amazed to discover that there were different sects in Islam, and Mohammed Beg was puzzled by their strange ways. The boy knew enough Hindustani, the language used over large parts of northern India and adjacent regions of Central Asia, to ask them about their beliefs and practices.
"Do you people go to Mecca for the pilgrimage?" he asked one of them.
"No," the man replied, "our holy place is Karbala, near Baghdad, where lies the grave of beloved Husain, the martyred son of Ali, and we go there by ship from India. When our dead are buried we put pieces of wood with sacred inscriptions in Arabic in their armpits, and turn their faces toward Karbala."
Weary but jubilant as every milepost was passed, our travelers went on and on until, by way of the lofty pass known as Zoji La, they dropped down, down, down into the wild valley of the roaring Sind River. They followed its narrow wooded gorges until they reached that region of surpassing beauty, the Vale of Kashmir. With the green rice fields of the valley encircled with snowy ranges, this spot has been well described as "an emerald set in diamonds."
However, Mohammed Beg was not so much impressed with the beauty of the scenery as with the fact that they had come thus far successfully over the most tedious part of their journey. From here on they would not have to depend on their own legs. Automobiles, trains, and ships would take them the rest of the long journey to Mecca, and from now on
