WAITING FOR MONSOON.

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 307, 28 December 1929, Page 7 (Supplement)

WAITING FOR MONSOON.

ON TOP OF THE WORLD. TRAMPING IN THE HIMALAYAS AN" UNFORGETTABLE EXPERIENCE.

(By E. P. LUNN.)

A few weeks of solitary tramping in the Himalaya Mountains is an un- ' usual kind of tour 'to-take, and one which is well worth recording, especially when the trip in question is taken at a period of drought when the plains below are enduring unnameable horrors that follow in the wake of the rivers and wells running dry, all green tilings perishing, and disease stalking in the shadows. My tramp down from one of the world's mightiest mountain ranges is an unforgettable experience. The liillmen I met on my sojourn were of the Mongolian type, narrow-eyed and high-cheeked, living in mud huts and sleeping on sheepskins. In the role of a harmless, if peculiar wanderer, a white sahib in unconventional clothes, whose character they could not quite place, though they trusted me enough, I shared their- fare and became initiated in a good many of their customs and traditions. But absorbing though my stay proved to be, I did not intend to remain too long, for I meant to reach Simla before winter set in and the passes were snowed up. The Landslide. One night there arose a mighty din apparent above the roar of the torrent that tumbled in a nearby ravine. It had been raining for some time, for the drought had broken slightly in the higher altitudes of the passes, though the lower reaches still lay parched and waterless. I and my Khotgar guide, whom I had recently engaged, came out of the hut to investigate, but in the darkness we could not discern the cause of that sinister noise. At dawn, however, our suspense ended. Part of the ledge on which the native village was built had disappeared into the abyss below. A landslide had carried away hundreds of tons of earth, rubble and stone, together with many huts and hapless inhabitants. Our own hut practically hung in a curve between two giant boulders. We started for. Simla that very day, and a few days' travelling over rough country brought us to the Government roads. Erom Simla I made my way by rail and road to the edge of the great Thar Mahamari desert. In normal times this region produces large crops of corn maize and other cereals; there are also banana and mango and indigo groves. But all vegetation was now dried up, for the monsoon was late. The rain-bringing wind had failed, and death was coming in its stead. The sky was flaming red and the air like the breath of a furnace. A white streak of roadway fended its way through charred

and blackened fields. The earth lay cracked in numerous crevices and as hard as rock, while swarms of crows and vultures were visible in all directions. Fruit trees were shedding their last shrivelled leaves. The still, hot ait burned the lungs and was so unbearable that it gave one the sensation of a red veil being drawn from time to time across the eyes, blinding one to the arid landscape stretching before one in burning desolation. Waiting For Rain. The watercourses were dried up, and even their mudbanks were baked into a substance that felt as hard as stone. Business called me further up-country, so that I could not linger long in the stricken land, but I had a little water and a few provision by me, and curiosity impelled me to remain a short time longer and try and see this regular phenomen of nature out to the finish. Covered with the white dust of the road, I rested awhile at a crossing, when coming from the distance I heard a rumbling noise which at first I took to be thunder. But an approaching cloud of dust revealed a lorry full of British soldiers, an officer in command. The lorry was loaded with barrels of water. The relief party stopped and allowed me to take some water from their supply. They also gave me a box of sardines, some ship biscuits and a bottle of limejuice. As they left I heard the officer express astonishment that a white man should be found touring such a region at s'uch a time. As the lorry rumbled away I pursued course. I reached the outskirts of a village. The first thing I noticed was a strayed buffalo being worried by crows and vultures. Further, I saw another one lying supine and dying on the ground, then seven more. These lay in a heap, all dead. Drought, Death and Desolation. More crows and vultures circled around the village as I approached, like birds of ill omen. In the first hut I entered I saw a dead native. A woman, covered with a tattered green and red shawl, and a fearful state of emaciation was lying beside him, her hand extending over the skeleton form of a young boy. Her features had been cruelly peeked, and a vplture fluttered away heavily as I came in. From house to house the same sights greeted me. Dead people and domestic animals were lying about, and the dying were awaiting the end, merely staring at one as one appeared, perhaps dimly hoping for religious succour t Everywhere the crows and vultures rent the air with their noisome screeches, glutted with food, the jackals in the distance echoing their cries. In the morning three lorries came to the village laden with British Tommies bringing water and food to the stricken inhabitants. In many cases relief came too late, and a large grave was dug and filled with quicklime in which to bury the dead. The dwellings were disinfected, and those that were built of bamboo the soldiers set on fire. The same conditions prevailed in other villages. On the fourth day of my wanderings I reached a spot that in normal times must have been a native village enshrined in a beautiful grove; there, too, I found drought, death and desolation.

The Monsoon. I found my way to the banks of a nearby watercourse and sought refuge in the riverside dwelling of a Rajput native. My sleep when I could close my eyes was haunted with dreams of carnage; I had had enough of the drought. And then came the monsoon! It was in the depths of the night; we were lying in the hut trying to breathe in the stifling atmosphere, when a gust of wind suddenly rushed whining through the village. Joyous voices arose, naked feet pattered about in the dust, as their owners rushed hither and thither spreading the glad news, and lights winked up in the darkness. The whole village ; was, alive again. Men were laughing and singing; beasts bellowed, screamed, squawked and capered. Something warm and wet dropped on my forehead, and my native host pointed to the nebulous horizon line as we listened to the sounds of jubilation all round us. The whole world was shouting and singing in a mad thanksgiving for deliverance. The blessed rain was coming through the roof of the hut. Rain was pouring in torrents. The monsoon had come! — ("Star" and Anglo-American N.S. Copyright.).