In this instance there is no incongruity, no borrowed features; every stone was carved for the place where it is found. There are niches it is true on each side of the gateway, like those found at Marttand and other Pagan temples; but like those at Ahmedabad they are without images, and the arch in brick which surmounts this gateway is a radiating arch, which appears certainly to be integral, but, if so, could not possibly be erected by a Hindu.[305] When General Cunningham visited the valley in 1848, he was not so familiar as he has since become with the ruins of Gour, Juanpore, Ahmedabad, and other Moslem cities where the architectural forms adopted by the Moslems are with difficulty distinguished from those of the Hindus. With the knowledge we now possess it is not likely that any one can mistake the fact, that this enclosure was erected by the prince whose name it bears to surround his tomb, in the Mahomedan cemetery of the city in which it is found.

Assuming this for the present, it gives us a hint as to the age of the other anomalous building in Kashmir—the temple that crowns the hill, called the Takt-i-Suleiman, near the capital. Inside the octagonal enclosure that surrounds the platform on which the temple stands is a range of arches (Woodcut No. 157), similar to those of the tomb of Zein-ul-ab-ud-dín (Woodcut No. 156), not so distinctly pointed, nor so Saracenic in detail, but still very nearly resembling them, only a little more debased in style. At the bottom of the steps is a round-headed doorway, not it is true surmounted by a true arch, but by a curved lintel of one stone, such as are universal in the Hindu imitations of Mahomedan architecture in the 17th and 18th centuries. The same is the case in the small temples alongside, which are evidently of the same age.[306] The temple too, itself, is far from having an ancient look. The one most like it, that I am acquainted with, is that erected by Cheyt Sing at Rannuggur, near Benares, at the end of the last century. I know of no straight-lined pyramid of a much older date than that, and no temple with a polygonal plan, combined with a circular cell, as is the case here, that is of ancient date. The four pillars in the cell, with the Persian inscriptions upon them, are avowedly of the 17th century. It is suggested, however, that they belong to a repair; my conviction, however, is, from a review of the whole evidence, that the temple, as it now stands, was commenced by some nameless Hindus, in honour of Siva, during the tolerant reign of Jehangir, and that the building was stopped at the date engraved on the staircase, A.H. 1069 (A.D. 1659), the first year of the reign of the bigot Aurungzebe. It was then unfinished, and has consequently remained a ruin ever since, which may give it an ancient look, but not such as to justify any one putting it 1879 years before what seems to be its true date, as is done by General Cunningham and his follower Lieutenant Cole.

If we may thus get rid of these two anomalous and exceptional examples, the history of all the remaining temples in the valley is more than usually homogeneous and easily intelligible. The date of the principal example—the temple at Marttand—is hardly doubtful (A.D. 750); and of the others, some may be slightly older, but none can be carried further back than the reign of Ranaditya, A.D. 578 to 594. Nor can any one be brought down below, say 1200, which is probably the date of that of Payech. Between these dates, with a very little local knowledge, the whole might easily be arranged. Such a classification is, however, by no means necessary at present. The style during these six centuries is so uniform that it may be taken as one, for the purposes of a general history.

Temples.

Before proceeding to speak of the temples themselves, it may add to the clearness of what follows if we first explain what the peculiarities of the styles are. This we are able to do from a small model in stone of a Kashmiri temple (Woodcut No. 158), which was drawn by General Cunningham; such miniature temples being common throughout India, and in all instances exact copies of their larger prototypes.

The temple in this instance is surmounted by four roofs (in the built examples, so far as they are known, there are only two or three), which are obviously copied from the usual wooden roofs common to most buildings in Kashmir, where the upper pyramid covers the central part of the building, and the lower a verandah, separated from the centre either by walls or merely by a range of pillars.[307] In the wooden examples the interval between the two roofs seems to have been left open for light and air; in the stone buildings it is closed with ornaments. Besides this, however, all these roofs are relieved by dormer windows, of a pattern very similar to those found in mediæval buildings in Europe; and the same steep, sloping lines are used also to cover doorways and porches, these being virtually a section of the main roof itself, and evidently a copy of the same wooden construction.

The pillars which support the porticoes and the one on which the model stands are by far the most striking peculiarity of this style, their shafts being almost identical with those of the Grecian Doric, and unlike anything of the class found in other parts of India. Generally they are from three to four diameters in height, diminishing slightly towards the capital, and adorned with sixteen flutes, rather shallower than those of the Grecian order. Both the bases and capitals are, it is true, far more complicated than would have been tolerated in Greece, but at Pæstum and in Rome we find with the Doric order a complexity of mouldings by no means unlike that found here. These peculiarities are still more evident in the annexed representation of a pillar found in Srinagar (Woodcut No. 159), which is a far more highly ornamented example than the last, but equally classical in its details, and, if anything, more unlike any known examples of true Hindu architecture. Nowhere in Kashmir do we find any trace of the bracket capital of the Hindus, nor of the changes from square to octagon, or to the polygon of sixteen sides, and so on. Now that we are becoming familiar with the extent of classical influence that prevailed in Gandhara (ante, p. 176) down to the 7th or 8th century, we have no difficulty in understanding whence these quasi-Grecian forms were derived, nor why they should be found so prevalent in this valley. It adds, however, very considerably to our interest in the subject to find that the civilization of the West left so strong an impress on the arts of this part of India that its influence can be detected in all the Kashmiri buildings down to the time when the local style perished under Mahomedan influence in the beginning of the 14th century. Although, therefore, there can be no mistake about the principal forms of the architecture of Kashmir being derived from the classical styles of the West, and as little doubt as to the countries through which it was introduced into the valley, it must not be overlooked that the classical influence is fainter and more remote from its source in Kashmir than in Gandhara. Nothing resembling the Corinthian capitals of the Jamalgiri monastery are found in the valley. The classical features in Kashmir are in degree more like those of the Manikyala tope and the very latest examples in the Peshawur valley. The one style, in fact, seems to commence where the other ends, and to carry on the tradition for centuries after it had been lost in the country from which it was introduced.

The fact, however, of a quasi-Doric order being currently used in the valley from the 8th to the 12th century is one of the many arguments that tend to confirm the theory that the Corinthian order of the Gandhara monasteries is not so ancient as might at first sight appear. At all events, if a Doric order was the style of the Kashmiri valley at so late a date, there is no à priori improbability in a Corinthian order being used at Peshawur in the 5th or 6th century. On the contrary, as both were evidently derived from the same source, it seems most unlikely that there should be any break in the continuity of the tradition. Strange though it may at first sight appear, it seems as if the impulse first given by Bactria three centuries before the Christian Era continued without a break to influence the architecture of that corner of India for twelve centuries after that epoch.

No example of the Doric order has yet been found in Gandhara, but, as both Ionic and Corinthian capitals have been found there, it seems more than probable that the Doric existed there also; but as our knowledge, up to this date, is limited practically to two monasteries out, probably, of a hundred, we ought not to be surprised at any deficiencies in our series that may from time to time become apparent.

There is still one other peculiarity of this style which it is by no means easy to account for. This is the trefoiled arch, which is everywhere prevalent, but which in our present state of knowledge cannot be accounted for by any constructive necessity, nor traced to any foreign style from which it could have been copied. My own impression is, that it is derived from the façades of the chaitya halls of the Buddhists. Referring, for instance, to Woodcut No. 46 or to No. 58,[308] it will be perceived that the outline of the section of the cave at Ajunta, which it represents, is just such a trefoil as is everywhere prevalent in Kashmir; and, as both there and everywhere else in India, architectural decoration is made up of small models of large buildings applied as decorative features wherever required, it is by no means improbable that the trefoiled façade may have been adopted in Kashmir as currently as the simple horse-shoe form was throughout the Buddhist buildings of India Proper. All these features, however, mark a local style differing from anything else in India, pointing certainly to another race and another religion, which we are not as yet able to trace to its source.

Marttand.

By far the finest and most typical example of the Kashmiri style is the temple of Marttand, situated about five miles east of Islamabad, the ancient capital of the valley. It is the architectural lion of Kashmir, and all tourists think it necessary to go into raptures about its beauty and magnificence, comparing it to Palmyra or Thebes, or other wonderful groups of ruins of the old world. Great part, however, of the admiration it excites is due to its situation. It stands well on an elevated plateau, from which a most extensive view is obtained, over a great part of the valley. No tree or house interferes with its solitary grandeur, and its ruins—shaken down apparently by an earthquake—lie scattered as they fell, and are unobscured by vegetation, nor are they vulgarised by any modern accretions. Add to this the mystery that hangs over their origin, and a Western impress on its details unusual in the East, but which calls back the memory of familiar forms and suggests memories that throw a veil of poetry over its history more than sufficient to excite admiration in the most prosaic spectators. When, however, we come to reduce its dimensions to scale (Woodcut No. 160), and to examine its pretensions to rank among the great examples of architectural art, the rhapsodies of which it has been the theme seem a little out of place.

The temple itself (Woodcut No. 161) is a very small building, being only 60 ft. in length by 38 ft. in width. The width of the façade, however, is eked out by two wings or adjuncts, which make it 60 ft. As General Cunningham estimates that its height, when complete, was 60 ft. also, it realises the problem the Jews so earnestly set themselves to solve—how to build a temple with the three dimensions equal, but yet should not be a cube. Small, however, as the Jewish temple was, it was more than twice as large as this one. At Jerusalem the temple was 100 cubits, or 150 ft. in length, breadth, and height.[309] At Marttand these dimensions were only 60 ft. But it is one of the points of interest in the Kashmiri temple that it reproduces in plan, at least, the Jewish temple more nearly than any other known building.

The roof of the temple has so entirely disappeared that Baron Hügel doubted if it ever possessed one.[310] General Cunningham, on the other hand, has no doubts on the subject, and restores it in stone on his plate No. 14. The absence, however, of any fragments on the floor of the temple that could have belonged to the roof, militates seriously against this view; and, looking at the tenuity of the walls and the large voids they include, I doubt extremely if they ever could have supported a stone roof of the usual design. When, too, the plan is carefully examined, it will be seen that none of the masses are square; and it is very difficult to see how the roof of the porch could, if in stone, be fitted to that over the cella. Taking all these things into consideration, my impression is, that its roof—it certainly had one—was in wood; and knowing how extensively the Buddhists used wooden roofs for their chaitya halls, I see no improbability of this being the case here at the time this temple was erected.

The courtyard that surrounds and encloses this temple is, in its state of ruin, a more remarkable object than the temple itself. Its internal dimensions are 220 ft. by 142 ft.,[311] which are respectable, though not excessive; they are not much more than those of the temple of Neminatha at Girnar (Woodcut No. 126), which are 165 ft. and 105 ft., though that is by no means a large Jaina temple. On each face is a central cell, larger and higher than the colonnade in which it is placed (Woodcut No. 162), but even then only 30 ft. in height to the summit of the roof, supposing it to be completed, and the pillars on each side of it are only 9 ft. high, which are not dimensions to go wild about, though their strongly-impressed Grecian aspect is certainly curious and interesting.

One of the most remarkable features of the courtyard, though it is common to all true Kashmiri temples, is thus described by General Cunningham:—“I have a suspicion also that the whole of the interior of the quadrangle was originally filled with water to a level within one foot of the bases of the columns, and that access to the temple was gained by a raised pathway of slabs, supported on solid blocks at short intervals, which connected the gateway flight of steps with that leading to the temple. The same kind of pathway must have stretched right across the quadrangle from one side doorway to the other. Similar pathways still exist in the Shalimar gardens, as passages across the different reservoirs and canals. On the outside of the quadrangle, and close by the northern side of the gateway, there is a drain by which the surplus water found its exit, thus keeping the surface always at the same level. The temples at Pandrethan Ledari, and in the Barahmula Pass, are still standing in the midst of water. A constant supply of fresh water was kept up by a canal or watercourse from the River Lambadari, which was conducted alongside of the mountain for the service of the neighbouring village of Sinharotsika,” &c. “The only object,” the General goes on to remark, “of erecting temples in the midst of water must have been to place them more immediately under the protection of the Nagas, or human-bodied and snake-tailed gods, who were zealously worshipped for ages throughout Kashmir.”[312]

There are no inscriptions on this temple which would enable us to fix its date with certainty, but all authorities are agreed that the enclosure at least was erected by Lalitaditya,[313] who reigned A.D. 725 to 761; and my conviction is that he also erected the temple itself. General Cunningham, however, on the strength of a passage in the ‘Raja Tarangini,’ ascribes the building of the temple to Ranaditya,[314] who reigned A.D. 578 to 594. He may have local information which enables him to identify the village Sinharotsika with this place which he has not given to the public; but even then it is only said he erected a temple to the sun at that place,[315] but nothing to show that it was this temple. Whether also it was dedicated to the sun is not clear. I never saw a sun temple, or a drawing of one, and can, therefore, give no opinion on that head. Be this, therefore, as it may, it seems to me extremely improbable that the temple should have stood naked for 150 years, and then that a far greater king than its founder should have added the indispensable adjunct of a court. If, like all Kashmiri temples, it was intended to stand in the water, something of the sort must have existed from the beginning, and very little have been left for the great Lalitaditya to add. In addition to this, many of the details of the temple itself are so nearly identical with those of the temple at Avantipore, erected A.D. 852 or 853, that it is very much more likely that only 100 instead of 250 years intervened between the dates of the Marttand and Avantipore temples.

The question as to what deity this temple was dedicated to is more difficult to determine than its date. According to the ‘Raja Tarangini,’[316] especially as summarised by Wilson,[317] Lalitaditya was at the same time Buddhist, Jaina, or Vaishnava—three religions that were undistinguishable in that time of tolerance, but which, after 200 years of persecution and wars, came out distinct and antagonistic in the 10th century. If only the plan were submitted to me, I would unhesitatingly declare it Jaina; when its water arrangements were explained, it would as clearly appear Naga[318] (Woodcut No. 163), but not at all necessarily antagonistic to either Buddhism or Vishnuism at that age. As I have just said, I know nothing of sun temples, and cannot, therefore, say whether this resembles them or not.

Unfortunately, the stone of which the temple is built is of so friable a nature that the sculptures are now barely recognisable, but, so far as can be made out from such photographs as exist, all the principal figures in the niches have snake-hoods—are Nagas, in fact, with three or five-headed snakes at the backs of their heads. Any one on the spot, with his attention turned to this, could easily determine in a few minutes how far this was the case or not; but no one has yet visited it with the preparation necessary to settle this and many other uncertain points regarding the architecture and mythology of the place. A monograph, however, of this temple would be a work well worthy of any pains that might be bestowed upon it by any Indian archæologist; for, besides its historical and mythological importance, many of its details are of great beauty, and they have never been drawn with the care they so well merit. (Woodcut No. 164.) As the typical example of a quasi-classical style, a perfect knowledge of its peculiarities would be a landmark in the history of the style both before and after its date.

Avantipore.

Next in importance to Marttand, among Kashmiri temples, are those of Avantipore, all erected certainly within the limits of the reign of Avantiverma, the first king of the Utpala dynasty, and who reigned from A.D. 875 to A.D. 904. The stone with which they are erected is so friable, and the temples themselves are so ruined, that there might be a difficulty in ascertaining to what religion they were dedicated if the ‘Raja Tarangini’ were not so distinct in describing this monarch as a devoted follower of Siva,[319] and naming these temples as dedicated to various forms of that god.

The two principal ruins stand in courtyards of nearly the same size, about 200 ft. by 100 ft. or 170 ft. internally. One, called Avantiswami, has pillars all round, like Marttand, and almost identical in design and dimensions. The other is astylar, but the temple itself was much more important than in the first example.[320]

The characteristic that seems most clearly to distinguish the style of the temples at Marttand from that of those at Avantipore is the greater richness of detail which the latter exhibit; just such a tendency, in fact, towards the more elaborate carvings of the Hindu style as one might expect from their difference in date. Several of these have been given by the three authors to whose works I have so often had occasion to allude, and to which the reader is referred; but the annexed fragment (Woodcut No. 165) of one of its columns is as elegant in itself, and almost as interesting historically, as the Doric of the examples quoted above, inasmuch as if it is compared with the pillars of the tomb of Mycene (Woodcut No. 117, vol. i.) it seems difficult to escape the conviction that the two forms were derived from some common source. At all events, there is nothing between the Peloponnesus and Kashmir, so far as we now know, that so nearly resembles it.

Bhaniyar.

At a place near the remote village of Bhaniyar, on the road between Uri and Naoshera, there stands one of the best-preserved temples in the valley. Like all the older temples, it was supplied with the means of keeping its courtyard full of water, and during the long ages of neglect these brought down silt and mud sufficient to half bury the place. It was recently, however, excavated by order of the Raja of Kashmir, and hence its nearly perfect state.[321] Its dimensions are less than those of the temples last described, being only 145 ft. by 120 ft., but, except from natural decay of the stone, it is nearly perfect, and gives a very fair idea of the style of these buildings. The trefoiled arch, with its tall pediment, the detached column and its architrave, are as distinctly shown here as in any other existing example of a Kashmiri colonnade, and present all those quasi-classical features which we now know were inherited from the neighbouring province of Gandhara. The central temple is small, only 26 ft. square, and its roof is now covered with wooden shingles; but whether that was the original covering is not certain. Looking, however, at the central side-cell of the colonnade (Woodcut No. 166), it seems to me extremely doubtful whether General Cunningham is justified in restoring the roof of the temple, or of the central cell at Marttand in stone. My impression rather is, as hinted above, that the temple-roof was in wood; that of the side-cell in stone, but flat.

At a place called Waniyat are two groups of temples, which were carefully examined and described by the Rev. Mr. Cowie,[322] and plans and photographs are found in Lieutenant Cole’s book.[323] They differ somewhat from those we have been describing, inasmuch as they do not seem to have been enclosed in colonnaded courts, and consist each of one large and several smaller temples, unsymmetrically arranged. The larger ones are 30 ft. and 32 ft. square in plan over all; the smaller 10 ft. or 12 ft.

There are no inscriptions, nor any historical indications that would enable us to fix the date of the Waniyat temples with certainty, and the stone has decayed to such an extent that the details cannot be defined with the precision necessary for comparison with other examples; but whether this decay arises from time or from the nature of the stone there are no means of knowing. Lieutenant Cole, basing his inferences on certain similarities he detects between them and the temple of the Takt-i-Suleiman, which he believes was erected B.C. 220, ascribes their erection to the first century after Christ. Reasoning from the same basis, if the temple on the Takt belongs to the 17th century, I would infer that they were among the most modern temples in this style in the valley. Besides this, they are purely Hindu temples, without any of those Naga or Jaina peculiarities that distinguish the older ones, and almost certainly, therefore, may be placed after the year A.D. 1000. How much more modern they may be must be left for future inquiry.

Among the remaining examples, perhaps the one that most clearly exhibits the characteristics of the style is that at Pandrethan (Woodcut No. 167). It still stands, as it has always stood, in the centre of its tank; but the overflow drains, which originally served to keep the water at the same level, having become choked by neglect, it can now only be approached by swimming or in a boat. Originally, it seems to have had a third storey or division to its roof, but that has fallen; the lower part of the building, however, exhibits all the characteristic features of the style in as much perfection as almost any other known example.

One last example must conclude our illustrations of Kashmiri architecture. The temple at Payech, though one of the smallest, is among the most elegant, and also one of the most modern examples of the style (Woodcut No. 168). Its dimensions are only 8 ft. square for the superstructure, and 21 ft. high, including the basement; but with even these dimensions it acquires a certain dignity from being erected with only six stones—four for the walls and two for the roof.[324] It stands by itself on a knoll, without any court, or any of the surroundings of the older temples, and, being dedicated wholly to the gods of the Hindu Pantheon, it certainly belongs to an age when their worship had superseded the older faiths of the valley. It would be interesting if its date could be ascertained, as it carries with it that of the caves of Bhaumajo and of several other temples. So far as can at present be made out, it seems to belong to the 13th century of our era, but is probably of a more modern rather than of a more ancient date.

In order to write a complete monography of the Kashmiri style, we ought to be able to trace it very much further back than anything in the previous pages enables us to do, and by some means to connect it with the other styles of India. In order to do this, however, we must discover some Buddhist remains in Kashmir. We know from history that Asoka, B.C. 250, sent missionaries to convert the inhabitants of the valley to the Buddhist faith, and that in the 1st century Kanishka, a Buddhist king, reigned here absolutely;[325] and we know that in the 7th century Hiouen Thsang found Buddhism, if not the only religion, at least one of the dominant faiths of the people. The details he mentions, and the fact of his lingering here for two whole years (A.D. 633 to A.D. 634) to study its forms and scriptures, proves how important this religion then was.[326] But not one vestige of a chaitya or of a vihara has yet come to light; and though there are mounds which may contain stupas, it is most improbable that they will contain any architectural forms that may be of any use for our purposes.

When we know more of the forms and ages of the Gandhara monasteries (ante, pages 169, et seqq.), they may supply some of the missing links required to connect the Kashmiri style to that of the outer world; but till the temples in Salt Range, and other little-frequented parts of the Punjab are examined, we shall not know all that we desire. Meanwhile the annexed woodcut (No. 169), representing a temple at Mûlot, shows how nearly the Punjabi style resembled that of Kashmir. There are the same trefoil-headed openings; the fluted pillars, with quasi-classical bases and capitals; and a general similarity of style not to be mistaken. There is another temple very similar, but smaller, at Kathwai; both are near Pind Dadan Khan, and from what I can learn there are others which may form a connecting link between the Gandhara monasteries and the Kashmiri temples. It may be that Mahomedan bigotry has defaced them all; but, looking at the immense strides that have been made during the last few years in this direction, I feel confident that so soon as they are looked for all that is still wanting will certainly be found.

So many and so various are the points of interest connected with the style of the ancient buildings in Kashmir, that they deserve much fuller illustration than is compatible with the scope of the present work. Though not magnificent, they are very pleasing and appropriate examples of art, and they have this advantage over most of the Indian styles, that Kashmir possesses, in the ‘Raja Tarangini,’ what may be said to be the only Indian history in existence. Any one familiar with that work, and with the actual buildings, could without much difficulty fix their dates, and from the buildings illustrate the history. This has not yet been accomplished, but there is no doubt that it can be done.

Another point of interest connected with this style is the strange but undoubted affinity which exists between it and the architectural forms of ancient Greece. This, when fully investigated, may reveal to us relations between the two countries or their outlying dependencies which are not now suspected.

But the greatest point of interest is that arising out of the connexion which at one time seems to have existed between Kashmir and Cambodia, which will form the subject of a subsequent chapter. Between the two we shall probably be able to gather up the threads of the long-lost form of Serpent superstition, and learn to know what were the arrangements of the temples, and what the worship addressed to that mysterious deity.

I have already, in my work on Tree and Serpent worship, and in the Introduction, entered so fully into this subject, and said all that I have at present to say about it, that I need not do more here than recapitulate the results, but they can hardly be too often repeated in order to render the context intelligible. So far as I can ascertain, the people who adopted Buddhism in India were neither the Aryans nor the Dravidians, but a native aboriginal race in the north, whom the Aryans called Dasyus. Before their conversion they worshipped trees and serpents, and after their adoption of the higher and purer form of worship they continually relapsed to their old faith and old feelings whenever the influence of Buddhism became weak, or its discipline relaxed. This was especially the case in Kashmir, with Taxila, and Gandhara; it was the head-quarters of Naga worship in northern India; and though the inhabitants embraced Buddhism with avidity, there are everywhere signs of their backslidings. In Kashmir the oldest temples, if not exclusively Naga, certainly show an unmistakable tendency in that direction, and continued to do so till the Hindu revival in the 11th century. After that they were dedicated to Siva and Vishnu, and the people of the valley seem to have been completely converted to the Hindu religion, when they fell under the influence of the followers of Mahomet, and adopted the faith of the Arabian Prophet in or about the 14th century.

It is between the fall of Buddhism and the rise of Mahomedanism that all the temples in the true Kashmiri style must be ranged. Before that we have nothing—after that, only the tomb of Zein-ul-ab-ud-dín and the temple on the Takt-i-Suleiman can be classed as examples of the style, though the latter can hardly even claim a title to that affiliation.

CHAPTER II.

NEPAL.

Nepal also differs from Kashmir from the fact that the Mahomedans never had possession of their valley, and never, consequently, influenced their arts or their religions. The architectural history of the two valleys differs, consequently, in the following particulars:—In Kashmir we have a Buddhist period, superseded in the 8th century by an original quasi-classical style, that lasted till it, in its turn, was supplanted by that of the Moslem in the 15th century. In Nepal we have no succession of styles—no history in fact—for we do not know when any of the three religions was introduced; but what we find is the Vaishnava, Saiva, and Buddhist religions existing side by side at the present day, and flourishing with a rank luxuriance unknown on the plains of Bengal, where probably their exuberance was checked by the example of the Moslems, who, as just remarked, had no influence in the valley.

Owing to all the principal monuments in Nepal being modern—all, certainly, subsequent to the 14th century—and to the people being too poor to indulge in such magnificence as is found on the plains, the buildings of Nepal cannot compare, as architectural objects, with those found in other parts of India. But, on the other hand, the very fact of their being modern gives them an interest of their own, and though it is an exaggeration, it is a characteristic one, when it is said that in Nepal there are more temples than houses, and more idols than men; it is true to such an extent that there is an unlimited field for inquiry, and even if not splendid, the buildings are marvellously picturesque. Judging from photographs and such materials as are available, I have no hesitation in asserting that there are some streets and palaces in Khatmandu and Bhatgaon which are more picturesque, and more striking as architectural compositions, than are to be found in any other cities in India. The style may be called barbarous, and the buildings have the defect of being principally in wood; but their height, their variety of outline, their wealth of carving and richness of colour, are such as are not to be found in Benares or any other city of the plains.

The real point of interest in the architecture of Nepal to the true student of the art lies in its ethnographic meaning. When fully mastered, it presents us with a complete microcosm of India as it was in the 7th century, when Hiouen Thsang visited it—when the Buddhist and Brahmanical religions flourished side by side; and when the distinctive features of the various races were far more marked than they have since become under the powerful solvent of the Mahomedan domination.

From all these causes I believe that if the materials existed, and it were possible to write an exhaustive history of the architecture of the valley of Nepal, it would throw more light on most of the problems that are now perplexing us than that of any other province in India. It only, however, can be done by some one on the spot, and perfectly familiar not only with the Nepalese buildings but with all the phases of the question;[327] but even then its value would be more ethnographic than æsthetic. If this were an ethnographic history of architecture, to which the æsthetic question were subordinate, it would be indispensable that it should be attempted, however incomplete the materials might be; but the contrary being the case, it must suffice here to point out the forms of the architecture, merely indicating the modes in which the various styles are divided among the different races.

Like that of so many other countries of India, the mythic history of Nepal commences with that of the heroes of the ‘Mahabarata,’ but with some more reasons in this case than in most others, for it seems probable that it was through the Himalayas that the Pandus entered India, and certain, at all events, that the poem represents the survivors of the great war returning to their homes, accompanied by their dogs, across these mountains, through the dominion of the Gorkhas, if not actually through the valley of Nepal. The long lists of names, however, that connect these events with modern events, if not purely fabulous, are at least barren of all interest, and no event is recorded between 1300 years B.C. and A.D. 1300 that need arrest attention. What we do gather is, that at some remote period, probably the first century of our era, Buddhism did penetrate into the valley, and, finding it inhabited by a people of Thibetan origin, it was, of course, easily adopted, and has since remained the religion of that section of the population.[328]

There are two accounts of the mode in which the Hindu or Rajput element was introduced into the valley. The favourite one is, that after the sack of Chittore by Ala-u-dîn, in 1306, the conqueror sought the hand of the proud Rajput’s daughter, and to avoid the contamination he and his followers fled and sought refuge in Nepal.[329] Another account represents the Rajas of Mithila and Semrun—descendants of the Surya Vansa kings of Ayodhya—and the Rajputs of Canouge flying in like manner, in 1326, to avoid the tyranny of the Delhi emperors; and that it was these tribes, and not the fugitives from Chittore, who conquered and colonised a part of the valley.[330] Both accounts are probably to some extent true, and they and their followers form the Parbuttya or Hindu element in the population at the present day, and make up the bulk of those who profess the Hindu religion and worship Siva and Vishnu and the other gods of the Hindu Pantheon.

Before they entered the valley, however, it seems to have been occupied by Kiratas, Bhotyas, Newars, and other tribes of impure origin,[331] according to the Hindu idea of purity—in other words, Tartars or Thibetans—and they are those who had early adopted the doctrines of Buddha and still adhere to them. The Newars seem to have been the governing caste till the year 1768, when a weak sovereign having called in the assistance of a neighbouring Gorkha Raja, he seized the kingdom, and his successors still rule in Nepal. They apparently were originally of the Magar tribe,[332] but having mixed with the immigrant Hindus call themselves Rajputs, and have adopted the Hindu religion, though in a form very different from that known in the plains, and differing in a manner we would scarcely be inclined to expect. When the religion of the destroyer was introduced into a country that professed the mild religion of Buddha, it might naturally be supposed that its most savage features would be toned down, so as to meet, to some extent at least, the prejudices of the followers of the religion it was superseding. So far from this being the case in this instance, it is said that when first introducing the religion the Gorkhas propitiated the deity with human sacrifices, till warned in a dream to desist and substitute animals.[333] Besides this, the images of Durga or Kali, though hideous and repulsive enough in the plains, are ten times more so in Nepal; and, in fact, throughout there is an exaggeration of all the most prominent features of the religion, that would lead to the belief that it found a singularly congenial soil in the valley and blossomed with unusual exuberance there. This, in fact, is one of the reasons that lead to the belief that the religion of Siva is a northern Tartar superstition, which, when introduced into India, was softened and modified to suit the milder genius of the people; but among the hill tribes, with northern affinities, it was practised with all the Tantric devil-worshipping peculiarities that characterise its original birthplace. So far, too, as the architecture of the Saiva temples in Nepal is concerned, it seems to indicate that the worship came into the valley from the north, and not from the plains of Bengal. The architecture of the temples of Vishnu, on the contrary, seems evidently to be an offshoot of the art of the plains.

Stupas or Chaityas.

The two oldest and most important Buddhist monuments in the valley of Nepal are those of Swayambunath and Bouddhama:[334] the former, beautifully situated on a gentle eminence about a mile from Khatmandu, the latter at Kasachiel, at some distance off.