AMRITZAR AND LAHORE
We left Delhi by a night train—the Punjab Mail—for Amritzar, but we
had a long wait at the station, as the train was two hours late. The
station was thronged with natives bound for some religious festival
connected with the approaching eclipse of the sun. There was a seething
mass of dark humanity at the entrance, through which we had almost to
fight our way to the platform.
Our route was by way of Umballa, which we reached in the early morning.
The country was wrapped in a thick white mist before the sun rose, when
it gradually cleared. Beyond Umballa the country was very flat, the
dry lands varied with green crops and yellow with charlock, as before,
and dotted with acacia trees. Occasionally we crossed wide rivers,
or river beds, and the usual flocks of white cranes and brown kites
were seen. Jullumpore was another junction where our train stopped. It
looked an interesting place from the railway, a walled town with towers
and ancient mosques. After leaving Pillour (the refreshment station) a
very broad river was crossed, and on the wide sands of the dry part of
its bed, almost like a desert, we saw a train of thirty camels moving
slowly in single file.
We did not reach Amritzar until about 1 P.M., more than three hours
after time! On emerging from the station, despite our bearer, we were
nearly torn to pieces by hotel touts.
[Illustration: SHE WON’T BE HAPPY TILL SHE GETS EVERYTHING PACKED UP]
The Alexandra hotel had been named to us and we asked for its
representative, but it appeared there was no such hotel at Amritzar.
Each rival tout clamoured for our custom, declaring that the hotel
he represented was the true and only successor to the mythical
Alexandra.[A] One went so far as to say he had received a post-card
from us, but when asked to produce it only showed a letter from some
one else! Finally we got into a carriage, which was immediately stormed
by the irrepressible touts, one seating himself on the box, one on
the step each side, and I don’t know how many hanging on behind. Not
liking the look of the first hotel they took us to, we tried a second
and decided to put up there, and so gradually shook off the touts.
There was more of an Eastern character about our quarters here than we
had hitherto experienced. The hotel was quite an Oriental serai in an
Eastern garden, our rooms being in a sort of Indian villa, opening on
to a terrace with steps down into the garden, with its narrow straight
paths between fruit trees, and our room was rather like a small temple
or chapel with recessed walls and ogee arched doorways, a raftered
ceiling, and clerestory windows. Built for coolness, no doubt, we now
found it positively cold in the mornings and evenings, and although
there was a fireplace the lighting of a wood fire made matters worse,
for we were nearly smoked out.
[A] We learned afterwards that it was the custom to change the
names of hotels every six months or so.
[Illustration: DEMON HOTEL TOUTS AT AMRITZAR FIGHTING FOR THEIR PREY]
There were several English or Anglo-English at table preserving their
characteristic frigidity in the presence of strangers. A gentleman from
Manchester was the only one who showed a friendly disposition and who
had any conversation.
Driving through the city we had recourse to smelling-bottles, as owing
to the open drains each side the streets the odours which saluted our
nostrils were rather trying. I had noticed these open gulleys at Delhi
and in the native quarters in other towns. They run close in front of
the houses and open shops of the bazaars, and are crossed by slabs of
stone placed across them at intervals to give access to the houses, and
as all sorts of refuse finds its way into them it is not surprising
they should be offensive sometimes, though it had not been nearly so
noticeable elsewhere. Amritzar is said to have the benefit of the
advice of an English sanitary engineer.
The street did not strike us as so varied and interesting as other
cities we had seen, and the house fronts seemed plainer and more
modern, as a rule, though the streets were narrow enough.
[Illustration: THROUGH AMRITZAR—SIT TIGHT AND HOLD A SMELLING BOTTLE!]
From a sort of terrace we got our first view of the Golden Temple,
which is built in the centre of the large tank or lake in the centre
of the city. A broad paved causeway connects with the paved walk
along two sides of the lake. After the magnificent and beautifully
proportioned Mogul architecture of Agra and Delhi, the Golden
Temple, built at the beginning of the nineteenth century is rather
disappointing, despite its gilded domes, the building looking rather
squat, though the gold reflected in the rippling water has a charming
effect. The gilded dome of the Atal tower also shows over the
buildings behind the temple seen from the terrace. Leaving our carriage
at this spot we were surrounded and eyed by a curious crowd. Rival
guides apparently contended for us, and there was a sudden quarrel,
ending in a free fight, between two of them, the end of which we did
not remain to see. The temple and its precincts is held most sacred by
the Sikhs, Amritzar being their religious centre, the place is most
jealously watched. It seemed impossible to get away from the crowd, who
appeared to be none too friendly to strangers, and sketching was out of
the question without a bodyguard.
We had a very courteous and kind reception from Dr Dinghra, three of
whose sons we had known in London. One son and his wife were staying
with him, and we spent a pleasant hour under his hospitable roof, and
he presented us with handsome saddle bags, made of the local carpet,
on leaving. He also introduced us to one of the leading citizens,
a magistrate, who had an extensive pile carpet manufactory, and he
showed us over the works. These were long sheds, having round arched
arcades opening on to a court, and in these were a series of high-warp
hand-looms with rows of shuttles filled with the different coloured
wools hanging from the top. The weavers sat, or rather squatted, in
a row on the ground in front of the warp and worked in the pattern.
They were young boys and youths trained to the work early. They used a
small curved knife like a small sickle to shear off the ends of their
threads and press them home when a particular bit of coloured pattern
was finished. Little oblong labels written in Arabic were placed on the
warp in front of each weaver, which gave the written directions for
the colours to be used in the work. No individual judgment or choice
appeared to be exercised by the weavers.
There was a design room also open to the court under an arcade, here
some quite aged natives were preparing designs, sketching them out in
pencil or charcoal on squared paper, quite in the European method, and
in some cases working from photographs of special carpets.
I learned from the manager that the working hours in this factory were
from 8 A.M. till dark. The boy weavers only got one and a half annas
a day! We finally were shown the finished product—a whole series of
large handsome carpets being rolled out for us to see. One of these, of
a Persian kind of design, would be priced at 200 rupees, the manager
said. Before leaving we were requested to write our names, and any
remarks on our visit, in a visitor’s book, where the list had been
headed by the Prince and Princess of Wales, who visited these works on
their tour in India in 1905.
In the forenoon of January 14th we saw the eclipse of the sun from
our terrace. It rather took us by surprise—the light quickly becoming
curiously pale like moonlight and the air unusually chilly. We could
see the sun turned into a crescent quite distinctly, and pass through
various phases like a moon, till it gradually regained its normal shape
and power shortly after noon.
[Illustration: AN INDIAN AUTOLYCUS]
As we sat on the terrace a native pedlar approached with two
portentous bundles. He salaamed, and proceeded to unload his wares
in front of us. His stock, however, consisted entirely of European
goods—small wares such as tapes and buttons, studs, soaps and perfumes,
patent medicines, and such articles as are supposed to meet the wants
of travellers. This Indian Autolycus addressed us as “Father” and
“Mother,” and like the “Mad Hatter” commenced his speeches by saying
“me very poor man,” following this announcement by urgent appeals
to us to buy, after each purchase, beginning all over again afresh.
Probably he felt he had to make the most of his English, as well as of
his stock and his opportunities.
After another look at the Golden Temple, which it was impossible to
approach without a crowd and without clumsy canvas shoes over our own,
we made our way round to the Atal tower. Here, again, before entering
the anything but clean marble court shoes had to be put off. It is an
octagonal shrine, or tomb, having curious beaten metal plates, gilded
figure designs in repoussé over the doors, but the decorative art here
was much inferior in design and detail to what we had seen further
south.
We then drove to the public gardens in which stands the pavilion of
Ranji Singh. The gardens are full of beautiful palms and trees of
many different kinds, including fine cypresses and splendid clumps
of bamboos. The roads around Amritzar are lined with trees, and one
sees enormous banyans spreading their great branches and masses of
dark green foliage and casting deep shadows on the long avenues. Large
plantations and fruit gardens, too, surround the city, so that it has a
very attractive look although on a dead level.
Oranges of a large rough-skinned kind are grown here. They are
deep-coloured, and more like lemons in shape. There was also a very
small circular orange about the size of a large cherry in the hotel
garden, where roses, pansies, and violets were blooming freely. The
native gardener was generally to the fore in offering us small posies
or buttonholes whenever he had an opportunity and for a consideration.
We left Amritzar for Lahore on January the 15th, having another
long wait for the Punjab mail, this time three hours behind time.
However, about noon another train came up and we were advised by the
stationmaster to go on by that in preference to waiting longer for the
mail. This train, he said, would take us to Lahore more quickly than
the quick train, which sounds like a contradiction in terms. It is only
about an hour’s journey.
The country between Amritzar and Lahore is, again, flat and has no
striking features. Fields under irrigation green with young crops of
corn, often smothered in charlock, alternated with dry fields or the
standing canes of ripe crops, and stubbles of some newly reaped. The
wells were plentiful. Some of the irrigation wells in this district
are of a different pattern and mechanism to the simple draw-well seen
generally. A pair of oxen turn a horizontal heavy wooden wheel which
has slots at regular intervals around the outside of its rim. These
slots catch the projecting spokes or straight cogs of another wheel,
also horizontally placed and smaller in size, and this in turn by means
of the cogs moves a large water wheel arranged in a vertical position,
the projecting cogs catching the spokes of this wheel, which has a
series of leather buckets or water pots attached to its broad rim, on
the same principle as we see in dredging machines. As the wheel turns
the buckets are dipped one after the other into the well, and as they
rise again full empty their contents into a trough immediately in
front of the wheel, which communicates with another trough connected
with the irrigating trenches, which are thus supplied with water.
The station at Lahore was comparatively quiet and was a pleasing
contrast to the turbulent crowd at Amritzar. The Charing Cross hotel
received us, but anything less suggestive of the associations its
name recalled it would be difficult to imagine. It was of the usual
extended bungalow type, with long arcades in front of ranges of ground
floor rooms, spacious and lofty and reminding rather of the vast
rooms one sees on the stage with raftered ceilings and whitewashed
walls. The lower wall of our sitting-room, however, was hung with very
interesting Indian hand-painted cotton hangings, which gave it rather
a distinguished appearance. There was a bedroom, something between a
prison and a chapel, and dressing and the usual bath rooms, with zinc
tubs, opening out beyond. There were large sitting and dining rooms,
the latter an enormous one, like the nave of a church, lighted by a
clerestory only, and cold enough, where people dined rather frigidly,
each group at a safe distance at separate little round tables. We were
glad of a log-fire in the evenings, though the sun was powerful enough
during the day. “The Charing Cross post office” was close by, which
had one pigeon hole, and where the stamps were sold outside under the
verandah, by a native squatting on the ground.
[Illustration: ENJOYING A LOG FIRE AT LAHORE]
A fine broad avenue through the English quarter is called “The Mall,”
and here the principal government buildings are situated, the Law
courts and the Museum, and the principal stores and bungalows. This
British residential and business quarter is quite distinct and lies
quite clear outside the walls of the native city of Lahore. It is
laid out in broad drives with tan rides at the side, and bordered
with trees. Bungalows and shops and stores in the shape of bungalows
standing detached in gardens are arranged pleasantly from the modern
residential point of view, and forms quite a “garden city,” only marred
by the atrocious way in which the traders announce their names and
business in staring white block-letters on black boards. One piano
warehouse, I noticed, had even a sky sign. Even the private residences
are often disfigured in the same way by black boards with the name of
the occupier in the ugliest block-letters.
The gardens and hedges, often of roses trained on trellises of bamboo,
are kept very trim up and down the Mall.
Smart English ladies and officers ride or drive about in their
dog-carts with native tigers behind. We met a very imposing and
original turn out—a fine pair of brown camels, well matched, were
harnessed to a sort of barouche, each ridden, postilion-wise, by
native servants in scarlet, one in the same colour behind the
carriage, which contained two English ladies. This was probably the
Lieutenant-Governor’s carriage. Bicycles were much in use both by
Europeans’ (men and women) and natives—the turban and loose pyjama-like
clothes of the latter looking strange on the machine. The natives,
however, everywhere in the towns where the Europeans’ influence comes
in seem to take to machines. The sewing machine is constantly seen in
the bazaars, always, however, worked by a man. A certain firm’s poster
of the eternal woman enclosed in a hideous S (like a modern Eve and the
industrial serpent) looks particularly incongruous and out of place in
India, where there seems to be no women working at crafts. The men do
the washing too, the Dhobee in white with his bundle of linen being a
frequent and characteristic figure.
No greater contrast could be imagined than that between the English
quarter and the native city lying within its old walls and great
gates, with its narrow picturesque streets and—stinks! Open drains
as at Amritzar run along each side of the streets, close in front of
the bazaar, where the people sit. The fronts of the houses above the
open shops are mostly of wood of a dark rich tone, corbelled arcaded
balconies and windows jutting out over the street at all sorts of
angles, rich with delicate and varied carvings, as if the builders had
vied with each other which should make the most interesting front.
There are charming little covered verandahs and balconies with slender
columns and ogee arches, and pierced screen-work painted here and
there, but mostly the deep dusky brown tone of the natural wood, dark
with age, which forms an effective background to the vivid colours
and glitter of costumes and draperies of the bazaars. The newly dyed
long strips of cotton or muslin in orange or pink, green or lemon
yellow which are hung out to dry, wave like long banners over the busy
life of the narrow streets, where the turbaned and many coloured,
swarthy faced crowd, jostle along, or stand in chattering groups about
the shops, buying and selling. The types, too, are very varied—the
Hindu, the Mohammedan, the Afghan, the country folk; the Mohammedan
woman in trousers, the Hindu woman in her graceful Sari, with her
glittering silver anklets, and bracelets, toe-rings and nose-rings;
dark eyes and shining whites momentarily seen, and gleaming teeth, the
mysterious-looking figures covered from head to foot in flowing white
drapery, pleated into a close fitting cap, with little perforations
for the eyes, in front, the effect of the whole being ghostly, or
even ghoulish. The white mystery being only betrayed by a brown foot
beneath and the gleam of a silver anklet which tells one it is only the
disguise of a Mohammedan woman.
[Illustration: “THE WOMAN IN WHITE” AT LAHORE (SUGGESTION FOR A
DISGUISE PARTY)]
Here again it was rather disappointing to see the native bazaars full
of European goods, and a trivial cheap kind at that. European commerce
has evidently got its foot in. Blue enamelled basins and cups, tin
ware, tapes and buttons, braces, socks and ugly woollen scarfs in
aniline colours are seen everywhere. It is true that one occasionally
may see a native handicraftsman at work, such as the man who prints
the ornamental borders on the edges of the muslin veils of the women,
and picks them out in silver leaf, silver or orange being a favourite
arrangement. The metal-worker is also frequent, though he often only
makes zinc stoves. The food shops are the most numerous, set out with
piles of curious yellow cakes and sweets of all sorts and sizes, the
cooking stove being often in front of the shop, made of clay or mud
with a tiny hole in which they produce hot little fires.
Through the bazaars our carriage worked its way as through a labyrinth.
The mixed throng of buyers and sellers, beggars and brown babies, and
cheeky little street Arabs, who are inclined to be rude to the stranger
generally, tongas, buffaloes, herds of goats, stray zebu bulls, and
fat-tailed sheep.
These latter we first saw at Delhi. They are originally from Tibet. The
enormous development of the tail, or fleece of the tail, has a very
extraordinary effect, as if the animal carried a bag of wool behind it,
both broad and long and nearly touching the ground. Occasionally we saw
one of these animals (rams) dyed with orange colour, and marked with
curious patterns all over its fleece.
Passing through the bazaars we arrived at a large open space, and soon
reached the (Roshanai) gate of the Fort on the other side of it. There
the English sentry, after saying an order was necessary, called an
orderly to take us round. Just inside the gate we got a view of the
old wall of the palace decorated by tiles, the colours being similar
to those used at Gwalior, at the Man Mandir palace, principally
turquoise, green, and lemon yellow, the tile-work being arranged in
bands or friezes of elephants and birds in profile, let into the red
sandstone.
The very stolid British “Tommy” in khaki conducted us, in slow marching
order and in solemn silence, up the long sloping road to the square of
the Fort where he pointed out, without emotion, a colonnaded Hall of
audience, and then took us through a gateway into the rather spacious
court of the old palace of Akbar, who also built the Fort. On one side
of the court was an interesting armoury of Sikh weapons, beginning with
suits of fine chain mail and Persian-looking steel topis, damasceened
and bossed circular targes up to flint-locks, and match-locks, and
blunderbusses.
There was quite a mediæval-looking heavy steel mace, and many sabres,
and sword sticks, some made with crutch handles terminating in horses’
heads. There were also a number of steel cuirasses. I believe this
armoury was arranged by Mr Kipling, the father of Mr Rudyard Kipling,
who was head of the art school of Lahore for many years, and to whom is
due the extremely interesting museum.
There were relics of elaborate decoration on the walls and
vaults of what remained of the palace, and some of the glass
(convex-mirror-mosaic) work united with gesso-relief ornament, which
we saw at Udaipur, Amber, Delhi, and other places: but the British
occupation had tried its best, by introducing hideous chunks of barrack
buildings, to take the romance and beauty out of the place.
Close to the Fort outside its gate is the Samadh, or burning-place of
Ranjit Singh. A carved lotus flower, surrounded by eleven smaller ones,
on a raised platform inside the pavilion-like building, mark the place
where his body was burned with eleven ladies of his Zenana. Not far
off rises the dome of the Jama Musjid and its noble minarets of red
sandstone.
There is a fine park-like country beyond the walls on this side of
the city with groups of old trees. The minarets and domes of Lahore
have a striking effect seen from outside the gate. We returned through
the bazaars a different way, passing the golden domed mosque and also
the Wazar Khan mosque, the latter a very fine one fronting a small
square in the middle of the city, and having two large minarets faced
with enamelled tiles in blue and green and other colours, cobalt
predominating. The spandrils of the main entrance, and in fact the
whole of the front, being decorated with tiles in large arabesques and
borderings, a large Arabic text in blue written boldly over the arch,
and panels down each flank of smaller scale work. It was the first
tiled mosque we had seen, and quite characteristic of the art of a
district which culminates in the renowned tombs at Multan.
At the English club house on the Mall, the pipers of a Highland
regiment were playing on the lawn in front. The club had well laid out
and ample lawn tennis courts, large blue durries being hung at each end
of the courts to stop the balls, and the players had native caddies
to pick them up. There were zoological gardens near by where we saw
nylghaus and antelopes and birds of various sorts.
A Victoria memorial on a large scale was in progress at a place where
branching roads met. The work of the British sculptor in India cannot
be said to be much more exhilarating than the work of the British
architect, as a rule, to judge from the specimens we saw, chiefly of
statues of the late Queen Victoria.
The courts of Justice at Lahore are more successful than most of the
modern examples in India, perhaps because designed in what might be
called the local style—the Mogul. Near by in a little garden enclosed
by clipped hedges was a bronze statue of Lord Laurence offering the
choice of government by pen or sword to the passer by. It had some
dramatic expression, though the choice of a momentary attitude in a
portrait statue is perhaps open to criticism.
We visited the museum, where Mr Percy Brown has succeeded Mr Kipling
as director. Here is a most interesting collection of typical native
textiles, including the raised wax designs gilded, silvered, and
lacquered on grounds of different coloured cloths, an art which is
still practised in the district with success, traditional designs
of flowers and birds being repeated in a very skilful and effective
way, and applied to the adornment of portières, covers, etc. There
were also good collections of native jewellery and enamels. Champlévé
enamel, such as is done at Lucknow, was illustrated by specimens in
different stages from the commencement to the finish, side by side
with cloissoné (Japanese) illustrated in the same complete way, as
well as complete models showing native industries and handicrafts in
operation; interesting old Hindu herbals and manuscripts on vellum with
characteristic miniatures; drawings of local palaces and gardens in
plan, elevation and bird’s-eye perspective.
There was a very notable collection of Greco-Buddhist sculptures, which
were extremely interesting and unusual.
Very little wood-carving, curiously enough, except modern examples
in screens and furniture, the work of the Art School, exhibited in a
separate room. The city of Lahore being so rich in carved wood-work
it was less necessary to have it in the museum, and, of course, much
better to see it _in situ_. The modern way of selling the spoils of
old buildings to private collections or to museums is carried on in
Europe to an alarming extent, so that one begins to fear, in view of
the rapid destruction of ancient houses now going on, whether there
will soon be left any genuine bits of antiquity in this commercial
world. It is better of course that relics of ancient art should find a
haven in a public museum than that it should perish altogether, but any
destruction or removal for the express purpose of transportation to a
museum should be deprecated.
On the whole the Lahore museum was a well-chosen and arranged museum,
judiciously limited to Indian art, and it was interesting to see the
groups of natives—men, women, and children—apparently scanning the
different objects with the greatest interest and with much animated
conversation among themselves. One afternoon we drove to the Waza Khan
Mosque, and I made the sketch reproduced here of the entrance to the
mosque from the carriage. The crowd was curious, but not nearly so
troublesome as elsewhere, and our conductor, or running footman, kept
them off pretty well. The square had large pools of mud in it here and
there after recent rains. Zebus were straying about, or lying down.
Fruit and good stalls occupied other parts of the ground, and ox-carts
deposited loads of wood. Men sat in groups in the porch of the mosque,
or on the steps, from which boys flew their little diamond-shaped paper
kites. The mysterious-looking white figures of the Mohammedan women
wandered about like substantial ghosts. We saw a pretty little gazelle
at one of the stalls, perfectly tame, and a great pet of the native who
owned it.
The Cashmere travelling merchants, who display their tempting wares
at all the hotels, spread out their stuffs in profusion—Bokhara
embroideries, Persian covers, kincobs, turbans, and portières of black,
red, or green grounds, effectively decorated with designs in the raised
wax, such as we saw in the museum—and used all their persuasive arts to
effect sales.
We did not stay long enough in Lahore to see much of the Society there,
but before leaving we had a visit from the Princess Duleep Singh and
her sister, who, hearing from friends at Amritzar that we were there,
came to see us at the hotel. The princess was dressed as a Parsee lady
in beautiful classical draperies, white with embroidered borders, and
she drove herself in a dog-cart, but the sister was in European dress.
The princess recalled the circumstance of my having made a little
sketch in her brother the prince’s cottage on the Norfolk coast, which
had been designed for him by Mr Detmar Blow, which we visited when
staying in the neighbourhood.
[Illustration: THE MERCHANTS OF KASHMIR]
We left Lahore the mid-day Lucknow Mail, after a long wait, the
platform covered with picturesque groups of squatting natives. We
eventually shared a compartment, as far as Umballa, with an English
official, his German wife and a little girl. As far as Umballa on this
line, coming north, we had already journeyed. The chief incident after
leaving Lahore was the catching fire of one of the boxes of one of the
carriages of our train, which caused the passengers hastily to leave
it, and crowd into other parts of the train, when it was stopped and
the burning carriage taken off at a small station just before Amritzar.
[Illustration: LAHORE—THE MOSQUE OF WAZA KHAN]
At Umballa, the dining station, which we reached when it was dark, some
said we had to change, others said not. This was puzzling. One official
with more authority than the others said emphatically “no,” at last.
So, having just time, we scurried across the bridge to the refreshment
room with light hearts and sharp appetites, snatched a hasty meal and
hurried back to find Moonsawmy, who acted as courier and took charge of
the tickets, in some difficulty with the officials about the tickets.
One official (the stationmaster) came up, and then said we ought to
have changed into the train which was just at that moment steaming out
of the station, excusing his mistake by saying that he had not till
then seen our tickets, fussily ordering a humble Hindu clerk to take
the numbers.
After this we got into our compartment again and settled ourselves for
a sleep, as we were not due at Lucknow until next morning. During the
night we were constantly disturbed by people opening the carriage door
and peering in—no doubt in search of lower berths, which we occupied.
At one place a Eurasian got in with a quantity of baggage, and got out
again only a few stations off. On leaving, perceiving he had disturbed
us he said he was “sorry for the trouble.”
At Barielly another man (English) got in with his traps and rugs and
settled himself to sleep on the middle berth—which in some carriages
economises space between the two side ones—though he was at first a
little taken aback at seeing that one of us was a lady. However, he
turned out to be a very agreeable companion afterwards, and we got
quite friendly as the train the next morning approached Lucknow, we
having previously decided not to stop at Cawnpore.