Srinagar, Nov. 27 -- I was long in front of the glass, and I could see my face flushed by the rays of the autumn sun. My mother had at last wearied of my patience when she saw me like that.What has wrong, she asked her, nearly painfully, with almost a cry. You are as busy as thieves spying upon your own image since you were away at Bangalore. What vexes you, then, so much?I replied meekly and with concern, Mother, half my face was burnt under the eyes of this November sun.To this, she replied, Such November sun, how savagely it racks the beautiful velvet leaves off their trees, leaving them half-burned, ashes scattered about on the ground, which is one day to be their grave. Before such power, what value will a face of clay have?I looked ...