THE SPRING-BOW.
Ghāzīpūr—Tomb of Lord Cornwallis—Palace of the Nāwab
of Ghāzīpūr—Beerpūr—Satīs—The Murda Ghāt—Buxar—The
Stud—Bulliah Melā—Blue Waters of the Soane—Swimming
an Elephant—A Day too late for the Fair—Hājīpūr—The
Gunduc river—Thieves—Futwa—Tarie-trees—Monghir—The Seeta
Khoond—Janghīra—Mosque and Graves—Rocks of Kuhulgaon—Desertion
of the Dāndees—Sikrī-galī—An Adventure in the Hills of
Rajmahal—Tiger Tracks—The Spring-bow—By’ā Birds—The
Hill-man—Poisoned Arrows—The Thumb-ring—Bauhinia Scandens.
1836, _Nov. 21st._—Arrived early at Ghāzīpūr, the town of Ghāzī, also
called, as the Hindūs assert, Gādhpūr, from Gādh, a Rājā of that name. We
went on shore to view the tomb of a former Governor-General, the Marquis
Cornwallis, who lies buried here, aged sixty-seven. The sarcophagus is
within a circular building, surmounted by a dome, and surrounded by a
verandah; it is of white marble, with appropriate figures in half relief
by Flaxman; in front is a bust of the Marquis; the coronet and cushion
surmount it; the iron railings are remarkably handsome and appropriate;
the whole is surrounded by a plantation of fine young trees, and kept in
excellent order; in front is a pedestal, intended, I should imagine, for
a statue of the Marquis. The view from the building is open and pretty;
it is situated in the cantonment on the banks of the Ganges. There are
four figures in mourning attitudes on the tomb, in half relief; that of a
Brahmān is well executed. The pakka houses of the European residents at
Ghāzīpūr, stretching along the river’s side, have a pleasing effect.
The ruins of the palace of the Nawāb of Ghāzīpūr are situated on a high
bank, in front of which the rampart, with four bastions, faces the river.
The house is falling into ruins. I admired it very much, the plan on
which it is built is charming; what a luxurious abode during the hot
winds! It is situated on a high bank overlooking the Gunga; in the centre
is an octagonal room; around this, four square rooms alternate with
four octagonal rooms, which are supported on light and handsome arches.
There are no walls to the rooms, but each is supported on arches. Around
the centre room is a space for water, and a great number of fountains
played there in former times. Between the arches hung rich pardas; how
delightfully suited to the climate! Imagine the luxury of sitting in the
centre room, all the air coming in cooled by the fountains, and screened
from the glare by the rich pardas! One of the octagonal rooms has fallen
in completely. A gentleman of our party, not finding any game in the
surrounding fields, shot five anwarī fish that were sporting about on
the surface of the river. Rose-water and cloth was brought for sale in
abundance. The fields by the river-side are in parts a perfect Golgotha,
strewn with human skulls. The Company’s stud is here, but we did not
visit it.
Off the village of Beerpūr I saw from ten to twenty satī mounds, under
some large trees by the river-side; the idea of what those wretched women
must have suffered made me shudder.
Off Chounsah I was most thoroughly disgusted; there is on the bank of the
river a murda ghāt, or place for burning the dead bodies of the Hindūs;
about twenty charpāīs (native beds) were there cast away as unclean, the
bodies having been carried down upon them. Some of the bodies had hardly
been touched by the fire, just scorched and thrown into the water. The
dogs and crows were tearing the flesh from the skeletons, growling as
they ate, to deter other dogs that stood snarling around from joining
in the meal. A gentleman fired at them, drove off some of the dogs, and
killed others; you have no idea how fierce and hungry the wretches were;
a bullet from a musket only scared them for a moment, and then they
returned to the corpse. I was glad to get beyond the murda ghāt; the
sight and smell of such horrors made me ill.
Anchored at Buxar, and visited the stud; the only stable I went into
was a most admirable one, lofty, airy, ventilated, clean, and spacious.
It contained two hundred horses, all looking clean, and in excellent
condition; the horses in this stable are all three years old, remarkably
fine young animals. You may have the choice of the stable for £100,
_i.e._ 1000 rupees; these horses ought to be good, they come from the
best imported English, Arab, and Persian horses, and are reared with
great care. The animals stand in a long line, without any separation or
bar between them in the stable; the head is tied to the manger, the heels
at liberty, no heel-ropes. They appear perfectly quiet, although they
stand so close to each other. About six hundred horses are at Buxar, and
more on the other side of the river; I derived much pleasure from seeing
the stud at this place, and regret I did not visit that at Ghāzīpūr.
Every day, from 7 to 8 A.M., the whole of the young horses are turned
loose into a paddock, to run and gallop about at pleasure; it must be a
pretty sight.
_23rd._—The melā at Bulliah is held on this day, the last of the month
of Kartik. The scene for five miles was very gay; a great Hindū fair
and bathing day; boats full of people going to the fair, numbers on
the cliff, and crowds in the river, at their devotions,—an animated
scene. The gentlemen are firing ball at the great crocodiles, as they
lie basking on the sandbanks; they have killed a very large one. When
crocodiles are cut open, silver and gold ornaments are sometimes found
in the interior; the body of a child—the whole body—was found in a
crocodile, a short time ago, at Cawnpore.
_25th._—This morning our little fleet passed the Soane river at its
junction with the Ganges; I went on deck to look at the kala panī, _the
black water_, as the natives call it, on account of the deep blue tinge
of the Soane, which forms a strong contrast to the dingy milky hue of
the stream of the Gunga. In this river, agates, amethysts, cornelians,
&c., are found. Crossing the river, which was considerably agitated by a
very powerful wind, to go to the fair at Hājīpūr, I saw a man apparently
standing on the waters in the centre of the river; it was blowing a stiff
gale; the man stood in an erect and easy position. On coming nearer I
perceived he was standing on the back of an elephant; the whole of the
animal’s body, with the exception of his head, was under water; he put
up the end of his trunk every now and then, and was swimming boldly and
strongly forward directly across the enormous river. The wind blew so
heavily, it was surprising the man could keep his balance; he held a
string in one hand, the other contained the ankus, with which the mahāwat
drives his elephant; the string was, perhaps, the reins fastened in the
animal’s ears, with which they often guide them.
On the evening of the 25th we arrived at Hājīpūr; it was very provoking
to see all the tents being struck, and the vessels going down the stream,
as we were rowing up it,—a day too late for the fair. Hājīpūr is situated
at the junction of the Gunduc with the Ganges; the Gunduc is such a rapid
stream, it is hardly possible to stem it, at least with a foul wind, such
as we had at the time of our arrival. We went on shore, and procured
provisions; returning, we crossed the Gunduc in a boat hollowed out of
the stem of a tree,—not a very safe sort of concern, but very common on
the Ganges.
What an uncomfortable night I spent! awakened every half-hour by the
falling in of the sandbank to which my budgerow was moored; I feared my
cook boat would have been swamped. In the middle of the night a great
cry was raised of “Chor, Chor!” and a number of people rushed down to
seize a thief, who was floating down the rapid Gunduc, with a gharā (an
earthen pot) over his head; a trick common to thieves, that they may pass
unperceived. I got up, hearing the noise, and looked out of the cabin
window; seeing a man in the water close under the window, and imagining
him to be one of the sailors, I said, “What is all this noise about?”
The thief, for it was he, finding he was not concealed by the shadow of
the vessel, swam off; and, although a boat pursued him, he escaped by
either crossing the Ganges or floating down it. These thieves are most
wonderfully skilful, and infest the great fairs of India; my servants say
he had a large box with him in the water, and floated down upon it; it
was stolen from the tent of a rich native.
Off the village of Futwa I purchased a quantity of Patna tablecloths,
napkins, and cloth; the manufactory is at this place; and the people
bring their goods off to the passing vessels.
The whole way from Allahabad to Patna the fan palm trees (borassus
flabelliformis) are extremely scarce; immediately below Patna the river’s
bank is covered with them. The natives call them tar or tarie trees;
the juice is used as leaven for bread, also as urruk. A single leaf
is sufficient to form the large hand pankhās used by the bearers, and
paper is also manufactured from the tarie tree. They add greatly to the
picturesque and Eastern beauty of the scene.
_29th._—Arrived at Monghir: the place looks very well from the river
with its old Fort. On anchoring we were assailed by a number of people,
all anxious to sell their goods,—chairs, work-tables, boxes, straw
bonnets and hats, birds in cages, forks, knives, guns, pistols, baskets,
kettles; and to the noise of such a collection of people, all howling and
shouting, was added the whining of a host of beggars.
We went on shore, and walked through the bazār, buying a number of queer
things. After tiffin we proceeded in palkees to the Seetā Khoond, about
five miles from Monghir, the road very good, date and palm trees in
abundance; and the country around Seetā’s Well makes one imagine that one
is approaching the sea-shore; there is a remarkably volcanic appearance
in the rocks. The Seetā Khoond is a brilliantly clear spring of boiling
hot water, which bubbles and boils up most beautifully, and is enclosed
in a large space, with steps descending to the water. I never saw so
beautiful a spring, or such living water! There are four springs close
to it, but they are all of cold water, and have none of the clearness or
beauty of Seetā’s Well. The water is contained in an enclosure of stone,
in which it rises up sparkling and bubbling from its rocky bed. The steps
on which you stand are very hot, and a hot steam rises from the surface;
the water is so clear you can see the points at which it springs up from
its bed of rock. The stream from the Seetā Khoond is constantly flowing
into the jheel below in a little rivulet, that gradually widens, and in
which the presence of the hot water is perceptible in a cold morning for
about one hundred yards from the spring.
Several years ago, an artilleryman attempted for a wager to swim across
the basin, and although he succeeded in getting over, it was necessary
to convey him to an hospital, where he died within a few hours from
the effect of the hot water; not having tested it by a thermometer, I
cannot tell the precise heat. The Brahmāns say, so holy is the well, by
the power of the goddess Seetā, that, although boiling, it performs the
miracle of keeping rice and eggs thrown into it in an uncooked state. I
saw a great quantity of rice which remained unswollen in the water; not
being a pious Hindū, I conclude the water to be below the boiling point.
A pretty Hindū temple has been erected close to the spring, dedicated to
Seetā, in which are four idols; one of the god Rām, his beloved Seetā,
his brother Lutchman, and their champion the monkey god Hoonumān; in the
verandah is also a statue of Hoonumān. I put the points of my fingers
into the water, but the heat was too near the scalding point to allow of
my putting in my hand; the view from the spring is remarkably beautiful;
in front is a jheel, a large space of shallow water, bounded by the
Kurrukpūr mountains at various distances; these mountains are rather
rocks than mountains, and the stones took all sorts of grotesque forms
as the sun declined behind them. On the right and left of the spring
were rocks, which appeared to have been thrown up by an earthquake.
The jheel looking like a place in which snipe and wild ducks would be
plentiful, one of the party took his gun and shot over it, but had no
sport; the morning is the time for finding birds there. I walked half-way
down the jheel: looking back towards the Khoond, the white temples at
the spring, with the dark green mango tope behind, and the wild-looking,
rocky scenery on either side, had a pleasing effect. The palkee-bearers
told me, in the centre of the opposite mountains, the Kurrukpūr, about
six miles from the Seetā Khoond, there is a hot spring, called Reeçee
Khoond, which, from being in the jungles, is little known; that every
third year a fair is held there, when people assemble to bathe and do
pooja. My friends filled many bottles at the spring; it is necessary to
bring corks, as they are not procurable at Monghir. The water is so pure,
it keeps like the Bristol water on a long voyage; people returning to
England make a point of stopping here on that account.
_30th._—We anchored at the Fakīr’s rock at Janghīra. The abode of the
Fakīr is on a high bold rock, rising abruptly in the midst of the stream,
completely isolated; the temple is placed on the very summit; there are
four small temples also a little below; some large trees spring from the
crevices of the rock: the whole reflected in the Ganges, with the village
of Janghīra beyond, and the mountains of Karrak in the distance, form a
good subject for the pencil. On the outside, carved on the solid rock,
are a great number of Hindoo images; amongst them, one of Narasingh is
very conspicuous, tearing open the bowels of the king who disbelieved the
omnipresence of the Deity. We passed over in a little boat to see this
temple; the fakīrs showed it with great good will, and gained a small
reward. There is a remarkably fine tree, the plumeria alba, springing
from the side of the rock, the goolachin or junglee champa, as the
natives call it. On our return to the main land, we climbed a cluster of
rocks, just opposite Janghīra; on the summit of these rocks, which are
well wooded, stand the ruins of an ancient mosque; no one inhabits the
place; the view from the platform is remarkably good. The graves of the
Kāzī Biskermee’s family are there; the Kāzī formerly lived there, but I
could not gain much information from our guide on the subject. The little
burial-ground, with its eleven graves, looked so quiet, and afar from the
turmoil of the world, I took a fancy to the spot. There must, or there
ought to be, some little history attached to this picturesque mosque and
its ruined graves; it stands on a high rock, well wooded, rising abruptly
from the Ganges.
_Dec. 1st._—We quitted the Janghīra rocks ere daybreak, with a fair wind,
and floated down the stream most agreeably; in the evening we arrived
at Colgong, which presents much picturesque beauty; four rocky islands
of considerable height, rock piled on rock, rise and stretch across the
centre of the Ganges. As we sailed past them, I saw five or six of the
smallest, lightest, and most fairy-looking little boats gliding about
the rocks, in which men were fishing; the fish are large, excellent,
and abundant. No one resides on these rocks. The village of Kuhulgaon,
commonly called Colgong, is situated under some hills, and prettily
wooded. The cook boat not having arrived, one of the gentlemen fired his
gun off, to direct the men where to find us; the sound was returned from
the rocks four times, distinctly and loudly, with an interval of four
or five seconds between each echo. We took a walk in the evening; Mr.
⸺ killed a flying fox, or vampire bat, such a curious-looking animal,
with a most intelligent little face; the body was covered with hair; its
leathern wings measured from tip to tip three feet eight inches and a
half.
No one ought to take up-country dāndees; they ensure much plague and
trouble. The Bengalees having their homes in Calcutta, do not desert
going down the river. At Monghir the mānjhī and six dāndees deserted to
their homes; this detained and annoyed us.
_2nd._—Early in the evening we anchored at Sickrī-galī, a place close
upon the Rajmahal Hills, and went out shooting. The dāndees, with long
poles, accompanied us to beat the bushes. The people say wild beasts
often come to this place at night, and a few miles below there is good
tiger shooting; we found no game, being too near the village: had we
proceeded further into the hills, we must have had some sport in the wild
country around them. Night came on ere we regained the boats.
[Illustration: THE SPRING BOW.
On Stone by Major Parlby.
Sketched on the Spot by فاني پارکس]
_3rd._—Mr. ⸺ sallied forth with his beaters to try the marshy plain under
the hills of the Sickrī-galī Pass. The cool morning tempted me out, and
the first person whom I saw was an indigo planter standing near his
bungalow, the only European dwelling-house at the place. On asking him
where good shooting was to be found, he said the road the gentleman had
taken was one in which game of all sorts abounded, but that on account
of tigers it was dangerous. He showed me the marks of tiger’s paws in
his garden. His account rather gave me a curiosity to see the sort of
plain where such animals _may_ be found; and with a chaprāsī, and a
bearer carrying a large chatr, I took the road to the rocks. After a
very long walk, we came to a most suspicious-looking spot, surrounded by
very high jungle-grass, beyond which stretched the deep woods and hills
of Rajmahal. “In this direction,” said my chaprāsī, “is the very spot
frequented by tigers, here they may be found;” and we pushed through the
heavy jungle grass from nine to twelve feet in height, and so thick it
was almost impenetrable. “Here is some water,” said the man, “and here,
on its edge, the prints fresh on the marshy soil of the feet of a tiger!
Look, look, mem sāhiba, it is true, it is true, here they are!” I forced
a passage for myself through the grass, and saw the foot-marks. “He who
has never seen a tiger, let him look at a cat; and he who has never seen
a thief, let him look at a butcher[14].”
My anxiety to see a _bête sauvage_, _a royal Bengal tiger_, in his native
wilderness, making me forgetful that his presence might prove dangerous,
induced me to scan the jungle on every side. “Are we likely to see a
tiger?” said I to the man. “Not at this hour, mem sāhiba, see, the sun is
high in heaven;” pointing to the hill, “they are up there in the recesses
of the mountain, in the shade of the deep forests; when the shadows of
evening fall, if the mem sāhiba will return to this spot she will be sure
to see the tigers, at that hour they come down to quench their thirst
at this water.” At night, on my return to the boats, I remembered the
words of the chaprāsī, but did not feel inclined to go out on such a
“will-you-come-and-be-killed” expedition.
On this spot the baghmars, (tiger killers,) set up the spring-bow with
a poisoned arrow: the bow is made of strong bamboo, supported on two
cross sticks, to one end of which a string is fastened that crosses the
wild beast’s track; as soon as the tiger touches the cord in crossing it
to the water’s edge, it releases the bow-string, and the arrow, being
immediately discharged with great force, enters the body of the beast
just about the height of his heart. A poisoned arrow was thus set for a
tiger in Assam, who was found dead sixty yards from the spot—so quickly
does the deadly poison take effect. A further account of this bow will
be found in a subsequent chapter. The place was one of great interest;
the water was surrounded by the high grass; on one side was a cluster
of forest trees, and beneath them the slight and delicate bābul. The
By’ā birds were flitting about; they delight in placing their long nests
on the extreme end of the slight branches of the bābul, pendant over a
stream or pool for security. For a further account of these sagacious
little birds, see vol. i. page 220.
The bright sunshine, the deep reflections on the water, the idea that
there was danger lurking around, all combined to render this picturesque
and secluded spot one of great interest.
The dāndees from the boats that anchor at Sikrī-galī, go up the hills
in gangs to cut wood for firing, and bring it down in great quantities.
Following their track, I soon joined the party who were shooting snipes
in the marsh at the foot of the hills, and at the moment of my arrival,
Mr. ⸺ was busily pulling the leeches off his ancles, which had stuck to
them in passing through the water. Being fagged with the walk, I got a
hackery from a village; it is a sort of cart made of bamboos with small,
heavy, clumsy, wooden wheels, drawn by two bullocks. Seated in this
conveyance, I desired the man to drive me into the hills. My bones were
half dislocated, bumping up and down in such a jungle of a place, over
high stones that all but upset the cart, or through the marsh in which
the bullocks sometimes being unable to keep on their feet, took six or
seven steps on their knees; it was a marvel how the little animals got
on, or through such places as we crossed. I went deep into the hills,
admiring the beautiful climbers that were in the greatest profusion, and
the bearer gathered all the novelties, which made me quite happy in my
cart, surrounded by specimens new to me. At last the driver said he could
proceed no further; therefore I walked up the hill some distance until I
was fagged: the view was very pleasing, looking down the valley over the
plain to the Ganges, where the vessels were sailing past. At a bright
running stream I gladly quenched my thirst, having taken no breakfast,
and it being now nearly eleven A.M. Mounted on my bone-breaking cart, I
rejoined my friend, who had only killed five snipe and another bird. He
saw but one black partridge, no deer; the game was very scarce.
Elephants here are absolutely necessary to enable a man to enjoy shooting
amidst the high grass and thorny thickets. The place is so much disturbed
by the people who go into the hills for wood, that the game retreat
farther into the jungle. Had we had an elephant, we might have found a
tiger; until I have seen one in his own domains, I shall not sleep in
peace. The khidmatgārs arrived on a cart with bread, meat, tea, and wine.
It being one P.M., and the sun powerful, we seated ourselves under a
tree, and made an excellent breakfast, which was most refreshing after
such a ramble.
As we were tossing the bones to the little spaniels, we met with an
adventure, which, bringing for the second time in my life uncivilized
beings before me, quite delighted me. The footpath from the interior of
the hills led to the place where we were seated. Down this path came a
most delightful group, a family of savages, who attracted my attention
by the singularity of their features, the smallness and activity of
their bodies, their mode of gathering their hair in a knot on the top
of their heads, and their wild-looking bows and arrows. We called these
good-natured, gay-looking people around us; they appeared pleased at
being noticed, and one of the women offered me some young heads of Indian
corn, which she took from a basket she carried on her head containing
their principal provision, this boiled and mashed Indian corn. She also
carried a child seated astride upon her hip. A child is rarely seen in
a woman’s arms, as in Europe. The same custom appears to have existed
amongst the Jews: “Ye shall be borne upon her sides, and dandled upon her
knees.”—_Isaiah._
The party consisted of a man and three boys, apparently eight, twelve,
and sixteen years of age, two women, and a little girl. The man said he
had come from a place four coss within the hills, by our calculation
eight miles, but hill measurement of distance being generally liberal,
I should suppose it double that distance. Their descent at this time
to the plains, was to help in gathering in the present crop of uncut
rice, for which purpose the owners of the fields had asked them to come
down. The man appeared to be about five feet in height, remarkable for
lightness and suppleness of limb, with the piercing and restless eye
that is said to be peculiar to savages. His countenance was round and
happy; the expression had both cunning and simplicity; the nose depressed
between the eyes, and altogether a face that one laughed to look at. His
black hair drawn tight up in a knot on the very top of the head, the
ends fastened in with a wooden comb. His only clothing a small piece
of linen bound around his middle. He carried a bow of hill bamboo, the
string of which was formed out of the twisted rind of the bamboo, and the
four arrows were of the common reed, headed with iron barbs of different
shapes; one of the barbs was poisoned. The hill-man said he had bought
the poison into which the barb had been dipped of a more remote hill
tribe, and was ignorant of its nature: he begged us not to handle the
point. The natives will not mention the name of the plant from which the
poison is procured; it appears to be a carefully-guarded secret. On each
arrow were strips of feather from the wing of the vulture. The boy was
similarly dressed, and armed. The woman, who carried the child, appeared
to be the favourite from the number of ornaments on her person. She was
extremely small in stature, but fat and well-looking. Unlike the women of
the plains, she wore no covering on her head, and but little on her body.
Two or three yards of cloth were around her waist, and descended half way
below the knees; whilst a square of the same was tied over her shoulders
like a monkey mantle; passed under the left arm it was drawn over the
bosom, and the ends tied on the shoulder of the right arm. Her hair was
tied up in the same fashion as the man’s. Around the rim of each ear were
twenty-three thin ear-rings of brass; and three or four necklaces of red
and white beads hung down to her waist in gradations. Her nose-ring was
moderately large in circumference, but very heavy, pulling down the
right nostril by its weight; it was of silver, with four large beads,
and an ornament of curious form. She had thick purple glass rings on her
arms, called churees, of coarse manufacture, and other ornaments which I
forget, something of the same sort.
She talked openly and freely. I took the man’s bow, and shot an arrow
after the English fashion; at which the whole family laughed excessively,
and appeared to think it so absurd that I should not draw a bow in the
style of a mountaineer. I begged the man to show me the proper method;
he put a sort of ring on my thumb, placed my right forefinger straight
along the arrow, and bid me draw it by the force of the string catching
on the thumb-ring. I did so, and shot my arrow with better aim than when
pursuing the English method. His happiness was great on my giving him a
rupee for a bow, two arrows, one of which was the poisoned one, and the
thumb-ring. He said his employment consisted principally in shooting
animals at night by laying in wait for them. He crouched down on the
ground to show the way of laying in wait for wild hogs. On seeing a
hog near, he would immediately spring to his feet and shoot his arrow,
drawing it quite to the head. Sometimes they kill hogs with poisoned
arrows; nevertheless they feed upon the animals, taking care to cut out
the flesh around the arrow the instant the hog falls. He told us he had
but one wife, his tirī, the hill-man’s name for wife, whom he had left at
home; perhaps the tirī was an abbreviation of _istirī_, or _tiriyā_, wife.
After our long conversation with the savages we bade them adieu, and
my parting present was a pink silk handkerchief for his tirī in the
Hills. We returned at two P.M. to the boats, completely fagged, with
the accompaniment of headaches from the heat of the sun: unmoored the
vessels, and with a good breeze reached Rajmahal at dark. During our
absence some hill-men came to the boats, and offered bows to the dāndees,
begging in exchange a piece of linen. They parted with them afterwards
for one halfpenny a piece. I must not omit to mention the magnificent
wild climber, the Cachnár, Bauhinia scandens, which I gathered in the
pass. The leaves are of immense size, heart-shaped, and two lobed: they
collapse during the night. It is called Bauhinia from two botanical
brothers, John and Caspar Bauhin, who, like its leaves, were separate
and yet united. The Cachnár at Allahabad is a beautiful tree, but its
leaves are not so luxuriantly large as those of the wild creeper of the
Rajmahal Hills. A cold bath and a late dinner restored me to comfortable
feelings, and thus ended my adventures, and a happy day in the Hills of
the Sikrī-galī Pass.