The carriage and the two ekkas had come in early, having been unloaded and
then carried bodily over the "slide."
A broad and smooth road, whose gentle gradient of ascent was merely
sufficient to keep us level with the river bank, opened up an alluring
prospect of ease and comfort. We lay back on our comfortable cushions and
watched the clouds as they swept over the mountains, hiding all but
occasional glimpses of snow-streaked slopes and steep and barren ridges.
The valley of the Jhelum between Domel and Ghari is not beautiful--merely
wide and desolate, with steep hills rising from the river, their lower
slopes sparsely clad with leafless scrub, their shoulders merging into the
dull mist which hangs around their invisible summits.
Alas! it soon became apparent that our troubles were not over. The cliffs
above us became steeper, and the familiar boulder reappeared upon the road.
Small landslips gave us a good deal of trouble, although we had no serious
difficulty before reaching Ghari. Here we were told that a complete
"solution of continuity" in the road at Mile 46 would prevent our reaching
Chakhoti, so we reluctantly decided to remain where we were for the night.
Although a cold and dull spring afternoon is not exciting at Ghari, where
distractions are decidedly scanty, we found interest in the discovery of
the Smithsons' heavy luggage, which had been sent on from Rawal Pindi ages
ago. Here it lay in the peaceful backwater of a native caravansary, piled
high on a bullock-cart, whose placid team lay near pensively chewing the
"cud of sweet and bitter fancy," and apparently quite innocent of any
intention of moving for a week or two!
We extracted the charioteers from a neighbouring hut, and gave them to
understand, by means of Sabz Ali, that hanging was the least annoyance
they would suffer if they didn't get under way "ek dam" at once.
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