From Bichor, the pass opening from the plains of Mewar, to the highest peak of this alpine Patar, the Kala Megh, or ‘black cloud,’ of Begun, bore sway. From him sprung another of the numerous clans of Mewar, who assumed the patronymic Meghawat. These clans and tribes multiply, for Kala Megh and his ancestors were recognized as a branch of the Sangawat, one of the early subdivisions of the Chondawat, the chief clan of Mewar. The descendant of the ‘black cloud,’ whose castle of Begun is near the entrance to Antri, could not now muster above a hundred and fifty men at arms throughout the Patar; to which he might add as many more of foreign Rajputs, as the Hara and Gaur, holding lands for service. The head of the Meghawats has not above twenty villages in his fief of Begun, though these might yield twenty-five thousand rupees annually, if cultivated; the rest is still in the hands of the Mahrattas, as a mortgage contracted nearly forty years ago, and which has been liquidated ten times over: they include, in this, even a third of the produce of his own place of residence, and the town itself is never free from these intruders, who are continually causing disturbances. Unhappily for Mewar, the grand principle of the campaign and its political results, “that of excluding the Mahrattas from the west bank of the Chambal,” was forgotten in our successes, or all the alienated lands of Mewar as far as the Malwa frontier would have reverted to the Rana.

The descent to Singoli is very gentle, nor are we above eighty feet below the level of Umar, the highest point of the Patar, which I rejoice to have visited, but lament the want of my barometers. Singoli, in such a tract as this, may be entitled a town, having fifteen hundred inhabited dwellings encompassed by a strong wall. The Pandit is indebted to his own good management, and the insecurity around him, for this numerous population. In the centre of the town, the dingy walls of a castle built by Alu Hara strike the eye, from the contrast with the new works added by the Pandit; it has a deep ditch, with a fausse-braye, and parapet. The circumvallation measures a mile and three-quarters. About a mile to the north-west are the remains of a temple to Vijayaseni Bhavani, the Pallas of the Rajputs. I found a tablet recording the piety of the lord paramount of the Patar, in a perpetual gift of lights for the altar. It runs thus: “Samvat 1477 (A.D. 1421), the 2d of Asoj, being Friday (Bhriguwar^[5]), Maharaja Sri Mokal-ji, in order to furnish lights (jyotis waste) for Vijayaseni Bhavaniji [643], has granted one bigha and a half of land. Whosoever shall set aside this offering, the goddess will overtake him.” This is a memorial of the celebrated Rana Mokal of Mewar, whose tragical death by assassination has been recorded in the annals of that State.^[6] Mokal was one of the most celebrated of this race; and he defeated, in a pitched battle at Raepur, a grandson of the emperor of Delhi. He was the father of Lalbai, called ‘the Ruby of Mewar,’ regarding whom we have related a little scandal from the chronicle of the Bhattis (see p. 1218); but the bard of the Khichis, who says that prince Dhiraj espoused her in spite of the insult of the desert chief, had no cause to doubt the lustre of this gem.

The prince of Mandor was aware he had entailed a feud; but so little did he regard what this mountain-chief might do, that he proclaimed “all the lands over which the Hara should march to be in dan (gift) to the Brahmans.” But Alu, who despised not the aid of stratagem, disguised his little troop as horse-merchants, and placing their arms and caparisons in covered carriages, and their steeds in long strings, the hostile caravan reached the capital unsuspected. The party took rest for the night; but with the dawn they saddled, and the nakkaras of the Hara awoke the Rathor prince from his slumber; starting up, he demanded who was the audacious [645] mortal that dared to strike his drum at the gates of Mandor? The answer was,—“Alu Hara of Bumbaoda!”

The mother (probably a Chauhani) of the King of Maru now asked her son “how he meant to fulfil his vaunt of giving to the Brahmans all the lands that the Hara passed over?” but he had the resolution to abide by his pledge, and the magnanimity not to take advantage of his antagonist’s position; and to his formal challenge, conveyed by beat of nakkara, he proposed that single combats should take place, man for man. Alu accepted it, and thanked him for his courtesy, remarking to his kinsmen, “At least we shall have five hundred lives to appease our revenge!”

The lists were prepared; five hundred of the “chosen sons of Siahji” were marshalled before their prince to try the manhood of the Haras; and now, on either side, a champion had stepped forth to commence this mortal strife, when a stripling rushed in, his horse panting for breath, and demanded to engage a gigantic Rathor. The champions depressed their lances, and the pause of astonishment was first broken by the exclamation of the Hara chieftain, as he thus addressed the youth: “Oh! headstrong and disobedient, art thou come hither to extinguish the race of Alu Hara?”—“Let it perish, uncle (kaka), if, when you are in peril, I am not with you!” replied the adopted heir of Bumbaoda. The veteran Rathor smiled at the impetuous valour of the youthful Hara, who advanced with his sword ready for the encounter. His example was followed by his gallant antagonist, and courtesy was exhausted on either side to yield the first blow; till, at length, Alu’s nephew accepted it; and it required no second, for he clove the Rathor in twain. Another took his place—he shared the same fate; a third, a fourth, and in like manner twenty-five, fell under the young hero’s sword. But he bore ‘a charmed life’; the queen of armies (Vijayaseni), whose statue guards the entrance of Bumbaoda, had herself enfranchized the youth from the sevenfold gates, in which his uncle had incarcerated him, and having made him invulnerable except in one spot (the neck),^[8] sent him forth to aid his uncle, and gain fresh glory for the race of which she was the guardian. But the vulnerable point was at length touched, and Alu saw the child of his love and his adoption stretched upon the earth. The queen-mother of the Rathors, who witnessed the conflict, dreaded a repetition of such valour, from men in whom desire of life was extinct; and she commanded that the contest should cease, and reparation be made to the lord of the Patar, by giving him in marriage a daughter of Mandor. Alu’s honour was redeemed; he accepted the offer, and with his bride repaired to the desolate Bumbaoda. The [646] fruit of this marriage was a daughter; but destiny had decreed that the race of Alu Hara should perish. When she had attained the age of marriage, she was betrothed. Bumbaoda was once more the scene of joy, and Alu went to the temple and invited the goddess to the wedding. All was merriment; and amongst the crowd of mendicants who besieged the door of hospitality was a decrepit old woman, who came to the threshold of the palace, and desired the guard to “tell Alu Hara she had come to the feast, and demanded to see him”; but the guard, mocking her, desired her to be gone, and “not to stand between the wind and him”: she repeated her request, saying that “she had come by special invitation.” But all was in vain; she was driven forth with scorn. Uttering a deep curse, she departed, and the race of Alu Hara was extinct. It was Vijayaseni herself, who was thus repulsed from the house of which she was protectress!

A good moral is here inculcated upon the Rajput, who, in the fatal example of Alu Hara, sees the danger of violating the laws of wide-extended hospitality: besides, there was no hour too sacred, no person too mean, for such claims upon the ruler. For the present, we shall take leave of Alu Hara, and the ‘Mother of Victory’ of the Patar, whose shrine I hope to visit on my return from Haravati; when we shall learn what part of her panoply she parted with to protect the gallant heir of Bumbaoda.

Dāngarmāu,^[9] February 18, eight miles; thermometer 48°.—A choice of three routes presented itself to us this morning. To the left lay the celebrated Menal, once the capital of Uparmal; on the right, but out of the direct line, was the castle of Bhainsror, scarcely less celebrated; and straight before us the pole-star and Kotah, the point to which I was journeying. I cut the knot of perplexity by deviating from the direct line, to descend the table-land to Bhainsror, and without crossing the Chambal, nearly retraced my steps, along the left bank, to Kotah, leaving Menal for my return to Udaipur. Our route lay through the Antri, or valley, whose northern boundary we had reached, and between it and the Bamani. The tract was barren but covered with jungle, with a few patches of soil lodged amidst the hollows or otherwise bare rock, over whose black surface several rills had cut a low bed, all falling into the Bamani. One of these had a name which we need not translate, Rani bur-ka-khal, and which serves as a boundary between the lands of the Meghawats of Antri and the Saktawats of Bhainsror.

Dangarmau-Barao is a small patta of twelve villages, yielding fifteen thousand [647] rupees of annual rent; but it is now partitioned,—six villages to each of the towns above mentioned. They are Saktawat allotments, and the elder, Sakat Singh, has just returned from court, where he had been to have the sword of investiture (talwar bandhai) girt on him as the lord of Barao. Bishan Singh of Dangarmau is at Kotah, where he enjoys the confidence of Zalim Singh and is commandant of cavalry. He has erected a castle on the very summit of the third steppe of the Patar, whose dazzling white walls contrast powerfully with the black and bleak rock on which it stands, and render it a conspicuous object. The Saktawats of the Patar are of the Bansi family,^[10] itself of the second grade of nobles of Mewar; and the rank of both the chiefs of Dangarmau and Barao was the third, or that termed gol; but now, having each a patta (at least nominally) of above five thousand rupees yearly rent, they are lifted into the Battisa, or amongst the ‘thirty-two’ of the second class.

The Bamani, whose course will carry us to its close at Bhainsror, flows under the walls of both Dangarmau and Barao, and is the cause not only of great fertility but of diversity, in this singular alpine region. The weather has again undergone a very sensible change, and is extremely trying to those, who, like myself, are affected by a pulmonary complaint, and who are obliged to brave the mists of the mountain-top long before the sun is risen. On the second, at daybreak, the thermometer stood at 60°, and only three days after, at 27°; again it rose to 40° and for several days stood at this point, and 75° at midday. The day before we ascended the Patar it rose to 54°, and 94° at noon; and on reaching the summit, 60° and 90°; again it falls to 40°, and we now shiver with cold. The density of the atmosphere has been particularly annoying both yesterday and to-day. Clouds of mist rolled along the surface of the mountain, which, when the sun cleared the horizon, and shot about ‘spear-high’ in the heavens, produced the most fantastic effects. The orb was clear and the sky brilliant; but the masses of mist, though merely a thin vapour and close to the spectator, exhibited singular and almost kaleidoscopic changes. There was scarcely a figure that the sun did not assume; the upper half appearing orbicular, the lower elliptical: in a second, this was reversed. Sometimes it was wholly elliptical, with a perfect change of the axis, the transverse and conjugate changing places—a loaf, a bowl, and at one instant a scollop-shell, then ‘round as my shield,’ and again a segment of a circle, and thus alternating until its ascension dissipated the medium of this beautiful illusion, the more perfect from the sky being cloudless. The mists disappeared from the mountain long before this phantasmagoria finished [648].

Bhainsrorgarh, February 19.—Bhainsrorgarh,^[1] ten miles, four furlongs; thermometer 51°; atmosphere dense and oppressive, and roads execrable, through a deep forest; but for the hatchets of my friends, my baggage never could have been got on. We passed several hamlets, consisting of a dozen or more huts, the first of which I find belongs to my young friend Morji of Gura, himself a vassal of the Pramar of Bijoli (one of the sixteen Omras of Mewar), and holding a few bighas of bhum, as his bat or share of the bapota (patrimony) of Barao. We have elsewhere given a copy of the tenure on which Morji holds a village in the fief of Bijoli.^[2] At seven miles from Dangarmau, we came to a small shrine of an Islamite saint, who buried himself alive. It is an elevated point, from whence is a wild but lovely prospect. There is a kund, or ‘fountain,’ planted with trees, close to the shrine, which attracts a weekly mela or ‘fair,’ attended by all classes, who cannot help attributing some virtue to a spot where a saint, though a Muslim, thus expiated his sins. In descending, we heard the roaring of mighty waters, and soon came upon the Bamani, forming a fine cascade of about fifty feet in height; its furious course during the monsoon is apparent from the weeds it has left on the trees, at least twenty feet above its present level. The fall of the country is rapid, even from this lower spot, to the bed of the Chambal. Uparmal must have a considerable elevation above the table-land of Janapao, where the Chambal and other streams have their fountains; but of all this we shall by and by form a more correct opinion. We passed the cairn of a Rajput who fell defending his post against the Minas of the Kairar, a tract on the banks of the Banas, filled with this banditti, in one of their last irruptions which disturbed the peace of this region. Each traveller adds a stone, and I gave my mite to swell the heap [649].

The patta of Bhainsror is held by Raghunath Singh, one of the sixteen great lords of Mewar, having the very ancient title of Rawat, peculiar to Rajputana, and the diminutive of Rao.^[3] Bhainsror is one of the best fiefs of Mewar, and the lands attached to it are said to be capable of yielding one lakh of annual revenue, equal to £50,000 in the dearest countries of Europe; and when I add that a cavalier can support himself, his steed, etc., on £50, its relative value will at once be understood. He has also a toll upon the ferries of the Chambal, though not content therewith, he levied until lately a percentage on all merchandise, besides impositions on travellers of whatever description, under the name of kot ki marummat, or ‘repairs of the castle’: were we, however, to judge by its dilapidated condition, we should say his exactions were very light, or the funds were misapplied. This is the sole passage of the Chambal for a great extent, and all the commerce of higher Malwa, Haraoti, and Mewar passes through this domain. The class of Banjaras (traders) termed Vaishnava, long established at the city of Pur in Mewar, frequent no other route in their journey from the salt-lakes of the desert to Malwa or Bundelkhand. Their tanda or caravan consists of six thousand bullocks, and they never make less than two, and often three, trips in the year. The duty of the Raj is five rupees for each hundred head thus laden; but the feudatory, not content with his imposition of ‘castle repairs’ and ‘bhum’ as lord of the manor, has added a hundred and fifty per cent to the regular transit duty of the State, which is divided into two items; namely, three rupees and a half for the ferry, and as much for bolai, or safe escort through his territory. But as Haraoti always afforded protection (which could be said of no other region of independent India), the ghat of the Chambal was much frequented, in spite of these heavy drawbacks to industry. My friend the Rawat has, however, found it expedient to remove all these war-taxes, retaining only that portion which has been attached to the frontier post, for protection; and a portion of the ferry-rate granted to this fief nearly two centuries ago. Instead of about fifteen per cent, as heretofore levied, including that of the crown, it amounts to less than one-half, and the revenue has been quadrupled!

On the north alone is it accessible, and there the hill is scarped; but this scarp, which is about three hundred yards distant, forms a good cover, and a few shells thence played upon the castle would soon compel it to surrender. The rock is a soft, loose, blue schistose slate, which would not retard the miner. The approach from the river, here about five hundred yards wide, would be destruction. It is never fordable, and its translucent sea-green waters are now full forty feet in depth. When in the periodical rains it accumulates at its source, and is fed during its passage by many minor streams from the Vindhya and this oberland, its velocity is overwhelming; it rises above the opposing bank, and laying the whole tract to the base of the tableland of Haraoti under water, sweeps away in its irresistible course even the rocks. Speculation might here be exhausted in vain attempts to explain how nature could overcome this formidable obstacle to her operations, and how the stream could effect its passage through this adamantine barrier. The channel cut in the rock is as clean as if performed by the chisel, and standing on the summit of the cliff, which is from three hundred to seven hundred feet in height, one discerns in imagination the marks of union: to use the words of our last great bard, on the Rhone,

Mewar still extends east of the river, and the greater part of the estate of Bhainsror is on the opposite side. A small stream, called the Karab-ka-khal, divides the lands of the Haras from those of the Sesodias, and there is a bijak-marga, or landmark inscription, at the Shesa talao, put up centuries ago. To this line, and between it and the Chambal, is the paita of Kundal; and farther south, towards Rampura, is that of Pachail, both containing twenty-four villages attached to Bhainsror. All that tract farther inland in Upper Malwa, termed Malkides, in which are the towns of Chaichat and Saket, was in old times included geographically in Mewar: it is yet possessed by the Saktawats, though subject to Kotah.

Tradition has preserved the etymology of Bhainsror, and dates its erection from the second century of the era of Vikrama, though others make it antecedent even to him. Be that as it may, it adds a fact of some importance, namely, that the Charans, or bards, were then, as now, the privileged carriers of Rajwara, and that this was one of their great lines of communication. Bhainsror, therefore, instead of being the work [652] of some mighty conqueror, owes its existence to the joint efforts of Bhainsa Sah, the merchant, and Rora, a Charan and Banjara, to protect their tandas (caravans) from the lawless mountaineers, when compelled to make a long halt during the periodical rains.^[5] How many lines of heroes possessed it before the Haras established themselves among its ruins is unknown, though the “universal Pramar” is mentioned. Its subsequent change of masters, and their names and history, are matters of less doubt; since the altars of the Dudia, the Pramar, the Rathor, the Saktawat, the Chondawat,

are still visible. Of the Dudia name we have already preserved one wreck, though the “rocket of the moon,” was of the family who dwelt upon the whirlpools of the Chambal, we must leave to conjecture. Not so of his successor, the Rathor, who was a scion of the house of Mewa,^[6] on the Salt River of the desert, from which, though he was but a vassal of Mandor, the Rana scorned not to take a wife boasting the pure blood of the kings of Kanauj. A younger brother accompanied her to the court of Chitor. Soon after, the Rawal of Jaisalmer dared to put an affront upon the Rana, the acknowledged head of the Rajput race! The chivalry of Mewar was assembled, and the bira of vengeance held up, which the stripling heir of Mewa, darting forward, obtained. Although but fifteen years of age, entreaties were lost upon him to induce him to renounce the enterprise, which in all probability some border-feud of his paternal house and the Bhattis, as well as swamidharma, or fealty, to his sovereign and kinsman, may have prompted. His only request was that he might be aided by two of his intimate friends, and five hundred horse of his own selection. How he passed the desert, or how he gained admittance to the chief of the Bhatti tribe, is not stated; suffice it to say, that he brought the Rawal’s head and placed it at the feet of the sovereign of Chitor, for which service he had a grant of Salumbar; and subsequently (fiefs in those days not being amovable) he was removed to Bhainsror. The young Rathor continued to rise in favour; he was already by courtesy and marriage the bhanej, or nephew, of his sovereign, who for this action bestowed upon him a young princess of his own blood; an honour which in the end proved fatal. One day, the Thakur (chief) was enjoying himself in his baronial hall of Bhainsror, in the midst of his little court, with a nautch, when a fatal curiosity, perhaps instigated by jealousy, induced his Rani to peep out from the lattice above. Offended at this violation of decorum, he said aloud to an attendant, “Tell the Thakurani, if she is [653] eager to come abroad, she may do so, and I will retire.” The lady disputed the justice of the reprimand, asserting that her lord had been mistaken, and tried to shift the reproach to one of her damsels; but failing to convince him, she precipitated herself from the battlements into the whirlpools beneath: the spot where she fell into the Chambal still retains the name of Ranighatta.^[7] When it was reported to the Rana that a false accusation had caused the suicide of his niece, the sentence of banishment from Mewar was pronounced against the Rathor, which was afterwards commuted, out of a regard for his former service, to the sequestration of Bhainsror; and he had the small fief of Nimri and its twenty dependent hamlets, situated upon the Patar, and not far from Bhainsror, bestowed upon him.

Bijai Singh, the descendant of the hero of this tale, has just been to see me; a shrewd and stalwart knight, not a whit degenerated by being transplanted from the Luni to the Chambal; for, though surrounded by Mahratta depredators, by means of the fastnesses in which he dwells, and with the aid of his good lance, with which he repays them in kind, he has preserved his little estate in times so fatal to independence. Had I not entered deeply into the history of the past, I might have been led away by the disadvantageous reports given of these brave men, who were classed with the common freebooters of the hills, and pointed out as meriting similar chastisement; since these associations, both for their own security and retaliation on the vagabond Mahrattas, who usurped or destroyed their birthright, gave a colour to the complaints against them.

The Pramar (vulg. Puar) succeeded the Rathor in the fief of Bhainsror. How long the former held it is uncertain; but the mode in which the last vassal chieftain lost it and his life together, affords another trait of national manners. Here again the fair, whose influence over the lords of Rajputana we have elsewhere mentioned, was the cause of the catastrophe. The Pramar had espoused the daughter of his neighbour chieftain of Begun, and they lived happily until a game at pachisi, somewhat resembling chess, caused a dispute, in which he spoke slightingly of her family, an affront never to be pardoned by a Rajputni; and the next day she wrote to her father. The messenger had not left his presence with the reply, before the nakkara beat the assembly for the kher.^[8] The descendants of the ‘black cloud’ (Kalamegh) obeyed the summons, and the hamlets on the Bamani, or the Patar, poured forth their warriors at the sound of the tocsin of Begun. When the cause of quarrel was explained, it came home to every bosom, and they forthwith marched to avenge it. Their road lay [654] through the forest of Antri; but when arrived within a few coss of Bhainsror, they divided their band, and while the chief took the more circuitous route of the pass, the heir of Begun followed the course of the Bamani, took the Pramar by surprise, and had slain him in single combat ere his father joined him. The insult to the Meghawats being avenged, the Pramars were about to retaliate; but seeing the honour of her house thus dearly maintained, affection succeeded to resentment, and the Rajputni determined to expiate her folly with her life. The funeral pile was erected close to the junction of the Bamani and Chambal, and she ascended with the body of her lord, her own father setting fire to it. I encamped close to the altars recording the event.

This feud changed the law of succession in the Begun estate. The gallantry of the young Meghawat consoled the old chief for the tragical event which lost him a daughter; and in a full council of “the sons of Kalamegh,” the rights of primogeniture were set aside in favour of the valorous youth, and the lord paramount (the Rana) confirmed the decision. The subordinate fief of Jathana, which formerly comprehended the present district of Jawad, was settled on the elder son, whose descendant, Tej Singh, still holds a share of it, besides the title of Rawat. Both estates have alike suffered from the Mahrattas, equally with others in Mewar.

The successor of the Pramar was a Chondawat, of the branch Kishanawat, and a younger son of Salumbar; and it would be well for Lal Singh had he sought no higher distinction than that to which his birth entitled him. But Lalji Rawat was a beacon in the annals of crime, and is still held out as an example to those who would barter a good name here, and the hope of the life to come, for the evanescent gifts of fortune. He purchased the honours of Bhainsror by shedding the blood of his bosom-friend, the uncle of his sovereign.

To be released from such a restraint, Arsi at last resolved on assassinating his uncle; but his valour and giant strength made the attempt a service of danger, and he therefore employed one who, under the cloak of friendship, could use the poniard without risk. Lal Singh was the man, the bosom friend of the Maharaja, who, besides exchanging turbans with him, had pledged his friendship at the altar; a man who knew every secret of his heart, and that there was no treason in it. It was midnight, when a voice broke in upon his devotions, calling on him from the portico by name. No other could have taken this liberty, and the reply, “Come in, brother Lalji; what brings you here at such an hour?” had scarcely passed the lips of Nathji, when, as he made the last prostration to the image, he received the dagger of his friend in his neck, and the emblem of Siva was covered with his blood! For this service, the assassin was rewarded with the fief of Bhainsror, and a seat amongst the sixteen barons of Mewar; but as the number cannot be increased, the rights of the Saktawat chief of Bansi were cancelled; thus adding one crime to another, which however worked out its own reward, and at once avenged the murder of Nathji, and laid Mewar in ruins, causing [656] fresh streams of the blood which had already so copiously flowed from the civil wars arising out of the hostility of these rival clans, the Saktawats and Chondawats.

Lalji did not long enjoy his honours; his crime of “triple dye” was ever present to his mind, and generated a loathsome, incurable disease; for even in these lands, where such occurrences are too frequent, “the still small voice” is heard: worms consumed the traitor while living, and his memory is blasted now that he is dead; while that of Nathji is sanctified, as a spirit gentle, valorous, and devout.

Man Singh, the son of this man of blood, succeeded to the honours of Bhainsror, and was a soldier of no common stamp. At the battle of Ujjain, where the Rana of Mewar made the last grand stand for independence, Man was badly wounded, made captive, and brought in the train of the conquering Mahratta, when he laid siege to Udaipur. As he was recovering from his wounds, his friends attempted to effect his liberation through that notorious class called the Baoris,^[10] and contrived to acquaint him with the plot. The wounded chief was consoling himself for his captivity by that great panacea for ennui, a nautch, and applauding the fine voice of a songstress of Ujjain as she warbled a tappa of the Panjab, when a significant sign was made by a stranger. He instantly exclaimed that his wounds had broken out afresh, staggered towards his pallet, and throwing down the light, left all in confusion and darkness, which favoured the Baori’s design; who, while one of his friends took possession of the pallet, wrapped the sick chief in a chadar (sheet), threw him on his back, and carried him through the camp of the besiegers to the city. The Rana, rejoiced at his liberation, commanded a salute to be fired, and the first intelligence the Mahratta leader had of his prisoner’s escape was in answer to the question as to the cause of such rejoicing; they then found one of the vassal substitutes of Man still occupying the bed, but the sequel does not mention how such fidelity was repaid. The cenotaph (chhatri) of this brave son of an unworthy sire is at the Tribeni, or point of confluence of the three streams, the Chambal, the Bamani, and the Khal; and from its light and elegant construction, adds greatly to the picturesque effect of the scenery. The present chief, Raghunath Singh, who succeeded Man, has well maintained his independence throughout these perilous times. Bapu Sindhia, whose name will long be remembered as one of the scourges of these realms, tried his skill upon Bhainsror, where the remains of his trenches, to the north-west of the town, are still conspicuous; but he was met with sortie after sortie, while the hill-tribes were nightly let loose upon him, until he was forced to make a precipitate retreat [657].

I cannot conclude the annals of this family without a passing remark on the great moral change effected since the power of Britain has penetrated into these singular abodes. It was my habit to attend on any of the chieftains who honoured me by an invitation to their family fêtes, such as their salgirahs, or ‘birthdays’;^[11] and on these occasions I merged the Agent of the British Government entirely in the friend, and went without ceremony or parade. Amongst my numerous pagri badal bhai, or ‘adopted brothers’ (as well as sisters), was the Maharaja Sheodan Singh, the grandson and possessor of the honours and estates of Nathji, who still enjoys the domain of Bagor, and from whom I used to receive a share of its melons, which he cultivates with the same ardour as his grandsire. The ‘annual knot’ (salgirah) of my friend was celebrated on the terraced roof of his palace, overhanging the lake of Udaipur, and I was by his side listening, in the intervals of the song, to some of his extemporaneous poetical effusions (on which my friend placed rather too high a value), when amongst the congratulatory names called aloud by the herald, I was surprised to hear, “Maharaja Salamat, Rawat Raghunath Singhji-ka mujra lijo!” or, “Health to the Maharaja, and let him receive the compliments of Rawat Raghunath Singh”: the grandson of the murderer come to pay his respects to the grandson of the murdered, and to press with his knee the gaddi on which he sat! With justice may we repeat their powerful metaphor, on such anomalies in the annals of their feuds—bher aur bakri ekhi thali se pītē hain, ‘the wolf and the goat drink from the same platter.’^[12] We might thus, by a little attention to the past history and habits of these singularly interesting races, confer signal moral benefits upon them; for it must be evident that the germs of many excellent qualities require only the sunshine of kindness to ripen into goodly fruit; and for the sake of our own welfare, as well as that of humanity, let not the protecting power, in the exercise of patronage, send amongst them men who are not imbued with feelings which will lead them to understand, to appreciate, and to administer fitting counsel, or correction where necessary. The remembrance of these injuries is still fresh, and it requires but the return of anarchy again to unsheath the poniard and drug the cup; but if we consult their real good, the recollection will gradually grow fainter.