The Diary of a Hunter from the Punjab to the Karakorum Mountains

by Augustus Henry Irby

10th July. On the march at 5 A.M.—the path as ever in these mountainous regions running by a stream threading the narrow valley. Here and there was a strip of green cultivation, with brown mountains, mounts, huge hillocks, all barren, some craggy, others smoothly rounded, heap on heap, pile on pile, here falling sloping back, allowing the eye to range over many successive wave-like summits, there rising up abruptly with crags, and clefts, and dark ravines, closing in upon and overshadowing the narrow valley. I tried to find some mode of description by which one might give a person verbally some tolerable idea of the combined desolation and grandeur of these scenes; but all in vain.

We had a long and fatiguing ascent, prior to which we passed through the village of Waka, near which abutting on the path, is a sculptured rock standing alone, representing a Hindoo deity. The figure is carved on the face of the rock which is of granite, I think, the height about thirty feet, and the workmanship the average of what one sees in Hindostan. A small mud building closes in the lower extremities of this idol, in which is a shrine; and I found within garlands, and signs of recent worship, some few professors of Hindooism residing close by. The natives call this idol, Mohir Chamba, and say it is of great antiquity; but to me the chiselling appeared fresh and sharp. This, however, from the hard quality of the stone would be the case for a length of time, especially in this dry climate. There are few Hindoos now in Thibet, Buddhism being the prevailing creed. Many mussulmans are scattered among them.

Men are now met with wearing pig-tails, Chinese fashion. They have a different cap, too—a long bag of black woollen stuff which is turned over, covering the top and one side of the head. The Maltese, if I recollect right, wear one precisely similar.

Finding no shelter from the sun after breakfast, having halted an hour we continued our route, now downwards, until we descried one or two willows in a hamlet; for which we made, and glad enough we were to escape the sun's scorching rays, and rest ourselves. We moved on again about two o'clock—much too soon; and, after two or three miles, further grilling, we stopped at Karbo, our halt.

There are many Buddhist monuments here, rude tombs of mud and loose stones. The principal feature is a thing like a great sugared cake, perhaps intended to represent an urn: adjoining and connected with this is a raised oblong, varying in length—some are ten feet, some twenty, others fifty—built up of stones, about four feet high, the top flattish, and covered all over with loose flat stones, all sculptured, both in figures and letters. These tombs contain the bones of sainted lamas, I believe. They are very inferior to the tombs and pagodas met with in Burmah, some of which are beautiful specimens of architecture, and extremely picturesque. All I have seen here as yet are mean and paltry. These monuments are whitewashed, the wash remarkable for its lustrous quality. I questioned Phuttoo as to the composition. He said it was a substance dug out of the earth. I observed that it differed much from that in use in India. He said, it was not 'chunani.' I imagine it to be a kind of chalky pigment.

11th July. Away, with the dawn, though we had not so long a march in prospect as those of the two previous days, which must have been over twenty miles. But it is well to start early to enjoy the freshness of morn, and avoid the excessive heat of the sun which I really think I endure better than the shikarries. The scenery of to-day was similar to that of yesterday, which is, I imagine, the type of the entire region, unless the banks of the Indus present any variety: if so, it will only be in the height and formation of the mountains. There was a gradual ascent, with a sharp pitch at the end, to the summit of the hill on which was a stone Buddhist monument, and in its shade I stopped to breakfast. From this eminence the view was extensive and interesting, the adjacent mountains possessing peculiar features, and being so distributed as to afford good distances.

I stopped till the small building no longer protected me from the sun; then, perforce, braved his potent rays, and pursued my route on to Lama Yurru, our intended bivouac.

As we descended to the level of the valley, opening a bend I detected some wild looking animals moving from among some cattle. Subhan, after a while, declared them to be shâpu, wild sheep; so guns were got ready, and with small prospect of success, the ground being level and bare, we prepared to stalk them. The game, numbering some twenty-five head, rufous coloured animals, of deer-like form and action, with two small upright horns curving backwards, were gamboling, moving here and there; nor did they become aware of dangerous neighbours, until we were about a hundred yards from them, when they stood gazing for some seconds, presenting a fair mark. But, alas! my lungs were heaving so that I could not take aim, Subhan, in spite of my oft-repeated lectures and warnings, hurrying on 'ventre a terre,' so that with the attitude I was quite distressed, and only looked and longed at the inviting target before me, entertaining a sort of hope that they would give me time. But not so; a few seconds only to gaze, and away they cantered in a string across us. Rising, I aimed at the line; the ball struck true in direction but low, I think, the scared animals dashing aside right and left. A thud, however, was heard, and we all thought that one was hit; when looking some little distance beyond, there stood an unfortunate bullock, one hind leg slightly raised from the ground, and blood trickling down. There was only time for an exclamation or two as we followed the herd now making for a hill, when they were on which I fired my battery at them, the distance three or four hundred yards, the balls striking right amongst them—wonderful how they all missed!

Now came full upon me the sense of my misfortune and ill luck. There stood the hapless bullock patiently and silently enduring his wrongs, his poor wounded leg still shrinking from the ground on which the oozing blood was frothing. I was much annoyed and grieved at this mishap. The poor wounded creature looked so melancholy in its patient, silent attitude, and I feared the wound was mortal. The ball from Whitworth, striking the ground, had doubtless glanced, and so struck the wrong animal. I loudly deplored my ill luck: the shikarries dumbfounded muttered together, attributing such a strange accident to the undue influence of evil spirits; and we pursued our way down the dusty path, until the green vale of Lama Yurru greeted our aching eyes—a remarkable place, a stronghold of Buddhism, a monastery and other dwellings of lamas being perched on the top of a singular ridge of rocks of some hundred and fifty feet perpendicular, scooped and hollowed out here and there, divided into buttresses over which were laid the floors of these curious buildings which themselves appear well constructed of sun-dried brick, of two or three stories in height—one the principal mansion of four. Some have little balconies projecting; all have windows, some good-sized and regularly placed, while a number of small loopholes are scattered about the walls. These buildings slope inwards from the base slightly, on the pyramid principle, as I believe all the houses of this country do. Many monuments and tombs are here. Long rows of them stretch along parallel with the path, looking just like a line of huge chess pawns with square pedestals.

A considerable extent of terraced fields along the stream attest the comfortable circumstances of this community. Clumps of yellow and common roses are numerous; but sad havoc has been played with the willows, the stump of many a fine tree recently felled being conspicuous: but about half-a-dozen remain standing. I have not ascertained for what purpose this unusual cutting has taken place: perhaps, some new building or extensive repairs are in contemplation. My tent is pitched on a nice bit of turf, a stream of clear water close at hand, guided to turn a small mill which rumbles away beside me.