Sabz Ali brought
the little corpse along, holding it by one pathetic leg to show the
horrified Jane, before giving it to the kites and crows. He has many
"murghis" left; baskets full, as he says, for they are cheap in the Lolab,
but we shall never love another so dearly.
We had a shocking time while climbing to the pass which leads over to
Rampur, the road being deep in slimy mud, and so slippery that the
unfortunate baggage ponies could hardly get along. Jane, who is in
splendid condition now, toiled nobly up a track which would have been
delightful had the weather been a little less hideous.
Reaching the ridge which divides the Lolab from the Pohru Valley, we
turned to the left, along the edge, instead of descending forthwith, as we
had hoped and expected to do. It was raw and cold, with flying wreaths of
damp mist shutting out the view, and we were glad of a comforting tiffin,
swallowed somewhat hurriedly, under a forlorn and stunted specimen of a
blue pine. Then on along a rough and slippery catwalk that made us wonder
if the baggage ponies would achieve a safe arrival at Rampur.
Crossing a steep, rock-strewn ridge, covered with crown imperial in full
flower, we began a sharp descent through a wood of deodars; and now the
thunder, which had been grumbling and rumbling in the distance, came upon
us, and a deafening peal sent us scurrying down the hill at our best pace;
the lightning-blasted trunks stretching skywards their blackened and
tempest-torn limbs in ghastly witness of what had been and what might be
again.
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