So We Descended The Stone Steps I Have Already
Mentioned, And After Descending About Two Hundred Steps Towards
The Foot Of The Mountain, Made A Short Reascent Again And Entered
The "Dining-Room," As The Babu Denominated It.
In my role of
"interesting invalid," I was carried to it, sitting in my folding
chair, which never left me in all my travels.
This temple is much the less gloomy of the two, in spite of
considerable signs of decay. The frescoes of the ceiling are
better preserved than in the first temple. The walls, the tumbled
down pillars, the ceiling, and even the interior rooms, which
were lighted by ventilators cut through the rock, were once
covered by a varnished stucco, the secret of which is now known
only to the Madrasis, and which gives the rock the appearance of
pure marble.
We were met by the Takur's four servants, whom we remembered since
our stay in Karli, and who bowed down in the dust to greet us.
The carpets were spread, and the breakfast ready. Every trace of
carbonic acid had left our brains, and we sat down to our meal in
the best of spirits. Our conversation soon turned to the Hardwar
Mela, which our unexpectedly-recovered friend had left exactly
five days ago. All the information we got from Gulab-Lal-Sing
was so interesting that I wrote it down at the first opportunity.
After a few weeks we visited Hardwar ourselves, and since I saw it,
my memory has never grown tired of recalling the charming picture
of its lovely situation. It is as near a primitive picture of
earthly Paradise as anything that can be imagined.
Every twelfth year, which the Hindus call Kumbha, the planet Jupiter
enters the constellation of Aquarius, and this event is considered
very propitious for the beginning of the religious fair; for
which this day is accordingly fixed by the astrologers of the pagodas.
This gathering attracts the representatives of all sects, as I said
before, from princes and maharajas down to the last fakir. The
former come for the sake of religious discussions, the latter,
simply to plunge into the waters of Ganges at its very source,
which must be done at a certain propitious hour, fixed also by
the position of the stars.
Ganges is a name invented in Europe. The natives always say Ganga,
and consider this river to belong strictly to the feminine sex.
Ganges is sacred in the eyes of the Hindus, because she is the
most important of all the fostering goddesses of the country, and
a daughter of the old Himavat (Himalaya), from whose heart she
springs for the salvation of the people. That is why she is
worshiped, and why the city of Hardwar, built at her very source,
is so sacred.
Hardwar is written Hari-avara, the doorway of the sun-god, or
Krishna, and is also often called Gangadvara, the doorway of Ganga;
there is still a third name of the same town, which is the name of
a certain ascetic Kapela, or rather Kapila, who once sought salvation
on this spot, and left many miraculous traditions.
The town is situated in a charming flowery valley, at the foot of
the southern slope of the Sivalik ridge, between two mountain chains.
In this valley, raised 1,024 feet above the sea-level, the northern
nature of the Himalayas struggles with the tropical growth of the
plains; and, in their efforts to excel each other, they have
created the most delightful of all the delightful corners of India.
The town itself is a quaint collection of castle-like turrets of
the most fantastical architecture; of ancient viharas; of wooden
fortresses, so gaily painted that they look like toys; of pagodas,
with loopholes and overhanging curved little balconies; and all
this over-grown by such abundance of roses, dahlias, aloes and
blossoming cactuses, that it is hardly possible to tell a door
from a window. The granite foundations of many houses are laid
almost in the bed of the river, and so, during four months of the
year, they are half covered with water. And behind this handful
of scattered houses, higher up the mountain slope, crowd snow-white,
stately temples. Some of them are low, with thick walls, wide
wings and gilded cupolas; others rise in majestical many-storied
towers; others again with shapely pointed roofs, which look like
the spires of a bell tower. Strange and capricious is the
architecture of these temples, the like of which is not to be seen
anywhere else. They look as if they had suddenly dropped from
the snowy abodes of the mountain spirits above, standing there
in the shelter of the mother mountain, and timidly peeping over
the head of the small town below at their own images reflected in
the pure, untroubled waters of the sacred river.
Here the Ganges is not yet polluted by the dirt and the sins of
her many million adorers. Releasing her worshipers, cleansed from
her icy embrace, the pure maiden of the mountains carries her
transparent waves through the burning plains of Hindostan; and
only three hundred and forty-eight miles lower down, on passing
through Cawnpore, do her waters begin to grow thicker and darker,
while, on reaching Benares, they transform themselves into a kind
of peppery pea soup.
Once, while talking to an old Hindu, who tried to convince us that
his compatriots are the cleanest nation in the world, we asked him:
"Why is it then that, in the less populous places, the Ganges is
pure and transparent, whilst in Benares, especially towards evening,
it looks like a mass of liquid mud?"
"O sahibs!" answered he mournfully, "it is not the dirt of our bodies,
as you think, it is not even the blackness of our sins, that the
devi (goddess) washes away... Her waves are black with the sorrow
and shame of her children. Her feelings are sad and sorrowful;
hidden suffering, burning pain and humiliation, despair and shame
at her own helplessness, have been her lot for many past centuries.
She has suffered all this till her waters have become waves of
black bile.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 75 of 95
Words from 75105 to 76137
of 96531
