Begums, Thugs and White Mughals

by Fanny Parkes

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  April 25th – Accompanied some friends to breakfast in my cottage-tent at Cloud End. We laid out a garden and sowed flower seeds around the spot where my little tent is pitched beneath the trees; while thus employed, I found a scorpion among the moss and leaves where I was sitting, which induced me to repeat those lines of Byron:

  The mind that broods o’er guilty woes

  Is like the scorpion girt by fire –

  In circle narrowing as it glows,

  The flames around their captive close,

  Till, inly search’d by thousand throes,

  And maddening in her ire,

  One sad and sole relief she knows,

  The sting she nourish’d for her foes,

  Whose venom never yet was vain,

  Gives but one pang, and cures all pain,

  And darts into her desperate brain.

  My memory was a source of woe to the scorpion at Bhadráj; they surrounded him with a circle of fire; as the heat annoyed him he strove to get over the circle, but the burning charcoal drove him back; at last, mad with pain, he drove his sting into his own back; a drop of milk-white fluid was on the sting, and was left on the spot which he struck; immediately afterwards the scorpion died: Mr R— saw him strike the sting into his own back. When it was over we felt a little ashamed of our scientific cruelty, and buried the scorpion with all due honour below the ashes that had consumed him: a burnt sacrifice to science. In a note in the Giaour, the idea is mentioned as an error, of the scorpion’s committing suicide, but I was one of the witnesses to the fact.

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  May 18th – My fair friend and myself having been invited to a picnic at a waterfall, about two thousand feet below Landowr, we started on our gūnths at five o’clock; the tents, servants and provisions had gone on the day before; none of us knew the way but we proceeded, after quitting the road, by a footpath that led up and down the steepest hills; it was scarcely possible for the gūnths to go over it. At eight o’clock we arrived, completely tired, and found an excellent breakfast ready. The waterfall roared in the khud below, and amidst the trees we caught glimpses of the mountain torrent chafing and rushing along. After breakfast the gentlemen went out to explore the path to the waterfall; we soon grew too impatient to await their return and followed them.

  We descended into the khud, and I was amusing myself jumping from rock to rock, and thus passing up the centre of the brawling mountain stream, aided by my long paharī pole of rous wood, and looking for the picturesque, when my fair friend, attempting to follow me, fell from the rocks into the water – and very picturesque and very Undine-like she looked in the stream! We returned to the tents to have her garments dried in the sun, and while the poor little lady was doing penance, I wandered down the stream, of which the various waterfalls are beautiful; and, although there was a burning sun on the top of the Hills, down below, by the water, it was luxuriously cool. The path I took was straight down the torrent; I wandered alone for three hours, refreshing myself with wild strawberries, barberries, raspberries and various other Hill fruits that hung around the stream on every side. The flowers were beautiful, the wild ferns luxuriant, the noise of the torrent most agreeable – in fact, all was charming. On my return, I found the party at the foot of a beautiful waterfall, eighty feet in height; the spot was lovely, it was overhung with trees, from the topmost boughs of which gigantic climbers were pendant. How gaily did we partake of excellent wine and good fare on that delicious spot! It was nearly sunset ere we mounted our gūnths, and took the path through the village of Būttah.

  This village is inhabited by Hill people; I saw a very good-looking woman at a cottage door, in a very picturesque dress, and wished to go and speak to her, but was deterred from so doing, as the Hill-men appeared to dislike the gentlemen passing near the village: I must go alone some day and see her again. By mistake we lost the path and got into paddy fields, where we were obliged to dismount and take the ponies down the most dangerous places. My fair companion was on a mare from the plains; we were obliged to tie a rope to the animal and leap her down those places over which the ponies scrambled; we went down the dry bed of a torrent for some distance, and it was most curious to see how the gūnths got over and down the rocks. Walking fatigued me to excess; I mounted my gūnth, and rode up some frightful places, up the bed of a small torrent, where there was no path; the gūnth clambered up the rocks in excellent style. Presently Mrs B— thought she would do the same; she had not been on the mare ten minutes when I heard a cry, ‘The memsāhib has fallen into the khud!’ Her horse had refused to clamber up a rocky ascent, I suppose she checked him, he swerved round and fell down the khud; fortunately he fell on his right side, therefore her limbs were above him, and they slipped down together, the horse lying on his side until, by the happiest chance, his downward course was stopped by a tree. The sā’ises ran down, pulled her off and brought her up the Hill; afterwards they got the horse up again in safety. But for the tree, the lady and her steed would have been dashed to pieces; she was bruised, but not much hurt. Her scream alarmed me – I thought it was all over. We returned completely tired; but the day had been one of great delight, the scenery lovely and the air delicious.

  From Landowr, looking towards Hurdwar, the isolated hill of Kalunga or Nālāpanī, with its table-land and fortress on the highest extremity, is visible. When the steady coolness and bravery of the Ghurkhas, united with insurmountable obstacles, compelled our troops to fall back, General Gillespie determined to carry the place; and, at the head of three companies of the 53rd Regiment, reached a spot within thirty yards of a wicket defended by a gun; there, as he was cheering the men, waving his hat in one hand, and his sword in the other, he was shot through the heart and fell dead on the spot. Thus died as brave and reckless a cavalier as ever put spur on heel; his sword is one of the interesting relics of my museum. I never meet a hardy, active little Ghurkha, with a countenance like a Tartar, and his kookree at his side, but I feel respect for him, remembering the defence of Kalunga. The women showed as much bravery as the men; showers of arrows and stones were discharged at the enemy: the women threw the stones dexterously – severe wounds were inflicted by them; and they undauntedly exposed themselves to the fire of the enemy; they acted with the natural courage inherent in us all, never having been taught that it was pretty and interesting to be sweet, timid creatures!

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  June 1st – The weather is hot during the middle of the day, the thermometer 70°; one cannot go out with comfort, unless the day be cloudy or stormy; it is very hot for the Hills.

  June 5th – A very hot day – the Hills covered with a fog-like smoke, occasioned by the burning of the jangal in the valley below; hot and smoky air comes up in volumes. Mrs M— was riding this evening when a leopard seized her spaniel, which was not many yards in front of her pony; the shouts of the party alarmed the animal and he let the dog drop; however, the poor spaniel died of his wounds. Some officers laid wait for the leopard and shot it; I saw it, coming up the Hill, fastened on a bamboo, to be stuffed and prepared with arsenical soap.

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  June 11th – A letter from Allahabad tells me a most severe storm took place there on the third of this month – more severe than the one in which Seagull was wrecked; it only lasted an hour. It blew down one of the verandahs of our house, unroofed the cow-house, the meat-house, the wild-duck-house, the sheep-house, etc.: the repairs will not cost us less than Rs 700 (£70).

  June 13th – Accompanied Mr R— to see the Botanical Garden, which is small, but interesting: I ate cherries from Kashmir, saw a very fine hill lily from the interior and gathered many beautiful-flowers. Some peaches, from the Doon valley, very large and fine, like English peaches, were sent me today.

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  June 24th – A delightful day! How fine, how beautiful are the Snowy Ranges! In consequence of the heavy rain the roads have become very rotten and dangerous; in many parts, half the road has fallen into the khud;
and where the path is often not three feet in width, it leaves but a small space for a man on his gūnth. Mr T—, of the artillery, met with a serious accident this morning; the road was much broken and as he attempted to ride over it, it gave way; he and his pony went down the precipice. Mr T— was stopped in his descent, after he had gone one hundred feet, by a tree, was brought up and carried to a surgeon. He was much hurt in the head, but is expected to recover in two or three weeks; no bones were broken: the pony went down two hundred and fifty feet, and was found alive!

  One of my men was brought in for medical aid. He had been employed in charge of a gang of Hill-men, cutting slates for the roof of the new house in a deep khud, and had caught a fever. The slates found in the Hills are very good, but more brittle than those of Europe. The houses formerly were all thatched at Landowr; a thatched roof is dangerous on account of the lightning which so often strikes and sets fire to it. Captain S— introduced slated roofs, and several people have followed the good example he has set them.

  CHAPTER LI

  LIFE IN THE HILLS

  The Kharītā

  JUNE 29TH 1838 – Her Highness the Bāiza Bāī did me the honour to send me a kharītā, that is, a letter enclosed in a long bag of kimkhwāb, crimson silk, brocaded with flowers in gold, contained in another of fine muslin: the mouth of the bag was tied with a gold and tasselled cord to which was appended the great seal of her Highness – a flat circular mass of sealing-wax, on which her seal was impressed. Two smaller bags were sent with it each containing a present of bonbons. The letter was written in Urdū (the court language), in the Persian character, by one of her Highness’s moonshees, and signed by the Bāī herself: the paper is adorned with gold devices. The letter commenced in the usual complimentary style; after which her Highness writes, that – ‘The light of my eyes – the Gaja Rājā – has been very ill; she has recovered and her husband, Appa Sāhib Kanulka, having heard of her illness, has come from Gwalior to see her.’ Kharītās of this sort pass between the mighty men of the East, and between them and the public functionaries of Government.

  July 3rd – I rode over to Cloud End, inspected the new house and trained young convolvulus plants over the bamboo hedge around the garden: the rain descended in torrents; it was very cold and uncomfortable. At seven o’clock, being anxious to get home before dark, although it was still raining, I ordered my gūnth; my relative wrapped me up in his military cloak and put a large Indian-rubber cape above it; in this attire I hoped to keep myself dry during my ride home of seven miles. I had not proceeded a mile from the estate when the storm came on in the fearful style of mountain tempests; the thunder burst roaring over my head, the lightning spread around in sheets of flame and every now and then the flashes of forked lightning rendered me so blind I could not see the path for some minutes. I had two servants with me; they walked before the gūnth, but were unable very often to trace the road, it was so dark amidst the trees, and the whole time the rain fell in torrents. I saw a dark space in front of the horse, and asked, ‘What is that?’ ‘Oh, nothing,’ said the sā’is, ‘ride on.’ But I stopped, and sent him forward. At this spot three or four trees had been thrown across a precipice; over these earth had been laid to some depth to form a road; the earth had been entirely washed away by the force of a stream of water, produced from the heavy rain, and had fallen into the precipice: the darkness was the hollow produced by the chasm! I dismounted; the trees were still below, across the hollow; with difficulty I clambered down, got over the trunks, and up the other side; it was almost perfectly dark. I called the gūnth; the cunning little fellow looked at the hollow, stamped his fore-feet on the ground as if he disliked it, sprang up the bank on the other side, and was in safety by me. I remounted him and proceeded – an act that required a good deal of quiet courage.

  ‘The darkness of the night is a collyrium to the eyes of the mole.’ It certainly was not to mine: after I had been out two hours I found that I had advanced four miles on a path that was covered by high trees on every side, rendering it the more dangerous; the lightning was very vivid, and I saw a flash strike the roof of a house; suddenly a faintness came over me, with difficulty I kept in my saddle, and feeling ill, I desired the servant to lead the gūnth to the first gentleman’s house he came near. As soon as we arrived at a bungalow we went up to the verandah, when an officer, hearing a lady was exposed to such a storm and wished for shelter, came out and took me into the house: I was so much exhausted the tears ran down my face and I almost fainted away. They gave me wine and took off the Indian-rubber cloak which, most likely, was the cause of the extreme oppression that overcame me.

  The lady and gentleman in whose house I had taken refuge were very kind; dry clothes soon replaced my wet habit and they gave me a bed; however, I was far too much excited to go to sleep, and was disturbed by queer sounds in an outhouse not far from my sleeping room. I got up, opened my door, wished to call my host, but not knowing his name lay down again and listened. In the morning the mystery was explained: a lady staying at the house had two she-asses for her baby, which were in an outhouse near my room; the night before my arrival a leopard had broken into the outhouse in which the donkeys were fastened and had killed them both; they were found dead with their halters on. The night I was there the leopard came again, tore one of the carcases from the halter and carried it down the khud – this was the strange noise that prevented my sleeping. Quite a night of adventures. The carcases had been left on purpose, and some of the officers of the Buffs were to have laid wait for the leopard that night, but the storm prevented their quitting their houses.

  Captain S— came to Landowr the next day: he was surprised at my having passed the broken road in the darkness of the storm; even by daylight he passed over it with difficulty – perhaps the darkness aided me, as it prevented my being giddy.

  July 11th – Rode to the Botanical Gardens; observed several young tea plants, which were flourishing. The bright yellow broom was in full flower; it put me in mind of the country by the seaside at Christchurch, Hampshire, where the broom is in such luxuriance. We feasted on Kashmir apricots which, though not to be compared to those of Europe, were agreeable to the taste.

  July 12th – Storms, storms – rain, rain – day by day – night by night: thermometer at noon, 66°.

  July 17th – A bear having been killed, I procured several bottles of bear’s grease. Apricot oil was recommended also for the hair.

  I bought some dēodar oil, made from the white cedar; the smell is vile; it is good for rheumatic pains; if rubbed in too much it will produce a blister.

  Baskets full of currants were brought for sale; they were only fit for tarts. Fresh figs, pretty good, were sent me, also some tolerable pears of good size. Tar, called cheer-ke-tel, is excellent in the Hills.

  July 25th – Was persuaded to go to a ball given by the bachelors of Landowr and Mussoorie, an event in my quiet life. Cholera has appeared in the bazaar: the Hill-men are so much alarmed that they run away from service. My paharīs came to request I would let them all depart and pay them their wages: this I refused to do: they pleaded their fear of the cholera. At length they agreed to remain, if I would give them a kid to sacrifice to the angry goddess who resides in the mountain, and whom they believe has brought the illness amongst them – they are extremely superstitious. What can you expect from uneducated men? ‘If grass does not grow upon stones, what fault is it in the rain?’ – i.e. it is unreasonable to expect learning from him who has not the means or capacity to acquire it.

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  July 31st – A most fearful storm during the night – one that was sufficient to make me quit my bed, to look after my little widow and the bābās, i.e., children. The paharīs informed me a few days ago that the banglā or thatched house in which I am living has been three times struck by lightning, and twice burned to the ground! – an agreeable reminiscence during so violent a storm. As the lightning, if it strike a house, often runs round the walls of a room, from the iron of one wal
l shade to that of another, and then pursuing its course down to the grate, tears out the bars and descends into the earth, we took the precaution of sitting in the centre of the room, avoiding the sides. My fair friend laughed, in spite of her alarm, when I repeated the old verses:

  Ellen, from lightning to secure her life,

  Draws from her pocket the attractive knife;

  But all in vain, my fair, this cautious action,

  For you can never be without attraction.

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  September 5th – A letter informed me of the bursting of the Mahratta Bāndh at Allahabad: the Ganges poured through the gap, inundating the whole country, until it reached the Jumna just above the Fort, leaving the latter completely insulated. Our house, being close to the bank of the Jumna, escaped, but was on every side surrounded by water. Monsieur mon mari had two large boats anchored near, to receive himself, his horses, his flocks and his herds should the river rise any higher. The Bāndh burst on the 23rd of August; it swept away the villages of Kyd and Mootī Gunge, carrying away all the thatched huts, the brick houses alone escaping. The Jumna rose to within seven feet of the top of the very high bank on which the terrace (chabūtara) in our garden is placed. The damage done to the crops and villages is estimated at four lakh; besides this, the force of the water rushing upon the bastion of the Fort has caused it to fall in; it will cost Rs 40–50,000 to repair the bastion.

  September 6th – Ill: my ayah is so kind and so careful of me: what a good servant I find her! Apropos – grain is at present very dear at Landowr; gram, twelve seer per rupee.

  ‘One wife is enough for a whole family.’ ‘Where do you live?’ said I to one of my servants, a paharī (mountaineer) who had just deposited his load of rhododendron wood, or, as he calls it, flower wood, in the verandah. ‘Three days’ journey from this, in the pahar (mountain),’ said the man. ‘Are you married?’ said I. The man looked annoyed; ‘Who will marry me? How can I have a wife? There are but three of us.’ Having heard of the singular customs of the paharīs with regard to marriage, I pursued my interrogation. ‘Why cannot you marry?’ We are only three brothers; if there were seven of us we might marry, but only three, who will marry us?’ The greater the number of the family the more honourable is the connection, the more respected is the lady. ‘But who claims the children?’ ‘The first child belongs to the eldest brother, the second to the second brother and so on, until the eighth child is claimed by the eldest brother, if there be a family of seven.’