PILGRIMAGE TO THE TĀJ.
“RESOLUTION OVERCOMES GREAT DIFFICULTIES[124].”
“You will require the patience of an angel, or of a whole heaven of
angels, to reach Agra in a pinnace. I was a month in a boat that I built
for the very purpose of threading this Meander, to which that of Troy
was a nālā, as straight as an arrow. I fear your voyage will be much
protracted, but as for the wind, you are sure to have it favourable two
or three times a day, let it blow from what quarter it will, for you
will have your course during the twenty-four hours to every point of the
compass, and these cold days too! Here am I shivering in the warmest room
in my house!”
W. L. G⸺, Khasgunge.
The Seagull—The Patelī—Chapātīs—Sujawan Deota—Burriaree
Rocks—Thieves—Parbosa—Temple of Parisnāth—Darogahs—Utility
of a Pellet-bow—The Cane River—The Leak—A
Storm—Kalpee—Belaspoor—Alligators in their own
Wildernesses—River Shells—Passage through the Rocks—A
Pilot—Badowra—Fossil-bones—The Chumbal River—Bhurrage—Burning
the Dead—A Woman drowned—Cutting through a Sandbank on a Chain
Cable—A Leak—White Ants—Picturesque Scenes—A Tufān—The Mem
Sāhiba’s Speech—River Dogs—Presents of Sweetmeats.
_Dec. 1834._—To look forward to the cold season is always a great
pleasure in India; and to plan some expedition for that period is an
amusement during the hot winds and rains. We had often determined to
visit the Tāj Mahul at Agra—the wonder of the world.
Our beautiful pinnace was now in the Jumna, anchored just below the
house, but the height of the banks and the lowness of the river only
allowed us to see the top of her masts. My husband proposed that I should
go up the Jumna in her, as far as Agra, and anchor off the Tāj; and
promised, if he could get leave of absence, to join me there, to view
all that is so well worth seeing at that remarkable place. Accordingly,
the pinnace was prepared for the voyage, and a patelī was procured as a
cook-boat. Books, drawing materials, and every thing that could render a
voyage up the river agreeable, were put on board.
_Dec. 9th._—I quitted Prāg: the Seagull spread her sails to the breeze,
and, in spite of the power of the stream, we made good way against it:
at night we _lugāoed_ off Phoolpoor, _i.e._ made fast to the bank, as is
always the custom, the river not being navigable during the darkness.
_10th._—Saw the first crocodile to-day basking on a sandbank; a great
long-nosed fellow, a very Indian looking personage, of whom I felt the
greatest fear, as at the moment my little terrier Fury, who was running
on the shore with the dāndees, seeing me on deck, swam off to the
pinnace. I was much pleased when a dāndee caught her in his arms and put
her on the cook-boat.
On the commencement of a voyage the men adorn the bows of the vessel with
hārs, (chaplets of fresh flowers,) and ask for money: on days of pooja,
and at the end of the voyage, the same ceremony is repeated, and half-way
on the voyage they usually petition for a present, a few rupees for good
luck.
I must describe the Seagull:—She was built in Calcutta to go to
Chittagong, and has a deep keel, therefore unfit for river work, unless
during the rains: two-masted, copper-bottomed, and brig-rigged. She
requires water up to a man’s waist; her crew consist of twenty-two men,
one sarang, who commands her, four khalāsīs, who hold the next rank,
one gal’haiya, forecastle man (from galahi, a forecastle), fourteen
dāndees, one cook and his mate, all Musalmāns; total twenty-two. The
crew, particularly good men, came from Calcutta with the pinnace; they
cook their own food and eat and sleep on board. My food and that of my
servants is prepared in the cook-boat. The food of the dāndees usually
consists of curry and rice, or thin cakes of flour (unleavened bread)
called chapātīs: the latter they bake on a tawā (iron plate) over
the fire, on the bank, and eat whilst hot. It is amusing to see how
dexterously they pat these cakes into form, between both hands, chucking
them each time into the air: they are usually half an inch in thickness,
and the size of a dessert plate.
When these common chapātīs are made thin, and allowed to blow out on the
fire until they are perfectly hollow, they are delicious food, if eaten
quite hot. Thus made they are much better than those generally put on the
table of the sāhib loge (gentry), which are made of fine flower and milk.
Being unable to find a boat for hire that would answer as a cook-boat,
the jamadār purchased a patelī, a small boat built after the fashion of
a large flat-bottomed patailā, for which he gave eighty rupees; and we
proceeded to fit it up, by building a large house upon it of mats and
bamboo, thickly thatched with straw. This house was for the cook, the
servants, and the farm-yard. On the top of it was a platform of bamboos,
on which the dāndees (sailors) could live and sleep. The crew consisted
of seven men, Hindoos; therefore they always cooked their food on shore
in the evening, it being contrary to the rules of their religion to eat
on board. The sheep, goats, fowls, provisions, wine, &c. were all in the
cook-boat, and a space was divided off for the dhobee (washerman). The
number of servants it is necessary to take with one on a river voyage in
India is marvellous. We had also a little boat called a dinghee, which
was towed astern the pinnace.
This morning we passed Sujawan Deota, a rock rising out of the river,
crowned with a temple, a remarkably picturesque spot, and adorned with
trees. A pinnace is towed by one thick towing line, called a goon,
carried by ten men. Native boats containing merchandize are generally
towed by small lines, each man having his own line to himself. The wind
having become contrary, the men were obliged to tow her; the goon broke,
the vessel swerved round, and was carried some distance down the stream;
however, she was brought up without damage, and we moored off Sehoree.
_11th._—In passing the Burriaree rocks I felt a strange sort of anxious
delight in the danger of the passage, there being only room for one
vessel to pass through. The serang, a Calcutta man, had never been up the
Jumna; and as we cut through the narrow pass I stood on deck watching
ahead for a sunken rock. Had there been too little water, with what a
crash we should have gone on the rocks! The river is full of them; they
show their black heads a foot or two above the stream that rushes down
fiercely around or over them: just now we ran directly upon one. The
vessel swerved right round, but was brought up again soon after.
We track or sail from 6 A.M., and moor the boats at 7 P.M. On anchoring
off Deeya I received two matchlocks, sent to me by my husband, on account
of his having heard that many salt-boats on the Jumna have been plundered
lately; the matchlocks are to be fired off of an evening when the watch
is set, to show we are on our guard. At night a chaprāsī and two dāndees
hold their watch, armed, on deck; and two chaukidārs (watchmen) from the
nearest village keep watch on shore. My little fine-eared terrier is on
board, and I sleep without a thought of robbery or danger. If you take a
guard from the nearest village, you are pretty safe; if not, perhaps the
chaukidārs themselves will rob you, in revenge for your not employing
them.
PARISNĀTH.
_12th._—The passage off Mhow was difficult,—rocks and sands. We were on
a sandbank several times. The temple of Parisnāth at Pabosa was to me a
very interesting object. At Allahabad I procured a small white marble
image of this god, and while considering whom it might represent, the
moonshee came into the room. The man is a high-church Hindoo: on seeing
the image, he instantly covered his eyes and turned away, expressing his
disapprobation. “That is the idol Parisnāth,” said he, “a man of the pure
faith may not look upon it, and will not worship in a temple desecrated
by its presence.” There are about four hundred heretical Hindoos at Prāg.
The image is represented in a sitting posture, not unlike the attitude
of the Budha idol of Ava, but from which it differs in the position of
the right hand.
Colonel Tod says, “The 23rd of the Jain Apostles was Parswanáth—Parswa
the god. There is a column in Cheetore dedicated to Parswanáth, Budhist,
or Jain.”
I imagine the white marble images in my possession are the same as those
mentioned in the “Annals and Antiquities of Rajah’stan.” I have before
given, in p. 214, an account of the disturbance occasioned at Allahabad
from an attempt made by a man to place an image of Parisnāth in the
Achibut chamber. Moored the pinnace off Surawal.
_13th._—Aground off Kuttree, again off Shahpoor, and, for the third time,
off Jumnapoor: lugāoed off Mowhie.
_13th._—Aground on a sunken rock off Toolseepoor, again off Dampour.
During the rains the river is deep; but at this time of the year it is
late to undertake a voyage to Agra, and I think it not impossible it may
be impracticable to take the pinnace so far up the river. Nevertheless,
we have come on very well, with occasional difficulties, such as going
over sunken rocks at times, bump, bump, under the vessel. I have felt
half afraid of seeing their black heads through the floor of the cabin.
We have grounded on sandbanks four and five times a day in avoiding the
rocks. The Jumna is full of them, and the navigation dangerous on that
account. The contrary wind has generally obliged us to track, as our
course lies right in the teeth of the west wind, which is strong, and
generally blows pretty steadily at this time of the year. There is one
consolation, the river winds and twists so much, the wind must be fair
somewhere or other.
Every twelve miles a dārogha comes on board to make salām to the mem
sāhiba, and to ask her orders. I send letters to Prāg by this means; the
dārogha gives them to our own chaprāsīs, who run with them from station
to station. There is no dāk (post) in these parts. The dāroghas bring
fish, eggs, kids, any thing of which I am in need; and I pay for them,
although they are brought as presents, it being against the orders of
Government to receive the gift even of a cabbage or beet-root from a
native. The tracking ground was fine; moored off Bhowna.
_15th._—Strong west wind, very cold: the river broad and deep; the
thermometer at 9 A.M. 60°. The darzee in the after-cabin is at work
on a silk gown: the weather is just cold enough to render warm attire
necessary. The other day I was on deck in a green velvet travelling
cap, with an Indian shawl, put on after the fashion of the men, amusing
myself with firing with a pellet-bow at some cotton boats _en passant_
for tamāshā. Some natives came on board to make salām, and looked much
surprised at seeing a ghulel (a pellet-bow) in feminine hands. The cotton
boats would not get out of the way, therefore I pelted the manjhīs,
(masters, or steersmen) of the vessels, to hasten the movements of the
great unwieldy lubberly craft. Of whom can I talk but of myself in this
my solitude on the Jumna-jee? Now for the telescope to look out for the
picturesque.
_17th._—Wind strong, cold, and westerly: the stream broad and deep,
anchored off Jerowlee in a jungle: just the place for a sportsman. A
quantity of underwood and small trees amongst the ravines and cliffs
afford shelter for the game. Here you find nil-gā’ī, peacocks, partridge,
and quail. Several peacocks were quietly feeding on the cliffs; others
roosting on the trees. At this place they told me there is a bura kund,
which is, I believe, a well, or spring, or basin of water, especially
consecrated to some holy purpose or person; but I did not visit the spot.
_20th._—Passed Chilla Tara Ghāt and the Cane River, in which agates,
cornelians, calcedony, &c., are found. The day was pleasant, the water
deep, but there being but little wind we were obliged to track. Moored
off Arouwl, at which place the patelī got upon the rocks.
_21st._—A strong east wind: we had a fine sail, but went aground off
Bindour: moored at Serowlee.
_22nd._—After a very pleasant day, and pretty good sailing, we lugāoed
off Humeerpore: during the night we were kept on the _qui vive_ by a very
severe storm, accompanied by thunder, lightning, and very heavy rain.
_23rd._—A wretched day; cold, damp, and miserable, a most powerful wind
directly against us. To add to the discomfort, we sprang a leak, which
gave sixty buckets of water in twenty-four hours. The leak was found
under the rudder. We had to take down a part of the aft-cabin, and to
take up some boards before we could get at it: and when found, we had
nothing on board fit to stop it. At last it was effectually stopped with
towels, torn up and forced in tight, and stiff clay beaten down over
that. I thought this might last until our arrival at Kalpee, where proper
repairs might take place: moored off Bowlee.
_25th._—Christmas Day was ushered in by rain and hail, the wind high and
contrary. At noon the wind decreased, and we got on better, tracking
along the banks, with fourteen men on the goon (track-rope). At seven in
the evening, just as we had moored, a storm came on, accompanied with
the most brilliant forked lightning; and the most violent wind, blowing
a gale, united with the strong stream, bearing full down against us. It
was really fearful. After a time the vivid and forked lightning became
sheeted, and the rain fell, like a second deluge, in torrents. The peals
of thunder shook the cabin windows, and all the panes of glass rattled.
We had lugāoed off a dry nālā (the bed of a stream); the torrents of
rain filled the nālā with water, which poured down against the side of
the pinnace with great force and noise. Fearing we should be driven
from our moorings by the force of the current, I ran on deck to see if
the men were on the alert. It was quite dark: some were on shore taking
up the lāwhāsees by which she was secured to the bank; the rest were
on deck, trying with their long bamboos to shove her out of the power
of the current from the nālā. Having succeeded in this, we were more
comfortable. It was out of the question to take rest during such a storm,
while there was a chance of being driven from our moorings; and being
quite alone was also unpleasant. At length the gale abated, and I was
glad to hear only the rain for the rest of the night. Daylight closed
my weary eyes: on awaking refreshed from a quiet slumber, I found the
Seagull far from Ekouna, near which place we had passed so anxious a
night.
_26th._—Moored off Kalpee, famous for its crystalized sugar. Here a large
budget of letters was brought to me. I remained the whole day at the
station to procure provisions and answer the letters. Nor did I forget to
purchase tools and every thing necessary for the repair of the leak in
the vessel, although we forbore to remove the towels and clay, as she now
only made half a bucket in twenty-four hours.
_28th._—North-west wind very cold: the river most difficult to navigate
in parts; rocky, sandy, shallow. Anchored off Palpoor; found a quantity
of river shells; they are not very pretty, but some are curious.
_29th._—We were in the midst of great sandbanks, in a complete
wilderness; the stream was strong and deep, the tracking-ground good;
here and there the rocks appeared above water under the high cliffs. Off
Belaspoor, on one sandbank, I saw ten crocodiles basking in the sun, all
close together; some turtle and great white birds were on a rock near
them; on the river’s edge were three enormous alligators, large savage
monsters, lying with their enormous mouths wide open, eyeing the boats.
The men on board shouted with all their might; the alligators took no
notice of the shout; the crocodiles, more timid than the former, ran into
the water, and disappeared immediately. These are the first alligators
I have seen in their own domains; they are very savage, and will attack
men; the crocodiles will not, if it be possible to avoid them. I would
willingly have taken the voyage for this one sight of alligators and
crocodiles in their native wildernesses; the scene was so unusual, so
wild, so savage. At sunset, anchored off Gheetamow, and found some shells
during my evening ramble.
At the sale of the effects of the late Col. Gough, in Calcutta, was the
head of a magar (alligator) of incredible size, caught in the Megna;
which, though deficient in not having an under-jaw, was a good weight for
a man to carry, stooping to it with both hands. The creeks of a bend of
the Sunderbunds, not far below Calcutta, are the places frequented, I
hear, by the patriarchs of their race.
The next day we entered a most difficult part of the river; it was
impossible to tell in which direction to steer the vessel; rocks on every
side; the river full of them; a most powerful stream rushing between the
rocks; to add to the danger, we had a strong westerly wind directly in
our teeth, which, united to the force of the stream, made us fear the
goon might break; in which case we should have been forced most violently
against the rocks. We accomplished only one mile in four hours and a
half! I desired the sarang to anchor the vessel, and let the men have
some rest; they had been fagging, up to their waists in water, all the
time, and I wished the wind to abate ere we attempted to proceed further.
After the dāndees had dined, we pushed off again. At Kurunka a pilot came
on board, which pleased me very much, as it was impossible to tell on
which side of the rocks the passage might be: the pilot took us up with
great difficulty through the rocks to the land-mark off the bungalow at
Badoura; there he requested leave to anchor until the wind might abate;
he was afraid to try the stream, it being still stronger higher up. Of
course I consented; after which, accompanied by the pilot, I walked some
three miles to collect fossil bones; these bones were discovered by the
sappers and miners on the river-side, at the little village of Badoura;
the bones are petrified, but to what animal they belonged is unknown;
some cart-loads of them have been taken to Allahabad, to be shown to
the scientific; I brought back five or six of the bones we found at
the place. A short time ago this part of the river was impassable; the
Company sent sappers and miners, who, having surrounded each rock with
a fence that kept out the water, blew them up, and made a passage down
the centre of the river; of course this was a work of time; the fences
were then removed, and the stream flowed unconfined. Large boats can now
go up and down in safety, if they know the passage. The next morning the
pilot accompanied us as far as Merapoor, when he made his salām, and
returned to the sappers’ and miners’ bungalow. The river now became good
and clear; we encountered no more difficulties, and moored quietly off
Seholee at six in the evening.
1835, _Jan. 1st_.—New Year’s Day was as disagreeable as Christmas Day;
cold, frosty; a wind in our teeth; rocks and crocodiles. My pet terrier
was taken ill; with difficulty she was brought through the attack;
poor little Poppus,—she has a dozen names, all of endearment. Passed
Juggermunpoor, where the fair for horses is held.
_2nd._—A fair wind brought us to the Chumbal river. The fort and Hindoo
temple of Bhurrage are very picturesque objects. This is one of the
most difficult passes on the river, on account of the sand banks, and
the power of the stream from the junction of the Jumna and Chumbal. I
am directed not to stop a moment for any thing but letters on my way
to Agra; on my return I shall go on shore (D.V.), and visit all the
picturesque places I now behold merely _en passant_. The Chumbal is a
beautiful river; never was a stream more brilliant or more clear; the
water, where it unites with the Jumna, is of a bright pellucid green.
From the force of the united streams we had great difficulty in passing
the junction; the wind dropped, and we could not move the pinnace on
the towing-rope; we sent a hawser in the dinghee to the opposite shore,
and then, with the united force of the crews of both vessels, hauled
the pinnace across the junction into the quiet waters of the Jumna; it
was 6 P.M. ere this was effected. Whilst the people anchored, and got
the cook-boat over, I walked to a beautiful Hindoo temple, close to
the river’s edge. The fort beyond put me in mind of Conway Castle; the
towers are somewhat similar: on my return I must stop and sketch it. A
wealthy native has sent to petition _an audience_; he is anxious to make
salām to the mem sāhiba. I have declined seeing him, as we must start at
daybreak; but have told him on my return I shall stay a day or two at
this picturesque place, and shall then be happy to receive his visit.
Nothing is so shocking, so disgusting, as the practice of burning bodies;
generally only half-burning them, and throwing them into the river. What
a horrible sight I saw to-day! crowds of vultures, storks, crows, and
pariah dogs from the village glutting over a dreadful meal; they fiercely
stripped the flesh from the swollen body of the half-burned dead, which
the stream had thrown on a sand bank; and howled and shrieked as they
fought over and for their fearful meal!
How little the natives think of death! This morning, when I was on deck,
the body of a woman floated by the pinnace, within the reach of a bamboo;
she was apparently dead, her long black hair spread on the stream; by the
style of the red dress, she was a Hindoo; she must have fallen, or have
been thrown into the river. I desired the men to pull the body to the
vessel’s side, and see if she might not be saved. They refused to touch
it even with a bamboo; nobody seemed to think any thing about it, further
than to prevent the body touching the vessel, should the stream bring
it close to the side. One man coolly said, “I suppose she fell into the
river when getting up water in her gharā” (earthen vessel)!
How easily a murdered man might be disposed of! On account of the expense
of fuel, the poorer Hindoos only slightly burn the bodies of the dead,
and then cast them into the river; by attiring the corpse after the
fashion of a body to be burned, and throwing it into the stream, it would
never attract attention; any native would say, “Do not touch it, do not
touch it; it is merely a burnt body.”
This life on the river, however solitary, is to me very agreeable; and I
would proceed beyond Agra to Delhi, but that I should think there cannot
be water enough for the pinnace; with a fair wind there is much to enjoy
in the changing scene, but tracking against a contrary one is tiresome
work.
_3rd._—A most unpleasant day; we were aground many times, contending
against the stream and a powerful wind. The new goon broke, and we were
at last fixed most firmly and unpleasantly on a bank of sand; in that
position, finding it impossible to extricate the pinnace, we remained all
night.
_4th._—We were obliged to cut our way through the sandbank to the
opposite shore, a distance of about a quarter of a mile; this took
twelve hours to accomplish; the anchor was carried to a distance with a
chain cable, and there dropped; and the pinnace was pulled by main force
through the sand, where there was not water enough to float her. When
out of it, we came upon a stream that ran like a torrent, aided by a
most powerful and contrary wind. To remain where we were was dangerous;
the men carried a thick cable in the dinghee to the shore, made it fast,
and were pulling the vessel across; when half-way, just as we thought
ourselves in safety, the cable broke, the pinnace whirled round and round
like a bubble on the waters, and was carried with fearful velocity down
the stream. The sarang lost all power over the vessel, but, at last, her
progress was stopped by being brought up fast on a sandbank. By dint of
hard work we once more got the cable fastened to the opposite shore,
and carried her safely to the other side; where, to my great delight,
we anchored, to await the decrease of the wind, that howled through the
ropes as though it would tear them from the masts.
Thinking the vessel must have received a violent strain under all the
force she had endured, we opened the hold, and found she had sprung a
leak, that bubbled up at a frightful rate; the leak was under planks it
was impossible to remove, unless by sawing off two feet from three large
planks, if we could procure a saw; such a thing could not be found. I
thought of a razor, the orthodox weapon wherewith to saw through six-inch
boards, and get out of prison; no one would bring forward a razor. At
length I remembered the very small fine saw I make use of for cutting
the soap-stone, and, by very tender and gentle usage, we at length cut
off the ends of the planks, and laid open the head of the leak, under
the rudder, below water-mark. Here the rats and white ants had been very
busy, and had worked away undisturbed at a principal beam, so that you
could run your fingers some inches into it. With a very gentle hand the
tow was stuffed in, but as we stopped the leak in one part, it sprang up
in another; all day long we worked incessantly, and at night, in despair,
filled it up with stiff clay. I went to rest, but my sleep was disturbed
by dreams of water hissing in mine ears, and that we were going down
stern foremost. During the night I called up the men three times to bale
the vessel; she gave up quantities of water. We anchored off Mulgong.
_5th._—Detained by the strong and contrary wind; the leak still gave
up water, but in a less quantity; and it was agreed to leave it in
its present condition until we could get to Etaweh. I was not quite
comfortable, knowing the state of the rotten wood, and the holes the rats
had made, through which the water had bubbled up so fast. The next day,
not one drop of water came from the leak, and the vessel being quite
right afterwards, I determined not to have her examined until our arrival
at Agra, and could never understand why she did not leak.
_9th._—Ever since the 4th we have had the most violent and contrary
winds all day; obliged generally to anchor for two hours at noon, it
being impossible to stem the stream, and struggle against the wind; most
disagreeable work; I am quite tired and sick of it. Thus far I have borne
all with the patience of a Hindoo, the wish to behold the Tāj carrying
me on. It is so cold, my hand shakes, I can scarcely guide my pen; the
thermometer 50° at 10 A.M., with this bitter and strong wind. I dare not
light a fire, as I take cold quitting it to go on deck; all the glass
windows are closed,—I have on a pair of Indian shawls, snow boots, and a
velvet cap,—still my face and head throb with rheumatism. When on deck,
at mid-day, I wear a sola topī, to defend me from the sun.
This river is very picturesque; high cliffs, well covered with wood,
rising abruptly from the water: here and there a Hindoo temple, with a
great peepul-tree spreading its fine green branches around it: a ruined
native fort: clusters of native huts: beautiful stone ghāts jutting into
the river: the effect greatly increased by the native women, in their
picturesque drapery, carrying their vessels for water up and down the
cliffs, poised on their heads. Fishermen are seen with their large nets;
and droves of goats and small cows, buffaloes, and peacocks come to the
river-side to feed. But the most picturesque of all are the different
sorts of native vessels; I am quite charmed with the boats. Oh that I
were a painter, who could do justice to the scenery! My pinnace, a
beautiful vessel, so unlike any thing else here, must add beauty to the
river, especially when under sail.
Aground on a sandbank again! with such a wind and stream it is not
pleasant—hardly safe. What a noise! attempting to force her off the bank;
it is terribly hard work; the men, up to their waists in water, are
shoving the vessel with their backs, whilst the wind and stream throw her
back again. Some call on Allah for aid, some on Gunga, some on Jumna-jee,
every man shouting at the height of his voice. What a squall! the vessel
lies over frightfully. I wish the wind would abate! forced sideways down
on the sandbank by the wind and stream, it is not pleasant. There! there
is a howl that ought to succeed in forcing her off, in spite of the
tufān; such clouds of fine sand blowing about in every direction! Now the
vessel rocks, now we are off once more,—back we are again! I fancy the
wind and stream will have their own way. Patience, mem sāhiba, you are
only eight miles from Etaweh: when you may get over those eight miles may
be a difficult calculation. The men are fagging, up to their breasts in
the river; I must go on deck, and make a speech. What a scene! I may now
consider myself really in the wilderness, such watery _waists_ are spread
before me!
THE MEM SĀHIBA’S SPEECH.
“Ari! Ari! what a day is this! Ahi Khudā! what a wind is here! Is not
this a tufān? Such an ill-starred river never, never did I see! Every
moment, every moment, we are on a sandbank. Come, my children, let her
remain; it is the will of God,—what can we do? Eat your food, and when
the gale lulls we may get off. Perhaps, by the blessing of God, in twelve
months’ time we may reach Etaweh.”
After this specimen of eloquence, literally translated from the
Hindostanee in which it was spoken, the dāndees gladly wrapped their
blankets round them, and crept into corners out of the wind, to eat
chabenī, the parched grain of Indian corn, maize. Could you but see
the men whom I term my children! they are just what in my youth I ever
pictured to myself cannibals must be: so wild and strange-looking, their
long, black, shaggy hair matted over their heads, and hanging down to
their shoulders; their bodies of dark brown, entirely naked, with the
exception of a cloth round the waist, which passes between the limbs.
They jump overboard, and swim ashore with a rope between their teeth, and
their towing-stick in one hand, just like dogs,—river dogs; the water
is their element more than the land. If they want any clothes on shore
they carry them on the top of their heads, and swim to the bank in that
fashion. The mem sāhiba’s river dogs; they do not drink strong waters;
and when I wish to delight them very much, I give them two or three
rupees’ worth of sweetmeats, cakes of sugar and ghee made in the bazār;
like great babies, they are charmed with their _meetai_, as they call it,
and work away willingly for a mem sāhiba who makes presents of sweetmeats
and kids.
Saw the first wolf to-day; I wish we were at Etaweh,—to anchor here is
detestable: if we were there I should be reading my letters, and getting
in supplies for Agra. How I long to reach the goal of my pilgrimage, and
to make my salām to the “Tāj beebee ke rauza,” the mausoleum of the lady
of the Tāj!