270 THE IMAGE OF WAE 



lower hill was perched the graceful form of an old 

 castle, with the native village nestling at its foot. 

 Behind, the hills ran back, forming a ruddy back- 

 ground in the setting sun. Between me and the 

 village lay a large tank with a bund of antique 

 masonry, which was crowned with a line of lofty 

 trees. The bund itself formed a large garden, 

 evidently badly kept, and at one end stood a 

 bungalow of some kind. 



The setting sun warned me that I must be going, 

 so as to get on to the high-road before dark. I 

 rode off, promising myself another visit to the valley 

 before long. 



Next day I made some inquiries as to the place I 

 had seen. I learnt, firstly, what was indeed obvious 

 — that the place had been in the old days a strong 

 fortress, and the seat of a petty Bajpoot chief. The 

 family had, however, fallen on evil times since the 

 days of British rule had commenced. The ruin which 

 the inability to levy tribute (and no doubt to plunder) 

 had commenced, the bunnias^ had completed. The 

 old family were gone. Who inhabited the castle I 

 know not, for I never went there, knowing by ex- 

 perience that it is better to see these native places 

 from a distance. I was further told that the old 

 bungalow I had seen had been erected years ago as 

 a sort of club by the officers of the garrison. They 

 had taken it in turns to go there for a change, and 

 the then well-kept gardens had supplied them with 

 vegetables. The thing had come to an end, prob- 

 ably as increased travelling facilities enabled the 

 subscribers to go to the hills when they wanted a 



1 Bunnias — the hereditary grain-dealing caste, who combine with their 

 ancestral occupation the more profitable one of usury. 



