PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 25
Leaving Udaipur.
—
October 11, 1819.—Two years had nearly
sped since we entered the valley of Udaipur, the most diversified
and most romantic spot on the continent of India. In all this
time none of us had penetrated beyond the rocky barrier which
formed the limit of our horizon, affording the vision a sweep of
six miles radius. Each hill and dale, tower and tree, had become
familiar to us; every altar, cenotaph, and shrine had furnished
its legend, till tradition was exhausted. The ruins were explored,
their inscriptions deciphered, each fantastic pinnacle had a
name, and the most remarkable chieftains and servants of the
court had epithets assigned to them, expressive of some quality
or characteristic. We had our ‘Red Reaver,’ our ‘Roderic Dhu,’
and a ‘Falstaff,’ at the court; our ‘Catalani,’ our ‘Vestris,’ in
the song or the ballet. We had our palace in the city, our cutter
on the lake, our villa in the woods, our fairy-islands in the waters;
streams to angle in, deer to [654] shoot, much, in short, to please
the eye and gratify the taste:—yet did ennui intrude, and all
panted to escape from the “happy valley,” to see what was in
the world beyond the mountains. In all these twenty moons,
the gigantic portals of Debari, which guard the entrance of the
Girwa,
[1] had not once creaked on their hinges for our egress;
and though from incessant occupation I had wherewithal to
lessen the
taedium vitae, my companions not having such resources,
it was in vain that, like the sage Imlac, I urged them not to feel
dull in this “blissful captivity”: the scenery had become
hideous, and I verily believe had there been any pinion-maker
in the capital of the Sesodias, they would have essayed a flight,
though it might have terminated in the lake. Never did Rasselas
sigh more for escape. At length the day arrived, and although
the change was to be from all that constitutes the enchantments
of vision, from wood and water, dale and mountain, verdure and
foliage, to the sterile plains of the sandy desert of Marwar, it was
sufficient that it was change. Our party was composed of Captain
Waugh, Lieutenant Carey, and Dr. Duncan, with the whole of
the escort, consisting of two companies of foot and sixty of
Skinner’s Horse, all alike delighted to quit the valley where each
had suffered more or less from the prevalent fevers of the monsoon,
during which the valley is peculiarly unhealthy, especially
to foreigners, when the wells and reservoirs overflow from the
springs which break in, impregnated with putrid vegetation and
mineral poisons, covering the surface with a bluish oily fluid.
The art of filtrating water to free it from impurities is unknown
to the Rajputs, and with some shame I record that we did not
make them wiser, though they are not strangers to the more
simple process, adopted throughout the desert, of using potash
and alum; the former to neutralize the salt and render the
water more fit for culinary purposes; the latter to throw down
the impurities held suspended. They also use an alkaline nut
in washing, which by simply steeping emits a froth which is a
good substitute for soap.
[2]On the 12th October, at five A.M., our trumpet sounded to horse,
and we were not slow in obeying the summons; the “yellow
boys” with their old native commandant looking even more
cheerful than usual as we joined them. Skinner’s Horse[3] wear
a jamah or tunic of yellow broadcloth, with scarlet turbans and
cincture. Who [655] does not know that James Skinner’s men
are the most orderly in the Company’s service, and that in every
other qualification constituting the efficient soldier, they are
second to none? On another signal which reverberated from
the palace, where the drums announced that the descendant of
Surya was no sluggard, we moved on through the yet silent
capital towards the gate of the sun, where we found drawn
up the quotas of Bhindar, Delwara, Amet, and Bansi, sent as
an honorary guard by the Rana, to escort us to the frontiers.
As they would have been an incumbrance to me and an inconvenience
to the country, from their laxity of discipline, after
chatting with their leader, during a sociable ride, I dismissed
them at the pass, with my respects to the Rana and their several
chieftains. We reached the camp before eight o’clock, the
distance being only thirteen miles. The spot chosen (and where
I afterwards built a residence) was a rising ground between the
villages of Merta and Tus, sprinkled with trees, and for a space
of four miles clear of the belt of forest which fringes the granite
barriers of the valley. It commanded an entire view of the
plains in the direction of Chitor, still covered, excepting a patch
of cultivation here and there, with jungle. The tiger-mount, its
preserves of game, and the mouldering hunting-seats of the
Rana and his chieftains, were three miles to the north; to the
south, a mile distant, we had the Berach River, abounding in
trout; and the noble lake whence it issues, called after its founder
the Udai Sagar, was not more than three to the west. For several
reasons it was deemed advisable to choose a spot out of the valley;
the health of the party, though not an unimportant, was not a
principal motive for choosing such a distance from the court.
The wretchedness in which we found it rendered a certain degree
of interference requisite, and it was necessary that they should
shake this off, in order to preserve their independence. It was
dreaded lest the aid requested by the Rana, from the peculiar
circumstances on our first going amongst them, might be construed
as a precedent for the intrusion of advice on after occasions.
The distance between the court and the agent of the British
Government was calculated to diminish this impression, and
obliged them also to trust to their own resources, after the
machine was once set in motion. On the heights of Tus our
tents were pitched, the escort paraded, and St. George’s flag
displayed. Here camels, almost wild, were fitted for the first
time with the pack-saddle, lamenting in discordant gutturals
the [656] hardship of their fate, though luckily ignorant of the
difference between grazing whither they listed in the happy valley,
and carrying a load in “the region of death,” where they would
only find the thorny mimosa or prickly phog[4] to satisfy their
hunger.
Pallāna.
—
October 13.—There being no greater trial of patience
than the preparations for a march after a long halt, we left the
camp at daybreak amidst the most discordant yells from the
throats of a hundred camels, which drowned every attempt to
be heard, while the elephants squeaked their delight in that
peculiar treble which they emit when happy. There was one
little fellow enjoying himself free from all restraints of curbs or
pack-saddles, and inserting his proboscis into the sepoy’s baggage,
whence he would extract a bag of flour, and move off, pursued by
the owner; which was sure to produce shouts of mirth to add
to the discord. This little representative of Ganesa was only
eight years old, and not more than twelve hands high. He was
a most agreeable pet, though the proofs he gave of his wisdom
in trusting himself amidst the men when cooking their dinners,
were sometimes disagreeable to them, but infinitely amusing to
those who watched his actions. The rains having broken up
unusually late, we found the boggy ground, on which we had to
march, totally unable to bear the pressure of loaded cattle; even
the ridges, which just showed their crests of quartz above the
surface, were not safe. Our route was over a fine plain well
wooded and watered, soil excellent, and studded with numerous
large villages; yet all presenting uniformly the effects of warfare
and rapine. The landscape, rendered the more interesting by
our long incarceration in the valley, was abstractedly pleasing.
On our left lay the mountains enclosing the capital, on one of
whose elevated peaks are the ruins of Ratakot, overlooking all
around; while to the east the eye might in vain seek for a boundary.
We passed Deopur, once a township of some consequence, and
forming part of the domain of the Bhanej,
[5] Zalim Singh, the
heir of Marwar, whose history, if it could be given here, would
redeem the nobles of Rajputana from the charge of being of uncultivated
intellect. In listening to [657] his biography, both
time and place were unheeded; the narrator, my own venerable
Guru,
[6] had imbibed much of his varied knowledge from this
accomplished chieftain, to whom arms and letters were alike
familiar. He was the son of Raja Bijai Singh and a princess of
Mewar: but domestic quarrels made it necessary to abandon the
paternal for the maternal mansion, and a domain was assigned
by the Rana, which put him on a footing with his own children.
Without neglecting any of the martial amusements and exercises
of the Rajput, he gave up all those hours, generally devoted to
idleness, to the cultivation of letters. He was versed in philosophical
theology, astronomy, and the history of his country;
and in every branch of poesy, from the sacred canticles of Jayadeva
to the couplets of the modern bard, he was an adept. He
composed and improvised with facility, and his residence was
the rendezvous for every bard of fame. That my respected tutor
did not overrate his acquirements, I had the best proof in his
own, for all which (and he rated them at an immeasurable distance
compared with the subject of his eulogy) he held himself indebted
to the heir of Marwar, who was at length slain in asserting his
right to the throne in the desert.
Rām Singh and the Rāja of Narsinghgarh. The Oswāl
Mahājans.
—After a four hours’ march, picking our way amidst
swamps and treacherous bogs, we reached the advanced tents
at Pallana. Like Deopur, it presented the spectacle of a ruin,
a corner of which held all its inhabitants; the remains of temples
and private edifices showed what it had once been. Both towns
formerly belonged to the fisc of the Rana, who, with his usual
improvidence, on the death of his nephew included them in the
grant to the temple of Kanhaiya. I found at my tents the
minister’s right hand, Ram Singh Mehta; Manikchand, the
Diwan or factotum of the chieftain of Bhindar; and the ex-Raja
of Narsinghgarh, now an exile at Udaipur.
[7] The first was a
fine specimen of the non-militant class of these countries, and
although he had seldom passed the boundaries of Mewar, no
country could produce a better specimen of a courteous gentleman:
his figure tall, deportment easy, features regular and handsome,
complexion fair, with a fine slightly-curled beard and mustachios
jet black. Ram Singh, without being conceited, is aware that
nature has been indulgent to him, and without any foppery he
pays great attention to externals. He is always elegantly attired,
and varies with good taste the colours of his turban and ceinture,
though his loose tunics are always white; the aroma of the
itr
is the only mark of the dandy about him: and this forms no
criterion [658], as our red coats attest, which receive a sprinkling
at every visit. With his dagger and pendent tassel, and the
balaband or purple cordon (the Rana’s gift) round his turban,
behold the servant “whom the king delighteth to honour.” As
he has to support himself by paying court to the Rana’s sister,
the queens, and other fair influentials behind the curtain, his
personal
attraits are no slight auxiliaries. He is of the Jain faith,
and of the tribe of Osi, which now reckons one hundred thousand
families, all of Rajput origin, and descendants of the Agnikula
stock. They proselytized in remote antiquity, and settling at
the town of Osi in Marwar, retain this designation, or the still
more common one of Oswal. It was from the Pramara and
Solanki branches of the Agnikula race that these assumed the
doctrines of Buddha or Jaina: not however from the ranks of
the Brahmans, but, as I firmly believe, from that faith, whatever
it was, which these Scythic or Takshak tribes brought from
beyond the Indus. In like manner we found the Chauhan (also
an Agnikula) regenerated by the Brahmans on Mount Abu;
while the fourth tribe, the Parihara (ancient sovereigns of Kashmir),
have left traces in the monuments of their capital, Mandor, that
they espoused the then prevailing faith of Rajasthan, namely,
that of Buddha.
[8]Mānikchand.
—Manikchand, also of the Jain faith, but of a
different tribe (the Sambhari), was in all the reverse of Ram Singh.
He was tall, thin, rather bent, and of swarthy complexion, and
his tongue and his beads were in perpetual motion. He had
mixed in all the intrigues of the last quarter of a century, and,
setting Zalim Singh of Kotah aside, had more influenced events
than any individual now alive. He was the organ of the Saktawats,
and the steward and counsellor of the head of this clan,
the Bhindar chief; and being accordingly the irreconcilable foe
of the Chondawats, had employed all the resources of his talents
and his credit to effect their humiliation. To this end, he has
leagued with Sindis, Pathans, and Mahrattas, and would not have
scrupled to coalesce with his Satanic Majesty, could he thereby
have advanced their revenge: in pursuance of which he has been
detained in confinement as a hostage, put to torture from inability
to furnish the funds he would unhesitatingly promise for
aid, and all the while sure of death if he fell into the hands of his
political antagonists. His talent and general information made
him always a welcome guest: which was wormwood to the
Chondawats, who laid claim to a monopoly of patriotism, and
stigmatized the Saktawats as the destroyers [659] of Mewar,
though in truth both were equally blind to her interests in their
contests for supremacy. He was now beyond fifty, and appeared
much older; but was cheerful, good-humoured, and conversant
in all the varied occurrences of the times. He at length completely
established himself in the Rana’s good graces, who gave
his elder son a confidential employment. Had he lived, he would
have been conspicuous, for he had all the talent of his father,
with the personal adjuncts possessed by Ram Singh; but being
sensitive and proud, he swallowed poison, in consequence it was
said of the severity of an undeserved rebuke from his father, and
died generally regretted. I may here relate the end of poor
Manika. It was on the ground we had just quitted that he
visited me for the last time, on my return from the journey just
commenced. He had obtained the contract for the whole transit
duties of the State, at the rate of 250,000 rupees per annum.
Whether from the corruption of his numerous deputy collectors,
his own cupidity, or negligence, he professed his inability to
fulfil the contract by nearly a sixth of the amount, though from
his talents and promises, a perfect establishment of this important
department, which had been taken from others on his account,
was expected. It was difficult to judge charitably of his assertions,
without giving occasion to his enemies to put a wrong
construction on the motives. He pitched his tent near me, and
requested an interview. He looked very disconsolate, and
remarked, that he had seven several times left his tent, and as
often turned back, the bird of omen having each time passed
him on the adverse side; but that at length he had determined
to disregard it, as having forfeited confidence, he was indifferent
to the future. He admitted the profligacy of his inferiors, whom
he had not sufficiently superintended, and took his leave, promising
by assiduity to redeem his engagements, though his past
character for intrigue made his asseverations doubtful. Again
failing to make good his promises, or, as was surmised, having
applied the funds to his own estate, he took saran with the Raja
of Shahpura; where, mortified in all probability by the reflection
of the exultation of his rivals over his disgrace, and having lost
the confidence of his own chief when he obtained that of the
Rana, he had recourse to the usual expedient of these countries
when “perplexed in the extreme,”—took poison and died.
The Rāja of Narsinghgarh.
—The last of the trio of visitors on
this occasion, the Raja of Narsinghgarh, is now, as before stated,
in exile. He is of the tribe of Umat, one of thirty-six divisions
[660] of the Pramaras,
[9] settled during fifteen generations in Central
India, and giving the name of Umatwara to the petty sovereignty
of which Narsinghgarh is the capital. Placed in the very heart
of the predatory hordes, the Pindaris and Mahrattas occupied
almost every village that owned their sway, and compelled him
to the degradation of living under Holkar’s orange standard,
which waved over the battlements of his abode. To one or other
of the great Mahratta leaders, Sindhia and Holkar, all the petty
princes were made tributary dependents, and Umatwara had
early acknowledged Holkar, paying the annual sum of eighty
thousand rupees: but this vassalage did not secure the Raja from
the ravages of the other spoliators, nor from the rapacity of the
myrmidons of his immediate lord paramount. In 1817, when
these countries, for the first time in many centuries, tasted the
blessings of peace, Umatwara was, like Mewar, a mass of ruins,
its fertile lands being overgrown with the thorny
mimosa or the
useful
kesula. The Raja partook of the demoralization around
him; he sought refuge in opium and arak from his miseries, and
was totally unfitted to aid in the work of redemption when happier
days shone upon them. His son Chain Singh contrived to escape
these snares, and was found in every respect competent to cooperate
in the work of renovation, and through the intervention
of the British agent (Major Henley), an arrangement was effected
by which the Raja retired on a stipend and the son carried on
the duties of government in his name.
[10]It was unfortunate for these ancient races, that on the fortunate
occasion presented in 1817-18, when both Sindhia and Holkar
aimed at the overthrow of our power (the one treacherously cloaking
his views, the other disclosing them in the field), our policy
did not readily grasp it, to rescue all these States from ruin and
dependence. Unfortunately, their peculiar history was little
known, or it would have been easily perceived that they presented
the exact materials we required between us and the entire
occupation of the country. But there was then a strong notion
afloat of a species of balance of power, and it was imagined that
these demoralized and often humiliated Mahrattas were the
fittest materials to throw into the scale—against I know not what,
except ourselves: for assuredly the day of our reverses will be a
jubilee to them, and will level every spear that they can bring
against our existence. They would merit contempt if they acted
[661] otherwise. Can they cease to remember that the orange
flag which waved in triumph from the Sutlej to the Kistna has
been replaced by the cross of St. George? But the snake which
flutters in tortuous folds thereon, fitting crest for the wily Mahratta,
is only scathed, and may yet call forth the lance of the red cross
knight to give the coup de grace.[11] Let it then be remembered
that, both as regards good policy and justice, we owe to these
States—independence.
To what does our interference with Umatwara tend, but to
realize the tribute of Holkar; to fix a millstone round their necks,
which, notwithstanding the comparative happiness they enjoy,
will keep them always repining, and to secure which will make
our interference eternal. Had a due advantage been taken of
the hostilities in 1817, it might have obviated these evils by sending
the predatory sovereign of half a century’s duration to a
more restricted sphere. It may be said that it is easy to devise
plans years after the events which immediately called for them:
these not only were mine at the time, but were suggested to the
proper authorities; and I am still disposed to think my views
correct.
After chatting some time with the two chiefs described, and
presenting them with itr and pan,[12] they took leave.
Nāthdwāra.—October 14.—Marched at daybreak, and found
the route almost impracticable for camels, from the swampy
nature of the soil. The country is much broken with irregular
low ridges of micaceous schist, in the shape of a chine or hog’s
back, the crest of which has throughout all its length a vein of
quartz piercing the slate, and resembling a back-bone; the
direction of these veins is uniformly N.N.E., and the inclination
about 75° to the east. Crossed the Nathdwara ridge, about four
hundred feet in height, and, like the hills encircling the valley,
composed of a brown granite intersected with protruding veins
of quartz, incumbent on blue compact slate. The ascent was a
mile and a half east of the town, and on the summit, which is
table-land, there are two small lakes, whence water-courses conduct
streams on each side of the road to supply the temple and
the town. There are noble trees planted on either side of these
rivulets, forming a delightful shade. As we passed through the
town to our encampment on the [662] opposite side of the Banas
River, the inhabitants crowded the streets, shouting their grateful
acknowledgments to the power which had redeemed the sacred
precincts of Kanhaiya from the scenes of turpitude amidst which
they had grown up. They were all looking forward with much
pleasure to the approaching festival of Annakuta.
October 15.—Halted to allow the baggage to join, which,
partly from the swamps and partly from the intractable temper
of the cattle, we have not seen since we parted company at Merta.
Received a visit from the Mukhya of the temple, accompanied
by a pilgrim in the person of a rich banker of Surat. A splendid
quilted cloak of gold brocade, a blue scarf with a deep border of
gold, and an embroidered band for the head, were brought to me
as the gift of the god through his high-priest, in testimony of my
zeal. I was also honoured with a tray of the sacred food, which
consisted of all the dried fruits, spices, and aromatics of the East.
In the evening I had a portion of the afternoon repast, consisting
of a preparation of milk; but the days of simplicity are gone, and
the Apollo of Vraj has his curds adulterated with rose-water and
amber. Perhaps, with the exception of Lodi, where is fabricated
the far-famed Parmesan, whose pastures maintain forty thousand
kine, there is no other place known which possesses more than
the city of the Hindu Apollo, though but a tenth of that of Lodi.
But from the four thousand cows, the expenditure of milk and
butter for the votaries of Kanhaiya may be judged. I was entertained
with the opinions of the old banker on the miraculous and
oracular power of the god of Nathdwara. He had just been
permitted to prostrate himself before the car which conveyed the
deity from the Yamuna, and held forth on the impiety of the age,
in withholding the transmission of the miraculous wheels from
heaven, which in former days came once in six months. The
most devout alone are permitted to worship the chariot of
Kanhaiya. The garments which decorate his representative are
changed several times a day, to imitate the different stages of
his existence, from the youthful Bala to the conqueror of Kansa;
or, as the Surat devotee said in broken English, “Oh, sir, he be
much great god; he first of all; and he change from de balak,
or child, to de fierce chief, with de bow and arrow a hees hands”;
while the old Mukhya, whose office it is to perambulate the whole
continent of India as one of the couriers of Kanhaiya, lifted up
his eyes as he ejaculated, “Sri Krishna! Sri Krishna!” I gave
him a paper [663] addressed to all officers of the British Government
who might pass through the lands of the church, recommending
the protection of the peacocks and pipal trees, and to forbear
polluting the precincts of the god with the blood of animals. To
avoid offending against their prejudices in this particular, I
crossed the river, and killed our fowls within our own sanctuary,
and afterwards concealed the murder by burying the feathers.
Sagacity of Elephants. Usarwās.
—October 16.—There is
nothing so painful as sitting down inactive when the mind is
bent upon an object. Our escort was yet labouring in the swamps,
and as we could not be worse off than we were, we deemed it
better to advance, and accordingly decamped in the afternoon,
sending on a tent to Usarwas; but though the distance was only
eight miles we were benighted, and had the comfort to find old
Fateh, “the victorious,” floundering with his load in a bog, out
of which he was picking his way in a desperate rage. It is
generally the driver’s fault when such an accident occurs: for
if there be but a foot’s breadth of sound footing, so sensible is the
animal, that he is sure to avoid danger if left to his own discretion
and the free use of his proboscis, with which he thumps the
ground as he cautiously proceeds step by step, giving signals to
his keeper of the safety or the reverse of advancing, as clearly as
if he spoke. Fateh’s signals had been disregarded, and he was
accordingly in a great passion at finding himself abused, and kept
from his cakes and butter, of which he had always thirty pounds’
weight at sunset. The sagacity of the elephant is well known,
and was in no instance better displayed than in the predicament
above described. I have seen the huge monster in a position
which to him must have been appalling; but, with an instinctive
reliance on others, he awaited in tolerable patience the arrival
of materials for his extrication, in the shape of fascines and logs
of wood, which being thrown to him, he placed deliberately in
front, and making a stout resistance with head, teeth, and foot,
pressing the wood, he brought up one leg after the other in a most
methodical and pioneer-like manner, till he delivered himself
from his miry prison. Fateh did not require such aid; but,
aware that the fault was not his, he soon indignantly shook the
load off his back, and left them to get it out in any manner they
chose.
Wolves.
—Waited to aid in reloading, and it being already
dusk, pushed on with my dog Belle, who, observing a couple of
animals, darted off into the jungles, and led me after her as fast
as the devious paths in such a savage scene would permit. But
I [664] soon saw her scampering down the height, the game, in
the shape of two huge wolves, close at her heels, and delighted to
find rescue at hand. I have no doubt their retreat from my
favourite greyhound was a mere ruse de guerre to lead her beyond
supporting distance, and they had nearly effected their object:
they went off in a very sulky and leisurely manner. In my
subaltern days, when with the subsidiary force in Gohad, I
remember scouring the tremendous ravines near the Antri Pass
to get a spear at a wolf, my companion (Lieut. now Lieut.-Col.
T. D. Smith) and myself were soon surrounded by many scores
of these hungry animals, who prowled about our camp all night,
having carried off a child the night before. As we charged in
one direction, they gave way; but kept upon our quarters without
the least fear, and seemingly enjoyed the fun. I do not
recollect whether it excited any other feeling than mirth. They
showed no symptom of ferocity, or desire to make a meal of us;
or a retreat from these ravines, with their superior topographical
knowledge, would doubtless have been difficult.
The Banās River. The Fairy Gift Legend.
—We passed the
Banas River, just escaping from the rock-bound barriers, our
path almost in contact with the water to the left. The stream
was clear as crystal, and of great depth; the banks low and
verdant, and fringed with wood. It was a lovely, lonely spot,
and well deserved to be consecrated by legendary tale. In
ancient times, ere these valleys were trod by the infidel Tatar,
coco-nuts were here presented to the genius of the river, whose
arm appeared above the waters to receive them; but ever since
some unhallowed hand threw a stone in lieu of a coco-nut, the
arm has been withdrawn.
[13] Few in fact lived, either to supply or
keep alive the traditions which lend a charm to a journey through
these wild scenes, though full of bogs and wolves. We reached
our journey’s end very late, and though no tents were up, we
had the consolation to spy the cook in a snug corner with a leg
of mutton before some blazing logs, round which he had placed
the wall of a tent to check the force of the mountain air. We
all congregated round the cook’s fire, and were infinitely happier
in the prospect before us, and with the heavens for our canopy,
than with all our accustomed conveniences and fare. Every one
this day had taken his own road, and each had his adventure
to relate. Our repast was delicious; nor did any favourable
account reach us of tents or other luxuries to mar our enjoyments,
till midnight, when the fly of the doctor’s tent arrived, of which
we availed ourselves as a protection against the heavy dews of
[665] the night; and though our bivouac was in a ploughed field,
and we were surrounded by wild beasts in a silent waste, they
proved no drawbacks to the enjoyment of repose.
Halted the 17th, to collect the dislocated baggage; for
although such scenes, seasoned with romance, might do very well
for us, our followers were ignorant of the name of Ann Radcliffe
or other conjurers; and though admirers of tradition, like myself,
preferred it after dinner. Usarwas is a valuable village, but now
thinly inhabited. It was recently given by the Rana, with his
accustomed want of reflection, to a Charan bard, literally for an
old song. But even this folly was surpassed on his bestowing the
township of Sesoda,[14] in the valley in advance, the place from
which his tribe takes its appellation, on another of the fraternity,
named Kishna, his master bard, who has the art to make his
royal patron believe that opportunity alone is wanting to render
his name as famed as that of the illustrious Sanga, or the immortal
Partap. I received and returned the visit of an ascetic
Sannyasi, whose hermitage was perched upon a cliff not far from
our tents. Like most of his brethren, he was intelligent, and had
a considerable store of local and foreign legends at command.
He was dressed in a loose orange-coloured anga or tunic, with a
turban of the same material, in which was twisted a necklace of
the lotus-kernel;[15] he had another in his hand, with which he
repeated the name of the deity at intervals. He expressed his
own surprise and the sentiments of the inhabitants at the tranquillity
they enjoyed, without any tumultuary cause being discoverable;
and said that we must be something more than
human. This superstitious feeling for a while was felt as well by
the prince and the turbulent chief, as by the anchorite of Usarwas.
Samecha.
—
October 18.—Marched at daybreak to Samecha,
distance twelve miles. Again found our advanced elephant and
breakfast-tent in a swamp: halted to extricate him from his
difficulties. The road from Nathdwara is but a footpath, over
or skirting a succession of low broken ridges, covered with prickly
shrubs, as the Khair, the Karil, and Babul.
[16] At the village of
Gaon Gura, midway in the morning’s journey, we entered the
alpine valley called the Shera Nala. The village of Gura is
placed in the opening or break in the range through which the
river flows, whose serpentine meanderings indicate the only road
up this majestic valley. On the banks, or in its bed, which we
frequently crossed, lay [666] the remainder of this day’s march.
The valley varies in breadth, but is seldom less than half a mile,
the hills rising boldly from their base; some with a fine and even
surface covered with mango trees, others lifting their splintered
pinnacles into the clouds. Nature has been lavish of her beauties
to this romantic region. The
gular or wild fig, the
sitaphal or
custard-apple, the peach or
aru badam (almond-peach),
[17] are indigenous
and abundant; the banks of the stream are shaded by
the withy, while the large trees, the useful mango and picturesque
tamarind, the sacred pipal and bar, are abundantly scattered
with many others, throughout. Nor has nature in vain appealed
to human industry and ingenuity to second her intents.
Terrace Cultivation.
—From the margin of the stream on each
side to the mountain’s base they have constructed a series of
terraces rising over each other, whence by simple and ingenious
methods they raise the waters to irrigate the rich crops of sugar-cane,
cotton, and rice, which they cultivate upon them. Here
we have a proof that ingenuity is the same, when prompted by
necessity, in the Jura or the Aravalli. Wherever soil could be
found, or time decomposed these primitive rocks, a barrier was
raised. When discovered, should it be in a hollow below, or on
the summit of a crag, it is alike greedily seized on: even there
water is found, and if you leave the path below and ascend a
hundred feet above the terraces, you will discover pools or
reservoirs dammed in with massive trees, which serve to irrigate
such insulated spots, or serve as nurseries to the young rice-plants.
Not unfrequently, their labour is entirely destroyed,
and the dykes swept away by the periodical inundations; for
we observed the high-water mark in the trees considerably up the
acclivity. The rice crop was abundant, and the
juar [millet] or
maize was thriving, but scanty; the standard autumnal crop
which preceded it, the
makai, or ‘Indian corn,’ had been entirely
devoured by the locust. The sugar-cane, by far the most valuable
product of this curious region, was very fine but sparingly
cultivated, from the dread of this insect, which for the last three
years had ravaged the valley. There are two species of locusts,
which come in clouds, darkening the air, from the desert: the
pharka and the
tiri are their names;
[18] the first is the great enemy
of our incipient prosperity. I observed a colony some time ago
proceeding eastward with a rustling, rushing sound, like a distant
torrent, or the wind in a forest at the fall of the leaf. We have
thus to struggle against natural and artificial obstacles to the
rising energies of the country; and dread of the
pharkas deters
speculators [667] from renting this fertile tract, which almost
entirely belongs to the fisc. Its natural fertility cannot be better
demonstrated than in recording the success of an experiment,
which produced five crops, from the same piece of ground, within
thirteen months. It must, however, be understood that two of
these are species of millet, which are cut in six weeks from the
time of sowing. A patch of ground, for which the cultivator
pays six rupees rent, will produce sugar-cane six hundred rupees
in value: but the labour and expense of cultivation are heavy,
and cupidity too often deprives the husbandman of the greater
share of the fruits, ninety rupees having been taken in arbitrary
taxes, besides his original rent.
The air of this elevated region gave vigour to the limbs, and
appetite to the disordered stomach. There was an exhilarating
fraîcheur, which made us quite frantic; the transition being from
96° of Fahrenheit to English summer heat. We breakfasted in a
verdant spot under the shade of a noble fig-tree fanned by the
cool breezes from the mountains.
Samecha Town. Rājpūt Bhūmias.
—Samecha consists of three
separate hamlets, each of about one hundred houses. It is
situated at the base of a mountain distinctively termed Rana
Pag, from a well-known path, by which the Ranas secured their
retreat to the upland wilds when hard pushed by the Moguls.
It also leads direct to the capital of the district, avoiding the
circuitous route we were pursuing. Samecha is occupied by the
Kumbhawats, descendants of Rana Kumbha, who came in a
body with their elders at their head to visit me, bringing the famed
kakri[19] of the valley (often three feet in length), curds, and a kid
as gifts. I rose to receive these Rajaputras, the Bhumias or
yeomen of the valley; and though undistinguishable in dress
from the commonest cultivator, I did homage to their descent.
Indeed, they did not require the auxiliaries of dress, their appearance
being so striking as to draw forth the spontaneous exclamation
from my friends, “what noble-looking fellows!” Their
tall and robust figures, sharp aquiline features, and flowing beards,
with a native dignity of demeanour (though excepting their
chiefs, who wore turbans and scarfs, they were in their usual
labouring dresses, immense loose breeches and turbans), compelled
respect and admiration. Formerly they gave one hundred
matchlocks for garrison duty at Kumbhalmer; but the Mahrattas
have pillaged and impoverished them. These are the real allodial
tenants of the land, performing personal local service, and paying
an annual quit-rent. I conciliated their good opinion by [668]
talking of the deeds of old days, the recollection of which a Rajput
never outlives. The assembly under the fig-tree was truly
picturesque, and would have furnished a good subject for Gerard
Dow. Our baggage joined us at Samecha; but many of our
camels were already worn out by labouring through swamps, for
which they are by nature incapacitated.
October 19.—Marched to Kelwara, the capital of this mountainous
region, and the abode of the Ranas when driven from
Chitor and the plains of the Banas; on which occasion these
valleys received and maintained a great portion of the population
of Mewar. There is not a rock or a stream that has not some
legend attached to it, connected with these times. The valley
presents the same features as already described. Passed a cleft
in the mountain on the left, through which a stream rushes,
called the “elephant’s pool”; a short cut may be made by the
foot passenger to Kelwara, but it is too intricate for any unaccustomed
to these wilds to venture. We could not ascertain
the origin of the “elephant’s pool,” but it is most likely connected
with ancient warfare. Passed the village of Murcha, held by a
Rathor chieftain. On the margin of a small lake adjoining the
village, a small and very neat sacrificial altar attracted my regard;
and not satisfied with the reply that it was sati ka makan, ‘the
place of faith,’ I sent to request the attendance of the village
seer. It proved to be that of the ancestor of the occupant: a
proof of devotion to her husband, who had fallen in the wars
waged by Aurangzeb against this country; when, with a relic of
her lord, she mounted the pyre. He is sculptured on horseback,
with lance at rest, to denote that it is no churl to whom the record
is devoted.