by Fanny Parkes
It was canopied by the most luxuriant creepers and climbers of all sorts. The ishk-pecha, the ‘Twinings of Love’ (Ipomaea quamoclit), overspread it in profusion; as the slender stems catch upon each other and twine over an arbour, the leaves, falling back, lie over one another en masse, spreading over a broad surface in the manner in which the feathers of the tail of a peacock spread over one another, and trail upon the ground; the ruby red and star-like flowers start from amidst the rich green of its delicate leaves as bright as sunshine. This climber, the most beautiful and luxuriant imaginable, bears also the name of kamalāta, ‘Love’s Creeper’. Some have flowers of snowy hue, with a delicate fragrance; and one, breathing after sunset, the odour of cloves!
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I wish I had tried the teeth of the white ants by putting up pillars of stone. An orthodox method of killing these little underminers is by strewing sugar on the places frequented by them: the large black ants, the sworn enemies of the white ants, being attracted by the sugar, quickly appear and destroy the white ones. The white ants are sappers and miners; they will come up through the floor into the foot of a wardrobe, make their way through the centre of it into the drawers, and feast on the contents. I once opened a wardrobe which had been filled with tablecloths and napkins: no outward sign of mischief was there; but the linen was one mass of dirt and utterly destroyed. The most remarkable thing is the little beasts always move under cover, and form for themselves a hollow way through which they move unseen, and do their work of destruction at leisure. The hollow way they form is not unlike pipe macaroni in size, and its colour is that of mud. I never saw them in Calcutta; up the country they are a perfect nuisance. The queen ant is a curious creature; one was shown me that had been dug out of an ants’ nest: it was nearly four inches long by two in width and looked something like a bit of blubber. The white ants are the vilest little animals on the face of the earth; they eat their way through walls, through beams of wood and are most marvellously troublesome. They attack the roots of trees and plants and kill them in a day or two. To drive them away it is advisable to have the plants watered with hing (assafoetida) steeped in water. If a box be allowed to stand a week upon the floor without being moved, it is likely at the end of that time, when you take it up, the bottom may fall out, destroyed by the white ants. Carpets, mats, chintz, such as we put on the floors, all share, more or less, the same fate. I never saw a white ant until I came to India. They resemble the little white maggots in a cheese, with a black dot for a head and a pair of pincers fixed upon it.
The Calcutta matting is little used for rooms in the Upper Provinces, as it is soon destroyed by the ants; in lieu thereof, gaily-coloured chintz, manufactured by the natives after the patterns of Brussels carpets, is put down in the rooms and gives them a handsome appearance, but it is not so cool as the matting. A cloth (called sallam), dyed with indigo, ought to be put down under the chintz to keep off the white ants, which dislike the smell of the indigo.
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October 1834 – I have just returned from taking a sketch of the Circuit bungalow; it reminds me of very many pleasant mornings, although to an English ear it may not give an idea of pleasure to rise at three in the morning, to take coffee by candlelight, or by the light of the mist in the verandah! – The buggy waiting, the lamps lighted, and the horse covered with a blanket, to keep him from taking a chill. A drab coat with many capes, a shawl beneath, and another round the neck, a drive of two or three miles by lamplight. Just as you come up to the dogs, a gentleman comes forward to assist the memsāhib from the buggy, saying, ‘Very cold! Very cold! One could not be more delightfully cold in England – half-frozen!’ Those fine dogs, Jānpeter, Racer, Merrylass, and the rest of them emerge from the palanquin carriage in which they have been brought to Papamhow, ‘Much tāmashā! many jackals!’ Then the canter through the plantations of Urrah, wet with dew – dew so heavy that the sā’is wrings out the skirt of the memsāhib’s habit; nevertheless, the lady and the black pony are very happy. Master General carries his rider in most jemmy style; a gallant grey by his side takes beautiful leaps, and the memsāhib and her black horse scramble up and down ravines over which the others leap, and by little detours and knowledge of the country find much amusement in the course of the morning.
All natives, from the highest to the lowest, sport the moustache and pride themselves upon its blackness. My old khānsāmān, Suddu Khān, whose hair, beard and moustache were perfectly white, came before me one morning, and making salam, requested me to allow him some hours’ leave of absence to dye his hair. In the evening he was in attendance at table; his hair, beard, and moustache in the most perfect order and jet black! The 16th Lancers, on their arrival in India, wore no moustache; after the lapse of many years, the order that allowed them the decoration arrived in India, and was hailed with delight by the whole corps. The natives regarded them with much greater respect in consequence, and the young dandis of Delhi could no longer twirl their moustaches and think themselves finer fellows than the Lancers. As a warlike appendage it was absolutely necessary; a man without moustaches being reckoned nā-mard, unmanly. A dandified native generally travels with a handkerchief bound under his chin and tied on the top of his turban, that the beauty and precision of his beard may not be disarranged on the journey.
CHAPTER XXVIII
PILGRIMAGE TO THE TĀJ
RESOLUTION OVERCOMES GREAT DIFFICULTIES
You will require the patience of an angel, or of a whole heaven of angels, to reach Agra in a pinnace. I was a month in a boat that I built for the very purpose of threading this Meander, to which that of Troy was a nālā, as straight as an arrow. I fear your voyage will be much protracted, but as for the wind, you are sure to have it favourable two or three times a day, let it blow from what quarter it will, for you will have your course during the twenty-four hours to every point of the compass, and these cold days too! Here am I shivering in the warmest room in my house!
W. L. G., Khasganj
DECEMBER 1834 – To look forward to the cold season is always a great pleasure in India; and to plan some expedition for that period is an amusement during the hot winds and rains. We had often determined to visit the Tāj Mahal at Agra – the wonder of the world.
Our beautiful pinnace was now in the Jumna, anchored just below the house, but the height of the banks and the lowness of the river only allowed us to see the top of her masts. My husband proposed that I should go up the Jumna in her, as far as Agra, and anchor off the Tāj; and promised, if he could get leave of absence, to join me there to view all that is so well worth seeing at that remarkable place. Accordingly, the pinnace was prepared for the voyage, and a patelī was procured as a cook-boat. Books, drawing materials and everything that could render a voyage up the river agreeable were put on board.
December 9th – I quitted Prāg: Seagull spread her sails to the breeze and, in spite of the power of the stream, we made good way against it: at night we lugoed off Phoolpoor, i.e. made fast to the bank, as is always the custom, the river not being navigable during the darkness.
December 10th – Saw the first crocodile today basking on a sandbank: a great long-nosed fellow, a very Indian looking personage, of whom I felt the greatest fear as at the moment my little terrier Fury, who was running on the shore with the dāndis, seeing me on deck swam off to the pinnace. I was much pleased when a dāndi caught her in his arms and put her on the cook-boat.
On the commencement of a voyage the men adorn the bows of the vessel with chaplets of fresh flowers (hārs), and ask for money: on days of pooja, and at the end of the voyage, the same ceremony is repeated and halfway on the voyage they usually petition for a present, a few rupees for good luck.
I must describe Seagull. She was built in Calcutta to go to Chittagong and has a deep keel, therefore unfit for river work unless during the rains: two-masted, copper-bottomed and brig-rigged. She requires water up to a man’s waist; her crew consist of twenty-two men, one sarang, who commands her, four khalā
sīs, who hold the next rank, one gal’haiya, forecastle man (from galahi, a forecastle), fourteen dāndis, one cook and his mate, all Musulmāns; total twenty-two. The crew, particularly good men, came from Calcutta with the pinnace; they cook their own food and eat and sleep on board. My food and that of my servants is prepared in the cook-boat. The food of the dāndis usually consists of curry and rice, or thin cakes of flour (unleavened bread) called chapātīs: the latter they bake on a tāwa (iron plate) over the fire on the bank, and eat whilst hot. It is amusing to see how dexterously they pat these cakes into form, between both hands, chucking them each time into the air: they are usually half an inch in thickness and the size of a dessert plate.
When these common chapātīs are made thin, and allowed to blow out on the fire until they are perfectly hollow, they are delicious food, if eaten quite hot. Thus made they are much better than those generally put on the table of the sāhib loge (gentry), which are made of fine flower and milk.
Being unable to find a boat for hire that would answer as a cook-boat, the jamadār purchased a patelī, a small boat built after the fashion of a large flat-bottomed patailā, for which he gave Rs 80; and we proceeded to fit it up by building a large house upon it of mats and bamboo, thickly thatched with straw. This house was for the cook, the servants and the farmyard. On the top of it was a platform of bamboos on which the dāndis (sailors) could live and sleep. The crew consisted of seven men, Hindus; therefore they always cooked their food on shore in the evening, it being contrary to the rules of their religion to eat on board. The sheep, goats, fowls, provisions, wine, etc. were all in the cook-boat, and a space was divided off for the dhobee (washerman). The number of servants it is necessary to take with one on a river voyage in India is marvellous. We had also a little boat called a dinghy, which was towed astern the pinnace.
This morning we passed Sujawan Deota, a rock rising out of the river crowned with a temple, a remarkably picturesque spot and adorned with trees. A pinnace is towed by one thick towing line, called a goon, carried by ten men. Native boats containing merchandise are generally towed by small lines, each man having his own line to himself. The wind having become contrary, the men were obliged to tow her; the goon broke, the vessel swerved round and was carried some distance down the stream; however, she was brought up without damage, and moored off Sehoree.
December 11th – In passing the Burriaree rocks I felt a strange sort of anxious delight in the danger of the passage, there being only room for one vessel to pass through. The serang, a Calcutta man, had never been up the Jumna; and as we cut through the narrow pass I stood on deck watching ahead for a sunken rock. Had there been too little water, with what a crash we should have gone on the rocks! The river is full of them; they show their black heads a foot or two above the stream that rushes down fiercely around or over them: just now we ran directly upon one. The vessel swerved right round, but was brought up again soon after.
We track or sail from six o’clock, and moor the boats at seven in the evening. On anchoring off Deeya I received two matchlocks, sent to me by my husband, on account of his having heard that many salt-boats on the Jumna have been plundered lately; the matchlocks are to be fired off of an evening when the watch is set, to show we are on our guard. At night a chaprāsī and two dāndis hold their watch, armed, on deck; and two chaukidārs (watchmen) from the nearest village keep watch on shore. My little fine-eared terrier is on board, and I sleep without a thought of robbery or danger. If you take a guard from the nearest village, you are pretty safe; if not, perhaps the chaukidārs themselves will rob you, in revenge for your not employing them.
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December 13th – Aground off Kuttree, again off Shahpoor and, for the third time, off Jumnapoor: lugoed off Mowhie.
December 13th – Aground on a sunken rock off Toolseepoor, again off Dampour. During the rains the river is deep; but at this time of the year it is late to undertake a voyage to Agra and I think it not impossible it may be impracticable to take the pinnace so far up the river. Nevertheless, we have come on very well with occasional difficulties, such as going over sunken rocks at times, bump, bump, under the vessel. I have felt half afraid of seeing their black heads through the floor of the cabin. We have grounded on sandbanks four and five times a day in avoiding the rocks. The Jumna is full of them, and the navigation dangerous on that account. The contrary wind has generally obliged us to track, as our course lies right in the teeth of the west wind which is strong, and generally blows pretty steadily at this time of the year. There is one consolation, the river winds and twists so much, the wind must be fair somewhere or other.
Every twelve miles a dārogha comes on board to make salaam to the memsāhib, and to ask her orders. I send letters to Prāg by this means; the dārogha gives them to our own chaprāsīs, who run with them from station to station. There is no dāk (post) in these parts. The dāroghas bring fish, eggs, kids, anything of which I am in need; and I pay for them, although these are brought as presents, it being against the orders of Government to receive the gift even of a cabbage or beetroot from a native. The tracking ground was fine; moored off Bhowna.
December 15th – Strong west wind, very cold: the river broad and deep; the thermometer at nine o’clock is 60°. The darzee in the after cabin is at work on a silk gown: the weather is just cold enough to render warm attire necessary. The other day I was on deck in a green velvet travelling cap, with an Indian shawl, put on after the fashion of the men, amusing myself with firing with a pellet-bow at some cotton-boats en passant for tamāshā. Some natives came on board to make salam, and looked much surprised at seeing a pellet-bow (ghulel) in feminine hands. The cotton-boats would not get out of the way, therefore I pelted the steersmen (manjhīs) of the vessels, to hasten the movements of the great unwieldy lubberly craft. Of whom can I talk but of myself in this my solitude on the Jumna-ji? Now for the telescope to look out for the picturesque.
December 17th – Wind strong, cold, and westerly, the stream broad and deep, anchored off Jerowlee in a jungle: just the place for a sportsman. A quantity of underwood and small trees amongst the ravines and cliffs afford shelter for the game. Here you find nilgāi, peacocks, partridge and quail. Several peacocks were quietly feeding on the cliffs; others roosting on the trees. At this place they told me there is a bura kund, which is, I believe, a well, or spring, or basin of water, especially consecrated to some holy purpose or person; but I did not visit the spot.
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December 23rd – A wretched day; cold, damp, and miserable, a most powerful wind directly against us. To add to the discomfort, we sprang a leak which gave sixty buckets of water in twenty-four hours. The leak was found under the rudder. We had to take down a part of the aft-cabin, and to take up some boards before we could get at it: and when found, we had nothing on board fit to stop it. At last it was effectually stopped with towels, torn up and forced in tight, and stiff clay beaten down over that. I thought this might last until our arrival at Kalpee, where proper repairs might take place: moored of Bowlee.
December 25th – Christmas Day was ushered in by rain and hail, the wind high and contrary. At noon the wind decreased and we got on better, tracking along the banks, with fourteen men on the goon (track-rope). At seven in the evening, just as we had moored, a storm came on accompanied with the most brilliant forked lightning; and the most violent wind, blowing a gale, united with the strong stream, bearing full down against us. It was really fearful. After a time the wind and forked lightning became sheeted and the rain fell, like a second deluge, in torrents. The peals of thunder shook the cabin windows and all the panes of glass rattled. We had lugoed off a dry nālā (the bed of a stream); the torrents of rain filled the nālā with water, which poured down against the side of the pinnace with great force and noise. Fearing we should be driven from our moorings by the force of the current, I ran on deck to see if the men were on the alert. It was quite dark: some were on shore taking up the lāwhāsees by which she was secured to the bank;
the rest were on deck, trying with their long bamboos to shove her out of the power of the current from the nālā. Having succeeded in this, we were more comfortable. It was out of the question to take rest during such a storm, while there was a chance of being driven from our moorings; and being quite alone was also unpleasant. At length the gale abated and I was glad to hear only the rain for the rest of the night. Daylight closed my weary eyes: on awaking refreshed from a quiet slumber, I found Seagull far from Ekouna, near which place we had passed so anxious a night.
December 26th – Moored off Kalpee, famous for its crystalised sugar. Here a large budget of letters was brought to me. I remained the whole day at the station to procure provisions and answer the letters. Nor did I forget to purchase tools and everything necessary for the repair of the leak in the vessel, although we forbore to remove the towels and clay, as she now only made half a bucket in twenty-four hours.
December 28th – Northwest wind very cold: the river most difficult to navigate in parts; rocky, sandy, shallow. Anchored off Palpoor; found a quantity of river shells; they are not very pretty, but some are curious.
December 29th – We were in the midst of great sandbanks, in a complete wilderness; the stream was strong and deep, the tracking-ground good; here and there the rocks appeared above water under the high cliffs. Off Belaspoor, on one sandbank, I saw ten crocodiles basking in the sun, all close together; some turtle and great white birds were on a rock near them; on the river’s edge were three enormous alligators, large savage monsters lying with their enormous mouths wide open, eyeing the boats. The men on board shouted with all their might; the alligators took no notice of the shout; the crocodiles, more timid than the former, ran into the water and disappeared immediately. These are the first alligators I have seen in their own domains; they are very savage, and will attack men; the crocodiles will not, if it be possible to avoid them. I would willingly have taken the voyage for this one sight of alligators and crocodiles in their native wildernesses; the scene was so unusual, so wild, so savage. At sunset anchored off Gheetamow and found some shells during my evening ramble.