boys dressed alike in square shirts of the sad-coloured
homespun puttoo, scarlet caps on their heads, the small
maidens with a wonderful arrangement of tiny plaits of
hair shed out with wool, standing away from the head,
and tied all together at the end. All the world over,
sweet things and toys will attract the “ baba log ” (baby
people), and a few dried fruits and some tops would
bring a little crowd together, the smaller carried by the
larger on the hip, with a protecting arm thrown round.
An unlimited faith in the capacity of the white man
was evidently universal.
Constantly my advice on every subject was desired,
questions as to the day, time, etc., asked—it was useless
to explain that the watch had been left—that
only led to a further demand for one’s opinion
of the time. “ Does not the sun tell you?”
I would say. “ No, they preferred the Memsahib’s
time,” and, curiously enough, my guesses were generally
more correct, for, unlike most primitive people, the
Kashmirians are bad time-tellers, and very unreliable
weather prophets. Others would ask for medicine—“ I
have burnt my leg, and now the place has chafed; there
is much soreness, and I want ointment in vain to
explain that the only available medicine chest was many
miles away, and that one of their own people was quite
capable of washing and bandaging the sore. Even a
dressing from-a near stream and an old handkerchief
were treated as sovereign remedies when applied by the
“ Sahib,” and the healing power of their pure water and
clear atmosphere was little short of miraculous. These
conversations were often carried on under considerable
difficulties, for our command of a common tongue was
but slight; but nothing will convince a native that he
can be incomprehensible if only he talks loud enough,
and by dint of shoutings and some “ sign language ” we
arrived at a mutual understanding. My diet had been
varied once or twice by fish caught in primitive fashion
by wading in the water, a small net in the right hand.
Deceived by the stillness of the fisherman, fish would
make for the entrance kept open by fine bamboos, and
then with swift movement of the left hand the unwary
victim was hustled into the trap ! The fish were neither
large nor particularly well flavoured, but a change from
skinny murgi (fowl) was pleasant, and I also enjoyed
the “ singhara ” water nuts, dug up in vast quantities
from the bottom of the Wular, where they sink when
ripe. They are shelled, roasted, and eaten with ghi
(clarified butter) and salt, and have rather the taste of
chestnuts, and are most nourishing. Some more days
of pleasant loitering, and then I decided to attempt the
climb to the great Tragbal Pass, the main thoroughfare
by which the distant Fort of Gilgit is reached, some one
hundred and ninety-five miles from Bandipura, usually
divided into fourteen marches. Regularly every year
as the pass becomes open, troops go up to relieve the
garrison there, and unprotected parties can travel on
the road with no fear of murder or pillage. There is
an alternative route over the Zogi La, which has the
advantage of being free of snow for a longer period of
the year, but it is not so direct, and the road is really
difficult in parts. I t is only from April to September
that these passes afford at all an easy passage. Even
then they are liable tp sudden tremendous snowstorms.
In the winter months they are crossed by dak
runners and coolies, but are far from safe,
I had been told that it was too early to cross the