KASHMIR VALLEYS 127 



ran into us in spite of warning cries, was precipitated 

 from her insecure perch in front of her boat, shrieking 

 aloud as we hooked her out. She could not at all see 

 the joke, though my men laughed hugely as they 

 assisted her to wring out her wispy garments and set 

 her anew in her place. Again, as we were caught in a 

 block, I spoke to a woman holding her baby. " Why 

 not put it in the water?" I said. "It would be 

 drowned," she screamed indignantly. I suppose 

 common sense might have told me that, but really it only 

 appeared natural that it should spread out little web 

 feet and hands and take easily to what seemed, as if 

 it must be, its natural element. 



The last signs of the storm, in the form of 

 heavy clouds, were floating away to the eastward 

 over the crest of the Takht-i-Suleiman, and the 

 sun was setting in a glory of gold and crimson 

 and amethyst as we passed into the open. Fortress- 

 crowned hills to the westward of the town stood out 

 against the gorgeous background, fragments of cloudlets 

 caught up the glow and showed a glittering lining to 

 their dark purples and crimsons as they hurried in to 

 join the coucher du roi, great monarch of light, and 

 therefore life. Slowly we made our way through the 

 great Dal Darwaza, the gates of the lake that prevent its 

 being flooded when the river is high, and passing by 

 various canals reached the Moonshi Bagh, the favourite 

 moorings and camping-ground for married folk and 

 ladies, the menkind, with their usual eye to beauty and 

 comfort, having taken possession of the lovely Chenaar 

 Bagh, the other good camping-ground. The Moonshi 

 Bagh is on the main stream, and there is not much to 

 complain of there when not too crowded. There is 



