From the caves and jungles of Hindostan

FROM THE CAVES AND JUNGLES OF HINDOSTAN.

...long), and Trombay, whose lovely rock rises nine hundred feet above the surface of the sea. On maps, Bombay looks like an enormous crayfish at the head of the rest of the islands. Spreading its two claws far out into the sea, Bombay Island stands like a sleepless guardian watching over its younger brothers. Between it and the mainland there is a narrow arm of a river, which gradually grows broader and then narrower again, deeply carving into the sides of both shores and forming a harbor that has no equal in the world. It was not without reason that the Portuguese, who were eventually expelled by the English, used to call it "Buona Bahia" original: "Buona Bahia," meaning "Good Bay".

In a fit of tourist excitement, some travelers have compared it to the Bay of Naples; but, as a matter of fact, the two are as much alike as a lazzaroni A Neapolitan street person or beggar is like a coolie An unskilled laborer. The only resemblance between them is the fact that there is water in both. In Bombay, as well as in its harbor, everything is unique and does not in the least remind one of Southern Europe. Look at those coasting vessels and native boats; both are built in the likeness of the "sat" sea bird, a kind of kingfisher. When in motion, these boats are the embodiment of grace, with their long prows and rounded sterns. They look as if they were gliding backwards, and one might mistake for wings the strangely shaped, long triangular sails, their narrow angles fastened upward to a yardarm. Filling these two wings with the wind and leaning over so as almost to touch the surface of the water, these boats fly along with astonishing speed. Unlike our European boats, they do not cut the waves, but glide over them like a seagull.

The surroundings of the bay transported us to a fairyland from the Arabian Nights. The ridge of the

IN BOMBAY.

Western Ghats, cut through here and there by separate hills almost as high as the range itself, stretched all along the eastern shore. From the base to their fantastic, rocky tops, they are all overgrown with impenetrable forests and jungles inhabited by wild animals. Popular imagination has enriched every rock with its own legend. All over the slopes of the mountains are scattered the pagodas, mosques, and temples of countless sects. Here and there the sun's rays strike an old fortress—once terrifying and inaccessible, now half-ruined and covered with prickly cactus. At every step, there is some memorial of holiness. Here a deep vihara A Buddhist monastery or cave dwelling, the cave cell of a Buddhist bhikshu A monk or saint; there a rock protected by the symbol of Shiva; further on a Jain temple or a holy tank, covered with sedge and filled with water once blessed by a Brahmin and able to purify every sin—an essential feature of all temples. All the surroundings are covered with symbols of gods and goddesses. Each of the three hundred and thirty million deities of the Hindu collection of gods has a representative in something consecrated to it: a stone, a flower, a tree, or a bird. On the west side of Malabar Hill, Walkeshwar, the temple of the "Lord of Sand," peeps through the trees. A long stream of Hindus moves toward this celebrated temple; men and women, shining with rings on their fingers and toes and bracelets from their wrists to their elbows, dressed in bright turbans and snow-white muslins, with their foreheads freshly painted with red, yellow, and white holy sectarian signs.

The legend says that Rama spent a night here on his way from Ayodhya to Lanka (Ceylon) to rescue his wife Sita, who had been stolen by the wicked King Ravana. Rama's brother Lakshman, whose duty it was