Their houses, or hovels, are of wood, the sides of logs, the interstices filled with clay, the roofs of split slabs. No care is taken in their construction to fit them for protection from the extreme rigours of the winter; so I conclude their inmates suffer much at that season, as do their flocks and herds, as their unthrifty, apathetic habits do not allow them to store up sufficient dry fodder to support them, while the deep snows cover the ground. Dirt and filth abound in the villages and their precincts; and the people are martyrs to hydrophobia. The males are stout, hale, and well-looking: the females, as far as my limited opportunities of observation permitted an opinion, are haggard and ugly. They, poor creatures! as in all races where man's nature is least refined, have the greater portion of the labours of life to endure. The males give me the idea of being contented and happy enough in their ignorance. They profess Mahomedanism, and in each hamlet is a small musjed, with either a resident moulvie, or an itinerant one, to officiate.
They complain much, as do all the Maharajah's subjects, of the heavy imposts levied on them, and to this attribute their indifference to bettering their condition, asserting that if they increased their substance, they would be only the marks for the rapacity of the government screws. This is, no doubt, in part true; but I think their natural indisposition to exertion is now the main hindrance to industry and enterprise. These poor peasants have to pay the Maharajah five rupees per annum for every hundred head of sheep, cattle, &c., and three rupees for every measure of ground computed to yield one maund (eighty lbs) of grain. This latter burden they bitterly complain of, as whatever the harvest the full amount is exacted: and when it is considered that the intrinsic value of the maund of grain,—the marketable price—is but one rupee, it does appear abominably rapacious to extort three times the value, and whether the harvest fails or not. Formerly, under a system but lately changed, the cultivators paid in kind, equally dividing the produce, and with this they were, they say, satisfied. At any rate, they now view its abrogation with regret.
As regards the sporting resources and capabilities of the Wurdwan, they no longer exist, but in the traditions and memories of by-gone days. These grounds have been now so constantly hunted, and the animals yet surviving, so harassed and disturbed, that with the exception of a few bears—ignoble game—there remains hardly an animal to reward the toil of the hunter. After my present experience, I would not myself again, nor would I recommend any other sportsman to try his chance in the Wurdwan, unless in the autumn, when the stags bellow; there may be, possibly, good sport then, but I should be disposed to try elsewhere.
[CHAPTER VI.]
SHIKAR IN THE WURDWAN
4th June. Up the valley, through some beautiful grassy bottoms along the stream, most likely places for the resort of game. But we got over some miles of ground, ere any glimpse of an animal was obtained: then some ibex were seen up the mountain, which before long, scared by some cause unknown, were seen in rapid career to the inaccessible summits.
We soon moved on: but in the gorge where the ibex were seen a bear was descried, and the ground being favourable we gained his neighbourhood, and a shot from the Enfield smote him in the shoulder. He made off, but after receiving several more shots was brought rolling down.
We continued our course up the valley, still through most promising coverts, far the prettiest shooting ground I had seen; we saw traces of bara sing, and numerous of bears, and halted for the day in a clear space, there to await the evening. Snow fell, and it became bitterly cold. We took shelter under some firs, and after a time had a fire, round which we squatted comfortably chatting.
In due time we moved back towards camp—saw a bear, and were about the right place, when getting our wind he fled amain. Continuing our beat carefully through the jungle, Subhan dropped to game, and, following his indicator, I saw a dark coloured animal raise up its head. I said, "it is a bullock": but no, it was a bear, an unusually large and dark one, and when he looked up, with his ears pricked up, they looking like short horns gave him the momentary appearance of some species of 'bos,' such as the musk ox. But bear, and nothing else, was he.