salaams--all
these only serve to wean one's thoughts from the oppressive heat for a
moment. At times one fairly gasps for breath and looks involuntarily
about in forlorn search of some place of escape, if only for a moment,
from the stifling atmosphere. A feeling of utter lassitude and loss of
ambition comes over one; the importance of accomplishing one's object
diminishes, and the necessity of yielding to the pressure of the fearful
heat and taking things easy becomes the all-absorbing theme of the
imagination. A supreme and heroic effort of the will is necessary to
arouse one from the inclination to remain in the shade indefinitely,
regardless of everything else.

No sort of accommodation is to be obtained this side of Amritza, however,
so, waiting until the dreadful power of the sun is tempered somewhat by
his retirement beneath the trees, I resume my journey, making several
brief halts in deference to an overwhelming sense of lassitude ere
completing the thirty-five miles. Owing to these frequent halts, it is
after dark when I arrive at Amritza--a thoroughly wilted individual,
and suffering agonies from the prickly heat aggravated by the feverish
temperature superinduced by the exertion of the afternoon ride. My karki
suit and underclothes hold almost as much moisture as though I had just
been fished out of the river, and my dry-drained corporeal system is
clamorous for the wherewithal to quench the fires of its feverish heat as
I alight in the suburbs of Amritza and inquire for the dak bungalow.

A willing native guides me to a hotel where a smooth-mannered Parsee
Boniface accommodates Sahibs with supper, charpoy, and chota-hazari for
the small sum of Rs4; punkah-wallahs, pahnee-wallahs, sweepers, etc.,
extra. A cooling douche with water kept at a low temperature in the
celebrated porous bottles, a change of underclothing, and a punkah-wallah
vigorously engaged in creating an artificial breeze, soon change things
for the better. All these refreshing and renovating appliances, however,
barely suffice to stimulate one's energy up to the duty of jotting down
in one's diary a brief summary of the day's happenings.

The punkah of India is a long, narrow fan, suspended by cords from the
ceiling; attached to it is another cord which finds its way outside
through a convenient hole in the wall or window-frame. For the
magnificent sum of three annas (six cents) the hopeful punkah-wallah sits
outside and fills the room with