light hours in mere sleep, when that can be enjoyed at
any period of the hot day, so they—and there were
some hundreds of them—gossiped, and chattered, and
smoked, and discussed the small affairs of their tiny
world, and were ready at dawn for a start, while the
unfortunate Sahib was still doing her utmost to
shake off the ill effects of broken rest. From Atchibal
I determined to march to the Karewa, above Islamabad,
on which stands Martand, the most glorious ruin in
all Kashmir. The day was an anniversary, and I could
think of no worthier spot at which to celebrate it. It
was only five miles away, too, a mere nothing after my
previous marches. Still, five miles is . five miles,
especially when it is nearer six—pardon the bull—as
this route, owing to a forced detour, proved to be, and
my lameness had not decreased since the day before.
But no one can think of obstacles when they are in
Kashmir, with a blue sky overhead, flowers on every
side, and before them the prospect of seeing one of the
most beautiful spots in the whole world.
I had soon an opportunity of testing my contempt
of obstacles, for at the first large village to be passed
the bridge was found to have been bodily swept away,
owing to an increase in - the stream. This was b ad;
worse was to follow, for the stream was found to be
quite unfordable, necessitating a long walk up the
bank, and when a safe point of crossing had been discovered,
that miserable stream—entirely from a wish
to annoy—had sub-divided itself into five. Wading
may be a pleasant amusement when our years are few,
and, as a consequence, our wardrobe of the sort that is
easily rolled u p ; but with increasing age the inclination
to try my luck over slippery boulders, swept by rushing
waters, had decidedly decreased. Making the best of
things, and trusting that all inhabitants were temporarily
occupied elsewhere, I started on my passage. I
found it difficult to manage the nice balancing of those
portions of my costume that I carried over my shoulders
and my paint-box and flower-carrier, and to give at the
same time proper attention to my footsteps. The fierce
current of the stream was confusing, too, and once or
twice I wondered how I could give a few last messages
and directions, and if there were any really respectable
natives who would consent to fishing out and forwarding
my corpse, or, if owing to caste and other prejudices,
I should be forced to1 remain forever between two huge
boulders till, causing the death of many and various, I
was removed by order of the health officer. Stalwart
legs and a sharp stick finally were victorious, and
panting, shaking, dripping, I arrived at the further side
of the last stream, and sank down in the hottest spot,
that the sun might be enabled to assist my inefficient
handkerchief.
A steep climb up the sandy side of the karewa amid
berberis and wild rose bushes, and I found myself on
a level with the temple I wished to reach, but with
two miles of sun-baked, shadeless fields to cross. The
“ pukka ” road (made road) took a. large curve to the
west, and as I was desirous of reaching my destination
with as little delay as possible, I skirted the crops,
balancing myself on the narrow grassy ledges that
acted as boundaries. Flax, buckwheat, and rape made
pretty varieties to the ordinary cereals, and the
numerous tiny blooms growing in every patch of waste
ground gave a gay little finish to the colour scheme.
All the natives I saw were much distressed at my