The profit arising to the nomads by their abominable practice of kidnapping by no means compensates for the perils which it entails, for it is not often that it diminishes the poverty to which the son of the desert is born. And what if he is able to save a few small coins? His mode of living, simple in the extreme, would rarely call for such; and I have known many Turkomans who, in spite of a condition of increased prosperity, have continued to eat dried fish, and have allowed themselves bread but once in the week, just like the very poorest to whom the price of wheat renders bread almost inaccessible.
In his domestic circle, the nomad presents us a picture of the most absolute indolence. In his eyes it is the greatest shame for a man to apply his hand to any domestic occupation. He has nothing to do but to tend his horse; that duty once over, he hurries to his neighbour, or joins one of the group that squat on the ground before the tents, discussing topics connected with politics, recent raids, or horseflesh. In the meantime the inevitable Tchilim, a sort of Persian pipe, in which the tobacco is not moistened, passes from hand to hand.
It is only during evening hours, particularly in the winter time, that they love to listen to fairy tales and stories; it is regarded as an enjoyment of a still higher and more elevated nature, when a Bakhshi (troubadour) comes forward, and to the accompaniment of his Dütara (a two-stringed instrument) sings a few songs of Köroglu, Aman Mollah, or the national poet, Makhdumkuli, whom they half deify. The latter, regarded as a sort of saint, was a Turkoman of the Göklen tribe; he died about eighty years ago. Makhdumkuli died, as I heard from Kizil Akhond, during the civil wars between the Yomuts and the Göklens--his generous spirit could not endure to contemplate the spectacle of brother struggling in murderous combat with brother, whose wives and children were reciprocally captured and sold to slavery.
In his biography, clouded with fable, I found him represented as a wondrous man, who, without going to Bokhara or Khiva, was divinely inspired in all books and all sciences. Once being on horseback, he was surprised by an overpowering sleep; he saw himself, in fancy, transported to Mecca into a circle where the Prophet and the first Khalifs were assembled. With a thrill of reverence and awe he looked round and perceived that Omar, the patron of the Turkomans, was beckoning to him. He approached the latter, who blessed him and struck him a slight blow on the forehead, whereupon he awoke. From that instant the sweetest poesy began to flow from his lips, and his books will long occupy with the Turkomans the first place after the Koran. In other respects the collection [{322}] of poems by Makhdumkuli is of particular interest: first, as furnishing us with a pure specimen of the Turkoman dialect; secondly, because the method, particularly of that part which relates to precepts as to horse-breeding, arms, and the Alaman, is such as we rarely find in the literature of the Oriental nations.
How charming to me, too, those scenes, which can never pass from my memory, when on festal occasions, or during the evening entertainments, some Bakhshi used to recite the verses of Makhdumkuli! When I was in Etrek, one of these troubadours had his tent close to our own; and as he paid us a visit of an evening, bringing his instrument with him, there flocked around him the young men of the vicinity, whom he was constrained to treat with some of his heroic lays. His singing consisted of certain forced guttural sounds, which we might rather take for a rattle than a song, and which he accompanied at first with gentle touches of the strings, but afterwards, as he became more excited, with wilder strokes upon the instrument. The hotter the battle, the fiercer grew the ardour of the singer and the enthusiasm of his youthful listeners; and really the scene assumed the appearance of a romance, when the young nomads, uttering deep groans, hurled their caps to the ground, and dashed their hands in a passion through the curls of their hair, just as if they were furious to combat with themselves.
And yet this ought not to surprise us. The education of the young Turkoman is in every respect calculated to bring him to this tone of mind. Only one in a thousand can read and write: horses, arms, battles, and robberies, are the subjects that exercise, in youth, the imaginations of all. I once heard even the honest [{323}] Khandjan, who intended to read a lesson to his son, recount that a certain young Turkoman had already kidnapped two Persians, and 'of him' (pointing to his son) 'he feared he should never be able to make a man.'
TARTAR HORSE RACE--PURSUIT OF A BRIDE.
Some customs and usages of the Turkomans are very remarkable, as we have but faint traces of them amongst the other nomads of Central Asia. But there is also the marriage ceremonial where the young maiden, attired in bridal costume, mounts a high-bred courser, taking on her lap the carcase of a lamb or goat, and setting off at full gallop, is followed by the bridegroom and other young men of the party, also on horseback; but she is always to strive, by adroit turns, &c., to avoid her pursuers, that no one of them approach near enough to snatch from her the burden on her lap. This game, called Kökbüri (green wolf), is in use amongst all the nomads of Central Asia.