That dignitary was upon his legs again to-day, and Rajoo
convalescent once more. Arriving about three P.M. at our old ground
at Pushkoom, we found the peaceful, quiet-looking little spot we
had left, a scene of the greatest noise and bustle imaginable. We
were now received in due form by the Kardar, and Thanadar of Kurgil,
not to mention the Wuzeer, or Vizier of Pushkoom. This dignitary had
formerly been its Rajah, but during Gulab Singh's time was reduced
to the post of Vizier, or Prime Minister to nobody in particular,
with a salary of some thirty rupees per annum. Where our last camp
was pitched, we found a circle of natives congregated, some standing,
some sitting on their haunches, but all accompanying to the full extent
of their voices -- at the same time clapping time with their hands --
the efforts of a band of six or seven artists on the pipe and tabor,
who kept up a quavering strain of what they doubtless believed to be
music. To the united melody thus produced, a string of a dozen or so
of ladies, in their full war paint, were decorously going through the
monotonous evolutions of a popular dance, waving their arms about,
gesticulating, and at the same time lingering, as it were, over the
ground, and comporting themselves in that staid, yet fitfully lively
way, which seems to be the general style of Eastern dancing.
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