All resolved to imitate the noble Partap, ... preferring Hard liberty before the easy yoke Of servile pomp. - James Tod

But the magnitude of the peril confirmed the fortitude of Partap, who vowed, in the words of the bard, “to make his mother’s milk resplendent”; and he amply redeemed his pledge. Single-handed, for a quarter of a century did he withstand the combined efforts of the empire; at one time carrying destruction into the plains, at another flying from rock to rock, feeding his family from the fruits of his native hills, and rearing the nursling hero Amra, amidst savage beasts and scarce less savage men, a fit heir to his prowess and revenge. The bare idea that “the son of Bappa Rawal should bow the head to mortal man,” was insupportable; and he spurned every overture which had submission for its basis, or the degradation of uniting his family by marriage with the Tatar, though lord of countless multitudes. The brilliant acts he achieved during that period live in every valley; they are enshrined in the heart of every true Rajput, and many are recorded in the annals of the conquerors. To recount them all, or relate the hardships he sustained, would be to pen what they would pronounce a romance who had not traversed the country where tradition is yet eloquent with his exploits, or conversed with the descendants of his chiefs, who cherish a recollection of the deeds of their forefathers, and melt, as they recite them, into manly tears. Partap was nobly supported; and though wealth and fortune tempted the fidelity of his chiefs, not one was found base enough to abandon him.

It is scarcely to be credited that a statesman like Akbar should have hazarded his popularity or his power, by the introduction of a custom alike appertaining to the Celtic races of Europe as to these the Goths of Asia; and that he should seek to degrade those whom the chances of war had made his vassals, by conduct so nefarious and repugnant to the keenly cherished feelings of the Rajput. Yet there is not a shadow of doubt that many of the noblest of the race were dishonoured on the Nauroza; and the chivalrous Prithiraj was only preserved from being of the number by the high courage and virtue of his wife, a princess of Mewar, and daughter of the founder of the Saktawats. On one of these celebrations of the Khushroz, the monarch of the Moguls was struck with the beauty of the daughter of Mewar, and he singled her out from amidst the united fair of Hind as the object of his passion. It is not improbable that an ungenerous feeling united with that already impure, to despoil the Sesodias of their honour, through a princess of their house under the protection of the sovereign. On retiring from the fair, she found herself entangled amidst the labyrinth of apartments by which egress was purposely ordained, when Akbar stood before her: but instead of acquiescence, she drew a poniard from her corset, and held it to his breast, dictating, and making him repeat, the oath of renunciation of the infamy to all her race. The anecdote is accompanied in the original with many dramatic circumstances. The guardian goddess of Mewar, the terrific Mata, appears on her tiger in the subterranean passage of this palace of pollution, to strengthen her mind by a solemn denunciation , and her hand with a weapon to protect her honour. Rae Singh, the elder brother of the princely bard, had not been so fortunate; his wife wanted either courage or virtue to withstand the regal tempter, and she returned to their dwelling in the desert despoiled of her chastity, but loaded with jewels; or, as Prithiraj expresses it: “She returned to her abode, tramping to the tinkling sound of the ornaments of gold and gems on her person; but where, my brother, is the moustache on thy lip?”

On the western side is the shrine of Achil-eswar, the tutelary divinity of Aboo. There is nothing striking as to magnitude, and still less as to decoration, in this, but it possesses a massive simplicity which guarantees its antiquity. It occupies the center of a quadrangle, surrounded by smaller fanes, alike primitive in form, and built of blocks of blue slate. But it is the object of worship which confers celebrity, being nothing less than the great toe of the devil, for so we must translate Patal-eswar, the Lord of Hell. On entering, the eye is attracted by a statue of the mountain nymph, Mera, the wife of this multiform divinity, which, at first sight, appears to be the object of adoration; and it is only on stooping to look into a deep fissure of the rock, termed the Brimh-khar, that the bright nail of Siva is visible, which has attracted homage from myriads of votaries from the remotest ages. In front of the temple is a brass bull, of colossal size, bearing the marks of violence on his flanks, the hammer of the barbarian having penetrated them in search of treasure, Mahomed Beyra, Padsha or king of Ahmedabad, has the credit of this sacrilege; but whether it was rewarded by the discovery of any secret hoard, is not told: though the legend details the manifestation of Siva’s wrath upon the “barbarian king” for the ill-treatment of his favorite. In descending from Aboo, after the reduction of Achilgurh, his banners “fanned by Conquest’s crimson wing,” confusion waited on them from an unlooked-for source. A legion of bees, issuing from their pinnacled retreats, attacked and pursued the invaders even to Jhalore. To commemorate this victory over the spoiler, the name of Bhomar-t’hal, or ‘Bees Valley,’ was given to the spot. A temple was erected, and from the captured arms thrown away in their flight, a vast tridanta (trident) was formed, and placed in front of the divinity who thus avenged the insult to Nanda.