The Temples of Ellora, the Holy Place of the Deccan.—Nashik, the Land of the RÂmÂyanÂ.—Sights and Scenes on the Banks of the Godaveri.—Damaun, the most famous of the Indo-Portuguese Towns.

We bade adieu to the old historical city of the great Aurungzebe just as the first streak of sunlight was gilding the conical summit of the fortress of DowlutabÂd, and, wending our way laboriously up the steep Pipla Ghaut, we emerged on the other side on a fertile plain planted with magnificent trees and covered with innumerable mausoleums and tombs, through which our bullocks made straight for the western boundary of the beautiful hill of Rauzah. Here we reached a spot of perfect tranquillity and beauty, but which must have been at some ancient time a scene of intense activity. The present little village of Ellora, consisting of a number of Hindoo dwellings, is almost hidden among groves of fine trees, and is only remarkable because it lies immediately at the foot of a high wall of rock in which the vast cavern-temples of this neighborhood are found and to which it owes its prosperity.

We alighted from our wagons on the verandah of a well-built pagoda; near it was a fine reservoir with flights of broad stone steps leading down to the water's edge. On the bank or upper stonework of this reservoir are a number of artistic little Hindoo temples or shrines, the roofs supported by light delicate pillars, giving an airy and graceful appearance to the whole village. As soon as Govind had gone through his prayers and ablutions we started off, accompanied by a couple of sage-looking Hindoo guides, for the cavern-temples. We followed our guides for some little distance, when they left the highroad and struck a narrow, steep path, and all at once, when we were least expecting it, a sudden turn brought us into the presence of the great "rock-cut temples" that render this spot the holiest of all places in the Deccan. Down went Govind and our guides prostrate on their faces and hands.

Rock-Cut Temples of Ellora.

The solitude, the quiet stillness of the spot, with the bright morning sun flooding hill and plain and penetrating the depths of these excavations, were impressive. The temple before us was a large open court and deep vaulted chamber, massive and elaborately carved, and chiselled from the heart of the mountain itself, and rising up nearly a hundred feet. There were many other temples in the hillside, with doorways, arches, pillars, windows, galleries, and verandahs, supported by solid stone pillars filled with figures of gods and goddesses, heroes, giants, birds, beasts, and reptiles of every shape—quite enough to baffle the most careful student in anything like a thorough examination of their vast and intricate workmanship.

We went in and out, climbing stone-cut steps up, down, and round about the caves, not knowing which temple to admire most or on which to bestow undivided attention. It would take weeks to explore them thoroughly. There is a very fine cavern-temple dedicated to Pur Sawanath, "the Lord of Purity," the twenty-third of the great saints of the Jains of this era.[77] An image resembling those that are seen of Buddha, stone tigers, and elephants bear up the altar on which he is seated; from the middle of the altar there projects a curious wheel on which is carved the Hindoo astronomical table, and a seven-headed serpent is seen over the head of the god.

Another very beautiful excavation, consisting of three temples or compartments, is dedicated to Jaggar-Nath Buddh, or "the Enlightened Lord of the Universe;" these temples are best known, however, by the name of Indra Sabha, or "the assembly of Indra." These caves are two-storied, containing images of Indra—"the darter of the swift blue bolt," as he is called—seated on a royal elephant, with his attendants about him, and of Indranee, his wife, riding on a couchant lion, with her son in her arms and her maids around her. The sacred trees of the Hindoos—Kalpa Vriksha, the tree of the ages or of life—are growing out of their heads; on the one overshadowing Indra are carved peacocks, emblematic of royalty, and fruits resembling the rose-apple, sacred to love, grow on the one sprouting from the head of Indranee. This temple is unrivalled for its beauty of form and sculpture.

The next temple we visited was the Dho MÁhal Lenah, "the double palace." It is full of figures and sculptured story celebrating the marriage of the god Siva with Parvatee. It is an excavation of great depth and extent, filled with countless gods and goddesses, among which the figure of Yama, the judge of the dead, commonly called Dhannah, is especially remarkable. Not far from this cavern-temple a lovely mountain-torrent comes leaping down in beautiful cascades. Near a wide pool is a rude cave with a deity in it called DÀvee, who draws multitudes of pilgrims to her shrine yearly because of her reputation for performing miracles.

There is also a temple famous in Indian song and story called Khailahsah, or "highest heaven." The mountain has been penetrated to a great depth and height to make room for this wondrous bit of sculpture. Within an area stands a pagoda almost, if not quite, a hundred feet high. It is entered by a noble portico guarded by huge stone figures of men; towering above it are, cut out of the hill, a music-gallery of the finest workmanship and five large chapels, and above all there is in front a spacious court terminating in three magnificent colonnades: huge columns uphold the music-gallery; stone elephants, looking toward us, heave themselves out of this mass of rock-work, and right in front is a grand figure of the Hindoo goddess Lakshimi being crowned queen of heaven by stone elephants, that have raised themselves on their hind feet to pour water over her head from stone vessels grasped in their trunks.

Everywhere we found fresh objects of wonder, and each new cave seemed the greatest marvel of all. The entire hillside is perforated with chatiyas, monasteries, pagodas, towers, spires, obelisks, galleries, and verandahs, all cut out of the solid rock.[78] Nothing could be wilder and more fantastic than the effect produced by these excavations, situated as they are amid natural scenes very wild and romantic—waterfalls, ravines, gorges, old gnarled forest trees, and a dense undergrowth of brushwood.

Naturally, freely, unexpectedly, as the tree grows, was the development of early Hindoo art. Everywhere one sees an unrestrained imagination breaking through and overleaping the bounds of judgment, reason, and even that intuitive sense of refinement to which the Hindoo mind is by no means a stranger.

Our journey next was quite an adventurous one. We started straight across the high plain of the Deccan for the Thull Ghauts. In some parts the country is sandy and desolate, and in others well cultivated, but in no way remarkable till we reached the rugged but grandly mountainous country through which our road lay, circuitous and difficult, but wild and beautiful, as far as Nashik, or "the City of the Nose," sacred to the Hindoos for various local traditions, but above all as being the spot whence the Godaveri takes its rise. The real source of this famous river, however, is some eighteen or twenty miles distant, at ThrimbÂk. On our road lay a deep and dangerous nullah or creek, which we forded with much difficulty, assisted by a number of natives whom we were obliged to hire from a little village lying half a mile from its banks. Passing this, we saw the Ghauts for the first time, with their fine forests, and here and there a mountain-stream, not yet dried up by the hot summer sun, tumbling down the mountain-sides or flowing over pebbly beds, sometimes gleaming into the sunlight and sometimes hidden in verdure, and anon lying in deep eddying pools at the foot of the Ghauts, that rise up grand and defiant on every side.

With their forests of foliage and rich jungles the Thull Ghauts are a perpetual wonder and mystery to the natives, and the spot on which the handsome city of Nashik stands is a paradise to the Brahmans. Through it the Godaveri, sometimes called the Gunga, flows, spreading gladness and plenty everywhere. Here it was that Rama, with his beautiful wife Sita, spent the first days of their exile near a dark and dreadful forest, out of which issued the beautiful deer in pursuit of which he was obliged to leave Sita, who became an easy prey to his enemy Rawana. Here Lakshman, the brother of Rama, cut off the nose of the giantess Sarp Naki, the snake-nosed sister of Rawana, from which event the city itself is named.

There is doubtless an historical basis to all these local traditions, for Nashik is a place of great antiquity, and is mentioned by Ptolemy by the name which it bears to-day. This land was no doubt at one time debatable ground between the advancing Aryan tribes and the aboriginal settlers. Here the Buddhists took refuge from the persecutions of the orthodox Brahmans, excavating the temples and caves that abound in this region.

Nashik is now a Brahman city in the fullest sense of the word. Brahmanic power, influence, culture, and tradition are felt everywhere. Govind, our pundit, was in his best humor. It seems he had long desired to make a pilgrimage to this sacred spot, and here he was without any actual expense to himself and at the right moment. Nashik is said to have a population of from twenty-five to thirty thousand inhabitants, chiefly Brahmans of great wealth and famed for their religious sanctity of character.

At the jatras, or tribe-meetings, a great concourse of Brahmans, Hindoos, Rajpoots, and Mahrattas from all parts of India pour into this city, and our visit happened at this time, for the pilgrims were arriving from all parts of the Eastern world. Most of the streets are, like those usually found in Oriental cities, narrow, ill-drained, and badly paved, but there are some that are well kept, and a fine broad thoroughfare leads almost, but not quite, through the centre of the city to the banks of the Godaveri. The lofty houses of the Brahmans, many of which are three stories high and almost palatial in appearance, were thrown open to the strangers. Pilgrims thronged the streets and were encamped along the roadside in tents in the open air or under the shade of huge trees. Highways lead everywhere down to the river, whose sanctity may be conceived from the vast numbers and characteristics of the temples that line its banks and dot the islands and rocks in the river-bed, nearly all built of a hard black rock capable of high polish, and some in the purest style of Hindoo architecture.

As we were detained here a couple of days, being obliged to purchase a fresh pair of trotting bullocks in order to prosecute the rest of our journey, we determined to stay over and see the celebration of the Holi, one of the most curious festivals among the Hindoos. We took up our abode in the travellers' bungalow, some little distance from the native city, and looking out upon the English burying-ground. It is a charming spot, with a wild tangle of trees forming a sort of garden around it.

The native town of Nashik seems to be divided into three parts, the handsome and well-built portion being occupied by the wealthy Brahmans, vakeels, or lawyers, and gurus, or priests. The second division, which bears marks of great age and is not very sightly, is inhabited by merchants and traders in grain and other articles of Indian commerce. The bazaars are remarkably well stocked with shawls brought from Cashmere, silks and kinkaubs from AurungabÂd, gowrakoo, a native manufacture of tobacco and used for smoking, and jaggery, a dark-brown sugar from Bombay. In the jewellers' shops we saw some very pretty specimens of gold and silver ornaments, such as are worn by Hindoo women. The vegetable and fruit markets here are very fine. Among the fruits large trays of beautiful flowers were disposed, of which the rose of Nashik seemed to me the finest I had seen in India. Sheep, goats, and cows wander about the streets of the bazaar unmolested. Indeed, I saw cows putting their heads into the open grain-bags exposed on the shop-windows of the bunyas or grain-dealers, and have a good feed, for there was no one to hinder them.

One day, as we were wandering about the streets of Nashik, we strayed into an open court, and thence through an arched entrance, into a large hall, where we suddenly came upon a company of men weaving a peculiar and beautiful Oriental silk. The loom was of the old-fashioned Indian type, set into the ground; the upper thread was of a pale-gold color, and the lower of the most exquisite blue, and the fabric after it was woven had a little knot of yellow left on the surface, which gave it the appearance in one light of being woven of gold threads, and in another light of pale blue. A number of women were seated close by preparing the silk thread for the weavers by means of a very rude spinning-wheel.

From the bazaars we set off to visit some of the most artistic temples that embellish the banks of the Godaveri. There are five structures here to-day in great repute: the temples of Maha DÈo, or the high god, Siva, Parvati, Indra, and Jaggar Nath, commonly called Juggernaut. Each of these temples has a large number of laymen, priests, and priestesses, or dancing-girls, attached to them. The dancing-girls were seen everywhere in the temples, on the banks of the river, and in the booths erected here and there, performing their various dances for the amusement of the pilgrims, and some of these girls were of the finest type that I have seen in any part of India.

We went into the temple of Maha DÈo, which contains some very rich and bold carvings. A figure of a god was seated on a stone altar, and all over the shrine were scattered flowers, oil, and red paint, or "shaindoor." At the door of this temple we saw seated a very old woman, who, they told me, was once a famous beauty and a priestess of this temple. She sat there muttering idly to herself and basking in the sunlight. Age had very forcibly set its seal upon her. Her skin was drawn into the most complicated network of wrinkles, her arms were almost devoid of flesh, and her limbs were as feeble and tottering as those of an infant just attempting to walk; but her eyes, large, dark, and piercing, still retained a great deal of their original beauty. The people, however, regarded her as one inspired, and the women attached to the temple had a tender care for her, taking her into an adjoining chamber every night to sleep, bringing her out to her accustomed place every morning, and feeding her at regular intervals.

On the banks of the Godaveri is shown a spot where women without number have become suttees, or, as they called them here, Sadhwees, or "pure ones." At a very gentle curve of the river are the cremation-grounds of the Hindoos, and here the ashes of men burned at a distance are brought and scattered in the holy stream, which is thought to have its source in the heart of the great Maha DÈo himself.

Next morning, when we issued into the streets of Nashik once more, the scene that presented itself to our astonished gaze was that of a vast multitude gone mad. Crowds of women dressed in fantastic attire, especially in white- and yellow-spotted muslin sarees, men in curious garbs, boys dressed like sprites or wholly nude and besmeared with yellow paint, fakeers, gossains, ascetics, Hindoos, and Brahmans, were seen in the streets shouting, laughing, throwing red paint about; rude jests were being passed; women were addressed in obscene or ribald language; persons blindfolded in the streets were left to grope their way until they removed the bandage from their eyes, friends sent on bootless errands, etc. In fact, it was a complete saturnalia of the rudest and most grotesque description. It was the festival of the Holi,[79] held in honor of Krishna's sportive character on the night of the full moon in the month of February.

That evening we went out on the banks of the Godaveri to see the termination of the festival, and it is simply impossible to describe the wild enthusiasm of this vast concourse of people. The banks of the river, the steps of the numberless temples, the courts within courts, the shrines, the altars, the great halls and music-galleries with forests of carved pillars, were closely packed with countless throngs of white-robed priests, half-naked gossains, or sparkling dancing-girls, while thousands of men, women, and children lined the banks of the Godaveri, eager and enthusiastic participants in the gay, bewildering scene. As we stood gazing at the strange spectacle we heard the wild, discordant sounds of various musical instruments, the shrill blast of innumerable conch-shells, and the deafening beat of the tom-toms, whereupon huge fires began to blaze almost simultaneously from shore to shore at regular distances, and everywhere round them groups of strangely dressed boys performed weird circular dances, holding each other's hands and going around them; then, suddenly letting loose, they darted and leaped round and round one another and round the fire at the same time. This dance is ostensibly performed to commemorate the dance of the god Krishna with the seven gowpiahs, or milkmaids, but there is scarcely a doubt that this festival originally meant to typify the revolution of the planets round the sun.

The light from these blazing fires streaming out upon the moonlit river, the wild discordant music, the hilarious shouts, the frantic dancers, the sparkle of the dancing-girls, the white-robed figures of the countless multitude, now flashing in sight in the glare of the firelight, and anon vanishing in the deep shadows beyond, the piles of black temples, the great trees with their arms bending down to the river or stretching toward the clear sky,—all combined to render the last night of the festival of the Holi at Nashik a most weird and singularly fantastic sight.

From the first to the last day of our visit here there was nowhere perceptible the least trace of European influence on the people or in the city. The people and the city were just what they might have been in the days when Ptolemy wrote about the latter, purely and wholly Hindoo, and full of a Brahmanic atmosphere of religious mysticism—a civilization quite different from anything we had ever witnessed.

There are a number of curious excavations in this neighborhood, about five miles from the town, in the side of a hill that overhangs the highway from Bombay. The hill as well as these cavern-temples is called PandulenÁ. We rode out on fine horses hired from a native stable close to the bazaar. The ride out was delightful, the views of the country at once grand and beautiful, but the excavations were much less interesting than had been reported to us by Govind, and in no way comparable to the wondrous structures of Ellora. There is one cave here, however, that has a superior finish. The roof is finely arched; the dogaba, or memorial structure, stands at the end and is well executed. Another cave with idols of seated figures has a flat roof, and is not very interesting, save that near it is carved in a niche a huge figure of Buddha. The chief idol here is called Rajah Dhanna—i. e. "judge of the dead"—and is held most sacred by the pilgrims, who were now beginning to arrive here in strong numbers. The odors of the stuff with which the filthy gossains rub themselves and their altogether disgusting appearance sent us hastily back to our quiet lodge, and early next morning we bade adieu for ever to Nashik.

From Nashik to Trimbak, eighteen or twenty miles, the country is one of unrivalled beauty. Trimbak is a very sacred spot, where the Godaveri really takes its rise, and is wholly given up to the Hindoo and Brahman pilgrims, who were pouring into the place from all the country round. It is filled by a class of priests whose sole duty it is to instruct pilgrims in the right way to worship and to receive the gifts bestowed on the temples. The houses of these priests adjoin the temples; they lodge the pilgrims without any charge, but each person generally leaves at the temple a gift which exceeds the cost of his stay. We had no time to examine the temples here, for we spent only a night at Trimbak, and started next morning, traversing circuitous roads, crossing some small nullahs, and by dint of travelling all day and night reached the next important halting-place, which was no other than Damaun, a famous old Portuguese town.

The town of Damaun, with its ramparts, gateways, and bastions, is picturesquely situated. There is on one side of it a fine old fortress baptized after a Christian saint and called the "Castle of St. Hieronymus," and on the other a deep, navigable river which still bears the favorite Hindoo name of Gunga. The country all round Damaun is well cultivated. The tara palm, the castor oil, the babool, or Acacia arabica,[80] were seen in the gardens and plantations. But the interior of the Portuguese town struck me as gloomy and exceedingly filthy, and, though it was full of people—Mohammedans, Hindoos, and Christians, with even Jews and Parsees—it lacked that air of sprightliness and vivacity so noticeable in a purely Hindoo population. It was neither one thing nor the other—not wholly pagan, and only partially Christian. The Roman Catholic chapel here was once a grand mosque.

Through the kind introduction of a Portuguese friend we were most cordially received in the home of a venerable native Portuguese named Johnna Castello. The household consisted of himself and the families of two married sons; one of the ladies was indisposed, but the other, Donna Caterina, did the honors of hostess in a simple and unpretending manner. Our pundit had an outhouse placed at his disposal. The establishment did not boast of many rooms, and those in which we were lodged were rough and poorly built of wood. Our meals consisted of rice and curry, fish, kabobs,[81] kid and fowl pillau, with a variety of fine fruits and vegetables. Our meals were served apart and in European style, but the quantity of onion and garlic with which almost every dish was seasoned helped much toward shortening our stay here. Besides which, it seemed to me that everything was pickled, from the pork (of which the native Portuguese are very fond) to the young bamboo-shoots. At every fresh course some half a dozen hot, biting pickles were handed around.

My womanly curiosity led me into the kitchen of this very well-to-do Portuguese family. It was in keeping with the rest of the place. It was a low wooden structure, black with smoke and age; a long range of open fireplaces, made of brick and mortar, ran along on one side; on these earthen chatties, or earthen pots, were boiling away, some covered and others uncovered; but hanging from the roof above these pots were long lines of blackened cobwebs that looked as if they had remained undisturbed for a hundred years. The servants were all men, native Christians, and were overlooking the cooking or attending to various culinary duties. They were filthy beyond measure, and so was every nook and corner of the kitchen. The native Portuguese in this old-fashioned city of Damaun struck me as peculiarly uninteresting in their manners and appearance. We saw them in the streets, seated on the verandahs or doorsteps of their houses, chattering or laughing or quarrelling with their neighbors in shrill, harsh tones and with ungraceful gestures. In some aspects Oriental Christianity seems even more degrading than the worst form of paganism.

In the afternoon of the same day, as we were walking about the town, we passed a wedding-procession on its way to the Roman Catholic church, which served in some slight degree to soften the unfavorable impression produced by the people and the town. It was a gaudy sight. Sheets were spread along the street leading to the steps of the chapel; flowers, chiefly the oleander, the rose, and the mohgre,[82] were scattered all over these sheets by dark-skinned Portuguese girls dressed in long white trousers and old-fashioned pink frocks. Presently the church-bells began to tinkle merrily, and a company of dark-hued damsels issued in full sight, dressed in tinsel and gold, with long white muslin veils, almost like the Hindoo sarees, bound round their persons. The bride was closely veiled from head to foot in something that looked like the purdah[83] worn by Mohammedan women. We could not see her, but I pleased myself with imagining that she was young and beautiful. Close to her were two young women bearing lighted torches, and in the foremost rank were two Portuguese priests, who led the way to the chapel (once a mosque), each bearing a silver-mounted crucifix. The bridegroom brought up the rear dressed as an English general, with a dark-blue embroidered frock-coat, golden epaulettes, scarlet pantaloons, sword, and a cocked hat with feathers, accompanied by at least twelve other native gentlemen similarly attired; but many of these grand-looking officers were barefooted. This grotesque procession rushed into the chapel in unseemly haste, and we followed. There was nothing very remarkable in the exterior of this chapel. But within, the principal altar was very richly adorned with gilt images of Christ, the Virgin, and saints, with handsome candlesticks and a great deal of gold and tinsel. There seemed to be but few seats. Before the marriage ceremony began the bride dropped her purdah, or veil, and, to my surprise, I found that she was both ugly and old, and about to be married to the young fellow in the general's costume, who certainly looked young enough to be her son. She was a rich old widow, which explained the matter. We did not wait to see the ceremony, as our stay here was limited to two days, and this was our last one in Damaun.

After nightfall, as I looked out upon this strange, semi-Christian, semi-pagan city, old and weather-stained, poorly lighted, and upon that river named after a Hindoo goddess flowing by so sluggishly, but which, after the rainy season, often becomes a cruel foe to the peasant and cultivator, I felt somehow that it was one of the most dismal places in the world, in spite of its peculiar advantages of a rich soil and sea-views. Next morning, through the kind offices of our host, who assisted us in procuring a comfortable berth on board a native craft called a patemar,[84] we found ourselves sailing before a fine breeze, bound straight for Surat, one of the most ancient and well-known seaports of Western India.