house-boats were lying, groups of people dining out
either beneath the great plane trees or on the roofs of
their boats.
Many of these floating houses are very prettily built.
One I saw on the stocks was in two colours—dark
walnut and light pine—and every part of it was being
exquisitely finished; the ceiling constructed of small
pieces of wood, pieced together into charming designs.
House-boat, Srinagar
Landing just below the house-boats, I walked back
across the golf links and the large polo ground to the
river bank to talk to an old friend, the Sikh postmaster,
a man of extensive learning, and even wider sympathies.
Much had he told me of his religion and his early
studies, his readings in Sanskrit, and his dippings into
foreign creeds, but for all his searchings he found his
own teachers the best, and he wished to share his knowledge
with all. “ Read our writings, Memsahib, he
would say, “ follow our precepts.” “ But how can I ? I
would reply, “ life is short, and I do not know Sanskrit;
besides, you have a commandment for every day of the
year, and I cannot even obey ten.” “ Learning comes
quickly to those who labour,” was his reply; on
Sundays I will teach you Sanskrit, and our commandments
can all be reduced to one—Do good to one
another. Moreover, I am translating our holy writings,
and they will soon be ready, then you can read them
easily.” The Sikh religion, with its contempt for ceremonies
and superstitions, its brave teachings, and its
encouragement of flowers and all lovely things, is
mightily attractive; but alas! what place is there in it
for women? The “ Khalsa ” (band of holy soldiers) can
admit no woman; her only chance of future reward is
through the kind offices of some good warrior, and no
independent modern female could consent to her claims
of future happiness being settled on such conditions.
The postmaster understood somewhat of my objections,
but felt quite sure that more study was all that
was necessary to convince me; so we agreed for the
present to sink all differences in a hunt for strawberries
in his garden. These proved excellent, and, laden with
them and a nice basket of flowers, we salaamed to
each other, the postmaster grave and erect, his youngest
child held high on his shoulder, looking sadly after me.
I think he regretted that any one, however slightly,
led towards deeper things should turn back to frivolous
wanderings to and fro and—from his point of view
useless travels.
He had found his own belief after years of deep