70 THE FORESTS OF UPPER INDIA 



boulder, and stooping low so as not to scare the watchful 

 fish, now wading out into the gravelly shallows half-way 

 across the stream so as to reach the rushing current over 

 there under the high bank — all expedients are tried, but 

 no fish will bite. 



The sun gets higher and the day advances. Yet the 

 game goes on without result. After the hurry and excite- 

 ment, things seem to fall rather flat. One's arms get a 

 bit tired wielding a 30-foot rod, light though it be, and 

 something seems wrong with the reel. The chilwa, alas ! 

 becomes draggled and will not spin, and a new one has 

 to be adjusted and a fresh pool sought. Here, however, 

 great oak trees hang over the very place where one is 

 certain a big mahseer is lying ready to be caught. The 

 pangs of hunger are beginning to be felt, and the angler's 

 temper gets short. If he doesn't get a fish in the next 

 three throws he will go to breakfast. He takes four throws, 

 and a fifth, and not a fish will stir. He sulkily retraces 

 his steps in a very hot sun back to camp. 



The pool below Bagesar is wide and deep, and a temple 

 stands by the river, and there is a ghat like those at 

 Benares, where the bodies of dead Hindus are burnt, and 

 the remains thrown into the sacred waters. The souls 

 of the faithful must thus attain future happiness, whose 

 bodies are returned to the all-embracing bosom of holy 

 Ganga. The drop returns to the ocean, so the soul to 

 its Creator. Simple faith of Hindu and Buddhist alike. 

 The realistic features of this beautiful religion, however, 

 are not so beautiful in actual experience. No bait or fly, 

 no matter how alluring, would ever stir a fish in this likely- 

 looking pool. 



Whether the mahseer migrates and goes down to the 

 plains, where the water becomes warm and clear, is a 

 question which observation alone can solve. It is certain 



