Late into the warm and balmy night we paced the platform; for there seemed
to be always something still to say, and we found it hard to part from our
charming friends; realising, too, that this was the end of our holiday,
and that before us lay merely the toil and bustle of a return to
commonplace, everyday life. At last, though, the final fag-end of a
cheroot was thrown away, the last hand-grips given, and the parting came.
There is little more to say.
All Thursday we rushed through the wide landscape; saw the parched plains
stretch far into the dusty horizon; saw the lean men and leaner cattle, to
whom the grim spectre of famine is already foreshadowed; flew past
populous villages and creaking water-wheels, noting every phase of a scene
now familiar, yet always delightful.
Late in the evening we changed at Baroda, and dawn next morning saw us
speeding across the swamps and inlets, which gave place ere long to the
palm groves and clustering houses which marked the farther limits of the
suburbs of Bombay.
We found the heat--damp and oppressive--very trying after the drier air of
Rajputana, and the Taj Mahal Hotel below our expectations in all respects
save price. It is undoubtedly better than most Indian hotels, but yet it
is not good!
Bombay is chiefly connected in our minds with the inevitable fuss and
worry of packing and departure.
As we left the Taj Mahal Hotel, in a conveyance piled high with
miscellaneous baggage, we saw the last of our faithful and indispensable
Sabz Ali, as he hurriedly quitted the hostelry in our wake, fearful lest
undue delay should jeopardise the possession of the spoils he was carrying
off, wrapped in bulging bundles of goodly size.
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