Annals and Antiquities of Rajasthan, vol. 2 of 3, by James Tod

Prithirāj attacks the Mers.

—“Tidings reached the Chauhan that the manly Mina, with bow in hand, stood in the mountain’s gorge. Who would be bold enough to force it? his rage was like the hungry lion’s when he views his prey. He called the brave Kana, and bade him observe those wretches as he commanded him to clear the pass. Bowing he departed, firm as the rock on which he trod. He advanced, but the mountaineer (Mer) was immovable as Sumeru. Their arrows, carrying death, fly like Indra’s bolts—they obscure the sun. Warriors fall from their steeds, resounding in their armour as a tree torn up by the blast. Kana quits the steed; hand to hand he encounters the foe; the feathery shafts, as they strike fire, appear like birds escaping from the flames. The lance flies through the breast, appearing at the back [683], like a fish escaping through the meshes of a net. The evil spirits dance in the mire of blood. The hero of the mountain ^[6] encountered Kana, and his blow made him reel; but like lightning it was returned, and the mountaineer fell: the crash was as the shaking of Sumeru. At this moment Nahar arrived, roaring like a tiger for his prey: he called aloud to revenge their chief, his brother,^[7] and fresh vigour was infused into their souls. On the fall of the mountain-chief, the Chauhan commanded the ‘hymn of triumph’^[8] to be sounded; it startled the mountaineer, but only to nerve his soul afresh. In person the Chauhan sought his foe. The son of Somesa is a bridegroom. His streaming standards flutter like the first falls of rain in Asarh, and as he steps on the bounds which separate Mandor from Ajmer, ‘Victory! victory!’ is proclaimed. Still the battle rages. Elephants roar, horses neigh, terror stalks everywhere. The aids of Girnar ^[9] and of Sind now appeared for Mandor, bearing banners of every colour, varied as the flowers of the spring. Both arrays were clad in mail; their eyes and their finger-nails alone were exposed; each invoked his tutelary protector as he wielded the dodhara.^[10] Prithiraj was refulgent as Indra; the Parihar’s brightness was as the morning star; each was clad in armour of proof, immovable as gods in mortal form. The sword of the Chauhan descended on the steed of the Parihar; but as he fell, Nahar sprung erect, and they again darted on each other, their warriors forming a fortress around the persons of their lords. Then advanced the standards of the Pramar, like a black rolling cloud, while the lightnings flashed from his sword. Mohana, the brother of Mandor, received him; they first examined each other—then joining in the strife, the helm of the Pramar was cleft in twain. Now advanced Chawand, the Dahima; he grasped his iron lance,^[11]—it pierced the Parihar, and the head appeared like a serpent looking through the door in his back. The flame (jyot) united with the fire from which it sprung, while the body fell on its parent earth. By his devotion the sins of his life were forgiven. Nobly did the tiger (Nahar) of Mandor meet the lion of the world. He called aloud, ‘Hold your ground as did Bal Raja of old.’ Again the battle rages—Durga gluts herself with blood [684]—the air resounds with the clash of arms and the rattling of banners—the Aswar ^[12] rains on the foe—Khetrpal ^[13] sports in the field of blood—Mahadeva fills his necklace—the eagle gluts itself on the slain—the mien of the warriors expands as does the lotos at the sunbeam—the war-song resounds—with a branch of the tulasi on the helm, adorned in the saffron robe, the warriors on either side salute each other.” The bard here exclaims, “But why should I enlarge on this encounter?”—but as this digression is merely for breathing time, we shall not follow him, the object being to introduce the mountain Mer, whom we now see hors de combat.

Character of the Mers.

—Admitting the exaggeration of the poet, the Mer appears to have been in the twelfth century what he is in the nineteenth, a bold, licentious marauder. He maintained himself throughout the whole of the Mogul domination, alternately succumbing and depredating; and since the Mahrattas crippled these countries, the Mer had regained all his consequence, and was rapidly encroaching upon his Rajput suzerain. But when in 1821 their excesses made it imperative to reduce their holds and fastnesses, they made no stand against the three battalions of sepoys sent against them, and the whole tract was compelled to obedience; not, however, till many of the descendants of Chita and Barar had suffered both in person and property.^[14] The facility with which we reduced to entire subjection this extensive association of plunderers, for centuries the terror of these countries, occasioned no little astonishment to our allies. The resistance was indeed contemptible, and afforded a good argument against the prowess of those who had tolerated the existence of a gang at once so mischievous and weak. But this was leaping to a conclusion without looking beneath the surface, or to the moral and political revolution which enervated the arms of Mer and Mahratta, Pindari and Pathan. All rose to power from the common occupation of plunderers, aided by the national jealousies of the Rajputs. If the chieftains of Mewar leagued to assault the mountaineers, they found refuge and support in Marwar; and as their fortresses at all times presented a sanctuary, their Rawats or leaders obtained consequence amongst all parties by granting it. Every Mer community, accordingly, had a perfect understanding with the chieftain whose lands were contiguous to their own, and who enjoyed rights granted by the Rana over these nominal subjects. These rights were all of a feudal nature, as rakhwali or ‘blackmail’ [685], and those petty proofs of subordination, entitled in the feudal law of Europe “petit serjanterie.” The token might be a colt, a hawk, or a bullock, and a nazarana, or pecuniary acknowledgement, perhaps only of half-a-crown on the chieftain’s birthday, or on the Rajput Saturnalia, the Holi. But all these petty causes for assimilation between the Rajput and the lawless Mer were overlooked, as well as the more powerful one which rendered his arms of no avail. Every door was hermetically sealed against him; wherever he looked he saw a foe—the magical change bewildered him; and when their Khan and his adherents were assailed while in fancied security, and cut off in a midnight attack, his self-confidence was annihilated—he saw a red-coat in every glen, and called aloud for mercy.

The Merwāra Battalion.

—A corps of these mountaineers, commanded by English officers, has since been formed, and I have no doubt may become useful.^[15] Notwithstanding their lawless habits, they did not neglect agriculture and embanking, as described in the valley of Shera Nala, and a district has been formed in Merwara which in time may yield a lakh of rupees annually to the state.

Marriage Customs.

—Some of their customs are so curious, and so different from those of their lowland neighbours, that we may mention a few. Leaving their superstitions as regards omens and auguries, the most singular part of their habits, till we give a detailed sketch of the Minas hereafter, I will notice the peculiarity of their notions towards females. The Mer, following the customary law handed down from his rude ancestry, and existing long before the written law of Manu, has no objection to a widow as a wife. This contract is termed nata, and his civilized master levies a fine or fee of a rupee and a quarter for the licence, termed kagli. On such marriage the bridegroom must omit in the maur, or nuptial coronet, the graceful palmyra leaf, and substitute a small branch of the sacred pipal wreathed in his turban. Many of the forms are according to the common Hindu ritual. The sat-phera, or seven perambulations round the jars filled with grain, piled over each other—the ganth-jora, or uniting the garments—and the hathleva, or junction of hands of bride and bridegroom, are followed by the Mers. Even the northern clans, who are converts to Islam, return to their ancient habits on this occasion, and have a Brahman priest to officiate. I discovered, on inquiring into the habits of the Mers, that they are not the only race which did not refuse to wed a widow, and that both Brahmans and Rajputs have from ancient times been accustomed not to consider it derogatory [686].^[16] Of the former, the sacerdotal class, the Nagda ^[17] Brahmans, established at this town long before the Guhilots obtained power in Mewar. Of the Rajputs, they are all of the most ancient tribes, now the allodial vassals or Bhumias of Rajputana, as the Chinana, Kharwar, Uten, Daya, names better known in the mystic page of the chronicle than now, though occasionally met with in the valleys of the Aravalli. But this practice, so little known, gives rise to an opinion, that many of the scrupulous habits regarding women are the inventions of the priests of more modern days. The facilities for separation are equally simple. If tempers do not assimilate, or other causes prompt them to part, the husband tears a shred from his turban, which he gives to his wife, and with this simple bill of divorce, placing two jars filled with water on her head, she takes whatever path she pleases, and the first man who chooses to ease her of her load becomes her future lord. This mode of divorce is practised not only amongst all the Minas, but by Jats, Gujars, Ahirs, Malis, and other Sudra tribes. Jehar le aur nikali, ‘took the jar and went forth,’ is a common saying amongst the mountaineers of Merwara.

Oaths, Food, Omens.

—Their invocations and imprecations are peculiar. The Chita or northern Mer, since he became acquainted with the name of the prophet, swears by ‘Allah,’ or by his first proselyte ancestor, ‘Duda Dawad Khan,’ or the still more ancient head of the races, ‘Chita, Barar ka an‘. The southern Mers also use the latter oath: “By my allegiance to Chita and Barar”; and they likewise swear by the sun, ‘Suraj ka Sagun,’ and ‘Nath ka Sagun’; or their ascetic priest, called the Nath. The Muhammadan Mer will not now eat hog; the southron refuses nothing, though he respects the cow from the prejudices of those around him, and to please the Nath or Jogi, his spiritual guide. The partridge and the maloli,^[18] or wag-tail, are the chief birds of omen with him, and the former ‘clamouring’ on the left, when he commences a foray, is a certain presage of success. To conclude; colonies of the Mers or Meras will be found as far north as the Chambal, and even in the peninsula of Saurashtra. Merwara is now in subjection to the Rana of Mewar, who has erected small forts amidst the most influential communities to overawe them. The whole tract has been assessed; the chiefs of the districts being brought to the Rana’s presence presented nazarana, swore fidelity, and received according to their rank gold bracelets or turbans. It was an era in the annals of Mewar to see the accumulated arms of Merwara piled upon the [687] terrace of the palace at the capital; but these measures were subsequent to our sojourn in the glen of Kumbhalmer, from which we have yet to issue to gain Marwar.

The Chief of Gokulgarh.

—October 21.—All hailed the return of daylight with reverence. Captain Waugh and the Doctor uncoiled from the elephant’s jhul, and I issued from my palki, which had proved a welcome retreat against the chills of the night air. By thirst and hunger our appetite for the picturesque was considerably abated, and the contemplation of the spot where we had bivouaced in that philosophical spirit of silence, which all have experienced who have made a long march before breakfast, lost much of its romantic interest. Nevertheless, could I have consulted merely my own wishes, I would have allowed my friends and escort to follow the canteen, and have pursued an intricate path which branched off to the right, to have had the chance of an interview with the outlaw of Gokulgarh.

This petty chieftain, who enjoyed the distinctive epithet of outlaw (barwatia), was of the Sonigira clan (a branch of the Chauhans), who for centuries were the lords of Jalor. He was a vassal of Marwar, now sovereign of Jalor, and being expelled for his turbulence by his prince, he had taken post in the old ruined castle of Gokulgarh, on a cliff of the Aravalli, and had become the terror of the country. By his knowledge of the intricacies of the mountains, he eluded pursuit; and his misdeeds being not only connived at, but his spoils participated by the chief of Deogarh, in whose fief was his haunt, he was under no apprehension of surprise. Inability either to seize the Barwatia, or drive him from his retreat, formed a legitimate excuse for the resumption of Gokulgarh, and the dues of ‘blackmail’ he derived from its twelve dependent villages. The last act of the Sonigira was most flagrant; he intercepted in the plains of Godwar a marriage procession, and made captives the bridegroom and bride, whom he conveyed to Gokulgarh, where they long languished for want of ransom. A party was formed to lie in wait for him; but he escaped the snare, and his retreat was found empty. Such was the state of society in these districts. The form of outlawry is singular in this country, where the penal laws are satisfied with banishment, even in cases of treason, instead of the sanguinary law of civilization. The criminal against whom the sentence of exile is pronounced being called into his prince’s presence, is clad in black vestments, and placed upon a black steed, his arms and shield all of the same sombre hue of mourning and [688] disgrace; he is then left to gain the frontier by himself. This custom is very ancient: the Pandu brothers were ‘Barwatias’^[19] from the Jumna three thousand years ago. The Jaisalmer annals relate the solemnity as practised towards one of their own princes; and the author, in the domestic dissensions of Kotah, received a letter from the prince, wherein he demands either that his rights should be conceded, or that the government would bestow the “black garment,” and leave him to his fate.

The Chief of Ghānērāo.

—Conversing on these and similar subjects with my Marwari friends, we threaded our way for five miles through the jungles of the pass, which we had nearly cleared, when we encountered the chieftain of Ghanerao at the head of his retinue, who of his own accord, and from a feeling of respect to his ancient sovereign the Rana, advanced thus far to do me honour. I felt the compliment infinitely the more, as it displayed that spirit of loyalty peculiar to the Rajput, though the step was dangerous with his jealous sovereign, and ultimately was prejudicial to him. After dismounting and embracing, we continued to ride to the tents, conversing on the past history of the province, of his prince, and the Rana, after whom he affectionately inquired. Ajit Singh is a noble-looking man, about thirty years of age, tall, fair, and sat his horse like a brave Rathor cavalier. Ghanerao is the chief town of Godwar, with the exception of the commercial Pali, and the garrison-post Desuri. From this important district the Rana could command four thousand Rathors holding lands on the tenure of service, of whom the Ghanerao chief, then one of the sixteen nobles of Mewar, was the head. Notwithstanding the course of events had transferred the province, and consequently his services, from the Rana of Udaipur to the Raja of Jodhpur, so difficult is it to eradicate old feelings of loyalty and attachment, that the present Thakur preferred having the sword of investiture bound on him by his ancient and yet nominal suzerain, rather than by his actual sovereign. For this undisguised mark of feeling, Ghanerao was denuded of its walls, which were levelled to the ground; a perpetual memento of disgrace and an incentive to vengeance: and whenever the day arrives that the Rana’s herald may salute him with the old motto, “Remember Kumbhalmer,” he will not be deaf to the call. To defend this post was the peculiar duty of his house, and often have his ancestors bled in maintaining it against the Mogul. Even now [689], such is the inveteracy with which the Rajput clings to his honours, that whenever the Ghanerao chief, or any of his near kin, attend the Rana’s court, he is saluted at the porte, or at the champ de Mars, by a silver mace-bearer from the Rana, with the ancient war-cry, “Remember Kumbhalmer,” and he still receives on all occasions of rejoicing a khilat from that prince. He has to boast of being of the Rana’s blood, and is by courtesy called “the nephew of Mewar.” The Thakur politely invited me to visit him; but I was aware that compliance would have involved him in difficulties with his jealous prince, and made excuses of fatigue, and the necessity of marching next morning, the motives of which he could not misunderstand.

Our march this morning was but short, and the last two miles were in the plains of Marwar, with merely an occasional rock. Carey joined us, congratulating himself on the ducking which had secured him better fare than we had enjoyed in the pass of Kumbhalmer, and which fastened both on Waugh and myself violent colds. The atmospheric change was most trying: emerging from the cold breezes of the mountains to 96° of Fahrenheit, the effect was most injurious: it was 58° in the morning of our descent into the glen. Alas! for my surviving barometer! Mahesh, my amanuensis, who had been entrusted with it, joined us next day, and told me the quicksilver had contrived to escape; so I lost the opportunity of comparing the level of the desert with the plains of Marwar.

The Chief of Rūpnagar.

—October 27.—Halted to collect the scattered baggage, and to give the men rest; the day was nearly over before the whole came up, each party bringing lamentable reports of the disastrous descent. I received a visit from the chief of Rupnagar, who, like the Thakur of Ghanerao, owes a divided allegiance to the courts on each side the mountains. His castle, which gives him rank as one of the most conspicuous of the second grade of the Rana’s nobles, was visible from the camp, being placed on the western face of the mountains, and commanding a difficult passage across them. From thence he looks down upon Desuri and his ancient patrimony, now transferred with Godwar to the Rathor prince; and often has he measured his lance with the present occupants to retain his ancient bhum, the right derived from the cultivating proprietor of the soil. The chief of Rupnagar is of the Solanki race, a lineal descendant of the sovereigns of Nahrwala, and the inheritor [690] of the war-shell of the celebrated monarch Siddhraj,^[20] one of the most powerful who ever sat on an eastern throne, and who occupied that of Anhilwara from A.D. 1094, during half a century, celebrated as a patron of literature and the arts. When in the thirteenth century this State was destroyed, the branches found refuge, as already described, in Mewar; for the ancestor of Rupnagar was brother to the father of “the star of Badnor,” and was invested with the estate and lands of Desuri by the same gallant prince who obtained her hand by the recovery of her father’s estates. The anecdote is worthy of relation, as showing that the Rajput will stop at nothing “to obtain land.” The intestine feuds amongst Rana Raemall’s sons, and his constant warfare with the kings of Delhi and Malwa, made his authority very uncertain in Godwar. The Mina and Mer possessed themselves of lands in the plains, and were supported by the Madrecha descendant of the once independent Chauhan sovereigns of Nadol, the ancient capital of this region. Sand, the Madrecha, had obtained possession of Desuri, the garrison town. To expel him, the prince had recourse to Sada, the Solanki, whose son was married to the daughter of the Madrecha. The bribe for the reward of this treachery was to be the grant in perpetuity of Desuri and its lands. Sada’s son readily entered into the scheme; and to afford facilities for its execution he went with his wife to reside at Desuri. It was long before an opportunity offered; but at length the marriage of the young Madrecha to the daughter of Sagra the Balecha was communicated to the Solanki by his son; who told his father “to watch the smoke ascending from the tower of Desuri,” as the signal for the attempt to get possession. Anxiously did Sand watch from his castle of Sodhgarh the preconcerted sign, and when the volume of black smoke ascended, he rushed down from the Aravalli at the head of his retainers. The mother-in-law of the young Solanki sent to know why he should make a smoke as if he were burning a corpse, when her son must be returning with his bride. Soon she heard the clash of arms; the Solankis had entered and fired the town, and the bridal party appeared before success was attained. Spears and swords were plied. “’Ware the bull!” (sand), said the Madrecha, as he encountered his foe. “My name is the lion (singh) who will [691] devour the bull,” replied the Solanki. The contest was fierce, but the Madrechas were slain, and in the morn Prithiraj was put in possession of Desuri. He drew out a grant upon the spot, inserting in it a curse against any of Sesodia blood who might break the bond which had restored the Rathor authority in Godwar. Although seventeen generations have passed since this event, the feud has continued between the descendants of the lion of Sodhgarh and the bull of Desuri, though the object of dissension is alienated from both.

The Chief of Ghānērāo. The Rājputs of Mewār and Mārwār compared.—I could well have dispensed with visits this day, the thermometer being 96°; I was besides devoured with inflammatory cold; but there was no declining another polite visit of the chieftain of Ghanerao. His retinue afforded a good opportunity of contrasting the Sesodia Rajput of fertile Mewar with the Rathors of Marwar, and which on the whole would have been favourable to the latter, if we confined our view to those of the valley of Udaipur, or the mountainous region of its southern limit, where climate and situation are decidedly unfavourable. There the Rajput may be said not only to deteriorate in muscular form and strength, but in that fairness of complexion which distinguishes him from the lower orders of Hindus. But the danger of generalizing on such matters will be apparent when it is known that there is a cause continually operating to check and diminish the deteriorating principle arising from the climate and situation (or, as the Rajput would say, from the hawa pani, ‘air and water’) of these unhealthy tracts; namely, the continual influx of the purest blood from every region in Rajputana: and the stream which would become corrupt if only flowing from the commingling of the Chondawats of Salumbar and the Jhalas of Gogunda (both mountainous districts), is refreshed by that of the Rathors of Godwar, the Chauhans of Haraoti, or the Bhatti of the desert. I speak from conviction, the chieftains above mentioned affording proofs of the evil resulting from such repeated intermarriages; for, to use their own adage, “a raven will produce a raven.” But though the personal appearance of the chieftain of Gogunda might exclude him from the table of the sixteen barons of Mewar, his son by a Rathor mother may be exhibited as a redeeming specimen of the Jhalas, and one in every way favourable of the Rajput of Mewar. On such occasion, also, as a formal visit, both chieftain and retainers appear under every advantage of dress and decoration; for even the form of the turban may improve the contour of the face, though [692] the Mertias of Ghanerao have nothing so decidedly peculiar in this way as those of other clans.

After some discourse on the history of past days, with which, like every respectable Rajput, I found him perfectly conversant, the Ghanerao chief took his leave with some courteous and friendly expressions. It is after such a conversation that the mind disposed to reflection will do justice to the intelligence of these people: I do not say this with reference to the baron of Ghanerao, but taking them generally. If by history we mean the relation of events in succession, with an account of the leading incidents connecting them, then are all the Rajputs versed in this science; for nothing is more common than to hear them detail their immediate ancestry or that of their prince for many generations, with the events which have marked their societies. It is immaterial whether he derives this knowledge from the chronicle, the chronicler, or both: it not only rescues him from the charge of ignorance, but suggests a comparison between him and those who constitute themselves judges of nationalities by no means unfavourable to the Rajput.

Godwār.

—October 28.—Marched at daybreak. The Thakur sent a confidential vassal to accompany me through his domain. We could now look around us, as we receded from the Alpine Aravalli, with nothing to obstruct the vision, over the fertile plains of Godwar. We passed near Ghanerao, whose isolated portals, without tower or curtain to connect them, have a most humiliating appearance. It is to Raja Bhim, some twenty years ago, that their chieftains owe this degradation, in order to lessen their ability to recover the province for its ancient master the Rana. It was indeed one of the gems of his crown, as it is the only dazzling one in that of Marwar. While we marched over its rich and beautiful plains, well watered, well wooded, and abounding in fine towns, I entered into conversation with the Rana’s envoy, who joined me on the march. Kishandas has already been mentioned as one of the few men of integrity and wisdom who had been spared to be useful to his country. He was a mine of ancient lore, and his years, his situation, and his character gave force to his sentiments of determined independence. He was as quick as touchwood, which propensity occasionally created a wordy war between me and my friend, who knew my respect for him. “Restore us Godwar,” was his abrupt salutation as he joined me on the march: to which, being a little vexed, as the point could not be agitated by our government, I said in reply, “Why did you [693] let them take it?—where has the Sesodia sword slept this half century?” Adding, “God Almighty never intended that the region on this side the mountains should belong to Mewar;—nature’s own hand has placed the limit between you.” The old envoy’s blood was roused as he exclaimed, “Even on this principle Godwar is ours, for nature has marked our limit by stronger features than mountains. Observe, as you advance, and you will find to the further limit of the province every shrub and flower common to Mewar; pass that limit but a few yards, and they are lost:

“Wherever the anwal puts forth its yellow blossoms, the land is of right ours; we want nothing more. Let them enjoy their stunted babuls, their karil, and the ak; but give us back our sacred pipal, and the anwal of the border.”^[21] In truth, the transition is beyond credence marked: cross but a shallow brook, and you leave all that is magnificent in vegetation; the pipal, bar, and that species of the mimosa resembling the cypress, peculiar to Godwar, are exchanged for the prickly shrubs, as the wild caper, jawas, and many others, more useful than ornamental, on which the camel browses.^[22] The argument was, however, more ingenious than just, and the old envoy was here substituting the effect for the cause; but he shall explain in his own words why Flora should be permitted to mark the line of demarcation instead of the rock-enthroned (Durga) Cybele. The legend now repeated is historical, and the leading incidents of it have already been touched upon;^[23] I shall therefore condense the Pancholi’s description into a summary analysis of the cause why the couplet of the bard should be deemed “confirmation strong” of the bounds of kingdoms. These traditionary couplets, handed down from generation to generation, are the most powerful evidence of the past, and they are accordingly employed to illustrate the Khyats, or annals, of Rajputana. When, towards the conclusion of the fourteenth century, the founder of the Chondawats repaid the meditated treachery of Ranmall of Mandor by his death, he took possession of that capital and the entire country of the Rathors (then but of small extent), which he held for several years. The heir of Mandor became a fugitive, concealing himself in the fastnesses of the Aravalli, with little hope that [694] his name (Jodha) would become a patronymic, and that he would be honoured as the second founder of his country: that Mandor itself should be lost in Jodhpur. The recollection of the feud was almost extinct; the young Rana of Chitor had passed the years of Rajput minority, and Jodha continued a fugitive in the wilds of Bhandak-parao, with but a few horse in his train, indebted to the resources of some independents of the desert for the means of subsistence. He was discovered in this retreat by a Charan or bard, who, without aspiring to prophetic powers, revealed to him that the intercession of the queen-mother of Chitor had determined the Rana to restore him to Mandor. Whether the sister of Jodha, to give éclat to the restoration, wished it to have the appearance of a conquest, or whether Jodha, impatient for possession, took advantage of circumstances to make his entrance one of triumph, and thereby redeem the disgrace of a long and humiliating exile, it is difficult to decide; for while the annals of Mewar make the restoration an act of grace, those of Marwar give it all the colours of a triumph. Were the point worthy of discussion, we should say both accounts were correct. The Rana had transmitted the recall of Chonda from Mandor, but concealed from him the motive, and while Jodha even held in his possession the Rana’s letter of restoration, a concatenation of circumstances, in which “the omen” was predominant, occurred to make him anticipate his induction by a measure more consonant to the Rajput, a brilliant coup de main. Jodha had left his retreat in the Run ^[34] to make known to Harbuji Sankhla, Pabuji, and other rievers of the desert, the changes which the bard had communicated. While he was there, intelligence was brought that Chonda, in obedience to his sovereign’s command, had proceeded to Chitor. That same night “the bird of omen perched on Jodha’s lance, and the star which irradiated his birth shone bright upon it.” The bard of Mandor revealed the secret of heaven to Jodha, and the heroes in his train: “Ere that star descends in the west, your pennon will wave on the battlements of Mandor.” Unless, however, this “vision of glory” was merely mental, Jodha’s star must have been visible in daylight; for they could never have marched from the banks of the Luni, where the Sankhla resided, to Mandor, between its rising and setting. The elder son of Chonda had accompanied his father, and they had proceeded two coss in their [695] journey, when a sudden blaze appeared in Mandor: Chonda pursued his route, while his son Manja returned to Mandor. Jodha was already in possession; his an had been proclaimed, and the two other sons of Chonda had fallen in its defence. Manja, who fled, was overtaken and slain on the border. These tidings reached Chonda at the pass of the Aravalli; he instantly returned to Mandor, where he was met by Jodha, who showed him the letters of surrender for Mandor, and a command that he should fix with him the future boundary of each State. Chonda thought that there was no surer line of demarcation than that chalked out by the hand of nature; and he accordingly fixed that wherever the “yellow blossom” was found, the land should belong to his sovereign, and the bard was not slow in perpetuating the decree. Such is the origin of

The brave and loyal founder of the Chondawats, who thus sacrificed his revenge to his sovereign’s commands, had his feelings in some degree propitiated by this arrangement, which secured the entire province of Godwar to his prince: his son Manja fell, as he touched the region of the anwalas, and this cession may have been in ‘mundkati,’ the compromise of the price of blood. By such traditional legends, not less true than strange, and to which the rock sculptures taken from Mandor bear evidence, even to the heroes who aided Jodha in his enterprise, the anwal of the Rajputs has been immortalized, like the humble broom of the French, whose planta-genesta has distinguished the loftiest name in chivalry, the proudest race emblazoned on the page of heraldry.

Notwithstanding the crops had been gathered, this tract contrasted favourably with Mewar, although amidst a comparative prosperity we could observe the traces of rapine; and numerous stories were rehearsed of the miseries inflicted on the people by the rapacious followers of Amir Khan. We crossed numerous small streams flowing from the Aravalli, all proceeding to join the “Salt River,” or Luni. The villages were large and more populous; yet was there a dulness, a want of that hilarity which pervaded the peasantry of Mewar, in spite of their misfortunes. The Rajputs partook of the feeling, the cause of which a little better acquaintance with their headquarters soon revealed. Mewar had passed through the period [696] of reaction, which in Marwar was about to display itself, and was left unfortunately to its own control, or with only the impulse of a long suppressed feeling of revenge in the bosom of its prince, and the wiles of a miscreant minister, who wished to keep him in durance, and the country in degradation.

Nādol.

—It creates a refreshing sensation to find the camp pitched in a cool and shaded spot; and at Nadol ^[35] we had this satisfaction. Here again there was no time for recreation, for there was abundant, nay, overwhelming matter both for the pen and the pencil; but my readers must be satisfied with the imperfect delineations of the first. Nadol is still a place of some consequence, though, but for its temples, we should not have supposed it to have been the capital of a province. With its neighbour, Narlai, five miles to the westward, it was the abode of a branch of the Chauhans of Ajmer, established at a very early period. From Nadol sprung the Deoras of Sirohi, and the Sonigiras of Jalor. The former still maintain their ground, in spite of all attempts of the Rathors; but the Sonigira, who was immortalized by his struggle against the second Ala, is blotted from the list of independent States; and this valuable domain, consisting of three hundred and sixty towns, is now incorporated with Jodhpur.

There is no spot in Rajputana that does not contain some record of the illustrious Chauhan; and though every race has had its career of glory, the sublimity of which, the annals of the Sesodias before the reader sufficiently attest, yet with all my partiality for those with whom I long resided, and with whose history I am best acquainted, my sense of justice compels me to assign the palm of martial intrepidity to the Chauhan over all the “royal races” of India. Even the bards, to whatever family they belong, appear to articulate the very name as if imbued with some peculiar energy, and dwell on its terminating nasal with peculiar complacency. Although they had always ranked high in the list of chivalry, yet the seal of the order was stamped on all who have the name of Chauhan, since the days of Prithiraj, the model of every Rajput, and who had a long line of fame to maintain. Of the many names familiar to the bard is Guga of Bhatinda, who with forty-seven sons “drank of the stream of the sword” on the banks of the Sutlej, in opposing Mahmud.^[36] This conqueror proceeded through the desert to the attack of Ajmer, the chief abode of this race, where his arms were disgraced, the invader wounded, and forced to relinquish his enterprise [697]. In his route to Nahrwala and Somnath he passed Nadol,^[37] whose prince hesitated not to measure his sword even with Mahmud. I was fortunate enough to obtain an inscription regarding this prince, the celebrated Lakha, said to be the founder of this branch from Ajmer, of which it was a fief—its date S. 1039 (A.D. 983).^[38] The fortress attributed to Lakha is on the declivity of a low ridge to the westward of the town, with square towers of ancient form, and built of a very curious conglomerate of granite and gneiss, of which the rock on which it stands is composed. There was a second inscription, dated S. 1024 (A.D. 968), which made him the contemporary of the Rana’s ancestor, Sakti Kumar of Aitpur, a city also destroyed, more probably by the father of Mahmud. The Chauhan bards speak in very lofty terms of Rao Lakha, who “collected transit dues from the further gate of Anhilwara, and levied tribute from the prince of Chitor.”

Remains at Nādol.

—It is impossible to do full justice to the architectural remains, which are well worthy of the pencil. Here everything shows that the Jain faith was once predominant, and that their arts, like their religion, were of a character quite distinct from those of Siva. The temple of Mahavira, the last of their twenty-four apostles, is a very fine piece of architecture. Its vaulted roof is a perfect model of the most ancient style of dome in the East; probably invented anterior to the Roman. The principle is no doubt the same as the first substitute of the arch, and is that which marked the genius of Caesar in his bridge over the Rhone, and which appears over every mountain torrent of the ancient Helvetii, from whom he may have borrowed it.^[39] The principle is that of a horizontal instead of a radiating pressure. At Nadol the stones are placed by a gradual projection one over the other, the apex being closed by a circular key-stone. The angles of all these projections being rounded off, the spectator looking up can only describe the vault as a series of gradually diminishing amulets or rings converging to the apex. The effect is very pleasing, though it furnishes a strong argument that the Hindus first became acquainted with the perfect arch through their conquerors. The toran, in front of the altar of Mahavira, is exquisitely sculptured, as well as several statues of marble, discovered about one hundred and fifty years ago in the bed of the river, when it changed its course. It is not unlikely that they were buried during Mahmud’s invasion. But [698] the most singular structure of Nadol is a reservoir, called the chana ki baoli, from the cost of it being paid by the return of a single grain of pulse (chana). The excavation is immense; the descent is by a flight of grey granite steps, and the sides are built up from the same materials by piling blocks upon blocks of enormous magnitude, without the least cement.

Inscriptions and Coins.

—My acquisitions here were considerable. Besides copies of inscriptions made by my Sanskrit scribes, I obtained two originals on brass. Of one of these, dated S. 1218, the memorial of Alandeva, I append a translation,^[40] which may be considered curious as a formula of endowment of the Jains. I likewise procured several isolated MS. leaves of very great value, relative to the thirty-six royal races, to the ancient geography of India, and to the founding of ancient cities; also a catalogue of longevity of plants and animals, and an extract from a work concerning the descendants of Srenika and Samprati, the potent princes of the Jain faith between Mahavira and Vikrama. However meagre these fragments may be, I have incorporated their contents into my mosaic. I also made valuable additions to my collection of medals, for I obtained coins of Mahmud, Balban, and Ala, surnamed Khuni, or ‘the sanguinary’; and another of a conqueror equally meriting that title, Nadir Shah. But these were of little consequence compared with what one of my envoys brought from Narlai—a small bag full of curious hieroglyphical (if I may so use the term) medals of the Chauhan princes.^[41] One side represents a warrior on horseback, compounded out of a character to which I have applied the above term; on some there was a bull; while others, retaining the original reverse, have on the obverse the titles of the first Islamite conquerors, in the same manner as the currency of France bears the effigies of Louis XVI. and the emblems of the Republic. Whoever will pay a visit to Nadol will find his labour amply rewarded; I had only leisure to glean a few of these relics, which yet formed a rich harvest. Narlai, Bali, Desuri, Sadri, all ancient seats of the Jains, will yield medals, MSS., and rare specimens of the architectural art. From Abu to Mandor, the antiquary might fill many portfolios, and collect matter for volumes of the ancient history of this people, for this is the cradle of their faith. That I was enabled to obtain so much during a rapid march through the country arose partly from previous [699] knowledge, partly from the extent of my means, for I had flying detachments to the right and left of my route, consisting of intelligent natives of each city, accompanied by pandits for deciphering, and others for collecting whatever was the object of research; who, at the close of each day, brought me the fruits of their inquiries. When any remarkable discovery was made, I followed it up in person, or by sending those in whom I could confide. This is not mentioned from a spirit of egotism, but to incite others to the pursuit by showing the rewards which await such research.

Indara.

—October 29.—Camp at Indara, eleven miles. This small town, placed on the north bank of one of the nameless feeders of the ‘salt river,’ is the boundary of Godwar; here the reign of the yellow anwal terminates, and here commences Marusthali, or ‘the region of death.’ The transition is great. We can look back upon fertility, and forward on aridity, which does not, however, imply sterility: for that cunning artist, nature, compensates the want of verdure and foliage to the inhabitants of the desert by many spontaneous bounties. An entire race of cucurbitaceous plants is the eleemosynary equivalent for the mango and exotics of the central lands of Rajputana; while indigenous poverty sends forth her commercial sons from Osi, Pali, and Pokaran, to bring wealth from the Ganges and the Kistna, to the Luni, or to the still more remote oasis, Jaisalmer. From Indara everything assumed a new character: the sand, of which we had before scarcely a sprinkling, became occasionally heavy; the shallow beds of the numerous streams were white with saline incrustations; and the vegetable creation had been gradually diminishing, from the giant race of the sacred fig-tree with leaf “broad as Amazonian targe,” to the dwarfish shrubs of the desert. At once the satiric stanza of the bard of a more favoured region was brought to my mind, and as I repeated it to my old friend the Rana’s envoy, he enjoyed the confession, and afresh urged his wish that nature should decide the question of their boundaries: