A Record Of Buddhistic Kingdoms - Diary Of A Pedestrian In Cashmere And Thibet By William Henry Knight




























































 -  Our halting-place was in an ancient serai, with a dilapidated
garden, containing the remains of some rather handsome fountains - Page 38
A Record Of Buddhistic Kingdoms - Diary Of A Pedestrian In Cashmere And Thibet By William Henry Knight - Page 38 of 303 - First - Home

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Our Halting-Place Was In An Ancient Serai, With A Dilapidated Garden, Containing The Remains Of Some Rather Handsome Fountains.

It was situated on a rock, several hundred feet above the river which separated us from the town; and,

From our elevated position, we had a fine view of the whole place, and got an insight into the manners and customs of the inhabitants, without their being at all aware of our proximity.

The women and children appeared to be dressed quite in the Tartar style: the women with little red square-cornered fez caps, with a long strip of cloth thrown gracefully over them, and either pyjamas of blue stuff with a red stripe, or a long loose toga of greyish cloth, reaching nearly to the feet. The little girls were quite of the bullet-headed Tartar pattern, of Crimean recollection, but wore rather less decoration. The Crimean young ladies generally had a three cornered charm suspended round their necks, while the youthful fashion of Rajaori, scorning all artificial adornment, selected nature only as their mantua-maker, and wore their dresses strictly according to her book of patterns. After enjoying a delightfully cool night in our elevated bedroom, we started for "Thanna."

Our path led through a gradually ascending valley, cultivated, for the rice crop, in terraces, and irrigated by a complicated net-work of channels, cut off from the mountain streams, and branching off in every direction to the different elevations. The ground was so saturated in these terraces that ploughing was carried on by means of a large scraper, like a fender, which was dragged along by bullocks, the ploughman standing up in the machine as it floundered and wallowed about, and guiding it through the sea of mud.

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