BARAMULA 19 



Bungalow. Here the first house-boats lie at anchor ; 

 here are gathered together the caravans of the West. 

 All poetry disappears the trees leave off their 

 murmuring, the flowers are silent, the waters are 

 heard no more. What shall they do, how make 

 themselves heard, when humanity is making so much 

 noise ? 



Crowds of brown agents, traders, and beggars 

 welcome me enthusiastically. 



They are a mixture of Europe and Cashmere, and 

 in each case the mixture is either too strong or too 

 weak. Like hurrying waves they fall upon the 

 strangers with their hissing sounds of greed, with 

 their arms and with their legs ; even the thinnest 

 skeleton does not escape their bloodthirsty croaking, 

 as they pull and tug at him and follow their victim 

 step by step. 



No amount of struggling is of any use. Only 

 perfect quiet, complete passivity, and the perseverance 

 of a Buddha, with perhaps a cynical smile or a 

 sarcastic word, will help us, for there is nothing the 

 native hates more than the latter. But make the 

 slightest response, ask a question or give a kindly 

 smile, and you will let loose the wildest elements. 



See how they rush and push and wrestle, these 

 Europeanised mountain hordes ! They quarrel 

 amongst themselves and underbid each other ; each 

 paints the other black, and yet they are all playing 

 the same game. They make solemn asseverations, 



