Revenues of Būndi.

—The fiscal revenues of Bundi do not yet exceed three lakhs of rupees; and it will be some time before the entire revenues, both fiscal and feudal, will produce more than five;[7] and out of the crown domain, eighty thousand rupees annually are paid to the British Government, on account of the lands Sindhia held in that State, and which he relinquished by the treaty of A.D. 1818. Notwithstanding his circumscribed means, the late Rao Raja put every branch of his government on a most respectable footing. He could muster seven hundred household and Pattayat horse; and, including his garrisons, his corps of Golandaz, and little park (jinsi)[8] of twelve guns, about two thousand seven hundred paid infantry; in all between three and four thousand men. For the queens, the officers of government, and the pay of the garrisons, estates were assigned, which yielded sufficient for the purpose. A continuation of tranquillity is all that is required, and Bundi will again take its proper station in Rajwara.

Camp, Rauta, November 19.—On the 14th of August, I departed for Kotah, and found the junior branches of the Haras far from enjoying the repose of Bundi. But on these subjects we will not touch here, further than to remark, that the last three [700] months have been the most harassing of my existence:[9] civil war, deaths of friends and relatives, cholera raging, and all of us worn out with perpetual attacks of fever, ague, anxiety, and fatigue.

Rauta, the spot on which I encamped, is hallowed by recollections the most inspiriting. It was on this very ground I took up my position throughout the campaign of 1817-18, in the very centre of movements of all the armies, friendly and hostile.[10]

A Hunt in the Preserves.

—As we were now in the vicinity of the chief Ramna in Haraoti, the Raj Rana proposed to exhibit the mode in which they carry on their grand hunts. The site chosen was a large range running into and parallel to the chain which separates Haraoti from Malwa. At noon, the hour appointed, accompanied by several officers of the Nimach force (amongst whom was my old friend Major Price), we proceeded to the Shikargahs, a hunting seat, erected half-way up the gentle ascent, having terraced roofs and parapets, on which the sportsman lays his gun to massacre the game; and here we waited some time in anxious expectation, occasionally some deer scudding by. Gradually the din of the hunters reached us, increasing into tumultuous shouts, with the beating of drums, and all the varieties of discord. Soon various kind of deer galloped wildly past, succeeded by Nilgaes, Barahsinghas, red and spotted. Some wild-hogs went off snorting and trotting, and at length, as the hunters approached, a bevy of animals [701], amongst which some black-snouted hyaenas were seen, who made a dead halt when they saw themselves between two fires. There was no tiger, however, in the assemblage, which rather disappointed us, but the still more curious wild-dog was seen by some. A slaughter commenced, the effects of which I judged less at the time, but soon after I got to my tents I found six camel-loads of deer, of various kinds, deposited. My friend, Major Price, did not much admire this unsportsmanlike mode of dealing with the lords of the forest, and although very well, once in one’s life, most would think a boar hunt, spear in hand, preferable. Still it was an exhilarating scene; the confusion of the animals, their wild dismay at this compulsory association; the yells, shouts, and din from four battalions of regulars, who, in addition to the ordinary band of huntsmen, formed a chain from the summit of the mountain, across the valley to the opposite heights; and, last not least, the placid regent himself listening to the tumult he could no longer witness, produced an effect not easily forgotten. This sport is a species of petty war, not altogether free from danger, especially to the rangers; but I heard of no accidents. We had a round of a nilgae, and also tried some steaks, which ate very like coarse beef.

It is asserted that, in one shape or another, these hunting excursions cost the State two lakhs, or £20,000 annually. The regent’s regular hunting-establishment consisted of twenty-five carpenters, two hundred Aherias, or huntsmen, and five hundred occasional rangers. But the gots, or ‘feasts,’ at the conclusion of these sports, occasioned the chief expense, when some thousands were fed, and rewards and gratuities were bestowed upon those whom the regent happened to be pleased with. This was one of the methods he pursued to ingratiate himself with the Haras, and he was eminently successful; the only wonder is, that so good an opportunity should have been neglected of getting rid of one who had so long tyrannized over them.

We here took a temporary leave of the regent; and we intend to fill up the interval till the return of the Maharao from Mewar, by making a tour through upper Malwa, in which we shall visit the falls of the Chambal amidst the dense woods of Pachel [702].

1. [Or sarpech, an ornament worn on the front of the turban.]

2. See the description of the Tij, Vol. II. p. 675.

3. [Rāo Dewa or Deorāj, who captured Būndi from the Mīnas about A.D. 1342. See p. 1464.]

4. [In Mārwār the term Byās, from Vyāsa, ‘the arranger’ of the Vedas, Epics, and Purānas, is applied to elderly members of the Daima group of Brāhmans (Census Report, 1891, ii. 58 f.).]

5. [Qarāwal, ‘the manège.’]

6. [At a very early date in Macedonia no Macedonian was permitted to lie down at table who had not slain a wild boar without the nets (W. Smith, Dict. Geography, ii. 234).]

7. [The normal revenue is now nearly six lakhs (IGI, ix. 85).]

8. [Golandāz, ‘an artillery man.’ Jinsi is a Marātha term; probably Jinsi topkhāna, or ‘artillery,’ Jins meaning ‘commodities, supplies’; Jinsi topkhāna, ‘light artillery’ (Irvine, Army of the Indian Moghuls, 133).]

9. For an account of these transactions, vide Chapter XI., Annals of Kotah.

10. It was from this ground I detached thirty-two firelocks of my guard, supported by two hundred of the regent’s men, with two camel swivels, to beat up a portion of the main Pindari horde, when broken by our armies. But my little band outmarched the auxiliaries, and when they came upon the foe, they found a camp of 1500 instead of 500 men; but nothing daunted, and the surprise being complete, they poured in sixty rounds before the day broke, and cleared their camp. Then, each mounting a marauder’s horse and driving a laden camel before him, they returned within the twenty-four hours, having marched sixty miles, and slain more than four times their numbers. Nothing so clearly illustrated the destitution of all moral courage in the freebooters, as their conduct on this occasion; for at dawn of day, when the smoke cleared away, and they saw the handful of men who had driven them into the Kali Sind, a body of about four hundred returned to the attack; but my Sipahis, dismounting, allowed the boldest to approach within pistol-shot before they gave their fire, which sufficed to make the lancers wheel off. The situation recalled the din which announced their return: upon which occasion, going out to welcome them, I saw the regent’s camp turn out, and the trees were crowded with spectators, to enjoy the triumphal entry of the gallant little band with the spoils of the spoiler. The prize was sold and divided on the drum-head, and yielded six or eight months’ pay to each; but it did not rest here, for Lord Hastings promoted the non-commissioned officers and several of the men, giving to all additional pay for life.

The effect of this exploit was surprising; the country people, who hitherto would as soon have thought of plundering his Satanic majesty as a Pindari, amassed all the spoils abandoned on their flight, and brought them to the camp of the regent; who, as he never admitted the spoils of an enemy into his treasury, sent it all to our tents to be at my disposal. But, as I could see no right that we had to it, I proposed that the action should be commemorated by the erection of a bridge, bearing Lord Hastings’ name. There were the spoils of every region; many trays of gold necklaces, some of which were strings of Venetian sequins; coins of all ages (from which I completed a series of the Mogul kings), and five or six thousand head of cattle of every description. The regent adopted my suggestion: a bridge of fifteen arches was constructed, extending over the river at the breadth of a thousand feet, eastward of Kotah; and though more solid and useful than remarkable for beauty, will serve to perpetuate, as Hastin-pul, the name of a gallant soldier and enlightened statesman, who emancipated India from the scourge of the Pindaris. He is now beyond the reach of human praise, and the author may confess that he is proud of having suggested, planned, and watched to its completion, this trophy to his fame. [The Marquess of Hastings died on November 28, 1826.]

CHAPTER 11

The Mukunddarra Pass.

—We marched before daybreak through the famed pass of Mukunddarra,[1] and caught a glimpse at the outlet of the fine plains of Malwa. We then turned abruptly to the right, and skirted the range which divides Haravati from Malwa, over a rich champaign tract, in a re-entering angle of the range, which gradually contracted to the point of exit, up the mountains of Pachel.

The sun rose just as we cleared the summit of the pass, and we halted for a few minutes at the tower that guards the ascent, to look upon the valley behind: the landscape was bounded on either side by the ramparts of nature, enclosing numerous villages, until the eye was stopped by the eastern horizon. We proceeded on the terrace of this table-land, of gradual ascent, through a thick forest, when, as we reached the point of descent, the sun cleared the barrier which we had just left, and darting his beams through the foliage, illuminated the castle of Bhainsror, while the new fort of Dangarmau appeared as a white speck in the gloom that still enveloped the Patar.

An Atīt Monastery.

—We descended along a natural causeway, the rock being perfectly bare, without a particle of mould or vegetation. Small pillars, or uninscribed tablets, placed erect in the centre of little heaps of stone, seemed to indicate the scene of murders, when the Bhil lord of the pass exacted his toll from all who traversed his dominion. They proved, however, to be marks placed by the Banjaras to guide their tandas, or caravans, through the devious tracks of the forest. As we continued to descend, enveloped on all sides by woods and rocks, we lost sight of the towers of Bhainsror, and on reaching the foot of the Pass, the first object we saw was a little monastery of Atits,[2] founded by the chiefs of Bhainsror: it is called Jhalaka. We passed close to their isolated dwelling, on the terraced roof of which a party of the fraternity were squatted round a fire, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. Their wild [703] appearance corresponded with the scene around; their matted hair and beard had never known a comb; their bodies were smeared with ashes (bhabut), and a shred of cloth round the loins seemed the sole indication that they belonged to a class possessing human feelings. Their lives are passed in a perpetual routine of adoration of Chaturbhuja, the ‘four-armed’ divinity, and they subsist on the produce of a few patches of land, with which the chiefs of Bhainsror have endowed this abode of wild ascetics, or with what their patrons or the townspeople and passengers make up to them. The head of the establishment, a little, vivacious but wild-looking being, about sixty years of age, came forth to bestow his blessing, and to beg something for his order. He, however, in the first place, elected me one of his chelas, or disciples, by marking my forehead with a tika of bhabut, which he took from a platter made of dhak-leaves;[3] to which rite of inauguration I submitted with due gravity. The old man proved to be a walking volume of legendary lore; but his conversation became insufferably tedious. Interruption was in vain; he could tell his story only in his own way, and in order to get at a point of local history connected with the sway of the Ranas, I was obliged to begin from the creation of the world, and go through all the theogonies, the combats of the Surs and Asurs, the gods and Titans of Indian mythology; to bewail with Sita the loss of her child, her rape by Rawan, and the whole of the wars of Rama waged for her recovery; when, at length, the genealogy of the family commenced, which this strange being traced through all their varying patronymics of Daityas, Riks, Guhilot, Aharya, Sesodia; at which last he again diverged, and gave me an episode to explain the etymology of the distinguishing epithet. I subjoin it, as a specimen of the anchorite’s historical lore:

Origin of the Name Sesodia.

—In these wilds, an ancient Rana of Chitor had sat down to a got (feast) consisting of the game slain in the chase; and being very hungry, he hastily swallowed a piece of meat to which a gad-fly adhered. The fly grievously tormented the Rana’s stomach, and he sent for a physician. The wiseman (bedi) secretly ordered an attendant to cut off the tip of a cow’s ear, as the only means of saving the monarch’s life. On obtaining this forbidden morsel, the Bedi folded it in a piece of thin cloth, and attaching a string to it, made the royal patient swallow it. The gad-fly fastened on the bait, and was dragged to light. The physician was rewarded; but the curious Rana insisted on knowing by what means the cure was effected, and when he heard that a piece of sacred kine had passed his lips, he determined to expiate the enormity in a manner which its heinousness required, and to swallow boiling lead (sisa)! A vessel was put [704] on the fire, and half a ser soon melted, when, praying that his involuntary offence might be forgiven, he boldly drank it off; but lo! it passed through him like water. From that day, the name of the tribe was changed from Aharya to Sesodia.[4] The old Jogi as firmly believed the truth of this absurd tale as he did his own existence, and I allowed him to run on till the temple of Barolli suddenly burst upon my view from amidst the foliage that shrouded it. The transition was grand; we had for some time been picking our way along the margin of a small stream that had worked itself a bed in the rock over which lay our path, and whose course had been our guide to this object of our pilgrimage. As we neared the sacred fane, still following the stream, we reached a level spot overshadowed by the majestic kur and amba,[5] which had never known the axe. We instantly dismounted, and by a flight of steps attained the court of the temple.

FRAGMENT FROM THE RUINS OF BAROLLI.
To face page 1752.

The Barolli Temples.

—To describe its stupendous and diversified architecture is impossible; it is the office of the pencil alone, but the labour would be almost endless. Art seems here to have exhausted itself, and we were, perhaps now for the first time, fully impressed with the beauty of Hindu sculpture. The columns, the ceilings, the external roofing, where each stone presents a miniature temple, one rising over another, until crowned by the urnlike kalas, distracted our attention. The carving on the capital of each column would require pages of explanation, and the whole, in spite of its high antiquity, is in wonderful preservation. This is attributable mainly to two causes: every stone is chiselled out of the close-grained quartz rock, perhaps the most durable (as it is the most difficult to work) of any; and in order that the Islamite should have some excuse for evading their iconoclastic law, they covered the entire temple with the finest marble cement, so adhesive, that it is only where the prevalent winds have beaten upon it that it is altogether worn off, leaving the sculptured edges of the stone as smooth and sharp as if carved only yesterday.

The grand temple of Barolli is dedicated to Siva, whose emblems are everywhere visible.[6] It stands in an area of about two hundred and fifty yards square, enclosed by a wall built of unshaped stones without cement. Beyond this wall are groves of majestic trees, with many smaller shrines and sacred fountains. The first object that struck my notice, just before entering the area, was a pillar, erect in the earth, with a hooded-snake sculptured around it. The doorway, which is destroyed, must have been very curious, and the remains that choke up the interior are highly interesting. One of these specimens was entire, and unrivalled in taste and beauty. The principal figures are of Siva and his consort, Parbati, with their attendants. He stands [705] upon the lotus, having the serpent twined as a garland. In his right hand he holds the damru, or little drum, with which, as the god of war, he inspires the warrior; in his left is the khopra, formed of a human skull, out of which he drinks the blood of the slain. The other two arms have been broken off: a circumstance which proves that even the Islamite, to whom the act may be ascribed, respected this work of art. The ‘mountain-born’ is on the left of her spouse, standing on the kurma, or tortoise, with braided locks, and ear-rings made of the conch-shell. Every limb is in that easy flowing style peculiar to ancient Hindu art, and wanting in modern specimens. Both are covered with beaded ornaments, and have no drapery. The firm, masculine attitude of ‘Baba Adam,’ as I have heard a Rajput call Mahadeo, contrasts well with the delicate feminine outline of his consort. The serpent and lotus intertwine gracefully over their heads. Above, there is a series of compartments filled with various figures, the most conspicuous of which is the chimerical animal called the Grasda, a kind of horned lion; each compartment being separated by a wreath of flowers, tastefully arranged and distributed. The animal is delineated with an ease not unworthy the art in Europe. Of the various other figures many are mutilated; one is a hermit playing on a guitar, and above him are a couple of deer in a listening posture. Captain Waugh is engaged on one of the figures, which he agrees with me in pronouncing unrivalled as a specimen of art. There are parts of them, especially the heads, which would not disgrace Canova. They are in high relief, being almost detached from the slab. In this fragment (about eight feet by three) the chief figures are about three feet.

The centre piece, forming a kind of frieze, is nearly entire, and about twelve feet by three; it is covered with sculpture of the same character, mostly the celestial choristers, with various instruments, celebrating the praises of Siva and Parbati. Immediately within the doorway is a small shrine to the ‘four-armed’; but the Islamite having likewise deprived him of the supernumerary pair, the Bhil takes him for Devi, of whom they are desperately afraid, and in consequence the forehead of the statue is liberally smeared with vermilion.

OUTLINE OF A TEMPLE TO MAHADEVA AT BAROLLI.
To face page 1754.

On the left, in advance of the main temple, is one about thirty feet high, containing an image of Ashtabhuji Mata, or the ‘eight-armed mother’; but here the pious Muslim has robbed the goddess of all her arms, save that with which she grasps her shield, and has also removed her head. She treads firmly on the centaur, Maheswar,[7] whose dissevered head lies at some distance in the area, while the lion of the Hindu Cybele [706] still retains his grasp of his quarters. The Joginis and Apsarases, or ‘maids of war’ of Rajput martial poetry, have been spared.

On the right is the shrine of Trimurti, the triune divinity. Brahma’s face, in the centre, has been totally obliterated, as has that of Vishnu, the Preserver; but the Destroyer is uninjured. The tiara, which covers the head[8] of this triple divinity, is also entire, and of perfect workmanship. The skill of the sculptor “can no further go.” Groups of snakes adorn the clustering locks on the ample forehead of Siva, which are confined by a bandeau, in the centre of which there is a death’s head ornament, hideously exact. Various and singularly elegant devices are wrought in the tiara: in one, two horses couped from the shoulder, passing from a rich centring and surmounted by a death’s head; a dissevered arm points to a vulture advancing to seize it, while serpents are wreathed round the neck and hands of the Destroyer, whose half-opened mouth discloses a solitary tooth, and the tongue curled up with a demoniacal expression. The whole is colossal, the figures being six feet and a half high. The relief is very bold, and altogether the group is worthy of having casts made from it.

We now come to the grand temple itself, which is fifty-eight feet in height, and in the ancient form peculiar to the temples of Siva. The body of the edifice, in which is the sanctum of the god, and over which rises its pyramidal sikhara, is a square of only twenty-one feet; but the addition of the domed vestibule (mandap) and portico makes it forty-four by twenty-one. An outline of this by Ghasi, a native artist (who labours at Udaipur for the same daily pay as a tailor, carpenter, or other artisan), gives a tolerably good notion of its appearance, though none of its beauty. The whole is covered with mythological sculpture, without as well as within, emblematic of the ‘great god’ (Mahadeo), who is the giver, as well as the destroyer, of life. In a niche outside, to the south, he is armed against the Daityas (Titans), the munda-mala, or skull-chaplet, reaching to his knees, and in seven of his arms are offensive weapons. His cap is the frustumfrustum of a cone, composed of snakes interlaced, with a fillet of skulls: the khopra is in his hand, and the victims are scattered around. On his right is one of the maids of slaughter (Jogini) drunk with blood, the cup still at her lip, and her countenance expressive of vacuity; while below, on the left, is a female personification of Death, mere skin and bone: a sickle (khurpi) in her right hand,[9] its knob a death’s head, completes this group of the attributes of destruction [707].

To the west is Mahadeo under another form, a beautiful and animated statue, the expression mild, as when he went forth to entice the mountain-nymph, Mena, to his embrace. His tiara is a blaze of finely-executed ornaments, and his snake-wreath, which hangs round him as a garland, has a clasp of two heads of Seshnag (the serpent-king), while Nandi below is listening with placidity to the sound of the damru. His khopra, and kharg, or skull-cap, and sword, which he is in the attitude of using, are the only accompaniments denoting the god of blood.

The northern compartment is a picture, disgustingly faithful, of death and its attributes, vulgarly known as Bhukhi Mata, or the personification of famine, lank and bare; her necklace, like her lord’s, of skulls. Close by are two mortals in the last stage of existence, so correctly represented as to excite an unpleasant surprise. The outline, I may say, is anatomically correct. The mouth is half open and distorted, and although the eye is closed in death, an expression of mental anguish seems still to linger upon the features. A beast of prey is approaching the dead body; while, by way of contrast, a male figure, in all the vigour of youth and health, lies prostrate at her feet.

Such is a faint description of the sculptured niches on each of the external faces of the mandir, whence the spire rises, simple and solid. In order, however, to be distinctly understood, I shall give some slight ichnographic details. First, is the mandir or cella, in which is the statue of the god; then the mandap, or, in architectural nomenclature, the pronaos; and third, the portico, with which we shall begin, though it transcends all description.

SCULPTURED NICHE ON THE EXTERIOR OF THE TEMPLE AT BAROLLI.
To face page 1756.

Like all temples dedicated to Bal-Siva,[10] the vivifier, or ‘sun-god,’ it faces the east. The portico projects several feet beyond the mandap, and has four superb columns in front, of which the outline by Ghasi conveys but a very imperfect idea. Flat fluted pilasters are placed on either side of the entrance of the mandap, serving as a support to the internal toran, or triumphal arch, and a single column intervenes on each side between the pilasters and the columns in front. The columns are about eighteen feet in height. The proportions are perfect; and though the difference of diameter between the superior and inferior portions of the shaft is less than the Grecian standard, there is no want of elegance of effect, whilst it gives an idea of more grandeur. The frieze is one mass of sculptured figures, generally of human beings, male and female, in pairs; the horned monster termed Grasda separating the different pairs. The internal toran or triumphal arch, which is invariably attached to all ancient temples of the sun-god, is [708] of that peculiar curvature formed by the junction of two arcs of a circle from different centres, a form of arch well known in Gothic and Saracenic architecture, but which is an essential characteristic of the more ancient Hindu temples. The head of a Grasda crowns its apex, and on the outline is a concatenation of figures armed with daggers, apparently ascending the arch to strike the monster. The roof of the Mandap (pronaos) cannot be described: its various parts must be examined with microscopic nicety in order to enter into detail. In the whole of the ornaments there is an exact harmony which I have seen nowhere else; even the miniature elephants are in the finest proportions, and exquisitely carved.

The ceilings both of the portico and Mandap are elaborately beautiful: that of the portico, of one single block, could hardly be surpassed. (Vide Plate.) Of the exterior I shall not attempt further description: it is a grand, a wonderful effort of the Silpi (architect), one series rising above and surpassing the other, from the base to the urn which surmounts the pinnacle.

The sanctum contains the symbol of the god, whose local appellation is Rori Barolli, a corruption of Bal-rori, from the circumstance of Balnath, the sun-god, being here typified by an orbicular stone termed rori, formed by attrition in the Chulis or whirlpools of the Chambal, near which the temple stands, and to which phenomena it probably owed its foundation. This symbolic rori is not fixed, but lies in a groove in the internal ring of the Yoni; and so nicely is it poised, that with a very moderate impulse it will continue revolving while the votary recites a tolerably long hymn to the object of his adoration. The old ascetic, who had long been one of the zealots of Barolli, amongst his other wonders gravely told me, that with the momentum given by his little finger, in former days, he could make it keep on its course much longer than now with the application of all his strength.

Some honest son of commerce thought it but right that the mandira (cella) of Bal-rori should be graced by a Parbati, and he had one made and placed there. But it appeared to have offended the god, and matters soon after went wrong with the Banya: first his wife died, then his son, and at length he became diwala, or ‘bankrupt.’ In truth he deserved punishment for his caricature of the ‘mountain-born’ Mena, who more resembles a Dutch burgomestre than the fair daughter of Sailapati.[11]

Fronting the temple of Bal-rori, and apart from it about twenty yards, is another [709] superb edifice, called the Singar-chaori, or nuptial hall.[12] It is a square (chaori) of forty feet, supported by a double range of columns on each face, the intercolumniations being quite open; and although these columns want the elegant proportions of the larger temple, they are covered with exquisite sculpture, as well as the ceilings. In the centre of the hall is an open space about twelve feet square; and here, according to tradition, the nuptials of Raja Hun with the fair daughter of a Rajput prince, of whom he had long been enamoured, were celebrated;[13] to commemorate which event, these magnificent structures were raised: but more of this Hun anon. The external roof (or sikhara, as the Hindu Silpi terms the various roofs which cover their temples) is the frustum of a pyramid, and a singular specimen of architectural skill, each stone being a miniature temple, elegantly carved, gradually decreasing in size to the kalas or ball, and so admirably fitted to each other, that there has been no room for vegetation to insinuate itself, and consequently they have sustained no injury from time.

CEILING OF THE PORTICO OF TEMPLE AT BAROLLI.
To face page 1758.

Midway between the nuptial hall and the main temple there is a low altar, on which the bull, Nandiswar, still kneels before the symbolic representation of its sovereign lord, Iswar. But sadly dishonoured is this courser of the sun-god, whose flowing tail is broken, and of whose head but a fragment remains, though his necklace of alternate skulls and bells proclaims him the charger of Siva.

Around the temple of the ‘great god’ (Mahadeva) are the shrines of the dii minores, of whom Ganesa, the god of wisdom, takes precedence. The shrine of this janitor of Siva is properly placed to the north, equidistant from the nuptial hall and the chief temple. But the form of wisdom was not spared by the Tatar iconoclast. His single tooth, on which the poet Chand is so lavish of encomium, is broken off; his limbs are dissevered, and he lies prostrate on his back at the base of his pedestal, grasping, even in death, with his right hand the laddus, or sweet-meat-balls, he received at the nuptial feast.

Near the dishonoured fragments of Ganesa, and on the point of losing his equilibrium, is the divine Narada,[14] the preceptor of Parbati, and the Orpheus of Hindu mythology. In his hands he yet holds the lyre (vina), with whose heavenly sounds he has been charming the son of his patroness; but more than one string of the instrument is wanting, and one of the gourds which, united by a sounding board, form the vina, is broken off [710].

To the south are two columns, one erect and the other prostrate, which appear to have been either the commencement of another temple, or, what is more probable from their excelling everything yet described, intended to form a toran, having a simple architrave laid across them, which served as a swing for the recreation of the god. (Vide Plate.) Their surface, though they have been exposed for at least one thousand years to the atmosphere, is smooth and little injured: such is the durability of this stone, though it is astonishing how it was worked, or how they got instruments to shape it. There is a bawari, or reservoir of water, for the use either of gods or mortals, placed in the centre of the quadrangle, which is strewed with sculptured fragments.

We quit the enclosure of Raja Hun to visit the fountain (kund) of Mahadeo, and the various other curious objects. Having passed through the ruined gate by which we entered, we crossed the black stream, and passing over a fine turf plot, reached the kund, which is a square of sixty feet, the water (leading to which are steps) being full to the brim, and the surface covered with the golden and silver lotus. In the centre of the fountain is a miniature temple to the god who delights in waters; and the dam by which it was once approached being broken, it is now completely isolated. The entrance to the east has two slender and well-proportioned columns, and the whole is conspicuous for simplicity and taste.

Smaller shrines surround the kund, into one of which I entered, little expecting in a comparatively humble edifice the surprise which awaited me. The temple was a simple, unadorned hall, containing a detached piece of sculpture, representing Narayan floating on the chaotic waters. The god is reclining in a fit of abstraction upon his shesh-seja, a couch formed of the hydra, or sea-snake, whose many heads expanded form a canopy over that of the sleeping divinity,[15] at whose feet is the benignant Lakshmi, the Hindu Ceres, awaiting the expiration of his periodical repose. A group of marine monsters, half man, half fish, support the couch in their arms, their scaly extremities gracefully wreathed, and in the centre of them is a horse, rather too terrestrial to be classical, with a conch-shell and other marine emblems near him. The background to this couch rises about two feet above the reclining figure, and is divided horizontally into two compartments, the lower containing a group of six chimerical monsters, each nearly a foot in height, in mutual combat, and in perfect relief. Above is a smaller series, depicting the Avatars, or incarnations of the divinity. On the left, Kurma, the tortoise, having quitted his shell, of which he makes [711] a pedestal, denotes the termination of the catastrophe. Another marine monster, half boar (Varaha), half fish, appears recovering the Yoni, the symbol of production, from the alluvion, by his tusk. Next to him is Narasinha, tearing in pieces a tyrannical king, with other allegorical mysteries having no relation to the ten incarnations, but being a mythology quite distinct, and which none of the well-informed men around me could interpret: a certain proof of its antiquity.

REMAINS OF AN ANCIENT TEMPLE AT BAROLLI.
Near the Chambal.
To face page 1760.

The position of Narayan was that of repose, one hand supporting his head, under which lay the gada, or mace, while in another he held the conch-shell, which, when the god assumed the terrestrial form and led the Yadu hosts to battle, was celebrated as Dakshinavarta, from having its spiral involutions reversed, or to the right (dakshin). The fourth arm was broken off, as were his nether limbs to near the knee. From the nabh or naf (navel) the umbilical cord ascended, terminating in a lotus, whose expanded flower served as a seat for Brahma, the personification of the mind or spirit “moving on the waters” (Narayana) of chaos. The beneficent and beautiful Lakshmi, whom all adore, whether as Annapurna (the giver of food), or in her less amiable character as the consort of the Hindu Plutus, seems to have excited a double portion of the zealots’ ire, who have not only visited her face too roughly, but entirely destroyed the emblems of nourishment for her universal progeny. It would be impossible to dwell upon the minuter ornaments, which, both for design and execution, may be pronounced unrivalled in India. The highly imaginative mind of the artist is apparent throughout; he has given a repose to the sleeping deity, which contrasts admirably with the writhing of the serpent upon which he lies, whose folds, more especially under the neck, appear almost real; a deception aided by the porphyritic tints of the stone. From the accompaniments of mermaids, conch-shells, sea-horses, etc., we may conclude that a more elegant mythology than that now subsisting has been lost with the art of sculpture. The whole is carved out of a single block of the quartz rock, which has a lustre and polish equal to marble, and is of far greater durability.

The length of this marine couch (seja) is nearly eight feet, its breadth two, and its height somewhat more than three; the figure, from the top of his richly wrought tiara, being four feet. I felt a strong inclination to disturb the slumbers of Narayana, and transport him to another clime: in this there would be no sacrilege, for in his present mutilated state he is looked upon (except as a specimen of art) as no better than a stone.

All round the kund the ground is covered with fragments of shrines erected to [712] the inferior divinities. On one piece, which must have belonged to a roof, were sculptured two busts of a male and a female, unexceptionably beautiful. The headdress of the male was a helmet, quite Grecian in design, bound with a simple and elegant fillet: in short, it would require the labour of several artists for six months to do anything like justice to the wonders of Barolli.

There is no chronicle to tell us for whom or by whom this temple was constructed. The legends are unintelligible; for although Raja Hun is the hero of this region, it is no easy task to account for his connexion with the mythology. If we, however, connect this apparently wild tradition with what is already said regarding his ruling at Bhainsror, and moreover with what has been recorded in the first part of this work, when ‛Angatsi, lord of the Huns,' was enrolled amongst the eighty-four subordinate princes who defended Chitor against the first attempt of the Islamite, in the eighth century, the mystery ceases. The name of Hun is one of frequent occurrence in ancient traditions, and the early inscription at Monghyr has already been mentioned, as likewise the still more important admission of this being one of the Thirty-six Royal tribes of Rajputs; and as, in the Chitor chronicle, they have actually assigned as the proper name of the Hun prince that (Angatsi) which designates, according to their historian Deguignes, the grand horde, we can scarcely refuse our belief that “there were Huns” in India in those days. But although Raja Hun may have patronized the arts, we can hardly imagine he could have furnished any ideas to the artists, who at all events have not produced a single Tatar feature to attest their rule in this region. It is far more probable, if ever Grecian artists visited these regions, that they worked upon Indian designs—an hypothesis which may be still further supported. History informs us of the Grecian auxiliaries sent by Seleucus to the (Puar) monarch of Ujjain (Ozene),[16] whose descendants corresponded with Augustus; and I have before suggested the possibility of the temple of Kumbhalmer, which is altogether dissimilar to any remains of Hindu art, being attributable to the same people.

We discovered two inscriptions, as well as the names of many visitors, inscribed on the pavement and walls of the portico, bearing date seven and eight hundred years ago; one was “the son of Jalansi, from Dhawalnagari”; another, which is in the ornamental Nagari of the Jains, is dated the 13th of Kartik (the month sacred to Mars), S. 981, or A.D. 925. Unfortunately it is but a fragment, containing five slokas in praise of Siddheswar, or Mahadeo, as the patron of the ascetic Jogis. Part of a name remains; and although my old Guru will not venture to give a translation without [713] his sibylline volume, the Vyakarana, which was left at Udaipur, there is yet sufficient to prove it to be merely the rhapsody of a Pandit, visiting Rori Barolli, in praise of the ‘great god’ and of the site.[17] More time and investigation than I could afford, might make further discoveries; and it would be labour well rewarded if we could obtain a date for this Augustan age of India. At the same time, it is evident that the whole was not accomplished within one man’s existence, nor could the cost be defrayed by one year’s revenue of all Rajputana.

We may add, before we quit this spot, that there are two piles of stones, in the quadrangle of the main temple, raised over the defunct priests of Mahadeo, who, whether Gosains, Sannyasis, or Dadupantis, always bury their dead.

Barolli is in the tract named Pachel, or the flat between the river Chambal and the pass, containing twenty-four villages in the lordship of Bhainsror, lying about three miles west, and highly improving the scene, which would otherwise be one of perfect solitude. According to the local tradition of some of the wild tribes, its more ancient name was Bhadravati, the seat of the Huns; and the traces of the old city in extensive mounds and ruins are still beheld around the more modern Bhainsror. Tradition adds that the Charmanvati (the classic name of the Chambal) had not then ploughed itself a channel in this adamantine bed; but nine centuries could not have effected this operation, although it is not far from the period when Angatsi, the Hun, served the Rana of Chitor [714].