_29th February 1872._—Rúdbár consists of two small forts, about
half-a-mile apart, on the left bank of the Helmand, which here flows in
a full deep stream nearly two hundred yards wide. The channel, which is
about a mile wide, is fringed with a dense jangal of tamarisk and willow
trees bordered by belts of tall reeds.
Each of the forts is surrounded by its own collection of hut settlements
and corn-fields. One of them belongs to Imám Khán, who resides at
Chárburjak, on the right bank of the river, lower down its course; and
the other to Kamál Khán, who resides at Bandar, still farther west, on
its left bank. Both these Baloch chiefs are brothers of the late Khán,
Jahán Khán of Chakansúr. Their father was the late Ján Beg, son of
the celebrated Abdullah Khán, Sanjarání, whose history I have already
referred to. Their permanent location in this country only dates from
the early years of the present century, when, about the year 1810, they
were settled here by the Bárakzai king-maker, Fata Khán, as a makeweight
against his rival neighbours the Núrzais. This remarkable man, there is
little doubt, aimed at supplanting the tottering Saddozai dynasty on
the throne of Kabul in his own person. As Wazír of Sháh Mahmúd, he not
only brought in these Baloch colonists as a military element in support
of his cause on this frontier of the kingdom, and on the border of his
own patrimonial estate at Nádálí near Girishk, but appointed his own
brothers to the charge of the most important provincial governments of
the country.
His cruel death in 1818, after his successful repulse of the Persians
from Herat, though it cut short his own career, precipitated the downfall
of the Saddozais, and hastened the transfer of the government to his own
family; and thus was matured the scheme of his life, which the Fates had
decreed he himself should not accomplish.
Rúdbár is reckoned the limit of Garmsel to the west. Farther on in that
direction, the desert wastes on either side bounding the valley of the
Helmand gradually diverge from each other, and the country opens on to
the plain of Sistan. That portion of the Helmand valley called Garmsel,
or “the hot tract,” extends from Hazárjuft to Rúdbár, a distance of one
hundred and sixty miles from east to west. It is bounded on the north and
south by vast desert wastes, noted for their aridity and destructive heat
during six months of year. Towards the river they form high coast-lines
of sand-cliffs and bluffs of shingle, that confine its valley within
well-defined limits.
Owing to the peculiar arrangement of these lateral barriers, it is
difficult to assign a general width to the valley, nor is it easy to
describe it as a whole. The most notable features of the valley are
its division into two nearly equal parts by the Koh Khanishín, and the
transference of the alluvium from one bank to the other on either side of
it. Koh Khanishín itself stands an isolated mass of sharp, bare, black,
jagged peaks about five miles south of the river; but between it and the
stream, on which it abuts in tall cliffs, is interposed an elevated strip
of the sandy desert some sixteen or eighteen miles across, as already
described.
To the eastward of this point the alluvium is all on the left or south
bank, and presents a succession of wide bays or reaches, bounded in that
direction by corresponding sweeps or curves of the desert coast-line. On
the opposite side there is no alluvium whatever, the desert cliffs rising
straight from the river bank.
To the westward of Khanishín the alluvium is mostly on the right or north
bank for some fifty miles. It then shifts to the opposite bank for about
the same distance, and beyond Rúdbár lies on both sides of the river. The
width of the alluvium varies considerably between one and six miles in
the different successive reaches or bays.
The valley everywhere bears the marks of former prosperity and
population. Its soil is extremely fertile, and the command of water is
unlimited. It only requires a strong and just government to quickly
recover its lost prosperity, and to render it a fruitful garden, crowded
with towns and villages in unbroken succession all the way from Sistan to
Kandahar.
The present desolation and waste of this naturally fertile tract
intensify the aridity and heat of its climate. But with the increase of
cultivation and the growth of trees these defects of the climate would be
reduced to a minimum, and the Garmsel would then become habitable, which
in its present state it can hardly be considered to be.
Under a civilised government there is not a doubt the Garmsel would
soon recover its pristine prosperity, and then this part of the Helmand
valley would rival in the salubrity of its climate that of the Tigris at
Baghdad. It has been, as history records, and as its own silent memorials
abundantly testify, the seat of a thriving and populous people, and it
still possesses all but the main requisite for their restoration. When
the curse of anarchy and lawlessness is replaced in this region by the
blessings of peace and order; then Garmsel will once more become the seat
of prosperity and plenty. But when can one hope to see such a revolution
effected in this home of robbers and outlaws? The advancing civilisation
of the West must some day penetrate to this neglected corner, and the
children’s children of its present inhabitants may live to hear the
railway whistle echoing over their now desert wastes.
From Rúdbár we marched twenty-eight miles to Calá Ján Beg, and camped
in a tamarisk forest on the river bank. Our route was nearly due west
along the course of the river, and for the whole distance passed through
a quick succession of ruins, the remains of ancient forts, cities, and
canals.
The first ruins are those of Pushtí Gáo, close to Rúdbár. Amongst them
is traced the course of a great canal called Júe Garshasp. It is said in
ancient times to have irrigated the southern half of the Sistan plain,
but the accuracy of this statement is doubtful, for we failed to trace it
in our onward progress. The main channel is said to have run from Rúdbár
to Fákú under the name of Balbákhan, and to have given off numerous
branches on either side.
Between these ruins and the river bank a long strip of corn-fields
extends for seven or eight miles, and amongst them are scattered numerous
sand-drift hillocks, topped by clumps of tamarisk trees. Beyond this
cultivation the country between the desert cliffs and the river bank
presents a bare undulating surface closely set with smooth brown pebbles.
Here and there between the successive ruins are low ridges dotted with
tamarisk trees, now budding into foliage.
At about the sixteenth mile we came to the ruins surrounding Calá Mádari
Pádsháh, or “the fort of the king’s mother.” The fort itself is in fair
preservation, and appears to be of much more recent date than the ruins
that surround it. It is said to have been the residence of the mother
of Kai Khusran. At about eight or ten miles beyond it are the extensive
ruins of Kaikobád, a city named after its founder, the first of the
Kayáni sovereigns, and subsequently said to have been the capital of Kai
Khusran. Two tall dilapidated towers, at some three hundred yards apart,
are pointed out as the site of his palace, and the fenestered curtain
walls projecting from them towards each other give an outline of the
palatial court. These ruins are all of raw brick, and wear a very ancient
look, and prove the astonishing durability of the material.
I diverged from the route to explore the ruins, and on the uneven surface
covering decayed walls and the foundations of houses found fragments
of red brick, but saw none of the arched roofs so common in the more
modern ruins, or those of the Arab period. The palace extended quite to
the river bank, and across it on the opposite shore are the ruins of a
compact town round a central fort raised on a low artificial mound.
The ground about these ruins, which extend for five or six miles along
the river bank, is very uneven, being thrown into irregular ridges and
mounds by accumulations of sand upon the débris and foundations of walls,
&c. Owing to this superficial covering we saw no broken pottery or glazed
ware, as in the other ruins previously passed.
A few miles farther on we came to our camping-ground, an open strip of
sand in the midst of a belt of tamarisk forest, close to the river and
the Calá Ján Beg. This last is a ruined fort of much more recent date
than the ruins of Kaikobád, and derives its present name from the fact
of the Baloch chief, Ján Beg, having been on one occasion driven to seek
shelter within its protecting walls from the attacks of the Núrzais,
whose lands he had invaded. He seems to have made good his stand in this
country, for his family now occupy all the river tract from Rúdbár to
Chakansúr.
Ján Beg was the son of the Abdullah Khán, Sanjarání Baloch, previously
mentioned, and appears to have rivalled his father, whom he succeeded,
in the violence and lawlessness of his character, and the obstinacy
with which he contested the Núrzais for the possession of the pasture
tracts on this part of the Helmand course. He left three sons, named
Khán Jahán, Nunwáb, and Islám, who at the commencement of the present
century had spread themselves over the alluvium on the right bank of
the river from Ishkinak and Husenabad up to the vicinity of Chakansúr,
as _palás-nishín_, or “dwellers in booths.” The _palás_, or booth, is a
movable cabin formed of wickerwork walls, and thatched with reeds. Each
of these chiefs had a number of dependants or subjects, consisting of
various Baloch tribes. Their number amounted to several hundred families,
and they were collectively styled _tawcí_, or bondsmen. They cultivated
sufficient land for the supply of their immediate wants, and for the
rest, were mainly occupied in tending their herds of camels and flocks of
sheep, in plundering their neighbours, and in protecting themselves from
reprisals.
Their permanent location in fixed abodes in this country dates from
the time (1810) that the Wazír Fata Khán, Bárakzai, settled the three
brothers in their respective possessions, namely Khán Jahán at Chakansúr,
Nunwáb at Bandar Fákú, and Islám at Rúdbár. These places are now held
severally by their respective sons, Ibráhím, Kamál, and Imám, and they
constitute an important party in the political divisions of Sistan. They
hold all the lower course of the Helmand from Rúdbár to its termination
in the Hámún, and the country on its right bank up to Kaddah and
Khásh, formerly possessed by the Núrzais. They are a very turbulent
and predatory people, and habitually plunder their neighbours, and
often organise raids across the Persian frontier. The best commentary
on the life these people lead was afforded by the reply of a native to
some inquiries I made regarding the perilous adventure of M. Ferrier
in Garmsel with Assad Khán in 1845, so graphically described in the
twenty-seventh chapter of his “Caravan Journeys.” “Who cares to know,”
said he, “What befell a wandering Farangi in this country a century ago?
Adventures such as you describe are of daily occurrence here, and nobody
takes note of them except the actual participators.”
_1st March._—Calá Ján Beg to Chárburjak—fourteen miles; route, west by
north, over a bare gravelly desert, dotted here and there by the ruins
of forts and towns for the first half of the distance. Beyond this the
surface is undulating, and covered with brown pebbles that glistened with
a silver lustre in the morning sunlight. On the alluvium on the opposite
side of the river we observed the ruins of a large fortified town called
Ishkinak. Around it are the huts and fields of the Zabardast Balochi.
Westward of this are the cultivation and settlements of Hasenábád,
belonging to Imám Khán of Chárburjak. They extend in a long narrow strip
of corn-fields and huts between the river and the desert cliffs bounding
the alluvium to the northward.
At about half-way we were met by Sher Muhammad, son of Imám Khán. He was
attended by three or four horsemen, and came to excuse his father’s
meeting us on the plea of ill-health, but invited us on his part to
camp at his fort. We acquiesced in the arrangement, and he consequently
hurried back with the intelligence. Meanwhile we dismounted at a roadside
mound to breakfast and let the baggage get on ahead. From this elevation
we got a view of the top of the Sarhadd mountains, three days’ journey
across the desert due south. These mountains are described as well
watered from numerous springs, and the valleys as covered with groves of
the date-palm. To the west of them is the Baloch district of Ishpí, in
which rice is largely cultivated. Away to the distant west we saw, but
indistinctly, the Nihbandán range, running north and south, and closing
the Sistan basin in that direction.
From this we went on along the river bank, and camped on a sandy spot
in its wide channel, directly opposite Chárburjak, on its farther bank.
This is a square fort, with towers at each angle, and is a recent
construction, dating only from the time of Muhammad Razá, the Sárbandi
chief of Sihkoha. The river is here easily forded stirrup-deep at this
season. Soon after our arrival in camp Imám Khán sent us a feast cooked
in Baloch fashion, but as we had but recently breakfasted, we were not
yet prepared to appreciate the merits of the savoury-smelling _corma_ and
_kabáb_, nor to test the digestibility of the three different kinds of
bread loading the trays, viz., fritter, pancake, and muffin.
We here learned that Sir F. Goldsmid’s party had been in this vicinity
some days ago, and an Afghan priest describing their doings to the
Saggid, not knowing that his Pushto speech was understood by us, said in
a ludicrously plaintive voice, “Yes! the Farangis have been here, and
they have gone. They mounted to the top of every high mound, and put
telescopes to their eyes. They have seen all our country inside and out,
and made a map of it. God only knows what will become of us now!” A quiet
hint from his friends warned him, and he took care not to commit himself
further, and presently retired to the Saggid’s tent.
Later in the afternoon the Saggid came to our tent to consult with the
General as to the advisability of removing the couriers we had left
behind at the several stages through Garmsel, for the transmission of our
posts to and from India, as he had received reliable information that our
reception in Sistan would not be an agreeable one. He considered that
the safety of those men, in their isolated posts on the Sistan border,
would be jeopardised, and thought it best that they should be removed
to the more direct and safer route from Kandahar by Girishk to Farráh.
A messenger was consequently despatched with orders for the several
troopers to return to Kandahar, and by the same opportunity a letter was
sent to the governor of that city, instructing him of the new arrangement
made for our posts. Of the correctness of the Saggid’s views, and the
wisdom of his action in this matter, we later on had proof, as will be
mentioned in its proper place.
From Chárburjak letters were sent off to Mír Alam Khán, Persian governor
of Sistan, and to Mirzá Másúm Khán, Persian commissioner, announcing our
arrival, and intimating our proposed route to Burj Alam. At the same
time, owing to the disquieting reports we had received, it was decided to
send on our spare tents to the next stage at Bandar.
We ourselves followed next morning, but we had hardly cleared out of
camp, when one of our men returned to say that the Kárwánbáshí, Sálih
Muhammad, in charge of our _peshkhájurd_, or advanced camp, had been
stopped by an armed party from the Bandar fort, and ordered to return,
but the Kárwánbáshí refusing, the camels were halted till he could hear
from us. The messenger was sent back with orders for him to remain where
he was, and we proceeded. Presently after, another horseman was seen
approaching us in hot haste. He turned out to be a Persian, and came on
the part of Kamál Khán of Bandar, to apologise for the _contretemps_
regarding our baggage, and to assure us of a welcome reception. With the
national volubility and hyperbole, he almost persuaded us that we would
be treated as honoured guests, and be furnished freely with all our camp
required. It was not long, however, before our doubts were settled; for
though camped close under the fort, the chief neither came to see us, nor
showed us the smallest attention, whilst, on the contrary, supplies were
withheld on one pretence and another till late in the evening, and then
doled out sparely at their own price.
Our route from Chárburjak was nearly due west, and for the first few
miles crossed a sandy tract covered with dwarf mimosa and tamarisk. The
caked sand and clay on this tract was evidently a deposit from the river
floods. Between this and the desert cliffs is a strip of bare pebbly
ground. We followed this for some miles along the course of a very
ancient canal, which formerly, it is said, irrigated Trákú, and all the
country to the town of Zirrah. It is called Júe Karshasp or Garshasp, but
appears to be quite distinct from the canal of that name met at Rúdbár.
It is said to have been excavated by Garshasp, the grandson of Jamshed,
and ancestor of Rustam. It is of considerable size, and is furnished with
numerous cross-cuts opening into the main channel at a certain height,
and meant to carry off the overflow in seasons of the river flood.
Beyond this we passed the ruins of a small town, and then came to the
Bandar or Trákú canal, a recent cutting dating from the time of Muhammad
Razá, Sárbandi. We crossed it by a rustic bridge, and turning to the left
through some tamarisk jangal, rose on to the desert, which here projects
towards the river in a succession of tall cliffs.
From this high ground we got an extensive view of the Sistan plain and
the alluvium on the right bank of the river, which gradually widens to
the northward into the proportions of a plain. The Helmand is seen to
make a sudden turn at Bandar, and to flow north-west in a very tortuous
course. A drearier prospect one could not wish to see. To the south is
the great sandy desert, whose bare surface cuts the horizon as does the
ocean. To the west lies the wide plain of Sistan, a flat, bare, pebbly
tract, the uniformity of which is only broken by the ruins that here
and there stud the surface. To the northward winds the Helmand, in a
wide channel crowded with tamarisk forest. Beyond the river stretches
a widening strip of alluvium, the characteristic features of which are
its conspicuous ruins, backed by desert cliffs, which here too cut the
horizon in one vast line of unbroken waste. Descending from this elevated
strip of desert, we entered on the Sistan plain, and at a mile or so came
to Bandar Fort, where we camped. Bandar, for this country, is a strong
place. It consists of a fort within fortified walls, which are loopholed,
and furnished with bastions for a flank fire. The whole, place is very
neatly built, and appears to be of recent construction, the outer walls
particularly.
From this we marched fourteen miles, and camped in tamarisk jangal on
the river bank near a clay bridge called Daki Dela. After clearing the
corn-fields round the fort, our route was northerly along the river
course, by a beaten track on the verge of a wide, level, bare pebbly
plain, that extends many miles to the westward, without any sign of
habitation or cultivation.
On the opposite side of the river, the alluvium up to the desert cliffs
appears entirely deserted, and for some miles is covered with the ruins
of an extensive city called Mír. At our camp the river flows in two
streams, divided by a long island strip of tamarisk jangal. Both streams
were forded by our horsemen to collect the _kerta_ (a species of cyperus)
grass as fodder for our cattle. It grows here in abundance, and is the
principal fodder of the cattle in this country.
During the afternoon, Shamsuddín Khán, the son of Sardár Ahmad Khán of
Lásh, arrived in camp. He is a fine young man, and, as one result of his
visit to India in 1869 (he was in attendance on the Amir Sher Ali Khán
when he went to Amballah for his conference with Lord Mayo), has adopted
the European style of dress. The Saggid, alluding to documents, &c.,
for the business on hand, asked him if he had come fully prepared. “Oh,
yes,” said the young chief eagerly, his eyes brightening at the query;
“we are all ready.” “How do you mean?” inquired the Saggid, doubtful
from his manner as to whether he had been properly understood. “We
have sharp swords, and keep our powder dry,” was the unexpected reply.
The several different tribes occupying this country have been so long
at enmity against each other, that they never think of moving across
their respective borders unless provided to meet all contingencies,
and consequently, in the present state of excitement amongst them, his
question elicited the most natural reply.
Whilst our visitors were with us, the Saggid’s servant reported the
arrival of a messenger from Kamál Khán at Bandar. The Saggid went out
to see him, and presently returned with the packet of letters we had
despatched for India by courier from Calá Ján Beg, and the following
story:—Our courier had been attacked and plundered by robbers beyond
Rúdbár. They took his horse and arms from him, but did him no personal
injury. He walked back with the packet committed to his charge tied round
his waist under the clothes, and on arrival at Bandar, was so foot-sore
and fatigued that he could not come on. Under these circumstances he
revealed himself to Kamál Khán, and made the packet over to him for
transmission to us. Such was the story, and we considered ourselves
fortunate in the restoration of the packet; for at Chárburjak we were
informed that Sir F. Goldsmid had left letters to await General Pollock’s
arrival, but that the Persian official there had sent them to the Persian
Governor at Nasírabad. That the letters had been left we subsequently
satisfied ourselves, but as to what became of them we could never learn.
From Daki Dela we marched twelve miles, and camped on the river bank at a
place called Ghabri Hájí, from the tomb of some pilgrim in the vicinity.
Our route was nearly due north, across a continuation of the plain
traversed yesterday. At about half-way we came abreast of the ruins of
Calá Fath or Calá Pat, on the opposite side of the river, and a little
farther on we crossed the track of a very ancient canal, called Yakháb.
It starts from the river below the ruins, and strikes across the plain
in a westerly direction. The ruins of Calá Fath are very extensive,
and present some very large buildings, besides the lofty citadel which
occupies the summit of an artificial mound in their midst. The ruins
extend over several miles of country, and are backed by the cliffs of
the Khásh desert. They are mostly of clay and raw brick, but red bricks
of a large size are also said to be found amongst them. The city was the
capital of the last of the Kayáni kings, and is said to have been finally
sacked and dismantled by Nadír Sháh about a century and a half ago. The
citadel has been recently repaired, and is now garrisoned by a party of
Persian troops, but there is no cultivation, nor other habitation in the
vicinity. It is merely held as a military outpost, and its occupation as
such only dates from the last month.
A little beyond this, emerging from a belt of tamarisk bordering the
river, a party of fifty or sixty horsemen, all gaily dressed, and
bristling with armour of sorts, came across the plain towards us. The
Saggid forestalled our inquiry by the intimation that they were some
Afghan chiefs who were come to welcome us. With this satisfactory
assurance we proceeded, and presently, arrived at a few paces from each
other, all by common consent dismounted simultaneously. Then followed a
very confused and promiscuous greeting, with an amount of cordiality and
friendship quite unlooked for, considering we were perfect strangers. Our
friends seemed to act on the principle of “shaking a hand wherever they
saw one,” and, doubtless, under opposite conditions, would be equally
ready as the proverbial Irishman to “hit a head wherever they saw one.”
At all events, from their martial array, they were quite prepared to act
on a contingency rendering such a measure necessary.
We were no sooner dismounted than we were enveloped in a crowd of Afghans
and Balochi, welcoming anybody and everybody in their own rough and
homely fashion. One seized my hand with a “_Jor hastí?_” (“Are you well?”
or, “How d’ye do?”), but before I could reply it was grabbed by another
with a similar interrogative; from him it was snatched by a third, who
was quickly deprived of its possession, and cut short in his “_Kúsh
ámadíd_” (“You are welcome,” or, “Glad to see you”) by a burly fellow
elbowing his way through the crowd with great bustle and roughness. He
merely gave a tug and a toss, with “_Saggid kúm dai?_” (“Which is the
Saggid?”), and passed on; and I hurried after him, glad to escape from my
surroundings—a true case of “save me from my friends.”
The Saggid presently restored order, and introduced us to Sardár Ahmad
Khán, Isháczai Afghan, the lord of Lásh; and Sardár Ibráhím Khán,
Sanjarání Baloch, the lord of Chakansúr or Chaknásúr; and Mardán Khán,
Núrzai Afghan of Farráh, formerly Yár Muhammad’s agent in Sistan. The
usual compliments were then quickly exchanged, and mounting, we proceeded
on our way together. Presently we struck the river bank, and following
its course opposite a long island strip for a mile or two, camped on the
verge of the hard gravelly desert plain, close to a belt of tamarisk
jangal.
In the afternoon Sardár Ibráhím Khán called on the General, and took
his leave of us, as he crosses the river to be amongst his own people
at night. He is a thorough barbarian, slovenly in dress, loud in voice,
and rough in manner. He has coarse repulsive features, and a very
unhealthy sallow complexion, the results of a long life of dissipation
and debauchery. His coming out to meet us is, we are told, a great
compliment, for he is very proud of his independence, and has never done
as much honour to any Afghan king or other potentate. He is very popular
amongst his people on account of his liberality and courage, but is said
to be subject to fits of insanity, brought on by the excessive abuse of
_charras_, or the resin of Indian hemp, an intoxicating drug which is a
very fruitful source of madness in India.
On these occasions he shuts himself up in a tower of his fort with one of
his wives and a couple of African slave boys for a week at a time, his
only guards being a number of savage dogs he keeps for hunting the wild
boar. His son, Khán Jahán Khán, now has the management of his affairs, as
the father’s fits of dissipation quite unfit him for the conduct of his
business. The immense quantities of snuff he uses quite muddle his brains
in the intervals when they are not deprived of intelligence by drugs.
We did not discover until after he had left us that he was the actual
murderer of the unfortunate Dr Forbes when he was his guest in 1842.
I learned from an eye-witness, now in the service of the chief of Lásh
(whose mother is the murderer’s sister), that the murder was quite
unpremeditated, and was committed in a freak of intoxication. It appears
that on the eve of the melancholy occurrence a party had been arranged
for shooting wild-fowl on the lake in the morning. The host and murderer,
with a party of attendants, accompanied their guest to the lake, and all
appeared in very good spirits and on the best terms. The wild-fowl were
found too far from the shore, and the _tútín_, or bulrush float used by
the fowlers, was brought forward to carry Dr Forbes nearer to the game.
Gun in hand, says my informant, the confiding stranger took his seat on
this raft, and was being poled out into the clear water by one of the
attendants. When only a few yards from the shore, the murderer and his
victim were conversing merrily; and the latter, laughing, observed that
the unsteady motion of his little bark did not promise him a successful
bag. The former, now suddenly changing his tone, took his loaded rifle
from an attendant, and pointing it at Dr Forbes, laughingly exclaimed
he would make a very good target. The doctor, not expecting any foul
play, laughed, and said no doubt he would. At this moment the fatal
trigger was pulled, and the unfortunate gentleman rolled into the water,
shot through the heart. Seeing what he had done, the murderer, Ibráhím
Khán, is described as having burst into a paroxysm of insane laughter
at this tragic conclusion of the stranger’s career. His body was soon
after recovered from the water, and the valuables removed from it. The
corpse was then decently interred on the river bank, and no indignity was
perpetrated upon it, as has been stated by some parties.
The murderer, it appears, had been in a more or less intoxicated state
for some days previously, and, at the time he committed the crime, was
under the influence of _charras_ or _bhang_. Such is the account I
received; and though it in no way exculpates the criminal, it divests the
tragedy of much of the horrors the commonly current accounts had coloured
it with.
The weather at this stage was altogether different from any we previously
or subsequently experienced in this country. During the day the sky was
overcast with clouds, and the air was still and oppressive. Towards
sunset a strong south wind set in, and at nightfall increased to a gale
for an hour or so. On its subsidence the atmosphere became close, warm,
and oppressive, and a host of musquitoes and midges invaded our tents. In
the flood season they are said to be a perfect plague in the vicinity of
the river and the shores of the lake.
Our next stage from this was nineteen miles to Burj ’Alam. The route,
at first northerly along the river course, gradually diverged from it
to north-west by a beaten track across a bare pebbly tract. The country
presents nothing worthy of note, except the wide extent of ruins on the
opposite side of the river during the first few miles out from camp.
Beyond them to the east the prospect is intercepted by the high coast of
desert cliffs, and in the opposite direction, across the wide plain to
the west, is bounded by the Nihbandán range of hills, which to the south
are connected with the Sarhadd mountains, and to the north with those of
Farráh.
Our new friends, Sardár Ahmad Khán and Mardán Khán, with their respective
followers, accompanied us on the march. The former was handsomely dressed
in the Afghan costume, and mounted on a richly caparisoned Persian horse.
He joined us shortly after we had started, and galloping up from the
rear, saluted the General with a very well pronounced “Good morning,” and
merrily observed that he had learned the expression from Conolly more
than thirty years ago. He spoke in high terms of that officer’s merits,
and said their friendship, when he was here, was like that of brothers.
He recounted various excursions he had made in Sistan with Captain
Conolly and Sergeant Cameron, and expressed his pleasure in again making
the acquaintance of Englishmen after so long an interval. He said he
viewed us in the light of brothers, and hoped we would consider him
in the same relation, and in token of this new bond of brotherhood,
he stretched out his arm and shook hands with us. His manner is very
quiet, and with somewhat of the polish of the Persian about it, and was
strangely in contrast with that of his countryman, Mardán Khán, who,
with the characteristic roughness of the Afghan soldier, was loud and
blustering in his manner, and, though thoroughly well disposed, never
hesitated to “call a spade a spade,” regardless of time and place.
This latter character was in the service of Prince Kamrán at Herat at the
time that Major Todd was political officer there. He was subsequently
Yár Muhammad’s revenue collector for Sistan, and had his headquarters
at Kimak, where he married a Sistani lady, who now resides at his home
near Farráh. Later, he took service with the Amir Dost Muhammad, and was
appointed commandant of a party of Farráh irregular horse, a post he
still holds under the Amir Sher ’Ali. He bears the character of being a
brave and successful soldier, and is said to have been engaged in most
of the fights on this frontier during the past half-century, and carries
the scars of some of them on his body. Though now an old man, he is
remarkably active, and rules his men with a well-dreaded sternness.
We found both our companions incredibly ignorant of everything outside
their own country and its immediate politics, and even with these they
were not so well acquainted as one would expect them to be. Their
knowledge of geography was of the scantiest; of history they knew simply
nothing; whilst of European politics their ideas were of the haziest
kind. “Who are these Prúss who have defeated the French?” said Mardán
Khán. “Outside Islám we only know of three nations to the west—the
English, French, and Russians. But now people talk of the Prúss: who are
they?—where do they come from? They must be a great nation if it is true
they have defeated the French.”
Having been enlightened on these points as much as he was capable of
being enlightened, he exclaimed with provoking simplicity, “I see! they
are neighbours of the Rúss. Of course they are the same nation.”—“Not
at all,” said I in explanation. “Then they are brothers, for their
names are evidently of one stock.” It was useless arguing the point, for
any further explanation would only have been received with suspicious
incredulity, so the conversation was turned. “But tell me,” said my
companion confidingly, still hankering after the old topic, “is it true
that there is such a country as _Yangi dunyá_?” (the New World). “There
is no doubt about it; we call it America,” said I. “And is it true that
they have rebelled against your government, and set up an independent
government of their own?”—“That’s an old story now,” I replied. “Then it
is true. Where do they live? Is their country near Farangistan?”—“You
would not understand if I told you,” said I, tiring of the interrogation;
“their country is straight under our feet on the other side of the
world.” “_Lá hanla!_” (“No!”) exclaimed my astonished friend, opening
his eyes to the widest with a stare of disbelief. Here, glad of the
opportunity, I galloped off to the General’s party, which had reined up a
little in advance to look around for a site to breakfast on.
Some water-worn banks a little to the right of our route were selected.
From them we looked down on a beautifully clear blue sheet of water in a
deserted channel of the Helmand delta. It was evidently very shallow, for
cranes found a footing far from the shore, and pelicans along its edge
moodily watched the approach of unwary fish. This channel is upwards of
a mile wide, and its banks, which consist of firm clay some sixty feet
high, are marked by successive rows of water-lines, at no great height
above the present pool, thus indicating that the channel carries a flood
at certain seasons. The banks on both sides are bare of vegetation, and
are much furrowed and worn by surface drainage.
We had come twelve miles before we halted, and proceeded four more before
we descended by a gently sloping gully into a wide circular basin, which
formerly had formed a back-water in connection with the deserted channel
above mentioned, but which now presented a dry, fissured, and caked
surface of bare clay, set around by water-marks rising in lines one above
the other to a height of some twenty feet.
We went across this basin towards a clay bluff projecting on to it. As
we approached near it a large party of horsemen, much to our surprise,
suddenly shot out from behind its cover towards us, and reined up to
await our arrival. They formed the _isticbál_ party sent out by Sharíf
Khán, Nahroe Baloch, to meet and conduct us to his fort of Burj ’Alam.
The party was headed by his son ’Ali Muhammad, a handsome youth dressed
and shaved in the Persian fashion, and consisted of about sixty horsemen,
all armed with rifles slung at their backs. It was the first we had seen
of the Persians, for most of the party belonged to that nation, and
they certainly looked a fine body of men, and were well mounted. The
ceremony was very well arranged, and the sudden dash forward from their
concealment was managed with good effect, as it was meant to do.
As we came up, ’Ali Muhammad moved his horse forward, and, with a slight
inclination of the body said, “_Ahwál shuma?_” (“How do you do?”). The
greeting was responded to in the same manner and language, and then both
parties, mingling into one, proceeded without further ceremony or delay.
Passing over a ridge of bare pebbly ground, from which Kimak Fort was
seen four miles to the north-east, we descended into a great hollow,
level with that just left behind. It extends for many miles to the
south-west as a low-lying plain, or lacustrine hollow, bordered to the
south by a coast-line of high clay banks. This is the Hámún of Sistan:
the name in Persian signifies a level desert plain. We crossed it in a
northerly direction, and passing an extensive graveyard, a little farther
on came to our camp, pitched close under the walls of Burj ’Alam.
The graveyard occupies the base and slopes of a clay ridge on the left of
our path, and dates only from the commencement of the present century.
A couple of domed mausolea on the crest of the ridge mark the tombs of
’Alam Khán, the founder of the Nahroe colony in Sistan, and of his son,
Dost Muhammad, the brother of the present chief, Sharíf Khán. The other
graves are different from any we have hitherto seen. Over each grave is
built an oblong platform or block, lying north and south. The material
is raw brick neatly plastered with clay, and on the upper surface is the
figure of a coffin. The dimensions of these structures are apparently
uniformly six feet by three high, and two and a half wide. They appeared
carefully kept, and gave the cemetery a neat look.
This is the first village we have come to in Sistan proper, which it
seems is limited to a very small area. We were much surprised, on leaving
camp this morning, to hear our companions say that we should enter Sistan
by-and-by, being under the impression that we had already done so on
passing beyond Rúdbár. In reality however—so we are told—we only entered
Sistan to-day where the _isticbál_ of Sharíf Khán met us; the country
beyond to the south being called, on the east Trákú, and on the west
Zirrah, which sinks rapidly to the south. In this restricted sense Sistan
is a very small country, and only comprises the low-lying lacustrine
basin, or Hámún, that lies between the Naizár on the north and the
cliffs of the Zirrah desert on the south, the delta of the Helmand on the
east, and the Sarshela ravine on the west.
During the afternoon, Sharíf Khán, the chief of the Nahroe Baloch settled
in Sistan, paid us a visit. He is a tall, well-built, handsome man, and
was richly dressed in the Afghan fashion. His manners are polished for
Baloch, the result evidently of his residence at Tehran, where he has
spent several years as a political prisoner or _détenu_. He is now,
under the rule of the Persians, the most important, though by no means
the most influential, chief in the country. In deference to his Persian
masters he has adopted the Shia doctrine, and most of the tribe have in
this particular followed the lead of their chief. He has also married his
daughter to Ali Akbar, the eldest son of Hashmat-ul-Mulk Mír ’Alam Khán,
the Persian governor of Sistan. The Nahroe Baloch, of whom Sharíf Khán is
the present representative, are comparatively modern settlers in Sistan.
About the beginning of the present century, the Kayáni chief Bahrám Khán,
being pressed by the Sanjarání Baloch on the one side, and the Sárbandi
and Shahrki on the other, called in the aid of the Nahroe Baloch under
their chief ’Alam Khán, and settled them on the south borders of Sistan
as a check upon the encroachments of the others.
’Alam Khán was the son of Mirzá Khán, chief of a shepherd tribe dwelling
in the Nahroe hills north of Bampúr. He came into Sistan with no great
gathering, and was granted the lands of Gód, Calá Nan, Burj ’Alam
(restored from ruins and named after himself), and two or three other
villages, as military fiefs. ’Alam Khán, on the subsequent decline of
the Kayáni family, declared his independence, and on his death was
succeeded by his son, Dost Muhammad. This latter died in 1857, and was
succeeded by his brother, Sharíf, the present chief. They were all Sunni
Muhammadans, and exercised a subordinate influence on the politics of the
country till the arrival of the Persians. But now, since their occupation
of the country, they have become Shia Muhammadans, and attained to the
foremost importance in the country, though numerically they are the
weakest party.
Burj ’Alam is a walled town built on the slope of a high clay bank that
here bounds the hollow to the northward. The walls are crenated and
loopholed, but, from the situation of the town, the houses in the upper
part are commanded over the walls from the low ground to the east. The
houses are crowded together in a confused jumble of domed huts, and are
overlooked by the citadel, built on an eminence at the north-west angle.
The town is said to shelter four hundred families.
_6th March._—Burj ’Alam to Wásilán, six miles. After clearing the walled
vineyards and corn-fields about our camp, we came to a great canal
flowing westward, and in parts overflowing, between raised banks at
twelve or fourteen feet above the level of the plain. We followed it a
short distance, and then turned to the north-east, over a promontory
of high clay banks covered with pebbles similar to those seen in the
desert, and again descending to the low land, picked our way amongst
bogs and pools to the banks of the canal at Kimak, half-way on the
march. The pools, formed by overflowings from the canal, were swarming
with all sorts of wild-fowl. Disturbed at their busy morning meal by our
approach, they rose in dense clouds that darkened the sky, and, whirling
overhead in rapid flights, filled the air with an uproar of discordant
sounds, heard far above the shouts, curses, and imprecations of our
camp-followers, as they floundered and struggled in the passage of the
canal.
We ourselves were ferried across on the native _tútín_, to a narrow
landing directly under the walls of the Kimak fort, at a spot where, for
a short distance, the stream flows flush with the plain, though both
above and below it it flows between raised banks considerably higher
than the general level of the surface. The _tútín_ is a very clumsy
raft or float, constructed of bulrushes bound together in bundles, and
strengthened by tamarisk stakes. It derives its name from the _tút_, or
rush, of which it is made, and is about eight feet long by three wide,
and one and a half deep. The ends of the bundles of rushes are at one
end coiled over and pegged to the upper surface by long wooden pins, and
the body of the raft is strengthened by cross ribs of tamarisk above and
below, fastened together through its substance by cords passing between
the bundles, which are arranged lengthways, whilst the form is secured by
long tamarisk staves fastened at the sides, as is shown in the annexed
sketch.
[Illustration]
There were only two of these rafts at the ferry. Ourselves and boxes were
ferried across on them on successive trips, and the rest of our camp and
escort forded the stream a little lower down, where the water reached to
the necks of the men. Each raft could only accommodate two passengers
and two small boxes, with one man to pole it across the stream. We
each sat upon a box, and the weight of all sunk the raft to the level
of the water. We were obliged to sit perfectly still in the centre to
prevent a capsize, a catastrophe that was more than once threatened in
our short transit by the clumsy movements of the wherryman with his pole.
After landing on the other side, we passed round the walls of Kimak, and
through some small orchards and vineyards to the banks of the canal a
little farther up, where we halted to watch the passage of our baggage
and escort.
The whole of our party comprised about a hundred and thirty horsemen,
sixty or seventy camels, more than half that number of mules and
baggage-ponies, and about thirty footmen. The camp equipage was more
or less wetted, and several mishaps occurred, but no serious loss or
accident; and in three hours and a half the whole of our party were
safely across the Kohak canal, or, as it is here called, Mádariáb (mother
of the water). Where we crossed, the canal is between thirty and forty
yards wide; it is said to have an average depth of nine feet here, and is
only fordable in two or three places. The ford at Kimak was very narrow,
and most of the mishaps that occurred were owing to the cattle getting
off the direct line into deep water.
The Kohak canal, as its name implies, is taken off the Helmand above a
weir thrown across the river at that place. In reality it drains the
river into its own channel to the extent of diverting its stream, for
very little, at this season, escapes over the river, and the river bed
beyond it is a mere succession of stagnant pools, that cease far short of
reaching the pool, or lake marsh, into which the Helmand in its ordinary
course disembogues. The canal traverses the plain westward, and gives
off some large branches, which are unfordable. From these an intricate
network of smaller canals branch off, and ramify the whole country south
of the Naizár, fertilising it to an extraordinary degree.
Kimak is a small village enclosed within crenated and loopholed
walls, and protected by a citadel at the south-west corner. It is the
residence of Sherdil Khán, the brother of Sharíf Khán of Burj ’Alam,
and is now held by a party of Persian soldiers. They certainly seem to
have established themselves here pretty strongly, for I observed that
they thrashed the people very freely right and left, with an amount of
submission on their part I was not prepared to see. The fact is, Persian
rule is so stern, and their punishments so severe and so horribly cruel,
that an unusual amount of oppression and violence are endured by the
serfs before they are goaded into resistance.
From Kimak, leaving the ridge of clay mounds called Atashgáh half a mile
to our left, we proceeded north-eastwards, and at three miles camped at
Wásilán, a small village, around which are some Baloch huts. Our route
all the way led over corn-fields flooded with water, and we had to pick a
path to avoid the deep mud.
Due north of our route the Koh Khojah hill appeared on the horizon, an
isolated block of black rock of no great height. The general aspect of
the country is a vast gently undulating plain, diversified here and there
by low sandhills, and bounded towards the east by high desert cliffs,
that now and again come into view.
The authorities at Wásilán made themselves as disagreeable to us as they
could short of actual violence. They not only would not provide our
camp with supplies themselves, but prohibited the people from selling
to us, and went so far as to turn back some loads of fodder already
purchased and being brought to camp by some of our camp-followers. The
Saggid’s Afghans could not brook this conduct on the part of those who
stood in the position of hosts towards us, and a scuffle ensued between
them and some of the village people. The occurrence was at once seized
upon by the opposite party as a subject of complaint; but the Saggid,
to cut the matter short, had his four followers soundly flogged on the
spot, and returned the loads of straw purchased in the village. Our
cattle for the day were put on short rations, eked out with what they
could pick up on the plain. This is our disagreeable recollection of
Wásilán. A more agreeable remembrance is kept alive by the appropriate
name of the place, which signifies in Arabic “the meeters.” It was
here we had the pleasure of meeting Major Ewan Bean Smith, who arrived
towards the close of the day from Sir F. Goldsmid’s camp at Banjár, and
learning of the safety and welfare of their party; for though letters
had been passing between our camps, we had on more than one occasion
heard disquieting rumours concerning the security of our friends. So we
met at last, notwithstanding the “rude bar” in our progress through the
Garmsel; and, to turn from the serious to the frivolous, gained full
credit for what had been unanimously conceded as the most telling of the
riddles exchanged between the two camps, the one in question having been
propounded to explain the cause of delay in our arrival in Sistan.[2]
Next day we marched twelve miles to Nasírabad, and camped on the plain
north-west of the fort. Our route was northerly, over a level country,
more or less extensively cultivated, and freely irrigated by numerous
water-cuts. The soil is light and sandy, and is described as extremely
fertile in the production of cereals and melons. In some parts the land
seemed to have received a deposit from river floods.
At about midway on the march we crossed a strip of waste land, the
surface of which presented a very remarkable appearance from the action
of a high wind that prevails here at certain seasons. The soil, which
was a compact sand, had been scooped into long wind-swept refts, all
from north-west to south-east. The edges of these were as clean and
sharp as if they had been dressed with a chisel, and on passing the
hand across them, left the conviction that they could inflict an ugly
wound on the shins of the unwary traveller stumbling against them. A few
tamarisk bushes dotted the surface here and there, with small patches of
camel-thorn and saltwort, and by their bend and direction of branches
evidenced the violence and persistence of the wind that had so cut the
surface into striæ.
Beyond this we passed some ruins of villages and a miserable hamlet
called Kandúrak. It is only interesting in a historical point of view
as being the scene of a desperate fight and terrible slaughter of the
Shahrki rebels in the time of Sháh Tymúr, Durrani. Towards the close
of Sháh Ahmad’s reign, the Shahrki tribe, in the perpetual revolutions
characterising the normal condition of this province during centuries
past, had, by continual encroachments on the lands of their neighbours
the Kayáni, contrived to gain the ascendancy in the politics of the
country, and Sháh Tymúr, on succeeding to the throne of Afghanistan, just
a century ago, appointed their chief, Mír Beg, governor of the province.
Mír Beg, Shahrki, was killed about the year 1777 in a petty fight against
the Núrzais at Rúdbár, and the government of Sistan was then restored to
the hereditary chief, Malik Bahrám, in subordination to Tymúr’s governor
of Lásh, an Afghan noble named Zamán Khán, Popalzai. This joint authority
failed in its purpose, and the Shahrki, rebelling against the Kayáni,
defied the authority of the king. Tymúr consequently sent a force of
Afghans under Barkhurdár Khán, Achakzai, to reduce them to subjection.
This he did by the victories of Kandúrak and Mykhána, the ferocity and
slaughter attending which are commemorated in the popular songs of the
country to the present day.
Farther on from Kandúrak, at about a mile from Nasírabad, we were met by
an _isticbál_ party of sixty horsemen, headed by Hájí Asad Khán, before
whom were led a couple of _yadak_, or fully caparisoned horses. He holds
the rank of _yúzbáshí_ or captain in the service of the Prince-Governor
of Khorassan, by whom he has been deputed to this country expressly for
the purpose of carrying back a reliable account of the real state of
affairs here. Major Smith introduced us successively, and the Yúzbáshí
on each occasion nearly bowed himself over the horse’s side. There was
a momentary pause, and then the Persian, with the national facility,
freed himself of some choicely-expressed commonplaces, which, under
the circumstances, would have been better unsaid, for they sounded so
much like irony. He hoped we had made a pleasant journey and found all
we required, when he well knew we had not. He hoped we should find
everything to our comfort and satisfaction, when he was certain we should
not; and so on. The ceremony of introduction over, we went on together
in a mixed crowd to the south face of the fort, and then along the side
of its ditch up the west face to our camp, pitched on the plain a few
hundred yards beyond the north-west corner of the citadel.
In the course of the afternoon, Khán Baba Khán, Hazárah of Herat, now
in the service of the Amir of Ghazn, the Persian governor of this
country, called for _hálpursí_ (a ceremonial visit to inquire of our
health and welfare). He is a stout middle-aged man, with decided Tátár
cast of features, but, contrary to the type, has a long bushy beard and
mustaches. His manner was cold and impassible, and he performed his part
of the ceremony in a thoroughly perfunctory manner.
Aware, probably, that we were unprepared to receive his visit with the
requisites demanded by Persian etiquette, he was accompanied by some
attendants bearing his _calyán_ or smoking apparatus, and the essentials
for brewing tea. A slight hint paved the way to their introduction, and
our visitor puffed and coughed, and coughed and puffed, until it was time
for him to depart. From his stoutness of body, the effort appeared more
laborious than any pleasure the habit could afford him, for he seemed
sometimes almost to lose his breath, whilst beads of perspiration stood
upon his forehead. I had never before nor since seen the _calyán_ produce
such marked effects.
His visit was followed by that of the son of the Persian Commissioner,
Sartipiaurval Mirzá Máctúm Khán, on a similar errand. He was a
pale-faced, beardless youth, of timid and reserved manner, but
intelligent conversation. With him again we sipped tea according to rule,
and in due course he took his leave, and, following his predecessor, went
from our tent to visit the Afghan Commissioner. After their departure, a
servant of the Amir of Ghazn arrived with a few oranges and some lumps of
sugar on the part of his master, and he was followed by another bringing
back our requisition for supplies on payment for the same, with a verbal
request that a detailed list of our party and each item required might
be submitted. This was done, and meanwhile our cattle and followers
remained without food all day. Late in the evening, after we had retired
to rest, another messenger arrived with an intimation that the supplies
were ready for issue inside the fort; but it was too late to get more
than a modicum of fodder for the cattle.
Nasírabad, under the Persian rule, has been established as the capital
of Sistan. It is the residence of Mír Alam Khán, chief of Ghazn, who has
been appointed the Persian governor, with the title of Hashmat-ul-Mulk,
and is the headquarters of the Persian authority in this country. Its
garrison is stated at eight hundred _sarbáz_ or Persian infantry, two
hundred horse, and eight guns. The town or _shahr_ (city), as it is here
called, is merely the original village of Nasírabad enclosed within
fortified walls surrounded by a ditch. They have evidently been very
recently constructed, and are meant more for show than for real defence.
Adjoining the north-west corner of the town, but distinct from it, is
the citadel, which is a strongly-built mud structure, with eight turret
bastions on each face, and a covered way between the ditch and glacis.
The curtains between the bastions are high, loopholed, and crenated.
Near the north-west angle of the citadel, on the verge of the ditch, and
at no distance from our camp, is one of these windmills so common in and
so peculiar to this country. It was evidently out of repair, and the
mournful creaking of its flanges, as they were revolved by the midnight
breeze, effectually deprived us of sleep during the hours of darkness.
This sort of windmill, or _ásyáe báb_, as it is called, is scientifically
though very roughly constructed, in adaptation to the prevalent wind in
this region.
It consists of two parallel mud walls, running north and south; one of
these, usually the eastern wall, is curved round so as to nearly close
the northern face, leaving only a gap three or four feet wide between
it and the opposite wall; the southern face, on the contrary, is left
completely open. In the centre, on the ground between these walls, are
placed the millstones; the upper one working on a pivot fixed in the
centre of the lower one by means of an upright pole fixed in its upper
surface, and playing above through a hole in a great beam that rests
transversely on the tops of the side walls. This upright pole or mast
is furnished with wings or paddles, made of light frames of wood fixed
perpendicularly, and along their outer halves covered with bands of reed
matting or wickerwork, which form flanges to catch the wind and turn the
mill. The following horizontal and vertical sections will illustrate the
plan of these mills.
[Illustration: Horizontal Section.]
[Illustration: Vertical Section.]
The wind enters at A, marked in the horizontal section, and turning the
flange opposite, brings round the next, and so on, and escapes at the
wide southern opening. In some parts of the country these mills are
adapted to work horizontally for the raising of water, but we did not see
any of these.
The weather had been cloudy throughout the day, and at night a cold
north-west wind set in, and the thermometer sunk from 78° Fah. at three
P.M. to 40° Fah. at daybreak. The elevation of Nasírabad is about 1520
feet above the sea.