The beautiful Hindoo village of Wye.--The Mahabaleshwar Hills.--The
Temple of the Gods.--The Couch of Krishna.--The Stone Image of the
Cow from whose mouth the Five Rivers of this Region are said to
Spring.--The Holy Tank.--Satarah, the Star City of the Mahratta
Empire.--The Fort.--The Palace of Sivaji.--Jejureh, the famous
Hill-temples where the Dancing-girls of the Country are
recruited.--The Mad Gossain, and the Story of his Ill-fated
Love.--The Dancing-girl Krayâhnee.
We made a journey from Poonah to the Mahabaleshwar Hills in a common
bullock-cart, but through a country of unrivalled beauty. We spent a
night and a day at the rural village of Wye. I have never seen any place
where the charm of Oriental grace working through the pure Hindoo
imagination has more forcibly stamped itself. The soil, the climate, the
temples, the river, the wide-spreading trees, the sportive figures of
the gods and goddesses, are all calculated to bring out in strong relief
the characteristics of the adjoining mountains, which here assume a
multitude of beautiful shapes, rising heavenward like innumerable
battlemented towers, pinnacles, or spires, each loftier than the last
and endowed with a certain air of individuality peculiar to these hills.
One isolated rock near the village rears its flat-topped brow, crowned
with an old Mahratta fort, more than a hundred feet high, sharp and
abrupt, lending a singular picturesqueness to the smallest object under
it.
Wye stands on the left bank of the river Krishna, which is shaded by
fine peepul and mango trees; handsome stone steps lead down to the edge
of the swift-flowing waters, and are crowded all day long with figures
of graceful men, women, and children sporting, bathing, drawing water,
or lounging idly around. There was an irresistible freshness and quiet
beauty about the gay, careless life of the people, which was passed
absolutely on the banks of the river.
We had no sooner taken up our abode in the travellers' bungalow, which
here commands a fine view, than the patel, or chief of the city,
accompanied by several Brahmans, paid us a visit, bringing us presents
of fruit and flowers. I was much struck with the genial kindliness and
courtesy of these men.
We rose at dawn next morning to see this Hindoo community perform in one
body, on the banks of the Krishna, the peculiar ceremony of worshipping
the sun. The people literally lined the banks of the river; their faces
were turned up to the sky, and as they stood in rows on the steps
leading to the water's edge the effect was very impressive. They then
simultaneously filled their palms with water, snuffed it up through
their nostrils, and flung it toward the north-east, repeating certain
prayers. After this they all proceeded to stand on one foot, then on the
other, each holding in his hand an earthen bowl filled with clarified
butter, with a lighted wick in the centre. Then they all together
saluted the mighty luminary with folded hands raised to their foreheads,
and then marched toward the west in imitation of his path through the
heavens; which terminated their sun-worship[67] for the day.
We also visited the garden and palace of the Rastias. Mohti Bagh, or
"pearl garden," as the entire palace and grounds are called, is only a
little distance from the village of Wye. The approach to the palace is
through an enchanting road formed of tall bamboos, mangoes, and tamarind
trees. Wye is a spot famed in Hindoo literature. Here the heroes of the
Mahâbharata spent their years of exile and expiation, and here they are
said to have built many wonderful temples. The river is almost gemmed
with beautiful temples in the finest style of Hindoo architecture, owing
to this historic fact or fiction, whichever it may be. The temples are
filled with idols of heroes and heroines, and the city with Hindoo men
and women of the finest type and utmost purity of character.
We visited an old Brahman college here, which was once famous for the
clever pundits it furnished to the country around. There were some
students in one of the rooms; they were all young and good-looking, but
had about them an air of decorous restraint and an expression of old age
that were depressing to one's spirits.
Passing through a luxuriant country full of venerable trees, groves,
gardens, and wide fields, we stopped at the little village of Dhoom to
see a famous temple. It was of fine stone, artistically built, but full
of strange gods. An arched door led to one of the shrines, where there
was an image of Siva. Vessels containing rice and flowers were before
him, and the basin in front of the temple is something peculiarly
beautiful. It is unique in form--like a huge tulip-shaped cup, of pure
white marble, with its rim most delicately carved into the petals of the
lotos-flower. It is impossible to give any adequate idea of this
exquisite bit of Hindoo sculpture. A pillar of white marble with five
heads of Siva, and the cobra de capello twisted round them, adds another
charming attraction to this insignificant Brahman village.
The ride up the Tai Ghauts was one of great beauty. Here and there in
the dells and hollows were little patches of grass which looked at a
distance very like a green velvet carpet. Low-growing wild plants, tall
trees, and creepers were matted together in one network of green,
yellow, red, blue, and purple. The views looking back were lovely. The
noise of mountain-torrent and trickling waters in the midday heat was
most refreshing.
The ancient village of Mahabaleshwar is perched on a high table-land,
and is said to be the most elevated portion of that interminable western
range of Ghauts forming some of the highest ground between the Southern
Ghauts and the Himâlayas. The temple of Maha Dèo stands close under a
projecting rock on the very spot where, according to Brahmans here, the
five sacred rivers of this region take their rise--the Krishna, the
Koina, and the Yena, which flow toward the Deccan, and the beautiful
Savitri and Gaiutri, which, after leaping down the mountain-sides in
many picturesque cascades and waterfalls, unite with other small streams
to form quite a large river, at whose mouth stands Fort Victoria. There
are no lovelier scenes than some of those formed by these two rivers,
and especially remarkable is the spot where they unite, flowing between
deep and wooded banks till they lose themselves in a broad, quiet,
placid stream.
A large reservoir is excavated in front of the temple to receive the
waters of the Krishna and Koina, and in front is a huge stone cow,
through whose mouth the waters flow into it. All around this reservoir
is a fine stone walk, and farther on are several cells where saints who
have long abandoned the world still reside unseen, but not unheard, for
night after night their voices, like the feeble wail of infants, are
borne on the night air, imploring the gods in behalf of the lost, erring
human race. Fiends, angels, heroes, demons, and gods are all worshipped
here.
The Brahman ascetics who have charge of these temples ring a bell to
give notice that the deified beings have taken up their abode in their
respective cells. Krishna, the last incarnation of the Hindoos, has also
a couch prepared for him here. When the sound of this bell is heard all
the inhabitants of this mountain-village betake themselves to a few
moments' meditation. We saw some remarkably pretty women who were
attached to this temple filling the lamps with oil and gathering flowers
and fruit to lay before the shrines; but they seemed to be shy of
Europeans, and would not notice us.
The discoverer of this spot, so far as the English are concerned, for it
has long been inhabited by the Brahmans, was Colonel P. Lodwick, who,
when stationed with his regiment at Satarah, undertook the exploration
of these hills, and, pushing through forest, brushwood, and jungle,
found himself at the edge of a high projecting rock, when a sudden turn
brought him to the brink of a grand promontory formerly called "Sidney
Point," but now after the true discoverer. No sooner was the discovery
of this delightful and most accessible mountain-region made known than
Sir James Malcolm, then governor of Bombay, hastened to establish here a
convalescent hospital for European soldiers. In course of time good
roads were constructed, partly by the British government and partly by
the rajah of Satarah. Parsee shopkeepers soon made their appearance, and
in a few years a little British colony was transplanted here. There are
now a little Protestant church, reading-room, library, hotel, barracks,
handsome European villas and bungalows, with bridle-paths all along the
most picturesque points. There is no more beautiful and healthful
sanitarium to be found anywhere in the East. We spent two delightful
months, November and December, at the travellers' bungalow. The weather
was perfect--clear, cold, and without any rain. With all the beauty
with which a tropical climate surrounds the hillsides the temperature
varied from 62° to 45° in the open air. The elevation, four thousand
seven hundred feet above the level of the sea, places it beyond the
influence of cholera and malaria, which are so deadly in many parts of
India. The soil is scanty in some parts, but in many portions a rich
mould of great depth is found, admirably adapted to agricultural
purposes. The finest strawberries I ever saw in India were brought me
one morning by the pundit, cultivated by the Brahmans on these hills as
offerings to their gods. The hills are also covered with fine trees--the
willow, the jambul with its dazzling green foliage, the iron-wood, and
the arrowroot plant. There are here several kinds of jessamines--one,
the night-blooming jessamine, a large and beautiful flower and
peculiarly fragrant after sunset. Ferns abound: one called by the
natives pryha khud, or "the lover's leap," is extraordinarily beautiful,
but not very abundant. A plant resembling the yellow broom is also found
here, but it far surpasses the latter in size and beauty of flowers.
Bulbous and parasitical plants abound, and their flowers are much larger
and far more beautiful than those found on the plains, and each plant
has its season.
To the sportsman the Mahabaleshwar Hills are a treasure-trove. The
shikarees, or native hunters, are always at hand to lead the adventurous
into the very lairs of tigers, panthers, bears, wolves, and to the
resorts of all kinds of jungle-fowl. The monkeys in this neighborhood
are generally the first to give notice of the vicinity of a tiger by
their loud and reiterated cries resounding from tree to tree. The wild
bison, for which this region was once famous, is now found only
occasionally. A spot is shown where Lieutenant Hinds, a fine, athletic,
noble-looking young English officer, over six feet in stature, was
killed by one of these beasts. He and his shikaree had pursued the bison
for some distance. Lieutenant Hinds had just taken his aim, when, in the
twinkling of an eye, the infuriated beast suddenly turned upon him, with
one bound caught him upon his horns, and bore him thus wildly along
through the forest, and finally dashed him headlong over some rocks. His
mutilated body was found, and lies in the little Christian burial-ground
here.
In returning from the Mahabaleshwar Hills we took the Satarah road, the
most picturesque of the three roads which lead up to the hills. It
commands extensive and diversified views of all the country around--the
wild tangle of the forests, the towering peaks of the mountains, the
bristling forts of the rock-bound city of the "Northern Star," the ample
fields dotting the landscape like huge green emeralds, and the Savitri
and the Gaintri struggling through brake and forest dingle and many a
deep shade to find each the other, till they meet at last just over the
wide brow of a sharp cliff, and leap together in gladness and beauty
down five hundred feet, dashing and tumbling over masses of rock, till
they gain the low-lying lands, then move on in quiet, dreamy
irregularity to lose each the other once more--one amid the waters of
the famous Krishna, and the other at Karar afar off.
We turned off the road to visit a formidable towering rock on which
stands the old Mahratta fort of Pratapgarh. In the centre of it are
found two lovely Hindoo temples--one to Maha Dèo, the high god, and the
other to Bhawanee, who is at once the goddess of love and hatred--with
the attending Brahman priests officiating there. Somewhere under this
fortress lies the head of the simple-hearted Afzal Khan, the renowned
Bijapoor general. Here was enacted by the hand of Sivaji, the founder
of the great Mahratta empire, one of the darkest of the many tragedies
with which the history of India abounds. Having induced, through false
pretences, Afzal Khan to visit him unarmed and attended by one sole
follower, Sivaji met the trusting foe with open arms and slew him when
in the act of embracing him. Sayid Bunder, the faithful follower of the
general, refused to surrender even on condition of having his life
granted to him, and suffered the same fate as his master. There and then
the signals agreed upon boomed forth from this old fort. The Mhawalis
rushed from their places of concealment all along the hillside on the
khan's retinue, stationed at the foot of the hill, and slaughtered and
dispersed them. Thus Sivaji defeated the enemy and acquired at the same
time great amount of treasure as well as reputation as a warrior.
Satarah, or "the Star City," is full of antiquities and historical
associations; every rock and hill and fortress has its own deadly
secret--sometimes more than one--of murder, bloodshed, treachery, and
triumph on the part of the Mohguls, Mahrattas, or British, besides other
local interests. The town lies on a high slope or plain between two
ranges of hills, one on the east and one on the west. The western hills
have been occupied for many hundred years by the descendants of the
early Mahratta Brahmans. They are covered with temples, huge, ancient,
and solemn; gods and goddesses in ivory and stone, admirably wrought,
sit enshrined in each of these. The priests worship them merely for the
sake of their age and number. Tall, gray-bearded monkeys abound on these
hills, and while we stood gazing at one of the temples a troop of these
creatures assembled on the roof and showed signs and symptoms of great
excitement or displeasure.
The Satarah bazaar is peculiar and well worth visiting. The Mahratta
women are as free and as unconfined in their movements almost as the
English. They are darker and less good-looking than those at Wye and on
the hills.
The flat-topped hills around absolutely bristle with forts that the
"Mountain Rats," as Aurungzebe called the Mahratta warriors, loved to
build everywhere. A zigzag pathway leads from the city up to the western
gate of "Azim Tarah," the most renowned of these strongholds. If
individual energy and vehement self-assertion indicate character, the
Mahratta soldiers possess it to an extraordinary degree, over and over
again proving themselves grandly capable of confronting the very dangers
they had brought down upon themselves. This fort is full of stories of
Mahratta exploits against their threefold enemies. It has been captured,
lost, and recaptured over and over again. It was built by a King Panalah
in 1192, and was once the state-prison of the great Sivaji. It was
defended against the emperor Aurungzebe by Phryaji Phrabu, a brave
_hawaldar_,[68] who had learned the art of war under Sivaji. When the
Mohguls attempted to enter the "Star City" huge stones were rolled down
the mountain-sides, and were as destructive as the discharge of
artillery. Tarbhyat Khan, a Mohgul in the service of Aurungzebe,
undertook to destroy it by mining the north-east angle, one of its
strongest points. The mine was completed after months of severe labor; a
storming-party was formed on the brow of the hill. Aurungzebe, confident
of success, marshalled his men in brilliant array to see the attack. The
first explosion crushed many of the Mahratta garrison to death, and was
followed by another that rolled down great rocks upon the Mohguls,
destroying, it is said, two thousand men at once. Animated by this
disaster to the enemy, the garrison would have continued to hold out,
but their supplies failed and they were obliged to capitulate.
After the well-known rupture with Baji Row, the English troops marched
into Satarah, took possession of the fort, and installed as king Pra
Thap Singh, the eldest son of Shah Hoo the Second. He was deposed,
however, on account of a series of intrigues against the East India
government, and was imprisoned at Benares. Apa Saihib, the last of the
descendants in a direct line of the great Sivaji, was then placed on the
throne, but on his death the province, much to the indignation of the
princes and people of Western India, was annexed to the possessions of
the East India Company. It is but just to say that there were men among
the court of directors who remembered, with Sir George Clark, then
governor of Bombay, the treaty of 1819, and knew that the East India
Company had agreed to cede in perpetual sovereignty, to the rajah of
Satarah and his heirs and successors, the territories which he held, and
they protested, but all in vain, against the annexation of Satarah,
calling it "an act of unrighteous usurpation." Here, alas! was laid the
first seed of the "Sepoy mutiny," that terrible retribution which ten
years after overtook not the guilty, but the innocent and faithful
servants of the Company.
On the west of the fort are a number of Hindoo temples dedicated chiefly
to Siva and to Bhawanee, the Indian Venus, who seems ever to have been a
favorite with these hardy mountaineers. The view from the fort is one of
the most charming in the world. The forms of the different hills are
quaint, and crowned with barbaric fortresses and temples that are fast
crumbling away to give place to a rich and tropical vegetation; the
great plain below, dotted with the houses and gardens of the European
and native residents; the lakes, the bazaars, the busy thoroughfares,
and, far away for many a mile, a road, leaf-canopied and cool in the
hottest midday sun, lined on each side with thousands of magnificent
mango trees. These mango trees were planted by one of the native rulers
in expiation of the murder of a noble Hindoo statesman, an envoy from
Barodah.
On the south-western side of the old town stands the antiquated palace
of Sivaji. We were shown into an attractive chamber called the Jallah
Mandir, the "water pavilion." Surrounded by a variety of beautiful
creeping plants and almost encircled with water, it is cooled by quaint
little Oriental fountains that splash and spirt upward all day long.
This peculiar water-bound chamber is almost fairy-like. But the deity of
this place is the huge sword with which the treacherous Sivaji slew his
trusting foe, Afzah Khan, the general of Bijapoor. By a strange
contradiction, this sword is called Bhawanee, the goddess of love, and
the people believe that the sweet goddess has imparted to the old sword
a charm which is deadly to the enemies of the Mahrattas.
As we went back through the town we peeped into one or two of the
temples. There were in them some curious old idols of heroes rather than
gods, but they were as hideous as possible. A little farther on the
ground was made lovely with immense numbers of wild flowers, red,
yellow, and blue.
From the Star City of the Deccan we went back a few days' journey and
crossed the "Nira bridge," one of the fine old Mahratta works, to visit
the village and hill-temples of Jijuhre. The village was insignificant
enough, but the hill on which stands the temple of Khandoba, the
warrior-god of the early Mahrattas, was very striking. It is flat-topped
and rises abruptly from the surrounding plain, its entire surface
covered with temples, gates, pillars, stone monuments of every
conceivable object, and has the appearance of a huge cemetery. If it had
not been for the presence of our pundit I doubt if we should have been
allowed to visit this once-famous temple.
We went up on foot through an odd mixture of gateways and pillars, all
curiously carved, and here and there were stone figures of mythological
birds and beasts, abundantly provided with shaindoor, a kind of red
paint, and offerings of flowers. The largest temple had an image of
Khandoba, a terrific-looking monster. In one of the upper chambers there
was a colossal drum that gave sunset warnings and served to call the
priests, priestesses, and other attendants to prayers, midnight
devotions, or revelries; which latter are held on certain days, or
rather nights, of the waxing moon. About two hundred women, all young,
many of them mere children, are attached to this temple, which is in
every sense one of the relics of the ancient Mahratta usages before the
introduction of Brahmanism. Many of these girls were scattered about in
groups or were seen reclining at their ease in a semi-nude costume about
the aisles of the temples, producing a charming Oriental effect, though
one could not help shuddering at the thought of their lives. And, in
spite of the doom laid upon them even before they were born, many of
them had singularly interesting, pensive faces. One girl who was pouring
water into the vessels around the shrine of Khandoba was a picture of
grace and adorned with glittering jewels. These strange priestesses of
passion live in cells attached to the temples or are scattered in the
service of their peculiar divinity around the temples in the
neighborhood, but here they are yearly recruited, and here they are
formally married as virgins to the idol of Siva or Khandoba, as the case
may be. There are here long corridors and intricate arrangement of
passages, with little stairs leading up and down and around, where the
girls are kept under the surveillance of old women who once were doomed
to the same service. How inexplicable is such a life, looking at it from
a Christian's point of view! But with these poor devotees the more
revenue they bring in for the temple the better their future life, in
which they dream of becoming loved wives and mothers of divine sons and
daughters in a heaven prepared for them.
We noticed in our ramblings over this curious spot a strange-looking
man, naked as the day on which he was born, his hair, long and streaked
with gray, falling in masses around his naked shoulders, his hands and
feet emaciated, the nails on his fingers and toes looking like huge
claws, begrimed with dirt and masses of red paint, sitting alone,
muttering all to himself and twirling in his hands an old
battered-looking lota, or drinking-vessel, made of some dark metal. This
was the mad _gossain_, or devotee, of Jijuhre. When we approached him he
started up and took his place on the edge of a crumbling rock.
This poor mad creature was an object of profound veneration and worship,
and his story was as pathetic as it was singular. The spot on which he
had seated himself had a peculiar interest to him, and he haunted it
even in his maddest moments. It was called Dewanee-garh, "the maddening
rock," because one of the priestesses of the temple leaped from it and
was killed instantly. This girl's name was Krayâhnee. It was said that
on her marriage with the god Siva and her installation in the peculiar
life of the temple it was found that she had conceived a strong passion
for the mad gossain, then a young Mahratta noble named Hotah Bhow. He
visited her frequently, and they were always seen together, and, as the
noble was rich, the priests humored the girl in her singleness of
devotion, for she brought large sums of money to the temple. But after
a while Hotah Bhow ceased his visits to the temple, and Krayâhnee was
urged to take another lover. She pleaded a respite for one month, which
was granted. In the mean time, through a Sudra, a male attendant on the
temple, she sent Hotah Bhow a message, assuring him of her undying love
and entreating him to aid her in her escape from the temple, saying that
if he would do this for her she would willingly serve as a slave in his
household.
The Sudra, who was himself enamored of the beautiful priestess, took no
pains to deliver the message, but brought back to the poor girl a
fabricated answer from Hotah Bhow, advising her to make herself happy
where the gods had placed her.
Next morning Krayâhnee was missed, and on the following day her body was
found crushed and mangled at the foot of Dewanee-garh. Tying her lota,
or sacred vessel for ablutions, to her neck, she had leaped from the
rock at dead of night. Months after, Hotah Bhow returned from a
pilgrimage to Benares, and on hearing of the sad fate of Krayâhnee
became so melancholy that he betook himself to the severest course of
asceticism known among the Hindoos, called "Gala Naik." Standing for
hours on the spot whence the dancing-girl flung herself headlong, he
threw back his head and gazed at the sun, holding in his hand the sole
relic of his unhappy love, the battered lota. The priestesses of the
temple, pitying his sorrows, took him food and fed him at stated
intervals. But at length reason gave way under the severity of his
expiation; he forgot his vow to practise "Gala Naik" to the day of his
death, and is now found wandering over the hillside or perched on the
edge of Dewanee-garh, bereft of even the memory of his sorrows, but
still clinging to the battered lota of Krayâhnee, into which the
priestesses of the temple pour his daily food and drink.
Weary of our climb and saddened by the recital of this story, we
retraced our steps to the "dharrum-sala" of the village, and on the
following morning started across the country of the Deccan from the Star
City of the ancient Mahrattas for Aurungabâd, the golden city of the
great Mohgul Aurungzebe, and thence to the caves of Elora.
FOOTNOTES:
[67] Hindoos also worship the sun every evening.
[68] A Mahratta officer, but not of very high rank.