A Holiday in the Happy Valley with Pen and Pencil Part 7

The other (much-cherished) monopoly in this favoured land is that enjoyed by Mr. Nedou, the owner of THE HOTEL in Kashmir.

We were advised when at Lah.o.r.e to approach Mr. Nedou (who winters in his branch there) with many salaams and much "kow-towing," in order to make a certainty of being received into his select circle in Kashmir. The great man was quite kind, and promised that he would do his best for us; and he was as good as his word, as we were immediately welcomed and permitted to add two to the four persons already inhabiting the hostelry. I confess that, even after a dak bungalow of the most inferior quality--such as that at Ghari Habibullah or Baramula--Mr. Nedou's hotel fails to impress one with an undue sense of luxury. In fact, it presented an even desolate and forlorn appearance with its gloomy and chilly pa.s.sages and cheerless bed-vaults.

[1] _N. Smyrnensis_ (?).

CHAPTER V

FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF SRINAGAR

We learnt that the earthquake of this morning was far more than the ordinary affair that we had taken it to be. The hotel showed signs of a struggle for existence. Large cracks in the plaster, spanned by strips of paper gummed across to show if they widened, and little heaps of crumbled mortar on the floors, betrayed that the grip of mother earth had been no feeble one.

Telegrams from Lah.o.r.e inquired if the rumour was true that Srinagar had been much damaged, and reported an awful destruction and loss of life at Dharmsala. I think if we had fully known what an earthquake really meant, we should not have so calmly gone back to bed again!

The advent of Mrs. Smithson upon the scene relieved a certain anxiety which we had felt as to immediate plans. The idea of rushing into Astor had been given up, we found--not so much on account of our tardy arrival, permits being still obtainable, but on account of the impossibility--at any rate for ladies--of forcing the high pa.s.ses which the late season has kept safely sealed.

Walter, having pawed the ground in feverish impatience for some days, had gone off into a region said to be full of bara singh; so we decided to possess our souls in patience for a little time, and remain quietly in Srinagar. Accordingly, instead of unpacking our "detonating musquetoons,"

we exhumed our evening clothes, and began life in Srinagar with a cheerful dinner at the Residency.

_Friday, April 7th_.--We are evidently somewhat premature here as far as climate goes. The weather since our arrival has become cold and grey, and we have seemed on the verge of another snowfall. However, the clerk of the weather has refrained from such an insult, contenting himself with sending a breeze down upon us fresh from the "Roof of the World," and laden with the chilly moisture of the snows. We have consumed great quant.i.ties of wood, vainly endeavouring to warm up the den which Mr. Nedou has let to us as a sitting-room. Fires are not the fashion in the public rooms--probably because the only "public" besides ourselves consist of one or two enterprising sportsmen, who doubtless are acclimatising themselves to camp life amid the snows, and have implored the proprietor to save his fuel and keep the outer doors open.

Yesterday, we went on a shopping excursion down the river, our "hansom"

being a long narrow sort of canoe, propelled and dexterously steered by four or five paddlers, whose mode of _digging_ along by means of their heart-shaped blades reminded me not a little of the Kroo boys paddling a fish-canoe off Elmina on the Gold Coast.

We embarked close to the back of the hotel, at the Chenar Bagh, and went gaily enough down the strong current of what we took to be an affluent of the Jhelum. As a matter of fact, the European quarter forms an island, low and perfectly flat, the banks of which are heaped into a high d.y.k.e or "bund," washed on one side (the south) by the main river, and on the other by the Sunt-i-kul Ca.n.a.l, down which we have been paddling.

The river life was most fascinating--crowds of heavy doungas lay moored along the banks--their long, low bodies covered in by matting, and their extremities sloping up into long peaked platforms for the crew.

These--many of them women and children--were all clothed in neutral-tinted gowns, the only bit of colour being an occasional note of red or white in the puggaree of the men or skull-cap of the children. The married women invariably wore whity-brown veils over the head. The wooden houses that lined the banks were all in the general low scheme of colour, but a peculiar charm was added by the roofs covered in thick, green turf.

Srinagar has been called the "Venice of the East," and, inasmuch as waterways form the main thoroughfares in both, there is a certain resemblance. Shikaras (the Kashmiri canoes) are first-cousins to gondolas--rather poor relations perhaps; both are dingy and clumsy in appearance, and both are managed with an extraordinary dexterity by their navigators.

Both cities are "smelly," though Venice, even at its worst, stands many degrees above the incredible filth of Srinagar.

Finally--both cities are within sight of snowy ranges; although it seems hardly fair to place in comparison the majestic range that overhangs Srinagar and the somewhat distant and sketchy view of the Alps as seen from Venice.

Here, I think, all resemblance ceases. The charm of Venice lies in its architecture, its art treasures, its historical memories, and its interesting people.

Srinagar has no architecture in particular, being but a picturesque chaos of tumble-down wooden shanties. It has no history worth speaking of, and its inhabitants are--and apparently have always been--a poor lot.

Shopping in Srinagar is not pure and unadulterated joy. Down the river, spanned by its seven bridges, amidst a network of foul-smelling alleys, you are dragged to the emporiums of the native merchants whose advertis.e.m.e.nts flare upon the river banks, and who, armed with cards, and possessed of a wonderful supply of the English language, swarm around the victim at every landing-place, and almost tear one another in pieces while striving to obtain your custom.

Samad Shall, in a conspicuous h.o.a.rding, announces that he can--and will--supply you with anything you may desire, including money--for he proclaims himself to be a banker.

Ganymede, in his own opinion, is the only wood-carver worth attention.

Suffering Moses is the prince of workers in lacquer, according to his own showing.

The nose of the boat grates up against the slimy step of the landing-place, and you plunge forthwith into Babel.

"Will you come to my shop?"

"No--you are going somewhere else."

"After?"

"Perhaps!"

"To-day, master?"

"No--no time to-day."

"To-morrow, then--I got very naice kyriasity [curiosity]--to-morrow, master--what time?"

"Oh! get out! and leave me alone."

"I send boat for you--ten o'clock to-morrow?"

"No."

"Twelve o'clock?" &c. &c.

After a short experience of Kashmiri pertinacity and business methods, you cease from politeness and curtly threaten the river.

Certainly the Kashmiri are exceedingly clever and excellent workers in many ways. Their modern embroideries (the old shawl manufacture is totally extinct) are beautiful and artistic. Their wood-carving, almost always executed in rich brown walnut, is excellent; and their _old_ papier-mache lacquer is very good. The tendency, however, is unfortunately to abandon their own admirable designs, and a.s.similate or copy Western ideas as conveyed in very doubtful taste by English visitors.

The embroidery has perhaps kept its individuality the best, although the trail of the serpent as revealed in "quaint" Liberty or South Kensington designs is sometimes only too apparent. Certain plants--Lotus, Iris, Chenar leaf, and so-called Dal Lake leaves, as well as various designs taken from the old Kashmir shawls, give scope to the nimble brains and fingers of the embroiderers, who, by-the-bye, are all male.

Their colours, almost invariably obtained from native dyes, are excellent, and they rarely make a mistake in taste.

The coa.r.s.er work in wool on cushions, curtains, and thick white numdahs is most effective and cheap.

Curiously enough, the best of these numdahs (which make capital rugs or bath blankets) are made in Yarkand; and Stein, in his _Sand-Buried Cities of Kotan_, found in ancient doc.u.ments, of the third century or so, "the earliest mention of the felt-rugs or 'numdahs' so familiar to Anglo-Indian use, which to this day form a special product of Kotan home industry, and of which large consignments are annually exported to Ladak and Kashmir."

The manufacture of carpets is receiving attention, and Messrs. Mitch.e.l.l own a large carpet factory. Designs and colours are good, but the prices are not low enough to enable them to compete with the cheap Indian makes; nor, I make bold to say, is the quality such as to justify high prices.

The shop of Mohamed Jan is well worth a visit, for three good reasons--first, because his Oriental carpets from Penjdeh and Khiva are of the best; second, because his house is one of the first specimens of a high-cla.s.s native dwelling existing; and third, because he never worries his customers nor touts for orders--but, then, he is a Persian, and not a Kashmiri!

The famous shawls which fetched such prices in England in early Victorian days are no longer valued, having suffered an eclipse similar to that undergone by the pictures of certain early Victorian Royal Academicians, and the loss of the shawl trade was a severe blow to Kashmir. With the exception of occasional specimens of these shawls, which, however, can be bought cheaper at sales in London, there are no _old_ embroideries to be got.

The wood-carving industry, too, is quite modern; but, although of great excellence and ingenuity in manipulation, it does not appeal to me, being too florid and copious in its application of design. A restless confusion of dragons from Leh, lotus from the Dal Lake, and the ever-present chenar leaf, hobn.o.b together with British--very British--crests and monograms on the tops of tables and the seats of chairs--portions of the furniture that should be left severely plain.

British taste is usually bad, and to it, and not to Kashmiri initiative, must be ascribed the production of such exotic works as bellows embellished with chaste designs of lotus-buds, and afternoon tea-tables flaunting coats-of-arms (doubtless dating from the Conquest), beautifully carved in high relief just where the tray--the bottom of which is probably ornamented with a flowing design of raised flowers--should rest!

The lacquered papier-mache work--often extremely pretty when left to its own proper Cabul pattern or other native design--aims too often at attracting the eye of the mighty hunter by introducing an inappropriate markhor's head. The old lacquer-work is difficult to get, and, when obtained, is high in price; but comparison between the old and the new shows the gulf that lies between the loving and skilful labour of the artist and the stupid and generally "scamped" achievement of him who merely "knocks off" candlesticks and tobacco-boxes by the score, to sell to the English visitor--papier-mache being superseded by wood, and lacquer by paint.

The workers in silver, copper, and bra.s.s are many, but their productions are usually rough and inartistic. Genuine old beaten metal-work is almost un.o.btainable, although occasionally desirable specimens from Leh do find their way into the Srinagar shops.

Chinese porcelain is to be got, usually in the form of small bowls; but it is not of remarkably good quality, and the prices asked for it are higher than in London.