Annals and Antiquities of Rajasthan, or the Central and Western Rajput States of India v3.c43.t1.31

v3.c43.t1.31

The Patār Plateau. Kanera, February 13 : nine miles.—A new feature in the face of Mewar was this day disclosed to us. At the termination of our short march, we ascended the Patar, or plateau of Central India, the grand natural rampart defending Mewar on the east. As we approached it, the level line of its crest, so distinct from the pinnacled Aravalli, at once proclaimed it to be a tableland, or rock of the secondary formation. Although its elevation is not above four hundred feet from its western base, the transition is remarkable, and it presents from the summit one of the most diversified scenes, whether in a moral, political, or picturesque point of view, that I [627] ever beheld. From this spot the mind’s eye embraces at once all the grand theatres of the history of Mewar. Upon our right lies Chitor, the palladium of Hinduism; on the west, the gigantic Aravalli, enclosing the new capital, and the shelter of her heroes; here, at our feet, or within view, all the alienated lands now under the ‘barbarian Turk’ or Mahratta, as Jawad, Jiran, Nimach, Nimbahera, Kheri, Ratangarh. What associations, what aspirations, does this scene conjure up to one who feels as a Rajput for this fair land! The rich flat we have passed over—a space of nearly seventy English miles from one table-range to the other—appears as a deep basin, fertilized by numerous streams, fed by huge reservoirs in the mountains, and studded with towns, which once were populous, but are for the most part now in ruins, though the germ of incipient prosperity is just appearing. From this height I condensed all my speculative ideas on a very favourite subject—the formation of a canal to unite the ancient and modern capitals of Mewar, by which her soil might be made to return a tenfold harvest, and famine be shut out for ever from her gates. My eye embraced the whole line of the Berach, from its outlet at the Udaisagar, to its passage within a mile of Chitor, and the benefit likely to accrue from such a work appeared incalculable.¹ What new ideas would be opened to the Rajput, on seeing the trains of oxen, which now creep slowly along with merchandise for the capital, exchanged for boats gliding along the canal; and his fields, for many miles on each side, irrigated by lateral cuts, instead of the cranking Egyptian wheel, as it is called, but which is indigenous to India!² If the reader will turn to the map, he will perceive the great facilities for such an undertaking. He will there see two grand reservoirs within six miles of each other, the Pichola, or internal lake, having an elevation of eighty feet above the external one, the Udaisagar, whose outlet forms the Berach River; but for which the valley of the capital would be one wide lake and which, for want of proper regulation, once actually submerged a third of it. The Pichola may be called the parent of the other, although it is partly fed by the minor lake at the villa of Suheli-ki-bari. Both are from twelve to fourteen miles in circumference, in some places thirty-five feet deep, and being fed by the perennial streams from the Aravalli, they contain a constant supply of water. From the external lake to Chitor, the fall is so slight that few locks would be required; and the soil being a yielding one throughout, the expense of the undertaking would be moderate. There is plenty of material in the neighbouring hills and forests, and by furnishing occupation for the wild population, the work would tend not a little to reclaim them. But [628] where are the means? With this difficulty, and the severe blow to our incipient prosperity in this untimely frost, our schemes dissipate like the mist of the morning. But I cannot relinquish the conviction that the undertaking, if executed, would not only enable the Rana to pay his tribute, but to be more merciful to his subjects, for whose welfare it is our chief duty to labour.¹