THE SHRINES OF THE HINDU FAITH.
The next morning we awoke to find ourselves on the fruitful and
cultivated plain of Bengal. We were flying by mud settlements, and
passing through numberless paddy-fields, rice, pân, or betel-nut
plantations. Here and there we came upon a field white with the poppy
of the opium plant, or with a tall, standing crop of castor-oil shrub.
Others again were filled with barley, and those coarse millets on which
the natives subsist; and all the crops were kept alive and green by that
terribly laborious process of irrigation. How familiar we became with the
inclined causeway, up and down which the yoke of oxen toil, the native
riding on the rope which draws the water up in leathern bags, and empties
it into the irrigating channels. Each patch of cultivation, each field,
has to be watered by this toilsome method.
One unconsciously acquires the idea that India is a country covered with
vast primeval forest and jungle. Rather disappointing therefore are the
two thousand miles or so one travels across from ocean to ocean, from
Bombay to Calcutta, without seeing a vestige of either. Often we saw a
herd of buffaloes, or a troop of monkeys, while paroquets, the little
green love-birds, and other tropical species of the feathered tribe,
perched along the telegraph wire. Here and there also a solitary heron,
with grey wings and red bill, standing solemnly on the edge of a marshy
pool.
The trains are heavy and enormously long, on account of the immense
numbers of natives travelling, their rates being as low as one-third the
first-class fares. The native servants are locked into a compartment
next to the first class, where their masters are. There are outside
venetian shutters to all the carriages, and every other window of the
long carriage has blue or coloured glass--very charming, doubtless, for
the glare of summer, but a great nuisance now, with short days and an
early twilight. The refreshment-rooms on all the lines are exceptionally
good; we have often dined there in preference to the hotel; but as for
the luxuries of Indian travelling you often hear about, we did not find
them. True, the Anglo-Indian invariably travels with an army of servants,
a well-stored hamper, and thinks sixty pounds of ice in the carriage
indispensable, but he is an exceptional mortal. A triangle, or fork of
steel, thrice struck, and which gives forth a clear, melodious tone, is
the signal at the stations for the "all aboard." Such is a description
which fairly answers to all our succession of long railway journeys in
India.
At 1 p.m. we crossed the bridge over the Kurumnasa, a river abhorred by
the Indians, hence its name, signifying "virtue destroyer," and which
forms the boundary-line between Bengal and the North-West Provinces. A
branch line brought us to Rajghat, the station for Benares, as the city
lies away on the further bank of the Ganges.
We crossed the Ganges on a bridge of boats, and from here obtained that
magnificent _coup-d'oeil_ of the river frontage, with its palaces,
its mosques and temples, its terraces and flights of steps, that is so
striking. Rising above all the confused mass of buildings are the two
beautiful minarets of the Mosque of Aurungzebe, slightly turned eastwards
to catch the first gleams of the rising sun over the sacred waters.
It is four miles to Sekrole, the European quarter, and to reach it we
drove through the narrow, crowded lanes of the native town, clustering
most thickly near the river. Mud has been a mighty factor in the making
of Benares. It is of mud that the walls of the huts are built; mud that
forms the fence around fields and compounds; mud that protects the newly
planted trees; and, lastly, it is mud in which the little brown babies in
the streets are dabbling to their heart's content.
There are hedges and bushes--rather trees I should call them--of cacti
growing in all directions. Here we saw weaving being carried on by the
roadside, in a very primitive fashion. A double row of stakes were placed
at long intervals, and women, walking up and down, were winding the
thread in and out. It produced a very pretty effect when the thread was
of bright red, and the simple loom some yards in extent. Then we saw for
the first time that comical little native carriage called the ekka. The
trappings of the pony are gaudy, and the bamboo shafts are attached by
coloured cords to the high-peaked Spanish collar. The carriage itself is
like a diminutive gig with a bamboo head, producing exactly the effect of
a "curricle" standing on end.
On arriving at Clark's Hotel we found we were just in time for evening
service, for which the bell was tolling from the church in the compound
opposite.
_Monday, January 19th._--By seven o'clock we found ourselves driving
down to the banks of the Ganges, to see one of the most animated and
picturesque sights of India.
The bathing-ghât is a bright-coloured hive, swarming with a religious
people performing the ceremony of bathing in the sacred waters. A
"budgerow," or ancient barge, glides slowly with us up and down along
this splendid river frontage. For one mile these palaces and temples
line the bank, facing every way, joining each other at right angles,
with ancient stairways and broken walls hidden under the foliage of some
sacred peepul or feathery tamarind.
These palaces take pink or green or yellow tints--those tender shades,
those pale varieties, seen only in eastern climes, under the true azure
clearness of an eastern sky. The dark weather stains and the crumbling
cornices are all in harmony. The basement of these palaces presents a
plain surface of wall, and the living rooms are in the two upper stories,
whence spring the arches and the pillars, the fretwork of the balconies,
the carvings,--all those varieties and medleys of architecture which
render these palaces so quaintly curious. For the most part they belong
to the native princes, the maharajahs and rajahs, who, beside their
provincial palaces, each have one at Benares, where they come yearly to
perform a cleansing pilgrimage. The women of the zenana and the members
of the household are brought here also to die.
[Illustration: Benares Bathing Ghât.
Page 276.]
On the broad steps of the ghât, and on the hundreds of platforms running
out into the river, the entire population of Benares are gathered to
bathe at this early hour of the morning. A gorgeous _coup-d'oeil_ the
banks present. The steps are bright with the thousands of brass pots
which each worshipper brings down with him. Rainbow patches are seen at
frequent intervals, where the pink and yellow, green and orange saris,
spread out to dry on the beach, form long streaks of colour. And these
are repeated above in the same gay streamers depending from the windows
and balconies of the palaces, and that are floating lazily in the breeze.
A brilliant spectacle it is, which, when examined in detail, presents at
every turn some strange picture, some new feature of the Hindu religion.
On the steps are squatted men, with eyes tightly shut, saying their
prayers towards the rising sun, laying their fingers to their noses,
touching the water with their foreheads three times. An old Shastri up
there is chanting the sacred words in droning tones, another is seated
under the shade of one of the bamboo umbrellas that dot the banks,
selling garlands for offerings to the gods, or ready with his clay to
remake the caste mark after bathing. Many, with upturned chins, are
having a cold shave; some washing their heads with mud, which lathers
up, and does not make such a bad substitute for soap after all. They
are using the toothbrush, or substituting a finger for the same. There
are Brahmins, generally bathing in batches together, and known by the
white thread around their necks: here are some women preparing their
little offerings of leaves and flowers to throw into the river, the whole
surface of which is strewn with the orange marigolds thus sacrificed.
There are three women coming down the steps, a brilliant study of orange,
amber, and russet: here a whole family-party bathing together. From one
of the palaces above proceeds forth weird, deep-toned, and monotonous
music, sounding forth over the heads of this vast multitude, reaching
even to the few coolies who are bathing from the mud banks on the further
shore.
Under the gilt dome and square red pagoda of the Nepaulese temple, that
lies under the shadow of the King of Nepaul's palace, there are a file
of pilgrims but just arrived from their distant border country. In the
midst, and not in the least apart from the careless, chattering throng,
is the Manikarnika Ghât, the most sacred of all the burning-ghâts of
the Ganges. The charred remains of one body are on the smouldering pile,
and another, the body of a woman, wrapped in a bright violet sari, lies
floating feet foremost in the water. The head is uncovered, for the
priests are shaving the hair, and placing the clay in the mouth.
A fleet of budgerows like our own are drifting along the bank, and here
and there we see moored a "mohrpunkee," or peacock barge. The head of
the peacock forms the handsome prow, while the tail is represented along
either side, a very favourite and sacred boat with the Hindus. Here the
steps are sinking slantways into the water, and we are shown the Leaning
Temple, which is quite out of the perpendicular, gradually subsiding into
the river, but only like several others around it. A huge yellow monster
sits propped against the wall, the thankoffering of a paralytic cured
by bathing in the Ganges. Numberless Hindu temples, known always by the
tower of crenelated _smaller_ towers tapering to the largest and crowning
one, are seen behind and in between the palaces. They are found in every
part and corner of the sacred city. Above all is always seen the landmark
formed by the slender minars of the Great Mosque.
We went up into one of the palaces, and you are surprised at the
beautiful carving of the pillars leading into the inner courts, the
carved doors and lattice-work, the rambling dimensions, and the
rabbit-warren propensities of the building.
We then climbed up a mountain by steps to reach the Man Mandil
Observatory. Here we saw a most wonderful collection of rude astronomical
instruments, constructed 150 years ago. On the flat roof of the building
there are several charts of the heavens drawn roughly into the stone,
and still traceable. There are some instruments of gigantic size, which
include two enormous arcs, reached by a stone staircase in the centre,
belonging to the "gnomon," an instrument for ascertaining the declination
and distance of any star or planet from the meridian. Then there is the
mural quadrant, for taking the sun's altitude, which has walls eleven
feet high and nine broad, built in the plane of the meridian. The
observatory brought us out by some narrow back streets to the carriage,
and we were glad to think of returning home for breakfast.
Before visiting any of these "shrines of the Hindu faith," I will
just give the outline of the Hindu religion. Like all mythology, it is
infinitely complex, but two great divisions are distinguished, in the
followers of Siva and the followers of Vishnu. Under various names, and
in varied forms, these are the two gods most worshipped.
Siva is at once the Destroyer and the Reproducer, the emblem of life and
death--the god of sound philosophical doctrine. In a more terrible aspect
he is worshipped as the Roarer, the Dread One. He is represented with a
human head with five faces, and a body with four arms, with a club and
necklace of skulls. His wife is Devi, the goddess, worshipped as the
gentle "Una," or "Light," or in the terrible form of Kali, or Durga, "a
black fury, dripping with blood, hung with skulls." The Brahmins, true to
the higher instincts of their caste, worship Siva as the destroyer and
reproducer of life, hanging garlands about the god, and leaving the lower
castes to pour out the blood of their victims before the terrible Kali.
Vishnu, or the Unconquerable Preserver, has ten or twenty-two
incarnations, or avatars, on earth, which give rise to an almost equal
number of pretty legends. He is an easy-going god, very human, and the
popular deity. He is worshipped under the various names of Krishna, Ráma,
Jaganath or the "Lord of the World," and Ganesh, when he is represented
with an elephant's head.
Buddhism claims many of the nation as its followers, and its birthplace
was at Benares. Gautama Buddha, "the Enlightened," was born near Benares
in 543 B.C. He preached to the low caste, and taught "that the state
of a man in this life, in all previous and in all future lives, is the
result solely of his own acts." He advocated no sacrifices, but great
duties, combined with perfect self-control. No wonder that, with a
religion approaching so nearly to the true one, he still numbers in Asia
500 millions of followers. Buddhism has more adherents than any other
religion in the world.
Very closely connected with the subject of religion is that of caste,
which forms the basis of all society and religion in India.
There may be said to be four great divisions of caste. The Brahmins or
priests; the Kshattriyas or Rajputs, who are warriors; the Vaisyas or
husbandmen; and the Sudras or serfs. The Brahmin in ancient days was the
priest, the poet, the philosopher, physician, astronomer, and musician
of the people. For twenty-two centuries he was the writer and thinker
for the whole nation; he formed its grammar and literature. Even now
he is distinguished by his slim figure, fair skin, and long thin hands
unaccustomed to work, from the flat nose and thick lips of the low caste.
The Brahmin used to say, that at the beginning of the world "the Brahmin
proceeded from the mouth of the Creator, the Kshattriya from his arms,
the Vaisya from his thighs or belly, and the Sudra from his feet."
The legend is so far true, that the Brahmins were the brain-power of
the Indian people, the Kshattriyas its armed hands, the Vaisyas the
food-growers, and the Sudras, the down-trodden serfs.
The castes may not intermarry. None of the higher caste may eat of the
food cooked by a man of lower caste. The greatest punishment that can
be inflicted upon a Hindu is to be turned out of his caste. All Hindus
are vegetarians. They nearly all wear the disfiguring caste marks, white
stripes across the forehead and breast, or a white and red spot in the
centre of the forehead.
In its social aspect, caste divides the Hindus into guilds, each trade
belonging to a different caste and forming a guild for the mutual support
of its members. These guilds act also as a kind of trades' union, and its
members have been known to strike, if necessary. All domestic servants
such as syces, kitmutgars, and bheesties belong to a low caste. Caste
is a very complex question, depending as it does upon three divisions,
viz. "upon race, occupation, and geographical position." Besides the four
great castes above mentioned, there are more than 3000 other minor caste
divisions.[5]
The Mahommedans form an important unit in the population of India. Of
the 200 millions of people under British rule they number forty-five
millions. The Mussulman may be distinguished from the Hindu by two
features in his dress. His coat is fastened on the left side, in
contradistinction to the right side of the Hindu. His turban is formed of
yards of stuff loosely wound round his head, while that of the Hindu is
generally tightly wreathed or plaited.
The city of Benares is a "holy of the holies" to the Hindu. Half a
million gods are said to be worshipped in the shrines and niches lying
in and round about the city for some miles. One thousand temples are
within her walls. The streets are full of the aged and dying, brought
here to expire, for they think Benares is "the gate of heaven." Hundreds
of thousands of pilgrims come annually to bathe in the waters. Those
afflicted with that terrible deformity of elephantiasis take refuge
here, and lepers lie about in the streets exciting the compassion and
alms of pilgrims. Leprosy is seen in both its forms; that one, the most
painful and agonizing, too revolting for description, and the other,
when the skin literally becomes "white as snow," presenting a very awful
appearance when seen in partial effect on the dark skin of the natives.
After tiffin we resumed our sight-seeing, beginning again with that long
dusty drive to the city, of which we were wearying already. Threading our
way through a lane of the native quarter, pursued by the hungry crowd
of beggars and guides, all greedy for endless backsheesh, we entered a
small square. Here, under a red temple in the centre, was a well, into
which women were casting flowers. It was the child-bearing well, where
childless women come with floral offerings to propitiate the goddess.
Just in front stood a huge stone bull, the sacred bull of the Hindu
worship. In every part of the city you see tame bulls, roaming about at
will, who are yet never killed by the Hindu. They live in the temples and
mosques, and share with the flocks of goats kept for sacrificial purposes
the refuse of the city.
The filth, the dirt, the smells of these temples are indescribable.
After passing through one which had a curious cupola and a minaret at
each corner, with fine open-work carving, we mounted some steps and
stood opposite the Golden Temple. The spire of the central dome, and the
four smaller domes flanking each corner, are covered with pure plates
of gold. This is in accordance with the bequest of one Ranjeet Singh.
The temple is dedicated to Siva, the presiding deity of Benares, and in
each division we find a "mahadeo" or monolith, a plain conical stone set
upright. The mahadeo is the symbol of the "linga," or creative principle,
and is found in every temple or shrine, in every niche set up by the
roadside, throughout India. It becomes a familiar object of the Hindu
worship.
After this we had a long drive to the Durga Kund, the celebrated Monkey
Temple.
The antiquity of everything in India strikes us very much. The women in
their muslin draperies drawing water at the wells bring to mind some
Biblical picture. Their earthenware jars and pitchers resemble the old
Egyptian vessels, while the rude ox-carts, with their clumsy wooden
wheels, are like the Roman chariots.
As we drive along we are delighted with quaint carvings over gateways,
wayside temples, and rude drawings on the wall, representing hydra-headed
monsters, or blue and scarlet elephants, meeting with their trunks in
deadly combat.
We are first aware of being in the neighbourhood of the temple, by the
monkeys who are perching on the housetops and swinging in the trees. Fed
regularly by the attendants, numbers swarm in and about the temple, fat,
portly fellows of a rich orange colour, all "living deities" to the Hindu.
The Durga Kund is built in a graceful pyramidal form, quaintly carved
with all the animals of the Hindu mythology. It is painted a dark red
colour, and the porch at the entrance is brought into relief by silver
lines. Here hangs a large bronze bell, the gift, it is said, of a
European magistrate. The silver goddess is seated inside a shrine, and
before the Revengeful Durga stands a bowl of blood, mingling with some
floral offerings, The fat Brahmins in charge collected a crowd of monkeys
in the court by scattering some grain. From all parts they sprang up,
mothers with their babes clinging round their bodies, and patriarchal
monkeys gibbering and swinging down from the airy pinnacles of the
temple. Outside we noticed the wooden block and hatchet, smeared with
blood, where the kids are killed for sacrifice; and the monkey-tree, a
hollow tree where all the baby monkeys are born.
There was no time to visit any more of the 1000 temples of Benares, many
of which are dedicated to strange uses; such as that of the Goddess of
Hunger, where a large number of beggars are daily fed; that of Dandpan,
the policeman of Benares, whose priest chastises the offender against law
and order with a birch of peacock's feathers; or the Manikarnika, a well
of putrid water, held very sacred, and supposed to have been filled in
the first instance by the perspiration of Vishnu; nor the Well of Jali,
where the future is seen reflected in the water at noon, the only hour
when the sun's rays reach its surface.
Then we visited a bazaar or chowk. It is a picturesque little world,
very busy about its own business, and confined in a thoroughfare only
a few feet wide. Above, the gables of the houses nearly meet, and
the overhanging balconies with wooden carvings obscure the light.
Cross-legged on the step over the street sat hundreds of active workers,
with their varied merchandise spread out before them, open to the street.
Of course we were in search of the Benares brass-work, and with great
interest we watched the simple method by which the elaborate patterns are
traced. An ordinary nail run deftly up and down, and gently hammered on
the brass vase or bowl, forms the fretted ground, while the pattern is
picked out carefully afterwards. Quite young boys were employed on this
and on the kincob work, the gold and filagree embroidery on cloth for
which Benares is also famous. "Up two pair back," and in dark workshops,
we found and chose what we wanted.
Whilst the inevitable waiting for the packing up ensued, we were summoned
to the balcony by the sound of the tom-tom, and the shrill and plaintive
note of the bagpipe flute. Down the narrow mediæval street, carrying us
back to the twelfth century, came a gay procession, preceded by a merry
crowd, pushing a way for itself. It was a wedding-party returning after
the ceremony. The boy bridegroom mounted on a white horse was being led
in the centre, the girl bride followed in the same way, and then there
came the relations and friends carrying the presents and offerings in
kind and produce.
Returning home through the bird-market we saw a disgusting act of
cruelty. Four crows were lying on their backs on the ground, their feet
and wings tied together, while a fiendish old man with white hair kept
watch over them. For two or three days he would have kept them like this,
without food or water, trembling with fright, on the chance of some pious
Hindu passing by and paying a few pice for their release. We indignantly
gave him an anna, and had the real happiness of seeing them all released
and fly away, though one we feared still had his feet tied together, as
he only just reached and dropped on to the wall in safety. The natives
are hideously cruel to animals. They twist the tail of a bullock round
and round till you hear the muscles and sinews cracking. It is rare to
see a cart drawn by a bullock without some running sore where the yoke
chafes, and donkeys and horses are so tightly hobbled that they cannot
move or lie down.
A gentleman truly remarked to us, "There are three stages through which
Englishmen pass when travelling or living in India. First there is
extreme sympathy with the native, and surprise at the rough treatment of
the Anglo-Indian; this is followed by intense disgust at their cruelty,
laziness, and ingratitude; and, lastly, he passes into an indifferent
state, accepting the native as he is." This second stage I think we
reached to-day, after having certainly gone through the first on landing.
The Grand Duke and Duchess of Mecklenburg Schwerin, with Don Carlos,
the unsuccessful candidate for the Spanish throne, are staying in the
hotel. When we arrived home this evening we found the balcony covered
with baskets of fruit and vegetables, bouquets of flowers, with baked
sweet-meats, brought to them as offerings of respect by the natives.
The laughing of jackals around the house, and the trumpeting of a
neighbouring elephant, made night hideous for us.
_Tuesday, January 20th._--We had again to be up very early, and drive
down to the ghât, where the Secretary of the Maharajah of Benares (the
Maharajah himself being away on a pilgrimage to Allahabad) had promised
to have a boat in readiness to take us across the river to the Old Fort
and Palace. Through some misunderstanding we failed to find the boat, but
we were just as happy and interested in again rowing up and down the ghât
for two hours, seeing a repetition of yesterday's gay scene, till it was
time to go to the station for the train to Allahabad.
At the junction of Mogul Serai we saw an amusing scene. Some purdah
ladies on a pilgrimage to Benares were hurried out of their compartments,
and, with their heads completely covered, hustled across the platform and
pushed into a reserved carriage. Here a curtain was hastily hung up over
the open grating which alone divides the third-class carriages.
During the afternoon we passed Chunar, celebrated for its quarries of
fine yellow durable stone, and Mirzapore, a large cotton-manufacturing
town. At five o'clock we were crossing the Jumna on a magnificent bridge,
and about to reach Allahabad.
Allahabad, or the "City of Allah," is a very sacred place, situated as
it is on a tongue of land formed by the junction of two such hallowed
rivers as the Ganges and the Jumna. The Hindus say there is a third river
which is invisible, flowing direct from heaven, and adding its waters
unseen to the others. We are fortunate in being here now, as January
and February are the great months of pilgrimage, and during that time
hundreds of thousands come down to bathe. Allahabad is known to the
ordinary and non-religious world as the seat of the Government of the
North-West Provinces and Oude.
In the dusk we explored the compound, where polo was just ending, and the
wandering length of miles about Canning Town. Up and down the broad and
dreary roads bordering the burnt-up plains of grass we drove in search
of Mr. Lawrence's, the District Commissioner's bungalow, which we found,
only to be told he was away. Quite familiar we became that evening with
the principal feature of Allahabad, the long straight military and civil
lines, with their rows of bungalows.
_Wednesday, January 21st._--A cold, bright morning. After that
indispensable meal of the Anglo-Indian, chota hazri, or early tea and
toast, we drove out to the Fort. Such a wonderful spectacle presented
itself to us as we emerged out into the open. Across the broad plain
flocked thousands of pilgrims, in one continuous stream, all going down
in the early morning to bathe at that sacred spot where the Ganges and
Jumna effect a junction. They formed a bright ribbon of rainbow colours,
streaming across the flat plain, winding with the turnings of the road.
For a mile or more the line extended, and the throng was constantly
swelled by stragglers hurrying across the plain to join them. As we drew
near we saw what a motley procession it formed. Crowded ekkas with the
members of an entire family perched up or clinging to its sides, solitary
horsemen, children mounted on donkeys, vendors and mountebanks, mingling
with the throng of pedestrians,--of men, women, and children, all bound
on the same errand, all hurrying to the same spot.
From the earthen ramparts of the Fort we looked down on the curious
sight. The delta of sand was covered with a rude encampment, and at the
furthermost point where the rivers joined, the banks were invisible from
the swarm of human beings. This is where the stream we had followed along
the plain became absorbed in the black moving mass. The pilgrim, on
arrival here, sits down on the bank, and has his head and body shaved,
allowing each hair to fall separately into the water, in sure belief in
the promise of the sacred writings, which tells him that for every hair
thus deposited a million years' residence in heaven is secured.
The redstone Fort was built by Akbar in 1572, but it presents but a very
modern appearance now, filled with the scarlet coats of our regiments,
and the "carkee" of the sepoys, whilst the magnificent bullocks of the
Transport Department occupy a corner of the compound. In the centre of
the Fort stands a beautiful monolith, surrounded by a garden. The jagged
top shows it has been broken off short, and there are two very ancient
Pali inscriptions, barely decipherable on the polished sides. It is one
of the "three Asoka's columns," dating from 235 B.C.; the second we had
seen at Benares, and the other has been recently set up at Delhi.
In one corner of the Fort we saw a group of natives, who were being
admitted in parties through a gateway, and conducted by a sepoy through
a subterranean passage. Down this we went, and found ourselves in a
crypt underground, quite dark, and with walls green and mouldy from the
trickling damp. By the light of the sticks, laid in a brass pan of oil,
we saw some hideous deformities representing gods, smeared with red
paint, and many mahadeos, set up amongst the pillars of this underground
temple. As we turned round one of the arches in wandering about, a weird
picture appeared to us. Before a burning brazier crouched some figures,
illuminated by its fitful light. The flames caught the reflection of the
tinsel and gaudy decoration, lighted up the brass-headed god behind,
and showed the branching trunk of a tree. This is the old banyan-tree,
at least 1500 years old, and which is still worshipped by the natives.
We contributed our quota to the little pile of money already spread out
before the god.
During the Mutiny the Europeans took refuge in the Fort, where many of
them died of cholera and privations.
Allahabad is a favourite military station, though the heat reflected
from the surrounding plains is terrific in summer. Once more we explored
its dreary lengths of road, of which we learnt there are no less than
seventy-nine miles in the city and immediate suburbs. We passed the
Memorial Hall to Lord Mayo, whose tower, with that of the Town Hall now
building, are prominent landmarks in the surrounding flatness, and
returned to Lawrie's Hotel to breakfast.
We left Allahabad at noon, and travelled through the rich valley of the
Doab, 100 miles, to Cawnpore. Leaving Cawnpore to visit on our return
journey, we changed to the Oude and Rohilkund, a miserable line of
railway, and arrived at Lucknow late at night.
FOOTNOTE:
[Footnote 5: I am mainly indebted to Dr. Hunter's "History of the Indian
People" for the above facts.]