Kashmir, Sir Younghusband Francis Edward [the best novels to read .TXT] 📗
- Author: Sir Younghusband Francis Edward
- Performer: -
Book online «Kashmir, Sir Younghusband Francis Edward [the best novels to read .TXT] 📗». Author Sir Younghusband Francis Edward
On the road into Kashmir very serious breaks were made by the rain and by the melting snow and the mud floods which it brought down. Whole stretches of road were completely carried away and wiped out of existence. Bridges were broken; and so dangerous were the falling boulders, that one European was knocked straight into the Jhelum River and drowned, and several natives were badly injured. The dak bungalows were crammed with travellers rolling up from behind, and we subsequently heard of the misery they suffered from overcrowded rooms, from the never-ending rolling of the thunder, and the incessant pelting of the rain. The beauties of Kashmir cannot be attained without suffering, and the suffering on the road up is often considerable.
A hard-worked member of the Government of India came from Calcutta to spend a ten-days' holiday with us in the middle of this deluge, and as day after day of his holiday went by with nothing but rain, our pride in the glories of Kashmir sank lower and lower, and we feared he would go back to give the country but an evil reputation. But the final day of his stay redeemed all, and for that single day he was good enough to say he would have come the whole way from Calcutta. We drove out along the shores of the Dal Lake to the Nishat Bagh, and anything more exquisitely lovely than the combination of the freshness of the young spring green, with the whiteness of the snow now low down on the mountain-sides with the blue sky, the brilliant sunshine, the dreamy purply haze, the mirror lake, the yellow mustard fields, and the clouds of pink and white fruit blossom now in its perfection, this earth can surely nowhere show.
The lake was full from the recent rain, and lapped up to the edge of the garden. On either side of the gateway were masses of Kashmir lilac. Stretching up the mountain-side, on either side of the line of fountains and waterfalls which flowed down from the upper end of the garden, was a long avenue of massive chenar trees just freshly tinted with budding foliage, and at the sides and by the entrance were peach, and pear, and cherry in brilliant bloom. Slowly we ascended the avenue, and then from the top looked down between the great chenar trees, over the cascades falling to the lake, over the smooth green turf, over the clumps of purple iris, over the white cherry blossom and the mauve lilac; to the still waters of the lake; to the willows and poplars along its edge; to the fort of Hari Parbat; and then on to the radiant snows now glistening more brightly, and looking more ethereal and lovely than ever before. Spring is beautiful everywhere. Spring is more beautiful in Kashmir than anywhere else, and in a Kashmir spring this was the most beautiful day of all.
ENTRANCE TO THE MAR CANAL
Yet another attractive spot near Srinagar is the site of the original city founded by Asoka at Pandrathan, three miles distant on the Islamabad road. Here at the end of a spur running down from the mountains and jutting out to meet a bend in the river, stands the remains of an immense monolith lingam on the levelled edge of the spur, eighty feet or so above the river. Immediately beneath is a majestic bend of the river, and one April evening when I visited the sight I looked out from the raised plateau up two glistening reaches, bordered by fresh green grass and overhung by graceful willows and poplars in their newest foliage. The wheat-fields on the opposite bank were a brilliant emerald, and the fields of glowing yellow mustard and young linseed interspersed with scarlet poppies gave a relieving touch of colour. All the valley was dotted over with picturesque hamlets half-hidden in clumps of willow and over-towering chenar trees. The recent floods gave a lake-like appearance to the middle distance. On the right the temple on the Takht-i-Suliman formed a graceful feature in the scene; and from there completely round the semicircle to the distant left stretched the dreamy snowy mountains, hazy immediately under the sun, but white and distinct when the evening sun struck full upon them. A more fitting site for worship could hardly be found.
In full summer the Kashmir valley is, perhaps, in its least interesting condition. The snow has nearly melted from the mountains. They are often hidden by heat-haze or dust. The fruit blossoms are all over. The yellow mustard and the blue linseed in the fields have gone to seed. The green of the trees has lost its freshness; and the prevailing tones are heavy greens and browns. The weather too is sultry. The thermometer rises to 95° or 97° in the shade. A heavy, lethargic feeling oppresses one. Mosquitoes appear in swarms. And by the end of June every one who can flees to Gulmarg, to Pahlgam in the Lidar valley, to Sonamarg in the Sind, to Gurais and to the numerous other cool mountain resorts.
THE TEMPLE, CHENAR BAGH
But early in September the valley renews its charms and visitors return. The atmosphere has been freshened and cooled by the rains which, though they fall lightly in the valley itself, are often heavy on the surrounding mountains. The ripe rice-fields show an expanse of green and yellow often two or three miles in extent. The villages, dirty and untidy at close quarters, it is true, but nestling among the chenars, willows, poplars, walnuts, and mulberries, show as entrancing islands amidst the sea of rice. Ponies browse among the marshes up to their knees in water; and groups of cattle graze along the grassy edge of the streams and water-ducts.
The sun is still powerful in the daytime, and the sky usually bright and clear. But the monsoon will often make a few final efforts. One such day I note when voluminous masses of cloud rolled up from behind the Pir Panjal to a height of twenty-five or thirty thousand feet, their westward edges aglow from the setting sun, and showing clear and distinct against the background of pinky light blue sky, while the great main volume remained dark, heavy, and sombre, with now and then a spit of lightning flashing out, and on the far side, away from the setting sun, threatening tentacles stretched out across the valley in unavailing effort to reach the mountains on the northern side. Under these mighty monsoon masses even the great mountains looked dwarfed and puny. It was a great and final effort of that stupendous natural phenomenon which bears the waters of the Indian Ocean to beat upon the Himalaya; and as an omen that the monsoon was now over, the sky behind the storm-clouds was intensely clear and tranquil, and the moon slowly ascended in undisturbed serenity.
And the rainy season being finished there now commenced almost the most charming time of all, not, indeed, with the freshness of spring, but with more certainty of continual brightness and light, and more vigour and strength in the air, and above all, with that warmth and richness of colour in the foliage which makes an autumn in Kashmir unique. Towards the end of October the green of the immense masses of chenar slowly turns to purple, red, and yellow, and every intervening shade. The poplars, mulberries, and apricots add each their quota of autumnal beauty. The valley and the river edge are resplendent in the gorgeous colouring. And beautiful as is the spring, I was tempted to think that even more exquisitely lovely still was the bright autumnal day when we drifted down the river in our house-boat, when all the chenars along the river bank were loaded with the richest and most varied colouring, when the first fresh fall of snow on the mountains was glistening in the radiant sunshine, and there ran through the air that restful sense of certainty that this was no hurried pleasure snatched from a stormy season, but that for day after day and week after week one might count on the same brilliant sunshine, the same clear, blue sky, and daily increasing crispness, freshness, and vigour in the air.
RUINS OF LALLA ROOKH'S GARDENS, LAKE MANASBAL
The great broad reaches in the river, glistening in the sunlight and fringed with the rich autumnal foliage, were superlatively beautiful. Shadipur, at the junction of the Sind River, where there is a little temple on an island and hoary old chenars drooping over it to the water's surface, was a dream of all that is most lovely. And the Manasbal Lake, so fresh and deep and clear, set like a jewel among the mountains, with clumps and avenues of these same red and purple foliaged trees upon its edge, and reflecting in its surface the white snowy range of the distant Pir Panjal, was the supreme gem of all Kashmir. All these are beauties which one cannot describe, for whatever one may say, the reality must ever remain more beautiful than the picture. But perhaps by the unison of pen and brush some faint impression of the loveliness of a Kashmir autumn may yet have been conveyed.
This season to the sportsman also is the most enjoyable. For now come in the duck and geese from far-away Siberia, halting here for a time in the lakes and marshes on their way to India. I have already described a duck-shoot in spring. In the autumn there is still finer shooting, for the duck have come in fresh and are in greater numbers than on their return journey. As I have already said, the Maharaja most hospitably places at the disposal of the Resident the shooting on the Hokrar Lake and marsh, which affords some of the best duck-shooting in the world, and it was here that Lord Minto and party shot over 1500 duck in one day in 1906.
Last year we had our first shoot on October 4th. We rode for six miles in the fresh morning air and brilliant sunshine to the edge of the lake, where the shikaris and boatmen were awaiting us. Over the reeds and over the open expanse of water beyond there was that glorious view of the distantly encircling mountains which I have before described. The lower slopes were at this season a reddish pink which merged into the rich purply blue of the higher and more distant portion of the range. Soft fleecy clouds and a hazy blue in the sky gave a dreamy tone to the scene. Many kinds of waterfowl were lazily disporting themselves on the water and among the reeds. The surface was often covered with numerous flat, round leaves and pure white waxy water-lilies with rich yellow centres.
Through these we were paddled swiftly
Comments (0)