28 f a k ir ’s su p e r s t it io n .
by the Iains—owes its existence to the followers of
Buddha, hence the curious umbrella-shaped baldachin
or chhatra in the centre, made of teak wood, and
now black with dust and dirt, which crowns the
“ dagoba ” or shrine, once containing a relic of their
saint. A kind of wooden gallery, painted red and
yellow, still exists, and along the wall there is a row
of about a score of elephants, couchants, with figures
upon them in perfectly impossible positions, all cut out
of the solid rock ; and the ceiling, although vaulted,
is accommodated with deep narrow rafters about a foot
apart. This cave of Karlee bears traces of a very
early period; it was probably excavated within one
or two centuries before Christ.
There were several zealous people about, and one
fakir stood in a recess with one arm stretched out
above his head, which uncomfortable position, an old
woman informed me, he never relaxes. He was covered
with ashes from head to foot, and appeared barely
decent in his all but nude state. Poor misguided
■creature, “ In hope to merit heaven by m a k in g earth
a h e ll! ’ These self-created saints and mendicants are
the curse of In d ia ; they carry disaffection all over the
country, and keep alive amongst the ignorant class an
amount of superstition hardly credible.
There are here a few other small caves of a very
rough description, belonging to the Buddhist period,
which I did not visit ; and on the following morning
I returned to Bombay by the same route I had come.
When at Lanowlee I made my first acquaintance with
a live tiger, who had infested the station for some days
past, carrying off, fortunately, nothing bigger than
poultry. In the evening I was standing against the
wall of the building, lighting a cigarette, when suddenly,
within a dozen yards, my eyes became fixed by
two bright spots like fire ; it so startled me that I lost
all power of motion, unable even to remove my eyes,
although I was quite aware that in another instant
the tiger might attack me, for that they were his eyes
there was no doubt on my mind. Luck, however,
would have it that at that very moment my boy
appeared round the corner to announce dinner, when
seeing what was up, he got hold of my arm and pulled
me forcibly round the corner and into the house. I t
was small satisfaction to me being told afterwards that
the brute was a man-eater, and must have felt greatly
disappointed at the loss of his supper.
Before leaving Bombay I one evening joined a party
of club members to a Parsee theatre, to witness the
performance of a favourite piece entitled “ Bustan the
Brave,” one of the legendery heroes of the early Persians,
whose fame forms the subject of much of their poetry.