A Vanishing Sport 123 



Like the ponies of these highlands, the best 

 breeds come from Badakshan, and look like a 

 cross between a Borzoi and a collie. Before the 

 hunting season comes on, shikaris harden and 

 condition their hounds by pitching them into 

 some icy torrent several times a day, a course 

 which the writer was once recommended to follow 

 with a favourite spaniel somewhat inclined to 

 embonpoint. 



The successful shikari, on his way home, sings 

 the quaint hunting-song called the ghoru. As 

 he nears his village, men and boys run out to 

 relieve him of his kit and load of meat and 

 horns, the latter destined to grace the nearest 

 saint's surine. The whole hamlet joins in the 

 chorus, those not helping with the loads sitting 

 down on the roofs of their houses and with 

 little fingers in their ears (like a huntsman !) 

 rendering the song at the highest pitch of their 

 voices : 



Oh valley open for me, he" ho ; 

 Blood-stained are my hands, he ho. 



Deer-like are thine eyes, he* ho, 

 Seeing after death, he* ho. 



Rise I in the night, he" ho, 

 Crouching I await thee, he* ho. 



Thy feet they leave a trail, he ho ; 

 Thy horns they graze the sky, he* ho. 



