Chapter 6

AUGUST 27th.--At six o'clock this morning a Jemindar or military officer made his appearance, sent by the Baboo, for the purpose of conducting me over the fort. A row of a mile down the river, and half a mile walk through the narrow rough crowded and stinking streets of the town brought us to the outworks, at the foot of the hill on which it is built. This hill is very steep and several hundred feet high, (I do not know the exact height, but I think it is between six and seven hundred feet) and the climb up it was fatiguing. From the top there is an extensive view, but the morning was misty and the greater part of the valley indiscernible. In front lies the town, intersected by the Jhelum; a great desert of mud-covered roofs presenting anything but the green carpet-like appearance described in books. On the left long lines of poplars, enclosing the Moonshi Bagh and the various encamping grounds, with the Tukh-t-i-Suliman rising high above them. Behind, the Dul, spread out like a sheet of silver with the back ground of mountains, and many canals radiating and glistening in the sun-light. Of the fort I have but little to say. From below, its position renders it imposing, but a nearer inspection dispels the illusion. Inside it there is a Hindoo temple, two or three tanks filled with green, slimy water, and some wretched hovels for the occupation of the garrison. The ramparts though high are weak and a few shells dropped within them would blow the whole place to pieces. The ordnance consists of four ancient brass guns; two of them about 9-pounders and the others 32-pounders, but I did not see a spot from which either of them could be safely fired; and even if there were bastions strong enough, I doubt if cannon could be depressed sufficiently to sweep the precipitous sides of the hill. On my way back to the boat, I turned aside to visit the Jumma Musjid, or chief Mosque, a large quadrangular wooden building, the roof of which is supported by deodar columns of great height, each pillar being cut out of a single tree, but I cannot waste more time over it, the name recalls to my memory the magnificent Jumma Musjid of Delhi--but comparisons are odious. When parting with my attendant I felt uncertain whether or no he would be offended by the offer of a remuneration for his trouble, so I left him to ask for it, as natives usually do not scruple to request "bucksheesh" for the most trifling service, but either his orders or his dignity prevented him from soliciting it, and he went away unrewarded and I doubt not dissatisfied. After noon I went and selected a lot of papier maché articles, and gave monograms to be painted upon them. Their papier maché is fairly made, elaborately painted and moderate in price. At this shop they prepared some ladâk tea for me, a most delicious beverage possessing a delicate flavour such as I have never before tasted in any tea. It was sweetened with a sort of sweet-meat in lieu of plain sugar.

AUGUST 28th.--A blank day, I have done nothing but fish and only caught one of moderate size. Early in the morning there was a storm attended with high wind and heavy rain; it cleared up before sun-rise, but its effect has been to make the day very pleasantly cool.

AUGUST 29th.--Went up to the Tukh-t-i-Suliman (Solomon's Throne) before breakfast. It stands one thousand one hundred feet above the town, and the ascent is effected by means of unhewn stones arranged in the form of a rough flight of steps built by the Gins, I should fancy for their own private use and without any consideration for the puny race of mankind that was destined to follow them. I am a tall man and gifted with a considerable length of _understanding_ but the strides I was obliged to take--sometimes almost bounds--if calculated to improve my muscles, were certainly very trying to my wind. However all things have an end, and so had that long flight of steps, and at the summit I had leisure to recover my breath and enjoy the magnificent view. I took care to have a clear day for this excursion, and the whole valley was seen stretched out like a map, and spreading far away to the feet of its stupendous mountain boundaries. The lakes like huge mirrors reflecting a dazzling radiance. The Jhelum twisting like a "gilded snake" and forming at the foot of the hill the original of the well-known shawl pattern; miles upon miles of bright and verdant fields, divided and marked out by the banks and hedges; clumps and groves of lofty trees diminished by distance to the appearance of mere dark green bushy excrescences; the poplar avenue looking like two long and paralleled lines drawn upon the ground; the fort and hill but a pigmy now; the city of sombre colour, with its houses closely huddled together and presenting an expanse of mud--unworthy stone for such a setting! The high and rugged mountains on every side piercing the clouds, out of which the everlasting snow and ice rock regions untrod by mortal foot gleam and glisten coldly in the scene below; these are the constituent parts of a view which taken altogether ranks among the finest (if indeed it be not itself the finest) in the world. But I have no description for it as a whole, words would fail me if I attempted to reproduce it on paper, so you must take the items and arrange them to your own satisfaction, and wish you had the opportunity of seeing the glorious original. I am no antiquarian, but I believe the building itself possesses great interest for those who indulge in that musty study, on account of its vast antiquity and uncertain history. To me it is only a Hindoo temple of quaint architecture and unwholesome smell. Inside it is a small marble idol in the form of a pillar with a snake carved round it.

AUGUST 30th, Sunday.--The beginning of a fresh week which will at its conclusion find me on my way homewards, my back turned on the lovely valley and all the beauties that I have witnessed existing only in my memory like a pleasant dream that has passed. So wags the world, joys giving place to sorrows, and sorrows in their turn effaced by fresh happiness or oblivion. For a little while each one of us plays his ever varying part in the great drama of life. Now bewailing with bursting heart, and scalding tears the light affliction which is but for a moment; now with ringing laugh and reckless gaiety he enjoys the present, forgetful alike of past and future, now with stormy passions raging he "like an angry ape, plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, as make the angels weep;" and then is his short act over, then the curtain falls and then will he be called before it to receive approbation? Who can tell, I judge not one individually; but I may generalize and say, that while as a rule we give a terrible earnestness to the performance of the _business_ connected with our parts, we too often fail to appreciate and interpret the _spirit_ of the character, without which it is of course but a sorry exhibition and one that will be deservedly damned. As I sit under the shade of the chenars writing, a young native swell is passing along the opposite bank of the canal--a mere boy, with gold turban, lofty plume and embroidered clothing, riding a horse led by two grooms, followed by attendants also mounted, but sitting two on a horse and preceded by a band consisting only of some six drummers. He is playing his part doubtless very much to his own satisfaction, and little thinking that there is one "taking notes" and laughing at his proceedings. But so it is, we can always see, and ridicule the faults and foibles of others, would to God we could as easily perceive and weep over those of our own. The Baboo Mohes Chund called to pay his farewell visit to me and shortly afterwards sent a second edition of "russud" including as before--a live sheep.

AUGUST 31st.--My last day in Sreenuggur--and now let me make a few observations on a topic which I dare say you are surprised has not been mentioned before, I mean the women; the far-famed beauties of Kashmir. I am not ungallant, while I have been silent, I have been observing, and have delayed my remarks in order that they might have the benefit of the largest experience I could command. I did this the more willingly, because to tell the truth, I was disappointed at first, and I hoped that by waiting I might eventually have reason to change my unfavourable opinion. This however has not been the case, and while I intend to do full justice to their charms I must commence by saying that they have been grossly exaggerated. I do not of course allude to the higher classes. They are invisible; they _may_ be very beautiful, but are never seen by Europeans. But the middle and lower classes go about with the face uncovered, exposing themselves to the criticism of some and the admiration of others, and it is of them I speak. The slim elegant figure of the Hindoo is seldom seen; they are large, plump, round women. Their complexion has been absurdly compared to that of our brunettes (may they feel complimented thereby) but veracity compels me to say that they are _very dark_. Fair indeed by comparison with the Hindoos, but actually and unmistakeably copper-coloured not to say _black_. In their features we find a great improvement; a well-shaped nose replaces the expanded nostrils, compressed lips, the thick pouting ones, their teeth are of marvellous whiteness and regularity as are those of all Asiatics. Their cheeks may sometimes have a tinge of pink, but this is usually veiled by the darker tint of the "rete mucosum." Their eyes--oh! their eyes!--here lies their beauty, almond-shaped eyes, that when not in anger cannot help throwing the sweetest and most captivating glances. None of your trained disciplined eyes, taught to express feelings that do not exist; but still eyes that equally deceive, eyes that nature in some strange freak determined should ever look love. Unconsciously and unintentionally they dart upon you the brightest, the most tender, nay, even passionate glances. When looking at a young face, you only see the eyes; eyes so voluptuous, so maddening, that you exclaim "good heavens what a beautiful creature," and unless you are a calm and cool analyst like myself, you may not discover that there is really no beauty save in them. They dress their hair in a peculiar manner. It is plaited in a number of small plaits joining two larger ones which fall over the shoulders and unite in the middle of the back to form a long tail terminating with a tassel. The larger plaits are mixed with wool, this adds to their bulk, and increase the length of the tail, which often extends below the knees. They wear a single loose gown, reaching in ample folds nearly to the feet. On the head a small red skull cap, over which is thrown the white (too often dirty) "chudder"--a light cloth which hangs down the back and is used for veiling the face. The boatwomen are renowned for their beauty. I have seen but little of it. The Punditanees are said to be more beautiful than the boatwomen. I consider them even less so. But among the Nautch girls I have seen both grace and beauty, and as a class, I certainly think far better looking than the others. Respect to age is a noble feeling--though one that is unfortunately at a low ebb now-a-days--but truth, compels me and I must pronounce all the elderly women to be positively ugly, and a woman is elderly in Kashmir when in England she still might be called young. The men are a fine race, regular features, broad shouldered and muscular, wearing their bushy black beards on their faces, but shaving the head, which is covered with a small coloured skull cap and white turban. Two other men have pitched their tents under this tope. To-morrow I shall leave them in undisturbed possession of the whole. They are friends and have been travelling in Kashmir. I have had a conversation with one of them, but I don't like strangers and am glad they did not come before.

SEPTEMBER 1st.--Up and away, taking a last look at the town and bridges, a last look at the Tukh-t-i-Suliman while floating down the river. I am on my way to Baramula, having given up my intended visit to Gulmurg, so that I may get a week at Murree, and see more of the place than I did when I was last there. Adieu to Sreenuggur, adieu to the Scind, adieu to Manusbul; gently onwards we go towards lake Wulloor. It is a bright clear day, one of the brightest among the many bright ones, and the valley seems smiling upon me an affectionate farewell in order that the last recollections and parting scene may be a joyful memory to me in days and years to come. I thank thee for it. When I am gone let rain-tears fall and clouds of care bewail my absence, but gladden my departing moments with the full radiance of thy glorious countenance. Oh! Kashmir, loveliest spot on earth, I owe thee a deep debt of gratitude, I came to thee weak in body; thou hast restored my strength, I was poor in thought; thou hast filled my heart with good things, I was proud in conceit; thou hast shown me nature's grandeur and my own littleness. With a voiceless tongue thou hast spoken and my spirit has heard the unuttered words. Tales of the creation when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy; tales of man and his works perished in the endless roll of ages; tales of the future when heaven and earth shall have passed away amid the dread terror of the great tribulation. Aye, and one more tale, a tale of love, mercy, and forgiveness; the tale of an Asiatic--who, not far from here, was once "bruised for our transgressions," who took upon Himself the iniquities of us all and made up for us a mighty deliverance, and to this tale there is a refrain that echoes from hill to hill, and spreads along the plain in endless repetition, "believe only and thou shalt be saved," but though the command is so simple, its eager passionate tone as it swells around me, and an earnest mournful cadence as it dies away in the distance, seems to imply that it is neither easily nor commonly obeyed.

SEPTEMBER 2nd.--Awoke early and found myself in the broad waters of the lake, the full moon shining brightly in the west, and yet unpaled by the rosy dawn that was rapidly illuminating the east. Stopped at Sopoor for breakfast, and Macnamara, surgeon of the 60th Rifles, and his wife, arrived soon after me, also bound for Murree. Macnamara was at Peshawur with me, and was one of the committee that sent me away. We passed the morning in conversation, and at mid-day continued our journey to Baramula. He told me that he had heard that I was going home this winter with troops; but I do not know whether his information is reliable. I trust it may prove to be so, but it has not raised my hopes to a certainty. It is a good rule never to reckon confidently upon the achievement of our desires. It never assists to realise them and only renders the disappointment more bitter in case of failure. I have a great hope, but I do not forget that obstacles may arise, that while man proposes God disposes, and often find myself forming plans for next year under the supposition that I shall still remain in India. I have written the dedication of this volume and have written it as if I had already returned to England, and this may appear to indicate that I rely strongly upon the fulfilment of my expectation. But not so, I can alter or destroy it if need be, and shall do so with regret indeed, but without despair. About halfway between Sopoor and Baramula the wind increased to a gale and obliged me to take refuge under the bank. I dined with Macnamara and his wife at 8 o'clock, the weather moderated and we proceeded to Baramula.

SEPTEMBER 3rd.--At sunrise I obtained coolies, and turned my back on the happy valley for ever. It was a beautiful morning with a golden haze rising from the ground, the mountains appearing blue and purple against the eastern halo; but before I had gone a mile a dark cloud gathered around me, and wept passionate rain. I marched to Naoshera, ten miles, followed in an hour by Dr. and Mrs. Macnamara who will be my fellow travellers as far as Murree. The Rohale ferry is re-opened and I am returning by the direct road on the left bank of the Jhelum. There is a barahduree at every stage, so I sold my tent at Sreenuggur to render my baggage lighter. I am travelling with only six coolies. The river is much lower and less rapid than when I came up it, the excess of water caused by the melting of the snow during the summer having been carried off. It is still however a noisy turbulent torrent.

SEPTEMBER 4th.--A long march of fourteen miles to Ooree. The road is becoming very hilly, but is not as yet nearly so rough and difficult as on the other side. Passed two ruins; one of then very similar to those at Wangut, but much smaller.

SEPTEMBER 5th.--To Chukoti, sixteen miles, a severe and fatiguing march, the hills being intersected by ravines--the beds of streams--to all of which there was a steep descent and corresponding ascent. This is the worst march on the Murree road, but though bad, it is much better than five or six that I described on my journey from Abbottabad. These long marches are very detrimental to my diary, for at the conclusion I have no energy either to think or write. I am not using my dandy now, and have to walk every inch of the way.

SEPTEMBER 6th.--Fifteen weary miles to Huttian, low down on a level with the river where I found a number of tents belonging to the Lord Bishop of Calcutta and his Chaplain, who are here with a large retinue of servants, and are on their way into Kashmir. They had very considerately and unlike a certain ---- ---- left the bungalow empty for the use of other travellers. Macnamara sprained his knee yesterday, and used my dandy to day. One of my coolies stumbled on the road and the Kitta he was carrying--containing my stores and cooking utensils, went over the Rhudd and burst open in the fall. Macnamara was behind fortunately (for me) and superintended the collection of the articles so that my only loss of any moment is that of my big cooking pot, which from its weight probably rolled all the way down to the Jhelum--the long grass growing on the hill, stopped the other things. The six remaining marches are I am glad to say short. The three last have been a severe trial on account of the numerous and rough ups and downs, and for the last mile or two this morning, the soles of my feet were in great pain; Silly too was very exhausted even to the dropping of his tail.

SEPTEMBER 7th.--Got up at daybreak and marched on Chikar, distance ten miles. For three miles the road continued along the valley of the Jhelum, and then turned to the south, and crossed several ranges of hills, each range rising higher than the one before, very hard work it was, the ascents being so steep and long--I can't keep my breath going up hill; it is far more fatiguing than any roughness of road. Chikar is a good sized village with a fort and is situated on the summit of a mountain at least two thousand feet above the Jhelum. There is a fine view of the surrounding hills from the Barahduree. Shortly after our arrival it began to rain, and has turned out a wet day. I had half my crockery broken by the coolie dropping the basket instead of putting it carefully down at the conclusion of the march.

SEPTEMBER 8th.--To Meira, seven and a half miles, a toilsome hill for half the distance, and then a descent the rest of the way. Scenery very pretty, the valleys being much larger and the mountains higher. The Murree ridge is now visible. From this bungalow we can see the next halting place, half way up a hill on the opposite side of an extensive valley deeply cut by ravines. The view is really very grand--much the finest on this road--in some parts it slightly resembles the scenery around Darjeeling with, of course, pine trees taking the place of magnolias and rhododendrons. The mere mention of those trees--magnolias and rhododendrons I mean--will only give you a misconception of the Sikin forests, because your ideas will be turned to the stunted shrubs of our northern latitudes. The magnolias and rhododendrons I speak of, are huge towering trees, taller than the largest oaks. How well I remember the magnificent spectacle they presented when in blossom! I have never seen mountains or forests that could compare in grandeur with those of the eastern Himalayas. Can you imagine Kishun-gunga twenty-nine thousand feet high? No! it is impossible; it is a sight that produces the most intense awe, and when I first looked upon it I did not know how to contain my feelings; but enough, or I shall be giving you a chapter quite irrevelant to my journey from Kashmir. By the side of this bungalow stands a large cypress; a very beautiful and by no means a common tree. There is something peculiarly rich in its dark green foliage, and withal, melancholy look, but that is doubtless owing to its tomb--stone associations. Ince in his "Guide," calls it a _sycamore_. He could hardly have named a tree more widely different.

SEPTEMBER 9th.--To Dunee, eight and a half miles; first half, down hill, second up: both very steep and rough. A bad fatiguing march. The barahduree here has been lately white-washed and looks quite refreshing after the other dirty ones; but the rooms are ridiculously small. This is the last halt in Kashmirian territory; to-morrow we shall be in a dâk bungalow. I had a lesson to-day. The same lesson that the spider taught Bruce--never to cease striving to obtain any desired object; and not despair even if frequent failures attend the attempt. Ever since I left Baramula I have been endeavouring to catch another of the green butterflies, as beetles had eaten my first specimen. But they are very alert on the wing, and I could not get near one. The last two or three marches I had not seen any, having got out of their locality, but to-day a solitary one flew by me and I knocked it down, caught it, and secured it in my toper. Success will eventually crown all constant endeavours, it is a slight peg on which to hang a moral, but let it pass. Life is made up of trifles, and I desire my book to represent my life. A number of people--ladies, men, and children--came into the bungalow at 2 o'clock, having made a double march and overtaken us; so we are very closely packed, even the verandah being occupied.

SEPTEMBER 10th.--To Kohala, six miles, nearly all the way down a terribly steep and rough hill to the banks of the Jhelum--which river has taken a great bend among the mountains and now runs at right angles to its former course. A ferry boat crosses the torrent at this spot and the passage during the summer is attended with considerable danger, as the stream runs at the rate of twenty miles an hour. I got my baggage in it and landed upon British soil at the other side. The Dâk bungalow is just above, but we were very much crowded as all the other people remained for the night. After dinner a great thunderstorm took place accompanied with very heavy rain.

SEPTEMBER 11th.--Marched to Dargwal, twelve miles, up hill all the way, but the road is broad and smooth, so that the march was quickly and easily accomplished. M---- and his wife did not come in till the middle of the day as they could not get coolies in time to start early. There is a good furnished bungalow here, our other fellow travellers have gone on to Murree, so we have the house to ourselves.