From Bombay to Poonah, the capital of the Maha Rashtra, or the
great Indian kings.--Campooly.--The Ascent of the Bhor
Ghauts.[55]--Khandala.--Caves of Carlee or Karli.--"Puja Chakra,"
or the famous Wheel-worship of the Brahmans.--Poonah.--Kirki.--A
Visit to the Peishwa's Palace.--Temple of Parvati.--The Pundit and
the Brahman Priest at Prayer.--Sanskrit and English Colleges at
Poonah.--Suttee Monuments at Sangam.--Hindoo Bankers, etc.
From the island of the ancient goddess Bamba Dèvi to Poonah, the capital
of the great Indian kings, one passes through the most extravagant
contrasts of sights and scenes to be found anywhere in the wide
world--gorgeous temples of gods and squallid dwellings of men; fertile
plains and arid wastes; towering hills crowned with ancient forts and
temples, now lonely or deserted; deep cave-structures in the hearts of
isolated mountains, where still lie written in stone the romantic
culture of a long-past age.
Our dâhk, which was simply a native carriage furnished with horses
instead of bullocks, trotted briskly along the magnificent "Lion
Causeway." Passing rapidly the eastern side of the island of Salsette to
Thannah, and crossing the great viaduct and round the promontory of
Parsek, we turned to the south, and emerged on a striking plain whose
attractiveness increased at every mile of the road until we began the
descent of the Bhor Ghauts on the other side.
[Illustration: BULLOCK CART.]
In some parts our road lay over a great green floor soft as velvet,
intersected with innumerable river-like channels, made in the lowlands
by the ever-encroaching sea. Palm trees fringed these salt-water
streams, dotted with hundreds of the fanciful sails of fishing-smacks,
bunder-boats, and brightly painted canoes, all moving to and fro swiftly
and silently under the shadows of the hills, which rise in fantastic
broken forms on one side. There is no sound far or near to break the
spell; the silent, forest-clad Ghauts and the whole sea-begirt valley
lie asleep in that enchanted atmosphere.
At sunset we reached the village of Campooly, at the foot of the
Ghauts--a mean, dirty, and terribly unhealthy spot, situated immediately
under the lofty barrier-wall of rock called the Bhor Ghauts, which props
up the great table-land of the Deccan[56]--an immense plateau, with
large rivers, innumerable hills covered with forts, magnificent towns,
cities, villages, and many millions of inhabitants.
This enormous mountain-chain of the Deccan, the first of the steps that
rise one above the other till they terminate in the great plateau of
Thibet, the highest land of the Himâlayas, starts up almost
perpendicularly from the Konkan, or lowlands, and is securely fastened
together by huge buttresses of primeval granite, naked and frightful to
look upon in some places, and again singularly beautiful in others. A
railroad and a tunnel have since been built across this once almost
inaccessible barrier, and is said to be "a noble piece of engineering,"
for the Ghauts extend over thirteen degrees of latitude and rise in some
parts to a height of five thousand five hundred feet above the level of
the sea.
There was a fine bungalow, built by Bala Roa Angria for the
accommodation of European travellers, at Campooly, where we passed the
first hours of the night to await some palanquins with their bearers
that had already started up the Ghauts. This bungalow is only occupied
by chance wayfarers. Here we took up our abode, and only a tribe of
monkeys showed the least inclination to prevent our doing so. There were
sixteen in all; they were evidently enjoying themselves running in and
out of the half-deserted building. A number on the roof were throwing
down into the verandah the peculiar nutlike fruit of the large and
graceful peepul trees that overshadowed the house. Some were peeping in
at the doors and windows, and some were swinging themselves from the
rafters. The moment we appeared they showed regular fight, screamed,
chattered, and no doubt swore at us hard and fast in monkey fashion;
but, what seemed to me most curious, there was not a man in our service
who would perform the unkind office of dispersing them from the
bungalow. We had to send for our driver, who, being a Musulman, had no
scruples of early ancestry or primitive divinities. He took off his
cumberbund, or scarf, twisted it into a whip with a knot at the end, and
despatched the bulk of the tribe back into the forest whence they had
come. Only one great black-bearded male monkey remained on the roof in
spite of the brandished rag; when we were at supper this huge creature
suddenly suspended himself downward by the tail, looked in upon us, and,
opening his hideous jaws, uttered some fierce imprecations, which, as
our pundit would say, "were perfectly intelligible, but not
translatable," and, having done this, he vanished, and we saw nothing
more of him for that evening.
There is here a Hindoo temple, and a fine reservoir which occupies a
quarter of a mile of ground. This reservoir and the adjoining temple,
dedicated to Maha Dèo, were built by that most subtle of Mahratta
ministers, the famous Nana Furnaveez, whose real name was Balaji
Jahnardhan. It is exceedingly well built; the sides are lined and the
banks paved with fine stone; steps lead everywhere to the edge of the
water; a magnificent banyan tree overshadows the artificial lake, and
near it flourishes a fine grove of mango trees.
On the opposite side of us men, women, and children were bathing,
swimming and disporting themselves in the water. Some of the young women
were symmetry itself, with exquisitely-proportioned, slender forms,
delicate hands and feet, finely-poised heads and necks. Their long hair
streamed behind them in the water as they swam merrily about. Others
were just stepping out of the tank arrayed in their graceful but
dripping sarees, which they allow to dry on their persons while they
proceed to fill their water-jars, and, piling them one above the other
on their heads, depart to their respective homes. These women seemed
very innocent and child-like, and a closer acquaintance with several
high-bred and true Hindoos proved that these were their distinguishing
characteristics.
At three o'clock next morning we began the ascent of the Ghauts in
palanquins, or, as they are commonly called, palkees, with coolies to
transport our baggage and provisions. About sunrise we reached a very
remarkable point in these mountains, a deep and frightful-looking chasm.
We alighted from our palkees and went over this part of the Ghauts on
foot. At length we were directed as near as we dared to approach the
spot where the mountain was split in two.[57] Not a sound was heard
anywhere. As we stood there the shadows of the crags brightened every
moment, now shimmered along the sides, and shed flickering shafts of
light far down upon the midnight darkness below. It was a glorious
picture--the depth below and the height above, on whose summits the
plumes of the palm trees waved their branches to the rising sun.
The atmosphere was remarkably clear, and this helped us to see a great
distance with the naked eye. On one side gently-falling slopes gave
place to abrupt precipices and innumerable peaks, and on the other far
below were smiling plains, each more beautiful than the other in form
and color, affording now and then most magical glimpses of green fields
dotted with great reservoirs that looked like silvery spots, and cozy
little Hindoo villages nestling amid charming groves and
palm-plantations.
As the story goes, the duke of Wellington, then a simple colonel, cast
all his guns into one of these reservoirs when he found no means of
conveying them any farther, lest they should fall into the hands of the
enemy, as he marched over the same road to Poonah and there quelled the
famous Mahratta rebellion of 1802.
Now on foot and now in palkees we at length ascended these Ghauts,
sweeping round and round, now ascending, now descending, passing by
dreadful precipices, drawing breath under quaint natural bowers,
following winding paths, and coming suddenly upon foaming cascades
leaping from rock to rock. So we went from beauty to ever-increasing
beauty, till we reached the village of Khandala, on the very top of the
mountain, near which a travellers' bungalow stands with open arms--or
verandahs--to receive us. And here was opened to us the full
enchantments of the fairyland through which we had been passing upward.
All of a sudden from this high peak we beheld a most beautiful and
varied picture--sharp peaks of every form and shape and size,
tremendous ravines, towering mountains, leaping waterfalls, sloping
hillsides, and waving palms and mountain-forests, clearly outlined
against a deep-blue sky, and over all these varied forms of nature the
sunlight floats and melts, a sea of gold. No artist, however gifted, no
pencil, however matchless, can catch and transfer to canvas the
entrancing beauties of the views as seen from the top of the Bohr Ghauts
and at such a moment.
This lovely spot has for more than twenty years been the favorite
retreat of the wealthy and change-seeking inhabitants of Bombay, and now
that the railway is opened it is much more easily reached.
The ravines in this neighborhood harbor many wild beasts, and it is said
that at night tigers, leopards, and bears are often seen prowling about
in search of prey. The natives raise wild shouts when they think they
hear or see them, and thus frighten them away.
The travellers' bungalow at Khandala is most picturesquely situated on
the edge of a deep ravine. On the right is a small lake or reservoir
adjoining the residence of the late Parsee knight, Sir Jamsetjee Jeeboy.
To the east is a magnificent hill, called the Duke's Nose, from its
supposed likeness to that of Wellington. From this point there are
splendid views. The pretty little mountain-village of Khandala is close
by, and as we pass on to Karli we skirt the beautiful woods of
Lanauli,[58] so often quoted in Mahratta song, once the hunting-grounds
of the rulers of the Deccan, and still abounding in wild boars and other
game.
We spent four days at the bungalow here, and, what was more, saw every
sun that rose and set on these mountains. Each day was a counterpart of
the preceding one, clear and bright. We traversed some miles of the
surrounding country to visit hill-forts, caves, and viharas, which
abound in this neighborhood.
Our next halting-place was at the village of Karli, a cluster of Hindoo
houses hid amidst a fine grove of trees. There was a nice bungalow here,
and even barracks to hold about two hundred men.
The most famous cave is that of Karli. It far surpassed those we had
visited on the islands of Salsette and Elephanta, and took us very much
by surprise. The caves are on a hill about two miles or more from the
travellers' bungalow. We entered seemingly into the heart of the
mountain, and found ourselves in the body of the temple or cave, which
is separated from the side-aisles by fifteen columns of magnificent
design and workmanship; on each side, on the upper part of each of these
columns, are two kneeling elephants, and on each elephant are two seated
human figures, sometimes a male and female, with their arms around each
other's shoulders sometimes the figures are both female. The effect is
remarkably striking. The _chaitya_[59] is plain and very solid, and
behind it are seven plain octagonal pillars without any ornamentation.
The interior of the temple seems to have been lined with woodwork. Right
in front of the arched roof or hall is a second screen, as at the great
cave at Salsette. It is composed of plain octagonal columns with
pilasters. Over these is a mass of wall crowned with a superstructure of
four dwarf pillars; the whole of this appears to have been covered with
wooden ornaments.[60] These are thought to have been a broad balcony in
front of the plain wall, supported by two bold wooden brackets from the
two piers. This balcony is thought to have served the purpose of a
music-gallery or nagara khánah, as are still found in the Jain temples
to-day. Everything here is executed in the finest style; the
bas-reliefs, the windows, the doors, the halls, roofs, vestibules, and
figures are each, one and all, beautifully executed. The colossal figure
of the Buddha perched on a lotos throne, with angels hovering around
him, his hands folded in everlasting repose resting on his knees, is
grand and imposing. On the walls are carved many a beautiful flower,
some not unlike those we passed in our morning's ride, with strange
characters and symbol after symbol replete with the wisdom of the
Buddhists. Rows of half-nude gigantic women, elephants, lions, birds,
and beasts relate in solid stone the triumphs of Buddhism over
Brahmanism. Dr. Stevenson dates the building of this temple at seventy
years before Christ; executed, according to him, by the emperor
Devabhute, under the care of Xenocrates or Dhennuka-Kati. There has
been, however, much doubt thrown by recent explorers on the dates given
by Dr. Stevenson. The inscriptions under the gateway are thought to
place beyond dispute the dates of these scattered excavations, so
similar in point of architecture, at the second century before Christ
and not long after the great Buddhist dispersion from North-western
Hindostan by the Brahmans.
A number of queer-looking Brahman priests of the Sivite[61] sect, who
take care of these caves and encourage pilgrims to them, came out to see
us, and, finding our pundit to be a countryman, though he was not of
their sect, invited us to witness their worship in a vihara adjoining.
It was difficult to believe that the quiet, dark, handsome men who spoke
to us could be such dupes as they seemed while at worship. In the
largest of the caves was a huge, rude machine very like a common wheel,
in the centre of which was a round place for a fire, and another and
smaller fireplace on each of the seven spokes of the wheel. To the wheel
was attached a long pole, and to this pole was tied a large-eyed,
patient-looking Brahmanee cow with bells around her neck. To the cord
which fastened these bells was tied a long rope, and this rope was held
by a Yoghee, a sort of mystic Brahman priest, who had nothing on but a
wisp of straw around his loins, and a half-starved-looking dog at his
heels.
The moment the sun sank behind the mountains a white-robed priest issued
from one of the smaller caves and placed a little earthen lamp,
containing a long wick and some cocoanut oil, in each one of the
receptacles for the fires. This done, the deafening sounds of
multitudinous drums were heard from the secret recesses of the
intermediate caves. At this, away went the Yoghee, the dog, the cow, and
the wheel, with the seven tiny lamps revolving around the larger one in
the centre. This furious dance continued, the dog barking, the cow
lowing, and the drums beating, for an hour, and then another Yoghee
stepped forward and relieved the first one. There were twelve priests,
or rather ascetics, for the twelve hours of the night, and this was the
celebrated "puja chakra," or wheel-worship, of the ancient Brahmans.
We could not wait, of course, to see the end of this strange, wild,
deafening performance. I nearly fainted from the oppressive heat and
disagreeable odors of the cave, and was obliged to seek relief in the
open air. Here we found the Yoghee who had begun the dance seated on a
stone clothed in a long dusky mantle and evidently enjoying the evening
breeze. He answered me in pure Hindostanee, and told me that the central
fire or lamp represented the Surya, or the Sun, the smaller ones the
seven planets, naming each one--Soma, the Moon; Mangala, Mars; Buddh,
Mercury; Virhaspati, Jupiter; Sukra, Venus; Sani, Saturn; Deva Bheemi,
the Earth. The cow stood for Providence, or, as he termed it, the
All-giver; he himself for mankind; while the dog was the emblem of the
human family; his dance was in honor of the solar system.
A look of supreme satisfaction overspread his face as he informed me
that the deep spiritual meaning which was conveyed to his heart was not
in the wheel or in the fires, but in himself as he thought of the
efficacy of the daily sacrifice which he offered to the gods, which
convinced me that he at least firmly believed that the return of the
sun-god to his place in the heavens every morning was due to his efforts
and that of his brethren in performing from one end of the year to the
other this self-imposed mystic night-dance in honor of the solar system.
The moon had risen as we put our little tattoos'[62] faces Khandala-ward
and trotted away from the Karli village and the Hindoo ascetics. We had
a very amusing half-broken and half-rattling talk with our pundit, who
insisted that there was nothing more holy in the way of worship than the
"puja chakra," which we had just seen. When my husband irreverently
inquired, "If the wheel-worship was not a gentle hint to the sun to be
up and about his business every morning," our good guide and teacher
became suddenly grave and silent, and not another word would he say to
us on the subject of this curious worship.
Next day we climbed a hill to see the old fort of Lok-garha, which was
twice captured from the Mahrattas by the East India Company's generals.
It occupies a commanding position, and we enjoyed the view from it.
This grand old Mahratta fortress is full of historical interest. It was
here that the beautiful and astute widow of Nana Furnaveez, the most
famous of the Mahratta ministers, took refuge, and the killadhar, or
commander of the fort, obtained for her from General Wellesley not only
a guarantee of safety, but an annual pension of twelve thousand rupees.
On our return ride we passed through a wild but beautiful part of the
hills. We saw and heard the stately pea-fowl that are found in this
neighborhood; they added very much to the wild, luxuriant beauty of the
woods.
On the following morning we bade adieu to the beautiful Bohr Ghauts.
There was a great deal more of loveliness to be seen for many a mile
until we reached the slope of the mountains, which is gradual rather
than abrupt, as it is on the opposite side, and after that it was of no
consequence at all where we looked. We were riding down a bleak, rugged,
desolate country, slightly inclined; this was that immense triangular
plateau between the Ghaut districts on the east and west and the great
Vindhiya chain on the north. As we approached Poonah we found the views
more interesting--fields of wheat, maize, orchards of fruit trees,
plantain-groves, and the peepul, tamarind, and palm waving above them
all. When we reached the bridge that spans the Moota River, it was near
sunset. A flood of light poured from the sky over hill and dale and
valley, gilding with unusual brilliancy the venerable roofs of Parbuttee
and the half-ruined turretted walls of the Peishwa's palace.
Poonah, with the adjoining military station at Kirkee, where the
scenery, owing to the junction of the Moota and Moola Rivers, is very
picturesque, has a very respectable English population. But the majority
of the natives are almost exclusively Brahmans of the Deccan and
Hindoos from various parts of Hindostan.
This spot is famous in Mahratta annals. In 1599 Poonah and Supah were
made over to Mahlaji Bhonsli, grandfather of the renowned Sivaji, by the
government of the Nizam. In 1750 it was made the capital of the
Maharashtra empire under Balaji Baji Rao. It was once more seized and
destroyed by the Nizam's forces, by Alih Shah, who had established the
Mohgul empire at Haiderabâd in the Deccan. And here again another battle
took place in 1802, when Jeshwant Rao Holkar defeated the combined
armies of the Peishwa and Scindhia.
With our usual good-fortune we procured a house at Kirkee to stay in
during our visit to this neighborhood. It was the residence of a moolah,
a Mohammedan bishop, and must have been built many years ago. It is a
beautiful spot. A British cavalry regiment is stationed here, and here
was fought the battle in which the English gained one of their most
remarkable Indian victories over the last Peishwa.
The native city is divided into seven quarters and dedicated to the
seven high angels or planets after whom the days of the week are named.
The streets of the city of Poonah are more picturesque and far more
Oriental than even those of Bombay. The principal street is long, wide,
and furnished with sidewalks, with shops of all sizes and all kinds of
merchandise, having open fronts, and the goods are exposed on inclined
platforms. The lanes and thoroughfares are thronged with people of all
nationalities--the sedate and white-robed Brahman; the handsome Hindoo;
the refined and delicate-looking Hindoo woman in her flowing graceful
saree and pretty red sandals (for in this city Mohammedan influence has
not yet reached the point which it has in other parts of India, and the
women are not cooped up in harems, but are met everywhere in the
streets, temples, and bazaars); the pompously-dressed Musulman, Arab,
and Mahratta horsemen completely armed, prancing along on their splendid
chargers; Mahratta foot-soldiers with their lordly swagger, equipped
with sword and shield and buckler; emaciated devotees, fakeers, and
mendicants of all denominations, some wholly nude, others clothed in the
skins of wild beasts, and yet others covered with dust and paint and
ashes of cow-ordure; fat, lazy-looking Brahmanee bulls; Jews, Parsees,
native Portuguese Christians, and occasionally a British Mahratta sepoy
in his neat undress uniform. This moving picture, so strange and
incongruous, had the additional fascination of state elephants; splendid
cavalcades of the Peishwa's troops decked out in brilliant colors and
accompanied by richly-caparisoned led horses; camels trotting along at a
quick pace to the sound of merry little tinkling bells suspended from
their necks; fighting rams, kept for combats, one of the favorite
Mahratta pastimes, parading the streets in long rows, now leaping and
butting at dreamy Brahmanee cows. Add to all this that almost every day
in the week there are crowded markets, religious processions, passing
funerals with gayly-dressed corpses seated on the biers, looking ghastly
enough on this dancing bubbling current of human life, and some idea may
be formed of the sights and scenes to be met with in the capital of the
Mahratta empire.
At my first arrival at Poonah I remember seeing some Hindoo children at
play in the square. They were playing at marbles in all respects like
the English game, save that the boys had nothing in the world on but a
sacred cord round their shoulders and some gold and silver ornaments.
New-born infants could not have been more unconscious than they were.
The boy who won, a lad about eight or nine, seemed the least elated of
the party. The one who lost had a better time; he clapped the winner on
the back and cheered him all the way across the square, crying, "Khoop!
khoop!" ("Fine! fine!"). There were thirty or more nude little fellows
watching the play with intense interest, and evidently having the most
enjoyment out of it, to judge from the wild shouts of applause with
which they hailed the victor, screaming at the very top of their lungs,
"Marliah! marliah!" ("Beaten! beaten!"). How many English or American
boys would behave so well?
It would be simply impossible to enumerate all the places of historical
interest to be found here. The hillsides are everywhere crowned with
forts and religious and military strongholds, where many a battle has
been fought and won, and many a treaty formed only to be broken, both by
the servants of the East India Company and the contending Mahratta and
Mohgul forces, on this debatable land of the Hindoos, Mohguls, and
English conquerors.
There are Bambura, or Bampoora, whence in former times an enormous gun,
the Mahratta curfew, boomed sunset warnings to honest men to betake
themselves home; and Dapooree, where Colonel Ford, C. B., built a
palatial residence, and raised and commanded a brigade of magnificent
Mahratta troops after the European fashion for the service of the
Peishwa Baji Rao.
At Chinchore, near by, a boy is still worshipped as God by the credulous
natives. The originator of this curious deception was one Marâbo, who is
said to have restored sight to a blind girl, and who effected a like
miraculous cure for the great Sivaji.[63] In order to prove his
divinity, this Marâbo caused himself to be buried alive in a sitting
posture with a holy book in his hands. His son succeeded him as God. For
several miracles performed by the latter, especially the feat of
transforming a piece of cow's flesh into roses, the emperor of Delhi,
Alamghir, presented to this man-god Narayana eight villages in
perpetuity.
Then there is another curious old fort, Chakhan,[64] with its ramparts
and parapets constructed, according to Hindoo story, by an Abyssian
chief named Palighar, A. D. 1295. In 1818 it was captured by the troops
of the East India Company. And last, but not least, there is the famous
Sing-garh, "the lion's den," a vast triangular-shaped fortress, where
the brave Mahwalee soldiers, headed by the braver Tanaji Mahisreh,
Sivaji's general, fought against the Rajpoots. The latter lost his life
after he had captured from the Rajpoots this stronghold of the
Mahrattas, causing Sivaji to exclaim, "The den is taken, but the lion,
alas! is slain."
This fortress was finally captured by the English during the Mahratta
and English war. The ascent is made by palanquins. Splendid trees and
many a wild flower crown the hillsides, creeping over gate and tower and
moat, spreading beauty and gladness where once was heard the perpetual
war-cry of deadly combatants.
We visited the Peishwa's palace. Our syce, or groom, looked like a
bedizened prince as he led the way with his gay turban and brilliant
sash. We kept close to his horse's heels, and the pundit, whose long
white robe gave him the appearance of a lady on horseback, brought up
the rear.
The palace, temples, and pavilions of the late Peishwa all cluster
about a most beautiful hill called Parbuttee, a corruption of the
Sanskrit word Pharvati, "Sacred Mountain." A magnificent garden called
"Hira Bâgh" ("the gem or diamond garden"), and a fine reservoir with an
old pavilion on its bank, are some of the features of this sacred spot.
The palace is in no way worthy of notice, and is fast crumbling away,
but it is approached by a magnificent staircase of stone steps cut out
of the mountain, and so gradual that we rode up it on horseback. The
hill is covered with temples. The view is very fine; seen over the lake
with its pretty little tree-covered islands and wide fields studded with
palm- and mango-plantations, it was one vast beautiful picture.
Our syce pointed out to us the spot where a young Mahratta prince dashed
himself headlong from his pavilion because he was publicly reprimanded
for some breach of etiquette by his prime minister, Nana Furnaveez.
There was much to interest us, however, in the temples, that are still
kept in good repair, filled with the monstrous idols of the Hindoos; and
here are held great annual festivals in their honor. Over two hundred
Brahman priests worship here, and are supported by the voluntary
contributions made to their shrines.
We went into the temple of Parvati. Our pundit led the way, accompanied
by a singularly interesting Mahratta Brahman priest, but I noticed that
the sectarian marks on his forehead and those on the pundit's were very
different. The former wore the marks of Siva, two straight lines
crossed, and the pundit those of Maha Dèo, two concentric circles with a
straight line. Before our eyes had become accustomed to "the dim
religious light" of this temple, the power of which the Hindoos so well
understand, I looked and saw right in front of me, and immediately at
the foot of the altar, the prostrate figure of the pundit, and the
Brahman priest beside him, their arms and hands stretched out, their
faces hidden on the pavement, their limbs stiff and rigid, and their
long white robes clinging to their persons.
Within full sight and hearing of the beauty of Christianity, with all
the wonders and marvels of scientific discoveries taught hard by in the
public native school and in the Sanskrit college, here were these men,
neither of whom lacked intellectual training, bowing down to idols of
wood and stone. Surely, the more earnest and spiritual of these lowly
worshippers see something of the truth, beauty, and goodness of God,
denied to less ardent natures, and only discernible with closed eyes and
in moments of deep, silent emotion.
There is a massive silver statue of Siva seated on the altar, holding on
his knees his wife Parvati and their son Ganesa. These smaller idols, it
is said, are of pure gold; a princely fortune in precious gems adorns
their headdresses, their necks, and gleams out of their eyes. There were
dusky arches and dingy, time-stained columns and all kinds of figures on
the walls, and over them all a smoky atmosphere and an odor of incense
mingled with that of burnt-offerings.
We went out almost faster than we had gone in. Pundit and his guru, or
spiritual guide, were still going through some genuflexions. A Brahman
is a Brahman indeed, but are Christians always the followers of Jesus?
We sat down on the steps of the temple, and by and by the pundit came
out with his spiritual guide, looking calm and serene.
We visited the English school for the natives in the Budhwar[65] portion
of the city, also the Sanskrit college, and saw there hundreds of
handsome, eager-looking students, and we were assured that it produced
men of very great learning, who could hold their own in Sanskrit,
Mahratta, Hindostanee, and English even, with some of the greatest
scholars in England, France, or Germany.
A spot is shown at Sangam, not far from where we took up our abode,
where the devoted Hindoo widows formerly underwent cremation with the
dead bodies of their husbands. These monuments can only be seen when the
water at Sangam (the spot where the Moola and Moota Rivers meet) is at
its lowest ebb. They consist of flat stones or slabs laid in the
river-bed, with two female feet engraved on each of them. Even in this,
the most hideous and barbaric of Hindoo customs, is found lingering a
beautiful and tender sentiment. The feet engraved on the slabs prove the
willingness with which these unknown women followed their loved ones
through the ordeal of a fiery death into the world beyond, and the
meeting of the two rivers typifies the final reunion of their souls.
We visited a banker's office in the native city of Poonah. This bank, in
which large sums are deposited and extensive business transacted, was
nothing but a mud house plastered over within and without. The counter
was an inclined platform reaching from the front to nearly the whole
length of the building; on it squatted, cross-legged, surrounded with
bags of all kinds of money, a Mahratta banker with his handsome
countenance and keen piercing black eyes, talking to his customers,
discounting bills, and counting money with astonishing rapidity and
ease.
The bank where our pundit obtained his "hoondee," or money-order, was
managed, in the absence of his father, by a young Hindoo boy who could
not have been over twelve years of age. This youthful cashier astonished
us with his accuracy and quickness in counting and discounting money.
His only account-book, as far as I could see, was a flat board covered
with fine white sand. On this primitive slate he made all his
calculations, writing them down with his forefinger. When he had
finished he blew away the sand and handed over the amount due to pundit,
with interest for odd days, etc., all calculated with the nicest
accuracy down to the smallest fraction. We wondered very much to see
these banking establishments left in the charge of such young lads, who
sit there demurely--and, what is more strange, securely--until late at
night, often amid heaps of gold, silver, and other coin left temptingly
in full view; but one rarely hears of any attempt to rob them.
The bankers' checks are written on a thick country-made paper; every
check has a secret mark or sign that renders forgery difficult. It is
rolled up and fastened with gum-water, and thus laks[66] upon laks of
rupees are circulated with ease and safety throughout the country.
The European portion of the city of Poonah stands on a fine open plain.
There are here wide fields, handsome barracks for the European soldiers,
bungalows for their commanding officers, a hospital, a lunatic asylum, a
pretty little church with reading-room and library adjoining. In fact,
there is everything here to render the European comfortable and happy,
except the temper of the people, who still cling to the recollections of
old times, when Poonah was the capital of their own great kings and
warriors, filled with all the pomp and parade of Oriental splendor.
The late Sir Jamsetjee Jeeboy has erected a fine residence here; near
it is a simple and unpretending Fire-temple for the benefit of the
Parsees in this vicinity.
The last of the many bright hours spent here we drove about the native
town and enjoyed Poonah at night. Every house, fort, temple, palace, and
hut was illuminated, those of the poor by a dim light, those of the
temples and palaces by innumerable tiny flames that flickered and
gleamed in thousands of colors on the marbles and frescoes of the walls,
floors, and verandahs. It seemed like passing through some fairy scene
filled with the thousand and one pictures of the Arabian Nights.
FOOTNOTES:
[55] _Bhor_, a Mahratta word for the jujube tree, _Zizyphus jujuba_,
which is found among these mountains. The _Ghauts_, or "Landing-Stairs,"
are the two ranges of mountains extending along the eastern and western
shores of the peninsula of Hindostan. The highest peaks in the
north-western part are found in the Mahablashwar Mountains, the summer
retreat of the Europeans of Bombay.
[56] From _Dakshina_ (Sanskrit), "South Country."
[57] This chain is now bridged over by a viaduct which once crumbled
down and disappeared into the depths below in the presence of a brave
English engine-driver, who had the good fortune to arrest the train,
that was speeding on its way toward it, just in time to save many
valuable lives.
[58] A small village on the Khandala Hills.
[59] An immense hemispherical altar of stone with a kind of wooden
umbrella spreading above, beneath which lies interred some relic of the
god to whom the temple is dedicated.
[60] See Fergusson's _Rock-cut Temples of India_, p. 27.
[61] Followers of the god Siva or Shiva.
[62] The Mahratta horses.
[63] Founder of the Mahratta empire, born at Junir, about fifty miles
from Poonah, in the year 1627.
[64] This fort is reputed to be of great antiquity, and was constructed
by Palighar, but as to who he was, or how he got there, they do not
pretend to know.
[65] The city of Poonah is divided into seven quarters, corresponding to
the days of the week. Budhwar, therefore, is the Wednesday quarter of
the city.
[66] A _lak_ is one hundred thousand rupees.