conclusion to return to the West by way of Herat, taking the route I
have mentioned before. Hadji Bilal still insisted on taking me with him
to Aksu, promising to send me safely to Mecca by way of Yarkend, Thibet
and Cashmere, or, if favoured by luck, to Peking by the way of Komul.
But Hadji Salih was opposed to the plan, laying stress on the great
distance and the scantiness of my means. "As far as Aksu, and even
Komul," he said, "thou wouldst experience no difficulty, for Mussulmans
and brothers are living along the road, and they would have regard for
you as a dervish from Roum; but beyond thou wilt meet unbelievers only,
who, it is true, will not hurt thee, but will not give you anything
either. Therefore be advised, and return to Teheran by way of Herat,
with the men we have selected for your travelling companions."
There was a struggle going on within me for a while. To have travelled
by land to Peking, through the ancient fastnesses of the Tartars,
Khirgizes, Mongols, and Chinese, where even Marco Polo would not have
dared to place his feet--would have been indeed a feat without a
parallel! The voice of moderation prevailed with me after all. I
reflected that it would be a pity to risk losing the fruits of the
experiences hitherto gathered, however trifling they might be, by
embarking in an enterprise of great uncertainty and undoubted danger.
And putting off was not giving up; I was only thirty-one years old, and
what I could not well do to-day I might accomplish at some future day. I
made up my mind to return.
My preparations for the journey had advanced considerably when the Emir
made his triumphal entry into Samarkand. Its taking place had been
announced for some days past, and a great multitude had collected on the
_righistan_ (principal public place), to witness the show, but I cannot
say that any special pomp was displayed in the pageant. The procession
was headed by two hundred sherbazes, wearing over the uncouth Bokhara
costume some sort of overall of skin, to which piece of additional dress
they were indebted for their being called regular troops. They were
followed by horsemen with banners and kettledrums, and behind these, at
some distance, came Emir Mozaffar ed-din, surrounded by his higher
officers and chief men. The Emir was forty-two years old, of middle
size, rather stout, but very pleasant in appearance, with fine black
eyes and a thin beard. After the Emir came Kiptchaks--rude, martial
warriors with features nearly Mongolian, armed with bows and arrows and
shields.
The Emir caused a feast to be arranged for the people on the day of his
arrival, several gigantic cauldrons being erected, on that occasion, on
the righistan, in which the princely pilar was being cooked. Into each
of these cauldrons was thrown a sack of rice, three sheep chopped up, a
large pan of mutton fat, enough to make five pounds of tallow candles,
and a small sack of carrots. Then ensued a scene of eating and drinking
beggaring all description.
An _arz_, that is a day for public audiences, was proclaimed for the
following day. I took advantage of this occasion to present myself in
the company of my friends to the Emir. As we were entering the interior
of the city, we were startled to find ourselves stopped by a Mehrem,
who gave us to understand that his Badevlet (majesty) wished to see me
alone, without my companions. My friends were this time of my opinion,
that this message boded ill to me. But what was to be done but to follow
the Mehrem to the palace. After being made to wait for about an hour I
was conducted into a room where I found the Emir reclining on a mattress
of red cloth, amidst books and papers lying about. I recited a short
Sura, accompanying it with the usual prayer for the welfare of the
governing prince, and after saying amen, to which the Emir responded, I
sat down in close vicinity to him without having first received his
invitation to do so. The Emir was struck by my bold behaviour, which was
in fact in perfect keeping with the character of a dervish. He fixed his
eyes severely on mine as if wishing to embarrass me, and said:
"Hadji! I hear thou hast come from Roum to visit the graves of
Baha-ed-din and the other holy men of Turkestan?"
"Yes, takhsir (sir)! and, besides, to be edified by thy blessed beauty."
"Strange; and hast thou no other object in coming here from such distant
lands?"
"No, takhsir! It has ever been the warmest wish of my heart to visit
noble Bokhara and enchanting Samarkand, upon whose sacred ground, as is
justly observed by Sheikh Djelal, men should walk with their heads
rather than their feet. Besides, this is my only vocation, and I having
been roaming now through the world for many a day as a _djihangheste_"
(a wanderer through the world).
"How is this, a djihangheste with thy lame foot? This is very strange
indeed."
"Let me be thy victim, takhsir! (This phrase answers our "I beg your
pardon, sir") Thy glorious ancestor Timur--may he rest in peace--was
afflicted in the same way, and yet he became a _djihanghir_" (a
conqueror of the world).
Having bantered me in this preliminary conversation, the Emir inquired
what sort of impression Bokhara and Samarkand had made upon me. My
answers, which I took occasion to interlard with copious citations of
Persian poetry, seemed to make a favourable impression upon the Emir,
who was a mollah himself and spoke Arabic pretty well; but I was not
altogether sure yet of my success with him. After the audience had
lasted for a quarter of an hour he summoned a servant, and telling him
something in a cautious undertone he bade me follow the servant.
I quickly rose from my sitting posture and followed as I had been bid.
The servant led me through a number of yards and halls, whilst my mind
was at the time cruelly agitated by fears and misgivings as to my fate;
my perplexed imagination conjuring up pictures of horror and seeing
myself already travelling on the road to the rack and that dreadful
death which was ever present to my mind. My guide showed me, after a
good deal of wandering about, into a dark room, conveying to me by a
sign that I should expect him here. I stood still, in what state of mind
any one can guess. I counted the moments with feverish excitement--when
the door opened again. A few seconds yet of suspense and the servant
approached at last, and by the light of the opening door I saw him
holding in his hand, instead of the frightful instruments of the
executioner, a parcel carefully folded up. In it I found a highly
ornamental suit of clothing, and an amount of money destined for my
onward journey, sent to me as a present by the Emir.
As soon as I obtained possession of the parcel I hastened away to my
companions, wild with joy at my escape. They were quite as glad of my
success as I myself had been. I subsequently learned that Rahmet-Bi had
sent the Emir an equivocating report about me, in consequence of which I
was received with diffidence at first by the Emir, but succeeded in
dissipating his mistrust, thanks to the glibness of my tongue.
My fellow-hadjis now advised me to leave Samarkand at once, and not even
to sojourn at _Karshi_, but to cross over as quickly as possible to the
other side of the Oxus, and await there in the midst of the hospitable
_Ersari-Turkomans_ the arrival of the caravan bound for Herat. I took
their advice. The hour of parting was at hand. I feel my pen is too
feeble to give an adequate picture of the parting scene. For six months
we had been sharing in all the dangers connected with travelling in the
desert; we had in common defied robbers, borne the raging elements, and
braved hunger and thirst. No wonder then that the barriers of position,
age and nationality were all broken down, and that we had come to look
on ourselves as one family. It may be easily imagined with what heavy
hearts we looked forward to the sad moment when we should have to
separate. There is hardly anything more painful to the heart of a true
man than to see those ties severed which common hardships, the exchange
of mutual acts of friendship and devotion, have firmly knit together.
And mine, especially, I own it, nearly broke at the thought of the
double-dealing I had to practise upon these friends of mine--the best I
had in the world, who had preserved my life--even in these last moments
leaving them in the dark as to my identity. But those who know the
fanaticism of the Moslems, and the danger I should have exposed myself
to by divulging the truth even at the moment of farewell, will surely
find no fault with my reserve.
XXV.
FROM SAMARKAND TO HERAT.
I did not remain long with my new fellow-travellers from the Khanate of
Kokhand. But I attached myself all the more closely to a young mollah
from Kungrat by the name of Ishak, who wished to go with me to Mecca. He
was a kind-hearted youth, as poor as myself, and looking upon me as his
master, he was always ready to serve and oblige me.
The road from Samarkand follows the direction of the road to Bokhara up
to the hill whence we saw the city for the first time. The next day
found us already in the desert. In truth, however, compared to the other
deserts through which I had passed, it might have been more fitly
denominated an extensive grassy plain or a prairie. One meets here
everywhere with herdsmen, owing to the numerous wells around which
nomadic Uzbegs have their tents erected. The wells are for the most part
very deep, and near them are tanks forming reservoirs for water, of
stone or wood, at which the cattle are watered. To avoid the fatiguing
labour of drawing water from the wells with buckets which are
exceedingly small, the herdsmen attach the rope of the bucket to the
saddle of a mule, passing it over a pulley, making thus the mule perform
the work of drawing water. Quite a picturesque scene is presented by
such a well, the flocks of sheep wandering or resting near it with their
serious shepherds, and I was forcibly reminded by it of similar sights
in the Lowlands of Hungary. On the second day after our departure we met
a caravan coming from Karshi, near one of the wells. One of this
caravan, a young woman who had been sold by her husband to an old
Tadjik, and had discovered the infamous transaction after she reached
the desert, was tearing her hair, bitterly wailing and crying, and upon
catching sight of me she frantically rushed up to where I stood and
exclaimed: "My hadji, thou hast read books: where is it written that a
Mussulman may sell his wife, the mother of his children?" In vain I told
the Tadjik that to do so was to commit a grievous sin, he only
composedly smiled; the judge at Karshi apparently not having shared my
views, the buyer felt quite sure as to the validity of the bargain.
We proceeded but slowly owing to the excessive heat, and it took two
days and three nights to reach _Karshi_. Nakhsheb was the ancient name
of Karshi, and as a city it ranks second in the Khanate of Bokhara in
extent and commercial importance. I went in search of an Uzbeg by the
name of Ishan Hassan, to whom my friends had given me a letter of
introduction. I found him and was very cordially received by him. He
advised me to buy an ass, cattle being very cheap in Karshi, and to
purchase with my remaining money knives, needles, thread, glass beads,
Bokhara-made pocket-handkerchiefs, and particularly carnelians brought
here from India, and to trade with these articles amongst the nomadic
people we should meet along our road. All the hadjis do the same thing.
In exchange for a needle or a couple of glass beads you get bread and
melons enough to last a whole day. I saw that the good man was right,
and went on the very same day with the Kungrat mollah to make the
intended purchases. One half of my khurdjin was full of my manuscripts,
mostly of literary and historical contents, which I bought in the bazaar
of Bokhara; the other half was used by me as a storehouse for my wares,
and thus I became at once an antiquarian, a dealer in fashionable
articles, a hadji and a mollah, deriving an additional source of income
from the sale of benedictions, nefesses, amulets, and similar wonderful
articles.
After a stay of three days I left, in company of the mollah Ishak and
two other hadjis, for Kerki, about fifty-six miles distant from Karshi.
After three days' travelling we reached the Oxus in the morning, at a
place where there was a small fort on our side of the shore, and on the
opposite side on a steep height the frontier fort surrounded by the
small town of _Kerki_. The Oxus flowing between the two forts is here
nearly twice the width of the Danube near Budapest, but owing to its
rapid current, which drove us considerably out of our course, it took us
fully three hours to cross over. The boatmen were very clever, and would
not accept anything of us for ferrying us over. But scarcely had we
placed our feet on the shore when the _deryabeghi_ (the river officer)
of the governor of Kerki stopped us, accusing us of being runaway slaves
intending to return to Persia, and compelling us to follow him
immediately with all our luggage and things to the castle of the
governor. My surprise and terror may be easily imagined. Three of my
companions whose speech and features at once betrayed their origin were
allowed to go free before long. I did not fare quite so well; things
would not pass off so smoothly with me, they making all kinds of
objections; but finally I flew into a rage, and exchanging the
Turco-Tartar dialect I had been using for that of Constantinople, I
emphatically insisted either upon having my passport shown to the Bi
(governor) at once, or upon being taken into his presence.
At the noise I made the _toptchubashi_ (an officer of artillery), who
was of Persian origin, said something in a whisper to the deryabeghi.
Then he took me aside, and telling me that he had gone several times to
Stambul, from Tebriz, his native city, he knew very well persons
belonging to Roum, and I might be perfectly quiet, as no harm would
befall me.
Every stranger must submit to this searching investigation; for as
slaves who had become free and were returning home had to pay a tax of
two gold pieces at the border, there were many of them who resorted to
all kinds of subterfuges and disguises to steal unrecognized over the
frontiers. The servant who had taken my passport to the governor soon
returned, not only bringing back with him my papers, but a present of
five tenghis which the governor had sent me.
I was very sorry to learn that Mollah Zeman, the chief of the caravan
going from Bokhara to Herat, was not expected to make his appearance
before the lapse of eight or ten days. I consequently left in company of
Mollah Ishak to go amongst the Ersari-Turkomans living in the
neighbourhood. Here I entered once the house of Khalfa Niyaz, an ishan
who had inherited sanctity, science, and authority from his father. He
had a cloister of his own, and had obtained a special license from Mecca
to recite sacred poems. In reading, he always had a cup filled with
water placed by his side, and would spit into the water whenever he had
finished reading a poem. The saliva thus permeated by the sanctity of
the words he would then sell as a miraculous panacea to the highest
bidder.
As we had an abundance of leisure, my faithful mollah and I, we visited
the Lebab-Turkomans (viz., Turkomans on the bank). We were given
quarters in the yard of an abandoned mosque. In the evening hours the
Turkomans would bring with them one of their poetical tales, or a poem
out of their collections of songs, and I was in the habit of reading it
out aloud to them. It was delightful to have them sitting around me in
the stilly night within view of the Oxus rolling onward, they listening
to me with rapt attention while I read about the brave feats of one of
their heroes.
One evening the reading had lasted as late as midnight. I was quite
fagged out, and, forgetting to heed the advice I had been frequently
given not to lie down near a building in ruins, I stretched my weary
limbs close to a wall and very soon fell asleep. I might have slept for
an hour when I was suddenly roused by a painful sensation. I jumped up
screaming; I thought a hundred poisoned needles had run into my leg. The
spot from which the pain proceeded was a small point near the big toe of
my right foot. My cries roused an old Turkoman, lying nearest to me,
who, without asking any questions, immediately broke out in the
following comforting apostrophe: "Unhappy hadji! thou wast bitten by a
scorpion, and that at the unlucky season of the _saratan_ (canicular or
dog days). God have mercy on thee!" Saying these words he seized my
foot, and tightly swathing my foot so as almost to sever it from the
heel, he immediately applied his mouth to the wounded spot, and began to
suck at it with such a violence that I felt it passing through my whole
body. Another soon took his place, and re-swathing my foot twice they
left me to my fate, with the sorry comfort that it would be decided
before next morning's prayers whether it would please Allah to free me
from my pain or from the vanities of this world. Although I was quite
stupefied with being thrown about, and the burning and stinging pain
which kept on increasing in intensity, my memory still reverted in a
dull, mechanical way to a recollection of the act that the scorpions of
Belkh were known in ancient times for their venomous nature. My distress
was rendered more intolerable by my fears, and that I had given up every
hope during the many hours of suffering was proved by the circumstance
that, totally unmindful of my incognito, I had broken out into such
moans and plaintive exclamations as seemed to be quite outlandish to the
Tartars, who, as I subsequently learned, were in the habit of bursting
out into shouts of joy on an occasion of this kind. In a few seconds the
pain had darted from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, rushing
up and down like a stream of fire, but being confined nevertheless to my
right side only. The tortures I was suffering beggar all description,
and losing all further interest in life I dashed my head against the
ground reckless of all consequences, and seeking relief in death. This
action of suicidal violence was speedily remarked by the others, and
they, taking no heed of my remonstrance, tied me securely to a tree.
Thus I continued to be in a prostrate, half-fainting condition for
several hours, staring fixedly at the starry vault above me, whilst the
cold sweat of agony was gathering in heavy drops on my forehead. The
Pleiades were slowly moving towards the west, the beloved West, which I
despaired of ever seeing again. Being perfectly conscious I looked
forward to the hour of prayer with its sounds of devotion, or rather to
the dawn of day. Meanwhile gentle sleep stole over me, sealing my
burning eyelids, but I was soon roused from my beneficent slumbers by
the monotonous: "La Illah, il Allah!"
When I awoke and began to arrange my ideas I thought I felt a slight
cessation of the pain. The burning and stinging sensation grew less and
less violent, and about the time that the sun had risen to the height of
a lance, I could attempt to stand on my foot, although very feebly and
clumsily yet. My companions assured me that the morning prayer had the
effect of exorcising the devil which had crept into my body by means of
the bite of the scorpion. Of course I dared not suggest any doubts as to
this pious version of my cure, but was too well pleased under any
circumstances to have got over this dreadful night, the horrors of which
will be ever present in my memory.
After having waited for many weary days for the arrival of the caravan
from Herat we were at length informed that the looked-for event was near
at hand. I immediately hastened to Kerki, in the hope of starting at
once. But my hopes in this direction were doomed to disappointment.
There were about forty freed slaves from Persia and Herat in the caravan
of Mollah Zeman, who were now on their way home under his dearly-paid
protection. In journeying alone these poor freedmen run the risk of
being pounced upon and sold into slavery again. These former slaves
returning home must pay toll here, and this gave occasion to a great
deal of noisy demonstration, the kervanbashi having stated the number of
slaves at a lower figure than was warranted by the actual facts, whilst
the officer of customs claimed toll for others not slaves, setting down
every person who was not known to him to be free as a slave, and
demanding toll for him. And as neither of them would yield, but stood
up in defence of their respective allegations, the hubbub and anger
seemed to be in a fair way of never subsiding. It took the entire day to
examine the goods, the men, the camels, and the asses. We left at last,
not, however, without the escort of the officer of the customs, who kept
a vigilant eye upon the caravan lest some straggling travellers might
join it at some by-path. He did not leave us until we had crossed the
frontiers of Bokhara, and had proceeded on our journey through the
desert.
At the first station I gathered that there were a great number of
people, besides myself, in the caravan who were longing to set their
eyes on the southernmost border of Central Asia. The freedmen appeared
to seek our company by preference, that is, the company of the hadjis,
and by their joining us I had occasion to hear of truly affecting
instances of the misery of some. Near me was sitting a grayheaded old
man who had just ransomed his son, aged thirty, in Bokhara, and was
taking him back to the arms of a young wife and infants. He had to
purchase his son's freedom by sacrificing all he had, the ransom
amounting to fifty gold pieces. "I shall rather bear poverty," he said,
"than see my son in chains." His home was in Khaf, in Eastern Persia.
Not far from me there was lying a muscular man, whose hair had turned
gray with mental agony. A few years ago the Turkomans had carried away
into slavery his wife, his sister, and six children. For a whole year he
had wearily to drag his steps through Khiva and Bokhara before he could
find a trace of them. When he had succeeded in tracking them a heavy
blow was in store for him. His wife and the two smallest of the children
as well as his sister had perished from the hardships of slavery, and of
the four remaining children he could purchase the freedom of only the
two younger ones; the two elder ones, girls, who had blossomed into
beautiful lasses, being rated too high and above the amount of ransom he
could afford to pay. There was a group of an aged woman and a young man
that attracted our attention. They were mother and son, he a young man
from Herat, and she fifty years old. He had purchased the liberty of his
mother. Two years before, as she was travelling in the company of her
husband and eldest son, they were attacked and made prisoners. Her
husband and son were massacred before her eyes, and she was sold into
slavery at Bokhara for twenty gold pieces. When her younger son found
her and offered to ransom her, they doubled the amount as soon as they
recognized him as a son, rapaciously speculating in his filial
affection. Let me mention the case of another unfortunate man who had
been sold into slavery about eight years previously, and was ransomed
after about six years of slavery by his father. On their way home when
but a few hours' march from their native town, both father and son were
fallen upon by Turkomans, who immediately carried them to Bokhara to be
sold. Now they had both regained their freedom and were returning home.
We were following a southern course, through an interminable level plain
destitute of vegetation with the exception of a species of thistle,
growing sparsely, which furnishes a sweet morsel for the camel. It is
rather wonderful how these animals will pull off with their tongues and
swallow a plant the mere touch of which is apt to wound the most callous
hand.
At Maimene, the caravan camping outside the town, I put up at the
_tekkie_ (convent) of one Ishan Eyub, to whom I had been given a letter
of introduction by Hadji Salih. The following day I set up my shop at
the corner of a street. My stock of wares, however, was quite reduced
owing to the fact that I had not replenished it since the first
purchases I had made. One of my companions came up to me and said in a
tone of warning and compassion: "Hadji Reshid, half of thy knives,
needles, and glass beads, thou hast already eaten up, the other half,
together with thy ear, will follow in a short time; what will then
become of thee?" The man was perfectly right, but what was I to do? My
future caused me many an anxious thought, the Persian border being far
away, with winter approaching. I comforted myself very soon, however,
with the remembrance of my former experiences amongst the Uzbegs, whom I
knew never to allow a hadji or a beggar to leave their door
empty-handed. I was sure of bread and fruit, and, now and then, even of
a gift of some piece of clothing; and with these I hoped to be able to
get on in my journey.