Every inch is charming and distinguished. All these rooms are built
along the high wall which in the time of Shah Jahan and his many lady
loves was washed by the Jumna. But to-day the river has receded and a
broad strip of grass intervenes.
A DAY'S HAWKING
One of my best Indian days was that on which Colonel Sir Umar Hayat Khan
took us out a-hawking. Sir Umar is himself something of a hawk--an
impressive figure in his great turban with long streamers, his keen
aquiline features and blackest of hair. All sport comes naturally to
him, whether hunting or shooting, pig-sticking, coursing or falconry;
and the Great War found him with a sportsman's eagerness to rush into
the fray, where he distinguished himself notably.
We found this gallant chieftain in the midst of his retainers on the
further bank of the Jumna, at the end of the long bridge. Here the
plains begin--miles of fields of stubble, with here and there a tree and
here and there a pool or marsh, as far as eye can reach, an ancient
walled city in the near distance being almost the only excrescence.
Between the river and this city was our hunting ground.
With the exception of Sir Umar, two of his friends and ourselves, the
company was on foot; and nothing more like the middle ages did I ever
see. The retainers were in every kind of costume, one having an old pink
coat and one a green; one leading a couple of greyhounds in case we put
up a hare; others carrying guns (for we were prepared for all); while
the chief falconer and his assistants had their hawks on their wrists,
and one odd old fellow was provided with a net, in which a captive live
hawk was to flutter and struggle to attract his hereditary foes, the
little birds, who, deeming him unable to hit back, were to swarm down to
deride and defy and be caught in the meshes.
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