it; how yellow it made her, the turmeric! The natives say it makes the skin so beautiful, so yellow, and so soft: it certainly renders the skin deliciously soft, but the yellow tinge I cannot admire. After this operation was performed, all the mixture was scraped up, put into the bowl, and mixed with more oil, to be sent to the Prince, that his body might be rubbed with it—this is considered a compliment!

The trays filled with the gifts, brought in a procession from the Prince, were received by the female servants, who then carried them into the zenāna and placed them in front of Colonel Gardner’s Begam and Princess Mulka. It's a custom never to send back an empty tray; if money isn't sent, part of the tray's contents, like fruit or flowers, is left behind. The gifts were displayed on the ground before the bride, who was sitting on a charpāī, wrapped in an Indian shawl, hiding her face and sobbing intensely; I thought she was truly upset, but I soon realized this dramatic sorrow was just part of the ceremony. Mulka Begam took a silver bowl, adding sandalwood powder, turmeric, and oil to it, while both she and Colonel Gardner’s Begam carefully recited the names and titles of both sides; forgetting any name is considered bad luck, as any misfortune that might happen to the bride in the future would be due to this oversight, or mixing up the name over this oily mixture. The bride was then rubbed from head to toe with it; how yellow it made her, the turmeric! The locals say it makes the skin so beautiful, so yellow, and so soft: it definitely makes the skin delightfully soft, but I can't say I admire the yellow tint. After this process, all the mixture was scraped up, put back into the bowl, and mixed with more oil to be sent to the Prince, so that his body could be rubbed with it—this is seen as a compliment!

The bridal dress was then put on Shubbeah; it was of yellow gauze, trimmed with silver; the pajamas of red satin and silver. The faces of the attendants were smeared by way of frolic with the oily mixture, and the bridegroom’s party returned to their[426] tents. I must not forget to mention that from the moment the bride is rubbed with this turmeric, she is a prisoner for ten days; not allowed to move from her charpāī, on which she sits up or sleeps. Twice a day she is rubbed with almond soap, mixed with turmeric, &c. All this time she is never allowed to bathe. She is fed on sweetmeats, and not allowed to touch acids, or vinegar, &c.: even pān is almost denied; but I fancy, without it an Asiatic lady would fret herself to death. And in this horrible state, a girl is kept during all the gaiety of the wedding; never allowed to move; to make her skin soft and yellow, and to render her sweet-tempered, I suppose, by feeding her with lumps of sugar!

The bridal dress was then put on Shubbeah; it was made of yellow gauze, trimmed with silver; the pajamas were of red satin and silver. The faces of the attendants were playfully smeared with an oily mixture, and the bridegroom’s party returned to their[426] tents. I must not forget to mention that from the moment the bride is rubbed with this turmeric, she is confined for ten days; not allowed to move from her charpāī, on which she sits or sleeps. Twice a day, she is rubbed with almond soap mixed with turmeric, etc. During this time, she is never allowed to bathe. She is fed sweet treats and not allowed to touch anything acidic, like vinegar, etc.; even pān is almost denied, but I suspect that without it, an Asian woman would be incredibly unhappy. And in this uncomfortable situation, a girl is kept throughout all the festive wedding activities; never allowed to move, meant to make her skin soft and yellow and to keep her sweet-tempered, I suppose, by feeding her lumps of sugar!

As soon as the bridegroom’s party were gone, Colonel Gardner requested me to go in procession, with his pretty grand-daughter, Alaida (the Morning Star), to the Prince’s tents, to escort the dress of the bridegroom, sent as a present by the bride. We went accordingly in full procession, as described before, taking back the oily mixture. Mulka Begam received us at the Prince’s tent; he was placed on a silver footstool; Mulka took off his upper dress, and rubbed his face and arms with the mixture; she then arrayed him in a dress of yellow and orange muslin, a red turban, and red silk pajamas, in which attire he looked very handsome.

As soon as the groom's party left, Colonel Gardner asked me to walk in the procession with his beautiful granddaughter, Alaida (the Morning Star), to the Prince’s tents to deliver the groom's outfit, which was a gift from the bride. We went in full procession, as described earlier, bringing back the oily mixture. Mulka Begam welcomed us at the Prince’s tent; he was sitting on a silver footstool. Mulka removed his outer garment and rubbed his face and arms with the mixture. She then dressed him in a yellow and orange muslin outfit, a red turban, and red silk pajamas, making him look very handsome.

Before him sat three women, the Domnee, playing and singing bridal songs; I saw the Prince turn very red; he looked at the women, and said something in a low tone to Mulka Begam, who answered,—“The mem sāhiba knows they are singing gālee (abuse); but she does not understand Hindostanee sufficiently to comprehend their songs.” The language of the songs is complete slang. Yellow powder, mixed with water, was then thrown in frolic at all the people; I made my salām, quitted the tent, and finding a gentleman in waiting ready to drive me back, returned to Colonel Gardner’s, leaving the rest of the party to play and sing all night. Thus ended the first day of the ceremonies.

Before him sat three women, the Domnee, singing and playing bridal songs. I noticed the Prince turning very red; he glanced at the women and whispered something to Mulka Begam, who replied, “The mem sāhiba knows they are singing gālee (abuse), but she doesn’t understand Hindostanee well enough to grasp their songs.” The language of the songs is pure slang. Then, yellow powder mixed with water was playfully thrown at everyone. I bowed, left the tent, and found a gentleman waiting to drive me back. I returned to Colonel Gardner’s, leaving the rest of the party to celebrate and sing all night. Thus concluded the first day of the ceremonies.

At the festival of the Hūlī, which is particularly dedicated to Krishnŭ, images of the deity are carried about on elephants, horses, in palkees, &c. The songs are exclusively in honour of[427] Krishnŭ, and hailing the return of the season, personified under the name of Vasanta, generally pronounced Bessant. Kama, the god of love, is the son of Krishnŭ.

At the Hūlī festival, which is especially dedicated to Krishna, images of the deity are paraded on elephants, horses, and palanquins, etc. The songs are solely in honor of Krishna, celebrating the arrival of the season, represented by the name Vasanta, usually pronounced Bessant. Kama, the god of love, is Krishna's son.

The Hoolī was celebrated by the natives with due glee; they threw abeer (red powder) into each other’s faces, and then squirted orange-coloured water over it; people were also sent on April-fool errands. Colonel Gardner avoided appearing amongst the people during this festival, and I imitated his example. The orange-coloured water is tinged with the flowers of the dhāk tree; the abeer is flour made from the singharra (water nut), and dyed with red sanders; the roots of the singharra are loosened by means of ropes fastened between two boats, with several men in each; and iron prongs are used in collecting them.

The Hoolī was celebrated by the locals with great joy; they tossed red powder (abeer) at each other and then sprayed orange-colored water on top of it. People were also sent on silly errands as part of the festivities. Colonel Gardner chose to stay away from the crowds during this event, and I followed his lead. The orange water gets its color from the flowers of the dhāk tree, while the abeer is made from flour from the singharra (water nut) and dyed with red sanders. The singharra roots are pulled up using ropes tied between two boats, with several men in each, and iron prongs are used to collect them.

I mentioned to Colonel Gardner the songs of the women, the Domnee, who were in the tent, and the distress of the Prince. He said, “When marriages are negotiating, in particular, they are of the most unchaste description; they are admitted on such occasions, but the nāch girls never; the songs of the Domnee are indecent beyond the conception of an European.”

I told Colonel Gardner about the songs of the women, the Domnee, who were in the tent, and the Prince's distress. He replied, “When marriages are being arranged, especially, they are extremely inappropriate; they're allowed on such occasions, but the nāch girls never are; the songs of the Domnee are indecent beyond what an European can imagine.”

Nāch women dance and sing before men, and are not allowed to enter zenānas of respectability; but in all great establishments, such as Colonel Gardner’s, and that of his son, the slave girls are formed into sets of dancing girls, to sing and play for the amusement of the Begams.

Nāch women dance and sing in front of men and aren’t allowed to enter respectable zenānas; however, at major places like Colonel Gardner’s and his son’s, the slave girls are organized into groups of dancers to entertain the Begams with their singing and music.

Colonel Gardner remarked, “The songs of the nāch girls are never indecent, unless ‘by particular desire,’ and then in representing the bearer’s dance,—a dance which is never performed before ladies.”

Colonel Gardner said, “The songs of the nāch girls are never inappropriate, unless ‘by special request,’ and then only when showcasing the bearer’s dance—a dance that’s never performed in front of ladies.”

The following tradition may account for the great noise made with native instruments at a wedding:—“The difference between the lawful and unlawful, in marriage, is proclamation and the beating of drums for them.” “Aa’yeshah gave a woman, who was nearly related to her, in marriage to one of the assistants; and the prophet came and said, ‘Have you sent the young woman to her husband?’ She said, ‘Yes.’ The prophet said, ‘Have you sent any singers with her?’ She said, ‘No.’ On[428] which the prophet said, ‘Verily the assistants are a tribe fond of singing; therefore, had you sent any one with her to have sung A’taina’cum, A’taina’cum, then he would have prayed for your life and mine.’” A’taina’cum, a’taina’cum,—we come to you, we come to you, are the words of a song sung in marriage processions.

The following tradition might explain the loud sounds made with local instruments at a wedding:—“The distinction between a legitimate and illegitimate marriage is the public announcement and the beating of drums for them.” “Aa’yeshah gave a woman, who was closely related to her, in marriage to one of the assistants; and the prophet came and asked, ‘Have you sent the young woman to her husband?’ She replied, ‘Yes.’ The prophet said, ‘Did you send any singers with her?’ She said, ‘No.’ To which the prophet said, ‘Indeed, the assistants are a group that loves to sing; if you had sent someone with her to sing A’taina’cum, A’taina’cum, then that individual would have prayed for your life and mine.’” A’taina’cum, a’taina’cum,—we come to you, we come to you, are the words of a song sung during marriage processions.

Aamīr-bin-sad said, “I went to Kardhah-bin-cab, and Abu Masuud Ansarī, in an assembly, in which was a bridal feast; and some women were singing; and I said, ‘O ye two companions of the prophet of God! and O ye men of Bedr! (i.e. combatants in that battle) shall this act (that is, singing), be done near you?’ They said to me, ‘Sit down if you please, and hear with us; but, if you please, go away, because the prophet permitted us to hear nuptial songs.’”

Aamīr-bin-sad said, “I went to Kardhah-bin-cab and Abu Masuud Ansarī at a gathering that was a bridal feast; some women were singing, and I said, ‘O you two companions of the Prophet of God! And you men of Bedr! (i.e. combatants in that battle), is it okay for singing to happen near you?’ They replied, ‘Please sit down and listen with us; but if you'd rather, you can leave, because the Prophet allowed us to listen to wedding songs.’”

Domra is the name of a caste of Musalmāns, the males of which are musicians, and the females sing and dance in the company of females only.

Domra is the name of a group of Muslims, whose men are musicians, and the women sing and dance only in the company of other women.

THE SĀCHAK.

“WHEN THERE IS A MARRIAGE THEY MAY SING ALL NIGHT[147].”

"WHEN THERE IS A MARRIAGE THEY CAN SING ALL NIGHT[147]."

March 28th.—The bride is denominated dulhān on the day of Sāchak, and the bridegroom dūlha. The poor dulhān is kept in strict parda on her charpāī; the dūlha ought by law to be equally confined, but he generally contrives to amuse himself during the time. After the bride and bridegroom had been rubbed a certain number of days with the oily mixture, the time appointed for the second day’s ceremonies arrived; which is called the Sāchak. Mulka Begam and the prince arrived in procession. The bridegroom’s party were dressed out in all their bravery. The party of the bride wore their old clothes, and looked as deplorable as possible. This was according to custom, and therefore strictly observed. On this day it is the fashion for the bride’s mother to appear in an undress, and even that soiled! The procession consisted of elephants in all their[429] crimson and gold trappings, led horses, English and Arab; nalkīs, a sort of litter used by people of rank, palanquins, and raths, (native bullock carriages,) &c. A number of men dressed up as horses were prancing about, kicking and playing antics, and two hundred gharās (earthen vessels) filled with sweetmeats, which looked very gay from being covered with silver-leaf, were carried on the heads of two hundred men.

March 28th.—On Sāchak, the bride is called dulhān, and the groom is dūlha. The poor dulhān is kept in strict seclusion on her charpāī, while the dūlha is legally supposed to be confined as well, but he usually finds ways to entertain himself in the meantime. After the bride and groom had been anointed with an oily mixture for several days, the time for the second day's ceremonies, known as Sāchak, arrived. Mulka Begam and the prince joined the procession. The groom's party was dressed to impress, while the bride's party wore old clothes, looking as miserable as possible. This was tradition and strictly adhered to. On this day, the bride's mother is expected to appear in an informal and even soiled outfit! The procession included elephants adorned in all their crimson and gold trappings, led horses, English and Arab; nalkīs, a kind of litter for the elite, palanquins, and raths (native bullock carriages), etc. Several men dressed as horses pranced around, kicking and showing off, while two hundred gharās (earthen vessels) filled with sweet treats, looking vibrant under their silver-leaf coverings, were carried on the heads of two hundred men.

The platforms for the nāch women were the most curious part of the procession, they are called takhti-rawān, a sort of travelling throne, formed of bamboo, square in form, over which was spread an awning ornamented with crimson, and gold, and silver, and supported by four bamboos, one at each angle of the platform. On each travelling throne sat a native musician, playing on a kettle-drum, and before him danced two nāch women; the girls twirled and nāched with all their might and skill. The platforms were carried on the heads of a number of men in the procession, and had a curious and singular effect; the situation was a very unsteady one for the dancing girls, one of whom became giddy and tumbled down upon the heads of the crowd of people below. In this fashion ten stands, containing twenty nāch girls and ten musicians, were carried on men’s heads to the sound of kettle-drums. When Mulka had brought in the procession, and the company were seated, atr of sandal-wood was put on each person’s face, and a necklace of silver tissue around their necks. The same three vile old women began their songs of abuse; abusing the prince, the Begams, and myself; but as it was the custom, no one could be angry. I could only guess the sort of abuse; I could not understand it, never having heard it before. The prince’s yellow dress, now quite dirty, was on him still; according to custom, over it was put on a dress of cloth of gold and crimson. In front of his turban the jewelled jika was placed, and on his arms valuable bazubunds—armlets of precious stones. All this time the poor little bride was kept in her oily attire on her charpāī, and not allowed to stir. She only heard the noise and uproar of the procession. Mulka’s dress was very elegant.

The platforms for the nāch women were the most interesting part of the procession. They are called takhti-rawān, a kind of traveling throne made of bamboo, square in shape, covered by an awning decorated with crimson, gold, and silver, and held up by four bamboo poles, one at each corner of the platform. On each traveling throne sat a local musician playing a kettle drum, and in front of him, two nāch women danced; the girls spun and danced with all their energy and skill. The platforms were carried on the heads of several men in the procession, creating a strange and unique sight; it was a very unstable situation for the dancing girls, one of whom became dizzy and fell onto the heads of the crowd below. In this way, ten platforms, containing twenty nāch girls and ten musicians, were carried on men’s heads to the sound of kettle drums. When Mulka entered the procession and everyone was seated, a paste of sandalwood was applied to each person’s face, and a necklace of silver mesh was placed around their necks. The same three nasty old women began their songs of insult, targeting the prince, the Begams, and me; but since it was customary, no one could be offended. I could only guess what the insults were; I couldn’t understand them, having never heard them before. The prince’s yellow outfit, now quite dirty, was still on him; according to tradition, a robe of gold and crimson cloth was worn over it. In front of his turban was placed the jeweled jika, and he wore valuable bazubunds—armlets made of precious stones. Throughout all this, the poor little bride remained in her oily clothes on her charpāī and wasn’t allowed to move. She could only hear the noise and chaos of the procession. Mulka’s outfit was very elegant.

[430]

[430]

THE MENHDĪ—THE THIRD DAY.

29th.—The menhdī is the tree, Lawsonia inermis, from the leaves of which the hinnā dye is produced: the leaves are gathered and pounded; when put on the hands and feet, and allowed to remain an hour or two, it produces a dark brownish red dye, which is permanent for four or five months; the hands and feet, both of men and women, thus dyed are reckoned beautiful. It is remarkable that female mummies have the nails stained with menhdī.

29th.—The menhdī is the tree, Lawsonia inermis, from which the hennā dye is made: the leaves are collected and crushed; when applied to the hands and feet and left on for an hour or two, it creates a dark brownish-red dye that lasts for four to five months; the hands and feet of both men and women dyed in this way are considered beautiful. It's interesting to note that female mummies have nails stained with menhdī.

A number of trays of this prepared menhdī were carried on men’s heads, covered with embroidered velvet; they were sent from the bride to dye the bridegroom. This was the grand display on the part of the bride’s friends; who all, dressed in all their most costly attire, went, at eleven at night, in procession from Khāsgunge to the Prince’s tents. The road was enclosed with bamboo screens, all lighted up with thousands of small lamps; fireworks were let off in profusion, and the triumphal arches across the road were all illuminated; five thousand torches were carried by men, to light the procession. The Begam herself was there in her nālkee, the curtains all down and fastened; the ladies in a long line of native carriages, called raths; the boys in different sorts of native palkees; the men, handsomely dressed, on elephants. I went in an amārī, on an elephant; the amārī is a litter with two seats, covered by two canopies; when the seat on an elephant is open, without a canopy, it is called a howdah. Mr. T⸺, a friend, accompanied me; we sat in the front seat, and a native gentleman occupied the seat at the back. The elephant was a very large one; we were a great height from the ground, and had a good view, being above the smoke of the blue lights. The native gentleman amused us by his astonishment at Mr. T⸺’s not being a married man; my friend told him he wished to marry, but how could he without seeing the lady? The Asiatic said that was impossible; but could he not depend on his female friends to see and select for him? Mr. T⸺ deputed me to select a wife for him;[431] the native gentleman thought him in earnest, and said, when every thing was arranged, I might show Mr. T⸺ her picture before they were married. In this manner weddings are made up; it would be the height of indelicacy to suppose a girl could have a choice, she marries just any one whom her friends select. The led horses, in their gay native caparison, looked so well amongst the blue lights; and the handsomest of all was Candidate, an imported English horse, formerly the property of Major P⸺; Rattler, another English horse, sixteen hands high, whom I had ridden several times, was also there. They were so quiet and well-behaved in the crowd and amongst the fireworks, much more quiet than the native horses.

A bunch of trays filled with this prepared mehndi were carried on men’s heads, covered with embroidered velvet; they were sent from the bride to dye the bridegroom. This was the big show put on by the bride’s friends, who, all dressed in their finest clothes, marched at eleven at night from Khāsgunge to the Prince’s tents. The road was lined with bamboo screens, lit up with thousands of small lamps; fireworks were set off everywhere, and the triumphal arches across the road were all illuminated; five thousand torches were carried by men to light up the procession. The Begam herself was there in her palanquin, with the curtains all drawn and secured; the ladies followed in a long line of native carriages, called raths; the boys were in different kinds of native palanquins; and the men, dressed handsomely, rode on elephants. I went in an amārī on an elephant; the amārī is a litter with two seats, covered by two canopies; when the seat on an elephant is open, without a canopy, it's called a howdah. Mr. T⸺, a friend, accompanied me; we sat in the front seat, and a native gentleman sat in the back. The elephant was very large; we were high off the ground and had a great view, being above the smoke of the blue lights. The native gentleman entertained us with his surprise that Mr. T⸺ wasn’t married; my friend told him he wanted to marry, but how could he do that without seeing the lady? The Asiatic said that was impossible; couldn’t he rely on his female friends to see and pick someone for him? Mr. T⸺ asked me to choose a wife for him; the native gentleman thought he was serious and said that once everything was arranged, I could show Mr. T⸺ her picture before they got married. This is how weddings are arranged; it would be extremely inappropriate to think a girl could have a say in it; she marries whoever her friends pick for her. The led horses, in their colorful native saddles, looked great among the blue lights; the best of all was Candidate, an imported English horse, formerly owned by Major P⸺; Rattler, another English horse, sixteen hands high, whom I had ridden several times, was also there. They were very calm and well-behaved in the crowd and with the fireworks, much more so than the native horses.

The ten platforms, containing the twenty nāch girls and the kettle-drum players carried on men’s heads were also there. The effect of the gay dresses of the women, as they twirled and attitudinized was good by torch-light. Some of the girls, who were horrors by daylight, looked pretty by the artificial light, at a distance. It took two hours to go with the procession the four miles, through the village of Khāsgunge to the tents. All the inhabitants were either on the road or on the roofs of their houses, and we were attended by thousands of people: such a crowd, we could scarcely move forwards. On our arrival at the tents we found Mulka Begam’s tent prepared for the reception of the females of our party. It was in utter darkness. In front fine bamboo screens were let down, which, inside, were covered with thin white muslin. Through this parda, from the inside of the tent, you could see what was going on without, where every thing was brilliantly lighted, whilst we were in complete darkness. From without you could not see into the tent in the slightest degree. These screens are called pardas, and the women who live within them, parda nishīn, secluded behind the curtain. In front of the tent was pitched a very large shamiyana, a canopy, supported on every side by high poles; white cloths were spread on the ground. In the centre was seated the young Prince on his gaddī (throne of the sovereign), most beautifully dressed, and looking very handsome. His four ill-looking brothers were next to him. On a plain gaddī, by[432] his side, sat Colonel Gardner and myself, and all the English and native gentlemen were seated on either side. In front, were one hundred nāch women, the best to be procured, brought, at an immense expense, from great distances; six or eight of these girls danced at a time, and were relieved by another set. Around were countless numbers of natives, in all their gayest dresses: and still further back were many elephants, on which people had mounted to get a sight of the tamāshā. When the preparations within were ready, Colonel Gardner took me, his son, and the five princes, within the tent; a parda (screen) was drawn across part of the tent, behind which were some native ladies, whom it would have been improper the men should have seen, they not being their relatives. The Prince was placed on a low silver seat, and fed with sugar; the amusement appeared to be, as you offered the sugar, and the Prince attempted to take it in his mouth, to snatch away your hand. The ladies behind the parda also put forth their hands to feed him with sugar; he tried to catch their hands, and having succeeded in catching the hand of one of the girls who was teazing him, he tried to draw off her ring, and in the struggle she was nearly pulled through the parda!

The ten platforms, with the twenty dancers and the kettle-drum players balanced on men’s heads, were there too. The effect of the colorful dresses of the women as they twirled and posed looked great by torchlight. Some of the girls, who were quite plain in daylight, appeared pretty under the artificial light, from a distance. It took two hours to walk with the procession the four miles through the village of Khāsgunge to the tents. All the villagers were either lining the road or sitting on the roofs of their houses, and we were followed by thousands of people; there was such a crowd that we could barely move forward. When we reached the tents, we found Mulka Begam’s tent ready to welcome the women in our group. It was completely dark inside. In front, fine bamboo screens were lowered, covered with thin white muslin on the inside. Through this screen, you could see what was happening outside, where everything was brightly lit, while we were in total darkness. From the outside, you couldn’t see into the tent at all. These screens are called pardas, and the women who live behind them are called parda nishīn, secluded behind the curtain. In front of the tent was a large shamiyana, a canopy supported on high poles, with white cloths spread on the ground. In the center sat the young Prince on his throne, most beautifully dressed and looking very handsome. His four unattractive brothers were next to him. On a plain seat beside him sat Colonel Gardner and me, with all the English and Indian gentlemen seated on either side. In front were one hundred dance women, the best available, brought from far away at a huge cost; six or eight of them danced at a time, with another group taking over when they were done. Around us were countless locals in their finest clothes, and even further back were many elephants, with people riding them to get a view of the show. When preparations inside were complete, Colonel Gardner took me, his son, and the five princes into the tent; a screen was drawn across part of the tent, blocking off some native ladies who shouldn’t have been seen by men, as they weren’t related. The Prince was placed on a low silver seat and offered sugar; the game seemed to be that as you offered the sugar, the Prince would try to take it while you snatched your hand away. The ladies behind the screen also reached out to feed him sugar; he tried to catch their hands, and when he managed to grab the hand of one girl who was teasing him, he attempted to pull off her ring, almost dragging her through the screen in the process!

A silver bason was brought, and from it, Mulka Begam, Alaida, and her sister, the Evening Star, put the menhdī on the Prince’s hands and feet, and washed it off with water, which they poured from a silver vessel, of the most classical and beautiful shape I almost ever beheld. A turban of green and gold, ornamented with brilliants and precious stones, was placed on his head; he was then dressed in a dress of kimkhwāb (gold brocade), a red and gold kamarband, and green pājāmas; and a ring and armlets of great value and beauty were also put upon him. Sherbet was given to him, and all the guests, to drink, and their mouths were wiped with a sort of napkin of red and gold cloth by the cup-bearer.

A silver basin was brought, and from it, Mulka Begam, Alaida, and her sister, the Evening Star, applied henna to the Prince’s hands and feet and washed it off with water they poured from a beautifully shaped silver vessel. A green and gold turban adorned with jewels and precious stones was placed on his head; he was then dressed in a gold brocade outfit, a red and gold waist tie, and green pants; and a valuable and beautiful ring and armlets were also put on him. Sherbet was served to him and all the guests to drink, and the cup-bearer wiped their mouths with a napkin made of red and gold fabric.

Into the sherbet tray each guest put a gold mohur, the perquisite of the girls who had put the menhdī on the Prince. Afterwards, a slave-girl brought a silver vessel with water; water was poured over the hands of the guests, each of whom[433] put four or five rupees into the bowl; this was given the Domnee, the same three old women who in one corner were singing all the time. Necklaces of the fresh flowers of the yellow jasmine were thrown over the neck of the prince and the guests. After these ceremonies were completed, the prince and Colonel Gardner quitted the tent. I remained with the Begam. A ceremony was then performed that surprised me considerably; the native ladies laughed, and appeared to think it high tamāshā.

Each guest dropped a gold mohur into the sherbet tray, which was a tip for the girls who applied the mehndi on the Prince. Afterwards, a slave girl brought a silver vessel with water; the water was poured over the guests' hands, and each of them put four or five rupees into the bowl. This was given to the Domnee, the same three old women who were singing in one corner the whole time. Fresh yellow jasmine necklaces were draped around the necks of the prince and the guests. Once these ceremonies wrapped up, the prince and Colonel Gardner left the tent. I stayed behind with the Begam. A ceremony was then performed that really surprised me; the native ladies laughed and seemed to think it was great fun.

It was now dinner time, being midnight. The inner pardas of the tent were let down, and lights were brought in. A white cloth was spread on the ground in front of the Begam’s gaddī, upon which eight large round dishes of earthenware were placed. These were filled with boiled rice mixed with almonds and many good things, very pleasant food. These dishes are always prepared at Asiatic weddings, as bride-cake is always an attendant on the same ceremony in Europe. The rice was piled up high, and silvered all over with silver leaf, and a tuft of silver ornamented the top. Silvered food is much used by natives; and in helping a dish, if you wish to pay a compliment, you send as much gold and silver leaf as you can. At weddings the food is served in earthen vessels, instead of the silver vessels commonly used, because, when the repast is over, the remainder of it, vessels and all, are given away.

It was now dinner time, around midnight. The inner curtains of the tent were drawn down, and lights were brought in. A white cloth was spread on the ground in front of the Begam’s seat, where eight large round earthenware dishes were placed. These were filled with boiled rice mixed with almonds and many other delicious ingredients, making for a very enjoyable meal. These dishes are always prepared at Asian weddings, similar to how bride cake is a common feature in European ceremonies. The rice was piled high and covered with silver leaf, with a tuft of silver adorning the top. Silvered food is popular among locals; when serving a dish, if you want to give a compliment, you add as much gold and silver leaf as possible. At weddings, the food is served in earthen vessels instead of the silver ones typically used because, once the meal is over, both the food and the vessels are given away.

Of course, according to Asiatic custom, we all sat on the ground. The Begam said, “What shall we do? we have no knives and forks for the bībī sāhiba.” I assured her my fingers were more useful than forks. She sent me a large dish, well filled and well silvered. I bowed over it, saying in an undertone to myself, “Jupiter omnipotens digitos dedit ante bidentes.” The Begam explained to the guests, “English ladies always say grace before meals.” After holding forth my right hand to have water poured upon it, I boldly dipped my fingers into the dish, and contrived to appease my hunger very comfortably, much to the amusement of the Asiatic ladies: but I found I could not get my fingers half so far into my mouth as they contrived to do; certainly the mode is ungraceful, but this[434] may be prejudice. I looked at Mulka Begam, how far she pushed her delicate fingers down her throat—wah! wah!

Of course, following the Asian tradition, we all sat on the ground. The Begam said, “What should we do? We have no knives and forks for the bībī sāhiba.” I assured her that my fingers were more useful than forks. She sent me a large dish, generously filled and nicely garnished. I leaned over it, whispering to myself, “Jupiter omnipotens digitos dedit ante bidentes.” The Begam explained to the guests, “English ladies always say grace before meals.” After extending my right hand to have water poured on it, I confidently dipped my fingers into the dish and managed to satisfy my hunger quite comfortably, much to the amusement of the Asian ladies. However, I noticed that I couldn’t get my fingers as far into my mouth as they could; it’s definitely an awkward method, but this[434] might just be a matter of preference. I watched Mulka Begam, amazed at how far she pushed her delicate fingers down her throat—wah! wah!

“The prophet used to eat with three fingers, the thumb, the fore-finger, and the middle finger; and after eating he used to lick his blessed fingers before touching any thing else.” The prophet said, “Repeat the name of God, and eat with your right hand; the devil has power over that meat which is eaten without remembering the name of God.” “Verily God is pleased with a servant who eats a mouthful and says God’s praise, and drinks a draught of water, and says God’s praise.” “When any one of you eats, he must do it with his right hand; and when any one of you drinks, he must take hold of his water-pot with the right hand, because the devil eats and drinks with his left.”

“The prophet used to eat with three fingers: the thumb, the index finger, and the middle finger. After eating, he would lick his blessed fingers before touching anything else.” The prophet said, “Say the name of God, and eat with your right hand; the devil has power over food that is eaten without mentioning God's name.” “Truly, God is pleased with a servant who eats a bite and praises God, and drinks a sip of water and praises God.” “When any of you eats, you should do so with your right hand; and when any of you drinks, you should hold your water container with your right hand because the devil eats and drinks with his left.”

After the repast silver vessels were handed round, and our mouths and fingers underwent ablution. Besan, the flour of gram, as good for the purpose as almond-paste, was presented to each guest; with it the grease was removed from the fingers, and water was poured over them.

After the meal, silver dishes were passed around, and we washed our hands and mouths. Besan, chickpea flour, which was just as good as almond paste for the purpose, was given to each guest; it helped clean the grease off our fingers, and water was poured over them.

Necklaces most beautifully made of silver tissue were now given to the whole of the company, both within and without the tent; the lights were carried away, a portion of the parda was removed, and we, unseen, could then observe what was going on without the tent, the nāching, and the company. Seeing the Begam apparently fatigued, I requested she would give me my dismissal, which, having received, I made my salām and returned to Colonel Gardner, with whom I sat looking at the nāch until 3 P.M., at which hour the prince, by taking his departure, broke up the assembly. “On retiring, the senior guest, addressing the host, says, ‘Be pleased to, or will you, give us leave, or permission, to depart?’ Adding, ‘May God bless and prosper you! I have made a hearty meal, or dined heartily (orig. eaten a belly full)!’ To which the other replies, ‘It is the will of God and Muhammad,’ i.e. not mine; or, ‘Very well:’ ‘Certainly.’ Then the whole company rise, calling out, ‘As salām alaikum!’ ‘Peace be unto you,’ and take their departure[148].”[435] I returned to Khāsgunge in a palanquin, in which I slept all the way home, being fatigued and overcome with the exertions of the day.

Necklaces beautifully made of silver fabric were now given to everyone in the company, both inside and outside the tent; the lights were taken away, a part of the curtain was removed, and we, unseen, could then watch what was happening outside, including the dancing and the guests. Noticing that the Begam seemed tired, I asked her for my dismissal, which I received. I then bowed and returned to Colonel Gardner, with whom I sat watching the dance until 3 P.M., when the prince's departure ended the gathering. “When leaving, the senior guest says to the host, ‘Please, may we have your permission to leave?’ Adding, ‘May God bless and prosper you! I have eaten well!’ To which the host replies, ‘It is the will of God and Muhammad,’ i.e. not my decision; or, ‘Very well:’ ‘Certainly.’ Then everyone stands up, saying, ‘As salām alaikum!’ ‘Peace be upon you,’ and they leave[148].”[435] I returned to Khāsgunge in a palanquin, where I slept the entire way home, feeling exhausted from the day's efforts.

It was a sight worth seeing; the thousands of well-dressed natives in picturesque groups, and the dancing girls under the brilliantly illuminated trees. I was delighted to sit by my dear Colonel Gardner, and to hear his explanations. In conversation he was most interesting, a man of great intelligence, and in mind playful as a child. I often begged him to write his life, or to allow me to write it at his dictation. The description of such varied scenes as those through which he had passed would have been delightful; and he wrote so beautifully, the work would have been invaluable. He used to tell me remarkable incidents in his life, but I never wrote them down, feeling that unless I could remember his language, the histories would be deprived of half their beauty. I have never described Mr. James Gardner, his son. He is a remarkably shrewd, clever, quick man. He has never been in England: he commenced his education at a school in Calcutta; and the remainder he received at home, from Colonel Gardner and his friend Mr. B⸺. Persian he reads and writes as fluently as a native, and transacts all his business in that language. He is very quick, and so deep, they say he even outwits the natives. He is very hospitable—expert in all manly exercises—a fine horseman—an excellent swordsman—skilled in the lance exercise—an admirable shot with the bow and arrow—excels in all native games and exercises. I fancy the Begam, his mother, would never hear of her son’s going to England for education; and to induce a native woman to give way to any reasons that are contrary to her own wishes is quite out of the power of mortal man. A man may induce a European wife to be unselfish and make a sacrifice to comply with his wishes, or for the benefit of her children. A native woman would only be violent, enraged, and sulky, until the man, tired and weary with the dispute and eternal worry, would give her her own way. Such at least is my opinion from what I have seen of life within the four walls of a zenāna. James Gardner is most perfectly suited to the life he[436] leads: the power of the sun does not affect him so much as it does other people: he rides about his estates and farms all day: he has a great number of villages of his own, of which he is lord and master, and is able to conduct his affairs and turn his indigo and farming to profit. In all this he is assisted by the advice of Mulka Begam, to whom the natives look up with the highest respect. She is a clever woman, and her word is regarded as law by her villagers and dependents.

It was a captivating scene; the thousands of well-dressed locals in beautiful groups, and the dancing girls under the brightly lit trees. I was thrilled to sit next to my dear Colonel Gardner and hear his insights. In conversation, he was incredibly interesting, a man of great intelligence, and with a playful mind like a child. I often urged him to write his life story, or to let me write it for him. The account of such diverse experiences as those he had lived through would have been delightful, and he wrote so beautifully that the work would have been invaluable. He used to share remarkable stories from his life, but I never wrote them down because I felt that unless I could capture his exact words, the tales would lose half their charm. I have never described Mr. James Gardner, his son. He is a remarkably sharp, clever, quick man. He has never been to England; he started his education at a school in Calcutta and finished the rest at home with Colonel Gardner and his friend Mr. B⸺. He reads and writes Persian as fluently as a native and conducts all his business in that language. He is very quick and so clever that people say he can even outsmart the locals. He is very hospitable, skilled in all athletic activities—a great horse rider—an excellent swordsman—proficient in lance skills—an outstanding archer—excels in all traditional games and sports. I suspect that the Begam, his mother, would never agree to her son going to England for schooling; convincing a native woman to consider reasons that go against her wishes is beyond the reach of any man. A man might convince a European wife to be selfless and make sacrifices for his wishes or the benefit of their children. A native woman, however, would only become violent, angry, and sulky until the man, exhausted from the argument and constant stress, would give in to her demands. At least, that’s my opinion based on what I’ve observed in a zenāna. James Gardner is perfectly suited to the life he leads: the heat of the sun doesn’t affect him as much as it does others; he rides around his estates and farms all day. He owns a great number of villages, where he is lord and master, and is able to manage his affairs and profit from his indigo and farming. In all this, he is supported by the guidance of Mulka Begam, who is held in the highest respect by the locals. She is a smart woman, and her word is viewed as law by her villagers and dependents.


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[437]

CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE BURĀT.

“THE NUPTIAL PROCESSION IS PROPORTIONED TO THE RANK OF THE BRIDEGROOM[149].”

“THE WEDDING PROCESSION IS ADAPTED TO THE STATUS OF THE GROOM[149].”

The Bridegroom fights for his Bride—The grand Procession—Superstition of the Prince—Bridal Attire—The Bride’s Consent—Signing the Contract—The Nose-ring—Dress of the Bride—The Prince enters the Zenāna—He beholds his Bride—He carries her off—Colonel Gardner’s distress—Fanī Bhū’a—The Bride’s Dower carried in procession with the newly-married couple to the Prince’s Tents—A singular Custom—Pān.

The Groom fights for his Bride—The grand Procession—The Prince's superstitions—Wedding Attire—The Bride’s Agreement—Signing the Contract—The Nose-ring—Bride’s Dress—The Prince enters the Women's Quarters—He sees his Bride—He takes her away—Colonel Gardner’s worry—Fanī Bhū’a—The Bride’s Dowry paraded with the newly-wedded couple to the Prince’s Tents—A unique Tradition—Pān.

1835, March 30th.—Colonel Gardner said to me, “The bridegroom will come to-night to carry away his bride; it is an old Tartar custom for the man to fight for his wife, and carry her away by force of arms; this is still retained. I shall have the doors of the gateway barred at the entrance; and the soldiers on the prince’s arrival, after refusing to admit him, will at length allow him to enter, if he give them some gold mohurs. We, of the bride’s party, are not to join in the procession, but you may go out on an elephant provided you put no gay trappings upon him; and you can look on and say, ‘What a paltry procession, not half as fine as ours last night!’ this is the custom (dastūr). I will go in my tanjan and stand at one side.” This was the grand day of all: the prince and his party came at night; the village through which they passed was illuminated, as well as the road and the triumphal arches; they were accompanied by bands of music and flags innumerable; at every halt[438] fireworks were let off, while blue lights added a picturesque effect to the scene. The prince rode at the head of the procession on an Arab covered with embroidered trappings; on each side, the animal was decorated with the white tails of the yāk; and over all was thrown an ornamental armour made of flowers. On the head of the Arab was a jika, an ornament from which arose a heron’s plume, of which each feather was tipped with gold; his neck, the bridle, and the crupper were adorned with ornaments and golden chains. According to etiquette, an attendant on foot by the side of the horse carried an āftābī, a sun embroidered on velvet attached to a staff, gaily ornamented and carried in an elevated position: it is used as a protection from the rays of the sun, and also as a point of dignity. Another carried a magnificent chatr, umbrella of silk, embroidered with gold, a mark of royalty. In Oude the king alone is entitled to the chatr, with the exception of the resident and his assistant. Then followed the elephants, and friends, and attendants on horseback, palanquins and native carriages of many descriptions: the procession was interspersed with the platforms containing dancing girls, carried by men, and a number of horses, English, Arab, and country, were led by their grooms. Innumerable torches flared in every direction, and chirāghs, small lamps fixed on ladders, were carried horizontally by the attendants. Artificial trees made of wax, coloured paper, and shola, decorated with gold and silver leaf, mica, and coloured foil, were carried by men in great number, and added a strangely Asiatic effect to the whole, as the blue lights fell upon them.

1835, March 30th.—Colonel Gardner told me, “The groom will come tonight to take his bride; it's an old Tartar tradition for the man to fight for his wife and carry her off by force; that custom still exists. I will have the gates barred at the entrance, and when the prince arrives, the soldiers will initially refuse him entry but will eventually allow him in if he offers them some gold mohurs. We, from the bride's side, won’t join the procession, but you can ride out on an elephant as long as you don’t dress it up too lavishly; you can watch and say, ‘What a lame procession, not even half as grand as ours last night!’ that's the tradition (dastūr). I will be in my tanjan and stand off to the side.” This was the big day: the prince and his entourage arrived at night; the village they passed through was lit up, along with the road and triumphal arches; they were accompanied by bands and countless flags. At every stop[438] fireworks went off while blue lights added a stunning effect to the scene. The prince led the procession on an Arab horse covered in embroidered trappings; on either side, the horse was adorned with the white tails of the yāk, and it wore ornamental armor made of flowers. On the horse’s head was a jika, an ornament with a heron’s plume, with each feather tipped in gold; its neck, bridle, and crupper were decorated with ornaments and golden chains. Following etiquette, a foot attendant beside the horse held an āftābī, a sun design embroidered on velvet attached to a beautifully decorated staff, carried high as protection from the sun's rays and a symbol of dignity. Another attendant held a magnificent chatr, a silk umbrella embroidered with gold, as a royal mark. In Oude, only the king is entitled to the chatr, except for the resident and his assistant. After that came the elephants, friends, and attendants on horseback, along with palanquins and various native carriages: the procession included platforms carrying dancing girls, held by men, and numerous horses—English, Arab, and local—led by their grooms. Countless torches blazed in every direction, while chirāghs, small lamps fixed on ladders, were carried horizontally by attendants. Artificial trees made of wax, colored paper, and shola, decorated with gold and silver leaf, mica, and colored foil, were carried by numerous men, adding a distinctly Asian effect as the blue lights illuminated them.

When the procession arrived at the entrance to Colonel Gardner’s estate, the doors of the gateway were found closed, and the prince was refused admittance; but after a mock fight, he was allowed to pass through into the grounds. The Begam would not have omitted a Timūrian custom for the world. The dress of the bridegroom consisted entirely of cloth of gold; and across his forehead was bound a sort of fillet (sihrā) made of an embroidery of pearls, from which long strings of gold hung down all over his face to his saddle-bow; and to his mouth he kept a red silk handkerchief closely pressed to prevent devils[439] entering his body! In this heavy dress of gold the prince did not look to advantage.

When the procession reached the entrance to Colonel Gardner’s estate, the gateway doors were closed, and the prince was denied entry; however, after a playful skirmish, he was allowed to proceed into the grounds. The Begam wouldn’t miss a Timūrian tradition for anything. The groom was dressed entirely in gold fabric, and across his forehead, he wore a sort of band (sihrā) made from pearl embroidery, with long strings of gold hanging down over his face to his saddle; he also kept a red silk handkerchief tightly pressed to his mouth to keep evil spirits[439] from entering his body! In this heavy gold attire, the prince didn’t look his best.

I went out with two gentlemen, on a very shabbily-dressed elephant; we stopped by the road-side, and had a good view of the procession. One of the party, Mr. F⸺, attired most becomingly in the native fashion, mounted on a handsome white Arab, caparisoned in purple and gold, looked like a picture in a fairy tale, as he rode amongst the blue lights; his plain dress of fine white dacca muslin, with a white muslin turban, and a handsome black Indian shawl, put round his waist coxcomically in native style, was in very good taste. We remained about an hour viewing the scene,—the effect was excellent; even the old Nawāb of Cambay came out in a tanjan, and looked happy and well pleased. On looking for Colonel Gardner, I saw the dear old man seated on the side of a well, in darkness, and quite removed from the crowd, looking on and smiling at the foolery. Perhaps his thoughts reverted to his own marriage, when he had undergone the same ceremonies: I asked him how he could have endured such folly? He answered, “I was young then; and in love, I would have done or promised any thing.”

I went out with two guys on a really shabby elephant; we stopped by the roadside and got a great view of the parade. One of them, Mr. F⸺, dressed very nicely in the traditional style, was riding a beautiful white Arabian horse, adorned in purple and gold, looking like something out of a fairy tale as he rode among the blue lights. His simple outfit of fine white dacca muslin, with a white muslin turban, and a stylish black Indian shawl wrapped around his waist in a funny native style, was really well put together. We stayed for about an hour taking in the scene—the effect was amazing; even the old Nawāb of Cambay came out in a tanjan and looked happy and satisfied. When I looked for Colonel Gardner, I saw the dear old man sitting by a well in the shadows, quite away from the crowd, watching and smiling at the silliness. Maybe he was thinking about his own wedding when he went through the same ceremonies: I asked him how he could have put up with such nonsense. He replied, “I was young back then; and in love, I would have done or promised anything.”

A very large shamiyāna (awning) was pitched before Colonel Gardner’s house; the ground beneath it was spread with white cloths, on which was placed the Prince’s gaddī, of velvet, embroidered with gold. An immense number of native gentlemen, wedding guests, were present; they came from their tents, which were all pitched on the estate around the house. During the last two days of the wedding, every man, woman, child, horse, elephant, and servant were fed at Colonel Gardner’s expense, and an immense outlay it must have been; my jamadār came to me, and said, “For the next two days your horses and servants will be fed by Colonel Gardner; do not object to it, it would bring ill-luck on the wedding; it is the custom (dastūr).” It is also the custom to sit up the whole night on this occasion; to beguile the time, a great number of brilliant ātāshbāzī (fireworks) were let off, which were fixed in the grounds in front of the house. The dancing girls descended from the platforms on which they had been carried, assembled[440] under the shamiyāna, and sang and attudinized the whole night, one set relieving the other. The Prince seated himself on his gaddī, and the contract of marriage was read to him; it was written in Persian on beautifully illuminated parchment, for which Colonel Gardner paid duty 450 rupees, that is, £45.

A very large awning was set up in front of Colonel Gardner’s house; the ground underneath it was covered with white cloths, on which the Prince’s velvet seat, embroidered with gold, was placed. A huge number of local gentlemen, wedding guests, were present; they came from their tents, which were all set up on the estate around the house. For the last two days of the wedding, every man, woman, child, horse, elephant, and servant were fed at Colonel Gardner’s expense, and it must have been a significant expense; my servant came to me and said, “For the next two days, Colonel Gardner will be providing food for your horses and servants; don’t object to it, as it would bring bad luck to the wedding; it’s the tradition.” It’s also customary to stay awake all night during this occasion; to pass the time, a large number of brilliant fireworks were set off, which were arranged in the grounds in front of the house. The dancing girls came down from the platforms where they had been carried, gathered under the awning, and sang and performed throughout the whole night, with one group taking turns with another. The Prince took his place on his seat, and the marriage contract was read to him; it was written in Persian on beautifully illuminated parchment, for which Colonel Gardner paid a duty of 450 rupees, or £45.

Previous to the signature, it was necessary to gain the formal consent of the bride; for which purpose, Mr. James Gardner took the kāzī (native judge), and two of his native officers, with Mrs. B⸺ and myself, into the zenāna. We stood in an empty room, adjoining that in which were the bride and the Begam, her grandmother; between us was the parda; we could hear, but not see. The kāzī said, “Is Shubbeah Begam present?” “Yes.” “Does Shubbeah Begam give her free consent to marry Mirza Unjun Shekō?” An answer was made, but in so low a tone, it was more like a murmur.

Before the signing, it was important to get the bride's official consent. For this, Mr. James Gardner brought the kāzī (local judge) and two of his officers, along with Mrs. B⸺ and me, into the zenāna. We stood in an empty room next to the one where the bride and her grandmother, the Begam, were located; there was a parda between us, so we could hear but not see. The kāzī asked, “Is Shubbeah Begam here?” “Yes.” “Does Shubbeah Begam give her free consent to marry Mirza Unjun Shekō?” A response was given, but it was so quiet it sounded more like a murmur.

Mr. Gardner said, “You are witnesses, and have heard her give her consent.” I replied, “No; I heard a murmur, but know not what it meant.”

Mr. Gardner said, “You are witnesses, and you’ve heard her agree.” I replied, “No; I heard some murmuring, but I don’t know what it meant.”

The Begam then said, “It is the custom for the bride, from modesty, to be unable to answer; but I, her grandmother, say ‘Yes’ for her.”

The Begam then said, “It's customary for the bride, out of modesty, to be unable to respond; but I, her grandmother, say ‘Yes’ for her.”

The kāzī said, “Mirza Unjun Shekō will settle seven lākh of rupees upon her.”

The kāzī said, “Mirza Unjun Shekō will give her seven lakhs of rupees.”

The Begam answered, “We forgive him two lākh, let him settle five.”

The Begam replied, “We’ll forgive him two lakh, and he can settle for five.”

A lady laughed, and whispered to me, “The young Prince has not five cowries of his own.”

A woman laughed and whispered to me, “The young prince doesn’t have a single cowrie to his name.”

If the bride were to give her consent in words, she would be disgraced for ever as an impudent good-for-nothing; after repeated demands, and sometimes pinchings, her voice is heard in a sort of hem, which, it is taken for granted, means “Yes.”

If the bride were to agree verbally, she would be forever shamed as a shameless good-for-nothing; after repeated requests, and sometimes pinchings, she lets out a sort of hem, which is assumed to mean “Yes.”

A certain number of lumps of sugar were then sent from the bride to the Prince, and we returned to see him sign the contract.

A few lumps of sugar were then sent from the bride to the Prince, and we went back to see him sign the contract.

The kāzī having taken off the veil of gold tissue, and the fillet, that were around the head of the bridegroom, requested him to repeat after him, in Arabic, a portion of some of the[441] chapters in the Kur’ān, and, having explained the contract, asked him if he consented to it; to which he answered in the affirmative; after which the kāzī offered up a supplication in behalf of the betrothed pair; and several other ceremonies were performed.

The kāzī removed the veil of gold fabric and the headband from the bridegroom's head, then asked him to repeat after him, in Arabic, a part of some of the[441] chapters in the Qur’an. After explaining the contract, he asked if the bridegroom agreed to it, to which he replied yes. Following that, the kāzī offered a prayer for the engaged couple, and several other ceremonies were conducted.

The contract, a most curious document, was then read aloud; the Prince, having listened attentively, signed it; and several English gentlemen added their names as witnesses, to make it as binding as possible.

The contract, a very interesting document, was then read out loud; the Prince, having listened carefully, signed it; and several English gentlemen added their names as witnesses to make it as binding as possible.

The dowry is made high as the only security the wife has that her husband will not turn her away as soon as he gets tired of her.

The dowry is set high as the only security the wife has that her husband won’t discard her as soon as he grows tired of her.

Colonel Gardner then took the contract, and said, “I shall keep this in my possession.” I asked him “Why?” He said, “It is generally kept by the bride; as long as she has it the husband behaves well; for a few months he treats her kindly, and she becomes fond of him; he coaxes her out of the contract, or he finds out where she hides it and steals it; when once he has got it into his possession he swears she gave it up willingly, and the contract is void.”

Colonel Gardner then took the contract and said, “I’ll keep this with me.” I asked him, “Why?” He replied, “Typically, the bride keeps it; as long as she has it, the husband acts nicely; for a few months, he treats her well, and she grows fond of him; he sweet-talks her out of the contract, or he figures out where she hides it and steals it; once he has it, he claims she gave it up willingly, and the contract is null and void.”

During the time we were signing the contract, a different scene was going on within the zenāna.

During the time we were signing the contract, a different scene was happening inside the zenāna.

The Prince sent the n’hut (the nose-ring) to the bride, which is equivalent to putting the wedding-ring on the finger in Europe; it was a large thin hoop of gold, and a ruby between two pearls was strung upon it. On receiving it, the bride was taken from her charpāī, on which she had reposed during all the preceding days of this ceremony, in her yellow dress and oily paste, and was bathed. What a luxury that bath must have been, after so many nights and days of penance! She was then dressed in her handsomest attire, richly embroidered garments, and an immense number of jewels; but not one atom of this costume was visible, for over all was placed a large square of cloth of silver, and over that another large square, formed of cloth of gold, which covered her entirely from head to foot, face and all. Over her forehead was bound the same sort of fillet (sihrā) as the Prince wore, composed of strings of pearls and strings of[442] gold, which hung down over the veil so that she could not see, and could scarcely breathe.

The Prince sent the n’hut (the nose-ring) to the bride, which is like putting a wedding ring on someone’s finger in Europe; it was a large, thin hoop of gold with a ruby between two pearls strung on it. When she received it, the bride was lifted from her charpāī, where she had been resting for all the days leading up to this ceremony, dressed in her yellow outfit and oily paste, and was bathed. What a luxury that bath must have been after so many nights and days of penance! She was then dressed in her finest clothes, richly embroidered and covered in an immense number of jewels; but not a glimpse of her attire was visible, because over all was draped a large square of silver cloth, and over that another large square made of gold cloth, which completely covered her from head to toe, including her face. Across her forehead was tied the same kind of fillet (sihrā) the Prince wore, made of strings of pearls and strings of[442] gold, which hung down over the veil so that she could not see and could barely breathe.

When the guns fired at the signing of the contract, the Prince ate the lumps of sugar that had been sent him by the bride; he then arose, and, quitting the male assembly, went into the zenāna, where he was received by the Begam and her guests, and seated on a gaddī. Soon after Mr. James Gardner appeared with the bride in his arms; he carried her from her own room, according to custom, and placed her on the gaddī, by the side of the Prince.

When the guns fired to signal the signing of the contract, the Prince took the lumps of sugar that had been sent to him by the bride. He then stood up, left the gathering of men, and went into the zenāna, where he was welcomed by the Begam and her guests, and seated on a gaddī. Shortly after, Mr. James Gardner came in carrying the bride; he brought her from her own room, as was customary, and set her down on the gaddī next to the Prince.

There she sat, looking like a lump of gold; no one could have imagined a human being was under such a covering; with difficulty she was kept from fainting, the heat was so excessive. Her lips and teeth had been blackened for the first time with misī, and gold and silver dust had been thrown over her face!

There she sat, looking like a heap of gold; no one would have guessed there was a person underneath all that; it was a struggle to keep her from fainting because the heat was so intense. Her lips and teeth had been stained for the first time with misī, and gold and silver dust had been sprinkled all over her face!

Surma (collyrium) also had been applied to her eyelids, at the roots of the lashes, by means of a piece of silver or lead, made in the shape of a probe without the knob at the end. The ladies in attendance on the young Begam then performed innumerable ceremonies; they fed the Prince with sugar-candy, and sifted sugar through his hands; they put a lump of sugar on the head of the bride, off which he took it up in his mouth, and ate it; sugar was placed on her shoulders, on her hands, on her feet, and it was his duty to eat all this misrī off all those parts of her body. The bride’s slipper was concealed under rich coverings, and the grand art appeared to be to make the Prince eat the sugar-candy off the shoe!

Surma (eye makeup) was also applied to her eyelids, right at the base of the lashes, using a silver or lead tool shaped like a probe without a tip. The ladies attending the young Begam then carried out countless rituals; they fed the Prince sugar candy and sifted sugar through his hands. They placed a lump of sugar on the bride's head, which he picked up with his mouth and ate; sugar was placed on her shoulders, hands, and feet, and it was his responsibility to eat all this sugar from those parts of her body. The bride’s slipper was hidden under lavish coverings, and the main goal seemed to be making the Prince eat the sugar candy off the shoe!

The Kur’ān was produced, and some parts of it were read aloud; a large Indian shawl was then spread over the heads of the bride and bridegroom, as they sat on the floor, and the shawl was supported like a canopy by the ladies in attendance. A looking-glass was put into the hands of the Prince, he drew the veil of the bride partly aside, and they beheld each other’s faces for the first time in the looking-glass! At this moment, had any false description of the bride been given to the bridegroom, he had the power of saying, “I have been deceived, the face I see is not the face that was pourtrayed to me; I will not[443] marry this woman.” However, the Prince looked pleased, and so did she, for I saw her smile at this important moment; at which time I particularly observed the expression of their countenances. The Prince took up his bride in his arms,—the golden lump I before described,—and placing her on a silver charpāī, sat down by her side, and fanned her carefully. The poor girl was almost stifled beneath the gold and silver coverings, that oppressed but did not adorn her. By this time the night had nearly passed away; the remainder was taken up with tedious and trivial ceremonies; at last morning dawned, and at 11 A.M. the dowry was counted, and made ready to carry away.

The Qur'an was read aloud, and a large Indian shawl was spread over the heads of the bride and groom as they sat on the floor, supported like a canopy by the women present. A mirror was placed in the Prince's hands, and he partially lifted the bride's veil, allowing them to see each other's faces for the first time in the mirror! At that moment, if the bridegroom had received any false description of the bride, he could have said, “I’ve been misled; the face I see is not the one that was shown to me; I will not marry this woman.” However, the Prince looked happy, and so did she, as I saw her smile at this important moment; I specifically noted the expressions on their faces. The Prince picked up his bride, the golden figure I described earlier, and placed her on a silver charpāī, sitting down beside her and fanning her gently. The poor girl was almost suffocated beneath the gold and silver layers that weighed her down rather than enhanced her beauty. By this time, the night was nearly over; what remained were tedious and trivial ceremonies; finally, morning came, and at 11 A.M. the dowry was counted and prepared to be taken away.

When the moment arrived for the Prince to carry off his bride, the whole of the women in the zenāna came round her, and cried and wept with all their might and main; even those who did not regret her departure cried and wept most furiously. Colonel Gardner was sitting there, looking pale and miserable; when he embraced his grand-daughter, whom he loved, the old man trembled in every limb, the tears dropped from his eyes, and he could scarcely stand. He called the Prince to him, and told him that, according to his treatment of his child should be his own conduct towards him; that if he made her happy he should want for nothing; but if he made her unhappy he would make him miserable. Colonel Gardner then said to me, “When I gave her sister to young Gardner I knew she would be happy; but this poor girl, who may prophesy her fate? However, she wished it; her mother and the Begam had set their hearts upon it; and you know, my betī (my child), women will have their own way.”

When the moment came for the Prince to take his bride, all the women in the zenāna gathered around her, crying and weeping with all their might; even those who weren’t sad to see her go sobbed uncontrollably. Colonel Gardner sat there, looking pale and miserable; when he hugged his beloved granddaughter, the old man trembled all over, tears streaming down his face, and he could barely stay on his feet. He called the Prince over and told him that how he treated his daughter would determine how he treated him; if he made her happy, he would have nothing to worry about, but if he made her unhappy, it would bring him misery. Colonel Gardner then said to me, “When I gave her sister to young Gardner, I knew she would be happy; but this poor girl, who can predict her fate? Still, she wanted this; her mother and the Begam were set on it; and you know, my betī (my child), women will always get their way.”

Although Colonel Gardner always called me his child, and treated me as such, my title in the zenāna was “Fanī Bhū’a,” because his son usually addressed me as “Sister of my Father.”

Although Colonel Gardner always called me his child and treated me like one, my title in the zenāna was “Fanī Bhū’a,” since his son usually addressed me as “Sister of my Father.”

When it was announced that the procession was ready, the Prince took the bride up in his arms, in her lump-like position, and carried her to her palanquin, the purdas of which were then let down, and fastened outside with gold and silver cords.

When it was announced that the procession was ready, the Prince picked up the bride in her awkward position and carried her to her palanquin, the curtains of which were then lowered and secured outside with gold and silver cords.

This taking up a girl who is sitting on the floor in your arms, and carrying her away without touching the ground with your[444] knees, and without any assistance from another person, is a difficult affair to accomplish; to fail in doing it would be deemed unlucky. The bridegroom performed it very cleverly.

This picking up a girl who’s sitting on the floor in your arms, and carrying her away without letting your[444] knees touch the ground, and without any help from anyone else, is a tough thing to pull off; failing at it would be seen as bad luck. The groom managed it really well.

The Prince, in the dress in which he arrived, attended the palanquin on horseback; and the whole of the bride’s dower followed in procession, carried on the heads of men, and displayed to view. One golden-footed bed, and one silver-footed charpāī; a number of large trunks, covered with red cloth, containing cashmere shawls and ready-made clothes, sufficient to last for one year; and unmade clothes, and pieces of kimkhwāb, gold and silver tissues, silks, and pieces of India muslin, enough to last for three years. I saw a large pile of pājāmas for the bride put into one of the trunks, considered sufficient for the wear of a year; besides which, forty pieces, consisting of coloured silks and gold brocades, for the same article of dress, were sent unmade, and deemed sufficient for three years to come. Two elephants, several horses, a very handsome bilee for the lady herself, and several raths for the ladies in attendance upon her; as also a palanquin. Then came, carried on trays, dishes of various sorts, for the household, which were made of pure silver; ewers and chilamchīs of the same; also for the cook-room, every article in iron or copper necessary for the establishment of a newly-married couple; and all these things were of the best description. The jewels for the bride, which were very handsome and very valuable, were carried in state, together with a pāndan for holding betel, and all the ingredients for pān; another box, with partitions for spices, cardamums, &c.; a misī-dān for holding misī (a powder made of vitriol, &c.), with which they tinge the teeth of a black colour; a surmā-dān, for holding surmā (the collyrium which they apply to the eyes, to give them a brilliant appearance); an atr-dān, a gulabpash (for sprinkling rose-water); and every article for the toilet of an Asiatic lady. Quilts, mattresses, pillows, carpets, boxes, lamps; in fact, an endless list; besides male and female slaves, to attend on the newly-married people. A Kur’ān, for the bridegroom, was also carried in procession.

The Prince, dressed as he arrived, rode alongside the palanquin on horseback, and the entire bride’s dowry followed in a parade, carried on the heads of men for all to see. There was one golden-footed bed and one silver-footed charpāī; a number of large trunks covered in red cloth, filled with cashmere shawls and ready-made clothes enough for a year; along with unmade clothes, and pieces of kimkhwāb, gold and silver fabrics, silks, and Indian muslin enough to last for three years. I noticed a large stack of pājāmas for the bride placed in one of the trunks, deemed sufficient for one year; in addition, there were forty pieces made of colored silks and gold brocades, sent unmade, believed to be enough for the next three years. Two elephants, several horses, a beautiful bilee for the lady herself, and a number of raths for the ladies attending her; as well as a palanquin. Then came trays carrying various dishes for the household, made of pure silver; ewers and chilamchīs also made of silver; plus every needed item in iron or copper for setting up a new couple's kitchen; and all of these things were of the highest quality. The bride's jewels, which were very beautiful and valuable, were carried with great care, along with a pāndan for holding betel, and all the ingredients for pān; another box with sections for spices, cardamoms, etc.; a misī-dān for holding misī (a powder made from vitriol, etc.), used to tint the teeth black; a surmā-dān for holding surmā (the collyrium that makes the eyes appear bright); an atr-dān, a gulabpash (for sprinkling rose water); and everything else needed for the grooming of an Asian lady. Quilts, mattresses, pillows, carpets, boxes, lamps; indeed, an endless list; along with male and female servants to attend to the newly married couple. A Kur’ān for the bridegroom was also carried in the procession.

Every thing necessary for the use of a native lady is sent on[445] such an occasion, and these articles are provided for years; head and heel ropes for the horses, and even wooden pegs to secure them, and the bullocks, are sent with the lady, that nothing may be wanting.

Everything a native lady needs is provided for such occasions, and these items are supplied for years; head and heel ropes for the horses, and even wooden pegs to secure them and the bullocks, are sent along with the lady, so that nothing is missing.

The Prince took his bride to his tents, and a remarkable ceremony was there witnessed by Mr. Vigne, which he thus relates:—

The Prince brought his bride to his tents, and a remarkable ceremony was witnessed by Mr. Vigne, who describes it like this:—

“I was admitted, as a great favour, to see a custom, peculiar, I believe, to the Timūrians, and which perhaps no European ever saw before. Immediately after the marriage ceremony the bridegroom has the bride taken to his home; but before she quitted her palanquin, which was set down close to it, she thrust her bared foot—a very pretty one, and dyed with henna at the extremities—through the sliding doors, and the bridegroom touched her great toe with the blood of a goat, which I saw him kill with his own hands, whilst yet in his bridal dress and turban, by then and there cutting its throat. When this was done, the bride withdrew her foot, and I made my bow, and the bride and bridegroom retired to their inner apartments.”

“I was given the privilege to witness a unique custom, I believe, specific to the Timūrians, and one that perhaps no European has ever seen before. Immediately after the wedding ceremony, the groom takes the bride to his home; but before she leaves her palanquin, which was parked right next to it, she extends her bare foot—a very pretty one, dyed with henna at the tips—through the sliding doors, and the groom touches her big toe with the blood of a goat, which I watched him kill himself, still dressed in his wedding outfit and turban, by cutting its throat right there. Once this was done, the bride pulled back her foot, I bowed, and the bride and groom went into their private rooms.”

By the time the procession had quitted the gates of the zenāna, I was very glad to return to my own rooms to bathe preparatory to breakfast. I had eaten nothing during the night but cardamums and prepared betel-nut: had smoked a little of Colonel Gardner’s hooqŭ, and had drank nothing but tea. Mr. Gardner prepared some pān for me in a particular fashion: I ate it, and found it very refreshing. Pān, so universally eaten in India, is made of the leaf of the piper betel, a species of pepper plant, called pān supéarie and betel-nut; but this betel-nut is not the nut of the piper betel, but of the areca catechu, a palm fifty feet in height. The betel-nut is cut up in small bits and wrapped up in the pān-leaf with lime cuttie, which is a bitter gum resin, an astringent vegetable extract, the produce of a species of mimosa (chadira) catechu Japonica; called kuth by the natives, and some slaked lime, or chunā. Pān at marriage feasts is tied up in packets of a triangular shape, and covered with gold and silver leaf and enamelled foil of bright colours: the lime cuttie dyes the gums and tongue a deep red.

By the time the procession left the gates of the zenāna, I was really glad to get back to my own rooms to wash up before breakfast. I hadn’t eaten anything during the night except for cardamoms and prepared betel nut. I had smoked a little of Colonel Gardner’s hooqŭ and only drank tea. Mr. Gardner made some pān for me in a special way: I ate it and found it very refreshing. Pān, which is eaten all over India, is made from the leaf of the piper betel, a type of pepper plant, called pān supéarie, along with betel-nut. But this betel-nut isn’t from the piper betel; it comes from the areca catechu, a palm that grows about fifty feet tall. The betel-nut is chopped into small pieces and wrapped in the pān leaf with lime cuttie, which is a bitter gum resin, an astringent plant extract from a species of mimosa called catechu Japonica; the locals refer to it as kuth, along with some slaked lime, or chunā. At wedding feasts, pān is wrapped in triangular packets, covered with gold and silver leaf and bright colored enamel foil. The lime cuttie stains the gums and tongue a deep red.

[446]

[446]

I was quite fresh and free from headache: had I sat up all night in England, where we eat supper, it would have made me ill. Colonel Gardner came in to breakfast, and kissing me on the forehead, said, “Mera betī (my child), you are less fatigued than any one.” The Prince lived with his bride at the tents for three days, after which they returned to Colonel Gardner’s to perform the final ceremony of playing the chāotree.

I felt great and didn’t have a headache: if I had stayed up all night in England, where we have dinner, I would’ve felt terrible. Colonel Gardner came in for breakfast, and after kissing me on the forehead, he said, “Mera betī (my child), you look less tired than anyone.” The Prince stayed with his bride at the tents for three days, after which they went back to Colonel Gardner’s to complete the final ceremony of playing the chāotree.


[447]

[447]

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE CHAOTREE.

“ONE SNAKE HAS BIT THEM ALL[150].”

“ONE SNAKE HAS BITTEN THEM ALL[150].”

“THE PRINCESS HAS GROWN FOOLISH, SHE PELTS HER OWN RELATIONS WITH SWEETMEATS, OTHERS WITH STONES[151].”

“THE PRINCESS HAS GROWN FOOLISH, SHE THROWS SWEETS AT HER OWN RELATIVES, OTHERS WITH ROCKS[151].”

“THEY HAVE SCATTERED DATŪRA (thorn apple) IN THE AIR[152].”

“THEY HAVE SCATTERED DATŪRA (thorn apple) IN THE AIR[152].”

i.e. the people are all gone mad.

i.e. everyone has lost it.

The Chāotree—Timūrian Dance—Churees—Finale of the Wedding—Jhanee Khanum—The Zenāna Doll—Jealousy of the Natives—Meals of the Slave Girls—Tara the pretty Slave—Conduct of English Ladies considered extraordinary—Poppy-heads—Devotion of Native Women to their Husbands—Illness of Colonel Gardner—Burial-ground of the Family—My Departure—Death of Colonel Gardner, and of his Begam—Orders of Knighthood—Remarks on the Muhammadān Religion and the Punishments of the Grave.

The Chāotree—Timūrian Dance—Churees—Finale of the Wedding—Jhanee Khanum—The Zenāna Doll—Jealousy of the Natives—Meals of the Slave Girls—Tara the pretty Slave—Conduct of English Ladies considered extraordinary—Poppy-heads—Devotion of Native Women to their Husbands—Illness of Colonel Gardner—Burial ground of the Family—My Departure—Death of Colonel Gardner, and of his Begam—Orders of Knighthood—Remarks on the Muhammadān Religion and the Punishments of the Grave.

1835, April 2nd.—The chāotree was to be played this day, it being the finale of the wedding. When the Prince and Shubbeah arrived at Khāsgunge they came into the zenāna, and were seated on the gaddī; a large number of trays, containing fruits and vegetables of every description, fresh from the garden, were placed before them, with sugar, &c. Shubbeah had divested herself of her bridal attire, and wore the peshwāz, the court dress of Delhi, which was made of Benares tissue of gold and silver, and she wore all her jewels. Nine fruits of different sorts were wrapped in a cloth, and suspended round her waist by her attendants; it had a curious effect, because the whole[448] was placed beneath her garments; she arose, encumbered with these fruits, and made salām to each of the four corners of the room. Her hair was then decked with natural flowers, her face having previously been covered with silver dust; and she and the Prince were both fed with sugar off a rupee. A stick, ornamented with silver tissue, was given to him, and another to her, with which they pretended to beat each other; these silver wands were presented to all the ladies, and wands covered with flowers were given to the slaves. For some days before the chāotree, the Begam had been employed in teaching the ladies in the zenāna and the slave girls a particular dance, the ancient Princess herself dancing with them, with a silver wand in her hand. I mentioned this to Colonel Gardner; he said, “It is very remarkable that, at weddings, all the ladies of this family perform this particular nāch, but at no other time do they dance; it would lower their dignity.” This is an old Tartar dance, and always performed at weddings amongst the Timūrians; it is the dastūr. The tamāshā consisted in beating each other with these silver sticks, and throwing handfuls of fruits, of turnips, of oranges, of pomegranates, in fact, any thing that could be seized from the trays, at each other; the slaves joining in the fun, breaking the glass windows by accident, and doing much damage. The more you pelt a person, the greater the compliment; sharp jealousy was created in many a breast this day, the source of much anxiety afterwards. This is called playing the chāotree, and finishes the ceremonies of the wedding.

1835, April 2nd.—The chāotree was set to happen today, marking the conclusion of the wedding. When the Prince and Shubbeah arrived at Khāsgunge, they entered the zenāna and took their seats on the gaddī. A large number of trays filled with fresh fruits and vegetables from the garden were laid out before them, along with sugar, etc. Shubbeah had changed out of her bridal dress and wore the peshwāz, the court outfit of Delhi, made of golden and silver Benares fabric, along with all her jewels. Nine different types of fruits were wrapped in cloth and hung around her waist by her attendants; this created a unique appearance since everything was hidden beneath her garments. She stood up, weighed down by these fruits, and bowed to each of the four corners of the room. Her hair was adorned with natural flowers, and her face had been dusted with silver. Both she and the Prince were fed pieces of sugar from a rupee. They were each given a stick covered in silver tissue, which they pretended to hit each other with; these silver wands were also given to all the ladies, while flower-covered wands were distributed to the servants. In the days leading up to the chāotree, the Begam had been busy teaching the ladies in the zenāna and the female slaves a special dance, with the ancient Princess joining them, holding a silver wand. I mentioned this to Colonel Gardner, who remarked, “It’s quite unusual that at weddings, all the ladies of this family perform this particular dance, but they don't dance at any other time; it would be beneath their dignity.” This is an old Tartar dance, always done at weddings among the Timūrians; it’s the dastūr. The tamāshā involved playfully hitting each other with the silver sticks and throwing handfuls of fruits, turnips, oranges, and pomegranates—anything that could be grabbed from the trays—at one another. The servants joined in the fun, accidentally breaking glass windows and causing quite a bit of damage. The more you hit someone, the greater the compliment. Today, sharp jealousy stirred in many hearts, leading to much anxiety later. This event is called playing the chāotree and marks the end of the wedding ceremonies.

Soon after, a woman came in, with a large basket full of chūrīs for the arms (bracelets), which were made of rings of glass, ornamented with beads. Every body at the wedding, from the Begam to the youngest slave, had chūrīs put on their arms; I was also decorated. These rings are extremely small; to put them on requires considerable art, it being necessary to mull the hand, and render it very pliant, before it can pass through so very small a circumference as that of the churee.

Soon after, a woman came in with a big basket full of chūrīs (bracelets) made of glass rings decorated with beads. Everyone at the wedding, from the Begam to the youngest servant, got chūrīs on their arms; I was also adorned with them. These rings are really small, and putting them on takes some skill; you have to soften your hand and make it very flexible to get it through the tiny opening of the chūrī.

Thus ended the wedding of Prince Unjun Shekō and Shubbeah Begam. They quitted their tents, and went to reside at a pretty[449] little fort and indigo factory, the property of Colonel Gardner, at Moreechee.

Thus ended the wedding of Prince Unjun Shekō and Shubbeah Begam. They left their tents and went to live in a charming little fort and indigo factory owned by Colonel Gardner, at Moreechee.[449]

The dūlhān (bride) visits her mother on the four first Fridays after her marriage, on each of which the dūlhā (bridegroom) is bribed with a full suit.

The bride visits her mother on the first four Fridays after her wedding, and on each of these days, the groom is treated to a complete outfit as a gift.

“A marriage may be celebrated with a mŭn of rice as well as a mŭn of pearls[153].”

“A marriage can be celebrated with a mound of rice just as easily as with a mound of pearls[153].”

Another wedding immediately began, that of Jhanee Khanum, an adopted daughter of Colonel Gardner’s, a slave girl; but I did not stay to witness it, having before seen the grand display.

Another wedding immediately began, that of Jhanee Khanum, an adopted daughter of Colonel Gardner, who was a slave girl; but I didn’t stay to watch it, having already seen the grand display.

It is the custom in the zenāna for every young lady to adopt the child of a slave, which serves as a doll, an amusement for her. Shubbeah had an adopted child, for whom she will have eventually to provide; and every lady in the zenāna had an adopted daughter of the same description. The slaves are a set of the most idle, insolent, good-tempered, thievish, laughing girls I ever saw. I should think, counting babies, slaves and all, there must have been two hundred souls within the four walls of Colonel Gardner’s zenāna.

It’s a tradition in the zenāna for every young woman to adopt a child of a slave, which acts as a doll or a source of amusement for her. Shubbeah had an adopted child that she will eventually have to take care of; and every woman in the zenāna had an adopted daughter in the same way. The slaves are a group of the most lazy, disrespectful, cheerful, thieving, and giggling girls I’ve ever seen. I would guess, including babies, slaves, and everyone else, there were about two hundred people within the four walls of Colonel Gardner’s zenāna.

The prince allowed his brothers to see the bride the day of the wedding, but said he should not allow them to see her in future. A native woman thinks this sort of jealousy very flattering, and prides herself upon it.

The prince let his brothers see the bride on the day of the wedding, but said he wouldn't allow them to see her again in the future. A local woman finds this kind of jealousy very flattering and takes pride in it.

The mother of Shubbeah was the happiest of the happy: in her idea, her child had made the finest match in the world, by marrying a prince of the house of Delhi, although she was brought up a Christian, he a follower of the prophet. Her other daughter was happily married, her husband being very fond of native life and native customs.

The mother of Shubbeah was the happiest person around: in her eyes, her child had made the best match ever by marrying a prince from the Delhi dynasty, even though she was raised as a Christian and he was a follower of the prophet. Her other daughter was also happily married, with a husband who loved local life and traditions.

At noon all the slave girls came for their dinners; each had given her a great chapātī (cake of flour) as large as a plate, and this was filled brim full from two great vessels of curry and rice. This repast took place again at eight in the evening. One day, just as they were beginning their meal, I sat down in the verandah and played[450] an Hindostanee air on a sitar (a native instrument made of a gourd); up started all the slaves in an instant and set to, dancing with their food in their hands and their mouths full! Each slave girl carried her curry and rice on the wheaten cake, which was about the size of a plate, and used it as such; until having eaten the contents she finished with the cake. In spite of their dexterity in putting the food down their throats without dropping the rice or soiling their dresses, the fingers retain a considerable portion of the yellow turmeric and the greasy ghee! They eat custards, rice, and milk, and more fluid food with the hand, sucking the fingers to clean them, and afterwards wipe them dry with a chapātī! They were merry, and fat, and happy, unless the Begam happened to catch one out in a theft, when the other girls punished her. Some of the slaves were pretty girls, and great favourites. To show how little they had to do, the following anecdote may suffice. A pretty slave girl was sitting by my bedside; I held out my hand, and desired her to shampoo it: the girl’s countenance became clouded, and she did not offer to do it—her name was Tara (the Star). “Why do you not mull my hand, Tara?” said I. “Oh,” she replied, “I never mull the hand; the other girls do that; I only mull the Colonel Sāhib’s eyebrows. I can take the pain from them when he is ill;—that is my duty. I will not shampoo the hand.” I laughed at her description of the work that fell to her lot as a slave, and said, “Well, Tara, mull my eyebrows; my head aches;” with the greatest good-humour she complied, and certainly charmed away the pain. It is the great luxury of the East.

At noon, all the slave girls came for their lunches; each had a large chapātī (a round flatbread) the size of a plate, filled to the brim with curry and rice from two big pots. They had another meal at eight in the evening. One day, just as they were starting their meal, I sat down on the verandah and played an Indian tune on a sitar (a traditional instrument made from a gourd). Suddenly, all the slaves jumped up, dancing with food in their hands and their mouths full! Each girl used her chapātī, which was about the size of a plate, to carry her curry and rice until she finished eating and then devoured the bread. Despite their skill in getting the food down without dropping rice or soiling their dresses, their fingers still ended up covered with yellow turmeric and greasy ghee! They ate custards, rice, and other liquid foods with their hands, sucking their fingers to clean them, then wiping them dry with a chapātī! They were joyful, plump, and content unless the Begam caught one stealing, in which case the other girls would punish her. Some of the slave girls were pretty and quite popular. To illustrate how little work they had, here's a story: a pretty slave girl was sitting by my bedside. I reached out my hand and asked her to massage it. Her expression turned sour, and she didn’t offer to do it—her name was Tara (the Star). “Why won’t you massage my hand, Tara?” I asked. “Oh,” she replied, “I never massage hands; the other girls do that. I only massage Colonel Sāhib’s eyebrows. I can relieve the pain when he’s unwell—that’s my duty. I won’t massage your hand.” I laughed at her explanation of her tasks as a slave and said, “Well, Tara, then just massage my eyebrows; my head hurts.” With a cheerful attitude, she agreed and truly eased the pain. It’s one of the great luxuries of the East.

I might have lived fifty years in India and never have seen a native wedding. It is hardly possible for a European lady to be present at one. Alaida and her sister the Evening Star learnt to read and write Persian; a very old moonshee was allowed to teach them. Musulmānī ladies generally forget their learning when they grow up, or they neglect it. Every thing that passes without the four walls is reported to them by their spies: never was any place so full of intrigue, scandal, and chit-chat as a zenāna. Making up marriages is their great delight, and the[451] bustle attendant on the ceremonies. They dote upon their children, and are so selfish they will not part from them to allow them to go to school, if it be possible to avoid it. The girls, of course, never quit the zenāna. Within the four walls surrounding the zenāna at Khāsgunge is a pretty garden, with a summer-house in the centre; fountains play before it, and they are fond of spending their time out of doors. During the rains they take great delight in swinging under the large trees in the open air. They never ride on horseback, or go on the water for pleasure. They are very fond of atr of all sorts, the scent of which is overpowering in their houses. They put scented oil on their hair; to eau-de-Cologne and lavender-water they have the greatest aversion, declaring it to be gin, to drink! The prophet forbade all fermented liquors, after a battle which he nearly lost by his soldiers getting drunk, and being surprised.

I could have lived fifty years in India and never seen a native wedding. It's almost impossible for a European woman to be part of one. Alaida and her sister the Evening Star learned to read and write Persian; a very old teacher was allowed to instruct them. Muslim women generally forget their education as they grow up, or they simply neglect it. Everything happening outside the four walls is reported to them by their spies: there's never been a place so filled with intrigue, gossip, and chatter as a zenana. Arranging marriages is their favorite pastime, along with the excitement surrounding the ceremonies. They dote on their children and are so selfish that they won't let them go to school if they can avoid it. The girls, of course, never leave the zenana. Inside the walls of the zenana at Khāsgunge is a lovely garden with a summer house in the center; fountains play in front of it, and they enjoy spending time outdoors. During the rainy season, they take great pleasure in swinging under the large trees in the open air. They never ride horses or go boating for fun. They really love perfume of all kinds, the scent of which can be overwhelming in their homes. They use scented oil in their hair; they have a strong dislike for perfume like eau-de-Cologne and lavender water, claiming it smells like gin, to drink! The prophet banned all fermented drinks after a battle he nearly lost because his soldiers got drunk and were caught off guard.

The old Begam said to Colonel Gardner, “They are curious creatures, these English ladies; I cannot understand them or their ways,—their ways are so odd!” And yet the Begam must have seen so many European ladies, I wonder she had not become more reconciled to our odd ways.

The old Begam said to Colonel Gardner, “These English ladies are strange creatures; I can't get them or their ways — their ways are so weird!” And yet, the Begam must have seen so many European ladies, I wonder why she hadn't gotten more used to our weird ways.

The conduct that shocked them was our dining with men not our relations, and that too with uncovered faces. A lady’s going out on horseback is monstrous. They could not comprehend my galloping about on that great English horse, just where I pleased, with one or two gentlemen and the coachman as my attendants. My not being afraid to sleep in the dark without having half a dozen slave girls snoring around me, surprised them. My remaining alone writing in my own room, my not being unhappy when I was alone,—in fact, they looked upon me as a very odd creature. It was almost impossible to enjoy solitude, the slave girls were peeping under the corner of every parda. Some one or other was always coming to talk to me; sometimes asking me to make up a marriage! If a native lady is relating a story, and you look incredulous, she exclaims, “I swear to God it is true!” They are very fond of this exclamation. One day, in the gardens, I was talking to Tara, the[452] pretty slave girl, when she darted away over the poppy beds, screaming out, “I swear to God there is a ripe poppy-head!” and she came back with her ripe poppy-head, out of which she beat the seeds on the palm of her hand, and ate them. She then brought some more for me, which I ate in her fashion. The half-ripe seeds of the poppy eaten raw, and fresh gathered, are like almonds; they do not intoxicate. “Remember,” said Tara, “after dinner you shall have a dish sent you; partake of it, you will like it.” It is made thus; gather three or four young poppy-heads when they are full of opium, and green; split each head into four parts, fry them in a little butter, a very little, only just enough to fry them, with some pepper and salt—send them to table, with the dessert. The flavour is very pleasant, and if you only eat enough, you will become as tipsy as mortal may desire. We had them often at Colonel Gardner’s; and I have felt rather sleepy from eating them. The old nawab was in his glory when he had two or three spoonfuls of these poppy-heads in his plate, one of which is a good dose. I was so fond of the unripe seeds, that I never went into the garden, but the mālī brought me ten or twelve heads, which I usually finished at once. There were some beds of the double red poppy, especially set apart for the Begam, the opium from that poppy being reckoned the finest; a couple of lumps of opium were collected, and brought in daily. Colonel Gardner said to me, “The Begam is perplexed; she wants to know how you, a married woman, can have received the gift of a nose-ring from a gentleman not your husband? She says the nose-ring is the bridal ring. She is perplexed.” I had differed in opinion with a gentleman: he said, “I will bet you a nose-ring you are in the wrong.” The native jewellers had been at the house that morning showing their nose-rings, and other native ornaments. I accepted the bet, and was victorious: the gentleman presented me with a nose-ring, which I declined, because its value was one hundred and sixty rupees, i.e. £16. “I will accept the n’hut I have won, but it must be one from the bazār, which will be an exact imitation of this ring, and will cost one rupee and a half.” It was accordingly procured for me. The Begam having heard this story was perplexed[453] until it was explained to her, that I was not going to marry the gentleman, and had only accepted the nose-ring to make a native dress perfect.

The behavior that shocked them was my dining with men who weren't family, and that too with my face uncovered. A woman riding out on horseback is considered outrageous. They couldn't understand my galloping around on that big English horse wherever I wanted, with one or two gentlemen and the coachman as my companions. The fact that I wasn't scared to sleep in the dark without a crowd of slave girls snoozing around me surprised them. They thought it was very strange that I could stay in my own room and write, and that I wasn't unhappy being alone. In fact, they viewed me as quite a peculiar person. It was nearly impossible to enjoy solitude since the slave girls would peek around every corner of the parda. Someone was always coming to chat with me; sometimes asking me to arrange a marriage! If a local woman was telling a story and you looked doubtful, she would exclaim, "I swear to God it's true!" They're really fond of that expression. One day, in the gardens, I was talking to Tara, the pretty slave girl, when she darted away over the poppy beds, shouting, “I swear to God there's a ripe poppy-head!” She returned with the ripe poppy-head, out of which she beat the seeds on her palm and ate them. Then she brought some more for me, which I ate her way. The half-ripe seeds of the poppy, eaten raw and freshly picked, taste like almonds; they don’t get you high. “Remember,” Tara said, “after dinner, you’ll have a dish sent to you; try it, you’ll like it.” Here’s how it’s made: pick three or four young poppy-heads when they’re full of opium and green; split each head into four parts, fry them in just a little butter, with some pepper and salt—then serve it with dessert. The flavor is really nice, and if you eat enough, you’ll feel pleasantly tipsy. We often had them at Colonel Gardner’s, and I felt a bit sleepy after eating them. The old nawab loved it when he had two or three spoonfuls of these poppy-heads on his plate, which is a good dose. I liked the unripe seeds so much that whenever I went into the garden, the mālī would bring me ten or twelve heads, which I usually finished right away. There were beds of double red poppies specially set aside for the Begam, as the opium from those poppies is considered the best; a couple of lumps of opium were collected and brought in daily. Colonel Gardner said to me, “The Begam is confused; she wants to know how you, a married woman, received a nose-ring from a gentleman who isn’t your husband? She says the nose-ring is a bridal ring. She’s perplexed.” I had disagreed with a gentleman: he said, “I’ll bet you a nose-ring you’re wrong.” The local jewelers had been at the house that morning showing their nose-rings and other traditional ornaments. I accepted the bet and won: the gentleman offered me a nose-ring, which I declined because it was worth one hundred and sixty rupees, i.e., £16. “I’ll take the nose-ring I’ve won, but it must be one from the bazār, which will be an exact imitation of this ring and will cost just one and a half rupees.” It was arranged for me accordingly. Once the Begam heard this story, she was confused until it was explained to her that I wasn't going to marry the gentleman and had only accepted the nose-ring to complete a native outfit.

Three of the slave girls, wishing to see the world, I suppose, went to the Begam, and asked her to give them to me. She laughed and told me their request.

Three of the slave girls, wanting to see the world, I guess, went to the Begam and asked her to give them to me. She laughed and told me about their request.

Science has not yet entered the confines of the zenāna; nature and superstition reign supreme; nevertheless, native women suffer less on the birth of a child than the women of Europe. The first nourishment given an infant medicinally is composed of umaltass (cassia fistula), sugar, aniseed water, and russote, from a colt just born! Native women do not approve of flannel for infants, thinking it excites the skin too much.

Science has not yet penetrated the boundaries of the zenāna; nature and superstitions hold sway; however, local women experience less distress during childbirth compared to women in Europe. The initial nourishment given to a newborn is a mixture made of umaltass (cassia fistula), sugar, aniseed water, and the milk from a mare just after giving birth! Local women avoid using flannel for infants, believing it irritates the skin too much.

In page 230 is the following remark by Colonel Gardner,—“Nothing can exceed the quarrels that go on in a zenāna, or the complaints the Begams make against each other; a common complaint is, such an one has been practising witchcraft against me.” The following extracts will account for their belief in witchcraft. “Aa’yeshah said, ‘His Majesty was bewitched while he was with me, and he prayed to God, and then said, ‘O Aa’yeshah! do you know, that verily God gave me what I asked him? Two men came to me, one sitting at my head, the other at my feet; and one of them said to the other, ‘What is the cause of his Majesty’s pain and illness?’ The other said, ‘The man has been bewitched.’ The other asked, ‘Who did it?’ He said, ‘Labid-bin-As’am, the Jew.’ The first said, ‘In what thing?’ The other replied, ‘In a comb, and in the hair which falls from it, and in the film of the male date bud.’ And one of them said, ‘Where has he put them?’ The other said, ‘In the well Dharwān.’ Then his Majesty sent Alī and Omer to bring the things out of the well; and they found in the bud an image of his Majesty, made with wax, with needles stuck into it, and a thread tied upon it, with eleven knots in it. Then Gabriel brought the chapters imploring protection, every verse of which repeated opened one of the knots; and his Majesty received ease from every needle that was pulled out of it.”

In page 230 is the following remark by Colonel Gardner: “Nothing can match the arguments that happen in a zenāna, or the complaints the Begams have against one another; a common complaint is that someone has been practicing witchcraft against me.” The following excerpts will explain their belief in witchcraft. “Aa’yeshah said, ‘His Majesty was under a spell while he was with me, and he prayed to God, then said, ‘O Aa’yeshah! Do you know that God has granted me what I asked for? Two men came to me, one sitting at my head, the other at my feet; and one of them said to the other, ‘What is causing His Majesty’s pain and illness?’ The other replied, ‘The man has been bewitched.’ The first asked, ‘Who did it?’ He said, ‘Labid-bin-As’am, the Jew.’ The first asked, ‘In what?’ The other replied, ‘In a comb, and in the hair that falls from it, and in the film of the male date bud.’ And one of them asked, ‘Where has he put them?’ The other answered, ‘In the well Dharwān.’ Then His Majesty sent Alī and Omer to retrieve the items from the well; and they found in the bud an image of His Majesty made of wax, with needles stuck into it and a thread wrapped around it, containing eleven knots. Then Gabriel brought the chapters requesting protection, each verse of which, when recited, loosened one of the knots; and His Majesty felt relief with every needle that was removed.”

[454]

[454]

“His Highness permitted spells being used, to counteract the effects of a malignant eye; and on those bit by snakes, or scorpions, and for sores in the side. A man said to his Majesty, ‘We made use of charms in the time of ignorance, may we use them now or not?’ He said, ‘Describe your spells to me, that I may see the meaning of them; there is no fear in using spells which do not associate any thing with God.’”

“His Highness allowed the use of spells to combat the effects of an evil eye, as well as for those bitten by snakes or scorpions, and for sores in the side. A man asked his Majesty, ‘We used charms in times of ignorance, can we use them now or not?’ He replied, ‘Tell me about your spells so I can understand their meaning; there’s no harm in using spells that don’t associate anything with God.’”

“Zainab, wife of Abdullah-bin-Masu’ud, said, ‘Abdullah saw a thread round my neck, and said, ‘What is this?’ I said, ‘This is a thread which has been made as a charm for me.’ Then he took and broke it to pieces; after that he said, ‘O family of Abdullah! verily you stand not in need of this kind of charm used by the polytheists; because I heard the Prophet say, Verily, spells and tying to the necks of children the nails of tearing animals, and the thread which is tied round a wife’s neck, to make her husband love her, are all in the way of the polytheists.’”

“Zainab, wife of Abdullah-bin-Masu’ud, said, ‘Abdullah saw a thread around my neck and asked, ‘What is this?’ I replied, ‘This is a thread that was made as a charm for me.’ He then took it and broke it into pieces. After that, he said, ‘O family of Abdullah! You really don’t need this kind of charm used by the polytheists, because I heard the Prophet say that spells, tying the nails of tearing animals around the necks of children, and the thread tied around a wife’s neck to make her husband love her, are all practices of the polytheists.’”

“Then I said to Abdullah, ‘Why do you say so? Verily, I had such a pain in my eyes that I thought they would have fallen out; and I went to a Jew; and when he applied a spell I got ease.’ Then Abdullah said, ‘This is nothing but the work of the devil; he was shaking your eyes with his hands, and when the spell was used he stopped. It will be sufficient for you to repeat such words as his Majesty used to say: O Cherisher of men! remove this punishment, and give ease; thou art the giver of health, there is no cure but from thee, the remover of sickness.’”

“Then I said to Abdullah, ‘Why do you say that? Honestly, I had such a pain in my eyes that I thought they would fall out; and I went to a Jew; and when he used a spell, I felt better.’ Then Abdullah said, ‘That's nothing but the work of the devil; he was shaking your eyes with his hands, and when the spell was cast, he stopped. You just need to repeat words like what his Majesty used to say: O Cherisher of men! remove this punishment, and grant relief; you are the giver of health, and there is no cure except from you, the remover of sickness.’”

“A man said, ‘O messenger of God! verily the family of Jaspar are soon affected by the baneful influence of a malignant eye; may I use spells for them or not?’ His Majesty said, ‘Yes; for the eye has a complete influence; because, verily, if there was a thing to overcome fate, it most certainly would be a malignant eye.’”

“A man said, ‘O messenger of God! Truly, the family of Jaspar is soon affected by the harmful influence of a jealous eye; can I use spells for them or not?’ His Majesty replied, ‘Yes; for the eye has a powerful impact; because, if there was anything that could change destiny, it would certainly be a jealous eye.’”

Sons are of inestimable value; the birth of a daughter is almost a calamity; but even the mother blest with a son is not likely to remain long without a rival in the heart of her husband, since[455] ninety-nine out of a hundred take new wives; besides the concubines given by the mother before marriage!

Sons are incredibly valuable; the birth of a daughter is almost viewed as a disaster; however, even a mother who is fortunate enough to have a son is unlikely to keep her husband's affection for long, as[455] ninety-nine out of a hundred men marry again; not to mention the concubines provided by the mother before marriage!

When a Muhammadan has sworn to separate himself from his wife, she retires to her own apartments, and does not behold her husband for four months; if they are not reconciled by the end of that time, all their ties are broken; the woman recovers her liberty, and receives, on quitting the house, the property settled on her by the contract of marriage. The girls follow the mother, the boys remain with the father. The husband cannot send her from his house until the expiration of the four months.

When a Muslim man has sworn to separate from his wife, she moves into her own place and doesn’t see her husband for four months. If they haven’t reconciled by the end of that period, all their connections are severed; the woman regains her freedom and receives the property outlined in their marriage contract when she leaves the house. The daughters stay with the mother, while the sons remain with the father. The husband cannot send her away from his home until the four months are up.

One day Colonel Gardner was ill; he was in the large garden without. The Begam begged me to go to him; she dared not leave the zenāna, even to assist her husband, who was so ill that his attendants had run in for aid! I went to him. After a time he was better, and wished to return to the house; he leaned on my shoulder for support, and led the way to the burial-ground of his son Allan, just without the garden. He sat down on a tomb, and we had a long conversation; “If it were not for old age, and the illness it brings on,” said he, “we should never be prepared, never ready to leave this world. I shall not last long; I shall not see you again, my betī; I wish to be buried by the side of my son; but I have spoken to James about it. The poor Begam, she will not survive me long; mark my words,—she will not say much, but she will take my death to heart, she will not long survive me: when her son Allan died she pounded her jewels in a mortar.” Shortly afterwards we returned to the house.

One day, Colonel Gardner was unwell; he was in the big garden outside. The Begam asked me to go to him; she couldn’t leave the zenāna, even to help her husband, who was so ill that his attendants had rushed in for help! I went to him. After a while, he felt better and wanted to go back to the house; he leaned on my shoulder for support and led the way to the cemetery of his son Allan, just outside the garden. He sat down on a grave, and we had a long conversation. “If it weren’t for old age and the illnesses that come with it,” he said, “we’d never be prepared, never ready to leave this world. I won’t last much longer; I won’t see you again, my dear; I want to be buried next to my son, but I’ve talked to James about it. The poor Begam, she won’t survive me for long; mark my words—she won’t say much, but she will take my death hard, she won’t last long after me: when her son Allan died, she crushed her jewels in a mortar.” Soon after, we went back to the house.

It may appear extraordinary to an European lady that the Begam, in her affliction, should have pounded her jewels in a mortar: ornaments are put aside in times of mourning; and jewellery with native ladies is highly prized, not merely for its own sake—that of adding to their beauty, but as a proof of the estimation in which they are held by their husbands. If a man be angry with his wife, he will take away her jewels, and not allow her to wear them; if pleased, it is his delight to cover her with the most valuable ornaments, precious stones set in pure gold. The quantity and value of the jewellery thus ascertains[456] the rank to which a lady is entitled in this sort of domestic “order of merit;” the women pride themselves upon this adornment, and delight in jewellery as much as the men of England in stars and garters.

It might seem unusual to a European woman that the Begam, in her sorrow, chose to crush her jewels. Normally, ornaments are put away during mourning, and jewelry is highly valued by native women, not just for enhancing their beauty, but as a sign of how much their husbands appreciate them. When a man is upset with his wife, he will take away her jewels and won't let her wear them; when he’s happy, he loves to adorn her with the most valuable pieces, precious stones set in pure gold. The amount and worth of jewelry indicate a lady’s rank in this domestic “order of merit.” Women take pride in this adornment and enjoy jewelry just as much as men in England enjoy their stars and garters.[456]

A lady wears slippers only out of doors, and puts them off on entering the house; the slippers are of various forms and patterns; some of them are square at the toes, and have iron heels. “She combs his head with the iron heel of her slipper,” is applied to a woman who domineers over her husband. The slippers for the ladies are of cloth, of the gayest colours, ornamented with embroidery of gold and silver, adorned with seed pearls, and with beetle wings, which are worked into flowers upon the cloth, and cover the long peak that turns up over the toes.

A woman only wears slippers outside and takes them off when she enters the house. The slippers come in different shapes and designs; some are square-toed and have metal heels. The phrase “She combs his head with the iron heel of her slipper” describes a woman who is domineering towards her husband. The ladies' slippers are made of fabric in bright colors, decorated with gold and silver embroidery, embellished with seed pearls, and featuring beetle wings that are crafted into flower designs on the fabric, which cover the long pointed part that turns up over the toes.

Stockings are never worn; but I have seen little coloured socks, made of the wool of Cashmir, worn at times during the cold season. The ankles of a native lady are decorated with massive rings, called kurrā; those worn by the Begam were of gold, thickly studded with jewels; the ladies had them of solid embossed gold; and for the slaves, they were of solid silver. These rings are generally hexagonal or octagonal, of an equal thickness throughout, and terminated by a knob at each end. The gold or the silver of which they are composed being pure metal, they may be opened sufficiently to be put on or off at pleasure; the ends being brought together by the pressure of the hand.

Stockings aren't worn, but I've seen some little colored socks made from Cashmere wool that people wear during the cold season. The ankles of local women are adorned with large rings called kurrā; the ones worn by the Begam are made of gold and set with lots of jewels; the other ladies wear solid embossed gold, while the slave women have them in solid silver. These rings are usually hexagonal or octagonal, the same thickness all around, and finished with a knob at each end. Since the gold or silver is pure metal, they can be opened enough to put on or take off easily by pressing them together with the hand.

Another ornament consists of a great number of small bells, ghoonghroo, strung on a cord, and worn around the ankle, hanging to the heel. It is reckoned very correct to wear these tinkling bells; if a native wishes to praise a woman most highly, he says, “She has never seen the sun, she always wears bells.”

Another ornament is made up of a bunch of small bells, called ghoonghroo, strung on a cord and worn around the ankle, hanging down to the heel. It's considered very proper to wear these tinkling bells; when someone wants to compliment a woman greatly, they say, “She has never seen the sun, she always wears bells.”

In lieu of this string of bells, another ornament is often worn, called pāezēb, which consists of heavy rings of silver, resembling a horse’s curb chain, but much broader, set with a fringe of small spherical bells, all of which tinkle at every motion of the limb; and all the toes are adorned with rings, some of which are furnished with little bells; such rings are called ghoonghroodar chhallā. The ladies wear their dresses, unless they be grand[457] dresses for occasions of state, until they are dirty; perhaps for five or six days together; the dresses are then thrown away, and they put on new attire.

Instead of this string of bells, another accessory is often worn, called pāezēb, which consists of heavy silver rings that look like a horse’s curb chain but are much wider, decorated with a fringe of small spherical bells that jingle with every movement of the limb. All the toes are decorated with rings, some of which have tiny bells; these rings are called ghoonghroodar chhallā. The ladies wear their outfits, unless they are formal dresses for special occasions, until they get dirty, which might be for five or six days in a row. After that, the dresses are tossed aside, and they put on new clothes.

5th.—I took leave of my dear Colonel Gardner, and quitted him with a heavy heart, for I saw how feeble his health had become, how necessary quiet and attention were for him, and I knew that, left to the care of natives, his comfort would be little considered.

5th.—I said goodbye to my dear Colonel Gardner and left him feeling very sad, because I could see how weak his health had become, how important it was for him to have peace and care, and I knew that if he was left in the hands of locals, his comfort wouldn’t be their priority.

After my departure, I heard he endured much annoyance from domestic concerns, and that it was too much for his feeble health. He suffered greatly from asthma and violent headaches, and had only recently recovered from an attack of paralysis. I was strongly tempted to return to Khāsgunge when I heard of his illness, but was deterred from a feeling of delicacy: an adopted child has a right to a portion of the inheritance, and my presence might have caused the ladies of the zenāna to imagine a sinister motive influenced me.

After I left, I heard he dealt with a lot of stress from family issues, which was too much for his poor health. He struggled a lot with asthma and severe headaches and had just recently recovered from a stroke. I really wanted to go back to Khāsgunge when I found out he was sick, but I hesitated because I felt it would be inappropriate: an adopted child has a right to part of the inheritance, and my being there might have led the women in the zenāna to think I had a hidden agenda.

A gentleman who was with him afterwards told me,—“During his last illness, Colonel Gardner often spoke of you in terms of the greatest affection, and expressed many times his wish for your presence; I did not write to tell you so, because the hot winds were blowing, and the distance some five or six hundred miles.”

A guy who was with him later told me, “During his last illness, Colonel Gardner often talked about you with a lot of affection and said many times how much he wanted you there. I didn’t write to let you know because the hot winds were blowing, and the distance was about five or six hundred miles.”

Had he only written to me, I would have gone dāk to Khāsgunge immediately; what would the annoyance of hot winds or the distance have been, in comparison with the satisfaction of gratifying the wish of my departing friend? I had lived for weeks in his house, enjoying his society, admiring his dignified and noble bearing, and listening with delight to the relation of his marvellous escapes and extraordinary adventures. His chivalric exploits and undaunted courage deserve a better pen than mine, and he alone was capable of being his own historian.

Had he just written to me, I would have gone back to Khāsgunge right away; what would the discomfort of hot winds or the distance matter compared to the joy of fulfilling my departing friend's wishes? I had spent weeks in his home, enjoying his company, admiring his dignified and noble presence, and listening eagerly to his incredible escapes and extraordinary adventures. His heroic feats and fearless courage deserve a better storyteller than I, and he alone could truly be his own historian.

Colonel Gardner told me, if I ever visited Delhi, he would give me an introduction to the Nawāb Shah Zamānee Begam, the Emperor’s unmarried sister; who would show me all that was worth seeing in the zenāna of the palace of the King of[458] Delhi. This pleased me greatly; so few persons ever have an opportunity of seeing native ladies.

Colonel Gardner told me that if I ever visited Delhi, he would introduce me to Nawāb Shah Zamānee Begam, the Emperor’s unmarried sister, who would show me everything worth seeing in the zenāna of the palace of the King of[458] Delhi. This really excited me; very few people ever get the chance to see native ladies.

On the 29th of the following July my beloved friend, Colonel Gardner, departed this life at Khāsgunge, aged sixty-five. He was buried, according to his desire, near the tomb of his son Allan. From the time of his death the poor Begam pined and sank daily; just as he said, she complained not, but she took his death to heart; she died one month and two days after his decease. Native ladies have a number of titles; her death, names, and titles were thus announced in the papers:—“On the 31st of August, at her residence at Khāsgunge, Her Highness Furzund Azeza Zubdeh-tool Arrakeen Umdehtool Assateen Nuwab Mah Munzil ool Nissa Begam Dehlmī, relict of the late Colonel William Linnæus Gardner.”

On July 29th of the following year, my dear friend, Colonel Gardner, passed away in Khāsgunge at the age of sixty-five. He was buried, as he wished, near the tomb of his son Allan. After his death, the poor Begam withered away and declined daily; just as he said, she didn’t complain, but she took his passing very hard; she died one month and two days after he did. Native women have several titles; her death, names, and titles were announced in the papers:—“On August 31st, at her home in Khāsgunge, Her Highness Furzund Azeza Zubdeh-tool Arrakeen Umdehtool Assateen Nuwab Mah Munzil ool Nissa Begam Dehlmī, widow of the late Colonel William Linnæus Gardner.”

“The sound of the Nakaras and Dumana have ceased[154].”

“The sound of the Nakaras and Dumana has stopped[154].”

Colonel Gardner’s Begam was entitled from her rank to the use of the nalkī, the morchhal or fan of peacock’s feathers, and the nakara and dumana, state kettle drums.

Colonel Gardner’s Begam had the right to use the nalkī, the morchhal or fan made of peacock feathers, and the nakara and dumana, state kettle drums.

The following extract from Colonel Sleeman’s most interesting work will explain the value of these articles of pomp and state:—“The Nalkee is one of the three great insignia which the Mogul Emperors of Delhi conferred upon independent Princes of the first class, and could never be used by any person upon whom, or upon whose ancestors, they had not been so conferred. These were the Nalkee, the Order of the Fish, and the fan of Peacock’s feathers.

The following extract from Colonel Sleeman’s fascinating work will explain the importance of these symbols of grandeur and authority:—“The Nalkee is one of the three major insignias that the Mogul Emperors of Delhi granted to independent princes of the highest rank, and could never be used by anyone to whom, or whose ancestors, it had not been granted. These were the Nalkee, the Order of the Fish, and the fan made of peacock feathers.

“These insignia could be used only by the Prince, who inherited the sovereignty of the one on whom they had been originally conferred.

“These insignia could only be used by the Prince, who inherited the authority of the person to whom they had originally been given.

“The Order of the Fish, or Mahee Moratub, was first instituted by Khoosroo Purwez, King of Persia, and grandson of the celebrated Nowsherwan the Just. He ascertained from his astrologer, Aruz Khushusp, that, when he ascended the throne, the moon was in the constellation of the Fish; and he gave orders to have two balls made of polished steel, which were to[459] be called konkubas (planets), and mounted on long poles. These two planets, with a large fish, made of gold, upon a third pole in the centre, were ordered to be carried in all regal processions, immediately after the King. The two konkubas are now generally made of copper, and plated, and in the shape of a jar, instead of quite round, as at first; but the fish is still made of gold. Two planets are always considered necessary to one fish; and they are still carried in all processions between the Prince and his prime minister. Noosamanee, who ascended the throne of Persia after the Sassanians, ascertained that the moon was in the sign Leo at the time of his accession, and ordered that the gold head of a lion should henceforward accompany the fishes and the two balls in all royal processions. The Persian order of knighthood is, therefore, that of the Fish, the Moon, and the Lion; and not the Lion and Sun, as generally supposed.

“The Order of the Fish, or Mahee Moratub, was first established by Khoosroo Purwez, King of Persia, and the grandson of the famous Nowsherwan the Just. He learned from his astrologer, Aruz Khushusp, that when he took the throne, the moon was in the constellation of the Fish. He ordered the creation of two polished steel balls, which were to be called konkubas (planets), mounted on long poles. These two planets, along with a large fish made of gold on a third pole in the center, were to be carried in all royal processions, right behind the King. The two konkubas are now generally made of copper, plated, and shaped like jars instead of being perfectly round as they were originally; however, the fish is still made of gold. Two planets are always seen as necessary to accompany one fish, and they continue to be carried in all processions between the Prince and his prime minister. Noosamanee, who became King of Persia after the Sassanians, found out that the moon was in the sign of Leo when he came to power and ordered that a gold lion’s head should accompany the fish and the two balls in all royal processions going forward. Therefore, the Persian order of knighthood is that of the Fish, the Moon, and the Lion, and not just the Lion and Sun, as is commonly believed.”

“The Emperors of the House of Timour, in Hindoostan, assumed the right of conferring the order upon all they pleased; and they conferred it upon the great territorial sovereigns of the country, without distinction as to religion. He only who inherits the sovereignty can wear the order; and I believe no Prince would venture to wear or carry the order who was not generally reputed to have received the investiture from one of the Emperors of Delhi.”

“The Emperors of the House of Timour, in Hindustan, claimed the authority to grant the order to anyone they chose; and they presented it to the major land-owning rulers of the country, regardless of their religion. Only those who inherit the throne can wear the order; and I believe no Prince would dare to wear or display the order unless they were widely recognized as having received it from one of the Emperors of Delhi.”

Reading the history of the Dynasty of Timur, the free-thinking of all the race is remarkable; religion appeared principally to be used by them for political purposes.

Reading the history of the Timur Dynasty, the independent thinking of the entire race stands out; religion primarily seemed to be used by them for political reasons.

I cannot quit the zenāna without some observations on the Muhammadan religion, and some extracts from the Kū’rān and other works on the subject.

I can’t leave the zenāna without sharing some thoughts on the Muhammadan religion and including some excerpts from the Kū’rān and other related writings.

The Prophet was a cunning fellow, and made the religion he preached subservient to the interests of his own sex. Muhammad, in a vision, beheld the infernal regions; his blood curdled; behold! the greater part of its inhabitants were women, sent there for not having obeyed their husbands!

The Prophet was a clever guy who made the religion he preached serve the interests of his own gender. Muhammad, in a vision, saw the depths of hell; it chilled him to the bone; guess what? Most of the people there were women, sent there for not obeying their husbands!

Obedience to the master ensured the slave—i.e. the wife—admittance to Paradise.

Obeying the master guaranteed the slave—i.e. the wife—entry to Paradise.

[460]

[460]

The Prophet says, “Admonish your wives with kindness, because women were created from a crooked bone of the side; therefore, if you wish to straighten it, you will break it; and if you let it alone, it will always be crooked.”

The Prophet says, “Talk to your wives gently, because women were created from a bent rib on the side; if you try to straighten it, you'll break it; but if you leave it as it is, it will always be bent.”

“When a woman performs the five times of prayer, and fasts the month of Ramdān, and guards herself in purity, and obeys her husband, then tell her to enter Paradise by whichever door she likes.” “Every woman who dies, and her husband is pleased with her, shall enter Paradise.”

“When a woman prays five times a day, fasts during the month of Ramadan, keeps herself pure, and listens to her husband, then tell her she can enter Paradise through any door she wishes.” “Every woman who passes away while her husband is pleased with her will enter Paradise.”

“No one woman vexes her husband in the world; but the husband’s wife in Paradise says, ‘Vex not thy husband, may God destroy thee! because he is nothing more than a traveller with thee; he will soon come to me in Paradise.’”

“No woman annoys her husband in the world; but the husband’s wife in Paradise says, ‘Don’t annoy your husband, may God ruin you! He is just a traveler with you; he will soon join me in Paradise.’”

“Verily the best of women are those who are most content with little.”

“Truly, the best women are those who are happiest with what they have.”

This tradition is recorded:—

This tradition is documented:—

“An unknown person came to the Prophet, and said,—‘O Muhammad, instruct me in Islām!’ The Prophet said, ‘Islām is, that thou bear witness there is no God but God, and that Muhammad is his messenger; and be stedfast in prayer, and charitable; and fast during the month of Ramdān; and make a pilgrimage to the Kaaba, if thou have it in thy power to go there.’ The man replied, ‘Thou hast spoken true.’ On which we wondered at his questioning the Prophet, and then telling him that he spoke the truth. Then the man said, ‘Instruct me in Imān.’ The Prophet said, ‘That thou believe in God, and in his angels, and in his books, and in his prophets, and in the day of resurrection, and that every virtue and vice is by the will of God.’ The man said, ‘Thou hast spoken true.’ He then said, ‘Inform me in Ih’sān.’ The Prophet said, ‘That thou worship God as if thou sawest him; for though thou dost not see him, know that he seeth thee.’ The man said, ‘Thou hast spoken true.’ He then said, ‘Instruct me concerning the resurrection.’ The Prophet said, ‘I am no wiser than the questioner.’ Omer said, ‘After this, the man departed, and I remained sitting a long time; after which the Prophet said to me, ‘Didst thou know who that person was?’ I replied, ‘God[461] and his prophet know best.’ Muhammad said, ‘Verily it was Gabriel, he came for the purpose of instructing you in your faith.’”

“An unknown person came to the Prophet and said, ‘O Muhammad, teach me about Islam!’ The Prophet replied, ‘Islam is to bear witness that there is no God but God, and that Muhammad is His messenger; to be consistent in prayer, to give to charity, to fast during the month of Ramadan, and to make a pilgrimage to the Kaaba if you are able to do so.’ The man responded, ‘You have spoken the truth.’ We were surprised by his questioning the Prophet and then affirming that he spoke the truth. Then the man said, ‘Teach me about Iman.’ The Prophet said, ‘That you believe in God, His angels, His books, His prophets, the Day of Resurrection, and that every good deed and bad deed is by the will of God.’ The man said, ‘You have spoken the truth.’ He then said, ‘Teach me about Ihsan.’ The Prophet replied, ‘That you worship God as if you see Him; for although you do not see Him, know that He sees you.’ The man said, ‘You have spoken the truth.’ He then asked, ‘Teach me about resurrection.’ The Prophet said, ‘I am no wiser than the questioner.’ Omar said, ‘After that, the man left, and I sat there for a long time; then the Prophet said to me, ‘Did you know who that person was?’ I replied, ‘God and His prophet know best.’ Muhammad said, ‘Indeed, it was Gabriel; he came to teach you about your faith.’”

The Ramdān is the ninth month of the Muhammadan year, in which a rigid fast, from daybreak till night, is enjoined to all Musalmāns; the reason assigned for this is, that the Kū’rān began to descend from heaven in this month.

The Ramdān is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, during which all Muslims are required to fast rigorously from dawn until sunset. The reason given for this is that the Qur'an began to be revealed from heaven in this month.

The Kaaba is the square temple at Mecca; that is, the Kibla of the Muhammadans, or place to which they turn their faces when at prayer. The Kibla of the Jews was the Temple of Jerusalem.

The Kaaba is the square temple in Mecca; it's the Qibla for Muslims, meaning it's the direction they face when praying. The Qibla for the Jews was the Temple in Jerusalem.

“When the month of Ramdān arrives, the doors of Paradise are opened, and the doors of the infernal regions are shut, and the devils are chained by the leg. The person who fasts the month of Ramdān, on account of belief in God, shall be pardoned all his past faults.”

“When the month of Ramadan comes, the gates of Paradise are opened, the gates of hell are closed, and the devils are bound. Anyone who fasts during Ramadan out of belief in God will have all their past sins forgiven.”

“Keep not fast until you see the new moon; and if the moon be hidden from you by clouds, count the days. Eat at the first dawn of day, because it gives increase of strength for performing the fast.”

“Don’t start fasting until you see the new moon; and if clouds hide the moon from you, just count the days. Eat at dawn because it gives you strength to keep the fast.”

The prophet used to say, when he saw the new moon, “O Lord! make the new moon rise upon us, safe from calamities, and firm in faith, and pure in heart, and secure in Islām. Oh, new moon! our Lord, and your Lord, is God.”

The prophet would say when he saw the new moon, “O Lord! let the new moon rise upon us, safe from misfortunes, strong in faith, pure in heart, and secure in Islam. Oh, new moon! our Lord, and your Lord, is God.”

“When the darkness of the night advances from the west, and day follows from the western quarter, I mean the sunset, the keeper of fast may begin to eat.”

“When the darkness of night moves in from the west, and day follows from the western side, I mean the sunset, the keeper of the fast can start eating.”

Those who profess this religion are interdicted from eating and drinking between the dawn and appearance of the stars at night. On the 27th of this month, the Kū’rān began to descend; and every prayer offered up that night will be complied with.

Those who practice this religion are forbidden from eating and drinking between dawn and the appearance of the stars at night. On the 27th of this month, the Qur'an began to be revealed; and every prayer made that night will be accepted.

The Adhān, or call to prayer, is to repeat the Jacbir twice over with a loud voice, as a signal for prayer. The prophet ordered the Muadhd’hin, the person who calls the people to prayer, to put his two forefingers into his ears, when repeating the Adhān, because it strengthens the voice.

The Adhān, or call to prayer, consists of repeating the Jacbir twice loudly as a signal for prayer. The prophet instructed the Muadhd’hin, the person who calls people to prayer, to place his two forefingers in his ears while repeating the Adhān, as it enhances the voice.

[462]

[462]

“The Jacbir: God is greatest, God is greatest; I bear witness there is no God but God, I bear witness there is no God but God; I bear witness that Mohammud is the messenger, I bear witness that Mohammud is the messenger. Hasten to prayer, hasten to prayer; hasten to redemption, hasten to redemption. God is greatest, God is greatest; there is no God but God.”

“The Jacbir: God is the greatest, God is the greatest; I testify that there is no god but God, I testify that there is no god but God; I testify that Muhammad is the messenger, I testify that Muhammad is the messenger. Hurry to prayer, hurry to prayer; hurry to salvation, hurry to salvation. God is the greatest, God is the greatest; there is no god but God.”

“Verily, Friday is the chief of days in the estimation of God, and it is greater than either the festival of sacrifice, or that of Ramdān. Why do they call Friday Jumâh? or the assembly? Because, on that day the clay of thy father Adam was collected, and on that day will be destruction, and rising from the dead; and on it resurrection, and in the last three sáâts of Friday there is one in which the requests of a servant are granted.

“Truly, Friday is the most important day in God's eyes, and it is greater than both the festival of sacrifice and Ramadan. Why is Friday called Jumâh, or the assembly? Because, on that day, the clay of your father Adam was gathered, and on that day there will be destruction and resurrection; and during the last three hours of Friday, there is one hour in which a servant's prayers are accepted.

“Pronounce ye many blessings on me on Friday, because the angels are present. There is not a Musalmān that dies in the day or night of Friday, that God doth not preserve from the punishments of the grave.

“Bless me abundantly on Friday, because the angels are present. No Muslim who dies on the day or night of Friday will be spared from the punishments of the grave by God.”

“He who visits the graves of his father and mother, or one of them, on every Friday, his faults will be pardoned: and there will be written, in the register of his actions, a doer of good to his father and mother. Visiting and seeing graves dispels worldly wishes and gives disgust to them, and reminds of futurity.”

“Anyone who visits the graves of their father or mother, or one of them, every Friday will have their faults forgiven, and it will be recorded in their actions as someone who honors their parents. Visiting and seeing graves helps to shift focus away from worldly desires and brings a sense of disillusionment with them, serving as a reminder of what lies ahead.”

The efficacy of prayer is greatly enhanced by the use of the miswác, a kind of tooth-brush made of the twig or the root of a tree, beaten at the end into a brush. When the prophet stood up to prayer in the night he rubbed and washed his mouth with the miswác. The Musalmanī ladies regarded our European tooth-brushes with horror, and considered them unfit to be used, as being formed from the bristles of the unclean beast. “When you hear a cock crow, then supplicate God for an increase of his beneficence, because the cock sees an angel and crows at the sight; and when you hear an ass bray, seek protection with God from the devil and say, ‘I take protection with God from the cast-out devil, because the ass has seen the devil.’”

The effectiveness of prayer is greatly improved by using the miswác, a type of toothbrush made from the twig or root of a tree, with the end shaped into a brush. When the prophet prayed at night, he would rub and rinse his mouth with the miswác. The Muslim women looked at our European toothbrushes with dismay and thought they were inappropriate to use because they are made from the bristles of an unclean animal. “When you hear a rooster crow, ask God for more of His blessings because the rooster sees an angel and crows at the sight. And when you hear a donkey bray, seek God’s protection from the devil and say, ‘I seek refuge with God from the outcast devil because the donkey has seen the devil.’”

[463]

[463]

Pilgrimage to Mecca once during life is necessary for every Musalmān: and pilgrimage for women is as the Holy War for the men.

Pilgrimage to Mecca at least once in a lifetime is required for every Muslim, and for women, pilgrimage is as important as Holy War is for men.

The prophet performed his farewell pilgrimage after an interval of ten years, nine of which he spent at Medinah.

The prophet made his farewell pilgrimage after a gap of ten years, nine of which he spent in Medina.

“When the prophet arrived at the Kaaba, he kissed the Black Stone, then encompassed the kaaba three times in a quick step, and walked four times in a gentle pace; after which he came to the stone on which is the impression of Abraham’s foot, and repeated this revelation; ‘Take the station of Abraham for a place of prayer.’ Then he gave the salām. One hundred camels were brought for sacrifice, of which the prophet slew sixty-five with his own hands at the place of sacrifice, which is in Mina. The prophet kissed the Black Stone and the Yemáni Pillar of the Kaaba, which pillar belonged to the original structure of the kaaba ascribed to Abraham, and on that account it is held in higher reverence than any of the others.

“When the prophet arrived at the Kaaba, he kissed the Black Stone, then circled the Kaaba three times quickly and walked around it four times at a gentle pace. After that, he went to the stone that has the impression of Abraham’s foot and repeated this revelation: ‘Take the station of Abraham as a place of prayer.’ Then he gave the salām. One hundred camels were brought for sacrifice, of which the prophet personally slaughtered sixty-five at the place of sacrifice in Mina. The prophet kissed the Black Stone and the Yemáni Pillar of the Kaaba, which belonged to the original structure of the Kaaba associated with Abraham, and for this reason, it is held in greater reverence than the others.”

“The black stone came down from Paradise, and at the time of its descent it was whiter than milk, and the sins of the children of Adam have caused it to be black, by their touching it. ‘Verily, God will suspend the Black Stone, on the day of resurrection, when it will have two eyes, by which it will see and know all those who touched it, and kissed it; and it will have a tongue by which it will speak, and it will give evidence for all those who touched and kissed it on Imàn.’ ‘God has appointed seventy angels over the Yemáni Pillar.’

“The black stone came down from Paradise, and when it arrived, it was whiter than milk, but the sins of Adam’s children have turned it black because they’ve touched it. ‘Truly, God will raise the Black Stone on the day of resurrection, and it will have two eyes to see and recognize everyone who touched or kissed it; it will also have a tongue to speak, and it will testify for all those who touched and kissed it in faith.’ ‘God has assigned seventy angels to the Yemáni Pillar.’”

“The Hindoos insist, that the Black Stone in the wall of the Kaaba, or sacred temple of Mecca, is no other than a form of Mahadēo; and that it was placed there by Mohammud out of contempt; but the newly-converted pilgrims would not give up the worship of the Black Stone, and sinistrous portents forced the ministers of the new religion to connive at it.”

“The Hindus believe that the Black Stone in the wall of the Kaaba, the holy temple of Mecca, is actually a representation of Mahadeo, and that it was put there by Muhammad out of disdain. However, the recently converted pilgrims refused to abandon worshiping the Black Stone, and ominous signs compelled the leaders of the new religion to look the other way.”

The pilgrims to Mecca visit the graves of Adam, and Noah, and Ali, who was buried near them on the Mount on which Noah’s Ark rested, and make salām also to the grave of Eve, said to be nine yards long!

The pilgrims to Mecca visit the graves of Adam, Noah, and Ali, who is buried nearby on the mountain where Noah’s Ark landed, and they also greet the grave of Eve, which is said to be nine yards long!

“It is said God created Adam a handsome figure; he was[464] sixty cubits in stature, and his children also; since which time they have degenerated; but when they enter into Paradise, they will be as tall as Adam was. His stature was sixty cubits, and he was seven cubits broad.”

“It’s said that God made Adam a striking figure; he was[464] sixty cubits tall, and his children were too; since then, they have shrunk in size. But when they enter Paradise, they will be as tall as Adam was. His height was sixty cubits, and he was seven cubits wide.”

The Muhammadan religion is intolerant: “His Majesty said, ‘Alláho-Acber I bear witness that I am God’s servant, and sent by him.’ And he added, ‘O Bill’al! get up, and give notice that none will enter Paradise but Musalmāns.’

The Muhammadan religion is intolerant: “His Majesty said, ‘Alláho-Acber I bear witness that I am God’s servant, and sent by him.’ And he added, ‘O Bill’al! get up, and give notice that none will enter Paradise but Muslims.’

“There are six duties from one Musalmān to another; to salute each other when they meet; to accept each other’s invitations to dinner; to say ‘God have mercy upon you!’ after sneezing; to visit the sick; and to follow each other’s biers when dead; and for one Musalmān to wish for another what he wishes for himself.” The Muhammadans stand in great awe of the punishments of the grave. “The prophet of God said, ‘When a Musalmān is interrogated in his grave about his God, his prophet, and religion, he will give evidence to the unity of God, and the mission of his prophet, and will say, My religion is Islām.’ When a servant is put into his grave and mankind leave him; verily he hears the noise they make in walking away: when two black angels, with blue eyes, come to the dead body, the name of the one Munkir, the other Nak’ir, and cause it to sit up, and say to it, ‘Who is thy defender?’ and it will say, ‘My defender is God.’ ‘And what is thy religion?’ It will say, ‘My religion is Islām.’ Then they will ask, ‘Who is this man who was sent to thee?’ It will say, ‘He is the messenger of God.’ ‘And how didst thou know he was the prophet of God?’ It will say, ‘I read the book of God, and put faith in it.’ Then a voice will come from heaven, saying, ‘My servant hath spoken true.’ And a bed shall be prepared and clothes provided for it from Paradise; and a door shall be opened for it towards Paradise, when a fragrant gale will breathe upon it from above, and a place will be opened for it in the grave to see out of; but the soul of an infidel will be replaced in its body in the grave. Two angels will come to it and say, ‘Who is thy cherisher?’ It will say, ‘Alas! alas! I know not.’ Then the angels will ask about Muhammad. It will reply, ‘Alas! I[465] know him not.’ A voice will then come from heaven, saying, ‘This servant hath lied; then give it a bed from hell, and clothes also, and open for it a door towards hell.’ Then a hot wind will come to it, and its grave will be contracted so as to break the bones on each side; after which an angel will come to it, deaf and dumb, with a mace of iron, with which, if a mountain were struck, it would turn to dust. Then the angel will strike the body with the mace, the noise of which will be heard by every thing between the east and west, excepting the genii and man, and it will turn to dust; after which, a soul will be returned to it, and it will be tormented to the day of resurrection.”

“There are six responsibilities that Muslims have towards each other: greeting one another when they meet; accepting each other’s invitations for meals; saying ‘God have mercy upon you!’ after someone sneezes; visiting the sick; following each other’s funerals; and wishing for one another what one wishes for oneself.” Muslims have a deep respect for the punishments in the grave. “The Prophet of God said, ‘When a Muslim is questioned in his grave about his God, his prophet, and his religion, he will affirm the oneness of God and the mission of his prophet, saying, My religion is Islam.’ When a person is laid in their grave and people leave, they can hear the sounds of their footsteps as they walk away. Then two black angels, with blue eyes, will come to the deceased: one named Munkir and the other Nakir, and they will make him sit up and ask, ‘Who is your Lord?’ He will respond, ‘My Lord is God.’ ‘What is your religion?’ He will say, ‘My religion is Islam.’ Then they will question, ‘Who is this man who was sent to you?’ He will answer, ‘He is the messenger of God.’ ‘How did you know he was the prophet of God?’ He will say, ‘I read the book of God and believed in it.’ Then a voice will come from heaven, saying, ‘My servant has spoken the truth.’ A bed will be prepared for him and clothes provided from Paradise; a door will be opened for him leading to Paradise, and a pleasant breeze will blow upon him from above, and he will have a view into the grave. However, the soul of an unbeliever will be returned to its body in the grave. Two angels will approach and ask, ‘Who is your Lord?’ He will respond, ‘Oh no! I do not know.’ Then the angels will inquire about Muhammad. He will reply, ‘Oh no! I do not know him.’ A voice will then come from heaven, saying, ‘This servant has lied; prepare for him a bed from hell, along with clothing, and open a door leading to hell.’ A hot wind will sweep through, and his grave will constrict, crushing his bones on either side; afterward, an angel will come to him, deaf and mute, wielding an iron mace, which, if struck against a mountain, would reduce it to dust. The angel will hit the body with the mace, and the sound will be heard by everything from east to west, except for jinn and humans, and it will turn to dust; then a soul will be returned to him, and he will be tormented until the Day of Resurrection.”

The iron mace with which the angels torment the wicked is, it is said, the goorz, a sort of iron club, pointed at one end, and having a knob on the other covered with spikes. This sort of mace is carried by Muhammadan fakīrs, the goorz-mar, who believe the wounds made by it will quickly heal from the application of their spittle, by the influence of Syud Ahmad Kabeer.

The iron mace that the angels use to punish the wicked is said to be called the goorz, which is a type of iron club with a sharp end and a knobby end covered in spikes. This kind of mace is carried by Muslim fakīrs, known as goorz-mar, who believe that the wounds caused by it will heal quickly if they use their spit on them, thanks to the power of Syud Ahmad Kabeer.

The prophet said, “When any one of you dieth, his place is shown him morning and evening, whether in heaven or hell; and it is said to him, ‘This grave is thy sitting place until the day of resurrection.’” “Aa’yeshah said, ‘A Jew came to me, and mentioned the punishments of the grave.’ Then I interrogated the prophet about them, and he said, ‘Yes, punishments in the grave are true: and I always observed the prophet, at the end of every prayer, implore God to defend him from the sufferings of the grave.’”

The prophet said, “When any of you dies, their place is shown to them morning and evening, whether in heaven or hell; and it is said to them, ‘This grave is your resting place until the day of resurrection.’” “Aa’yeshah said, ‘A Jew came to me and talked about the punishments of the grave.’ Then I asked the prophet about them, and he said, ‘Yes, punishments in the grave are real: I always noticed the prophet, at the end of every prayer, asking God to protect him from the sufferings of the grave.’”

The sums of money and the quantity of food distributed by Colonel Gardner’s Begam in charity was surprising; she was a religious woman, and fulfilled, as far as was in her power, the ordinances of her religion. The necessity of giving alms is strongly inculcated. “To whomsoever God gives wealth, and he does not perform the charity due from it, his wealth will be made into the shape of a serpent on the day of resurrection, which shall not have any hair upon its head; and this is a sign of its poison and long life; and it has two black spots upon its[466] eyes; and it will be twisted round his neck, like a chain, on the day of resurrection: then the serpent will seize the man’s jawbones, and will say, ‘I am thy wealth, from which thou didst not give in charity; I am thy treasure, from which thou didst not separate any alms.’ After this the prophet repeated this revelation. ‘Let not those who are covetous of what God of his bounty hath granted them, imagine that their avarice is better for them: nay, rather it is worse for them. That which they have covetously reserved shall be bound as a collar about their necks on the day of resurrection.’”

The amount of money and food that Colonel Gardner’s Begam gave to charity was surprising; she was a devout woman and did her best to follow the teachings of her faith. The importance of giving to those in need is strongly emphasized. “To anyone whom God blesses with wealth and who fails to share it, their wealth will turn into a serpent on the day of resurrection, which will have no hair on its head, a sign of its poison and longevity; it will have two black spots on its eyes and will wrap around their neck like a chain on the day of resurrection. Then the serpent will bite down on the person’s jaw and say, ‘I am your wealth, from which you did not give to charity; I am your treasure, from which you did not share any alms.’ After this, the prophet repeated this revelation. ‘Let not those who are greedy for what God has graciously given them think that their greed is better for them: no, it is actually worse for them. What they have hoarded will be tied around their necks like a collar on the day of resurrection.’”


FOOTNOTES

[9] Drank grog.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Drank rum.

[10] A technical term used in the whale fishery.

[10] A technical term used in the whaling industry.

[16] Bilwa, or Bilva, the Cratæva Marmelos of Linnæus.

[16] Bilwa, or Bilva, the Cratæva Marmelos as categorized by Linnæus.

[17] Moor’s Hindoo Pantheon.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Moor's Hindu Pantheon.

[20] See Sketch, “The Thug’s Dice,” No. 4.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ See Sketch, “__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__,” #4.

[22] Alluding to the mutiny at Barrackpore.

[22] Referring to the rebellion at Barrackpore.

[23] The gentleman of the house. The master.

[23] The man of the house. The owner.

[24] “Cicero, Demosthenes, Judge Blackstone, and myself.” Edward Christian (subaudi Paul), passim.

[24] “Cicero, Demosthenes, Judge Blackstone, and me.” Edward Christian (implied Paul), passim.

[27] See the Sketch entitled “a Dhrum sālā—Bene Mahadēo Ghāt.”

[27] Check out the sketch titled “a Dhrum sālā—Bene Mahadēo Ghāt.”

[28] Guzrattee Proverb.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Gujarati Proverb.

[31] See the sketch of the Ice Pits, with this man and his mashk (water-bag).

[31] Check out the drawing of the Ice Pits, featuring this guy and his water bag.

[32] European gentleman.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ European guy.

[35] The flour or meal of pulse, particularly of chanā (cicer arietinum).

[35] The flour or meal made from legumes, especially chickpeas (cicer arietinum).

[36] Khīsās.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Khīsās.

[38] A Hindoo queen or princess.

A Hindu queen or princess.

[43] Acacia Arabica, or Babool.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Acacia Arabica, or Babool.

[47] Mishcat ul Masabih.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Mishcat al-Masabih.

[48] Ward on the History, Literature, and Religion of the Hindoos.

[48] Ward on the History, Literature, and Religion of the Hindus.

[51] See the plate entitled “The Thug’s Dice,” in which Fig. 4 represents a small brass lota covered by a sprig of the kala toolsee.

[51] See the plate titled “The Thug’s Dice,” where Fig. 4 shows a small brass lota topped with a sprig of the kala toolsee.

[52] See the plate entitled “The Thug’s Dice,” in which fig. 2 represents the lāthī.

[52] Refer to the plate titled “The Thug’s Dice,” where fig. 2 shows the lāthī.

[53] Alexander the Second, King of Delhi.

[53] Alexander the Second, King of Delhi.

[55] Properly Banglā.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Properly Bengali.

[62] From the Calcutta Literary Gazette, inserted in the Government Gazette, October 7th, 1830.

[62] From the Calcutta Literary Gazette, inserted in the Government Gazette, October 7th, 1830.

[67] Most respectful reverence.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Deep respect.

[70] A karor is ten millions.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ A karor is 10 million.

[85] Vide Moor’s Pantheon.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ See Moor's Pantheon.

[90] Convolvulus speciosus, (Linn.) Broad-leaved bindweed.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Broad-leaved bindweed.

[93] Gram, chanā, cicer arietinum, chick pea, called by mistake chick weed, in page 101.

[93] Gram, chickpea, known incorrectly as chick weed, in page 101.

[95] The Carob-tree, St. John’s bread, Ceratonia Siliqua.

[95] The carob tree, St. John’s bread, Ceratonia siliqua.

[96] Pilgrim.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Traveler.

[97] Mishcat ul Masabih.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Mishcat of Lamps.

[99] Braided locks.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Braids.

[104] Jungle grass—sarput or sirki—saccharum procerum.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Jungle grass—sarput or sirki—sugarcane.

[110] Mishcat ul Masabih.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Mishcat of Lights.

[111] Shakespear’s Dict.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Shakespeare's Dictionary.

[113] Revelation of St. John.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Revelation of John.

[117] Ipomæa quamoclit.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Cypress vine.

[118] Asclepias rosea.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Pink milkweed.

[119] Ipomæa speciosa, or convolvolus speciosus; broad-leaved bindweed.

[119] Ipomæa speciosa, or convolvolus speciosus; broad-leaved bindweed.

[120] Convolvolus grandiflora.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Large flowered bindweed.

[121] Water-lily.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Water lily.

[127] Extract from Captain Franklin’s Reign of Shah Aulam.

[127] Extract from Captain Franklin’s Reign of Shah Aulam.

[141] Qanoon-e-Islam.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Islamic Law.

[146] Qanoon-e-islam.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Islamic Law.

[148] Qanoon-e-islam.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Islamic Law.


[467]

[467]

ORIENTAL PROVERBS AND SAYINGS.

Masal i mârūf pirāyah-e-zabānhā.

Common sayings in languages.

“A proverb is an ornament to language.”

“A proverb is like a decorative element in language.”

Har chi bādābād-i-mā kishte dar āb āndākhtem.

Har chi bādābād-i-mā kishte dar āb āndākhtem.

No. 1. “Let the result be what it may, I have launched my boat.” i.e. The die is cast. The bolt is shot.

No. 1. “No matter the outcome, I've set my boat in motion.” i.e. The die is cast. The bolt is shot.

Ghosh kh’ābānīh.

Dream big.

2. Lit.—“He put his ears to sleep.”

2. Lit.—"He fell asleep with his ears."

Tu marā dil dih o dilīrī bīn.
Rubah-e-kh’esh kh’ān o shere bīn.

Show me your heart so I can see your courage.
Reveal your beauty and I’ll recognize your poetry.

3. “Encourage me, and then behold my bravery:—call me your own fox, and then you will see me perform the exploits of a lion!”

3. “Support me, and then watch my courage:—call me your own fox, and then you’ll see me act like a lion!”

Chi bāk az mauj-i-bahr ānrā ki bāshad Nauh kishtibān.

For it is the boatman who knows the waves of the sea.

4. “What fear need he have of the waves of the sea, who has Noah for his pilot?” i.e. He is safe who has a powerful protector.

4. “What fear should he have of the waves of the sea, who has Noah as his pilot?” i.e. He is safe who has a strong protector.

Kalandar har-chi goyad dīdah goyad.

Kalandar says what he sees.

5. “Whatever the wandering traveller says, he does so from having seen that of which he speaks.”

5. “Whatever the wandering traveler says, he says it based on what he has seen.”

Unt dāgh hote the makrā abhī dāgh hone ko āyā.

They were already a burn, but now it was time to become a burn.

6. “The camels were being branded (with hot irons for the public service), and the spider came to be marked also.”

6. “The camels were being branded (with hot irons for public service), and the spider was getting marked too.”

Mekke gaye na Medine gaye bīch hī bīch hājjī the.

They didn't go to Mecca or Medina, they were just pilgrims in between.

7. “He neither went to Mekka nor Medina, but was a pilgrim nevertheless.”

7. “He didn't go to Mecca or Medina, but he was still a pilgrim.”

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[468]

Dharyārē men kahūn lauharyāre to kān de.

In the depths, I say to the wanderer, lend me your ear.

8. “I speak to those who have daughters, and let those who have sons listen.”

8. "I'm addressing those who have daughters, and I hope those with sons pay attention too."

Bālā-e-tawīlah bar sar-i-maimūn.

"Long hair on a cat."

9. “The misfortunes of the stable (fall) on the head of the monkey.” It is the custom in Hindostān to keep a monkey in or near a stable, to guard the horses from the influence of evil eyes. This proverb is applied whenever a poor man or a servant is punished for the crimes of his superior.

9. “The misfortunes of the stable fall on the head of the monkey.” It's common in Hindostān to keep a monkey in or near a stable to protect the horses from evil eyes. This proverb is used whenever a poor person or a servant gets punished for the wrongdoings of someone in a higher position.

Sūndhī bawā chatāī kā lahangā.

"Sūndhī bawā chatāī kā outfit."

10. “A handsome sister, with a mat for a petticoat.”

10. “An attractive sister, wearing a mat as a skirt.”

Dekha shahr-i-Bangālā dant lāl munh kālā.

Dekha shahr-i-Bangālā dant lāl munh kālā.

11. “I have seen Bengal, there the teeth are red, and the mouth is black.” i.e. From chewing betel.

11. “I've been to Bengal, where the teeth are red and the mouth is black.” i.e. From chewing betel.

Karz shauhar-i-mardān ast.

Marriage is a man's duty.

12. “Debt is a man’s husband.” i.e. A man in debt is always at the mercy of his creditors, as a woman at her husband’s.

12. “Debt is a person's partner.” i.e. A person in debt is always at the mercy of their creditors, just like a woman with her partner.

Ek aur ek igārah.

"One and one make two."

13. “One and one make eleven.” From the way of writing (11) in figures.

13. “One and one makes eleven.” From the way of writing (11) in numbers.

Āmadan ba irādat raftan ba ijāzat.

To calmly proceed with intention, with permission.

14. “Coming is voluntary, but departing depends upon permission.”

14. “Coming is up to you, but leaving requires approval.”

Fakīr kī surat hī sawāl hai.

The appearance of a fakir is the question.

15. “The appearance of a fakīr is his petition in itself.”

15. “A fakīr's appearance is a statement in itself.”

Shāh-isparam az do barg paidā ast.

Shah-isparam is formed from two leaves.

16. “The sweet basil is known by its two leaves.”

16. “Sweet basil is recognized by its two leaves.”

Sonā jāne kase aur mānus jāne base.

Only the gold knows its quality, and only a person knows their worth.

17. “Gold is known by the touchstone, and a man by living with him.”

17. “You can test gold with a touchstone, and you can understand a person by spending time with him.”

Zahir-āsh az shaikh bātin az Shaitān.

Zahir-ash from the shaykh, inner from Satan.

18. “Externally he is a saint, but internally he is a devil.”

18. “On the outside, he appears to be a saint, but on the inside, he’s a devil.”

[469]

[469]

Nīm na mithā ho sech gar ghī se.

Nīm na mithā ho sech gar ghī se.

19. “The nīm-tree (which is very bitter) will not become sweet, though watered with syrup and clarified butter.”

19. “The nīm tree (which is very bitter) will never become sweet, even if it’s watered with syrup and clarified butter.”

Tum ghī ke dīye jalāo.

Light your lamps.

20. “Light thou the lamp of ghī.” (Clarified butter.)

20. “Light the ghee lamp.” (Clarified butter.)

Hawā ke ghore par sawār hain.

They are riding on the horse.

21. “He rides a steed of air.” “Chateaux d’Espagne.”—To build castles in the air.

21. “He rides a horse made of air.” “Chateaux d’Espagne.”—To build castles in the sky.

Jā ko piyā chāhen wuhī suhāgan.

If the beloved is desired, that is the true fortune.

22. “She who is beloved is the wife.”

22. “The one who is loved is the wife.”

Kyā dam kā bharosā hai?

Is there a trust in the economy?

23. “What reliance is there on life?”

23. “What trust is there in life?”

Bakht-i-bad bā kase ki yār bavad
Sag gazad gar shutur-sawār bavad.

Be friends with those who are good
And cut ties with those who bring you down.

24. “He who has ill luck for his companion will be bitten by a dog, although mounted on a camel.”

24. “Someone who has bad luck as a companion will still face trouble, even when riding a camel.”

Bhūkhe se kahā do aur do kyā? kahā chār rotīyān.

Tell them to bring food, and what else? Bring four breads.

25. “If you ask a hungry man how much two and two make—he answers Four loaves.”

25. “If you ask a hungry man what two plus two is—he replies Four loaves.”

Shirīn zabānī o lutf o khūshī Tu agar pīle bā mūe kashī.

Shirīn is the language of charm and delight; if you embrace it, you will feel its beauty.

26. “By sweet words and gentleness you may lead an elephant by a hair.”

26. “With kind words and softness, you can guide an elephant with a single hair.”

Ghawās gar andeshah kunad kām-i-nihang
Hargiz na kunad dar girān-māyah.

Ghawās gar andeshah kunad kām-i-nihang
Hargiz na kunad dar girān-māyah.

27. “If the diver were to think on the jaws of the crocodile, he would never gather precious pearls.”

27. “If the diver focuses on the crocodile's jaws, he will never collect valuable pearls.”

Kāle ke āge chirāgh nahīn jaltā.

The lamp does not burn in front of the darkness.

28. “The lamp burns not before the black snake.” (Which is supposed to carry a precious jewel in its head.)

28. “The lamp doesn't shine before the black snake.” (Which is said to have a precious gem in its head.)

Khatt pona to adhā mulākāt.

Let’s meet for a chat.

29. “A letter is half an interview.”

29. “A letter is like having half a conversation.”

[470]

[470]

Gharīb-parwar salāmat.

Stay safe, stranger.

30. “Cherisher of the poor—peace be unto you.”

30. “Supporter of the needy—peace be with you.”

31. “Allah, Muhammad, Ali, Fatima, Hussun, Hussein.

31. “God, Muhammad, Ali, Fatima, Hasan, Hussein.

Chyūnte kī jo maut ānī hai to par nikalti hai.

When death approaches, it cannot be avoided.

32. “When ants are about to die they get wings.”

32. “When ants are about to die, they grow wings.”

Nayā naukar hiran māre.

“New servant hunts deer.”

33. “A new servant will catch deer.”

33. “A new servant will catch deer.”

Rāst darogh ba gardan-i-rāwī.

Truth harms the path.

34. “The truth or falsehood of the story rests on the head of the narrator.” i.e. I tell you the story as it was told to me, but I am not answerable for the truth of it.

34. “The accuracy or inaccuracy of the story depends on the narrator.” i.e. I'm sharing the story as it was shared with me, but I can't be held responsible for its truth.

Baghl men chhurī munh men Rām! Rām!

Knife in the bag, Rām! Rām!

35. “The dagger in his bosom and salutation in his mouth.”

35. “The dagger in his heart and greetings on his lips.”

Fāl-i-bad bar zabān bad bāshad.

Bad luck comes from speech.

36. “A bad omen ought not to be mentioned.”

36. “You shouldn’t mention a bad omen.”

Ishk o mashk panhān na mī-mānad.

“Ishk o mashk panhān na mī-mānad.”

37. “Love and musk do not remain concealed.”

37. “Love and musk can’t be hidden.”

Har jā ki parī-rukhī ast dīve bā o ast.

Every day, the appearance of a fairy is like a flame.

38. “Wherever there is a fairy-faced damsel, she is attended by a demon.”

38. “Wherever there is a beautiful girl, there’s a troublemaker close by.”

Bhale bābā band pare Gobar chhor kashīde pare.

Though the father is bound, the cow will still graze.

39. “Oh! Father! I have got into a strange difficulty, I have left off picking cow-dung, and am employed in embroidery.”

39. “Oh! Dad! I've found myself in a weird situation; I’ve stopped picking up cow dung and I'm now doing embroidery.”

Rīsh-i-khudrā ba dast-i-dígare ma-dih.

Don’t give the green grass to another hand.

40. “Do not put your beard into the hands of another.” i.e. Do not put yourself into the power of another person.

40. “Don’t put your beard in someone else’s hands.” i.e. Don’t give someone else control over you.

Ādmī sā pakherū koi nahīn.

This person isn’t a bird.

41. “There is no bird like a man.” i.e. So volatile and unsteady.

41. “There is no bird like a man.” i.e. So unpredictable and inconsistent.

[471]

[471]

Kal kase dekhā hai?

“When did you see it?”

42. “Who has seen to-morrow?” i.e. Enjoy to-day, no one knows what may happen to-morrow.

42. “Who has seen tomorrow?” i.e. Enjoy today, no one knows what might happen tomorrow.

Us se achhā khudā kā nām.

“We should have God's name.”

43. “The name of God is better than this.” i.e. This is the best of all.

43. “The name of God is better than this.” i.e. This is the greatest of all.

Āh dar jigar na mānad.

Ah, it doesn't reach the heart.

44. “There was not left even a sigh in his heart.” i.e. He was totally destitute.

44. “He didn't even have a sigh left in his heart.” i.e. He was completely broke.

Dūdhon nahāo pūton phaliyo!

Don’t milk the cow!

45. “May you bathe in milk and be fruitful in children!”

45. “May you soak in milk and have many children!”

Tū ki īn kadar az khwāb mahzūzī chirā na mi-mīrī?

Tū ki īn kadar az khwāb mahzūzī chirā na mi-mīrī?

46. “You who are so fond of sleep, why don’t you die at once?”

46. “You who love sleep so much, why don’t you just die already?”

Ber tale kā bhūt.

"Talk to the dead."

47. “A demon under a Bér-tree.” That attached to Bér-trees (Ficus Indica) is said to be exceedingly obstinate—hence applied to a very importunate person of whom you cannot get rid.

47. “A demon under a Bér-tree.” The one associated with Bér-trees (Ficus Indica) is said to be extremely stubborn—so it’s used to describe a very persistent person you can’t shake off.

Us ki jar hain to Pātāl ko pahunch gaye hain.

We have reached the depths of the underworld.

48. “Its roots have already reached to Pātāl.” i.e. The infernal regions. Said of a person who has established himself firmly in any situation.

48. “Its roots have already reached to Pātāl.” i.e. The underworld. Said of a person who has firmly established themselves in any situation.

Apnī Rādhā ko yād kar.

“Remember your Rādhā.”

49. “Attend to your own Rādhā.” i.e. Attend to your own business.

49. “Focus on your own Rādhā.” i.e. Mind your own business.

Jhūth-bolne men to sarfah kyā?

Lying is just deceit, right?

50. “What need of economy in telling lies?”

50. “Why be economical when it comes to telling lies?”

51. “Jhūth na bole, to pet na phut jāe?

51. “If you don't lie, will your stomach not burst?

Transcriber’s Note: The meaning of this proverb was omitted in the original.

Transcriber’s Note: The meaning of this proverb was left out in the original.

Khānah-i-khālī dīv mī-gīrānd.

Empty house, the walls are whispering.

52. “Demons take possession of an empty house.”

52. “Demons take over an empty house.”

[472]

[472]

Zamīndārī dūb kī jar hai.

The landlord system is toxic.

53. “Landed property is like the root of the Dūb-grass.” i.e. It is not easily destroyed.

53. “Owning land is like the root of Dūb grass.” i.e. It’s not easily removed.

Shamlah ba mikdār-i-îlm.

Knowledge is a treasure.

54. “The pendant part of the turban should be in proportion to the learning.” It was formerly the custom of the learned to have the end of the turban hanging down the back.

54. “The hanging part of the turban should match the level of knowledge.” It used to be customary for scholars to have the end of their turban draping down their back.

Gāchh men kathal honth men tīl.

In the woods, there's a jackfruit in the lips.

55. “The jack fruit is upon the tree, and oil on your lips.”

55. “The jackfruit is on the tree, and oil is on your lips.”

Hāl men fāl dahī men mosal.

Hāl men fāl dahī men mosal.

56. “Talking to a man who is in ecstasy (of a religious nature, feigned or practised by fakīrs) is like beating curds with a pestle.”

56. “Talking to a man who is experiencing ecstasy (whether genuinely spiritual or faked by charlatans) is like trying to churn curds with a pestle.”

Merā māthā tabhī thonkā thā.

I was just hit.

57. “It was hammered upon my forehead.”

57. “It was struck on my forehead.”

Takdīr chū sābik ast tadbīr chi saud?

Is destiny predetermined, or do we shape our own fate?

58. “What is the use of taking precautions, since what has been pre-ordained must happen?”

58. “What’s the point of taking precautions if what’s meant to happen will happen anyway?”

Jaisā des waisā bhes.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

59. “Every country hath its own fashions.”

59. “Every country has its own customs.”

Jādū hakk hai karne-wālā kāfir.

“Witchcraft is the work of a disbeliever.”

60. “Magic is truth, but the magician is an infidel.”

60. “Magic is truth, but the magician is a fraud.”

Gul se hamāre nishīn Siwā kānte ke nahīn.

Our color is nothing but thorns.

61. “My only portion of the rose is the thorn.”

61. “The only part of the rose I have is the thorn.”

Nigāh-e-darwesh âīn-i-sawāl.

"The gaze of the mystic is the question."

62. “The sight of a beggar is a request personified.”

62. “Seeing a beggar is like seeing a direct plea for help.”

Ek gharīb ko mārā thā to nau man charbī.

Ek gharīb ko mārā thā to nau man charbī.

63. “I have killed such a poor man as you, and have got nine mŭns of fat out of him.”

63. “I have killed a poor guy like you and got nine mŭns of fat from him.”

[473]

[473]

Jal men basī kamudinī chandā basī ākās.
Jo jan jā ke man basī so jan tā ke pās.

In the water, a fish swims; in the sky, a bird flies.
Wherever the heart resides, that's where the person belongs.

64. “The Nymphæa dwells in the water, and the moon in the sky, (but) he that resides in the heart of another is always present with him.” The Nymphæa expands its flowers in the night, and thence is feigned to be in love with the moon.

64. “The Nymphæa lives in the water, and the moon in the sky, (but) whoever resides in someone’s heart is always with them.” The Nymphæa blooms at night, which is why it’s said to be in love with the moon.

Himmat-i-mardān hārhā dārad.

A man’s courage never fails.

65. “Resolution overcomes great difficulties.”

"Determination conquers great challenges."

Har-kirā sabr nīst hikmat nīst.

“Patience without wisdom is useless.”

66. “He who has not patience, possesses not philosophy.”

66. “If you don't have patience, you don't really have philosophy.”

Ki gumbad har-chi goyī goyad-at bāz.

Whatever the dome says, it speaks to you again.

67. “Whatever you say to a dome, it says to you again.”

67. “Whatever you say to a dome, it echoes back to you.”

Kab mue kab kire pare.

When to come, when to go.

68. “When he died and when the worms ate him (I know not).”

68. “I don’t know when he died or when the worms started to eat him.”

Ab bhī merā murdah tere zinde par bhārē hai.

Even now, my dead weight is heavy on your living soul.

69. “My dead are better than your living.”

69. “My dead are better than your living.”

Har ki dil pesh-i-dilbarē dārad,
Rīsh dar dast-i-dīgare dārad.

Every heart has its own beloved,
And every beard is in another's hand.

70. “Whoever hath given his heart to a beloved object, hath put his beard into the hands of another.”

70. "Whoever has given their heart to someone they love has put their fate in someone else's hands."

Bī-tāb-i-îshk har-chi kunad hakk ba dast-i-o ast.

The restlessness of love does whatever it wants; it's in its own hands.

71. “Whatever a man does who is afflicted with love, he must be excused for it.”

71. “Whatever a guy does when he’s in love, he has to be forgiven for it.”

Laili ko Majnūn ke ankhon se dekhnā.

Laili looked into Majnūn's eyes.

72. “One must behold Laīlī with the eyes of Majnūn.”

72. “You have to see Laīlī through the eyes of Majnūn.”

Dah darwesh dar kalīme bi-khuspand
Do pādshāh dar iklīme na ganjand.

Dah darwesh dar kalīme bi-khuspand
Do pādshāh dar iklīme na ganjand.

73. “Ten derveshes may sleep under the same blanket, but two kings cannot exist in one kingdom.”

73. “Ten dervishes can share the same blanket, but two kings can't rule in one kingdom.”

Hūr bhī saugan koden se burī.

Hūr bhī saugan koden se burī.

74. “A contemporary wife, although a hūri, is worse than a she-devil.”

74. “A modern wife, even if she's beautiful, is worse than a she-devil.”

[474]

[474]

Saut chun kī bhī burī.

“Saut chun ki bhi buri.”

75. “The very voice of a rival wife is intolerable.”

75. “The very voice of a rival wife is unbearable.”

Sautīyā dāh mashhūr hai.

“Sautīyā dāh is famous.”

76. “The malice of a rival wife is notorious.”

76. “The jealousy of a rival wife is well-known.”

Saut mūrat kī bhī burī.

"Even good luck can go bad."

77. “A contemporary wife is intolerable even in effigy.”

77. “A modern wife is unbearable even in representation.”

Saut bhalī sautela burā.

Good step, bad stepmother.

78. “A contemporary wife may be good, but her child is bad.”

78. “A modern wife might be great, but her kid is not.”

Āsūdah kase ki buz na dārad.

Āsūdah kase ki buz na dārad.

79. “The man is happy who has no she-goat.”

79. “The man is happy who doesn’t have a she-goat.”

Būnd kā gharon dhal gayā.

Homes have been destroyed.

80. “The house may be filled with the falling of drops.”

80. “The house might be filled with the sound of falling drops.”

Ham māl ba-dast āyad o ham mār na ranjad.

We gain what we have, and we don't get hurt by the snake.

81. “To get possession of the wealth without disturbing the snake that guards it.”

81. “To acquire the wealth without upsetting the snake that protects it.”

Saidrā chūn ājal āyad sū-e-sayyād rawad.

When death approaches, it goes toward the hunter.

82. “When death approaches the game it goes towards the sportsman.”

82. “When death gets close, the game heads for the player.”

Apnī guriyā sanwār-denā.

Style your doll.

83. “To dress one’s own doll.”

83. “To dress your own doll.”

Ghar kar ghar kar sattar balā sir dhar.

Make a home, make a home, and place a crown of seventy blessings upon your head.

84. “He who builds a house and takes a wife, heaps seventy afflictions on his head.”

84. “Whoever builds a house and marries a wife brings upon themselves seventy troubles.”

Jahān dekhe to ā barat.
Wahān gāwe sārī rāt.

Look at the world here.
There, we sing all night.

85. “Where there is a marriage they may sing all night.”

85. “Where there's a wedding, they can sing all night long.”

Jis dūlhah tis banī barāt.

This bride is a gem.

86. “The nuptial procession is proportioned to the rank of the bridegroom.”

86. “The wedding procession is adjusted to the status of the groom.”

Hamahrā yak mār gazīdah ast.

We have been bitten by a snake.

87. “One snake has bit them all.”

87. “One snake has bitten them all.”

[475]

[475]

Rānī dīwānī hoyī oron ko patthar apnon ko laddū mār kī.

The queen became crazy and threw stones at her people while hitting them with sweets.

88. “The princess is grown foolish, she pelts her own relations with sweetmeats, others with stones.”

88. “The princess has become silly; she throws treats at her own family and stones at others.”

Tātorah ba hawā pāshīdah and.

Tātorah is widely spread now.

89. “They have scattered datūra (thorn-apple) in the air.” i.e. The people are all gone mad.

89. “They have scattered datura (thorn-apple) in the air.” i.e. The people have all gone crazy.

Man motion byāh
Man chāwalon byāh.

Man motion byāh
Man chāwalon byāh.

90. “A marriage may be celebrated with a mŭn of rice, as well as with a mŭn of pearls.”

90. “A marriage can be celebrated with a handful of rice, just as easily as with a handful of pearls.”

Nakāre bāj damāne bāj gaye.

“Nakāre bāj damāne bāj gaye.”

100. “The sound of the nakaras and dumana has ceased.”

100. “The sound of the drums and music has stopped.”

Misi kājil kisko
Miyān chale bhasko.

What’s the plan now?
Let’s go, friends.

101. “For whom should I stain my teeth and blacken my eyelashes? the master is turned to ashes.”

101. “Who should I paint my lips and darken my eyelashes for? The master is nothing but ashes now.”

Zabān-i-khūsh mārrā az sorākh bar mī-ārad.

Zabān-i-khūsh mārrā az sorākh bar mī-ārad.

102. “A pleasant voice brings a snake out of a hole.”

102. “A nice voice can lure a snake out of its hiding place.”

Kharbūzāh chhurī par gire, yā chhurī kharbūze par to kharbūze kā zarūr.

If the melon falls on the knife, or the knife falls on the melon, it must involve the melon.

103. “Whether the melon falls on the knife, or the knife on the melon, the melon is the sufferer.” i.e. The weakest go to the wall.

103. “Whether the melon lands on the knife, or the knife lands on the melon, the melon is the one that gets hurt.” i.e. The weakest take the hit.

Dhūl kī rassī batnā.

Rope of dust to shake.

104. “To twist a rope of sand.”

104. “To twist a rope made of sand.”

Az bīwah kīr gadā’ī.

That made me feel sad.

105. “To beg a husband from a widow.”

105. “To ask a widow for a husband.”

Āthon gānth kumīt.

Athon gānth kumīt.

106. “Bay in all his eight joints.”

106. “Bay in all his eight joints.”

Māmū jī juhār.

Respect to Māmū jī.

107. “God save you, uncle!”

“God bless you, uncle!”

Ek nahīn sattar balā taltī hai.

It doesn't peer back into the darkness.

108. “Not one, but seventy misfortunes it keeps off.”

108. “It keeps away not just one, but seventy misfortunes.”

[476]

[476]

Kāne kī ek rag siwā hotī hai.

Kāne kī ek rag siwā hotī hai.

109. “One-eyed men have a vein extra.”

109. “One-eyed people have an extra advantage.”

Thorā khānā aur Banāras rahnā.

Stay in Thorā khānā and Banāras.

110. “A little to eat and to live at Benares.” The wish of a pious Hindu.

110. “Just enough to eat and to live in Benares.” The desire of a devout Hindu.

Zabar-dast kā thengā sir par.

Heavy burden on the head.

111. “The cudgel of the powerful must be obeyed.” Club law—the weakest always suffer.

111. “The powerful's club must be followed.” Might makes right—the weak always pay the price.

Jiskī lāthī us kī bhains.

His kick is like a buffalo.

112. “He who has the stick, his is the buffalo.” To express that the most powerful is generally the most successful in all disputes. Club law.

112. “The one who has the stick owns the buffalo.” This means that the most powerful usually wins in any argument or conflict. Club law.

Jis ne na dekhā ho bāgh wuh dekhe bilāī.
Jis ne na dekhā ho thag wuh dekhe kasāī.

Whoever hasn't seen a garden should see a cat.
Whoever hasn't seen a thief should see a butcher.

113. “He who has never seen a tiger let him look at a cat; and he who has never seen a Thug, let him look at a butcher.”

113. “If you've never seen a tiger, just look at a cat; and if you've never seen a Thug, just look at a butcher.”

Zauk-i-chaman ’z khātir-i-bulbul na mī-rawad.

For the sake of the nightingale, don’t disturb the garden.

114. “The desire of the garden never leaves the heart of the nightingale.”

114. “The longing for the garden never leaves the heart of the nightingale.”

Ghar gūr to bāhir mamāke.

Home is where family is.

115. “A gooroo at home, but a beggar abroad.”

115. “A teacher at home, but a beggar when away.”

Gharīb ko kaurī ashrafī hai.

For a stranger, a gold coin is valuable.

116. “A kourī is a gold mohur to a pauper.”

116. “A kourī is a gold coin to a poor person.”

Hazār niamat aur ek tand-rastī.

Many blessings and a good health.

117. “Health alone is equal to a thousand blessings.”

117. “Good health is worth a thousand blessings.”

Chirāgh tale andherā.

Light in the darkness.

118. “It is dark under the lamp.”

118. “It's dark under the lamp.”

Larke ko jab bheriyā le-gayā tab tattī bāndhī.

Larke ko jab bheriya le-gaya tab tatti bandhi.

119. “Fasten the door when the wolf has run away with the child.”

119. “Lock the door after the wolf has taken the child.”

Khwāb āsāīsh-i-jān ast.

Dreams are the desire of the heart.

120. “Sleep is the repose of the soul.”

120. “Sleep is the rest of the soul.”

[477]

[477]

Agar firdause bar rū-e-zamīn ast
Hamen ast, hamen ast, hamen ast.

If there is a paradise on earth
It is this, it is this, it is this.

121. “If there be a Paradise upon earth, it is this, it is this.”

121. “If there’s a Paradise on earth, it’s this, it’s this.”

Dar-i-khānah-e-khudā dāim bāz ast.

God's house is always open.

122. “The gate of the house of God is always open.”

122. “The door to the house of God is always open.”

Jitnā chhota itnā khota.

"The smaller, the worse."

123. “Vicious as he is little.”

123. “As vicious as he is small.”

Tārīkī-i-shab surmah-e-chashm-i-mūsh-i-kūr ast.

Tārīkī-i-shab is the darkness of a blind mouse's eye.

124. “The darkness of the night is collyrium to the eyes of the mole.”

124. “The darkness of the night is like eye drops to the eyes of the mole.”

Sabz bar sang na-rawad chi gunah-e-bārānrā?

Why does the green (grass) not grow on the stone when it's guilty of being barren?

125. “If grass does not grow upon stones, what fault is it in the rain?”

125. “If grass doesn’t grow on stones, what’s the rain’s fault?”

Ek jorū sāre kumbe ko bas hai.

It’s just the two of us here.

126. “One wife is enough for a whole family.”

126. “One wife is enough for an entire family.”

Murdah ān ast ki nām ash ba nikūī na burand.

Murder is when a person’s name is not remembered for their good deeds.

127. “He only is dead whose name is not mentioned with respect.”

127. “Only those are truly dead whose names aren't spoken with respect.”

Roz-i-tangī siyāh ast.

“Roz-i-tangī siyāh ast.”

128. “The days of distress are black.” i.e. White and red amongst the Persians denote good.

128. “The days of trouble are dark.” i.e. White and red among the Persians represent good.

Shutur-ghamze karte hain.

They wink.

129. “They cast camels’ glances.”

129. "They gave camel-like looks."

Chhīnkte khāē, chhīnkte nahāe chhīnkte par ghar na jāe.

Those who eat crumbs, those who bathe in crumbs do not return home.

130. “After sneezing you may eat or bathe, but not go into any one’s house.”

130. “After sneezing, you can eat or take a bath, but you shouldn’t go into anyone’s house.”

Astarrā guftand, pidar ast kīst? Guft asp khāl-i-man ast yā mādar-am mādiyān ast.

They said, who is the father? The horse replied, it is my father or my mother is my mother.

131. “The mule was asked ‘Who is your father?’ he answered, ‘The horse is my maternal uncle, and the mare is my mother.”

131. “When asked ‘Who is your father?’ the mule replied, ‘The horse is my maternal uncle, and the mare is my mother.’”

Wahm kī dārū hī nahīn.

"It’s not just the wine."

132. “There is no physic for false ideas.”

132. “There’s no remedy for false ideas.”

[478]

[478]

Āb dar jaughan kobīdan.

Āb dar jaughan kobīdan.

133. “To pound water in a mortar.” Labour in vain.

133. “To pound water in a mortar.” Working for nothing.

Ām machhli bahtā ho hī rahtā hī.

The fish keeps swimming nonstop.

134. “Mangoes and fish meet of necessity.”

134. “Mangoes and fish come together because they have to.”

Murdan ba-izzat bih ki zindagānī ba-mazallat.

Murdan ba-izzat bih ki zindagānī ba-mazallat.

135. “It is better to die with honour than live with infamy.”

135. “It’s better to die with honor than to live in shame.”

Bhāgalpūr ke bhagliye aur Kahalgaon ke thag,
Patne ke diwāliye tīnon nām-zad.

The clever ones from Bhāgalpūr and the con artists from Kahalgaon,
All known by name in Patna.

136. “The hypocrites of Bhagulpūr, the thugs of Kuhulgaon, and the bankrupts of Patna are famous.”

136. “The fakes from Bhagulpūr, the con artists from Kuhulgaon, and the broke folks from Patna are well-known.”

Zāt bhānt puchhe na koi, jatio pahan kar Bahman hoe.

No one asks about the person, dressed in fine attire, who becomes a Brahmin.

137. “No one enquires his caste or tribe, he has put on the string and is therefore a Brahman.”

137. “No one asks about his caste or tribe; he has put on the thread, so he’s considered a Brahman.”

Rānd sānd sīrhī sanyāsī
In chāron se bache Kāshī.

Rānd sānd sīrhī sanyāsī
Stay away from these four in Kāshī.

138. “At Benares you should be upon your guard against the women, the sacred bulls, the stairs, and the devotees.”

138. “In Benares, you need to watch out for the women, the sacred bulls, the stairs, and the devotees.”

Bel ke māre babūl tale
Babūl ke māre bel tale.

Under the babool tree,
Under the babool tree.

139. “He who was hurt by the bel (its large fruit falling on his head) fled for refuge to the babūl (the prickles of which wounded his feet), and he who was hurt by the babūl, fled to the bel.”

139. “The person injured by the bel (with its large fruit hitting his head) ran for safety to the babūl (whose thorns hurt his feet), and the one hurt by the babūl ran to the bel.”

Mānte to deo nahīn to bhīt kā leo.

Mānte to deo nahīn to bhīt kā leo.

140. “If you believe, it is a god—if not, plaister detached from a wall.”

140. “If you believe, it's a god—if not, plaster that’s come off a wall.”

Daryā men rahnā aur magar machh se bair karnā.

Living in the river but being hostile to the fish.

141. “To dwell in the river and be at enmity with the crocodile.”

141. “To live in the river and be enemies with the crocodile.”

Khudā shakar-khore ko shakar detā hai.

God gives sugar to the one who enjoys it.

142. “God gives sugar to him who eats sugar.” i.e. He provides for his creatures according to their wants.

142. “God gives sugar to those who eat sugar.” i.e. He provides for His creations based on their needs.

Na burad kazz-i-narmrā tegh-i-tez.

Here we sharpen our swords.

143. “A sharp sword will not cut raw silk.”

143. “A sharp sword won’t cut through raw silk.”

[479]

[479]

Nakl-i-âish bih az âīsh.

Living well is better than existing.

144. “The narration of pleasure is better than the pleasure itself.”

144. “Talking about pleasure is better than experiencing it.”

Ukhle men sir diyā to dhamkon se kyā dar.

If they give me light, what’s there to be afraid of from threats?

145. “I have put my head into the mortar; it is useless to dread the sound of the pestle.”

145. “I’ve put my head in the mortar; there’s no point in fearing the sound of the pestle.”

Āp kī topī par salāmat rahī.

Your hat is safe.

146. “The blessing of heaven be upon your head.”

146. “May heaven's blessing be upon you.”

Kalam īn jā rasīd o sar bi-shikast.

Kalam in ja rasid o sar bi-shikast.

147. “The pen arrived thus far and broke its point.” i.e. It is finished.

147. “The pen made it this far and broke its tip.” i.e. It’s done.

RAM! RAM!

Memory! Memory!

END OF VOL. I.

END OF VOL. 1.

LONDON:
GILBERT & RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
ST. JOHN’S SQUARE.

LONDON:
GILBERT & RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
ST. JOHN’S SQUARE.


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