The dak bungalow of Baramula is, upon the whole, the worst we have yet
sampled. No fire seemed able to impart any cheerfulness to the gloomy den
we were shown into, and the dinner finally produced by the
khansamah-kitmaghar-chowkidar (for a single tawny-bearded ruffian
represented all these functionaries when the morning tip fell due) was not
of an exhilarating nature. Strolling out to have a look at the town of
Baramula, I shivered to see a heap of snow piled up against the wall. It
snowed here, heavily, three days ago, I am told.
We have not been, so far, altogether lucky in the weather. Bitter cold in
Europe, cold at Port Said and Suez, chilly in the Red Sea, and wet at Aden!
Distinctly chilly in India, excepting during the day; we seem to have hit
off the most backward spring known here for many years. The Murree route,
which was closed to us by snow, should have been clear a month earlier,
and spring here seems not yet to have begun.
_April_ 5.--We crept shivering to our beds last night, to be awakened at 6
A.M. by an earthquake!
I had just realised what the untoward commotion meant when I heard Jane
from under her "resai" ask, "What _is_ the matter--is it an earthquake?"
Almost before I could reply, she was up and away, in a fearful hurry and
very little else, towards the open country.
I followed, but finding hoar-frost on the ground and a nipping eagerness
in the air, I went back for a "resai." The feeling was that of going into
one's cabin in a breeze of wind, and the door was flapping about.
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