We started in a palki gharry16 for the ferry, which we crossed in a small steamer, crowded with people going to the railway station – some, like ourselves, beginning their journey – and hosts of natives. We saw floating down the river many bodies of dead natives, all in that state described in the song of the “White Lady of Avenel,” which so terrified the poor Sacristan; only a crow instead of a pike was diligently picking at the fishy, horrid-looking eyes of the dead bodies. The river was crowded with different vessels.
I was quite pleased on arriving at the railway station to see again the engine with its long row of carriages. My husband here met some friends of his, a young officer and his wife, who had been his fellow passengers to England the year before by the “overland route.” They had just returned by the Cape, and were on their way to their station. I now saw, for the first time, some elephants; for they are not allowed to come into Calcutta, as they frighten
the horses. The railway carriages were very comfortable, and quite luxurious in their fittings up; you could draw out a board between the seats, and so recline: very different from the narrow, closely-packed carriages in England. We enjoyed ourselves very much talking to our friends. My husband talked to Captain F___ and I to his wife: she was very pretty and engaging, and I found her conversation most agreeable. She talked all about Indian society, and seemed to prefer it to what she called the “cold, formal English manners!” She also gave me a great many friendly hints about travelling and station life. About six months afterwards I saw her name in the long list of Kanhpur victims.
We passed many small stations; at one we got out, and had some refreshments. If it had not been for the view from the windows, I could have fancied myself travelling from London to York.
About five in the evening we reached Raniganj, 121 miles on our journey, and there bade adieu to all comfortable travelling; not without a strong wish that they would soon continue the railway on to Agra, and so facilitate travelling, and make India as much like home as possible. No one can imagine the benefit it will be when India is traversed by this gigantic system of communication. The hotel was a few yards from the railway station; before it stood several dak gharries, and a travelling
carriage belonging to some officer, who preferred travelling in it to a dick gharry.
After a bath and dinner, we all commenced packing our gharries. I was much amused to see how our friends packed theirs; they were “up to” all manner of travelling “dodges,” and very kindly helped us to arrange our small quarters, where we were to pass the night. At last we all started: about six gharries, one full of young officers who seemed to enjoy the fun.
I never saw our kind friends again; they reached Agra before us. Captain F___ went on to the Panjab, and his wife first went to stay with some friends at Delhi, and then at Kanhpur, so her poor husband was in uncertainty as to her fate for months. When he at last heard the dreadful news it nearly killed him.
The drivers began to blow their shrill horns, and make the night echo to their wild music. The horses went a tremendous pace at first, but soon relaxed their speed, and required incessant flogging. We changed horses every six miles, and it was rather annoying to be awakened out of a sound sleep by the process of changing. The horses are very troublesome: at times they will rear, kick, plunge, back, and go through a series of gymnastics by no means agreeable to the occupants of the carriage, and disturbing all their little arrangements.
The next morning we stopped and breakfasted at
a dak bungalow. These bungalows have been so often described, that I will only say the first I saw struck me as being very dreary and desolate: near it were two tombstones erected to the memory of two unfortunate travellers, who had, I believe, died of cholera. Our route now lay through a rather more picturesque country. It was very dull work, however, as we could not read on account of the jolting; we did try to make up a few Hindustani sentences with the aid of a dictionary, but it was very puzzling: my husband knew very little of the language, as Hindustani is not spoken in Burmah, and he had a Portuguese servant there. I always felt inclined to speak to the natives in German or French.
About midnight on the second night we met with an unpleasant accident. When we were both fast asleep we were suddenly awakened by the sensation of falling from a height, which was followed by a roll over and tremendous crash. Then came sundry ominous bangs, caused by the horse’s kicking, and the wails of natives. We, after some difficulty, opened the door, and extricated ourselves, and I mounted the bank we had fallen down, with my husband’s help, as it was very steep. It was bitterly cold, and my husband threw up to me some wraps to cover myself with, whilst he picked up the kitmutghar, who lay groaning on the ground, declaring his leg was broken; he had really hurt himself, having
fallen from the top, where he had sat amongst the boxes. We found out that the cause of the accident was the driver having fallen asleep over his hookah17. We then both set to work to scold him in Hindustani, and not being sufficiently fluent in that, had recourse to English; which we had been told natives disliked more, as they did not know what it meant. What they consider the most opprobrious epithets in Hindustani are “khala sour,” “hurrumzadu,” and “mourgeu” (black pig, infidel, and fowl). The syce and driver began to shout and yell, which in about ten minutes brought a flock of coolies18 from a neighbouring chowki19; and then began the process of dragging up the shattered carriage and horse (the latter being much hurt), and collecting our scattered goods, by the light of a single lantern which we had brought with us. The coolies afterwards dragged the carriage to the next chowki, where we got a fresh horse; further on, at Shergati, we procured another gharry. Our adventure prevented us from breakfasting with Colonel Goodwin’s son, near Shergati; which was very provoking. We afterwards heard that the place of our accident was the haunt of tigers, being near a jungle. Some travellers had had their syce carried off by one the week before, and had been only disturbed by the poor creature’s shrieks when it was too late to save him.
I saw some awful specimens of eastern diseases – leprosy and elephantiasis – at Shergati, as this place is a great resort for beggars, who extort alms from travellers passing by. They thronged round our gharry as we were changing horses, and showed off their hideous deformities. I tried to get rid of them by throwing out handfuls of pice20, but they only surrounded us the more.
The country beyond was very wild and desolate. The only civilized thing we saw was the telegraph wires, sometimes supported on high stone pillars, by which a message can be transmitted from Bombay to Calcutta in less than three-quarters of an hour. The natives have a great idea of its magical powers. The first thing they destroyed in the mutiny was the telegraph.
We had been warned not to trust to the commissariat of the dak bungalows, so had brought with us a good supply of eatables – hunter’s beef, biscuits, preserves, and one of Wilson’s Christmas cakes; Miss Wright also had given us some mince-pies and other Christmas dainties. We eat our Christmas dinner at one of these bungalows, instead of at Benares, as we had intended. Our accident having made us nervous about travelling at night, we did not get on so fast, as we passed the nights at the bungalows. Such every-day matters as eating and drinking are of no consequence in England, where you can have as
many meals as you like; but people travelling in a country not quite civilized, are obliged to attend to such matters. No one ought to travel in India without tea, sugar, a flask of brandy, quinine, and opium. I think the way dinner is got at a dak bungalow is most ridiculous. As soon as you arrive, you hear the most lamentable cackling and screaming amongst the feathered tribe, and speedily an unfortunate fowl is caught, killed, plucked, and grilled for your dinner, and generally turns out to be some tough old grandfather.
We arrived at Benares on the morning, of the 26th. It was a beautiful morning, and the view down the Ganges very picturesque, with hosts of natives bathing in its sacred waters; its banks lined with mosques, steps, and ghats21. We found our friends well, and already comfortably established in their new home. Their house, though not so grand as the Calcutta houses, which are rented at the rate of from £300 to £600 a year, was a very comfortable and elegant one, far surpassing many officers’ bungalows, though it was a missionary’s. It was large, well built, comfortably furnished, and the verandah, supported on pillars, was surrounded by a pretty garden, in a large compounds22 where were two or three other missionaries’ houses, equally comfortable and commodious.
Benares is called the Oxford of India, as it is a great place for learning. There are no less than eighty schools in which Sanscrit alone is taught. It is more eastern in its appearance than many of the Indian cities; most of the streets are so narrow, an elephant can hardly pass through them. It is held in great veneration by the Hindus, who call it the “Holy City,” and are constantly making pilgrimages to it, to bathe in the sacred waters of the Ganges. The Brahmins23 (who occupy 8,000 houses) and the Brahmin bulls rule the rest of the inhabitants with an iron rod. One of these bulls may eat the gram24, exposed for sale in the streets, that belongs to some poor bunyan25, or enter a man’s garden and devour his vegetables, and they dare not drive him away: they are even expected to feel highly honoured at the beasts condescending so far as to favour their property. These creatures are very pretty, with humps on their backs, and long dewlaps, and look sleek and fat; but many of them are very vicious, from being so petted and indulged: they keep the people in awe of the awkward poke of their horns.
The next morning my husband went with his brother-in-law into the city, to see all over the temples and other holy places; some he could not see, being too sacred. On his return, he gave me the usual
account of the nonchalance of the overfed Brahmin bulls, who required a chaprasi to keep them from molesting people. In the evening my sister-in-law and I drove out, and our husbands rode. The road swarmed with sacred monkeys, who jumped about, and even leaped right over our carriage, till I expected every instant one would pop into it: their grave faces and odd antics were most absurd.
As we returned, we heard the most unmusical sounds, which proved to be the peculiar notes of the Brahmins’ horn, issuing from all the temples where they were worshipping. Benares is a wide field for any number of active missionaries and zealous followers of Henry Martyn. I saw a native Christian, called Nehemiah, who was really a most gentlemanly and polished man; he had been all over England, Scotland, and some parts of the Continent, and spoke English perfectly. He had given up a large property to become a Christian, and lived in a small hut in the missionary compound. He was dressed in his native costume, and when he entered the room, took off his shoes. I thought that, now he was a Christian, he need not submit to such a degradation. He talked like a connoisseur of pictures and books, and, to my delight, said he preferred England to India. On Sunday we went to the station church, as the service in the church at the missionary compound was in Hindustani. My husband knew the chaplain, so we spent a few
hours with him and his wife after service, and had tiffin.
We left for Agra on the 29th. We passed numbers of natives going to their work in the fields, all “horrid with caste marks.” The weather grew colder the further we advanced: they had fires at Benares, it was so cold.
We met a man carrying a large snake, apparently about two yards in length and ten inches in circumference, twined round his neck like a comforter. He wanted to sell us some stones for charms, but found a better customer in our kitmutghar. This man had complained dreadfully of the cold, and looked a most absurd figure, curled up, and rolled in his rezai26 on the top of the gharry. He complained so much of his injured leg, that we got a doctor at Benares to look at it, who said it was only sprained; so we gave him some embrocation to rub it with. He made this leg a never-ending source of annoyance to us the whole way, making it a plea for excusing himself from his work.
We afterwards met a man leading two beautiful Persian cats, with splendid fan-like tails. He asked £2 for each – rather too much for a cat; though at home he might have made a good market of them, where some old lady, with a cat-mania, might have found them a valuable addition to her collection.
I have never described a dak gharry. It is something
like a small caravan on four wheels, and is drawn by one horse. There is a well inside, in which all the provisions and packages are placed, and at night you cover this well with a leather cushion or mattress, which serves for a bed; but it requires a great deal of preparation, and you are obliged to stop to get out to arrange it. The vehicle is lined with a strong, thick lining, and has capacious pockets and a shelf for books, biscuits, oranges, &c.
We reached the dak bungalow at Allahabad in the evening. This is a favourite station; and is said now to be chosen for the seat of government, instead of Agra. It is well adapted for this; as, being situated on the Grand Trunk Road, at the junction of the Ganges and Jumna, 498 miles from Calcutta, 1,151 from Madras, and 831 from Bombay, its facilities for travelling and communication are many. Lying at the extremity of the Doab27, the country is fertile and well wooded; and, escaping the hot, scorching winds of the “up country,” it partakes more of the humid Bengal climate. The gardens look fresh and luxuriant, as it rains here when other parts of the country are parched up.
Allahabad is the first station in the “Upper Provinces;” all to the eastward of it, being called “down country.” Troops are continually passing through in the cold season, which adds to the enlivenment of society at the station. We drove a long
way by the side of the cemetery, which, with its lofty tombs of Asiatic architecture, looked very different from an English one: these closely crowded reminiscences of our poor countrymen, made me think that India was truly called “Scotland’s graveyard.”
Our drive, however, gave me much pleasure: the military cantonments28 surrounded by trees, the grassy, park-like plain, the English-looking houses, and tastefully laid-out gardens, formed a picturesque scene. How little did I then think, that that pretty, homelike station, in a few short months, would be a scene of devastation and ruin.
The road from Allahabad to Kanhpur seemed to me the extreme of barrenness. We halted part of the day at Kanhpur, and dined at the hotel. I was much struck with the dreary, depressing look of the place, which seemed fitted for the cruel tragedies so soon to be enacted there. The cantonments extended six miles, in the middle of a sandy plain; and when I saw the long rows of blank-looking barracks, the neglected houses, surrounded by bare mud walls, so different from those of Allahabad, I felt thankful that our lot was not cast in such a dreary waste. We met many travellers on our way, and constantly English ladies and children unaccompanied by male Europeans.
We reached Agra January 3rd, and visited
the Military Chaplain, to whom we had an introduction. He very kindly asked us to stay with him till we had made arrangements to proceed to Gwalior: for here the dak gharry stopped, the road to Gwalior and Indore not being quite finished. I must here remark, that the Grand Trunk Road, when it is complete from Calcutta to the Afghan frontier, a distance of 1,500 miles, will be one of the best roads in the world.
Unfortunately it rained heavily all that day, so we could not do anything. Rain generally falls after Christmas in India, cheering and refreshing everything, and making a pleasant change in the air.
On Saturday we commenced the troublesome and worrying business of buying furniture.
In India when any English officer leaves a station either to return home or remove to another, it is customary for him to sell all, or part, of his furniture, horses, and carriages; he makes a list of the articles and their prices, leaving a margin for the purchasers to write their names in against the article they have chosen. In this way we procured a large portion of our furniture; for the remainder, we ransacked the European and native shops. The native shopmen tease and torment you dreadfully, trying to pass off painted deal for real mahogany, and cotton for silk-velvet. One man, who was particularly imposing and cunning, afterwards made himself very active in the mutinies, firing on our troops, and inciting others
on; but he met his richly deserved fate in a ditch near Delhi.
In the afternoon we drove to the celebrated Taj Mahal. The whole country we passed through looked so barren and wretched, that when we found ourselves in the midst of the lovely garden that surrounds the Taj, and saw before us, towering aloft into the clear blue sky, this wonderful pile of snow-white, glistening marble, contrasting with the solemn, dark green of the cypress and myrtle trees, our feelings of delight and surprise can hardly be described.
This stupendous edifice more than realized my expectations of eastern grandeur; and I thought no description in the “Arabian Nights,” of gorgeous palaces, exaggerated. One could scarcely fancy it built by mortal hands: it seemed as if it had been dropped from the skies, so exquisitely ethereal did it look – too sublime for this lower world.
Entering through a gateway into a large court, round which ran a range of arcades, occupied by horses and their attendants, we alighted at a flight of steps, which we mounted, and passing through the massive brazen doors of a splendid vestibule, where some natives were waiting to conduct us round the Taj, we entered the garden.
And now, picture to yourself – if you can realize such a scene – a long avenue bordered by sad-looking cypresses, fit emblems for the place where so much
beauty and ambition repose; and at the end of this vista a vast platform of solid masonry, forty feet high, from which rises proudly to the heavens a structure of the clearest white marble, glittering and sparkling in the bright sun; four minarets, like sentries watching over this “crown of edifices,” and tipped with shining gold, like the dome and four cupolas surmounting the edifice. We ascended the steps leading to the terrace – which, with the Taj and four minarets, is entirely built of white marble – and lifted the curtain, that guards the sacred interior from the common gaze.
At first, the soft light streaming in from the “clerestory” windows, casting a hazy indistinctness over everything, prevented us from clearly defining objects; but gradually the interior became more distinct, and we saw, round the octagonal-shaped centre hall, small cells, like side chapels in a cathedral. We descended into the vault, where are the tombs of the Emperor Shah Jehan and his queen, Mumtaz Mahal Begum, who lie side by side. Immediately above, under the dome, are the cenotaphs, enclosed by a marble screen, which is carved in the finest fret-work, like lace, and said to be unrivalled. The cenotaphs are inlaid with costly mosaics, of wreaths of flowers formed by precious stones of cornelian, jasper, agate, and lapis lazuli, the shading being so delicately and elaborately finished, that a single flower is often composed of several dozen
stones; and also with sentences from the Koran in black letters.
The walls are panelled and inlaid with mosaics of the same description, only the patterns are larger, and the arabesque designs more profuse; but I should be wearisome were I to dwell long on each separate beauty. After spending some time in alternately examining these wonders, and reflecting on the time (200 years) this building had lasted, and which still showed so few signs of age, we went to the back of the Taj to see the remains of a bridge which Shah Jehan had commenced building, of white marble, to connect this Taj with another intended for himself, when his imprisonment and death cut short this grand design.
We saw the Fort in the distance, at a bend in the river.
We strolled in the gardens till late in the evening. They are kept up by Government, and beautifully laid out in groves and alleys of peach and orange-trees, intersected by walks of white marble and freestone, and borders formed in patterns of stone work, and adorned with fountains. Down the centre of the principal avenue runs a marble channel, with jets d’eau.
We sat on the marble steps watching the gathering darkness stealing on, and the fairy-like Taj glimmering from amongst long shadows of the trees; and enjoying the soft, balmy air, like an autumnal
evening at home, the scent of the orange and myrtle, and other tropical flowers, which, like all eastern fragrance, is so redolent of luxury and magnificence; brilliant green parrots were flitting about, or bathing in the channel, vying in brightness with the gold and silver fish; and we remained listening to the liquid, murmuring coo of the doves, and the twittering of the humming-birds.
On Sunday we went to the military cantonment church, where my husband preached both morning and afternoon. On Monday we looked over the Fort: and little did I then think how I should again see it, alone, and under what circumstances. In the evening we dined with the brigade-major.
Mr. French was out on a missionary tour, so that I could not see him, much as I should have liked it.
We drove round the camp of the Commander-in-Chief, who was on his way up the country. His wife and daughter had accompanied him so far, and stopped to see the Taj before proceeding to England. This, my first sight of the pomp and pageantry of war, was very novel and interesting. The tents were pitched on the parade ground, in rows like streets, the sentries at their fronts, and the horses picquetted about. Aides-de-camps were riding about with orders, some men were cooking their supper over the fires, some unloading the growling camels, and others preparing the tents for the night and cleaning their accoutrements; the huge elephants were consuming
their vast heaps of fodder before them, the goats being milked and fowls killed: altogether, it was a stirring scene. The “course” that night was crowded with carriages and equestrians; and when we went again to see the Taj, its silent, solemn repose was sadly marred by the loud laughter and comic songs of light-hearted people trying the echo.
Captain Garston, an officer on the Commander-in-Chief’s staff, and his wife, spent the day with Mr. Hind. Mrs. Garston gave me a most amusing account of the march. She and her children had a large carriage, called a palkee gharry (something like the dak gharry which I have described, only more comfortable), drawn by a splendid pair of bullocks. These animals are most useful for draught and agricultural purposes; they stand about fourteen or fifteen hands high, and are not to be surpassed in size and sleekness; many of them have queerly twisted and curved horns, which are sometimes painted red. This lady had many camels to carry her furniture, and enjoyed moving about very much; the only trouble, she said, was the early getting up, as they usually march from two in the morning till the sun rises: but sometimes they continue again in the evening. Forced marches are, however, very trying; many of the soldiers die of apoplexy and cholera.
Miss W___ arrived at the Hinds, on her way to join her brother, a judge, who was on his rounds in
his district; and she went out to the shops to see the new Parisian fashions. On Tuesday we drove to the civil cantonments, which were some distance off. They also had a church and chaplain. Agra is the principal civil station in this part of India; it is, like Delhi, situated on the right bank of the Jumna, and is 800 miles from Calcutta and 150 from Delhi. The native city is very large, containing an enormous number of inhabitants; it has been in our possession since the year 1803, and was the head-quarters of Government in the North-west. The then Lieutenant-Governor, Mr. Colvin, resided in the Government House.
We saw the beautiful Roman Catholic Cathedral, which quite put to shame our station churches; and I was told the singing and service were most beautifully done, and much pains taken with them.
The Roman Catholics here have a bishop, a sisterhood, and a school, for both European and native children.
I thought the houses and gardens much better and prettier than those of the military cantonments, more like the Calcutta houses, with their flat roofs, and built of stone.
The civilians here have very high pay, from £2,000 to £5,000 a year; and many of them go to the Hills in the hot season: those who cannot afford to send their children to England, send them there also, where there are schools. I frequently
met people who had never been out of India. It is much hotter at Gwalior and Agra in the hot season, and colder in the cold season, than any other part of India, except the Panjab. Peshawur is the hottest place in the north of India: I was told that residents there dug holes under their tables and sat in them, as the English did at Thyat Myo, in Burmah, where my husband was for a short time; and where they used to dig deep pits, and retire to them in the heat of the day. There is a bad kind of fever at Peshawur, from which my cousin, in the 70th Queen’s, suffered much when he was there. This fever, with apoplexy, causes so much mortality that the place is called the “Grave of the English.”
We left for Gwalior on the 7th of January, and though I was wrapped in a cloth jacket and plaid, I was glad of a warm Siberian rug, the weather was so cold: perhaps I might have felt it more, after my illness in the Red Sea. We were accompanied by a tribe of thirty natives; banghy wallahs29, to carry our boxes, two torch-bearers, and additional ones for the dhoolies30; they were headed by our kitmutghar in a warm lebada31, or tight kind of cassock, brilliant green turned up with red, and a shawl turban of red lui32, or native blanket; he rode a queer little pony, which looked as though it had not a leg to stand upon, and was attended by a village boy,
screaming and yelling, and unmercifully thumping the poor animal with a thick stick, the boy shivering with cold, and complaining it made his pété33 ache.
At some distance from Agra the country was well cultivated, and the crops looked fresh and green after the recent rain. The roadside was planted with peepul, mango, and toon trees; from the latter most of the furniture is made: it is something like the ash hi foliage.
We passed several villages. My husband and I spent our time in reading “Macaulay’s History of England” and “Westward Ho!” I felt grateful to the famous authors of these books for giving us so much interest and amusement when away from civilized life. You can read so much better in a dhooly; the motion caused by the jog-trot of the bearers is rather pleasant, and makes you sleep a good deal. In the evening we kept to our English custom of walking. We stayed the night at the bungalow at Dholpur, which is a large dismal-looking place.
We had now passed from the Company’s dominions into those of an independent (at least in name) native Rajah. A Mahratta soldier appeared, sent by the Rajah of Dholpur, to know if my husband was a “lord padre sahib34,” for if he were, he would send him a guard of honour; but on my husband saying
he was only a “chota35 padre sahib36,” he vanished, but soon returned with one or two troopers, who were to guard us, as Dholpur is a celebrated place for thieves, and whom we rewarded with liberal “baksheesh37.” A friend told me that when she and her husband were in tents near Dholpur, halting on their journey, they had everything stolen; her jewels, the tent-furniture, and equipments; and in the morning she had nothing but her habit to travel in.
We passed through the town of Dholpur, and in the distance saw our attentive Rajah’s palace. The natives here were a robust, warlike set, well dressed in warm quilted lebadas and trowsers, and gay turbans; they seemed to prefer the brightest reds and yellows in their attire, and were well armed with short daggers, matchlocks, and swords. I could not help thinking, when I saw these tall, stout, fierce-looking men, larger and more muscular than many in Europe, of the absurd notions many people at home have of the natives of Hindustan; they think India is solely peopled with “mild Hindus,” dressed in white garments, gliding about with graceful movements, and cringingly submissive: I only found them obsequious when they wanted anything from me. Many also think there is no greater difference between the inhabitants of Benares, Calcutta, and
those of Rajpootana, Bundlecund, Rohilcund, and all the North-west Provinces, than there is between a native of Yorkshire and Wales. The inhabitants of Bengal are exclusively “mild Hindus,”, if they can now be called so: but the Mahrattas, Bheels, and Pindaris, are a strong, savage, martial race, and eat as large a quantity of good substantial food as an Englishman: they differ widely in appearance, dress, and manners, from the Hindus. They are not bad-looking, with their black hair and moustaches, and rather harshly-marked features; but at heart most of them are cruel and bloodthirsty, and are only kept by our superior power from burning alive, swinging on hooks, crushing under the car of Juggernaut, and otherwise sacrificing victims to their vile religion: were it not for this, they would again return to Thuggism, Sutteeism, and burying alive. I think we have had sufficient proof of their treachery; yet actually, since my return home, people have asked me if I did not think the “poor Hindus much maligned and harshly treated!”
We were ferried across the Chumbul in a rough boat, and I much regretted my inability to sketch the scene: the clear Chumbul, the fort in the distance, the picturesque banks, and wild-looking natives with their camels and bullocks flocking down to the river. The following lines, copied from a missionary’s book of travels in India, will give you
a better idea of the beautiful Chumbul than any description of mine:–
Since the days of my youth, oh, how far have I wandered!
How strange seems the way! – oh, how much like a dream!
But where are the scenes, like the scenes of my childhood,
When all heedless I roamed by the Chumbul’s clear stream?
I have climbed the steep sides of the lofty Hamala,
And gazed on their summits in morning’s bright gleam;
I have strayed through the sweet-scented groves of Bengala,
But I sighed for the gay banks of Chumbul’s dear stream.
Gently and softly flows the Nirbudda,
Pure are its waters, and holy they seem;
And lovely the banks of the far-wandering Kistna;
But to me, oh, how dearer the Chumbul’s clear stream!
Broad is the Sutlege and rapid the Chenab,
And whirling the Indus runs to the main;
But true as the chakwa38 turns to the moonbeams,
My heart wanders back to the Chumbul again.
Rich are the fields by the slow-winding Ghumti,
And fair are the lands that are laved by the Sone;
But fairer and dearer the banks of the Chumbul,
Where my thoughts dwell with fondness on days that are gone.
Through gardens and palaces glides the fair Jumna,
And royal the cities that rise o’er its tide;
But to me, oh I how purer the sweet rippling Chumbul,
Where gladsome I bounded in youth’s early pride
Divine are the Gunga’s all-nourishing waters,
How glorious they shine in the sun’s setting beam!
And lovely the scenes on the green banks of Dewa;
But lovelier by far is the Chumbul’s clear stream.
These lines give by no means an exaggerated description of the rivers of Hindustan, so much grander than those of Europe.
We travelled the whole day, winding through narrow ravines and fording rivers, or crossing on crazy native rafts. The air was very sharp and keen. Our bearers were oddly wrapped up; their legs were bare, and their heads muffled up. They each carried a blanket, in which they rolled themselves at night; but too much clothing would encumber them. I was amused to see them put on their shoes whenever their turn for a rest came, and trot by the side of the dhoolies, vigorously smoking a “hubble bubble” and munching gram. They must have carried us forty miles a day, as Gwalior is eighty miles from Agra.
We halted at a village, and dined under some splendid trees, where I gave a small boy a packet of English and Egyptian coins; he ran off highly delighted and greatly astonished at the sight of a penny. We saw the Fort of Gwalior looming in the distance; it is called the “Gibraltar of India.”
16. Palki gharry, palanquin carriage.
17. Hookah, a pipe; the smoke of which passes through water.
18. Coolies, common labourers.
19. Chowki, hostelry, stage.
20. Pice, copper coin.
21. Ghats, landing places.
22. Compound, enclosure, garden.
23. Brahmin, first of the four Hindu castes.
24. Gram, grain.
25. Bunyan, shopkeeper.
26. Rezai, wadded wrapper.
27. Doab, a tract of land between two rivers.
28. Cantonments, place where the Europeans reside.
29. Banghy wallahs, porters for luggage.
30. Dhoolie, a litter.
31. Lebada, quilted cloak.
32. Lui, blanket.
33. pété, stomach.
34. Lord padre sahib, bishop.
35. Chota, little.
36. Padre sahib, clergyman.
37. Baksheesh, present.
38. The chakwa is a species of water-fowl, often to be seen on the Ganges sitting with its head turned to the moon at night.
This collection transcribed by Chris Gage