THE KEY TO INDIA

Evening Star, Issue 19551, 9 May 1927, Page 8

THE KEY TO INDIA

India is a land of contrasts. Each district has its own characteristics and represents a consistent unique picture. Tho rapid changes from the feudal grandeur of Udaipur to tho splendor of tho Mogul cities of Agra and Delhi, and again to the wild vitality of the Himalayas, Peshawar, and tho Khyber Pass overwhelm tho traveller. 1 had heard many things about the famous Pass, states a writer in the ‘Sphere.’ Geographically, it stands as ono of tho principal routes through tho almost-solid half-circle of the Himalayas into India from Afghanistan, Persia, and eventually Asia Minor and Europe. Historically it has been the route of all the great conquerors of India from Alexander the Great to tho Mogul Emperors. One evening wo came to Peshawar, the British military station and entrance to tho Pass. Wc had heard of its fierce Pathan inhabitants and the dangers of the night, so wo stepped gingerly out on a very dreary platform, to see many mysterious figures apparently draped in nigs, running in and out of dark corners. Before long we were seized upon by one of these same dusky forms, who turned out to bo, not a brigand as would have seemed appropriate to the situation, but a mere courier from our hotel. The next day, a fine clear one, we started in. an automobile , for, our Khyber Pass excursion., This historic highway can only bo visited bn caravan days, Tuesday and Thursday of each week (as those are the only times when the road is specially , guarded), with a permit from the Military Commissioner. The reason for the guard is that the mountains around this part of the border are inhabited by wild and lawless tribes who manufacture their own firearms. The entrance to the pass, some nine miles from Pashawar, is guarded by the huge mud fort Jamrud, occupied by British troops. Here you and your permit are most carefully looked over before yon can proceed, and if the examination is favorable, you are allowed to enter the Pass proper. The road emerges into two, ono for the caravans, another for motors, while the newly-constructed railroad crosses them at intervals as it runs in and out of tunnels. At the frontier itself stands a notice board forbidding the entry into Afghanistan; visitors are not allowed to go as far as this, but we , were escorted to a place two miles away, wdicrc a magnificent view of the Afghan mountains and the route to Cabul can be seen. As we knew it was caravan day, we naturally expected we should , see a caravan, and had been wondering just what form they w'ould take—■whether bullock carts or mountain,, ponies—as we had seen previously. Now it happened the motor road was under repair, so w r e were obliged to go along the other one. Almost directly after passing Fort Jamrud we came abreast of the first caravan, a string of scores of camels tethered together, winding no the road in single file. , Nothing could have been more picturesque than those astounding prehistoric brutes, huge hairy beasts, twice as big as the Egyptian variety, and looking

as though they had been wrapped up in heavy, yellow bearskin rugs. Every camel was laden with large wooden boxes, rugs, and goods of all sorts. I distinctly remember large cases of Lipton’s tea and a very wellknown brand of soap. Fit companions for these strange beasts were the crowds of ragged, wild-looking men with • them, all armed with guns or knives, with huge rod beards, shocks of hair, and curious unkempt bits of clothing. We had plenty of time to get some very near views of the caravans as their endless line over and over again stopped our automobile. Many, verv seared by our chariot, pranced around and refused to he comforted. Exactly wliy we or a camel did not go over the precipice at one side of the road is a miracle to me.