The palace and gardens of the maharaja cover one-seventh of the entire area of the city of Jeypore, and are inclosed within a mighty wall, which is entered through several stately gates.  The only portion of the palace visible from the street is called the Hawal Mahal, or “Hall of the Winds,” which Sir Edwin Arnold’s glowing pen describes as “a vision of daring and dainty loveliness, nine stories of rosy masonry, delicate overhanging balconies and latticed windows, soaring tier after tier of fanciful architecture, a very mountain of airy and audacious beauty, through a thousand pierced screens and gilded arches.  Aladdin’s magician could have called into existence no more marvelous an abode, nor was the pearl and silver palace of the Peri more delicately charming.”

Those who have had the opportunity to compare Sir Edwin Arnold’s descriptions with the actual objects in Japan, India and elsewhere are apt to give a liberal allowance to his statements.  He may be an accomplished poet, but he cannot see straight.  He looks at everything through rose-colored magnifying glasses.  The Hall of the Winds is a picturesque and unique piece of Hindu architecture.  It looks like the frosting on a confectioners’ cake.  But it is six instead of nine stories in height, is made of the cheapest sort of stucco, and covered with deep pink calcimine.  It is the residence of the ladies of the harem, or zenana, as that mysterious part of a household is called in India.

The palace of the maharaja is a noble building, but very ornate, and is furnished with the most tawdry and inappropriate French hangings and furniture.  It is a pity that His Highness did not allow his own taste to prevail, and use nothing but native furniture and fabrics.  His garden is lovely, being laid out in the highest style of Hindu landscape art.  At the foot of the grounds is a great marble building, open on all sides, with a picturesque roof sustained by a multitude of columns, which is the public or audience hall, where His Highness receives his subjects and conducts affairs of ceremony.  Behind it is a relic of some of his semi-barbarous ancestors in the form of a tank, in which a lot of loathsome crocodiles are kept for the amusement of people who like that sort of thing.  They are looked after by a venerable, half-naked old Hindu, who calls them up to the terrace by uttering a peculiar cry, and, when they poke their ugly noses out of the water and crawl up the steps, teases them with dainty morsels he has obtained at the nearest slaughter-house.  It is not a soul-lifting spectacle.

The stables are more interesting.  The maharaja maintains the elephant stud of his ancestors, and has altogether about eighty monsters, which are used for heavy work about the palace grounds and for traveling in the country.  In the stud are two enormous savage beasts, which fight duels for the entertainment of the maharaja and his guests.  These duels take place in a paddock where horses are exercised.