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KASHMIR
* * * * *
_UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME_
BURMA
BY R. TALBOT KELLY, R.B.A., F.R.G.S.
Containing 75 Full-page Illustrations in
colour facsimile.
INDIA
BY MORTIMER MENPES
TEXT BY FLORA ANNIE STEEL
Containing 75 Full-page Illustrations in
colour facsimile.
A. AND C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.
AGENTS
AMERICA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64 & 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
AUSTRALASIA THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
205 FLINDERS LANE, MELBOURNE
CANADA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA, LTD.
ST. MARTIN'S HOUSE, 70 BOND STREET, TORONTO
INDIA MACMILLAN & COMPANY, LTD.
MACMILLAN BUILDING, BOMBAY
309 BOW BAZAAR STREET, CALCUTTA
GERMANY, AUSTRIA-HUNGARY, } BROCKHAUS AND PEHRSSON
RUSSIA, } 16 QUERSTRASSE, LEIPZIG
SCANDINAVIA, AND }
GERMAN SWITZERLAND }
* * * * *
[Illustration: WILD RHODODENDRONS]
KASHMIR
Described by
SIR FRANCIS YOUNGHUSBAND, K.C.I.E.
Painted by Major E. Molyneux, D.S.O.
London
Adam and Charles Black
1911
First published September 1909
Reprinted August 1911
TO
HIS HIGHNESS
MAJOR-GENERAL MAHARAJA SIR PRATAP SINGH
G.C.S.I.
MAHARAJA OF JAMMU AND KASHMIR
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
IN RECOGNITION OF MUCH HOSPITALITY AND IN TOKEN OF
A FRIENDSHIP OF MANY YEARS
PREFACE
When Major Molyneux asked me to combine with him in the production of
a book on Kashmir I could not resist the temptation to describe what
he had so faithfully depicted, though my official duties naturally
leave me insufficient time to do real justice to the theme. I have not
been able to write with the completeness that I should have wished;
and I am aware of many sins of omission. I can only hope that when the
description fails the reader will be fortunate to have his attention
irresistibly diverted to one or other of my collaborator's beautiful
pictures.
THE RESIDENCY, SRINAGAR,
_September 1908_.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
SCENERY AND SEASONS
Bernier's impression of Kashmir in 1665--Comparison of
Kashmir and Switzerland--The road in--First signs of
spring--Srinagar in March--A start for
Shikar--Shikaris--Forest-clad hill-sides--Signs of
stag--View over the valley--Rosy mountains--Unrealised
beauties--A duck-shoot--The view from Hokrar--Harwan in
spring--Varying beauties of Kashmir--Harwan in May--Clouds
on the mountains--A Kashmir village--Irises and
roses--Trout-culture--A trout stream--Srinagar in April--The
view from Gupkar--A spring scene--Unusual rain--The Nishat
Bagh--Pandrathan--Srinagar in summer--The valley in
September--The end of the monsoon--The gorgeous autumn--A
Hokrar duck-shoot--The valley in winter--Shikaris--Shooting
in winter 1
CHAPTER II
TRAVEL IN KASHMIR
Travel in old times--My first entrance--My old
retainer--Present modes of travel--Stages from the
railway--Srinagar house-boats--Srinagar shops--Expeditions
from Srinagar--The descent from the Tragbal 47
CHAPTER III
SRINAGAR AND NEIGHBOURHOOD
An old capital--The Maharaja's arrival--Procession through
the city--The European quarter--The Jama Masjid--Shah
Hamadan--Dr. Neve's Hospital--The
Takht-i-Suliman--Pandrathan--The Dal Lake--The Nasim
Bagh--The Shalimar Bagh--The Nishat Bagh--Parihasapura 63
CHAPTER IV
THE RESIDENCY GARDEN
The first week in March--Fruit trees in bloom--Kashmir
tulips--Golden orioles--Roses in
May--Strawberries--Burbank's Delphiniums--The height of
summer--The garden in autumn--Autumnal colours 87
CHAPTER V
GULMARG
The "Meadow of Flowers"--Its numerous attractions--Views
over the valley--Flowers--Nanga Parbat 98
CHAPTER VI
THE VALLEYS AND PLACES OF INTEREST
The Sind Valley--Gangabal Lake--The Lolab--The Lidar
Valley--Martand--Achibal 108
CHAPTER VII
SPORT
Game Preservation--The year's bag--Duck-shooting--Fishing
118
CHAPTER VIII
THE PEOPLE
Kashmir beauties--The Pundits--Mohamedans--The Quadiani
sect--Kashmiri villagers--Boatmen 125
CHAPTER IX
THE HISTORY OF KASHMIR
Possible effect of natural beauty--Ancient
ruins--Martand--Greek influence--Buddhist
influence--Kanishka--Lalitaditya--Avantivarman--Short
reigns--Internal struggles--Perpetual intrigue--Advent of
Mohamedans--Zain-ul-ab-ul-din--Akbar--The Moghals--Afghan
oppressors--Sikhs--Rise of Gulab Singh--Break-up of
Sikhs--Gulab Singh and the British--Treaty of 1846--Gulab
Singh acquires Kashmir--Its deplorable state--Ranbir
Singh--Country still depressed--Famine of 1877--Improvements
during present reign 133
CHAPTER X
ADMINISTRATION
System of rule--Personal--Sources of revenue--Land revenue
assessment 183
CHAPTER XI
PRODUCTS AND MANUFACTURES
Wool--Silk--Fruit--Rice--Other grains--Experimental
farm--Soil--Implements--Forests--Mineral
products--Shawls--Carpets--Silk--Papier-mache--Puttoo--
Boat-building--Trade 194
CHAPTER XII
THE ELECTRICAL SCHEME
Water-power turned to electric power--The Jhelum River
harnessed--The flume--The power-house--Difficulties
encountered--The dredging scheme 222
CHAPTER XIII
THE PEAKS AND MOUNTAIN RANGES
The Peak K2--Errors in observation--Nanga Parbat--Rocks of
great peaks--The Himalayan range 234
CHAPTER XIV
THE STORY OF THE MOUNTAINS
Interest of study--Kashmir under the sea--100,000,000 years
ago--Kashmir an archipelago--Finally upheaved--Cause of
upheaval--History of life--At first no land life--Ferns--The
Coal Measures--Great reptiles--Mammals--Kashmir valley a
lake--Appearance of man--Reflections on the story--Need to
look forward--Creating higher man 251
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
BY MAJOR E. MOLYNEUX, D.S.O.
PAGE
1. Wild Rhododendrons _Frontispiece_
2. Approach to Srinagar 2
3. The Land of Roses 4
4. Mouth of the Sind Valley 6
5. Sunset on the Wular Lake 8
6. Dawn in the Nulla 10
7. Kotwal from the Forest above Kangan, Sind Valley 12
8. Above the Camping-Ground, Sonamarg, Sind Valley 14
9. The Kajnag from Sopur, Early Spring 16
10. Kotwal from near the Dal Darwaza 18
11. The Lull before the Storm, Dal Lake 20
12. Above Lidarwat, Lidar Valley 22
13. Sunset on the Jhelum, above Srinagar 24
14. Spring in Kashmir 26
15. On the Dal Lake in Spring 28
16. Entrance to the Mar Canal 32
17. The Temple, Chenar Bagh 34
18. Ruins of Lalla Rookh's Gardens, Lake Manasbal 36
19. A Ladaki in Summer Costume 52
20. The Valley of Gurais 62
21. Market Boats on the Mar Canal, Srinagar 64
22. Above the Fifth Bridge, Srinagar 66
23. Shawl Merchants' Shops, Third Bridge, Srinagar 68
24. Mosque of Shah Hamadan, Srinagar 70
25. A Hindu Temple, Srinagar 72
26. In the Mar Canal, Srinagar 74
27. Guggribal Pointe on the Dal Lake 76
28. Lotus Lilies on the Dal Lake 78
29. Shalimar Gardens 80
30. The Nishat Bagh 82
31. A Terrace of the Nishat Bagh 84
32. The Residency and Club, Srinagar 88
33. The Takht-i-Suliman, from the Residency Garden 94
34. On the Circular Road, Gulmarg 100
35. In the Forest 102
36. From the Circular Road, Gulmarg 104
37. Gorge of the Sind Valley at Guggangir 108
38. The Frozen Lake, Gangabal 110
39. Early Morning near Pahlgam, Lidar Valley 112
40. The Ruins of Martand 114
41. A Srinagar Bazaar 116
42. A Corner of the Village of Pahlgam, Lidar Valley 128
43. A Mountain Farm-House 130
44. A Boatman and his Family 132
45. Ruins of Temples, Wangat, Sind Valley 134
46. Ruined Gateway of Martand 136
47. Ruined Temples of Avantipur 138
48. Gate of the Outer Wall, Hari Parbat Fort, Srinagar 156
49. At the River's Edge, Srinagar 160
50. Lalla Rookh's Tomb, Hassan Abdal 162
51. Bridge of Burbur Shah, Chenar Bagh, Srinagar 164
52. Spring Floods in the Kutical Canal, Srinagar 166
53. Looking down the Gurais Valley, from Dudhgai Village 168
54. Akbar's Bridge, Karallayar 174
55. The Camping-Ground at Lidarwat 198
56. A Wayside Shrine 202
57. Evening on the Dal Lake 210
58. Mount Haramokh, from the Erin Nullah 238
59. A Mountain Glen, before the Melting of the Snows 240
60. Lake Shisha Nag, Lidar Valley 244
61. Distant View of Nanga Parbat, from the Kamri Pass 246
62. Mount Kolahoi, Lidar Valley 248
63. Rampur, Jhelum Valley Road 252
64. In the Sind Valley 254
65. Lake Shisha Nag at Sunset 258
66. The Tannin Glen, Lidar Valley 260
67. Going to the Wedding, Upper Indus Valley 262
68. Mountain Mists 264
69. Near the Kolahoi Glacier, Lidar Valley 266
70. Lake Sinsa Nag, Lidar Valley 270
_Sketch Map of Kashmir at end of Volume._
KASHMIR
CHAPTER I
SCENERY AND SEASONS
Bernier, the first European to enter Kashmir, writing in 1665, says:
"In truth, the kingdom surpasses in beauty all that my warmest
imagination had anticipated." This impression is not universally felt,
for one of the very latest writers on Kashmir speaks of it as
overrated, and calls the contour of the mountains commonplace and
comparable to a second-rate Tyrolean valley. And fortunate it is that
in this limited earth of ours we every one of us do not think alike.
But I have seen many visitors to Kashmir, and my experience is that
the bulk of them are of the same view as the above-mentioned
Frenchman. They have read in books, and they have heard from friends,
glowing descriptions of the country; but the reality has, with most,
exceeded the expectation. Some have found the expenses of living and
the discomforts of travel greater than they had expected. And some
have arrived when it was raining or cloudy, and the snows were not
visible; or in the middle of summer when the valley is hazy, steamy,
and filled with mosquitoes. But when the clouds have rolled by, the
haze lifted, and a real Kashmir spring or autumn day disclosed itself,
the heart of the hardest visitor melteth and he becomes as Bernier.
The present book will deal, not with the whole Kashmir State, which
includes many outlying provinces, but with Kashmir Proper, with the
world-renowned valley of Kashmir, a saucer-shaped vale with a length
of 84 miles, a breadth of 20 to 25 miles, and a mean height of 5600
feet above sea-level, set in the very heart of the Himalaya, and
corresponding in latitude to Damascus, to Fez in Morocco, and to South
Carolina.
[Illustration: APPROACH TO SRINAGAR]
The country with which one is most apt to compare it is, naturally,
Switzerland. And Switzerland, indeed, has many charms, and a
combination of lake and mountain in which, I think, it excels Kashmir.
But it is built on a smaller scale. There is not the same wide sweep
of snow-clad mountains. There is no place where one can see a
complete _circle_ of snowy mountains surrounding a plain of anything
like the length and breadth of the Kashmir valley, for the main
valleys of Switzerland are like the side valleys of Kashmir. And above
everything there is not behind Switzerland what there is at the back
of Kashmir, and visible in glimpses from the southern side,--a region
of stupendous mountains surpassing every other in the world.
By these Himalayan regions only, by the mountains of Baltistan and
Hunza, and by those unequalled mountains seen from Darjiling, can
Kashmir be excelled. There indeed one sees mountain majesty and
sublimity at their very zenith. And with such as these Kashmir cannot
compare. But it possesses a combination of quiet loveliness and
mountain grandeur which has a fascination all its own. If one could
imagine the smiling, peaceful Thames valley with a girdle of snowy
mountains, he would have the nearest approach to a true idea of
Kashmir it is possible to give. He would not expect the stern
ruggedness and almost overwhelming majesty of the mighty mountains
beyond Kashmir. But he would have the tranquil beauty and genial
loveliness which to some are even preferable.
Of this, my collaborator's pictures will give a true and vivid
impression, though every artist allows that it is impossible to give
in a single picture the broad general effect of those wide-flung
landscapes and of the snowy ranges stretching from one horizon to
another. For that impression and for the varying effect of spring and
autumn, of winter and summer, dependence must be on the pen alone.
Which is the most lovely season each must decide for himself. In the
spring we think the spring the most exquisitely beautiful. In the
autumn we say that nothing could exceed the charm of the brilliant
autumn tints. But as it is in the spring that most visitors first
arrive, and as it is the real beginning of the year, there will be
some advantage in commencing in that season the delicate task of
describing Kashmir.
In the first week in March I drove into Kashmir,--this last year,
fortunately, in fine weather. In other years at this season I might
not have been so fortunate, and the reader must take this possibility
of drenching rain, of muddy roads, and dangerous landslips into
account. For that purpose, however, there is no need to offer aid to
his imagination, as rainy days are much the same all the world
over.
[Illustration: THE LAND OF ROSES]
The long drive from the Railway Station at Rawal Pindi, 196 miles from
Srinagar, was nearly ended. We had steadily ascended the valley of the
Jhelum, with the river continually dashing past us on the left, a
strong impetuous stream now being turned to useful ends, firstly, in
generating electric power near Rampur, and secondly, in irrigating
millions of acres in the plains of the Punjab below. We had passed
through the peaceful deodar forest on either side of Rampur, and the
splendid limestone cliffs which rise precipitously from them. Just
beyond we had passed massive ruins of the so-called Buddhist, but
really Hindu temple, dating about 700 A.D. All the country had been
blanketed with snow; the hill-sides forested with thousands of
Christmas trees glistening in the brilliant sunshine, and the frozen
road had been rattling under the ponies' feet. When gradually the
narrow valley opened out. The enclosing hills widened apart. The river
from a rushing torrent became as placid as the Thames, with numerous
long-prowed boats gliding smoothly downward. The little town of
Baramula, and the first distinctive chalet-like, but dirty, shaky
habitations of Kashmir; a graceful Hindu temple; fine specimens of the
famous chenar trees; and a typical log bridge, came into view; and
then, as the hill-sides finally parted asunder, the glorious valley
itself--a valley on so extensive a scale as really to be a plain
amidst the mountains--was disclosed; and faintly mingling with the
cloudless azure of the sky, on the far side stretched the great range
of snowy mountains which bound Kashmir on the north, with the Haramokh
peak, 16,900 feet high, standing boldly out 35 miles distant
immediately in front; and from just beyond Baramula even Nanga Parbat
itself, 26,600 feet, and 70 miles distant, towering nobly over the
lower ranges, the solitary representative of the many mountain giants
which lay behind.
Then as we emerged into the open valley the snow disappeared and the
first faint signs of spring were visible. All the trees were indeed
still bare. Neither on the massive chenar nor on the long lines of
poplars which bordered the road continuously from Baramula to Srinagar
was there a vestige of a leaf; and all the grass was absolutely brown.
But in the willows there was just the suspicion of yellow-green. The
little leaf-buds were just preparing to burst. On the ground were
frequent masses of yellow crocuses and familiar bluebells. Here
and there were clumps of violets. Occasionally a tortoise-shell
or cabbage-white butterfly would flutter by. Above all, the glorious
brilliant sunshine, the open, clear blue sky, and the soft touch and
gentle feel which at noonday replaced the crisp, frosty nip of the
morning air gave certain promise of the approach of spring.
[Illustration: MOUTH OF THE SIND VALLEY]
Again, when at length Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir, was reached,
and I was back in my much-loved garden, still other signs of spring's
arrival were evident. Violets, pansies, wallflowers, narcissus,
crocuses, and daisies were out. A few green blades were showing
through the brown grass. Rose leaf-buds were bursting. In one garden
near a few apricot blossoms had actually bloomed. And the whole garden
was filled with the spring song of the birds lightly turning to
thoughts of love--thrushes, minas, sparrows, blue-tits, hoopoes,
starlings; bold, familiar crows, and, most delightful of them all, the
charming little bulbuls with their coquettish top-knots--the friendly
little beings who come confidingly in at the windows and perch on the
curtain rails or chairs, and even on the table to peck sugar from the
basin.
And so for many days the weather continued, the temperature a degree
or two below freezing-point at night, and rising to a maximum of 55 deg.
in the shade and 105 deg. in the sun in the day-time. Day after day
cloudlessly clear. The snowy ranges standing out sharp and distinct.
The nearer mountains still covered with snow to within a thousand or
two feet of the valley level. In the early morning all the
valley-bottom glistening silvery-white with hoar frost. Then towards
noon a curious struggle between summer and winter. The aspect of the
country outside the garden entirely winter--leafless trees and
frost-withered grass; but in the still air the sun's rays, with daily
increasing power, having all the warmth of an early summer day in
England; and under the noonday sun the mountains fading in a dreamy
haze.
* * * * *
Then, of a sudden, came one of those complete and rapid changes which
so enhance the charm of Kashmir. Dark ominous clouds settled on the
near mountain-tops; here and there sweeping along their summits
whirling snowstorms were driven along; the distant snows showed up
with that steel-grey definition which in storm-ridden days replaces
the dreamy indistinctness of more sunny times; now and then a glinting
sun-ray breaking through the driving clouds would brighten up
some solitary peak; and in the valley bottom periods of threatening
stillness would alternate with gusty bursts of wind.
[Illustration: SUNSET ON THE WULAR LAKE]
Such signs are usually the presage of unpleasant weather. But in the
present case rain did not fall; and this was fortunate, for I had gone
into camp to shoot a bara-singh, the famous Kashmir stag. Rising at
four on the following morning, and, as soon as I had had a hurried
breakfast, mounting a shaggy, naughty little pony captured in the
fighting in Tibet, I followed the shadowy form of a shikari bestriding
a still more diminutive country pony. Most of the clouds of the
previous day had disappeared. The wind had died down, and the stars
were shining out with that clear brilliance only seen amidst the
mountains and in the desert. There was a sharp, bracing feeling in the
air--not the same stinging cold I had felt when riding along this road
at night in January, but strong and invigorating. We stumbled along on
our ponies across fields and by paths which only a native could
detect. At each village dogs howled dismally at us, but not a soul was
astir. We gradually approached the dark outlines of the mountains, and
near their base, while it was still pitch dark, we were joined by
other shikaris who, like stage conspirators and with bated breath,
explained where a stag had been seen on the previous day. I had then
to dismount and walk; steadily and silently we ascended the
mountain-side, and by sunrise were 3000 feet above the valley. The
shikaris were now visible, and like their class hard and keen-looking,
clearly used to living on mountain-sides in cold and heat, and to be
ever peering into distances. The head shikari was a grey, grizzled,
old-looking man, though I daresay he was really not over fifty; hard
and tough, and very grave and earnest--for to him all else in the
world is play, and shikar is man's real work in life. Residents, no
doubt, have some employments to amuse themselves with in ordinary
times; but when the real business of life has to be done they come to
him, and he takes them gently in hand like little children, and shows
them the haunts of the Kashmir stag, his habits, where he wanders, and
how to pursue him.
[Illustration: DAWN IN THE NULLA]
So now I put myself humbly in charge of the shikaris, for I make no
pretence to be a sportsman. They thereupon proceed to whisper together
with profound earnestness and dramatic action. They point out the
exact spot where, on the previous afternoon, a stag was seen. They
pick up little tufts of his hair brushed off, as they say, in
fighting. They show his footsteps in the soft soil and on patches of
snow. And they are full of marvellous conjectures as to where he can
have gone. But gone he has, and that was the main fact which no amount
of whispering could get over.
So on we went along the mountain-side, and now through deep snow, for
we were on a northward-facing slope of an outlying spur--and all
slopes which face northward are wooded, while southward-facing slopes
are bare. The explanation was evident. For on the latter slopes the
sun's rays fell directly and almost at right angles, and in
consequence fallen snow quickly disappears: while on the northern
slopes the sun's rays only slant across the surface; the snow remains
much longer; the moisture in the soil is retained; vegetation
flourishes; trees grow up; they in their turn still further shade the
snow, and with their roots retain the moisture. And so as a net result
one side of a mountain is clothed in dense forest, and on the other
there may not be a single tree. Thus it is that on the southern side
of Kashmir, that is, on the _northward_-facing slopes of the Pir
Panjal range, there is, as at Gulmarg, dense and continuous forest,
while on the northern side of the valley, on the slope of the hill
that consequently faces southward, there is no forest except on the
slopes of those subsidiary spurs which face northward.
We followed the tracks of the stag through this patch of forest,
mostly of hazels, the shikaris pointing out where the stag had nibbled
off the young leaf-buds and bark which seem to form the staple food of
the deer at this time of year. At last we came to another shikari who
said he had seen the stag that very morning. But I suspect this was
merely a form of politeness to reinspire my lagging hope, for though I
went down and up and along the mountain-side, and spent the whole day
there, I saw no stag. Once we heard a rustling among the leaves, and
hope revived, but it was merely a troop of monkeys. A little later a
boar shuffled out; and again, on a distant spur, disporting himself in
the sunshine, we saw a bear; but no stag.
[Illustration: KOTWAL FROM THE FOREST ABOVE KANGAN, SIND VALLEY]
Still, in spite of the exertion and in spite of the disappointment, a
day like this on the mountain-side is felt as one of the days in which
one lives. The air was fresh and bracing. There was something both
soothing and inspiring in the quiet of the mountains and the
immense distances before me. Far away to the south majestic clouds and
snowstorms were sweeping along the snowy range of the Pir Panjal.
Beneath was the placid river wending its tortuous way through the
peaceful valley. On one hand would be seen angry storm-clouds rolling
threateningly across with numerous sun-rays piercing through and
lighting up the serpentine course of the river. On the other, emerging
from the black masses, would appear the sunlit snowy range, not hard,
defined, and clear, and rooted on earth, but to all appearances hung
from the heavens like an ethereal transparency.
Hour after hour I alternately feasted on the changing scenes displayed
across the valley, and with my field-glasses searched the
mountain-side for bara-singh. When evening closed in I returned to
camp, where business kept me on the following day, but on the day
after I again rode out while it was yet dark. As the first faint signs
of dawn appeared I began the ascent of the mountain with the shikaris.
The heavens were clear and cloudless. The bluey-black of the sky
imperceptibly faded into grey. The mountain slowly turned from grey to
brown as we steadily worked upward. The reposeful stillness which is
the characteristic charm of the mountains was only broken by the
cheerful chuckle of the chikor, or the occasional twitter of a bird
calling to its mate. Then as we reached the summit of a ridge, and I
looked out through the greys and browns, a sudden thrill struck
through me as, all unexpectedly, my eye lit on the long flush of rosy
pink which the yet unrisen sun had thrown upon the distant mountains,
and which was the more pronounced and striking because their skyey
background and their base was still the grey of night. Not often does
one see a range of _rosy_ mountains. And even now the effect lasted
for a short time only. For rapidly a faint blue drowned the grey. The
sky grew bluer and bluer. The valley became filled with light. But,
alas! the rosy pink that had flushed the snowy summits faded
imperceptibly away to barren whiteness. The whole long range of
mountains showed themselves out with admirable clearness, but
distinctly rooted in the unromantic brown of the valley.
[Illustration: ABOVE THE CAMPING-GROUND, SONAMARG, SIND VALLEY]
By seven we were at the summit of the mountain with the sun now
shining full upon us, the air crisp and frosty-the very ideal of young
and vigorous day. We marched steadily along the ridge searching the
hollows on either side for stag, but all we saw was a boar breaking
the ice in a pool on the ridge to get a morning drink. At length
we halted for refreshment and rest still on the summit of the ridge
with the most beautiful valley on earth spread out in all its
loveliness 3000 feet below, and the heavenly snowy range bounding the
horizon from end to end before us. Just faintly the sounds from some
village below would be wafted to us through the clear still air. But
otherwise we seemed serenely apart from the noisy turmoil of humanity;
and bathed in the warm noonday sunlight I was able to drink in all the
spirit of the loveliness around me.
And there came upon me this thought, which doubtless has occurred to
many another besides myself--why the scene should so influence me and
yet make no impression on the men about me. Here were men with far
keener eyesight than my own, and around me were animals with eyesight
keener still. Their eyes looked on the same scene as mine did, and
could distinguish each detail with even greater accuracy. Yet while I
lay entranced with its exquisite beauty the keen-eyed shikaris, the
animals, and the soaring eagle above me, might have been stone blind
for all the impression of beauty it left upon them. Clearly it is not
the eye, but the soul that sees. But then comes the still further
reflection--what may there not be staring _me_ straight in the face
which I am as blind to as the Kashmir stags are to the beauties amidst
which they spend their entire lives? The whole panorama may be
vibrating with beauties man has not yet the soul to see. Some already
living, no doubt, see beauties that we ordinary men cannot appreciate.
It is only a century ago that mountains were looked upon as hideous.
And in the long centuries to come may we not develop a soul for
beauties unthought of now? Undoubtedly we must. And often in reverie
on the mountains I have tried to imagine what still further loveliness
they may yet possess for men.
* * * * *
From clambering over the high mountains in search of a solitary stag
to sitting in a boat in the middle of a lake with thousands of ducks
incessantly swishing round, is only one other example of the variety
of scene and interest which Kashmir affords. There was just time
before the end of the season for a final duck shoot, and eight of us
rode or drove out six miles from Srinagar to the famous Hokrar Ghat,
"jheel," which the Maharaja had so kindly placed at the disposal of
the Resident for the season.
[Illustration: THE KAJNAG FROM SOPUR, EARLY SPRING]
We meet at the edge of the lake and draw lots for the numbered butts.
The shikaris, boatmen, and boats are awaiting us, and as soon as we
have decided where each is to go, and have fixed a time to cease
shooting as an interval for lunch, and to give the ducks time to
settle again for the further shooting in the afternoon, we embark each
on a light shallow skiff with our guns, cartridges, and tiffin, and
glide out through a narrow channel in the reeds to the open water
beyond.
Hokrar is right in the centre of the valley, and from the lake a
complete elliptical ring of snowy mountains can be seen. The nearest
and most conspicuous peak is Haramokh, 16,903 feet, and 24 miles
distant. From this the eye ranges from peak to peak to the Khagan
range 70 miles distant in the extreme west of the valley; then along
over the Kaj Nag mountains separated by the gorge of the Jhelum River
valley from the Pir Panjal range, which forms the southern boundary of
the valley with Gulmarg, 24 miles distant, on its southern slopes.
Then traversing the whole length of the Pir Panjal range from the
highest point, Tatakute, 15,524 feet, the eye falls to the depression
over which lies the Banihal Pass, and rising again meets the Kishtwar
range 65 miles distant, closing in the valley on the east, from whence
the eye wanders on snowy ranges till Haramokh in the north again is
met.
The day was another of glorious sunshine, and in the noonday sun the
southern range was bathed in dazzling light, the northern showed up
sharp and clear with the sun's rays beating straight upon it, while
the distant ranges right and left faded away in haze and dreamland.
Soft woolly clouds floated along the mountain-sides. A sharp, crisp
air freshened one up and broke the water into dancing glittering
ripples on which innumerable duck were bobbing up and down.
Here we shot for a couple of hours before tiffin, and afterwards till
evening closed in. It was not one of the great shoots like we have in
the autumn, and which I will describe later, but was none the less
enjoyable, and being the last of the season each made the most of it.
[Illustration: KOTWAL FROM NEAR THE DAL DARWAZA]
At the end of March I visited Harwan, a very favourite spot, once the
abode of a famous Buddhist saint, and now best known as the site of
the reservoir for the water-supply of Srinagar and of the tanks for
trout-breeding. Rain had fallen in the night, and heavy clouds hung
overhead with only occasional glimpses of intensely clear blue sky
between them. But spring was now clearly advancing. The great chenar
trees, two and three centuries old, were still bare, but the willows
were showing fresh young leaves; the apricot trees were covered with
clouds of blossom, pink and white. The mountain-sides were dotted with
white wild cherry and pear and apple in full bloom; the ground was often
white like snow with the fallen petals; the young hazel-nut leaves gave
freshness to the mountain-side; and near at hand were violets, anemones,
and cuckoo flowers. The air was rich with the scent of the fruit trees.
Swarms of bees were humming around them; butterflies--tortoise-shell,
clouded yellow, and cabbage-white--fluttered in the sunshine; and the
lively twittering of birds--bulbuls, goldfinches, wagtails, and
tits--gave yet one further evidence of the awakening spring.
Each spot in Kashmir one is inclined to think the most beautiful of
all--perhaps because each in some particular excels the rest.
Certainly Harwan has many fascinations of its own. Rising sheer behind
was a mountain crowned with dark precipices overhung by heavy clouds
through which pierced the snowy summit. Clear crystal streams rushed
along the valley with a cheery rustling sound. In the middle distance
lay the placid Dal Lake--on the far side overshadowed by the Hari
Parbat fort. The main valley was interspersed with village clumps of
fresh willow, clouds of fruit blossom, and majestic chenars. In the
far distance lay the snowy ranges of the Pir Panjal, the Kaj Nag, and
Khagan; and facing round again to the north rose the striking Mahadeo
peak--rocky, bold and precipitous, and pine-clad to near the summit.
And one of the further attractions of Kashmir is not only that each
spot is so different from the other, but that each spot has a
different aspect every day. Bright days are the more numerous, but
dull days also have no less striking attractions. The day after our
arrival at Harwan was still and heavy; the whole sky was overhung with
clouds, though they were high above the mountains, and even the most
distant ranges showed up with unusual clearness white and distinct
against the grey monotone sky. The stillness and the heavy cloud
evidently portended a storm, and in the afternoon the distant horizon
grew darker and darker. The snowy mountains were gradually
obscured from view. Then the middle distance became black and
threatening. At the same time on the mountain craigs behind heavy
clouds imperceptibly settled down, and the great cliff grew darker and
darker. Blackness seemed to grow all round, and the mountain summits
with the angry clouds upon them looked more and more sombre and
threatening. Meanwhile all was still and noiseless. Then suddenly out
of the stillness came a rush of air. The poplar trees bent like whips.
The long shoots of the willow trees lashed backwards and forwards.
Great drops of rain came spitting down. A bright, quick flash darted
out from the mountain. Then crash came the thunder--clap after
clap--and torrents of rain. Few things in Nature are more impressive
than a thunderstorm among the mountains.
[Illustration: THE LULL BEFORE THE STORM, DAL LAKE]
When next I visited Harwan in the middle of May spring had given way
to early summer. The mountain-sides were dotted over with clumps of
yellow barberry and wild pink roses; clematis was in bloom, and
honeysuckle was trailing from the trees. On the ground were large wild
geraniums, the big purple iris, white dead nettle, yellow potentillas,
strawberry blossom, tom-thumbs, clover, ferns, speedwell, and
primulas. The rocks by the stream were often covered with ivy and
overhung by sprays of pink roses. While on the mountain-sides, on the
northward-facing slopes, the wild apricot, cherry, and wych hazel, and
in the valley bottom willow, mulberry, and walnut were in full leaf.
And among the birds were now golden orioles, wagtails (white and
yellow), kingfishers, herons, water-robins, buntings, grey tits, wren
warblers, paradise fly-catchers, bulbuls, thrushes, redstarts,
pigeons, doves, and shrikes.
The morning was cloudy and misty, but again with special beauties of
its own. Long streaks of mist were drifting along the mountain-sides,
all at precisely the same level. Mahadeo, 15,000 feet, was at first
quite clear and lighted by the sun. Then a mist drifted towards it,
and rapidly, but by almost imperceptible increase, the cloud enveloped
it. Light misty clouds swirled about the mountain as currents and
counter-currents seized them. Anon the mist in great part cleared
away, and Mahadeo was seen peering through the clouds, bold and
supernaturally high. Then the peak and all the mountain-sides were
enveloped in dark heavy clouds, rain fell, and there seemed every
prospect of a wet and gloomy day. But all unexpectedly rifts
again appeared, and Mahadeo was once more seen rising composedly above
the clouds, the young green foliage standing out distinct and bright,
and each rock sharp and well defined. And so, hour after hour, the
struggle between cloud and sunshine, between good and evil continued,
it being impossible to tell at any moment which was more likely to
prevail. The clouds seemed settling down, then a glint of sunshine was
seen high on some upland lighting the fresh green grass and some stray
shepherd hut. Finally wet prevailed, and the mist settled lower and
lower on the valley, the rain poured down and a seemingly regular
rainy day set in. But there was fascination yet in watching the mists
floating along the mountains, forming and dispersing, enshrouding and
revealing the mountain peaks; and the green of the little valley
showed up greener than ever. The mountain-sides, usually so brown,
were seen to be tinged with a delicate shade of green. The poplars,
mulberries, and chenars at the mouth of the valley had each their own
especial tint. The rice-fields showed up in brilliant emerald.
[Illustration: ABOVE LIDARWAT, LIDAR VALLEY]
Yet after it had appeared to settle down for a whole day's rain the
mists suddenly cleared away from the mountain. The sun broke through
the clouds and showed up the rounded higher spurs with the soft,
downy brown of an Oriental carpet, and the higher peaks stood out
sharp and clear. An hour later long level lines of mist appeared and
swiftly grew thicker, the whole mountain from one level upward was
once more enveloped in cloud which thus gained the final victory.
* * * * *
Harwan village itself at this time of year was strikingly picturesque.
It was enshrouded in massive clumps of chenar foliage, below which
were the lighter shades of the willow, mulberry, and walnut, and the
straight, graceful, white-trunked poplars piercing through. Here and
there a horse-chestnut in full flower lit up the foliage, and most
beautiful of all were the patches of tall irises--dark purple, mauve,
and white--which now surrounded the village. Numerous water-courses
rushing through the village lands gave brightness, cheeriness, and a
sense of coolness; while the crowing of cocks, the twittering of the
birds, the lowing of cattle, and the neighing of the ponies grazing on
the rich green grass in the valley bottom, and the distant calls of
the shepherd boy to the flocks of sheep and goats on the mountain,
gave further animation to the scene. And whether it was more
entrancing now, or three weeks later when the irises were over, but
when it was wreathed in white roses, it would be difficult to say.
Irises and roses are the two especial beauties of Kashmir villages and
Kashmir lanes and hedgerows. And I would not like to positively state
which was the more beautiful--the rich clumps of mauve and purple
irises surrounding the village with warmth and colour in the spring,
or the clustering wreaths of roses, white and pink, brightening the
village lands and hedgerows in the summer.
[Illustration: SUNSET ON THE JHELUM, ABOVE SRINAGAR]
Only one desire we must feel in regard to these villages--that all
this natural beauty could not be further enhanced by the trim little
cottages of rural England or the picturesque chalets of Switzerland.
Every time one sees a Kashmir village and succumbs to the charm of all
that Nature has done for it, one longs to see the squalor, untidiness,
and dirt of house and man and clothing removed, and justice done by
man to what Nature has done for _him_.
* * * * *
Harwan is not only noted for its natural beauty, and as having been
the abode of a celebrated Buddhist saint: it is also now remarkable as
possessing a hatchery of English trout, the ordinary brown trout, and
of Danube trout or huchon; and here can be seen English trout of all
sizes up to 11 lbs.
These trout were first placed in the Dachigam stream which runs
through the valley opening out at Harwan; and now all up this valley
ideal trout-fishing is given by H.H. the Maharaja to his guests. And
what more perfect spot for the purpose could be found? Kept as a close
preserve for two purposes; firstly, for stag-shooting; and, secondly,
to insure the freshness of the water which furnishes the water-supply
of the whole city of Srinagar, it is absolutely quiet and peaceful.
There are no inhabitants, and no life but wild life; and, except for
the superior grandeur of the mountains on either side, it exactly
resembles a Highland valley. We see the same clear rushing river, here
dashing over boulders in a series of rapids, and there lying in cool,
peaceful pools alongside a grassy bank or beneath some overshadowing
trees. On a cloudy day, when the high mountains are shrouded in mist
and a gentle rain is falling, you might be in Scotland itself. On a
fine day, with Mahadeo towering 10,000 feet immediately above you, and
with glimpses of snowy ranges in the distance, you have Scotland and
something _more_.
[Illustration: SPRING IN KASHMIR]
This is the valley especially reserved for the sport of Viceroys,
and here it was that in the autumn of 1906 the Maharaja entertained
Lord Minto. And well do I remember the intense relief of the Viceroy
as he turned into the valley and left all ceremonials and State
business behind, and felt that here at least he was in a haven of rest
and natural enjoyment. The air was clear and bracing, the sky
cloudless, and the evening sun throwing long soothing shadows up the
valley. Who could feel a care while he fished or hunted stag in a
valley with more than the beauty and with all the freshness of his
native land?
* * * * *
I have said so much about Harwan and the Dachigam valley as they are
typical of the prettiest parts of rural Kashmir and the side-valleys,
but I must now return to the description of Srinagar and the main
valley itself and go back to where we left it in the spring. On April
1st, the chief glory of the Kashmir spring, peach trees were in full
blossom, and forming in the landscape little clouds of the purest and
most delicate pink, and giving it an exquisite touch of light and
colour. The taller and larger pear trees were snow-white masses. The
pink-tinged apple blossoms, the chenar, and walnut leaves were just
appearing, and the poplar and mulberry leaves showed faint symptoms
of bursting. We were in the first, most delicate flush of early
youthful spring.
A mile from Srinagar, on the way to Gupkar and the Dal Lake, the road
passes over a gap between the Takht-i-Suliman and the range to the
north. This spot is well known as "The Gap"; and as it is perhaps a
hundred feet above the valley level an extensive view is obtained, on
the one hand, over the great vale of Kashmir to the snowy Pir Panjal
range in the background on the south, and on the other hand to the Dal
Lake, Haramokh, and the mountain range, close by on the north. There
were very few days when either in the morning or evening I did not
visit this spot, and hardly ever did I see the same view. Every day
there seemed some fresh beauty; and which day in spring, and whether
the days in spring were more beautiful than the days in autumn, I
could never satisfy myself. On April 1st, looking southward, there was
first on the sloping foreground an almond orchard with a sprinkling of
trees in white and pink blossom and the remainder in young leaf. Then
in the valley bottom were clumps of willows in the freshest yellowy
green; light green wheat-fields; bunches of chenar trees not yet
in leaf; broad reaches of the placid river glistening in the sunshine,
with numerous boats gliding gracefully on its surface; and away over
the valley were little clusters of villages, with the land gradually
rising to that range of snowy mountains which forms the culminating
touch of beauty in every Kashmir scene.
[Illustration: ON THE DAL LAKE IN SPRING]
Looking in the opposite direction from the Gap towards the Dal Lake
was a less extensive, but scarcely less attractive scene. On the
foreground of the gentle slopes towards the lake were tall pear trees
in fresh white bloom dotted prettily among the fields of new green
wheat. Away to the left was an orchard of peach in the purest and
lightest of pink. Little hamlets nestled among the fruit trees; and
immediately beyond them stretched the still, clear lake reflecting in
its mirror surface the graceful willows and chenar trees by its edge,
and the mountain ranges by which it was encircled. As it seemed
floating in its midst lay the famous Isle of Chenars mirrored again in
its glassy surface. By its shore stretched the renowned Moghal
gardens--the Nishat Bagh and the Shalimar Bagh--with their grand
avenues of chenars sloping to the water's edge. Above the far border
rose a mountain ridge still clothed in snow; above that again the
lofty Haramokh; and away in the extreme distance lay the fairy Khagan
snows, while on the whole scene there swam a purple-bluey haze,
growing more purple and more blue the more distant it fell, and giving
to all a softening sense of peace and ease. For tenderness of restful
beauty this scene is not excelled.
* * * * *
So far the weather had been exceptionally fine and warm for the
season, and the rainfall to date from the commencement of the year had
been three inches below the normal; but now a wet spell set in such as
one has to expect in the spring in Kashmir, which is always very
uncertain. On April 12th there were 2-3/4 inches of rain. The total
for the year now exceeded the normal by four inches. The river rapidly
rose ten feet, flooded all the low-lying fields, and seriously
threatened the European quarter; and, finally, snow fell in Srinagar
itself. The maximum temperature in the shade rose to only 50 deg. while
the minimum at night fell to 33 deg. It is always the exceptional which
happens--in weather at any rate. So this must not be expected every
year. But something else exceptional will occur whatever year we
choose, and there is little use in describing a normal year, for no
such year ever comes in real life.
On the road into Kashmir very serious breaks were made by the rain and
by the melting snow and the mud floods which it brought down. Whole
stretches of road were completely carried away and wiped out of
existence. Bridges were broken; and so dangerous were the falling
boulders, that one European was knocked straight into the Jhelum River
and drowned, and several natives were badly injured. The dak bungalows
were crammed with travellers rolling up from behind, and we
subsequently heard of the misery they suffered from overcrowded rooms,
from the never-ending rolling of the thunder, and the incessant
pelting of the rain. The beauties of Kashmir cannot be attained
without suffering, and the suffering on the road up is often
considerable.
A hard-worked member of the Government of India came from Calcutta to
spend a ten-days' holiday with us in the middle of this deluge, and as
day after day of his holiday went by with nothing but rain, our pride
in the glories of Kashmir sank lower and lower, and we feared he would
go back to give the country but an evil reputation. But the final day
of his stay redeemed all, and for that single day he was good enough
to say he would have come the whole way from Calcutta. We drove out
along the shores of the Dal Lake to the Nishat Bagh, and anything more
exquisitely lovely than the combination of the freshness of the young
spring green, with the whiteness of the snow now low down on the
mountain-sides with the blue sky, the brilliant sunshine, the dreamy
purply haze, the mirror lake, the yellow mustard fields, and the
clouds of pink and white fruit blossom now in its perfection, this
earth can surely nowhere show.
The lake was full from the recent rain, and lapped up to the edge of
the garden. On either side of the gateway were masses of Kashmir
lilac. Stretching up the mountain-side, on either side of the line of
fountains and waterfalls which flowed down from the upper end of the
garden, was a long avenue of massive chenar trees just freshly tinted
with budding foliage, and at the sides and by the entrance were peach,
and pear, and cherry in brilliant bloom. Slowly we ascended the
avenue, and then from the top looked down between the great chenar
trees, over the cascades falling to the lake, over the smooth green
turf, over the clumps of purple iris, over the white cherry blossom
and the mauve lilac; to the still waters of the lake; to the willows
and poplars along its edge; to the fort of Hari Parbat; and then on
to the radiant snows now glistening more brightly, and looking
more ethereal and lovely than ever before. Spring is beautiful
everywhere. Spring is more beautiful in Kashmir than anywhere else,
and in a Kashmir spring this was the most beautiful day of all.
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE MAR CANAL]
Yet another attractive spot near Srinagar is the site of the original
city founded by Asoka at Pandrathan, three miles distant on the
Islamabad road. Here at the end of a spur running down from the
mountains and jutting out to meet a bend in the river, stands the
remains of an immense monolith lingam on the levelled edge of the
spur, eighty feet or so above the river. Immediately beneath is a
majestic bend of the river, and one April evening when I visited the
sight I looked out from the raised plateau up two glistening reaches,
bordered by fresh green grass and overhung by graceful willows and
poplars in their newest foliage. The wheat-fields on the opposite bank
were a brilliant emerald, and the fields of glowing yellow mustard and
young linseed interspersed with scarlet poppies gave a relieving touch
of colour. All the valley was dotted over with picturesque hamlets
half-hidden in clumps of willow and over-towering chenar trees. The
recent floods gave a lake-like appearance to the middle distance. On
the right the temple on the Takht-i-Suliman formed a graceful feature
in the scene; and from there completely round the semicircle to the
distant left stretched the dreamy snowy mountains, hazy immediately
under the sun, but white and distinct when the evening sun struck full
upon them. A more fitting site for worship could hardly be found.
* * * * *
In full summer the Kashmir valley is, perhaps, in its least
interesting condition. The snow has nearly melted from the mountains.
They are often hidden by heat-haze or dust. The fruit blossoms are all
over. The yellow mustard and the blue linseed in the fields have gone
to seed. The green of the trees has lost its freshness; and the
prevailing tones are heavy greens and browns. The weather too is
sultry. The thermometer rises to 95 deg. or 97 deg. in the shade. A
heavy, lethargic feeling oppresses one. Mosquitoes appear in swarms.
And by the end of June every one who can flees to Gulmarg, to Pahlgam
in the Lidar valley, to Sonamarg in the Sind, to Gurais and to the
numerous other cool mountain resorts.
[Illustration: THE TEMPLE, CHENAR BAGH]
But early in September the valley renews its charms and visitors
return. The atmosphere has been freshened and cooled by the rains
which, though they fall lightly in the valley itself, are often heavy
on the surrounding mountains. The ripe rice-fields show an expanse of
green and yellow often two or three miles in extent. The villages,
dirty and untidy at close quarters, it is true, but nestling among the
chenars, willows, poplars, walnuts, and mulberries, show as entrancing
islands amidst the sea of rice. Ponies browse among the marshes up to
their knees in water; and groups of cattle graze along the grassy edge
of the streams and water-ducts.
The sun is still powerful in the daytime, and the sky usually bright
and clear. But the monsoon will often make a few final efforts. One
such day I note when voluminous masses of cloud rolled up from behind
the Pir Panjal to a height of twenty-five or thirty thousand feet,
their westward edges aglow from the setting sun, and showing clear and
distinct against the background of pinky light blue sky, while the
great main volume remained dark, heavy, and sombre, with now and then
a spit of lightning flashing out, and on the far side, away from the
setting sun, threatening tentacles stretched out across the valley in
unavailing effort to reach the mountains on the northern side. Under
these mighty monsoon masses even the great mountains looked dwarfed
and puny. It was a great and final effort of that stupendous natural
phenomenon which bears the waters of the Indian Ocean to beat upon the
Himalaya; and as an omen that the monsoon was now over, the sky behind
the storm-clouds was intensely clear and tranquil, and the moon slowly
ascended in undisturbed serenity.
And the rainy season being finished there now commenced almost the
most charming time of all, not, indeed, with the freshness of spring,
but with more certainty of continual brightness and light, and more
vigour and strength in the air, and above all, with that warmth and
richness of colour in the foliage which makes an autumn in Kashmir
unique. Towards the end of October the green of the immense masses of
chenar slowly turns to purple, red, and yellow, and every intervening
shade. The poplars, mulberries, and apricots add each their quota of
autumnal beauty. The valley and the river edge are resplendent in the
gorgeous colouring. And beautiful as is the spring, I was tempted to
think that even more exquisitely lovely still was the bright autumnal
day when we drifted down the river in our house-boat, when all
the chenars along the river bank were loaded with the richest and most
varied colouring, when the first fresh fall of snow on the mountains
was glistening in the radiant sunshine, and there ran through the air
that restful sense of certainty that this was no hurried pleasure
snatched from a stormy season, but that for day after day and week
after week one might count on the same brilliant sunshine, the same
clear, blue sky, and daily increasing crispness, freshness, and vigour
in the air.
[Illustration: RUINS OF LALLA ROOKH'S GARDENS, LAKE MANASBAL]
The great broad reaches in the river, glistening in the sunlight and
fringed with the rich autumnal foliage, were superlatively beautiful.
Shadipur, at the junction of the Sind River, where there is a little
temple on an island and hoary old chenars drooping over it to the
water's surface, was a dream of all that is most lovely. And the
Manasbal Lake, so fresh and deep and clear, set like a jewel among the
mountains, with clumps and avenues of these same red and purple
foliaged trees upon its edge, and reflecting in its surface the white
snowy range of the distant Pir Panjal, was the supreme gem of all
Kashmir. All these are beauties which one cannot describe, for
whatever one may say, the reality must ever remain more beautiful
than the picture. But perhaps by the unison of pen and brush some
faint impression of the loveliness of a Kashmir autumn may yet have
been conveyed.
* * * * *
This season to the sportsman also is the most enjoyable. For now come
in the duck and geese from far-away Siberia, halting here for a time
in the lakes and marshes on their way to India. I have already
described a duck-shoot in spring. In the autumn there is still finer
shooting, for the duck have come in fresh and are in greater numbers
than on their return journey. As I have already said, the Maharaja
most hospitably places at the disposal of the Resident the shooting on
the Hokrar Lake and marsh, which affords some of the best
duck-shooting in the world, and it was here that Lord Minto and party
shot over 1500 duck in one day in 1906.
Last year we had our first shoot on October 4th. We rode for six miles
in the fresh morning air and brilliant sunshine to the edge of the
lake, where the shikaris and boatmen were awaiting us. Over the reeds
and over the open expanse of water beyond there was that glorious view
of the distantly encircling mountains which I have before described.
The lower slopes were at this season a reddish pink which merged into
the rich purply blue of the higher and more distant portion of the
range. Soft fleecy clouds and a hazy blue in the sky gave a dreamy
tone to the scene. Many kinds of waterfowl were lazily disporting
themselves on the water and among the reeds. The surface was often
covered with numerous flat, round leaves and pure white waxy
water-lilies with rich yellow centres.
Through these we were paddled swiftly to the butts, which were
skilfully hidden among the reeds, and here amid clouds of mosquitoes,
dragon-flies, and gnats, we awaited the first shot to be fired by the
occupant of the farthest butt. The sun beat powerfully down. All was
still, and drowsy, and silent, save for the drone of the flies and the
occasional "quack, quack!" of the ducks paddling unsuspiciously on the
lake.
At last a distant shot was heard, and then a suppressed roar, as of
breakers on a far-off shore. Then from the direction of the shot a
black cloud arose and advanced rapidly upon us. The roar increased,
and in a few seconds the whole sky was covered with a whirling,
swishing, whizzing flight of ducks. Thousands and thousands of them:
flashing past from right to left, from left to right, backwards and
forwards, forwards and backwards, in bewildering multitudes. For the
moment one's breath was absolutely taken away. There was such a swish
and swirr it was impossible to aim. Then as the first wild rush was
over it became easier to be deliberate, and duck after duck fell to my
companions' guns.
After a quarter of an hour or so a lull occurred. In the distance,
flights of duck were seen circling high in the air, but none came
near. A lazy interval ensued. The sun beat down with unexpected force.
Perspiration poured down head and neck. Dragon-flies, blue and red,
large and small, with gauze-like wings and brilliant bodies, floated
swiftly but noiselessly among the reeds. The purring of the crickets,
the occasional twitter of birds, the swishing of high flights of duck
far out of reach, the call of a goose and the bang of a distant gun at
intervals broke the silence; but otherwise all was wrapped in dreamy
noonday stillness. Then, of a sudden, another succession of flights of
duck came whizzing past, and as fast as we could fire the gun was put
to the shoulder. Another lull followed, only to be succeeded by more
flights, and so on through the day. At 1.30, by previous arrangement,
we stopped for lunch and to give the duck an opportunity of settling,
then renewed the shooting till nightfall. At the end of the day
Colonel Edwards, the Residency Surgeon, had himself shot 203, and
others had shot well over the hundred.
From this time onward, on three or four days in each month, the
duck-shooting on this famous lake continues. The weather now gets
gradually colder, till by December there are sixteen degrees of frost.
All the leaves have now left the trees. The grass is quite brown. But
the days are nearly always fine and clear; and though there will be
thick ice and long icicles in the early morning, by ten or eleven all
the ice not in the shade has disappeared, the air is pleasantly warm,
and there is seldom any wind.
Christmas brings a round of festivities, dances, dinners, and
children's parties, for even in the winter as many as seventy or
eighty will assemble at a dance, and occasional outside travellers or
sportsmen drop in all through the winter. After Christmas a change in
weather sets in. Clouds bank up and snow or rain falls. January and
February are the worst months in the year.
But just before leaving the valley this last year I had one further
attempt to shoot a Kashmir stag. Six miles out from Srinagar, up the
valley, we had a little camp on the edge of the river--a lovely spot
in summer when the rich foliage overhangs the water, and when the
grassy banks are green and fresh, and the river is full up to the lip;
but now when the trees were bare, the banks brown and bleak, and the
water at its lowest, an uninviting-looking spot. Moreover, the sky was
overcast and threatening. Women who came to draw water from the river
were pale and shivering. Our servants were huddled up with the cold. A
raw wind whistled down the valley, and snow threatened on the higher
mountain.
This latter was precisely what I wanted, for it would drive the stag
down to the lower ridges when I would be stalking next day. At four in
the morning, therefore, I rose, and after a solid early breakfast
mounted my faithful but naughty Tibetan pony, and, accompanied by a
guide, rode for seven miles through the darkness and frosty but
invigorating air to the foot of the hills, where the two shikaris
awaited me.
Like their class, they were hard, keen-looking men, accustomed to live
on the mountain-side, to weather hardship and exposure, and live with
Nature and wild animals--an altogether different type from the crafty
townsman or indolent dwellers on boats. Rahem Sheikh, the chief, was
a grizzled old man, with keen, far-seeing eyes, tough physique, and a
grave, earnest demeanour as if the business of his life was of the
most serious. This, indeed, as I have already said, is a special trait
of head shikaris all India over; and during viceregal visits to Native
States I have never been able to decide which takes himself most
seriously--the head shikari or the European caterer. Both look upon
the Viceroy, the Chief, and the Resident, in the way of children who
are to be indulged. They have to be amused and fed. They no doubt have
unimportant business of their own. But the really serious business in
this life is--to the shikari to find game, and to the caterer to
provide food. Things would rub along somehow or other without a
Viceroy; but how would life be without the head shikari to show the
stag, or the caterer to produce meat and drink?
Knowing the point of view of head shikaris I placed myself, therefore,
with child-like but misplaced confidence in his hand. But, alas! snow
had not fallen on the higher mountains. The clouds had cleared away,
and the stags must have remained on the distant peaks--many miles away
and thousands of feet higher. Two days of hard climbing and careful
search produced no result.
On the third day, rising early and looking out of my tent, I saw a
perfectly clear sky and the ground covered thick with hoar frost; a
sharp crisp nip was in the air, the thermometer registered 16 deg. Fahr.,
and away across the glistening reach in the river appeared a rose-pink
range of mountains showing up sharply against the clear blue sky. Let
the reader imagine a frosty morning in the Thames valley. Let him
imagine, what we never have in England, a really clear blue sky. And
then, filling up the distant end of one of its most beautiful reaches,
let him imagine a lofty range of rose-coloured mountains; and he will
then have a picture of the view from my camp at sunrise on the January
morning.
Mounting my pony, I rode off in the now radiant sunshine to another
hill-side nine miles distant. The frosty morning air at first nipped
my ears and fingers, but the hard galloping soon sent the blood
tingling through my veins, and in little over an hour I again joined
the shikaris. With bated breath and significant glances at the
mountain-side, they informed me that they had seen seven hinds and two
stags, though the latter were both small.
I dismounted, and left the wicked little Tibetan with his head well
buried in a bundle of grass; and then with a coolie to carry my
tiffin, overcoat, and rifle, started up the hill-side. One quickly
becomes fit in such a climate. This was my third day out, and now I
climbed the mountain almost as easily as the shikaris themselves. What
on the first day was a decided effort was now a scarcely perceptible
strain. Perhaps, too, the greater expectation of finding a stag had
something to do with the increased elasticity with which I ascended
the mountain. Anyhow, taking off my coat, as with the exertion of
climbing and in the brilliant sunshine it was now really hot, I was on
the summit of the ridge 3000 feet above the valley, almost without
noticing the climb.
At our feet on the opposite side lay a cosy little side-valley with
villages nestling among the chenar and mulberry trees. Behind us lay
the broad main valley with the great river gliding through it; and
away in the distance the rugged Pir Panjal mountains were glistening
in the noonday sun.
The scenery was perfect. But again no stags were seen. Till dark we
scoured the mountain-side, but all we saw were the tracks of
stags--or may be hinds--leading away to the higher mountains.
Then I had to hurry back to camp, and the next day to Srinagar, to
prepare for a long journey down to Calcutta for the very dull object
of giving evidence to a Royal Commission on Decentralisation.
The cycle of the seasons has been completed; and the aspect of the
valley under the varying conditions of spring and summer, autumn and
winter, has been depicted. In another chapter I will describe the
means and methods of travel.