PART VII.

LAST DAYS OF TRAVEL.

September 30.—For the last fifteen days we have been living once more

the life of otium cum dignitate common to the travelling Englishman in

Cashmere. Basking in the sun, taking the daily row upon the river,

eating fruit, and buying trash in the city, have been our principal

occupations and amusements.

About the 20th of the month an English general officer arrived, and was

received with all honours, including a salute of heavy ordnance, which

was happily unattended with loss of life or limb. A dance and grand

review were also given in his honour; so that the arrival made quite a

stir, and came fairly under the head of an event in the valley. At the

review the Maharajah was decorated with unusual grandeur, and as he and

his guest rode down the line together—the latter in a plain blue frock,

and the other in all his cloth of gold and jewelled splendour—never

were simplicity and display more strikingly placed in contrast.

The general’s medals and crosses, however, appeared to have a greater

interest and importance in the Maharajah’s eyes than their intrinsic

value could have commanded for them, and, during the marching past of

“The Army,” he kept continually poking his finger at them, and pointing

them out to the courtiers who were gathered about his chair. The

general, at the same time, was employed in explaining how many

thousands the British Army consisted of, and how vastly superior it was

to all other armies whatever, not even making an exception (as I

thought he might fairly have done) in favour of the “Invincible

Forces,” then and there manfully throwing out their feet before him to

the martial strains of “Home, sweet Home!” After the last of the army

had marched past, the general, with an energy little appreciated by his

friends in cloth of gold, jumped up, and, begging permission to

manœuvre the troops himself, went off to throw the unfortunate colonel

commanding into a state of extreme consternation, and to frighten the

few English words of command he was possessed of, fairly out of his

head.

In the early mornings my chief amusement had been to watch the colonel

in question preparing both himself and his troops for the approaching

spectacle, and very sensibly he went through the performance. He was

arrayed on these occasions in the full dress of a green velvet

dressing-gown, worn in the style affected by the ferocious ruffian in

small theatres, and, in place of a bugler, was accompanied by a

pipe-bearer. This aide followed him over the battle-field, wherever the

exigencies of the service required, and supplied him with whiffs of the

fragrant weed to compose his nerves at intervals during the action.

Their united efforts, however, although slightly irregular in

appearance, were attended with full success, for, with the help of ten

rounds of ammunition, the troops, even when handed over to the tender

mercies of the “Foreign General” got through their ordeal very

creditably; and, as they shot nobody, and did nothing more irregular

than losing their shoes upon the field, the event passed off smoothly

and pleasantly, and to the satisfaction of all concerned.

Here we met an old Sikh acquaintance of the road, who informed me that

he had taken service under the Maharajah. Next day he paid us a visit,

by appointment, and expressed himself highly delighted with his

entertainment; smoking and drinking, however, not being lawful in

society to the Sikhs, we could do but little in the character of hosts,

beyond letting him talk away to his heart’s content, and with as little

interruption as possible. He told us his entire life and history, in

the worst of English, and we affected to understand the whole of the

narration, which, perhaps, was as much as any host could have been

called upon to do under the circumstances. The old gentleman’s dress

was extremely gorgeous, and contrasted rather strongly with our own

woollen shooting-jackets and general exterior. He wore a turban of

purest white, entwined in endless folds round a light green skull-cap;

his waistcoat was of green velvet, embroidered, and richly bordered

with gold. His pyjamas—striped silk of the brightest hue—fitted his

little legs as tightly as needle and thread could make them, and his

lady-like feet were encased in cotton socks and gold embroidered

slippers. Over all this he wore a green and gold silk scarf of

voluminous proportions, and of that comprehensive character which an

Eastern scarf, and in Eastern hands, alone is capable of assuming.

Round his wrists were massive gold bracelets, but of other trinkets he

had few; and the enormous ear-rings, so usually worn by his race, were

not among them. His long grey beard and almost white moustache were,

perhaps, the only ornaments his fine old head required. The last time I

had seen him, he was arrayed entirely in scarlet and gold, and he had,

no doubt, a large reserve of dresses and jewellery; but, in spite of

his tinsel and gilding, he appeared a perfect little Eastern gentleman,

and the only one I had met as yet in our travels. After expressing a

great desire to open a correspondence with us, which, considering the

small number of topics we possessed in common, was rather a strange

wish, the old gentleman and his retinue took their leave, and we had

seen the last of Beer Singh Bahadûr and his glorious apparel.

October 1.—Busily employed to-day in packing away our possessions, and

making final arrangements for again taking the road.

Paid a visit to Saifula Baba, the shawl merchant, whose dignity was

considerably upset by a cold in his head, and bought a few specimens of

his trade, though not sufficient to raise his spirits entirely above

the influenza. The approaching winter, and the evacuation of the

territory by the principal rupee-spending community, seemed a source of

great unhappiness to the sun and silver-loving natives.

Their houses seem but badly adapted to keep out cold, and their efforts

at heating them are frequently attended by the burning down of a whole

nest of their wooden habitations.

Their chief means of artificial warmth seems to be an earthenware jar

covered with basket-work, which each native possesses and carries about

with him wherever he goes.

This, which is called a Kangree, is filled with charcoal, and, as the

Cashmeerians squat down upon the ground, they tuck it under their long

clothes, where, until they again rise, it remains hidden from sight,

and forms a hot-air chamber under their garments. [32] Among other

artists I discovered a native painter, rather an uncommon trade in

these parts, from whom I obtained some original designs, illustrating,

with uncommon brilliancy, the very common ceremonies of Hindoo and

Mahomedan Shadees, or marriage processions, and other manners and

customs of native life.

After getting together everything we required for the road, and

clearing out the whole of our possessions, much to the inconvenience of

several large standing armies of fleas, we finally took our departure

in two boats, manned by twelve boatmen, and started for Baramoula, on

the road to Muree and the plains.

October 2.—After making but little progress during the night, we

discovered in the morning that our boats were rather too large for the

river, in its present weakly and reduced state. Every ten minutes we

found ourselves aground upon the sand and mud, and the cooking boat

behind us followed our example, while the river ahead showed no

prospect whatever of deepening. The Manjees, under the circumstances

performed wonders in the nautical manœuvring line. Jumping overboard

incessantly, they called upon Peer Dustgeer, their favourite patron

saint, to aid them in their difficulties, and shrieked and screamed

till the whole place resounded with their cries.

Sometimes the saints were stony-hearted, probably not being in a humour

to be shouted at, and then the entire body of silky-skinned darkies

would set to work, laughing and shouting, to clear away the bar of

sand. Their paddles forming in this operation, very effective

substitutes for spades and shovels, with much difficulty we reached the

lake, and about nine o’clock arrived at Baramoula.

Here the river ceases to be navigable, and abandons itself for a short

time to irregular and wanton habits, before finally sowing its wild

mountain oats, and becoming the staid and sedate Jhelum of the Plains.

Unlike some rivers, the Jhelum contains more water in the middle of

summer than at other times. Its principal resources are the snows, and

these mighty masses are so wrapped up in their own frigid magnificence

that it requires a good deal of warm persuasion from the sun to melt

their icy hearts to tears.

October 3.—Took the road once more, and started for Muree. Our train

was increased by a couple of volunteer native travellers, who were glad

of our society in order that they might get clear of the Maharajah’s

dominions with as little questioning as possible. Our coolies numbered

twenty-six, so that altogether our forces now reached to thirty-eight.

After a fine march, we halted at Nowshera, where the dashing river

afforded us an exciting swim before breakfast. Coming out of the water,

however, I had the ill luck to slip upon a treacherous rock, and,

falling heavily on my side, and so over into the rapid stream, had some

difficulty in fishing myself out again, and was very near taking an

unpleasantly short cut to the Plains. In the evening, when the cook

came to inspect the larder for dinner, it was discovered, that, with an

unusual want of presence of mind, a newly-killed sheep had been left by

mistake in the boats for the benefit of the already overpaid boatmen.

This was the third animal we had lost, from various causes, during our

travels, and the mishap most seriously affected the success of our

dinner arrangements for the day.

October 4.—Found great difficulty in getting up this morning after my

fall, and still more in walking three miles, which I had to do before

finding a pony. The view was beautiful the whole way; but we had been

so gorged with scenery of all sorts and kinds, that rugged passes,

shady dells, waterfalls, &c., however precious they may become in

future recollection, were almost thrown away upon us for the time

being. Breakfasted under the pine trees, near an ancient temple, and

halted at Uree, where there was a baraduree for travellers. Except,

however, to very dirty travellers indeed, it would be of little use.

While descending a very steep part of the road, my saddle suddenly

slipped over the pony’s round little carcase on to his neck, and,

nolens volens, I came to the ground, the pony remaining in a position

very nearly perpendicular, with his tail towards the heavens and his

head between my legs, in which predicament he luckily remained

perfectly quiet, until the bhistie, coming up behind, set us both on

our proper extremities once more.

October 5.—Started for Chukothee, and thinking, in an evil moment, to

walk off the effects of my late mishap, I essayed the fifteen miles on

foot.

Long before reaching half way, however, I began to look about for

anything in the shape of a pony, that might appear in sight; but, none

being forthcoming, I was obliged to finish as I had begun, and at last

reached our destination, a snug little village, buried in fields of

yellow rice upon the hill-side. On the way, I fell in with a fine old

Mussulman Zemindar, trudging along on his return to Delhi, from paying

a visit to Sirinugger.

Being an unusually talkative old gentleman, we fraternized by the way,

and he told me that he had been to see the civil commissioner of his

district, now acting as commissioner in the valley, to make his salaam,

relative to a “jageer,” or Government grant of certain villages to the

amount of some three thousand rupees per annum, which he had succeeded

in obtaining on account of his loyalty during the recent mutiny.

Of this three thousand rupees, it appeared that only one thousand would

come into his own pocket, the remainder being payable as rent, &c. to

Government.

His son had also a jageer of twelve thousand rupees, so that both he

and his family were loyal and well to do in the world. His ideas of

Cashmere were rather amusing. He appeared to think it a miserable spot

enough, compared to his own land, and the only advantage he could hit

upon, was, in my estimation, quite the reverse, viz: that Sirinugger

was very hot in the middle of summer.

The rice he had a supreme contempt for. It was not to be compared with

the Indian rice, and the Cashmeeries he pooh-poohed, as being no judges

whatever of its qualities, and, in fact; not fit to eat rice at all. He

seemed quite unable to understand my walking when I could ride; or,

indeed, why I should leave such a charming country as India to be

uncomfortable in Cashmere, without even having any jageer business to

transact as an excuse.

Our coolies, being an unusually miserable crew, we got breakfast about

two P.M. To-day our tent lamp finished its erratic life, according to

the Dhobie’s account, by self-destruction! That good for nothing piece

of charcoal had, however, doubtless dashed the solid cut-glass globe,

which formed the chief glory of the instrument, against a rock, while

thinking of his hubble bubble, and his little blackamoors at home.

The lamp had got over all the difficulties of the road from Lahore to

Ladak and back, and had been quite a peep-show to half the natives of

Thibet, who were never tired of regarding their multiplied countenances

in the numerous cut circles of the glass shade, so that we felt quite

grieved at its melancholy loss. Our water bottle also to-day finished

its existence, and the table came into camp a bundle of sticks; so that

everything seemed to betoken the approaching dissolution of the

expedition. The farm-yard consists of five ducks, all strangers, and a

pet sheep, and the khiltas look haggard and dilapidated in the extreme.

The musical cock, alone, of old friends still survives, but he appears

in weak health, and his constitution is evidently undermined by the

changes of climate it has undergone. We were here worried by a party of

strolling mountebanks from the Punjab, who persisted in horrifying us

by making two young girls and three boys, all apparently entirely

destitute of bones, stand upon their heads, and go through similar

performances on the grass. The girl actually pattered a measure with

her feet upon the back of her head, and the proprietors seemed utterly

unable to account for our apathetic disregard of so extremely talented

and interesting a performance.

October 6.—Left for Hutteian, about fifteen miles off. Ponies being

scarce, I had to walk part of the way; but the sepoy, pitching by

chance upon our friends, the Punjabees, triumphantly carried off a

stout little animal of theirs for my use. Before mounting, however, I

was mobbed by the tumbling family, en masse, who went on their knees in

their solicitations to be exempt from the seizure of their property.

Finding me obdurate in retaining the pony at a fair valuation, with

“the army” to bear me out, they proceeded to diplomatic measures to

gain their end. First, a very small child, choosing a stony place in

the path, suddenly stood upon her head, and proceeded to form black

knots with her body. Finding that this only caused me to threaten her

father with a stick, they produced a blind girl, who threw herself half

naked at my feet and cried by order. The poor creature had lost her

sight by the small-pox, and I had remarked her the day before patiently

toiling over rocks and broken paths with one little child in her arms,

and another half leading, half obstructing her, endeavouring to guide

her footsteps down the rocks. She, however, got no immediate benefit

from the pony of contention; so, giving her some money to console her

in her forced misery, I still remained inexorable. After this, the

encampment broke up, with all its pots and pans, cows and fowl, &c. and

took to the road, leaving me in undisturbed possession of my new

conveyance. The weather began to astonish us a little to-day, by a

renewed accession of October heat. Still the climate was delightful.

Morning and evenings always cool, and sometimes cold, and a bright

cheery blue invariably over head, while a refreshing breeze made music

through the pine trees, and waved the golden ears of rice.

Encamped under a spreading sycamore, at the junction of two mountain

streams. To-day a new order of bridge appeared, consisting merely of a

single rope, the passengers being tugged across in a basket. From its

appearance it was rather a matter of congratulation that we were not

called upon to cross it.

October 7.—Being Sunday, we made a halt, and enjoyed a refreshing bathe

in the stream, and a rest from the toils of the road.

October 8.—Left “Hutteian,” and, winding along the valley, arrived, by

a steep ascent, at Chukar, a little village boasting a fort and a small

nest of Sepoys. It also owned a curiously dirty, and consequently

saintly Fukeer, whom we found sitting bolt upright, newly decorated

with ashes, and with an extremely florid collection of bulls, demons,

&c. painted about the den he occupied. On the road I again picked up

the old Mussulman, who seemed delighted to chat, and gave me an account

of the part he had played in the mutiny.

He appeared frequently to have warned his Commissioner that an outbreak

was about to take place, but without his crediting the story; and when

it actually did occur, the latter fled from his station at Lahore, and

took shelter with a friendly Risaldar until the storm should blow over.

From thence he sent for the old gentleman, my informant, and “Imam

Buksh” forthwith mounted his camel and came with five and twenty armed

followers to his assistance. While here, a party of rebels came

searching for English, and Mr. Buksh narrated how he went forth to meet

them, and proclaimed, that they might kill the Englishman if they

would, but must first dispose not only of himself, but also of his five

and twenty followers. Upon this they abused him, and asked him, “What

sort of a Mussulman he called himself?” and denounced him as a

“Feringee,” or foreigner.

The rebels, however, finally went off, and the Commissioner and his

family, by Imam Buksh’s further assistance, succeeded in escaping all

the dangers of the times. For this service it was that the old

gentleman had just received his jageer of two villages, now some years

after the occurrence of the events.

He appeared to think very little of the Maharajah’s rule, and was of

opinion that the people were miserably oppressed, paying, by his

account, two thirds of the produce of their lands to the Government.

This was in kind, but, where the revenue was taken in coin, a produce

of about fourteen pounds of grain was subject to a tax of two rupees.

On the subject of the cause of the mutiny in India, he said that

greased cartridges certainly had nothing to do with it; for the rest,

why, “It was the will of God, and so it happened.” To induce him to

argue on the possibility of the mutiny having been successful, I found

to be out of the question. “It was the power of God which had prevented

the rebels from gaining over us, and, in the name of the Holy Prophet

and the twelve Imams, how then could it have been otherwise?” As to the

probability, however, of there being another mutiny, he admitted that

he thought there would be one, but that, as long as we maintained

justice, no other power could hold the country against us. On my asking

him if we did not maintain justice in the land, he said no, and adduced

the fact that in every case brought before the courts an enormous

amount of bribery goes on among the Rishtidars, and other

understrappers, whereby the man with most money wins his cause. No

Englishman, he thought, could take a bribe, but he seemed to be under

the impression that those in authority were aware of the system being

carried on by those beneath them. He admitted that he knew of one

native who would not take a bribe! and dwelt largely on the subject, as

if it were a wonderful fact, which I have no doubt it was.

In the evening we presented Mr. Imam Buksh with some of our sheep,

which delighted his heart immensely, and he spent the entire evening in

cooking and eating it, together with a perfect mountain of chupatties,

which he manufactured with great care and deliberation.

October 9.—Left our camp very early, and had a sharp ascent up the

mountains. A considerable descent again, brought us to the village of

Mehra, where we pitched our tents, once more within sight of the

territories of India.

October 10.—Marched into Dunna, our last halting-place in Cashmere. It

is situated nearly at the summit of the frontier range of hills, and

commanded a most extensive view of the mountains of Cashmere and Cabul,

besides those on the Indian side.

October 11.—Took a last fond glance towards “the valley,” and descended

by a very steep and difficult path to the river Jhelum, which forms the

boundary between the two territories. Here a couple of queerly-shaped,

rudely-constructed boats, with two huge oars apiece, one astern and one

at the side, formed the traveller’s flying bridge. Into one of these

the whole of our possessions and coolies, &c. were stowed, and we

commenced the passage of the stream.

This we managed by, in the first instance, coasting up the bank for

several hundred yards, and then striking boldly into the current; and

it was amusing to see our well-crammed boat suddenly drawn into the

rapid stream and whisked and whirled about like a straw, while a nice

calculation on the part of the skipper, and a good deal of rowing and

shouting on that of the sailors, enabled us to touch the opposite shore

not very far below the point from which we had started. One last

lingering look at Cashmerian ground, a step over the side, and we were

once more standing upon the territories of Queen Victoria, and in the

burning land of India—happily, however, still six days’ journey from

the Plains.

October 12.—Marched up the spur of the Muree Hill to Dewul, where we

found a room in a mud fort converted into a halting-place for

travellers, reached by a series of break-neck ladders, and looking very

much like a cell in a prison, with its two chairs and clumsy wooden

table. Here we found a little amusement in the arrival of the Chota

Sahib, or “small gentleman,”—otherwise the Assistant Civil Commissioner

of the district,—to review the fort and its dependencies. On the first

tidings of his approach, the Thanadar immediately turned out the entire

garrison, consisting of twelve military policemen, called “Burqundaz,”

or “Flashers of lightning!” These soon appeared in their full dress of

crimson turbans and yellow tights, and, shouldering their

“flint-locks,” proceeded to perform a series of intricate evolutions,

by way of practice for the rapidly-approaching inspection. When the

great little man did arrive, there was, we thought, a good deal of

irregularity among the troops, such as laughing in the ranks and

treading on toes, &c. However, the only point the inspecting officer

dwelt upon was the absence of uniformity in dress, caused by the

deficiency of two pairs of yellow tights among the lightning flashers,

otherwise he appeared perfectly satisfied, and all went off well. After

his review he invited himself to our dinner-party, and honoured our

repast with the further addition of a kid stew. He turned out to be one

of the ex-Company’s officers, a subaltern of eighteen years’ service,

fifteen of which had been spent away from his regiment on the staff. He

was with his corps, however, when it mutinied, and escaped without much

difficulty. The unfortunate colonel of the regiment, finding that none

of his men would shoot him, had done so with his own hand. He gave it

as his opinion that the cartridges were the cause of the mutiny; but

allowed that his regiment was in a bad state of discipline some time

before, and that all the native corps were known to be disaffected

years before the event occurred, both by the officers present and those

absent upon staff employ. Altogether, after the Chota Sahib had

thoroughly discussed both the mutiny and the dinner, we were left under

the impression that there was quite sufficient cause for the

disaffection of the Bengal army without ever arriving at the vexed

question of greased cartridges at all.

October 13.—Marched early into the Hill Station of Muree. Not being yet

quite in walking trim, I had pressed a mule into the service, who

carried me in good style as far as the entrance to the town. Here,

however, he seemed suddenly to remember that we had each a character to

support, and, stopping short, he utterly refused to budge another step.

Not being willing even to be led, I finally abandoned him to his own

devices, and walked on to the Commandant’s bungalow, where I found my

companion already hospitably received, and comfortably seated at

breakfast, discussing kidneys and beefsteaks, and such like unwonted

delicacies of the Muree season.

After getting somewhat over the novelty and discomfort of being again

in a house with doors and glass windows, and other inconveniences, we

sallied out to inspect the station.

Like its confrères of the Hills—Simla, Kussowlie, &c. Muree was a

prettily-situated little settlement, with houses scattered about

entirely according to the freaks and fancies of the owners, and with

utter disregard of all system whatever. The Mall was a fine one, and

its gaily-dressed frequenters, in jhampans and palkees, &c. were of the

unmistakeable stamp of Anglo India in the Hills. Two or three of the

ladies, however, were bold enough to walk, and looked none the worse

for being divorced from their almost inseparable vehicles, and

unattended by their motley crowd of red, and green, and variegated

bearers.

October 14.—Spent a quiet day among the hospitalities of Muree, and

became gradually accustomed to city life. Going to church seemed rather

a strange process, and the building itself was but a bad exchange for

the grander temples which we had frequented for so many Sundays.

October 15.—Laid our dak by doolie to Lahore, and, with our hospitable

entertainer to guide us, started at five P.M. by a short cut, to meet

our new conveyances.

Reaching the main road, we once more packed ourselves away in our

boxes, and, the sun soon setting his last for us upon the Cashmere

mountains, left us to make our way down to the miserable plains as fast

as the flaring and spluttering light of a couple of pine torches would

allow our bearers to patter along.

From this, until we reach Lahore, we are accompanied by an incessant

shuffle shuffle of naked feet through the dusty road; jabbering and

shouting of blacks, flickering of torches, bumping of patched and

straining doolies against mounds of earth, glimpses of shining naked

bodies, streaming with perspiration, as they flit about, and the whole

enveloped in dense and suffocating clouds of dust, which penetrate

everything and everywhere, and soon become, in fact, a part of one’s

living breathing existence; occasionally, outstripping our procession,

a vision passes, like the glimmer of a white strip of linen, a stick,

and a black and polished body, it rushes by like the wind, and

disappears in the gloom of dust and night, and, in a second, her

Majesty’s mail has passed us on the road! As we near the plains this

vision undergoes a slight change, and takes the form of an apparition

of two wild horses tearing away with a red and almost body-less cart;

this also goes by like a flash, but gives more notice of its coming,

and our torches, for a second, light up the figure of a wild huntsman,

with red and streaming turban, who sits behind the steeds and blows a

defiant blast at us as he also vanishes into the darkness. About seven

miles from Muree, we halted for dinner, and made renewed acquaintance

with that interesting object—the Indian roadside chicken.

October 16.—Arrived early at Rawul Pindee, and breakfasted at seven,

apparently off guttapercha and extract of sloe leaves. On again

immediately, and reached Gugerkhan bungalow at seven P.M. hot,

apoplectic, and saturated with dust.

The room smells thoroughly of the plains; an odour, as it were, of

punkhas, mosquitoes, and mustiness, not to be found elsewhere, and

entirely unexplainable to uninitiated sufferers.

The chicken, whose “fate had been accomplished,” died as we entered the

yard, and was on the table in the fashion of a warm spread eagle in

fifteen minutes! After this delicacy is duly discussed, the doolies are

emptied of dust, the bedding laid down, and jolt, jolt, creak, creak,

grunt, grunt, on we go again, until sleep good-naturedly comes to make

us oblivious of all things. The kahars, or bearers, however, take a

different view of life, and at every relief a crowd of sniggering

darkies assemble, on both sides, with applications for bukshish. At

first one hears, “Sahib, Sahib!” in a deprecating tone of voice,

mindful of sudden wakings of former Sahibs, sticks, and consequent sore

backs, then più forte, “Sahib!” crescendo, “Sahib, Sahib!” and then at

last, in a burst of harmony, “Sahib pûrana Baira kûtch bukshish mil

jawe?” [33] and the miserable doolie traveller, who has been, probably,

feigning sleep in sulky savageness for the last ten minutes, makes a

sudden dive through the curtains with a stick, an exclamation is heard

very like swearing, only in a foreign language, and the troop of

applicants vanish like a shot, keeping up, however, a yelping of

Sahibs, and Pûrana Bairas, and Bukshishs, until the new bearers get

fairly under weigh, and have carried their loads beyond hearing. None

but those who have been woken up in this manner from a comfortable

state of unconsciousness, to the full realities of doolie travelling in

Indian heat and dust, can form an idea of the trial it is to one’s

temper; and, from my own feelings, together with the sounds I hear from

my companion’s direction, I can testify as to the relief that the use

of foreign expletives affords under the affliction.

October 17.—Arrived at Jhelum about eight A.M. to all intents and

purposes dust inside and out. Flesh and blood can stand no more for the

present, and we resolve to halt here for the day. The weather appears

quite as hot as when we started, and the wind comes in, hot and dry,

and makes one feel like a herring of the reddest; while an infernal

punkha is creaking its monotonous tune, as it flaps to and fro in the

next room, making one again realize to the full, “the pleasures of the

plains.” We begin, in fact, to discover that the thorns which were not

forthcoming on the Cashmere roses are too surely to be found elsewhere.

October 18.—Reached Goojerat at cock-crow; thus completing a distinct

circle of travel through Bimber, Sirinugger, Ladak, Kushtwar, Muree,

and back to our present halting-place, from whence we had originally

branched off.

October 19.—A dusty night’s work brought us at two A.M. to Goojerwala.

Here we found that there was no bungalow between us and Lahore, and,

consequently, no chance of either a wash or breakfast should we go on;

we therefore chose loss of time in preference to loss of breakfast,

with the addition of a day under a broiling sun, and halted until the

authorities should awake to feed us.

October 20.—Reached Lahore before sunrise, and got our letters and

papers from the post once more. Afterwards we laid our dak for

Cawnpore, and made all arrangements for a start in the evening.

October 21.—Arrived at Umritsur about three A.M., and remained in our

coaches until sunrise, when we set off for a stroll through the city.

This we found the cleanest, if not the only clean, town we had seen

since landing in India. The streets were well drained and built, and

were guarded by a force of yellow-legged, red-turbaned Punjabee

policemen, who were provided, like their brother blue-bottles at home,

with staves and rattles instead of the more usual insignia of sword and

shield. The houses were almost all decorated, outside and in, with

grotesque mythological and other paintings, such as Vishnu annihilating

Rakshus, or demons of various kinds, or wonderful battle-pieces,

wherein pale-faced, unhealthy-looking people, in tailed coats and

cocked hats, might be seen performing prodigies of valour, assisted by

bearded and invincible Sikh warriors of ferocious exterior. The shops

were built with verandahs, and the piazza character of some of the

streets, in conjunction with the unusual cleanliness, gave one a very

agreeable impression of Umritsur and its municipal corporation, whoever

that body may be. The inhabitants are principally Sikhs, fine-looking

men generally, with long beards turned up at either side of their

faces, and knotted with their hair under the voluminous folds of their

turbans.

October 22.—Out at four A.M. to explore the great durbar, or

head-quarters of the Sikh religion in the Punjab. Entering through a

highly decorated archway in the kotwalee, or police station, we came

upon an enormous tank, with steps descending into the water on all

sides, and planted around with large and shady trees. In the centre of

this rose the temple of the Sikhs, a light-looking, richly-gilt

edifice, the lower part of which was constructed of inlaid stones upon

white marble. From this to one side of the tank, a broad causeway led,

decorated with handsome railings, and lamps of gilt-work upon marble

pedestals. Along this, crowds of people were passing to and fro,

arrayed in every possible variety of costume and colour. Sikhs,

Hindoos, Mussulmen—men, women, and children, crowded together like bees

in a hive. Round the edges of the tank were handsome buildings,

minarets, &c. with trees and gardens attached to them; and that,

towards the causeway, was divided in two by a fine and richly-decorated

archway, in the upper part of which a party of patriarchal old Sikhs

were squatted on their haunches, discoursing the affairs of the nation.

This whole scene opened upon our view at a glance. The sun had as yet

scarcely appeared over the horizon, and the reflection of its light

shone faintly upon the gold-work and ornaments of the central building,

tipping it and the lofty minarets with rosy light, whilst the rest of

the buildings remained shrouded in the morning haze. With the incessant

bustle of the thronging, brightly-vestured crowd, and the accompaniment

of the wild discordant tom-toming of a band of turbaned musicians, it

formed a scene which almost persuaded one to put once more confidence

in the brightly-coloured descriptions of the “Arabian Nights.” While

waiting for sun-rise, we ascended one of the minarets, from which we

had a curious bird’s-eye view of the tank and surrounding city at our

feet, while the plains lay stretching away before us; the horizon level

and unbroken, as if it bounded in the ocean. From this we had also a

private view of the manners and customs of the natives. Just below us

was an early morning scene in the life of a Sikh gentleman. He was

sitting up in his “four-leg,” on the open court of an upper story,

which formed his bed-room, while his attendants were offering him his

morning cup of coffee, and otherwise attending to his wants. In one

corner, another Sikh gentleman, with one arm, was having a brass vessel

of water poured over him, and a number of similar vessels stood upon a

sort of rack, ready for the master of the house to have his bath.

Scattered about the foot of the bed, which had a grandly decorated

canopy, was a deputation of white-robed Sikhs paying their morning

visit, or having an audience upon some matter of business. These by

degrees got up and went out, each making a profound salaam as he passed

the bed. One of them only, the old man called back, and with him, as he

sat upon the “four-leg,” he had a long and confidential talk. This

evidently was the medical adviser, and, judging by the dumb-show of the

interview which ensued, the Sikh, as evidently, was the victim of a

cold in his fine old nose, which he had doubtless caught from sleeping

in the open air. After this we repaired to the kotwallee again, and,

getting a pair of slippers in exchange for our boots, descended to the

durbar and mingled with the crowd.

Although we were inadmissible in boots, no objection whatever appeared

to be made to the entrance of Brahminee bulls; for we found a number of

them walking about the mosaic pavement with as much confidence and

impunity as if the place belonged to them.

In the building we found a collection of Sikh padres, or “gooroos,”

sitting behind a massive volume richly cased in cloth of gold and

silver, while squatted around under a canopy, were the Sikh faithful,

offering their presents of cowries, chupatties, balls of sweetmeats,

and showers of yellow and white necklaces of flowers. The book was the

original law of Gooroo Gurunth Sahib, which they had just finished

reading, and, as we entered, they were commencing to cover it up again,

which they did, with great pomp and ceremony, in a number of cloths of

various patterns, after which they distributed the votive offerings

among themselves and the people present, and held a sort of banquet

over the sweets and flowers. In the midst of the proceedings, a very

fine specimen of the race of Fukeer came in, and presenting an offering

of the smallest, laid his head upon the ground before the book, and,

without a word, took himself off again. He was girt round the loins

with a yellowish-red cloth; his body, from head to foot, was covered

with ashes. The hair of his head was matted together in strips, like

the tail of an uncared cow, and reached to his waist. A shallow earthen

pot was his hat, and over his shoulders hung two large gourds,

suspended by a cord, while in his hand he carried a long staff, covered

over with stuff of the same kind as that round his waist. Such was the

figure which entered among the gaily-dressed multitude in the saintly

durbar; and, although to the assembled people there appeared nothing

whatever either strange or unusual in the arrival, to us, who were

looking on, the contrast between the unclad dirty mendicant, and the

pure white vestments of the Sikhs around, rendered it a most striking

and remarkable apparition.

On entering, he had removed the earthen pot which formed his hat, and,

one of the two gourds which were round his shoulders having fallen to

the ground in the act, it was amusing to see him pause for a second,

and anxiously examine whether any compound fracture had taken place in

the precious article of his very limited dinner service. One extremity

of the building we found was occupied for Hindoo worship; so that

fraternity and equality, worthy of imitation seems to be the order of

the day among the religions of Umritsur. The interior was richly

decorated with gilding and mirrors, &c., but was little worthy of

remark in comparison with the richness of the exterior effect.

Presenting a “bukshish” to the expectant padres who guarded the sacred

book, we left them to their devotions, and betook ourselves once more

to our bungalow.

October 23.—Travelling all night, we reached Jullunder at six A.M.,

and, after breakfast, again started for Loodianah, where we dined. We

here again crossed the Sutlej, but, the water being low, boat

navigation was dispensed with, and a shaky bridge, and about two miles

of sandy river-bed, completed the passage.

At Loodianah we were stormed by a host of merchants, with pushmeena and

other soft matters, who were rather disappointed at finding we had come

from the birth-place of such like manufactures. Some of the local

shawls, however, or “Rampore chudders,” were beautifully fine and

delicate, and seemed worthy of inspection.

October 24.—Reached Umballa at eight A.M., and started again shortly

after. Our horses to-day were most miserable caricatures, and it was

with difficulty we managed to progress at all. The last stage was

accomplished at a walk; and what with this and the delay caused by a

couple of sandy river-beds, we only reached Kurnaul at ten P.M. The

miserable condition of the horses was accounted for by the enormously

high price of grain and the absence of grass, in consequence of the

want of rain. The general topic, in fact, is now the failure of the

rains, and consequent apprehensions of a famine throughout the land.

“Atar” is here eight seers the rupee, or in other words, flour sells at

one shilling and ninepence a stone—an enormous price in these parts.

October 25.—Sunrise found us still half-way to Delhi, and we stopped to

breakfast at the little bungalow of Ghureekulla. Here we found a fine

old Khansaman, who gave us an account of the incidents of the Mutiny

which came under his notice. He had received a flying party of two

hundred men, women, and children, who arrived at dead of night, some on

horses, some on foot, and all worn and haggard by their march from

Delhi, from which they had escaped. These he took care of, and supplied

with food until the following day, when they departed, without, by his

own account, giving him anything, either as pay or reward. He

afterwards assisted others also, and received about one hundred and

twenty rupees, one way or another, for his services. At present he

receives six rupees a month, with whatever he can pick up from

travellers; not a very large amount in the out-of-the-way little jungle

station of Ghureekulla.

October 26.—Passed through Delhi by moonlight, and reached the bungalow

at one A.M. At gun-fire we emerged from our locomotives, and went to

explore the king’s palace. In spite of the late lesson on the subject

of sepoys, we found the gates of the fort held entirely by native

guards, and a very small body of Europeans located within the walls.

After rambling through the place, and discovering that its only beauty

lay at present in its exterior, we went to the Jama Musjid, a fine

mosque of red granite, inlaid in parts with white marble. The cupolas,

of great size, were entirely marble, and the minarets, also of marble,

were closely inlaid. The place had been only recently handed over to

the Moslems after its late seizure, and was not as yet used for

worship. Ascending one of the minarets, we had a fine view of the city

of the Great Mogul dynasty, with its minarets and ornamented streets;

and in the distance we could discern the positions occupied by our

besieging force, when the last of the kings was brought so rudely to

the termination of his reign.

October 27.—Reached Koel, or Allyghur, at eight A.M. Started again at

five, stopping on the way to inspect the Jama Musjid, and a very fine

old tower, probably of Buddhist or Jain origin, which was covered over

with ancient inscriptions. Just as the Muezzin was calling to evening

prayer, we again resumed our monotonous order of travel, and branched

off towards Agra to visit the famous Taj Mahul.

October 28.—Reached Agra at two A.M., and finding the bungalow full,

had to go to the hotel. At sunrise we drove out to the Taj, and here, I

think, for the first time, we were not disappointed in the difference

between reality and description. The entrance to the gardens in which

the Taj is situated was beautiful in itself, but one sight of the main

building left no room for admiration of anything besides.

It is situated on the banks of the Jumna, with a fine view of the

magnificent fort, with its mosque and minarets, and is entirely of pure

white marble, inlaid with stones into shapes of flowers and arabesques,

&c. At each corner rises a white marble minaret, like a pillar of snow,

beautifully decorated and carved, but unsullied by a single line of any

other colour whatever. The interior is profusely inlaid with minute

stones of considerable value, and is lit by carved marble windows of

the most beautiful design imaginable. In the centre, surrounding the

tomb of Mûmtaz and her lord, is a marvellous white marble screen, in

the form of a polygon, carved like perforated ivory, and also inlaid

with minute stones of every shape and colour. [34] The queen, in whose

honour the tomb was built, occupies the very centre of the enclosure,

Shah Jehan’s tomb being on one side of it, and larger in size, which

rather spoils the symmetry of the space.

Exactly underneath the tombs, in the main body of the building, one

descends to a marble vault, where there are two others precisely

similar in shape, but without any inscription or ornament whatever, and

under these latter the mortal remains of the famous Shah Jehan and

Mûmtaz repose in peace. Over the queen’s tomb, in the very centre of

the interior, a single ostrich egg was suspended by an almost invisible

thread, probably to shadow forth something of the meaning of the

“Resurgam” affixed to monuments elsewhere. On either side, without the

mausoleum, are two buildings facing inwards, one of which is a mosque,

built in red granite and white marble; and the whole are profusely

ornamented with carvings in marble, which would take an age to examine

thoroughly, and which produce an effect quite incapable of being

adequately portrayed by either pen or pencil.

In one of these edifices, among the inlaid work and arabesques, and not

far from the mortal remains of the departed King and Queen, we found a

curious and interesting inscription, which seems to have been hitherto

unmentioned by the many travellers who have visited the sacred spot. It

was prominently placed and easily decipherable, being in unusually

large letters, and in that character which might be called the

“Uneiform,” of which so many valuable specimens exist in all parts of

the known globe.

It ran thus:—

IN MEMORY OF VALENTINE’S DAY.

The sentence appeared unfinished, and one or two words were probably

required to complete the sense, but from similar existing records there

could be no difficulty in filling in the missing syllables.

It was curious, however, to reflect what the feeling could have been

that stayed the writer’s hand, and prevented him from finishing his

graceful tribute to the mighty dead.

Mûmtaz, from whose name the word “Taj” is derived (the letter “z” being

incapable of being pronounced by many natives except as a “j”), was the

daughter of the famous Noor Jehan’s brother Asoph Khan. Shah Jehan

followed his queen in A.D. 1665, and was laid in the building which he

had himself originally designed in her honour alone.

With Noor Jehan and Jehangeer the case was reversed. The conqueror of

the world ended his career in A.D. 1627, and the partner of all his

Cashmerian wanderings, and many adventures, who wore no colour but

white after his death, finally rejoined him in a tomb which she had

raised to his memory at Lahore.

Having paid due homage to the beauty of the far-famed mausoleum, we

went to the Fort, and, after visiting the Ram Bagh, the Ikmam Dowlah,

and the various palaces built by Akbar Shah, once more took the road,

and were soon again galloping through the dust, morning bringing us to

the bungalow of Bewah. From this we again made for Ghoorsahagunge and

Cawnpore, and by rail to Allahabad, there completing a circuit of

travel extending to between two and three thousand miles:

“In heat and cold

We’d roved o’er many a hill and many a dale,

Through many a wood and many an open ground,

In sunshine and in shade, in wet and fair,

Thoughtful or blithe of heart as might befall

Our best companions, now the driving winds,

And now the trotting brooks and whispering trees,

And now the music of our own quick steps

With many a short-lived thought that passed between

And disappeared.”

And now but one day more remains of our six months’ leave. The 31st of

October sees us again fairly in the hands of the authorities. Brothers

in arms, who during our absence have been having “all work and no

play,” receive us with warm and disinterested welcome. The Q.M.G. is

hauled away in triumph by a swarm of fellow black-legs to glad the

squaw-like partner of his sooty bosom. The last remnants of the

expedition are fairly broken up, and already the days when we went

gipsying have passed away “a long time ago.”

ROUTE.

Miles. Miles. Miles.

Allahabad Vernagh 11 Peer 16

Cawnpore 120 Islamabad 15 Nowbogh 9

Ghoorsahagunge 72 Sirinugger by water Kukunath 10

Etawah 73 Gunberbull ,, ,, Atchabull 8

Kurga 72 Kungur 11 Islamabad 6

Delhi 51 Gundisursing 12 Sirinugger by water

Kurnaul 73 Soonamurg 14 Baramoula ,, ,,

Umballa 45 Foot of the Hills 9 Nowshera 8

Kalka 40 Pandras 24 Uree 15

Kussowlie 9 Dras 8 Chukothee 15

Simla 40 Tusgam 14 Hutteian 14

Hureepore 20 Chungun 12 Chukar 9

Kalka 29 Pushkoom 10 Mehra 6

Umballa 40 Waka 13 Dunna 6

Thikanmajura 36 Khurboo 10 Puttun 6

Jullundur 61 Lamieroo 12 Dewul 9

Umritsur 59 Nurila 16 Muree 11

Lahore 35 Suspul 14 Rawul Pindee 37

Gugerwalla 39 Egnemo 10 Gugerkhan 30

Goojerat 30 Ladak 18 Jhelum 37

Bimber 27 Chunga 18 Goojerat 31

Serai Saidabad 12 Hemis 2 Gugerwalla 30

Nowshera 11 Ladak 20 Lahore 39

Chungas 11 Pitok 4 Umritsur 35

Rajaori 12 Egnemo 14 Jullundur 59

Thanna 12 Suspul 10 Loodiana 32

Burrumgulla 11 Nurila 14 Umballa 71

Poshana 6 Lamieroo 16 Kurnaul 45

Peer Punjal 9 Khurboo 12 Ghureekulla 36

Poshana 9 Waka 10 Delhi 36

Aliabad 11 Pushkoom 13 Allyghur 79

Heerpore 13 Thambis 14 Agra 50

Shupayon 6 Sankoo 16 Bewah 82

Ramoon 9 Sooroo 12 Ghoorsahagunge 79

Sirinugger 14 Among the Mountains 11 Cawnpore 72

Wuler by water Ditto 14 Allahabad 120

Islamabad ,, ,, Sucknez 11

Atchabull 6 Bragnion 14

Parts of the country not having been at the time correctly mapped,

these distances are in some instances approximations only.

THE RELIGIONS OF CASHMERE AND THIBET.

During all our wanderings, whether in India, Cashmere, or Thibet, the

most striking feature throughout, was the outward display of religion

and the prominent part which religious forms of worship take in the

every-day life of the people. Monuments and temples everywhere bear

testimony to the universal belief in a Supreme Being; and Hindoo,

Mussulman, and Buddhist alike, by numberless prayers and frequent

offerings, confess their desire to propitiate His power and to

cultivate His favour.

Every little village has its “Musjid” or “Shiwala,” and everywhere, and

at all hours, votaries of the different sects may be seen, in the

fashion they have learnt from childhood, openly remembering, at least,

their Creator.

The naked Hindoo, with loosened scalp lock and otherwise closely-shaven

head, stands in running water, and with his face upturned to the sun

apostrophises the Divine Essence, whose qualities and attributes he has

alone been taught to recognise, through the numberless incarnations of

his degenerate creed. Five times a day the Mussulman kneels in open

adoration of his Maker, and, doffing his slippers, repeats, with

forehead to the ground, the formula laid down for him by the only

Prophet he has learnt to believe in. The Buddhist, too, mutters his “Ûm

mani panee” at every turn, and keeps his praying wheel in endless

motion, with entire confidence in its mystic virtues, and fullest faith

in the efficacy of those forms which he has thus been taught to follow

from his cradle.

Each worships after the fashion of his fathers before him, and each, by

the dim illumination of his own particular light, fancies himself upon

the true path, and is able plainly to perceive his neighbour groping in

the outer darkness.

Seeing all this, and turning in imagination to other lands, it is

curious to consider that the Church which possesses the only Lamp of

Truth, and who by the help of its light pronounces all these zealous

worshippers alike, to be but “Infidels and Turks,” and says to all, in

language not quite so polite as that of Touchstone, “Truly, shepherds,

ye are in a parlous state,” herself makes no such public demonstration

of her faith. To an Eastern infidel travelling in the West, she would

even appear, to outward eye, a tenfold greater infidel than her

neighbours. Except on one day in seven, he would seldom find a place of

public worship open to his gaze, while the Name which he himself has

learned to reverence to such a degree that every scrap of paper that

might chance to bear it, is sacred in his eyes, he might hear a

thousand times, and perhaps not once in adoration; and while it

commences every action of his own life he would there find it utterly

excluded from its accustomed place. Even the form of parting

salutation, which in almost all lands—Infidel and Heretical—greets him

in the name of God, would, in Protestant England, fall upon his ear

with no such signification. While the benighted Hindoo greets his

parting neighbour to the present day with “Khûda Hafiz”—God the

Preserver—the Englishman’s “Good-bye,” like well-worn coin, has changed

so much by use, that now, no stranger could discern in it any trace

whatever of the image with which it was originally stamped.

And although the comparison between the apparent creeds of East and

West is truly that between a very large proportion of faithful

professors of a false religion and, to outward eye, a similarly large

proportion of unfaithful followers of the true religion, it is

interesting to form some idea of the different systems which have

existed for so many ages, and which, though proved alike by reason and

revelation to be of human origin and unequal to the wants of human

nature, have yet maintained their influence to the present day, and

hold among their votaries still such zealous worshippers of an unknown

God.

The oldest of all these religions appears to be that of the Hindoos.

The Vedas, or Scriptures, date as far back as the Books of Moses, 1100

B.C.; and previously even to their then being committed to writing by

the Sage Vyasa, they are believed to have been preserved for ages by

tradition. The primary doctrine of the Vedas is the Unity of God. There

is, they say, “but one Deity, the Supreme Spirit, the Lord of the

Universe, whose work is the universe.” “Let as adore the supremacy of

that divine Sun, the Godhead, who illuminates all, who recreates all,

from whom all proceed, to whom all must return, whom we invoke to

direct our understandings aright in our progress towards His holy seat.

What the sun and light are to this world, that are the Supreme Good and

Truth to the intellectual and invisible universe; and as our corporeal

eyes have a distinct perception of objects enlightened by the sun, thus

our souls acquire certain knowledge by meditating on the light of truth

which emanates from the Being of beings; that is the light by which

alone our minds can be directed to the path of beatitude.”

Every Brahmin must pray at morning and evening twilight in some

unfrequented place, near pure water, and must bathe daily; he must also

daily perform five sacraments, viz., studying the Vedas, making

oblations to the manes of the departed, giving rice to living

creatures, and receiving guests with honour. As to the doctrine of a

future state, they believe in the transmigration of the soul, but that

between the different stages of existence it enjoys, according to merit

or demerit, years and years of happiness in some of the heavens, or

suffers torments of similar duration in some of the hells. The most

wicked, however, after being purged of their crimes by ages of

suffering, and by repeated transmigrations, may ascend in the scale of

being until they finally enter heaven and attain the highest reward of

all good, which is incorporation with the Divine Essence.

Like more enlightened systems of religion, the Hindoo faith has

degenerated from the purity originally inculcated. The Monotheism,

though still existing, has been almost smothered by a system of

innumerable incarnations; by means of which the attributes of an unseen

Deity were to be brought to the understandings of the ignorant; and, as

might be expected, the hidden symbol has been almost lost in the

tangible reality. The later Scriptures, or Pûranas, are believed to

have been compiled between the eighth and sixteenth centuries, A.D.;

and though still upholding the existence of a Supreme Being, by whom

all things are composed, they introduce a variety of incarnations and

divinities almost innumerable. Of these, the three principal are

Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva, representing respectively the creating,

preserving, and destroying principles; and their wives, Sereswutee,

Lukshmee, and Dewee. These latter are the active powers which develop

the principles represented by the triad. The divinity most commonly

portrayed however, though not publicly worshipped, is Gunesh. Almost

every dwelling has her effigy rudely painted over the entrance; and she

is invoked at the beginning of all undertakings, and is the remover of

all difficulties. Her peculiar appearance is accounted for by the fact

of her having been killed at an early period of life by Siva, who cut

off her head, and, afterwards relenting, replaced it with the first

that happened to come to hand, which turned out to be an elephant’s!

Gunesh was produced by the intense wishes of Dewee, and is now appealed

to at the commencement of almost every act in Hindoo life.

The following invocation to this “household god” will give some idea of

the position she holds in public estimation. It is taken from the “Prem

Sagur,” or Ocean of Love, a history of the life of Krishna, a son of

Vishnu, who, with Siva and Dewee, or Mahadewee, monopolises almost the

entire public respect and adoration:—

“Oh elephant-faced Deity, obviator of difficulties, of exalted fame

resplendent,

Grant as a boon, pure language, wisdom, and felicity may be much

promoted.

Thou on whose two celestial feet the world is gazing, worshipping

both day and night,

O mother of the universe, grant unto me, remembering thee, true

skill and utterance.”

The “Ocean of Love” gives a full account of the various incarnations of

Krishna, the favourite divinity of the Hindoos, and opens with the

scene of his birth. Kans, his uncle, has placed guards, in order that

the child may be killed at his first appearance, it having been

predicted that Kans himself is to fall by the hands of Krishna. The

Cashmerian artist—whose powers of colouring were his chief

recommendation—has depicted the moment when Vasadeo and Devakee, the

father and mother, viewing Krishna, with long-drawn sighs, both begin

to say, “If, by some means, we could send away this child, then it

would escape the guilty Kans.” Vasadeo says, “Without destiny none can

preserve him; the writing of Fate, that only will be accomplished.”

Destiny being propitious, the guards fall asleep upon their posts, as

shown in the accompanying design, and another child is substituted for

Krishna. He is afterwards brought up as a herdsman, and spends his

childhood among the milkmaids of Braj, upon whom he plays all sorts of

tricks. “One day the divine Krishna played upon the flute in the

forest, when, hearing the sound of the instrument, all the young women

of Braj arose in confusion, and hastened and assembled in one place.

The dark-blue Krishna, with body of the hue of clouds, stood in the

midst; and such was the beauty of the fair ones, as they sported, that

they resembled golden creepers growing from beneath a blue mountain!”

The description of the state of the world, on Krishna’s appearance, is

given by the saintly Shukadeo to King Parikshah—“O King, at the time of

the divine Krishna appearing, in the minds of all such joy arose, that

not even the name of grief remained. With joy the woods and groves

began to bear fruits and flowers, their verdure still increasing. The

rivers, streams, and lakes were filled with water, and upon them birds

of every kind were sporting; and, from city to city, from house to

house, from village to village, rejoicings were celebrated. The

Brahmins were performing sacrifice; the Regents of the ten divisions of

the horizon rejoiced. Clouds were moving over the circuit of Braj. The

deities, seated in their cars, rained down flowers; the holders of the

magic pill, the celestial musicians, and heavenly bards, continually

sounding drums, kettledrums, and pipes, were singing the praises of the

divine virtues; and, in one direction, Urvasee, and all the celestial

dancers, were dancing. In such a time, then, on Wednesday, the eighth

day of the dark half of the month Bhadon, at midnight, while the moon

was in the mansion of Rohanee, the divine Krishna was born, of the

colour of clouds, moon-faced and lotus-eyed, with a girdle of yellow

cloth passing round his loins, wearing a crown, and arrayed in a

necklace of five jewels, produced from the elements of nature, and with

ornaments set with gems, in a four-armed form, sustaining the shell,

the quoit, the mace, and the lotus he presented himself.”

Krishna afterwards espouses a fair lady, of the name of Rûkminee, and

the marriage is thus poetically described. Rûkminee has written a

letter, filled with love, and sent it by the hand of a Brahmin, to the

Root of Joy, Krishna:—“The Brahmin having arrived at Dûarika, perceives

that the town is in the midst of the ocean, and on the four sides of it

there are great mountains and woods and groves, which add beauty to the

scene. In these were various kinds of beasts and birds, and the limpid

lakes were filled with pure water, and lotus flowers were blooming,

upon which swarms upon swarms of black bees were humming. To the

distance of many miles orchards, containing an endless variety of fruit

and flowers, extended; along these enclosures betel gardens were

flourishing. The gardeners, standing at the wells, were singing with

sweet strains; and, working waterwheels and buckets, were irrigating

the high and low grounds.”

Beholding this beautiful scene, and being gladdened thereby, the

Brahmin, still advancing, beholds that “on four sides of the city are

very lofty ramparts, with four gateways, in which folding-doors, inlaid

with gold, are fixed, and, inside the city, houses of five and six

stories high, of silver and gold, adorned with jewels, so lofty as to

converse with the sky, are glittering. Their minarets and pinnacles are

gleaming like lightning, and banners and pennons of many colours are

fluttering. The warm fragrance of perfumes was issuing from windows,

air-holes, and lattices. At every door were placed pillars of the

plantain-tree, with fresh shoots, and golden vessels. Garlands and

wreathed flowers were festooned from house to house, and joyful music

was sounding. From place to place, the recital of the Pûranas and

discourse about Krishna was kept up. The eighteen classes were dwelling

in case and tranquillity.”

On hearing the Brahmin’s message, the warder says:—“‘Great sir, be

pleased to enter the palace; the divine Krishna reposes, in front of

you, on a throne.’ Krishna, descending, bows to him, and shows him much

respect, and those attentions which a man would show to his friend.

Having applied fragrant unguents, and caused him to be bathed and

washed, he partakes of food, possessing the six flavours. Afterwards he

gave him the betel leaf, made up with areca nut, spices, and chunam;

and having perfumed his body with saffron and sandal wood oil, and

arranged his dress, and put upon him a necklace of flowers, he

conducted him into a palace adorned with jewels, and caused him to

repose in a fair curtained bed, studded with gems.” After sleeping

profoundly, the Brahmin awakes, and relates his mission. Krishna goes

to claim his bride, and orders his charioteer, Darak, to prepare his

chariot. Darak quickly yokes four horses. Then the divine Krishna,

having ascended, and seated the Brahmin, departs from Dûarika to

Kundalpore. On coming forth from the city, behold! “on the right hand

herds upon herds of deer are moving, and in front, a lion and lioness,

carrying their prey, are advancing, roaring.”

Having seen this auspicious event, the Brahmin, having mentally

reflected, said, “Sire, from beholding, at this time, this good omen,

it appears to my mind that, just as these are advancing, having

accomplished their object, just so you will return, having effected

yours.” Arrived at Kundalpore, he finds preparations made for the

marriage:

“Swept were the streets, the crossings o’er-canopied, and with

perfumes sprinkled and sandal oil;

Clusters were formed of flowers of white and of red, and

interspersed with cocoa-nuts of gold.

The green foliage, fruits, and flowers, were in profusion, and from

house to house flowering wreaths.

Banners and pennons and flowers, in golden tissues, were suspended,

and well-fashioned vessels of gold

And in every house reigned joy!”

“As for Rûkminee, with agitated frame, she gazed in every direction, as

the moon is dimmed by the morn. Extreme anxiety showed in the heart of

the fair one; she gazed, standing in a lofty balcony; her frame was

agitated, her heart most sad; she drew deep sighs. While, through

distress, tears rain from her eyes, she says, “Why has not Krishna

arrived?” When the marriage-day dawns, she sends, by a Brahmin, to

Krishna: “Receptacle of favour,—When two hours of the day remain I

shall go to perform worship in the temple of Dewee, to the east of the

city.” Her companions and attendants, arriving, first filled a square

place in the courtyard with pearls, and spread a seat of gold set with

pearls, on which they caused Rûkminee to sit, and anointed her with oil

by the hands of seven married women whose husbands were alive.

Afterwards, having rubbed her with fragrant paste, they adorned her

with sixteen ornaments, and put on her twelve trinkets, and having

arrayed her in a red boddice they seated her, fully adorned. Then the

young Rûkminee, accompanied by all her handmaidens, went, with the

sound of music, to perform her devotions. Screened by a curtain of

silk, and surrounded by crowd upon crowd of companions, she appeared

among the swarthy group who accompanied her as beautiful, as amid dark

blue clouds, the moon with its company of stars!”

Having arrived at the temple of Dewee, the royal maiden, having washed

her hands and feet and sipped water, proceeded to offer sandal oil,

unbroken grains of rice, flowers, incense, lamps, and consecrated food,

and with earnest faith performed the worship of Dewee according to the

prescribed ritual.

“After which she fed women of the Brahmin caste with delectable food,

and having attired them in fair garments, she drew a mark on their

foreheads with a mixture of rice, alum, turmeric, and acid, and having

caused to adhere some unbroken grains of rice, she received their

benediction. Hearing from an attendant that Krishna has arrived, the

Princess is filled with ecstatic delight, so that she cannot contain

herself; and leaning on the arm of an attendant, in a graceful

attitude, remains slightly smiling, in such a manner that no

description can express her beauty. The guards become fascinated and

remain immoveable. With trembling frame and coy of heart she finally

departs with Krishna.”

The domestic life and appearance of Krishna and Rûkminee is still

further characteristically described in the imaginative pages of the

“Ocean of Love:”—“Once on a time, in a palace of gold, studded with

jewels, a gem-adorned bedstead, with curtains, was spread, on which a

bedding white as foam, and adorned with flowers, with pillows for the

cheek and for the head, continued to exhale perfumes. On all four sides

of the bed vessels containing camphor, rose-water, saffron, sandal oil,

and other ingredients, were placed; various kinds of marvellous

pictures were delineated on the walls on all sides. In recesses, here

and there, flowers, fruits, sweetmeats, and confections were placed,

and all that could be required for enjoyment was at hand. Clothed in a

petticoat and a full loose robe of dazzling splendour, embroidered with

pearls, and a sparkling boddice, and a long refulgent wrapper, and

wearing a glittering veil, covered with ornaments from head to foot;

with red lines drawn across the forehead, having a nose-ring of the

largest pearls, ornaments for the head, earrings, ornamental line at

the parting of the hair, marks between the eyebrows, ornaments for the

ears and forehead, a necklace composed of circular pieces of gold, a

string of gold beads and coral, a breast ornament, a necklace of five

strings and of seven, a pearl necklace, double and triple bracelets of

nine gems, armlets, wristlets, and other kinds of fastenings for the

arm; bangles, seals; seal rings, a girdle of bells, rings for the great

toe, toe ornaments, anklets, and other ornaments of all kinds studded

with jewels; the moon-faced, tulip-complexioned, gazelle-eyed,

bird-voiced, elephant-gaited, slim-waisted, divine Rûkminee, and the

cloud-coloured, lotus-eyed Krishna, ocean of beauty, splendour of the

three worlds, root of joy, wearing a diadem like the crest of a

peacock, and a necklace of forest flowers, a silken robe of yellow hue,

and a scarf of the same, were reposing, when, all of sudden, the divine

Krishna said to Rûkminee, ‘Listen, fair one,’” &c.

Krishna afterwards takes 16,100 wives, and always at early dawn, one

would wash his face, another would apply a fragrant paste to his body,

another would prepare for him and give him to eat food of six flavours,

another would make nice betel, with cloves, cardamums, mace, and

nutmegs, for her beloved. “Each produced a daughter fair as Rûkminee;

each ten sons, brave sons were they! 161,000 and all alike, such were

the sons of Krishna!”

Such is part of the history of the favourite divinity of the benighted

Hindoo as related in the flowery pages of the “Ocean of Love,” and the

history may be, more or less, read in the every-day scenes of Indian

life which pass around one.

The description of Rûkminee, strange as it is, corresponds with many

other fair portraits in the Hindee; witness that of “Oonmadinee,” the

daughter of “Rutundutt”:—

“Her beauty was like a light in a dark house—her eyes were those of a

deer, her curls like female snakes, her eyebrows like a bow, her nose

like a parrot’s, her teeth like a string of pearls, her lips like the

red gourds, her neck like a pigeon’s, her waist like a leopard’s, her

hands and feet like a soft lotus, her face like the moon, with the gait

of a goose, and the voice of a cuckoo!”

More apparent even than in the earthly nature of the Hindoo’s

conception of the Divine attributes, the falsity and the human origin

of his Faith may be seen in the effect it produces wherever it is

allowed to obtain undivided sway. Combining dirt, idleness, and

religion together, the Hindoo Fukeer, attired in the minutest rag of

raiment, at times in none at all, wanders from place to place, and with

long and matted hair, blood-shot haggard eyes, and scowling visage,

fancies himself upon the path which leads direct to Paradise.

Attenuated to the last degree, he suffers all extremes of heat and

cold, sleeps upon a bed of ashes, and sits moodily beneath the burning

mid-day sun, lives on charity while scorning usually to ask for alms,

and bears the reputation of a saint while reducing himself to the very

level of the beasts that perish.

Something of the cheerful feelings which actuate these religious

mendicants may be found in the following passage:—“He may be called a

wise ‘Jogee,’ or ‘Fukeer,’ who has dried up the reservoir of hope with

the fire of austere devotion, and who has subdued his mind, and kept

the organs of sense in their proper place; and this is the condition of

persons in this world, that their bodies undergo dissolution, their

heads shake, and their teeth fall out. When men become old, they walk

about with sticks, and it is thus that time passes away. Night succeeds

day, and year succeeds month, and old age succeeds childhood, and we

know not who we are ourselves, and who others are; one comes and

another departs; and at last all living creatures must depart. And,

behold! night passes away, and then day dawns; the moon goes down and

the sun rises; thus does youth depart, and old age comes on, and thus

Time pursues his course: but although man sees all these things, he

does not become wise. There are bodies of many kinds, and minds of many

kinds, and affections or fascinations of many kinds, and Brahma has

created wickedness of many kinds; but a wise man, having escaped from

these, and having subdued hope and avarice, and shaved his head, and

taken a stick and water-pot in his hands, having subjugated the passion

of love and anger, and become a ‘Jogee,’ who wanders and travels about

with naked feet to places of pilgrimage, obtains final liberation. And,

behold, this world is like a dream.”

The derivation of the word “Fukeer,” and an illustration of the

disposition of the mendicant race, is given in a Persian tale, called

the “Four Dervishes.” The story was originally narrated to amuse a king

of Delhi, who was sick, and was afterwards done into Hindostanee by a

Mussulman author, who styles himself, “This wicked sinner, Meer Ammun

of Delhi.”

The speaker, a certain prince, who aspires to the title of “generous,”

has built a lofty house, with forty high and spacious doors, where, at

all times, from morning to evening, he gives rupees and gold mohurs

[35] to the poor and necessitous, and whoever asks for anything he

satisfies him. “One day a Fukeer came to the front door and begged. I

gave him a gold mohur; again he came to a second door, and asked for

two gold mohurs. I passed over the matter, and gave him two gold

mohurs.

“In this manner he came to every door, and asked for an additional gold

mohur each time, and I gave him according to his request. Having come

to the fortieth door, and received forty gold mohurs, he came in again

by the first door, and begged afresh.

“This appeared to me a very bad action on his part. I said to him, ‘O

avaricious man! what sort of mendicant art thou, who knowest not the

three letters of “Fukur” (poverty), according to which a Fukeer should

act?’ The Fukeer said, ‘Well, O liberal person, do you explain them to

me.’ I replied, ‘The three letters are f, k, and r. From f comes “faka”

(fasting); from k, “kinaüt” (contentment); and from r comes “reeazut”

(abstinence). He is not a Fukeer in whom these qualities are not. Oh,

avaricious creature! you have taken from forty doors, from one gold

mohur to forty. Calculate, therefore, how many you have received. And,

in addition to this, your avarice has brought you again to the first

door. Expend what you have received, and return and take whatever you

ask for. A Fukeer should take thought for one day; on the second day

there will be some fresh bestower of alms.’ Having heard this speech of

mine, he became angry and dissatisfied, and threw all he had received

from me on the ground, and said, ‘Enough, father; be not so warm; take

all your presents back again. Do not again assume the name of

“Liberal.” You cannot lift the weights of liberality. When will you

arrive at that day’s journey?’

“When I heard this I was alarmed, and with many solicitations asked him

to forgive my fault, and to take whatsoever he wished. He would not

accept my gifts at all, and went away saying, ‘If you were now to offer

me your whole kingdom I would not receive it from you.’”

This studied indifference about a matter of more than a thousand

pounds, though perhaps not often exercised upon so large a scale, is

just that which these wandering fanatics display towards every offering

they receive, and in every action of their useless lives. Whatever may

be said against them, however, their profession of poverty and

suffering is no mockery, as was that of the well-fed “monks of old,”

whose reasonings were something similar on religious points.

The Fukeer soliloquizes: “The condition of our being born is, that our

griefs are many and our pleasures few, because this world is the root

of misery. What happiness, therefore, has man? If any man should climb

to the top of a tree, or sit down on the summit of a hill, or remain

concealed in water, yet death does not allow him to escape. At the

most, man’s age is a hundred years, half of which passes away in night,

half of the other half is expended in childhood and old age; the

remainder is spent in altercation, separation from those we love, and

affliction, and the soul is restless as a wave of the sea. No one who

has come into the world has escaped from affliction. It is vain to fix

one’s affections on it, and therefore it is best to cultivate and

practise religion.” And so, as a remedy for the evil which he has

discovered to exist upon the earth, and to work out a successful escape

from it, he sits himself down in dust and ashes, and, mistaking the

sign-post, adopts the path which leads him furthest from the point he

wishes to arrive at.

As the Hindoo is the most ancient of religions, so the Buddhist is the

one which is professed by the largest portion of the human race. It is

the religion of Burmah, Ceylon, China, Siam, Thibet, and Russian

Tartary, and is computed to claim as many as three hundred and

sixty-nine millions among its Votaries. [36] “Gautama,” or “Sakya

mounee,” its founder, was born in Bengal about the seventh century

before Christ. Yet India at present contains no modern temples of its

worship, and no native of India, that I have ever met, knew anything of

its founder, or was even acquainted with the term “Buddha,” or

“Buddhist.” Its doctrines are the most curious of those that have ever

been promulgated, and appear even now to be scarcely understood in all

their ramifications. According to original Buddhism, there is no

Creator, nor being that is self-existent and eternal. The great object

is the attainment, in this life, of complete abstraction from all

worldly affairs and passions, and the ultimate result, of entire

annihilation. Like the Hindoo, the Buddhist believes in transmigration

of souls, and until utter annihilation is reached, he is doomed to

shift his earthly tenement, from form to form, according to the deeds

done in the flesh. It is, therefore, the great object of all beings,

who would be released from the sorrows of successive birth, to seek the

destruction of the moral cause of continued existence, that is, the

cleaving to existing objects or evil desire. It is only possible to

accomplish this end by attending to a prescribed course of discipline,

and by fixing the mind upon the perfections of Buddha. Those who after

successive births have entirely destroyed all evil desires are called

“Rahuts,” and after death the Rahut attains “Nirwana,” or ceases to

exist. The actual meaning of the word “Rahut,” is “Tranquillity,” and

it appears to be the same word which is used on a small scale, to

express the soothing qualities of that far-famed Eastern sweetmeat, the

Rahut-lûkma, or “Morsels of tranquillity.”

The Buddhas themselves are beings who appear after intervals of time

inconceivably vast. Previous to their reception of the state, they pass

through countless phases of being, at, one time appearing in human

form, at another as a frog, or fish, &c., in each of which states they

acquire a greater degree of merit.

In the birth in which they become Buddha, they are always of woman

born, and pass through infancy and youth like ordinary mortals, until

at the prescribed age they abandon the world and retire to the

wilderness, where they receive the supernatural powers with which the

office is endowed. Their highest glory is that they receive the wisdom

by which they can direct sentient beings to the path that leads to the

desired cessation of existence.

The Buddhism of Thibet appears to be an innovation on the original

system of religion. It was introduced into the country about the

seventh century of our era; and although Sakya mounee, who is supposed

by the Thibetians to have lived one thousand years before Christ, is

still believed to be the founder of the present system, the Delai Lama,

at Lassa, is regarded as an incarnation of Buddha, and is the supreme

infallible head of the whole Thibetian religious community.

The original tenets, too, have been modified, and the modern Scriptures

have been adapted to three different capacities of mankind—viz. the

lowest, mean (or middle), and the highest. The principles thus declared

are as follows:—

“1. Men of vulgar capacity must believe that there is a God, a future

life, and that they shall therein reap the fruits of their works in

this life.

“2. Those that are in a middle degree of intellectual and moral

capacity, besides admitting the former position, must know that every

compound thing is perishable, that there is no reality in things, that

every imperfection is pain, and that deliverance from pain or bodily

existence is final happiness.

“3. Those of the highest capacities, besides the above enumerated

articles, must know that, from the body to the supreme soul, nothing is

existing by itself, neither can it be said that it will continue always

or cease absolutely, but that everything exists by a dependant or

casual connexion.” [37]

One cause of the extension of the religion of Buddha appears to be the

broad basis upon which admission to the priesthood has ‘been placed. No

one can become a Brahmin except by birth, but the privileges of

becoming a Lama are open to all who are willing to receive them upon

the conditions implied in their acceptance. The principal duties to be

attended to, by one about to become a priest, are thus laid down:—“He

who, with a firm faith in the religion of Truth, believes in Buddha,

shall rise before daylight, and, having cleaned his teeth, shall then

sweep all the places appointed to be swept in the vicinity of the

‘Vihara,’ or monastery; after which he shall fetch the water that is

required for use, filter it, and place it ready for drinking. When this

is done, he shall retire to a solitary place, and for the space of

three hours meditate on the obligations of his vow. The bell will then

ring, and he must reflect that greater than the gift of 100 elephants,

100 horses, and 100 chariots, is the reward of him who takes one step

towards the place where worship is offered. Thus reflecting, he shall

approach the ‘Dagoba,’ where relics of holy men are placed, and perform

that which is appointed; he shall offer flowers just as if Buddha were

present in person, meditate on the nine virtues of Buddha with a fixed

and determined mind, and seek forgiveness for his faults, just as if

the sacred relics were endowed with life. He shall then meditate on the

advantages to be derived from carrying the alms-bowl and putting on the

yellow robe.” The injunctions on the priesthood relative to their

abstracting their thoughts and desires from all earthly matters

whatever, are of the strictest nature. “The door of the eye is to be

kept shut. When the outer gates of the city are left open, though the

door of every separate house and store be shut, the enemy will enter

the city and take possession; in like manner, though all the ordinances

be kept, if the eye be permitted to wander, affection for worldly

objects will be produced.” A story is told of a priest named

Chittagutta, who resided once in a cave, upon the walls of which the

history of Buddha was painted “in the finest style of art.”

The cave was visited by some priests, who expressed their admiration of

the paintings to Chittagutta, but the devotee replied that he had lived

there sixty years and had never seen them, nor would he, except for

their information, ever have become aware of their existence. There was

near the door of his cave a spreading tree; but he only knew that it

was there by the fall of its leaves or flowers; the tree itself he

never saw, as he carefully observed the precept not to look upwards, or

to a distance!

The priest of Buddha must possess but eight articles: three of these

are matters of dress; the others, a girdle for the loins, an alms-bowl,

a razor, a needle, and a water-strainer. The bowl receives the food

presented in alms; the razor is for shaving the head; the needle keeps

his yellow wardrobe in order; and the water-strainer is the most

serviceable of all, for “if any priest shall knowingly drink water

containing insects, he shall be ejected from the priesthood.”

The Dagobas, or shrines of relics, which abound in such numbers in

Thibet, have also been found in India and other countries. Some of them

when opened have been found to contain what appears to be remains of a

funeral pile, also vessels of stone or metal, and, occasionally,

caskets of silver and gold, curiously wrought. “Some of these have been

chased with a series of four figures, representing Buddha in the act of

preaching; a mendicant is on his right, a lay follower on his left, and

behind the latter a female disciple.” This somewhat describes the

appearance of the stone-carved figures at the monastery of Hemis. [38]

These caskets have been set with rubies and chased with the leaves of

the lotus. Besides these have also been found small pearls, gold

buttons, rings, beads, pieces of clay and stone bearing impressions of

figures, bits of bone, and teeth of animals, pieces of cloth, &c. The

images are sometimes recumbent, at other times standing upright, with

the hand uplifted in the act of giving instruction. Sometimes they have

three heads and six or more arms.

In order to form clear and accurate ideas of the religion of Buddha, it

would be necessary to study a vast number of volumes, some of them

contradictory and of very doubtful authority, and the result would

appear hardly to compensate for the trouble, so altered has modern

Buddhism become from ancient, and into so many different systems has it

been divided in the many different countries in which it is professed.

Among its doctrines there is much that is virtuous and true. It

preaches benevolence and goodwill towards men, but enjoins no active

efforts to prove the sincerity of such goodwill. It requires its

members to “confess their sins with a contrite heart, to ask

forgiveness of them, and to repent truly, with a resolution not to

commit such again. To rejoice in the moral merit and perfection of

human beings, and to wish that they may attain beatitude; further, to

pray and exhort others to turn the wheel of religion, that the world

may be benefited thereby.” Its general aim seems to be to overcome all

emotions and preferences of the mind, and all that would disturb its

repose and quiet. It seeks to destroy the human passions and not to

regulate them; and with faith in Buddha only as its aid, it succeeds

about as well as might have been anticipated.

Between these two religions of Brahma and Buddha, that of the “Jains”

sprang up, apparently a heresy from both. It has nearly died out in

India, though many ruins of its temples remain. The Jains agree with

the Buddhists as to the transmigration of souls, and carry their

respect for life to the still greater extent, that besides a strainer

to remove all animalculæ from the water they imbibe, they carry a broom

to sweep away the insects from their path. They differ from the

Brahmins in repudiating their minor incarnations and gods, as the

following translation will serve to show:—“A rajah, of the name of

Gondshekur, had a minister, Abhûechund, who converted him to the Jain

religion. He prohibited the worship of Vishnu, and all gifts of cows,

land, and balls of flour and rice, and would not allow any one to carry

away bones to the Ganges. One day the minister began to say, ‘O great

king, be pleased to listen to the judgments and explanations of

religion: Whosoever takes another’s life, that other takes his life in

another world. The birth of a man after he has again come into the

world does not escape from this sin; he is born again and again, and

dies again and again. For this reason it is right for a man, who has

been born in the world, to cultivate religion. Behold! Brahma, Vishnu,

and Mahadeo, being under the influence of love, anger, and fascination,

descend upon the earth in various ways; but a cow is superior to them

all, for it is free from anger, enmity, intoxication, rage, avarice,

and inordinate affection, and affords protection to the subject; and

her sons also behave kindly to, and cherish the animals of the earth,

and therefore all the gods and sages regard the cow with respect. For

this reason, it is not right to regard the gods—in this world, respect

the cow. It is virtuous to protect all animals, from the elephant to

the ant, and from beasts and birds to man. In the world there is no act

so impious as for men to increase their own flesh by eating the flesh

of other creatures. They who do not sympathise in the griefs of

animated beings, and who kill and eat other animals, do not live long

on the earth, and are born lame, maimed, blind, dwarfs, and humpbacked,

&c.; and it is a great sin to drink wine and eat flesh; wherefore to do

so is improper. The minister, having thus explained his sentiments to

the rajah, converted him to the Jain religion, so that he did whatever

the minister said, and no longer paid any respect to Brahmins, Fukeers,

Jogies, Dervishes, &c., and carried on his government according to this

religion.”

Next among the religions of the East, whose outward observances so

forcibly attract attention, comes that of the Moslem—“The marvellous

reformation wrought by Mahomet and the Koran in the manners, morals,

and religious feelings of so many millions.”

Mahomet, in truth, although “The False Prophet,” would appear to have

been a considerable benefactor to his species. The Arabs, at the time

of his birth, were sunk in idolatry and the worship of the stars, while

their morals were under no control either of law or religion. The

Prophet’s aim appears, in the first instance, to have been, to secure a

system of orderly government, and at the same time to gain, for his own

family, a dignity which should be exalted beyond all fear of

competition—the dignity of lordship over the holy city of Mecca. This

was then held under no higher tenure than the sufferance and caprice of

the Arab tribes. To perpetuate this lordship by assuming an hereditary

and inviolable pontificate was Mahomet’s first idea, and at a banquet

given to the whole of his kinsmen he revealed his scheme. They,

however, rejected his appeal, and he then proclaimed himself as an

apostle to all, and setting aside existing forms and traditions

proceeded to a higher flight of ambition. For election by blood, he

substituted election of God; and assuming a direct revelation from on

high, he, by force of an ardent and ambitious will, carried out his

project even at Mecca itself, where, to all who visited his shrine, he

preached without distinction. From the powerful opposition brought

against him, Mahomet was at last obliged to fly; but before doing so,

and casting off the high position he held among his own tribe and

kinsmen, he assembled his followers together on a mountain near Mecca,

and there, without distinction of blood or calling, he enrolled them as

equal followers in one community, and entered with them into a solemn

and binding agreement. “That night Mahomet fled from Mecca to Medina,

and then took its rise a pontificate, an empire, and an era.” This

hegira, or “flight,” is believed to have occurred on the 19th June,

A.D. 622 [39] but has been variously stated; it is, however, the era

now in general use among no less than one hundred and sixty millions of

people.

Although himself an undoubted impostor, and the Koran a manifest

forgery, Mahomet would appear to deserve a larger share of

appreciation, or at least of charitable judgment, than he usually

receives.