A Journey to Katmandu (the Capital of Napaul), with the Camp of Jung Bahadoor: Including a Sketch of the Nepaulese Ambassador at HomeOliphant, Laurence
History
A Journey to Katmandu (the Capital of Napaul), with the Camp of Jung Bahadoor: Including a Sketch of the Nepaulese Ambassador at Home
Oliphant, Laurence
Nepal -- Description and travel
Grasping the friendly hand of my conductor, in happy ignorance of his
fratricidal intentions, I followed immediately behind the Minister, whose
return to Nepaul, after he had encountered the perils of land and sea,
and paid a visit to the Queen of the greatest country in the world, not
even excepting China, was a matter of so much importance, that the Rajah
himself came from his palace to the spot where we were now assembled, to
meet one who had been favoured with an interview with so mighty a
monarch, and who had in his possession the letter from her majesty of
England to his majesty of Nepaul. We were, therefore, prepared to see
the king seated on a divan, and arrayed in gorgeous attire; but who the
old gentleman was who was sitting with most perfect sang froid next him
on his elevated seat, I was at a loss to conceive. Whoever he was, he
seemed most perfectly at home, and I found on inquiry it was natural he
should be so, for the old man was sitting on his own throne, which had
been usurped by his son, he having been dethroned on the score of
imbecility. Such being the case, why he was allowed to occupy the place
he did was inexplicable, unless it were to prove that he really was unfit
to sit upon the throne alone, since he was content to share it upon grand
occasions with his son, whenever this latter precocious young gentleman,
who was, as it were, the representative of "Young Nepaul," chose to give
his venerable father a treat.
But it would be useless to speculate on the cause of this proceeding,
since it is impossible ever to understand, and hopeless to attempt to
discover, the motives or secret springs which actuate a native Durbar;
and no doubt Jung himself, who is the real manager of everything, had
some good reason for the present double occupancy of the throne. It
struck me that it would answer one purpose at any rate: it would show the
people that the young king looked as imbecile as the old one, while his
countenance was far less prepossessing, as he seemed only to have just
sense enough to be able to gratify the brutal and sensual passions to
which he is a prey; whether the stories of wholesale executions of slaves
taking place in his court-yard merely for his amusement are true or not,
I cannot say, but he looked capable of any wickedness, and, though not
more than twenty-two or twenty-three years old, had already rivalled the
atrocities of Nero. His countenance was not unlike those depicted on the
walls of Indian towns, with the same large staring eyes, thin twisted
moustache, sensual lips, and thick bull neck. His dress was handsome,
and his jewels were magnificent; but in dress, in carriage, and in
dignity of manner, the prime minister was unquestionably the most
distinguished-looking man in Durbar. He wore a magnificent robe of white
silk embroidered with gold, and tight pantaloons of rich brocade, which
set off his slim figure to advantage; his turban was a mass of sparkling
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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