{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_6687/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_6687","id":"gutenberg_6687","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6687","summary":null,"tags":["Blavatsky, H. P. (Helena Petrovna), 1831-1891","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Travel Writing","India","India -- Description and travel","India -- Religion","Racism"],"text":"Produced by M.R.J.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFROM THE CAVES AND JUNGLES OF HINDOSTAN\n\nBy Helena Petrovna Blavatsky\n\nTranslated From The Russian\n\n\n\n\nTranslator's Preface\n\n\n\"You must remember,\" said Mme. Blavatsky, \"that I never meant this for a\nscientific work. My letters to the Russian Messenger, under the general\ntitle: 'From the Caves and Jungles of Hindostan,' were written in\nleisure moments, more for amusement than with any serious design.\n\n\"Broadly speaking, the facts and incidents are true; but I have freely\navailed myself of an author's privilege to group, colour, and dramatize\nthem, whenever this seemed necessary to the full artistic effect;\nthough, as I say, much of the book is exactly true, l would rather claim\nkindly judgment for it, as a romance of travel, than incur the critical\nrisks that haunt an avowedly serious work.\"\n\nTo this caution of the author's, the translator must add another; these\nletters, as Mme Blavatsky says, were written in leisure moments, during\n1879 and 1880, for the pages of the Russki Vyestnik, then edited by M.\nKatkoff. Mme. Blavatsky's manuscript was often incorrect; often obscure.\nThe Russian compositors, though they did their best to render faithfully\nthe Indian names and places, often produced, through their ignorance of\nOriental tongues, forms which are strange, and sometimes unrecognizable.\nThe proof-sheets were never corrected by the author, who was then in\nIndia; and, in consequence, it has been impossible to restore all the\nlocal and personal names to their proper form.\n\nA similar difficulty has arisen with reference to quotations and\ncited authorities, all of which have gone through a double process of\nrefraction: first into Russian, then into English. The translator, also\na Russian, and far from perfectly acquainted with English, cannot\nclaim to possess the erudition necessary to verify and restore the many\nquotations to verbal accuracy; all that is hoped is that, by a careful\nrendering, the correct sense has been preserved.\n\nThe translator begs the indulgence of English readers for all\nimperfections of style and language; in the words of the Sanskrit\nproverb: \"Who is to be blamed, if success be not reached after due\neffort?\"\n\nThe translator's best thanks are due to Mr. John C. Staples, for\nvaluable help in the early chapters.--London, July, 1892\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\n     In Bombay\n     On the Way to Karli\n     In the Karli Caves\n     Vanished Glories\n     A City of the Dead\n     Brahmanic Hospitalities\n     A Witch's Den\n     God's Warrior\n     The Banns of Marriage\n     The Caves of Bagh\n     An Isle of Mystery\n     Jubblepore\n\n\n\n\nFROM THE CAVES AND JUNGLES OF HINDOSTAN\n\n\n\n\nIn Bombay\n\n\n\nLate in the evening of the sixteenth of February, 1879, after a rough\nvoyage which lasted thirty-two days, joyful exclamations were heard\neverywhere on deck. \"Have you seen the lighthouse?\" \"There it is at\nlast, the Bombay lighthouse.\"\n\nCards, books, music, everything was forgotten. Everyone rushed on deck.\nThe moon had not risen as yet, and, in spite of the starry tropical sky,\nit was quite dark. The stars were so bright that, at first, it seemed\nhardly possible to distinguish, far away amongst them, a small fiery\npoint lit by earthly hands. The stars winked at us like so many huge\neyes in the black sky, on one side of which shone the Southern Cross.\nAt last we distinguished the lighthouse on the distant horizon. It was\nnothing but a tiny fiery point diving in the phosphorescent waves. The\ntired travellers greeted it warmly. The rejoicing was general.\n\nWhat a glorious daybreak followed this dark night! The sea no longer\ntossed our ship. Under the skilled guidance of the pilot, who had just\narrived, and whose bronze form was so sharply defined against the pale\nsky, our steamer, breathing heavily with its broken machinery, slipped\nover the quiet, transparent waters of the Indian Ocean straight to\nthe harbour. We were only four miles from Bombay, and, to us, who had\ntrembled with cold only a few weeks ago in the Bay of Biscay, which has\nbeen so glorified by many poets and so heartily cursed by all sailors,\nour surroundings simply seemed a magical dream.\n\nAfter the tropical nights of the Red Sea and the scorching hot days\nthat had tortured us since Aden, we, people of the distant North, now\nexperienced something strange and unwonted, as if the very fresh soft\nair had cast its spell over us. There was not a cloud in the sky,\nthickly strewn with dying stars. Even the moonlight, which till then had\ncovered the sky with its silvery garb, was gradually vanishing; and the\nbrighter grew the rosiness of dawn over the small island that lay before\nus in the East, the paler in the West grew the scattered rays of the\nmoon that sprinkled with bright flakes of light the dark wake our ship\nleft behind her, as if the glory of the West was bidding good-bye to us,\nwhile the light of the East welcomed the newcomers from far-off lands.\nBrighter and bluer grew the sky, swiftly absorbing the remaining pale\nstars one after the other, and we felt something touching in the\nsweet dignity with which the Queen of Night resigned her rights to the\npowerful usurper. At last, descending lower and lower, she disappeared\ncompletely.\n\nAnd suddenly, almost without interval between darkness and light, the\nred-hot globe, emerging on the opposite side from under the cape, leant\nhis golden chin on the lower rocks of the island and seemed to stop for\na while, as if examining us. Then, with one powerful effort, the torch\nof day rose high over the sea and gloriously proceeded on its path,\nincluding in one mighty fiery embrace the blue waters of the bay, the\nshore and the islands with their rocks and cocoanut forests. His golden\nrays fell upon a crowd of Parsees, his rightful worshippers, who stood\non shore raising their arms towards the mighty \"Eye of Ormuzd.\" The\nsight was so impressive that everyone on deck became silent for a\nmoment, even a red-nosed old sailor, who was busy quite close to us over\nthe cable, stopped working, and, clearing his throat, nodded at the sun.\n\nMoving slowly and cautiously along the charming but treacherous bay, we\nhad plenty of time to admire the picture around us. On the right was a\ngroup of islands with Gharipuri or Elephanta, with its ancient temple,\nat their head. Gharipuri translated means \"the town of caves\" according\nto the Orientalists, and \"the town of purification\" according to the\nnative Sanskrit scholars. This temple, cut out by an unknown hand in\nthe very heart of a rock resembling porphyry, is a true apple of\ndiscord amongst the archaeologists, of whom none can as yet fix, even\napproximately, its antiquity. Elephanta raises high its rocky brow, all\novergrown with secular cactus, and right under it, at the foot of the\nrock, are hollowed out the chief temple and the two lateral ones. Like\nthe serpent of our Russian fairy tales, it seems to be opening its\nfierce black mouth to swallow the daring mortal who comes to take\npossession of the secret mystery of Titan. Its two remaining teeth, dark\nwith time, are formed by two huge pillars t the entrance, sustaining the\npalate of the monster.\n\nHow many generations of Hindus, how many races, have knelt in the\ndust before the Trimurti, your threefold deity, O Elephanta? How many\ncenturies were spent by weak man in digging out in your stone bosom this\ntown of temples and carving your gigantic idols? Who can say? Many years\nhave elapsed since I saw you last, ancient, mysterious temple, and still\nthe same restless thoughts, the same recurrent questions vex me snow as\nthey did then, and still remain unanswered. In a few days we shall see\neach other again. Once more I shall gaze upon your stern image, upon\nyour three huge granite faces, and shall feel as hopeless as ever of\npiercing the mystery of your being. This secret fell into safe hands\nthree centuries before ours. It is not in vain that the old Portuguese\nhistorian Don Diego de Cuta boasts that \"the big square stone fastened\nover the arch of the pagoda with a distinct inscription, having been\ntorn out and sent as a present to the King Dom Juan III, disappeared\nmysteriously in the course of time....,\" and adds, further, \"Close to\nthis big pagoda there stood another, and farther on even a third one,\nthe most wonderful of all in beauty, incredible size, and richness of\nmaterial. All those pagodas and caves have been built by the Kings of\nKanada, (?) the most important of whom was Bonazur, and these buildings\nof Satan our (Portuguese) soldiers attacked with such vehemence that in\na few years one stone was not left upon another....\" And, worst of\nall, they left no inscriptions that might have given a clue to so much.\nThanks to the fanaticism of Portuguese soldiers, the chronology of the\nIndian cave temples must remain for ever an enigma to the archaeological\nworld, beginning with the Brah-mans, who say Elephanta is 374,000 years\nold, and ending with Fergusson, who tries to prove that it was carved\nonly in the twelfth century of our era. Whenever one turns one's eyes to\nhistory, there is nothing to be found but hypotheses and darkness. And\nyet Gharipuri is mentioned in the epic Mahabharata, which was written,\naccording to Colebrooke and Wilson, a good while before the reign of\nCyrus. In another ancient legend it is said that the temple of Trimurti\nwas built on Elephanta by the sons of Pandu, who took part in the war\nbetween the dynasties of the Sun and the Moon, and, belonging to the\nlatter, were expelled at the end of the war. The Rajputs, who are the\ndescendants of the first, still sing of this victory; but even in their\npopular songs there is nothing positive. Centuries have passed and will\npass, and the ancient secret will die in the rocky bosom of the cave\nstill unrecorded.\n\nOn the left side of the bay, exactly opposite Elephanta, and as if in\ncontrast with all its antiquity and greatness, spreads the Malabar Hill,\nthe residence of the modern Europeans and rich natives. Their brightly\npainted bungalows are bathed in the greenery of banyan, Indian fig, and\nvarious other trees, and the tall and straight trunks of cocoanut palms\ncover with the fringe of their leaves the whole ridge of the hilly\nheadland. There, on the south-western end of the rock, you see the\nalmost transparent, lace-like Government House surrounded on three\nsides by the ocean. This is the coolest and the most comfortable part of\nBombay, fanned by three different sea breezes.\n\nThe island of Bombay, designated by the natives \"Mambai,\" received its\nname from the goddess Mamba, in Mahrati Mahima, or Amba, Mama, and Amma,\naccording to the dialect, a word meaning, literally, the Great Mother.\nHardly one hundred years ago, on the site of the modern esplanade, there\nstood a temple consecrated to Mamba-Devi. With great difficulty and\nexpense they carried it nearer to the shore, close to the fort, and\nerected it in front of Baleshwara the \"Lord of the Innocent\"--one of\nthe names of the god Shiva. Bombay is part of a considerable group of\nislands, the most remarkable of which are Salsetta, joined to Bombay by\na mole, Elephanta, so named by the Portuguese because of a huge rock cut\nin the shape of an elephant thirty-five feet long, and Trombay, whose\nlovely rock rises nine hundred feet above the surface of the sea. Bombay\nlooks, on the maps, like an enormous crayfish, and is at the head of\nthe rest of the islands. Spreading far out into the sea its two claws,\nBombay island stands like a sleepless guardian watching over his younger\nbrothers. Between it and the Continent there is a narrow arm of a river,\nwhich gets gradually broader and then again narrower, deeply indenting\nthe sides of both shores, and so forming a haven that has no equal in\nthe world. It was not without reason that the Portuguese, expelled in\nthe course of time by the English, used to call it \"Buona Bahia.\"\n\nIn a fit of tourist exaltation some travellers have compared it to the\nBay of Naples; but, as a matter of fact, the one is as much like the\nother as a lazzaroni is like a Kuli. The whole resemblance between the\nformer consists in the fact that there is water in both. In Bombay, as\nwell as in its harbour, everything is original and does not in the least\nremind one of Southern Europe. Look at those coasting vessels and native\nboats; both are built in the likeness of the sea bird \"sat,\" a kind\nof kingfisher. When in motion these boats are the personi-fication of\ngrace, with their long prows and rounded poops. They look as if they\nwere gliding backwards, and one might mistake for wings the strangely\nshaped, long lateen sails, their narrow angles fastened upwards to a\nyard. Filling these two wings with the wind, and careening, so as almost\nto touch the surface of the water, these boats will fly along with\nastonishing swiftness. Unlike our European boats, they do not cut the\nwaves, but glide over them like a sea-gull.\n\nThe surroundings of the bay transported us to some fairy land of the\nArabian Nights. The ridge of the Western Ghats, cut through here and\nthere by some separate hills almost as high as themselves, stretched all\nalong the Eastern shore. From the base to their fantastic, rocky tops,\nthey are all overgrown with impenetrable forests and jungles inhabited\nby wild animals. Every rock has been enriched by the popular imagination\nwith an independent legend. All over the slope of the mountain are\nscattered the pagodas, mosques, and temples of numberless sects. Here\nand there the hot rays of the sun strike upon an old fortress, once\ndreadful and inaccessible, now half ruined and covered with prickly\ncactus. At every step some memorial of sanctity. Here a deep vihara,\na cave cell of a Buddhist bhikshu saint, there a rock protected by the\nsymbol of Shiva, further on a Jaina temple, or a holy tank, all covered\nwith sedge and filled with water, once blessed by a Brahman and able to\npurify every sin, all indispensable attribute of all pagodas. All the\nsurroundings are covered with symbols of gods and goddesses. Each of the\nthree hundred and thirty millions of deities of the Hindu Pantheon has\nits representative in something consecrated to it, a stone, a flower, a\ntree, or a bird. On the West side of the Malabar Hill peeps through the\ntrees Valakeshvara, the temple of the \"Lord of Sand.\" A long stream of\nHindus moves towards this celebrated temple; men and women, shining with\nrings on their fingers and toes, with bracelets from their wrists up\nto their elbows, clad in bright turbans and snow white muslins, with\nforeheads freshly painted with red, yellow, and white, holy sectarian\nsigns.\n\nThe legend says that Rama spent here a night on his way from Ayodhya\n(Oudh) to Lanka (Ceylon) to fetch his wife Sita who had been stolen by\nthe wicked King Ravana. Rama's brother Lakshman, whose duty it was\nto send him daily a new lingam from Benares, was late in doing so one\nevening. Losing patience, Rama erected for himself a lingam of sand.\nWhen, at last, the symbol arrived from Benares, it was put in a temple,\nand the lingam erected by Rama was left on the shore. There it stayed\nduring long centuries, but, at the arrival of the Portuguese, the \"Lord\nof Sand\" felt so disgusted with the feringhi (foreigners) that he jumped\ninto the sea never to return. A little farther on there is a charming\ntank, called Vanattirtha, or the \"point of the arrow.\" Here Rama, the\nmuch worshipped hero of the Hindus, felt thirsty and, not finding any\nwater, shot an arrow and immediately there was created a pond. Its\ncrystal waters were surrounded by a high wall, steps were built leading\ndown to it, and a circle of white marble dwellings was filled with dwija\n(twice born) Brahmans.\n\nIndia is the land of legends and of mysterious nooks and corners. There\nis not a ruin, not a monument, not a thicket, that has no story attached\nto it. Yet, however they may be entangled in the cobweb of popular\nimagination, which becomes thicker with every generation, it is\ndifficult to point out a single one that is not founded on fact. With\npatience and, still more, with the help of the learned Brahmans you\ncan always get at the truth, when once you have secured their trust and\nfriendship.\n\nThe same road leads to the temple of the Parsee fire-worshippers. At its\naltar burns an unquenchable fire, which daily consumes hundredweights of\nsandal wood and aromatic herbs. Lit three hundred years ago, the sacred\nfire has never been extinguished, notwithstanding many disorders,\nsectarian discords, and even wars. The Parsees are very proud of this\ntemple of Zaratushta, as they call Zoroaster. Compared with it the\nHindu pagodas look like brightly painted Easter eggs. Generally they are\nconsecrated to Hanuman, the monkey-god and the faithful ally of Rama, or\nto the elephant headed Ganesha, the god of the occult wisdom, or to one\nof the Devis. You meet with these temples in every street. Before each\nthere is a row of pipals (Ficus religiosa) centuries old, which no\ntemple can dispense with, because these trees are the abode of the\nelementals and the sinful souls.\n\nAll this is entangled, mixed, and scattered, appearing to one's eyes\nlike a picture in a dream. Thirty centuries have left their traces\nhere. The innate laziness and the strong conservative tendencies of\nthe Hindus, even before the European invasion, preserved all kinds of\nmonuments from the ruinous vengeance of the fanatics, whether those\nmemorials were Buddhist, or belonged to some other unpopular sect.\nThe Hindus are not naturally given to senseless vandalism, and a\nphrenologist would vainly look for a bump of destructiveness on their\nskulls. If you meet with antiquities that, having been spared by time,\nare, nowadays, either destroyed or disfigured, it is not they who are\nto blame, but either Mussulmans, or the Portuguese under the guidance of\nthe Jesuits.\n\nAt last we were anchored and, in a moment, were besieged, ourselves as\nwell as our luggage, by numbers of naked skeleton-like Hindus, Parsees,\nMoguls, and various other tribes. All this crowd emerged, as if from the\nbottom of the sea, and began to shout, to chatter, and to yell, as only\nthe tribes of Asia can. To get rid of this Babel confusion of tongues as\nsoon as possible, we took refuge in the first bunder boat and made for\nthe shore.\n\nOnce settled in the bungalow awaiting us, the first thing we were struck\nwith in Bombay was the millions of crows and vultures. The first are, so\nto speak, the County Council of the town, whose duty it is to clean the\nstreets, and to kill one of them is not only forbidden by the police,\nbut would be very dangerous. By killing one you would rouse the\nvengeance of every Hindu, who is always ready to offer his own life in\nexchange for a crow's. The souls of the sinful forefathers transmigrate\ninto crows and to kill one is to interfere with the law of Karma and\nto expose the poor ancestor to something still worse. Such is the firm\nbelief, not only of Hindus, but of Parsees, even the most enlightened\namongst them. The strange behaviour of the Indian crows explains, to\na certain extent, this superstition. The vultures are, in a way, the\ngrave-diggers of the Parsees and are under the personal protection\nof the Farvardania, the angel of death, who soars over the Tower of\nSilence, watching the occupations of the feathered workmen.\n\nThe deafening caw of the crows strikes every new comer as uncanny, but,\nafter a while, is explained very simply. Every tree of the numerous\ncocoa-nut forests round Bombay is provided with a hollow pumpkin. The\nsap of the tree drops into it and, after fermenting, becomes a most\nintoxicating beverage, known in Bombay under the name of toddy. The\nnaked toddy wallahs, generally half-caste Portuguese, modestly adorned\nwith a single coral necklace, fetch this beverage twice a day, climbing\nthe hundred and fifty feet high trunks like squirrels. The crows\nmostly build their nests on the tops of the cocoa-nut palms and drink\nincessantly out of the open pumpkins. The result of this is the chronic\nintoxication of the birds. As soon as we went out in the garden of our\nnew habitation, flocks of crows came down heavily from every tree. The\nnoise they make whilst jumping about everywhere is indescribable. There\nseemed to be something positively human in the positions of the slyly\nbent heads of the drunken birds, and a fiendish light shone in their\neyes while they were examining us from foot to head.\n\n\n\nWe occupied three small bungalows, lost, like nests, in the garden,\ntheir roofs literally smothered in roses blossoming on bushes twenty\nfeet high, and their windows covered only with muslin, instead of the\nusual panes of glass. The bungalows were situated in the native part of\nthe town, so that we were transported, all at once, into the real India.\nWe were living in India, unlike English people, who are only surrounded\nby India at a certain distance. We were enabled to study her character\nand customs, her religion, superstitions and rites, to learn her\nlegends, in fact, to live among Hindus.\n\nEverything in India, this land of the elephant and the poisonous cobra,\nof the tiger and the unsuccessful English missionary, is original and\nstrange. Everything seems unusual, unexpected, and striking, even to one\nwho has travelled in Turkey, Egypt, Damascus, and Palestine. In these\ntropical regions the conditions of nature are so various that all the\nforms of the animal and vegetable kingdoms must radically differ from\nwhat we are used to in Europe. Look, for instance, at those women on\ntheir way to a well through a garden, which is private and at the same\ntime open to anyone, because somebody's cows are grazing in it. To whom\ndoes it not happen to meet with women, to see cows, and admire a garden?\nDoubtless these are among the commonest of all things. But a single\nattentive glance will suffice to show you the difference that exists\nbetween the same objects in Europe and in India. Nowhere more than\nin India does a human being feel his weakness and insignificance. The\nmajesty of the tropical growth is such that our highest trees would look\ndwarfed compared with banyans and especially with palms. A European cow,\nmistaking, at first sight, her Indian sister for a calf, would deny the\nexistence of any kinship between them, as neither the mouse-coloured\nwool, nor the straight goat-like horns, nor the humped back of the\nlatter would permit her to make such an error. As to the women, each of\nthem would make any artist feel enthusiastic about the gracefulness\nof her movements and drapery, but still, no pink and white, stout Anna\nIvanovna would condescend to greet her. \"Such a shame, God forgive me,\nthe woman is entirely naked!\"\n\nThis opinion of the modern Russian woman is nothing but the echo of what\nwas said in 1470 by a distinguished Russian traveler, \"the sinful slave\nof God, Athanasius son of Nikita from Tver,\" as he styles himself. He\ndescribes India as follows: \"This is the land of India. Its people are\nnaked, never cover their heads, and wear their hair braided. Women have\nbabies every year. Men and women are black. Their prince wears a veil\nround his head and wraps another veil round his legs. The noblemen wear\na veil on one shoulder, and the noblewomen on the shoulders and round\nthe loins, but everyone is barefooted. The women walk about with their\nhair spread and their breasts naked. The children, boys and girls, never\ncover their shame until they are seven years old....\" This description\nis quite correct, but Athanasius Nikita's son is right only concerning\nthe lowest and poorest classes. These really do \"walk about\" covered\nonly with a veil, which often is so poor that, in fact, it is nothing\nbut a rag. But still, even the poorest woman is clad in a piece of\nmuslin at least ten yards long. One end serves as a sort of short\npetticoat, and the other covers the head and shoulders when out in the\nstreet, though the faces are always uncovered. The hair is erected into\na kind of Greek chignon. The legs up to the knees, the arms, and the\nwaist are never covered. There is not a single respectable woman who\nwould consent to put on a pair of shoes. Shoes are the attribute and the\nprerogative of disreputable women. When, some time ago, the wife of the\nMadras governor thought of passing a law that should induce native\nwomen to cover their breasts, the place was actually threatened with\na revolution. A kind of jacket is worn only by dancing girls. The\nGovernment recognized that it would be unreasonable to irritate women,\nwho, very often, are more dangerous than their husbands and brothers,\nand the custom, based on the law of Manu, and sanctified by three\nthousand years' observance, remained unchanged.\n\n\nFor more than two years before we left America we were in constant\ncorrespondence with a certain learned Brahman, whose glory is great\nat present (1879) all over India. We came to India to study, under his\nguidance, the ancient country of Aryas, the Vedas, and their difficult\nlanguage. His name is Dayanand Saraswati Swami. Swami is the name of the\nlearned anchorites who are initiated into many mysteries unattainable by\ncommon mortals. They are monks who never marry, but are quite different\nfrom other mendicant brotherhoods, the so-called Sannyasi and Hossein.\nThis Pandit is considered the greatest Sanskritist of modern India\nand is an absolute enigma to everyone. It is only five years since\nhe appeared on the arena of great reforms, but till then, he lived,\nentirely secluded, in a jungle, like the ancient gymnosophists mentioned\nby the Greek and Latin authors. At this time he was studying the chief\nphilosophical systems of the \"Aryavartta\" and the occult meaning of the\nVedas with the help of mystics and anchorites. All Hindus believe that\non the Bhadrinath Mountains (22,000 feet above the level of the sea)\nthere exist spacious caves, inhabited, now for many thousand years, by\nthese anchorites. Bhadrinath is situated in the north of Hindustan on\nthe river Bishegunj, and is celebrated for its temple of Vishnu right in\nthe heart of the town. Inside the temple there are hot mineral springs,\nvisited yearly by about fifty thousand pilgrims, who come to be purified\nby them.\n\nFrom the first day of his appearance Dayanand Saraswati produced\nan immense impression and got the surname of the \"Luther of India.\"\nWandering from one town to another, today in the South, tomorrow in the\nNorth, and transporting himself from one end of the country to another\nwith incredible quickness, he has visited every part of India, from Cape\nComorin to the Himalayas, and from Calcutta to Bombay. He preaches the\nOne Deity and, \"Vedas in hand,\" proves that in the ancient writings\nthere was not a word that could justify polytheism. Thundering against\nidol worship, the great orator fights with all his might against caste,\ninfant marriages, and superstitions. Chastising all the evils grafted on\nIndia by centuries of casuistry and false interpretation of the Vedas,\nhe blames for them the Brahmans, who, as he openly says before masses of\npeople, are alone guilty of the humiliation of their country, once great\nand independent, now fallen and enslaved. And yet Great Britain has in\nhim not an enemy, but rather an ally. He says openly--\"If you expel the\nEnglish, then, no later than tomorrow, you and I and everyone who rises\nagainst idol worship will have our throats cut like mere sheep. The\nMussulmans are stronger than the idol worshippers; but these last\nare stronger than we.\" The Pandit held many a warm dispute with the\nBrah-mans, those treacherous enemies of the people, and has almost\nalways been victorious. In Benares secret assassins were hired to slay\nhim, but the attempt did not succeed. In a small town of Bengal, where\nhe treated fetishism with more than his usual severity, some fanatic\nthrew on his naked feet a huge cobra. There are two snakes deified by\nthe Brahman mythology: the one which surrounds the neck of Shiva on his\nidols is called Vasuki; the other, Ananta, forms the couch of Vishnu. So\nthe worshipper of Shiva, feeling sure that his cobra, trained purposely\nfor the mysteries of a Shivaite pagoda, would at once make an end of\nthe offender's life, triumphantly exclaimed, \"Let the god Vasuki himself\nshow which of us is right!\"\n\nDayanand jerked off the cobra twirling round his leg, and with a single\nvigorous movement, crushed the reptile's head. \"Let him do so,\" he\nquietly assented. \"Your god has been too slow. It is I who have decided\nthe dispute, Now go,\" added he, addressing the crowd, \"and tell everyone\nhow easily perish the false gods.\"\n\nThanks to his excellent knowledge of Sanskrit the Pandit does a great\nservice, not only to the masses, clearing their ignorance about the\nmonotheism of the Vedas, but to science too, showing who, exactly, are\nthe Brahmans, the only caste in India which, during centuries, had the\nright to study Sanskrit literature and comment on the Vedas, and which\nused this right solely for its own advantage.\n\nLong before the time of such Orientalists as Burnouf, Colebrooke and Max\nMuller, there have been in India many reformers who tried to prove the\npure monotheism of the Vedic doctrines. There have even been founders\nof new religions who denied the revelations of these scriptures; for\ninstance, the Raja Ram Mohun Roy, and, after him, Babu Keshub Chunder\nSen, both Calcutta Bengalees. But neither of them had much success. They\ndid nothing but add new denominations to the numberless sects existing\nin India. Ram Mohun Roy died in England, having done next to nothing,\nand Keshub Chunder Sen, having founded the community of \"Brahmo-Samaj,\"\nwhich professes a religion extracted from the depths of the Babu's own\nimagination, became a mystic of the most pronounced type, and now\nis only \"a berry from the same field,\" as we say in Russia, as the\nSpiritualists, by whom he is considered to be a medium and a Calcutta\nSwedenborg. He spends his time in a dirty tank, singing praises to\nChaitanya, Koran, Buddha, and his own person, proclaiming himself their\nprophet, and performs a mystical dance, dressed in woman's attire,\nwhich, on his part, is an attention to a \"woman goddess\" whom the Babu\ncalls his \"mother, father and eldest brother.\"\n\nIn short, all the attempts to re-establish the pure primitive monotheism\nof Aryan India have been a failure. They always got wrecked upon the\ndouble rock of Brahmanism and of prejudices centuries old. But lo! here\nappears unexpectedly the pandit Dayanand. None, even of the most\nbeloved of his disciples, knows who he is and whence he comes. He openly\nconfesses before the crowds that the name under which he is known is not\nhis, but was given to him at the Yogi initiation.\n\nThe mystical school of Yogis was established by Patanjali, the founder\nof one of the six philosophical systems of ancient India. It is supposed\nthat the Neo-platonists of the second and third Alexandrian Schools were\nthe followers of Indian Yogis, more especially was their theurgy brought\nfrom India by Pythagoras, according to the tradition. There still exist\nin India hundreds of Yogis who follow the system of Patanjali, and\nassert that they are in communion with Brahma. Nevertheless, most of\nthem are do-nothings, mendicants by profession, and great frauds, thanks\nto the insatiable longing of the natives for miracles. The real Yogis\navoid appearing in public, and spend their lives in secluded retirement\nand studies, except when, as in Dayanand's case, they come forth in\ntime of need to aid their country. However, it is perfectly certain that\nIndia never saw a more learned Sanskrit scholar, a deeper metaphysician,\na more wonderful orator, and a more fearless denunciator of every evil,\nthan Dayanand, since the time of Sankharacharya, the celebrated founder\nof the Vedanta philosophy, the most metaphysical of Indian systems,\nin fact, the crown of pantheistic teaching. Then, Dayanand's personal\nappearance is striking. He is immensely tall, his complexion is pale,\nrather European than Indian, his eyes are large and bright, and his\ngreyish hair is long. The Yogis and Dikshatas (initiated) never cut\neither their hair or beard. His voice is clear and loud, well calculated\nto give expression to every shade of deep feeling, ranging from a sweet\nchildish caressing whisper to thundering wrath against the evil doings\nand falsehoods of the priests. All this taken together produces an\nindescribable effect on the impressionable Hindu. Wherever Dayanand\nappears crowds prostrate themselves in the dust over his footprints;\nbut, unlike Babu Keshub Chunder Sen, he does not teach a new\nreligion, does not invent new dogmas. He only asks them to renew their\nhalf-forgotten Sanskrit studies, and, having compared the doctrines of\ntheir forefathers with what they have become in the hands of Brahmans,\nto return to the pure conceptions of Deity taught by the primitive\nRishis--Agni, Vayu, Aditya, and Anghira--the patriarchs who first gave\nthe Vedas to humanity. He does not even claim that the Vedas are a\nheavenly revelation, but simply teaches that \"every word in these\nscriptures belongs to the highest inspiration possible to the earthly\nman, an inspiration that is repeated in the history of humanity, and,\nwhen necessary, may happen to any nation.....\"\n\nDuring his five years of work Swami Dayanand made about two million\nproselytes, chiefly amongst the higher castes. Judging by appearances,\nthey are all ready to sacrifice to him their lives and souls and even\ntheir earthly possessions, which are often more precious to them than\ntheir lives. But Dayanand is a real Yogi, he never touches money, and\ndespises pecuniary affairs. He contents himself with a few handfuls of\nrice per day. One is inclined to think that this wonderful Hindu bears\na charmed life, so careless is he of rousing the worst human passions,\nwhich are so dangerous in India. A marble statue could not be less moved\nby the raging wrath of the crowd. We saw him once at work. He sent away\nall his faithful followers and forbade them either to watch over him\nor to defend him, and stood alone before the infuriated crowd, facing\ncalmly the monster ready to spring upon him and tear him to pieces.\n\n\n\nHere a short explanation is necessary. A few years ago a society of\nwell-informed, energetic people was formed in New York. A certain\nsharp-witted savant surnamed them \"La Societe des Malcontents du\nSpiritisme.\" The founders of this club were people who, believing in the\nphenomena of spiritualism as much as in the possibility of every other\nphenomenon in Nature, still denied the theory of the \"spirits.\" They\nconsidered that the modern psychology was a science still in the first\nstages of its development, in total ignorance of the nature of the\npsychic man, and denying, as do many other sciences, all that cannot be\nexplained according to its own particular theories.\n\nFrom the first days of its existence some of the most learned Americans\njoined the Society, which became known as the Theosophical Society. Its\nmembers differed on many points, much as do the members of any other\nSociety, Geographical or Archeological, which fights for years over\nthe sources of the Nile, or the Hieroglyphs of Egypt. But everyone is\nunanimously agreed that, as long as there is water in the Nile,\nits sources must exist somewhere. So much about the phenomena of\nspiritualism and mesmerism. These phenomena were still waiting their\nChampollion--but the Rosetta stone was to be searched for neither in\nEurope nor in America, but in the far-away countries where they still\nbelieve in magic, where wonders are performed daily by the native\npriesthood, and where the cold materialism of science has never yet\nreached--in one word, in the East.\n\nThe Council of the Society knew that the Lama-Buddhists, for instance,\nthough not believing in God, and denying the personal immortality of the\nsoul, are yet celebrated for their \"phenomena,\" and that mesmerism was\nknown and daily practised in China from time immemorial under the name\nof \"gina.\" In India they fear and hate the very name of the spirits whom\nthe Spiritualists venerate so deeply, yet many an ignorant fakir can\nperform \"miracles\" calculated to turn upside-down all the notions of\na scientist and to be the despair of the most celebrated of European\nprestidigitateurs. Many members of the Society have visited India--many\nwere born there and have themselves witnessed the \"sorceries\" of the\nBrahmans. The founders of the Club, well aware of the depth of modern\nignorance in regard to the spiritual man, were most anxious that\nCuvier's method of comparative anatomy should acquire rights of\ncitizenship among metaphysicians, and, so, progress from regions\nphysical to regions psychological on its own inductive and deductive\nfoundation. \"Otherwise,\" they thought, \"psychology will be unable to\nmove forward a single step, and may even obstruct every other branch of\nNatural History.\" Instances have not been wanting of physiology poaching\non the preserves of purely metaphysical and abstract knowledge, all\nthe time feigning to ignore the latter absolutely, and seeking to class\npsychology with the positive sciences, having first bound it to a Bed\nof Procrustes, where it refuses to yield its secret to its clumsy\ntormentors.\n\nIn a short time the Theosophical Society counted its members, not\nby hundreds, but by thousands. All the \"malcontents\" of American\nSpiritualism--and there were at that time twelve million Spiritualists\nin America--joined the Society. Collateral branches were formed in\nLondon, Corfu, Australia, Spain, Cuba, California, etc. Everywhere\nexperiments were being performed, and the conviction that it is not\nspirits alone who are the causes of the phenomena was becoming general.\n\nIn course of time branches of the Society were in India and in Ceylon.\nThe Buddhist and Brahmanical members became more numerous than the\nEuropeans. A league was formed, and to the name of the Society was\nadded the subtitle, \"The Brotherhood of Humanity.\" After an active\ncorrespondence between the Arya-Samaj, founded by Swami Dayanand, and\nthe Theosophical Society, an amalgamation was arranged between the\ntwo bodies. Then the Chief Council of the New York branch decided upon\nsending a special delegation to India, for the purpose of studying, on\nthe spot, the ancient language of the Vedas and the manuscripts and\nthe wonders of Yogism. On the 17th of December, 1878, the delegation,\ncomposed of two secretaries and two members of the council of the\nTheosophical Society, started from New York, to pause for a while in\nLondon, and then to proceed to Bombay, where it landed in February,\n1879.\n\nIt may easily be conceived that, under these circumstances, the members\nof the delegation were better able to study the country and to make\nfruitful researches than might, otherwise, have been the case. Today\nthey are looked upon as brothers and aided by the most influential\nnatives of India. They count among the members of their society\npandits of Benares and Calcutta, and Buddhist priests of the Ceylon\nViharas--amongst others the learned Sumangala, mentioned by Minayeff\nin the description of his visit to Adam's Peak--and Lamas of Thibet,\nBurmah, Travancore and elsewhere. The members of the delegation are\nadmitted to sanctuaries where, as yet, no European has set his foot.\nConsequently they may hope to render many services to Humanity and\nScience, in spite of the illwill which the representatives of positive\nscience bear to them.\n\nAs soon as the delegation landed, a telegram was despatched to Dayanand,\nas everyone was anxious to make his personal acquaintance. In reply, he\nsaid that he was obliged to go immediately to Hardwar, where hundreds of\nthousands of pilgrims were expected to assemble, but he insisted on\nour remaining behind, since cholera was certain to break out among the\ndevotees. He appointed a certain spot, at the foot of the Himalayas, in\nthe jab, where we were to meet in a month's time.\n\nAlas! all this was written some time ago. Since then Swami Dayanand's\ncountenance has changed completely toward us. He is, now, an enemy of\nthe Theosophical Society and its two founders--Colonel Olcott and the\nauthor of these letters. It appeared that, on entering into an offensive\nand defensive alliance with the Society, Dayanand nourished the\nhope that all its members, Christians, Brahmans and Buddhists, would\nacknowledge His supremacy, and become members of the Arya Samaj.\n\nNeedless to say, this was impossible. The Theosophical Society rests on\nthe principle of complete non-interference with the religious beliefs\nof its members. Toleration is its basis and its aims are purely\nphilosophical. This did not suit Dayanand. He wanted all the members,\neither to become his disciples, or to be expelled from the Society. It\nwas quite clear that neither the President, nor the Council could assent\nto such a claim. Englishmen and Americans, whether they were Christians\nor Freethinkers, Buddhists, and especially Brahmans, revolted against\nDayanand, and unanimously demanded that the league should be broken.\n\nHowever, all this happened later. At the time of which I speak we were\nfriends and allies of the Swami, and we learned with deep interest that\nthe Hardwar \"mela,\" which he was to visit, takes place every twelve\nyears, and is a kind of religious fair, which attracts representatives\nfrom all the numerous sects of India.\n\nLearned dissertations are read by the disputants in defence of their\npeculiar doctrines, and the debates are held in public. This year\nthe Hardwar gathering was exceptionally numerous. The Sannyasis--the\nmendicant monks of India--alone numbered 35,000 and the cholera,\nforeseen by the Swami, actually broke out.\n\n\n\nAs we were not yet to start for the appointed meeting, we had plenty of\nspare time before us; so we proceeded to examine Bombay.\n\nThe Tower of Silence, on the heights of the Malabar Hill, is the last\nabode of all the sons of Zoroaster. It is, in fact, a Parsee cemetery.\nHere their dead, rich and poor, men, women and children, are all laid in\na row, and in a few minutes nothing remains of them but bare skeletons.\nA dismal impression is made upon a foreigner by these towers, where\nabsolute silence has reigned for centuries. This kind of building is\nvery common in every place were Parsees live and die. In Bombay, of six\ntowers, the largest was built 250 years ago, and the least but a short\ntime since. With few exceptions, they are round or square in shape, from\ntwenty to forty feet high, without roof, window, or door, but with a\nsingle iron gate opening towards the East, and so small that it is\nquite covered by a few bushes. The first corpse brought to a new\ntower--\"dakhma\"--must be the body of the innocent child of a mobed\nor priest. No one, not even the chief watcher, is allowed to approach\nwithin a distance of thirty paces of these towers. Of all living human\nbeings \"nassesalars\"--corpse-carriers--alone enter and leave the \"Tower\nof Silence.\" The life these men lead is simply wretched. No European\nexecutioner's position is worse. They live quite apart from the rest\nof the world, in whose eyes they are the most abject of beings. Being\nforbidden to enter the markets, they must get their food as they can.\nThey are born, marry, and die, perfect strangers to all except their own\nclass, passing through the streets only to fetch the dead and carry them\nto the tower. Even to be near one of them is a degradation. Entering\nthe tower with a corpse, covered, whatever may have been its rank or\nposition, with old white rags, they undress it and place it, in\nsilence, on one of the three rows presently to be described. Then, still\npreserving the same silence, they come out, shut the gate, and burn the\nrags.\n\nAmongst the fire-worshippers, Death is divested of all his majesty and\nis a mere object of disgust. As soon as the last hour of a sick person\nseems to approach, everyone leaves the chamber of death, as much to\navoid impeding the departure of the soul from the body, as to shun the\nrisk of polluting the living by contact with the dead. The mobed alone\nstays with the dying man for a while, and having whispered into his ear\nthe Zend-Avesta precepts, \"ashem-vohu\" and \"Yato-Ahuvarie,\" leaves the\nroom while the patient is still alive. Then a dog is brought and made\nto look straight into his face. This ceremony is called \"sas-did,\"\nthe \"dog's-stare.\" A dog is the only living creature that the\n\"Drux-nassu\"--the evil one--fears, and that is able to prevent him from\ntaking possession of the body. It must be strictly observed that no\none's shadow lies between the dying man and the dog, otherwise the whole\nstrength of the dog's gaze will be lost, and the demon will profit by\nthe occasion. The body remains on the spot where life left it, until the\nnassesalars appear, their arms hidden to the shoulders under old bags,\nto take it away. Having deposited it in an iron coffin--the same for\neveryone--they carry it to the dakhma. If any one, who has once been\ncarried thither, should happen to regain consciousness, the nassesalars\nare bound to kill him; for such a person, who has been polluted by one\ntouch of the dead bodies in the dakhma, has thereby lost all right\nto return to the living, by doing so he would contaminate the whole\ncommunity. As some such cases have occurred, the Parsees are trying to\nget a new law passed, that would allow the miserable ex-corpses to live\nagain amongst their friends, and that would compel the nassesalars to\nleave the only gate of the dakhma unlocked, so that they might find a\nway of retreat open to them. It is very curious, but it is said that the\nvultures, which devour without hesitation the corpses, will never touch\nthose who are only apparently dead, but fly away uttering loud shrieks.\nAfter a last prayer at the gate of the dakhma, pronounced from afar by\nthe mobed, and re-peated in chorus by the nassesalars, the dog ceremony\nis repeated. In Bombay there is a dog, trained for this purpose, at the\nentrance to the tower. Finally, the body is taken inside and placed on\none or other of the rows, according to its sex and age.\n\nWe have twice been present at the ceremonies of dying, and once of\nburial, if I may be permitted to use such an incongruous term. In this\nrespect the Parsees are much more tolerant than the Hindus, who are\noffended by the mere presence at their religious rites of an European.\nN. Bayranji, a chief official of the tower, invited us to his house to\nbe present at the burial of some rich woman. So we witnessed all that\nwas going on at a distance of about forty paces, sitting quietly on\nour obliging host's verandah. While the dog was staring into the dead\nwoman's face, we were gazing, as intently, but with much more disgust,\nat the huge flock of vultures above the dakhma, that kept entering the\ntower, and flying out again with pieces of human flesh in their beaks.\nThese birds, that build their nests in thousands round the Tower of\nSilence, have been purposely imported from Persia. Indian vultures\nproved to be too weak, and not sufficiently bloodthirsty, to perform\nthe process of stripping the bones with the despatch prescribed by\nZoroaster. We were told that the entire operation of denuding the bones\noccupies no more than a few minutes. As soon as the ceremony was over,\nwe were led into another building, where a model of the dakhma was to be\nseen. We could now very easily imagine what was to take place presently\ninside the tower. In the centre there is a deep waterless well, covered\nwith a grating like the opening into a drain. Around it are three broad\ncircles, gradually sloping downwards. In each of them are coffin-like\nreceptacles for the bodies. There are three hundred and sixty-five such\nplaces. The first and smallest row is destined for children, the second\nfor women, and the third for men. This threefold circle is symbolical of\nthree cardinal Zoroastrian virtues--pure thoughts, kind words, and good\nactions. Thanks to the vultures, the bones are laid bare in less than\nan hour, and, in two or three weeks, the tropical sun scorches them into\nsuch a state of fragility, that the slightest breath of wind is enough\nto reduce them to powder and to carry them down into the pit. No smell\nis left behind, no source of plagues and epidemics. I do not know that\nthis way may not be preferable to cremation, which leaves in the air\nabout the Ghat a faint but disagreeable odour. The Ghat is a place\nby the sea, or river shore, where Hindus burn their dead. Instead of\nfeeding the old Slavonic deity \"Mother Wet Earth\" with carrion, Parsees\ngive to Armasti pure dust. Armasti means, literally, \"fostering cow,\"\nand Zoroaster teaches that the cultivation of land is the noblest of all\noccupations in the eyes of God. Accordingly, the worship of Earth is\nso sacred among the Parsees, that they take all possible precautions\nagainst polluting the \"fostering cow\" that gives them \"a hundred golden\ngrains for every single grain.\" In the season of the Monsoon, when,\nduring four months, the rain pours incessantly down and washes into the\nwell everything that is left by the vultures, the water absorbed by the\nearth is filtered, for the bottom of the well, the walls of which are\nbuilt of granite, is, to this end, covered with sand and charcoal.\n\nThe sight of the Pinjarapala is less lugubrious and much more amusing.\nThe Pinjarapala is the Bombay Hospital for decrepit animals, but a\nsimilar institution exists in every town where Jainas dwell. Being one\nof the most ancient, this is also one of the most interesting, of the\nsects of India. It is much older than Buddhism, which took its rise\nabout 543 to 477 B.C. Jainas boast that Buddhism is nothing more than a\nmere heresy of Jainism, Gautama, the founder of Buddhism, having been a\ndisciple and follower of one of the Jaina Gurus. The customs, rites,\nand philosophical conceptions of Jainas place them midway between the\nBrahmanists and the Buddhists. In view of their social arrangements,\nthey more closely resemble the former, but in their religion they\nincline towards the latter. Their caste divisions, their total\nabstinence from flesh, and their non-worship of the relics of the\nsaints, are as strictly observed as the similar tenets of the Brahmans,\nbut, like Buddhists, they deny the Hindu gods and the authority of\nthe Vedas, and adore their own twenty-four Tirthankaras, or Jinas, who\nbelong to the Host of the Blissful. Their priests, like the Buddhists',\nnever marry, they live in isolated viharas and choose their successors\nfrom amongst the members of any social class. According to them, Prakrit\nis the only sacred language, and is used in their sacred literature,\nas well as in Ceylon. Jainas and Buddhists have the same traditional\nchronology. They do not eat after sunset, and carefully dust any place\nbefore sitting down upon it, that they may not crush even the tiniest of\ninsects. Both systems, or rather both schools of philosophy, teach the\ntheory of eternal indestructible atoms, following the ancient atomistic\nschool of Kanada. They assert that the universe never had a beginning\nand never will have an end. \"The world and everything in it is but an\nillusion, a Maya,\" say the Vedantists, the Buddhists, and the Jainas;\nbut, whereas the followers of Sankaracharya preach Parabrahm (a deity\ndevoid of will, understanding, and action, because \"It is absolute\nunderstanding, mind and will\"), and Ishwara emanating from It, the\nJainas and the Buddhists believe in no Creator of the Universe,\nbut teach only the existence of Swabhawati, a plastic, infinite,\nself-created principle in Nature. Still they firmly believe, as do\nall Indian sects, in the transmigration of souls. Their fear, lest, by\nkilling an animal or an insect, they may, perchance, destroy the life of\nan ancestor, develops their love and care for every living creature to\nan almost incredible extent. Not only is there a hospital for invalid\nanimals in every town and village, but their priests always wear a\nmuslin muzzle, (I trust they will pardon the disrespectful expression!)\nin order to avoid destroying even the smallest animalcule, by\ninadvertence in the act of breathing. The same fear impels them to drink\nonly filtered water. There are a few millions of Jainas in Gujerat,\nBombay, Konkan, and some other places.\n\nThe Bombay Pinjarapala occupies a whole quarter of the town, and is\nseparated into yards, meadows and gardens, with ponds, cages for beasts\nof prey, and enclosures for tame animals. This institution would have\nserved very well for a model of Noah's Ark. In the first yard, however,\nwe saw no animals, but, instead, a few hundred human skeletons--old men,\nwomen and children. They were the remaining natives of the, so-called,\nfamine districts, who had crowded into Bombay to beg their bread. Thus,\nwhile, a few yards off, the official \"Vets.\" were busily bandaging the\nbroken legs of jackals, pouring ointments on the backs of mangy dogs,\nand fitting crutches to lame storks, human beings were dying, at their\nvery elbows, of starvation. Happily for the famine-stricken, there were\nat that time fewer hungry animals than usual, and so they were fed on\nwhat remained from the meals of the brute pensioners. No doubt many of\nthese wretched sufferers would have consented to transmigrate instantly\ninto the bodies of any of the animals who were ending so snugly their\nearthly careers.\n\nBut even the Pinjarajala roses are not without thorns. The graminivorous\n\"subjects,\" of course, could mot wish for anything better; but I doubt\nvery much whether the beasts of prey, such as tigers, hyenas, and\nwolves, are content with the rules and the forcibly prescribed diet.\nJainas themselves turn with disgust even from eggs and fish, and, in\nconsequence, all the animals of which they have the care must turn\nvegetarians. We were present when an old tiger, wounded by an English\nbullet, was fed. Having sniffed at a kind of rice soup which was offered\nto him, he lashed his tail, snarled, showing his yellow teeth, and with\na weak roar turned away from the food. What a look he cast askance upon\nhis keeper, who was meekly trying to persuade him to taste his nice\ndinner! Only the strong bars of the cage saved the Jaina from a vigorous\nprotest on the part of this veteran of the forest. A hyena, with a\nbleeding head and an ear half torn off, began by sitting in the trough\nfilled with this Spartan sauce, and then, without any further ceremony,\nupset it, as if to show its utter contempt for the mess. The wolves\nand the dogs raised such disconsolate howls that they attracted the\nattention of two inseparable friends, an old elephant with a wooden\nleg and a sore-eyed ox, the veritable Castor and Pollux of this\ninstitution. In accordance with his noble nature, the first thought of\nthe elephant concerned his friend. He wound his trunk round the neck\nof the ox, in token of protection, and both moaned dismally. Parrots,\nstorks, pigeons, flamingoes--the whole feathered tribe--revelled\nin their breakfast. Monkeys were the first to answer the keeper's\ninvitation and greatly enjoyed themselves. Further on we were shown a\nholy man, who was feeding insects with his own blood. He lay with his\neyes shut, and the scorching rays of the sun striking full upon his\nnaked body. He was literally covered with flies, mosquitoes, ants and\nbugs.\n\n\"All these are our brothers,\" mildly observed the keeper, pointing to\nthe hundreds of animals and insects. \"How can you Europeans kill and\neven devour them?\"\n\n\"What would you do,\" I asked, \"if this snake were about to bite you? Is\nit possible you would not kill it, if you had time?\"\n\n\"Not for all the world. I should cautiously catch it, and then I should\ncarry it to some deserted place outside the town, and there set it\nfree.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless; suppose it bit you?\"\n\n\"Then I should recite a mantram, and, if that produced no good result,\nI should be fair to consider it as the finger of Fate, and quietly leave\nthis body for another.\"\n\nThese were the words of a man who was educated to a certain extent, and\nvery well read. When we pointed out that no gift of Nature is aimless,\nand that the human teeth are all devouring, he answered by quoting whole\nchapters of Darwin's Theory of Natural Selection and Origin of Species.\n\"It is not true,\" argued he, \"that the first men were born with\ncanine teeth. It was only in course of time, with the degradation of\nhumanity,--only when the appetite for flesh food began to develop--that\nthe jaws changed their first shape under the influence of new\nnecessities.\"\n\nI could not help asking myself, \"Ou la science va-t'elle se fourrer?\"\n\n\n\nThe same evening, in Elphinstone's Theatre, there was given a special\nperformance in honour of \"the American Mission,\" as we are styled here.\nNative actors represented in Gujerati the ancient fairy drama Sita-Rama,\nthat has been adapted from the Ramayana, the celebrated epic by Vilmiki.\nThis drama is composed of fourteen acts and no end of tableaux, in\naddition to transformation scenes. All the female parts, as usual, were\nacted by young boys, and the actors, accord-ing to the historical and\nnational customs, were bare-footed and half-naked. Still, the richness\nof the costumes, the stage adornments and transformations, were truly\nwonderful. For instance, even on the stages of large metropolitan\ntheatres, it would have been difficult to give a better representation\nof the army of Rama's allies, who are nothing more than troops of\nmonkeys under the leadership of Hanuman--the soldier, statesman,\ndramatist, poet, god, who is so celebrated in history (that of India\ns.v.p.). The oldest and best of all Sanskrit dramas, Hanuman-Natak, is\nascribed to this talented forefather of ours.\n\nAlas! gone is the glorious time when, proud of our white skin (which\nafter all may be nothing more than the result of a fading, under the\ninfluences of our northern sky), we looked down upon Hindus and\nother \"niggers\" with a feeling of contempt well suited to our own\nmagnificence. No doubt Sir William Jones's soft heart ached, when\ntranslating from the Sanskrit such humiliating sentences as the\nfollowing: \"Hanuman is said to be the forefather of the Europeans.\"\nRama, being a hero and a demi-god, was well entitled to unite all\nthe bachelors of his useful monkey army to the daughters of the Lanka\n(Ceylon) giants, the Rakshasas, and to present these Dravidian beauties\nwith the dowry of all Western lands. After the most pompous marriage\nceremonies, the monkey soldiers made a bridge, with the help of their\nown tails, and safely landed with their spouses in Europe, where they\nlived very happily and had a numerous progeny. This progeny are we,\nEuropeans. Dravidian words found in some European languages, in Basque\nfor instance, greatly rejoice the hearts of the Brahmans, who would\ngladly promote the philologists to the rank of demi-gods for this\nimportant discovery, which confirms so gloriously their ancient legend.\nBut it was Darwin who crowned the edifice of proof with the authority of\nWestern education and Western scientific literature. The Indians became\nstill more convinced that we are the veritable descendants of Hanuman,\nand that, if one only took the trouble to examine carefully, our tails\nmight easily be discovered. Our narrow breeches and long skirts only add\nto the evidence, however uncomplimentary the idea may be to us.\n\nStill, if you consider seriously, what are we to say when Science, in\nthe person of Darwin, concedes this hypothesis to the wisdom of ancient\nAryas. We must perforce submit. And, really, it is better to have for a\nforefather Hanu-man, the poet, the hero, the god, than any other monkey,\neven though it be a tailless one. Sita-Rama belongs to the category\nof mythological dramas, something like the tragedies of Aeschylus.\nListening to this production of the remotest antiquity, the spectators\nare carried back to the times when the gods, descending upon earth, took\nan active part in the everyday life of mortals. Nothing reminds one of\na modern drama, though the exterior arrangement is the same. \"From the\nsublime to the ridiculous there is but a step,\" and vice versa. The\ngoat, chosen for a sacrifice to Bacchus, presented the world tragedy\n(greek script here). The death bleatings and buttings of the quadrupedal\noffering of antiquity have been polished by the hands of time and of\ncivilization, and, as a result of this process, we get the dying\nwhisper of Rachel in the part of Adrienne Lecouvreur, and the fearfully\nrealistic \"kicking\" of the modern Croisette in the poisoning scene of\nThe Sphinx. But, whereas the descendants of Themistocles gladly receive,\nwhether captive or free, all the changes and improvements considered\nas such by modern taste, thinking them to be a corrected and enlarged\nedition of the genius of Aeschylus; Hindus, happily for archaeologists\nand lovers of antiquity, have never moved a step since the times of our\nmuch honoured forefather Hanuman.\n\nWe awaited the performance of Sita-Rama with the liveliest curiosity.\nExcept ourselves and the building of the theatre, everything was\nstrictly indigenous and nothing reminded us of the West. There was not\nthe trace of an orchestra. Music was only to be heard from the stage,\nor from behind it. At last the curtain rose. The silence, which had been\nvery remarkable before the performance, considering the huge crowd\nof spectators of both sexes, now became absolute. Rama is one of the\nincarnations of Vishnu and, as most of the audience were worshippers of\nVishnu, for them the spectacle was not a mere theatrical performance,\nbut a religious mystery, representing the life and achievements of their\nfavourite and most venerated gods.\n\nThe prologue was laid in the epoch before creation began (it may safely\nbe said that no dramatist would dare to choose an earlier one)--or,\nrather, before the last manifestation of the universe. All the\nphilosophical sects of India, except Mussulmans, agree that the universe\nhas always existed. But the Hindus divide the periodical appearances and\nvanishings into days and nights of Brahma. The nights, or withdrawals of\nthe objective universe, are called Pralayas, and the days, or epochs\nof new awakening into life and light, are called Manvantaras, Yugas, or\n\"centuries of the gods.\" These periods are also called, respectively,\nthe inbreathings and outbreathings of Brahma. When Pralaya comes to an\nend Brahma awakens, and, with this awakening, the universe that rested\nin deity, in other words, that was reabsorbed in its subjective essence,\nemanates from the divine principle and becomes visible. The gods, who\ndied at the same time as the universe, begin slowly to return to life.\nThe \"Invisible\" alone, the \"Infinite,\" the \"Lifeless,\" the One who is\nthe unconditioned original \"Life\" itself, soars, surrounded by shoreless\nchaos. Its holy presence is not visible. It shows itself only in the\nperiodical pulsation of chaos, represented by a dark mass of waters\nfilling the stage. These waters are not, as yet, separated from the\ndry land, because Brahma, the creative spirit of Narayana, has not yet\nseparated from the \"Ever Unchanging.\" Then comes a heavy shock of\nthe whole mass and the waters begin to acquire transparency. Rays,\nproceeding from a golden egg at the bottom, spread through the chaotic\nwaters. Receiving life from the spirit of Narayana, the egg bursts and\nthe awakened Brahma rises to the surface of the water in the shape of a\nhuge lotus. Light clouds appear, at first transparent and web-like. They\ngradually become condensed, and transform themselves into Prajapatis,\nthe ten personified creative powers of Brahma, the god of everything\nliving, and sing a hymn of praise to the creator. Something naively\npoetical, to our unaccustomed ears, breathed in this uniform melody\nunaccompanied by any orchestra.\n\nThe hour of general revival has struck. Pralaya comes to an end.\nEverything rejoices, returning to life. The sky is separated from the\nwaters and on it appear the Asuras and Gandharvas, the heavenly singers\nand musicians. Then Indra, Yama, Varuna, and Kuvera, the spirits\npresiding over the four cardinal points, or the four elements, water,\nfire, earth, and air, pour forth atoms, whence springs the serpent\n\"Ananta.\" The monster swims to the surface of the waves and, bending its\nswanlike neck, forms a couch on which Vishnu reclines with the Goddess\nof Beauty, his wife Lakshmi, at his feet. \"Swatha! Swatha! Swatha!\"\ncries the choir of heavenly musicians, hailing the deity. In the Russian\nchurch service this is pronounced Swiat! Swiat! Swiat! and means holy!\nholy! holy!\n\nIn one of his future avatars Vishnu will incarnate in Rama, the son of\na great king, and Lakshmi will become Sita. The motive of the whole poem\nof Ramayana is sung in a few words by the celestial musicians. Kama, the\nGod of Love, shelters the divine couple and, that very moment, a flame\nis lit in their hearts and the whole world is created.\n\nLater there are performed the fourteen acts of the drama, which is well\nknown to everybody, and in which several hundred personages take part.\nAt the end of the prologue the whole assembly of gods come forward,\none after another, and acquaint the audience with the contents and the\nepilogue of their performance, asking the public not to be too exacting.\nIt is as though all these familiar deities, made of painted granite and\nmarble, left the temples and came down to remind mortals of events long\npast and forgotten.\n\nThe hall was full of natives. We four alone were representatives of\nEurope. Like a huge flower bed, the women displayed the bright colors of\ntheir garments. Here and there, among handsome, bronze-like heads, were\nthe pretty, dull white faces of Parsee women, whose beauty reminded me\nof the Georgians. The front rows were occupied by women only. In India\nit is quite easy to learn a person's religion, sect, and caste, and even\nwhether a woman is married or single, from the marks painted in bright\ncolors on everyone's forehead.\n\nSince the time when Alexander the Great destroyed the sacred books of\nthe Gebars, they have constantly been oppressed by the idol worshippers.\nKing Ardeshir-Babechan restored fire worship in the years 229-243 A.C.\nSince then they have again been persecuted during the reign of one of\nthe Shakpurs, either II., IX., or XI., of the Sassanids, but which of\nthem is not known. It is, however, reported that one of them was a great\nprotector of the Zartushta doctrines. After the fall of Yesdejird,\nthe fire-worshippers emigrated to the island of Ormasd, and, some time\nlater, having found a book of Zoroastrian prophecies, in obedience to\none of them they set out for Hindustan. After many wanderings,\nthey appeared, about 1,000 or 1,200 years ago, in the territory of\nMaharana-Jayadeva, a vassal of the Rajput King Champanir, who allowed\nthem to colonize his land, but only on condition that they laid down\ntheir weapons, that they abandoned the Persian language for Hindi, and\nthat their women put off their national dress and clothed themselves\nafter the manner of Hindu women. He, however, allowed them to wear\nshoes, since this is strictly prescribed by Zoroaster. Since then very\nfew changes have been made. It follows that the Parsee women could only\nbe distinguished from their Hindu sisters by very slight differences.\nThe almost white faces of the former were separated by a strip of smooth\nblack hair from a sort of white cap, and the whole was covered with a\nbright veil. The latter wore no covering on their rich, shining hair,\ntwisted into a kind of Greek chignon. Their foreheads were brightly\npainted, and their nostrils adorned with golden rings. Both are fond of\nbright, but uniform, colors, both cover their arms up to the elbow with\nbangles, and both wear saris.\n\nBehind the women a whole sea of most wonderful turbans was waving in the\npit. There were long-haired Rajputs with regular Grecian features and\nlong beards parted in the middle, their heads covered with \"pagris\"\nconsisting of, at least, twenty yards of finest white muslin, and\ntheir persons adorned with earrings and necklaces; there were Mahrata\nBrahmans, who shave their heads, leaving only one long central lock, and\nwear turbans of blinding red, decorated in front with a sort of golden\nhorn of plenty; Bangas, wearing three-cornered helmets with a kind of\ncockscomb on the top; Kachhis, with Roman helmets; Bhillis, from the\nborders of Rajastan, whose chins are wrapped three times in the ends\nof their pyramidal turbans, so that the innocent tourist never fails to\nthink that they constantly suffer from toothache; Bengalis and Calcutta\nBabus, bare-headed all the year round, their hair cut after an Athenian\nfashion, and their bodies clothed in the proud folds of a white\ntoga-virilis, in no way different from those once worn by Roman\nsenators; Parsees, in their black, oilcloth mitres; Sikhs, the followers\nof Nanaka, strictly monotheist and mystic, whose turbans are very like\nthe Bhillis', but who wear long hair down to their waists; and hundreds\nof other tribes.\n\nProposing to count how many different headgears are to be seen in Bombay\nalone, we had to abandon the task as impracticable after a fortnight.\nEvery caste, every trade, guild, and sect, every one of the thousand\nsub-divisions of the social hierarchy, has its own bright turban, often\nsparkling with gold lace and precious stones, which is laid aside only\nin case of mourning. But, as if to compensate for this luxury, even the\nmem-bers of the municipality, rich merchants, and Rai-Bahadurs, who have\nbeen created baronets by the Government, never wear any stockings, and\nleave their legs bare up to the knees. As for their dress, it chiefly\nconsists of a kind of shapeless white shirt.\n\nIn Baroda some Gaikwars (a title of all the Baroda princes) still keep\nin their stables elephants and the less common giraffes, though the\nformer are strictly forbidden in the streets of Bombay. We had an\nopportunity of seeing ministers, and even Rajas, mounted on these noble\nanimals, their mouths full of pansupari (betel leaves), their heads\ndrooping under the weight of the precious stones on their turbans, and\neach of their fingers and toes adorned with rich golden rings. While\nthe evening I am describing lasted, however, we saw no elephants, no\ngiraffes, though we enjoyed the company of Rajas and ministers. We had\nin our box the hand-some ambassador and late tutor of the Mahararana\nof Oodeypore. Our companion was a Raja and a pandit. His name was a\nMohunlal-Vishnulal-Pandia. He wore a small pink turban sparkling with\ndiamonds, a pair of pink barege trousers, and a white gauze coat.\nHis raven black hair half covered his amber-colored neck, which was\nsurrounded by a necklace that might have driven any Parisian belle\nfrantic with envy. The poor Raiput was awfully sleepy, but he stuck\nheroically to his duties, and, thoughtfully pulling his beard, led us\nall through the endless labyrinth of metaphysical entanglements of the\nRamayana. During the entr'actes we were offered coffee, sherbets, and\ncigarettes, which we smoked even during the performance, sitting in\nfront of the stage in the first row. We were covered, like idols, with\ngarlands of flowers, and the manager, a stout Hindu clad in transparent\nmuslins, sprinkled us several times with rose-water.\n\nThe performance began at eight p.m. and, at half-past two, had only\nreached the ninth act. In spite of each of us having a punkah-wallah\nat our backs, the heat was unbearable. We had reached the limits of\nour endurance, and tried to excuse ourselves. This led to general\ndisturbance, on the stage as well as in the auditorium. The airy\nchariot, on which the wicked king Ravana was carrying Sita away, paused\nin the air. The king of the Nagas (serpents) ceased breathing flames,\nthe monkey soldiers hung motionless on the trees, and Rama himself, clad\nin light blue and crowned with a diminutive pagoda, came to the front of\nthe stage and pronounced in pure English speech, in which he thanked\nus for the honour of our presence. Then new bouquets, pansu-paris, and\nrose-water, and, finally, we reached home about four a.m. Next morning\nwe learned that the performance had ended at half-past six.\n\n\n\n\nOn The Way To Karli\n\n\n\nIt is an early morning near the end of March. A light breeze caresses\nwith its velvety hand the sleepy faces of the pilgrims; and the\nintoxicating perfume of tuberoses mingles with the pungent odors of the\nbazaar. Crowds of barefooted Brahman women, stately and well-formed,\ndirect their steps, like the biblical Rachel, to the well, with brass\nwater pots bright as gold upon their heads. On our way lie numerous\nsacred tanks, filled with stagnant water, in which Hindus of both sexes\nperform their prescribed morning ablutions. Under the hedge of a garden\nsomebody's tame mongoose is devouring the head of a cobra. The headless\nbody of the snake convulsively, but harmlessly, beats against the thin\nflanks of the little animal, which regards these vain efforts with an\nevident delight. Side by side with this group of animals is a human\nfigure; a naked mali (gardener), offering betel and salt to a monstrous\nstone idol of Shiva, with the view of pacifying the wrath of the\n\"Destroyer,\" excited by the death of the cobra, which is one of his\nfavourite servants. A few steps before reaching the railway station, we\nmeet a modest Catholic procession, consisting of a few newly converted\npariahs and some of the native Portuguese. Under a baldachin is a\nlitter, on which swings to and fro a dusky Madonna dressed after the\nfashion of the native goddesses, with a ring in her nose. In her arms\nshe carries the holy Babe, clad in yellow pyjamas and a red Brah-manical\nturban. \"Hari, hari, devaki!\" (\"Glory to the holy Virgin!\") exclaim the\nconverts, unconscious of any difference between the Devaki, mother of\nKrishna, and the Catholic Madonna. All they know is that, excluded from\nthe temples by the Brahmans on account of their not belonging to any\nof the Hindu castes, they are admitted sometimes into the Christian\npagodas, thanks to the \"padris,\" a name adopted from the Portuguese\npadre, and applied indiscriminately to the missionaries of every\nEuropean sect.\n\nAt last, our gharis--native two-wheeled vehicles drawn by a pair of\nstrong bullocks--arrived at the station. English employes open wide\ntheir eyes at the sight of white-faced people travelling about the town\nin gilded Hindu chariots. But we are true Americans, and we have come\nhither to study, not Europe, but India and her products on the spot.\n\nIf the tourist casts a glance on the shore opposite to the port of\nBombay, he will see a dark blue mass rising like a wall between himself\nand the horizon. This is Parbul, a flat-topped mountain 2,250 feet high.\nIts right slope leans on two sharp rocks covered with woods. The highest\nof them, Mataran, is the object of our trip. From Bombay to Narel, a\nstation situated at the foot of this mountain, we are to travel four\nhours by railway, though, as the crow flies, the distance is not more\nthan twelve miles. The railroad wanders round the foot of the most\ncharming little hills, skirts hundreds of pretty lakes, and pierces with\nmore than twenty tunnels the very heart of the rocky ghats.\n\nWe were accompanied by three Hindu friends. Two of them once belonged to\na high caste, but were excommunicated from their pagoda for association\nand friendship with us, unworthy foreigners. At the station our party\nwas joined by two more natives, with whom we had been in correspondence\nfor many a year. All were members of our Society, reformers of the Young\nIndia school, enemies of Brahmans, castes, aid prejudices, and were to\nbe our fellow-travelers and visit with us the annual fair at the temple\nfestivities of Karli, stopping on the way at Mataran and Khanduli.\nOne was a Brahman from Poona, the second a moodeliar (landowner)\nfrom Madras, the third a Singalese from Kegalla, the fourth a Bengali\nZemindar, and the fifth a gigantic Rajput, whom we had known for a long\ntime by the name of Gulab-Lal-Sing, and had called simply Gulab-Sing. I\nshall dwell upon his personality more than on any of the others, because\nthe most wonderful and diverse stories were in circulation about this\nstrange man. It was asserted that he belonged to the sect of Raj-Yogis,\nand was an initiate of the mysteries of magic, alchemy, and various\nother occult sciences of India. He was rich and independent, and rumour\ndid not dare to suspect him of deception, the more so because, though\nquite full of these sciences, he never uttered a word about them in\npublic, and carefully concealed his knowledge from all except a few\nfriends.\n\nHe was an independent Takur from Rajistan, a province the name of which\nmeans the land of kings. Takurs are, almost without exception, descended\nfrom the Surya (sun), and are accordingly called Suryavansa. They are\nprouder than any other nation in the world. They have a proverb, \"The\ndirt of the earth cannot stick to the rays of the sun.\" They do not\ndespise any sect, except the Brahmans, and honor only the bards who sing\ntheir military achievements. Of the latter Colonel Tod writes somewhat\nas follows,* \"The magnificence and luxury of the Rajput courts in the\nearly periods of history were truly wonderful, even when due allowance\nis made for the poetical license of the bards. From the earliest times\nNorthern India was a wealthy country, and it was precisely here that\nwas situated the richest satrapy of Darius. At all events, this country\nabounded in those most striking events which furnish history with her\nrichest materials. In Rajistan every small kingdom had its Thermopylae,\nand every little town has produced its Leonidas. But the veil of the\ncenturies hides from posterity events that the pen of the historian\nmight have bequeathed to the everlasting admiration of the nations.\nSomnath might have appeared as a rival of Delphi, the treasures of Hind\nmight outweigh the riches of the King of Lydia, while compared with the\narmy of the brothers Pandu, that of Xerxes would seem an inconsiderable\nhandful of men, worthy only to rank in the second place.\"\n\n\n* In nearly every instance the passages quoted from various authorities\nhave been retranslated from the Russian. As the time and labor needful\nfor verification would he too great, the sense only of these passages is\ngiven here. They do not pretend to be textual.--Translator\n\n\nEngland did not disarm the Rajputs, as she did the rest of the Indian\nnations, so Gulab-Sing came accompanied by vassals and shield-bearers.\n\nPossessing an inexhaustible knowledge of legends, and being evidently\nwell acquainted with the antiquities of his country, Gulab-Sing proved\nto be the most interesting of our companions.\n\n\"There, against the blue sky,\" said Gulab-Lal-Sing, \"you behold the\nmajestic Bhao Mallin. That deserted spot was once the abode of a holy\nhermit; now it is visited yearly by crowds of pilgrims. According to\npopular belief the most wonderful things happen there--miracles. At the\ntop of the mountain, two thousand feet above the level of the sea, is\nthe platform of a fortress. Behind it rises another rock two hundred and\nseventy feet in height, and at the very summit of this peak are to be\nfound the ruins of a still more ancient fortress, which for seventy-five\nyears served as a shelter for this hermit. Whence he obtained his food\nwill for ever remain a mystery. Some think he ate the roots of wild\nplants, but upon this barren rock there is no vegetation. The only mode\nof ascent of this perpendicular mountain consists of a rope, and holes,\njust big enough to receive the toes of a man, cut out of the living\nrock. One would think such a pathway accessible only to acrobats and\nmonkeys. Surely fanaticism must provide wings for the Hindus, for no\naccident has ever happened to any of them. Unfortunately, about forty\nyears ago, a party of Englishmen conceived the unhappy thought of\nexploring the ruins, but a strong gust of wind arose and carried them\nover the precipice. After this, General Dickinson gave orders for the\ndestruction of all means of communication with the upper fortress, and\nthe lower one, once the cause of so many losses and so much bloodshed,\nis now entirely deserted, and serves only as a shelter for eagles and\ntigers.\"\n\nListening to these tales of olden times, I could not help comparing the\npast with the present. What a difference!\n\n\"Kali-Yug!\" cry old Hindus with grim despair. \"Who can strive against\nthe Age of Darkness?\"\n\nThis fatalism, the certainty that nothing good can be expected now, the\nconviction that even the powerful god Shiva himself can neither appear\nnor help them are all deeply rooted in the minds of the old generation.\nAs for the younger men, they receive their education in high schools and\nuniversities, learn by heart Herbert Spencer, John Stuart Mill, Darwin\nand the German philosophers, and entirely lose all respect, not only for\ntheir own religion, but for every other in the world.\n\nThe young \"educated\" Hindus are materialists almost without exception,\nand often achieve the last limits of Atheism. They seldom hope to attain\nto anything better than a situation as \"chief mate of the junior clerk,\"\nas we say in Russia, and either become sycophants, disgusting flatterers\nof their present lords, or, which is still worse, or at any rate\nsillier, begin to edit a newspaper full of cheap liberalism, which\ngradually develops into a revolutionary organ.\n\nBut all this is only en passant. Compared with the mysterious and\ngrandiose past of India, the ancient Aryavarta, her present is a\nnatural Indian ink background, the black shadow of a bright picture, the\ninevitable evil in the cycle of every nation. India has become decrepit\nand has fallen down, like a huge memorial of antiquity, prostrate and\nbroken to pieces. But the most insignificant of these fragments will for\never remain a treasure for the archeologist and the artist, and, in\nthe course of time, may even afford a clue to the philosopher and the\npsychologist. \"Ancient Hindus built like giants and finished their work\nlike goldsmiths,\" says Archbishop Heber, describing his travel in India.\nIn his description of the Taj-Mahal of Agra, that veritable eighth\nwonder of the world, he calls it \"a poem in marble.\" He might have added\nthat it is difficult to find in India a ruin, in the least state of\npreservation, that cannot speak, more eloquently than whole volumes, of\nthe past of India, her religious aspirations, her beliefs and hopes.\n\nThere is not a country of antiquity, not even excluding the Egypt of\nthe Pharaohs, where the development of the subjective ideal into\nits demonstration by an objective symbol has been expressed more\ngraphically, more skillfully, and artistically, than in India. The whole\npantheism of the Vedanta is contained in the symbol of the bisexual\ndeity Ardhanari. It is surrounded by the double triangle, known in India\nunder the name of the sign of Vishnu. By his side lie a lion, a bull,\nand an eagle. In his hands there rests a full moon, which is reflected\nin the waters at his feet. The Vedanta has taught for thousands of years\nwhat some of the German philosophers began to preach at the end of last\ncentury and the beginning of this one, namely, that everything objective\nin the world, as well as the world itself, is no more than an illusion,\na Maya, a phantom created by our imagination, and as unreal as the\nreflection of the moon upon the surface of the waters. The phenomenal\nworld, as well as the subjectivity of our conception concerning our\nEgos, are nothing but, as it were, a mirage. The true sage will never\nsubmit to the temptations of illusion. He is well aware that man will\nattain to self-knowledge, and become a real Ego, only after the entire\nunion of the personal fragment with the All, thus becoming an immutable,\ninfinite, universal Brahma. Accordingly, he considers the whole cycle of\nbirth, life, old age, and death as the sole product of imagination.\n\nGenerally speaking, Indian philosophy, split up as it is into numerous\nmetaphysical teachings, possesses, when united to Indian ontological\ndoctrines, such a well developed logic, such a wonderfully refined\npsychology, that it might well take the first rank when contrasted with\nthe schools, ancient and modern, idealist or positivist, and eclipse\nthem all in turn. That positivism expounded by Lewis, that makes each\nparticular hair on the heads of Oxford theologians stand on end,\nis ridiculous child's play compared with the atomistic school of\nVaisheshika, with its world divided, like a chessboard, into six\ncategories of everlasting atoms, nine substances, twenty-four qualities,\nand five motions. And, however difficult, and even impossible may\nseem the exact representation of all these abstract ideas, idealistic,\npantheistic, and, sometimes, purely material, in the condensed shape of\nallegorical symbols, India, nevertheless, has known how to express all\nthese teachings more or less successfully. She has immortalized them in\nher ugly, four-headed idols, in the geometrical, complicated forms of\nher temples, and even in the entangled lines and spots on the foreheads\nof her sectaries.\n\nWe were discussing this and other topics with our Hindu\nfellow-travellers when a Catholic padre, a teacher in the Jesuit College\nof St. Xavier in Bombay, entered our carriage at one of the stations.\nSoon he could contain himself no longer, and joined in our conversation.\nSmiling and rubbing his hands, he said that he was curious to know\non the strength of what sophistry our companions could find anything\nresembling a philosophical explanation \"in the fundamental idea of the\nfour faces of this ugly Shiva, crowned with snakes,\" pointing with his\nfinger to the idol at the entrance to a pagoda.\n\n\"It is very simple,\" answered the Bengali Babu. \"You see that its four\nfaces are turned towards the four cardinal points, South, North, West,\nand East--but all these faces are on one body and belong to one god.\"\n\n\"Would you mind explaining first the philosophical idea of the four\nfaces and eight hands of your Shiva,\" interrupted the padre.\n\n\"With great pleasure. Thinking that our great Rudra (the Vedic name\nfor this god) is omnipresent, we represent him with his face turned\nsimultaneously in all directions. Eight hands indicate his omnipotence,\nand his single body serves to remind us that he is One, though he is\neverywhere, and nobody can avoid his all-seeing eye, or his chastising\nhand.\"\n\nThe padre was going to say something when the train stopped; we had\narrived at Narel.\n\nIt is hardly twenty-five years since, for the first time, a white man\nascended Mataran, a huge mass of various kinds of trap rock, for the\nmost part crystalline in form. Though quite near to Bombay, and only\na few miles from Khandala, the summer residence of the Europeans, the\nthreatening heights of this giant were long considered inaccessible. On\nthe north, its smooth, almost vertical face rises 2,450 feet over the\nvalley of the river Pen, and, further on, numberless separate rocks\nand hillocks, covered with thick vegetation, and divided by valleys and\nprecipices, rise up to the clouds. In 1854, the railway pierced one of\nthe sides of Mataran, and now has reached the foot of the last mountain,\nstopping at Narel, where, not long ago, there was nothing but a\nprecipice. From Narel to the upper plateau is but eight miles, which you\nmay travel on a pony, or in an open or closed palanquin, as you choose.\n\nConsidering that we arrived at Narel about six in the evening, this\ncourse was not very tempting. Civilization has done much with inanimate\nnature, but, in spite of all its despotism, it has not yet been able to\nconquer tigers and snakes. Tigers, no doubt, are banished to the\nmore remote jungles, but all hinds of snakes, especially cobras and\ncoralillos, which last by preference inhabit trees, still abound in\nthe forests of Mataran as in days of old, and wage a regular guerilla\nwarfare against the invaders. Woe betide the belated pedestrian, or even\nhorseman, if he happens to pass under a tree which forms the ambuscade\nof a coralillo snake! Cobras and other reptiles seldom attack men, and\nwill generally try to avoid them, unless accidentally trodden upon,\nbut these guerilleros of the forest, the tree serpents, lie in wait for\ntheir victims. As soon as the head of a man comes under the branch which\nshelters the coralillo, this enemy of man, coiling its tail round\nthe branch, dives down into space with all the length of is body, and\nstrikes with its fangs at the man's forehead. This curious fact was long\nconsidered to be a mere fable, but it has now been verified, and belongs\nto the natural history of India. In these cases the natives see in the\nsnake the envoy of Death, the fulfiller of the will of the bloodthirsty\nKali, the spouse of Shiva.\n\nBut evening, after the scorchingly hot day, was so tempting, and held\nout to us from the distance such promise of delicious coolness, that we\ndecided upon risking our fate. In the heart of this wondrous nature one\nlongs to shake off earthly chains, and unite oneself with the boundless\nlife, so that death itself has its attractions in India.\n\nBesides, the full moon was about to rise at eight p.m. Three hours'\nascent of the mountain, on such a moonlit, tropical night as would tax\nthe descriptive powers of the greatest artists, was worth any sacrifice.\nApropos, among the few artists who can fix upon canvas the subtle charm\nof a moonlit night in India public opinion begins to name our own V.V.\nVereshtchagin.\n\nHaving dined hurriedly in the dak bungalow we asked for our sedan\nchairs, and, drawing our roof-like topees over our eyes, we started.\nEight coolies, clad, as usual, in vine-leaves, took possession of each\nchair and hurried up the mountain, uttering the shrieks and yells no\ntrue Hindu can dispense with. Each chair was accompanied besides by a\nrelay of eight more porters. So we were sixty-four, without counting\nthe Hindus and their servants--an army sufficient to frighten any stray\nleopard or jungle tiger, in fact any animal, except our fearless cousins\non the side of our great-grandfather Hanuman. As soon as we turned into\na thicket at the foot of the Mountain, several dozens of these kinsmen\njoined our procession. Thanks to the achievements of Rama's ally,\nmonkeys are sacred in India. The Government, emulating the earlier\nwisdom of the East India Company, forbids everyone to molest them, not\nonly when met with in the forests, which in all justice belong to them,\nbut even when they invade the city gardens. Leaping from one branch\nto another, chattering like magpies, and making the most formidable\ngrimaces, they followed us all the way, like so many midnight spooks.\nSometimes they hung on the trees in full moonlight, like forest nymphs\nof Russian mythology; sometimes they preceded us, awaiting our arrival\nat the turns of the road as if showing us the way. They never left us.\nOne monkey babe alighted on my knees. In a moment the authoress of his\nbeing, jumping without any ceremony over the coolies' shoulders, came to\nhis rescue, picked him up, and, after making the most ungodly grimace at\nme, ran away with him.\n\n\"Bandras (monkeys) bring luck with their presence,\" remarked one of\nthe Hindus, as if to console me for the loss of my crumpled topee.\n\"Besides,\" he added, \"seeing them here we may be sure that there is not\na single tiger for ten miles round.\"\n\nHigher and higher we ascended by the steep winding path, and the forest\ngrew perceptibly thicker, darker, and more impenetrable. Some of the\nthickets were as dark as graves. Passing under hundred-year-old banyans\nit was impossible to distinguish one's own finger at the distance of two\ninches. It seemed to me that in certain places it would not be possible\nto advance without feeling our way, but our coolies never made a false\nstep, but hastened onwards. Not one of us uttered a word. It was as if\nwe had agreed to be silent at these moments. We felt as though wrapped\nin the heavy veil of dark-ness, and no sound was heard but the short,\nirregular breathing of the porters, and the cadence of their quick,\nnervous footsteps upon the stony soil of the path. One felt sick at\nheart and ashamed of belonging to that human race, one part of which\nmakes of the other mere beasts of burden. These poor wretches are paid\nfor their work four annas a day all the year round. Four annas for going\neight miles upwards and eight miles downwards not less than twice a\nday; altogether thirty-two miles up and down a mountain 1,500 feet high,\ncarrying a burden of two hundredweight! However, India is a country\nwhere everything is adjusted to never changing customs, and four annas a\nday is the pay for unskilled labor of any kind.\n\nGradually open spaces and glades became more frequent and the light grew\nas intense as by day. Millions of grasshoppers were shrilling in\nthe forest, filling the air with a metallic throbbing, and flocks of\nfrightened parrots rushed from tree to tree. Sometimes the thundering,\nprolonged roars of tigers rose from the bottom of the precipices thickly\ncovered with all kinds of vegetation. Shikaris assure us that, on a\nquiet night, the roaring of these beasts can be heard for many miles\naround. The panorama, lit up, as if by Bengal fires, changed at every\nturn. Rivers, fields, forests, and rocks, spread out at our feet over\nan enormous distance, moved and trembled, iridescent, in the silvery\nmoonlight, like the tides of a mirage. The fantastic character of the\npictures made us hold our breath. Our heads grew giddy if, by chance, we\nglanced down into the depths by the flickering moonlight. We felt that\nthe precipice, 2,000 feet deep, was fascinating us. One of our American\nfellow travelers, who had begun the voyage on horseback, had to\ndismount, afraid of being unable to resist the temptation to dive head\nforemost into the abyss.\n\nSeveral times we met with lonely pedestrians, men and young women,\ncoming down Mataran on their way home after a day's work. It often\nhappens that some of them never reach home. The police unconcernedly\nreport that the missing man has been carried off by a tiger, or killed\nby a snake. All is said, and he is soon entirely forgotten. One person,\nmore or less, out of the two hundred and forty millions who inhabit\nIndia does not matter much! But there exists a very strange superstition\nin the Deccan about this mysterious, and only partially explored,\nmountain. The natives assert that, in spite of the considerable number\nof victims, there has never been found a single skeleton. The corpse,\nwhether intact or mangled by tigers, is immediately carried away by the\nmonkeys, who, in the latter case, gather the scattered bones, and bury\nthem skillfully in deep holes, that no traces ever remain. Englishmen\nlaugh at this superstition, but the police do not deny the fact of the\nentire disappearance of the bodies. When the sides of the mountain were\nexcavated, in the course of the construction of the railway, separate\nbones, with the marks of tigers' teeth upon them, broken bracelets, and\nother adornments, were found at an incredible depth from the surface.\nThe fact of these things being broken showed clearly that they were not\nburied by men, because, neither the religion of the Hindus, nor their\ngreed, would allow them to break and bury silver and gold. Is it\npossible, then, that, as amongst men one hand washes the other, so in\nthe animal kingdom one species conceals the crimes of another?\n\nHaving spent the night in a Portuguese inn, woven like an eagle's nest\nout of bamboos, and clinging to the almost vertical side of a rock, we\nrose at daybreak, and, having visited all the points de vue famed for\ntheir beauty, made our preparations to return to Narel. By daylight\nthe panorama was still more splendid than by night; volumes would not\nsuffice to describe it. Had it not been that on three sides the horizon\nwas shut out by rugged ridges of mountain, the whole of the Deccan\nplateau would have appeared before our eyes. Bombay was so distinct that\nit seemed quite near to us, and the channel that separates the town from\nSalsetta shone like a tiny silvery streak. It winds like a snake on its\nway to the port, surrounding Kanari and other islets, which look the\nvery image of green peas scattered on the white cloth of its bright\nwaters, and, finally, joins the blinding line of the Indian Ocean in the\nextreme distance. On the outer side is the northern Konkan, terminated\nby the Tal-Ghats, the needle-like summits of the Jano-Maoli rocks, and,\nlastly, the battlemented ridge of Funell, whose bold silhouette stands\nout in strong relief against the distant blue of the dim sky, like a\ngiant's castle in some fairy tale. Further on looms Parbul, whose flat\nsummit, in the days of old, was the seat of the gods, whence, according\nto the legends, Vishnu spoke to mortals. And there below, where the\ndefile widens into a valley, all covered with huge separate rocks, each\nof which is crowded with historical and mythological legends, you may\nperceive the dim blue ridge of mountains, still loftier and still more\nstrangely shaped. That is Khandala, which is overhung by a huge stone\nblock, known by the name of the Duke's Nose. On the opposite side, under\nthe very summit of the mountain, is situated Karli, which, according\nto the unanimous opinion or archeologists, is the most ancient and best\npreserved of Indian cave temples.\n\nOne who has traversed the passes of the Caucasus again and again; one\nwho, from the top of the Cross Mountain, has beheld beneath her feet\nthunderstorms and lightnings; who has visited the Alps and the Rigi;\nwho is well acquainted with the Andes and Cordilleras, and knows\nevery corner of the Catskills in America, may be allowed, I hope, the\nexpression of a humble opinion. The Caucasian Mountains, I do not deny,\nare more majestic than Ghats of India, and their splendour cannot be\ndimmed by comparison with these; but their beauty is of a type, if I may\nuse this expression. At their sight one experiences true delight, but\nat the same time a sensation of awe. One feels like a pigmy before\nthese Titans of nature. But in India, the Himalayas excepted, mountains\nproduce quite a different impression. The highest summits of the Deccan,\nas well as of the triangular ridge that fringes Northern Hindostan, and\nof the Eastern Ghats, do not exceed 3,000 feet. Only in the Ghats of the\nMalabar coast, from Cape Comorin to the river Surat, are there heights\nof 7,000 feet above the surface of the sea. So that no comparison can\nbe dawn between these and the hoary headed patriarch Elbruz, or Kasbek,\nwhich exceeds 18,000 feet. The chief and original charm of Indian\nmountains wonderfully consists in their capricious shapes. Sometimes\nthese mountains, or, rather, separate volcanic peaks standing in a row,\nform chains; but it is more common to find them scattered, to the great\nperplexity of geologists, without visible cause, in places where the\nformation seems quite unsuitable. Spacious valleys, surrounded by high\nwalls of rock, over the very ridge of which passes the railway, are\ncommon. Look below, and it will seem to you that you are gazing upon\nthe studio of some whimsical Titanic sculptor, filled with half finished\ngroups, statues, and monuments. Here is a dream-land bird, seated upon\nthe head of a monster six hundred feet high, spreading its wings\nand widely gaping its dragon's mouth; by its side the bust of a man,\nsurmounted by a helmet, battlemented like the walls of a feudal castle;\nthere, again, new monsters devouring each other, statues with broken\nlimbs, disorderly heaps of huge balls, lonely fortresses with loopholes,\nruined towers and bridges. All this scattered and intermixed with\nshapes changing incessantly like the dreams of delirium. And the chief\nattraction is that nothing here is the result of art, everything is the\npure sport of Nature, which, however, has occasionally been turned to\naccount by ancient builders. The art of man in India is to be sought\nin the interior of the earth, not on its surface. Ancient Hindus seldom\nbuilt their temples otherwise than in the bosom of the earth, as\nthough they were ashamed of their efforts, or did not dare to rival the\nsculpture of nature. Having chosen, for instance, a pyramidal rock, or\na cupola shaped hillock like Elephanta, Or Karli, they scraped away\ninside, according to the Puranas, for centuries, planning on so grand a\nstyle that no modern architecture has been able to conceive anything\nto equal it. Fables (?) about the Cyclops seem truer in India than in\nEgypt.\n\nThe marvellous railroad from Narel to Khandala reminds one of a similar\nline from Genoa up the Apenines. One may be said to travel in the air,\nnot on land. The railway traverses a region 1,400 feet above Konkan,\nand, in some places, while one rail is laid on the sharp edge of the\nrock, the other is supported on vaults and arches. The Mali Khindi\nviaduct is 163 feet high. For two hours we hastened on between sky and\nearth, with abysses on both sides thickly covered with mango trees and\nbananas. Truly English engineers are wonderful builders.\n\nThe pass of Bhor-Ghat is safely accomplished and we are in Khandala.\nOur bungalow here is built on the very edge of a ravine, which nature\nherself has carefully concealed under a cover of the most luxuriant\nvegetation. Everything is in blossom, and, in this unfathomed recess,\na botanist might find sufficient material to occupy him for a lifetime.\nPalms have disappeared; for the most part they grow only near the\nsea. Here they are replaced by bananas, mango trees, pipals (ficus\nreligiosa), fig trees, and thousands of other trees and shrubs, unknown\nto such outsiders as ourselves. The Indian flora is too often slandered\nand misrepresented as being full of beautiful, but scentless, flowers.\nAt some seasons this may be true enough, but, as long as jasmines,\nthe various balsams, white tuberoses, and golden champa (champaka or\nfrangipani) are in blossom, this statement is far from being true. The\naroma of champa alone is so powerful as to make one almost giddy. For\nsize, it is the king of flowering trees, and hundreds of them were in\nfull bloom, just at this time of year, on Mataran and Khandala.\n\nWe sat on the verandah, talking and enjoying the surrounding views,\nuntil well-nigh midnight. Everything slept around us.\n\nKhandala is nothing but a big village, situated on the flat top of one\nof the mountains of the Sahiadra range, about 2,200 feet above the sea\nlevel. It is surrounded by isolated peaks, as strange in shape as any we\nhave seen.\n\nOne of them, straight before us, on the opposite side of the abyss,\nlooked exactly like a long, one-storied building, with a flat roof and\na battlemented parapet. The Hindus assert that, somewhere about this\nhillock, there exists a secret entrance, leading into vast interior\nhalls, in fact to a whole subterranean palace, and that there still\nexist people who possess the secret of this abode. A holy hermit, Yogi,\nand Magus, who had inhabited these caves for \"many centuries,\" imparted\nthis secret to Sivaji, the celebrated leader of the Mahratta armies.\nLike Tanhauser, in Wagner's opera, the unconquerable Sivaji spent seven\nyears of his youth in this mysterious abode, and therein acquired his\nextraordinary strength and valour.\n\nSivaji is a kind of Indian Ilia Moorometz, though his epoch is much\nnearer to our times. He was the hero and the king of the Mahrattas in\nthe seventeenth century, and the founder of their short-lived empire. It\nis to him that India owes the weakening, if not the entire destruction,\nof the Mussulman yoke. No taller than an ordinary woman, and with the\nhand of a child, he was, nevertheless, possessed of wonderful strength,\nwhich, of course, his compatriots ascribed to sorcery. His sword is\nstill preserved in a museum, and one cannot help wondering at its size\nand weight, and at the hilt, through which only a ten-year-old child\ncould put his hand. The basis of this hero's fame is the fact that\nhe, the son of a poor officer in the service of a Mogul emperor, like\nanother David, slew the Mussulman Goliath, the formidable Afzul Khan.\nIt was not, however, with a sling that he killed him, he used in this\ncombat the formidable Mahratti weapon, vaghnakh, consisting of five long\nsteel nails, as sharp as needles, and very strong. This weapon is worn\non the fingers, and wrestlers use it to tear each other's flesh like\nwild animals. The Deccan is full of legends about Sivaji, and even\nthe English historians mention him with respect. Just as in the fable\nrespecting Charles V, one of the local Indian traditions asserts that\nSivaji is not dead, but lives secreted in one of the Sahiadra caves.\nWhen the fateful hour strikes (and according to the calculations of the\nastrologers the time is not far off) he will reappear, and will bring\nfreedom to his beloved country.\n\nThe learned and artful Brahmans, those Jesuits of India, profit by\nthe profound superstition of the masses to extort wealth from them,\nsometimes to the last cow, the only food giver of a large family.\n\nIn the following passage I give a curious example of this. At the end\nof July, 1879, this mysterious document appeared in Bombay. I translate\nliterally, from the Mahratti, the original having been translated into\nall the dialects of India, of which there are 273.\n\n\"Shri!\" (an untranslatable greeting). \"Let it be known unto every one\nthat this epistle, traced in the original in golden letters, came down\nfrom Indra-loka (the heaven of Indra), in the presence of holy Brahmans,\non the altar of the Vishveshvara temple, which is in the sacred town of\nBenares.\n\n\"Listen and remember, O tribes of Hindustan, Rajis-tan, Punjab, etc.,\netc. On Saturday, the second day of the first half of the month Magha,\n1809, of Shalivahan's era\" (1887 A.D.), \"the eleventh month of the\nHindus, during the Ashwini Nakshatra\" (the first of the twenty-seven\nconstellations on the moon's path), \"when the sun enters the sign\nCapricorn, and the time of the day will be near the constellation\nPisces, that is to say, exactly one hour and thirty-six minutes after\nsunrise, the hour of the end of the Kali-Yug will strike, and the\nmuch desired Satya-Yug will commence\" (that is to say, the end of the\nMaha-Yug, the great cycle that embraces the four minor Yugas). \"This\ntime Satya-Yug will last 1,100 years. During all this time a man's\nlifetime will be 128 years. The days will become longer and will consist\nof twenty hours and forty-eight minutes, and the nights of thirteen\nhours and twelve minutes, that is to say, instead of twenty-four hours\nwe shall have exactly thirty-four hours and one minute. The first day\nof Satya-Yug will be very important for us, because it is then that will\nappear to us our new King with white face and golden hair, who will come\nfrom the far North. He will become the autonomous Lord of India. The\nMaya of human unbelief, with all the heresies over which it presides,\nwill be thrown down to Patala\" (sig-nifying at once hell and the\nantipodes), \"and the Maya of the righteous and pious will abide with\nthem, and will help them to enjoy life in Mretinloka\" (our earth).\n\n\"Let it also be known to everyone that, for the dissemination of this\ndivine document, every separate copy of it will be rewarded by the\nforgiveness of as many sins as are generally forgiven when a pious man\nsacrifices to a Brahman one hundred cows. As for the disbelievers and\nthe indifferent, they will be sent to Naraka\" (hell). \"Copied out and\ngiven, by the slave of Vishnu, Malau Shriram, on Saturday, the 7th\nday of the first half of Shravan\" (the fifth month of the Hindu year),\n\"1801, of Shalivalian's era\" (that is, 26th July, 1879).\n\nThe further career of this ignorant and cunning epistle is not known\nto me. Probably the police put a stop to its distribution; this only\nconcerns the wise administrators. But it splendidly illustrates, from\none side, the credulity of the populace, drowned in superstition, and\nfrom the other the unscrupulousness of the Brahmans.\n\nConcerning the word Patala, which literally means the opposite side,\na recent discovery of Swami Dayanand Saraswati, whom I have already\nmentioned in the preceding letters, is interesting, especially if this\ndiscovery can be accepted by philologists, as the facts seem to promise.\nDayanand tries to show that the ancient Aryans knew, and even visited,\nAmerica, which in ancient MSS. is called Patala, and out of which\npopular fancy constructed, in the course of time, something like the\nGreek Hades. He supports his theory by many quotations from the oldest\nMSS., especially from the legends about Krishna and his favourite\ndisciple Arjuna. In the history of the latter it is mentioned that\nArjuna, one of the five Pandavas, descendants of the moon dynasty,\nvisited Patala on his travels, and there married the widowed daughter of\nKing Nagual, called Illupl. Comparing the names of father and daughter\nwe reach the following considerations, which speak strongly in favour of\nDayanand's supposition.\n\n(1) Nagual is the name by which the sorcerers of Mexico, Indians and\naborigines of America, are still designated. Like the Assyrian and\nChaldean Nargals, chiefs of the Magi, the Mexican Nagual unites in his\nperson the functions of priest and of sorcerer, being served in the\nlatter capacity by a demon in the shape of some animal, generally a\nsnake or a crocodile. These Naguals are thought to be the descendants\nof Nagua, the king of the snakes. Abbe Brasseur de Bourbourg devotes a\nconsiderable amount of space to them in his book about Mexico, and says\nthat the Naguals are servants of the evil one, who, in his turn, renders\nthem but a temporary service. In Sanskrit, likewise, snake is Naga,\nand the \"King of the Nagas\" plays an important part in the history of\nBuddha; and in the Puranas there exists a tradition that it was Arjuna\nwho introduced snake worship into Patala. The coincidence, and the\nidentity of the names are so striking that our scientists really ought\nto pay some attention to them.\n\n(2) The Name of Arjuna's wife Illupl is purely old Mexican, and if we\nreject the hypothesis of Swami Daya-nand it will be perfectly impossible\nto explain the actual existence of this name in Sanskrit manuscripts\nlong before the Christian era. Of all ancient dialects and languages\nit is only in those of the American aborigines that you constantly meet\nwith such combinations of consonants as pl, tl, etc. They are abundant\nespecially in the language of the Toltecs, or Nahuatl, whereas, neither\nin Sanskrit nor in ancient Greek are they ever found at the end of\na word. Even the words Atlas and Atlantis seem to be foreign to the\netymology of the European languages. Wherever Plato may have found them,\nit was not he who invented them. In the Toltec language we find the\nroot atl, which means water and war, and directly after America was\ndiscovered Columbus found a town called Atlan, at the entrance of the\nBay of Uraga. It is now a poor fishing village called Aclo. Only\nin America does one find such names as Itzcoatl, Zempoaltecatl, and\nPopocatepetl. To attempt to explain such coincidences by the theory of\nblind chance would be too much, consequently, as long as science does\nnot seek to deny Dayanand's hypothesis, which, as yet, it is unable to\ndo, we think it reasonable to adopt it, be it only in order to follow\nout the axiom \"one hypothesis is equal to another.\" Amongst other things\nDayanand points out that the route that led Arjuna to America five\nthousand years ago was by Siberia and Behring's Straits.\n\nIt was long past midnight, but we still sat listening to this legend and\nothers of a similar kind. At length the innkeeper sent a servant to\nwarn us of the dangers that threatened us if we lingered too long on the\nverandah on a moonlit night. The programme of these dangers was divided\ninto three sections--snakes, beasts of prey, and dacoits. Besides the\ncobra and the \"rock-snake,\" the surrounding mountains are full of a kind\nof very small mountain snake, called furzen, the most dangerous of\nall. Their poison kills with the swiftness of lightning. The moonlight\nattracts them, and whole parties of these uninvited guests crawl up to\nthe verandahs of houses, in order to warm themselves. Here they are more\nsnug than on the wet ground. The verdant and perfumed abyss below\nour verandah happened, too, to be the favorite resort of tigers and\nleopards, who come thither to quench their thirst at the broad brook\nwhich runs along the bottom, and then wander until daybreak under the\nwindows of the bungalow. Lastly, there were the mad dacoits, whose dens\nare scattered in mountains inaccessible to the police, who often shoot\nEuropeans simply to afford themselves the pleasure of sending ad patres\none of the hateful bellatis (foreigners). Three days before our arrival\nthe wife of a Brahman disappeared, carried off by a tiger, and two\nfavorite dogs of the commandant were killed by snakes. We declined to\nwait for further explanations, but hurried to our rooms. At daybreak we\nwere to start for Karli, six miles from this place.\n\n\n\n\nIn The Karli Caves\n\n\n\nAt five o'clock in the morning we had already arrived at the limit, not\nonly of driveable, but, even, of rideable roads. Our bullock-cart could\ngo no further. The last half mile was nothing but a rough sea of stones.\nWe had either to give up our enterprise, or to climb on all-fours up an\nalmost perpendicular slope two hundred feet high. We were utterly at\nour wits' end, and meekly gazed at the historical mass before us, not\nknowing what to do next. Almost at the summit of the mountain, under\nthe overhanging rocks, were a dozen black openings. Hundreds of pilgrims\nwere crawling upwards, looking, in their holiday dresses, like so many\ngreen, pink, and blue ants. Here, however, our faithful Hindu friends\ncame to our rescue. One of them, putting the palm of his hand to his\nmouth, produced a strident sound something between a shriek and a\nwhistle. This signal was answered from above by an echo, and the next\nmoment several half naked Brahmans, hereditary watchmen of the temple,\nbegan to descend the rocks as swiftly and skillfully as wild cats.\nFive minutes later they were with us, fastening round our bodies strong\nleathern straps, and rather dragging than leading us upwards. Half an\nhour later, exhausted but perfectly safe, we stood before the porch\nof the chief temple, which until then had been hidden from us by giant\ntrees and cactuses.\n\nThis majestic entrance, resting on four massive pillars which form a\nquadrangle, is fifty-two feet wide and is covered with ancient moss and\ncarvings. Before it stands the \"lion column,\" so-called from the four\nlions carved as large as nature, and seated back to back, at its base.\nOver the principal entrance, its sides covered with colossal male\nand female figures, is a huge arch, in front of which three gigantic\nelephants are sculptured in relief, with heads and trunks that project\nfrom the wall. The shape of the temple is oval. It is 128 feet long and\nforty-six feet wide. The central space is separated on each side\nfrom the aisles by forty-two pillars, which sustain the cupola-shaped\nceiling. Further on is an altar, which divides the first dome from\na second one which rises over a small chamber, formerly used by the\nancient Aryan priests for an inner, secret altar. Two side passages\nleading towards it come to a sudden end, which suggests that, once upon\na time, either doors or wall were there which exist no longer. Each of\nthe forty-two pillars has a pedestal, an octagonal shaft, and a\ncapital, described by Fergusson as \"of the most exquisite workmanship,\nrepresenting two kneeling elephants surmounted by a god and a goddess.\"\nFergusson further says that this temple, or chaitya, is older and better\npreserved than any other in India, and may be assigned to a period about\n200 years B.C., because Prinsep, who has read the inscription on the\nSilastamba pillar, asserts that the lion pillar was the gift of Ajmitra\nUkasa, son of Saha Ravisobhoti, and another inscription shows that\nthe temple was visited by Dathama Hara, otherwise Dathahamini, King of\nCeylon, in the twentieth year of his reign, that is to say, 163 years\nbefore our era. For some reason or other, Dr. Stevenson points to\nseventy years B.C. as the date, asserting that Karlen, or Karli, was\nbuilt by the Emperor Devobhuti, under the supervision of Dhanu-Kakata.\nBut how can this be maintained in view of the above-mentioned perfectly\nauthentic inscriptions? Even Fergusson, the celebrated defender of the\nEgyptian antiquities and hostile critic of those of India, insists that\nKarli belongs to the erections of the third century B.C., adding that\n\"the disposition of the various parts of its architecture is identical\nwith the architecture of the choirs of the Gothic period, and the\npolygonal apsides of cathedrals.\"\n\nAbove the chief entrance is found a gallery, which reminds one of the\nchoirs, where, in Catholic churches, the organ is placed. Besides the\nchief entrance there are two lateral entrances, leading to the aisles\nof the temple, and over the gallery there is a single spacious window in\nthe shape of a horseshoe, so that the light falls on the daghopa (altar)\nentirely from above, leaving the aisles, sheltered by the pillars,\nin obscurity, which increases as you approach the further end of the\nbuilding. To the eyes of a spectator standing at the entrance, the whole\ndaghopa shines with light, and behind it is nothing but impenetrable\ndarkness, where no profane footsteps were permitted to tread. A figure\non the dag-hopa, from the summit of which \"Raja priests\" used to\npronounce verdicts to the people, is called Dharma-Raja, from Dharma,\nthe Hindu Minos. Above the temple are two stories of caves, in each of\nwhich are wide open galleries formed by huge carved pillars, and from\nthese galleries an opening leads to roomy cells and corridors, sometimes\nvery long, but quite useless, as they invariably come to an abrupt\ntermination at solid walls, without the trace of an issue of any kind.\nThe guardians of the temple have either lost the secret of further\ncaves, or conceal them jealously from Europeans.\n\nBesides the Viharas already described, there are many others, scattered\nover the slope of the mountain. These temple-monasteries are all smaller\nthan the first, but, according to the opinion of some archeologists,\nthey are much older. To what century or epoch they belong is not known\nexcept to a few Brahmans, who keep silence. Generally speaking, the\nposition of a European archaeologist in India is very sad. The masses,\ndrowned in superstition, are utterly unable to be of any use to him, and\nthe learned Brahmans, initiated into the mysteries of secret libraries\nin pagodas, do all they can to prevent archeological research. However,\nafter all that has happened, it would be unjust to blame the conduct of\nthe Brahmans in these matters. The bitter experience of many centuries\nhas taught them that their only weapons are distrust and circumspection,\nwithout these their national history and the most sacred of their\ntreasures would be irrevocably lost. Political coups d'etat which have\nshaken their country to its foundation, Mussulman invasions that proved\nso fatal to its welfare, the all-destructive fanaticism of Mussulman\nvandals and of Catholic padres, who are ready for anything in order to\nsecure manuscripts and destroy them--all these form a good excuse\nfor the action of the Brahmans. However in spite of these manifold\ndestructive tendencies, there exist in many places in India vast\nlibraries capable of pouring a bright and new light, not only on the\nhistory of India itself, but also on the darkest problems of universal\nhistory. Some of these libraries, filled with the most precious\nmanuscripts, are in the possession of native princes and of pagodas\nattached to their territories, but the greater part is in the hands\nof the Jainas (the oldest of Hindu sects) and of the Rajputana Takurs,\nwhose ancient hereditary castles are scattered all over Rajistan, like\nso many eagles' nests on high rocks. The existence of the celebrated\ncollections in Jassulmer and Patana is not unknown to the Government,\nbut they remain wholly beyond its reach. The manuscripts are written in\nan ancient and now completely forgotten language, intelligible only to\nthe high priests and their initiated librarians. One thick folio is\nso sacred and inviolable that it rests on a heavy golden chain in the\ncentre of the temple of Chintamani in Jassulmer, and taken down only\nto be dusted and rebound at the advent of each new pontiff. This is\nthe work of Somaditya Suru Acharya, a great priest of the pre-Mussulman\ntime, well-known in history. His mantle is still preserved in the\ntemple, and forms the robe of initiation of every new high priest.\nColonel James Tod, who spent so many years in India and gained the love\nof the people as well as of the Brahmans--a most uncommon trait in the\nbiography of any Anglo-Indian--has written the only true history of\nIndia, but even he was never allowed to touch this folio. Natives\ncommonly believe that he was offered initiation into the mysteries\nat the price of the adoption of their religion. Being a devoted\narchaeologist he almost resolved to do so, but, having to return to\nEngland on account of his health, he left this world before he could\nreturn to his adopted country, and thus the enigma of this new book of\nthe sibyl remains unsolved.\n\nThe Takurs of Rajputana, who are said to possess some of the underground\nlibraries, occupy in India position similar to the position of European\nfeudal barons of the Middle Ages. Nominally they are dependent on some\nof the native princes or on the British Government; but de facto they\nare perfectly independent. Their castles are built on high rocks, and\nbesides the natural difficulty of entering them, their possessors are\nmade doubly unreachable by the fact that long secret passages exist in\nevery such castle, known only to the present owner and confided to his\nheir only at his death. We have visited two such underground halls, one\nof them big enough to contain a whole village. No torture would ever\ninduce the owners to disclose the secret of their entrances, but the\nYogis and the initiated Adepts come and go freely, entirely trusted by\nthe Takurs.\n\nA similar story is told concerning the libraries and subterranean\npassages of Karli. As for the archaeologists, they are unable even to\ndetermine whether this temple was built by Buddhists or Brahmans.\nThe huge daghopa that hides the holy of holies from the eyes of the\nworshippers is sheltered by a mushroom-shaped roof, and resembles a low\nminaret with a cupola. Roofs of this description are called \"umbrellas,\"\nand usually shelter the statues of Buddha and of the Chinese sages.\nBut, on the other hand, the worshippers of Shiva, who possess the temple\nnowadays, assert that this low building is nothing but a lingam of\nShiva. Besides, the carvings of gods and goddesses cut out of the rock\nforbid one to think that the temple is the production of the Buddhists.\nFergusson writes, \"What is this monument of antiquity? Does it belong\nto the Hindus, or to the Buddhists? Has it been built upon plans drawn\nsince the death of Sakya Sing, or does it belong to a more ancient\nreligion?\"\n\nThat is the question. If Fergusson, being bound by facts existing in\ninscriptions to acknowledge the antiquity of Karli, will still persist\nin asserting that Elephanta is of much later date, he will scarcely be\nable to solve this dilemma, because the two styles are exactly the same,\nand the carvings of the latter are still more magnificent. To ascribe\nthe temples of Elephanta and Kanari to the Buddhists, and to say that\ntheir respective periods correspond to the fourth and fifth centuries\nin the first case, and the tenth in the second, is to introduce into\nhistory a very strange and unfounded anachronism. After the first\ncentury A.D. there was not left a single influential Buddhist in India.\nConquered and persecuted by the Brahmans, they emigrated by thousands to\nCeylon and the trans-Himalayan districts. After the death of King Asoka,\nBuddhism speedily broke down, and in a short time was entirely displaced\nby the theocratic Brahmanism.\n\nFergusson's hypothesis that the followers of Sakya Sing, driven out by\nintolerance from the continent, probably sought shelter on the islands\nthat surround Bombay, would hardly sustain critical analysis. Elephanta\nand Salsetta are quite near to Bombay, two and five miles distant\nrespectively, and they are full of ancient Hindu temples. Is it\ncredible, then, that the Brahmans, at the culminating point of their\npower, just before the Mussulman invasions, fanatical as they were, and\nmortal enemies of the Buddhists, would allow these hated heretics to\nbuild temples within their possessions in general and on Gharipuri\nin particular, this latter being an island consecrated to their Hindu\npagodas? It is not necessary to be either a specialist, an architect,\nor an eminent archeologist, in order to be convinced at the first glance\nthat such temples as Elephanta are the work of Cyclopses, requiring\ncenturies and not years for their construction. Whereas in Karli\neverything is built and carved after a perfect plan, in Elephanta it\nseems as if thousands of different hands had wrought at different times,\neach following its own ideas and fashioning after its own device. All\nthree caves are dug out of a hard porphyry rock. The first temple is\npractically a square, 130 feet 6 inches long and 130 feet wide. It\ncontains twenty-six thick pillars and sixteen pilasters.\n\nBetween some of them there is a distance of 12 or 16 feet, between\nothers 15 feet 5 inches, 13 feet 3 1/2 inches, and so on. The same lack\nof uniformity is found in the pedestals of the columns, the finish and\nstyle of which is constantly varying.\n\nWhy, then, should we not pay some attention to the explanations of the\nBrahmans? They say that this temple was begun by the sons of Pandu,\nafter \"the great war,\" Mahabharata, and that after their death every\ntrue believer was bidden to continue the work according to his own\nnotions. Thus the temple was gradually built during three centuries.\nEvery one who wished to redeem his sins would bring his chisel and set\nto work. Many were the members of royal families, and even kings, who\npersonally took part in these labors.\n\nOn the right hand side of the temple there is a corner stone, a lingam\nof Shiva in his character of Fructifying Force, which is sheltered by a\nsmall square chapel with four doors. Round this chapel are many colossal\nhuman figures. According to the Brahmans, these are statues representing\nthe royal sculptors themselves, they being doorkeepers of the holy of\nholies, Hindus of the highest caste. Each of the larger figures leans\nupon a dwarf representative of the lower castes, which have been\npromoted by the popular fancy to the rank of demons (Pisachas).\nMoreover, the temple is full of unskillful work. The Brahmans hold that\nsuch a holy place could not be deserted if men of the preceding and\npresent generations had not become unworthy of visiting it. As to Kanari\nor Kanhari, and some other cave temples, there is not the slightest\ndoubt that they were all erected by Buddhists. In some of them were\nfound inscriptions in a perfect state of preservation, and their style\ndoes not remind one in the least of the symbolical buildings of the\nBrahmans. Archbishop Heber thinks the Kanari caves were built in the\nfirst or second centuries B.C. But Elephanta is much older and must be\nclassed among prehistoric monuments, that is to say, its date must\nbe assigned to the epoch that immediately followed the \"great\nwar,\" Mahabharata. Unfortunately the date of this war is a point of\ndisagreement between European scientists; the celebrated and learned\nDr. Martin Haug thinks it is almost antediluvian, while the no less\ncelebrated and learned Professor Max Muller places it as near the first\ncentury of our era as possible.\n\n\n\nThe fair was at its culmination when, having finished visiting the\ncells, climbing over all the stories, and examining the celebrated \"hall\nof wrestlers,\" we descended, not by way of the stairs, of which there is\nno trace to be found, but after the fashion of pails bringing water out\nof a deep well, that is to say, by the aid of ropes. A crowd of about\nthree thousand persons had assembled from the surrounding villages and\ntowns. Women were there adorned from the waist down in brilliant-hued\nsaris, with rings in their noses, their ears, their lips, and on all\nparts of their limbs that could hold a ring. Their raven-black hair\nwhich was smoothly combed back, shone with cocoanut oil, and was adorned\nwith crimson flowers, which are sacred to Shiva and to Bhavani, the\nfeminine aspect of this god.\n\nBefore the temple there were rows of small shops and of tents, where\ncould be bought all the requisites for the usual sacrifices--aromatic\nherbs, incense, sandal wood, rice, gulab, and the red powder with which\nthe pilgrim sprinkles first the idol and then his own face. Fakirs,\nbairagis, hosseins, the whole body of the mendicant brotherhood, was\npresent among the crowd. Wreathed in chaplets, with long uncombed hair\ntwisted at the top of the head into a regular chignon, and with bearded\nfaces, they presented a very funny likeness to naked apes. Some of them\nwere covered with wounds and bruises due to mortification of the flesh.\nWe also saw some bunis, snake-charmers, with dozens of various snakes\nround their waists, necks, arms, and legs--models well worthy of the\nbrush of a painter who intended to depict the image of a male Fury. One\njadugar was especially remarkable. His head was crowned with a turban\nof cobras. Expanding their hoods and raising their leaf-like dark green\nheads, these cobras hissed furiously and so loudly that the sound was\naudible a hundred paces off. Their \"stings\" quivered like lightning,\nand their small eyes glittered with anger at the approach of every\npasser-by. The expression, \"the sting of a snake,\" is universal, but\nit does not describe accurately the process of inflicting a wound. The\n\"sting\" of a snake is perfectly harmless. To introduce the poison into\nthe blood of a man, or of an animal, the snake must pierce the flesh\nwith its fangs, not prick with its sting. The needle-like eye teeth of\na cobra communicate with the poison gland, and if this gland is cut out\nthe cobra will not live more than two days. Accordingly, the supposition\nof some sceptics, that the bunis cut out this gland, is quite unfounded.\nThe term \"hissing\" is also inaccurate when applied to cobras. They do\nnot hiss. The noise they make is exactly like the death-rattle of a\ndying man. The whole body of a cobra is shaken by this loud and heavy\ngrowl.\n\nHere we happened to be the witnesses of a fact which I relate exactly\nas it occurred, without indulging in explanations or hypotheses of any\nkind. I leave to naturalists the solution of the enigma.\n\nExpecting to be well paid, the cobra-turbaned buni sent us word by a\nmessenger boy that he would like very much to exhibit his powers of\nsnake-charming. Of course we were perfectly willing, but on condition\nthat between us and his pupils there should be what Mr. Disraeli would\ncall a \"scientific frontier.\"* We selected a spot about fifteen paces\nfrom the magic circle. I will not describe minutely the tricks and\nwonders that we saw, but will proceed at once to the main fact. With the\naid of a vaguda, a kind of musical pipe of bamboo, the buni caused all\nthe snakes to fall into a sort of cataleptic sleep. The melody that he\nplayed, monotonous, low, and original to the last degree, nearly sent us\nto sleep ourselves. At all events we all grew extremely sleepy without\nany apparent cause. We were aroused from this half lethargy by our\nfriend Gulab-Sing, who gathered a handful of a grass, perfectly unknown\nto us, and advised us to rub our temples and eyelids with it. Then the\nbuni produced from a dirty bag a kind of round stone, something like a\nfish's eye, or an onyx with a white spot in the centre, not bigger than\na ten-kopek bit. He declared that anyone who bought that stone would be\nable to charm any cobra (it would produce no effect on snakes of other\nkinds) paralyzing the creature and then causing it to fall asleep.\nMoreover, by his account, this stone is the only remedy for the bite\nof a cobra. You have only to place this talisman on the wound, where it\nwill stick so firmly that it cannot be torn off until all the poison is\nabsorbed into it, when it will fall off of itself, and all danger will\nbe past.\n\n\n* Written in 1879.\n\n\nBeing aware that the Government gladly offers any premium for the\ninvention of a remedy for the bite of the cobra, we did not show any\nunreasonable interest on the appearance of this stone. In the meanwhile,\nthe buni began to irritate his cobras. Choosing a cobra eight feet long,\nhe literally enraged it. Twisting its tail round a tree, the cobra arose\nand hissed. The buni quietly let it bite his finger, on which we all saw\ndrops of blood. A unanimous cry of horror arose in the crowd. But master\nbuni stuck the stone on his finger and proceeded with his performance.\n\n\"The poison gland of the snake has been cut out,\" remarked our New York\ncolonel. \"This is a mere farce.\"\n\nAs if in answer to this remark, the buni seized the neck of the cobra,\nand, after a short struggle, fixed a match into its mouth, so that it\nremained open. Then he brought the snake over and showed it to each of\nus separately, so that we all saw the death-giving gland in its mouth.\nBut our colonel would not give up his first impression so easily. \"The\ngland is in its place right enough,\" said he, \"but how are we to know\nthat it really does contain poison?\"\n\nThen a live hen was brought forward and, tying its legs together, the\nbuni placed it beside the snake. But the latter would pay no attention\nat first to this new victim, but went on hissing at the buni, who teased\nand irritated it until at last it actually struck at the wretched bird.\nThe hen made a weak attempt to cackle, then shuddered once or twice and\nbecame still. The death was instantaneous. Facts will remain facts, the\nmost exacting critic and disbeliever notwithstanding. This thought gives\nme courage to write what happened further. Little by little the cobra\ngrew so infuriated that it became evident the jadugar himself did not\ndare to approach it. As if glued to the trunk of the tree by its tail,\nthe snake never ceased diving into space with its upper part and trying\nto bite everything. A few steps from us was somebody's dog. It seemed to\nattract the whole of the buni's attention for some time. Sitting on his\nhaunches, as far as possible from his raging pupil, he stared at the dog\nwith motionless glassy eyes, and then began a scarcely audible song.\nThe dog grew restless. Putting his tail between his legs, he tried to\nescape, but remained, as if fastened to the ground. After a few seconds\nhe crawled nearer and nearer to the buni, whining, but unable to tear\nhis gaze from the charmer. I understood his object, and felt awfully\nsorry for the dog. But, to my horror, I suddenly felt that my tongue\nwould not move, I was perfectly unable either to get up or even to raise\nmy finger. Happily this fiendish scene was not prolonged. As soon as\nthe dog was near enough, the cobra bit him. The poor animal fell on his\nback, made a few convulsive movements with his legs, and shortly died.\nWe could no longer doubt that there was poison in the gland. In the\nmeanwhile the stone had dropped from the buni's finger and he approached\nto show us the healed member. We all saw the trace of the prick, a red\nspot not bigger than the head of an ordinary pin.\n\nNext he made his snakes rise on their tails, and, holding the stone\nbetween his first finger and thumb, he proceeded to demonstrate its\ninfluence on the cobras. The nearer his hand approached to the head of\nthe snake, the more the reptile's body recoiled. Looking steadfastly at\nthe stone they shivered, and, one by one, dropped as if paralyzed. The\nbuni then made straight for our sceptical colonel, and made him an offer\nto try the experiment himself. We all protested vigorously, but he would\nnot listen to us, and chose a cobra of a very considerable size. Armed\nwith the stone, the colonel bravely approached the snake. For a moment\nI positively felt petrified with fright. Inflating its hood, the cobra\nmade an attempt to fly at him, then suddenly stopped short, and, after\na pause, began following with all its body the circular movements of the\ncolonel's hand. When he put the stone quite close to the reptile's head,\nthe snake staggered as if intoxicated, its hissing grew weak, its hood\ndropped helplessly on both sides of its neck, and its eyes closed.\nDrooping lower and lower, the snake fell at last on the ground like a\nstick, and slept.\n\nOnly then did we breathe freely. Taking the sorcerer aside we expressed\nour desire to buy the stone, to which he easily assented, and, to our\ngreat astonishment, asked for it only two rupees. This talisman became\nmy own property and I still keep it. The buni asserts, and our Hindu\nfriends confirm the story, that it is not a stone but an excrescence. It\nis found in the mouth of one cobra in a hundred, between the bone of the\nupper jaw and the skin of the palate. This \"stone\" is not fastened to\nthe skull, but hangs, wrapped in skin, from the palate, and so is very\neasily cut off; but after this operation the cobra is said to die. If\nwe are to believe Bishu Nath, for that was our sorcerer's name, this\nexcrescence confers upon the cobra who possesses it the rank of king\nover the rest of his kind.\n\n\"Such a cobra,\" said the buni, \"is like a Brahman, a Dwija Brahman\namongst Shudras, they all obey him. There exists, moreover, a poisonous\ntoad that also, sometimes, possesses this stone, but its effect is much\nweaker. To destroy the effect of a cobra's poison you must apply the\ntoad's stone not later than two minutes after the infliction of the\nwound; but the stone of a cobra is effectual to the last. Its healing\npower is certain as long as the heart of the wounded man has not ceased\nto beat.\"\n\nBidding us good-bye, the buni advised us to keep the stone in a dry\nplace and never to leave it near a dead body, also, to hide it during\nthe sun and moon eclipses, \"otherwise,\" said he, \"it will lose all its\npower.\" In case we were bitten by a mad dog, he said, we were to put the\nstone into a glass of water and leave it there during the night, next\nmorning the sufferer was to drink the water and then forget all danger.\n\n\"He is a regular devil and not a man!\" exclaimed our colonel, as soon\nas the buni had disappeared on his way to a Shiva temple, where, by the\nway, we were not admitted.\n\n\"As simple a mortal as you or I,\" remarked the Rajput with a smile,\n\"and, what is more, he is very ignorant. The truth is, he has been\nbrought up in a Shivaite pagoda, like all the real snake-charmers. Shiva\nis the patron god of snakes, and the Brahmans teach the bunis to produce\nall kinds of mesmeric tricks by empirical methods, never explaining to\nthem the theoretical principles, but assuring them that Shiva is behind\nevery phenomenon. So that the bunis sincerely ascribe to their god the\nhonor of their 'miracles.\"'\n\n\"The Government of India offers a reward for an antidote to the poison\nof the cobra. Why then do the bunis not claim it, rather than let\nthousands of people die helpless?\"\n\n\"The Brahmans would never suffer that. If the Government took the\ntrouble to examine carefully the statistics of deaths caused by snakes,\nit would be found that no Hindu of the Shivaite sect has ever died from\nthe bite of a cobra. They let people of other sects die, but save the\nmembers of their own flock.\"\n\n\"But did we not see how easily he parted with his secret,\nnotwithstanding we were foreigners. Why should not the English buy it as\nreadily?\"\n\n\"Because this secret is quite useless in the hands of Europeans. The\nHindus do not try to conceal it, because they are perfectly certain that\nwithout their aid nobody can make any use of it. The stone will retain\nits wonderful power only when it is taken from a live cobra. In order to\ncatch the snake without killing it, it must be cast into a lethargy, or,\nif you prefer the term, charmed. Who is there among the foreigners who\nis able to do this? Even amongst the Hindus, you will not find a single\nindividual in all India who possesses this ancient secret, unless he be\na disciple of the Shivaite Brahmans. Only Brahmans of this sect possess\na monopoly of the secret, and not all even of them, only those, in\nshort, who belong to the pseudo-Patanjali school, who are usually called\nBhuta ascetics. Now there exist, scattered over the whole of India, only\nabout half-a-dozen of their pagoda schools, and the inmates would rather\npart with their very lives than with their secret.\"\n\n\"We have paid only two rupees for a secret which proved as strong in the\ncolonel's hands as in the hands of the buni. Is it then so difficult to\nprocure a store of these stones?\" Our friend laughed.\n\n\"In a few days,\" said he, \"the talisman will lose all its healing powers\nin your inexperienced hands. This is the reason why he let it go at such\na low price, which he is, probably, at this moment sacrificing before\nthe altar of his deity. I guarantee you a week's activity for your\npurchase, but after that time it will only be fit to be thrown out of\nthe window.\"\n\nWe soon learned how true were these words. On the following day we came\nacross a little girl, bitten by a green scorpion. She seemed to be in\nthe last convulsions. No sooner had we applied the stone than the child\nseemed relieved, and, in an hour, she was gaily playing about, whereas,\neven in the case of the sting of a common black scorpion, the patient\nsuffers for two weeks. But when, about ten days later, we tried the\nexperiment of the stone upon a poor coolie, just bitten by a cobra, it\nwould not even stick to the wound, and the poor wretch shortly expired.\nI do not take upon myself to offer, either a defence, or an explanation\nof the virtues of the \"stone.\" I simply state the facts and leave the\nfuture career of the story to its own fate. The sceptics may deal with\nit as they will. Yet I can easily find people in India who will bear\nwitness to my accuracy.\n\nIn this connection I was told a funny story. When Dr. (now Sir J.)\nFayrer, who lately published his Thanatophidia, a book on the venomous\nsnakes of India, a work well known throughout Europe, he categorically\nstated in it his disbelief in the wondrous snake-charmers of India.\nHowever, about a fortnight or so after the book appeared amongst the\nAnglo-Indians, a cobra bit his own cook. A buni, who happened to pass\nby, readily offered to save the man's life. It stands to reason that\nthe celebrated naturalist could not accept such an offer. Nevertheless,\nMajor Kelly and other officers urged him to permit the experiment.\nDeclaring that in spite of all, in less than an hour his cook would be\nno more, he gave his consent. But it happened that in less than an hour\nthe cook was quietly preparing dinner in the kitchen, and, it is added,\nDr. Fayrer seriously thought of throwing his book into the fire.\n\nThe day grew dreadfully hot. We felt the heat of the rocks in spite of\nour thick-soled shoes. Besides, the general curiosity aroused by our\npresence, and the unceremonious persecutions of the crowd, were becoming\ntiring. We resolved to \"go home,\" that is to say, to return to the cool\ncave, six hundred paces from the temple, where we were to spend the\nevening and to sleep. We would wait no longer for our Hindu companions,\nwho had gone to see the fair, and so we started by ourselves.----\n\n\nOn approaching the entrance of the temple we were struck by the\nappearance of a young man, who stood apart from the crowd and was of\nan ideal beauty. He was a member of the Sadhu sect, a \"candidate for\nSaintship,\" to use the expression of one of our party.\n\nThe Sadhus differ greatly from every other sect. They never appear\nunclothed, do not cover themselves with damp ashes, wear no painted\nsigns on their faces, or foreheads, and do not worship idols. Belonging\nto the Adwaiti section of the Vedantic school, they believe only in\nParabrahm (the great spirit). The young man looked quite decent in his\nlight yellow costume, a kind of nightgown without sleeves. He had long\nhair, and his head was uncovered. His elbow rested on the back of a cow,\nwhich was itself well calculated to attract attention, for, in addition\nto her four perfectly shaped legs, she had a fifth growing out of her\nhump. This wonderful freak of nature used its fifth leg as if it were\na hand and arm, hunting and killing tiresome flies, and scratching\nits head with the hoof. At first we thought it was a trick to attract\nattention, and even felt offended with the animal, as well as with its\nhandsome owner, but, coming nearer, we saw that it was no trick, but an\nactual sport of mischievous Nature. From the young man we learned that\nthe cow had been presented to him by the Maharaja Holkar, and that her\nmilk had been his only food during the last two years.\n\nSadhus are aspirants to the Raj Yoga, and, as I have said above, usually\nbelong to the school of the Vedanta. That is to say, they are disciples\nof initiates who have entirely resigned the life of the world, and lead\na life of monastic chastity. Between the Sadhus and the Shivaite\nbunis there exists a mortal enmity, which manifests itself by a silent\ncontempt on the side of the Sadhus, and on that of the bunis by constant\nattempts to sweep their rivals off the face of the earth. This antipathy\nis as marked as that between light and darkness, and reminds one of the\ndualism of the Ahura-Mazda and Ahriman of the Zoroastrians. Masses\nof people look up to the first as to Magi, sons of the sun and of the\nDivine Principle, while the latter are dreaded as dangerous sorcerers.\nHaving heard most wonderful accounts of the former, we were burning\nwith anxiety to see some of the \"miracles\" ascribed to them by some even\namong the Englishmen. We eagerly invited the Sadhu to visit our vihara\nduring the evening. But the handsome ascetic sternly refused, for the\nreason that we were staying within the temple of the idol-worshippers,\nthe very air of which would prove antagonistic to him. We offered him\nmoney, but he would not touch it, and so we parted.\n\nA path, or rather a ledge cut along the perpendicular face of a rocky\nmass 200 feet high, led from the chief temple to our vihara. A man needs\ngood eyes, sure feet, and a very strong head to avoid sliding down the\nprecipice at the first false step. Any help would be quite out of the\nquestion, for, the ledge being only two feet wide, no one could walk\nside by side with another. We had to walk one by one, appealing for aid\nonly to the whole of our personal courage. But the courage of many of us\nwas gone on an unlimited furlough. The position of our American colonel\nwas the worst, for he was very stout and short-sighted, which defects,\ntaken together, caused him frequent vertigos. To keep up our spirits\nwe indulged in a choral performance of the duet from Norma, \"Moriam'\ninsieme,\" holding each other's hands the while, to ensure our being\nspared by death or dying all four in company. But the colonel did not\nfail to frighten us nearly out of our lives. We were already half way up\nto the cave when he made a false step, staggered, lost hold of my hand,\nand rolled over the edge. We three, having to clutch the bushes and\nstones, were quite unable to help him. A unanimous cry of horror escaped\nus, but died away as we perceived that he had succeeded in clinging to\nthe trunk of a small tree, which grew on the slope a few steps below\nus. Fortunately, we knew that the colonel was good at athletics, and\nremarkably cool in danger. Still the moment was a critical one. The\nslender stem of the tree might give way at any moment. Our cries of\ndistress were answered by the sudden appearance of the mysterious Sadhu\nwith his cow.\n\nThey were quietly walking along about twenty feet below us, on such\ninvisible projections of the rock that a child's foot could barely have\nfound room to rest there, and they both traveled as calmly, and even\ncarelessly, as if a comfortable causeway were beneath their feet,\ninstead of a vertical rock. The Sadhu called out to the colonel to hold\non, and to us to keep quiet. He patted the neck of his monstrous cow,\nand untied the rope by which he was leading her. Then, with both hands\nhe turned her head in our direction, and clucking with his tongue, he\ncried \"Chal!\" (go). With a few wild goat-like bounds the animal reached\nour path, and stood before us motion-less. A for the Sadhu himself, his\nmovements were as swift and as goat-like. In a moment he had reached the\ntree, tied the rope round the colonel's body, and put him on his legs\nagain; then, rising higher, with one effort of his strong hand he\nhoisted him up to the path. Our colonel was with us once more, rather\npale, and with the loss of his pince-nez, but not of his presence of\nmind.\n\nAn adventure that had threatened to become a tragedy ended in a farce.\n\n\"What is to be done now?\" was our unanimous inquiry. \"We cannot let you\ngo alone any further.\"\n\n\"In a few moments it will be dark and we shall be lost,\" said Mr. Y----,\nthe colonel's secretary.\n\nAnd, indeed, the sun was dipping below the horizon, and every moment was\nprecious. In the meanwhile, the Sadhu had fastened the rope round the\ncow's neck again and stood before us on the pathway, evidently not\nunderstanding a word of our conversation. His tall, slim figure seemed\nas if suspended in the air above the precipice. His long, black hair,\nfloating in the breeze, alone showed that in him we beheld a living\nbeing and not a magnificent statue of bronze. Forgetting our recent\ndanger and our present awkward situation, Miss X----, who was a born\nartist, exclaimed: \"Look at the majesty of that pure profile; observe\nthe pose of that man. How beautiful are his outlines seen against the\ngolden and blue sky. One would say, a Greek Adonis, not a Hindu!\" But\nthe \"Adonis\" in question put a sudden stop to her ecstasy. He glanced at\nMiss X---- with half-pitying, half-kindly, laughing eyes, and said with\nhis ringing voice in Hindi--\n\n\"Bara-Sahib cannot go any further without the help of someone else's\neyes. Sahib's eyes are his enemies. Let the Sahib ride on my cow. She\ncannot stumble.\"\n\n\"I! Ride on a cow, and a five-legged one at that? Never!\" exclaimed the\npoor colonel, with such a helpless air, nevertheless, that we burst out\nlaughing.\n\n\"It will be better for Sahib to sit on a cow than to lie on a chitta\"\n(the pyre on which dead bodies are burned), remarked the Sadhu with\nmodest seriousness. \"Why call forth the hour which has not yet struck?\"\n\nThe colonel saw that argument was perfectly useless, and we succeeded in\npersuading him to follow the Sadhu's advice, who carefully hoisted him\non the cow's back, then, recommending him to hold on by the fifth leg,\nhe led the way. We all followed to the best of our ability.\n\nIn a few minutes more we were on the verandah of our vihara, where we\nfound our Hindu friends, who had arrived by another path. We eagerly\nrelated all our adventures, and then looked for the Sadhu, but, in the\nmeanwhile, he had disappeared together with his cow.\n\n\"Do not look for him, he is gone by a road known only to himself,\"\nremarked Gulab-Sing carelessly. \"He knows you are sincere in your\ngratitude, but he would not take your money. He is a Sadhu, not a buni,\"\nadded he proudly.\n\nWe remembered that it was reported this proud friend of ours also\nbelonged to the Sadhu sect. \"Who can tell,\" whispered the colonel in my\near, \"whether these reports are mere gossip, or the truth?\"\n\nSadhu-Nanaka must not be confounded with Guru-Nanaka, a leader of the\nSikhs. The former are Adwaitas, the latter monotheists. The Adwaitas\nbelieve only in an impersonal deity named Parabrahm.\n\nIn the chief hall of the vihara was a life-sized statue of Bhavani, the\nfeminine aspect of Shiva. From the bosom of this devaki streams forth\nthe pure cold water of a mountain spring, which falls into a reservoir\nat her feet. Around it lay heaps of sacrificial flowers, rice, betel\nleaves and incense. This hall was, in consequence, so damp that we\npreferred to spend the night on the verandah in the open air, hanging,\nas it were, between sky and earth, and lit from below by numerous fires\nkept burning all the night by Gulab-Sing's servants, to scare away wild\nbeasts, and, from above, by the light of the full moon. A supper was\narranged after the Eastern fashion, on carpets spread upon the floor,\nand with thick banana leaves for plates and dishes. The noiselessly\ngliding steps of the servants, more silent than ghosts, their white\nmuslins and red turbans, the limitless depths of space, lost in waves of\nmoonlight, before us, and behind, the dark vaults of ancient caves,\ndug out by unknown races, in unknown times, in honor of an unknown,\nprehistoric religion--all these, our surroundings, transported us into a\nstrange world, and into distant epochs far different from our own.\n\nWe had before us representatives of five different peoples, five\ndifferent types of costume, each quite unlike the others. All five are\nknown to us in ethnography under the generic name of Hindus. Similarly\neagles, condors, hawks, vultures, and owls are known to ornithology as\n\"birds of prey,\" but the analogous differences are as great. Each of\nthese five companions, a Rajput, a Bengali, a Madrasi, a Sinhalese and\na Mahratti, is a descendant of a race, the origin of which European\nscientists have discussed for over half a century without coming to any\nagreement.\n\nRajputs are called Hindus and are said to belong to the Aryan race; but\nthey call themselves Suryavansa, that is to say, descendants of Surya or\nthe sun.\n\nThe Brahmans derive their origin from Indu, the moon, and are called\nInduvansa; Indu, Soma, or Chandra, meaning moon in Sanskrit. If the\nfirst Aryans, appearing in the prologue of universal history, are\nBrahmans, that is to say, the people who, according to Max Muller,\nhaving crossed the Himalayas conquered the country of the five rivers,\nthen the Rajputs are no Aryans; and if they are Aryans they are not\nBrahmans, as all their genealogies and sacred books (Puranas) show that\nthey are much older than the Brahmans; and, in this case, moreover, the\nAryan tribes had an actual existence in other countries of our globe\nthan the much renowned district of the Oxus, the cradle of the Germanic\nrace, the ancestors of Aryans and Hindus, in the fancy of the scientist\nwe have named and his German school.\n\nThe \"moon\" line begins with Pururavas (see the genealogical tree\nprepared by Colonel Tod from the MS. Puranas in the Oodeypore archives),\nthat is to say, two thousand two hundred years before Christ, and much\nlater than Ikshvaku, the patriarch of the Suryavansa. The fourth son of\nPururavas, Rech, stands at the head of the line of the moon-race, and\nonly in the fifteenth generation after him appears Harita, who founded\nthe Kanshikagotra, the Brahman tribe.\n\nThe Rajputs hate the latter. They say the children of the sun and Rama\nhave nothing in common with the children of the moon and Krishna. As\nfor the Bengalis, according to their traditions and history, they are\naborigines. The Madrasis and the Sinhalese are Dravidians. They have, in\nturn, been said to belong to the Semites, the Hamites, the Aryans, and,\nlastly, they have been given up to the will of God, with the conclusion\ndrawn that the Sinhalese, at all events, must be Mongolians of Turanian\norigin. The Mahrattis are aborigines of the West of India, as the\nBengalis are of, the East; but to what group of tribes belong these two\nnationalities no ethnographer can define, save perhaps a German. The\ntraditions of the people themselves are generally denied, because they\nare not in harmony with foregone conclusions. The meaning of ancient\nmanuscripts is disfigured, and, in fact, sacrificed to fiction, if only\nthe latter proceeds from the mouth of some favorite oracle.\n\nThe ignorant masses are often blamed and found to be guilty of\nsuperstition for creating idols in the spiritual world. Is not,\nthen, the educated man, the man who craves after knowledge, who is\nenlightened, still more inconsistent than these masses, when he deals\nwith his favorite authorities? Are not half a dozen laurel-crowned heads\nallowed by him to do whatever they like with facts, to draw their own\nconclusions, according to their own liking, and does he not stone\nevery one who would dare to rise against the decisions of these\nquasi-infallible specialists, and brand him as an ignorant fool?\n\nLet us remember the case in point of Louis Jacolliot, who spent twenty\nyears in India, who actually knew the language and the country to\nperfection, and who, nevertheless, was rolled in the mud by Max Muller,\nwhose foot never touched Indian soil.\n\nThe oldest peoples of Europe are mere babes com-pared with the tribes\nof Asia, and especially of India. And oh! how poor and insignificant are\nthe genealogies of the oldest European families compared with those of\nsome Rajputs. In the opinion of Colonel Tod, who for over twenty years\nstudied these genealogies on the spot, they are the completest and most\ntrustworthy of the records of the peoples of antiquity. They date from\n1,000 to 2,200 years B.C., and their authenticity may often be proved\nby reference to Greek authors. After long and careful research and\ncomparison with the text of the Puranas, and various monumental\ninscriptions, Colonel Tod came to the conclusion that in the Oodeypore\narchives (now hidden from public inspection), not to mention other\nsources, may be found a clue to the history of India in particular, and\nto universal ancient history in general. Colonel Tod advises the earnest\nseeker after this clue not to think, with some flippant archaeologists\nwho are insufficiently acquainted with India, that the stories of\nRama, the Mahabharata, Krishna, and the five brothers Pandu, are mere\nallegories. He affirms that he who seriously considers these legends\nwill very soon become thoroughly convinced that all these so-called\n\"fables\" are founded on historical facts, by the actual existence of\nthe descendants of the heroes, by tribes, ancient towns, and coins still\nextant; that to acquire the right to pronounce a final opinion one must\nread first the inscriptions on the Inda-Prestha pillars of Purag and\nMevar, on the rocks of Junagur, in Bijoli, on Aravuli and on all the\nancient Jaina temples scattered throughout India, where are to be found\nnumerous inscriptions in a language utterly unknown, in comparison with\nwhich the hieroglyphs will seem a mere toy.\n\nYet, nevertheless, Professor Max Muller, who, as already mentioned, was\nnever in India, sits as a judge and corrects chronological tables as is\nhis wont, and Europe, taking his words for those of an oracle, endorses\nhis decisions. Et c'est ainsi que s'ecrit l'histoire.\n\nTalking of the venerable German Sanskritist's chronology, I cannot\nresist the desire to show, be it only to Russia, on what a fragile\nbasis are founded his scientific discussions, and how little he is to\nbe trusted when he pronounces upon the antiquity of this or that\nmanuscript. These pages are of a superficial and descriptive nature,\nand, as such, make no pretense to profound learning, so that what\nfollows may seem incongruous. But it must be remembered that in Russia,\nas elsewhere in Europe, people estimate the value of this philological\nlight by the points of exclamation lavished upon him by his admiring\nfollowers, and that no one reads the Veda Bhashaya of Swami Dayanand.\nIt may even be that I shall not be far from the truth in saying that the\nvery existence of this work is ignored, which may perhaps be a fortunate\nfact for the reputation of Professor Max Muller. I shall be as brief as\npossible. When Professor Max Muller states, in his Sahitya-Grantha, that\nthe Aryan tribe in India acquired the notion of God step by step and\nvery slowly, he evidently wishes to prove that the Vedas are far from\nbeing as old as is supposed by some of his colleagues. Having presented,\nin due course, some more or less valuable evidence to prove the truth\nof this new theory, he ends with a fact which, in his opinion, is\nindisputable. He points to the word hiranya-garbha in the mantrams,\nwhich he translates by the word \"gold,\" and adds that, as the part\nof the Vedas called chanda appeared 3,100 years ago, the part called\nmantrams could not have been written earlier than 2,900 years ago.\nLet me remind the reader that the Vedas are divided into two parts:\nchandas--slokas, verses, etc.; and mantrams--prayers and rhythmical\nhymns, which are, at the same time, incantations used in white magic.\nProfessor Max Muller divides the mantram (\"Agnihi Poorwebhihi,\"\netc.) philologically and chronologically, and, finding in it the word\nhiranya-garbha, he denounces it as an anachronism. The ancients, he\nsays, had no knowledge of gold, and, therefore, if gold is mentioned in\nthis mantram it means that the mantram was composed at a comparatively\nmodern epoch, and so on.\n\nBut here the illustrious Sanskritist is very much mistaken. Swami\nDayanand and other pandits, who sometimes are far from being Dayanand's\nallies, maintain that Professor Max Muller has completely misunderstood\nthe meaning of the term hiranya. Originally it did not mean, and, when\nunited to the word garbha, even now does not mean, gold. So all the\nProfessor's brilliant demonstrations are labor in vain. The word hiranya\nin this mantram must be translated \"divine light\"--mystically a symbol\nof knowledge; analogically the alchemists used the term \"sublimated\ngold\" for \"light,\" and hoped to compose the objective metal out of its\nrays. The two words, hiranya-garbha, taken together, mean, literally,\nthe \"radiant bosom,\" and, when used in the Vedas, designate the first\nprinciple, in whose bosom, like gold in the bosom of the earth, rests\nthe light of divine knowledge and truth, the essence of the soul\nliberated from the sins of the world. In the mantrams, as in the\nchandas, one must always look for a double meaning: (1) a metaphysical\none, purely abstract, and (2) one as purely physical; for everything\nexisting upon the earth is closely bound to the spiritual world, from\nwhich it proceeds and by which it is reabsorbed. For instance Indra, the\ngod of thunder, Surya, the sun-god, Vayu, god of the wind, and Agni,\ngod of fire, all four depending on this first divine principle, expand,\naccording to the mantram from hiranya-garbha, the radiant bosom. In this\ncase the gods are the personifications of the forces of Nature. But the\ninitiated Adepts of India understand very clearly that the god Indra,\nfor instance, is nothing more than a mere sound, born of the shock of\nelectrical forces, or simply electricity itself. Surya is not the god of\nthe sun, but simply the centre of fire in our system, the essence whence\ncome fire, warmth, light, and so on; the very thing, namely, which\nno European scientist, steering an even course between Tyndall and\nSchropfer, has, as yet, defined. This concealed meaning has totally\nescaped Professor Max Muller's attention, and this is why, clinging to\nthe dead letter, he never hesitates before cutting a Gordian knot. How\nthen can he be permitted to pronounce upon the antiquity of the Vedas,\nwhen he is so far from the right understanding of the language of these\nancient writings.\n\nThe above is a resume of Dayanand's argument, and to him the\nSanskritists must apply for further particulars, which they will\ncertainly find in his Rigvedadi Bhashya Bhoomika.\n\n\n\nIn the cave, every one slept soundly round the fire except myself.\nNone of my companions seemed to mind in the least either the hum of\nthe thousand voices of the fair, or the prolonged, far-away roar of the\ntigers rising from the valley, or even the loud prayers of the pilgrims\nwho passed to and fro all night long, never fearing to cross the steep\npassage which, even by daylight, caused us such perplexity. They came\nin parties of twos and threes, and sometimes there appeared a lonely\nunescorted woman. They could not reach the large vihara, because we\noccupied the verandah at its entrance, and so, after grumbling a little,\nthey entered a small lateral cave something like a chapel, containing\na statue of Devaki-Mata, above a tank full of water. Each pilgrim\nprostrated himself for a time, then placed his offering at the feet of\nthe goddess and bathed in the \"holy waters of purification,\" or, at\nthe least, sprinkled some water over his forehead, cheeks, and breast.\nLastly, retreating backwards, he knelt again at the door and disappeared\nin the darkness with a final invocation: \"Mata, maha mata!\"--Mother, O\ngreat mother!\n\nTwo of Gulab-Sing's servants, with traditional spears and shields of\nrhinoceros skin, who had been ordered to protect us from wild beasts,\nsat on the steps of the verandah. I was unable to sleep, and so watched\nwith increasing curiosity everything that was going on. The Takur, too,\nwas sleepless. Every time I raised my eyes, heavy with fatigue, the\nfirst object upon which they fell was the gigantic figure of our\nmysterious friend.\n\nHaving seated himself after the Eastern fashion, with his feet drawn up\nand his arms round his knees, the Rajput sat on a bench cut in the rock\nat one end of the verandah, gazing out into the silvery atmosphere. He\nwas so near the abyss that the least incautious movement would expose\nhim to great danger. But the granite goddess, Bhavani herself, could not\nbe more immovable. The light of the moon before him was so strong\nthat the black shadow under the rock which sheltered him was doubly\nimpenetrable, shrouding his face in absolute darkness. From time to time\nthe flame of the sinking fires leaping up shed its hot reflection on the\ndark bronze face, enabling me to distinguish its sphinx-like lineaments\nand its shining eyes, as unmoving as the rest of the features.\n\n\"What am I to think? Is he simply sleeping, or is he in that strange\nstate, that temporary annihilation of bodily life?... Only this\nmorning he was telling us how the initiate Raj-yogis were able to plunge\ninto this state at will... Oh, if I could only go to sleep.....\"\n\nSuddenly a loud prolonged hissing, quite close to my ear, made me\nstart, trembling with indistinct reminiscences of cobras. The sound was\nstrident and evidently came from under the hay upon which I rested.\nThen it struck one! two! It was our American alarum-clock, which always\ntraveled with me. I could not help laughing at myself, and, at the same\ntime, feeling a little ashamed of my involuntary fright.\n\nBut neither the hissing, nor the loud striking of the clock, nor my\nsudden movement, that made Miss X---- raise her sleepy head, awakened\nGulab-Sing, who still hung over the precipice. Another half hour passed.\nThe far-away roar of the festivity was still heard, but everything round\nme was calm and still. Sleep fled further and further from my eyes. A\nfresh, strong wind arose, before the dawn, rustling the leaves and then\nshaking the tops of the trees that rose above the abyss. My attention\nbecame absorbed by the group of three Rajputs before me--by the two\nshield bearers and their master. I cannot tell why I was specially\nattracted at this moment by the sight of the long hair of the servants,\nwhich was waving in the wind, though the place they occupied was\ncomparatively sheltered. I turned my eyes upon their Sahib, and the\nblood in my veins stood still. The veil of somebody's topi, which hung\nbeside him, tied to a pillar, was simply whirling in the wind, while the\nhair of the Sahib himself lay as still as if it had been glued to his\nshoulders, not a hair moved, nor a single fold of his light muslin\ngarment. No statue could be more motionless. What is this then? I said\nto myself. Is it delirium? Is this a hallucination, or a wonderful\ninexplicable reality? I shut my eyes, telling myself I must look no\nlonger. But a moment later I again looked up, startled by a crackling\nsound from above the steps. The long, dark silhouette of some animal\nappeared at the entrance, clearly outlined against the pale sky. I saw\nit in profile. Its long tail was lashing to and fro. Both the servants\nrose swiftly and noiselessly and turned their heads towards Gulab-Sing,\nas if asking for orders. But where was Gulab-Sing? In the place which,\nbut a moment ago, he occupied, there was no one. There lay only the\ntopi, torn from the pillar by the wind. I sprang up: a tremendous roar\ndeafened me, filling the vihara, wakening the slumbering echoes, and\nresounding, like the softened rumbling of thunder, over all the borders\nof the precipice. Good heavens! A tiger!\n\nBefore this thought had time to shape itself clearly in my mind, the\nsleepers sprang up and the men all seized their guns and revolvers, and\nthen we heard the sound of crashing branches, and of something heavy\nsliding down into the precipice. The alarm was general.\n\n\"What is the matter now?\" said the calm voice of Gulab-Sing, and I again\nsaw him on the stone bench. \"Why should you be so frightened?\"\n\n\"A tiger! Was it not a tiger?\" came in hasty, questioning tones from\nEuropeans and Hindus.\n\nMiss X---- trembled like one stricken with fever. \"Whether it was a\ntiger, or something else, matters very little to us now. Whatever it\nwas, it is, by this time, at the bottom of the abyss,\" answered the\nRajput yawning.\n\n\"I wonder the Government does not destroy all these horrid animals,\"\nsobbed poor Miss X----, who evidently believed firmly in the omnipotence\nof her Executive.\n\n\"But how did you get rid of the 'striped one'?\" insisted the colonel.\n\"Has anyone fired a shot?\"\n\n\"You Europeans think that shooting is, if not the only, at least the\nbest way to get rid of wild animals. We possess other means, which are\nsometimes more efficacious than guns,\" explained Babu Narendro-Das Sen.\n\"Wait until you come to Bengal, there you will have many opportunities\nto make acquaintance with the tigers.\"\n\nIt was now getting light, and Gulab-Sing proposed to us to descend and\nexamine the rest of the caves and the ruins of a fortress before the day\nbecame too hot, so, at half-past three, we went by another and easier\nway to the valley, and, happily, this time we had no adventures. The\nMahratti did not accompany us. He disappeared without informing us\nwhither he was going.\n\n\n\nWe saw Logarh, a fortress which was captured by Sivaji from the Moguls\nin 1670, and the ruins of the hall, where the widow of Nana Farnavese,\nunder the pretext of an English protectorate, became de facto the\ncaptive of General Wellesley in 1804, with a yearly pension of 12,000\nrupees. We then started for the village of Vargaon, once fortified and\nstill very rich. We were to spend the hottest hours of the day there,\nfrom nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, and proceed\nafterwards to the historical caves of Birsa and Badjah, about three\nmiles from Karli.\n\nAt about two P.M. when, in spite of the huge punkahs waving to and fro,\nwe were grumbling at the heat, appeared our friend the Mahratta Brahman,\nwhom we thought we had lost on the way. Accompanied by half-a-dozen\nDaknis (inhabitants of the Dekhan plateau) he was slowly advancing,\nseated almost on the ears of his horse, which snorted and seemed very\nunwilling to move. When he reached the verandah and jumped down, we\nsaw the reason of his disappearance. Across the saddle was tied a huge\ntiger, whose tail dragged in the dust. There were traces of dark blood\nin his half opened mouth. He was taken from the horse and laid down by\nthe doorstep.\n\nWas it our visitor of the night before? I looked at Gulab-Sing. He\nlay on a rug in a corner, resting his head on his hand and reading. He\nknitted his brows slightly, but did not say a word. The Brahman who\nhad just brought the tiger was very silent too, watching over certain\npreparations, as if making ready for some solemnity. We soon learned\nthat, in the eyes of a superstitious people, what was about to happen\nwas a solemnity indeed.\n\nA bit of hair cut from the skin of a tiger that has been killed, neither\nby bullet, nor by knife, but by a \"word,\" is considered the best of all\ntalismans against his tribe.\n\n\"This is a very rare opportunity,\" explained the Mahratti. \"It is very\nseldom that one meets with a man who possesses the word. Yogis and\nSadhus do not generally kill wild animals, thinking it sinful to destroy\nany living creature, be it even a cobra or a tiger, so they simply keep\nout of the way of noxious animals. There exists only one brotherhood in\nIndia whose members possess all secrets, and from whom nothing in nature\nis concealed. Here is the body of the tiger to testify that the animal\nwas not killed with a weapon of any kind, but simply by the word of\nGulab-Lal-Sing. I found it, very easily, in the bushes exactly under our\nvihara, at the foot of the rock over which the tiger had rolled, already\ndead. Tigers never make false steps. Gulab-Lal-Sing, you are a Raj-Yogi,\nand I salute you!\" added the proud Brahman, kneeling before the Takur.\n\n\"Do not use vain words, Krishna Rao!\" interrupted Gulab-Sing. \"Get up;\ndo not play the part of a Shudra.\"\n\n\"I obey you, Sahib, but, forgive me, I trust my own judgment. No\nRaj-Yogi ever yet acknowledged his connection with the brotherhood,\nsince the time Mount Abu came into existence.\"\n\nAnd he began distributing bits of hair taken from the dead animal. No\none spoke, I gazed curiously at the group of my fellow-travelers. The\ncolonel, President of our Society, sat with downcast eyes, very pale.\nHis secretary, Mr. Y----, lay on his back, smoking a cigar and looking\nstraight above him, with no expression in his eyes. He silently accepted\nthe hair and put it in his purse. The Hindus stood round the tiger,\nand the Sinhalese traced mysterious signs on its forehead. Gulab-Sing\ncontinued quietly reading his book.----\n\n\nThe Birza cave, about six miles from Vargaon, is constructed on the\nsame plan as Karli. The vault-like ceiling of the temple rests upon\ntwenty-six pillars, eighteen feet high, and the portico on four,\ntwenty-eight feet high; over the portico are carved groups of horses,\noxen, and elephants, of the most exquisite beauty. The \"Hall of\nInitiation\" is a spacious, oval room, with pillars, and eleven very deep\ncells cut in the rock. The Bajah caves are older and more beautiful.\nInscriptions may still be seen showing that all these temples were built\nby Buddhists, or, rather, by Jainas. Modern Buddhists believe in one\nBuddha only, Gautama, Prince of Kapilavastu (six centuries before\nChrist) whereas the Jainas recognize a Buddha in each of their\ntwenty-four divine teachers (Tirthankaras) the last of whom was the Guru\n(teacher) of Gautama. This disagreement is very embarrassing when people\ntry to conjecture the antiquity of this or that vihara or chaitya. The\norigin of the Jaina sect is lost in the remotest, unfathomed antiquity,\nso the name of Buddha, mentioned in the inscriptions, may be attributed\nto the last of the Buddhas as easily as to the first, who lived (see\nTod's genealogy) a long time before 2,200 B.C.\n\nOne of the inscriptions in the Baira cave, for instance, in cuneiform\ncharacters, says: \"From an ascetic in Nassik to the one who is worthy,\nto the holy Buddha, purified from sins, heavenly and great.\"\n\nThis tends to convince scientists that the cave was cut out by\nBuddhists.\n\nAnother inscription, in the same cave, but over an-other cell, contains\nthe following: \"An agreeable offering of a small gift to the moving\nforce [life], to the mind principle [soul], the well-beloved material\nbody, fruit of Manu, priceless treasure, to the highest and here\npresent, Heavenly.\"\n\nOf course the conclusion is drawn that the building does not belong to\nthe Buddhists, but to the Brahmans, who believe in Manu.\n\nHere are two more inscriptions from Bajah caves.\n\n\"An agreeable gift of the symbol and vehicle of the purified Saka-Saka.\"\n\n\"Gift of the vehicle of Radha [wife of Krishna, symbol of perfection] to\nSugata who is gone for ever.\"\n\nSugata, again, is one of the names of Buddha. A new contradiction!\n\nIt was somewhere here, in the neighborhood of Vargaon, that the\nMahrattis seized Captain Vaughan and his brother, who were hanged after\nthe battle of Khirki.\n\nNext morning we drove to Chinchor, or, as it is called here, Chinchood.\nThis place is celebrated in the annals of the Dekkan. Here one meets\nwith a repetition in miniature of what takes place on a larger scale\nat L'hassa in Tibet. As Buddha incarnates in every new Dalai-Lama, so,\nhere, Gunpati (Ganesha, the god of wisdom with the elephant's head) is\nallowed by his father Shiva to incarnate in the eldest son of a certain\nBrahman family. There is a splendid temple erected in his honor, where\nthe avatars (incarnations) of Gunpati have lived and received adoration\nfor over two hundred years.\n\nThis is how it happened.\n\nAbout 250 years ago a poor Brahman couple were promised, in sleep, by\nthe god of wisdom that he would incarnate in their eldest son. The boy\nwas named Maroba (one of the god's titles) in honor of the deity. Maroba\ngrew up, married, and begot several sons, after which he was commanded\nby the god to relinquish the world and finish his days in the desert.\nThere, during twenty-two years, according to the legend, Maroba wrought\nmiracles and his fame grew day by day. He lived in an impenetrable\njungle, in a corner of the thick forest that covered Chinchood in those\ndays. Gunpati appeared to him once more, and promised to incarnate in\nhis descendants for seven generations. After this there was no limit\nto his miracles, so that the people began to worship him, and ended by\nbuilding a splendid temple for him.\n\nAt last Maroba gave orders to the people to bury him alive, in a sitting\nposture, with an open book in his hands, and never to open his grave\nagain under penalty of his wrath and maledictions. After the burial\nof Maroba, Gunpati incarnated in his first-born, who began a conjuring\ncareer in his turn. So that Maroba-Deo I, was replaced by Chintaman-Deo\nI. This latter god had eight wives and eight sons. The tricks of the\neldest of these sons, Narayan-Deo I, became so celebrated that his fame\nreached the ears of the Emperor Alamgir. In order to test the extent of\nhis \"deification,\" Alamgir sent him a piece of a cow's tail wrapped in\nrich stuffs and coverings. Now, to touch the tail of a dead cow is the\nworst of all degradations for a Hindu. On receiving it Narayan sprinkled\nthe parcel with water, and, when the stuffs were unfolded, there was\nfound enclosed in them a nosegay of white syringa, instead of the\nungodly tail. This transformation rejoiced the Emperor so much that he\npresented the god with eight villages, to cover his private expenses.\nNarayan's social position and property were inherited by Chintaman-Deo\nII., whose heir was Dharmadhar, and, lastly, Narayan II came into\npower. He drew down the malediction of Gunpati by violating the grave\nof Maroba. That is why his son, the last of the gods, is to die without\nissue.\n\nWhen we saw him he was an aged man, about ninety years old. He was\nseated on a kind of platform. His head shook and his eyes idiotically\nstared without seeing us, the result of his constant use of opium. On\nhis neck, ears, and toes, shone precious stones, and all around were\nspread offerings. We had to take off our shoes before we were allowed to\napproach this half-ruined relic.----\n\n\nOn the evening of the same day we returned to Bombay. Two days later we\nwere to start on our long journey to the North-West Provinces, and our\nroute promised to be very attractive. We were to see Nassik, one of the\nfew towns mentioned by Greek historians, its caves, and the tower of\nRama; to visit Allahabad, the ancient Prayaga, the metropolis of the\nmoon dynasty, built at the confluence of the Ganges and Jumna; Benares,\nthe town of five thousand temples and as many monkeys; Cawnpur,\nnotorious for the bloody revenge of Nana Sahib; the remains of the city\nof the sun, destroyed, according to the computations of Colebrooke, six\nthousand years ago; Agra and Delhi; and then, having explored Rajistan\nwith its thousand Takur castles, fortresses, ruins, and legends, we were\nto go to Lahore, the metropolis of the Punjab, and, lastly, to stay for\na while in Amritsar. There, in the Golden Temple, built in the centre\nof the \"Lake of Immortality,\" was to be held the first meeting of the\nmembers of our Society, Brahmans, Buddhists, Sikhs, etc.--in a word,\nthe representatives of the one thousand and one sects of India, who all\nsympathized, more or less, with the idea of the Brotherhood of Humanity\nof our Theosophical Society.\n\n\n\n\nVanished Glories\n\n\nBenares, Prayaga (now Allahabad), Nassik, Hurdwar, Bhadrinath,\nMatura--these were the sacred places of prehistoric India which we were\nto visit one after the other; but to visit them, not after the usual\nmanner of tourists, a vol d'oiseau, with a cheap guide-book in our hands\nand a cicerone to weary our brains, and wear out our legs. We were well\naware that all these ancient places are thronged with traditions and\novergrown with the weeds of popular fancy, like ruins of ancient castles\ncovered with ivy; that the original shape of the building is destroyed\nby the cold embrace of these parasitic plants, and that it is as\ndifficult for the archaeologist to form an idea of the architecture\nof the once perfect edifice, judging only by the heaps of disfigured\nrubbish that cover the country, as for us to select from out the thick\nmass of legends good wheat from weeds. No guides and no cicerone could\nbe of any use whatever to us. The only thing they could do would be to\npoint out to us places where once there stood a fortress, a castle, a\ntemple, a sacred grove, or a celebrated town, and then to repeat legends\nwhich came into existence only lately, under the Mussulman rule. As to\nthe undisguised truth, the original history of every interesting spot,\nwe should have had to search for these by ourselves, assisted only by\nour own conjectures.\n\nModern India does not present a pale shadow of what it was in the\npre-Christian era, nor even of the Hindostan of the days of Akbar,\nShah-Jehan and Aurungzeb. The neighborhood of every town that has been\nshattered by many a war, and of every ruined hamlet, is covered with\nround reddish pebbles, as if with so many petrified tears of blood. But,\nin order to approach the iron gate of some ancient fortress, it is not\nover natural pebbles that it is necessary to walk, but over the broken\nfragments of some older granite remains, under which, very often, rest\nthe ruins of a third town, still more ancient than the last. Modern\nnames have been given to them by Mussulmans, who generally built their\ntowns upon the remains of those they had just taken by assault. The\nnames of the latter are sometimes mentioned in the legends, but the\nnames of their predecessors had completely disappeared from the popular\nmemory even before the Mussulman invasion. Will a time ever come\nfor these secrets of the centuries to be revealed? Knowing all this\nbeforehand, we resolved not to lose patience, even though we had to\ndevote whole years to explorations of the same places, in order to\nobtain better historical information, and facts less disfigured than\nthose obtained by our predecessors, who had to be contented with a\nchoice collection of naive lies, poured forth from the mouth of some\nfrightened semi-savage, or some Brahman, unwilling to speak and desirous\nof disguising the truth. As for ourselves, we were differently situated.\nWe were helped by a whole society of educated Hindus, who were as deeply\ninterested in the same questions as ourselves. Besides, we had a promise\nof the revelation of some secrets, and the accurate translation of some\nancient chronicles, that had been preserved as if by a miracle.\n\nThe history of India has long since faded from the memories of her sons,\nand is still a mystery to her conquerors. Doubtless it still exists,\nthough, perchance, only partly, in manuscripts that are jealously\nconcealed from every European eye. This has been shown by some\npregnant words, spoken by Brahmans on their rare occasions of friendly\nexpansiveness. Thus, Colonel Tod, whom I have already quoted several\ntimes, is said to have been told by a Mahant, the chief of an ancient\npagoda-monastery: \"Sahib, you lose your time in vain researches. The\nBellati India [India of foreigners] is before you, but you will\nnever see the Gupta India [secret India]. We are the guardians of her\nmysteries, and would rather cut out each other's tongues than speak.\"\n\nYet, nevertheless, Tod succeeded in learning a good deal. It must be\nborne in mind that no Englishman has ever been loved so well by the\nnatives as this old and courageous friend of the Maharana of Oodeypur,\nwho, in his turn, was so friendly towards the natives that the humblest\nof them never saw a trace of contempt in his demeanour. He wrote before\nethnology had reached its present stage of development, but his book\nis still an authority on everything concerning Rajistan. Though the\nauthor's opinion of his work was not very high, though he stated that\n\"it is nothing but a conscientious collection of materials for a future\nhistorian,\" still in this book is to be found many a thing undreamed of\nby any British civil servant.\n\n\"Let our friends smile incredulously. Let our enemies laugh at our\npretensions to penetrate the world-mysteries of Aryavarta,\" as a certain\ncritic recently expressed himself. However pessimistic may be our\ncritics' views, yet, even in the event of our conclusions not proving\nmore trustworthy than those of Fergusson, Wilson, Wheeler, and the rest\nof the archeologists and Sanskritists who have written about India,\nstill, I hope, they will not be less susceptible of proof. We are daily\nreminded that, like unreasonable children, we have undertaken a task\nbefore which archaeologists and historians, aided by all the influence\nand wealth of the Government, have shrunk dismayed; that we have taken\nupon ourselves a work which has proved to be beyond the capacities of\nthe Royal Asiatic Society.\n\nLet it be so.\n\nLet everyone try to remember, as we ourselves remember, that not very\nlong ago a poor Hungarian, who not only had no means of any kind but was\nalmost a beggar, traveled on foot to Tibet through unknown and dangerous\ncountries, led only by the love of learning and the eager wish to\npour light on the historical origin of his nation. The result was that\ninexhaustible mines of literary treasures were discovered. Philology,\nwhich till then had wandered in the Egyptian darkness of etymological\nlabyrinths, and was about to ask the sanction of the scientific world\nto one of the wildest of theories, suddenly stumbled on the clue of\nAriadne. Philology discovered, at last, that the Sanskrit language is,\nif not the forefather, at least--to use the language of Max Muller--\"the\nelder brother\" of all classical languages. Thanks to the extraordinary\nzeal of Alexander Csoma de Koros, Tibet yielded a language the\nliterature of which was totally unknown. He partly translated it and\npartly analyzed and explained it. His translations have shown the\nscientific world that (1) the originals of the Zend-Avesta, the sacred\nscriptures of the sun-worshippers, of Tripitaka, that of the Buddhists,\nand of Aytareya-Brahmanam, that of the Brahmans, were written in one and\nthe same Sanskrit language; (2) that all these three languages--Zend,\nNepalese, and the modern Brahman Sanskrit--are more or less dialects of\nthe first; (3) that old Sanskrit is the origin of all the less ancient\nIndo-European languages, as well as of the modern European\ntongues and dialects; (4) that the three chief religions of\nheathendom--Zoroastrianism, Buddhism and Brahmanism--are mere heresies\nof the monotheistic teachings of the Vedas, which does not prevent them\nfrom being real ancient religions and not modern falsifications.\n\nThe moral of all this is evident. A poor traveler, without either money\nor protection, succeeded in gaining admittance to the Lamaseries of\nTibet and to the sacred literature of the isolated tribe which inhabits\nit, probably because he treated the Mongolians and the Tibetans as\nhis brothers and not as an inferior race--a feat which has never been\naccomplished by generations of scientists. One cannot help feeling\nashamed of humanity and science when one thinks that he whose labors\nfirst gave to science such precious results, he who was the first sower\nof such an abundant harvest, remained, almost until the day of his\ndeath, a poor and obscure worker. On his way from Tibet he walked to\nCalcutta without a penny in his pocket. At last Csoma de Koros became\nknown, and his name began to be pronounced with honor and praise whilst\nhe was dying in one of the poorest parts of Calcutta. Being already very\nill, he wanted to get back to Tibet, and started on foot again through\nSikkhim. He succumbed to his illness on the road and was buried in\nDarhjeeling.\n\nIt is needless to say we are fully aware that what we have undertaken is\nsimply impossible within the limits of ordinary newspaper articles.\nAll we hope to accomplish is to lay the foundation stone of an edifice,\nwhose further progress must be entrusted to future generations. In order\nto combat successfully the theories worked out by two generations of\nOrientalists, half a century of diligent labor would be required. And,\nin order to replace these theories with new ones, we must get new facts,\nfacts founded not on the chronology and false evidence of scheming\nBrahmans, whose interest is to feed the ignorance of European\nSanskritists (as, unfortunately, was the experience of Lieutenant\nWilford and Louis Jacolliot), but on indubitable proofs that are to\nbe found in inscriptions as yet undeciphered. The clue to these\ninscriptions Europeans do not possess, because, as I have already\nstated, it is guarded in MSS. which are as old as the inscriptions and\nwhich are almost out of reach. Even in case our hopes are realized and\nwe obtain this clue, a new difficulty will arise before us. We shall\nhave to begin a systematic refutation, page by page, of many a volume\nof hypotheses published by the Royal Asiatic Society. A work like\nthis might be accomplished by dozens of tireless, never-resting\nSanskritists--a class which, even in India, is almost as rare as white\nelephants.\n\nThanks to private contributions and the zeal of some educated Hindu\npatriots, two free classes of Sanskrit and Pali had already been\nopened--one in Bombay by the Theosophical Society, the other in Benares\nunder the presidency of the learned Rama-Misra-Shastri. In the present\nyear, 1882, the Theosophical Society has, altogether, fourteen schools\nin Ceylon and India.\n\nOur heads full of thoughts and plans of this kind, we, that is to say,\none American, three Europeans, and three natives, occupied a whole\ncarriage of the Great Indian Peninsular Railroad on our way to Nassik,\none of the oldest towns in India, as I have already mentioned, and\nthe most sacred of all in the eyes of the inhabitants of the Western\nPresidency. Nassik borrowed its name from the Sanskrit word \"Nasika,\"\nwhich means nose. An epic legend assures us that on this very spot\nLakshman, the eldest brother of the deified King Rama, cut off the nose\nof the giantess Sarpnaka, sister of Ravana, who stole Sita, the \"Helen\nof Troy\" of the Hindus.\n\nThe train stops six miles from the town, so that we had to finish our\njourney in six two-wheeled, gilded chariots, called ekkas, and drawn by\nbullocks. It was one o'clock A.M., but, in spite of the darkness of the\nhour, the horns of the animals were gilded and adorned with flowers,\nand brass bangles tinkled on their legs. Our waylay through ravines\novergrown with jungle, where, as our drivers hastened to inform\nus, tigers and other four-footed misanthropes of the forest played\nhide-and-seek. However, we had no opportunity of making the acquaintance\nof the tigers, but enjoyed instead a concert of a whole community of\njackals. They followed us step by step, piercing our ears with shrieks,\nwild laughter and barking. These animals are annoying, but so cowardly\nthat, though numerous enough to devour, not only all of us, but our\ngold-horned bullocks too, none of them dared to come nearer than the\ndistance of a few steps. Every time the long whip, our weapon against\nsnakes, alighted on the back of one of them, the whole horde disappeared\nwith unimaginable noise. Nevertheless, the drivers did not dispense with\na single one of their superstitious precautions against tigers. They\nchanted mantrams in unison, spread betel over the road as a token of\ntheir respect to the Rajas of the forest, and, after every couplet,\nmade the bullocks kneel and bow their heads in honor of the great gods.\nNeedless to say, the ekka, as light as a nutshell, threatened each time\nto fall with its passenger over the horns of the bullocks. We had to\nendure this agreeable way of traveling for five hours under a very dark\nsky. We reached the Inn of the Pilgrims in the morning at about six\no'clock.\n\nThe real cause of Nassik's sacredness, however, is not the mutilated\ntrunk of the giantess, but the situation of the town on the banks of\nthe Godavari, quite close to the sources of this river which, for some\nreason or other, are called by the natives Ganga (Ganges). It is to\nthis magic name, probably, that the town owes its numerous magnificent\ntemples, and the selectness of the Brahmans who inhabit the banks of\nthe river. Twice a year pilgrims flock here to pray, and on these solemn\noccasions the number of the visitors exceeds that of the inhabitants,\nwhich is only 35,000. Very picturesque, but equally dirty, are the\nhouses of the rich Brahmans built on both sides of the way from the\ncentre of the town to the Godavari. A whole forest of narrow pyramidal\ntemples spreads on both sides of the river. All these new pagodas\nare built on the ruins of those destroyed by the fanaticism of the\nMussulmans. A legend informs us that most of them rose from the ashes\nof the tail of the monkey god Hanuman. Retreating from Lanka, where\nthe wicked Ravana, having anointed the brave hero's tail with some\ncombustible stuff set it on fire, Hanuman, with a single leap through\nthe air, reached Nassik, his fatherland. And here the noble adornment\nof the monkey's back, burned almost entirely during the voyage, crumbled\ninto ashes, and from every sacred atom of these ashes, fallen to\nthe ground, there rose a temple.... And, indeed, when seen from\nthe mountain, these numberless pagodas, scattered in a most curious\ndisorderly way, look as if they had really been thrown down by handfuls\nfrom the sky. Not only the river banks and the surrounding country, but\nevery little island, every rock peeping from the water is covered\nwith temples. And not one of them is destitute of a legend of its\nown, different versions of which are told by every individual of the\nBrahmanical community according to his own taste--of course in the hope\nof a suitable reward.\n\nHere, as everywhere else in India, Brahmans are divided into two\nsects--worshippers of Shiva and worshippers of Vishnu--and between the\ntwo there is rivalry and warfare centuries old. Though the neighborhood\nof the Godavari shines with a twofold fame derived from its being the\nbirthplace of Hanuman and the theatre of the first great deeds of Rama,\nthe incarnation of Vishnu, it possesses as many temples dedicated to\nShiva as to Vishnu. The material of which the pagodas consecrated to\nShiva are constructed is black basalt. And it is, exactly, the color\nof the material which is the apple of discord in this case. The black\nmaterial is claimed by the Vaishnavas as their own, it being of the\nsame color as the burned tail of Rama's ally. They try to prove that\nthe Shivaites have no right to it. From the first days of their rule\nthe English inherited endless lawsuits between the fighting sectarians,\ncases decided in one law-court only to be transferred on appeal to\nanother, and always having their origin in this ill-omened tail and its\npretensions. This tail is a mysterious deus ex machina that directs all\nthe thoughts of the Nassik Brahmans pro and contra.\n\nOn the subject of this tail were written more reams of paper and\npetitions than in the quarrel about the goose between Ivan Ivanitch and\nIvan Nikiphoritch; and more ink and bile were spilt than there was mud\nin Mirgorod, since the creation of the universe. The pig that so happily\ndecided the famous quarrel in Gogol would be a priceless blessing to\nNassik, and the struggle for the tail. But unhappily even the \"pig\" if\nit hailed from \"Russia\" would be of no avail in India; for the English\nwould suspect it at once, and arrest it as a Russian spy!\n\nRama's bathing place is shown in Nassik. The ashes of pious Brahmans are\nbrought hither from distant parts to be thrown into the Godavari, and so\nto mingle for ever with the sacred waters of Ganges. In an ancient MS.\nthere is a statement of one of Rama's generals, who, somehow or other,\nis not mentioned in the Ramayana. This statement points to the river\nGodavari as the frontier between the kingdoms of Rama, King of Ayodya\n(Oude), and of Ravana, King of Lanka (Ceylon). Legends and the poem of\nRamayana state that this was the spot where Rama, while hunting, saw a\nbeautiful antelope, and, intending to make a present to his beloved Sita\nof its skin, entered the regions of his unknown neighbor. No doubt Rama,\nRavana, and even Hanuman, promoted, for some unexplained reason, to\nthe rank of a monkey, are historical personages who once had a real\nexistence. About fifty years ago it was vaguely suspected that the\nBrahmans possessed priceless MSS. It was reported that one of these\nMSS. treats of the prehistoric epoch when the Aryans first invaded the\ncountry, and began an endless war with the dark aborigines of southern\nIndia. But the religious fanaticism of the Hindus never allowed the\nEnglish Government to verify these reports.\n\nThe most interesting sights of Nassik are its cave-temples, about five\nmiles from the town. The day before we started thither, I certainly\ndid not dream that a \"tail\" would have to play an important part in\nour visit to Nassik, that, in this case, it would save me, if not from\ndeath, at least from disagreeable and perhaps dangerous bruises. This is\nhow it happened.\n\nAs the difficult task of ascending a steep mountain lay before us,\nwe decided to hire elephants. The best couple in the town was brought\nbefore us. Their owner assured us \"that the Prince of Wales had ridden\nupon them and was very contented.\" To go there and back and have them in\nattendance the whole day--in fact the whole pleasure-trip--was to cost\nus two rupees for each elephant. Our native friends, accustomed from\ninfancy to this way of riding, were not long in getting on the back of\ntheir elephant. They covered him like flies, with no predilection for\nthis or that spot of his vast back. They held on by all kinds of strings\nand ropes, more with their toes than their fingers, and, on the whole,\npresented a picture of contentment and comfort. We Europeans had to use\nthe lady elephant, as being the tamer of the two. On her back there\nwere two little benches with sloping seats on both sides, and not the\nslightest prop for our backs. The wretched, undergrown youngsters seen\nin European circuses give no idea of the real size of this noble beast.\nThe mahout, or driver, placed himself between the huge animal's ears\nwhilst we gazed at the \"perfected\" seats ready for us with an uneasy\nfeeling of distrust The mahout ordered his elephant to kneel, and it\nmust be owned that in climbing on her back with the aid of a small\nladder, I felt what the French call chair de poule. Our she-elephant\nanswered to the poetical name of \"Chanchuli Peri,\" the Active Fairy, and\nreally was the most obedient and the merriest of all the representatives\nof her tribe that I have ever seen. Clinging to each other we at last\ngave the signal for departure, and the mahout goaded the right ear of\nthe animal with an iron rod. First the elephant raised herself on her\nfore-legs, which movement tilted us all back, then she heavily rose on\nher hind ones, too, and we rolled forwards, threatening to upset the\nmahout. But this was not the end of our misfortunes. At the very\nfirst steps of Peri we slipped about in all directions, like quivering\nfragments of blancmange.\n\nThe journey came to a sudden pause. We were picked up in a hasty way,\nreplaced on our respective seats, during which proceeding Peri's trunk\nproved very active, and the journey continued. The very thought of the\nfive miles before us filled us with horror, but we would not give up\nthe excursion, and indignantly refused to be tied to our seats, as was\nsuggested by our Hindu companions, who could not suppress their merry\nlaughter.... However, I bitterly repented this display of vanity. This\nunusual mode of locomotion was something incredibly fantastical, and,\nat the same time, ridiculous. A horse carrying our luggage trotted\nby Peri's side, and looked, from our vast elevation, no bigger than a\ndonkey. At every mighty step of Peri we had to be prepared for all sorts\nof unexpected acrobatic feats, while jolted from one side to the\nother by her swinging gait. This experience, under the scorching\nsun, unavoidably induced a state of body and mind something between\nsea-sickness and a delirious nightmare. As a crown to our pleasures,\nwhen we began to ascend a tortuous little path over the stony slope of\na deep ravine, our Peri stumbled. This sudden shock caused me to lose my\nbalance altogether. I sat on the hinder part of the elephant's back,\nin the place of honor, as it is esteemed, and, once thoroughly shaken,\nrolled down like a log. No doubt, next moment I should have found myself\nat the bottom of the ravine, with some more or less sad loss to my\nbodily constitution, if it had not been for the wonderful dexterity and\ninstinct of the clever animal. Having felt that something was wrong she\ntwisted her tail round me, stopped instantaneously and began to kneel\ndown carefully. But my natural weight was too much for the thin tail\nof this kind animal. Peri did not lose hold of me, but, having at last\nknelt down, she moaned plaintively, though discreetly, thinking probably\nthat she had nearly lost her tail through being so generous. The mahout\nhurried to my rescue and then examined the damaged tail of his animal.\n\nWe now witnessed a scene that clearly showed us the coarse cunning,\ngreediness and cowardice of a low-class Hindu, of an outcast, as they\nare denominated here.\n\nThe mahout very indifferently and composedly examined Peri's tail, and\neven pulled it several times to make sure, and was already on the point\nof hoisting himself quietly into his usual place, when I had the unhappy\nthought of muttering something that expressed my regret and compassion.\nMy words worked a miraculous transformation in the mahout's behavior. He\nthrew himself on the ground, and rolled about like a demoniac, uttering\nhorrible wild groans. Sobbing and crying he kept on repeating that the\nMam-Sahib had torn off his darling Peri's tail, that Peri was damaged\nfor ever in everybody's estimation, that Peri's husband, the proud\nAiravati, lineal descendant of Indra's own favourite elephant, having\nwitnessed her shame, would renounce his spouse, and that she had better\ndie.... Yells and bitter tears were his only answer to all remonstrances\nof our companions. In vain we tried to persuade him that the \"proud\nAiravati\" did not show the slightest disposition to be so cruel, in vain\nwe pointed out to him that all this time both elephants stood quietly\ntogether, Airavati even at this critical moment rubbing his trunk\naffectionately against Peri's neck, and Peri not looking in the least\ndiscomfited by the accident to her tail. All this was of no avail! Our\nfriend Narayan lost his patience at last. He was a man of extraordinary\nmuscular strength and took recourse to a last original means. With one\nhand he threw down a silver rupee, with the other he seized the mahout's\nmuslin garment and hurled him after the coin. Without giving a thought\nto his bleeding nose, the mahout jumped at the rupee with the greediness\nof a wild beast springing upon its prey. He prostrated himself in the\ndust before us repeatedly, with endless \"salaams,\" instantly changing\nhis deep sorrow into mad joy. He gave another pull at the unfortunate\ntail and gladly declared that, thanks to the \"prayers of the sahib,\" it\nreally was safe; to demonstrate which he hung on to it, till he was torn\naway and put back on his seat.\n\n\"Is it possible that a single, miserable rupee can have been the cause\nof all this?\" we asked each other in utter bewilderment.\n\n\"Your astonishment is natural enough,\" answered the Hindus. \"We need\nnot express how ashamed and how disgusted we all feel at this voluntary\ndisplay of humiliation and greed. But do not forget that this wretch,\nwho certainly has a wife and children, serves his employer for twelve\nrupees a year, instead of which he often gets nothing but a beating.\nRemember also the long centuries of tyrannical treatment from Brahmans,\nfrom fanatical Mussulmans, who regard a Hindu as nothing better than an\nunclean reptile, and, nowadays, from the average Englishman, and maybe\nyou will pity this wretched caricature of humanity.\"\n\nBut the \"caricature\" in question evidently felt perfectly happy and\nnot in the least conscious of a humiliation of any kind. Sitting on the\nroomy forehead of his Peri, he was telling her of his unexpected wealth,\nreminding her of her \"divine\" origin, and ordering her to salute the\n\"sahibs\" with her trunk. Peri, whose spirits had been raised by the gift\nof a whole stick of sugar-cane from me, lifted her trunk backwards and\nplayfully blew into our faces.\n\nOn the threshold of the Nassik caves we bid good-bye to the modern\npigmy India, to the petty things of her everyday life, and to her\nhumiliations. We re-entered the unknown world of India, the great and\nthe mysterious.\n\nThe main caves of Nassik are excavated in a mountain bearing the name\nof Pandu-Lena, which points again to the undying, persistent, primaeval\ntradition that ascribes all such buildings to the five mythical (?)\nbrothers of prehistoric times. The unanimous opinion of archaeologists\nesteems these caves more interesting and more important than all the\ncaves of Elephanta and Karli put together. And, nevertheless--is it not\nstrange?--with the exception of the learned Dr. Wilson, who, it may be,\nwas a little too fond of forming hasty opinions, no archaeologist has,\nas yet, made so bold as to decide to what epoch they belong, by whom\nthey were erected, and which of the three chief religions of antiquity\nwas the one professed by their mysterious builders.\n\nIt is evident, however, that those who wrought here did not all belong\neither to the same generation or to the same sect. The first thing which\nstrikes the attention is the roughness of the primitive work, its huge\ndimensions, and the decline of the sculpture on the solid walls, whereas\nthe sculpture and carvings of the six colossi which prop the chief cave\non the second floor, are magnificently preserved and very elegant.\nThis circumstance would lead one to think that the work was begun\nmany centuries before it was finished. But when? One of the Sanskrit\ninscriptions of a comparatively recent epoch (on the pedestal of one of\nthe colossi) clearly points to 453 B.C. as the year of the building. At\nall events, Barth, Stevenson, Gibson, Reeves, and some other scientists,\nwho being Westerns can have none of the prejudices proper to the native\nPundits, have formed this conjecture on the basis of some astronomical\ndata. Besides, the conjunction of the planets stated in the inscription\nleaves no doubt as to the dates, it must be either 453 B.C., or 1734\nof our era, or 2640 B.C., which last is impossible, because Buddha and\nBuddhist monasteries are mentioned in the inscription. I translate some\nof the most important sentences:\n\n\"To the most Perfect and the Highest! May this be agreeable to Him! The\nson of King Kshaparata, Lord of the Kshatriya tribe and protector of\npeople, the Ruler of Dinik, bright as the dawn, sacrifices a hundred\nthousand cows that graze on the river Banasa, together with the river,\nand also the gift of gold by the builder of this holy shelter of gods,\nthe place of the curbing of the Brahmans' passions. There is no more\ndesirable place than this place, neither in Prabhasa, where accumulate\nhundreds of thousands of Brahmans repeating the sacred verse, nor in the\nsacred city Gaya, nor on the steep mountain near Dashatura, nor on the\nSerpents' Field in Govardhana, nor in the city Pratisraya where\nstands the monastery of Buddhists, nor even in the edifice erected by\nDepana-kara on the shores of the fresh water [?] sea. This place, giving\nincomparable favors, is agreeable and useful in all respects to the\nspotted deerskin of an ascetic. A safe boat given also by him who built\nthe gratuitous ferry daily transports to the well-guarded shore. By him\nalso who built the house for travelers and the public fountain, a gilded\nlion was erected by the ever-assaulted gate of this Govardhana, also\nanother [lion] by the ferry-boat, and another by Ramatirtha. Various\nkinds of food will always be found here by the scanty flock; for this\nflock more than a hundred kinds of herbs and thousands of mountain\nroots are stored by this generous giver. In the same Govardhana, in the\nluminous mountain, this second cave was dug by the order of the same\nbeneficent person, during the very year when the Sun, Shukra and Rahu,\nmuch respected by men, were in the full glory of their rise; it was in\nthis year that the gifts were offered. Lakshmi, Indra and Yama having\nblessed them, returned with shouts of triumph to their chariot, kept on\nthe way free from obstacles [the sky], by the force of mantrams. When\nthey [the gods] all left, poured a heavy shower.....\" and so on.\n\nRahn and Kehetti are the fixed stars which form the head and the tail\nof the constellation of the Dragon. Shukra is Venus. Lakshmi, Indra and\nYama stand here for the constellations of Virgo, Aquarius and Taurus,\nwhich are subject and consecrated to these three among the twelve higher\ndeities.\n\nThe first caves are dugout in a conical hillock about two hundred and\neighty feet from its base. In the chief of them stand three statues of\nBuddha; in the lateral ones a lingam and two Jaina idols. In the top\ncave there is a statue of Dharma Raja, or Yudhshtira, the eldest of the\nPandus, who is worshipped in a temple erected in his honor, between Pent\nand Nassik. Farther on is a whole labyrinth of cells, where Buddhist\nhermits probably lived, a huge statue of Buddha in a reclining posture.\nand another as big, but surrounded with pillars adorned with figures of\nvarious animals. Styles, epochs and sects are here as much mixed up and\nentangled as different trees in a thick forest.\n\nIt is very remarkable that almost all the cave temples of India are to\nbe found inside conical rocks and mountains. It is as though the ancient\nbuilders looked for such natural pyramids purposely. I noticed this\npeculiarity in Karli, and it is to be met with only in India. Is it\na mere coincidence, or is it one of the rules of the religious\narchitecture of the remote past? And which are the imitators--the\nbuilders of the Egyptian pyramids, or the unknown architects of the\nunder ground caves of India? In pyramids as well as in caves everything\nseems to be calculated with geometrical exactitude. In neither case are\nthe entrances ever at the bottom, but always at a certain distance from\nthe ground. It is well known that nature does not imitate art, and, as\na rule, art tries to copy certain forms of nature. And if, even in this\nsimilarity of the symbols of Egypt and India, nothing is to be found but\na coincidence, we shall have to own that coincidences are sometimes very\nextraordinary. Egypt has borrowed many things from India. We must not\nforget that nothing is known about the origin of the Pharaohs, and\nthat the few facts science has succeeded in discovering, far from\ncontradicting our theory, suggest India as the cradle of the Egyptian\nrace. In the days of remote antiquity Kalluka-Bhatta wrote: \"During the\nreign of Visvamitra, first king of the Soma-Vansha dynasty, after a five\ndays battle, Manu-Vena, the heir of ancient kings, was abandoned by the\nBrahmans, and emigrated with his army, and, having traversed Arya and\nBarria, at last reached the shores of Masra.....\"\n\nArya is Iran or Persia; Barria is an ancient name of Arabia; Masr or\nMasra is a name of Cairo, disfigured by Mussulmans into Misro and Musr.\n\nKalluka-Bhatta is an ancient writer. Sanskritists still quarrel over his\nepoch, wavering between 2,000 years B.C., and the reign of the Emperor\nAkbar (the time of John the Terrible and Elizabeth of England). On the\ngrounds of this uncertainty, the evidence of Kalluka-Bhatta might be\nobjected to. In this case, there are the words of a modern historian,\nwho has studied Egypt all his life, not in Berlin or London, like some\nother historians, but in Egypt, deciphering the inscriptions of the\noldest sarcophagi and papyri, that is to say, the words of Henry\nBrugsch-Bey:\n\n\"... I repeat, my firm conviction is that the Egyptians came from Asia\nlong before the historical period, having traversed the Suez promontory,\nthat bridge of all the nations, and found a new fatherland on the banks\nof the Nile.\"\n\nAn inscription on a Hammamat rock says that Sankara, the last Pharaoh of\nthe eleventh dynasty, sent a nobleman to Punt: \"I was sent on a ship to\nPunt, to bring back some aromatic gum, gathered by the princes of the\nRed Land.\"\n\nCommenting on this inscription, Brugsch-Bey explains that \"under the\nname of Punt the ancient inhabitants of Chemi meant a distant land\nsurrounded by a great ocean, full of mountains and valleys, and rich\nin ebony and other expensive woods, in perfumes, precious stones and\nmetals, in wild beasts, giraffes, leopards and big monkeys.\" The name of\na monkey in Egypt was Kaff, or Kafi, in Hebrew Koff, in Sanskrit Kapi.\n\nIn the eyes of the ancient Egyptians, this Punt was a sacred land,\nbecause Punt or Panuter was \"the original land of the gods, who left\nit under the leadership of A-Mon [Manu-Vena of Kalluka-Bhatta?] Hor and\nHator, and duly arrived in Chemi.\"\n\nHanuman has a decided family likeness to the Egyptian Cynocephalus, and\nthe emblem of Osiris and Shiva is the same. Qui vivra verra!\n\nOur return journey was very agreeable. We had adapted ourselves to\nPeri's movements and felt ourselves first-rate jockeys. But for a whole\nweek afterwards we could hardly walk.\n\n\n\n\nA City Of The Dead\n\n\n\nWhat would be your choice if you had to choose between being blind and\nbeing deaf? Nine people out of ten answer this question by positively\npreferring deafness to blindness. And one whose good fortune it has been\nto contemplate, even for a moment, some fantastic fairy-like corner of\nIndia, this country of lace-like marble palaces and enchanting gardens,\nwould willingly add to deafness, lameness of both legs, rather than lose\nsuch sights.\n\nWe are told that Saadi, the great poet, bitterly complained of his\nfriends looking tired and indifferent while he praised the beauty and\ncharm of his lady-love. \"If the happiness of contemplating her wonderful\nbeauty,\" remonstrated he, \"was yours, as it is mine, you could not\nfail to understand my verses, which, alas, describe in such meagre and\ninadequate terms the rapturous feelings experienced by every one who\nsees her even from a distance!\"\n\nI fully sympathize with the enamoured poet, but cannot condemn his\nfriends who never saw his lady-love, and that is why I tremble lest my\nconstant rhapsodies on India should bore my readers as much as Saadi\nbored his friends. But what, I pray you, is the poor narrator to do,\nwhen new, undreamed-of charms are daily discovered in the lady-love\nin question? Her darkest aspects, abject and immoral as they are, and\nsometimes of such a nature as to excite your horror--even these aspects\nare full of some wild poetry, of originality, which cannot be met with\nin any other country. It is not unusual for a European novice to shudder\nwith disgust at some features of local everyday life; but at the same\ntime these very sights attract and fascinate the attention like a\nhorrible nightmare. We had plenty of these experiences whilst our ecole\nbuissoniere lasted. We spent these days far from railways and from any\nother vestige of civilization. Happily so, because European civilization\ndoes not suit India any better than a fashionable bonnet would suit a\nhalf naked Peruvian maiden, a true \"daughter of Sun,\" of Cortes' time.\n\nAll the day long we wandered across rivers and jungles, passing villages\nand ruins of ancient fortresses, over local-board roads between Nassik\nand Jubblepore, traveling with the aid of bullock cars, elephants,\nhorses, and very often being carried in palks. At nightfall we put up\nour tents and slept anywhere. These days offered us an opportunity\nof seeing that man decidedly can surmount trying and even dangerous\nconditions of climate, though, perhaps, in a passive way, by mere force\nof habit. In the afternoons, when we, white people, were very nearly\nfainting with the roasting heat, in spite of thick cork topis and such\nshelter as we could procure, and even our native companions had to use\nmore than the usual supplies of muslin round their heads--the Bengali\nBabu traveled on horseback endless miles, under the vertical rays of the\nhot sun, bareheaded, protected only by his thick crop of hair. The sun\nhas no influence whatever on Bengali skulls. They are covered only on\nsolemn occasions, in cases of weddings and great festivities. Their\nturbans are useless adornments, like flowers in a European lady's hair.\n\nBengali Babus are born clerks; they invade all railroad stations, post\nand telegraph offices and Government law courts. Wrapped in their\nwhite muslin toga virilis, their legs bare up to the knees, their heads\nunprotected, they proudly loaf on the platforms of railway stations, or\nat the entrances of their offices, casting contemptuous glances on the\nMahrattis, who dearly love their numerous rings and lovely earrings in\nthe upper part of their right ears. Bengalis, unlike the rest of the\nHindus, do not paint sectarian signs on their foreheads. The only\ntrinket they do not completely despise is an expensive necklace; but\neven this is not common. Contrary to all expectations, the Mahrattis,\nwith all their little effeminate ways, are the bravest tribe of India,\ngallant and experienced soldiers, a fact which has been demonstrated\nby centuries of fighting; but Bengal has never as yet produced a single\nsoldier out of its sixty-five million inhabitants. Not a single Bengali\nis to be found in the native regiments of the British army. This is a\nstrange fact, which I refused to believe at first, but which has been\nconfirmed by many English officers and by Bengalis themselves. But with\nall this, they are far from being cowardly. Their wealthy classes do\nlead a somewhat effeminate life, but their zemindars and peasantry are\nundoubtedly brave. Disarmed by their present Government, the Bengali\npeasants go out to meet the tiger, which in their country is more\nferocious than elsewhere, armed only with a club, as composedly as they\nused to go with rifles and swords.\n\nMany out-of-the-way paths and groves which most probably had never\nbefore been trodden by a European foot, were visited by us during these\nshort days. Gulab-Lal-Sing was absent, but we were accompanied by a\ntrusted servant of his, and the welcome we met with almost everywhere\nwas certainly the result of the magic influence of his name. If the\nwretched, naked peasants shrank from us and shut their doors at our\napproach, the Brahmans were as obliging as could be desired.\n\nThe sights around Kandesh, on the way to Thalner and Mhau, are very\npicturesque. But the effect is not entirely due to Nature's beauty. Art\nhas a good deal to do with it, especially in Mussulman cemeteries. Now\nthey are all more or less destroyed and deserted, owing to the increase\nof the Hindu inhabitants around them, and to the Mussulman princes, once\nthe rightful lords of India, being expelled. Mussulmans of the present\nday are badly off and have to put up with more humiliations than even\nthe Hindus. But still they have left many memorials behind them, and,\namongst others, their cemeteries. The Mussulman fidelity to the dead is\na very touching feature of their character. Their devotion to those\nthat are gone is always more demonstrative than their affection for\nthe living members of their families, and almost entirely concentrates\nitself on their last abodes. In proportion as their notions of paradise\nare coarse and material, the appearance of their cemeteries is poetical,\nespecially in India. One may pleasantly spend whole hours in these\nshady, delightful gardens, amongst their white monuments crowned with\nturbans, covered with roses and jessamine and sheltered with rows of\ncypresses. We often stopped in such places to sleep and dine. A cemetery\nnear Thalner is especially attractive. Out of several mausoleums in a\ngood state of preservation the most magnificent is the monument of the\nfamily of Kiladar, who was hanged on the city tower by the order of\nGeneral Hislop in 1818. Four other mausoleums attracted our attention\nand we learned that one of them is celebrated throughout India. It is a\nwhite marble octagon, covered from top to bottom with carving, the\nlike of which could not be found even in Pere La Chaise. A Persian\ninscription on its base records that it cost one hundred thousand\nrupees.\n\nBy day, bathed in the hot rays of the sun, its tall minaret-like outline\nlooks like a block of ice against the blue sky. By night, with the aid\nof the intense, phosphorescent moonlight proper to India, it is still\nmore dazzling and poetical. The summit looks as if it were covered with\nfreshly fallen snow-crystals. Raising its slender profile above the dark\nbackground of bushes, it suggests some pure midnight apparition, soaring\nover this silent abode of destruction and lamenting what will never\nreturn. Side by side with these cemeteries rise the Hindu ghats,\ngenerally by the river bank. There really is something grand in the\nritual of burning the dead. Witnessing this ceremony the spectator is\nstruck with the deep philosophy underlying the fundamental idea of this\ncustom. In the course of an hour nothing remains of the body but a\nfew handfuls of ashes. A professional Brahman, like a priest of death,\nscatters these ashes to the winds over a river. The ashes of what once\nlived and felt, loved and hated, rejoiced and wept, are thus given back\nagain to the four elements: to Earth, which fed it during such a long\ntime and out of which it grew and developed; to Fire, emblem of purity,\nthat has just devoured the body in order that the spirit may be rid\nof everything impure, and may freely gravitate to the new sphere of\nposthumous existence, where every sin is a stumbling block on the way to\n\"Moksha,\" or infinite bliss; to Air, which it inhaled and through which\nit lived, and to Water, which purified it physically and spiritually,\nand is now to receive its ashes into her pure bosom.\n\nThe adjective \"pure\" must be understood in the figurative sense of the\nmantram. Generally speaking, the rivers of India, beginning with the\nthrice sacred Ganges, are dreadfully dirty, especially near villages and\ntowns.\n\nIn these rivers about two hundred millions of people daily cleanse\nthemselves from the tropical perspiration and dirt. The corpses of\nthose who are not worth burning are thrown in the same rivers, and their\nnumber is great, because it includes all Shudras, pariahs, and various\nother outcasts, as well as Brahman children under three years of age.\n\nOnly rich and high-born people are buried pompously. It is for them that\nthe sandal-wood fires are lit after sunset; it is for them that mantrams\nare chanted, and for them that the gods are invoked. But Shudras must\nnot listen on any account to the divine words dictated at the beginning\nof the world by the four Rishis to Veda Vyasa, the great theologian of\nAryavarta. No fires for them, no prayers. As during his life a Shudra\nnever approaches a temple nearer than seven steps, so even after death\nhe cannot be put on the same level with the \"twice-born.\"\n\nBrightly burn the fires, extending like a fiery serpent along the river.\nThe dark outlines of strange, wildly-fantastical figures silently move\namongst the flames. Sometimes they raise their arms towards the sky, as\nif in a prayer, sometimes they add fuel to the fires and poke them with\nlong iron pitchforks. The dying flames rise high, creeping and dancing,\nsputtering with melted human fat and shooting towards the sky whole\nshowers of golden sparks, which are instantly lost in the clouds of\nblack smoke.\n\nThis on the right side of the river. Let us now see what is going on\non the left. In the early hours of the morning, when the red fires, the\nblack clouds of miasmas, and the thin figures of the fakirs grow dim and\nvanish little by little, when the smell of burned flesh is blown away by\nthe fresh wind which rises at the approach of the dawn, when, in a word,\nthe right side of the river with its ghotas plunges into stillness\nand silence, to be reawakened when the evening comes, processions of a\ndifferent kind appear on the left bank. We see groups of Hindu men and\nwomen in sad, silent trains. They approach the river quietly. They\ndo not cry, and have no rituals to perform. We see two men carrying\nsomething long and thin, wrapped in an old red rug. Holding it by the\nhead and feet they swing it into the dirty, yellowish waves of the\nriver. The shock is so violent that the red rug flies open and we behold\nthe face of a young woman tinged with dark green, who quickly disappears\nin the river. Further on another group; an old man and two young women.\nOne of them, a little girl of ten, small, thin, hardly fully developed,\nsobs bitterly. She is the mother of a stillborn child, whose body is to\nbe thrown in the river. Her weak voice monotonously resounds over the\nshore, and her trembling hands are not strong enough to lift the poor\nlittle corpse that is more like a tiny brown kitten than a human being.\nThe old man tries to console her, and, taking the body in his own hands,\nenters the water and throws it right in the middle. After him both the\nwomen get into the river, and, having plunged seven times to purify\nthemselves from the touch of a dead body, they return home, their\nclothes dripping with wet. In the meanwhile vultures, crows and other\nbirds of prey gather in thick clouds and considerably retard the\nprogress of the bodies down the river. Occasionally some half-stripped\nskeleton is caught by the reeds, and stranded there helplessly for\nweeks, until an outcast, whose sad duty it is to busy himself all his\nlife long with such unclean work, takes notice of it, and catching it\nby the ribs with his long hook, restores it to its highway towards the\nocean.\n\nBut let us leave the river bank, which is unbearably hot in spite of\nthe early hour. Let us bid good-bye to the watery cemetery of the poor.\nDisgusting and heart-rending are such sights in the eyes of a European!\nAnd unconsciously we allow the light wings of reverie to transport us\nto the far North, to the peaceful village cemeteries where there are no\nmarble monuments crowned with turbans, no sandal-wood fires, no dirty\nrivers to serve the purpose of a last resting place, but where humble\nwooden crosses stand in rows, sheltered by old birches. How peacefully\nour dead repose under the rich green grass! None of them ever saw these\ngigantic palms, sumptuous palaces and pagodas covered with gold. But\non their poor graves grow violets and lilies of the valley, and in the\nspring evenings nightingales sing to them in the old birch-trees.\n\nNo nightingales ever sing for me, either in the neighboring groves, or\nin my own heart. The latter least of all.----\n\n\nLet us stroll along this wall of reddish stone. It will lead us to a\nfortress once celebrated and drenched with blood, now harmless and half\nruined, like many another Indian fortress. Flocks of green parrots,\nstartled by our approach, fly from under every cavity of the old wall,\ntheir wings shining in the sun like so many flying emeralds. This\nterritory is accursed by Englishmen. This is Chandvad, where, during\nthe Sepoy mutiny, the Bhils streamed from their ambuscades like a mighty\nmountain torrent, and cut many an English throat.\n\nTatva, an ancient Hindu book, treating of the geography of the times\nof King Asoka (250-300 B.C.), teaches us that the Mahratti territory\nspreads up to the wall of Chandvad or Chandor, and that the Kandesh\ncountry begins on the other side of the river. But English people do\nnot believe in Tatva or in any other authority and want us to learn that\nKandesh begins right at the foot of Chandor hillocks.----\n\n\nTwelve miles south-east from Chandvad there is a whole town of\nsubterranean temples, known under the name of Enkay-Tenkay. Here, again,\nthe entrance is a hundred feet from the base, and the hill is pyramidal.\nI must not attempt to give a full description of these temples, as this\nsubject must be worked out in a way quite impossible in a newspaper\narticle. So I shall only note that here all the statues, idols, and\ncarvings are ascribed to Buddhist ascetics of the first centuries after\nthe death of Buddha. I wish I could content myself with this statement.\nBut, unfortunately, messieurs les archeologues meet here with an\nunexpected difficulty, and a more serious one than all the difficulties\nbrought on them by the inconsistencies of all other temples put\ntogether.\n\nIn these temples there are more idols designated Buddhas than anywhere\nelse. They cover the main entrance, sit in thick rows along the\nbalconies, occupy the inner walls of the cells, watch the entrances\nof all the doors like monster giants, and two of them sit in the chief\ntank, where spring water washes them century after century without any\nharm to their granite bodies. Some of these Buddhas are decently clad,\nwith pyramidal pagodas as their head gear; others are naked; some sit,\nothers stand; some are real colossi, some tiny, some of middle size.\nHowever, all this would not matter; we may go so far as to overlook the\nfact of Gautama's or Siddhartha-Buddha's reform consisting precisely in\nhis earnest desire to tear up by the roots the Brahmanical idol-worship.\nThough, of course, we cannot help remembering that his religion remained\npure from idol-worship of any kind during centuries, until the Lamas of\nTibet, the Chinese, the Burmese, and the Siamese taking it into their\nlands disfigured it, and spoilt it with heresies. We cannot forget that,\npersecuted by conquer-ing Brahmans, and expelled from India, it\nfound, at last, a shelter in Ceylon where it still flourishes like the\nlegendary aloe, which is said to blossom once in its lifetime and then\nto die, as the root is killed by the exuberance of blossom, and the\nseeds cannot produce anything but weeds. All this we may overlook, as I\nsaid before. But the difficulty of the archaeologists still exists, if\nnot in the fact of idols being ascribed to early Buddhists, then in the\nphysiognomies, in the type of all these Enkay-Tenkay Buddhas. They all,\nfrom the tiniest to the hugest, are Negroes, with flat noses, thick\nlips, forty five degrees of the facial angle, and curly hair! There\nis not the slightest likeness between these Negro faces and any of the\nSiamese or Tibetan Buddhas, which all have purely Mongolian features\nand perfectly straight hair. This unexpected African type, unheard of in\nIndia, upsets the antiquarians entirely. This is why the archaeologists\navoid mentioning these caves. Enkay-Tenkay is a worse difficulty for\nthem than even Nassik; they find it as hard to conquer as the Persians\nfound Thermopylae.\n\nWe passed by Maleganva and Chikalval, where we examined an exceedingly\ncurious ancient temple of the Jainas. No cement was used in the building\nof its outer walls, they consist entirely of square stones, which are so\nwell wrought and so closely joined that the blade of the thinnest knife\ncannot be pushed between two of them; the interior of the temple is\nrichly decorated.\n\nOn our way back we did not stop in Thalner, but went straight on to\nGhara. There we had to hire elephants again to visit the splendid ruins\nof Mandu, once a strongly fortified town, about twenty miles due north\neast of this place. This time we got there speedily and safely. I\nmention this place because some time later I witnessed in its vicinity a\nmost curious sight, offered by the branch of the numerous Indian rites,\nwhich is generally called \"devil worship.\"\n\nMandu is situated on the ridge of the Vindhya Mountains, about two\nthousand feet above the surface of the sea. According to Malcolm's\nstatement, this town was built in A.D. 313, and for a long time was the\ncapital of the Hindu Rajas of Dhara. The historian Ferishtah points to\nMandu as the residence of Dilivan-Khan-Ghuri, the first King of Malwa,\nwho flourished in 1387-1405. In 1526 the town was taken by Bahadur-Shah,\nKing of Gujerat, but in 1570 Akbar won this town back, and a marble slab\nover the town gate still bears his name and the date of his visit.\n\nOn entering this vast city in its present state of solitude (the natives\ncall it the \"dead town\") we all experienced a peculiar feeling, not\nunlike the sensation of a man who enters Pompeii for the first time.\nEverything shows that Mandu was once one of the wealthiest towns of\nIndia. The town wall is thirty-seven miles long. Streets ran whole\nmiles, on their sides stand ruined palaces, and marble pillars lie on\nthe ground. Black excavations of the subterranean halls, in the coolness\nof which rich ladies spent the hottest hours of the day, peer from under\ndilapidated granite walls. Further on are broken stairs, dry tanks,\nwaterless fountains, endless empty yards, marble platforms, and\ndisfigured arches of majestic porches. All this is overgrown with\ncreepers and shrubs, hiding the dens of wild beasts. Here and there a\nwell-preserved wall of some palace rises high above the general wreck,\nits empty windows fringed with parasitic plants blinking and staring at\nus like sightless eyes, protesting against troublesome intruders. And\nstill further, in the very centre of the ruins, the heart of the dead\ntown sends forth a whole crop of broken cypresses, an untrimmed grove\non the place where heaved once so many breasts and clamoured so many\npassions.\n\nIn 1570 this town was called Shadiabad, the abode of happiness. The\nFranciscan missionaries, Adolf Aquaviva, Antario de Moncerotti, and\nothers, who came here in that very year as an embassy from Goa to seek\nvarious privileges from the Mogul Government, described it over and over\nagain. At this epoch it was one of the greatest cities of the world,\nwhose magnificent streets and luxurious ways used to astonish the most\npompous courts of India. It seems almost incredible that in such a short\nperiod nothing should remain of this town but the heaps of rubbish,\namongst which we could hardly find room enough for our tent. At last we\ndecided to pitch it in the only building which remained in a tolerable\nstate of preservation, in Yami-Masjid, the cathedral-mosque, on a\ngranite platform about twenty-five steps higher than the square. The\nstairs, constructed of pure marble like the greater part of the town\nbuildings, are broad and almost untouched by time, but the roof has\nentirely disappeared, and so we were obliged to put up with the stars\nfor a canopy. All round this building runs a low gallery supported by\nseveral rows of thick pillars. From a distance it reminds one, in spite\nof its being somewhat clumsy and lacking in proportion, of the Acropolis\nof Athens. From the stairs, where we rested for a while, there was a\nview of the mausoleum of Gushanga-Guri, King of Malwa, in whose reign\nthe town was at the culmination of its brilliancy and glory. It is a\nmassive, majestic, white marble edifice, with a sheltered peristyle and\nfinely carved pillars. This peristyle once led straight to the palace,\nbut now it is surrounded with a deep ravine, full of broken stones and\novergrown with cacti. The interior of the mausoleum is covered with\ngolden lettering of inscriptions from the Koran, and the sarcophagus\nof the sultan is placed in the middle. Close by it stands the palace\nof Baz-Bahadur, all broken to pieces--nothing now but a heap of dust\ncovered with trees.\n\nWe spent the whole day visiting these sad remains, and returned to\nour sheltering place a little before sunset, exhausted with hunger\nand thirst, but triumphantly carrying on our sticks three huge snakes,\nkilled on our way home. Tea and supper were waiting for us. To our great\nastonishment we found visitors in the tent. The Patel of the neighboring\nvillage--something between a tax-collector and a judge--and two\nzemindars (land owners) rode over to present us their respects and to\ninvite us and our Hindu friends, some of whom they had known previously,\nto accompany them to their houses. On hearing that we intended to spend\nthe night in the \"dead town\" they grew awfully indignant. They assured\nus it was highly dangerous and utterly impossible. Two hours later\nhyenas, tigers, and other beasts of prey were sure to come out from\nunder every bush and every ruined wall, without mentioning thousands\nof jackals and wild cats. Our elephants would not stay, and if they did\nstay no doubt they would be devoured. We ought to leave the ruins as\nquickly as possible and go with them to the nearest village, which would\nnot take us more than half an hour. In the village everything had been\nprepared for us, and our friend the Babu was already there, and getting\nimpatient at our delay.\n\nOnly on hearing this did we become aware that our bareheaded and\ncautious friend was conspicuous by his absence. Probably he had left\nsome time ago, without consulting us, and made straight to the village\nwhere he evidently had friends. Sending for us was a mere trick of his.\nBut the evening was so sweet, and we felt so comfortable, that the idea\nof upsetting all our plans for the morning was not at all attractive.\nBesides, it seemed quite ridiculous to think that the ruins, amongst\nwhich we had wandered several hours without meeting anything more\ndangerous than a snake, swarmed with wild animals. So we smiled and\nreturned thanks, but would not accept the invitation.\n\n\"But you positively must not dare to stay here,\" insisted the fat Patel.\n\"In case of accident, I shall be responsible for you to the Government.\nIs it possible you do not dread a sleepless night spent in fighting\njackals, if not something worse? You do not believe that you are\nsurrounded with wild animals..... It is true they are invisible until\nsunset, but nevertheless they are dangerous. If you do not believe us,\nbelieve the instinct of your elephants, who are as brave as you, but a\nlittle more reasonable. Just look at them!\"\n\nWe looked. Truly, our grave, philosophic-looking elephants behaved very\nstrangely at this moment. Their lifted trunks looked like huge points of\ninterrogation. They snorted and stamped restively. In another minute one\nof them tore the thick rope, with which he was tied to a broken pillar,\nmade a sudden volte-face with all his heavy body, and stood against the\nwind, sniffing the air. Evidently he perceived some dangerous animal in\nthe neighborhood.\n\nThe colonel stared at him through his spectacles and whistled very\nmeaningly.\n\n\"Well, well,\" remarked he, \"what shall we do if tigers really assault\nus?\"\n\n\"What shall we do indeed?\" was my thought. \"Takur Gulab-Lal-Sing is not\nhere to protect us.\"\n\nOur Hindu companions sat on the carpet after their oriental fashion,\nquietly chewing betel. On being asked their opinion, they said they\nwould not interfere with our decision, and were ready to do exactly as\nwe liked. But as for the European portion of our party, there was no use\nconcealing the fact that we were frightened, and we speedily prepared to\nstart. Five minutes later we mounted the elephants, and, in a quarter\nof an hour, just when the sun disappeared behind the mountain and heavy\ndarkness instantaneously fell, we passed the gate of Akbar and descended\ninto the valley.\n\nWe were hardly a quarter of a mile from our abandoned camping place when\nthe cypress grove resounded with shrieking howls of jackals, followed\nby a well-known mighty roar. There was no longer any possibility\nof doubting. The tigers were disappointed at our escape. Their\ndiscontentment shook the very air, and cold perspiration stood on\nour brows. Our elephant sprang forward, upsetting the order of our\nprocession and threatening to crush the horses and their riders before\nus. We ourselves, however, were out of danger. We sat in a strong\nhowdah, locked as in a dungeon.\n\n\"It is useless to deny that we have had a narrow escape!\" remarked the\ncolonel, looking out of the window at some twenty servants of the Patel,\nwho were busily lighting torches.\n\n\n\n\nBrahmanic Hospitalities\n\n\n\nIn an hour's time we stopped at the gate of a large bungalow, and were\nwelcomed by the beaming face of our bareheaded Bengali. When we were\nall safely gathered on the verandah, he explained to us that, knowing\nbeforehand that our \"American pigheadedness\" would not listen to any\nwarning, he had dodged up this little scheme of his own and was very\nglad he had been successful.\n\n\"Now let us go and wash our hands, and then to supper. And,\" he added,\naddressing me, \"was it not your wish to be present at a real Hindu meal?\nThis is your opportunity. Our host is a Brahman, and you are the first\nEuropeans who ever entered the part of his house inhabited by the\nfamily.\"----\n\nWho amongst Europeans ever dreamed of a country where every step, and\nthe least action of everyday life, especially of the family life, is\ncontrolled by religious rites and cannot be performed except according\nto a certain programme? India is this country. In India all the\nimportant incidents of a man's life, such as birth, reaching certain\nperiods of a child's life, marriage, fatherhood, old age and death,\nas well as all the physical and physiological functions of everyday\nroutine, like morning ablutions, dressing, eating, et tout ce qui s'en\nsuit, from a man's first hour to his last sigh, everything must be\nperformed according to a certain Brahmanical ritual, on penalty of\nexpulsion from his caste. The Brahmans may be compared to the musicians\nof an orchestra in which the different musical instruments are the\nnumerous sects of their country. They are all of a different shape and\nof a different timbre; but still every one of them obeys the same leader\nof the band. However widely the sects may differ in the interpretation\nof their sacred books, however hostile they may be to each other,\nstriving to put forward their particular deity, every one of them,\nobeying blindly the ancient custom, must follow like musicians the same\ndirecting wand, the laws of Manu. This is the point where they all meet\nand form a unanimous, single-minded community, a strongly united mass.\nAnd woe to the one who breaks the symphony by a single discordant note!\nThe elders and the caste or sub-caste councils (of these there are any\nnumber), whose members hold office for life, are stern rulers. There is\nno appeal against their decisions, and this is why expulsion from\nthe caste is a calamity, entailing truly formidable consequences. The\nexcommunicated member is worse off than a leper, the solidarity of the\ncastes in this respect being something phenomenal. The only thing that\ncan bear any comparison with it is the solidarity of the disciples of\nLoyola. If members of two different castes, united by the sincerest\nfeelings of respect and friendship, may not intermarry, may not dine\ntogether, are forbidden to accept a glass of water from each other, or\nto offer each other a hookah, it becomes clear how much more severe all\nthese restrictions must be in the case of an excommunicated person. The\npoor wretch must literally die to everybody, to the members of his own\nfamily as to strangers. His own household, his father, wife, children,\nare all bound to turn their faces from him, under the penalty of\nbeing excommunicated in their turn. There is no hope for his sons and\ndaughters of getting married, however innocent they may be of the sin of\ntheir father.\n\nFrom the moment of \"excommunication\" the Hindu must totally disappear.\nHis mother and wife must not feed him, must not let him drink from the\nfamily well. No member of any existing caste dares to sell him his food\nor cook for him. He must either starve or buy eatables from outcasts\nand Europeans, and so incur the dangers of further pollution. When the\nBrahmanical power was at its zenith, such acts as deceiving, robbing and\neven killing this wretch were encouraged, as he was beyond the pale of\nthe laws. Now, at all events, he is free from the latter danger, but\nstill, even now, if he happens to die before he is forgiven and received\nback into his caste, his body may not be burned, and no purifying\nmantrams will be chanted for him; he will be thrown into the water, or\nleft to rot under the bushes like a dead cat.\n\nThis is a passive force, and its passiveness only makes it more\nformidable. Western education and English influence can do nothing\nto change it. There exists only one course of action for the\nexcommunicated; he must show signs of repentance and submit to all kinds\nof humiliations, often to the total loss of all his worldly possessions.\nPersonally, I know several young Brahmans, who, having brilliantly\npassed the university examinations in England, have had to submit to the\nmost repulsive conditions of purification on their return home; these\npurifications consisting chiefly in shaving off half their moustaches\nand eyebrows, crawling in the dust round pagodas, clinging during\nlong hours to the tail of a sacred cow, and, finally, swallowing the\nexcrements of this cow. The latter ceremony is called \"Pancha-Gavya,\"\nliterally, the five products of the cow: milk, curds, butter, etc.\nThe voyage over Kalapani, the black water, that is to say the sea, is\nconsidered the worst of all the sins. A man who commits it is considered\nas polluting himself continually, from the first moment of his going on\nboard the bellati (foreign) ship.\n\nOnly a few days ago a friend of ours, who is an LL.D., had to\nundergo this \"purgation,\" and it nearly cost him his reason. When we\nremonstrated with him, pointing out that in his case it was simply\nfoolish to submit, he being a materialist by conviction and not caring\na straw for Brahmanism, he replied that he was bound to do so for the\nfollowing reasons:\n\n\"I have two daughters,\" he explained, \"one five, the other six years\nold. If I do not find a husband for the eldest of them in the course of\nthe coming year, she will grow too old to get married, nobody will think\nof espousing her. Suppose I suffer my caste to excommunicate me, both\nmy girls will be dishonored and miserable for the rest of their lives.\nThen, again, I must take into consideration the superstitions of my old\nmother. If such a misfortune befell me, it would simply kill her.....\"\n\nBut why should he not free himself from every bond to Brahmanism and\ncaste? Why not join, once for all, the ever-growing community of men\nwho are guilty of the same offence? Why not ask all his family to form a\ncolony and join the civilization of the Europeans?\n\nAll these are very natural questions, but unfortunately there is no\ndifficulty in finding reasons for answering them in the negative.\n\nThere were thirty-two reasons given why one of Napoleon's marshals\nrefused to besiege a certain fortress, but the first of these reasons\nwas the absence of gunpowder, and so it excluded the necessity of\ndiscussing the remaining thirty-one. Similarly the first reason why a\nHindu cannot be Europeanized is quite sufficient, and does not call for\nany additional ones. This reason is that by doing so a Hindu would\nnot improve his position. Were he such an adept of science as to rival\nTyndall, were he such a clever politician as to eclipse the genius of\nDisraeli and Bismarck, as soon as he actually had given up his caste and\nkinsmen, he would indubitably find himself in the position of Mahomet's\ncoffin; metaphorically speaking, he would hang half-way between the\nearth and the sky.\n\nIt would be an utter injustice to suppose that this state of things\nis the result of the policy of the English Government; that the said\nGovernment is afraid of giving a chance to natives who may be suspected\nof being hostile to the British rule. In reality, the Government has\nlittle or nothing to do with it. This state of things must be attributed\nentirely to the social ostracism, to the contempt felt by a \"superior\"\nfor an \"inferior\" race, a contempt deeply rooted in some members of\nthe Anglo-Indian society and displayed at the least provocation.\nThis question of racial \"superiority\" and \"inferiority\" plays a\nmore important part than is generally believed, even in England.\nNevertheless, the natives (Mussulmans included) do not deserve contempt,\nand so the gulf between the rulers and the ruled widens with every year,\nand long centuries would not suffice to fill it up.\n\nI have to dwell upon all this to give my readers a clear idea on the\nsubject. And so it is no wonder the ill-fated Hindus prefer\ntemporary humiliations and the physical and moral sufferings of the\n\"purification,\" to the prospect of general contempt until death. These\nwere the questions we discussed with the Brahmans during the two hours\nbefore dinner.\n\nDining with foreigners and people belonging to different castes is, no\ndoubt, a dangerous breach of Manu's sacred precepts. But this time, for\nonce, it was easily explained. First, the stout Patel, our host, was\nthe head of his caste, and so was beyond the dread of excommunication;\nsecondly, he had already taken all the prescribed and advisable\nprecautions against being polluted by our presence. He was a\nfree-thinker in his own way, and a friend of Gulab-Lal-Sing, and so\nhe rejoiced at the idea of showing us how much skillful sophistry and\nstrategical circumspection can be used by adroit Brahmans to avoid the\nlaw in some circumstances, while adhering at the same time to its dead\nletter. Besides, our good-natured, well-favored host evidently desired\nto obtain a diploma from our Society, being well aware that the\ncollector of his district was enrolled amongst our members.\n\nThese, at any rate, were the explanations of our Babu when we expressed\nour astonishment; so it was our concern to make the most of our\nchance, and to thank Providence for this rare opportunity. And this we\naccordingly did.\n\nHindus take their food only twice a day, at ten o'clock in the morning\nand at nine in the evening. Both meals are accompanied by complicated\nrites and ceremonies. Even very young children are not allowed to eat\nat odd times, eating without the prescribed performance of certain\nexorcisms being considered a sin. Thousands of educated Hindus have long\nceased to believe in all these superstitious customs, but, nevertheless,\nthey are daily practised.\n\nSham Rao Bahunathji, our host, belonged to the ancient caste of Patarah\nPrabhus, and was very proud of his origin. Prabhu means lord, and this\ncaste descends from the Kshatriyas. The first of them was Ashvapati (700\nB.C.), a lineal descendant of Rama and Prithu, who, as is stated in the\nlocal chronology, governed India in the Dvapara and Treta Yugas, which\nis a good while ago! The Patarah Prabhus are the only caste within which\nBrahmans have to perform certain purely Vedic rites, known under the\nname of the \"Kshatriya rites.\" But this does not prevent their being\nPatans, instead of Patars, Patan meaning the fallen one. This is\nthe fault of King Ashvapati. Once, when distributing gifts to holy\nanchorites, he inadvertently forgot to give his due to the great Bhrigu.\nThe offended prophet and seer declared to him that his reign was\ndrawing near its end, and that all his posterity would perish. The king,\nthrowing himself on the ground, implored the prophet's pardon. But his\ncurse had worked its fulfilment already. All that he could do to\nstop the mischief consisted in a solemn promise not to let the king's\ndescendants disappear completely from the earth. However, the Patars\nsoon lost their throne and their power. Since then they have had to\n\"live by their pens,\" in the employment of many successive governments,\nto exchange their name of Patars for Patans, and to lead a humbler life\nthan many of their late subjects. Happily for our talkative Amphitryon,\nhis forefathers became Brahmans, that is to say \"went through the golden\ncow.\"\n\nThe expression \"to live by their pens\" alludes, as we learned later on,\nto the fact of the Patans occupying all the small Government posts in\nthe Bombay Presidency, and so being dangerous rivals of the Bengali\nBabus since the time of British rule. In Bombay the Patan clerks reach\nthe considerable figure of five thousand. Their complexion is darker\nthan the complexion of Konkan Brahmans, but they are handsomer and\nbrighter. As to the mysterious expression, \"went through the golden\ncow,\" it illustrates a very curious custom. The Kshatriyas, and even\nthe much-despised Shudras, may become a sort of left-hand Brahmans. This\nmetamorphosis depends on the will of the real Brahmans, who may, if they\nlike, sell this right for several hundreds or thousands of cows. When\nthe gift is accomplished, a model cow, made of pure gold, is erected\nand made sacred by the performance of some mystical ceremonies. The\ncandidate must now crawl through her hollow body three times, and thus\nis transformed into a Brahman. The present Maharaja of Travankor, and\neven the great Raja of Benares, who died recently, were both Shudras who\nacquired their rights in this manner. We received all this information\nand a notion of the legendary Patar chronicle from our obliging host.\n\nHaving announced that we must now get ready for dinner, he disappeared\nin the company of all the gentlemen of our party. Being left to\nourselves, Miss X---- and I decided to have a good look at the house\nwhilst it was empty. The Babu, being a downright, modern Bengali, had\nno respect for the religious preparations for dinner, and chose to\naccompany us, proposing to explain to us all that we should otherwise\nfail to understand.\n\nThe Prabhu brothers always live together, but every married couple have\nseparate rooms and servants of their own. The habitation of our host\nwas very spacious. There were small several bungalows, occupied by\nhis brothers, and a chief building containing rooms for visitors, the\ngeneral dining-room, a lying-in ward, a small chapel with any number\nof idols, and so on. The ground floor, of course, was surrounded by a\nverandah pierced with arches leading to a huge hall. All round this hall\nwere wooden pillars adorned with exquisite carving. For some reason or\nother, it struck me that these pillars once belonged to some palace of\nthe \"dead town.\" On close examination I only grew more convinced that\nI was right. Their style bore no traces of Hindu taste; no gods, no\nfabulous monster animals, only arabesques and elegant leaves and flowers\nof nonexistent plants. The pillars stood very close to each other, but\nthe carvings prevented them from forming an uninterrupted wall, so that\nthe ventilation was a little too strong. All the time we spent at the\ndinner table miniature hurricanes whistled from behind every pillar,\nwaking up all our old rheumatisms and toothaches, which had peacefully\nslumbered since our arrival in India.\n\nThe front of the house was thickly covered with iron horseshoes--the\nbest precaution against evil spirits and evil eyes.\n\nAt the foot of a broad, carved staircase we came across a couch or a\ncradle, hung from the ceiling by iron chains. I saw somebody lying on\nit, whom, at first sight, I mistook for a sleeping Hindu, and was going\nto retreat discreetly, but, recognizing my old friend Hanuman, I grew\nbold and endeavored to examine him. Alas! the poor idol possessed only a\nhead and neck, the rest of his body was a heap of old rags.\n\nOn the left side of the verandah there were many more lateral rooms,\neach with a special destination, some of which I have mentioned already.\nThe largest of these rooms was called \"vattan,\" and was used exclusively\nby the fair sex. Brahman women are not bound to spend their lives\nunder veils, like Mussulman women, but still they have very little\ncommunication with men, and keep aloof. Women cook the men's food, but\ndo not dine with them. The elder ladies of the family are often held in\ngreat respect, and husbands sometimes show a shy courteousness towards\ntheir wives, but still a woman has no right to speak to her husband\nbefore strangers, nor even before the nearest relations, such as her\nsisters and her mother.\n\nAs to the Hindu widows, they really are the most wretched creatures in\nthe whole world. As soon as a woman's husband dies she must have her\nhair and her eyebrows shaven off. She must part with all her trinkets,\nher earrings, her nose jewels, her bangles and toe-rings. After this is\ndone she is as good as dead. The lowest outcast would not marry her. A\nman is polluted by her slightest touch, and must immediately proceed to\npurify himself. The dirtiest work of the household is her duty, and she\nmust not eat with the married women and the children. The \"sati,\" the\nburning of the widows, is abolished, but Brahmans are clever managers,\nand the widows often long for the sati.\n\nAt last, having examined the family chapel, full of idols, flowers, rich\nvases with burning incense, lamps hanging from its ceiling, and aromatic\nherbs covering its floor, we decided to get ready for dinner. We\ncarefully washed ourselves, but this was not enough, we were requested\nto take off our shoes. This was a somewhat disagreeable surprise, but a\nreal Brahmanical supper was worth the trouble.\n\nHowever, a truly amazing surprise was still in store for us.\n\nOn entering the dining-room we stopped short at the entrance--both our\nEuropean companions were dressed, or rather undressed, exactly like\nHindus! For the sake of decency they kept on a kind of sleeveless\nknitted vest, but they were barefooted, wore the snow-white Hindu dhutis\n(a piece of muslin wrapped round to the waist and forming a petticoat),\nand looked like something between white Hindus and Constantinople\ngarcons de bains. Both were indescribably funny, I never saw anything\nfunnier. To the great discomfiture of the men, and the scandal of the\ngrave ladies of the house, I could not restrain myself, but burst out\nlaughing. Miss X----blushed violently and followed my example.\n\nA quarter of an hour before the evening meal every Hindu, old or young,\nhas to perform a \"puja\" before the gods. He does not change his clothes,\nas we do in Europe, but takes off the few things he wore during the day.\nHe bathes by the family well and loosens his hair, of which, if he is\na Mahratti or an inhabitant of the Dekkan, he has only one long lock at\nthe top of his shaven head. To cover the body and the head whilst eating\nwould be sinful. Wrapping his waist and legs in a white silk dhuti,\nhe goes once more to salute the idols and then sits down to his\nmeal.----\n\n\nBut here I shall allow myself to digress. \"Silk possesses the property\nof dismissing the evil spirits who inhabit the magnetic fluids of the\natmosphere,\" says the Mantram, book v., verse 23. And I cannot help\nwondering whether this apparent superstition may not contain a deeper\nmeaning. It is difficult, I own, to part with our favorite theories\nabout all the customs of ancient heathendom being mere ignorant\nsuperstitions. But have not some vague notions of these customs being\nfounded originally on a true knowledge of scientific principles found\ntheir way amongst European scientific circles? At first sight the idea\nseems untenable. But why may we not suppose that the ancients prescribed\nthis observance in the full knowledge that the effect of electricity\nupon the organs of digestion is truly beneficial? People who have\nstudied the ancient philosophy of India with a firm resolve to penetrate\nthe hidden meaning of its aphorisms have for the most part grown\nconvinced that electricity and its effects were known to a considerable\nextent to some philosophers, as, for instance, to Patanjali. Charaka and\nSushruta had pro-pounded the system of Hippocrates long before the time\nof him who in Europe is supposed to be the \"father of medicine.\" The\nBhadrinath temple of Vishnu possesses a stone bearing evident proof of\nthe fact that Surya-Sidhanta knew and calculated the expansive force of\nsteam many centuries ago. The ancient Hindus were the first to determine\nthe velocity of light and the laws of its reflection; and the table of\nPythagoras and his celebrated theorem of the square of hypotenuse are to\nbe found in the ancient books of Jyotisha. All this leads us to suppose\nthat ancient Aryans, when instituting the strange custom of wearing\nsilk during meals, had something serious in view, more serious, at all\nevents, than the \"dismissing of demons.\"\n\n\n\nHaving entered the \"refectory,\" we immediately noticed what were the\nHindu precautions against their being polluted by our presence. The\nstone floor of the hall was divided into two equal parts. This division\nconsisted of a line traced in chalk, with Kabalistic signs at either\nend. One part was destined for the host's party and the guests belonging\nto the same caste, the other for ourselves. On our side of the hall\nthere was yet a third square to contain Hindus of a different caste. The\nfurniture of the two bigger squares was exactly similar. Along the two\nopposite walls there were narrow carpets spread on the floor, covered\nwith cushions and low stools. Before every occupant there was an oblong\non the bare floor, traced also with chalk, and divided, like a chess\nboard, into small quadrangles which were destined for dishes and plates.\nBoth the latter articles were made of the thick strong leaves of the\nbutea frondosa: larger dishes of several leaves pinned together with\nthorns, plates and saucers of one leaf with its borders turned up.\nAll the courses of the supper were already arranged on each square; we\ncounted forty-eight dishes, containing about a mouthful of forty-eight\ndifferent dainties. The materials of which they were composed were\nmostly terra incognita to us, but some of them tasted very nice. All\nthis was vegetarian food. Of meat, fowl, eggs and fish there appeared no\ntraces. There were chutneys, fruit and vegetables preserved in vinegar\nand honey, panchamrits, a mixture of pampello-berries, tamarinds, cocoa\nmilk, treacle and olive oil, and kushmer, made of radishes, honey and\nflour; there were also burning hot pickles and spices. All this was\ncrowned with a mountain of exquisitely cooked rice and another mountain\nof chapatis, which are something like brown pancakes. The dishes stood\nin four rows, each row containing twelve dishes; and between the rows\nburned three aromatic sticks of the size of a small church taper.\nOur part of the hall was brightly lit with green and red candles. The\nchandeliers which held these candles were of a very queer shape. They\neach represented the trunk of a tree with a seven-headed cobra wound\nround it. From each of the seven mouths rose a red or a green wax candle\nof spiral form like a corkscrew. Draughts blowing from behind every\npillar fluttered the yellow flames, filling the roomy refectory with\nfantastic moving shadows, and causing both our lightly-clad gentlemen\nto sneeze very frequently. Leaving the dark silhouettes of the Hindus\nin comparative obscurity, this unsteady light made the two white figures\nstill more conspicuous, as if making a masquerade of them and laughing\nat them.\n\nThe relatives and friends of our host came in one after the other. They\nwere all naked down to the waist, all barefooted, all wore the triple\nBrahmanical thread and white silk dhutis, and their hair hung loose.\nEvery sahib was followed by his own servant, who carried his cup, his\nsilver, or even gold, jug filled with water, and his towel. All of them,\nhaving saluted the host, greeted us, the palms of their hands pressed\ntogether and touching their foreheads, their breasts, and then the\nfloor. They all said to us: \"Ram-Ram\" and \"Namaste\" (salutation to\nthee), and then made straight for their respective seats in perfect\nsilence. Their civilities reminded me that the custom of greeting each\nother with the twice pronounced name of some ancestor was usual in the\nremotest antiquity.\n\nWe all sat down, the Hindus calm and stately, as if preparing for some\nmystic celebration, we ourselves feeling awkward and uneasy, fearing to\nprove guilty of some unpardonable blunder. An invisible choir of women's\nvoices chanted a monotonous hymn, celebrating the glory of the gods.\nThese were half a dozen nautch-girls from a neighboring pagoda. To this\naccompaniment we began satisfying our appetites. Thanks to the Babu's\ninstructions, we took great care to eat only with our right hands. This\nwas somewhat difficult, because we were hungry and hasty, but quite\nnecessary. Had we only so much as touched the rice with our left hands\nwhole hosts of Rakshasas (demons) would have been attracted to take part\nin the festivity that very moment; which, of course, would send all the\nHindus out of the room. It is hardly necessary to say that there were no\ntraces of forks, knives or spoons. That I might run no risk of\nbreaking the rule I put my left hand in my pocket and held on to my\npocket-handkerchief all the time the dinner lasted.\n\nThe singing lasted only a few minutes. During the rest of the time a\ndead silence reigned amongst us. It was Monday, a fast day, and so\nthe usual absence of noise at meal times had to be observed still more\nstrictly than on any other day. Usually a man who is compelled to break\nthe silence by some emergency or other hastens to plunge into water\nthe middle finger of his left hand, which till then had remained hidden\nbehind his back, and to moisten both his eyelids with it. But a really\npious man would not be content with this simple formula of purification;\nhaving spoken, he must leave the dining-room, wash thoroughly, and then\nabstain from food for the remainder of the day.\n\nThanks to this solemn silence, I was at liberty to notice everything\nthat was going on with great attention. Now and again, whenever I caught\nsight of the colonel or Mr. Y----, I had all the difficulty in the world\nto preserve my gravity. Fits of foolish laughter would take possession\nof me when I observed them sitting erect with such comical solemnity and\nworking so awkwardly with their elbows and hands. The long beard of the\none was white with grains of rice, as if silvered with hoar-frost,\nthe chin of the other was yellow with liquid saffron. But unsatisfied\ncuriosity happily came to my rescue, and I went on watching the quaint\nproceedings of the Hindus.\n\nEach of them, having sat down with his legs twisted under him, poured\nsome water with his left hand out of the jug brought by the servant,\nfirst into his cup, then into the palm of his right hand. Then he\nslowly and carefully sprinkled the water round a dish with all kinds\nof dainties, which stood by itself, and was destined, as we learned\nafterwards, for the gods. During this procedure each Hindu repeated a\nVedic mantram. Filling his right hand with rice, he pronounced a new\nseries of couplets, then, having stored five pinches of rice on the\nright side of his own plate, he once more washed his hands to avert the\nevil eye, sprinkled more water, and pouring a few drops of it into his\nright palm, slowly drank it. After this he swallowed six pinches of\nrice, one after the other, murmuring prayers all the while, and wetted\nboth his eyes with the middle finger of his left hand. All this done,\nhe finally hid his left hand behind his back, and began eating with the\nright hand. All this took only a few minutes, but was performed very\nsolemnly.\n\nThe Hindus ate with their bodies bent over the food, throwing it up and\ncatching it in their mouths so dexterously that not a grain of rice\nwas lost, not a drop of the various liquids spilt. Zealous to show\nhis consideration for his host, the colonel tried to imitate all these\nmovements. He contrived to bend over his food almost horizontally, but,\nalas! he could not remain long in this position. The natural weight of\nhis powerful limbs overcame him, he lost his balance and nearly tumbled\nhead foremost, dropping his spectacles into a dish of sour milk and\ngarlic. After this unsuccessful experience the brave American gave up\nall further attempts to become \"Hinduized,\" and sat very quietly.\n\nThe supper was concluded with rice mixed with sugar, powdered peas,\nolive oil, garlic and grains of pomegranate, as usual. This last\ndainty is consumed hurriedly. Everyone nervously glances askance at his\nneighbor, and is mortally afraid of being the last to finish, because\nthis is considered a very bad sign. To conclude, they all take some\nwater into their mouths, murmuring prayers the while, and this time they\nmust swallow it in one gulp. Woe to the one who chokes! 'Tis a clear\nsign that a bhuta has taken possession of his throat. The unfortunate\nman must run for his life and get purified before the altar.\n\nThe poor Hindus are very much troubled by these wicked bhutas, the\nsouls of the people who have died with ungratified desires and earthly\npassions. Hindu spirits, if I am to believe the unanimous assertions\nof one and all, are always swarming round the living, always ready to\nsatisfy their hunger with other people's mouths and gratify their impure\ndesires with the help of organs temporarily stolen from the living. They\nare feared and cursed all over India. No means to get rid of them\nare despised. The notions and conclusions of the Hindus on this\npoint categorically contradict the aspirations and hopes of Western\nspiritualists.\n\n\"A good and pure spirit, they are confident, will not let his soul\nrevisit the earth, if this soul is equally pure. He is glad to die and\nunite himself to Brahma, to live an eternal life in Svarga (heaven) and\nenjoy the society of the beautiful Gandharvas or singing angels. He is\nglad to slumber whole eternities, listening to their songs, whilst his\nsoul is purified by a new incarnation in a body, which is more perfect\nthan the one the soul abandoned previously.\"\n\nThe Hindus believe that the spirit or Atma, a particle of the GREAT\nALL, which is Parabrahm, cannot be punished for sins in which it never\nparticipated. It is Manas, the animal intelligence, and the animal\nsoul or Jiva, both half material illusions, that sin and suffer and\ntransmigrate from one body into the other till they purify themselves.\nThe spirit merely overshadows their earthly transmigrations. When the\nEgo has reached the final state of purity, it will be one with the Atma,\nand gradually will merge and disappear in Parabrahm.\n\nBut this is not what awaits the wicked souls. The soul that does not\nsucceed in getting rid of earthly cares and desires before the death of\nthe body is weighed down by its sins, and, instead of reincarnating in\nsome new form, according to the laws of metempsychosis, it will remain\nbodiless, doomed to wander on earth. It will become a bhuta, and by its\nown sufferings will cause unutterable sufferings to its kinsmen. That is\nwhy the Hindu fears above all things to remain bodiless after his death.\n\n\"It is better for one to enter the body of a tiger, of a dog, even of a\nyellow-legged falcon, after death, than to become a bhuta!\" an old Hindu\nsaid to me on one occasion. \"Every animal possesses a body of his own\nand a right to make an honest use of it. Whereas the bhutas are doomed\ndakoits, brigands and thieves, they are ever watching for an opportunity\nto use what does not belong to them. This is a horrible state--a horror\nindescribable. This is the true hell. What is this spiritualism they\ntalk so much of in the West? Is it possible the intelligent English and\nAmericans are so mad as this?\"\n\nAnd all our remonstrances notwithstanding, he refused to believe that\nthere are actually people who are fond of bhutas, who would do much to\nattract them into their homes.\n\nAfter supper the men went again to the family well to wash, and then\ndressed themselves.\n\nUsually at this hour of the night the Hindus put on clean malmalas,\na kind of tight shirt, white turbans, and wooden sandals with knobs\npressed between the toes. These curious shoes are left at the door\nwhilst their owners return to the hall and sit down along the walls\non carpets and cushions to chew betel, smoke hookahs and cheroots, to\nlisten to sacred reading, and to witness the dances of the nautches.\nBut this evening, probably in our honor, all the Hindus dressed\nmagnificently. Some of them wore darias of rich striped satin, no end of\ngold bangles, necklaces mounted with diamonds and emeralds, gold watches\nand chains, and transparent Brahmanical scarfs with gold embroidery.\nThe fat fingers and the right ear of our host were simply blazing with\ndiamonds.\n\nThe women, who waited on us during the meal, disappeared afterwards\nfor a considerable time. When they came back they also were luxuriously\noverdressed and were introduced to us formally as the ladies of the\nhouse. They were five: the wife of the host, a woman of twenty-six or\ntwenty-seven years of age, then two others looking somewhat younger, one\nof whom carried a baby, and, to our great astonishment, was introduced\nas the married daughter of the hostess; then the old mother of the host\nand a little girl of seven, the wife of one of his brothers. So that our\nhostess turned out to be a grandmother, and her sister-in-law, who was\nto enter finally into matrimony in from two to three years, might have\nbecome a mother before she was twelve. They were all barefooted, with\nrings on each of their toes, and all, with the exception of the old\nwoman, wore garlands of natural flowers round their necks and in their\njet black hair. Their tight bodices, covered with embroidery, were so\nshort that between them and the sari there was a good quarter of a yard\nof bare skin. The dark, bronze-coloured waists of these well-shaped\nWomen were boldly presented to any one's examination and reflected the\nlights of the room. Their beautiful arms and their ankles were covered\nwith bracelets. At the least of their movements they all set up a\ntinkling silvery sound, and the little sister-in-law, who might easily\nbe mistaken for an automaton doll, could hardly move under her load of\nornaments. The young grandmother, our hostess, had a ring in her left\nnostril, which reached to the lower part of the chin. Her nose was\nconsiderably disfigured by the weight of the gold, and we noticed how\nunusually handsome she was only when she took it off to enable herself\nto drink her tea with some comfort.\n\nThe dances of the nautch girls began. Two of them were very pretty.\nTheir dancing consisted chiefly in more or less expressive movements\nof their eyes, their heads, and even their ears, in fact, of the whole\nupper part of their bodies. As to their legs, they either did not move\nat all or moved with such a swiftness as to appear in a cloud of mist.\n\nAfter this eventful day I slept the sleep of the just.\n\n\n\nAfter many nights spent in a tent, it is more than agreeable to sleep in\na regular bed, even if it is only a hanging one. The pleasure would, no\ndoubt, have been considerably increased had I but known I was resting on\nthe couch of a god. But this latter circumstance was revealed to me only\nin the morning, when descending the staircase I suddenly discovered\nthe poor general en chef, Hanuman, deprived of his cradle and\nunceremoniously stowed away under the stairs. Decidedly, the Hindus of\nthe nineteenth century are a degenerate and blaspheming race!\n\nIn the course of the morning we learned that this swinging throne of\nhis, and an ancient sofa, were the only pieces of furniture in the whole\nhouse that could be transformed into beds.\n\nNeither of our gentlemen had spent a comfortable night. They slept in an\nempty tower that was once the altar of a decayed pagoda and was situated\nbehind the main building. In assigning to them this strange resting\nplace, the host was guided by the praiseworthy intention of protecting\nthem from the jackals, which freely penetrate into all the rooms of the\nground floor, as they are pierced by numberless arches and have no\ndoor and no window frames. The jackals, however, did not trouble the\ngentlemen much that night, except by giving their nightly concert. But\nboth Mr. Y---- and the colonel had to fight all the night long with a\nvampire, which, besides being a flying fox of an unusual size, happened\nto be a spirit, as we learned too late, to our great misfortune.\n\nThis is how it happened. Noiselessly hovering about the tower, the\nvampire from time to time alighted on the sleepers, making them shudder\nunder the disgusting touch of his cold sticky wings. His intention\nclearly was to get a nice suck of European blood. They were wakened by\nhis manipulations at least ten times, and each time frightened him away.\nBut, as soon as they were dozing again, the wretched bat was sure to\nreturn and perch on their shoulders, heads, or legs. At last Mr. Y----,\nlosing patience, had recourse to strong measures; he caught him and\nbroke his neck.\n\nFeeling perfectly innocent, the gentlemen mentioned the tragic end of\nthe troublesome flying fox to their host, and instantly drew down on\ntheir heads all the thunder-clouds of heaven.\n\nThe yard was crowded with people. All the inhabitants of the house stood\nsorrowfully drooping their heads, at the entrance of the tower. Our\nhost's old mother tore her hair in despair, and shrieked lamentations in\nall the languages of India. What was the matter with them all? We were\nat our wits' end. But when we learned the cause of all this, there was\nno limit to our confusion.\n\nBy certain mysterious signs, known only to the family Brahman, it had\nbeen decided ten years ago that the soul of our host's elder brother had\nincarnated in this blood-thirsty vampire-bat. This fact was stated as\nbeing beyond any doubt. For nine years the late Patarah Prabhu existed\nunder this new shape, carrying out the laws of metempsychosis. He spent\nthe hours between sunrise and the sunset in an old pipal-tree before the\ntower, hanging with his head downwards. But at night he visited the\nold tower and gave fierce chase to the insects that sought rest in\nthis out-of-the-way corner. And so nine years were spent in this happy\nexistence, divided between sleep, food, and the gradual redemption of\nold sins committed in the shape of a Patarah Prabhu. And now? Now his\nlistless body lay in the dust at the entrance of his favorite tower,\nand his wings were half devoured by the rats. The poor old woman, his\nmother, was mad with sorrow, and cast, through her tears, reproachful,\nangry looks at Mr. Y----, who, in his new capacity of a heartless\nmurderer, looked disgustingly composed.\n\nBut the affair was growing serious. The comical side of it disappeared\nbefore the sincerity and the intensity of her lamentations. Her\ndescendants, grouped around her, were too polite to reproach us openly,\nbut the expression of their faces was far from reassuring. The family\npriest and astrologer stood by the old lady, Shastras in hand, ready to\nbegin the ceremony of purification. He solemnly covered the corpse with\na piece of new linen, and so hid from our eyes the sad remains on which\nants were literally swarming.\n\nMr. Y---- did his best to look unconcerned, but still, when the tactless\nMiss X---- came to him, expressing her loud indignation at all these\nsuperstitions of an inferior race, he at least seemed to remember that\nour host knew English perfectly, and he did not encourage her farther\nexpressions of sympathy. He made no answer, but smiled contemptuously.\nOur host approached the colonel with respectful salaams and invited us\nto follow him.\n\n\"No doubt he is going to ask us to leave his house immediately!\" was my\nuncomfortable impression.\n\nBut my apprehension was not justified. At this epoch of my Indian\npilgrimage I was far, as yet, from having fathomed the metaphysical\ndepth of a Hindu heart.\n\nSham Rao began by delivering a very far-fetched, eloquent preface.\nHe reminded us that he, personally, was an enlightened man, a man who\npossessed all the advantages of a Western education. He said that, owing\nto this, he was not quite sure that the body of the vampire was actually\ninhabited by his late brother. Darwin, of course, and some other great\nnaturalists of the West, seemed to believe in the transmigration of\nsouls, but, as far as he understood, they believed in it in an inverse\nsense; that is to say, if a baby had been born to his mother exactly at\nthe moment of the vampire's death, this baby would indubitably have\nhad a great likeness to a vampire, owing to the decaying atoms of the\nvampire being so close to her.\n\n\"Is not this an exact interpretation of the Darwinian school?\" he asked.\n\nWe modestly answered that, having traveled almost incessantly during the\nlast year, we could not help being a bit behindhand in the questions\nof modern science, and that we were not able to follow its latest\nconclusions.\n\n\"But I have followed them!\" rejoined the good-natured Sham Rao, with a\ntouch of pomposity. \"And so I hope I may be allowed to say that I have\nunderstood and duly appreciated their most recent developments. I have\njust finished studying the magnificent Anthropogenesis of Haeckel,\nand have carefully discussed in my own mind his logical, scientific\nexplanations of the origin of man from inferior animal forms through\ntransformation. And what is this transformation, pray, if not the\ntransmigration of the ancient and modern Hindus, and the metempsychosis\nof the Greeks?\"\n\nWe had nothing to say against the identity, and even ventured to observe\nthat, according to Haeckel, it does look like it.\n\n\"Exactly!\" exclaimed he joyfully. \"This shows that our conceptions are\nneither silly nor superstitious, as is maintained by some opponents\nof Manu. The great Manu, anticipated Darwin and Haeckel. Judge for\nyourself; the latter derives the genesis of man from a group of\nplastides, from the jelly-like moneron; this moneron, through the\nameoba, the ascidian, the brainless and heartless amphioxus, and so on,\ntransmigrates in the eighth remove into the lamprey, is transformed, at\nlast, into a vertebrate amniote, into a premammalian, into a marsupial\nanimal.... The vampire, in its turn, belongs to the species of\nvertebrates. You, being well read people all of you, cannot contradict\nthis statement.\" He was right in his supposition; we did not contradict\nit.\n\n\"In this case, do me the honor to follow my argument....\"\n\nWe did follow his argument with the greatest attention, but were at a\nloss to foresee whither it tended to lead us.\n\n\"Darwin,\" continued Sham Rao, \"in his Origin of Species, re-established\nalmost word for word the palin-genetic teachings of our Manu. Of this I\nam perfectly convinced, and, if you like, I can prove it to you book in\nhand. Our ancient law-giver, amongst other sayings, speaks as follows:\n'The great Parabrahm commanded man to appear in the universe, after\ntraversing all the grades of the animal kingdom, and springing primarily\nfrom the worm of the deep sea mud.' The worm be-came a snake, the snake\na fish, the fish a mammal, and so on. Is not this very idea at the\nbottom of Darwin's theory, when he maintains that the organic forms have\ntheir origin in more simple species, and says that the structureless\nprotoplasm born in the mud of the Laurentian and Silurian periods--the\nManu's 'mud of the seas,' I dare say--gradually transformed itself into\nthe anthropoid ape, and then finally into the human being?\"\n\nWe said it looked very like it.\n\n\"But, in spite of all my respect for Darwin and his eminent follower\nHaeckel, I cannot agree with their final conclusions, especially with\nthe conclusions of the latter,\" continued Sham Rao. \"This hasty and\nbilious German is perfectly accurate in copying the embryology of Manu\nand all the metamorphoses of our ancestors, but he forgets the evolution\nof the human soul, which, as it is stated by Manu, goes hand in hand\nwith the evolution of matter. The son of Swayambhuva, the Self Becoming,\nspeaks as follows: 'Everything created in a new cycle, in addition to\nthe qualities of its preceding transmigrations, acquires new qualities,\nand the nearer it approaches to man, the highest type of the earth, the\nbrighter becomes its divine spark; but, once it has become a Brahma, it\nwill enter the cycle of conscious transmigrations.' Do you realize what\nthat means? It means that from this moment, its transformations depend\nno longer on the blind laws of gradual evolution, but on the least of a\nman's actions, which brings either a reward or a punishment. Now you\nsee that it depends on the man's will whether, on the one hand, he will\nstart on the way to Moksha, the eternal bliss, passing from one Loka to\nanother till he reaches Brahmaloka, or, on the other, owing to his sins,\nwill be thrown back. You know that the average soul, once freed from\nearthly reincarnations, has to ascend from one Loka to another, always\nin the human shape, though this shape will grow and perfect itself with\nevery Loka. Some of our sects understood these Lokas to mean certain\nstars. These spirits, freed from earthly matter, are what we mean by\nPitris and Devas, whom we worship. And did not your Kabalists of the\nmiddle ages designate these Pitris under the expression Planetary\nSpirits? But, in the case of a very sinful man, he will have to\nbegin once more with the animal forms which he had already traversed\nunconsciously. Both Darwin and Haeckel lose sight of this, so to speak,\nsecond volume of their incomplete theory, but still neither of them\nadvances any argument to prove it false. Is it not so?\"\n\n\"Neither of them does anything of the sort, most assuredly.\"\n\n\"Why, in this case,\" exclaimed he, suddenly changing his colloquial tone\nfor an aggressive one, \"why am I, I who have studied the most modern\nideas of Western science, I who believe in its representatives--why am I\nsuspected, pray, by Miss X---- of belonging to the tribe of the\nignorant and superstitious Hindus? Why does she think that our perfected\nscientific theories are superstitions, and we ourselves a fallen\ninferior race?\"\n\nSham Rao stood before us with tears in his eyes. We were at a loss what\nto answer him, being confused to the last degree by this outburst.\n\n\"Mind you, I do not proclaim our popular beliefs to be infallible\ndogmas. I consider them as mere theories, and try to the best of my\nability to reconcile the ancient and the modern science. I formulate\nhypotheses just like Darwin and Haeckel. Besides, if I understood\nrightly, Miss X---- is a spiritualist, so she believes in bhutas. And,\nbelieving that a bhuta is capable of penetrating the body of a medium,\nhow can she deny that a bhuta, and more so a less sinful soul, may enter\nthe body of a vampire-bat?\"\n\nI own, this logic was a little too condensed for us, and so, avoiding a\ndirect answer to a metaphysical question of such delicacy, we tried to\napologize and excuse Miss X----'s rudeness as well as we could.\n\n\"She did not mean to offend you,\" we said, \"she only repeated a calumny,\nfamiliar to every European. Besides, if she had taken the trouble to\nthink it over, she probably would not have said it....\"\n\nLittle by little we succeeded in pacifying our host. He recovered his\nusual cheerfulness, but could not resist the temptation of adding a\nfew words to his long argumentation. He had just begun to reveal to us\ncertain peculiarities of his late brother's character, which induced him\nto be prepared, judging by the laws of atavism, to see their repetition\nin the propensities of a vampire bat, when Mr. Y----suddenly dashed in\non our small group and spoiled all the results of our conciliatory words\nby screaming at the top of his voice: \"The old woman has gone demented!\nShe keeps on cursing us and says that the murder of this wretched bat\nis only the forerunner of a whole series of misfortunes brought on her\nhouse by you, Sham Rao,\" said he, hastily addressing the bewildered\nfollower of Haackel. \"She says you have polluted your Brahmanical\nholiness by inviting us. Colonel, you had better send for the elephants.\nIn another moment all this crowd will be on us...\"\n\n\"For goodness' sake!\" exclaimed poor Sham Rao, \"have some consideration\nfor my feelings. She is an old woman, she has some superstitions, but\nshe is my mother. You are educated people, learned people... Advise me,\nshow me a way out of all these difficulties. What should you do in my\nplace?\"\n\n\"What should I do, sir?\" exclaimed Mr. Y----, completely put out of\ntemper by the utter ludicrousness of our awkward predicament. \"What\nshould I do? Were I a man in your position and a believer in all you\nare brought up to believe, I should take my revolver, and in the first\nplace, shoot all the vampire bats in the neighborhood, if only to rid\nall your late relations from the abject bodies of these creatures,\nand, in the second place, I should endeavor to smash the head of the\nconceited fraud in the shape of a Brahman who invented all this stupid\nstory. That is what I should do, sir!\"\n\nBut this advice did not content the miserable descendant of Rama. No\ndoubt he would have remained a long time undecided as to what course\nof action to adopt, torn as he was between the sacred feelings of\nhospitality, the innate fear of the Brahman-priest, and his own\nsuperstitions, if our ingenious Babu had not come to our rescue.\nLearning that we all felt more or less indignant at all this row, and\nthat we were preparing to leave the house as quickly as possible,\nhe persuaded us to stay, if only for an hour, saying that our hasty\ndeparture would be a terrible outrage upon our host, whom, in any case,\nwe could not find fault with. As to the stupid old woman, the Babu\npromised us to pacify her speedily enough: he had his own plans and\nviews. In the meantime, he said, we had better go and examine the ruins\nof an old fortress close by.\n\nWe obeyed very reluctantly, feeling an acute interest in his \"plans.\" We\nproceeded slowly. Our gentlemen were visibly out of temper. Miss X----\ntried to calm herself by talking more than usual, and Narayan, as\nphlegmatic as usual, indolently and good-naturedly chaffed her about\nher beloved \"spirits.\" Glancing back we saw the Babu accompanied by the\nfamily priest. Judging by their gestures they were engaged in some warm\ndiscussion. The shaven head of the Brahman nodded right and left, his\nyellow garment flapped in the wind, and his arms rose towards the sky,\nas if in an appeal to the gods to come down and testify to the truth of\nhis words.\n\n\"I'll bet you a thousand dollars, no plans of our Babu's will be of any\navail with this fanatic!\" confidently remarked the colonel as he lit his\npipe.\n\nBut we had hardly walked a hundred steps after this remark when we saw\nthe Babu running after us and signaling us to stop.\n\n\"Everything ended first-rate!\" screamed he, as soon as we could hear.\n\"You are to be thanked... You happen to be the true saviours and\nbenefactors of the deceased bhuta... You...\"\n\nOur Babu sank on the ground holding his narrow, panting breast with both\nhis hands, and laughed, laughed till we all burst into laughter too,\nbefore learning any-thing at all.\n\n\"Think of it,\" began the Babu, and stopped short, prevented from going\non by his exuberant hilarity. \"Just think of it! The whole transaction\nis to cost me only ten rupees.... I offered five at first... but he\nwould not.... He said this was a sacred matter..... But ten he could not\nresist! Ho, ho, ho....\"\n\nAt last we learned the story. All the metempsychoses depend on the\nimagination of the family Gurus, who receive for their kind offices\nfrom one hundred to one hundred and fifty rupees a year. Every rite is\naccompanied by a more or less considerable addition to the purse of the\ninsatiable family Brahman, but the happy events pay better than the\nsad ones. Knowing all this, the Babu asked the Brahman point-blank to\nperform a false samadhi, that is to say, to feign an inspiration and\nto announce to the sorrowing mother that her late son's will had acted\nconsciously in all the circumstances; that he brought about his end\nin the body of the flying fox, that he was tired of that grade of\ntransmigration, that he longed for death in order to attain a higher\nposition in the animal kingdom, that he is happy, and that he is deeply\nindebted to the sahib who broke his neck and so freed him from his\nabject embodiment.\n\nBesides, the observant eye of our all-knowing Babu had not failed to\nremark that a she-buffalo of the Guru's was expecting a calf, and that\nthe Guru was yearning to sell it to Sham Rao. This circumstance was\na trump card in the Babu's hand. Let the Guru announce, under the\ninfluence of samadhi, that the freed spirit intends to inhabit the body\nof the future baby-buffalo and the old lady will buy the new incarnation\nof her first-born as sure as the sun is bright. This announcement will\nbe followed by rejoicings and by new rites. And who will profit by all\nthis if not the family priest?\n\nAt first the Guru had some misgivings, and swore by everything sacred\nthat the vampire bat was veritably inhabited by the brother of Sham\nRao. But the Babu knew better than to give in. The Guru ended by\nunderstanding that his skillful opponent saw through his tricks, and\nthat he was well aware that the Shastras exclude the possibility of such\na transmigration. Growing alarmed, the Guru also grew meek, and asked\nonly ten rupees and a promise of silence for the performance of a\nsamadhi.\n\nOn our way back we were met at the gate by Sham Rao, who was simply\nradiant. Whether he was afraid of our laughing at him, or was at loss to\nfind an explanation of this new metamorphosis in the positive sciences\nin general, and Haeckel in particular, he did not attempt to explain why\nthe affair had taken such an unexpectedly good turn. He merely\nmentioned awkwardly enough that his mother, owing to some new mysterious\nconjectures of hers, had dismissed all sad apprehensions as to\nthe destiny of her elder son, and he then dropped the subject\ncompletely.----\n\n\nIn order to wipe away the traces of the morning's perplexities from our\nminds, Sham Rao invited us to sit on the verandah, by the wide entrance\nof his idol room, whilst the family prayers were going on. Nothing\ncould suit us better. It was nine o'clock, the usual time of the morning\nprayers. Sham Rao went to the well to get ready, and dress himself, as\nhe said, though the process was more like undressing. In a few moments\nhe came back wearing only a dhuti, as during dinner time, and with his\nhead uncovered. He went straight to his idol room. The moment he entered\nwe heard the loud stroke of a bell that hung under the ceiling, and that\ncontinued tolling all the time the prayers lasted.\n\nThe Babu explained to us that a little boy was pulling the bell rope\nfrom the roof.\n\nSham Rao stepped in with his right foot and very slowly. Then he\napproached the altar and sat on a little stool with his legs crossed.\nAt the opposite side of the room, on the red velvet shelves of an altar\nthat resembled an etagere in the drawing-room of some fashionable lady,\nstood many idols. They were made of gold, of silver, of brass and of\nmarble, according to their im-portance and merits. Maha-Deva or Shiva\nwas of gold. Gunpati or Ganesha of silver, Vishnu in the form of a round\nblack stone from the river Gandaki in Nepal. In this form Vishnu is\ncalled Lakshmi-Narayan. There were also many other gods unknown to us,\nwho were worshipped in the shapes of big sea-shells, called Chakra.\nSurya, the god of the sun, and the kula-devas, the domestic gods, were\nplaced in the second rank. The altar was sheltered by a cupola of carved\nsandal-wood. During the night the gods and the offerings were covered\nby a huge bell glass. On the walls there were many sacred images\nrepresenting the chief episodes in the biographies of the higher gods.\n\nSham Rao filled his left hand with ashes, murmuring prayers all the\nwhile, covered it for a second with the right one, then put some matter\nto the ashes, and mixing the two by rubbing his hands together, he\ntraced a line on his face with this mixture by moving the thumb of his\nright hand from his nose upwards, then from the middle of the forehead\nto the right temple, then back again to the left temple. Having done\nwith his face he proceeded to cover with wet ashes his throat, arms,\nshoulders, his back, head and ears. In one corner of the room stood a\nhuge bronze font filled with water. Sham Rao made straight to it and\nplunged into it three times, dhuti, head, and all, after which he came\nout looking exactly like a well-favored dripping wet Triton. He twisted\nthe only lock of hair on the top of his shaved head and sprinkled it\nwith water. This operation concluded the first act.\n\nThe second act began with religious meditations and with mantrams,\nwhich, by really pious people, must be repeated three times a day--at\nsunrise, at noon and at sunset. Sham Rao loudly pronounced the names of\ntwenty-four gods, and each name was accompanied by a stroke of the bell.\nHaving finished he first shut his eyes and stuffed his ears with cotton,\nthen pressed his left nostril with two fingers of his left hand, and\nhaving filled his lungs with air through the right nostril, pressed the\nlatter also. Then he tightly closed his lips, so that breathing became\nimpossible. In this position every pious Hindu must mentally repeat a\ncertain verse, which is called the Gayatri. These are sacred words which\nno Hindu will dare to pronounce aloud. Even in repeating them mentally\nhe must take every precaution not to inhale anything impure.\n\nI am bound by my word of honor never to repeat the whole of this prayer,\nbut I may quote a few unconnected sentences:\n\n\"Om... Earth... Heaven.... Let the adored light of.... [here follows a\nname which must not be pronounced] shelter me. Let thy Sun, O thou only\nOne, shelter me, the unworthy... I shut my eyes, I shut my ears, I do\nnot breathe... in order to see, hear and breathe thee alone. Throw light\nupon our thoughts [again the secret name]... \"\n\nIt is curious to compare this Hindu prayer with the celebrated prayer\nof Descartes' \"Meditation III\" in his L'Existence de Dieu. It runs as\nfollows, if I remember rightly:\n\n\"Now I shut my eyes, cover my ears, and dismiss all my five senses, I\nwill dwell on the thought of God alone, I will meditate on His quality\nand look on the beauty of this wondrous radiancy.\"\n\nAfter this prayer Sham Rao read many other prayers, holding with two\nfingers his sacred Brahmanical thread. After a while began the ceremony\nof \"the washing of the gods.\" Taking them down from the altar, one after\nthe other, according to their rank, Sham Rao first plunged them in the\nbig font, in which he had just bathed himself, and then bathed them in\nmilk in a smaller bronze font by the altar. The milk was mixed up with\ncurds, butter, honey, and sugar, and so it cannot be said that this\ncleansing served its purpose. No wonder we were glad to see that the\ngods underwent a second bathing in the first font and then were dried\nwith a clean towel.\n\nWhen the gods were arranged in their respective places, the Hindu traced\non them the sectarian signs with a ring from his left hand. He used\nwhite sandal paint for the lingam and red for Gunpati and Surya. Then he\nsprinkled them with aromatic oils and covered them with fresh flowers.\nThe long ceremony was finished by \"the awakening of the gods.\" A small\nbell was repeatedly rung under the noses of the idols, who, as the\nBrahman probably supposed, all went to sleep during this tedious\nceremony.\n\nHaving noticed, or fancied, which often amounts to the same thing,\nthat they were wide awake, he began offering them his daily sacrifices,\nlighting the incense and the lamps, and, to our great astonishment,\nsnapping his fingers from time to time, as if warning the idols to \"look\nout.\" Having filled the room with clouds of incense and fumes of burning\ncamphor, he scattered some more flowers over the altar and sat on the\nsmall stool for a while, murmuring the last prayers. He repeatedly held\nthe palms of his hands over the flame of the tapers and rubbed his face\nwith them. Then he walked round the altar three times, and, having knelt\nthree times, retreated backwards to the door.\n\nA little while before our host had finished his morning prayers the\nladies of the house came into the room. They brought each a small\nstool and sat in a row murmuring prayers and telling the beads of their\nrosaries.\n\nThe part played by the rosaries in India is as important as in all\nBuddhist countries. Every god has his favorite flower and his favorite\nmaterial for a rosary. The fakirs are simply covered with rosaries. The\nrosary is called mala and consists of one hundred and eight beads. Very\npious Hindus are not content to tell the beads when praying; they must\nhide their hands during this ceremony in a bag called gomukha, which\nmeans the cow's mouth.\n\nWe left the women to their prayers and followed our host to the cow\nhouse. The cow symbolizes the \"fostering earth,\" or Nature, and is\nworshipped accordingly. Sham Rao sat down by the cow and washed her\nfeet, first with her own milk, then with water. He gave her some sugar\nand rice, covered her forehead with powdered sandal, and adorned her\nhorns and four legs with chains of flowers. He burned some incense under\nher nostrils and brandished a burning lamp over her head. Then he walked\nthree times round her and sat down to rest. Some Hindus walk round the\ncow one hundred and eight times, rosary in hand. But our Sham Rao had\na slight tendency to freethinking, as we knew, and besides, he was too\nmuch of an admirer of Haeckel. Having rested himself, he filled a cup\nwith water, put in it the cow's tail for a moment, and then drank it!\n\nAfter this he performed the rite of worshipping the sun and the sacred\nplant tulsi. Unable to bring the god Surya from his heavenly altar and\nwash him in the sacred font, Sham Rao contented himself by filling\nhis own mouth with water, standing on one leg, and spirting this water\ntowards the sun. Needless to say it never reached the orb of day, but,\nvery unexpectedly, sprinkled us instead.----\n\n\nIt is still a mystery to us why the plant tulsi, Royal Basilicum, is\nworshipped. However, towards the end of September we yearly witnessed\nthe strange ceremony of the wedding of this plant with the god Vishnu,\nnotwithstanding that tulsi bears the title of Krishna's bride, probably\nbecause of the latter being an incarnation of Vishnu. On these occasions\npots of this plant are painted and adorned with tinsel. A magical circle\nis traced in the garden and the plant is put in the middle of it. A\nBrahman brings an idol of Vishnu and begins the marriage ceremony,\nstanding before the plant. A married couple hold a shawl between the\nplant and the god, as if screening them from each other, the Brahman\nutters prayers, and young women, and especially unmarried girls, who are\nthe most ardent worshippers of tulsi, throw rice and saffron over the\nidol and the plant. When the ceremony is concluded, the Brahman is\npresented with the shawl, the idol is put in the shade of his wife,\nthe Hindus clap their hands, rend everyone's ears with the noise of\ntom-toms, let off fireworks, offer each other pieces of sugar-cane, and\nrejoice in every conceivable way till the dawn of the next day.\n\n\n\n\nA Witch's Den\n\n\n\nOur kind host Sham Rao was very gay during the remaining hours of\nour visit. He did his best to entertain us, and would not hear of our\nleaving the neighborhood without having seen its greatest celebrity,\nits most interesting sight. A jadu wala--sorceress--well known in\nthe district, was just at this time under the influence of seven\nsister-goddesses, who took possession of her by turns, and spoke their\noracles through her lips. Sham Rao said we must not fail to see her, be\nit only in the interests of science.\n\nThe evening closes in, and we once more get ready for an excursion. It\nis only five miles to the cavern of the Pythia of Hindostan; the road\nruns through a jungle, but it is level and smooth. Besides, the jungle\nand its ferocious inhabitants have ceased to frighten us. The timid\nelephants we had in the \"dead city\" are sent home, and we are to mount\nnew behemoths belonging to a neighboring Raja. The pair, that stand\nbefore the verandah like two dark hillocks, are steady and trust worthy.\nMany a time these two have hunted the royal tiger, and no wild shrieking\nor thunderous roaring can frighten them. And so, let us start!\n\nThe ruddy flames of the torches dazzle our eyes and increase the forest\ngloom. Our surroundings seem so dark, so mysterious. There is something\nindescribably fascinating, almost solemn, in these night-journeys in\nthe out-of-the-way corners of India. Everything is silent and deserted\naround you, everything is dozing on the earth and overhead. Only the\nheavy, regular tread of the elephants breaks the stillness of the night,\nlike the sound of falling hammers in the underground smithy of Vulcan.\nFrom time to time uncanny voices and murmurs are heard in the black\nforest.\n\n\"The wind sings its strange song amongst the ruins,\" says one of us,\n\"what a wonderful acoustic phenomenon!\" \"Bhuta, bhuta!\" whisper the\nawestruck torch-bearers. They brandish their torches and swiftly spin on\none leg, and snap their fingers to chase away the aggressive spirits.\n\nThe plaintive murmur is lost in the distance. The forest is once more\nfilled with the cadences of its invisible nocturnal life--the metallic\nwhirr of the crickets, the feeble, monotonous croak of the tree-frog,\nthe rustle of the leaves. From time to time all this suddenly stops\nshort and then begins again, gradually increasing and increasing.\n\nHeavens! What teeming life, what stores of vital energy are hidden\nunder the smallest leaf, the most imperceptible blades of grass, in this\ntropical forest! Myriads of stars shine in the dark blue of the sky, and\nmyriads of fireflies twinkle at us from every bush, moving sparks, like\na pale reflection of the far-away stars.\n\nWe left the thick forest behind us, and reached a deep glen, on three\nsides bordered with the thick forest, where even by day the shadows are\nas dark as by night. We were about two thousand feet above the foot of\nthe Vindhya ridge, judging by the ruined wall of Mandu, straight above\nour heads. Suddenly a very chilly wind rose that nearly blew our torches\nout. Caught in the labyrinth of bushes and rocks, the wind angrily shook\nthe branches of the blossoming syringas, then, shaking itself free, it\nturned back along the glen and flew down the valley, howling, whistling\nand shrieking, as if all the fiends of the forest together were joining\nin a funeral song.\n\n\"Here we are,\" said Sham Rao, dismounting. \"Here is the village; the\nelephants cannot go any further.\"\n\n\"The village? Surely you are mistaken. I don't see anything but trees.\"\n\n\"It is too dark to see the village. Besides, the huts are so small,\nand so hidden by the bushes, that even by daytime you could hardly find\nthem. And there is no light in the houses, for fear of the spirits.\"\n\n\"And where is your witch? Do you mean we are to watch her performance in\ncomplete darkness?\"\n\nSham Rao cast a furtive, timid look round him; and his voice, when he\nanswered our questions, was somewhat tremulous.\n\n\"I implore you not to call her a witch! She may hear you.... It is\nnot far off, it is not more than half a mile. Do not allow this short\ndistance to shake your decision. No elephant, and even no horse, could\nmake its way there. We must walk.... But we shall find plenty of light\nthere.... \"\n\nThis was unexpected, and far from agreeable. To walk in this gloomy\nIndian night; to scramble through thickets of cactuses; to venture in a\ndark forest, full of wild animals--this was too much for Miss X----.\nShe declared that she would go no further. She would wait for us in the\nhowdah, on the elephant's back, and perhaps would go to sleep.\n\nNarayan was against this parti de plaisir from the very beginning, and\nnow, without explaining his reasons, he said she was the only sensible\none among us.\n\n\"You won't lose anything,\" he remarked, \"by staying where you are. And I\nonly wish everyone would follow your example.\"\n\n\"What ground have you for saying so, I wonder?\" remonstrated Sham Rao,\nand a slight note of disappointment rang in his voice, when he saw that\nthe excursion, proposed and organized by himself, threatened to come to\nnothing. \"What harm could be done by it? I won't insist any more that\nthe 'incarnation of gods' is a rare sight, and that the Europeans hardly\never have an opportunity of witnessing it; but, besides, the Kangalim\nin question is no ordinary woman. She leads a holy life; she is a\nprophetess, and her blessing could not prove harmful to any one. I\ninsisted on this excursion out of pure patriotism.\"\n\n\"Sahib, if your patriotism consists in displaying before foreigners the\nworst of our plagues, then why did you not order all the lepers of your\ndistrict to assemble and parade before the eyes of our guests? You are a\npatel, you have the power to do it.\"\n\nHow bitterly Narayan's voice sounded to our unaccustomed ears. Usually\nhe was so even-tempered, so indifferent to everything belonging to the\nexterior world.\n\nFearing a quarrel between the Hindus, the colonel remarked, in a\nconciliatory tone, that it was too late for us to reconsider our\nexpedition. Besides, without being a believer in the \"incarnation of\ngods,\" he was personally firmly convinced that demoniacs existed even in\nthe West. He was eager to study every psychological phenomenon, wherever\nhe met with it, and whatever shape it might assume.\n\nIt would have been a striking sight for our European and American\nfriends if they had beheld our procession on that dark night. Our way\nlay along a narrow winding path up the mountain. Not more than\ntwo people could walk together--and we were thirty, including the\ntorch-bearers. Surely some reminiscence of night sallies against the\nconfederate Southerners had revived in the colonel's breast, judging\nby the readiness with which he took upon himself the leadership of our\nsmall expedition. He ordered all the rifles and revolvers to be loaded,\ndespatched three torch-bearers to march ahead of us, and arranged us\nin pairs. Under such a skilled chieftain we had nothing to fear from\ntigers; and so our procession started, and slowly crawled up the winding\npath.\n\nIt cannot be said that the inquisitive travelers, who appeared later on,\nin the den of the prophetess of Mandu, shone through the freshness and\nelegance of their costumes. My gown, as well as the traveling suits of\nthe colonel and of Mr. Y---- were nearly torn to pieces. The cactuses\ngathered from us whatever tribute they could, and the Babu's disheveled\nhair swarmed with a whole colony of grasshoppers and fireflies, which,\nprobably, were attracted thither by the smell of cocoa-nut oil. The\nstout Sham Rao panted like a steam engine. Narayan alone was like his\nusual self; that is to say, like a bronze Hercules, armed with a\nclub. At the last abrupt turn of the path, after having surmounted the\ndifficulty of climbing over huge, scattered stones, we suddenly found\nourselves on a perfectly smooth place; our eyes, in spite of our many\ntorches, were dazzled with light; and our ears were struck by a medley\nof unusual sounds.\n\nA new glen opened before us, the entrance of which, from the valley,\nwas well masked by thick trees. We understood how easily we might have\nwandered round it, without ever suspecting its existence. At the bottom\nof the glen we discovered the abode of the celebrated Kangalim.\n\nThe den, as it turned out, was situated in the ruin of an old Hindu\ntemple in tolerably good preservation. In all probability it was built\nlong before the \"dead city,\" because during the epoch of the latter, the\nheathen were not allowed to have their own places of worship; and the\ntemple stood quite close to the wall of the town, in fact, right under\nit. The cupolas of the two smaller lateral pagodas had fallen long ago,\nand huge bushes grew out of their altars. This evening, their branches\nwere hidden under a mass of bright colored rags, bits of ribbon, little\npots, and various other talismans; because, even in them, popular\nsuperstition sees something sacred.\n\n\"And are not these poor people right? Did not these bushes grow\non sacred ground? Is not their sap impregnated with the incense of\nofferings, and the exhalations of holy anchorites, who once lived and\nbreathed here?\"\n\nThe learned, but superstitious Sham Rao would only answer our questions\nby new questions.\n\nBut the central temple, built of red granite, stood unharmed by time,\nand, as we learned afterwards, a deep tunnel opened just behind its\nclosely-shut door. What was beyond it no one knew. Sham Rao assured\nus that no man of the last three generations had ever stepped over the\nthreshold of this thick iron door; no one had seen the subterranean\npassage for many years. Kangalim lived there in perfect isolation, and,\naccording to the oldest people in the neighborhood, she had always lived\nthere. Some people said she was three hundred years old; others alleged\nthat a certain old man on his death-bed had revealed to his son that\nthis old woman was no one else than his own uncle. This fabulous uncle\nhad settled in the cave in the times when the \"dead city\" still counted\nseveral hundreds of inhabitants. The hermit, busy paving his road to\nMoksha, had no intercourse with the rest of the world, and nobody knew\nhow he lived and what he ate. But a good while ago, in the days when the\nBellati (foreigners) had not yet taken possession of this mountain, the\nold hermit suddenly was transformed into a hermitess. She continues\nhis pursuits and speaks with his voice, and often in his name; but she\nreceives worshippers, which was not the practice of her predecessor.\n\nWe had come too early, and the Pythia did not at first appear. But\nthe square before the temple was full of people, and a wild, though\npicturesque, scene it was. An enormous bonfire blazed in the centre,\nand round it crowded the naked savages like so many black gnomes, adding\nwhole branches of trees sacred to the seven sister-goddesses. Slowly\nand evenly they all jumped from one leg to another to a tune of a single\nmonotonous musical phrase, which they repeated in chorus, accompanied\nby several local drums and tambourines. The hushed trill of the latter\nmingled with the forest echoes and the hysterical moans of two little\ngirls, who lay under a heap of leaves by the fire. The poor children\nwere brought here by their mothers, in the hope that the goddesses\nwould take pity upon them and banish the two evil spirits under whose\nobsession they were. Both mothers were quite young, and sat on their\nheels blankly and sadly staring at the flames. No one paid us the\nslightest attention when we appeared, and afterwards during all our\nstay these people acted as if we were invisible. Had we worn a cap of\ndarkness they could not have behaved more strangely.\n\n\"They feel the approach of the gods! The atmosphere is full of their\nsacred emanations!\" mysteriously explained Sham Rao, contemplating\nwith reverence the natives, whom his beloved Haeckel might have easily\nmistaken for his \"missing link,\" the brood of his \" Bathybius Haeckelii.\"\n\n\"They are simply under the influence of toddy and opium!\" retorted the\nirreverent Babu.\n\nThe lookers-on moved as in a dream, as if they all were only\nhalf-awakened somnambulists; but the actors were simply victims of St.\nVitus's dance. One of them, a tall old man, a mere skeleton with a long\nwhite beard, left the ring and begun whirling vertiginously, with his\narms spread like wings, and loudly grinding his long, wolf-like teeth.\nHe was painful and disgusting to look at. He soon fell down, and was\ncarelessly, almost mechanically, pushed aside by the feet of the others\nstill engaged in their demoniac performance.\n\nAll this was frightful enough, but many more horrors were in store for\nus.\n\nWaiting for the appearance of the prima donna of this forest opera\ncompany, we sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, ready to ask\ninnumerable questions of our condescending host. But I was hardly\nseated, when a feeling of indescribable astonishment and horror made me\nshrink back.\n\nI beheld the skull of a monstrous animal, the like of which I could not\nfind in my zoological reminiscences. This head was much larger than the\nhead of an elephant skeleton. And still it could not be anything but an\nelephant, judging by the skillfully restored trunk, which wound down\nto my feet like a gigantic black leech. But an elephant has no horns,\nwhereas this one had four of them! The front pair stuck from the flat\nforehead slightly bending forward and then spreading out; and the\nothers had a wide base, like the root of a deer's horn, that gradually\ndecreased almost up to the middle, and bore long branches enough to\ndecorate a dozen ordinary elks. Pieces of the transparent amber-yellow\nrhinoceros skin were strained over the empty eye-holes of the skull, and\nsmall lamps burning behind them only added to the horror, the devilish\nappearance of this head.\n\n\"What can this be?\" was our unanimous question. None of us had ever met\nanything like it, and even the colonel looked aghast.\n\n\"It is a Sivatherium,\" said Narayan. \"Is it possible you never came\nacross these fossils in European museums? Their remains are common\nenough in the Himalayas, though, of course, in fragments. They were\ncalled after Shiva.\"\n\n\"If the collector of this district ever hears that this antediluvian\nrelic adorns the den of your--ahem!--witch,\" remarked the Babu, \"it\nwon't adorn it many days longer.\"\n\nAll round the skull, and on the floor of the portico there were heaps\nof white flowers, which, though not quite antediluvian, were totally\nunknown to us. They were as large as a big rose; and their white petals\nwere covered with a red powder, the inevitable concomitant of every\nIndian religious ceremony. Further on, there were groups of cocoa-nuts,\nand large brass dishes filled with rice; and each adorned with a red\nor green taper. In the centre of the portico there stood a queer-shaped\ncenser, surrounded with chandeliers. A little boy, dressed from head to\nfoot in white, threw into it handfuls of aromatic powders.\n\n\"These people, who assemble here to worship Kangalim,\" said Sham Rao,\n\"do not actually belong either to her sect or to any other. They are\ndevil-worshippers. They do not believe in Hindu gods, but live in small\ncommunities; they belong to one of the many Indian races, which usually\nare called the hill-tribes. Unlike the Shanars of Southern Travancore,\nthey do not use the blood of sacrificial animals; they do not build\nseparate temples to their bhutas. But they are possessed by the strange\nfancy that the goddess Kali, the wife of Shiva, from time immemorial\nhas had a grudge against them, and sends her favorite evil spirits to\ntorture them. Save this little difference, they have the same beliefs as\nthe Shanars. God does not exist for them; and even Shiva is considered\nby them as an ordinary spirit. Their chief worship is offered to the\nsouls of the dead. These souls, however righteous and kind they may\nbe in their lifetime, become after death as wicked as can be; they\nare happy only when they are torturing living men and cattle. As the\nopportunities of doing so are the only reward for the virtues they\npossessed when incarnated, a very wicked man is punished by becoming\nafter his death a very soft-hearted ghost; he loathes his loss of\ndaring, and is altogether miserable. The results of this strange logic\nare not bad, nevertheless. These savages and devil-worshippers are\nthe kindest and the most truth-loving of all the hill-tribes. They do\nwhatever they can to be worthy of their ultimate reward; because, don't\nyou see, they all long to become the wickedest of devils!....\"\n\nAnd put in good humor by his own wittiness, Sham Rao laughed till his\nhilarity became offensive, considering the sacredness of the place.\n\n\"A year ago some business matters sent me to Tinevelli,\" continued he.\n\"Staying with a friend of mine, who is a Shanar, I was allowed to be\npresent at one of the ceremonies in the honor of devils. No European has\nas yet witnessed this worship--whatever the missionaries may say; but\nthere are many converts amongst the Shanars, who willingly describe them\nto the padres. My friend is a wealthy man, which is probably the reason\nwhy the devils are especially vicious to him. They poison his cattle,\nspoil his crops and his coffee plants, and persecute his numerous\nrelations, sending them sunstrokes, madness and epilepsy, over which\nillnesses they especially preside. These wicked demons have settled in\nevery corner of his spacious landed property--in the woods, the ruins,\nand even in his stables. To avert all this, my friend covered his land\nwith stucco pyramids, and prayed humbly, asking the demons to draw their\nportraits on each of them, so that he may recognize them and worship\neach of them separately, as the rightful owner of this, or that,\nparticular pyramid. And what do you think?.... Next morning all\nthe pyramids were found covered with drawings. Each of them bore an\nincredibly good likeness of the dead of the neighborhood. My friend had\nknown personally almost all of them. He found also a portrait of his own\nlate father amongst the lot.....\"\n\n\"Well? And was he satisfied?\"\n\n\"Oh, he was very glad, very satisfied. It enabled him to choose the\nright thing to gratify the personal tastes of each demon, don't you\nsee? He was not vexed at finding his father's portrait. His father\nwas somewhat irascible; once he nearly broke both his son's legs,\nadministering to him fatherly punishment with an iron bar, so that\nhe could not possibly be very dangerous after his death. But another\nportrait, found on the best and the prettiest of the pyramids, amazed\nmy friend a good deal, and put him in a blue funk. The whole district\nrecognized an English officer, a certain Captain Pole, who in his\nlifetime was as kind a gentleman as ever lived.\"\n\n\"Indeed? But do you mean to say that this strange people worshipped\nCaptain Pole also?\"\n\n\"Of course they did! Captain Pole was such a worthy man, such an honest\nofficer, that, after his death, he could not help being promoted to the\nhighest rank of Shanar devils. The Pe-Kovil, demon's house, sacred to\nhis memory, stands side by side with the Pe-Kovil Bhadrakali, which was\nrecently conferred on the wife of a certain German missionary, who also\nwas a most charitable lady and so is very dangerous now.\"\n\n\"But what are their ceremonies? Tell us something about their rites.\"\n\n\"Their rites consist chiefly of dancing, singing, and killing\nsacrificial animals. The Shanars have no castes, and eat all kinds of\nmeat. The crowd assembles about the Pe-Kovil, previously designated by\nthe priest; there is a general beating of drums, and slaughtering of\nfowls, sheep and goats. When Captain Pole's turn came an ox was killed,\nas a thoughtful attention to the peculiar tastes of his nation. The\npriest appeared, covered with bangles, and holding a wand on which\ntinkled numberless little bells, and wearing garlands of red and white\nflowers round his neck, and a black mantle, on which were embroidered\nthe ugliest fiends you can imagine. Horns were blown and drums rolled\nincessantly. And oh, I forgot to tell you there was also a kind of\nfiddle, the secret of which is known only to the Shanar priesthood. Its\nbow is ordinary enough, made of bamboo; but it is whispered that the\nstrings are human veins.... When Captain Pole took possession of the\npriest's body, the priest leapt high in the air, and then rushed on the\nox and killed him. He drank off the hot blood, and then began his\ndance. But what a fright he was when dancing! You know, I am not\nsuperstitious.... Am I?...\"\n\nSham Rao looked at us inquiringly, and I, for one, was glad, at this\nmoment, that Miss X---- was half a mile off, asleep in the howdah.\n\n\"He turned, and turned, as if possessed by all the demons of Naraka. The\nenraged crowd hooted and howled when the priest begun to inflict deep\nwounds all over his body with the bloody sacrificial knife. To see him,\nwith his hair waving in the wind and his mouth covered with foam; to see\nhim bathing in the blood of the sacrificed animal, mixing it with his\nown, was more than I could bear. I felt as if hallucinated, I fancied I\nalso was spinning round....\"\n\nSham Rao stopped abruptly, struck dumb. Kangalim stood before us!\n\nHer appearance was so unexpected that we all felt embarrassed. Carried\naway by Sham Rao's description, we had noticed neither how nor whence\nshe came. Had she appeared from beneath the earth we could not have been\nmore astonished. Narayan stared at her, opening wide his big jet-black\neyes; the Babu clicked his tongue in utter confusion. Imagine a skeleton\nseven feet high, covered with brown leather, with a dead child's tiny\nhead stuck on its bony shoulders; the eyes set so deep and at the same\ntime flashing such fiendish flames all through your body that you begin\nto feel your brain stop working, your thoughts become entangled and your\nblood freeze in your veins.\n\nI describe my personal impressions, and no words of mine can do them\njustice. My description is too weak.\n\nMr. Y---- and the colonel both grew pale under her stare, and Mr.\nY----made a movement as if about to rise.\n\nNeedless to say that such an impression could not last. As soon as the\nwitch had turned her gleaming eyes to the kneeling crowd, it vanished\nas swiftly as it had come. But still all our attention was fixed on this\nremarkable creature.\n\nThree hundred years old! Who can tell? Judging by her appearance, we\nmight as well conjecture her to be a thousand. We beheld a genuine\nliving mummy, or rather a mummy endowed with motion. She seemed to have\nbeen withering since the creation. Neither time, nor the ills of life,\nnor the elements could ever affect this living statue of death. The\nall-destroying hand of time had touched her and stopped short. Time\ncould do no more, and so had left her. And with all this, not a single\ngrey hair. Her long black locks shone with a greenish sheen, and fell in\nheavy masses down to her knees.\n\nTo my great shame, I must confess that a disgusting reminiscence flashed\ninto my memory. I thought about the hair and the nails of corpses\ngrowing in the graves, and tried to examine the nails of the old woman.\n\nMeanwhile, she stood motionless as if suddenly transformed into an ugly\nidol. In one hand she held a dish with a piece of burning camphor, in\nthe other a handful of rice, and she never removed her burning eyes from\nthe crowd. The pale yellow flame of the camphor flickered in the wind,\nand lit up her deathlike head, almost touching her chin; but she paid no\nheed to it. Her neck, as wrinkled as a mushroom, as thin as a stick, was\nsurrounded by three rows of golden medallions. Her head was adorned with\na golden snake. Her grotesque, hardly human body was covered by a piece\nof saffron-yellow muslin.\n\nThe demoniac little girls raised their heads from be-neath the leaves,\nand set up a prolonged animal-like howl. Their example was followed by\nthe old man, who lay exhausted by his frantic dance.\n\nThe witch tossed her head convulsively, and began her invocations,\nrising on tiptoe, as if moved by some external force.\n\n\"The goddess, one of the seven sisters, begins to take possession of\nher,\" whispered Sham Rao, not even thinking of wiping away the big drops\nof sweat that streamed from his brow. \"Look, look at her!\"\n\nThis advice was quite superfluous. We were looking at her, and at\nnothing else.\n\nAt first, the movements of the witch were slow, unequal, somewhat\nconvulsive; then, gradually, they became less angular; at last, as if\ncatching the cadence of the drums, leaning all her long body forward,\nand writhing like an eel, she rushed round and round the blazing\nbonfire. A dry leaf caught in a hurricane could not fly swifter. Her\nbare bony feet trod noiselessly on the rocky ground. The long locks of\nher hair flew round her like snakes, lashing the spectators, who knelt,\nstretching their trembling arms towards her, and writhing as if they\nwere alive. Whoever was touched by one of this Fury's black curls, fell\ndown on the ground, overcome with happiness, shouting thanks to the\ngoddess, and considering himself blessed for ever. It was not human hair\nthat touched the happy elect, it was the goddess herself, one of the\nseven. Swifter and swifter fly her decrepit legs; the young, vigorous\nhands of the drummer can hardly follow her. But she does not think\nof catching the measure of his music; she rushes, she flies forward.\nStaring with her expressionless, motionless orbs at something before\nher, at something that is not visible to our mortal eyes, she hardly\nglances at her worshippers; then her look becomes full of fire; and\nwhoever she looks at feels burned through to the marrow of his bones.\nAt every glance she throws a few grains of rice. The small handful seems\ninexhaustible, as if the wrinkled palm contained the bottomless bag of\nPrince Fortunatus.\n\nSuddenly she stops as if thunderstruck.\n\nThe mad race round the bonfire had lasted twelve minutes, but we looked\nin vain for a trace of fatigue on the deathlike face of the witch. She\nstopped only for a moment, just the necessary time for the goddess to\nrelease her. As soon as she felt free, by a single effort she jumped\nover the fire and plunged into the deep tank by the portico. This time,\nshe plunged only once; and whilst she stayed under the water, the\nsecond sister-goddess entered her body. The little boy in white produced\nanother dish, with a new piece of burning camphor, just in time for the\nwitch to take it up, and to rush again on her headlong way.\n\nThe colonel sat with his watch in his hand. During the second obsession\nthe witch ran, leaped, and raced for exactly fourteen minutes. After\nthis, she plunged twice in the tank, in honor of the second sister; and\nwith every new obsession the number of her plunges increased, till it\nbecame six.\n\nIt was already an hour and a half since the race began. All this time\nthe witch never rested, stopping only for a few seconds, to disappear\nunder the water.\n\n\"She is a fiend, she cannot be a woman!\" exclaimed the colonel, seeing\nthe head of the witch immersed for the sixth time in the water.\n\n\"Hang me if I know!\" grumbled Mr. Y----, nervously pulling his beard.\n\"The only thing I know is that a grain of her cursed rice entered my\nthroat, and I can't get it out!\"\n\n\"Hush, hush! Please, do be quiet!\" implored Sham Rao. \"By talking you\nwill spoil the whole business!\"\n\nI glanced at Narayan and lost myself in conjectures. His features, which\nusually were so calm and serene, were quite altered at this moment, by a\ndeep shadow of suffering. His lips trembled, and the pupils of his eyes\nwere dilated, as if by a dose of belladonna. His eyes were lifted over\nthe heads of the crowd, as if in his disgust he tried not to see what\nwas before him, and at the same time could not see it, engaged in a deep\nreverie, which carried him away from us, and from the whole performance.\n\n\"What is the matter with him?\" was my thought, but I had no time to ask\nhim, because the witch was again in full swing, chasing her own shadow.\n\nBut with the seventh goddess the programme was slightly changed. The\nrunning of the old woman changed to leaping. Sometimes bending down to\nthe ground, like a black panther, she leaped up to some worshipper, and\nhalting before him touched his forehead with her finger, while her long,\nthin body shook with inaudible laughter. Then, again, as if shrinking\nback playfully from her shadow, and chased by it, in some uncanny game,\nthe witch appeared to us like a horrid caricature of Dinorah, dancing\nher mad dance. Suddenly she straightened herself to her full height,\ndarted to the portico and crouched before the smoking censer, beating\nher forehead against the granite steps. Another jump, and she was quite\nclose to us, before the head of the monstrous Sivatherium. She knelt\ndown again and bowed her head to the ground several times, with the\nsound of an empty barrel knocked against something hard.\n\nWe had hardly the time to spring to our feet and shrink back when she\nappeared on the top of the Sivatherium's head, standing there amongst\nthe horns.\n\nNarayan alone did not stir, and fearlessly looked straight in the eyes\nof the frightful sorceress.\n\nBut what was this? Who spoke in those deep manly tones? Her lips were\nmoving, from her breast were issuing those quick, abrupt phrases, but\nthe voice sounded hollow as if coming from beneath the ground.\n\n\"Hush, hush!\" whispered Sham Rao, his whole body trembling. \"She is\ngoing to prophesy!.... \" \"She?\" incredulously inquired Mr. Y----. \"This\na woman's voice? I don't believe it for a moment. Someone's uncle must\nbe stowed away somewhere about the place. Not the fabulous uncle she\ninherited from, but a real live one!...\"\n\nSham Rao winced under the irony of this supposition, and cast an\nimploring look at the speaker.\n\n\"Woe to you! woe to you!\" echoed the voice. \"Woe to you, children of\nthe impure Jaya and Vijaya! of the mocking, unbelieving lingerers round\ngreat Shiva's door! Ye, who are cursed by eighty thousand sages! Woe to\nyou who believe not in the goddess Kali, and you who deny us, her Seven\ndivine Sisters! Flesh-eating, yellow-legged vultures! friends of the\noppressors of our land! dogs who are not ashamed to eat from the same\ntrough with the Bellati!\" (foreigners).\n\n\"It seems to me that your prophetess only foretells the past,\" said Mr.\nY----, philosophically putting his hands in his pockets. \"I should say\nthat she is hinting at you, my dear Sham Rao.\"\n\n\"Yes! and at us also,\" murmured the colonel, who was evidently beginning\nto feel uneasy.\n\nAs to the unlucky Sham Rao, he broke out in a cold sweat, and tried to\nassure us that we were mistaken, that we did not fully understand her\nlanguage.\n\n\"It is not about you, it is not about you! It is of me she speaks,\nbecause I am in Government service. Oh, she is inexorable!\"\n\n\"Rakshasas! Asuras!\" thundered the voice. \"How dare you appear before\nus? how dare you to stand on this holy ground in boots made of a cow's\nsacred skin? Be cursed for etern----\"\n\nBut her curse was not destined to be finished. In an instant the\nHercules-like Narayan had fallen on the Sivatherium, and upset the whole\npile, the skull, the horns and the demoniac Pythia included. A second\nmore, and we thought we saw the witch flying in the air towards the\nportico. A confused vision of a stout, shaven Brahman, suddenly emerging\nfrom under the Sivatherium and instantly disappearing in the hollow\nbeneath it, flashed before my dilated eyes.\n\nBut, alas! after the third second had passed, we all came to the\nembarrassing conclusion that, judging from the loud clang of the door\nof the cave, the representative of the Seven Sisters had ignominiously\nfled. The moment she had disappeared from our inquisitive eyes to her\nsubterranean domain, we all realized that the unearthly hollow voice we\nhad heard had nothing supernatural about it and belonged to the Brahman\nhidden under the Sivatherium--to someone's live uncle, as Mr. Y---- had\nrightly supposed.\n\nOh, Narayan! how carelessly.... how disorderly the worlds rotate around\nus.... I begin to seriously doubt their reality. From this moment I\nshall earnestly believe that all things in the universe are nothing but\nillusion, a mere Maya. I am becoming a Vedantin.... I doubt that in the\nwhole universe there may be found anything more objective than a Hindu\nwitch flying up the spout.----\n\n\nMiss X---- woke up, and asked what was the meaning of all this\nnoise. The noise of many voices and the sounds of the many retreating\nfootsteps, the general rush of the crowd, had frightened her. She\nlistened to us with a condescending smile, and a few yawns, and went to\nsleep again.\n\nNext morning, at daybreak, we very reluctantly, it must be owned, bade\ngood-bye to the kind-hearted, good-natured Sham Rao. The confoundingly\neasy victory of Narayan hung heavily on his mind. His faith in the holy\nhermitess and the seven goddesses was a good deal shaken by the shameful\ncapitulation of the Sisters, who had surrendered at the first blow from\na mere mortal. But during the dark hours of the night he had had time to\nthink it over, and to shake off the uneasy feeling of having unwillingly\nmisled and disappointed his European friends.\n\nSham Rao still looked confused when he shook hands with us at parting,\nand expressed to us the best wishes of his family and himself.\n\nAs to the heroes of this truthful narrative, they mounted their\nelephants once more, and directed their heavy steps towards the high\nroad and Jubbulpore.\n\n\n\n\nGod's Warrior\n\n\n\nThe direction of our pilgrimage of self-improvement lay towards the\nnorth-west, as was previously decided. We were very impatient to see\nthese status in statu of Anglo-India, but.... Do what you may, there\nalways will be a but.\n\nWe left the Jubbulpore line several miles from Nassik; and, to return to\nit, we had to go back to Akbarpur, then travel by doubtful Local-Board\nroads to the station Vanevad and take the train of Holkar's line, which\njoins the Great Indian Peninsular Railway.\n\nMeanwhile, the Bagh caves were quite close to us, not more than fifty\nmiles off, to the east from Mandu. We were undecided whether to leave\nthem alone or go back to the Nerbudda. In the country situated on the\nother side of Kandesh, our Babu had some \"chums,\" as everywhere else in\nIndia; the omnipresent Bengali Babus, who are always glad to be of\nsome service to you, are scattered all over Hindostan, like the Jews in\nRussia. Besides, our party was joined by a new member.\n\nThe day before we had received a letter from Swami Dayanand, carried to\nus by a traveling Sannyasi. Dayanand informed us that the cholera was\nincreasing every day in Hardwar, and that we must postpone making his\nacquaintance personally till the end of May, either in Dehra-Dun, at the\nfoot of Himalaya, or in Saharanpur, which attracts every tourist by its\ncharming situation.\n\nThe Sannyasi brought us also a nosegay from the Swami, a nosegay of the\nmost extraordinary flowers, which are totally unknown in Europe. They\ngrow only in certain Himalayan valleys; they possess the wonderful\ncapacity of changing their color after midday, and do not look dead even\nwhen faded. The Latin name of this charming plant is Hibiscus mutabilis.\nAt night they are nothing but a large knot of pressed green leaves,\nbut from dawn till ten o'clock the flowers open and look like large\nsnow-white roses; then, towards twelve o'clock, they begin to redden,\nand later in the afternoon they look as crimson as a peony. These\nflowers are sacred to the Asuras, a kind of fallen angels in Hindu\nmythology, and to the sun-god Surya. The latter deity fell in love with\nan Asuri at the beginning of creation, and since then is constantly\ncaught whispering words of fiery love to the flower that shelters her.\nBut the Asura is a virgin; she gives herself entirely to the service\nof the goddess Chastity, who is the patroness of all the ascetic\nbrotherhoods. The love of Surya is vain, Asura will not listen to him.\nBut under the flaming arrows of the enamoured god she blushes and in\nappearance loses her purity. The natives call this plant lajjalu, the\nmodest one.\n\nWe were spending the night by a brook, under a shadowy fig-tree. The\nSannyasi, who had made a wide circuit to fulfil Dayanand's request, made\nfriends with us; and we sat up late in the night, listening whilst he\ntalked about his travels, the wonders of his native country, once so\ngreat, and about the heroic deeds of old Runjit-Sing, the Lion of the\nPunjab.\n\nStrange, mysterious beings are found sometimes amongst these traveling\nmonks. Some of them are very learned; read and talk Sanskrit; know all\nabout modern science and politics; and, nevertheless, remain faithful to\ntheir ancient philosophical conceptions. Generally they do not wear any\nclothes, except a piece of muslin round the loins, which is insisted\nupon by the police of the towns inhabited by Europeans. They wander from\nthe age of fifteen, all their lives, and die generally very aged. They\nlive never giving a thought to the morrow, like the birds of heaven, and\nthe lilies of the field. They never touch money, and are contented with\na handful of rice. All their worldly possessions consist of a small dry\npumpkin to carry water, a rosary, a brass cup and a walking stick.\nThe Sannyasis and the Swamis are usually Sikhs from the Punjab, and\nmonotheists. They despise idol-worshipers, and have nothing to do with\nthem, though the latter very often call themselves by their names.\n\nOur new friend was a native of Amritsar, in the Punjab, and had been\nbrought up in the \"Golden Temple,\" on the banks of Amrita-Saras, the\n\"Lake of Immortality.\" The head Guru, or instructor, of Sikhs resides\nthere. He never crosses the boundaries of the temple. His chief\noccupation is the study of the book called Adigrantha, which belongs to\nthe sacred literature of this strange bellicose sect. The Sikhs respect\nhim as much as the Tibetans respect their Dalai-Lama. The Lamas in\ngeneral consider the latter to be the incarnation of Buddha, the Sikhs\nthink that the Maha-Guru of Amritsar is the incarnation of Nanak, the\nfounder of their sect. Nevertheless, no true Sikh will ever say that\nNanak was a deity; they look on him as a prophet, inspired by the spirit\nof the only God. This shows that our Sannyasi was not one of the\nnaked travelling monks, but a true Akali; one of the six hundred\nwarrior-priests attached to the Golden Temple, for the purpose of\nserving God and protecting the temple from the destructive Mussulmans.\nHis name was Ram-Runjit-Das; and his personal appearance was in perfect\naccordance with his title of \"God's warrior.\" His exterior was very\nremarkable and typical; and he looked like a muscular centurion of\nancient Roman legions, rather than a peaceable servant of the altar.\nRam-Runjit-Das appeared to us mounted on a magnificent horse, and\naccompanied by another Sikh, who respectfully walked some distance\nbehind him, and was evidently passing through his noviciate. Our Hindu\ncompanions had discerned that he was an Akali, when he was still in the\ndistance. He wore a bright blue tunic without sleeves, exactly like that\nwe see on the statues of Roman warriors. Broad steel bracelets protected\nhis strong arms, and a shield protruded from behind his back. A blue,\nconical turban covered his head, and round his waist were many steel\ncirclets. The enemies of the Sikhs assert that these sacred sectarian\nbelts become more dangerous in the hand of an experienced \"God's\nwarrior,\" than any other weapon.\n\nThe Sikhs are the bravest and the most warlike sect of the whole Punjab.\nThe word sikh means disciple. Founded in the fifteenth century by the\nwealthy and noble Brahman Nanak, the new teaching spread so successfully\namongst the northern soldiers, that in 1539 A.D., when the founder died,\nit counted one hundred thousand followers. At the present time, this\nsect, harmonizing closely with the fiery natural mysticism, and the\nwarlike tendencies of the natives, is the reigning creed of the whole\nPunjab. It is based on the principles of theocratic rule; but its dogmas\nare almost totally unknown to Europeans; the teachings, the religious\nconceptions, and the rites of the Sikhs, are kept secret. The following\ndetails are known generally: the Sikhs are ardent monotheists, they\nrefuse to recognize caste; have no restrictions in diet, like Europeans;\nand bury their dead, which, except among Mussulmans, is a rare exception\nin India. The second volume of the Adigrantha teaches them \"to adore the\nonly true God; to avoid superstitions; to help the dead, that they\nmay lead a righteous life; and to earn one's living, sword in hand.\"\nGovinda, one of the great Gurus of the Sikhs, ordered them never to\nshave their beards and moustaches, and not to cut their hair--in order\nthat they may not be mistaken for Mussulmans or any other native of\nIndia.\n\nMany a desperate battle the Sikhs fought and won, against the\nMussulmans, and against the Hindus. Their leader, the celebrated\nRunjit-Sing, after having been acknowledged the autocrat of the Upper\nPunjab, concluded a treaty with Lord Auckland, at the beginning of this\ncentury, in which his country was proclaimed an independent state. But\nafter the death of the \"old lion,\" his throne became the cause of the\nmost dreadful civil wars and disorders. His son, Maharaja Dhulip-Sing,\nproved quite unfit for the high post he inherited from his father,\nand, under him, the Sikhs became an ill-disciplined restless mob. Their\nattempt to conquer the whole of Hindostan proved disastrous. Persecuted\nby his own soldiers, Dhulip-Sing sought the help of Englishmen, and was\nsent away to Scotland. And some time after this, the Sikhs took their\nplace amongst the rest of Britain's Indian subjects.\n\nBut still there remains a strong body of the great Sikh sect of old.\nThe Kuks represent the most dangerous underground current of the popular\nhatred. This new sect was founded about thirty years ago [written in\n1879] by Balaka-Rama, and, at first, formed a bulk of people near Attok,\nin the Punjab, on the east bank of the Indus, exactly on the spot where\nthe latter becomes navigable. Balaka-Rama had a double aim; to restore\nthe religion of the Sikhs to its pristine purity, and to organize a\nsecret political body, which must be ready for everything, at a moment's\nnotice. This brotherhood consists of sixty thousand members, who pledged\nthemselves never to reveal their secrets, and never to disobey any order\nof their leaders. In Attok they are few, for the town is small. But we\nwere assured that the Kuks live everywhere in India. Their community\nis so perfectly organized that it is impossible to find them out, or to\nlearn the names of their leaders.\n\nIn the course of the evening our Akali presented us with a little\ncrystal bottle, filled with water from the \"Lake of Immortality.\" He\nsaid that a drop of it would cure all diseases of the eye. There are\nnumbers of fresh springs at the bottom of this lake, and so its water is\nwonderfully pure and transparent, in spite of hundreds of people daily\nbathing in it. When, later on, we visited it, we had the opportunity to\nverify the fact that the smallest stone at the bottom is seen perfectly\ndistinctly, all over the one hundred and fifty square yards of the lake.\nAmrita-Saran is the most charming of all the sights of Northern India.\nThe reflection of the Golden Temple in its crystal waters makes a\npicture that is simply feerique.\n\nWe had still seven weeks at our disposal. We were undecided between\nexploring the Bombay Presidency, the North-West Provinces and the\nRajistan. Which were we to choose? Where were we to go? How best to\nemploy our time? Before such a variety of interesting places we became\nirresolute. Hyderabad, which is said to transport the tourists into the\nscenery of the Arabian Nights, seemed so attractive that we seriously\nthought of turning our elephants back to the territory of the Nizam.\nWe grew fond of the idea of visiting this \"City of the Lion,\" which was\nbuilt in 1589 by the magnificent Mohamed-Kuli-Kuth-Shah, who was so used\nto luxuries of every kind as to grow weary even of Golkonda, with all\nits fairyland castles and bright gardens. Some buildings of\nHyderabad, mere remnants of the past glory, are still known to\nrenown. Mir-Abu-Talib, the keeper of the Royal Treasury, states that\nMohamed-Kuli-Shah spent the fabulous sum of L 2,800,000 sterling on the\nembellishment of the town, at the beginning of his reign; though the\nlabor of the workmen did not cost him anything at all. Save these few\nmemorials of greatness, the town looks like a heap of rubbish nowadays.\nBut all tourists are unanimous on one point, namely, that the British\nResidency of Hyderabad still deserves its title of the Versailles of\nIndia.\n\nThe title the British Residency bears, and everything it may contain at\nthe present time, are mere trifles compared with the past. I remember\nreading a chapter of the History of Hyderabad, by an English author,\nwhich contained something to the following effect: Whilst the Resident\nentertained the gentlemen, his wife was similarly employed receiving the\nladies a few yards off, in a separate palace, which was as sumptuous,\nand bore the name of Rang-Mahal. Both palaces were built by Colonel\nKirkpatrick, the late minister at the Nizam's court. Having married a\nnative princess, he constructed this charming abode for her personal\nuse. Its garden is surrounded by a high wall, as is customary in the\nOrient, and the centre of the garden is adorned with a large marble\nfountain, covered with scenes from the Ramayana, and mosaics, Pavilions,\ngalleries and terraces--everything in this garden is loaded with\nadornments of the most costly Oriental style, that is to say, with\nabundance of inlaid designs, paintings, gilding, ivory and marble. The\ngreat attraction of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's receptions were the nautches,\nmagnificently dressed, thanks to the generosity of the Resident. Some\nof them wore a cargo of jewels worth L 30,000, and literally shone from\nhead to foot with diamonds and other precious stones.\n\nThe glorious times of the East India Company are beyond recall, and\nno Residents, and even no native princes, could now afford to be so\n\"generous.\" India, this \"most precious diamond of the British crown,\" is\nutterly exhausted, like a pile of gold in the hands of an alchemist, who\nthriftlessly spent it in the hope of finding the philosopher's stone.\nBesides ruining themselves and the country, the Anglo-Indians commit the\ngreatest blunders, at least in two points of their present Government\nsystem. These two points are: first, the Western education they give to\nthe higher classes; and, secondly, the protection and maintenance of the\nrights of idol worship. Neither of these systems is wise. By means of\nthe first they successfully replace the religious feelings of old India,\nwhich, however false, had the great advantage of being sincere, by a\npositive atheism amongst the young generation of the Brahmans; and by\nthe means of the second they flatter only the ignorant masses, from\nwhom nothing is to be feared under any circumstances. If the patriotic\nfeelings of the bulk of the population could possibly be roused, the\nEnglish would have been slaughtered long ago. The rural populace is\nunarmed, it is true, but a crowd seeking revenge could use the brass and\nstone idols, sent to India by thousands from Birmingham, with as great\nsuccess as if they were so many swords. But, as it is, the masses of\nIndia are indifferent and harmless; so that the only existing danger\ncomes from the side of the educated classes. And the English fail to see\nthat the better the education they give them, the more careful they must\nbe to avoid reopening the old wounds, always alive to new injury, in\nthe heart of every true Hindu. The Hindus are proud of the past of their\ncountry, dreams of past glories are their only compensation for the\nbitter present. The English education they receive only enables them\nto learn that Europe was plunged in the darkness of the Stone Age, when\nIndia was in the full growth of her splendid civilization. And so the\ncomparison of their past with their present is only the more sad. This\nconsideration never hinders the Anglo-Indians from hurting the feelings\nof the Hindus. For instance, in the unanimous opinion of travelers\nand antiquarians, the most interesting building of Hyderabad is\nChahar-Minar, a college that was built by Mohamed-Kuli-Khan on the ruins\nof a still more ancient college. It is built at the crossing of four\nstreets, on four arches, which are so high that loaded camels and\nelephants with their turrets pass through freely. Over these arches rise\nthe several stories of the college. Each story once was destined for\na separate branch of learning. Alas! the times when India studied\nphilosophy and astronomy at the feet of her great sages are gone, and\nthe English have transformed the college itself into a warehouse. The\nhall, which served for the study of astronomy, and was filled with\nquaint, medieval apparatus, is now used for a depot of opium; and the\nhall of philosophy contains huge boxes of liqueurs, rum and champagne,\nwhich are prohibited by the Koran, as well as by the Brahmans.\n\nWe were so enchanted by what we heard about Hyderabad, that we resolved\nto start thither the very next morning, when our ciceroni and companions\ndestroyed all our plans by a single word. This word was: heat. During\nthe hot season in Hyderabad the thermometer reaches ninety-eight degrees\nFahrenheit in the shade, and the temperature of the water in the Indus\nis the temperature of the blood. As to Upper Sindh, where the dryness of\nthe air, and the extreme aridity of the sandy soil reproduce the Sahara\nin miniature, the usual shade temperature is one hundred and thirty\ndegrees Fahrenheit. No wonder the missionaries have no chance there.\nThe most eloquent of Dante's descriptions of hell could hardly produce\nanything but a cooling effect on a populace who live perfectly contented\nunder these circumstances.\n\nCalculating that there was no obstacle to our going to the Bagh caves,\nand that going to Sindh was a perfect impossibility, we recovered our\nequanimity. Then the general council decided that we had better abandon\nall ideas of a predetermined plan, and travel as fancy led us.\n\nWe dismissed our elephants, and next day, a little before sunset,\narrived at the spot where the Vagrey and Girna join. These are two\nlittle rivers, quite famous in the annals of the Indian mythology, and\nwhich are generally conspicuous by their absence, especially in summer.\nAt the opposite side of the river, there lay the illustrious Bagh caves,\nwith their four openings blinking in the thick evening mist.\n\nWe thought of crossing to them immediately, by the help of a ferry boat,\nbut our Hindu friends and the boat-men interposed. The former said\nthat visiting these caves is dangerous even by daytime; because all the\nneighborhood is full of beasts of prey and of tigers, who, I concluded,\nare like the Bengali Babus, to be met with everywhere in India. Before\nventuring into these caves, you must send a reconnoitring party of\ntorch-bearers and armed shikaris. As to the boatmen, they protested on\ndifferent grounds, but protested strongly. They said that no Hindu would\ndare to approach these caves after the sun set. No one but a Bellati\nwould fancy that Vagrey and Girna are ordinary rivers, for every Hindu\nknows they are divine spouses, the god Shiva and his wife Parvati.\nThis, in the first instance; and in the second, the Bagh tigers are no\nordinary tigers either. The sahibs are totally mistaken. These tigers\nare the servants of the Sadhus, of the holy miracle-workers, who have\nhaunted the caves now for many centuries, and who deign sometimes to\ntake the shape of a tiger. And neither the gods, nor the Sadhus, nor\nthe glamour, nor the true tigers are fond of being disturbed in their\nnightly rest.\n\nWhat could we say against all this? We cast one more sorrowful look\nat the caves, and returned to our antediluvian carriages. The Babu and\nNarayan said we must spend the night at the house of a certain \"chum\"\nof the Babu, who resided in a small town, three miles further on, and\nbearing the same name as the caves; and we unwillingly acquiesced.\n\nMany things in India are wonderful and unintelligible, but one of the\nmost wonderful and the most unintelligible, is the geographical and the\ntopographical disposition of the numberless territories of this country.\nPolitical conjunctures in India seem to be everlastingly playing the\nFrench game casse-tete, changing the pattern, diminishing one part and\nadding to another. The land that only yesterday belonged to this Raja or\nthat Takur, is sure to be found today in the hands of quite a different\nset of people. For instance, we were in the Raj of Amjir in Malva, and\nwe were going to the little city of Bagh, which also belongs to Malva\nand is included in the Amjir Raj. In the documents, Malva is included\nin the independent possessions of Holkar; and nevertheless the Amjir Raj\ndoes not belong to Tukuji-Rao-Holkar, but to the son of the independent\nRaja of Amjir, who was hanged, \"by inadvertence\" as we were assured, in\n1857. The city, and the caves of Bagh, very oddly belong to the Maharaja\nSindya of Gwalior, who, besides, does not own them personally, having\nmade a kind of present of them, and their nine thousand rupees of\nrevenue, to some poor relation. This poor relation, in his turn, does\nnot enjoy the property in the least, because a certain Rajput Takur\nstole it from him, and will not consent to give it back. Bagh is\nsituated on the road from Gujerat to Malva, in the defile of Oodeypur,\nwhich is owned accordingly by the Maharana of Oodeypur. Bagh itself is\nbuilt on the top of a woody hillock, and being disputed property does\nnot belong to any one in particular, properly speaking; but a small\nfortress, and a bazaar in the centre of it are the private possessions\nof a certain dhani; who, besides being the chieftain of the Bhimalah\ntribe, was the personal \"chum\" of our Babu, and a \"great thief and\nhighway robber,\" according to the assertions of the said Babu.\n\n\"But why do you intend taking us to the place of a man whom you consider\nas a thief and a robber?\" objected one of us timidly.\n\n\"He is a thief and a brigand,\" coolly answered the Bengali, \"but only in\nthe political sense. Otherwise he is an excellent man, and the truest\nof friends. Besides, if he does not help us, we shall starve; the bazaar\nand everything in the shops belong to him.\"\n\nThese explanations of the Babu notwithstanding, we were glad to learn\nthat the \"chum\" in question was absent, and we were received by a\nrelation of his. The garden was put at our disposal, and before our\ntents were pitched, we saw people coming from every side of the garden,\nbringing us provisions. Having deposited what he had brought, each of\nthem, on leaving the tent, threw over his shoulder a pinch of betel and\nsoft sugar, an offering to the \"foreign bhutas,\" which were supposed to\naccompany us wherever we went. The Hindus of our party asked us,\nvery seriously, not to laugh at this performance, saying it would be\ndangerous in this out-of-the-way place.\n\nNo doubt they were right. We were in Central India, the very nest of\nall kinds of superstitions, and were surrounded by Bhils. All along the\nVindya ridge, from Yama, on the west of the \"dead city,\" the country is\nthickly populated by this most daring, restless and superstitious of all\nthe half-savage tribes of India.\n\nThe Orientalists think that the naive Bhils comes from the Sanskrit root\nbhid, which means to separate. Sir J. Malcolm supposes accordingly that\nthe Bhils are sectarians, who separated from the Brahmanical creed,\nand were excommunicated. All this looks very probable, but their tribal\ntraditions say something different. Of course, in this case, as in every\nother, their history is strongly entangled with mythology; and one has\nto go through a thick shrubbery of fancy before reaching the tribe's\ngenealogical tree.\n\nThe relation of the absent dhani, who spent the evening with us, told\nus the following: The Bhils are the descendants of one of the sons of\nMahadeva, or Shiva, and of a fair woman, with blue eyes and a white\nface, whom he met in some forest on the other side of the Kalapani,\n\"black waters,\" or ocean. This pair had several sons, one of whom, as\nhandsome as he was vicious, killed the favorite ox of his grandfather\nMaha-deva, and was banished by his father to the Jodpur desert. Banished\nto its remotest southern corner, he married; and soon his descendants\nfilled the whole country. They scattered along the Vindya ridge, on\nthe western frontier of Malva and Kandesh; and, later, in the woody\nwilderness, on the shores of the rivers Maha, Narmada and Tapti. And all\nof them, inheriting the beauty of their forefather, his blue eyes and\nfair complexion, inherited also his turbulent disposition and his vice.\n\n\"We are thieves and robbers,\" naively explained the relative of the\nBabu's \"chum,\" \"but we can't help it, because this is the decree of our\nmighty forefather, the great Maha-deva-Shiva. Sending his grandson to\nrepent his sins in the desert, he said to him: 'Go, wretched murderer of\nmy son and your brother, the ox Nardi; go and live the life of an exile\nand a brigand, to be an everlasting warning to your brethren!... ' These\nare the very words of the great god. Now, do you think we could\ndisobey his orders? The least of our actions is always regulated by our\nBhamyas--chieftains--who are the direct descendants of Nadir-Sing, the\nfirst Bhil, the child of our exiled ancestor, and being this, it is only\nnatural that the great god speaks to us through him.\"\n\nIs not it strange that Apis, the sacred ox of the Egyptians, is honored\nby the followers of Zoroaster, as well as by the Hindus? The ox Nardi,\nthe emblem of life in nature, is the son of the creating father, or\nrather his life-giving breath. Ammianus Marcellinus mentions, in one of\nhis works, that there exists a book which gives the exact age of Apis,\nthe clue to the mystery of creation and the cyclic calculations. The\nBrahmans also explain the allegory of the ox Nardi by the continuation\nof life on our globe.\n\nThe \"mediators\" between Shiva and the Bhils possess such unrestricted\nauthority that the most awful crimes are accomplished at their lightest\nword. The tribe have thought it necessary to decrease their power to a\ncertain extent by instituting a kind of council in every village. This\ncouncil is called tarvi, and tries to cool down the hot-headed fancies\nof the dhanis, their brigand lords. However, the word of the Bhils is\nsacred, and their hospitality is boundless.\n\nThe history and the annals of the princes of Jodpur and Oodeypur confirm\nthe legend of the Bhil emigration from their primitive desert, but how\nthey happened to be there nobody knows. Colonel Tod is positive that the\nBhils, together with the Merases and the Goands, are the aborigines of\nIndia, as well as the tribes who inhabit the Nerbuda forests. But why\nthe Bhils should be almost fair and blue-eyed, whereas the rest of\nthe hill-tribes are almost African in type, is a question that is not\nanswered by this statement. The fact that all these aborigines call\nthemselves Bhumaputra and Vanaputra, sons of the earth and sons of\nthe forest, when the Rajputs, their first conquerors, call themselves\nSurya-vansa and the Brahmans Indu-putras, descendants of the sun and\nthe moon, does not prove everything. It seems to me, that in the present\ncase, their appearance, which confirms their legends, is of much greater\nvalue than philology. Dr. Clark, the author of Travels in Scandinavia,\nis very logical in saying that, \"by directing our attention on the\ntraces of the ancient superstitions of a tribe, we shall find out who\nwere its primitive forefathers much more easily than by scientific\nexamination of their tongue; the superstitions are grafted on the very\nroot, whereas the tongue is subjected to all kinds of changes.\"\n\nBut, unfortunately, everything we know about the history of the Bhils is\nreduced to the above-mentioned tradition, and to a few ancient songs\nof their bards. These bards or bhattas live in Rajistan, but visit\nthe Bhils yearly, in order not to lose the leading thread of the\nachievements of their countrymen. Their songs are history, because the\nbhattas have existed from time immemorial, composing their lays for\nfuture generations, for this is their hereditary duty. And the songs of\nthe remotest antiquity point to the lands over the Kalapani as the\nplace whence the Bhils came; that is to say, some place in Europe. Some\nOrientalists, especially Colonel Tod, seek to prove that the Rajputs,\nwho conquered the Bhils, were newcomers of Scythian origin, and that\nthe Bhils are the true aborigines. To prove this, they put forward some\nfeatures common to both peoples, Rajput and Scythian, for instance (1)\nthe worship of the sword, the lance, the shield and the horse; (2) the\nworship of, and the sacrifice to, the sun (which, as far as I know,\nnever was worshiped by the Scythians); (3) the passion of gambling\n(which again is as strong amongst the Chinese and the Japanese); (4)\nthe custom of drinking blood out of the skull of an enemy (which is also\npractised by some aborigines of America), etc., etc.\n\nI do not intend entering here on a scientific ethnological discussion;\nand, besides, I am sure no one fails to see that the reasoning of\nscientists sometimes takes a very strange turn when they set to prove\nsome favorite theory of theirs. It is enough to remember how entangled\nand obscure is the history of the ancient Scythians to abstain from\ndrawing any positive conclusions whatsoever from it. The tribes that go\nunder one general denomination of Scythians were many, and still it is\nimpossible to deny that there is a good deal of similitude between the\ncustoms of the old Scandinavians, worshipers of Odin, whose land indeed\nwas occupied by the Scythians more than five hundred years B.C. and the\ncustoms of the Rajputs. But this similitude gives as much right to the\nRajputs to say that we are a colony of Surya-vansas settled in the West\nas to us to maintain that the Rajputs are the descendants of Scythians\nwho emigrated to the East. The Scythians of Herodotus and the Scythians\nof Ptolemy, and some other classical writers, are two perfectly distinct\nnationalities. Under Scythia, Herodotus means the extension of land from\nthe mouth of Danube to the Sea of Azoff, according to Niebuhr; and to\nthe mouth of Don, according to Rawlinson; whereas the Scythia of Ptolemy\nis a country strictly Asiatic, including the whole space between the\nriver Volga and Serika, or China. Besides this, Scythia was divided by\nthe western Himalayas, which the Roman writers call Imaus, into Scythia\nintra Imaum, and Scythia extra Imaum. Given this lack of precision,\nthe Rajputs may be called the Scythians of Asia, and the Scythians\nthe Rajputs of Europe, with the same degree of likelihood. Pinkerton's\nopinion is that European contempt for the Tartars would not be half\nso strong if the European public learned how closely we are related\nto them; that our forefathers came from northern Asia, and that our\nprimitive customs, laws and mode of living were the same as theirs; in\na word, that we are nothing but a Tartar colony... Cimbri, Kelts and\nGauls, who conquered the northern part of Europe, are different names of\nthe same tribe, whose origin is Tartary. Who were the Goths, the Swedes,\nthe Vandals, the Huns and the Franks, if not separate swarms of the same\nbeehive? The annals of Sweden point to Kashgar as the fatherland of\nthe Swedes. The likeness between the languages of the Saxons and the\nKipchak-Tartars is striking; and the Keltic, which still exists in\nBrittany and in Wales, is the best proof that their inhabitants are\ndescendants of the Tartar nation.\n\nWhatever Pinkerton and others may say, the modern Rajput warriors do\nnot answer in the least the description Hippocrates gives us of the\nScythians. The \"father of medicine\" says: \"The bodily structure of these\nmen is thick, coarse and stunted; their joints are weak and flabby; they\nhave almost no hair, and each of them resembles the other.\" No man,\nwho has seen the handsome, gigantic warriors of Rajistan, with their\nabundant hair and beards, will ever recognize this portrait drawn by\nHippocrates as theirs. Besides, the Scythians, whoever they may be,\nburied their dead, which the Rajputs never did, judging by the records\nof their most ancient MSS. The Scythians were a wandering nation, and\nare described by Hesiod as \"living in covered carts and feeding on\nmare's milk.\" And the Rajputs have been a sedentary people from time\nimmemorial, inhabiting towns, and having their history at least several\nhundred years before Christ--that is to say, earlier than the epoch of\nHerodotus. They do celebrate the Ashvamedha, the horse sacrifice; but\nwill not touch mare's milk, and despise all Mongolians. Herodotus says\nthat the Scythians, who called themselves Skoloti, hated foreigners, and\nnever let any stranger in their country; and the Rajputs are one of\nthe most hospitable peoples of the world. In the epoch of the wars of\nDarius, 516 B.C., the Scythians were still in their own district, about\nthe mouth of the Danube. And at the same epoch the Rajputs were already\nknown in India and had their own kingdom. As to the Ashvamedha, which\nColonel Tod thinks to be the chief illustration of his theory, the\ncustom of killing horses in honor of the sun is mentioned in the\nRig-Veda, as well as in the Aitareya-Brahmana. Martin Haug states that\nthe latter has probably been in existence since 2000-2400 B.C.----\n\n\nBut it strikes me that the digression from the Babu's chum to the\nScythians and the Rajputs of the antediluvian epoch threatens to become\ntoo long, so I beg the reader's pardon and resume the thread of my\nnarrative.\n\n\n\n\nThe Banns Of Marriage\n\n\n\nNext day, early in the morning, the local shikaris went under the\nleadership of the warlike Akali, to hunt glamoured and real tigers\nin the caves. It took them longer than we expected. The old Bhil, who\nrepresented to us the absent dhani, proposed that in the meanwhile\nwe should witness a Brahmanical wedding ceremony. Needless to say,\nwe jumped at this. The ceremonies of betrothal and marriage have not\nchanged in India during the last two millenniums at least. They are\nperformed according to the directions of Manu, and the old theme has\nno new variations. India's religious rites have crystallized long ago.\nWhoever has seen a Hindu wedding in 1879, saw it as it was celebrated in\nancient Aryavarta many centuries ago.----\n\n\nA few days before we left Bombay we read in a small local newspaper two\nannouncements of marriages: the first the marriage of a Brahman heiress,\nthe second of a daughter of the fire-worshipers. The first announcement\nwas something to the following effect: \"The family of Bimbay Mavlankar,\netc., etc., are preparing for a happy event. This respectable member\nof our community, unlike the rest of the less fortunate Brahmans of\nhis caste, has found a husband for his grand-daughter in a rich Gujerat\nfamily of the same caste. The little Rama-bai is already five, her\nfuture husband is seven. The wedding is to take place in two months and\npromises to be brilliant.\"\n\n\nThe second announcement referred to an accomplished fact. It appeared\nin a Parsi paper, which strongly insists on the necessity of giving up\n\"disgusting superannuated customs,\" and especially the early marriage.\nIt justly ridiculed a certain Gujerati newspaper, which had just\ndescribed in very pompous expressions a recent wedding ceremony in\nPoona. The bridegroom, who had just entered his sixth year \"pressed to\nhis heart a blushing bride of two and a half!\" The usual answers of this\ncouple entering into matrimony proved so indistinct that the Mobed had\nto address the questions to their parents: \"Are you willing to have him\nfor your lawful husband, O daughter of Zaratushta?\" and \"Are you willing\nto be her husband, O son of Zoroaster?\" \"Everything went as well as it\ncould be expected,\" continued the newspaper; \"the bridegroom was led out\nof the room by the hand, and the bride, who was carried away in arms,\ngreeted the guests, not with smiles, but with a tremendous howl, which\nmade her forget the existence of such a thing as a pocket-handkerchief,\nand remember only her feeding-bottle; for the latter article she asked\nrepeatedly, half choked with sobs, and throttled with the weight of the\nfamily diamonds. Taking it all in all, it was a Parsi marriage, which\nshows the progress of our speedily developing nation with the exactitude\nof a weather glass,\" added the satirical newspaper.\n\nHaving read this we laughed heartily, though we did not give full credit\nto this description, and thought it a good deal exaggerated. We knew\nParsi and Brahman families in which were husbands of ten years of\nage; but had never heard as yet of a bride who was a baby in\narms.----\n\n\nIt is not without reason that the Brahmans are fervent upholders of\nthe ancient law which prohibits to everyone, except the officiating\nBrahmans, the study of Sanskrit and the reading of the Vedas. The\nShudras and even the high-born Vaishyas were in olden times to be\nexecuted for such an offence. The secret of this rigour lies in the fact\nthat the Vedas do not permit matrimony for women under fifteen to twenty\nyears of age, and for men under twenty-five, or even thirty. Eager\nabove all that every religious ceremony should fill their pockets, the\nBrahmans never stopped at disfiguring their ancient sacred literature;\nand not to be caught, they pronounced its study accursed. Amongst other\n\"criminal inventions,\" to use the expression of Swami Dayanand, there is\na text in the Brahmanical books, which contradicts everything that is\nto be found in the Vedas on this particular matter: I speak of the Kudva\nKunbis, the wedding season of all the agricultural classes of Central\nAsia. This season is to be celebrated once in every twelve years, but\nit appears to be a field from which Messieurs les Brahmans gathered\nthe most abundant harvest. At this epoch, all the mothers have to seek\naudiences from the goddess Mata, the great mother--of course through her\nrightful oracles the Brahmans. Mata is the special patroness of all the\nfour kinds of marriages practised in India: the marriages of adults, of\nchildren, of babies, and of specimens of humanity that are as yet to be\nborn.\n\nThe latter is the queerest of all, because the feelings it excites are\nso very like gambling. In this case, the marriage ceremony is celebrated\nbetween the mothers of the future children. Many a curious incident is\nthe result of these matrimonial parodies. But a true Brahman will\nnever allow the derision of fate to shake his dignity, and the docile\npopulation never will doubt the infallibility of these \"elect of the\ngods.\" An open antagonism to the Brahmanical institutions is more\nthan rare; the feelings of reverence and dread the masses show to the\nBrahmans are so blind and so sincere, that an outsider cannot help\nsmiling at them and respecting them at the same time.\n\nIf both the mothers have children of the same sex, it will not upset the\nBrahman in the least; he will say this was the will of the goddess Mata,\nit shows that she desires the new-born babies to be two loving brothers,\nor two loving sisters, as the case may be, in future. And if the\nchildren grow up, they will be acknowledged heirs to the properties of\nboth mothers. In this case, the Brahman breaks the bonds of the marriage\nby the order of the goddess, is paid for doing so, and the whole affair\nis dropped altogether. But if the children are of different sexes these\nbonds cannot be broken, even if they are born cripples or idiots.\n\nWhile I am dealing with the family life of India, I had better mention\nsome other features, not to return to them any more. No Hindu has the\nright to remain single. The only exceptions are, in case the child is\ndestined to monastic life from the first days of his existence, and in\ncase the child is consecrated to the service of one of the gods of the\nTrimurti even before he is born. Religion insists on matrimony for the\nsake of having a son, whose duty it will be to perform every prescribed\nrite, in order that his departed father may enter Swarga, or paradise.\nEven the caste of Brahmacharyas, who take vows of chastity, but take a\npart and interest in worldly life--and so are the unique lay-celibates\nof India--are bound to adopt sons. The rest of the Hindus must remain\nin matrimony till the age of forty; after which they earn the right to\nleave the world, and to seek salvation, leading an ascetic life in some\njungle. If a member of some Hindu family happens to be afflicted from\nbirth with some organic defect, this will not be an impediment to his\nmarrying, on the condition that his wife should be also a cripple, if\nshe belongs to the same caste. The defects of husband and wife must be\ndifferent: if he is blind, she must be hump-backed or lame, and vice\nversa. But if the young man in question is prejudiced, and wants a\nhealthy wife, he must condescend to make a mesalliance; he must stoop to\nchoose a wife in a caste that is exactly one degree lower than his own.\nBut in this case his kinsmen and associates will not acknowledge her;\nthe parvenue will not be received on any conditions whatever. Besides,\nall these exceptional instances depend entirely on the family Guru--on\nthe priest who is inspired by the gods.\n\nAll the above holds good as far as the men are concerned; but with the\nwomen it is quite different.\n\nOnly the nautches--dancing girls consecrated to gods, and living\nin temples--can be said to be free and happy. Their occupation is\nhereditary, but they are vestals and daughters of vestals, however\nstrange this may sound to a European ear. But the notions of the Hindus,\nespecially on questions of morality, are quite independent, and even\nanti-Western, if I may use this expression. No one is more severe\nand exacting in the questions of feminine honor and chastity; but the\nBrahmans proved to be more cunning than even the Roman augurs. Rhea\nSylvia, for instance, the mother of Romulus and Remus, was buried alive\nby the ancient Romans, in spite of the god Mars taking an active part in\nher faux pas. Numa and Tiberius took exceedingly good care that the good\nmorals of their priestesses should not become merely nominal. But the\nvestals on the banks of the Ganges and the Indus understand the question\ndifferently from those on the banks of the Tiber. The intimacy of the\nnautch-girls with the gods, which is generally accepted, cleanses them\nfrom every sin and makes them in every one's eyes irreproachable\nand infallible. A nautcha cannot sin, in spite of the crowd of the\n\"celestial musicians\" who swarm in every pagoda, in the form of\nbaby-vestals and their little brothers. No virtuous Roman matron was\never so respected as the pretty little nautcha. This great reverence\nfor the happy \"brides of the gods\" is especially striking in the purely\nnative towns of Central India, where the population has preserved intact\ntheir blind faith in the Brahmans.\n\nEvery nautcha can read, and receives the highest Hindu education. They\nall read and write in Sanskrit, and study the best literature of ancient\nIndia, and her six chief philosophies, but especially music, singing and\ndancing. Besides these \"godborn\" priestesses of the pagodas, there are\nalso public nautches, who, like the Egyptian almeas, are within the\nreach of ordinary mortals, not only of gods; they also are in most cases\nwomen of a certain culture.\n\nBut the fate of an honest woman of Hindostan is quite different; and a\nbitter and incredibly unjust fate it is. The life of a thoroughly good\nwoman, especially if she happens to possess warm faith and unshaken\npiety, is simply a long chain of fatal misfortunes. And the higher her\nfamily and social position, the more wretched is her life. Married women\nare so afraid of resembling the professional dancing girls, that they\ncannot be persuaded to learn anything the latter are taught. If a\nBrahman woman is rich her life is spent in demoralizing idleness; if\nshe is poor, so much the worse, her earthly existence is concentrated\nin monotonous performances of mechanical rites. There is no past, and no\nfuture for her; only a tedious present, from which there is no possible\nescape. And this only if everything be well, if her family be not\nvisited by sad losses. Needless to say that, amongst Brahman women,\nmarriage is not a question of free choice, and still less of affection.\nHer choice of a husband is restricted by the caste to which her father\nand mother happen to belong; and so, to find a suitable match for a girl\nis a matter of great difficulty, as well as of great expense. In India,\nthe high-caste woman is not bought, but she has to buy the right to get\nmarried. Accordingly, the birth of a girl is not a joy, but a sorrow,\nespecially if her parents are not rich. She must be married not later\nthan when she is seven or eight; a little girl of ten is an old maid in\nIndia, she is a discredit to her parents and is the miser-able butt of\nall her more fortunate contemporaries.\n\nOne of the few noble achievements of Englishmen in India which have\nsucceeded is the decrease of infanticide, which some time ago was a\ndaily practice, and still is not quite got rid of. Little girls were\nkilled by their parents everywhere in India; but this dreadful custom\nwas especially common amongst the tribes of Jadej, once so powerful in\nSindh, and now reduced to petty brigandage. Probably these tribes were\nthe first to spread this heartless practice. Obligatory marriage for\nlittle girls is a comparatively recent invention, and it alone is\nresponsible for the parents' decision rather to see them dead than\nunmarried. The ancient Aryans knew nothing of it. Even the ancient\nBrahmanical literature shows that, amongst the pure Aryans, woman\nenjoyed the same privileges as man. Her voice was listened to by the\nstatesmen; she was free either to choose a husband, or to remain single.\nMany a woman's name plays an important part in the chronicles of the\nancient Aryan land; many women have come down to posterity as eminent\npoets, astronomers, philosophers, and even sages and lawyers.\n\nBut with the invasion of the Persians, in the seventh century, and later\non of the fanatical, all-destroying Mussulmans, all this changed. Woman\nbecame enslaved, and the Brahmans did everything to humiliate her.\nIn towns, the position of the Hindu woman is still worse than amongst\nagricultural classes.\n\nThe wedding ceremonies are very complicated and numerous. They are\ndivided into three groups: the rites before the wedding; the rites\nduring the ceremony; and the rites after the celebration has taken\nplace. The first group consists of eleven ceremonies: the asking in\nmarriage; the comparison of the two horoscopes; the sacrifice of a goat;\nthe fixing of a propitious day; the building of the altar; the purchase\nof the sacred pots for household use; the invitation of guests; the\nsacrifices to the household gods; mutual presents and so on. All this\nmust be accomplished as a religious duty, and is full of entangled\nrites. As soon as a little girl in some Hindu family is four years old,\nher father and mother send for the family Guru, give him her horoscope,\ndrawn up previously by the astrologer of their caste (a very important\npost), and send the Guru to this or that inhabitant of the place who is\nknown to have a son of appropriate age. The father of the little boy has\nto put the horoscope on the altar before the family gods and to answer:\n\"I am well disposed towards the Panigrhana; let Rudra help us.\" The Guru\nmust ask when the union is to take place, after which he is bowed out.\nA few days later the father of the little boy takes the horoscope of his\nson as well as of the little girl to the chief astrologer. If the latter\nfinds them propitious to the intended marriage, it will take place; if\nnot, his decision is immediately sent to the father of the little\ngirl, and the whole affair is dropped. If the astrologer's opinion is\nfavorable, however, the bargain is concluded on the spot. The astrologer\noffers a cocoa-nut and a handful of sugar to the father, after which\nnothing can be altered; otherwise a Hindu vendetta will be handed down\nfrom generation to generation. After the obligatory goat-sacrifice, the\ncouple are irrevocably betrothed, and the astrologer fixes the day of\nthe wedding.\n\nThe sacrifice of the goat is very interesting, so I am going to describe\nit in detail.\n\nA child of the male sex is sent to invite several married ladies, old\nwomen of twenty or twenty-five, to witness the worship of the Lares and\nPenates. Each family has a household goddess of its own--which is not\nimpossible, since the Hindu gods number thirty-three crores. On the eve\nof the sacrificial day, a kid is brought into the house, and all the\nfamily sleep round him. Next morning, the reception hall in the lower\nstory is made ready for the ceremony. The floor is thickly covered with\ncow-dung, and, right in the middle of the room a square is traced with\nwhite chalk, in which is placed a high pedestal, with the statue of the\ngoddess. The patriarch of the family brings the goat, and, holding him\nby the horns, lowers his head to salute the goddess. After this, the\n\"old\" and young women sing marriage hymns, tie the legs of the goat,\ncover his head with red powder, and make a lamp smoke under his nose,\nto banish the evil spirits from round him. When all this is done, the\nfemale element puts itself out of the way, and the patriarch comes again\nupon the stage. He treacherously puts a ration of rice before the goat,\nand as soon as the victim becomes innocently absorbed in gratifying his\nappetite, the old man chops his head off with a single stroke of his\nsword, and bathes the goddess in the smoking blood coming from the head\nof the animal, which he holds in his right arm, over the idol. The women\nsing in chorus, and the ceremony of betrothal is over.\n\nThe ceremonies with the astrologers, and the exchange of presents,\nare too long to be described. I shall mention only, that in all these\nceremonies the astrologer plays the double part of an augur and a family\nlawyer. After a general invocation to the elephant-headed god Ganesha,\nthe marriage contract is written on the reverse of the horoscopes and\nsealed, and a general blessing is pronounced over the assembly.\n\nNeedless to say that all these ceremonies had been accomplished long ago\nin the family to whose marriage party we were invited in Bagh. All these\nrites are sacred, and most probably we, being mere strangers, would\nnot have been allowed to witness them. We saw them all later on in\nBenares--thanks to the intercession of our Babu.\n\n\n\nWhen we arrived on the spot, where the Bagh cere-mony was celebrated,\nthe festivity was at its height. The bridegroom was not more than\nfourteen years old, while the bride was only ten. Her small nose was\nadorned with a huge golden ring with some very brilliant stone, which\ndragged her nostril down. Her face looked comically piteous, and\nsometimes she cast furtive glances at us. The bridegroom, a stout,\nhealthy-looking boy, attired in cloth of gold and wearing the many\nstoried Indra hat, was on horseback, surrounded by a whole crowd of male\nrelations.\n\nThe altar, especially erected for this occasion, presented a queer\nsight. Its regulation height is three times the length of the bride's\narm from the shoulder down to the middle finger. Its materials are\nbricks and white-washed clay. Forty-six earthen pots painted with\nred, yellow and green stripes--the colors of the Trimurti--rose in two\npyramids on both sides of the \"god of marriages\" on the altar, and all\nround it a crowd of little married girls were busy grinding ginger.\nWhen it was reduced to powder the whole crowd rushed on the bridegroom,\ndragged him from his horse, and, having undressed him, began rubbing him\nwith wet ginger. As soon as the sun dried him he was dressed again by\nsome of the little ladies, whilst one part of them sang and the other\nsprinkled his head with water from lotus leaves twisted into tubes. We\nunderstood that this was a delicate attention to the water gods.\n\nWe were also told that the whole of the previous night had been given up\nto the worship of various spirits. The last rites, begun weeks ago,\nwere hurriedly brought to an end during this last night. Invocations to\nGanesha, to the god of marriages; to the gods of the elements, water,\nfire, air and earth; to the goddess of the smallpox and other illnesses;\nto the spirits of ancestors and planetary spirits, to the evil spirits,\ngood spirits, family spirits, and so on, and so on. Suddenly our ears\nwere struck by strains of music.... Good heavens! what a dreadful\nsymphony it was! The ear-splitting sounds of Indian tom-toms, Tibetan\ndrunis, Singalese pipes, Chinese trumpets, and Burmese gongs deafened us\non all sides, awakening in our souls hatred for humanity and humanity's\ninventions.\n\n\"De tous les bruits du monde celui de la musique est le plus\ndesagreable!\" was my ever-recurring thought. Happily, this agony did\nnot last long, and was replaced by the choral singing of Brahmans and\nnautches, which was very original, but perfectly bearable. The wedding\nwas a rich one, and so the \"vestals\" appeared in state. A moment of\nsilence, of restrained whispering, and one of them, a tall, handsome\ngirl with eyes literally filling half her forehead, began approaching\none guest after the other in perfect silence, and rubbing their faces\nwith her hand, leaving traces of sandal and saffron powders. She glided\ntowards us also, noiselessly moving over the dusty road with her bare\nfeet; and before we realized what she was doing she had daubed me as\nwell as the colonel and Miss X----, which made the latter sneeze and\nwipe her face for at least ten minutes, with loud but vain utterances of\nindignation.\n\nThe Babu and Mulji offered their faces to the little hand, full of\nsaffron, with smiles of condescending generosity. But the indomitable\nNarayan shrank from the vestal so unexpectedly at the precise moment\nwhen, with fiery glances at him, she stood on tiptoe to reach his face,\nthat she quite lost countenance and sent a full dose of powder over his\nshoulder, whilst he turned away from her with knitted brow. Her forehead\nalso showed several threatening lines, but in a moment she overcame her\nanger and glided towards Ram-Runjit-Das, sparkling with engaging\nsmiles. But here she met with still less luck; offended at once in his\nmonotheism and his chastity, the \"God's warrior\" pushed the vestal so\nunceremoniously that she nearly upset the elaborate pot-decoration of\nthe altar. A dissatisfied murmur ran through the crowd, and we were\npreparing to be condemned to shameful banishment for the sins of the\nwarlike Sikh, when the drums sounded again and the procession moved\non. In front of everyone drove the trumpeters and the drummers in a car\ngilded from top to bottom, and dragged by bullocks loaded with garlands\nof flowers; next after them walked a whole detachment of pipers, and\nthen a third body of musicians on horseback, who frantically hammered\nhuge gongs. After them proceeded the cortege of the bridegroom's and\nthe bride's relations on horses adorned with rich harness, feathers and\nflowers; they went in pairs. They were followed by a regiment of Bhils\nin full disarmour--because no weapons but bows and arrows had been left\nto them by the English Government. All these Bhils looked as if they had\ntooth-ache, because of the odd way they have of arranging the ends of\ntheir white pagris. After them walked clerical Brahmans, with aromatic\ntapers in their hands and surrounded by the flitting battalion of\nnautches, who amused themselves all the way by graceful glissades and\npas. They were followed by the lay Brahmans--the \"twice born.\" The\nbridegroom rode on a handsome horse; on both sides walked two couples\nof warriors, armed with yaks' tails to wave the flies away. They\nwere accompanied by two more men on each side with silver fans. The\nbridegroom's group was wound up by a naked Brahman, perched on a donkey\nand holding over the head of the boy a huge red silk umbrella. After him\na car loaded with a thousand cocoa-nuts and a hundred bamboo baskets,\ntied together by a red rope. The god who looks after marriages drove in\nmelancholy isolation on the vast back of an elephant, whose mahout\nled him by a chain of flowers. Our humble party modestly advanced just\nbehind the elephant's tail.\n\nThe performance of rites on the way seemed endless.\n\nWe had to stop before every tree, every pagoda, every sacred tank and\nbush, and at last before a sacred cow. When we came back to the house\nof the bride it was four in the afternoon, and we had started a little\nafter six in the morning. We all were utterly exhausted, and Miss X----\nliterally threatened to fall asleep on her feet. The indignant Sikh\nhad left us long ago, and had persuaded Mr. Y---- and Mulji--whom the\ncolonel had nicknamed the \"mute general\"--to keep him company. Our\nrespected president was bathed in his own perspiration, and even Narayan\nthe unchangeable yawned and sought consolation in a fan. But the Babu\nwas simply astonishing. After a nine hours' walk under the sun, with his\nhead unprotected, he looked fresher than ever, without a drop of sweat\non his dark satin-like forehead. He showed his white teeth in an eternal\nsmile, and chaffed us all, reciting the \"Diamond Wedding\" of Steadman.\n\nWe struggled against our fatigue in our desire to wit-ness the last\nceremony, after which the woman is forever cut off from the external\nworld. It was just going to begin; and we kept our eyes and ears wide\nopen.\n\nThe bridegroom and the bride were placed before the altar. The\nofficiating Brahman tied their hands with some kus-kus grass, and led\nthem three times round the altar. Then their hands were untied, and the\nBrahman mumbled a mantram. When he had finished, the boy husband lifted\nhis diminutive bride and carried her three times round the altar in his\narms, then again three turns round the altar, but the boy preceding the\ngirl, and she following him like an obedient slave. When this was over,\nthe bridegroom was placed on a high chair by the entrance door, and the\nbride brought a basin of water, took off his shoes, and, having washed\nhis feet, wiped them with her long hair. We learned that this was a very\nancient custom. On the right side of the bridegroom sat his mother. The\nbride knelt before her also, and, having performed the same operation\nover her feet, she retired to the house. Then her mother came out of the\ncrowd and repeated the same ceremony, but without using her hair as a\ntowel. The young couple were married. The drums and the tom-toms rolled\nonce more; and half-deaf we started for home.----\n\n\nIn the tent we found the Akali in the middle of a sermon, delivered for\nthe edification of the \"mute general\" and Mr. Y----. He was explaining\nto them the advantages of the Sikh religion, and comparing it with the\nfaith of the \"devil-worshipers,\" as he called the Brahmans.\n\nIt was too late to go to the caves, and, besides, we had had enough\nsights for one day. So we sat down to rest, and to listen to the words\nof wisdom falling from the lips of the \"God's warrior.\" In my humble\nopinion, he was right in more than one thing; in his most imaginative\nmoments Satan himself could not have invented anything more unjust\nand more refinedly cruel than what was invented by these \"twice-born\"\negotists in their relation to the weaker sex. An unconditioned civil\ndeath awaits her in case of widowhood--even if this sad fate befalls\nher when she is two or three years old. It is of no importance for the\nBrahmans if the marriage never actually took place; the goat sacrifice,\nat which the personal presence of the little girl is not even\nrequired--she being represented by the wretched victim--is considered\nbinding for her. As for the man, not only is he permitted to have\nseveral lawful wives at a time, but he is even required by the law to\nmarry again if his wife dies. Not to be unjust, I must mention that,\nwith the exception of some vicious and depraved Rajas, we never heard\nof a Hindu availing himself of this privilege, and having more than one\nwife.\n\nAt the present time, the whole of orthodox India is shaken by the\nstruggle in favor of the remarriage of widows. This agitation was begun\nin Bombay, by a few reformers, and opponents of Brahmans. It is already\nten years since Mulji-Taker-Sing and others raised this question; but\nwe know only of three or four men who have dared as yet to marry widows.\nThis struggle is carried on in silence and secrecy, but nevertheless it\nis fierce and obstinate.\n\nIn the meanwhile, the fate of the widow is what the Brahmans wish it to\nbe. As soon as the corpse of her husband is burned the widow must shave\nher head, and never let it grow again as long as she lives. Her bangles,\nnecklaces and rings are broken to pieces and burned, together with her\nhair and her husband's remains. During the rest of her life she must\nwear nothing but white if she was less than twenty-five at her husband's\ndeath, and red if she was older. Temples, religious ceremonies, society,\nare closed to her for ever. She has no right to speak to any of her\nrelations, and no right to eat with them. She sleeps, eats and works\nseparately; her touch is considered impure for seven years. If a man,\ngoing out on business, meets a widow, he goes home again, abandoning\nevery pursuit, because to see a widow is accounted an evil omen.\n\nIn the past all this was seldom practised, and concerned only the rich\nwidows, who refused to be burned; but now, since the Brahmans have\nbeen caught in the false interpretation of the Vedas, with the criminal\nintention of appropriating the widows' wealth, they insist on the\nfulfilment of this cruel precept, and make what once was the exception\nthe rule. They are powerless against British law, and so they revenge\nthemselves on the innocent and helpless women, whom fate has deprived of\ntheir natural protectors. Professor Wilson's demonstration of the means\nby which the Brahmans distorted the sense of the Vedas, in order to\njustify the practice of widow-burning, is well worth mentioning. During\nthe many centuries that this terrible practice prevailed, the Brahmans\nhad appealed to a certain Vedic text for their justification, and had\nclaimed to be rigidly fulfilling the institutes of Manu, which contain\nfor them the interpretation of Vedic law. When the East India Company's\nGovernment first turned its attention to the suppression of suttee,\nthe whole country, from Cape Comorin to the Himalayas, rose in protest,\nunder the influence of the Brahmans. \"The English promised not to\ninterfere in our religious affairs, and they must keep their word!\" was\nthe general outcry. Never was India so near revolution as in those days.\nThe English saw the danger and gave up the task. But Professor Wilson,\nthe best Sanskritist of the time, did not consider the battle lost. He\napplied himself to the study of the most ancient MSS., and gradually\nbecame convinced that the alleged precept did not exist in the\nVedas; though in the Laws of Manu it was quite distinct, and had been\ntranslated accordingly by T. Colebrooke and other Orientalists. An\nattempt to prove to the fanatic population that Manu's interpretation\nwas wrong would have been equivalent to an attempt to reduce water to\npowder. So Wilson set himself to study Manu, and to compare the text of\nthe Vedas with the text of this law-giver. This was the result of his\nlabors: the Rig Veda orders the Brahman to place the widow side by side\nwith the corpse, and then, after the performance of certain rites, to\nlead her down from the funeral pyre and to sing the following verse from\nGrhya Sutra:\n\n        Arise, O woman! return to the world of the living!\n        Having gone to sleep by the dead, awake again!\n        Long enough thou hast been a faithful wife\n        To the one who made thee mother of his children.\n\nThen those present at the burning were to rub their eyes with collyrium,\nand the Brahman to address to them the following verse:\n\n        Approach, you married women, not widows,\n        With your husbands bring ghi and butter.\n        Let the mothers go up to the womb first,\n        Dressed in festive garments and costly adornments.\n\nThe line before the last was misinterpreted by the Brahmans in the most\nskillful way. In Sanskrit it reads as follows:\n\n        Arohantu janayo yonim agre.....\n\nYonina agre literally means to the womb first. Having changed only\none letter of the last word agre, \"first,\" in Sanskrit [script], the\nBrahmans wrote instead agneh, \"fire's,\" in Sanskrit [script], and so\nacquired the right to send the wretched widows yonina agneh--to the womb\nof fire. It is difficult to find on the face of the world another such\nfiendish deception.\n\nThe Vedas never permitted the burning of the widows, and there is a\nplace in Taittiriya-Aranyaka, of the Yajur Veda, where the brother of\nthe deceased, or his disciple, or even a trusted friend, is recommended\nto say to the widow, whilst the pyre is set on fire: \"Arise, O woman! do\nnot lie down any more beside the lifeless corpse; return to the world\nof the living, and become the wife of the one who holds you by the hand,\nand is willing to be your husband.\" This verse shows that during the\nVedic period the remarriage of widows was allowed. Besides, in several\nplaces in the ancient books, pointed out to us by Swami Dayanand, we\nfound orders to the widows \"to keep the ashes of the husband for several\nmonths after his death and to perform over them certain final rituals.\"\n\nHowever, in spite of the scandal created by Professor Wilson's\ndiscovery, and of the fact that the Brahmans were put to shame before\nthe double authority of the Vedas and of Manu, the custom of centuries\nproved so strong that some pious Hindu women still burn themselves\nwhenever they can. Not more than two years ago the four widows of\nYung-Bahadur, the chief minister of Nepal, insisted upon being burned.\nNepal is not under the British rule, and so the Anglo-Indian Government\nhad no right to interfere.\n\n\n\n\nThe Caves Of Bagh\n\n\n\nAt four o'clock in the morning we crossed the Vagrey and Girna, or\nrather, comme coloris local, Shiva and Parvati. Probably, following the\nbad example of the average mortal husband and wife, this divine couple\nwere engaged in a quarrel, even at this early hour of the day. They were\nfrightfully rough, and our ferry, striking on something at the bottom,\nnearly upset us into the cold embrace of the god and his irate better\nhalf.\n\nLike all the cave temples of India, the Bagh caverns are dug out in the\nmiddle of a vertical rock--with the intention, as it seems to me, of\ntesting the limits of human patience. Taking into consideration that\nsuch a height does not prevent either glamour or tigers reaching the\ncaves, I cannot help thinking that the sole aim of the ascetic\nbuilders was to tempt weak mortals into the sin of irritation by the\ninaccessibility of their airy abodes. Seventy-two steps, cut out in the\nrock, and covered with thorny weeds and moss, are the beginning of the\nascent to the Bagh caves. Footmarks worn in the stone through centuries\nspoke of the numberless pilgrims who had come here before us. The\nroughness of the steps, with deep holes here and there, and thorns,\nadded attractions to this ascent; join to this a number of mountain\nsprings exuding through the pores of the stone, and no one will be\nastonished if I say that we simply felt faint under the weight of\nlife and our archeological difficulties. The Babu, who, taking off his\nslippers, scampered over the thorns as unconcernedly as if he had hoofs\ninstead of vulnerable human heels, laughed at the \"helplessness of\nEuropeans,\" and only made us feel worse.\n\nBut on reaching the top of the mountain we stopped grumbling, realizing\nat the first glance that we should receive our reward. We saw a whole\nenfilade of dark caves, through regular square openings, six feet wide.\nWe felt awestruck with the gloomy majesty of this deserted temple. There\nwas a curious ceiling over the square platform that once served as a\nverandah; there was also a portico with broken pillars hanging over\nour heads; and two rooms on each side, one with a broken image of some\nflat-nosed goddess, the other containing a Ganesha; but we did not\nstop to examine all this in detail. Ordering the torches to be lit, we\nstepped into the first hall.\n\nA damp breath as of the tomb met us. At our first word we all shivered:\na hollow, prolonged echoing howl, dying away in the distance, shook\nthe ancient vaults and made us all lower our voices to a whisper. The\ntorch-bearers shrieked \"Devi!... Devi!...\" and, kneeling in the dust,\nperformed a fervent puja in honor of the voice of the invisible goddess\nof the caves, in spite of the angry protestations of Narayan and of the\n\"God's warrior.\"\n\nThe only light of the temple came from the entrance, and so two-thirds\nof it looked still gloomier by contrast. This hall, or the central\ntemple, is very spacious, eighty--four feet square, and sixteen feet\nhigh. Twenty-four massive pillars form a square, six pillars at each\nside, including the corner ones, and four in the middle to prop up the\ncentre of the ceiling; otherwise it could not be kept from falling,\nas the mass of the mountain which presses on it from the top is much\ngreater than in Karli or Elephanta.\n\nThere are at least three different styles in the architecture of\nthese pillars. Some of them are grooved in spirals, gradually and\nimperceptibly changing from round to sixteen sided, then octagonal and\nsquare. Others, plain for the first third of their height, gradually\nfinished under the ceiling by a most elaborate display of ornamentation,\nwhich reminds one of the Corinthian style. The third with a square\nplinth and semi-circular friezes. Taking it all in all, they made a most\noriginal and graceful picture. Mr. Y----, an architect by profession,\nassured us that he never saw anything more striking. He said he could\nnot imagine by the aid of what instruments the ancient builders could\naccomplish such wonders.\n\nThe construction of the Bagh caves, as well as of all the cave temples\nof India, whose history is lost in the darkness of time, is ascribed by\nthe European archeologists to the Buddhists, and by the native tradition\nto the Pandu brothers. Indian paleography protests in every one of its\nnew discoveries against the hasty conclusions of the Orientalists.\nAnd much may be said against the intervention of Buddhists in this\nparticular case. But I shall indicate only one particular. The theory\nwhich declares that all the cave temples of India are of Buddhist origin\nis wrong. The Orientalists may insist as much as they choose on the\nhypothesis that the Buddhists became again idol-worshipers; it will\nexplain nothing, and contradicts the history of both Buddhists and\nBrahmans. The Brahmans began persecuting and banishing the Buddhists\nprecisely because they had begun a crusade against idol-worship. The\nfew Buddhist communities who remained in India and deserted the pure,\nthough, maybe--for a shallow observer--somewhat atheistic teachings\nof Gautama Siddhartha, never joined Brahmanism, but coalesced with the\nJainas, and gradually became absorbed in them. Then why not suppose that\nif, amongst hundreds of Brahmanical gods, we find one statue of Buddha,\nit only shows that the masses of half-converts to Buddhism added this\nnew god to the ancient Brahmanical temple. This would be much more\nsensible than to think that the Buddhists of the two centuries before\nand after the beginning of the Christian era dared to fill their temples\nwith idols, in defiance of the spirit of the reformer Gau-tama. The\nfigures of Buddha are easily discerned in the swarm of heathen gods;\ntheir position is always the same, and the palm of its right hand is\nalways turned upwards, blessing the worshipers with two fingers. We\nexamined almost every remarkable vihara of the so-called Buddhist\ntemples, and never met with one statue of Buddha which could not have\nbeen added in a later epoch than the construction of the temple; it does\nnot matter whether it was a year or a thousand years later. Not being\nperfectly self-confident in this matter, we always took the opinion of\nMr. Y----, who, as I said before, was an experienced architect; and he\ninvariably came to the conclusion that the Brahmanical idols formed a\nharmonic and genuine part of the whole, pillars, decorations, and\nthe general style of the temple; whereas the statue of Buddha was an\nadditional and discordant patch. Out of thirty or forty caves of Ellora,\nall filled with idols, there is only one, the one called the Temple\nof the Tri-Lokas, which contains nothing but statues of Buddha, and\nof Ananda, his favourite disciple. Of course, in this case it would be\nperfectly right to think it is a Buddhist vihara.\n\nMost probably, some of the Russian archeologists will protest against\nthe opinions I maintain, that is to say, the opinions of the Hindu\narcheologists, and will treat me as an ignoramus, outraging science. In\nself-defence, and in order to show how unstable a ground to base one's\nopinions upon are the conclusions even of such a great authority as Mr.\nFergusson, I must mention the following instance. This great architect,\nbut very mediocre archeologist, proclaimed at the very beginning of\nhis scientific career that \"all the cave temples of Kanara, without\nexception, were built between the fifth and the tenth centuries.\" This\ntheory became generally accepted, when suddenly Dr. Bird found a brass\nplate in a certain Kanara monument, called a tope. The plate announced\nin pure and distinct Sanskrit that this tope was erected as a homage\nto the old temple, at the beginning of 245 of the Hindu astronomical\n(Samvat) era. According to Prinsep and Dr. Stevenson, this date\ncoincides with 189 A.D., and so it clearly settles the question of when\nthe tope was built. But the question of the antiquity of the temple\nitself still remains open, though the inscription states that it was\nan old temple in 189 A.D., and contradicts the above-quoted opinion of\nFergusson. However, this important discovery failed to shake Fergusson's\nequanimity. For him, ancient inscriptions are of no importance, because,\nas he says, \"the antiquity of ruins must not be fixed on the basis\nof inscriptions, but on the basis of certain architectural canons and\nrules,\" discovered by Mr. Fergusson in person. Fiat hypothesis, ruat\ncoelum!\n\nAnd now I shall return to my narrative.\n\nStraight before the entrance a door leads to another hall, which is\noblong, with hexagonal pillars and niches, containing statues in a\ntolerable state of preservation; goddesses ten feet and gods nine feet\nhigh. After this hall there is a room with an altar, which is a regular\nhexagon, having sides each three feet long, and protected by a cupola\ncut in the rock. Nobody was admitted here, except the initiates of the\nmysteries of the adytum. All round this room there are about twenty\npriests' cells. Absorbed in the examination of the altar, we did not\nnotice the absence of the colonel, till we heard his loud voice in the\ndistance calling to us:\n\n\"I have found a secret passage.... Come along, let us find where it\nleads to!\"\n\nTorch in hand, the colonel was far ahead of us, and very eager to\nproceed; but each of us had a little plan of his own, and so we were\nreluctant to obey his summons. The Babu took upon himself to answer for\nthe whole party:\n\n\"Take care, colonel. This passage leads to the den of the glamour....\nMind the tigers!\"\n\nBut once fairly started on the way to discoveries, our president was not\nto be stopped. Nolens volens we followed him.\n\nHe was right; he had made a discovery; and on entering the cell we saw\na most unexpected tableau. By the opposite wall stood two torch-bearers\nwith their flaming torches, as motionless as if they were transformed\ninto stone caryatides; and from the wall, about five feet above the\nground, protruded two legs clad in white trousers. There was no body to\nthem; the body had disappeared, and but that the legs were shaken by\na convulsive effort to move on, we might have thought that the wicked\ngoddess of this place had cut the colonel into two halves, and having\ncaused the upper half instantly to evaporate, had stuck the lower half\nto the wall, as a kind of trophy.\n\n\"What is become of you, Mr. President? Where are you?\" were our alarmed\nquestions.\n\nInstead of an answer, the legs were convulsed still more violently,\nand soon disappeared completely, after which we heard the voice of the\ncolonel, as if coming through a long tube:\n\n\"A room... a secret cell.... Be quick! I see a whole row of rooms....\nConfound it! my torch is out! Bring some matches and another torch!\" But\nthis was easier said than done. The torch-bearers refused to go on;\nas it was, they were already frightened out of their wits. Miss X----\nglanced with apprehension at the wall thickly covered with soot and then\nat her pretty gown. Mr. Y---- sat down on a broken pillar and said he\nwould go no farther, preferring to have a quiet smoke in the company of\nthe timid torch-bearers.\n\nThere were several vertical steps cut in the wall; and on the floor we\nsaw a large stone of such a curiously irregular shape that it struck\nme that it could not be natural. The quick-eyed Babu was not long in\ndiscovering its peculiarities, and said he was sure \"it was the stopper\nof the secret passage.\" We all hurried to examine the stone most\nminutely, and discovered that, though it imitated as closely as possible\nthe irregularity of the rock, its under surface bore evident traces of\nworkmanship and had a kind of hinge to be easily moved. The hole was\nabout three feet high, but not more than two feet wide.\n\nThe muscular \"God's warrior\" was the first to follow the colonel. He was\nso tall that when he stood on a broken pillar the opening came down to\nthe middle of his breast, and so he had no difficulty in transporting\nhimself to the upper story. The slender Babu joined him with a single\nmonkey-like jump. Then, with the Akali pulling from above and Narayan\npushing from below, I safely made the passage, though the narrowness of\nthe hole proved most disagreeable, and the roughness of the rock\nleft considerable traces on my hands. However trying archeological\nexplorations may be for a person afflicted by an unusually fine\npresence, I felt perfectly confident that with two such Hercules-like\nhelpers as Narayan and Ram-Runjit-Das the ascent of the Himalayas would\nbe perfectly possible for me. Miss X---- came next, under the escort of\nMulji, but Mr. Y---- stayed behind.\n\nThe secret cell was a room of twelve feet square. Straight above the\nblack hole in the floor there was another in the ceiling, but this time\nwe did not discover any \"stopper.\" The cell was perfectly empty with\nthe exception of black spiders as big as crabs. Our apparition,\nand especially the bright light of the torches, maddened them;\npanic-stricken they ran in hundreds over the walls, rushed down, and\ntumbled on our heads, tearing their thin ropes in their inconsiderate\nhaste. The first movement of Miss X---- was to kill as many as she\ncould. But the four Hindus protested strongly and unanimously. The old\nlady remonstrated in an offended voice:\n\n\"I thought that at least you, Mulji, were a reformer, but you are as\nsuperstitious as any idol-worshiper.\"\n\n\"Above everything I am a Hindu,\" answered the \"mute general.\" \"And the\nHindus, as you know, consider it sinful before nature and before their\nown consciences to kill an animal put to flight by the strength of man,\nbe it even poisonous. As to the spiders, in spite of their ugliness,\nthey are perfectly harmless.\"\n\n\"I am sure all this is because you think you will transmigrate into a\nblack spider!\" she replied, her nostrils trembling with anger.\n\n\"I cannot say I do,\" retorted Mulji; \"but if all the English ladies are\nas unkind as you I should rather be a spider than an Englishman.\"\n\nThis lively answer coming from the usually taciturn Mulji was\nso unexpected that we could not help laugh-ing. But to our great\ndiscomfiture Miss X---- was seriously angry, and, under pretext of\ngiddiness, said she would rejoin Mr. Y---- below.\n\nHer constant bad spirits were becoming trying for our cosmopolitan\nlittle party, and so we did not press her to stay.\n\nAs to us we climbed through the second opening, but this time under the\nleadership of Narayan. He disclosed to us that this place was not new to\nhim; he had been here before, and confided to us that similar rooms, one\non the top of the other, go up to the summit of the mountain. Then,\nhe said, they take a sudden turn, and descend gradually to a whole\nunderground palace, which is sometimes temporarily inhabited. Wishing\nto leave the world for a while and to spend a few days in isolation, the\nRaj-Yogis find perfect solitude in this underground abode. Our president\nlooked askance at Narayan through his spectacles, but did not find\nanything to say. The Hindus also received this information in perfect\nsilence.\n\nThe second cell was exactly like the first one; we easily discovered the\nhole in its ceiling, and reached the third cell. There we sat down for a\nwhile. I felt that breathing was becoming difficult to me, but I thought\nI was simply out of breath and tired, and so did not mention to my\ncompanions that anything was wrong. The passage to the fourth cell was\nalmost stopped by earth mixed with little stones, and the gentlemen of\nthe party were busy clearing it out for about twenty minutes. Then we\nreached the fourth cell.\n\nNarayan was right, the cells were one straight over the other, and the\nfloor of the one formed the ceiling of the other. The fourth cell was\nin ruins. Two broken pillars lying one on the other presented a very\nconvenient stepping-stone to the fifth story. But the colonel stopped\nour zeal by saying that now was the time to smoke \"the pipe of\ndeliberation\" after the fashion of red Indians.\n\n\"If Narayan is not mistaken,\" he said, \"this going up and up may\ncontinue till tomorrow morning.\"\n\n\"I am not mistaken,\" said Narayan almost solemnly. But since my visit\nhere I have heard that some of these passages were filled with earth,\nso that every communication is stopped; and, if I remember rightly, we\ncannot go further than the next story.\"\n\n\"In that case there is no use trying to go any further. If the ruins are\nso shaky as to stop the passages, it would be dangerous for us.\"\n\n\"I never said the passages were stopped by the hand of time.... They did\nit on purpose....\"\n\n\"Who they? Do you mean glamour?...\"\n\n\"Colonel!\" said the Hindu with an effort. \"Don't laugh at what I say.\n... I speak seriously.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, I assure you my intention is neither to offend you nor\nto ridicule a serious matter. I simply do not realize whom you mean when\nyou say they.\"\n\n\"I mean the brotherhood.... The Raj-Yogis. Some of them live quite close\nto here.\"\n\nBy the dim light of the half-extinguished torches we saw that Narayan's\nlips trembled and that his face grew pale as he spoke. The colonel\ncoughed, rearranged his spectacles and remained silent for a while.\n\n\"My dear Narayan,\" at last said the colonel, \"I do not want to believe\nthat your intention is to make fun of our credulity. But I can't believe\neither, that you seriously mean to assure us that any living creature,\nbe it an animal or an ascetic, could exist in a place where there is no\nair. I paid special attention to the fact, and so I am perfectly sure I\nam not mistaken: there is not a single bat in these cells, which shows\nthat there is a lack of air. And just look at our torches! you see how\ndim they are growing. I am sure, that on climbing two or three more\nrooms like this, we should be suffocated!\"\n\n\"And in spite of all these facts, I speak the truth,\" repeated Narayan.\n\"The caves further on are inhabited by them. And I have seen them with\nmy own eyes.\"\n\nThe colonel grew thoughtful, and stood glancing at the ceiling in a\nperplexed and undecided way. We all kept silent, breathing heavily.\n\n\"Let us go back!\" suddenly shouted the Akali. \"My nose is bleeding.\"\n\nAt this very moment I felt a strange and unexpected sensation, and\nI sank heavily on the ground. In a second I felt an indescribably\ndelicious, heavenly sense of rest, in spite of a dull pain beating in my\ntemples. I vaguely realized that I had really fainted, and that I should\ndie if not taken out into the open air. I could not lift my finger; I\ncould not utter a sound; and, in spite of it, there was no fear in my\nsoul--nothing but an apathetic, but indescribably sweet feeling of rest,\nand a complete inactivity of all the senses except hearing. A moment\ncame when even this sense forsook me, because I remember that I listened\nwith imbecile intentness to the dead silence around me. Is this death?\nwas my indistinct wondering thought. Then I felt as if mighty wings\nwere fanning me. \"Kind wings, caressing, kind wings!\" were the recurring\nwords in my brain, like the regular movements of a pendulum, and\ninteriorily under an unreasoning impulse, I laughed at these words. Then\nI experienced a new sensation: I rather knew than felt that I was lifted\nfrom the floor, and fell down and down some unknown precipice, amongst\nthe hollow rollings of a distant thunder-storm. Suddenly a loud voice\nresounded near me. And this time I think I did not hear, but felt it.\nThere was something palpable in this voice, something that instantly\nstopped my helpless descent, and kept me from falling any further.\nThis was a voice I knew well, but whose voice it was I could not in my\nweakness remember.\n\nIn what way I was dragged through all these narrow holes will remain an\neternal mystery for me. I came to myself on the verandah below, fanned\nby fresh breezes, and as suddenly as I had fainted above in the impure\nair of the cell. When I recovered completely the first thing I saw was\na powerful figure clad in white, with a raven black Rajput beard,\nanxiously leaning over me. As soon as I recognized the owner of this\nbeard, I could not abstain from expressing my feelings by a joyful\nexclamation: \"Where do you come from?\" It was our friend Takur\nGulab-Lal-Sing, who, having promised to join us in the North-West\nProvinces, now appeared to us in Bagh, as if falling from the sky or\ncoming out of the ground.\n\nBut my unfortunate accident, and the pitiable state of the rest of\nthe daring explorers, were enough to stop any further questions and\nexpressions of astonishment. On one side of me the frightened Miss\nX----, using my nose as a cork for her sal-volatile bottle; on the other\nthe \"God's warrior\" covered with blood as if returning from a battle\nwith the Afghans; further on, poor Mulji with a dreadful headache.\nNarayan and the colonel, happily for our party, did not experience\nanything worse than a slight vertigo. As to the Babu, no carbonic acid\ngas could inconvenience his wonderful Bengali nature. He said he was\nsafe and comfortable enough, but awfully hungry.\n\nAt last the outpour of entangled exclamations and unintelligible\nexplanations stopped, and I collected my thoughts and tried to\nunderstand what had happened to me in the cave. Narayan was the first to\nnotice that I had fainted, and hastened to drag me back to the passage.\nAnd this very moment they all heard the voice of Gulab-Sing coming from\nthe upper cell: \"Tum-hare iha aneka kya kam tha?\" \"What on earth brought\nyou here?\" Even before they recovered from their astonishment he ran\nquickly past them, and descending to the cell beneath called to them to\n\"pass him down the bai\" (sister). This \"passing down\" of such a solid\nobject as my body, and the picture of the proceeding, vividly imagined,\nmade me laugh heartily, and I felt sorry I had not been able to witness\nit. Handing him over their half-dead load, they hastened to join the\nTakur; but he contrived to do without their help, though how he did it\nthey were at a loss to understand. By the time they succeeded in getting\nthrough one passage Gulab-Sing was already at the next one, in spite of\nthe heavy burden he carried; and they never were in time to be of any\nassistance to him. The colonel, whose main feature is the tendency to go\ninto the details of everything, could not conceive by what proceedings\nthe Takur had managed to pass my almost lifeless body so rapidly through\nall these narrow holes.\n\n\"He could not have thrown her down the passage before going in himself,\nfor every single bone of her body would have been broken,\" mused the\ncolonel. \"And it is still less possible to suppose that, descending\nfirst himself, he dragged her down afterwards. It is simply\nincomprehensible!\"\n\nThese questions harassed him for a long time afterwards, until they\nbecame something like the puzzle: Which was created first, the egg or\nthe bird?\n\nAs to the Takur, when closely questioned, he shrugged his shoulders,\nand answered that he really did not remember. He said that he simply\ndid whatever he could to get me out into the open air; that all our\ntraveling companions were there to watch his proceedings; he was under\ntheir eyes all the time, and that in circumstances when every second is\nprecious people do not think, but act.\n\nBut all these questions arose only in the course of the day. As to the\ntime directly after I was laid down on the verandah, there were other\nthings to puzzle all our party; no one could understand how the Takur\nhappened to be on the spot exactly when his help was most needed, nor\nwhere he came from--and everyone was anxious to know. On the verandah\nthey found me lying on a carpet, with the Takur busy restoring me to my\nsenses, and Miss X---- with her eyes wide open at the Takur, whom she\ndecidedly believed to be a materialized ghost.\n\nHowever, the explanations our friend gave us seemed perfectly\nsatisfactory, and at first did not strike us as unnatural. He was in\nHardwar when Swami Dayanand sent us the letter which postponed our going\nto him. On arriving at Kandua by the Indore railway, he had visited\nHolkar; and, learning that we were so near, he decided to join us sooner\nthan he had expected. He had come to Bagh yesterday evening, but knowing\nthat we were to start for the caves early in the morning he went there\nbefore us, and simply was waiting for us in the caves.\n\n\"There is the whole mystery for you,\" said he.\n\n\"The whole mystery?\" exclaimed the colonel. \"Did you know, then,\nbeforehand that we would discover the cells, or what?\"\n\n\"No, I did not. I simply went there myself because it is a long time\nsince I saw them last. Examining them took me longer than I expected,\nand so I was too late to meet you at the entrance.\"\n\n\"Probably the Takur-Sahib was enjoying the freshness of the air in the\ncells,\" suggested the mischievous Babu, showing all his white teeth in a\nbroad grin.\n\nOur president uttered an energetic exclamation. \"Exactly! How on earth\ndid I not think of that before?... You could not possibly have any\nbreathing air in the cells above the one you found us in.... And,\nbesides,... how did you reach the fifth cell, when the entrance of the\nfourth was nearly stopped and we had to dig it out?\"\n\n\"There are other passages leading to them. I know all the turns and\ncorridors of these caves, and everyone is free to choose his way,\"\nanswered Gulab-Sing; and I thought I saw a look of intelligence pass\nbetween him and Narayan, who simply cowered under his fiery eyes.\n\"However, let us go to the cave where breakfast is ready for us. Fresh\nair will do all of you good.\"\n\nOn our way we met with another cave, twenty or thirty steps south from\nthe verandah, but the Takur did not let us go in, fearing new accidents\nfor us. So we descended the stone steps I have already mentioned,\nand after descending about two hundred steps towards the foot of the\nmountain, made a short reascent again and entered the \"dining-room,\"\nas the Babu denominated it. In my role of \"interesting invalid,\" I was\ncarried to it, sitting in my folding chair, which never left me in all\nmy travels.\n\nThis temple is much the less gloomy of the two, in spite of considerable\nsigns of decay. The frescoes of the ceiling are better preserved than in\nthe first temple. The walls, the tumbled down pillars, the ceiling, and\neven the interior rooms, which were lighted by ventilators cut through\nthe rock, were once covered by a varnished stucco, the secret of\nwhich is now known only to the Madrasis, and which gives the rock the\nappearance of pure marble.\n\nWe were met by the Takur's four servants, whom we remembered since our\nstay in Karli, and who bowed down in the dust to greet us. The carpets\nwere spread, and the breakfast ready. Every trace of carbonic acid had\nleft our brains, and we sat down to our meal in the best of spirits.\nOur conversation soon turned to the Hardwar Mela, which our\nunexpectedly-recovered friend had left exactly five days ago. All the\ninformation we got from Gulab-Lal-Sing was so interesting that I wrote\nit down at the first opportunity.\n\nAfter a few weeks we visited Hardwar ourselves, and since I saw it, my\nmemory has never grown tired of recalling the charming picture of its\nlovely situation. It is as near a primitive picture of earthly Paradise\nas anything that can be imagined.\n\nEvery twelfth year, which the Hindus call Kumbha, the planet Jupiter\nenters the constellation of Aquarius, and this event is considered very\npropitious for the beginning of the religious fair; for which this day\nis accordingly fixed by the astrologers of the pagodas. This gathering\nattracts the representatives of all sects, as I said before, from\nprinces and maharajas down to the last fakir. The former come for the\nsake of religious discussions, the latter, simply to plunge into the\nwaters of Ganges at its very source, which must be done at a certain\npropitious hour, fixed also by the position of the stars.\n\nGanges is a name invented in Europe. The natives always say Ganga, and\nconsider this river to belong strictly to the feminine sex. Ganges is\nsacred in the eyes of the Hindus, because she is the most important of\nall the fostering goddesses of the country, and a daughter of the old\nHimavat (Himalaya), from whose heart she springs for the salvation of\nthe people. That is why she is worshiped, and why the city of Hardwar,\nbuilt at her very source, is so sacred.\n\nHardwar is written Hari-avara, the doorway of the sun-god, or Krishna,\nand is also often called Gangadvara, the doorway of Ganga; there is\nstill a third name of the same town, which is the name of a certain\nascetic Kapela, or rather Kapila, who once sought salvation on this\nspot, and left many miraculous traditions.\n\nThe town is situated in a charming flowery valley, at the foot of the\nsouthern slope of the Sivalik ridge, between two mountain chains. In\nthis valley, raised 1,024 feet above the sea-level, the northern nature\nof the Himalayas struggles with the tropical growth of the plains;\nand, in their efforts to excel each other, they have created the most\ndelightful of all the delightful corners of India. The town itself is\na quaint collection of castle-like turrets of the most fantastical\narchitecture; of ancient viharas; of wooden fortresses, so gaily painted\nthat they look like toys; of pagodas, with loopholes and overhanging\ncurved little balconies; and all this over-grown by such abundance\nof roses, dahlias, aloes and blossoming cactuses, that it is hardly\npossible to tell a door from a window. The granite foundations of many\nhouses are laid almost in the bed of the river, and so, during four\nmonths of the year, they are half covered with water. And behind\nthis handful of scattered houses, higher up the mountain slope, crowd\nsnow-white, stately temples. Some of them are low, with thick walls,\nwide wings and gilded cupolas; others rise in majestical many-storied\ntowers; others again with shapely pointed roofs, which look like the\nspires of a bell tower. Strange and capricious is the architecture of\nthese temples, the like of which is not to be seen anywhere else.\nThey look as if they had suddenly dropped from the snowy abodes of the\nmountain spirits above, standing there in the shelter of the mother\nmountain, and timidly peeping over the head of the small town below at\ntheir own images reflected in the pure, untroubled waters of the sacred\nriver.\n\nHere the Ganges is not yet polluted by the dirt and the sins of her\nmany million adorers. Releasing her worshipers, cleansed from her icy\nembrace, the pure maiden of the mountains carries her transparent waves\nthrough the burning plains of Hindostan; and only three hundred and\nforty-eight miles lower down, on passing through Cawnpore, do her waters\nbegin to grow thicker and darker, while, on reaching Benares, they\ntransform themselves into a kind of peppery pea soup.\n\nOnce, while talking to an old Hindu, who tried to convince us that his\ncompatriots are the cleanest nation in the world, we asked him:\n\n\"Why is it then that, in the less populous places, the Ganges is pure\nand transparent, whilst in Benares, especially towards evening, it looks\nlike a mass of liquid mud?\"\n\n\"O sahibs!\" answered he mournfully, \"it is not the dirt of our bodies,\nas you think, it is not even the blackness of our sins, that the devi\n(goddess) washes away... Her waves are black with the sorrow and shame\nof her children. Her feelings are sad and sorrowful; hidden suffering,\nburning pain and humiliation, despair and shame at her own helplessness,\nhave been her lot for many past centuries. She has suffered all this\ntill her waters have become waves of black bile. Her waters are poisoned\nand black, but not from physical causes. She is our mother, and how\ncould she help resenting the degradation we have brought ourselves to in\nthis dark age.\"\n\nThis sorrowful, poetical allegory made us feel very keenly for the poor\nold man; but, however great our sympathy, we could not but suppose that\nprobably the woes of the maiden Ganga do not affect her sources. In\nHardwar the color of Ganges is crystal aqua marina, and the waters run\ngaily murmuring to the shore-reeds about the wonders they saw on their\nway from the Himalayas.\n\nThe beautiful river is the greatest and the purest of goddesses, in the\neyes of the Hindus; and many are the honors given to her in Hardwar.\nBesides the Mela celebrated once every twelve years, there is a month in\nevery year when the pilgrims flock together to the Harika-Paira, stairs\nof Vishnu. Whosoever succeeds in throwing himself first into the river,\nat the appointed day, hour and moment, will not only expiate all his\nsins, but also have all bodily sufferings removed. This zeal to be first\nis so great that, owing to a badly-constructed and narrow stair leading\nto the water, it used to cost many lives yearly, until, in 1819, the\nEast India Company, taking pity upon the pilgrims, ordered this ancient\nrelic to be removed, and a new stairway, one hundred feet wide, and\nconsisting of sixty steps, to be constructed.\n\nThe month when the waters of the Ganges are most salutary, falls,\naccording to the Brahmanical computation, between March 12th and April\n10th, and is called Chaitra. The worst of it is that the waters are\nat their best only at the first moment of a certain propitious hour,\nindicated by the Brahmans, and which sometimes happens to be midnight.\nYou can fancy what it must be when this moment comes, in the midst of a\ncrowd which exceeds two millions. In 1819 more than four hundred people\nwere crushed to death. But even after the new stairs were constructed,\nthe goddess Ganga has carried away on her virgin bosom many a disfigured\ncorpse of her worshipers. Nobody pitied the drowned, on the contrary,\nthey were envied. Whoever happens to be killed during this purification\nby bathing, is sure to go straight to Swarga (heaven). In 1760, the\ntwo rival brotherhoods of Sannyasis and Bairagis had a regular battle\namongst them on the sacred day of Purbi, the last day of the religious\nfair. The Bairagis were conquered, and there were eighteen thousand\npeople slaughtered.\n\n\"And in 1796,\" proudly narrated our warlike friend the Akali, \"the\npilgrims from Punjab, all of them Sikhs, desiring to punish the\ninsolence of the Hossains, killed here about five hundred of these\nheathens. My own grandfather took part in the fight!\"\n\nLater on we verified this in the Gazetteer of India, and the \"God's\nwarrior\" was cleared of every suspicion of exaggeration and boasting.\n\nIn 1879, however, no one was drowned, or crushed to death, but a\ndreadful epidemic of cholera broke out. We were disgusted at this\nimpediment; but had to keep at a distance in spite of our impatience\nto see Hardwar. And unable to behold distant summits of old Himavat\nourselves, we had in the meanwhile to be contented with what we could\nhear about him from other people.\n\nSo we talked long after our breakfast under the cave vault was finished.\nBut our talk was not so gay as it might have been, because we had to\npart with Ram-Runjit-Das, who was going to Bombay. The worthy Sikh shook\nhands with us in the European way, and then raising his right hand gave\nus his blessing, after the fashion of all the followers of Nanaka.\nBut when he approached the Takur to take leave of him, his countenance\nsuddenly changed. This change was so evident that we all noted it. The\nTakur was sitting on the ground leaning on a saddle, which served him as\na cushion. The Akali did not attempt either to give him his blessing or\nto shake hands with him. The proud expression of his face also\nchanged, and showed confusion and anxious humility instead of the usual\nself-respect and self-sufficiency. The brave Sikh knelt down before\nthe Takur, and instead of the ordinary \"Namaste!\"--\"Salutation to you,\"\nwhispered reverently, as if addressing the Guru of the Golden Lake: \"I\nam your servant, Sadhu-Sahib! give me your blessing!\"\n\nWithout any apparent reason or cause, we all felt self-conscious and\nill at ease, as if guilty of some indiscretion. But the face of the\nmysterious Rajput remained as calm and as dispassionate as ever. He was\nlooking at the river before this scene took place, and slowly moved his\neyes to the Akali, who lay prostrated before him. Then he touched the\nhead of the Sikh with his index finger, and rose with the remark that we\nalso had better start at once, because it was getting late.\n\nWe drove in our carriage, moving very slowly because of the deep sand\nwhich covers all this locality, and the Takur followed us on horseback\nall the way. He told us the epic legends of Hardwar and Rajistan, of\nthe great deeds of the Hari-Kulas, the heroic princes of the solar race.\nHari means sun, and Kula family. Some of the Rajput princes belong to\nthis family, and the Maharanas of Oodeypur are especially proud of their\nastronomical origin.\n\nThe name of Hari-Kula gives to some Orientalists ground to suppose that\na member of this family emigrated to Egypt in the remote epoch of the\nfirst Pharaonic dynasties, and that the ancient Greeks, borrowing the\nname as well as the traditions, thus formed their legends about the\nmythological Hercules. It is believed that the ancient Egyptians adored\nthe sphinx under the name of Hari-Mukh, or the \"sun on the horizon.\" On\nthe mountain chain which fringes Kashmir on the north, thirteen thousand\nfeet above the sea, there is a huge summit, which is exactly like a\nhead, and which bears the name of Harimukh. This name is also met with\nin the most ancient of the Puranas. Besides, popular tradition considers\nthis Himalayan stone head to be the image of the setting sun.\n\nIs it possible, then, that all these coincidences are only accidental?\nAnd why is it that the Orientalists will not give it more serious\nattention? It seems to me that this is a rich soil for future research,\nand that it is no more to be explained by mere chance than the fact that\nboth Egypt and India held the cow sacred, and that the ancient Egyptians\nhad the same religious horror of killing certain animals, as the modern\nHindus.\n\n\n\n\nAn Isle of Mystery\n\n\n\nWhen evening began to draw on, we were driving beneath the trees of a\nwild jungle; arriving soon after at a large lake, we left the carriages.\nThe shores were overgrown with reeds--not the reeds that answer our\nEuropean notions, but rather such as Gulliver was likely to meet with in\nhis travels to Brobdingnag. The place was perfectly deserted, but we saw\na boat fastened close to the land. We had still about an hour and a\nhalf of daylight before us, and so we quietly sat down on some ruins and\nenjoyed the splendid view, whilst the servants of the Takur transported\nour bags, boxes and bundles of rugs from the carriages to the ferry\nboat. Mr. Y---- was preparing to paint the picture before us, which\nindeed was charming.\n\n\"Don't be in a hurry to take down this view,\" said Gulab-Sing. \"In half\nan hour we shall be on the islet, where the view is still lovelier. We\nmay spend there the night and tomorrow morning as well.\"\n\n\"I am afraid it will be too dark in an hour,\" said Mr. Y----, opening\nhis color box. \"And as for tomorrow, we shall probably have to start\nvery early.\"\n\n\"Oh, no! there is not the slightest need to start early. We may even\nstay here part of the afternoon. From here to the railway station it is\nonly three hours, and the train only leaves for J ubbulpore at eight\nin the evening. And do you know,\" added the Takur, smiling in his usual\nmysterious way, \"I am going to treat you to a concert. Tonight you shall\nbe witness of a very interesting natural phenomenon connected with this\nisland.\"\n\nWe all pricked up our ears with curiosity.\n\n\"Do you mean that island there? and do you really think we must go?\"\nasked the colonel. \"Why should not we spend the night here, where we are\nso deliciously cool, and where...\"\n\n\"Where the forest swarms with playful leopards, and the reeds shelter\nsnug family parties of the serpent race, were you going to say,\ncolonel?\" interrupted the Babu, with a broad grin. \"Don't you admire\nthis merry gathering, for instance? Look at them! There is the father\nand the mother, uncles, aunts, and children.... I am sure I could point\nout even a mother-in-law.\"\n\nMiss X---- looked in the direction he indicated and shrieked, till all\nthe echoes of the forest groaned in answer. Not farther than three steps\nfrom her there were at least forty grown up serpents and baby snakes.\nThey amused themselves by practising somersaults, coiled up, then\nstraightened again and interlaced their tails, presenting to our dilated\neyes a picture of perfect innocence and primitive contentment. Miss\nX---- could not stand it any longer and fled to the carriage, whence she\nshowed us a pale, horrified face. The Takur, who had arranged himself\ncomfortably beside Mr. Y---- in order to watch the progress of his\npaint-ing, left his seat and looked attentively at the dangerous group,\nquietly smoking his gargari--Rajput narghile--the while.\n\n\"If you do not stop screaming you will attract all the wild animals of\nthe forest in another ten minutes,\" said he. \"None of you have anything\nto fear. If you do not excite an animal he is almost sure to leave you\nalone, and most probably will run away from you.\"\n\nWith these words he lightly waved his pipe in the direction of the\nserpentine family-party. A thunderbolt falling in their midst could not\nhave been more effectual. The whole living mass looked stunned for a\nmoment, and then rapidly disappeared among the reeds with loud hissing\nand rustling.\n\n\"Now this is pure mesmerism, I declare,\" said the colonel, on whom not a\ngesture of the Takur was lost. \"How did you do it, Gulab-Sing? Where did\nyou learn this science?\"\n\n\"They were simply frightened away by the sudden movement of my chibook,\nand there was no science and no mesmerism about it. Probably by this\nfashionable modern word you mean what we Hindus call vashi-karana\nvidya--that is to say, the science of charming people and animals by the\nforce of will. However, as I have already said, this has nothing to do\nwith what I did.\"\n\n\"But you do not deny, do you, that you have studied this science and\npossess this gift?\"\n\n\"Of course I don't. Every Hindu of my sect is bound to study the\nmysteries of physiology and psychology amongst other secrets left to\nus by our ancestors. But what of that? I am very much afraid, my dear\ncolonel,\" said the Takur with a quiet smile, \"that you are rather\ninclined to view the simplest of my acts through a mystical prism.\nNarayan has been telling you all kinds of things about me behind my\nback.... Now, is it not so?\"\n\nAnd he looked at Narayan, who sat at his feet, with an indescribable\nmixture of fondness and reproof. The Dekkan colossus dropped his eyes\nand remained silent.\n\n\"You have guessed rightly,\" absently answered Mr. Y----, busy over his\ndrawing apparatus. \"Narayan sees in you something like his late deity\nShiva; something just a little less than Parabrahm. Would you believe\nit? He seriously assured us--in Nassik it was--that the Raj-Yogis, and\namongst them yourself--though I must own I still fail to understand what\na Raj-Yogi is, precisely--can force any one to see, not what is before\nhis eyes at the given moment, but what is only in the imagination of the\nRaj-Yogi. If I remember rightly he called it Maya.... Now, this seemed\nto me going a little too far!\"\n\n\"Well! You did not believe, of course, and laughed at Narayan?\" asked\nthe Takur, fathoming with his eyes the dark green deeps of the lake.\n\n\"Not precisely... Though, I dare say, I did just a little bit,\" went on\nMr. Y----, absently, being fully engrossed by the view, and trying to\nfix his eyes on the most effective part of it. \"I dare say I am too\nscep-tical on this kind of question.\"\n\n\"And knowing Mr. Y---- as I do,\" said the colonel, I can add, for\nmy part, that even were any of these phenomena to happen to himself\npersonally, he, like Dr. Carpenter, would doubt his own eyes rather than\nbelieve.\"\n\n\"What you say is a little bit exaggerated, but there is some truth in\nit. Maybe I would not trust myself in such an occurrence; and I tell you\nwhy. If I saw something that does not exist, or rather exists only for\nme, logic would interfere. However objective my vision may be, before\nbelieving in the materiality of a hallucination, I feel I am bound to\ndoubt my own senses and sanity.... Besides, what bosh all this is! As\nif I ever will allow myself to believe in the reality of a thing that\nI alone saw; which belief implies also the admission of somebody else\ngoverning and dominating, for the time being, my optical nerves, as well\nas my brains.\"\n\n\"However, there are any number of people, who do not doubt, because they\nhave had proof that this phenomenon really occurs,\" remarked the Takur,\nin a careless tone, which showed he had not the slightest desire to\ninsist upon this topic.\n\nHowever, this remark only increased Mr. Y----'s excitement.\n\n\"No doubt there are!\" he exclaimed. \"But what does that prove?\nBesides them, there are equal numbers of people who believe in the\nmaterialization of spirits. But do me the kindness of not including me\namong them!\"\n\n\"Don't you believe in animal magnetism?\"\n\n\"To a certain extent, I do. If a person suffering from some contagious\nillness can influence a person in good health, and make him ill, in his\nturn, I suppose somebody else's overflow of health can also affect the\nsick person, and, perhaps cure him. But between physiological contagion\nand mesmeric influence there is a great gulf, and I don't feel inclined\nto cross this gulf on the grounds of blind faith. It is perfectly\npossible that there are instances of thought-transference in cases of\nsomnambulism, epilepsy, trance. I do not positively deny it, though I am\nvery doubtful. Mediums and clairvoyants are a sickly lot, as a rule. But\nI bet you anything, a healthy man in perfectly normal conditions is not\nto be influenced by the tricks of mesmerists. I should like to see a\nmagnetizer, or even a Raj-Yogi, inducing me to obey his will.\"\n\n\"Now, my dear fellow, you really ought not to speak so rashly,\" said the\ncolonel, who, till then, had not taken any part in the discussion.\n\n\"Ought I not? Don't take it into your head that it is mere boastfulness\non my part. I guarantee failure in my case, simply because every\nrenowned European mesmerist has tried his luck with me, without any\nresult; and that is why I defy the whole lot of them to try again, and\nfeel perfectly safe about it. And why a Hindu Raj-Yogi should succeed\nwhere the strongest of European mesmerists failed, I do not quite\nsee....\"\n\nMr. Y---- was growing altogether too excited, and the Takur dropped the\nsubject, and talked of something else.\n\nFor my part, I also feel inclined to deviate once more from my subject,\nand give some necessary explanations.\n\nMiss X---- excepted, none of our party had ever been numbered amongst\nthe spiritualists, least of all Mr. Y----. We Theosophists did not\nbelieve in the playfulness of departed souls, though we admitted the\npossibility of some mediumistic phenomena, while totally disagreeing\nwith the spiritualists as to the cause and point of view. Refusing to\nbelieve in the interference, and even presence of the spirits, in the\nso-called spiritualistic phenomena, we nevertheless believe in the\nliving spirit of man; we believe in the omnipotence of this spirit, and\nin its natural, though benumbed capacities. We also believe that, when\nincarnated, this spirit, this divine spark, may be apparently quenched,\nif it is not guarded, and if the life the man leads is unfavorable\nto its expansion, as it generally is; but, on the other hand, our\nconviction is that human beings can develop their potential spiritual\npowers; that, if they do, no phenomenon will be impossible for their\nliberated wills, and that they will perform what, in the eyes of the\nuninitiated, will be much more wondrous than the materialized forms of\nthe spiritualists. If proper training can render the muscular strength\nten times greater, as in the cases of renowned athletes, I do not see\nwhy proper training should fail in the case of moral capacities. We\nhave also good grounds to believe that the secret of this proper\ntraining--though unknown to, and denied by, European physiologists\nand even psychologists--is known in some places in India, where its\nknowledge is hereditary, and entrusted to few.\n\nMr. Y---- was a novice in our Society and looked with distrust even on\nsuch phenomena as can be pro-duced by mesmerism. He had been trained\nin the Royal Institute of British Architects, which he left with a\ngold medal, and with a fund of scepticism that caused him to distrust\neverything, en dehors des mathematiques pures. So that no wonder he lost\nhis temper when people tried to convince him that there existed things\nwhich he was inclined to treat as \"mere bosh and fables.\"\n\nNow I return to my narrative.\n\nThe Babu and Mulji left us to help the servants to transport our luggage\nto the ferry boat. The remainder of the party had grown very quiet and\nsilent. Miss X---- dozed peacefully in the carriage, forgetting her\nrecent fright. The colonel, stretched on the sand, amused himself by\nthrowing stones into the water. Narayan sat motionless, with his hands\nround his knees, plunged as usual in the mute contemplation of Gulab\nLal-Sing. Mr. Y---- sketched hurriedly and diligently, only raising his\nhead from time to time to glance at the opposite shore, and knitting his\nbrow in a preoccupied way. The Takur went on smoking, and as for me, I\nsat on my folding chair, looking lazily at everything round me, till my\neyes rested on Gulab-Sing, and were fixed, as if by a spell.\n\n\"Who and what is this mysterious Hindu?\" I wondered in my uncertain\nthoughts. \"Who is this man, who unites in himself two such distinct\npersonalities: the one exterior, kept up for strangers, for the orld in\ngeneral, the other interior, moral and spiritual, shown only to a few\nintimate friends? But even these intimate friends do they know much\nbeyond what is generally known? And what do they know? They see in him a\nHindu who differs very little from the rest of educated natives, perhaps\nonly in his perfect contempt for the social conventions of India and the\ndemands of Western civilization.... And that is all--unless I add that\nhe is known in Central India as a sufficiently wealthy man, and a Takur,\na feudal chieftain of a Raj, one of the hundreds of similar Rajes.\nBesides, he is a true friend of ours, who offered us his protection\nin our travels and volunteered to play the mediator between us and the\nsuspicious, uncommunicative Hindus. Beyond all this, we know absolutely\nnothing about him. It is true, though, that I know a little more than\nthe others; but I have promised silence, and silent I shall be. But the\nlittle I know is so strange, so unusual, that it is more like a dream\nthan a reality.\"\n\nA good while ago, more than twenty-seven years, I met him in the house\nof a stranger in England, whither he came in the company of a certain\ndethroned Indian prince. Then our acquaintance was limited to two\nconversations; their unexpectedness, their gravity, and even severity,\nproduced a strong impression on me then; but, in the course of time,\nlike many other things, they sank into oblivion and Lethe. About seven\nyears ago he wrote to me to America, reminding me of our conversation\nand of a certain promise I had made. Now we saw each other once more in\nIndia, his own country, and I failed to see any change wrought in his\nappearance by all these long years. I was, and looked, quite young, when\nI first saw him; but the passage of years had not failed to change me\ninto an old woman. As to him, he appeared to me twenty-seven years ago\na man of about thirty, and still looked no older, as if time were\npowerless against him. In England, his striking beauty, especially his\nextraordinary height and stature, together with his eccentric refusal to\nbe presented to the Queen--an honour many a high-born Hindu has sought,\ncoming over on purpose--excited the public notice and the attention of\nthe newspapers. The newspapermen of those days, when the influence of\nByron was still great, discussed the \"wild Rajput\" with untiring\npens, calling him \"Raja-Misanthrope\" and \" Prince Jalma-Samson,\" and\nin-venting fables about him all the time he stayed in England.\n\nAll this taken together was well calculated to fill me with consuming\ncuriosity, and to absorb my thoughts till I forgot every exterior\ncircumstance, sitting and staring at him in no wise less intensely than\nNarayan.\n\nI gazed at the remarkable face of Gulab-Lal-Sing with a mixed feeling of\nindescribable fear and enthusiastic admiration; recalling the mysterious\ndeath of the Karli tiger, my own miraculous escape a few hours ago in\nBagh, and many other incidents too many to relate. It was only a few\nhours since he appeared to us in the morning, and yet what a number of\nstrange ideas, of puzzling occurrences, how many enigmas his presence\nstirred in our minds! The magic circle of my revolving thought grew too\nmuch for me. \"What does all this mean!\" I exclaimed to myself, trying\nto shake off my torpor, and struggling to find words for my meditation.\n\"Who is this being whom I saw so many years ago, jubilant with manhood\nand life, and now see again, as young and as full of life, only still\nmore austere, still more incomprehensible. After all, maybe it is his\nbrother, or even his son?\" thought I, trying to calm myself, but with no\nresult. \"No! there is no use doubting; it is he himself, it is the same\nface, the same little scar on the left temple. But, as a quarter of a\ncentury ago, so now: no wrinkles on those beautiful classic features;\nnot a white hair in this thick jet-black mane; and, in moments of\nsilence, the same expression of perfect rest on that face, calm as a\nstatue of living bronze. What a strange expression, and what a wonderful\nSphinx-like face!\"\n\n\"Not a very brilliant comparison, my old friend!\" suddenly spoke the\nTakur, and a good-natured laughing note rung in his voice, whilst I\nshuddered and grew red like a naughty schoolgirl. \"This comparison is\nso inaccurate that it decidedly sins against history in two important\npoints. Primo, the Sphinx is a lion; so am I, as indicates the word Sing\nin my name; but the Sphinx is winged, and I am not. Secondo, the Sphinx\nis a woman as well as a winged lion, but the Rajput Sinhas never had\nanything effeminate in their characters. Besides, the Sphinx is the\ndaughter of Chimera, or Echidna, who were neither beautiful nor good;\nand so you might have chosen a more flattering and a less inaccurate\ncomparison!\"\n\nI simply gasped in my utter confusion, and he gave vent to his\nmerriment, which by no means relieved me. \"Shall I give you some good\nadvice?\" continued Gulab-Sing, changing his tone for a more serious one.\n\"Don't trouble your head with such vain speculations. The day when this\nriddle yields its solution, the Rajput Sphinx will not seek destruction\nin the waves of the sea; but, believe me, it won't bring any profit to\nthe Russian Oedipus either. You already know every detail you ever will\nlearn. So leave the rest to our respective fates.\"\n\nAnd he rose because the Babu and Mulji had informed us that the ferry\nboat was ready to start, and were shouting and making signs to us to\nhasten.\n\n\"Just let me finish,\" said Mr. Y----, \"I have nearly done. Just an\nadditional touch or two.\"\n\n\"Let us see your work. Hand it round!\" insisted the colonel and Miss\nX----, who had just left her haven of refuge in the carriage, and joined\nus still half asleep.\n\nMr. Y---- hurriedly added a few more touches to his drawing and rose to\ncollect his brushes and pencils.\n\nWe glanced at his fresh wet picture and opened our eyes in astonishment.\nThere was no lake on it, no woody shores, and no velvety evening mists\nthat covered the distant island at this moment. Instead of all this we\nsaw a charming sea view; thick clusters of shapely palm-trees scattered\nover the chalky cliffs of the littoral; a fortress-like bungalow with\nbalconies and a flat roof, an elephant standing at its entrance, and a\nnative boat on the crest of a foaming billow.\n\n\"Now what is this view, sir?\" wondered the colonel. \"As if it was worth\nyour while to sit in the sun, and detain us all, to draw fancy pictures\nout of your own head!\"\n\n\"What on earth are you talking about?\" exclaimed Mr. Y----. \"Do you mean\nto say you do not recognize the lake?\"\n\n\"Listen to him--the lake! Where is the lake, if you please? Were you\nasleep, or what?\"\n\nBy this time all our party gathered round the colonel, who held the\ndrawing. Narayan uttered an exclamation, and stood still, the very image\nof bewilderment past description.\n\n\"I know the place!\" said he, at last. \"This is Dayri--Bol, the country\nhouse of the Takur-Sahib. I know it. Last year during the famine I lived\nthere for two months.\"\n\nI was the first to grasp the meaning of it all, but something prevented\nme from speaking at once.\n\nAt last Mr. Y---- finished arranging and packing his things, and\napproached us in his usual lazy, careless way, but his face showed\ntraces of vexation. He was evidently bored by our persistency in seeing\na sea, where there was nothing but the corner of a lake. But, at the\nfirst sight of his unlucky sketch, his countenance suddenly changed.\nHe grew so pale, and the expression of his face became so piteously\ndistraught that it was painful to see. He turned and returned the piece\nof Bristol board, then rushed like a madman to his drawing portfolio and\nturned the whole contents out, ransacking and scattering over the sand\nhundreds of sketches and of loose papers. Evidently failing to find\nwhat he was looking for, he glanced again at his sea-view, and suddenly\ncovering his face with his hands totally collapsed.\n\nWe all remained silent, exchanging glances of wonder and pity, and\nheedless of the Takur, who stood on the ferry boat, vainly calling to us\nto join him.\n\n\"Look here, Y----!\" timidly spoke the kind-hearted colonel, as if\naddressing a sick child. \"Are you sure you remember drawing this view?\"\n\nMr. Y---- did not give any answer, as if gathering strength and thinking\nit over. After a few moments he answered in hoarse and tremulous tones:\n\n\"Yes, I do remember. Of course I made this sketch, but I made it from\nnature. I painted only what I saw. And it is that very certainty that\nupsets me so.\"\n\n\"But why should you be upset, my dear fellow? Collect yourself! What\nhappened to you is neither shameful nor dreadful. It is only the result\nof the temporary influence of one dominant will over another, less\npowerful. You simply acted under 'biological influence,' to use the\nexpression of Dr. Carpenter.\"\n\n\"That is exactly what I am most afraid of.... I remember everything now.\nI have been busy over this view more than an hour. I saw it directly\nI chose the spot, and seeing it all the while on the opposite shore I\ncould not suspect anything uncanny. I was perfectly conscious... or,\nshall I say, I fancied I was conscious of putting down on paper what\neveryone of you had before your eyes. I had lost every notion of the\nplace as I saw it before I began my sketch, and as I see it now.... But\nhow do you account for it? Good gracious! am I to believe that these\nconfounded Hindus really possess the mystery of this trick? I tell you,\ncolonel, I shall go mad if I don't understand it all!\"\n\n\"No fear of that, Mr. Y----,\" said Narayan, with a triumphant twinkle in\nhis eyes. \"You will simply lose the right to deny Yoga-Vidya, the great\nancient science of my country.\"\n\nMr. Y---- did not answer him. He made an effort to calm his feelings,\nand bravely stepped on the ferry boat with firm foot. Then he sat down,\napart from us all, obstinately looking at the large surface of water\nround us, and struggling to seem his usual self.\n\nMiss X---- was the first to interrupt the silence.\n\n\"Ma chere!\" said she to me in a subdued, but triumphant voice. \"Ma\nchere, Monsieur Y---- devient vraiment un medium de premiere force!\"\n\nIn moments of great excitement she always addressed me in French. But\nI also was too excited to control my feelings, and so I answered rather\nunkindly:\n\n\"Please stop this nonsense, Miss X----. You know I don't believe in\nspiritualism. Poor Mr. Y----, was not he upset?\"\n\nReceiving this rebuke and no sympathy from me, she could not think\nof anything better than drawing out the Babu, who, for a wonder, had\nmanaged to keep quiet till then.\n\n\"What do you say to all this? I for one am perfectly confident that no\none but the disembodied soul of a great artist could have painted that\nlovely view. Who else is capable of such a wonderful achievement?\"\n\n\"Why? The old gentleman in person. Confess that at the bottom of your\nsoul you firmly believe that the Hindus worship devils. To be sure it is\nsome deity of ours of this kind that had his august paw in the matter.\"\n\n\"Il est positivement malhonnete, ce Negre-la!\" angrily muttered Miss\nX----, hurriedly withdrawing from him.\n\nThe island was a tiny one, and so overgrown with tall reeds that, from\na distance, it looked like a pyramidal basket of verdure. With the\nexception of a colony of monkeys, who bustled away to a few mango trees\nat our approach, the place seemed uninhabited. In this virgin forest of\nthick grass there was no trace of human life. Seeing the word grass the\nreader must not forget that it is not the grass of Europe I mean; the\ngrass under which we stood, like insects under a rhubarb leaf, waved\nits feathery many-colored plumes much above the head of Gulab-Sing\n(who stood six feet and a half in his stockings), and of Narayan, who\nmeasured hardly an inch less. From a distance it looked like a waving\nsea of black, yellow, blue, and especially of rose and green. On\nlanding, we discovered that it consisted of separate thickets of\nbamboos, mixed up with the gigantic sirka reeds, which rose as high as\nthe tops of the mangos.\n\nIt is impossible to imagine anything prettier and more graceful than the\nbamboos and sirka. The isolated tufts of bamboos show, in spite of their\nsize, that they are nothing but grass, because the least gush of wind\nshakes them, and their green crests begin to nod like heads adorned with\nlong ostrich plumes. There were some bamboos there fifty or sixty feet\nhigh. From time to time we heard a light metallic rustle in the reeds,\nbut none of us paid much attention to it.\n\nWhilst our coolies and servants were busy clearing a place for our\ntents, pitching them and preparing the supper, we went to pay\nour respects to the monkeys, the true hosts of the place. Without\nexaggeration there were at least two hundred. While preparing for their\nnightly rest the monkeys behaved like decorous and well-behaved people;\nevery family chose a separate branch and defended it from the intrusion\nof strangers lodging on the same tree, but this defence never passed\nthe limits of good manners, and generally took the shape of threatening\ngrimaces. There were many mothers with babies in arms amongst them; some\nof them treated the children tenderly, and lifted them cautiously,\nwith a perfectly human care; others, less thoughtful, ran up and\ndown, heedless of the child hanging at their breasts, preoccupied with\nsomething, discussing something, and stopping every moment to quarrel\nwith other monkey ladies--a true picture of chatty old gossips on a\nmarket day, repeated in the animal kingdom. The bachelors kept apart,\nabsorbed in their athletic exercises, performed for the most part\nwith the ends of their tails. One of them, especially, attracted our\nattention by dividing his amusement between sauts perilleux and teasing\na respectable looking grandfather, who sat under a tree hugging two\nlittle monkeys. Swinging backward and forward from the branch, the\nbachelor jumped at him, bit his ear playfully and made faces at him,\nchattering all the time. We cautiously passed from one tree to another,\nafraid of frightening them away; but evidently the years spent by them\nwith the fakirs, who left the island only a year ago, had accustomed\nthem to human society. They were sacred monkeys, as we learned, and so\nthey had nothing to fear from men. They showed no signs of alarm at our\napproach, and, having received our greeting, and some of them a piece of\nsugar-cane, they calmly stayed on their branch-thrones, crossing their\narms, and looking at us with a good deal of dignified contempt in their\nintelligent hazel eyes.\n\nThe sun had set, and we were told that the supper was ready. We all\nturned \"homewards,\" except the Babu. The main feature of his character,\nin the eyes of orthodox Hindus, being a tendency to blasphemy, he could\nnever resist the temptation to justify their opinion of him. Climbing up\na high branch he crouched there, imitating every gesture of the monkeys\nand answering their threatening grimaces by still uglier ones, to the\nunconcealed disgust of our pious coolies.\n\nAs the last golden ray disappeared on the horizon, a gauze-like veil\nof pale lilac fell over the world. But as every moment decreased the\ntransparency of this tropical twilight, the tint gradually lost its\nsoftness and became darker and darker. It looked as if an invisible\npainter, unceasingly moving his gigantic brush, swiftly laid one coat\nof paint over the other, ever changing the exquisite background of our\nislet. The phosphoric candles of the fireflies began to twinkle here and\nthere, shining brightly against the black trunks of the trees, and lost\nagain on the silvery background of opalescent evening sky. But in a\nfew minutes more thousands of these living sparks, precursors of Queen\nNight, played round us, pouring like a golden cascade over the trees,\nand dancing in the air above the grass and the dark lake.\n\nAnd behold! here is the queen in person. Noiselessly descending upon\nearth, she reassumes her rights. With her approach, rest and peace\nspread over us; her cool breath calms the activities of day. Like a fond\nmother, she sings a lullaby to nature, lovingly wrapping her in her soft\nblack mantle; and, when everything is asleep, she watches over nature's\ndozing powers till the first streaks of dawn.\n\nNature sleeps; but man is awake, to be witness to the beauties of this\nsolemn evening hour. Sitting round the fire we talked, lowering our\nvoices as if afraid of awaking night. We were only six; the colonel,\nthe four Hindus and myself, because Mr. Y---- and Miss X---- could\nnot resist the fatigue of the day and had gone to sleep directly after\nsupper.\n\nSnugly sheltered by the high \"grass,\" we had not the heart to spend this\nmagnificent night in prosaic sleeping. Besides, we were waiting for the\n\"concert\" which the Takur had promised us.\n\n\"Be patient,\" said he, \"the musicians will not appear before the moon\nrises.\"\n\nThe fickle goddess was late; she kept us waiting till after ten o'clock.\nJust before her arrival, when the horizon began to grow perceptibly\nbrighter, and the opposite shore to assume a milky, silvery tint, a\nsudden wind rose. The waves, that had gone quietly to sleep at the feet\nof gigantic reeds, awoke and tossed uneasily, till the reeds swayed\ntheir feathery heads and murmured to each other as if taking counsel\ntogether about some thing that was going to happen.... Suddenly, in the\ngeneral stillness and silence, we heard again the same musical notes,\nwhich we had passed unheeded, when we first reached the island, as if\na whole orchestra were trying their musical instruments before playing\nsome great composition. All round us, and over our heads, vibrated\nstrings of violins, and thrilled the separate notes of a flute. In a\nfew moments came another gust of wind tearing through the reeds, and the\nwhole island resounded with the strains of hundreds of Aeolian harps.\nAnd suddenly there began a wild unceasing symphony. It swelled in the\nsurrounding woods, filling the air with an indescribable melody. Sad and\nsolemn were its prolonged strains; they resounded like the arpeggios of\nsome funeral march, then, changing into a trembling thrill, they shook\nthe air like the song of a nightingale, and died away in a long sigh.\nThey did not quite cease, but grew louder again, ringing like hundreds\nof silver bells, changing from the heartrending howl of a wolf, deprived\nof her young, to the precipitate rhythm of a gay tarantella, forgetful\nof every earthly sorrow; from the articulate song of a human voice, to\nthe vague majestic accords of a violoncello, from merry child's laughter\nto angry sobbing. And all this was repeated in every direction by\nmocking echo, as if hundreds of fabulous forest maidens, disturbed in\ntheir green abodes, answered the appeal of the wild musical Saturnalia.\n\nThe colonel and I glanced at each other in our great astonishment.\n\n\"How delightful! What witchcraft is this?\" we exclaimed at the same\ntime.\n\nThe Hindus smiled, but did not answer us. The Takur smoked his gargari\nas peacefully as if he was deaf.\n\nThere was a short interval, after which the invisible orchestra\nstarted again with renewed energy. The sounds poured and rolled in\nunrestrainable, overwhelming waves. We had never heard anything like\nthis inconceivable wonder. Listen! A storm in the open sea, the wind\ntearing through the rigging, the swish of the maddened waves rushing\nover each other, or the whirling snow wreaths on the silent steppes.\nSuddenly the vision is changed; now it is a stately cathedral and the\nthundering strains of an organ rising under its vaults. The powerful\nnotes now rush together, now spread out through space, break off,\nintermingle, and become entangled, like the fantastic melody of a\ndelirious fever, some musical phantasy born of the howling and whistling\nof the wind.\n\nAlas! the charm of these sounds is soon exhausted, and you begin to feel\nthat they cut like knives through your brain. A horrid fancy haunts our\nbewildered heads; we imagine that the invisible artists strain our\nown veins, and not the strings of imaginary violins; their cold breath\nfreezes us, blowing their imaginary trumpets, shaking our nerves and\nimpeding our breathing.\n\n\"For God's sake stop this, Takur! This is really too much,\" shouted\nthe colonel, at the end of his patience, and covering his ears with his\nhands. \"Gulab-Sing, I tell you you must stop this.\"\n\nThe three Hindus burst out laughing; and even the grave face of the\nTakur lit up with a merry smile. \"Upon my word,\" said he, \"do you really\ntake me for the great Parabrahm? Do you think it is in my power to stop\nthe wind, as if I were Marut, the lord of the storms, in person. Ask for\nsomething easier than the instantaneous uprooting of all these bamboos.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon; I thought these strange sounds also were some kind\nof psychologic influence.\"\n\n\"So sorry to disappoint you, my dear colonel; but you really must think\nless of psychology and electrobiology. This develops into a mania\nwith you. Don't you see that this wild music is a natural acoustic\nphenomenon? Each of the reeds around us--and there are thousands on this\nisland--contains a natural musical instrument; and the musician, Wind,\ncomes here daily to try his art after nightfall--especially during the\nlast quarter of the moon.\"\n\n\"The wind!\" murmured the colonel. \"Oh, yes! But this music begins to\nchange into a dreadful roar. Is there no way out of it?\"\n\n\"I at least cannot help it. But keep up your patience, you will soon get\naccustomed to it. Besides, there will be intervals when the wind falls.\"\n\nWe were told that there are many such natural orchestras in India. The\nBrahmans know well their wonderful properties, and calling this kind of\nreed vina-devi, the lute of the gods, keep up the popular superstition\nand say the sounds are divine oracles. The sirka grass and the bamboos\nalways shelter a number of tiny beetles, which make considerable holes\nin the hollow reeds. The fakirs of the idol-worshipping sects add art to\nthis natural beginning and work the plants into musical instruments. The\nislet we visited bore one of the most celebrated vina-devis, and so, of\ncourse, was proclaimed sacred.\n\n\"Tomorrow morning,\" said the Takur, \"you will see what deep knowledge\nof all the laws of acoustics was in the possession of the fakirs. They\nenlarged the holes made by the beetle according to the size of the reed,\nsometimes shaping it into a circle, sometimes into an oval. These\nreeds in their present state can be justly considered as the finest\nillustration of mechanism applied to acoustics. However, this is not to\nbe wondered at, because some of the most ancient Sanskrit books about\nmusic minutely describe these laws, and mention many musical instruments\nwhich are not only forgotten, but totally incomprehensible in our days.\"\n\nAll this was very interesting, but still, disturbed by the din, we could\nnot listen attentively.\n\n\"Don't worry yourselves,\" said the Takur, who soon understood our\nuneasiness, in spite of our attempts at composure. \"After midnight the\nwind will fall, and you will sleep undisturbed. However, if the too\nclose neighborhood of this musical grass is too much for you, we may as\nwell go nearer to the shore. There is a spot from which you can see the\nsacred bonfires on the opposite shore.\"\n\nWe followed him, but while walking through the thickets of reeds we did\nnot leave off our conversation. \"How is it that the Brahmans manage to\nkeep up such an evident cheat?\" asked the colonel. \"The stupidest man\ncannot fail to see in the long run who made the holes in the reeds, and\nhow they come to give forth music.\"\n\n\"In America stupid men may be as clever as that; I don't know,\" answered\nthe Takur, with a smile; \"but not in India. If you took the trouble to\nshow, to describe, and to explain how all this is done to any Hindu, be\nhe even comparatively educated, he will still see nothing. He will tell\nyou that he knows as well as yourself that the holes are made by the\nbeetles and enlarged by the fakirs. But what of that? The beetle in his\neyes is no ordinary beetle, but one of the gods incarnated in the insect\nfor this special purpose; and the fakir is a holy ascetic, who has acted\nin this case by the order of the same god. That will be all you will\never get out of him. Fanaticism and superstition took centuries to\ndevelop in the masses, and now they are as strong as a necessary\nphysiological function. Kill these two and the crowd will have its eyes\nopened, and will see truth, but not before. As to the Brahmans, India\nwould have been very fortunate if everything they have done were as\nharmless. Let the crowds adore the muse and the spirit of harmony. This\nadoration is not so very wicked, after all.\"\n\nThe Babu told us that in Dehra-Dun this kind of reed is planted on\nboth sides of the central street, which is more than a mile long. The\nbuildings prevent the free action of the wind, and so the sounds are\nheard only in time of east wind, which is very rare. A year ago Swami\nDayanand happened to camp off Dehra-Dun. Crowds of people gathered round\nhim every evening. One day he delivered a very powerful sermon against\nsuperstition. Tired out by this long, energetic speech, and, besides,\nbeing a little unwell, the Swami sat down on his carpet and shut his\neyes to rest as soon as the sermon was finished. But the crowd, seeing\nhim so unusually quiet and silent, all at once imagined that his soul,\nabandoning him in this prostration, entered the reeds--that had just\nbegun to sing their fantastical rhapsody--and was now conversing\nwith the gods through the bamboos. Many a pious man in this gathering,\nanxious to show the teacher in what fulness they grasped his teaching\nand how deep was their respect for him personally, knelt down before the\nsinging reeds and performed a most ardent puja.\n\n\"What did the Swami say to that?\"\n\n\"He did not say anything.... Your question shows that you don't know\nour Swami yet,\" laughed the Babu. \"He simply jumped to his feet, and,\nuprooting the first sacred reed on his way, gave such a lively European\nbakshish (thrashing) to the pious puja-makers, that they instantly took\nto their heels. The Swami ran after them for a whole mile, giving it hot\nto everyone in his way. He is wonderfully strong is our Swami, and no\nfriend to useless talk, I can tell you.\"\n\n\"But it seems to me,\" said the colonel, \"that that is not the right way\nto convert crowds. Dispersing and frightening is not converting.\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it. The masses of our nation require peculiar\ntreatment.... Let me tell you the end of this story. Disappointed with\nthe effect of his teachings on the inhabitants of Dehra-Dun, Dayanand\nSaraswati went to Patna, some thirty-five or forty miles from there. And\nbefore he had even rested from the fatigues of his journey, he had to\nreceive a deputation from Dehra-Dun, who on their knees entreated him to\ncome back. The leaders of this deputation had their backs covered with\nbruises, made by the bamboo of the Swami! They brought him back with no\nend of pomp, mounting him on an elephant and spreading flowers all along\nthe road. Once in Dehra-Dun, he immediately proceeded to found a Samaj,\na society as you would say, and the Dehra-Dun Arya-Samaj now counts\nat least two hundred members, who have renounced idol-worship and\nsuperstition for ever.\"\n\n\"I was present,\" said Mulji, \"two years ago in Benares, when Dayanand\nbroke to pieces about a hundred idols in the bazaar, and the same stick\nserved him to beat a Brahman with. He caught the latter in the hollow\nidol of a huge Shiva. The Brahman was quietly sitting there talking to\nthe devotees in the name, and so to speak, with the voice of Shiva, and\nasking money for a new suit of clothes the idol wanted.\"\n\n\"Is it possible the Swami had not to pay for this new achievement of\nhis?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. The Brahman dragged him into a law court, but the judge had to\npronounce the Swami in the right, because of the crowd of sympathizers\nand defenders who followed the Swami. But still he had to pay for all\nthe idols he had broken. So far so good; but the Brahman died of cholera\nthat very night, and of course, the opposers of the reform said his\ndeath was brought on by the sorcery of Dayanand Saraswati. This vexed us\nall a good deal.\"\n\n\"Now, Narayan, it is your turn,\" said I. Have you no story to tell us\nabout the Swami? And do you not look up to him as to your Guru?\"\n\n\"I have only one Guru and only one God on earth, as in heaven,\" answered\nNarayan; and I saw that he was very unwilling to speak. \"And while I\nlive, I shall not desert them.\"\n\n\"I know who is his Guru and his God!\" thoughtlessly exclaimed the\nquick-tongued Babu. \"It is the Takur--Sahib. In his person both coincide\nin the eyes of Narayan.\"\n\n\"You ought to be ashamed to talk such nonsense, Babu,\" coldly remarked\nGulab-Sing. \"I do not think myself worthy of being anybody's Guru. As to\nmy being a god, the mere words are a blasphemy, and I must ask you not\nto repeat them... Here we are!\" added he more cheerfully, pointing to\nthe carpets spread by the servants on the shore, and evidently desirous\nof changing the topic. \"Let us sit down!\"\n\nWe arrived at a small glade some distance from the bamboo forest.\nThe sounds of the magic orchestra reached us still, but considerably\nweakened, and only from time to time. We sat to the windward of the\nreeds, and so the harmonic rustle we heard was exactly like the low\ntones of an Aeolian harp, and had nothing disagreeable in it. On the\ncontrary, the distant murmur only added to the beauty of the whole scene\naround us.\n\nWe sat down, and only then I realized how tired and sleepy I was--and\nno wonder, after being on foot since four in the morning, and after all\nthat had happened to me on this memorable day. The gentlemen went\non talking, and I soon became so absorbed in my thoughts that their\nconversation reached me only in fragments.\n\n\"Wake up, wake up!\" repeated the colonel, shaking me by the hand. \"The\nTakur says that sleeping in the moonlight will do you harm.\"\n\nI was not asleep; I was simply thinking, though ex-hausted and sleepy.\nBut wholly under the charm of this enchanting night, I could not shake\noff my drowsiness, and did not answer the colonel.\n\n\"Wake up, for God's sake! Think of what you are risking!\" continued the\ncolonel. \"Wake up and look at the landscape before us, at this wonderful\nmoon. Have you ever seen anything to equal this magnificent panorama?\"\n\nI looked up, and the familiar lines of Pushkin about the golden moon of\nSpain flashed into my mind. And indeed this was a golden moon. At this\nmoment she radiated rivers of golden light, poured forth liquid gold\ninto the tossing lake at our feet, and sprinkled with golden dust every\nblade of grass, every pebble, as far as the eye could reach, all round\nus. Her disk of silvery yellow swiftly glided upward amongst the big\nstars, on their dark blue ground.\n\nMany a moonlit night have I seen in India, but every time the impression\nwas new and unexpected. It is no use trying to describe these feerique\npictures, they cannot be represented either in words or in colors on\ncanvas, they can only be felt--so fugitive is their grandeur and beauty!\nIn Europe, even in the south, the full moon eclipses the largest and\nmost brilliant of the stars, so that hardly any can be seen for a\nconsiderable distance round her. In India it is quite the contrary; she\nlooks like a huge pearl surrounded by diamonds, rolling on a blue velvet\nground. Her light is so intense that one can read a letter written in\nsmall handwriting; one even can perceive the different greens of the\ntrees and bushes--a thing unheard of in Europe. The effect of the moon\nis especially charming on tall palm trees. From the first moment of her\nappearance her rays glide over the tree downwards, beginning with\nthe feathery crests, then lighting up the scales of the trunk, and\ndescending lower and lower till the whole palm is literally bathing in\na sea of light. Without any metaphor the surface of the leaves seems\nto tremble in liquid silver all the night long, whereas their under\nsurfaces seem blacker and softer than black velvet. But woe to the\nthoughtless novice, woe to the mortal who gazes at the Indian moon with\nhis head uncovered. It is very dangerous not only to sleep under, but\neven to gaze at the chaste Indian Diana. Fits of epilepsy, madness\nand death are the punishments wrought by her treacherous arrows on the\nmodern Acteon who dares to contemplate the cruel daughter of Latona in\nher full beauty. The Hindus never go out in the moonlight without their\nturbans or pagris. Even our invulnerable Babu always wore a kind of\nwhite cap during the night.\n\nAs soon as the reeds concert reaches its height and the inhabitants of\nthe neighborhood hear the distant \"voices of the gods,\" whole villages\nflock together to the bank of the lake, light bonfires, and perform\ntheir pujas. The fires lit up one after the other, and the black\nsilhouettes of the worshippers moved about on the opposite shore. Their\nsacred songs and loud exclamations, \"Hari, Hari, Maha-deva!\" resounded\nwith a strange loudness and a wild emphasis in the pure air of the\nnight. And the reeds, shaken in the wind, answered them with tender\nmusical phrases. The whole stirred a vague feeling of uneasiness in\nmy soul, a strange intoxication crept gradually over me, and in this\nenchanting place the idol-worship of these passionate, poetical souls,\nsunk in dark ignorance, seemed more intelligible and less repulsive. A\nHindu is a born mystic, and the luxuriant nature of his country has made\nof him a zealous pantheist.\n\nSounds of alguja, a kind of Pandean pipe with seven openings, struck\nour attention; their music was wafted by the wind quite distinctly from\nsomewhere in the wood. They also startled a whole family of monkeys in\nthe branches of a tree over our heads. Two or three monkeys carefully\nslipped down, and looked round as if waiting for something.\n\n\"What is this new Orpheus, to whose voice these monkeys answer?\" asked I\nlaughingly.\n\n\"Some fakir probably. The alguja is generally used to invite the sacred\nmonkeys to their meals. The community of fakirs, who once inhabited\nthis island, have removed to an old pagoda in the forest. Their new\nresting-place brings them more profit, because there are many passers\nby, whereas the island is perfectly isolated.\"\n\n\"Probably they were compelled to desert this dreadful place because they\nwere threatened by chronic deafness,\" Miss X---- expressed her opinion.\nShe could not help being out of temper at being prevented from enjoying\nher quiet slumber, our tents being right in the middle of the orchestra.\n\n\"A propos of Orpheus,\" asked the Takur, \"do you know that the lyre of\nthis Greek demigod was not the first to cast spells over people, animals\nand even rivers? Kui, a certain Chinese musical artist, as they are\ncalled, expresses something to this effect: 'When I play my kyng the\nwild animals hasten to me, and range themselves into rows, spellbound by\nmy melody.' This Kui lived one thousand years before the supposed era of\nOrpheus.\"\n\n\"What a funny coincidence!\" exclaimed I. \"Kui is the name of one of our\nbest artists in St. Petersburg. Where did you read this?\"\n\n\"Oh, this is not a very rare piece of information. Some of your Western\nOrientalists have it in their books. But I personally found it in an\nancient Sanskrit book, translated from the Chinese in the second century\nbefore your era. But the original is to be found in a very ancient work,\nnamed The Preserver of the Five Chief Virtues. It is a kind of chronicle\nor treatise on the development of music in China. It was written by the\norder of Emperor Hoang-Tee many hundred years before your era.\"\n\n\"Do you think, then, that the Chinese ever understood anything about\nmusic?\" said the colonel, with an incredulous smile. \"In California and\nother places I heard some traveling artists of the celestial empire.\nWell, I think, that kind of musical entertainment would drive any one\nmad.\"\n\n\"That is exactly the opinion of many of your Western musicians on the\nsubject of our ancient Aryan, as well as of modern Hindu, music. But, in\nthe first instance, the idea of melody is perfectly arbitrary; and, in\nthe second, there is a good deal of difference between the technical\nknowledge of music, and the creation of melodies fit to please the\neducated, as well as the uneducated, ear. According to technical theory,\na musical piece may be perfect, but the melody, nevertheless, may be\nabove the understanding of an untrained taste, or simply unpleasant.\nYour most renowned operas sound for us like a wild chaos, like a rush of\nstrident, entangled sounds, in which we do not see any meaning at all,\nand which give us headaches. I have visited the London and the Paris\nopera; I have heard Rossini and Meyer-beer; I was resolved to render\nmyself an account of my impressions, and listened with the greatest\nattention. But I own I prefer the simplest of our native melodies to the\nproductions of the best European composers. Our popular songs speak to\nme, whereas they fail to produce any emotion in you. But leaving the\ntunes and songs out of question, I can assure you that our ancestors,\nas well as the ancestors of the Chinese, were far from inferior to the\nmodern Europeans, if not in technical instrumentation, at least in their\nabstract notions of music.\"\n\n\"The Aryan nations of antiquity, perhaps; but I hardly believe this in\nthe case of the Turanian Chinese!\" said our president doubtfully.\n\n\"But the music of nature has been everywhere the first step to the\nmusic of art. This is a universal rule. But there are different ways of\nfollowing it. Our musical system is the greatest art, if--pardon me this\nseeming paradox--avoiding all artificiality is art. We do not allow in\nour melodies any sounds that cannot be classified amongst the living\nvoices of nature; whereas the modern Chinese tendencies are quite\ndifferent. The Chinese system comprises eight chief tones, which serve\nas a tuning-fork to all derivatives; which are accordingly classified\nunder the names of their generators. These eight sounds are: the notes\nmetal, stone, silk, bamboo, pumpkin, earthenware, leather and wood. So\nthat they have metallic sounds, wooden sounds, silk sounds, and so on.\nOf course, under these conditions they cannot produce any melody; their\nmusic consists of an entangled series of separate notes. Their imperial\nhymn, for instance, is a series of endless unisons. But we Hindus owe\nour music only to living nature, and in nowise to inanimate objects. In\na higher sense of the word, we are pantheists, and so our music is, so\nto speak, pantheistic; but, at the same time, it is highly scientific.\nComing from the cradle of humanity, the Aryan races, who were the first\nto attain manhood, listened to the voice of nature, and concluded that\nmelody as well as harmony are both contained in our great common mother.\nNature has no false and no artificial notes; and man, the crown of\ncreation, felt desirous of imitating her sounds. In their multiplicity,\nall these sounds--according to the opinion of some of your Western\nphysicists--make only one tone, which we all can hear, if we know how\nto listen, in the eternal rustle of the foliage of big forests, in the\nmurmur of water, in the roar of the storming ocean, and even in the\ndistant roll of a great city. This tone is the middle F, the fundamental\ntone of nature. In our melodies it serves as the starting point, which\nwe embody in the key-note, and around which are grouped all the\nother sounds. Having noticed that every musical note has its typical\nrepresentative in the animal kingdom, our ancestors found out that the\nseven chief tones correspond to the cries of the goat, the peacock, the\nox, the parrot, the frog, the tiger, and the elephant. So the octave was\ndiscovered and founded. As to its subdivisions and measure, they also\nfound their basis in the complicated sounds of the same animals.\"\n\n\"I am no judge of your ancient music,\" said the colonel, \"nor do I know\nwhether your ancestors did, or did not, work out any musical theories,\nso I cannot contradict you; but I must own that, listening to the songs\nof the modern Hindus, I could not give them any credit for musical\nknowledge.\"\n\n\"No doubt it is so, because you have never heard a professional singer.\nWhen you have visited Poona, and have listened to the Gayan Samaj, we\nshall resume our present conversation. The Gayan Samaj is a society\nwhose aim is to restore the ancient national music.\"\n\nGulab-Lal-Sing spoke in his usual calm voice, but the Babu was evidently\nburning to break forth for his country's honor, and at the same time, he\nwas afraid of offending his seniors by interrupting their conversation.\nAt last he lost patience.\n\n\"You are unjust, colonel!\" he exclaimed. \"The music of the ancient\nAryans is an antediluvian plant, no doubt, but nevertheless it is well\nworth studying, and deserves every consideration. This is perfectly\nproved now by a compatriot of mine, the Raja Surendronath Tagor.... He\nis a Mus. D., he has lots of decorations from all kinds of kings and\nemperors of Europe for his book about the music of Aryans.... And, well,\nthis man has proved, as clear as daylight, that ancient India has every\nright to be called the mother of music. Even the best musical critics of\nEngland say so!... Every school, whether Italian, German or Aryan, saw\nthe light at a certain period, developed in a certain climate and in\nperfectly different circumstances. Every school has its characteristics,\nand its peculiar charm, at least for its followers; and our school is\nno exception. You Europeans are trained in the melodies of the West, and\nacquainted with Western schools of music; but our musical system, like\nmany other things in India, is totally unknown to you. So you must\nforgive my boldness, colonel, when I say that you have no right to\njudge!\"\n\n\"Don't get so excited, Babu,\" said the Takur. \"Every one has the right,\nif not to discuss, then to ask questions about a new subject. Otherwise\nno one would ever get any information. If Hindu music belonged to an\nepoch as little distant from us as the European--which you seem to\nsuggest, Babu, in your hot haste; and if, besides, it included all the\nvirtues of all the previous musical systems, which the European music\nassimilates; then no doubt it would have been better understood, and\nbetter appreciated than it is. But our music belongs to prehistoric\ntimes. In one of the sarcophagi at Thebes, Bruce found a harp with\ntwenty strings, and, judging by this instrument, we may safely say that\nthe ancient inhabitants of Egypt were well acquainted with the\nmysteries of harmony. But, except the Egyptians, we were the only people\npossessing this art, in the remote epochs, when the rest of mankind\nwere still struggling with the elements for bare existence. We possess\nhundreds of Sanskrit MSS. about music, which have never been translated,\neven into modern Indian dialects. Some of them are four thousand and\neight thousand years old. Whatever your Orientalists may say to the\ncontrary, we will persist in believing in their antiquity, because we\nhave read and studied them, while the European scientists have never yet\nset their eyes on them. There are many of these musical treatises,\nand they have been written at different epochs; but they all, without\nexception, show that in India music was known and systematized in times\nwhen the modern civilized nations of Europe still lived like savages.\nHowever true, all this does not give us the right to grow indignant when\nEuropeans say they do not like our music, as long as their ears are not\naccustomed to it, and their minds cannot understand its spirit.... To a\ncertain extent we can explain to you its technical character, and give\nyou a right idea of it as a science. But nobody can create in you, in\na moment, what the Aryans used to call Rakti; the capacity of the human\nsoul to receive and be moved by the combinations of the various sounds\nof nature. This capacity is the alpha and omega of our musical system,\nbut you do not possess it, as we do not possess the possibility to fall\ninto raptures over Bellini.\"\n\n\"But why should it be so? What are these mysterious virtues of your\nmusic, that can be understood only by yourselves? Our skins are of\ndifferent colors, but our organic mechanism is the same. In other\nwords, the physiological combination of bones, blood, nerves, veins and\nmuscles, which forms a Hindu, has as many parts, combined exactly\nafter the same model as the living mechanism known under the name of an\nAmerican, Englishman, or any other European. They come into the world\nfrom the same workshop of nature; they have the same beginning and the\nsame end. From a physiological point of view we are duplicates of each\nother.\"\n\n\"Physiologically yes. And it would be as true psychologically, if\neducation did not interfere, which, after all is said and done, could\nnot but influence the mental and the moral direction taken by a human\nbeing. Sometimes it extinguishes the divine spark; at other times it\nonly increases it, transforming it into a lighthouse which becomes man's\nlodestar for life.\"\n\n\"No doubt this is so. But the influence it has over the physiology of\nthe ear cannot be so overpowering after all.\"\n\n\"Quite the contrary. Only remember what a strong influence climatic\nconditions, food and everyday surroundings have on the complexion,\nvitality, capacity for reproduction, and so on, and you will see that\nyou are mistaken. Apply this same law of gradual modification to the\npurely psychic element in man, and the results will be the same. Change\nthe education and you will change the capacities of a human being....\nFor instance, you believe in the powers of gymnastics, you believe that\nspecial exercise can almost transform the human body. We go one step\nhigher. The experience of centuries shows that gymnastics exist for the\nsoul as well as for the body. But what the soul's gymnastics are is our\nsecret. What is it that gives to the sailor the sight of an eagle, that\nendows the acrobat with the skill of a monkey, and the wrestler with\nmuscles of iron? Practice and habit. Then why should not we suppose\nthe same possibilities in the soul of the man as well as in his body?\nPerhaps on the grounds of modern science--which either dispenses with\nthe soul altogether, or does not acknowledge in it a life distinct from\nthe life of the body....\"\n\n\"Please do not speak in this way, Takur. You, at least, ought to know\nthat I believe in the soul and in its immortality!\"\n\n\"We believe in the immortality of spirit, not of soul, following the\ntriple division of body, soul and spirit. However, this has nothing to\ndo with the present discussion.... And so you agree to the proposition\nthat every dormant possibility of the soul may be led to perfected\nstrength and activity by practice, and also that if not properly used it\nmay grow numb and even disappear altogether. Nature is so zealous\nthat all her gifts should be used properly, that it is in our power to\ndevelop or to kill in our descendants any physical or mental gift. A\nsystematic training or a total disregard will accomplish both in the\nlifetime of a few generations.\"\n\n\"Perfectly true; but that does not explain to me the secret charm of\nyour melodies....\"\n\n\"These are details and particulars. Why should I dwell on them when you\nmust see for yourself that my reasoning gives you the clue, which will\nsolve many similar problems? Centuries have accustomed the ear of\na Hindu to be receptive only of certain combinations of atmospheric\nvibrations; whereas the ear of a European is used to perfectly different\ncombinations. Hence the soul of the former will be enraptured where the\nsoul of the latter will be perfectly indifferent. I hope my explanation\nhas been simple and clear, and I might have ended it here were it not\nthat I am anxious to give you something better than the feeling of\nsatisfied curiosity. As yet I have solved only the physiological aspect\nof the secret, which is as easily admitted as the fact that we Hindus\neat by the handful spices which would give you inflammation of the\nintestines if you happened to swallow a single grain. Our aural nerves,\nwhich, at the beginning, were identical with yours, have been changed\nthrough different training, and became as distinct from yours as our\ncomplexion and our stomachs. Add to this that the eyes of the Kashmir\nweavers, men and women, are able to distinguish three hundred shades\nmore than the eye of a European.... The force of habit, the law of\natavism, if you like. But things of this kind practically solve the\napparent difficulty. You have come all the way from America to study the\nHindus and their religion; but you will never understand the latter if\nyou do not realize how closely all our sciences are related, not to\nthe modern ignorant Brahmanism, of course, but to the philosophy of our\nprimitive Vedic religion.\"\n\n\"I see. You mean that your music has something to do with the Vedas?\"\n\n\"Exactly. It has a good deal--almost everything--to do with the Vedas.\nAll the sounds of nature, and, in consequence, of music, are directly\nallied to astronomy and mathematics; that is to say, to the planets,\nthe signs of the zodiac, the sun and moon, and to rotation and numbers.\nAbove all, they depend on the Akasha, the ether of space, of the\nexistence of which your scientists have not made perfectly sure as yet.\nThis was the teaching of the ancient Chinese and Egyptians, as well as\nof ancient Aryans. The doctrine of the 'music of the spheres' first\nsaw the light here in India, and not in Greece or Italy, whither it\nwas brought by Pythagoras after he had studied under the Indian\nGymnosophists. And most certainly this great philosopher--who revealed\nto the world the heliocentric system before Copernicus and Galileo--knew\nbetter than anyone else how dependent are the least sounds in nature\non Akasha and its interrelations. One of the four Vedas, namely, the\nSama-Veda, entirely consists of hymns. This is a collection of mantrams\nsung during the sacrifices to the gods, that is to say, to the elements.\nOur ancient priests were hardly acquainted with the modern methods of\nchemistry and physics; but, to make up for it, they knew a good deal\nwhich has not as yet been thought of by modern scientists. So it is not\nto be wondered at that, sometimes, our priests, so perfectly acquainted\nwith natural sciences as they were, forced the elementary gods, or\nrather the blind forces of nature, to answer their prayers by various\nportents. Every sound of these mantrams has its meaning, its importance,\nand stands exactly where it ought to stand; and, having a raison d'etre,\nit does not fail to produce its effect. Remember Professor Leslie, who\nsays that the science of sound is the most subtle, the most unseizable\nand the most complicated of all the series of physical sciences. And if\never this teaching was worked out to perfection it was in the times of\nthe Rishis, our philosophers and saints, who left to us the Vedas.\"\n\n\"Now, I think I begin to understand the origin of all the mythological\nfables of the Greek antiquity,\" thoughtfully said the colonel; \"the\nsyrinx of Pan, his pipe of seven reeds, the fauns, the satyrs, and the\nlyre of Orpheus himself. The ancient Greeks knew little about harmony;\nand the rhythmical declamations of their dramas, which probably never\nreached the pathos of the simplest of modern recitals, could hardly\nsuggest to them the idea of the magic lyre of Orpheus. I feel strongly\ninclined to believe what was written by some of our great philologists:\nOrpheus must be an emigrant from India; his very name [greek script],\nor [greek script], shows that, even amongst the tawny Greeks, he was\nremarkably dark. This was the opinion of Lempriere and others.\"\n\n\"Some day this opinion may become a certainty. There is not the\nslightest doubt that the purest and the highest of all the musical forms\nof antiquity belongs to India. All our legends ascribe magic powers to\nmusic; it is a gift and a science coming straight from the gods. As a\nrule, we ascribe all our arts to divine revelation, but music stands at\nthe head of everything else. The invention of the vina, a kind of lute,\nbelongs to Narada, the son of Brahma. You will probably laugh at me if I\ntell you that our ancient priests, whose duty it was to sing during\nthe sacrifices, were able to produce phenomena that could not but be\nconsidered by the ignorant as signs from supernatural powers; and this,\nremember, without a shadow of trickery, but simply with the help of\ntheir perfect knowledge of nature and certain combinations well known\nto them. The phenomena produced by the priests and the Raj-Yogis are\nperfectly natural for the initiate--however miraculous they may seem to\nthe masses.\"\n\n\"But do you really mean that you have no faith what-ever in the spirits\nof the dead?\" timidly asked Miss X----, who was always ill at ease in\nthe presence of the Takur.\n\n\"With your permission, I have none.\"\n\n\"And... and have you no regard for mediums?\"\n\n\"Still less than for the spirits, my dear lady. I do believe in the\nexistence of many psychic diseases, and, amongst their number, in\nmediumism, for which we have got a queer sounding name from time\nimmemorial. We call it Bhuta-Dak, literally a bhuta-hostelry. I\nsincerely pity the real mediums, and do whatever is in my power to\nhelp them. As to the charlatans, I despise them, and never lose an\nopportunity of unmasking them.\"\n\nThe witch's den near the \"dead city\" suddenly flashed into my mind;\nthe fat Brahman, who played the oracle in the head of the Sivatherium,\ncaught and rolling down the hole; the witch herself suddenly taking to\nher heels. And with this recollection also occurred to me what I had\nnever thought of before: Narayan had acted under the orders of the\nTakur--doing his best to expose the witch and her ally.\n\n\"The unknown power which possesses the mediums (which the spiritualists\nbelieve to be spirits of the dead, while the superstitious see in it the\ndevil, and the sceptics deceit and infamous tricks), true men of science\nsuspect to be a natural force, which has not as yet been discovered. It\nis, in reality, a terrible power. Those possessed by it are generally\nweak people, often women and children. Your beloved spiritualists, Miss\nX----, only help the growth of dreadful psychic diseases, but people who\nknow better seek to save them from this force you know nothing whatever\nabout, and it is no use discussing this matter now. I shall only add one\nword: the real living spirit of a human being is as free as Brahma;\nand even more than this for us, for, according to our religion and our\nphilosophy, our spirit is Brahma himself, higher than whom there is only\nthe unknowable, the all-pervading, the omnipotent essence of Parabrahm.\nThe living spirit of man cannot be ordered about like the spirits of the\nspiritualists, it cannot be made a slave of... However, it is getting so\nlate that we had better go to bed. Let us say good-bye for tonight.\"\n\n\n\nGulab-Lal-Sing would not talk any more that night, but I have gathered\nfrom our previous conversations many a point without which the above\nconversation would remain obscure. The Vedantins and the followers of\nShankaracharya's philosophy, in talking of themselves, often avoid using\nthe pronoun I, and say, \"this body went,\" \"this hand took,\" and so on,\nin everything concerning the automatic actions of man. The personal\npronouns are only used concerning mental and moral processes, such as,\n\"I thought,\" \"he desired.\" The body in their eyes is not the man, but\nonly a covering to the real man.\n\nThe real interior man possesses many bodies; each of them more subtle\nand more pure than the preceding; and each of them bears a different\nname and is independent of the material body. After death, when the\nearthly vital principle disintegrates, together with the material body,\nall these interior bodies join together, and either advance on the way\nto Moksha, and are called Deva (divine), though it still has to pass\nmany stadia before the final liberation, or is left on earth, to wander\nand to suffer in the invisible world, and, in this case, is called\nbhuta. But a Deva has no tangible intercourse with the living. Its only\nlink with the earth is its posthumous affection for those it loved in\nits lifetime, and the power of protecting and influencing them. Love\noutlives every earthly feeling, and a Deva can appear to the beloved\nones only in their dreams--unless it be as an illusion, which cannot\nlast, because the body of a Deva undergoes a series of gradual changes\nfrom the moment it is freed from its earthly bonds; and, with every\nchange, it grows more intangible, losing every time something of its\nobjective nature. It is reborn; it lives and dies in new Lokas or\nspheres, which gradually become purer and more subjective. At last,\nhaving got rid of every shadow of earthly thoughts and desires, it\nbecomes nothing from a material point of view. It is extinguished like\na flame, and, having become one with Parabrahm, it lives the life of\nspirit, of which neither our material conception nor our language can\ngive any idea. But the eternity of Parabrahm is not the eternity of the\nsoul. The latter, according to a Vedanta expression, is an eternity in\neternity. However holy, the life of a soul had its beginning and its\nend, and, consequently, no sins and no good actions can be punished\nor rewarded in the eternity of Parabrahm. This would be contrary to\njustice, disproportionate, to use an expression of Vedanta philosophy.\nSpirit alone lives in eternity, and has neither beginning nor end,\nneither limits nor central point. The Deva lives in Parabrahm, as a\ndrop lives in the ocean, till the next regeneration of the universe\nfrom Pralaya; a periodical chaos, a disappearance of the worlds from the\nregion of objectivity. With every new Maha-yuga (great cycle) the\nDeva separates from that which is eternal, attracted by existence in\nobjective worlds, like a drop of water first drawn up by the sun,\nthen starting again downwards, passing from one region to another, and\nreturning at last to the dirt of our planet. Then, having dwelt there\nwhilst a small cycle lasted, it proceeds again upwards on the other side\nof the circle. So it gravitates in the eternity of Parabrahm, passing\nfrom one minor eternity to another. Each of these \"human,\" that is to\nsay conceivable, eternities consists of 4,320,000,000 years of objective\nlife and of as many years of subjective life in Parabrahm, altogether\n8,640,000,000 years, which are enough, in the eyes of the Vedantins, to\nredeem any mortal sin, and also to reap the fruit of any good actions\nperformed in such a short period as human life. The individuality of the\nsoul, teaches the Vedanta, is not lost when plunged in Parabrahm, as is\nsupposed by some of the European Orientalists.\n\nOnly the souls of bhutas--when the last spark of repentance and of\ntendency to improvement are extinguished in them--will evaporate for\never. Then their divine spirit, the undying part of them, separates from\nthe soul and returns to its primitive source; the soul is reduced to\nits primordial atoms, and the monad plunges into the darkness of\neternal unconsciousness. This is the only case of total destruction of\npersonality.\n\nSuch is the Vedanta teaching concerning the spiritual man. And this\nis why no true Hindu believes in the disembodied souls voluntarily\nreturning to earth, except in the case of bhutas.\n\n\n\n\nJubblepore\n\n\n\nLeaving Malva and Indore, the quasi-independent country of Holkar, we\nfound ourselves once more on strictly British territory. We were going\nto Jubblepore by railway.\n\nThis town is situated in the district of Saugor and Nerbudda; once\nit belonged to the Mahrattis, but, in 1817, the English army took\npossession of it. We stopped in the town only for a short time, being\nanxious to see the celebrated Marble Rocks. As it would have been a pity\nto lose a whole day, we hired a boat and started at 2 A.M., which gave\nus the double advantage of avoiding the heat, and enjoying a splendid\nbit of the river ten miles from the town.\n\nThe neighborhood of Jubblepore is charming; and besides, both a\ngeologist and a mineralogist would find here the richest field for\nscientific researches. The geological formation of the rocks offers an\ninfinite variety of granites; and the long chains of mountains might\nkeep a hundred of Cuviers busy for life. The limestone caves of\nJubblepore are a true ossuary of antediluvian India; they are full of\nskeletons of monstrous animals, now disappeared for ever.\n\nAt a considerable distance from the rest of the mountain ridges, and\nperfectly separate, stand the Marble Rocks, a most wonderful natural\nphenomenon, not very rare, though, in India. On the flattish banks of\nthe Nerbudda, overgrown with thick bushes, you suddenly perceive a long\nrow of strangely-shaped white cliffs.\n\nThey are there without any apparent reason, as if they were a wart on\nthe smooth cheek of mother nature. White and pure, they are heaped up\non each other as if after some plan, and look exactly like a huge\npaperweight from the writing-table of a Titan. We saw them when we were\nhalf-way from the town. They appeared and disappeared with the sudden\ncapricious turnings of the river; trembling in the early morning mist\nlike a distant, deceitful mirage of the desert. Then we lost sight of\nthem altogether. But just before sunrise they stood out once more before\nour charmed eyes, floating above their reflected image in the water. As\nif called forth by the wand of a sorcerer, they stood there on the green\nbank of the Nerbudda, mirroring their virgin beauty on the calm surface\nof the lazy stream, and promising us a cool and welcome shelter.... And\nas to the preciousness of every moment of the cool hours before sunrise,\nit can be appreciated only by those who have lived and traveled in this\nfiery land.\n\nAlas! in spite of all our precautions, and our unusually early start,\nour enjoyment of this cool retreat was very short-lived. Our project was\nto have prosaic tea amid these poetic surroundings; but as soon as we\nlanded, the sun leaped above the horizon, and began shooting his fiery\narrows at the boat, and at our unfortunate heads. Persecuting us from\none place to another, he banished us, at last, even from under a huge\nrock hanging over the water. There was literally no place where we\ncould seek salvation. The snow-white marble beauties became golden red,\npouring fire-sparks into the river, heating the sand and blinding our\neyes.\n\nNo wonder that legend supposes in them something between the abode and\nthe incarnation of Kali, the fiercest of all the goddesses of the Hindu\npantheon.\n\nFor many Yugas this goddess has been engaged in a desperate contest\nwith her lawful husband Shiva, who, in his shape of Trikutishvara, a\nthree-headed lingam, has dishonestly claimed the rocks and the river for\nhis own--the very rocks and the very river over which Kali presides in\nperson. And this is why people hear dreadful moaning, coming from under\nthe ground, every time that the hand of an irresponsible coolie, working\nby Government orders in Government quarries, breaks a stone from the\nwhite bosom of the goddess. The unhappy stone-breaker hears the cry and\ntrembles, and his heart is torn between the expectations of a dreadful\npunishment from the bloodthirsty goddess and the fear of his implacably\nexacting inspector in case he disobeys his orders.\n\nKali is the owner of the Marble Rocks, but she is the patroness of the\nex-Thugs as well. Many a lonely traveler has shuddered on hearing this\nname; many a bloodless sacrifice has been offered on the marble altar\nof Kali. The country is full of horrible tales about the achievements\nof the Thugs, accomplished in the honor of this goddess. These tales\nare too recent and too fresh in the popular memory to become as yet\nmere highly-colored legends. They are mostly true, and many of them are\nproved by official documents of the law courts and inquest commissions.\n\nIf England ever leaves India, the perfect suppression of Thugism will be\none of the good memories that will linger in the country long after\nher departure. Under this name was practised in India during two long\ncenturies the craftiest and the worst kind of homicide. Only after 1840\nwas it discovered that its aim was simply robbery and brigandage.\nThe falsely interpreted symbolical meaning of Kali was nothing but a\npretext, otherwise there would not have been so many Mussulmans amongst\nher devotees. When they were caught at last, and had to answer before\njustice, most of these knights of the rumal--the handkerchief with which\nthe operation of strangling was performed--proved to be Mussulmans. The\nmost illustrious of their leaders were not Hindus, but followers of the\nProphet, the celebrated Ahmed, for instance. Out of thirty-seven Thugs\ncaught by the police there were twenty-two Mahometans. This proves\nperfectly clearly that their religion, having nothing in common with the\nHindu gods, had nothing to do with their cruel profession; the reason\nand cause was robbery.\n\nIt is true though that the final initiation rite was performed in some\ndeserted forest before an idol of Bhavani, or Kali, wearing a necklace\nof human skulls. Before this final initiation the candidates had to\nundergo a course of schooling, the most difficult part of which was\na certain trick of throwing the rumal on the neck of the unsuspecting\nvictim and strangling him, so that death might be instantaneous. In\nthe initiation the part of the goddess was made manifest in the use of\ncertain symbols, which are in common use amongst the Freemasons--for\ninstance, an unsheathed dagger, a human skull, and the corpse of\nHiram-Abiff, \"son of the widow,\" brought back to life by the Grand\nMaster of the lodge. Kali was nothing but the pretext for an imposing\nscenarium. Freemasonry and Thugism had many points of resemblance.\nThe members of both recognized each other by certain signs, both had a\npass-word and a jargon that no outsider could understand. The Freemason\nlodges receive among their members both Christians and Atheists; the\nThugs used to receive the thieves and robbers of every nation without\nany distinction; and it is reported that amongst them there were some\nPortuguese and even Englishmen. The difference between the two is that\nthe Thugs certainly were a criminal organization, whereas the Freemasons\nof our days do no harm, except to their own pockets.\n\nPoor Shiva, wretched Bhavani! What a mean interpretation popular\nignorance has invented for these two poetical types, so deeply\nphilosophical and so full of knowledge of the laws of nature. Shiva, in\nhis primitive meaning is \"Happy God\"; then the all-destroying, as well\nas the all-regenerating force of nature. The Hindu trinity is, amongst\nother things, an allegorical representation of the three chief elements:\nfire, earth and water. Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva all represent these\nelements by turns, in their different phases; but Shiva is much more the\ngod of the fire than either Brahma or Vishnu: he burns and purifies; at\nthe same time creating out of the ashes new forms, full of fresh life.\nShiva-Sankarin is the destroyer or rather the scatterer; Shiva-Rakshaka\nis the preserver, the regenerator. He is represented with flames on\nhis left palm, and with the wand of death and resurrection in his right\nhand. His worshippers wear on their foreheads his sign traced with wet\nashes, the ashes being called vibhuti, or purified substance, and the\nsign consisting of three horizontal parallel lines between the eyebrows.\nThe color of Shiva's skin is rosy-yellow, gradually changing into a\nflaming red. His neck, head and arms are covered with snakes, emblems\nof eternity and eternal regeneration. \"As a serpent, abandoning his old\nslough, reappears in new skin, so man after death reappears in a younger\nand a purer body,\" say the Puranas.\n\nIn her turn, Shiva's wife Kali is the allegory of earth, fructified\nby the flames of the sun. Her educated worshippers say they allow\nthemselves to believe their goddess is fond of human sacrifices, only on\nthe strength of the fact that earth is fond of organical decomposition,\nwhich fertilizes her, and helps her to call forth new forces from the\nashes of the dead. The Shivaites, when burning their dead, put an idol\nof Shiva at the head of the corpse; but when beginning to scatter the\nashes in the elements, they invoke Bhavani, in order that the goddess\nmay receive the purified remains, and develop in them germs of new life.\nBut what truth could bear the coarse touch of superstitious ignorance\nwithout being disfigured!\n\nThe murdering Thugs laid their hands on this great philosophic emblem,\nand, having understood that the goddess loves human sacrifice, but hates\nuseless blood-shed, they resolved to please her doubly: to kill, but\nnever to soil their hands by the blood of their victims. The result of\nit was the knighthood of the rumal.\n\nOne day we visited a very aged ex-Thug. In his young days he was\ntransported to the Andaman Islands, but, owing to his sincere\nrepentance, and to some services he had rendered to the Government,\nhe was afterwards pardoned. Having returned to his native village, he\nsettled down to earn his living by weaving ropes, a profession probably\nsuggested to him by some sweet reminiscences of the achievements of his\nyouth. He initiated us first into the mysteries of theoretic Thugism,\nand then extended his hospitality by a ready offer to show us the\npractical side of it, if we agreed to pay for a sheep. He said he would\ngladly show us how easy it was to send a living being ad patres in less\nthan three seconds; the whole secret consisting in some skillful and\nswift movements of the righthand finger joints.\n\nWe refused to buy the sheep for this old brigand, but we gave him\nsome money. To show his gratitude he offered to demonstrate all the\npreliminary sensation of the rumal on any English or American neck that\nwas willing. Of course, he said he would omit the final twist. But still\nnone of us were willing; and the gratitude of the repentant criminal\nfound issue in great volubility.\n\nThe owl is sacred to Bhavani Kali, and as soon as a band of Thugs,\nawaiting their victims, had been signalled by the conventional hooting,\neach of the travelers, let them be twenty and more, had a Thug behind\nhis shoulders. One second more, and the rumal was on the neck of the\nvictim, the well-trained iron fingers of the Thug tightly holding the\nends of the sacred handkerchief; another second, the joints of the\nfingers performed their artistic twist, pressing the larynx, and the\nvictim fell down lifeless. Not a sound, not a shriek! The Thugs worked,\nas swiftly as lightning. The strangled man was immediately carried to a\ngrave prepared in some thick forest, usually under the bed of some brook\nor rivulet in their periodical state of drought. Every vestige of the\nvictim disappeared. Who cared to know about him, except his own family\nand his very intimate friends? The inquests were especially difficult,\nif not impossible, thirty years ago [1879], when there were no regular\nrailway communications, and no regular Government system. Besides, the\ncountry is full of tigers, whose sad fate it is to be responsible for\nevery one else's sins as well as for their own. Whoever it was who\nhappened to disappear, be it Hindu or Mussulman, the answer was\ninvariably the same: tigers!\n\nThe Thugs possessed a wonderfully good organization. Trained accomplices\nused to tramp all over India, stopping at the bazaars, those true clubs\nof Eastern nations, gathering information, scaring their listeners to\ndeath with tales of the Thugs, and then advising them to join this or\nthat travelling party, who of course were Thugs playing the part of rich\nmerchants or pilgrims. Having ensnared these wretches, they sent word\nto the Thugs, and got paid for the commission in proportion to the total\nprofit.\n\nDuring many long years these invisible bands, scattered all over the\ncountry, and working in parties of from ten to sixty men, enjoyed\nperfect freedom, but at last they were caught. The inquiries unveiled\nhorrid and repulsive secrets: rich bankers, officiating Brahmans, Rajas\non the brink of poverty, and a few English officials, all had to be\nbrought before justice.\n\nThis deed of the East India Company truly deserves the popular gratitude\nwhich it receives.----\n\n\nOn our way back from the Marble Rocks we saw Muddun-Mahal, another\nmysterious curio; it is a house built--no one knows by whom, or with\nwhat purpose--on a huge boulder. This stone is probably some kind of\nrelative to the cromlechs of the Celtic Druids. It shakes at the least\ntouch, together with the house and the people who feel curious to see\ninside it. Of course we had this curiosity, and our noses remained safe\nonly thanks to the Babu, Narayan and the Takur, who took as great care\nof us as if they had been nurses, and we their babies.\n\nNatives of India are truly a wonderful people. However unsteady the\nthing may be, they are sure to walk on it, and sit on it, with the\ngreatest comfort. They think nothing of sitting whole hours on the top\nof a post--maybe a little thicker than an ordinary telegraph post. They\nalso feel perfectly safe with their toes twisted round a thin branch\nand their bodies resting on nothing, as if they were crows perched on a\ntelegraph wire.\n\n\"Salam, sahib!\" said I once to an ancient, naked Hindu of a low caste,\nseated in the above described fashion. \"Are you comfortable, uncle? And\nare you not afraid of falling down?\"\n\n\"Why should I fall?\" seriously answered the \"uncle,\" expectorating a\nred fountain--an unavoidable result of betel-chewing. \"I do not breathe,\nmam-sahib!\"\n\n\"What do you mean? A man cannot do without breathing!\" exclaimed I, a\ngood deal astonished by this wonderful bit of information.\n\n\"Oh yes, he can. I do not breathe just now, and so I am perfectly safe.\nBut soon I shall have to fill up my breast again with fresh air, and\nthen I will hold on to the post, otherwise I should fall.\"\n\nAfter this astounding physiological information, we parted. He would not\ntalk any more, evidently fearing to endanger his comfort. At that\ntime, we did not receive any more explanations on the subject, but this\nincident was enough to disturb the scientific equanimity of our minds.\n\nTill then, we were so naive as to fancy that only sturgeons and similar\naquatic acrobats were clever enough to learn how to fill up their\ninsides with air in order to become lighter, and to rise to the surface\nof the water. What is possible to a sturgeon is impossible to man,\nspeculated we in our ignorance. So we agreed to look upon the revelation\nof the above described \"uncle\" in the light of a brag, having no other\naim but to chaff the \"white sahibs.\" In those days, we were still\ninexperienced, and inclined to resent this kind of information,\nas coming very near to mockery. But, later on, we learned that his\ndescription of the process necessary to keep up this birdlike posture\nwas perfectly accurate. In Jubblepore we saw much greater wonders.\nStrolling along the river bank, we reached the so-called Fakirs' Avenue;\nand the Takur invited us to visit the courtyard of the pagoda. This is a\nsacred place, and neither Europeans nor Mussulmans are admitted inside.\nBut Gulab-Sing said something to the chief Brahman, and we entered\nwithout hindrance.\n\nThe yard was full of devotees, and of ascetics. But our attention\nwas especially attracted by three ancient, perfectly naked fakirs. As\nwrinkled as baked mushrooms, as thin as skeletons, crowned with twisted\nmasses of white hair, they sat or rather stood in the most impossible\npostures, as we thought. One of them, literally leaning only on the\npalm of his right hand, was poised with his head downwards and his legs\nupwards; his body was as motionless as if he were the dry branch of a\ntree. Just a little above the ground his head rose in the most unnatural\nposition, and his eyes were fixed on the glaring sun. I cannot guarantee\nthe truthfulness of some talkative inhabitants of the town, who had\njoined our party, and who assured us that this fakir daily spends\nin this posture all the hours between noon and the sunset. But I can\nguarantee that not a muscle of his body moved during the hour and twenty\nminutes we spent amongst the fakirs. Another fakir stood on a \"sacred\nstone of Shiva,\" a small stone about five inches in diameter. One of\nhis legs was curled up under him, and the whole of his body was bent\nbackwards into an arc; his eyes also were fixed on the sun. The palms of\nhis hands were pressed together as if in prayer. He seemed glued to his\nstone. We were at a loss to imagine by what means this man came to be\nmaster of such equilibration.\n\n\nThe third of these wonderful people sat crossing his legs under him; but\nhow he could sit was more than we could understand, because the thing on\nwhich he sat was a stone lingam, not higher than an ordinary street post\nand little wider than the \"stone of Shiva,\" that is to say, hardly more\nthan five or seven inches in diameter. His arms were crossed behind his\nback, and his nails had grown into the flesh of his shoulders.\n\n\"This one never changes his position,\" said one of our companions. \"At\nleast, he has not changed for the last seven years.\"\n\nHis usual food, or rather drink, is milk, which is brought to him once\nin every forty-eight hours and poured into his throat with the aid of a\nbamboo. Every ascetic has willing servants, who are also future fakirs,\nwhose duty it is to attend on them; and so the disciples of this living\nmummy take him off his pedestal, wash him in the tank, and put him back\nlike an inanimate object, because he can no longer stretch his limbs.\n\n\"And what if I were to push one of these fakirs?\" asked I. \"I daresay\nthe least touch would upset them.\"\n\n\"Try!\" laughingly advised the Takur. \"In this state of religious trance\nit is easier to break a man to pieces than to remove him from his\nplace.\"\n\nTo touch an ascetic in the state of trance is a sacrilege in the eyes of\nthe Hindus; but evidently the Takur was well aware that, under certain\ncircumstances, there may be exceptions to every Brahmanical rule. He\nhad another aside with the chief Brahman, who followed us, darker than a\nthundercloud; the consultation did not last long, and after it was\nover Gulab-Sing declared to us that none of us was allowed to touch the\nfakirs, but that he personally had obtained this permission, and so was\ngoing to show us something still more astonishing.\n\nHe approached the fakir on the little stone, and, carefully holding him\nby his protruding ribs, he lifted him and put him on the ground. The\nascetic remained as statuesque as before. Then Gulab-Sing took the stone\nin his hands and showed it to us, asking us, however, not to touch it\nfor fear of offending the crowd. The stone was round, flattish, with\nrather an uneven surface. When laid on the ground it shook at the least\ntouch.\n\n\"Now, you see that this pedestal is far from being steady. And also you\nhave seen that, under the weight of the fakir, it is as immovable as if\nit were planted in the ground.\"\n\nWhen the fakir was put back on the stone, he and it at once resumed\ntheir appearance, as of one single body, solidly joined to the ground,\nand not a line of the fakir's body had changed. By all appearance, his\nbending body and his head thrown backward sought to bring him down; but\nfor this fakir there was evidently no such thing as the law of gravity.\n\nWhat I have described is a fact, but I do not take upon myself to\nexplain it. At the gates of the pagoda we found our shoes, which we had\nbeen told to take off before going in. We put them on again, and left\nthis \"holy of holies\" of the secular mysteries, with our minds still\nmore perplexed than before. In the Fakirs' Avenue we found Narayan,\nMulji and the Babu, who were waiting for us. The chief Brahman would\nnot hear of their entering the pagoda. All the three had long before\nreleased themselves from the iron claws of caste; they openly ate\nand drank with us, and for this offence they were regarded as\nexcommunicated, and despised by their compatriots much more than the\nEuropeans themselves. Their presence in the pagoda would have polluted\nit for ever, whereas the pollution brought by us was only temporary; it\nwould evaporate in the smoke of cow-dung--the usual Brahmanical incense\nof purification--like a drop of muddy water in the rays of the sun.\n\nIndia is the country for originalities and everything unexpected and\nunconventional. From the point of view of an ordinary European observer\nevery feature of Indian life is contrary to what could be expected.\nShaking the head from one shoulder to another means no in every other\ncountry, but in India it means an emphatic yes. If you ask a Hindu\nhow his wife is, even if you are well acquainted with her, or how many\nchildren he has, or whether he has any sisters, he will feel offended in\nnine cases out of ten. So long as the host does not point to the door,\nhaving previously sprinkled the guest with rose-water, the latter would\nnot think of leaving. He would stay the whole day without tasting any\nfood, and lose his time, rather than offend his host by an unauthorized\ndeparture. Everything contradicts our Western ideas. The Hindus are\nstrange and original, but their religion is still more original. It has\nits dark points, of course. The rites of some sects are truly repulsive;\nthe officiating Brahmans are far from being without reproach. But these\nare only superficialities. In spite of them the Hindu religion possesses\nsomething so deeply and mysteriously irresistible that it attracts and\nsubdues even unimaginative Englishmen.\n\nThe following incident is a curious instance of this fascination:\n\nN.C. Paul, G.B.M.C., wrote a small, but very interesting and very\nscientific pamphlet. He was only a regimental surgeon in Benares,\nbut his name was well known amongst his compatriots as a very learned\nspecialist in physiology. The pamphlet was called A Treatise on the\nYoga Philosophy, and produced a sensation amongst the representatives\nof medicine in India, and a lively polemic between the Anglo-Indian and\nnative journalists. Dr. Paul spent thirty-five years in studying the\nextraordinary facts of Yogism, the existence of which was, for him,\nbeyond all doubt. He not only described them, but explained some of\nthe most extraordinary phenomena, for instance, levitation, the seeming\nevidence to the contrary of some laws of nature, notwithstanding. With\nperfect sincerity, and evident regret, Dr. Paul says he could never\nlearn anything from the Raj-Yogis. His experience was almost wholly\nlimited to the facts that fakirs and Hatha-Yogis would consent to give\nhim. It was his great friendship with Captain Seymour chiefly which\nhelped him to penetrate some mysteries, which, till then, were supposed\nto be impenetrable.\n\nThe history of this English gentleman is truly incredible, and produced,\nabout twenty-five years ago, an unprecedented scandal in the records of\nthe British army in India. Captain Seymour, a wealthy and well-educated\nofficer, accepted the Brahmanical creed and became a Yogi. Of course he\nwas proclaimed mad, and, having been caught, was sent back to England.\nSeymour escaped, and returned to India in the dress of a Sannyasi. He\nwas caught again, and shut up in some lunatic asylum in London. Three\ndays after, in spite of the bolts and the watchmen, he disappeared from\nthe establishment. Later on his acquaintances saw him in Benares, and\nthe governor-general received a letter from him from the Himalayas. In\nthis letter he declared that he never was mad, in spite of his being put\ninto a hospital; he advised the governor-general not to interfere\nwith what was strictly his own private concern, and announced his firm\nresolve never to return to civilized society. \"I am a Yogi,\" wrote he,\n\"and I hope to obtain before I die what is the aim of my life--to become\na Raj-Yogi.\" After this letter he was left alone, and no European\never saw him except Dr. Paul, who, as it is reported, was in constant\ncorrespondence with him, and even went twice to see him in the Himalayas\nunder the pretext of botanic excursions.\n\nI was told that the pamphlet of Dr. Paul was ordered to be burned \"as\nbeing offensive to the science of physiology and pathology.\" At the\ntime I visited India copies of it were very great rarities. Out of a few\ncopies still extant, one is to be found in the library of the Maharaja\nof Benares, and another was given to me by the Takur.\n\nThis evening we dined at the refreshment rooms of the railway station.\nOur arrival caused an evident sensation. Our party occupied the whole\nend of a table, at which were dining many first-class passengers, who\nall stared at us with undisguised astonishment. Europeans on an equal\nfooting with Hindus! Hindus who condescended to dine with Europeans!\nThese two were rare and wonderful sights indeed. The subdued whispers\ngrew into loud exclamations. Two officers who happened to know the Takur\ntook him aside, and, having shaken hands with him, began a very animated\nconversation, as if discussing some matter of business; but, as we\nlearned afterwards, they simply wanted to gratify their curiosity about\nus.\n\nHere we learned, for the first time, that we were under police\nsupervision, the police being represented by an individual clad in a\nsuit of white clothes, and possessing a very fresh complexion, and a\npair of long moustaches. He was an agent of the secret police, and had\nfollowed us from Bombay. On learning this flattering piece of news,\nthe colonel burst into a loud laugh; which only made us still more\nsuspicious in the eyes of all these Anglo-Indians, enjoying a quiet and\ndignified meal. As to me, I was very disagreeably impressed by this bit\nof news, I must confess, and wished this unpleasant dinner was over.\n\nThe train for Allahabad was to leave at eight P.M., and we were to\nspend the night in the railway carriage. We had ten reserved seats in a\nfirst-class carriage, and had made sure that no strange passengers would\nenter it, but, nevertheless, there were many reasons which made me think\nI could not sleep this night. So I obtained a provision of candles\nfor my reading lamp, and making myself comfortable on my couch, began\nreading the pamphlet of Dr. Paul, which interested me greatly.\n\nAmongst many other interesting things, Dr. Paul explains very fully and\nlearnedly the mystery of the periodical suspension of breathing, and\nsome other seemingly impossible phenomena, practised by the Yogis.\n\nHere is his theory in brief. The Yogis have discovered the reason of the\nwondrous capacity of the chameleon to assume the appearance of plumpness\nor of leanness. This animal looks enormous when his lungs are filled\nwith air, but in his normal condition he is quite insignificant. Many\nother reptiles as well acquire the possibility of swimming across large\nrivers quite easily by the same process. And the air that remains in\ntheir lungs, after the blood has been fully oxygenated, makes them\nextraordinarily lively on dry land and in the water. The capacity of\nstoring up an extraordinary provision of air is a characteristic feature\nof all the animals that are subjected to hibernation.\n\nThe Hindu Yogis studied this capacity, and perfected and developed it in\nthemselves.\n\nThe means by which they acquire it--known under the name of Bhastrika\nKumbhala--consist of the following: The Yogi isolates himself in an\nunderground cave, where the atmosphere is more uniform and more damp\nthan on the surface of the earth: this causes the appetite to grow less.\nMan's appetite is proportionate to the quantity of carbonic acid he\nexhales in a certain period of time. The Yogis never use salt, and live\nentirely on milk, which they take only during the night. They move very\nslowly in order not to breathe too often. Movement increases the\nexhaled carbonic acid, and so the Yoga practice prescribes avoidance\nof movement. The quantity of exhaled carbonic acid is also increased by\nloud and lively talking: so the Yogis are taught to talk slowly and\nin subdued tones, and are even advised to take the vows of silence.\nPhysical labor is propitious to the increase of carbonic acid, and\nmental to its decrease; accordingly the Yogi spends his life in\ncontemplation and deep meditation. Padmasana and Siddhasana are the two\nmethods by which a person is taught to breathe as little as possible.\n\nSuka-Devi, a well-known miracle-monger of the second century B.C. says:\n\n\"Place the left foot upon the right thigh, and the right foot upon the\nleft thigh; straighten the neck and back; make the palms of the hands\nrest upon the knees; shut the mouth; and expire forcibly through both\nnostrils. Next, inspire and expire quickly until you are fatigued. Then\ninspire through the right nostril, fill the abdomen with the inspired\nair, suspend the breath, and fix the sight on the tip of the nose. Then\nexpire through the left nostril, and next, inspiring through the left\nnostril, suspend the breath...\" and so on.\n\n\"When a Yogi, by practice, is enabled to maintain himself in one of the\nabove-mentioned postures for the period of three hours, and to live upon\na quantity of food proportional to the reduced condition of circulation\nand respiration, without inconvenience, he proceeds to the practice\nof Pranayama,\" writes Dr. Paul. \"It is the fourth stage or division of\nYoga.\"\n\nThe Pranayama consists of three parts. The first excites the secretion\nof sweat, the second is attended by convulsive movements of the\nfeatures, the third gives to the Yogi a feeling of extraordinary\nlightness in his body.\n\nAfter this, the Yogi practises Pratyahara, a kind of voluntary trance,\nwhich is recognizable by the full suspension of all the senses. After\nthis stage the Yogis study the process of Dharana; this not only stops\nthe activity of physical senses, but also causes the mental capacities\nto be plunged into a deep torpor. This stage brings abundant suffering;\nit requires a good deal of firmness and resolution on the part of a\nYogi, but it leads him to Dhayana, a state of perfect, indescribable\nbliss. According to their own description, in this state they swim in\nthe ocean of eternal light, in Akasha, or Ananta Jyoti, which they\ncall the \"Soul of the Universe.\" Reaching the stage of Dhyana, the Yogi\nbecomes a seer. The Dhyana of the Yogis is the same thing as Turiya\nAvastha of the Vedantins, in the number of whom are the Raj-Yogis.\n\n\"Samadhi is the last stage of self-trance,\" says Dr. Paul. \"In this\nstate the Yogis, like the bat, the hedge-hog, the marmot, the hamster\nand the dormouse, acquire the power of supporting the abstraction of\natmospheric air, and the privation of food and drink. Of Samadhi\nor human hibernation there have been three cases within the last\ntwenty-five years. The first case occurred in Calcutta, the second in\nJesselmere, and the third in the Punjab. I was an eyewitness of the\nfirst case. The Jesselmere, the Punjab, and the Calcutta Yogis assumed\na death-like condition by swallowing the tongue. How the Punjabi fakir\n(witnessed by Dr. McGregor), by suspending his breath, lived forty days\nwithout food and drink, is a question which has puzzled a great many\nlearned men of Europe.... It is on the principle of Laghima and Garima\n(a diminution of one's specific gravity by swallowing large draughts\nof air) that the Brahman of Madras maintained himself in an aerial\nposture...\"\n\nHowever, all these are physical phenomena produced by Hatha-Yogis. Each\nof them ought to be investigated by physical science, but they are much\nless interesting than the phenomena of the region of psychology. But Dr.\nPaul has next to nothing to say on this subject. During the thirty-five\nyears of his Indian career, he met only three Raj-Yogis; but in spite\nof the friendliness they showed to the English doctor, none of them\nconsented to initiate him into the mysteries of nature, a knowledge of\nwhich is ascribed to them. One of them simply denied that he had any\npower at all; the other did not deny, and even showed Dr. Paul some very\nwonderful things, but refused to give any explanations whatever; the\nthird said he would explain a few things on the condition that Dr. Paul\nmust pledge himself never to repeat anything he learned from him. In\nacquiring this kind of information, Dr. Paul had only one aim--to give\nthese secrets publicity, and to enlighten the public ignorance, and so\nhe declined the honor.\n\nHowever, the gifts of the true Raj-Yogis are much more interesting, and\na great deal more important for the world, than the phenomena of the\nlay Hatha-Yogis. These gifts are purely psychic: to the knowledge of\nthe Hatha-Yogis the Raj-Yogis add the whole scale of mental phenomena.\nSacred books ascribe to them the following gifts: foreseeing future\nevents; understanding of all languages; the healing of all diseases; the\nart of reading other people's thoughts; witnessing at will everything\nthat happens thousands of miles from them; understanding the language\nof animals and birds; Prakamya, or the power of keeping up youthful\nappearance during incredible periods of time; the power of abandoning\ntheir own bodies and entering other people's frames; Vashitva, or the\ngift to kill, and to tame wild animals with their eyes; and, lastly, the\nmesmeric power to subjugate any one, and to force any one to obey the\nunexpressed orders of the Raj-Yogi.\n\nDr. Paul has witnessed the few phenomena of Hatha-Yoga already\ndescribed; there are many others about which he has heard, and which\nhe neither believes nor disbelieves. But he guarantees that a Yogi can\nsuspend his breath for forty-three minutes and twelve seconds.\n\nNevertheless, European scientific authorities maintain that no one can\nsuspend the breath for more than two minutes. O science! Is it possible\nthen that thy name is also vanitas vanitatum, like the other things of\nthis world?\n\nWe are forced to suppose that, in Europe, nothing is known about the\nmeans which enabled the philosophers of India, from times immemorial,\ngradually to transform their human frames.\n\nHere are a few deep words of Professor Boutleroff, a Russian scientist\nwhom I, in common with all Russians, greatly respect: \"....All this\nbelongs to knowledge; the increase of the mass of knowledge will\nonly enrich and not abolish science. This must be accomplished on the\nstrength of serious observation, of study, of experience, and under the\nguidance of positive scientific methods, by which people are taught to\nacknowledge every other phenomenon of nature. We do not call you blindly\nto accept hypotheses, after the example of bygone years, but to seek\nafter knowledge; we do not invite you to give up science, but to enlarge\nher regions...\"\n\nThis was said about spiritualist phenomena. As to the rest of our\nlearned physiologists, this is, approximately, what they have the\nright to say: \"We know well certain phenomena of nature which we have\npersonally studied and investigated, under certain conditions, which\nwe call normal or abnormal, and we guarantee the accuracy of our\nconclusions.\"\n\nHowever, it would be very well if they added:\n\n\"But having no pretensions to assure the world that we are acquainted\nwith all the forces of nature, known and unknown, we do not claim the\nright to hold back other people from bold investigations in regions\nwhich we have not reached as yet, owing to our great cautiousness and\nalso to our moral timidity. Not being able to maintain that the human\norganism is utterly incapable of developing certain transcendental\npowers, which are rare, and observable only under certain conditions,\nunknown to science, we by no means wish to keep other explorers within\nthe limits of our own scientific discoveries.\"\n\nBy pronouncing this noble, and, at the same time, modest speech, our\nphysiologists would doubtless gain the undying gratitude of posterity.\n\nAfter this speech there would be no fear of mockery, no danger of\nlosing one's reputation for veracity and sound reason; and the learned\ncolleagues of these broad-minded physiologists would investigate every\nphenomenon of nature seriously and openly. The phenomena of spiritualism\nwould then transmigrate from the region of materialized\n\"mothers-in-law\" and half-witted fortune-telling to the regions of the\npsycho-physiological sciences. The celebrated \"spirits\" would probably\nevaporate, but in their stead the living spirit, which \"belongeth not to\nthis world,\" would become better known and better realized by humanity,\nbecause humanity will comprehend the harmony of the whole only after\nlearning how closely the visible world is bound to the world invisible.\n\nAfter this speech, Haeckel at the head of the evolutionists, and Alfred\nRussel Wallace at the head of the spiritualists, would be relieved from\nmany anxieties, and would shake hands in brotherhood.\n\nSeriously speaking, what is there to prevent humanity from acknowledging\ntwo active forces within itself; one purely animal, the other purely\ndivine?\n\nIt does not behove even the greatest amongst scientists to try to\n\"bind the sweet influences of the Pleiades,\" even if they have chosen\n\"Arcturus with his sons\" for their guides. Did it never occur to them\nto apply to their own intellectual pride the questions the \"voice out of\nthe whirlwind\" once asked of long-suffering Job: \"where were they when\nwere laid the foundations of the earth? and have the gates of death been\nopened unto them?\" If so, only then have they the right to maintain that\nhere and not there is the abode of eternal light.\n\n\nThe End","title":"From the Caves and Jungles of Hindostan","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":95468}