Riding up the last slope of the pass, on our way back to Kashmir from the north, we overtook and passed a string of about a hundred transport ponies and their drivers coming back unloaded, their service for the year over. The men were singing lustily; not very melodious, but very light-hearted and gay.
"Why are they singing?" we asked, in the true sprit of the globe-trotter, of the home-sick boy who was with our ponies. "Are they not," he said," going back to Kashmir?"
This property was reserved by
fazili1
on
September 5, 1999
I'm 24 years old,
From Srinagar,Kashmir,IN.
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