From the caves and jungles of Hindostan (1892) - Page 9

FROM THE CAVES AND JUNGLES OF HINDOSTAN.

Only a few weeks ago, we were in the Bay of Biscay—a place so praised by poets and so thoroughly cursed by all sailors. Now, our surroundings seemed like a magical dream.

After the tropical nights of the Red Sea and the scorching hot days that had tortured us since we left Aden, we—people of the distant North—now experienced something strange and unfamiliar, as if the soft, fresh air itself had cast a spell over us. There was not a cloud in the sky, which was thickly sprinkled with fading stars. Even the moonlight, which until then had covered the sky in a silvery cloak, was gradually vanishing. The brighter the rosy dawn grew over the small island to the East, the paler the moon's scattered rays became in the West. These rays sprinkled bright flakes of light upon the dark wake our ship left behind, as if the glory of the West were saying goodbye while the light of the East welcomed the newcomers from far-off lands. The sky grew brighter and bluer, swiftly swallowing the remaining pale stars one by one. We felt something touching in the sweet dignity with which the Queen of Night The moon resigned her power to the mighty usurper The sun. At last, descending lower and lower, she disappeared completely.

And suddenly, with almost no pause between darkness and light, the glowing red globe emerged from behind the cape on the opposite side. He rested his golden chin on the lower rocks of the island and seemed to stop for a moment, as if examining us. Then, with one powerful effort, the torch of day rose high over the sea and proceeded gloriously on its path, pulling the blue waters of the bay, the shore, and the islands with their rocks and coconut forests into one mighty, fiery embrace. His golden rays fell upon a crowd of Parsees Followers of Zoroastrianism, his rightful

IN BOMBAY.

worshippers, who stood on the shore raising their arms toward the mighty "Eye of Ormuzd" The Sun, representing the Zoroastrian deity Ahura Mazda. The sight was so impressive that everyone on deck became silent for a moment; even a red-nosed old sailor, who was working nearby on the cable, stopped his task, cleared his throat, and nodded toward the sun.

Moving slowly and cautiously through the charming but treacherous bay, we had plenty of time to admire the scenery around us. On the right was a group of islands led by Gharipuri, or Elephanta, with its ancient temple. According to Orientalists, Gharipuri means "the town of caves," but according to native Sanskrit scholars, it means "the town of purification." This temple, carved by an unknown hand into the very heart of a rock that looks like porphyry, is a true point of contention among archaeologists, none of whom can yet even approximately determine its age. Elephanta raises its rocky forehead high, overgrown with ancient original: "secular" cacti, and directly beneath it, at the foot of the rock, the main temple and two side ones are hollowed out. Like the serpent of Russian fairy tales, the entrance seems to open a fierce black mouth to swallow any daring mortal who comes to claim the secret mystery of the Titan. Its two remaining teeth, darkened by time, are formed by two huge pillars at the entrance which support the monster's palate.

How many generations of Hindus, how many races, have knelt in the dust before the Trimurti—your threefold deity—O Elephanta? How many centuries did weak men spend digging this town of temples out of your stone chest and carving your gigantic idols? Who can say? Many years have passed since I saw you last, ancient, mysterious temple, and yet the same restless thoughts and the same recurring questions trouble me.