_The British residency--Houses at the temple of
Pusputnath--Unprepossessing appearance of the Newar population--Their
dress and characteristic features--Ghorkas--Temple of Pusputnath--View
from the hill above it--The temple of Bhood--Worshippers from Thibet and
Chinese Tartary--Their singular and disgusting appearance--Striking scene
in the grand square of the city of Katmandu_.
I did not awake until the day was far advanced, and my first impulse was
to look out of my window, with no little curiosity, expecting to see the
Snowy Range somewhere in the heavens near the sun; in this I was
disappointed, for the mist was so dense that neither sun nor Snowy Range
was visible; we therefore determined to go in search of less exalted
objects of interest.
But ere we canter away from the door of the residency upon the shaggy
little ponies which had been provided for our use by the Durbar, the
Company's establishment in Nepaul demands a moment's attention. In the
only thoroughly independent state extant in India the British Government
is represented by a Resident, to whose hospitality we were much indebted
during our delightful stay in Katmandu. His house, a Gothic mansion of a
rather gingerbread appearance, is situated in a well laid-out park-like
enclosure, which forms the residency grounds, and which contains two or
three neat substantial houses, the habitations of the two officers of the
embassy. One of them kindly accompanied us in our search after sights,
and directed our steps in the first instance to the temple of Pusputnath.
We passed through the suburbs of Katmandu by a road beautifully paved, in
some places with brick, in others with granite. It was along this road
that the body of Martiber Singh, the late prime minister, and uncle of
Jung Bahadooor, was dragged after he had been shot by his nephew, and was
burned on the bank of the Bhagmutty before the soldiery (with whom he was
an especial favourite) had any idea of his having been killed.
As I approached the temple I remarked some handsome houses, three or four
stories in height, which we were informed were the residences of some of
the priests. As they were good specimens of the architecture of this
country, I may as well describe them here.
The whole front of the Nepaulese houses presented a mass of curiously
carved wood-work, so that the beautiful flat brick of which they were
built (and for the manufacture of which Nepaul is famous) was scarcely
discernible amidst the intricate tracery which surrounded every window,
and hung in broad wooden fringes from the balconies: these are formed
under the eaves, which project five or six feet, and are supported by
rafters, on which quaint figures are depicted in all sorts of impossible
postures; the space between the rafters is also filled by carved wood,
forming a sort of balcony or small room, generally occupied by the women
of the establishment, and flat faces peer out of grotesque windows as you
pass beneath.
But it must not be imagined that the same attraction exists here as in
other Oriental countries to induce you to return their gaze. On the
contrary, the female portion of the Nepaulese community is anything but
attractive. I have seldom seen a race look more debased and squalid.
Sometimes a florid tint about the nose and cheek-bones seems to hint at
an affection for the bottle; while their flowing or rather tangled locks,
and slovenly dress, might fairly induce the suspicion that they had but
lately parted company with it. The Newar women, however, were ladylike
in their appearance, when compared with some of the Bootya tribe with
whom I afterwards made acquaintance.
It would, perhaps, be hardly fair to these copper-coloured ladies to
judge entirely from their appearance, but, from what I could learn, it
did not belie them, except, of course, as regards their friendship for
the bottle, drunkenness being a vice which is not prevalent, though the
strictness with respect to intoxicating liquors, so remarkable amongst
the Hindoos of the plains, is by no means observable among the hill
tribes.
The dress of the men consists of a short coat, not unlike a
shooting-coat, reaching about half-way to the knees, and composed of a
coarse cotton fabric manufactured in the country, from a tree which is a
native of some of the lower valleys, but which I did not see in the
valley of Katmandu.
In the colder months they wear home-spun woollen clothes. The dress of
the women differs little from that of the men, except that the coat is
longer, resembling a dressing-gown, and a sort of bodice is generally
worn beneath it; a white shawl wrapped round the waist completes one of
the most ungraceful costumes imaginable. All the men and some of the
women are armed with the kukri, a heavy-bladed weapon or knife of
singular shape. But lest this be too unprepossessing a picture of the
Newars, or aborigines of Nepaul (for the Ghorkas are a superior and very
different race), I should remark that I had no opportunity of seeing any
of the females of the higher orders of either nation. The Ghorkas,
being, for the most part, bigoted Hindoos, are prevented by their
religion from allowing the women to appear in public. The Newars, not
fettered by any such restraint, can now boast very few noble families;
the ancient grandees of the Newar dynasty are extirpated, with the
exception of one or two of the old aristocracy, who are in the last stage
of decay. I cannot agree with Colonel Kirkpatrick (who wrote an account
of his visit to Nepaul in 1803) in thinking that, "though the Newars have
round and rather flat faces, small eyes, and low spreading noses, they
bear no resemblance to Chinese features;" on the contrary, I was much
struck with the great similarity of the mass of the lower orders to the
Chinese. Their imperturbable good humour and unaffected simplicity as
plainly proved them a hill race, as did their picturesque dwellings and
sturdy limbs. Altogether this class of the inhabitants of Nepaul are a
cheerful, happy race, for whom one could feel a sort of affection after
becoming reconciled to their appearance; but a woman is certainly not
fascinating when what ought to be nose is nothing but cheek with two
holes in it, and what ought to be neck is almost body as well. If people
have protuberances in wrong places, it of course requires a little time
for the eye to become accustomed to them. It may be that a goitre is a
beauty in the eyes of many a young Nepaulese swain. It matters little,
however, to a young Newar bride whether her husband admires her or not,
for she is at liberty to claim a divorce whenever she pleases, and, if
her second choice be not of lower caste than herself, she may leave him
at pleasure and return to her original spouse, resuming the charge of any
family she may have had by him.
The Ghorkas are the conquerors of Nepaul, and now compose the army; they
have grants of land called jaghires, on which they live when not actually
on service. They are a handsome and independent race, priding themselves
upon not being able to do anything but fight; and in their free and
sometimes noble carriage often reminded me of the Tyrolese.
Besides the Ghorkas and Newars there are two or three other tribes, each
consisting of but a limited number, and possessing no peculiar
distinguishing marks, except the differences to be found in their
religious opinions, which are generally a mixture of the Bhuddist and
Hindoo creeds.
But to return to the temple of Pusputnath. This celebrated edifice is
said to have been erected by Pussoopush Deoth, the fourth prince of the
Soorijbunsee dynasty; and so sacred is the temple considered, that a
pilgrimage to its shrines is held to be more meritorious than any other
act that can be performed by a Hindoo. As the massive folding-doors
opened before us, the view of the court-yard was certainly more striking
than anything I had yet seen of the sort. Immediately opposite the
handsome gateway, and situated in the centre of the court-yard, was the
temple, roofed with lead, while the edges were ornamented with a
profusion of gold leaf. Beside the large doors of massive silver were
finely carved windows, covered in all directions with devices in the same
precious metal.
Four sculptured lions guarded the double flight of steps, while at the
bottom of the principal flight was a large figure of a kneeling bull
(nanda), executed in copper, and superbly gilt. The rest of the court-
yard was filled with images and shrines of various descriptions; a
kneeling figure of Siva, a huge bell, more lions, and other sacred
objects being studded throughout it in odd confusion. After looking at
the varied and somewhat brilliant objects about us, our attention was
directed to the roof of the temple, and certainly the transition from the
sublime to the ridiculous was extraordinary. Pots, pans, old kukris,
dusty-looking musical instruments, goods and chattels of all
descriptions, such as one might imagine would form the contents of a
Nepaulese pawnbroker's shop, if there is any such establishment here,
were wedged together indiscriminately beneath the projecting roof of the
pagoda, for of that Chinese form was this much venerated _Hindoo_ temple.
This mass of incongruous wares, as far as I could learn, was composed of
the unclaimed goods of pious worshippers, persons dying without known
heirs, and certainly, to judge from their appearance, the heirs did not
lose much by not establishing their claims.
We ascended the hill, immediately under which the temple is situated, and
were charmed with the lovely prospect which it commanded. On the left,
and clothing with its brilliant colours a gentle slope, was the grove
sacred to Siva, divided by the equally sacred Bhagmutty from the temple
we had just visited, and into which we now looked down. The Bhagmutty
was crossed by two narrow Chinese-looking bridges, resembling those we
have such frequent opportunities of admiring on the willow-pattern
plates. It is at this sacred spot that devout Hindoos wish to die with
their feet in the water. Here it is that the bodies of the great are
burnt; Martibar Singh was reduced to ashes at the end of the bridge, and
so was the Ranee not three months before my visit, together with two
favourite female slaves, whose society she did not wish to relinquish.
Beyond this interesting foreground stretched the luxuriant valley, its
gentle slopes and eminences terraced to their summits, which were often
crowned by some old fortified Newar town: the terraces, tinged with the
brilliant green of the young crops, rose one above another to the base of
the walls, while beneath the Bhagmutty wound its tortuous course to the
romantic gorge in the mountains, through which it leaves this favoured
valley to traverse lazily the uninteresting plains of upper India.
A peak of the gigantic Himaleh, bursting through the bank of clouds which
had hitherto obscured it, reared its snow-capped summit far up towards
the skies, and completed this noble prospect.
Crossing the river, we proceeded to visit the temple sacred to Bhood, the
resort of the numerous tribes of Bhootiyas, or inhabitants of the
highlands of Thibet and Chinese Tartary, who perform annual pilgrimages
hither in the winter, but are obliged to return to their homes early in
the spring, being unable to endure the heat of a Nepaulese summer.
This remarkable building was visible some time before we reached it, and
is of the form peculiar to Bhuddist places of worship in other parts of
the world, but more particularly in Anuradhupoora and the ancient cities
of Ceylon, the ruins of which bear testimony to the existence of larger
Dagobas than that before which the followers of the Bhuddist faith
worship in the valley of Katmandu.
The pyramidal summit was gorgeously gilt, and terminated in a huge bell
adorned in the same glittering manner, producing a brilliant effect as it
brightly reflected the rays of the noonday sun. The massive stone
platform on which the Dagoba stood was square; the ascent to it on each
side was by a broad flight of steps, but, on the lower part of the
pyramid, staring Chinese-looking eyes, painted in brilliant colours,
detracted considerably from the imposing effect which a massive pile of
stone and brick, not less than 120 feet high, would otherwise have
produced.
We rode round it in a sort of court-yard, enclosed by small two-storied
houses, which were very filthy, and out of which emerged men, women, and
children, very filthy also; we were soon encompassed by a crowd of the
most disreputable, dissolute-looking wretches imaginable. The women were
dressed in thick woollen gowns, which had once been red, and reached a
little below the knee; these were loosely fastened round the waist,
remaining open or closed above as the case might be. The children,
notwithstanding the inclement temperature, were in the cool and airy
costume common to the rising generation in the East. The men were
dressed exactly like the women; their matted hair and beard, flat noses,
and wide eyes, generally bloodshot, giving them a disgusting appearance.
Both sexes wore a sort of woollen gaiter, open at the calf, the
protruding muscle of which looked as if nothing could have confined it;
their shoes, as far as the dust would allow me to see, were of the same
material. They seemed good-natured and inoffensive, but are not free
from the vice of drunkenness; they consume quantities of tea prepared
with rancid lard.
Had I been asked to determine the origin of this race, I should have
pronounced it to be a mixture of Naples lazzaroni with the scum of an
Irish regiment. The ruddy complexions of some of the women, and the
swarthy look of many of the men, might fairly warrant such a conclusion.
They were so importunate and offensive as they pressed round me that I
hurried over my sketch of the temple, and made my escape from them, not,
however, without once more looking round with interest on the crowd of
beings whose distant habitations were upon the northern slope of the
Himalayan chain, hitherto unvisited by any European, except Dr. Hooker,
and consequently almost totally unknown.
I quite envied them the journey they were about to undertake, which would
occupy them three weeks; the large droves of sheep by which they are
always accompanied carried their limited worldly possessions, together
with the various tokens of civilization which they had procured in the
(to them) highly civilized country they were now visiting, and on which
no doubt their Bhootan friends would look with no little awe and
wonderment.
This wandering and singular race do not visit Nepaul solely to worship at
the temple of Bhood, but have an eye to business as well as religion. I
shall have occasion by and by to speak of the numerous articles which
they import into Nepaul, on the backs of sheep, over the rocky passes
which lead from the cold region they inhabit.
On our way from the temple of Bhood, which, by the by, had just been
furbished up and whitewashed by a great man from H'Lassa, an emissary of
the Grand Lama's, we passed through the town of Katmandu, which was
entered by a massive gateway, the city being surrounded by a wall. Long
narrow streets, very fairly paved, lead in all directions; the houses are
not so high as those of Benares or Cairo, the streets are broader, and
some of them would admit of the passage of a carriage. They are all well
drained and comparatively clean, contrasting most favourably in that
respect with any other Oriental town I have ever seen. The streets were
filled with foot-passengers, in bright and variegated costumes, passing
busily on, or stopping to make purchases at the shops, which were on the
ground-floor, with the whole front open, and the merchant sitting in the
midst of his wares. The next story is inhabited, I believe, by his
family; but I did not gain an entrance into any of the common houses. The
outside front generally presented a mass of wood carving, each small
window surrounded by a border two or three feet broad, while under the
eaves of the house projected the singular balcony I have already
described.
The great square, in which is situated the Durbar, or palace of the King,
presented in itself almost all the characteristic features of a Nepaul
town. As it suddenly burst upon us on turning the corner of the long
street leading from the city-gate, the view was in every respect most
striking. This square, or court, is well paved, and contains the Chinese
pagoda, composed entirely of wood, from which it is a said the town
derives its name. Its three or four roofs, glittering one above another,
are supported by grotesque representations of unknown deities, and
figures of all sizes and colours, not always of the most proper
description. The whole formed a mass of green, gold leaf, and vermilion;
and was guarded by a sentry, who, in order to be in keeping with his
charge, wore a long flowing gown of bright colours, reaching to his
ankles, and marched backwards and forwards at the top of a long flight of
steps. A couple of well-carved lions, in grey sandstone, guarded the
lower steps as efficiently as he did the upper ones. There were at least
four pagodas, painted in like way, and guarded in like manner, in the
great square of Katmandu. The guard-house contained a large stand of
arms of antique construction. There was also the Durbar, the residence
of the Rajah, a straggling building, almost European in its style, and
gaudy enough to please even the late King of Bavaria; close to it was a
huge deformed image of Siva, sitting in an uncomfortable posture on a
square stone, violently gesticulating with her fourteen arms, perhaps at
a party of heretical Bhootyas who were passing tranquilly by, leading
along their sheep, decidedly the cleanest and most respectable-looking
members of the group. Beyond, high and gloomy houses almost touched,
their wooden fringes creaking responsively to one another across the
narrow streets, while the owners of the cobwebby tenements, peeping out
of the narrow windows in their balconies, made their remarks upon the
strangers in not much more melodious tones; in an old court-yard a little
way above, was visible an unwieldy rhinoceros, placidly contemplating a
bundle of grass, from which it had satisfied its hunger, in happy
ignorance that its life is dependent on that of the Rajah; for in Nepaul
it is a rule that the death of one great animal should be immediately
followed by that of another, and, when a Rajah dies, a rhinoceros is
forthwith killed to keep him company. As he stood tethered almost under
the palace windows, we thought him at once a fitting moral and a
characteristic background to this novel and interesting picture.