Slowly Down the Ganges. Eric Newby

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      Amrutanjan

      Smelling Salt

      Vaseline bottle

      J & J De Chane’s

      Medical Service set with its guide book

      Homeopathic Box & a guide Booh

      Diarrhoea Pills

      Dysentery Pills

      Indigestion Pills

      Malaria Pills

      Boric Powder

      Cotton

      Cloth (Plaster)

      Bandage cloth

      Aspro Tablets

      Purgative chacklets

      Tooth powder or paste

       Utensiles

      Canvas bucket

      Cooker

      Oven

      One set of stainless steel vessels

      Ladle

      Spoons – 3

      Fraid pan

      Tiffin Carrier

      Tumbler

      Glass

       Miscellaneous

      Looking Glass and comb

      Soaps for bath and wash

      Nails of all sizes

      Locks 2

      Cloth bags for food stuffs

      Pen knife

      Small gunny bag for coal

      Wrist Watch

      Umbrella

      Hand stick

      Visiting Cards

      List of departed souls and their Gotras

      Hand bags 2

      Note book

      White Papers

      Fountain pen and pencil

      Candles

      Needles and thread

      Railway Guide

      Pilgrim’s Travel Guide

      A small hand axe

      Good Camera with flash

      Movie (Cene) Camera

      Tongue Cleaner

      Suit case or hand jip bag

      Lock and chain

      Pandari bag to carry things on shoulder

      Safety pins

      Change for Rs. 10 00

      Setuvu from Rameswaram

      Ganges from Allahabad

      Haridwar or Gangottari

      Rail and Road Maps

      Battery light with spare Batteries

      Thermos Flask

      Hurricane Lamp

      Match box

      Calendar both Telugu and English

      News Papers

      Ink bottles

      Postage stamps and cards

      from A Pilgrim’s Travel Guide

      At six-fifteen the following morning we were at the bridge, ready to embark. A bitter wind was blowing and against a pink sky flights of teal and mallard were rocketing upstream towards the Hardwar gorge.

      The boat was moored ready for us alongside one of the piers of the bridge on the upstream side and the current was grinding it against the stones, emphasising its tinniness. It was as full of holes as it had ever been and there were eight inches of water in the bottom. Because of its lightness it had somehow achieved a balance between floating and foundering; but if any further weight was imposed on it, it would certainly scuttle itself.

      Of the crew whom we had interviewed the previous day, a pair of terrible ruffians with mops of greasy hair, there was no sign. We had told them to be ready to leave at six and we had arrived at a quarter past, hoping to start within an hour or so, this being the custom of the country, but now it was evident it did not matter at what time they arrived; there would be no sailing in this boat today or any other day.

      We were prey to all the violent, unworthy emotions that have consumed visitors to India from time immemorial: impotent rage; the desire that Timur Leng, the terrible Tatar, knew and was able to gratify, to make hecatombs and raise great towers of skulls (he made a sanguinary detour to the banks of the Ganges in the Year of the Hare, 1399, and entered Hardwar and sacked it sometime at the end of January that year); but for us there was no such way to vent our spleen, except by allowing it to evaporate. For the inhabitants of India have a simple genius for concocting exasperating situations which, however long he may have lived in the country and however much he may have anticipated them, burst on the victim each time with pristine force. One of the prerequisites of real exasperation is that there should be no one to vent one’s anger on, and there was no one. The wind whistled through the reed walls of the bridge-builder’s hut but there were no dormant figures inside it to rouse from sleep and galvanise into activity. We were alone on the river bank under a vast sky.

      It was at this moment that G. announced that the Executive Engineer of the Irrigation Works, who had been away on our first morning in Hardwar, had come back.

      ‘He has returned from Tour,’ he said. ‘Now he is giving us his boat. But first we are speaking with Assistant Engineer. He is feeling kindly towards us.’

      The Assistant Engineer lived in a bungalow that was almost completely shrouded in bougainvillaea. It was difficult to imagine why he should be feeling well-disposed towards us. After an interval he appeared in a dressing-gown. The patience of Indian officials in the face of requests that must appear to them to be either lunatic or frivolous has to be experienced to be credible. What we were doing in this instance was the equivalent in Britain of waking СКАЧАТЬ