DEPARTURE FROM ALLAHABAD—THE THREE WISHES.
Arrival at Allahabad—Visit to the Mahratta Camp—The Three
Wishes—The Ticca Wife—The Farewell of Her Highness the
Bāiza Bā’ī—How to dispose of a Wife—The Būndelās—Price of
Children—The Pillar in the Fort—Voyage down the River—Arwarī
Fish—A Lady Overboard—An Accident—The Sīta Khūnd—The Army
of the Indus—Meeting of the Governor-General and Runjeet
Singh—The Camel Battery—Lord Auckland’s Visit to Runjeet’s
Camp—The Koh-i-Nūr—The Rajpūt Tray—A Paharī Dress—The Ayha’s
Stratagem—An Escape on the River—Natives afraid of Cadets—The
Panchāyāt—Fear of Poison—Berhampūr—The Nawāb, the Merchant, and
the Palkī—Quitted Berhampūr.
_1838, Nov._—On my first arrival at Allahabad I thought I should never
get through all the arrangements necessary before my departure for
England; so many farewell visits were to be paid to my old friends,
and so many preparations were to be made for the voyage. Her Highness
the Bāiza Bā’ī was still at Allahabad, and she sent for me. One of the
Italian greyhounds given me by Captain Osborne having died, I took the
other two, and presented them to the Gaja Rājā Sāhib, the young princess
having expressed a wish to have one: I gave her also a black terrier, and
one of King Charles’s spaniels.
One day a Mahratta lady came to my house, riding, _en cavalier_, on a
camel, which she managed apparently with the greatest ease; she told me
her Highness requested I would call immediately upon her. On my arrival
in camp, after the ceremony of meeting had passed, the Bāiza Bā’ī said,
“You are going to England,—will you procure for me three things? The
first is, a perfectly high caste Arabian mare; secondly, a very, very
little dog, just like a ball, covered with long hair, perfectly white,
and having red eyes; and thirdly, a mechanical figure, that, standing on
a slack rope, with a pole in its hand, balances itself, and moves in time
to the music that plays below it.”
I thought of the fairy tales, in which people are sent to roam the world
in search of marvellous curiosities, and found myself as much perplexed
as was ever knight of old by the commands of a fairy. The Bā’ī added,
“You know a good Arab, I can trust your judgment in the selection; the
little dogs, they say, come from Bombay: you can bring them all with you
in the ship on your return.”
I informed her Highness that very few Arabs were in England; that in
her Majesty’s stud there were some, presents from Eastern Princes, who
were not likely to part with the apple of their eyes: that I did not
think an Arab mare was to be had in the country. With respect to the
little powder-puff dog with the red eyes, I would make enquiries: and the
mechanical figure could be procured from Paris.
A few days after this visit one of her ladies called on me, and the
following conversation ensued:—
_Mahratta Lady_—“You are going to England,—you will be absent eighteen
months or two years,—have you arranged all your household affairs? You
know how much interest I take in your welfare; I hope you have made
proper arrangements.”
I assured her I had.
“Yes, yes, with respect to the household, that is all very well; but
with respect to your husband, what arrangement have you made? It is the
custom with us Mahrattas, if a wife quit her husband, for her to select
and depute another lady to remain with him during her absence;—have you
selected such a one?”
“No,” said I, with the utmost gravity; “such an arrangement never
occurred to me;—will you do me the honour to supply my place?”
She laughed and shook her head. “I suppose you English ladies would only
select one wife; a Mahratta would select two to remain with her husband
during her absence.”
I explained to her the opinions of the English on such subjects: our
ideas appeared as strange to her as hers were to me; and she expressed
herself grieved that I should omit what they considered a duty.
_27th._—I called on the ex-Queen of Gwalior, and took leave in all
due form; the dear old lady was very sorry to part with me,—the tears
ran down her cheeks, and she embraced me over and over again. I was
sincerely grieved to part with her Highness, with whom and in whose camp
I had passed so many happy hours, amused with beholding native life and
customs, and witnessing their religious ceremonies. The next day she sent
me the complimentary farewell dinner, which it is the custom to present
to a friend on departure: I partook of some of the Mahratta dishes, in
which, to suit my taste, they had omitted musk or assafœtida; the cookery
was good; pān, atr, and rose-water, as usual, ended the ceremony.
Those ladies who are kind enough to support and educate the orphan
children of natives, are startled at times by curious occurrences. A
lady at this station lately married one of her orphans to a drummer in
the 72nd regiment, and gave twenty rupees as a portion; the man was
drunk for about a week; in a fortnight he made over his wife to another
drummer, and in a month came to the lady, saying, “If you please, Ma’am,
I should like to marry again.” “Why, John Strong, you were married a few
days ago!” “Yes, Ma’am, but I made over she to my comrade.” Imagine the
lady’s amazement and horror! The man John Strong went away, and told his
officers he thought he had been very ill-used. The man was a half-caste
Christian, the girl a converted native.
The famine in the north-western provinces has been occasioned by the
almost entire failure of the usual rains. Government has done much in
giving employment to those who can work, and food and medical aid to the
sick; and more than a lākh of rupees has already been raised by private
subscription on our side of India, and they are subscribing for the same
purpose very liberally in the Bombay Presidency. Allahabad luckily has
escaped, but every sort of grain is very dear, and large farm-yards like
ours are somewhat costly. During the time of the famine the natives sold
their children in order to save their lives; and large numbers of the
unfortunate Būndelās, the natives of Būndel-khand, arrived at Allahabad,
famished and dying; subscriptions were raised, and the poor wretches
were supported by charity. A most excellent and religious lady at the
station proposed sending to the up-country, where the famine raged the
most severely, and purchasing ten young girls; these girls she undertook
to bring up in the Christian religion, to teach them reading, writing,
and needlework, and on their attaining a suitable age, to put them into
service as ayahs to European ladies. The ladies at the station entered
into her plans, and I agreed to buy and support two girls as my share.
A calculation was then entered into as to the expense that would be
incurred; I told her, “The other day, a Būndelā woman came to my door
with twins in a basket, which she offered for sale for _two rupees_! I
was greatly surprised; the little naked creatures sprawling in the basket
were in good condition, but their mother was a skeleton. ‘Two rupees!’
said I, ‘that is a high price; I will give you one rupee for the twins,
if you give me the basket into the bargain.’ The poor woman, delighted at
having found a purchaser on any terms, laid her children at my feet, and
making many salāms, thanked me for having saved them from death. I took
them into the room where my husband was sitting, and laid them on the
table as a present for him: he laughed, and gave me some money for the
woman. I returned the twins, and sent her to the place where the Būndelās
are supported by the contributions of the station.”
Having heard this history, my friend wrote to a clergyman up the
country, who purchased for us ten girls, all under eleven years of
age, and sent them down; the market for children was looking up; he
charged us the enormous price of ten rupees apiece! They were placed
in a comfortable house, with a school-mistress to instruct them; every
care was taken of them, and the ladies of the station attended the
school, and superintended their morals. It certainly flourished to a
very great degree; they studied the commandment, “increase and multiply
and replenish the earth,” with so much assiduity, that in a short
time all the little girls were in a fair way of becoming mammas;—a
circumstance perfectly inexplicable, unless they had eaten the seeds of
the peepul-tree:—a peasant girl in Hampshire declared the same effect
was produced by eating water-cresses. It was an annoying failure,
that experimental school of ours. Speaking to an officer in the 16th
Lancers, of the care that had been taken of these girls, of the religious
instruction that had been bestowed upon them, and the disheartening
finale of our charitable labours, he said, “In that dreadful famine
hordes of wretched famished Būndelās flocked into Cawnpore, and very
liberal subscriptions were collected to feed them; great numbers,
however, perished from hunger, and mothers offered their children for
sale for one rupee each: several were bought by very well-intentioned
persons, to be educated, and converted to Christianity. Some little
time after the Būndelās had disappeared from the station, I happened
to be dining with an old friend, who, in the evening, asked if I would
accompany her in her drive to the bungalow where these children were
being educated to form ladies’ maids, as she had a favour to ask of
me, that I would that evening stand godfather to twenty-two of these
children; I declined the honour, and some months afterwards heard that
these children would shortly require godfathers and godmothers for their
own offspring, should they bring them up as Christians.”
The enormous pillar now prostrate near the entrance gate of the Fort
at Allahabad is to be set up on a pedestal, on an ascent of steps, and
surmounted by a lion _couchant_. Colonel Edward Smith is entrusted
with the performance of the work. The natives call it Bhīm Singh kí
lāt—that is, Bhīm Singh’s walking-stick. The _hajjām_ (the barber), whom
I consulted on the subject, says he was a great _pahalwān_ (wrestler):
further I know not.
Seneca says, “It is harder to judge and examine than to take opinions
upon trust; and therefore the far greater part of the world borrow from
others those which they entertain concerning all the affairs of life and
death.” In the present instance, like the world in general, I take my
opinion of the pillar upon trust, and firmly believe in all the barber
asserts; more especially, as some of the inscriptions on the lāt are
in unknown characters; those of the mighty dead, who have disappeared
from the earth, leaving records imperishable but incomprehensible. The
Bāiza Bā’ī was very anxious to erect this pillar at her own expense, and
I believe made the offer to the Lieutenant-Governor. She also wished
to build a fine ghāt at the Trivenī, which, in conjunction with the
magnificent one she was then building at Benares, might have carried her
name to posterity.
_28th._—My friend Mrs. B⸺ and her four children arrived; she is to
accompany me to Calcutta: and a Manis has been sent me to add to my
collection.
_Dec. 1st._—We quitted Allahabad, and proceeded down the river, calling
on those friends _en passant_ of whom I wished to take leave. At
Mirzapore the head of a ravine deer was given me. Off Patna a quantity of
arwarī fish were brought alongside for breakfast; they were delicious;
the remainder we had smoked in _shakar_ and _chokar_—that is, coarse
sugar and wheat bran: let no one neglect this economical luxury,—the
smoked arwarī are delicious.
_17th._—Both the boys being very ill of fever, we hastened on for medical
assistance. At night, as Mrs. B⸺ was quitting my boat to go to her own,
passing down the plank, it upset, and she was thrown into the river; it
was as deep as her waist; the night was dark, and the stream strong; she
was saved by a bearer’s catching her gown as she was sinking; fortunately
the bearer was in attendance, carrying a lantern. The rest of the people
were on the shore eating their dinners, which they had just cooked. I
called to the dāndīs to assist, not a man would stir; they were not six
yards from her, and saw her fall into the river. I reprimanded them
angrily, to which they coolly answered,—“We were eating our dinners, what
could we do?” Natives are apathetic with respect to all things, with the
exception of rupees and _khānā-pīnā_—that is, “meat and drink.”
_18th._—To avoid the return of the accident of yesterday, this evening
our vessels were lashed together; I went to my friend’s boat to see the
poor boys, who were delirious; on my return I did not see that the hold
of my boat was open; the shadows deceived me in the uncertain light, and
meaning to jump from the railing of her vessel upon the deck of my own, I
took a little spring, and went straight down the hold: falling sideways
with my waist across a beam, the breath was beaten out of my body for a
moment, and there I hung like the sign of the golden fleece. The people
came to my assistance, and brought me up again; it was fortunate the beam
stopped my further descent. I was bathed with hot water, and well rubbed
with dēodar oil, which took off the pain and stiffness very effectually.
_19th._—Anchored at Monghir; sent to the Sītā Khūnd, and bottled off
a quantity of water for use on board ship; it keeps good for ever,
that bright, beautiful, sparkling water from Sītā’s well; we had the
precaution to bring corks with us.
The interview between Runjeet Singh and the Governor-General has taken
place,—it must have been a fine sight; had I not been going to England
I would have seen the meeting. Miss Eden presented Runjeet Singh with a
picture of the Queen, painted by herself.
_Extract from a letter dated December 3rd, 1838._
“I will endeavour to give you some idea of what is going
forward in the grand army of the Indus. The day after our
arrival Lord Auckland held a durbār, at which Runjeet Singh
paid his visit; my squadron was on escort duty, so that I saw
nothing, and was nearly crushed by the line of elephants.
I heard two guns were drawn up in one of the tents to be
presented to the Maharāj; between them shrapnell shot were
piled so awkwardly, that Sir Henry and Runjeet stumbled over
them, and very nearly pitched on their noses, and this will
doubtless be considered a bad omen. On the 30th Lord Auckland
returned the visit; our Regiment and the 2nd Cavalry formed
the escort: we crossed the Sutlej over a bridge of boats to
the Seik encampment, where 40,000 men are collected. The
disposition of Runjeet’s troops was most judicious; the
road was first lined with his regular cavalry, tall men, but
miserably mounted; these were all dressed in scarlet, and
looked tawdry and ridiculous: at the termination of this line
of cavalry, which extended about a quarter of a mile, was a
sandbank sufficiently high to obstruct all further view, except
of the Zamburuks, who were placed on the elevation, and fired
a salute from their camels as the Governor-General passed.
Having ascended the bank, the view was indeed magnificent, and
I question if such a pageant has been seen since the decline of
the Moguls. The road was now lined with infantry to the arch
leading to Runjeet’s tents, and before which the Maharāj’s
line of elephants was drawn up magnificently caparisoned. The
infantry were dressed in scarlet, with red turbans, three deep
on one side, and two deep on the other: these are the tallest
body of men I ever saw. I think in the front rank there could
not have been a man under six feet, and several must have been
four and six inches higher; some of the standard-bearers were
perfect giants in height, the officers were superbly dressed,
and I saw more than one wearing pearl epaulets. Only think of
that; for the life of me I could not help wishing to let the
right squadron amongst them for one little half hour. In the
centre of this line of infantry, extending more than a quarter
of a mile, the Governor-General and Runjeet met, and, after
embracing, proceeded to the durbār. Having passed through the
arch, we found ourselves in an enclosure formed by khanāts
of about four acres, and in this Runjeet’s body-guard were
assembled, dressed in new Kincab dresses, and as magnificent
as silk, and gold, and embroidery, and sumptuous arms could
make them. The tents were beautiful, made of the finest fabric
of Cashmere, and such as could only belong to the lord of that
enchanting valley. Runjeet differed much in appearance from
what I had been led to expect. He is a little man, and appeared
less from being seated between two such very tall men as Lord
Auckland and Sir Henry Fane; he is very dark for a Seik, his
face is rather full than otherwise, his beard grey, but far
from white, the expression of his countenance is that of great
cunning and intelligence, and constantly varying; and if you
did not know his character, I think you would say there was no
outward sign of determination.
“Runjeet was the only plainly-dressed man in his court;
he wore a dress and turban of dark red, without jewels or
ornaments of any description whatever, whilst his nobles
were cased in superb cuirasses and choice armour, and were
literally glittering with jewels, and oh! such shawls! no lady
patroness of Almack’s in her wildest dreams ever imagined such
a collection. Amongst the presents Runjeet has given to Lord
Auckland is a gold bed,—may he sleep on it as sound as I do on
my little charpoy!
“We have just returned from a grand review of the whole of
the troops for Lord Auckland and Runjeet; all very fine, I
hear, and we surpassed ourselves in a charge—Shavash! Shavash!
Cawnpore is a water-meadow to this place, the clouds of dust
would be incredible if we did not know we are advancing to
_Dust_ Mohamed’s country.
“This day week, it is said, we are to continue our march,
but there are no supplies on the road for us. Shah Sūjah’s
Contingent have advanced, and I fully expect to see them some
fine morning coming back with at least a flea in their ear.
Nobody knows what is to be done, only the first division under
Sir W. Cotton marches forward, the second remains here as a
reserve. No one seems to imagine there will be any fighting,
but we shall march down to Shikarpore, and, I suppose, having
secured the safe and free navigation of the Indus, march
through Candahar, if the ruler of Cabul will not listen to the
reasoning of our Government.
“The crowd at the durbār before mentioned, which took place on
the 30th, was beyond bearing, and the band-master, who must be
a wag, played ‘We met, ’twas in a crowd;’ and this was by far
the best thing that transpired at the visit of the Lion of the
Punjab, and the Governor-General of India.
“On returning from the durbār, Runjeet stopped at the flank of
the troops lining the road, and had Major Pew’s camel battery
paraded for his inspection, and he seemed much pleased with
it. Major Pew may well be proud of having first adapted the
powers of the camel to the artillery service, for its success
has exceeded the highest expectations that were formed of it.
Several of Runjeet’s parade horses were drawn up opposite
my squadron, they were all large, fat, northern horses, and
appeared highly broke; they were most sumptuously caparisoned.
“I forgot to mention that Major Pew’s camel battery had
accompanied us from Delhi. Four camels are attached to each
gun, in strong and well-constructed harness; and in no instance
was there any delay on the road. There can be no doubt whatever
of the camel being a better beast of draught than the bullock;
and in this country, unless where very rapid manœuvres are to
be effected, I think superior to the horse. A driver is seated
on each camel; the animal requires comparatively little care or
breaking, and thrives upon scanty food; he walks along at the
rate of nearly—if not quite—four miles an hour, and the team
will trot away with a gun at eight, and keep this pace up for a
distance if required.
“The guard I before mentioned at the gate of the durbār were
superbly dressed in yellow silk (the favourite colour of the
Seiks), some of them in curious and delicate chain armour, and
all most sumptuously armed. There was some little difficulty
in persuading this magnificent guard to allow us ingress; at
length, however, this was permitted, and I found myself in a
square of about four acres, artificially laid out as a garden
with shrubs and flowers, which must have been brought from a
considerable distance. This space was enclosed with canvas
walls seven feet high, and in it were collected the body-guard,
all armed with sword and matchlock, the stock curiously inlaid
with gold, or silver, or ivory. There was no mistaking Runjeet
Singh, from the loss of his left eye; he is not emaciated, as I
had been led to expect, from debauchery; and has not the hooked
nose usually found among the Seiks. The Lion of the Punjab was
by far the most plainly-attired man in his court; he wore the
same dress he appeared in when he visited Lord Auckland; he had
not decked himself in any of the jewels of immense value which
he has in his possession, and I was disappointed at not getting
a glimpse of the Koh-i-Nūr, which he generally exhibits on his
person on great occasions. I fear Shah Sūjah has little chance
of ever recovering this inestimable diamond,—who knows, in a
few years, in whose possession it may be found? Shah Sūjah’s
ancestors plundered it from the treasure of Nadir Shah after
he was assassinated, and Nadir Shah extorted it from the great
Mogul after the massacre at Delhi.
“Those of the Seik court who were admitted to the durbār were
most superbly dressed, some in flowing yellow or bright red
silk dresses, their kummerbunds always a Cashmere shawl of
very great value; some in high-polished cuirasses, and others
in choice and glittering armour; and all appeared decked in
jewels of immense value. I should mention, Runjeet has wrested
Cashmere from the rule of Cabul, and will, perhaps, restore the
unequalled valley to Shah Sūjah with the Koh-i-Nūr; however, at
the Seik court, under a tent, formed, as it were, of immense
shawls, seemed to be collected the very choicest fabrics of
that heavenly country; whilst all that superb armour, jewels of
inestimable value, silks of the richest manufacture, ornaments
of pure and elaborately wrought gold, shawls of the finest
texture and most beautiful colours and patterns, and embroidery
curiously worked on cloth of velvet, here met the eye. Even
those in the retinue who were very far too inferior to gain
admittance to the durbār, or hardly to the presence of those
who appeared there, wore shawls of such beauty, as would have
excited the envy of our richest ladies. Immediately in front
of the Maharaj and Lord Auckland, the never-failing nāch was
exhibited; the singer was covered with jewels, and wore a dark
green dress, very tastefully embroidered in silver, and she
modulated her voice sufficiently, not to make herself very
disagreeable. The presents were now handed round, and we took
our leave. The Seiks, like a sensible people, never shave the
face, and would almost as soon cut their throats as their
beards. I did not get back to my tents until late, but returned
very highly gratified with the superb pageant I had witnessed;
it would be difficult to picture a more magnificent spectacle.”
My correspondent here mentions, that the presents given by the Seiks
were handed round on trays;—a far less military style than that adopted
by the Rajpūt, whose shield always forms the tray which contains his
offerings.
_20th._—When in the Hills, roaming in the interior, I met with an
accident, a fall: coming down a rock, my long silk gown having caught on
a projecting part of it, I was thrown headlong down; therefore I made a
dress more suited for such expeditions, a black Paharī dress, somewhat
resembling Turkish attire. My fair companion admired it exceedingly, and
made one for herself after the same fashion; large round sailor-looking
straw hats completed the costume: they were comfortable dresses on the
river. My ayha, who accompanied me to the bazār last night, told me the
natives said to her, “Ayha, ayha, is that a man or a woman?”—“A man.”
“Ayha, tell the truth, is it a man or a woman?”—“A man.” “Then why are
you with him?”—“Oh, the sāhib brought me to bargain for things in the
bazār.” I asked her why she had said I was a man? She replied, “They
are great thieves, and if they think you a man they are less likely to
attempt to rob the boats.” Her stratagem amused me. The purchases I made
were certainly not feminine, consisting of sixty-five bamboos and some
shot; and I superintended the fixing of some brass work on a musket that
was out of repair.
We are at this moment surrounded by a great number of boats; the people
belonging to them are singing and playing on all sorts of uncouth
instruments; such a hum, and such a din!—it will be useless to attempt to
rest until these perturbed spirits have sung themselves to sleep.
_22nd._—Off Pointy, where the river is rapid and dangerous, we saw two
vessels that had been just wrecked. The owner of the land (the jamīndar)
was taking up the cargo from the wrecks; half becomes his share, and the
owners of the vessels have only the remainder.
_25th._—A stormy day; during a lull we attempted to cross the river;
half-way over a heavy wind rendered my boat unmanageable, and we were
driven by the wind upon a clump of bamboo stumps that were just above
water in the middle of the stream: the crew were alarmed, and shouted
“Rām! rām! āh’e Khudā! āh’e Khudā!” Fortunately, the boat being strong
and new, she did not split open, and after a time we got her off again;
the wind then drove us up a creek, and we lugāoed on a sandbank. The gale
separated me from my fair friend, whose boat was driven to the opposite
side of the river; her people were calling to know if I were safe; it was
impossible to rejoin her; she heard the answering shouts of my men in the
distance, and was satisfied. We were like the Brahmanī ducks, the chakwā
chakwī, separated by the river, and calling through the live-long night
“ā’o, ā’o,” “come, come.”
_26th._—We anchored below the village of Downapūr, which had been washed
away into the river during the last rains, by the force of the current
having undermined its banks. My fair friend and I roamed in the beautiful
moonlight by ourselves, attired in our Paharī dresses and straw hats, to
a village at some distance. The women took us for cadets, and ran away in
a great fright; nor was it for a length of time we could bring an ugly
old hag to a parley; at last we succeeded, and bought a Bengalee goat
and kid; the villagers were excessively afraid of us, and with great
difficulty we persuaded them to bring the goats to the vessel. They asked
my companion where her regiment was stationed; and imagined my wife was
_parda nishīn_ on board the boats. We did not undeceive them with respect
to our manhood.
On my return I asked the sentry on my boat, “What hour is it?” The man
answered, “When _Honey_ is perpendicular over the mast it is midnight; it
must now be eleven.” His _Honey_ are the three stars in Orion’s belt.
_27th._—Anchored below Sooty on the Bhagirathī. I was awakened from my
sleep at 10 P.M. by the servants saying my cook had been missing since
7 in the evening; his age is twenty; and he had never quitted the boats
before. We looked over all the boats, and searched the _jāngal_ for
miles around, and we began to fear a tiger might have taken him off,
knowing that gentlemen are in the habit of coming to this part of the
country tiger-shooting. My friend became uneasy, and was anxious to go
to the opposite side of the river; to this I objected, offering to keep
a bonfire blazing before the boats all night, but refusing to quit the
spot until the boy’s fate was ascertained. At last he was discovered on
the top of my boat, hanging over the side as if he had fallen there; on
moving him he groaned as if in severe agony, and appeared senseless; his
jaw was locked, his eyes were fixed, and turned up under the lids. The
poor fellow had been exposed in this state to the dews of a Bengal night
for three hours. They brought him into my cabin, he fell into the most
violent convulsions, and appeared dying. All the remedies for fits were
applied; we placed him in a warm bath; after three hours and a half his
jaw relaxed, his eyes moved as if the pressure was off them, and being
better, the servants carried him, still apparently senseless, into the
cook-boat. I had been up with him four hours in a damp foggy night,
anxious for his recovery; his father was our cook, and this young native
had been with us eleven years under his father. Mrs. B⸺ said, “I heard
a native hint to another that the boy is not in a fit; and I have heard
natives will sham illness, and deceive any body.” I called a servant, and
asked him if it were true. The man, standing on one leg, with the palms
of both hands clasped together, said, “What can I say? will you forgive
me? If you were my master I would tell you; but how can I utter such
words of shame to my mistress? Say you will forgive me for uttering such
words, and I will tell you, if you order me to do so.” He then related
what had passed, and said, the boy, hearing himself called, became
alarmed, hid himself, and, on being discovered, shammed illness.
I desired the chaprasī to take a little riding whip in his hand, and
accompany me into the cook-boat; the boy was better, but had not
recovered from his fit,—the violent convulsions had gone off. I ordered
the head man to cut off his hair, and apply leeches to his head; during
the operation the itching of his head made him put up his hand and
scratch it. I saw from his countenance he was angry, for the shaving of
the head is, I believe, the sign of complete slavery with a native, and
he found it difficult to sham illness. The operation over, the _khalāsī_
gave him a sharp cut with the whip over his hand, desired him to leave
off shamming, and come on deck. Finding his imposition was discovered,
he got up, and in the most impudent manner said, “What fault have I
committed?—what have I done that is wrong?” When I told a chaprasī to
take charge of him, and take him to the nearest magistrate, the cook
fell at my feet, confessed his crime, and begged I would not send him
away; requesting a panchāyāt might be held on his conduct, or that I
would punish him according to my pleasure. I told the people to hold
a panchāyāt according to their own customs, to report the sentence to
me, and it should be carried into execution. The whole of the people
assembled in council under a sacred tree on the bank, and deliberated
on the case: at the termination of the consultation the elders came
to me saying they had decided as follows:—The cook was to receive
twenty-two lashes, that he was to lose caste, and to have his _hukka
panī bāndh_—that is, they would no longer allow him to associate with
themselves, eat or smoke with them, or worship with the faithful. They
requested I would turn him out of the boats, that they should be allowed
to take him on shore, put him on an ass with his face to the tail of the
animal, and followed by drums, and the hooting of the rabble, they should
lead the donkey through the village, and then turn him off for ever.
This was a severe sentence, and showed how angry the people of his own
caste had become: they gave him the twenty-two lashes, he lost caste,
and was not allowed to worship on deck as usual. I would not turn him
out of service, knowing it would be his ruin, and I felt compassion for
his pretty young wife, whom he had left at Allahabad; nor would I allow
them to parade him on an ass. The panchāyāt took into consideration the
conduct of the under-woman; the servants had told her if she had hidden
the cook any where, if she would tell he should be released, and nothing
should be said about it: that they would not awaken me; they only wanted
to find him. She swore she had not seen him at all; she was present
during the four hours he was pretending to be ill,—she saw how much
alarmed I was,—also that during this time I was exposed to the night air;
and she aided in the deception. They condemned her according to law, but
as the sentence was very severe, I only allowed a part of it to be put
into execution. She was obliged to blacken her own face with soot and
oil as she sat on deck; all the servants came round her,—they laughed,
hooted, and complimented her on her beauty; she cried bitterly,—the
punishment was severe enough; she was afraid she should be paraded on
the donkey, and was very glad to find I would not allow it. The next day
she wanted the cook to marry her, and make her a Musalmanī, saying, her
husband on her return would cut off her nose, and break into the zenāna
of the cook. However, she was disappointed in her wish of becoming a
follower of the Prophet, it being discovered she had another lover: this
extra lover also lost caste, and had his _hukka panī bāndh_.
Knowing the natives are apt to administer poison in revenge, I mentioned
the circumstance to my khansaman, and said, “It is immaterial to me, but,
in case of my death, you will be answerable to the sāhib.” The man made
his salām, saying, “On my head be it: you have punished the man justly;
there is nothing to fear: had he been punished unjustly he might have
revenged himself by putting poison in your food.” “Very well,” said I,
“it is your concern, not mine;”—and I finished my dinner.
_29th._—Arrived at Berhampūr, at which place a bearer of mine related the
following history:—
“In former times, when the English first came to _Kalkut_ (Calcutta), a
very rich merchant resided at Moorshedabad, by name Jugger Seit: this man
was a great _harām-zāda_ (rascal), never obeyed the orders of the Nawāb,
was very rich, and had two hundred soldiers as a body-guard. One day he
boasted that he could day by day dethrone such a Nawāb as the one at
Moorshedabad, and daily place a new one on the throne: these words having
been reported to the Nawāb, he sent two soldiers to seize the merchant.
While the man was bathing in the river, away from his attendants, the
soldiers fell upon him; and one of them having stabbed him in the side,
they carried him before the Nawāb. He offered as his ransom to strew the
road from Moorshedabad to Delhi with gold mohurs; but the Nawāb was
inflexible. The merchant was fastened into a palanquin, placed in a small
boat, carried out into the river in front of the Nawāb’s house, and
thrown palkī and all into the stream, where of course he was drowned.” So
ends the tale of the Nawāb, the Merchant, and the Palkī.
_30th._—Remained at Berhampūr, to write letters, buy silks, also figures
of men and animals beautifully carved in ivory, and to procure food.
_31st._—Quitted Berhampūr. I have suffered so much during the last
twelvemonth from the death of relatives and friends, that I now bid adieu
to the past year without regret. May the new one prove happier than the
last!