morrow they would all go on to another nullah, loftier,
steeper, and more rocky than this one ; a haunt of red
bear, our shikari said, where their goats would be more at
home.
Before we left he asked me for some medicine for an
old man, who, from his appearance and the description of
his symptoms, evidently was far gone in consumption.
I told him how sorry I was that the doctors had not yet
found a medicine for his disease. He seemed to find it
hard to believe that I could do nothing, and was so dis-
tressed that I bestowed on him a bottle of cough-mixture
which we somehow numbered among our possessions. He
was very pleased, and their faith in the powers of the
Angrez was pathetic.
We passed their camp again late that evening. In the
dark shadow of a tall tree-trunk, by the fitful gleam of
the firelight, we saw our shepherdess crouching near the
leaping flame ; beside her slept her little daughter wrapped
in a ragged blanket. The sun had long set and night had
fallen on the forest, though on the towering, snow-crowned
peaks that shut in the nullah a faintly roseate afterglow
still lingered, turning soon to ashen grey. Faintly through
"the noise of many waters" came the plaintive wail of
i7 8
KASHMIR
a baby, like the cry of a lost spirit, and down the gorge
blew the icy night wind, colder than the snow-fed waters
of the tossing stream among the rocks below.
..,'•',!.." :
B9 wibH^:
!&*.••
THE RETURN
THE RETURN
THERE had been heavy rain the day before in
the valley, and snow on the summits of the
lofty peaks that enclosed it. The deep blue of
the sky was enhanced by radiant masses of white cloud
still hovering near the mountain-tops.
The valley lay at an elevation of about eight thousand
feet. South and west were the gently sloping hills that
divided it from Kashmir, while to the north and east
towered the rocky barriers of the Wardwan. Many small
hamlets nestled, each in its own fine group of spreading
walnut trees, and wild apple and pear, cherry and apricot
181
i8 2 KASHMIR
grew everywhere ; straggling and uncared for, but covered
in the season with fruit, which is rarely allowed to ripen
so eager for it are the villagers, and so childishly im-
provident, for they eat it long before it is fit for use.
Wild flowers grew thick on the grassy slopes where
the cattle were feeding, and hedged the maize and rice
Wm
A RUINED TREE
fields with wavering lines of colour ; pink, and all shades
of purple, from the palest mauve to the deepest violet,
feathery tufts of white, tall and slender and swaying in
the breeze, and a profusion of starry yellow heads.
It was a place where one might live and die content,
having seen Nature in all her fairest moods ; the stern
grandeur of the winter snows ; the smiling, changeful
loveliness of spring ; and the exceeding beauty of the
>
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Q
a
X
H
O
Q
Z
w
w
a
H
THE RETURN 185
clear, late autumn ; while, dividing the seasons, came
the massed clouds and mist and pealing thunder of the
rains.
Karima toiled slowly along the road at the bottom of
the valley. He was going back to his own village. He
had walked all day for many weary days, and he was
burning with fever.
In the spring — how long ago it seemed! — the Maharaja
Sahib had sent to all the villages in the valley for men
for the begar. They were to go to Tibet — Karima called
it Cheen — to help the Angrez in the war. From his
village he alone had gone. They had met at Islamabad,
the starting-point for their long journey, two hundred and
fifty men from the tahsil. There had been the march
down to the plains and then a tale of fresh wonders every
day, beginning with the railway and ending with the
building of the bridge across the great river in far Tibet,
where the guns of the Angrez had to cross. Then the
fever had taken him, so that the sahibs had sent him back.
There had been many days in the train, and now, through
the hills, he was walking home.
If he had been well it would not have seemed long ;
forty miles a day, unladen, would have been nothing to
him, starting in the star-lit dawn and walking till night
overtook him. But with this fever, this endless aching in
186 KASHMIR
his bones, each step had grown more toilsome than the
last, and he lost count of the days he had been upon the
way. But now, at last, the end, so long looked forward to, so
yearned for, by every fibre of his weary frame, by every
throb of his home-sick heart, was near. How often in
those interminable marches, over the high desolate plains
of Tibet, those unending stretches of barrenness and
solitude, a fierce sun by day and a biting cold at night, he
COOLIE TRANSPORT
had thought of this valley — its rich verdure, its bloom
and beauty.
As the fever grew on him the idea of it had possessed
him more and more ; and he had walked silent, uncom-
plaining, seemingly stupid and brutish to the superior
intelligences who used him, while his brain steeped itself
in memories of his home, and his unseeing eyes, heedless
of what surrounded him, had been turned always to this
beloved valley. So he had walked, his eyes glued to the
ground, in a long line of laden coolies, following mechani-
cally the footsteps of the man before him. Now all that
THE RETURN 187
was over, and he was going home. How cool the waters
of the little mountain streams he crossed were to his
burning feet ! He did not go by the little log-bridges on
the road — the sahibs might use them if they liked. He
had taken off putties and chuplies and slung them, with
his thick puttoo coat, over his shoulder. Beside the last
stream he crossed he sat down where it dashed itself over
a great rock in its way. The muffled roar of the water
soothed him, and he watched the hurrying, sparkling
drops of spray hurl themselves into the deep pool below,
a bewildering multitude. They had come a long way too,
all those shining drops ; this nala — how well he knew its
course through the shadow of the fir trees — came from
that snowy peak closing the eastern end of the valley.
He had been there only last season with the sahib, who
shot the ibex and the bear. How the water hurried ! His
tired eyes watched it till they closed and he slept beside
the stream, in the flickering shadow of the willows. When
he woke it was afternoon, and, on the vivid green of the
sloping meadows, there were long, blue shadows from
pine and walnut and apple trees.
He rose to his feet, aching in every limb, and wandered
on. The road here, as it climbed through the grassy
pasture-land, was bare and treeless, hot in the afternoon
sun. He dragged himself along, feeling strangely inclined
188 KASHMIR
to burst into hysterical weeping from sheer weakness,
while his legs seemed to move automatically, as if they
did not belong to him. The road might have been one of
the dreary roads of Tibet for all he cared or heeded, so
absorbed was he in the mere effort of getting on ; till
a grateful sense of cool and shade roused him to notice
where he was. The path was climbing through the silvery
grey of little willow trees and a tangled hedge of wild
flowers beside a tiny stream. He was very near home
now, and his dulled eyes noted each well-remembered
turn of the road. Those maize-fields to the left were
Wahaba's, and a fine crop they looked ; there would be
no famine this year — even in Srinagar the time for
floods was over. They had already begun to collect the
winter fodder ; he could see, above the tall heads of the
maize, great bundles of grass in the forked branches of
the pollarded willows drying in the sun.
He was nearly spent now, the pain in his back was
growing intolerable. He felt he must be increasingly
careful of how he raised each foot and put it down. Here,
at last, was Wahaba's house, the first house in the village,
with its hedge of woven willow branches, looking some-
thing like coarse basket-work. Then the road passed
through the camping-ground where the sahibs stayed who
were going to shoot in Maru or Kishtwar. Next came
THE RETURN 189
a bridge, and, to the right, two great walnut trees, the
finest in all the valley except those at Nowboog ; in their
shadow stood the little ziarat (shrine) with its walls of
red-brown logs. He had not far to go now. Here were
the fields of sdg with their wooden palings, which marked
the centre of the village, and opposite, across the stream,
was the lumbardar's house. To-morrow he would go
&
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A CAMPING-GROUND
there ; for to-morrow he would be well. If only he could
reach his father's house ! He would lie down on soft,
warm blankets in that long upper room, with its little
windows level with the floor, so that as you lay you could
watch the road and see who went by. Perhaps she would
pass, Dzunia, the lumbardar's youngest daughter. He
looked again with longing towards the house across the
stream. Was it not for her that he had gone on the
K
190
KASHMIR
long begar to distant Cheen, so that he might have
enough "double" rupees to satisfy her father and
win Dzunia? To-day he would be content if he could
see her pass ; to-morrow — ah ! to-morrow he would
be well !
WINTER FODDER
In his father's house they would give him tea, the
good Kashmiri tea, hot and thick, in a little pale green
bowl, and he would lie in great content and watch all the
pleasant, well-known life around him ; his mother sitting
in the ray of late sunlight that would lie across the floor
from the westernmost window, spinning the grey wool
"THE LUMBARDAR"
(The headman of a village is called the Lumbardat)
THE RETURN 193
into puttoo for winter wear, while his eldest brother's wife
ground the kunak (wheat) into flour, and his little sisters
went and came with laugh and chatter, fetching water or
washing the sdg for the evening meal, or playing with his
brother's baby.
Only a few steps further. On the right of the road
was the bunnia's shop, looking like a toy house of wood,
very clean and new, with its carved lattices and deeply
sloping roof. There were several men sitting in the
narrow veranda behind the low, carved railing. He
knew them all ; they greeted him and asked him many
questions. He answered vaguely and at random, hardly
hearing their words, so possessed was he with the desire
of reaching his father's house. They shook their heads
as he passed on. " It is fever," they said to each other ;
" he will not live."
The end at last ! On the left of the road two apple
trees made a natural gateway, and a little path led through
his father's maize-fields to his home, a typical village
dwelling of Kashmir. The family were still in their
summer quarters, the long upper room with its walls of
rough logs with many spaces for light and air. He heard
the drone of the spinning-wheel, and some one was sing-
ing. Then, from a window, he was seen, and they all
poured out, running down to welcome him. Somehow
194
KASHMIR
he climbed the steep outside stair, he could never remem-
ber how, then he fainted.
When he awoke to full consciousness again he was
lying by the window of his dreams. Some one was talk-
ing outside, just below the window. There were several
voices ; one was foreign, talking broken Hindustani with
A VILLAGE HOME
a curious accent and using many strange words. That
must be a sahib, for it was thus the sahibs talked. Then
a voice translated into Kashmiri. " He will live," it
said.
Who would live ? he wondered. Who was it they
thought might die? There was the sound of a woman
sobbing. Again came the stumbling words, the foreign
accent, and, after it, the shikari translating :
HIS SISTER
THE RETURN
197
"The sahib says to tell you he will live. Do not
weep. Give him of this dewai (medicine) when he
wakes. Afterwards give him this, so much every day.
If the fever returns give him the white dewai, here, in
these papers."
THE INTERPRETER
What could it all be about ? He tried to rise, to go
downstairs to find out. But, to his surprise, he fell back
on his blankets. He must have been even more tired
than he had thought.
Presently some of them came back upstairs. He
opened his eyes. How strangely weak his own voice
198 KASHMIR
sounded as he asked, " What is this ? To whom does the
sahib give dewai ? "
" It is to thee, my son," said his old father, coming to
sit by him. " It is as the sahib said," he continued,
seeing with joy that his son was awake and restored to
consciousness. "Thou wilt soon be well. By the will
of God this sahib came to Deuss, and such rain fell for
three days that he could not go on to Kishtwar to shoot
immediately. The sahib, showing great kindness, cared
for thee all these days and gave thee his medicine. Now
the rain is over and he goes to-morrow. But thou art
well, my son."
Karima had one more question. " How many days is
it since I came ? " •
" What matters one day or two days ? But I will not
lie ; it is to-day the fourth day."
Then Karima drank the medicine his mother brought
him, and lay back content. He would get well, the sahib
had said so.
With the curious childlikeness in many things of the
hill-men of Kashmir, he had implicit faith in the powers
of the sahibs. His own belief in his recovery no doubt
helped greatly the medicine given him by the Doctor
Sahib, who had been weather-bound below the pass, and
had found absorbing occupation for the long, dreary hours
THE RETURN
199
in nursing his patient through a bad spell of fever.
Karima's fine constitution, too, had played its part, and
in a fortnight, though still very weak, he could venture
down the steps, and very slowly, with many halts, along
the road.
It was evening, all his people were out in the fields,
*■
'**('■
FOOTSORE
or gossiping in the village ; his brother had taken a dali
(basket) of fruit and vegetables to a sahib who was
camping here for the night, and would doubtless give him
much bakshish.
Lying by his window he had seen Dzunia pass. She
was hurrying along as she always did ; a slim slip
of a girl, in a ragged garment of coarse puttoo, a
2oo KASHMIR
folded white cloth on her head above a little cap, a head-
dress with something of the air of that once worn by the
Roman peasantry. She had glanced up at his house
for a moment and he had seen again, for the first time
since he came back, the face for which he had gone to
distant Cheen.
It was a somewhat wistful face, with great, shy, light-
brown eyes. Her hair, too, was light brown, braided in
many small braids, all caught together at the ends,
reaching below her waist, and finished off with a large
tassel of black wool, according to the decree of fashion in
these parts. All round her forehead, soft, light-brown
curls, blown by the wind, escaped from under her little
cap. Her skin was very fair, and showed a delicate colour
in her cheeks. There was a rebellious air about the pretty
mouth. Dzunia was going to keep watch in her father's
fields, to sit in a quaint little erection of straw and dried
branches, like a huge nest, to scare away the birds and
keep a look out for other pilferers. Her brother would
not come to relieve her till late in the evening, and she
had at least three hours of lonely vigil. She would break
it by running home presently for a bowl of tea, but it
was dull work.
Besides, only last evening, and not later than eight
o'clock, a black bear had come and eaten much before he
S3
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a
THE RETURN
203
was driven away. It was easy for men, who were not
afraid, like girls, to drive away black bears ; but for her,
she did not like it at all, and — who could tell ? — the bear
might come earlier to-day.
Karima had heard of the black bear ; he knew, too,
^40F^fftn^,
dzunia's window
that Dzunia always had the afternoon watch, with the
few minutes' break when she hurried home for tea. If
he walked up the road towards the Sinthan Nar he might
meet her coming back. Then he could tell her that soon
she would not need to watch any more in the maize-fields.
So he went up the road.
2o 4 KASHMIR
It was a golden evening, after a perfect September
day ; the sky a dome of turquoise, unflecked by any cloud.
There was a faintly aromatic scent in the air from the
hedgerows where grew many a flowering weed of autumn,
and from the feathery grasses nodding in the wind. Here
and there tall sprays of larkspur lifted their delicate heads,
so deeply exquisitely blue. In the meadows below the
road the creamy flowers of the scabious, with their faint,
sweet scent, stood like pale stars amid the deeper yellow
of the wild asters. The plumed heads of the maize were
a lovely shade of pink, the colour which the afterglow of
sunset would soon paint on the grey crags above the lofty
eastern boundary of the nullah.
In the road lay a little pile of stripped cobs ; this was
done by the bear last night. Near by the path branched
off into the lumbardar's fields. By this Dzunia would
come presently. He sat down on a stone by the roadside
to wait. A cold wind blew down the gorge from the high
peaks shutting it in, lightly powdered with newly fallen
snow. He drew his warm blanket closer round him.
There, to his right, was the Mar Thar Nala. How often
he had longed to see that range of towering summits,
sharply pointed and rugged, fairy-like pinnacles of snow
from early in the winter to late in June. Now the evening
was laying deep shadows of sapphire and amethyst along
THE RETURN
205
their lower slopes, while their crests were golden in the
setting sun.
Ah ! it was good to be in his own country, among his
own hills. And there, on the path, coming towards him,
was Dzunia.
= 5 "=
"'JlMlii,,
J'""""""".,,
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IN CHAMBA
THE town of Chamba is the capital of the hill-
state of Chamba situated to the north-east of
the Panjab, between it, Kashmir, and Ladakh.
The scenery is wild and beautiful, there is good shoot-
ing to be had, and the kindness and courtesy of the
Raja of Chamba to those who travel in his country are
well known in the north. There are several peaks rising
above 18,000 feet in this State, and it is bordered to the
north and east by the huge peaks of the districts of Pangyi
209
2io KASHMIR
and Lahoul, which are over 20,000 feet and make a back-
ground for the nearer snows.
The history of this State is very interesting, and is
well authenticated from the time of the great Sahilla-
Varman who ruled Chamba early in the tenth century ;
one of its greatest chiefs, whose name is still a household
word. The present town of Chamba was founded by him,
to please his daughter, who accompanied him on some of
his warlike expeditions, and he made it the capital of the
State. After a career of conquest which extended from
the hill-states of the Sutlej to the fierce Tartar invaders
of the north beyond Kabul, after building his new capital
and many great temples, he abdicated in favour of his
son, and ended his life as an ascetic among the hills
beloved of his childhood, the sterner beauty of his early
capital, Brahmaur. For about fourteen centuries the
same race has ruled in Chamba, a branch of the Rajput
family still reigning at Oodeypur in Meywar, the oldest
of the Rajput dynasties of India. During all these cen-
turies there has never been wanting an heir of the royal
race to succeed to the throne and to rule, on the whole,
for the good of his people. Anarchy has therefore been
unknown and invasion practically so.
The town of Chamba itself is in a valley not higher
than 3000 feet, bordered on one side by snow-capped
IN CHAMBA
211
mountains nearly as high as Mont Blanc. The centre of
the town is a large, flat, open space — the polo ground.
Round this runs a road bordered by a very neat and
nicely built bazaar ; climbing up the hillside behind the
<n
Mtunto
\
1 1
THE RANI'S PALACE
bazaar rise temples, the houses of the better classes,
and the palaces of the royal family. The town has a
very well-kept and prosperous air, and is remarkably
clean and orderly, and Chamba has the reputation of
being a model State.
2i2 KASHMIR
Having marched down from Kashmir through Kisht-
war and Badarwah, we spent a few days in October in the
Forest Bungalow in Chamba kindly lent to us during our
stay, a delightful house with a large garden. After the
long and difficult marches we had done it was very
pleasant to rest here, and during the day we found it a
IN MARCHING KIT
fascinating and sufficient occupation to watch from the
upstairs veranda the procession of life on the road which
ran past the gate.
This road came from Kashmir, also from Badarwah
and Kishtwar and Padar — a land of shikar and sapphire
mines. Pangyi might also be reached from it, and, if you
went far enough, even Leh. In this respect it was rather
IN CHAMBA 213
like the road to Rome. From almost anywhere on the
borders of Kashmir most roads lead to Leh if you only
go far enough, and it is only by being very firm about it
that you can avoid going there too.
For the last few miles the road has followed the
course of the Ravi, here a mountain-stream, wide and
deep ; it has passed, about five miles away, a plain where
no field or garden is ever allowed to be since the tragedy
enacted there in days gone by, when a ruling chief of
Chamba and his brother were treacherously murdered
here. Later, it has come by the Garden of Sirol, a
neglected pleasaunce round which linger the ghosts of
long-dead romances, like the faint fragrance of the late
roses bordering the grass-grown walks. Afterwards it
has again followed the stream, and crossing a tributary
by a suspension bridge, has climbed the steep side of the
plateau on which stands Chamba, " the happy" as its
name means.
Along this road pass the hill-people of all stages of
wildness, their dress varying with each difference of tribe
or village. Among them are the tall Gaddis in full-
skirted coats of white homespun hanging in voluminous
folds from the waist almost to the knee, and belted with
ropes made of goats' hair. A high felt cap completes this
costume ; and if the wearer is one of the jeunesse dorde
2i 4 KASHMIR
of his village he will have a long and carefully arranged
curl hanging over his right shoulder, and a necklace of
large turquoise and silver amulets.
Among the feminine passers-by the dress of the
women of Chamba is the most attractive. They wear an
outer garment with a short, high-waisted bodice ; on to
this are gathered innumerable folds of muslin, so full as
to have the effect of accordion pleating, and reaching
nearly to the ankles ; the colour is usually pale pink,
blue, or yellow, and sometimes even a dull red. Beneath
this they wear a shirt and long Turkish trousers which
fit very tight from the knee to the ankle. These are
usually of some contrasting colour, or white, and as the
overdress is not fastened in front the effect is very pretty
as it swirls open with each movement of the wearer,
showing glimpses of colour underneath. The ladies of
Chamba are very clever with the needle, and do a sort
of embroidery in silk which is exactly the same on both
sides ; these are usually processions of figures, very
heraldic in drawing, and reminding one rather of the old
tapestries of the Norman ladies of long ago.
The women of Chamba are very graceful, with
gentle manners, and sweet voices having the curious
pathetic timbre which seems to belong to the hills, and
have in it the feeling of their great waste spaces and
IN CHAMBA
215
sombre forests, the chill of night, and the loneliness of
evening.
Among the passers-by have been the horses of the
Raja's stud, among them some nice animals taking their
daily exercise along this road ; and, returning from pas-
ture, the cows of the State dairy, a model institution. A
red Lama from Tibet comes every morning to sell us
te^as
iU»
PART OF THE PROCESSION
eggs, an uncouth creature who seems to think a camera
an infernal machine and flies before it. A great incident
of the day is the passing of the State elephant, when it is
taken down to the river for a bath and an airing ; it is a
strange apparition in these parts, and an unfailing source
of interest and wonder to our Kashmiris.
At sunset, as the colour fades from the wall of snow
2l6
KASHMIR
which looks down on the little town, the worshippers
gather in the courts of the temple of Vishnu. It is the