We were fortunate enough to be in time for the Feast of the Muhárram, with the procession for Hossein's death. This is a Moslem miracle play, answering to our Passion play at Ober Ammergau, and represents the martyrdom and death of Hassan and Hossein, sons of Ali and Fatima, son-in-law and daughter of Mohammed. No European seemed to care about it, but in any other land there would be crowded express trains and excursion steamers to catch a glimpse of it. Richard took me to the Imám Bárrá, to his friends the Shí'ahs (Persians), to his Highness Agha Khan, chief of the Khojahs, who took me to the Jumat Khana, the place of assembly of the Khojah caste—an immense building, enclosing in a large space of ground. They let us in, and the Hindús, but not the Sunnis, who, though Moslems, are their religious enemies. The whole place was a blaze of lamps, mirrors, a brazier of wood flaring up, and a large white tank of water (Hossein died fighting his way to the Great River). Men form themselves into a ring, moving from right to left with a curious step, beating their naked breasts with their hands. It makes a noise like the thud of a crowbar, but in musical time; the Arabs dance that way, but do not beat their breasts. The blows are given with such violence that they sometimes die of them, and often faint, and think themselves happy to suffer for the cause. They become more and more fanatical, working themselves up to frenzy, crying, "Hossein! Hossein Ah-ha!" and with this wail the blows are dealt with noise and regularity like a huge sledge-hammer, till it becomes a maddening shriek. They become raw as beef, and bleed, and are distorted. To see those hundreds of men, in the prime of life, brawny and muscular as they are, carried away by religious fanaticism, awes you; and you know what a terrible thing it is, and what a tremendous force it is, when roused, to twist the world in and out of shape with.
Then comes a procession of horses bearing little boys of six or eight, the children and nephews of Hossein, carried off prisoners; their white clothes and the horse's trappings stream with blood (painted wonderfully well). A group of mourners hang round each horse, crying real tears, and shrieking, "Hossein!" which thrills our nerves, and all the spectators sob. Then comes the bier with Hossein's corpse, and his son sitting upon it sorrowing and embracing him, and a beautiful white dove in the corner, whose wings are dabbled with blood. The effect upon the excited crowd is awful. Then follows a litter with the sister and widow of Hossein, throwing dust and straw upon their heads. One horse has a score of arrows stuck in its housings. We must here call to mind that Fatima was the daughter of the Prophet Mohammed, was married to Ali, the Prophet's favourite companion, and was mother of Hassan and Hossein. Fatima expected Ali to succeed her father; but Ayesha, the last and youngest wife of Mohammed, managed that her own father, Abubekr, should become the Caliph. Then came Omar, then Osman. When Osman died, Ali, who was still alive, became Caliph, and was assassinated A.D. 660, leaving his two sons, Hassan and Hossein, blessed by their grandfather, Mohammed, as the foremost youths of Paradise. Hassan renounced his rights to save civil war, and was poisoned at Medina by his wife, at the instigation of Muawíyah. Hossein went to Medina, invited to return by the subjects of the treacherous Yezíd, was caught in the snare, and slain in battle at Kerbála (Arabia).
This was the tragedy represented there:—
First came Hossein, six feet high, with fair complexion, and black beard cut close. He walks with dignity, as becomes so great a personage. His green and gold turban is like a crown, and shows his relationship to the Prophet. He is draped in a black cloak. Then the wife and sister came, veiled; then four little children; then attendants. Hossein seats himself in a large armchair on one of three dais; his family on a similar one opposite; and a sick youth, the son of Hossein, lies on a mattress on a third. His son was ill when Hossein died, but lived to become the progenitor of all the Sherífs of the East. Then the villain Shimr, inviting Hossein to return, was hooted, and a noble reply from Hossein was received with murmurs of applause. Then rises up Hossein's sister, imploring him not to go to destruction. The wife dare not speak; she may feel the most, but in the East she dares not show it, even by a murmur. Hossein says that he is called to be the Imám of the Faithful. If slain, he will die for the people of the true Faith; if he lives, he will do Allah's will. The sister cries aloud, and casting dust on her head, flings herself on his neck. He embraces her tenderly, but will go and die for the sins of all. Sobs burst from all sides—and real sobs. Everything is so earnest, so simple, so distinct, and expressive. Then the little daughter comes forth and caresses him; the child really weeps. He takes it in his arms, soothes, and puts it back to its mother's lap. He then goes over to his son's sick bed and bids him a tender adieu. A splendid horse then comes in, and the sister brings him a white linen shroud, and puts it on him. When about to mount, the child rushes from her mother's arms and catches his cloak. He sinks on the ground, and wraps the child in his arms. As he rises, the child pulls off the shroud, covers herself with it, and stretches herself on the earth. He takes it from her, and mounts his horse. The child flings herself in front of the horse's hoofs, and the animal stands still. A servant picks the child up, but she breaks away, and clings to the horse's legs; her little hands clutch its hoofs.
The audience have been sobbing the whole time, but now there is a perfect spasm of grief. An angel then comes, and offers to slay Hossein's enemies; but he refuses, and the angel throws dust over his head. Then he draws his scimitar. The villain Shimr appears, and they ride off. The battle, the treachery, want of water, and the slaying, are left to the imagination; and we next see the procession of the Imám's captive children, widow, and sister, and the headless corpse upon a bier. The procession of last night follows again, shrieking, "Ya Ali! Ya Hossein!" with beating of breasts. The tabuts are set up in every nook and corner, and are fanciful representations of the tombs of Hassan and Hossein—gay, glittering gimcracks and tinsel. They are carried through the streets by men and boys as merry as grigs, dancing and shouting, to fling them into the sea. The explanation is that the Shí'ahs mourn for Hossein with despair, but the Sunnis consider him not a martyr to be mourned for, and turn the occasion into ridicule; and these tabut processions are conducted by the Sunnis as a caricature, which sometimes ends in a serious fight.
We also came in for a regatta, and we received great hospitality on board the Squadron.
During this journey we saw a great deal of Mirza Ali Akbar, who was Richard's old moonshee when he was a boy. We had a delightful Persian breakfast with him, of fruit, vegetables, every kind of sweets, and rice highly seasoned, rice with caraway seeds, pilao with saffron savoury and aromatic, prawn curry with plain rice, sweet rice with rose-water, spices, and sweet paste from Muscat. He had been very much wronged in some matter, and Richard was helping and instructing him how to put his case clearly before the public, he being quite an innocent man, of whatever charge was brought against him, though I forget what it was; but he died—like many others—before he was righted—as justice was slow. When he called upon Richard, his card was brought in, in large letters looking like the visiting-card of some middle-class respectable Englishman, with "Mirza Ally Akbar" upon it. "Hullo, Mirza," Richard said, after they had salaamed. "Are you any relation to Ally Sloper?" The Mirza laughed—that is, as nearly as an Eastern does laugh—and said, "No! but the English always call me Ally Akbar, so I found it was the shortest way to call myself so." It is surprising how often we have gone to places, and found the natives had changed their names to whatever the English chose to call them; for instance, a Señor Machado had become a Mr. Much-harder.
We saw a great deal also of Mr. and Mrs. MacLean, and Mr. Gratton Geary, editors of the papers. We visited the schools of the native girls; it was an English institution called the Alexandra, where they went through a good many performances, sang and recited in English and Guzeratee, and one girl, D. A. H. Wadia, illustrated well enough for a professional.
The beautiful moonlight nights are here spoilt by the air being redolent of burnt flesh (roast Hindú) and sandal-wood. Richard took me over to inspect the cotton-mills. There were some grand races, and the Nawáb and all the Eastern "big-wigs" were there; distance a mile and a half, and, as usual, whatever Hackney rode won. Long, lanky weedy whalers ran better than the Arabs bred there. We dined with the Commander-in-Chief, Sir Charles and Lady Staveley, in tent quarters. We used to frequent the burial-ground very often in search of a tomb we could not find, and at last we found it in the old Girgaum burial-grounds in the Sonápur quarter, which had long been closed as full. It was one of the characteristics of my husband that he could never bear to pass a countryman's grave, or a celebrated person's grave, without honouring it. This was a once celebrated man, yet, except Richard, no one of the present day knew anything about him, or his nameless grave—such is glory!
After many hot hours and days, and vain searching in parties amongst the twenty thousand tombs, we found a plain space containing a very old tombstone, with letters that required one to kneel down and trace with the finger. No "Sacred to," but only "Victor Jacquemont, born in Paris 28th August, 1801; arrived at Calcutta in May, 1829; and after travelling three and a half years in India, expired at Bombay on 7th December, 1832." He was a man of letters, a botanist, and naturalist, who is supposed to have pioneered the French to India, and had the Legion of Honour ("Correspondance de Victor Jacquemont," 2 vols., Paris, 1833, published a year after his death). He was a French Catholic and fellow-Bohemian, so we paid a tribute to his memory. I recited a "De profundis," and my husband gave directions to have the letters picked out and painted afresh, and the grave replanted to mark where he was buried. Jacquemont died in the house of one Nico, who wrote to his brother, M. Porphyre; he had three doctors, MacLellan, Kembell, and Henderson; treatment was 60 by 60 leeches, salivated, blistered, etc.; got worse after a quarrel with his black servants, and died of abscess on the liver, which burst internally. He had black vomit "c'était un baquet de macération," and was kept alive by animal soup and wine. He had a public funeral. These were all the details we were able to collect; but it was a great deal, after forty-six years of such utter forgetfulness that nobody knew where he was buried. We also saw a great deal of the philanthropist, Miss Mary Carpenter, and her work.
We went to the wedding feast of the daughter of Venayek Ramchunder Luxumonjee, at Bhau, Russell House, Girgaum Road. It was a magnificent entertainment, a long saloon brilliantly lit, every sort of luxurious carpet, crossed one upon another, hundreds of Easterns in gorgeous dresses. They say "we are just, but not kind," and it is true. There is no mixing of Society. There are few Burtons, and Stricklands of the Rudyard Kipling type. I regret to say that I was the only European lady. There was a Nach (Nautch). The host had natural dignified manners. He was gentlemanly, manly, courteous without servility, spoke excellent English, and was in nothing inferior, except in colour, to the most polished English gentleman. The little bride and bridegroom were aged nine and ten. The marriage feasts last for days, after which they each stay with their parents till they are ready for practical marriage. There are no more ceremonies; they are actually theoretically married to-day. The house was lit up like a transformation scene in a pantomime. Then we had to go and be vaccinated, for small-pox was raging; so we made a large party, and were about four hundred clustering round a cow at the hospital. Then Mr. Ormiston and his brother took us in a steam launch to see his work—the revolving light at the Prongs, the handsomest thing we had ever seen. The lighthouse is eight stories high, 169 feet. We then went to a Garden-party at Parell, Government House—something like a mild Chiswick party. There is so much hospitality that we dined out every night, and the drives out to dinner and back were delicious, on the balmy Indian nights. We saw Indian jugglery, such as the mango planted and growing before one's sight, the child being killed in the basket, and many other things which I, being a new-comer, was delighted with, and it amused Richard to see my astonishment.
We then went up to Mátherán, the most easily got at hill-station, or sanitarium, passing through the villages Byculla, Chinchoogly, Parell, Dadur, Sion, Coorla, Bhandoop, Tannah, and Derwa. Tannah is a big village, an unhealthy-looking place, with two crumbling forts in the river. Long, long ago there were five thousand velvet weavers here. They also used to cure large quantities of bacon. In the thirteenth century four friars went to dispute with the Moslem Kadi, and told him Mohammed was in hell with his father the Devil, on which he executed them with such tortures that his own King banished him, and the Portuguese took signal revenge. Our third halt was Kalyan junction. This poor village port was, in A.D. 200, the far-famed Kalliénapolis, which shipped dry goods and precious woods to the outer west. We are also now on classic ground, near the northern extremity of the Shurpáraka, or winnow-shaped region, the Greek Limyrica, where some have placed Ophir of Solomon. The Konkan lowland is like the Arabian desert, tawny, not with sand, but black patched with fire. Here we turn down towards Madras, joining the Calcutta Railway, and pass Budapoor. We catch the Deccan hot winds, and alight at Narel, a little Maharatta village at the eastern base of Mátherán, which will be noted afterwards as the birthplace of the infamous Nana Sahib.
Here we mount ponies. We had to climb up four plateaux, and we arrived at the Alexandra Hotel, Mátherán, a very comfortable bungalow. The wooded lanes, the wild flowers, the pure atmosphere, the light and shadows playing on the big foliage, and the birds rustling and singing in it, were delightful to us. We were standing on a table-land of eight square miles covered with bungalows in lovely woods, seamed with riding-paths—regular leafy screens, whose ends lead to famous points, each one showing a magnificent view. We looked down splendid ravines amongst buttress-shaped mountains, light and shade sharply defined, burnt yellow grass, green trees and black basalt. The fresh vivid verdure of the woods is a repose to the eyes, weary by tawny lowlands and fœtid jungly undergrowth. We enjoy bright green grove, black rock, red-yellow laterite, a luxuriance of fernery, after so much palm and bamboo, aloe and cactus. We have got a patch of virgin forest and plenty of the gigantic anjun, whose pink-and-lilac bloom look like patches of morning sky through the foliage, and you hear everywhere the bark of the Wánúrú monkey, which is something like that of the wolf.
The officers' sanitarium is a horridly smelling, melancholy, deserted almshouse-looking row, painted black, with black mat screens; it looks like a stationary hearse, and would make one sick even if the air were not redolent of small-pox. The rooms looked evidently fresh from some horrid disease, and unclean. We shuddered, and passed away from the tainted atmosphere. Mátherán is not fashionable; it is affected by the commercial classes from Saturday till Monday. It is Margate, whilst Máhábáleshwar and the Neilgherries are Brighton and Biarritz, and are patronized by the "Services." But we did meet with some nice people there—a charming Mrs. Douglas, and Dr. and Mrs. Nevin.
I think I said to leave Mátherán one has to get back to Narel. The railway makes a tour like a V. We came down one side, and we go up the other to Lanauli. On our road down from Mátherán we passed a procession of Brínjaris for about two miles. This wild tribe intermarry only amongst themselves, and have their own laws. They are a strong race; men, women, and children are good looking. They grow their own corn, have their own bullocks, spin their own sacks, and have huge dogs for guard. They dress picturesquely, and are very defiant. The women carry the babies in a basket on their heads. They have been described, as have also the Nats, as being one with the Gypsies, to whom they bear some resemblance; but it is a mistake. My husband made up his mind on this point whilst he was working with the camel-men, and lived with the "Jats" in India, in his early days. He said the Romany are an Indine people from the great valley of the Indus.
We passed another overhanging rock covered with monkeys, some as big as a man, and some of a small species; they do not associate or intermarry. There are two Maharatta forts in this part of the world, on the way to Lanauli, called Rao Machi, the scene of one of our great fights in 1846. The conductor on our brake had been a soldier fighting in it, and gave my husband, who was at that time on Sir Charles Napier's staff in Sind, a spirited account of it.
With the English mistaken notion of clemency, that always scotches its snake, but is too generous or holds it too much in contempt to kill it, and lets it run about to sting ad libitum, instead of being hanged, Bajee Ráo was pensioned with 80,000 rupees a year, and retired to Bithoor on the Ganges, where he rewarded British clemency by adopting a child born in the village of Narel, at the foot of Mátherán, who lived to be the infamous Nana Sahib, the same that afterwards tortured and killed so many of our people.
We visited the Karla Caves, climbing a goat-like path to a gash in the mountain side, with a belt of trees, and sat on the stones facing one of the most wonderful Buddhist temples in India, constructed more than two thousand years ago. It was shaped just like our cathedrals, body and aisle, with a horseshoe roof of teakwood. The nave is separated from the aisles by fifteen columns on each side, whose capitals are two couchant elephants, with a man and woman upon each. A dome surmounted by a coloured ornament at the top takes the place of high altar, the ornament being like the pedestal for the Blessed Sacrament, and the umbrella for canopy or tabernacle; and the space behind the high altar in continuation of the horseshoe shape is separated by four plain columns. The light comes from an open space where a large window should be, artistically shining only on the high altar and dome, like ancient Spanish and Portuguese churches. This is cut out of the solid rock, pillars, capitals, façade, and all: the Kanheri Caves are the same. On either side of the entrance are carved three splendid elephants larger than life, and covered with niches and figures of Buddhist men and women. Four enormous columns front it, with a gigantic slab of stone across the entry, to prevent curious gazings from outside. A huge column with three lions for its capital is a further outpost. A little temple far outside is consecrated by the Brahúis to Devi. We were only allowed to peep into this last. The "Monkery" was most curious. Cells scooped all round opened into the large round centre room. Besides a ground-floor cave, there were three stories. They say the Jesuits pick and choose the best situations, but I am sure the Buddhists did the same thing. This place commands the whole country. The more I travel, see, and learn, the more I perceive that all the ancient religions, show that but one has existed from the Creation, for every faith tells the same tale as ours, with different actors under different names, but all the facts are the same.
To get to Poonah the way is through the Indrauni River valley, through the station of Kurkulla, Tulligaum, Chinchwud, and Kirkee, a large European military station and very pretty. We eventually reached Poonah, the scene of all the Peshwa intrigues against the English, and our great battles with the Maharattas. Their dynasty lasted over seventy years, but Bajee Ráo and his successors might always have been there, if they had not quarrelled with the English. This was in Mr. Mountstuart Elphinstone's time, with whom at that time was Grant Duff, the historian. The great names connected with that period and business were Sir Arthur Wellesley (Wellington), General Sir Harry Smith, Lieut.-Colonel Burr, Captains Ford and Staunton, General Pritzler, Sir Thomas Munro, and Colonel Prother. We went to Párbati, the Maharattas' chief palace and stronghold, from which the last Peshwa, Bajee Ráo, who sat on the rocky brow, saw his troops defeated by the English on the plain, fled on horseback down the other side, and was hunted about the country for months, till he gave himself up to Sir John Malcolm.
There are three pagodas in Bajee Ráo's palace, dedicated to Vishnu, Shiva, and Wittoba, and one small temple particularly to Kalee or Bhowanee, wife of Shiva, and patroness of the Thugs. Being sunset, the wild, mournful, bizarre sound of tomtom, kettle, cymbal, and reed suddenly struck up. We shut our eyes, and fancied ourselves in camp again in the desert, wild sword-dances being performed by the Arabs. We had a remarkable dinner at Mr. and Mrs. Petersen's, meeting Captain Yates and Dr. Machonochie. Next morning we visited the Kharekwasla tanks or lakes, laid out by Mr. Joyner, C.E.—a wonderfully clever work—and he made a water-party for us.
[1] "Moslems, I have said, count seven heavens; they also reckon, after the fashion of the Greeks and classical geographers, seven climates on earth. Their 'Haft-Iklim,' therefore, means this sublunary world. This is blending together two superstitions, Hindú and Mussulman—but n'importe."—R. F. B.
[2] This was a very romantic affair.—I. B.
[4] "A memento mori, fashionable amongst Eastern devotees. So the Icelanders provide their coffins in middle age."
[5] "The Creator."
[6] "Meaning that his heart in his withered bosom was as the germ of life in the dry seed—a true Pythagorean, Oriental idea."
[7] "Wá wailá—'Alas! and alas!' The Arabic explanation is put into Bári's mouth on account of the sacredness of his character. Saints, prophets, and sages are always made to speak as Semitically as possible."
[8] "In the days when sugar of any kind was a rarity, and consequently a delicacy, our English poets used the word with a certain appetite in their comparisons. Now, the metaphor is apt to offend the sensitive ear, long accustomed to associate the word with nursery discussions, or tiresome colonial grievances. But in Persian, shakkar (sugar) still holds its ground as a fit simile for choice things; for instance, a 'sugar-candy-chewing parrot' is a compliment which may be offered to the daintiest damsel in the land."
[9] "The songs always conclude with some such formula as this."
"His fine wit
Makes such a wound the knife is lost in it:
A strain too learned for a shallow age,
Too wise for selfish bigots. Let his page,
Which charms the chosen spirits of the time,
Fold itself up for a serener clime
Of years to come, and find its recompense
In that just expectation."
——Shelley.
Now came the journey that pleased us most of all; it was as new to Richard as it was to me—to Hyderabad in the Deccan. We passed Soonee, Oroolee, Kheirgaum, Patus, Dhond, Deeksal, Bheegwan, Poomulwaree, Schwoor, Keim, Barsee-Road, Marheh, Unger, Mohol, Packney, Sholapoor, Haodgee, Kurrubgaum, Doodneh, Goodoor, Goolburga, and then Sháhabád. I give the names of the stations because it shows a reader on the map, or reminds one who knows India, what country we passed through.
Here we changed the Great Indian Peninsular for the Nizam's State Railway. After this we passed through Wadi Junction, and seven stations more—Chitapore, Seram, Hepore, Tandur, Dharur, Illampallee, Pattapore, Singampallee, into Hyderabad. Sháhabád, a large and very pretty station, was our last before entering the Nizam's territory and railway. The change impressed us in favour of the Nizam's government. Ours looked so poor and taxed, the Nizam's comfortable and prosperous, and so we thought throughout all the parts of India we visited. In English Society people say, "Nonsense! India poor? Why, it was never richer!"
An hour before reaching Hyderabad (Deccan) all nature changes to a strange formation which reminded us of the Karso at Trieste, only on an exaggerated scale. An outcrop of huge granite boulders, which is wild nature, but looks as if arranged by art, forms shapes like an ancient town with battlements and castles, and covers a radius of thirty miles round that city like natural defences. Hyderabad is the largest and most important native State in India, ruled by our faithful ally, the Nizam. The area is almost ninety-six thousand square miles; the population, eleven millions. The army in 1876 numbered about thirty thousand men, chiefly cavalry, of whom six hundred are Arabs. Our kind hosts, Colonel and Mrs. Nevill, met us cordially at the station. She is the eldest daughter of the late talented and lamented Charles Lever, our predecessor at Trieste, so famous as a novelist, and Colonel Nevill is practically Commander-in-Chief of the Nizam's army, then under Sir Salar Jung.
There was no losing time in Hyderabad, we had too much to see. No sooner did we get into our pleasant quarters at the Nevills' than we had to dress sharp, as there was a dinner-party given to the 16th Lancers, and a ball at Sir Richard and Lady Meade's—the Governor and his wife—charming people. Early next morning we were out on elephants to see the town. These animals look awfully imposing in large numbers with gaudy trappings. I had never been on one before; the first mounting and the curious motion are decidedly new sensations. We went all through the City unarmed and without guards, and met with nothing but greetings and blessings. I mention this because every one knows what a bad name Hyderabad had. The horses show blood; they are frightened of elephants, and try to avoid them. You see everywhere wild-looking men in gaudy dresses and unveiled women. The very great "swells" have troops of men before and behind them with drawn swords. Everything is on the feudal system. You meet brown "Nobles" riding with troops of retainers in white burnous, carrying the arms and wearing the uniform of their Chiefs. The houses are flat like those of Damascus; the town is clean; the streets are broad, and spanned by high arches whose bold simplicity is very striking. The Nizam's palace, at least a mile long, is carved with delicate tracery, and many a mosque, like lacework, rises here and there, but the cachet of all is size, boldness, and simplicity.
There are three great men in Hyderabad who jointly manage the Nizam's affairs, and are related to him. In 1876 Sir Salar Jung was Regent and Prime Minister. The Amir el Kebír was co-Regent and Minister of Justice; the Wikar ool Umárá is his brother. After going over the town we proceeded to the palace of his Excellency Mookhtar ool Moolk Sir Salar Jung, G.C.S.I., then called "the wily Minister" by our Press. He is a noble, chivalrous, single-hearted Arab gentleman of the very best stamp. His palace contained about seven courts with fountains, and various suites of large halls opening on to them. It was perfectly magnificent. One room had its ceilings and walls thickly studded with china cups, saucers, and plates, which would have been envied by many collectors in London. After a luxuriant breakfast of European and Eastern dishes, and wine for us, but water for himself, he showed us his weapons, swords and daggers, and many arms I had never seen before, with beautiful blades, inlaid sheaths, and some covered with gorgeous jewels. Richard was in his glory amongst them. The party consisted of the great Minister and his two sons, ourselves, and the Ministers. He had a little son aged ten, whom he called "Fox," who took my fancy exceedingly; he was very serious, sharp as a needle, and full of courage and spirit. I wonder how he has grown up.
We were then taken to the stables, a place like the Burlington Arcade, open at both ends, loose boxes where the shops would be, each opening into the passage running down the centre. There were about a hundred horses, nearly all thoroughbred Arabs and Persians, grey and light bay being the favourite colour. Every horse had his own groom. That night we were invited to the Residency. Sir Richard and Lady Meade gave a dinner-party to Sir Salar Jung and the Ministers. Cholera was very bad at this time; there were about thirty cases a day. Sir Salar Jung lent me a beautiful grey Arab, large, powerful, and showy. Mrs. Nevill was a perfect horsewoman; she had broken in four thoroughbreds for her husband and herself during the short time she had been there. That night there was another dinner-party at Colonel Nevill's; next morning a breakfast with Sir Salar Jung and the officers of the 44th, who arrived on troops of elephants with scarlet trappings.
Afterwards we made a pilgrimage to the tomb of General Raymond, who once commanded the Nizam's forces. He is now called Shah Rahman, and is made a saint of, as Colonel Nevill probably will be, and future generations will make a pilgrimage to his tomb as Shah bin Rahman, Anglicized "little Johnny Shaw," as there is a fakir's tomb near it with a hard name which the English have shortened to "Johnny Shaw," and a group of lovely little temples that you would like to put under a glass case on the drawing-room table. A dinner-party and a little music at Lady Meade's finished the evening.
Early next morning was first a water-party to the tank, and then to the palace of the Wikar Shums ool Umárá, K.C.S.I., one of the three great dignitaries of the Nizam's country. We were received by a guard of soldiers and a band of music, and ushered up into a splendid palace. The gardens and courts could easily lodge a small army. A band, directed by an English bandmaster, played "God save the Queen." Our host, whose gold-fringed turban denotes his connection with Royalty, received us like old friends. We had a capital breakfast with the Chief and his relatives; the cooking was delicious. The hall was full of retainers and servants, who pressed us to eat as they served the dishes. "Take mutton cutlet; 'im very good," was whispered close to my ear with an excellent English accent. After breakfast we were shown the jewellery; then, far more interesting, the weapons—shields inlaid with gold. His grandfather in his day wielded a ponderous gurz (mace), and wore a small Hyderabad turban of steel bands with bar nose-piece, and a coat of mail, every link and every ring containing an engraved verse of the Koran. This was sacred armour, and a warrior was supposed to be invincible in it. There was a beautiful lance, well balanced, whose point was shaped like a flame. There was every sort of gun, sword, and dagger, with jewelled inlaid hilts, and sometimes dangling pearls and emeralds attached to them. At the top of the palace is a huge room with windows to the four quarters, and the eye commands the country for forty miles round,—and then we saw something we had never seen before.
The Chief had an ostrich race for us, which was delightful. The man mounts, sits back, puts his legs under the wings, locks his feet under the breast; the birds go at an awful pace, and can kick like a horse. From this we went to Lady Meade's garden-party, with lawn-tennis, badminton, and refreshments. In the evening Colonel Nevill gave a dinner-party to his native officers, which was most interesting, Sayyid Ahmad and Ahmad Abdullah being the two nicest. They are Arab descendants of Anazeh (Bedawi) and Sayyids (of the Prophet's race).
There are two parties in India on a certain question, the treatment of the Native. One is all for keeping him down and treating him harshly; the other condemns this, and wants to make him on an equality. Neither party actually mix freely with the native, and the native says, "The English are just, but they are not kind," and that is about the truth. Now, Richard was all for firmness, and said, "What has to be done should be done with a hand that never relaxes; but we should be kind and courteous too," and he was certain if we were we should never want force. It is the gulf that hinders all good, and breeds all evil feeling, and it is the common, uneducated English that do everything to widen it. As he says, "to the English eye, people are all black, or all brown like a flock of sheep; they have generally not learning enough, or education enough, or discrimination enough to make a difference between the high-caste Indian, or the pure Arab gentleman who is noble like themselves, and the Sierra Leone Negro, who, if you were to shake hands with him once, would smack your face the first time he felt cross, and requires not kicking and beating, but absolutely to be kept, in a moral sense, to a state of wholesome awe."
Our next pleasure was an assault-of-arms; there were about two hundred performers. There were some very good gymnastics, sword exercise, single-stick with small shields, which were soft and about the size of a plate. Their actions were wild and graceful, with something of the tiger in their defiant gestures. We thanked them all before leaving; we were afraid that Colonel Nevill's garden was not improved after it. They also showed some cock-fighting, which Richard liked, but I went away from that. In the evening there was a dinner-party containing European ladies. The next morning the third great man, Amir el Kebír, invited us to breakfast. The place was a succession of beautiful buildings in gardens full of storks, pigeons, and other birds, flowers, and all the gardens and terraces covered with a beautiful purple Indian honeysuckle. We once more mounted our elephants after breakfast, and visited the Masjid el Mekkah (mosque), the main street, and the wonderful arches, and kindly words and blessings greeted us everywhere. We then breakfasted with the Amir. Our host wore a lovely cashmere robe like a dressing gown, with gorgeous jewels. We had a charming breakfast, with delicious mangoes.
In early morning, Sundargaj, one of his Excellency Sir Salar Jung's tallest and bravest elephants, in all the bravery of bells and scarlet trappings, knelt down to receive us, and with that queer one-sided gait which makes the cabriolet-haudah pitch like a little boat in a short chopping sea, began to lumber over the three miles separating us from the City. Hyderabad can collect nine hundred such in a few hours, which surpasses the famous exhibition of Tipú Sahib.
The Afzal Ganj (the native bazar of the regular troops) consists of parallel lines of shops and booths, flat-roofed or tiled, one-storied, verandahed, and cleaned with whitewash and red paint.
Hyderabad owes its origin to Sultan Mohammed Kuli II., of the Kutub Shahi or Golconda dynasty, who about A.D. 1520 built a country palace for one of his mistresses, the lady Baghwati, a Hindú of no particular caste. He assigned to her a guard of a hundred horsemen, and called the outpost Bhagnagar.
As a short account of Hyderabad, a literal translation by a native, from an ancient Hindostani work in that City, was given to us by Sir Salar Jung, I think it may not be uninteresting:—
"Up to the reign of three kings of the line of Khootoob Shahs, the Fort of Golconda, which was so large as to contain forty thousand cavaliers, was the seat of the Capital, but during the rule of Mohammed Khoolee II., son of Ibrahim Khootoob Shah, the Capital, being crowded by people, and densely populated, created a foul air, from which most of the people were subjected to all sorts of illness; and, besides, the King, taking consideration of his rank and dignity, found that the place was unworthy of his residence, and thereby resolved to build another City, which, both in expansion and pleasantness, was to be the next to the Paradise of Rest. In this meditation he rode for hunting, and went in search of game. Whilst going here and there he happened to pass into a forest, which, being put up into a beautiful spot of ground, was, in pleasantness and purity of climate, envied by the blue sky and the garden of heaven. There the King was pleased to build a City, and ordered the astrologers, of great skill and discernment, to fix an auspicious moment to lay its foundation. This being accordingly done, the cleverest architect laid the design of the City, containing four extensive bazars and four elevated arches (Chár Kámán), and each of the bazars was equal in size to the other; also several other bazars, which are said to have been forty thousand in number, were made with streams flowing through, bordered with shadowy trees, and each bazar was confronted by a large edifice; and, besides, there were planned twelve thousand buildings, of the kind of baths, monasteries, schools, mosques, poorhouses, and inns. The residence of the King being settled to be in the northern part of the Capital, several grand and beautiful palaces were erected. The Capital was at first named Bhag Nugger, after the name of a woman, Bhag Mutty, to whom the King was attached, and upon her death it was changed into Hyderabad, which is bounded on the north by Meduck, on the south by the Coelconda Circars, on the east by the Bhonghur Circars, and on the west by the Mozuffer Nugger Circars, called also Mohamadabad Beder. The year of the commencement of the City can be found out from the word 'Ya Hafiz,' said by some poet, which comes to 1000; and of its completion from the word 'Furkhonda Boonad,' which is 1006.
"As the King was very fond of propagating the Mussulman Creed, and at the same time mindful of the benefits of the public in general, likewise ordered the erection of Mukka Musjid (or mosque), which was called by some poet Baitool Ateekh, from an Arabic word meaning Caba, which is also expressive of the year of its erection, 1023. Its height from the surface of the ground to the roof is calculated at about thirty-six yards, and the cost is estimated at eight lakhs of rupees. It is said that no other building like it was ever witnessed by anybody in all the Mussulman countries. Char Minas (four minarets), containing four arches, each facing the broad road of the four bazar lines, being firm and lofty, is situated in the centre of the City, each of the minarets containing rooms intended for students; and in the centre of the building lies a cistern with a fountain. Char Soo Ká Howz (water cistern), standing at the junction of the four roads, is beautifully situated in the centre of the four arches (Chár Kámán). The Daroosh Shiffa (general hospital), and several other works of public utility, as baths, etc., etc., were constructed and supplied at the expense of Government, with all their requisites."
One great street runs north and south, and nearly bisects the City. The bazar is something like the Bhendi Bazar of Bombay, without the Europeans, and with a different set of natives. Here we have dark, wiry Arabs from Hazramant or the Persian Gulf, sturdy Sulaymanis or Afghans, and large-limbed Zanzibar Sidis (Wásawáhíli), sometimes pure blood, oftener mixed with Asiatic blood. The Wáhhabis conceal their tenets, the Shí'ahs are numerous, and the Bábis are unknown. Every respectable man is armed with gun, matchlock, pistol, sword, or dagger. All the women show their faces, proving they are Hindús, and not high-caste Moslemahs. As in all "native" cities, the fakirs, dervishes, Sányasis, Jogis, and religious mendicants, Hindí or Hindú, are many and noisy, but gave us no trouble.
A marked feature here is the pointed arch with horizontal coping and side windows; they tower above everything, crossing the thoroughfares, relieving the monotony, and form a resting-place for the eye. The four main bazars are fronted by as many elevated arches. A ride round the official, or walled city, occupies two hours of sharp canter on horses, and the suburbs must have extended several leagues. The Mecca Mosque, built in A.D. 1600, by Mohammed Kuli, is of noble simplicity; it cost thirty-three lakhs, and is a hundred and eight feet high. The City is said to measure fourteen miles in circumference, and to contain four hundred thousand souls.
At the proper hour, Sundargaj rolls up to the palace where we are to breakfast, and deposits us. Forty years ago Hyderabad, may have been a turbulent city into which Europeans could not enter without insult or injury, and where lawlessness and recklessness of life were the laws of the land, but the progressive measures of an enlightened Minister had completely changed the condition of things; still, popular and official opinion, whose watch is always an age or two behind the time, refused to admit the change. "You come from a place where you may be murdered at any moment," was the address of a late Viceroy to an Englishman who had taken service under his Highness the Nizam; and yet, during the last thirty-five years, I am assured that not a single European has been murdered in the Moslem dominions, and the only one that was wounded suffered the consequences of his own fault. Nothing was done here by the enraged peasantry to the gentlemen sportsman, who took the liberty of shooting the Prince's tame deer; yet when we returned to Bombay, friends said to us, "Of course you had a large escort?" We had nothing of the kind, nothing but a single mahaut; but it is not easy to dispose of prejudices. Murray has said that Hyderabad is one of the filthiest cities in India; I tell you it is the cleanest. All I can say is that, so far from "insult and personal injury," we were most pleasantly received by what Bevar quotes as "the most disorderly, turbulent, and ferocious set of ruffians within the limits of India." I can only say that of all the visits paid to various parts of India, it is the one that has left the most lasting, the most happy, and the most romantic impression upon our memories.
The cream of all was going to Golconda—a most interesting place, which in 1876 no European had ever been permitted to enter, and as Sir Salar Jung and the Nizam himself had never done so, we could not ask or hope for such a favour. We supposed that this great event happened when the Nizam came of age.
We dismounted and remained there for a long time, inspecting everything outside the walls. The prevailing style of the Golconda tomb is a dome standing upon a square; the cupola of a steeple is of the orange shape, and is arabesqued. The finials are of silver; they are single-storied and double-storied; some have floriated crenelles like spear-heads, and balustraded balconies. The lower portions are arcades of pointed arches, resting on a terrace of cut stone, ascended by four flights of steps. The colours are white, picked out with green; each has its little mosque flanked by minarets. We were very sorry when it was time to leave the Tombs of the Kings. It is a high and healthy site; the wind is strong and cold. A sanitarium would do well there, and we wished that picnickers from the European services would have the grace to erect a travellers' bungalow, and cease to desecrate poor Thana Shah's tomb.
The tombs are the prettiest toys in the world; the material is the waxlike Jaypur marble. They look as if carved in ivory, some Giant's Dieppe, ready to be placed under a glass case; the fretted and open work is lovely lacery in stone, and the sharp shadows of the dark green trees set off their snowy whiteness.
Golconda is the first and the most famous of the six independent Moslem kingdoms, which, in A.D. 1399, rose on the extinction of the Toghlak Delhi dynasty, and it survived till 1688, when Aurungzeb brought all India under one sceptre. In it is the state prison in which the sons of the Nizam used to be confined. We found all the works which we had read upon it very unsatisfying, but we read the "French in India" (London, Longmans, 1868) with pleasure and profit. The four white domes denote the Tombs of the Kings, are visible from most parts of Hyderabad, and form the main body of a line here scattered, there grouped, which begins immediately beyond the faubourgs, and runs up the left side of the river valley.
Each burj carries from one to three guns. The defences are strong towards the east, and on the south they are doubled. There is a glacis, a moat, and a covered way. The mixture of oasis and desert is truly Arabian; Arab also are the pigeon-holes and dove-cotes of the walls, while the song of the water-wheel reminded us of Egypt and Syria. The throne-hall towers over the river valley, and the double lines of defence show to the best advantage.
We were only allowed to view the town from the outside, but we could see all this as it is hilly. The throne-hall, with arched windows, the king's palace and defences, occupy the hill. The town on the flat ground is surrounded by walls, battlements, curtained bastions, and towers thrown out, and reminds one of Old Damascus and Jerusalem, and in it dwells many an old feudal Chief. Past those walls, no European or Christian has ever been allowed; at least, at the time I wrote. The Tombs of the Kings are very ancient, are outside the town, and to those we were admitted, and they reminded us of the tower-tombs of Palmyra.
They are enormous domes set on square broad bases, the upper part beautifully carved or covered with Persian tiles or tiles from Sind, bearing Arabic and Hindostani inscriptions. One is supported by slender needle-like monolithic columns. There is a beautiful garden of palm trees, and a labyrinth of arches; and we wandered about this romantic spot, remembering our nursery tales "of all the mines and riches of Golconda," by a crescent moon on a balmy night, the fire-flies spangling the white-domed tombs and the palm gardens. At such a pleasant hour, surrounded by the romances of which we had so much read and heard, we talked over and noted down the history of the far-famed Koh-i-noor, whose birthplace was on this very spot, and whose history I wrote to the Morning Post, September 25th, 1875, for which I was considerably chaffed by the Press. We must not forget that this great diamond was first discovered in these mines in A.D. 1650, and it has cursed the world for two hundred and forty-three years. The following day we were obliged to return to Bombay. We had a very good journey, but the heat was so great that the railway officials were walking up and down, periodically waking up the passengers, as they have sometimes been found dead, and two or three cases had occurred about that time.