KASHMIR VALLEYS 181 



winter months when food is scarce. A pleasant breeze 

 from the river rustled the poplar leaves, and the blue 

 sky above was duplicated in the sheets of blue iris 

 flowering profusely in the low-lying, damp fields, and 

 filling the air with a fragrance that was two parts 

 essence of spring and one part stolen from the sedges 

 and other water growths that surrounded them. Spring 

 sunshine and gladness were everywhere, and the country 

 was in festive garb for nature's annual flower fete. Even 

 the coolies could not pass without presenting a spray 

 of roses or some jessamine freshly plucked, and in the 

 villages old and young were gathered under the shadiest 

 trees watching with amazement the energetic Memsahib 

 who could stride along hot roads, while even they, poor, 

 " less than the dust," were content to take in a big 

 draught of sunshine and restful ease against the pinching 

 season of bitter cold and darkness so soon to follow. 

 Some thought of being carried by one of the riding 

 ponies if the high-peaked native saddle would admit of 

 my sitting sideways on it had been in my mind, and 

 as the day wore on and the poplars disappeared, leaving 

 the weary pedestrian feeling like a hapless beetle 

 crawling over a quite illimitable track, but without 

 even the comfort of a really adequate black shell, the idea 

 gathered strength, and so, on arriving at a " ganw " 

 (village), where I had agreed with my men they were to 

 wait if I had not already overtaken them, I questioned 

 some of the people as to whether they had seen my 

 caravan. No men had been seen, no ponies; misgivings 

 filled my mind, and final drop into chaos a coolie from 

 the other direction told me of having met them eight 

 miles back comfortably settled for their " roti khana " 

 (dinner)! Devoting men, ponies, he and she goats, 



