Three Months of My Life by J. F. Foster
page 22 of 80 (27%)
page 22 of 80 (27%)
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which has now lost its tortuous zig-zag course and bounded by the
everlasting snows covering the main backbone of the Himalayas. At the head of the valley stands the quaint looking town of Baramula surrounded by hills on all sides but one, embowered in trees and intersected by the Jhelum, across which there is a good wooden bridge. The houses have mostly an upper story, and are built of wood with gabled roofs. The streets are narrow and roughly paved, and I regret to say are not more pleasant to the nostrils than are those of other Indian towns. The bridge built of deodar wood, beams of which are driven into the bed of the river, and then others laid horizontally upon them, each row at right angles to and projecting beyond the layer beneath, till a sufficient height has been reached, six of these and two stone piers form the buttresses of the bridge and a broad pathway of planks connects them. The march was a fatiguing one on account of its length, and I used the dandy freely. I shall however discard it altogether for the future. I went to the Barahduree but found it occupied by a man whose name I was told was "----," had been there five days. His Coolies had taken possession of all the rooms, and though I was very angry and inclined to turn them out, I thought my tent would be preferable to a room just vacated by the uncleanly native, so I went to an orchard close by, surrounded by a row of fine poplars, and patiently awaited the arrival of my baggage which was a long time coming. The gate was guarded by the Maharajah's sepoys who endeavoured to prevent my entrance. The Thikadar told me he had no authority for this, but had done it "Zubbur-dustee." They also say that the occupant of the Barahduree has just come from England. He is a being shrouded in mystery, and I shall endeavour to unravel it. My first step will be to report the occurrence to the officials at S---- when I get there. I took a swim in the Jhelum, whose course I have now followed for eighty-four crooked miles, and on whose bosom I shall to-morrow continue my journey. |
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