TRAVEL IN KASHMIR
I have known Kashmir for twenty-one years, and ever since I have known
it people have said it is getting spoilt. "It is not now what it used
to be" is so often said. When the cart-road was being built every one
said it would be spoilt. And now, when the construction of a railway
is in contemplation, exactly the same remark is made. The impression
conveyed is that the pleasures of travel in Kashmir are surely and
steadily deteriorating. And this, no doubt, is true in certain
aspects. Supplies are dearer. Coolies demand higher wages. The visitor
disposed to solitude more frequently encounters his fellow Britisher.
These are decided drawbacks, and the visitor who telegraphs to
Danjhibhoy for a tonga, to Nedou's for a room in the hotel, and to
Cockburn's for a house-boat, and has simply to pay his fare and his
hotel bill, no doubt pines for the virgin time of Kashmir travel
before the rattle of the tongas or the tooting of the motor car was
heard in the valley.
Yet I doubt if all was bliss in those "good old days." Certainly
Moorcroft, the first Englishman to visit Kashmir, had no very
comfortable time, and must often in his turn have pined for a good
hotel, a clean room, and a decent dinner--and, who knows, for a game
of golf? Moorcroft visited Kashmir in 1823, and first had enormous
difficulty in obtaining from Ranjit Singh, the ruler of the Punjab, to
whom Kashmir was then subject, leave to come to Kashmir at all. He
arrived there from the north in the autumn, and had fresh difficulty
in obtaining permission to remain there for the winter. At the
quarters he occupied he was "beset by crowds of people who not only
filled the garden, but also came in boats." He was pursued wherever he
went by inquisitive crowds, by importunate beggars, and by suspicious
officials. When he wished to make short excursions from Srinagar
objections were at once raised. When he was at length allowed to leave
for the Lolab, officials were appointed to accompany him "to watch his
proceedings and check inquisitiveness." And when he finally left
Kashmir for the Punjab by the Jhelum valley he was stopped by a small
semi-independent chief near Uri, who demanded Rs. 15,000 as customs
duty on his caravan, and as Moorcroft refused to pay more than Rs. 500
he was compelled to return to Srinagar and reach the Punjab by another
route.
These certainly were not the halcyon days of Kashmir travel. But I
suppose there must have been an intermediate time between then and now
when travelling in Kashmir was perfection to those who had time enough
at their disposal to "march" in. In those delightful times the
traveller pitched his little camp wherever he wished. Grain was
ridiculously cheap. Fowls were considered dear at twopence each.
Coolies were thankful enough to get any payment at all. There were no
game laws or game licences, so that the sportsman could shoot to his
heart's content. The number of visitors for the year was restricted to
100, so that each had 700 or 800 square miles to himself, and there
was no need of dress clothes, white shirts, or Ascot dresses.
When I first visited Kashmir in the autumn of 1887 its glory had
already begun to depart, though as regards simplicity of travelling my
methods were of the simplest. I had no other clothes but what I stood
in, and only the under portion of these were of European origin. All
my outer clothes, including my boots, were worn out long before I
reached Kashmir, and I was accordingly clothed in a long Central Asian
robe and high native boots, for I was at the end of a journey of
nearly four thousand miles from Peking. I had crossed--and was the
first European to accomplish the feat--the Mustagh Pass, 19,000 feet
high, into Baltistan; and the "Pass" being nothing else than a hard
ice slope and a rocky precipice, down which I and my five servants and
coolies had to let ourselves by means of turbans and waist-clothes
tied together, I had been able to carry with me little even of the
scanty baggage I had brought up to the other side of the Pass. I had
indeed only a roll of bedding, which was thrown down the precipice,
and a big kettle. I had no tent and no money! I had slept in the open
from one side of the Himalayas to the other, and my funds were
entirely exhausted, so that when I landed in Kashmir territory I had
to borrow money from the Governor of Baltistan, Pandit Rada Kishen
Kol, a very popular and respected official who is still in the
Maharaja's service, and is now Chief Judge.
Simplicity of travel was, then, at least possible twenty years ago,
and I managed, after crossing the Pass, to get along with only one
servant who cooked, performed every function of the numerous servants
we employ in India, and carried a load himself in emergency. But he
was the most faithful, and my favourite of all the servants I have
ever had. His name was Shukar Ali, and I must ask my reader's
indulgence for a digression to describe him. I picked him up in
Yarkand, in Chinese Turkestan, but he was a native of Ladak. He was
the most cheery, happy-go-lucky, easy-going man, who ever proved a
good servant in spite of his carelessness. Always laughing, always
chaffing with the pony-men or coolies, always losing something vitally
necessary, but always ready to do the hardest and most dangerous piece
of work when the crucial moment arrived, he was the only Ladaki who
dared to cross the Mustagh Pass with me, and but for one incident I
would have a most grateful recollection of his services then. That
incident I have often since reminded him of. After crossing the Pass
we had to cross a very full and rapid stream flowing straight out of a
glacier. Immense blocks of ice were breaking off the glacier and
floating down the stream. The bottom was also partly ice and partly
boulder. Shukar Ali, with his usual readiness, volunteered to carry me
across this stream on his back. But in mid-stream he slipped. I was
precipitated into the icy water, while Shukar Ali, in his frantic
efforts to regain his own footing, unknowingly kept pressing me under
water. We both eventually gained the opposite bank all right. But I
had no change of clothes, and every stitch I had on was wringing wet
with ice-cold water.
When, two years later, Government sent me to explore all the northern
frontier of Kashmir from Ladak and the Karakoram Pass to the Pamirs
and Hunza, I again sought out Shukar Ali; and yet a third time, when I
was sent on a political mission to Chinese Turkestan and the Pamirs in
1890-91. On each of these occasions he rendered unfailing service, and
once both he and I were nearly drowned in an avalanche. We had been
hewing our way up the steep slopes of an ice pass in a snowstorm, when
suddenly out of the snow-clouds above us we heard a roar like thunder
approaching nearer and nearer. We could not run if we would, for we
were on an ice slope. We could only await our doom, for we knew it was
an avalanche. But with a mighty rush it crashed past a few paces
in front of us, and we were safe.
[Illustration: A LADAKI IN SUMMER COSTUME]
After 1891 I did not see Shukar Ali for seventeen years, for my
travels never took me to that frontier again. But I heard of him from
Dr. Sven Hedin who employed him in Tibet, and who told me of the
wonderful tales which the imaginative Shukar Ali related of the
journeys we had made together. And last summer the dear old man
suddenly appeared at the Residency. He had heard that I was now
Resident, and had walked 240 miles across the mountains to see me, and
he presented himself wearing the identical coat I had given him
seventeen years ago. He kept jumping up and down, first kissing my
feet, then touching my coat, then salaaming, and all the time
ejaculating an unceasing flow of speech, calling me by every
affectionate term. Then from under numerous folds of his clothing he
produced a wooden bowl, a bag full of sweets, a pair of goat horns for
my wife and myself, and a marvellous collection of showy-looking
stones which he had picked up in Tibet for my little girl.
He remained with me for a few weeks. I gave him something to keep him
comfortable at home, but which I am sure in his good nature he will
let his relations squeeze out of him, and then I sent him off back to
Ladak. But before he left I asked the Maharaja to give him an order
exempting him from service in his village. His Highness, with his
usual kindness, readily acceded. An order was made out with the
Maharaja's own signature attached, and at a garden-party at the
Residency Shukar Ali was had up and presented with the order. His
Highness addressed him in a most kindly manner, and on the following
day presented him in Durbar with a shawl of honour.
Poor Shukar Ali left with many tearful farewell expressions, and a few
weeks later I received from him the following letter:--
Sir--I reached very well home, with very felt happy and found all
my poor family very well and showed the all kindly of your they
got very glad, and we all family thankfully to you to remember us
so much, to little people and my all friends got very glad too,
they said thank you, and hope you would not be angry with this
English written, please you pardon for this, and could not write
myself and could not get other munshi write you, because and
found Rassul, he was my old friend and let him write this letter.
please give my salaam to Mem Sahib and Baby Baby Sahib.
--Your obedient servant
SHUKAR ALI
from poor Rassul plenty salaam,
the mark of Shukar Ali _O_.
All this, however, is a digression, and I have to describe the normal
modes of travel of the present day. Srinagar is 196 miles distant from
the railway at Rawal Pindi, and is connected with it by a good
cart-road--good, that is in its normal condition, but excessively bad
after heavy rain, when at places the whole mountain-side slides down
with the road into the river. The usual mode of conveyance is a tonga,
a very common form of vehicle in the Indian "hills." It has two
wheels, is drawn by a pair of ponies, has four seats back to back, and
carries a mountain of luggage piled up on the splash-boards and on the
roof. The ponies, when the season is not crowded and the road is good,
gallop at full speed, and are changed every five or six miles. In the
full part of the season, which generally coincides with the heaviest
fall of rain, with much beating, pulling, and shouting they can
scarcely be induced to reach a trot, and may think themselves lucky if
they find a change at the end of their stage.
Other means of conveyance for which extra charge is made are landaus
and victorias. These, though more comfortable, are heavier for the
ponies, and are more difficult to manipulate over bad places in the
rainy season.
Spare baggage and servants can be brought up in the ordinary Indian
ckka which, with one pony without changes, takes six to eight days to
reach Srinagar; or in bullock carts which take fourteen days.
Tongas will take two, three, four or more days according to the length
of the day, the nature of the road, and the disposition of the
traveller. The tonga carrying the English mail, travelling almost
continuously, covers the distance in thirty-six hours. In the long
summer days travellers, starting early, can accomplish the journey in
two days.
Every fourteen miles or so is a dak bungalow, where for the payment of
one rupee a furnished room is provided, and on further payment meals
may be obtained at any time, but "bedding" must always be taken, as
nothing but the bare bed is provided.
The stages from Rawal Pindi (1790 feet) at which these bungalows may
be found, are:--
Tret 25-1/2 miles 25-1/2 miles
Sunnybank (6000 feet) (for
Murree, 2 miles distant) 11-1/4 " 36-3/4 "
Kohala (2000 feet) 27-1/2 " 64-1/4 "
Dulai (2180 feet) 12 " 76-1/4 "
Domel (2320 feet) 9 " 85-1/4 "
Garhi (2750 feet) 13-1/2 " 98-3/4 "
Chakoti (3780 feet) 21 miles 119-3/4 miles
Uri (4425 feet) 13-1/2 " 133-1/4 "
Rampur (4825 feet) 13 " 146-1/4 "
Baramula (5150 feet) 16 " 162-1/4 "
Patan (5200 feet) 16-1/2 " 178-3/4 "
Srinagar (5250 feet) 17-1/2 " 196-1/4 "
The road is usually open all the year round except in January,
February, and part of March, when it is liable to be blocked by snow
over the Murree hill and between Rampur and Baramula. In such
emergencies the alternative route by Abbotabad may be used, and the
traveller must make up his mind to walk the few miles of bad road near
Rampur.
Instead of going all the way by road, boat may be taken at Baramula
for Srinagar. This, though longer, is much more comfortable and
enjoyable. The time occupied is from two to three days.
* * * * *
At Srinagar there is no dak bungalow, but an hotel--Nedou's--which is
open the whole year round. Srinagar is the central starting-point for
all expeditions. Here house-boats, dunga-boats, camp equipage, and all
the paraphernalia of Kashmir travel may be obtained, and shikaris and
servants engaged. House-boats are not indigenous to Kashmir. They were
introduced by Mr. M. T. Kennard some twenty years ago, but now they
may be numbered by hundreds. Some are permanently occupied by
Europeans, who live in them nearly the whole year round for years
together, but most are let out at from Rs. 70 to Rs. 100 per mensem
for the season. In midsummer they are hot abodes, but they form a most
convenient and luxurious mode of travel. Each would contain, probably,
a couple of sitting-rooms with fireplaces, bedrooms, and bath-rooms,
and with a cook-boat attached for cooking and servants, the traveller
launches forth complete, and either drifts lazily down the river to
the many attractive spots along its banks, and to the Wular Lake, or
else is towed upwards to Islamabad. The house-boat likewise forms a
very convenient base from which short expeditions into the mountains
can be made.
Dungas and dunga house-boats are not so luxurious and commodious as
the fully developed house-boat; but they are lighter, they travel
quicker, and they go up shallow tributaries where the larger boat
would stick. They are also less expensive. The former have only loose
matting for walls; the walls of the latter are wooden.
For getting about the river in Srinagar itself the still lighter
shikara or ordinary paddle-boat is used, paddled by two to eight men
according to the size. House-boats and dunga house-boats require a
crew of six to twelve men. Dungas carry a family in the stern who work
the boat. Paddles, poling, and hauling are the means of progression.
Quite good shops for European stores and articles are now springing up
in Srinagar. Cox & Co. and the Punjab Banking Co. have branches there,
and Cockburn's Agency do every kind of agency work, engage boats and
servants, and let out tents, camp furniture, etc. There are also many
respectable native firms who do the same--of whom, perhaps, the best
is Mohamed Jan, because he does not pester and importune the visitor
in the way that most others do, and really render life in Srinagar
intolerable.
* * * * *
There is a large choice of expeditions from Srinagar to points of
interest, which will be described in detail in a later chapter. First
in the immediate vicinity there are picnics to be made to the Dal
Lake, to the two Moghal gardens,--the Nishat Bagh and the Shalimar
Bagh,--and to the beautiful camping ground of the Nasim Bagh. These
are expeditions which can be made in a single afternoon if necessary.
Of more remote tours the favourites are:--up the river to Islamabad
and the beautiful Achibal spring and garden; to the clear crystal
springs of Vernag, one of the many sources of the Jhelum; to the
famous ruins of Martand which occupy the grandest site for a temple of
any in the world; to the Lidar valley, Pahlgam, the Kolahoi glacier,
and the caves of Amar Nath. Islamabad is the starting-point for both
the Lidar valley and Martand, and here the house-boat may be left.
Islamabad, thirty-four miles distant, may also be reached by a road
which, though unmetalled, is in dry weather quite good. I have left
Srinagar in a motor car at 8.45, have spent over an hour going round
Islamabad, have eaten lunch under the glorious chenar trees at
Bijbehara, and have been home again at Srinagar by 3.15 the same
afternoon.
Down the river are equally delightful tours to be made. At Shadipur,
at the junction of the Sind River with the Jhelum River, there is a
charming grassy camping-ground under chenar trees. Ganderbal is a few
miles higher up the Sind River, and forms the base for expeditions to
(1) the Wangat ruins and the Gangarbal Lake, an exquisite
torquoise-coloured sheet of water reposing immediately beneath the
great cliff and glaciers of the Haramokh mountain; and (2) the
beautiful Sind valley with its grand mountain scenery, and the
charming camping-ground of Sonamarg (the golden meadow) also under
towering mountain masses and close to glaciers. Up this valley also
lies the road to the Zoji-La Pass on the far side of which branch off
roads to Baltistan, on the one hand, with its fine ibex-shooting
ground, immense glacier region, and K2, the second highest mountain
in the world; and on the other to Ladak with its Buddhist monasteries
perched on any inaccessible rocky pinnacle that can be found, and Leh,
the meeting-place of caravans from Lhasa and from Central Asia--a most
quaint and picturesque little town embedded among bare, sun-baked
mountains which has been the starting-point of two journeys I have
made across the dreary, lofty Karakoram Pass (18,500 feet) to
Turkestan and to the Pamirs.
From Shadipur, at the junction of the Sind with the Jhelum, the next
expedition to be made is to the Wular Lake and Bandipur, from whence
ascends immediately the long and numerous zigzags to Tragbal, a
favourite camping-ground amid the pines, and to the Tragbal Pass
(12,600 feet), from whence a magnificent view of Nanga Parbat (26,600
feet) may be seen, though I am bound to say that I have never seen it
myself in spite of having crossed the Pass six times on the way to, or
returning from, Gilgit and the Hunza frontier which lies in this
direction. It is by this route, too, that sportsmen proceeding to
shoot markhor in Astor, or ibex and bear in Tilail and Gurais, make
their way, as also the few who obtain permission to shoot Ovis Poli on
the Pamirs. For myself the Tragbal and Bandipur have many welcome
associations, for it is here that I have finished two great exploring
expeditions, and on a third occasion returned there after a stay of
two and a half years hard service on the Hunza and Chitral frontier.
It is impossible to convey the delicious sense of relief the traveller
feels in descending from the Pass, in leaving behind all the rigors of
severe mountain travel and intense cold, and with each easy step
downward feeling the air growing warmer and warmer, and at length
reaching the lake throwing himself into an armchair in a comfortable
house-boat, and then gliding smoothly over the placid lake with the
evening sunlight flooding the beautiful valley, and a soothing sense
suffusing him at difficulties surmounted, at hardships past, and at
present relaxation of body, mind, and purpose.
[Illustration: THE VALLEY OF GURAIS]