56 THE MARKHOR 



These dwellers in the mountains breathe as we do, 

 but they know nothing of our world, of the struggle 

 for existence, of ambition, of the stress of work, of 

 tuft-hunting and toadyism. They do not ruminate 

 about the marvels of daylight, nor count the stars 

 in the darkness. They work as long as the sun 

 shines, and sleep as soon as it gets dark. Desire 

 awakes and is satisfied, but further than this their 

 idea of happiness does not go. Farewell, ye simple 

 mountain folk ! 



With the customary politeness of Cashmere the 

 man accompanies me a few steps from his hut, and 

 then the ascent begins. The path gets more and 

 more uneven. Rampur's civilisation has come to 

 an end. We leave the shadows behind us. The 

 air is filled with a transparent haze. Earth and 

 sky melt into each other on the horizon. We are 

 obliged to wade barefoot through several torrents. 

 Civilisation becomes visibly less, the rocks get barer, 

 the ground rougher, and the angle at which we climb 

 sharper. Snow-tipped peaks begin to appear in the 

 far distance. The sun climbs ever higher. The 

 torrents rush more swiftly on their way one eternal 

 roar, an everlasting coming and going the song of 

 perpetual motion. I beg the busy water to bear my 

 greetings on its bosom to Srinagar, to Egern am 

 Tegernsee ! 





