With the Connaught Rangers

by Edward Herbert Maxwell

VISIT TO ISLAMABAD—AVANTIPORE—KUNBUL—PITCHING OUR CAMP—TRAVELLING CAMP FASHION—PALACE OF SIRKARI BAGH—ANUT NAG, THE SACRED SPRING—SHAWL MANUFACTORY—VISIT TO THE GARDEN AT ATCHIBUL—IRISH ACUTENESS—PLEASURE GARDEN—PICNIC IN THE RUINS OF MARTUND—SACRED SPRING OF THE BOWUN—A PUNDIT EAGER FOR BACKSHEESH—EXPEDITION TO THE LOLAB—REVIEW OF THE MAHARAJAH’S TROOPS.

CHAPTER XIII.

The Khansama having announced that his part of the preparations for a fresh start were complete, after dinner on a fine summer’s evening, our squadron of boats left Srinagur. We had decided on paying a visit to Islamabad. Our crew, as usual composed of a whole family, towed our big boat up the winding river. Had we gone by land with the horses, we should in an hour have done what it took us by boat much longer to accomplish, the river twists and winds in such a tortuous manner. This is the part of the Jhellum that we looked on from the heights of Tukht Suliman, and whose serpented bends gave the idea for the well-known pattern on Cashmere shawls.

At night, as usual, we halted, and in the early morning continued our voyage, towed against the stream. We passed the day in a truly lazy manner, enjoying the balmy breeze as we glided noiselessly along, all Nature basking in soft repose. We passed green woods and rocky eminences, every now and then sighting the road. We got fresh fish from men who had merely to take the trouble of casting a net and hauling up lots of one-pounders. We came to a picturesque ruined village, all in decay, once the capital town of Cashmere, named Avantipore, after King Avante Verna. We passed under a fine old wood bridge at Bajahara, and floated past ruined mosques and gardens—for once upon a time it was a place of vast repute.

On the second day, in the afternoon, we arrived at Kunbul. There was more than usual fuss at that landing-place, for a great English lord was about to embark for Srinagur, and all honour was to be shown to him, by order of the Maharajah. Owing to this redoubtable party, we had some difficulty in getting coolies, and the ‘Gascon captain’ had to twirl his moustaches and look very fierce before we could get our proper number. My wife and I walked on in the cool evening hour. Our road was along the banks of a stream hid by flowering shrubs and long grass. The fields looked well cultivated and green.

It was a pleasant walk, and we soon arrived at an orchard of fruit-trees, underneath the shade of which our camp was to be pitched. A venerable old fellow, the head man of the village, came up to us, and with profound salaams conducted us to our ground. In the twinkling of an eye the place was swept clean, and then began the clatter of tent-pegs being knocked into the ground. The servants placed every table and box in exactly the same corners of the tents as they had occupied when our camp was pitched at Gulmurg. No life can be more comfortable when travelling than camp-fashion, make as long or as short a day’s journey as you like. You sleep on your bed in your own room, and are waited on by your own servants. Now, however luxurious and well appointed an hotel may be, you have not your own odds and ends round you; the waiters do not know your ways, and the pillows are sometimes distracting.

We passed several pleasant days at Islamabad, making excursions in the neighbourhood, and visiting the various objects of interest in the town. There is a palace here, called Sirkari-Bagh, in which the Maharajah and his ladies repose, on their way to Srinagur from Jumrood. It is not a very interesting building, but there is a nice fruit garden, surrounded by a high wall.

The Barradurrie of the town is close to the Anut Nag, and is encircled by a high wall, which encloses a vast space about sixty or seventy yards square. The sacred spring, Anut Nag, issues at the foot of a hill which overlooks the town, and is received into a tank, from whence it flows through a canal into a lower tank. It then continues its course by another canal to the outside of the high wall, where it rushes forth in a fine cascade about seven or eight feet high. The tanks and canals are full of tame fish, which are regularly fed by the faqueers, and are considered very sacred. The Sonur Pookur is a stone tank, not very far from Anut Nag, and the stream which flows to it has its source in the hill overlooking Islamabad. There are two other streams, one of which is sulphurous. The medicinal properties of this mineral water are peculiar in their effects.

The Barradurrie is a picturesque, though not over clean-looking wooden edifice, round the entrance of which numerous curious faqueers establish their bivouac. We preferred our camping-ground, and remained there.

Whilst here, we visited a shawl manufactory, the entrance to which was situated in an unwholesome quarter of the town. The perfume was not that of roses, and the workers were miserable-looking objects, with sore eyes. It was curious to see these squalid creatures employed at that intricate work, which in time produces shawls of great value. The small squares shown to us were of most beautiful fabric, and no doubt the weak eyes which gazed on us got the lacklustre look from hard work at the looms. The rugs and carpets made at Islamabad are much cheaper than those sold by the merchants at Srinagur, though in reality most of them are made here. We bought several handsome hearth-rugs, besides a long, warm blanket, called ‘loué,’ peculiar to Cashmere.