The march was through broad gravelly
valleys, among 'monstrous protuberances' of red and yellow gravel,
elevated by their height alone to the dignity of mountains. Hail
came on, and Gyalpo showed his high breeding by facing it when the
other animals 'turned tail' and huddled together, and a storm of
heavy sleet of some hours' duration burst upon us just as we reached
the dismal camping-ground of Rukchen, guarded by mountain giants
which now and then showed glimpses of their white skirts through the
dark driving mists. That was the only 'weather' in four months.
A large caravan from the heat and sunshine of Amritsar was there.
The goods were stacked under goat's hair shelters, the mules were
huddled together without food, and their shivering Panjabi drivers,
muffled in blankets which only left one eye exposed, were grubbing up
furze roots wherewith to make smoky fires. My baggage, which had
arrived previously, was lying soaking in the sleet, while the
wretched servants were trying to pitch the tent in the high wind.
They had slept out in the snow the night before, and were mentally as
well as physically benumbed. Their misery had a comic side to it,
and as the temperature made me feel specially well, I enjoyed
bestirring myself and terrified Mando, who was feebly 'fadding' with
a rag, by giving Gyalpo a vigorous rub-down with a bath-towel.
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