In the land of the lion and sun, or, modern Persia

by C. J. Wills

Here, too, is a favourite place to make “tobeh,” or a vow of abstinence from some particular sin; the vow is registered, solemnly made at the shrine, and generally, for a time at least, kept.

In the afternoon I sold my last pony to the muleteer, and have now no horses of my own in the country; my wife’s mare is already sold to be given up at Resht, and my other pony on the same condition.

Here, too, I discharged my groom, an ill-conditioned fellow, who was lazy and useless, as I had only one horse to be looked after, and the under-groom could manage that.

April 16th.—Left at eleven for Pul-i Dellak (the Barber’s Bridge), so called because it was built by the court barber of the day. We should not have gone to Pul-i Dellak, but the road to Mejdabad is blocked, the river being unfordable, so we have to come to this place (the third stage from Teheran) to cross the river at the Barber’s Bridge. This gives us a stage more.

The bridge is the usual thing but longer, and an artificial causeway has been built where the Kūm river and another join our bridge, crossing the other stream (name unknown), while a few broken arches only are left of a continuation to the right of the causeway, of a bridge which once crossed the Kūm river. At sunset, as is usual at this place, it blew great guns. When we woke it was raining hard; it cleared at eight A.M.

April 17th., eight A.M.—At the time we started the caravan we got off ourselves in a drizzle, which at half-past nine became a shower, and then heavy rain; this continued till half-past eleven. It came down in buckets full, our puggeries got wet and so heavy that we had to remove them. A⸺ over her heavy jacket put a so-called waterproof cloak, and over that a thick wool shawl; her knees she kept warm by one of my overcoats, but the bottom of her habit ran water. I had a blanket with a slit in it, and a big plaid kept my legs dry and warm.

It then cleared, the sun got hot, the wraps were hung on the loads to dry, and at three we arrived at Shashgird, an outlying village, very poor, as all such villages are. Four walls, a turret at each corner, a ruined room over the doorway; the three sides within were mostly surrounded by hovels of the bee-hive order of architecture; two of these we cleared out, our servants took a third, while my wife’s mare got a fourth. The rooms are small but clean and comfortable; a hole in the roof lets out smoke; there is even the luxury of a door.

In the centre of the village square is a small pen; we inspect it: it contains some five-and-twenty lambs three or four days old. At sunset on the arrival of the mothers (after having been milked) the bleating and noise is something awful; the pen is opened, and the lambs distributed. Some of the mothers find it difficult to recognise their offspring; soon, however, with the help of the villagers of both sexes, and much laughter, all are given to their own mothers.

Weather fine and warm, no need of fire. We dine and sleep.

Villagers polite and good-humoured, quite ready to turn out. Many chattels left in our rooms with perfect confidence. Of course they expect a little present. Shashgird is four farsakhs from Pul-i Dellak over a sandy road very heavy from rain. A choice here of clear water which is salt, muddy water which is sweet; chose the muddy. No insects in our humble lodging, which was clean and comfortable.