Begums, Thugs and White Mughals

by Fanny Parkes

  I have heard that the Hill women destroy their female offspring, thinking the lot of woman too hard to endure. The price of a wife is high, from the scarcity of women, and may account for the disgusting marriages of the paharīs.

  [ … ]

  I am told that honesty was the distinguishing characteristic in former times of the paharīs, but intercourse with civilised Europeans has greatly demoralised the mountaineers.

  [An entire chapter is omitted here]

  CHAPTER LII

  DEPARTURE FROM THE HILLS

  HE ONLY IS DEAD WHOSE NAME IS NOT MENTIONED WITH RESPECT

  THE DAYS OF DISTRESS ARE BLACK.

  SEPTEMBER 8TH 1838 – I made arrangements with my relative to march across the mountains to Simla, a journey of fifteen days from Landowr, and was looking forward with delight to all the adventures we should meet with, and the crossing the river in a basket suspended on a rope fastened across the stream; but he, an old mountaineer, would not permit me to begin the journey until the khuds – which are unwholesome during the rains, and full of fever – should be fit to pass through. A friend had given me the use of a house for some months beyond Simla and I was anxious to visit that part of the country. In the interval we formed a party to see the mountains at the back of Landowr, and I sent out my hill tents to the interior.

  In the evening I was riding alone at Mussoorie, when I met Captain L—; there was an embarrassment and distress in his manner that surprised me: he quitted his party and led my pony away from the walk, where the people were in crowds, and when we were alone informed me of the death of my beloved father. I had received no letters from home: this melancholy event had been known some days at Mussoorie but no one had had the courage to tell his child. With what pain I reflected on having so long postponed my return home! Letters from Allahabad confirmed the melancholy news, and my kind husband urged my return to England instantly to see my remaining and widowed parent.

  I recalled my tents and people from the interior; and from that moment the thoughts of home, and of what time it would take from the Himalaya to Devonshire, alone filled my thoughts. It was decided I should sail from Calcutta the next cold season.

  The weather had become most beautiful; the rains had passed away and the most bracing air was over the Hills. I spent my time chiefly in solitude, roaming in the Hills at the back of Landowr; and where is the grief that is not soothed and tranquillised by the enjoyment of such scenery? The rains had passed away and had left the air clear and transparent; the beauty of the Snowy Ranges, whose majestic heads at intervals flushed brightly with the rose-tints that summer twilight leaves upon their lofty brows – or rising with their snowy peaks of glittering whiteness high above the clouds, was far greater than I ever beheld before the departure of the rains.

  [ … ]

  September 23rd – Colonel Everest has a fine estate near Bhadráj, called the ‘Park’; I rode over with a most agreeable party to breakfast there this morning, and to arrange respecting some boundaries which, after all, we left as unsettled as ever; it put me in mind of the child’s play:

  Here stands a post.’ – ‘Who put it there?’

  ‘A better man than you, touch it if you dare.

  Boundaries in the Hills are determined not by landmarks but by the fall of the rain; in the division of a mountain, all that land is yours down which the rain water runs on your side, and on the opposite side, all the land is your neighbour’s over which the water makes its way downwards.

  Colonel Everest is making a road – a most scientific affair; the obstacles to be conquered are great – levelling rocks, and filling up khuds. The Park is the finest estate in the Hills.

  September 25th – I was fortunate in being able to procure camels and sent off my baggage from Rājpūr in time to allow the animals to return to Meerut to be in readiness to march with the army there collecting for Afghānistan.

  [ … ]

  September 29th – Having ascertained that the water in the Keeree Pass had subsided, and that it had been open for three days, we determined to quit Landowr for Meerut: accordingly a dāk and horses having been laid for us, our party went down this morning to Rājpūr. It was a beautiful ride, but when we reached the foot of the Hill the heat became most unpleasant: such a sudden change from fires and cold breezes, to the hot winds – for such it felt to us at Rājpūr when we took refuge at Mrs Theodore’s hotel. She has stuffed birds for sale; her Moonāl pheasants are very dear, sixteen rupees a pair; but they are not reckoned as well prepared as those of Mr Morrow, the steward at the hospital. Our party being too large to proceed dāk in a body, it was agreed I should lead the way, with Captain L— as my escort. At four o’clock we got into our palanquins and commenced the journey: crossing the Deyra Doon it was hot, very hot, and the sides of the palanquin felt quite burning. As the sun sank we entered the Keeree Pass, where I found the air very cold; and it struck so chillily upon me that I got out of the palanquin, intending to walk some distance. The pass is the dry bed of a mountain torrent, passing through high cliffs, covered with fine trees and climbers; a stream here and there crosses the road. During a part of the year it is impassable, but the water having subsided, the road had been open three days.

  It was a beautiful night and a beautiful scene; I enjoyed it extremely and walked some distance, aided by my long paharī pole. Wishing my escort to partake in the pleasure to be derived from such romantic and picturesque scenery, I asked him if he would walk. He partially opened the doors of his palanquin and, looking out, expressed his astonishment at the madness of my walking in the Pass; said the malaria was so great he had shut the doors of the palkee and lighted a cigar to secure himself from its influence, begged I would get into my palanquin and keep the doors closed as long as I was in the pass. I followed his advice, but the moonlight night often tempted me to open the doors, and I became completely ill at times from the chill that fell upon my chest, like the deadly chill of a vault, in spite of having wrapped myself up in a blanket. At first I was unwilling to attribute it to the effect of the air of the Keeree Pass, but having arrived at the end of it, these uncomfortable feelings instantly disappeared.

  An instance of the danger of the Pass is that Mrs T— was detained for two hours at the entrance of it for want of bearers – she took a fever and died. The wife of the behishti, who was with our servants, was detained at the same place – she took the fever and it killed her. To sleep in the pass one night is to run the pretty certain chance of fever, perhaps death: there is something in the air that almost’ compels one to sleep. With the very greatest difficulty I kept my eyes open, even when in pain from a chilly sickness that had crept over me: I thought of Corinne and the Pontine Marshes, in passing which she could scarcely resist the spell that induced her to long for sleep, even when she knew that sleep would be the sleep of death. Quitting the pass, we entered on the plains where the sun was burningly hot – how fierce it was! We did not arrive at Dēobund, where we were to take shelter, until noon the next day; I felt sick and faint from the excessive heat and was very glad to gain the shelter of a roof.

  September 30th – At four o’clock our palanquins were ready; getting into them was like going into an oven. We had taken the precaution of having no dinner during the heat of the day; in the cool of the evening refreshment was welcome, in the shade of the jangal by the roadside. The bearers were good, and at two o’clock we arrived at the spot to which a buggy had been sent, and horses laid on the road: how gladly I left the hot palanquin for the cool air in the buggy! The roads were so bad, they were absolutely dangerous, and the moonlight so puzzling, we could not see the holes into which the buggy was continually going bump bump, to the infinite hazard of breaking the springs; nevertheless, we arrived in safety at Meerut.

  [ … ]

  October 17th – Colonel Arnold gave a farewell ball to his friends at Meerut. The Lancers are to march for Afghānistan on the 30th. His house is built after his own fancy: from without it has the appearance of Hindu templ
es that have been added to a bungalow; nevertheless, the effect is good. The interior is very unique. The shape of the rooms is singular; the trellis work of white marble between them, and the stained glass in the windows and over the doors, give it an Eastern air of beauty and novelty. Fire-balloons were sent up, fireworks displayed; the band was good and the ball went off with great spirit.

  October 18th – The evening after this fête, during the time Colonel Arnold was at dinner, and in the act of taking wine with Sir Willoughby Cotton, he burst a blood-vessel on his lungs and was nearly choked. Medical aid was instantly called in; he was in extreme danger during the night and was bled three times. A hope of his recovery was scarcely entertained: never was more interest or more anxiety felt by any people than by those at Meerut for Colonel Arnold. He had just attained the object of his ambition, the command during the war of that gallant regiment the 16th Lancers; and he was beloved both by the officers and the men. At three o’clock he parted with the guests in his ballroom in high health and spirits: at seven that evening he lay exhausted and apparently dying. When at Waterloo he was shot through the lungs, and recovered. It was one of those remarkable instances of recovery from a severe gunshot wound, and as that had gone through the lungs, the breaking of the blood-vessel was a fearful occurrence.

  [ … ]

  October 21st – My boats being ready at Ghurmuktesur Ghāt, I started dāk to join them; on my arrival a fine breeze was blowing, a number of vessels of every description were at anchor; the scene was picturesque and my people were all ready and willing to start. Messrs Gibson and Co. of Meerut have furnished me with two large flat-bottomed country boats on each of which a house is built of bamboo and mats, which is well thatched; the interior of the one in which I live is divided into two large rooms and has two bathing rooms; the floor is of planks covered with a gaily-coloured satrangī, a cotton carpet; and inside is fitted up with white cloth – sometimes the rooms are fitted up with the coloured chintz used for tents. The other large boat contains the servants, the horses and the dogs. The sort of boat generally used for this purpose is called a surrī which is a patelī that draws very little water and is generally rowed from the top of a platform above the roof on which the dāndīs live.

  October 23rd – Started from Ghurmuktesur Ghāt the moment it became possible to see the way down the river, and to avoid the sandbanks. At three o’clock the thermometer was 82° – a most oppressive heat for one just arrived from the Hills. Lugoed on a sandbank, and walked with the dogs until ten at night when I went to rest and dreamed of thieves, because this part of the Ganges is dangerous, and I have no guard on board the boats. From a fisherman on the bank I have purchased fish enough for myself and all the crew, a feast for us all and a piece of good luck.

  [ … ]

  October 31st – Reached Bitoor at breakfast time; a large fair was being held on the banks of the river. Here we nearly lost the horse-boat; a strong wind carried the boats against a high bank, which was falling in every second; just as the horse-boat ran foul of it the bank fell in; the chaprāsī on deck cut the towing-line with his sword, and the boat swerved off from the bank; she was filled with earth and all but swamped. The horses, feeling the violent rocking of the vessel, neighed loudly several times as if conscious of danger and willing to remind us of their existence. The boat righted and was got off with some difficulty.

  On our arrival at Cawnpore we were detained by the bridge of boats, which was closed, and would not be opened until noon the next day.

  [ … ]

  November 4th – On the top of the thatch of the house which is built on my boat is a platform on which the people sit; when the wind is in a particular direction all that is said above is plainly heard in the cabin below. A most theological discourse has amused me for the last hour carried on between my khidmatgār, one of the Faithful, and a staunch Hindu, one of my chaprasīs. The question under consideration was, whether God made Hindus or Musulmāns first; and whether you ought to say ‘By the blessing of Allah,’ or ‘By the blessing of Vishnă.’ These points the Musulmān undertook to explain. The questions of the Hindu were simple but most puzzling; nor could the man refrain from a laugh now and then, when some curious point of faith was explained to him by the follower of the Prophet. It ended by the khidmatgār saying, ‘If you do not believe in Allah and the Qur’an, they will take you by that Hindu topknot of yours, hold you by it whilst they fill your mouth with fire, and pitch you to Jahannam.’ I laughed – the people heard me, and being aware that their conversation was overheard dropped the subject. The follower of Mohammed worked so hard and so earnestly to gain a convert, it was unfortunate his opponent should have been so utterly incapable of understanding what he considered the true faith.

  The Musulmāns are anxious for converts; the Hindus will neither make proselytes, nor be converted themselves. Deism is the religion of well-educated Hindus, they leave idolatry to the lower orders. When conversing with a lady one evening, the priest’s bell was heard; she said, ‘I must attend – will you come with me?’ Accordingly we entered the small room which contained the idols; they were lighted up and the Brahmans in attendance. The worship proceeded: I said to the lady, ‘Is it possible that you can believe in the power of brazen images, the work of men’s hands?’ She answered, ‘I believe in one great and eternal God; as for these images, it is the custom of the country to worship them; the lower orders believe in their power.’ ‘Why do you attend such poojā?’ said I. She looked at the Brahmans as if she feared our conversation might be overheard and answered, ‘Their power is great; if I were not to appear it would soon be over; they —’ she ceased speaking and drew her forefinger across her throat with a significant gesture. The conversation dropped; and I observed the Brahmāns ‘cast camel’s glances’ both on her and me.

  The clergyman at Allahabad converted a Hindu to the Christian faith; consequently, the man became an outcast – he could neither eat, drink, nor smoke with his own family; he complained to the clergyman and was taken into service. His attendance at church was constant. His patron died: the man was never seen afterwards at Divine Service. The newly appointed clergyman inquired the reason and this answer was returned: ‘I received Rs 8 a month from your predecessor; if you will give me the same I will go to church every Sunday!’ So little did the man comprehend his adopted religion, or the kindness that induced the Clergyman to support him!

  Passed Manucpūr with a fine breeze and a powerful stream in our favour; lugoed below Kurrah, where the people cooked on shore and as soon as the moon was high we turned the boat into the current and allowed her to drift; the helmsman ties the rudder up in the centre and usually lies down to sleep by its side; if the vessel run ashore, he starts up and marvels at the occurrence. We drifted the whole night by moonlight; at one time I told them to anchor, but the bank kept falling in in so fearful a manner we were obliged to put off again.

  Just as we came to the bank to lugoe the men suddenly shoved the boat back into the stream saying, ‘Someone has sneezed, we cannot anchor here at present.’ A few moments afterwards they anchored. They are superstitious respecting a sneeze, and by waiting for a short time fancy the evil influence passes away. ‘After sneezing you may eat or bathe, but not go into any one’s house’ because it is considered an omen of ill luck.

  A fair breeze is springing up; we are near home and they will be looking for the return of the wanderer. We are off Papamhow; the river is very shallow and very broad. We passed the ghāt and moored while the people ate their dinners. I would have proceeded by moonlight, but was deterred from doing so by the advice of the fishermen on the banks, who said it would be very dangerous then to go on, as the stream was very fierce and shallow below.

  November 6th – Arrived at Raj-Ghāt, at which place the carriage was waiting for me; but I found it impossible to reach the ghāt, the force of the current drove us off; therefore, taking the crew of the horse-boat to aid our own, we dropped down into the Jumna below the Fort; in doing this, we
ran against another vessel and did our own some damage. At this moment we are making our way slowly and with difficulty up the stream against the current of the Jumna, just below the Fort; the view is interesting, and the pilgrim will reach the landing-place, below her own old peepal tree, within an hour. I have at this moment but little energy left wherewith to pursue my homeward voyage, but my promise is yours, my beloved mother, and your child would not disappoint you for all the wealth of Ormus or of Ind. She who ventures on the waters must take patience and await the good pleasure of the wind and tides; but there is the Fort and the great Masjid, and the old peepal tree, and the memsāhib’s home, and the chabūtara (a terrace to sit and converse on), the bank of the river, which is crowded with friends on the look out for the pilgrim and ready to hail her return with the greatest pleasure.

  [An entire chapter is omitted here]

  CHAPTER LIII