BALUCHISTÁN--GWARJAK.
Most European travellers through this desolate land have testified to
the fact that the most commendable trait in the Baluch is his practice
of hospitality, or "zang," as it is called. As among the Arabs, a
guest is held sacred, save by some of the wilder tribes on the Afghan
frontier, who, though they respect a stranger actually under their
roof, will rob and murder him without scruple as soon as he has
departed. The natives of Kanéro and Dhaïra (the two villages lying
between Noundra and Gwarjak) were, though civil, evidently not best
pleased at our appearance, but the sight of a well-armed escort
prevented any open demonstration of ill feeling.
The first day's work after Noundra was rough, so much so that the
camels could scarcely struggle through the deep sand, or surmount the
steep, pathless ridges of slippery rock that barred our progress every
two or three miles. Though the greater part of the journey lay through
deep, drifting sand, the soil in places was hard and stony, and here
the babul tree and feesh palm grew freely, also a pretty star-shaped
yellow flower, called by Baluchis the "jour." This plant is poisonous
to camels, but, strangely enough, harmless to sheep, goats, and other
animals.
For a desert-journey, we had little to complain of as regards actual
discomfort. There were no mosquitoes or sandflies, and the heat,
though severe, was never excessive save for a couple of hours or so at
midday, when enforced imprisonment in a thin canvas tent became rather
trying. There was absolutely no shade--not a tree of any kind visible
from the day we left Beïla till our arrival at Dhaïra about midday on
the 31st of March. Scarcity of water was our greatest difficulty. At
Noundra it had been salt and brackish; at Kanéro we searched in vain
for a well. Had we known that a couple of days' march distant lay a
land "with milk and honey blest," this would have inconvenienced us
but little. The fact, however, that only three barrels of the precious
liquid remained caused me some anxiety, especially as the first well
upon which we could rely was at Gwarjak, nearly sixty miles distant.
The sight of Dhaïra, on the morning of the 31st, relieved us of all
further anxiety. This fertile plain, about fifteen miles long by ten
broad, is bounded on the north-west by a chain of limestone mountains,
the name of which I was unable to ascertain. Here for the second time
since Beïla we found a village and traces of inhabitants, the former
encircled for a considerable distance by fields of maize and barley,
enclosed by neat banks and hedges--a grateful contrast to the desolate
waste behind us. It was the most perfect oasis imaginable. Shady
forest trees and shrubs surrounded us on every side, a clear stream of
running water fringed with ferns and wild flowers rippled through our
camp, while the poor half-starved horses of the escort revelled in the
long, rich grass. Hard by a cluster of three or four leaf huts, half
hidden in a grove of date palms, lay (part of) the little village
of Dhaïra, deserted at this busy hour of the day save by women and
children. The latter fled upon our arrival, and did not reappear until
the evening, when the return of the men reassured them sufficiently to
approach our tents and look upon the strange and unwelcome features of
the Farangi without fear.
From here, by advice of the Wazir of Beïla, a messenger was despatched
to Malak, at Gwarjak, twenty miles distant, requesting permission to
travel through his dominions. I resolved to proceed no further without
the chief's sanction, or to afford him in any way an excuse for making
himself unpleasant. In the mean time, arms and accoutrements were
looked to, and the escort cleaned and smartened up as well as
circumstances would permit. The natives overcame their shyness next
morning, and brought us goat's milk and "rogan," or clarified butter.
The Baluchis seldom eat meat, their food principally consisting of
cakes or bread made of grain, with buttermilk and rice. A favourite
preparation known as "shalansh," and called "krout" by the Afghans, is
made by boiling buttermilk till the original quantity is reduced by
half. The remainder is then strained through a thick felt bag, in the
sun. When the draining ceases, the mass in the bag is formed into
small lumps dried hard by the sun's rays. When required for use these
lumps are pounded and placed in warm water, where they are worked by
the hands until dissolved. The thickened fluid is then boiled with
rogan and eaten with bread.
Assafoetida, indigenous to the country, is largely used among all
classes for flavouring dishes. So much is this noxious plant liked
by Baluchis, that it goes by the name of "khush-khorak," or pleasant
food. At Kelát, in the palace of the Khan, I was offered it pickled,
but it is usually eaten stewed in butter.
About midday, to my great surprise, Malak made his appearance in
person, mounted on a good-looking chestnut stallion, its bridle
and saddle adorned with gold and silver trappings. Four attendants
followed on sorry-looking steeds. The chief, a tall, well-built
fellow, about thirty years of age, with a sulky, sinister cast of
countenance, was clad in a bright green satin jacket, white and gold
turban, loose dark-blue trousers, and embroidered slippers. The loss
of one eye gave him a still more unpleasant expression, a lock
of coarse black hair being dragged over the face to conceal the
disfigurement. The whole party were armed to the teeth, and carried
guns, shields, and revolvers.
Our interview did not commence propitiously. Swinging himself off his
horse, Malak returned my salutation with a sulky nod, and swaggered
into the tent, signing to his suite to follow his example. Curtly
refusing my offer of refreshment, he called for his pipe-bearer, and,
lighting a kalyan, commenced puffing vigorously at some abominably
smelling tobacco, which soon rendered the interior of the tent
unbearable. It is, unfortunately, Baluch etiquette to allow a guest
to open the conversation. Malak, well aware of this, maintained
a stolid silence, and appeared hugely to enjoy the annoyance and
impatience I tried in vain to conceal. It was not till nearly an hour
had elapsed that this amiable visitor at last inquired, in a rude,
surly tone, what I wanted. My interpreter's services were then called
in, but it was not without demur and a long consultation with his
suite that Malak consented to accompany me to Gwarjak on the morrow.
Matters were finally arranged, on the understanding that I did not
remain more than one day at Gwarjak, but proceeded to Kelát without
delay.
I strolled out with a gun in the evening, and managed to bag a
brace of partridges, which swarmed in the maize and barley fields.
Overcoming the fears of the women, I was permitted to approach and
inspect, though not enter, one of their dwellings. The latter,
constructed of dried palm leaves, were about fifteen feet long by
eight feet broad, and were entirely devoid of rugs, carpets, or
furniture of any kind, and indescribably filthy. The men, though shy
and suspicious, would have been friendly, had it not been for Malak,
who followed me like a shadow; but nothing would induce the women and
children to approach either Gerôme or myself. "What is this?" said one
old fellow to Malak, stroking my face with his horny, grimy palm. "I
never saw anything like it before." Most of the men were clothed in
dirty, discoloured rags. The women wore simply a cloth tied loosely
over the loins, while male and female children fourteen or fifteen
years old ran about stark naked.
A curious flower, the "kosisant," grows luxuriantly about here. It is
in shape something like a huge asparagus, and about two feet high,
being covered from top to bottom with tiny white-and-yellow blossoms,
with a sweet but sickly perfume. It consists but of one shoot or
stalk, and bursts through the ground apparently with great force,
displacing the soil for several inches.
We left for Gwarjak at 5.30 the following morning. Etiquette compelled
Malak to offer me his horse, while he mounted my camel--an operation
effected with very bad grace by my host. The Baluch saddle consists
simply of two sharp pieces of wood bound together by leathern thongs,
and the exchange was by no means a welcome one so far as I was
concerned. Had it cut me in two, however, I would have borne it, if
only to punish this boorish ruffian for his insolence of yesterday.
Malak's chief failing was evidently vanity, and he was very reluctant,
even for an hour, to cede the place of honour to a European.
The road for the first ten miles or so lay along the dry bed of
a river, which, I ascertained with difficulty from my one-eyed
companion, is named the Mashki. Large holes, from eight to ten feet
deep, had been dug for some distance by the Dhaïra natives, forming
natural cisterns or tanks. These were, even now, after a long spell of
dry weather, more than half full, and the water, with which we filled
barrels and flasks, clear, cold, and delicious.
The Shirengaz Pass, which crosses a chain of hills about five hundred
feet high, separates the Dhaïra Valley from the equally fertile
district of Gwarjak. The ascent and descent are gradual and easy, and
by ten o'clock we were in sight of Gwarjak, before midday had encamped
within half a mile of the town, if a collection of straggling
tumble-down huts can so be called. The news of our arrival had preceded
us, and before tents were pitched the population had turned out _en
masse_, and a mob of quite two hundred men, women, and children were
squatted around our camp, watching, at a respectful distance, the
proceedings of my men with considerable interest. Malak had meanwhile
disappeared, ostensibly to warn the Wazir of our arrival.
Gwarjak is situated on the left bank of the Mashki river, and consists
of some thirty huts, shapeless and dilapidated, built of dried palm
leaves. About two hundred yards north of the village rises a steep
almost perpendicular rock about a hundred feet high, on the summit of
which is perched a small mud fort. The latter is crenelated, loopholed
for musketry, and mounts six cannon of a very primitive kind. It was
at once apparent that we were anything but welcome. The very sight of
my armed escort seemed to annoy and exasperate the male population,
while the women and children gathered together some distance off,
flying in a body whenever one of our party approached them. I looked
forward, with some impatience, to Malak's return, for Kamoo's request
for the loan of a knife from one of the bystanders was met with
an indignant refusal, accompanied by murmuring and unmistakable
expressions of hostility. We were well armed certainly, but were only
ten men against over a hundred.
Our camping-place was wild and picturesque, and, had it not been for
the uncomfortable sensation of not quite knowing what would happen
next, our stay at Gwarjak would have been pleasant enough. Even Gerôme
was depressed and anxious, and the Beïla men and escort ill at ease. I
was sorely tempted more than once to accede to Kamoo's request, strike
tents and move on to Gajjar, the next village, but was restrained by
the thought that such a proceeding would not only be undignified, but
a source of satisfaction to my _bête noire_, Malak.
[Illustration: MALAK]
After a prolonged absence of four or five hours, the latter returned,
together with his Wazir and about a dozen followers. A more cut-throat
looking set of ruffians I have seldom seen. All wore long black-cloth
robes trimmed with scarlet, and white turbans, and carried a Snider
rifle and belt stuffed with cartridges slung over the left shoulder. I
now noticed with some anxiety that Malak's quiet and undemonstrative
manner had completely altered to one of swaggering insolence and
bravado. "The chief wishes you to know he has twenty more like this,"
said Kamoo, pointing to Malak's villainous-looking suite. "Tell him
I am very glad to hear it," was my reply, politely meant, but which
seemed to unduly exasperate the King of Gwarjak. Brushing past me, he
burst into the tent, followed by his men, and seated himself on my
only camp-stool. Then, producing a large American revolver, he cocked
it with a loud click, placed it on the ground beside him, and called
for his kalyan.
Patience has limits. With the reflection that few white men would have
put up with the insults I had; that "Tommy Atkins" was, after all,
only three hundred miles away; and that, in the event of my death,
Malak would probably be shot, if not blown from a gun,--I ordered him
(through the trembling Kamoo) to instantly leave the tent with all his
followers. The fire-eating chieftain was (unlike most Baluchis) a poor
creature, for to my intense relief he slunk out at once, with his
tail between his legs. Having then re-appropriated the camp-stool,
I ordered in the escort, fixed bayonets, loaded _my_ revolver with
ostentation, and commanded my friend to re-enter alone, which he did,
and, as Americans say, "quickly."
Then ensued an uncomfortable silence, interrupted by the arrival of
one of my men to say that the villagers had refused to sell provisions
of any kind, although eggs, milk, and rice were to be had in plenty.
"I am not the king of these people," said Malak, passionately, on
being remonstrated with. "Every man here is free to do as he pleases
with his own." As our stores were now running uncomfortably short,
this "Boycotting" system was anything but pleasant. "Will _you_ sell
us some eggs and milk?" I asked, as my unwilling guest rose to go. It
was eating humble-pie with a vengeance, but hunger, like many other
things, has no laws. "I am not a stall-keeper," was the answer. A
request to be permitted to ascend the hill and visit the fort was met
by an emphatic refusal. I then, as a last resource, inquired, through
Kamoo, if my hospitable host had any objection to my walking through
the village. "If you like," was the reply; "but I will not be
responsible for your safety. This is not Kelát. The English are not
our masters. We care nothing for them."
Notwithstanding these mysterious warnings, however, I visited the
village towards sunset, alone with Gerôme, fearing lest the sight of
my escort should arouse the ire and suspicions of the natives. There
was little to see and nothing to interest. Gwarjak is built without
any attempt at order or symmetry. Many of the houses had toppled over
till their roofs touched the ground, and the whole place presented an
appearance of poverty and decay strangely at variance with the smiling
plains of grain, rice, and tobacco around it. Not a human being was
visible, for our appearance was the signal for a general stampede
indoors, but the dirty, narrow streets swarmed with huge, fierce dogs,
who would have attacked us but for the heavy "nagaikas" [A] with which
we were armed. We were evidently cordially hated by both men and
beasts! On return to camp I gave orders for a start at four the next
morning. There was no object to be gained by remaining, and the
natives would have been only too glad of an excuse for open attack.
The remains of an ancient city, covering a very large area, are said
to exist near Gwarjak, about a mile due south of it. I could, however,
discover no trace of them, although we came from that direction, and
must have traversed the supposed site.
After the fatigue and anxiety of the day, I was enjoying a cigar in
the bright moonlight, when a messenger from the village arrived in
camp. He had a narrow escape. Not answering the challenge of the
sentry for the second time, the latter was about to fire, when I ran
forward and threw up his rifle, which discharged in the air. A second
later, and the man would have been shot, in which case I do not
suppose we should ever have seen Quetta. The message was from Malak,
inviting me to a "Zigri," a kind of religious dance, taking place just
outside the village. After some reflection, I decided to go. It might,
of course, mean treachery, but the probability was that the chief,
afraid of being reported to the Indian Government for his insolence
and insubordination, wished to atone for his conduct before I left.
Under the messenger's guidance, and attended by Gerôme and a guard of
five men with loaded rifles, I set out. Both the Russian and myself
carried and prominently displayed a brace of revolvers. A walk of ten
minutes brought us to a cleared space by the river. In the centre
blazed a huge bonfire, round which, in a semicircle, were squatted
some two or three hundred natives, watching the twistings and
contortions of half a dozen grotesque creatures with painted faces,
and long, streaming hair, who, as they turned slowly round and round,
varied the performance with leaps and bounds, alternately groaning,
wailing, and screaming at the top of their voices.
[Illustration: A "ZIGRI" IN GWARJAK]
A horn, a lute, and half a dozen tom-toms accompanied the dance. Some
distance away, and surrounded by his grim-looking guard, sat Malak,
who, though he did not rise to receive me, beckoned me to his side
with more politeness than usual. It was a weird, strange sight. The
repulsive, half-naked figures leaping round the fire, the silent,
awestruck crowd of Baluchis, the wild barbaric music, and pillar of
flame flashing on the dark, sullen face of Malak and his followers,
was not a little impressive, especially as I was in a state of
pleasing uncertainty as to the object of my host's sudden change of
manner, and whether this might not be a little dramatic introduction
to an attack upon our party. This was, however, evidently not my sulky
friend's intention, for, as I rose to go, he actually stood up and
took my hand. "At Gajjar," he said, "you will be able to get all you
want, but take my advice, and get away from here early to-morrow
morning. They do not like you."
Four hours after we were _en route_. The Zigri was still going on
as we rode out of the village. Malak and his guard still sat
motionless, the weird dancers and crowd of onlookers were still
there, the huge bonfire blazing as brightly as ever, though the
Eastern sky was lightening. As we passed within a hundred yards, I
waved my hand, but the compliment was not returned. Some of the crowd
looked up at the caravan; all must have seen it, but averted their
faces till we had passed. I was not, on the whole, sorry to leave
Gwarjak.
But one European, Colonel M---- of the Indian service, had visited
Gwarjak for fifteen years prior to my visit. My road thither from
Noundra has never been traversed save by natives, and it was,
perhaps, more by good luck than good management that we came through
successfully. The inhabitants of Gwarjak are a tribe known as the
Nushirvanis, who claim to be of Persian descent. It was only at
Quetta that I learnt that my friend Malak was only Viceroy of this
inhospitable district. The head-quarters and residence of the Chief,
one Nimrood Khan, is at Kharán (a hundred and fifty miles north-west of
Gwarjak). Nimrood, who was fortunately absent, detests Europeans, and
would probably have made matters even worse for us. Intermixed freely
with the wild and lawless tribes of the Baluch-Afghan frontier (from
which Kharán is but a few miles distant), it is scarcely to be
wondered at that the Nushirvanis are inimical to Europeans, whom they
are taught by their chiefs and Afghan neighbours to look upon as
natural enemies.
Although we had not as yet formed a very favourable idea of Baluch
hospitality, our reception at every village from here to the capital
amply atoned for the rough and uncivil behaviour of the wild
Nushirvanis. We were now once more on the beaten track, for though the
country south of Gwarjak was, previous to our crossing it, unexplored,
the journey from Kelát to Gajjar has frequently been made by Europeans
during the past few years. Our reception by the natives of Gajjar
(only twenty miles from Gwarjak) was a pleasant contrast to that given
us at the latter place. Camp was no sooner pitched than presents of
eggs, milk, rice, and tobacco were brought in, and I was cordially
welcomed by the chief of the village.
Gajjar is a ramshackle, tumble-down place of about three hundred
inhabitants. On a small hillock to the right of the village stands
the fort, a square building of solid masonry, which, however, is now
roofless, and has only three walls standing. The garrison (of six men)
were lodged in a flimsy tent pitched in the centre of the ruins.
Half the houses were constructed of dried mud; the remainder, as at
Gwarjak, of palm leaves. The village stands in a grove of date palms,
and the swarms of flies were consequently almost unendurable. We
encamped close to the village well, to which, during the afternoon,
many of the female population came to draw water. Two of them, bright,
pleasant-featured girls of eighteen or twenty, were the best-looking
specimens of the Baluch woman that I met with throughout the journey.
Towards sunset the corpse of a young man was borne past my tent
and interred in a little cemetery hard by. The burial rites of the
Baluchis are very similar to those of Persia. When a death occurs,
mourners are sent for, and food is prepared at the deceased's house
for such friends as desire to be present at the reading of prayers for
the dead, while "kairats," or charitable distributions of food, are
made for the benefit of the soul of the deceased. A wife, on the
decease of her husband, neglects washing, and is supposed to sit
lamenting by herself for not less than fifteen days. Long before this,
however, her female friends come to her house and beg her to
desist from weeping, bringing with them the powder of a plant
called "larra." With this the widow washes her head, and then
resumes her former life and occupations. If, however, by
thoughtlessness or malice, her friends defer their visit, she must
mourn for a much longer period alone. A curious Baluch custom is that
of digging a grave much deeper for a woman than a man. They argue that
woman is by nature so restless she would not remain quiet, even in
death, without a larger proportion of earth over her.
[Illustration: NOMAD BALUCH TENT]
In the matter of births and marriages the Baluchis, being of the
Mohammedan religion, regulate their ceremonies mainly according to the
Korán. Marriage is attended with great festivities. The first step
is the "zang," or betrothal, which is regarded as of a very sacred
nature, the final rite being known as "nikkar." On the wedding-day
the bridegroom, gorgeously arrayed, and mounted on his best horse or
camel, proceeds with his friends to a "ziarat," or shrine, there to
implore a blessing, after which the "winnis," or marriage, is gone
through by a moullah. On the birth of a child there is also much
feasting. The fourth day after birth a name is given to the infant,
and on the sixth an entertainment to friends. The following day the
rite of circumcision ("kattam") is performed, though not always, this
being sometimes postponed for a year or more. On this occasion (as at
a death) large distributions of food are made to the poor.
The country between Gajjar and Jebri, which was reached next day, is
bare and sterile, notwithstanding that, at the latter place, water is
seldom scarce, even in the dryest seasons. The plain, which consists
of loose, drifting sand, with intervals of hard, stony ground, is
called Kandari. The cold here in the months of January and February
is intense. We passed some curious cave-dwellings in the side of the
caravan-track, in which the natives take refuge from the icy blasts
that sweep across here in winter. They are formed by digging holes
eight to ten feet deep. These are rudely thatched over with palm
leaves, bits of stick, and plaited straw, thus forming a warm and
comfortable shelter.
The Chief of Jebri, one Chabas Khan, rode out to meet me, clad in
a long gown of golden thread, which, flashing in the sun, was
discernible a couple of miles off. Jebri contains about four hundred
inhabitants, and is a neatly built village, protected by a large mud
fort, and a garrison of twenty Baluchis armed with Snider rifles.
Chabas, who was very proud of his village, informed me that his
rule extended over a considerable extent of country, containing a
population of over 20,000. Many of his subjects were natives of
Seistan, Kharán, and Shotrawák, all Afghan border districts, and gave
him at times no little trouble. The Jebri fort had been attacked only
a year previous to my visit, but Chabas (who I afterwards heard at
Kelát is a renowned fire-eater) gave the rebels such a warm reception
that there has been no outbreak since. My genial old host had himself
given a good deal of trouble to the Kelát Government in his younger
days, and told me with evident pride that he had led many a chupao in
the good old days. The savage and predatory character of the Baluchi
was formerly well exemplified in these lawless incursions, when large
tracts of country were pillaged and devastated and the most unheard-of
cruelties practised. Chupaos are now a thing of the past. Pottinger,
who traversed this country in the last century, and had more than one
unpleasant _rencontre_ with these armed bands, thus describes one of
these plundering expeditions--
"The depredators are usually mounted on camels, and furnished,
according to the distance they have to go, with food, consisting of
dates, goat's milk, and cheese. They also carry water in a small
skin-bag, if requisite, which is often the case if the expedition
is prolonged. When all is prepared the band sets off and marches
incessantly till within a few miles of where the chupao is to
commence, and then halts in some unfrequented spot to rest their
camels. On the approach of night they mount again, and, as soon as the
inhabitants of a village have retired to rest, begin their attack by
burning, destroying, and carrying off whatever comes in their way.
They never think of resting for one moment during the chupao, but ride
on over the territory on which it is made at the rate of eighty or
ninety miles a day, until they have loaded their camels with as much
pillage as they can possibly remove; and as they are very expert in
the management of their animals, each man on an average will have
charge of ten or twelve. If practicable, they make a circuit which
enables them to return by a different route. This affords a double
prospect of plunder and also misleads those who pursue the robbers--a
step generally taken, though with little effect, when a sufficient
body of men can be collected for that purpose."
"In these desperate undertakings the predatory robbers are not always
successful, and when any of them chance to fall into the hands of
exasperated villagers, they are mutilated and put mercilessly
to death. The fact," concludes Pottinger, "of these plundering
expeditions being an institution in Baluchistán must serve to show how
slight is the power wielded by the paramount rulers, and what risks to
the safety of both person and property must be run by those engaged in
the business of trade in such a country."
Chabas visited me towards evening, accompanied by his son, a
clever-looking, bright-eyed lad about fifteen years old. Noticing that
he wore a belt and buckle of the 66th Regiment, I inquired where
he had procured it, and was told that it had been purchased from a
Gwarjak man, who brought it down from Kharán shortly after the fatal
disaster to the regiment at Maiwand. The kindly old chief now pressed
my acceptance of a fine fat goat--a very acceptable gift, considering
the impoverished condition of the camp larder. We then visited the
fort and village, under his guidance.
Jebri and its neighbourhood are well cultivated. The system of
agriculture practised in this part of Baluchistán is simple, but
effective, the fields being divided off by ridges of earth and raised
embankments to an accurate level. They are then further subdivided
longitudinally by ridges thrown up about seven or eight paces apart.
This is done for purposes of irrigation. The soil is then ploughed and
manured, the former operation being generally carried on by means
of bullocks. Tracts of land not irrigated by streams, but which are
dependent on rain and the rivulets which come down from the hillsides
after it, are called "kash-kawa," and are found scattered about the
valleys here and there near the tent-encampments of the nomad tribes,
who plough a piece of land, sow it, and return to gather in the crop
when it is matured. The implements of husbandry in general use are
a light wooden plough of primitive construction, consisting of a
vertical piece bent forward at the bottom and tipped with an iron
point, and a long horizontal beam, which passes forward between the
pair of bullocks that draw it, and is fastened to the yoke. A harrow,
consisting of a wooden board about six feet long by two wide, is also
used, being dragged over the ploughed land attached to the yoke by
iron chains. If found not sufficiently heavy, the driver stands upon
it. A spade or shovel, exactly like its English counterpart, and a
reaping-hook, or sickle, having its cutting edge furnished with minute
teeth, complete the list of a Baluchi's agricultural tools.
Jebri Fort stands on a steep hillock about fifty feet in height.
From here a good view was obtainable of the surrounding country.
Immediately below were pretty gardens or enclosed spaces, sown in the
centre with maize, wheat, and tobacco, and surrounded by plum and
pomegranate trees and date palms. There is a considerable trade in the
latter between here and Beïla, which perhaps accounted for the myriads
of flies which here, as at Gajjar, proved a source of great annoyance.
In Chabas's garden were roses and other flowers, some remarkably fine
vines, and a number of mulberry trees. The grounds were well and
neatly laid out with paths, grass plots, and artificial streams, upon
which I complimented the old man; but he would talk of nothing but his
fort, which was, indeed, the only structure worthy of the name met
with between Quetta and the sea. In the evening his son brought
me a delicious dish of preserved apricots and cream, for which
I presented him with three rupees, one of which he instantly
returned. It is considered, by Baluchis, extremely unlucky to give
or accept an odd number of coins.
[Illustration: JEBRI]
At Jebri, for the first time, we suffered severely from cold at night,
the thermometer dropping to 42° Fahr. just before sunrise. The climate
of Baluchistán presents extraordinary varieties, and is extremely
trying to Europeans. Although at Kelát the natives suffer considerably
more from cold in winter than summer heats, the hot season in the
low-lying valleys and on the coast, which lasts from April till
October, may be almost said to be the most severe in the world. At
Kej, in Mekram, the thermometer sometimes registers 125° Fahr. in the
shade as early as April, while the heat in the same district during
the "Khurma-Paz," or "Date-ripening," is so intense that the natives
themselves dare not venture abroad in the daytime.
Notwithstanding this, even the south of Baluchistán has its cold
season. Near Beïla, in the month of January, the temperature
frequently falls as low as 35° Fahr. in the mornings, rising no higher
than 65° at any portion of the day. At Kelát, on the other hand, which
stands 6800 feet above sea-level, the extreme maximum heat as yet
recorded during the months of July and August is only 103° Fahr.,
while the extreme minimum during the same months is as low as 48°
Fahr. In winter the cold is intense. Pottinger, the traveller, relates
that on the 7th of February, 1810, when at Baghivana, five marches
from Kelát, his water-skins were frozen into masses of ice, and seven
days afterwards, at Kelát, he found the frost so intense that water
froze instantly when thrown upon the ground. Bellew, a more recent
traveller, in the month of January found the temperature even lower,
as when at Rodinjo, thirteen miles south of Kelát, the thermometer at
7 a.m. stood at 14° Fahr., while the next night, at Kelát, it fell
to 8° Fahr. The weather was at the time clear, sharp, and cold, the
ground frozen hard all day, while snow-wreaths lay in the shelter of
the walls. A detailed account of the eight days' journey from Gajjar
to Kelát would weary the reader. A description of one village will
suffice for all, while the country between these two places is nothing
but bare, stony desert, varied by occasional ranges of low rocky
hills, and considerable tracts of cultivated land surrounding the
villages of Gidar, Sohrab, and Rodingo, at each of which we were well
received by the natives. With the exception of a strike among our
camel-drivers, which fortunately lasted only a few hours, and a
dust-storm encountered a few miles from Sohrab, nothing worthy of
mention occurred to break the monotony of the voyage till, on the
morning of the _9th of_ April, we sighted the flat-roofed houses, mud
ramparts, and towering citadel of the capital of Baluchistán.
[Footnote A: Cossack whips.]