Annals and Antiquities of Rajasthan, or the Central and Western Rajput States of India v3.c43.t1.266

v3.c43.t1.266

Udaipur, July 1821.—When I concluded the narrative of my journey in October last year, I had no expectation that I should ever put my foot in the stirrup again, except en route to Bombay, in order to embark for Old England; but "honhar!"¹ as my Rajput friends exclaim, with a sigh, when an invincible destiny opposes their intentions. I had only awaited the termination of the monsoon to remove the wreck of a once robust frame to a more genial clime; and now, it will remain to be proved whether my worthy friend Duncan's prophecy—"You must die, if you stay here six months more"—will be fulfilled. Poor Carey lies entombed on the heights of Merta; the doctor himself is just going off to the Cape, half-dead from the Kotah fever; and, as if that were not enough, the naharua, or guinea-worm, has blanched his cheek and made him a cripple. My cousin, Captain Waugh, is at Kotah, depressed by a continuance of the same malaria, and in a few days I again start solus, in the midst of the monsoon, for Haraoti.