DOI Artikel:
Aberigh-Mackay, Patty: A sketching tour in the Kashmir Valley
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.21214#0247
A Sketching Tour in the Kashmir Valley
Asketching tour in the
KASHMIR VALLEY. BY
PATTY ABERIGH-MACKAY.
“ If there is a heaven on earth it is this, it is this,”
wrote one of the Mogul Emperors (I think Shah-
Jehan) of Kashmir, that little valley in the heart
of the Himalayas; a paradise indeed, though its
inhabitants are so far from angelic. The journey
to it, in spite of its interest, is a tiring one. At
Rawal Pindi you leave the plains of India, and a
two-hundred mile stretch of bad road, winding, as
it should, “ uphill all the way,” or at least most of
it, takes you into Srinagar the Capital. The road
is bad at its best, and horrible at its worst, and
after three days jolting in a tonga and two nights
spent in dak bungalows, one is glad to leave the
road at Baramula and get into houseboats.
Baramula stands at the entrance of the defile
through which the Jhelum flows out of the valley.
When I arrived there for the first time early one
spring, it was drizzling with rain and miserably
cold; the mountains were blotted out and the
town hung grey and ghostly over the river. A
little houseboat like a Noah’s Ark, with a tiny flat
roof over the entrance, was waiting for me, and a
mat-covered boat called a doongah for my servants.
I was thankful to shut out the rain and feel I had
not got to drive sixty odd miles the next day.
Early in the morning I looked out; it was fine.
On the bank, a few feet above, a row of coolies
swathed from head to foot in beautiful classical
draperies, dull brown, grey and dirty white,
squatted low-toned against the snows of the great
Pir Panjal range, which were flushed with the first
rays of the sun. I had never seen such colour or
tone, and it gave me a thrill I shall never forget.
I generally go slowly up the river to Srinagar,
as, though every spot in the valley is paintable,
Srinagar itself is the most full of subjects and easy
of access. The journeyup is absolutelydelightful—
it is so nice to move in your home without any of
the worries of packing. You sit on the roof of the
boat, or walk along on the bank, while the manjihs
(boatmen) with their wives and babies tow the
boat. If you are not in a hurry you stop for meals.
The table is laid under some shady chenar, and as
you eat you watch the boats go up and down—
big straw-thatched kutchoos or grain boats, big
and little doongahs and shikaras, the gondolas of
Kashmir.
The first night the men generally tie up in Sopor,
“ HARI PARBAT, FROM THE DAL, SRINAGAR”
WATER-COLOUR SKETCH BY P. ABERIGH-MACKAY
24I
Asketching tour in the
KASHMIR VALLEY. BY
PATTY ABERIGH-MACKAY.
“ If there is a heaven on earth it is this, it is this,”
wrote one of the Mogul Emperors (I think Shah-
Jehan) of Kashmir, that little valley in the heart
of the Himalayas; a paradise indeed, though its
inhabitants are so far from angelic. The journey
to it, in spite of its interest, is a tiring one. At
Rawal Pindi you leave the plains of India, and a
two-hundred mile stretch of bad road, winding, as
it should, “ uphill all the way,” or at least most of
it, takes you into Srinagar the Capital. The road
is bad at its best, and horrible at its worst, and
after three days jolting in a tonga and two nights
spent in dak bungalows, one is glad to leave the
road at Baramula and get into houseboats.
Baramula stands at the entrance of the defile
through which the Jhelum flows out of the valley.
When I arrived there for the first time early one
spring, it was drizzling with rain and miserably
cold; the mountains were blotted out and the
town hung grey and ghostly over the river. A
little houseboat like a Noah’s Ark, with a tiny flat
roof over the entrance, was waiting for me, and a
mat-covered boat called a doongah for my servants.
I was thankful to shut out the rain and feel I had
not got to drive sixty odd miles the next day.
Early in the morning I looked out; it was fine.
On the bank, a few feet above, a row of coolies
swathed from head to foot in beautiful classical
draperies, dull brown, grey and dirty white,
squatted low-toned against the snows of the great
Pir Panjal range, which were flushed with the first
rays of the sun. I had never seen such colour or
tone, and it gave me a thrill I shall never forget.
I generally go slowly up the river to Srinagar,
as, though every spot in the valley is paintable,
Srinagar itself is the most full of subjects and easy
of access. The journeyup is absolutelydelightful—
it is so nice to move in your home without any of
the worries of packing. You sit on the roof of the
boat, or walk along on the bank, while the manjihs
(boatmen) with their wives and babies tow the
boat. If you are not in a hurry you stop for meals.
The table is laid under some shady chenar, and as
you eat you watch the boats go up and down—
big straw-thatched kutchoos or grain boats, big
and little doongahs and shikaras, the gondolas of
Kashmir.
The first night the men generally tie up in Sopor,
“ HARI PARBAT, FROM THE DAL, SRINAGAR”
WATER-COLOUR SKETCH BY P. ABERIGH-MACKAY
24I