Reaching The Main Road, We Once More Packed Ourselves Away In Our
Boxes, And, The Sun Soon Setting His Last
For us upon the Cashmere
mountains, left us to make our way down to the miserable plains as
fast as
The flaring and spluttering light of a couple of pine torches
would allow our bearers to patter along.
From this, until we reach Lahore, we are accompanied by an incessant
shuffle shuffle of naked feet through the dusty road; jabbering and
shouting of blacks, flickering of torches, bumping of patched and
straining doolies against mounds of earth, glimpses of shining naked
bodies, streaming with perspiration, as they flit about, and the whole
enveloped in dense and suffocating clouds of dust, which penetrate
everything and everywhere, and soon become, in fact, a part of one's
living breathing existence; occasionally, outstripping our procession,
a vision passes, like the glimmer of a white strip of linen, a
stick, and a black and polished body, it rushes by like the wind,
and disappears in the gloom of dust and night, and, in a second, her
Majesty's mail has passed us on the road! As we near the plains this
vision undergoes a slight change, and takes the form of an apparition
of two wild horses tearing away with a red and almost body-less cart;
this also goes by like a flash, but gives more notice of its coming,
and our torches, for a second, light up the figure of a wild huntsman,
with red and streaming turban, who sits behind the steeds and blows a
defiant blast at us as he also vanishes into the darkness.
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