From Dalhousic into Chamba 91 



the patter of the rain, parched skins cease to irritate, 

 the clouds of dust are licked up, the country expands 

 like a sponge, the tension is snapped at last, thank 

 God, the rains have come \ 



The monsoon has driven the masses of vapour 

 northwards, before it, across the length and breadth of 

 India, sometimes in the form of long processions of 

 clouds, which a native poet has likened to flights of 

 great white birds ; sometimes in the shape of rain- 

 storms, which crash through the forests and flood the 

 fields. The moisture which does not fall as rain over 

 India is at length dashed against the Himalayas The 

 Abode of Snow, as the name in Sanscrit means. 



One hardly realises what an immense region these 

 mountains form which shut out India from the rest of 

 Asia. Switzerland and the Alps are a little playground ; 

 the Himalayas are a world of their own. Glaciers 

 sixty miles in length, leagues upon leagues of eternal 

 snow, peaks higher than any upon the face of the 

 globe, it follows that this impenetrable region is almost 

 unknown to man, barring a few bold parties of traders, 

 who, wrapped in sheepskins, force their way across 

 passes eighteen thousand feet and more above sea- 

 level, leaving time after time only their bones, and 

 those of many a worn-out mule and yak, relics of 

 overwhelming snowstorms. 



Little or no rain crosses the great mountain barrier ; 

 all which reaches the heart of the snows becomes snow 

 itself, and can never be blown across to " The 

 Forbidden Land," as Mr. Landor called Thibet that 



