120 AFOOT THROUGH THE 



broken spans of the old bridge. Strange voices filled the 

 air, yelling to the demons of the stream, and the quiet 

 night was transformed into pandemonium. Dark 

 shadows passed rapidly across the low-lying fields, 

 terrified flocks of ponies fleeing for shelter to the village 

 looked like grim wraiths, the wind rolled the vaporous 

 mist across the open, and then the whole world was 

 blotted out in an unnatural wall of dark cloud, and I 

 felt myself the only living thing in the world whirling to 

 destruction. 



Slowly the minutes sped their way, the burden of the 

 sad surroundings oppressed us with a heavy weight, 

 useless to guess what was taking place a few yards 

 away, hopeless to try and assist others who might be 

 even in worse plight than myself ; heavily, drearily time 

 passed waiting for the sun to rise again and light the 

 stricken scene. The second storm had lasted far 

 longer than the first, and the wind had only just 

 ceased its wild cries and menaces when the sun rose 

 with stormy splendour, and a ravaged world slowly began 

 to settle to a day of salvage and re-adjustment. 

 Anxious as I was to reach Srinagar before the evening, 

 having an important engagement there, I hardly dared 

 to suggest a start in face of the possibility of a repetition 

 of the night's storm, for there was a long stretch of 

 low, unsheltered meadows, and then the open Anchar 

 Lake to cross, before I could reach the safety of the 

 narrow city waterways. Earth and sky were strangely 

 blended together in a veil of vapour that moved in 

 layers, ragged and broken at the edges over the marsh 

 lands, forming fantastic figures, or combining to screen 

 with thick mist all outlook. Though the sky was still 

 threatening there had been no repetition of the storm 



