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

The Assassination of Jai Āpa Sindhia, A.D. 1759.

—A Rajput and an Afghan, both foot-soldiers on a small monthly pay, offered, if their families were provided for, to sacrifice themselves for his safety by the assassination of the Mahratta commander. Assuming the garb of camp-settlers, they approached the headquarters, feigning a violent quarrel. The simple Mahratta chief was performing his ablutions at the door of his tent, and as they approached they became more vociferous, and throwing a bundle of statements of account on the ground, begged he would decide between them. In this manner they came nearer and nearer, and as he listened to their story, one plunged his dagger in his side, exclaiming, “This for Nagor!” and “This for Jodhpur!” said his companion [758], as he repeated the mortal blow. The alarm was given; the Afghan was slain; but the Rajput called out “Thief!” and mingling with the throng, escaped by a drain into the town of Nagor.^[24] Though the crime was rewarded, the Rathor refused to see the criminal. The siege continued, but in spite of every precaution, reinforcements both of men and provisions continued to be supplied. It ill suited the restless Mahratta to waste his time in these desert regions, which could be employed so much more profitably on richer lands: a compromise ensued, in which the cause of Ram Singh was abandoned, on stipulating for a fixed triennial tribute, and the surrender of the important fortress and district of Ajmer in full sovereignty to the Mahratta, in mundkati, or compensation for the blood of Jai Apa. The monsoon was then approaching; they broke up, and took possession of this important conquest, which, placed in the very heart of these regions, may be called the key of Rajputana.

The cross of St. George now waves over the battlements of Ajmer,^[25] planted, if there is any truth in political declarations, not for the purpose of conquest, or to swell the revenues of British India, but to guard the liberties and the laws of these ancient principalities from rapine and disorder. It is to be hoped that this banner will never be otherwise employed, and that it may never be execrated by the brave Rajput.

The deserted Ram Singh continued to assert his rights with the same obstinacy by which he lost them; and for which he staked his life in no less than eighteen encounters against his uncle and cousin. At length, on the death of Isari Singh of Jaipur, having lost his main support, he accepted the Marwar share of the Salt Lake of Sambhar, and Jaipur relinquishing the other half, he resided there until his death [759].

Mahādaji Sindhia, A.D. 1759-94. Battle of Lālsot, A.D. 1787.

—Mahadaji Sindhia succeeded to the command of the horde led by his relation, Jai Apa. He had the genius to discover that his southron horse would never compete with the Rajputs, and he set about improving that arm to which the Mahrattas finally owed success. This sagacious chief soon perceived that the political position of the great States of Rajasthan was most favourable to his views of establishing his power in this quarter. They were not only at variance with each other, but, as it has already appeared, were individually distracted with civil dissensions. The interference of the Rana of Udaipur had obtained for his nephew, Madho Singh, the gaddi of Jaipur; but this advantage was gained only through the introduction of the Mahrattas, and the establishment of a tribute, as in Marwar. This brave people felt the irksomeness of their chains, and wished to shake them off. Madho Singh’s reign was short; he was succeeded by Partap, who determined to free himself from this badge of dependence.^[1] Accordingly, when Mahadaji Sindhia invaded his country, at the head of a powerful army, he called on the Rathors for aid. The cause was their own; and they jointly determined to redeem what had been lost. As the bard of the Rathors observes, they [760] forgot all their just grounds of offence ^[2] against the Jaipur court, and sent the flower of their chivalry under the chieftain of Rian, whose fidelity has been so recently recorded. At Tonga (the battle is also termed that of Lalsot), the rival armies encountered. The celebrated Mogul chiefs, Ismail Beg and Hamdani, added their forces to those of the combined Rajputs, and gained an entire victory, in which the Rathors had their full share of glory. The noble chief of Rian formed his Rathor horse into a dense mass, with which he charged and overwhelmed the flower of Sindhia’s army, composed of the regulars under the celebrated De Boigne.^[3] Sindhia was driven from the field, and retired to Mathura; for years he did not recover the severity of this day. The Rathors sent a force under the Dhaibhai, which redeemed Ajmer, and annulled their tributary engagement.

Battle of Pātan, June 20, 1790.

—The genius of General Comte de Boigne ably seconded the energetic Sindhia. A regular force was equipped, far superior to any hitherto known, and was led into Rajputana to redeem the disgrace of Tonga. The warlike Rathors determined not to await the attack within their own limits, but marched their whole force to the northern frontier of Jaipur, and formed a junction with the Kachhwahas at the town of Patan (Tuarvati).^[4] The words of the war-song, which the inspiring bards repeated as they advanced, are still current in Marwar; but an unlucky stanza, which a juvenile Charan had composed after the battle of Tonga, had completely alienated the Kachhwahas from their supporters, to whom they could not but acknowledge their inferiority:

This stanza was retained in recollection at the battle of Patan; and if universal [761] affirmation may be received as proof, it was the cause of its loss, and with it that of Rajput independence. National pride was humbled: a private agreement was entered into between the Mahrattas and Jaipurians, whereby the latter, on condition of keeping aloof during the fight, were to have their country secured from devastation. As usual, the Rathors charged up to the muzzles of De Boigne’s cannon, sweeping all before them: but receiving no support, they were torn piecemeal by showers of grape and compelled to abandon the field. Then, it is recorded, the brave Rathor showed the difference between fighting on parbhum, or ‘foreign land,’ and on his own native soil. Even the women, it is averred, plundered them of their horses on this disastrous day; so heart-broken had the traitorous conduct of their allies rendered them. The Jaipurians paid dearly for their revenge, and for the couplet which recorded it:

Both these “ribald strains” are still the taunt of either race: by such base agencies are thrones overturned, and heroism rendered abortive!

When the fatal result of the battle of Patan was communicated to Raja Bijai Singh, he called a council of all his nobles, at which the independent branches of his family, the Rajas of Bikaner, Kishangarh, and Rupnagarh, assisted, for the cause was a common one. The Raja gave it as his own opinion, that it was better to fulfil the terms of the former treaty, on the murder of Jai Apa, acknowledge the cancelled tribute, and restore Ajmer, which they had recovered by a coup de main. His valorous chieftains opposed the degrading suggestion, and unanimously recommended that they should again try the chances of war ere they signed their humiliation. Their resolution swayed the prince, who issued his summons to every Rathor in his dominions to assemble under their Raja’s banner, once more planted on the ensanguined plains of Merta. A fine army was embodied; not a Rathor who could wield a sword but brought it for service in the cause of his country; and full thirty thousand men assembled on the 10th September 1790, determined to efface the recollections of Patan [762].

Battle of Merta, September 1790 A.D.

—There was one miscreant of Rathor race, who aided on this occasion to rivet his country’s chains, and his name shall be held up to execration—Bahadur Singh, the chief of Kishangarh. This traitor to his suzerain and race held, jointly with his brother of Rupnagarh, a domain of two hundred and ten townships: not a fief emanating from Marwar, but all by grant from the kings; still they received the tika, and acknowledged the supremacy of the head of Jodhpur. The brothers had quarrelled; Bahadur despoiled his brother of his share, and being deaf to all offers of mediation, Bijai Singh marched and re-inducted the oppressed chief into his capital, Rupnagarh. The fatal day of Patan occurred immediately after; and Bahadur, burning with revenge, repaired to De Boigne, and conducted him against his native land. Rupnagarh, it may be supposed, was his first object, and it will afford a good proof of the efficiency of the artillery of De Boigne, that he reduced it in twenty-four hours. Thence he proceeded to Ajmer, which he invested: and here the proposal was made by the Raja for its surrender, and for the fulfilment of the former treaty. Mahadaji in person remained at Ajmer, while his army, led by Lakwa, Jiwa-dada, Sudasheo Bhao, and other Mahratta leaders of horse, with the brigades of De Boigne and eighty pieces of cannon, advanced against the Rathors. The Mahrattas, preceding by one day’s march the regulars under De Boigne, encamped at Natria. The Rathor army was drawn out on the plains of Merta, one flank resting on the village of Dangiwas. Five miles separated the Rathors from the Mahrattas; De Boigne was yet in the rear, his guns being deep sunk in the sandy bed of the Luni. Here a golden opportunity was lost, which could never be regained, of deciding ‘horse to horse’ the claims of supremacy; but the evil genius of the Rathor again intervened: and as he was the victim at Patan to the jealousy of the Kachhwaha, so here he became the martyr to a meaner cause, the household jealousies of the civil ministers of his prince. It is customary in all the Rajput States, when the sovereign does not command in person, to send one of the civil ministers as his representative. Him the feudal chiefs will obey, but not one of their own body, at least without some hazard of dissension. Khub Chand Singwi, the first minister, was present with the Raja at the capital: Gangaram Bhandari and Bhimraj Singwi were with the army. Eager to efface the disgrace of Patan, the two great Rathor leaders, Sheo Singh of Awa, and Mahidas of Asop, who had sworn to free their country or die in the [763] attempt, demanded a general movement against the Mahrattas. This gallant impatience was seconded by all the other nobles, as well as by a successful attack on the foragers of the enemy, in which the Mahrattas lost all their cattle. But it was in vain they urged the raging ardour of their clans, the policy of taking advantage of it, and the absence of De Boigne, owing to whose admirable corps and well-appointed park the day at Patan was lost; Bhimraj silenced their clamour for the combat by producing a paper from the minister Khub Chand commanding them on their allegiance not to engage until the junction of Ismail Beg, already at Nagor. They fatally yielded obedience. De Boigne extricated his guns from the sands of Alniawas, and joined the main body. That night the Bikaner contingent, perceiving the state of things, and desirous to husband their resources to defend their own altars, withdrew. About an hour before day-break, De Boigne led his brigade to the attack, and completely surprised the unguarded Rajputs.^[7] They were awoke by showers of grape-shot, which soon broke their position: all was confusion; the resistance was feeble. It was the camp of the irregular infantry and guns which broke, and endeavoured to gain Merta; and the civil commanders took to flight. The alarm reached the more distant quarters of the brothers-in-arms, the chiefs of Awa and Asop. The latter was famed for the immense quantity of opium he consumed; and with difficulty could his companion awake him, with the appalling tidings, “The camp has fled, and we are left alone!” “Well, brother, let us to horse.” Soon the gallant band of both was ready, and twenty-two chiefs of note drank opium together for the last time. They were joined by the leaders of other clans; and first and foremost the brave Mertias of Rian, of Alniawas, Irwa, Chanod, Govindgarh; in all four thousand Rathors. When mounted and formed in one dense mass, the Awa chieftain shortly addressed them: “Where can we fly, brothers? But can there be a Rathor who has ties stronger than shame (laj)? If any one exist who prefers his wife and children to honour, let him retire.” Deep silence was the only reply to this heroic appeal; and as the hand of each warrior was raised to his forehead, the Awa chief gave the word “Forward!” They soon came up with De Boigne’s brigade, well posted, and defended by eighty pieces of cannon. “Remember Patan!” was the cry, as, regardless of showers of grape, this heroic band charged up to the cannon’s mouth, driving everything before them, cutting [764] down the line which defended the guns, and passing on to assault the Mahrattas, who were flying in all directions to avoid their impetuous valour. Had there been a reserve at this moment, the day of Merta would have surpassed that of Tonga. But here the skill of De Boigne, and the discipline of his troops, were an overmatch for valour unsustained by discipline and discretion. The Rathor band had no infantry to secure their victory; the guns were wheeled round, the line was re-formed, and ready to receive them on their return. Fresh showers of shot and grape met their thinned ranks; scarcely one of the four thousand left the field. The chiefs of Asop, Irwa, Chanod, Govindgarh, Alniawas, Morira, and others of lesser note, were among the slain; and upon the heaps of wounded, surrounded by his gallant clan, lay the chief of Awa, pierced with seven-and-twenty wounds. He had lain insensible twenty-four hours, when an old servant, during the night, searched for and found him on the field. A heavy shower had fallen, which increased the miseries of the wounded. Blind and faint, the Thakur was dragged out from the bodies of the slain. A little opiate revived him; and they were carrying him off, when they were encountered by Lakwa’s harkaras in search of chiefs of note; the wounded Thakur was conveyed to the headquarters at Merta. Lakwa sent a surgeon to sew up his wounds; but he disdained the courtesy, and refused all aid, until the meanest of his wounded vassals was attended to. This brave man, when sufficiently recovered, refused all solicitation from his sympathizing foes that the usual rejoicing might be permitted, and that he would shave and perform the ablutions after sickness, till he could see his sovereign. The Raja advanced from his capital to meet him, and lavished encomiums on his conduct. He now took the bath, preparatory to putting on the honorary dress; but in bathing his wounds opened afresh, and he expired.

Bhimraj Singwi received at Nagor, whither he had fled, a letter of accusation from his sovereign, on which he swallowed poison; but although he was indirectly the cause of the defeat, by his supineness, and subsequent disgraceful flight, it was the minister at the capital whose treason prevented the destruction of the Mahrattas: Khub Chand was jealous of Bhimraj; he dreaded being supplanted by him if he returned from Merta crowned with success; and he therefore penned the dispatch which paralysed their energies, enjoining them to await the junction of Ismail Beg [765].

Thus, owing to a scurrilous couplet of a bard, and to the jealousy of a contemptible court-faction, did the valiant Rathors lose their independence—if it can be called lost—since each of these brave men still deems himself a host, when “his hour should come” to play the hero. Their spirit is not one jot diminished since the days of Tonga and Merta.^[8]

British Policy towards the Rajputs.

—By a careful investigation of the circumstances which placed those brave races in their present political position, the paramount protecting power may be enabled to appreciate them, either as allies or as foes; and it will demonstrate more effectually than mere opinions, from whatever source, how admirably qualified they are, if divested of control, to harmonize, in a very important respect, with the British system of government in the East. We have nothing to dread from them, individually or collectively; and we may engage their very hearts’ blood in our cause against whatever foes may threaten us, foreign or domestic, if we only exert our interference when mediation will be of advantage to them, without offence to [766] their prejudices. Nor is there any difficulty in the task; all honour the peacemaker, and they would court even arbitration if once assured that we had no ulterior views. But our strides have been rapid from Calcutta to Rajputana, and it were well if they credit what the old Nestor of India (Zalim Singh of Kotah) would not, who, in reply to all my asseverations that we wished for no more territory, said, “I believe you think so; but the time will come when there will be but one sikka^[9] throughout India. You stepped in, Maharaj, at a lucky time, the phut^[10] was ripe and ready to be eaten, and you had only to take it bit by bit. It was not your power, so much as our disunion, which made you sovereigns, and will keep you so.” His reasoning is not unworthy of attention, though I trust his prophecy may never be fulfilled.

Jharāu.

—November 28.—Camp at Jharau, five coss (11 miles). On leaving Merta, we passed over the ground sacred to “the four thousand,” whose heroic deeds, demonstrating at once the Rajput’s love of freedom and his claim to it, we have just related. We this day altered our course from the N.N.E., which would have carried us, had we pursued it, to the Imperial city, for a direction to the southward of east, in order to cross our own Aravalli and gain Ajmer. The road was excellent, the soil very fair; but though there were symptoms of cultivation near the villages, the wastes were frightfully predominant; yet they are not void of vegetation: there is no want of herbage or stunted shrubs. The Aravalli towered majestically in the distant horizon, fading from our view towards the south-east, and intercepted by rising grounds.

The Mirage.—We had a magnificent mirage this morning: nor do I ever recollect observing this singularly grand phenomenon on a more extensive scale, or with greater variety of form. The morning was desperately cold; the thermometer, as I mounted my horse, a little after sunrise, stood at 32°, the freezing-point, with a sharp biting wind from the north-east. The ground was blanched with frost, and the water-skins, or bihishtis mashaks, were covered with ice at the mouth. The slender shrubs, especially the milky ak, were completely burnt up; and as the weather had been hitherto mild, the transition was severely felt, by things animate and inanimate [767].

It is only in the cold season that the mirage is visible; the sojourners of Maru call it the siya-kot, or ‘castles in the air.’^[11] In the deep desert to the westward, the herdsmen and travellers through these regions style it chitram, ‘the picture’; while about the plains of the Chambal and Jumna they term it disasul, ‘the omen of the quarter.’ This optical deception has been noticed from the remotest times. The prophet Isaiah alludes to it when he says, “and the parched ground shall become a pool”;^[12] which the critic has justly rendered, “and the shārābh ^[13] shall become real water.” Quintus Curtius, describing the mirage in the Sogdian desert, says that “for the space of four hundred furlongs not a drop of water is to be found, and the sun’s heat, being very vehement in summer, kindles such a fire in the sands, that everything is burnt up. There also arises such an exhalation, that the plains wear the appearance of a vast and deep sea”; which is an exact description of the chitram of the Indian desert. But the shārābh and chitram, the true mirage of Isaiah, differ from that illusion called the siya-kot; and though the traveller will hasten to it, in order to obtain a night’s lodging, I do not think he would expect to slake his thirst there.

When we witnessed this phenomenon at first, the eye was attracted by a lofty opaque wall of lurid smoke, which seemed to be bounded by, or to rise from, the very verge of the horizon. By slow degrees the dense mass became more transparent, and assumed a reflecting or refracting power: shrubs were magnified into trees; the dwarf khair appeared ten times larger than the gigantic amli of the forest. A ray of light suddenly broke the line of continuity of this yet smoky barrier; and, as if touched by the enchanter’s wand, castles, towers, and trees were seen in an aggregated cluster, partly obscured by magnificent foliage. Every accession of light produced a change in the chitram, which from the dense wall that it first exhibited had now faded into a thin transparent film, broken into a thousand masses, each mass being a huge lens; until at length the [768] too vivid power of the sun dissolved the vision: castles, towers, and foliage melted, like the enchantment of Prospero, into “thin air.”

I had long imagined that the nature of the soil had some effect in producing this illusory phenomenon; especially as the chitram of the desert is seen chiefly on those extensive plains productive of the sajji, or alkaline plant, whence by incineration the natives produce soda,^[14] and whose base is now known to be metallic. But I have since observed it on every kind of soil. That these lands, covered with saline incrustations, tend to increase the effect of the illusion, may be concluded.^[15] But the difference between the sarāb or chitram, and the siya-kot or disasul is, that the latter is never visible but in the cold season, when the gross vapours cannot rise; and that the rarefaction, which gives existence to the other, destroys this, whenever the sun has attained 20° of elevation. A high wind is alike adverse to the phenomenon, and it will mostly be observed that it covets shelter, and its general appearance is a long line which is sure to be sustained by some height, such as a grove or village, as if it required support. The first time I observed it was in the Jaipur country; none of the party had ever witnessed it in the British provinces. It appeared like an immense walled town with bastions, nor could we give credit to our guides, when they talked of the siya-kot, and assured us that the objects were merely “castles in the air.” I have since seen, though but once, this panoramic scene in motion, and nothing can be imagined more beautiful.

It was at Kotah, just as the sun rose, whilst walking on the terraced roof of the garden-house, my residence. As I looked towards the low range which bounds the sight to the south-east, the hills appeared in motion, sweeping with an undulating or rotatory movement along the horizon. Trees and buildings were magnified, and all seemed a kind of enchantment. Some minutes elapsed before I could account for this wonder; until I determined that it must be the masses of a floating mirage, which had attained its most attenuated form, and being carried by a gentle current of air past the tops and sides of the hills, while it was itself imperceptible, made them appear in motion.

But although this was novel and pleasing, it wanted the splendour of the scene of this morning, which I never saw equalled but once. This occurred at Hissar, where I went to visit a beloved friend—gone, alas! to a better world [769],—whose ardent and honourable mind urged me to the task I have undertaken. It was on the terrace of James Lumsdaine’s house, built amidst the ruins of the castle of Firoz, in the centre of one extended waste, where the lion was the sole inhabitant, that I saw the most perfect specimen of this phenomenon: it was really sublime. Let the reader fancy himself in the midst of a desert plain, with nothing to impede the wide scope of vision, his horizon bounded by a lofty black wall encompassing him on all sides. Let him watch the first sunbeam break upon this barrier, and at once, as by a touch of magic, shiver it into a thousand fantastic forms, leaving a splintered pinnacle in one place, a tower in another, an arch in a third; these in turn undergoing more than kaleidoscopic changes, until the “fairy fabric” vanishes. Here it was emphatically called Harchand Raja ki puri, or ‘the city of Raja Harchand,’ a celebrated prince of the brazen age of India.^[16] The power of reflection shown by this phenomenon cannot be better described than by stating that it brought the very ancient Agroha,^[17] which is thirteen miles distant, with its fort and bastions, close to my view.

The difference then between the mirage and the siya-kot is, that the former exhibits a horizontal, the latter a columnar or vertical stratification; and in the latter case, likewise, a contrast to the other, its maximum of translucency is the last stage of its existence. In this stage, it is only an eye accustomed to the phenomenon that can perceive it at all. I have passed over the plains of Meerut with a friend who had been thirty years in India, and he did not observe a siya-kot then before our eyes: in fact so complete was the illusion, that we only saw the town and fort considerably nearer. Monge gives a philosophical account of this phenomenon in Napoleon’s campaign in Egypt; and Dr. Clarke perfectly describes it in his journey to Rosetta, when “domes, turrets, and groves were seen reflected on the glowing surface of the plain, which appeared like a vast lake extending itself between the city and travellers.” It is on reviewing this account that a critic has corrected the erroneous translation of the Septuagint; and further dilated upon it in a review of Lichtenstein’s travels in Southern Africa,^[18] who exactly describes our siya-kot, of the magnifying and reflecting powers of which he gives a [770] singular instance. Indeed, whoever notices, while at sea, the atmospheric phenomena of these southern latitudes, will be struck by the deformity of objects as they pass through this medium: what the sailors term a fog-bank is the first stage of our siya-kot. I observed it on my voyage home; but more especially in the passage out. About six o’clock on a dark evening, while we were dancing on the waste, I perceived a ship bearing down with full sail upon us so distinctly, that I gave the alarm, in expectation of a collision; so far as I recollect, the helm was instantly up, and in a second no ship was to be seen. The laugh was against me—I had seen the “flying Dutchman,”^[19] according to the opinion of the experienced officer on deck; and I believed it was really a vision of the mind: but I now feel convinced it was either the reflection of our own ship in a passing cloud of this vapour, or a more distant object therein refracted. But enough of this subject: I will only add, whoever has a desire to see one of the grandest phenomena in nature, let him repair to the plains of Merta or Hissar, and watch before the sun rises the fairy palace of Harchand, infinitely grander and more imposing than a sunrise upon the alpine Helvetia, which alone may compete with the chitram of the desert.

Cenotaph of a Thākur.

—Jharau is a thriving village appertaining to a sub-vassal of the Mertia chief of Rian. There was a small sheet of water within a musket-shot to the left of the village, on whose margin, peeping through a few nims and the evergreen jhal,^[20] was erected an elegant, though small chhatri, or cenotaph, of an ancestor of the possessor. The Thakur is sculptured on his charger, armed at all points; and close beside him, with folded hands, upon the same stone, his faithful partner, who accompanied the warrior to Indra’s abode. It bore the following epitaph: “On the 2d Margsir, S. 1689 (A.D. 1633), Maharaja Jaswant Singh attacked the enemy’s (Aurangzeb’s) army, in which battle Thakur Harankarna Das, of the Mertia clan, was slain. To him was erected this shrine, in the month of Margsir, S. 1697.”

Water from wells is about thirty-five cubits from the surface; the strata as follows: four cubits of mixed sand and black earth; five of kankar, or calcareous concretions; twenty of stiff clay and sand; six of indurated clay, with particles of quartz and mica [771].

Alniawās.

—November 29.—Alniawas, five coss. Half-way, passed the town of Rian, so often mentioned as the abode of the chief of the Mertia clan. It is large and populous, and surrounded by a well-constructed wall of the calcareous concrete already described, here called morar, and which resists the action of the monsoon. The works have a most judicious slope. The Thakur’s name is Badan Singh, one of the eight great barons of Maru. The town still bears the name of Sher Singh ka Rian, who so gallantly defended to the death the rights of his young sovereign Ram Singh against his uncle. A beautiful landscape is seen from the high ground on which the town stands, in the direction of the mountains; the intermediate space being filled with large villages, relieved by foliage, so unusual in these regions. Here I had a proof of the audacity of the mountaineers of the Aravalli, in an inscription on a cenotaph, which I copied: “On Monday the 3d Magh, S. 1835 (A.D. 1779), Thakur Bhopal Singh fell at the foot of his walls, defending them against the Mers, having first, with his own hand, in order to save her honour, put his wife to death.”^[21] Such were the Mers half a century ago, and they had been increasing in boldness ever since. There was scarcely a family on either side the range, whose estates lay at its foot, whose cenotaphs do not bear similar inscriptions, recording the desperate raids of these mountaineers; and it may be asserted that one of the greatest benefits we conferred on Rajputana was the conversion of this numerous banditti, occupying some hundred towns, into peaceful, tax-paying subjects. We can say, with the great Chauhan king, Bisiladeva, whose monument still stands in Firoz’s palace at Delhi, that we made them “carry water in the streets of Ajmer”; and, still more, deposit their arms on the Rana’s terrace at Udaipur. We have, moreover, metamorphosed a corps of them from breakers, into keepers, of the public peace.

Between Rian and Alniawas we crossed a stream, to which the name of the Luni ^[22] is also given, as well as to that we passed subsequently. It was here that De Boigne’s guns are said to have stuck fast.

The soundings of the wells at Rian and Alniawas presented the same results as [772] at Jharau, with the important exception that the substratum was steatite, which was so universal in the first part of my journey from Jodhpur.

Alniawas is also a fief of a Mertia vassal. It is a considerable town, populous, and apparently in easy circumstances. Here again I observed a trait of devotion, recorded on an altar “to the memory of Suni Mall,” who fell when his clan was exterminated in the charge against the rival Champawats, at Merta, in the civil wars.

Bijai Singh returns to Nāgor.