KASHMIR VALLEYS 109 



flannel, and could barely cast even one admiring look 

 on the various pretty flowers that I found growing. 



Directly I began to ascend, pedicularis of peculiarly 

 soft shades of mauve, pink and white; tiny pink and 

 white dianthus ; roses, and small honeysuckles were con- 

 stant companions. It was nearly two o'clock before I 

 saw below me the blue waters of Manasbal, a mirror of 

 strange power, giving an added brilliance to everything 

 reflected in it, a piece of heaven's blue retaining some 

 threads of the gold with which that master craftsman, 

 the sun, points his dwelling. It was good enough after 

 the long stretch of eight hours to rest by a stream under 

 the shade of great chenaars and watch the cool waters 

 and the brilliant birds darting about as fearless as if 

 the millennium had come with its reign of universal 

 peace. Three kingfishers, like fleeting jewels, came 

 and perched close beside me, a living mosaic, and the 

 cuckoos and the larks trilled and called, hiding their 

 plainer coats away out of sight, leaving to the silent but 

 gaudy-clothed ones the display of bright plumes. This 

 little lake is scarcely two miles long, but it is very 

 beautiful in its loneliness among the great hills that 

 throw their outlines on its waters and shut out from it 

 the wild, rough winds that sweep down the exposed 

 valleys. All around the slopes are cut into great 

 terraces, relics of the days of Jehangir and his gay 

 garden makers. Only the solid parts of this work 

 remain, flower beds, fountains, pleasances having passed 

 away like the fair ones who made them, and the 

 masonry of the terraces and the huge trees they planted 

 are the only signs of those summers, centuries ago, when 

 the Moguls and their followers sought rest in the 

 Happy Valley, forgetting while there the weariness 



