Three

Tuesday 28th. Another cold but beautifully fine morning, We started about 8.30, late as usual, partly because we waited to get the tent dry, and partly because the men take so long getting the loads onto the ponies. We followed up a stream for six miles, the hills getting more rocky and mountainous, often very black and volcanic looking.
The track now turned right up a slope which led us into a valley about three miles long and 1 wide, enclosed by a ridge of precipitous rock, a peak on our right being some 2000 feet high, with a small lake at the foot.. Keeping up the valley for a mile or so, we then began a zig zagging ascent up the slope to our left to a pass at the top, the Burzil La, 15700 feet above sea level. There was a keen wind blowing, and before we reached the top it began to snow. When we reached the top, a grand sight presented itself. From the heights on either side of us two great spurs descended, forming a magnificent gorge, the upper part full of snow. Down through the gorge we could see a bit of the Indus Valley, 15 miles away and 8000 feet below us from which rose up a great mass of snow mountains, the main range and off-shoots of the Karakoram Mountains, the nearer summits of 16 to 17 thousand feet, running up to peaks of 25 to 26 thousand feet and one, K2, of over 28,000 feet, the second highest mountain in the world. Except about Mnt Everest, there is no assemblage of such great peaks anywhere. The sun was striking full on them when we reached the top, and I had just time to get a photo when dark threatening clouds closed in, and a driving snow began sweeping the ridge. I was puffing like a Grampus when we were up there, though the height had little effect on Neve. It was a heavy pull up for the laden ponies, but the descent on the other side was worse. The Deosai route to Scardu is only open from mid-July to mid-September as the road hasn’t time to get any good order.
The two officials who we met at the camping place said that the path was being seen to on account of the officer who was coming through, but that it didn’t really need anything doing because one could easily ride up and down. As a matter of fact it was about as bad as it could be, first dropping steeply down the right side of the gorge, then crossing the stream to the other side, and for most of the rest of the way, that is about 8 miles, it was simply a faltering track along the steep slope of loose debris, over moraine, and sometimes crossing the stream on bridges consisting of two or three poles laid across, with flat stones laid on them.
We descended about 2000 feet and then stopped for our proper breakfast - or tiffin - at 3.45, and then dropped another 2500 feet, or 5 miles from the top of the pass, and camped on some grassy mounds.
It had got warmer and warmer as we descended, and I was glad to get a wash in the cold stream. We had now got down to the level of shrubs and flowers, wild gooseberries, juniper, pencil cedar etc.
...
As our final march into Scardu would be a hot one, we turned out at 5 o’clock and got the ponies off by 6.30. The gorge got very narrow in places, at one spot only about 20 yards wide between the side cliffs, where at one time there was a wall across to defend the pass when the country was divided up into little independent and often warring states.
The rocks on one side, though still in shadow, reflected the light from the other side, making a beautiful effect. At half past nine we came quite suddenly out of the mouth of the gorge into the plain of Scardu, into a sort of country I have never before imagined.
You take an arid and stony plain - 8000 feet above the sea - about 10 miles long and 5 miles wide, and enclose it with mountains 8 or 9 thousand feet high, of absolutely bare rock, leaving a narrow gorge at each end through which a river may enter and leave the plain. You put a great rock, like Gibraltar, in the middle of the plain, and many great mounds of broken rock and sand. Given a few streams coming down gorges in the mountain, and use the water to irrigate a few isolated oases, on which you grow various crops and great numbers of apricot, mulberry, apple and pear trees and vines, and you plant avenues of poplar and willow trees along the paths leading from one oasis to another. You build flat-roofed houses of large sun-dried bricks and wattle here and there about the fields, and settle a very ugly, small and dirty species of humans in them. Over the top you spread a cloudless blue sky and blazing hot sun, and you have Scardu in outline.
But I must proceed in order with my account of the last two days, which have been the most odd I have ever spent.
On emerging from the gorge, we came at once to the village of Kurpita - situated on its oasis - and halted at the unusual early hour of 10 for our breakfast. An exceedingly dirty man came and presented us with a basket of apples - the shadow of what was to come. As we were eating our mutton cutlets, we heard the ominous sound of the crackling of pots, and looking up saw Neve’s old pony trying to roll with two sackfulls of tinned stores on his back, including my scant supply of photo plates, which we rescued with all speed and found undamaged.

After breakfast we marched along a poplar avenue, and passing a field of beans called the owner and asked him to sell us some, but he said “what do I want with your money?” and went and picked a lot at once and gave us them - very unlike a Kashmiri. So we proceeded and came to a stream crossing the road. Neve jumped on behind one of the ponies and crossed in safety. I assayed to follow his example and jumped on behind another, but there wasn’t much room and the pony’s legs gave way and the basket in front was not firm for holding on to, so I dropped off gracefully into the water.
Further on we came to more cultivated land; a large oasis with many houses dotted about, in fact Scardu itself. The first thing I saw was a number of oxen tied together by the neck and to a pole round which they walked round and round, treading out the corn, while men threw the untrodden straw about to get out the dust. We passed on by houses and down lanes, nearly under the shadow

of the great rock, on a spur of which stands an old native fort, past the long native polo ground and the old Sikh fort to the bagh or garden where stands the Dak Bungalow, a flat roofed place, having 4 large rooms with a spacious veranda in front, with little square openings for windows.
We were very glad to get under shelter from the sun, and took up our quarters in one of the rooms, in which I am now writing, with all our goods around us on a terribly dusty floor.
We had not long arrived when the Tehsildar of Baltistan - the Governor under the maharaja of Kashmir - was announced to be approaching. He is a Kashmiri Pundit and probably a rascal at that. I hadn’t time to change my wet socks, but we both sallied out to meet him.

Four

Much salaaming took place between ourselves, the Tehsildar and his retinue who walked hand in hand behind him. Three rickety chairs were brought and placed on the veranda on which, not without some little ceremony Neve, the Tehisldar and I sat, while the members of the retinue sat on the ground and stared.
The general appearance of the Governor was as follows. At the bottom, a pair of feet shod in a pair of shoes of shabby green and gold.
(photos: “The Scardu Plain and Indus at Scardu.” and “The rest house at Scardu.”)
Above that, a pair of linen pyjamas, tight at the bottom and much too long, and fastened round the waist with a girdle of red and yellow. Above he wore a white cotton shirt with the tails outside the pyjamas, over which was a shorter shirt with designs in fancy colours, over that a brown cloth waistcoat, and top of all, a blue-grey frock coat. Round his neck was a sort of white scarf. Above was a head with a black beard and a white turban on top, and on his forehead and ears, the red and yellow marks of his caste. He is now, he says, a great friend of mine.

After some polite talk, a camp table was brought, on which were placed dishes of currants, and baskets of apricots, and melons - presents to us, Tea was brought in silver goblets, which we drank in round silver cups without milk, but spiced and very good.
We sat for about an hour while Neve and the Tehsildar talked. Amongst other things, our journey was discussed and both the Tehsildar and the Wasir of Shigar, who was called for advice, were much against our attempting to reach Hanza Nagar by the Nushik Pass. They said it hadn’t been used for 30 years and that if practical, the natives would use it. Neve impressed upon him that we would do nothing to endanger the lives of ourselves and coolies, so they promised to provide 25 coolies and 25 more if necessary to assist over the pass, and since we have shewn them our ice axes, climbing claws and ropes, the Wazir of Shiga has expressed his intention of coming to Nagar with us..
There is another pass to Nagar which Sir Martin Conway’s Expedition traversed in 1892, but that is more difficult than the Nushik and takes a week longer. Otherwise we cannot get to Hunza Nagar at all. The Tehsildar at last rose to leave, and after more salaaming, departed, not before he had presented us with a sheep.. I then changed my socks, put on clean underwear and we sat down to tiffin.
By this time, our door had begun to be besieged by the lame, the halt and the blind and otherwise deceased persons, seeking relief from the doctor.
Today many more have come, and tomorrow, as the news has spread that a Doctor Sahib - the famous Neil Sahib as he is called - is in the locality, Dr Neve expects to have a busy time.
The rest of that afternoon (Wed 25th) we spent in sewing on buttons, writing up diaries and so on, and Neve went out to return the Tehsildar’s call.
The same evening, the Tehsildar invited us to dinner, so about 7 o’clock we went across to his house.
Our host was sitting in his garden in front of a tent, various officials and servants standing and sitting around. Close by, a small camp table was spread with a white table cloth, but with nothing thereon.
Neve and I were motioned into camp chairs placed at opposite sides of the table, while the Tehsildar sat at a little distance and talked. Of course, being a Hindu he would not eat with us.
Presently a number of our own knives and forks and spoons were produced and thrown in a heap on the table. These were followed with two large soup plates heaped up with boiled rice. Another man then brought 2 small copper bowls, then 2 more were brought, and then a tray containing 6 such bowls which were all placed on the table, and contained various hashed meats, and vegetables, and a kind of sweet chutney, and one plate of flat, brown cakes, rather like shortbread. Finally 2 silver cups arrived containing what our host called juice - in the vulgar tongue, gravy. The delicacies we commenced eating, taking out of the various little dishes such things as we could face, depositing them on our heaps of rice, and went straight on eating till we felt we had had enough, when water was brought us in our own enamel tin tea cups, and having drunk, we rose from the table.
(Neve refers to “...a large variety of courses - curries, pillaos, stews, and so on - some 14 or 15 dishes served up more or less simultaneously.”)
Neve suggested our host must be ready for his dinner, which he said he was, so we took our leave.
During the meal we had been lighted by a torch of cloth, which a man held in one hand, while hr dropped oil onto the cloth from an oil can in the other.
On Thursday morning, we went out to try and get a bathe in the Indus. The river is about a mile broad, with a wide stretch of sand and pebbles.
As I walked along without looking up, I could fancy I was walking along the beach at Hayling at low tide, there being the rippling sound of waves made by the river rushing by rocks on the further side.
The sand was so soft, we could not bathe very well, so we didn’t do more than have a splash over, standing on the water’s edge. We walked back along a shady willow-and-poplar avenue.
As we were sitting at breakfast on the sides of our beds, Neve in his shirt sleeves, I with coat and waistcoat off, braces down and sleeves turned up, digging my knife into a cigarette box of butter, the Governor was announced again, dressed as yesterday, but with no frock coat on. He brought us some more apricots, and sat and talked a long time, looked at our things and asked me to take his photograph, which I promised to do..
About 12 o’clock, the Rajah (titular) of Scardu was announced to be approaching, so Neve and I went to meet him. I put on my waistcoat and coat and followed, and found Neve being introduced to the Rajah and his four sons, who were followed by a large retinue of people, Kashmiris and Baltis.
A charpoy was spread with Neve’s red rezai (sic) in the veranda, and chairs were brought on which we, the Tehsildar, the Rajah and his sons sat, the seat of honour on the bed being unoccupied, while all the rest of the company squatted down in and outside the veranda.
One awful looking ruffian with long black dishevelled hair sat with arms folded in a corner. He was exactly what one has seen in pictures of Ancient Britons.
There was a great contrast between the various members of the retinue. There were some 40 altogether, some being in spotless white turbans and clothes, and some no better than dirty-looking coolies.
After a little conversation, during which there were some awkward pauses, a move was made as the Rajah wanted to see Neve privately, so went inside, and then for almost 20 minutes the chief persons kept coming mysteriously in and out of the room and whispered, while I sat tight in much dignity, being well stared at by the crowd.
I think the whole business was to enable the Rajah to inform Neve privately what an excellent fellow the Tehsildar was.
When they had all gone, Neve set to work to attend to the sick assembled in the garden outside.
All the “big boys” here play polo twice a week, on Mondays and Wednesdays, but the Tehsildar got the Rajah to get up a game yesterday (Thursday) especially, as he said, for my edification.
So early in the morning, drums were beaten to announced to all and sundry that there would be polo that day.
At 4 o’clock in the afternoon we went to the polo ground, but found nobody there, so I took my camera to get a photo of the fort, and was just getting it up when all the ponies were led by, with saddles covered with red and yellow cloths.
They were followed by the band, one man blowing a huge brass trumpet, about 6 feet long, which he waved about, another with sort of bagpipes, and 3 with drums. Behind came the Tehsildar with all his people. Directly he caught sight of me, he called out to me to come along, and that he had been waiting for us, so I walked by his side, carrying my camera, with the band in front, and the crowd behind, to the grandstand.
As soon as Neve came up, he was put in the seat of honour, the Tehsildar on one side and me on the other, with officers of the Kashmir troops here occupying the other places, with the wazirs, soldiers and other such people standing behind, while the walls all round the ground were crowded with natives, many of them wearing yellow marigolds at the side of their caps.
The band seated itself in front of the stand facing us, and the Rajah’s sons and others who were going to play sat in rows on the ground while a man with a long and very smart hookah handed it around to each man according to his rank for a whiff, salaaming to each as he gave it.
A man with a brown flowing coat, much too long for him, stepped out in front of the band and began hopping on one foot and then the other, twisting his arms about, and making extraordinary gesticulations to the bandsmen, who played all the time as hard as they could.
Having finished his dance, the man sat down.
The players then mounted their ponies, and I went across to the other side to take a photo of the show.


Their game is the original polo, and different from the modern English variety. They play 8 or 9 a side, and all stand facing one way at one end of the ground. Then one man holding his stick and ball in one hand, gallops down one side of the ground, and as he passes the centre, throws up the ball and hits it forward.
The players generally keep all facing one way, one side hitting on, and the other using back handers.
The ground is about 300 yards by 70 and is bordered all down the sides by walls, which the players are very clever at keeping clear of. They play, without changing ponies, till one side makes nine goals.
They played two games yesterday, each lasting about ½ an hour, and between which they sat, and then the hookah was handed round.
The band played all the time and made a furore when a goal was hit, but otherwise there was no sound among the spectators.
Some of the men, especially the young rajahs, played and rode splendidly.
As soon as the game was over, Neve and I went to return the Rajah’s call, and were accompanied to his house by many persons.
The Rajah, who is a nice looking old man, met us in his courtyard.
He is a man who has come down in the world - like most of the old-time Rajahs of these parts.
His grandfather conquered Gilghit and Aston, and entered Chitral with his Balti army.
The Rajah now has no official position.
We were led up some narrow dark stairs to a long, low room lighted by windows without glass - at the further end, with fine views overlooking the plain..
There was a table in the window with a chair behind it, spread with a piece of white calicoe. Neve was handed into the chair, not before he had pressed the Rajah to take it.
The Rajah then sat in a chair on one side, and I on the other., the young rajahs next to us along the side of the room on benches, and beyond them, sitting on benches or on the floor along the walls were all the retainers who seemed to be more dirty and disreputable looking the further they were away.
An old man, who seemed to act as a sort of adviser to the Rajah as well as the Tehsildar attended as interpreter, and did the honours.
First 2 large plates of grapes were placed on the table, and a large roll of pultro cloth and a number of melons on the floor. These were presents to us, and now all are in our room with heaps of other fruit, apples, and apricots etc. making the place smell like a greengrocer’s shop.
These Neve removed, and tea cups were brought, 2 with handles, the others plain round, light blue china cups.
A dirty man then brought us a big Kashmir Samovar of tea and filled the cups, which remained untasted until Neve made a move and gave the Rajah a cup.
No one attempted to speak except Neve who made a remark now and then, at which everyone smiled nervously,.
There were some plates of bread on the table,, but they remained untouched.
Neve asked the Rajah to accept a New Testament, to which he assented. He also told Neve that if a teacher was sent to Scardu, a good school might be formed.
At present there is no missionary in Baltistan except a Swede, who is working at Shigar.
When we had finished the tea, which was very good, cocoa was brought, which was also very good.
When doing nothing else, the dirty man fanned us with the end of a dirty cloth he had round his neck.
Another man, still in his polo toggery, carried in a tray full of bottles containing medicines, which had been given to the Rajah by some Sahibs, but of which he did not know the use.
There were handed to Neve, who removed the corks, smelt the contents and explained the nature of each to the old wazir, who explained the same to the Rajah.
After further sitting in more or less silence, we rose to go, and the wazir showed us down stairs, walking in front of us, sideways like an old crab.
The young rajahs accompanied us part of the way back to the rest house, and then left us with more salaaming.
The next business was that the Rajah had offered us dinner, which was to be sent down to the Dak Bungalow.
Soon after we got in, the old wazir arrived with several servants bearing the repast.
First came 2 great bowls of rice, on which were arranged portions of chickens, long sausages and green food, enough for about 20 people. Then about 8 dishes were brought containing 2 whole chickens, cold, one being placed beside each of us, hashed mutton, varieties of vegetables, and little rissole sorts of things, a large plate of native bread, and salt, everything being carefully covered with chapattis. One man held the lantern tern for us to see by while we ate.
At the end we were fed with grapes.
After dinner, we retired to bed, but I did not sleep very well partly due, I think, to the strain it had been to keep from laughing during the various experiences.