_15th March._—Silyán to Lásh, eighteen miles, and halt two days. Our
baggage proceeded by the direct route northward across the ruin-covered
plain. The road is three or four miles shorter than that followed by
ourselves, and passes the shrine of Saggid Icbál, the lofty dome of which
overtops the surrounding ruins, and is a prominent object in the midst of
their desolation.
We ourselves made a detour to the westward, and visited the ruins of Kol
Márút, where we were told we should find an inscription to the following
effect, viz.—
“Kol Márút khúshá ba sari ráh o guzar.
’Abash zamzam o khákhash hama zar.
Agar khwáhi jamáli Kába daryábi biram be masjidi Kol Márút ba
wacti sahar.
Chaf chaf chafri chafúr, chapi dasti chop haft khumi zar.”
Which, translated into English, runs thus—“Welcome Kol Márút on the very
high road and passage. Its water is that of Zamzam (a celebrated well
at Mecca), and its earth is all gold. If you desire to enjoy the beauty
of the Kába (the square temple at Mecca), go to the mosque of Kol Márút
at day-dawn. Chaf chaf chafri chafúr (cant words), on the left of the
left hand are seven jars of gold.” On arrival at the ruins, however,
nobody could point out the inscription; and after wandering amongst the
buildings for some time in a fruitless search of it, we proceeded on our
way rather disappointed at our failure, and confirmed in a suspicion
that the inscription and the wealth enigmatically alluded to were alike
mere myths.
The mosque of Kol Márút is a large building, and still retains some very
fairly preserved plaster moulding on the façades of its portal. The
designs are in Arabesque, and worked into sentences from the Curán in
the ancient Cufic character. Adjoining the mosque are some quadrangular
buildings, said to be the remains of colleges. The cloisters were easily
traceable; and in one of the vaulted chambers we found, in a recess of
the wall, imprinted on the plaster, a masonic design of crossed triangles
and stars.
After clearing the ruins we struck on the high road between Hokát and
Sistan, and following it in a north-east direction for four or five
miles, at half-way came to Khyrabad, where we alighted for breakfast in
some ruins hard by.
Khyrabad—the abode of welfare and goodness—is a sad contradiction to the
import of its name, for a more dreary, poor, and unhappy place we have
not seen in this country. It is the first inhabited spot we have come to
since crossing the Sistan boundary at Naizár, and is merely a dilapidated
castle containing twenty or thirty houses of Popalzai Afghans. Outside
the walls, within gunshot range, are a few fields of corn, irrigated from
the small water-cut from the Farráh river, which flows a couple of miles
to the north-west of the fort. Around it the plain is thickly dotted with
tall ruins, which, on the opposite side of the river, are massed together
in the form of a considerable town. These ruins are called Kogháh, and
are situated at the foot of a low hill called Koh Ghúch, on which we were
told there are the ruins of numberless smelting furnaces and heaps of
iron slag. The hill overlooks the pool or _hámún_ of the Farráh river
from the north.
The ruins around Khyrabad have a very peculiar appearance. Each house is
detached from the others, and stands apart by itself, and all are built
on exactly the same model. We examined several of them, and finally took
refuge in one of them for breakfast from the keen blasts of the north
wind, which swept over the plain with considerable force. Each house
consists of two lofty walls strengthened by buttresses, and running north
and south parallel to each other at a width of about twenty feet. The
front faces the south, and is open; the rear faces the north, and is
closed by a high wall connecting the parallel side ones. In its upper
half, towards the western side, this rear wall presents a vertical gap
two feet wide and about eight feet deep from above downwards.
The open front facing the south presents two stories, formed by a
vaulted arch thrown across between the two side walls for their whole
length, about thirty feet from north to south. The interior below the
arch formed the dwelling-house of the occupants, and was furnished with
several little recesses in the sides of the walls. These evidently
served the purpose of cupboards and shelves for domestic utensils and
stores. The lower surface of the arch was generally found stained with
soot, indicating that the fires were burnt on the floor. No means of
ventilation or light were traceable except through the open front.
The stage above the arch was unroofed, and, when these buildings were
peopled, was occupied by the windmill peculiar to this country, and which
has already been described. This explains the reason of the narrow gap
in the upper part of the rear wall. These buildings are all built of raw
brick, and are in many instances remarkably well preserved, apparently
in the actual state of demolition in which they were originally left.
The following diagrams represent the front, rear, and side view of these
curious buildings.
[Illustration: Front S.]
[Illustration: Rear N.]
[Illustration: Sides E. and W.]
Beyond Khyrabad we struck the Farráh river, near the ruins of Sumúr,
on its opposite bank, where it sweeps round the high desert cliffs to
the south-west. We followed up the stream in an opposite direction, and
passing through the ruins of Luftán, amidst which are the remains of
two forts of evidently different dates, came to a wide basin formed by
the talus of the river, and camped on its left bank, directly opposite
the fort of Lásh, which occupies a remarkable position on the verge of
a sheer cliff about four hundred and fifty feet high. It rises straight
up from the river bed, and in the flood season its base is washed by
the swollen stream of the Farráh river. The name is derived from the
situation, for in Pushto _lásh_ or _lákh_ signifies a cliff or precipice.
During our stay here we visited the fort, and were very hospitably
received by its chief, Sardár Ahmad Khán, Isháczai, the lord of Hokát.
His family have only been settled here since the beginning of the present
century. In the time of Sháh Ahmad, Durrani, an ancestor named Kamál
Khán separated from the tribal chief, Madad Khán, at Kandahar, and took
service as a soldier with Tymúr Mirzá at Herat. He left a son named
Rahmdil, who was a man of no parts or influence; but his son, Sálih
Muhammad, became the favourite and confidant of Tymúr’s son, Muhammad,
and followed him in his varied fortunes for many years.
When Mahmúd succeeded to the throne of Kabul in 1810, he gave this
district of Hokát in military fief to his faithful servant, on whom he
had bestowed the title of Sháh Pasand Khán. At this period the district
had hardly recovered from the state of desolation to which it had been
reduced by the invasion of Tymúr Lang, and was merely the winter resort
of Afghan nomads of the Isháczai and Núrzai tribes. The new owner
quickly rebuilt the fort of Lásh on the site of its former ruins, and
also founded the fortress of Júwen on the plain, three miles off, on the
opposite side of the river. He also restored the ruins of Calá Koh and
some other important forts.
Later, when Mahmúd’s misfortunes, crowding fast on each other, drove him
from Kabul, and afterwards lost him the sovereignty in Herat, he found a
refuge here with his former trusty adherent, and lived in quiet obscurity
for some years, till, on the invitation of his rebellious son, Kamrán, he
returned to Herat in 1829, and shortly after died there, under suspicious
symptoms, called cholera.
Sálih Muhammad died, at the age of seventy years, in 1850, having taken
an active part in the political revolutions that mark the history of the
Herat frontier during the half century. His son Abdurrasúl died during
his own lifetime, at Farráh, where he had found an asylum with the
governor against the hostility of Yár Muhammad; and his son Ahmad Khán,
the present Sardár, who resided at Calá Koh, succeeded his grandfather in
the chiefship; and after Yár Muhammad’s death, in the following year,
moved his headquarters to Lásh, his brother, Samad Khán, holding the
fortress of Júwen.
Lásh is a strongly situated little fort, and commands an extensive view
of the surrounding country, and a more desolate prospect it is difficult
to imagine. On either side are vast arid deserts abutting upon the valley
of the Farráh river and the Hokát basin in high cliffs of bare clay,
whilst the low lands between, as far south as the eye can reach, present
a dreary waste of ruined towns, dilapidated forts, and obliterated
water-courses. The only objects varying the monotony of the dismal scene
are the hills closing the view towards the north.
Formerly this district contained twelve flourishing villages, and in the
winter months was crowded with the camps of nomad Afghans, but since
the Persian occupation of Sistan, and the hostilities waged against the
invaders during the past six or seven years, the country has suffered
great loss, and is, in fact, almost depopulated. Seven of its villages
have been abandoned, and their inhabitants, to the number of four
thousand families, been forced to emigrate to Sistan as Persian subjects,
in order to avoid the raids made from that quarter, whilst the Afghan
nomads have entirely deserted the country, owing to the losses suffered
by the forays upon their cattle from the same direction.
Júwen is a strong little fortress, built on the wide talus formed by
the alluvium on the left bank of the river. Its walls are solid and
substantial, and are surrounded by a deep ditch. These two forts and Calá
Koh axe the chief strongholds of the Hokát district, which in former
times was evidently very populous and highly cultivated, as is testified
by the ruins of towns and castles that meet the eye in every direction.
They are of far superior construction to the wretched mud hovels
of the villages now existing in the country, and, in their state of
demolition and desolation, are reproachful memorials of the invasions and
revolutions that have, during successive centuries, reduced a fertile and
populous country to a thinly-peopled waste. The ruins in their character
resemble those of Pesháwarán and Záhidán, and are evidently of Arab
origin; but amidst them here and there are found less artistic and every
way inferior structures, plainly of more recent date.
The ancient road between Kandahar and Herat passed through Sistan and
Hokát to Farráh and Sabzwár or Ispzár, and was the route always followed
by invading armies, on account of the abundant supplies it furnished,
as well as from the necessity of securing the subjection of its people
before the direct route by Girishk could be safely adopted. The incursion
of Tymúr completed the destruction commenced by the irruption of
Changhiz, and the subsequent invasions of Bábar and Nadír again destroyed
the partial restorations that time had effected.
The former, in 1522, captured and dismantled the important fortress
of Hok or Ók, from which the district takes its name; Hokát being the
Arabic plural of _hok_, and applying to the district of which it was the
capital, just as Gháynát applies to the territory of which Gháyn is the
capital. The latter, more than two centuries later, when marching against
Kandahar, destroyed all the principal forts on his route from Farráh
through Sistan and Garmsel up to Búst; and from this period, about 1737,
up to the present time, this country has remained in much the same state
of ruin that it was left by Nadír. Hokát possesses all the requisites for
a very prosperous little chiefship, so far as the natural conditions of
the country are concerned, for its soil is fertile, and water abundantly
at command; but it pines under the curse of anarchy, and groans under the
load of its oppressions. The district is about sixty miles from east to
west, and about fifty from north to south. Its boundaries are Harút or
Adraskand river on the west, the Calá Koh and Farráh hills on the north,
the Khásh desert on the east, and the Naizár on the south.
From its position on the frontier between the Mughal and Persian empires,
this district has suffered the full force of the revolutions and
political vicissitudes marking the history of those rival sovereignties,
and consequently has never thoroughly recovered from the havoc wrought by
the Tátárs; and its present state of desolation is only the consequence
of the long period of anarchy and misrule that have characterised the
history of this region since the downfall of the Arab dominion. Of
the capabilities of the soil, and the command of water, the existing
memorials of former populous cities are sufficient evidence; and, under
a strong government and enlightened rule, there appears no reason why
it should not once more become the fertile and prosperous country it is
known to have been.
_18th March._—Lásh to Panjdih, six miles. This was a sorrowful day for
us all. We had sent our baggage across the river during the forenoon,
and were about to follow at midday, when a courier arrived from Kandahar
_viâ_ Farráh, bringing our post from Peshawar with dates up to the 16th
February. The joy produced by the receipt of these eagerly-looked for
budgets, containing as they did letters from those we hold near and
dear, and news of the world we had left behind us, was on this occasion
sadly shocked by the mournful intelligence of the assassination of the
Viceroy of India on the 8th February, at the hands of a convict in the
Andamans. The news of Lord Mayo’s death cast a gloom over our party for
many days, and for some of us the calamity was invested with a peculiarly
painful interest, from the fact of our having known the perpetrator of
the tragedy for many years as a well-conducted and loyal servant of the
British Government. He was an Afridi Pathan, and had during several
years done good service as personal orderly to successive Commissioners
of Peshawar, and, through the inflexible administration of our law, was
condemned to transportation for life for the murder, within British
territory, of a fellow clansman in satisfaction of a blood-feud; both
being natives of independent territory.
His name was Sher ’Ali, and, like all Pathans with a grievance, he was
deterred by the fear of neither God nor man in seizing an opportunity
for revenge; and thus it happened that, by an extraordinary accident,
the head of the Government fell a victim to his sense of injury, India
plunged into mourning, and the country deprived of one of its most
popular and able governors.
Leaving our camping-ground, we forded the river a little below the Lásh
fort. It flowed in a clear quiet stream, about sixty yards wide, over
a firm pebbly bottom; the water reaching half-way up the saddle-flaps.
Beyond the river we passed through a wide pebbly gully round the western
face of the fort, and gradually rose on to a strip of the desert, which
here projects up to the river bed in a promontory half a mile wide. From
this elevation we got a good view of the Júwen fort and the ruin-covered
basin of the Farráh river; and descending from it, passed north-west over
its alluvium, and camped in the midst of the ruins of a considerable town
close to the little castle of Panjdih, on the right bank of the river.
In the cliffs of the desert bounding the alluvium on our left we
passed a couple of caves said to have been originally inhabited by
fire-worshippers. I dismounted to explore them, and found that they
extended for a considerable distance under the cliff. They are very low
roofed, and divided into numerous passages by thick pillars formed of the
clay soil. The ceiling is very roughly cut out in the shape of a vault,
and the hard clay is charred with soot. The floor is covered with human
footprints, but farther in is marked by the pads of the hyænas or wolves.
The caves could accommodate thirty or forty people according to the
estimate of my native attendants.
From Panjdih we marched sixteen miles to Khúshkrodak, or “the dry
rivulet,” and camped in its wide bed a little off the high road, and
on the edge of a thready stream trickling down its centre, amidst an
abundant growth of a tall coarse pasture grass called _kerta_.
For the first half of our march the road crossed a wide sweep of
alluvium, and then, at a bend of the river called _’Kárwán rez_, rose on
to the desert, which here abuts upon it in high bluffs. The river flows
in a brisk stream, that winds tortuously over a wide channel full of
thick jangal, in which the tamarisk, willow, poplar, and acacia are the
most prominent trees.
The desert stretches away towards the south-west in a great undulating
waste of firm gravelly soil, thickly covered with pasture plants, now
sprouting into leaf, and here and there dotted with shallow pools in
the hollows of the surface. It supports great herds of wild asses and
gazelles, and swarms with lizards, snakes, and scorpions. Hares, foxes,
and wild cats abound in its coverts, and in our passage over it we found
numbers of bustard, sand-grouse, and plover of sorts.
Formerly this desert waste used to be frequented by nomad Afghans, but
they have abandoned its pastures owing to the anarchy and insecurity
that has prevailed here during the last ten years or so. As we found it,
the whole surface is covered with pasture herbs and bushes suited for
camels, horned cattle, and sheep. The principal plants are a dwarf mimosa
called _chughak_, the wormwood, spiny astragalus, caroxylon, and other
saltworts, called here _lána_, _shorai_, and _zmai_, a species of ephedra
called _hóm_, two or three kinds of caryophyllæ, and a woody shrub
bearing yellow flowers and thick fleshy leaves, and having a three-winged
fruit. It is called _mákoi_ in Pushto, and _ghích_ in Persian, and is
considered excellent food for camels and sheep. Its wood also furnishes
good fuel.
Khúshkrodak is a wide and deep ravine with high banks of stiff clay.
It drains the Calá Koh hills, and running across the desert plain in a
southerly direction, joins the Farráh river some way below Lásh. Where
the high road crosses it the banks are shelving, and present loose blocks
of conglomerate rock, but the bed is a stiff clay charged with salines.
Our next stage was fifteen miles across the plain, first north-west and
then north, to Calá Koh, or Káh, as it is usually pronounced, at the foot
of a range of hills running east and west, and connecting those of Farráh
on the north-east with those of Bandán on the south-west.
Calá Koh is the principal of a collection of fortified villages that
extend for many miles along the foot of the hills. The others, from
east to west, are Shúsh, Fareb, Calá Páyín, and Júrg. Interspersed
amongst them are the ruins of several villages and forts that have been
demolished by different invaders. Calá Koh, which was the residence of
the present chief of Lásh up to 1851, was dismantled in 1863 by orders
of the late Amir Dost Muhammad Khán, as a punishment for the contempt
of his authority shown by its chief, Sardár Ahmad Khán, Isháczai, the
present lord of Hokát.
Since the fall of the Saddozai family this chief had always maintained an
independent attitude towards the Bárakzai rulers of Kabul and Kandahar,
and was favoured by the isolation of his position in resisting their
attempts to reduce him to submission. He was, moreover, estranged from
them by reason of a blood feud existing between the families, Ahmad
Khán’s grandfather, Sálih Muhammad, having taken part in the cruel
butchery of the Wazír Fata Khán, the brother of the Amir Dost Muhammad
Khán. On the occasion of Dost Muhammad’s move upon Herat he summoned
Ahmad Khán to his camp at Farráh, but this Afghan noble, mistrustful of
the Amir’s designs, and fearful of losing his independence, hastily left
his domain and took refuge with the Persians at Mashhad. Consequently
the Amir detached a force under his son Sardár Muhammad Sharíf Khán to
destroy Calá Koh and plunder the district. The fort has remained in a
dismantled state ever since.
The land about Calá Koh is irrigated from streams brought off from the
Farráh river, and produces wheat and barley abundantly. The soil is very
highly charged with salines, and in wet weather the roads are almost
impassable by reason of the depth of mud. We had to cross a small patch
of land that had been flooded by a break in the bank of an irrigation
canal, and found the mud knee-deep and very tenacious. Many of our
baggage cattle fell in it, and were extricated with considerable trouble.
We found the midday sun here had unusual force. The thermometer in our
tents rose to 92° Fah. at three P.M., and sunk to 52° Fah. at daylight.
The height of this place above the sea is about 2100 feet. Along the
water-courses grows in abundance a strong thorny bush, much resembling
the barberry, but different from it. Its local name is _sag angúrak_, or
“dog’s grape.”
From Calá Koh we marched fifteen miles in a westerly direction, and
camped on the bank of the Harút Rúd, the bed of which we found quite
dry, though water in sufficiency was found by digging a few feet into
its gravelly soil. Our route skirted the hills to the right, and passing
through a gap in them, opened on the wide basin of the Harút river, which
is a dismal wilderness without a trace of habitation or cultivation. The
surface is covered with a thick growth of tamarisk bushes, caroxylon, and
other saltworts, carthamus, wild almond, _ghích_, and a profuse variety
of other plants, but the hills about are perfectly bare.
At the castle of Júrg we took leave of Sardár Ahmad Khán, who had
accompanied our party since we first met on the march from Daki Dela to
Cabri Hájí. He and his party then went on to pay their devoirs at the
shrine of Imám Záhid, at the foot of a hill a couple of miles ahead. It
is called _Reg Rawán_, from the “moving sand” on its slope.
A little later we ourselves were obliged to follow their path, owing to
the land in our front being impassably deep in mud from the overflow of
an irrigation stream. Imám Záhid we found to be a collection of fifteen
or sixteen wretched huts round the shrine of that saint, and hard by
are a few date-palms of stunted growth. Overlooking all, at a few yards
to the north, is the _reg rawán_ hill with its covering of loose red
sand, which exactly resembles that we met with in the desert bounding
the Garmsel on the south, and from which locality it has probably been
drifted here at some remote period, for there is no similar sand anywhere
in the vicinity.
The sand fills a wide concavity on the southern slope of a bare rocky
ridge detached from the Calá Koh range, and forms an isolated mass, as
remarkable from its position as from the sounds it emits when set in
motion. As we passed on, our late companions on the march toilfully
plodded their way up the sandy slope to the summit of the hill. Their
steps set the loose particles of sand in motion, and their friction, by
some mysterious acoustic arrangement, produced a sound as of distant
drums and music, which we heard distinctly at the distance of a mile. The
sounds were not continuous, but were only now and again caught by the
ear, and much resembled those produced by the Æolian harp, or the wind
playing on telegraph wires. These sounds are often emitted by the action
of the wind on the surface of the sand, and at other times without any
assignable cause. The phenomenon has invested the locality with a sacred
character, and visitors to the shrine consider their devotions incomplete
till they have toiled up the sands and repeated their prayers on the
hill-top. There are similar collections of sand on other hills of this
range some miles farther on, as we observed in the next march, but they
are divested of interest to the natives since they produce no sound.
At the Harút river we found the sun hot, and a south wind blowing all day
produced a sensible change in the climate. The bed of the river where
we camped presented a shallow pebbly bed with low shelving banks, and
the soil on either side was covered with great patches of white saline
efflorescence. This river, after leaving the Anárdarrah valley, forms the
western boundary of Hokát, and the hills bounding its basin to the west,
joining the Nih Bandán range farther south, form the western boundary
of Sistan. Beyond this range, to the west, is a long strip of desert,
called Dashtí Náummed, which extends north and south, and forms the limit
between Afghanistan and Persia.
_22d March._—Harút Rúd or river to Cháhi Sagak, twenty-four miles. Our
route was westward, by a well-trodden path, across a wide basin covered
with thick jangal of two kinds of tamarisk, called _gaz_ and _tághaz_,
interspersed amongst a profuse growth of caroxylon, salicornia, spiny
astragalus, wild almond, carthamus, mimosa, artemisia, Syrian rue, blue
iris, tulips, and other bulbous plants, and various species of herbs.
Beyond this we passed through an interrupted chain of hills trending
north and south, and entered on an undulating surface covered with a
profusion of pasture plants, of which the asafœtida is prominent from its
abundance. This plain is called Arwita, and extends northwards up to the
Cháhi Shor, or “saline well” hills, beyond which, through the valley of
the Harút river, it joins the Anárdarrah glen.
Crossing this, we passed through a gap in the Regoh hills, so named
from an isolated drift of sand on the southern slope of its principal
ridge, similar to that of the Reg Rawán already described, and entered on
another pasture plain called Damdam. The Regoh hill is of red granite,
and the soil of the plain is a firm gravel strewed with bits of cellular
lava, with here and there some remarkable outcrops of white quartz
resembling cairns.
Near one of these, on the roadside, we found a number of burrows or
trenches, roofed over with the branches of bushes growing around, and
covered over with soil. Each was only large enough to contain a man lying
full length, and must have been entered feet foremost, as there was but
one opening, and it only admitted of this mode of entry. They were
formerly used as shelter from the weather by the shepherds tending their
flocks here; but these pastures have been abandoned by the Afghan nomads
for many years, owing to the insecurity of the country, although the
whole tract up to Cháhi Sagak is their recognised pasture limit.
This road too, which from remote times has been the caravan route between
India and Persia, by Kandahar and the Bolán on the one side, and Lásh and
Birjand on the other, has long been abandoned as a trade route, owing to
its unsafety, and the risks from plundering bands of Sistanis and Baloch
on the one hand, and Afghans and Gháynís on the other.
At about midway on the march we halted at the Cháhi Damdam for breakfast.
It is a wide-mouthed well or pit at the foot of a low hill, the southern
slope of which is covered with a mass of loose red sand like Regoh and
Reg Rawán, but of smaller size, and contains some coffee-coloured water
of most uninviting appearance, but it was free from smell, and not bad
tasted.
Beyond this we passed through an interrupted ridge of hills, the highest
of which, away to the south, is called Tagi Atashkhana, and is said to
produce flint stones, and then sloped gently down to the Dashtí Náummed,
or “desert of despair,” which is the great boundary between Afghanistan
and Persia. It is here about six miles wide, and runs north and south
between parallel ranges of hills. The surface is covered with a profusion
of excellent pasture plants and asafœtida in great abundance. In former
times it used to be the common grazing-ground for the cattle of the
Afghan tribes in the vicinity, from Sistan, Hokát and Farráh; but owing
to the border disputes between the Persian and Afghan governments it
has been deserted for several years, and its pastures are now the
hunting-ground of marauding Baloch and Afghans, who harry the country
from all sides.
Though hardly six miles wide where we crossed it, this belt of desert
is said to expand considerably towards the north and south, and in the
former direction extends up to the limits of Mashhad. On its farther side
we camped at the outlet of a gully draining the range of hills dividing
Afghanistan from Persia, near a well called Cháhi Sagak, or “dog’s well.”
It is the farthest point claimed as Afghan territory in this direction,
and is a mere camping-stage, without a vestige of habitation or
cultivation; in fact, there are no signs of such in all this tract west
of Imám Záhid. The name of the well is applied in a disparaging sense,
and very appropriately too, for its water was the worst we had anywhere
met with on the whole of our long march. The liquid hardly deserved the
name of water, for it was a thick, muddy, putrid brine, which it was
impossible to drink disguised in any way. We tried it with tea and coffee
and brandy, but neither lessened its salt taste, nor concealed its smell
of sulphureted hydrogen, and we were content to do without. Our cattle
one and all refused it, and the only ones who used it were some of our
baggage-servants, with stomachs stronger and instincts weaker than those
of the brutes they drove.
The land rises gently all the way in this march, and at Cháhi Sagak is
about 1100 feet higher than at Harút Rúd. The weather was mild and cloudy
all day, with occasional north-westerly breezes. We saw a number of
gazelles on the line of march, and fresh signs of wild asses, a herd of
which had been startled out of sight by our baggagers ahead.
_23d March._—Cháhi Sagak to Duroh, twenty-eight miles. At first our route
was westerly up the course of a winding drainage gully, flanked on each
side by low hills of friable slate, in the clefts and hollows of which
were scattered a few pistacia trees (the _khinjak_ of the Afghans), here
called _bannáh_, and shrubs of the wild almond and barberry.
At about the sixth mile we reached the watershed, and ascended an
adjoining eminence for a view of the country. Towards the north and
west the prospect was obstructed by hills, but to the south and east
we obtained an extensive view of the great desert of Gháyn and Kirmán,
called Dashtí Lút, and the wide plan of Sistan, on either side of the
range we were crossing. Each bore a striking resemblance to the other
in the vast extent of level surface unrelieved by any more attractive
objects than great patches of saline encrustation on the one side, and
long silvery streaks of water on the other.
By the indications of the aneroid barometer, I estimated the height of
this watershed at 3870 feet above the sea. Beyond this we crossed a
hilly country drained by a number of wide pebbly channels that converge
towards the south. The principal of these are the _Rúdi ushtur ran_, or
“the camel-track river,” and the _Rúdi míl_, and both, though now quite
dry, bear traces of the action of considerable floods at certain seasons.
Their beds and banks supported a thin growth of tamarisk and other
bushes, and here and there their channels were obstructed by huge blocks
of granite rock.
On the west of the Rúdi Míl rises a high hill called Calá Koh, from the
resemblance of its summit to a fort, and its name is applied to the whole
range, the different peaks of which are distinguished by their several
distinctive appellations. The scenery amongst these hills is very wild
and rugged. Great ridges of bare rock close the view in every direction,
whilst the hollows between the lesser heights present a very broken
surface, dotted here and there with thorny bushes, as rough and hardy
looking as the rocks amongst which they grow.
Beyond Rúdi Míl we passed through a gap in the Calá Koh range, and
entered a circular basin enclosed by low hills of grey granite. Its soil
is a firm gravel, and the surface abounded in tulips, orchids, lilies,
and other bulbous herbs. From this we passed into another similar basin,
in which we found some cattle at graze, the first we have seen since
leaving Sistan; and beyond it emerged on to the Duroh _júlga_, where we
camped at the foot of the hills, close to the village of that name, the
first we have come to in Persia.
The climate here is notably different from that of the country we have
left behind. During the day the air was delightfully mild and balmy, and
at night fresh and bracing. In crossing the Calá Koh range, we have in
fact entered a different country. The change too is observable no less in
the characteristics of its people than of its climate. The people here
are much fairer skinned than the Afghans, are differently clothed, and
appear a more orderly community.
Duroh is a flourishing little village surrounded by corn-fields and
walled gardens. It is supplied with water from a spring in the hills
hard by, and is protected by a couple of fortified towers on some rocky
heights overlooking the village. Below it is a wide sandy ravine, and
beyond lies a long level valley extending north and south between hills,
and covered with a profusion of pasture herbs, on which we found some
large herds of cattle at graze.
From Duroh we marched twenty-seven miles in a north-westerly direction
to Husenabad, where we camped. For the first sixteen miles our path
led diagonally across the valley, and then followed up the course of
a drainage gully bounded by hills of chlorite slate, through which at
intervals projected masses of a dark close-grained granite. The soil
of the valley is a firm gravel, thickly carpeted with plants in great
variety. The _ghích_, wormwood, wild rue, and asafœtida were remarkably
abundant, but the caroxylon and other saltworts found to the eastward
were here altogether absent.
We halted for breakfast at the mouth of the gully, where is an artificial
cistern called Cháhi Bannáh, from a few _bannáh_ trees (Pistacia sp.)
growing close by, and on the glistening chlorite mounds around found the
wild rhubarb in some quantity. The gully winds a good deal, and narrows
as it ascends, but the slope is gradual and the road not difficult. On
the skirts of the hills on either side are a number of small heaps of
clay produced by the disintegration of the rock; they are of different
colours, as ash grey, bluish, fawn colour, and white, and from their
bright hues form an attractive feature in the general scene.
At about three miles we came to a watershed called Gudari Mesham.
Its elevation is about 4900 feet, and the ridge is composed of white
magnesian limestone, which is almost entirely bare of vegetation.
On our way up this pass we met the first travellers it had been our lot
to see or pass on all the road from Kandahar westward. They formed a
small party of about twenty men, with double the number of asses and
bullocks, and were on their way from Birjand to Sistan for grain, like
Israel of old from Canaan to Egypt, for the famine was sore in the
land. They were very poor and submissive-looking people, and, to our
surprise, bowed respectfully as we passed. We had been so accustomed to
the independent bearing of the Afghans, and their haughty indifference
towards strangers, that we were unprepared for this voluntary mark of
deference. One of their party, who lagged in the rear, appeared from
his patchwork frock and dissolute looks to be a member of some order
of religious mendicants, and, on seeing us, at once assumed the air of
impudent defiance it is the privilege of his class to exhibit. As we
approached he still kept the road, and shouted with stentorian voice,
“_Hacc! Hacc! Allah! Gushnaam! Bakhshi Khudá!_” (or, “Just one! just
one! God! I am hungry! the portion of God!”), the while stretching out
his hands for contributions. Another noteworthy circumstance about these
travellers was the fact of their being for the most part disarmed.
None of them carried guns, and only two were armed with swords. I
will not attempt to explain this custom of travelling unarmed, being
insufficiently acquainted with the conditions under which the people
live, and the internal state of the country. I may observe, however,
that it explains the facility with which Afghan, Baloch, and Sistan
marauders harry the country, and carry off its people into slavery in
Afghanistan. I was informed on reliable authority, that most of the slave
girls employed as domestics in the houses of the gentry at Kandahar were
brought from the outlying districts of Gháyn.
Beyond the watershed, our path sloped down to a wide upland plain,
similar to that of Duroh, and, like it, extending from north to south.
We skirted the hills along its eastern border for some miles, and then
turned off to the Husenabad fort in the centre of the plain.
The fort is a very neat little structure of apparently recent
construction. At each of its four corners is a round bastion, and over
the gateway is a turret; on each of two sides are neat rows of domed huts
close under the walls, and around are some corn-fields, but no trees
nor gardens. The water here is from a _kárez_, or, as the subterranean
conduits are here called, _canát_, and though clear and fresh to look at,
is so briny as to be almost undrinkable; yet the people use no other. We
halted here a day, and during our stay got our supplies of water from a
sweet spring at the foot of the hills across the plain to the east. Its
site is marked by the ruins of an ancient castle called Caláta Cáimáb.
The plain of Husenabad is a wide pasture tract of light gravelly soil,
covered at this season with a bright green carpet of short grass, on
which we found some large flocks of goats and sheep at graze. Standing
on the open plain, a couple of miles to the north-east, is the old fort
of Husenabad. It appears in very good preservation, though it has been
abandoned for some years owing to the drying up of its water supply.
Since we crossed the Afghan border at Cháhi Sagak, the weather has been
more or less cloudy, frequent showers have fallen, and occasional storms
have burst over the hills, topping the higher ones with a coating of
snow. The climate here at this season is very delightful. The air is
mild, light, and fresh, and the sun shines with an agreeable warmth, very
different from the oppressive heat of its rays in Sistan. The elevation
of Husenabad is about 4480 feet above the sea. In winter its climate is
described as very severe, owing to the cold blasts of the north wind that
sweep across the plain.
_26th March._—Husenabad to Sarbesha, twenty-nine miles. We set out under
a cold and cloudy sky, and proceeding in a north-westerly direction
across the plain, and over an upland pasture tract, at about seventeen
miles came to the Abi Ghunda Koh, a large pool of fresh water fed by a
strong spring situated at the entrance of a gully in the hills.
On our way over the plateau we passed a number of Elyát tents, dotted
in threes and fours over the surface, and saw large flocks of goats and
sheep. Some of the women came out of their tents with platters of burning
_sipand_, or Syrian rue, the _spelanai_ of the Afghans, and _harmal_
of the Indians, and raced across the mead, shouting in very unfeminine
tones, “_Pul bidih, gushnaem!_” (“Give us money; we are starving!”), and
a chorus of other complaints, which happily were easily appeased at the
cost of a few _kráns_. These women, and some of the men who accompanied
them, were neither young nor good-looking, but they had hardy features,
and tough bronzed skins, and appeared to me physically inferior to the
Afghan nomad, and certainly poorer.
Seeing these people scattered widely in their tents, and considering the
nature of their country, overrun as it is by interrupted hill ranges
affording concealment to the robber, one can easily understand how a
dozen horsemen, suddenly dashing out from their shelter in the hills,
could surprise one of the small camps, and carry off its women and
children before succour could arrive. Formerly these frontier Elyáts used
to be regularly hunted by the Afghan and Baloch, and sometimes even the
Turkman, their cattle carried off, and themselves sold into slavery. Of
late years, however, this miserable species of raid has been put a stop
to. But the Elyát of Gháyn very seldom venture beyond the protection of
the frontier forts, such as Husenabad. Their wealth principally consists
in goats and sheep, the former particularly, and also camels.
Immense flocks of goats are reared on the rich pastures of this elevated
region. They are almost all of a black colour, with long coarse hair that
hangs in matted tangles. We noticed that most of the goats were shedding
a very soft light-brown down that grows at the roots of the hair. It
adhered in flocks to the matted tresses of hair, and was easily picked
off. Some flocks I gathered were extremely soft and fine and downy, and
seemed to have been shed with the outer skin, for dry scales of cuticle
were caught in its meshes.
This down is picked off and collected under the name of _kurk_, and is
used in the manufacture of a soft, warm woollen stuff known by that name.
This _kurk_ is made up into the cloaks called _chogha_, _jubba_, &c., and
the finer kinds fetch a high price. The camels and sheep shed a similar
down, and the materials manufactured from them are called respectively
_shuturi pashmína_ and _barrak pashmína_. The coarser kinds of all three
materials are called _pattú_, and somewhat resemble baize in texture.
We alighted at the Abi Ghunda Koh for breakfast. Its preparation proved
as difficult a task as its discussion afterwards was a disagreeable
duty. A steady rain had set in, and squally gusts of wind from the
south whirled drifts of its drenching showers upon us with unmitigated
persistence, in the poor shelter afforded by the lee of the rocks around.
Our Persian servants were, however, quite equal to the occasion, and
speedily produced a number of hot dishes from the stores concealed in the
recesses of the capacious bags of their packhorses, with more facility
than we experienced in their disposal.
The rain had washed the rocks, and brought out their bright colours with
unusual distinctness, and the mounds of amygdaloid trap and speckled
granite shone out handsomely. For three miles onwards from this pool
our route followed the course of a drainage gully, the surface of which
sparkled with bright-coloured stones; fragments of green, red, and brown
trap, light blue and pink water agates, cellular lava of cream, orange,
and chocolate hues, and masses of a striated and starred rock of rust
colour, resembling iron ore, with sharp angular fragments of “pepper and
salt” trap, strewed the path everywhere.
At the top of the gully we rose suddenly by a narrow path over a great
ridge of granite on to a small gap called Gudar Ghanda Koh. It forms the
watershed boundary between the Husenabad and Sarbesha plateaux, and is
about 6885 feet above the sea, the aneroid on its summit figuring 22·91.
The descent on the other side is by a long slope, skirting some low hills
to the left down to the great Sarbesha plateau, which we crossed at its
southern extremity, and camped at the village from which it takes its
name.
In our route over this pass we found a good deal of wild vegetation in
the hollows of the hills. The principal plants were the wild almond and
tamarisk, dwarf ephedra, camel-thorn, and the _ghích_, also caroxylon,
wild rue, artemisia, orchids, crocus, and other similar plants.
We halted a day at Sarbesha, owing to the inclemency of the weather, and
saw enough to prove that its winter must be a rigorous season. Rain fell
more or less continuously during our halt here; the air was cold, raw,
and cheerless, and wintry blasts of a south wind howled over the wide
plateau in dismal tones quite in keeping with the bleak and wild nature
of the country. During our stay here two couriers overtook us with posts
from Peshawar. They arrived within a few hours of each other, the one
with Peshawar dates up to the 26th February from Jacobabad _viâ_ Calát
and Kandahar, and the other with dates from the same place up to the 1st
March by the direct route of Kurram and Ghazni to Kandahar.
Sarbesha, or “wilderness head,” is an open village of 350 domed huts at
the foot of a high detached hill. It is named from its position at the
head of a great wilderness or waste, that extends away to the north-west
for many miles as an open plateau bounded by bare hills. It is the
residence of the _zábit_ or governor of this frontier district, who came
to meet us at Husenabad. His name is Saggid Mír Asadullah Beg, and he has
the power to cut off noses and ears at discretion, and to mutilate in
other forms, but not to deprive of life. He discharged his special duties
towards us with no unnecessary grace, and left no more notable memorial
of his character than his steady devotion to the _calyán_, which he kept
going throughout the march, lighting and relighting its replenished bowl
I am afraid to say how often, but much oftener than could be good for
anybody.
The Sarbesha plateau, though yet dreary, bleak, and wild in the
transition state from the snows of winter to the balmy airs of spring, is
not always the waste it now looks.
In summer its wide surface is clothed with the richest pastures, on
which vast flocks of goats and sheep find sustenance, and covered with
the tents of Elyát tribes occupied with their care, whilst the numerous
villages now barely discernible in the sheltered nooks along the hill
skirts bursts into full view with the budding of the gardens amongst
which they are nestled. The climate of this region is described as most
delightful and salubrious, but the winter is rigorous. If the appearance
alone of the people be taken as the test, they certainly speak well in
its favour, for they are remarkably fair, robust, and healthy-looking
as a whole. They appear to be a prosperous and peaceable community,
being well clad and well conducted. They are principally employed in the
manufacture of woollen carpets of the kind called _cálín_, but those
produced here are of inferior quality.
Our next stage was twenty-two miles to Calá Múd, where we camped close
to the village, under the ruins of an old fort. Our route was in a
north-west direction along a beaten track skirting the Sarbesha hill at
first, and then across a small plain enclosed by hills. It is called
Bayaban-i-Hanz, from a reservoir of water in its centre. After marching
nine miles, we halted at this reservoir for breakfast. It is a masonry
cistern covered by a dome, and flanked on each side by a couple of
vaulted chambers for the shelter and refreshment of wayfarers. Similar
reservoirs are common on all the highroads throughout this Persian
province of Khorassan, and are found generally at intervals of four or
eight miles. They are called _ábambár_, or “water store,” and are all
built on the same plan, though not always provided with the flanking
chambers. The cistern is mostly stocked from the surface drainage after
rains, and consequently some of them are often found dry. Many, however,
are fed from natural springs, or from some adjoining subterranean
conduit, called _kárez_, and contain a constant supply of generally sweet
water. They are sometimes built as an act of charity by the piously
disposed, but most owe their construction to the actual requirements of
the country, and the interest of the local governors or chiefs. Without
them, indeed, travelling would be almost impossible in this region, for
the villages are so far apart, and the hill spring so far away from the
beaten track, that neither man nor beast could support the privation
conveniently.
Beyond the reservoir our path continued across the plain towards some
broken country and low ridges of rock that separate the Sarbesha plateau
from the valley of Múd. On our passage over this ground we saw several
villages in the nooks of the hill range bounding the Sarbesha valley to
the northward. The principal of these, Bedár and Shíka, are prosperous
and populous-looking places, surrounded by fruit gardens just now
beginning to bud.
Múd or Mód is an open village of neatly-built domed housed, situated
below a mound occupied by the ruins of a castle, and at a short distance
to the south-east are the more recent ruins of a considerable square
fort. The latter was dismantled some fifteen years ago, when this
district passed into the possession of the reigning dynasty of Persia.
The ground around its walls is now occupied by _zirishk_ or barberry
plantations, the fruit of which is made into preserves, and largely
exported into the interior in the dried state.
The village of Múd is only half-peopled; many of its houses are deserted,
and others are fallen to decay. This is partly owing to the emigration
during the past three years of famine, but principally to the insecurity
of the country during the past century. It is only within recent years
that the country has enjoyed immunity from the forays of Baloch, Afghan,
and Turkman robbers, who used to harry their villages, and carry off
their cattle and people.
Múd is situated at the top of a long and narrow valley, that slopes
rapidly to the south-west down to Birjand. The valley to the northward
is separated from the western prolongation of the Sarbesha plateau by a
low ridge of sandy hills, and is bounded to the south by a high range
of snow-covered hills called Bághrán. This range consists of chlorite
and slate, and its base is studded by a close succession of villages,
castles, and hamlets, surrounded by gardens and watered by springs, all
the way down to Birjand.
During our stay here the weather was cloudy, cold, and wintry, and the
scenery, singularly wild naturally, now bore an unusually inhospitable
aspect. The valley and lower heights have only lost their winter snows
during the present month, and the highest elevations are said to keep a
more or less scattered coating of snow throughout the year. For three
months the whole country is covered deeply with snow, over all the more
elevated region between this and Duroh, but on the lower level of Birjand
it does not lie so long.
From Múd we marched twenty-five miles west by north down the slope of
the valley to Birjand, where we camped outside the town under the walls
of the castle occupied by the governor. The valley has an average width
of less than four miles, and its surface slopes up to the Bághrán range
of hills, forming its southern boundary. In the opposite direction its
hollow is occupied by a drainage ravine. The soil is a firm gravel, from
which were commencing to sprout a variety of herbs, such as wild rue,
orchids, tulips, &c., and a thin grass in abundance. No trees are seen
on the plain, but the hill skirt to its south is fringed with a close
succession of fruit gardens and vineyards, amongst which are nestled
numerous villages, castles, and country-houses. The principal villages
are, from east to west, Cháhikan, Nanfiris, Banjár, and Bahuljird. Their
gardens produce the jujube, barberry, apricot, peach, plum, apple,
mulberry, &c., &c., and give the place a look of prosperity and plenty,
strangely in contrast with the wild character of the country and the bare
aspect of its hills. Those to the south, below the snow-streaked summit
of the range, present a bare glistening surface, and are set at their
bases by a succession of mounds, very prominent objects of attraction
from their bright hues of green, blue, and orange, evidently formed by
the disintegration of the chlorite and schistose slates of the range,
which altogether wear a richly metalliferous look. There is said to
be a copper mine in this range, some ten or twelve miles south-west of
Sarbesha. It was worked in the time of the late Mirzá Hamza, governor of
Mashhad, but was abandoned four or five years ago, owing to the expenses
exceeding the yield of ore.
To the north the valley is bounded by a low ridge of bare sandy hills,
scored in every direction by sheep-walks. Through a gap in the ridge,
which gives passage to the Múd ravine, we got a good view of the Sarbesha
plateau, which here stretches away in a wide upland to the hills closing
the prospect towards the north, where is situated the district of Alghór.
Proceeding from the _ábambár_ where we halted for breakfast, we marched
down the valley in sight of Birjand, at its lower end, and at three miles
came to the village of Bojd. In Yár Muhammad’s time, it was the residence
of the Afghan revenue collector for the district of Gháyn. It is now a
decayed and nearly depopulated collection of some eighty houses, on the
slope of a ridge, overlooking corn-fields and fruit gardens, that cover
the here widening valley up to Hájíabad, a couple of miles farther on.
This last is a neat country-house, standing in its own grounds, and is
the residence of the mother of Mír Alam Khán, the present chief of Gháyn,
and Persian governor of Sistan. She is said to be a very clever and
wealthy old lady, and exercises considerable influence in the government
of the province.
Away to the south, on the open plain, is another similar country-house,
the summer residence of Mír Alam, the son. It stands in the midst of an
ornamental garden, and commands a wide view of the surrounding country.
At about a mile from Birjand we were met by an _isticbál_ party, and
conducted to our camp, pitched outside the town under the walls of the
palace of the governor. The party was headed by a little boy, Hydar
Culi, the youngest son of the chief of Gháyn. He was preceded _en règle_
by two led horses, and attended by eight horsemen. Though only eight
years old, he rode a high horse both positively and figuratively with the
composure and _savoir faire_ of one of mature years. His eldest brother,
Sarbang Ali Akbar, who, during his father’s absence in Sistan, manages
the government of the province, excused his absence on the plea of
ill-health. We halted here three days.
In our march this day we have descended about 1200 feet, the elevation of
Birjand being 4880 feet, and that of Múd 6100 feet above the sea. There
is a sensible difference in the climate, the air here being delightfully
pure, mild, and light, and the sun’s rays agreeably warm. The nights,
however, are yet cold, and keen gusty winds circle about the lower part
of the valley, which forms a wide basin in the hills. The summer here is
described as a temperate and salubrious season, and the winter mild in
comparison with the more elevated regions of the district. Snow lies on
the ground from one to two months, and during the past winter, which has
been a severer one than any for the last fifteen years, fell in unusual
quantity.
Birjand, the modern capital of the district of Gháyn or Cayn, is an open
town of about two thousand houses, and is protected by a fort on some
rising ground on the west side. On the south side is the palace of the
governor, enclosed by fortified walls, and on some detached mounds to
the north are three or four towers in a state of decay. The town has a
very neat and prosperous look, and its people appear to have altogether
escaped the pressure of the famine that has prevailed over other parts
of the country. We saw no beggars here, and the mass of the people were
remarkably well dressed, and seemed comfortably off. The population is
estimated at twelve thousand, which is, I think, considerably over the
real number.
Birjand is the centre of a considerable trade with Kandahar and Herat on
one side, and Kirmán, Yazd, and Tehran on the other. It is also the seat
of the carpet manufactures, for which this district has been celebrated
from of old. These carpets are called _cálín_, and are of very superior
workmanship and of beautiful designs, in which the colours are blended
with wonderful harmony and incomparable good effect. The best kinds fetch
very high prices, and are all bespoke by agents for the nobles and chiefs
of the country. The colours are of such delicate shades, and the patterns
are so elaborate and tasteful, and the nap is so exquisitely smooth and
soft, that the carpets are only fit for use in the divans of oriental
houses, where shoes are left without the threshold. The best kinds are
manufactured in the villages around, and those turned out from the looms
of Duroshkt Nozád, enjoy a pre-eminent reputation for excellence.
The Gháyn district consists of nine _bulúk_ or divisions, each of which
contains from twenty to thirty villages and a great number of _mazrá_ or
hamlets. The _bulúk_ are Nih, Zerkoh, Khusp, Nárjún (includes Sarbesha
and Birjand), Sunnikhána, Alghór or Arghol, Gháyn, Nímbulúk and Shahwá.
The population of the district was formerly reckoned at thirty thousand
families, but what with losses by death and emigration during the famine,
it does not now contain half that number.
The natural products of the country are very varied. The low-lying plains
of Khusp produce wheat, barley, millet, beans and pulses, excellent
melons, and all the common vegetables, such as carrots, turnips,
beetroot, &c. Cotton, and tobacco are also grown, and fruit gardens
and vineyards also flourish. In the higher plains of Birjand and Gháyn,
saffron is extensively cultivated, and the silkworm is reared with
success. Here too are found large barberry plantations, and almost all
the orchard fruits common in Europe. At higher elevations in the little
glens amongst the hills are extensive vineyards and fruit gardens, whilst
rhubarb grows wild on the hill, and asafœtida on the plains almost
everywhere.
The industrial products are carpets, woollen materials called _kurk_,
_pashmína_, and _pattú_, silk raw and manufactured, and felts called
_namad_. These with dried fruits, asafœtida, and wool are all exported
in greater or less quantity. In return are imported corn from Sistan,
_kirmiz_ (scarlet dye) from Bukhára by Herat, indigo from India by
Kandahar, sugar refined at Yazd from the Indian raw sugar, _postín_ or
fur coats (mostly sheepskin) from Herat, rice, spices, tobacco, and
European hardware from Tehran, as also calicoes, prints and broadcloths.
The Gháyn district is an elevated mountain region, separating the waste
area of western Afghanistan from the wide tract of similar and more
perfect desert on the adjoining border of Persia. Towards the north-west
it is continuous through the highlands of Tún and Tabbas with the rest of
the mountain system of Persian Khorassan, as represented by the highlands
of Záwah on the one hand and Turshíz on the other. Between its hill
ranges it supports a number of wide plateaux and fertile valleys, that
mostly trend from north-west to south-east, and range in elevation from
four thousand to seven thousand feet above the sea.
To the south it is separated from Kirwan and Sistan by the Dashtí Lút, or
“Desert of Lot.” To the east the Dashtí Náummed, or “desert of despair,”
intervenes between it and the districts of Hokát and Farráh. On the west
it is separated from Yazd and Káshán by a vast salt desert called Daryáe
Kabír, or “the great ocean,” or simply _kavír_ or _kabír_. Towards the
north, at Yúnasi, a narrow arm of this salt desert cuts the mountain
chain from west to east, and spreads out into the desert of Kháf, where
it joins the Dashtí Náummed on the south and the deserts of Herat and
Sarrakhs on the north.
The inhabitants of Gháynát, which is the name by which the district is
known, are of various races and tribes, classed under the collective
appellations of Arab and Ajam, or those of Arab descent and those of
foreign descent. The former appear to have been settled here since the
time of the Arab conquest, and have for several centuries furnished
the ruling chiefs of the country. The present chief belongs to this
tribe, and the rule of the country has descended in his family since
the establishment of the Saffavi dynasty. Formerly the residence of the
family was at Gháyn, but in the time of Nadír, the chief, Mír ’Ali,
transferred his headquarters to Birjand. He was succeeded in the rule
by his son Mír Alam, and he by his son Mír Asadullah, both of whom were
subjects of the Durrani kings. On the break-up of this dynasty, Mír
Asadullah became independent to all intents, and as such took his part
in the political struggles between the Cajar and Afghan for supremacy
on this contested frontier, that characterise its history since the
commencement of the present century.
During the period that Aleahyár Khán, Asafuddaula, was governor of
Khorassan on the part of Persia, the Cajar king, finding his designs
against Herat frustrated by the action of the British Government,
resolved on accomplishing piecemeal what he was prevented from effecting
by a _coup de main_; and his governor of Khorassan, during the thirteen
years of his rule at Mashhad, brought under subjection all that portion
of the province lying to the north of the latitude of Herat, viz.,
the districts of Turbatain, Turshíz, and Tabbas, as the fruits of his
successive campaigns on this border. Asafuddaula twice marched a force
for the subjugation of Gháyn, and each time unsuccessfully. On the first
occasion, in 1835, shortly after his installation in the government of
the province, the chief, Mír Asadullah, retired to Sistan, and, as an
Afghan subject dependent on Herat, sought the aid of its ruler. The
Prince Kamrán sent his wazír, Yár Muhammad, with a contingent of Herat
troops to the aid of the fugitive chief. And these, joined by the Sistan
army under Muhammad Razá, Sárbandi, defeated the Persians at Nih, and
restored Mír Asadullah to his rule in Gháyn as a dependent of Herat.
On the second occasion, a couple of years later, Mír Asadullah, on the
approach of the Persian troops under Muhammad ’Ali, son of Asafuddaula,
abandoning his province, repaired to Herat for aid in its recovery.
Yár Muhammad furnished a contingent of Herat troops, who defeated the
Persians in a battle fought at Sih Calá, and reinstated Asadullah in the
government of Gháyn. In the succeeding siege of Herat, however, Gháyn
was annexed to Persia, and the chief, Mír Asadullah, and his son, Mír
Alam, the present chief, were taken prisoners to Mashhad. On the retreat
of the Persian army from Herat, and the restoration of peace on this
border, they were restored to Gháyn as Persian subjects; and the father
dying shortly afterwards, was succeeded in the government by his son Mír
Alam, who during his stay at Mashhad and Tehran was reconciled to the
change of masters by conciliatory treatment and very advantageous terms
of allegiance. Mír Alam, who is now Persian governor of Sistan, with
the title of Hashmat-ul-Mulk, is a very popular governor here, and has
the character of being an energetic and liberal-minded man. He pays no
revenue direct to the Persian Government, but is held responsible for the
maintenance of the royal troops employed in his province, and, further,
sends an annual tribute to the Sháh. In other respects he is pretty much
of an independent chief in his own limits.
He has taken advantage of the troubled state of politics in Afghanistan
ever since the British occupation of the country, not only to extend his
possessions up to their natural limits, but to cross the Perso-Afghan
border, and take possession of Sistan on behalf of the Sháh of Persia. Up
to the death of Yár Muhammad in 1851, all the border districts of Gháyn,
including Sunnikhána and Nárjún as far as Bojd, were held as dependencies
of Herat, and Afghan revenue collectors were posted in the frontier
villages, such as Gizík and Bojd, on the part of Yár Muhammad. On the
death of that ruler, and during the succeeding changes and struggles that
led to the occupation of Herat by the Persians in 1856, these border
districts fell away from the control of the Herat Government, and lapsed
to their rightful lord, the chief of Gháyn. The transgression of the
border into Sistan was effected at a later period, during the anarchy
that convulsed Afghanistan on the death of the Amir Dost Muhammad, and
the accession of his son, Sher ’Ali, to the throne.
Mír Alam is now the most influential and wealthy chief on the Khorassan
frontier of Persia. His power and independent action, it is said, have
rendered him an object of jealousy and suspicion to the prince-governor
of Mashhad, who is also governor of the whole province of Khorassan; and
neither conceals his hatred and distrust of the other. The Gháyn chief,
however, is strong in his position, and the policy he is carrying out
gains him the support of the court of Tehran. He has three sons, namely,
’Ali Akbar, aged eighteen years, who, with the title of Sarhang, resides
at Birjand, and carries on the government during his father’s absence in
Sistan; Mír Ismáil, aged fourteen years, who is now on a pilgrimage to
Karbalá; and Hydar Culi, the little boy who officiated in the honours of
our reception at Birjand.
The other tribes included under the term _Ajam_ are mostly Persians,
with a few scattered families of Turks, Kurds, Mughals and Balochs. They
constitute the rural population, and are employed in agriculture and
the tending of cattle. Physically they are a fine people, with light
complexions and hardy features.