=Udaipur=, _July 1821_.—When I concluded the narrative of my journey in
October last year, I had no expectation that I should ever put my foot
in the stirrup again, except en route to Bombay, in order to embark for
Old England; but “_honhar!_”[11.9.1] as my Rajput friends exclaim, with
a sigh, when an invincible destiny opposes their intentions. I had only
awaited the termination of the monsoon to remove the wreck of a once
robust frame to a more genial clime; and now, it will remain to be
proved whether my worthy friend Duncan’s prophecy—“You must die, if you
stay here six months more”—will be fulfilled. Poor Carey lies entombed
on the heights of Merta; the doctor himself is just going off to the
Cape, half-dead from the Kotah fever; and, as if that were not enough,
the _naharua_, or guinea-worm, has blanched his cheek and made him a
cripple. My cousin, Captain Waugh, is at Kotah, depressed by a
continuance of the same malaria, and in a few days I again start solus,
in the midst of the monsoon, for Haraoti.
=Death of the Rāo Rāja of Būndi.=—A few days ago I received an express
from Bundi, announcing the sudden death of my estimable friend, the Rao
Raja, who in his last moments nominated me guardian of his infant son,
and charged me to watch over his welfare and that of Bundi. The more
formal letter of the minister was accompanied by one from the Rani,
mother of the young prince, from whom also, or in his name, I had a few
lines, both seconding the bequest of the dying prince, and reminding me
of the dangers of a minority, and the elements by which they were
surrounded. The appeal was irresistible, and the equipage was ordered
out for immediate departure to Merta, and thence to Mauli, twenty-five
miles distant, where I should join them.
=Cholera.=—The Raja fell a victim to Mari, the emphatic appellation of
cholera, which has now been wasting these regions since 1817. They might
well say that, if at this important [688] period in their history we
destroyed the demon of rapine which had so long preyed upon their
repose, we had in lieu of it introduced death amongst them, for such is
the interpretation of Mari.[11.9.2] It was in our armies that this
disease first appeared in northern India; and although for some time we
flattered ourselves that it was only the intemperate, the ill-fed, or
ill-clothed, that fell victims to it, we soon discovered that Mari was
no respecter of persons, and that the prince and the peasant, the
European and the native, the robust and the weak, the well-fed and the
abstinent, were alike subject to her influence. I can number four
intimate friends, my brother officers, who were snatched away in the
very prime of life by this disease; and in the States under my political
control, it assailed in two instances, the palace: the Udaipur prince
recovered, but the Bundi Rao’s time was come. He conducted himself most
heroically, and in the midst of the most dreadful torture with which the
human frame can be afflicted, he never lost his self-possession, but in
every interval of suffering, conversed upon the affairs of his little
dominion, giving the fullest instructions for the future with composure.
He particularly desired that none of his wives should mount the pyre
with his corpse; and that as soon as he ceased to breathe, I should be
invited to Bundi; for that “he left Lalji (an endearing epithet to
children) in my lap.” It was only during our last journey through Bundi
that I was amused with my friend’s expedient to keep “death” out of his
capital, and which I omitted to mention, as likewise the old regent’s
mode of getting rid of this unwelcome visitor in Kotah; nor should they
be separated. Having assembled the Brahmans, astrologers, and those
versed in incantations, a grand rite was got up, sacrifice made, and a
solemn decree of _desvata_, or banishment, was pronounced against Mari.
Accordingly an equipage was prepared for her, decorated with funeral
emblems, painted black and drawn by a double team of black oxen; bags of
grain, also black, were put into the vehicle, that the lady might not go
forth without food, and driven by a man in sable vestments, followed by
the yells of the populace. Mari was deported across the Chambal, with
the commands of the priests that she should never set foot again in
Kotah.[11.9.3] No sooner did my deceased friend hear of her expulsion
from that capital, and being placed _en chemin_ for Bundi, than the wise
men of this city were called on to provide means to keep her from
entering therein. Accordingly, all the water of the Ganges at hand was
in requisition, an earthen vessel was placed over the southern portal,
from which the sacred water was continually dripping, and [689] against
which no evil could prevail. Whether my friend’s supply of the holy
water failed, or Mari disregarded such opposition, she reached his
palace.[11.9.4]
=Pauna, or Pahona=, _July 25_.—Yesterday was a day of disaster: I left
the capital amidst torrents of rain, and between Merta and Mauli found
my best elephant lying dead; the long and sudden march, and too heavy a
load, had destroyed the fine animal. It was rather ominous to lose the
emblem of wisdom in the outset of this journey. We passed a most
uncomfortable day, and still more uncomfortable night, for a strong gale
forced up the tent-pins from the clay soil, and brought down the tent
over my ears. I had an escape from the pole, part of which I propped
under the fly to keep me from suffocation. Around me were nothing but
yells of distress, half laughable, half serious; horses loose, and
camels roaring in discordant gutturals. We were glad long before dawn to
pack up our chattels, thoroughly soaked, and consequently double weight,
and begin moving for Pahona, where we are promised a little repose. I
have taken this route as it is the last occasion I shall have to visit
the work of my own hands, the mart of Bhilwara. Pahona is or was a place
of some value; but the Brahmans, through the influence of the Rana’s
sister, had got it by means of a forged grant, and abided by the
privileges of their order. But fortunately they abused the right of
sanctuary, in giving protection to a thief and assassin from interested
motives; consequently, the penalty of resumption was incurred, and we
hope to suffer no other ill-effects than Chand Bai’s displeasure.
=Bhīlwāra=, _July 26_.—Varuna, the Jupiter pluvialis of the Hindu, has
been most complaisant, and for two days has stopped up all the “bottles
of heaven,” and I [690] made my triumphal entry into our good town of
Bhilwara, on one of those days which are peculiarly splendid in the
monsoon, when the sun deigns to emerge from behind the clouds.
My reception was quite Asiatic; the entire population, headed by the
chief merchants, and preceded by the damsels with the _kalas_, advanced
full a mile to meet and conduct me to a town which, a few years ago, had
not one inhabited dwelling. I passed through the main street, surrounded
by its wealthy occupants, who had suspended over the projecting awnings
the most costly silks, brocades, and other finery, to do honour to one
whom they esteemed their benefactor, and having conducted me to my tent,
left me to breakfast, and returned in the afternoon. As the tent would
not contain a tenth of the visitors, I had its walls removed, and all
were welcome to enter who could. Every moment I expected to see it fall
upon us, as there were hundreds of hands at each rope, swaying it in
every direction, in their eagerness to see what was going on within
between the Sahib and the Panchayat of both sects, Oswal and Mahesri, or
Jain and Vaishnava. We talked over many plans for the future benefit of
the town; of further reducing the duties, and giving additional freedom
to the transit-trade. I offered, in the Rana’s name, to expend the next
two years’ income on a circumvallation for the protection of the town;
which, for many good reasons, they refused; and principally, that it
would be a check on that very freedom it was my desire they should
enjoy, as it would prevent uninterrupted ingress and egress. I, however,
sent for the chiefs, to whom, with their quotas, was confided the duty
of guarding this town, and before the assembled groups explained the
necessity of preventing any complaints from want of due vigilance, and
told them they were to be in lieu of walls to Bhilwara. My good friends
having no inclination to retire, I sent for the presents I intended for
the heads of the sectarian merchants, with the _itr-pan_ (that most
convenient mode of hinting to a friend that you are tired of him), and
they departed with a thousand blessings, and prayers for the perpetuity
of our raj.
Bhilwara is perhaps the most conspicuous instance in all India of the
change which our predominant influence has effected in four short years;
and to many it must appear almost miraculous that, within that period, a
great commercial mart should be established, and three thousand houses,
twelve hundred of which are those of merchants or artisans, be made
habitable, the principal street being entirely rebuilt; that goods of
all countries should be found there; bills of exchange to any amount,
and on any city in India, obtained, and that all should be
systematically organized, as if it had been [691] the silent growth of
ages. To me it afforded another convincing proof, in addition to the
many I have had, of the tenacity and indestructibility of the
institutions in these regions, and that very little skill is requisite
to evoke order and prosperity out of confusion and distress. I have no
hesitation in saying that, were it not now time to withdraw from
interference in the internal concerns of Mewar, the machine of
government having been once more put into action, with proper management
this place might become the chief mart of Rajputana, and ten thousand
houses would soon find inhabitants: such are its local capabilities as
an entrepôt. But while I indulge this belief, I should at the same time
fear that the rigid impartiality, which has prevented the quarrels of
the sectarian traders from affecting the general weal, would be lost
sight of in the apathy and intrigue which are by no means banished from
the councils of the capital.[11.9.5]
I bade a last farewell to Bhilwara and its inhabitants, with prayers for
the welfare of both.
=Bhīlwāra=, 28.—Though pressed for time, and the weather had again
become bad, I could not resist the kind entreaties of the people of
Bhilwara that I would halt one more day amongst them; and albeit neither
my health nor occupations admitted of my being the lion to the good
traders of the city without inconvenience, the slight personal sacrifice
was amply repaid by the more intimate acquaintance I gained with men
belonging to every region of Rajwara.
=Jahāzpur=, 29.—This was a long march in a torrent of rain, the country
flooded, and roads cut up; and although I have not incommoded myself
with much baggage, the little I have is in a wretched plight. The
crockery-bearer fell with his load, and smashed the contents. Passed
over the encamping ground of last year, and bestowed a transient thought
upon the scene enacted there. I was equally near ‘the brink’ this
spring. The Rana had stopped the nakkara, and many a rupee’s-worth of
_kesar_ (saffron) was promised to the divinities both of the Jains and
Vaishnavas for my recovery. My kinsman, Captain Waugh, was admitted,
after many days’ exclusion, to take a last adieu; but I told the doctor
I was sure he was wrong; and here I am, bound for the same scenes of
misery from which I so lately escaped, and under which several of my
establishment, besides poor Carey, have succumbed.
=Būndi=, 30.—Another fatiguing march brought us to the conclusion of our
journey; and notwithstanding a deluge of rain, we were met three miles
from the city by the minister and the principal chiefs, with whom an
interchange of _baghal-giri_ [692] (embracing) took place in spite of
the raging elements. All preceded to announce our approach, but my
faithful old friend, the Maharaja Bikramajit, whose plain and downright
honesty in all that appertains to his master’s house has won my warmest
regard. He rode by my side, and told me of the changes that had taken
place, of the dangers of the young Ram Singh from the interested views
of those who affected the semblance of devotion; “but,” observed the
veteran, “you know us all, and will trust no individual with too much
authority.” He could speak thus without fear of being misunderstood, for
no persuasion would have induced him to enter into their cabals, or
compromise his trust of watching over the personal safety of his infant
prince; though without any ostensible post or character save that proud
title—which was ascribed to him by all parties—‘the loyal Bikramajit.’
The beauties of the scenery passed unheeded, and have already been
sufficiently described, though there is novelty in every point of view
from which the fairy palace is seen; and as it burst upon us this
morning, a momentary gleam, passing over its gilded pinnacles, displayed
its varied outline, which as rapidly immerged into the gloom that hung
over it, according well with the character of its inmates. As it was my
policy to demonstrate, by the rapidity of my movements (which had
brought me in six days at such a season from Udaipur to Bundi), how much
the British Government had at heart the welfare of its young prince, I
hastened to the palace in my travelling costume to pay my respects,
wishing to get over the formal visit of condolence on the loss the
prince had sustained.
I found the young chief and his brother, Gopal Singh, surrounded by a
most respectable court, though, as I passed along the line of retainers
occupying each side of the long colonnaded Barah-dari,[11.9.6] I could
perceive looks of deep anxiety and expectation blended with those of
welcome. Notwithstanding the forms of mourning must destroy much of the
sympathy with grief, there is something in the settled composure of
feature of an assembly like this, convened to receive the condolence of
a stranger who felt for the loss in which he was called to sympathize,
that fixes the mind. Although I was familiar with the rite of _matam_,
which, since the days of “David, who sent to comfort Hanun, son of the
king of the children of Ammon, when his father died,” is generally one
of ‘the mockeries of woe,’ its ordinary character was changed on this
occasion, when we met to deplore the loss of the chief of all the Haras.
I expressed the feelings which the late event had excited in me, in
which, I observed, the most noble the governor-General would
participate; adding that it was a consolation [693] to find so much
promise in his successor, during whose minority his lordship would be in
the place of a father to him in all that concerned his welfare; and that
in thus speedily fulfilling the obligations of public duty and
friendship to the will of his deceased parent, I but evinced the deep
interest my government had in the rising prosperity of Bundi; that,
thank God, the time was past when a minority could endanger his welfare,
as it would only redouble the anxiety and vigilance of my government;
with much more to the same purport, which it is unnecessary to repeat.
The young prince replied with great propriety of manner and speech,
concluding thus: “My father left me in your lap; he confided my
well-being to your hands.” After a few remarks to the chiefs, I repaired
to the residence prepared for me at no great distance from the palace.
Here I found all my wants supplied and my comforts most carefully
studied; and scarcely had I changed my garments, when a sumptuous dinner
was announced, sent by the queen-mother, who in order to do more honour
had ordered a Brahman to precede it, sprinkling the road with holy-water
to prevent the approach of evil!
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Footnote 11.9.1:
[Kismet, fate.]
Footnote 11.9.2:
From the Sanskrit _mri_, ‘to die.’
Footnote 11.9.3:
[Examples of this magical expulsion of disease are common. At the
Bhadrakāli temple at Nāsik a Māng woman, supposed to be possessed by
the cholera goddess, when the epidemic prevails, is solemnly placed in
a cart, and driven out of the city (_BG_, xvi. 520 f.). The Bhīls
practise a similar rite, and Sleeman records the custom at Sāgar (C.
E. Luard, _Ethnographic Survey Central India_, 49, 62; Sleeman,
_Rambles_, 162), also see Crooke, _Popular Religion and Folklore of
Northern India_, 2nd ed. i. 141 f.; Frazer, _The Golden Bough_, 3rd
ed., _The Scapegoat_, 109 ff.]
Footnote 11.9.4:
I have in other parts of my work touched upon this terrific scourge,
from which it will be seen that it is well known throughout India
under the same appellation; and it is not one of the least curious
results of my endeavour to prove that the Hindus had historical
documents, that by their means I am enabled to trace this disease
ravaging India nearly two centuries ago. At Vol. II. p. 1022 it
is thus described in the Annals of Marwar: “This, the sakha (putting a
garrison to the sword) of Sojat, was when S. 1737 ended, and S. 1738,
or A.D. 1681-2, commenced, when the sword and Mari (pestilence) united
to clear the land.” Orme, in his Fragments [ed. 1782, p. 200],
mentions a similar disease in A.D. 1684, raging in the peninsula of
India, and sweeping off five hundred daily in the imperial camp at
Goa; and again, in the Annals of Mewār, Vol. I. p. 454, it is
described in the most frightful colours, as ravaging that country
twenty years before, or in S. 1717 (A.D. 1661); so that in the space
of twenty years, we have it described in the peninsula, in the desert
of India, and in the plains of Central India; and what will appear not
the least singular part of the history of this distemper, so analogous
to the present date, about the intermediate time of these extreme
periods, that is about A.D. 1669, a similar disease was raging in
England. I have no doubt that other traces of the disorder may appear
in the chronicles of their bards, or in Muhammadan writers, judging
from these incidental notices, which might never have attracted
attention had not Mari come to our own doors. I have had many patients
dying about me, but no man ever dreamed of contagion; to propagate
which opinion, and scare us from all the sympathies of life, without
proof absolutely demonstrative, is, to say the least, highly
censurable. There is enough of self in this land of ultra
civilisation, without drawing a _cordon sanitaire_ round every
individual. The Udaipur prince was the first person seized with the
disease in that capital: a proof to me, against all the faculty, that
to other causes than personal communication its influence must be
ascribed. I will not repeat the treatment in this case (see p.
1002), which may deserve notice, though prescribed by the
uninitiated.
Footnote 11.9.5:
[The progress of Bhīlwāra has hardly realized the Author’s
predictions: but it is now an important trading centre. Bishop Heber,
who visited the town in 1825, speaks highly of Tod’s efforts to
improve it (Erskine ii. A. 97 f.).]
Footnote 11.9.6:
[Bārahdari, ‘a room with twelve doors’; ‘a pavilion.’]
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