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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
wonder of those who venture amongst its almost impervious and
unfrequented woods to worship. As I could not go myself, I
dispatched the Guru to hunt for inscriptions and bring me an
account of it.
Dābhi, February 20, eleven miles; thermometer 48°.—
Reascended the third steppe of our miniature Alp, at the Nasera pass
(ghat), the foot of which was exactly five miles from Bhainsror, and
three and a half furlongs more carried us to its summit, which is of
easy ascent, though the pathway was rugged, lying between high
peaks on either side. This alone will give a tolerable idea of the
height of the Patar above the level of the river. Majestic trees cover
the hill from the base to its summit, through [659] which we could
never have found a passage for the baggage without the axe.
Besides some noble tamarind (imli) trees, there was the lofty semal,
or cotton-tree; the gnarled sakhu, which looks like a leper amongst
its healthy brethren; the tendu, or ebony-tree, now in full fruit, and
the useful dhao, besides many others of less magnitude.[14]—The
landscape from the summit was grand: we looked down upon the
Charmanvati (vulg. Chambal) and the castle of Raghunath; while the
eye commanded a long sweep of the black Bamani gliding through
the vale of Antri to its termination at the tombs of the Saktawats.
The road to Dabhi was very fair for such a tract, and when within
four miles of our tents, we crossed a stream said to have its fountain
at Menal, which must consequently be one of the highest points of
Uparmal. This rill afforded another means of estimating the height of
our position, for besides the general fall to the brink of the chasm, it
precipitates itself in a fine cascade of three hundred feet. Neither
time nor place admitted of our following this rill to its termination,
about six miles distant, through a rugged woody tract. From the
summit of the pass of Nasera, we had a peep at the tomb of a
Muslim saint, whence the ground gradually shelved to the end of our
journey at Kotah.
Monuments to Warriors.—Dabhi is the line of demarcation
between Mewar and Bundi, being itself in the latter State, in the
district of Loecha,—dreary enough! It produces, however, rice and
makkai, or Indian corn, and some good patches of wheat. We
passed the cairns, composed of loose stones, of several Rajputs slain
in defending their cattle against the Minas of the Kairar. I was
particularly struck with that of a Charan bard, to whose memory
they have set up a paliya, or tombstone,[15] on which is his effigy, his
lance at rest, and shield extended, who most likely fell defending his
tanda. This tract was grievously oppressed by the banditti who dwell
amidst the ravines of the Banas, on the western declivity of the
plateau. “Who durst,” said my guide, as we stopped at these tumuli,
“have passed the Patar eighteen months ago? they (the Minas)
would have killed you for the cakes you had about you; now you
may carry gold. These green fields would have been shared, perhaps
reaped altogether, by them; but now, though there is no superfluity,
there is ‘play for the teeth,’ and we can put our turban under our
heads at night without the fear of missing it in the morning. Atal Raj!
may your sovereignty last for ever!” This is the universal language of
men who have never known peaceful days, who have been nurtured
amidst the elements of discord and rapine, and who, consequently,
can appreciate the change, albeit they were not mere spectators.
“We must retaliate,” said a sturdy [660] Chauhan, one of Morji’s
vassals, who, with five besides himself, insisted on conducting me to
Bhainsror, and would only leave me when I would not let them go
beyond the frontier. I was much amused with the reply of one of
them whom I stopped with the argumentum ad verecundiam, as he
began a long harangue about five buffaloes carried off by the Thakur
of Nimri, and begged my aid for their recovery. I said it was too far
back; and added, laughing, “Come, Thakur, confess; did you never
balance the account elsewhere?”—“Oh, Maharaja, I have lost many,
and taken many, but Ramdohai! if I have touched a blade of grass
since your raj, I am no Rajput.” I found he was a Hara, and
complimented him on his affinity with Alu, the lord of Bumbaoda,
which tickled his vanity not a little. In vain I begged them to return,
after escorting me so many miles. To all my solicitations the
Chauhan replied, “You have brought us comfort, and this is man ki
chakari, 'service of the heart.'” I accepted it as such, and we “whiled
the gait” with sketches of the times gone by. Each foot of the
country was familiar to them. At one of the cairns, in the midst of
the wood, they all paused for a second; it was raised over the
brother of the Bhatti Thakur, and each, as he passed, added a stone
to this monumental heap. I watched, to discern whether the same
feeling was produced in them which the act created in me; but if it
existed, it was not betrayed. They were too familiar with the reality
to feel the romance of the scene; yet it was one altogether not ill-
suited to the painter.
Karipur, February 21, 9½ miles.—Encamped in the glen of
Karipura, confined and wild. Thermometer 51°, but a fine, clear,
bracing atmosphere. Our route lay through a tremendous jungle.
Half-way, crossed the ridge, the altitude of which made up for the
descent to Dabhi, but from whence we again descended to Karipura.
There were many hamlets in this almost impervious forest; but all
were desolate, and the only trace of population was in the altars of
those who had defended to the death their dreary abodes against
the ruthless Mina of the Kairar, which we shall visit on our return.
Sontra.—About a mile after we had commenced our march this
morning, we observed the township of Sontra on our right, which is
always conjoined to Dabhi, to designate the tappa of Dabhi-Sontra, a
subdivision of Loecha. Being informed by a scout that it contained
inscriptions, I requested my Guru and one of my Brahmans to go
there. The search afforded a new proof of the universality of the
Pramar sway, and of the conquests of another “Lord of the world
and the faith,” Alau-d-din, the second [661] Alexander. The Yati
found several altars having inscriptions, and many paliyas, from
three of which, placed in juxtaposition, he copied the following
inscriptions:
“Samvat 1422 (A.D. 1366). Pardi, Teja, and his son, Deola Pardi,
from the fear of shame, for the gods, Brahmans, their cattle, and
their wives, sold their lives.”
“S. 1446 (A.D. 1390). In the month of Asarh (badi yakam):
Monday, in the castle of Sontra (Sutrawan durg), the Pramar Uda,
Kala, Bhuna, for their kine, wives, Brahmans, along with the putra
Chonda, sold their existence.”
 “S. 1466 (A.D. 1410), the 1st Asarh, and Monday, at Sontragram,
Rugha, the Chaora, in defence of the gods, his wife, and the
Brahmans, sold his life.”
The following was copied from a kund, or fountain, excavated in
the rock:
“S. 1370 (A.D. 1314), the 16th of Asarh (sudi yakam), he, whose
renown is unequalled, the king, the lord of men, Maharaja Adiraj, Sri
Alau-d-din, with his army of three thousand elephants, ten lakhs of
horse, war-chariots and foot without number, conquering from
Sambhar in the north, Malwa, Karnat, Kanor, Jalor, Jaisalmer, Deogir,
Tailang, even to the shores of the ocean, and Chandrapuri in the
east; victorious over all the kings of the earth, and by whom
Sutrawan Durg, with its twelve townships, have been wrested from
the Pramar Mansi; by whose son, Bilaji, whose birthplace (utpatti) is
Sri Dhar, this fountain was excavated. Written and also engraved by
Sahideva the stone-cutter (sutradhar).”
Beneath the surface of the fountain was another inscription, but
there was no time to bale out the water, which some future traveller
over the Patar may accomplish. Sontra, or as classically written,
Satrudurg, ‘the inaccessible to the foe,’ was one of the castles of the
Pramar, no doubt dependent on Chitor when under the Mori dynasty;
and this was only one of the subdivisions of Central India, which was
all under Pramar dominion, from the Nerbudda to the Jumna—an
assertion proved by inscriptions and traditions. We shall hear more
of this at Menal and Bijoli on our return over Uparmal, which I
resolve to be thoroughly acquainted with.
Kotah, February 22, eleven miles to the banks of the Chambal.—
Although not a cloud was to be seen, the sun was invisible till more
than spear-high, owing to a thick vapoury mist, accompanied by a
cold piercing wind from the north-west. The descent was gradual all
the way to the river, but the angle may be estimated from the fact
that the pinnacle (kalas) of the palace, though one hundred and
twenty feet above the level of the Chambal, was not visible until
within five miles of the bank. The barren [662] tract we passed over
is all in Bundi, until we approach Kotah, where the lands of Nanta
intervene, the personal domain of the regent Zalim Singh, and the
only territory belonging to Kotah west of the Chambal. Karipura, as
well as all this region, is inhabited by Bhils, of which race a very
intelligent individual acted this morning as our guide. He says it is
called by them Baba ka nund, and that they were the sovereigns of
it until dispossessed by the Rajputs. We may credit them, for it is
only fit for Bhils or their brethren of the forest, the wildbeasts. But I
rejoiced at having seen it, though I have no wish to retrace my steps
over this part of my journey. Half-way, we passed a roofless shed of
loose stones, containing the divinity of the Bhils; it is in the midst of
a grove of thorny tangled brushwood, whose boughs were here and
there decorated with shreds of various coloured cloth, offerings of
the traveller to the forest divinity for protection against evil spirits,
by which I suppose the Bhils themselves are meant.[16]
Maypoles.—We must not omit (though we have quitted the
Patar) to notice the ‘Maypoles’ erected at the entrance of every
village in the happy basant or spring, whose concluding festival, the
Holi or Saturnalia, is just over. This year the season has been most
ungenial, and has produced sorrow rather than gladness. Every pole
has a bundle of hay or straw tied at the top, and some have a cross
stick like arms and a flag flying; but in many parts of the Patar, the
more symbolic plough was substituted, dedicated to the goddess of
fruition, and served the double purpose of a Spring-pole, and
frightening the deer from nibbling the young corn.
Kotah City.—The appearance of Kotah is very imposing, and
impresses the mind with a more lively notion of wealth and activity
than most cities in India. A strong wall with bastions runs parallel to,
and at no great distance from, the river, at the southern extremity of
which is the palace (placed within a castle separated from the town),
whose cupolas and slender minarets give to it an air of light
elegance. The scene is crowded with objects animate and inanimate.
Between the river and the city are masses of people plying various
trades; but the eye dwells upon the terminating bastion to the north,
which is a little fort of itself, and commands the country on both
banks. But we shall have more to say regarding this during our halt,
which is likely to be of some continuance [663].

1. [About 120 miles E.N.E. from Udaipur city.]

2. See Vol. I. p. 241.

3. [Rāwat, Rājaputra, ‘King’s son.’]

4. [In the Indore State, 9 miles S.W. of Mhow cantonment (IGI, x.

134).]

5. [By another tradition, Bhainsa Sāh was a merchant, servant of

the Chauhān kings of Sāmbhar and Ajmer (Erskine ii. A. 96).]

6. [The “cradle of the Rāthors,” now in Mallāni.]

7. [The ‘cleft or fissure of the Rāni.’]

8. [The feudal levy.]

9. [About 70 miles N.E. of Udaipur city.]

10. [A criminal tribe, known in the Panjāb as Bāwaria, and as

Moghias in Mārwār (Census Report, Mārwār, 1891, ii. 190 f.).]

11. [The ‘annual knot.’ The custom still prevails among Indian
Muhammadans, and the mother of the Mughal Emperor used to
keep a string in the harem, and added a knot, probably as a magical
protective, for every year of her son’s life. The custom of using in
this way a thread of red or yellow silk was adopted by the Rājputs
(Āīn, i. 267; Jaffur Shurreef, Qanoon-e-Islam, 26; Manucci ii. 346).]

12. [The usual form is: Bher bakrī ek ghāt pītē hain, ‘The wolf and
the goat drink at the same river steps.’]
 13. [This is the reading by Dr. Tessitori, who remarks: “The above,
of course, is Sanskrit.”]

14. [Imli, Tamarindus indica; semal, Bombax heptaphyllum; sākhu

or sagwān, the teak, Tectona grandis; tendu, Diospyrus
embryopteris; dhao, Anogeissus latifolia.]

15. [Pāliya, ‘a protective, guardian,’ or ‘home of the guardian

spirit’; often erected to Rājputs or others dying on the field of battle.
At the Kāli Chaudas festival, 14th dark half of Āsho, these stones are
daubed with red lead, and coco-nuts are offered (Enthoven, Folklore
Notes, Gujarāt, 90; BG, ix. Part I. 218, 363 f.; Forbes, Rāsmāla,
691).]

16. The same practice is described by Park as existing in Africa.

[Such trees are known in Gujarāt as ‘Rag Uncle’ (Forbes, Rāsmāla,
452). On rag-trees see E. S. Hartland, Legend of Perseus, ii. 175 ff.;
W. Crooke, Popular Religion and Folklore of N. India, 2nd ed. i. 161
ff.]

CHAPTER 7

Unhealthiness of Kotah. Nanta, September 10, 1820.—A day

of deliverance, which had been looked forward to by all of us as a
new era in our existence. The last four months of our residence at
Kotah was a continued struggle against cholera and deadly fever:
never in the memory of man was such a season known. This is not a
state of mind or body fit for recording passing events; and although
the period of the last six months—from my arrival at Kotah in
February last, to my leaving it this morning—has been one of the
most eventful of my life, it has left fewer traces of these events upon
my mind for notice in my journal than if I had been less occupied.
The reader may be referred, for an abstract of these occurrences, to
Chapter 6, which will make him sufficiently acquainted with the
people amongst whom we have been living. To try back for the less
important events which furnish the thread of the Personal Narrative,
would be vain, suffering, whilst this journal is written, under fever
and ague, and all my friends and servants in a similar plight. Though
we more than once changed our ground of encampment, sickness
still followed us. We got through the hot winds tolerably until the
dog-days of June; but, although I had experienced every vicissitude
of temperature in every part of India, I never felt anything to be
compared with the few days of June at Kotah.
It was shortly after we had shifted the camp from the low paddy-
fields to the embankment of the Kishor sagar, or ‘lake,’ immediately
east of the city, the sky became of that transparent blue which
dazzles the eye to look at. Throughout the day and night, there was
not a zephyr even to stir a leaf, but the repose and stillness of death.
The thermometer was 104° in the tent, and the agitation of the
punkah produced [664] only a more suffocating air, from which I
have fled, with a sensation bordering on madness, to the gardens at
the base of the embankment of the lake. But the shade even of the
tamarind or cool plantain was still less supportable. The feathered
tribe, with their beaks opened, their wings flapping or hanging
listlessly down, and panting for breath, like ourselves, sought in vain
a cool retreat. The horses stood with heads drooping before their
untasted provender. Amidst this universal stagnation of life, the only
sound which broke upon the horrid stillness, was the note of the
cuckoo; it was the first time I had ever heard it in India, and its
cheerful sound, together with the associations it awakened,
produced a delightful relief from torments which could not long be
endured. We invariably remarked that the bird opened his note at
the period of greatest heat, about two o’clock in the day, and
continued during intervals for about an hour, when he changed his
quarters and quitted us. I afterwards became more familiar with this
bird, and every day in the hot weather at Udaipur, when I resided in
one of the villas in the valley, I not only heard but frequently saw it.
[1]

The reader can easily conceive the scene of our encampment; it

was at the north-eastern angle of the lake, having in front that little
fairy islet with its light Saracenic summer abode (p. 1521). Gardens
fringed the base of the embankment, which was bordered with lofty
trees; the extended and gigantic circumvallation, over the parapets
of which peeped the spires and domes of temples or mosques,
breaking the uniformity, and occasionally even showing the distant
and elevated land beyond the Chambal. We had also close to us a
spot sacred to the manes of the many heroes of this noble family. I
frequented the cenotaphs of the Haras, which, if less magnificent
than those of Marwar or Mewar, or even of the head of their line of
Bundi, may vie with them all in the recollections they conjure up of
patriotism and fealty, and of the deadly rancour attendant on civil
strife. This cluster of monuments approaches near to the city wall,
but is immediately under the dam of the lake, and being enveloped
in foliage, almost escapes observation. I was rejoiced to see the
good order in which they were maintained, which was another of the
anomalies in the regent’s character: for what can so much keep alive
the proud spirit of the Haras as these trophies of their sires? But
whatever the motive of the act, it is a tribute to virtue; nor could I
resist an exclamation of respect to the veteran regent, who is raising
a monument to the last prince, which, if it survive to distant times,
will afford room to some future [665] traveller to say, that, with
Maharao Ummed Singh, Kotah appears to have attained the summit
of its power. Nor should I deny myself the praise of having
something to do with this harmless piece of vanity; for I procured for
the regent free permission from the Rana of Mewar to take from the
marble quarry at Kankroli[2] whatever suited his purpose, without
price or duty: a request he was too proud to make himself since
their ancient quarrel. We had also the range of Madho Singh’s
magnificent gardens, of many acres in extent, abounding in exotic
flowers and fruits, with parterres of rose-trees, each of many roods
of land. But what were all these luxuries conjoined with cholera
morbus, and tap tijari, ‘tertian fever,’ and every other fever, around
us? But even these physical ills were nothing compared to the moral
evils which it was my duty to find remedies for or to mitigate; and
they were never adverted to in the many despatches addressed,
during our residence in this petit enfer, to supreme authority.
The enthusiast may imagine how delightful travelling must be
amongst such interesting races; to visit the ruins of ancient
greatness, and to read their history in their monuments; to march
along the margin of such streams as the Chambal or the Bamani; to
be escorted by these gallant men, to be the object of their courtesy
and friendship, and to benefit the condition of the dependant class;
but the price of this enjoyment was so high that few would
voluntarily pay it, namely, a perpetuity of ill-health. Fortunately,
however, for ourselves and our country, if these offices are neither
sinecures nor beds of roses, we do not make them beds of thorns;
there is a heart-stirring excitation amidst such scenes, which keeps
the powers of mind and body alert: a feeling which is fortunately
more contagious than cholera, and communicable to all around. How
admirably was this feeling exemplified this morning! Could my reader
but have beheld the soldiers of my escort and other establishments,
as they were ferried over the Chambal, he would have taken them
for ghosts making the trajet of the Styx; there was not one of them
who had not been in the gripe of pestilential fever or ague. Some of
them had had cholera, and half of them had enlarged spleens. Yet,
although their muskets were too heavy for them, there were neither
splenetic looks nor peevish expressions. It was as delightful as it was
wonderful to see the alacrity, even of the bedridden, to leave their
ills behind them east of the Chambal.
Scarcely any place can be more unhealthy than Kotah during the
monsoon. With the rise of the Chambal, whose waters filtrate
through the fissures of the rock, the [666] wells are filled with
mineral poison and the essence of decomposed vegetation.[3] All
those in the low ground at our first encampment were overflowed
from this cause; and the surface of each was covered with an oily
pellicle of metallic lustre, whose colours were prismatic, varying,
with position or reflection, from shades of a pigeon’s breast (which it
most resembled), to every tint of blue blending with gold. It is the
same at Udaipur during the periodical rains, and with similar results,
intermittent and tertian fevers, from which, as I said, not a man,
European or native, escaped. They are very obstinate, and though
not often fatal, are difficult to extirpate, yielding only to calomel,
which perhaps generates a train of ills.
Meeting with Zālim Singh.—The last few days of our stay were
passed in the ceremonials of leave-taking. On the 5th, in company
with the regent, I paid my last visit to the Maharao, who with his
brothers returned my farewell visit the day following; and on the 8th
and 9th the same formalities were observed with the regent. The
man who had passed through such scenes as the reader has
perused, now at the very verge of existence, could not repress his
sorrow. His orbless eyes were filled with tears, and as I pressed his
palsied hands which were extended over me, the power of utterance
entirely deserted him. I would expunge this, if I did not know that
vanity has no share in relating what I consider to be a virtue in the
regent. I have endeavoured to paint his character, and could not
omit this trait. I felt he had a regard for me, from a multitude of kind
expressions, but of their full value was always doubtful till this day.
A Restive Elephant.—I did not get down to the point of
embarkation for some hours after my suite, having been detained by
the irresistible hold of ague and fever, though I started before the
hot-fit had left me. The regent had prepared the grand barge, which
soon landed me on the opposite bank; but Fateh Bahadur, my
elephant, seemed to prefer his present quarters to Udaipur; after his
howdah, pad, and other gear had been taken off and put into the
boat, he plunged into the Chambal with delight, diving in the
deepest water, and making a water-spout of his proboscis. He had
got a third of the way across, when a new female elephant, less
accustomed to these crossings, turned back, and Fateh Bahadur,
regardless of his master, was so gallant as to go after her. In vain
the mahout (driver) used his pharsi,[4] digging it into his head behind
the ear; this only exasperated the animal, and he made one or two
desperate efforts to shake off his pigmy driver. Fortunately (being
too weak to mount a horse), I found a baggage-elephant just
beginning to be loaded: I put my howdah upon her, and the
“victorious warrior” suffered the indignity of carrying a load.
We passed the town of Kanari, belonging to Raj Gulab Singh,
Jhala, a relation of [667] the regent, and one of the Omras of Kotah.
It is a thriving comfortable place, and the pinnacled mahall of the
Raj gave to it an air of dignity as well as of the picturesque. Our
route to Nanta[5] was over a rich and highly cultivated plain, studded
with mango-groves; which do not surprise us, since we know it is
the family estate of the regent. The patrimonial abode is, therefore,
much cherished, and is the frequent residence of his son Madho
Singh, by whom I was met half-way between Kanari, and conducted
to the family dwelling.
Nānta. Rājput Music.—Nanta is a fine specimen of a Rajput
baronial residence. We entered through a gateway, at the top of
which was the Naubat-khana, or saloon for the band, into an
extensive court having colonnaded piazzas all round, in which the
vassals were ranged. In the centre of this area was a pavilion, apart
from the palace, surrounded by orangeries and odoriferous flowers,
with a jet-d’eau in the middle, whence little canals conducted the
water and kept up a perpetual verdure. Under the arcade of this
pavilion, amidst a thousand welcomes, thundering of cannon,
trumpets, and all sorts of sounds, we took our seats; and scarcely
had congratulations passed and the area was cleared of our escorts,
when, to the sound of the tabor and sarangi, the sweet notes of a
Panjabi tappa saluted our ears. There is a plaintive simplicity in this
music, which denotes originality, and even without a knowledge of
the language, conveys a sentiment to the most fastidious, when
warbled in the impassioned manner which some of these syrens
possess. While the Mahratta delights in the dissonant dhurpad,[6]
which requires a rapidity of utterance quite surprising, the Rajput
reposes in his tappa, which, conjoined with his opium, creates a
paradise. Here we sat, amidst the orange-groves of Nanta, the jet-
d’eau throwing a mist between us and the group, whose dark
tresses, antelope-eyes, and syren-notes, were all thrown away upon
the Frank, for my teeth were beating time from the ague-fit.
It was in this very area, now filled with the youth and beauty of
Kotah, that the regent exhibited his wrestlers; and it was from the
very seat I occupied, that Sriji of Bundi challenged these ruffians to
the encounter related in the annals.[7] Having sat a quarter of an
hour, in obedience to the laws of etiquette, and in courtesy to the
son of the Regent, who had come thus far to escort me, we took
leave and hastened to get a cup of tea.
Talera,[8] September 11.—Two miles north-west of Nanta we
passed the boundary of the regent’s estate and the Bundi territory.
The roads were good, over a well-cultivated and well-wooded plain,
the cotton particularly thriving. Talera is a large [668] village on the
margin of a fine clear stream, its banks delightfully wooded,
abounding in fish, which even tempted my invalid friends to try their
luck. Talera is in the jagir of the wakil who attends me on the part of
the Bundi Raja, but is still a heap of ruins, and being on the high
road, is open to parties of troops.
Nawagāon, September 12.—The road very fair, though a little
winding, to avoid some deep ravines. The land rich, well-watered,
and too much wooded; but man is wanting to cultivate the fertile
waste. The encamping ground afforded not a single tree to screen
us from a scorching sun. We passed two cenotaphs, where Rajputs
had fallen; but there was no inscription, and no one could reveal
their history.
 PALACE AND FORTRESS OF BŪNDI.
To face page 1710.

Būndi, September 13.—The country and roads, as usual, flat, with

an apparent descent from Talera to the base of the Bundi range,
whose craggy and unequal summits showed it could be no buttress
to the tableland with which it unites. The general direction of the
range is east-north-east, though there are diverging ridges, the
course of which it is impossible to delineate.
As we neared the capital of the Haras, clouds of dust, gradually
obscuring the atmosphere, were the first signal of the Raja’s
approach: soon the sound of drums, the clangour of trumpets, and
tramping of steeds, became audible, and at length the
Sandnisawars, or camel-messengers, announced the Raja’s
presence. He was on horseback. Instantly I dismounted from my
elephant, and although too weak to contend with the fire of my
steed Javadia, it would have been an unpardonable sin against
etiquette to have remained elevated above the prince. All Javadia’s[9]
warlike propensities were awakened at the stir of this splendid
retinue, from which ever and anon some dashing young Hara issued,
“witching the world with noble horsemanship”; and as, in all the
various evolutions of the manège, there was not a steed in Rajwara
could surpass mine, to my vast inconvenience and no small danger,
he determined on this occasion to show them off. In one of his
furious bounds, he had his fore-feet on the broken parapet of a
reservoir, and as I turned him short, he threw up his head, which
came in contact with mine, and made my Chabuk-sawar[10] exclaim,
“Ali madad!” “The help of Ali!” and a few more bounds brought me
in contact with my friend, the Rao Raja, when we dismounted and
embraced. After going through the same ceremony with the principal
chiefs, he again gave me three fraternal hugs to prove the strength
of his friendship, as he said, with blunt sincerity, “This is your home,
which you have come to at last.” With other affectionate welcomes,
he took leave and preceded me. His retinue was striking, but not so
much from tinsel [669] ornament, as from the joyous feeling which
pervaded every part of it. As my friend twirled his lance in the midst
of about eight hundred cavaliers and fifteen hundred foot, I thought
of the deeds his ancestors had performed, when leading such a gol,
to maintain their reputation for fealty. It recalled his words on the
formation of the treaty, when the generosity of Britain again restored
his country to independence. “What can I say, in return for the
restoration of my home? My ancestors were renowned in the time of
the kings, in whose service many lost their lives; and the time may
come when I may evince what I feel, if my services should be
required: for myself, my chiefs, are all yours!” I would pledge my
existence that performance would not have lagged behind his
promise. We allowed a quarter of an hour to elapse, in order to
avoid the clouds of dust which a Rajput alone can breathe without
inconvenience; and accompanied by my worthy and dignified old
friend, the Maharaja Bikramajit, we proceeded to our tents, placed
upon the bank of a tank beyond the town.
The Būndi Palace.—The coup d'œil of the castellated palace of
Bundi, from whichever side you approach it, is perhaps the most
striking in India;[11] but it would require a drawing on a much larger
scale to comprehend either its picturesque beauties or its grandeur.
Throughout Rajwara, which boasts many fine palaces, the Bundi-ka-
mahall is allowed to possess the first rank; for which it is indebted to
situation, not less than to the splendid additions which it has
continually received: for it is an aggregate of palaces, each having
the name of its founder; and yet the whole so well harmonizes, and
the character of the architecture is so uniform, that its breaks or
fantasies appear only to rise from the peculiarity of the position, and
serve to diversify its beauties. The Chhattar-mahall, or that built by
Raja Chhattarsal, is the most extensive and most modern addition. It
has two noble halls, supported by double ranges of columns of
serpentine from his own native quarries, in which the vassals are
ranged, and through whose ranks you must pass before you reach
the state apartments; the view from which is grand. Gardens are
intermingled with palaces raised on gigantic terraces. In one of
these I was received by the Raja, on my visit the next day. Whoever
has seen the palace of Bundi, can easily picture to himself the
hanging-gardens of Semiramis. After winding up the zig-zag road, I
passed by these halls, through a vista of the vassals whose
contented manly looks delighted me, to the inner palace; when,
having conversed on the affairs of his country for some time, the
Raja led the way to one of the terraces, where I was surprised to
find a grand court assembled, under the [670] shade of immense
trees, trellised vines, and a fine marble reservoir of water. The chiefs
and retainers, to the number of at least a hundred, were drawn up
in lines, at the head of which was the throne. The prospect was fine,
both for near and distant views, as it includes the lakes called the
Jeth-Sagar and Prem-Sagar, with the gardens on their margins, and
in the distance the city of Kotah, and both banks of the Chambal;
and beyond these successive terraces and mahalls, to the summit of
the hill, is seen the cupola of the Dhabhai’s tomb, through the deep
foliage, rising above the battlements of Taragarh. This terrace is on a
grand bastion, which commands the south-east gorge of the valley
leading to the city; and yet, such is the immense mass of building,
that from the town one has no idea of its size.
It were vain to attempt a description of Bundi, even were I
inclined. It was the traitor of Karwar who raised the walls of
Taragarh, and it was Raja Budh Singh who surrounded the city with
walls, of which Ummed Singh used to say “they were not required
against an equal foe, and no defence against a superior—and only
retarded reconquest if driven out of Bundi, whose best defence was
its hills.”
Illness of Dr. Duncan, September 21.—Partly by business, partly
by sickness, we were compelled to halt here a week. Our friend the
doctor, who had been ailing for some time, grew gradually worse,
and at length gave himself up. Carey found him destroying his
papers and making his will, and came over deeply affected. I left my
bed to reason with my friend, who refused all nourishment, and was
sinking fast; but as much from depression of spirits as disease. In
vain I used the common arguments to rouse him from his lethargy; I
then tried, as the last resort, to excite his anger, and reviled him for
giving way, telling him to teach by example as well as precept. By
this course, I raised a tinge of blood in my poor friend’s cheek, and
what was better, got a tumbler of warm jelly down his throat; and
appointing the butler, Kali Khan, who was a favourite and had great
influence, to keep rousing and feeding him, I left him. No sooner
was he a little mended, than Carey took to his bed, and nothing
could rouse him. But, as time passed, it was necessary to get on;
and with litters furnished by the Raja we recommenced our journey.
Banks of the Mej River,[12] September 26, distance ten miles.—I
this day quitted my hospitable friend, the Rao Raja. As I left my tent,
I found the Maharaja of Thana, with the Dablana[13] contingent
(zabita), amounting to a hundred horse, appointed to escort me to
the frontier. Our route lay through the Banda-ka-nal, ‘the valley of
Banda,’ whose gorge near the capital is not above four hundred
yards in breadth, but [671] gradually expands until we reach Satur,
about two miles distant. On both sides of this defile are numerous
gardens, and the small temples and cenotaphs which crown the
heights, in many places well wooded, produce a most picturesque
effect. All these cenotaphs are perfectly classical in form, being
simple domes supported by slender columns; that of Suja Bai is
peculiarly graceful. As we reached Satur, the valley closed our last
view of the fairy palace of the Haras, rearing its domes and gilded
spires half-way up the mountain, the kunguras of Taragarh encircling
it as a diadem, whilst the isolated hill of Miraji, at the foot of which
was the old city, terminates the prospect, and makes Bundi appear
as if entirely shut in by rocks. Satur is a sacred spot in the history of
the Haras, and here is enshrined their tutelary divinity, fair Hope
(Asapurna), who has never entirely deserted them, from the sakha
of Asi, Gualkund, and Asir, to the present hour; and though the
enchantress has often exchanged her attributes for those of Kalima,
[14]
the faith of her votaries has survived every metamorphosis. A
high antiquity is ascribed to Satur, which they assert is mentioned in
the sacred books; if so, it is not in connexion with the Haras. The
chief temple is dedicated to Bhavani,[15] of whom Asapurna is an
emanation. There is nothing striking in the structure, but it is
hallowed by the multitude of sacrificial altars to the manes of the
Haras who have “fallen in the faith of the Chhatri.” There were no
inscriptions, but abundance of lazy drones of Brahmans enjoying
their ease under the wide-spreading bar and pipal trees, ready,
when well paid, to prepare their incantations to Bhavani, either for
good or for evil: it is chiefly for the latter purpose that Satur-ki-
Bhavani is celebrated. We continued our journey to Nawagaon, a
tolerable village, but there being no good encamping ground, our
tents were pitched a mile farther on, upon the bank of the Mej,
whose turbid waters were flowing with great velocity from the
accumulated mountain-rills which fall into it during the equinoctial
rains.
Thāna, September 27.—This is the seat of Maharaja Sawant
Singh, the eldest son of my friend Maharaja Bikramajit of Khini. He
affords another instance in which the laws of adoption have given
the son precedence of the father, who, while he receives homage in
one capacity, must pay it in another; for young Sawant was raised
from the junior to the elder branch of Thana. The castle of Sawant
Singh, which guards the western frontier, is small, but of solid
masonry, erected on the crest of a low hill. There are only six
villages besides Thana forming his fief, which is burdened with the
service of twenty-five horse. In Bundi, ‘a knight’s fee,’ or what should
equip one cavalier, is two hundred and fifty rupees of rent. In the
afternoon the Maharaja brought [672] his son and heir to visit me, a
fine little fellow six years of age, who with his sword buckled by his
side and miniature shield on his back, galloped his little steed over
hill and dale, like a true Rajput. I procured several inscriptions, but
none above three hundred years old.
Jahāzpur,[16] September 28.—At daybreak I again found the
Maharaja at the head of his troop, ready to escort me to the frontier.
In vain I urged that he had superabundantly performed all the duties
of hospitality; “Such were his orders, and he must obey them.” I well
know the laws of the Medes were not more peremptory than those
of Bishan Singh; so we jogged on, beguiling the time in conversation
regarding the semi-barbarous race of the tract I was about to enter,
the Minas of Jahazpur and the Karar or fastnesses of the Banas, for
ages the terror of the country, and who had studded the plains with
cenotaphs of the Haras, fallen in defending their goods and chattels
against their inroads. The fortress of Jahazpur was not visible until
we entered the pass, and indeed had nearly cleared it, for it is
erected on a hill detached from the range but on its eastern face,
and completely guards this important point of ingress to Mewar. This
district is termed Chaurasi, or consisting of eighty-four townships, a
favourite territorial subdivision: nor is there any number intermediate
between this and three hundred and sixty. Jahazpur, however,
actually contains above a hundred townships, besides numerous
purwas, or ‘hamlets.’ The population consists entirely of the
indigenous Minas, who could turn out four thousand kamthas, or
‘bowmen,’ whose aid or enmity were not to be despised, as has been
well demonstrated to Zalim Singh, who held the district during
fifteen years. Throughout the whole of this extensive territory, which
consists as much of land on the plains as in the hills, the Mina is the
sole proprietor, nor has the Rana any property but the two tanks of
Budh Lohari, and these were wrested from the Minas by Zalim Singh
during his tenure.[17]
I was met at the frontier by the taiyunnati[18] of Jahazpur, headed
by the old chief of Basai and his grandson Arjun, of whom we have
spoken in the journey to Kotah. It was a very respectable troop of
cavalry, and though their appointments were not [673] equal to my
Hara escort, it was satisfactory to see assembled, merely at one
post, a body which the Rana two years ago could not have collected
round his own person, either for parade or defence: as a beginning,
therefore, it is good. Received also the civil manager, Sobharam, the
nephew of the minister, a very good man, but without the skill to
manage such a tract. He was accompanied by several of the Mina
Naiks, or chiefs. There is much that is interesting here, both as
matter of duty and of history; we shall therefore halt for a few days,
and rest our wearied invalids.

1. In almost every respect like a sparrow-hawk; perhaps a little

more elongated and elegant in form; and the beak, I think, was
straight. [Mr. C. Chubb of the Natural History Museum, South
Kensington, has kindly examined a specimen of Eudynamis honorata
or E. orientalis, the “Brain Fever” bird, and he confirms the Editor’s
recollection that the bill of the bird is rounded, and somewhat
hooked at the tip.]

2. [Thirty-six miles N.E. of Udaipur city.]

3. [The unhealthiness of Kotah is due to the water of the Kishor

Sāgar lake on the east percolating through the soil to the river on
the west (IGI, xv. 425).]

4. [Skt. parusa, an axe-shaped goad: also known as ankus.]

5. [About 10 miles W. of Kotah city.]

6. [“The introductory stanza of a poem or song, which is repeated

as a kind of burden or chorus” (Platts, Urdu Dict. s.v. dhur): “petit
poëme ordinairement composé de cinq hémistiches sur une même
rime” (Garçin de Tassy, Hist. Litt. Hindouie, i. 22). It is said to have
been invented by Rāja Mān of Gwalior (Memoirs of Jahāngīr, trans.
Rogers-Beveridge, 271).]

7. [P. 1618.]

8. [“Touera” in the Author’s map.]

 9. [The name of the steed of the hero Gugga.]

10. [A rough-rider.]

11. [Fergusson (Hist. Indian Architecture, ed. 1910, ii. 175) says
that, though smaller, the palace almost equals that of Udaipur in
architectural effect, while its position is in some respects even more
imposing.]

12. [The Mej Nadi, the principal, almost the only, drainage channel
of the Būndi State, falls into the Chambal.]

13. [Dablāna about 10 miles N. of Būndi city: Thāna in the

Kherwāra District of S. Mewār.]

14. [The creed of Islām.]

15. [Her local title is Rakt Dantika Devi, ‘Devi with the blood-
stained teeth’ (Rājputāna Gazetteer, 1879, i. 240).]

16. [Ten miles S. of Deoli cantonment.]

17. The indigenous Mina affords here an excellent practical

illustration of Manu’s axiom, that “the right in the soil belongs to him
who first cleared and tilled the land” [Laws, ix. 44]. The Rajput
conqueror claims and receives the tribute of the soil, but were he to
attempt to enforce more, he would soon be brought to his senses by
one of their various modes of self-defence—incendiarism, self-
immolation, or abandonment of the lands in a body. We have
mystified a very simple subject by basing our arguments on the
arrangements of the Muhammadan conqueror. If we mean to follow
his example, whose doctrine was the law of the sword, let us do it,
but we must not confound might with right: consult custom and
tradition throughout India, where traces of originality yet exist, and
it will invariably appear that the right in the soil is in the cultivator,
who maintains even in exile the hakk bapota-ka-bhum, in as decided
a manner as any freeholder in England. But Colonel Briggs has
settled this point, to those who are not blinded by prejudice.

18. [A deputation of welcome.]

CHAPTER 8

Attempted Poisoning of the Author. Jahāzpur, October 1.—

My journalizing had nearly terminated yesterday. Duncan and Carey
being still confined to their beds, my relative, Captain Waugh, sat
down with me to dinner; but fever and ague having destroyed all
appetite on my part, I was a mere spectator. I had, however, fancied
a cake of makkai flour, but had not eaten two mouthfuls before I
experienced extraordinary sensations; my head seemed expanding
to an enormous size, as if it alone would have filled the tent; my
tongue and lips felt tight and swollen, and though I underwent no
alarm, nor suffered the slightest loss of sense, I deemed it the
prelude to one of those violent attacks, which have assailed me for
several years past, and brought me to the verge of death. I begged
Captain Waugh to leave me; but he had scarcely gone before a
constriction of the throat came on, and I thought all was over. I rose
up, however, and grasped [674] the tent-pole, when my relative re-
entered with the surgeon. I beckoned them not to disturb my
thoughts, instead of which they thrust some ether and compounds
down my throat, which operated with magical celerity. I vomited
violently; the constriction ceased; I sunk on my pallet, and about
two in the morning I awoke, bathed in perspiration, and without a
remnant of disease. It was difficult to account for this result: the
medical oracle fancied I had been poisoned, but I was loth to admit
it. If the fact were so, the poison must have been contained in the
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