1835, Oct.—One day I called on the Begam, the mother of the young Nawāb of Farrukhabad, and found her with all her relations sitting in the garden; they were plainly dressed, and looked very ugly. For a woman not to be pretty when she is shut up in a zenāna appears almost a sin, so much are we ruled in our ideas by what we read in childhood of the hoorīs of the East.

One morning, the Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī called; his dress was most curious; half European, half Asiatic. The day being cold, he wore brown corduroy breeches, with black leather boots, and thick leather gloves; over this attire was a dress of fine white flowered Dacca muslin; and again, over that, a dress of pale pink satin, embroidered in gold! His turban was of gold and red Benares tissue. He carried his sword in his hand, and an attendant followed, bearing his hooqŭ; he was in high spirits, very agreeable, and I was quite sorry when he rose to depart. In the evening, he sent down a charming little elephant, only five years old, for me to ride; which I amused myself with doing in the beautiful grounds around the house, sitting on the back of the little beauty, and guiding him with cords passed through his ears.

The next evening the Nawāb sent his largest elephant, on which was an amārī,—that is, a howdah, with a canopy,—which, according to native fashion, was richly gilt, the interior lined with velvet, and velvet cushions; the elephant was a fast one, his paces very easy, and I took a long ride in the surrounding country.

The Muhammadans have a fondness for archery, for which the following extract accounts:—“There was an Arabian bow in the hand of the Prophet, and he saw a man with a Persian one, and said, ‘Throw away the Persian bow, and adopt the Arabian, and appropriate arrows and spears; because God verily will assist with them in religion, and will make you conquerors of cities.’” “Verily, God brings three persons into Paradise, on account of one arrow; the first, the maker of it, being for war; the second, the shooter of it in the road of God; the third, the giver of the arrow into the hands of the archer.”

“His Highness entered Mecca on the day of taking it with his sword ornamented with gold and silver; and he had two coats of mail on the day of the battle of Oh’ud, and wore one over the other; the Prophet had two standards, one large, the other small; the large one was black, and the small one white; verily, the Prophet came into Mecca with a white ensign.”

We were speaking to-day of the practice of burying money, so much resorted to by the natives, when a gentleman remarked,—“It is a curious circumstance, that when a native buries treasure, in order to secure it, the only persons who know the secret are a low, debased caste, called Chamārs; these men are faithful to their employer; they will bury lākhs of rupees, and never betray the spot; they dig the ground, and guard it; as long as their employer lives they keep the secret; the moment of his death, they dig up, and are off with the money; they consider they have a right to it in that case, and they would not give it up to his son.” This is a curious fact, and accounts for their strict secrecy during the life of the owner.

Buried treasures, consisting of jewels, as well as the precious metals, to the extent of lākhs and lākhs, are supposed to exist in the East; the inhabitants in ancient, and even in modern times, being in the habit of thus securing their property from plunder in wars and invasions; but they have not sufficient faith in their Mother Earth to leave their valuables in her care without the aid of necromancy (jādū); and, as before mentioned, the Akbarābādee, or square gold mohur, as represented by Fig. 7 in the plate entitled “Superstitions of the Natives,” is had recourse to, and buried with the treasure. Those who are not fortunate enough to possess a square gold mohur, substitute an Akbarābādee rupee, Fig. 5; or a square eight ānā piece, Fig. 4. It is also stated that an animal, sometimes a man, is killed, and buried with it as a guard; this animal is called jak, and receives orders to allow no one else to take up the treasure. It is not surprising the natives should behold the researches of English antiquaries with a jealous eye; and it must be some consolation to them that they believe a fatality awaits the appropriation, by the discoverer, of a hidden treasure.

15th.—Having despatched the pinnace to await my arrival at Cawnpore, I started dāk for that place, which I reached the next day, after a most disagreeable journey; I was also suffering from illness, but the care of my kind friends soon restored me to more comfortable feelings.

22nd.—I accompanied them to dine with the Nawāb Zulfecar Bahādur, of Banda. The Nawāb is a Muhammadan, but he is of a Mahratta family, formerly Hindoos; when he changed his religion, and became one of the faithful, I know not. Three of his children came in to see the company; the two girls are very interesting little creatures. The Nawāb sat at table, partook of native dishes, and drank sherbet when his guests took wine. The next day, the Nawāb dined with the gentleman at whose house I was staying, and met a large party.

24th.—I quitted Cawnpore in the Seagull, and once more found myself on the waters of the Gunga: a comet was plainly visible through a glass; its hazy aspect rendered it a malignant-looking star. The solitude of my boat is very agreeable after so much exertion.

25th.—Anchored off a ship-builder’s yard, and purchased six great trees; sal, shorea robusta, and teak (tectona grandis); what they may turn out I can scarcely tell; I bought them by torch-light, had them pitched into the river, and secured to the boats; the teak trees to make into tables and chairs; the sal for a thermantidote; we have one at home, but having seen one very superior at Fathīghar, induced me to have the iron-work made at that place; I have brought it down upon the boats, and have now purchased the wood for it, en route, timber being reasonable at Cawnpore.

26th.—Here are we,—that is, the dog Nero and the Mem sāhiba,—floating so calmly, and yet so rapidly, down the river; it is most agreeable; the temples and ghāts we are now passing at Dalmhow are beautiful; how picturesque are the banks of an Indian river! the flights of stone steps which descend into the water; the temples around them of such peculiar Hindoo architecture; the natives, both men and women, bathing or filling their jars with the water of the holy Gunga; the fine trees, and the brightness of the sunshine, add great beauty to the scene. One great defect is the colour of the stream, which, during the rains, is peculiarly muddy; you have no bright reflections on the Ganges, they fall heavy and indistinct.

28th.—Lugāoed the pinnace in the Jumna, beneath the great peepul in our garden, on the banks of the river.

31st.—Dined with Mr. Blunt, the Lieutenant-Governor; and the next day a lancet was put into my arm, to relieve an intolerable pain in my head, brought on by exposure to the sun on the river.

Nov. 6th.—The Lieutenant-Governor gave a farewell ball to the Station, on resigning the appointment to Mr. Ross. The news arrived that her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, having been forced to quit Fathīghar, by order of the Government, is on her march down to Benares; at which place they wish her to reside. Una Bā’ī, one of her ladies, having preceded her to Allahabad, called on me, and begged me to take her on board the Calcutta steam-vessel, an object of great surprise to the natives.

9th.—The gentlemen of the Civil Service, and the military at the Station, gave a farewell ball to the Lieutenant-Governor; I was ill, and unable to attend. Oh! the pain of rheumatic fever! The new Lieutenant-Governor arrived; he gave a few dinners, and received them in return; after which Allahabad subsided into its usual quietude, enlivened now and then by a Bachelor’s Ball.

1836, Jan. 16th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī arrived at Allahabad, and encamped about seven miles from our house, on the banks of the Jumna, beyond the city. A few days after, the Brija Bā’ī, one of her ladies, came to me, to say her Highness wished to see me; accordingly I went to her encampment. She was out of spirits, very unhappy and uncomfortable, but expressed much pleasure at my arrival.

Feb. 5th.—Her Highness requested the steam-vessel should be sent up the river, opposite her tents; she went on board, and was much pleased, asked a great many questions respecting the steam and machinery, and went a short distance up the river. Capt. Ross accompanied her Highness to Allahabad, and remained there in charge of her, whilst her fate was being decided by the Government.

9th.—The Bā’ī gave a dinner party at her tents to twenty of the civilians and the military; in the evening there was a nāch, and fireworks were displayed; the ex-Queen appeared much pleased.

There is a very extensive enclosure at Allahabad, called Sultan Khusrū’s garden; tents had been sent there, and pitched under some magnificent tamarind trees, where a large party were assembled at tiffin, when the Bā’ī sent down a Mahratta dinner, to add to the entertainment. In the evening, her two rhinoceroses arrived; they fought one another rather fiercely; it was an amusement for the party. Captain Ross having quitted Allahabad, Mr. Scott took charge of her Highness.

March 1st.—The Brija Bā’ī called to request me to assist them in giving a dinner party to the Station, for which the Bāiza Bā’ī wished to send out invitations; I was happy to aid her. The guests arrived at about seven in the evening; the gentlemen were received by Appa Sāhib, her son-in-law; the ladies were ushered behind the parda, into the presence of her Highness. I have never described the parda which protects the Mahratta ladies from the gaze of the men: In the centre of a long room a large curtain is dropped, not unlike the curtain at a theatre, the space behind which is sacred to the women; and there the gaddī of the Bā’ī was placed, close to the parda; a piece of silver, about six inches square, in which a number of small holes are pierced, is let into the parda; and this is covered on the inside with white muslin. When the Bā’ī wished to see the gentlemen, her guests, she raised the bit of white muslin, and could then see every thing in the next room through the holes in the silver plate—herself unseen. The gentlemen were in the outer room, the ladies in the inner. Appa Sāhib sat close to the parda; the Bā’ī conversed with him, and, through him, with some of the gentlemen present, whom she could see perfectly well.

Dancing girls sang and nāched before the gentlemen until dinner was announced. Many ladies were behind the parda with the Bāiza Bā’ī, and she asked me to interpret for those who could not speak Urdu. I was suffering from severe rheumatic pain in my face; her Highness perceiving it, took from a small gold box a lump of opium, and desired me to eat it, saying, she took as much herself every day. I requested a smaller portion; she broke off about one-third of the lump, which I put into my mouth, and as it dissolved the pain vanished; I became very happy, interpreted for the ladies, felt no fatigue, and talked incessantly. Returning home, being obliged to go across the country for a mile in a palanquin, to reach the carriage, the dust which rolled up most thickly half choked me; nevertheless, I felt perfectly happy, nothing could discompose me; but the next morning I was obliged to call in medical advice, on account of the severe pain in my head, from the effect of the opium.

The table for dinner was laid in a most magnificent tent, lined with crimson cloth, richly embossed, and lighted with numerous chandeliers. The nāch girls danced in the next apartment, but within sight of the guests; her Highness and her grand-daughter, from behind the parda, looked on. About two hundred native dishes, in silver bowls, were handed round by Brahmans; and it was considered etiquette to take a small portion from each dish. On the conclusion of the repast, the Governor-General’s agent rose, and drank her Highness’s health, bowing to the parda; and Appa Sāhib returned thanks, in the name of the Bā’ī. The dinner and the wines were excellent; the latter admirably cooled. Fireworks were let off, and a salute was fired from the cannon when the guests departed. Her nephew was there in his wedding dress—cloth of gold most elaborately worked. The Bā’ī expressed herself greatly pleased with the party, and invited me to attend the wedding of her nephew the next day, and to join her when she went in state to bathe in the Jumna. I was very glad to see her pleased, and in good spirits.

March 4th.—This being the great day of the wedding, at the invitation of the Bā’ī we took a large party to the camp to see the ceremonies in the cool of the evening. Having made our salām to her Highness, we proceeded with the Gaja Rājā Sāhib to the tents of the bride, which were about half a mile from those of the bridegroom. The ceremony was going on when we entered. The bridegroom, dressed in all his heavy finery, stood amongst the priests, who held a white sheet between him and the bride, who stood on the other side, while they chanted certain prayers. When the prayers were concluded, and a quantity of some sort of small grain had been thrown at the lady, the priest dropped the cloth, and the bridegroom beheld his bride. She was dressed in Mahratta attire, over which was a dopatta of crimson silk, worked in gold stars; this covered her forehead and face entirely, and fell in folds to her feet. Whether the person beneath this covering was man, woman, or child, it was impossible to tell: bound round the forehead, outside this golden veil, was a sihrā, a fillet of golden tissue, from which strings and bands of gold and silver fell over her face. The bridegroom must have taken upon trust, that the woman he wished to marry was the one concealed under these curious wedding garments. It was late at night; we all returned to the Bā’ī’s tent, and the ladies departed, all but Mrs. Colonel W— and myself; the Gaja Rājā having asked us to stay and see the finale of the marriage. The young Princess retired to bathe, after which, having been attired in yellow silk, with a deep gold border, and covered with jewels, she rejoined us, and we set out to walk half a mile to the tents of the bride; this being a part of the ceremony. The Gaja Rājā, her ladies, and attendants, Mrs. W—, and myself, walked with her in parda; that is, the canvas walls of tents having been fixed on long poles so as to form an oblong inclosure, a great number of men on the outside took up the poles and moved gently on; while we who were inside, walked in procession over white cloths, spread all the way from the tent of the Bā’ī to that of the bride. It was past 10 P.M. Fireworks were let off, and blue lights thrown up from the outside, which lighting up the procession of beautifully dressed Mahratta ladies, gave a most picturesque effect to the scene. The graceful little Gaja Rājā, with her slight form and brilliant attire, looked like what we picture to ourselves a fairy was in the good old times, when such beings visited the earth. At the head of this procession was a girl carrying a torch; next to her a nāch girl danced and figured about; then a girl in the dress of a soldier, who carried a musket and played all sorts of pranks. Another carried a pole, on which were suspended onions, old shoes, and all sorts of queer extraordinary things to make the people laugh. Arrived at the end of our march, the Gaja Rājā seated herself, and water was poured over her beautiful little feet. We then entered the tent of the bride, where many more ceremonies were performed. During the walk in parda, I looked at Mrs. W—, who had accompanied me, and could not help saying, “We flatter ourselves we are well dressed, but in our hideous European ungraceful attire we are a blot in the procession. I feel ashamed when the blue lights bring me out of the shade; we destroy the beauty of the scene.”

I requested permission to raise the veil and view the countenance of the bride. She is young, and, for a Mahratta, handsome. The Bā’ī presented her with a necklace of pure heavy red gold; and told me she was now so poor she was unable to give her pearls and diamonds. New dresses were then presented to all her ladies. We witnessed so many forms and ceremonies, I cannot describe one-fourth of them. That night the bridegroom took his bride to his own tents, but the ceremonies of the wedding continued for many days afterwards. I returned home very much pleased at having witnessed a shādī among the Hindoos, having before seen the same ceremony among the Muhammadans.

The ex-Queen had some tents pitched at that most sacred spot, the Treveni, the junction of the three rivers; and to these tents she came down continually to bathe; her ladies and a large concourse of people were in attendance upon her, and there they performed the rites and ceremonies. The superstitions and the religion of the Hindoos were to me most interesting subjects, and had been so ever since my arrival in the country. Her Highness was acquainted with this, and kindly asked me to visit her in the tents at the junction whenever any remarkable ceremony was to be performed. This delighted me, as it gave me an opportunity of seeing the worship, and conversing on religious subjects with the ladies, as well as with the Brahmans. The favourite attendant, the Brija Bā’ī never failed to call, and invite me to join their party at the time of the celebration of any particular rite. At one of the festivals her Highness invited me to visit her tents at the Treveni. I found the Mahratta ladies assembled there: the tents were pitched close to the margin of the Ganges, and the canvas walls were run out to a considerable distance into the river. Her Highness, in her usual attire, waded into the stream, and shaded by the kanāts from the gaze of men, reached the sacred junction, where she performed her devotions, the water reaching to her waist. After which she waded back again to the tents, changed her attire, performed pooja, and gave magnificent presents to the attendant Brahmans. The Gaja Rājā and all the Mahratta ladies accompanied the ex-Queen to the sacred junction, as they returned dripping from the river, their draperies of silk and gold clung to their figures; and very beautiful was the statue-like effect, as the attire half revealed and half concealed the contour of the figure.

15th.—The hot winds have set in very powerfully; to-day I was sent for by the Bāiza Bā’ī, who is in tents; great sickness is prevalent in the camp, and many are ill of cholera.

22nd.—Sir Charles Metcalfe arrived to reside at Allahabad, on his appointment to be Lieutenant-Governor of Agra. The hot winds are blowing very strongly; therefore, with tattīs, the house is cool and pleasant; while, out of doors, the heat is excessive. Her Highness, having been unable to procure a house, still remains encamped; the heat under canvas must be dreadful.

May 1st.—She sent for me, and I found the Gaja Rājā ill of fever, and suffering greatly from the intense heat.

May 9th.—Was the Sohobut Melā, or Fair of Kites, in Alopee Bāgh; I went to see it; hundreds of people, in their gayest dresses, were flying kites in all directions, so happily and eagerly; and under the fine trees in the mango tope, sweetmeats, toys, and children’s ornaments, were displayed in booths erected for the purpose. It was a pretty sight, that Alopee ke Melā.

The kites are of different shapes, principally square, and have no tails; the strings are covered with mānjhā, a paste mixed with pounded glass, and applied to the string, to enable it to cut that of another by friction. One man flies his kite against another, and he is the loser whose string it cut. The boys, and the men also, race after the defeated kite, which becomes the prize of the person who first seizes it. It requires some skill to gain the victory; the men are as fond of the sport as the boys.

The string of a kite caught tightly round the tail of my horse Trelawny, and threatened to carry away horse and rider tail foremost into mid-air! The more the kite pulled and danced about, the more danced Trelawny, the more frightened he became, and the tighter he tucked in his tail; the gentleman who was on the horse caught the string, and bit it in two, and a native disengaged it from the tail of the animal. A pleasant bite it must have been, that string covered with pounded glass! Yah! yah! how very absurd! I wish you had seen the tamāshā. In the evening we dined with Sir Charles Metcalfe; he was residing at Papamhow. He told me he was thinking of cutting down the avenue of nīm trees (melia azadirachta), that led from the house to the river; I begged hard that it might be spared, assuring him that the air around nīm trees was reckoned wholesome by the natives, while that around the tamarind was considered very much the contrary. In front of my rooms, in former days, at Papamhow, was a garden, full of choice plants, and a very fine young India-rubber tree; it was pleasant to see the bright green of the large glossy leaves of the caoutchouc tree, which flourished so luxuriantly. In those days, many flowering trees adorned the spot; among which the katchnar (bauhinia), both white and rose-coloured and variegated, was remarkable for its beauty. Sir Charles had destroyed my garden, without looking to see what trees he was cutting down; he had given the ruthless order. I spoke of and lamented the havoc he had occasioned; to recompense me, he promised to spare the avenue; which, when I revisited it years afterwards, was in excellent preservation.

14th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī sent for me in great haste; she was in alarm respecting the Gaja Rājā, who was ill of epidemic fever. Having lost her daughter, the Chimna Bā’ī, of fever, when she was driven out of Gwalior by her rebellious subjects, she was in the utmost distress, lest her only remaining hope and comfort, her young grand-daughter, should be taken from her. I urged them to call in European medical advice; they hesitated to do so, as a medical man might neither see the young Princess, nor feel her pulse. I drove off, and soon returned with the best native doctress to be procured; but, from what I heard at the consultation, it may be presumed her skill is not very great.

The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī is very ill; I fear his days are numbered.

The murder of Mr. Frazer, by the Nawāb Sumshoodeen, at Delhi, who bribed a man called Kureem Khan to shoot him, took place when I was at Colonel Gardner’s; no one could believe it when suspicion first fell upon the Nawāb; he had lived on such intimate terms with Mr. Frazer, who always treated him like a brother. The Nawāb was tried by Mr. Colvin, the judge, condemned and executed. The natives at Allahabad told me they thought it a very unjust act of our Government, the hanging the Nawāb merely for bribing a man to murder another, and said, the man who fired the shot ought to have been the only person executed. On Sunday, the 13th March, 1835, Kureem Khan was foiled in his attempt on Mr. Frazer’s life, as the latter was returning from a nāch, given by Hindoo Rāo, the brother of the Bāiza Bā’ī. He accomplished his purpose eight days afterwards, on the 22nd of the same month. In the Hon. Miss Eden’s beautiful work, “The Princes and People of India,” there is a sketch of Hindoo Rāo on horseback; his being the brother of the Bāiza Bā’ī is perhaps his most distinguishing mark; I have understood, however, he by no means equals the ex-Queen of Gwalior in talent.

June 7th.—Sir Charles Metcalfe gave a ball to the station: in spite of all the thermantidotes and the tattīs it was insufferably hot; but it is remarkable, that balls are always given and better attended during the intense heat of the hot winds, than at any other time.

9th.—The Bāiza Bā’ī sent word she wished to see me ere her departure, as it was her intention to quit Allahabad and proceed to the west: a violent rheumatic headache prevented my being able to attend. The next morning she encamped at Padshah Bāgh, beyond Allahabad, on the Cawnpore road, where I saw her the next evening in a small round tent, entirely formed of tattīs. The day after she quitted the ground and went one march on the Cawnpore road, when the Kotwal of the city was sent out by the magistrate to bring her back to Allahabad, and she was forced to return. Her grand-daughter is very ill, exposed to the heat and rains in tents. I fear the poor girl’s life will be sacrificed. Surely she is treated cruelly and unjustly. She who once reigned in Gwalior has now no roof to shelter her: the rains have set in; she is forced to live in tents, and is kept here against her will,—a state prisoner, in fact.

The sickness in our farm-yard is great: forty-seven gram-fed sheep and lambs have died of small-pox; much sickness is in the stable, but no horse has been lost in consequence.

25th.—Remarkably fine grapes are selling at one rupee the ser; i.e., one shilling per pound. The heat is intolerable; and the rains do not fall heavily, as they ought to do at this season. The people in the city say the drought is so unaccountable, so great, that some rich merchant, having large stores of grain of which to dispose, must have used magic to keep off the rains, that a famine may ensue, and make his fortune!