by Fanny Parkes
At the sale of the effects of the late Colonel Gough, in Calcutta, was the head of an alligator (magar) of incredible size, caught in the Megna; which, though deficient in not having an underjaw, was a good weight for a man to carry, stooping to it with both hands. The creeks of a bend of the Sunderbunds, not far below Calcutta, are the places frequented, I hear, by the patriarchs of their race.
The next day we entered a most difficult part of the river; it was impossible to tell in which direction to steer the vessel; rocks on every side; the river full of them; a most powerful stream rushing between the rocks; to add to the danger, we had a strong westerly wind directly in our teeth which, united to the force of the stream, made us fear the goon might break; in which case we should have been forced most violently against the rocks. We accomplished only one mile in four hours and a half! I desired the sarang to anchor the vessel and let the men have some rest; they had been fagging, up to their waists in water all the time, and I wished the wind to abate ere we attempted to proceed further. After the dāndis had dined, we pushed off again. At Rurunka a pilot came on board, which pleased me very much as it was impossible to tell on which side of the rocks the passage might be: the pilot took us up with great difficulty through the rocks to the landmark off the bungalow at Badoura; there he requested leave to anchor until the wind might abate; he was afraid to try the stream, it being still stronger higher up. Of course I consented; after which, accompanied by the pilot, I walked some three miles to collect fossil bones; these bones were discovered by the sappers and miners on the riverside at the little village of Badoura; the bones are petrified, but to what animal they belonged is unknown; some cart-loads of them have been taken to Allahabad, to be shown to the scientific; I brought back five or six of the bones we found at the place. A short time ago this part of the river was impassable; the Company sent sappers and miners who, having surrounded each rock with a fence that kept out the water, blew them up and made a passage down the centre of the river; of course this was a work of time; the fences were then removed and the stream flowed unconfined. Large boats can now go up and down in safety, if they know the passage. The next morning the pilot accompanied us as far as Merapool, when he made his salam and returned to the sappers’ and miners’ bungalow. The river now became good and clear, we encountered no more difficulties and moored quietly off Seholee at six in the evening.
1835, January 1st – New Year’s Day was as disagreeable as Christmas Day; cold, frosty; a wind in our teeth; rocks and crocodiles. My pet terrier was taken ill; with difficulty she was brought through the attack; poor little Poppus – she has a dozen names, all of endearment. Passed Juggermunpoor, where the fair for horses is held.
January 2nd – A fair wind brought us to the Chumbal river. The fort and Hindu temple of Bhurrage are very picturesque objects. This is one of the most difficult passes on the river, on account of the sand banks, and the power of the stream from the junction of the Jumna and Chumbal. I am directed not to stop a moment for anything but letters on my way to Agra; on my return I shall go on shore (DV), and visit all the picturesque places I now behold merely en passant. The Chumbal is a beautiful river; never was a stream more brilliant or more clear; the water, where it unites with the Jumna, is of a bright pellucid green.
From the force of the united streams we had great difficulty in passing the junction; the wind dropped and we could not move the pinnace on the towing-rope; we sent a hawser in the dinghy to the opposite shore and then, with the united force of the crews of both vessels, hauled the pinnace across the junction into the quiet waters of the Jumna; it was six o’clock ere this was effected. Whilst the people anchored and got the cook-boat over, I walked to a beautiful Hindu temple close to the river’s edge. The fort beyond put me in mind of Conway Castle; the towers are somewhat similar: on my return I must stop and sketch it. A wealthy native has sent to petition an audience; he is anxious to make salam to the memsāhib. I have declined seeing him, as we must start at daybreak; but have told him on my return I shall stay a day or two at this picturesque place and shall then be happy to receive his visit.
Nothing is so shocking, so disgusting, as the practice of burning bodies; generally only half-burning them and throwing them into the river. What a horrible sight I saw today! Crowds of vultures, storks, crows and pariah dogs from the village glutting over a dreadful meal; they fiercely stripped the flesh from the swollen body of the half-burned dead which the stream had thrown on a sand bank; and howled and shrieked as they fought over and for their fearful meal!
How little the natives think of death! This morning when I was on deck the body of a woman floated by the pinnace, within the reach of a bamboo; she was apparently dead, her long black hair spread on the stream; by the style of the red dress, she was a Hindu; she must have fallen, or have been thrown, into the river. I desired the men to pull the body to the vessel’s side and see if she might not be saved. They refused to touch it even with a bamboo; nobody seemed to think anything about it, further than to prevent the body touching the vessel, should the stream bring it close to the side. One man coolly said, ‘I suppose she fell into the river when getting up water in her gharā [earthen vessel]!’
How easily a murdered man might be disposed of! On account of the expense of fuel, the poorer Hindus only slightly burn the bodies of the dead and then cast them into the river; by attiring the corpse after the fashion of a body to be burned, and throwing it into the stream, it would never attract attention; any native would say, ‘Do not touch it, do not touch it; it is merely a burnt body.’
This life on the river, however solitary, is to me very agreeable; and I would proceed beyond Agra to Delhi, but that I should think there cannot be water enough for the pinnace; with a fair wind there is much to enjoy in the changing scene but tracking against a contrary one is tiresome work.
January 3rd – A most unpleasant day; we were aground many times, contending against the stream and a powerful wind. The new goon broke, and we were at last fixed most firmly and unpleasantly on a bank of sand; in that position, finding it impossible to extricate the pinnace, we remained all night.
January 4th – We were obliged to cut our way through the sandbank to the opposite shore, a distance of about a quarter of a mile; this took twelve hours to accomplish; the anchor was carried to a distance with a chain cable and there dropped, and the pinnace was pulled by main force through the sand, where there was not water enough to float her. When out of it we came upon a stream that ran like a torrent, aided by a most powerful and contrary wind. To remain where we were was dangerous; the men carried a thick cable in the dinghy to the shore, made it fast, and were pulling the vessel across: when halfway, just as we thought ourselves in safety, the cable broke, the pinnace whirled round and round like a bubble on the waters and was carried with fearful velocity down the stream. The sarang lost all power over the vessel but, at last, her progress was stopped by being brought up fast on a sandbank. By dint of hard work we once more got the cable fastened to the opposite shore and carried her safely to the other side: where, to my great delight, we anchored to await the decrease of the wind that howled through the ropes as though it would tear them from the masts.
Thinking the vessel must have received a violent strain under all the force she had endured, we opened the hold and found she had sprung a leak that bubbled up at a frightful rate; the leak was under planks it was impossible to remove, unless by sawing off two feet from three large planks, if we could procure a saw; such a thing could not be found. I thought of a razor, the orthodox weapon wherewith to saw through six-inch boards and get out of prison; no one would bring forward a razor. At length I remembered the very small, fine saw I make use of for cutting the soapstone and, by very tender and gentle usage, we at length cut off the ends of the planks and laid open the head of the leak, under the rudder, below watermark. Here the rats and white ants had been very busy and had worked away undisturbed at a principal beam so that you could run your fingers some inches into it.
With a very gentle hand the tow was stuffed in, but as we stopped the leak in one part, it sprang up in another; all day long we worked incessantly and at night, in despair, filled it up with stiff clay. I went to rest but my sleep was disturbed by dreams of water hissing in mine ears, and that we were going down stern foremost. During the night I called up the men three times to bale the vessel; she gave up quantities of water. We anchored off Mulgong.
January 5th – Detained by the strong and contrary wind; the leak still gave up water, but in a less quantity; and it was agreed to leave it in its present condition until we could get to Etawah. I was not quite comfortable, knowing the state of the rotten wood and the holes the rats had made, through which the water had bubbled up so fast. The next day, not one drop of water came from the leak and the vessel being quite right afterwards. I determined not to have her examined until our arrival at Agra and could never understand why she did not leak.
January 9th – Ever since the 4th we have had the most violent and contrary winds all day; obliged generally to anchor for two hours at noon, it being impossible to stem the stream and struggle against the wind; most disagreeable work; I am quite tired and sick of it. Thus far I have borne all with the patience of a Hindu, the wish to behold the Tāj carrying me on. It is so cold, my hand shakes, I can scarcely guide my pen; the thermometer 50° at ten o’clock this morning with this bitter and strong wind. I dare not light a fire, as I take cold quitting it to go on deck; all the glass windows are closed – I have on a pair of Indian shawls, snow boots, and a velvet cap – still my face and head throb with rheumatism. When on deck, at midday, I wear a sola topī, to defend me from the sun.
This river is very picturesque; high cliffs, well covered with wood, rising abruptly from the water: here and there a Hindu temple, with a great peepal tree spreading its fine green branches around it: a ruined native fort: clusters of native huts: beautiful stone ghāts jutting into the river: the effect greatly increased by the native women, in their picturesque drapery, carrying their vessels for water up and down the cliffs, poised on their heads. Fishermen are seen with their large nets; and droves of goats and small cows, buffaloes and peacocks come to the riverside to feed. But the most picturesque of all are the different sorts of native vessels; I am quite charmed with the boats. Oh that I were a painter, who could do justice to the scenery! My pinnace, a beautiful vessel so unlike anything else here, must add beauty to the river, especially when under sail.
Aground on a sandbank again! With such a wind and stream it is not pleasant – hardly safe. What a noise! Attempting to force her off the bank; it is terribly hard work; the men, up to their waists in water, are shoving the vessel with their backs whilst the wind and stream throw her back again. Some call on Allah for aid, some on Ganges, some on Jumna-ji, every man shouting at the height of his voice. What a squall! the vessel lies over frightfully. I wish the wind would abate! Forced sideways down on the sandbank by the wind and stream, it is not pleasant. There! There is a howl that ought to succeed in forcing her off; in spite of the tufān; such clouds of fine sand blowing about in every direction! Now the vessel rocks, now we are off once more – back we are again! I fancy the wind and stream will have their own way. Patience, memsāhib, you are only eight miles from Etawah: when you may get over those eight miles may be a difficult calculation. The men are fagging, up to their breasts in the river; I must go on deck and make a speech. What a scene! I may now consider myself really in the wilderness, such watery wastes are spread before me!
The Memsāhib’s speech
‘Ari! Ari! What a day is this! Ahi Khudā! What a wind is here! Is not this a tufān? Such an ill-starred river never, never did I see! Every moment, every moment, we are on a sandbank. Come, my children, let her remain; it is the will of God – what can we do? Eat your food and when the gale lulls we may get off. Perhaps, by the blessing of God, in twelve months’ time we may reach Etawah.’
After this specimen of eloquence, literally translated from the Hindustani in which it was spoken, the dāndis gladly wrapped their blankets round them and crept into corners out of the wind to eat chabenī, the parched grain of Indian corn, maize. Could you but see the men whom I term my children! They are just what in my youth I ever pictured to myself cannibals must be, so wild and strange-looking, their long, black, shaggy hair matted over their heads and hanging down to their shoulders; their bodies of dark brown, entirely naked with the exception of a cloth round the waist, which passes between the limbs. They jump overboard and swim ashore with a rope between their teeth and their towing-stick in one hand, just like dogs – river dogs; the water is their element more than the land. If they want any clothes on shore they carry them on the top of their heads and swim to the bank in that fashion. The memsāhib’s river dogs; they do not drink strong waters; and when I wish to delight them very much, I give them two or three rupees’ worth of sweetmeats, cakes of sugar and ghee made in the bazaar; like great babies, they are charmed with their meetai, as they call it, and work away willingly for a memsāhib who makes presents of sweetmeats and kids.
Saw the first wolf today; I wish we were at Etawah – to anchor here is detestable: if we were there I should be reading my letters and getting in supplies for Agra. How I long to reach the goal of my pilgrimage, and to make my salām to the Tāj bibi ke rauza, the mausoleum of the lady of the Tāj!
CHAPTER XXIX
PILGRIMAGE TO THE TĀJ
HE WHO HAS NOT PATIENCE POSSESSES NOT PHILOSOPHY
WHETHER DOING, SUFFERING, OR FORBEARING, YOU MAY DO MIRACLES BY PERSEVERING
JANUARY 10TH 1835 – Ours is the slowest possible progress; the wind seems engaged to meet us at every turn of our route. At three o’clock we lugoed at Etawah; while I was admiring the ghāts, to my great delight a handful of letters and parcels of many kinds were brought to me. In the evening, the chaprāsī in charge of my riding horses, with the sā’ises and grass-cutters who had marched from Allahabad to meet me, arrived at the ghāt. The grey neighed furiously as if in welcome; how glad I was to see them!
In a minute I was on the little black horse; away we went, the black so glad to have a canter, the memsāhib so happy to give him one: through deep ravines, over a road through the dry bed of a torrent, up steep cliffs; away we went like creatures possessed; the horse and rider were a happy pair. After a canter of about four miles it became dark, or rather moonlight, and I turned my horse towards the river, guided by the sight of a great cliff, some one hundred and fifty to two hundred feet high, beneath which we had anchored. I lost my way, but turned down a bridle road in the bed of a ravine, which of course led somewhere to the river. I rode under a cliff so high and overhanging I felt afraid to speak; at last we got out of the cold and dark ravine and came directly upon the pinnace. I had met, during my ride, two gentlemen in a buggy; one of them, after having arrived at his own house, returned to look for me, thinking I might turn down by mistake the very road I had gone, which at night was very unsafe on account of the wolves; but he did not overtake me.
The next morning he called on me and brought me a letter from a relative; therefore we were soon acquainted and agreed to have a canter when the sun should go down. He told me, on his way down the police had brought him a basket, containing half the mangled body of a child; the wolves had seized the poor child and had devoured the other half the night before, in the ravines. It was fortunate I did not encounter a gang of them under the dark cliff, where the black horse could scarcely pick his way over the stones.
January 11th – I rode with Mr G— through the ravines and the Civil Station, and saw many beautiful and picturesque spots. We returned to the pinnace; he came on board and we had a long conference. It was not to be marvelled at that the memsāhib talked a great deal, when it is considered she had not spoken one word of English for thirty-three days; then she did talk! – ye gods! How she did talk! Mr G— offered to send armed men with me if I felt afraid, but I declined taking them; and he promised to forward my letters by horsemen ev
ery day to meet the pinnace. Nothing can be greater than the kindness one meets with from utter strangers in India. He gave my husband and me an invitation to pay him a visit on our way back, which I accepted for the absent sāhib.
I was amused by an officer’s coming down to the river which he crossed; he then mounted a camel and his servant another; he carried nothing with him but some bedding, that served as a saddle, and a violin! In this fashion he had come down from Sabbatoo, and was going, via Jabalpur, across to Bombay! Thence to sail for England. How charmingly independent! It is unusual for a gentleman to ride a camel; those who understand the motion, a long, swinging, trot, say it is pleasant; others complain it makes the back ache, and brings on a pain in the liver. At Etawah everything was to be had that I wished for; peacocks, partridges, fowls, pigeons, beet were brought for sale; atr of roses, peacocks’ feathers, milk, bread, green tea, sauces; in short, food of every sort. I read and answered my letters and retired to rest perfectly fagged.
January 12th – At daybreak the pinnace started once more for Agra, once more resumed her pilgrimage; it is seventy-two miles by the road from Etawah; how far it may be by this twisting and winding river remains to be proved. For some days two bird-catchers (chirī-mārs) have followed the pinnace and have supplied me with peacocks; today they brought a hen and three young ones; they also brought their nets and the snares with them, which I had seen them use on shore. The springs are beautifully made of buffalo-horn and catgut. I bought one hundred and six springs for catching peacocks, cyrus, wild ducks, etc. for four rupees, and shall set them in the first jungle we meet. I set them immediately in the cabin and caught my own two dogs: it was laughable to see the dismay of the dogs, nor could I help laughing at my own folly in being such a child. My head began to throb bitterly and I spent the rest of the day ill in bed.