From the Indus to the Tigris

by H. W. Bellew

At nine miles from Arazan, crossing en route ten or twelve little streams formed by the outspread of the Hubla river over the surface, we arrived at Kishlác, and took refuge in its little sarae from the wind, which blew with such force that we could not pitch our tents.

Our next stage was twenty-one miles to Aywáni Kyf—the “portals of delight” to the traveller approaching the capital from the west—route W.N.W., across a wide piece of cultivation, and then over a gravelly pasture tract to the Sardárra defile. This is a winding path through low clay hills, said to contain rock-salt. Through the defile flows a small stream, the sides of which are encrusted with salines. These hills emanate from Ferozkoh, and stretching on to the plain in a south-west direction, separate Khár from Veramín. Beyond the defile we went north-west over a wide pasture tract sloping up to the hills, and camped on rising ground above the village. Aywáni Kyf is a considerable place, surrounded by fruit gardens, and protected by a neat fort, all situated on the right bank of a stony ravine that issues from the hills to the north, amongst which rises aloft the snowy cone of Damavand, a prominent object in the landscape as one approaches from the defile.

We halted here a day, and received letters from Tehran in reply to some sent off from our camp at Shahrúd. Persia has a telegraph line, but she has no post. The delays and inconveniences resulting from the absence of this established institution of civilised countries must be experienced to be appreciated. To us, accustomed as we had been to the daily receipt of intelligence from our friends, the hardship was difficult to endure.

At this place we found the midday sun shone with considerable force, though cool breezes from the hills to the north tempered the air. The summer sun in Persia is too hot to admit of travelling during the day, and consequently our marches latterly have commenced an hour or two after midnight, an arrangement that admitted of our reaching camp before the cattle could suffer from the heat, which, however, is nothing in comparison with that of India. We had no cause to complain on this score, and even where it was hot, always enjoyed the luxury of ice, of which the Persians are very fond, and which they use freely. Every village almost has its yakhchál, or ice-pits, stocked from the winter snows. The luxury is sold at a very cheap rate, and is at the command of all classes.

From this place we marched twenty-seven miles to Khátúnabad, where we found shelter in the sarae, a filthy place, swarming with vermin, and reeking with offensive odours, and crowded with famished beggars, who sifted the horse litter for the undigested grains of barley it contained, and rummaged the ground for bones and fragments left by more fortunate travellers. Our route was W.N.W. over the Veramín plain, by a good road skirting a hill range to our right, and in sight of the magnificent peak of Damavand.

At about ten miles we came to a bifurcation of the road. That to the right follows the hill skirt direct to Tehran. We followed the branch to the left, and crossing the Jájrúd (jâjárúd = river everywhere?), which here spreads over the surface in a number of little streams that water several villages on either side our route, went down a gentle slope to Khátúnabad.

5th June.—Khátúnabad to Gulahak, eighteen miles. We set out at one A.M., across the plain towards the Sherabánú hill, skirting the foot of which we arrived at Takiabad at 4.30 A.M., and alighted at a garden belonging to Prince Ahmad. It is a delightful spot, with a comfortable house looking down an avenue of plane-trees, that flank a long vista of flowering plants. On each side are vineyards and fruit trees, in the shady foliage of which are hundreds of nightingales, strong in song. The morning air here was so chill that we were glad to warm ourselves at a blazing fire raised to cook us some coffee.

Beyond this we passed through the ruins of Re, or Rhages, in the midst of which stands the town of Abdul Azím, with its rich gardens overtopped by the dome of its shrine; and then turning north, went over a rising plain towards Tehran, of which we now first got a view, its domes, minars, and palaces appearing high above the dead wall of its fortifications. The appearance of the city is not so fine as I had expected, but the general view of the landscape, backed as it is by the snowy range of Alburz, with Damavand’s fleecy peak standing sentry over it, is very fine; whilst the bright gardens and happy villages nestling in the inequalities of the slope at the foot of the range add a charm to the scene delightfully in contrast with the bare plain that cuts the horizon to the southward.

We entered the city at the Abdul Azím gate, and passed through its bazárs round by the king’s palace, to the new buildings of the British Legation, which appear to be the finest in the whole place. Beyond this we left the city by a gateway in the new line of fortifications (like that of Abdul Azím, it is decorated with gaudily-painted tiles of inferior quality), and followed a carriage-road to Gulahak, the summer residence of the members of the British Legation. Here we were conducted by our servants to some unoccupied bungalows, and alighting, found leisure to reflect on the marked difference in the forms of social sentiment that animate Englishmen in India and Persia. Here, after a march of upwards of two thousand miles, through barbarous countries and dangerous regions, a small party of British officers arrived in the midst of a little community of their countrymen, without so much as drawing one of them from their doors for a welcome or greeting.

Gulahak is one of several picturesque little villages on the slope at the foot of Alburz mountain, and occupied as a summer residence by the members of the several European Legations at the court of Persia. It has an agreeable climate and pleasing scenery, and but for the limited society, would be a delightful residence.