KASHMIR VALLEYS 107 



the perfume of the garden rose at home as were 

 its sharp, deep colours from those we are accus- 

 tomed to. The villages I passed were shaded, 

 almost hidden, by the huge trees planted round, 

 the brimij (Celtis australis), walnut, chenaar, all 

 attaining mammoth proportions. At a lovely spot, 

 Pron, I finally left the track by which I had gone up 

 the valley, and took the direct road to my destination, 

 the little mountain tarn of Manasbal, and before long 

 reached a flourishing village. Mangan I found to be its 

 name. Then seating myself under some splendid 

 mulberry trees, and eating eagerly of the fine white fruit 

 handed to me in a large leaf by a native, I inquired how 

 much further was Manasbal. He looked aghast. " Far, 

 very far; a day's march; six coss round the mountain 

 that stretches out into the valley there, as far as a man 

 can see, and then up over a hill." This was not 

 encouraging, the day was very warm, and after my 

 sojourn in the snows I was feeling the close air of the 

 low valley very trying. The track, too, that was pointed 

 out wound along beside a shadeless canal. Mulberries 

 would be procurable, but though refreshing for the 

 moment, their over-luscious sweetness soon cloys, and 

 the thirsty traveller prefers the discomfort of dust- 

 clogged mouth to the nausea produced by them. 

 Fortunately, they never weary the native apparently, or 

 luckily his ox and his ass, to say nothing of the bears 

 that abound in his hills, or the mahseers (finest fish in 

 India) that inhabit his rivers. As twelve miles had to 

 be traversed before I could hope for rest and drinks, I 

 concluded to try and get them done as soon as possible, 

 and moved on, after visiting the beautiful village 

 ziarat (shrine), a square, wooden building of deepest- 



