They all rushed to the place struggling and fighting for the food. The
bright green water was black with them, and a space yards wide and long,
and several feet thick, was occupied by a block of fish packed as
closely as if they were pickled herrings. These fish are also very
sacred, and to catch them is prohibited. Soon after leaving Kunbul I
passed through Islamabad, a large town of which I may have more to say
hereafter. There are two other men encamped here with me, but they don't
seem very sociable, and I don't care much for the society of strangers;
we have exchanged "good mornings" and that is all, and now sit staring
at each other at a distance of twenty yards. How different it would have
been if we were Frenchmen instead of cold-blooded Englishmen. After dark
the fakirs had a "tomasha." Singing, bell ringing, tambourine-beating,
and the blowing of discordant horns all at the same time, constituted a
delightful music--to them at least--and was continued for hours,
interrupted by shouting and yelling, and with this din going on I now
hope to sleep.


AUGUST 13th.--Marched back to Islamabad, seven miles, by another road,
as I first visited the ruins of Martund, a temple built (so the legend
goes) ages ago by "gin men" or demons of gigantic stature. These are
really grand ruins, whether position, site, or architecture be
considered. They stand on an open plain, on the summit of a ridge, from
which is a fine view of the surrounding mountains, which are much higher
than in the western part of Kashmir. In the centre is a large block,
containing several rooms, the huge stones of which it is built being
elaborately carved. There are many niches containing figures, but the
defacing hand of time has sadly marred them. On two sides of this
building and only a few feet distant from it rise a couple of wings, and
the whole is enclosed by a stone screen, perforated by trefoil arches,