A
hot walk of a mile or so along a dusty, poplar-lined road brought us to
the town of Islamabad, which, however, concealed its beauties most
effectually in a mass of foliage. Although it ranks as the second town in
Kashmir, it can hardly be said to be more than a big village, even
allowing for its 9000 inhabitants, its picturesque springs, and its boast
of having been once upon a time the capital of the valley. The first
hundred yards of "city," consisting of a highly-seasoned bazaar paved with
the accumulated filth of ages, was enough to satisfy our thirst for
sight-seeing, and after a visit to the post-office we trudged back through
a most oppressive grey haze to the boat. Crowds of the _elite_ of the
neighbourhood were hastening into Islamabad, where the "tamasha," which we
came upon at Bejbehara, is to be continued to-morrow.
We had a good deal of difficulty in getting transport for our expedition,
as the Assistant Resident and his party had, apparently, cleared the place
of available ponies and coolies. An appeal to the Tehsildhar was no use,
as that dignitary had gone to Atchibal in the Court train. However, a
little pressure applied to Lassoo, the local livery stablekeeper, produced
eight baggage ponies and a good-looking cream-coloured steed, with man's
saddle, for my wife.
The syce, a jovial-looking little flat-faced fellow, was a native of
Ladakh.
We made a fairly early start, getting off about six, and, having skirted
the town and passed the neat little Zenana Mission Hospital, we had a
pretty but uneventful march of some six miles to Bawan, where, under a big
chenar, we halted for the greater part of the day.
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