This morning he was taking his son. When Rhamon came out he jumped down into the back end of the shikara beside his father. Taking up their paddles they worked together with long quick strokes. Each stroke ended with a jerk that shot the boat forward through the water.
Rhamon made up his mind that when he was a man he would have his very own shikara—a splendid big one with fine carving, soft cushions inside and a place for six oarsmen.
On their way down the river they passed boats of every description. There were shikaras like their own, skimming swiftly over the water, merchant boats, dugouts loaded with vegetables, slow-gliding grain barges, and some being poled along by a man or woman who stood balancing far out on the tip.
Rhamon enjoyed these trips with his father to Srinagar. There was much to see and do there, and today he had a few annas to spend for sweets in the bazaars. Subro took his bubbling water pipe with him, for he was sure to meet
