CHAPTER VIII.CASHMERE.
MARCH TO KOHALLA—CROSSING THE JHELLUM—ACCIDENT TO A BOAT—ASCENT OF THE DUNNA PASS—BARRADURRIES, OR REFUGES—TOMB OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER—SUDDEN STORM—CHICKAR—THE DOCTOR—AN EARLY START—WONDERFUL TOMASHA WALLA—BACKSHEESH—THE PEOPLE OF CASHMERE—HEAVY TAXATION—TREATY.
MARCH TO KOHALLA—CROSSING THE JHELLUM—ACCIDENT TO A BOAT—ASCENT OF THE DUNNA PASS—BARRADURRIES, OR REFUGES—TOMB OF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER—SUDDEN STORM—CHICKAR—THE DOCTOR—AN EARLY START—WONDERFUL TOMASHA WALLA—BACKSHEESH—THE PEOPLE OF CASHMERE—HEAVY TAXATION—TREATY.
CHAPTER VIII.
Our next march was to Kohalla on the banks of the Jhellum. It is a pleasant ride down to the valley, and then through flowering shrubs and green fir-trees, and past high rocks till we arrived at the comfortable hotel, situated near the river. Across that foaming mass of troubled waters we had to pass, and then we should be in Cashmere; for the Jhellum divides the territory of the Maharajah from that of Great Britain.
There was only one way to proceed—in a flat-bottomed boat, which on inspection proved but a rickety craft. The horses and baggage crossed over in safety, and then our turn came. On entering the boat our confidence was not increased by finding a big hole in its side, whichwas stuffed with grass, and a large stone placed against the bundle to keep it safe!
The same performance was gone through as at Attack, on the Indus. Our boat was towed some distance up the river, and then cast off. We flew across, and made the opposite shore, some way down the stream, when, a rope being thrown, was caught by coolies, and we were hauled into smooth waters, and landed.
A fortnight after we had crossed, a brother officer, on his way to Cashmere, had passed this ferry, followed by his servants, horses, and baggage. The boat, cast off from the opposite shore, flew over the boiling, surging waters. The rope was thrown and caught by the coolies, but it was rotten, and the boat, with all its living contents, was swept away, the mad waters engulfing everything that was in this miserable old coble.
But now we are landed in the Maharajah’s country. The day was far spent when we managed to start our avant guard of coolies with tents and baggage. We decided, therefore, to advance only a few miles up the mountain to a level ground, where there was water and sufficientspace to pitch our tents. The ascent of Dunna is not along green sides and grassy slopes, but in the dry bed of a winter’s torrent. Leaving the village where we had disembarked, the path proceeds for a short way along the level, and then straight up the stony course of the stream. My wife started on foot. With her Alpine staff in her hand, she bravely faced the hill. I rode as long as I could, but the scrambling, sliding pony was most disagreeable, so I was obliged to walk.
To describe our ascent is impossible, as no one can form an idea equal to it who has not attempted the Dunna Pass. Intensely hot in the valley, it became cooler as we scrambled and tumbled along the rocky path; and at length we arrived at the Dunna Dhuk, the only level site before reaching the top. The evening had closed in, but the moon rose clear and splendid from behind the lofty mountain up which we were toiling. The wild night-hawk’s shrill note echoed through the still, dark valleys, and the light and shadow deepened as the moon rose brighter and more glorious every minute. Our tents were pitched by our active servants on a kind of terrace formedfor cultivation, and our dinner was nearly cooked before we had time to look about us. Our only light was the silvery moon.
We asked for milk, and one of our Cashmerian retainers proceeded a short distance, and, facing the valley, shouted our wants in a loud and prolonged call. The answer came, weird-like, from a long way off, and, in due course, rich milk was brought to us in abundance. It was very pleasant on that cool mountain side after the heat of the plains, and we soon retired to our Swiss cottage tent to seek the repose we had honestly earned.
It was strange to awake and find ourselves encamped on the hills in Cashmere; and, when M’Kay brought us our morning cups of tea, we were ready to begin another day’s march. The tents were struck and sent away, and the final orders given. My wife, as usual, faced the brae on foot, and I rode Silver Tail till I found it impossible. So I handed him over to my syce, greatly to the knowing one’s internal satisfaction.
As the morning advanced, the sun’s bright rays tinged with golden tints the surrounding scenery. The loving calls of the black partridges sounded sweet and home-like. The early breezewas laden with the perfume of mountain flowers. It was charming, but the climb was terrible. We were glad when we reached the plateau which overlooked Dunna, and were enabled to mount our nags once more.
As we halted at the refuge built by the Maharajah of Cashmere, we were very thankful to take possession of the queer habitation which he has dedicated to the use of travellers. These refuges are called barradurries, and have no claim to beauty of architecture. A mud wall surrounds a double-storied mud house. The ground floor is uninhabitable, but a rickety stair leads to the upper floor and into a narrow passage, on each side of which there are empty rooms. The passage ends in a covered verandah in front of the rooms. The doors are rough planks of deodar, without any attempt at fastening. The window shutters are the same, with no glass.
Many plans had to be adopted to keep the doors and windows closed. My wife and M’Kay made these wretched places most comfortable with gaily-striped purdahs, and many a pleasant hour have we passed in the numerous barradurries scattered over the land of Cashmere. On theright hand, as we entered the enclosure at Dunna, a tomb is erected to the memory of a young cavalry officer, who broke a blood-vessel after walking up the steep ascent by which we had come. How sad are these graves scattered over India! As the road into Cashmere no longer passes over Dunna, that memento is very lonely now. Few travellers pause to read the record of that young life’s untimely end.
Very early next morning we left Dunna for Maira. The path zigzagged down through a wooded brae, and became altogether lost among huge boulders as we approached the river we had to cross. The ascent on the opposite side was steep and rugged. Clouds which had been collecting threatened a storm, and wild gusts of wind foretold rain. We got into the barradurrie, and settled ourselves comfortably. The distant thunder rolled grandly through the mountains above and around us. The elements seemed to be collecting forces for a grand attack at night, and when the darkness came the storm burst upon us, flash succeeded flash in rapid succession, and the thunder pealed forth its mighty voice; the wild wind shrieked through our mud-formedhouse, and drove the rain and hail into our innermost rooms. The doors and window-shutters banged about in a mad jubilee of diabolical glee. After committing all sorts of havoc, the drunken furies flew before the gale, and the peaceful stars peeped out from the blue heavens, while the waning moon shone sadly on the wearied earth. Still, in the now quiet scene, we could hear the far-off thunder echoing through the high mountains of Cashmere. These sudden storms are very grand.
The next morning broke bright and fine, and, as we rode away, the fresh perfume was sweet to us who had left the burning plains so lately. We rode through wooded, park-like scenery, aptly described by an Irish assistant-surgeon we met as ‘quite like a domain.’ Instead of Fenians to annoy the dwellers, there are leopards which destroy the poor Cashmerian wood-cutters. A day or two previous to our arrival, a shepherd had been killed. Our way led up the mountain, and then through woods; our path descended to a river which flows along the valley. High up on the hill on the opposite side was Chikar, the end of that day’s march. Before crossing the river,we passed through many rice-fields, which, as they resemble wet bogs, are not pleasant places to ride in. Numerous cheerful-looking peasants were engaged planting bunches of green grass in rows in the wet and muddy ground.
After climbing the steep mountain, we arrived at Chikar, quite ready for the ‘doctor,’ a combination of milk, eggs, and rum beat up together, which M’Kay always had prepared for us, and which seemed to increase our enjoyment of a later breakfast.
During the day we sat out on the flat roof of the barradurrie, whence the view was magnificent. In the distance we could see a far-off snowy range, while nearer was a splendid panorama of mountains cultivated at their base, with the rocky summits lost in snow and impenetrable clouds. Every now and then a great dark shadow would skim across the mountain-side, then fade away, and the bright sun would light up the green grass on hill and dale. Faintly borne on the breeze were the voices in the valley beneath, while soaring high in the air a royal eagle would pause for a moment, then swoop away and be lost to our sight.
As we were now deserted by the moon, our early start was made in comparative darkness. When the morning broke, we overlooked the valley of Jhellum. We descended for three miles, by a winding, rocky path, to the left bank of the river, and rode along its wooded bank till we arrived at Huttie. The wonderful river’s roaring voice drowns every other sound, and it insists on being listened to. On the opposite side of the Jhellum is seen the road from Abottabad.
On arrival at Huttie, we found our camp pitched near the rapid Jhellum, the ground chosen by our advance-guard being the dry bed of a mountain torrent. There was at Huttie a most wonderful Tomasha Walla, who most perseveringly insisted that we should see him cross the river, a pleasure which with equal resolution we declined; but by dint of never leaving us, whether we sat outside or inside our tents, or went for a stroll, he got his own way at last, and we reluctantly climbed a cliff to obtain a good view of our tormentor. The river at this place, pent in between high cliffs, comes tearing down in great angry waves, which seem as if no living thing could for a moment contend with them.
Standing on a rock some distance from us up the river, a black figure, with hardly anything on to speak of, and grasping in his arms a ‘mussack,’[1]fixed our attention. As soon as he saw we were looking at him, he threw the ‘mussack’ into the water, and followed in a trice. It was surprising to see the ease with which he battled with the waves, turning heels over head, standing almost upright, then, mounting astride of his ‘mussack,’ and guiding himself to the other side of the river.
His performances seemed to give unfailing delight to the inhabitants of Huttie, who looked on as though they had not seen him go through the same feats every day of the season. Of course the Tomasha Walla’s re-appearance on the scene was followed by a demand for ‘backsheesh.’ Have not all travellers in the East written folios on the subject of backsheesh? I must add my iota to the budget. It is the most irritating of demands. Not a man in Cashmere will everaccept the payment that is offered to him, no matter that it is twice as much as the service he has done requires. He will whine and beg for more, going through a string of reasons why he should get it. At last, having either succeeded in obtaining an increase of pay, or else seeing he has no chance of prevailing, he begins a fresh clamour for backsheesh. I grieve to say that our experience of the inhabitants of Cashmere proved them to be thoroughly false, utterly ungrateful, and desperately extortionate. Honour and honesty they have none. Find them out in some lie or fraud, they grin from ear to ear, never dreaming of being ashamed of themselves.
Ground down as they are by the system of perpetual oppression, we ceased to wonder at the lowness of their morals as we saw more of the working of the rule they live under. No nation in the world is taxed as the Cashmerians are (or were, for I write of 1868). Two thirds of everything is taxed for the benefit of the Maharajah, and to see that this is duly paid a host of officials are employed, who in their turn rob the unfortunate ratepayers, till (I am within the mark) I have been assured by those who ought to knowthat three-fourths of every man’s possessions are yearly taken from him in this grievously burdened land. It was very long before we understood the small enthusiasm shown when we congratulated the people on their smiling crops and fair prospect of a heavy harvest. What matters it to them whether the produce be good or bad?—enough will be left them for their subsistence, and more for seed for next year’s sowing. But all the rest finds its way, much lightened by the hands it passes through, to the Maharajah’s coffers. Our farmers at home grumble, but they live in a free country—let them be thankful.
The Cashmerian sows his land, a government official comes down on his inspection visit, and desires that each field should produce so many maunds of grain. In vain the farmer protests that his land cannot yield such a crop; he is not listened to, and woe to him if to the last seer the number of maunds be not forthcoming. He is sold out—everything he has is taken from him to pay his debt to the Maharajah.
We saw this beautiful and fatherly care of a prince for his people in full form in the LolabValley. We were riding past a village along a narrow path; it was getting dusk, and we had to leave our road because four or five men who were sitting down did not get out of the way. It was an unusual rudeness. Next morning we passed the same way, and there were the men still on the ground. No wonder they had not moved, even for a sahib, for their legs were bound fast and firm in stocks, there to remain till it was the Maharajah’s good pleasure to release them. All that they could call their own had been sold to pay for deficient crops, but much more was still marked against them.
‘Cashmere was conquered inA.D.1587 by Akbar’s brother-in-law, the Rajah of Jeypore, when the Mahomedan king of that province was enrolled among the nobles of the court; and this lovely valley, the paradise of Asia, became the summer retreat of the emperors of Delhi.’—History of India, by John Clark Marsham, vol. i.‘It was conquered by Runjeet Sing in 1819.’—Ibid. vol. iii.
‘In 1846, the Sikh army having invaded our territory, Sir Henry Harding issued a proclamation confiscating the Cis Sutlege possessionsof the Lahore crown, and he annexed the Jullunder Doab, or district lying between the Sutlege and the Beeas, to the Company’s dominions, by which he obtained security for our hill stations, and a position which gave us control of the Sikh capital (Lahore). The expenses of the campaign were computed at a crore and a half of rupees—which the Lahore state was required to make good—but the profligacy of the ministers and the rapacity of the soldiers had exhausted the treasury, and, of the twelve crores Runjeet Sing left in it, there remained scarcely fifty lacs of rupees to meet the demand. Sir Henry therefore determined to take over the province of Cashmere and the highlands of Jummoo in lieu of the remaining crore. Since the death of Runjeet Sing, the powerful Raja of Jummoo, Golab Sing, had always cherished the hope of being able, by some happy turn of circumstances, to convert his principality into an independent sovereignty. During the recent contest he had played the part of an interested neutral, watching the contest, and prepared to side with the strongest. When called to assume the office of minister at Lahore, he negotiatedwith the Governor-General as much for his own interests as for those of the State. There could be little doubt that a clear understanding regarding the possession existed between him and the British Government; and hence it created no surprise when he stepped forward and offered to pay down the crore of rupees, on condition of being constituted the independent Raja of Cashmere and Jummoo. The sovereignty of these provinces was accordingly sold to him, but it must not be forgotten that he received only an indefeasible title to that which he actually possessed at the time. Sir Henry Hardinge by this stroke of policy obtained funds to cover the expenses of the war.’[2]—History of India, vol. iii.