Our destination was the Nishat Bagh, one of those fine old palaces built by one of the Mogul emperors. On our way through the clear water of the lake, we passed the floating gardens laden with melons. On every side were lotus-flowers and singhara plants. The lake was like a great mirror, in which the high mountains were reproduced. We landed at a flight of steps, and, mounting them, found ourselves in the terraced gardens among flowers and cherry-trees laden with fruit.
The Maharajah comes out occasionally from his gold-roofed dwelling in Srinagur, and is taken up the lake in his grand barge, landing at one or other of these summer habitations to spend the day. An order from our Resident can generally secure the use of rooms in any of the palaces for officers on leave. The rooms are bare; some of them quite open to the balcony overhanging the garden. Here we established ourselves for a time.
As we were idly gazing from the verandah, an arrival attracted our notice. It was that of a native arrayed in garments of gorgeous colours; but what was most remarkable was a large embroidery in silver on his shoulder. For some time we were greatly puzzled by this ornament; but, having got my glasses to bear on him, our delight was great to find the word ‘Superfine’ written on it. This conspicuous ornament was no doubt the English manufacturers’ mark of the quality of the cloth in which this strange creature had clothed himself. We hailed him as ‘Superfine Joe,’ at which he seemed greatly pleased, as he salaamed repeatedly as he swaggered away. When night came on, our resting-place was in an alcove not far from a marble fountain situated in the centre of the fine hall. During the hours of darkness the breeze moaned sadly through this vast apartment, sounding like the sighs of those who had once lived and loved in this almost ruined palace.
When morning broke, we crossed the lake to Nishat Bagh, where we pitched our tents under the shade of some magnificent chenars planted in the time of Akbar. Before us was the calm and placid lake, the breadth of which is here some miles. Near where we landed is the Char Chenar, or Isle of Chenars, also called Rupa Lank, or Silver Island. Vigne visited this isle in 1835, and says there was a square temple upon it; but it no longer exists. He states a black marble tablet was placed there which has also disappeared. He informs us that it bore the following inscription:—
Three travellers,
Baron Carl Von Hugel from Jamu,
John Henderson from Ladâk,
Godfrey Thomas Vigne from Iskardo,
Who met in Sreennugger on November 18, 1835,
Have caused the names of those European
travellers who had previously viewed the Vale of Kashmir
to be hereunder engraved—
Bernier, 1663,
Forster, 1786,
Moorcroft, Trebeck, and Guthrie, 1823,
Jacquemont, 1831,
Wolfe, 1832.
Of these, three only lived to return to their native country.
Seated outside our tents, the whole scene was very beautiful. The lake was dotted here and there in the far distance with boats plying from one place to another. Then, rising in proud grandeur on the opposite shore, the lofty mountains towered into the clear blue sky, while at their feet nestled ancient palaces among green trees and fruitful gardens. It was a scene of peaceful quiet, which is peculiar to Cashmere, owing to the absence of all wheeled traffic. The lovely climate of this beautiful land adds enchantment to every view.
‘Oh, to see it at sunset—when, warm o’er the lake,
Its splendour at parting a summer eve throws
Like a bride, full of blushes, when lingering to take