I was disgorged at the dâk bungalow. Two days’
coddling worked wonders of healing, and then things
having been arranged for my reception, I took possession
of my floating home. Now, in theory, a “ doonga ” is a
light and airy thing, a house-boat without the house, a
hull with a straw canopy; practically, a doonga can
be remarkably cosy. The wooden boat is from fifty to
I to ok po sse ssion o f m y floating home
sixty feet long, with flat bottom and carved ends, and
overhead are thick straw “ chuppars,” or screens,
supported on wooden poles, and forming a covering and
sides so close and firm that all but the fiercest wind and
coldest blasts are kept out. Chuppars also divide the
boat into compartments, leaving the stem end for the
benefit of the boatman and his family, his stove cooking
pots, and stores.. A bed, a table, a chair or two a
gigantic bath, a folding chilumchi (basin), big hanging'
baskets for flowers, some boxes for stores and books
thick numdahs for mats and mgs, and my boat was
soon transformed into a home. Many “ woolies,” too,
had been purchased from a cloth merchant, and were
both grateful and comforting. Assiza was interested
in my decorations, but desired too much. “More
chairs,” he suggested. “ No space,” I replied. “More
numdahs.” “ Yes, that was a good notion; they were
so warm.” So a friend was brought, who, like all his
confreres, had the “ best designs in Kashmir ”—if they
were not the best, they proved quite as good as any one
else’s, and two were purchased for “ over and under ”
my “ charpoy” (native bedstead). Then came the
supreme question of dinner; “ chicken and rice” I
ordered casually without interest. Assiza put on a
deeply-hurt expression. “A meal suited to the Huzur
will be prepared.” I smiled as I thought of the cooking
pots and minute table equipage; but Assiza had not
spoken without reason, and when he had laid the
prettily-embroidered cloth purchased from the copra
(cloth) merchant, set out the jam tins filled with iris,
and neatly placed my small store of cutlery—two steel
and one silver knife—-I felt the preparation more than
adequate for any eatables likely to appear, but the
culinary skill of my chef had been underrated.
Chicken, modestly veiled in a pile of snowy rice, and
hedged about with a wall of spinach, an omelet that
emulated the proverbial frog in prodigious puifiness,
and a tart of dried apricots composed my banquet, and
Assiza glowed with pride as he removed the tart and