1836, June 28th.—A hurricane has blown ever since gun-fire; clouds of dust are borne along upon the rushing wind; not a drop of rain; nothing is to be seen but the whirling clouds of the tūfān. The old peepul-tree moans, and the wind roars in it as if the storm would tear it up by the roots. The pinnace at anchor on the Jumna below the bank rolls and rocks; the river rises in waves, like a little sea. Some of her iron bolts have been forced out by the pressure of the cables, and the sarang says, she can scarcely hold to her moorings. I am watching her unsteady masts, expecting the next gust will tear her from the bank, and send her off into the rushing and impetuous current. It is well it is not night, or she would be wrecked to a certainty. I have not much faith in her weathering such a tūfān at all, exposed as she is to the power of the stream and the force of the tempest. High and deep clouds of dust come rushing along the ground, which, soaring into the highest heaven, spread darkness with a dull sulphureous tinge, as the red brown clouds of the tūfān whirl swiftly on. It would almost be an inducement to go to India, were it only to see a hurricane in all its glory: the might and majesty of wind and dust: just now the fine sand from the banks of the river is passing in such volumes on the air, that the whole landscape has a white hue, and objects are indistinct; it drives through every crevice, and, although the windows are all shut, fills my eyes and covers the paper. It is a fearful gale. I have been out to see if the pinnace is likely to be driven from her moorings. The waves in the river are rolling high with crests of foam; a miniature sea. So powerful were the gusts, with difficulty I was able to stand against them. Like an Irish hurricane it blew up and down. At last the falling of heavy rain caused the abatement of the wind. The extreme heat passed away, the trees, the earth, all nature, animate and inanimate, exulted in the refreshing rain. Only those who have panted and longed for the fall of rain can appreciate the delight with which we hailed the setting in of the rains after the tūfān.

3rd.—This morning the Bā’ī sent down two of her ladies, one of whom is a celebrated equestrian, quite an Amazon: nevertheless, in stature small and slight, with a pleasant and feminine countenance. She was dressed in a long piece of white muslin, about eighteen yards in length; it was wound round the body and passed over the head, covering the bosom entirely: a part of it was brought up tight between the limbs, so that it had the appearance of full trousers falling to the heels. An embroidered red Benares shawl was bound round her waist; in it was placed a sword and a pistol, and a massive silver bangle was on one of her ancles. Her attendants were present with two saddle horses, decked in crimson and gold, and ornaments of silver, after the Mahratta fashion. She mounted a large bony grey, astride of course, and taking an extremely long spear in her hand, galloped the horse about in circles, performing the spear exercise in the most beautiful and graceful style at full gallop; her horse rearing and bounding, and showing off the excellence of her riding. Dropping her spear, she took her matchlock, performing a sort of mimic fight, turning on her saddle as she retreated at full gallop, and firing over her horse’s tail. She rode beautifully and most gracefully. When the exhibition was over, we retired to my dressing-room: she told me she had just arrived from Juggernāth, and was now en route to Lahore to Runjeet Singh. She was anxious I should try the lance exercise on her steed, which I would have done, had I possessed the four walls of a zenāna, within which to have made the attempt.

What does Sir Charles Metcalfe intend to do with the poor Bā’ī? what will be her fate? this wet weather she must be wretched in tents. The Lieutenant-Governor leaves Allahabad for Agra, in the course of a day or two.

In the evening I paid my respects to her Highness. I happened to have on a long rosary and cross of black beads; she was pleased with it, and asked me to procure some new rosaries for her, that they might adorn the idols, whom they dress up, like the images of the saints in France, with all sorts of finery.

She showed me a necklace of gold coins, which appeared to be Venetian: the gold of these coins is reckoned the purest of all, and they sell at a high price. The natives assert they come from the eastward, and declare that to the East is a miraculous well, into which, if copper coins be thrown, they come out after a time the very purest of gold. In the sketch entitled “Superstitions of the Natives,” No. 8 represents a coin of this enchanted well: they are called Putlī, and the following extract makes me consider them Venetian:—

“It was in the reign of John Dandolo, 1285, that gold zecchini (sequins) were first struck in Venice. But before they could be issued, the Doge had to obtain the permission of the Emperor and the Pope. These zecchini bore the name and image of the Doge, at first seated on a ducal throne, but afterwards he was represented standing; and, finally, in the latter times of the Republic, on his knees, receiving from the hands of St. Mark the standard of the Republic.”

The necklace, which was a wedding present to the bride, consisted of three rows of silken cords, as thickly studded with these coins as it was possible to put them on, the longest string reaching to the knees: it was very heavy, and must have been valuable. Another Mahratta lady wore a necklace of the same description, but it consisted of a single row, which reached from her neck to her feet: people less opulent wear merely one, two, or three putlīs around the neck.

An old Muhammadan darzī of the Shī’ā sect asked me one morning to be allowed to go to the bazār to purchase a putlī (a doll) to bind upon his forehead, to take away a violent pain in his head. This request of his puzzled me greatly: at the time I was ignorant that putlī was also the name of the charmed coin, as well as that of a doll. He told me he had recovered from severe headache before in consequence of this application, and believed the remedy infallible. The Bā’ī mentioned that she struck mohurs and half mohurs at Gwalior, in her days of prosperity. I showed her some new rupees struck by the East India Company, with the king’s head upon them, which, having examined, she said, “These rupees are very paltry, there is so little pure silver in them.”

5th.—The ladies of the station held a fancy fair at the theatre for the benefit of the Blind Asylum, which realized one hundred and eighty pounds.

8th.—Sir Charles quitted this station for Agra, leaving Allahabad to return to its usual routine of quietness. The thermantidotes have been stopped, rain has fallen plentifully, the trees have put on their freshest of greens, and the grass is springing up in every direction. How agreeable, how pleasant to the eye is all this luxuriant verdure!

The report in the bazār is, that a native of much wealth and consideration went into his zenāna tents, in which he found two of his wives and a man; the latter escaped; he killed both the women. A zenāna is a delightful place for private murder, and the manner in which justice is distributed between the sexes is so impartial! A man may have as many wives as he pleases, and mistresses without number;—it only adds to his dignity! If a woman take a lover, she is murdered, and cast like a dog into a ditch. It is the same all the world over; the women, being the weaker, are the playthings, the drudges, or the victims of the men; a woman is a slave from her birth; and the more I see of life, the more I pity the condition of the women. As for the manner in which the natives strive to keep them virtuous, it is absurd; a girl is affianced at three or four years old, married, without having seen the man, at eleven, shut up and guarded and suspected of a wish to intrigue, which, perhaps, first puts it into her head; and she amuses herself with outwitting those who have no dependence upon her, although, if discovered, her death generally ends the story.

27th.—How weary and heavy is life in India, when stationary! Travelling about the country is very amusing; but during the heat of the rains, shut up in the house, one’s mind and body feel equally enervated. I long for a bracing sea breeze, and a healthy walk through the green lanes of England; the lovely wild flowers,—their beauty haunts me. Here we have no wild flowers; from the gardens you procure the most superb nosegays; but the lovely wild flowers of the green lanes are wanting. Flowering trees are planted here on the sides of the roads, and I delight in bringing home a bouquet.

A steamer comes up every month from Calcutta; she tows a tug, that is, a large flat vessel, which carries the passengers. The steamers answer well; but what ugly-looking, mercantile things they are!

I must give an extract from the letter of a friend, describing an adventure, such as you would not meet with in the green lanes of Hampshire:—“The boat was getting on slowly, and I went into the hills at Rajmahal, to get a deer or peacock or jungle-fowl, in fact, something for the kitchen. Some way in the interior I heard a queer noise, which one of my servants said was a deer; as I could not draw the shot in my gun (which is a single barrel flint) to substitute a ball, having only a make-shift ramrod, I consoled myself that the shot was large, and pushed on in the direction of the noise, which still continued. As I came on the upper end of a hollow in the side of the hill, filled with jungle and long grass, some animal jumped up at about fifteen yards in front; he was evidently large, and what the great composers of the ‘Sporting Magazine’ term, of a fulvous colour; he was decidedly, in the opinion of the beaters, a very heavy deer, of three or four mŭns. Hark forward! was now the word, as the same great composers would again say; we crossed a hollow road, entered the jungle on the opposite side, a little below the direction the animal had taken, and had not gone fifteen yards when up rose, without hurry, a handsome large tiger, just out of arm’s length, and a little from behind me; his gait was slunk and shuffling; I saw at once that he was going from me, and, owing to that circumstance, I passed in review his sleeky flank and black stripes with much pleasure. I was a good deal excited, it being my first wild beast sight au naturel; I almost felt an inclination to slap my shot at him.”

The sketch, entitled “The Spring Bow,” was taken in the Rajmahal hills, not far from the jungle in which my friend saw the tiger; the bête sauvage represented in it might perhaps have been the very one whose sleeky flank and black stripes he viewed with so much pleasure.

August.—The cows are now in the finest order possible; they are fed on Lucerne grass and cotton seed, and go out grazing. The cotton seed is considered very fattening for cattle; it is separated, by the aid of a very simple machine, from the fine white cotton in which it is immersed in the cells of the capsule; and this work is usually performed by women. Butter is made every morning and evening; and, now and then, a cream cheese. The butter is very fine, of a bright yellow colour, and the cream cheese excellent. The extra butter having been clarified, and sealed down in jars, keeps good for twelve months.

9th.—Nagapanchmee: This day is sacred to the demigods, in the form of serpents; the natives smear the doors of their houses with cow-dung and nīm-leaves, to preserve them from poisonous reptiles. Nīm-leaves are put amongst shawls and clothes, and also in books, to defend them from moths and insects.

23rd.—During the night it began to blow most furiously, accompanied by heavy rain and utter darkness; so fierce a tūfān I never witnessed before. It blew without cessation, raining heavily at intervals; and the trees were torn up by their roots. At 4 A.M. the storm became so violent, it wrecked twenty large native salt boats just below our house; the river roared and foamed, rising in high waves from the opposition of the wind and stream. Our beautiful pinnace broke from her moorings, was carried down the stream a short distance, driven against the broken bastions of the old city of Prag, which have fallen into the river, and totally wrecked just off the Fort; she went down with all her furniture, china, books, wine, &c., on board, and has never been seen or heard of since; scarcely a vestige has been discovered. Alas! my beautiful Seagull; she has folded her wings for ever, and has sunk to rest! We can only rejoice no lives were lost, and that we were not on board; the sarang and khalāsīs (sailors) swam for their lives; they were carried some distance down the stream, below the Fort, and drifted on a sandbank. The headless image of the satī, that graced the cabin, had brought rather too much wind. When the sarang lamented her loss, I could only repeat, as on the day he carried off the lady, “Chorī ke mal nā’īch hazm hota,”—stolen food cannot be digested: i.e. ill deeds never thrive.

The cook-boat was swamped. On the going down of the river, although she was in the mud, with her back broken, she was sold, and brought the sum we originally gave for her when new;—such was the want of boats, occasioned by the numbers that were lost in the storm! The next morning, three of the Venetians and the companion-ladder of the pinnace were washed ashore below the Fort, and brought to us by a fisherman. We were sorry for the fate of the Seagull; she was a beautifully built vessel, but not to be trusted, the white ants had got into her. The mischief those white ants do is incalculable; they pierce the centre of the masts and beams, working on in the dark, seldom showing marks of their progress outside, unless during the rains. Sometimes a mast, to all appearance sound, will snap asunder; when it will be discovered the centre has been hollowed by the white ants, and the outside is a mere wooden shell. Almost all the trees in the garden were blown down by the gale.

Sept. 6th.—I visited the Mahratta camp, to witness the celebration of the anniversary of the birth of Krishnŭ; an account of the ceremonies and of the life of Kaniyā-jee shall be given in a separate chapter.

Oct. 19th.—The Commander-in-Chief, Sir Henry Fane, arrived; his tents are pitched before the Fort, on the side of the Jumna; the elephants, the camels, and the horses in attendance form a picturesque assemblage, much to my taste.

21st.—The station gave a ball to Sir Henry and his party; he is a magnificent-looking man, with good soldier-like bearing, one of imposing presence, a most superb bow, and graceful speaking. I admire his appearance, and think he must have merited his appellation, in olden times, of the handsome aide-de-camp.

27th.—Sir Henry Fane reviewed the troops of the station, and a ball took place in the evening, at the house of Mr. Fane, the brother of the Commander-in-Chief. A few days afterwards, the ladies of his family requested me to accompany them to visit her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, which I did with much pleasure, and acted as interpreter.

Nov. 3rd.—We dined with Sir Henry in camp, and he promised to show me tiger-shooting in perfection, if I would accompany his party to Lucnow.

7th.—Some friends anchored under our garden, on their way to Calcutta; the sight of their little fleet revived all my roaming propensities, and, as I wished to consult a medical man at the Residency, in whom I had great faith, I agreed to join their party, and make a voyage down the river. The Bāiza Bā’ī was anxious to see my friends; we paid her a farewell visit; she was charmed with Mr. C—, who speaks and understands the language like a native, and delighted with the children.

13th.—Our little fleet of six vessels quitted Allahabad, and three days afterwards we arrived at Mirzapore, famous for its beautiful ghāts and carpet manufactories.

17th.—Anchored under the Fort of Chunar, a beautiful object from the river; it was not my intention to have anchored there, but the place looked so attractive, I could not pass by without paying it a visit. The goats and sheep, glad to get a run after their confinement in the boat, are enjoying themselves on the bank; and a boy, with a basket full of snakes (cobra di capello), is trying to attract my attention. In the cool of the evening we went into the Fort, which is situated on the top of an abrupt rock, which rises from the river. The view, coming from Allahabad, is very striking; the ramparts running along the top of the rising ground, the broad open river below; the churchyard under the walls, on the banks of the Gunga, with its pretty tombs of Chunar stone rising in all sorts of pointed forms, gives one an idea of quiet, not generally the feeling that arises on the sight of a burial-place in India; the ground was open, and looked cheerful as the evening sun fell on the tombs; the hills, the village, the trees, all united in forming a scene of beauty. We entered the magazine, and visited the large black slab on which the deity of the Fort is said to be ever present, with the exception of from daybreak until the hour of 9 A.M., during which time he is at Benares. Tradition asserts that the Fort has never been taken by the English, but during the absence of their god Burtreenath. We walked round the ramparts, and enjoyed the view. The church, and the houses which stretch along the river-side for some distance, and the Fort itself, looked cheerful and healthy; which accounted for the number of old pensioners to be found at Chunar, who have their option as to their place of residence.

As you approach Benares, on the left bank of the river, stands the house of the Rājā of Benares, a good portly looking building. The appearance of the Holy City from the river is very curious, and particularly interesting. The steep cliff on which Benares is built is covered with Hindoo temples and ghāts of all sizes and descriptions; the first ghāt, built by Appa Sāhib, from Poona, I thought handsome; but every ghāt was eclipsed by the beauty of the one which is now being built by her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī; the scale is so grand, so beautiful, so light, and it is on so regular a plan, it delighted me; it is the handsomest ghāt I have seen in India; unfinished as it is, it has cost her Highness fifteen lākh; to finish it will cost twenty lākh more; should she die ere the work be completed it will never be finished, it being deemed unlucky to finish the work of a deceased person. The money, to the amount of thirty-seven lākh, which the Bā’ī had stored in her house at Benares, to complete the ghāt, and to feed the Brahmāns, whose allowance was two hundred rupees, i.e. £20 a day, has been seized by the Government, and put into the Company’s treasury, where it will remain until the point now in dispute is settled; that is, whether it belong to the Bā’ī or to her adopted son, the present Mahārāj of Gwalior, who forced her out of the kingdom. Several Hindoo temples are near this ghāt; a cluster of beauty. Two chiraghdanīs, which are lighted up on festivals, are curious and pretty objects; their effect, when glittering at night with thousands of little lamps, must be beautiful, reflected with the temples, and crowds of worshippers on the waters below; and great picturesque beauty is added to the scene by the grotesque and curious houses jutting out from the cliff, based on the flights of stone steps which form the ghāts. How I wished I could have seen Benares from the river during the Dewalī, or Festival of Lights! At sunset we went up the Minarets, built by Aurunzebe; they are considered remarkably beautiful, towering over the Hindoo temples; a record of the Muhammadan conquest.

On my return to my budjerow, a number of native merchants were in waiting, hoping to dispose of their goods to the strangers; they had boxes full of Benares turbans, shawls, gold and silver dresses, kimkhwāab, and cloth of gold. This place is famous for its embroidery in gold, and for its tissues of gold and silver. I purchased some to make a native dress for myself, and also some very stiff ribbon, worked in silk and gold, on which are the names of all the Hindoo deities; the Hindoos wear them round their necks; they are holy, and called junéoo. The English mare and my little black horse met me here, en route to Calcutta.

The Bāiza Bā’ī told me by no means to pass Benares without visiting her ghāt and her house; some of her people having come down to the river, I returned with them to see the house; it is very curiously situated in the heart of the city. Only imagine how narrow the street is which leads up to it; as I sat in my palanquin, I could touch both the sides of the street by stretching my arms out, which I did to assure myself of its extreme narrowness. All the houses in this street are five or six stories high. We stopped at the house of the Bā’ī; it is six stories high, and was bought by her Highness as a place in which to secure her treasure. It is difficult to describe a regular Hindoo house such as this; which consists of four walls, within and around which the rooms are built story above story; but from the foundation to the top of the house there is a square in the centre left open, so that the house encloses a small square court open to the sky above, around which the rooms are built with projecting platforms, on which the women may sit, and eat the air, as the natives call it, within the walls of their residence. I clambered up the narrow and deep stone stairs, story after story, until I arrived at the top of the house; the view from which was unique: several houses in the neighbourhood appeared much higher than the one on which I was standing, which was six stories high. The Mahratta, who did the honours on the part of her Highness, took me into one of the rooms, and showed me the two chests of cast iron, which formerly contained about eighteen thousand gold mohurs. The Government took that money from the Bā’ī by force, and put it into their treasury. Her Highness refused to give up the keys, and also refused her sanction to the removal of the money from her house; the locks of the iron chests were driven in, and the tops broken open; the rupees were in bags in the room; the total of the money removed amounted to thirty-seven lākh. Another room was full of copper coins; another of cowries; the latter will become mouldy and fall into dust in the course of time. One of the gentlemen of the party went over the house with me, and saw what I have described. Atr and pān were presented, after which we took our leave and proceeded to the market-place. The braziers’ shops were open, but they refused to sell any thing, it being one of the holidays on which no worker in brass is allowed to sell goods.

The worship of Vishwŭ-kŭrma, the son of Brŭmha, the architect of the gods, was perhaps being performed. On that day blacksmiths worship their hammer and bellows; carpenters, the mallet, chisel, hatchet, saw, &c.; washermen, their irons; and potters, the turning-wheel, as the representative of this god. The festival closes with singing and gaiety, smoking and eating.

19th.—The hour was too early, and but few shops were open, which gave a dull look to this generally crowded and busy city.

The air is cool and pleasant; we float gently down the river; this quiet, composed sort of life, with a new scene every day, is one of great enjoyment.

I must not forget to mention that, after a considerable lapse of time, the treasure that was detained by the Government on behalf of the young Mahārāj of Gwalior, was restored to her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī.