LOADING UP THE YAKS.
Page 124.
Iftikhar Ahmad related to me how once a large and exceptionally savage dog that he possessed was killed by a couple of wolves. They stalked the dog, one getting in front of it and one behind, and, while it stood undecided which foe to attack first, one of the wolves rushed at it with tremendous force and threw it down. In less time than it takes to relate, the victim was torn asunder, and the conquerors made off, each carrying half of the spoils of victory.
The tribesmen keep their akhois warm in winter by banking snow round them, closing up all interstices and crowding together; for fires cannot be used indiscriminately, the supply of argon being by no means unlimited.
Though the Kirghiz nominally follow the religion of the Prophet and are Sunnis, they pay little heed to its observances beyond keeping the fast of Ramazan; but this is not to be wondered at, since they have few mullas to show them the right path. When they die they are buried in a little cemetery belonging to the tribe, and usually situated on the side of a hill. Low mud domes, looking much like akhois in the distance, are placed over the remains of men of importance; and when these latter die, their relatives invite the tribe to great feasts and also organize horseraces, in which the winners are awarded handsome prizes. The idea is that the dead men are giving these lavish entertainments in order to disperse the wealth which they need no longer, the Kirghiz not being concerned to “lay up riches for those that shall come after.”
Here and there we came across the tomb of a sayyid, the mud dome enclosed by a rough stone wall, on which were set poles hung with fluttering rags. One such dome was erected over a mighty hunter, and the shikaris had hung it round with horns of the wild sheep and were in the habit of depositing pinches of gunpowder on the grave, in order that the departed Nimrod might give them success in the chase. These primitive monuments are the only buildings that we came across during our tour.
The headman of a tribe or district is called a Beg, and in Chinese Turkestan, in the uplands of which we travelled at first, he is put in authority by the Amban, to whom he gives a gift for the honour, recouping himself afterwards by taking a fortieth part of the flocks and herds of the families in his charge. These officials were most helpful to us, arranging for transport—usually the great stumbling-block of travellers in Central Asia—sending men on ahead to prepare akhois for us, accompanying my brother and treating us as honoured guests when we passed through their districts. One of these hosts was an officer in Chinese employ, and said that he had a force of thirty-two men under his orders. The truth was that the Amban drew pay for thirty-two soldiers and gave our friend the money for eight. He in his turn economized by paying three soldiers, his wife and children figuring as the remaining five.
A choga or “robe of honour” was usually presented to the Beg when we left his district, and the man would kneel to receive the brilliantly coloured coat, and make the gesture of passing his hands across his face, which was meant to signify his humility in the presence of my brother. Then, calling out, “Allah Ho Akbar,” he would spring to his feet and rush off in high glee to show his “decoration”—for so he regarded it—to the men of his tribe.
During the first days of our arrival on these uplands we had disagreeable weather, although it was mid-June. Sometimes there was driving rain and snow of exceptionally melting quality, and when it was dry the high winds blew up the sand in great clouds. Once or twice, after starting off on a fine morning, we were forced at the end of the march to make a hurried rush to the encampment at which we were to halt, in order to avoid an imminent dust-storm, the excited horses racing across ground so boggy that on ordinary occasions we should have negotiated it with care. At intervals we could hear what I imagined to be peals of thunder, but was in reality the roar of avalanches as they slid down the sides of the snow-clad mountains that were almost hidden by the dust haze. We were delayed in one place for a couple of days, as the local Beg said that the heavy rain had made the going too bad for our baggage-camels, and a very damp and chilly wait it was. If we ventured outside our akhois we were drenched to the skin, with no means of drying ourselves save by the inadequate fires that I have described. I was delighted when the sun reappeared, and, as we started off, the Beg’s wife came to bid me a most kindly farewell and to wish me good luck on the road; and throughout the journey the chief woman of every camp always took a particular interest in my welfare.
We left the grazing ground beside the river and ascended a broad, barren valley leading into a range of low bare hills which we crossed by easy passes, and for a couple of days travelled through a stony desolation among brown hills crested with snow. There was barely a sign of life to be seen save once, when a butterfly fluttered feebly among the boulders and débris through which the track lay, and I wondered how the poor insect could survive, as we were some miles from vegetation of any kind. There were often little flowers in abundance on the grassy banks of the streams, and I noted two or three varieties of primulas, some tiny and of palest mauve, while others, big and lusty, were of a dark tint. The buttercups and a small cistus spread themselves in golden patches, crimson lousewort flushed the ground, and I was sorry to have no acquaintance with scores of low-growing plants that were bursting into minute cream, yellow or purple blossoms. The whole flora was Alpine, and reminded me of the beautiful display that I had often enjoyed in Switzerland; but here the gentians were either white or a pale blue.