I entered the tent of Khandjan after the morning prayer and found here a whole company, listening with the greatest attention to the narrative of a young Turkoman, who was covered with dust and dirt, and whose face bore evident traces of excitement and severe hardships. He was describing in a low voice, but in lively colours, a marauding excursion against the Persians of the evening before, in which he had taken part. Whilst he was speaking, the women, servants and slaves (what must have been the thoughts of these latter), squatted down around the circle of listeners, and many a curse was hurled at the slaves, the clanking of the chains on their feet interrupting for a time the general quiet. It struck me as remarkable, that, in proportion as the speaker warmed in describing the obstinate resistance of the unfortunate people, who were fallen on unawares, the indignation of the audience increased at the audacity of the Persians, not to have at once quietly submitted to being plundered.
No sooner was the narration of this great feat of arms at an end when all rose to their feet to have a look at the spoils, the sight of which excites in the Turkoman's breast a mixed feeling of envy and pleasure. I followed them likewise, and a terrible picture presented itself to my eyes. Lying down in the middle of the tent were two Persians, looking deadly pale and covered with clotted blood, dirt and dust. A man was busily engaged in putting their broken limbs into fetters, when one of them gave a loud, wild shriek, the rings of the chains being too small for him. The cruel Turkoman was about to fasten them forcibly round his ancles. In a corner sat two young children on the ground, pale and trembling, and looking with sorrowful eyes towards the tortured Persian. The unhappy man was their father; they longed to weep, but dared not;—one look of the robber, at whom they stole a glance now and then, with their teeth chattering, was sufficient to suppress their tears. In another corner a girl, from fifteen to sixteen years old, was crouching, her hair dishevelled and in confusion, her garments torn and almost entirely covered with blood. She groaned and sobbed, covering her face with her hands. Some Turkoman woman, moved either by compassion or curiosity, asked her what ailed her, and where she was wounded. "I am not wounded," she exclaimed, in a plaintive voice, deeply touching. "This blood is the blood of my mother, my only one, and the best and kindest of mothers. Oh! ana djan, ana djan (dear mother)!" Thus she lamented, striking her head against the trellised wood-work of the tent, so that it almost tumbled down. They offered her a draught of water, and her tongue became loosened, and she told them how she (of course a valuable prize) had been lifted into the saddle beside the robber, but that her mother, tied to the stirrups, had been obliged to run along on foot. After an hour's running in this manner, she grew so tired that she sank down exhausted every moment. The Turkoman tried to increase her strength by lashing her with his whip, but this was of no avail; and as he did not want to remain behind from his troop he grew in a rage, drew his sword, and in a second struck off her head. The blood spirting up, had covered the daughter, horseman and horse; and, looking at the red spots upon her clothes, the poor girl wept loud and bitterly.
Whilst this was going on in the interior of the tent, outside the various members of the robbers' family were busy inspecting the booty he had brought home. The elder women seized greedily upon one or another utensil for domestic use, whilst the children, who were jumping about merrily, were trying on the different garments,—now one, now another, and producing shouts of laughter.
Here all was triumph and merriment; not far from it a picture of the deepest grief and misery. And yet no one is struck by the contrast; every one thinks it very natural that the Turkoman should enrich himself with robbery and pillage.
And these terrible social relations exist within scarcely a fortnight's distance from Europe, travelling by St. Petersburg, Nishnei Novogorod, and Astrakhan!
18th April.
Eliaskuli, who dwelt in the fourth tent from mine on the banks of the Görgen, was a "retired" Turkoman, who, up to his thirtieth year, had carried on the usual profession of kidnapping and pillaging, and had now retired from business, in order, as he said, to spend the rest of this futile, ridiculous life (fani dünya) here below in the pious exercise of the law; as far as I know, however, it is because several shot wounds of the "hellish" weapons at Ashurada prevented him from carrying on any longer his infamous trade. He was in hopes I might invoke upon his wicked head every blessing of heaven by my prayers, and to this effect he narrated to me, with many details, how the Russians, after having declared a religious war, had once landed here, and attacked and set fire to all the tents that stood on the banks of the Görgen. This religious war was in fact nothing else than that the Russians wanted to release some countrymen of theirs, whom these robbers had carried off prisoners, but the fight lasted more than a whole day. He added, that although the Russians, being too cowardly to come near, shot only from a distance, yet the valiant Gazis (religious combatants) could not resist their devilish arts, that he too received at that time some death wounds, and was a whole day without giving a sign of life, until at last his Pir (spiritual chief) called him back into existence.
This same Eliaskuli offered to accompany me to-day to the Ova of the Ana Khan, who is the chief of the Yarali tribe, and dwells on the upper Görgen, close to the Persian frontier. From curiosity, perhaps, or some other motive, he wished to make my acquaintance. Our road lay for some time along the left bank of the river, but soon we were obliged to make a considerable circuit, in order to avoid the large marshes and morasses. Unacquainted as the people around me were with my motives for travelling, I laid myself open to suspicion, no doubt; but the experience of a few days calmed my fears for the security of my position, and indeed all misgivings vanished, when I saw how the people, whenever we were passing some tent on our route, came towards me with milk, cheese and other presents, asking for my blessing. Thus I rode on in high spirits, troubled at nothing but the heavy Turkoman felt cap, on the top of which in addition several yards of linen were folded round in the shape of a turban, and the heavy musket on my back, which for propriety's sake I was obliged to carry, in spite of my character as Mollah. Eliaskuli sometimes remained behind for full half an hour, but I continued my way alone, meeting now and then a few marauding stragglers, who, returning home empty from some unsuccessful foray, measured me with sinister looks from head to foot. Some saluted me, others only asked, "Whose guest art thou, Mollah?" in order to judge from my personality whether it was feasible to plunder me or not; but no sooner did I reply "Kelte Khandjan Bay," when they rode on in evident displeasure, muttering in their beard an abrupt "Aman bol," (farewell.)