LIFE IN THE HILLS.
Kharītā of her Highness the ex-Queen of Gwalior—A Mountain
Storm—An Adventure—Asses carried off by Leopards—Bear’s
Grease—Dēodar Oil—Apricot Oil—Hill Currants—Figs and Tar—The
Cholera—Sacrifice of a Kid to the Mountain Spirit—Absurdity
of the Fear of a Russian Invasion—Plague of Fleas—The Charmed
Stone—Iron-stone—Khobarah, the Hill Dog—Sheep-stealing—Booteah
Chharrā—Flexible Stone—A Fearful Storm—A doomed Banglā—Leaf
Butterflies—Bursting of the Mahratta Bāndh at Prāg—Similarity
of the Singular Marriages in the Hills with those of the
Ancient Britons—Honesty of the Paharīs, _i.e._ Mountaineers.
THE KHARĪTĀ
_1838, June 29th._—Her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī did me the honour to send
me a _kharītā_, that is, a letter enclosed in a long bag of _kimkhwāb_,
crimson silk, brocaded with flowers in gold, contained in another of fine
muslin: the mouth of the bag was tied with a gold and tasselled cord,
to which was appended the great seal of her Highness,—a flat circular
mass of sealing-wax, on which her seal was impressed. Two smaller bags
were sent with it, as represented in the plate, each containing a
present of bon-bons. The kharītā, as well as one of the small bags, is
represented divested of its outer case of transparent muslin; the other
little bag has on its white cover, and the direction is placed within the
transparent muslin. The autograph of the Bāiza Bā’ī is on the right hand
side of the page; the letter was written in _Urdū_ (the court language),
in the Persian character, by one of her Highness’s mūnshīs, and signed
by the Bā’ī herself: the paper is adorned with gold devices. The letter
commenced in the usual complimentary style; after which her Highness
writes, that—“The light of my eyes—the Gaja Rājā—has been very ill; she
has recovered, and her husband, Appa Sāhib Kanulka, having heard of her
illness, has come from Gwalior to see her.” Kharītās of this sort pass
between the mighty men of the East, and between them and the public
functionaries of Government.
[Illustration: THE ḴH̱ARĪṬA.
فاني پارکس]
_July 3rd._—I rode over to Cloud End, inspected the new house, and
trained young convolvulus plants over the bamboo hedge around the garden:
the rain descended in torrents; it was very cold and uncomfortable. At
7 P.M., being anxious to get home before dark, although it was still
raining, I ordered my gūnth; my relative wrapped me up in his military
cloak, and put a large Indian-rubber cape above it; in this attire I
hoped to keep myself dry during my ride home of seven miles. I had not
proceeded a mile from the estate when the storm came on in the fearful
style of mountain tempests; the thunder burst roaring over my head, the
lightning spread around in sheets of flame, and every now and then the
flashes of forked lightning rendered me so blind I could not see the
path for some minutes. I had two servants with me; they walked before
the gūnth, but were unable very often to trace the road, it was so dark
amidst the trees, and the whole time the rain fell in torrents. I saw
a dark space in front of the horse, and asked, “What is that?” “Oh,
nothing,” said the sā’īs, “ride on.” But I stopped, and sent him forward.
At this spot three or four trees had been thrown across a precipice; over
these earth had been laid to some depth to form a road; the earth had
been entirely washed away by the force of a stream of water, produced
from the heavy rain, and had fallen into the precipice:—the darkness was
the hollow produced by the chasm! I dismounted; the trees were still
below, across the hollow; with difficulty I clambered down, got over the
trunks, and up the other side; it was almost perfectly dark. I called
the gūnth; the cunning little fellow looked at the hollow, stamped his
fore-feet on the ground as if he disliked it, sprang up the bank on the
other side, and was in safety by me. I remounted him and proceeded,—an
act that required a good deal of quiet courage.
“The darkness of the night is a collyrium to the eyes of the mole[30].”
It certainly was not to mine: after I had been out two hours I found
that I had advanced four miles on a path that was covered by high trees
on every side, rendering it the more dangerous; the lightning was very
vivid, and I saw a flash strike the roof of a house; suddenly a faintness
came over me, with difficulty I kept in my saddle, and feeling ill, I
desired the servant to lead the gūnth to the first gentleman’s house
he came near. As soon as we arrived at a bungalow we went up to the
verandah, when an officer, hearing a lady was exposed to such a storm,
and wished for shelter, came out and took me into the house: I was so
much exhausted, the tears ran down my face, and I almost fainted away.
They gave me wine, and took off the Indian-rubber cloak, which, most
likely, was the cause of the extreme oppression that overcame me.
The lady and gentleman in whose house I had taken refuge were very kind;
dry clothes soon replaced my wet habit, and they gave me a bed; however,
I was far too much excited to go to sleep, and was disturbed by queer
sounds in an outhouse, not far from my sleeping room. I got up, opened my
door, wished to call my host, but not knowing his name, lay down again
and listened. In the morning the mystery was explained: a lady staying
at the house had two she-asses for her baby, which were in an outhouse
near my room; the night before my arrival a leopard had broken into the
outhouse in which the donkeys were fastened, and had killed them both;
they were found dead with their halters on. The night I was there the
leopard came again, tore one of the carcases from the halter, and carried
it down the khud;—this was the strange noise that prevented my sleeping.
Quite a night of adventures. The carcases had been left on purpose, and
some of the officers of the Buffs were to have laid wait for the leopard
that night, but the storm prevented their quitting their houses.
Captain S⸺ came to Landowr the next day: he was surprised at my having
passed the broken road in the darkness of the storm; even by daylight,
he passed over it with difficulty—perhaps the darkness aided me, as it
prevented my being giddy.
_11th._—Rode to the Botanical Gardens; observed several young tea plants,
which were flourishing. The bright yellow broom was in full flower; it
put me in mind of the country by the sea-side at Christchurch, Hants,
where the broom is in such luxuriance. We feasted on Cashmere apricots,
which, though not to be compared to those of Europe, were agreeable to
the taste.
_12th._—Storms, storms,—rain, rain,—day by day,—night by night:
thermometer at noon, 66°.
_17th._—A bear having been killed, I procured several bottles of bear’s
grease. Apricot oil was recommended also for the hair.
I bought some Dēodar oil, made from the white cedar; the smell is vile;
it is good for rheumatic pains; if rubbed in _too much_ it will produce a
blister.
Baskets full of currants were brought for sale; they were only fit for
tarts. Fresh figs, pretty good, were sent me, also some tolerable pears
of good size. Tar, called cheer-ke-tel, is excellent in the Hills.
_25th._—Was persuaded to go to a ball given by the bachelors of Landowr
and Mussoorī, an event in my quiet life. Cholera has appeared in the
bazār: the Hill-men are so much alarmed that they run away from service.
My paharīs came to request I would let them all depart and pay them their
wages: this I refused to do: they pleaded their fear of the cholera. At
length they agreed to remain, if I would give them a kid to sacrifice to
the angry goddess who resides in the mountain, and whom they believe has
brought the illness amongst them—they are extremely superstitious. What
can you expect from uneducated men? “If grass does not grow upon stones,
what fault is it in the rain[31]?”—_i.e._ it is unreasonable to expect
learning from him who has not the means or capacity to acquire it.
_August 17th._—As to our military movements, something will be done, and
danger is to be anticipated; but Russia will not be so foolish as to
enter heartily into the quarrels of Persia. As for the Persians,—bah! I
spit upon them, as Hājī Baba tells us they say of us. I was amused by
a letter in the paper to-day, which, speaking of the Russian Invasion,
says, “We are being _hemmed_ in all round like a pocket-handkerchief,
and like it coming to _blows_.” Are they afraid the bloodthirsty and
ambitious Nicholas should push us from our stools and rob us of our salt?
Eating the Company’s salt is the native mode of expression for their
wages of labour done under it.
Preparations for war are going on. Fifteen thousand men from Bengal, and
ten thousand from Bombay are to march to Cabul, and defend that part of
India in case of an attack from Russia and Persia. Burmah and Nepaul are
looking hostile; we shall have war in abundance shortly. The Mahrattas
talk about the “Russes;” indeed the whole bazār at Allahabad is full of
it; they would have even a worse time with these _Cupidons du Nord_, as
the French called the Cossacks, than even with us, resumption regulations
included.
_20th._—For the last three weeks we have had rain night and day;
sometimes it has cleared in the evening for two hours; any thing more
unpleasant you cannot well imagine; certainly the rains are very
disagreeable in the Hills.—Another plague.—The houses swarm with fleas.
At first they did not attack me; for the last few nights I have hardly
closed my eyes on account of their sharp fierce bites; they will worry me
into a fever. To counterbalance this plague we have no musquitoes; and
the climate is too cold to render a pankha necessary. How often have I
remembered a poetical epistle of Mr. W. S. Rose’s, beginning,
“These cursed fleas, they bite and skip so,
In this Island of Calypso!”
The Hill-men say there is a certain stone which possesses a charm and
keeps away fleas; this stone they put into their beds, and vow it keeps
off the biters. My ayha tells me she borrowed the charm, and put it into
her bed, the fleas were nevertheless as ravenous as ever; she says the
stone has the smell of a peach.
“What are you doing?” said I to my darzī, who was one day groping about
the floor with something in his hand, “Trying to find my needle with this
_iron-stone_; there is plenty of it in the Hills.” Shortly afterwards the
needle, attracted by the magnetic qualities of the iron-stone, stuck to
it; and the darzī brought it to me in triumph. _Sang-i-miknātīs_ is the
native name for loadstone.
_21st._—Two of my fat sheep have been stolen: an officer in the engineers
has given me a fine Hill dog, by name Khobarah; he must be chained in the
sheep-house.
_22nd._—Another fat sheep has disappeared: according to the shepherd,
carried off by an hyena,—according to my belief, sold to the butcher.
_23rd._—We are blessed with a gleam of sunshine, and the man is off with
his net to catch butterflies; this fine day will tempt them forth.
A Hill-man brought in a basket of fresh _kajgee_, walnuts; they were a
novelty; we cracked them, Hill fashion, between the door and the sill,
and found them excellent, sweet, and fresh.
The _paharīs_ brought down curious-looking white stones, which they
called _booteah chharrā_, and used as shot. According to their account
these stones are found in a waterfall, and brought from Almorah. On first
inspection they have the appearance of being a mineral crystallization,
but on more minute examination, it will be found that the number of faces
or flattened sides is irregular, some having eight, others nine, ten,
or eleven faces. On splitting one open as shown in the plate entitled
“Jugunnath,” Fig. 7, which represents the two halves, a beautiful
little round kernel presents itself, enclosed in the outer case. It
is very probable, therefore, that they are the ripe seeds or berries
of some tree or plant in the vicinity, which, falling into, or being
washed by the rains into some water highly impregnated with carbonate
of lime, become petrified, and entirely changed into this substance,
which frequently happens under the supposed circumstances. The little
flattened faces may thus be accounted for, by the pressure of the grains
in their conglomerated state against one another, at the time the berries
are either in a soft or ripe state; at any rate, they are now simple
carbonate of lime, completely dissolving in diluted muriatic acid, with
evolution of carbonic acid, and without sediment.
In the plate above mentioned (Fig. 6) the grains are represented _en
masse_, about half their proper size. Fig. 8 represents them exactly the
size of the original; one is split open, showing the centre of the rays.
Fig. 7 is a grain split open, showing the beautiful little white polished
berry,—if berry it be.
I have numerous specimens of leaves and branches of trees from Almorah,
petrified in the waterfalls, covered with a thick white or brownish
crust, through which the fibres of the leaves can be distinctly traced.
Amongst other curiosities in the Hills, I must not omit the flexible
stone; Major S⸺ showed me a large specimen, which was decidedly flexible.
Since I have applied myself to lithography, it appears to me that the
stone we cut out of his mountain at Cloud End, Landowr, with which his
house was built, had greatly the appearance of the German lithographic
stone; I well remember thinking it _rotten_ when first cut out, and
finding it hardened completely on exposure to the air in ten days or a
fortnight: I know not if this peculiarity belong to the lithographic
stone. The latter dissolves completely in _muriatic acid_, and water,
leaving no sediment.
_31st._—A most fearful storm during the night,—one that was sufficient
to make me quit my bed, to look after my little widow and the bābās,
_i.e._, children. The paharīs informed me a few days ago that the banglā
or thatched house in which I am living has been three times struck by
lightning, and twice burned to the ground!—an agreeable reminiscence
during so violent a storm. As the lightning, if it strike a house, often
runs round the walls of a room, from the iron of one wall shade to that
of another, and then pursuing its course down to the grate, tears out the
bars, and descends into the earth, we took the precaution of sitting in
the centre of the room, avoiding the sides. My fair friend laughed, in
spite of her alarm, when I repeated the old verses:—
“Ellen, from lightning to secure her life,
Draws from her pocket the attractive knife;
But all in vain, my fair, this cautious action,
For you can never be without attraction.”
_Sept. 1st._—A most delightful day,—sunshine, absolute sunshine,—the
Hills so gay and beauteous after the deluge of so many weeks: the ponies
came to the door, and we enjoyed the day to its fullest extent. Some
leaf butterflies were caught and brought to me; they are very large and
curious,—the back of the wing is like two autumnal leaves laid upon one
another. It is said that every month the appearance of the leaf butterfly
changes, varying with the leaves. Those that were caught for me were
like autumnal leaves, and were of two kinds. I made a large collection
of butterflies, both at Allahabad and in the Hills; in the latter place
many rare and valuable sorts are found. The _Map_ butterfly, so called
from the map-like tracery on its wings, is difficult to catch, it flies
so high; it is very beautiful. The large black butterfly, that has four
brilliant purple eyes on its wings, is perhaps as handsome as any; but
it has a rival in the emerald green long-tailed one, whose under wings
are dashed with purple, and edged with rose-coloured spots. There is also
a long-tailed black butterfly, the upper wings of which exhibit stripes
of black and white, while the under ones have seven rose-coloured spots
and four white marks in the centre. I am told the most valuable are the
small purple ones with long tails. It were too long a task to enumerate
the various beautiful specimens procured for me of these “insect queens
of eastern spring.” The privates of the Lancers and Buffs added to my
collection, and were very anxious to give their butterflies in return
for the beer brewed in the Hills; which, though it cannot be compared
to Bass’s or Allsopp’s Pale Ale, is very fair, when you consider it is
country made.
_5th._—A letter informed me of the bursting of the Mahratta Bāndh at
Allahabad: the Ganges poured through the gap, inundating the whole
country, until it reached the Jumna just above the Fort, leaving the
latter completely insulated. Our house, being close to the bank of the
Jumna, escaped, but was on every side surrounded by water. M. mon mari
had two large boats anchored near, to receive himself, his horses, his
flocks, and his herds, should the river rise any higher. The Bāndh burst
on the 23rd of August; it swept away the villages of Kyd and Mootī Gunge,
carrying away all the thatched huts, the brick houses alone escaping. The
Jumna rose to within seven feet of the top of the very high bank on which
the _chabūtara_ (terrace) in our garden is placed. The damage done to the
crops and villages is estimated at four lākh; besides this, the force of
the water rushing upon the bastion of the Fort has caused it to fall in;
it will cost forty or fifty thousand rupees to repair the bastion.
_6th._—Ill: my ayha is so kind and so careful of me: what a good servant
I find her! _Apropos_—grain is at present very dear at Landowr; gram,
twelve seer per rupee.
“One wife is enough for a whole family[32].” “Where do you live?” said
I to one of my servants, a Paharī (mountaineer), who had just deposited
his load of rhododendron wood, or, as he calls it, flower wood, in the
verandah. “Three days’ journey from this, in the pahar (mountain,)” said
the man. “Are you married?” said I. The man looked annoyed; “Who will
marry me? How can I have a wife? there are but three of us.” Having heard
of the singular customs of the Paharīs with regard to marriage, I pursued
my interrogation. “Why cannot you marry?” “We are only three brothers;
if there were seven of us we might marry, but only three, who will marry
us?” The greater the number of the family the more honourable is the
connexion, the more respected is the lady. “But who claims the children?”
“The first child belongs to the eldest brother, the second to the second
brother, and so on, until the eighth child is claimed by the eldest
brother, if there be a family of seven.”
I have heard that the Hill women destroy their female offspring,
thinking the lot of woman too hard to endure. The price of a wife is
high, from the scarcity of women, and may account for the disgusting
marriages of the Paharīs.
Mr. Vigne, in his travels in Cashmir, remarks,—“My classical companion
pointed out to me the following passage of Cæsar’s Commentaries, showing
that a similar custom existed amongst the Ancient Britons:—‘Uxores habent
deni duodenique inter se communes, et maxime fratres cum fratribus, et
parentes cum liberis. Sed si qui sunt ex his nati, eorum habentur liberi,
a quibus primùm virgines quæque ductæ sunt.’”—_Cæsar, de Bello Gallico_,
lib. v. cap. 14.
I am told that honesty was the distinguishing characteristic in former
times of the Paharīs, but intercourse with civilized Europeans has
greatly demoralized the mountaineers.