reception—is furnished in the European style. The rooms are lofty and
well-proportioned. On this occasion they were brilliantly lit up, and
filled with the _elite_ of the native population. Our host was most
attentive. He had provided every imaginable variety of refreshments,
music, singers, jugglers, and the inevitable “nautch,” which went
on without any intermission the whole evening—one set of dancers
following another when exhausted by their incessant whirling round and
abominably discordant song.
The hospitality of Indian princes is something beyond description.
They, who are most abstemious and simple both in food and drink, must
look upon Europeans as a voracious and thirsty race. Whilst with
Indians, we were everlastingly pressed to either eat or drink; and
wherever we went—sight-seeing, hunting, boating, or riding—coolies
were sent ahead of us with tents, provisions, and all the most
luxurious appliances for comforting the inner man.
The Maharajah’s entertainment lasted until a very late hour. I should
perhaps be nearer the truth if I said an early hour on the following
morning.
We, however, turned out to breakfast in good time, as he had arranged
to have carriages and horses to take us round the ghâts, temples, and
palaces for which Benares is famous.
According to appointment, we proceeded first to the palace of His
Highness the Maharajah of Vizianagram, situated in Bhelepur. This
is one of the finest palaces in this city of palaces, having been
specially reconstructed and decorated to receive His Royal Highness
the Prince of Wales during his stay in Benares. In order to convey
an idea of the magnitude of that princely residence it will suffice
to say that the entrance hall is 100ft. by 50ft. The furniture and
appointments in all the reception rooms are thoroughly European, but,
as in most Indian residences, there is a certain incongruous mixture
of the most costly articles side by side with ornaments or pictures
of the commonest kind—real bronzes and costly marble statuary being
placed in close proximity with plaster casts of the most trivial
value. Gaudily-coloured prints, in cheap frames, are mixed up amongst
original paintings by well-known masters.
H.H. of Vizianagram only visits this residence once or twice a year,
on pilgrimage, but still keeps up the retinue and style of the place;
and the officer in charge dispenses the most royal hospitality
to visitors authorised by his master to have an _entrée_ to this
magnificent and really interesting place.
Our next visit was to the Golden Temple (Bisheshan) dedicated to Siva,
the presiding deity of Benares. This temple is looked upon as being
the holiest of all holy places in the sacred city. The symbol of the
god is a plain Lingam of uncarved stone.
Prior to describing this temple I shall digress to explain this
extraordinary “divinity,” termed the Lingam god, the original having,
under the most extraordinary, binding, and strict conditions, been
entrusted to my care to be exhibited in the Gem Gallery of the
Calcutta Exhibition. I cannot do better than transcribe the printed
form which was handed to me for distribution by the special attendants
who were placed in charge of this valuable exhibit, and never lost
sight of it during the whole period of the Exhibition.
“This unique object of interest, the original Hindoo Lingam god, from
one of the most ancient temples of ‘Dilly,’ now Delhi, consists of an
extraordinary chrysoberyl cat’s-eye, of great size and brilliancy, set
in a very large topaz. The whole supports, on an Indian native gold
base, encrusted with diamonds, and set round with nine gems of great
value, called the ‘nine charms,’ represented by the following precious
stones: diamond, ruby, sapphire, chrysoberyl, cat’s-eye, coral,
hyacinthine, garnet, yellow sapphire, and emerald.
“This extraordinary historical relic has a two-fold interest,
principally on account of its great antiquity and repute, and,
secondly, as containing one of the most curious and brilliant
cat’s-eyes known.
“The Lingam god is well known to all who have visited the East, as
representing the deity to whom the Hindoo ladies pay devotion, with
the object of obtaining lineal descent, and this identical god is
the _original_ one, to whom annually thousands of devotees of every
rank journeyed from all parts of India to pay their devotions for
a period of upwards of 1000 years, until about the year 1193, when
the Mahomedan conqueror, Kulb-ud-din, having wrested Delhi from the
Hindoo kings, destroyed twenty-seven temples to obtain the materials
to build the great Mahomedan mosque of Kulb-Musjid, which to this day
perpetuates his name.
“On the destruction of the Hindoo temples above referred to, this
relic was placed for safety in the Mogul Treasury, and carefully
preserved as an unique specimen of a gem which is credited,
independently of its sacred character, of conferring great good
fortune to its possessor.
“The Lingam god remained in the Mogul Treasury for a period of 664
years, until the outbreak of the Indian Mutiny in 1857, when it was
removed, with other valuables, by the Queen of Bad Shah Bahadoor Shah,
the last King of Delhi, who was exiled by the British Government, and
died at Rangoon. It was subsequently parted with by her during the
unsettled period of the Mutiny.
“It is estimated that the number of Hindoos who have actually prayed
to this same god number many hundreds of millions.”
To return to the Golden Temple in which this “precious deity” is
located. It was erected by Ahalya Bai, the Maharatta Princess of
India, and has a central spire, each corner of the building being
crowned by a dome. Maharajah Ranjeet Singh of Lahore had the spire and
dome covered with thin plates of gold, and hence its name of Golden
Temple. In the temple there is a reservoir about 3ft. square and
1-1/2ft. deep. In this reservoir the pecuniary offerings of wealthy
and distinguished worshippers are thrown.
Maharajah Ranjub Singh filled it on one occasion with gold mohurs, but
it is often filled with rupees, and almost daily with copper coins.
Close to the Golden Temple is the Gyan-gapi, or well of knowledge,
where the natives believe Siva resides. The legend says that during
a drought, which extended over twelve years, a priest (Rishi) dug up
the earth on this spot with the trident of Siva, and at once came a
flow of water, which immediately put an end to the famine, and the
consequent affliction of the people. Since then Siva has, in the
Hindoo mind, lived in the well. Thousands of devout followers of Siva
may be seen worshipping there, and offering flowers to their god in
the well.
A colonnade of forty pillars was built over it in 1828 by Maharani Iri
Mout Baija Bai, widow of Dowlat Scindia, Bahadur of Gwalior.
In the courtyard is the figure of a huge stone bull, six and a half
feet high, which is dedicated to Mahadeo, and which was the gift of
the Rajah of Nepaul. There is also a temple dedicated to Mahadeo,
which was presented by the Rane of Hyderabad.
Next is the Temple of Ad-Bisheswar, which is in a dilapidated and
almost dangerous condition; east of this is Kashi-Karwat, with a
sacred well, having a passage leading to the river. Further on is the
temple dedicated to Sanichar or Saturn. The idol has a solid silver
head, with a cloth tied round the neck to hide the want of a body.
This deity is the dread of the Hindoo.
We now visited the Temple of Anpurna. The goddess to whom this temple
is dedicated is held in great veneration, for it is alleged that she
protects the faithful from hunger. There, daily, an immense number of
beggars are fed; and at any time mendicants may be seen waiting near
the entrance for their dole.
Offerings of grain, rice, and other food, as well as money donations
made by more wealthy worshippers, are gathered in a stone box, and
are distributed daily to the beggars at the entrance. The figure of
the goddess Anpurna represents a charming creature decked out with
gold and silver ornaments to fascinate the worshippers. This temple
was erected in 1725 by the Rajah of Poona. It has a tower and a dome,
and stands in the centre of a quadrangle, in the four corners of which
stand four smaller shrines.
The temples of Sakhi-Binayaka, Sukreswar, Bhaironath, are all pretty
much in the same style as those already described, and do not call
for special notice. We now come to the shrine dedicated to Sika, the
goddess of small-pox, whom Hindoos pay most particular court to, in
order, no doubt, to preserve themselves from that disease—their faith
in Sika being quite as great as ours is in Dr. Jenner’s system of
inoculation. It may here be worth mentioning that small-pox is quite
a recognised complaint throughout India; and, indeed, in exceptional
periods when, owing to atmospheric influences, its spread exceeds the
usual course, is not thought much more of than any other disease.
There are, certainly, in large cities like Calcutta, Bombay, &c.,
a small-pox hospital, but isolation is seldom if ever resorted to.
Whilst we were in Calcutta, one of my children went to school in a
house divided into flats. The teacher resided on the first floor. The
family occupying the ground floor had two cases of small-pox, which
did not hinder any of the pupils from attending the school, although
they had to pass through the hall, and unavoidably come in daily
contact with members of the family of the patients.
I may also mention that in many instances during the Calcutta
Exhibition, where natives used to throng the turnstiles for admission,
we called the attention of the police to several people whose
appearance denoted visible signs of that dreadful malady. The most
striking instance, and, to my mind, the most shocking, was that of a
hawker of sweetmeats, who used to squat in front of the main entrance,
carrying on a roaring trade with the lower class of native visitors to
the Exhibition. I noticed that his face, neck, and gradually the whole
of his body, was covered with pustules. When I called the attention of
a medical man to this, he said, “Well, I think it is time that this
fellow was sent to the Hospital,” and we had him removed at once.
At least one in fifty of the natives who paid for admission had
purchased sweetmeats from that fellow, received change, which was
handed to us at the turnstiles, still clammy with the perspiration of
the hands of a man in the third or fourth stage of smallpox.
This in the very heart of a city with a million of inhabitants. Yet
the disease does not spread, and is not thought half as much of as
we do of measles or scarlatina. I cannot but think that it is owing
to several causes—first, the innate cleanliness of the Hindoo race,
who wash their bodies several times a day; secondly, to the almost
constant working of the pores of the skin, caused by the peculiar heat
of the climate; and last, though not least, I think that infection is
carried amongst Europeans by the woollen texture of their garments,
bed covers, hangings, &c., whereas the natives of India never use any
covering other than cotton or linen, and very little of that even.
My theory may be wrong, but the fact remains; not only relating to
smallpox, but to cholera or typhoid fever, which are permanent in
India, but never thought much of by natives.
VIII.
_BENARES—THE SACRED CITY._
If one wished to describe all the temples or places of worship in
Benares it would fill a volume. Like picture galleries in the Italian
cities, so are temples here—one day at them is quite enough. There
seems to be a place of worship dedicated to every whim or fancy of the
worshippers. Amongst the many, I will quote the temple of Kameshwar,
the “God of Desires,” whose duty is to grant all the wishes of the
worshippers. The wishes of mankind being innumerable, it is not
surprising that Kameshwar has a legion of worshippers, and I should
say his hands are full if he grants one-thousandth-part of the prayers
addressed to him.
But, of all the temples, commend me to Durga-Kund, or monkey temple.
It is dedicated to the bloody goddess Durga, and stands in the centre
of a quadrangle surrounded by high walls. In front of the temple
stands a building in which hangs a drum, which calls the devout to
worship, and on either side of this building is a small temple.
Entering the quadrangle two lions of stone are seen crouching on
either side of the pathway. These animals bear Durga on their backs
whenever it pleases the goddess to take a ride. Near by are two
shrines, one dedicated to Ganesh and the other to Mahadeo.
Before the temple there is a porch. Though this porch joins with the
temple, it must not be supposed that both temple and porch were built
at one and the same time, or by the same person. The temple was built
during the last century by the Maharatti Rani Bhawani, who also built
the tank at the north of the building, and the porch by a pensioned
native officer. The large bell in the enclosure is the gift of the
Rajah of Nepaul.
Durga has a face of silver, is draped in gorgeous apparel, and has a
necklace composed of massive gold coins. In front of her is a silver
bath, before which a lamp burns continually. Outside, on the northern
side of the temple, is a large tank.
As the name implies, this temple is devoted to the worship of monkeys,
as well as to the reverence of Durga. Monkeys in incalculable numbers
crowd round the temple and the tank, in which it is most amusing to
see them bathing. Indeed, long before the precincts of the temple are
reached, monkeys are met with on the road-side. They seem to know that
they enjoy perfect immunity in that neighbourhood, and they thoroughly
enjoy their liberty. Vendors of grain, nuts, and sweetmeats are also
here in numerous array, visitors purchasing their wares to distribute
them amongst the strange animals who follow and surround visitors all
day long, but never beyond the boundary of the temple grounds, beyond
which, if caught, they are transported. Strange though it may seem,
not even the daintiest morsel will allure one of these mischievous
animals beyond the sacred limit.
An object of great interest in this locality is the venerable
tamarind tree on the south of the temple, in the huge hollow trunk
of which all the baby-monkeys are born. Around that tree young and
old mothers may be seen, attending with the utmost maternal care on
their young—nursing, feeding, or playing with them. The solicitude
and anxious look of some of these for puny, sickly “babies” is most
ludicrous to watch.
After our long visit to the temples we took a cursory look at the
various ghâts—Raj ghât, Shivala Ghât, and at last Sarnath, which, next
to the Taj-Mahal at Agra, is one of the most remarkable buildings in
India; the great Buddhist tower near Sarnath being one of the oldest
buildings in the East, its origin belonging to several centuries prior
to the Buddhist era.
Nearly exhausted by the long day’s sight-seeing, we had, however, to
pay a visit to the new town hall erected by his Highness the Mararajah
of Vizianagram, in commemoration of H.R.H. the Duke of Edinburgh’s
visit to this city, and opened by the Prince of Wales. H.H. the
Maharajah, with his usual princely generosity, presented the building,
furnished and complete, to the municipality of Benares.
I heartily confess that I never had a harder day’s work in my life,
nor did I ever enjoy a bath, a dinner, and a bed more than I did on
our return to our quarters.
On the following day we had a thorough overhaul of all the shops,
bazaars, and factories, and returned with carriages full of all kinds
of brass, silver, and copper wares, embroidered silk and cloth,
earthen figures, and a heap of odds and ends, sufficient to fill a
museum. I may as well sum it up by saying that when we left Bombay
for Australia we had seventy-seven large packages, filled to the brim
with purchases made during our trip from Calcutta.
We took a most affectionate leave of our hospitable friend Maharajah
Singh, who made us promise that some day we would again favour him
with a visit in Benares. Alas, poor old fellow! we shall see him no
more. I saw in one of the telegrams from India, a few weeks ago, that
he died at Benares in the early part of August.
[Illustration]
IX.
_THROUGH THE CENTRAL PROVINCES._
Our next stage was Allahabad, on the delta formed by the junction
of the two greatest rivers in the world, the Jumna and the Ganges.
The bridge over the former, which carries the train over the mighty
stream, is a wonderful feat of engineering. To look over and see the
speed at which the current carries this immense sheet of water under
the bridge gives one a shudder, and unwittingly one grasps the iron
railing with a force which cramps one’s hands. It seems as if the
bridge was receding under one’s feet.
After Benares, Allahabad seems almost an European city, and therefore
loses much of its attractions. It is, however, well worthy of a
visit, as a great emporium of trade, as well as a great manufacturing
city, one of the principal items being the manufacture of carpets,
which here are made by machinery, and not merely by hand, as they are
manufactured through other parts of India. In colour and appearance
they are equally fine, but if they are much cheaper than those that
are hand made, they lack in durability and finish. We might have
tarried in Allahabad, but the weather was intensely hot, and a hot
day in that city is not to be easily forgotten. We therefore moved on
to Cawnpore, which was full of reminiscences of the great Mutiny,
and even now is strongly garrisoned by English troops. Here are the
great leather manufactories, and again the black earthen pottery we
had met in a more crude and primitive state at Moghal-Serai. Having
no particular reason to stay here, we pushed on to Agra, where we
intended making a halt for a couple of days. We made straight for
Fizarabad for dinner; slept at Tunala, and having started in the cool
of the morning, reached Agra in time for breakfast.
It was not food we were craving for. Long before we reached the
station our eyes had rested on that most marvellous structure, the
Taj-Mahal, which has been justly termed the seventh marvel of the
world, and still more appropriately, “a dream in marble.” Miles away,
on the other side of the Jumna, cut in sharp outlines against the blue
Indian sky, soaring above the green foliage, the gigantic white marble
dome and marble minarets can be seen, increasing in size as the train
draws nearer and nearer; but this hasty glimpse of the huge mausoleum
gives a very poor idea of its stupendous size and awfully grandiose
reality.
We had no patience until the carriages came to the door, and we were
driven to the spot. Alas! The task of describing this monument is
beyond my powers. In the face of it man is struck dumb—a feeling of
insignificance creeps over one.
I have searched in vain for a true and faithful description of the Taj
in the various books published on India, and am gratified to see that
those who have preceded me at Agra have, like myself, dropped both
pen, brush, or pencil. Photography has made an attempt to portray it,
but even this has proved a most miserable failure.
I must confine myself to historical facts. In the year 1623, the
reigning prince (Shah Jehan), at the death of his wife, decided that
he would erect a mausoleum which would, until the “crack of doom,”
make her last resting-place on earth a memorable spot. Indian princes,
when they make up their mind to achieve an object, seldom calculate
the cost. It has to be, and—it is done.
Strange to relate, after searching the world for an architect, an
obscure man—French by birth, a native of Bordeaux—submitted plans to
this Eastern ruler—plans and estimates which one would think would
stamp the projector as a confirmed lunatic.
Shah Jehan, however, at once accepted them; furthermore, he instructed
the architect to proceed forthwith with the work. Materials were
sought and brought out from the remotest regions of the globe.
To sum up this sketch, I will quote these authentic facts, viz., that
_twenty thousand work-men were employed incessantly for twenty-two
years to complete this monument_.
At the completion of the work His Highness became so intoxicated
with the pride of ownership that, fearing lest some other prince
of the earth should copy it, he caused the plans to be destroyed;
and, horrible to relate, he had the architect’s eyes _gouged_ out to
prevent his furnishing any one with copies of the originals (which
had been burnt by the prince’s own hands), whilst on the other hand
he loaded him with riches, honours, &c.! My poor countryman died of
a broken heart, having learned too late how fallacious it is to put
trust in princes.
If this wonderful structure strikes the traveller with awe and
admiration when seen from outside, his feelings are greatly
intensified when he crosses its threshold; and at the foot of the
mausoleum, under the centre of the dome, the awful silence becomes
almost unbearable. Words cling to one’s tongue, and whispering is the
only possible way of exchanging thoughts. Such whispers are carried
up in the air to the apex of the huge dome—towering hundreds of feet
above one’s head—repeated tenfold by mysterious echoes, and for
several minutes are wafted from one side of the building to the other.
A prayer, or hymn, or tune sung in the lowest possible key, is
likewise repeated _crescendo_ until it reaches an almost deafening
pitch; then again gradually becomes lower and lower until the last
note is lost in the death-like silence which pervades this great
marble sepulchre.
At each corner of the immense square on which the Taj-Mahal stands,
are four white marble towers, with circular stairs leading to the
minarets at the top. From these a grand view of the Taj can be had,
as well as of the majestic Jumna, whose waters bathe the foot of the
edifice.
Marvellous as it is to see the Taj in daylight—difficult as it
is to describe its grandeur and beauty—much more marvellous and
indescribable does it become when seen by moonlight. The soft effect
of the rays of the moon vaporises the outlines, the white marble
assumes a bluish tint, and the stillness of the night—all add to the
enchantment.
Indeed, before leaving Agra, one should pay a score of visits to
this place—see it at sunrise, at noon, at sunset, and, above all,
by moonlight, unless the visitor can afford the luxury which was
provided for H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, and have it specially lit
up with electricity. But I very much doubt if it can outdo a clear,
full moonlit night. Hunter, in his description of the Taj, most
appropriately terms it “a monument designed by Titans and furnished by
jewellers.”
Not content with the Taj, Emperor Shah Jehan endowed his capital with
other monuments of great artistic and architectural beauty. The Pearl
Mosque (Moli-Musjid) is the purest and loveliest house of prayer in
the world. Like all other structures erected by this emperor, white
marble is the only material used; but in this instance the panels
are studded with most costly gems. Another mosque, built by him in
Delhi (Jama-Musjid) was commenced in the fourth year of his reign and
finished in the tenth.
The palace at Delhi—now the fort—covers a vast parallelogram, 1600ft.
by 3200ft., with most exquisite buildings in marble and fine stone.
A deeply-recessed portal leads into a vaulted hall, rising two
stories like the nave of a gigantic Gothic cathedral, and 375 feet in
length—the noblest entrance to any existing palace.
The Diwan-i-Khas, or court of private audience, overlooks the river—a
masterpiece of delicate inlaid work of poetic design. Last, though not
least, this emperor built the city of Shagehanabad (now New Delhi),
and in his palace had the famous peacock throne, which was the most
valuable of that brilliant epoch—the jewels alone being valued at
£6,500,000.