By April 1st the garden was exquisitely beautiful. The willows were now well out, and in all the charm of fresh young spring foliage. Apricots and peach trees formed little clouds of delicate pink and white dotted lightly over the garden, and not too dense to hide the glories of the snowy mountains in the background. The tall pear trees were nearly in full bloom. A few of the pinky-white apple blossoms were just appearing. The May leaves were showing a tinge of green. Chenar leaves were just appearing. The mulberry leaf-buds were beginning to burst. Catkins were hanging from the poplars. Rose leaves were fully out. The grass had nearly turned from brown to green. Iris buds were showing a tinge of purple. Hyacinths were well out, and Crown Imperials and daffodils in full bloom.

On April 3rd the first of the pretty little wild tulips striped white and pink appeared, and on the following day the first of the large dark purple irises and two or three large white irises came into bloom. Heavy rain fell, and on the 5th the grass was entirely green. On that day the pears were in full blossom. Two of the magnificent scarlet Kashmir tulips, which are a joy to any garden, came into blossom, and two English tulips also came out. Rose-buds were beginning to form. The maximum temperature was 59° and the minimum 42°. On April 7th the first columbine came into bloom, and on the 9th the first shrike appeared.

Now followed a deluge of rain. On the 12th 2½ inches fell. By the morning of the 13th 14·65 inches had fallen since January 1st, in comparison with a normal fall of 10·6 inches. And, most unexpected of all, on the night of 12th-13th snow fell! The maximum temperature was only 50° and the minimum 33°. In a single night all the lovely delicate peach blossoms, the crowning glory of the Kashmir spring, were withered up, and for the moment we seemed plunged back once more to winter.

But April 15th was one of Kashmir's most lovely days. The poplars were now in fresh light foliage. May was in full leaf. Irises were plentiful. Several columbines were in bloom. Both the Kashmir and English tulips were well out; and the strawberries were in blossom. On this day, too, I saw a flight of green parrots with long yellow tails in the garden.

The first rose bloomed on April 17th, a white climber whose name I do not know, growing on the south verandah. Last year the first did not appear till the 26th.

May came into bloom on April 24th, and on the 25th a scarlet poppy and a white peony blossomed. For some days then the weather had been exceptionally warm, the maximum rising to 80° in the shade and 129° in the sun, and the minimum to 51°.

The first golden oriole appeared on the 26th—exactly the same date as that on which it appeared last year. The golden orioles have a glorious deep liquid note which thrills through the whole garden. Two or three pairs always settle there, and all day long their brilliant yellow plumage is seen flashing from tree to tree.

Three days later another brilliant visitant appears, the paradise fly-catcher. He has not the beautiful note of the golden oriole, nor such striking plumage. But he has exceedingly graceful form and movements. He has a very long, wavy, ribbony tail, like a paradise bird, and the two or three pairs of them which yearly settle in the garden may be seen at any hour undulating through the foliage or darting swiftly out to catch their prey.

By May 1st the magnificent chenar trees were in full leaf. Mulberry, horse-chestnut, and walnut were also well in leaf. The roses were coming into bloom—numerous Maréchal Neil, and a beautiful single pink rose—the sinica anemone—a few of Fortune's yellow, and many tea-roses. The May trees were in full blossom. The bank on the south side of the garden was a mass of dark purple and white irises, and of an evening when the sunlight glancing low along its length caused each flower to stand out in separate state, became a blaze of glory. Another beauty of this season were bushes of what is generally known as Indian May, with long slender stalks bent gracefully downward like a waterfall of snowy flowers. Stock was in full bloom. Pansies were out in masses. Both the English and Kashmir lilac were in blossom, and the columbines were in perfection. I had had out from Barr & Sons a number of varieties, and the success was remarkable. The Kashmir soil and climate seem to suit columbines, and varieties from every part of the world, deep purple, light mauve, white, mauve and white, pink and red of many different graceful forms, came up luxuriantly. They were one of the successes which gladden an amateur gardener's heart.

The maximum in the shade was 60°, in the sun 122°, and the minimum 48°.

The first strawberries ripened a week later. The first horse-chestnuts came into blossom on May 10th, and on that date the single pink rose, sinica anemone, on the trellis at the end of the garden, was in full bloom and of wondrous beauty; a summer-house covered with Fortune's yellow was a dream of golden loveliness; I picked the first bloom of some English roses which a kind friend had sent out, and which had been planted in a special rose garden I had made for them—William Shean, Mrs. Ed. Mauley, Mrs. W. J. Grant, and Carmine Pillar; and we had our first plateful of strawberries.

A light mauve iris, a native of Kashmir, now came into bloom; geraniums and some lovely varieties of Shirley poppy which I had obtained from Mr. Luther Burbank, the famous plant-breeder of California, began to blossom; and roses of every variety came rapidly on till the garden became a blaze of colour.

The first of some remarkably beautiful delphiniums—some a deep blue, some sky blue, and some opalescent—which I had also obtained from Luther Burbank appeared in bloom on May 17th.

A spell of hot weather now set in, and on May 21st the maximum temperature rose to 84° in the shade and 134° in the sun, and the minimum to 54°.

By May 25th the roses were at their maximum of beauty. The sweetly-scented and delicately-coloured La France roses were at perfection. Rich bushes of General Jacqueminot, of John Hopper, of the pink rose of Kashmir, and of many other kinds whose names I do not know, formed great masses of colour against the soft green leaves and the plentiful foliage of the chenar trees. William Alan Richardson climbed over the trellises. The Shirley poppies gave every deep or delicate shade of red and pink. Sweet-peas were in full bloom, and of them also I had had a marvellous variety from England. Pinks and carnations were coming rapidly on. A mauve and yellow iris had appeared. Luther Burbank's delphiniums formed welcome patches of real true blues in the herbaceous border round the lawn. The light and graceful gypsophylis and phlox were in bloom; gladioli were just coming out; and the horse-chestnut trees were all in gorgeous blossom.

Early in June the gladioli, Canterbury bells, pinks, sweet-williams, and foxgloves were in full bloom, and the sweet-william especially gave masses of beautiful and varied colour. The temperature now rose to 88° in the shade and 135° in the sun, and the minimum to 54°. On June 10th, carnations, phlox, and Eschscholtzia were in full bloom. And by June 15th, though many of the best roses had passed over two beautiful climbers which I had obtained from home, Dorothy Perkins and Lady Gay were in full blossom, and the delicate pink and graceful form of the latter were especially lovely. Geraniums and fuschias were now fully out, and masses of tall hollyhocks in many different shades of colour were most effective. A few cannas and some lilies also came into bloom.

By the end of June apricots were ripe. Petunias and dahlias were out, and a few columbines still remained in bloom. The temperature had now gone up to 94° in the shade and 142° in the sun, and the minimum to 62°; and early in July it rose to 97° in the shade, which is about as hot as it ever becomes in the valley.

On returning to Srinagar on September 7th I found the bed of scarlet salvias giving brilliant patches of colour and most effectively lighting up the garden. The autumn crop of roses was beginning, though the blooms were not so fine as the spring crop. Geraniums, fuschias, asters, cannas, zinnias, gallardia, and verbena were in abundance; stock and phlox were still out, and the hibiscus bushes were in full bloom. Burbank's delphiniums were also having a light second bloom. The maximum in the shade was 81° and in the sun 128°, and the minimum 52°. The rainfall to date from January 1st was 27·4 inches in comparison with a normal fall of 21·7 inches.

By the beginning of October last year cosmos was blooming luxuriantly. Christmas roses were in full blossom, and the first chrysanthemum appeared. During the month these blossomed in great beauty and became the chief attraction in the garden. Towards the end of the month and beginning of November the great chenar trees gradually assumed the gorgeous autumn colouring. The Virginian creeper on the porch turned to every rich hue of red and purple. Then the glories of the garden slowly vanished away. The leaves fell from the trees. The frost turned the turf brown. On December 1st there were still a few brave remnants of the summer splendour—a few tea-roses, stocks, phlox, wallflower, chrysanthemums, carnations, petunias, gallardia, nasturtiums, salvia, snapdragons, and one or two violets. But the temperature was now 25° at night, and the maximum in the day only 54°, and these too soon disappeared, and the only consolation left was the clearer view of the mountains of which the absence of foliage on the trees allowed. Thus ends the story of a garden's glory.

CHAPTER V

GULMARG

What will be one day known as the playground of India, and what is known to the Kashmiris as the "Meadow of Flowers," is situated twenty-six miles from Srinagar, half-way up the northward-facing slopes of the Pir Panjal. There is no other place like Gulmarg. Originally a mere meadow to which the Kashmiri shepherds used to bring their sheep, cattle, and ponies for summer grazing, it is now the resort of six or seven hundred European visitors every summer. The Maharaja has a palace there. There is a Residency, an hotel, with a theatre and ball-room, post office, telegraph office, club, and more than a hundred "huts" built and owned by Europeans. There are also golf links, two polo grounds, a cricket ground, four tennis courts, and two croquet grounds. There are level circular roads running all round it. There is a pipe water-supply, and maybe soon there will be electric light everywhere. And yet for eight months in the year the place is entirely deserted and under snow.

Like Kashmir generally, Gulmarg also is said by those who knew it in the old days to be now "spoilt." With the increasing numbers of visitors, with the numerous huts springing up year by year in every direction, with the dinners and dances, it is said to have lost its former charms, and it is believed that in a few years it will not be worth living in. My own view is precisely the opposite. I knew Gulmarg nineteen years ago, and it certainly then had many charms. The walks and scenery and the fresh bracing air were delightful. Where now are roads there were then only meandering paths. What is now the polo ground was then a swamp. The "fore" of the golfer was unknown. All was then Arcadian simplicity. Nothing more thrilling than a walk in the woods, or at most a luncheon party, was ever heard of.

And, doubtless, this simplicity of life has its advantages. But it had also its drawbacks. Man cannot live for ever on walks however charming and however fascinating his companion may be. His soul yearns for a ball of some kind whether it be a polo ball, a cricket ball, a tennis ball, a golf ball, or even a croquet ball. Until he has a ball of some description to play with he is never really happy.

So now that a sufficient number of visitors come to Gulmarg to supply subscriptions enough to make and keep up really good golf links, polo grounds, etc., I for my part think Gulmarg is greatly improved. I think, further, that it has not yet reached the zenith of its attractions. It is the Gulmarg of the future that will be the really attractive Gulmarg, when there is money enough to make the second links as good as the first, to lay out good rides down and around the marg, to make a lake at the end, to stock it with trout, and to have electric light and water in all the "huts," and when a good hotel and a good club, with quarters for casual bachelor visitors, have been built.

All this is straying far from the original Arcadian simplicity, but those who wish for simplicity can still have it in many another valley in Kashmir—at Sonamarg, Pahlgam, or Tragbal, and numerous other places, and the advantage of Gulmarg is that the visitor can still if he choose be very fairly simple. He can go about in a suit of puttoo. He need not go to a single dance, or theatrical performance, or dinner-party, or play a single game. He need not speak to a soul unless he wants to. He can pitch his tent in some remote end of the marg, and he can take his solitary walks in the woods; but, if after a while he finds his own society is not after all so agreeable as he had thought, if he feels a hankering for the society of his fellows, male or female, and if he finds the temptation to play with some ball is irresistible, then just under his nose is every attraction. He can indulge his misanthropic inclinations at will, and at a turn in those inclinations he can plunge into games and gaiety to his heart's content.

The main charm of Gulmarg will, however, always remain the beauty of its natural scenery and the views of the great peak, Nanga Parbat, 26,260 feet above sea-level, and 80 miles distant across the valley. The marg or meadow itself is a flowery, saucer-shaped hollow under a mountain 13,000 feet high, and bounded by a ridge directly overhanging the main valley of Kashmir. It is 8500 feet above sea-level, open and covered with flowers and soft green turf, but on all sides it is surrounded by forests of silver fir interspersed with spruce, blue pine, maple, and a few horse-chestnuts, and the great attraction is that through this forest of stately graceful firs the most superb views may be had, first over the whole length and breadth of the vale of Kashmir, then along the range of snowy mountains on the north, and as a culminating pleasure, to the solitary Nanga Parbat, which stands out clear and distinct above and beyond all the lesser ranges, and belonging, so it seems, to a separate and purer world of its own. And there is the further attraction in the Gulmarg scenery that it is ever changing—now clear and suffused in brilliant sunlight, now the battle-ground of monsoon storms, and now again streaked with soft fleecy vapours and bathed in haze and colour. No two days are alike, and each point of view discloses some new loveliness.

Round the outside of the ridge runs what is known as the circular road. It has the advantage of being perfectly level, and is fit for riding as well as walking. Except the road through the tropical forests near Darjiling, along which I rode on my way to and from Tibet, and which runs for miles through glorious tropical vegetation, by immense broad-leaved trees with unknown names, all festooned with creepers and lighted with orchids; by great tree ferns, wild bananas, and a host of other treasures of plant life, and through which glimpses of the mighty Kinchinjanga, 28,250 feet, could be caught,—except that I know of no other more beautiful road than this along the ridge of Gulmarg.

On another day there will be not a cloud in the sky. The whole scene will be bathed in a bluey haze. Through the many vistas cut in the forest the eye will be carried to the foot-hills sloping gradually towards the river, to the little clumps of pine wood, the village clusters of walnut, pear, and mulberry, the fields of rice and maize, to the silvery reaches of the Jhelum, winding from the Wular Lake to Baramula, to the purply blue of the distant mountains, then on to the bluey white of Nanga Parbat, sharply defined, yet in colour nearly merging into the azure of the sky, and showing out in all the greater beauty that we see it framed by the dark and graceful pines in which we stand.

And this forest has no mean attractions of its own, of which to my little girl the chief were the white columbines. Here also are found purple columbines, delphiniums, what are known as white slipper orchids, yellow violets, balsams, mauve and yellow primulas, potentillas, anemones, Jacob's ladder, monkshood, salvias, many graceful ferns, and numerous other flowers of which I do not pretend to know the name.

The Residency is situated on the summit of the ridge above the circular road, and from it can be seen not only Nanga Parbat (through a vista cut in the trees) and the main valley, but also a lovely little side-valley known as the Ferozepur nulla. Looking straight down two thousand feet through the pine trees we see a mountain torrent whose distant rumbling mingles soothingly with the sighing of the pines. Brilliant green meadows, on which a few detached pine trees stand gracefully out here and there, line the river banks. Steep hill-sides, mostly clad in gloomy forest, rise on either hand, but relieved by many patches of grassy sun-lit slope. The spurs become a deeper and deeper purple as they recede. The openings in the forests become wider higher on the mountain-side where the avalanches have scoured them more frequently. Higher still the forest-line is passed, and the little stream is seen issuing from its source among the snow-fields and flowing over enticing grassy meadows. Above the glistening snow-fields rises a rugged peak of the Pir Panjal which, when it is not set against a background of intense blue sky, is the butt of raging storm-clouds.

The most beautiful time in Gulmarg is in September, when the rains are over and the first fresh autumn nip is in the air. Then from the summer-house in our garden, in the early morning, to feast my eyes on Nanga Parbat was a perpetual delight. It was the very emblem of purity, dignity, and repose. Day after day it would appear as a vision of soft pure white in a gauze-like haze of delicate blue. Too light and too ethereal for earth, but seemingly a part of heaven; a vision which was a religion in itself, which diffused its beauty throughout one's being, and evoked from it all that was most pure and lovely.

The foreground in this autumn month was also worthy of the supreme subject of the picture. Through the pines the touches of sunlit meadow, fresh and green, with long shadows of the trees thrown here and there across them and intensifying the effect of the sunlight; the groups of cattle; the horizontal streaks of mist floating on the edge of the woods; the cheerful twittering of the birds; the soothing hum of the bees and insects; the crowing of cocks; the rippling sound of running water; and then, looking towards Aparwat, the brilliant sunshine brightening the emerald grass of the marg; the patches of yellow flowers; the little meandering stream; the pretty chalet huts peeping out from the edge of the trees; the background of dark firs and pines getting lighter as they merge into the bluey haze of the distance; the fresh green meadows over the limit of the pines; the snow-fields; the rocky peaks, and above all the clear blue liquid sky,—all this gave a setting and an atmosphere which fitly served as an accompaniment to this most impressive of Nature's works.

CHAPTER VI

THE VALLEYS AND PLACES OF INTEREST

The Sind Valley

The most bold and striking of the side-valleys is undoubtedly the Sind valley. A fourteen-miles' ride, or a night in a boat, takes the traveller to Ganderbal at its mouth, from which Sonamarg, the favourite camping-ground near the head of the valley, is four marches distant. The lower portion is not particularly interesting, though even here the pine woods, the rushing river, and the village clusters are beautiful. But at Sonamarg—"the golden meadow"—the great peaks close round, glaciers pour down from them almost on to the camping-ground, and the scenery has all the grandeur of the Alps.

Sonamarg itself is a narrow grassy flat, 8650 feet above sea-level, extending for some two miles between the hill-side and the river bank where another beautiful valley joins in from the south-west. All the slopes and meadows are covered with alpine flowers. Rich forests of silver fir, intermingled with sycamore and fringed on their upper borders with silver birch, clothe the mountain-sides. From each valley flows a rich white glacier. Grand rocky cliffs encircle the forests and meadows, and culminate in bold snowy peaks which give a crowning beauty to the whole. It is an ideal camping-ground and a strong rival to Gulmarg.

Some fifteen miles beyond Sonamarg is the Zoji-la Pass leading to Ladak and Baltistan. It was by this pass that I first entered Kashmir in 1887, and coming thus from the opposite direction, the change in scenery was most remarkable. For hundreds of miles from the northern side I had traversed country which though of the grandest description, was absolutely devoid of forest. The great mountains, sublime in their ruggedness and in the purity of their snowy mantle, were yet completely barren. Then, of a sudden, as I crossed the Zoji-la all was changed in a moment, and I burst into one of the loveliest valleys in the world with glorious forests clothing every slope. It was a refreshing and delightful change, a relaxation from a sublimity too stern to bear for long, to the homely geniality of earthly life, and the remembrance of it still lies fresh upon my memory.

Gangabal Lake

About forty miles from Srinagar, and lying at the foot of the great peak Haramokh, is the remarkable Gangabal Lake. It is reached by a steep pull of 4000 feet from the Sind valley. By the side of the path rushes a clear, ice-cold stream. From the top of the rise are superb views precipitously down to the Wangat valley leading up from the Sind and beyond it to a jagged range of spires and pinnacles. The path then leads over rolling downs, covered in summer with ranunculus and primulas, to a chain of torquoise and ice-green lakes, above which grimly towers the massive Haramokh six thousand feet above the water, and giving birth to voluminous glistening glaciers which roll down to the water's edge.

It is a silent, solitary, and impressive spot, and is held in some reverence by the Hindus.

The Lolab is the western end of the vale of Kashmir, and is remarkable rather for the homely picturesqueness of its woodland and village beauty than for the grandeur of its scenery. It is usually reached by boat up the Pohru River three miles below Sopur. In two days the limit of navigation at Awatkula is reached. From thence the road leads to Kofwara, eight miles, and Lalpura, the chief place, twelve miles farther. The hill-sides are entirely clothed with thick forests of deodar and pine. In the valley bottom are beautiful stretches of soft green turf. Dotted over it are villages buried in park-like clumps of walnut, apple, and pear trees; and numerous streams ripple through on every side. For forest and village scenery it is nowhere excelled. It is like a series of English woodland glades, with the additional beauty of snowy peaks in the background.

The Lidar Valley

A favourite side-valley is the Lidar, for which the road takes off from the main valley at Bijbehara. It is not of such wild rocky grandeur as the Sind valley, but has milder beauties of its own, charming woodland walks, and in summer a wealth of roses pink and white, jasmine, forget-me-nots, a handsome spiræa, strawberry, honeysuckle, etc. By the side of the road runs the cool, foaming Lidar stream, and everywhere are villages hidden amongst masses of chenar, walnut, and mulberry.

On the left bank one and a half miles from Islamabad is the famous spring of Bawan—a great tank under cool chenar trees. The spring is sacred to Vishnu, and is in the charge of Brahmins, who keep a book in which visitors have inscribed their names since 1827. The tank is full of fishes fed by the Brahmins, and thousands dash to catch the bread when thrown into the water. Altogether the village and the cool spring welling out of the mountain-side, and the whole shaded by magnificent old chenar trees, form a most attractive spot well worth a visit.

Twenty-four miles from Bijbehara, or twenty-eight from Islamabad, is Pahlgam, always the camping-ground of several visitors during the summer. Here, too, Colonel Ward for many years has resided in the summer in a small house built by himself, but now taken over by the State. I fancy life here is dull compared with life at Gulmarg, but for those who wish to vegetate and lead an absolutely quiet existence Pahlgam is admirably suited. It is two thousand feet higher than Srinagar. The camping-ground is in a wood of blue pines, and the fresh, clear, pine-scented air is refreshing after the stuffy main valley in midsummer.

Above Pahlgam the valley bifurcates, one branch going to Aru, by which a road leads over a troublesome pass into the Sind valley; and the other leading to Shisha Nag and to the famous caves of Amarnath, the resort of many hundreds of pilgrims in July and August. Immediately beyond Pahlgam, on this latter route, the path leads through beautiful woods with fine views of rocky heights and snowy peaks. Numerous maiden-hair and other ferns, primulas, crane's bill, gentians, and many other well-known flowers line the road-side. Above the wood line are fine grassy uplands frequented by Gujars with their cattle, ponies, buffaloes, sheep, and goats. Lidarwat is a lovely camping-ground in a green lawn fringed by a deep belt of trees. Beyond is the Kolahoi glacier, the road to which leads over a wide and treeless valley, and in places crosses snow bridges. The camping-ground is 11,000 feet above sea-level, and is set in a circle of stately peaks. The end of the glacier is of grey ice, and so strewn over with fragments of grey rock as hardly to be recognisable as ice, though the ice is, in fact, two hundred feet thick. Above it rises the bold peak of Kolahoi, so conspicuous in its sharp needle form from Gulmarg, and six thousand feet above the glacier.

The cave of Amarnath is about 41 miles from Pahlgam, and is about 13,000 feet above sea-level. It is therefore above all tree vegetation, and is set in wild and impressive scenery. The cave itself is of gypsum, and is fifty yards long by fifty broad at the mouth, and thirty at the centre. Inside is a frozen spring which is the object of worship, and beside it is a noble glacier and bold and rugged cliffs.

Martand

Of all the ruins in Kashmir the Martand ruins are both the most remarkable and the most characteristic. No temple was ever built on a finer site. It stands on an open plain, where it can be seen to full advantage. Behind it rises a range of snowy mountains. And away in the distance before it, first lies the smiling Kashmir valley, and then the whole length of the Pir Panjal range, their snowy summits mingling softly with the azure of the sky. It is one of the most heavenly spots on earth, not too grand to be overpowering, nor too paltry to be lacking in strength and dignity, and it is easy to understand the impulse which led a people to here raise a temple to heaven.

Apart from its site it cannot be considered one of the really great ruins of the world; but yet there is about it a combination of massiveness and simplicity, and of solidity combined with grace, which have earned it fame for a thousand years. There is something of the rigidity and strength of the Egyptian temples, and something of the grace of the buildings of Greece. Yet it is neither so Egyptian nor so Grecian as the one or the other. Though Hindu, it differs from the usual Hindu types; and is known distinctively as Kashmirian. It is, however, decidedly Hindu, and not either Buddhist or Jain, and owes much to the influence of Gandhara, while the sculptures show, according to Marshal, a close connection with the typical Hindu work of the late Gupta period.

Achibal

At the eastern end of the valley is another of the Moghal gardens, at the spot where quite a little river comes gushing straight out of the mountain-side. Leaving the house-boat at Kanibal, near Islamabad, we ride through a charming country, not so flat and swampy as the lower portion of the valley. We approach the semicircle of mountains which bound the valley on the east. Numerous streams rush down from the mountains. The valley is divided up into rice-fields, and is everywhere dotted over with hamlets hidden among chenar, mulberry, walnut, and pear or apple trees. Passing through one of these villages, which is alive with running water, and completely overshadowed by massive chenar trees, we enter a garden of the usual Moghal type, with a straight line of fountains and waterfalls, and an avenue of chenars. At the head of the garden is the mountain-side covered with deodar forest, and welling out of the mountain is a rushing stream of clean, clear water. It is a delicious and remarkable sight; but I think the spot would be more beautiful if the natural conditions had been preserved, and the artificial garden and unsightly buildings had not been constructed round it. For they only serve to hide the magnificent prospect right down the length of the Kashmir valley and the snowy mountains on either hand.

SPORT

Sport is, as is well known, one of the chief attractions of Kashmir. Every year, like the swallows, with the coming of spring, tonga loads of ardent sportsmen begin swarming into the country. Nowadays they cannot, as formerly, shoot wherever they like and as much as they like; and in their own interests it is well they cannot, for if they still had the freedom of former days no game would now be left. For some years past a Game Preservation Department has been formed by the Maharaja, and placed under the charge of a retired British officer, that keen sportsman Major Wigram. Licences to shoot have now to be taken out, and regulations for sportsmen are published annually. Certain localities are strictly preserved for the Maharaja's own use and for the entertainment of his guests. Others are reserved for Raja Sir Amar Singh. Others again as sanctuaries. The number of head of the various kind of game which a sportsman may shoot is laid down. The number of sportsmen which may be permitted to visit each locality in the year is fixed. And regulations determine how the places are allotted among the numerous applicants. Major Wigram has also under him an establishment to prevent poaching by the natives, and he himself is incessantly touring and keeping a watch on the due preservation of the game. He obtains an income of about Rs. 25,000 per annum from the sale of licences, and spends about Rs. 20,000.

Under these conditions sport in Kashmir will always remain. The total bags of big game for the last two years are:—

These figures do not include what was shot in the Maharaja's preserve, but they were not all shot within the limits of the Kashmir Province. They include also what was shot in the high mountains at the back of Kashmir proper—in Ladak, Baltistan, and Astor.

In this last year it so happens that magnificent trophies were obtained. Captain Barstow shot a markhor of 61 inches, which is the largest "shot head" ever obtained, though a head measuring 63 inches was once picked up. In the Kajnag mountains, which tower over the Jhelum River on the drive into Kashmir, one sportsman shot a markhor of 57½ inches, and several other heads of 50 were obtained last year. And as showing the pure luck which attends sport, it may be mentioned that Captain Barstow had never shot a markhor before he shot the record head.

Three good ibex heads, measuring close on 50 inches, were shot last year, and the other trophies shot were good. The reputation of Kashmir for sport is therefore being well maintained, though sportsmen have, in their own interest, to conform to more restriction than of old.

Last year the record ibex was also obtained by a well-known Kashmir sportsman, though not in Kashmir. Mr. Frank Hadow shot a 59½-inch head, but had the bad luck to lose it in a stream while having it cleaned.

In duck-shooting, too, last season was a record year. Mr. T. Kennard shot 325 duck in one day by himself. And Colonel Edwards twice shot over 200 to his own gun while shooting with others. But it would be a mistake to suppose that Mr. Kennard secured this record bag merely by good shooting, and by being placed down amidst a crowd of ducks as in a big ceremonial state shoot. Mr. Kennard is among the most scientific sportsmen who have ever visited Kashmir. I first met him twenty years ago when he built the first house-boat ever seen in Kashmir. He used then to come out to Kashmir regularly every cold weather, and spend many happy months shooting small game in the Kashmir valley, markhor and ibex in Baltistan, the Gilgit district, and Astor, and stag in the Kashmir mountains. No man had a more glorious time, when Major Wigram and the whole Game Preservation Department were still unthought of, and at a time of year when game was most easily obtained, and all the sportsmen in India were bound down to their official duties. After an interval of several years Mr. Kennard returned last year to Kashmir for yet another shoot. He set to work in a most methodical and business-like way. He studied his ground well. He found out exactly when most ducks came. He studied their habits. He spared himself no labour and neglected no detail. And he devoted the entire cold weather to this single sport.

Besides duck and goose shooting there is excellent chikore shooting on the hill-sides, and a few manaul pheasants may also be shot.

The Maharaja's preserves have for many years been under the management of that old and experienced sportsman and naturalist, Colonel Ward, to whose book, the Sportsman's Guide to Kashmir and Ladak, all those who want full information on shooting in Kashmir should refer.

And in addition to shooting, trout-fishing will soon be established as a further attraction to the sportsman.

Some years ago a number of keen fishermen banded together, and after some failure and much trouble, and with the assistance of the State authorities in Kashmir and of the Duke of Bedford in England, succeeded in introducing the ova of the English brown trout into the valley. Under the special charge of Mr. Frank Mitchell a hatchery has been established at Harwan, nine miles out of Srinagar, just beyond the Shalimar garden, and at the outlet of the Dachigam—a perfect trout stream—the valley of which is preserved for the Maharaja's shooting.

From these stock ponds a trout weighing twelve and a half pounds was taken on Lord Minto's visit in 1908. The Dachigam stream itself is now well stocked, and affords some excellent fishing to those who have obtained His Highness' permission. In addition aged ova and yearling trout have been sent to other streams in Kashmir—to the Achibal, Beoru, Wangat, Vishu, Kishenganga at Badwan, the Liddar at Aru and Tannin, Marwar, Erin. Yearlings have also been let out in the Burzil stream, the Gorai (on the north side of the Tragbal Pass), in the Gangarbal Lake, and in the Punch River.

It has been proved satisfactorily that when the snow-water has run off, the biggest trout will take a fly put to them at the right moment, though when the snow-water is coming down there are few flies rising and the fish do not take. A constant enemy of the trout is the poacher. English trout are, unfortunately, becoming very popular among the Kashmirs, and it is difficult to protect the fishing. The biggest trout caught so far is a nine-pounder caught in the Dachigam stream when the trout have been let out some years. In the summer of 1908 a fish weighing two and a half pounds, which must have been one of the yearlings turned out in 1906, was caught in the Vishu stream. By both Major Wigram and Mr. Frank Mitchell great attention is being paid to the development of trout-fishing.

Seeing the success which has attended the introduction of trout the Maharaja on the occasion of Lord Minto's visit ordered the importation of the ova of the huchon (Salmo Hucho), or so-called Danube salmon. Mr. Frank Mitchell in the spring of 1908 successfully introduced them, and about 2000 hatched out in the Harwan hatcheries. They will probably be put out in the rapids of the Jhelum River below Baramula, and as they run to some 26 lbs. in weight, and are known to be one of the most sporting as well as the largest of the Salmonidæ, they should afford another welcome attraction for the sportsman in Kashmir.

CHAPTER VIII

THE PEOPLE

Kashmir is very generally renowned for the beauty of its women and the deftness and taste of its shawl-weavers. And this reputation is, I think, well deserved. Sir Walter Lawrence indeed says that he has seen thousands of women in the villages, and cannot remember, save one or two exceptions, ever seeing a really beautiful face. But whether it is that Sir Walter was unfortunate, or that he is particularly hard to please, or that villages are not the abodes of Kashmir beauties, certain it is that the visitor, with an ordinary standard of beauty, as he passes along the river or the roads and streets, does see a great many more than one or two really beautiful women. He will often see strikingly handsome women, with clear-cut features, large dark eyes, well-marked eyebrows, and a general Jewish appearance. As to the deftness and taste of the weavers the shawls themselves are the best testimony.

The population of the whole Kashmir State is 2,905,578, and of the Kashmir Province 1,157,394. Of these 93 per cent of the Kashmir Province and 74 per cent of the whole State are Mohamedan, and the remainder chiefly Hindu. But the rulers are Hindus, and consequently the Mohamedans are as much in the shade as Hindus are in States ruled by Mohamedans. The ruling family is also alien, coming not from the valley itself, but from Jammu, on the far side of the mountain to the south.

The inhabitants were not, however, always Mohamedans. Originally they were Hindus. It was only in the fourteenth century that they were converted—mostly by force—to become Mohamedans. The present indigenous Hindus of the valley are generally known as Pundits, and Kashmir Pundits are well known over India for their acuteness and subtlety of mind, their intelligence and quick-wittedness. They prefer priestly, literary, and clerical occupation, but in the severe competition of life many have been compelled to make more use of their hands than their brains, and have had to take up agriculture, and become cooks, bakers, confectioners, and tailors, and, indeed, to follow any trade except the following which, according to Lawrence, are barred to them—cobbler, potter, corn-frier, porter, boatman, carpenter, mason, or fruit-seller. It is hard for us occidentals to understand why the line should have been drawn at these apparently harmless occupations, but those of us who have lived in India know that the Hindu does fix his lines with extraordinary sharpness and rigidity, and a Kashmir Pundit would as much think of working as a boatman as an English gentleman would think of wearing a black tie at a formal dinner-party.

The Kashmir Pundits are essentially townspeople, and out of the total number about half live in the city of Srinagar. But they are also scattered sparsely through the villages, where the visitor will easily distinguish them by the caste mark on the forehead. On the whole they have a cultured look about them and a superior bearing.

The Mohamedans, forming the large majority of the population, strictly speaking having no caste, are engaged in various occupations, and found in every grade of social life. And the Mohamedan gentleman of good position has something singularly attractive about him. He combines dignity with deference to a noteworthy degree, and between him and the European there is not that gulf of caste fixed which makes such a bar to intercourse with Hindus. Not that the Mohamedans of India have not absorbed to a certain degree the atmosphere of caste with which they are surrounded. They are not so entirely free in their customs and behaviour as their co-religionists in purely Mohamedan countries. When travelling in Turkestan I lived with Mohamedans, slept in their houses and tents, ate with them, and generally consorted with them with a freedom that Mohamedans in India would think prejudicial to some vague sense of caste which, theoretically, they are not supposed to have, but which in practice they have absorbed from the atmosphere of Hinduism which they breathe. The Mohamedan, even of Kashmir, is not quite so unrestricted as the Mohamedan of Central Asia. Still, he is a very attractive gentleman, and though not easily found, for nowadays he lives in some pride of seclusion, and in the pestering importunate merchant the visitor sees but a sorry representative of the class, yet he is occasionally met with—grave, sedate, polite, and full of interesting conversation, and bearing with him a sense of former greatness when his religion was in the ascendant in the seats of power. These old-fashioned Mohamedan gentlemen have little or no English education, but they have a culture of their own; and among the mullas may be found men of great learning.