A Story of War

Last night at Kaffir Kot, where I climbed up to see the fort and to shoot sisi round a homestead or two up there. No sisi and no chikor, not the next morning either. This morning crossed to Huran Wala and I got nine pidgeon. Hundreds of them, in winter thousands, which hadn’t been shot for two years, and I got four with my first shot. Long, thick grass through which one forces ones way under the trees in which the pidgeons roost. Like African jungle, and almost romantic if it wasn’t India, or was in Assam. I wear shorts and a topee, shoes and a shirt ashore for the morning and evening shoots, but nothing else. A swim before lunch and tea, the water being icy and the current too strong for me in most places.

Later tied up for a partridge shoot, and got led into a swamp, but as Amar Khan said, my ‘dil’ wasn’t in it though I got one black one. From Hiran Wala a boatman was sent to Kundian Junction – five miles off – to get me half a dozen beers, as I’m fed up with whiskey and boiled Indus. He leaves at 1pm and catches me up downstream in the small boat at 7.30pm.