_The temple of Balajee--The old Newar capital--The houses and temples of
Patn--View from the city gates--Nepaulese festivals--The Newars skilful
artisans--The arsenal--The magazine and cannon-foundry_.
One afternoon we strolled across some verdant meadows, and along narrow
shady avenues, to visit the temple of Balajee. There is nothing in the
building itself worthy of notice; but near it is a tank of beautifully
clear water, filled with sacred fishes, which crowd near the visitor as
he stands on the brink, expecting to be fed with grain, which some old
women at the gate sell for their especial benefit. Balajee is one of
those sheltered nooks which make the scenery of Nepaul so attractive.
Immediately under a wooded knoll the trees dip into the tank, from whence
the water leaps in three tiny cascades into the court-yard of the temple,
quaint and singular itself, and rendered still more interesting from its
connexion with the sacred fonts and groves near which it is so
romantically situated.
Hitherto we had seen no Newar town. Katmandu, the capital of Nepaul, was
built by the conquering Ghorkas, and is comparatively modern. The old
Newar capital is Patn: situated on a green slope, and fortified by a high
wall, it looks picturesque when seen from the modern city, from which it
is distant about two miles.
Crossing the narrow brick bridge which spans the Bhagmutty, outside the
walls of the town, we shortly after entered the massive old gates of the
ancient capital. As we trotted past the high rickety houses, along the
brick pavement of the narrow streets, still slippery from the morning
dew, we encountered troops of girls with garlands in their hair, for this
was some festive day. At the corners of the streets were beings of both
sexes, as decrepit as the houses under which they crouched, presiding
over baskets full of beautiful flowers. The entire population were
Newars, except a few fierce mustachioed Ghorkas, who stood sentinels over
the temples, or loitered about the guard-house. The long street looked
deserted; there was not a single shop in it; and the foot-passengers were
few and far between. But the grand square was the chief feature of the
place, and was well worthy of a visit. We looked with astonishment and
delight at the incongruous mass of buildings, of the most varied and
fantastic construction, yet massive and substantial; but whence the
designs originated, or in what other part of the known world anything is
to be seen approaching to the style of Newar architecture, it would be
impossible to conjecture. Houses built of horn are said to exist at
Lassa; and from Lassa, I should imagine, came the designs for the temples
and houses of Patn. Time has mellowed their bright colours--if they were
ever painted at all like those at Katmandu--into a sombre, quiet grey.
The Durbar, a huge, massive building, is absolutely covered with black
wood-carving. The care displayed in its execution is still apparent
through the mass of dust and cobwebs which almost conceal it; for the old
Durbar of Patn is deserted. The residence of the monarchs who ruled the
happy valley is in strong contrast with the smiling appearance of their
former territory. It alone seems to have gone into mourning for its
former occupants, while the valley seems to thrive as well under the rule
of the Ghorkas as it did under that of the Newars. The Durbar is of
great extent, and occupies one side of the square, in the centre of which
stand two monoliths, between 30 and 40 feet high: on one of them is the
figure of an angel, represented in all respects as angels usually are,
with the addition of a magnificent gilt tail; this, together with a pair
of large gilt wings, gave it a most gorgeous appearance. My Ghorka guide
could give me no information as to what particular divinity this figure
was intended to represent. The other pillar was crowned by the figure of
a Newar monarch with an unpronounceable name, who was watched over by a
cobra, standing upon its tail, and looking over his head with its mouth
wide open.
On the opposite side to that on which the Durbar was situated were two
temples: one of them, built of grey sandstone, was an imposing structure,
altogether different from any building, lay or ecclesiastical, that I had
ever seen before. The lower story consisted of massive verandahs or
cloisters; the pillars were all of grey sandstone, very simple in form;
and the connecting arch was somewhat Saracenic in its appearance. The
temple was square, and the corridor which ran round it was elevated
considerably above the level of the court: the ascent to it was by two
flights of steps, each guarded by a pair of sculptured winged lions.
Three stories of light belfry-like temples, three upon each side of the
square, surmounted each other in rows; in the centre was a mass of
architecture between a dome and a spire, rising to a height of upwards of
100 feet above the level of the court: the whole formed a pyramidal
structure ornamented with fantastic devices, and undoubtedly Bhuddist in
its character.
The other temple was a two-storied pagoda; its bright colours were faded,
and it appeared far inferior to those of more recent construction. There
were also ruined pyramidal shrines of no known architecture, and
difficult to describe from their complicated nature--antique specimens of
the masonry of ages long gone by, and memorials of a religion doubtless
impure, although Bhuddist in its character and origin.
No less singular were the residences of the old Newar nobility, a race
which no longer exists, and the only remains of which now extant are
their ruined habitations, evidently destined to succumb before long to
the same all-destroying power which has long since obliterated every
trace of their former owners.
How different was the peculiar yet handsome style which distinguished the
dwellings of the Newar nobles at Patn from the tawdry glitter which
characterises the mansions of the present Ghorka chiefs in the modern
capital! Here the carving is more rich, the ornaments more massive, the
houses themselves are more lofty and capacious. Sometimes two or three
elaborately-carved balconies adorn the sombre but not less imposing
exterior; from the projecting eaves wooden tassels, forming a sort of
fringe, swing to and fro over the windows.
The roofs are beautifully tiled, each tile having a double curvature,
while the corners of the buildings are quaintly turned up, giving a
Chinese look to the building. The whole appearance of the houses and
temples carries one far from the mud-huts or close cities of the plains
of India, into the land of chopsticks and small feet, and the traveller
feels much nearer to Pekin than to Calcutta as he wanders along the empty
streets under the frowning houses and indescribable temples of the Newar
town of Patn.
Everything seemed to have been blighted by time; besides all the old
temples, old houses, old gates, and old streets, there were numbers of
old people. Everything seemed to sympathise with everything else, and
had evidently come to the conclusion that there was nothing worth living
for, and the sooner they all took themselves off and quitted the bright
valley of Nepaul the better. And indeed it was difficult to realize the
existence of anything half so cheerful inside the town as the prospect
which met our view as we emerged from its gloomy entrance, and looked
upon the luxuriant plain, the glittering capital shining in its midst,
whose gaudy pagodas, hung round with bells and adorned with flags, were
very different from those just visited; the industrious population were
going light-hearted to their work as we rode through smiling fields, and
we ceased to wonder at Patn looking deserted, for it was evident that all
the cheerfully disposed inhabitants had flitted away, unable to bear its
depressing influence, and leaving behind them only the crabbed old people
at the corners of the streets, and the tattered beggars, who must make a
meagre livelihood out of the falling temples and 24,000 rotten houses of
the once handsome capital of Nepaul.
It was a clear frosty morning, and, as we rode down the gentle slope on
which the old city stands, the snowy range of the Himalaya burst upon us
with inexpressible grandeur. The Gosain-than, a mass of glistening snow,
looked contemptuously down upon the Jibjibia, itself covered with snow:
though 13,000 feet lower than the Gosain-than, the Jibjibia in turn
overtopped the Sheopoorie, which rises abruptly from the valley to a
height of 2000 feet. On a peninsula, formed by the junction of the
Bhagmutty and Bishmutty, stands the town of Katmandu, surrounded by a
high wall in which are four gates: to the east the snow-capped peaks
extend as far as the eye can reach; to the west the Dawalogiri, the
highest mountain in the world, is in clear weather distinctly visible; in
that direction the valley is shut in by lofty hills, the steepest of
which is crossed by the Chandanagiri pass.
The exhilarating effect of so glorious a scene seemed not to be lost upon
the inhabitants themselves, and we observed among them the same merry and
contented appearance as that which is so remarkable amongst the
inhabitants of Switzerland and the Tyrol; indeed mountaineers in general
either have much fewer troubles than lowlanders, or take them less to
heart.
The Nepaulese, in common with most highland tribes, have strong religious
feelings, and are bigoted adherents to a faith which they would find it
somewhat difficult to define. One use to which they put their religion,
and in which they far exceed even the Roman Catholics of the Alps, is, in
making it furnish them with an almost unlimited number of holidays and
festivals: no opportunity of merrymaking is lost by the light-hearted
inhabitants of Nepaul, and in this respect they are at once
distinguishable from their more gloomy and saturnine conquerors, the
Ghorkas, who, glorying only in the art of war, look with contempt on what
they consider the frivolity of the Newars.
There can be no doubt of the warlike character of the Ghorkas, even had
not our own experience testified to the fact in a most unpleasant way.
Not only are they brave and skilful soldiers, but, for a barbarous
nation, they are wonderfully advanced in the art of fabricating the
implements of war; they cast their own ordnance, manufacture their own
muskets, shot, powder, and cartridge-boxes; in fact, every instrument or
weapon used in civilized warfare is manufactured in Nepaul, often
clumsily enough, but the mere fact of their being capable of being used,
and used with effect, is highly creditable to the ingenuity of the
Ghorkas.
The Newars are still more skilful artisans than the Ghorkas, but their
talent does not lie in the same direction. The bricks of Nepaul are
deservedly famed; whether the virtue lies in the clay of which they are
formed, or the skill with which they are made, I do not know--most
probably in both. The Newars excel also in bell-making; it is the trade
of the land; they are all bell-makers from their youth, and proofs of
their skill are exhibited hanging at the corners of pagodas, swinging
from the roofs of houses, surmounting Dagobas--in fact, the device upon a
Nepaulese banner should be a bell. In jewellery they are no less expert,
and are elaborate workmen in all metals. A species of coarse paper is
manufactured by them from the bark of a tree, which is first reduced to a
pulp and then spread over a sheet and dried.
They are as excellent agriculturists as tradesmen, and the rich soil of
the valley is not allowed by the industrious peasants to lie fallow a
moment longer than is necessary.
At certain seasons every inhabitant capable of wielding the hoe is at
work, and there is much incentive to such industry, for the soil is
inexhaustible, and seems as if it could go on for an indefinite period
yielding its four crops a year--namely, wheat, rice, Indian corn, and
vegetables--supporting thereby a double population. The plough is never
used. It struck me that the introduction of buffaloes from the plains
would be advantageous in assisting the worthy Newar, whose religious
scruples prevent his using the bullock. There is a species of small
buffalo, which is a native of the Himalayas, but it is never brought down
by the Bhootyas into the plains, nor even to Katmandu.
We went one day to visit the arsenal, which a veteran of the Nepaul army
took an especial delight in exhibiting, and naturally looked for
expressions of wonder and delight from the barbarians. But the only
astonishment we felt was, that such a mass of fire-arms, so excessively
old and so excessively dirty, should be thought worthy of being carefully
ranged throughout the long dark rooms. In a corner of one of these rooms
the light streamed brightly through a window on some old-fashioned
firelocks bearing an English maker's name; they were trophies of the war
with the British, and were held worthy of conspicuous places in the
Nepaul arsenal. The delighted old Colonel pointed these out to us with a
laudable pride; he said the arsenal contained 100,000 stand of arms, and
expected us to believe it. Had they been in proper order, the collection
would have been of importance numerically considered.
Their artillery was insignificant, but they possessed trophies denied to
many more powerful nations in a pair of brass 2-pounders, also taken from
the British in the same disastrous campaign. I looked as abashed and
mortified as I could, and pleased the Colonel exceedingly thereby. In
the same establishment was carried on the process of manufacturing powder
of a very coarse grain, and we were shown sundry store-rooms containing
grape and canister.
Leaving the arsenal, we mounted our elephants, crossed the parade-ground
and the river, and, passing through the massive gateway, reached the
magazine, situated in the interior of the city, where we had an
opportunity of witnessing the process of hammering iron into balls. The
Nepaulese can produce no heat sufficient to cast balls, and are,
consequently, obliged to beat them into the required shape, an almost
endless operation. By this tedious process the making of each two-pound
ball occupies two men a whole day, and costs, including other incidental
charges, about a rupee, so that the expenses of a siege would come rather
heavy upon the Government. All round the court-yard blacksmiths were
forging and hammering, while in the middle of it a number of men were
employed beating leather, so as to render it sufficiently pliable to
undergo the process of being trodden soft, a curious operation, and
fatiguing to the muscles of any other legs than those of the Nepaulese,
who keep continually doubling up the leather and treading it out again,
and putting their feet to all sorts of uses, in which, if we had properly
cultivated the gifts of nature, we should, doubtless, be equally skilled.
At present our great object is to make our feet look smaller than they
naturally are, and even in that the Chinese excel us, civilized though we
be. The result of so much beating and treading was a number of leather
cartridge-boxes, which could not have been harder had they been deal; so
the means did not justify the end, and perhaps after all we make better
use of our feet than the Nepaulese tanners do.
In another part of the establishment was a gang of men engaged in
twisting gun-barrels, turning out wonderful productions, considering the
rude method employed.
The stocks were more easily fabricated, and the whole musket justified
the pride with which it was exhibited; but Jung is no longer satisfied
with the productions of the Nepaulese gunmakers. He visited a
gun-manufactory at Birmingham, and was most disagreeably surprised by
finding how different was the English mode of manufacturing the
implements of war from that employed in Nepaul.
In England Jung had seen brass guns cast by the score during his short
visit to the foundry. Here they were being cast at the rate of one every
two or three months. The metal is not allowed to run into the mould in a
continuous stream, but is ladled in, thereby rendering the gun liable to
flaws. There were many other improvements which it would have been
obvious to a practised eye were needed in the gun-factory of Nepaul; and
it was plain enough that everything was rough and clumsy; but Jung had
paid especial attention to these subjects while in England, and intends
speedily to introduce an improved system. How long it will be ere he
will have a steam-foundry established in Katmandu time alone can show.