# From the Caves and Jungles of Hindostan

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> Produced by M.R.J.
> 
> FROM THE CAVES AND JUNGLES OF HINDOSTAN
> 
> By Helena Petrovna Blavatsky
> 
> Translated From The Russian
> 
> Translator's Preface
> 
> "You must remember," said Mme. Blavatsky, "that I never meant this for a
> scientific work. My letters to the Russian Messenger, under the general
> title: 'From the Caves and Jungles of Hindostan,' were written in
> leisure moments, more for amusement than with any serious design.
> 
> "Broadly speaking, the facts and incidents are true; but I have freely
> availed myself of an author's privilege to group, colour, and dramatize
> them, whenever this seemed necessary to the full artistic effect;
> though, as I say, much of the book is exactly true, l would rather claim
> kindly judgment for it, as a romance of travel, than incur the critical
> risks that haunt an avowedly serious work."
> 
> To this caution of the author's, the translator must add another; these
> letters, as Mme Blavatsky says, were written in leisure moments, during
> 1879 and 1880, for the pages of the Russki Vyestnik, then edited by M.
> Katkoff. Mme. Blavatsky's manuscript was often incorrect; often obscure.
> The Russian compositors, though they did their best to render faithfully
> the Indian names and places, often produced, through their ignorance of
> Oriental tongues, forms which are strange, and sometimes unrecognizable.
> The proof-sheets were never corrected by the author, who was then in
> India; and, in consequence, it has been impossible to restore all the
> local and personal names to their proper form.
> 
> A similar difficulty has arisen with reference to quotations and
> cited authorities, all of which have gone through a double process of
> refraction: first into Russian, then into English. The translator, also
> a Russian, and far from perfectly acquainted with English, cannot
> claim to possess the erudition necessary to verify and restore the many
> quotations to verbal accuracy; all that is hoped is that, by a careful
> rendering, the correct sense has been preserved.
> 
> The translator begs the indulgence of English readers for all
> imperfections of style and language; in the words of the Sanskrit
> proverb: "Who is to be blamed, if success be not reached after due
> effort?"
> 
> The translator's best thanks are due to Mr. John C. Staples, for
> valuable help in the early chapters.--London, July, 1892
> 
> Contents
> 
>      In Bombay
>      On the Way to Karli
>      In the Karli Caves
>      Vanished Glories
>      A City of the Dead
>      Brahmanic Hospitalities
>      A Witch's Den
>      God's Warrior
>      The Banns of Marriage
>      The Caves of Bagh
>      An Isle of Mystery
>      Jubblepore
> 
> FROM THE CAVES AND JUNGLES OF HINDOSTAN
> 
> In Bombay
> 
> Late in the evening of the sixteenth of February, 1879, after a rough
> voyage which lasted thirty-two days, joyful exclamations were heard
> everywhere on deck. "Have you seen the lighthouse?" "There it is at
> last, the Bombay lighthouse."
> 
> Cards, books, music, everything was forgotten. Everyone rushed on deck.
> The moon had not risen as yet, and, in spite of the starry tropical sky,
> it was quite dark. The stars were so bright that, at first, it seemed
> hardly possible to distinguish, far away amongst them, a small fiery
> point lit by earthly hands. The stars winked at us like so many huge
> eyes in the black sky, on one side of which shone the Southern Cross.
> At last we distinguished the lighthouse on the distant horizon. It was
> nothing but a tiny fiery point diving in the phosphorescent waves. The
> tired travellers greeted it warmly. The rejoicing was general.
> 
> What a glorious daybreak followed this dark night! The sea no longer
> tossed our ship. Under the skilled guidance of the pilot, who had just
> arrived, and whose bronze form was so sharply defined against the pale
> sky, our steamer, breathing heavily with its broken machinery, slipped
> over the quiet, transparent waters of the Indian Ocean straight to
> the harbour. We were only four miles from Bombay, and, to us, who had
> trembled with cold only a few weeks ago in the Bay of Biscay, which has
> been so glorified by many poets and so heartily cursed by all sailors,
> our surroundings simply seemed a magical dream.
> 
> After the tropical nights of the Red Sea and the scorching hot days
> that had tortured us since Aden, we, people of the distant North, now
> experienced something strange and unwonted, as if the very fresh soft
> air had cast its spell over us. There was not a cloud in the sky,
> thickly strewn with dying stars. Even the moonlight, which till then had
> covered the sky with its silvery garb, was gradually vanishing; and the
> brighter grew the rosiness of dawn over the small island that lay before
> us in the East, the paler in the West grew the scattered rays of the
> moon that sprinkled with bright flakes of light the dark wake our ship
> left behind her, as if the glory of the West was bidding good-bye to us,
> while the light of the East welcomed the newcomers from far-off lands.
> Brighter and bluer grew the sky, swiftly absorbing the remaining pale
> stars one after the other, and we felt something touching in the
> sweet dignity with which the Queen of Night resigned her rights to the
> powerful usurper. At last, descending lower and lower, she disappeared
> completely.
> 
> And suddenly, almost without interval between darkness and light, the
> red-hot globe, emerging on the opposite side from under the cape, leant
> his golden chin on the lower rocks of the island and seemed to stop for
> a while, as if examining us. Then, with one powerful effort, the torch
> of day rose high over the sea and gloriously proceeded on its path,
> including in one mighty fiery embrace the blue waters of the bay, the
> shore and the islands with their rocks and cocoanut forests. His golden
> rays fell upon a crowd of Parsees, his rightful worshippers, who stood
> on shore raising their arms towards the mighty "Eye of Ormuzd." The
> sight was so impressive that everyone on deck became silent for a
> moment, even a red-nosed old sailor, who was busy quite close to us over
> the cable, stopped working, and, clearing his throat, nodded at the sun.
> 
> Moving slowly and cautiously along the charming but treacherous bay, we
> had plenty of time to admire the picture around us. On the right was a
> group of islands with Gharipuri or Elephanta, with its ancient temple,
> at their head. Gharipuri translated means "the town of caves" according
> to the Orientalists, and "the town of purification" according to the
> native Sanskrit scholars. This temple, cut out by an unknown hand in
> the very heart of a rock resembling porphyry, is a true apple of
> discord amongst the archaeologists, of whom none can as yet fix, even
> approximately, its antiquity. Elephanta raises high its rocky brow, all
> overgrown with secular cactus, and right under it, at the foot of the
> rock, are hollowed out the chief temple and the two lateral ones. Like
> the serpent of our Russian fairy tales, it seems to be opening its
> fierce black mouth to swallow the daring mortal who comes to take
> possession of the secret mystery of Titan. Its two remaining teeth, dark
> with time, are formed by two huge pillars t the entrance, sustaining the
> palate of the monster.
> 
> How many generations of Hindus, how many races, have knelt in the
> dust before the Trimurti, your threefold deity, O Elephanta? How many
> centuries were spent by weak man in digging out in your stone bosom this
> town of temples and carving your gigantic idols? Who can say? Many years
> have elapsed since I saw you last, ancient, mysterious temple, and still
> the same restless thoughts, the same recurrent questions vex me snow as
> they did then, and still remain unanswered. In a few days we shall see
> each other again. Once more I shall gaze upon your stern image, upon
> your three huge granite faces, and shall feel as hopeless as ever of
> piercing the mystery of your being. This secret fell into safe hands
> three centuries before ours. It is not in vain that the old Portuguese
> historian Don Diego de Cuta boasts that "the big square stone fastened
> over the arch of the pagoda with a distinct inscription, having been
> torn out and sent as a present to the King Dom Juan III, disappeared
> mysteriously in the course of time....," and adds, further, "Close to
> this big pagoda there stood another, and farther on even a third one,
> the most wonderful of all in beauty, incredible size, and richness of
> material. All those pagodas and caves have been built by the Kings of
> Kanada, (?) the most important of whom was Bonazur, and these buildings
> of Satan our (Portuguese) soldiers attacked with such vehemence that in
> a few years one stone was not left upon another...." And, worst of
> all, they left no inscriptions that might have given a clue to so much.
> Thanks to the fanaticism of Portuguese soldiers, the chronology of the
> Indian cave temples must remain for ever an enigma to the archaeological
> world, beginning with the Brah-mans, who say Elephanta is 374,000 years
> old, and ending with Fergusson, who tries to prove that it was carved
> only in the twelfth century of our era. Whenever one turns one's eyes to
> history, there is nothing to be found but hypotheses and darkness. And
> yet Gharipuri is mentioned in the epic Mahabharata, which was written,
> according to Colebrooke and Wilson, a good while before the reign of
> Cyrus. In another ancient legend it is said that the temple of Trimurti
> was built on Elephanta by the sons of Pandu, who took part in the war
> between the dynasties of the Sun and the Moon, and, belonging to the
> latter, were expelled at the end of the war. The Rajputs, who are the
> descendants of the first, still sing of this victory; but even in their
> popular songs there is nothing positive. Centuries have passed and will
> pass, and the ancient secret will die in the rocky bosom of the cave
> still unrecorded.
> 
> On the left side of the bay, exactly opposite Elephanta, and as if in
> contrast with all its antiquity and greatness, spreads the Malabar Hill,
> the residence of the modern Europeans and rich natives. Their brightly
> painted bungalows are bathed in the greenery of banyan, Indian fig, and
> various other trees, and the tall and straight trunks of cocoanut palms
> cover with the fringe of their leaves the whole ridge of the hilly
> headland. There, on the south-western end of the rock, you see the
> almost transparent, lace-like Government House surrounded on three
> sides by the ocean. This is the coolest and the most comfortable part of
> Bombay, fanned by three different sea breezes.
> 
> The island of Bombay, designated by the natives "Mambai," received its
> name from the goddess Mamba, in Mahrati Mahima, or Amba, Mama, and Amma,
> according to the dialect, a word meaning, literally, the Great Mother.
> Hardly one hundred years ago, on the site of the modern esplanade, there
> stood a temple consecrated to Mamba-Devi. With great difficulty and
> expense they carried it nearer to the shore, close to the fort, and
> erected it in front of Baleshwara the "Lord of the Innocent"--one of
> the names of the god Shiva. Bombay is part of a considerable group of
> islands, the most remarkable of which are Salsetta, joined to Bombay by
> a mole, Elephanta, so named by the Portuguese because of a huge rock cut
> in the shape of an elephant thirty-five feet long, and Trombay, whose
> lovely rock rises nine hundred feet above the surface of the sea. Bombay
> looks, on the maps, like an enormous crayfish, and is at the head of
> the rest of the islands. Spreading far out into the sea its two claws,
> Bombay island stands like a sleepless guardian watching over his younger
> brothers. Between it and the Continent there is a narrow arm of a river,
> which gets gradually broader and then again narrower, deeply indenting
> the sides of both shores, and so forming a haven that has no equal in
> the world. It was not without reason that the Portuguese, expelled in
> the course of time by the English, used to call it "Buona Bahia."
> 
> In a fit of tourist exaltation some travellers have compared it to the
> Bay of Naples; but, as a matter of fact, the one is as much like the
> other as a lazzaroni is like a Kuli. The whole resemblance between the
> former consists in the fact that there is water in both. In Bombay, as
> well as in its harbour, everything is original and does not in the least
> remind one of Southern Europe. Look at those coasting vessels and native
> boats; both are built in the likeness of the sea bird "sat," a kind
> of kingfisher. When in motion these boats are the personi-fication of
> grace, with their long prows and rounded poops. They look as if they
> were gliding backwards, and one might mistake for wings the strangely
> shaped, long lateen sails, their narrow angles fastened upwards to a
> yard. Filling these two wings with the wind, and careening, so as almost
> to touch the surface of the water, these boats will fly along with
> astonishing swiftness. Unlike our European boats, they do not cut the
> waves, but glide over them like a sea-gull.
> 
> The surroundings of the bay transported us to some fairy land of the
> Arabian Nights. The ridge of the Western Ghats, cut through here and
> there by some separate hills almost as high as themselves, stretched all
> along the Eastern shore. From the base to their fantastic, rocky tops,
> they are all overgrown with impenetrable forests and jungles inhabited
> by wild animals. Every rock has been enriched by the popular imagination
> with an independent legend. All over the slope of the mountain are
> scattered the pagodas, mosques, and temples of numberless sects. Here
> and there the hot rays of the sun strike upon an old fortress, once
> dreadful and inaccessible, now half ruined and covered with prickly
> cactus. At every step some memorial of sanctity. Here a deep vihara,
> a cave cell of a Buddhist bhikshu saint, there a rock protected by the
> symbol of Shiva, further on a Jaina temple, or a holy tank, all covered
> with sedge and filled with water, once blessed by a Brahman and able to
> purify every sin, all indispensable attribute of all pagodas. All the
> surroundings are covered with symbols of gods and goddesses. Each of the
> three hundred and thirty millions of deities of the Hindu Pantheon has
> its representative in something consecrated to it, a stone, a flower, a
> tree, or a bird. On the West side of the Malabar Hill peeps through the
> trees Valakeshvara, the temple of the "Lord of Sand." A long stream of
> Hindus moves towards this celebrated temple; men and women, shining with
> rings on their fingers and toes, with bracelets from their wrists up
> to their elbows, clad in bright turbans and snow white muslins, with
> foreheads freshly painted with red, yellow, and white, holy sectarian
> signs.
> 
> The legend says that Rama spent here a night on his way from Ayodhya
> (Oudh) to Lanka (Ceylon) to fetch his wife Sita who had been stolen by
> the wicked King Ravana. Rama's brother Lakshman, whose duty it was
> to send him daily a new lingam from Benares, was late in doing so one
> evening. Losing patience, Rama erected for himself a lingam of sand.
> When, at last, the symbol arrived from Benares, it was put in a temple,
> and the lingam erected by Rama was left on the shore. There it stayed
> during long centuries, but, at the arrival of the Portuguese, the "Lord
> of Sand" felt so disgusted with the feringhi (foreigners) that he jumped
> into the sea never to return. A little farther on there is a charming
> tank, called Vanattirtha, or the "point of the arrow." Here Rama, the
> much worshipped hero of the Hindus, felt thirsty and, not finding any
> water, shot an arrow and immediately there was created a pond. Its
> crystal waters were surrounded by a high wall, steps were built leading
> down to it, and a circle of white marble dwellings was filled with dwija
> (twice born) Brahmans.
> 
> India is the land of legends and of mysterious nooks and corners. There
> is not a ruin, not a monument, not a thicket, that has no story attached
> to it. Yet, however they may be entangled in the cobweb of popular
> imagination, which becomes thicker with every generation, it is
> difficult to point out a single one that is not founded on fact. With
> patience and, still more, with the help of the learned Brahmans you
> can always get at the truth, when once you have secured their trust and
> friendship.
> 
> The same road leads to the temple of the Parsee fire-worshippers. At its
> altar burns an unquenchable fire, which daily consumes hundredweights of
> sandal wood and aromatic herbs. Lit three hundred years ago, the sacred
> fire has never been extinguished, notwithstanding many disorders,
> sectarian discords, and even wars. The Parsees are very proud of this
> temple of Zaratushta, as they call Zoroaster. Compared with it the
> Hindu pagodas look like brightly painted Easter eggs. Generally they are
> consecrated to Hanuman, the monkey-god and the faithful ally of Rama, or
> to the elephant headed Ganesha, the god of the occult wisdom, or to one
> of the Devis. You meet with these temples in every street. Before each
> there is a row of pipals (Ficus religiosa) centuries old, which no
> temple can dispense with, because these trees are the abode of the
> elementals and the sinful souls.
> 
> All this is entangled, mixed, and scattered, appearing to one's eyes
> like a picture in a dream. Thirty centuries have left their traces
> here. The innate laziness and the strong conservative tendencies of
> the Hindus, even before the European invasion, preserved all kinds of
> monuments from the ruinous vengeance of the fanatics, whether those
> memorials were Buddhist, or belonged to some other unpopular sect.
> The Hindus are not naturally given to senseless vandalism, and a
> phrenologist would vainly look for a bump of destructiveness on their
> skulls. If you meet with antiquities that, having been spared by time,
> are, nowadays, either destroyed or disfigured, it is not they who are
> to blame, but either Mussulmans, or the Portuguese under the guidance of
> the Jesuits.
> 
> At last we were anchored and, in a moment, were besieged, ourselves as
> well as our luggage, by numbers of naked skeleton-like Hindus, Parsees,
> Moguls, and various other tribes. All this crowd emerged, as if from the
> bottom of the sea, and began to shout, to chatter, and to yell, as only
> the tribes of Asia can. To get rid of this Babel confusion of tongues as
> soon as possible, we took refuge in the first bunder boat and made for
> the shore.
> 
> Once settled in the bungalow awaiting us, the first thing we were struck
> with in Bombay was the millions of crows and vultures. The first are, so
> to speak, the County Council of the town, whose duty it is to clean the
> streets, and to kill one of them is not only forbidden by the police,
> but would be very dangerous. By killing one you would rouse the
> vengeance of every Hindu, who is always ready to offer his own life in
> exchange for a crow's. The souls of the sinful forefathers transmigrate
> into crows and to kill one is to interfere with the law of Karma and
> to expose the poor ancestor to something still worse. Such is the firm
> belief, not only of Hindus, but of Parsees, even the most enlightened
> amongst them. The strange behaviour of the Indian crows explains, to
> a certain extent, this superstition. The vultures are, in a way, the
> grave-diggers of the Parsees and are under the personal protection
> of the Farvardania, the angel of death, who soars over the Tower of
> Silence, watching the occupations of the feathered workmen.
> 
> The deafening caw of the crows strikes every new comer as uncanny, but,
> after a while, is explained very simply. Every tree of the numerous
> cocoa-nut forests round Bombay is provided with a hollow pumpkin. The
> sap of the tree drops into it and, after fermenting, becomes a most
> intoxicating beverage, known in Bombay under the name of toddy. The
> naked toddy wallahs, generally half-caste Portuguese, modestly adorned
> with a single coral necklace, fetch this beverage twice a day, climbing
> the hundred and fifty feet high trunks like squirrels. The crows
> mostly build their nests on the tops of the cocoa-nut palms and drink
> incessantly out of the open pumpkins. The result of this is the chronic
> intoxication of the birds. As soon as we went out in the garden of our
> new habitation, flocks of crows came down heavily from every tree. The
> noise they make whilst jumping about everywhere is indescribable. There
> seemed to be something positively human in the positions of the slyly
> bent heads of the drunken birds, and a fiendish light shone in their
> eyes while they were examining us from foot to head.
> 
> We occupied three small bungalows, lost, like nests, in the garden,
> their roofs literally smothered in roses blossoming on bushes twenty
> feet high, and their windows covered only with muslin, instead of the
> usual panes of glass. The bungalows were situated in the native part of
> the town, so that we were transported, all at once, into the real India.
> We were living in India, unlike English people, who are only surrounded
> by India at a certain distance. We were enabled to study her character
> and customs, her religion, superstitions and rites, to learn her
> legends, in fact, to live among Hindus.
> 
> Everything in India, this land of the elephant and the poisonous cobra,
> of the tiger and the unsuccessful English missionary, is original and
> strange. Everything seems unusual, unexpected, and striking, even to one
> who has travelled in Turkey, Egypt, Damascus, and Palestine. In these
> tropical regions the conditions of nature are so various that all the
> forms of the animal and vegetable kingdoms must radically differ from
> what we are used to in Europe. Look, for instance, at those women on
> their way to a well through a garden, which is private and at the same
> time open to anyone, because somebody's cows are grazing in it. To whom
> does it not happen to meet with women, to see cows, and admire a garden?
> Doubtless these are among the commonest of all things. But a single
> attentive glance will suffice to show you the difference that exists
> between the same objects in Europe and in India. Nowhere more than
> in India does a human being feel his weakness and insignificance. The
> majesty of the tropical growth is such that our highest trees would look
> dwarfed compared with banyans and especially with palms. A European cow,
> mistaking, at first sight, her Indian sister for a calf, would deny the
> existence of any kinship between them, as neither the mouse-coloured
> wool, nor the straight goat-like horns, nor the humped back of the
> latter would permit her to make such an error. As to the women, each of
> them would make any artist feel enthusiastic about the gracefulness
> of her movements and drapery, but still, no pink and white, stout Anna
> Ivanovna would condescend to greet her. "Such a shame, God forgive me,
> the woman is entirely naked!"
> 
> This opinion of the modern Russian woman is nothing but the echo of what
> was said in 1470 by a distinguished Russian traveler, "the sinful slave
> of God, Athanasius son of Nikita from Tver," as he styles himself. He
> describes India as follows: "This is the land of India. Its people are
> naked, never cover their heads, and wear their hair braided. Women have
> babies every year. Men and women are black. Their prince wears a veil
> round his head and wraps another veil round his legs. The noblemen wear
> a veil on one shoulder, and the noblewomen on the shoulders and round
> the loins, but everyone is barefooted. The women walk about with their
> hair spread and their breasts naked. The children, boys and girls, never
> cover their shame until they are seven years old...." This description
> is quite correct, but Athanasius Nikita's son is right only concerning
> the lowest and poorest classes. These really do "walk about" covered
> only with a veil, which often is so poor that, in fact, it is nothing
> but a rag. But still, even the poorest woman is clad in a piece of
> muslin at least ten yards long. One end serves as a sort of short
> petticoat, and the other covers the head and shoulders when out in the
> street, though the faces are always uncovered. The hair is erected into
> a kind of Greek chignon. The legs up to the knees, the arms, and the
> waist are never covered. There is not a single respectable woman who
> would consent to put on a pair of shoes. Shoes are the attribute and the
> prerogative of disreputable women. When, some time ago, the wife of the
> Madras governor thought of passing a law that should induce native
> women to cover their breasts, the place was actually threatened with
> a revolution. A kind of jacket is worn only by dancing girls. The
> Government recognized that it would be unreasonable to irritate women,
> who, very often, are more dangerous than their husbands and brothers,
> and the custom, based on the law of Manu, and sanctified by three
> thousand years' observance, remained unchanged.
> 
> For more than two years before we left America we were in constant
> correspondence with a certain learned Brahman, whose glory is great
> at present (1879) all over India. We came to India to study, under his
> guidance, the ancient country of Aryas, the Vedas, and their difficult
> language. His name is Dayanand Saraswati Swami. Swami is the name of the
> learned anchorites who are initiated into many mysteries unattainable by
> common mortals. They are monks who never marry, but are quite different
> from other mendicant brotherhoods, the so-called Sannyasi and Hossein.
> This Pandit is considered the greatest Sanskritist of modern India
> and is an absolute enigma to everyone. It is only five years since
> he appeared on the arena of great reforms, but till then, he lived,
> entirely secluded, in a jungle, like the ancient gymnosophists mentioned
> by the Greek and Latin authors. At this time he was studying the chief
> philosophical systems of the "Aryavartta" and the occult meaning of the
> Vedas with the help of mystics and anchorites. All Hindus believe that
> on the Bhadrinath Mountains (22,000 feet above the level of the sea)
> there exist spacious caves, inhabited, now for many thousand years, by
> these anchorites. Bhadrinath is situated in the north of Hindustan on
> the river Bishegunj, and is celebrated for its temple of Vishnu right in
> the heart of the town. Inside the temple there are hot mineral springs,
> visited yearly by about fifty thousand pilgrims, who come to be purified
> by them.
> 
> From the first day of his appearance Dayanand Saraswati produced
> an immense impression and got the surname of the "Luther of India."
> Wandering from one town to another, today in the South, tomorrow in the
> North, and transporting himself from one end of the country to another
> with incredible quickness, he has visited every part of India, from Cape
> Comorin to the Himalayas, and from Calcutta to Bombay. He preaches the
> One Deity and, "Vedas in hand," proves that in the ancient writings
> there was not a word that could justify polytheism. Thundering against
> idol worship, the great orator fights with all his might against caste,
> infant marriages, and superstitions. Chastising all the evils grafted on
> India by centuries of casuistry and false interpretation of the Vedas,
> he blames for them the Brahmans, who, as he openly says before masses of
> people, are alone guilty of the humiliation of their country, once great
> and independent, now fallen and enslaved. And yet Great Britain has in
> him not an enemy, but rather an ally. He says openly--"If you expel the
> English, then, no later than tomorrow, you and I and everyone who rises
> against idol worship will have our throats cut like mere sheep. The
> Mussulmans are stronger than the idol worshippers; but these last
> are stronger than we." The Pandit held many a warm dispute with the
> Brah-mans, those treacherous enemies of the people, and has almost
> always been victorious. In Benares secret assassins were hired to slay
> him, but the attempt did not succeed. In a small town of Bengal, where
> he treated fetishism with more than his usual severity, some fanatic
> threw on his naked feet a huge cobra. There are two snakes deified by
> the Brahman mythology: the one which surrounds the neck of Shiva on his
> idols is called Vasuki; the other, Ananta, forms the couch of Vishnu. So
> the worshipper of Shiva, feeling sure that his cobra, trained purposely
> for the mysteries of a Shivaite pagoda, would at once make an end of
> the offender's life, triumphantly exclaimed, "Let the god Vasuki himself
> show which of us is right!"
> 
> Dayanand jerked off the cobra twirling round his leg, and with a single
> vigorous movement, crushed the reptile's head. "Let him do so," he
> quietly assented. "Your god has been too slow. It is I who have decided
> the dispute, Now go," added he, addressing the crowd, "and tell everyone
> how easily perish the false gods."
> 
> Thanks to his excellent knowledge of Sanskrit the Pandit does a great
> service, not only to the masses, clearing their ignorance about the
> monotheism of the Vedas, but to science too, showing who, exactly, are
> the Brahmans, the only caste in India which, during centuries, had the
> right to study Sanskrit literature and comment on the Vedas, and which
> used this right solely for its own advantage.
> 
> Long before the time of such Orientalists as Burnouf, Colebrooke and Max
> Muller, there have been in India many reformers who tried to prove the
> pure monotheism of the Vedic doctrines. There have even been founders
> of new religions who denied the revelations of these scriptures; for
> instance, the Raja Ram Mohun Roy, and, after him, Babu Keshub Chunder
> Sen, both Calcutta Bengalees. But neither of them had much success. They
> did nothing but add new denominations to the numberless sects existing
> in India. Ram Mohun Roy died in England, having done next to nothing,
> and Keshub Chunder Sen, having founded the community of "Brahmo-Samaj,"
> which professes a religion extracted from the depths of the Babu's own
> imagination, became a mystic of the most pronounced type, and now
> is only "a berry from the same field," as we say in Russia, as the
> Spiritualists, by whom he is considered to be a medium and a Calcutta
> Swedenborg. He spends his time in a dirty tank, singing praises to
> Chaitanya, Koran, Buddha, and his own person, proclaiming himself their
> prophet, and performs a mystical dance, dressed in woman's attire,
> which, on his part, is an attention to a "woman goddess" whom the Babu
> calls his "mother, father and eldest brother."
> 
> In short, all the attempts to re-establish the pure primitive monotheism
> of Aryan India have been a failure. They always got wrecked upon the
> double rock of Brahmanism and of prejudices centuries old. But lo! here
> appears unexpectedly the pandit Dayanand. None, even of the most
> beloved of his disciples, knows who he is and whence he comes. He openly
> confesses before the crowds that the name under which he is known is not
> his, but was given to him at the Yogi initiation.
> 
> The mystical school of Yogis was established by Patanjali, the founder
> of one of the six philosophical systems of ancient India. It is supposed
> that the Neo-platonists of the second and third Alexandrian Schools were
> the followers of Indian Yogis, more especially was their theurgy brought
> from India by Pythagoras, according to the tradition. There still exist
> in India hundreds of Yogis who follow the system of Patanjali, and
> assert that they are in communion with Brahma. Nevertheless, most of
> them are do-nothings, mendicants by profession, and great frauds, thanks
> to the insatiable longing of the natives for miracles. The real Yogis
> avoid appearing in public, and spend their lives in secluded retirement
> and studies, except when, as in Dayanand's case, they come forth in
> time of need to aid their country. However, it is perfectly certain that
> India never saw a more learned Sanskrit scholar, a deeper metaphysician,
> a more wonderful orator, and a more fearless denunciator of every evil,
> than Dayanand, since the time of Sankharacharya, the celebrated founder
> of the Vedanta philosophy, the most metaphysical of Indian systems,
> in fact, the crown of pantheistic teaching. Then, Dayanand's personal
> appearance is striking. He is immensely tall, his complexion is pale,
> rather European than Indian, his eyes are large and bright, and his
> greyish hair is long. The Yogis and Dikshatas (initiated) never cut
> either their hair or beard. His voice is clear and loud, well calculated
> to give expression to every shade of deep feeling, ranging from a sweet
> childish caressing whisper to thundering wrath against the evil doings
> and falsehoods of the priests. All this taken together produces an
> indescribable effect on the impressionable Hindu. Wherever Dayanand
> appears crowds prostrate themselves in the dust over his footprints;
> but, unlike Babu Keshub Chunder Sen, he does not teach a new
> religion, does not invent new dogmas. He only asks them to renew their
> half-forgotten Sanskrit studies, and, having compared the doctrines of
> their forefathers with what they have become in the hands of Brahmans,
> to return to the pure conceptions of Deity taught by the primitive
> Rishis--Agni, Vayu, Aditya, and Anghira--the patriarchs who first gave
> the Vedas to humanity. He does not even claim that the Vedas are a
> heavenly revelation, but simply teaches that "every word in these
> scriptures belongs to the highest inspiration possible to the earthly
> man, an inspiration that is repeated in the history of humanity, and,
> when necessary, may happen to any nation....."
> 
> During his five years of work Swami Dayanand made about two million
> proselytes, chiefly amongst the higher castes. Judging by appearances,
> they are all ready to sacrifice to him their lives and souls and even
> their earthly possessions, which are often more precious to them than
> their lives. But Dayanand is a real Yogi, he never touches money, and
> despises pecuniary affairs. He contents himself with a few handfuls of
> rice per day. One is inclined to think that this wonderful Hindu bears
> a charmed life, so careless is he of rousing the worst human passions,
> which are so dangerous in India. A marble statue could not be less moved
> by the raging wrath of the crowd. We saw him once at work. He sent away
> all his faithful followers and forbade them either to watch over him
> or to defend him, and stood alone before the infuriated crowd, facing
> calmly the monster ready to spring upon him and tear him to pieces.
> 
> Here a short explanation is necessary. A few years ago a society of
> well-informed, energetic people was formed in New York. A certain
> sharp-witted savant surnamed them "La Societe des Malcontents du
> Spiritisme." The founders of this club were people who, believing in the
> phenomena of spiritualism as much as in the possibility of every other
> phenomenon in Nature, still denied the theory of the "spirits." They
> considered that the modern psychology was a science still in the first
> stages of its development, in total ignorance of the nature of the
> psychic man, and denying, as do many other sciences, all that cannot be
> explained according to its own particular theories.
> 
> From the first days of its existence some of the most learned Americans
> joined the Society, which became known as the Theosophical Society. Its
> members differed on many points, much as do the members of any other
> Society, Geographical or Archeological, which fights for years over
> the sources of the Nile, or the Hieroglyphs of Egypt. But everyone is
> unanimously agreed that, as long as there is water in the Nile,
> its sources must exist somewhere. So much about the phenomena of
> spiritualism and mesmerism. These phenomena were still waiting their
> Champollion--but the Rosetta stone was to be searched for neither in
> Europe nor in America, but in the far-away countries where they still
> believe in magic, where wonders are performed daily by the native
> priesthood, and where the cold materialism of science has never yet
> reached--in one word, in the East.
> 
> The Council of the Society knew that the Lama-Buddhists, for instance,
> though not believing in God, and denying the personal immortality of the
> soul, are yet celebrated for their "phenomena," and that mesmerism was
> known and daily practised in China from time immemorial under the name
> of "gina." In India they fear and hate the very name of the spirits whom
> the Spiritualists venerate so deeply, yet many an ignorant fakir can
> perform "miracles" calculated to turn upside-down all the notions of
> a scientist and to be the despair of the most celebrated of European
> prestidigitateurs. Many members of the Society have visited India--many
> were born there and have themselves witnessed the "sorceries" of the
> Brahmans. The founders of the Club, well aware of the depth of modern
> ignorance in regard to the spiritual man, were most anxious that
> Cuvier's method of comparative anatomy should acquire rights of
> citizenship among metaphysicians, and, so, progress from regions
> physical to regions psychological on its own inductive and deductive
> foundation. "Otherwise," they thought, "psychology will be unable to
> move forward a single step, and may even obstruct every other branch of
> Natural History." Instances have not been wanting of physiology poaching
> on the preserves of purely metaphysical and abstract knowledge, all
> the time feigning to ignore the latter absolutely, and seeking to class
> psychology with the positive sciences, having first bound it to a Bed
> of Procrustes, where it refuses to yield its secret to its clumsy
> tormentors.
> 
> In a short time the Theosophical Society counted its members, not
> by hundreds, but by thousands. All the "malcontents" of American
> Spiritualism--and there were at that time twelve million Spiritualists
> in America--joined the Society. Collateral branches were formed in
> London, Corfu, Australia, Spain, Cuba, California, etc. Everywhere
> experiments were being performed, and the conviction that it is not
> spirits alone who are the causes of the phenomena was becoming general.
> 
> In course of time branches of the Society were in India and in Ceylon.
> The Buddhist and Brahmanical members became more numerous than the
> Europeans. A league was formed, and to the name of the Society was
> added the subtitle, "The Brotherhood of Humanity." After an active
> correspondence between the Arya-Samaj, founded by Swami Dayanand, and
> the Theosophical Society, an amalgamation was arranged between the
> two bodies. Then the Chief Council of the New York branch decided upon
> sending a special delegation to India, for the purpose of studying, on
> the spot, the ancient language of the Vedas and the manuscripts and
> the wonders of Yogism. On the 17th of December, 1878, the delegation,
> composed of two secretaries and two members of the council of the
> Theosophical Society, started from New York, to pause for a while in
> London, and then to proceed to Bombay, where it landed in February,
> 1879.
> 
> It may easily be conceived that, under these circumstances, the members
> of the delegation were better able to study the country and to make
> fruitful researches than might, otherwise, have been the case. Today
> they are looked upon as brothers and aided by the most influential
> natives of India. They count among the members of their society
> pandits of Benares and Calcutta, and Buddhist priests of the Ceylon
> Viharas--amongst others the learned Sumangala, mentioned by Minayeff
> in the description of his visit to Adam's Peak--and Lamas of Thibet,
> Burmah, Travancore and elsewhere. The members of the delegation are
> admitted to sanctuaries where, as yet, no European has set his foot.
> Consequently they may hope to render many services to Humanity and
> Science, in spite of the illwill which the representatives of positive
> science bear to them.
> 
> As soon as the delegation landed, a telegram was despatched to Dayanand,
> as everyone was anxious to make his personal acquaintance. In reply, he
> said that he was obliged to go immediately to Hardwar, where hundreds of
> thousands of pilgrims were expected to assemble, but he insisted on
> our remaining behind, since cholera was certain to break out among the
> devotees. He appointed a certain spot, at the foot of the Himalayas, in
> the jab, where we were to meet in a month's time.
> 
> Alas! all this was written some time ago. Since then Swami Dayanand's
> countenance has changed completely toward us. He is, now, an enemy of
> the Theosophical Society and its two founders--Colonel Olcott and the
> author of these letters. It appeared that, on entering into an offensive
> and defensive alliance with the Society, Dayanand nourished the
> hope that all its members, Christians, Brahmans and Buddhists, would
> acknowledge His supremacy, and become members of the Arya Samaj.
> 
> Needless to say, this was impossible. The Theosophical Society rests on
> the principle of complete non-interference with the religious beliefs
> of its members. Toleration is its basis and its aims are purely
> philosophical. This did not suit Dayanand. He wanted all the members,
> either to become his disciples, or to be expelled from the Society. It
> was quite clear that neither the President, nor the Council could assent
> to such a claim. Englishmen and Americans, whether they were Christians
> or Freethinkers, Buddhists, and especially Brahmans, revolted against
> Dayanand, and unanimously demanded that the league should be broken.
> 
> However, all this happened later. At the time of which I speak we were
> friends and allies of the Swami, and we learned with deep interest that
> the Hardwar "mela," which he was to visit, takes place every twelve
> years, and is a kind of religious fair, which attracts representatives
> from all the numerous sects of India.
> 
> Learned dissertations are read by the disputants in defence of their
> peculiar doctrines, and the debates are held in public. This year
> the Hardwar gathering was exceptionally numerous. The Sannyasis--the
> mendicant monks of India--alone numbered 35,000 and the cholera,
> foreseen by the Swami, actually broke out.
> 
> As we were not yet to start for the appointed meeting, we had plenty of
> spare time before us; so we proceeded to examine Bombay.
> 
> The Tower of Silence, on the heights of the Malabar Hill, is the last
> abode of all the sons of Zoroaster. It is, in fact, a Parsee cemetery.
> Here their dead, rich and poor, men, women and children, are all laid in
> a row, and in a few minutes nothing remains of them but bare skeletons.
> A dismal impression is made upon a foreigner by these towers, where
> absolute silence has reigned for centuries. This kind of building is
> very common in every place were Parsees live and die. In Bombay, of six
> towers, the largest was built 250 years ago, and the least but a short
> time since. With few exceptions, they are round or square in shape, from
> twenty to forty feet high, without roof, window, or door, but with a
> single iron gate opening towards the East, and so small that it is
> quite covered by a few bushes. The first corpse brought to a new
> tower--"dakhma"--must be the body of the innocent child of a mobed
> or priest. No one, not even the chief watcher, is allowed to approach
> within a distance of thirty paces of these towers. Of all living human
> beings "nassesalars"--corpse-carriers--alone enter and leave the "Tower
> of Silence." The life these men lead is simply wretched. No European
> executioner's position is worse. They live quite apart from the rest
> of the world, in whose eyes they are the most abject of beings. Being
> forbidden to enter the markets, they must get their food as they can.
> They are born, marry, and die, perfect strangers to all except their own
> class, passing through the streets only to fetch the dead and carry them
> to the tower. Even to be near one of them is a degradation. Entering
> the tower with a corpse, covered, whatever may have been its rank or
> position, with old white rags, they undress it and place it, in
> silence, on one of the three rows presently to be described. Then, still
> preserving the same silence, they come out, shut the gate, and burn the
> rags.
> 
> Amongst the fire-worshippers, Death is divested of all his majesty and
> is a mere object of disgust. As soon as the last hour of a sick person
> seems to approach, everyone leaves the chamber of death, as much to
> avoid impeding the departure of the soul from the body, as to shun the
> risk of polluting the living by contact with the dead. The mobed alone
> stays with the dying man for a while, and having whispered into his ear
> the Zend-Avesta precepts, "ashem-vohu" and "Yato-Ahuvarie," leaves the
> room while the patient is still alive. Then a dog is brought and made
> to look straight into his face. This ceremony is called "sas-did,"
> the "dog's-stare." A dog is the only living creature that the
> "Drux-nassu"--the evil one--fears, and that is able to prevent him from
> taking possession of the body. It must be strictly observed that no
> one's shadow lies between the dying man and the dog, otherwise the whole
> strength of the dog's gaze will be lost, and the demon will profit by
> the occasion. The body remains on the spot where life left it, until the
> nassesalars appear, their arms hidden to the shoulders under old bags,
> to take it away. Having deposited it in an iron coffin--the same for
> everyone--they carry it to the dakhma. If any one, who has once been
> carried thither, should happen to regain consciousness, the nassesalars
> are bound to kill him; for such a person, who has been polluted by one
> touch of the dead bodies in the dakhma, has thereby lost all right
> to return to the living, by doing so he would contaminate the whole
> community. As some such cases have occurred, the Parsees are trying to
> get a new law passed, that would allow the miserable ex-corpses to live
> again amongst their friends, and that would compel the nassesalars to
> leave the only gate of the dakhma unlocked, so that they might find a
> way of retreat open to them. It is very curious, but it is said that the
> vultures, which devour without hesitation the corpses, will never touch
> those who are only apparently dead, but fly away uttering loud shrieks.
> After a last prayer at the gate of the dakhma, pronounced from afar by
> the mobed, and re-peated in chorus by the nassesalars, the dog ceremony
> is repeated. In Bombay there is a dog, trained for this purpose, at the
> entrance to the tower. Finally, the body is taken inside and placed on
> one or other of the rows, according to its sex and age.
> 
> We have twice been present at the ceremonies of dying, and once of
> burial, if I may be permitted to use such an incongruous term. In this
> respect the Parsees are much more tolerant than the Hindus, who are
> offended by the mere presence at their religious rites of an European.
> N. Bayranji, a chief official of the tower, invited us to his house to
> be present at the burial of some rich woman. So we witnessed all that
> was going on at a distance of about forty paces, sitting quietly on
> our obliging host's verandah. While the dog was staring into the dead
> woman's face, we were gazing, as intently, but with much more disgust,
> at the huge flock of vultures above the dakhma, that kept entering the
> tower, and flying out again with pieces of human flesh in their beaks.
> These birds, that build their nests in thousands round the Tower of
> Silence, have been purposely imported from Persia. Indian vultures
> proved to be too weak, and not sufficiently bloodthirsty, to perform
> the process of stripping the bones with the despatch prescribed by
> Zoroaster. We were told that the entire operation of denuding the bones
> occupies no more than a few minutes. As soon as the ceremony was over,
> we were led into another building, where a model of the dakhma was to be
> seen. We could now very easily imagine what was to take place presently
> inside the tower. In the centre there is a deep waterless well, covered
> with a grating like the opening into a drain. Around it are three broad
> circles, gradually sloping downwards. In each of them are coffin-like
> receptacles for the bodies. There are three hundred and sixty-five such
> places. The first and smallest row is destined for children, the second
> for women, and the third for men. This threefold circle is symbolical of
> three cardinal Zoroastrian virtues--pure thoughts, kind words, and good
> actions. Thanks to the vultures, the bones are laid bare in less than
> an hour, and, in two or three weeks, the tropical sun scorches them into
> such a state of fragility, that the slightest breath of wind is enough
> to reduce them to powder and to carry them down into the pit. No smell
> is left behind, no source of plagues and epidemics. I do not know that
> this way may not be preferable to cremation, which leaves in the air
> about the Ghat a faint but disagreeable odour. The Ghat is a place
> by the sea, or river shore, where Hindus burn their dead. Instead of
> feeding the old Slavonic deity "Mother Wet Earth" with carrion, Parsees
> give to Armasti pure dust. Armasti means, literally, "fostering cow,"
> and Zoroaster teaches that the cultivation of land is the noblest of all
> occupations in the eyes of God. Accordingly, the worship of Earth is
> so sacred among the Parsees, that they take all possible precautions
> against polluting the "fostering cow" that gives them "a hundred golden
> grains for every single grain." In the season of the Monsoon, when,
> during four months, the rain pours incessantly down and washes into the
> well everything that is left by the vultures, the water absorbed by the
> earth is filtered, for the bottom of the well, the walls of which are
> built of granite, is, to this end, covered with sand and charcoal.
> 
> The sight of the Pinjarapala is less lugubrious and much more amusing.
> The Pinjarapala is the Bombay Hospital for decrepit animals, but a
> similar institution exists in every town where Jainas dwell. Being one
> of the most ancient, this is also one of the most interesting, of the
> sects of India. It is much older than Buddhism, which took its rise
> about 543 to 477 B.C. Jainas boast that Buddhism is nothing more than a
> mere heresy of Jainism, Gautama, the founder of Buddhism, having been a
> disciple and follower of one of the Jaina Gurus. The customs, rites,
> and philosophical conceptions of Jainas place them midway between the
> Brahmanists and the Buddhists. In view of their social arrangements,
> they more closely resemble the former, but in their religion they
> incline towards the latter. Their caste divisions, their total
> abstinence from flesh, and their non-worship of the relics of the
> saints, are as strictly observed as the similar tenets of the Brahmans,
> but, like Buddhists, they deny the Hindu gods and the authority of
> the Vedas, and adore their own twenty-four Tirthankaras, or Jinas, who
> belong to the Host of the Blissful. Their priests, like the Buddhists',
> never marry, they live in isolated viharas and choose their successors
> from amongst the members of any social class. According to them, Prakrit
> is the only sacred language, and is used in their sacred literature,
> as well as in Ceylon. Jainas and Buddhists have the same traditional
> chronology. They do not eat after sunset, and carefully dust any place
> before sitting down upon it, that they may not crush even the tiniest of
> insects. Both systems, or rather both schools of philosophy, teach the
> theory of eternal indestructible atoms, following the ancient atomistic
> school of Kanada. They assert that the universe never had a beginning
> and never will have an end. "The world and everything in it is but an
> illusion, a Maya," say the Vedantists, the Buddhists, and the Jainas;
> but, whereas the followers of Sankaracharya preach Parabrahm (a deity
> devoid of will, understanding, and action, because "It is absolute
> understanding, mind and will"), and Ishwara emanating from It, the
> Jainas and the Buddhists believe in no Creator of the Universe,
> but teach only the existence of Swabhawati, a plastic, infinite,
> self-created principle in Nature. Still they firmly believe, as do
> all Indian sects, in the transmigration of souls. Their fear, lest, by
> killing an animal or an insect, they may, perchance, destroy the life of
> an ancestor, develops their love and care for every living creature to
> an almost incredible extent. Not only is there a hospital for invalid
> animals in every town and village, but their priests always wear a
> muslin muzzle, (I trust they will pardon the disrespectful expression!)
> in order to avoid destroying even the smallest animalcule, by
> inadvertence in the act of breathing. The same fear impels them to drink
> only filtered water. There are a few millions of Jainas in Gujerat,
> Bombay, Konkan, and some other places.
> 
> The Bombay Pinjarapala occupies a whole quarter of the town, and is
> separated into yards, meadows and gardens, with ponds, cages for beasts
> of prey, and enclosures for tame animals. This institution would have
> served very well for a model of Noah's Ark. In the first yard, however,
> we saw no animals, but, instead, a few hundred human skeletons--old men,
> women and children. They were the remaining natives of the, so-called,
> famine districts, who had crowded into Bombay to beg their bread. Thus,
> while, a few yards off, the official "Vets." were busily bandaging the
> broken legs of jackals, pouring ointments on the backs of mangy dogs,
> and fitting crutches to lame storks, human beings were dying, at their
> very elbows, of starvation. Happily for the famine-stricken, there were
> at that time fewer hungry animals than usual, and so they were fed on
> what remained from the meals of the brute pensioners. No doubt many of
> these wretched sufferers would have consented to transmigrate instantly
> into the bodies of any of the animals who were ending so snugly their
> earthly careers.
> 
> But even the Pinjarajala roses are not without thorns. The graminivorous
> "subjects," of course, could mot wish for anything better; but I doubt
> very much whether the beasts of prey, such as tigers, hyenas, and
> wolves, are content with the rules and the forcibly prescribed diet.
> Jainas themselves turn with disgust even from eggs and fish, and, in
> consequence, all the animals of which they have the care must turn
> vegetarians. We were present when an old tiger, wounded by an English
> bullet, was fed. Having sniffed at a kind of rice soup which was offered
> to him, he lashed his tail, snarled, showing his yellow teeth, and with
> a weak roar turned away from the food. What a look he cast askance upon
> his keeper, who was meekly trying to persuade him to taste his nice
> dinner! Only the strong bars of the cage saved the Jaina from a vigorous
> protest on the part of this veteran of the forest. A hyena, with a
> bleeding head and an ear half torn off, began by sitting in the trough
> filled with this Spartan sauce, and then, without any further ceremony,
> upset it, as if to show its utter contempt for the mess. The wolves
> and the dogs raised such disconsolate howls that they attracted the
> attention of two inseparable friends, an old elephant with a wooden
> leg and a sore-eyed ox, the veritable Castor and Pollux of this
> institution. In accordance with his noble nature, the first thought of
> the elephant concerned his friend. He wound his trunk round the neck
> of the ox, in token of protection, and both moaned dismally. Parrots,
> storks, pigeons, flamingoes--the whole feathered tribe--revelled
> in their breakfast. Monkeys were the first to answer the keeper's
> invitation and greatly enjoyed themselves. Further on we were shown a
> holy man, who was feeding insects with his own blood. He lay with his
> eyes shut, and the scorching rays of the sun striking full upon his
> naked body. He was literally covered with flies, mosquitoes, ants and
> bugs.
> 
> "All these are our brothers," mildly observed the keeper, pointing to
> the hundreds of animals and insects. "How can you Europeans kill and
> even devour them?"
> 
> "What would you do," I asked, "if this snake were about to bite you? Is
> it possible you would not kill it, if you had time?"
> 
> "Not for all the world. I should cautiously catch it, and then I should
> carry it to some deserted place outside the town, and there set it
> free."
> 
> "Nevertheless; suppose it bit you?"
> 
> "Then I should recite a mantram, and, if that produced no good result,
> I should be fair to consider it as the finger of Fate, and quietly leave
> this body for another."
> 
> These were the words of a man who was educated to a certain extent, and
> very well read. When we pointed out that no gift of Nature is aimless,
> and that the human teeth are all devouring, he answered by quoting whole
> chapters of Darwin's Theory of Natural Selection and Origin of Species.
> "It is not true," argued he, "that the first men were born with
> canine teeth. It was only in course of time, with the degradation of
> humanity,--only when the appetite for flesh food began to develop--that
> the jaws changed their first shape under the influence of new
> necessities."
> 
> I could not help asking myself, "Ou la science va-t'elle se fourrer?"
> 
> The same evening, in Elphinstone's Theatre, there was given a special
> performance in honour of "the American Mission," as we are styled here.
> Native actors represented in Gujerati the ancient fairy drama Sita-Rama,
> that has been adapted from the Ramayana, the celebrated epic by Vilmiki.
> This drama is composed of fourteen acts and no end of tableaux, in
> addition to transformation scenes. All the female parts, as usual, were
> acted by young boys, and the actors, accord-ing to the historical and
> national customs, were bare-footed and half-naked. Still, the richness
> of the costumes, the stage adornments and transformations, were truly
> wonderful. For instance, even on the stages of large metropolitan
> theatres, it would have been difficult to give a better representation
> of the army of Rama's allies, who are nothing more than troops of
> monkeys under the leadership of Hanuman--the soldier, statesman,
> dramatist, poet, god, who is so celebrated in history (that of India
> s.v.p.). The oldest and best of all Sanskrit dramas, Hanuman-Natak, is
> ascribed to this talented forefather of ours.
> 
> Alas! gone is the glorious time when, proud of our white skin (which
> after all may be nothing more than the result of a fading, under the
> influences of our northern sky), we looked down upon Hindus and
> other "niggers" with a feeling of contempt well suited to our own
> magnificence. No doubt Sir William Jones's soft heart ached, when
> translating from the Sanskrit such humiliating sentences as the
> following: "Hanuman is said to be the forefather of the Europeans."
> Rama, being a hero and a demi-god, was well entitled to unite all
> the bachelors of his useful monkey army to the daughters of the Lanka
> (Ceylon) giants, the Rakshasas, and to present these Dravidian beauties
> with the dowry of all Western lands. After the most pompous marriage
> ceremonies, the monkey soldiers made a bridge, with the help of their
> own tails, and safely landed with their spouses in Europe, where they
> lived very happily and had a numerous progeny. This progeny are we,
> Europeans. Dravidian words found in some European languages, in Basque
> for instance, greatly rejoice the hearts of the Brahmans, who would
> gladly promote the philologists to the rank of demi-gods for this
> important discovery, which confirms so gloriously their ancient legend.
> But it was Darwin who crowned the edifice of proof with the authority of
> Western education and Western scientific literature. The Indians became
> still more convinced that we are the veritable descendants of Hanuman,
> and that, if one only took the trouble to examine carefully, our tails
> might easily be discovered. Our narrow breeches and long skirts only add
> to the evidence, however uncomplimentary the idea may be to us.
> 
> Still, if you consider seriously, what are we to say when Science, in
> the person of Darwin, concedes this hypothesis to the wisdom of ancient
> Aryas. We must perforce submit. And, really, it is better to have for a
> forefather Hanu-man, the poet, the hero, the god, than any other monkey,
> even though it be a tailless one. Sita-Rama belongs to the category
> of mythological dramas, something like the tragedies of Aeschylus.
> Listening to this production of the remotest antiquity, the spectators
> are carried back to the times when the gods, descending upon earth, took
> an active part in the everyday life of mortals. Nothing reminds one of
> a modern drama, though the exterior arrangement is the same. "From the
> sublime to the ridiculous there is but a step," and vice versa. The
> goat, chosen for a sacrifice to Bacchus, presented the world tragedy
> (greek script here). The death bleatings and buttings of the quadrupedal
> offering of antiquity have been polished by the hands of time and of
> civilization, and, as a result of this process, we get the dying
> whisper of Rachel in the part of Adrienne Lecouvreur, and the fearfully
> realistic "kicking" of the modern Croisette in the poisoning scene of
> The Sphinx. But, whereas the descendants of Themistocles gladly receive,
> whether captive or free, all the changes and improvements considered
> as such by modern taste, thinking them to be a corrected and enlarged
> edition of the genius of Aeschylus; Hindus, happily for archaeologists
> and lovers of antiquity, have never moved a step since the times of our
> much honoured forefather Hanuman.
> 
> We awaited the performance of Sita-Rama with the liveliest curiosity.
> Except ourselves and the building of the theatre, everything was
> strictly indigenous and nothing reminded us of the West. There was not
> the trace of an orchestra. Music was only to be heard from the stage,
> or from behind it. At last the curtain rose. The silence, which had been
> very remarkable before the performance, considering the huge crowd
> of spectators of both sexes, now became absolute. Rama is one of the
> incarnations of Vishnu and, as most of the audience were worshippers of
> Vishnu, for them the spectacle was not a mere theatrical performance,
> but a religious mystery, representing the life and achievements of their
> favourite and most venerated gods.
> 
> The prologue was laid in the epoch before creation began (it may safely
> be said that no dramatist would dare to choose an earlier one)--or,
> rather, before the last manifestation of the universe. All the
> philosophical sects of India, except Mussulmans, agree that the universe
> has always existed. But the Hindus divide the periodical appearances and
> vanishings into days and nights of Brahma. The nights, or withdrawals of
> the objective universe, are called Pralayas, and the days, or epochs
> of new awakening into life and light, are called Manvantaras, Yugas, or
> "centuries of the gods." These periods are also called, respectively,
> the inbreathings and outbreathings of Brahma. When Pralaya comes to an
> end Brahma awakens, and, with this awakening, the universe that rested
> in deity, in other words, that was reabsorbed in its subjective essence,
> emanates from the divine principle and becomes visible. The gods, who
> died at the same time as the universe, begin slowly to return to life.
> The "Invisible" alone, the "Infinite," the "Lifeless," the One who is
> the unconditioned original "Life" itself, soars, surrounded by shoreless
> chaos. Its holy presence is not visible. It shows itself only in the
> periodical pulsation of chaos, represented by a dark mass of waters
> filling the stage. These waters are not, as yet, separated from the
> dry land, because Brahma, the creative spirit of Narayana, has not yet
> separated from the "Ever Unchanging." Then comes a heavy shock of
> the whole mass and the waters begin to acquire transparency. Rays,
> proceeding from a golden egg at the bottom, spread through the chaotic
> waters. Receiving life from the spirit of Narayana, the egg bursts and
> the awakened Brahma rises to the surface of the water in the shape of a
> huge lotus. Light clouds appear, at first transparent and web-like. They
> gradually become condensed, and transform themselves into Prajapatis,
> the ten personified creative powers of Brahma, the god of everything
> living, and sing a hymn of praise to the creator. Something naively
> poetical, to our unaccustomed ears, breathed in this uniform melody
> unaccompanied by any orchestra.
> 
> The hour of general revival has struck. Pralaya comes to an end.
> Everything rejoices, returning to life. The sky is separated from the
> waters and on it appear the Asuras and Gandharvas, the heavenly singers
> and musicians. Then Indra, Yama, Varuna, and Kuvera, the spirits
> presiding over the four cardinal points, or the four elements, water,
> fire, earth, and air, pour forth atoms, whence springs the serpent
> "Ananta." The monster swims to the surface of the waves and, bending its
> swanlike neck, forms a couch on which Vishnu reclines with the Goddess
> of Beauty, his wife Lakshmi, at his feet. "Swatha! Swatha! Swatha!"
> cries the choir of heavenly musicians, hailing the deity. In the Russian
> church service this is pronounced Swiat! Swiat! Swiat! and means holy!
> holy! holy!
> 
> In one of his future avatars Vishnu will incarnate in Rama, the son of
> a great king, and Lakshmi will become Sita. The motive of the whole poem
> of Ramayana is sung in a few words by the celestial musicians. Kama, the
> God of Love, shelters the divine couple and, that very moment, a flame
> is lit in their hearts and the whole world is created.
> 
> Later there are performed the fourteen acts of the drama, which is well
> known to everybody, and in which several hundred personages take part.
> At the end of the prologue the whole assembly of gods come forward,
> one after another, and acquaint the audience with the contents and the
> epilogue of their performance, asking the public not to be too exacting.
> It is as though all these familiar deities, made of painted granite and
> marble, left the temples and came down to remind mortals of events long
> past and forgotten.
> 
> The hall was full of natives. We four alone were representatives of
> Europe. Like a huge flower bed, the women displayed the bright colors of
> their garments. Here and there, among handsome, bronze-like heads, were
> the pretty, dull white faces of Parsee women, whose beauty reminded me
> of the Georgians. The front rows were occupied by women only. In India
> it is quite easy to learn a person's religion, sect, and caste, and even
> whether a woman is married or single, from the marks painted in bright
> colors on everyone's forehead.
> 
> Since the time when Alexander the Great destroyed the sacred books of
> the Gebars, they have constantly been oppressed by the idol worshippers.
> King Ardeshir-Babechan restored fire worship in the years 229-243 A.C.
> Since then they have again been persecuted during the reign of one of
> the Shakpurs, either II., IX., or XI., of the Sassanids, but which of
> them is not known. It is, however, reported that one of them was a great
> protector of the Zartushta doctrines. After the fall of Yesdejird,
> the fire-worshippers emigrated to the island of Ormasd, and, some time
> later, having found a book of Zoroastrian prophecies, in obedience to
> one of them they set out for Hindustan. After many wanderings,
> they appeared, about 1,000 or 1,200 years ago, in the territory of
> Maharana-Jayadeva, a vassal of the Rajput King Champanir, who allowed
> them to colonize his land, but only on condition that they laid down
> their weapons, that they abandoned the Persian language for Hindi, and
> that their women put off their national dress and clothed themselves
> after the manner of Hindu women. He, however, allowed them to wear
> shoes, since this is strictly prescribed by Zoroaster. Since then very
> few changes have been made. It follows that the Parsee women could only
> be distinguished from their Hindu sisters by very slight differences.
> The almost white faces of the former were separated by a strip of smooth
> black hair from a sort of white cap, and the whole was covered with a
> bright veil. The latter wore no covering on their rich, shining hair,
> twisted into a kind of Greek chignon. Their foreheads were brightly
> painted, and their nostrils adorned with golden rings. Both are fond of
> bright, but uniform, colors, both cover their arms up to the elbow with
> bangles, and both wear saris.
> 
> Behind the women a whole sea of most wonderful turbans was waving in the
> pit. There were long-haired Rajputs with regular Grecian features and
> long beards parted in the middle, their heads covered with "pagris"
> consisting of, at least, twenty yards of finest white muslin, and
> their persons adorned with earrings and necklaces; there were Mahrata
> Brahmans, who shave their heads, leaving only one long central lock, and
> wear turbans of blinding red, decorated in front with a sort of golden
> horn of plenty; Bangas, wearing three-cornered helmets with a kind of
> cockscomb on the top; Kachhis, with Roman helmets; Bhillis, from the
> borders of Rajastan, whose chins are wrapped three times in the ends
> of their pyramidal turbans, so that the innocent tourist never fails to
> think that they constantly suffer from toothache; Bengalis and Calcutta
> Babus, bare-headed all the year round, their hair cut after an Athenian
> fashion, and their bodies clothed in the proud folds of a white
> toga-virilis, in no way different from those once worn by Roman
> senators; Parsees, in their black, oilcloth mitres; Sikhs, the followers
> of Nanaka, strictly monotheist and mystic, whose turbans are very like
> the Bhillis', but who wear long hair down to their waists; and hundreds
> of other tribes.
> 
> Proposing to count how many different headgears are to be seen in Bombay
> alone, we had to abandon the task as impracticable after a fortnight.
> Every caste, every trade, guild, and sect, every one of the thousand
> sub-divisions of the social hierarchy, has its own bright turban, often
> sparkling with gold lace and precious stones, which is laid aside only
> in case of mourning. But, as if to compensate for this luxury, even the
> mem-bers of the municipality, rich merchants, and Rai-Bahadurs, who have
> been created baronets by the Government, never wear any stockings, and
> leave their legs bare up to the knees. As for their dress, it chiefly
> consists of a kind of shapeless white shirt.
> 
> In Baroda some Gaikwars (a title of all the Baroda princes) still keep
> in their stables elephants and the less common giraffes, though the
> former are strictly forbidden in the streets of Bombay. We had an
> opportunity of seeing ministers, and even Rajas, mounted on these noble
> animals, their mouths full of pansupari (betel leaves), their heads
> drooping under the weight of the precious stones on their turbans, and
> each of their fingers and toes adorned with rich golden rings. While
> the evening I am describing lasted, however, we saw no elephants, no
> giraffes, though we enjoyed the company of Rajas and ministers. We had
> in our box the hand-some ambassador and late tutor of the Mahararana
> of Oodeypore. Our companion was a Raja and a pandit. His name was a
> Mohunlal-Vishnulal-Pandia. He wore a small pink turban sparkling with
> diamonds, a pair of pink barege trousers, and a white gauze coat.
> His raven black hair half covered his amber-colored neck, which was
> surrounded by a necklace that might have driven any Parisian belle
> frantic with envy. The poor Raiput was awfully sleepy, but he stuck
> heroically to his duties, and, thoughtfully pulling his beard, led us
> all through the endless labyrinth of metaphysical entanglements of the
> Ramayana. During the entr'actes we were offered coffee, sherbets, and
> cigarettes, which we smoked even during the performance, sitting in
> front of the stage in the first row. We were covered, like idols, with
> garlands of flowers, and the manager, a stout Hindu clad in transparent
> muslins, sprinkled us several times with rose-water.
> 
> The performance began at eight p.m. and, at half-past two, had only
> reached the ninth act. In spite of each of us having a punkah-wallah
> at our backs, the heat was unbearable. We had reached the limits of
> our endurance, and tried to excuse ourselves. This led to general
> disturbance, on the stage as well as in the auditorium. The airy
> chariot, on which the wicked king Ravana was carrying Sita away, paused
> in the air. The king of the Nagas (serpents) ceased breathing flames,
> the monkey soldiers hung motionless on the trees, and Rama himself, clad
> in light blue and crowned with a diminutive pagoda, came to the front of
> the stage and pronounced in pure English speech, in which he thanked
> us for the honour of our presence. Then new bouquets, pansu-paris, and
> rose-water, and, finally, we reached home about four a.m. Next morning
> we learned that the performance had ended at half-past six.
> 
> On The Way To Karli
> 
> It is an early morning near the end of March. A light breeze caresses
> with its velvety hand the sleepy faces of the pilgrims; and the
> intoxicating perfume of tuberoses mingles with the pungent odors of the
> bazaar. Crowds of barefooted Brahman women, stately and well-formed,
> direct their steps, like the biblical Rachel, to the well, with brass
> water pots bright as gold upon their heads. On our way lie numerous
> sacred tanks, filled with stagnant water, in which Hindus of both sexes
> perform their prescribed morning ablutions. Under the hedge of a garden
> somebody's tame mongoose is devouring the head of a cobra. The headless
> body of the snake convulsively, but harmlessly, beats against the thin
> flanks of the little animal, which regards these vain efforts with an
> evident delight. Side by side with this group of animals is a human
> figure; a naked mali (gardener), offering betel and salt to a monstrous
> stone idol of Shiva, with the view of pacifying the wrath of the
> "Destroyer," excited by the death of the cobra, which is one of his
> favourite servants. A few steps before reaching the railway station, we
> meet a modest Catholic procession, consisting of a few newly converted
> pariahs and some of the native Portuguese. Under a baldachin is a
> litter, on which swings to and fro a dusky Madonna dressed after the
> fashion of the native goddesses, with a ring in her nose. In her arms
> she carries the holy Babe, clad in yellow pyjamas and a red Brah-manical
> turban. "Hari, hari, devaki!" ("Glory to the holy Virgin!") exclaim the
> converts, unconscious of any difference between the Devaki, mother of
> Krishna, and the Catholic Madonna. All they know is that, excluded from
> the temples by the Brahmans on account of their not belonging to any
> of the Hindu castes, they are admitted sometimes into the Christian
> pagodas, thanks to the "padris," a name adopted from the Portuguese
> padre, and applied indiscriminately to the missionaries of every
> European sect.
> 
> At last, our gharis--native two-wheeled vehicles drawn by a pair of
> strong bullocks--arrived at the station. English employes open wide
> their eyes at the sight of white-faced people travelling about the town
> in gilded Hindu chariots. But we are true Americans, and we have come
> hither to study, not Europe, but India and her products on the spot.
> 
> If the tourist casts a glance on the shore opposite to the port of
> Bombay, he will see a dark blue mass rising like a wall between himself
> and the horizon. This is Parbul, a flat-topped mountain 2,250 feet high.
> Its right slope leans on two sharp rocks covered with woods. The highest
> of them, Mataran, is the object of our trip. From Bombay to Narel, a
> station situated at the foot of this mountain, we are to travel four
> hours by railway, though, as the crow flies, the distance is not more
> than twelve miles. The railroad wanders round the foot of the most
> charming little hills, skirts hundreds of pretty lakes, and pierces with
> more than twenty tunnels the very heart of the rocky ghats.
> 
> We were accompanied by three Hindu friends. Two of them once belonged to
> a high caste, but were excommunicated from their pagoda for association
> and friendship with us, unworthy foreigners. At the station our party
> was joined by two more natives, with whom we had been in correspondence
> for many a year. All were members of our Society, reformers of the Young
> India school, enemies of Brahmans, castes, aid prejudices, and were to
> be our fellow-travelers and visit with us the annual fair at the temple
> festivities of Karli, stopping on the way at Mataran and Khanduli.
> One was a Brahman from Poona, the second a moodeliar (landowner)
> from Madras, the third a Singalese from Kegalla, the fourth a Bengali
> Zemindar, and the fifth a gigantic Rajput, whom we had known for a long
> time by the name of Gulab-Lal-Sing, and had called simply Gulab-Sing. I
> shall dwell upon his personality more than on any of the others, because
> the most wonderful and diverse stories were in circulation about this
> strange man. It was asserted that he belonged to the sect of Raj-Yogis,
> and was an initiate of the mysteries of magic, alchemy, and various
> other occult sciences of India. He was rich and independent, and rumour
> did not dare to suspect him of deception, the more so because, though
> quite full of these sciences, he never uttered a word about them in
> public, and carefully concealed his knowledge from all except a few
> friends.
> 
> He was an independent Takur from Rajistan, a province the name of which
> means the land of kings. Takurs are, almost without exception, descended
> from the Surya (sun), and are accordingly called Suryavansa. They are
> prouder than any other nation in the world. They have a proverb, "The
> dirt of the earth cannot stick to the rays of the sun." They do not
> despise any sect, except the Brahmans, and honor only the bards who sing
> their military achievements. Of the latter Colonel Tod writes somewhat
> as follows,* "The magnificence and luxury of the Rajput courts in the
> early periods of history were truly wonderful, even when due allowance
> is made for the poetical license of the bards. From the earliest times
> Northern India was a wealthy country, and it was precisely here that
> was situated the richest satrapy of Darius. At all events, this country
> abounded in those most striking events which furnish history with her
> richest materials. In Rajistan every small kingdom had its Thermopylae,
> and every little town has produced its Leonidas. But the veil of the
> centuries hides from posterity events that the pen of the historian
> might have bequeathed to the everlasting admiration of the nations.
> Somnath might have appeared as a rival of Delphi, the treasures of Hind
> might outweigh the riches of the King of Lydia, while compared with the
> army of the brothers Pandu, that of Xerxes would seem an inconsiderable
> handful of men, worthy only to rank in the second place."
> 
> * In nearly every instance the passages quoted from various authorities
> have been retranslated from the Russian. As the time and labor needful
> for verification would he too great, the sense only of these passages is
> given here. They do not pretend to be textual.--Translator
> 
> England did not disarm the Rajputs, as she did the rest of the Indian
> nations, so Gulab-Sing came accompanied by vassals and shield-bearers.
> 
> Possessing an inexhaustible knowledge of legends, and being evidently
> well acquainted with the antiquities of his country, Gulab-Sing proved
> to be the most interesting of our companions.
> 
> "There, against the blue sky," said Gulab-Lal-Sing, "you behold the
> majestic Bhao Mallin. That deserted spot was once the abode of a holy
> hermit; now it is visited yearly by crowds of pilgrims. According to
> popular belief the most wonderful things happen there--miracles. At the
> top of the mountain, two thousand feet above the level of the sea, is
> the platform of a fortress. Behind it rises another rock two hundred and
> seventy feet in height, and at the very summit of this peak are to be
> found the ruins of a still more ancient fortress, which for seventy-five
> years served as a shelter for this hermit. Whence he obtained his food
> will for ever remain a mystery. Some think he ate the roots of wild
> plants, but upon this barren rock there is no vegetation. The only mode
> of ascent of this perpendicular mountain consists of a rope, and holes,
> just big enough to receive the toes of a man, cut out of the living
> rock. One would think such a pathway accessible only to acrobats and
> monkeys. Surely fanaticism must provide wings for the Hindus, for no
> accident has ever happened to any of them. Unfortunately, about forty
> years ago, a party of Englishmen conceived the unhappy thought of
> exploring the ruins, but a strong gust of wind arose and carried them
> over the precipice. After this, General Dickinson gave orders for the
> destruction of all means of communication with the upper fortress, and
> the lower one, once the cause of so many losses and so much bloodshed,
> is now entirely deserted, and serves only as a shelter for eagles and
> tigers."
> 
> Listening to these tales of olden times, I could not help comparing the
> past with the present. What a difference!
> 
> "Kali-Yug!" cry old Hindus with grim despair. "Who can strive against
> the Age of Darkness?"
> 
> This fatalism, the certainty that nothing good can be expected now, the
> conviction that even the powerful god Shiva himself can neither appear
> nor help them are all deeply rooted in the minds of the old generation.
> As for the younger men, they receive their education in high schools and
> universities, learn by heart Herbert Spencer, John Stuart Mill, Darwin
> and the German philosophers, and entirely lose all respect, not only for
> their own religion, but for every other in the world.
> 
> The young "educated" Hindus are materialists almost without exception,
> and often achieve the last limits of Atheism. They seldom hope to attain
> to anything better than a situation as "chief mate of the junior clerk,"
> as we say in Russia, and either become sycophants, disgusting flatterers
> of their present lords, or, which is still worse, or at any rate
> sillier, begin to edit a newspaper full of cheap liberalism, which
> gradually develops into a revolutionary organ.
> 
> But all this is only en passant. Compared with the mysterious and
> grandiose past of India, the ancient Aryavarta, her present is a
> natural Indian ink background, the black shadow of a bright picture, the
> inevitable evil in the cycle of every nation. India has become decrepit
> and has fallen down, like a huge memorial of antiquity, prostrate and
> broken to pieces. But the most insignificant of these fragments will for
> ever remain a treasure for the archeologist and the artist, and, in
> the course of time, may even afford a clue to the philosopher and the
> psychologist. "Ancient Hindus built like giants and finished their work
> like goldsmiths," says Archbishop Heber, describing his travel in India.
> In his description of the Taj-Mahal of Agra, that veritable eighth
> wonder of the world, he calls it "a poem in marble." He might have added
> that it is difficult to find in India a ruin, in the least state of
> preservation, that cannot speak, more eloquently than whole volumes, of
> the past of India, her religious aspirations, her beliefs and hopes.
> 
> There is not a country of antiquity, not even excluding the Egypt of
> the Pharaohs, where the development of the subjective ideal into
> its demonstration by an objective symbol has been expressed more
> graphically, more skillfully, and artistically, than in India. The whole
> pantheism of the Vedanta is contained in the symbol of the bisexual
> deity Ardhanari. It is surrounded by the double triangle, known in India
> under the name of the sign of Vishnu. By his side lie a lion, a bull,
> and an eagle. In his hands there rests a full moon, which is reflected
> in the waters at his feet. The Vedanta has taught for thousands of years
> what some of the German philosophers began to preach at the end of last
> century and the beginning of this one, namely, that everything objective
> in the world, as well as the world itself, is no more than an illusion,
> a Maya, a phantom created by our imagination, and as unreal as the
> reflection of the moon upon the surface of the waters. The phenomenal
> world, as well as the subjectivity of our conception concerning our
> Egos, are nothing but, as it were, a mirage. The true sage will never
> submit to the temptations of illusion. He is well aware that man will
> attain to self-knowledge, and become a real Ego, only after the entire
> union of the personal fragment with the All, thus becoming an immutable,
> infinite, universal Brahma. Accordingly, he considers the whole cycle of
> birth, life, old age, and death as the sole product of imagination.
> 
> Generally speaking, Indian philosophy, split up as it is into numerous
> metaphysical teachings, possesses, when united to Indian ontological
> doctrines, such a well developed logic, such a wonderfully refined
> psychology, that it might well take the first rank when contrasted with
> the schools, ancient and modern, idealist or positivist, and eclipse
> them all in turn. That positivism expounded by Lewis, that makes each
> particular hair on the heads of Oxford theologians stand on end,
> is ridiculous child's play compared with the atomistic school of
> Vaisheshika, with its world divided, like a chessboard, into six
> categories of everlasting atoms, nine substances, twenty-four qualities,
> and five motions. And, however difficult, and even impossible may
> seem the exact representation of all these abstract ideas, idealistic,
> pantheistic, and, sometimes, purely material, in the condensed shape of
> allegorical symbols, India, nevertheless, has known how to express all
> these teachings more or less successfully. She has immortalized them in
> her ugly, four-headed idols, in the geometrical, complicated forms of
> her temples, and even in the entangled lines and spots on the foreheads
> of her sectaries.
> 
> We were discussing this and other topics with our Hindu
> fellow-travellers when a Catholic padre, a teacher in the Jesuit College
> of St. Xavier in Bombay, entered our carriage at one of the stations.
> Soon he could contain himself no longer, and joined in our conversation.
> Smiling and rubbing his hands, he said that he was curious to know
> on the strength of what sophistry our companions could find anything
> resembling a philosophical explanation "in the fundamental idea of the
> four faces of this ugly Shiva, crowned with snakes," pointing with his
> finger to the idol at the entrance to a pagoda.
> 
> "It is very simple," answered the Bengali Babu. "You see that its four
> faces are turned towards the four cardinal points, South, North, West,
> and East--but all these faces are on one body and belong to one god."
> 
> "Would you mind explaining first the philosophical idea of the four
> faces and eight hands of your Shiva," interrupted the padre.
> 
> "With great pleasure. Thinking that our great Rudra (the Vedic name
> for this god) is omnipresent, we represent him with his face turned
> simultaneously in all directions. Eight hands indicate his omnipotence,
> and his single body serves to remind us that he is One, though he is
> everywhere, and nobody can avoid his all-seeing eye, or his chastising
> hand."
> 
> The padre was going to say something when the train stopped; we had
> arrived at Narel.
> 
> It is hardly twenty-five years since, for the first time, a white man
> ascended Mataran, a huge mass of various kinds of trap rock, for the
> most part crystalline in form. Though quite near to Bombay, and only
> a few miles from Khandala, the summer residence of the Europeans, the
> threatening heights of this giant were long considered inaccessible. On
> the north, its smooth, almost vertical face rises 2,450 feet over the
> valley of the river Pen, and, further on, numberless separate rocks
> and hillocks, covered with thick vegetation, and divided by valleys and
> precipices, rise up to the clouds. In 1854, the railway pierced one of
> the sides of Mataran, and now has reached the foot of the last mountain,
> stopping at Narel, where, not long ago, there was nothing but a
> precipice. From Narel to the upper plateau is but eight miles, which you
> may travel on a pony, or in an open or closed palanquin, as you choose.
> 
> Considering that we arrived at Narel about six in the evening, this
> course was not very tempting. Civilization has done much with inanimate
> nature, but, in spite of all its despotism, it has not yet been able to
> conquer tigers and snakes. Tigers, no doubt, are banished to the
> more remote jungles, but all hinds of snakes, especially cobras and
> coralillos, which last by preference inhabit trees, still abound in
> the forests of Mataran as in days of old, and wage a regular guerilla
> warfare against the invaders. Woe betide the belated pedestrian, or even
> horseman, if he happens to pass under a tree which forms the ambuscade
> of a coralillo snake! Cobras and other reptiles seldom attack men, and
> will generally try to avoid them, unless accidentally trodden upon,
> but these guerilleros of the forest, the tree serpents, lie in wait for
> their victims. As soon as the head of a man comes under the branch which
> shelters the coralillo, this enemy of man, coiling its tail round
> the branch, dives down into space with all the length of is body, and
> strikes with its fangs at the man's forehead. This curious fact was long
> considered to be a mere fable, but it has now been verified, and belongs
> to the natural history of India. In these cases the natives see in the
> snake the envoy of Death, the fulfiller of the will of the bloodthirsty
> Kali, the spouse of Shiva.
> 
> But evening, after the scorchingly hot day, was so tempting, and held
> out to us from the distance such promise of delicious coolness, that we
> decided upon risking our fate. In the heart of this wondrous nature one
> longs to shake off earthly chains, and unite oneself with the boundless
> life, so that death itself has its attractions in India.
> 
> Besides, the full moon was about to rise at eight p.m. Three hours'
> ascent of the mountain, on such a moonlit, tropical night as would tax
> the descriptive powers of the greatest artists, was worth any sacrifice.
> Apropos, among the few artists who can fix upon canvas the subtle charm
> of a moonlit night in India public opinion begins to name our own V.V.
> Vereshtchagin.
> 
> Having dined hurriedly in the dak bungalow we asked for our sedan
> chairs, and, drawing our roof-like topees over our eyes, we started.
> Eight coolies, clad, as usual, in vine-leaves, took possession of each
> chair and hurried up the mountain, uttering the shrieks and yells no
> true Hindu can dispense with. Each chair was accompanied besides by a
> relay of eight more porters. So we were sixty-four, without counting
> the Hindus and their servants--an army sufficient to frighten any stray
> leopard or jungle tiger, in fact any animal, except our fearless cousins
> on the side of our great-grandfather Hanuman. As soon as we turned into
> a thicket at the foot of the Mountain, several dozens of these kinsmen
> joined our procession. Thanks to the achievements of Rama's ally,
> monkeys are sacred in India. The Government, emulating the earlier
> wisdom of the East India Company, forbids everyone to molest them, not
> only when met with in the forests, which in all justice belong to them,
> but even when they invade the city gardens. Leaping from one branch
> to another, chattering like magpies, and making the most formidable
> grimaces, they followed us all the way, like so many midnight spooks.
> Sometimes they hung on the trees in full moonlight, like forest nymphs
> of Russian mythology; sometimes they preceded us, awaiting our arrival
> at the turns of the road as if showing us the way. They never left us.
> One monkey babe alighted on my knees. In a moment the authoress of his
> being, jumping without any ceremony over the coolies' shoulders, came to
> his rescue, picked him up, and, after making the most ungodly grimace at
> me, ran away with him.
> 
> "Bandras (monkeys) bring luck with their presence," remarked one of
> the Hindus, as if to console me for the loss of my crumpled topee.
> "Besides," he added, "seeing them here we may be sure that there is not
> a single tiger for ten miles round."
> 
> Higher and higher we ascended by the steep winding path, and the forest
> grew perceptibly thicker, darker, and more impenetrable. Some of the
> thickets were as dark as graves. Passing under hundred-year-old banyans
> it was impossible to distinguish one's own finger at the distance of two
> inches. It seemed to me that in certain places it would not be possible
> to advance without feeling our way, but our coolies never made a false
> step, but hastened onwards. Not one of us uttered a word. It was as if
> we had agreed to be silent at these moments. We felt as though wrapped
> in the heavy veil of dark-ness, and no sound was heard but the short,
> irregular breathing of the porters, and the cadence of their quick,
> nervous footsteps upon the stony soil of the path. One felt sick at
> heart and ashamed of belonging to that human race, one part of which
> makes of the other mere beasts of burden. These poor wretches are paid
> for their work four annas a day all the year round. Four annas for going
> eight miles upwards and eight miles downwards not less than twice a
> day; altogether thirty-two miles up and down a mountain 1,500 feet high,
> carrying a burden of two hundredweight! However, India is a country
> where everything is adjusted to never changing customs, and four annas a
> day is the pay for unskilled labor of any kind.
> 
> Gradually open spaces and glades became more frequent and the light grew
> as intense as by day. Millions of grasshoppers were shrilling in
> the forest, filling the air with a metallic throbbing, and flocks of
> frightened parrots rushed from tree to tree. Sometimes the thundering,
> prolonged roars of tigers rose from the bottom of the precipices thickly
> covered with all kinds of vegetation. Shikaris assure us that, on a
> quiet night, the roaring of these beasts can be heard for many miles
> around. The panorama, lit up, as if by Bengal fires, changed at every
> turn. Rivers, fields, forests, and rocks, spread out at our feet over
> an enormous distance, moved and trembled, iridescent, in the silvery
> moonlight, like the tides of a mirage. The fantastic character of the
> pictures made us hold our breath. Our heads grew giddy if, by chance, we
> glanced down into the depths by the flickering moonlight. We felt that
> the precipice, 2,000 feet deep, was fascinating us. One of our American
> fellow travelers, who had begun the voyage on horseback, had to
> dismount, afraid of being unable to resist the temptation to dive head
> foremost into the abyss.
> 
> Several times we met with lonely pedestrians, men and young women,
> coming down Mataran on their way home after a day's work. It often
> happens that some of them never reach home. The police unconcernedly
> report that the missing man has been carried off by a tiger, or killed
> by a snake. All is said, and he is soon entirely forgotten. One person,
> more or less, out of the two hundred and forty millions who inhabit
> India does not matter much! But there exists a very strange superstition
> in the Deccan about this mysterious, and only partially explored,
> mountain. The natives assert that, in spite of the considerable number
> of victims, there has never been found a single skeleton. The corpse,
> whether intact or mangled by tigers, is immediately carried away by the
> monkeys, who, in the latter case, gather the scattered bones, and bury
> them skillfully in deep holes, that no traces ever remain. Englishmen
> laugh at this superstition, but the police do not deny the fact of the
> entire disappearance of the bodies. When the sides of the mountain were
> excavated, in the course of the construction of the railway, separate
> bones, with the marks of tigers' teeth upon them, broken bracelets, and
> other adornments, were found at an incredible depth from the surface.
> The fact of these things being broken showed clearly that they were not
> buried by men, because, neither the religion of the Hindus, nor their
> greed, would allow them to break and bury silver and gold. Is it
> possible, then, that, as amongst men one hand washes the other, so in
> the animal kingdom one species conceals the crimes of another?
> 
> Having spent the night in a Portuguese inn, woven like an eagle's nest
> out of bamboos, and clinging to the almost vertical side of a rock, we
> rose at daybreak, and, having visited all the points de vue famed for
> their beauty, made our preparations to return to Narel. By daylight
> the panorama was still more splendid than by night; volumes would not
> suffice to describe it. Had it not been that on three sides the horizon
> was shut out by rugged ridges of mountain, the whole of the Deccan
> plateau would have appeared before our eyes. Bombay was so distinct that
> it seemed quite near to us, and the channel that separates the town from
> Salsetta shone like a tiny silvery streak. It winds like a snake on its
> way to the port, surrounding Kanari and other islets, which look the
> very image of green peas scattered on the white cloth of its bright
> waters, and, finally, joins the blinding line of the Indian Ocean in the
> extreme distance. On the outer side is the northern Konkan, terminated
> by the Tal-Ghats, the needle-like summits of the Jano-Maoli rocks, and,
> lastly, the battlemented ridge of Funell, whose bold silhouette stands
> out in strong relief against the distant blue of the dim sky, like a
> giant's castle in some fairy tale. Further on looms Parbul, whose flat
> summit, in the days of old, was the seat of the gods, whence, according
> to the legends, Vishnu spoke to mortals. And there below, where the
> defile widens into a valley, all covered with huge separate rocks, each
> of which is crowded with historical and mythological legends, you may
> perceive the dim blue ridge of mountains, still loftier and still more
> strangely shaped. That is Khandala, which is overhung by a huge stone
> block, known by the name of the Duke's Nose. On the opposite side, under
> the very summit of the mountain, is situated Karli, which, according
> to the unanimous opinion or archeologists, is the most ancient and best
> preserved of Indian cave temples.
> 
> One who has traversed the passes of the Caucasus again and again; one
> who, from the top of the Cross Mountain, has beheld beneath her feet
> thunderstorms and lightnings; who has visited the Alps and the Rigi;
> who is well acquainted with the Andes and Cordilleras, and knows
> every corner of the Catskills in America, may be allowed, I hope, the
> expression of a humble opinion. The Caucasian Mountains, I do not deny,
> are more majestic than Ghats of India, and their splendour cannot be
> dimmed by comparison with these; but their beauty is of a type, if I may
> use this expression. At their sight one experiences true delight, but
> at the same time a sensation of awe. One feels like a pigmy before
> these Titans of nature. But in India, the Himalayas excepted, mountains
> produce quite a different impression. The highest summits of the Deccan,
> as well as of the triangular ridge that fringes Northern Hindostan, and
> of the Eastern Ghats, do not exceed 3,000 feet. Only in the Ghats of the
> Malabar coast, from Cape Comorin to the river Surat, are there heights
> of 7,000 feet above the surface of the sea. So that no comparison can
> be dawn between these and the hoary headed patriarch Elbruz, or Kasbek,
> which exceeds 18,000 feet. The chief and original charm of Indian
> mountains wonderfully consists in their capricious shapes. Sometimes
> these mountains, or, rather, separate volcanic peaks standing in a row,
> form chains; but it is more common to find them scattered, to the great
> perplexity of geologists, without visible cause, in places where the
> formation seems quite unsuitable. Spacious valleys, surrounded by high
> walls of rock, over the very ridge of which passes the railway, are
> common. Look below, and it will seem to you that you are gazing upon
> the studio of some whimsical Titanic sculptor, filled with half finished
> groups, statues, and monuments. Here is a dream-land bird, seated upon
> the head of a monster six hundred feet high, spreading its wings
> and widely gaping its dragon's mouth; by its side the bust of a man,
> surmounted by a helmet, battlemented like the walls of a feudal castle;
> there, again, new monsters devouring each other, statues with broken
> limbs, disorderly heaps of huge balls, lonely fortresses with loopholes,
> ruined towers and bridges. All this scattered and intermixed with
> shapes changing incessantly like the dreams of delirium. And the chief
> attraction is that nothing here is the result of art, everything is the
> pure sport of Nature, which, however, has occasionally been turned to
> account by ancient builders. The art of man in India is to be sought
> in the interior of the earth, not on its surface. Ancient Hindus seldom
> built their temples otherwise than in the bosom of the earth, as
> though they were ashamed of their efforts, or did not dare to rival the
> sculpture of nature. Having chosen, for instance, a pyramidal rock, or
> a cupola shaped hillock like Elephanta, Or Karli, they scraped away
> inside, according to the Puranas, for centuries, planning on so grand a
> style that no modern architecture has been able to conceive anything
> to equal it. Fables (?) about the Cyclops seem truer in India than in
> Egypt.
> 
> The marvellous railroad from Narel to Khandala reminds one of a similar
> line from Genoa up the Apenines. One may be said to travel in the air,
> not on land. The railway traverses a region 1,400 feet above Konkan,
> and, in some places, while one rail is laid on the sharp edge of the
> rock, the other is supported on vaults and arches. The Mali Khindi
> viaduct is 163 feet high. For two hours we hastened on between sky and
> earth, with abysses on both sides thickly covered with mango trees and
> bananas. Truly English engineers are wonderful builders.
> 
> The pass of Bhor-Ghat is safely accomplished and we are in Khandala.
> Our bungalow here is built on the very edge of a ravine, which nature
> herself has carefully concealed under a cover of the most luxuriant
> vegetation. Everything is in blossom, and, in this unfathomed recess,
> a botanist might find sufficient material to occupy him for a lifetime.
> Palms have disappeared; for the most part they grow only near the
> sea. Here they are replaced by bananas, mango trees, pipals (ficus
> religiosa), fig trees, and thousands of other trees and shrubs, unknown
> to such outsiders as ourselves. The Indian flora is too often slandered
> and misrepresented as being full of beautiful, but scentless, flowers.
> At some seasons this may be true enough, but, as long as jasmines,
> the various balsams, white tuberoses, and golden champa (champaka or
> frangipani) are in blossom, this statement is far from being true. The
> aroma of champa alone is so powerful as to make one almost giddy. For
> size, it is the king of flowering trees, and hundreds of them were in
> full bloom, just at this time of year, on Mataran and Khandala.
> 
> We sat on the verandah, talking and enjoying the surrounding views,
> until well-nigh midnight. Everything slept around us.
> 
> Khandala is nothing but a big village, situated on the flat top of one
> of the mountains of the Sahiadra range, about 2,200 feet above the sea
> level. It is surrounded by isolated peaks, as strange in shape as any we
> have seen.
> 
> One of them, straight before us, on the opposite side of the abyss,
> looked exactly like a long, one-storied building, with a flat roof and
> a battlemented parapet. The Hindus assert that, somewhere about this
> hillock, there exists a secret entrance, leading into vast interior
> halls, in fact to a whole subterranean palace, and that there still
> exist people who possess the secret of this abode. A holy hermit, Yogi,
> and Magus, who had inhabited these caves for "many centuries," imparted
> this secret to Sivaji, the celebrated leader of the Mahratta armies.
> Like Tanhauser, in Wagner's opera, the unconquerable Sivaji spent seven
> years of his youth in this mysterious abode, and therein acquired his
> extraordinary strength and valour.
> 
> Sivaji is a kind of Indian Ilia Moorometz, though his epoch is much
> nearer to our times. He was the hero and the king of the Mahrattas in
> the seventeenth century, and the founder of their short-lived empire. It
> is to him that India owes the weakening, if not the entire destruction,
> of the Mussulman yoke. No taller than an ordinary woman, and with the
> hand of a child, he was, nevertheless, possessed of wonderful strength,
> which, of course, his compatriots ascribed to sorcery. His sword is
> still preserved in a museum, and one cannot help wondering at its size
> and weight, and at the hilt, through which only a ten-year-old child
> could put his hand. The basis of this hero's fame is the fact that
> he, the son of a poor officer in the service of a Mogul emperor, like
> another David, slew the Mussulman Goliath, the formidable Afzul Khan.
> It was not, however, with a sling that he killed him, he used in this
> combat the formidable Mahratti weapon, vaghnakh, consisting of five long
> steel nails, as sharp as needles, and very strong. This weapon is worn
> on the fingers, and wrestlers use it to tear each other's flesh like
> wild animals. The Deccan is full of legends about Sivaji, and even
> the English historians mention him with respect. Just as in the fable
> respecting Charles V, one of the local Indian traditions asserts that
> Sivaji is not dead, but lives secreted in one of the Sahiadra caves.
> When the fateful hour strikes (and according to the calculations of the
> astrologers the time is not far off) he will reappear, and will bring
> freedom to his beloved country.
> 
> The learned and artful Brahmans, those Jesuits of India, profit by
> the profound superstition of the masses to extort wealth from them,
> sometimes to the last cow, the only food giver of a large family.
> 
> In the following passage I give a curious example of this. At the end
> of July, 1879, this mysterious document appeared in Bombay. I translate
> literally, from the Mahratti, the original having been translated into
> all the dialects of India, of which there are 273.
> 
> "Shri!" (an untranslatable greeting). "Let it be known unto every one
> that this epistle, traced in the original in golden letters, came down
> from Indra-loka (the heaven of Indra), in the presence of holy Brahmans,
> on the altar of the Vishveshvara temple, which is in the sacred town of
> Benares.
> 
> "Listen and remember, O tribes of Hindustan, Rajis-tan, Punjab, etc.,
> etc. On Saturday, the second day of the first half of the month Magha,
> 1809, of Shalivahan's era" (1887 A.D.), "the eleventh month of the
> Hindus, during the Ashwini Nakshatra" (the first of the twenty-seven
> constellations on the moon's path), "when the sun enters the sign
> Capricorn, and the time of the day will be near the constellation
> Pisces, that is to say, exactly one hour and thirty-six minutes after
> sunrise, the hour of the end of the Kali-Yug will strike, and the
> much desired Satya-Yug will commence" (that is to say, the end of the
> Maha-Yug, the great cycle that embraces the four minor Yugas). "This
> time Satya-Yug will last 1,100 years. During all this time a man's
> lifetime will be 128 years. The days will become longer and will consist
> of twenty hours and forty-eight minutes, and the nights of thirteen
> hours and twelve minutes, that is to say, instead of twenty-four hours
> we shall have exactly thirty-four hours and one minute. The first day
> of Satya-Yug will be very important for us, because it is then that will
> appear to us our new King with white face and golden hair, who will come
> from the far North. He will become the autonomous Lord of India. The
> Maya of human unbelief, with all the heresies over which it presides,
> will be thrown down to Patala" (sig-nifying at once hell and the
> antipodes), "and the Maya of the righteous and pious will abide with
> them, and will help them to enjoy life in Mretinloka" (our earth).
> 
> "Let it also be known to everyone that, for the dissemination of this
> divine document, every separate copy of it will be rewarded by the
> forgiveness of as many sins as are generally forgiven when a pious man
> sacrifices to a Brahman one hundred cows. As for the disbelievers and
> the indifferent, they will be sent to Naraka" (hell). "Copied out and
> given, by the slave of Vishnu, Malau Shriram, on Saturday, the 7th
> day of the first half of Shravan" (the fifth month of the Hindu year),
> "1801, of Shalivalian's era" (that is, 26th July, 1879).
> 
> The further career of this ignorant and cunning epistle is not known
> to me. Probably the police put a stop to its distribution; this only
> concerns the wise administrators. But it splendidly illustrates, from
> one side, the credulity of the populace, drowned in superstition, and
> from the other the unscrupulousness of the Brahmans.
> 
> Concerning the word Patala, which literally means the opposite side,
> a recent discovery of Swami Dayanand Saraswati, whom I have already
> mentioned in the preceding letters, is interesting, especially if this
> discovery can be accepted by philologists, as the facts seem to promise.
> Dayanand tries to show that the ancient Aryans knew, and even visited,
> America, which in ancient MSS. is called Patala, and out of which
> popular fancy constructed, in the course of time, something like the
> Greek Hades. He supports his theory by many quotations from the oldest
> MSS., especially from the legends about Krishna and his favourite
> disciple Arjuna. In the history of the latter it is mentioned that
> Arjuna, one of the five Pandavas, descendants of the moon dynasty,
> visited Patala on his travels, and there married the widowed daughter of
> King Nagual, called Illupl. Comparing the names of father and daughter
> we reach the following considerations, which speak strongly in favour of
> Dayanand's supposition.
> 
> (1) Nagual is the name by which the sorcerers of Mexico, Indians and
> aborigines of America, are still designated. Like the Assyrian and
> Chaldean Nargals, chiefs of the Magi, the Mexican Nagual unites in his
> person the functions of priest and of sorcerer, being served in the
> latter capacity by a demon in the shape of some animal, generally a
> snake or a crocodile. These Naguals are thought to be the descendants
> of Nagua, the king of the snakes. Abbe Brasseur de Bourbourg devotes a
> considerable amount of space to them in his book about Mexico, and says
> that the Naguals are servants of the evil one, who, in his turn, renders
> them but a temporary service. In Sanskrit, likewise, snake is Naga,
> and the "King of the Nagas" plays an important part in the history of
> Buddha; and in the Puranas there exists a tradition that it was Arjuna
> who introduced snake worship into Patala. The coincidence, and the
> identity of the names are so striking that our scientists really ought
> to pay some attention to them.
> 
> (2) The Name of Arjuna's wife Illupl is purely old Mexican, and if we
> reject the hypothesis of Swami Daya-nand it will be perfectly impossible
> to explain the actual existence of this name in Sanskrit manuscripts
> long before the Christian era. Of all ancient dialects and languages
> it is only in those of the American aborigines that you constantly meet
> with such combinations of consonants as pl, tl, etc. They are abundant
> especially in the language of the Toltecs, or Nahuatl, whereas, neither
> in Sanskrit nor in ancient Greek are they ever found at the end of
> a word. Even the words Atlas and Atlantis seem to be foreign to the
> etymology of the European languages. Wherever Plato may have found them,
> it was not he who invented them. In the Toltec language we find the
> root atl, which means water and war, and directly after America was
> discovered Columbus found a town called Atlan, at the entrance of the
> Bay of Uraga. It is now a poor fishing village called Aclo. Only
> in America does one find such names as Itzcoatl, Zempoaltecatl, and
> Popocatepetl. To attempt to explain such coincidences by the theory of
> blind chance would be too much, consequently, as long as science does
> not seek to deny Dayanand's hypothesis, which, as yet, it is unable to
> do, we think it reasonable to adopt it, be it only in order to follow
> out the axiom "one hypothesis is equal to another." Amongst other things
> Dayanand points out that the route that led Arjuna to America five
> thousand years ago was by Siberia and Behring's Straits.
> 
> It was long past midnight, but we still sat listening to this legend and
> others of a similar kind. At length the innkeeper sent a servant to
> warn us of the dangers that threatened us if we lingered too long on the
> verandah on a moonlit night. The programme of these dangers was divided
> into three sections--snakes, beasts of prey, and dacoits. Besides the
> cobra and the "rock-snake," the surrounding mountains are full of a kind
> of very small mountain snake, called furzen, the most dangerous of
> all. Their poison kills with the swiftness of lightning. The moonlight
> attracts them, and whole parties of these uninvited guests crawl up to
> the verandahs of houses, in order to warm themselves. Here they are more
> snug than on the wet ground. The verdant and perfumed abyss below
> our verandah happened, too, to be the favorite resort of tigers and
> leopards, who come thither to quench their thirst at the broad brook
> which runs along the bottom, and then wander until daybreak under the
> windows of the bungalow. Lastly, there were the mad dacoits, whose dens
> are scattered in mountains inaccessible to the police, who often shoot
> Europeans simply to afford themselves the pleasure of sending ad patres
> one of the hateful bellatis (foreigners). Three days before our arrival
> the wife of a Brahman disappeared, carried off by a tiger, and two
> favorite dogs of the commandant were killed by snakes. We declined to
> wait for further explanations, but hurried to our rooms. At daybreak we
> were to start for Karli, six miles from this place.
> 
> In The Karli Caves
> 
> At five o'clock in the morning we had already arrived at the limit, not
> only of driveable, but, even, of rideable roads. Our bullock-cart could
> go no further. The last half mile was nothing but a rough sea of stones.
> We had either to give up our enterprise, or to climb on all-fours up an
> almost perpendicular slope two hundred feet high. We were utterly at
> our wits' end, and meekly gazed at the historical mass before us, not
> knowing what to do next. Almost at the summit of the mountain, under
> the overhanging rocks, were a dozen black openings. Hundreds of pilgrims
> were crawling upwards, looking, in their holiday dresses, like so many
> green, pink, and blue ants. Here, however, our faithful Hindu friends
> came to our rescue. One of them, putting the palm of his hand to his
> mouth, produced a strident sound something between a shriek and a
> whistle. This signal was answered from above by an echo, and the next
> moment several half naked Brahmans, hereditary watchmen of the temple,
> began to descend the rocks as swiftly and skillfully as wild cats.
> Five minutes later they were with us, fastening round our bodies strong
> leathern straps, and rather dragging than leading us upwards. Half an
> hour later, exhausted but perfectly safe, we stood before the porch
> of the chief temple, which until then had been hidden from us by giant
> trees and cactuses.
> 
> This majestic entrance, resting on four massive pillars which form a
> quadrangle, is fifty-two feet wide and is covered with ancient moss and
> carvings. Before it stands the "lion column," so-called from the four
> lions carved as large as nature, and seated back to back, at its base.
> Over the principal entrance, its sides covered with colossal male
> and female figures, is a huge arch, in front of which three gigantic
> elephants are sculptured in relief, with heads and trunks that project
> from the wall. The shape of the temple is oval. It is 128 feet long and
> forty-six feet wide. The central space is separated on each side
> from the aisles by forty-two pillars, which sustain the cupola-shaped
> ceiling. Further on is an altar, which divides the first dome from
> a second one which rises over a small chamber, formerly used by the
> ancient Aryan priests for an inner, secret altar. Two side passages
> leading towards it come to a sudden end, which suggests that, once upon
> a time, either doors or wall were there which exist no longer. Each of
> the forty-two pillars has a pedestal, an octagonal shaft, and a
> capital, described by Fergusson as "of the most exquisite workmanship,
> representing two kneeling elephants surmounted by a god and a goddess."
> Fergusson further says that this temple, or chaitya, is older and better
> preserved than any other in India, and may be assigned to a period about
> 200 years B.C., because Prinsep, who has read the inscription on the
> Silastamba pillar, asserts that the lion pillar was the gift of Ajmitra
> Ukasa, son of Saha Ravisobhoti, and another inscription shows that
> the temple was visited by Dathama Hara, otherwise Dathahamini, King of
> Ceylon, in the twentieth year of his reign, that is to say, 163 years
> before our era. For some reason or other, Dr. Stevenson points to
> seventy years B.C. as the date, asserting that Karlen, or Karli, was
> built by the Emperor Devobhuti, under the supervision of Dhanu-Kakata.
> But how can this be maintained in view of the above-mentioned perfectly
> authentic inscriptions? Even Fergusson, the celebrated defender of the
> Egyptian antiquities and hostile critic of those of India, insists that
> Karli belongs to the erections of the third century B.C., adding that
> "the disposition of the various parts of its architecture is identical
> with the architecture of the choirs of the Gothic period, and the
> polygonal apsides of cathedrals."
> 
> Above the chief entrance is found a gallery, which reminds one of the
> choirs, where, in Catholic churches, the organ is placed. Besides the
> chief entrance there are two lateral entrances, leading to the aisles
> of the temple, and over the gallery there is a single spacious window in
> the shape of a horseshoe, so that the light falls on the daghopa (altar)
> entirely from above, leaving the aisles, sheltered by the pillars,
> in obscurity, which increases as you approach the further end of the
> building. To the eyes of a spectator standing at the entrance, the whole
> daghopa shines with light, and behind it is nothing but impenetrable
> darkness, where no profane footsteps were permitted to tread. A figure
> on the dag-hopa, from the summit of which "Raja priests" used to
> pronounce verdicts to the people, is called Dharma-Raja, from Dharma,
> the Hindu Minos. Above the temple are two stories of caves, in each of
> which are wide open galleries formed by huge carved pillars, and from
> these galleries an opening leads to roomy cells and corridors, sometimes
> very long, but quite useless, as they invariably come to an abrupt
> termination at solid walls, without the trace of an issue of any kind.
> The guardians of the temple have either lost the secret of further
> caves, or conceal them jealously from Europeans.
> 
> Besides the Viharas already described, there are many others, scattered
> over the slope of the mountain. These temple-monasteries are all smaller
> than the first, but, according to the opinion of some archeologists,
> they are much older. To what century or epoch they belong is not known
> except to a few Brahmans, who keep silence. Generally speaking, the
> position of a European archaeologist in India is very sad. The masses,
> drowned in superstition, are utterly unable to be of any use to him, and
> the learned Brahmans, initiated into the mysteries of secret libraries
> in pagodas, do all they can to prevent archeological research. However,
> after all that has happened, it would be unjust to blame the conduct of
> the Brahmans in these matters. The bitter experience of many centuries
> has taught them that their only weapons are distrust and circumspection,
> without these their national history and the most sacred of their
> treasures would be irrevocably lost. Political coups d'etat which have
> shaken their country to its foundation, Mussulman invasions that proved
> so fatal to its welfare, the all-destructive fanaticism of Mussulman
> vandals and of Catholic padres, who are ready for anything in order to
> secure manuscripts and destroy them--all these form a good excuse
> for the action of the Brahmans. However in spite of these manifold
> destructive tendencies, there exist in many places in India vast
> libraries capable of pouring a bright and new light, not only on the
> history of India itself, but also on the darkest problems of universal
> history. Some of these libraries, filled with the most precious
> manuscripts, are in the possession of native princes and of pagodas
> attached to their territories, but the greater part is in the hands
> of the Jainas (the oldest of Hindu sects) and of the Rajputana Takurs,
> whose ancient hereditary castles are scattered all over Rajistan, like
> so many eagles' nests on high rocks. The existence of the celebrated
> collections in Jassulmer and Patana is not unknown to the Government,
> but they remain wholly beyond its reach. The manuscripts are written in
> an ancient and now completely forgotten language, intelligible only to
> the high priests and their initiated librarians. One thick folio is
> so sacred and inviolable that it rests on a heavy golden chain in the
> centre of the temple of Chintamani in Jassulmer, and taken down only
> to be dusted and rebound at the advent of each new pontiff. This is
> the work of Somaditya Suru Acharya, a great priest of the pre-Mussulman
> time, well-known in history. His mantle is still preserved in the
> temple, and forms the robe of initiation of every new high priest.
> Colonel James Tod, who spent so many years in India and gained the love
> of the people as well as of the Brahmans--a most uncommon trait in the
> biography of any Anglo-Indian--has written the only true history of
> India, but even he was never allowed to touch this folio. Natives
> commonly believe that he was offered initiation into the mysteries
> at the price of the adoption of their religion. Being a devoted
> archaeologist he almost resolved to do so, but, having to return to
> England on account of his health, he left this world before he could
> return to his adopted country, and thus the enigma of this new book of
> the sibyl remains unsolved.
> 
> The Takurs of Rajputana, who are said to possess some of the underground
> libraries, occupy in India position similar to the position of European
> feudal barons of the Middle Ages. Nominally they are dependent on some
> of the native princes or on the British Government; but de facto they
> are perfectly independent. Their castles are built on high rocks, and
> besides the natural difficulty of entering them, their possessors are
> made doubly unreachable by the fact that long secret passages exist in
> every such castle, known only to the present owner and confided to his
> heir only at his death. We have visited two such underground halls, one
> of them big enough to contain a whole village. No torture would ever
> induce the owners to disclose the secret of their entrances, but the
> Yogis and the initiated Adepts come and go freely, entirely trusted by
> the Takurs.
> 
> A similar story is told concerning the libraries and subterranean
> passages of Karli. As for the archaeologists, they are unable even to
> determine whether this temple was built by Buddhists or Brahmans.
> The huge daghopa that hides the holy of holies from the eyes of the
> worshippers is sheltered by a mushroom-shaped roof, and resembles a low
> minaret with a cupola. Roofs of this description are called "umbrellas,"
> and usually shelter the statues of Buddha and of the Chinese sages.
> But, on the other hand, the worshippers of Shiva, who possess the temple
> nowadays, assert that this low building is nothing but a lingam of
> Shiva. Besides, the carvings of gods and goddesses cut out of the rock
> forbid one to think that the temple is the production of the Buddhists.
> Fergusson writes, "What is this monument of antiquity? Does it belong
> to the Hindus, or to the Buddhists? Has it been built upon plans drawn
> since the death of Sakya Sing, or does it belong to a more ancient
> religion?"
> 
> That is the question. If Fergusson, being bound by facts existing in
> inscriptions to acknowledge the antiquity of Karli, will still persist
> in asserting that Elephanta is of much later date, he will scarcely be
> able to solve this dilemma, because the two styles are exactly the same,
> and the carvings of the latter are still more magnificent. To ascribe
> the temples of Elephanta and Kanari to the Buddhists, and to say that
> their respective periods correspond to the fourth and fifth centuries
> in the first case, and the tenth in the second, is to introduce into
> history a very strange and unfounded anachronism. After the first
> century A.D. there was not left a single influential Buddhist in India.
> Conquered and persecuted by the Brahmans, they emigrated by thousands to
> Ceylon and the trans-Himalayan districts. After the death of King Asoka,
> Buddhism speedily broke down, and in a short time was entirely displaced
> by the theocratic Brahmanism.
> 
> Fergusson's hypothesis that the followers of Sakya Sing, driven out by
> intolerance from the continent, probably sought shelter on the islands
> that surround Bombay, would hardly sustain critical analysis. Elephanta
> and Salsetta are quite near to Bombay, two and five miles distant
> respectively, and they are full of ancient Hindu temples. Is it
> credible, then, that the Brahmans, at the culminating point of their
> power, just before the Mussulman invasions, fanatical as they were, and
> mortal enemies of the Buddhists, would allow these hated heretics to
> build temples within their possessions in general and on Gharipuri
> in particular, this latter being an island consecrated to their Hindu
> pagodas? It is not necessary to be either a specialist, an architect,
> or an eminent archeologist, in order to be convinced at the first glance
> that such temples as Elephanta are the work of Cyclopses, requiring
> centuries and not years for their construction. Whereas in Karli
> everything is built and carved after a perfect plan, in Elephanta it
> seems as if thousands of different hands had wrought at different times,
> each following its own ideas and fashioning after its own device. All
> three caves are dug out of a hard porphyry rock. The first temple is
> practically a square, 130 feet 6 inches long and 130 feet wide. It
> contains twenty-six thick pillars and sixteen pilasters.
> 
> Between some of them there is a distance of 12 or 16 feet, between
> others 15 feet 5 inches, 13 feet 3 1/2 inches, and so on. The same lack
> of uniformity is found in the pedestals of the columns, the finish and
> style of which is constantly varying.
> 
> Why, then, should we not pay some attention to the explanations of the
> Brahmans? They say that this temple was begun by the sons of Pandu,
> after "the great war," Mahabharata, and that after their death every
> true believer was bidden to continue the work according to his own
> notions. Thus the temple was gradually built during three centuries.
> Every one who wished to redeem his sins would bring his chisel and set
> to work. Many were the members of royal families, and even kings, who
> personally took part in these labors.
> 
> On the right hand side of the temple there is a corner stone, a lingam
> of Shiva in his character of Fructifying Force, which is sheltered by a
> small square chapel with four doors. Round this chapel are many colossal
> human figures. According to the Brahmans, these are statues representing
> the royal sculptors themselves, they being doorkeepers of the holy of
> holies, Hindus of the highest caste. Each of the larger figures leans
> upon a dwarf representative of the lower castes, which have been
> promoted by the popular fancy to the rank of demons (Pisachas).
> Moreover, the temple is full of unskillful work. The Brahmans hold that
> such a holy place could not be deserted if men of the preceding and
> present generations had not become unworthy of visiting it. As to Kanari
> or Kanhari, and some other cave temples, there is not the slightest
> doubt that they were all erected by Buddhists. In some of them were
> found inscriptions in a perfect state of preservation, and their style
> does not remind one in the least of the symbolical buildings of the
> Brahmans. Archbishop Heber thinks the Kanari caves were built in the
> first or second centuries B.C. But Elephanta is much older and must be
> classed among prehistoric monuments, that is to say, its date must
> be assigned to the epoch that immediately followed the "great
> war," Mahabharata. Unfortunately the date of this war is a point of
> disagreement between European scientists; the celebrated and learned
> Dr. Martin Haug thinks it is almost antediluvian, while the no less
> celebrated and learned Professor Max Muller places it as near the first
> century of our era as possible.
> 
> The fair was at its culmination when, having finished visiting the
> cells, climbing over all the stories, and examining the celebrated "hall
> of wrestlers," we descended, not by way of the stairs, of which there is
> no trace to be found, but after the fashion of pails bringing water out
> of a deep well, that is to say, by the aid of ropes. A crowd of about
> three thousand persons had assembled from the surrounding villages and
> towns. Women were there adorned from the waist down in brilliant-hued
> saris, with rings in their noses, their ears, their lips, and on all
> parts of their limbs that could hold a ring. Their raven-black hair
> which was smoothly combed back, shone with cocoanut oil, and was adorned
> with crimson flowers, which are sacred to Shiva and to Bhavani, the
> feminine aspect of this god.
> 
> Before the temple there were rows of small shops and of tents, where
> could be bought all the requisites for the usual sacrifices--aromatic
> herbs, incense, sandal wood, rice, gulab, and the red powder with which
> the pilgrim sprinkles first the idol and then his own face. Fakirs,
> bairagis, hosseins, the whole body of the mendicant brotherhood, was
> present among the crowd. Wreathed in chaplets, with long uncombed hair
> twisted at the top of the head into a regular chignon, and with bearded
> faces, they presented a very funny likeness to naked apes. Some of them
> were covered with wounds and bruises due to mortification of the flesh.
> We also saw some bunis, snake-charmers, with dozens of various snakes
> round their waists, necks, arms, and legs--models well worthy of the
> brush of a painter who intended to depict the image of a male Fury. One
> jadugar was especially remarkable. His head was crowned with a turban
> of cobras. Expanding their hoods and raising their leaf-like dark green
> heads, these cobras hissed furiously and so loudly that the sound was
> audible a hundred paces off. Their "stings" quivered like lightning,
> and their small eyes glittered with anger at the approach of every
> passer-by. The expression, "the sting of a snake," is universal, but
> it does not describe accurately the process of inflicting a wound. The
> "sting" of a snake is perfectly harmless. To introduce the poison into
> the blood of a man, or of an animal, the snake must pierce the flesh
> with its fangs, not prick with its sting. The needle-like eye teeth of
> a cobra communicate with the poison gland, and if this gland is cut out
> the cobra will not live more than two days. Accordingly, the supposition
> of some sceptics, that the bunis cut out this gland, is quite unfounded.
> The term "hissing" is also inaccurate when applied to cobras. They do
> not hiss. The noise they make is exactly like the death-rattle of a
> dying man. The whole body of a cobra is shaken by this loud and heavy
> growl.
> 
> Here we happened to be the witnesses of a fact which I relate exactly
> as it occurred, without indulging in explanations or hypotheses of any
> kind. I leave to naturalists the solution of the enigma.
> 
> Expecting to be well paid, the cobra-turbaned buni sent us word by a
> messenger boy that he would like very much to exhibit his powers of
> snake-charming. Of course we were perfectly willing, but on condition
> that between us and his pupils there should be what Mr. Disraeli would
> call a "scientific frontier."* We selected a spot about fifteen paces
> from the magic circle. I will not describe minutely the tricks and
> wonders that we saw, but will proceed at once to the main fact. With the
> aid of a vaguda, a kind of musical pipe of bamboo, the buni caused all
> the snakes to fall into a sort of cataleptic sleep. The melody that he
> played, monotonous, low, and original to the last degree, nearly sent us
> to sleep ourselves. At all events we all grew extremely sleepy without
> any apparent cause. We were aroused from this half lethargy by our
> friend Gulab-Sing, who gathered a handful of a grass, perfectly unknown
> to us, and advised us to rub our temples and eyelids with it. Then the
> buni produced from a dirty bag a kind of round stone, something like a
> fish's eye, or an onyx with a white spot in the centre, not bigger than
> a ten-kopek bit. He declared that anyone who bought that stone would be
> able to charm any cobra (it would produce no effect on snakes of other
> kinds) paralyzing the creature and then causing it to fall asleep.
> Moreover, by his account, this stone is the only remedy for the bite
> of a cobra. You have only to place this talisman on the wound, where it
> will stick so firmly that it cannot be torn off until all the poison is
> absorbed into it, when it will fall off of itself, and all danger will
> be past.
> 
> * Written in 1879.
> 
> Being aware that the Government gladly offers any premium for the
> invention of a remedy for the bite of the cobra, we did not show any
> unreasonable interest on the appearance of this stone. In the meanwhile,
> the buni began to irritate his cobras. Choosing a cobra eight feet long,
> he literally enraged it. Twisting its tail round a tree, the cobra arose
> and hissed. The buni quietly let it bite his finger, on which we all saw
> drops of blood. A unanimous cry of horror arose in the crowd. But master
> buni stuck the stone on his finger and proceeded with his performance.
> 
> "The poison gland of the snake has been cut out," remarked our New York
> colonel. "This is a mere farce."
> 
> As if in answer to this remark, the buni seized the neck of the cobra,
> and, after a short struggle, fixed a match into its mouth, so that it
> remained open. Then he brought the snake over and showed it to each of
> us separately, so that we all saw the death-giving gland in its mouth.
> But our colonel would not give up his first impression so easily. "The
> gland is in its place right enough," said he, "but how are we to know
> that it really does contain poison?"
> 
> Then a live hen was brought forward and, tying its legs together, the
> buni placed it beside the snake. But the latter would pay no attention
> at first to this new victim, but went on hissing at the buni, who teased
> and irritated it until at last it actually struck at the wretched bird.
> The hen made a weak attempt to cackle, then shuddered once or twice and
> became still. The death was instantaneous. Facts will remain facts, the
> most exacting critic and disbeliever notwithstanding. This thought gives
> me courage to write what happened further. Little by little the cobra
> grew so infuriated that it became evident the jadugar himself did not
> dare to approach it. As if glued to the trunk of the tree by its tail,
> the snake never ceased diving into space with its upper part and trying
> to bite everything. A few steps from us was somebody's dog. It seemed to
> attract the whole of the buni's attention for some time. Sitting on his
> haunches, as far as possible from his raging pupil, he stared at the dog
> with motionless glassy eyes, and then began a scarcely audible song.
> The dog grew restless. Putting his tail between his legs, he tried to
> escape, but remained, as if fastened to the ground. After a few seconds
> he crawled nearer and nearer to the buni, whining, but unable to tear
> his gaze from the charmer. I understood his object, and felt awfully
> sorry for the dog. But, to my horror, I suddenly felt that my tongue
> would not move, I was perfectly unable either to get up or even to raise
> my finger. Happily this fiendish scene was not prolonged. As soon as
> the dog was near enough, the cobra bit him. The poor animal fell on his
> back, made a few convulsive movements with his legs, and shortly died.
> We could no longer doubt that there was poison in the gland. In the
> meanwhile the stone had dropped from the buni's finger and he approached
> to show us the healed member. We all saw the trace of the prick, a red
> spot not bigger than the head of an ordinary pin.
> 
> Next he made his snakes rise on their tails, and, holding the stone
> between his first finger and thumb, he proceeded to demonstrate its
> influence on the cobras. The nearer his hand approached to the head of
> the snake, the more the reptile's body recoiled. Looking steadfastly at
> the stone they shivered, and, one by one, dropped as if paralyzed. The
> buni then made straight for our sceptical colonel, and made him an offer
> to try the experiment himself. We all protested vigorously, but he would
> not listen to us, and chose a cobra of a very considerable size. Armed
> with the stone, the colonel bravely approached the snake. For a moment
> I positively felt petrified with fright. Inflating its hood, the cobra
> made an attempt to fly at him, then suddenly stopped short, and, after
> a pause, began following with all its body the circular movements of the
> colonel's hand. When he put the stone quite close to the reptile's head,
> the snake staggered as if intoxicated, its hissing grew weak, its hood
> dropped helplessly on both sides of its neck, and its eyes closed.
> Drooping lower and lower, the snake fell at last on the ground like a
> stick, and slept.
> 
> Only then did we breathe freely. Taking the sorcerer aside we expressed
> our desire to buy the stone, to which he easily assented, and, to our
> great astonishment, asked for it only two rupees. This talisman became
> my own property and I still keep it. The buni asserts, and our Hindu
> friends confirm the story, that it is not a stone but an excrescence. It
> is found in the mouth of one cobra in a hundred, between the bone of the
> upper jaw and the skin of the palate. This "stone" is not fastened to
> the skull, but hangs, wrapped in skin, from the palate, and so is very
> easily cut off; but after this operation the cobra is said to die. If
> we are to believe Bishu Nath, for that was our sorcerer's name, this
> excrescence confers upon the cobra who possesses it the rank of king
> over the rest of his kind.
> 
> "Such a cobra," said the buni, "is like a Brahman, a Dwija Brahman
> amongst Shudras, they all obey him. There exists, moreover, a poisonous
> toad that also, sometimes, possesses this stone, but its effect is much
> weaker. To destroy the effect of a cobra's poison you must apply the
> toad's stone not later than two minutes after the infliction of the
> wound; but the stone of a cobra is effectual to the last. Its healing
> power is certain as long as the heart of the wounded man has not ceased
> to beat."
> 
> Bidding us good-bye, the buni advised us to keep the stone in a dry
> place and never to leave it near a dead body, also, to hide it during
> the sun and moon eclipses, "otherwise," said he, "it will lose all its
> power." In case we were bitten by a mad dog, he said, we were to put the
> stone into a glass of water and leave it there during the night, next
> morning the sufferer was to drink the water and then forget all danger.
> 
> "He is a regular devil and not a man!" exclaimed our colonel, as soon
> as the buni had disappeared on his way to a Shiva temple, where, by the
> way, we were not admitted.
> 
> "As simple a mortal as you or I," remarked the Rajput with a smile,
> "and, what is more, he is very ignorant. The truth is, he has been
> brought up in a Shivaite pagoda, like all the real snake-charmers. Shiva
> is the patron god of snakes, and the Brahmans teach the bunis to produce
> all kinds of mesmeric tricks by empirical methods, never explaining to
> them the theoretical principles, but assuring them that Shiva is behind
> every phenomenon. So that the bunis sincerely ascribe to their god the
> honor of their 'miracles."'
> 
> "The Government of India offers a reward for an antidote to the poison
> of the cobra. Why then do the bunis not claim it, rather than let
> thousands of people die helpless?"
> 
> "The Brahmans would never suffer that. If the Government took the
> trouble to examine carefully the statistics of deaths caused by snakes,
> it would be found that no Hindu of the Shivaite sect has ever died from
> the bite of a cobra. They let people of other sects die, but save the
> members of their own flock."
> 
> "But did we not see how easily he parted with his secret,
> notwithstanding we were foreigners. Why should not the English buy it as
> readily?"
> 
> "Because this secret is quite useless in the hands of Europeans. The
> Hindus do not try to conceal it, because they are perfectly certain that
> without their aid nobody can make any use of it. The stone will retain
> its wonderful power only when it is taken from a live cobra. In order to
> catch the snake without killing it, it must be cast into a lethargy, or,
> if you prefer the term, charmed. Who is there among the foreigners who
> is able to do this? Even amongst the Hindus, you will not find a single
> individual in all India who possesses this ancient secret, unless he be
> a disciple of the Shivaite Brahmans. Only Brahmans of this sect possess
> a monopoly of the secret, and not all even of them, only those, in
> short, who belong to the pseudo-Patanjali school, who are usually called
> Bhuta ascetics. Now there exist, scattered over the whole of India, only
> about half-a-dozen of their pagoda schools, and the inmates would rather
> part with their very lives than with their secret."
> 
> "We have paid only two rupees for a secret which proved as strong in the
> colonel's hands as in the hands of the buni. Is it then so difficult to
> procure a store of these stones?" Our friend laughed.
> 
> "In a few days," said he, "the talisman will lose all its healing powers
> in your inexperienced hands. This is the reason why he let it go at such
> a low price, which he is, probably, at this moment sacrificing before
> the altar of his deity. I guarantee you a week's activity for your
> purchase, but after that time it will only be fit to be thrown out of
> the window."
> 
> We soon learned how true were these words. On the following day we came
> across a little girl, bitten by a green scorpion. She seemed to be in
> the last convulsions. No sooner had we applied the stone than the child
> seemed relieved, and, in an hour, she was gaily playing about, whereas,
> even in the case of the sting of a common black scorpion, the patient
> suffers for two weeks. But when, about ten days later, we tried the
> experiment of the stone upon a poor coolie, just bitten by a cobra, it
> would not even stick to the wound, and the poor wretch shortly expired.
> I do not take upon myself to offer, either a defence, or an explanation
> of the virtues of the "stone." I simply state the facts and leave the
> future career of the story to its own fate. The sceptics may deal with
> it as they will. Yet I can easily find people in India who will bear
> witness to my accuracy.
> 
> In this connection I was told a funny story. When Dr. (now Sir J.)
> Fayrer, who lately published his Thanatophidia, a book on the venomous
> snakes of India, a work well known throughout Europe, he categorically
> stated in it his disbelief in the wondrous snake-charmers of India.
> However, about a fortnight or so after the book appeared amongst the
> Anglo-Indians, a cobra bit his own cook. A buni, who happened to pass
> by, readily offered to save the man's life. It stands to reason that
> the celebrated naturalist could not accept such an offer. Nevertheless,
> Major Kelly and other officers urged him to permit the experiment.
> Declaring that in spite of all, in less than an hour his cook would be
> no more, he gave his consent. But it happened that in less than an hour
> the cook was quietly preparing dinner in the kitchen, and, it is added,
> Dr. Fayrer seriously thought of throwing his book into the fire.
> 
> The day grew dreadfully hot. We felt the heat of the rocks in spite of
> our thick-soled shoes. Besides, the general curiosity aroused by our
> presence, and the unceremonious persecutions of the crowd, were becoming
> tiring. We resolved to "go home," that is to say, to return to the cool
> cave, six hundred paces from the temple, where we were to spend the
> evening and to sleep. We would wait no longer for our Hindu companions,
> who had gone to see the fair, and so we started by ourselves.----
> 
> On approaching the entrance of the temple we were struck by the
> appearance of a young man, who stood apart from the crowd and was of
> an ideal beauty. He was a member of the Sadhu sect, a "candidate for
> Saintship," to use the expression of one of our party.
> 
> The Sadhus differ greatly from every other sect. They never appear
> unclothed, do not cover themselves with damp ashes, wear no painted
> signs on their faces, or foreheads, and do not worship idols. Belonging
> to the Adwaiti section of the Vedantic school, they believe only in
> Parabrahm (the great spirit). The young man looked quite decent in his
> light yellow costume, a kind of nightgown without sleeves. He had long
> hair, and his head was uncovered. His elbow rested on the back of a cow,
> which was itself well calculated to attract attention, for, in addition
> to her four perfectly shaped legs, she had a fifth growing out of her
> hump. This wonderful freak of nature used its fifth leg as if it were
> a hand and arm, hunting and killing tiresome flies, and scratching
> its head with the hoof. At first we thought it was a trick to attract
> attention, and even felt offended with the animal, as well as with its
> handsome owner, but, coming nearer, we saw that it was no trick, but an
> actual sport of mischievous Nature. From the young man we learned that
> the cow had been presented to him by the Maharaja Holkar, and that her
> milk had been his only food during the last two years.
> 
> Sadhus are aspirants to the Raj Yoga, and, as I have said above, usually
> belong to the school of the Vedanta. That is to say, they are disciples
> of initiates who have entirely resigned the life of the world, and lead
> a life of monastic chastity. Between the Sadhus and the Shivaite
> bunis there exists a mortal enmity, which manifests itself by a silent
> contempt on the side of the Sadhus, and on that of the bunis by constant
> attempts to sweep their rivals off the face of the earth. This antipathy
> is as marked as that between light and darkness, and reminds one of the
> dualism of the Ahura-Mazda and Ahriman of the Zoroastrians. Masses
> of people look up to the first as to Magi, sons of the sun and of the
> Divine Principle, while the latter are dreaded as dangerous sorcerers.
> Having heard most wonderful accounts of the former, we were burning
> with anxiety to see some of the "miracles" ascribed to them by some even
> among the Englishmen. We eagerly invited the Sadhu to visit our vihara
> during the evening. But the handsome ascetic sternly refused, for the
> reason that we were staying within the temple of the idol-worshippers,
> the very air of which would prove antagonistic to him. We offered him
> money, but he would not touch it, and so we parted.
> 
> A path, or rather a ledge cut along the perpendicular face of a rocky
> mass 200 feet high, led from the chief temple to our vihara. A man needs
> good eyes, sure feet, and a very strong head to avoid sliding down the
> precipice at the first false step. Any help would be quite out of the
> question, for, the ledge being only two feet wide, no one could walk
> side by side with another. We had to walk one by one, appealing for aid
> only to the whole of our personal courage. But the courage of many of us
> was gone on an unlimited furlough. The position of our American colonel
> was the worst, for he was very stout and short-sighted, which defects,
> taken together, caused him frequent vertigos. To keep up our spirits
> we indulged in a choral performance of the duet from Norma, "Moriam'
> insieme," holding each other's hands the while, to ensure our being
> spared by death or dying all four in company. But the colonel did not
> fail to frighten us nearly out of our lives. We were already half way up
> to the cave when he made a false step, staggered, lost hold of my hand,
> and rolled over the edge. We three, having to clutch the bushes and
> stones, were quite unable to help him. A unanimous cry of horror escaped
> us, but died away as we perceived that he had succeeded in clinging to
> the trunk of a small tree, which grew on the slope a few steps below
> us. Fortunately, we knew that the colonel was good at athletics, and
> remarkably cool in danger. Still the moment was a critical one. The
> slender stem of the tree might give way at any moment. Our cries of
> distress were answered by the sudden appearance of the mysterious Sadhu
> with his cow.
> 
> They were quietly walking along about twenty feet below us, on such
> invisible projections of the rock that a child's foot could barely have
> found room to rest there, and they both traveled as calmly, and even
> carelessly, as if a comfortable causeway were beneath their feet,
> instead of a vertical rock. The Sadhu called out to the colonel to hold
> on, and to us to keep quiet. He patted the neck of his monstrous cow,
> and untied the rope by which he was leading her. Then, with both hands
> he turned her head in our direction, and clucking with his tongue, he
> cried "Chal!" (go). With a few wild goat-like bounds the animal reached
> our path, and stood before us motion-less. A for the Sadhu himself, his
> movements were as swift and as goat-like. In a moment he had reached the
> tree, tied the rope round the colonel's body, and put him on his legs
> again; then, rising higher, with one effort of his strong hand he
> hoisted him up to the path. Our colonel was with us once more, rather
> pale, and with the loss of his pince-nez, but not of his presence of
> mind.
> 
> An adventure that had threatened to become a tragedy ended in a farce.
> 
> "What is to be done now?" was our unanimous inquiry. "We cannot let you
> go alone any further."
> 
> "In a few moments it will be dark and we shall be lost," said Mr. Y----,
> the colonel's secretary.
> 
> And, indeed, the sun was dipping below the horizon, and every moment was
> precious. In the meanwhile, the Sadhu had fastened the rope round the
> cow's neck again and stood before us on the pathway, evidently not
> understanding a word of our conversation. His tall, slim figure seemed
> as if suspended in the air above the precipice. His long, black hair,
> floating in the breeze, alone showed that in him we beheld a living
> being and not a magnificent statue of bronze. Forgetting our recent
> danger and our present awkward situation, Miss X----, who was a born
> artist, exclaimed: "Look at the majesty of that pure profile; observe
> the pose of that man. How beautiful are his outlines seen against the
> golden and blue sky. One would say, a Greek Adonis, not a Hindu!" But
> the "Adonis" in question put a sudden stop to her ecstasy. He glanced at
> Miss X---- with half-pitying, half-kindly, laughing eyes, and said with
> his ringing voice in Hindi--
> 
> "Bara-Sahib cannot go any further without the help of someone else's
> eyes. Sahib's eyes are his enemies. Let the Sahib ride on my cow. She
> cannot stumble."
> 
> "I! Ride on a cow, and a five-legged one at that? Never!" exclaimed the
> poor colonel, with such a helpless air, nevertheless, that we burst out
> laughing.
> 
> "It will be better for Sahib to sit on a cow than to lie on a chitta"
> (the pyre on which dead bodies are burned), remarked the Sadhu with
> modest seriousness. "Why call forth the hour which has not yet struck?"
> 
> The colonel saw that argument was perfectly useless, and we succeeded in
> persuading him to follow the Sadhu's advice, who carefully hoisted him
> on the cow's back, then, recommending him to hold on by the fifth leg,
> he led the way. We all followed to the best of our ability.
> 
> In a few minutes more we were on the verandah of our vihara, where we
> found our Hindu friends, who had arrived by another path. We eagerly
> related all our adventures, and then looked for the Sadhu, but, in the
> meanwhile, he had disappeared together with his cow.
> 
> "Do not look for him, he is gone by a road known only to himself,"
> remarked Gulab-Sing carelessly. "He knows you are sincere in your
> gratitude, but he would not take your money. He is a Sadhu, not a buni,"
> added he proudly.
> 
> We remembered that it was reported this proud friend of ours also
> belonged to the Sadhu sect. "Who can tell," whispered the colonel in my
> ear, "whether these reports are mere gossip, or the truth?"
> 
> Sadhu-Nanaka must not be confounded with Guru-Nanaka, a leader of the
> Sikhs. The former are Adwaitas, the latter monotheists. The Adwaitas
> believe only in an impersonal deity named Parabrahm.
> 
> In the chief hall of the vihara was a life-sized statue of Bhavani, the
> feminine aspect of Shiva. From the bosom of this devaki streams forth
> the pure cold water of a mountain spring, which falls into a reservoir
> at her feet. Around it lay heaps of sacrificial flowers, rice, betel
> leaves and incense. This hall was, in consequence, so damp that we
> preferred to spend the night on the verandah in the open air, hanging,
> as it were, between sky and earth, and lit from below by numerous fires
> kept burning all the night by Gulab-Sing's servants, to scare away wild
> beasts, and, from above, by the light of the full moon. A supper was
> arranged after the Eastern fashion, on carpets spread upon the floor,
> and with thick banana leaves for plates and dishes. The noiselessly
> gliding steps of the servants, more silent than ghosts, their white
> muslins and red turbans, the limitless depths of space, lost in waves of
> moonlight, before us, and behind, the dark vaults of ancient caves,
> dug out by unknown races, in unknown times, in honor of an unknown,
> prehistoric religion--all these, our surroundings, transported us into a
> strange world, and into distant epochs far different from our own.
> 
> We had before us representatives of five different peoples, five
> different types of costume, each quite unlike the others. All five are
> known to us in ethnography under the generic name of Hindus. Similarly
> eagles, condors, hawks, vultures, and owls are known to ornithology as
> "birds of prey," but the analogous differences are as great. Each of
> these five companions, a Rajput, a Bengali, a Madrasi, a Sinhalese and
> a Mahratti, is a descendant of a race, the origin of which European
> scientists have discussed for over half a century without coming to any
> agreement.
> 
> Rajputs are called Hindus and are said to belong to the Aryan race; but
> they call themselves Suryavansa, that is to say, descendants of Surya or
> the sun.
> 
> The Brahmans derive their origin from Indu, the moon, and are called
> Induvansa; Indu, Soma, or Chandra, meaning moon in Sanskrit. If the
> first Aryans, appearing in the prologue of universal history, are
> Brahmans, that is to say, the people who, according to Max Muller,
> having crossed the Himalayas conquered the country of the five rivers,
> then the Rajputs are no Aryans; and if they are Aryans they are not
> Brahmans, as all their genealogies and sacred books (Puranas) show that
> they are much older than the Brahmans; and, in this case, moreover, the
> Aryan tribes had an actual existence in other countries of our globe
> than the much renowned district of the Oxus, the cradle of the Germanic
> race, the ancestors of Aryans and Hindus, in the fancy of the scientist
> we have named and his German school.
> 
> The "moon" line begins with Pururavas (see the genealogical tree
> prepared by Colonel Tod from the MS. Puranas in the Oodeypore archives),
> that is to say, two thousand two hundred years before Christ, and much
> later than Ikshvaku, the patriarch of the Suryavansa. The fourth son of
> Pururavas, Rech, stands at the head of the line of the moon-race, and
> only in the fifteenth generation after him appears Harita, who founded
> the Kanshikagotra, the Brahman tribe.
> 
> The Rajputs hate the latter. They say the children of the sun and Rama
> have nothing in common with the children of the moon and Krishna. As
> for the Bengalis, according to their traditions and history, they are
> aborigines. The Madrasis and the Sinhalese are Dravidians. They have, in
> turn, been said to belong to the Semites, the Hamites, the Aryans, and,
> lastly, they have been given up to the will of God, with the conclusion
> drawn that the Sinhalese, at all events, must be Mongolians of Turanian
> origin. The Mahrattis are aborigines of the West of India, as the
> Bengalis are of, the East; but to what group of tribes belong these two
> nationalities no ethnographer can define, save perhaps a German. The
> traditions of the people themselves are generally denied, because they
> are not in harmony with foregone conclusions. The meaning of ancient
> manuscripts is disfigured, and, in fact, sacrificed to fiction, if only
> the latter proceeds from the mouth of some favorite oracle.
> 
> The ignorant masses are often blamed and found to be guilty of
> superstition for creating idols in the spiritual world. Is not,
> then, the educated man, the man who craves after knowledge, who is
> enlightened, still more inconsistent than these masses, when he deals
> with his favorite authorities? Are not half a dozen laurel-crowned heads
> allowed by him to do whatever they like with facts, to draw their own
> conclusions, according to their own liking, and does he not stone
> every one who would dare to rise against the decisions of these
> quasi-infallible specialists, and brand him as an ignorant fool?
> 
> Let us remember the case in point of Louis Jacolliot, who spent twenty
> years in India, who actually knew the language and the country to
> perfection, and who, nevertheless, was rolled in the mud by Max Muller,
> whose foot never touched Indian soil.
> 
> The oldest peoples of Europe are mere babes com-pared with the tribes
> of Asia, and especially of India. And oh! how poor and insignificant are
> the genealogies of the oldest European families compared with those of
> some Rajputs. In the opinion of Colonel Tod, who for over twenty years
> studied these genealogies on the spot, they are the completest and most
> trustworthy of the records of the peoples of antiquity. They date from
> 1,000 to 2,200 years B.C., and their authenticity may often be proved
> by reference to Greek authors. After long and careful research and
> comparison with the text of the Puranas, and various monumental
> inscriptions, Colonel Tod came to the conclusion that in the Oodeypore
> archives (now hidden from public inspection), not to mention other
> sources, may be found a clue to the history of India in particular, and
> to universal ancient history in general. Colonel Tod advises the earnest
> seeker after this clue not to think, with some flippant archaeologists
> who are insufficiently acquainted with India, that the stories of
> Rama, the Mahabharata, Krishna, and the five brothers Pandu, are mere
> allegories. He affirms that he who seriously considers these legends
> will very soon become thoroughly convinced that all these so-called
> "fables" are founded on historical facts, by the actual existence of
> the descendants of the heroes, by tribes, ancient towns, and coins still
> extant; that to acquire the right to pronounce a final opinion one must
> read first the inscriptions on the Inda-Prestha pillars of Purag and
> Mevar, on the rocks of Junagur, in Bijoli, on Aravuli and on all the
> ancient Jaina temples scattered throughout India, where are to be found
> numerous inscriptions in a language utterly unknown, in comparison with
> which the hieroglyphs will seem a mere toy.
> 
> Yet, nevertheless, Professor Max Muller, who, as already mentioned, was
> never in India, sits as a judge and corrects chronological tables as is
> his wont, and Europe, taking his words for those of an oracle, endorses
> his decisions. Et c'est ainsi que s'ecrit l'histoire.
> 
> Talking of the venerable German Sanskritist's chronology, I cannot
> resist the desire to show, be it only to Russia, on what a fragile
> basis are founded his scientific discussions, and how little he is to
> be trusted when he pronounces upon the antiquity of this or that
> manuscript. These pages are of a superficial and descriptive nature,
> and, as such, make no pretense to profound learning, so that what
> follows may seem incongruous. But it must be remembered that in Russia,
> as elsewhere in Europe, people estimate the value of this philological
> light by the points of exclamation lavished upon him by his admiring
> followers, and that no one reads the Veda Bhashaya of Swami Dayanand.
> It may even be that I shall not be far from the truth in saying that the
> very existence of this work is ignored, which may perhaps be a fortunate
> fact for the reputation of Professor Max Muller. I shall be as brief as
> possible. When Professor Max Muller states, in his Sahitya-Grantha, that
> the Aryan tribe in India acquired the notion of God step by step and
> very slowly, he evidently wishes to prove that the Vedas are far from
> being as old as is supposed by some of his colleagues. Having presented,
> in due course, some more or less valuable evidence to prove the truth
> of this new theory, he ends with a fact which, in his opinion, is
> indisputable. He points to the word hiranya-garbha in the mantrams,
> which he translates by the word "gold," and adds that, as the part
> of the Vedas called chanda appeared 3,100 years ago, the part called
> mantrams could not have been written earlier than 2,900 years ago.
> Let me remind the reader that the Vedas are divided into two parts:
> chandas--slokas, verses, etc.; and mantrams--prayers and rhythmical
> hymns, which are, at the same time, incantations used in white magic.
> Professor Max Muller divides the mantram ("Agnihi Poorwebhihi,"
> etc.) philologically and chronologically, and, finding in it the word
> hiranya-garbha, he denounces it as an anachronism. The ancients, he
> says, had no knowledge of gold, and, therefore, if gold is mentioned in
> this mantram it means that the mantram was composed at a comparatively
> modern epoch, and so on.
> 
> But here the illustrious Sanskritist is very much mistaken. Swami
> Dayanand and other pandits, who sometimes are far from being Dayanand's
> allies, maintain that Professor Max Muller has completely misunderstood
> the meaning of the term hiranya. Originally it did not mean, and, when
> united to the word garbha, even now does not mean, gold. So all the
> Professor's brilliant demonstrations are labor in vain. The word hiranya
> in this mantram must be translated "divine light"--mystically a symbol
> of knowledge; analogically the alchemists used the term "sublimated
> gold" for "light," and hoped to compose the objective metal out of its
> rays. The two words, hiranya-garbha, taken together, mean, literally,
> the "radiant bosom," and, when used in the Vedas, designate the first
> principle, in whose bosom, like gold in the bosom of the earth, rests
> the light of divine knowledge and truth, the essence of the soul
> liberated from the sins of the world. In the mantrams, as in the
> chandas, one must always look for a double meaning: (1) a metaphysical
> one, purely abstract, and (2) one as purely physical; for everything
> existing upon the earth is closely bound to the spiritual world, from
> which it proceeds and by which it is reabsorbed. For instance Indra, the
> god of thunder, Surya, the sun-god, Vayu, god of the wind, and Agni,
> god of fire, all four depending on this first divine principle, expand,
> according to the mantram from hiranya-garbha, the radiant bosom. In this
> case the gods are the personifications of the forces of Nature. But the
> initiated Adepts of India understand very clearly that the god Indra,
> for instance, is nothing more than a mere sound, born of the shock of
> electrical forces, or simply electricity itself. Surya is not the god of
> the sun, but simply the centre of fire in our system, the essence whence
> come fire, warmth, light, and so on; the very thing, namely, which
> no European scientist, steering an even course between Tyndall and
> Schropfer, has, as yet, defined. This concealed meaning has totally
> escaped Professor Max Muller's attention, and this is why, clinging to
> the dead letter, he never hesitates before cutting a Gordian knot. How
> then can he be permitted to pronounce upon the antiquity of the Vedas,
> when he is so far from the right understanding of the language of these
> ancient writings.
> 
> The above is a resume of Dayanand's argument, and to him the
> Sanskritists must apply for further particulars, which they will
> certainly find in his Rigvedadi Bhashya Bhoomika.
> 
> In the cave, every one slept soundly round the fire except myself.
> None of my companions seemed to mind in the least either the hum of
> the thousand voices of the fair, or the prolonged, far-away roar of the
> tigers rising from the valley, or even the loud prayers of the pilgrims
> who passed to and fro all night long, never fearing to cross the steep
> passage which, even by daylight, caused us such perplexity. They came
> in parties of twos and threes, and sometimes there appeared a lonely
> unescorted woman. They could not reach the large vihara, because we
> occupied the verandah at its entrance, and so, after grumbling a little,
> they entered a small lateral cave something like a chapel, containing
> a statue of Devaki-Mata, above a tank full of water. Each pilgrim
> prostrated himself for a time, then placed his offering at the feet of
> the goddess and bathed in the "holy waters of purification," or, at
> the least, sprinkled some water over his forehead, cheeks, and breast.
> Lastly, retreating backwards, he knelt again at the door and disappeared
> in the darkness with a final invocation: "Mata, maha mata!"--Mother, O
> great mother!
> 
> Two of Gulab-Sing's servants, with traditional spears and shields of
> rhinoceros skin, who had been ordered to protect us from wild beasts,
> sat on the steps of the verandah. I was unable to sleep, and so watched
> with increasing curiosity everything that was going on. The Takur, too,
> was sleepless. Every time I raised my eyes, heavy with fatigue, the
> first object upon which they fell was the gigantic figure of our
> mysterious friend.
> 
> Having seated himself after the Eastern fashion, with his feet drawn up
> and his arms round his knees, the Rajput sat on a bench cut in the rock
> at one end of the verandah, gazing out into the silvery atmosphere. He
> was so near the abyss that the least incautious movement would expose
> him to great danger. But the granite goddess, Bhavani herself, could not
> be more immovable. The light of the moon before him was so strong
> that the black shadow under the rock which sheltered him was doubly
> impenetrable, shrouding his face in absolute darkness. From time to time
> the flame of the sinking fires leaping up shed its hot reflection on the
> dark bronze face, enabling me to distinguish its sphinx-like lineaments
> and its shining eyes, as unmoving as the rest of the features.
> 
> "What am I to think? Is he simply sleeping, or is he in that strange
> state, that temporary annihilation of bodily life?... Only this
> morning he was telling us how the initiate Raj-yogis were able to plunge
> into this state at will... Oh, if I could only go to sleep....."
> 
> Suddenly a loud prolonged hissing, quite close to my ear, made me
> start, trembling with indistinct reminiscences of cobras. The sound was
> strident and evidently came from under the hay upon which I rested.
> Then it struck one! two! It was our American alarum-clock, which always
> traveled with me. I could not help laughing at myself, and, at the same
> time, feeling a little ashamed of my involuntary fright.
> 
> But neither the hissing, nor the loud striking of the clock, nor my
> sudden movement, that made Miss X---- raise her sleepy head, awakened
> Gulab-Sing, who still hung over the precipice. Another half hour passed.
> The far-away roar of the festivity was still heard, but everything round
> me was calm and still. Sleep fled further and further from my eyes. A
> fresh, strong wind arose, before the dawn, rustling the leaves and then
> shaking the tops of the trees that rose above the abyss. My attention
> became absorbed by the group of three Rajputs before me--by the two
> shield bearers and their master. I cannot tell why I was specially
> attracted at this moment by the sight of the long hair of the servants,
> which was waving in the wind, though the place they occupied was
> comparatively sheltered. I turned my eyes upon their Sahib, and the
> blood in my veins stood still. The veil of somebody's topi, which hung
> beside him, tied to a pillar, was simply whirling in the wind, while the
> hair of the Sahib himself lay as still as if it had been glued to his
> shoulders, not a hair moved, nor a single fold of his light muslin
> garment. No statue could be more motionless. What is this then? I said
> to myself. Is it delirium? Is this a hallucination, or a wonderful
> inexplicable reality? I shut my eyes, telling myself I must look no
> longer. But a moment later I again looked up, startled by a crackling
> sound from above the steps. The long, dark silhouette of some animal
> appeared at the entrance, clearly outlined against the pale sky. I saw
> it in profile. Its long tail was lashing to and fro. Both the servants
> rose swiftly and noiselessly and turned their heads towards Gulab-Sing,
> as if asking for orders. But where was Gulab-Sing? In the place which,
> but a moment ago, he occupied, there was no one. There lay only the
> topi, torn from the pillar by the wind. I sprang up: a tremendous roar
> deafened me, filling the vihara, wakening the slumbering echoes, and
> resounding, like the softened rumbling of thunder, over all the borders
> of the precipice. Good heavens! A tiger!
> 
> Before this thought had time to shape itself clearly in my mind, the
> sleepers sprang up and the men all seized their guns and revolvers, and
> then we heard the sound of crashing branches, and of something heavy
> sliding down into the precipice. The alarm was general.
> 
> "What is the matter now?" said the calm voice of Gulab-Sing, and I again
> saw him on the stone bench. "Why should you be so frightened?"
> 
> "A tiger! Was it not a tiger?" came in hasty, questioning tones from
> Europeans and Hindus.
> 
> Miss X---- trembled like one stricken with fever. "Whether it was a
> tiger, or something else, matters very little to us now. Whatever it
> was, it is, by this time, at the bottom of the abyss," answered the
> Rajput yawning.
> 
> "I wonder the Government does not destroy all these horrid animals,"
> sobbed poor Miss X----, who evidently believed firmly in the omnipotence
> of her Executive.
> 
> "But how did you get rid of the 'striped one'?" insisted the colonel.
> "Has anyone fired a shot?"
> 
> "You Europeans think that shooting is, if not the only, at least the
> best way to get rid of wild animals. We possess other means, which are
> sometimes more efficacious than guns," explained Babu Narendro-Das Sen.
> "Wait until you come to Bengal, there you will have many opportunities
> to make acquaintance with the tigers."
> 
> It was now getting light, and Gulab-Sing proposed to us to descend and
> examine the rest of the caves and the ruins of a fortress before the day
> became too hot, so, at half-past three, we went by another and easier
> way to the valley, and, happily, this time we had no adventures. The
> Mahratti did not accompany us. He disappeared without informing us
> whither he was going.
> 
> We saw Logarh, a fortress which was captured by Sivaji from the Moguls
> in 1670, and the ruins of the hall, where the widow of Nana Farnavese,
> under the pretext of an English protectorate, became de facto the
> captive of General Wellesley in 1804, with a yearly pension of 12,000
> rupees. We then started for the village of Vargaon, once fortified and
> still very rich. We were to spend the hottest hours of the day there,
> from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, and proceed
> afterwards to the historical caves of Birsa and Badjah, about three
> miles from Karli.
> 
> At about two P.M. when, in spite of the huge punkahs waving to and fro,
> we were grumbling at the heat, appeared our friend the Mahratta Brahman,
> whom we thought we had lost on the way. Accompanied by half-a-dozen
> Daknis (inhabitants of the Dekhan plateau) he was slowly advancing,
> seated almost on the ears of his horse, which snorted and seemed very
> unwilling to move. When he reached the verandah and jumped down, we
> saw the reason of his disappearance. Across the saddle was tied a huge
> tiger, whose tail dragged in the dust. There were traces of dark blood
> in his half opened mouth. He was taken from the horse and laid down by
> the doorstep.
> 
> Was it our visitor of the night before? I looked at Gulab-Sing. He
> lay on a rug in a corner, resting his head on his hand and reading. He
> knitted his brows slightly, but did not say a word. The Brahman who
> had just brought the tiger was very silent too, watching over certain
> preparations, as if making ready for some solemnity. We soon learned
> that, in the eyes of a superstitious people, what was about to happen
> was a solemnity indeed.
> 
> A bit of hair cut from the skin of a tiger that has been killed, neither
> by bullet, nor by knife, but by a "word," is considered the best of all
> talismans against his tribe.
> 
> "This is a very rare opportunity," explained the Mahratti. "It is very
> seldom that one meets with a man who possesses the word. Yogis and
> Sadhus do not generally kill wild animals, thinking it sinful to destroy
> any living creature, be it even a cobra or a tiger, so they simply keep
> out of the way of noxious animals. There exists only one brotherhood in
> India whose members possess all secrets, and from whom nothing in nature
> is concealed. Here is the body of the tiger to testify that the animal
> was not killed with a weapon of any kind, but simply by the word of
> Gulab-Lal-Sing. I found it, very easily, in the bushes exactly under our
> vihara, at the foot of the rock over which the tiger had rolled, already
> dead. Tigers never make false steps. Gulab-Lal-Sing, you are a Raj-Yogi,
> and I salute you!" added the proud Brahman, kneeling before the Takur.
> 
> "Do not use vain words, Krishna Rao!" interrupted Gulab-Sing. "Get up;
> do not play the part of a Shudra."
> 
> "I obey you, Sahib, but, forgive me, I trust my own judgment. No
> Raj-Yogi ever yet acknowledged his connection with the brotherhood,
> since the time Mount Abu came into existence."
> 
> And he began distributing bits of hair taken from the dead animal. No
> one spoke, I gazed curiously at the group of my fellow-travelers. The
> colonel, President of our Society, sat with downcast eyes, very pale.
> His secretary, Mr. Y----, lay on his back, smoking a cigar and looking
> straight above him, with no expression in his eyes. He silently accepted
> the hair and put it in his purse. The Hindus stood round the tiger,
> and the Sinhalese traced mysterious signs on its forehead. Gulab-Sing
> continued quietly reading his book.----
> 
> The Birza cave, about six miles from Vargaon, is constructed on the
> same plan as Karli. The vault-like ceiling of the temple rests upon
> twenty-six pillars, eighteen feet high, and the portico on four,
> twenty-eight feet high; over the portico are carved groups of horses,
> oxen, and elephants, of the most exquisite beauty. The "Hall of
> Initiation" is a spacious, oval room, with pillars, and eleven very deep
> cells cut in the rock. The Bajah caves are older and more beautiful.
> Inscriptions may still be seen showing that all these temples were built
> by Buddhists, or, rather, by Jainas. Modern Buddhists believe in one
> Buddha only, Gautama, Prince of Kapilavastu (six centuries before
> Christ) whereas the Jainas recognize a Buddha in each of their
> twenty-four divine teachers (Tirthankaras) the last of whom was the Guru
> (teacher) of Gautama. This disagreement is very embarrassing when people
> try to conjecture the antiquity of this or that vihara or chaitya. The
> origin of the Jaina sect is lost in the remotest, unfathomed antiquity,
> so the name of Buddha, mentioned in the inscriptions, may be attributed
> to the last of the Buddhas as easily as to the first, who lived (see
> Tod's genealogy) a long time before 2,200 B.C.
> 
> One of the inscriptions in the Baira cave, for instance, in cuneiform
> characters, says: "From an ascetic in Nassik to the one who is worthy,
> to the holy Buddha, purified from sins, heavenly and great."
> 
> This tends to convince scientists that the cave was cut out by
> Buddhists.
> 
> Another inscription, in the same cave, but over an-other cell, contains
> the following: "An agreeable offering of a small gift to the moving
> force [life], to the mind principle [soul], the well-beloved material
> body, fruit of Manu, priceless treasure, to the highest and here
> present, Heavenly."
> 
> Of course the conclusion is drawn that the building does not belong to
> the Buddhists, but to the Brahmans, who believe in Manu.
> 
> Here are two more inscriptions from Bajah caves.
> 
> "An agreeable gift of the symbol and vehicle of the purified Saka-Saka."
> 
> "Gift of the vehicle of Radha [wife of Krishna, symbol of perfection] to
> Sugata who is gone for ever."
> 
> Sugata, again, is one of the names of Buddha. A new contradiction!
> 
> It was somewhere here, in the neighborhood of Vargaon, that the
> Mahrattis seized Captain Vaughan and his brother, who were hanged after
> the battle of Khirki.
> 
> Next morning we drove to Chinchor, or, as it is called here, Chinchood.
> This place is celebrated in the annals of the Dekkan. Here one meets
> with a repetition in miniature of what takes place on a larger scale
> at L'hassa in Tibet. As Buddha incarnates in every new Dalai-Lama, so,
> here, Gunpati (Ganesha, the god of wisdom with the elephant's head) is
> allowed by his father Shiva to incarnate in the eldest son of a certain
> Brahman family. There is a splendid temple erected in his honor, where
> the avatars (incarnations) of Gunpati have lived and received adoration
> for over two hundred years.
> 
> This is how it happened.
> 
> About 250 years ago a poor Brahman couple were promised, in sleep, by
> the god of wisdom that he would incarnate in their eldest son. The boy
> was named Maroba (one of the god's titles) in honor of the deity. Maroba
> grew up, married, and begot several sons, after which he was commanded
> by the god to relinquish the world and finish his days in the desert.
> There, during twenty-two years, according to the legend, Maroba wrought
> miracles and his fame grew day by day. He lived in an impenetrable
> jungle, in a corner of the thick forest that covered Chinchood in those
> days. Gunpati appeared to him once more, and promised to incarnate in
> his descendants for seven generations. After this there was no limit
> to his miracles, so that the people began to worship him, and ended by
> building a splendid temple for him.
> 
> At last Maroba gave orders to the people to bury him alive, in a sitting
> posture, with an open book in his hands, and never to open his grave
> again under penalty of his wrath and maledictions. After the burial
> of Maroba, Gunpati incarnated in his first-born, who began a conjuring
> career in his turn. So that Maroba-Deo I, was replaced by Chintaman-Deo
> I. This latter god had eight wives and eight sons. The tricks of the
> eldest of these sons, Narayan-Deo I, became so celebrated that his fame
> reached the ears of the Emperor Alamgir. In order to test the extent of
> his "deification," Alamgir sent him a piece of a cow's tail wrapped in
> rich stuffs and coverings. Now, to touch the tail of a dead cow is the
> worst of all degradations for a Hindu. On receiving it Narayan sprinkled
> the parcel with water, and, when the stuffs were unfolded, there was
> found enclosed in them a nosegay of white syringa, instead of the
> ungodly tail. This transformation rejoiced the Emperor so much that he
> presented the god with eight villages, to cover his private expenses.
> Narayan's social position and property were inherited by Chintaman-Deo
> II., whose heir was Dharmadhar, and, lastly, Narayan II came into
> power. He drew down the malediction of Gunpati by violating the grave
> of Maroba. That is why his son, the last of the gods, is to die without
> issue.
> 
> When we saw him he was an aged man, about ninety years old. He was
> seated on a kind of platform. His head shook and his eyes idiotically
> stared without seeing us, the result of his constant use of opium. On
> his neck, ears, and toes, shone precious stones, and all around were
> spread offerings. We had to take off our shoes before we were allowed to
> approach this half-ruined relic.----
> 
> On the evening of the same day we returned to Bombay. Two days later we
> were to start on our long journey to the North-West Provinces, and our
> route promised to be very attractive. We were to see Nassik, one of the
> few towns mentioned by Greek historians, its caves, and the tower of
> Rama; to visit Allahabad, the ancient Prayaga, the metropolis of the
> moon dynasty, built at the confluence of the Ganges and Jumna; Benares,
> the town of five thousand temples and as many monkeys; Cawnpur,
> notorious for the bloody revenge of Nana Sahib; the remains of the city
> of the sun, destroyed, according to the computations of Colebrooke, six
> thousand years ago; Agra and Delhi; and then, having explored Rajistan
> with its thousand Takur castles, fortresses, ruins, and legends, we were
> to go to Lahore, the metropolis of the Punjab, and, lastly, to stay for
> a while in Amritsar. There, in the Golden Temple, built in the centre
> of the "Lake of Immortality," was to be held the first meeting of the
> members of our Society, Brahmans, Buddhists, Sikhs, etc.--in a word,
> the representatives of the one thousand and one sects of India, who all
> sympathized, more or less, with the idea of the Brotherhood of Humanity
> of our Theosophical Society.
> 
> Vanished Glories
> 
> Benares, Prayaga (now Allahabad), Nassik, Hurdwar, Bhadrinath,
> Matura--these were the sacred places of prehistoric India which we were
> to visit one after the other; but to visit them, not after the usual
> manner of tourists, a vol d'oiseau, with a cheap guide-book in our hands
> and a cicerone to weary our brains, and wear out our legs. We were well
> aware that all these ancient places are thronged with traditions and
> overgrown with the weeds of popular fancy, like ruins of ancient castles
> covered with ivy; that the original shape of the building is destroyed
> by the cold embrace of these parasitic plants, and that it is as
> difficult for the archaeologist to form an idea of the architecture
> of the once perfect edifice, judging only by the heaps of disfigured
> rubbish that cover the country, as for us to select from out the thick
> mass of legends good wheat from weeds. No guides and no cicerone could
> be of any use whatever to us. The only thing they could do would be to
> point out to us places where once there stood a fortress, a castle, a
> temple, a sacred grove, or a celebrated town, and then to repeat legends
> which came into existence only lately, under the Mussulman rule. As to
> the undisguised truth, the original history of every interesting spot,
> we should have had to search for these by ourselves, assisted only by
> our own conjectures.
> 
> Modern India does not present a pale shadow of what it was in the
> pre-Christian era, nor even of the Hindostan of the days of Akbar,
> Shah-Jehan and Aurungzeb. The neighborhood of every town that has been
> shattered by many a war, and of every ruined hamlet, is covered with
> round reddish pebbles, as if with so many petrified tears of blood. But,
> in order to approach the iron gate of some ancient fortress, it is not
> over natural pebbles that it is necessary to walk, but over the broken
> fragments of some older granite remains, under which, very often, rest
> the ruins of a third town, still more ancient than the last. Modern
> names have been given to them by Mussulmans, who generally built their
> towns upon the remains of those they had just taken by assault. The
> names of the latter are sometimes mentioned in the legends, but the
> names of their predecessors had completely disappeared from the popular
> memory even before the Mussulman invasion. Will a time ever come
> for these secrets of the centuries to be revealed? Knowing all this
> beforehand, we resolved not to lose patience, even though we had to
> devote whole years to explorations of the same places, in order to
> obtain better historical information, and facts less disfigured than
> those obtained by our predecessors, who had to be contented with a
> choice collection of naive lies, poured forth from the mouth of some
> frightened semi-savage, or some Brahman, unwilling to speak and desirous
> of disguising the truth. As for ourselves, we were differently situated.
> We were helped by a whole society of educated Hindus, who were as deeply
> interested in the same questions as ourselves. Besides, we had a promise
> of the revelation of some secrets, and the accurate translation of some
> ancient chronicles, that had been preserved as if by a miracle.
> 
> The history of India has long since faded from the memories of her sons,
> and is still a mystery to her conquerors. Doubtless it still exists,
> though, perchance, only partly, in manuscripts that are jealously
> concealed from every European eye. This has been shown by some
> pregnant words, spoken by Brahmans on their rare occasions of friendly
> expansiveness. Thus, Colonel Tod, whom I have already quoted several
> times, is said to have been told by a Mahant, the chief of an ancient
> pagoda-monastery: "Sahib, you lose your time in vain researches. The
> Bellati India [India of foreigners] is before you, but you will
> never see the Gupta India [secret India]. We are the guardians of her
> mysteries, and would rather cut out each other's tongues than speak."
> 
> Yet, nevertheless, Tod succeeded in learning a good deal. It must be
> borne in mind that no Englishman has ever been loved so well by the
> natives as this old and courageous friend of the Maharana of Oodeypur,
> who, in his turn, was so friendly towards the natives that the humblest
> of them never saw a trace of contempt in his demeanour. He wrote before
> ethnology had reached its present stage of development, but his book
> is still an authority on everything concerning Rajistan. Though the
> author's opinion of his work was not very high, though he stated that
> "it is nothing but a conscientious collection of materials for a future
> historian," still in this book is to be found many a thing undreamed of
> by any British civil servant.
> 
> "Let our friends smile incredulously. Let our enemies laugh at our
> pretensions to penetrate the world-mysteries of Aryavarta," as a certain
> critic recently expressed himself. However pessimistic may be our
> critics' views, yet, even in the event of our conclusions not proving
> more trustworthy than those of Fergusson, Wilson, Wheeler, and the rest
> of the archeologists and Sanskritists who have written about India,
> still, I hope, they will not be less susceptible of proof. We are daily
> reminded that, like unreasonable children, we have undertaken a task
> before which archaeologists and historians, aided by all the influence
> and wealth of the Government, have shrunk dismayed; that we have taken
> upon ourselves a work which has proved to be beyond the capacities of
> the Royal Asiatic Society.
> 
> Let it be so.
> 
> Let everyone try to remember, as we ourselves remember, that not very
> long ago a poor Hungarian, who not only had no means of any kind but was
> almost a beggar, traveled on foot to Tibet through unknown and dangerous
> countries, led only by the love of learning and the eager wish to
> pour light on the historical origin of his nation. The result was that
> inexhaustible mines of literary treasures were discovered. Philology,
> which till then had wandered in the Egyptian darkness of etymological
> labyrinths, and was about to ask the sanction of the scientific world
> to one of the wildest of theories, suddenly stumbled on the clue of
> Ariadne. Philology discovered, at last, that the Sanskrit language is,
> if not the forefather, at least--to use the language of Max Muller--"the
> elder brother" of all classical languages. Thanks to the extraordinary
> zeal of Alexander Csoma de Koros, Tibet yielded a language the
> literature of which was totally unknown. He partly translated it and
> partly analyzed and explained it. His translations have shown the
> scientific world that (1) the originals of the Zend-Avesta, the sacred
> scriptures of the sun-worshippers, of Tripitaka, that of the Buddhists,
> and of Aytareya-Brahmanam, that of the Brahmans, were written in one and
> the same Sanskrit language; (2) that all these three languages--Zend,
> Nepalese, and the modern Brahman Sanskrit--are more or less dialects of
> the first; (3) that old Sanskrit is the origin of all the less ancient
> Indo-European languages, as well as of the modern European
> tongues and dialects; (4) that the three chief religions of
> heathendom--Zoroastrianism, Buddhism and Brahmanism--are mere heresies
> of the monotheistic teachings of the Vedas, which does not prevent them
> from being real ancient religions and not modern falsifications.
> 
> The moral of all this is evident. A poor traveler, without either money
> or protection, succeeded in gaining admittance to the Lamaseries of
> Tibet and to the sacred literature of the isolated tribe which inhabits
> it, probably because he treated the Mongolians and the Tibetans as
> his brothers and not as an inferior race--a feat which has never been
> accomplished by generations of scientists. One cannot help feeling
> ashamed of humanity and science when one thinks that he whose labors
> first gave to science such precious results, he who was the first sower
> of such an abundant harvest, remained, almost until the day of his
> death, a poor and obscure worker. On his way from Tibet he walked to
> Calcutta without a penny in his pocket. At last Csoma de Koros became
> known, and his name began to be pronounced with honor and praise whilst
> he was dying in one of the poorest parts of Calcutta. Being already very
> ill, he wanted to get back to Tibet, and started on foot again through
> Sikkhim. He succumbed to his illness on the road and was buried in
> Darhjeeling.
> 
> It is needless to say we are fully aware that what we have undertaken is
> simply impossible within the limits of ordinary newspaper articles.
> All we hope to accomplish is to lay the foundation stone of an edifice,
> whose further progress must be entrusted to future generations. In order
> to combat successfully the theories worked out by two generations of
> Orientalists, half a century of diligent labor would be required. And,
> in order to replace these theories with new ones, we must get new facts,
> facts founded not on the chronology and false evidence of scheming
> Brahmans, whose interest is to feed the ignorance of European
> Sanskritists (as, unfortunately, was the experience of Lieutenant
> Wilford and Louis Jacolliot), but on indubitable proofs that are to
> be found in inscriptions as yet undeciphered. The clue to these
> inscriptions Europeans do not possess, because, as I have already
> stated, it is guarded in MSS. which are as old as the inscriptions and
> which are almost out of reach. Even in case our hopes are realized and
> we obtain this clue, a new difficulty will arise before us. We shall
> have to begin a systematic refutation, page by page, of many a volume
> of hypotheses published by the Royal Asiatic Society. A work like
> this might be accomplished by dozens of tireless, never-resting
> Sanskritists--a class which, even in India, is almost as rare as white
> elephants.
> 
> Thanks to private contributions and the zeal of some educated Hindu
> patriots, two free classes of Sanskrit and Pali had already been
> opened--one in Bombay by the Theosophical Society, the other in Benares
> under the presidency of the learned Rama-Misra-Shastri. In the present
> year, 1882, the Theosophical Society has, altogether, fourteen schools
> in Ceylon and India.
> 
> Our heads full of thoughts and plans of this kind, we, that is to say,
> one American, three Europeans, and three natives, occupied a whole
> carriage of the Great Indian Peninsular Railroad on our way to Nassik,
> one of the oldest towns in India, as I have already mentioned, and
> the most sacred of all in the eyes of the inhabitants of the Western
> Presidency. Nassik borrowed its name from the Sanskrit word "Nasika,"
> which means nose. An epic legend assures us that on this very spot
> Lakshman, the eldest brother of the deified King Rama, cut off the nose
> of the giantess Sarpnaka, sister of Ravana, who stole Sita, the "Helen
> of Troy" of the Hindus.
> 
> The train stops six miles from the town, so that we had to finish our
> journey in six two-wheeled, gilded chariots, called ekkas, and drawn by
> bullocks. It was one o'clock A.M., but, in spite of the darkness of the
> hour, the horns of the animals were gilded and adorned with flowers,
> and brass bangles tinkled on their legs. Our waylay through ravines
> overgrown with jungle, where, as our drivers hastened to inform
> us, tigers and other four-footed misanthropes of the forest played
> hide-and-seek. However, we had no opportunity of making the acquaintance
> of the tigers, but enjoyed instead a concert of a whole community of
> jackals. They followed us step by step, piercing our ears with shrieks,
> wild laughter and barking. These animals are annoying, but so cowardly
> that, though numerous enough to devour, not only all of us, but our
> gold-horned bullocks too, none of them dared to come nearer than the
> distance of a few steps. Every time the long whip, our weapon against
> snakes, alighted on the back of one of them, the whole horde disappeared
> with unimaginable noise. Nevertheless, the drivers did not dispense with
> a single one of their superstitious precautions against tigers. They
> chanted mantrams in unison, spread betel over the road as a token of
> their respect to the Rajas of the forest, and, after every couplet,
> made the bullocks kneel and bow their heads in honor of the great gods.
> Needless to say, the ekka, as light as a nutshell, threatened each time
> to fall with its passenger over the horns of the bullocks. We had to
> endure this agreeable way of traveling for five hours under a very dark
> sky. We reached the Inn of the Pilgrims in the morning at about six
> o'clock.
> 
> The real cause of Nassik's sacredness, however, is not the mutilated
> trunk of the giantess, but the situation of the town on the banks of
> the Godavari, quite close to the sources of this river which, for some
> reason or other, are called by the natives Ganga (Ganges). It is to
> this magic name, probably, that the town owes its numerous magnificent
> temples, and the selectness of the Brahmans who inhabit the banks of
> the river. Twice a year pilgrims flock here to pray, and on these solemn
> occasions the number of the visitors exceeds that of the inhabitants,
> which is only 35,000. Very picturesque, but equally dirty, are the
> houses of the rich Brahmans built on both sides of the way from the
> centre of the town to the Godavari. A whole forest of narrow pyramidal
> temples spreads on both sides of the river. All these new pagodas
> are built on the ruins of those destroyed by the fanaticism of the
> Mussulmans. A legend informs us that most of them rose from the ashes
> of the tail of the monkey god Hanuman. Retreating from Lanka, where
> the wicked Ravana, having anointed the brave hero's tail with some
> combustible stuff set it on fire, Hanuman, with a single leap through
> the air, reached Nassik, his fatherland. And here the noble adornment
> of the monkey's back, burned almost entirely during the voyage, crumbled
> into ashes, and from every sacred atom of these ashes, fallen to
> the ground, there rose a temple.... And, indeed, when seen from
> the mountain, these numberless pagodas, scattered in a most curious
> disorderly way, look as if they had really been thrown down by handfuls
> from the sky. Not only the river banks and the surrounding country, but
> every little island, every rock peeping from the water is covered
> with temples. And not one of them is destitute of a legend of its
> own, different versions of which are told by every individual of the
> Brahmanical community according to his own taste--of course in the hope
> of a suitable reward.
> 
> Here, as everywhere else in India, Brahmans are divided into two
> sects--worshippers of Shiva and worshippers of Vishnu--and between the
> two there is rivalry and warfare centuries old. Though the neighborhood
> of the Godavari shines with a twofold fame derived from its being the
> birthplace of Hanuman and the theatre of the first great deeds of Rama,
> the incarnation of Vishnu, it possesses as many temples dedicated to
> Shiva as to Vishnu. The material of which the pagodas consecrated to
> Shiva are constructed is black basalt. And it is, exactly, the color
> of the material which is the apple of discord in this case. The black
> material is claimed by the Vaishnavas as their own, it being of the
> same color as the burned tail of Rama's ally. They try to prove that
> the Shivaites have no right to it. From the first days of their rule
> the English inherited endless lawsuits between the fighting sectarians,
> cases decided in one law-court only to be transferred on appeal to
> another, and always having their origin in this ill-omened tail and its
> pretensions. This tail is a mysterious deus ex machina that directs all
> the thoughts of the Nassik Brahmans pro and contra.
> 
> On the subject of this tail were written more reams of paper and
> petitions than in the quarrel about the goose between Ivan Ivanitch and
> Ivan Nikiphoritch; and more ink and bile were spilt than there was mud
> in Mirgorod, since the creation of the universe. The pig that so happily
> decided the famous quarrel in Gogol would be a priceless blessing to
> Nassik, and the struggle for the tail. But unhappily even the "pig" if
> it hailed from "Russia" would be of no avail in India; for the English
> would suspect it at once, and arrest it as a Russian spy!
> 
> Rama's bathing place is shown in Nassik. The ashes of pious Brahmans are
> brought hither from distant parts to be thrown into the Godavari, and so
> to mingle for ever with the sacred waters of Ganges. In an ancient MS.
> there is a statement of one of Rama's generals, who, somehow or other,
> is not mentioned in the Ramayana. This statement points to the river
> Godavari as the frontier between the kingdoms of Rama, King of Ayodya
> (Oude), and of Ravana, King of Lanka (Ceylon). Legends and the poem of
> Ramayana state that this was the spot where Rama, while hunting, saw a
> beautiful antelope, and, intending to make a present to his beloved Sita
> of its skin, entered the regions of his unknown neighbor. No doubt Rama,
> Ravana, and even Hanuman, promoted, for some unexplained reason, to
> the rank of a monkey, are historical personages who once had a real
> existence. About fifty years ago it was vaguely suspected that the
> Brahmans possessed priceless MSS. It was reported that one of these
> MSS. treats of the prehistoric epoch when the Aryans first invaded the
> country, and began an endless war with the dark aborigines of southern
> India. But the religious fanaticism of the Hindus never allowed the
> English Government to verify these reports.
> 
> The most interesting sights of Nassik are its cave-temples, about five
> miles from the town. The day before we started thither, I certainly
> did not dream that a "tail" would have to play an important part in
> our visit to Nassik, that, in this case, it would save me, if not from
> death, at least from disagreeable and perhaps dangerous bruises. This is
> how it happened.
> 
> As the difficult task of ascending a steep mountain lay before us,
> we decided to hire elephants. The best couple in the town was brought
> before us. Their owner assured us "that the Prince of Wales had ridden
> upon them and was very contented." To go there and back and have them in
> attendance the whole day--in fact the whole pleasure-trip--was to cost
> us two rupees for each elephant. Our native friends, accustomed from
> infancy to this way of riding, were not long in getting on the back of
> their elephant. They covered him like flies, with no predilection for
> this or that spot of his vast back. They held on by all kinds of strings
> and ropes, more with their toes than their fingers, and, on the whole,
> presented a picture of contentment and comfort. We Europeans had to use
> the lady elephant, as being the tamer of the two. On her back there
> were two little benches with sloping seats on both sides, and not the
> slightest prop for our backs. The wretched, undergrown youngsters seen
> in European circuses give no idea of the real size of this noble beast.
> The mahout, or driver, placed himself between the huge animal's ears
> whilst we gazed at the "perfected" seats ready for us with an uneasy
> feeling of distrust The mahout ordered his elephant to kneel, and it
> must be owned that in climbing on her back with the aid of a small
> ladder, I felt what the French call chair de poule. Our she-elephant
> answered to the poetical name of "Chanchuli Peri," the Active Fairy, and
> really was the most obedient and the merriest of all the representatives
> of her tribe that I have ever seen. Clinging to each other we at last
> gave the signal for departure, and the mahout goaded the right ear of
> the animal with an iron rod. First the elephant raised herself on her
> fore-legs, which movement tilted us all back, then she heavily rose on
> her hind ones, too, and we rolled forwards, threatening to upset the
> mahout. But this was not the end of our misfortunes. At the very
> first steps of Peri we slipped about in all directions, like quivering
> fragments of blancmange.
> 
> The journey came to a sudden pause. We were picked up in a hasty way,
> replaced on our respective seats, during which proceeding Peri's trunk
> proved very active, and the journey continued. The very thought of the
> five miles before us filled us with horror, but we would not give up
> the excursion, and indignantly refused to be tied to our seats, as was
> suggested by our Hindu companions, who could not suppress their merry
> laughter.... However, I bitterly repented this display of vanity. This
> unusual mode of locomotion was something incredibly fantastical, and,
> at the same time, ridiculous. A horse carrying our luggage trotted
> by Peri's side, and looked, from our vast elevation, no bigger than a
> donkey. At every mighty step of Peri we had to be prepared for all sorts
> of unexpected acrobatic feats, while jolted from one side to the
> other by her swinging gait. This experience, under the scorching
> sun, unavoidably induced a state of body and mind something between
> sea-sickness and a delirious nightmare. As a crown to our pleasures,
> when we began to ascend a tortuous little path over the stony slope of
> a deep ravine, our Peri stumbled. This sudden shock caused me to lose my
> balance altogether. I sat on the hinder part of the elephant's back,
> in the place of honor, as it is esteemed, and, once thoroughly shaken,
> rolled down like a log. No doubt, next moment I should have found myself
> at the bottom of the ravine, with some more or less sad loss to my
> bodily constitution, if it had not been for the wonderful dexterity and
> instinct of the clever animal. Having felt that something was wrong she
> twisted her tail round me, stopped instantaneously and began to kneel
> down carefully. But my natural weight was too much for the thin tail
> of this kind animal. Peri did not lose hold of me, but, having at last
> knelt down, she moaned plaintively, though discreetly, thinking probably
> that she had nearly lost her tail through being so generous. The mahout
> hurried to my rescue and then examined the damaged tail of his animal.
> 
> We now witnessed a scene that clearly showed us the coarse cunning,
> greediness and cowardice of a low-class Hindu, of an outcast, as they
> are denominated here.
> 
> The mahout very indifferently and composedly examined Peri's tail, and
> even pulled it several times to make sure, and was already on the point
> of hoisting himself quietly into his usual place, when I had the unhappy
> thought of muttering something that expressed my regret and compassion.
> My words worked a miraculous transformation in the mahout's behavior. He
> threw himself on the ground, and rolled about like a demoniac, uttering
> horrible wild groans. Sobbing and crying he kept on repeating that the
> Mam-Sahib had torn off his darling Peri's tail, that Peri was damaged
> for ever in everybody's estimation, that Peri's husband, the proud
> Airavati, lineal descendant of Indra's own favourite elephant, having
> witnessed her shame, would renounce his spouse, and that she had better
> die.... Yells and bitter tears were his only answer to all remonstrances
> of our companions. In vain we tried to persuade him that the "proud
> Airavati" did not show the slightest disposition to be so cruel, in vain
> we pointed out to him that all this time both elephants stood quietly
> together, Airavati even at this critical moment rubbing his trunk
> affectionately against Peri's neck, and Peri not looking in the least
> discomfited by the accident to her tail. All this was of no avail! Our
> friend Narayan lost his patience at last. He was a man of extraordinary
> muscular strength and took recourse to a last original means. With one
> hand he threw down a silver rupee, with the other he seized the mahout's
> muslin garment and hurled him after the coin. Without giving a thought
> to his bleeding nose, the mahout jumped at the rupee with the greediness
> of a wild beast springing upon its prey. He prostrated himself in the
> dust before us repeatedly, with endless "salaams," instantly changing
> his deep sorrow into mad joy. He gave another pull at the unfortunate
> tail and gladly declared that, thanks to the "prayers of the sahib," it
> really was safe; to demonstrate which he hung on to it, till he was torn
> away and put back on his seat.
> 
> "Is it possible that a single, miserable rupee can have been the cause
> of all this?" we asked each other in utter bewilderment.
> 
> "Your astonishment is natural enough," answered the Hindus. "We need
> not express how ashamed and how disgusted we all feel at this voluntary
> display of humiliation and greed. But do not forget that this wretch,
> who certainly has a wife and children, serves his employer for twelve
> rupees a year, instead of which he often gets nothing but a beating.
> Remember also the long centuries of tyrannical treatment from Brahmans,
> from fanatical Mussulmans, who regard a Hindu as nothing better than an
> unclean reptile, and, nowadays, from the average Englishman, and maybe
> you will pity this wretched caricature of humanity."
> 
> But the "caricature" in question evidently felt perfectly happy and
> not in the least conscious of a humiliation of any kind. Sitting on the
> roomy forehead of his Peri, he was telling her of his unexpected wealth,
> reminding her of her "divine" origin, and ordering her to salute the
> "sahibs" with her trunk. Peri, whose spirits had been raised by the gift
> of a whole stick of sugar-cane from me, lifted her trunk backwards and
> playfully blew into our faces.
> 
> On the threshold of the Nassik caves we bid good-bye to the modern
> pigmy India, to the petty things of her everyday life, and to her
> humiliations. We re-entered the unknown world of India, the great and
> the mysterious.
> 
> The main caves of Nassik are excavated in a mountain bearing the name
> of Pandu-Lena, which points again to the undying, persistent, primaeval
> tradition that ascribes all such buildings to the five mythical (?)
> brothers of prehistoric times. The unanimous opinion of archaeologists
> esteems these caves more interesting and more important than all the
> caves of Elephanta and Karli put together. And, nevertheless--is it not
> strange?--with the exception of the learned Dr. Wilson, who, it may be,
> was a little too fond of forming hasty opinions, no archaeologist has,
> as yet, made so bold as to decide to what epoch they belong, by whom
> they were erected, and which of the three chief religions of antiquity
> was the one professed by their mysterious builders.
> 
> It is evident, however, that those who wrought here did not all belong
> either to the same generation or to the same sect. The first thing which
> strikes the attention is the roughness of the primitive work, its huge
> dimensions, and the decline of the sculpture on the solid walls, whereas
> the sculpture and carvings of the six colossi which prop the chief cave
> on the second floor, are magnificently preserved and very elegant.
> This circumstance would lead one to think that the work was begun
> many centuries before it was finished. But when? One of the Sanskrit
> inscriptions of a comparatively recent epoch (on the pedestal of one of
> the colossi) clearly points to 453 B.C. as the year of the building. At
> all events, Barth, Stevenson, Gibson, Reeves, and some other scientists,
> who being Westerns can have none of the prejudices proper to the native
> Pundits, have formed this conjecture on the basis of some astronomical
> data. Besides, the conjunction of the planets stated in the inscription
> leaves no doubt as to the dates, it must be either 453 B.C., or 1734
> of our era, or 2640 B.C., which last is impossible, because Buddha and
> Buddhist monasteries are mentioned in the inscription. I translate some
> of the most important sentences:
> 
> "To the most Perfect and the Highest! May this be agreeable to Him! The
> son of King Kshaparata, Lord of the Kshatriya tribe and protector of
> people, the Ruler of Dinik, bright as the dawn, sacrifices a hundred
> thousand cows that graze on the river Banasa, together with the river,
> and also the gift of gold by the builder of this holy shelter of gods,
> the place of the curbing of the Brahmans' passions. There is no more
> desirable place than this place, neither in Prabhasa, where accumulate
> hundreds of thousands of Brahmans repeating the sacred verse, nor in the
> sacred city Gaya, nor on the steep mountain near Dashatura, nor on the
> Serpents' Field in Govardhana, nor in the city Pratisraya where
> stands the monastery of Buddhists, nor even in the edifice erected by
> Depana-kara on the shores of the fresh water [?] sea. This place, giving
> incomparable favors, is agreeable and useful in all respects to the
> spotted deerskin of an ascetic. A safe boat given also by him who built
> the gratuitous ferry daily transports to the well-guarded shore. By him
> also who built the house for travelers and the public fountain, a gilded
> lion was erected by the ever-assaulted gate of this Govardhana, also
> another [lion] by the ferry-boat, and another by Ramatirtha. Various
> kinds of food will always be found here by the scanty flock; for this
> flock more than a hundred kinds of herbs and thousands of mountain
> roots are stored by this generous giver. In the same Govardhana, in the
> luminous mountain, this second cave was dug by the order of the same
> beneficent person, during the very year when the Sun, Shukra and Rahu,
> much respected by men, were in the full glory of their rise; it was in
> this year that the gifts were offered. Lakshmi, Indra and Yama having
> blessed them, returned with shouts of triumph to their chariot, kept on
> the way free from obstacles [the sky], by the force of mantrams. When
> they [the gods] all left, poured a heavy shower....." and so on.
> 
> Rahn and Kehetti are the fixed stars which form the head and the tail
> of the constellation of the Dragon. Shukra is Venus. Lakshmi, Indra and
> Yama stand here for the constellations of Virgo, Aquarius and Taurus,
> which are subject and consecrated to these three among the twelve higher
> deities.
> 
> The first caves are dugout in a conical hillock about two hundred and
> eighty feet from its base. In the chief of them stand three statues of
> Buddha; in the lateral ones a lingam and two Jaina idols. In the top
> cave there is a statue of Dharma Raja, or Yudhshtira, the eldest of the
> Pandus, who is worshipped in a temple erected in his honor, between Pent
> and Nassik. Farther on is a whole labyrinth of cells, where Buddhist
> hermits probably lived, a huge statue of Buddha in a reclining posture.
> and another as big, but surrounded with pillars adorned with figures of
> various animals. Styles, epochs and sects are here as much mixed up and
> entangled as different trees in a thick forest.
> 
> It is very remarkable that almost all the cave temples of India are to
> be found inside conical rocks and mountains. It is as though the ancient
> builders looked for such natural pyramids purposely. I noticed this
> peculiarity in Karli, and it is to be met with only in India. Is it
> a mere coincidence, or is it one of the rules of the religious
> architecture of the remote past? And which are the imitators--the
> builders of the Egyptian pyramids, or the unknown architects of the
> under ground caves of India? In pyramids as well as in caves everything
> seems to be calculated with geometrical exactitude. In neither case are
> the entrances ever at the bottom, but always at a certain distance from
> the ground. It is well known that nature does not imitate art, and, as
> a rule, art tries to copy certain forms of nature. And if, even in this
> similarity of the symbols of Egypt and India, nothing is to be found but
> a coincidence, we shall have to own that coincidences are sometimes very
> extraordinary. Egypt has borrowed many things from India. We must not
> forget that nothing is known about the origin of the Pharaohs, and
> that the few facts science has succeeded in discovering, far from
> contradicting our theory, suggest India as the cradle of the Egyptian
> race. In the days of remote antiquity Kalluka-Bhatta wrote: "During the
> reign of Visvamitra, first king of the Soma-Vansha dynasty, after a five
> days battle, Manu-Vena, the heir of ancient kings, was abandoned by the
> Brahmans, and emigrated with his army, and, having traversed Arya and
> Barria, at last reached the shores of Masra....."
> 
> Arya is Iran or Persia; Barria is an ancient name of Arabia; Masr or
> Masra is a name of Cairo, disfigured by Mussulmans into Misro and Musr.
> 
> Kalluka-Bhatta is an ancient writer. Sanskritists still quarrel over his
> epoch, wavering between 2,000 years B.C., and the reign of the Emperor
> Akbar (the time of John the Terrible and Elizabeth of England). On the
> grounds of this uncertainty, the evidence of Kalluka-Bhatta might be
> objected to. In this case, there are the words of a modern historian,
> who has studied Egypt all his life, not in Berlin or London, like some
> other historians, but in Egypt, deciphering the inscriptions of the
> oldest sarcophagi and papyri, that is to say, the words of Henry
> Brugsch-Bey:
> 
> "... I repeat, my firm conviction is that the Egyptians came from Asia
> long before the historical period, having traversed the Suez promontory,
> that bridge of all the nations, and found a new fatherland on the banks
> of the Nile."
> 
> An inscription on a Hammamat rock says that Sankara, the last Pharaoh of
> the eleventh dynasty, sent a nobleman to Punt: "I was sent on a ship to
> Punt, to bring back some aromatic gum, gathered by the princes of the
> Red Land."
> 
> Commenting on this inscription, Brugsch-Bey explains that "under the
> name of Punt the ancient inhabitants of Chemi meant a distant land
> surrounded by a great ocean, full of mountains and valleys, and rich
> in ebony and other expensive woods, in perfumes, precious stones and
> metals, in wild beasts, giraffes, leopards and big monkeys." The name of
> a monkey in Egypt was Kaff, or Kafi, in Hebrew Koff, in Sanskrit Kapi.
> 
> In the eyes of the ancient Egyptians, this Punt was a sacred land,
> because Punt or Panuter was "the original land of the gods, who left
> it under the leadership of A-Mon [Manu-Vena of Kalluka-Bhatta?] Hor and
> Hator, and duly arrived in Chemi."
> 
> Hanuman has a decided family likeness to the Egyptian Cynocephalus, and
> the emblem of Osiris and Shiva is the same. Qui vivra verra!
> 
> Our return journey was very agreeable. We had adapted ourselves to
> Peri's movements and felt ourselves first-rate jockeys. But for a whole
> week afterwards we could hardly walk.
> 
> A City Of The Dead
> 
> What would be your choice if you had to choose between being blind and
> being deaf? Nine people out of ten answer this question by positively
> preferring deafness to blindness. And one whose good fortune it has been
> to contemplate, even for a moment, some fantastic fairy-like corner of
> India, this country of lace-like marble palaces and enchanting gardens,
> would willingly add to deafness, lameness of both legs, rather than lose
> such sights.
> 
> We are told that Saadi, the great poet, bitterly complained of his
> friends looking tired and indifferent while he praised the beauty and
> charm of his lady-love. "If the happiness of contemplating her wonderful
> beauty," remonstrated he, "was yours, as it is mine, you could not
> fail to understand my verses, which, alas, describe in such meagre and
> inadequate terms the rapturous feelings experienced by every one who
> sees her even from a distance!"
> 
> I fully sympathize with the enamoured poet, but cannot condemn his
> friends who never saw his lady-love, and that is why I tremble lest my
> constant rhapsodies on India should bore my readers as much as Saadi
> bored his friends. But what, I pray you, is the poor narrator to do,
> when new, undreamed-of charms are daily discovered in the lady-love
> in question? Her darkest aspects, abject and immoral as they are, and
> sometimes of such a nature as to excite your horror--even these aspects
> are full of some wild poetry, of originality, which cannot be met with
> in any other country. It is not unusual for a European novice to shudder
> with disgust at some features of local everyday life; but at the same
> time these very sights attract and fascinate the attention like a
> horrible nightmare. We had plenty of these experiences whilst our ecole
> buissoniere lasted. We spent these days far from railways and from any
> other vestige of civilization. Happily so, because European civilization
> does not suit India any better than a fashionable bonnet would suit a
> half naked Peruvian maiden, a true "daughter of Sun," of Cortes' time.
> 
> All the day long we wandered across rivers and jungles, passing villages
> and ruins of ancient fortresses, over local-board roads between Nassik
> and Jubblepore, traveling with the aid of bullock cars, elephants,
> horses, and very often being carried in palks. At nightfall we put up
> our tents and slept anywhere. These days offered us an opportunity
> of seeing that man decidedly can surmount trying and even dangerous
> conditions of climate, though, perhaps, in a passive way, by mere force
> of habit. In the afternoons, when we, white people, were very nearly
> fainting with the roasting heat, in spite of thick cork topis and such
> shelter as we could procure, and even our native companions had to use
> more than the usual supplies of muslin round their heads--the Bengali
> Babu traveled on horseback endless miles, under the vertical rays of the
> hot sun, bareheaded, protected only by his thick crop of hair. The sun
> has no influence whatever on Bengali skulls. They are covered only on
> solemn occasions, in cases of weddings and great festivities. Their
> turbans are useless adornments, like flowers in a European lady's hair.
> 
> Bengali Babus are born clerks; they invade all railroad stations, post
> and telegraph offices and Government law courts. Wrapped in their
> white muslin toga virilis, their legs bare up to the knees, their heads
> unprotected, they proudly loaf on the platforms of railway stations, or
> at the entrances of their offices, casting contemptuous glances on the
> Mahrattis, who dearly love their numerous rings and lovely earrings in
> the upper part of their right ears. Bengalis, unlike the rest of the
> Hindus, do not paint sectarian signs on their foreheads. The only
> trinket they do not completely despise is an expensive necklace; but
> even this is not common. Contrary to all expectations, the Mahrattis,
> with all their little effeminate ways, are the bravest tribe of India,
> gallant and experienced soldiers, a fact which has been demonstrated
> by centuries of fighting; but Bengal has never as yet produced a single
> soldier out of its sixty-five million inhabitants. Not a single Bengali
> is to be found in the native regiments of the British army. This is a
> strange fact, which I refused to believe at first, but which has been
> confirmed by many English officers and by Bengalis themselves. But with
> all this, they are far from being cowardly. Their wealthy classes do
> lead a somewhat effeminate life, but their zemindars and peasantry are
> undoubtedly brave. Disarmed by their present Government, the Bengali
> peasants go out to meet the tiger, which in their country is more
> ferocious than elsewhere, armed only with a club, as composedly as they
> used to go with rifles and swords.
> 
> Many out-of-the-way paths and groves which most probably had never
> before been trodden by a European foot, were visited by us during these
> short days. Gulab-Lal-Sing was absent, but we were accompanied by a
> trusted servant of his, and the welcome we met with almost everywhere
> was certainly the result of the magic influence of his name. If the
> wretched, naked peasants shrank from us and shut their doors at our
> approach, the Brahmans were as obliging as could be desired.
> 
> The sights around Kandesh, on the way to Thalner and Mhau, are very
> picturesque. But the effect is not entirely due to Nature's beauty. Art
> has a good deal to do with it, especially in Mussulman cemeteries. Now
> they are all more or less destroyed and deserted, owing to the increase
> of the Hindu inhabitants around them, and to the Mussulman princes, once
> the rightful lords of India, being expelled. Mussulmans of the present
> day are badly off and have to put up with more humiliations than even
> the Hindus. But still they have left many memorials behind them, and,
> amongst others, their cemeteries. The Mussulman fidelity to the dead is
> a very touching feature of their character. Their devotion to those
> that are gone is always more demonstrative than their affection for
> the living members of their families, and almost entirely concentrates
> itself on their last abodes. In proportion as their notions of paradise
> are coarse and material, the appearance of their cemeteries is poetical,
> especially in India. One may pleasantly spend whole hours in these
> shady, delightful gardens, amongst their white monuments crowned with
> turbans, covered with roses and jessamine and sheltered with rows of
> cypresses. We often stopped in such places to sleep and dine. A cemetery
> near Thalner is especially attractive. Out of several mausoleums in a
> good state of preservation the most magnificent is the monument of the
> family of Kiladar, who was hanged on the city tower by the order of
> General Hislop in 1818. Four other mausoleums attracted our attention
> and we learned that one of them is celebrated throughout India. It is a
> white marble octagon, covered from top to bottom with carving, the
> like of which could not be found even in Pere La Chaise. A Persian
> inscription on its base records that it cost one hundred thousand
> rupees.
> 
> By day, bathed in the hot rays of the sun, its tall minaret-like outline
> looks like a block of ice against the blue sky. By night, with the aid
> of the intense, phosphorescent moonlight proper to India, it is still
> more dazzling and poetical. The summit looks as if it were covered with
> freshly fallen snow-crystals. Raising its slender profile above the dark
> background of bushes, it suggests some pure midnight apparition, soaring
> over this silent abode of destruction and lamenting what will never
> return. Side by side with these cemeteries rise the Hindu ghats,
> generally by the river bank. There really is something grand in the
> ritual of burning the dead. Witnessing this ceremony the spectator is
> struck with the deep philosophy underlying the fundamental idea of this
> custom. In the course of an hour nothing remains of the body but a
> few handfuls of ashes. A professional Brahman, like a priest of death,
> scatters these ashes to the winds over a river. The ashes of what once
> lived and felt, loved and hated, rejoiced and wept, are thus given back
> again to the four elements: to Earth, which fed it during such a long
> time and out of which it grew and developed; to Fire, emblem of purity,
> that has just devoured the body in order that the spirit may be rid
> of everything impure, and may freely gravitate to the new sphere of
> posthumous existence, where every sin is a stumbling block on the way to
> "Moksha," or infinite bliss; to Air, which it inhaled and through which
> it lived, and to Water, which purified it physically and spiritually,
> and is now to receive its ashes into her pure bosom.
> 
> The adjective "pure" must be understood in the figurative sense of the
> mantram. Generally speaking, the rivers of India, beginning with the
> thrice sacred Ganges, are dreadfully dirty, especially near villages and
> towns.
> 
> In these rivers about two hundred millions of people daily cleanse
> themselves from the tropical perspiration and dirt. The corpses of
> those who are not worth burning are thrown in the same rivers, and their
> number is great, because it includes all Shudras, pariahs, and various
> other outcasts, as well as Brahman children under three years of age.
> 
> Only rich and high-born people are buried pompously. It is for them that
> the sandal-wood fires are lit after sunset; it is for them that mantrams
> are chanted, and for them that the gods are invoked. But Shudras must
> not listen on any account to the divine words dictated at the beginning
> of the world by the four Rishis to Veda Vyasa, the great theologian of
> Aryavarta. No fires for them, no prayers. As during his life a Shudra
> never approaches a temple nearer than seven steps, so even after death
> he cannot be put on the same level with the "twice-born."
> 
> Brightly burn the fires, extending like a fiery serpent along the river.
> The dark outlines of strange, wildly-fantastical figures silently move
> amongst the flames. Sometimes they raise their arms towards the sky, as
> if in a prayer, sometimes they add fuel to the fires and poke them with
> long iron pitchforks. The dying flames rise high, creeping and dancing,
> sputtering with melted human fat and shooting towards the sky whole
> showers of golden sparks, which are instantly lost in the clouds of
> black smoke.
> 
> This on the right side of the river. Let us now see what is going on
> on the left. In the early hours of the morning, when the red fires, the
> black clouds of miasmas, and the thin figures of the fakirs grow dim and
> vanish little by little, when the smell of burned flesh is blown away by
> the fresh wind which rises at the approach of the dawn, when, in a word,
> the right side of the river with its ghotas plunges into stillness
> and silence, to be reawakened when the evening comes, processions of a
> different kind appear on the left bank. We see groups of Hindu men and
> women in sad, silent trains. They approach the river quietly. They
> do not cry, and have no rituals to perform. We see two men carrying
> something long and thin, wrapped in an old red rug. Holding it by the
> head and feet they swing it into the dirty, yellowish waves of the
> river. The shock is so violent that the red rug flies open and we behold
> the face of a young woman tinged with dark green, who quickly disappears
> in the river. Further on another group; an old man and two young women.
> One of them, a little girl of ten, small, thin, hardly fully developed,
> sobs bitterly. She is the mother of a stillborn child, whose body is to
> be thrown in the river. Her weak voice monotonously resounds over the
> shore, and her trembling hands are not strong enough to lift the poor
> little corpse that is more like a tiny brown kitten than a human being.
> The old man tries to console her, and, taking the body in his own hands,
> enters the water and throws it right in the middle. After him both the
> women get into the river, and, having plunged seven times to purify
> themselves from the touch of a dead body, they return home, their
> clothes dripping with wet. In the meanwhile vultures, crows and other
> birds of prey gather in thick clouds and considerably retard the
> progress of the bodies down the river. Occasionally some half-stripped
> skeleton is caught by the reeds, and stranded there helplessly for
> weeks, until an outcast, whose sad duty it is to busy himself all his
> life long with such unclean work, takes notice of it, and catching it
> by the ribs with his long hook, restores it to its highway towards the
> ocean.
> 
> But let us leave the river bank, which is unbearably hot in spite of
> the early hour. Let us bid good-bye to the watery cemetery of the poor.
> Disgusting and heart-rending are such sights in the eyes of a European!
> And unconsciously we allow the light wings of reverie to transport us
> to the far North, to the peaceful village cemeteries where there are no
> marble monuments crowned with turbans, no sandal-wood fires, no dirty
> rivers to serve the purpose of a last resting place, but where humble
> wooden crosses stand in rows, sheltered by old birches. How peacefully
> our dead repose under the rich green grass! None of them ever saw these
> gigantic palms, sumptuous palaces and pagodas covered with gold. But
> on their poor graves grow violets and lilies of the valley, and in the
> spring evenings nightingales sing to them in the old birch-trees.
> 
> No nightingales ever sing for me, either in the neighboring groves, or
> in my own heart. The latter least of all.----
> 
> Let us stroll along this wall of reddish stone. It will lead us to a
> fortress once celebrated and drenched with blood, now harmless and half
> ruined, like many another Indian fortress. Flocks of green parrots,
> startled by our approach, fly from under every cavity of the old wall,
> their wings shining in the sun like so many flying emeralds. This
> territory is accursed by Englishmen. This is Chandvad, where, during
> the Sepoy mutiny, the Bhils streamed from their ambuscades like a mighty
> mountain torrent, and cut many an English throat.
> 
> Tatva, an ancient Hindu book, treating of the geography of the times
> of King Asoka (250-300 B.C.), teaches us that the Mahratti territory
> spreads up to the wall of Chandvad or Chandor, and that the Kandesh
> country begins on the other side of the river. But English people do
> not believe in Tatva or in any other authority and want us to learn that
> Kandesh begins right at the foot of Chandor hillocks.----
> 
> Twelve miles south-east from Chandvad there is a whole town of
> subterranean temples, known under the name of Enkay-Tenkay. Here, again,
> the entrance is a hundred feet from the base, and the hill is pyramidal.
> I must not attempt to give a full description of these temples, as this
> subject must be worked out in a way quite impossible in a newspaper
> article. So I shall only note that here all the statues, idols, and
> carvings are ascribed to Buddhist ascetics of the first centuries after
> the death of Buddha. I wish I could content myself with this statement.
> But, unfortunately, messieurs les archeologues meet here with an
> unexpected difficulty, and a more serious one than all the difficulties
> brought on them by the inconsistencies of all other temples put
> together.
> 
> In these temples there are more idols designated Buddhas than anywhere
> else. They cover the main entrance, sit in thick rows along the
> balconies, occupy the inner walls of the cells, watch the entrances
> of all the doors like monster giants, and two of them sit in the chief
> tank, where spring water washes them century after century without any
> harm to their granite bodies. Some of these Buddhas are decently clad,
> with pyramidal pagodas as their head gear; others are naked; some sit,
> others stand; some are real colossi, some tiny, some of middle size.
> However, all this would not matter; we may go so far as to overlook the
> fact of Gautama's or Siddhartha-Buddha's reform consisting precisely in
> his earnest desire to tear up by the roots the Brahmanical idol-worship.
> Though, of course, we cannot help remembering that his religion remained
> pure from idol-worship of any kind during centuries, until the Lamas of
> Tibet, the Chinese, the Burmese, and the Siamese taking it into their
> lands disfigured it, and spoilt it with heresies. We cannot forget that,
> persecuted by conquer-ing Brahmans, and expelled from India, it
> found, at last, a shelter in Ceylon where it still flourishes like the
> legendary aloe, which is said to blossom once in its lifetime and then
> to die, as the root is killed by the exuberance of blossom, and the
> seeds cannot produce anything but weeds. All this we may overlook, as I
> said before. But the difficulty of the archaeologists still exists, if
> not in the fact of idols being ascribed to early Buddhists, then in the
> physiognomies, in the type of all these Enkay-Tenkay Buddhas. They all,
> from the tiniest to the hugest, are Negroes, with flat noses, thick
> lips, forty five degrees of the facial angle, and curly hair! There
> is not the slightest likeness between these Negro faces and any of the
> Siamese or Tibetan Buddhas, which all have purely Mongolian features
> and perfectly straight hair. This unexpected African type, unheard of in
> India, upsets the antiquarians entirely. This is why the archaeologists
> avoid mentioning these caves. Enkay-Tenkay is a worse difficulty for
> them than even Nassik; they find it as hard to conquer as the Persians
> found Thermopylae.
> 
> We passed by Maleganva and Chikalval, where we examined an exceedingly
> curious ancient temple of the Jainas. No cement was used in the building
> of its outer walls, they consist entirely of square stones, which are so
> well wrought and so closely joined that the blade of the thinnest knife
> cannot be pushed between two of them; the interior of the temple is
> richly decorated.
> 
> On our way back we did not stop in Thalner, but went straight on to
> Ghara. There we had to hire elephants again to visit the splendid ruins
> of Mandu, once a strongly fortified town, about twenty miles due north
> east of this place. This time we got there speedily and safely. I
> mention this place because some time later I witnessed in its vicinity a
> most curious sight, offered by the branch of the numerous Indian rites,
> which is generally called "devil worship."
> 
> Mandu is situated on the ridge of the Vindhya Mountains, about two
> thousand feet above the surface of the sea. According to Malcolm's
> statement, this town was built in A.D. 313, and for a long time was the
> capital of the Hindu Rajas of Dhara. The historian Ferishtah points to
> Mandu as the residence of Dilivan-Khan-Ghuri, the first King of Malwa,
> who flourished in 1387-1405. In 1526 the town was taken by Bahadur-Shah,
> King of Gujerat, but in 1570 Akbar won this town back, and a marble slab
> over the town gate still bears his name and the date of his visit.
> 
> On entering this vast city in its present state of solitude (the natives
> call it the "dead town") we all experienced a peculiar feeling, not
> unlike the sensation of a man who enters Pompeii for the first time.
> Everything shows that Mandu was once one of the wealthiest towns of
> India. The town wall is thirty-seven miles long. Streets ran whole
> miles, on their sides stand ruined palaces, and marble pillars lie on
> the ground. Black excavations of the subterranean halls, in the coolness
> of which rich ladies spent the hottest hours of the day, peer from under
> dilapidated granite walls. Further on are broken stairs, dry tanks,
> waterless fountains, endless empty yards, marble platforms, and
> disfigured arches of majestic porches. All this is overgrown with
> creepers and shrubs, hiding the dens of wild beasts. Here and there a
> well-preserved wall of some palace rises high above the general wreck,
> its empty windows fringed with parasitic plants blinking and staring at
> us like sightless eyes, protesting against troublesome intruders. And
> still further, in the very centre of the ruins, the heart of the dead
> town sends forth a whole crop of broken cypresses, an untrimmed grove
> on the place where heaved once so many breasts and clamoured so many
> passions.
> 
> In 1570 this town was called Shadiabad, the abode of happiness. The
> Franciscan missionaries, Adolf Aquaviva, Antario de Moncerotti, and
> others, who came here in that very year as an embassy from Goa to seek
> various privileges from the Mogul Government, described it over and over
> again. At this epoch it was one of the greatest cities of the world,
> whose magnificent streets and luxurious ways used to astonish the most
> pompous courts of India. It seems almost incredible that in such a short
> period nothing should remain of this town but the heaps of rubbish,
> amongst which we could hardly find room enough for our tent. At last we
> decided to pitch it in the only building which remained in a tolerable
> state of preservation, in Yami-Masjid, the cathedral-mosque, on a
> granite platform about twenty-five steps higher than the square. The
> stairs, constructed of pure marble like the greater part of the town
> buildings, are broad and almost untouched by time, but the roof has
> entirely disappeared, and so we were obliged to put up with the stars
> for a canopy. All round this building runs a low gallery supported by
> several rows of thick pillars. From a distance it reminds one, in spite
> of its being somewhat clumsy and lacking in proportion, of the Acropolis
> of Athens. From the stairs, where we rested for a while, there was a
> view of the mausoleum of Gushanga-Guri, King of Malwa, in whose reign
> the town was at the culmination of its brilliancy and glory. It is a
> massive, majestic, white marble edifice, with a sheltered peristyle and
> finely carved pillars. This peristyle once led straight to the palace,
> but now it is surrounded with a deep ravine, full of broken stones and
> overgrown with cacti. The interior of the mausoleum is covered with
> golden lettering of inscriptions from the Koran, and the sarcophagus
> of the sultan is placed in the middle. Close by it stands the palace
> of Baz-Bahadur, all broken to pieces--nothing now but a heap of dust
> covered with trees.
> 
> We spent the whole day visiting these sad remains, and returned to
> our sheltering place a little before sunset, exhausted with hunger
> and thirst, but triumphantly carrying on our sticks three huge snakes,
> killed on our way home. Tea and supper were waiting for us. To our great
> astonishment we found visitors in the tent. The Patel of the neighboring
> village--something between a tax-collector and a judge--and two
> zemindars (land owners) rode over to present us their respects and to
> invite us and our Hindu friends, some of whom they had known previously,
> to accompany them to their houses. On hearing that we intended to spend
> the night in the "dead town" they grew awfully indignant. They assured
> us it was highly dangerous and utterly impossible. Two hours later
> hyenas, tigers, and other beasts of prey were sure to come out from
> under every bush and every ruined wall, without mentioning thousands
> of jackals and wild cats. Our elephants would not stay, and if they did
> stay no doubt they would be devoured. We ought to leave the ruins as
> quickly as possible and go with them to the nearest village, which would
> not take us more than half an hour. In the village everything had been
> prepared for us, and our friend the Babu was already there, and getting
> impatient at our delay.
> 
> Only on hearing this did we become aware that our bareheaded and
> cautious friend was conspicuous by his absence. Probably he had left
> some time ago, without consulting us, and made straight to the village
> where he evidently had friends. Sending for us was a mere trick of his.
> But the evening was so sweet, and we felt so comfortable, that the idea
> of upsetting all our plans for the morning was not at all attractive.
> Besides, it seemed quite ridiculous to think that the ruins, amongst
> which we had wandered several hours without meeting anything more
> dangerous than a snake, swarmed with wild animals. So we smiled and
> returned thanks, but would not accept the invitation.
> 
> "But you positively must not dare to stay here," insisted the fat Patel.
> "In case of accident, I shall be responsible for you to the Government.
> Is it possible you do not dread a sleepless night spent in fighting
> jackals, if not something worse? You do not believe that you are
> surrounded with wild animals..... It is true they are invisible until
> sunset, but nevertheless they are dangerous. If you do not believe us,
> believe the instinct of your elephants, who are as brave as you, but a
> little more reasonable. Just look at them!"
> 
> We looked. Truly, our grave, philosophic-looking elephants behaved very
> strangely at this moment. Their lifted trunks looked like huge points of
> interrogation. They snorted and stamped restively. In another minute one
> of them tore the thick rope, with which he was tied to a broken pillar,
> made a sudden volte-face with all his heavy body, and stood against the
> wind, sniffing the air. Evidently he perceived some dangerous animal in
> the neighborhood.
> 
> The colonel stared at him through his spectacles and whistled very
> meaningly.
> 
> "Well, well," remarked he, "what shall we do if tigers really assault
> us?"
> 
> "What shall we do indeed?" was my thought. "Takur Gulab-Lal-Sing is not
> here to protect us."
> 
> Our Hindu companions sat on the carpet after their oriental fashion,
> quietly chewing betel. On being asked their opinion, they said they
> would not interfere with our decision, and were ready to do exactly as
> we liked. But as for the European portion of our party, there was no use
> concealing the fact that we were frightened, and we speedily prepared to
> start. Five minutes later we mounted the elephants, and, in a quarter
> of an hour, just when the sun disappeared behind the mountain and heavy
> darkness instantaneously fell, we passed the gate of Akbar and descended
> into the valley.
> 
> We were hardly a quarter of a mile from our abandoned camping place when
> the cypress grove resounded with shrieking howls of jackals, followed
> by a well-known mighty roar. There was no longer any possibility
> of doubting. The tigers were disappointed at our escape. Their
> discontentment shook the very air, and cold perspiration stood on
> our brows. Our elephant sprang forward, upsetting the order of our
> procession and threatening to crush the horses and their riders before
> us. We ourselves, however, were out of danger. We sat in a strong
> howdah, locked as in a dungeon.
> 
> "It is useless to deny that we have had a narrow escape!" remarked the
> colonel, looking out of the window at some twenty servants of the Patel,
> who were busily lighting torches.
> 
> Brahmanic Hospitalities
> 
> In an hour's time we stopped at the gate of a large bungalow, and were
> welcomed by the beaming face of our bareheaded Bengali. When we were
> all safely gathered on the verandah, he explained to us that, knowing
> beforehand that our "American pigheadedness" would not listen to any
> warning, he had dodged up this little scheme of his own and was very
> glad he had been successful.
> 
> "Now let us go and wash our hands, and then to supper. And," he added,
> addressing me, "was it not your wish to be present at a real Hindu meal?
> This is your opportunity. Our host is a Brahman, and you are the first
> Europeans who ever entered the part of his house inhabited by the
> family."----
> 
> Who amongst Europeans ever dreamed of a country where every step, and
> the least action of everyday life, especially of the family life, is
> controlled by religious rites and cannot be performed except according
> to a certain programme? India is this country. In India all the
> important incidents of a man's life, such as birth, reaching certain
> periods of a child's life, marriage, fatherhood, old age and death,
> as well as all the physical and physiological functions of everyday
> routine, like morning ablutions, dressing, eating, et tout ce qui s'en
> suit, from a man's first hour to his last sigh, everything must be
> performed according to a certain Brahmanical ritual, on penalty of
> expulsion from his caste. The Brahmans may be compared to the musicians
> of an orchestra in which the different musical instruments are the
> numerous sects of their country. They are all of a different shape and
> of a different timbre; but still every one of them obeys the same leader
> of the band. However widely the sects may differ in the interpretation
> of their sacred books, however hostile they may be to each other,
> striving to put forward their particular deity, every one of them,
> obeying blindly the ancient custom, must follow like musicians the same
> directing wand, the laws of Manu. This is the point where they all meet
> and form a unanimous, single-minded community, a strongly united mass.
> And woe to the one who breaks the symphony by a single discordant note!
> The elders and the caste or sub-caste councils (of these there are any
> number), whose members hold office for life, are stern rulers. There is
> no appeal against their decisions, and this is why expulsion from
> the caste is a calamity, entailing truly formidable consequences. The
> excommunicated member is worse off than a leper, the solidarity of the
> castes in this respect being something phenomenal. The only thing that
> can bear any comparison with it is the solidarity of the disciples of
> Loyola. If members of two different castes, united by the sincerest
> feelings of respect and friendship, may not intermarry, may not dine
> together, are forbidden to accept a glass of water from each other, or
> to offer each other a hookah, it becomes clear how much more severe all
> these restrictions must be in the case of an excommunicated person. The
> poor wretch must literally die to everybody, to the members of his own
> family as to strangers. His own household, his father, wife, children,
> are all bound to turn their faces from him, under the penalty of
> being excommunicated in their turn. There is no hope for his sons and
> daughters of getting married, however innocent they may be of the sin of
> their father.
> 
> From the moment of "excommunication" the Hindu must totally disappear.
> His mother and wife must not feed him, must not let him drink from the
> family well. No member of any existing caste dares to sell him his food
> or cook for him. He must either starve or buy eatables from outcasts
> and Europeans, and so incur the dangers of further pollution. When the
> Brahmanical power was at its zenith, such acts as deceiving, robbing and
> even killing this wretch were encouraged, as he was beyond the pale of
> the laws. Now, at all events, he is free from the latter danger, but
> still, even now, if he happens to die before he is forgiven and received
> back into his caste, his body may not be burned, and no purifying
> mantrams will be chanted for him; he will be thrown into the water, or
> left to rot under the bushes like a dead cat.
> 
> This is a passive force, and its passiveness only makes it more
> formidable. Western education and English influence can do nothing
> to change it. There exists only one course of action for the
> excommunicated; he must show signs of repentance and submit to all kinds
> of humiliations, often to the total loss of all his worldly possessions.
> Personally, I know several young Brahmans, who, having brilliantly
> passed the university examinations in England, have had to submit to the
> most repulsive conditions of purification on their return home; these
> purifications consisting chiefly in shaving off half their moustaches
> and eyebrows, crawling in the dust round pagodas, clinging during
> long hours to the tail of a sacred cow, and, finally, swallowing the
> excrements of this cow. The latter ceremony is called "Pancha-Gavya,"
> literally, the five products of the cow: milk, curds, butter, etc.
> The voyage over Kalapani, the black water, that is to say the sea, is
> considered the worst of all the sins. A man who commits it is considered
> as polluting himself continually, from the first moment of his going on
> board the bellati (foreign) ship.
> 
> Only a few days ago a friend of ours, who is an LL.D., had to
> undergo this "purgation," and it nearly cost him his reason. When we
> remonstrated with him, pointing out that in his case it was simply
> foolish to submit, he being a materialist by conviction and not caring
> a straw for Brahmanism, he replied that he was bound to do so for the
> following reasons:
> 
> "I have two daughters," he explained, "one five, the other six years
> old. If I do not find a husband for the eldest of them in the course of
> the coming year, she will grow too old to get married, nobody will think
> of espousing her. Suppose I suffer my caste to excommunicate me, both
> my girls will be dishonored and miserable for the rest of their lives.
> Then, again, I must take into consideration the superstitions of my old
> mother. If such a misfortune befell me, it would simply kill her....."
> 
> But why should he not free himself from every bond to Brahmanism and
> caste? Why not join, once for all, the ever-growing community of men
> who are guilty of the same offence? Why not ask all his family to form a
> colony and join the civilization of the Europeans?
> 
> All these are very natural questions, but unfortunately there is no
> difficulty in finding reasons for answering them in the negative.
> 
> There were thirty-two reasons given why one of Napoleon's marshals
> refused to besiege a certain fortress, but the first of these reasons
> was the absence of gunpowder, and so it excluded the necessity of
> discussing the remaining thirty-one. Similarly the first reason why a
> Hindu cannot be Europeanized is quite sufficient, and does not call for
> any additional ones. This reason is that by doing so a Hindu would
> not improve his position. Were he such an adept of science as to rival
> Tyndall, were he such a clever politician as to eclipse the genius of
> Disraeli and Bismarck, as soon as he actually had given up his caste and
> kinsmen, he would indubitably find himself in the position of Mahomet's
> coffin; metaphorically speaking, he would hang half-way between the
> earth and the sky.
> 
> It would be an utter injustice to suppose that this state of things
> is the result of the policy of the English Government; that the said
> Government is afraid of giving a chance to natives who may be suspected
> of being hostile to the British rule. In reality, the Government has
> little or nothing to do with it. This state of things must be attributed
> entirely to the social ostracism, to the contempt felt by a "superior"
> for an "inferior" race, a contempt deeply rooted in some members of
> the Anglo-Indian society and displayed at the least provocation.
> This question of racial "superiority" and "inferiority" plays a
> more important part than is generally believed, even in England.
> Nevertheless, the natives (Mussulmans included) do not deserve contempt,
> and so the gulf between the rulers and the ruled widens with every year,
> and long centuries would not suffice to fill it up.
> 
> I have to dwell upon all this to give my readers a clear idea on the
> subject. And so it is no wonder the ill-fated Hindus prefer
> temporary humiliations and the physical and moral sufferings of the
> "purification," to the prospect of general contempt until death. These
> were the questions we discussed with the Brahmans during the two hours
> before dinner.
> 
> Dining with foreigners and people belonging to different castes is, no
> doubt, a dangerous breach of Manu's sacred precepts. But this time, for
> once, it was easily explained. First, the stout Patel, our host, was
> the head of his caste, and so was beyond the dread of excommunication;
> secondly, he had already taken all the prescribed and advisable
> precautions against being polluted by our presence. He was a
> free-thinker in his own way, and a friend of Gulab-Lal-Sing, and so
> he rejoiced at the idea of showing us how much skillful sophistry and
> strategical circumspection can be used by adroit Brahmans to avoid the
> law in some circumstances, while adhering at the same time to its dead
> letter. Besides, our good-natured, well-favored host evidently desired
> to obtain a diploma from our Society, being well aware that the
> collector of his district was enrolled amongst our members.
> 
> These, at any rate, were the explanations of our Babu when we expressed
> our astonishment; so it was our concern to make the most of our
> chance, and to thank Providence for this rare opportunity. And this we
> accordingly did.
> 
> Hindus take their food only twice a day, at ten o'clock in the morning
> and at nine in the evening. Both meals are accompanied by complicated
> rites and ceremonies. Even very young children are not allowed to eat
> at odd times, eating without the prescribed performance of certain
> exorcisms being considered a sin. Thousands of educated Hindus have long
> ceased to believe in all these superstitious customs, but, nevertheless,
> they are daily practised.
> 
> Sham Rao Bahunathji, our host, belonged to the ancient caste of Patarah
> Prabhus, and was very proud of his origin. Prabhu means lord, and this
> caste descends from the Kshatriyas. The first of them was Ashvapati (700
> B.C.), a lineal descendant of Rama and Prithu, who, as is stated in the
> local chronology, governed India in the Dvapara and Treta Yugas, which
> is a good while ago! The Patarah Prabhus are the only caste within which
> Brahmans have to perform certain purely Vedic rites, known under the
> name of the "Kshatriya rites." But this does not prevent their being
> Patans, instead of Patars, Patan meaning the fallen one. This is
> the fault of King Ashvapati. Once, when distributing gifts to holy
> anchorites, he inadvertently forgot to give his due to the great Bhrigu.
> The offended prophet and seer declared to him that his reign was
> drawing near its end, and that all his posterity would perish. The king,
> throwing himself on the ground, implored the prophet's pardon. But his
> curse had worked its fulfilment already. All that he could do to
> stop the mischief consisted in a solemn promise not to let the king's
> descendants disappear completely from the earth. However, the Patars
> soon lost their throne and their power. Since then they have had to
> "live by their pens," in the employment of many successive governments,
> to exchange their name of Patars for Patans, and to lead a humbler life
> than many of their late subjects. Happily for our talkative Amphitryon,
> his forefathers became Brahmans, that is to say "went through the golden
> cow."
> 
> The expression "to live by their pens" alludes, as we learned later on,
> to the fact of the Patans occupying all the small Government posts in
> the Bombay Presidency, and so being dangerous rivals of the Bengali
> Babus since the time of British rule. In Bombay the Patan clerks reach
> the considerable figure of five thousand. Their complexion is darker
> than the complexion of Konkan Brahmans, but they are handsomer and
> brighter. As to the mysterious expression, "went through the golden
> cow," it illustrates a very curious custom. The Kshatriyas, and even
> the much-despised Shudras, may become a sort of left-hand Brahmans. This
> metamorphosis depends on the will of the real Brahmans, who may, if they
> like, sell this right for several hundreds or thousands of cows. When
> the gift is accomplished, a model cow, made of pure gold, is erected
> and made sacred by the performance of some mystical ceremonies. The
> candidate must now crawl through her hollow body three times, and thus
> is transformed into a Brahman. The present Maharaja of Travankor, and
> even the great Raja of Benares, who died recently, were both Shudras who
> acquired their rights in this manner. We received all this information
> and a notion of the legendary Patar chronicle from our obliging host.
> 
> Having announced that we must now get ready for dinner, he disappeared
> in the company of all the gentlemen of our party. Being left to
> ourselves, Miss X---- and I decided to have a good look at the house
> whilst it was empty. The Babu, being a downright, modern Bengali, had
> no respect for the religious preparations for dinner, and chose to
> accompany us, proposing to explain to us all that we should otherwise
> fail to understand.
> 
> The Prabhu brothers always live together, but every married couple have
> separate rooms and servants of their own. The habitation of our host
> was very spacious. There were small several bungalows, occupied by
> his brothers, and a chief building containing rooms for visitors, the
> general dining-room, a lying-in ward, a small chapel with any number
> of idols, and so on. The ground floor, of course, was surrounded by a
> verandah pierced with arches leading to a huge hall. All round this hall
> were wooden pillars adorned with exquisite carving. For some reason or
> other, it struck me that these pillars once belonged to some palace of
> the "dead town." On close examination I only grew more convinced that
> I was right. Their style bore no traces of Hindu taste; no gods, no
> fabulous monster animals, only arabesques and elegant leaves and flowers
> of nonexistent plants. The pillars stood very close to each other, but
> the carvings prevented them from forming an uninterrupted wall, so that
> the ventilation was a little too strong. All the time we spent at the
> dinner table miniature hurricanes whistled from behind every pillar,
> waking up all our old rheumatisms and toothaches, which had peacefully
> slumbered since our arrival in India.
> 
> The front of the house was thickly covered with iron horseshoes--the
> best precaution against evil spirits and evil eyes.
> 
> At the foot of a broad, carved staircase we came across a couch or a
> cradle, hung from the ceiling by iron chains. I saw somebody lying on
> it, whom, at first sight, I mistook for a sleeping Hindu, and was going
> to retreat discreetly, but, recognizing my old friend Hanuman, I grew
> bold and endeavored to examine him. Alas! the poor idol possessed only a
> head and neck, the rest of his body was a heap of old rags.
> 
> On the left side of the verandah there were many more lateral rooms,
> each with a special destination, some of which I have mentioned already.
> The largest of these rooms was called "vattan," and was used exclusively
> by the fair sex. Brahman women are not bound to spend their lives
> under veils, like Mussulman women, but still they have very little
> communication with men, and keep aloof. Women cook the men's food, but
> do not dine with them. The elder ladies of the family are often held in
> great respect, and husbands sometimes show a shy courteousness towards
> their wives, but still a woman has no right to speak to her husband
> before strangers, nor even before the nearest relations, such as her
> sisters and her mother.
> 
> As to the Hindu widows, they really are the most wretched creatures in
> the whole world. As soon as a woman's husband dies she must have her
> hair and her eyebrows shaven off. She must part with all her trinkets,
> her earrings, her nose jewels, her bangles and toe-rings. After this is
> done she is as good as dead. The lowest outcast would not marry her. A
> man is polluted by her slightest touch, and must immediately proceed to
> purify himself. The dirtiest work of the household is her duty, and she
> must not eat with the married women and the children. The "sati," the
> burning of the widows, is abolished, but Brahmans are clever managers,
> and the widows often long for the sati.
> 
> At last, having examined the family chapel, full of idols, flowers, rich
> vases with burning incense, lamps hanging from its ceiling, and aromatic
> herbs covering its floor, we decided to get ready for dinner. We
> carefully washed ourselves, but this was not enough, we were requested
> to take off our shoes. This was a somewhat disagreeable surprise, but a
> real Brahmanical supper was worth the trouble.
> 
> However, a truly amazing surprise was still in store for us.
> 
> On entering the dining-room we stopped short at the entrance--both our
> European companions were dressed, or rather undressed, exactly like
> Hindus! For the sake of decency they kept on a kind of sleeveless
> knitted vest, but they were barefooted, wore the snow-white Hindu dhutis
> (a piece of muslin wrapped round to the waist and forming a petticoat),
> and looked like something between white Hindus and Constantinople
> garcons de bains. Both were indescribably funny, I never saw anything
> funnier. To the great discomfiture of the men, and the scandal of the
> grave ladies of the house, I could not restrain myself, but burst out
> laughing. Miss X----blushed violently and followed my example.
> 
> A quarter of an hour before the evening meal every Hindu, old or young,
> has to perform a "puja" before the gods. He does not change his clothes,
> as we do in Europe, but takes off the few things he wore during the day.
> He bathes by the family well and loosens his hair, of which, if he is
> a Mahratti or an inhabitant of the Dekkan, he has only one long lock at
> the top of his shaven head. To cover the body and the head whilst eating
> would be sinful. Wrapping his waist and legs in a white silk dhuti,
> he goes once more to salute the idols and then sits down to his
> meal.----
> 
> But here I shall allow myself to digress. "Silk possesses the property
> of dismissing the evil spirits who inhabit the magnetic fluids of the
> atmosphere," says the Mantram, book v., verse 23. And I cannot help
> wondering whether this apparent superstition may not contain a deeper
> meaning. It is difficult, I own, to part with our favorite theories
> about all the customs of ancient heathendom being mere ignorant
> superstitions. But have not some vague notions of these customs being
> founded originally on a true knowledge of scientific principles found
> their way amongst European scientific circles? At first sight the idea
> seems untenable. But why may we not suppose that the ancients prescribed
> this observance in the full knowledge that the effect of electricity
> upon the organs of digestion is truly beneficial? People who have
> studied the ancient philosophy of India with a firm resolve to penetrate
> the hidden meaning of its aphorisms have for the most part grown
> convinced that electricity and its effects were known to a considerable
> extent to some philosophers, as, for instance, to Patanjali. Charaka and
> Sushruta had pro-pounded the system of Hippocrates long before the time
> of him who in Europe is supposed to be the "father of medicine." The
> Bhadrinath temple of Vishnu possesses a stone bearing evident proof of
> the fact that Surya-Sidhanta knew and calculated the expansive force of
> steam many centuries ago. The ancient Hindus were the first to determine
> the velocity of light and the laws of its reflection; and the table of
> Pythagoras and his celebrated theorem of the square of hypotenuse are to
> be found in the ancient books of Jyotisha. All this leads us to suppose
> that ancient Aryans, when instituting the strange custom of wearing
> silk during meals, had something serious in view, more serious, at all
> events, than the "dismissing of demons."
> 
> Having entered the "refectory," we immediately noticed what were the
> Hindu precautions against their being polluted by our presence. The
> stone floor of the hall was divided into two equal parts. This division
> consisted of a line traced in chalk, with Kabalistic signs at either
> end. One part was destined for the host's party and the guests belonging
> to the same caste, the other for ourselves. On our side of the hall
> there was yet a third square to contain Hindus of a different caste. The
> furniture of the two bigger squares was exactly similar. Along the two
> opposite walls there were narrow carpets spread on the floor, covered
> with cushions and low stools. Before every occupant there was an oblong
> on the bare floor, traced also with chalk, and divided, like a chess
> board, into small quadrangles which were destined for dishes and plates.
> Both the latter articles were made of the thick strong leaves of the
> butea frondosa: larger dishes of several leaves pinned together with
> thorns, plates and saucers of one leaf with its borders turned up.
> All the courses of the supper were already arranged on each square; we
> counted forty-eight dishes, containing about a mouthful of forty-eight
> different dainties. The materials of which they were composed were
> mostly terra incognita to us, but some of them tasted very nice. All
> this was vegetarian food. Of meat, fowl, eggs and fish there appeared no
> traces. There were chutneys, fruit and vegetables preserved in vinegar
> and honey, panchamrits, a mixture of pampello-berries, tamarinds, cocoa
> milk, treacle and olive oil, and kushmer, made of radishes, honey and
> flour; there were also burning hot pickles and spices. All this was
> crowned with a mountain of exquisitely cooked rice and another mountain
> of chapatis, which are something like brown pancakes. The dishes stood
> in four rows, each row containing twelve dishes; and between the rows
> burned three aromatic sticks of the size of a small church taper.
> Our part of the hall was brightly lit with green and red candles. The
> chandeliers which held these candles were of a very queer shape. They
> each represented the trunk of a tree with a seven-headed cobra wound
> round it. From each of the seven mouths rose a red or a green wax candle
> of spiral form like a corkscrew. Draughts blowing from behind every
> pillar fluttered the yellow flames, filling the roomy refectory with
> fantastic moving shadows, and causing both our lightly-clad gentlemen
> to sneeze very frequently. Leaving the dark silhouettes of the Hindus
> in comparative obscurity, this unsteady light made the two white figures
> still more conspicuous, as if making a masquerade of them and laughing
> at them.
> 
> The relatives and friends of our host came in one after the other. They
> were all naked down to the waist, all barefooted, all wore the triple
> Brahmanical thread and white silk dhutis, and their hair hung loose.
> Every sahib was followed by his own servant, who carried his cup, his
> silver, or even gold, jug filled with water, and his towel. All of them,
> having saluted the host, greeted us, the palms of their hands pressed
> together and touching their foreheads, their breasts, and then the
> floor. They all said to us: "Ram-Ram" and "Namaste" (salutation to
> thee), and then made straight for their respective seats in perfect
> silence. Their civilities reminded me that the custom of greeting each
> other with the twice pronounced name of some ancestor was usual in the
> remotest antiquity.
> 
> We all sat down, the Hindus calm and stately, as if preparing for some
> mystic celebration, we ourselves feeling awkward and uneasy, fearing to
> prove guilty of some unpardonable blunder. An invisible choir of women's
> voices chanted a monotonous hymn, celebrating the glory of the gods.
> These were half a dozen nautch-girls from a neighboring pagoda. To this
> accompaniment we began satisfying our appetites. Thanks to the Babu's
> instructions, we took great care to eat only with our right hands. This
> was somewhat difficult, because we were hungry and hasty, but quite
> necessary. Had we only so much as touched the rice with our left hands
> whole hosts of Rakshasas (demons) would have been attracted to take part
> in the festivity that very moment; which, of course, would send all the
> Hindus out of the room. It is hardly necessary to say that there were no
> traces of forks, knives or spoons. That I might run no risk of
> breaking the rule I put my left hand in my pocket and held on to my
> pocket-handkerchief all the time the dinner lasted.
> 
> The singing lasted only a few minutes. During the rest of the time a
> dead silence reigned amongst us. It was Monday, a fast day, and so
> the usual absence of noise at meal times had to be observed still more
> strictly than on any other day. Usually a man who is compelled to break
> the silence by some emergency or other hastens to plunge into water
> the middle finger of his left hand, which till then had remained hidden
> behind his back, and to moisten both his eyelids with it. But a really
> pious man would not be content with this simple formula of purification;
> having spoken, he must leave the dining-room, wash thoroughly, and then
> abstain from food for the remainder of the day.
> 
> Thanks to this solemn silence, I was at liberty to notice everything
> that was going on with great attention. Now and again, whenever I caught
> sight of the colonel or Mr. Y----, I had all the difficulty in the world
> to preserve my gravity. Fits of foolish laughter would take possession
> of me when I observed them sitting erect with such comical solemnity and
> working so awkwardly with their elbows and hands. The long beard of the
> one was white with grains of rice, as if silvered with hoar-frost,
> the chin of the other was yellow with liquid saffron. But unsatisfied
> curiosity happily came to my rescue, and I went on watching the quaint
> proceedings of the Hindus.
> 
> Each of them, having sat down with his legs twisted under him, poured
> some water with his left hand out of the jug brought by the servant,
> first into his cup, then into the palm of his right hand. Then he
> slowly and carefully sprinkled the water round a dish with all kinds
> of dainties, which stood by itself, and was destined, as we learned
> afterwards, for the gods. During this procedure each Hindu repeated a
> Vedic mantram. Filling his right hand with rice, he pronounced a new
> series of couplets, then, having stored five pinches of rice on the
> right side of his own plate, he once more washed his hands to avert the
> evil eye, sprinkled more water, and pouring a few drops of it into his
> right palm, slowly drank it. After this he swallowed six pinches of
> rice, one after the other, murmuring prayers all the while, and wetted
> both his eyes with the middle finger of his left hand. All this done,
> he finally hid his left hand behind his back, and began eating with the
> right hand. All this took only a few minutes, but was performed very
> solemnly.
> 
> The Hindus ate with their bodies bent over the food, throwing it up and
> catching it in their mouths so dexterously that not a grain of rice
> was lost, not a drop of the various liquids spilt. Zealous to show
> his consideration for his host, the colonel tried to imitate all these
> movements. He contrived to bend over his food almost horizontally, but,
> alas! he could not remain long in this position. The natural weight of
> his powerful limbs overcame him, he lost his balance and nearly tumbled
> head foremost, dropping his spectacles into a dish of sour milk and
> garlic. After this unsuccessful experience the brave American gave up
> all further attempts to become "Hinduized," and sat very quietly.
> 
> The supper was concluded with rice mixed with sugar, powdered peas,
> olive oil, garlic and grains of pomegranate, as usual. This last
> dainty is consumed hurriedly. Everyone nervously glances askance at his
> neighbor, and is mortally afraid of being the last to finish, because
> this is considered a very bad sign. To conclude, they all take some
> water into their mouths, murmuring prayers the while, and this time they
> must swallow it in one gulp. Woe to the one who chokes! 'Tis a clear
> sign that a bhuta has taken possession of his throat. The unfortunate
> man must run for his life and get purified before the altar.
> 
> The poor Hindus are very much troubled by these wicked bhutas, the
> souls of the people who have died with ungratified desires and earthly
> passions. Hindu spirits, if I am to believe the unanimous assertions
> of one and all, are always swarming round the living, always ready to
> satisfy their hunger with other people's mouths and gratify their impure
> desires with the help of organs temporarily stolen from the living. They
> are feared and cursed all over India. No means to get rid of them
> are despised. The notions and conclusions of the Hindus on this
> point categorically contradict the aspirations and hopes of Western
> spiritualists.
> 
> "A good and pure spirit, they are confident, will not let his soul
> revisit the earth, if this soul is equally pure. He is glad to die and
> unite himself to Brahma, to live an eternal life in Svarga (heaven) and
> enjoy the society of the beautiful Gandharvas or singing angels. He is
> glad to slumber whole eternities, listening to their songs, whilst his
> soul is purified by a new incarnation in a body, which is more perfect
> than the one the soul abandoned previously."
> 
> The Hindus believe that the spirit or Atma, a particle of the GREAT
> ALL, which is Parabrahm, cannot be punished for sins in which it never
> participated. It is Manas, the animal intelligence, and the animal
> soul or Jiva, both half material illusions, that sin and suffer and
> transmigrate from one body into the other till they purify themselves.
> The spirit merely overshadows their earthly transmigrations. When the
> Ego has reached the final state of purity, it will be one with the Atma,
> and gradually will merge and disappear in Parabrahm.
> 
> But this is not what awaits the wicked souls. The soul that does not
> succeed in getting rid of earthly cares and desires before the death of
> the body is weighed down by its sins, and, instead of reincarnating in
> some new form, according to the laws of metempsychosis, it will remain
> bodiless, doomed to wander on earth. It will become a bhuta, and by its
> own sufferings will cause unutterable sufferings to its kinsmen. That is
> why the Hindu fears above all things to remain bodiless after his death.
> 
> "It is better for one to enter the body of a tiger, of a dog, even of a
> yellow-legged falcon, after death, than to become a bhuta!" an old Hindu
> said to me on one occasion. "Every animal possesses a body of his own
> and a right to make an honest use of it. Whereas the bhutas are doomed
> dakoits, brigands and thieves, they are ever watching for an opportunity
> to use what does not belong to them. This is a horrible state--a horror
> indescribable. This is the true hell. What is this spiritualism they
> talk so much of in the West? Is it possible the intelligent English and
> Americans are so mad as this?"
> 
> And all our remonstrances notwithstanding, he refused to believe that
> there are actually people who are fond of bhutas, who would do much to
> attract them into their homes.
> 
> After supper the men went again to the family well to wash, and then
> dressed themselves.
> 
> Usually at this hour of the night the Hindus put on clean malmalas,
> a kind of tight shirt, white turbans, and wooden sandals with knobs
> pressed between the toes. These curious shoes are left at the door
> whilst their owners return to the hall and sit down along the walls
> on carpets and cushions to chew betel, smoke hookahs and cheroots, to
> listen to sacred reading, and to witness the dances of the nautches.
> But this evening, probably in our honor, all the Hindus dressed
> magnificently. Some of them wore darias of rich striped satin, no end of
> gold bangles, necklaces mounted with diamonds and emeralds, gold watches
> and chains, and transparent Brahmanical scarfs with gold embroidery.
> The fat fingers and the right ear of our host were simply blazing with
> diamonds.
> 
> The women, who waited on us during the meal, disappeared afterwards
> for a considerable time. When they came back they also were luxuriously
> overdressed and were introduced to us formally as the ladies of the
> house. They were five: the wife of the host, a woman of twenty-six or
> twenty-seven years of age, then two others looking somewhat younger, one
> of whom carried a baby, and, to our great astonishment, was introduced
> as the married daughter of the hostess; then the old mother of the host
> and a little girl of seven, the wife of one of his brothers. So that our
> hostess turned out to be a grandmother, and her sister-in-law, who was
> to enter finally into matrimony in from two to three years, might have
> become a mother before she was twelve. They were all barefooted, with
> rings on each of their toes, and all, with the exception of the old
> woman, wore garlands of natural flowers round their necks and in their
> jet black hair. Their tight bodices, covered with embroidery, were so
> short that between them and the sari there was a good quarter of a yard
> of bare skin. The dark, bronze-coloured waists of these well-shaped
> Women were boldly presented to any one's examination and reflected the
> lights of the room. Their beautiful arms and their ankles were covered
> with bracelets. At the least of their movements they all set up a
> tinkling silvery sound, and the little sister-in-law, who might easily
> be mistaken for an automaton doll, could hardly move under her load of
> ornaments. The young grandmother, our hostess, had a ring in her left
> nostril, which reached to the lower part of the chin. Her nose was
> considerably disfigured by the weight of the gold, and we noticed how
> unusually handsome she was only when she took it off to enable herself
> to drink her tea with some comfort.
> 
> The dances of the nautch girls began. Two of them were very pretty.
> Their dancing consisted chiefly in more or less expressive movements
> of their eyes, their heads, and even their ears, in fact, of the whole
> upper part of their bodies. As to their legs, they either did not move
> at all or moved with such a swiftness as to appear in a cloud of mist.
> 
> After this eventful day I slept the sleep of the just.
> 
> After many nights spent in a tent, it is more than agreeable to sleep in
> a regular bed, even if it is only a hanging one. The pleasure would, no
> doubt, have been considerably increased had I but known I was resting on
> the couch of a god. But this latter circumstance was revealed to me only
> in the morning, when descending the staircase I suddenly discovered
> the poor general en chef, Hanuman, deprived of his cradle and
> unceremoniously stowed away under the stairs. Decidedly, the Hindus of
> the nineteenth century are a degenerate and blaspheming race!
> 
> In the course of the morning we learned that this swinging throne of
> his, and an ancient sofa, were the only pieces of furniture in the whole
> house that could be transformed into beds.
> 
> Neither of our gentlemen had spent a comfortable night. They slept in an
> empty tower that was once the altar of a decayed pagoda and was situated
> behind the main building. In assigning to them this strange resting
> place, the host was guided by the praiseworthy intention of protecting
> them from the jackals, which freely penetrate into all the rooms of the
> ground floor, as they are pierced by numberless arches and have no
> door and no window frames. The jackals, however, did not trouble the
> gentlemen much that night, except by giving their nightly concert. But
> both Mr. Y---- and the colonel had to fight all the night long with a
> vampire, which, besides being a flying fox of an unusual size, happened
> to be a spirit, as we learned too late, to our great misfortune.
> 
> This is how it happened. Noiselessly hovering about the tower, the
> vampire from time to time alighted on the sleepers, making them shudder
> under the disgusting touch of his cold sticky wings. His intention
> clearly was to get a nice suck of European blood. They were wakened by
> his manipulations at least ten times, and each time frightened him away.
> But, as soon as they were dozing again, the wretched bat was sure to
> return and perch on their shoulders, heads, or legs. At last Mr. Y----,
> losing patience, had recourse to strong measures; he caught him and
> broke his neck.
> 
> Feeling perfectly innocent, the gentlemen mentioned the tragic end of
> the troublesome flying fox to their host, and instantly drew down on
> their heads all the thunder-clouds of heaven.
> 
> The yard was crowded with people. All the inhabitants of the house stood
> sorrowfully drooping their heads, at the entrance of the tower. Our
> host's old mother tore her hair in despair, and shrieked lamentations in
> all the languages of India. What was the matter with them all? We were
> at our wits' end. But when we learned the cause of all this, there was
> no limit to our confusion.
> 
> By certain mysterious signs, known only to the family Brahman, it had
> been decided ten years ago that the soul of our host's elder brother had
> incarnated in this blood-thirsty vampire-bat. This fact was stated as
> being beyond any doubt. For nine years the late Patarah Prabhu existed
> under this new shape, carrying out the laws of metempsychosis. He spent
> the hours between sunrise and the sunset in an old pipal-tree before the
> tower, hanging with his head downwards. But at night he visited the
> old tower and gave fierce chase to the insects that sought rest in
> this out-of-the-way corner. And so nine years were spent in this happy
> existence, divided between sleep, food, and the gradual redemption of
> old sins committed in the shape of a Patarah Prabhu. And now? Now his
> listless body lay in the dust at the entrance of his favorite tower,
> and his wings were half devoured by the rats. The poor old woman, his
> mother, was mad with sorrow, and cast, through her tears, reproachful,
> angry looks at Mr. Y----, who, in his new capacity of a heartless
> murderer, looked disgustingly composed.
> 
> But the affair was growing serious. The comical side of it disappeared
> before the sincerity and the intensity of her lamentations. Her
> descendants, grouped around her, were too polite to reproach us openly,
> but the expression of their faces was far from reassuring. The family
> priest and astrologer stood by the old lady, Shastras in hand, ready to
> begin the ceremony of purification. He solemnly covered the corpse with
> a piece of new linen, and so hid from our eyes the sad remains on which
> ants were literally swarming.
> 
> Mr. Y---- did his best to look unconcerned, but still, when the tactless
> Miss X---- came to him, expressing her loud indignation at all these
> superstitions of an inferior race, he at least seemed to remember that
> our host knew English perfectly, and he did not encourage her farther
> expressions of sympathy. He made no answer, but smiled contemptuously.
> Our host approached the colonel with respectful salaams and invited us
> to follow him.
> 
> "No doubt he is going to ask us to leave his house immediately!" was my
> uncomfortable impression.
> 
> But my apprehension was not justified. At this epoch of my Indian
> pilgrimage I was far, as yet, from having fathomed the metaphysical
> depth of a Hindu heart.
> 
> Sham Rao began by delivering a very far-fetched, eloquent preface.
> He reminded us that he, personally, was an enlightened man, a man who
> possessed all the advantages of a Western education. He said that, owing
> to this, he was not quite sure that the body of the vampire was actually
> inhabited by his late brother. Darwin, of course, and some other great
> naturalists of the West, seemed to believe in the transmigration of
> souls, but, as far as he understood, they believed in it in an inverse
> sense; that is to say, if a baby had been born to his mother exactly at
> the moment of the vampire's death, this baby would indubitably have
> had a great likeness to a vampire, owing to the decaying atoms of the
> vampire being so close to her.
> 
> "Is not this an exact interpretation of the Darwinian school?" he asked.
> 
> We modestly answered that, having traveled almost incessantly during the
> last year, we could not help being a bit behindhand in the questions
> of modern science, and that we were not able to follow its latest
> conclusions.
> 
> "But I have followed them!" rejoined the good-natured Sham Rao, with a
> touch of pomposity. "And so I hope I may be allowed to say that I have
> understood and duly appreciated their most recent developments. I have
> just finished studying the magnificent Anthropogenesis of Haeckel,
> and have carefully discussed in my own mind his logical, scientific
> explanations of the origin of man from inferior animal forms through
> transformation. And what is this transformation, pray, if not the
> transmigration of the ancient and modern Hindus, and the metempsychosis
> of the Greeks?"
> 
> We had nothing to say against the identity, and even ventured to observe
> that, according to Haeckel, it does look like it.
> 
> "Exactly!" exclaimed he joyfully. "This shows that our conceptions are
> neither silly nor superstitious, as is maintained by some opponents
> of Manu. The great Manu, anticipated Darwin and Haeckel. Judge for
> yourself; the latter derives the genesis of man from a group of
> plastides, from the jelly-like moneron; this moneron, through the
> ameoba, the ascidian, the brainless and heartless amphioxus, and so on,
> transmigrates in the eighth remove into the lamprey, is transformed, at
> last, into a vertebrate amniote, into a premammalian, into a marsupial
> animal.... The vampire, in its turn, belongs to the species of
> vertebrates. You, being well read people all of you, cannot contradict
> this statement." He was right in his supposition; we did not contradict
> it.
> 
> "In this case, do me the honor to follow my argument...."
> 
> We did follow his argument with the greatest attention, but were at a
> loss to foresee whither it tended to lead us.
> 
> "Darwin," continued Sham Rao, "in his Origin of Species, re-established
> almost word for word the palin-genetic teachings of our Manu. Of this I
> am perfectly convinced, and, if you like, I can prove it to you book in
> hand. Our ancient law-giver, amongst other sayings, speaks as follows:
> 'The great Parabrahm commanded man to appear in the universe, after
> traversing all the grades of the animal kingdom, and springing primarily
> from the worm of the deep sea mud.' The worm be-came a snake, the snake
> a fish, the fish a mammal, and so on. Is not this very idea at the
> bottom of Darwin's theory, when he maintains that the organic forms have
> their origin in more simple species, and says that the structureless
> protoplasm born in the mud of the Laurentian and Silurian periods--the
> Manu's 'mud of the seas,' I dare say--gradually transformed itself into
> the anthropoid ape, and then finally into the human being?"
> 
> We said it looked very like it.
> 
> "But, in spite of all my respect for Darwin and his eminent follower
> Haeckel, I cannot agree with their final conclusions, especially with
> the conclusions of the latter," continued Sham Rao. "This hasty and
> bilious German is perfectly accurate in copying the embryology of Manu
> and all the metamorphoses of our ancestors, but he forgets the evolution
> of the human soul, which, as it is stated by Manu, goes hand in hand
> with the evolution of matter. The son of Swayambhuva, the Self Becoming,
> speaks as follows: 'Everything created in a new cycle, in addition to
> the qualities of its preceding transmigrations, acquires new qualities,
> and the nearer it approaches to man, the highest type of the earth, the
> brighter becomes its divine spark; but, once it has become a Brahma, it
> will enter the cycle of conscious transmigrations.' Do you realize what
> that means? It means that from this moment, its transformations depend
> no longer on the blind laws of gradual evolution, but on the least of a
> man's actions, which brings either a reward or a punishment. Now you
> see that it depends on the man's will whether, on the one hand, he will
> start on the way to Moksha, the eternal bliss, passing from one Loka to
> another till he reaches Brahmaloka, or, on the other, owing to his sins,
> will be thrown back. You know that the average soul, once freed from
> earthly reincarnations, has to ascend from one Loka to another, always
> in the human shape, though this shape will grow and perfect itself with
> every Loka. Some of our sects understood these Lokas to mean certain
> stars. These spirits, freed from earthly matter, are what we mean by
> Pitris and Devas, whom we worship. And did not your Kabalists of the
> middle ages designate these Pitris under the expression Planetary
> Spirits? But, in the case of a very sinful man, he will have to
> begin once more with the animal forms which he had already traversed
> unconsciously. Both Darwin and Haeckel lose sight of this, so to speak,
> second volume of their incomplete theory, but still neither of them
> advances any argument to prove it false. Is it not so?"
> 
> "Neither of them does anything of the sort, most assuredly."
> 
> "Why, in this case," exclaimed he, suddenly changing his colloquial tone
> for an aggressive one, "why am I, I who have studied the most modern
> ideas of Western science, I who believe in its representatives--why am I
> suspected, pray, by Miss X---- of belonging to the tribe of the
> ignorant and superstitious Hindus? Why does she think that our perfected
> scientific theories are superstitions, and we ourselves a fallen
> inferior race?"
> 
> Sham Rao stood before us with tears in his eyes. We were at a loss what
> to answer him, being confused to the last degree by this outburst.
> 
> "Mind you, I do not proclaim our popular beliefs to be infallible
> dogmas. I consider them as mere theories, and try to the best of my
> ability to reconcile the ancient and the modern science. I formulate
> hypotheses just like Darwin and Haeckel. Besides, if I understood
> rightly, Miss X---- is a spiritualist, so she believes in bhutas. And,
> believing that a bhuta is capable of penetrating the body of a medium,
> how can she deny that a bhuta, and more so a less sinful soul, may enter
> the body of a vampire-bat?"
> 
> I own, this logic was a little too condensed for us, and so, avoiding a
> direct answer to a metaphysical question of such delicacy, we tried to
> apologize and excuse Miss X----'s rudeness as well as we could.
> 
> "She did not mean to offend you," we said, "she only repeated a calumny,
> familiar to every European. Besides, if she had taken the trouble to
> think it over, she probably would not have said it...."
> 
> Little by little we succeeded in pacifying our host. He recovered his
> usual cheerfulness, but could not resist the temptation of adding a
> few words to his long argumentation. He had just begun to reveal to us
> certain peculiarities of his late brother's character, which induced him
> to be prepared, judging by the laws of atavism, to see their repetition
> in the propensities of a vampire bat, when Mr. Y----suddenly dashed in
> on our small group and spoiled all the results of our conciliatory words
> by screaming at the top of his voice: "The old woman has gone demented!
> She keeps on cursing us and says that the murder of this wretched bat
> is only the forerunner of a whole series of misfortunes brought on her
> house by you, Sham Rao," said he, hastily addressing the bewildered
> follower of Haackel. "She says you have polluted your Brahmanical
> holiness by inviting us. Colonel, you had better send for the elephants.
> In another moment all this crowd will be on us..."
> 
> "For goodness' sake!" exclaimed poor Sham Rao, "have some consideration
> for my feelings. She is an old woman, she has some superstitions, but
> she is my mother. You are educated people, learned people... Advise me,
> show me a way out of all these difficulties. What should you do in my
> place?"
> 
> "What should I do, sir?" exclaimed Mr. Y----, completely put out of
> temper by the utter ludicrousness of our awkward predicament. "What
> should I do? Were I a man in your position and a believer in all you
> are brought up to believe, I should take my revolver, and in the first
> place, shoot all the vampire bats in the neighborhood, if only to rid
> all your late relations from the abject bodies of these creatures,
> and, in the second place, I should endeavor to smash the head of the
> conceited fraud in the shape of a Brahman who invented all this stupid
> story. That is what I should do, sir!"
> 
> But this advice did not content the miserable descendant of Rama. No
> doubt he would have remained a long time undecided as to what course
> of action to adopt, torn as he was between the sacred feelings of
> hospitality, the innate fear of the Brahman-priest, and his own
> superstitions, if our ingenious Babu had not come to our rescue.
> Learning that we all felt more or less indignant at all this row, and
> that we were preparing to leave the house as quickly as possible,
> he persuaded us to stay, if only for an hour, saying that our hasty
> departure would be a terrible outrage upon our host, whom, in any case,
> we could not find fault with. As to the stupid old woman, the Babu
> promised us to pacify her speedily enough: he had his own plans and
> views. In the meantime, he said, we had better go and examine the ruins
> of an old fortress close by.
> 
> We obeyed very reluctantly, feeling an acute interest in his "plans." We
> proceeded slowly. Our gentlemen were visibly out of temper. Miss X----
> tried to calm herself by talking more than usual, and Narayan, as
> phlegmatic as usual, indolently and good-naturedly chaffed her about
> her beloved "spirits." Glancing back we saw the Babu accompanied by the
> family priest. Judging by their gestures they were engaged in some warm
> discussion. The shaven head of the Brahman nodded right and left, his
> yellow garment flapped in the wind, and his arms rose towards the sky,
> as if in an appeal to the gods to come down and testify to the truth of
> his words.
> 
> "I'll bet you a thousand dollars, no plans of our Babu's will be of any
> avail with this fanatic!" confidently remarked the colonel as he lit his
> pipe.
> 
> But we had hardly walked a hundred steps after this remark when we saw
> the Babu running after us and signaling us to stop.
> 
> "Everything ended first-rate!" screamed he, as soon as we could hear.
> "You are to be thanked... You happen to be the true saviours and
> benefactors of the deceased bhuta... You..."
> 
> Our Babu sank on the ground holding his narrow, panting breast with both
> his hands, and laughed, laughed till we all burst into laughter too,
> before learning any-thing at all.
> 
> "Think of it," began the Babu, and stopped short, prevented from going
> on by his exuberant hilarity. "Just think of it! The whole transaction
> is to cost me only ten rupees.... I offered five at first... but he
> would not.... He said this was a sacred matter..... But ten he could not
> resist! Ho, ho, ho...."
> 
> At last we learned the story. All the metempsychoses depend on the
> imagination of the family Gurus, who receive for their kind offices
> from one hundred to one hundred and fifty rupees a year. Every rite is
> accompanied by a more or less considerable addition to the purse of the
> insatiable family Brahman, but the happy events pay better than the
> sad ones. Knowing all this, the Babu asked the Brahman point-blank to
> perform a false samadhi, that is to say, to feign an inspiration and
> to announce to the sorrowing mother that her late son's will had acted
> consciously in all the circumstances; that he brought about his end
> in the body of the flying fox, that he was tired of that grade of
> transmigration, that he longed for death in order to attain a higher
> position in the animal kingdom, that he is happy, and that he is deeply
> indebted to the sahib who broke his neck and so freed him from his
> abject embodiment.
> 
> Besides, the observant eye of our all-knowing Babu had not failed to
> remark that a she-buffalo of the Guru's was expecting a calf, and that
> the Guru was yearning to sell it to Sham Rao. This circumstance was
> a trump card in the Babu's hand. Let the Guru announce, under the
> influence of samadhi, that the freed spirit intends to inhabit the body
> of the future baby-buffalo and the old lady will buy the new incarnation
> of her first-born as sure as the sun is bright. This announcement will
> be followed by rejoicings and by new rites. And who will profit by all
> this if not the family priest?
> 
> At first the Guru had some misgivings, and swore by everything sacred
> that the vampire bat was veritably inhabited by the brother of Sham
> Rao. But the Babu knew better than to give in. The Guru ended by
> understanding that his skillful opponent saw through his tricks, and
> that he was well aware that the Shastras exclude the possibility of such
> a transmigration. Growing alarmed, the Guru also grew meek, and asked
> only ten rupees and a promise of silence for the performance of a
> samadhi.
> 
> On our way back we were met at the gate by Sham Rao, who was simply
> radiant. Whether he was afraid of our laughing at him, or was at loss to
> find an explanation of this new metamorphosis in the positive sciences
> in general, and Haeckel in particular, he did not attempt to explain why
> the affair had taken such an unexpectedly good turn. He merely
> mentioned awkwardly enough that his mother, owing to some new mysterious
> conjectures of hers, had dismissed all sad apprehensions as to
> the destiny of her elder son, and he then dropped the subject
> completely.----
> 
> In order to wipe away the traces of the morning's perplexities from our
> minds, Sham Rao invited us to sit on the verandah, by the wide entrance
> of his idol room, whilst the family prayers were going on. Nothing
> could suit us better. It was nine o'clock, the usual time of the morning
> prayers. Sham Rao went to the well to get ready, and dress himself, as
> he said, though the process was more like undressing. In a few moments
> he came back wearing only a dhuti, as during dinner time, and with his
> head uncovered. He went straight to his idol room. The moment he entered
> we heard the loud stroke of a bell that hung under the ceiling, and that
> continued tolling all the time the prayers lasted.
> 
> The Babu explained to us that a little boy was pulling the bell rope
> from the roof.
> 
> Sham Rao stepped in with his right foot and very slowly. Then he
> approached the altar and sat on a little stool with his legs crossed.
> At the opposite side of the room, on the red velvet shelves of an altar
> that resembled an etagere in the drawing-room of some fashionable lady,
> stood many idols. They were made of gold, of silver, of brass and of
> marble, according to their im-portance and merits. Maha-Deva or Shiva
> was of gold. Gunpati or Ganesha of silver, Vishnu in the form of a round
> black stone from the river Gandaki in Nepal. In this form Vishnu is
> called Lakshmi-Narayan. There were also many other gods unknown to us,
> who were worshipped in the shapes of big sea-shells, called Chakra.
> Surya, the god of the sun, and the kula-devas, the domestic gods, were
> placed in the second rank. The altar was sheltered by a cupola of carved
> sandal-wood. During the night the gods and the offerings were covered
> by a huge bell glass. On the walls there were many sacred images
> representing the chief episodes in the biographies of the higher gods.
> 
> Sham Rao filled his left hand with ashes, murmuring prayers all the
> while, covered it for a second with the right one, then put some matter
> to the ashes, and mixing the two by rubbing his hands together, he
> traced a line on his face with this mixture by moving the thumb of his
> right hand from his nose upwards, then from the middle of the forehead
> to the right temple, then back again to the left temple. Having done
> with his face he proceeded to cover with wet ashes his throat, arms,
> shoulders, his back, head and ears. In one corner of the room stood a
> huge bronze font filled with water. Sham Rao made straight to it and
> plunged into it three times, dhuti, head, and all, after which he came
> out looking exactly like a well-favored dripping wet Triton. He twisted
> the only lock of hair on the top of his shaved head and sprinkled it
> with water. This operation concluded the first act.
> 
> The second act began with religious meditations and with mantrams,
> which, by really pious people, must be repeated three times a day--at
> sunrise, at noon and at sunset. Sham Rao loudly pronounced the names of
> twenty-four gods, and each name was accompanied by a stroke of the bell.
> Having finished he first shut his eyes and stuffed his ears with cotton,
> then pressed his left nostril with two fingers of his left hand, and
> having filled his lungs with air through the right nostril, pressed the
> latter also. Then he tightly closed his lips, so that breathing became
> impossible. In this position every pious Hindu must mentally repeat a
> certain verse, which is called the Gayatri. These are sacred words which
> no Hindu will dare to pronounce aloud. Even in repeating them mentally
> he must take every precaution not to inhale anything impure.
> 
> I am bound by my word of honor never to repeat the whole of this prayer,
> but I may quote a few unconnected sentences:
> 
> "Om... Earth... Heaven.... Let the adored light of.... [here follows a
> name which must not be pronounced] shelter me. Let thy Sun, O thou only
> One, shelter me, the unworthy... I shut my eyes, I shut my ears, I do
> not breathe... in order to see, hear and breathe thee alone. Throw light
> upon our thoughts [again the secret name]... "
> 
> It is curious to compare this Hindu prayer with the celebrated prayer
> of Descartes' "Meditation III" in his L'Existence de Dieu. It runs as
> follows, if I remember rightly:
> 
> "Now I shut my eyes, cover my ears, and dismiss all my five senses, I
> will dwell on the thought of God alone, I will meditate on His quality
> and look on the beauty of this wondrous radiancy."
> 
> After this prayer Sham Rao read many other prayers, holding with two
> fingers his sacred Brahmanical thread. After a while began the ceremony
> of "the washing of the gods." Taking them down from the altar, one after
> the other, according to their rank, Sham Rao first plunged them in the
> big font, in which he had just bathed himself, and then bathed them in
> milk in a smaller bronze font by the altar. The milk was mixed up with
> curds, butter, honey, and sugar, and so it cannot be said that this
> cleansing served its purpose. No wonder we were glad to see that the
> gods underwent a second bathing in the first font and then were dried
> with a clean towel.
> 
> When the gods were arranged in their respective places, the Hindu traced
> on them the sectarian signs with a ring from his left hand. He used
> white sandal paint for the lingam and red for Gunpati and Surya. Then he
> sprinkled them with aromatic oils and covered them with fresh flowers.
> The long ceremony was finished by "the awakening of the gods." A small
> bell was repeatedly rung under the noses of the idols, who, as the
> Brahman probably supposed, all went to sleep during this tedious
> ceremony.
> 
> Having noticed, or fancied, which often amounts to the same thing,
> that they were wide awake, he began offering them his daily sacrifices,
> lighting the incense and the lamps, and, to our great astonishment,
> snapping his fingers from time to time, as if warning the idols to "look
> out." Having filled the room with clouds of incense and fumes of burning
> camphor, he scattered some more flowers over the altar and sat on the
> small stool for a while, murmuring the last prayers. He repeatedly held
> the palms of his hands over the flame of the tapers and rubbed his face
> with them. Then he walked round the altar three times, and, having knelt
> three times, retreated backwards to the door.
> 
> A little while before our host had finished his morning prayers the
> ladies of the house came into the room. They brought each a small
> stool and sat in a row murmuring prayers and telling the beads of their
> rosaries.
> 
> The part played by the rosaries in India is as important as in all
> Buddhist countries. Every god has his favorite flower and his favorite
> material for a rosary. The fakirs are simply covered with rosaries. The
> rosary is called mala and consists of one hundred and eight beads. Very
> pious Hindus are not content to tell the beads when praying; they must
> hide their hands during this ceremony in a bag called gomukha, which
> means the cow's mouth.
> 
> We left the women to their prayers and followed our host to the cow
> house. The cow symbolizes the "fostering earth," or Nature, and is
> worshipped accordingly. Sham Rao sat down by the cow and washed her
> feet, first with her own milk, then with water. He gave her some sugar
> and rice, covered her forehead with powdered sandal, and adorned her
> horns and four legs with chains of flowers. He burned some incense under
> her nostrils and brandished a burning lamp over her head. Then he walked
> three times round her and sat down to rest. Some Hindus walk round the
> cow one hundred and eight times, rosary in hand. But our Sham Rao had
> a slight tendency to freethinking, as we knew, and besides, he was too
> much of an admirer of Haeckel. Having rested himself, he filled a cup
> with water, put in it the cow's tail for a moment, and then drank it!
> 
> After this he performed the rite of worshipping the sun and the sacred
> plant tulsi. Unable to bring the god Surya from his heavenly altar and
> wash him in the sacred font, Sham Rao contented himself by filling
> his own mouth with water, standing on one leg, and spirting this water
> towards the sun. Needless to say it never reached the orb of day, but,
> very unexpectedly, sprinkled us instead.----
> 
> It is still a mystery to us why the plant tulsi, Royal Basilicum, is
> worshipped. However, towards the end of September we yearly witnessed
> the strange ceremony of the wedding of this plant with the god Vishnu,
> notwithstanding that tulsi bears the title of Krishna's bride, probably
> because of the latter being an incarnation of Vishnu. On these occasions
> pots of this plant are painted and adorned with tinsel. A magical circle
> is traced in the garden and the plant is put in the middle of it. A
> Brahman brings an idol of Vishnu and begins the marriage ceremony,
> standing before the plant. A married couple hold a shawl between the
> plant and the god, as if screening them from each other, the Brahman
> utters prayers, and young women, and especially unmarried girls, who are
> the most ardent worshippers of tulsi, throw rice and saffron over the
> idol and the plant. When the ceremony is concluded, the Brahman is
> presented with the shawl, the idol is put in the shade of his wife,
> the Hindus clap their hands, rend everyone's ears with the noise of
> tom-toms, let off fireworks, offer each other pieces of sugar-cane, and
> rejoice in every conceivable way till the dawn of the next day.
> 
> A Witch's Den
> 
> Our kind host Sham Rao was very gay during the remaining hours of
> our visit. He did his best to entertain us, and would not hear of our
> leaving the neighborhood without having seen its greatest celebrity,
> its most interesting sight. A jadu wala--sorceress--well known in
> the district, was just at this time under the influence of seven
> sister-goddesses, who took possession of her by turns, and spoke their
> oracles through her lips. Sham Rao said we must not fail to see her, be
> it only in the interests of science.
> 
> The evening closes in, and we once more get ready for an excursion. It
> is only five miles to the cavern of the Pythia of Hindostan; the road
> runs through a jungle, but it is level and smooth. Besides, the jungle
> and its ferocious inhabitants have ceased to frighten us. The timid
> elephants we had in the "dead city" are sent home, and we are to mount
> new behemoths belonging to a neighboring Raja. The pair, that stand
> before the verandah like two dark hillocks, are steady and trust worthy.
> Many a time these two have hunted the royal tiger, and no wild shrieking
> or thunderous roaring can frighten them. And so, let us start!
> 
> The ruddy flames of the torches dazzle our eyes and increase the forest
> gloom. Our surroundings seem so dark, so mysterious. There is something
> indescribably fascinating, almost solemn, in these night-journeys in
> the out-of-the-way corners of India. Everything is silent and deserted
> around you, everything is dozing on the earth and overhead. Only the
> heavy, regular tread of the elephants breaks the stillness of the night,
> like the sound of falling hammers in the underground smithy of Vulcan.
> From time to time uncanny voices and murmurs are heard in the black
> forest.
> 
> "The wind sings its strange song amongst the ruins," says one of us,
> "what a wonderful acoustic phenomenon!" "Bhuta, bhuta!" whisper the
> awestruck torch-bearers. They brandish their torches and swiftly spin on
> one leg, and snap their fingers to chase away the aggressive spirits.
> 
> The plaintive murmur is lost in the distance. The forest is once more
> filled with the cadences of its invisible nocturnal life--the metallic
> whirr of the crickets, the feeble, monotonous croak of the tree-frog,
> the rustle of the leaves. From time to time all this suddenly stops
> short and then begins again, gradually increasing and increasing.
> 
> Heavens! What teeming life, what stores of vital energy are hidden
> under the smallest leaf, the most imperceptible blades of grass, in this
> tropical forest! Myriads of stars shine in the dark blue of the sky, and
> myriads of fireflies twinkle at us from every bush, moving sparks, like
> a pale reflection of the far-away stars.
> 
> We left the thick forest behind us, and reached a deep glen, on three
> sides bordered with the thick forest, where even by day the shadows are
> as dark as by night. We were about two thousand feet above the foot of
> the Vindhya ridge, judging by the ruined wall of Mandu, straight above
> our heads. Suddenly a very chilly wind rose that nearly blew our torches
> out. Caught in the labyrinth of bushes and rocks, the wind angrily shook
> the branches of the blossoming syringas, then, shaking itself free, it
> turned back along the glen and flew down the valley, howling, whistling
> and shrieking, as if all the fiends of the forest together were joining
> in a funeral song.
> 
> "Here we are," said Sham Rao, dismounting. "Here is the village; the
> elephants cannot go any further."
> 
> "The village? Surely you are mistaken. I don't see anything but trees."
> 
> "It is too dark to see the village. Besides, the huts are so small,
> and so hidden by the bushes, that even by daytime you could hardly find
> them. And there is no light in the houses, for fear of the spirits."
> 
> "And where is your witch? Do you mean we are to watch her performance in
> complete darkness?"
> 
> Sham Rao cast a furtive, timid look round him; and his voice, when he
> answered our questions, was somewhat tremulous.
> 
> "I implore you not to call her a witch! She may hear you.... It is
> not far off, it is not more than half a mile. Do not allow this short
> distance to shake your decision. No elephant, and even no horse, could
> make its way there. We must walk.... But we shall find plenty of light
> there.... "
> 
> This was unexpected, and far from agreeable. To walk in this gloomy
> Indian night; to scramble through thickets of cactuses; to venture in a
> dark forest, full of wild animals--this was too much for Miss X----.
> She declared that she would go no further. She would wait for us in the
> howdah, on the elephant's back, and perhaps would go to sleep.
> 
> Narayan was against this parti de plaisir from the very beginning, and
> now, without explaining his reasons, he said she was the only sensible
> one among us.
> 
> "You won't lose anything," he remarked, "by staying where you are. And I
> only wish everyone would follow your example."
> 
> "What ground have you for saying so, I wonder?" remonstrated Sham Rao,
> and a slight note of disappointment rang in his voice, when he saw that
> the excursion, proposed and organized by himself, threatened to come to
> nothing. "What harm could be done by it? I won't insist any more that
> the 'incarnation of gods' is a rare sight, and that the Europeans hardly
> ever have an opportunity of witnessing it; but, besides, the Kangalim
> in question is no ordinary woman. She leads a holy life; she is a
> prophetess, and her blessing could not prove harmful to any one. I
> insisted on this excursion out of pure patriotism."
> 
> "Sahib, if your patriotism consists in displaying before foreigners the
> worst of our plagues, then why did you not order all the lepers of your
> district to assemble and parade before the eyes of our guests? You are a
> patel, you have the power to do it."
> 
> How bitterly Narayan's voice sounded to our unaccustomed ears. Usually
> he was so even-tempered, so indifferent to everything belonging to the
> exterior world.
> 
> Fearing a quarrel between the Hindus, the colonel remarked, in a
> conciliatory tone, that it was too late for us to reconsider our
> expedition. Besides, without being a believer in the "incarnation of
> gods," he was personally firmly convinced that demoniacs existed even in
> the West. He was eager to study every psychological phenomenon, wherever
> he met with it, and whatever shape it might assume.
> 
> It would have been a striking sight for our European and American
> friends if they had beheld our procession on that dark night. Our way
> lay along a narrow winding path up the mountain. Not more than
> two people could walk together--and we were thirty, including the
> torch-bearers. Surely some reminiscence of night sallies against the
> confederate Southerners had revived in the colonel's breast, judging
> by the readiness with which he took upon himself the leadership of our
> small expedition. He ordered all the rifles and revolvers to be loaded,
> despatched three torch-bearers to march ahead of us, and arranged us
> in pairs. Under such a skilled chieftain we had nothing to fear from
> tigers; and so our procession started, and slowly crawled up the winding
> path.
> 
> It cannot be said that the inquisitive travelers, who appeared later on,
> in the den of the prophetess of Mandu, shone through the freshness and
> elegance of their costumes. My gown, as well as the traveling suits of
> the colonel and of Mr. Y---- were nearly torn to pieces. The cactuses
> gathered from us whatever tribute they could, and the Babu's disheveled
> hair swarmed with a whole colony of grasshoppers and fireflies, which,
> probably, were attracted thither by the smell of cocoa-nut oil. The
> stout Sham Rao panted like a steam engine. Narayan alone was like his
> usual self; that is to say, like a bronze Hercules, armed with a
> club. At the last abrupt turn of the path, after having surmounted the
> difficulty of climbing over huge, scattered stones, we suddenly found
> ourselves on a perfectly smooth place; our eyes, in spite of our many
> torches, were dazzled with light; and our ears were struck by a medley
> of unusual sounds.
> 
> A new glen opened before us, the entrance of which, from the valley,
> was well masked by thick trees. We understood how easily we might have
> wandered round it, without ever suspecting its existence. At the bottom
> of the glen we discovered the abode of the celebrated Kangalim.
> 
> The den, as it turned out, was situated in the ruin of an old Hindu
> temple in tolerably good preservation. In all probability it was built
> long before the "dead city," because during the epoch of the latter, the
> heathen were not allowed to have their own places of worship; and the
> temple stood quite close to the wall of the town, in fact, right under
> it. The cupolas of the two smaller lateral pagodas had fallen long ago,
> and huge bushes grew out of their altars. This evening, their branches
> were hidden under a mass of bright colored rags, bits of ribbon, little
> pots, and various other talismans; because, even in them, popular
> superstition sees something sacred.
> 
> "And are not these poor people right? Did not these bushes grow
> on sacred ground? Is not their sap impregnated with the incense of
> offerings, and the exhalations of holy anchorites, who once lived and
> breathed here?"
> 
> The learned, but superstitious Sham Rao would only answer our questions
> by new questions.
> 
> But the central temple, built of red granite, stood unharmed by time,
> and, as we learned afterwards, a deep tunnel opened just behind its
> closely-shut door. What was beyond it no one knew. Sham Rao assured
> us that no man of the last three generations had ever stepped over the
> threshold of this thick iron door; no one had seen the subterranean
> passage for many years. Kangalim lived there in perfect isolation, and,
> according to the oldest people in the neighborhood, she had always lived
> there. Some people said she was three hundred years old; others alleged
> that a certain old man on his death-bed had revealed to his son that
> this old woman was no one else than his own uncle. This fabulous uncle
> had settled in the cave in the times when the "dead city" still counted
> several hundreds of inhabitants. The hermit, busy paving his road to
> Moksha, had no intercourse with the rest of the world, and nobody knew
> how he lived and what he ate. But a good while ago, in the days when the
> Bellati (foreigners) had not yet taken possession of this mountain, the
> old hermit suddenly was transformed into a hermitess. She continues
> his pursuits and speaks with his voice, and often in his name; but she
> receives worshippers, which was not the practice of her predecessor.
> 
> We had come too early, and the Pythia did not at first appear. But
> the square before the temple was full of people, and a wild, though
> picturesque, scene it was. An enormous bonfire blazed in the centre,
> and round it crowded the naked savages like so many black gnomes, adding
> whole branches of trees sacred to the seven sister-goddesses. Slowly
> and evenly they all jumped from one leg to another to a tune of a single
> monotonous musical phrase, which they repeated in chorus, accompanied
> by several local drums and tambourines. The hushed trill of the latter
> mingled with the forest echoes and the hysterical moans of two little
> girls, who lay under a heap of leaves by the fire. The poor children
> were brought here by their mothers, in the hope that the goddesses
> would take pity upon them and banish the two evil spirits under whose
> obsession they were. Both mothers were quite young, and sat on their
> heels blankly and sadly staring at the flames. No one paid us the
> slightest attention when we appeared, and afterwards during all our
> stay these people acted as if we were invisible. Had we worn a cap of
> darkness they could not have behaved more strangely.
> 
> "They feel the approach of the gods! The atmosphere is full of their
> sacred emanations!" mysteriously explained Sham Rao, contemplating
> with reverence the natives, whom his beloved Haeckel might have easily
> mistaken for his "missing link," the brood of his " Bathybius Haeckelii."
> 
> "They are simply under the influence of toddy and opium!" retorted the
> irreverent Babu.
> 
> The lookers-on moved as in a dream, as if they all were only
> half-awakened somnambulists; but the actors were simply victims of St.
> Vitus's dance. One of them, a tall old man, a mere skeleton with a long
> white beard, left the ring and begun whirling vertiginously, with his
> arms spread like wings, and loudly grinding his long, wolf-like teeth.
> He was painful and disgusting to look at. He soon fell down, and was
> carelessly, almost mechanically, pushed aside by the feet of the others
> still engaged in their demoniac performance.
> 
> All this was frightful enough, but many more horrors were in store for
> us.
> 
> Waiting for the appearance of the prima donna of this forest opera
> company, we sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, ready to ask
> innumerable questions of our condescending host. But I was hardly
> seated, when a feeling of indescribable astonishment and horror made me
> shrink back.
> 
> I beheld the skull of a monstrous animal, the like of which I could not
> find in my zoological reminiscences. This head was much larger than the
> head of an elephant skeleton. And still it could not be anything but an
> elephant, judging by the skillfully restored trunk, which wound down
> to my feet like a gigantic black leech. But an elephant has no horns,
> whereas this one had four of them! The front pair stuck from the flat
> forehead slightly bending forward and then spreading out; and the
> others had a wide base, like the root of a deer's horn, that gradually
> decreased almost up to the middle, and bore long branches enough to
> decorate a dozen ordinary elks. Pieces of the transparent amber-yellow
> rhinoceros skin were strained over the empty eye-holes of the skull, and
> small lamps burning behind them only added to the horror, the devilish
> appearance of this head.
> 
> "What can this be?" was our unanimous question. None of us had ever met
> anything like it, and even the colonel looked aghast.
> 
> "It is a Sivatherium," said Narayan. "Is it possible you never came
> across these fossils in European museums? Their remains are common
> enough in the Himalayas, though, of course, in fragments. They were
> called after Shiva."
> 
> "If the collector of this district ever hears that this antediluvian
> relic adorns the den of your--ahem!--witch," remarked the Babu, "it
> won't adorn it many days longer."
> 
> All round the skull, and on the floor of the portico there were heaps
> of white flowers, which, though not quite antediluvian, were totally
> unknown to us. They were as large as a big rose; and their white petals
> were covered with a red powder, the inevitable concomitant of every
> Indian religious ceremony. Further on, there were groups of cocoa-nuts,
> and large brass dishes filled with rice; and each adorned with a red
> or green taper. In the centre of the portico there stood a queer-shaped
> censer, surrounded with chandeliers. A little boy, dressed from head to
> foot in white, threw into it handfuls of aromatic powders.
> 
> "These people, who assemble here to worship Kangalim," said Sham Rao,
> "do not actually belong either to her sect or to any other. They are
> devil-worshippers. They do not believe in Hindu gods, but live in small
> communities; they belong to one of the many Indian races, which usually
> are called the hill-tribes. Unlike the Shanars of Southern Travancore,
> they do not use the blood of sacrificial animals; they do not build
> separate temples to their bhutas. But they are possessed by the strange
> fancy that the goddess Kali, the wife of Shiva, from time immemorial
> has had a grudge against them, and sends her favorite evil spirits to
> torture them. Save this little difference, they have the same beliefs as
> the Shanars. God does not exist for them; and even Shiva is considered
> by them as an ordinary spirit. Their chief worship is offered to the
> souls of the dead. These souls, however righteous and kind they may
> be in their lifetime, become after death as wicked as can be; they
> are happy only when they are torturing living men and cattle. As the
> opportunities of doing so are the only reward for the virtues they
> possessed when incarnated, a very wicked man is punished by becoming
> after his death a very soft-hearted ghost; he loathes his loss of
> daring, and is altogether miserable. The results of this strange logic
> are not bad, nevertheless. These savages and devil-worshippers are
> the kindest and the most truth-loving of all the hill-tribes. They do
> whatever they can to be worthy of their ultimate reward; because, don't
> you see, they all long to become the wickedest of devils!...."
> 
> And put in good humor by his own wittiness, Sham Rao laughed till his
> hilarity became offensive, considering the sacredness of the place.
> 
> "A year ago some business matters sent me to Tinevelli," continued he.
> "Staying with a friend of mine, who is a Shanar, I was allowed to be
> present at one of the ceremonies in the honor of devils. No European has
> as yet witnessed this worship--whatever the missionaries may say; but
> there are many converts amongst the Shanars, who willingly describe them
> to the padres. My friend is a wealthy man, which is probably the reason
> why the devils are especially vicious to him. They poison his cattle,
> spoil his crops and his coffee plants, and persecute his numerous
> relations, sending them sunstrokes, madness and epilepsy, over which
> illnesses they especially preside. These wicked demons have settled in
> every corner of his spacious landed property--in the woods, the ruins,
> and even in his stables. To avert all this, my friend covered his land
> with stucco pyramids, and prayed humbly, asking the demons to draw their
> portraits on each of them, so that he may recognize them and worship
> each of them separately, as the rightful owner of this, or that,
> particular pyramid. And what do you think?.... Next morning all
> the pyramids were found covered with drawings. Each of them bore an
> incredibly good likeness of the dead of the neighborhood. My friend had
> known personally almost all of them. He found also a portrait of his own
> late father amongst the lot....."
> 
> "Well? And was he satisfied?"
> 
> "Oh, he was very glad, very satisfied. It enabled him to choose the
> right thing to gratify the personal tastes of each demon, don't you
> see? He was not vexed at finding his father's portrait. His father
> was somewhat irascible; once he nearly broke both his son's legs,
> administering to him fatherly punishment with an iron bar, so that
> he could not possibly be very dangerous after his death. But another
> portrait, found on the best and the prettiest of the pyramids, amazed
> my friend a good deal, and put him in a blue funk. The whole district
> recognized an English officer, a certain Captain Pole, who in his
> lifetime was as kind a gentleman as ever lived."
> 
> "Indeed? But do you mean to say that this strange people worshipped
> Captain Pole also?"
> 
> "Of course they did! Captain Pole was such a worthy man, such an honest
> officer, that, after his death, he could not help being promoted to the
> highest rank of Shanar devils. The Pe-Kovil, demon's house, sacred to
> his memory, stands side by side with the Pe-Kovil Bhadrakali, which was
> recently conferred on the wife of a certain German missionary, who also
> was a most charitable lady and so is very dangerous now."
> 
> "But what are their ceremonies? Tell us something about their rites."
> 
> "Their rites consist chiefly of dancing, singing, and killing
> sacrificial animals. The Shanars have no castes, and eat all kinds of
> meat. The crowd assembles about the Pe-Kovil, previously designated by
> the priest; there is a general beating of drums, and slaughtering of
> fowls, sheep and goats. When Captain Pole's turn came an ox was killed,
> as a thoughtful attention to the peculiar tastes of his nation. The
> priest appeared, covered with bangles, and holding a wand on which
> tinkled numberless little bells, and wearing garlands of red and white
> flowers round his neck, and a black mantle, on which were embroidered
> the ugliest fiends you can imagine. Horns were blown and drums rolled
> incessantly. And oh, I forgot to tell you there was also a kind of
> fiddle, the secret of which is known only to the Shanar priesthood. Its
> bow is ordinary enough, made of bamboo; but it is whispered that the
> strings are human veins.... When Captain Pole took possession of the
> priest's body, the priest leapt high in the air, and then rushed on the
> ox and killed him. He drank off the hot blood, and then began his
> dance. But what a fright he was when dancing! You know, I am not
> superstitious.... Am I?..."
> 
> Sham Rao looked at us inquiringly, and I, for one, was glad, at this
> moment, that Miss X---- was half a mile off, asleep in the howdah.
> 
> "He turned, and turned, as if possessed by all the demons of Naraka. The
> enraged crowd hooted and howled when the priest begun to inflict deep
> wounds all over his body with the bloody sacrificial knife. To see him,
> with his hair waving in the wind and his mouth covered with foam; to see
> him bathing in the blood of the sacrificed animal, mixing it with his
> own, was more than I could bear. I felt as if hallucinated, I fancied I
> also was spinning round...."
> 
> Sham Rao stopped abruptly, struck dumb. Kangalim stood before us!
> 
> Her appearance was so unexpected that we all felt embarrassed. Carried
> away by Sham Rao's description, we had noticed neither how nor whence
> she came. Had she appeared from beneath the earth we could not have been
> more astonished. Narayan stared at her, opening wide his big jet-black
> eyes; the Babu clicked his tongue in utter confusion. Imagine a skeleton
> seven feet high, covered with brown leather, with a dead child's tiny
> head stuck on its bony shoulders; the eyes set so deep and at the same
> time flashing such fiendish flames all through your body that you begin
> to feel your brain stop working, your thoughts become entangled and your
> blood freeze in your veins.
> 
> I describe my personal impressions, and no words of mine can do them
> justice. My description is too weak.
> 
> Mr. Y---- and the colonel both grew pale under her stare, and Mr.
> Y----made a movement as if about to rise.
> 
> Needless to say that such an impression could not last. As soon as the
> witch had turned her gleaming eyes to the kneeling crowd, it vanished
> as swiftly as it had come. But still all our attention was fixed on this
> remarkable creature.
> 
> Three hundred years old! Who can tell? Judging by her appearance, we
> might as well conjecture her to be a thousand. We beheld a genuine
> living mummy, or rather a mummy endowed with motion. She seemed to have
> been withering since the creation. Neither time, nor the ills of life,
> nor the elements could ever affect this living statue of death. The
> all-destroying hand of time had touched her and stopped short. Time
> could do no more, and so had left her. And with all this, not a single
> grey hair. Her long black locks shone with a greenish sheen, and fell in
> heavy masses down to her knees.
> 
> To my great shame, I must confess that a disgusting reminiscence flashed
> into my memory. I thought about the hair and the nails of corpses
> growing in the graves, and tried to examine the nails of the old woman.
> 
> Meanwhile, she stood motionless as if suddenly transformed into an ugly
> idol. In one hand she held a dish with a piece of burning camphor, in
> the other a handful of rice, and she never removed her burning eyes from
> the crowd. The pale yellow flame of the camphor flickered in the wind,
> and lit up her deathlike head, almost touching her chin; but she paid no
> heed to it. Her neck, as wrinkled as a mushroom, as thin as a stick, was
> surrounded by three rows of golden medallions. Her head was adorned with
> a golden snake. Her grotesque, hardly human body was covered by a piece
> of saffron-yellow muslin.
> 
> The demoniac little girls raised their heads from be-neath the leaves,
> and set up a prolonged animal-like howl. Their example was followed by
> the old man, who lay exhausted by his frantic dance.
> 
> The witch tossed her head convulsively, and began her invocations,
> rising on tiptoe, as if moved by some external force.
> 
> "The goddess, one of the seven sisters, begins to take possession of
> her," whispered Sham Rao, not even thinking of wiping away the big drops
> of sweat that streamed from his brow. "Look, look at her!"
> 
> This advice was quite superfluous. We were looking at her, and at
> nothing else.
> 
> At first, the movements of the witch were slow, unequal, somewhat
> convulsive; then, gradually, they became less angular; at last, as if
> catching the cadence of the drums, leaning all her long body forward,
> and writhing like an eel, she rushed round and round the blazing
> bonfire. A dry leaf caught in a hurricane could not fly swifter. Her
> bare bony feet trod noiselessly on the rocky ground. The long locks of
> her hair flew round her like snakes, lashing the spectators, who knelt,
> stretching their trembling arms towards her, and writhing as if they
> were alive. Whoever was touched by one of this Fury's black curls, fell
> down on the ground, overcome with happiness, shouting thanks to the
> goddess, and considering himself blessed for ever. It was not human hair
> that touched the happy elect, it was the goddess herself, one of the
> seven. Swifter and swifter fly her decrepit legs; the young, vigorous
> hands of the drummer can hardly follow her. But she does not think
> of catching the measure of his music; she rushes, she flies forward.
> Staring with her expressionless, motionless orbs at something before
> her, at something that is not visible to our mortal eyes, she hardly
> glances at her worshippers; then her look becomes full of fire; and
> whoever she looks at feels burned through to the marrow of his bones.
> At every glance she throws a few grains of rice. The small handful seems
> inexhaustible, as if the wrinkled palm contained the bottomless bag of
> Prince Fortunatus.
> 
> Suddenly she stops as if thunderstruck.
> 
> The mad race round the bonfire had lasted twelve minutes, but we looked
> in vain for a trace of fatigue on the deathlike face of the witch. She
> stopped only for a moment, just the necessary time for the goddess to
> release her. As soon as she felt free, by a single effort she jumped
> over the fire and plunged into the deep tank by the portico. This time,
> she plunged only once; and whilst she stayed under the water, the
> second sister-goddess entered her body. The little boy in white produced
> another dish, with a new piece of burning camphor, just in time for the
> witch to take it up, and to rush again on her headlong way.
> 
> The colonel sat with his watch in his hand. During the second obsession
> the witch ran, leaped, and raced for exactly fourteen minutes. After
> this, she plunged twice in the tank, in honor of the second sister; and
> with every new obsession the number of her plunges increased, till it
> became six.
> 
> It was already an hour and a half since the race began. All this time
> the witch never rested, stopping only for a few seconds, to disappear
> under the water.
> 
> "She is a fiend, she cannot be a woman!" exclaimed the colonel, seeing
> the head of the witch immersed for the sixth time in the water.
> 
> "Hang me if I know!" grumbled Mr. Y----, nervously pulling his beard.
> "The only thing I know is that a grain of her cursed rice entered my
> throat, and I can't get it out!"
> 
> "Hush, hush! Please, do be quiet!" implored Sham Rao. "By talking you
> will spoil the whole business!"
> 
> I glanced at Narayan and lost myself in conjectures. His features, which
> usually were so calm and serene, were quite altered at this moment, by a
> deep shadow of suffering. His lips trembled, and the pupils of his eyes
> were dilated, as if by a dose of belladonna. His eyes were lifted over
> the heads of the crowd, as if in his disgust he tried not to see what
> was before him, and at the same time could not see it, engaged in a deep
> reverie, which carried him away from us, and from the whole performance.
> 
> "What is the matter with him?" was my thought, but I had no time to ask
> him, because the witch was again in full swing, chasing her own shadow.
> 
> But with the seventh goddess the programme was slightly changed. The
> running of the old woman changed to leaping. Sometimes bending down to
> the ground, like a black panther, she leaped up to some worshipper, and
> halting before him touched his forehead with her finger, while her long,
> thin body shook with inaudible laughter. Then, again, as if shrinking
> back playfully from her shadow, and chased by it, in some uncanny game,
> the witch appeared to us like a horrid caricature of Dinorah, dancing
> her mad dance. Suddenly she straightened herself to her full height,
> darted to the portico and crouched before the smoking censer, beating
> her forehead against the granite steps. Another jump, and she was quite
> close to us, before the head of the monstrous Sivatherium. She knelt
> down again and bowed her head to the ground several times, with the
> sound of an empty barrel knocked against something hard.
> 
> We had hardly the time to spring to our feet and shrink back when she
> appeared on the top of the Sivatherium's head, standing there amongst
> the horns.
> 
> Narayan alone did not stir, and fearlessly looked straight in the eyes
> of the frightful sorceress.
> 
> But what was this? Who spoke in those deep manly tones? Her lips were
> moving, from her breast were issuing those quick, abrupt phrases, but
> the voice sounded hollow as if coming from beneath the ground.
> 
> "Hush, hush!" whispered Sham Rao, his whole body trembling. "She is
> going to prophesy!.... " "She?" incredulously inquired Mr. Y----. "This
> a woman's voice? I don't believe it for a moment. Someone's uncle must
> be stowed away somewhere about the place. Not the fabulous uncle she
> inherited from, but a real live one!..."
> 
> Sham Rao winced under the irony of this supposition, and cast an
> imploring look at the speaker.
> 
> "Woe to you! woe to you!" echoed the voice. "Woe to you, children of
> the impure Jaya and Vijaya! of the mocking, unbelieving lingerers round
> great Shiva's door! Ye, who are cursed by eighty thousand sages! Woe to
> you who believe not in the goddess Kali, and you who deny us, her Seven
> divine Sisters! Flesh-eating, yellow-legged vultures! friends of the
> oppressors of our land! dogs who are not ashamed to eat from the same
> trough with the Bellati!" (foreigners).
> 
> "It seems to me that your prophetess only foretells the past," said Mr.
> Y----, philosophically putting his hands in his pockets. "I should say
> that she is hinting at you, my dear Sham Rao."
> 
> "Yes! and at us also," murmured the colonel, who was evidently beginning
> to feel uneasy.
> 
> As to the unlucky Sham Rao, he broke out in a cold sweat, and tried to
> assure us that we were mistaken, that we did not fully understand her
> language.
> 
> "It is not about you, it is not about you! It is of me she speaks,
> because I am in Government service. Oh, she is inexorable!"
> 
> "Rakshasas! Asuras!" thundered the voice. "How dare you appear before
> us? how dare you to stand on this holy ground in boots made of a cow's
> sacred skin? Be cursed for etern----"
> 
> But her curse was not destined to be finished. In an instant the
> Hercules-like Narayan had fallen on the Sivatherium, and upset the whole
> pile, the skull, the horns and the demoniac Pythia included. A second
> more, and we thought we saw the witch flying in the air towards the
> portico. A confused vision of a stout, shaven Brahman, suddenly emerging
> from under the Sivatherium and instantly disappearing in the hollow
> beneath it, flashed before my dilated eyes.
> 
> But, alas! after the third second had passed, we all came to the
> embarrassing conclusion that, judging from the loud clang of the door
> of the cave, the representative of the Seven Sisters had ignominiously
> fled. The moment she had disappeared from our inquisitive eyes to her
> subterranean domain, we all realized that the unearthly hollow voice we
> had heard had nothing supernatural about it and belonged to the Brahman
> hidden under the Sivatherium--to someone's live uncle, as Mr. Y---- had
> rightly supposed.
> 
> Oh, Narayan! how carelessly.... how disorderly the worlds rotate around
> us.... I begin to seriously doubt their reality. From this moment I
> shall earnestly believe that all things in the universe are nothing but
> illusion, a mere Maya. I am becoming a Vedantin.... I doubt that in the
> whole universe there may be found anything more objective than a Hindu
> witch flying up the spout.----
> 
> Miss X---- woke up, and asked what was the meaning of all this
> noise. The noise of many voices and the sounds of the many retreating
> footsteps, the general rush of the crowd, had frightened her. She
> listened to us with a condescending smile, and a few yawns, and went to
> sleep again.
> 
> Next morning, at daybreak, we very reluctantly, it must be owned, bade
> good-bye to the kind-hearted, good-natured Sham Rao. The confoundingly
> easy victory of Narayan hung heavily on his mind. His faith in the holy
> hermitess and the seven goddesses was a good deal shaken by the shameful
> capitulation of the Sisters, who had surrendered at the first blow from
> a mere mortal. But during the dark hours of the night he had had time to
> think it over, and to shake off the uneasy feeling of having unwillingly
> misled and disappointed his European friends.
> 
> Sham Rao still looked confused when he shook hands with us at parting,
> and expressed to us the best wishes of his family and himself.
> 
> As to the heroes of this truthful narrative, they mounted their
> elephants once more, and directed their heavy steps towards the high
> road and Jubbulpore.
> 
> God's Warrior
> 
> The direction of our pilgrimage of self-improvement lay towards the
> north-west, as was previously decided. We were very impatient to see
> these status in statu of Anglo-India, but.... Do what you may, there
> always will be a but.
> 
> We left the Jubbulpore line several miles from Nassik; and, to return to
> it, we had to go back to Akbarpur, then travel by doubtful Local-Board
> roads to the station Vanevad and take the train of Holkar's line, which
> joins the Great Indian Peninsular Railway.
> 
> Meanwhile, the Bagh caves were quite close to us, not more than fifty
> miles off, to the east from Mandu. We were undecided whether to leave
> them alone or go back to the Nerbudda. In the country situated on the
> other side of Kandesh, our Babu had some "chums," as everywhere else in
> India; the omnipresent Bengali Babus, who are always glad to be of
> some service to you, are scattered all over Hindostan, like the Jews in
> Russia. Besides, our party was joined by a new member.
> 
> The day before we had received a letter from Swami Dayanand, carried to
> us by a traveling Sannyasi. Dayanand informed us that the cholera was
> increasing every day in Hardwar, and that we must postpone making his
> acquaintance personally till the end of May, either in Dehra-Dun, at the
> foot of Himalaya, or in Saharanpur, which attracts every tourist by its
> charming situation.
> 
> The Sannyasi brought us also a nosegay from the Swami, a nosegay of the
> most extraordinary flowers, which are totally unknown in Europe. They
> grow only in certain Himalayan valleys; they possess the wonderful
> capacity of changing their color after midday, and do not look dead even
> when faded. The Latin name of this charming plant is Hibiscus mutabilis.
> At night they are nothing but a large knot of pressed green leaves,
> but from dawn till ten o'clock the flowers open and look like large
> snow-white roses; then, towards twelve o'clock, they begin to redden,
> and later in the afternoon they look as crimson as a peony. These
> flowers are sacred to the Asuras, a kind of fallen angels in Hindu
> mythology, and to the sun-god Surya. The latter deity fell in love with
> an Asuri at the beginning of creation, and since then is constantly
> caught whispering words of fiery love to the flower that shelters her.
> But the Asura is a virgin; she gives herself entirely to the service
> of the goddess Chastity, who is the patroness of all the ascetic
> brotherhoods. The love of Surya is vain, Asura will not listen to him.
> But under the flaming arrows of the enamoured god she blushes and in
> appearance loses her purity. The natives call this plant lajjalu, the
> modest one.
> 
> We were spending the night by a brook, under a shadowy fig-tree. The
> Sannyasi, who had made a wide circuit to fulfil Dayanand's request, made
> friends with us; and we sat up late in the night, listening whilst he
> talked about his travels, the wonders of his native country, once so
> great, and about the heroic deeds of old Runjit-Sing, the Lion of the
> Punjab.
> 
> Strange, mysterious beings are found sometimes amongst these traveling
> monks. Some of them are very learned; read and talk Sanskrit; know all
> about modern science and politics; and, nevertheless, remain faithful to
> their ancient philosophical conceptions. Generally they do not wear any
> clothes, except a piece of muslin round the loins, which is insisted
> upon by the police of the towns inhabited by Europeans. They wander from
> the age of fifteen, all their lives, and die generally very aged. They
> live never giving a thought to the morrow, like the birds of heaven, and
> the lilies of the field. They never touch money, and are contented with
> a handful of rice. All their worldly possessions consist of a small dry
> pumpkin to carry water, a rosary, a brass cup and a walking stick.
> The Sannyasis and the Swamis are usually Sikhs from the Punjab, and
> monotheists. They despise idol-worshipers, and have nothing to do with
> them, though the latter very often call themselves by their names.
> 
> Our new friend was a native of Amritsar, in the Punjab, and had been
> brought up in the "Golden Temple," on the banks of Amrita-Saras, the
> "Lake of Immortality." The head Guru, or instructor, of Sikhs resides
> there. He never crosses the boundaries of the temple. His chief
> occupation is the study of the book called Adigrantha, which belongs to
> the sacred literature of this strange bellicose sect. The Sikhs respect
> him as much as the Tibetans respect their Dalai-Lama. The Lamas in
> general consider the latter to be the incarnation of Buddha, the Sikhs
> think that the Maha-Guru of Amritsar is the incarnation of Nanak, the
> founder of their sect. Nevertheless, no true Sikh will ever say that
> Nanak was a deity; they look on him as a prophet, inspired by the spirit
> of the only God. This shows that our Sannyasi was not one of the
> naked travelling monks, but a true Akali; one of the six hundred
> warrior-priests attached to the Golden Temple, for the purpose of
> serving God and protecting the temple from the destructive Mussulmans.
> His name was Ram-Runjit-Das; and his personal appearance was in perfect
> accordance with his title of "God's warrior." His exterior was very
> remarkable and typical; and he looked like a muscular centurion of
> ancient Roman legions, rather than a peaceable servant of the altar.
> Ram-Runjit-Das appeared to us mounted on a magnificent horse, and
> accompanied by another Sikh, who respectfully walked some distance
> behind him, and was evidently passing through his noviciate. Our Hindu
> companions had discerned that he was an Akali, when he was still in the
> distance. He wore a bright blue tunic without sleeves, exactly like that
> we see on the statues of Roman warriors. Broad steel bracelets protected
> his strong arms, and a shield protruded from behind his back. A blue,
> conical turban covered his head, and round his waist were many steel
> circlets. The enemies of the Sikhs assert that these sacred sectarian
> belts become more dangerous in the hand of an experienced "God's
> warrior," than any other weapon.
> 
> The Sikhs are the bravest and the most warlike sect of the whole Punjab.
> The word sikh means disciple. Founded in the fifteenth century by the
> wealthy and noble Brahman Nanak, the new teaching spread so successfully
> amongst the northern soldiers, that in 1539 A.D., when the founder died,
> it counted one hundred thousand followers. At the present time, this
> sect, harmonizing closely with the fiery natural mysticism, and the
> warlike tendencies of the natives, is the reigning creed of the whole
> Punjab. It is based on the principles of theocratic rule; but its dogmas
> are almost totally unknown to Europeans; the teachings, the religious
> conceptions, and the rites of the Sikhs, are kept secret. The following
> details are known generally: the Sikhs are ardent monotheists, they
> refuse to recognize caste; have no restrictions in diet, like Europeans;
> and bury their dead, which, except among Mussulmans, is a rare exception
> in India. The second volume of the Adigrantha teaches them "to adore the
> only true God; to avoid superstitions; to help the dead, that they
> may lead a righteous life; and to earn one's living, sword in hand."
> Govinda, one of the great Gurus of the Sikhs, ordered them never to
> shave their beards and moustaches, and not to cut their hair--in order
> that they may not be mistaken for Mussulmans or any other native of
> India.
> 
> Many a desperate battle the Sikhs fought and won, against the
> Mussulmans, and against the Hindus. Their leader, the celebrated
> Runjit-Sing, after having been acknowledged the autocrat of the Upper
> Punjab, concluded a treaty with Lord Auckland, at the beginning of this
> century, in which his country was proclaimed an independent state. But
> after the death of the "old lion," his throne became the cause of the
> most dreadful civil wars and disorders. His son, Maharaja Dhulip-Sing,
> proved quite unfit for the high post he inherited from his father,
> and, under him, the Sikhs became an ill-disciplined restless mob. Their
> attempt to conquer the whole of Hindostan proved disastrous. Persecuted
> by his own soldiers, Dhulip-Sing sought the help of Englishmen, and was
> sent away to Scotland. And some time after this, the Sikhs took their
> place amongst the rest of Britain's Indian subjects.
> 
> But still there remains a strong body of the great Sikh sect of old.
> The Kuks represent the most dangerous underground current of the popular
> hatred. This new sect was founded about thirty years ago [written in
> 1879] by Balaka-Rama, and, at first, formed a bulk of people near Attok,
> in the Punjab, on the east bank of the Indus, exactly on the spot where
> the latter becomes navigable. Balaka-Rama had a double aim; to restore
> the religion of the Sikhs to its pristine purity, and to organize a
> secret political body, which must be ready for everything, at a moment's
> notice. This brotherhood consists of sixty thousand members, who pledged
> themselves never to reveal their secrets, and never to disobey any order
> of their leaders. In Attok they are few, for the town is small. But we
> were assured that the Kuks live everywhere in India. Their community
> is so perfectly organized that it is impossible to find them out, or to
> learn the names of their leaders.
> 
> In the course of the evening our Akali presented us with a little
> crystal bottle, filled with water from the "Lake of Immortality." He
> said that a drop of it would cure all diseases of the eye. There are
> numbers of fresh springs at the bottom of this lake, and so its water is
> wonderfully pure and transparent, in spite of hundreds of people daily
> bathing in it. When, later on, we visited it, we had the opportunity to
> verify the fact that the smallest stone at the bottom is seen perfectly
> distinctly, all over the one hundred and fifty square yards of the lake.
> Amrita-Saran is the most charming of all the sights of Northern India.
> The reflection of the Golden Temple in its crystal waters makes a
> picture that is simply feerique.
> 
> We had still seven weeks at our disposal. We were undecided between
> exploring the Bombay Presidency, the North-West Provinces and the
> Rajistan. Which were we to choose? Where were we to go? How best to
> employ our time? Before such a variety of interesting places we became
> irresolute. Hyderabad, which is said to transport the tourists into the
> scenery of the Arabian Nights, seemed so attractive that we seriously
> thought of turning our elephants back to the territory of the Nizam.
> We grew fond of the idea of visiting this "City of the Lion," which was
> built in 1589 by the magnificent Mohamed-Kuli-Kuth-Shah, who was so used
> to luxuries of every kind as to grow weary even of Golkonda, with all
> its fairyland castles and bright gardens. Some buildings of
> Hyderabad, mere remnants of the past glory, are still known to
> renown. Mir-Abu-Talib, the keeper of the Royal Treasury, states that
> Mohamed-Kuli-Shah spent the fabulous sum of L 2,800,000 sterling on the
> embellishment of the town, at the beginning of his reign; though the
> labor of the workmen did not cost him anything at all. Save these few
> memorials of greatness, the town looks like a heap of rubbish nowadays.
> But all tourists are unanimous on one point, namely, that the British
> Residency of Hyderabad still deserves its title of the Versailles of
> India.
> 
> The title the British Residency bears, and everything it may contain at
> the present time, are mere trifles compared with the past. I remember
> reading a chapter of the History of Hyderabad, by an English author,
> which contained something to the following effect: Whilst the Resident
> entertained the gentlemen, his wife was similarly employed receiving the
> ladies a few yards off, in a separate palace, which was as sumptuous,
> and bore the name of Rang-Mahal. Both palaces were built by Colonel
> Kirkpatrick, the late minister at the Nizam's court. Having married a
> native princess, he constructed this charming abode for her personal
> use. Its garden is surrounded by a high wall, as is customary in the
> Orient, and the centre of the garden is adorned with a large marble
> fountain, covered with scenes from the Ramayana, and mosaics, Pavilions,
> galleries and terraces--everything in this garden is loaded with
> adornments of the most costly Oriental style, that is to say, with
> abundance of inlaid designs, paintings, gilding, ivory and marble. The
> great attraction of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's receptions were the nautches,
> magnificently dressed, thanks to the generosity of the Resident. Some
> of them wore a cargo of jewels worth L 30,000, and literally shone from
> head to foot with diamonds and other precious stones.
> 
> The glorious times of the East India Company are beyond recall, and
> no Residents, and even no native princes, could now afford to be so
> "generous." India, this "most precious diamond of the British crown," is
> utterly exhausted, like a pile of gold in the hands of an alchemist, who
> thriftlessly spent it in the hope of finding the philosopher's stone.
> Besides ruining themselves and the country, the Anglo-Indians commit the
> greatest blunders, at least in two points of their present Government
> system. These two points are: first, the Western education they give to
> the higher classes; and, secondly, the protection and maintenance of the
> rights of idol worship. Neither of these systems is wise. By means of
> the first they successfully replace the religious feelings of old India,
> which, however false, had the great advantage of being sincere, by a
> positive atheism amongst the young generation of the Brahmans; and by
> the means of the second they flatter only the ignorant masses, from
> whom nothing is to be feared under any circumstances. If the patriotic
> feelings of the bulk of the population could possibly be roused, the
> English would have been slaughtered long ago. The rural populace is
> unarmed, it is true, but a crowd seeking revenge could use the brass and
> stone idols, sent to India by thousands from Birmingham, with as great
> success as if they were so many swords. But, as it is, the masses of
> India are indifferent and harmless; so that the only existing danger
> comes from the side of the educated classes. And the English fail to see
> that the better the education they give them, the more careful they must
> be to avoid reopening the old wounds, always alive to new injury, in
> the heart of every true Hindu. The Hindus are proud of the past of their
> country, dreams of past glories are their only compensation for the
> bitter present. The English education they receive only enables them
> to learn that Europe was plunged in the darkness of the Stone Age, when
> India was in the full growth of her splendid civilization. And so the
> comparison of their past with their present is only the more sad. This
> consideration never hinders the Anglo-Indians from hurting the feelings
> of the Hindus. For instance, in the unanimous opinion of travelers
> and antiquarians, the most interesting building of Hyderabad is
> Chahar-Minar, a college that was built by Mohamed-Kuli-Khan on the ruins
> of a still more ancient college. It is built at the crossing of four
> streets, on four arches, which are so high that loaded camels and
> elephants with their turrets pass through freely. Over these arches rise
> the several stories of the college. Each story once was destined for
> a separate branch of learning. Alas! the times when India studied
> philosophy and astronomy at the feet of her great sages are gone, and
> the English have transformed the college itself into a warehouse. The
> hall, which served for the study of astronomy, and was filled with
> quaint, medieval apparatus, is now used for a depot of opium; and the
> hall of philosophy contains huge boxes of liqueurs, rum and champagne,
> which are prohibited by the Koran, as well as by the Brahmans.
> 
> We were so enchanted by what we heard about Hyderabad, that we resolved
> to start thither the very next morning, when our ciceroni and companions
> destroyed all our plans by a single word. This word was: heat. During
> the hot season in Hyderabad the thermometer reaches ninety-eight degrees
> Fahrenheit in the shade, and the temperature of the water in the Indus
> is the temperature of the blood. As to Upper Sindh, where the dryness of
> the air, and the extreme aridity of the sandy soil reproduce the Sahara
> in miniature, the usual shade temperature is one hundred and thirty
> degrees Fahrenheit. No wonder the missionaries have no chance there.
> The most eloquent of Dante's descriptions of hell could hardly produce
> anything but a cooling effect on a populace who live perfectly contented
> under these circumstances.
> 
> Calculating that there was no obstacle to our going to the Bagh caves,
> and that going to Sindh was a perfect impossibility, we recovered our
> equanimity. Then the general council decided that we had better abandon
> all ideas of a predetermined plan, and travel as fancy led us.
> 
> We dismissed our elephants, and next day, a little before sunset,
> arrived at the spot where the Vagrey and Girna join. These are two
> little rivers, quite famous in the annals of the Indian mythology, and
> which are generally conspicuous by their absence, especially in summer.
> At the opposite side of the river, there lay the illustrious Bagh caves,
> with their four openings blinking in the thick evening mist.
> 
> We thought of crossing to them immediately, by the help of a ferry boat,
> but our Hindu friends and the boat-men interposed. The former said
> that visiting these caves is dangerous even by daytime; because all the
> neighborhood is full of beasts of prey and of tigers, who, I concluded,
> are like the Bengali Babus, to be met with everywhere in India. Before
> venturing into these caves, you must send a reconnoitring party of
> torch-bearers and armed shikaris. As to the boatmen, they protested on
> different grounds, but protested strongly. They said that no Hindu would
> dare to approach these caves after the sun set. No one but a Bellati
> would fancy that Vagrey and Girna are ordinary rivers, for every Hindu
> knows they are divine spouses, the god Shiva and his wife Parvati.
> This, in the first instance; and in the second, the Bagh tigers are no
> ordinary tigers either. The sahibs are totally mistaken. These tigers
> are the servants of the Sadhus, of the holy miracle-workers, who have
> haunted the caves now for many centuries, and who deign sometimes to
> take the shape of a tiger. And neither the gods, nor the Sadhus, nor
> the glamour, nor the true tigers are fond of being disturbed in their
> nightly rest.
> 
> What could we say against all this? We cast one more sorrowful look
> at the caves, and returned to our antediluvian carriages. The Babu and
> Narayan said we must spend the night at the house of a certain "chum"
> of the Babu, who resided in a small town, three miles further on, and
> bearing the same name as the caves; and we unwillingly acquiesced.
> 
> Many things in India are wonderful and unintelligible, but one of the
> most wonderful and the most unintelligible, is the geographical and the
> topographical disposition of the numberless territories of this country.
> Political conjunctures in India seem to be everlastingly playing the
> French game casse-tete, changing the pattern, diminishing one part and
> adding to another. The land that only yesterday belonged to this Raja or
> that Takur, is sure to be found today in the hands of quite a different
> set of people. For instance, we were in the Raj of Amjir in Malva, and
> we were going to the little city of Bagh, which also belongs to Malva
> and is included in the Amjir Raj. In the documents, Malva is included
> in the independent possessions of Holkar; and nevertheless the Amjir Raj
> does not belong to Tukuji-Rao-Holkar, but to the son of the independent
> Raja of Amjir, who was hanged, "by inadvertence" as we were assured, in
> 1857. The city, and the caves of Bagh, very oddly belong to the Maharaja
> Sindya of Gwalior, who, besides, does not own them personally, having
> made a kind of present of them, and their nine thousand rupees of
> revenue, to some poor relation. This poor relation, in his turn, does
> not enjoy the property in the least, because a certain Rajput Takur
> stole it from him, and will not consent to give it back. Bagh is
> situated on the road from Gujerat to Malva, in the defile of Oodeypur,
> which is owned accordingly by the Maharana of Oodeypur. Bagh itself is
> built on the top of a woody hillock, and being disputed property does
> not belong to any one in particular, properly speaking; but a small
> fortress, and a bazaar in the centre of it are the private possessions
> of a certain dhani; who, besides being the chieftain of the Bhimalah
> tribe, was the personal "chum" of our Babu, and a "great thief and
> highway robber," according to the assertions of the said Babu.
> 
> "But why do you intend taking us to the place of a man whom you consider
> as a thief and a robber?" objected one of us timidly.
> 
> "He is a thief and a brigand," coolly answered the Bengali, "but only in
> the political sense. Otherwise he is an excellent man, and the truest
> of friends. Besides, if he does not help us, we shall starve; the bazaar
> and everything in the shops belong to him."
> 
> These explanations of the Babu notwithstanding, we were glad to learn
> that the "chum" in question was absent, and we were received by a
> relation of his. The garden was put at our disposal, and before our
> tents were pitched, we saw people coming from every side of the garden,
> bringing us provisions. Having deposited what he had brought, each of
> them, on leaving the tent, threw over his shoulder a pinch of betel and
> soft sugar, an offering to the "foreign bhutas," which were supposed to
> accompany us wherever we went. The Hindus of our party asked us,
> very seriously, not to laugh at this performance, saying it would be
> dangerous in this out-of-the-way place.
> 
> No doubt they were right. We were in Central India, the very nest of
> all kinds of superstitions, and were surrounded by Bhils. All along the
> Vindya ridge, from Yama, on the west of the "dead city," the country is
> thickly populated by this most daring, restless and superstitious of all
> the half-savage tribes of India.
> 
> The Orientalists think that the naive Bhils comes from the Sanskrit root
> bhid, which means to separate. Sir J. Malcolm supposes accordingly that
> the Bhils are sectarians, who separated from the Brahmanical creed,
> and were excommunicated. All this looks very probable, but their tribal
> traditions say something different. Of course, in this case, as in every
> other, their history is strongly entangled with mythology; and one has
> to go through a thick shrubbery of fancy before reaching the tribe's
> genealogical tree.
> 
> The relation of the absent dhani, who spent the evening with us, told
> us the following: The Bhils are the descendants of one of the sons of
> Mahadeva, or Shiva, and of a fair woman, with blue eyes and a white
> face, whom he met in some forest on the other side of the Kalapani,
> "black waters," or ocean. This pair had several sons, one of whom, as
> handsome as he was vicious, killed the favorite ox of his grandfather
> Maha-deva, and was banished by his father to the Jodpur desert. Banished
> to its remotest southern corner, he married; and soon his descendants
> filled the whole country. They scattered along the Vindya ridge, on
> the western frontier of Malva and Kandesh; and, later, in the woody
> wilderness, on the shores of the rivers Maha, Narmada and Tapti. And all
> of them, inheriting the beauty of their forefather, his blue eyes and
> fair complexion, inherited also his turbulent disposition and his vice.
> 
> "We are thieves and robbers," naively explained the relative of the
> Babu's "chum," "but we can't help it, because this is the decree of our
> mighty forefather, the great Maha-deva-Shiva. Sending his grandson to
> repent his sins in the desert, he said to him: 'Go, wretched murderer of
> my son and your brother, the ox Nardi; go and live the life of an exile
> and a brigand, to be an everlasting warning to your brethren!... ' These
> are the very words of the great god. Now, do you think we could
> disobey his orders? The least of our actions is always regulated by our
> Bhamyas--chieftains--who are the direct descendants of Nadir-Sing, the
> first Bhil, the child of our exiled ancestor, and being this, it is only
> natural that the great god speaks to us through him."
> 
> Is not it strange that Apis, the sacred ox of the Egyptians, is honored
> by the followers of Zoroaster, as well as by the Hindus? The ox Nardi,
> the emblem of life in nature, is the son of the creating father, or
> rather his life-giving breath. Ammianus Marcellinus mentions, in one of
> his works, that there exists a book which gives the exact age of Apis,
> the clue to the mystery of creation and the cyclic calculations. The
> Brahmans also explain the allegory of the ox Nardi by the continuation
> of life on our globe.
> 
> The "mediators" between Shiva and the Bhils possess such unrestricted
> authority that the most awful crimes are accomplished at their lightest
> word. The tribe have thought it necessary to decrease their power to a
> certain extent by instituting a kind of council in every village. This
> council is called tarvi, and tries to cool down the hot-headed fancies
> of the dhanis, their brigand lords. However, the word of the Bhils is
> sacred, and their hospitality is boundless.
> 
> The history and the annals of the princes of Jodpur and Oodeypur confirm
> the legend of the Bhil emigration from their primitive desert, but how
> they happened to be there nobody knows. Colonel Tod is positive that the
> Bhils, together with the Merases and the Goands, are the aborigines of
> India, as well as the tribes who inhabit the Nerbuda forests. But why
> the Bhils should be almost fair and blue-eyed, whereas the rest of
> the hill-tribes are almost African in type, is a question that is not
> answered by this statement. The fact that all these aborigines call
> themselves Bhumaputra and Vanaputra, sons of the earth and sons of
> the forest, when the Rajputs, their first conquerors, call themselves
> Surya-vansa and the Brahmans Indu-putras, descendants of the sun and
> the moon, does not prove everything. It seems to me, that in the present
> case, their appearance, which confirms their legends, is of much greater
> value than philology. Dr. Clark, the author of Travels in Scandinavia,
> is very logical in saying that, "by directing our attention on the
> traces of the ancient superstitions of a tribe, we shall find out who
> were its primitive forefathers much more easily than by scientific
> examination of their tongue; the superstitions are grafted on the very
> root, whereas the tongue is subjected to all kinds of changes."
> 
> But, unfortunately, everything we know about the history of the Bhils is
> reduced to the above-mentioned tradition, and to a few ancient songs
> of their bards. These bards or bhattas live in Rajistan, but visit
> the Bhils yearly, in order not to lose the leading thread of the
> achievements of their countrymen. Their songs are history, because the
> bhattas have existed from time immemorial, composing their lays for
> future generations, for this is their hereditary duty. And the songs of
> the remotest antiquity point to the lands over the Kalapani as the
> place whence the Bhils came; that is to say, some place in Europe. Some
> Orientalists, especially Colonel Tod, seek to prove that the Rajputs,
> who conquered the Bhils, were newcomers of Scythian origin, and that
> the Bhils are the true aborigines. To prove this, they put forward some
> features common to both peoples, Rajput and Scythian, for instance (1)
> the worship of the sword, the lance, the shield and the horse; (2) the
> worship of, and the sacrifice to, the sun (which, as far as I know,
> never was worshiped by the Scythians); (3) the passion of gambling
> (which again is as strong amongst the Chinese and the Japanese); (4)
> the custom of drinking blood out of the skull of an enemy (which is also
> practised by some aborigines of America), etc., etc.
> 
> I do not intend entering here on a scientific ethnological discussion;
> and, besides, I am sure no one fails to see that the reasoning of
> scientists sometimes takes a very strange turn when they set to prove
> some favorite theory of theirs. It is enough to remember how entangled
> and obscure is the history of the ancient Scythians to abstain from
> drawing any positive conclusions whatsoever from it. The tribes that go
> under one general denomination of Scythians were many, and still it is
> impossible to deny that there is a good deal of similitude between the
> customs of the old Scandinavians, worshipers of Odin, whose land indeed
> was occupied by the Scythians more than five hundred years B.C. and the
> customs of the Rajputs. But this similitude gives as much right to the
> Rajputs to say that we are a colony of Surya-vansas settled in the West
> as to us to maintain that the Rajputs are the descendants of Scythians
> who emigrated to the East. The Scythians of Herodotus and the Scythians
> of Ptolemy, and some other classical writers, are two perfectly distinct
> nationalities. Under Scythia, Herodotus means the extension of land from
> the mouth of Danube to the Sea of Azoff, according to Niebuhr; and to
> the mouth of Don, according to Rawlinson; whereas the Scythia of Ptolemy
> is a country strictly Asiatic, including the whole space between the
> river Volga and Serika, or China. Besides this, Scythia was divided by
> the western Himalayas, which the Roman writers call Imaus, into Scythia
> intra Imaum, and Scythia extra Imaum. Given this lack of precision,
> the Rajputs may be called the Scythians of Asia, and the Scythians
> the Rajputs of Europe, with the same degree of likelihood. Pinkerton's
> opinion is that European contempt for the Tartars would not be half
> so strong if the European public learned how closely we are related
> to them; that our forefathers came from northern Asia, and that our
> primitive customs, laws and mode of living were the same as theirs; in
> a word, that we are nothing but a Tartar colony... Cimbri, Kelts and
> Gauls, who conquered the northern part of Europe, are different names of
> the same tribe, whose origin is Tartary. Who were the Goths, the Swedes,
> the Vandals, the Huns and the Franks, if not separate swarms of the same
> beehive? The annals of Sweden point to Kashgar as the fatherland of
> the Swedes. The likeness between the languages of the Saxons and the
> Kipchak-Tartars is striking; and the Keltic, which still exists in
> Brittany and in Wales, is the best proof that their inhabitants are
> descendants of the Tartar nation.
> 
> Whatever Pinkerton and others may say, the modern Rajput warriors do
> not answer in the least the description Hippocrates gives us of the
> Scythians. The "father of medicine" says: "The bodily structure of these
> men is thick, coarse and stunted; their joints are weak and flabby; they
> have almost no hair, and each of them resembles the other." No man,
> who has seen the handsome, gigantic warriors of Rajistan, with their
> abundant hair and beards, will ever recognize this portrait drawn by
> Hippocrates as theirs. Besides, the Scythians, whoever they may be,
> buried their dead, which the Rajputs never did, judging by the records
> of their most ancient MSS. The Scythians were a wandering nation, and
> are described by Hesiod as "living in covered carts and feeding on
> mare's milk." And the Rajputs have been a sedentary people from time
> immemorial, inhabiting towns, and having their history at least several
> hundred years before Christ--that is to say, earlier than the epoch of
> Herodotus. They do celebrate the Ashvamedha, the horse sacrifice; but
> will not touch mare's milk, and despise all Mongolians. Herodotus says
> that the Scythians, who called themselves Skoloti, hated foreigners, and
> never let any stranger in their country; and the Rajputs are one of
> the most hospitable peoples of the world. In the epoch of the wars of
> Darius, 516 B.C., the Scythians were still in their own district, about
> the mouth of the Danube. And at the same epoch the Rajputs were already
> known in India and had their own kingdom. As to the Ashvamedha, which
> Colonel Tod thinks to be the chief illustration of his theory, the
> custom of killing horses in honor of the sun is mentioned in the
> Rig-Veda, as well as in the Aitareya-Brahmana. Martin Haug states that
> the latter has probably been in existence since 2000-2400 B.C.----
> 
> But it strikes me that the digression from the Babu's chum to the
> Scythians and the Rajputs of the antediluvian epoch threatens to become
> too long, so I beg the reader's pardon and resume the thread of my
> narrative.
> 
> The Banns Of Marriage
> 
> Next day, early in the morning, the local shikaris went under the
> leadership of the warlike Akali, to hunt glamoured and real tigers
> in the caves. It took them longer than we expected. The old Bhil, who
> represented to us the absent dhani, proposed that in the meanwhile
> we should witness a Brahmanical wedding ceremony. Needless to say,
> we jumped at this. The ceremonies of betrothal and marriage have not
> changed in India during the last two millenniums at least. They are
> performed according to the directions of Manu, and the old theme has
> no new variations. India's religious rites have crystallized long ago.
> Whoever has seen a Hindu wedding in 1879, saw it as it was celebrated in
> ancient Aryavarta many centuries ago.----
> 
> A few days before we left Bombay we read in a small local newspaper two
> announcements of marriages: the first the marriage of a Brahman heiress,
> the second of a daughter of the fire-worshipers. The first announcement
> was something to the following effect: "The family of Bimbay Mavlankar,
> etc., etc., are preparing for a happy event. This respectable member
> of our community, unlike the rest of the less fortunate Brahmans of
> his caste, has found a husband for his grand-daughter in a rich Gujerat
> family of the same caste. The little Rama-bai is already five, her
> future husband is seven. The wedding is to take place in two months and
> promises to be brilliant."
> 
> The second announcement referred to an accomplished fact. It appeared
> in a Parsi paper, which strongly insists on the necessity of giving up
> "disgusting superannuated customs," and especially the early marriage.
> It justly ridiculed a certain Gujerati newspaper, which had just
> described in very pompous expressions a recent wedding ceremony in
> Poona. The bridegroom, who had just entered his sixth year "pressed to
> his heart a blushing bride of two and a half!" The usual answers of this
> couple entering into matrimony proved so indistinct that the Mobed had
> to address the questions to their parents: "Are you willing to have him
> for your lawful husband, O daughter of Zaratushta?" and "Are you willing
> to be her husband, O son of Zoroaster?" "Everything went as well as it
> could be expected," continued the newspaper; "the bridegroom was led out
> of the room by the hand, and the bride, who was carried away in arms,
> greeted the guests, not with smiles, but with a tremendous howl, which
> made her forget the existence of such a thing as a pocket-handkerchief,
> and remember only her feeding-bottle; for the latter article she asked
> repeatedly, half choked with sobs, and throttled with the weight of the
> family diamonds. Taking it all in all, it was a Parsi marriage, which
> shows the progress of our speedily developing nation with the exactitude
> of a weather glass," added the satirical newspaper.
> 
> Having read this we laughed heartily, though we did not give full credit
> to this description, and thought it a good deal exaggerated. We knew
> Parsi and Brahman families in which were husbands of ten years of
> age; but had never heard as yet of a bride who was a baby in
> arms.----
> 
> It is not without reason that the Brahmans are fervent upholders of
> the ancient law which prohibits to everyone, except the officiating
> Brahmans, the study of Sanskrit and the reading of the Vedas. The
> Shudras and even the high-born Vaishyas were in olden times to be
> executed for such an offence. The secret of this rigour lies in the fact
> that the Vedas do not permit matrimony for women under fifteen to twenty
> years of age, and for men under twenty-five, or even thirty. Eager
> above all that every religious ceremony should fill their pockets, the
> Brahmans never stopped at disfiguring their ancient sacred literature;
> and not to be caught, they pronounced its study accursed. Amongst other
> "criminal inventions," to use the expression of Swami Dayanand, there is
> a text in the Brahmanical books, which contradicts everything that is
> to be found in the Vedas on this particular matter: I speak of the Kudva
> Kunbis, the wedding season of all the agricultural classes of Central
> Asia. This season is to be celebrated once in every twelve years, but
> it appears to be a field from which Messieurs les Brahmans gathered
> the most abundant harvest. At this epoch, all the mothers have to seek
> audiences from the goddess Mata, the great mother--of course through her
> rightful oracles the Brahmans. Mata is the special patroness of all the
> four kinds of marriages practised in India: the marriages of adults, of
> children, of babies, and of specimens of humanity that are as yet to be
> born.
> 
> The latter is the queerest of all, because the feelings it excites are
> so very like gambling. In this case, the marriage ceremony is celebrated
> between the mothers of the future children. Many a curious incident is
> the result of these matrimonial parodies. But a true Brahman will
> never allow the derision of fate to shake his dignity, and the docile
> population never will doubt the infallibility of these "elect of the
> gods." An open antagonism to the Brahmanical institutions is more
> than rare; the feelings of reverence and dread the masses show to the
> Brahmans are so blind and so sincere, that an outsider cannot help
> smiling at them and respecting them at the same time.
> 
> If both the mothers have children of the same sex, it will not upset the
> Brahman in the least; he will say this was the will of the goddess Mata,
> it shows that she desires the new-born babies to be two loving brothers,
> or two loving sisters, as the case may be, in future. And if the
> children grow up, they will be acknowledged heirs to the properties of
> both mothers. In this case, the Brahman breaks the bonds of the marriage
> by the order of the goddess, is paid for doing so, and the whole affair
> is dropped altogether. But if the children are of different sexes these
> bonds cannot be broken, even if they are born cripples or idiots.
> 
> While I am dealing with the family life of India, I had better mention
> some other features, not to return to them any more. No Hindu has the
> right to remain single. The only exceptions are, in case the child is
> destined to monastic life from the first days of his existence, and in
> case the child is consecrated to the service of one of the gods of the
> Trimurti even before he is born. Religion insists on matrimony for the
> sake of having a son, whose duty it will be to perform every prescribed
> rite, in order that his departed father may enter Swarga, or paradise.
> Even the caste of Brahmacharyas, who take vows of chastity, but take a
> part and interest in worldly life--and so are the unique lay-celibates
> of India--are bound to adopt sons. The rest of the Hindus must remain
> in matrimony till the age of forty; after which they earn the right to
> leave the world, and to seek salvation, leading an ascetic life in some
> jungle. If a member of some Hindu family happens to be afflicted from
> birth with some organic defect, this will not be an impediment to his
> marrying, on the condition that his wife should be also a cripple, if
> she belongs to the same caste. The defects of husband and wife must be
> different: if he is blind, she must be hump-backed or lame, and vice
> versa. But if the young man in question is prejudiced, and wants a
> healthy wife, he must condescend to make a mesalliance; he must stoop to
> choose a wife in a caste that is exactly one degree lower than his own.
> But in this case his kinsmen and associates will not acknowledge her;
> the parvenue will not be received on any conditions whatever. Besides,
> all these exceptional instances depend entirely on the family Guru--on
> the priest who is inspired by the gods.
> 
> All the above holds good as far as the men are concerned; but with the
> women it is quite different.
> 
> Only the nautches--dancing girls consecrated to gods, and living
> in temples--can be said to be free and happy. Their occupation is
> hereditary, but they are vestals and daughters of vestals, however
> strange this may sound to a European ear. But the notions of the Hindus,
> especially on questions of morality, are quite independent, and even
> anti-Western, if I may use this expression. No one is more severe
> and exacting in the questions of feminine honor and chastity; but the
> Brahmans proved to be more cunning than even the Roman augurs. Rhea
> Sylvia, for instance, the mother of Romulus and Remus, was buried alive
> by the ancient Romans, in spite of the god Mars taking an active part in
> her faux pas. Numa and Tiberius took exceedingly good care that the good
> morals of their priestesses should not become merely nominal. But the
> vestals on the banks of the Ganges and the Indus understand the question
> differently from those on the banks of the Tiber. The intimacy of the
> nautch-girls with the gods, which is generally accepted, cleanses them
> from every sin and makes them in every one's eyes irreproachable
> and infallible. A nautcha cannot sin, in spite of the crowd of the
> "celestial musicians" who swarm in every pagoda, in the form of
> baby-vestals and their little brothers. No virtuous Roman matron was
> ever so respected as the pretty little nautcha. This great reverence
> for the happy "brides of the gods" is especially striking in the purely
> native towns of Central India, where the population has preserved intact
> their blind faith in the Brahmans.
> 
> Every nautcha can read, and receives the highest Hindu education. They
> all read and write in Sanskrit, and study the best literature of ancient
> India, and her six chief philosophies, but especially music, singing and
> dancing. Besides these "godborn" priestesses of the pagodas, there are
> also public nautches, who, like the Egyptian almeas, are within the
> reach of ordinary mortals, not only of gods; they also are in most cases
> women of a certain culture.
> 
> But the fate of an honest woman of Hindostan is quite different; and a
> bitter and incredibly unjust fate it is. The life of a thoroughly good
> woman, especially if she happens to possess warm faith and unshaken
> piety, is simply a long chain of fatal misfortunes. And the higher her
> family and social position, the more wretched is her life. Married women
> are so afraid of resembling the professional dancing girls, that they
> cannot be persuaded to learn anything the latter are taught. If a
> Brahman woman is rich her life is spent in demoralizing idleness; if
> she is poor, so much the worse, her earthly existence is concentrated
> in monotonous performances of mechanical rites. There is no past, and no
> future for her; only a tedious present, from which there is no possible
> escape. And this only if everything be well, if her family be not
> visited by sad losses. Needless to say that, amongst Brahman women,
> marriage is not a question of free choice, and still less of affection.
> Her choice of a husband is restricted by the caste to which her father
> and mother happen to belong; and so, to find a suitable match for a girl
> is a matter of great difficulty, as well as of great expense. In India,
> the high-caste woman is not bought, but she has to buy the right to get
> married. Accordingly, the birth of a girl is not a joy, but a sorrow,
> especially if her parents are not rich. She must be married not later
> than when she is seven or eight; a little girl of ten is an old maid in
> India, she is a discredit to her parents and is the miser-able butt of
> all her more fortunate contemporaries.
> 
> One of the few noble achievements of Englishmen in India which have
> succeeded is the decrease of infanticide, which some time ago was a
> daily practice, and still is not quite got rid of. Little girls were
> killed by their parents everywhere in India; but this dreadful custom
> was especially common amongst the tribes of Jadej, once so powerful in
> Sindh, and now reduced to petty brigandage. Probably these tribes were
> the first to spread this heartless practice. Obligatory marriage for
> little girls is a comparatively recent invention, and it alone is
> responsible for the parents' decision rather to see them dead than
> unmarried. The ancient Aryans knew nothing of it. Even the ancient
> Brahmanical literature shows that, amongst the pure Aryans, woman
> enjoyed the same privileges as man. Her voice was listened to by the
> statesmen; she was free either to choose a husband, or to remain single.
> Many a woman's name plays an important part in the chronicles of the
> ancient Aryan land; many women have come down to posterity as eminent
> poets, astronomers, philosophers, and even sages and lawyers.
> 
> But with the invasion of the Persians, in the seventh century, and later
> on of the fanatical, all-destroying Mussulmans, all this changed. Woman
> became enslaved, and the Brahmans did everything to humiliate her.
> In towns, the position of the Hindu woman is still worse than amongst
> agricultural classes.
> 
> The wedding ceremonies are very complicated and numerous. They are
> divided into three groups: the rites before the wedding; the rites
> during the ceremony; and the rites after the celebration has taken
> place. The first group consists of eleven ceremonies: the asking in
> marriage; the comparison of the two horoscopes; the sacrifice of a goat;
> the fixing of a propitious day; the building of the altar; the purchase
> of the sacred pots for household use; the invitation of guests; the
> sacrifices to the household gods; mutual presents and so on. All this
> must be accomplished as a religious duty, and is full of entangled
> rites. As soon as a little girl in some Hindu family is four years old,
> her father and mother send for the family Guru, give him her horoscope,
> drawn up previously by the astrologer of their caste (a very important
> post), and send the Guru to this or that inhabitant of the place who is
> known to have a son of appropriate age. The father of the little boy has
> to put the horoscope on the altar before the family gods and to answer:
> "I am well disposed towards the Panigrhana; let Rudra help us." The Guru
> must ask when the union is to take place, after which he is bowed out.
> A few days later the father of the little boy takes the horoscope of his
> son as well as of the little girl to the chief astrologer. If the latter
> finds them propitious to the intended marriage, it will take place; if
> not, his decision is immediately sent to the father of the little
> girl, and the whole affair is dropped. If the astrologer's opinion is
> favorable, however, the bargain is concluded on the spot. The astrologer
> offers a cocoa-nut and a handful of sugar to the father, after which
> nothing can be altered; otherwise a Hindu vendetta will be handed down
> from generation to generation. After the obligatory goat-sacrifice, the
> couple are irrevocably betrothed, and the astrologer fixes the day of
> the wedding.
> 
> The sacrifice of the goat is very interesting, so I am going to describe
> it in detail.
> 
> A child of the male sex is sent to invite several married ladies, old
> women of twenty or twenty-five, to witness the worship of the Lares and
> Penates. Each family has a household goddess of its own--which is not
> impossible, since the Hindu gods number thirty-three crores. On the eve
> of the sacrificial day, a kid is brought into the house, and all the
> family sleep round him. Next morning, the reception hall in the lower
> story is made ready for the ceremony. The floor is thickly covered with
> cow-dung, and, right in the middle of the room a square is traced with
> white chalk, in which is placed a high pedestal, with the statue of the
> goddess. The patriarch of the family brings the goat, and, holding him
> by the horns, lowers his head to salute the goddess. After this, the
> "old" and young women sing marriage hymns, tie the legs of the goat,
> cover his head with red powder, and make a lamp smoke under his nose,
> to banish the evil spirits from round him. When all this is done, the
> female element puts itself out of the way, and the patriarch comes again
> upon the stage. He treacherously puts a ration of rice before the goat,
> and as soon as the victim becomes innocently absorbed in gratifying his
> appetite, the old man chops his head off with a single stroke of his
> sword, and bathes the goddess in the smoking blood coming from the head
> of the animal, which he holds in his right arm, over the idol. The women
> sing in chorus, and the ceremony of betrothal is over.
> 
> The ceremonies with the astrologers, and the exchange of presents,
> are too long to be described. I shall mention only, that in all these
> ceremonies the astrologer plays the double part of an augur and a family
> lawyer. After a general invocation to the elephant-headed god Ganesha,
> the marriage contract is written on the reverse of the horoscopes and
> sealed, and a general blessing is pronounced over the assembly.
> 
> Needless to say that all these ceremonies had been accomplished long ago
> in the family to whose marriage party we were invited in Bagh. All these
> rites are sacred, and most probably we, being mere strangers, would
> not have been allowed to witness them. We saw them all later on in
> Benares--thanks to the intercession of our Babu.
> 
> When we arrived on the spot, where the Bagh cere-mony was celebrated,
> the festivity was at its height. The bridegroom was not more than
> fourteen years old, while the bride was only ten. Her small nose was
> adorned with a huge golden ring with some very brilliant stone, which
> dragged her nostril down. Her face looked comically piteous, and
> sometimes she cast furtive glances at us. The bridegroom, a stout,
> healthy-looking boy, attired in cloth of gold and wearing the many
> storied Indra hat, was on horseback, surrounded by a whole crowd of male
> relations.
> 
> The altar, especially erected for this occasion, presented a queer
> sight. Its regulation height is three times the length of the bride's
> arm from the shoulder down to the middle finger. Its materials are
> bricks and white-washed clay. Forty-six earthen pots painted with
> red, yellow and green stripes--the colors of the Trimurti--rose in two
> pyramids on both sides of the "god of marriages" on the altar, and all
> round it a crowd of little married girls were busy grinding ginger.
> When it was reduced to powder the whole crowd rushed on the bridegroom,
> dragged him from his horse, and, having undressed him, began rubbing him
> with wet ginger. As soon as the sun dried him he was dressed again by
> some of the little ladies, whilst one part of them sang and the other
> sprinkled his head with water from lotus leaves twisted into tubes. We
> understood that this was a delicate attention to the water gods.
> 
> We were also told that the whole of the previous night had been given up
> to the worship of various spirits. The last rites, begun weeks ago,
> were hurriedly brought to an end during this last night. Invocations to
> Ganesha, to the god of marriages; to the gods of the elements, water,
> fire, air and earth; to the goddess of the smallpox and other illnesses;
> to the spirits of ancestors and planetary spirits, to the evil spirits,
> good spirits, family spirits, and so on, and so on. Suddenly our ears
> were struck by strains of music.... Good heavens! what a dreadful
> symphony it was! The ear-splitting sounds of Indian tom-toms, Tibetan
> drunis, Singalese pipes, Chinese trumpets, and Burmese gongs deafened us
> on all sides, awakening in our souls hatred for humanity and humanity's
> inventions.
> 
> "De tous les bruits du monde celui de la musique est le plus
> desagreable!" was my ever-recurring thought. Happily, this agony did
> not last long, and was replaced by the choral singing of Brahmans and
> nautches, which was very original, but perfectly bearable. The wedding
> was a rich one, and so the "vestals" appeared in state. A moment of
> silence, of restrained whispering, and one of them, a tall, handsome
> girl with eyes literally filling half her forehead, began approaching
> one guest after the other in perfect silence, and rubbing their faces
> with her hand, leaving traces of sandal and saffron powders. She glided
> towards us also, noiselessly moving over the dusty road with her bare
> feet; and before we realized what she was doing she had daubed me as
> well as the colonel and Miss X----, which made the latter sneeze and
> wipe her face for at least ten minutes, with loud but vain utterances of
> indignation.
> 
> The Babu and Mulji offered their faces to the little hand, full of
> saffron, with smiles of condescending generosity. But the indomitable
> Narayan shrank from the vestal so unexpectedly at the precise moment
> when, with fiery glances at him, she stood on tiptoe to reach his face,
> that she quite lost countenance and sent a full dose of powder over his
> shoulder, whilst he turned away from her with knitted brow. Her forehead
> also showed several threatening lines, but in a moment she overcame her
> anger and glided towards Ram-Runjit-Das, sparkling with engaging
> smiles. But here she met with still less luck; offended at once in his
> monotheism and his chastity, the "God's warrior" pushed the vestal so
> unceremoniously that she nearly upset the elaborate pot-decoration of
> the altar. A dissatisfied murmur ran through the crowd, and we were
> preparing to be condemned to shameful banishment for the sins of the
> warlike Sikh, when the drums sounded again and the procession moved
> on. In front of everyone drove the trumpeters and the drummers in a car
> gilded from top to bottom, and dragged by bullocks loaded with garlands
> of flowers; next after them walked a whole detachment of pipers, and
> then a third body of musicians on horseback, who frantically hammered
> huge gongs. After them proceeded the cortege of the bridegroom's and
> the bride's relations on horses adorned with rich harness, feathers and
> flowers; they went in pairs. They were followed by a regiment of Bhils
> in full disarmour--because no weapons but bows and arrows had been left
> to them by the English Government. All these Bhils looked as if they had
> tooth-ache, because of the odd way they have of arranging the ends of
> their white pagris. After them walked clerical Brahmans, with aromatic
> tapers in their hands and surrounded by the flitting battalion of
> nautches, who amused themselves all the way by graceful glissades and
> pas. They were followed by the lay Brahmans--the "twice born." The
> bridegroom rode on a handsome horse; on both sides walked two couples
> of warriors, armed with yaks' tails to wave the flies away. They
> were accompanied by two more men on each side with silver fans. The
> bridegroom's group was wound up by a naked Brahman, perched on a donkey
> and holding over the head of the boy a huge red silk umbrella. After him
> a car loaded with a thousand cocoa-nuts and a hundred bamboo baskets,
> tied together by a red rope. The god who looks after marriages drove in
> melancholy isolation on the vast back of an elephant, whose mahout
> led him by a chain of flowers. Our humble party modestly advanced just
> behind the elephant's tail.
> 
> The performance of rites on the way seemed endless.
> 
> We had to stop before every tree, every pagoda, every sacred tank and
> bush, and at last before a sacred cow. When we came back to the house
> of the bride it was four in the afternoon, and we had started a little
> after six in the morning. We all were utterly exhausted, and Miss X----
> literally threatened to fall asleep on her feet. The indignant Sikh
> had left us long ago, and had persuaded Mr. Y---- and Mulji--whom the
> colonel had nicknamed the "mute general"--to keep him company. Our
> respected president was bathed in his own perspiration, and even Narayan
> the unchangeable yawned and sought consolation in a fan. But the Babu
> was simply astonishing. After a nine hours' walk under the sun, with his
> head unprotected, he looked fresher than ever, without a drop of sweat
> on his dark satin-like forehead. He showed his white teeth in an eternal
> smile, and chaffed us all, reciting the "Diamond Wedding" of Steadman.
> 
> We struggled against our fatigue in our desire to wit-ness the last
> ceremony, after which the woman is forever cut off from the external
> world. It was just going to begin; and we kept our eyes and ears wide
> open.
> 
> The bridegroom and the bride were placed before the altar. The
> officiating Brahman tied their hands with some kus-kus grass, and led
> them three times round the altar. Then their hands were untied, and the
> Brahman mumbled a mantram. When he had finished, the boy husband lifted
> his diminutive bride and carried her three times round the altar in his
> arms, then again three turns round the altar, but the boy preceding the
> girl, and she following him like an obedient slave. When this was over,
> the bridegroom was placed on a high chair by the entrance door, and the
> bride brought a basin of water, took off his shoes, and, having washed
> his feet, wiped them with her long hair. We learned that this was a very
> ancient custom. On the right side of the bridegroom sat his mother. The
> bride knelt before her also, and, having performed the same operation
> over her feet, she retired to the house. Then her mother came out of the
> crowd and repeated the same ceremony, but without using her hair as a
> towel. The young couple were married. The drums and the tom-toms rolled
> once more; and half-deaf we started for home.----
> 
> In the tent we found the Akali in the middle of a sermon, delivered for
> the edification of the "mute general" and Mr. Y----. He was explaining
> to them the advantages of the Sikh religion, and comparing it with the
> faith of the "devil-worshipers," as he called the Brahmans.
> 
> It was too late to go to the caves, and, besides, we had had enough
> sights for one day. So we sat down to rest, and to listen to the words
> of wisdom falling from the lips of the "God's warrior." In my humble
> opinion, he was right in more than one thing; in his most imaginative
> moments Satan himself could not have invented anything more unjust
> and more refinedly cruel than what was invented by these "twice-born"
> egotists in their relation to the weaker sex. An unconditioned civil
> death awaits her in case of widowhood--even if this sad fate befalls
> her when she is two or three years old. It is of no importance for the
> Brahmans if the marriage never actually took place; the goat sacrifice,
> at which the personal presence of the little girl is not even
> required--she being represented by the wretched victim--is considered
> binding for her. As for the man, not only is he permitted to have
> several lawful wives at a time, but he is even required by the law to
> marry again if his wife dies. Not to be unjust, I must mention that,
> with the exception of some vicious and depraved Rajas, we never heard
> of a Hindu availing himself of this privilege, and having more than one
> wife.
> 
> At the present time, the whole of orthodox India is shaken by the
> struggle in favor of the remarriage of widows. This agitation was begun
> in Bombay, by a few reformers, and opponents of Brahmans. It is already
> ten years since Mulji-Taker-Sing and others raised this question; but
> we know only of three or four men who have dared as yet to marry widows.
> This struggle is carried on in silence and secrecy, but nevertheless it
> is fierce and obstinate.
> 
> In the meanwhile, the fate of the widow is what the Brahmans wish it to
> be. As soon as the corpse of her husband is burned the widow must shave
> her head, and never let it grow again as long as she lives. Her bangles,
> necklaces and rings are broken to pieces and burned, together with her
> hair and her husband's remains. During the rest of her life she must
> wear nothing but white if she was less than twenty-five at her husband's
> death, and red if she was older. Temples, religious ceremonies, society,
> are closed to her for ever. She has no right to speak to any of her
> relations, and no right to eat with them. She sleeps, eats and works
> separately; her touch is considered impure for seven years. If a man,
> going out on business, meets a widow, he goes home again, abandoning
> every pursuit, because to see a widow is accounted an evil omen.
> 
> In the past all this was seldom practised, and concerned only the rich
> widows, who refused to be burned; but now, since the Brahmans have
> been caught in the false interpretation of the Vedas, with the criminal
> intention of appropriating the widows' wealth, they insist on the
> fulfilment of this cruel precept, and make what once was the exception
> the rule. They are powerless against British law, and so they revenge
> themselves on the innocent and helpless women, whom fate has deprived of
> their natural protectors. Professor Wilson's demonstration of the means
> by which the Brahmans distorted the sense of the Vedas, in order to
> justify the practice of widow-burning, is well worth mentioning. During
> the many centuries that this terrible practice prevailed, the Brahmans
> had appealed to a certain Vedic text for their justification, and had
> claimed to be rigidly fulfilling the institutes of Manu, which contain
> for them the interpretation of Vedic law. When the East India Company's
> Government first turned its attention to the suppression of suttee,
> the whole country, from Cape Comorin to the Himalayas, rose in protest,
> under the influence of the Brahmans. "The English promised not to
> interfere in our religious affairs, and they must keep their word!" was
> the general outcry. Never was India so near revolution as in those days.
> The English saw the danger and gave up the task. But Professor Wilson,
> the best Sanskritist of the time, did not consider the battle lost. He
> applied himself to the study of the most ancient MSS., and gradually
> became convinced that the alleged precept did not exist in the
> Vedas; though in the Laws of Manu it was quite distinct, and had been
> translated accordingly by T. Colebrooke and other Orientalists. An
> attempt to prove to the fanatic population that Manu's interpretation
> was wrong would have been equivalent to an attempt to reduce water to
> powder. So Wilson set himself to study Manu, and to compare the text of
> the Vedas with the text of this law-giver. This was the result of his
> labors: the Rig Veda orders the Brahman to place the widow side by side
> with the corpse, and then, after the performance of certain rites, to
> lead her down from the funeral pyre and to sing the following verse from
> Grhya Sutra:
> 
>         Arise, O woman! return to the world of the living!
>         Having gone to sleep by the dead, awake again!
>         Long enough thou hast been a faithful wife
>         To the one who made thee mother of his children.
> 
> Then those present at the burning were to rub their eyes with collyrium,
> and the Brahman to address to them the following verse:
> 
>         Approach, you married women, not widows,
>         With your husbands bring ghi and butter.
>         Let the mothers go up to the womb first,
>         Dressed in festive garments and costly adornments.
> 
> The line before the last was misinterpreted by the Brahmans in the most
> skillful way. In Sanskrit it reads as follows:
> 
>         Arohantu janayo yonim agre.....
> 
> Yonina agre literally means to the womb first. Having changed only
> one letter of the last word agre, "first," in Sanskrit [script], the
> Brahmans wrote instead agneh, "fire's," in Sanskrit [script], and so
> acquired the right to send the wretched widows yonina agneh--to the womb
> of fire. It is difficult to find on the face of the world another such
> fiendish deception.
> 
> The Vedas never permitted the burning of the widows, and there is a
> place in Taittiriya-Aranyaka, of the Yajur Veda, where the brother of
> the deceased, or his disciple, or even a trusted friend, is recommended
> to say to the widow, whilst the pyre is set on fire: "Arise, O woman! do
> not lie down any more beside the lifeless corpse; return to the world
> of the living, and become the wife of the one who holds you by the hand,
> and is willing to be your husband." This verse shows that during the
> Vedic period the remarriage of widows was allowed. Besides, in several
> places in the ancient books, pointed out to us by Swami Dayanand, we
> found orders to the widows "to keep the ashes of the husband for several
> months after his death and to perform over them certain final rituals."
> 
> However, in spite of the scandal created by Professor Wilson's
> discovery, and of the fact that the Brahmans were put to shame before
> the double authority of the Vedas and of Manu, the custom of centuries
> proved so strong that some pious Hindu women still burn themselves
> whenever they can. Not more than two years ago the four widows of
> Yung-Bahadur, the chief minister of Nepal, insisted upon being burned.
> Nepal is not under the British rule, and so the Anglo-Indian Government
> had no right to interfere.
> 
> The Caves Of Bagh
> 
> At four o'clock in the morning we crossed the Vagrey and Girna, or
> rather, comme coloris local, Shiva and Parvati. Probably, following the
> bad example of the average mortal husband and wife, this divine couple
> were engaged in a quarrel, even at this early hour of the day. They were
> frightfully rough, and our ferry, striking on something at the bottom,
> nearly upset us into the cold embrace of the god and his irate better
> half.
> 
> Like all the cave temples of India, the Bagh caverns are dug out in the
> middle of a vertical rock--with the intention, as it seems to me, of
> testing the limits of human patience. Taking into consideration that
> such a height does not prevent either glamour or tigers reaching the
> caves, I cannot help thinking that the sole aim of the ascetic
> builders was to tempt weak mortals into the sin of irritation by the
> inaccessibility of their airy abodes. Seventy-two steps, cut out in the
> rock, and covered with thorny weeds and moss, are the beginning of the
> ascent to the Bagh caves. Footmarks worn in the stone through centuries
> spoke of the numberless pilgrims who had come here before us. The
> roughness of the steps, with deep holes here and there, and thorns,
> added attractions to this ascent; join to this a number of mountain
> springs exuding through the pores of the stone, and no one will be
> astonished if I say that we simply felt faint under the weight of
> life and our archeological difficulties. The Babu, who, taking off his
> slippers, scampered over the thorns as unconcernedly as if he had hoofs
> instead of vulnerable human heels, laughed at the "helplessness of
> Europeans," and only made us feel worse.
> 
> But on reaching the top of the mountain we stopped grumbling, realizing
> at the first glance that we should receive our reward. We saw a whole
> enfilade of dark caves, through regular square openings, six feet wide.
> We felt awestruck with the gloomy majesty of this deserted temple. There
> was a curious ceiling over the square platform that once served as a
> verandah; there was also a portico with broken pillars hanging over
> our heads; and two rooms on each side, one with a broken image of some
> flat-nosed goddess, the other containing a Ganesha; but we did not
> stop to examine all this in detail. Ordering the torches to be lit, we
> stepped into the first hall.
> 
> A damp breath as of the tomb met us. At our first word we all shivered:
> a hollow, prolonged echoing howl, dying away in the distance, shook
> the ancient vaults and made us all lower our voices to a whisper. The
> torch-bearers shrieked "Devi!... Devi!..." and, kneeling in the dust,
> performed a fervent puja in honor of the voice of the invisible goddess
> of the caves, in spite of the angry protestations of Narayan and of the
> "God's warrior."
> 
> The only light of the temple came from the entrance, and so two-thirds
> of it looked still gloomier by contrast. This hall, or the central
> temple, is very spacious, eighty--four feet square, and sixteen feet
> high. Twenty-four massive pillars form a square, six pillars at each
> side, including the corner ones, and four in the middle to prop up the
> centre of the ceiling; otherwise it could not be kept from falling,
> as the mass of the mountain which presses on it from the top is much
> greater than in Karli or Elephanta.
> 
> There are at least three different styles in the architecture of
> these pillars. Some of them are grooved in spirals, gradually and
> imperceptibly changing from round to sixteen sided, then octagonal and
> square. Others, plain for the first third of their height, gradually
> finished under the ceiling by a most elaborate display of ornamentation,
> which reminds one of the Corinthian style. The third with a square
> plinth and semi-circular friezes. Taking it all in all, they made a most
> original and graceful picture. Mr. Y----, an architect by profession,
> assured us that he never saw anything more striking. He said he could
> not imagine by the aid of what instruments the ancient builders could
> accomplish such wonders.
> 
> The construction of the Bagh caves, as well as of all the cave temples
> of India, whose history is lost in the darkness of time, is ascribed by
> the European archeologists to the Buddhists, and by the native tradition
> to the Pandu brothers. Indian paleography protests in every one of its
> new discoveries against the hasty conclusions of the Orientalists.
> And much may be said against the intervention of Buddhists in this
> particular case. But I shall indicate only one particular. The theory
> which declares that all the cave temples of India are of Buddhist origin
> is wrong. The Orientalists may insist as much as they choose on the
> hypothesis that the Buddhists became again idol-worshipers; it will
> explain nothing, and contradicts the history of both Buddhists and
> Brahmans. The Brahmans began persecuting and banishing the Buddhists
> precisely because they had begun a crusade against idol-worship. The
> few Buddhist communities who remained in India and deserted the pure,
> though, maybe--for a shallow observer--somewhat atheistic teachings
> of Gautama Siddhartha, never joined Brahmanism, but coalesced with the
> Jainas, and gradually became absorbed in them. Then why not suppose that
> if, amongst hundreds of Brahmanical gods, we find one statue of Buddha,
> it only shows that the masses of half-converts to Buddhism added this
> new god to the ancient Brahmanical temple. This would be much more
> sensible than to think that the Buddhists of the two centuries before
> and after the beginning of the Christian era dared to fill their temples
> with idols, in defiance of the spirit of the reformer Gau-tama. The
> figures of Buddha are easily discerned in the swarm of heathen gods;
> their position is always the same, and the palm of its right hand is
> always turned upwards, blessing the worshipers with two fingers. We
> examined almost every remarkable vihara of the so-called Buddhist
> temples, and never met with one statue of Buddha which could not have
> been added in a later epoch than the construction of the temple; it does
> not matter whether it was a year or a thousand years later. Not being
> perfectly self-confident in this matter, we always took the opinion of
> Mr. Y----, who, as I said before, was an experienced architect; and he
> invariably came to the conclusion that the Brahmanical idols formed a
> harmonic and genuine part of the whole, pillars, decorations, and
> the general style of the temple; whereas the statue of Buddha was an
> additional and discordant patch. Out of thirty or forty caves of Ellora,
> all filled with idols, there is only one, the one called the Temple
> of the Tri-Lokas, which contains nothing but statues of Buddha, and
> of Ananda, his favourite disciple. Of course, in this case it would be
> perfectly right to think it is a Buddhist vihara.
> 
> Most probably, some of the Russian archeologists will protest against
> the opinions I maintain, that is to say, the opinions of the Hindu
> archeologists, and will treat me as an ignoramus, outraging science. In
> self-defence, and in order to show how unstable a ground to base one's
> opinions upon are the conclusions even of such a great authority as Mr.
> Fergusson, I must mention the following instance. This great architect,
> but very mediocre archeologist, proclaimed at the very beginning of
> his scientific career that "all the cave temples of Kanara, without
> exception, were built between the fifth and the tenth centuries." This
> theory became generally accepted, when suddenly Dr. Bird found a brass
> plate in a certain Kanara monument, called a tope. The plate announced
> in pure and distinct Sanskrit that this tope was erected as a homage
> to the old temple, at the beginning of 245 of the Hindu astronomical
> (Samvat) era. According to Prinsep and Dr. Stevenson, this date
> coincides with 189 A.D., and so it clearly settles the question of when
> the tope was built. But the question of the antiquity of the temple
> itself still remains open, though the inscription states that it was
> an old temple in 189 A.D., and contradicts the above-quoted opinion of
> Fergusson. However, this important discovery failed to shake Fergusson's
> equanimity. For him, ancient inscriptions are of no importance, because,
> as he says, "the antiquity of ruins must not be fixed on the basis
> of inscriptions, but on the basis of certain architectural canons and
> rules," discovered by Mr. Fergusson in person. Fiat hypothesis, ruat
> coelum!
> 
> And now I shall return to my narrative.
> 
> Straight before the entrance a door leads to another hall, which is
> oblong, with hexagonal pillars and niches, containing statues in a
> tolerable state of preservation; goddesses ten feet and gods nine feet
> high. After this hall there is a room with an altar, which is a regular
> hexagon, having sides each three feet long, and protected by a cupola
> cut in the rock. Nobody was admitted here, except the initiates of the
> mysteries of the adytum. All round this room there are about twenty
> priests' cells. Absorbed in the examination of the altar, we did not
> notice the absence of the colonel, till we heard his loud voice in the
> distance calling to us:
> 
> "I have found a secret passage.... Come along, let us find where it
> leads to!"
> 
> Torch in hand, the colonel was far ahead of us, and very eager to
> proceed; but each of us had a little plan of his own, and so we were
> reluctant to obey his summons. The Babu took upon himself to answer for
> the whole party:
> 
> "Take care, colonel. This passage leads to the den of the glamour....
> Mind the tigers!"
> 
> But once fairly started on the way to discoveries, our president was not
> to be stopped. Nolens volens we followed him.
> 
> He was right; he had made a discovery; and on entering the cell we saw
> a most unexpected tableau. By the opposite wall stood two torch-bearers
> with their flaming torches, as motionless as if they were transformed
> into stone caryatides; and from the wall, about five feet above the
> ground, protruded two legs clad in white trousers. There was no body to
> them; the body had disappeared, and but that the legs were shaken by
> a convulsive effort to move on, we might have thought that the wicked
> goddess of this place had cut the colonel into two halves, and having
> caused the upper half instantly to evaporate, had stuck the lower half
> to the wall, as a kind of trophy.
> 
> "What is become of you, Mr. President? Where are you?" were our alarmed
> questions.
> 
> Instead of an answer, the legs were convulsed still more violently,
> and soon disappeared completely, after which we heard the voice of the
> colonel, as if coming through a long tube:
> 
> "A room... a secret cell.... Be quick! I see a whole row of rooms....
> Confound it! my torch is out! Bring some matches and another torch!" But
> this was easier said than done. The torch-bearers refused to go on;
> as it was, they were already frightened out of their wits. Miss X----
> glanced with apprehension at the wall thickly covered with soot and then
> at her pretty gown. Mr. Y---- sat down on a broken pillar and said he
> would go no farther, preferring to have a quiet smoke in the company of
> the timid torch-bearers.
> 
> There were several vertical steps cut in the wall; and on the floor we
> saw a large stone of such a curiously irregular shape that it struck
> me that it could not be natural. The quick-eyed Babu was not long in
> discovering its peculiarities, and said he was sure "it was the stopper
> of the secret passage." We all hurried to examine the stone most
> minutely, and discovered that, though it imitated as closely as possible
> the irregularity of the rock, its under surface bore evident traces of
> workmanship and had a kind of hinge to be easily moved. The hole was
> about three feet high, but not more than two feet wide.
> 
> The muscular "God's warrior" was the first to follow the colonel. He was
> so tall that when he stood on a broken pillar the opening came down to
> the middle of his breast, and so he had no difficulty in transporting
> himself to the upper story. The slender Babu joined him with a single
> monkey-like jump. Then, with the Akali pulling from above and Narayan
> pushing from below, I safely made the passage, though the narrowness of
> the hole proved most disagreeable, and the roughness of the rock
> left considerable traces on my hands. However trying archeological
> explorations may be for a person afflicted by an unusually fine
> presence, I felt perfectly confident that with two such Hercules-like
> helpers as Narayan and Ram-Runjit-Das the ascent of the Himalayas would
> be perfectly possible for me. Miss X---- came next, under the escort of
> Mulji, but Mr. Y---- stayed behind.
> 
> The secret cell was a room of twelve feet square. Straight above the
> black hole in the floor there was another in the ceiling, but this time
> we did not discover any "stopper." The cell was perfectly empty with
> the exception of black spiders as big as crabs. Our apparition,
> and especially the bright light of the torches, maddened them;
> panic-stricken they ran in hundreds over the walls, rushed down, and
> tumbled on our heads, tearing their thin ropes in their inconsiderate
> haste. The first movement of Miss X---- was to kill as many as she
> could. But the four Hindus protested strongly and unanimously. The old
> lady remonstrated in an offended voice:
> 
> "I thought that at least you, Mulji, were a reformer, but you are as
> superstitious as any idol-worshiper."
> 
> "Above everything I am a Hindu," answered the "mute general." "And the
> Hindus, as you know, consider it sinful before nature and before their
> own consciences to kill an animal put to flight by the strength of man,
> be it even poisonous. As to the spiders, in spite of their ugliness,
> they are perfectly harmless."
> 
> "I am sure all this is because you think you will transmigrate into a
> black spider!" she replied, her nostrils trembling with anger.
> 
> "I cannot say I do," retorted Mulji; "but if all the English ladies are
> as unkind as you I should rather be a spider than an Englishman."
> 
> This lively answer coming from the usually taciturn Mulji was
> so unexpected that we could not help laugh-ing. But to our great
> discomfiture Miss X---- was seriously angry, and, under pretext of
> giddiness, said she would rejoin Mr. Y---- below.
> 
> Her constant bad spirits were becoming trying for our cosmopolitan
> little party, and so we did not press her to stay.
> 
> As to us we climbed through the second opening, but this time under the
> leadership of Narayan. He disclosed to us that this place was not new to
> him; he had been here before, and confided to us that similar rooms, one
> on the top of the other, go up to the summit of the mountain. Then,
> he said, they take a sudden turn, and descend gradually to a whole
> underground palace, which is sometimes temporarily inhabited. Wishing
> to leave the world for a while and to spend a few days in isolation, the
> Raj-Yogis find perfect solitude in this underground abode. Our president
> looked askance at Narayan through his spectacles, but did not find
> anything to say. The Hindus also received this information in perfect
> silence.
> 
> The second cell was exactly like the first one; we easily discovered the
> hole in its ceiling, and reached the third cell. There we sat down for a
> while. I felt that breathing was becoming difficult to me, but I thought
> I was simply out of breath and tired, and so did not mention to my
> companions that anything was wrong. The passage to the fourth cell was
> almost stopped by earth mixed with little stones, and the gentlemen of
> the party were busy clearing it out for about twenty minutes. Then we
> reached the fourth cell.
> 
> Narayan was right, the cells were one straight over the other, and the
> floor of the one formed the ceiling of the other. The fourth cell was
> in ruins. Two broken pillars lying one on the other presented a very
> convenient stepping-stone to the fifth story. But the colonel stopped
> our zeal by saying that now was the time to smoke "the pipe of
> deliberation" after the fashion of red Indians.
> 
> "If Narayan is not mistaken," he said, "this going up and up may
> continue till tomorrow morning."
> 
> "I am not mistaken," said Narayan almost solemnly. But since my visit
> here I have heard that some of these passages were filled with earth,
> so that every communication is stopped; and, if I remember rightly, we
> cannot go further than the next story."
> 
> "In that case there is no use trying to go any further. If the ruins are
> so shaky as to stop the passages, it would be dangerous for us."
> 
> "I never said the passages were stopped by the hand of time.... They did
> it on purpose...."
> 
> "Who they? Do you mean glamour?..."
> 
> "Colonel!" said the Hindu with an effort. "Don't laugh at what I say.
> ... I speak seriously."
> 
> "My dear fellow, I assure you my intention is neither to offend you nor
> to ridicule a serious matter. I simply do not realize whom you mean when
> you say they."
> 
> "I mean the brotherhood.... The Raj-Yogis. Some of them live quite close
> to here."
> 
> By the dim light of the half-extinguished torches we saw that Narayan's
> lips trembled and that his face grew pale as he spoke. The colonel
> coughed, rearranged his spectacles and remained silent for a while.
> 
> "My dear Narayan," at last said the colonel, "I do not want to believe
> that your intention is to make fun of our credulity. But I can't believe
> either, that you seriously mean to assure us that any living creature,
> be it an animal or an ascetic, could exist in a place where there is no
> air. I paid special attention to the fact, and so I am perfectly sure I
> am not mistaken: there is not a single bat in these cells, which shows
> that there is a lack of air. And just look at our torches! you see how
> dim they are growing. I am sure, that on climbing two or three more
> rooms like this, we should be suffocated!"
> 
> "And in spite of all these facts, I speak the truth," repeated Narayan.
> "The caves further on are inhabited by them. And I have seen them with
> my own eyes."
> 
> The colonel grew thoughtful, and stood glancing at the ceiling in a
> perplexed and undecided way. We all kept silent, breathing heavily.
> 
> "Let us go back!" suddenly shouted the Akali. "My nose is bleeding."
> 
> At this very moment I felt a strange and unexpected sensation, and
> I sank heavily on the ground. In a second I felt an indescribably
> delicious, heavenly sense of rest, in spite of a dull pain beating in my
> temples. I vaguely realized that I had really fainted, and that I should
> die if not taken out into the open air. I could not lift my finger; I
> could not utter a sound; and, in spite of it, there was no fear in my
> soul--nothing but an apathetic, but indescribably sweet feeling of rest,
> and a complete inactivity of all the senses except hearing. A moment
> came when even this sense forsook me, because I remember that I listened
> with imbecile intentness to the dead silence around me. Is this death?
> was my indistinct wondering thought. Then I felt as if mighty wings
> were fanning me. "Kind wings, caressing, kind wings!" were the recurring
> words in my brain, like the regular movements of a pendulum, and
> interiorily under an unreasoning impulse, I laughed at these words. Then
> I experienced a new sensation: I rather knew than felt that I was lifted
> from the floor, and fell down and down some unknown precipice, amongst
> the hollow rollings of a distant thunder-storm. Suddenly a loud voice
> resounded near me. And this time I think I did not hear, but felt it.
> There was something palpable in this voice, something that instantly
> stopped my helpless descent, and kept me from falling any further.
> This was a voice I knew well, but whose voice it was I could not in my
> weakness remember.
> 
> In what way I was dragged through all these narrow holes will remain an
> eternal mystery for me. I came to myself on the verandah below, fanned
> by fresh breezes, and as suddenly as I had fainted above in the impure
> air of the cell. When I recovered completely the first thing I saw was
> a powerful figure clad in white, with a raven black Rajput beard,
> anxiously leaning over me. As soon as I recognized the owner of this
> beard, I could not abstain from expressing my feelings by a joyful
> exclamation: "Where do you come from?" It was our friend Takur
> Gulab-Lal-Sing, who, having promised to join us in the North-West
> Provinces, now appeared to us in Bagh, as if falling from the sky or
> coming out of the ground.
> 
> But my unfortunate accident, and the pitiable state of the rest of
> the daring explorers, were enough to stop any further questions and
> expressions of astonishment. On one side of me the frightened Miss
> X----, using my nose as a cork for her sal-volatile bottle; on the other
> the "God's warrior" covered with blood as if returning from a battle
> with the Afghans; further on, poor Mulji with a dreadful headache.
> Narayan and the colonel, happily for our party, did not experience
> anything worse than a slight vertigo. As to the Babu, no carbonic acid
> gas could inconvenience his wonderful Bengali nature. He said he was
> safe and comfortable enough, but awfully hungry.
> 
> At last the outpour of entangled exclamations and unintelligible
> explanations stopped, and I collected my thoughts and tried to
> understand what had happened to me in the cave. Narayan was the first to
> notice that I had fainted, and hastened to drag me back to the passage.
> And this very moment they all heard the voice of Gulab-Sing coming from
> the upper cell: "Tum-hare iha aneka kya kam tha?" "What on earth brought
> you here?" Even before they recovered from their astonishment he ran
> quickly past them, and descending to the cell beneath called to them to
> "pass him down the bai" (sister). This "passing down" of such a solid
> object as my body, and the picture of the proceeding, vividly imagined,
> made me laugh heartily, and I felt sorry I had not been able to witness
> it. Handing him over their half-dead load, they hastened to join the
> Takur; but he contrived to do without their help, though how he did it
> they were at a loss to understand. By the time they succeeded in getting
> through one passage Gulab-Sing was already at the next one, in spite of
> the heavy burden he carried; and they never were in time to be of any
> assistance to him. The colonel, whose main feature is the tendency to go
> into the details of everything, could not conceive by what proceedings
> the Takur had managed to pass my almost lifeless body so rapidly through
> all these narrow holes.
> 
> "He could not have thrown her down the passage before going in himself,
> for every single bone of her body would have been broken," mused the
> colonel. "And it is still less possible to suppose that, descending
> first himself, he dragged her down afterwards. It is simply
> incomprehensible!"
> 
> These questions harassed him for a long time afterwards, until they
> became something like the puzzle: Which was created first, the egg or
> the bird?
> 
> As to the Takur, when closely questioned, he shrugged his shoulders,
> and answered that he really did not remember. He said that he simply
> did whatever he could to get me out into the open air; that all our
> traveling companions were there to watch his proceedings; he was under
> their eyes all the time, and that in circumstances when every second is
> precious people do not think, but act.
> 
> But all these questions arose only in the course of the day. As to the
> time directly after I was laid down on the verandah, there were other
> things to puzzle all our party; no one could understand how the Takur
> happened to be on the spot exactly when his help was most needed, nor
> where he came from--and everyone was anxious to know. On the verandah
> they found me lying on a carpet, with the Takur busy restoring me to my
> senses, and Miss X---- with her eyes wide open at the Takur, whom she
> decidedly believed to be a materialized ghost.
> 
> However, the explanations our friend gave us seemed perfectly
> satisfactory, and at first did not strike us as unnatural. He was in
> Hardwar when Swami Dayanand sent us the letter which postponed our going
> to him. On arriving at Kandua by the Indore railway, he had visited
> Holkar; and, learning that we were so near, he decided to join us sooner
> than he had expected. He had come to Bagh yesterday evening, but knowing
> that we were to start for the caves early in the morning he went there
> before us, and simply was waiting for us in the caves.
> 
> "There is the whole mystery for you," said he.
> 
> "The whole mystery?" exclaimed the colonel. "Did you know, then,
> beforehand that we would discover the cells, or what?"
> 
> "No, I did not. I simply went there myself because it is a long time
> since I saw them last. Examining them took me longer than I expected,
> and so I was too late to meet you at the entrance."
> 
> "Probably the Takur-Sahib was enjoying the freshness of the air in the
> cells," suggested the mischievous Babu, showing all his white teeth in a
> broad grin.
> 
> Our president uttered an energetic exclamation. "Exactly! How on earth
> did I not think of that before?... You could not possibly have any
> breathing air in the cells above the one you found us in.... And,
> besides,... how did you reach the fifth cell, when the entrance of the
> fourth was nearly stopped and we had to dig it out?"
> 
> "There are other passages leading to them. I know all the turns and
> corridors of these caves, and everyone is free to choose his way,"
> answered Gulab-Sing; and I thought I saw a look of intelligence pass
> between him and Narayan, who simply cowered under his fiery eyes.
> "However, let us go to the cave where breakfast is ready for us. Fresh
> air will do all of you good."
> 
> On our way we met with another cave, twenty or thirty steps south from
> the verandah, but the Takur did not let us go in, fearing new accidents
> for us. So we descended the stone steps I have already mentioned,
> and after descending about two hundred steps towards the foot of the
> mountain, made a short reascent again and entered the "dining-room,"
> as the Babu denominated it. In my role of "interesting invalid," I was
> carried to it, sitting in my folding chair, which never left me in all
> my travels.
> 
> This temple is much the less gloomy of the two, in spite of considerable
> signs of decay. The frescoes of the ceiling are better preserved than in
> the first temple. The walls, the tumbled down pillars, the ceiling, and
> even the interior rooms, which were lighted by ventilators cut through
> the rock, were once covered by a varnished stucco, the secret of
> which is now known only to the Madrasis, and which gives the rock the
> appearance of pure marble.
> 
> We were met by the Takur's four servants, whom we remembered since our
> stay in Karli, and who bowed down in the dust to greet us. The carpets
> were spread, and the breakfast ready. Every trace of carbonic acid had
> left our brains, and we sat down to our meal in the best of spirits.
> Our conversation soon turned to the Hardwar Mela, which our
> unexpectedly-recovered friend had left exactly five days ago. All the
> information we got from Gulab-Lal-Sing was so interesting that I wrote
> it down at the first opportunity.
> 
> After a few weeks we visited Hardwar ourselves, and since I saw it, my
> memory has never grown tired of recalling the charming picture of its
> lovely situation. It is as near a primitive picture of earthly Paradise
> as anything that can be imagined.
> 
> Every twelfth year, which the Hindus call Kumbha, the planet Jupiter
> enters the constellation of Aquarius, and this event is considered very
> propitious for the beginning of the religious fair; for which this day
> is accordingly fixed by the astrologers of the pagodas. This gathering
> attracts the representatives of all sects, as I said before, from
> princes and maharajas down to the last fakir. The former come for the
> sake of religious discussions, the latter, simply to plunge into the
> waters of Ganges at its very source, which must be done at a certain
> propitious hour, fixed also by the position of the stars.
> 
> Ganges is a name invented in Europe. The natives always say Ganga, and
> consider this river to belong strictly to the feminine sex. Ganges is
> sacred in the eyes of the Hindus, because she is the most important of
> all the fostering goddesses of the country, and a daughter of the old
> Himavat (Himalaya), from whose heart she springs for the salvation of
> the people. That is why she is worshiped, and why the city of Hardwar,
> built at her very source, is so sacred.
> 
> Hardwar is written Hari-avara, the doorway of the sun-god, or Krishna,
> and is also often called Gangadvara, the doorway of Ganga; there is
> still a third name of the same town, which is the name of a certain
> ascetic Kapela, or rather Kapila, who once sought salvation on this
> spot, and left many miraculous traditions.
> 
> The town is situated in a charming flowery valley, at the foot of the
> southern slope of the Sivalik ridge, between two mountain chains. In
> this valley, raised 1,024 feet above the sea-level, the northern nature
> of the Himalayas struggles with the tropical growth of the plains;
> and, in their efforts to excel each other, they have created the most
> delightful of all the delightful corners of India. The town itself is
> a quaint collection of castle-like turrets of the most fantastical
> architecture; of ancient viharas; of wooden fortresses, so gaily painted
> that they look like toys; of pagodas, with loopholes and overhanging
> curved little balconies; and all this over-grown by such abundance
> of roses, dahlias, aloes and blossoming cactuses, that it is hardly
> possible to tell a door from a window. The granite foundations of many
> houses are laid almost in the bed of the river, and so, during four
> months of the year, they are half covered with water. And behind
> this handful of scattered houses, higher up the mountain slope, crowd
> snow-white, stately temples. Some of them are low, with thick walls,
> wide wings and gilded cupolas; others rise in majestical many-storied
> towers; others again with shapely pointed roofs, which look like the
> spires of a bell tower. Strange and capricious is the architecture of
> these temples, the like of which is not to be seen anywhere else.
> They look as if they had suddenly dropped from the snowy abodes of the
> mountain spirits above, standing there in the shelter of the mother
> mountain, and timidly peeping over the head of the small town below at
> their own images reflected in the pure, untroubled waters of the sacred
> river.
> 
> Here the Ganges is not yet polluted by the dirt and the sins of her
> many million adorers. Releasing her worshipers, cleansed from her icy
> embrace, the pure maiden of the mountains carries her transparent waves
> through the burning plains of Hindostan; and only three hundred and
> forty-eight miles lower down, on passing through Cawnpore, do her waters
> begin to grow thicker and darker, while, on reaching Benares, they
> transform themselves into a kind of peppery pea soup.
> 
> Once, while talking to an old Hindu, who tried to convince us that his
> compatriots are the cleanest nation in the world, we asked him:
> 
> "Why is it then that, in the less populous places, the Ganges is pure
> and transparent, whilst in Benares, especially towards evening, it looks
> like a mass of liquid mud?"
> 
> "O sahibs!" answered he mournfully, "it is not the dirt of our bodies,
> as you think, it is not even the blackness of our sins, that the devi
> (goddess) washes away... Her waves are black with the sorrow and shame
> of her children. Her feelings are sad and sorrowful; hidden suffering,
> burning pain and humiliation, despair and shame at her own helplessness,
> have been her lot for many past centuries. She has suffered all this
> till her waters have become waves of black bile. Her waters are poisoned
> and black, but not from physical causes. She is our mother, and how
> could she help resenting the degradation we have brought ourselves to in
> this dark age."
> 
> This sorrowful, poetical allegory made us feel very keenly for the poor
> old man; but, however great our sympathy, we could not but suppose that
> probably the woes of the maiden Ganga do not affect her sources. In
> Hardwar the color of Ganges is crystal aqua marina, and the waters run
> gaily murmuring to the shore-reeds about the wonders they saw on their
> way from the Himalayas.
> 
> The beautiful river is the greatest and the purest of goddesses, in the
> eyes of the Hindus; and many are the honors given to her in Hardwar.
> Besides the Mela celebrated once every twelve years, there is a month in
> every year when the pilgrims flock together to the Harika-Paira, stairs
> of Vishnu. Whosoever succeeds in throwing himself first into the river,
> at the appointed day, hour and moment, will not only expiate all his
> sins, but also have all bodily sufferings removed. This zeal to be first
> is so great that, owing to a badly-constructed and narrow stair leading
> to the water, it used to cost many lives yearly, until, in 1819, the
> East India Company, taking pity upon the pilgrims, ordered this ancient
> relic to be removed, and a new stairway, one hundred feet wide, and
> consisting of sixty steps, to be constructed.
> 
> The month when the waters of the Ganges are most salutary, falls,
> according to the Brahmanical computation, between March 12th and April
> 10th, and is called Chaitra. The worst of it is that the waters are
> at their best only at the first moment of a certain propitious hour,
> indicated by the Brahmans, and which sometimes happens to be midnight.
> You can fancy what it must be when this moment comes, in the midst of a
> crowd which exceeds two millions. In 1819 more than four hundred people
> were crushed to death. But even after the new stairs were constructed,
> the goddess Ganga has carried away on her virgin bosom many a disfigured
> corpse of her worshipers. Nobody pitied the drowned, on the contrary,
> they were envied. Whoever happens to be killed during this purification
> by bathing, is sure to go straight to Swarga (heaven). In 1760, the
> two rival brotherhoods of Sannyasis and Bairagis had a regular battle
> amongst them on the sacred day of Purbi, the last day of the religious
> fair. The Bairagis were conquered, and there were eighteen thousand
> people slaughtered.
> 
> "And in 1796," proudly narrated our warlike friend the Akali, "the
> pilgrims from Punjab, all of them Sikhs, desiring to punish the
> insolence of the Hossains, killed here about five hundred of these
> heathens. My own grandfather took part in the fight!"
> 
> Later on we verified this in the Gazetteer of India, and the "God's
> warrior" was cleared of every suspicion of exaggeration and boasting.
> 
> In 1879, however, no one was drowned, or crushed to death, but a
> dreadful epidemic of cholera broke out. We were disgusted at this
> impediment; but had to keep at a distance in spite of our impatience
> to see Hardwar. And unable to behold distant summits of old Himavat
> ourselves, we had in the meanwhile to be contented with what we could
> hear about him from other people.
> 
> So we talked long after our breakfast under the cave vault was finished.
> But our talk was not so gay as it might have been, because we had to
> part with Ram-Runjit-Das, who was going to Bombay. The worthy Sikh shook
> hands with us in the European way, and then raising his right hand gave
> us his blessing, after the fashion of all the followers of Nanaka.
> But when he approached the Takur to take leave of him, his countenance
> suddenly changed. This change was so evident that we all noted it. The
> Takur was sitting on the ground leaning on a saddle, which served him as
> a cushion. The Akali did not attempt either to give him his blessing or
> to shake hands with him. The proud expression of his face also
> changed, and showed confusion and anxious humility instead of the usual
> self-respect and self-sufficiency. The brave Sikh knelt down before
> the Takur, and instead of the ordinary "Namaste!"--"Salutation to you,"
> whispered reverently, as if addressing the Guru of the Golden Lake: "I
> am your servant, Sadhu-Sahib! give me your blessing!"
> 
> Without any apparent reason or cause, we all felt self-conscious and
> ill at ease, as if guilty of some indiscretion. But the face of the
> mysterious Rajput remained as calm and as dispassionate as ever. He was
> looking at the river before this scene took place, and slowly moved his
> eyes to the Akali, who lay prostrated before him. Then he touched the
> head of the Sikh with his index finger, and rose with the remark that we
> also had better start at once, because it was getting late.
> 
> We drove in our carriage, moving very slowly because of the deep sand
> which covers all this locality, and the Takur followed us on horseback
> all the way. He told us the epic legends of Hardwar and Rajistan, of
> the great deeds of the Hari-Kulas, the heroic princes of the solar race.
> Hari means sun, and Kula family. Some of the Rajput princes belong to
> this family, and the Maharanas of Oodeypur are especially proud of their
> astronomical origin.
> 
> The name of Hari-Kula gives to some Orientalists ground to suppose that
> a member of this family emigrated to Egypt in the remote epoch of the
> first Pharaonic dynasties, and that the ancient Greeks, borrowing the
> name as well as the traditions, thus formed their legends about the
> mythological Hercules. It is believed that the ancient Egyptians adored
> the sphinx under the name of Hari-Mukh, or the "sun on the horizon." On
> the mountain chain which fringes Kashmir on the north, thirteen thousand
> feet above the sea, there is a huge summit, which is exactly like a
> head, and which bears the name of Harimukh. This name is also met with
> in the most ancient of the Puranas. Besides, popular tradition considers
> this Himalayan stone head to be the image of the setting sun.
> 
> Is it possible, then, that all these coincidences are only accidental?
> And why is it that the Orientalists will not give it more serious
> attention? It seems to me that this is a rich soil for future research,
> and that it is no more to be explained by mere chance than the fact that
> both Egypt and India held the cow sacred, and that the ancient Egyptians
> had the same religious horror of killing certain animals, as the modern
> Hindus.
> 
> An Isle of Mystery
> 
> When evening began to draw on, we were driving beneath the trees of a
> wild jungle; arriving soon after at a large lake, we left the carriages.
> The shores were overgrown with reeds--not the reeds that answer our
> European notions, but rather such as Gulliver was likely to meet with in
> his travels to Brobdingnag. The place was perfectly deserted, but we saw
> a boat fastened close to the land. We had still about an hour and a
> half of daylight before us, and so we quietly sat down on some ruins and
> enjoyed the splendid view, whilst the servants of the Takur transported
> our bags, boxes and bundles of rugs from the carriages to the ferry
> boat. Mr. Y---- was preparing to paint the picture before us, which
> indeed was charming.
> 
> "Don't be in a hurry to take down this view," said Gulab-Sing. "In half
> an hour we shall be on the islet, where the view is still lovelier. We
> may spend there the night and tomorrow morning as well."
> 
> "I am afraid it will be too dark in an hour," said Mr. Y----, opening
> his color box. "And as for tomorrow, we shall probably have to start
> very early."
> 
> "Oh, no! there is not the slightest need to start early. We may even
> stay here part of the afternoon. From here to the railway station it is
> only three hours, and the train only leaves for J ubbulpore at eight
> in the evening. And do you know," added the Takur, smiling in his usual
> mysterious way, "I am going to treat you to a concert. Tonight you shall
> be witness of a very interesting natural phenomenon connected with this
> island."
> 
> We all pricked up our ears with curiosity.
> 
> "Do you mean that island there? and do you really think we must go?"
> asked the colonel. "Why should not we spend the night here, where we are
> so deliciously cool, and where..."
> 
> "Where the forest swarms with playful leopards, and the reeds shelter
> snug family parties of the serpent race, were you going to say,
> colonel?" interrupted the Babu, with a broad grin. "Don't you admire
> this merry gathering, for instance? Look at them! There is the father
> and the mother, uncles, aunts, and children.... I am sure I could point
> out even a mother-in-law."
> 
> Miss X---- looked in the direction he indicated and shrieked, till all
> the echoes of the forest groaned in answer. Not farther than three steps
> from her there were at least forty grown up serpents and baby snakes.
> They amused themselves by practising somersaults, coiled up, then
> straightened again and interlaced their tails, presenting to our dilated
> eyes a picture of perfect innocence and primitive contentment. Miss
> X---- could not stand it any longer and fled to the carriage, whence she
> showed us a pale, horrified face. The Takur, who had arranged himself
> comfortably beside Mr. Y---- in order to watch the progress of his
> paint-ing, left his seat and looked attentively at the dangerous group,
> quietly smoking his gargari--Rajput narghile--the while.
> 
> "If you do not stop screaming you will attract all the wild animals of
> the forest in another ten minutes," said he. "None of you have anything
> to fear. If you do not excite an animal he is almost sure to leave you
> alone, and most probably will run away from you."
> 
> With these words he lightly waved his pipe in the direction of the
> serpentine family-party. A thunderbolt falling in their midst could not
> have been more effectual. The whole living mass looked stunned for a
> moment, and then rapidly disappeared among the reeds with loud hissing
> and rustling.
> 
> "Now this is pure mesmerism, I declare," said the colonel, on whom not a
> gesture of the Takur was lost. "How did you do it, Gulab-Sing? Where did
> you learn this science?"
> 
> "They were simply frightened away by the sudden movement of my chibook,
> and there was no science and no mesmerism about it. Probably by this
> fashionable modern word you mean what we Hindus call vashi-karana
> vidya--that is to say, the science of charming people and animals by the
> force of will. However, as I have already said, this has nothing to do
> with what I did."
> 
> "But you do not deny, do you, that you have studied this science and
> possess this gift?"
> 
> "Of course I don't. Every Hindu of my sect is bound to study the
> mysteries of physiology and psychology amongst other secrets left to
> us by our ancestors. But what of that? I am very much afraid, my dear
> colonel," said the Takur with a quiet smile, "that you are rather
> inclined to view the simplest of my acts through a mystical prism.
> Narayan has been telling you all kinds of things about me behind my
> back.... Now, is it not so?"
> 
> And he looked at Narayan, who sat at his feet, with an indescribable
> mixture of fondness and reproof. The Dekkan colossus dropped his eyes
> and remained silent.
> 
> "You have guessed rightly," absently answered Mr. Y----, busy over his
> drawing apparatus. "Narayan sees in you something like his late deity
> Shiva; something just a little less than Parabrahm. Would you believe
> it? He seriously assured us--in Nassik it was--that the Raj-Yogis, and
> amongst them yourself--though I must own I still fail to understand what
> a Raj-Yogi is, precisely--can force any one to see, not what is before
> his eyes at the given moment, but what is only in the imagination of the
> Raj-Yogi. If I remember rightly he called it Maya.... Now, this seemed
> to me going a little too far!"
> 
> "Well! You did not believe, of course, and laughed at Narayan?" asked
> the Takur, fathoming with his eyes the dark green deeps of the lake.
> 
> "Not precisely... Though, I dare say, I did just a little bit," went on
> Mr. Y----, absently, being fully engrossed by the view, and trying to
> fix his eyes on the most effective part of it. "I dare say I am too
> scep-tical on this kind of question."
> 
> "And knowing Mr. Y---- as I do," said the colonel, I can add, for
> my part, that even were any of these phenomena to happen to himself
> personally, he, like Dr. Carpenter, would doubt his own eyes rather than
> believe."
> 
> "What you say is a little bit exaggerated, but there is some truth in
> it. Maybe I would not trust myself in such an occurrence; and I tell you
> why. If I saw something that does not exist, or rather exists only for
> me, logic would interfere. However objective my vision may be, before
> believing in the materiality of a hallucination, I feel I am bound to
> doubt my own senses and sanity.... Besides, what bosh all this is! As
> if I ever will allow myself to believe in the reality of a thing that
> I alone saw; which belief implies also the admission of somebody else
> governing and dominating, for the time being, my optical nerves, as well
> as my brains."
> 
> "However, there are any number of people, who do not doubt, because they
> have had proof that this phenomenon really occurs," remarked the Takur,
> in a careless tone, which showed he had not the slightest desire to
> insist upon this topic.
> 
> However, this remark only increased Mr. Y----'s excitement.
> 
> "No doubt there are!" he exclaimed. "But what does that prove?
> Besides them, there are equal numbers of people who believe in the
> materialization of spirits. But do me the kindness of not including me
> among them!"
> 
> "Don't you believe in animal magnetism?"
> 
> "To a certain extent, I do. If a person suffering from some contagious
> illness can influence a person in good health, and make him ill, in his
> turn, I suppose somebody else's overflow of health can also affect the
> sick person, and, perhaps cure him. But between physiological contagion
> and mesmeric influence there is a great gulf, and I don't feel inclined
> to cross this gulf on the grounds of blind faith. It is perfectly
> possible that there are instances of thought-transference in cases of
> somnambulism, epilepsy, trance. I do not positively deny it, though I am
> very doubtful. Mediums and clairvoyants are a sickly lot, as a rule. But
> I bet you anything, a healthy man in perfectly normal conditions is not
> to be influenced by the tricks of mesmerists. I should like to see a
> magnetizer, or even a Raj-Yogi, inducing me to obey his will."
> 
> "Now, my dear fellow, you really ought not to speak so rashly," said the
> colonel, who, till then, had not taken any part in the discussion.
> 
> "Ought I not? Don't take it into your head that it is mere boastfulness
> on my part. I guarantee failure in my case, simply because every
> renowned European mesmerist has tried his luck with me, without any
> result; and that is why I defy the whole lot of them to try again, and
> feel perfectly safe about it. And why a Hindu Raj-Yogi should succeed
> where the strongest of European mesmerists failed, I do not quite
> see...."
> 
> Mr. Y---- was growing altogether too excited, and the Takur dropped the
> subject, and talked of something else.
> 
> For my part, I also feel inclined to deviate once more from my subject,
> and give some necessary explanations.
> 
> Miss X---- excepted, none of our party had ever been numbered amongst
> the spiritualists, least of all Mr. Y----. We Theosophists did not
> believe in the playfulness of departed souls, though we admitted the
> possibility of some mediumistic phenomena, while totally disagreeing
> with the spiritualists as to the cause and point of view. Refusing to
> believe in the interference, and even presence of the spirits, in the
> so-called spiritualistic phenomena, we nevertheless believe in the
> living spirit of man; we believe in the omnipotence of this spirit, and
> in its natural, though benumbed capacities. We also believe that, when
> incarnated, this spirit, this divine spark, may be apparently quenched,
> if it is not guarded, and if the life the man leads is unfavorable
> to its expansion, as it generally is; but, on the other hand, our
> conviction is that human beings can develop their potential spiritual
> powers; that, if they do, no phenomenon will be impossible for their
> liberated wills, and that they will perform what, in the eyes of the
> uninitiated, will be much more wondrous than the materialized forms of
> the spiritualists. If proper training can render the muscular strength
> ten times greater, as in the cases of renowned athletes, I do not see
> why proper training should fail in the case of moral capacities. We
> have also good grounds to believe that the secret of this proper
> training--though unknown to, and denied by, European physiologists
> and even psychologists--is known in some places in India, where its
> knowledge is hereditary, and entrusted to few.
> 
> Mr. Y---- was a novice in our Society and looked with distrust even on
> such phenomena as can be pro-duced by mesmerism. He had been trained
> in the Royal Institute of British Architects, which he left with a
> gold medal, and with a fund of scepticism that caused him to distrust
> everything, en dehors des mathematiques pures. So that no wonder he lost
> his temper when people tried to convince him that there existed things
> which he was inclined to treat as "mere bosh and fables."
> 
> Now I return to my narrative.
> 
> The Babu and Mulji left us to help the servants to transport our luggage
> to the ferry boat. The remainder of the party had grown very quiet and
> silent. Miss X---- dozed peacefully in the carriage, forgetting her
> recent fright. The colonel, stretched on the sand, amused himself by
> throwing stones into the water. Narayan sat motionless, with his hands
> round his knees, plunged as usual in the mute contemplation of Gulab
> Lal-Sing. Mr. Y---- sketched hurriedly and diligently, only raising his
> head from time to time to glance at the opposite shore, and knitting his
> brow in a preoccupied way. The Takur went on smoking, and as for me, I
> sat on my folding chair, looking lazily at everything round me, till my
> eyes rested on Gulab-Sing, and were fixed, as if by a spell.
> 
> "Who and what is this mysterious Hindu?" I wondered in my uncertain
> thoughts. "Who is this man, who unites in himself two such distinct
> personalities: the one exterior, kept up for strangers, for the orld in
> general, the other interior, moral and spiritual, shown only to a few
> intimate friends? But even these intimate friends do they know much
> beyond what is generally known? And what do they know? They see in him a
> Hindu who differs very little from the rest of educated natives, perhaps
> only in his perfect contempt for the social conventions of India and the
> demands of Western civilization.... And that is all--unless I add that
> he is known in Central India as a sufficiently wealthy man, and a Takur,
> a feudal chieftain of a Raj, one of the hundreds of similar Rajes.
> Besides, he is a true friend of ours, who offered us his protection
> in our travels and volunteered to play the mediator between us and the
> suspicious, uncommunicative Hindus. Beyond all this, we know absolutely
> nothing about him. It is true, though, that I know a little more than
> the others; but I have promised silence, and silent I shall be. But the
> little I know is so strange, so unusual, that it is more like a dream
> than a reality."
> 
> A good while ago, more than twenty-seven years, I met him in the house
> of a stranger in England, whither he came in the company of a certain
> dethroned Indian prince. Then our acquaintance was limited to two
> conversations; their unexpectedness, their gravity, and even severity,
> produced a strong impression on me then; but, in the course of time,
> like many other things, they sank into oblivion and Lethe. About seven
> years ago he wrote to me to America, reminding me of our conversation
> and of a certain promise I had made. Now we saw each other once more in
> India, his own country, and I failed to see any change wrought in his
> appearance by all these long years. I was, and looked, quite young, when
> I first saw him; but the passage of years had not failed to change me
> into an old woman. As to him, he appeared to me twenty-seven years ago
> a man of about thirty, and still looked no older, as if time were
> powerless against him. In England, his striking beauty, especially his
> extraordinary height and stature, together with his eccentric refusal to
> be presented to the Queen--an honour many a high-born Hindu has sought,
> coming over on purpose--excited the public notice and the attention of
> the newspapers. The newspapermen of those days, when the influence of
> Byron was still great, discussed the "wild Rajput" with untiring
> pens, calling him "Raja-Misanthrope" and " Prince Jalma-Samson," and
> in-venting fables about him all the time he stayed in England.
> 
> All this taken together was well calculated to fill me with consuming
> curiosity, and to absorb my thoughts till I forgot every exterior
> circumstance, sitting and staring at him in no wise less intensely than
> Narayan.
> 
> I gazed at the remarkable face of Gulab-Lal-Sing with a mixed feeling of
> indescribable fear and enthusiastic admiration; recalling the mysterious
> death of the Karli tiger, my own miraculous escape a few hours ago in
> Bagh, and many other incidents too many to relate. It was only a few
> hours since he appeared to us in the morning, and yet what a number of
> strange ideas, of puzzling occurrences, how many enigmas his presence
> stirred in our minds! The magic circle of my revolving thought grew too
> much for me. "What does all this mean!" I exclaimed to myself, trying
> to shake off my torpor, and struggling to find words for my meditation.
> "Who is this being whom I saw so many years ago, jubilant with manhood
> and life, and now see again, as young and as full of life, only still
> more austere, still more incomprehensible. After all, maybe it is his
> brother, or even his son?" thought I, trying to calm myself, but with no
> result. "No! there is no use doubting; it is he himself, it is the same
> face, the same little scar on the left temple. But, as a quarter of a
> century ago, so now: no wrinkles on those beautiful classic features;
> not a white hair in this thick jet-black mane; and, in moments of
> silence, the same expression of perfect rest on that face, calm as a
> statue of living bronze. What a strange expression, and what a wonderful
> Sphinx-like face!"
> 
> "Not a very brilliant comparison, my old friend!" suddenly spoke the
> Takur, and a good-natured laughing note rung in his voice, whilst I
> shuddered and grew red like a naughty schoolgirl. "This comparison is
> so inaccurate that it decidedly sins against history in two important
> points. Primo, the Sphinx is a lion; so am I, as indicates the word Sing
> in my name; but the Sphinx is winged, and I am not. Secondo, the Sphinx
> is a woman as well as a winged lion, but the Rajput Sinhas never had
> anything effeminate in their characters. Besides, the Sphinx is the
> daughter of Chimera, or Echidna, who were neither beautiful nor good;
> and so you might have chosen a more flattering and a less inaccurate
> comparison!"
> 
> I simply gasped in my utter confusion, and he gave vent to his
> merriment, which by no means relieved me. "Shall I give you some good
> advice?" continued Gulab-Sing, changing his tone for a more serious one.
> "Don't trouble your head with such vain speculations. The day when this
> riddle yields its solution, the Rajput Sphinx will not seek destruction
> in the waves of the sea; but, believe me, it won't bring any profit to
> the Russian Oedipus either. You already know every detail you ever will
> learn. So leave the rest to our respective fates."
> 
> And he rose because the Babu and Mulji had informed us that the ferry
> boat was ready to start, and were shouting and making signs to us to
> hasten.
> 
> "Just let me finish," said Mr. Y----, "I have nearly done. Just an
> additional touch or two."
> 
> "Let us see your work. Hand it round!" insisted the colonel and Miss
> X----, who had just left her haven of refuge in the carriage, and joined
> us still half asleep.
> 
> Mr. Y---- hurriedly added a few more touches to his drawing and rose to
> collect his brushes and pencils.
> 
> We glanced at his fresh wet picture and opened our eyes in astonishment.
> There was no lake on it, no woody shores, and no velvety evening mists
> that covered the distant island at this moment. Instead of all this we
> saw a charming sea view; thick clusters of shapely palm-trees scattered
> over the chalky cliffs of the littoral; a fortress-like bungalow with
> balconies and a flat roof, an elephant standing at its entrance, and a
> native boat on the crest of a foaming billow.
> 
> "Now what is this view, sir?" wondered the colonel. "As if it was worth
> your while to sit in the sun, and detain us all, to draw fancy pictures
> out of your own head!"
> 
> "What on earth are you talking about?" exclaimed Mr. Y----. "Do you mean
> to say you do not recognize the lake?"
> 
> "Listen to him--the lake! Where is the lake, if you please? Were you
> asleep, or what?"
> 
> By this time all our party gathered round the colonel, who held the
> drawing. Narayan uttered an exclamation, and stood still, the very image
> of bewilderment past description.
> 
> "I know the place!" said he, at last. "This is Dayri--Bol, the country
> house of the Takur-Sahib. I know it. Last year during the famine I lived
> there for two months."
> 
> I was the first to grasp the meaning of it all, but something prevented
> me from speaking at once.
> 
> At last Mr. Y---- finished arranging and packing his things, and
> approached us in his usual lazy, careless way, but his face showed
> traces of vexation. He was evidently bored by our persistency in seeing
> a sea, where there was nothing but the corner of a lake. But, at the
> first sight of his unlucky sketch, his countenance suddenly changed.
> He grew so pale, and the expression of his face became so piteously
> distraught that it was painful to see. He turned and returned the piece
> of Bristol board, then rushed like a madman to his drawing portfolio and
> turned the whole contents out, ransacking and scattering over the sand
> hundreds of sketches and of loose papers. Evidently failing to find
> what he was looking for, he glanced again at his sea-view, and suddenly
> covering his face with his hands totally collapsed.
> 
> We all remained silent, exchanging glances of wonder and pity, and
> heedless of the Takur, who stood on the ferry boat, vainly calling to us
> to join him.
> 
> "Look here, Y----!" timidly spoke the kind-hearted colonel, as if
> addressing a sick child. "Are you sure you remember drawing this view?"
> 
> Mr. Y---- did not give any answer, as if gathering strength and thinking
> it over. After a few moments he answered in hoarse and tremulous tones:
> 
> "Yes, I do remember. Of course I made this sketch, but I made it from
> nature. I painted only what I saw. And it is that very certainty that
> upsets me so."
> 
> "But why should you be upset, my dear fellow? Collect yourself! What
> happened to you is neither shameful nor dreadful. It is only the result
> of the temporary influence of one dominant will over another, less
> powerful. You simply acted under 'biological influence,' to use the
> expression of Dr. Carpenter."
> 
> "That is exactly what I am most afraid of.... I remember everything now.
> I have been busy over this view more than an hour. I saw it directly
> I chose the spot, and seeing it all the while on the opposite shore I
> could not suspect anything uncanny. I was perfectly conscious... or,
> shall I say, I fancied I was conscious of putting down on paper what
> everyone of you had before your eyes. I had lost every notion of the
> place as I saw it before I began my sketch, and as I see it now.... But
> how do you account for it? Good gracious! am I to believe that these
> confounded Hindus really possess the mystery of this trick? I tell you,
> colonel, I shall go mad if I don't understand it all!"
> 
> "No fear of that, Mr. Y----," said Narayan, with a triumphant twinkle in
> his eyes. "You will simply lose the right to deny Yoga-Vidya, the great
> ancient science of my country."
> 
> Mr. Y---- did not answer him. He made an effort to calm his feelings,
> and bravely stepped on the ferry boat with firm foot. Then he sat down,
> apart from us all, obstinately looking at the large surface of water
> round us, and struggling to seem his usual self.
> 
> Miss X---- was the first to interrupt the silence.
> 
> "Ma chere!" said she to me in a subdued, but triumphant voice. "Ma
> chere, Monsieur Y---- devient vraiment un medium de premiere force!"
> 
> In moments of great excitement she always addressed me in French. But
> I also was too excited to control my feelings, and so I answered rather
> unkindly:
> 
> "Please stop this nonsense, Miss X----. You know I don't believe in
> spiritualism. Poor Mr. Y----, was not he upset?"
> 
> Receiving this rebuke and no sympathy from me, she could not think
> of anything better than drawing out the Babu, who, for a wonder, had
> managed to keep quiet till then.
> 
> "What do you say to all this? I for one am perfectly confident that no
> one but the disembodied soul of a great artist could have painted that
> lovely view. Who else is capable of such a wonderful achievement?"
> 
> "Why? The old gentleman in person. Confess that at the bottom of your
> soul you firmly believe that the Hindus worship devils. To be sure it is
> some deity of ours of this kind that had his august paw in the matter."
> 
> "Il est positivement malhonnete, ce Negre-la!" angrily muttered Miss
> X----, hurriedly withdrawing from him.
> 
> The island was a tiny one, and so overgrown with tall reeds that, from
> a distance, it looked like a pyramidal basket of verdure. With the
> exception of a colony of monkeys, who bustled away to a few mango trees
> at our approach, the place seemed uninhabited. In this virgin forest of
> thick grass there was no trace of human life. Seeing the word grass the
> reader must not forget that it is not the grass of Europe I mean; the
> grass under which we stood, like insects under a rhubarb leaf, waved
> its feathery many-colored plumes much above the head of Gulab-Sing
> (who stood six feet and a half in his stockings), and of Narayan, who
> measured hardly an inch less. From a distance it looked like a waving
> sea of black, yellow, blue, and especially of rose and green. On
> landing, we discovered that it consisted of separate thickets of
> bamboos, mixed up with the gigantic sirka reeds, which rose as high as
> the tops of the mangos.
> 
> It is impossible to imagine anything prettier and more graceful than the
> bamboos and sirka. The isolated tufts of bamboos show, in spite of their
> size, that they are nothing but grass, because the least gush of wind
> shakes them, and their green crests begin to nod like heads adorned with
> long ostrich plumes. There were some bamboos there fifty or sixty feet
> high. From time to time we heard a light metallic rustle in the reeds,
> but none of us paid much attention to it.
> 
> Whilst our coolies and servants were busy clearing a place for our
> tents, pitching them and preparing the supper, we went to pay
> our respects to the monkeys, the true hosts of the place. Without
> exaggeration there were at least two hundred. While preparing for their
> nightly rest the monkeys behaved like decorous and well-behaved people;
> every family chose a separate branch and defended it from the intrusion
> of strangers lodging on the same tree, but this defence never passed
> the limits of good manners, and generally took the shape of threatening
> grimaces. There were many mothers with babies in arms amongst them; some
> of them treated the children tenderly, and lifted them cautiously,
> with a perfectly human care; others, less thoughtful, ran up and
> down, heedless of the child hanging at their breasts, preoccupied with
> something, discussing something, and stopping every moment to quarrel
> with other monkey ladies--a true picture of chatty old gossips on a
> market day, repeated in the animal kingdom. The bachelors kept apart,
> absorbed in their athletic exercises, performed for the most part
> with the ends of their tails. One of them, especially, attracted our
> attention by dividing his amusement between sauts perilleux and teasing
> a respectable looking grandfather, who sat under a tree hugging two
> little monkeys. Swinging backward and forward from the branch, the
> bachelor jumped at him, bit his ear playfully and made faces at him,
> chattering all the time. We cautiously passed from one tree to another,
> afraid of frightening them away; but evidently the years spent by them
> with the fakirs, who left the island only a year ago, had accustomed
> them to human society. They were sacred monkeys, as we learned, and so
> they had nothing to fear from men. They showed no signs of alarm at our
> approach, and, having received our greeting, and some of them a piece of
> sugar-cane, they calmly stayed on their branch-thrones, crossing their
> arms, and looking at us with a good deal of dignified contempt in their
> intelligent hazel eyes.
> 
> The sun had set, and we were told that the supper was ready. We all
> turned "homewards," except the Babu. The main feature of his character,
> in the eyes of orthodox Hindus, being a tendency to blasphemy, he could
> never resist the temptation to justify their opinion of him. Climbing up
> a high branch he crouched there, imitating every gesture of the monkeys
> and answering their threatening grimaces by still uglier ones, to the
> unconcealed disgust of our pious coolies.
> 
> As the last golden ray disappeared on the horizon, a gauze-like veil
> of pale lilac fell over the world. But as every moment decreased the
> transparency of this tropical twilight, the tint gradually lost its
> softness and became darker and darker. It looked as if an invisible
> painter, unceasingly moving his gigantic brush, swiftly laid one coat
> of paint over the other, ever changing the exquisite background of our
> islet. The phosphoric candles of the fireflies began to twinkle here and
> there, shining brightly against the black trunks of the trees, and lost
> again on the silvery background of opalescent evening sky. But in a
> few minutes more thousands of these living sparks, precursors of Queen
> Night, played round us, pouring like a golden cascade over the trees,
> and dancing in the air above the grass and the dark lake.
> 
> And behold! here is the queen in person. Noiselessly descending upon
> earth, she reassumes her rights. With her approach, rest and peace
> spread over us; her cool breath calms the activities of day. Like a fond
> mother, she sings a lullaby to nature, lovingly wrapping her in her soft
> black mantle; and, when everything is asleep, she watches over nature's
> dozing powers till the first streaks of dawn.
> 
> Nature sleeps; but man is awake, to be witness to the beauties of this
> solemn evening hour. Sitting round the fire we talked, lowering our
> voices as if afraid of awaking night. We were only six; the colonel,
> the four Hindus and myself, because Mr. Y---- and Miss X---- could
> not resist the fatigue of the day and had gone to sleep directly after
> supper.
> 
> Snugly sheltered by the high "grass," we had not the heart to spend this
> magnificent night in prosaic sleeping. Besides, we were waiting for the
> "concert" which the Takur had promised us.
> 
> "Be patient," said he, "the musicians will not appear before the moon
> rises."
> 
> The fickle goddess was late; she kept us waiting till after ten o'clock.
> Just before her arrival, when the horizon began to grow perceptibly
> brighter, and the opposite shore to assume a milky, silvery tint, a
> sudden wind rose. The waves, that had gone quietly to sleep at the feet
> of gigantic reeds, awoke and tossed uneasily, till the reeds swayed
> their feathery heads and murmured to each other as if taking counsel
> together about some thing that was going to happen.... Suddenly, in the
> general stillness and silence, we heard again the same musical notes,
> which we had passed unheeded, when we first reached the island, as if
> a whole orchestra were trying their musical instruments before playing
> some great composition. All round us, and over our heads, vibrated
> strings of violins, and thrilled the separate notes of a flute. In a
> few moments came another gust of wind tearing through the reeds, and the
> whole island resounded with the strains of hundreds of Aeolian harps.
> And suddenly there began a wild unceasing symphony. It swelled in the
> surrounding woods, filling the air with an indescribable melody. Sad and
> solemn were its prolonged strains; they resounded like the arpeggios of
> some funeral march, then, changing into a trembling thrill, they shook
> the air like the song of a nightingale, and died away in a long sigh.
> They did not quite cease, but grew louder again, ringing like hundreds
> of silver bells, changing from the heartrending howl of a wolf, deprived
> of her young, to the precipitate rhythm of a gay tarantella, forgetful
> of every earthly sorrow; from the articulate song of a human voice, to
> the vague majestic accords of a violoncello, from merry child's laughter
> to angry sobbing. And all this was repeated in every direction by
> mocking echo, as if hundreds of fabulous forest maidens, disturbed in
> their green abodes, answered the appeal of the wild musical Saturnalia.
> 
> The colonel and I glanced at each other in our great astonishment.
> 
> "How delightful! What witchcraft is this?" we exclaimed at the same
> time.
> 
> The Hindus smiled, but did not answer us. The Takur smoked his gargari
> as peacefully as if he was deaf.
> 
> There was a short interval, after which the invisible orchestra
> started again with renewed energy. The sounds poured and rolled in
> unrestrainable, overwhelming waves. We had never heard anything like
> this inconceivable wonder. Listen! A storm in the open sea, the wind
> tearing through the rigging, the swish of the maddened waves rushing
> over each other, or the whirling snow wreaths on the silent steppes.
> Suddenly the vision is changed; now it is a stately cathedral and the
> thundering strains of an organ rising under its vaults. The powerful
> notes now rush together, now spread out through space, break off,
> intermingle, and become entangled, like the fantastic melody of a
> delirious fever, some musical phantasy born of the howling and whistling
> of the wind.
> 
> Alas! the charm of these sounds is soon exhausted, and you begin to feel
> that they cut like knives through your brain. A horrid fancy haunts our
> bewildered heads; we imagine that the invisible artists strain our
> own veins, and not the strings of imaginary violins; their cold breath
> freezes us, blowing their imaginary trumpets, shaking our nerves and
> impeding our breathing.
> 
> "For God's sake stop this, Takur! This is really too much," shouted
> the colonel, at the end of his patience, and covering his ears with his
> hands. "Gulab-Sing, I tell you you must stop this."
> 
> The three Hindus burst out laughing; and even the grave face of the
> Takur lit up with a merry smile. "Upon my word," said he, "do you really
> take me for the great Parabrahm? Do you think it is in my power to stop
> the wind, as if I were Marut, the lord of the storms, in person. Ask for
> something easier than the instantaneous uprooting of all these bamboos."
> 
> "I beg your pardon; I thought these strange sounds also were some kind
> of psychologic influence."
> 
> "So sorry to disappoint you, my dear colonel; but you really must think
> less of psychology and electrobiology. This develops into a mania
> with you. Don't you see that this wild music is a natural acoustic
> phenomenon? Each of the reeds around us--and there are thousands on this
> island--contains a natural musical instrument; and the musician, Wind,
> comes here daily to try his art after nightfall--especially during the
> last quarter of the moon."
> 
> "The wind!" murmured the colonel. "Oh, yes! But this music begins to
> change into a dreadful roar. Is there no way out of it?"
> 
> "I at least cannot help it. But keep up your patience, you will soon get
> accustomed to it. Besides, there will be intervals when the wind falls."
> 
> We were told that there are many such natural orchestras in India. The
> Brahmans know well their wonderful properties, and calling this kind of
> reed vina-devi, the lute of the gods, keep up the popular superstition
> and say the sounds are divine oracles. The sirka grass and the bamboos
> always shelter a number of tiny beetles, which make considerable holes
> in the hollow reeds. The fakirs of the idol-worshipping sects add art to
> this natural beginning and work the plants into musical instruments. The
> islet we visited bore one of the most celebrated vina-devis, and so, of
> course, was proclaimed sacred.
> 
> "Tomorrow morning," said the Takur, "you will see what deep knowledge
> of all the laws of acoustics was in the possession of the fakirs. They
> enlarged the holes made by the beetle according to the size of the reed,
> sometimes shaping it into a circle, sometimes into an oval. These
> reeds in their present state can be justly considered as the finest
> illustration of mechanism applied to acoustics. However, this is not to
> be wondered at, because some of the most ancient Sanskrit books about
> music minutely describe these laws, and mention many musical instruments
> which are not only forgotten, but totally incomprehensible in our days."
> 
> All this was very interesting, but still, disturbed by the din, we could
> not listen attentively.
> 
> "Don't worry yourselves," said the Takur, who soon understood our
> uneasiness, in spite of our attempts at composure. "After midnight the
> wind will fall, and you will sleep undisturbed. However, if the too
> close neighborhood of this musical grass is too much for you, we may as
> well go nearer to the shore. There is a spot from which you can see the
> sacred bonfires on the opposite shore."
> 
> We followed him, but while walking through the thickets of reeds we did
> not leave off our conversation. "How is it that the Brahmans manage to
> keep up such an evident cheat?" asked the colonel. "The stupidest man
> cannot fail to see in the long run who made the holes in the reeds, and
> how they come to give forth music."
> 
> "In America stupid men may be as clever as that; I don't know," answered
> the Takur, with a smile; "but not in India. If you took the trouble to
> show, to describe, and to explain how all this is done to any Hindu, be
> he even comparatively educated, he will still see nothing. He will tell
> you that he knows as well as yourself that the holes are made by the
> beetles and enlarged by the fakirs. But what of that? The beetle in his
> eyes is no ordinary beetle, but one of the gods incarnated in the insect
> for this special purpose; and the fakir is a holy ascetic, who has acted
> in this case by the order of the same god. That will be all you will
> ever get out of him. Fanaticism and superstition took centuries to
> develop in the masses, and now they are as strong as a necessary
> physiological function. Kill these two and the crowd will have its eyes
> opened, and will see truth, but not before. As to the Brahmans, India
> would have been very fortunate if everything they have done were as
> harmless. Let the crowds adore the muse and the spirit of harmony. This
> adoration is not so very wicked, after all."
> 
> The Babu told us that in Dehra-Dun this kind of reed is planted on
> both sides of the central street, which is more than a mile long. The
> buildings prevent the free action of the wind, and so the sounds are
> heard only in time of east wind, which is very rare. A year ago Swami
> Dayanand happened to camp off Dehra-Dun. Crowds of people gathered round
> him every evening. One day he delivered a very powerful sermon against
> superstition. Tired out by this long, energetic speech, and, besides,
> being a little unwell, the Swami sat down on his carpet and shut his
> eyes to rest as soon as the sermon was finished. But the crowd, seeing
> him so unusually quiet and silent, all at once imagined that his soul,
> abandoning him in this prostration, entered the reeds--that had just
> begun to sing their fantastical rhapsody--and was now conversing
> with the gods through the bamboos. Many a pious man in this gathering,
> anxious to show the teacher in what fulness they grasped his teaching
> and how deep was their respect for him personally, knelt down before the
> singing reeds and performed a most ardent puja.
> 
> "What did the Swami say to that?"
> 
> "He did not say anything.... Your question shows that you don't know
> our Swami yet," laughed the Babu. "He simply jumped to his feet, and,
> uprooting the first sacred reed on his way, gave such a lively European
> bakshish (thrashing) to the pious puja-makers, that they instantly took
> to their heels. The Swami ran after them for a whole mile, giving it hot
> to everyone in his way. He is wonderfully strong is our Swami, and no
> friend to useless talk, I can tell you."
> 
> "But it seems to me," said the colonel, "that that is not the right way
> to convert crowds. Dispersing and frightening is not converting."
> 
> "Not a bit of it. The masses of our nation require peculiar
> treatment.... Let me tell you the end of this story. Disappointed with
> the effect of his teachings on the inhabitants of Dehra-Dun, Dayanand
> Saraswati went to Patna, some thirty-five or forty miles from there. And
> before he had even rested from the fatigues of his journey, he had to
> receive a deputation from Dehra-Dun, who on their knees entreated him to
> come back. The leaders of this deputation had their backs covered with
> bruises, made by the bamboo of the Swami! They brought him back with no
> end of pomp, mounting him on an elephant and spreading flowers all along
> the road. Once in Dehra-Dun, he immediately proceeded to found a Samaj,
> a society as you would say, and the Dehra-Dun Arya-Samaj now counts
> at least two hundred members, who have renounced idol-worship and
> superstition for ever."
> 
> "I was present," said Mulji, "two years ago in Benares, when Dayanand
> broke to pieces about a hundred idols in the bazaar, and the same stick
> served him to beat a Brahman with. He caught the latter in the hollow
> idol of a huge Shiva. The Brahman was quietly sitting there talking to
> the devotees in the name, and so to speak, with the voice of Shiva, and
> asking money for a new suit of clothes the idol wanted."
> 
> "Is it possible the Swami had not to pay for this new achievement of
> his?"
> 
> "Oh, yes. The Brahman dragged him into a law court, but the judge had to
> pronounce the Swami in the right, because of the crowd of sympathizers
> and defenders who followed the Swami. But still he had to pay for all
> the idols he had broken. So far so good; but the Brahman died of cholera
> that very night, and of course, the opposers of the reform said his
> death was brought on by the sorcery of Dayanand Saraswati. This vexed us
> all a good deal."
> 
> "Now, Narayan, it is your turn," said I. Have you no story to tell us
> about the Swami? And do you not look up to him as to your Guru?"
> 
> "I have only one Guru and only one God on earth, as in heaven," answered
> Narayan; and I saw that he was very unwilling to speak. "And while I
> live, I shall not desert them."
> 
> "I know who is his Guru and his God!" thoughtlessly exclaimed the
> quick-tongued Babu. "It is the Takur--Sahib. In his person both coincide
> in the eyes of Narayan."
> 
> "You ought to be ashamed to talk such nonsense, Babu," coldly remarked
> Gulab-Sing. "I do not think myself worthy of being anybody's Guru. As to
> my being a god, the mere words are a blasphemy, and I must ask you not
> to repeat them... Here we are!" added he more cheerfully, pointing to
> the carpets spread by the servants on the shore, and evidently desirous
> of changing the topic. "Let us sit down!"
> 
> We arrived at a small glade some distance from the bamboo forest.
> The sounds of the magic orchestra reached us still, but considerably
> weakened, and only from time to time. We sat to the windward of the
> reeds, and so the harmonic rustle we heard was exactly like the low
> tones of an Aeolian harp, and had nothing disagreeable in it. On the
> contrary, the distant murmur only added to the beauty of the whole scene
> around us.
> 
> We sat down, and only then I realized how tired and sleepy I was--and
> no wonder, after being on foot since four in the morning, and after all
> that had happened to me on this memorable day. The gentlemen went
> on talking, and I soon became so absorbed in my thoughts that their
> conversation reached me only in fragments.
> 
> "Wake up, wake up!" repeated the colonel, shaking me by the hand. "The
> Takur says that sleeping in the moonlight will do you harm."
> 
> I was not asleep; I was simply thinking, though ex-hausted and sleepy.
> But wholly under the charm of this enchanting night, I could not shake
> off my drowsiness, and did not answer the colonel.
> 
> "Wake up, for God's sake! Think of what you are risking!" continued the
> colonel. "Wake up and look at the landscape before us, at this wonderful
> moon. Have you ever seen anything to equal this magnificent panorama?"
> 
> I looked up, and the familiar lines of Pushkin about the golden moon of
> Spain flashed into my mind. And indeed this was a golden moon. At this
> moment she radiated rivers of golden light, poured forth liquid gold
> into the tossing lake at our feet, and sprinkled with golden dust every
> blade of grass, every pebble, as far as the eye could reach, all round
> us. Her disk of silvery yellow swiftly glided upward amongst the big
> stars, on their dark blue ground.
> 
> Many a moonlit night have I seen in India, but every time the impression
> was new and unexpected. It is no use trying to describe these feerique
> pictures, they cannot be represented either in words or in colors on
> canvas, they can only be felt--so fugitive is their grandeur and beauty!
> In Europe, even in the south, the full moon eclipses the largest and
> most brilliant of the stars, so that hardly any can be seen for a
> considerable distance round her. In India it is quite the contrary; she
> looks like a huge pearl surrounded by diamonds, rolling on a blue velvet
> ground. Her light is so intense that one can read a letter written in
> small handwriting; one even can perceive the different greens of the
> trees and bushes--a thing unheard of in Europe. The effect of the moon
> is especially charming on tall palm trees. From the first moment of her
> appearance her rays glide over the tree downwards, beginning with
> the feathery crests, then lighting up the scales of the trunk, and
> descending lower and lower till the whole palm is literally bathing in
> a sea of light. Without any metaphor the surface of the leaves seems
> to tremble in liquid silver all the night long, whereas their under
> surfaces seem blacker and softer than black velvet. But woe to the
> thoughtless novice, woe to the mortal who gazes at the Indian moon with
> his head uncovered. It is very dangerous not only to sleep under, but
> even to gaze at the chaste Indian Diana. Fits of epilepsy, madness
> and death are the punishments wrought by her treacherous arrows on the
> modern Acteon who dares to contemplate the cruel daughter of Latona in
> her full beauty. The Hindus never go out in the moonlight without their
> turbans or pagris. Even our invulnerable Babu always wore a kind of
> white cap during the night.
> 
> As soon as the reeds concert reaches its height and the inhabitants of
> the neighborhood hear the distant "voices of the gods," whole villages
> flock together to the bank of the lake, light bonfires, and perform
> their pujas. The fires lit up one after the other, and the black
> silhouettes of the worshippers moved about on the opposite shore. Their
> sacred songs and loud exclamations, "Hari, Hari, Maha-deva!" resounded
> with a strange loudness and a wild emphasis in the pure air of the
> night. And the reeds, shaken in the wind, answered them with tender
> musical phrases. The whole stirred a vague feeling of uneasiness in
> my soul, a strange intoxication crept gradually over me, and in this
> enchanting place the idol-worship of these passionate, poetical souls,
> sunk in dark ignorance, seemed more intelligible and less repulsive. A
> Hindu is a born mystic, and the luxuriant nature of his country has made
> of him a zealous pantheist.
> 
> Sounds of alguja, a kind of Pandean pipe with seven openings, struck
> our attention; their music was wafted by the wind quite distinctly from
> somewhere in the wood. They also startled a whole family of monkeys in
> the branches of a tree over our heads. Two or three monkeys carefully
> slipped down, and looked round as if waiting for something.
> 
> "What is this new Orpheus, to whose voice these monkeys answer?" asked I
> laughingly.
> 
> "Some fakir probably. The alguja is generally used to invite the sacred
> monkeys to their meals. The community of fakirs, who once inhabited
> this island, have removed to an old pagoda in the forest. Their new
> resting-place brings them more profit, because there are many passers
> by, whereas the island is perfectly isolated."
> 
> "Probably they were compelled to desert this dreadful place because they
> were threatened by chronic deafness," Miss X---- expressed her opinion.
> She could not help being out of temper at being prevented from enjoying
> her quiet slumber, our tents being right in the middle of the orchestra.
> 
> "A propos of Orpheus," asked the Takur, "do you know that the lyre of
> this Greek demigod was not the first to cast spells over people, animals
> and even rivers? Kui, a certain Chinese musical artist, as they are
> called, expresses something to this effect: 'When I play my kyng the
> wild animals hasten to me, and range themselves into rows, spellbound by
> my melody.' This Kui lived one thousand years before the supposed era of
> Orpheus."
> 
> "What a funny coincidence!" exclaimed I. "Kui is the name of one of our
> best artists in St. Petersburg. Where did you read this?"
> 
> "Oh, this is not a very rare piece of information. Some of your Western
> Orientalists have it in their books. But I personally found it in an
> ancient Sanskrit book, translated from the Chinese in the second century
> before your era. But the original is to be found in a very ancient work,
> named The Preserver of the Five Chief Virtues. It is a kind of chronicle
> or treatise on the development of music in China. It was written by the
> order of Emperor Hoang-Tee many hundred years before your era."
> 
> "Do you think, then, that the Chinese ever understood anything about
> music?" said the colonel, with an incredulous smile. "In California and
> other places I heard some traveling artists of the celestial empire.
> Well, I think, that kind of musical entertainment would drive any one
> mad."
> 
> "That is exactly the opinion of many of your Western musicians on the
> subject of our ancient Aryan, as well as of modern Hindu, music. But, in
> the first instance, the idea of melody is perfectly arbitrary; and, in
> the second, there is a good deal of difference between the technical
> knowledge of music, and the creation of melodies fit to please the
> educated, as well as the uneducated, ear. According to technical theory,
> a musical piece may be perfect, but the melody, nevertheless, may be
> above the understanding of an untrained taste, or simply unpleasant.
> Your most renowned operas sound for us like a wild chaos, like a rush of
> strident, entangled sounds, in which we do not see any meaning at all,
> and which give us headaches. I have visited the London and the Paris
> opera; I have heard Rossini and Meyer-beer; I was resolved to render
> myself an account of my impressions, and listened with the greatest
> attention. But I own I prefer the simplest of our native melodies to the
> productions of the best European composers. Our popular songs speak to
> me, whereas they fail to produce any emotion in you. But leaving the
> tunes and songs out of question, I can assure you that our ancestors,
> as well as the ancestors of the Chinese, were far from inferior to the
> modern Europeans, if not in technical instrumentation, at least in their
> abstract notions of music."
> 
> "The Aryan nations of antiquity, perhaps; but I hardly believe this in
> the case of the Turanian Chinese!" said our president doubtfully.
> 
> "But the music of nature has been everywhere the first step to the
> music of art. This is a universal rule. But there are different ways of
> following it. Our musical system is the greatest art, if--pardon me this
> seeming paradox--avoiding all artificiality is art. We do not allow in
> our melodies any sounds that cannot be classified amongst the living
> voices of nature; whereas the modern Chinese tendencies are quite
> different. The Chinese system comprises eight chief tones, which serve
> as a tuning-fork to all derivatives; which are accordingly classified
> under the names of their generators. These eight sounds are: the notes
> metal, stone, silk, bamboo, pumpkin, earthenware, leather and wood. So
> that they have metallic sounds, wooden sounds, silk sounds, and so on.
> Of course, under these conditions they cannot produce any melody; their
> music consists of an entangled series of separate notes. Their imperial
> hymn, for instance, is a series of endless unisons. But we Hindus owe
> our music only to living nature, and in nowise to inanimate objects. In
> a higher sense of the word, we are pantheists, and so our music is, so
> to speak, pantheistic; but, at the same time, it is highly scientific.
> Coming from the cradle of humanity, the Aryan races, who were the first
> to attain manhood, listened to the voice of nature, and concluded that
> melody as well as harmony are both contained in our great common mother.
> Nature has no false and no artificial notes; and man, the crown of
> creation, felt desirous of imitating her sounds. In their multiplicity,
> all these sounds--according to the opinion of some of your Western
> physicists--make only one tone, which we all can hear, if we know how
> to listen, in the eternal rustle of the foliage of big forests, in the
> murmur of water, in the roar of the storming ocean, and even in the
> distant roll of a great city. This tone is the middle F, the fundamental
> tone of nature. In our melodies it serves as the starting point, which
> we embody in the key-note, and around which are grouped all the
> other sounds. Having noticed that every musical note has its typical
> representative in the animal kingdom, our ancestors found out that the
> seven chief tones correspond to the cries of the goat, the peacock, the
> ox, the parrot, the frog, the tiger, and the elephant. So the octave was
> discovered and founded. As to its subdivisions and measure, they also
> found their basis in the complicated sounds of the same animals."
> 
> "I am no judge of your ancient music," said the colonel, "nor do I know
> whether your ancestors did, or did not, work out any musical theories,
> so I cannot contradict you; but I must own that, listening to the songs
> of the modern Hindus, I could not give them any credit for musical
> knowledge."
> 
> "No doubt it is so, because you have never heard a professional singer.
> When you have visited Poona, and have listened to the Gayan Samaj, we
> shall resume our present conversation. The Gayan Samaj is a society
> whose aim is to restore the ancient national music."
> 
> Gulab-Lal-Sing spoke in his usual calm voice, but the Babu was evidently
> burning to break forth for his country's honor, and at the same time, he
> was afraid of offending his seniors by interrupting their conversation.
> At last he lost patience.
> 
> "You are unjust, colonel!" he exclaimed. "The music of the ancient
> Aryans is an antediluvian plant, no doubt, but nevertheless it is well
> worth studying, and deserves every consideration. This is perfectly
> proved now by a compatriot of mine, the Raja Surendronath Tagor.... He
> is a Mus. D., he has lots of decorations from all kinds of kings and
> emperors of Europe for his book about the music of Aryans.... And, well,
> this man has proved, as clear as daylight, that ancient India has every
> right to be called the mother of music. Even the best musical critics of
> England say so!... Every school, whether Italian, German or Aryan, saw
> the light at a certain period, developed in a certain climate and in
> perfectly different circumstances. Every school has its characteristics,
> and its peculiar charm, at least for its followers; and our school is
> no exception. You Europeans are trained in the melodies of the West, and
> acquainted with Western schools of music; but our musical system, like
> many other things in India, is totally unknown to you. So you must
> forgive my boldness, colonel, when I say that you have no right to
> judge!"
> 
> "Don't get so excited, Babu," said the Takur. "Every one has the right,
> if not to discuss, then to ask questions about a new subject. Otherwise
> no one would ever get any information. If Hindu music belonged to an
> epoch as little distant from us as the European--which you seem to
> suggest, Babu, in your hot haste; and if, besides, it included all the
> virtues of all the previous musical systems, which the European music
> assimilates; then no doubt it would have been better understood, and
> better appreciated than it is. But our music belongs to prehistoric
> times. In one of the sarcophagi at Thebes, Bruce found a harp with
> twenty strings, and, judging by this instrument, we may safely say that
> the ancient inhabitants of Egypt were well acquainted with the
> mysteries of harmony. But, except the Egyptians, we were the only people
> possessing this art, in the remote epochs, when the rest of mankind
> were still struggling with the elements for bare existence. We possess
> hundreds of Sanskrit MSS. about music, which have never been translated,
> even into modern Indian dialects. Some of them are four thousand and
> eight thousand years old. Whatever your Orientalists may say to the
> contrary, we will persist in believing in their antiquity, because we
> have read and studied them, while the European scientists have never yet
> set their eyes on them. There are many of these musical treatises,
> and they have been written at different epochs; but they all, without
> exception, show that in India music was known and systematized in times
> when the modern civilized nations of Europe still lived like savages.
> However true, all this does not give us the right to grow indignant when
> Europeans say they do not like our music, as long as their ears are not
> accustomed to it, and their minds cannot understand its spirit.... To a
> certain extent we can explain to you its technical character, and give
> you a right idea of it as a science. But nobody can create in you, in
> a moment, what the Aryans used to call Rakti; the capacity of the human
> soul to receive and be moved by the combinations of the various sounds
> of nature. This capacity is the alpha and omega of our musical system,
> but you do not possess it, as we do not possess the possibility to fall
> into raptures over Bellini."
> 
> "But why should it be so? What are these mysterious virtues of your
> music, that can be understood only by yourselves? Our skins are of
> different colors, but our organic mechanism is the same. In other
> words, the physiological combination of bones, blood, nerves, veins and
> muscles, which forms a Hindu, has as many parts, combined exactly
> after the same model as the living mechanism known under the name of an
> American, Englishman, or any other European. They come into the world
> from the same workshop of nature; they have the same beginning and the
> same end. From a physiological point of view we are duplicates of each
> other."
> 
> "Physiologically yes. And it would be as true psychologically, if
> education did not interfere, which, after all is said and done, could
> not but influence the mental and the moral direction taken by a human
> being. Sometimes it extinguishes the divine spark; at other times it
> only increases it, transforming it into a lighthouse which becomes man's
> lodestar for life."
> 
> "No doubt this is so. But the influence it has over the physiology of
> the ear cannot be so overpowering after all."
> 
> "Quite the contrary. Only remember what a strong influence climatic
> conditions, food and everyday surroundings have on the complexion,
> vitality, capacity for reproduction, and so on, and you will see that
> you are mistaken. Apply this same law of gradual modification to the
> purely psychic element in man, and the results will be the same. Change
> the education and you will change the capacities of a human being....
> For instance, you believe in the powers of gymnastics, you believe that
> special exercise can almost transform the human body. We go one step
> higher. The experience of centuries shows that gymnastics exist for the
> soul as well as for the body. But what the soul's gymnastics are is our
> secret. What is it that gives to the sailor the sight of an eagle, that
> endows the acrobat with the skill of a monkey, and the wrestler with
> muscles of iron? Practice and habit. Then why should not we suppose
> the same possibilities in the soul of the man as well as in his body?
> Perhaps on the grounds of modern science--which either dispenses with
> the soul altogether, or does not acknowledge in it a life distinct from
> the life of the body...."
> 
> "Please do not speak in this way, Takur. You, at least, ought to know
> that I believe in the soul and in its immortality!"
> 
> "We believe in the immortality of spirit, not of soul, following the
> triple division of body, soul and spirit. However, this has nothing to
> do with the present discussion.... And so you agree to the proposition
> that every dormant possibility of the soul may be led to perfected
> strength and activity by practice, and also that if not properly used it
> may grow numb and even disappear altogether. Nature is so zealous
> that all her gifts should be used properly, that it is in our power to
> develop or to kill in our descendants any physical or mental gift. A
> systematic training or a total disregard will accomplish both in the
> lifetime of a few generations."
> 
> "Perfectly true; but that does not explain to me the secret charm of
> your melodies...."
> 
> "These are details and particulars. Why should I dwell on them when you
> must see for yourself that my reasoning gives you the clue, which will
> solve many similar problems? Centuries have accustomed the ear of
> a Hindu to be receptive only of certain combinations of atmospheric
> vibrations; whereas the ear of a European is used to perfectly different
> combinations. Hence the soul of the former will be enraptured where the
> soul of the latter will be perfectly indifferent. I hope my explanation
> has been simple and clear, and I might have ended it here were it not
> that I am anxious to give you something better than the feeling of
> satisfied curiosity. As yet I have solved only the physiological aspect
> of the secret, which is as easily admitted as the fact that we Hindus
> eat by the handful spices which would give you inflammation of the
> intestines if you happened to swallow a single grain. Our aural nerves,
> which, at the beginning, were identical with yours, have been changed
> through different training, and became as distinct from yours as our
> complexion and our stomachs. Add to this that the eyes of the Kashmir
> weavers, men and women, are able to distinguish three hundred shades
> more than the eye of a European.... The force of habit, the law of
> atavism, if you like. But things of this kind practically solve the
> apparent difficulty. You have come all the way from America to study the
> Hindus and their religion; but you will never understand the latter if
> you do not realize how closely all our sciences are related, not to
> the modern ignorant Brahmanism, of course, but to the philosophy of our
> primitive Vedic religion."
> 
> "I see. You mean that your music has something to do with the Vedas?"
> 
> "Exactly. It has a good deal--almost everything--to do with the Vedas.
> All the sounds of nature, and, in consequence, of music, are directly
> allied to astronomy and mathematics; that is to say, to the planets,
> the signs of the zodiac, the sun and moon, and to rotation and numbers.
> Above all, they depend on the Akasha, the ether of space, of the
> existence of which your scientists have not made perfectly sure as yet.
> This was the teaching of the ancient Chinese and Egyptians, as well as
> of ancient Aryans. The doctrine of the 'music of the spheres' first
> saw the light here in India, and not in Greece or Italy, whither it
> was brought by Pythagoras after he had studied under the Indian
> Gymnosophists. And most certainly this great philosopher--who revealed
> to the world the heliocentric system before Copernicus and Galileo--knew
> better than anyone else how dependent are the least sounds in nature
> on Akasha and its interrelations. One of the four Vedas, namely, the
> Sama-Veda, entirely consists of hymns. This is a collection of mantrams
> sung during the sacrifices to the gods, that is to say, to the elements.
> Our ancient priests were hardly acquainted with the modern methods of
> chemistry and physics; but, to make up for it, they knew a good deal
> which has not as yet been thought of by modern scientists. So it is not
> to be wondered at that, sometimes, our priests, so perfectly acquainted
> with natural sciences as they were, forced the elementary gods, or
> rather the blind forces of nature, to answer their prayers by various
> portents. Every sound of these mantrams has its meaning, its importance,
> and stands exactly where it ought to stand; and, having a raison d'etre,
> it does not fail to produce its effect. Remember Professor Leslie, who
> says that the science of sound is the most subtle, the most unseizable
> and the most complicated of all the series of physical sciences. And if
> ever this teaching was worked out to perfection it was in the times of
> the Rishis, our philosophers and saints, who left to us the Vedas."
> 
> "Now, I think I begin to understand the origin of all the mythological
> fables of the Greek antiquity," thoughtfully said the colonel; "the
> syrinx of Pan, his pipe of seven reeds, the fauns, the satyrs, and the
> lyre of Orpheus himself. The ancient Greeks knew little about harmony;
> and the rhythmical declamations of their dramas, which probably never
> reached the pathos of the simplest of modern recitals, could hardly
> suggest to them the idea of the magic lyre of Orpheus. I feel strongly
> inclined to believe what was written by some of our great philologists:
> Orpheus must be an emigrant from India; his very name [greek script],
> or [greek script], shows that, even amongst the tawny Greeks, he was
> remarkably dark. This was the opinion of Lempriere and others."
> 
> "Some day this opinion may become a certainty. There is not the
> slightest doubt that the purest and the highest of all the musical forms
> of antiquity belongs to India. All our legends ascribe magic powers to
> music; it is a gift and a science coming straight from the gods. As a
> rule, we ascribe all our arts to divine revelation, but music stands at
> the head of everything else. The invention of the vina, a kind of lute,
> belongs to Narada, the son of Brahma. You will probably laugh at me if I
> tell you that our ancient priests, whose duty it was to sing during
> the sacrifices, were able to produce phenomena that could not but be
> considered by the ignorant as signs from supernatural powers; and this,
> remember, without a shadow of trickery, but simply with the help of
> their perfect knowledge of nature and certain combinations well known
> to them. The phenomena produced by the priests and the Raj-Yogis are
> perfectly natural for the initiate--however miraculous they may seem to
> the masses."
> 
> "But do you really mean that you have no faith what-ever in the spirits
> of the dead?" timidly asked Miss X----, who was always ill at ease in
> the presence of the Takur.
> 
> "With your permission, I have none."
> 
> "And... and have you no regard for mediums?"
> 
> "Still less than for the spirits, my dear lady. I do believe in the
> existence of many psychic diseases, and, amongst their number, in
> mediumism, for which we have got a queer sounding name from time
> immemorial. We call it Bhuta-Dak, literally a bhuta-hostelry. I
> sincerely pity the real mediums, and do whatever is in my power to
> help them. As to the charlatans, I despise them, and never lose an
> opportunity of unmasking them."
> 
> The witch's den near the "dead city" suddenly flashed into my mind;
> the fat Brahman, who played the oracle in the head of the Sivatherium,
> caught and rolling down the hole; the witch herself suddenly taking to
> her heels. And with this recollection also occurred to me what I had
> never thought of before: Narayan had acted under the orders of the
> Takur--doing his best to expose the witch and her ally.
> 
> "The unknown power which possesses the mediums (which the spiritualists
> believe to be spirits of the dead, while the superstitious see in it the
> devil, and the sceptics deceit and infamous tricks), true men of science
> suspect to be a natural force, which has not as yet been discovered. It
> is, in reality, a terrible power. Those possessed by it are generally
> weak people, often women and children. Your beloved spiritualists, Miss
> X----, only help the growth of dreadful psychic diseases, but people who
> know better seek to save them from this force you know nothing whatever
> about, and it is no use discussing this matter now. I shall only add one
> word: the real living spirit of a human being is as free as Brahma;
> and even more than this for us, for, according to our religion and our
> philosophy, our spirit is Brahma himself, higher than whom there is only
> the unknowable, the all-pervading, the omnipotent essence of Parabrahm.
> The living spirit of man cannot be ordered about like the spirits of the
> spiritualists, it cannot be made a slave of... However, it is getting so
> late that we had better go to bed. Let us say good-bye for tonight."
> 
> Gulab-Lal-Sing would not talk any more that night, but I have gathered
> from our previous conversations many a point without which the above
> conversation would remain obscure. The Vedantins and the followers of
> Shankaracharya's philosophy, in talking of themselves, often avoid using
> the pronoun I, and say, "this body went," "this hand took," and so on,
> in everything concerning the automatic actions of man. The personal
> pronouns are only used concerning mental and moral processes, such as,
> "I thought," "he desired." The body in their eyes is not the man, but
> only a covering to the real man.
> 
> The real interior man possesses many bodies; each of them more subtle
> and more pure than the preceding; and each of them bears a different
> name and is independent of the material body. After death, when the
> earthly vital principle disintegrates, together with the material body,
> all these interior bodies join together, and either advance on the way
> to Moksha, and are called Deva (divine), though it still has to pass
> many stadia before the final liberation, or is left on earth, to wander
> and to suffer in the invisible world, and, in this case, is called
> bhuta. But a Deva has no tangible intercourse with the living. Its only
> link with the earth is its posthumous affection for those it loved in
> its lifetime, and the power of protecting and influencing them. Love
> outlives every earthly feeling, and a Deva can appear to the beloved
> ones only in their dreams--unless it be as an illusion, which cannot
> last, because the body of a Deva undergoes a series of gradual changes
> from the moment it is freed from its earthly bonds; and, with every
> change, it grows more intangible, losing every time something of its
> objective nature. It is reborn; it lives and dies in new Lokas or
> spheres, which gradually become purer and more subjective. At last,
> having got rid of every shadow of earthly thoughts and desires, it
> becomes nothing from a material point of view. It is extinguished like
> a flame, and, having become one with Parabrahm, it lives the life of
> spirit, of which neither our material conception nor our language can
> give any idea. But the eternity of Parabrahm is not the eternity of the
> soul. The latter, according to a Vedanta expression, is an eternity in
> eternity. However holy, the life of a soul had its beginning and its
> end, and, consequently, no sins and no good actions can be punished
> or rewarded in the eternity of Parabrahm. This would be contrary to
> justice, disproportionate, to use an expression of Vedanta philosophy.
> Spirit alone lives in eternity, and has neither beginning nor end,
> neither limits nor central point. The Deva lives in Parabrahm, as a
> drop lives in the ocean, till the next regeneration of the universe
> from Pralaya; a periodical chaos, a disappearance of the worlds from the
> region of objectivity. With every new Maha-yuga (great cycle) the
> Deva separates from that which is eternal, attracted by existence in
> objective worlds, like a drop of water first drawn up by the sun,
> then starting again downwards, passing from one region to another, and
> returning at last to the dirt of our planet. Then, having dwelt there
> whilst a small cycle lasted, it proceeds again upwards on the other side
> of the circle. So it gravitates in the eternity of Parabrahm, passing
> from one minor eternity to another. Each of these "human," that is to
> say conceivable, eternities consists of 4,320,000,000 years of objective
> life and of as many years of subjective life in Parabrahm, altogether
> 8,640,000,000 years, which are enough, in the eyes of the Vedantins, to
> redeem any mortal sin, and also to reap the fruit of any good actions
> performed in such a short period as human life. The individuality of the
> soul, teaches the Vedanta, is not lost when plunged in Parabrahm, as is
> supposed by some of the European Orientalists.
> 
> Only the souls of bhutas--when the last spark of repentance and of
> tendency to improvement are extinguished in them--will evaporate for
> ever. Then their divine spirit, the undying part of them, separates from
> the soul and returns to its primitive source; the soul is reduced to
> its primordial atoms, and the monad plunges into the darkness of
> eternal unconsciousness. This is the only case of total destruction of
> personality.
> 
> Such is the Vedanta teaching concerning the spiritual man. And this
> is why no true Hindu believes in the disembodied souls voluntarily
> returning to earth, except in the case of bhutas.
> 
> Jubblepore
> 
> Leaving Malva and Indore, the quasi-independent country of Holkar, we
> found ourselves once more on strictly British territory. We were going
> to Jubblepore by railway.
> 
> This town is situated in the district of Saugor and Nerbudda; once
> it belonged to the Mahrattis, but, in 1817, the English army took
> possession of it. We stopped in the town only for a short time, being
> anxious to see the celebrated Marble Rocks. As it would have been a pity
> to lose a whole day, we hired a boat and started at 2 A.M., which gave
> us the double advantage of avoiding the heat, and enjoying a splendid
> bit of the river ten miles from the town.
> 
> The neighborhood of Jubblepore is charming; and besides, both a
> geologist and a mineralogist would find here the richest field for
> scientific researches. The geological formation of the rocks offers an
> infinite variety of granites; and the long chains of mountains might
> keep a hundred of Cuviers busy for life. The limestone caves of
> Jubblepore are a true ossuary of antediluvian India; they are full of
> skeletons of monstrous animals, now disappeared for ever.
> 
> At a considerable distance from the rest of the mountain ridges, and
> perfectly separate, stand the Marble Rocks, a most wonderful natural
> phenomenon, not very rare, though, in India. On the flattish banks of
> the Nerbudda, overgrown with thick bushes, you suddenly perceive a long
> row of strangely-shaped white cliffs.
> 
> They are there without any apparent reason, as if they were a wart on
> the smooth cheek of mother nature. White and pure, they are heaped up
> on each other as if after some plan, and look exactly like a huge
> paperweight from the writing-table of a Titan. We saw them when we were
> half-way from the town. They appeared and disappeared with the sudden
> capricious turnings of the river; trembling in the early morning mist
> like a distant, deceitful mirage of the desert. Then we lost sight of
> them altogether. But just before sunrise they stood out once more before
> our charmed eyes, floating above their reflected image in the water. As
> if called forth by the wand of a sorcerer, they stood there on the green
> bank of the Nerbudda, mirroring their virgin beauty on the calm surface
> of the lazy stream, and promising us a cool and welcome shelter.... And
> as to the preciousness of every moment of the cool hours before sunrise,
> it can be appreciated only by those who have lived and traveled in this
> fiery land.
> 
> Alas! in spite of all our precautions, and our unusually early start,
> our enjoyment of this cool retreat was very short-lived. Our project was
> to have prosaic tea amid these poetic surroundings; but as soon as we
> landed, the sun leaped above the horizon, and began shooting his fiery
> arrows at the boat, and at our unfortunate heads. Persecuting us from
> one place to another, he banished us, at last, even from under a huge
> rock hanging over the water. There was literally no place where we
> could seek salvation. The snow-white marble beauties became golden red,
> pouring fire-sparks into the river, heating the sand and blinding our
> eyes.
> 
> No wonder that legend supposes in them something between the abode and
> the incarnation of Kali, the fiercest of all the goddesses of the Hindu
> pantheon.
> 
> For many Yugas this goddess has been engaged in a desperate contest
> with her lawful husband Shiva, who, in his shape of Trikutishvara, a
> three-headed lingam, has dishonestly claimed the rocks and the river for
> his own--the very rocks and the very river over which Kali presides in
> person. And this is why people hear dreadful moaning, coming from under
> the ground, every time that the hand of an irresponsible coolie, working
> by Government orders in Government quarries, breaks a stone from the
> white bosom of the goddess. The unhappy stone-breaker hears the cry and
> trembles, and his heart is torn between the expectations of a dreadful
> punishment from the bloodthirsty goddess and the fear of his implacably
> exacting inspector in case he disobeys his orders.
> 
> Kali is the owner of the Marble Rocks, but she is the patroness of the
> ex-Thugs as well. Many a lonely traveler has shuddered on hearing this
> name; many a bloodless sacrifice has been offered on the marble altar
> of Kali. The country is full of horrible tales about the achievements
> of the Thugs, accomplished in the honor of this goddess. These tales
> are too recent and too fresh in the popular memory to become as yet
> mere highly-colored legends. They are mostly true, and many of them are
> proved by official documents of the law courts and inquest commissions.
> 
> If England ever leaves India, the perfect suppression of Thugism will be
> one of the good memories that will linger in the country long after
> her departure. Under this name was practised in India during two long
> centuries the craftiest and the worst kind of homicide. Only after 1840
> was it discovered that its aim was simply robbery and brigandage.
> The falsely interpreted symbolical meaning of Kali was nothing but a
> pretext, otherwise there would not have been so many Mussulmans amongst
> her devotees. When they were caught at last, and had to answer before
> justice, most of these knights of the rumal--the handkerchief with which
> the operation of strangling was performed--proved to be Mussulmans. The
> most illustrious of their leaders were not Hindus, but followers of the
> Prophet, the celebrated Ahmed, for instance. Out of thirty-seven Thugs
> caught by the police there were twenty-two Mahometans. This proves
> perfectly clearly that their religion, having nothing in common with the
> Hindu gods, had nothing to do with their cruel profession; the reason
> and cause was robbery.
> 
> It is true though that the final initiation rite was performed in some
> deserted forest before an idol of Bhavani, or Kali, wearing a necklace
> of human skulls. Before this final initiation the candidates had to
> undergo a course of schooling, the most difficult part of which was
> a certain trick of throwing the rumal on the neck of the unsuspecting
> victim and strangling him, so that death might be instantaneous. In
> the initiation the part of the goddess was made manifest in the use of
> certain symbols, which are in common use amongst the Freemasons--for
> instance, an unsheathed dagger, a human skull, and the corpse of
> Hiram-Abiff, "son of the widow," brought back to life by the Grand
> Master of the lodge. Kali was nothing but the pretext for an imposing
> scenarium. Freemasonry and Thugism had many points of resemblance.
> The members of both recognized each other by certain signs, both had a
> pass-word and a jargon that no outsider could understand. The Freemason
> lodges receive among their members both Christians and Atheists; the
> Thugs used to receive the thieves and robbers of every nation without
> any distinction; and it is reported that amongst them there were some
> Portuguese and even Englishmen. The difference between the two is that
> the Thugs certainly were a criminal organization, whereas the Freemasons
> of our days do no harm, except to their own pockets.
> 
> Poor Shiva, wretched Bhavani! What a mean interpretation popular
> ignorance has invented for these two poetical types, so deeply
> philosophical and so full of knowledge of the laws of nature. Shiva, in
> his primitive meaning is "Happy God"; then the all-destroying, as well
> as the all-regenerating force of nature. The Hindu trinity is, amongst
> other things, an allegorical representation of the three chief elements:
> fire, earth and water. Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva all represent these
> elements by turns, in their different phases; but Shiva is much more the
> god of the fire than either Brahma or Vishnu: he burns and purifies; at
> the same time creating out of the ashes new forms, full of fresh life.
> Shiva-Sankarin is the destroyer or rather the scatterer; Shiva-Rakshaka
> is the preserver, the regenerator. He is represented with flames on
> his left palm, and with the wand of death and resurrection in his right
> hand. His worshippers wear on their foreheads his sign traced with wet
> ashes, the ashes being called vibhuti, or purified substance, and the
> sign consisting of three horizontal parallel lines between the eyebrows.
> The color of Shiva's skin is rosy-yellow, gradually changing into a
> flaming red. His neck, head and arms are covered with snakes, emblems
> of eternity and eternal regeneration. "As a serpent, abandoning his old
> slough, reappears in new skin, so man after death reappears in a younger
> and a purer body," say the Puranas.
> 
> In her turn, Shiva's wife Kali is the allegory of earth, fructified
> by the flames of the sun. Her educated worshippers say they allow
> themselves to believe their goddess is fond of human sacrifices, only on
> the strength of the fact that earth is fond of organical decomposition,
> which fertilizes her, and helps her to call forth new forces from the
> ashes of the dead. The Shivaites, when burning their dead, put an idol
> of Shiva at the head of the corpse; but when beginning to scatter the
> ashes in the elements, they invoke Bhavani, in order that the goddess
> may receive the purified remains, and develop in them germs of new life.
> But what truth could bear the coarse touch of superstitious ignorance
> without being disfigured!
> 
> The murdering Thugs laid their hands on this great philosophic emblem,
> and, having understood that the goddess loves human sacrifice, but hates
> useless blood-shed, they resolved to please her doubly: to kill, but
> never to soil their hands by the blood of their victims. The result of
> it was the knighthood of the rumal.
> 
> One day we visited a very aged ex-Thug. In his young days he was
> transported to the Andaman Islands, but, owing to his sincere
> repentance, and to some services he had rendered to the Government,
> he was afterwards pardoned. Having returned to his native village, he
> settled down to earn his living by weaving ropes, a profession probably
> suggested to him by some sweet reminiscences of the achievements of his
> youth. He initiated us first into the mysteries of theoretic Thugism,
> and then extended his hospitality by a ready offer to show us the
> practical side of it, if we agreed to pay for a sheep. He said he would
> gladly show us how easy it was to send a living being ad patres in less
> than three seconds; the whole secret consisting in some skillful and
> swift movements of the righthand finger joints.
> 
> We refused to buy the sheep for this old brigand, but we gave him
> some money. To show his gratitude he offered to demonstrate all the
> preliminary sensation of the rumal on any English or American neck that
> was willing. Of course, he said he would omit the final twist. But still
> none of us were willing; and the gratitude of the repentant criminal
> found issue in great volubility.
> 
> The owl is sacred to Bhavani Kali, and as soon as a band of Thugs,
> awaiting their victims, had been signalled by the conventional hooting,
> each of the travelers, let them be twenty and more, had a Thug behind
> his shoulders. One second more, and the rumal was on the neck of the
> victim, the well-trained iron fingers of the Thug tightly holding the
> ends of the sacred handkerchief; another second, the joints of the
> fingers performed their artistic twist, pressing the larynx, and the
> victim fell down lifeless. Not a sound, not a shriek! The Thugs worked,
> as swiftly as lightning. The strangled man was immediately carried to a
> grave prepared in some thick forest, usually under the bed of some brook
> or rivulet in their periodical state of drought. Every vestige of the
> victim disappeared. Who cared to know about him, except his own family
> and his very intimate friends? The inquests were especially difficult,
> if not impossible, thirty years ago [1879], when there were no regular
> railway communications, and no regular Government system. Besides, the
> country is full of tigers, whose sad fate it is to be responsible for
> every one else's sins as well as for their own. Whoever it was who
> happened to disappear, be it Hindu or Mussulman, the answer was
> invariably the same: tigers!
> 
> The Thugs possessed a wonderfully good organization. Trained accomplices
> used to tramp all over India, stopping at the bazaars, those true clubs
> of Eastern nations, gathering information, scaring their listeners to
> death with tales of the Thugs, and then advising them to join this or
> that travelling party, who of course were Thugs playing the part of rich
> merchants or pilgrims. Having ensnared these wretches, they sent word
> to the Thugs, and got paid for the commission in proportion to the total
> profit.
> 
> During many long years these invisible bands, scattered all over the
> country, and working in parties of from ten to sixty men, enjoyed
> perfect freedom, but at last they were caught. The inquiries unveiled
> horrid and repulsive secrets: rich bankers, officiating Brahmans, Rajas
> on the brink of poverty, and a few English officials, all had to be
> brought before justice.
> 
> This deed of the East India Company truly deserves the popular gratitude
> which it receives.----
> 
> On our way back from the Marble Rocks we saw Muddun-Mahal, another
> mysterious curio; it is a house built--no one knows by whom, or with
> what purpose--on a huge boulder. This stone is probably some kind of
> relative to the cromlechs of the Celtic Druids. It shakes at the least
> touch, together with the house and the people who feel curious to see
> inside it. Of course we had this curiosity, and our noses remained safe
> only thanks to the Babu, Narayan and the Takur, who took as great care
> of us as if they had been nurses, and we their babies.
> 
> Natives of India are truly a wonderful people. However unsteady the
> thing may be, they are sure to walk on it, and sit on it, with the
> greatest comfort. They think nothing of sitting whole hours on the top
> of a post--maybe a little thicker than an ordinary telegraph post. They
> also feel perfectly safe with their toes twisted round a thin branch
> and their bodies resting on nothing, as if they were crows perched on a
> telegraph wire.
> 
> "Salam, sahib!" said I once to an ancient, naked Hindu of a low caste,
> seated in the above described fashion. "Are you comfortable, uncle? And
> are you not afraid of falling down?"
> 
> "Why should I fall?" seriously answered the "uncle," expectorating a
> red fountain--an unavoidable result of betel-chewing. "I do not breathe,
> mam-sahib!"
> 
> "What do you mean? A man cannot do without breathing!" exclaimed I, a
> good deal astonished by this wonderful bit of information.
> 
> "Oh yes, he can. I do not breathe just now, and so I am perfectly safe.
> But soon I shall have to fill up my breast again with fresh air, and
> then I will hold on to the post, otherwise I should fall."
> 
> After this astounding physiological information, we parted. He would not
> talk any more, evidently fearing to endanger his comfort. At that
> time, we did not receive any more explanations on the subject, but this
> incident was enough to disturb the scientific equanimity of our minds.
> 
> Till then, we were so naive as to fancy that only sturgeons and similar
> aquatic acrobats were clever enough to learn how to fill up their
> insides with air in order to become lighter, and to rise to the surface
> of the water. What is possible to a sturgeon is impossible to man,
> speculated we in our ignorance. So we agreed to look upon the revelation
> of the above described "uncle" in the light of a brag, having no other
> aim but to chaff the "white sahibs." In those days, we were still
> inexperienced, and inclined to resent this kind of information,
> as coming very near to mockery. But, later on, we learned that his
> description of the process necessary to keep up this birdlike posture
> was perfectly accurate. In Jubblepore we saw much greater wonders.
> Strolling along the river bank, we reached the so-called Fakirs' Avenue;
> and the Takur invited us to visit the courtyard of the pagoda. This is a
> sacred place, and neither Europeans nor Mussulmans are admitted inside.
> But Gulab-Sing said something to the chief Brahman, and we entered
> without hindrance.
> 
> The yard was full of devotees, and of ascetics. But our attention
> was especially attracted by three ancient, perfectly naked fakirs. As
> wrinkled as baked mushrooms, as thin as skeletons, crowned with twisted
> masses of white hair, they sat or rather stood in the most impossible
> postures, as we thought. One of them, literally leaning only on the
> palm of his right hand, was poised with his head downwards and his legs
> upwards; his body was as motionless as if he were the dry branch of a
> tree. Just a little above the ground his head rose in the most unnatural
> position, and his eyes were fixed on the glaring sun. I cannot guarantee
> the truthfulness of some talkative inhabitants of the town, who had
> joined our party, and who assured us that this fakir daily spends
> in this posture all the hours between noon and the sunset. But I can
> guarantee that not a muscle of his body moved during the hour and twenty
> minutes we spent amongst the fakirs. Another fakir stood on a "sacred
> stone of Shiva," a small stone about five inches in diameter. One of
> his legs was curled up under him, and the whole of his body was bent
> backwards into an arc; his eyes also were fixed on the sun. The palms of
> his hands were pressed together as if in prayer. He seemed glued to his
> stone. We were at a loss to imagine by what means this man came to be
> master of such equilibration.
> 
> The third of these wonderful people sat crossing his legs under him; but
> how he could sit was more than we could understand, because the thing on
> which he sat was a stone lingam, not higher than an ordinary street post
> and little wider than the "stone of Shiva," that is to say, hardly more
> than five or seven inches in diameter. His arms were crossed behind his
> back, and his nails had grown into the flesh of his shoulders.
> 
> "This one never changes his position," said one of our companions. "At
> least, he has not changed for the last seven years."
> 
> His usual food, or rather drink, is milk, which is brought to him once
> in every forty-eight hours and poured into his throat with the aid of a
> bamboo. Every ascetic has willing servants, who are also future fakirs,
> whose duty it is to attend on them; and so the disciples of this living
> mummy take him off his pedestal, wash him in the tank, and put him back
> like an inanimate object, because he can no longer stretch his limbs.
> 
> "And what if I were to push one of these fakirs?" asked I. "I daresay
> the least touch would upset them."
> 
> "Try!" laughingly advised the Takur. "In this state of religious trance
> it is easier to break a man to pieces than to remove him from his
> place."
> 
> To touch an ascetic in the state of trance is a sacrilege in the eyes of
> the Hindus; but evidently the Takur was well aware that, under certain
> circumstances, there may be exceptions to every Brahmanical rule. He
> had another aside with the chief Brahman, who followed us, darker than a
> thundercloud; the consultation did not last long, and after it was
> over Gulab-Sing declared to us that none of us was allowed to touch the
> fakirs, but that he personally had obtained this permission, and so was
> going to show us something still more astonishing.
> 
> He approached the fakir on the little stone, and, carefully holding him
> by his protruding ribs, he lifted him and put him on the ground. The
> ascetic remained as statuesque as before. Then Gulab-Sing took the stone
> in his hands and showed it to us, asking us, however, not to touch it
> for fear of offending the crowd. The stone was round, flattish, with
> rather an uneven surface. When laid on the ground it shook at the least
> touch.
> 
> "Now, you see that this pedestal is far from being steady. And also you
> have seen that, under the weight of the fakir, it is as immovable as if
> it were planted in the ground."
> 
> When the fakir was put back on the stone, he and it at once resumed
> their appearance, as of one single body, solidly joined to the ground,
> and not a line of the fakir's body had changed. By all appearance, his
> bending body and his head thrown backward sought to bring him down; but
> for this fakir there was evidently no such thing as the law of gravity.
> 
> What I have described is a fact, but I do not take upon myself to
> explain it. At the gates of the pagoda we found our shoes, which we had
> been told to take off before going in. We put them on again, and left
> this "holy of holies" of the secular mysteries, with our minds still
> more perplexed than before. In the Fakirs' Avenue we found Narayan,
> Mulji and the Babu, who were waiting for us. The chief Brahman would
> not hear of their entering the pagoda. All the three had long before
> released themselves from the iron claws of caste; they openly ate
> and drank with us, and for this offence they were regarded as
> excommunicated, and despised by their compatriots much more than the
> Europeans themselves. Their presence in the pagoda would have polluted
> it for ever, whereas the pollution brought by us was only temporary; it
> would evaporate in the smoke of cow-dung--the usual Brahmanical incense
> of purification--like a drop of muddy water in the rays of the sun.
> 
> India is the country for originalities and everything unexpected and
> unconventional. From the point of view of an ordinary European observer
> every feature of Indian life is contrary to what could be expected.
> Shaking the head from one shoulder to another means no in every other
> country, but in India it means an emphatic yes. If you ask a Hindu
> how his wife is, even if you are well acquainted with her, or how many
> children he has, or whether he has any sisters, he will feel offended in
> nine cases out of ten. So long as the host does not point to the door,
> having previously sprinkled the guest with rose-water, the latter would
> not think of leaving. He would stay the whole day without tasting any
> food, and lose his time, rather than offend his host by an unauthorized
> departure. Everything contradicts our Western ideas. The Hindus are
> strange and original, but their religion is still more original. It has
> its dark points, of course. The rites of some sects are truly repulsive;
> the officiating Brahmans are far from being without reproach. But these
> are only superficialities. In spite of them the Hindu religion possesses
> something so deeply and mysteriously irresistible that it attracts and
> subdues even unimaginative Englishmen.
> 
> The following incident is a curious instance of this fascination:
> 
> N.C. Paul, G.B.M.C., wrote a small, but very interesting and very
> scientific pamphlet. He was only a regimental surgeon in Benares,
> but his name was well known amongst his compatriots as a very learned
> specialist in physiology. The pamphlet was called A Treatise on the
> Yoga Philosophy, and produced a sensation amongst the representatives
> of medicine in India, and a lively polemic between the Anglo-Indian and
> native journalists. Dr. Paul spent thirty-five years in studying the
> extraordinary facts of Yogism, the existence of which was, for him,
> beyond all doubt. He not only described them, but explained some of
> the most extraordinary phenomena, for instance, levitation, the seeming
> evidence to the contrary of some laws of nature, notwithstanding. With
> perfect sincerity, and evident regret, Dr. Paul says he could never
> learn anything from the Raj-Yogis. His experience was almost wholly
> limited to the facts that fakirs and Hatha-Yogis would consent to give
> him. It was his great friendship with Captain Seymour chiefly which
> helped him to penetrate some mysteries, which, till then, were supposed
> to be impenetrable.
> 
> The history of this English gentleman is truly incredible, and produced,
> about twenty-five years ago, an unprecedented scandal in the records of
> the British army in India. Captain Seymour, a wealthy and well-educated
> officer, accepted the Brahmanical creed and became a Yogi. Of course he
> was proclaimed mad, and, having been caught, was sent back to England.
> Seymour escaped, and returned to India in the dress of a Sannyasi. He
> was caught again, and shut up in some lunatic asylum in London. Three
> days after, in spite of the bolts and the watchmen, he disappeared from
> the establishment. Later on his acquaintances saw him in Benares, and
> the governor-general received a letter from him from the Himalayas. In
> this letter he declared that he never was mad, in spite of his being put
> into a hospital; he advised the governor-general not to interfere
> with what was strictly his own private concern, and announced his firm
> resolve never to return to civilized society. "I am a Yogi," wrote he,
> "and I hope to obtain before I die what is the aim of my life--to become
> a Raj-Yogi." After this letter he was left alone, and no European
> ever saw him except Dr. Paul, who, as it is reported, was in constant
> correspondence with him, and even went twice to see him in the Himalayas
> under the pretext of botanic excursions.
> 
> I was told that the pamphlet of Dr. Paul was ordered to be burned "as
> being offensive to the science of physiology and pathology." At the
> time I visited India copies of it were very great rarities. Out of a few
> copies still extant, one is to be found in the library of the Maharaja
> of Benares, and another was given to me by the Takur.
> 
> This evening we dined at the refreshment rooms of the railway station.
> Our arrival caused an evident sensation. Our party occupied the whole
> end of a table, at which were dining many first-class passengers, who
> all stared at us with undisguised astonishment. Europeans on an equal
> footing with Hindus! Hindus who condescended to dine with Europeans!
> These two were rare and wonderful sights indeed. The subdued whispers
> grew into loud exclamations. Two officers who happened to know the Takur
> took him aside, and, having shaken hands with him, began a very animated
> conversation, as if discussing some matter of business; but, as we
> learned afterwards, they simply wanted to gratify their curiosity about
> us.
> 
> Here we learned, for the first time, that we were under police
> supervision, the police being represented by an individual clad in a
> suit of white clothes, and possessing a very fresh complexion, and a
> pair of long moustaches. He was an agent of the secret police, and had
> followed us from Bombay. On learning this flattering piece of news,
> the colonel burst into a loud laugh; which only made us still more
> suspicious in the eyes of all these Anglo-Indians, enjoying a quiet and
> dignified meal. As to me, I was very disagreeably impressed by this bit
> of news, I must confess, and wished this unpleasant dinner was over.
> 
> The train for Allahabad was to leave at eight P.M., and we were to
> spend the night in the railway carriage. We had ten reserved seats in a
> first-class carriage, and had made sure that no strange passengers would
> enter it, but, nevertheless, there were many reasons which made me think
> I could not sleep this night. So I obtained a provision of candles
> for my reading lamp, and making myself comfortable on my couch, began
> reading the pamphlet of Dr. Paul, which interested me greatly.
> 
> Amongst many other interesting things, Dr. Paul explains very fully and
> learnedly the mystery of the periodical suspension of breathing, and
> some other seemingly impossible phenomena, practised by the Yogis.
> 
> Here is his theory in brief. The Yogis have discovered the reason of the
> wondrous capacity of the chameleon to assume the appearance of plumpness
> or of leanness. This animal looks enormous when his lungs are filled
> with air, but in his normal condition he is quite insignificant. Many
> other reptiles as well acquire the possibility of swimming across large
> rivers quite easily by the same process. And the air that remains in
> their lungs, after the blood has been fully oxygenated, makes them
> extraordinarily lively on dry land and in the water. The capacity of
> storing up an extraordinary provision of air is a characteristic feature
> of all the animals that are subjected to hibernation.
> 
> The Hindu Yogis studied this capacity, and perfected and developed it in
> themselves.
> 
> The means by which they acquire it--known under the name of Bhastrika
> Kumbhala--consist of the following: The Yogi isolates himself in an
> underground cave, where the atmosphere is more uniform and more damp
> than on the surface of the earth: this causes the appetite to grow less.
> Man's appetite is proportionate to the quantity of carbonic acid he
> exhales in a certain period of time. The Yogis never use salt, and live
> entirely on milk, which they take only during the night. They move very
> slowly in order not to breathe too often. Movement increases the
> exhaled carbonic acid, and so the Yoga practice prescribes avoidance
> of movement. The quantity of exhaled carbonic acid is also increased by
> loud and lively talking: so the Yogis are taught to talk slowly and
> in subdued tones, and are even advised to take the vows of silence.
> Physical labor is propitious to the increase of carbonic acid, and
> mental to its decrease; accordingly the Yogi spends his life in
> contemplation and deep meditation. Padmasana and Siddhasana are the two
> methods by which a person is taught to breathe as little as possible.
> 
> Suka-Devi, a well-known miracle-monger of the second century B.C. says:
> 
> "Place the left foot upon the right thigh, and the right foot upon the
> left thigh; straighten the neck and back; make the palms of the hands
> rest upon the knees; shut the mouth; and expire forcibly through both
> nostrils. Next, inspire and expire quickly until you are fatigued. Then
> inspire through the right nostril, fill the abdomen with the inspired
> air, suspend the breath, and fix the sight on the tip of the nose. Then
> expire through the left nostril, and next, inspiring through the left
> nostril, suspend the breath..." and so on.
> 
> "When a Yogi, by practice, is enabled to maintain himself in one of the
> above-mentioned postures for the period of three hours, and to live upon
> a quantity of food proportional to the reduced condition of circulation
> and respiration, without inconvenience, he proceeds to the practice
> of Pranayama," writes Dr. Paul. "It is the fourth stage or division of
> Yoga."
> 
> The Pranayama consists of three parts. The first excites the secretion
> of sweat, the second is attended by convulsive movements of the
> features, the third gives to the Yogi a feeling of extraordinary
> lightness in his body.
> 
> After this, the Yogi practises Pratyahara, a kind of voluntary trance,
> which is recognizable by the full suspension of all the senses. After
> this stage the Yogis study the process of Dharana; this not only stops
> the activity of physical senses, but also causes the mental capacities
> to be plunged into a deep torpor. This stage brings abundant suffering;
> it requires a good deal of firmness and resolution on the part of a
> Yogi, but it leads him to Dhayana, a state of perfect, indescribable
> bliss. According to their own description, in this state they swim in
> the ocean of eternal light, in Akasha, or Ananta Jyoti, which they
> call the "Soul of the Universe." Reaching the stage of Dhyana, the Yogi
> becomes a seer. The Dhyana of the Yogis is the same thing as Turiya
> Avastha of the Vedantins, in the number of whom are the Raj-Yogis.
> 
> "Samadhi is the last stage of self-trance," says Dr. Paul. "In this
> state the Yogis, like the bat, the hedge-hog, the marmot, the hamster
> and the dormouse, acquire the power of supporting the abstraction of
> atmospheric air, and the privation of food and drink. Of Samadhi
> or human hibernation there have been three cases within the last
> twenty-five years. The first case occurred in Calcutta, the second in
> Jesselmere, and the third in the Punjab. I was an eyewitness of the
> first case. The Jesselmere, the Punjab, and the Calcutta Yogis assumed
> a death-like condition by swallowing the tongue. How the Punjabi fakir
> (witnessed by Dr. McGregor), by suspending his breath, lived forty days
> without food and drink, is a question which has puzzled a great many
> learned men of Europe.... It is on the principle of Laghima and Garima
> (a diminution of one's specific gravity by swallowing large draughts
> of air) that the Brahman of Madras maintained himself in an aerial
> posture..."
> 
> However, all these are physical phenomena produced by Hatha-Yogis. Each
> of them ought to be investigated by physical science, but they are much
> less interesting than the phenomena of the region of psychology. But Dr.
> Paul has next to nothing to say on this subject. During the thirty-five
> years of his Indian career, he met only three Raj-Yogis; but in spite
> of the friendliness they showed to the English doctor, none of them
> consented to initiate him into the mysteries of nature, a knowledge of
> which is ascribed to them. One of them simply denied that he had any
> power at all; the other did not deny, and even showed Dr. Paul some very
> wonderful things, but refused to give any explanations whatever; the
> third said he would explain a few things on the condition that Dr. Paul
> must pledge himself never to repeat anything he learned from him. In
> acquiring this kind of information, Dr. Paul had only one aim--to give
> these secrets publicity, and to enlighten the public ignorance, and so
> he declined the honor.
> 
> However, the gifts of the true Raj-Yogis are much more interesting, and
> a great deal more important for the world, than the phenomena of the
> lay Hatha-Yogis. These gifts are purely psychic: to the knowledge of
> the Hatha-Yogis the Raj-Yogis add the whole scale of mental phenomena.
> Sacred books ascribe to them the following gifts: foreseeing future
> events; understanding of all languages; the healing of all diseases; the
> art of reading other people's thoughts; witnessing at will everything
> that happens thousands of miles from them; understanding the language
> of animals and birds; Prakamya, or the power of keeping up youthful
> appearance during incredible periods of time; the power of abandoning
> their own bodies and entering other people's frames; Vashitva, or the
> gift to kill, and to tame wild animals with their eyes; and, lastly, the
> mesmeric power to subjugate any one, and to force any one to obey the
> unexpressed orders of the Raj-Yogi.
> 
> Dr. Paul has witnessed the few phenomena of Hatha-Yoga already
> described; there are many others about which he has heard, and which
> he neither believes nor disbelieves. But he guarantees that a Yogi can
> suspend his breath for forty-three minutes and twelve seconds.
> 
> Nevertheless, European scientific authorities maintain that no one can
> suspend the breath for more than two minutes. O science! Is it possible
> then that thy name is also vanitas vanitatum, like the other things of
> this world?
> 
> We are forced to suppose that, in Europe, nothing is known about the
> means which enabled the philosophers of India, from times immemorial,
> gradually to transform their human frames.
> 
> Here are a few deep words of Professor Boutleroff, a Russian scientist
> whom I, in common with all Russians, greatly respect: "....All this
> belongs to knowledge; the increase of the mass of knowledge will
> only enrich and not abolish science. This must be accomplished on the
> strength of serious observation, of study, of experience, and under the
> guidance of positive scientific methods, by which people are taught to
> acknowledge every other phenomenon of nature. We do not call you blindly
> to accept hypotheses, after the example of bygone years, but to seek
> after knowledge; we do not invite you to give up science, but to enlarge
> her regions..."
> 
> This was said about spiritualist phenomena. As to the rest of our
> learned physiologists, this is, approximately, what they have the
> right to say: "We know well certain phenomena of nature which we have
> personally studied and investigated, under certain conditions, which
> we call normal or abnormal, and we guarantee the accuracy of our
> conclusions."
> 
> However, it would be very well if they added:
> 
> "But having no pretensions to assure the world that we are acquainted
> with all the forces of nature, known and unknown, we do not claim the
> right to hold back other people from bold investigations in regions
> which we have not reached as yet, owing to our great cautiousness and
> also to our moral timidity. Not being able to maintain that the human
> organism is utterly incapable of developing certain transcendental
> powers, which are rare, and observable only under certain conditions,
> unknown to science, we by no means wish to keep other explorers within
> the limits of our own scientific discoveries."
> 
> By pronouncing this noble, and, at the same time, modest speech, our
> physiologists would doubtless gain the undying gratitude of posterity.
> 
> After this speech there would be no fear of mockery, no danger of
> losing one's reputation for veracity and sound reason; and the learned
> colleagues of these broad-minded physiologists would investigate every
> phenomenon of nature seriously and openly. The phenomena of spiritualism
> would then transmigrate from the region of materialized
> "mothers-in-law" and half-witted fortune-telling to the regions of the
> psycho-physiological sciences. The celebrated "spirits" would probably
> evaporate, but in their stead the living spirit, which "belongeth not to
> this world," would become better known and better realized by humanity,
> because humanity will comprehend the harmony of the whole only after
> learning how closely the visible world is bound to the world invisible.
> 
> After this speech, Haeckel at the head of the evolutionists, and Alfred
> Russel Wallace at the head of the spiritualists, would be relieved from
> many anxieties, and would shake hands in brotherhood.
> 
> Seriously speaking, what is there to prevent humanity from acknowledging
> two active forces within itself; one purely animal, the other purely
> divine?
> 
> It does not behove even the greatest amongst scientists to try to
> "bind the sweet influences of the Pleiades," even if they have chosen
> "Arcturus with his sons" for their guides. Did it never occur to them
> to apply to their own intellectual pride the questions the "voice out of
> the whirlwind" once asked of long-suffering Job: "where were they when
> were laid the foundations of the earth? and have the gates of death been
> opened unto them?" If so, only then have they the right to maintain that
> here and not there is the abode of eternal light.
> 
> The End
>
> — *From the Caves and Jungles of Hindostan (Public Domain (Project Gutenberg))*