by Fanny Parkes
The fakīr, who from a religious motive, however mistaken, holds up both arms until they become withered and immovable, and who, being in consequence utterly unable to support himself relies in perfect faith on the support of the Almighty, displays more religion than the man who, with a salary of £8,000 per annum, leaves the work to be done by curates on a pittance of £80 a year.
The Gaja Rājā requested me to teach her how to make tea, she having been advised to drink it for her health; she retired, changed her dress, returned, took her tea, and complained of its bitter taste.
‘I am told you dress a camel beautifully,’ said the young Princess; ‘and I was anxious to see you this morning to ask you to instruct my people how to attire a sawārī camel.’ This was flattering me on a very weak point: there is but one thing in the world that I perfectly understand, and that is how to dress a camel.
‘I hope you do not eat him when you have dressed him!’ said an English gentleman.
My relative had a fine young camel, and I was not happy until I had superintended the making the attire in which he – the camel, not the gentleman – looked beautiful! The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdi, having seen the animal, called, to request he might have similar trappings for his own sawārī camel; and the fame thereof having reached the Mahratta camp, my talents were called into play. I promised to attend to the wishes of the Gaja Rājā and, returning home, summoned twelve mochīs, the saddlers of India, natives of the Chamār caste, to perform the work. Whilst one of the men smokes the nārjīl (coconut pipe), the remainder will work; but it is absolutely necessary that each should have his turn every half-hour, no smoke – no work.
Five hundred small brass bells of melodious sound; two hundred larger ditto, in harmony, like hounds well matched, each under each; and one large bell, to crown the whole; one hundred large beads of imitative turquoise; two snow-white tails of the cow of Tibet; some thousands of cowries, many yards of black and of crimson cloth and a number of very long tassels of red and black worsted. The mochīs embroidered the attire for three days and it was remarkably handsome. The camel’s clothing being ready, it was put into a box and the Gaja Rājā having appointed an hour, I rode over, taking it with me, at four o’clock.
In the courtyard of the zenāna I found the Bāī, and all her ladies; she asked me to canter round the enclosure, the absurdity of sitting on one side a horse being still an amusing novelty.
The Bāī’s riding horses were brought out; she was a great equestrian in her youthful days and, although she has now given up the exercise, delights in horses. The ladies relate, with great pride, that in one battle her Highness rode at the head of her troops, with a lance in her hand and her infant in her arms!
A very vicious, but large and handsome camel was then brought in by the female attendants; he knelt down and they began putting the gay trappings upon him; his nose was tied to his knee to prevent his injuring the girls around him, whom he attempted to catch hold of, showing his great white teeth; if once the jaw of a camel closes upon you, he will not relinquish his hold. You would have supposed they were murdering not dressing the animal; he groaned and shouted as if in great pain, it was piteous to hear the beast; and laughable, when you remembered it was the ‘dastūr’; they always groan and moan when any load is placed on their backs, however light. When the camel’s toilet was completed, a Mahratta girl jumped on his back and made him go round the enclosure at a capital rate; the trappings were admired, and the bells pronounced very musical.
They were eager I should mount the camel; I thought of Theodore Hook. ‘The hostess said, “Mr Hook, will you venture upon an orange?” “No, thank you, ma’am, I’m afraid I should tumble off.”’ C’est beau çà, n’est pas? I declined the elevated position offered me for the same reason.
The finest young sawārī camels, that have never been debased by carrying any burthen greater than two or three Persian cats, are brought down in droves by the Arabs from Kabul; one man has usually charge of three camels; they travel in single file, the nose of one being attached to the crupper of another by a string passed through the cartilage. They browse on leaves in preference to grazing. It was a picturesque scene, that toilet of the camel performed by the Mahratta girls, and they enjoyed the tāmāsha.
I mentioned my departure was near at hand; the Bāī spoke of her beloved Gwalior and did me the honour to invite me to pay my respects there, should she ever be replaced on the gaddī. She desired I would pay a farewell visit to the camp three days afterwards. After the distribution, as usual, of betel leaves, spices, atr of roses, and the sprinkling with rose-water, I made my salam. Were I an Asiatic, I would be a Mahratta.
The Mahrattas never transact business on an unlucky day; Tuesday is an unfortunate day and the Bāī, who was to have held a durbār, put it off in consequence. She sent for me, it being the day I was to take leave of her; I found her looking grave and thoughtful and her sweet smile was very sad. She told me the Court of Directors had sent orders that she was to go and live at Benares, or in the Deccan; that she was to quit Fatehgar in one month’s time and should she refuse to do so, the Governor-General’s agent was to take her to Benares by force, under escort of troops that had been sent to Fatehgar for that purpose. The Bāī was greatly distressed, but spoke on the subject with a command of temper and a dignity that I greatly admired. ‘What must the Mahāraj do? Cannot this evil fate be averted? Must she go to Benares? Tell us, memsāhib, what must we do?’ said one of the ladies in attendance. Thus called upon, I was obliged to give my opinion; it was an awkward thing to tell an exiled Queen she must submit – ‘The cudgel of the powerful must be obeyed’. I hesitated; the Bāī looked at me for an answer. Dropping the eyes of perplexity on the folded hands of despondency, I replied to the Brija, who had asked the question, ‘Jiska lāthī ooska bhains’ – i.e. ‘He who has the stick, his is the buffalo!’ The effect was electric. The Bāiza Bāī and the Gaja Rājā laughed, and I believe the odd and absurd application of the proverb half reconciled the Mahāraj to her fate.
I remained with her Highness some time, talking over the severity of the orders of Government, and took leave of her with great sorrow; the time I had before spent in the camp had been days of amusement and gaiety; the last day, the unlucky Tuesday, was indeed ill-starred and full of misery to the unfortunate and amiable ex-Queen of Gwalior.
CHAPTER XLI
THE MAHRATTAS AT ALLAHABAD
OCTOBER 1835 – One day I called on the begum, the mother of the young Nawāb of Farrukhābād, and found her with all her relations sitting in the garden; they were plainly dressed and looked very ugly. For a woman not to be pretty when she is shut up in a zenāna appears almost a sin, so much are we ruled in our ideas by what we read in childhood of the hoorīs of the East.
One morning, the Nawāb Hakīm Menhdi called; his dress was most curious; half European, half Asiatic. The day being cold, he wore brown corduroy breeches with black leather boots and thick leather gloves; over this attire was a dress of fine white flowered Dacca muslin; and again, over that, a dress of pale pink satin, embroidered in gold! His turban was of gold and red Benares tissue. He carried his sword in his hand, and an attendant followed, bearing his huqqa; he was in high spirits, very agreeable, and I was quite sorry when he rose to depart. In the evening he sent down a charming little elephant, only five years old, for me to ride; which I amused myself with doing in the beautiful grounds around the house, sitting on the back of the little beauty and guiding him with cords passed through his ears.
The next evening the Nawāb sent his largest elephant, on which was an amārī – that is, a howdah, with a canopy – which, according to native fashion, was richly gilt, the interior lined with velvet, and velvet cushions; the elephant was a fast one, his paces very easy, and I took a long ride in the surrounding country.
[ … ]
October 15th – Having dispatched the pinnace to await my arrival at Cawnpore, I started dāk for that place which I reached the next day after a most disagreeable journey. I was als
o suffering from illness, but the care of my kind friends soon restored me to more comfortable feelings.
October 22nd – I accompanied them to dine with the Nawāb Zulfecar Bahādur, of Banda. The Nawāb is a Mohammedan, but he is of a Mahratta family, formerly Hindus; when he changed his religion and became one of the faithful, I know not. Three of his children came in to see the company; the two girls are very interesting little creatures. The Nawāb sat at table, partook of native dishes and drank sherbet when his guests took wine. The next day, the Nawāb dined with the gentleman at whose house I was staying, and met a large party.
[ … ]
October 26th – Here are we – that is, the dog Nero and the memsāhib – floating so calmly, and yet so rapidly, down the river; it is most agreeable; the temples and ghāts we are now passing at Dalmhow are beautiful; how picturesque are the banks of an Indian river! The flights of stone steps which descend into the water; the temples around them of such peculiar Hindu architecture; the natives, both men and women, bathing or filling their jars with the water of the holy Ganges; the fine trees and the brightness of the sunshine add great beauty to the scene. One great defect is the colour of the stream which, during the rains, is peculiarly muddy; you have no bright reflections on the Ganges, they fall heavy and indistinct.
[ … ]
1836, January 16th – The Bāiza Bāī arrived at Allahabad, and encamped about seven miles from our house, on the banks of the Jumna beyond the city. A few days after, the Brija Bāī, one of her ladies, came to me to say her Highness wished to see me; accordingly I went to her encampment. She was out of spirits, very unhappy and uncomfortable, but expressed much pleasure at my arrival.
February 5th – Her Highness requested the steam-vessel should be sent up the river opposite her tents; she went on board and was much pleased, asked a great many questions respecting the steam and machinery, and went a short distance up the river. Captain Ross accompanied her Highness to Allahabad, and remained there in charge of her whilst her fate was being decided by the Government.
February 9th – The Bāī gave a dinner party at her tents to twenty of the civilians and the military; in the evening there was a nāch, and fireworks were displayed; the ex-Queen appeared much pleased.
There is a very extensive enclosure at Allahabad, called Sultan Khusrū’s garden; tents had been sent there and pitched under some magnificent tamarind trees, where a large party were assembled at tiffin, when the Bāī sent down a Mahratta dinner to add to the entertainment. In the evening, her two rhinoceroses arrived; they fought one another rather fiercely; it was an amusement for the party. Captain Ross having quitted Allahabad, Mr Scott took charge of her Highness.
March 1st – The Brija Bāī called to request me to assist them in giving a dinner party to the Station, for which the Bāiza Bāī wished to send out invitations; I was happy to aid her. The guests arrived at about seven in the evening; the gentlemen were received by Appa Sāhib, her son-in-law; the ladies were ushered behind the parda, into the presence of her Highness. I have never described the parda which protects the Mahratta ladies from the gaze of the men: In the centre of a long room a large curtain is dropped, not unlike the curtain at a theatre, the space behind which is sacred to the women; and there the gaddī of the Bāī was placed, close to the parda; a piece of silver about six inches square, in which a number of small holes are pierced, is let into the parda; and this is covered on the inside with white muslin. When the Bāī wished to see the gentlemen, her guests, she raised the bit of white muslin, and could then see everything in the next room through the holes in the silver plate – herself unseen. The gentlemen were in the outer room, the ladies in the inner. Appa Sāhib sat close to the parda; the Bāī conversed with him, and, through him, with some of the gentlemen present, whom she could see perfectly well.
Dancing girls sang and nāched before the gentlemen until dinner was announced. Many ladies were behind the parda with the Bāiza Bāī, and she asked me to interpret for those who could not speak Urdu. I was suffering from severe rheumatic pain in my face; her Highness, perceiving it, took from a small gold box a lump of opium and desired me to eat it, saying she took as much herself every day. I requested a smaller portion; she broke off about one-third of the lump, which I put into my mouth, and as it dissolved the pain vanished; I became very happy, interpreted for the ladies, felt no fatigue and talked incessantly. Returning home, being obliged to go across the country for a mile in a palanquin to reach the carriage, the dust which rolled up most thickly half choked me; nevertheless, I felt perfectly happy, nothing could discompose me; but the next morning I was obliged to call in medical advice, on account of the severe pain in my head from the effect of the opium.
The table for dinner was laid in a most magnificent tent, lined with crimson cloth, richly embossed and lighted with numerous chandeliers. The nāch girls danced in the next apartment, but within sight of the guests; her Highness and her granddaughter, from behind the parda, looked on. About two hundred native dishes in silver bowls were handed round by Brahmans; and it was considered etiquette to take a small portion from each dish. On the conclusion of the repast, the Governor-General’s agent rose and drank her Highness’s health, bowing to the parda; and Appa Sāhib returned thanks in the name of the Bāī. The dinner and the wines were excellent; the latter admirably cooled. Fireworks were let off and a salute was fired from the cannon when the guests departed. Her nephew was there in his wedding dress – cloth of gold most elaborately worked. The Bāī expressed herself greatly pleased with the party, and invited me to attend the wedding of her nephew the next day, and to join her when she went in state to bathe in the Jumna. I was very glad to see her pleased, and in good spirits.
March 4th – This being the great day of the wedding, at the invitation of the Bāī we took a large party to the camp to see the ceremonies in the cool of the evening. Having made our salam to her Highness, we proceeded with the Gaja Rājā Sāhib to the tents of the bride, which were about half a mile from those of the bridegroom. The ceremony was going on when we entered. The bridegroom, dressed in all his heavy finery, stood amongst the priests who held a white sheet between him and the bride, while they chanted certain prayers. When the prayers were concluded, and a quantity of some sort of small grain had been thrown at the lady, the priest dropped the cloth and the bridegroom beheld his bride. She was dressed in Mahratta attire, over which was a dupatta of crimson silk, worked in gold stars; this covered her forehead and face entirely, and fell in folds to her feet. Whether the person beneath this covering was man, woman, or child, it was impossible to tell: bound round the forehead, outside this golden veil, was a sihrā, a fillet of golden tissue from which strings and bands of gold and silver fell over her face. The bridegroom must have taken upon trust that the woman he wished to marry was the one concealed under these curious wedding garments. It was late at night; we all returned to the Bāī’s tent and the ladies departed, all but Mrs Colonel W— and myself; the Gaja Rājā having asked us to stay and see the finale of the marriage. The young Princess retired to bath, after which, having been attired in yellow silk with a deep gold border and covered with jewels, she rejoined us and we set out to walk half a mile to the tents of the bride; this being a part of the ceremony. The Gaja Rājā, her ladies, and attendants, Mrs W— and myself, walked with her in parda; that is, the canvas walls of tents having been fixed on long poles so as to form an oblong enclosure, a great number of men on the outside took up the poles and moved gently on; while we who were inside walked in procession over white cloths, spread all the way from the tent of the Bāī to that of the bride. It was past ten o’clock. Fireworks were let off and blue lights thrown up from the outside, which lighting up the procession of beautifully dressed Mahratta ladies, gave a most picturesque effect to the scene. The graceful little Gaja Rājā, with her slight form and brilliant attire, looked like what we picture to ourselves a fairy was in the good old times, when such beings visited the earth. At the head of this procession
was a girl carrying a torch; next to her a nāch girl danced and figured about; then a girl in the dress of a soldier, who carried a musket and played all sorts of pranks. Another carried a pole, on which were suspended onions, old shoes, and all sorts of queer extraordinary things to make the people laugh. Arrived at the end of our march, the Gaja Rājā seated herself and water was poured over her beautiful little feet. We then entered the tent of the bride, where many more ceremonies were performed. During the walk in parda, I looked at Mrs W— who had accompanied me, and could not help saying, ‘We flatter ourselves we are well dressed, but in our hideous European ungraceful attire we are a blot in the procession. I feel ashamed when the blue lights bring me out of the shade; we destroy the beauty of the scene.’
I requested permission to raise the veil and view the countenance of the bride. She is young and, for a Mahratta, handsome. The Bāī presented her with a necklace of pure heavy red gold, and told me she was now so poor she was unable to give her pearls and diamonds. New dresses were then presented to all her ladies. We witnessed so many forms and ceremonies, I cannot describe one-fourth of them. That night the bridegroom took his bride to his own tents, but the ceremonies of the wedding continued for many days afterwards. I returned home very much pleased at having witnessed a shādī among the Hindus, having before seen the same ceremony among the Mohammedans.
The ex-Queen had some tents pitched at that most sacred spot, the Treveni, the junction of the three rivers; and to these tents she came down continually to bathe; her ladies and a large concourse of people were in attendance upon her, and there they performed the rites and ceremonies. The superstitions and the religion of the Hindus were to me most interesting subjects, and had been so ever since my arrival in the country. Her Highness was acquainted with this and kindly asked me to visit her in the tents at the junction whenever any remarkable ceremony was to be performed. This delighted me, as it gave me an opportunity of seeing the worship and conversing on religious subjects with the ladies, as well as with the Brahmans. The favourite attendant, the Brija Bāī never failed to call and invite me to join their party at the time of the celebration of any particular rite. At one of the festivals her Highness invited me to visit her tents at the Treveni. I found the Mahratta ladies assembled there: the tents were pitched close to the margin of the Ganges and the canvas walls were run out to a considerable distance into the river. Her Highness, in her usual attire, waded into the stream, and shaded by the khanāts from the gaze of men, reached the sacred junction where she performed her devotions, the water reaching to her waist. After which she waded back again to the tents, changed her attire, performed pooja and gave magnificent presents to the attendant Brahmans. The Gaja Rājā and all the Mahratta ladies accompanied the ex-Queen to the sacred junction, as they returned dripping from the river, their draperies of silk and gold clung to their figures; and very beautiful was the statue-like effect, as the attire half revealed and half concealed the contour of the figure.