Through deserts and oases of central Asia

by Ella Sykes; Sir Percy Sykes

Market day at Kashgar presented an ever-changing kaleidoscope. Here a turbaned grandfather bestriding a tiny donkey, his grandson clinging on behind him and holding tight to his waistcloth, would cross the imposing-looking bridge, a favourite haunt of the numerous beggars. On the river bank the dyers would be beating long pieces of cloth in the shallows; horses would be drinking standing knee-deep in the water, and at the ford loaded asses could be seen staggering across, and men and women with their garments kilted high wading to the opposite bank. Donkeys carrying covered tubs were ridden by children who scooped up the water in gourds and filled the receptacles that were to supply their households for the day. Small mites hardly able to do more than toddle, were fearless riders, sometimes two or even three children being perched on the same animal. The excellence of the river brand accounts for the fact that cholera is unknown in Kashgar, and the inhabitants do not suffer from the goitre that is so prevalent in other cities of Chinese Turkestan.

The little stalls in the bazar exposed all sorts of commodities for sale. Melons that had been stored all through the winter; horseshoes or murderous-looking knives laid out on benches; here were small piles of almonds, walnuts and pistachios, there macaroni of native make and rice; and at one corner of the road the dyers hung up their blue and scarlet cloths to dry. As far as I could see the vendors made no effort to press their wares, and there seemed to be no fixed hours of work, men apparently sleeping, gossiping or drinking tea at any time of day. In the bakers’ shops the ovens were big holes flush with the floor of the shop, and the baker stuck the flat cakes of dough against their sides and pulled them off when ready, with the aid of a long-handled iron instrument. The bread, the little be-glazed rolls in the form of rings, and the heaps of flour were all plentifully besprinkled by the dust of the traffic; and during the cold weather the children would squat all day close to these ovens and frequently tumble in and get terribly burnt, poor little things. There was always business doing at the forge, where the horses being shod were lashed so tightly to an ingenious wooden framework that they could not move. Unluckily the Turki farrier is more inclined to make the hoof fit the shoe than vice versa, and as a result often cuts away the wall in most unscientific fashion, as we sometimes found to our cost.

SHOEING IN THE KASHGAR BAZAR.

Page 62.

Partridges and the pretty little desert larks kept in small round cages called and twittered, but their notes would be drowned by the performance of a group of professional singers who had drawn a crowd round them. The leader in turban and silk attire, with a huge silver buckle on his belt, sang, or rather shouted, a solo with many a trill and tremulo, making excruciating facial contortions, the monotonous chorus being taken up by the rest of the troupe. Some of these were greybeards, others mere boys, but all had the appearance of undergoing acute torture as they yelled at the top of their voices, and brought to mind my old maestro who was in the habit of suddenly holding a mirror in front of me if I wore a pained expression as I sang.

Yet the Kashgaris have the reputation of being very musical, and even to my western ears there was considerable charm in many of their songs; but try as I might, I could never pick up any of their airs, probably owing to the fact that their notation is quite different from ours. They do not understand part-singing, but play several instruments, such as sitars, drums, pipes and tambourines. In the spring and summer men and boys would sing up to a late hour at night, and with the first glint of dawn I was often roused by cheerful peasants chanting on their way to work in the fields.

The people say that travelling dervishes bring fresh tunes to the towns, and that when the spring repertoire, for example, has been learnt by the inhabitants it will be succeeded by new tunes for the autumn and winter. There are sometimes no words to these refrains, each singer supplying his own, in the fashion of the Italian improvisatori. No woman of good repute may sing in public, and only once did I hear a little girl of some eight or nine years old singing away to herself and evidently much enjoying the exercise. Whistling is not allowed even to children, but I could not find out whether the Kashgaris believed, as do the Persians, that it summons the demons.

As the Kashgari woman is spoken of as khatun, mistress, and sometimes as khan, or master, of the house, I thought that she had a far better position than her Persian sister; yet the law of Islam presses heavily upon her in many ways. Owing to the emigration of men from the Oasis there is a large surplus of women, and marriage is consequently cheap for a suitor. Parents often sell their daughter to the highest bidder in the matrimonial market without allowing her any freedom of choice. True, divorce may be had for a couple of tungas (about fourpence), but as the woman may not re-marry until a hundred days have elapsed, she often has difficulty in keeping herself meantime, although the man is supposed to return the dowry that he received with her at her marriage. If she has children she must take charge of any under seven years of age, but if they are above that age the husband looks after the sons and the wife has the daughters, the husband paying a maintenance allowance.

There is a law that, if the husband divorces his wife, the latter may take all the movables in the house, and as in the case of a merchant much of his wealth consists of carpets and brass utensils, he often finds it cheaper to take a second wife rather than divorce the first, who would make a clean sweep of the household plenishing. I confess that this law rejoiced me, as I always resented the state of inferiority to which Islam subjects my sex, and was glad that it gave them the advantage for once.