CHAPTER X 



THE TOWN OF SRINAGAR 



WHAT is there to tell of Srinagar, of the actual town 

 itself, where men live ? The flowers only blossom 

 on dung-heaps here, and their sweetness makes no 

 impression on one's mind or senses. They romp 

 about in dirty robes on the rubbish-heaps in the 

 streets or on the crooked roofs of time-worn palaces, 

 temples, and sheds. 



Even the giant trees of the valley halt before the 

 gates of the town. Only a few willows and poplars, 

 weedy and colourless, make the best of town life on 

 the banks of the canals. 



Ever more impassable do the narrow streets be- 

 come, more twisting, more smelly, dirtier and more 

 Cashmerean, until at last even the giants of the 

 Himalayas can no longer follow us along such narrow 

 paths and byways, where no view is possible. Bent 

 with old age, and as if preparing to fight, the old 

 walls stand opposite to each other, and even shut out 

 the kindly glance of heaven's blue eye. Bursting 



and rotten they cling together, these perilous walls 



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