Riding Homewards, We Stopped About A Mile Out Of Beila To Inspect The
Djam's Garden, A Large Rambling Piece Of Ground About Fifty Acres In
Extent, Enclosed By High Walls Of Solid Masonry.
Never was I more
surprised than upon entering the lofty iron gates guarded by a sowar
in neat white uniform.
It seemed incredible that such fertility and
abundance could exist in this dry, arid land. The cool fragrant
gardens, with their shady grass walks, forest trees, and palms,
springing up, as it were, out of the scorched, stony desert, reminded
one of a bunch of sweet-smelling flowers in a fever ward, and the
scent of rose, jasmine, and narcissus was apparent quite half a mile
away. In the centre of the garden is a tamarind tree of enormous
girth. It takes twelve men with joined hands to surround it. Half an
hour was spent in this pleasant oasis, which was constructed by the
late Djam, after infinite trouble and expense, by means of irrigation
from the Purali river. There are also two deep wells of clear water in
the grounds, which are never quite dry even in the hottest seasons.
Proceeding homewards, we had scarcely reached camp when a terrific
thunderstorm burst over our heads. The thunderclaps were in some
instances nearly a minute in duration, and the lightning unpleasantly
close and vivid.
The weather clearing, I visited the bazaar in the evening, under
the guidance of my old friend, the Wazir. Trade is, as I have said,
practically _nil_ in Beila, and the manufactures, which are trifling,
are confined to oil, cotton, a rough kind of cloth, and coarse
carpets; indeed, throughout the country, commerce is almost at a
standstill.
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