CHAPTER 7

=Unhealthiness of Kotah. Nanta=, _September 10, 1820_.—A day of deliverance, which had been looked forward to by all of us as a new era in our existence. The last four months of our residence at Kotah was a continued struggle against cholera and deadly fever: never in the memory of man was such a season known. This is not a state of mind or body fit for recording passing events; and although the period of the last six months—from my arrival at Kotah in February last, to my leaving it this morning—has been one of the most eventful of my life, it has left fewer traces of these events upon my mind for notice in my journal than if I had been less occupied. The reader may be referred, for an abstract of these occurrences, to Chapter 6, which will make him sufficiently acquainted with the people amongst whom we have been living. To try back for the less important events which furnish the thread of the Personal Narrative, would be vain, suffering, whilst this journal is written, under fever and ague, and all my friends and servants in a similar plight. Though we more than once changed our ground of encampment, sickness still followed us. We got through the hot winds tolerably until the dog-days of June; but, although I had experienced every vicissitude of temperature in every part of India, I never felt anything to be compared with the few days of June at Kotah.

It was shortly after we had shifted the camp from the low paddy-fields to the embankment of the Kishor sagar, or ‘lake,’ immediately east of the city, the sky became of that transparent blue which dazzles the eye to look at. Throughout the day and night, there was not a zephyr even to stir a leaf, but the repose and stillness of death. The thermometer was 104° in the tent, and the agitation of the punkah produced [664] only a more suffocating air, from which I have fled, with a sensation bordering on madness, to the gardens at the base of the embankment of the lake. But the shade even of the tamarind or cool plantain was still less supportable. The feathered tribe, with their beaks opened, their wings flapping or hanging listlessly down, and panting for breath, like ourselves, sought in vain a cool retreat. The horses stood with heads drooping before their untasted provender. Amidst this universal stagnation of life, the only sound which broke upon the horrid stillness, was the note of the cuckoo; it was the first time I had ever heard it in India, and its cheerful sound, together with the associations it awakened, produced a delightful relief from torments which could not long be endured. We invariably remarked that the bird opened his note at the period of greatest heat, about two o’clock in the day, and continued during intervals for about an hour, when he changed his quarters and quitted us. I afterwards became more familiar with this bird, and every day in the hot weather at Udaipur, when I resided in one of the villas in the valley, I not only heard but frequently saw it.[11.7.1]

The reader can easily conceive the scene of our encampment; it was at the north-eastern angle of the lake, having in front that little fairy islet with its light Saracenic summer abode (p. 1521). Gardens fringed the base of the embankment, which was bordered with lofty trees; the extended and gigantic circumvallation, over the parapets of which peeped the spires and domes of temples or mosques, breaking the uniformity, and occasionally even showing the distant and elevated land beyond the Chambal. We had also close to us a spot sacred to the manes of the many heroes of this noble family. I frequented the cenotaphs of the Haras, which, if less magnificent than those of Marwar or Mewar, or even of the head of their line of Bundi, may vie with them all in the recollections they conjure up of patriotism and fealty, and of the deadly rancour attendant on civil strife. This cluster of monuments approaches near to the city wall, but is immediately under the dam of the lake, and being enveloped in foliage, almost escapes observation. I was rejoiced to see the good order in which they were maintained, which was another of the anomalies in the regent’s character: for what can so much keep alive the proud spirit of the Haras as these trophies of their sires? But whatever the motive of the act, it is a tribute to virtue; nor could I resist an exclamation of respect to the veteran regent, who is raising a monument to the last prince, which, if it survive to distant times, will afford room to some future [665] traveller to say, that, with Maharao Ummed Singh, Kotah appears to have attained the summit of its power. Nor should I deny myself the praise of having something to do with this harmless piece of vanity; for I procured for the regent free permission from the Rana of Mewar to take from the marble quarry at Kankroli[11.7.2] whatever suited his purpose, without price or duty: a request he was too proud to make himself since their ancient quarrel. We had also the range of Madho Singh’s magnificent gardens, of many acres in extent, abounding in exotic flowers and fruits, with parterres of rose-trees, each of many roods of land. But what were all these luxuries conjoined with cholera morbus, and _tap tijari_, ‘tertian fever,’ and every other fever, around us? But even these physical ills were nothing compared to the moral evils which it was my duty to find remedies for or to mitigate; and they were never adverted to in the many despatches addressed, during our residence in this _petit enfer_, to supreme authority.

The enthusiast may imagine how delightful travelling must be amongst such interesting races; to visit the ruins of ancient greatness, and to read their history in their monuments; to march along the margin of such streams as the Chambal or the Bamani; to be escorted by these gallant men, to be the object of their courtesy and friendship, and to benefit the condition of the dependant class; but the price of this enjoyment was so high that few would voluntarily pay it, namely, a perpetuity of ill-health. Fortunately, however, for ourselves and our country, if these offices are neither sinecures nor beds of roses, we do not make them beds of thorns; there is a heart-stirring excitation amidst such scenes, which keeps the powers of mind and body alert: a feeling which is fortunately more contagious than cholera, and communicable to all around. How admirably was this feeling exemplified this morning! Could my reader but have beheld the soldiers of my escort and other establishments, as they were ferried over the Chambal, he would have taken them for ghosts making the _trajet_ of the Styx; there was not one of them who had not been in the gripe of pestilential fever or ague. Some of them had had cholera, and half of them had enlarged spleens. Yet, although their muskets were too heavy for them, there were neither splenetic looks nor peevish expressions. It was as delightful as it was wonderful to see the alacrity, even of the bedridden, to leave their ills behind them east of the Chambal.

Scarcely any place can be more unhealthy than Kotah during the monsoon. With the rise of the Chambal, whose waters filtrate through the fissures of the rock, the [666] wells are filled with mineral poison and the essence of decomposed vegetation.[11.7.3] All those in the low ground at our first encampment were overflowed from this cause; and the surface of each was covered with an oily pellicle of metallic lustre, whose colours were prismatic, varying, with position or reflection, from shades of a pigeon’s breast (which it most resembled), to every tint of blue blending with gold. It is the same at Udaipur during the periodical rains, and with similar results, intermittent and tertian fevers, from which, as I said, not a man, European or native, escaped. They are very obstinate, and though not often fatal, are difficult to extirpate, yielding only to calomel, which perhaps generates a train of ills.

=Meeting with Zālim Singh.=—The last few days of our stay were passed in the ceremonials of leave-taking. On the 5th, in company with the regent, I paid my last visit to the Maharao, who with his brothers returned my farewell visit the day following; and on the 8th and 9th the same formalities were observed with the regent. The man who had passed through such scenes as the reader has perused, now at the very verge of existence, could not repress his sorrow. His orbless eyes were filled with tears, and as I pressed his palsied hands which were extended over me, the power of utterance entirely deserted him. I would expunge this, if I did not know that vanity has no share in relating what I consider to be a virtue in the regent. I have endeavoured to paint his character, and could not omit this trait. I felt he had a regard for me, from a multitude of kind expressions, but of their full value was always doubtful till this day.

=A Restive Elephant.=—I did not get down to the point of embarkation for some hours after my suite, having been detained by the irresistible hold of ague and fever, though I started before the hot-fit had left me. The regent had prepared the grand barge, which soon landed me on the opposite bank; but Fateh Bahadur, my elephant, seemed to prefer his present quarters to Udaipur; after his howdah, pad, and other gear had been taken off and put into the boat, he plunged into the Chambal with delight, diving in the deepest water, and making a water-spout of his proboscis. He had got a third of the way across, when a new female elephant, less accustomed to these crossings, turned back, and Fateh Bahadur, regardless of his master, was so gallant as to go after her. In vain the mahout (driver) used his _pharsi_,[11.7.4] digging it into his head behind the ear; this only exasperated the animal, and he made one or two desperate efforts to shake off his pigmy driver. Fortunately (being too weak to mount a horse), I found a baggage-elephant just beginning to be loaded: I put my howdah upon her, and the “victorious warrior” suffered the indignity of carrying a load.

We passed the town of Kanari, belonging to Raj Gulab Singh, Jhala, a relation of [667] the regent, and one of the Omras of Kotah. It is a thriving comfortable place, and the pinnacled mahall of the Raj gave to it an air of dignity as well as of the picturesque. Our route to Nanta[11.7.5] was over a rich and highly cultivated plain, studded with mango-groves; which do not surprise us, since we know it is the family estate of the regent. The patrimonial abode is, therefore, much cherished, and is the frequent residence of his son Madho Singh, by whom I was met half-way between Kanari, and conducted to the family dwelling.

=Nānta. Rājput Music.=—Nanta is a fine specimen of a Rajput baronial residence. We entered through a gateway, at the top of which was the Naubat-khana, or saloon for the band, into an extensive court having colonnaded piazzas all round, in which the vassals were ranged. In the centre of this area was a pavilion, apart from the palace, surrounded by orangeries and odoriferous flowers, with a _jet-d’eau_ in the middle, whence little canals conducted the water and kept up a perpetual verdure. Under the arcade of this pavilion, amidst a thousand welcomes, thundering of cannon, trumpets, and all sorts of sounds, we took our seats; and scarcely had congratulations passed and the area was cleared of our escorts, when, to the sound of the tabor and _sarangi_, the sweet notes of a Panjabi _tappa_ saluted our ears. There is a plaintive simplicity in this music, which denotes originality, and even without a knowledge of the language, conveys a sentiment to the most fastidious, when warbled in the impassioned manner which some of these syrens possess. While the Mahratta delights in the dissonant _dhurpad_,[11.7.6] which requires a rapidity of utterance quite surprising, the Rajput reposes in his _tappa_, which, conjoined with his opium, creates a paradise. Here we sat, amidst the orange-groves of Nanta, the _jet-d’eau_ throwing a mist between us and the group, whose dark tresses, antelope-eyes, and syren-notes, were all thrown away upon the Frank, for my teeth were beating time from the ague-fit.

It was in this very area, now filled with the youth and beauty of Kotah, that the regent exhibited his wrestlers; and it was from the very seat I occupied, that Sriji of Bundi challenged these ruffians to the encounter related in the annals.[11.7.7] Having sat a quarter of an hour, in obedience to the laws of etiquette, and in courtesy to the son of the Regent, who had come thus far to escort me, we took leave and hastened to get a cup of tea.

=Talera=,[11.7.8] _September 11_.—Two miles north-west of Nanta we passed the boundary of the regent’s estate and the Bundi territory. The roads were good, over a well-cultivated and well-wooded plain, the cotton particularly thriving. Talera is a large [668] village on the margin of a fine clear stream, its banks delightfully wooded, abounding in fish, which even tempted my invalid friends to try their luck. Talera is in the _jagir_ of the wakil who attends me on the part of the Bundi Raja, but is still a heap of ruins, and being on the high road, is open to parties of troops.

=Nawagāon=, _September 12_.—The road very fair, though a little winding, to avoid some deep ravines. The land rich, well-watered, and too much wooded; but man is wanting to cultivate the fertile waste. The encamping ground afforded not a single tree to screen us from a scorching sun. We passed two cenotaphs, where Rajputs had fallen; but there was no inscription, and no one could reveal their history.

=Būndi=, _September 13_.—The country and roads, as usual, flat, with an apparent descent from Talera to the base of the Bundi range, whose craggy and unequal summits showed it could be no buttress to the tableland with which it unites. The general direction of the range is east-north-east, though there are diverging ridges, the course of which it is impossible to delineate.

As we neared the capital of the Haras, clouds of dust, gradually obscuring the atmosphere, were the first signal of the Raja’s approach: soon the sound of drums, the clangour of trumpets, and tramping of steeds, became audible, and at length the Sandnisawars, or camel-messengers, announced the Raja’s presence. He was on horseback. Instantly I dismounted from my elephant, and although too weak to contend with the fire of my steed Javadia, it would have been an unpardonable sin against etiquette to have remained elevated above the prince. All Javadia’s[11.7.9] warlike propensities were awakened at the stir of this splendid retinue, from which ever and anon some dashing young Hara issued, “witching the world with noble horsemanship”; and as, in all the various evolutions of the _manège_, there was not a steed in Rajwara could surpass mine, to my vast inconvenience and no small danger, he determined on this occasion to show them off. In one of his furious bounds, he had his fore-feet on the broken parapet of a reservoir, and as I turned him short, he threw up his head, which came in contact with mine, and made my Chabuk-sawar[11.7.10] exclaim, “_Ali madad!_” “The help of Ali!” and a few more bounds brought me in contact with my friend, the Rao Raja, when we dismounted and embraced. After going through the same ceremony with the principal chiefs, he again gave me three fraternal hugs to prove the strength of his friendship, as he said, with blunt sincerity, “This is your home, which you have come to at last.” With other affectionate welcomes, he took leave and preceded me. His retinue was striking, but not so much from tinsel [669] ornament, as from the joyous feeling which pervaded every part of it. As my friend twirled his lance in the midst of about eight hundred cavaliers and fifteen hundred foot, I thought of the deeds his ancestors had performed, when leading such a _gol_, to maintain their reputation for fealty. It recalled his words on the formation of the treaty, when the generosity of Britain again restored his country to independence. “What can I say, in return for the restoration of my home? My ancestors were renowned in the time of the kings, in whose service many lost their lives; and the time may come when _I_ may evince what I feel, if my services should be required: for myself, my chiefs, are all yours!” I would pledge my existence that performance would not have lagged behind his promise. We allowed a quarter of an hour to elapse, in order to avoid the clouds of dust which a Rajput alone can breathe without inconvenience; and accompanied by my worthy and dignified old friend, the Maharaja Bikramajit, we proceeded to our tents, placed upon the bank of a tank beyond the town.

=The Būndi Palace.=—The _coup d'œil_ of the castellated palace of Bundi, from whichever side you approach it, is perhaps the most striking in India;[11.7.11] but it would require a drawing on a much larger scale to comprehend either its picturesque beauties or its grandeur. Throughout Rajwara, which boasts many fine palaces, the Bundi-ka-mahall is allowed to possess the first rank; for which it is indebted to situation, not less than to the splendid additions which it has continually received: for it is an aggregate of palaces, each having the name of its founder; and yet the whole so well harmonizes, and the character of the architecture is so uniform, that its breaks or fantasies appear only to rise from the peculiarity of the position, and serve to diversify its beauties. The Chhattar-mahall, or that built by Raja Chhattarsal, is the most extensive and most modern addition. It has two noble halls, supported by double ranges of columns of serpentine from his own native quarries, in which the vassals are ranged, and through whose ranks you must pass before you reach the state apartments; the view from which is grand. Gardens are intermingled with palaces raised on gigantic terraces. In one of these I was received by the Raja, on my visit the next day. Whoever has seen the palace of Bundi, can easily picture to himself the hanging-gardens of Semiramis. After winding up the zig-zag road, I passed by these halls, through a vista of the vassals whose contented manly looks delighted me, to the inner palace; when, having conversed on the affairs of his country for some time, the Raja led the way to one of the terraces, where I was surprised to find a grand court assembled, under the [670] shade of immense trees, trellised vines, and a fine marble reservoir of water. The chiefs and retainers, to the number of at least a hundred, were drawn up in lines, at the head of which was the throne. The prospect was fine, both for near and distant views, as it includes the lakes called the Jeth-Sagar and Prem-Sagar, with the gardens on their margins, and in the distance the city of Kotah, and both banks of the Chambal; and beyond these successive terraces and mahalls, to the summit of the hill, is seen the cupola of the Dhabhai’s tomb, through the deep foliage, rising above the battlements of Taragarh. This terrace is on a grand bastion, which commands the south-east gorge of the valley leading to the city; and yet, such is the immense mass of building, that from the town one has no idea of its size.

It were vain to attempt a description of Bundi, even were I inclined. It was the traitor of Karwar who raised the walls of Taragarh, and it was Raja Budh Singh who surrounded the city with walls, of which Ummed Singh used to say “they were not required against an equal foe, and no defence against a superior—and only retarded reconquest if driven out of Bundi, whose best defence was its hills.”

=Illness of Dr. Duncan=, _September 21_.—Partly by business, partly by sickness, we were compelled to halt here a week. Our friend the doctor, who had been ailing for some time, grew gradually worse, and at length gave himself up. Carey found him destroying his papers and making his will, and came over deeply affected. I left my bed to reason with my friend, who refused all nourishment, and was sinking fast; but as much from depression of spirits as disease. In vain I used the common arguments to rouse him from his lethargy; I then tried, as the last resort, to excite his anger, and reviled him for giving way, telling him to teach by example as well as precept. By this course, I raised a tinge of blood in my poor friend’s cheek, and what was better, got a tumbler of warm jelly down his throat; and appointing the butler, Kali Khan, who was a favourite and had great influence, to keep rousing and feeding him, I left him. No sooner was _he_ a little mended, than Carey took to his bed, and nothing could rouse him. But, as time passed, it was necessary to get on; and with litters furnished by the Raja we recommenced our journey.

=Banks of the Mej River=,[11.7.12] _September 26_, distance ten miles.—I this day quitted my hospitable friend, the Rao Raja. As I left my tent, I found the Maharaja of Thana, with the Dablana[11.7.13] contingent (_zabita_), amounting to a hundred horse, appointed to escort me to the frontier. Our route lay through the Banda-ka-nal, ‘the valley of Banda,’ whose gorge near the capital is not above four hundred yards in breadth, but [671] gradually expands until we reach Satur, about two miles distant. On both sides of this defile are numerous gardens, and the small temples and cenotaphs which crown the heights, in many places well wooded, produce a most picturesque effect. All these cenotaphs are perfectly classical in form, being simple domes supported by slender columns; that of Suja Bai is peculiarly graceful. As we reached Satur, the valley closed our last view of the fairy palace of the Haras, rearing its domes and gilded spires half-way up the mountain, the _kunguras_ of Taragarh encircling it as a diadem, whilst the isolated hill of Miraji, at the foot of which was the old city, terminates the prospect, and makes Bundi appear as if entirely shut in by rocks. Satur is a sacred spot in the history of the Haras, and here is enshrined their tutelary divinity, fair Hope (Asapurna), who has never entirely deserted them, from the sakha of Asi, Gualkund, and Asir, to the present hour; and though the enchantress has often exchanged her attributes for those of Kalima,[11.7.14] the faith of her votaries has survived every metamorphosis. A high antiquity is ascribed to Satur, which they assert is mentioned in the sacred books; if so, it is not in connexion with the Haras. The chief temple is dedicated to Bhavani,[11.7.15] of whom Asapurna is an emanation. There is nothing striking in the structure, but it is hallowed by the multitude of sacrificial altars to the manes of the Haras who have “fallen in the faith of the Chhatri.” There were no inscriptions, but abundance of lazy drones of Brahmans enjoying their ease under the wide-spreading bar and pipal trees, ready, when well paid, to prepare their incantations to Bhavani, either for good or for evil: it is chiefly for the latter purpose that Satur-ki-Bhavani is celebrated. We continued our journey to Nawagaon, a tolerable village, but there being no good encamping ground, our tents were pitched a mile farther on, upon the bank of the Mej, whose turbid waters were flowing with great velocity from the accumulated mountain-rills which fall into it during the equinoctial rains.

=Thāna=, _September 27_.—This is the seat of Maharaja Sawant Singh, the eldest son of my friend Maharaja Bikramajit of Khini. He affords another instance in which the laws of adoption have given the son precedence of the father, who, while he receives homage in one capacity, must pay it in another; for young Sawant was raised from the junior to the elder branch of Thana. The castle of Sawant Singh, which guards the western frontier, is small, but of solid masonry, erected on the crest of a low hill. There are only six villages besides Thana forming his fief, which is burdened with the service of twenty-five horse. In Bundi, ‘a knight’s fee,’ or what should equip one cavalier, is two hundred and fifty rupees of rent. In the afternoon the Maharaja brought [672] his son and heir to visit me, a fine little fellow six years of age, who with his sword buckled by his side and miniature shield on his back, galloped his little steed over hill and dale, like a true Rajput. I procured several inscriptions, but none above three hundred years old.

=Jahāzpur=,[11.7.16] _September 28_.—At daybreak I again found the Maharaja at the head of his troop, ready to escort me to the frontier. In vain I urged that he had superabundantly performed all the duties of hospitality; “Such were his orders, and he must obey them.” I well know the laws of the Medes were not more peremptory than those of Bishan Singh; so we jogged on, beguiling the time in conversation regarding the semi-barbarous race of the tract I was about to enter, the Minas of Jahazpur and the Karar or fastnesses of the Banas, for ages the terror of the country, and who had studded the plains with cenotaphs of the Haras, fallen in defending their goods and chattels against their inroads. The fortress of Jahazpur was not visible until we entered the pass, and indeed had nearly cleared it, for it is erected on a hill detached from the range but on its eastern face, and completely guards this important point of ingress to Mewar. This district is termed Chaurasi, or consisting of eighty-four townships, a favourite territorial subdivision: nor is there any number intermediate between this and three hundred and sixty. Jahazpur, however, actually contains above a hundred townships, besides numerous _purwas_, or ‘hamlets.’ The population consists entirely of the indigenous Minas, who could turn out four thousand _kamthas_, or ‘bowmen,’ whose aid or enmity were not to be despised, as has been well demonstrated to Zalim Singh, who held the district during fifteen years. Throughout the whole of this extensive territory, which consists as much of land on the plains as in the hills, the Mina is the sole proprietor, nor has the Rana any property but the two tanks of Budh Lohari, and these were wrested from the Minas by Zalim Singh during his tenure.[11.7.17]

I was met at the frontier by the _taiyunnati_[11.7.18] of Jahazpur, headed by the old chief of Basai and his grandson Arjun, of whom we have spoken in the journey to Kotah. It was a very respectable troop of cavalry, and though their appointments were not [673] equal to my Hara escort, it was satisfactory to see assembled, merely at one post, a body which the Rana two years ago could not have collected round his own person, either for parade or defence: as a beginning, therefore, it is good. Received also the civil manager, Sobharam, the nephew of the minister, a very good man, but without the skill to manage such a tract. He was accompanied by several of the Mina Naiks, or chiefs. There is much that is interesting here, both as matter of duty and of history; we shall therefore halt for a few days, and rest our wearied invalids.

Footnote 11.7.1:

In almost every respect like a sparrow-hawk; perhaps a little more elongated and elegant in form; and the beak, I think, was straight. [Mr. C. Chubb of the Natural History Museum, South Kensington, has kindly examined a specimen of _Eudynamis honorata_ or _E. orientalis_, the “Brain Fever” bird, and he confirms the Editor’s recollection that the bill of the bird is rounded, and somewhat hooked at the tip.]

Footnote 11.7.2:

[Thirty-six miles N.E. of Udaipur city.]

Footnote 11.7.3:

[The unhealthiness of Kotah is due to the water of the Kishor Sāgar lake on the east percolating through the soil to the river on the west (_IGI_, xv. 425).]

Footnote 11.7.4:

[Skt. _parusa_, an axe-shaped goad: also known as _ankus_.]

Footnote 11.7.5:

[About 10 miles W. of Kotah city.]

Footnote 11.7.6:

[“The introductory stanza of a poem or song, which is repeated as a kind of burden or chorus” (Platts, _Urdu Dict._ _s.v._ _dhur_): “petit poëme ordinairement composé de cinq hémistiches sur une même rime” (Garçin de Tassy, _Hist. Litt. Hindouie_, i. 22). It is said to have been invented by Rāja Mān of Gwalior (_Memoirs of Jahāngīr_, trans. Rogers-Beveridge, 271).]

Footnote 11.7.7:

[P. 1618.]

Footnote 11.7.8:

[“Touera” in the Author’s map.]

Footnote 11.7.9:

[The name of the steed of the hero Gugga.]

Footnote 11.7.10:

[A rough-rider.]

Footnote 11.7.11:

[Fergusson (_Hist. Indian Architecture_, ed. 1910, ii. 175) says that, though smaller, the palace almost equals that of Udaipur in architectural effect, while its position is in some respects even more imposing.]

Footnote 11.7.12:

[The Mej Nadi, the principal, almost the only, drainage channel of the Būndi State, falls into the Chambal.]

Footnote 11.7.13:

[Dablāna about 10 miles N. of Būndi city: Thāna in the Kherwāra District of S. Mewār.]

Footnote 11.7.14:

[The creed of Islām.]

Footnote 11.7.15:

[Her local title is Rakt Dantika Devi, ‘Devi with the blood-stained teeth’ (_Rājputāna Gazetteer_, 1879, i. 240).]

Footnote 11.7.16:

[Ten miles S. of Deoli cantonment.]

Footnote 11.7.17:

The indigenous Mina affords here an excellent practical illustration of Manu’s axiom, that “the right in the soil belongs to him who first cleared and tilled the land” [_Laws_, ix. 44]. The Rajput conqueror claims and receives the tribute of the soil, but were he to attempt to enforce more, he would soon be brought to his senses by one of their various modes of self-defence—incendiarism, self-immolation, or abandonment of the lands in a body. We have mystified a very simple subject by basing our arguments on the arrangements of the Muhammadan conqueror. If we mean to follow his example, whose doctrine was the law of the sword, let us do it, but we must not confound might with right: consult custom and tradition throughout India, where traces of originality yet exist, and it will invariably appear that the right in the soil is in the cultivator, who maintains even in exile the _hakk bapota-ka-bhum_, in as decided a manner as any freeholder in England. But Colonel Briggs has settled this point, to those who are not blinded by prejudice.

Footnote 11.7.18:

[A deputation of welcome.]