BALUCHISTÁN--BEILA.
The coast-line of Baluchistán is six hundred miles long. On it there
is one tree, a sickly, stunted-looking thing, near the telegraph
station of Gwádar, which serves as a landmark to native craft and a
standing joke to the English sailor. Planted some years since by a
European, it has lived doggedly on, to the surprise of all, in this
arid soil. The Tree of Baluchistán is as well known to the manner in
the Persian Gulf as Regent Circus or the Marble Arch to the London
cabman.
With this solitary exception, not a trace of vegetation exists along
the sea-board from Persian to Indian frontier. Occasionally, at
long intervals, a mud hut is seen, just showing that the country is
inhabited, and that is all. The steep, rocky cliffs, with their sharp,
spire-like summits rising almost perpendicularly out of the blue sea,
are typical of the desert wastes inland.
"And this is the India they talk so much about!" says Gerôme,
contemptuously, as we watch the desolate shores from the deck of the
steamer. I do not correct the little man's geography. It is too hot
for argument, for the heat is stifling. There is not a breath of air
stirring, not a ripple on the smooth oily sea, and the sides of the
ship are cracking and blistering in the fierce, blinding sunshine.
Under the awning the temperature is that of a furnace, and one almost
regrets the cold and snow of three weeks ago, so perverse is human
nature.
Mark Tapley himself would scarcely have taken a cheerful view of
things on landing at Sonmiani. Imagine a howling wilderness of rock
and scrub, stretching away to where, on the far horizon, some low
hills cut the brazen sky-line. On the beach the so-called town of
Sonmiani--a collection of dilapidated mud huts, over which two or
three tattered red and yellow banners flutter in the breeze, and
beneath which a small and shallow harbour emits a powerful odour of
mud, sewage, and rotten fish. Every hut is surmounted by a "badgir,"
or wind-catcher--a queer-looking contrivance, in shape exactly like a
prompter's box, used in the summer heats to cool the interior of the
dark, stifling huts. A mob of ragged, wild-looking Baluchis, with
long, matted locks and gaudy rags, completes this dreary picture.
Shouts of "Kamoo!" from the crowd brought a tall, good-looking native,
clad in white, out of an adjacent hut, who, I was relieved to find,
was the interpreter destined to accompany us to Kelát. The camels and
escort were, he said, ready for a start on the morrow, if necessary.
In the mean time there was a bare but clean Government bungalow at our
disposal, and in this we were soon settled. But notwithstanding the
comparative comfort of our quarters compared with the filthy native
houses around, I determined to get away as soon as possible. The
mosquitoes were bad enough, but the flies were far worse. Ceiling,
walls, and floor were black with them. One not only ate them with
one's food, but they inflicted a nasty, poisonous bite. As for the
smells, they were beyond description; but the fact that a dead camel
was slowly decomposing in the immediate vicinity of our dwelling may
have had something to do with this.
With all these drawbacks, I was glad to find the population, although
dirty, decidedly friendly--rather too much so, indeed; for the little
whitewashed room was crowded to overflowing the greater part of the
day with relays of visitors, who apparently looked upon us as a kind
of show got up for their entertainment. Towards sunset a tall, swarthy
fellow, about fifty years old, with sharp, restless eyes and a huge
hook nose, made his appearance at the doorway; and this was the signal
for a general stampede, for my visitor was no other than the head-man
of Sonmiani--Chengiz Khan.
Chengiz was attired in a very dirty white garment, loose and flowing
to the heels, and a pair of gold-embroidered slippers. A small conical
cap of green silk was perched rakishly on the top of his head, from
which fell, below the shoulders, a tumbled mass of thick, coarse,
black hair. The head-man was unarmed, but his followers, five in
number, fairly bristled with daggers and pistols. Like all natives,
Chengiz was at first shy and reserved. It was only when I had
prevailed upon him to take a cigar that my visitor became more at his
ease. Having lit his cheroot, he took a long pull and passed it on to
one of his followers, who repeated the performance. When it had gone
the round twice it was thrown away; and Chengiz, turning to Kamoo,
gravely asked if I wished for anything before he retired for the
night.
"You should reach Kelát in twenty-five days," was the answer to my
question, "provided the camels keep well and you have no difficulty
with the people at Gwarjak; they are not used to Europeans, and may
give you some trouble."
One of the men here whispered to his chief.
"Malak is the name of the head-man at Gwarjak," went on Chengiz--"a
treacherous, dangerous fellow. Do not have much to do with Malak; he
detests Europeans."
Malak was, judging from my experiences that night, not the only
Baluchi possessed of this failing. Chengiz having left, I retired to
rest, to be suddenly aroused at midnight by a piercing yell, and to
find a tall, half-naked fellow, with wild eyes and a face plastered
with yellow mud, standing over me, brandishing a heavy club. Though a
revolver was at hand, it was useless; for I saw at a glance that I had
to deal with a madman. After a severe tussle, Gerôme and I managed to
throw out the unwelcome visitor and bar the door, though we saw him
for an hour or more prowling backwards and forwards in the moonlight
in front of the bungalow, muttering to himself, waving his arms about,
and breaking every now and then into peals of loud laughter. The
incident now seems trifling enough, though it left a powerful
impression upon my mind that night, on the eve of setting out through
an unknown country, where the life of a European more or less is of
little moment to the wild tribes of the interior. The madman was a
dervish, the head-man said, and perfectly harmless as a rule, but
liable to fits of rage at sight of a European and unbeliever. I was,
therefore, not sorry to hear next morning that this ardent follower
of the Prophet had been securely locked up, and would not be released
till the morrow, when we were well on the road to Beïla.
There are, I imagine, few countries practically so little known to
Europeans as the one we were about to traverse. I had, up to the time
of my visit, often wondered that, with India so near, Baluchistán
should have been so long allowed to remain the _terra incognita_
it is. My surprise ceased on arrival at Kelát. It is impossible
to conceive a more monotonous or uninteresting journey, from a
traveller's point of view, than that from the sea to Quetta--a
distance (by my route) of nearly five hundred miles, during which
I passed (with the exception of Kelát and Beïla) but half a dozen
villages worthy of the name, and met, outside the villages in
question, a dozen human beings at the most. This is, perhaps, scarcely
to be wondered at. The entire population of the country does not
exceed 450,000, while its area is estimated at something like 140,000
square miles, of which 60,000 are under Persian rule, and the
remaining 80,000 (nominally) under the suzerainty of the Khan of
Kelát.
The inhabitants of Baluchistán may be roughly divided into two
classes: the Brahuis [A] in the north, and the Baluchis in the south.
The former ascribe their origin to the earliest Mohammedan invaders of
Persia, and boast of their Arab descent; the latter are supposed by
some to have been originally a nation of Tartar mountaineers who
settled at a very early period in the southern parts of Asia, where
they led a nomad existence for many centuries, governed by their own
chiefs and laws, till at length they became incorporated and attained
their present footing at Kelát and throughout Northern Baluchistán.
Both races differ essentially in language and customs, and are
subdivided into an infinitesimal number of smaller tribes under the
command or rule of petty chiefs or khans. Although somewhat similar in
appearance, the Brahuis are said to be morally and physically superior
to their southern neighbours. The Baluch, as I shall now call each, is
not a prepossessing type of humanity on first acquaintance, with his
swarthy sullen features, dark piercing eyes, and long matted locks.
Most I met in the interior looked, a little distance off, like
perambulating masses of dirty rags; but all, even the filthiest and
most ragged, carried a bright, sharp tulwar. Though rough and uncouth,
however, I found the natives, as a rule, hospitable and kindly. It was
only in the far interior that any unpleasantness was experienced. This
was, perhaps, only natural, seeing that seventy miles of the journey
lay through a region as yet unexplored by Europeans, the inhabitants
of which were naturally resentful of what they imagined to be
intrusion and interference.
Owing to the nomadic nature of the Baluchis, the barrenness of
their country, and consequent absence of manufactures and commerce,
permanent settlements are very rare.
[Illustration: SONMIANI]
With the exception of Quetta, Kelát, Beïla, and Kej, there are no
towns in Baluchistán worthy of the name. Even those I have mentioned
are, with the exception of Quetta (now a British settlement),
mere collections of tumble-down mud huts, invariably guarded by a
ramshackle fort and wall of the same material. The dwellings of the
nomads consist of a number of long slender poles bent and inverted
towards each other, over which are stretched slips of coarse fabrics
of camel's hair. It was only in the immediate neighbourhood of Gwarjak
that the native huts were constructed of dried palm-leaves, the
fertile soil of that district rendering this feasible.
Attended by Chengiz Khan in a gorgeous costume of blue and yellow
silk, and followed by a rabble of two or three hundred men and boys, I
visited the bazaar next morning. Chengiz had preceded his visit with
the present of a fine goat, and evidently meant to be friendly,
informing me, before we had gone many yards, that the Queen of England
had just invested the Djam of Beïla (a neighbouring chief) with the
Star of India, and did I think that that honour was very likely to
accrue to him?
The trade of Sonmiani is, as may be imagined, insignificant. Most of
the low dark stalls were kept for the sale of grain, rice, salt, and
tobacco, by Hindus; but I was told that a brisk trade is done in fish
and sharks' fins; and dried fruits, madder, and saffron, sent down
from the northern districts, are exported in small quantities to
India and Persia. In the vicinity are some ancient pearl-fisheries of
considerable value, which were once worked with great profit. These
have been allowed to lie for many years undisturbed, owing to lack of
vigour and enterprise on the part of those in power in the state. Here
is a chance for European speculators.
By a well in the centre of the village stood some young girls and
children. The former were decidedly good looking, and one, but for the
hideous gold nose-ring, [B] would have been almost beautiful. Here, as
elsewhere in Baluchistán, the women present much more the Egyptian
type of face than the Indian--light bronze complexions, straight
regular features, and large, dark, expressive eyes. None of these made
the slightest attempt at concealment. As we passed, one of them
even nodded and smiled at Chengiz, making good use of her eyes, and
disclosing a row of small, pearly teeth. Their dress, a loose divided
skirt of thin red stuff, and short jacket, with tight-fitting sleeves,
open at the breast, showed off their slight graceful figures and
small, well-shaped hands and feet to perfection. Chengiz, pointing to
the group, smiled and addressed me in a facetious tone. "He wants to
know if you think them pretty," said my interpreter; but I thought it
best to maintain a dignified silence. The chief of Sonmiani was, for a
Mohammedan, singularly lax.
A kind of rough pottery is made at Sonmiani, and this is the only
industry. Some of the water-jars were neatly and gracefully fashioned,
of a delicate grey-green colour; others red, with rude yellow devices
painted on them. The clay is porous, and keeps the water deliciously
cool.
By four o'clock next morning all was ready for a start. The caravan
consisted of eighteen camels, four Baluchis, Kamoo, and Gerôme,
with an escort of ten soldiers of the Djam of Beïla, smart-looking,
well-built fellows in red tunics, white baggy trousers, and dark-blue
turbans. Each man, armed with a Snider rifle and twenty rounds of
ammunition, was mounted on a rough, wiry-looking pony. As we were
starting, Chengiz Khan rode up on a splendid camel, and announced his
intention of accompanying us the first stage, one of eighteen miles,
to Shekh-Raj.
Here the honest fellow bade us good-bye. "The sahib will not forget me
when he gets to India," he said, on leaving, thereby implying that he
wished to be well reported to the Indian Government. "But take care of
Malak; he is a bad man--a very bad man."
A rough and tedious journey of two days over deep sandy desert,
varied by an occasional salt marsh, brought us to Beïla, the seat of
government of the Djam, or chief of the province of Las Beïla, eighty
miles due north of Sonmiani. With a feeling of relief I sighted the
dirty, dilapidated city, with its mud huts and tawdry pink and green
banners surmounting the palace and fort. The Baluch camel is not the
easiest animal in existence, and I had, for the first few hours of the
march, experienced all the miseries of _mal de mer_ brought on by a
blazing sun and the rolling, unsteady gait of my ship of the desert.
Though awkward in his paces, the Baluch camel is swift. They are small
and better looking than most; nor do their coats present so much the
appearance of a "doormat with the mange," as those of the animals of
other countries. We had as yet passed but two villages--three or four
low shapeless huts, almost hidden in rock and scrub by the side of
the caravan-track, which, as far as Beïla, is pretty clearly defined.
There had been nothing else to break the dull, dead monotony of sand
and swamp, not a sign of human life, and but one well (at Outhal) of
rather brackish water.
On the second day one of the escort had pointed out a dry rocky bed
as the river Purali, which is one of the largest in Baluchistán, but,
like all the others, quite dry the greater portion of the year. There
are no permanent rivers in this country. To this fact is perhaps due
the slight knowledge obtained up to the present time of the interior,
where arid sandy deserts, dangerous alike to native or European
travellers, are the rule, and cover those large open spaces marked
upon maps as "unexplored." Notwithstanding the great width of the bed
of the Purali river in many places, it has no regular outlet into the
sea. Its waters, when in flood from rainfall, lose themselves in
the level plains in a chain of lagoons or swamps. Some of these are
several miles in length, but decrease considerably in the dry season,
when the water becomes salt. The Habb river, which divides Las from
the British province of Sind, is another case in point. It possesses
permanent banks, is fed from the Pabb chain of mountains, and after
heavy rains in these hills a large body of water is formed, which
rushes down to the sea with great force and velocity. But at other
times water is only to be found in a few small pools in its rocky bed.
It is, in short, a mountain torrent on a large scale. So also with the
greater number of streams in the western districts, though a few of
these have more the semblance of rivers than can be found elsewhere in
Baluchistán. Of lakes there are none throughout the entire area of the
country.
At Outhal we were met by one Hussein Khan, a wild-looking fellow
mounted on a good-looking chestnut horse, its saddle and headstalls
ornamented with bright-coloured leathers and gold and silver
ornaments. Hussein was from Beïla, with a message from the Djam to say
that I was welcome in his dominions. Tents were then pitched, and
I invited Hussein to partake of refreshment, which was refused. He
accepted a cigarette, however, but seemed undecided whether to smoke
or eat it, till presented with a light. Having asked if I would like
to be saluted with guns on arrival, an offer I politely declined, my
visitor then left to prepare for our reception on the morrow.
[Illustration: OUR CAMP AT OUTHAL]
Daybreak saw us well _en route_ and by 10 a.m. we were in sight of
Beïla. About a mile or so out of the city, a mounted sowar in scarlet
and gold uniform, and armed with two huge horse-pistols and a long
cavalry sabre, galloped up to the caravan. "It is a messenger from
the palace," said Kamoo, "to say that his Highness the Djam has been
suddenly called away to Kej, [C] but that his son, Prince Kumal Khan,
is riding out in state to meet the sahib, and conduct him to his
father's city."
The prince shortly afterwards appeared, mounted on a huge camel,
the tail and hind quarters of which were ornamented with intricate
patterns stamped on the hide by some peculiar process. A guard of
honour of thirty soldiers accompanied, while a rabble of two or three
hundred foot people surrounded the party, for the sight of a white
face is rare in Beïla. It was a strange scene: the picturesque city,
brilliant barbaric costume of the young chief and his followers, and
crowd of wild, half-naked Baluchis were fitly set off by surroundings
of desert landscape and dazzling sunshine. A Gerôme or Vereschágin
would have revelled in the sight.
Shaking hands with Kumal (no easy matter on camels), he placed me on
his right hand, and, heading the procession, we rode into Beïla, where
a large tent had been erected for my accommodation. Having placed a
guard at my disposal, the prince then left, announcing his intention
of receiving me in state that afternoon at the palace.
Beïla, which is protected by a fort and high mud wall, is situated on
the right bank of the river Purali, which, at the time of my visit,
was no more than a dry rocky bed. The town contains about 4000
inhabitants, and, from a distance, presents a curious appearance,
each house being fitted, as at Sonmiani, with a large "badgir," or
wind-catcher. Like most Eastern cities, Beïla does not improve on
closer acquaintance. The people are dirty and indolent. There is
little or no trade, and the dark, narrow streets, ankle-deep in mud
and filth, are crowded with beggars and pariah dogs, while the dull
drab colour of the mud houses is depressing in the extreme. The fort
and palace alone are built of brick, and, being whitewashed, relieve
to a certain extent the melancholy aspect of the place. I was escorted
to the latter the afternoon of my arrival by a guard of honour,
preceded by the Djam's band--half a dozen cracked English cavalry
trumpets!
Djam Ali Khan, the present ruler of the state of Las Beïla, is about
fifty years of age, and is a firm ally of England. The Djam is a
vassal of the Khan of Kelát, but, like most independent Baluch chiefs,
only nominally so. So far as I could glean, the court of Kelát has no
influence whatsoever beyond a radius of twenty miles or so from that
city. The provinces of Sarawán, Jhalawán, Kach-Gandáva, Mekrán, [D] and
Las Beïla, which constitute the vast tract of country known as Kalati
Baluchistán, are all governed by independent chiefs, nominally
viceroys of the Khan of Kelát. Practically, however, the latter
has little or no supremacy over them, nor indeed over any part of
Baluchistán, Kelát and its suburbs excepted.
Prince Kumal Khan received me in his father's durbar-chamber, a
cheerless, whitewashed apartment, bare of furniture save for a
somewhat rickety "throne" of painted wood, and a huge white linen
punkah, overlooking a dreary landscape of barren desert and mud roofs.
The prince, a tall, slim young man, about twenty-five years of
age, has weak but not unpleasing features. He was dressed in a
close-fitting tunic of dark-blue cloth, heavily trimmed with gold
braid, baggy white linen trousers, and a pair of European side-spring
boots, very dirty and down at heel. A light-blue turban completed his
attire.
The interview was not interesting. Notwithstanding all my efforts and
the services of the interpreter, Kumal was evidently shy and ill at
ease, and resolutely refused to enter into conversation. One thing,
however, roused him. Hearing that I was accompanied by a Russian,
Kumal eagerly demanded that he should be sent for. Gerôme presently
made his appearance, and was stared at, much to his discomfiture and
annoyance, as if he had been a wild beast. A pair of white-linen
drawers, no socks, carpet slippers, and a thin jersey, were my
faithful follower's idea of a costume suitable to the Indian
climate--surmounted by the somewhat inappropriate head-dress of a
huge astrakhan cap, which for no earthly consideration could he be
persuaded to exchange for a turban. "So that is a Russian!" said the
prince, curiously surveying him from head to foot. "I thought they
were all big men!" But patience has limits, and, with a muttered
"Dourák," [E] poor Gerôme turned and left the princely presence in
anything but a respectful manner.
Coffee and nargileh discussed, my host moved an adjournment to the
roof of the palace, where, he said, I should obtain a better view of
his father's city. This ceremony concluded, the trumpets sounded, a
gentle hint that the audience was at an end, and I took leave, and
returned to camp outside the walls of the town.
The Wazir, or Prime Minister, of the Djam paid me a visit in the
evening _sans cérémonie_--a jolly-looking, fresh-complexioned old
fellow, dressed in a suit of karki, cut European fashion, and with
nothing Oriental about him save a huge white linen turban. The Wazir
spoke English fairly well, and, waxing confidential over a cigar and
whisky-and-water (like my Sonmiani friend, the Wazir was no strict
Mussulman), entertained me with an account of the doings of the
Court in Beïla and the _aventures galantes_ of Kumal, who, from all
accounts, was a veritable Don Juan. "Will the Russians ever take
India?" asked the old fellow of Gerôme, as he left the tent. "You can
tell them they shall never get it so long as _we_ can prevent them;"
but the next moment the poor Wazir, to Gerôme's delight, had measured
his length on the ground. Either the night was very dark, or the
whisky very strong; a tent-rope had avenged the taunt levelled at my
companion's countrymen.
Early next morning came a message from Prince Kumal, inviting me
to visit the caves of Shahr-Rogan, an excavated village of great
antiquity, about ten miles from Beïla. I gladly accepted. The camels
were tired; the men of the caravan unwilling to proceed for another
day, and time hung heavily on one's hands, with nothing to vary the
monotony but an occasional shot at a wood-pigeon (which swarm about
Beïla), or a game of _ecarté_ (for nuts) with Gerôme.
The caves were well worth a visit. I could gain no information at
Beïla, Quetta, or even Karachi, as to the origin of this curious
cave-city, though there can be no doubt that it is of great antiquity.
Carless the traveller's account is perhaps the most authentic.
"About nine miles to the northward of Beïla a range of low hills
sweeps in a semicircle from one side of the valley to the other, and
forms its head. The Purali river issues from a deep ravine on the
western side, and rushes down (in the wet season) about two hundred
yards broad. It is bounded on one side by steep cliffs, forty or
fifty feet high, on the summit of which is an ancient burial-ground.
Following the stream, we gained the narrow ravine through which
it flows, and, turning into one of the lateral branches, entered
Shahr-Rogan."
Here, on the day in question, Prince Kumal called a halt. A couple
of small tents were pitched, and a meal, consisting of an excellent
curry, stewed pigeons, beer, and claret, served. Leaving the Prince
to amuse himself and delight his followers with his skill in
rifle-shooting at a mark chalked out on the rocks, I continued my
explorations. The result is, perhaps, better explained to the reader
in the words of an older and more experienced observer. Carless
says--"The scene was singular. On either side of a wild broken ravine
the rocks rise perpendicularly to the height of four or five hundred
feet, and are excavated, as far as there is footing to ascend, up to
the summit. The excavations are most numerous along the lower part
of the hills, and form distinct houses, most of which are uninjured
by-time. They consist, in general, of a room fifteen feet square,
forming a kind of open verandah, with an interior chamber of the same
dimensions, to which admittance is gained by a narrow doorway. There
are niches for lamps in many, and a place built up and covered in,
apparently to hold grain. Most of the houses or caves at the summits
of the cliffs are now inaccessible, from the narrow precipitous
paths by which they were approached having worn away. The cliffs are
excavated on both sides of the valley for a distance little short of
a mile. There cannot be less than fifteen hundred of these strange
habitations."
The caves of Shahr-Rogan are not the only sights of interest near
Beïla. Time, unfortunately, would not admit of my visiting the
mud-volcanoes of Las, situated near the Harra Mountains, about sixty
miles from Shahr-Rogan. The hills upon which these are found are
from three to four hundred feet high, and are conical in form, with
flattened and discoloured tops and precipitous sides. At their bases
are numerous fissures and cavities reaching far into their interior.
Captain Hart, who visited these geysers some years ago, describes
them as basins of liquid mud, about a hundred paces in diameter, in a
continual state of eruption. These geysers, or "chandra-kupr," as they
are called by the Baluchis, are also found on parts of the Mekrân
coast. Colonel Ross, H.M.'s Resident at Bushire, is of opinion that
these coast craters have communication with the sea, as the state of
the tides has considerable influence on the movements of the mud. This
theory is, perhaps, strengthened by the fact that by the coast natives
the volcanoes are called "Darya-Chân," or "Eyes of the Sea."
On the way back from Shahr-Rogan to Beïla a herd of antelope was
seen. I may here mention that, with one exception, this was the only
occasion upon which I came across big game of any kind throughout the
journey, although, from all accounts, there is no lack of wild animals
in Baluchistán. Bear and hyena are found in the southern districts,
and the leopard, wolf, ibex, and tiger-cat exist in other parts of
the country. The wild dog is also found in the northern and more
mountainous regions. The latter hunt in packs of twenty and thirty,
and will seize a bullock and kill him in a few minutes. On the other
hand, vermin and venomous animals are not so common as in India.
Dangerous snakes are rare, though we were much annoyed by scorpions
and centipedes in the villages of the north, and a loathsome bug, the
"mangar," which infests the houses of Kelát.
Riding homewards, we stopped about a mile out of Beïla to inspect the
Djam's garden, a large rambling piece of ground about fifty acres in
extent, enclosed by high walls of solid masonry. Never was I more
surprised than upon entering the lofty iron gates guarded by a sowar
in neat white uniform. It seemed incredible that such fertility and
abundance could exist in this dry, arid land. The cool fragrant
gardens, with their shady grass walks, forest trees, and palms,
springing up, as it were, out of the scorched, stony desert, reminded
one of a bunch of sweet-smelling flowers in a fever ward, and the
scent of rose, jasmine, and narcissus was apparent quite half a mile
away. In the centre of the garden is a tamarind tree of enormous
girth. It takes twelve men with joined hands to surround it. Half an
hour was spent in this pleasant oasis, which was constructed by the
late Djam, after infinite trouble and expense, by means of irrigation
from the Purali river. There are also two deep wells of clear water in
the grounds, which are never quite dry even in the hottest seasons.
Proceeding homewards, we had scarcely reached camp when a terrific
thunderstorm burst over our heads. The thunderclaps were in some
instances nearly a minute in duration, and the lightning unpleasantly
close and vivid.
The weather clearing, I visited the bazaar in the evening, under
the guidance of my old friend, the Wazir. Trade is, as I have said,
practically _nil_ in Beïla, and the manufactures, which are trifling,
are confined to oil, cotton, a rough kind of cloth, and coarse
carpets; indeed, throughout the country, commerce is almost at a
standstill.
This is scarcely surprising when the semi-savage state of the people,
and consequent risks to life and property, are taken into account. The
export trade of the interior is, though trifling at present, capable,
under firm and wise rule, of great improvement. Madder, almonds, and
dried fruit from Kelát and Mastung, seed and grain from Khozdar, small
quantities of assa-foetida from Nushki, and sulphur from Kach-Gandáva,
comprise all the exports. From Mekrán and Las Beïla are exported
"rogan," or clarified butter used for cooking purposes, hides, tobacco
(of a very coarse kind), salt fish, oil-seeds, and dates. The imports
chiefly consist of rice, pepper, sugar, spices, indigo, wood, and
piece goods, chiefly landed at the ports of Gwádar or Sonmiani. But
little is as yet known of the mineral products of this district. Iron
ore is said to exist in the mountains north of Beïla, while to the
south copper is reported as being found in large quantities; but
nothing has as yet been done to open up the mineral resources of the
district. Although silver and even gold have been found in small
quantities, and other minerals are known to exist, the only mines at
present in Baluchistán are those near Khozdar, in the province of
Jhalawán, where lead and antimony are worked, but in a very primitive
manner.
Notwithstanding the trade stagnation, there seems to be a good deal of
cultivation in and around Beïla. Water is obtained from deep wells;
and vegetables, rice, and tobacco are largely grown. Most of the
stalls in the bazaar were devoted to the sale of rice, wheat, and
tobacco, cheap cutlery, and Manchester goods; and I noticed, with some
surprise, cheap photographs of Mrs. Langtry, Ellen Terry, Miss Nelly
Farren, Sylvia Grey, and other leading lights of society and art,
spread out for sale among the many-bladed knives, nickel forks and
spoons, and German timepieces. Although the narrow alleys reeked with
poisonous smells and filth and abomination of all kinds, Beïla is not
unhealthy--so at least the Wazir informed me. I doubted the truth of
this assertion, however, for the features of every second person I met
were scarred more or less with small-pox.
My caravan, on leaving Beïla, was considerably increased. It now
consisted of twenty-two camels (six of which were laden with water),
five Baluchis, my original escort, and six of the Djam's cavalry. I
could well have dispensed with the latter, but the kindly little Wazir
would not hear of my going without them. An addition also to our party
was a queer creature, half Portuguese, half Malay, picked up by Gerôme
in the Beïla bazaar, and destined to fulfil the duties of cook. How he
had drifted to Beïla I never ascertained, and thought it prudent not
to inquire too much into his antecedents. No one knew anything about
him, and as he talked a language peculiar to himself, no one was ever
likely to; but he was an undeniably good _chef_, and that was the
chief consideration. Gaëtan, this strange being informed us, was his
name--speedily transformed by Gerôme into the more euphonious and
romantic name of Gaetano!
I took leave of the Prince and my old friend the Wazir with some
misgivings, for the new camel-drivers were Beïla men, and frankly
owned that their knowledge of the country lying between Gwarjak and
Noundra (where we were to leave the caravan-track) was derived chiefly
from hearsay.
There are two caravan-roads through Beïla. One, formerly much used, is
that over which we had travelled from the coast, and which, on leaving
Beïla, leads due north to Quetta _viâ_ Wadd and Sohrab. An ordinary
caravan by this route occupies at least forty days in transit.
Traffic is now, therefore, usually carried on by means of the safer
trade-routes through British Sindh, whereby the saving of time is
considerable, and chances of robbery much lessened. The second road
(which has branches leading to the coast towns of Gwádar, Pasui, and
Ormara) proceeds due west to Kej, capital of the Mekrán province,
near the Persian border. The latter track we were to follow as far as
Noundra, ninety miles distant. I should add that the so-called roads
of Baluchistán are nothing more than narrow, beaten paths, as often as
not entirely obliterated by swamp or brushwood. Beyond Noundra, where
we left the main track to strike northwards for Gwarjak, there was
absolutely nothing to guide us but occasional landmarks by day and the
stars at night.
Barring the intense monotony, the journey was not altogether
unenjoyable. To reach Noundra it took us five days. This may appear
slow work, but quicker progress is next to impossible in a country
where, even on the regular caravan-road, the guides are constantly
losing the track, and two or three hours are often wasted in regaining
it. The first two or three days of the journey lay through swampy
ground, through which the camels made their way with difficulty, for a
cat on the ice in walnut-shells is less awkward than a camel in mud.
Broad deep swamps alternating with tracts of sandy desert, with
nothing to relieve the monotonous landscape but occasional clumps of
"feesh," a stunted palm about three feet in height, and rough cairns
of rock erected by travellers to mark the pathway where it had become
obliterated, sufficiently describes the scenery passed through for the
first three days after leaving Beïla. Large stones accurately laid out
in circles of eighteen or twenty feet in diameter were also met with
at intervals of every two miles or so by the side of the track, and
this very often in districts where nothing was visible but a boundless
waste of loose, drifting sand. Our Baluchis could not or would not
explain the _raison d'être_ of them, though the stones must, in many
instances, have been brought great distances and for a definite
purpose. I could not, however, get any explanation regarding them at
either Kelát or Quetta.
With the exception of the Lakh Pass leading over a chain of hills
about eighteen miles due west of Beïla, the road to Noundra was as
flat as a billiard-table. The crossing of the Lakh, however, was not
accomplished without much difficulty and some danger; for the narrow
pathway, leading over rocky, almost perpendicular, cliffs, three to
four hundred feet high, had, in places, almost entirely crumbled away.
The summits of these cliffs present a curious appearance--fifty to
sixty needle-like spires, hardly a couple of feet thick at the top,
which look as if the hand of man and not of nature had placed them in
the symmetrical order in which they stand, white and clear-cut against
the deep-blue sky, slender and fragile as sugar ornaments, and looking
as though a puff of wind would send them toppling over. The ascent
was terribly hard work for the camels, and, as the track is totally
unprotected by guard-rail of any kind, anything but comfortable for
their riders. Towards the summit we met a couple of these beasts laden
with tobacco from Kej, in charge of a wild-looking fellow in rags,
as black as a coal, who eyed us suspiciously, and answered in sulky
monosyllables when asked where he hailed from. His merchandise,
consisting of four small bags, seemed hardly worth the carrying, but
Kej tobacco fetches high prices in Beïla. At this point the pathway
had latterly been widened by order of the Djam. Formerly, if two
camels travelling in opposite directions met, their respective owners
drew lots. The animal belonging to the loser was then sacrificed and
pushed over the precipice to clear the way for the other.
In the wet season a foaming torrent dashes through the Valley of Lakh,
but this was, at the time of my visit, a dry bed of rock and shingle.
Indeed, although we were fairly fortunate as regard wells, and I was
never compelled to put the caravan on short allowance, I did not
pass a single stream of running water the whole way from Sonmiani to
Dhaïra, twenty miles south of Gwarjak, though we must in that distance
have crossed at least fifteen dry river-beds, varying from twenty to
eighty yards in width.
Travelling in the daytime soon became impossible, on account of the
heat, as we proceeded further inland. A start was therefore generally
made before it was light, and by 11 a.m. the day's work was over,
tents pitched, camels turned loose, and a halt made till three or four
the next morning. Though the sun at midday was, with the total absence
of shade, dangerously powerful, and converted the interior of our
canvas tents into the semblance of an oven, there was little to
complain of as regards weather. The nights were deliciously cool, and
the pleasantest part of, the twenty-four hours was perhaps that from
8 till 10 a.m., when, dinner over and camp-fires lit, the Baluchis
enlivened the caravan with song and dance. Baluch music is, though
wild and mournful, pleasing. Some of the escort had fine voices,
and sang to the accompaniment of a low, soft pipe, their favourite
instrument. Gerôme was in great request on these occasions, and,
under the influence of some fiery raki, of which he seemed to have an
unlimited stock, would have trolled out "Matoushka Volga" and weird
Cossack ditties till the stars were paling, if not suppressed. As
it was, one got little enough rest, what with the heat and flies at
midday, and, at the halt about 8 a.m., the shouting, hammering of
tent-pegs, and braying of camels that went on till the sun was high in
the heavens.
There is a so-called town or village, Jhow (situated about twenty
miles east of Noundra), in a sparsely cultivated plain of the same
name. Barley and wheat are grown by means of irrigation from the Jhow
river, which in the wet season is of considerable size. I had expected
to find, at Jhow, some semblance of a town or village, as the Wazir
of Beïla had told me that the place contained a population of four or
five hundred, and it is plainly marked on all Government maps. But I
had yet to learn that a Baluch "town," or even village, of forty or
fifty inhabitants often extends over a tract of country many miles
in extent. The "town" of Jhow, for instance, is spread over a plain
thirty-five miles long by fourteen broad, in little clusters of from
two to six houses. A few tiny patches of green peeping out of the
yellow sand and brushwood, a wreath of grey smoke rising lazily here
and there at long intervals over the plain, a few camels and goats
browsing in the dry, withered herbage by the caravan-track, showed
that there were inhabitants; but we saw no dwellings, and only one
native, a woman, who, at sight of Gerôme, who gallantly rode forward
to address her, turned and fled as if she had seen the evil one.
Noundra, which was reached on the 30th of March, was a mere repetition
of Jhow. Neither houses nor natives were visible, though we passed
occasional patches of cultivated ground. About five miles west of this
we left the beaten track and struck out due north for Gwarjak, which,
according to my calculation, lay about seventy miles distant.
[Footnote A: The traveller Masson says that the word _Brahui_ is a
corruption of _Ba-roh-i_, meaning literally, "of the waste."]
[Footnote B: These rings are sometimes so heavy that they are attached
to a band at the top of the head to lessen the weight on the nostril.]
[Footnote C: A town in Western Baluchistán.]
[Footnote D: The word "Mekrán" is said to be derived from
"Mahi-Kharan," or "Fish-eaters," which food the inhabitants of this
maritime province subsisted on in Alexander's time, and do still.]
[Footnote E: Russian, "Fool."]