CHAPTER III
THE ROAD TO LEH
The day ended late. Next morning I was awaked late, and the sun stood high in the heavens before we were ready to start. It took four hours to get the whole camp under weigh, to pack up and load the animals; but the work would be done more expeditiously when all knew their parts.
The long train begins to move, troop after troop disappears among the trees. On both sides of the road country houses and villages peep out between willows, walnut and apricot trees, and small channels of water murmur through the rice-fields, where men are hoeing, moving in regular order, and singing a rhythmical encouraging song; the singing lightens the work, for the weeds are torn up in time with the air, and no one likes to be behind another.
A bridge crosses the Sind, which rolls its greyish blue water, rushing and roaring, through several large arms. Now the road ascends the valley of the river, then we turn eastwards, and soon the broad valley of Kashmir with its level country disappears behind us. The rise is already noticeable, and we are glad of it, for the day is warm. Trees become fewer, and we ride for greater and greater stretches in the blazing sun; but all around us is green and abundantly watered, the mild air is full of life and productive energy, and the whole valley resounds with the roar of the river and the echo it calls forth. I have passed this way twice before, but on both occasions the Sind valley was covered with snow; now summer reigns in the deep hollows and on the heights.
At Kangan we pitched our tents in a thick copse. This time the camp was marked out and the tents set up fairly expeditiously. The Numberdar of the village procured us everything we wanted—we did not wish to touch our own stores until it became impossible to obtain local supplies. The four coolies who had carried the boat were here relieved by four others, who were to carry it up to Gunt.
So we had accomplished another day’s journey. We all delighted in the free, active life. But the day was declining, the shadows grew longer, the sun disappeared an hour sooner than usual, for it was concealed by the mountains, and after we had listened for a while to the plaintive bark of the jackals we also went early to rest. In the stillness of the night the roar of the stream sounded still louder; its water came from the heights which were the goal of our hopes; but with still greater longing would my eyes one day watch these eddies on their way to the sea.
When I came out of my tent in the cool of the morning the rest of the caravan had already set out, and the camp looked empty and deserted. The new day was not promising, for it rained hard, and thunder growled among the mountains; but the summer morning gave forth an odour of forest and fresh green vegetation, and after a good breakfast my detachment, to which Robert and Manuel belonged, started on its march.
The sun soon came out, and with the warmth great swarms of flies, which tortured our animals and made them restive. The road ran down to the river and through the trees on its right bank. On the crest of the left flank of the valley some patches of snow still defied the summer sun, and the wood opposite was much thicker than on our side. Here and there a conifer raised its dark crown above the lighter foliage. At the village Mamer, where a mill-wheel swished through the waterfall, and an open booth invited the traveller to refresh himself, Khairullah remained awhile behind in company with a smoking narghilé. At Ganjevan we crossed the river by three shaking bridges. In the background of the narrowing valley rose a mountain covered with snow. The scenery was fine, and we enjoyed a ride really elevating in a double sense. Our caravan had to halt several times when a mule threw off its load; but the animals were already quieter, and I looked forward with anxiety to the time when they would become meek as lambs, and when no objurgations would induce them to move on.