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 A slave to some poor hind that toils for bread,
Than reign the scepter’d monarch of the dead.”
Solomon deems it better to be a live dog than a dead lion; and Job,
called by Byron “the Respectable,” says, “Why should a living man
complain?” to which Byron adds, “For no reason that I can see,
except that a dead man cannot.” In the face of these grave
authorities, as far as I am concerned, I cannot help being of a
different opinion: the proverb agrees with my view of the subject,
—“It is better to die with honour than live with infamy[45].” These
unfortunate people, outcasts from their homes and families, on
account of their unexpected recovery, after having been exposed by
their relatives to die on the banks of the river, have taken refuge in
this village, and are its sole inhabitants.
“The Hindūs are extremely anxious to die in sight of the Ganges,
that their sins may be washed away in their last moments. A person
in his last agonies is frequently dragged from his bed and friends,
and carried, in the coldest or in the hottest weather, from whatever
distance, to the river-side, where he lies, if a poor man, without a
covering day and night, until he expires. With the pains of death
upon him, he is placed up to the middle in water, and drenched with
it; leaves of the toolsee plant are also put into his mouth, and his
relations call upon him to repeat, and repeat for him, the names of
Ramŭ, Hŭree, Narayŭnŭ, Brŭmha, Gŭnga, &c. In some cases the
family priest repeats some incantations, and makes an offering to
Voitŭrŭnēē, the river over which the soul, they say, is ferried after
leaving the body. The relations of the dying man spread the
sediment of the river on his forehead or breast, and afterwards, with
the finger, write on this sediment the name of some deity. If a
person should die in his house, and not by the river-side, it is
considered as a great misfortune, as he thereby loses the help of the
goddess in his dying moments. If a person choose to die at home,
his memory becomes infamous.”
This part of the river is flat and uninteresting; anchored a little
below Culna, which is sixty-six miles by water, fifty-two by land, from
Calcutta. At night the insects, attracted by the brilliant light of the
Silvant lamps, came into the cabin in swarms—like the plagues of
Egypt they fall into the wine-cups and fill the plates; they are over
my hands, and over the paper on which I am writing, and are a
complete pest.
16th.—Very hot during the middle of the day; thermometer 86°.
Passed the Dhobah sugar-works, seventy-two miles by water from
Calcutta; left the Jellingee river on the right, and anchored at
Nuddea, eighty-three by water, and sixty-four by land. The steamers
generally arrive at the Dhobah sugar-works in one day, but still we
think we have come on quickly in the Budgerow! We did not land to
visit the long range of temples on the bank of the river. To this place
the Calcutta Sircars come, to eat the air.
At Meertulla, half-way between Nuddea and Dumdumma, we
crossed the Tropic of Cancer, which made us fancy ourselves in a
cooler climate, in spite of the extreme heat. At noon-day it is almost
intolerable, and very oppressive, but the early mornings are cool,
and the nights also; moored off Dumdumma.
18th.—Lugāoed on a dry sandbank beyond Dewangunge, one
hundred and eighteen miles from Calcutta; it has a large mart, and a
fine indigo factory.
19th.—Arrived early in the day off Cutwa, situated on the right
bank of the Bhagirathī, five miles from Dewangunge; anchored to
procure fowls, fish, and vegetables; it has a coal depôt for steamers.
Cutwa is on the Adgar-nālā: found nothing in the bazār but eggs and
plantains, fowls and byguns (solanum melongena). Purchased twelve
sticks of shola, or sola, as it is commonly called, for one paisā; the
dāndīs use it as a tinder-box, and strike fire into the end of a sola
stick with a flint and steel. A cooler day; the river very uninteresting;
moored on a nameless sandbank.
20th.—Passed the Field of Plassey, sixteen miles above Cutwa, on
the left bank; memorable for the defeat of Suraja Dowla, by the
British forces under Colonel Clive, June 23rd, 1757. This battle
decided the fate of Bengal, and ultimately of India. Anchored on a
fine cool sandbank near the Company’s fīl-khāna (elephant
establishment), on the left bank, eight miles above Plassey.
21st.—Arrived at Rangamattī, a village on the right bank, with
steep red banks; the Company’s silk manufactories were here
formerly. The place is celebrated for sajjī-mattī, or fuller’s earth: it is
six miles from Berhampūr, one hundred and sixty from Calcutta, and
seventy-seven from Jellingee. Lugāoed at the civil station of
Berhampūr, which looks quite deserted; nothing is going forward; no
crowds of natives on the bank with various articles for sale, and no
picturesque boats on the river.
22nd.—Sent letters to the Dāk—laid in a store of fowls, bread,
butter, charcoal, limes, &c., to help us on to Rajmahāl, as provisions
are only to be procured at the large stations.
23rd.—Passed the palace of the Nawāb of Moorshedabad: admired
the fanciful boats he uses on state occasions, and the snake boats;
the latter fly with great swiftness when rowed by twenty men, from
their amazing length and extreme narrowness. The state boats are
highly gilt, and ornamented very tastefully with colours and gold;
they are light and airy in the extreme. The river is very shallow; we
have great difficulty in finding the deep parts; in consequence, our
progress is slow, but the scenery is very beautiful. Moored off a
small bastī (village) on the right bank.
24th.—A little fleet of small boats filled with fire-wood has passed
us; never was there any thing so neatly and regularly stowed away
as the wood. The weather is becoming sensibly cooler and more
pleasant: moored below Jungipūr on a field covered with the tūt,
(morus Indica, Indian mulberry,) a shrub which is planted and
cultivated in great quantities as food for the silkworms which are
reared in the neighbouring villages. My goats luxuriated for some
hours by moonlight in the fields of tūt, enjoying the fresh shrubs;
they have been cut down, and the young sprouts are now only
about a foot high.
 25th.—Passed Jungipūr; paid the toll which is levied for keeping
open the entrance of the Bhagirathī; anchored at Kamalpūr, a
straggling picturesque village: cows are here in the greatest
abundance—the village swarms with them; they swim the cows over
the river in herds to graze on the opposite bank, and swim them
back again in the evening; a couple of men usually accompany the
herd, crossing the river by holding on to the tail of a cow: the
animals take to the water as a thing of course; on their arrival at the
cottages, they are tied up with food before them, and a smouldering
fire is kept up near them all night: the cows enveloped in the smoke
are free from the worrying of the insects. Mr. Laruletta has a large
silk manufactory at Jungipūr; he lives in the Residency, which he
purchased from the Government; it is forty-two miles above
Berhampūr. The villages of Gurka and Kidderpūr are on the opposite
bank.
26th.—Quitted the Bhagirathī and entered on the Ganges: stopped
at a place famous for bamboos, consisting of a few huts built of
mats on the river-side, where bamboos and ardent spirits are sold.
My mānjhī bought nine very large newly-cut bamboos for one rupee
five ānās, and complained of their being very dear! Crossed the river,
and anchored above the village of Konsert, at the Luckipūr indigo
factory, a most melancholy looking place, the bungalow in ruins—the
owner resides on the opposite side of the river. There is a very fine
banyan tree on the Ghāt, at Konsert, and two very fine silk cotton
trees (bombax heptaphyllum) in front of the factory. The kajūr
(phœnix dactylifera, common date palm,) flourishes here,—it is
remarkable for its lofty trunk, rugged on account of the persistent
vestiges of the decayed leaves.
27th.—Passed Dulalpūr and saw the factory of Chandnī Kotī in the
distance, where I met with so much hospitality on my expedition to
the ruins of Gaur. Heard of Mr. Sinclair’s death, which took place
about a year ago, most likely from the jungle fever. After a pleasant
sail with a fair wind, had the first sight of the Hills; anchored on a
cool, clear, and fresh sandbank in the middle of the Ganges—the
moon high, the night quiet and agreeable. I took a camera lucida on
deck, and was much amused with the delight of the crew when they
looked into it. They called it a Kompās, and were very anxious to
have their own likenesses taken.
28th.—Thermometer 82° in the cabin at noon; not a breath of air,
the river very broad and shallow; it is hardly possible to find water
enough to float the budgerow. We are just passing a steamer with a
cargo flat in tow; she has grounded, and there she is in the midst of
the river burning with heat, whilst the little pilot boats are trying to
find some channel deep enough for her. Like the hare and the
tortoise in the fable, we shall reach the goal first. Imagine the heat
of the iron steamer, the bright river giving back the sun’s rays, and
looking like unruffled glass around her; the inside of the vessel must
resemble a well-heated iron oven. Lugāoed off Husseinpūr. The
woolāk (baggage-boat) came up late; for the second time she has
run foul of the budgerow, and has done her some damage. The
mānjhī of the woolāk cannot see after sunset, having what the
natives call rāt andhā, or night blindness: he can see well enough
during the day time;—this is rather a disagreeable affliction for the
master of a vessel.
29th.—Passed the steamer and flat with passengers for Calcutta—
very hot and oppressive—arrived near Rajmahāl, and found a large
portion of the bank of the river had fallen in;—it was a little land-
slip. The palm-trees on the fallen land were in most picturesque
disorder. Moored off the ancient palace of Rajmahāl: the river, which
formerly washed its walls, has deserted it, and the deep current is
on the opposite side, leaving an almost dry bed before the ruins.
Visited the old baolī (well), which is beautified by age: down the
centre of it hang long pendant shoots of the banyan, and the roots
of trees: thence I proceeded to the tombs of the Europeans, and to
the gateway. Several cows were quietly ruminating under the black
marble arches of the verandah of the palace that overlooks the river.
The steamers take in their coal a mile below, and therefore do not
destroy the beauty of the old ruins with their smoke, and steam, and
Birmingham appearance. The Hills are distant about five miles
inland. Myriads of minute insects are in great number; they fill my
nose like snuff, and get into my eyes and ears, and torment me so
much, I find it almost impossible to write; they fill my teacup, and
absolutely are giving forth a vile odour from the numbers that have
found death around the flame of the candle.
30th.—The early morning was delightful—the weather much cooler
and more agreeable. Laid in fresh stores—found remarkably fine
fowls and good yams—sailed at 4 p.m., lugāoed at 7, on a sandbank
—here the insects are but few, and do not annoy me as they did last
night. Crocodiles abound, and are showing themselves continually,
swimming low in the water. We passed near this place a village full
of a caste of people who live on crocodile flesh. My dāndīs say they
understand it smells rank, and is very hard. Twice this evening I
heard a shrill peculiar scream, and on remarking it to the men, they
said it was the cry of the crocodile. Twenty-one miles above
Rajmahāl and two miles below Sikrī-galī Hill and Point, says the
“Calcutta Directory,” is the beautiful Mootee Jhurna waterfall; it is
visible on the eastern side of the Hills. I neither saw nor visited it.
31st.—Anchored at sunset at Sikrī-galī—landed and walked to the
bungalow. The French indigo planter had quitted the place; the
house was uninhabited; had he been there, he would have
exclaimed,

“Voilà Madame, qui arrive

Pour encore visiter mes tigres!”

Walked on a short distance to have a view of the Hills, and to

recall the memory of the Hill-man and his terī (wife): saw some
beautiful goats in the village, which the people refused to sell,
although I bribed them high. Wood and charcoal was cheap and
plentiful; nothing else was to be procured. A number of jackals were
roaming and howling in the village. The point of Sikrī-galī is very
picturesque from the river. The indigo factor’s bungalow would be an
excellent shooting box. It is said the Jharna waterfall and the
Himalaya mountains are visible at times from Rajmahāl; I have never
seen either. Bears, tigers, rhinoceroses, leopards, hogs, deer of all
kinds, abound here, and feathered game in the Hills. Steamers pass
in ten days and a half in the dry season from Calcutta.
Nov. 1st.—Quitted Sikrī-galī early; the river very rapid, nothing but
dreary sandbanks, with a distant view of the Hills. Porpoises
gambolling in plenty.
2nd.—Fish in abundance for sale on the bank at Kantnagar; a
dreary day; anchored on a sandbank,—insects detestable,—the
thermometer at ten a.m. only 70°.
3rd.—Saw a herd of buffaloes swimming the river—about one
hundred head; the men swam with them, each holding on by a
buffalo’s tail, with his clothes carried high in the air in one hand.
Some of the men had bamboos, with which they beat and urged the
animals to swim. When I first caught sight of them I took them for a
reef of low black rocks, the black heads were so numerous and so
mixed together. Late in the evening saw the rocks of Colgong;
tracked up the left bank of the river, aided by a good breeze; the
force of the stream here is excessive, and it was a great piece of
good fortune we had a fair wind to aid us; anchored in darkness
about a mile below Kuhulgaon—that is, Colgong.
The “Directory” says, “Fifty-eight miles above Rajmahāl, on the
left bank of the river, is the junction of the Koosie river. On the
Nepaul part of the Himalaya, nearly opposite, is the Patturgatta Hill,
with one or two temples, and is noted in native tradition for a cave
(only a small hole), into which, it is said, a Rajah, with an immense
suite, and one lakh of torch-bearers, entered, and never returned;—
such is the story of the attending fakīr. Hence are beautiful views of
isolated hills, and the tips of the Colgong Rocks. The Southern or
Patturgatta passage up to Colgong has some very dangerous rocks,
where, if a boat touches, not a soul can be saved.”
4th.—At daybreak arose to get a view of the rocks; made the
mānjhī cross over to the Colgong side, to enable me to take a sketch
from that bank. These rocky islands are very singular and beautiful,
and there are four of them; rocks on rocks, covered with fine foliage,
they rise straight out of the centre of the river, which runs like a mill-
sluice, and is here extremely broad; we came up the left passage,
which is navigable after the rains. They say no one lives upon these
rocks; that a fakīr formerly took up his abode there, but having been
eaten by a snake (an ajgar), one of enormous size, and an eater of
human flesh, the people became alarmed, and no holy or unholy
person has since taken up their residence on these rocky islands.
Here we bought two very fine rohū fish (cyprinus denticulatus) for
six ānās, but could not procure any of the rock fish: small boats
were under the rocks fishing, and snakes, they say, abound upon
them.
“The village of Colgong is sixty-eight miles above Calcutta, and
eighteen below Bhagulpūr; it is on the right bank of the river, has a
fine nālā and shelter for boats: it is a coal depôt for steamers. The
left passage should never be attempted by either steamers or boats
in the rains, as the currents and eddies between the main and the
rocks make it certain loss for any native boats, and too dangerous
for steamers; boats, in attempting it, must be careful to have very
strong tracking lines low down on their prows, with plenty of
trackers, and two bowlines as guys to the bank, and he kept close
in. Rock fish are procurable here, also fowls, kids, eggs, &c.”
I longed to have a gun fired, to awaken the echoes, and to startle
the myriads of birds that inhabit these singular rocks. We have just
passed a most enormous crocodile; it was basking in the sun on a
sandbank, looking like the stem of a dry tree, and, but for a peculiar
shine and polish, and the shade cast on the bank, you would not
have supposed it a living animal: some dāndīs, tracking near it,
aroused the enormous beast, and it took refuge in the river; it was
one of the largest I ever saw. Birds were around in innumerable
flights. The river presents a singular picture; the expanse of water is
very great, interspersed with low sandbanks in every direction.
Three crocodiles are on the banks,—one at full length out of the
river, on the top of the bank, the other two half out of the water, and
lying flat upon it. One of the native charpāīs, on which a corpse has
been brought down to be burned, and which, from being reckoned
unclean, is always left on the spot, is on a sandbank; it is upset, the
feet in the air, and seated inside is an enormous vulture, gorged
from his horrible feast. Storks, with their long legs and white bodies,
are numerous in the water; and some very soft-plumed birds,
looking like large doves, are on the sands; whilst countless birds, in
flocks, are flying in every direction. We anchored on a fine open
clean sandbank, and enjoyed the coolness of the evening and the
quietude around us; no human habitations were to be seen,—
nothing but the expanse of the broad river, and its distant banks.
 CHAPTER LXV.
SKETCHES ON THE GANGES FROM COLGONG
TO DINAPŪR.
Bhagulpūr—Rock and Temple of Janghīra—Cytisus Cajan—Force of the Current—
Monghir—An Aërolite—Bairāgī Temples—Dwakanath Tagore—Rosaries—Vases
—Sūraj-garha—Bar—Beggars and Swine—Benīpūr—Bankipūr—Azīmabad—
Sūraj Pūja—Patna—The Golā—Deegah—Havell’s Farm—Dinapūr.

1844, Nov. 5th.—At noon we moored off the Civil station of

Bhagulpūr. The river-side has been very picturesque the whole
distance from Colgong. Procured mutton, fowls, yams, &c., from the
bazār; and purchased some pieces of silk and some imitation Scotch
plaid, that was brought for sale to the budgerow. Accompanied the
Judge to see the new church, the building of which he superintends;
saw the monument which was erected in honour of Mr. Cleveland, of
the Civil Service, by the Zamīndars, and was told, that at the other
end of the station is another monument erected to him by the
Government. He brought the Hill people into subjection, by whom he
was styled the “Father of their Country.” Bhagulpūr is eighteen miles
above Colgong; it is two hundred and sixty-eight miles by land from
Calcutta,—by water, from the same place, three hundred and forty-
eight miles in the rains, and six hundred and thirty-six in the dry
season,—and the dāk runs in two days and a quarter. Steamers take
nine and a half or eleven days to arrive here. A light kind of silk,
called tasar, is sold in this bazār, also, shot silks of various colours,
useful for razāīs and native wear, and a kind of cloth called bāftas.
Here are a few Hill rangers and a sepahī station.
6th.—A pleasant and cool sail, the wind being fair at times;
lugāoed off a sandbank. But few insects, there being no trees near
us.
7th.—To-day, to my sorrow, I was unable to pay the Rock and
Temple of Janghīra a visit, in consequence of the deep stream being
on the other side the river; still, I was near enough to sketch it,—
and very pretty and picturesque is its situation. It is twenty-five
miles above Bhagulpūr; the rocky point on which the old ruined
mosque stands, close to Janghīra, with the mountains beyond,
would form a good subject for a picture. Just above the rock we met
a large fleet of pinnaces, budgerows, and country boats, of all sorts
and sizes, conveying the Buffs from Allahabad to Calcutta, for
embarkation for England; I counted sixty-four vessels. On account of
their coming down with the stream the sight was not as picturesque
as it would have been had they been going up the river. All vessels
put up very small low masts and scarcely any sail when going with
the stream, on account of its extreme velocity; but ascending the
river they carry very high masts, and an overpowering quantity of
sail. The last time I saw the Buffs was at a ball they gave at Meerut,
—a farewell on going to Afghanistān.
The weather is now most agreeable, delightfully cool,—a sharp,
clear, pure air; we use a pankha at dinner-time, hung from the
ceiling of the cabin, but do not require it during the rest of the day;
the nights are cold. We have moored; and the poor goats, who for
three days have been on a barren sandbank of an evening, have
now a fine field of urur (cytisus cajan) to browse upon. The people
have cut some, and the goats will therefore be happy to-morrow;
this is a theft, but allowable on the banks of the river, because a less
rent is paid for land subject to the visits of depredators from the
Ganges.
8th.—A large white house on the hill at Monghir is visible. I was
charmed with the scene when I went on deck at half-past seven this
morning: the river in this part is extremely broad and very shallow,
with a stream running like a mill-sluice; a fair wind was blowing, and
we were in the midst of about five hundred vessels, which had been
detained there in consequence of the force of the stream. With this
fine wind, however, they all set sail; the lighter vessels with great
difficulty passed the bad part of the river, the larger and heavier
craft got up to a certain point, and beyond that they could not
proceed, but one by one lowered their sails, and fell back on a
sandbank, where they lay all in a row, like a line of soldiers. I
amused myself with watching the vessels as they came up to the
testing point, and went forward triumphantly, or fell back into the
line of the hopeless. The cook-boat, with our assistance, was
brought up with great difficulty; the budgerow bravely made way
against the fierce current; the woolāk, unable to stem the stream,
fell back, took some other passage, and parted company. Late at
night we anchored on one of those fine, hard, cool, clean
sandbanks; the sand is mixed with such a quantity of mica (talc),
that at night, by the light of a candle, it shines as if sprinkled with
silver-dust. We expected to have reached Monghir to-day, but the
winding of the river and the force of the stream have prevented us.
9th.—Arrived at Monghir. The river-side was covered with boats of
all sorts as thickly planted as possible: the bazār extends all along
the edge of the river, and some good houses belonging to the
gentlemen at the station are on the higher ground; the churchyard is
beyond, and the Old Fort at the point. The moment we anchored we
were assailed with hundreds of beggars; their clamour and cries
were most annoying, they were a complete pest,—driving them
away was useless. The people selling pistols, necklaces, bathing-
chairs, baskets, toys, shoes, &c., raised such a hubbub, it was
disgusting; we had all the Venetians shut on that side, and the
people had the impudence to get down into the water and peep
through them; the chaprasīs drove them off, but they were back
again the next minute like a swarm of bees.
I may here insert a paragraph I saw in the papers:—
“The Asiatic Society has obtained an aërolite, or a mass of
meteoric iron, found imbedded in the soil on the top of the
Kurruckpore Hills, near Monghyr, which had been exhumed and
worshipped by the natives for many years. It is a block, weighing
about 160lbs., of a somewhat conical, oviform, disk shape, standing
on a sort of foot, and slightly truncated at both ends; it contains
iron, nickel, cobalt, chromium, silica, alumina, and traces of arsenic
and selenium.”
10th.—The next day we started. The Fort is a good object from
this side, but, on turning the corner, how much was I charmed to
see the most picturesque cluster of bairāgī temples imaginable! The
maths are surrounded by fine trees, the ruined bastion of the old
fort juts out into the river, and has fragments of rock at its base. The
high spires of the white temples seen among the trees, the slender
bamboos with their bright red or white flags, and a sort of Hindū
altar in front, are beautifully grouped. On a large stone in the river,
just in front of the temples, shaded from the sun by an immense
chatr (umbrella) made of straw, sat two Hindū priests, who were a
picture in themselves; upright at their side was a very high thin
bamboo, crowned with the branch of some holy tree, from which a
lota was suspended in the air. The whole was reflected in the
Ganges, and the vessels and distant land finished the picture. It
came upon me by surprise: had I known of the temples that were
hidden from my view by the bastion of the fort, I should have
walked there the evening before. The “Directory” tells you of the
articles in the bazār, but omits these gems of oriental beauty, which
are invaluable to a lover of the picturesque. Beyond this stretch the
walls of the old fort, which are of very great extent, and the view of
Monghir is good from this part of the Ganges. Mr. D⸺ told us, that
in coming up the river during the last rains, the current at Colgong
was terrific; on the left bank was a whirlpool that set directly on the
rocks, and it would have been certain destruction to any boat
attempting that passage; and on the right bank was another
whirlpool, of such force, that, in tracking to a certain point, the
dandīs jumped into the river, and fixed a hawser to prevent the
vessel being carried round and round by the current, and dashed
upon the rocks; with care this passage was navigable, but the other
was not to be attempted. From this gentleman’s house on the hill at
Monghir the view across the river was bounded by the horizon, as at
sea, the waters were so high and the expanse so great.
Dwakanath Tagore is going to Europe for two years, and is to visit
the King of France. The magnet that attracts the Wise Man of the
East is the beauty of the opera-dancers, and the delight above all
others that he has at the opera in Paris, seeing, as he says, three
hundred of the most beautiful women in the world all together;—the
baboo is rather beside himself on the subject.
According to the steam regulations, the Civil station of Monghir is
half-way from Calcutta,—one hundred and thirty-three miles above
Rajmahāl, and twenty-five above the rock of Janghīra. Among the
articles manufactured here, the black vases for flowers, turned in
white wood, and lacquered whilst on the lathe with sealing-wax, are
pretty. The necklaces and bracelets in imitation of jet, at two or
three rupees the set, are beautifully made; necklaces of St. Agnes’s
beads, monkeys, chameleons, and male bamboos,—every thing is
forthcoming in the bazār, with the exception of ducks. The steamer’s
passage is from ten to fourteen days to this place,—three hundred
and ninety-eight miles by the Bhagirathī, six hundred and eighty-six
by Sunderbands, and three hundred and four by dāk; the latter runs
in two days and three-quarters. On arrival here the collector’s and
the magistrate’s book is sent on board, for entry of all passengers’
names. Two miles S.W. by W. of Monghir are some rocks, with a
mark on them,—they were formerly in the steamer’s track, but are
now buried in an immense sandbank; steamers stop here three or
four hours for coals. Moored off the village of Husseingunge.
11th.—At noon passed the large village of Sūraj-garha, twenty
miles above Monghir, with a small river that runs down from the
hills; fowls and kids are procurable here, through the jāmadār’s
assistance, for boat travellers. Lugāoed off a sandbank; the weather
has become very cold,—the thermometer this evening 72°, with a
sharp wind.
12th.—The river very uninteresting; the villages dirty and
disgusting, filled with pigs and most noisy beggars: moored the
boats as far away from a village as we could, and were even then
obliged to drive off the beggars, whose incessant noise left us
neither peace nor quiet.
13th.—Passed a remarkably fine banyan-tree, the roots of which
are exposed, from the river having washed away the earth; would
have stopped to sketch it, but could not venture on shore amidst
such a crowd of clamorous beggars and filthy swine,—such pigs! so
lank and lean, and long-legged and thin-flanked, with staring
bristles, all busily employed in turning up the earth with their
unringed noses! Old wretched beggar-women, with their skeleton
bodies and long white hair, are pursuing the budgerow, uttering their
monotonous cries for charity. There is a tope of tamarind-trees that
looks most inviting at Bar, and the tar or fan palms are remarkably
fine—the natives say they are fifty cubits high. There are many
spreading banyan-trees near this place, and the scenery of the
interior looks very inviting. The large town and mart of Bar is on the
right bank of the river, sixty miles above Monghir, and fifty below
Dinapūr, a bye depôt for steamers’ coals; for twenty miles above and
below, all this bank of the river is noted for piggery villages and
saltpetre manufactories. Lugāoed a little above Bar.
14th.—After a most uninteresting day among shallows and
sandbanks, moored off Benīpūr: walked towards a light I saw at a
distance, and found a police-station. At the side was a burial-ground
of the Faithful; some Mahomedan saint was there entombed. The
light was burning in the niche of the pillar at the head of the tomb.
It was under a most magnificent old banyan-tree, growing on a
bank; the river had washed away the ground from its roots, and
they were starting forth in all picturesque forms. Four large suckers
having fallen to the ground, had each taken root, and had attained
the size of a tree—the great branches spread in every direction. Next
to it was a remarkably fine old tamarind-tree: two or three tombs
were around under the shadow of these and other trees; the lamp in
the tomb rendered them visible, and the young moon shed a bright
light between the boughs, but not sufficient to dispel the deep
darkness around. One of the banyan-trees to the left was so old, all
its branches had fallen off, and its trunk was cleft, open, and hollow.
It measured thirty feet in circumference: these ancient trees and
tombs would be a beautiful subject for a picture. I asked a native at
the spot to tear off a small branch of the banyan-tree: he said, “You
can gather a bough yourself, if you like, but I cannot break one off
from the tree that shades the tomb of a Pīr,”—a saint.
15th.—The “Directory” says, on the right bank, eighty-seven miles
above Monghir, and nine miles below the Patna, or rather Bankipūr
station, is a large native town, with a river on its upper or western
end that flows from the Hills, and has a pukka, i.e. brick or stone
bridge, over it. As we passed Futwa early, some fat merchants, who
were bathing in the river, asked if we wanted any tablecloths or
towels, for which the place is famous. We anchored at a holy spot;
the tomb of a saint is there; both the tomb and the pillar are built of
mud: it is raised on a high platform of earth, which is well secured
from the inroads of the river by a palisade of the trunks of trees, the
outside being covered with old planks from vessels. The priest
showed it with great glee, and said, “It is the command that the
river shall never touch this holy tomb, which has stood here for
seven hundred years. You see it is built of mud; the river overflows
all the villages around, but this place is untouched. It is the
command that the tomb is never to be built of stone.” On my
remarking the strength of the palisades, he was much inclined to be
abusive, and demanded alms with the outcries and whine of a
beggar.
16th.—The first glance on the river this morning delighted me: we
were off an old ruined bastion which had partly fallen into the
stream; on its top was a beautiful burj (turret)—there was another
bastion a little further on, and then some temples and two more
burūj. We had now arrived at Azīmabad, as the ancient city of Patna
is called by the Muhammadans, which extends a great distance
along the bank of the river, and is supposed to have been, among
others, the site of the ancient Palibothra; the Hindoo appellation is
Sri Nagar.
“The hypocrites of Bhagulpūr, the footpads of Kuhulgaon, and the
bankrupts of Patna, are all famous[46].” The Hindoos were coming
down in large parties, preceded by tom-toms (native drums), and
musical instruments of all sorts, to bring their offerings to the river.
They carried baskets filled with fruits or vegetables to the river-side,
and great bunches of plantains, and washed them in the river. The
Brahmans poured water on the offerings, prayers were repeated, the
people bathed and returned home.
It was the festival of the Sun—the Sūraj Pūja. The dresses of the
people were of the most brilliant colours. Flags of a bright crimson
colour, bearing the image of Hŭnūmān blazoned in white upon them,
were flying at the end of long slender bamboos.
Advancing higher up the river, near the old fort, there are
picturesque houses of all sorts, intermixed with Hindoo temples, fine
trees, and distant masjids. A sandbank in the centre of the Ganges
was covered with temporary huts of straw, where the devout were
bathing and offering flowers and fruits; it was a beautiful scene, that
animated multitude on the sandbank and in the river, with the high
bank on the opposite side covered with the houses and the temples
of the city. The pinnaces and vessels of all sorts were decked with
flags. Large parties of women, dressed in the gayest attire and the
most various colours, were doing pūja, bathing in the river, or
presenting their offerings of fruit, flowers, &c., to the attendant
Brahmans. “While bathing, the Hindoos repeat certain incantations,
in order to bring the waters of all the holy places in the heaven of
Sōōryŭ into the spot where they are standing, and thus obtain the
merit of bathing, not only in Gunga, but in all the sacred rivers, &c.,
in the heaven of the Sun-god. After bathing, too, the Hindoos make
their obeisance to this god in a standing posture; the more devout
draw up their joined hands to their forehead, gaze at the sun, make
prostrations to him, and then turn round seven times, repeating
certain forms of petition and praise. On these occasions they hold up
water in their joined hands, and then pour out a drink-offering to the
sun.” The number of boats off Patna is quite surprising. There is a
boat-builder’s on the opposite sandbank, and a great number of
vessels with large timber-trees are off the place. Passing Hadjipūr,
we were not tempted to go on shore, although the fair was being
held there, not requiring elephants, horses, or shawls. The bungalow
and race-course are on the left bank of the Gunduk that runs from
the Nepaul Hills; the large native town is on the right bank. People
flock from all parts of India to its annual fair, which will last this
month as long as the moon shines. We anchored on a sandbank in
the middle of the river, nearly opposite the Golā or Gol-ghar. The
“Directory” says, Patna, the Civil station of Bankipūr, extends about
ten miles along the right bank, fourteen miles below Dinapūr. It is
noted for opium, gram, and wax candles, and is a very large mart.
Seventeen hundred boats of burden have been counted lying here at
one time. It is the residence of a Nawāb, and a Sadr and Civil
station. The Government establishments are at Bankipūr, or the
upper extreme of Patna, where there are some handsome houses,
also a very large and noted granary built like a dome, with two
flights of steps outside, to ascend to its top, on which is a large
circular hole, to admit air into the building, and to start grain into; it
has only one door, and was built for a depôt in case of famine. It is a
very massive building, noted for its numerous, clear, and strong
echoes, and is at present used as a guardhouse.
Steamers seldom stop here: sometimes not being able to get
within a mile or two, passengers can land at the lower end and get
ekhas, or hackeries, (a native one-horse conveyance,) to take them
up to Bankipūr or Dinapūr, fourteen miles distant, by way of a
change or novelty, where they can inspect the golā or granary by the
road-side. The road is very good up to the military cantonments at
Dinapūr.
17th.—Landed to go to Havell’s farm at Deegah; found his widow
there—a very old half-caste personage. The establishment must
have been a fine one formerly; now the sheds are all empty, and
scarcely any thing is done there. Ordered some beef brawn and Chili
vinegar, both of which proved good. On our arrival at Dinapūr my
mānjhī wished to anchor under the flag-staff, to which I objected, on
account of the crowd of boats there: had to go on the distance of a
kos, until we were past the Lines, to the ghāt opposite the native
hospital,—a very uncomfortable place.
18th.—Bought a mŭn of six-inch wax candles of Kinnoo Lall, price
eighty rupees. Much disgusted with the annoyance of being obliged
to procure fresh dāndīs for the woolāk, and having to send a
chaprāsī with the manjhī to fetch them from the other side of the
river.
19th.—The sardar-bearer here informed us he intended to quit us;
this was troublesome; indeed, the homes of the people being often
near Dinapūr, the servants select this place for quitting their masters
and going home, with or without warning, just as it may suit their
own convenience. At 4 p.m. the fresh dāndīs arrived for the woolāk;
how glad I shall be to get away from this place!
Dinapūr is a large European and military station, where the
steamers stop by the cantonment flag-staff to take in coals and
passengers. It is considered as two-thirds of the passage upwards. It
is on the right bank of the Ganges, distant from Calcutta by
steamer’s route, viâ Bhagirathī, five hundred and eight miles; viâ
Sunderbands, seven hundred and ninety-six; by land, three hundred
and seventy-six. The letter dāk takes three and a half days. Mutton,
beef, fowls, eggs, bread, butter, fruits of various kinds, and grapes in
May and June are procurable; also tablecloths, napkins, towels,
cotton handkerchiefs, sola hats, muslin and cotton cloth, shoes,
harness, Patna wax candles, gram, wild fowl, &c. European
shopkeepers are here. Plays are performed and auctions held.
Passengers for Arrah and Tirhoot land here. Quitted Dinapūr with
great pleasure, and came to very agreeable moorings off
Chittenniaw—a great relief after the annoyance of being near the
ghāt of a large station. The people with us will now be well behaved,
and give no more trouble to the end of the voyage; i.e., until we
arrive at Allahabad.
 CHAPTER LXVI.
SKETCHES ON THE GANGES FROM DINAPŪR
TO BENARES.
The Soane River—Chuppra—Revelgunge—The Fair at Bulleah—Bamboos—The
Wreck—Buxar—The Peepul Tree and Temple of Mahadēo—Barrah—Satī
Mounds—Kurum-nassa River—Palace of the Nawāb of Ghazipūr—The Native
Town—The Gigantic Image—Three Satīs and a Mandap or Hindū Temple—
Eight-and-Twenty Satīs—The Fate of Women—The Kalsās—Station of Ghazipūr
—The Stalking Horse—Booraneepūr—Kankār Reefs—Seydpūr—Burning the
Dead—Rites for the Repose of the Soul—Brahmanī Bulls—Funeral Ceremonies
of the Romans—Raj Ghāt, Bunarus.

1844, Nov. 20th.—To-day the scenery has been most

uninteresting; nothing to be seen but sandbanks; the river is full of
shallows, and there is no wind. Lugāoed on a fine open space in the
middle of the river; it is really a good-sized island of fine and
beautifully white sand. Four miles above Dinapūr is the junction of
the Soane with the Ganges.
21st.—Sandbanks and shallows the whole day: we have advanced
very little, and have moored as usual on a bank. Looking around me,
I see nothing but a wilderness of sandbanks in the midst of the
broad river, only terminating with the horizon—not a tree, not a
house to be seen; here and there a distant sail. There is something
very pleasing in this monotonous solitude; the only sound the roar of
the sandbanks, as they give way and fall into the stream, with a
noise like distant thunder. These high sandbanks are undermined by
the strong current, and fall in in great masses—very dangerous to
small vessels passing near them.
22nd.—“Twenty-two miles above Dinapūr,” says the “Directory,”
“on the left bank, is the Civil station of Chuppra, the capital of the
Sarun district. Steamers seldom touch here, even in the rains.
Passengers for this place should arrange to land at Revelgunge,
above it, where there is a steam agent. The latter place, which is
twenty-seven miles by water above Dinapūr, on the left bank, is a
very large grain and saltpetre mart, and noted for boat-building. An
annual fair is held there. Steamers touch only to land passengers
and a few packages to the steam agent’s care. Thence up to
Ghazipūr the villagers are said to be uncivil and dishonest.”
 We had a view of Chuppra from a distance, and then passed
Revelgunge. The tents of a Rāja were pitched on the side of the
Ganges, with the khanats extending on both sides into the river to
screen the Rāja from the eyes of the curious, as he sat under a
shamiyana (awning) in the centre. His camp contained several
elephants, one most remarkably large, a number of fine horses and
camels, and all the retinue of a wealthy native. Moored a little above
Revelgunge.
23rd.—A fair wind. Lugāoed off a small bastī (village).
24th.—A fair wind. Anchored off Bulleah: a large fair was being
held there on the banks of the river; we moored two miles away
from it, but the din and uproar, even at that distance, was like the
sound of waves breaking on a distant shore. I walked to the fair; it
was late in the evening, and nothing was to be seen but thousands
of people sitting in groups on the ground cooking their dinners, or
lying there asleep. Some groups of people were watching the
performance of nāch girls, go’ālā log, and dancing boys: every man
had a long heavy bamboo in his hand, as a defence, and a walking
staff.
The fakīrs had erected altars of mud, on the top of each of which
was stuck a long bamboo, decorated with a flag. These holy
personages, entirely naked, were sitting on the ground under some
freshly-gathered boughs that were stuck up on one side. If one
could but learn the real history of one of these men, it would give
one a curious insight into human nature. A fakīr of this description is
looked upon with respect by the natives; “No one inquires his caste
or tribe; he has put on the string, and is therefore a Brahman[47].”
These men sit up all night by a fire, smoking ganja, an intoxicating
herb, eating sweetmeats and ghī, and drinking milk. They never put
on any sort of clothing, and never sleep under shelter. They say they
do not feel the cold, and they eat the offerings that are made to
them. They must receive very large sums; the bearers give from one
to four paisā to these fellows, and a rich Hindū gives a rupee.
Groups of people were sitting together singing and playing on tom-
toms; the din was excessive, and the smoke very annoying from the
innumerable fires around the pathway. To-morrow will be the last
day of the fair.
25th.—From 7 a.m. until 11 o’clock we were striving to get the
boats past the fair, which extended for miles along the bank of the
river. It being the early morning, the people were bathing by
thousands; the bank for miles was covered with moving figures
ascending and descending the steep cliff in masses as thick as they
could move. The river below was alive with the devout. Hindūs of all
and every class were bathing and performing their devotions. The
budgerow was stopped some time from the difficulty of passing her
gūn, (tracking line,) over the tops of so many high masts; some
persons cut the gūn, and they ran away with part of it, which theft
detained us some time. The manner in which, by the aid of a
bamboo, the tracking rope is carried to the top of a mast and thrown
over it, is curious.
By the side of the river I saw several fakīrs bathing; they had thick
heads of hair and enormous beards. One man had his hand and arm
erect: it was only partly withered, his vow must therefore have been
recently made, or the arm would have been withered to the bone
and immovably fixed in its position. His body was covered with
ashes, and his long elf locks, matted with cow-dung and yellow clay,
hung down like so many rusty yellow tails. Hundreds of boats were
bringing more people to the fair. The morning being cold, the
people, wrapped up in great white sheets, were huddled together in
the boats, as many as it was possible to cram together; and at a
distance the vessels looked as if they were filled with bales of
cotton.
Cows were numerous, and were undergoing the usual pūja.
Sometimes a Brahman was seen seated on a charpāī with a chatr
over his head, the charpāī supported on four bamboos that were
erected in the river, and a fine triangular red flag flying from each
end of the four bamboos. The effect was very picturesque: red and
also white flags were in profusion, denoting the abiding place of a
fakīr. Beauty was extremely scarce amongst the women. Some of the
men had fine features—the skin of some of the latter was almost of
a transparent black, that of others of a dark brown hue, and some
exhibited a bright terra di sienna tint. I saw no lepers, which is
remarkable; it is usual to see one of the pink-coloured lepers
amongst any great multitude bathing; and that leprosy not being
catching, the people are not driven from the society of their fellows,
as are those who are afflicted with the Arabian leprosy.
I think the number of people collected at this fair appears greater
than the number I ever saw collected at Prāg; the cliff for miles was
covered with a countless multitude. Perhaps the people were more
conspicuous on the cliffs than on the flat sands at the Tribeni. A
number of respectable-looking Hindoo women were in boats covered
with an awning. This large native village of Bulleah is seventy-four
miles above Dinapūr, on the left bank: it is a dārogah station, noted
for the fair annually held there, as also for a grain mart.
This is the most dangerous part of the Ganges for quicksands and
shifting banks: the stream is very strong, boats being sometimes
detained from four to six weeks, waiting for water and a favourable
breeze. The people carry away the Ganges water from this place in
sealed bottles, as they do from Prāg, and sell it in distant parts of
the country at a high price. We had a hard day’s work tracking
amidst the sandbanks against a rapid stream, and did not anchor
until the sun had set for an hour and a half, and the full moon was
high. I was very glad to see the moon; we were in a dilemma on a
bad spot in the river; however, after much labour we got off, and
lugāoed on a comfortable sandbank. A large vessel belonging to a
Mirzapūr merchant was wrecked here a month ago; I visited the
wreck,—they have recovered all but fourteen bales of linen, which
they are digging out,—they lie twelve feet under the sand. In the
evening the manjhī of my boat was preparing a bamboo to use for
pushing the budgerow onwards; I measured it as it lay on the
ground; it was sixty feet in length, and most beautifully tapered; he
said he had some spare ones on board much longer; for nine of
these bamboos he only paid one rupee, and he bought them at the
spot where the Bhagirathī branches off from the Ganges. At Prāg
such a bamboo would have cost eight ānās. A chaukidār has erected
a hut close to the wreck with her fragments; there he and his people
keep guard over her; in front is an image of Mahadēo, made in mud,
and ornamented with fresh green plantain trees stuck into the sand
around the idol.
26th.—Anchored early at Buxar, just under the fort. When walking
to see the fort I was attracted to the left by the beauty of a most
remarkably fine old peepul-tree, which overshadows a temple
dedicated to Mahadēo, whose image is within the building; on the
outer wall is an image of Hūnūmān. The temple is beautifully
overshadowed, and the stems of the peepul-tree—for it is divided
into many—are old and picturesque, and the smallness of the leaves
denotes the antiquity of the tree. On the bank of the river there is
also an old peepul-tree,—its long branching roots are exposed to
view, the river having laid them bare by washing away the bank.
Buxar on the right, and Kuruntadee on the left bank, are eighty-eight
miles above Dinapūr, and are noted as being the Honourable
Company’s stud establishment: there is a small fort here where the
battle was fought.
27th.—Quitted Buxar early, and were forced to anchor for a time
at Chounsah Beerboom, on account of a very heavy wind, which
made old Gunga rise in waves, and rocked the budgerow like a sea:
started at 4 p.m. and arrived at the Kurum-nassa river; it is a shallow,
melancholy-looking, small stream, with nothing to be seen on its
banks but fishermen’s nets. Hilsā fish are here caught in great
numbers, and the rahū also; I purchased one of the latter, and some
quail, which were twenty-five per rupee.
Lugāoed at Barrah, a small village on the right bank: climbed the
cliff in the evening; a fisherman who resided there showed me two
satī mounds on the top of it,—the one built of stone sacred to a
Brahmān, the other of mud in honour of a Kyiatt. A kalsā is the
ornament on the top of a dome; there were two of stone, without
any points on the satī mound of the Brahmān; and two of mud,
decorated with points, and one small image, on that of the
Kyiatt[48].
I gave a small present to the people, and took away one of the
kalsās of mud as a curiosity: a number of broken idols in black stone
had been dug up, and placed on the satī mound of the Brahmān,—I
was anxious to have two of them, and determined to ask the
fisherman to give them to me. The old man told me with great pride
that one of his family had been a satī, and that the Brahmāns
complained greatly they were not allowed to burn the widows, as
such disconsolate damsels were ready and willing to be grilled; he
told me that a great number of mounds are on the left bank of the
river, just opposite at Beerpūr, and that there are several about two
miles higher up the stream.
The Brahmānī ducks are calling to one another from the opposite
banks of the river,—there must be several pairs of them from the
ā’o! ā’o! that I hear; this is only the second time during this voyage
that I have heard the chakwā. The wind is down, there is a soft and
brilliant moonlight,—the weather is really charming, and the
moonlight nights delicious; from the high bank by the satīs one can
see the stream of the Ganges below, glittering in its beams.
“Eight miles above Buxar, on the right bank of the river, is the
junction of the Kurum-nassa: the touch of its waters is considered as
one of the direst mishaps that can happen to a Hindū, as it is said it
debars him admittance into heaven. There is a bridge over it, built
by a Rajah; this part of the country is noted for decoits.” The bridge,
which is some distance up the river, is not visible from the junction.
Ten P.M.; I have just returned from the satī mound, accompanied
by the old fisherman, who brought with him two of the idols of black
stone from the Brahmān’s mound, on which there were about
twenty; the old man gave them to me the moment I asked for them;
I gave him a present afterwards, therefore he did not sell his gods;
but he requested to be allowed to bring them to the boats during
the darkness of the night. He and his family are now the sole
inhabitants of a little hamlet of five houses, which was formerly
inhabited by himself and his four brothers; they are dead, and their
houses, which are in ruins, are close to the mounds; the old man
lives in the centre, with one young son and two daughters, and
keeps his dwelling of mud in comfortable condition. They tell me
fowls and chakor (the red-legged partridge) are abundant there; I
was unable to procure the latter.
29th.—Stopped the budgerow for a few minutes off the ruins of
the palace of the Nawāb of Ghazipūr. The fort-like bastions rise from
the Ganges, and the palace is built above; the ghāt is of stone, wide
and good: this ruined palace has been before described in this
volume, page 66. The native town of Ghazipūr is full of picturesque
beauty; the mut’hs are numerous, but their architectural beauty is
disfigured by whitewash and edges of dark red paint. There is a
gigantic image in mud smeared with paint, which lies upon its back
close to the water’s edge, and has a curious effect: a little further on
an old well has fallen into the river, on account of the high cliff
within which it was sunk having been washed away; the cliff, which
is of sand, and very high, is covered with native houses, small
temples, and trees, from the top to the bottom.
 THREE SATĪS and a MANDAP near GHĀZĪPŪR.

Sketched on the Spot by ‎‫‏فاني پارکس‏‬‎

THREE SATĪS AND A MANDAP NEAR

GHAZIPŪR.
Lugāoed close to a small and very pretty mandap or Hindū temple.
I went up to see it; the Brahmān opened the door, and showed me
his idols with much pleasure. They consisted of Seeta, Rām, and
Lutchman, painted red, and decked with bits of gold and silver
tinsel, and pieces of coloured cloth. Hūnoomān was displayed on the
wall painted red, and decked also with red linen. The Brahmān gave
me a ball of sweetmeat, which he said was the usual offering at the
shrine. Two fine peepul-trees, which had been planted together, are
on the high bank above the temple, and within their shade are three
satīs, built of stone, of octagonal form, and surmounted by a dome:
the point of the dome is ornamented with a kalsā formed like a
crown with a hole in the centre, and on each of its points or horns,
on certain days, a lighted lamp is placed. The cenotaph is hollow
below; and there is a little arch, through which the relatives also on
particular days place a small lamp, and offerings of flowers within
the cavity of the little building, and in the same place the two sīr are
deposited. The kalsās differ in form from those at Barrah; and the
satīs are also of higher caste, being of stone and well built. If the
moon rise in time, I will sketch the spot, but I am very much
fatigued, and my head aches, not only from exposure to the sun, but
from a blow I received upon it from the tracking rope this morning.
The insects do not molest us now at night, with the exception of the
musquitoes, which are very troublesome.
On the rising of the moon I went on shore to take the sketch, and
was attracted by what appeared to be the figure of a man watching
from under a tree on a high cliff. On going up to it I found a satī,
which had fallen to ruin; the remains were whitewashed, and a large
kalsā had been placed on the top, which being also whitewashed, at
a distance produced the deception. See fig. 2, which is a sketch of
this kalsā; the satī herself, partially wrapped in her sarī, is seated
upon it; it is adorned with points, and made of mud. I brought the
kalsā away with me; it will be replaced by the kumhār, or potter of
the village, whose duty it is to restore all kalsās. On the other side of
the old tree was another satī mound, and small lotās, earthen
drinking vessels, were hung around the tree to receive the offerings
of the devout. I had the curiosity to put my hand into one of them,
and found one betel-nut which had been placed there as an offering.
Peeping over a high bank, I saw an open space of ground, on which
were some fine trees, and I could scarcely believe the number of
mounds that met my eye were those of victimized women. By a little
détour I found the entrance to this place of cenotaphs, and was
shocked on counting eight-and-twenty satīs. I was alone; had a
Hindū been with me, he would have made salām to each of them.
One was large and somewhat in the shape of a grave, after the
form of the satī of the Brahmān at Barrah. The others were of
various forms; the richer ones were of stone, of an octagonal shape,
and surmounted by a dome; some were so small and low, they were