“ numdahs,” as they are called—and as I lay in my
boat waiting to see what my visitors would bring to
amuse me, the “ kopra ” (cloth) merchant arrived with
my felts, and well satisfied I was. “ Blue or blue green,
with some red, brown, and a flowing pattern,” had been
my vague orders. Both were on white grounds ; one
was a beautifully intricate pattern of “ chenaar ” leaves
in two shades of blue; the other “ lake pattern,” a
skilful blending of the strange forms of water foliage
carried out in blues, green, with dull red-brown stems,
and, an addition that touched the heart of a peacock
worshipper, each corner was adorned with one of those
beautiful birds worked in the same colours. I was
delighted, and the dark rich brown of my boat showed
off worthily the soft colouring and skilful needlecraft.
The workers, except for a few general outlines, do all
their embroidery “ by eye and mind ” as a merchant
explained to me, and are supplied with hanks of crewels
of the colours ordered, which they use according to taste.
The mats are about twelve rupees the pair, and five
or six feet long by three or four broad. As they practically
can be used for all purposes, as I have already
explained, from hangings to a hold-all, they cannot be
considered extravagant. I purchased also new covers
for my cushions, the old ones having been considerably
Worn by their hard usage of the previous weeks, for eight
annas (about eightpence) a piece, worked in the same
style on rather thinner stuff, and curtains I ordered
with flowing borders of green leaves.
That business over, I examined many beautiful
pieces of “ pashminas,” so silky and light that, like the
fairy wedding gowns of our childhood, they could be
packed in a nutshell; the silkiest very costly, others of
great beauty less valuable. I t is of this stuff that the
far-famed Kashmir shawls are made, the wool itself
being the “ underwear ” kindly provided by nature for
the goats that live in the colder regions that surround
the Happy Valley. There were puttoos, too, of every
shade and thickness for a few annas the yard, beautifully
warm and soft, and “ all enduring ” ; these are
the “ homespuns” of the country, spun by the natives
during the long winter hours from the wool of the
sheep.
The kopra merchant dismissed, there came by a
very smart boat, in it a slim, handsome boy in long blue
coat, sinewy, graceful, the son of one of the principal
silver and copper merchants. Boarding my doonga he
proceeded to undo bundle after bundle of beautiful
specimens of finest workmanship—not deeply stamped
with strange, uncouth figures, and in rough, uncertain
chiselling, like nearly all the down-country metal work I
had seen, but covered with delicate reliefs surely and
accurately carried out. “ Come and have tea at my
shop, and see some of my workers,” pressed the
merchant, and I acceded, knowing that however tempting
I might find the goods shown, I could fall back on
the safe position of “ requiring time to consider,” a
condition that has saved from many a threatened
financial difficulty.
Soon after the silver wares had been repacked and
removed, a carpet merchant came with his boat to take
me by arrangement to see his factory, and, paddled
swiftly by eight lusty Kashmiris, we soon sped down
the river to the sheds where hundreds of workers were
sitting in rows, each busily employed on the loom in
front of him. The wool used is grown locally, and the