# Picturesque Nepal/Chapter 11

CHAPTER XI
SKETCHES
The Water-Garden of Balaji—Fishponds and Fountains—The submerged Narain—Lamaism—The "Unko Vihar"—The High-priest—Gambling—The Day of Gifts.
The useful and refreshing qualities of good water in a hot country were not overlooked by the Newars, and wells, fountains, tanks, and watercourses abound in the villages and towns of the Valley. Some of these are of great antiquity, and a public fountain in Katmandu bears an inscription which indicates that it was built in the first part of the seventh century. Each city has several small artificial tanks, sunk in the vicinity of the various tols (squares), approached by flights of steps, and containing makara spouts, from which water continually flows. Similar arrangements are also met with by the ​roadside, and usually with some attribute of a presiding deity keeping watch and ward over the site. The most magnificent display of fountains is to be seen, however, at the "water-garden" of Balaji, situated about 2½ miles outside Katmandu, at the foot of a spur of the surrounding mountains now maintained in its primitive state as a royal game preserve. Here is a fine spring of water, which, gushing out of the hillside, is collected in a number of beautifully clear ornamental ponds, grouped about the terraced grounds of this delightful pleasaunce. Against a dark green background of bamboos, the crystal water in the grey stone tanks reflecting every hue, is a refreshing sight to the traveller, heated with his dry and dusty journey along the road from Katmandu, and the rippling waters overflowing from one terrace to another seem to invite him to stay and rest.
"Oh, blessed shades; Oh, gentle cool retreat From all th' immoderate Heat, In which the frantick World does burn and sweat."
In one reservoir, where the reflections of the foliage seem to suggest a subaqueous ​forest, hundreds of large fish disport themselves, and are fed by the people who visit this place as a pilgrimage. Great fat Asiatic carp most of them, wallowing about in the sunlit water, and taking on lovely combinations of colour as the light falls on their undulating sides; some with bronze body and pure purple fins and tail, others an exquisite olive green all over, while a few are a shimmering black, as they float about deep down among the reflections in rainbow-tinted shoals. Below the terrace of fishponds, the architect of this refreshing retreat has devised an exceedingly picturesque idea. Out of the castellated and buttressed retaining wall, charmingly relieved by niches containing deities, over twenty makara-headed spouts project, throwing out streams of water which fall, coolly splashing, into a tank beneath. The entire scheme fully coincides with Bacon's classical views on an ideal garden, especially where he states "that the water be in perpetual motion fed by a water higher than the pool, and delivered into it by fair spouts, and then discharged away under ground by some equality of bores, that ​it stay little." Some of the makaras, which form the most striking feature of this terrace, are enormous creatures, capable of discharging a considerable volume of water in case of an overflow, but many are more sizeable monsters, and make excellent drinking fountains for the use of visitors. These spirited dragon-spouts are well carved in stone, but to add to their ferocious appearance, they are extensively painted in bright pigments, vermilion maws, with a blue and green scheme of colour for their heads and foliated shoulders. Set among the most ideal surroundings of mountain and forest, this delightful garden is generally peopled by groups of pilgrims, or al fresco picnic parties from the neighbouring hamlets, who with gaily dyed robes add a touch of life and colour to the scene. Sitting about in small parties under the shadow of the trees, or lolling on the grassy sward in the bright sunlight, with quaint little children flitting about like butterflies, these terraces make an attractive picture. Some of the younger ones disport themselves in the stream ejected from the great grim dragon's mouth, laughing and ​without fear, although the monster face, with red dripping jaws, seems to be reaching out to devour their delicate bronze limbs. Their garments lie about, bright splashes of colour on the cool damp grass, the falling water bubbles and gurgles, little rills percolate from all sources, and the happy babbling song of the stream is heard dreamily issuing from everywhere.
It is hardly necessary to add that Balaji has its religious significance, and for this one must look into a small tank at the side and overhung with trees, near a temple decorated with Tantric carvings. Reclining full length in this receptacle, with all but the face submerged, is a carved stone figure of Narain, framed with a hood of snakes' heads projecting from the surface of the water. The statue of this deity is about ten feet long, and lies on a stone bed, the head and arms pillowed on stone cushions, all, with the exception of the features, being covered by the gently flowing crystal stream, the steady ripple of which suggests in a remarkable manner the movement of breathing. Small fish dart about, ​or endeavour to hide in the modelled surfaces of the god; the dappled shadows of the overhanging trees move across the surface of the tank, which is confined within low moss-green walls. Four carved stone posts—as of an old-fashioned bed—rise out of the water at each corner, evidently the supports of a canopy which has long since disappeared, and the face now gazes calmly into the waving tree-tops and the sky. Transversely across the broad forehead are painted the three white parallel lines of the caste mark of Shiva, while the head is crowned with a wreath of brilliant yellow marigold flowers—real blossoms placed there by some devout pilgrim. The moving water laps gently the stony face, and the god smiles serenely from his cool liquid bed where he has lain day and night, through sunshine, rain, and cold, for nearly two hundred years.
The visitor naturally asks, What is the story of this stony god in his watery bed? And the answer is an interesting Hindu legend. Narain is the creator Brahma, who, according to Manu, was so called because the waters ​(nara) were his first ayana, or place of motion. The name, as commonly used, applies to Vishnu, and is that under which he was first worshipped. He has been adopted by the Buddhist Newars and is worshipped by them, although not nearly to the same extent as by the Hindus. According to the ancient mythology of Nepal this deity, as Mahadeo, was present when the gods churned the ocean in order to obtain from it the water of immortality, and had drunk the poison which arose from the sea during the operation. This poison produced the most excruciating thirst, and caused a permanent blue discoloration of the throat, whence he received the name of Nila-kent or "Blue-neck." The story goes on to state that in his agony, and in order to assuage the burning thirst, he repaired to the snowy region of the Himalayas near Gosainthan, where, striking his trisul or trident into the mountain-side, three streams of water immediately gushed forth. These waters, collecting in a depression below, formed a lake which was called after the god, the Lake of Nila-kent. Mahadeo stretching himself ​along its margin managed to assuage his thirst by drinking the water. It is in this mountain tarn that the pilgrims to distant Gosainthan fancy they can trace in the great unhewn rock lying in its centre the shape of the god reclining full length upon a bed of serpents. In continuation of this idea, the believers in the myth have constructed at least two much reduced representations of the lake and its deity in different parts of the Valley. One of these reproductions is smaller than the other, and is called the Bala (little) Nila-kent, which, having been abbreviated to Balaji, now gives the name to the garden wherein it reclines. But the complete story of this legend continues right up to almost recent times, for it appears that tradition has ruled that if the reigning monarch of Nepal should ever visit the greater Nila-kent his death will follow almost immediately. Balaji was therefore built subsequently to the larger representation, and to this statue of Narain in its beautiful terraced garden the kings of Nepal may pay their devotions with impunity.
STONE TEMPLE IN THE DURBAR SQUARE AT BHATGAON.
As usual a crowd gathered around and choked the narrow gully, as I showed my interest, and, addressing the motley group collectively, I asked if a stranger might be permitted to enter the shrine. An animated discussion occurred, but, after a time, as no serious objection was raised, I passed through the first door. Beyond this lay a passage, profusely ornamented with heavy wood-carving, and through an opening at the far end a vision of colour and metalwork drew me on. Again the question was asked whether ​the entry of an unbeliever was forbidden, and again a long consultation among the attendant throng took place, with a small prospect of any unanimous decision either way. In all these matters the difficulty is to find one in authority, as each individual vociferated an opinion, but each apparently without any actual right or reason. It is, however, only fair to add here that, except in one or two isolated cases, the most courteous and broad-minded reception was accorded to all requests for admission into any shrine, temple, or other holy building within Nepalese territory. Eventually the problem was solved by an offer on my part to dispense with my boots, and my orderly, removing his shoes together with what appeared still more important, his kookri (Gurkha knife), we were laughingly admitted into the sacred precincts of the Vihar. During the discussion it transpired that the reason why no conclusion regarding my right of entry could be arrived at, was because according to report no European had ever been allowed inside the building before—in fact, it was doubtful ​whether any similar application had previously been made, hence the variety of opinions among the increasing throng of onlookers. Through the low archway therefore in my stockinged feet I bobbed, and the sight which met my eyes almost took my breath away. A crowded fantasy of gilt Buddhas, Bodhisatvas. Lamas, Garudas, rows of metal deities, massive bronze bells, and all the artistic attributes of the Buddhist, Lamaist, and Hindu religions, floated before my eyes. All the arts of Nepal seemed to be gathered in this one small courtyard and pagoda, with its carved and painted wood and plates of burnished brass as a background; right up into several stories it continued, finishing in a great gilt finial which flashed above like molten gold in the light of the dying sun. But hardly had I been permitted one short view of this absorbing picture, hemmed in by a packed mass of people attracted from the surrounding rabbit-warren of houses by my presence, when, suddenly, without any apparent cause, the whole crowd was thrown into violent commotion: men backed ​themselves against the walls or retired into recesses, children, with which the place swarmed, were swept to the sides in startled and crying heaps, while I was pushed unceremoniously from the doorway into a tight corner, jammed between a huge metal elephant with its rider nearly half life-size, and a dragon crawling up a lintel, whose spines of bronze pressed heavily into my back. Too astonished to attempt resistance I crouched in my uncomfortable position, while a passage was made through the living mass to the door, the scared children were hushed, and a solemn silence fell where before had been noise and laughter. Then broke on my ears the faint methodical sound of a tinkling bell some distance away, and a hoarse voice in my ear informed me that the "Great Lama arrives." The thin notes of the bell came nearer and nearer, visions of a grey-haired High-Priest with richly embroidered vestments, acolytes and incense, and all the gorgeous panoply of a religious procession, flashed across my mind, as it became evident that these suddenly improvised preparations ​were in view of some portion of an important Buddhist ceremonial. The bell had now reached the outer door and was rapidly approaching, the crowd became more impressively hushed and awed; nearer it advanced until I could tell it would pass through the entrance at the side of which I painfully crouched. And then the "Great Lama" came. I was astonished. A shabby diminutive boy of about ten years of age, bareheaded, wearing a greasy sort of "half coat" cut in a special fashion, and a dark maroon skirt, looking neither to the right nor the left passed rapidly down the human lane prepared for him, round the courtyard and into the darkness of the temple door. In one hand he held a wand, and suspended from his neck by a cord was a largish bell, which, falling on to his projecting waist-band, was jerked forward at every step, and in this manner caused to ring. Apparently oblivious of his surroundings, yet conscious of his unique position, and that the way would be prepared for his coming, he passed like an automaton before my eyes and disappeared. The crowd and myself ​breathed again, and I was allowed to dislodge my cramped body from between the elephant and dragon, and gaze around in the rapidly fading light at the wealth of art and ornament with which this extraordinary building was covered. In front a large metal "thunderbolt" lay enthroned amid a background of deities in niches, applied on the carved wood or riveted on to brass mouldings or embossed panels. On each side were metal screens of boldly hammered patterns with lifelike bronze lizards crawling over the blank spaces. But the light began to die out from the sky; as I looked the darkness came on apace, and all faded into a jumble of leering deities and scrambling griffins framed in an atmosphere of gloom. White slits of eyes blinked at me from dark corners, and strange animals glowered from diapers and doorways, so I reluctantly left this fascinating building with the feeling that I had seen one of the weirdest sights in the whole of Nepal.
Brass temple utensil from Patan.
At this festival the signal is given by the authorities that the gambling may begin by the firing of a gun. Immediately every occupation is thrown to the winds, the streets are packed with little groups, and the city squares become one mass of excited people, as the entire place is simultaneously strewn with tables of "pice" and cowries. Each house and shop has its gambling party, all earnestly engaged in some form of play, either cards, dice, or "Tommy dod." The card game is generally a kind of three-card trick, European cards are mostly employed, but the old Indian "tash" is not uncommon, the circular papier-mâché article of great antiquity being sometimes seen, but this ​picturesque disc is rapidly dying out. When the common paper cards are used it is considered always correct to deal from the bottom, and as the packs are well thumbed and often damaged, it is not unusual for certain cards to be easily identified by all immediately they have left the dealer's hand, but this only seems to increase the hilarity of the players. The "Tommy dod" is played with cowries, fifteen of these being taken in the hand, shaken and thrown down on a board, the company betting on which side the most turn up, the split side or the smooth. People seem to drift from one "table" to another during the course of the night, for this aspect of the festival goes on without a break for some days, and where stakes run high, or the betting is keen, excited crowds gather round, cheering lustily at any unexpected turn of the game.
SKETCH MAP OF NEPAL.