Chapter II: Part 2

Akbar the Great was only fourteen years old when he became King, but "from that moment his grip was on all India." He proved a wonderful ruler and leader of men. India was a welter of conflicting races, tongues, and creeds. Under his firm and wise government strife died away, peace and order took its place, and those who had been the fiercest enemies lived side by side in friendship. He was at once law-maker, soldier, ruler, and philosopher. He was tall, and as strong in body as in mind, for he was the best polo player in India, and it is recorded of him that he once rode 800 miles on camel-back, and then, without staying for rest, at once gave battle to his enemy.

To find the wonderful buildings which the Great Mogul left behind him, we must leave Delhi and go down the Jumna to Agra and its neighbourhood. Agra is still called by the natives Akbarabad, the city of Akbar, and here stands the mighty fort which the monarch built, a city in itself. In a land of magnificent buildings there is nothing grander than the fort at Agra. Its battlements of red sandstone tower 70 feet from the ground, the walls run a mile and a half in circuit, and the immense mass of masonry dwarfs the modern town. Within the fort is a maze of courts, pavilions, corridors, and chambers, wrought in dazzling white marble, and decorated with the most beautiful carving and exquisite tracery in stone. The chief features of the vast building are Akbar's palace, with its golden pinnacles glittering in the sunshine, and the Moti Masjid, a small mosque of most beautiful proportions, so perfect both in design and in the beauty of its ornaments that it is called the Pearl Mosque, being the pearl of all mosques.

From Agra a drive of twenty-two miles takes us to Fattehpore-Sikri, a marvellous town, erected by Akbar himself, "where every building is a palace, every palace a dream carved in red sandstone." The name of the place means "The City of Victory," and was given to it because Akbar's grandfather defeated the Rajputs at this place in 1527. Here Akbar built a splendid mosque, which stands on the west side of a great courtyard. From the south the courtyard is entered by the Sublime Gate, or Gate of Victory, "the noblest portal in India." Akbar's palace may still be seen, and the chief place of interest is the Throne Room, where, in the centre of a large chamber, rises a huge column of red sandstone, with a spreading capital surrounded by a balustrade. Akbar's seat was placed on the top of this mighty pillar, and from it ran four raised pathways, leading to the places where his ministers sat, in four galleries, one at each corner of the room.

The tomb of Akbar is at Sikandra, about six miles from Agra. It stands in the midst of a garden, which is entered by four lofty gateways of red sandstone. From each gateway a broad causeway of stone runs to the centre of the enclosure, where rises the great building which contains the tomb of the Great Mogul. The building rises in terraces something in the form of a pyramid, the lower stories of red sandstone, the top story of white marble, the latter decorated with pierced panels of marble wrought in the most beautiful patterns. The floor of the building is open to the day, and in the centre stands the grandly simple tomb, a huge block of white marble, on which is inscribed a single word, 'Akbar.' Near at hand is a small pillar in which the famous diamond the Koh-i-noor was once set.

Splendid as were the buildings of Akbar, yet his grandson, Shah Jehan, was destined to surpass him; for Shah Jehan built the Taj Mahal, the most glorious tomb that grief ever raised in memory of love, and one of the wonders of the world. In 1629 Shah Jehan lost his wife, and he determined to raise to her memory a monument which should keep her name immortal. He employed 20,000 men for eighteen years, and the splendid building was completed in 1648, the date being inscribed upon the great gate. The most famous artists and workmen of India were gathered to this task, and the result is a palace of the most wonderful beauty and magnificence.

The Taj Mahal stands in a great garden about a mile from Agra, and is surrounded by trees and flowers and fountains: "the song of birds meets the ear, and the odour of roses and lemon-flowers sweetens the air." It is built of the purest white marble, and shines with such dazzling brilliance that to look full upon it in strong sunshine is scarcely possible. Seen by moonlight, it is a radiant vision of beauty, and the charm of its lovely form is felt to the full. The great domes seem to swim above in the silver light, the stately minarets shoot up towards the dark blue of the sky, and the scene is one of unearthly beauty.

Glorious as is this mighty building in the mass, it is just as full of beauty when examined closely and in detail. Every part is covered with the most graceful and exquisite designs, inlaid in marbles of different colours. Every wall, every arch, every portal, is ornamented and finished as if the craftsmen had been engaged upon a small precious casket instead of a corner of an immense palace tomb. One striking feature is seen in the arches of the doorways and windows. Around them run inlaid letters most beautifully shaped in black marble. These letters form verses and chapters of the Koran, the sacred book of the Moslems, and it is said that the whole of the Koran is thus inlaid in the Taj.

The heart of the building is the vault where Shah Jehan and his wife sleep together, for he was laid beside her. The tombs are formed of the purest white marble, inlaid most beautifully with designs formed of agate, cornelian, lapis-lazuli, jasper, and other precious stones, and they are surrounded by a pierced marble screen whose open tracery-work is formed of flowers carved and wrought into a thousand designs.

*CHAPTER IX*

*THE LAND OF THE MOGUL KINGS (*_*continued*_*)*

It was Shah Jehan who returned to Delhi as the seat of government of the Mogul Kings, and largely rebuilt the city. But the memories of Delhi reach far, far back before the time of the Mogul Kings; they stretch away into the dim dawn of Indian history, where the threads of truth and fable are so intermingled that the historian cannot disentangle them.

The modern Delhi stands in the midst of a plain covered with ruins--the ruins of many cities built by many Kings before the present Delhi came into being. It is a striking sight to drive from the city to the great Tower of Kutb Minar, eleven miles away to the south. The road runs through the traces of the Delhis that have been: heaps of scattered brick, a mound that was once a gateway, a broken wall that was once the corner of a fort, a tumbling tower, and a ruined dome. Through these tokens of shattered palaces and tombs of dead and forgotten Kings you pass on till the vast shaft of the Kutb rises from the plain like a lighthouse from the sea.

It is an immense tower of five stories, rising 240 feet into the air. At the base it measures about 50 feet through, but the sides taper till it is only 9 feet wide at the top. The three lower stories are of red sandstone; the two upper are faced with white marble, and the whole forms a very striking and wonderful monument.

This colossal tower preserves the name of Kutb, one of the "slave" Sultans of Delhi. Seven hundred years ago Kutb, who had been a slave, rose by his military talents, first to the position of a General, and then made himself Emperor of Delhi. He was the first of ten Moslem rulers who reigned from 1206 to 1290, and it is believed that the Kutb Minar was raised as a tower of victory. It is possible to ascend the lofty shaft by a flight of 378 steps, which winds up the interior, but "the view from the top is nothing. The country is an infinite green and brown chess-board of young corn and fallow, dead flat on every side, ugly with the complacent plainness of all rich country. Beyond the sheeny ribbon of the Jumna, north, south, east, and west, you can see only land, and land, and land--a million acres with nothing on them to see except the wealth of India and the secret of the greatness of India."

But near at hand is a far more ancient monument than that of the slave King. This is the famous Iron Pillar, the "arm or weapon of victory." It is a pillar of pure malleable iron, and its erection is ascribed to the fourth century before Christ, when it was raised to commemorate a great Hindu victory. At present it projects some 23 feet from the earth, and it is about a foot in diameter at the capital, but a great part of it is buried.

In Delhi itself stand the great fort and the great mosque, the Jama Masjid, both built by Shah Jehan. The fort was at once the stronghold and the palace of the Mogul Emperors who followed Shah Jehan. It is surrounded by a towering wall built of gigantic slabs of sandstone, crested with battlements and moated below. The usual entrance to the fort is through the noble Lahore Gate, and the palace stands before you.

You enter the hall of audience, a great hall of red sandstone open on three sides. There is an alcove in the centre of the wall at the back, and from the alcove projects a great slab of marble. From the four corners of this marble platform spring four richly-inlaid marble pillars supporting an arched canopy. The marble is beautiful, but the work upon it is ten times more beautiful. The wall of the alcove is gorgeous with tiny pictures of flowers and fruits and birds, wrought most cunningly in paint and precious stones. In this alcove was sometimes set the Peacock Throne, whose glories are still celebrated in story and song, the marvellous throne which Shah Jehan had built for himself, the throne which blazed with gems set by the most skilful jewellers of Delhi, men famous throughout India for their craftsmanship.

Next comes the hall of private audience, where the King sat among his Court. This, too, is open, a noble pavilion on columns, where the breezes could blow if any such were moving in the burning heats of summer. "The whole is of white marble, asheen in the sun; but that is the least part of the wonder. Walls and ceilings, pillars, and many-pointed arches, are all inlaid with richest, yet most delicate, colour. Gold cornices and scrolls and lattices frame traceries of mauve and pale green and soft azure. What must it have been, you ask yourself, when the Peacock Throne blazed with emerald and sapphire, diamond and ruby, from the now empty pedestal, and the plates of burnished silver reflected its glory from the roof?"

Peacock Throne and plates of silver have long been gone. Nadir Shah carried them off in 1739, when he entered the city with his victorious troops, put the inhabitants to the sword, and sacked the place. Many an attack has been made on the fort, but none, in English eyes, has so deep an interest as the assault of 1857, and all English travellers visit the Cashmere Gate.

The Siege of Delhi by our troops is one of the great incidents of the Indian Mutiny, and the historic ridge to the north-west is the site of the British camp. After a patient siege the fort was attacked, the Cashmere Gate was blown open by a storming-party, and the British poured in, victorious at last. Upon the gate is an inscription telling of the deeds of the noble forlorn hope who led the way and opened a path for their comrades to rush in. Other monuments speak of the heroic telegraph operators who "saved India" by sending far and wide news of the Mutiny, and stuck to their posts though it cost their lives; and of the gallant party under Lieutenant Willoughby who blew up the powder-magazine in which they were posted rather than let its precious contents fall into the hands of the rebels.

Beyond the fort stands the Jama Masjid, the vast mosque, said to be the largest in the world. It is a great building of red sandstone and marble, "upstanding from a platform reached on three sides by flights of steps so tall, so majestically wide, that they are like a stone mountain." At the head of each flight is a splendid gateway, and that which faces eastward is opened for none save the Viceroy, who rules India, and the Lieutenant-Governor of the Punjab. At the mosque are preserved some Moslem relics, which the guardian priest will show for a fee--a slipper of Mohammed, a hair of the Prophet, his footprints in stone, and a piece of the green canopy which was once over his tomb.

Now we will go into the city proper. Here is indeed a change! Mill chimneys pour into the blue sky their long trails of black smoke. Marble halls and mighty Kings seem very far off as you traverse a cotton-spinning quarter where Delhi measures itself against Manchester. The narrow streets are dirty and squalid, and filled with a crowd whose dingy robes and shabby turbans bespeak the modern artisan of industrial India. Many strange things has this ancient city seen, but nothing stranger than this last turn of her fortunes, when she bends to her clacking loom, and boasts that with her own cotton she can spin as fine as any mill in Lancashire.

*CHAPTER X*

*IN THE MUTINY COUNTRY*

Now we will leave Delhi and the Jumna, and strike away to the south-east towards the parent river, the Ganges. Our journey lies across a rich portion of the Great Plain, and this portion has a name of its own. It is called the Doab, or Douab, the Land of Two Rivers, since it lies between the Jumna and the Ganges. It is a most fertile stretch of country, well watered and well tilled, yielding great crops of sugar, rice, and indigo.

At last we reach Cawnpore, on the Ganges, and now we are in the very heart of the Mutiny country. Here took place the most dreadful incident of that great struggle--the massacre of white women and children who fell into the hands of Nana Sahib, a rebel leader. Their bodies were flung into a well, and to-day a beautiful monument stands over the place. The well is enclosed by a fine stone screen, and over the gateway is carved the words: "These are they which came out of great tribulation." In the centre of the enclosure, directly over the well itself, rises the figure of a beautiful white marble angel, and the well bears this inscription: "Sacred to the perpetual memory of a great company of Christian people, chiefly women and children, who near this spot were cruelly murdered by the followers of the rebel Nana Dhundu Pant, of Bithur, and cast, the dying with the dead, into the well below, on the 15th day of July, MDCCCLVII." Near by is the pretty little cemetery where the victims were buried when the British troops seized Cawnpore two short days after the massacre.

The Cawnpore of to-day is a busy industrial town noted for the manufactures of cotton and leather, and when the visitor has seen the places connected with the massacre, the railway will soon carry him to Lucknow, where the most deeply interesting memento of the Mutiny is to be found. This is the Residency, the great house where the tiny British garrison, with hundreds of women and children in their charge, held at bay vast numbers of rebels from May to November, 1857.

The defence of Lucknow is among the finest stories of British valour and British endurance. Assault after assault was made by hordes of well-armed and well-trained mutineers, for the men who wished to slay the British had been drilled by them. Ceaseless showers of shot and shell were poured into the place, and by the middle of September two-thirds of the gallant defenders were dead of wounds or disease. Still the brave remnant held their own, and kept the foe at bay. Among the earliest losses was the greatest of all. This was the death of Sir Henry Lawrence, who governed at Lucknow. By the foresight and prudence of this great and unselfish man means were provided by which the garrison was enabled to make good its defence; but he was killed by a shell, and died on the 4th of July, 1857. His grave is covered by a marble slab, on which is carved this fine and simple inscription, chosen by himself: "Here lies Henry Lawrence, who tried to do his duty."

Towards the end of September General Havelock cut his way into Lucknow, but he had not men enough to carry away the besieged in safety. The rebels closed round the Residency once more, and the siege went on. In November Sir Colin Campbell arrived with a stronger army, and, after most desperate fighting, defeated the mutineers and relieved the heroic garrison.

As a memento of that stern struggle and noble defence, the Residency has been preserved to this day just as it stood at the end of that terrible six months. The walls still bear the marks of shot and shell, the shattered gates show where assault after assault was delivered, the brick gateway of the Baillie Guard is pointed out as the famous spot where rescued and rescuers met.

The modern city of Lucknow is one of the largest in India. Standing on the Gumti, a tributary of the Ganges, it is a place of great trade, and its large native quarter is packed with bazaars devoted to commerce. This part of the city was once famous for the excellence of its steel weapons and the beauty of its jewellers' work. But the native Princes and noblemen who purchased arms and ornaments are no longer to be found, and these arts have decayed.

Lucknow is the chief town in the province of Oudh, and when there were Kings of Oudh, Lucknow was their capital. The palaces of the Kings still stand in the court suburb, but there is nothing here to compare with the magnificence of Delhi or Agra. The European quarter is of great importance. Broad, smooth roads run through it, shaded by trees and bordered by turf. On either side of these pleasant roads stand the large, handsome bungalows of merchants, of officials, and of the officers in command of the strong force of troops always stationed in the place. There are beautiful gardens and parks, and the business streets are lined with handsome shops and offices.

Returning to the Ganges, and descending the course of that great stream, the next place of importance is Allahabad, standing at the point where the mighty Jumna joins its flood to the parent river. Allahabad is a town of Akbar's founding, and the Great Mogul built the fine red stone fort which is the chief object in the place. The fort looks across the broad waters of the Jumna, here about three-quarters of a mile wide. "The appearance of the Jumna, even in the dry season, strikes one as very imposing, with its enormous span from shore to shore, shut in by high, shelving, sandy banks, its then placid waters a clear bright blue. What must be the effect in the freshes, when its surging waters rush resistlessly past, and its banks are hidden by a suddenly formed expanse of water more resembling sea than river?"

The spot where the Jumna pours its bright flood into the muddy stream of the Ganges is a sacred one in the eyes of all Hindoos. Great numbers of pilgrims resort to it, above all at the time of the melas, or religious fairs, held every year at the full moon in January and February. They gather upon the sandy shores and recite their prayers and bathe in the holy river.

But there is one spot on the Ganges still more sacred to Hindoo worshippers, and that is Benares, the holy city. It lies below Allahabad, and in the fort of the latter city the mouth of a small subterranean passage is pointed out. The priests say, and the natives believe, that this passage runs to Benares.

*CHAPTER XI*

*THE SACRED CITY OF THE HINDOOS*

There is one city of India to which pilgrims are for ever going or returning. Its temples are always crowded with worshippers; its broad stone ghats running down to the sacred Ganges are packed day after day with adoring and reverent throngs. This is Benares, the most sacred city in the world in Hindoo eyes.

Its sacred character arises from the fact that here stands the temple of Buddha, the great Hindoo teacher, who was born six centuries before Christ, and whose followers are to be counted in myriads in India. From all parts of that great country they come on pilgrimage to see the place where their master taught, and to bathe their bodies in the sacred stream.

It is a wonderful sight to see the row of riverside palaces, temples, and ghats which here fringe the broad river. It is still more wonderful to see the vast crowd of worshippers who throng the wide stone stairs as they stream up and down to the river to make their ablutions and to repeat their prayers.

The best time to see this striking sight is at sunrise. Then the crowds are thickest, for all wish to enter the water at that instant when the sun springs into the cloudless Indian sky and pours a flood of golden splendour over the wide stream, and lights up the long row of temples and palaces which face him as he rises.

Viewed from a boat on the river, the scene is one of wonderful animation and of most brilliant colour. The broad stone steps come down the bank in stately sweep and vanish into the stream. They run on down to the river-bed, and the saying goes among the natives that the river is here so deep that it would cover the back of one elephant standing on the top of another. Each ghat is crowded with Hindoo worshippers, and their robes of bright and delicate colours make the flight of stairs look like a huge bed of flowers. But it is a bed where the flowers are on the move, and mingle with each other to form new pictures at every moment, ever-changing combinations of the most delicate pinks, blues, greens, yellows, of silk and muslin, with snowy turbans and white robes intermingled with the brighter shades.

At the foot of the great flight many worshippers are already in the water. The men cast aside their robes, and the sunlight strikes upon their brown bodies and makes them glitter like figures cast in bronze, and then flashes brighter still as the bronze glistens with the sacred water flung by the hands or poured from a brazen ewer; the women slip a bathing-robe over their shoulders, and then remove their ordinary dress, and not only bathe themselves but their garments also in the sacred water. Many of the devotees throw offerings of sandal-wood, betel, sweetmeats, and flowers into the stream, and some of them have great garlands of flowers round their necks. These have been worshipping at a temple which gives such garlands to those who frequent it, and now these worshippers go into the stream and bend lower and lower until the garlands are raised by the water from their necks and float away down the river.

At one place clouds of smoke rise into the air, and huge fires are burning fiercely. This is the burning ghat, where the dead bodies of Hindoos are burned, and their ashes cast into the sacred Ganges. Every Hindoo wishes for this, but only the rich can have their bodies carried to Benares; for the poor it is impossible. Yet, if the poor Hindoo has a faithful friend who is going on pilgrimage, this may, in some degree, be accomplished. A frequent sight is that of a man earnestly pouring into the water a stream of ashes from a brazen vessel. The ashes are those of a friend who has died far from the sacred river, and have perhaps been brought many hundreds of miles by the pilgrim.

And so our boat might move along the stream past ghat after ghat and temple after temple, the steps packed with those who wish to bathe and those who have bathed. The latter spread out their clothes to dry in the sun, and sit near them, reciting prayers or reading sacred books or in the perfect silence of deep meditation, their bodies rigid and unmoving as figures cast in bronze. For miles this wonderful scene of devotion stretches along the river, and the bank is crowned with a broken line of minarets, domes, and towers, which rise against the deep blue of the sky.

The first thing for a pilgrim to do is to bathe. After that he must make the round of the city--a walk of about ten miles--and pay a visit to the temples. The ten-mile walk is more easily done than the latter task, so innumerable are the temples of the sacred place. Some, of course, are more famous than others, and every one goes to see the Monkey Temple, where offerings are made to a concourse of chattering monkeys; and the holy Golden Temple, whose dome is plated with gold, and whose shrine is always crowded with devotees. Near by is the Well of Knowledge, where the god Shiva is said to live, and this well is half filled with flowers thrown in as offerings to the god.

For twenty-five centuries Benares has been a holy city. Through this vast stretch of time an unceasing throng of pilgrims has swept to it across the great plain in which it lies. They bathe in the Ganges, and visit the temples. Then they depart for their distant homes, satisfied that they have set their eyes on the sacred places of their faith, and in sweep fresh thousands to take the place of each departing band.

*CHAPTER XII*

*THE CAPITAL OF INDIA*

Below Benares the great river flows quietly on, ever widening as its tributaries flow in on either bank, and watering as it goes vast stretches of paddy-fields. Many pilgrims from the sacred city descend it by boat as far as Patna, where they branch away to the south on a new pilgrimage. They walk some ninety miles to Buddh Gaya, where Gautama sat in deep meditation beneath the sacred Bo-tree, and became the Buddha.

The place is held in the deepest veneration by the countless followers of the Buddhist faith, and vast numbers come to this day to see and worship at the temple built upon the spot. Behind the temple still stands a pipal or Bo-tree, and the natives hold that this is the very tree beneath which the great teacher sat.

As the Ganges approaches the sea through the plains of Bengal it is joined by the mighty Brahmaputra, which has swept round the eastern end of the Himalayas, and brought the waters of Tibet down to the bay. And now the mighty stream begins to break up. The broad flood becomes diverted to innumerable channels, and flows through an immense delta to the sea. This delta is the huge, swampy flat of the Sunderbunds. The Sunderbunds are very low, very unhealthy (for the swamps breed malaria), and matted with tropical jungle. The tide flows in and the rivers flow out, making an inextricable confusion of channels, creeks, canals, waterways, of every shape, size, and direction. The water seems to flow every way at once. The traveller is perhaps being rowed up a channel, and his men are straining at the oars against a strong current. Suddenly, without change of direction, the boat is swept forward on a favouring stream. From some side creek a fresh current has poured in unnoticed, and now bears the boat on.

In times of flood or high tide the low, muddy banks can no longer hold the streams, and the whole country becomes a vast swamp. The damp soil is hidden beneath masses of canes and reed and low-growing palms, and when the feathery fronds cover the scene with a carpet of beautiful green the prospect is very lovely. Among the brakes of this thick jungle wild animals swarm in great numbers. Deer and wild-boars abound, and the broad round marks of a tiger's pads are often seen in the mud near a drinking-place. Enormous crocodiles haunt the pools and channels. From the deck of a river-steamer these huge reptiles may often be seen sunning themselves on a warm mud-bank. As the steamer draws near they glide down the bank and vanish into the water. Between their footprints a long, deep groove is left in the mud. This is made by the great tail.

The chief branch of the Ganges is the River Hughli, upon which stands Calcutta, the capital of India. Calcutta is not the capital of India because either of its beauty or position, but because of its immense trade. It is the natural outlet for the riches of the vast plains of the Ganges. Through it pour the vast stores of corn, of rice, of jute, of tobacco, of tea, of a score of other things produced by those fertile levels.

As regards position, the site of Calcutta is bad, for it lies on the flat beside the river, with the swamps of the Sunderbunds on every hand. The heats of summer are overpowering, and the Viceroy and his officials fly to Simla, high up among the Himalayas. But in the cold season the town is very gay and splendid. The European quarter is laid out on noble lines. The streets are of great width with park-like gardens, called compounds, on either side. In these compounds, filled with flowers and trees, stand large and stately mansions, princely residences such as befit the rulers of India.

The centre of Calcutta is the Maidan, or Park, a great open space beside the broad river. On its western side stands Fort William, the building of which was commenced by Clive in 1757. The original Fort William, where stood the famous "Black Hole of Calcutta," was farther to the north, and the site of the dungeon is marked in the roadway. A tablet on a wall near at hand reads: "The stone pavement close to this marks the position and size of the prison-cell in Old Fort William known in history as the Black Hole of Calcutta."

At one end of the Maidan stands the stately Government House, where the Viceroy of India dwells, and near it are many fine public buildings. The great park is bounded by the splendid streets in which are found the mansions of the European merchants, bankers, and officials, and the Maidan is the scene of the fashionable evening drive.

North of the Maidan lies the native quarter, covering six square miles, and packed with more than half a million people. The streets are narrow, and the buildings are of no great interest. The bazaars are worthy of the traveller's attention, not because they differ from bazaars elsewhere, but because of the varied crowds of a vast variety of tribes and nations which pour through this great centre of commerce.

*CHAPTER XIII*

*ACROSS THE DECCAN*

The southern part of India is shaped like a huge triangle, and within its coasts lies a vast triangular plateau, the Deccan. In the fierce heats of summer this huge tableland lies flat and grey beneath the burning sun, save where there is water. Then village after village of tiny huts thatched with palm-leaves cluster along the banks of river or lake, and the water is lifted by every kind of ancient device and poured over the thirsty land.

Water is all this rich soil needs. Given enough of the precious fluid, the soil covers itself thickly with crops of cotton, tobacco, rice, millet, saffron, and castor-oil plant. Everywhere the land swarms with oxen, a sure sign of the people's wealth.

We are now in the territory of Hyderabad, the greatest native State in India, ruled over by the Nizam, the chief native Prince. This capital city lies towards the south of the State, and is one of the most interesting cities in India, not so much for its beauty or its buildings, but for its life and, above all, for its military population. Hyderabad is the paradise of irregular troops, and it is also rich in regulars. Of the latter there are some thousands of British troops, and 30,000 who serve the Nizam himself; of irregulars, no man knows the number, for every noble and chief maintains a private army of his own, just as our barons did in feudal times.

It follows, then, that the streets of Hyderabad bear the appearance of a military camp. Every other man is armed to the teeth, and scarcely two alike in weapons or uniform. A figure in turban and embroidered robes, a girdle full of daggers, and a six-foot-long jezail over his shoulder, is followed by a man in trim khaki, and the latter by a trooper in burnished breastplate and helmet of polished steel. A lancer with long spear swinging from his arm jogs by, and the next horseman carries a great scimitar; and so the medley of figures and weapons passes by--rifles and matchlocks, bayonets and tulwars, chain-mail and shields of hide.

But among the swarms of irregulars, the Arab troops stand out by themselves. The Nizams are Moslem rulers, and to provide themselves with Moslem troops have done much recruiting in Arabia. The desert warriors with their rough, stern, dark features, their spare, stalwart frames, their robes of snowy white, their triple row of daggers across their bodies, look very different from the gaily-dressed, olive-faced, handsome soldiery who are native-born. The Arabs are as stern and rough as they look. More than once they have got out of hand, and it has been a question whether the Nizam ruled them or they the Nizam.

To the south-east of Hyderabad the province of Madras stretches along the shore of the Bay of Bengal. This province is famous in the history of British India. It saw the struggles between the English and the French for the mastery of the land; it saw the victories of Clive which raised him to power; it saw the rise of English authority. The chief town is Madras, a large but not a striking city, especially when seen from the sea. As the traveller approaches by steamer he sees a lofty lighthouse, a few spires, rows of tall offices and public buildings, and Fort St. George--nothing more. His vessel does not enter a bay, but a roadstead; for Madras lies upon an open stretch of coast which is at times swept by hurricanes of terrible fury. Yet, in spite of this situation, Madras ranks as the third port of India, and has a great trade. Some protection is now given to vessels by a couple of breakwaters forming a harbour.

The most interesting place in the city is Fort St. George, for here the East India Company first gained its footing in India in 1639. The fort was begun in the same year, and this was the first step taken in the path which led to British supremacy in India.

The native part of the city is known as Black Town, and is a dense mass of poorly-built native houses crowded along narrow streets, and thickly packed with Hindoo inhabitants. The European suburbs lie to the west o Black Town, and, as at other great centres, consist of fine mansions standing in spacious compounds.

To the south of Madras lies a country containing cities where some of the mightiest temples in India may be seen. Of these cities Trichinopoli and its great temple of Srirangam may be taken as an example. The temple of Srirangam is not merely, like the other temples of Southern India, of immense size; it is the largest temple in India. Its enclosure measures about half a mile each way. It stands on an island in the River Cauvery to the north of Trichinopoli, and is a vast building which must have cost immense labour and a huge sum of money.

The chief features of this mighty temple are the Hall of a Thousand Pillars and the Horse Court, which forms the front of the hall. The Horse Court consists of eight pillars carved into the figures of horses, each pillar "representing a stallion standing on its hind-legs, its head supporting a bracket coming forward from the pillar, and its fore-feet resting on a monster attacked by the rider or on the shield of a foot-soldier who is assisting in the attack. The horses stand in other respects free from the pillars except at the tails, which are split, or rather doubled, so that each horse has two tails, one sculptured on each side of the pillar. The horses, the figures, and the columns behind are carved from a single block of granite." So great is this temple that lofty trees flourish in its enclosure, and it is said that the priestly families who inhabit it number more than twenty thousand people.

In this part of India the fondness of the women for silver jewellery seems to be greater than elsewhere, if that be possible. Not only are they loaded with the usual rings, bracelets, armlets, and anklets, but they pierce the nose in three places to adorn it with trinkets. In each nostril a sort of brooch is fastened, and the centre of the nose is pierced to insert a large ring, which hangs down over the mouth. A large hole is opened in the lobe of the ear to hold a heavy ring as big as a bracelet, and in one district a great ear-lobe is considered a mark of beauty. It is said that women may be seen, the lobes of whose ears have been stretched and pulled out in such a manner that the owner can thrust her hand and wrist through the opening.

*CHAPTER XIV*

*AT THE COURT OF A NATIVE PRINCE*

An English traveller in India who enjoys the opportunity of paying a visit to the Court of a native Prince, often gets a glimpse of a life which has seen very little change for many hundreds of years. The native Prince himself may be fond of slipping off to London or Paris, where nothing marks him off from any other wealthy visitor save his dark brown skin, but at home he keeps the state of his forefathers, and the costume and customs of his Court may be just the same to-day as they were when Saxon and Norman were fighting at Senlac.

A state function at such a Court, for instance, as that of the ruler of Udaipur is a most splendid ceremony, and an English visitor of consequence will attend it in the company of the British Resident. The latter is the agent of the British Government. No native Prince is allowed to exercise the absolute power his fathers once held. At every native capital there is a residency, and here lives the man who is the real power behind the native throne, the representative of the British Raj.

The journey to the palace will be made upon elephants in howdahs carved and gilded and hung with rich curtains. On the neck of the elephant sits the driver in a bright dress, holding in his hand a short spear, ending in a hook and a shining point. When the riders are seated in the howdah, the driver urges the elephant forward with voice and spear, and guides him through the streets. An elephant procession through the streets of a native city is one of the noblest sights which can be seen or imagined. Two by two the huge, stately beasts, with their ponderous swaying stride, swing along between the rows of houses, whose gaily adorned flat tops and terraces and balconies are crowded by spectators in newly-washed robes of every colour which is bright, and fresh, and gay. Here and there in the procession float glittering standards of silk worked in gold and precious stones, and the gay dress of the drivers, the richly-decorated howdahs, the splendid draperies which almost conceal the great elephants, all shining and flashing in the sun, present a wonderful picture of beautiful and stately movement.

As the procession draws near the palace the way is guarded by native troops, and these exhibit another striking scene. Their ranks do not present the monotony of Western uniforms. Each band of the Prince's body-guard wears the dress of that part of his dominions whence it was drawn, and a bewildering variety of garbs and arms may be seen. One troop is dressed like the Saracens who fought in the Crusades. They wear armour of chain mail and glittering steel helmets, and carry lances and great curved scimitars. Next, the line is guarded by warriors in massive turbans, clothed in robes of rich stuffs, and armed with sword, spear, and shield, and with quaint firelocks slung over the shoulder. Next stand men in gleaming breastplates, whose helmets are sharply pointed, and whose girdles are stuffed with daggers and pistols. Others bear huge maces or heavy axes, and, in fine, almost every weapon with which man has ever waged war may be seen in the lines of stalwart warriors who keep the way.

At the palace itself the outer halls are filled with the nobles and chiefs who owe allegiance to the Prince. They are armed and equipped like their followers without, but in more splendid fashion. Jewels glitter and glow on great silken turbans; robes are stiff with gold and costly embroidery; girdles are heavy with weapons, whose handles are richly chased and set with diamonds and rubies; pearls and emeralds and sapphires flash from necklet or armlet.

Through these the visitors pass on to inner halls, where they are received by members of the reigning family and escorted to the hall of audience.

Here, in a noble chamber, the Prince will be seated in state on a splendid throne. On either side stand attendants, waving fans made of feathers or of horsehair. The latter are only used to fan a Prince, and are the emblems of sovereignty.

The English guests are seated on chairs, and the nobles and chiefs, who have followed them into the room, seat themselves on the beautiful carpets spread over the floor. All except the guests are barefooted, for the native company have left their gilded slippers outside the chamber.

The Prince and his guests converse, and very often presents are given and offered--shawls, silks, brocade, or jewels. Perhaps nautch-girls will come in and dance. They wear robes of shining gauze from head to foot, and they dance with slow, graceful movements, often singing as they move.

At last the Prince calls for essence of roses with the leaf of the betel-nut, and this is the signal that the interview is over. Now the guests will be conducted over the palace, to see the public rooms and courts; but the zenana, the women's apartments, are never shown; nor is the visitor supposed even to glance towards the lattices and trellised windows, behind which the native ladies are probably having a good look at him. The evening will close with a grand illumination and display of fireworks, managed with the utmost skill. From a terrace, so placed that the dark smooth mirror of a lake lies between himself and the illuminations, the visitor looks upon a fairy scene. The pavilions, the courts, the balconies, the lines of the palace itself, will be picked out in points of fire, and the whole is mirrored in the water. Then the fireworks leap into the sky--rockets, great globes of many colours, fountains spouting golden fire, and pictures of forts outlined in flame and firing heavy broadsides from mimic cannon. Finally the visitor climbs the ladder set against the side of his elephant, while the band blares out, "God Save the King," and goes home to dream of the wonderful things he has seen, and to try to disentangle the host of pictures which dance before his eyes when he reflects upon his visit to a native Court.

*CHAPTER XV*

*THE RELIGIOUS MENDICANTS*

India is the land of religious mendicants. They swarm in every part of it; they are seen moving along the country roads and in the streets of villages and towns; they flock around every shrine.

Some are simply wanderers; they have abandoned all earthly goods, have left their homes, and taken their place among the poorest. Smearing themselves with ashes, their only garment a wisp of rag--and this they wear simply because the police will not let them go without it--they ramble from holy place to holy place. "Naked, homeless, he eats only when food is offered to him, drinks only from the cup of cold water which is given in the name of the Lord."

Many of these men have been rich and powerful members of the society in which they moved. Then a day came when they laid aside their robes of muslin and silk embroidered with gold; they left their great houses filled with troops of servants; without a word they slipped away from wife, from children, from friends, and the place they had filled knew them no more. They had gone to wander far and wide through the vast plains, the mighty hills of India--strange, naked, wild-looking figures, unwashed, unshorn, looking the veriest outcasts of the earth.

Why is this done? For this reason. They feel deeply the vanity of earthly things; they believe that the more one can get rid of the needs and the wants of the body, the nearer he will get to the Divine. So they cast aside everything which pampers the body and makes this life sweet, and forsake all things of this world in favour of prayer and meditation.

It is not uncommon to meet a man who has the air of a naked, half-crazy savage, and to find that man capable of arguing in the most able manner on the highest topics. Mrs. Steel remarks: "They are often extremely well educated. They will knock a false argument into a cocked hat with easy ability. Some of them--these naked savages--will astonish you by quoting Herbert Spencer; for even nowadays they are recruited from all classes, and they belong by rights to the most thoughtful of each class." Such men as these belong, of course, to the highest order of the religious mendicants. The majority of their fellows are of a much lower order, but one and all they practise poverty and live only upon alms.

Many of them, of the fakir class, practise all kinds of self-torture upon themselves. One, perhaps, has held up his arm above his head for so many years that it is now immovable, and stands straight up from his shoulder, thin and shrunken, and as stiff as a piece of wood. Another has held his fingers close shut in his palm until the nails have grown through the flesh and stand out at the back of the hand. A third has lain for many years on a bed of spikes, until his skin, hard as horn, renders so uneasy a bed no discomfort. There are fakirs who have not stood upright once in forty years. They travel by crawling, and as their cry rings along the village street, the pious hasten to bring them a handful of rice or a cup of water. It would be useless to offer them better fare; they would refuse it. An account is given of one fakir who sat so long without moving at the foot of a tree that the roots grew around him and fettered him to his place.

Many observers have been extremely puzzled by certain powers which these fakirs possess. Fakirs have been seen to walk across a row of upturned knife-blades, each blade sharpened to the keenest edge, yet no sign of injury could be perceived on the naked foot. Another will climb a ladder formed of a single pole, from the sides of which well-sharpened sickles stand out to form the rungs. The fakir climbs to the top and descends. He rests his naked hands and feet upon the keen edges, and no cut, no mark can be seen; or he walks, still barefoot, over stones raised to white heat in a furnace. These feats have been performed in the presence of English gentlemen of high standing in the official world--men who have taken such precautions that they were perfectly certain that the feats were genuine--but they have been utterly unable to explain how the things were done. And, finally, the fakir has obtained such mastery of himself that he can be buried alive, being left for a time in his living grave, and restored to life again.

*CHAPTER XVI*

*IN THE BAZAAR*

What is a bazaar in India? It is, first of all, the quarter where the shopkeepers are gathered together, where the tiny shops stand in close-packed rows on either side of the narrow ways, and whither all who have money flock to spend it. But it is more than that. It is the place to which those who have no money resort just as freely, for here ebbs and flows in one unending flood the news, the rumours, the gossip of the town and country.

All day long an Indian bazaar is filled with throngs of buyers, sellers, newsmongers, idle loungers, merchants, sightseers--all the flotsam and jetsam of the city. It is always a scene of wonderful colour and movement. The sun strikes into the dusty ways on turbans of red, green, and orange; on robes of white, pink and blue; on petticoats of rose and saffron; on the bronze bodies of almost naked coolies who march along beneath their loads. People of every colour--white, brown, black, yellow--jostle each other in the crowded ways, and there is a bewildering variety of tint and form in the striking and picturesque scene.

The shops are, as a rule, of the simplest nature in form--an archway, a booth, a hole in a wall. Upon a low platform the trader spreads his wares, squats beside them, and waits for customers. Let us stroll along a row of shops and see what they have for sale. The first shop has a crowd of customers, for it is a confectioner's, and the Hindoo, big or little, old or young, has a very sweet tooth. The confectioner spreads his wares on tiers of shelves or on a counter made of dried mud and rising in steps, and at the back of his shop is a sugar-boiling furnace, where he is busy on fresh supplies, pulling candy or making cakes of batter fried in butter. He sells toffee covered with silver-leaf, candy flavoured with spices, and many kinds of a sweet called luddu, made of sugar and curded milk. This stall is not only a great attraction to the children who have a pie (about one-third of an English farthing) to spend, but to the flies also. The latter come in myriads to settle on the sweet stuff, and though a boy is always at work with a whisk trying to drive them away, he can never keep the place clear.

Opposite the confectioner's is the flour-seller, and he, too, is a very busy man, for from his stall the everyday wants of the people are supplied. Great numbers of the Hindoos never touch meat, and the bunniah (the grain-seller) furnishes the whole of their food. He has a great number of baskets, and these are piled high with barley, wheat, lentils, flour, sugar, peas, rice, potatoes, nuts, dried fruits, and the like. He also sells ghee (clarified butter) and sour milk. He has a big pair of scales to weigh out his flour, sugar, peas, or whatever may be called for, but no bags to pack them in: he leaves that to the customers. One brings a cloth, another a basin, another a brass ewer for milk. Many have nothing, and they carry away their purchases in their hands, or, if that be impossible, flour is poured into the corner of a shawl or the fold of a robe. One man unwraps his turban and knots his purchases into various corners of it, twists it into shape again, and goes off with his day's supply on his head. Butter and milk are carried away in a green leaf dexterously twisted into the form of a cup.