_A visit to the Minister's brothers--Dexterity of Colonel Dhere Shum
Shere--Scenes for lovers of the Fancy--Adieu to Nepaul--The view from the
summit of the Chandernagiri pass--The scenery of Nepaul--The pass of
Bhimphede--Night quarters_.
It was out of the question my leaving Katmandu without paying a farewell
visit to the Minister's two younger brothers, Juggut and Colonel Dhere
Shum Shere, so I hurried over in the afternoon to their house, which was
situated in the centre of the town. On my road I met them driving in a
buggy, the only one of which the town could boast, and, as it is not
considered _infra dig_. in Katmandu to go three in a gig, I jumped in
between them, and we were soon tearing along the narrow street at a most
reckless pace, and finally pulled up in a small square, where a great
crowd seemed to be waiting for something to take place. A Katmandu crowd
doubtless possesses the same instinct in this respect that crowds in
civilized parts of the world do, and, as it proved, they were quite right
in their expectations, for the exhibition which almost immediately
followed was well worth seeing. The Colonel said he had something to
show us, but we could perceive nothing out of the common except a huge
bull buffalo, whose head was firmly lashed to a stake fixed in the court-
yard, so that it touched it from his forehead to his nose; he was then
blindfolded, his legs were planted some distance apart, and he stood
snorting at his confined position. Meantime we had jumped out of the
buggy, the young Colonel, stripping himself of all superfluous clothing,
had grasped a "korah," or native sword, and, first laying the keen edge
of it gently upon the exposed neck of the buffalo, he drew himself to his
full height, and raised his korah high above his head. Every muscle
extended, every fibre strained, he seemed to concentrate his strength in
a wonderful manner into that blow which was at one stroke to sever the
extended neck of the buffalo. Down came the sword with sweeping force. I
looked eagerly for the result; when suddenly his hand was arrested
midway, and with a look of vexation the Colonel _let off the steam_ he
had got up for the occasion, as he pointed to one of the buffalo's legs;
it had been moved an inch inwards, and that was sufficient to cause the
failure of the operation. Three or four times did this occur, and it
seemed essentially necessary to the success of the feat that the legs of
the animal should be perfectly stationary in a particular position. How
little was the buffalo aware that each movement he made prolonged his
life some seconds! I could not help thinking that there was a strong
resemblance between his position and that of Jung, for decidedly the only
chance the Minister has of his life is to keep continually moving. At
last down came the korah with crushing force, and passed right through
the animal's neck: the headless trunk tottered for a second, and then
fell heavily over.
I was horrified at seeing a second buffalo brought up for slaughter, and
my horror was greatly increased when I understood that I was expected to
exercise my skill upon it. This offer I declined as politely as I could,
accepting from the young Colonel, as a remembrance of his dexterity and
strength, the korah with which he had performed this extraordinary feat.
We next adjourned to another court-yard, which was surrounded with
bulldogs and terriers of every description,--a collection worthy the most
ardent votary of the Fancy. Two magnificent rams, which were tied up in
the corners of the yard, soon after showed us that a sport existed in
Nepaul unknown as yet to 'Bell's Life.' No sooner were these animals
untied than they dashed at one another with the utmost fury; the violence
of the shock caused the combatants to recoil, and it was a matter of
astonishment to us that their brains were not dashed out.
The whole fight consisted in their being separated and then let go at one
another again. This continued without any apparent advantage on either
side until we thought that they had inflicted punishment enough on one
another for our amusement, and then they were both tied up, and left to
meditate upon their splitting headaches and to scowl at one another
across the yard.
We walked through the Colonel's house, and found in his drawing-room the
usual collection of theatrical prints and portraits of opera-dancers,
mixed up with those of old statesmen, which he seemed to think perfectly
natural, and no doubt he fancies he has good reason for so thinking.
There were also a piano and some European luxuries strangely mingled with
barbarous inventions.
In leaving these two excellent young men, I bade adieu to the last of my
fellow-travellers from Ceylon. My especial favourite of them all was
Colonel Dhere Shum Shere, whose thoroughly frank and amiable disposition
endeared him to every one, while his courage and daring commanded
universal respect. I know of no one I would rather have by my side in a
row than the young Colonel, and his brother Jung evidently thought so too
when he chose him to assist in the capture of the conspirators in the
attempt upon his life. Cheerful and lively, his merry laugh might be
heard in the midst of a knot of his admirers, to whom he was relating
some amusing anecdote, while his shrewd remarks were the result of keen
observation, and proved his intellect to be by no means of a low order.
His elder brother Juggut was fat, lazy, and good tempered, but wanting
the energy of his brothers. These two are the youngest members of the
family, and are devotedly attached to Jung.
Mounting our ponies at an early hour on the following morning, we bade
adieu to the Residency and its hospitable inmates, and cantered along
narrow lanes bordered by hedges of prickly pear, and roughly paved with
large stones: sometimes we passed between steep banks over gently
swelling hills terraced to their summits, and reminding me strongly of a
vine-growing country.
Soon the road became more broken, and, on gaining the top of a steep
hill, we took our last view of the valley of Katmandu before commencing
the ascent of the precipitous Chandernagiri. From this point we gazed
with indescribable delight on the valley so peculiar if not unrivalled in
its beauty: its compact red-brick villages or straggling houses, which,
with their quaintly-carved gables, clustered up the hillsides; its sacred
groves containing numerous venerated shrines in picturesque proximity to
the clear streams that gushed down from the neighbouring hills; its
ancient cities, whose dismantled walls enclosed the ruined tenements of a
departed race; the richly-cultivated knolls, the Chinese pagodas, the
Bhuddist dagobas on the banks of the sacred Bhagmutty, the narrow but
substantially-built brick bridges by which it was spanned, continually
traversed by an industrious population;--all these objects formed a
picture, "with all the freshness and glory of a dream," to which the
towering monument of Bheem Singh in the far distance, while it indicated
the position of the capital of this favoured vale, was a fitting centre.
At Thankote, eight miles from Katmandu, we dismounted, and commenced in
earnest the ascent of the Chandernagiri. It is the steepest pass on
either of the roads by which the valley of Nepaul is entered, and for
that reason seems generally chosen by the natives, who would not for the
world miss the pleasure of toiling up an almost inaccessible mountain.
They certainly cannot be accused of neglecting the opportunities their
country affords them for strengthening the muscles of their legs. The
traveller had need to have his shins cased if he intends to climb a hill
with a Newar mountaineer, for the path is so steep that the hillmen, as
they clamber up, frequently dislodge stones, which come tumbling down
upon those behind. However, I should have despised the blows from the
stones, and should not have cared for the fatigue of the rugged ascent,
if, on reaching the summit of the Chandernagiri, I had been rewarded with
the view which it commands in clear weather.
Colonel Kirkpatrick thus describes this glorious scene as it burst upon
him in all its magnificence:--"From hence the eye not only expatiates on
the waving valley of Nepaul, beautifully and thickly dotted with villages
and abundantly checquered with rich fields fertilized by numerous
meandering streams, but also embraces on every side a wide expanse of
charming and diversified country. It is the landscape in front, however,
that most powerfully attracts the attention--the scenery in this
direction rising to an amphitheatre, and exhibiting to the delighted view
the cities and numberless temples of the valley below, the stupendous
mountain of Sheopoori, the still supertowering Jib Jibia, clothed to its
snow-capped peak with pendulous forests, and finally the gigantic
Himaleh, forming the majestic background to this wonderful and sublime
picture."
This majestic background was now concealed behind a dense bank of clouds,
and the prospect was bounded by Sheopoori.
The snowy range is the most striking feature in Nepaul scenery, and the
most important element in its composition, since the effect produced by
the grandeur of its stupendous summits is probably unequalled.
It would be hardly fair to compare the valley in which Katmandu is
situated with any other part of the world, since it is so peculiar in its
characteristics and totally unlike the rest of the Nepaul dominions; but,
standing on the summit of Chandernagiri, and looking over the mountainous
district which stretched away to the south, and across which our road
lay, we could not but be struck by the bleak appearance of the mountains,
neither desolate nor rugged enough to possess the majesty of a bold and
sublime solitude, nor sufficiently wooded and populous to exhibit that
softer and more animating character which in the scenery of Switzerland
is no less charming than its grandeur is imposing. Of course this does
not apply to all Nepaul; the lower ranges are more woody, the valleys
more sunny and fertile, but there is a lamentable want of water
throughout. I do not remember ever to have seen so much as a horse-pond
in Nepaul, or a single waterfall of any magnitude: the traveller will
therefore probably be disappointed in the scenery, until he reaches the
Chandernagiri, when indeed he must be difficult to please if he is not
fascinated by the view of the valley at his feet, unsurpassed in the
singular character of its beauty, and of the mountains beyond it,
unparalleled by any in the whole world.
We followed the course of the stream down the mountain and along the
valley of Chitlong, until we reached the foot of the Bhimphede pass,
when, striking into the path by which we had entered Nepaul, we toiled up
it, reaching the summit just before sunset, when we were delighted by the
farewell view of the snowy mountains which we obtained at this point. The
upper edge of the curtain of clouds had now become slightly lower,
allowing a single peak to show itself. Gilded by the rays of the
declining sun, it shone out in strong relief, like some unusual
phenomenon; and as we gazed upon it high in the heavens we found it
difficult to believe that it was part of the earth we stood on, and felt
almost inclined to agree with the faithful, who throughout India regard
this heaven-piercing summit as the centre of the universe, around which
the sun, moon, and stars perform their courses, the sacred and mysterious
Mount Menou.
Gradually the bright crimson rays of the setting sun began to fade, and
reminded us that we had to make a long descent ere we could reach the
tent pitched at the bottom for our reception; and our former experience
had taught us that the Bhimphede pass was not the most pleasant road in
the world on which to be benighted. So we hurried on at the risk of our
necks, the loose stones rolling down before us, and rendering our footing
anything but safe in the growing darkness.
When we reached the foot of the mountain our servants met us with torches
and guided us to the tent; and as we spread our dinner upon a rickety old
bedstead, which, wonderful to relate, this out-of-the-way village
supplied, we came to the conclusion that there were many worse lodgings
in the world than the snug little single-poled tent at the old Newar
village of Bhimphede.