_23d June._—Kirmánshah to Mydasht, twenty-three miles. Owing to the
promptitude of the Wakiluddaula in meeting my wishes and expediting my
journey (for I had told him my object was to reach Basrah in time for
the first July steamer to Bombay), we were enabled to set out from the
city at ten o’clock last night. I had given the order to load and start
at six P.M., but the mulemen rebelled, led away their mules, and caused
much trouble. Shukrullah Beg, however, advanced them some money, and by
alternate threats and conciliations, persuaded them to return; and just
then an escort of four horsemen arriving from the governor with letters
for the commandant of the troops at Zuháb, I left three of them in charge
of the baggage, with directions to bring it on so soon as loaded, and
with the other as guide, set out from the city without further delay,
calculating that my departure would decide the mulemen on their course,
and hasten their movements.
After clearing the city and the low ridges to its west, we halted awhile
for the rest of our party, who presently came up and joined us. The
change from the close air and foul smells of the city to the pure fresh
breezes on the open plain was most agreeable, and quickly dispelled the
headaches, nausea, and feverish malaise most of us complained of in the
filthy pent-up courts of our temporary residence. If the choice were
mine, I should never enter these filthy Persian towns and villages,
but camp under the shade of the trees in the gardens and vineyards
surrounding all such habitations. In this time of famine and pestilence,
one never knows what sickness may have occurred in the empty houses
we took up our quarters in, whilst their state of neglect and impure
atmosphere only suggested very disturbing fancies, and speculations we
had no means of correcting.
We reached Mydasht Sarae at 4.30 A.M. The morning air was so cold that we
were glad of a fire to warm ourselves, and the midday sun was so hot that
we took off our coats as superfluous. At daylight, the temperature was as
low as 40° Fah., and in the middle of the day it rose to 136° Fah. in the
sun’s rays, and 88° Fah. in the shelter of the _sarae_.
At half-way on our march, descending a long winding gully that opens
on to a plain covered with some crops, we met a very large caravan of
pilgrims and merchants on their way to Kirmánshah from Karbalá and
Baghdad. There were nearly two thousand mules, camels, and asses, and
fully as many men and women. We heard the sounds of their approach some
minutes before we met. The escort with me and Shukrullah Beg were at
first disconcerted by the sounds, and hastily collected our baggagers and
party into a close compact column, and moved cautiously down the slope.
Presently, on turning a rock, we were suddenly challenged by a party of
four or five horsemen.[4] “It’s all right,” said Shukrullah Beg, “let
us go on in the order we are now in. The caravan is a large one, and we
may get confused with those in it.” The warning was quite necessary, for
the caravan was the largest I have ever seen, and we were fully half an
hour passing each other. Amongst the crowd were many mule-litters bearing
veiled ladies. I counted one string of thirty-five out of several others.
I rode my dromedary on this march, and was, in the dim light of dawn,
taken for a pilgrim by the people of the caravan, and received many a
“_Salám alaik Hájí!_” from those nearest to me. I was so fatigued by the
excitement and wakefulness of the past twenty-four hours, that soon after
arrival at the _sarae_, I fell asleep in front of the fire lighted to
warm our numbed hands and feet, and was for a time dead to the assaults
of the vermin that swarmed all over the place. Their voracity, however,
soon roused me from my slumbers, and I found myself violently attacked by
the hosts of bugs, lice, fleas, spiders, and cockchafers, on whose domain
I had intruded. They punished me so severely that I was glad to beat a
retreat, and take refuge in my own tent, which, the baggage having come
up, I had pitched at once. The delights of a tub and a clean suit can be
better imagined than described.
Our next stage was twenty-eight miles to Hárúnabad. We set out at ten
P.M., and marched all night in a south-westerly direction by a very good
road over three successive ranges of hill, where the path is very stony.
The rocks are limestone and magnesian limestone, and are thickly covered
on their slopes with dwarf oak-trees. Except a small hamlet and a tiny
stream at the first hill pass, called Kotal Cház Zabbú, we passed no
village nor water in all the route. We saw, however, some _ilyát_ camps,
and small patches of corn cultivation in the nooks of the hills.
At five A.M. we arrived at Hárúnabad, a dilapidated village occupied by
only twenty or thirty families. The rest, we were told, had gone off for
the six summer months to their _aylác_ or summer quarters in the hills.
The _kishlác_, or winter quarters on the plain, are now mostly abandoned.
The people here are all Kurds. We found the _sarae_ here (there are no
post-houses on this road west of Kirmánshah) so dirty, and occupied by
such dreadfully unwholesome-looking beggars, that we gladly availed
ourselves of the offer of the chief man in the place to alight at the
residence of the governor, who is at present absent on a tour in the
district.
The house stands on the slope of a laminated limestone ridge, and
overlooks a stream of beautiful clear water, full of fish and tortoises.
It is apparently a new building, and is tastefully decorated with
ornamental plaster. We found the rooms in the upper story quite empty,
but very clean and sweet. The servant in charge of the house spread some
felt carpets on the floor; and I stretched me down, and went to sleep
till our baggage arrived, and the noise of the men woke me.
We hear disquieting reports regarding the safety of the road ahead. The
country about Pul Zuháb is said to be in possession of the Khaleva tribe,
who are now in open rebellion against the authority of the Sháh, by whom
they were, to the number of a thousand families, transported a couple of
years ago from the vicinity of Baghdad to their present settlements on
this frontier. Their cause of dissatisfaction is the attempt to exact
revenue from them. They are described as nomads of very unsettled habits,
and predatory at all times. They possess valuable mares like the Baloch,
and mounted on them, they now harass the country from Pul Zuháb to Hájí
Cara. They are committed to this course of rebellion on account of a
rupture with the Persian Government.
It appears that the governor of Karriud, Malik Nyáz Khán, went amongst
their camps to collect the revenue; in a dispute at some tents, he was
set upon and killed. The Sháh’s troops were consequently brought out to
operate against the tribe. They have captured some principal men and
their families, and have dispersed the rest of the camps into the hills.
At 10.30 P.M., having made the guardian of our quarters happy, and
requested him to convey our thanks to our absent host, Sartip Muhammad
Hasan, Khalora, we set out from Hárúnabad, and after a march of
twenty-four miles, at five A.M. arrived at Karriud. Here we found the
_sarae_ full; and after wandering about a while, hired a house on the
skirts of the town for the day. Our route was W.N.W., by a good road over
and between low hills covered with dwarf oak-trees. In the glens and
hollows we passed many _ilyát_ camps, and patches of rich corn.
Karriud is a charming spot, and its air is delightfully pure and
refreshing. The town contains about two thousand houses, and is
romantically situated in a deep hollow between two great hills of
magnesian limestone. The elevation here is 5212 feet above the sea, and
the night air is decidedly cold. Yet as we rode into the town we found
the people sleeping on the house-tops, curled up in their coverlets. The
tramping of our horses aroused some sleeping beauties, who, rubbing their
eyes, stared at us with undisguised surprise, and shook their slumbering
lords to take note of the new-comers.
Some of the young women—they were all fair complexioned, I observed—had
very comely features, and fine turned limbs, which showed to advantage
in contrast with their greasy and tattered attire. The town has a
very flourishing look, and is crowded with a bustling population,
who, notwithstanding their dirty habits and slovenly dress, appear
comfortable and prosperous. We have evidently left the land of misery
and starvation, for we have not seen so thriving and happy a scene since
we entered Persian territory.
The bread we got here was made from the newly-reaped corn, and was simply
delicious, after the coarse, mouldy, and gritty stuff we had been eating
during the past fortnight. We saw lots of cattle here, a new feature on
the scene; and, yet more surprising, some veritable domestic pigs. One
of them, indeed, scared away from its fellows by our appearance, trotted
ahead of us into the town, heralding our approach by a succession of
grunts.
_26th June._—Pul Karriud to Zuháb, thirty-two miles. We left Karriud at
8.45 P.M. yesterday, and proceeded W.N.W. through a narrow valley, rising
gently for eight miles. Here we descended by a rocky path into a deep
winding defile, the sides of which are thickly covered with oak-trees.
The road, everywhere rough and difficult, passes from side to side across
a boulder-strewn ravine, in which are pools trickling from one to the
other down the slope. At about half-way down the pass, we came to Myán
Tágh, a village of about a couple of hundred houses. Here we found a
regiment of Persian infantry or _sarbáz_, just returned from Pul Zuháb,
where it appears they have had an encounter with the enemy. The men were
scattered about the road for three miles beyond the village in great
disorder, and without a semblance of discipline. Some of them chaffed our
men, and asked what we had with us that we should go on when they were in
retreat from Pul Zuháb. Their merriment and gibes, however, were at once
silenced by Shukrullah Beg, who authoritatively announced that we were
_mámúr i daulat i Inglisia_ (on the service of the English Government).
The words acted with magical effect. Those near us stood at “attention,”
and others as we passed on touched their caps.
Shukrullah Beg now told me we should have trouble ahead. There was no
doubt, he said, about the Khaleva rebellion. A party of four hundred of
them had only yesterday plundered Pul Zuháb, and were still in force
in the vicinity. He was telling me what he had heard from the _sarbáz_
(that they were brought back to the shelter of these hills to wait for
reinforcements to attack the enemy), when his story was verified by a
long stream of people hurrying up the defile with their asses and oxen
bearing their household goods and chattels.
At the steep descent of the pass where the road zigzags down to Páyín
Tágh, we had some difficulty in passing the stream set uphill against us.
The poor fugitives were driving their cattle and puffing and panting as
if the enemy were in hot pursuit. Some of their bullocks, taking fright
at our party, became obstreperous, threw their loads, and charged in
amongst us, producing no small confusion, and considerable risk of a roll
down the precipice.
There were about four hundred of these Kurds coming up the pass. Many of
them expressed surprise at our going down the hill when we saw they were
running away up it. One hardy old dame in particular, whose bullock with
all her worldly goods had dashed up the hillside to escape our approach,
was especially loud and garrulous, and harangued us from the turn at a
zig in words I did not understand. Shukrullah Beg explained by saying the
old lady was facetious, and asked if we thought ourselves lions that we
were going down to face the robbers who had defeated even the _sarbáz_?
These Kurds were very poor and dirty people; some of them were hideously
ugly. Many of them had a sickly, unwholesome look, and in the light of
dawning day, I saw that ophthalmia afflicted most of their children and
young people.
The descent to Páyín Tágh is long and steep, by a stony road that zigzags
down the mountain slope. Above the path to the right stands a solitary
fire-temple, in a fairly preserved state of ruin. Away to the left of the
descent is a very deep and narrow chasm, that drains the Myán Tágh defile
and hills to the plain below. Seen in the waning moonlight on one side
the descent, and in the growing gleams of a rising sun on the other, it
looked a very remarkable natural phenomenon, and appeared like a great
rent or fissure in the rocky barrier that closes the defile in this
direction.[5]
Onwards from Páyín Tágh our road led along a gradually expanding valley,
and at about ten miles brought us to Pul Zuháb. The view on looking back
is peculiar and strikingly curious. The hills rise abruptly from the
plain, and form a well-defined barrier, that extends west and east, a
great buttress supporting the tablelands of Persia against the valley of
the Tigris on the one hand, and the littoral of the Persian Gulf on the
other.
We arrived at Pul Zuháb, or Saribul, as it is also called, from the
bridge here over the Alwand river, at 7.30 A.M., and finding the _sarae_
occupied by a regiment of _sarbáz_, pitched our tents on the bank of
the river below the bridge. The height of this place is 2220 feet above
the sea, and 2992 below that of Karriud. The change in the temperature
was as great at it was sudden. At two P.M. the thermometer rose to 102°
Fah. in my tent, and placed in the rays of the sun, went up to 140° Fah.
At midnight it fell to 60° Fah. in the open air. At Karriud the midday
temperature was only 79° Fah., and in the early morning only 50° Fah.,
though the sun’s rays affected the mercury there as much as they did
here, raising it to 134° Fah.
Soon after our arrival here I sent Shukrullah Beg with the passport
received from the governor of Kirmánshah to the head man here, to arrange
for an escort to proceed with my party in the morning. He returned an
hour later saying the official here would have nothing to say to the
passport, as it was addressed to the frontier officer at Zuháb, a town
said to be two _farsakhs_ distant in a north-west direction.
This was rather embarrassing intelligence, and I was in doubt as to
what course I should adopt, when some further information elicited
from Shukrullah Beg decided me in my line of action. He told me that
the officer now in charge of the frontier at Zuháb, had only just been
appointed by the Sháh’s government, in place of the local hereditary
chief, who had been recently killed by the Khaleva (Arab) rebels, and
that he was a Persian of Tehran. The commandant of the troops here was a
brother of the murdered chief, and claimed to succeed him in the local
government. But as he had been denied his right, he was not on good terms
with the new incumbent, and would make a difficulty in carrying out any
orders received from him, and that it was probable I might be detained
here a week or more, till reference was made to Kirmánshah.
The very thought of this was more than I could bear. I therefore sent
Shukrullah Beg to the commandant of the troops, who it seems was also
governor of this place, with instructions to convey my compliments, and
inform him that I was travelling on the service of Government, that it
was important I should not be unnecessarily delayed, and that it was my
intention to march towards Casri Shirin at sunset. After considerable
delay, Shukrullah Beg returned, and reported that the commandant had
received and understood my message, that he said he had received no
authority to escort my party, and could not let me proceed, as the road
ahead was altogether unsafe, and that he would call on me in the course
of the afternoon to explain how matters stood.
Shortly before sunset a messenger came across the river to announce that
the commandant, Murád Ali Khán, was coming over to see me. I said he was
welcome, and meanwhile ordered some tea to be prepared, and arranged
my camp-stools and boxes as seats. He dismounted at the bridge, and
attended by four or five others, walked over to where I was seated in
front of my tent. I rose and shook hands with him, and thanked him for
taking the trouble to come over, and gave him a seat. He then introduced
his brother, Karím Khán, commandant of the cavalry stationed here, and
motioned him to a seat; the others stood at the edge of the carpet spread
before us. A pause followed, and then we bowed at each other politely,
expressing much, but saying nothing. He then looked round, and observed
that we were a large party, and had a good deal of baggage. “Yes,” I
said, “they are natives of India, and are returning to their country with
me.” Another pause followed, and the tea opportunely came round to fill
a threatening hiatus. I apologised for the absence of the _calyán_, as I
had none with me, but offered a cheroot in its place, and set the example
in its use. He lighted one and his brother another, and then we began
to talk more at ease. I then said that my _mirakhor_ Shukrullah Beg had
led me to understand that there would be some little delay in getting an
escort here, owing to an informality in the address of my passport, but
that I was desirous of avoiding unnecessary delay, and purposed marching
onwards this evening.
“Quite true,” he said, “the passport is not addressed to me, but as
I have received a letter by express messenger from the Wakiluddaula
at Kirmánshah, requesting me to further your progress, and as he is a
personal friend of mine, I am ready to take you across to the Turkish
frontier, and I will there ask you for a letter certifying to my having
done so.”
“Certainly,” I said, “this is very good. Agha Hasan,” I added, “told me
at Kirmánshah that he would write to you, and that I should be saved
inconvenience thereby. Will the escort be ready to accompany me this
evening? My camp is ready to march at an hour’s notice.”
“No,” he said, “you cannot move this evening. You require a strong
escort, and it will not be ready till morning. I myself and Karím Khán
will come over for you at daybreak, and we must march together with every
precaution. There are four hundred rebel Khaleva (Arabs) on the road.
They plundered yonder village,” pointing to a sacked and roofless hamlet
a mile off, “only yesterday.”
“Thanks,” I said, rising; “I shall be ready for you at daybreak.”
I shook hands with each, and they both retired with their attendants.
They are both fair men, with good honest features, of simple manners and
plain outspoken speech. After they left, Shukrullah Beg told me that my
determination to go on had alarmed the commandant, for he did not like to
stop me, and could not let me proceed unprotected, as the road was really
dangerous; but he doubted his promise to start in the morning.
About noon, a caravan from Khánakín had arrived here, escorted by a
party of horsemen. They camped on the river bank alongside of ourselves,
and from them our people heard all sorts of exaggerated reports as to the
dangers of the road. But it was true they had been attacked yesterday
beyond Casri Shirin, and a string of camels cut off from the _káfila_ by
these Khaleva rebels. I determined, however, to abide by the commandant’s
promise, and gave the order to march at daylight.
_27th June._—Pul Zuháb to Casri Shirin, twenty-four miles. At three A.M.
our camp was struck and all ready to start, but no sign of the escort
appeared. I sent Shukrullah Beg over to the commandant to say I was
ready, but he returned presently with a reply from some subordinate that
he was asleep. I waited till four A.M., and then moved off, sending a
Persian _sarbáz_, of whom six or seven had been standing sentry over
our camp during the night, to inform the commandant that I was going on
slowly, and the escort could follow.
We went west by north across the valley, passing _en route_ the village
plundered by the rebels yesterday, up to some low hill ridges. Here we
were overtaken by a party of horsemen under Karím Khán. He galloped
up, saluted in military fashion, and said the commandant was following
with the infantry, and that we had better wait his arrival here. We
dismounted, halted the baggage, and I gave the cavalry leader a cheroot
to while away the time, whilst we watched the infantry coming along the
plain. They were a very ragged-looking set, armed with long rifles,
fired from a forked rest attached by a hinge to the barrel, and just
like those used by Afghan mountaineers. They came along at a good pace,
with no attempt at formation, but with a light springy step and very
merry tempers. As they approached, the commandant urged his horse up the
slope, and saluting as his brother had done, laughingly observed that my
punctuality had roused him an hour sooner than he intended. A preferred
cheroot, however, turned the current of his thoughts from his curtailed
slumbers, and remounting, we proceeded in the best of humours.
Our route led for twenty miles across a rough uninhabited country,
traversed in all directions by low ridgy banks, here and there rising to
the proportions of hillocks. The infantry trotted along on each side of
our baggage; and the cavalry, from front and rear, sent out parties to
the heights on either side to reconnoitre the country. At about seventeen
miles we came to a great wall, built across the outlet of a small
hollow. The stones were of large size, like those of the Pyramids. This
structure, we were told, was originally an aqueduct from the river Alwand
to Casri Shirin; and a little farther on we came to the river itself, a
sprightly little stream, with a fringe of tall reeds on either bank. The
sun was now shining hotly, and added to the thirsty sensations excited
by the parched arid look of the land; so we turned aside to it to water
our cattle and allow the men to slake their thirst. Frequent warnings
from our escort hurried us on again; and we proceeded along the line of
telegraph posts, here thrown down and the wires cut by the rebels. We
passed through the ruins of a great fort and palace of very ancient date,
and entered the village beyond. As we passed through these ruins, there
was a commotion amongst our horsemen ahead, and several of them galloped
off to the village beyond; and when we emerged from them, we found the
_Sarbáz-Khána_ or “barracks” overlooking the little town was covered with
soldiers perched on the domes of its roof, eagerly scanning the country
around.
Our party hastened their paces, and in a few minutes we entered Casri
Shirin, or “the palace of Shirin,” named after the ruins close by, and
were accommodated in an empty house adjoining a _sarae_, in which our
cattle and followers found shelter. We had hardly settled down for
the day, when a party of _sarbáz_ brought in a villager who had been
shot through the lungs above the heart not an hour before. A party of
Khaleva had swept past the village just as we arrived, and drove off the
cattle some villagers were tending at graze. These men, though unarmed,
attempted to resist, and one of them was shot. The advance of our party
had caught sight of the rebels as they went off with their booty, and
hence the commotion above alluded to.
I did what I could for the poor fellow brought to me, but he was fast
bleeding to death, and I told his friends that he had not many hours
to live. They bore him away to his home, only a few houses off, and
later on towards the evening the sounds of women wailing and beating
their breasts announced that he was out of his suffering in this world.
In the afternoon, Murád Ali and his brother Karím came to see me, and
congratulate us on having made the journey so far in safety. The former
said that had he met these people he must have fought them; and as they
were much stronger than his own force in numbers, he could not have
driven them off without loss. His party with us consisted of sixty
horsemen, and a hundred and twenty _sarbáz_; whilst the rebels were
reckoned at four hundred, all mounted on hardy and active Arab mares.
Before leaving, Murád Ali produced a paper for me to sign. It was written
in Persian, and was to the purport that he had escorted my party in
safety and comfort from Pul Zuháb to the Turkish outpost at Khánakín. I
returned the paper, saying I was quite satisfied with the escort to this,
and would sign it on arrival at Khánakín. He here explained that he could
not enter the Turkish outpost with us, and I could not sign it on the
road. To this I replied, that there could be no difficulty on that score,
as I carried pen and ink with me, and would sign it on the road outside
the Turkish post. He looked rather disappointed, so I told Shukrullah Beg
to explain in a friendly way that I could not certify to a service as
completed when it was only half accomplished.
I then presented him with a telescope, and his brother with a revolver,
explaining that I should not have an opportunity on the road of offering
these tokens of my thankfulness for his kindness, and also begged he
would allow me to make a small present in money to each of the _sarbáz_
who had formed our escort. This last arrangement was objected to on the
score of its being contrary to custom, but the objection was readily
withdrawn on my representing it as an exceptional case. They both seemed
well pleased, and after arranging that we should start at midnight, took
their leave, and as a last request begged that I would not move till they
came for me, and I promised compliance.
_28th June._—Casri Shirin to Khánakín, twenty-four miles. We were ready
at the appointed hour, but our escort did not make their appearance
till after one o’clock, and it was nearly two A.M. before our party
was arranged in marching order and finally started. Our route at first
was across a rough raviny tract along the course of the Alwand river,
and then for several miles over a wild and hummocky country, which had
frequently been raided by the rebels. We were hurried across this bit
of the road very quickly, as it was feared the enemy might be concealed
amongst the inequalities of the ground on either hand, and it was as
much as our _sarbáz_ could do to keep pace with us, though they trotted
along manfully.
Soon after the day had broken, and as the rising sun was slanting rays
of light upon the country, dimly visible in the departing obscurity, we
came upon the wreck of the _káfila_ that had been plundered yesterday.
The road was strewed with bits of paper and cardboard boxes, and on
either side lay deal boxes smashed to pieces, and tin cases torn open.
Our _sarbáz_ hastily ransacked these, and ran along bearing cones of
loaf-sugar under their arms and bottles of claret stowed away in their
coat fronts. Some got hold of packets of letter-paper, and others of
boxes of French _bonbons_. As we got on, tiring of their loads, they hid
them away under roadside bushes, to take them up again on their return.
At about sixteen miles we came to the Turko-Persian boundary, marked by
a bare gravelly ridge, slightly more elevated than the others, that form
the most characteristic feature of the country. Here the commandant,
Murád Ali, with the escort of _sarbáz_, took leave of us. He produced
the paper he showed me yesterday, and asked me to sign it, saying his
brother, Karím Khán, with the sixty horsemen, would see us safe into
Khánakín. “Then,” said I, “make the paper over to him, and I will sign it
there.” He readily assented, and accompanied us to the foot of the slope,
and then shaking hands, galloped back to his _sarbáz_ on the crest of the
ridge.
We had proceeded about three miles over a gently falling country, thrown
into mounds and ridges of bare gravel, and I was in interesting converse
with some Bukhára pilgrims on their way to Karbalá, who had joined our
party at Casri Shirin, when some signs made by our advanced horsemen
from an eminence ahead of our path made Karím Khán mass us all together
and push on at a trot. “Has anything been seen?” I asked as we trotted
along amidst the dreadful clatter of our mules, who seemed to scent
danger instinctively, and quickened their pace with an alacrity I would
not have given them credit for. “Yes,” he said, “the enemy are on our
flank. Their scouts have been seen.” A little farther on we caught sight
of them. “There they are,” said Karím Khán, pointing to a knot of twelve
or fourteen horsemen about a mile and a half off, as they passed across
a bit of open ground from the shelter of one mound to the concealment
of another. “There are only a dozen of them,” I said; “they cannot harm
us.” “That’s all you see, but there are four hundred of them behind those
knolls. There is a _káfila_ coming out from Khánakín now, and they are
lying in ambush for it. We shall not get back to Casri without a fight.”
Farther on we saw another party of these robbers skulking behind the
mounds a mile or two off the road to the left. But we had now come in
sight of Khánakín. A party of five or six Turkish cavalry with their red
caps stood out against the sky on a mound to the right, and a similar
party did the same on a mound to the left. A mile or two ahead appeared
the green gardens of Khánakín and Hájí Cara, and on the plain outside
stood the snow-white tents of a regiment of Turkish infantry.
Karím Khán’s horsemen reined up on some rising ground to the right to
await the coming _káfila_, and the Khán himself, dismounting, said he
would here take leave of me. I thanked him for his service, signed his
paper, shook hands, and with a “_Khudá háfíz!_” (“God your protector!”),
mounted and proceeded. As we entered Khánakín a large caravan filing out
took the road we had come. Some of the camels were beautiful creatures,
and perfectly white. Behind them followed a long string of pannier-mules,
with their freight of fair Persians, and on either side marched a gay
cavalcade of Persian gentlemen. Bringing up the rear was a mixed crowd of
more humble travellers, menials, and beggars.
They filed by, and we found ourselves before a great _sarae_. Here some
Turkish officials took possession of us, ushered us within its portals,
and informed us the quarantine would last ten days. We were prepared
for this delay, although we had cherished the hope that a clean bill
of health might pass us through without detention. But the rules were
strict, and rigidly observed; we had come from an infected country, and
were consequently pronounced unclean, and only the quarantine could
cleanse us.
It was very cruel, and a sad disappointment, after our long and wearisome
marches to catch a particular steamer, to be here baffled at the very
threshold of our success. There was no hope of release. I saw the Basrah
packet steaming away in the distance, and myself left on the shore; so
resigned myself to the hard logic of facts, and heartily hoped that at
least one of the members of that great congress of European medical men
who met at Constantinople to devise these traps might some day be caught
in this particular snare of his own setting.
Looking around our prison-house, we found three or four parties of
wretched, half-starved pilgrims detained here on their way to Karbalá. In
their dirt and rags they were the very embodiment of poverty and misery.
Turning from them to the quarters at our disposal, the revelation was
still more disgusting. The place had not been swept for ages, and the
floor was inches deep in filth and stable litter. The torments of the
Mydasht Sarae came back vividly to my mind. It was impossible for us
to live here, so I asked to see the doctor in charge of the quarantine.
“He died of fever ten days ago,” said our janitor, “and his successor
has not yet arrived.” I was about to move out of the _sarae_, and pitch
my tent outside, when a Residency _khavass_, who had been kindly sent
forward from Baghdad by the Resident, Colonel C. Herbert, to meet me here
and attend me on the journey onwards, made his appearance with a letter
from his master. Ilyás, for such was his name—_Anglicè_ Elias—hearing my
orders to pitch the tents, here interposed a representation that the heat
and dust outside would be unbearable, and sure to make us all ill. If
permitted, he would secure us quarters in one of the gardens adjoining.
By all means; and away he went on his errand. Presently he returned with
a couple of Turkish officials, who heard our objections to the _sarae_,
and at once led us off to a nice garden at a little distance, where we
pitched our tents under the shade of some mulberry-trees. A guard of
Turkish soldiers was placed round us to prevent communication with the
townspeople, except through the appointed quarantine servants, and we
were left alone to ourselves.
The Bukhára pilgrims who had joined our party at Casri Shirin, and who
had slipped out of the _sarae_ with our baggage, in hopes of sharing the
garden and proceeding onwards with us, were discovered by the quarantine
people, and marched back to their durance. Poor fellows! they pleaded
hard to remain with us, and appealed to me to befriend them; and the
quarantine inspector, who, I must record to his credit, did his utmost to
make his disagreeable duty as little offensive as possible, promised they
should accompany us on our departure hence.
There were three of these Bukhariots. One of them, Hakím Beg, a very
intelligent young man of pleasing manners, gave me some interesting
information regarding his country. He told me he had set out from Bukhára
five months ago with four other friends and two servants. Two of his
party and one servant had died on the road through sickness. The other
two and the servant were those I saw with him. From Karbalá it was their
intention to go to Bombay, and thence home by Peshawar and Kabul.
He spoke in most favourable terms of the Russian rule in Turkestan,
and said their government was just and popular. The Russian officials
he described as kind and liberal, yet stern when necessary, and
declared the people preferred them to their own rulers. There are about
twenty thousand of the people of the country employed in the Russian
service, civil and military, and there is a strong Russian force at
Samarcand—twelve thousand men, he thought. When he left, an expedition
had started eastward to subdue Khokand and Yárkand; and it was generally
given out that in three years time the Amir of Bukhára would resign his
country to the Russians. There were, he reckoned, thirty thousand Persian
captives, all Shia Muhammadans, in the country, which is extremely
populous and fertile. Hundreds had been purchased from their owners and
set at liberty by the Russians. The whole country, including Khiva, would
very soon come under the Russian rule, and then all the captives held as
slaves would be at once liberated. They number between fifty and sixty
thousand. In ten years’ time, he said, the Russians would march to India.
Our quarantine quarters in the garden are insupportably dull and
insupportably hot. The thermometer at noon—it is suspended from the
branch of a mulberry-tree over a little stream of water—ranged from 100°
Fah. to 108° Fah. during the eight days of our stay here. In the sun’s
rays, the mercury rises to 150° Fah., and at night has fallen so low as
64° Fah.
On the 2d July, a flight of locusts settled on the garden. The
townspeople turned out with drums, and shouts, and stones; but their
host was not materially diminished. Their jaws worked steadily with a
sawing noise all night and all the next day, and then they flew away,
leaving the garden a forest of bare sticks, and the ground thick with the
leaves they had nibbled off. Apricot, peach, plum, pomegranate, apple and
mulberry trees are cleared to the bark; and their boughs were weighed
down with the load of the destroying host. The damage done must be very
great. Not a particle of shade is left for us, and the heat is something
dreadful.
_6th July._—We were to have set out on our way this evening, but at the
last moment were informed that our health papers would not be ready till
the morning, so our departure is fixed for to-morrow evening. The doctor
of the Turkish regiment here came to see us. He tells me that typhus
fever is very prevalent in the town, and that one hundred and eighty
people have died of it during the last three months. The Turkish troops
here are a remarkably fine set of men. There is nothing like them in
Persia. They wear the Zouave-pattern jacket, and baggy trousers, with
the red cap. The uniform is white cotton, thick and strong, and spotless
clean; their arms, the Enfield-pattern rifle and a sword-bayonet.
_8th July._—Khánakín to Shahrabad or Sherabad, forty-five miles. Our
health papers were brought to us yesterday afternoon, and we were once
more free. The march was fixed for sunset, and our mules and baggage and
servants were all ready to start at the appointed time, but there was
some delay in the arrival of our escort. Shukrullah Beg, who had become
as helpless and discontented as any one of our party in the quarantine,
now recovered his liberty, but not his former activity and _savoir
faire_. He was out of his element amongst the Turks, and willingly
resigned his office to the _khavass_ Ilyás. The latter went off to the
Turkish commandant, who had soon after our arrival been furnished with my
passport from the Turkish minister at the Persian court, and after a long
absence, returned with a party of nine Georgian horsemen, fine handsome
fellows, dressed and equipped in their national costume and armour.
It was eight o’clock before we set out on our long night-march. The
evening air was close, still, and oppressive. We wound our way through
the bazárs of Hájí Cara, passing its many cafés with their crowds of
solemn-looking, silent Turks, puffing their long pipes and sipping their
black coffee—the first characteristic of the new country we had entered;
and crossing the river Alwand a little below a broken bridge, struck
across some rough stony ground, crossed by several irrigation cuts,
towards the high road, which we reached at three miles. The river Alwand
is a branch of the Dyalla, and, where we crossed, was about forty yards
wide and two feet deep, flowing in a clear stream over a pebbly bottom.
After reaching the main road, our route led south by west, over an
undulating country, apparently uninhabited. At 3.45 A.M. we reached
Kizil Rabát, the land gradually falling all the way. Here we changed our
escort, and found a large party of the Khaleva rebels, who had recently
been captured by the Turkish troops, and were now being conducted to
Baghdad, there to answer for their misdeeds. The escort which here
joined us had under their charge as prisoner one Hátim Khán, chief of
the Khaleva tribe of Hamávand Arabs. He was captured some days ago,
shortly after our passage, near the Casri Shirin frontier, and was now
being conveyed, as they told us, for execution to Baghdad. He was a
powerfully-built, handsome young man, of about twenty-five years of
age; and was accompanied by a servant, who walked by the side of his
mule, and from time to time eased his master’s position as much as his
fetters would allow. The captive chief was mounted on a mule, his hands
were manacled together in front, and his feet fettered together above
the ankles under the saddle-girths. The position must have been most
tiresome, and the captive was sometimes so overtaken by sleep, that he
nearly fell off his seat, and was several times waked up by a sudden fall
on the mule’s neck.
From Kizil Rabát the road leads S.S.W over an undulating alluvial plain,
up to a range of sandstone hills that separate it from Shahrabad. We
crossed this range by a fairly good road, here and there passing over
rocks by deep and narrow paths worn into their surface, and at seven
o’clock reached the plain on the other side. Another hour and a half
across a plain covered with scrubby vegetation brought us to Shahrabad,
where we alighted at the _sarae_. I was so exhausted by the effects of
the heat and confinement at Khánakín, and so thoroughly fatigued by the
tedium of twelve and a half hours’ march in the saddle, that, without
waiting for refreshment, I stretched myself on the floor, pillowed my
head on my elbow, and immediately sunk into unconsciousness.
About noon our baggage arrived, and, to our satisfaction, the mules
were not nearly as jaded as we expected; so I gave the order to march
at sunset for Bácúba. During the afternoon, the governor called to say
that he could not give us an escort, as all his horsemen were out in
the district, owing to the disturbed state of the country. He promised,
however, that the Kizil Rabát escort with their prisoner should accompany
us in the evening.
This is a dirty little village, in the midst of a wide, thinly-peopled,
and mostly desert plain. It is only 750 feet above the sea-level, and
290 feet lower than Khánakín, and at this season is a very hot place.
We had the floor of our rooms sprinkled with water in the hopes of the
evaporation reducing the temperature, but it did not fall below 98° Fah.
during the whole day. The walls of the _sarae_ and adjoining houses are
lined with great piled-up heaps of storks’ nests. Towards sunset the
parent birds returned from the marshes with the evening meal for their
young. Each bird, as it alighted on its nest, threw back its head, and
made a loud clattering with its beak, and then disgorged a quantity of
roots and worms, which the young ones gobbled up. It was a very singular
sight. They all kept up a sort of dance upon the flat surface of the
nest, their lanky legs being kept in the perpendicular by the flapping of
half-stretched wings.
Whilst our baggage was being laden this evening, the keeper of the
_sarae_, who gave his name as Abdurrazzác, came up to me for the
customary present. I gave it him, and was turning away when he asked, “Is
Akhún Sáhib still alive?”
“Whom do you mean?” I said, quite taken aback.
“The Akhún of Swát, Abdulghafúr, the hermit of Bekí,” he replied.
“What do you know of him, and why ask me?” I inquired.
“I am a disciple of his,” he replied, “and your people tell me you have
come from Peshawar, and know all about him. It is reported here that he
is dead, and has been succeeded by his son Sayyid Mahmúd Badsháh, whose
_karámát_ (miraculous powers) are even more strongly developed than those
of the father.”
“It is six months,” I said, “since I left Peshawar, and this is the first
time I have heard the Akhún’s name mentioned.”
He then told me that there were about a dozen of his disciples (_muríd_)
in this town, and upwards of a thousand in Mosul, whence a sum of two
thousand rupees is annually sent to Swát as tribute to the saint.
Our baggage filing out, I now mounted my horse, whilst my strange
acquaintance, holding on to the stirrup on the off side, in sonorous
tones repeated the Akhún’s creed, “_Ant ul hádí, ant ul hacc; lais ul
hádí illahú!_” (“Thou art the guide, thou art the truth; there is no
guide but God!”) I bade the stranger good evening, and went on, wondering
at the strange adventures travellers meet with.
_9th July._—Shahrabad to Bácúba or Yácúbia, thirty-two miles. We set out
at half-past eight o’clock yesterday evening, and passing through the
town, struck across a plain country much cut up by dry water-courses. As
we left the town, some people at the gate warned us to be on the alert,
as a _káfila_ had been attacked and plundered the night before at four
miles from Bácúba. Our escort consists of only five horsemen, with two
others in charge of the Hamávand prisoner. Our own party, which consists
of twenty-three baggage-mules, and as many followers, and a couple of
riding-camels, accompanied by the Bukhára pilgrims, was here joined by an
Arab Shekh with a patriarchal beard of snowy whiteness—an ideal Abraham,
in fact—and five or six other travellers on foot, who seized this
opportunity of a safe conduct to Baghdad.
We had proceeded very quietly for about three hours, our eyelids becoming
gradually weighed down by the weight of sleep, when we came to a deep
water-cut. We followed the course of this for half an hour up to a bridge
thrown across it. A gentle _whiseet-whiseet_ was now and again heard to
proceed from the bushes on the other side of the canal.
“That’s an odd sound,” I observed to Mr Rozario, who was riding by my
side; “larks, I suppose, disturbed by the tinkling of our mule-bells.”
“Yes, sir, it sounds like the voice of birds. There it is again, farther
off.”
The sounds ceased, we crossed the bridge and clearing a patch of thin
brushwood, got on to a bit of plain country. It was just midnight, my
horse was very tired, and his rider was very sleepy. So I drew aside
to let the baggage get on, and dismounted to await my riding-camel in
the rear of the column. Its saddle required a little adjusting, and all
meanwhile went ahead except myself, the camel-driver, the _khavass_
Ilyás, and one of our escort.
“All is ready,” said Hydar Ali, the driver, and I took my seat behind
him. The camel had just risen from the crouch, when there came the sound
of a confused buzz of voices, and a quick rustling of footsteps on the
hard plain behind us.
“Bang! bang!” from my attendants as they shot ahead full speed, shouting,
“To the baggage!—quick! quick! to the baggage!” “Bang! bang!” again as
they turned in their saddles and fired into our pursuers. And amidst a
din of shouts and guttural sounds, I found myself joggled along at a pace
equal to that of the horses. Two minutes brought us to the baggage,
all halted and clustered together in a packed mass. The escort came to
the front, and with threats followed by shots, kept the robbers at bay,
whilst their _cháwash_ or officer had the baggage unladen and the loads
piled in a semicircular breastwork, the mules ranged outside and the
followers inside. All this was done with the rapidity of lightning, and
in less time than it has taken me to describe it, we found ourselves,
half a dozen horsemen, arms in hand, at either end of the breastwork,
facing a party of thirty or forty Arab robbers at the edge of some
brushwood not as many yards of.
“I know them,” said the _cháwash_. “This is our only chance. If we move,
they will shower their javelins amongst us and then rush in with their
knives.” “Bang! bang!” “Have a care! we mean to fight,” shouted some
of our party; and Ilyás answered their demands for the _zawwár Ajam_
(Persian pilgrims) to be made over to them as their lawful prize, by the
bold intimation that we were not pilgrims at all, but thirty Englishmen,
all armed with rifles. The venerable old Shekh too put in a word, or
rather many words, in a horribly harsh and savagely energetic language.
What he said I don’t know, but it led to a noisy and confused discussion
amongst the robbers, who suddenly disappeared, leaving an ominous silence
to puzzle us.
The night had now become dark, and the figures in front of us could no
longer be traced, either by their movements or voices. Presently, whilst
we were intently peering into the dim belt of bushes in front of us, a
suppressed _whiseet-whiseet_ was heard on the plain to our right. “Look
out!” shouted our _cháwash_ as he rushed from side to side to encourage
his men; “they are on both our flanks. Don’t fire now; wait till they
come close, and then shoot and use your swords.” Another silence, and
then faint sounds in front “They are here,” said two or three voices, and
immediately a couple of shots turned our attention towards them, and we
stood, pistols in hand, ready to meet a rush.
And so it went on for three hours, the _cháwash_ now and again warning us
to be on the alert, as the robbers reckoned on our becoming sleepy and
careless in the silence. “They are not gone,” he would shout, “let them
see you are awake.” And the warning seemed necessary, for our followers
who were unarmed had quietly rolled themselves up in their blankets, and
disposed themselves to sleep under the shelter of the baggage—a strange
instance of oriental indifference and resignation to fate.
About three in the morning day began to dawn, and we found the bushes
in our front empty, and discovered the cause of our safety in a dry
water-cut running along their front. Two or three of our escort were sent
out to reconnoitre the land, and finding all clear, we loaded the baggage
and proceeded, after standing at bay upwards of three hours. “I see no
signs of our firing having taken effect,” I said to the _cháwash_. “No,
thank God,” he replied, “we did not wound any of them. If we had, they
would have got reinforcements from the Arab camps around, and we should
not have escaped their hands.”
After proceeding a little way, we came to a deserted roadside _sarae_.
“There,” said the _cháwash_, “that’s the place where these very robbers
plundered a _káfila_ only last night.” A dead donkey with its pack-saddle
lay under the shade of its walls, and we went past congratulating
ourselves on our providential escape. Onwards our road went across
a level country, well cultivated, and covered with villages and
date-groves, the last a feature in the scene we had not before now met
with.
We arrived at Bácúba at 8.30 A.M., and found quarters in the _sarae_,
which we found full of bales of merchandise, mules, and travellers,
Indians and Arabs, Persians and Turks, with African slaves not a few.
_10th July._—Bácúba to Baghdad, forty miles. We set out from the _sarae_
at 7.30 P.M. yesterday, and passing through the town, crossed the Dyalla
river by a bridge of boats. On the farther side we were delayed a while
for the completion of our escort, which is increased by two horsemen in
addition to those who joined us at Shahrabad. On their arrival, our party
was formed up into a close column, as the first sixteen miles of the road
were considered dangerous. We came successively on three or four deep dry
canals, and near each we were halted a few minutes whilst the horsemen
went ahead to see there was no ambush.
A little after midnight we came to the Sarae Beni Sád. Here we found a
party of twenty Hamávand horsemen, with some Turkish officials, going to
Baghdad to answer for the misconduct of their tribe on the Casri Shirin
frontier. Our escort with their prisoner joined them, and we proceeded
with only two horsemen as escort and guides.
We passed several long strings of camels going on towards Bácúba, and
three or four small parties of travellers. It was too dark to distinguish
who they were, but the familiar sounds of Pushto so unexpectedly falling
on my ears, roused me from the heaviness of an overcoming sleep, and I
started into wakefulness just in time to satisfy myself that a party of
Afghans of the Peshawar valley were passing us.
Later on, the day dawned, and the country gradually unfolded itself to
our view. A vast plain, bare and uninhabited, spread before us, and a
long green line of date-groves bounded the monotonous prospect ahead.
The fatigues of our long march now overburdened me with its accumulated
load. Minutes seemed hours, and the last bit of our road seemed to grow
longer the more we advanced upon it, and I thought we should never get
over this ever-increasing plain.
At length the mud walls of Baghdad, its domes and its towers, came into
view, and our flagging energies revived at the prospect of rest. The
gilded dome and minars of the mosque of Kázamín overtopping an emerald
bank of date-groves away to the right, had not for us the attraction that
a couple of horsemen clad in white approaching from the city claimed.
They were officials attached to the British Residency here, and came to
announce that the Resident and a party of gentlemen had come out to meet
us. Our fatigue vanished, and we pushed on with enlivened spirits to meet
a hearty welcome from the Resident, Colonel C. Herbert, and the Residency
Surgeon, Dr Colville, and the other gentlemen who were with them. It was
the most agreeable incident of the whole march, and fittingly came in at
its close.
We stayed six days at Baghdad, enjoying the kindest hospitality at the
Residency. Its memory comes back with feelings of gratitude as the
pleasantest interval in the whole of my long journey. We visited the
“city of the Khalifs,” its bazárs and its public buildings, and in the
salutations and friendly looks of Jew and Turk, Arab and Armenian, had
ample evidence of the popularity of at least the British Resident. We
witnessed a review of the Turkish troops—splendid men, admirably equipped
and armed with the Snider pattern-breech-loader. Through the polite
consideration of His Excellency Muhammad Kaúf Pasha, the governor of the
province, we were enabled to visit the Admiralty workshops, the Ordnance
stores, barracks, hospitals, and other military establishments. The
discipline, organisation, and thorough order pervading all departments
took me completely by surprise; and but for the red cap everywhere, I
might have thought myself in Europe inspecting the barracks of a French
or German garrison town.
The barracks, a handsome pile fronting the river, had been built on
the European model by a Belgian architect. The hospital, a commodious
double-storied building on the opposite shore, was furnished with all
the modern appliances of the Western institutions, under the supervision
of French and Italian doctors. The messing and dieting of the men in
barracks and in hospital were assimilated to the European system, and
attracted my special attention, as so much simpler than, and superior to,
the complex and inefficient arrangements that, subservient to the caste
prejudices of the natives, are in vogue amongst the troops of our Indian
army.
In the Ordnance department we were shown their breech-loading cannon and
the arms of the cavalry—the Spencer rifle—and a six-shooting revolver on
a new American principle, all turned out of the Government manufactory at
Constantinople. We visited the School of Industry, in which nearly three
hundred homeless boys are fed and clothed and sheltered by the profits
on their own industry. And certainly the specimens of their handiwork
shown to us spoke well as to their proficiency in the arts of weaving,
printing, and carving. Some of the cabinetwork was of really superior
finish, and the shoes made by them were not to be distinguished from
those made in European shops.
We visited the jail, too, and saw a number of Hamávand and Arab
prisoners, brethren of the ruffians through whom we had ran the gantlet
scathless, all heavily laden with chains—veritable chains, weighing sixty
or seventy pounds, coiled round their loins and limbs. The light of
Western improvement had not yet shed its rays on this department; and we
found the criminal savage, uncared for and filthy, crowded together in
an open yard, weighed down by the load of their chains, and guarded by
military sentries posted on the overlooking walls.
We left Baghdad, its delightful Residency and agreeable associations,
on the 16th July, and steamed away at daylight down the river Tigris on
board the _Dujla_. As the city disappeared behind us, with all I had
seen fresh on my mind, I thought, “Surely ‘the sick man of Europe’ is
convalescent; his neighbour, ‘the sick man of Asia,’ may ere long need
the physician’s aid.”
At breakfast-time we passed the ruins of Ctesiphon; and at nightfall
anchored mid-stream, owing to the shallowness of the river. At daylight
we were away again down-stream, but two hours later stuck on a sandbank.
Got off at noon, to stick again a little lower down; and so on till
nightfall, making very little progress. Heat intolerable, thermometer
declines to come down below 110° Fah. upstairs or downstairs. Next day
as bad as the day before. Sandbanks and heat equally obstructive and
troublesome. At midday passed a town called Kút—the monotony of the
journey relieved by Arab camps on either bank, and floating pelicans on
the stream. Went ahead all night, and in the morning passed Azia, and
during the day several other stations with Turkish garrisons, also Ezra’s
tomb, surmounted by a conspicuous blue-tiled dome.
River banks very low, and land beyond marshy and apparently below
water-level, but covered with Arab camps, and vast herds of kine and
buffaloes. Naked Arabs, boys and girls, disport on the shore, and plunge
into the river to our amusement. Melon-rinds thrown from the boat create
frantic efforts for possession. Their mothers on the shore instantly slip
out of their long loose shifts, and _in puris naturalibus_ rush into the
contest, to land some hundred yards below their clothing, with or without
a prize.
Lower down the river, date-trees line the shores in never-ending
succession, and seem to grow out of the water. At nightfall arrived at
Márjil, and warped alongside a wharf built up of date-logs. Took in cargo
all day, and in the evening steamed down to Basrah, and cast anchor near
the mail-steamer _Euphrates_. Here we transhipped to the mail-steamer,
and proceeding down the Persian Gulf, in due course arrived at Bombay.
The heat in the Gulf! its bare recollection is enough to provoke a
moisture of the skin. Happily I need not dwell on its memory. It is
beyond the limits of my journey from the Indus to the Tigris.
FOOTNOTES
[1] Their drainage to the westward and southward flows to the Tigris and
the Shat-ul-Arab, or river of the Arabs, formed by the junction of the
two rivers of Mesopotamia.
[2] _Riddle._ What is the cause of delay in our joining you in Sistan?
_Reply._ There is a Rúdbár in the way.
[3] We were here joined by an escort of fourteen horsemen, eighty
footmen, and ten artillerymen with one gun; and were roused at daylight
by a fearful bray from the trumpets of the last arm of the service,
which, by the way, was the only one dignified with uniform. They are to
escort us across the Turkman-infested country lying between this and
Shahrúd. We set out at 4.30 A.M., in rather loose order, the artillerymen
with their gun, preceded by a detachment of horse, leading the way.
[4] They proved to be the advanced guard of the detachment escorting the
caravan, for owing to the depredations of Kurd robbers, such protection
was now necessary on this road.
[5] On descending this pass, we left the elevated plateaux of Persia
behind us, and entered on the valley of the Tigris, quite a different
country and climate. The change is sudden and complete, by a drop of
three thousand feet from the cool breezes of Karriud to the hot blasts of
Zuháb.
APPENDIX.
A.
SYNOPTICAL GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY OF THE BRAHOE LANGUAGE
This language is spoken throughout Balochistan as far west as Kej,
Panjgúr, and Jalk, up to the borders of Sistan, and is written in the
Persian character.
There is no inflection for gender or case. The plural is formed by the
addition of _ák_ if the singular ends in a consonant, as _kasar_, a road,
_kasarák_, roads; of _k_ alone if the singular ends in a vowel, as _urá_,
a house, _urák_, houses—_húlí_, a horse, _húlík_, horses—_are_, a man,
_arek_, men—_dú_, the hand, becomes _dík_, the hands; and of _ghák_ if
the singular ends in the mute _h_, as _bandah_, a man, _bandahghák_, men.
The cases are formed by the addition of certain distinguishing particles
to the nominative, as is shown in the following typical forms of
declension:—
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
_Nom._ kasar _a road_. _Nom._ kasarúk _roads_.
_Gen._ kasarná _of a road_. _Gen._ kasarúkná _of roads_.
_Dat._ kasar e _to a road_. _Dat._ kasarúk e _to roads_.
_Acc._ kasar _a road_. _Acc._ kasarák _roads_.
_Abl._ kasaryún _from a road_. _Abl._ kasarakyán _from roads_.
_Voc._ ore kasar _O road!_ _Voc._ ore kasarúk _O roads!_
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
_Nom._ urá _a house_. _Nom._ urák _houses_.
_Gen._ uráná _of a house_. _Gen._ urákná _of houses_.
_Dat._ uráte-e _to a house_. _Dat._ urák e _to houses_.
_Acc._ urá _a house_. _Acc._ urák _houses_.
_Abl._ urátyún _from a house_. _Abl._ urákyán _from houses_.
_Voc._ ore urá _O house!_ _Voc._ ore urák _O houses!_
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
_Nom._ húli _a horse_. _Nom._ húlik _horses_.
_Gen._ húlíná _of a horse_. _Gen._ húlikná _of horses_.
_Dat._ húlíte-e _to a horse_. _Dat._ húlik e _to horses_.
_Acc._ húlí _a horse_. _Acc._ húlik _horses_.
_Abl._ húlityún _from a horse_. _Abl._ húlikyún _from horses_.
_Voc._ ore húli _O horse!_ _Voc._ ore húlik _O horses!_
The dative affix of the last two declensions _te_ really means _into_;
the simple affix _e_ means _at_, _to_, and the forms _úráe_ and _húlíe_
are also used in this case.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
_Nom._ bandah _a man_. _Nom._ bandahghák _men_.
_Gen._ bandahná _of a man_. _Gen._ bandahghákná _of men_.
_Dat._ bandah e _to a man_. _Dat._ bandahghák e _to men_.
_Acc._ bandah _a man_. _Acc._ bandahghák _men_.
_Abl._ bandahyán _from a man_. _Abl._ bandahghákyán _from men_.
_Voc._ ore bandah _O man!_ _Voc._ ore bandahghák _O men!_
The singular _bandah_ is often pronounced _bandagh_, and the plural
_bandaghák_.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
_Nom._ arwat _a woman_. _Nom._ arwaták _women_.
_Gen._ arwatná _of a woman_. _Gen._ arwatákná _of women_.
_Dat._ arwat e _to a woman_. _Dat._ arwaták e _to women_.
_Acc._ arwat _a woman_. _Acc._ arwaták _women_.
_Abl._ arwatyán _from a woman_. _Abl._ arwatákyán _from women_.
_Voc._ ore arwat _O woman!_ _Voc._ ore arwaták _O women!_
There are several exceptions to these rules for forming the plural. Thus
_már_, a boy, becomes _mák_ for _márák_, boys—_bángo_, a cock, becomes
_bángák_, cocks—_kóchak_, a dog, becomes _kochaghák_, dogs, &c.
Nouns are qualified by an adjective set before them, and then declined as
a compound word, as _chuno már_, a little boy—_chuno már ná_, of a little
boy—_chuno mák_, little boys—_chuno mák e_, to little boys, &c., _sharo
masar_, a good girl—_sharo masarák_, good girls, &c.
Degrees of comparison are expressed by the use of the ablative case
with the positive, as _e juwán húlí_ are (or _e_), that is a handsome
horse—_dá juwán húlí asite_, this is a (more) handsome horse—_dá
kul húlíyán juwán are_ (or _e_), this is the handsomest of all the
horses—_are arwatyán balo e_ (or _are_), the man is larger than the
woman—_arek arwatákyán balo arer_, men are larger than women—_bandaghák
zorak arer, vale dá bandagh kulyán zorak asite_, the men are strong, but
this man is stronger than all—_dáfk arwaták zorak arer, vale bandaghák
zorak asitur_, these women are strong, but men are stronger—_hísun
áhinyán khuben e_, gold is heavier than iron.
PRONOUNS.
The personal pronouns are _í_, I—_ní_, thou—_o_, he, she, or it; their
plurals are _nan_, we—_num_, ye—_ofk_, they.
The demonstrative pronouns are, proximate, _dá_, this—plural _dáfk_,
these; and remote, _e_, that—plural _efk_, those.
They are declined as follows:—
PERSONAL PRONOUNS.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
_Nom. & _Nom. &
Acc._ í _I, me_. Acc._ nan _we, us_.
_Gen._ kaná _of me, my_. _Gen._ nanná _of us, our_.
_Dat._ kane _to me_. _Dat._ nane _to us_.
_Abl._ kanyán _from me_. _Abl._ nanyán _from us_.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
_Nom. & _Nom. &
Acc._ ní _thou, thee_. Acc._ num _ye, you_.
_Gen._ ná _of thee, thy_. _Gen._ numá _of you, your_.
_Dat._ ne _to thee_. _Dat._ nume _to you_.
_Abl._ nyán _from thee_. _Abl._ numyán _from you_.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
_Nom. & _he, she, it, him, _Nom. &
Acc._ o her, it_. Acc._ ofk _they_.
_Gen._ oná _of him, his, etc._ _Gen._ oftá _of them, their_.
_Dat._ ode _to him, her, etc._ _Dat._ ofte _to them_.
_Abl._ odán _from him, her, etc._ _Abl._ oftyán _from them_.
EXAMPLES—_Urá kaná mur are_, my house is far off—_oná tuman khurk e_, his
village is near—_húlík numá aráng arer?_ where are your horses?—_iragh
oftyán hallak_, take the bread from them—_nane dír hatbo_, bring us water.
The demonstrative pronouns are similarly declined.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
_Nom. & _Nom. &
Acc._ dá _this_. Acc._ dáfk _these_.
_Gen._ dáná _of this_. _Gen._ dáftá _of these_.
_Dat._ dáde _to this_. _Dat._ dáfte _to these_.
_Abl._ dádán _from this_. _Abl._ dáftyán _from these_.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
_Nom. & _Nom. &
Acc._ e _that_. Acc._ efk _those_.
_Gen._ ená _of that_. _Gen._ eftá _of those_.
_Dat._ ede _to that_. _Dat._ efte _to those_.
_Abl._ edán _from that_. _Abl._ eftyán _from those_.
EXAMPLES—_Dá masar ená areghas ír e_, this girl is that man’s sister—(the
word _areghas_ is here an inflected form of _are_, a man. In composition,
where the nominative ends in a vowel, the particle _ghas_, and where in a
consonant, the particle _as_, is added to distinguish the oblique case,
or the accusative only)—_dáfk darakhták eftyán burzo asitur_, these trees
are taller than those.
The possessive pronoun is expressed by the adjective _ten_ or _tenat_,
own, self, added to the several personal pronouns, and is regularly
declined, singular and plural being the same, as _í ten_, I myself, _nan
ten_, we ourselves, _ní ten_, thou thyself, _num ten_, you yourselves, _o
ten_, he himself, _ofk ten_, they themselves.
SINGULAR. PLURAL.
_Nom. & _Nom. &
Acc._ í ten _myself_. Acc._ nan ten _ourselves_.
_Gen._ í tenná _of myself_. _Gen._ nan tenná _of ourselves_.
_Dat._ í tene _to myself_. _Dat._ nan tene _to ourselves_.
_Abl._ í tenyán _from myself_. _Abl._ nan tenyán _from ourselves_.
And so on with the other personal pronouns above mentioned.
EXAMPLES—_Ílum kaná tenat kárem kare_, my brother did the work himself—_í
tenná zaghm are_, it is my own sword—_efk bandaghák ten-pa-ten jang
kerá_, those men are quarrelling amongst themselves.
The interrogative pronouns are _der_, who?, the same in the singular and
plural, and applied only to animate objects, and _ant_, which? and _ará_,
what? used in both numbers, but only applied to inanimate objects. The
first is declined regularly. The others are indeclinable.
SINGULAR AND PLURAL.
_Nom. & Acc._ der _who?_ _whom?_
_Gen._ dinná _of whom?_ _whose?_
_Dat._ dere _to whom?_
_Abl._ deryán _from whom?_
EXAMPLES—_Dá bandagh der are?_ who is this man?—_dinná már are?_ whose
son is he?—_ní ant cóm asitus?_ of which tribe are you?—_dá kasar ará
tuman te káek?_ to which camp does this road go? _Ará_ is also used as
a relative pronoun, with _hamo_ as its correlative, as _ará ki sharo e
hamo halbo, ará ki gando e hamo gum kar_, whichever is good, that bring;
whichever is bad, that throw away.
There are besides a number of adjective pronouns. Those in common use are
the following:—_Pen_, another, _har pen_, every other, _ant pen_, which
other. Example—_kaná ílum afas pen bandagh asite_, he is not my brother,
he is some other man. _Ákhadr_, as much as, _hamo khadr_, so much, _dá
khadr_, this much. Example—_ákhadr ki darkár e hamo khadr haltak_, as
much as is necessary, so much take. _Hamdún_, like as—so. Example—_hamdún
ní us hamdún í ut_, like as thou art so am I. _Hamro_, what sort, as _dá
hamro húlí are_, what sort of horse is this?
ADJECTIVES.
The adjectives precede the nouns they qualify, and undergo no change for
gender or number of case, as _húlan are_, a stout man—_húlan arwat_, a
stout woman. Some adjectives are modified by the addition of certain
particles denoting either increase or diminution, as _sharo bandagh_, a
good man; _sharangá bandagh_, a very good man—_chuno masar_, a little
girl; _chunaká masar_, a very little girl.
VERBS.
The verbs appear to be more or less irregular in their paradigms. I had
not sufficient opportunity to examine their structure on an extended
scale, so as to reduce them to some form of classification, and the
natives from whom I gathered my information regarding the language had
no knowledge whatever of the rules guiding their speech. The different
tenses offered in the following forms of conjugations have been derived
from the replies to questions requiring answers in the present, past, and
future respectively, through the medium of the Persian language, and I
trust they may be found generally correct.
The infinitive ends in _ing_, and is often used as a verbal noun.
Example—_jang kaning sharaf_, quarrelling is not good (or proper)—_rást
páning shar e_, speaking the truth is good (or right). The infinitive
sign is generally added to the root, which is the same as the imperative,
as _hin_, go; _hining_, to go—_haraf_, ask; _harafing_, to ask. But there
are many exceptions to this, as _bar_, come; _baning_, to come—_kar_, do;
_kaning_, to do, &c.
Some verbs form the past tenses on a different root to that from which
the present tenses are formed, as will be seen by the list of verbs given
at the end of this paper. The rules might be easily worked out with a
little leisure for their study.
Transitives are formed from intransitives by interposing _f_ between
the root and infinitive sign, as _khuling_, to fear; _khulfing_, to
frighten—_harsing_, to change; _harsfing_, to alter—_túling_, to sit;
_túlfing_, to seat, &c.
Causals are formed from these transitives by changing the _f_ to
_íf_ or _ef_, as _khulfing_, to frighten; _khulífing_, to cause to
frighten—_túlfing_, to seat; _túlífing_, to cause to seat, &c.
The paradigms of the substantive verb, and two intransitive and two
transitive verbs, are here given as models for all other verbs.
Irregularities are only to be ascertained by a practical acquaintance
with the language, but they do not seem to be numerous.
The substantive verb _maning_, “to be or become,” is thus conjugated:—
_Infinitive Mood_—maning—_to be_.
_Present Participle_—are-e—_being_.
_Agent_—manok—_becomer_.
_Past Participle_—mas—_been_.
IMPERATIVE MOOD.
_Singular._ _Plural._
ní mares _be thou_. num mabo _be you_.
o mare _let him be_. ofk marer _let them be_.
INDICATIVE MOOD.
_Present._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í ut _I am_. nan un _we are_.
ní us _thou art_. num ure _you are_.
o are-e _he, she, it is_. ofk arer-or _they are_.
_Aorist._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í asitut _I may be_. nan asitun _we may be_.
ní asitus _thou mayest be_. num asiture _you may be_.
o asite _he, etc. may be_. ofk asitor _they may be_.
_Imperfect._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í asut _I was_. nan asun _we were_.
ní asus _thou wast_. num asure _you were_.
o asak _he, etc. was_. ofk asor _they were_.
_Continuative Imperfect._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í masut _I was being_. nan masun _we were being_.
ní masus _thou wast being_. num masure _you were being_.
o masak _he, etc. was being_. ofk masor _they were
being_.
_Perfect._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í masasut _I have been_. nan masasun _we have been_.
ní masasus _thou hast been_. num masasure _you have been_.
o masas _he, etc. has been_. ofk masasor _they have been_.
_Past._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í masunut _I had been_. nan masunun _we had been_.
ní masunus _thou hast been_. num masunure _you had been_.
o masune _he, etc. has been_. ofk masunor _they had been_.
_Future Present._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í marew _I will be_. nan maren _we will be_.
ní mares _thou wilt be_. num marere _you will be_.
o marek _he, etc. will be_. ofk marer _they will be_.
_Future Past._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í marot _I will have been_. nan maron _we will have
been_.
ní maros _thou wilt have been_. num morore _you will have
been_.
o maroe _he, etc. will have ofk maror _they will have
been_. been_.
The intransitive verbs “to come” and “to go” are thus conjugated:—
_Infinitive Mood_—baning—_to come_.
_Present Participle_—bare—_coming_.
_Agent_—barok—_comer_.
_Past Participle_—bas—_come_.
IMPERATIVE MOOD.
_Singular._ _Plural._
ní bank-bar _come thou_. num babo _come you_.
o bare _let him come_. ofk barer _let them come_.
INDICATIVE MOOD.
_Present._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í bareva _I am coming_. nan barena _we are coming_.
ní baresa _thou art coming_. num barere _you are coming_.
o bare _he, etc. is coming_. ofk barera _they are
coming_.
_Aorist._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í barew _I may come_. nan baren _we may come_.
ní bares _thou mayest come_. num barere _you may come_.
o barek _he, etc. may come_. ofk barer _they may come_.
_Imperfect._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í basut _I came_. nan basun _we came_.
ní basus _thou camest_. num basure _you came_.
o basak _he, etc. came_. ofk basor _they came_.
_Perfect._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í basasut _I have come_. nan basasun _we have come_.
ní basasus _thou hast come_. num basasure _you have come_.
o basas _he, etc. has come_. ofk basasor _they have come_.
_Past._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í basunut _I had come_. nan basunun _we had come_.
ní basunus _thou hadst come_. num basunure _you had come_.
o basune _he, etc. had come_. ofk basunor _they had come_.
_Future Present._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í barew _I will come_. nan baren _we will come_.
ní bares _thou wilt come_. num barere _you will come_.
o barek _he, etc. will come_. ofk barer _they will come_.
_Future Past._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í barot _I will have come_. nan baron _we will have
come_.
ní baros _thou wilt have come_. num barore _you will have
come_.
o baroe _he, etc. will have ofk baror _they will have
come_. come_.
The verb “to go”:—
_Infinitive Mood_—hining—_to go_.
_Present Participle_—káe—_going_.
_Agent_—hinok—_goer_.
_Past Participle_—hiná—_gone_.
IMPERATIVE MOOD.
_Singular._ _Plural._
ní hinak-hin _go thou_. num hinbo _go you_.
o káe _let him, etc. go_. ofk kára _let them go_.
INDICATIVE MOOD.
_Present._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í káwa _I am going_. nan kána _we are going_.
ní kása _thou art going_. num káre _you are going_.
o káe _he, etc. is going_. ofk kára _they are going_.
_Aorist._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í káw _I may go_. nan kán _we may go_.
ní kás _thou mayest go_. num káre _you may go_.
o káek _he, etc. may go_. ofk kár _they may go_.
_Imperfect._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í hinát _I went_. nan hinán _we went_.
ní hinás _thou wentest_. num hináre _you went_.
o hinák _he, etc. went_. ofk hinár _they went_.
_Perfect._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í hinásut _I have gone_. nan hinásun _we have gone_.
ní hinásus _thou hast gone_. num hinásure _you have gone_.
o hinásas _he, etc. had gone_. ofk hinásor _they have gone_.
_Past._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í hinánut _I had gone_. nan hinánun _we had gone_.
ní hinánus _thou hadst gone_. num hinánure _you had gone_.
o hináne _he, etc. had gone_. ofk hinánor _they had gone_.
_Future Present._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í káw _I will go_. nan kán _we will go_.
ní kás _thou wilt go_. num káre _you will go_.
o káek _he, etc. will go_. ofk kár _they will go_.
_Future Past._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í kot _I will have gone_. nan kon _we will have
gone_.
ní kos _thou wilt have gone_. num kore _you will have
gone_.
o koe _he, etc. wilt have ofk kor _they will have
gone_. gone_.
The above may be taken as examples of all intransitive verbs. But the
different roots for the present and past tenses can only be acquired by
practice.
The transitive verbs “to do” and “to beat” are thus conjugated.
The verb “to do or make.”
_Infinitive Mood_—kaning—_to do, make_.
_Present Participle_—ke—_doing_.
_Agent_—karok—_doer, maker_.
_Past Participle_—kar—_done_.
IMPERATIVE MOOD.
_Singular._ _Plural._
ní karak-kar _do thou_. num kabo _do you_.
o ke _let him, etc. do_. ofk kera _let them do_.
INDICATIVE MOOD.
_Present._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í keva _I am doing_. nan kena _we are doing_.
ní kesa _thou art doing_. num kere _you are doing_.
o ke _he, etc. is doing_. ofk kera _they are doing_.
_Aorist._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í kev _I may do_. nan ken _we may do_.
ní kes _thou mayest do_. num kere _you may do_.
o kek _he, etc. may do_. ofk ker _they may do_.
_Imperfect._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í karet _I did_. nan karen _we did_.
ní kares _thou didst_. num karere _you did_.
o karek _he, etc. did_. ofk karer _they did_.
_Perfect._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í karesut _I have done_. nan karesun _we have done_.
ní karesus _thou hast done_. num karesure _you have done_.
o karesas _he, etc. has done_. ofk karesor _they have done_.
_Past._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í karenut _I had done_. nan karenun _we had done_.
ní karenus _thou hadst done_. num karenure _you had done_.
o karene _he, etc. had done_. ofk karenor _they had done_.
_Future Present._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í kev _I will do_. nan ken _we will do_.
ní kes _thou wilt do_. num kere _you will do_.
o kek _he, etc. will do_. ofk ker _they will do_.
_Future Past._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í karot _I will have done_. nan karon _we will have
done_.
ní karos _thou wilt have done_. num karore _you will have
done_.
o karoe _he, etc. will have ofk karor _they will have
done_. done_.
The verb “to beat or strike.”
_Infinitive Mood_—khaling—_to beat_.
_Present Participle_—khale—_beating_.
_Agent_—khalok—_beater_.
_Past Participle_—khalk—_beaten_.
IMPERATIVE MOOD.
_Singular._ _Plural._
ní khalt _beat thou_. num khalbo _beat you_.
o khale _let him beat_. ofk khalera _let them beat_.
INDICATIVE MOOD.
_Present._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í khaleva _I am beating_. nan khalena _we are
beating_.
ní khalesa _thou art beating_. num khalere _you are
beating_.
o khale _he, etc. is beating_. ofk khalera _they are
beating_.
_Aorist._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í khalev _I may beat_. nan khalen _we may beat_.
ní khales _thou mayest beat_. num khalere _you may beat_.
o khalek _he, etc. may beat_. ofk khaler _they may beat_.
_Imperfect._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í khalet _I beat_. nan khalken _we beat_.
ní khalkes _thou beatest_. num khalkere _you beat_.
o khalk _he, etc. beat_. ofk khalker _they beat_.
_Perfect._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í khalesut _I have beaten_. nan khalesun _we have
beaten_.
ní khalesus _thou hast beaten_. num khalesure _you have
beaten_.
o khalesas _he, etc. has beaten_. ofk khalesor _they have
beaten_.
_Past._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í khalenut _I had beaten_. nan khalenun _we had
beaten_.
ní khalenus _thou hadst beaten_. num khalenure _you had
beaten_.
o khalene _he, etc. had beaten_. ofk khalenor _they had
beaten_.
_Future Present._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í khalev _I will beat_. nan khalen _we will beat_.
ní khales _thou wilt beat_. num khalere _you will beat_.
o khalek _he, etc. will beat_. ofk khaler _they will beat_.
_Future Past._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í khalot _I will have beaten_. nan khalon _we will have
beaten_.
ní khalos _thou wilt have num khalore _you will have
beaten_. beaten_.
o kaloe _he, etc. will have ofk khalor _they will have
beaten_. beaten_.
The passive voice of transitive verbs is formed by conjugating the past
participle with the substantive verb _maning_, “to be.” Thus:—
_Infinitive Mood_—khalk maning—_to be beaten_.
_Present Participle_—khalk are—_being beaten_.
_Past Participle_—khalk mas—_been beaten_.
IMPERATIVE MOOD.
_Singular._ _Plural._
ní khalk mares _be thou beaten_. num khalk mabo _be thou beaten_.
o khalk mare _be he, etc. ofk khalk marer _be they beaten_.
beaten_.
INDICATIVE MOOD.
_Present._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í khalkut _I am beaten_. nan khalkun _we are beaten_.
ní khalkus _thou art beaten_. num khalkure _you are beaten_.
o khalk are-e _he, etc. is ofk khalkarer _they are
beaten_. beaten_.
_Imperfect._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í khalk asut _I was beaten_. nan khalk asun _we were
beaten_.
ní khalk asus _thou wast beaten_. num khalk asure _you were
beaten_.
o khalk asak _he, etc. was ofk khalk asor _they were
beaten_. beaten_.
_Perfect._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í khalk masasut _I have been nan khalk masasun _we have been
beaten_. beaten_.
ní khalk masasus _thou hast been num khalk masasure _you have been
beaten_. beaten_.
o khalk masas _he, etc. has been ofk khalk masasor _they have been
beaten_. beaten_.
_Past._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í khalk masunut _I had been nan khalk masunun _we had been
beaten_. beaten_.
ní khalk masunus _thou hadst been num khalk masunure _you had been
beaten_. beaten_.
o khalk masune _he, etc. had been ofk khalk masunor _they had been
beaten_. beaten_.
_Future Present._
_Singular._ _Plural._
í khalk marew _I will be beaten_. nan khalk maren _we will be
beaten_.
ní khalk mares _thou wilt be num khalk marere _you will be
beaten_. beaten_.
o khalk marek _he, etc. will be ofk khalk marer _they will be
beaten_. beaten_.
The other tenses can be supplied from the paradigm of the substantive
verb. Negation is expressed by interposing _f_ or _af_ between the first
two syllables of the verb, as _bafarew_, I will not come—_kafarek_,
he did not do it—_í khor afut_, I am not blind—_dá kárem o hech gáhas
kafarot_, he will never have done this deed—_ní tifes_, thou wilt not
give? Prohibition is expressed by _na_ or _ma_, don’t, placed before the
imperative, as _na kar_, do not—_ma khalt_, do not beat. But the _f_ is
also used in an imperative sense, as _nájor mafarew_, may you not be
ill—_pa_, speak; _paf_, don’t speak—_ka_, do; _kafa_ or _kapa_, don’t.
With nouns negation is expressed by _afak_ added to the word, as
_jor-afak_, not well, sick—_nyám-afak_, not justice, unjust—_zor afak_,
not strong, weak.
ADVERBS.
The adverbs are very numerous, and include interjections and
prepositions. The adverbs of time are the following and others:—
dásá, _now_.
gurá, _then_.
gáhas, _never_.
padá, _again_.
zú, _quickly_.
madá, _slowly_.
wakhtí, _early_.
madáná, _late_.
ná gumán, _suddenly_.
har-vakht, _always_.
hech-vakht, _at no time_.
gáhas, _ever_.
chi-vakhtas-ki, _when_.
hamo-vakht, _then_.
asi-asi-vakht, _sometimes_.
harde, _every day_.
asit-jár, _once_.
irat-jár, _twice_.
musit-jár, _thrice_.
báz-jár, _often_.
ewáde, _formerly_.
awal, _at first_.
ákhir, _at last_.
begáh, _this evening_.
ano, _to-day_.
pagáh, _to-morrow_.
palme, _day after to-morrow_.
kúde, _three days hence_.
daro, _yesterday_.
mulkhudo, _day before yesterday_.
kúmulkhudo, _three days ago_.
ano-nan, _to-night_.
manjan, _midday_.
ním-shab, _midnight_.
peshín, _forenoon_.
digar, _afternoon_.
The adverbs of place are the following and others:—
burzá, _above_.
shef, _below_.
mustí, _before_.
padáe, _behind_.
tahtí, _inside_.
peshán, _outside_.
khurk, _near_.
mur, _far_.
dáde, _here_.
ede, _there_.
jáaski, _where_.
ere, _there_.
aráde, _where?_
hamangi, _there_.
haráng, _as far as_.
aráká, _so far_.
moni, _opposite_.
to, _with_.
te, _in_, _up to_.
kátum, _on_, _upon_.
dápárán, _this side_.
epárán, _that side_.
chármán, _all sides_.
antmur, _how far?_
The adverbs of quantity are the following and others:—
báz, _much_, _very many_.
machit, _little_, _few_.
hech, _none_.
girá, _some_.
bas, _enough_.
at, _how much?_
ákhadr, _as much as_.
dákhadr, _so much_.
har, _every_.
bíra, _only_, _merely_.
har-ant, _whatever_.
hechrá, _nothing_.
Other adverbs are the following, conjunctions and interjections:—
antai, _why?_
ho-hán, _yes_.
ahá, _no_.
vale, _but_.
hamhon, _perhaps_.
ki, _that_.
are, _holloa!_
háeháe, _alas!_
wáwáh, _wonderful!_
armán, _pity!_
ham, _also_.
lekin, _but_.
gwácháni, _indeed!_
jágai, _instead of_.
mat, _leave off!_ _don’t!_
paráe, _for sake of_.
agar, _if_.
baghair, _except_.
The days of the week are the same as in Persian, and so are the cardinal
numbers, with the exception of the first three. These are _asit_, one;
_irat_, two; _musit_, three. The rest are _chár_, four; _panj_, five, &c.
The ordinals and fractions are as follows:—
awal _first_.
elo _second_.
mustímíko _third_.
chármíko _fourth_, and so on.
miscálí _a quarter_.
ním _half_.
sihshálí _three-quarters_.
panjpáo _one and a quarter_.
BRAHOE VOCABULARY.
List of nouns in common use:—
PARTS OF THE BODY AND SECRETIONS.
kátum, _head_.
khoprí, _skull_.
milí, _brain_.
chugh, _nape_.
gardan, _neck_.
likh, _throat_.
peshání, _forehead_.
khush, _temple_.
khaf, _ear_.
khan, _eye_.
bhirwá, _eyebrow_.
khannásil, _eyelid_.
michách, _eyelash_.
díd, _pupil_.
bámas, _nose_.
gránz, _nostril_.
kalak, _cheek_.
bá, _mouth_.
jur, _lip_.
zanú, _chin_.
duví, _tongue_.
gutulú, _gullet_.
dandán, _tooth_.
dandánnású, _gum_.
mon, _face_.
badan, _body_ (_also_ ján).
churoh, _urine_.
kiriftí, _dung_ (_also_ phí).
kísh, _matter_, _pus_.
tús, _flatus_.
nargat, _windpipe_.
sína, _chest_.
khad, _breast_.
gwar, _nipple_.
kopá, _shoulder_.
pitakh, _bladebone_.
tarkh, _armpit_.
pahlú, _rib_, _flank_.
baj, _back_.
mukh, _loin_.
saghas, _buttock_.
phid, _belly_.
phút, _navel_.
land, _penis_.
gand, _testicle_.
phundú, _anus_.
phús, _vulva_.
rán, _thigh_.
kach, _hip_.
khond, _knee_.
dhakan, _kneecap_.
pinní, _leg_.
phenj, _calf_.
nat, _foot_.
kurí, _heel_.
mijol, _ankle_.
had, _bone_.
rísh, _beard_.
burút, _mustache_.
píshkav, _ringlet_.
talaf, _sole_.
dú, _arm_.
surosh, _elbow_.
tút, _cubit_.
chamba, _wrist_ (_also_ kar).
dú, _hand_.
talaf, _palm_.
úr, _finger_, _toe_.
zíl, _nail_.
phif, _lung_.
ust, _heart_.
phid, _stomach_.
rotíng, _intestines_.
jagar, _liver_.
zák, _gall bladder_.
zardoí, _gall_, _bile_.
diloí, _spleen_.
gurda, _kidney_.
pujhá, _hair_.
sil, _skin_.
sú, _flesh_.
tuzmí, _fat_.
ditar, _blood_.
páhlt, _milk_.
túfing, _spittle_.
khárínk, _tears_.
khet, _sweat_.
khel, _fever_.
zindá, _alive_.
kask, _dead_.
NOUNS OF RELATIONSHIP, &c.
bandagh, _man_.
zá’ífa, _woman_.
are, _husband_.
arwat, _wife_.
már, _son_.
masar, _daughter_.
khadyá, _babe_.
chunaká, _child_.
báv, _father_.
lummá, _mother_.
ílum, _brother_.
ír, _sister_.
bává, _father!_
áí, _mother!_
adá, _brother!_
adí, _sister!_
brázát, _brother’s child_.
khwárzát, _sister’s child_.
pejhzát, _cousin_.
illa, _paternal uncle and aunt_.
táta, _maternal uncle and aunt_.
píra, _grandfather_.
balla, _grandmother_.
nwása, _grandchild_.
NAMES OF ORNAMENTS, CLOTHING, &c.
saht, _ornament_.
tábíz, _charm_.
chhalav, _signet-ring_.
tik, _seal_.
panra, _ear-ring_.
lik, _ear-drop_.
phulo, _nose-ring_.
durr, _pearl ring_.
jamak, _gold ring_.
dáwaní, _frontlet_.
tauc, _necklet_.
chandanhár, _necklace_.
daswána, _armlet_.
báhínk, _bracelet_.
kangaur, _wristlet_.
pádínk, _anklet_.
khál, _mole_.
surma, _eye-black_.
shefk, _eye-black pin_.
món-rukh, _mirror_.
zulf, _curl_,
gesú, _ringlet_.
rez, _plait_.
gud, _clothes_.
kús, _shirt_.
kás, _blanket felt_.
sharwál, _trousers_.
chokhá, _cloak_.
postín, _fur coat_.
khyrí, _waist mantle_.
mukhtá, _waist sash_.
top, _cap_.
dastár, _turban_.
mocharí, _shoe_.
litar, _slipper_.
moza, _boot_.
chhawat, _sandal_.
dasgala, _glove_.
khout, _blanket_.
thappur, _rug_.
khat, _bed_.
lehf, _coverlet_.
cudh, _sheet_.
bálisht, _pillow_.
bhop, _mattress_.
shál, _shawl_.
katúr, _mat_.
kónt, _carpet_.
berum, _bedding_.
urá, _house_.
kúdi, _shed_.
biht, _wall_.
bám, _roof_.
darich, _door_.
darícha, _window_.
hawelí, _court_.
barám, _marriage_.
dishtár, _bride_.
náo-zámás, _bridegroom_.
mahr, _dowry_.
HOUSEHOLD STORES AND DOMESTIC UTENSILS.
ghalla, _corn_.
nut, _flour_.
pirísh, _lentils_.
birinj, _rice_.
bat, _cooked rice_.
kholum, _wheat_.
sá, _barley_.
makaí, _Indian corn_, _maize_.
zúrat, _millet_.
júárí, _millet_.
phug, _wheat straw_.
karab, _maize straw_.
liz, _rice straw_.
tambákh, _tobacco_.
dár, _wood_.
khushád, _cow-dung_.
pogh, _charcoal_.
kulf, _lock_.
kilíd, _key_.
zamzír, _chain_.
chirágh, _candle_.
hedr, _turmeric_.
beh, _salt_.
pilpil, _pepper_.
pímáz, _onions_.
thúm, _garlic_.
lawang, _cloves_.
zíra, _caraway_.
mavíz, _raisins_.
tel, _oil_.
hormag, _dates_.
írugh, _bread_.
khassí, _butter_.
sí, _fat_, _tallow_.
gharesh, _melted butter_.
páhlt, _milk_.
dahí, _curds_.
punváhlt, _whey_ (?)
pachíruk, _cream_ (?)
panír, _cheese_.
cúrút, _hard cheese_.
khásun, _buttermilk_.
khúlí, _corn-bin_.
nuskhal, _hand-mill_.
túra, _basket_.
loth, _bag_.
khári, _hamper_.
gothrí, _sack_.
chhara, _bucket_.
dillo, _water-jar_.
khallí, _jar_.
kunza, _flagon_.
kásagh, _bowl_.
bhatal, _big bowl_.
tás, _cup_.
símí, _copper tray_.
karsán, _wooden dish_.
loí, _pot_.
kuno, _large pot_.
kho, _saucepan_.
garoh, _earthen jar_.
kúlik, _pail or pan_.
kalind, _earthen pot_.
DOMESTIC ANIMALS AND IMPLEMENTS.
húli, _horse_.
mádyán, _mare_.
naryán, _stallion_.
kurra, _colt_.
litík, _tail_.
buchk, _mane_.
búz, _muzzle_.
lidh, _dung_.
húch, _camel_.
bísh, _ass_.
khachar, _mule_.
dhaggí, _cow_.
rorh, _calf_.
kárígar, _bull_.
kharás, _ox_.
mehí, _buffalo cow_.
gosála, _buffalo calf_.
sánda, _buffalo bull_.
máe-khad, _udder_.
mat, _he-goat_.
het, _she-goat_.
daggar, _kid_ (_also_ bahí).
bakhta, _ram_.
mir, _ewe_.
súr, _lamb_.
khur, _sheep_.
shwánagh, _shepherd_.
ramagh, _herd_, _flock_.
ged, _sheepfold_.
surumb, _horse-hoof_.
shankala, _cloven hoof_.
kás, _wool_.
drasam, _goats’ hair_.
bángo, _cock_.
kukur, _hen_.
chúri, _chicken_.
byda, _egg_.
para, _feather_ (_also_ path).
bánzil, _wing_.
haddí, _spur_.
súnt, _beak_.
panja, _claw_.
gunjí, _crop_.
ojarínk, _gizzard_.
kóchak, _dog_.
kútri, _pup_.
pishí, _cat_.
hal, _rat_.
kapot, _pigeon_.
gunjishk, _sparrow_.
hílt, _fly_.
pasha, _musquito_.
munghí, _wasp_ (?)
makish, _bee_.
shahd, _honey_.
angumen, _honeycomb_.
mom, _wax_.
kak, _flea_.
bor, _louse_.
rishk, _a louse-nit_.
mangur, _bug_.
jolágh, _spider_.
phú, _worm_.
poghut, _frog_.
telt, _scorpion_.
morínk, _ant_.
AGRICULTURE AND IMPLEMENTS.
curda, _field_.
dagár, _land_.
mish, _earth_.
lichakh, _mud_.
khal, _stone_.
phud, _clod_.
chhib, _turf_.
langár, _plough_.
khamir, _share_ (_also_ phalí).
jugh, _yoke_.
bel, _spade_.
lashí, _sickle_.
khen, _harrow_.
chárchak, _pitchfork_.
mála, _roller_.
dhún, _well_.
sálí, _rice field_.
kholum, _wheat_.
sá, _barley_.
makaí, _maize_.
zúrat, _millet_.
pirísh, _millet_.
kunjid, _sesame_.
karpás, _cotton plant_.
gogra, _cotton pod_.
kakra, _cotton seed_.
pumba, _cotton wool_.
uspust, _lucerne_.
roding, _madder_.
rambí, _hoe_.
kbashád, _manure_ (?)
jal, _rivulet_.
hilár, _date tree_.
ták, _vine_.
augúr, _grape_.
sóf, _apple_.
bihí, _quince_.
zardálu, _apricot_.
alúcha, _plum_.
shalgam, _turnip_.
gázir, _carrot_.
turb, _radish_.
karam, _cabbage_.
ság, _potherbs_.
kothík, _melon_.
pímáz, _onion_.
thúm, _garlic_.
kárez, _aqueduct_.
ARMS AND ARMOUR.
zaghm, _sword_.
ispar, _shield_.
nezagh, _spear_.
pát, _stick_.
lath, _club_.
bízak, _leather milk-churn_.
bil, _bow_.
sum, _arrow_.
kamánchol, _sling_.
katár, _knife_.
much, _fist_.
chágal, _leather water-bottle_.
tufak, _musket_.
kundágh, _stock_.
palíta, _match_.
bárút, _powder_.
mukh-taf, _belt_.
sikh, _ramrod_.
ELEMENTS AND MINERALS.
dharatí, _earth_.
hawá, _air_.
khákhar, _fire_.
dír, _water_.
hiss, _ashes_.
jhamjal, _flame_.
molh, _smoke_.
duhun, _soot_.
deí, _sun_.
túbe, _moon_.
istár, _star_.
jhamar, _cloud_.
phir, _rain_.
jur, _mist_.
barf, _snow_.
barfíchk, _hail_.
shaonamba, _dew_.
yakh, _ice_.
pae, _thunder_.
breshná, _lightning_.
subh, _morning_.
manjan, _noon_.
shám, _evening_.
haft-de, _week_.
túwas, _month_ (_also_ tú)
sál, _year_.
attam, _spring_.
ahár, _summer_.
irícha, _autumn_.
suhel, _winter_.
sekha, _shade_.
phúdi, _cold_.
basúní, _heat_.
mash, _mountain_.
lak, _mountain pass_.
darra, _defile_.
hísun, _gold_.
píhun, _silver_.
ahin, _iron_.
mis, _copper_.
surf, _lead_.
jist, _zinc_.
birinj, _brass_.
kaláí, _tin_.
surma, _antimony_.
gokurt, _sulphur_.
phitkí, _alum_.
shora, _nitre_.
beh, _salt_.
totí, _blue vitriol_.
mush-kush, _arsenic_.
hartál, _orpiment_.
feroza, _turquoise_.
likh, _glass bead_.
táho, _wind_.
shamál, _north wind_.
uttar, _storm_.
lúr, _sand storm_.
shikh, _hill peak_.
talár, _hill slope_.
putáo, _hill skirt_.
chur, _gulley_.
símáb, _mercury_.
istar-khal, _flint_.
folád, _steel_.
chun, _lime_.
ARTS AND INSTRUMENTS.
drakhan, _carpenter_.
tash, _adze_.
mekhchú, _hammer_.
ara, _saw_.
mochinak, _tweezers_.
kház, _shears_.
síla, _needle_.
dask, _thread_.
rez, _cord_.
cáynchí, _scissors_.
chit, _leather strap_.
áhingar, _blacksmith_.
zargar, _goldsmith_.
degdán, _furnace_.
dhamok, _bellows_.
sindán, _anvil_.
kudína, _hammer_.
mekh, _nail_.
para, _wedge_.
charkh, _grindstone_.
anbúr, _forceps_.
tafar, _hatchet_.
kumbár, _potter_.
lichak, _clay_.
charkh, _potter’s wheel_.
mishí, _pottery_.
korí, _weaver_.
razán, _loom_.
iras, _comb_.
lorí, _musician_.
damáma, _drum_.
sittok, _dancer_.
shutár, _pipe_.
NATURAL OBJECTS AND SENTIMENTS.
de, _sun_.
istár, _star_.
nokh, _new moon_.
túbe, _full moon_.
mash, _Mountain_.
dan, _plain_.
chuk, _bird_.
darakht, _tree_.
khal, _rock_.
karod, _ravine_.
tang, _strait_.
jal, _river_.
chol, _desert_.
dam-diringun, _fatigue_.
khulisun, _fear_.
kuskun, _death_.
bíngun, _hunger_.
mulás, _thirst_.
phúdi, _cold_.
basúní, _heat_.
cahar, _anger_.
pashemání, _regret_.
gham, _sorrow_.
armán, _grief_.
pachár, _helplessness_.
faryád, _complaint_.
diláwarí, _courage_.
khúshi, _joy_.
lagorí, _cowardliness_.
thap, _wound_.
múch, _blow_.
dakka, _shove_.
ghut, _prod_.
chapánt, _slap_.
buz-halk, _kiss_.
tawár, _call_.
marám, _shout_.
hoghínk, _sobbing_.
makhínk, _laughing_.
NAMES OF TREES AND PLANTS.
tút, _mulberry_.
gwan, _pistacia_.
hápurs, _juniper_.
khat, _olive_.
pish, _dwarf-palm_.
hilár, _date-palm_.
kirrí, _tamarisk_.
kabbar, _salvadora_.
pissí, _jujube_.
khaler, _capparis_.
kharag, _calotropis_.
jawar, _oleander_.
jag, _poplar_.
marr, _mimosa_.
anjír, _fig_.
shark, _rhazzia_.
zámur, _mezereon_.
hóm, _ephedra_.
náróm, _ephedra_.
musunduk, _liquorice_ (?)
shámpastír, _indigo-fern_.
shinz, _hedysarum_.
kotor, _wild almond_.
khardaruao, _artemisia_.
kisánkúr, _peganum_.
mungalí, _salsola_ (?)
lána, _caroxylon_.
búndí, _anabis_ (?)
gomáz, _arundo_.
khásum, _andropogon_.
ritáchk, _spurge_.
shenálo, _caryophyllum_.
piplí.
panirband, _withiana_.
byh, _grass_.
mora, _dry lucerne_.
NAMES OF BIRDS AND BEASTS.
chuk, _bird_.
kuttám, _nest_.
wacáb, _eagle_.
báz, _hawk_.
hil, _rook_.
kulágh, _crow_.
sher, _tiger_.
khalegha, _leopard_.
búm, _owl_.
kirkashí, _swallow_.
charz, _bustard_.
kapot, _pigeon_.
ginjishk, _sparrow_.
shakúk, _magpie_.
sínkúr, _porcupine_.
jájak, _hedgehog_.
kakáo, _partridge, Greek_.
hanj, _wild duck_.
murdárkhor, _vulture_.
bárú, _quail_.
cú, _swan_.
kapínjar, _partridge_.
kúkam, _wild pig_.
harraf, _wild goat_.
kharmá, _wolf_.
kaftár, _hyena_.
tola, _jackal_.
shok, _fox_.
rich, _bear_.
bolú, _monkey_.
murrú, _hare_.
gorpat, _badger_.
nor, _mungoose_.
hal, _rat_.
sarkúk, _tortoise_.
shab-pirik, _bat_.
malakh, _locust_.
dúshá, _snake_.
kirráú, _lizard_.
tehlt, _scorpion_.
gorkhar, _wild ass_.
khazmú, _gazelle_.
math, _male márkhor_.
het, _female márkhor_.
khár, _wild sheep, male_.
gad, _wild sheep, female_.
shák, _horn_.
sil, _skin_.
ADJECTIVES COMMONLY IN USE.
mon, _black_.
píhun, _white_.
kharun, _green_.
khísun, _red_.
pushkun, _yellow_.
sámo, _grey_.
míl, _blue_.
chot, _crooked_.
rást, _straight_.
básun, _hot_.
phuden, _cold_.
bárun, _dry_.
pálun, _wet_.
murghun, _long_.
gwand, _short_.
kuchá, _broad_.
tang, _narrow_.
húlon, _thick_.
ushkon, _thin_.
tez, _sharp_.
kunt, _blunt_.
hukmatí, _obedient_.
rást, _right_.
cháp, _left_.
mallók, _opener_.
sakht, _hard_.
khulkon, _soft_.
durusht, _rough_.
awár, _smooth_.
bíngún, _hungry_.
malás, _thirsty_.
wasum, _full_.
sun, _empty_.
khuben, _heavy_.
subuk, _light_.
zaft, _quick_.
madám, _slow_.
báz, _much_.
machit, _little_.
balo, _large_.
chuno, _small_.
pír, _old_.
warná, _young_.
khad, _deep_.
shef, _shallow_.
arzán, _cheap_.
girán, _dear_.
jor, _well_.
nájor, _sick_.
taffók, _shutter_.
mutkun, _old_.
puzkun, _new_.
tárma, _dark_.
roshtírak, _bright_.
mur, _far_.
khurk, _near_.
sharo, _good_.
gando, _bad_.
bahádur, _bold_.
lagor, _timid_.
hanen, _sweet_.
kháren, _sour_.
talkh, _bitter_.
turun, _acrid_.
burzo, _tall_.
mandar, _short_.
khor, _blind_.
kar, _deaf_.
gánuk, _mad_.
gung, _dumb_.
shifárk, _lean_.
húlan, _fat_.
mand, _lame_.
leláwí, _greedy_.
dhakkók, _hider_.
VERBS.
The verbs in common use are here given in alphabetical order. As a guide
to conjugation on the paradigms already given, the forms of the root and
present and past tenses are added. The imperative is in the second person
plural, and the present and past tenses in the third person singular.
ENGLISH. INFINITIVE. IMPERATIVE. PRESENT. PAST.
_abandon_ íling ílbo _or_ ílabo íle _or_ ílate ílene _or_ íl
_abound_ báz-maning báz-mabo báz-are báz-mas
_abuse_ kiring kiribo kirite kir
_accept_ haling halbo hale halk
_adhere_ liching lichibo liche lich
_adorn_ zeb-tining zeb-tibo tire tis
_allot_ bakhshing bakhshbo bakhshe bakhsh
_alter_ harsing harsibo harse hars
_arrive_ rasing rasibo rase ras
_ask_ harafing harafebo harafe haraf
_assault_ hrúsh-kanning hrúsh-kabo hrúsh-ke hrúsh-kar
_awake_ bash-maning bash-mabo bash-are bash-mas
_await_
(_seek_) huning honbo hore hor
_become_ maning mabo are-e mas
_beat_ khaling khalbo khale khalk
_beg_ pin_d_ing pin_d_bo pin_d_e pin_d_
_begot,
to be_ vadí-maning vadí-mabo vadí-are vadí-mas
_begin_ shurú-kaning shurú-kabo shurú-ke shurú-kar
_bend_ _d_ol-kaning _d_ol-kabo _d_ol-ke _d_ol-kar
_bind_ tafing tafbo tafe taf
_bite_ daling dalbo dale dal
_bleat_ laláring lalárbo laláre lalár
_blow_ laging lagbo lage lag
_boil_, a. básing básbo báse bás
_boil_, n. joshing joshbo joshe josh
_braid_ gofing gofbo gofe gof
_bring_ hataring hatbo hate hes
_break_ piraghing pirabo pire piragh
_breathe_ uf-kaning uf-kabo uf-ke uf-kar
_bring_ haling halbo hale halk
_burn_ hoshing hoshbo hoshe hosh
_burst_ chiling chilbo chile chil
_bury_ cabr-kaning cabr-kabo cabr-ke cabr-kar
_buy_ saudá-haling saudá-halbo saudá-hale saudá-halk
_call_ tawár-kaning tawár-kabo tawár-ke tawár-kar
_carry_ daning danbo dare dar
_cast_ bi_t_ing bi_t_ibo bi_t_e bi_t_
_carve_ kishking kishbo kishe kishk
_catch_ haling halbo hale halk
_clothe_ berfing berbo berfe berf
_collect_ much-kaning much-kabo much-ke much-kar
_come_ baning babo bare bas
_conceal_ dhaking dhabo dhake dhak
_cook_ bising biribo bire bis
_copulate_ haning hanbo hane han
_cough_ jhaking jhakabo jhake jhak
_count_ hisáb-kaning hisáb-kabo hisáb-ke hisáb-kar
_cover_ dhaking dhakbo dhake dhak
_cry_ hoghing hoghbo hoye hogh
_cut_ haring harbo hare har
_dance_ nách-kaning nách-kabo nách-ke nách-kar
_deceive_ refing refbo refe ref
_die_ kahing kahbo kahe kah
_dig_ kad-khaling kad-khalbo kad-khale kad-khalk
_divide_ bakhshing bakhshbo bakhshe bakhsh
_draw_ kashing kashbo kashe kash
_dream_ túgh-khaning túgh-khanbo túgh-khane túgh-khan
_drink_ dír-kuning dír-kubo dír-kune dír-kun
_drop_ chaking chakbo chake chak
_dwell_ já-maning já-mabo já-are já-mas
_do_ kaning kabo ke kar
_eat_ kuning kubo kune kun
_endure_ kashing kashbo kashe kash
_enter_ tahtí-baning tahtí-babo tahtí-bare tahtí-bas
_escape_ chhuting chhutbo chhute chhut
_empty_ musun-kaning musun-kabo musun-ke musun-kar
_fall_ taming tambo tame tam
_fear_ khuling khulbo khule khul
_flee_ nering nerbo nere ner
_fly_ bál-kaning bál-kabo bál-ke bál-kar
_fight_ jang-kaning jang-kabo jang-ke jang-kar
_fill_ pur-kaning pur-kabo pur-ke pur-kar
_forbid_ rad-kaning rad-kabo rad-ke rad-kar
_forget_ yád-hining yád-hirbo yád-hire yád-hir
_forgive_ bashking bashkbo bashke bashk
_forsake_ íling ílbo íle íl
_frighten_ khulífing khulífbo khulífe khulíf
_fry_ bhugí-kaning bhugí-kabo bhugí-ke bhugí-kar
_follow_ randa_t_-hining randa_t_-hinbo randa_t_-káe randa_t_-hin
_gallop_ dudefing dudefbo dudefe dudef
_gather_ much-kaning much-kabo much-ke much-kar
_get up_ bash-maning bash-mabo bash-are bash-mas
_give_ tining tinbo or tibo tire tis
_go_ hining hinbo káe hin
_graze_ khwáfing khwáfbo khwáfe khwáf
_grind_ nusing nusbo nuse nus
_growl_ báshághing báshábo báshághe báshágh
_guess_ samá-kaning samá-kabo samá-ke samá-kar
_hang_ laronj-kaning laronj-kabo laronj-ke laronj-kar
_happen_ taming tambo tame tam
_have_ toning tonbo tore ton
_hear_ bining binbo bire bin
_hide_ dhaking dhakbo dhake dhak
_hold_ toning tonbo tore ton
_hug_ gwar-haling gwar-halbo gwar-hale gwar-halk
_inquire_ harafing harafebo harafe haraf
_itch_ kháring khárbo kháre khár
_join_ much-tining much-tibo much-tire much-tis
_keep_ nigáh-toning nigáh-tonbo nigáh-tore nigáh-ton
_kick_ laghat-khaling laghat-khalbo laghat-khale laghat-khalk
_kill_ kasfing kasfebo kasfe kas
_kiss_ pak-tining pak-tibo pak-tire pak-tis
_kiss_ buz-haling buz-halbo buz-hale buz-halk
_knead_ much-kaning (?) much-kabo much-ke much-kar
_know_ sháhing sháhibo sháhe sháh
_laugh_ makhing makhbo makhe makh
_lay_ túlfing túlfebo túlfe túl
_lead_ duning dunbo dure dur
_leak_ chutfing chutfebo chutfe chut
_learn_ hífing hífbo hífe híf
_leave_ íling ílbo íle íl
_let go_ íla-kaning íla-kabo íla-ke íla-kar
_lie_ drogh-páning drogh-pabo drogh-pare drogh-par
_lick_ chating chatebo chate chat
_lift_ hefing hefbo hefe hef
_light_ roshtínk-tining roshtínk-tibo roshtínk-tire roshtínk-tis
_listen_ khafing khafbo khafe khaf
_live_ zind-maning zind-mabo zind-are zind-mas
_loathe_ gando-daning gando-danbo gando-dare gando-dar
_lodge_ jáeti-maning jáeti-mabo jáeti-are jáeti-mas
_look_ khaning khanbo khane khan
_lose_ gohing gohebo gohe goh
_make_ kaning kabo ke kar
_marry_ barám-kaning barám-kabo barám-ke barám-kar
_measure_ dághing dághebo dághe dágh
_meet_ huning hunbo hure hur
_mend_ jor-kaning jor-kabo jor-ke jor-kar
_melt_ dír-kaning dír-kabo dír-ke dír-kar
_milk_ bhíring bhírbo bhíre bhír
_miss_ rad-kaning rad-kabo rad-ka rad-kar
_mix_ awár-kaning awár-kabo awár-ke awár-kar
_move_ surfing surfebo surfe sur
_open_ maling malbo male mal
_open_ ithing ithibo ithe ith
_pass_ gidring gidirebo gidire gidar
_pinch_ chundik-tining chundik-tibo chundik-tire chundik-tis
_place_ túlfing túlfebo túlfe túl
_plant_ tikhing tikhbo tikhe tikh
_play_ makhing makhbo makhe makh
_pluck_ bening benbo bere ber
_poke_ ghut-khaling ghut-khalbo ghut-khale ghut-khalk
_possess_ daning danbo dare dar
_pour_ shághing sholbo shághe shol
_pull_ kashing kashbo kashe kash
_push_ dhakka-tining dhakka-tibo dhakka-tire dhakka-tis
_quarrel_ jang-kaning jang-kabo jang-ke jang-kar
_question_ harfing harfbo harfe haraf
_rain_ dasing dasbo dase das
_raise_ hefing hefbo hefe hef
_reach_ rasing rasbo rase ras
_read_ khwáning khwánbo khwáne khwán
_reap_ rú_t_ing rú_t_bo rú_t_e rú_t_
_recline_ túgh-maning túgh-mabo túgh-are túgh-mas
_recognise_ cháning chánbo cháne chás
_recollect_ yád-tiling yád-tilbo yád-tile yád-tilk
_remind_ yád-tining yád-tibo yád-tire yád-tis
_release_ chhutfing chhutfebo chhutfe chhut
_reject_ rad-kaning rad-kabo rad-ke rad-kar
_rest_ dam-daning dam-danbo dam-dare dam-dar
_remain_ manzil-maning manzil-mabo manzil-are manzil-mas
_rinse_ píling pílbo píle píl
_repel_ hy-kaning hy-kabo hy-ke hy-kar
_respire_ dam-kashing dam-kashbo dam-kashe dam-kashk
_return_ harsing harsebo harse hars
_ride_ suwár-maning suwár-mabo suwár-are suwár-mas
_rise_ bash-maning bash-mabo bash-are bash-mas
_rob_ duzdí-kaning duzdí-kabo duzdí-ke duzdí-kar
_roll_ redeting redetebo redete redet
_rub_ mushking mushkbo mushke mushk
_run_ halma-kaning halma-kabo halma-ke halma-kar
_say_ páning pábo páre pár
_scatter_ khasing khasbo khase khas
_scrape_ tráshing tráshbo tráshe trásh
_scratch_ khárfing khárfebo khárfe kháraf
_search_ pa_t_ing pa_t_bo pa_t_e pa_t_
_see_ khaning khanbo khane khan
_seek_ huning hunbo hure hur
_seize_ phuling phulbo phule phul
_sell_ saudá-kaning saudá-kabo saudá-ke saudá-kar
_send_ ráhí-kaning ráhí-kabo ráhí-ke ráhí-kar
_sew_ múghing múghbo múghe múgh
_share_ sholfing sholfebo sholfe sholaf
_shine_ rosh-tining rosh-tibo rosh-tire rosh-tis
_shiver_ larzing larzbo larze larz
_shout_ marám-kaning marám-kabo marám-ke marám-kar
_shut_ tafing tafbo tafe taf
_sing_ sha’ir-páning sha’ir-pábo sha’ir-páre sha’ir-pár
_sit_ túling túsbo túse tús
_sleep_ túgh-kaning túgh-kabo túgh-ke túgh-kar
_slip_ lughusht-haling lughusht-halbo lughusht-hale lughusht-halk
_seat_ túlfing túlfebo túlfe túlaf
_sneeze_ nich-tining nich-tibo nich-tire nich-tis
_sow_ dasfing dasfebo dasfe dasaf
_speak_ hít-kaning hít-kabo hít-ke hít-kar
_spill_ sholing sholbo shole shol
_stumble_ le_t_ing le_t_bo le_t_e le_t_
_spin_, n. harsing harsbo harse hars
_spin_, a. harsefing harsefebo harsefe harsef
_spit_ túf-kaning túf-kabo túf-ke túf-kar
_split_ trakhing trakhbo trakhe trakh
_spread_ tálán-kaning tálán-kabo tálán-ke tálán-kar
_sprinkle_ chateting chatetebo chatete chatet
_stand_ saling salbo sale sal
_stay_ maning mabo are mas
_stoop_ shefming shefmabo shefe shef
_strain_ chhán-kaning chhán-kabo chhán-ke chhán-kar
_strike_ khaling khalbo khale khalk
_strip_ laghar-kaning laghar-kabo laghar-ke laghar-kar
_suck_ chusfing chusfebo chusfe chusaf
_sweat_ khet-kaning khet-kabo khet-ke khet-kar
_swell_ pirsing pirsbo pirse pirs
_sweep_ rofing rofbo rofe rof
_swim_ tár-khaling tár-khalbo tár-khale tár-khalk
_swing_ jhulu_t_-kaning jhulu_t_-kabo jhulu_t_-ke jhulu_t_-kar
_take_ haling halbo hale halk
_take away_ harf-hining harf-hinbo harf-káe harf-hin
_talk_ hít-kaning hít-kabo hít-ke hít-kar
_tap_ tak-khaling tak-khalbo tak-khale tak-khalk
_taste_ chaking chakebo chake chak
_teach_ sarpan-kaning sarpan-kabo sarpan-ke sarpan-kar
_tear_ haring haribo hare har
_throw_ harabing harabebo harabe harab
(bi_t_ing)
_tickle_ gudulú-kaning gudulú-kabo gudulú-ke gudulú-kar
_till_
(_plough_) langár-kaning langár-kabo langár-ke langár-kar
_tire_ dam-daning dam-danbo dam-dare dam-dar
_trip_ thábo-kaning thábo-kabo thábo-ke thábo-kar
_turn_, n. harsing harsebo harse haras
_twine_ peching pechebo peche pech
_twist_ res-tining res-tibo res-tire res-tis
_tumefy_ padám-kaning padám-kabo padám-ke padám-kar
_turn_, a. harsefing harsefebo harsefe harsef
_understand_ sarpan-maning sarpan-mabo sarpan-are sarpan-mas
_upset_ musun-kaning musun-kabo musun-ke musun-kar
_wait_ jáeti-maning jáeti-mabo jáeti-are jáeti-mas
_walk_ kasar-hining kasar-hinbo kasar-káe kasar-hin
_wander_ charing charbo chare char
_want_ aling-ba_t_ing albo-ba_t_bo ale-ba_t_e al-ba_t_
_wash_ siling silbo sile sil
_wear_ bening benbo bene ben
_weare_ báfing báfbo báfe báf
_weep_ hoghing hoyibo hoye hogh
_weigh_ tol-kaning tol-kabo tol-ke tol-kar
_wink_ khan-khaling khan-khalbo khan-khale khan-khalk
_wish_ árzú-takhing árzú-takhbo árzú-takhe árzú-takh
_whistle_ shutár-kashing shutár-kashbo shutár-kashe shutár-kash
_work_ kárem-kaning kárem-kabo kárem-ke kárem-kar
_wound_ tha_d_ing tha_d_bo tha_d_e tha_d_
_wrap_ much-kaning much-kabo much-ke much-kar
_wring_ píling pílbo píle píl
_write_ nabisht-kaning nabisht-kabo nabisht-ke nabisht-kar
The materials from which the above Grammar and Vocabulary are compiled
were collected during a rapid journey through the territories of the Khán
of Calát—the Brahoe country—and tested, so far as opportunity offered, by
reference to natives in different parts of the country, and by comparison
with Eastwick’s “Epitome of the Grammars of the Brahuiky, Balochky, and
Panjabi Languages.” It was my intention to have added some dialogues and
phrases as a conclusion to the work. But to do so would extend the limits
of this book to undue proportions, and delay its appearance indefinitely.
I have therefore left this part of the work unfinished, and only offer
the above synopsis in the hope that it may prove useful to the officers
serving on the Sind Frontier; and if it should happily stimulate one
amongst them to correct its errors, supply its deficiencies, and enlarge
its scope, then the object of my labour will have been gained.
H. W. B.
APPENDIX.
B.
RECORD OF METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS AND ALTITUDES ON THE MARCH FROM THE
INDUS TO THE TIGRIS, THROUGH BALOCHISTAN, AFGHANISTAN, SISTAN, KHORASSAN,
AND IRAN.
----------------+-----------+---------------+--------+-----------------+
| Date, | Thermometer. | | Barometer. |
LOCALITY. | 1872. | |Distance| |
+------+----+----+-----+----+ —Miles.+-----+-----+-----+
|Month.|Day.|Max.|Mean.|Min.| |Max. |Mean.|Min. |
----------------+------+----+----+-----+----+--------+-----+-----+-----+
Sakkar, | Jan. | 5 | | 52 | | | |29·99| |
Shikárpúr, | ” | 5 | 64 | 53 | 42 | 24 | |30·00| |
Jacobabad, | ” | 7 | 64 | 61 | 59 | 26 |30·02|29·81|29·42|
Barshori, | ” | 8 | 76 | 54 | 38 | 35 |29·46|29·40|29·36|
Sanjarání, | ” | 9 | 78 | 56 | 41 | 13 |29·41|29·35|29·30|
Kotra, | ” | 10 | 76 | 60 | 39 | 30 |29·36|29·32|29·27|
Pirchhalta, | ” | 11 | 88 | 64 | 39 | 9 |29·03|28·94|28·89|
Kuhaw, | ” | 12 | 76 | 62 | 56 | 12 |28·71|28·63|28·59|
Hatáchi, | ” | 13 | 63 | 53 | 42 | 16 |27·73|27·72|27·71|
Narr, | ” | 14 | 72 | 53 | 36 | 16 |26·74|26·71|26·68|
Gorú, | ” | 15 | 78 | 44 | 25 | 13 |25·78|25·73|25·67|
Khozdár, | ” | 16 | 70 | 50 | 40 | 16 |25·70|25·59|25·50|
Bághwána, | ” | 18 | 68 | 58 | 48 | 16 |25·51|25·20|25·05|
Lákoryán, | ” | 19 | 56 | 45 | 38 | 26 |24·45|24·18|24·00|
Súráb, | ” | 20 | 49 | 32 | 23 | 20 |23·90|23·87|23·85|
Gandaghen, | ” | 21 | 44 | 20 | 10 | 13 |23·87|23·71|23·60|
Rodinjo, | ” | 22 | 64 | 40 | 14 | 15 |23·21|23·13|23·09|
Calát, | ” | 23 | 53 | 25 | 8 | 23 |23·09|23·00|22·94|
Mungachar, | ” | 25 | 56 | 32 | 21 | 26 |23·90|23·84|23·77|
Amánullah, | ” | 26 | 58 | 32 | 19 | 26 |24·00|23·99|23·96|
Mastung Fort, | ” | 27 | 49 | 39 | 32 | 9 |24·04|23·10|23·95|
Nishpá Pass, | ” | 28 | | 32 | | 18 | |23·67| |
Sariáb, | ” | 28 | 53 | 43 | 38 | 11 |23·94|23·88|23·80|
Shál Kot, | ” | 29 | 56 | 41 | 29 | 13 |24·00|23·96|23·92|
Murghí Pass, | ” | 30 | | 32 | | 11 | |24·16| |
Cushlác, | ” | 30 | 29 | 17 | 5 | 5 |24·50|24·44|24·35|
Hykalzai, | Feb. | 1 | 42 | 32 | 22 | 18 |24·75|24·73|24·70|
Arambi, | ” | 2 | 44 | 32 | 19 | 15 |24·59|24·54|24·51|
Churgha Khojak, | ” | 3 | 49 | 38 | 31 | 13 |22·84|22·82|22·81|
Khojak Pass, | ” | 4 | | 40 | | 1½ | |22·47| |
Cháokat Khojak, | ” | 4 | | 40 | | 1½ | |23·15| |
Chaman, | ” | 4 | 46 | 37 | 26 | 4 |24·10|24·05|24·00|
Gátaí, | ” | 5 | 50 | 37 | 28 | 22 |25·50|25·48|25·45|
Mel Mándah, | ” | 6 | 47 | 26 | 11 | 14 |25·45|25·21|25·29|
Mákú, | ” | 7 | 50 | 37 | 31 | 18 |25·94|25·92|25·90|
Mund Hissár, | ” | 8 | 50 | 38 | 32 | 16 |26·19|26·15|26·12|
Kandahar, | ” | 9 | 54 | 36 | 30 | 12 |26·30|26·21|26·12|
Kohkarán, | ” | 14 | 62 | 44 | 31 | 7 |26·25|26·22|26·20|
Hanz Maddad, | ” | 15 | 76 | 45 | 30 | 18 |26·48|26·37|26·29|
Chashma, | ” | 16 | 68 | 47 | 29 | 22 |26·69|26·64|26·59|
Balakhán, | ” | 17 | 64 | 47 | 36 | 23 |26·75|26·62|26·54|
Calá Búst, | ” | 18 | 84 | 46 | 29 | 28 |27·00|26·90|26·85|
Hazárjuft, | ” | 20 | 74 | 45 | 31 | 40 |27·10|27·06|27·02|
Mian Pushta, | ” | 21 | 80 | 47 | 30 | 14 |27·27|27·20|27·15|
Sufár, | ” | 22 | 74 | 55 | 42 | 18 |27·21|27·19|27·16|
Banádir Jumá, | ” | 23 | 82 | 59 | 46 | 15 |27·26|27·23|27·19|
Landi, | ” | 24 | 70 | 54 | 46 | 14 |27·30|27·27|27·24|
Calá Sabz, | ” | 25 | 86 | 63 | 52 | 22 |27·24|27·22|27·18|
Mel Gudar, | ” | 26 | 74 | 60 | 50 | 23 |27·28|27·28|27·24|
Landi Bárech, | ” | 27 | 64 | 53 | 46 | 36 |27·54|27·44|27·38|
Rúdbár, | ” | 28 | 68 | 52 | 40 | 17 |27·60|27·58|27·56|
Calá Ján Beg, | ” | 29 | 70 | 55 | 40 | 28 |27·66|27·62|27·60|
Chárburjak, | Mar. | 1 | 73 | 54 | 40 | 14 |27·75|27·69|27·65|
Bandar Trákú, | ” | 2 | 77 | 57 | 42 | 13 |27·68|27·67|27·66|
Daki Dela, | ” | 3 | 80 | 65 | 55 | 14 |27·56|27·55|27·54|
Cabri Hájí, | ” | 4 | 84 | 69 | 55 | 12 |27·61|27·52|27·46|
Burj ’Alam, | ” | 5 | 80 | 62 | 50 | 19 |27·60|27·58|27·56|
Wásilán, | ” | 6 | 76 | 60 | 40 | 7 |27·59|27·55|27·51|
Nasírabad, | ” | 7 | 78 | 63 | 51 | 12 |27·75|27·64|27·59|
Banjár, | ” | 8 | 74 | 46 | 43 | 6 |28·04|27·88|27·65|
Bolay, | ” | 11 | 74 | 55 | 46 | 7 |27·90|27·84|27·80|
Silyán, | ” | 13 | 70 | 54 | 39 | 28 |27·79|27·76|27·70|
Lásh, | ” | 15 | 96 | 54 | 34 | 18 |27·79|27·69|27·60|
Panjdih, | ” | 18 | 83 | 62 | 50 | 6 |27·69|27·59|27·50|
Khúshkrodak, | ” | 19 | 83 | 63 | 50 | 16 |27·50|27·49|27·49|
Calá Koh, | ” | 20 | 94 | 65 | 52 | 15 |27·40|27·39|27·38|
Harút Rúd, | ” | 21 | 92 | 76 | 65 | 15 |27·39|27·30|27·22|
Cháhi Sagak, | ” | 22 | 78 | 66 | 56 | 24 |26·25|26·23|26·22|
Cháhi Pass, | ” | 23 | | 54 | | 5 | |25·59| |
Duroh, | ” | 23 | 66 | 57 | 50 | 23 |25·50|25·48|25·45|
Husenabad, | ” | 24 | 66 | 50 | 38 | 27 |25·09|25·01|24·96|
Sarbesha, | ” | 26 | 54 | 40 | 28 | 29 |23·70|23·68|23·60|
Múd, | ” | 28 | 71 | 46 | 31 | 22 |23·61|23·58|23·57|
Birjand, | ” | 29 | 80 | 56 | 37 | 25 |24·79|24·66|24·56|
Ghíbk, |April | 2 | 61 | 41 | 32 | 18 |23·12|23·11|23·10|
Sihdib, | ” | 4 | 64 | 46 | 33 | 18 |24·07|24·03|24·0 |
Rúm, | ” | 5 | 60 | 48 | 36 | 10 |23·90|23·90|23·90|
Kharbáj Pass, | ” | 6 | | 43 | | 7 | |23·20| |
Gháyn, | ” | 6 | 70 | 52 | 35 | 15 |24·76|24·68|24·61|
Girimunj, | ” | 9 | 52 | 44 | 37 | 22 |24·50|24·50|24·50|
Dashtí Pyáz, | ” | 10 | 80 | 53 | 35 | 15 |24·26|24·18|24·11|
Kakhak, | ” | 13 | 64 | 49 | 45 | 16 |24·24|24·22|24·20|
Zihbad, | ” | 14 | 88 | 67 | 57 | 16 |24·55|24·51|24·48|
Bijistan, | ” | 15 | 84 | 65 | 47 | 28 |25·24|25·18|25·13|
Yrínasi, | ” | 17 | 80 | 59 | 45 | 26 |26·61|26·56|26·48|
Abdullahabad, | ” | 18 | 89 | 61 | 51 | 25 |26·20|26·11|26·05|
Turbat Hydari, | ” | 20 | 82 | 56 | 40 | 32 |25·04|24·95|24·90|
Baidár Pass, | ” | 23 | | 46 | | 10 | |23·74| |
Gudari Baidár, | ” | 23 | | 40 | | 7 | |22·70| |
Asudábád, | ” | 23 | 49 | 43 | 40 | 11 |23·89|23·85|23·82|
Gudari Rúkh, | ” | 24 | | 42 | | 6 | |22·85| |
Rabáti Sufed, | ” | 24 | | 50 | | 6 | |23·82| |
Káfir Calá, | ” | 24 | | 50 | | 6 | |24·53| |
Sharífabad, | ” | 24 | 62 | 49 | 44 | 16 |24·70|24·68|24·63|
Mashhad, | ” | 25 | 94 | 54 | 43 | 24 |26·40|26·25|26·07|
Jágharc, | May | 3 | 64 | 54 | 46 | 20 |24·90|24·87|24·83|
Nishabor Pass, | ” | 4 | | 50 | | 14 | |20·90| |
Dihrúd, | ” | 4 | 62 | 61 | 59 | 10 |24·34|24·29|24·22|
Nishabor, | ” | 5 | 75 | 56 | 49 | 22 |25·60|25·47|25·37|
Záminabad, | ” | 7 | 80 | 52 | 40 | 16 |25·96|25·90|25·80|
Shoráb, | ” | 8 | 69 | 50 | 45 | 9 |25·47|25·45|25·42|
Záfaráni, | ” | 9 | 82 | 73 | 60 | 18 |26·12|25·88|25·90|
Sabzwár, | ” | 11 | 82 | 67 | 59 | 25 |26·20|26·12|26·04|
Mihr, | ” | 13 | 84 | 74 | 69 | 33 |26·09|26·02|25·98|
Mazinán, | ” | 14 | 74 | 67 | 58 | 20 |26·64|26·61|26·60|
Abbasabad, | ” | 15 | 86 | 74 | 56 | 23 |26·54|26·51|26·49|
Miandasht, | ” | 16 | 75 | 63 | 54 | 22 |25·40|25·37|25·32|
Miánmay, | ” | 17 | 76 | 58 | 54 | 24 |25·90|25·83|25·75|
Shahrúd, | ” | 18 | 82 | 63 | 51 | 41 |25·20|25·64|24·85|
Dihmulla, | ” | 24 | 70 | 63 | 58 | 16 |25·90|25·87|25·83|
Damghán, | ” | 25 | 86 | 62 | 50 | 26 |25·80|25·77|25·75|
Khúsha, | ” | 26 | 85 | 65 | 53 | 23 |25·25|25·23|25·20|
Ahuán, | ” | 27 | 73 | 58 | 47 | 24 |23·30|23·24|23·25|
Samnán, | ” | 28 | 92 | 70 | 60 | 24 |25·51|25·46|25·38|
Lásjird, | ” | 30 | 84 | 73 | 68 | 22 |25·32|25·24|25·22|
Dih Namak, | ” | 31 | 91 | 84 | 76 | 25 |26·55|26·47|26·43|
Kishlác, | June | 1 | 88 | 76 | 80 | 24 |26·52|26·46|26·42|
Aywáni Kyf, | ” | 2 | 88 | 75 | 56 | 21 |25·81|25·70|25·60|
Khátúnabad, | ” | 4 | 82 | 72 | 56 | 27 |26·10|26·04|25·98|
Gulahak, | ” | 5 | 76 | 72 | 55 | 18 |24·69|24·62|24·53|
Tahrán, | ” | 8 | 76 | 72 | 69 | 8 |25·64|25·61|25·60|
Rábút Karím, | ” | 9 | 88 | 78 | 70 | 29 |25·87|25·85|25·81|
Khanabad, | ” | 10 | 96 | 75 | 59 | 33 |25·23|25·19|25·15|
Khushkak, | ” | 11 | 72 | 64 | 56 | 26 |24·23|24·19|24·15|
Novarán, | ” | 12 | 73 | 61 | 54 | 36 |24·08|24·06|24·04|
Zaráh, | ” | 13 | 94 | 58 | 50 | 32 |24·20|24·15|24·10|
Mílagard, | ” | 14 | 90 | 64 | 48 | 20 |24·06|24·05|24·05|
Hamadán, | ” | 15 | 81 | 71 | 60 | 36 |23·60|23·53|23·50|
Asadabad, | ” | 17 | 83 | 71 | 60 | 32 |24·05|24·04|24·01|
Kangawár, | ” | 18 | 78 | 65 | 51 | 25 |24·49|24·44|24·41|
Sahnah, | ” | 19 | 87 | 70 | 52 | 23 |24·87|24·84|24·80|
Besitun, | ” | 20 | 88 | 66 | 52 | 18 |25·10|25·04|25·00|
Kirmánshah, | ” | 21 | 94 | 68 | 40 | 28 |24·75|24·70|24·66|
Mydasht, | ” | 23 | 71 | 64 | 48 | 23 |24·68|24·66|24·64|
Hárúnabad, | ” | 24 | 79 | 68 | 50 | 28 |24·90|24·88|24·85|
Karriud, | ” | 25 | 79 | 72 | 56 | 24 |24·46|24·36|24·30|
| |Tent| | | | | | | |
Pul Zuháb, | ” | 26 |102 | 76 | 60 | 32 |27·22|27·19|27·16|
Casri Shirin, | ” | 27 |103 | 86 | 68 | 24 |27·84|27·79|27·76|
Hájí Cara, | ” | 28 |108 | 84 | 64 | 24 |28·49|28·39|28·30|
Sherabad, | July | 8 |102 | 98 | 92 | 45 |28·70|28·70|28·70|
Bácúba, | ” | 9 |106 | 98 | 92 | 32 |29·20|29·20|29·20|
Baghdad, | ” | 10 |109 | 92 | 76 | 40 |29·42|29·36|29·30|
----------------+------+----+----+-----+----+--------+-----+-----+-----+
----------------+--------+------+-------------
| | |
LOCALITY. |Altitude| Wind.| Weather.
| —Feet. | |
| | |
----------------+--------+------+-------------
Sakkar, | | | Fair.
Shikárpúr, | | | do.
Jacobabad, | | | do.
Barshori, | 90 | | do.
Sanjarání, | 160 | | do.
Kotra, | 166 | | do.
Pirchhalta, | 520 | | do.
Kuhaw, | 810 | | do.
Hatáchi, | 1710 | | do.
Narr, | 2710 | | do.
Gorú, | 3725 | NW. | Cloudy.
Khozdár, | 3870 | do. | do.
Bághwána, | 4290 | do. | do.
Lákoryán, | 5420 | do. |Rain & sleet.
Súráb, | 5770 | do. | Cloudy.
Gandaghen, | 5950 | do. | do.
Rodinjo, | 6625 | do. | do.
Calát, | 6780 | do. | do.
Mungachar, | 5700 | do. | do.
Amánullah, | 5630 | do. | Slight rain.
Mastung Fort, | 6662 | do. | Cloudy.
Nishpá Pass, | 6000 | do. | Sleet & hail.
Sariáb, | 5760 | do. | Sleet & rain.
Shál Kot, | 5660 | do. | Cloudy.
Murghí Pass, | 5440 | do. | Sleet & hail.
Cushlác, | 5125 | do. | Snow.
Hykalzai, | 4800 | do. | do.
Arambi, | 4960 | do. | do.
Churgha Khojak, | 7000 | do. | do.
Khojak Pass, | 7410 | N. | Mist & sleet.
Cháokat Khojak, | 6600 | do. | do.
Chaman, | 5560 | do. | Hail & sleet.
Gátaí, | 3990 | do. | Cloudy, hail.
Mel Mándah, | 4100 | do. | Fair.
Mákú, | 3520 | do. | Cloudy.
Mund Hissár, | 3280 | NW. | Cldy., snow.
Kandahar, | 3220 | do. |Cloudy, fair.
Kohkarán, | 3210 | do. | Fair.
Hanz Maddad, | 3050 | do. | do.
Chashma, | 2780 | do. | do.
Balakhán, | 2700 | NE. |Cloudy, rain.
Calá Búst, | 2510 | N. | Fair.
Hazárjuft, | 2350 | NW. | do.
Mian Pushta, | 2210 | do. | Cloudy.
Sufár, | 2220 | do. | Fair.
Banádir Jumá, | 2180 | do. | do.
Landi, | 2140 | W. |Cloudy, rain.
Calá Sabz, | 2190 | do. | Fair.
Mel Gudar, | 2130 | do. | Cloudy.
Landi Bárech, | 1975 | NW. | Rainy.
Rúdbár, | 1830 | do. |Cloudy, fair.
Calá Ján Beg, | 1790 | do. | Fair.
Chárburjak, | 1720 | do. | do.
Bandar Trákú, | 1740 | do. | do.
Daki Dela, | 1860 | S. | Cloudy.
Cabri Hájí, | 1890 | do. | do.
Burj ’Alam, | 1830 | SW. |Fair, cloudy.
Wásilán, | 1860 | NW. | Cloudy.
Nasírabad, | 1770 | N. |Cldy. & gusty.
Banjár, | 1540 | do. | do.
Bolay, | 1680 | do. | Cloudy.
Silyán, | 1650 | do. |Cloudy, fair.
Lásh, | 1720 | do. | do.
Panjdih, | 1820 | NW. | Cloudy.
Khúshkrodak, | 1920 | do. | Fair.
Calá Koh, | 2020 | do. | do.
Harút Rúd, | 2110 | SW. | Cloudy.
Cháhi Sagak, | 3200 | NW. | do.
Cháhi Pass, | 3870 | do. |Cloudy, rain.
Duroh, | 3990 | do. | do.
Husenabad, | 4500 | W. | do.
Sarbesha, | 5990 | NW. | do.
Múd, | 6100 | do. | Cloudy.
Birjand, | 4880 | N. |Cloudy, fair.
Ghíbk, | 6650 | do. |Cloudy, rain.
Sihdib, | 5586 | NW. | do.
Rúm, | 5735 | do. | do.
Kharbáj Pass, | 6550 | do. | Cloudy.
Gháyn, | 4860 | do. |Cldy. & stmy.
Girimunj, | 5060 | W. | Fair.
Dashtí Pyáz, | 5420 | N. |Cloudy, rain.
Kakhak, | 5375 | do. | Fair.
Zihbad, | 5050 | do. | Cloudy.
Bijistan, | 4310 | NW. | Rainy.
Yrínasi, | 2860 | N. | Fair.
Abdullahabad, | 3325 | NW. | Cloudy.
Turbat Hydari, | 4562 | do. | Rainy.
Baidár Pass, | 5920 | do. | Rain.
Gudari Baidár, | 7134 | do. | do.
Asudábád, | 5790 | do. | do.
Gudari Rúkh, | 6962 | do. |Cloudy, rain.
Rabáti Sufed, | 5825 | do. | Cloudy.
Káfir Calá, | 5025 | do. | do.
Sharífabad, | 4860 | do. | Rain.
Mashhad, | 3180 | do. | Rainy.
Jágharc, | 4650 | do. | do.
Nishabor Pass, | 9390 | W. |Fair, cloudy.
Dihrúd, | 5290 | do. | Cloudy.
Nishabor, | 4000 | do. | Rainy.
Záminabad, | 3540 | SW. | Cloudy.
Shoráb, | 4020 | S. | Fair.
Záfaráni, | 3562 | SE. | do.
Sabzwár, | 3312 | do. |Fair, cloudy.
Mihr, | 3380 | do. | Fair.
Mazinán, | 2810 | SW. | do.
Abbasabad, | 2910 | do. | do.
Miandasht, | 4110 | W. |Storm & rain.
Miánmay, | 3620 | NW. | Rain.
Shahrúd, | 3820 | do. |Cldy., rainy.
Dihmulla, | 3575 | W. | Fair.
Damghán, | 3680 | do. | do.
Khúsha, | 4260 | do. | Cloudy.
Ahuán, | 6500 | do. |Cloudy, fair.
Samnán, | 4010 | NW. |Fair, cloudy.
Lásjird, | 4150 | W. | Fair.
Dih Namak, | 2950 | do. |Gusty & dusty
Kishlác, | 2960 | NW. | do.
Aywáni Kyf, | 3760 | do. | Fair.
Khátúnabad, | 3400 | W. | do.
Gulahak, | 4925 | do. | do.
Tahrán, | 3850 | do. | do.
Rábút Karím, | 3600 | do. | do.
Khanabad, | 4300 | NE. | Warm, fair.
Khushkak, | 5410 | W. |Cl’dless sky.
Novarán, | 5550 | None | Warm, fair.
Zaráh, | 5450 | do. | do.
Mílagard, | 5562 | do. | do.
Hamadán, | 6162 | do. | do.
Asadabad, | 5575 | do. | do.
Kangawár, | 5125 | do. | do.
Sahnah, | 4680 | do. | do.
Besitun, | 4462 | do. | do.
Kirmánshah, | 4837 | do. | do.
Mydasht, | 4880 | do. | do.
Hárúnabad, | 4640 | W. | Gusty day.
Karriud, | 5212 | None | Fair.
| | |
Pul Zuháb, | 2220 | W. | Fair, hot.
Casri Shirin, | 1625 | do. | Hot day.
Hájí Cara, | 1040 | WN. | do.
Sherabad, | 750 | None | Fair, hot.
Bácúba, | 270 | do. | do.
Baghdad, | 130 | W. | do.
----------------+--------+------+-------------
_N.B._—The indications of the thermometer were recorded from an
instrument placed against the wall of a tent.
The distances have been reckoned at the pace of our riding-horses, at the
rate of four miles an hour.
The altitudes have been calculated approximately from the mean of the
daily indications of an aneroid barometer, usually suspended in the shade
of a tent.
H. W. B.
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY
LONDON AND EDINBURGH