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Yesterday we left Sellar and marched to Bejbehara, the hottest and dullest march I know of in Kashmir. A shadeless road slopes gently down across the plains to the river.
An avenue of chenars led straight to the bridge, showing either the antiquity of the trees or the comparatively modern date of the temple. June 19. Yesterday afternoon we left Bejbehara, and went on to Kanbal, the port of Islamabad. A hot and sultry day, oppressive and enervating to all but the flies, which were remarkably energetic and lively.
Crowds of the élite of the neighbourhood were hastening into Islamabad, where the "tamasha," which we came upon at Bejbehara, is to be continued to-morrow. We had a good deal of difficulty in getting transport for our expedition, as the Assistant Resident and his party had, apparently, cleared the place of available ponies and coolies.
The chenars of Bejbehara threw a most welcome shade from the noonday sun, which was striking down with evil force as we panted across the steamy rice-fields which surround them. Hither we came at noon, only to find that our boats were not awaiting us as we had directed.
It was well into the evening, and the sun had just set, throwing a glorious rosy flush over the snows which surround the Lidar Valley, when we came to the picturesque bridge which crosses the stream at Bejbehara.
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