I begin to seriously doubt their reality. From this
moment I shall earnestly believe that all things in the universe
are nothing but illusion, a mere Maya. I am becoming a Vedantin....
I doubt that in the whole universe there may be found anything more
objective than a Hindu witch flying up the spout.
- - - - -
Miss X - - woke up, and asked what was the meaning of all this noise.
The noise of many voices and the sounds of the many retreating
footsteps, the general rush of the crowd, had frightened her. She
listened to us with a condescending smile, and a few yawns, and
went to sleep again.
Next morning, at daybreak, we very reluctantly, it must be owned,
bade good-bye to the kind-hearted, good-natured Sham Rao. The
confoundingly easy victory of Narayan hung heavily on his mind.
His faith in the holy hermitess and the seven goddesses was a good
deal shaken by the shameful capitulation of the Sisters, who had
surrendered at the first blow from a mere mortal. But during the
dark hours of the night he had had time to think it over, and to
shake off the uneasy feeling of having unwillingly misled and
disappointed his European friends.
Sham Rao still looked confused when he shook hands with us at parting,
and expressed to us the best wishes of his family and himself.
As to the heroes of this truthful narrative, they mounted their
elephants once more, and directed their heavy steps towards the
high road and Jubbulpore.
God's Warrior
The direction of our pilgrimage of self-improvement lay towards the
north-west, as was previously decided. We were very impatient to
see these status in statu of Anglo-India, but.... Do what you may,
there always will be a but.
We left the Jubbulpore line several miles from Nassik; and, to
return to it, we had to go back to Akbarpur, then travel by doubtful
Local-Board roads to the station Vanevad and take the train of Holkar's
line, which joins the Great Indian Peninsular Railway.
Meanwhile, the Bagh caves were quite close to us, not more than
fifty miles off, to the east from Mandu. We were undecided whether
to leave them alone or go back to the Nerbudda. In the country
situated on the other side of Kandesh, our Babu had some "chums,"
as everywhere else in India; the omnipresent Bengali Babus, who
are always glad to be of some service to you, are scattered all
over Hindostan, like the Jews in Russia. Besides, our party was
joined by a new member.
The day before we had received a letter from Swami Dayanand, carried
to us by a traveling Sannyasi. Dayanand informed us that the
cholera was increasing every day in Hardwar, and that we must
postpone making his acquaintance personally till the end of May,
either in Dehra-Dun, at the foot of Himalaya, or in Saharanpur,
which attracts every tourist by its charming situation.
The Sannyasi brought us also a nosegay from the Swami, a nosegay
of the most extraordinary flowers, which are totally unknown in Europe.
They grow only in certain Himalayan valleys; they possess the
wonderful capacity of changing their color after midday, and do
not look dead even when faded. The Latin name of this charming
plant is Hibiscus mutabilis. At night they are nothing but a large
knot of pressed green leaves, but from dawn till ten o'clock the
flowers open and look like large snow-white roses; then, towards
twelve o'clock, they begin to redden, and later in the afternoon
they look as crimson as a peony. These flowers are sacred to the
Asuras, a kind of fallen angels in Hindu mythology, and to the
sun-god Surya. The latter deity fell in love with an Asuri at
the beginning of creation, and since then is constantly caught
whispering words of fiery love to the flower that shelters her.
But the Asura is a virgin; she gives herself entirely to the
service of the goddess Chastity, who is the patroness of all the
ascetic brotherhoods. The love of Surya is vain, Asura will not
listen to him. But under the flaming arrows of the enamoured god
she blushes and in appearance loses her purity. The natives call
this plant lajjalu, the modest one.
We were spending the night by a brook, under a shadowy fig-tree.
The Sannyasi, who had made a wide circuit to fulfil Dayanand's request,
made friends with us; and we sat up late in the night, listening
whilst he talked about his travels, the wonders of his native country,
once so great, and about the heroic deeds of old Runjit-Sing, the
Lion of the Punjab.
Strange, mysterious beings are found sometimes amongst these traveling
monks. Some of them are very learned; read and talk Sanskrit; know
all about modern science and politics; and, nevertheless, remain
faithful to their ancient philosophical conceptions. Generally they
do not wear any clothes, except a piece of muslin round the loins,
which is insisted upon by the police of the towns inhabited by Europeans.
They wander from the age of fifteen, all their lives, and die generally
very aged. They live never giving a thought to the morrow, like the
birds of heaven, and the lilies of the field. They never touch money,
and are contented with a handful of rice. All their worldly
possessions consist of a small dry pumpkin to carry water, a rosary,
a brass cup and a walking stick. The Sannyasis and the Swamis are
usually Sikhs from the Punjab, and monotheists. They despise idol-
worshipers, and have nothing to do with them, though the latter
very often call themselves by their names.
Our new friend was a native of Amritsar, in the Punjab, and had
been brought up in the "Golden Temple," on the banks of Amrita-Saras,
the "Lake of Immortality." The head Guru, or instructor, of Sikhs
resides there.
