James Fergusson

CONTENTS.

Stupas or Chaityas—Wooden Temples—Thibet—Temples at Kangra.

Any one looking at the map, and the map only, would probably be inclined to fancy that, from their similarity of situation and surroundings, the arts and archÆology of Nepal must resemble those of Kashmir. It would not, however, be easy to make a greater mistake, for there are no two provinces of India which are more diametrically opposed to one another in these respects than these two Himalayan states. Partly this is due to local peculiarities. The valley of Nepal proper—in which the three capitals, Patan, Bhatgaon, and Khatmandu, are situated—is only twelve miles north and south, by nine in width east and west. It is true, the bulk of the population of the Gorkha state live in the valleys that surround this central point; but they are sparse and isolated communities, having very little communication with each other. Kashmir, on the other hand, is one of the most beautiful and fertile valleys in the world, measuring more than one hundred miles in one direction and more than seventy in another, without any ridges or interruptions of any sort, and capable of maintaining a large population on one vast, unbroken, fertile plain.

Another point of difference is, that Kashmir never was a thoroughfare. The population who now possess it entered it from the south, and have retained possession of it—in all historical times, at least—in sufficient numbers to keep back any immigration from the north. In Nepal, on the contrary, the bulk of the population are Thibetans, a people from the north, left there apparently in their passage southward; and, so far as we can gather from such histories as exist, the southern races who are found there only entered the valley in the beginning of the 14th century, and never in such numbers as materially to modify the essentially Turanian character of the people.

Nepal also differs from Kashmir from the fact that the Mahomedans never had possession of their valley, and never, consequently, influenced their arts or their religions. The architectural history of the two valleys differs, consequently, in the following particulars:—In Kashmir we have a Buddhist period, superseded in the 8th century by an original quasi-classical style, that lasted till it, in its turn, was supplanted by that of the Moslem in the 15th century. In Nepal we have no succession of styles—no history in fact—for we do not know when any of the three religions was introduced; but what we find is the Vaishnava, Saiva, and Buddhist religions existing side by side at the present day, and flourishing with a rank luxuriance unknown on the plains of Bengal, where probably their exuberance was checked by the example of the Moslems, who, as just remarked, had no influence in the valley.

Owing to all the principal monuments in Nepal being modern—all, certainly, subsequent to the 14th century—and to the people being too poor to indulge in such magnificence as is found on the plains, the buildings of Nepal cannot compare, as architectural objects, with those found in other parts of India. But, on the other hand, the very fact of their being modern gives them an interest of their own, and though it is an exaggeration, it is a characteristic one, when it is said that in Nepal there are more temples than houses, and more idols than men; it is true to such an extent that there is an unlimited field for inquiry, and even if not splendid, the buildings are marvellously picturesque. Judging from photographs and such materials as are available, I have no hesitation in asserting that there are some streets and palaces in Khatmandu and Bhatgaon which are more picturesque, and more striking as architectural compositions, than are to be found in any other cities in India. The style may be called barbarous, and the buildings have the defect of being principally in wood; but their height, their variety of outline, their wealth of carving and richness of colour, are such as are not to be found in Benares or any other city of the plains.

The real point of interest in the architecture of Nepal to the true student of the art lies in its ethnographic meaning. When fully mastered, it presents us with a complete microcosm of India as it was in the 7th century, when Hiouen Thsang visited it—when the Buddhist and Brahmanical religions flourished side by side; and when the distinctive features of the various races were far more marked than they have since become under the powerful solvent of the Mahomedan domination.

From all these causes I believe that if the materials existed, and it were possible to write an exhaustive history of the architecture of the valley of Nepal, it would throw more light on most of the problems that are now perplexing us than that of any other province in India. It only, however, can be done by some one on the spot, and perfectly familiar not only with the Nepalese buildings but with all the phases of the question;[327] but even then its value would be more ethnographic than Æsthetic. If this were an ethnographic history of architecture, to which the Æsthetic question were subordinate, it would be indispensable that it should be attempted, however incomplete the materials might be; but the contrary being the case, it must suffice here to point out the forms of the architecture, merely indicating the modes in which the various styles are divided among the different races.

Like that of so many other countries of India, the mythic history of Nepal commences with that of the heroes of the ‘Mahabarata,’ but with some more reasons in this case than in most others, for it seems probable that it was through the Himalayas that the Pandus entered India, and certain, at all events, that the poem represents the survivors of the great war returning to their homes, accompanied by their dogs, across these mountains, through the dominion of the Gorkhas, if not actually through the valley of Nepal. The long lists of names, however, that connect these events with modern events, if not purely fabulous, are at least barren of all interest, and no event is recorded between 1300 years B.C. and A.D. 1300 that need arrest attention. What we do gather is, that at some remote period, probably the first century of our era, Buddhism did penetrate into the valley, and, finding it inhabited by a people of Thibetan origin, it was, of course, easily adopted, and has since remained the religion of that section of the population.[328]

There are two accounts of the mode in which the Hindu or Rajput element was introduced into the valley. The favourite one is, that after the sack of Chittore by Ala-u-dÎn, in 1306, the conqueror sought the hand of the proud Rajput’s daughter, and to avoid the contamination he and his followers fled and sought refuge in Nepal.[329] Another account represents the Rajas of Mithila and Semrun—descendants of the Surya Vansa kings of Ayodhya—and the Rajputs of Canouge flying in like manner, in 1326, to avoid the tyranny of the Delhi emperors; and that it was these tribes, and not the fugitives from Chittore, who conquered and colonised a part of the valley.[330] Both accounts are probably to some extent true, and they and their followers form the Parbuttya or Hindu element in the population at the present day, and make up the bulk of those who profess the Hindu religion and worship Siva and Vishnu and the other gods of the Hindu Pantheon.

Before they entered the valley, however, it seems to have been occupied by Kiratas, Bhotyas, Newars, and other tribes of impure origin,[331] according to the Hindu idea of purity—in other words, Tartars or Thibetans—and they are those who had early adopted the doctrines of Buddha and still adhere to them. The Newars seem to have been the governing caste till the year 1768, when a weak sovereign having called in the assistance of a neighbouring Gorkha Raja, he seized the kingdom, and his successors still rule in Nepal. They apparently were originally of the Magar tribe,[332] but having mixed with the immigrant Hindus call themselves Rajputs, and have adopted the Hindu religion, though in a form very different from that known in the plains, and differing in a manner we would scarcely be inclined to expect. When the religion of the destroyer was introduced into a country that professed the mild religion of Buddha, it might naturally be supposed that its most savage features would be toned down, so as to meet, to some extent at least, the prejudices of the followers of the religion it was superseding. So far from this being the case in this instance, it is said that when first introducing the religion the Gorkhas propitiated the deity with human sacrifices, till warned in a dream to desist and substitute animals.[333] Besides this, the images of Durga or Kali, though hideous and repulsive enough in the plains, are ten times more so in Nepal; and, in fact, throughout there is an exaggeration of all the most prominent features of the religion, that would lead to the belief that it found a singularly congenial soil in the valley and blossomed with unusual exuberance there. This, in fact, is one of the reasons that lead to the belief that the religion of Siva is a northern Tartar superstition, which, when introduced into India, was softened and modified to suit the milder genius of the people; but among the hill tribes, with northern affinities, it was practised with all the Tantric devil-worshipping peculiarities that characterise its original birthplace. So far, too, as the architecture of the Saiva temples in Nepal is concerned, it seems to indicate that the worship came into the valley from the north, and not from the plains of Bengal. The architecture of the temples of Vishnu, on the contrary, seems evidently to be an offshoot of the art of the plains.

Stupas or Chaityas.

The two oldest and most important Buddhist monuments in the valley of Nepal are those of Swayambunath and Bouddhama:[334] the former, beautifully situated on a gentle eminence about a mile from Khatmandu, the latter at Kasachiel, at some distance off.

170. Temple of Swayambunath, Nepal. (From a Drawing in the Hodgson Collection.)

No very precise information is to be had about the date of either, but, in their present form at least, they are not the oldest in the valley. According to Brian Hodgson, there are several low, flat, tumuli-like chaityas, with very moderate tees, which are older, and may be of any age; but, as will be seen from the previous woodcut (No. 170), that at Swayambunath is of an irregular clumsy form, and chiefly remarkable for the exaggerated form of its tee. This is, in fact, the most marked characteristic of the modern Thibetan dagoba, which in China is carried frequently to such an extent that the stupa becomes evanescent, and the tee changes into a nine or thirteen storeyed tower. According to Kirkpatrick (p. 151), “this temple is chiefly celebrated for its perpetual fire, the two principal wicks having preserved their flames from time immemorial.” The continual presence of the fire-altar, in connexion with statues of Buddha in Gandhara, would lead us to suspect a connexion between fire-worship and Buddhism in that province, but hardly so intimate as this would seem to indicate.

In Mr. Hodgson’s collection there are nearly one hundred drawings of chaityas in Nepal, all different, most of them small, and generally highly ornamented; but none of them grand, and none exhibiting that elegance of form or beauty of detail which characterises the buildings of the plains. From a low, flat mound, one-tenth of its diameter in height, they rise to such a tall building as this, which is a common form, bearing the name of Kosthakar (Woodcut No. 171), in which the dagoba is only the crowning ornament, and between these there is every conceivable variety of shape and detail. Among others, there is the four-faced lingam of Siva, with a corresponding emblem with four Buddhas; and altogether such a confusion of the two

religions as to confirm the idea hinted at above, that the lingam is really a diminutive dagoba, and not the emblem it is usually supposed to represent, though, no doubt, in modern times understood to have that meaning.

By far the most characteristic and beautiful temples of the Nepalese are those possessing many storeys divided with sloping roofs. They are unlike anything found in Bengal, and all their affinities seem with those in Burmah or China. Usually, they seem to be dedicated to the Saiva faith, but Mr. Hodgson mentions one at Patan, where “Sakya occupies the basal floor, Amitabha the second storey, a small stone chaitya the third, the Dharmadatu Mandala the fourth; the fifth, or apex of the building, externally consisting of a small churamani, or jewel-headed chaitya.”

One of the most elegant of this class is the Bhowani temple at Bhatgaon, represented in the previous woodcut (No. 172). It is five storeys in height, but stands particularly well on a pyramid of five steps, which gives it a greater dignity than many of its congeners. Another, dedicated to Mahadeo, is seen in the centre of the next woodcut (No. 173). It is only two storeys in height, but has the same characteristic form of roof, which is nearly universal in all buildings, civil or ecclesiastical, which have any pretension to architectural design. The temple on the left of the last cut is dedicated to Krishna, and will be easily recognised by any one familiar with the architecture of the plains from its sikra or spire, with the curvilinear outline, and its clustering pavilions, not arranged quite like the ordinary types, but still so as to be unmistakably Bengali.

One other example must complete our illustration of the architecture of Nepal. It is a doorway leading to the durbar at Bhatgaon, and is a singularly characteristic specimen of the style, but partaking much more of China than of India in the style of its ornaments (Woodcut No. 174, p. 307). It is indeed so like an archway in the Nankau Pass, near Pekin—given further on—that I was at first inclined to ascribe them to the same age. The Chinese example, however, is dated in 1345;[335] this one, according to Mr. Hodgson, was erected as late as 1725, yet their ornamentation is the same. In the centre is Garuda, with a seven-headed snake-hood; and on either hand are Nagas, with seven-headed hoods also; and the general character of the foliaged ornaments is so similar that it is difficult to believe in so great a lapse of time between them; but I dare not question Mr. Hodgson’s evidence. Since he was in Nepal the building on the left-hand side of the cut has been “improved.” His drawings show it to have been one of the most picturesque buildings in the valley. It certainly is not so now.

It may be remembered that in speaking of the architecture of Canara (ante, p. 272), I remarked on the similarity that existed

between that of that remote province and the style that is found in this Himalayan valley; and I do not think that any one can look at the illustrations quoted above, especially Woodcuts Nos. 150 and 153, and not perceive the similarity between them and the Nepalese examples, though it might require a familiarity with all the photographs

to make it evident, without its being pointed out. This being the case, it is curious to find Colonel Kirkpatrick stating, more than seventy years ago, that “it is remarkable enough that the Newar women, like those among the Nairs, may, in fact, have as many husbands as they please, being at liberty to divorce them continually on the slightest pretence.”[336] Dr. Buchanan Hamilton also remarks that “though a small portion of the Newars have forsaken the doctrine of Buddha and adopted the worship of Siva, it is without changing their manners, which are chiefly remarkable for their extraordinary carelessness about the conduct of their women;” and he elsewhere remarks on their promiscuousness and licentiousness.[337] In fact, there are no two tribes in India, except the Nairs and Newars, who are known to have the same strange notions as to female chastity, and that, coupled with the architecture and other peculiarities, seems to point to a similarity of race which is both curious and interesting; but how and when the connexion took place I must leave it to others to determine. I do not think there is anything in the likeness of the names, but I do place faith in the similarity of their architecture combined with that of their manners and customs.

Wooden Temples.

In the Himalayan districts between Kashmir and Nepal, in KulÛ, Kangra, and Kumaon, there are a vast number of temples, regarding which it would be extremely interesting to have more information than we now possess. They are all in wood, generally Deodar pine, and, like most buildings in that material, more fantastic in shape, but at the same time more picturesque and more richly carved than buildings in more permanent and more intractable materials. What we now know of them, however, is mainly derived from photographs, taken without any system, only as pictures, because the buildings were either picturesque in themselves or so situated as to improve the landscape. No one yet has thought of measuring them, nor of asking to what divinities they are dedicated, and still less of inquiring into their age or traditions; and till this is done it is impossible to treat of them in anything like a satisfactory manner.

Whenever this chapter of Indian architectural history comes to be written, it will form a curious pendant to that of the wooden architecture of Sweden and Norway, the similarities between the two groups being both striking and instructive. It can hardly be expected that any ethnographical or political connexion can be traced between peoples so remote from one another which could influence their architectural forms; but it is curious, if this is so, to observe how people come independently to adopt the same forms and similar modes of decoration when using the same materials for like purposes, and under similar climatic influences. Although it may, consequently, be impossible to trace any influence that the people of the Himalayas could have exerted on the peoples of the north-west of Europe, it is by no means clear that in these wooden structures we may not find the germ of much that is now perplexing us with regard to the earlier forms of Hindu stone architecture. Like Buddhist architecture, there can hardly be a doubt that much of it was derived from wooden originals, and it is difficult to see any locality where wooden styles were likely to be earlier adopted and longer practised than in those valleys where the Deodar pine is abundant, and forms so excellent and so lasting a building material.

An exploration of these valleys, would, no doubt, bring to light many curious monuments, which would not only be interesting in themselves, but might throw considerable light on many now obscure points of our inquiries. One monument, for instance, has recently been discovered by Major Godwin Austen near the foot of the Naga hills in Assam, which is unlike any other known to exist anywhere else.[338] The temple—if temple it may be called—consists of a long corridor, about 250 ft. in length and 21 ft. wide, the roof of which was supported by pillars richly carved, spaced 15 ft. to 21 ft. apart; but its most remarkable features are two rows—one of sixteen, the other of seventeen monoliths—standing in front of this. The tallest is 15 ft., the smallest 8 ft. 5 in., the general range being from 12 to 13 ft. in height, and 18 ft. to 20 ft. in circumference. No two are exactly alike, though all have a general similarity of design to those represented in the preceding woodcut (No. 175), which may be considered as typical of the style. Another similar monolith was found a small distance off, measuring 16 ft. 8 in. in height, and 23 ft. in circumference.

The natives were quite unable to give any account of these curious monuments, nor is it easy to guess why they were placed where they are. So far as I know, no similar monument exists anywhere, for the pillars seem perfectly useless, though attached to two rows of stones that may have borne a roof; otherwise they look like those rows of rude stone monuments which we are familiar with in this country and in Brittany, but which a more artistic people may have adorned with rude carvings, instead of leaving them quite plain, as our forefathers did. As for their carving, the only things the least like them, so far as I know, in India, are the pillars in the temple at Moodbidri (Woodcut No. 152), and in other places in Canara, but there the pillars are actual supports of roofs; these are round-headed, and evidently never were intended for any utilitarian purpose.

Judging from the gateway and other remains of the town of Dimapur, in which these pillars are found, they cannot be of any great age. The gateway is of the Gaur type, with a pointed arch, probably of the 16th or 17th century; and, if Major Austen’s observation is correct, that the sandstone of which they are composed is of a friable and perishable nature, they cannot be of any remote antiquity.

It would be very interesting if a few more similar monuments could be found, and Assam is one of the most promising fields in India for such discoveries. When Hiouen Thsang visited it, in the 7th century, it was known as the kingdom of Kamrup, one of the three principal states of Northern India, and continued populous and important till the Pathan sovereigns of Delhi attempted its conquest in the 15th century. Owing to the physical difficulties of the country, they never were able to succeed in this attempt; but they blockaded the country for many years, and, cut off from the rest of the world, the savage hill tribes on either hand, aided by famine, so depopulated the country that the jungle overpowered the feeble remnant that survived, and one of the richest valleys in the world is now one of the most sparsely inhabited. A good and liberal government might, in a few years, go far to remedy this state of affairs, and, if so blessed, the jungle might again be cleared and rendered fit for human population. When this is done there can be no doubt but that the remains of many ancient cities will be found. Already Captain Dalton has given an account of the ruins of Gohati, which was almost certainly the ancient capital of the province. “Its former importance,” the Commissioner says, “is well attested by the immense extent of its fortifications, and the profusion of carved stones which every excavation of the modern town brings to light. The remains of stone gateways and old stone bridges are found both within and without the old city walls.”[339] Captain Hannay gives a view of one of these bridges. Like all the rest, it is constructed without arches, on the horizontal principle,[340] but it may be as old as the time of the Chinese Pilgrims. Besides these, other ruins have been found and described, in more or less detail, in the pages of the ‘Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal.’ When more fully known they will certainly be of considerable historic and ethnographic value, though they hardly can compare with the vast monuments of such provinces as Orissa or Gujerat, and other parts of India Proper.

Thibet.

It would be extremely interesting if, before leaving this part of the world, it were possible to compile anything like a satisfactory account of the Buddhist style in Thibet, for it is there that Buddhism exists in its greatest purity at the present moment, and there only is it entirely and essentially a part of the system of the people. We would gladly, therefore, compare the existing state of things in Thibet with our accounts of India in the days of the supremacy of the same religion. The jealousy of the Chinese, however, who are now supreme over that nation of priests, prevents free access to the country, and those who have penetrated beyond its forbidden barriers have either done so in the disguise of mendicants, and, consequently, dared neither to draw nor examine minutely what they saw, or else had little taste for portraying what was unintelligible, and, consequently, of very little interest to them.[341]

So far as can be made out from such narratives as we have, there does not seem to be in Thibet a single relic-shrine remarkable either for sanctity or size, nor does relic-worship seem to be expressed either in their architecture or their religious forms. But as no country in the world possesses a larger body of priests in proportion to its population, and as all these are vowed to celibacy and live together, their monasteries are more extensive than any we know of elsewhere—some containing 2000 or 3000 lamas, some, if we may trust M. Huc, as many as 15,000.[342] The monasteries do not seem to be built with any regularity, or to be grouped into combinations of any architectural pretension, but to consist of long streets of cells, mostly surrounding small courtyards, three or four on each side, and sometimes two or even three storeys high; generally, perhaps always, with a small shrine or altar in the centre. The monastery of Bouddha La, outside the city of Lassa, where the Delai Lama resides, seems to be of more magnificence than all the rest—the centre being occupied by a building four storeys high, crowned by a dome (making the fifth) covered entirely with sheets of gold (rather, perhaps, merely gilt), and surrounded by a peristyle of columns, which are gilt also. Around this central palace are grouped a number of smaller ones, where the inferior members of this great ecclesiastical order reside; but of all this it is difficult to form a distinct idea without some better drawings than the native ones, which are at present alone available.

The Delai Lama, who resides in this palace, is believed by the Thibetans to be the living incarnation of the Deity, and, in consequence, is the principal, if not the only, object of worship in Lassa. There are, however, four or five subordinate incarnations in different parts of Thibet and Mongolia, who, though inferior to this one, are still objects of worship in the places where they reside, and by particular sects of Buddhists.

It is this worship of a living rather than of a dead deity that seems to be the principal cause of the difference of the architectural forms of India and Thibet. In the countries we have hitherto been describing no actual incarnation of the Deity is believed to have taken place since the death of Sakya Muni, though the spirit of God has descended on many saints and holy men; in India, therefore, they have been content to worship images of the departed deity, or relics which recall His presence. In Thibet, where their deity is still present among them, continually transmigrating, but never dying, of course such a form of worship would be absurd; no relic of a still living god can exist, nor is the semblance or the memory of any past manifestation thought worth preserving. A priori, therefore, we should scarcely look here for the same class of sacred edifices as we find in India or Ceylon.

Owing to the jealousy with which the country is guarded against the intrusion of Europeans, we may probably have to wait some time before Thibet itself, or even the valleys dependent upon it in the Himalayas, are so accessible to European travellers as to enable them to supply the data requisite for the purpose. In the meanwhile, however, the view (Woodcut No. 176) of the doorway of the temple at Tassiding is curious as showing a perseverance in the employment of sloping jambs, which we do not meet with in the plains. It will be recollected that this feature is nearly universal in the Behar and early western caves (Woodcuts Nos. 43, 45, and 50), but there we lose it. It may have continued to be commonly employed during the Middle Ages, though the examples have perished; but it is curious to find it cropping up here again after a lapse of 2000 years.[343]

Another view in the porch of the temple at Pemiongchi is also interesting, as showing the form of roof which we are familiar with in the rock examples, and also as illustrating the extent to which the bracket capital of India may be carried under the influence of wooden architecture (Woodcut No. 177). It hardly seems doubtful that the idea was originally derived from wooden construction, but was equally appropriate to masonic forms, and is used in masonry so judiciously by Indian architects that we lose sight of its origin in most instances altogether.

Interesting as these minor styles undoubtedly are from their variety, and valuable though they may be for the hints they afford us in understanding the history of the other styles, they never can be so important as the greater architectural groups that are found on the plains of India itself. A monograph of the styles of Kashmir or Nepal, or of the intermediate valleys, would be an invaluable addition to our knowledge; but hardly more is required in a general history than that their places should be indicated, and their general characteristics so defined as to render them recognisable. Even these minor styles, however, will become more intelligible when studied in connexion with the Dravidian and northern styles, which are those it is next proposed to define and describe.

Temples at Kangra.

Though a little out of their place in the series, there are two small temples in one of the Himalayan valleys which it may be expedient to describe here before leaving this part of the subject, as their peculiarities will assist us in understanding much that has just been said, or that will be presently advanced. Besides this, they do not exactly fit into any other series, but they can hardly be passed over, as they possess what is so rare in Indian temples—a well-ascertained date.

The temples are situated in the village of Kiragrama, not far from Kote Kangra, and, as an inscription on them records, were built by two brothers, Baijnath and Siddhnath, in the year 804 A.D.[344] Neither of them are large. The larger has a porch 20 ft. square inside by 28 ft. (not 48 ft.) over all externally, and the whole length of the temple, from front to rear, is 50 ft. The smaller one is only 33 ft. over all, including the sanctuary. In 1786, the large temple underwent a thorough repair at the hands of a Raja Sinsarchand, which has obliterated many of its features; but it is easy to see at a glance what was done in the beginning of the 9th century, and what 1000 years afterwards. The small temple, though ruinous, is more interesting, because it has escaped the hand of the spoiler. As will be seen from the woodcut (No. 178), it has all the features of a very old temple—great simplicity of outline, no repetitions of itself, and the whole surface of the upper part covered with that peculiar horseshoe diaper which was so fashionable in those early days. It looks here as if it must be copied from some brick or terra-cotta construction; otherwise its repetition over a whole surface seems unaccountable. The amalaka stringcourses are subdued and in good taste, and the crowning ornament well proportioned.[345]

There is little doubt that the sikra of the larger temple was similarly adorned, but all its details are so completely obliterated by the coating of plaster it has received that it has lost its interest. The pillars, however, of its porch retain their forms up to their capitals, at least. The architraves, as may be seen from the woodcut, belong to the repair in 1786. The shafts of the pillars are plain cylinders, of very classical proportions, and the bases also show that they are only slightly removed from classical design. The square plinth, the two toruses, the cavetto, or hollow moulding between, are all classical, but partially hidden by Hindu ornamentation, of great elegance, but unlike anything found afterwards. The capitals are, however, the most interesting parts, though their details are considerably obliterated by whitewash. They belong to what may be styled the Hindu-Corinthian order, though the principles on which

they are designed is diametrically opposed to those of the classical order of the same name. The object of both—as is well-known—is to convert a circular shaft into a square architrave-bearing capital in a graceful and pleasing manner. We all know the manner in which the Ionic and Corinthian capitals effect this; pleasingly, it is true, but not without effort and some little clumsiness, which it required all the skill and taste of classical architects to conquer. To effect this object, the Hindus placed a vase on the top of their column, the bowl of which was about the same diameter as that of the pillar on which it was placed, or rather larger; but such an arrangement was weak, because the neck and base of the vase were necessarily smaller than the shaft of the pillar, and both were still circular. To remedy these defects, they designed a very beautiful class of foliaged ornament, which appears to grow out of the vase, on each of its four faces, and, falling downwards, strengthens the hollows of the neck and leg of the vase, so as to give them all the strength they require, and at the same time to convert the circular form of the shaft into the required square for the abacus of the capital. The Hindus, of course, never had sufficient ability or constructive skill to enable them to produce so perfect a form as the Corinthian or Ionic capitals of the Greeks or Romans; but it is probable that if this form were taken up at the present day, a capital as beautiful as either of these might even now be produced. It is, indeed, almost the only suggestion that Indian architecture seems to offer for European use.

It is by no means clear when this form of capital was first introduced. It first appears, but timidly it must be confessed, in such late Buddhist caves as were excavated after the beginning of the 5th century:—as, for instance, in the Yadnya Sri cave at Nassick (Woodcut No. 81); in the courtyard of the Viswakarma, at Ellora (Woodcut No. 63); and in some of the later caves at Ajunta—the twenty-fourth for instance. It is found at Erun (Woodcut No. 179), among some fragments that I believe to be of the age of the Guptas, about A.D. 400, and it is currently employed in the middle group of Hindu caves at Ellora, such as the Ashes of Ravana, and other caves of that age, say about A.D. 600. It afterwards became frequent, almost universal, with the Jains, down to the time of the Mahomedan conquest. The preceding representation of one (Woodcut No. 180), from a half column of a temple in Orissa, shows it in a skeleton form, and therefore more suited to explain its construction than a fuller capital would do. On its introduction, the bell-shaped or Persepolitan capital seems to have gone out of fashion, and does not again appear in Indian art.

To return from this digression: there can be no doubt that the temple of Baijnath is dedicated to Siva, not only from the presence of the bulls in front of it, in pavilions of the same architecture as the porch, but also because Ganesa appears among its integral sculptures; yet, strange to say, the back niche, is occupied by a statue of Mahavira, the last Jaina Tirthankar, with a perfectly legible inscription, dated in A.D. 1240.[346] It looks as if the age of toleration had not passed even them.