M., while it was yet but barely daylight, and so we
were well clear of Srinagar when we emerged from our cosy cabins into a
world of clean air and brilliant colour.
The broad smooth current of the Jhelum flowed steadily and calmly through
a level plain, bearing us along at a comfortable four miles an hour, the
crew doing little more than keep steerage-way with pole and paddle.
Beyond the green, tree-studded levels to the south, the range of the Pir
Panjal spread wide its array of dazzling peaks, while on the right towered
the mountains which enclose the Sind Valley, culminating in the
square-headed mass of Haramok. In the clear air the snows seemed quite
close, although we knew that the snow-line was really some three thousand
feet above the level of the valley.
A day like this, as we sit on the little roof of our floating home
watching the silent river unfold its shining curves, goes far to
obliterate the memory of the fuss and worry inseparable from the exodus
from Srinagar. After lunch we tied up for a while, and I took my gun on
shore to try and pick up a few of the duck that dotted the waters of the
little lakes or jheels which lay flashing amid the hillocks beyond the
river banks. The shores of these being perfectly bare and open, it was
obviously impossible to escape the keenly observant eyes of the duck,
which appeared, unlike all other birds in Kashmir, to retain their
customary wariness.
Crouching low amid the furrows of a newly-ploughed field, I sent the
shikari with a knot of natives to the far side of the water, whence they
advanced in open line, splashing and shouting.
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