THROUGH THE HEART OF HINDUSTAN 



439 



over the huge mass of Hinduism, with its 

 millions of gods. 



Following a route where fine sand and 

 smooth clay are general and even a peb- 

 ble is a curiosity, India's Main Street 

 serves agriculture rather than industry 

 or mining; yet home industries are gen- 

 eral throughout its course and few in- 

 deed are the towns which are not noted 

 for some material or product unsur- 

 passed of its kind. 



A curio lover may go from the Afghan 

 border to the foreign shops of Calcutta 

 and never be far from a place where car- 

 pets, wood carvings, embroideries, ivory 

 work, fine fabrics and brocades, soft tex- 

 tiles, metal-work and gracefully shaped 

 pottery may be found. The center where 

 each of these is made may be some dis- 

 tance aw 7 ay, on some side street that leads 

 to Rajputana or Kashmir, but there are 

 numerous places along Main Street itself 

 where all can be procured. 



KHYBER PASS, A NAME THAT SUGGESTS 

 ROMANCE 



The very name of the Khyber Pass is 

 romantic. To see it on the semi-weekly 

 convoy day is to be transported back 

 through the ages to the time when three 

 wise men, garbed in voluminous mantles 

 like those the Afghans wear, swayed 

 back and forth to the slow stride of their 

 desert mounts while following the Star. 



Out in the dry plain below the south- 

 ern mouth of the Pass is the mud fort of 

 Jamrud, its flat surroundings cluttered 

 with tents and adobe huts. High on a 

 plateau near the Afghan end is Landi- 

 kotal, a lonely camp held by the guards 

 of the gates of India. Twin roads, an 

 aerial cableway, the slender life lines of 

 the military telephone — these are the only 

 signs during most of the week to indicate 

 that trade here runs the gantlet between 

 threatening hills harboring lawless spirits 

 who consider a hair-trigger gun the best 

 defender of life and liberty, and most 

 effective in the pursuit of somebody's 

 happiness. 



Half-way through, almost hidden in a 

 depression which is mortal dull in winter 

 and a place of intolerable heat in sum- 

 mer, is a cluster of tents, mingled with 

 lines of tethered animals, known as Ali 

 Masjid. 



In winter the Khyber is more like the 

 Near East than India, but in summer the 

 gash in the sunhot hills is a fiery furnace 

 and a living hell. Then the shaggy Bac- 

 trian camels are not seen and winter's 

 flowing robes are cast aside, revealing 

 hard chests weathered brown by sun and 

 wind. At Ali. Masjid a breeze would be 

 a godsend. The atmosphere shimmers in 

 heat-waves like the surface of a boiling 

 cauldron. 



WHERE THE CARAVANS MEET 



Here the two caravans meet at noon- 

 day, the one to hasten southward toward 

 the Kabuli Bazaar in Peshawar, the other 

 to finish before nightfall the most dan- 

 gerous section of its long trail to the 

 Hindu Kush or the noisy khans of Bok- 

 hara. 



When the rough - coated Bactrians, 

 whose home stretches along the high 

 plateau of Asia from Iran to the Gobi, 

 supplement the ugly but hardier cousins 

 of the lowland deserts, the narrow fun- 

 nel of the Khyber seems clogged with 

 masses of dark-brown camel hair; but, 

 dashing along beside the road reserved 

 for caravans, hugging the new highway 

 which has been constructed for their 

 benefit or bounding over culverts bridg- 

 ing bone-dry waterways, there roars a 

 covey of military motors camouflaged in 

 their own dust. 



"The Man Who Was" pictured the 

 Khyber as the key to India. Whether it 

 be the military or political key today is a 

 question. But the Khyber on convoy day 

 does give a key to understanding why it 

 is that the anthropological museum which 

 we know as India still deludes the world 

 with visions of untold wealth instead of 

 unspeakable misery. 



THE CAMEL'S SHARE IN INDIANS STORY 



The camel is the reason. The heavy- 

 duty engine conceals its romance in fire- 

 box and boilers ; but the zoological cari- 

 cature called the camel is a relief map of 

 romance. 



When any one mentions cost per ton- 

 mile, this beast turns up his disdainful 

 nose. No cheap bulk freights for him ! 

 Silks, spices, jewels, priceless stuffs of 

 soft pashmina or stiff cloth of gold — 

 these are the cargoes ! Who ever saw 

 romance in lentils or block tin ? Alchem- 



