India 2001 books

We joined some peasants, and they told us that they were going to the
great festival. The old mother halted at a sort of sheep pen by the
roadside; when she rejoined us she was wiping her eyes.
"That was my brother," she explained; "he was killed in the war;" for it
is the custom to erect memorial stones by the roadside. Many of these
are very quaint, sometimes painted with a soldier, or else with the
rifle, sword, pistols and medals of the deceased.
Chainitza lies in a backwater, where the deep valley makes a sudden
bend. When we came to it the sun was in our eyes, and halfway between
the crest and the river the town seemed to float in a bluish mist; two
white mosques stood out against the trees, and the roof of one was not
one dome, but many like an inverted egg frier, or almost as though it
was boiling over.
We were stopped at the entry by a sentry.
"Where are you going?"
"To the Russian Hospital."
He took us in charge and led us, in spite of protestations, to the
hotel.


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