Great fuss and parade is made, the condition of the incomer being denoted by the grandeur of this “istikhbal,” or procession of welcome. In the case of official personages, soldiers, both horse and foot, go out; led-horses also are sent simply for show, splendidly caparisoned with Cashmere shawls or embroidered housings on the saddles. And it is found necessary, in the case of the arrival of ambassadors or envoys, such as that of Sir F. Goldsmid (when on the duty of the definition of the Seistan boundary), to stipulate that a proper istikhbal shall be sent out prior to the commissioners entering a large town.
There is another ceremony, that of the “badraghah,” or riding out with the departing guest. This, however, is not so formal, and is less an act of ceremony than one of friendship; however, it is a compliment that in both cases is much appreciated, especially when shown by a European to a native.
Latterly the Europeans have almost given up this riding out, which practically is a great nuisance to those riding at an unusual or uncomfortable time, perhaps in the sun, and when the arrival of the guest is very uncertain; it is, too, very annoying, when tired with a rapid chupper, and having ridden many hours on end, to be put on a very lively horse, ready to jump out of his skin with condition, and to pull one’s arms off.
As we had got in sooner than was expected, and were only some mile from Pierson’s house, we did not change our horses for the fresh ones provided by him, and after many turns and twists between high mud walls, we came to the house, and here my travels ended for the time.
The courtyard was some twenty yards by thirty wide. A hauz or tank ran the entire length, filled by a constant stream of running water, and on either side of it was a long flower-bed sunk in the stone pavement, about the same depth below it as the hauz was elevated above.
On a level with the ground in the basement were the cellars and servants’ quarters, and above this a platform ten feet from the ground, some four yards broad, which extended the whole width of the courtyard. This was covered by an enormous structure, consisting of a roof some six feet thick, being painted wood mudded over a yard deep; and then under it a hollow air-chamber, supported on three huge wooden octagonal columns, likewise painted in red, blue, and yellow. Behind and beneath this talár, or verandah, which was some thirty feet from floor to ceiling, was a central room (orūssēe), elaborately painted and gilt in the vilest taste, with a huge window (which could be kept wide open in hot weather) of coloured glass, in small panes four inches by seven. This was the dining and reception room.
On either side of this orūssēe, and having the talár still in front of them, was a smaller apartment. One was Pierson’s bedroom, the other mine. Thus in front of the three rooms was a covered platform, four yards by twenty. On this during the summer, save when the sun was on it, we lived, and when the sun was high the rooms were kept cool by the talár.
We soon sat down to a sumptuous dinner, and I tasted, for the first time, Hamadan wine, of which I had heard many and different opinions. It was a delicious pale, scented, straw-coloured wine, like a light hock; rather too sweet, but apparently of no great strength. I soon found, however, that in the latter idea I was much in error, for it was a wine that went straight to the head, and remained there.
Delicious as it is, the fact of its newness—and it often will not keep, a second summer generally turning it sour if in bottle—makes it objectionable, for though it is light and delightful, especially when iced, a headache surely follows even a third glass.