JAIPUR
In our travels through India we met comparatively few of our own
countrymen and women. The English (or the British) have not as yet
taken much to touring in the Empire of which such a proud boast is
constantly made. The English in India are usually residents connected
with civil or military posts. They go out to take up their official
duties, and directly they get leave they rush “home”—England is always
spoken of as “home,” even by residents in India of long standing. It
generally happens that the officials and their families are quartered
at some particular station in a particular district, and may remain
there all their time, so that the English resident in India generally
does not see any other parts of the great peninsular, and is not
acquainted with the country beyond his own district. A tourist,
therefore, in a few months may have a more complete general or even
particular acquaintance with India at large, as regards its great
cities and famous monuments, than many a resident who has spent the
best part of his life in one station, and who always takes his leave at
“home.”
French tourists are occasionally met with, but Americans are the most
numerous, and they are met with everywhere. The early morning train
we had taken from Ajmir to Jaipur was invaded by a party of no less
than forty of our Transatlantic cousins, who overflowed it and filled
our compartment with an incredible amount of hand baggage. They seemed
to be, as far as one could make out, connected with some mission. They
reminded me rather of a gathering in one of the cities of the United
States at which I was present (Philadelphia, I think), where one of my
American friends remarked, “Now, all these you see here are types, but
none of them are worth studying”!
The country traversed between Ajmir and Jaipur is mostly plain, and
very desert-like in places, with distant mountain ranges beyond, not
unlike Arizona in general character. Green crops under irrigation are,
however, occasionally seen, and among them not unfrequently may be
noticed a pair of large, grey-plumaged cranes, feeding in the young
corn, which do not take to flight at the approach of the train. We
reached Jaipur about noon and put up at Rustom’s Hotel, a comparatively
short drive from the station. The hotel stands in the middle of a large
enclosure divided by a low wall from the high road. Tents are pitched
along one side of the building to afford extra sleeping accommodation,
and a sort of bungalow annexe is prepared to take overflow guests. From
pleasant rooms on the terrace we had a view of the Tiger Fort and the
road with its constant procession of natives, ox-carts, and camels and
horsemen trooping into the city about a mile off. A row of tall acacia
trees screened the late afternoon sun, and barred-like fretwork the
golden light of afterglow, and we often watched the peacocks flying up
to roost among the branches, their beautiful forms silhouetted against
the orange sky between the interstices of the leaves.
[Illustration: HOTEL ACCOMMODATION (JAIPUR), “FOR YOUR EASE AND
COMFORT” (OR RATHER FOR THE EASING OF YOUR RUPEES?)]
The native proprietor, or manager, during the preliminary ceremony of
taking our names, and in getting a form of application to the Resident
filled up for permission to visit the Maharajah’s palace and the palace
at Amber, made polite speeches, expressing himself only anxious for
“our ease and comfort”—of course without any thought of prospective
rupees. Clusters of native huts built of mud with thatched roofs occur
at frequent intervals around Jaipur outside the city walls; from our
terrace at the hotel we could see several. There was apparently a
small village within a stone’s-throw. One evening the strains of
what sounded like a native chant or song in chorus were wafted to us
from this village, and we heard that a native wedding was going on
there; but the illusion was somewhat destroyed when we learned that
the supposed native music proceeded from the mouth of a gramophone! It
is said that special ones are now prepared for the Indian market with
popular native songs and music—another boon from the West.
Jaipur is a city within high crenellated walls, built of rubble and
plastered with cement. The same form of palisade-like battlement
crested the walls here as at Chitorgarh, and is the common form in
Mogul defensive buildings. Among the native huts which cluster outside
the walls, I noticed some of wicker; many of the huts, too, had wicker
screens—a sort of lattice-work made of bamboo—covering the otherwise
open fronts.
Jaipur is known as the rose-coloured city. The Maharajah must be very
fond of pink, in fact he may be said to have “painted the town red.”
The whole of the main fronts of the houses facing the streets are
distempered in a kind of darkish rose pink—really red—the rosy hue
being largely due to the luminous atmosphere in the full sunlight, and
it becomes still rosier in the flush of evening. It is dark enough at
anyrate to show a decoration of lines of floral devices and patterns
painted in white upon the red walls. The whole scheme, no doubt, was
suggested by the red sandstone buildings inlaid with white marble
which are the glory of Delhi and Agra. It is not a sort of imitation
calculated to deceive any one, however, but clearly a scheme of painted
decoration emulating the effect of the solid materials mentioned. The
city has, owing to this treatment, a very distinctive scenic aspect
of its own, and is very striking, the brilliant and varied pattern of
vivid colour in the costume of the natives in the bazaars, with this
roseate background, producing quite a unique effect. One has, however,
after a time an impression of unreality and unsubstantiality, as of
stage scenery which will presently be shifted. The Maharajah of Jaipur
has the reputation of being very advanced and modern in his ideas.
He has at anyrate set up gasworks in his city, which also possesses
a large public garden laid out in the European manner, and is both
horticultural and zoological, and contains a museum and a bronze statue
of Lord Mayo.
It seems rather a mistake, in a climate like that of India, to lay
out grounds with broad serpentine paths and drives unshaded by trees,
and vast lawns which can only be kept up with a pretence of greenness
by constant and laborious watering. It is another of the mistaken
foreign importations. The Eastern type of garden, on the other hand,
is quite appropriate and adapted to the necessities of the climate.
Its characteristics are narrow, straight paths between closely planted
groves of trees, acacias, plantains, palms, and fruit trees, and varied
with tanks and fountains, and cool marble pavilions, the whole enclosed
in a protecting wall like an earthly paradise.
[Illustration: THE MAHARAJAH’S STATE ELEPHANT, JAIPUR]
It does not cheer the English traveller in the East—at least I never
heard that it did—to see a low wall surmounted by a cast-iron
railing and common-place but pretentious gates, enclosing a joyless
“public garden” of a British vestry type.
The proprietors of the art depots in the bazaars of Jaipur are very
enterprising, and resort to all kinds of allurements to induce the
traveller to enter and purchase. To begin with, the tourist in his
carriage is peppered with a perfect hail of white business cards flung
at him by active touts, who are always on the alert for the passing
stranger in the bazaars, who receives such seductive invitations as
“See my shop?”—“Very nice things”—“Don’t want you to buy—only to look!”
We visited a large art-dealer’s store. It was prettily arranged around
a small covered court, lighted from the top. An arcade divided a series
of rooms along each side, both on the ground and on a second floor.
This court was richly carpeted and furnished with seats, coffee tables,
and divans. One device of the proprietor or manager was to invite
prospective customers to witness a dance of nautch girls in this court,
presumably to conduce to a favourable mood for extensive purchases.
At this place was a great display of Jaipur enamels, applied in a
variety of ways from small jewellery to large, chased, brass dishes
and trays. I saw a large dish prepared by the native craftsman (who
was sitting at work at the entrance) for champlévé enamel, very deftly
chased, though the modern reproductions of the traditional Indian
patterns strike one as rather mechanical. The skill of the craftsman
is there, but the feeling and initiative of the artist is too often
wanting.
Rajput arms and armour hung on the white walls of the court, and there
was an immense stock of all sorts of metal-work and jewellery, mostly
modern, and numbers of small portable articles in brass, evidently
meant for the eye and the pocket of the tourist; amongst these were
quantities of small pierced brass boxes in the form of cushions. I saw
some interesting old Indian miniature pictures from MSS.—one of a rajah
shooting a bow: he was standing upon a globe which rested on the back
of an ox, which again stood upon the back of a fish.
There were some suits of chain mail of extraordinary fineness, and
wonderful engraved blades of many kinds. Besides the well-known Jaipur
enamelled jewellery there was a quantity of precious stones—garnets,
amethysts, sardonyx, onyx, and jade. Another speciality of Jaipur
work are the charming spherical rolling lamps. These are spheres of
brass chased and pierced all over with floral pattern, and made to
open. Inside, by a very ingenious bit of mechanism, a small lamp is so
suspended that it always maintains a horizontal position, and though
the sphere may be rolled along the ground it never upsets the lamp
within. They are used in the temples at festival times. These lamps are
made at the Art School at Jaipur, where many native handicrafts are
practised.
Continuing our drive about the city we were introduced to the
Maharajah’s state elephant. He was a fine beast, and occupied a low
walled court, all to himself and his keeper. His forehead, trunk, and
ears were decorated with an elaborate painted arabesque—a pattern in
which vermilion, yellow, and turquoise predominated. His enormous
tusks had had their points truncated, and these were tipped and bound
with moulded bands of brass. The animal was tethered by one of his
hind feet to a post, and stood in the shade of the high palace wall,
tranquilly munching stalks of some kind of corn. I reproduce the sketch
I made at the time of the elephant and the old man, his keeper.
After tiffin we visited the palace. One could not say much for the
taste of some of the decorations. We were shown several large durbar
halls with open colonnades, which, however, were closed by hangings,
which our guide—a tall, grey-whiskered Rajput—lifted up to show the
interiors. The vaulted ceilings were painted with patterns on rather
a large scale and in crude reds and blues, rather open and spread out
over the white plaster, and somewhat coarse in form. We were then led
through the gardens, which were laid out with long tanks with flagged
walks each side, lined with gas lamps, but there was no water in the
tanks. Farther on we passed through a gateway at the top of a flight
of steps to the alligator tank. Here a native attendant having tied a
piece of meat to the end of a string, another set up a curious weird
call, while yet another ran on to the shore of the lake or tank, and
did his best to wake up one or two very torpid alligators which lay in
the sunshine by seizing hold of their tails and making them take to the
water. Finally, after much persuasion, two alligators were induced to
come up for the food. One of these—an old one with no teeth (none of
them have tongues)—opened its horrid white mouth and snapped at the
piece of meat which the man dangled at the end of the string. Meanwhile
big yellow turtles swam up to join in the game, at which they were much
quicker than the alligators. Large brown kites, too, seeing what was
going on, hovered about expectantly, and dexterously caught fragments
thrown to them in mid air. The ubiquitous crow was there also, ready
for any unconsidered trifles.
The life of the bazaars at Jaipur is singularly varied and interesting.
The streets are unusually wide as native streets go in India. They find
room to shake out long strips of newly dyed cotton to dry—a man holding
the cloth at each end and waving it wildly about to dry, so that great
plashes of yellow or orange and pink are apt to illuminate the streets
here and there, as this process is a frequent incident. The brightest
red, yellow, green, and blue and pink are also seen in the costumes
or rather draperies of the people—the Hindu women in their graceful
saris, generally in different shades of red; the Mohammedan women
veiling their heads and shoulders in some vivid-coloured muslin—so
that one had a general impression of people walking about attired in
rainbows. Quaint, two-wheeled vehicles were numerous, often elaborately
painted and decorated, called recklas, having awnings over them, and
were driven by a superior caste of natives—possibly they might be a
sort of equivalent for the gig of respectability which Carlyle writes
of. Then there were the heavier ox-carts of the peasant, some of them
with a domed cover draped in red within which hidden from view sat the
women and children. Another kind of cart was built of bamboo, a curious
lattice of the same forming the pole and yoke for a pair of oxen.
Shaving, massage, cleaning teeth, washing, and all the necessary
operations, which in the west are generally performed in private, are
in Indian native quarters carried on in the open. The natives do not
seem to know what privacy is or to feel the need of it. The little
naked brown babies everywhere playing freely about are delightful.
Great flocks of pigeons (blue rocks) are always flying about or
swooping down to be fed with grain in the open spaces by women; but
they are driven away from the heaps of grain for sale in the bazaars.
The women carry everything upon their heads, and seem to do most of
the porterage—bearing endless baskets of brown fuel made in rough flat
cakes, bundles of wood, straw, sugar-cane, green stuff, bedding, and
water jars. In Rajputana the women wear a rather full skirt under the
sari, in many pleats rather after the style of an Albanian fustanelle.
Masses of bracelets, sometimes completely covering their brown arms,
are worn, either of coloured glass, or lacquered metal, or silver, and
silver anklets as a rule with little bells attached.
Armed horsemen are frequently seen riding in from or out into the
country. Elephants, camels, and flocks of goats vary the street scenes,
and residents’ carriages with outriders; camels are also sometimes
used to draw vehicles, driven in pairs.
[Illustration: TO AMBER ON AN ELEPHANT]
Musicians, with the peculiar long handled Indian guitar, jugglers,
conjurers, snake charmers, vendors of stuffs and embroideries, and
photograph sellers haunt the open arcades of the hotels and use every
device to attract the attention of travellers.
A visit to the deserted city of Amber and its palace is one of the
principal excursions outside Jaipur. It is best to start early in the
morning, as there is a four to six miles drive by carriage to reach
the place whence the ascent to Amber on elephants’ backs is made. The
road thither takes the visitor through a section of the city of Jaipur,
and passes out on the other side into a road skirted with trees and
gardens, from amidst which rise the domes of the pavilions of wealthy
Rajputs. The Alligator lake is again passed, and some distance beyond
this the foot of the hill is reached, when the traveller is expected to
leave his carriage and mount one of the elephants in waiting there to
take him up to Amber—another two miles.
It is necessary to be furnished with a formal permission from the
Resident to visit Amber. Formerly elephants were placed at the
disposal of visitors by the Maharajah, but since tourists became
numerous elephants must be hired by them. They are by no means richly
caparisoned elephants. The housings leave much to be desired, and the
seats are much out of repair, and one is lucky to find the foot-board
slung at a usable level and fairly horizontal, and if the protecting
rail of the seat does not slip out.
For those who are willing to sacrifice processional dignity and
spectacular effect, however, as well as a slow shaking, it is quite
possible to walk—for the able bodied, and before the sun is high.
After a steepish hill at first the road descends again, and passing
along the border of a small lake, turns round at its head and again
ascends to the palace on a considerable height, of which a distant view
is obtained, as one approaches it, from the road. It is a striking
pile of Mohammedan architecture. Three great gateways are passed
on the steep approach up the rocky sides of the hill, and the road
is protected by a wall, as at Chitorgarh. Finally the great gateway
leading into the courtyard of the palace is reached, and we dismount
from the elephant and are surrounded by a number of hangers-on, one
of which comes forward to act as guide over the palace, which showed
traces of considerable restoration. The great doors of solid brass
were exceedingly fine (both here and at the Maharajah’s palace in
Jaipur—really the best things there). There were also doors beautifully
inlaid with ivory and ebony to some of the zenana rooms, all the
doors being interesting for their woods and joinery. There were some
delicate pierced marble screens over the gateway of the inner court
which had a most lovely effect seen against the sky. The rooms were
very elaborately decorated with a sort of veneer of small pieces of
looking-glass arranged in arabesque, and united by cloisonné of gesso
forming the lines of divisions of the pattern, similar to that we had
seen at Udaipur. This decoration, carried all over a vaulted ceiling,
in the sunlight reflected from the floor, glittered like beaten silver.
On the lower halls were delicate marble panels of floral designs in
relief.
The palace as a whole did not strike us as so beautiful as that at
Udaipur, although vastly more so than the Maharajah’s at Jaipur.
[Illustration: SHOPPING IN JAIPUR]
From the roof and terraces we looked down on gardens and pavilions
and on the lake below, then partially dry, and wondered how this vast
palace with all its luxurious decoration came to be deserted. A temple
at the main entrance, however, is still maintained for worship, which
is that of Kali—one of the aspects or secondary characters of Parvati,
the wife of Siva—a savage, blood-thirsty goddess only propitiated by
animal sacrifices. A goat or a kid is still sacrificed daily here. It
was pathetic enough to see the innocent, unconscious intended victim—a
poor little kid tied at the corner of the platform of the temple by
a little heap of sand. Mr W. S. Caine gives a graphic account of how
the head of the victim is instantaneously cut off by the officiating
priest, an act he witnessed, but we felt no desire to see this
execution.
On our way back I saw a curious instance of the boldness of a kite
and the unerring way in which they swoop at their prey. A native was
walking down the hill in front of us carrying a piece of bread in his
hand, from which he ate, swinging it at his side between whiles. A kite
hovering above made a sudden swoop at the bread, which he struck with
his beak, scattering the crumbs, though he did not succeed in knocking
it quite out of the man’s hand.
Driving in the evening through the bazaars at Jaipur we stopped
the carriage to purchase some native cottons and muslins, and were
immediately surrounded by a noisy, struggling crowd of rival traders
who filled the carriage with their gay coloured stuffs, and literally
covered us up with them. Our bearer negotiated the bargains, and in the
end we carried off some characteristic textile souvenirs. On the way
back to our hotel we stopped to see the Maharajah’s horses, passing
through a gateway into a large exercise ground, down the sides of which
ran a long open shed, with horses tethered in a line, each horse being
secured by long ropes from each hind fetlock fastened to pegs on iron
rings fixed in the ground, which sloped down to the open court. In
addition to these each horse was tied by a halter, with a rope each
side to rings in the manger, and all, of course, had cloths on. There
were no partitions between the animals, which I suppose was the reason
of their being so carefully secured. There were some very fine animals
among them, and the native grooms were very willing to show them
off—for a little backsheesh. There were white Arabs, Walers, English
hunters, and a tiny Burmese pony.