CHAPTER IX
SRINAGAR AGAIN
We have spent the last three weeks or so quietly in Srinagar, our boats
forming links in the long chain that, during the "season," extends for
miles along both banks of the river. A large contingent of amphibians
dwells in the canal leading to the Dal gates, and the Chenar Bagh, sacred
to the bachelor, shows not a spare inch along its shady length.
Not being either professional globe-trotters or Athenians, we have not
felt obliged to be perpetually in high-strung pursuit of some new thing;
and to the seeker after mild and modest enjoyment there is much to be said
in favour of a sojourn at Srinagar.
Polo, gymkhanas, lawn-tennis, picnics, and golf are everyday occurrences,
followed by a rendezvous at the club, where every one congregates for a
smoke and chat, until the sun goes down behind the poplars, and the swift
shikaras come darting over the stream like water-beetles to carry off the
sahibs to their boats, to dress, dine, and reassemble for "bridge," or
perhaps a dance at Nedou's Hotel, or at that most hospitable hub of
Srinagar, the Residency.
Polo is, naturally, practically restricted to the man who brings up his
ponies from the Punjab, but golf is for all, and the nine-hole course,
although flat, is not stale, and need not be unprofitable, unless you are
fallen upon--as I was--by two stalwart Sappers, sons of Canada and potent
wielders of the cleek, who gave me enough to do to keep my rupees in my
pocket and the honour of the mother country upheld!
On May 26th we took shikara and paddled across the Dal Lake to see
something of the Mohammedan festival, consisting in a pilgrimage to the
Mosque of Hasrat Bal, where a hair of the prophet's beard is the special
object of adoration.
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