From the foot of the ridge on which stands this glittering p

Produced by Al Haines.

[Illustration: Cover art]

[Illustration: A TAILOR AT WORK. _Page 1._]

PEEPS AT MANY LANDS

INDIA

BY

JOHN FINNEMORE

WITH TWELVE FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS

IN COLOUR

BY

MORTIMER MENPES

LONDON

ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK

1907

_Published September_ 17, 1907.

_Reprinted November_, 1907.

*CONTENTS*

CHAPTER

I. THE GATEWAY OF INDIA

II. IN THE LAND OF THE RAJPUTS

III. IN THE LAND OF THE RAJPUTS (continued)

IV. IN THE PUNJAB

V. AMONG THE HIMALAYAS

VI. AMONG THE HIMALAYAS (continued)

VII. THE GREAT PLAINS OF THE GANGES

VIII. THE LAND OF THE MOGUL KINGS

IX. THE LAND OF THE MOGUL KINGS (continued)

X. IN THE MUTINY COUNTRY

XI. THE SACRED CITY OF THE HINDOOS

XII. THE CAPITAL OF INDIA

XIII. ACROSS THE DECCAN

XIV. AT THE COURT OF A NATIVE PRINCE

XV. THE RELIGIOUS MENDICANTS

XVI. IN THE BAZAAR

XVII. IN THE JUNGLE

XVIII. IN THE JUNGLE (continued)

XIX. IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE

XX. IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE (continued)

*LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS*

BY MORTIMER MENPES

A TAILOR AT WORK . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _frontispiece_

A BUSY BAZAAR

A DISTINGUISHED MAHARAJAH

A SIKH WARRIOR

THE GOLDEN TEMPLE

WATERING CATTLE

THE TAJ MAHAL

BENARES

NATIVE TROOPS

A BAZAAR, DELHI

A NATIVE WOMAN WEARING NOSE ORNAMENT

A NATIVE BULLOCK-CART

Sketch-Map of India on page viii

[Illustration: SKETCH-MAP OF INDIA.]

*INDIA*

*CHAPTER I*

*THE GATEWAY OF INDIA*

To the vast majority of European travellers Bombay is the gateway of

India. It is here they get their first glimpse of the bewildering

variety of races, of colours, of types, of customs, which make up India.

After the journey through the Suez Canal, and the long run across the

Arabian Sea, the traveller is very glad to spend a day or two at Bombay,

gaining first impressions of this new, strange country. He may be

interested in the fine new buildings of the modern town, or he may not;

he is certain to be interested in the native quarter.

Here he gets his first glimpse of that great feature of Indian life, the

bazaar--rows and rows of narrow streets filled with shops and crowds.

The shops are small booths, often built of mud, or archways, or, again,

are mere holes in a wall. Everything is open to full view; there are

neither windows nor doors. The merchant or shopkeeper squats beside his

goods; the artisan does his work in sight of the passers-by. The crowds

are stranger than the shops. Here you may see Hindoos, Parsees,

Burmese, Singhalese, Lascars, Moslems, Arabs, Somalis, Jews of many

countries, Turks, Chinese, Japanese, and a score of other nations. Amid

the throng of many colours move white people from every land of Europe,

and the babel of tongues is as astonishing as the mingling of costumes.

Here is struck at once the note of colour which enlivens every street

scene in India. The people wear robes of every shade, and turbans or

caps of every hue--black, white, red, green, yellow, purple, pink, every

colour of the rainbow--and a hundred shades of every colour meet and

mingle as the crowds flow to and fro.

Where there is an open space the snake-charmer squats beside his cobras,

playing on his strange pipe, and putting his venomous pets through their

tricks; or a conjurer is causing a mango-plant to spring up and put

forth fruit from apparently a little barren heap of earth. Busy Indian

coolies, naked save for a dirty turban and a wisp of cotton cloth round

the loins, hurry along with water-skins, and the skins, filled with

water, take roughly the shape of the sheep or goat which had once filled

them with flesh and bones. Other coolies are driving queer little carts

drawn by a pair of tiny, mild-eyed, hump-backed oxen; and others, again,

squat beside the way with their chins on their knees, waiting to be

hired.

[Illustration: A BUSY BAZAAR. _Chapter XVI_.]

When it comes to sight-seeing proper, the traveller will visit the

island of Elephanta, six miles from the city. Here stands a great

temple cut in the solid rock, its roof supported by huge pillars left

standing when the chamber was hollowed out. The temple is adorned with

colossal figures and carvings of Hindoo gods and of animals. Its

excavation must have been a tremendous piece of work, and it is

considered that it was carried out some eleven hundred years ago.

Among the crowds of Bombay no people are more distinctive than the

Parsees. The Parsees may always be known by the strange head-gear and

long coats of the men and by the splendid dresses of the women, who move

about as freely as European women, and are not shut up like Hindoo women

of the richer classes.

The Parsee man wears on his head a long, high, shiny hat in the form of

a cylinder; it has no brim, and is one of the oddest head-coverings that

may be seen. In origin he is a Persian, for the Parsees are descended

from a race that fled into India from Persia when that land was attacked

by the Arabs twelve centuries ago. The Parsee women are dressed very

splendidly, because their race is very rich. The Parsee is the banker

and money-lender of India. No other native is so clever in trade or

amasses wealth so swiftly as a Parsee.

In his religion the most sacred thing is fire, and to him the sun, as

the emblem of fire, is the greatest religious symbol. Upon the shore of

the bay many Parsees may be seen at evening at their devotions before

the setting sun. Each seats himself upon the sand, bows to the sun,

taking off his hat and replacing it, and then, with a small brass jar at

his side, begins to read prayers from a sacred book, chanting them

aloud.

The Parsee reverence for fire is seen in the treatment of his dead. The

Hindoo makes a funeral pyre and burns his dead. Not so the Parsee. He

considers that fire is too sacred to use for such a purpose; nor, on the

other hand, is he willing to defile the earth by digging a grave. So

the Parsee dead are exposed to be torn to pieces and devoured by

vultures. Beside the sea there stand five broad low towers, the famous

Towers of Silence. In these the bodies of the dead are exposed. One of

these is reserved for the use of a wealthy family, one for suicides and

those who die by accidental deaths, and three for general use. The

towers and the trees around are loaded with huge vultures, which, in a

couple of hours, reduce a body to a heap of bones.

*CHAPTER II*

*IN THE LAND OF THE RAJPUTS*

Rajputana is the land of the Rajputs, a splendid warrior race of

Northern India. In times long gone by the Rajputs held power over the

wide plain watered by the Upper Ganges, but seven hundred years ago

their Moslem foes drove them westwards into the land still called

Rajputana.

The history of the Rajputs is one of battle. They are born fighters.

They have taken a share in all the wars which have torn India through

all the centuries. They struggled hard against the British power, but

now they are good friends of ours, and their Princes rule under British

protection.

The history of this fine race is full of stories of romance and

chivalry. Nor is the Rajput of to-day inferior to his brave and haughty

fathers: "The poorest Rajput retains all his pride of ancestry, often

his sole inheritance; he scorns to hold the plough, or use his lance but

on horseback." Of all the brave old stories of Rajput valour and

constancy none are more beloved than the tales which hang around the

three sacks of Chitore. Thrice was that ancient city seized and

plundered by Moslem foes, and never have those terrible days been

forgotten. To this day the most binding oath on Rajput lips is when he

swears, "By the sin of the sack of Chitore."

Long ago there was a Prince of Chitore named Bhimsi, whose wife,

Princess Padmani, was famed far and wide as the most beautiful woman in

the world, and as good as she was beautiful. The report of her beauty

drew Allah-u-din, a great Moslem warrior, to the walls of Chitore at the

head of a powerful army. He demanded to see the face of Padmani, were it

only a reflection of her face in a mirror. Prince Bhimsi invited him to

a feast, and he saw Padmani. When the feast was over, the Prince

escorted Allah-u-din back to his camp. Then the wily Moslem seized the

Prince, and sent word to the chiefs of Chitore that, if they wished to

see their King again, they must send Padmani to become the wife of

Allah-u-din.

Every one in Chitore was aghast at this treacherous deed; but the Moslem

was powerful, and Princess Padmani, with her attendants, set out for the

enemy's camp. Slowly the long train of seven hundred litters wound its

way from the city, and Padmani was in the hands of Allah-u-din. The

Moslem gave permission for Bhimsi and Padmani to take a short farewell

of each other, and then was seen a proof of Padmani's wit and Rajput

devotion. From out the seven hundred litters sprang, not weeping women,

but seven hundred warriors armed to the teeth, while the bearers flung

aside their robes, and showed the glittering swords in their strong

right hands.

Covered by this devoted bodyguard, Bhimsi and Padmani sprang upon swift

horses and reached Chitore in safety. But none else escaped. The noble

Rajputs, the flower of Chitore, gave their lives to the last man to save

their King and Queen.

Allah-u-din never forgot how he had been foiled. Years passed, and once

more he marched against the city set on its rock. No one had ever

captured it, and Chitore feared not Allah-u-din until he began to raise

a huge mound of earth. He did this by giving gold to all who brought a

basketful of earth, and at last he secured a vantage-ground whence he

could hurl his missiles into the city, and the end of the siege was near

at hand.

Then one night King Bhimsi had a terrible vision, from which he woke in

affright. The goddess of Chitore had appeared to him, saying: "If my

altar and your throne is to be kept, let twelve who wear the crown die

for Chitore."

Now Bhimsi and Padmani had twelve sons. So it was resolved to make them

twelve Kings by setting each on the throne for three days. Then the

saying of the goddess would be fulfilled, and these twelve must die for

Chitore. But when it came to the youngest of the twelve, to Ajeysi, the

father's darling, Bhimsi said no. The King called his chieftains

together.

"The child shall not die," he said. "He shall go free to recover what

was lost. I will be the twelfth to die for Chitore."

"And we will die for Chitore!" cried the warriors. "In bridal robes of

saffron and coronets on our heads, we will die for Chitore!"

Then a great plan was made throughout the place: all, men and women,

would die for their beloved city. In the vaults and caverns which

stretch below the rock a vast funeral pyre was built, and to it came the

Rajput women singing, dressed in their festal robes, and glittering in

all their jewels. The last to enter the vault of death was Padmani, and

when the gate was closed upon her the men knew their turn had come.

Setting the little Prince in the midst of a picked band, who had sworn

to bear him off in safety, the King led his sons and chieftains to the

battle. The gates were flung open, and the warriors, clad in bridal

robes, hurled themselves upon the foe: for the bride they sought was

death.

When the last had died for Chitore, Allah-u-din entered the city. But

it was an empty triumph. Every house, every street, was still and

silent, only a wisp of smoke oozed from the vault. This was the first

sack of Chitore.

The second sack was in the time of Humayun, father of Akbar the Great.

The ruler of Chitore had died, leaving a baby son to inherit the crown,

and when a powerful foe came against the city, the child's mother,

Kurnavati, sent messengers to Humayun, saying: "Tell him that he is

bracelet-bound brother to me, and that I am hard pressed by a cruel

foe."

There is an ancient custom in India by which a woman may choose a

bracelet-brother to protect and assist her. She may choose whom she

pleases, and she sends him a silken bracelet, called a ram-rukki. It is

a mere cord of silk, bound with a tassel, and hung with seven tiny

silken tassels--red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet, the

colours of the rainbow. The man may accept this bracelet or not, as he

pleases; but once he has bound it round his wrist, he becomes the

bracelet-brother of the sender, and is bound to her service. In return

for the bracelet he sends the customary gift of a small breast-bodice.

Now Humayun, the Mogul King, was bracelet-brother to Kurnavati, and when

he heard that she was in distress, he hurried to her assistance. But he

came too late, and the garrison of Chitore saw that their city must

fall. Then they remembered the first sack, and all resolved to die in

the same way. Kurnavati succeeded in getting her little son away in

safety; then she led the women to the funeral pyre. The men of the

garrison were few, for many had fallen, but the gallant handful, clad as

before in bridal robes and crowns, dashed upon the foe, and died to the

last man, ringed about with heaps of slain.

[Illustration: A DISTINGUISHED MAHARAJAH. _Pages 11 and 58_.]

Although the baby King, Udai Singh, was smuggled in safety from Chitore,

it was not long before he was in danger again. He was carried off to

the palace of his half-brother, Bikramajit, where he lived under the

care of his foster-mother, Punnia. One night Punnia heard a terrible

uproar, and then the screams of women. Enemies had broken into the

palace of Bikramajit. But whose life did they seek above all? Punnia

knew, and she saw that Udai Singh was in great danger. How could she

save him? There was only one way, a terrible way; but the Rajput woman

did not flinch. Two children lay sleeping before her, Udai Singh and

her own child. She caught up the baby King and thrust sugared opium

into his mouth that he might be lulled into deeper, safer slumber, hid

him in a fruit-basket, and gave the precious burden to the hands of a

faithful servant. "Fly to the river-bed without the city," she said,

"and wait for me there."

Then she flung the rich royal robe over her own sleeping child, and

waited for the murderers. In they burst. "The Prince!" they cried.

"Where is the Prince?"

With a supreme effort Punnia pointed to the little figure beneath the

splendid robe, and hid her face, giving the life of her own child to

save that of the little King.

When all was over, and the last funeral rites had been performed over

the body of the child whom the conspirators supposed to be the young

King, Punnia sought the river-bed. There she found her nursling, and

with him she fled over hill and dale, never resting till she gained a

strong fortress held by a loyal governor. Into his presence she

hastened, and set the child on his knee. "Guard well the life of the

King!" she cried, this noble Rajput woman.

The third sack of Chitore happened in the days of Akbar the Great, son

of Humayun, who had once hurried to the aid of the city. The Rajputs

and the Great Mogul came to blows. Akbar led a powerful army against

his foes. This was the last sack, "for the conqueror was of right royal

stuff, and knew how to treat brave men. So when the final consummation

was once more reached, and thousands of brave men had gone to death by

the sword, and thousands of brave women met death by fire, he left the

city, levying no ransom, and on the place where his camp had stood

raised a white marble tower, from whose top a light might shine to cheer

the darkness of Chitore. But a few years afterwards, when in dire

distress and riding for his life through an ambush, the man on Akbar's

right hand and the man on his left, shielding him from blows, making

their swords his shelter, were two of the defeated Rajput generals."

These are stories of long ago. Here is one of times nearer our own,

when the English were mastering India. A beautiful Rajput Princess, the

Princess Kishna Komari, was sought in marriage by three powerful

suitors. She could not wed all three, and her father feared the

vengeance of the fierce men who quarrelled over his daughter's hand.

Lest their savage disputes might end in attack upon his city and palace,

he said that his daughter must die. "She took the poison offered her,

smiling, saying to her weeping mother, 'Why grieve? A Rajput maiden

often enters the world but to be sent from it. Rather thank my father

for giving you me till to-day.'"

*CHAPTER III*

*IN THE LAND OF THE RAJPUTS (*_*Continued*_*)*

The ancient town of Chitore still stands on its ridge, with its grey

lines of ruined walls and towers broken by two beautiful Towers of

Victory, which raise their slender columns toward the sky. The smaller

tower is very old, having been raised in A.D. 896, and the larger was

built in A.D. 1439 to celebrate a victory of the Rajputs over their

Moslem enemies. The latter is ornamented with most beautiful carving,

rises to the height of 130 feet, and is divided into nine stories.

Some sixty miles from Chitore lies Oudeypor, or Udaipur, a Rajput city

of great fame, for it is said to be the most beautiful city in all

India. It is also of deep interest as being one of the few cities where

the old native life goes on almost untouched by the presence and

influence of the white people in the land. Here strut Rajput nobles in

silken robes decked with gems, and followed by splendidly clothed and

armed retainers. Here the elephant is seen at its proper work of

carrying stately howdahs, carved and gilded and hung about with curtains

of rich brocade, while long flowing draperies of cloth of gold,

embroidered in the most lovely patterns and in the most striking and

brilliant colours, sweep down the broad flanks of the huge slow-moving

beast, and almost brush the ground with long fringed tassels. Here are

bevies of women who resemble a moving garden in their shining silks of

every hue that is soft and delicate, and here are naked coolies, whose

bronze bodies glisten with sweat as they toil along under their load of

water-skins or huge baskets heaped with earth.

The people in the streets of Udaipur strike the traveller at once as a

finer type than usual. The men are tall, slender, and of lofty bearing;

their features are fine, sharp, and regular. As regards the women's

features you cannot judge, for in Udaipur the rule that no woman's face

shall be seen by a stranger is very strictly observed. Even the poorest

woman, however busily she may be at work, has a hand at liberty to draw

her filmy veil of coloured gauze, red or green or blue or pink, across

her face when anyone glances her way.

As the crowd passes along, two things above all strike our eyes--the

beards of the men, the jewellery of the women. The beard of the Rajput

is very black; it is combed and brushed till it shines in the sun; it is

as large as he can grow it; then it is parted in the middle, and drawn

round the face so that it stands out on either side, and the ends are

curled. It is said that a Rajput dandy who cannot get his beard to

properly part in the middle will draw it round his face to the required

shape, and then tie a bandage tightly round his head to train the hair

to the mode which he and his friends affect.

The jewellery of the women is overwhelming, and this word is meant in

its literal sense: the women are absolutely loaded with ornaments. If

they are wealthy, the ornaments are of gold, decked with precious

stones; the poorer classes are weighed down with silver. A Rajput woman

often carries on her person the wealth of her house, and may be regarded

as the family savings bank. One writer, speaking of the ornaments upon

a working woman of the lower classes, says:

"Her smaller toes were decked with rings of silver, made by an ingenious

arrangement of small movable knobs set close together. She wore a

bracelet of the same design, which was one of the most artistic and

effective triumphs of the jeweller's art that I have ever seen. Upon

her eight fingers she wore twenty-six rings. She carried on her left

lower arm a row of many bracelets, mainly of silver, but with here and

there a band of lacquer, either green or red or yellow. Upon her left

upper arm she displayed a circlet of links carved into the shape of

musk-melons, each the size of a nutmeg. From this fell three chains,

each five inches long, and terminated with a tassel of silver. Upon her

right arm she had also many bracelets. Finally, upon her neck was a

chain of silver, of such length that, after it had been coiled several

times round her throat, sufficient remained to fall in a double loop

upon her bosom, where a heart-shaped silver charm finished both it and

her scheme of display."

Another writer gives a sketch of a Rajput dandy which forms a good

companion picture to the above: "A long-skirted tunic or frock of white

muslin, close-fitting white trousers, and a rose-coloured turban with a

broad band of gold lace and tall flashing plume of dark heron feathers

and gold filigree were the salient points. Other accessories were the

sword-belt, crossing his breast and encircling his waist, of dark green

velvet, richly worked with pure gold, and thickly studded with emeralds,

rubies, and brilliants; a transparent yellow shield of rhinoceros hide,

with knobs of black-and-gold enamel; a sash of stiff gold lace, with a

crimson thread running through the gold; bracelets of the dainty

workmanship known as Jeypore enamel, thickly jewelled, which he wore on

his wrists and arms; and there were strings of dull, uncut stones about

his neck. The skirts of his tunic were pleated with many folds and stood

stiffly out, and when he mounted his horse a servant on each side held

them so that they might not be crushed.

"The trappings of the horse were scarcely less elaborate. His neck was

covered on one side with silver plates, and his mane, which hung on the

other side, was braided, and lengthened by black fringes, relieved by

silver ornaments. White yaks' tails hung from beneath the embroidered

saddle-cover on both sides, and his head, encased in a headstall of

white enamelled leather and silver, topped with tall aigrettes, was tied

down by an embroidered scarf to give his neck the requisite curve."

The streets through which these gay figures move are worthy of them.

Hardly two houses are alike, but all are beautiful in "this shining

white pearl among cities." No building is bare. Its front is decorated

with half-columns, carved panels, or frescoes in brilliant colours,

picturing horses, elephants, and tigers in pursuit of their prey.

Balconies and projecting windows are faced with panels of stonework so

delicately carved and fretted as to resemble lacework, and in the most

beautiful and graceful patterns. And everything is white, glittering

white, under a clear, glowing sky, and set beside a great lake as blue

as a great sheet of turquoise.

Along the streets flows a most mingled crowd, clad in all the hues of

the rainbow, and through this brilliant throng all kinds of beasts of

burden thread their way. The mighty elephant, rolling along with his

ponderous tread, is followed by a tiny ass no bigger than a large dog.

Oxen just as small as the asses, and long-legged camels with great loads

on their humped backs, come and go, and people on balconies lean over

the parapets and gaze idly on the busy scene.

The most striking thing in Udaipur is the vast palace of the native

Prince. The most beautiful things are the two lovely water palaces

which stand on islands in the lake.

The former is entered by a fine triple-arched gateway. "Above this

gateway soars the great white fabric, airy, unreal, and fantastic as a

dream, stretching away in a seemingly endless prospective of latticed

cupolas, domes, turrets, and jutting oriel windows, rising tier above

tier, at a dizzy height from the ground. A single date-tree spreads its

branches above the walls of the topmost court, at the very apex of the

pile."

From the foot of the ridge on which stands this glittering pile of

splendid masonry the dark blue lake stretches away, its surface broken

by two islands, each of which is occupied by a water palace of wonderful

beauty. Here one may roam through miles of courts, saloons, corridors,

pavilions, balconies, terraces, a fairyland of splendour, in which every

room, every gallery is decorated with the most exquisite art. And all

this has been wrought by the hand of man, not merely the marvellous

palaces, but the very lake itself. This site was once a desert valley,

but immense wealth and boundless power have filled the great hollow with

blue water, and littered its shores with temples and palaces and

pavilions, presenting a scene which, for charm of colour and beauty of

outline, can nowhere be surpassed.

*CHAPTER IV*

*IN THE PUNJAB*

Beyond the wide desert which stretches along the north-western border of

Rajputana lie the plains of the Punjab, running up to the foot-hills of

the Himalayas. The Punjab (the Land of Five Rivers), where the Indus and

its tributaries roll their waters to the Arabian Sea, is, above all and

beyond all, the battlefield of India. For it was upon these plains that

the onsets of invaders first fell. Greeks, Persians, Afghans--swarm

after swarm poured through the only vulnerable point of Northern India,

and fought out on the plains of the Punjab the struggles which meant for

them victory or disastrous retreat.

[Illustration: A SIKH WARRIOR. _Page 17_.]

The last native rulers of the Punjab were the finest ones of all--the

Sikhs. The Sikhs, a nation of fanatics and heroes, fought the Moslems

for hundreds of years, and the prize was the rule of the Punjab. The

Sikhs won, and formed a barrier behind which India was safe from the

savage Moslem tribes of the north-west.

The Sikhs are a warrior race pure and simple. They make splendid

soldiers under white officers, and the fine Sikh regiments are the pride

of our native Indian army. They did not yield up the Punjab to British

rule without a stern struggle. They were noble foes, and they proved

noble friends. They accepted the British Raj once and for all. Within

ten years after their conquest the Indian Mutiny broke out. The Sikhs

stood firm, and aided the British with the utmost gallantry and

devotion.

The Sikh is a fine, tall, upstanding fellow, with an immense beard and a

huge coil of hair. This follows on his belief that it is impious either

to shave or to cut the hair. He holds tobacco in abhorrence, and

worships his Bible, which is called the Granth. In every Sikh temple

sits a priest reading in a loud voice from the Granth, while beside him

an attendant priest fans the holy book with a gilt-handled plume of

feathers.

The most famous Sikh temple is at Amritsar, the holy city of the Sikh

faith. Here is the Pool of Immortality, and in the midst of the lake

rises the Golden Temple, standing on an island. From the gates of the

city a throng of stalwart, bearded Sikh pilgrims sets always towards the

Golden Temple. You follow in their train, and come suddenly upon a wide

open space. It is bordered by a marble pavement, and within the

pavement lies the famous Lake of Immortality. The Golden Temple rises

before you, glittering with blinding radiance in the hot sunshine, and

mirrored in the smooth water which runs to the foot of its walls.

But you may not yet enter the sacred place and walk round the lake and

see the temple. At the gates you are stopped, and your boots taken from

you, and silken slippers tied on in their place. If you have tobacco in

your pockets that, too, must be handed over, and left till you return,

for tobacco would defile the holy place. Then you are led round by a

Sikh policeman, who will show you the temple and the hallowed ground.

The marble pavement around the sacred lake is dotted with groups of

priests and pilgrims, and behind the pavement stand palaces of marble,

owned by great Sikh chiefs who come here to worship. Here and there are

flower-sellers weaving long chains of roses and yellow jasmine to sell

to worshippers who wish to make offerings. A teacher with a little band

of students around him is seated beside the pool, and in a shady corner

is a native craftsman busy fashioning wooden spoons and combs, and other

trifles, which he sells as souvenirs of the shrine.

The Golden Temple itself is gained by a causeway across the lake, and

the causeway is entered through a magnificent portal with doors of

silver, and four open doors of chased silver give access to the

sanctuary itself. Here sits the high-priest reading the Granth, and

before the holy book is spread a cloth, upon which the faithful lay

offerings of coins or flowers.

From Amritsar, the holy city, to Lahore, the capital of the Punjab, is

only some thirty miles. Lahore is a large town of great importance as a

military station, and many troops are quartered in the grand old fort

built by the Mogul Kings. Some of the palaces which once filled this

ancient fortress still show traces of their former splendour. There are

sheets of striking tilework, with panels of elephants, horsemen, and

warriors worked in yellow upon a blue ground. There are marble walls

inlaid most beautifully with flowers formed of precious stones. But

many of the halls have been converted into barracks, and in spots where

once an Emperor smoked his jewelled "hubble-bubble," surrounded by a

glittering Court, Tommy Atkins, in khaki and putties, with his helmet on

the back of his head, now puffs calmly at a clay pipe.

Lahore has streets which display some of the finest wood-carving in

India. These streets lie within the city, the old part of the town,

enclosed by brick walls sixteen feet high, and entered by thirteen

gates. In one street every house has a balcony or jutting window of old

woodwork, carved into the most beautiful or fantastic designs, according

to the fancy of the owner who built and designed it long ago. The

balconies are of all sizes and shapes, and their line is delightfully

irregular. The walls, too, are painted and decorated lavishly, and

domed windows are adorned by gaily-tinted peacocks worked in wood or

stucco. The splendid woodwork, the shining beauty of paint and courses

of bricks richly glazed in red and blue, the gay crowd which throngs the

way--all these things combine to form a striking and splendid picture.

At the end of this marvellous street rise the tall minarets of the Great

Mosque, and close by is the fine tomb where lies Runjit Singh, the

greatest of the Sikh rulers. Under him the Sikhs rose to the height of

power in India; but a few years after his death, in 1839, the Punjab

passed into our hands.

*CHAPTER V*

*AMONG THE HIMALAYAS*

India is bounded and guarded on the north by one of the grandest

mountain-chains in the world. This is the mighty range of the

Himalayas, which stretches a row of lofty peaks from east to west, as if

to shut up India behind a gigantic wall.

There are very few points where this vast range can be crossed, and then

only with the greatest difficulty. The most famous pass of all lies in

the north-west, the well-known Khyber or Khaibar Pass leading into

Afghanistan. Through this pass invader after invader in age after age

has poured his troops into the fertile plains of Hindostan.

At this point Alexander the Great at the head of a Greek army crossed

the Indus and marched into India. To this day there are left in the land

tokens of that far-off raid. The Indian hakims, the native doctors,

practise the Greek system of medicine, and the influence of the invaders

is seen in old Indian coins which turn up with Greek inscriptions upon

them, in statues which are found in the soil, as full of Greek feeling

as any in Athens itself.

But it is now a task for British brains and hands to see to it that no

fresh invader swoops through the pass, and it is very strictly guarded.

In itself the pass presents many difficulties. The way lies through

tremendous ravines, beside which tower precipices of stupendous height,

and the road could easily be blocked and destroyed at many points. The

people who inhabit this region are also of a very savage and dangerous

character. They are called Afridis, and belong to wild hill-tribes, who

are always ready for a fray, all the more so if there is a little

plunder to be gained by it.

With these fierce and lawless people the British officers have come to

an arrangement: that for two days a week the Afridis themselves shall

furnish soldiers to guard the pass. For this duty an annual payment is

made, and thus the Khaibar Pass is quite safe on Tuesdays and Fridays.

On other days the traveller must look out for himself. He must keep a

wide eye open for the Zakka Khels, a notorious Afridi tribe. When a son

is born to a Zakka Khel woman she swings him over a hole in a wall,

saying, "Be a thief! be a thief!" And a thief he is to the end of his

days.

Among the Himalayas to the north-east of the Khyber Pass lies the

beautiful vale of Kashmir, or Cashmere (the Happy Valley). Cashmere is

a lofty plain, yet it is not a plateau, for you go down into it from

every side. It is so high that its climate is nearer to that of England

than any other part of India. The summer is like a fine English summer,

but a little hotter, and with more settled weather. In winter the snow

lies on the ground for two or three months, but about the end of

February the snow disappears, and the spring bursts out, and the vale

becomes beautiful with the tender green of growing crops and grass and a

profusion of most lovely flowers. The scenery is very fine. Around and

far off is the great wall of lofty mountains, which encompass the plain

with glittering slopes of eternal snow. The vale itself is dotted with

hamlets and villages, with fields waving with corn and rice, with

meadows, with orchards of mulberry- and walnut-trees, with forests of

giant plane-trees.

The capital is Srinagar, the City of Sun, whose many waterways winding

through the ancient city make it an Asiatic Venice. "The houses on the

banks are of many stories, most of them richly ornamented with carved

wood, while the sloping roofs of nearly all are overgrown with verdure.

The dome of one Hindoo temple was covered with long grass thickly

studded with scarlet poppies and yellow mustard. On all sides are to be

seen the remains of ancient temples and palaces, testifying to what a

magnificent city Srinagar must have been."

Moving east along the Himalayan slopes, the next point of interest is

the small town of Simla. This is important, not in itself, but as the

seat of government in the summer, when the Viceroy and his staff escape

to its cool heights from the burning plain 7,000 feet below. "By the

time the month of May is advancing the season for Simla has begun. The

Viceroy and his Government, with some of the official classes, have

arrived, and the world of Anglo-Indian fashion have assembled. Social

gatherings on the greensward underneath the rocks, overshadowed by the

fir, pine, and cedar, are of daily occurrence. The rich bloom of the

rhododendrons lends gorgeousness to the scene.

"The place is like a gay Swiss city isolated on the mountain-top, with

dark ilex forests around it, blue hills beyond, and the horizon ever

whitened by the Snowy Range. But in this paradise, tempting the mind to

banish care and forget affairs of State, the most arduous business is

daily conducted. Red-liveried messengers are running to and fro all the

day and half the night. Tons of letters and dispatches come and go

daily. Here are gathered up the threads of an Empire. Hence issue the

orders affecting perhaps one-sixth of the human race."

In winter Simla is deserted. The Viceroy and his staff, the gay world

of fashion, all have gone back to the plains, and in severe weather the

little town often lies deep in snow.

Simla lies near the Siwalik Hills, one of the many foot-ranges which

lead up to the greater heights of the Himalayas, and the Siwalik Hills

are famous, because through them the sacred Ganges bursts out upon the

plains of Hindostan. It is at the city of Hard war that the Ganges

forces its bright blue stream through a wild gorge and leaves the

mountains for ever; and Hardwar is a holy place. The city lies in the

gorge beside the stream. It has one principal street running along the

river; the others mount the hill-side as steeply as staircases. Temples

and ghats line the bank, and hither come vast numbers of pilgrims to the

great annual fair of Hardwar to bathe in the holy river. At that time

the country round resembles a vast encampment, "and all the races,

faces, costumes, customs, and languages of the East, from Persia to

Siam, from Ceylon to Siberia, are represented."

*CHAPTER VI*

*AMONG THE HIMALAYAS (*_*continued*_*)*

But to see the Himalayas in all their majesty we must still keep our

faces to the east, and travel on towards the great central knot, where

Mount Everest and the Kanchanjanga spring nearly 30,000 feet, about five

and a half miles, towards the sky. Of these two mountain giants Mount

Everest, though the highest measured mountain in the world, presents the

less imposing appearance. This is because it lies so far in the

interior of the range, and is surrounded by a girdle of snowy peaks

which seem to gather about and protect their lord. They, however, block

the way for a complete view of the enormous height, and thus seem to

dwarf it.

[Illustration: THE GOLDEN TEMPLE, AMRITSAR. _Page 18_.]

For majestic splendour, Kanchanjanga bears away the palm. From the vale

of the great Ranjit River, a huge rushing torrent which pours past its

base, the whole immense mountain-slope may be surveyed in a single

prospect, a most sublime and splendid view. The traveller who climbs the

flanks of this great mountain will pass through belts of vegetation

reminding him of every zone on the earth's surface. He begins his climb

among the eternal green of tropical forests, through thickly-matted

jungle where large creepers bind tree to tree, and great bunches of

gaudily-coloured flowers blaze in the scorching heat of the tropical

sun.

From the land of palm and plantain and orchid he ascends through groves

of bamboo, of orange, and of fig until he gains a height at which the

air is sensibly cooler, and the vegetation of temperate zones begins to

appear. On the border between the two zones grow splendid tree-ferns,

rhododendrons forty feet high, and groves of magnolia. When the two

latter are in blossom the scene is gorgeous, and the white flowers of

the magnolia seem to sprinkle the forests with snow.

The trees are now those familiar to English eyes: the oak, chestnut,

willow, cherry, and beneath them grow the bramble, raspberry,

strawberry, and other well-remembered plants and shrubs. Deep ravines

score the flanks of the hills, and down each ravine dashes a brimming

torrent, tossing its spray over ferns and wild-flowers, and butterflies

with wings of the most striking and beautiful colours flit to and fro in

the sunlight.

On goes the traveller, and now the underwood begins to thin, and the

land becomes more grassy, and the trees to gather themselves into

serried ranks of gigantic pines, firs, junipers, and larches. Up and up

he climbs, and at last the belt of forest is left behind. He is out on

the upper pastures beneath the open sky; he has gained the Alpine region

of the Himalayas. Fields of flowers run upwards--of poppies, of

edelweiss, of gentians--until at length the traveller stands at the foot

of the first snow-field, and sees above him the vast sweeps of snowy

glacier, the icy precipices and pinnacles which forbid his further

advance.

We are now in the neighbourhood of the pass through which our troops

marched into Tibet in the advance to Lhassa. The pass is approached

from Darjiling, famous as a tea-growing centre, and Darjiling is

approached by a mountain-railway. The latter is a triumph of

engineering, so cleverly does it twist and turn its way among the hills,

skirting the edge of deep precipices, winding round spirals, and

affording splendid views at almost every turn of the way.

At the point where the railway starts for Darjiling the Himalayas spring

up abruptly from the Indian plains. The first station is some 300 miles

from Calcutta and the sea, yet less than 400 feet from sea-level. Then

in less than 40 miles it climbs some 7,000 feet up to Darjiling.

This town is not only a great centre of the tea industry, but is also

one of the show places of the world, for it commands the grandest known

landscape of snowy mountains in the Himalayas. Kanchanjanga is the

chief figure in the glorious panorama of snow-clad heights, but Everest

can be seen in the distance, and a whole host of minor peaks, each

taller than Mont Blanc, carry the eye from point to point in the

widespread survey.

At Darjiling may be seen many Tibetans with their praying-wheels, which

they twist as they repeat their Buddhist prayers, and their

praying-flags, long poles of bamboo from which flutter strips of cotton

cloth, on which prayers are written. The bazaar is frequented by the

people of the country round about, and many different types of the

hill-tribes may be seen there.

"There are Tibetans who have come down over the passes through Sikkim;

Lepchas, from Sikkim itself, who look almost like Chinese, the women

wearing heavy ear ornaments, and both men and women parting the hair in

the middle and combing it down on either side; Bhutras, the women some

of them rather pretty, with necklaces, carrying a silver charm-case and

with large ear-rings, and the men with pigtails; Nepali women, with

enormous carved necklaces, head-dresses of silver, and nose ornaments,

which sometimes hang down over the chin; and coolies carrying great

loads on their backs, supported by a wicker band across the forehead."

In the valley around Darjiling the slopes of the hills are covered with

tea-bushes, and the cultivation extends to the foot of the range, where

great tea-plantations stretch over the Terai. The Terai is the name

given to a broad strip of land lying along the base of the Himalayas.

Here the tea-plant flourishes, but so does a terrible wasting fever,

which makes the growing of these precious leaves a dangerous task. For

the Terai is fearfully unhealthy. Down from the broad flanks of the

great range rush a thousand torrents. They overflow their banks and

soak the whole country until it is a huge swamp. Then there is a very

heavy rainfall, amounting to 120 inches in a year, and this further

saturates the sodden ground. The tropical sun beats upon this marshy

land and raises a thick vapour which is laden with malaria. Those who

live and work among this vapour are liable to be struck down by a

wasting fever. The fever is very deadly to Europeans, nor do the

natives themselves escape. The coolies who work in the tea-fields die

of it in large numbers.

At one time the natives used to fire the jungle regularly. This great

sweep of flame through the region did much towards purifying the air;

but firing the jungle is now forbidden, for fear of harming the

tea-bushes and the houses of the planters.

The sight of a tea-plantation is curious rather than pretty. The bushes

have no beauty: they stand in long, neat rows, and each bush is trimmed

to keep it low, broad, and flat. From a distance a tea-garden looks

like a great bed of huge cabbages. Among these bushes groups of

coolies, both men and women, are very busily at work, for there is

plenty to do, not merely in gathering the leaves, but in keeping the

bushes free from weeds, which would check and hinder their growth.

Under the burning sun and in the moist earth weeds spring up in great

profusion, and a plantation neglected for even a short time becomes

choked with them.

All the tea-bushes are not alike. Some are of a darker colour than the

rest, and the leaves are smaller. This is the China plant, while the

lighter-coloured bushes with larger leaves are the Assam strain. The

coolies at work among the plants are gaunt, thin, miserable-looking

figures. This is not to be wondered at when their occupation is

considered, exposing them as it does to attack after attack of the

terrible Terai fever. When the rains are very heavy they often have to

work knee-deep in water and mud beneath a burning sun, and this reduces

their strength to withstand the poisonous malaria.

When the coolies have filled their baskets with leaves, they carry them

up to the tea-factory. First, the leaves are weighed, to see how much

each coolie has plucked; then they are carried to the withering-house.

All the leaves are spread out on shallow canvas trays, and left all

night to wither. Next morning the leaves are put into the

rolling-machine, and after half an hour's rolling they come out in a

huge wet mass of leaf. This mass is broken up and spread out to dry on

trays, and left for some time to ferment. The process of fermentation

is carefully watched, for upon this the aroma of the tea will depend,

and the process must be checked at the right moment.

Of all the rooms in the tea-factory the fermenting-room is the most

pleasant to visit. It is filled with the most delightful fragrance.

Next, the tea is thrown into a machine, where it is dried by hot air,

and after that it enters a huge sieve, where the first rough division of

the crop is made into large and small leaves. The next sorting is by

hand, when nimble fingers swiftly pick out the finer sorts of tea.

After this final separation the tea is dried once more, and then taken

to the warehouse, where it is packed ready to go into the market.

*CHAPTER VII*

*THE GREAT PLAINS OF THE GANGES*

Beyond the Terai the traveller, turning his back upon the Himalayas,

enters a vast plain, hundreds of miles wide and a thousand miles long.

From Calcutta in the east to beyond Delhi in the north-west, from the

Himalayas in the north to the Vindhya Hills in the south spreads this

vast sweep of land, the Plain of Hindostan. Into this plain flow a

thousand streams, great and small, from the mountains which fringe its

borders. Every stream, sooner or later, is gathered into the broad bosom

of the Ganges, which winds its majestic current through the centre of

the immense level. The Ganges is more than the great river of India: it

is one of the great rivers of the world. To vast numbers of mankind it

is a sacred stream, and to bathe in its holy waters is a privilege for

which pilgrims will travel on foot from distant lands. But the mighty

flood is put to other uses than that of worship. A network of canals

gathers up the waters of itself and of its many tributaries, and spreads

them abroad upon the fields of the husbandman, and makes the plain

blossom into fertility.

To travel this plain reminds one of being at sea. On all hands it

stretches away absolutely flat, and fades away into a misty horizon,

save that at morning and evening the great snowy heights of the

Himalayas shine out, and fade away again in the light of the rising and

setting sun.

This great sunny plain swarms with life. It is covered with the

villages of the Indian peasants; it is coloured with the bright patches

of their crops, with green fields of paddy (rice), with golden wheat and

barley, with poppies white in flower, with yellow mustard, with lentils,

potatoes, castor-oil plants, and a score of other crops. These grow

freely where water is. Where water is not, the land stretches bare and

sterile, sand, stones, and rocks bleaching in the sun.

Here and there a group of trees proclaims a village. The palm and the

feathery bamboo mingle their foliage; the huge banyan-tree stretches

itself over the soil and sends down its long shoots, which strike it

into the soil and form supports to the parent branches. Around the

village pastures the herd of buffaloes, often watched by a small boy,

and a clumsy cart, with wheels formed of two circles of solid wood, and

drawn by two mild-eyed, hump-backed oxen, creaks by as it journeys

towards a neighbouring place.

The life of the villages in this plain is, as a rule, untouched by

modern ideas. They move upon the world-old ways which their fathers

followed. In many of them, far from the main river and the railway, a

white face is scarcely ever seen. There are great towns in the Ganges

basin, but these are only specks on the face of the mighty plain. The

Indian ryot knows nothing of them and goes on in his own way.