The Silken East
and three weeks can pass without any break in the barrier of waters. So I come to the Pani with some qualms.
There is a monastery in a tamarind grove overlooking the river, and monks and scholars come out to the carved railings to see us ride by. The Pani, red and heavy with silt, is flowing swiftly on its way. Although not in full flood, it is too deep to be forded, and there is no passage for carts, wThich would merely
plunge in and are instantly carried off their feet. The stream bears them rapidly down, till they succeed in landing on the farther shore, some distance from where they started. Immediately the horses are ashore they fall to cropping the soft grass, having apparently enjoyed the plunge into the water.
As we go on the road grows worse, and so grows admiration for the little beasts that carry us. They plunge bravely through the heaviest slush, often to their knees in its grip, and my feet dip in the thick
in the village
be swept away. So we cross over in a small flat-bottomed boat, with the saddles, rifles, and trappings, while the horses are led a little way higher up the river. Man and horse