AHMEDABAD
We left Bombay for Ahmedabad on December the 15th. Finding that the
best train was a night one, and as it was a journey of some three
hundred miles or more, and time was an object, we made up our minds,
though not given to night travelling, to make an exception to our
usual practice, although we should lose the sight of the country by
the way. Railway travelling in India is quite as comfortable as one
might expect. The carriages, it is true, vary on different lines and
according to age, but, as a rule, the trains have separate carriages
for Europeans and for different classes of natives, and it is often
quite possible to have an entire compartment even for a long distance.
On some lines the first-class carriages are scarcely better than the
second, but the fare is double. The best carriages have compartments
containing two long leather-covered seats, each side under the
windows, which can be turned into sleeping couches at night. There is
a good space between them and also at the end between the doors, and
a lavatory is always attached. Above the seats are slung two upper
berths, so that the compartment _could_ be arranged for four sleepers.
Any amount of light luggage can be taken into the compartments by
passengers, but the heavy must be registered. The windows are protected
from the sun by Venetian shutters, which can be let up or down, as well
as glass, clear or toned, and sometimes fine wire screens. Outside
there is a sort of hood, between which and the tops of the windows is a
space for air, so that the fierce heat of the sun is tempered, and the
carriage shielded to a certain extent from its rays.
We found very well-appointed sleeping-cars to Ahmedabad, but divided
into ladies’ and gentlemen’s compartments. As it happened, another
couple were the only others travelling by the first-class sleeping-car
besides ourselves, so that we were able to arrange between ourselves
that husbands and wives were not divided, each pair having a
compartment to themselves.
Ahmedabad was reached about half-past seven in the morning. A crowd of
coolies usually rush to seize your baggage on the arrival of a train,
and our bearer was useful in keeping them at bay a bit. There was a Dak
bungalow at Ahmedabad, but we did not feel any decided leaning towards
it, and, finding there were quite decent bedrooms to be had at the
station and that we could feed in the refreshment-room, we decided to
stay there.
[Illustration: THE FEET OF PILGRIMS (AT MOHAMMEDAN MOSQUES)]
Carriages were to be had at from six to eight rupees a day, and we
engaged one and had a drive through the town, stopping to see the
mosques for which it is so famed. The Jama Musjid had a splendid,
spacious court in front of it, walled around, the entrance being
through a rather small door, where it is necessary for the visitors
either to put off their shoes or to consent to have enormous loose
ones of grass or matting tied on over their own, which seems to prevent
desecration quite as efficiently. The mosque had fifteen domes, and
inside was a forest of white pillars (260), and a large gallery for
the women, screened with pierced stone-work in lovely patterns. There
were the marble tombs of Ahmad Shah—the builder of the mosque—and his
son and grandson, richly carved in delicate relief, the sides being
arcaded, and under each arch the representation of a hanging lamp, or
censer, some of the latter showing an ornamental treatment of smoke
ascending from them.
The marble pavements had a peculiar fine dull polish, noticeable in
mosque pavements throughout India, which is the result of the constant
movement of the bare feet of the natives passing over their surface.
The tombs of the queens of Ahmad Shah were carved with remarkable
fineness. One, inlaid with delicate trees in white marble or black, was
as fine as any Persian cabinet work in ivory.
The Queen’s Mosque, with three domes, contains charming carving and
pierced screen-work.
The mosque of Rani Sipri and her tomb are marvellously rich in fine
carving in red sandstone and screen-work, and suggest in some of their
forms and the rich incrustation of their ornament the influence of
Hindu work, which, indeed, is a characteristic of many here. Beautiful
pierced screens of stone-work, divided into panels by the supporting
columns, enclose the tomb.
[Illustration: POOR RELATIONS]
For the loveliest designs, however, in pierced screen-work, one still
turns to those of the windows of the Sidi Sayyids’ Mosque, especially
to the two wherein palms and rose-trees are combined in a sort of
natural formation to form a lovely mesh of intricate, yet perfectly
coherent and balanced pattern, which fills the tympanum shape of
low-arched windows; a design in light on dark seen from the outside,
and in dark against light seen from within, when it fulfils its purpose
of breaking up the light of the sun, and producing that enchanting
luminous twilight so characteristic of Eastern interiors. There are
reproductions of two of these windows at our Indian Museum at South
Kensington, but I had long desired to see the originals, and I was
not disappointed. The warm light of the late afternoon sun lingered
in their interstices, and, seen from below, the under sides of the
marble fret took rich golden reflections, which gave the designs quite
a new aspect, and filled them with life and colour, giving the effect
almost of sunlit foliage. We drove to see Shah Alam’s Mosque, built
about 1420, which was reached in about half an hour beyond the city
gates, along a cool avenue of acacias. The mosque has a fine court
and minarets, and a splendid canopied tomb, with pillars inlaid with
mother-o’-pearl; beautiful metal-work in pierced brass gates and
screens.
On returning from this drive we stopped near the river Sarbarmati in a
grove of trees, chiefly banyan, mango, and acacia. Here a native boy
set up a peculiar hooting sort of call, and presently we saw troops
of silver grey monkeys dropping from the trees and gambolling along
towards us between the stems—hundreds of them apparently—hurrying up to
feed on the dried peas we scattered for them. They came crowding around
us, but were quite friendly, and many would feed out of our hands. They
varied much in size, but were mostly large, and carried their tails
high in the air and curled over their backs in spirited curves when
walking on all-fours. Many of the female monkeys carried their young
ones with them. All looked beautifully clean and healthy, and were full
of play—in fact as different as possible in their freedom from the poor
captives in cages at zoological gardens. It was amusing to watch their
pranks and to note the ease with which they would climb up into the
trees, some of which were as full of monkeys almost as branches.
As we left the monkeys we had another unusual sight. We saw a large and
leafy mango tree leaning over the river, which seemed to have suddenly
burst into white blossoms; but we soon perceived these supposed flowers
begin to flutter, and winged ones detached themselves from the mass of
white, which we then discovered were white cranes. They would rise in
a cloud and settle again ever and anon among the green foliage. They
were a small kind, not larger than a heron, and are common all over
India. We often saw them afterwards rising by the side of the pools
by the railway track, or fishing, or flying over the submerged paddy
fields, but in smaller numbers, and never so beautifully.
[Illustration: A FAMILY PARTY—CRANES ON A MANGO TREE (SARBARMATI
RIVER)]
On the white and dusty road to Ahmedabad we met numbers of wagons
loaded with cotton bales and drawn by large white oxen. The country
carts had wicker bodies, somewhat like those I have seen in Germany,
and primitive massive wheels with eight spokes in a double cross.
Camels were occasionally seen ridden by natives. As at Bombay, there
were extensive cotton factories here, and cotton was very largely grown
in the country around.
The bazaars and the street life in Ahmedabad are most various and
interesting, all sorts of trades and crafts being carried on. There
is still a great quantity of silk-weaving done, and brocades wrought
with gold thread. A proverb of the place quoted by Mr W. S. Caine has
it that the prosperity of Ahmedabad hangs on three threads—“gold,
silk, and cotton”; and these three threads still symbolise the main
industries of the city. A picturesque incident in the streets is the
silk-winder—in some open space in front of the shops you may sometimes
see a native woman standing (like Mr Holman Hunt’s “Lady of Shalott”)
within a low square enclosure formed of bamboo sticks wound with long
strands of silk thread. She holds a sort of spindle in her left hand,
and a long tapering wand in her right, by means of which she divides
or regulates the thread as she winds it off on to the bamboo sticks,
rapidly twirling the spindle as she does so. It is an extremely pretty
and picturesque sight. The old methods of hand-weaving are practised,
and for weaving the brocades or “kincobs” the treadles in the loom are
lifted from above by a boy, who draws up the cords attached to the
threads of the warp according to the pattern the weaver is working.
It is said that the native trade in the finer brocaded silks has been
injured owing to the richer natives following the European fashion
of dressing plainly, the rich silk woven with gold thread being only
worn on state occasions, another instance of the depressing influence
of Western ideas and habits upon the East. The rich merchants, and
the Maharajahs and their court officials no doubt believe they are
improving their style in adopting fashions from Europe, but the effect
is practically only to vulgarise the native taste. The native princes
and the well-to-do merchants now dash about in imported motor cars
in raiment of dingy tints, instead of proudly prancing upon stately
elephants and clothed in splendour and colour. Eastern life is made
less joyous in its aspects by such changes. The mass of the people
do not change, however, and seem to have no desire to, and they are
the common people everywhere who give the characteristic life and
colour. Though they only wear cotton or muslin, the beauty and variety
of the tints are wonderful, and fill the bazaars with a stream of
ever-changing hues in the most unexpected combinations and harmonies.
Driving through the bazaars at Ahmedabad, we came to a sort of open
space from which several streets diverged, and here was being held
a sort of open market of cloth—chiefly muslins and cottons of every
variety of colour and pattern. These were laid out in piles on the
ground, the merchants squatting by their goods or spreading them out
to show their customers.
[Illustration: STREET SCENE, AHMEDABAD
ENGLISH TRAVELLERS SKETCHING AND MAKING PURCHASES]
We stopped our carriage, and got our bearer to bring us some of
the stuffs to look at and to inquire the prices, and we were soon
surrounded by an eager crowd of dark faces and turbaned heads, and were
nearly buried in a rainbow-tinted cloud of muslin and cotton cloth,
amid which deliberate selection became difficult. I noted, however,
many examples of the native method of dyeing cloths in patterns by the
tying and dipping methods which often produce most delightful results,
the pattern having a softer and more blended effect than the ordinary
block printing. Although Manchester cottons were in evidence, it was
pleasant to see that native methods were not forgotten, and were still
in demand.
The native pottery, too, at Ahmedabad is extremely interesting, the
common forms are always good, as indeed they are throughout India.
Enormous earthen jars are made here to hold grain, or for carrying
water from the river on ox-carts. The ordinary earthen water-jar, which
the Hindu women carry on their heads, resembles the ancient Greek
Hydria in form, and is so beautiful that it is distressing to see
it occasionally substituted by the hideous tin kerosine can—another
European innovation—much more difficult to balance one would think.
In the streets of Ahmedabad occasional features are small, richly
carved octagonal minarets supported on posts, and looking like
glorified pigeon houses. There is a big Hindu temple—a Jain temple
of no antiquity, only about thirty or forty years old. The shrine of
Hathi Sing. It has the characteristic pagoda domes, and is elaborately
painted and decorated, though rather coarsely. The finest features were
the marble pavements where, again, one noticed the peculiar soft polish
given by bare feet.
A very interesting excursion is that to Sarkhei, a drive of about
seven miles outside the city gates. The road crosses the wide river
Sarbarmati—or rather its bed, as the water shrinks into a rather narrow
stream, and is almost lost sometimes among great stretches and banks
of sand. At the water’s edge, as we passed, we saw the people busy
washing clothes (which made a pretty coloured pattern when spread on
the sands to dry) or themselves, or watering horses and bullocks, or
refreshing their baskets of vegetables they had borne along the dusty
ways by dipping them in the stream.
[Illustration: TOMB OF GUNJ BAKSH, SARKHEI]
Our road was deep in dust, but generally pleasantly shaded by fine old
trees, chiefly banyan, teak trees, and acacias. The little striped
squirrels were very numerous and active, frisking up and down and
around the tree stems. Monkeys were occasionally seen—of the same
silver grey sort we had seen on our visit to the Mosque of Shah Alam—in
the jungles at the side of the road, or in the trees. A bird rather
like a large bullfinch was common, and we saw many peacocks wandering
about, and, of course, kites and crows everywhere. On the road we
passed many a heavy-laden ox-cart, piled with bales of cotton, making
their way to Ahmedabad, as well as droves of white asses, and many
groups of natives. About two miles out we saw at the side of the road a
large brick-built Mohammedan Tomb, said to be the tomb of the architect
of Sarkhei, who was a Persian.
Further on our carriage turned out of the main road down a narrow
lane to the right and up a steep bit of hill, flagged with flat
stones. Presently we arrived in front of a fine gateway of Moslem
architecture, which formed the entrance to a large quadrangle, shaded
by a very old acacia tree. We had to put on the usual clumsy canvas
shoes before entering this court, which enclosed the splendid mosque
and tomb of Gunj Baksh (begun by Mahmudshah in 1445 and finished by
Begara in 1451), with a low, flat cupola, and many pilastered front,
the structures of the caps showing Hindu influence. There is a finely
worked lattice screen of brass surrounding the octagonal shrine within,
containing the tomb. The floor is inlaid with coloured marbles, and
the roof is rich with gilding. An open pavilion stood in the court in
front of the shrine, raised upon a platform, with steps supported by
sixteen carved marble pillars. Opposite to this is a charming portico,
through which one can get a glimpse of the great tank, though it was
almost dried up when we saw it, the water hardly enough to conceal an
alligator, though white cranes were standing in the pool in the forlorn
hope of catching fish, and monkeys gambolled about the steps. On the
side of the court near the entrance are the tombs of Mahmud Begara and
his two sons—of the usual Mohammedan type, an arcaded pattern in low
relief along the sides; with censers hanging between the arches of
similar type to those at Ahmedabad.
There is a pathetic feeling of departed or half decayed splendour about
Sarkhei, as well as a sense of romance and mystery, and one leaves
it impressed with the idea of the refinement, sense of beauty, and
spaciousness of the departed princely builders who lie buried within
their own architectural dream.
There are always a number of hangers on about Indian tombs and
temples, self-constituted guides, and persons of indefinite status and
occupation who cluster around the arriving and departing stranger, who
has to smooth his path with backsheesh, and Sarkhei is no exception.
We had a hot drive along the dusky highway back to Ahmedabad in the
middle of the day, the sun blazing down very fiercely, and we were glad
of the protection of the carriage hood.
In the course of one of our evening drives about the town, our
Moonsawmy pointed out an acacia tree we passed by the roadside which
appeared to be full of what looked like large pendant pear-shaped fruit
of black and golden brown colour. These, however, were really clusters
of fruit-bats hanging in the tree until nightfall. Some of them, as we
looked, were already moving and stretching out their wings in the last
rays of the evening sun.
We passed through the triple arched ancient gateway which stands at
the head of the main street. The bazaars were crowded with buyers and
sellers, chiefly of cotton and other stuffs. The people themselves in
every variety of costume formed a wonderful scheme of colour, varied by
the brownskins of babies and little children playing about quite naked,
and the brown backs of the workers bending over their crafts. The whole
scene fused in the light of afterglow and rich in tone and chiaroscuro.