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0188 Tibet and Turkestan : vol.1
Tibet and Turkestan : vol.1 / Page 188 (Color Image)

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doi: 10.20676/00000231
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your mother than to you. In the decent veil of
figure, the fact may thus be presented: If the pent-
up volume of some mountain lake can find but one
outlet, down into some one valley whose wasting
sands shall be fertilised into life by the rushing
waters, and if the due season be not come for the
flood-letting, then it is better that the valley be
hidden from the covetous lake by some great dam
(or slender screen) of custom.

The women were neatly clad in Bokhara patterns
of the cheap silks, which give colour to brown
humanity in Central Asia. When I wondered,
through Achbar, where our hostess did her shop-
ping, "From the caravan," she said. "Have you
ever been to Yarkand, only ten days away to the
north-west?" "No." "Or to Leh, only ten days
away to the southward?" "No, the caravans pass
two days from here." So this happy, incurious
female had never seen the bazaars, palpitating with
men and women, though to say ten days' journey
there is as a few hours to our nervous selves. Had
she not, for neighbours, those whom we had left
three days ago? Yes, she had even seen one Euro-
pean before, when in another camp. Was not her
existence full enough?

When, a few days later, we struck the main trail
beaten by the foot-fall of the centuries we felt that
we were again suddenly caught in the whirl of life's
currents. Now caravans were met—one, two, or
three each day. Now we got tobacco and sugar;
we even had news of a friend, the Hindoo Aksakol
from Yarkand, en route to his old home in the Pun-
jab and now just a day ahead of us. All the while