=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.[11.7.1]
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[11.7.2] 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.[11.7.3] 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_,[11.7.4] 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[11.7.5] 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_,[11.7.6]
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.[11.7.7] 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=,[11.7.8] _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.
[Illustration:
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[11.7.9] 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[11.7.10] 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;[11.7.11] 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=,[11.7.12] _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[11.7.13] 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,[11.7.14] 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,[11.7.15] 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=,[11.7.16] _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.[11.7.17]
I was met at the frontier by the _taiyunnati_[11.7.18] 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.
-----
Footnote 11.7.1:
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.]
Footnote 11.7.2:
[Thirty-six miles N.E. of Udaipur city.]
Footnote 11.7.3:
[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).]
Footnote 11.7.4:
[Skt. _parusa_, an axe-shaped goad: also known as _ankus_.]
Footnote 11.7.5:
[About 10 miles W. of Kotah city.]
Footnote 11.7.6:
[“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).]
Footnote 11.7.7:
[P. 1618.]
Footnote 11.7.8:
[“Touera” in the Author’s map.]
Footnote 11.7.9:
[The name of the steed of the hero Gugga.]
Footnote 11.7.10:
[A rough-rider.]
Footnote 11.7.11:
[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.]
Footnote 11.7.12:
[The Mej Nadi, the principal, almost the only, drainage channel of the
Būndi State, falls into the Chambal.]
Footnote 11.7.13:
[Dablāna about 10 miles N. of Būndi city: Thāna in the Kherwāra
District of S. Mewār.]
Footnote 11.7.14:
[The creed of Islām.]
Footnote 11.7.15:
[Her local title is Rakt Dantika Devi, ‘Devi with the blood-stained
teeth’ (_Rājputāna Gazetteer_, 1879, i. 240).]
Footnote 11.7.16:
[Ten miles S. of Deoli cantonment.]
Footnote 11.7.17:
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.
Footnote 11.7.18:
[A deputation of welcome.]
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