people remained peculiarly obliterated, as is their wise
custom when the air is disturbed, and so I departed for
my solitary tramp, satisfied that when I was found dead
by the way they would be sorry they had treated me
so thoughtlessly. I t was an unfriendly road, mounting,
always mounting with that aggravating unsteadiness
which allows of no comfortable downhill breaks to give
an added spurt to the next ascent.
If I had had the energy to look up, white peaks
before me might have served as tempting goal posts,
and had I not realised that to stand still was to be lost,
I could have waited for a few minutes to look behind
at the Jhelum winding its way through the green valley,
that was shut in on the thither side by ranges of
dark bills surmounted by Haramuk, from whom it was
impossible to be long separated, and a few other giants.
I would not even delay to drink water from a racy
streamlet that rushed with prodigious noise and splashing
down on my right, and, disappearing under the
roadway, turned up again on the left with a fine air
of “ Hullo, here we are again, why do you not hurry
along as quickly as I do ? ” before it finally made its way
down the rose-clad bank to lower levels where the last
“ kushaba ” was in progress, the rice plants having by
this time reached fine dimensions. Instruction might
have been sucked in on every side by one who had not
concentrated his whole mind in mere physical progress,
for the road passed through strange strata, and some
curious examples of the “ karewa ” (explained elsewhere)
were worth an examining look, not just the
angry contempt which was all I could spare then. I
was wound up to go a certain distance, and any deviation
from straight ahead could only be accomplished at risk
of the works running down too soon.
Hardened non-observer as I was, I could not resist
the beguilements of a flowery bank that appeared, as
the path, taking a sudden turn to the left, began to rise
s t e e p l y i t was covered with roses, such roses,
of every shade and hue, and with the daintiest
undergrowth of forget-me-not of a blue so deep
and pure that it was easy to understand why
“ gentians ” had suggested themselves. I t was a reviving
spectacle, and when further treasures of jessamine,
berberis, other roses, and other forget-me-nots revealed
themselves the path grew less stony, the sun less tiring,
and finally turning under great blue pines, the road was
absolutely without drawbacks, and I ceased to care how
many miles lay before me, how steep the path, or how
many hours I might have to wait for dilatory coolies.
Slowly I moved on, a fresh breeze blowing from the snow
slopes across the valley, an ever-increasing number of
bill flowers luring up steep banks or down precipitous
slopes.
I t is difficult to imagine with what intention I picked
the great bunches that cumbered me sadly and were
sorely in my way, but men and women are collecting
animals, and it was impossible to move on without the
doubtful compliment of noting in this drastic fashion
their existence and beauty. Purples and yellows were
the prevailing colours, huge crane’s bill, iris, tiny yellow
viola in sheets, and bushes of berberis and jessamine,
asparagus fern made feathery greenery, and sturdier
filice made a suitable background.
Up and up wound the path, and always above
but never growing any nearer was the wooden
bungalow which crowns the height I knew to
be my destination. Two coolies passed me marching
briskly up the incline, heavy, over-filled kiltas