A LADAKI IN SUMMER COSTUME
After 1891 I did not see Shukar Ali for seventeen years, for my travels never took me to that frontier again. But I heard of him from Dr. Sven Hedin who employed him in Tibet, and who told me of the wonderful tales which the imaginative Shukar Ali related of the journeys we had made together. And last summer the dear old man suddenly appeared at the Residency. He had heard that I was now Resident, and had walked 240 miles across the mountains to see me, and he presented himself wearing the identical coat I had given him seventeen years ago. He kept jumping up and down, first kissing my feet, then touching my coat, then salaaming, and all the time ejaculating an unceasing flow of speech, calling me by every affectionate term. Then from under numerous folds of his clothing he produced a wooden bowl, a bag full of sweets, a pair of goat horns for my wife and myself, and a marvellous collection of showy-looking stones which he had picked up in Tibet for my little girl.
He remained with me for a few weeks. I gave him something to keep him comfortable at home, but which I am sure in his good nature he will let his relations squeeze out of him, and then I sent him off back to Ladak. But before he left I asked the Maharaja to give him an order exempting him from service in his village. His Highness, with his usual kindness, readily acceded. An order was made out with the Maharaja's own signature attached, and at a garden-party at the Residency Shukar Ali was had up and presented with the order. His Highness addressed him in a most kindly manner, and on the following day presented him in Durbar with a shawl of honour.
Poor Shukar Ali left with many tearful farewell expressions, and a few weeks later I received from him the following letter:—
Sir—I reached very well home, with very felt happy and found all my poor family very well and showed the all kindly of your they got very glad, and we all family thankfully to you to remember us so much, to little people and my all friends got very glad too, they said thank you, and hope you would not be angry with this English written, please you pardon for this, and could not write myself and could not get other munshi write you, because and found Rassul, he was my old friend and let him write this letter. please give my salaam to Mem Sahib and Baby Baby Sahib.—Your obedient servant Shukar Ali
from poor Rassul plenty salaam,
the mark of Shukar Ali O.
All this, however, is a digression, and I have to describe the normal modes of travel of the present day. Srinagar is 196 miles distant from the railway at Rawal Pindi, and is connected with it by a good cart-road—good, that is in its normal condition, but excessively bad after heavy rain, when at places the whole mountain-side slides down with the road into the river. The usual mode of conveyance is a tonga, a very common form of vehicle in the Indian "hills." It has two wheels, is drawn by a pair of ponies, has four seats back to back, and carries a mountain of luggage piled up on the splash-boards and on the roof. The ponies, when the season is not crowded and the road is good, gallop at full speed, and are changed every five or six miles. In the full part of the season, which generally coincides with the heaviest fall of rain, with much beating, pulling, and shouting they can scarcely be induced to reach a trot, and may think themselves lucky if they find a change at the end of their stage.
Other means of conveyance for which extra charge is made are landaus and victorias. These, though more comfortable, are heavier for the ponies, and are more difficult to manipulate over bad places in the rainy season.