[CHAPTER IX.]
LEH.
16th July. We got off early as usual on such occasions: without making any effort to start at a fixed time, we are always punctual to 5 A.M. within a minute or two. It was a cloudy morning, such as in any other country would indicate rain. Our route lay along the Indus, the surrounding scenery mountainous and barren, with no redeeming features, until we had completed some six miles, which brought us to the considerable village of Noorla, looking nice and flourishing with its green fields and abundant fruit trees, apple and peach, scattered about. We passed through this village, and then turned up a watercourse to the left—north-east—and a mile or two further on arrived at the village of Tahmoos, exhibiting a long stretch of corn fields along the stream, with numbers of apple and peach trees generally interspersed, also some fine flourishing walnuts. Houses were grouped here and there, some on the hill-sides on whose summits are visible what appear to be remains of an extensive fort, but may only be the appurtenances of the Buddhist monasteries and shrines which stand out conspicuously amongst them.
The lamas are evidently strong in this neighbourhood. They, like the monks of old in our native land, are to be found congregated in the most fertile and richest spots in the country. The mode of life and habits of these Buddhist recluses assimilate very much also to those of the monks. They live in sloth and idleness on the labours of an ignorant and superstitious population, in requital for their maintenance and comfort performing such religious rites as their formulary directs, and repeating prayers. But their principle occupation, I am told, is blowing copper horns—from which I have experience of their producing awful sounds—and drinking tea, which they render a substantial article of food by mixing it with butter to the consistency of batter. They wear a monastic dress of a dull red colour. I saw one of the fraternity to-day—and a very ugly specimen he was—pass by, two or three times, with a bright copper concern in his hand about the size and shape of a cook's flour-dredging tin, to which a string and tassel were attached which he kept twirling round as he went. This was probably some devotional act.
We took up a narrow strip of ground shaded by walnut and peach trees—not bad quarters—and here I breakfasted; which meal did not pass over so pleasantly as usual. My milk brought with me was sour: it was carried as usual in a soda-water bottle. I directed fresh to be brought, and when it arrived it was very dirty, as is everything here. Mooktoo and Subhan set to work to prepare it for my use, the process as follows:—Subhan's turban was taken off and two end folds used as a strainer, a portion being depressed into the neck of the soda-water bottle; but as the milk did not run through freely Mooktoo expedited its progress by stirring it up with his finger. This not answering their expectations, the milk was strained into an utensil belonging to them, and then poured into the bottle, Mooktoo's fist encircling the neck answering the purpose of a funnel. All this was openly operated before me, and the bottle, thus 'nicely' replenished, presented to me with a satisfied smile of successful ingenuity. Well, it was as good as usual. Believing that such modes of remedying difficulties are constantly in use with our servants, I determined not to be squeamish,—but must confess that my dog, Sara, had most of the milk.
This spot is surrounded by rocky mountains, huge, bare, and rugged. Little prospect of shikar, I think: so I declined Subhan's suggestion to go forth and try my luck to-morrow, not relishing the thoughts of the tremendous exertions with so little hope to cheer me up, but preferring that Subhan and Mooktoo should experimentalise alone, and on their report I go or not. I expect nothing from their explorations.
17th July. I enjoyed a pleasant stroll before breakfast, descending to the stream and following its course upwards some little distance, then turning and passing through the verdant crops, so fresh and pleasant, with their many willow trees and numerous rose-bushes scattered about in the divisions or fences. The fields were full of people industriously engaged weeding, &c., all of whom saluted me respectfully.
Mooktoo, pleading illness, had not accompanied Subhan in the exploration; following whose direction in the afternoon I thought I might meet him on return, but having gone two or three miles I returned and found him at camp, he having come back by a different route. He had seen neither animals nor their traces throughout the wide tract he had examined.
There was no use remaining here, so I gave directions for moving on to-morrow to Hemschi, a place reported to be good for shikar. But we have information of a saheb being there, who has come from Simla by the Roopschoo road.
After dinner Subhan and Mooktoo came to chat; and as we discussed the demerits of this miserable country, Subhan hinted the advantage of a trip to the Karakorum mountains on the road from Leh to Yarkand, provided we could procure authentic information of the shikar being as abundant there as travellers reported. A friend of Mooktoo, a merchant whom he met in the Wurdwan, had recommended him to take me there, assuring him that animals of several kinds were not only very abundant but tame. I readily entertained this project; and we remained considering and planning a long time, all three quite elated by the glowing pictures of successful sport we conjured up. We set down Phuttoo as too old and unsound for this arduous enterprise, strengthening this disqualification by a strong suspicion we all held of his bad luck, as, somehow or other, my failures always take place when he is present, my successes during his absence—strong presumptive evidence of his kizmet not being prosperous.