The men slept after their long watch, and the fighting horses were at
a distance. The Agha did not return, and for a day and night I was the
only European in camp. Aziz Khan, with an English rifle, a hundred
cartridges, and two revolvers in his belt, kept faithful watch, and to
"make assurance doubly sure" I walked through the camp twice during
the night to see that the men on guard were awake.
Before midnight there was a frightful "row" for two hours, which
sounded as if fifty men were taking part in it. I have often wondered
at the idiotic things that Hassan does, and at the hopelessly dazed
way in which he sometimes stands. Now it has come out that he is
smoking more and more opium, and has been supplying Karim with it.
Mujid, who was formerly the Agha's cook, has been promoted to be
_major-domo_, rules the caravan on the march, heads it on a fine
horse, keeps accounts, and is generally "confidential." Karim resents
all this. He lately bought a horse because he could not bear to ride a
baggage mule when the other man was well mounted, and being that night
mad with opium, and being armed both with rifle and revolver, with
which he threatened to kill Mujid, it was only by the united and
long-continued efforts of all the men that bloodshed was prevented.
The next day Hassan destroyed his opium pipe, and is trying to cure
himself of the habit with the aid of morphia, but he complains of
"agony in the waist," which is just the fearful craving which the
disuse of the drug causes.
The Agha encountered very predatory Lurs in the lower regions. A mule
was stolen by two Lurs, then robbed from them by three, who in their
turn were obliged to surrender it to some passing Ilyats, from whom he
recovered it. While he was resting at night he was awakened by hearing
some Lurs who had joined them discussing the practicability of robbing
him, but when one told the others that he had found out that "the
Feringhi has six shots," they gave it up. At this camp we are only a
few days' march from classic ground, the ancient Elam with its capital
of Susa, and the remains of so fine a bridge, with the unusual
feature, still to be distinctly traced, of level approaches, the
adjacent ruins, and the tradition of an old-world route, a broad road
having followed the river-bed to the plains of Lower Elam, all point
to an earlier and higher civilisation. Overlooking the bridge on the
left bank of the Ab-i-Basnoi a large square enclosure, with large
stone slabs inside, was found, which had probably been used for a
cistern, and outside there were distinct traces of an aqueduct.
The "Sang Niwishta" (inscribed stone), which has been talked about for
a hundred miles, and promised to be a great discovery, was
investigated by a most laborious march, and turned out a great
disappointment. It was to be hoped, indeed it might have been
expected, that a journey through these, till now unexplored, regions
would have resulted in the discovery of additional records of the past
carved in stone, but such is not the case.
Still, it is something to have learned that even here there was once a
higher civilisation, and that in its day there was great traffic along
the Basnoi road, and that every route through this Upper Elam, whether
from north, west, or east, from the Persian highlands to the plains of
Arabistan, and the then populous banks of the Kerkhah, must have
passed through the great gap below Pul-i-Kul.
The Gokun, Sahid, Guwa, and any number of other streams fall into
this Ab-i-Basnoi, which is the channel for the drainage of far-off
Faraidan, and after a full-watered course joins the Ab-i-Burujird,
which drains the plain of Silakhor, the two forming the Ab-i-Diz, on
which the now famous town of Dizful (lit. Pul-i-Diz or Bridge of Diz)
is situated.
_Gardan-i-Gunak, July 20._--On July 17 we retraced our steps to
Padshah-i-Zalaki, and camped on a height above Aslam Khan's tents on
ground so steep that the tent floor had to be cut into steps with a
spade. Aslam Khan and others came to meet us, again performing feats
of horsemanship. No sooner were the tents pitched than the crowd
assembled, and it was another noisy and fagging day. Among the things
taken from my tent were an umbrella, knife, scissors, and most of my
slender stock of underclothing. The scissors and cotton were taken by
a young sister-in-law of the Khan, while I was attending to a terrible
hurt outside. It turns out that Aslam Khan has got the Agha's
binocular, and that he told his men to acquire a small but very
powerful telescope which he coveted. My milk bottle in a leather
sling-case has a likeness to it, and this morning as I was giving a
woman some eye-lotion her son withdrew this, almost under my eyes!
The Khan's face is a most faithful reproduction of that of Judas in
Leonardo da Vinci's "Last Supper." He is so fine-looking that one is
surprised that he should condescend to do small mean things. I sent
him the knife he asked for, and soon he called and asked for a bigger
one. He passed off his handsome daughter, the wife of Taimur Khan's
son, as his wife, in order to get, through her, a travelling-clock
which he coveted.
They brought a woman to me who might have been produced from a London
slum, ophthalmia in one eye, the other closed up and black, and behind
it and through her nose a deep wound, gaping fully an inch, blood
caked thick and black all over her face and matting her hair, her
upper lip cut through, and two teeth knocked out--a regular hospital
case. Her brother, they said, had quarrelled with her and had thrown
stones at her only the day before, but they had already filled up the
wounds with some horrible paste. I asked Sardah Khan why the Khan did
not have the man thrashed for such a brutality, and he replied that no
one would touch him, as he had killed three men last winter.
I spent two hours upon the poor creature, and the relief was so great
that her gratitude was profuse, and the blessings invoked manifold. It
was a great pleasure to me. But many things were taken out of the tent
while I sat outside attending to her. The Khan's brothers,
_tufangchis_ with their long guns, Seyyids with their green turbans
and contemptuous scowl, women, and children were all pressing upon me,
hindering and suffocating me in a temperature of nearly 100 deg. They
seem to have no feeling for pain or shrinking from painful spectacles,
and rather to enjoy the groans of the sufferer. Each time a piece of
stone was taken out of the wounds they exclaimed "God is great!"
Occasionally, when the crush interfered with what I was doing, a man
beat them with his gun, or Aziz Khan threw stones at them, but it was
useless.
The people tell our men that _Kafirs_ have never before entered their
valley, and that if we were not under the Shah's protection they would
take all that we have. I imagine that the difficulties are far greater
than I know, for the Agha, who minimises all danger, remarked last
night that this is a most anxious time, and that he should be most
thankful to get every one out of the country, for it was impossible to
say what a day might bring forth. All idea of my returning to Julfa is
now abandoned. Bad as it is it is safer to go on.
As the welcome darkness fell the hillsides near and far blazed with
fires, and Aslam Khan's camp immediately below was a very picturesque
sight, its thirty-one tents forming a circle, with the Khan's two
tents in the middle, each having a fire in front. Supper was prepared
in large pots; the men ate first, then the women, children, and dogs.
The noise suggested pandemonium. The sheep and goats bleated, the big
dogs barked, the men and women shouted and shrieked all together, at
the top of their voices, rude musical instruments brayed and
clanged,--it sounded diabolical. Doubtless the inroad of the Feringhis
was the topic of talk. Savage life does not bear a near view. Its
total lack of privacy, its rough brutality, its dirt, its undisguised
greed, its unconcealed jealousies and hatreds, its falseness, its pure
selfishness, and its treachery are all painful on a close inspection.
The following morning early we came up to the Gunak, the narrow top of
a pass in the Kala Kuh range with an altitude of 10,200 feet, crossing
on the way a steep and difficult snow-slide, and have halted here for
two days. Marching with the caravan is a necessary precaution, but a
most tedious and fatiguing arrangement. No more galloping, only a
crawl at "caravan pace," about two and a half miles an hour for five,
six, or seven hours, and though one is up at 2.45 it is fully five
before the mules are under way, and meantime one is the centre of that
everlasting crowd which, on some pretext or other, asks for medicine.
If no ailment can be produced at present, then the request is, "Give
me something from the leather box, I've a cough in the winter," or an
uncovered copper bowl is brought, the contents of which would
evaporate in a fortnight in this climate, with the plaint, "I've a
brother," or some other relative, "who has sore eyes in spring, please
give me some eye-lotion." Nothing is appreciated made from their own
valuable medicinal herbs. "Feringhi medicine" is all they care for,
and in their eyes every Feringhi is a _Hak[=i]m_.
I have often wondered that the Moslem contempt for women does not
prevent even the highest chiefs from seeking a woman's medical help,
but their own _Hak[=i]ms_, of whom there are a few, though I have
never seen any, are mostly women, and the profession is hereditary.
The men, they say, are too unsettled to be _Hak[=i]ms_. Some of these
women are renowned for their skill as bullet extractors. If a father
happens to have any medical knowledge he communicates it to his
daughter rather than to his son. Aziz's grandmother learned medicine
from a native Indian doctor in Fars, and his mother had a repute as a
bullet extractor. A woman extracted the three bullets by which he has
been wounded. The "fees" are very high, but depend entirely on the
cure. A poor man pays for the extraction of a bullet and the cure of
the wound from fifteen to twenty _tumans_ (from L5 to L6:10s.), a rich
man from forty to sixty. In all cases they only give medicine so long
as they think there is hope of recovery, and have no knowledge of any
treatment which can alleviate the sufferings of the dying. When death
seems inevitable they stuff the nose with a paste made of aromatic
herbs.
They dress wounds with an astringent paste made from a very small
gall-nut found on one species of oak. For dyspeptic pains and "bad
blood" they eat bitumen. For snake-bite, which is common, they keep
the bitten person moving about and apply the back part of live hens to
the wound till the hens cease to be affected, or else the intestines
of a goat newly killed. For rheumatism, headache, and debility they
have no remedies, but for fever they use an infusion of willow bark,
which is not efficacious. They have great faith in amulets and charms,
and in chewing and swallowing verses of the Koran in case of illness.
They are rigid "abstainers," and _arak_ is not to be procured in the
Bakhtiari country. This partly accounts for the extreme and almost
startling rapidity of the healing of surgical wounds.
Ophthalmia, glaucoma, bulging eyeballs, inflamed eyes and eyelids,
eczema, rheumatism, dyspepsia, and coughs are the prevailing maladies,
and among men, bad headaches, which they describe as periodical and
incapacitating, are common. The skin maladies and some of the eye
maladies come from dirt, and the parasites which are its offspring.
Among the common people the clothes are only washed once a year, and
then in cold water, with the root of a very sticky soap wort. They
attribute all ailments but those of the skin and eyes to "wind."
Rheumatism doubtless comes from sleeping in cotton clothing, and
little enough of it, on the damp ground.
There are no _sages femmes_. Every woman is supposed to be able to
help her neighbour in her hour of need. Maternity is easy. The mother
is often at work the day after the birth of her child, and in less
than a week regains her usual strength.
Possession by bad spirits is believed in, and cowardice is attributed
to possession. In the latter case medicine is not resorted to, but a
_mollah_ writes a text from the Koran and binds the paper on the
coward's arm. If this does not cure him he must visit a graveyard on
the night of the full moon, and pass seven times under the body of one
of the sculptured lions on the graves, repeating an Arabic prayer.
This pass gives a little rest. It is solitary, cold (the mercury 48 deg.
at 10 P.M.), and very windy. I appreciate the comparatively low
temperature all the more because the scenery beyond the Zalaki valley,
in which scorched valleys and reddish rocky ranges are repeated _ad
nauseam_, lies under a blazing sun and in a hot dust haze like that of
the Indian plains. The ridge is only just wide enough for the camps,
and falls down in abrupt descents to the source of the Ab-i-Sefid.
Tremendous precipices and the naked peaks of the Kala Kuh surround us,
and to the east the Zard Kuh and the long straight-topped range of the
Kuh-i-Gokun (or Kainu?), deeply cleft, to allow of the exit of the
Ab-i-Gokun, wall in the magnificent prospect, woods and streams and
blue and violet depths suggesting moisture and coolness. The ridge has
a remarkably rich alpine flora.
Life is now only a "struggle for existence" on the lower altitudes,
with their heat and hubbub; there is no comfort or pleasure in
occupation under 9000 feet. Here there are only the sick people of the
camps to attend to. The guides and guards all need eye-lotion, one bad
wound needs dressing, and the Khan's brother has had fever severely,
which is cured, and he offers me as a present a boy of five years old.
Aslam Khan's face of Judas is not for nothing, but his brother is
beautiful, and has the face of St. John. I. L. B.
FOOTNOTE:
[5] From Kalahoma for the rest of the route the predatory character of
the tribes, the growing weakness of the Ilkhani's authority, the
"blood feuds" and other inter-tribal quarrels, and the unsettled state
of the Feili Lurs, produced a general insecurity and continual peril
for travellers, which rendered constant vigilance and precautions
necessary, as well as an alteration of arrangements.
LETTER XIX
CAMP SHUTURUN, _July 25_.
After that uplifted halt, which refreshed the Europeans but did not
suit the health of the attendants, we descended, crossed the Zalaki
valley and a low ridge, with populous camps, into the valley of the
Mauri Zarin, where the nomads were busy harvesting, forded the river,
and proceeded up its left bank to a dusty level on which a deep ravine
opens, _apparently_ blocked up by a castellated and nearly
inaccessible rock of great height. At this place, where the Badush
joins the Mauri Zarin, we were obliged to camp close to some Ilyat
tents, which involved crowds, many demands, much noise, and much
vigilance.
We were then in the territory of Mirab Khan, the chief of the Isawand
tribe, between whom and Aslam Khan there is a blood feud, with most
deadly enmity. He sent word that he was not well, and asked the Agha
to go to see him, which he did, telling him that the _Hak[=i]m_ would
also visit him. Later, taking Mirza and two guides, I forded and
followed up the Ab-i-Arjanak for two miles by a most remarkable canyon.
The lower part of its sides is steep and rocky, though not too steep
for the growth of tamarisk scrub and much herbage, but above are
prodigious conglomerate cliffs, and below, the river, which narrows to
a stream, is concealed by enormous masses of conglomerate rock. This
cleft must be fully 800 feet below the heights which surround it. A
ridge runs across it at Arjanak, and the river passes underground.
The village and "Diz"[6] of Mirab Khan are reached by a frightfully
steep ascent. Arjanak has been built for security on some narrow
ledges below these colossal walls. It is a mere eyrie, a collection of
rude stone hovels, one above the other, among which the Khan's house
is distinguishable only by its _balakhana_ and larger size. The paths
on the dusty hillside are so narrow and shelving that I needed a
helping hand as well as a stick to enable me to reach a small, oblong,
rug-covered platform under some willow trees, where Mirab Khan
received me, with a very repulsive-looking Seyyid scribe seated by him
in front of a _samovar_ and tea equipage, from which he produced
delicious tea, flavoured with lime-juice. The Khan was courteous,
_i.e._ he rose, and did not sit down till I did.
He is a most deplorable-looking man, very tall and thin, with faded,
lustreless gray eyes, hollow, sallow cheeks, and a very lank, ugly,
straight-haired beard, light brown in the middle. He and Khaja Taimur
look more like decayed merchants than chiefs of "tribes of armed
horsemen." I was very sorry for him, for he evidently suffers much,
but then and afterwards he impressed me unfavourably, and I much doubt
his good faith. He said he heard I should spend two or three days at
Arjanak, and all he had was mine. He was not "like some people," he
said, "who professed great friendship for people and then forgot all
about them. When I make a friendship," he said, "it is for ever." I
asked him if his tribe was at peace. "Peace," he replied
sententiously, "is a word unknown to the Bakhtiaris." In fact he has
more than one blood feud on hand. He complained bitterly of the
exactions of Persia, and added the conjecture, expressed by many
others, that England would shortly occupy Luristan, and give them
equity and security. Another Khan of some power said to me that if
England were to occupy south-west Persia, he would help her with 400
horsemen, and added, "An English fleet at Basrah, with an English army
on board, would be the best sight which Bakhtiari eyes could see."[7]
I had to hear the long story of the Khan's complicated maladies, to
look at many bad eyes, and at the wounds of a poor fellow suffering
from snake-bite, who was carried on another man's back, and to promise
to bring up my medicine chest the following day, the fame of the
"leather box" having reached Arjanak.
On my way I had called at the _haram_, and the ladies accompanied me
to the _durbar_, conduct which I think was not approved of, as they
told me the next morning that they must not go there. After the Agha
returned, the three wives and many other women clustered timidly round
me. Two of them are very bright and pretty, and one, a Persian, very
affectionate in her manner. She held my hand all the time. There was
also a handsome daughter, with a baby, the discarded wife of a son of
the next Khan. In winter, they said, they amuse themselves by singing,
and playing with their children, and by making a few clothes, and the
Persian embroiders boys' caps.
Aziz Khan has been irrepressible lately. His Arab mare is his idol,
not because she is a lovable animal and carries him well, but because
she is valuable property. He fusses about her ceaselessly, and if he
were allowed would arrange the marches and the camping-grounds with
reference solely to her well-being. She is washed from her nose to the
tip of her tail every evening, clothed, and kept by the camp-fire. She
is a dainty, heartless, frivolous creature, very graceful and pretty,
and in character much like a selfish, spoilt woman.
Unfortunately, in one of the many attempted fights among the horses,
_Screw_ kicked her on the chest and fore-leg a few days ago, which has
made a quarrel between Hadji, _Screw's_ owner, and Aziz. Now Aziz is
making me a slave to his animal. That night, after a tiring day, I was
sleeping soundly when I was awakened by Aziz saying I must come to his
mare or he would stay behind with her the next day. This is his daily
threat. So I had to bring her inside my tent, and sleepily make a
poultice and bandage the hurt. I have very little vaseline, and after
putting it twice on the slight graze on her chest, which it cured, I
said, when he asked for it a third time, that I must keep the rest for
men. "Oh," he said, "she's of more value than ten men." Lately he
said, "I don't like you at all, you give me many things, but you don't
give me money; and I don't like the Agha, he doesn't give me half
enough. I'm going back to-morrow, and then you'll be robbed of all
your things, and you'll wish you had given them to me."
When I do anything, such as opening a whitlow, which he thinks clever,
he exclaims, "May God forgive your sins!" This, and "May God forgive
the sins of your father and mother!" are ejaculations of gratitude or
surprise. One day when I had been attending to sick people for four
hours, I asked him which was the more "meritorious" act, attending to
the sick or going on pilgrimage? He replied, "For a _Kafir_ no act is
good," but soon added, "_Of a truth God doesn't think as we do_, I
don't know."
Yesterday he came for plaster, and while I cut it he saw a padlock
pincushion with a mirror front on my bed, and said, "You've given me
nothing to-day, you must give me that because my mare kicked me." But
I like him. He is a brave fellow, and with a large amount of the
mingled simplicity and cunning of a savage has a great deal of
thought, information, and ability, and a talk with him is worth
having.
Mirab Khan had promised that not only guides but his son would
accompany the Agha, but when I arrived at his eyrie the next morning
it was evident that something was wrong, for the Agha looked gloomy,
and Mirab Khan uncomfortable, and as I was dressing the wound of the
snake-bitten man, the former said, "So far as I can see, we are in a
perfect hornets' nest." Neither son nor guides were forthcoming. It
was necessary to use very decided language, after which the Khan
professed that he had withheld them in order to compel us to be his
guests, and eventually they were produced.
I called again on the ladies, who received me in a sort of open
stable, horses on one side and women on the other, in a crowd and
noise so overpowering that I was obliged to leave them, but not before
I had been asked for needles, scissors, love philtres, etc. Polygamy,
besides being an atrocious system, is very hard on a traveller's
resources. I had brought presents for four legitimate wives, but not
for the crowd of women who asked for them. Each wife wanted to get her
present unknown to the others. Later they returned my visit, and were
most importunate in their requests.
When I went to say farewell to the Khan I found him on his knees,
bowing his forehead to the earth upon a Mecca prayer-stone, and he
concluded his prayers before he spoke--not like many of us, who would
jump up ashamed and try to seem as if we never demeaned ourselves by
an act of devotion. His village, Diz Arjanak, has a Diz, or
stronghold, with a limited supply of water. It is the _raison d'etre_
of his residence there. This Diz consists of a few shelves or
cavities, chiefly artificial, scooped out in the face of the
perpendicular cliff above the village. They are only attainable by a
very difficult climb, have no internal communication, and would not
hold more than 150 people. In one cavity there is a small perennial
spring. The largest recess is said to be twelve feet deep by about
twenty long, and has a loop-holed breastwork across the entrance. In
case of attack the Khan and the people provision this hiding-place,
and retire to it, believing it impregnable.
Mirab Khan on this and a later occasion complained, and apparently
with good reason, of grinding exactions on the part of Persia. The
Isawands, like the Magawes and Zalakis, pay their tribute partly to
Burujird and partly to the Ilkhani. The sum formerly fixed and paid
was 150 _tumans_. It was raised to 300, which was paid for two years.
Now, he says, this year's demand (1890) is for 500.
We left Diz Arjanak rather late in the afternoon, ascended a valley
which opens out beyond it, forded the green bright waters of the Mauri
Zarin, and crossed beautiful open hillsides and elevated plateaux on
its right bank till we lost it in a highly picturesque gorge. Some
miles of very pleasant riding brought us to a rocky and dangerous path
along the side of a precipice above the river Badush, so narrow as to
involve the unloading of several mules, and a bad slip and narrow
escape on the part of mine. The scenery is singularly wild and severe.
Crossing the Badush, and ascending a narrow ravine through which it
flows, we camped at its source at the junction of two wild gullies,
where the Sahib, after sundry serious risks, had already arrived. We
did not see a single camp after leaving Arjanak, and were quite
unmolested during a halt of two nights; but it is an atmosphere of
danger and possible treachery.