Of all the rude, primitive and ramshackle contrivances ever invented for water carriage, commend me to a _zàhitra_. This one consisted of about thirty or forty pieces of bamboo, from ten to twelve feet long, lashed together by bands of some tough creeper or _vàhy_, which said bamboos were constantly slipping out of their places and needed trimming at every trip, and the fastenings had to be refixed. The _zàhitra_ would take only two boxes and one man at a trip, besides the captain of the raft, and when loaded was from a third to a half of it under water. The civilisation of the people about here seemed to have not yet produced a paddle; a split bamboo supplied (very imperfectly) the place of one. Owing to the strong current and the feeble navigating appliances available, not more than about four trips over and back again could be made in an hour. And so there on the bank we sat from a little after two o’clock until nearly six, watching the ferrying over of our baggage, and then of our bearers. At sunset a good number of our men were still on the wrong side of the water, and so, as there was no possibility of getting them all over that day, and neither Mr S. nor I relished the prospect of a voyage on a _zàhitra_ in the dark, we crossed at a little after sunset. We made a safe passage, but got considerably wet during its progress; Mr S. took an involuntary foot-bath, and I a sitz-bath. The rest of our men returned to a village overlooking the river, while we went a little way up the woods and, finding a level spot, pitched the tent there, our bearers who had crossed occupying two or three woodcutters’ huts which were fortunately close at hand. [Sidenote: A VILLAGE BELLE]