From the Indus to the Tigris

by H. W. Bellew

This place is in the Muzdkhanchay bulúk, which contains about forty villages. It is said to have suffered less from the famine than other parts of the country. Its people, however, looked the impersonation of poverty.

13th June.—Novarán to Zaráh, thirty-two miles. Departed at 2.15 A.M.; morning air still and chilly. At four miles out crossed the Muzdkhanchay river by a masonry bridge. It is a tributary of the Kúm river, which is lost on the desert towards Kirmán, and here marks the boundary between Tehran and Hamadán. It is subject to violent floods after rains on the hills, and its bed certainly bears the traces of violent rushes of water.

At four miles on we came to a ruined and deserted hamlet by which flowed a sparkling little hill torrent. On its bank lay the corpse of a woman half devoured by wild animals, and beyond it lay the broken skeletons of other victims of the famine. Here our route changed from W.S.W. to N.N.W., and led over a long uninteresting succession of undulations, and finally cresting a low ridge, sloped down a wide hollow in which are many villages. The soil is everywhere up to the ridge a bare clay thrown up into hummocks, and furrowed by the action of water. Onwards from the ridge we marched in view of the snow-crowned Alwand mountain away to the south-west.

At 9.30 A.M. we arrived at Zaráh, a miserable little village, almost depopulated, and the very picture of poverty and neglect, and alighted at the chapparkhana, which we found empty and extremely filthy. Below the village, on a turfy spot beyond its rivulet, we found the camp of Imám Culi Khán, Imáduddaula, the governor of Kirmánshah. He is a son of the late Muhammad Ali Mirzá, one of the many sons of the late Fath Ali Sháh, and is consequently an uncle of the reigning Sháh. He is now going to the capital to take part in the discussion of various important state questions that are shortly to occupy the attention of the Sháh and his ministers. His camp consists of a large single-poled tent, and a dozen smaller ones round it for his ladies and attendants; and in front of them are drawn up three very handsome four-wheeled carriages of English or French manufacture.

Towards sunset Shukrullah Beg announced that a peshkhidmat, or page in attendance, had arrived with a message from the Prince. He was ushered up to the room I occupied, and, with a polite bow, and hands folded in front, delivered his message. “The Imáduddaula is pleased to say that a saddled horse is ready if your honour feels disposed to pay him a visit” “My compliments to the Imáduddaula, and I shall have much pleasure in paying my respects to his excellency.” “By your leave I will go for the horse.” “There is no necessity for that. My own is at hand, and I will ride over in half an hour.” And the peshkhidmat with a bow retired. I gave the order for my horse to be saddled, and meanwhile donned a suit of presentable attire. Shukrullah Beg the while was busy arranging a procession more Persico; and when I came down to the gate of the chapparkhana, I found my groom with the spare horse ready as a yadak, and the mulemen, and others he had somehow got hold of for the occasion, ranged in file on either side the path, and looking as solemn as if they were about to be led to execution.

It was all, no doubt, quite correct, and had the individual actors in the ceremony been at all decently attired, I might have submitted to the rules of conventionality, and allowed myself to be led off en grande tenue. Under the actual conditions, however, the processionists did look such a set of ragamuffins, that I could not consent to play a part in the farce, and consequently, much to the chagrin of Shukrullah Beg, sent them all back to their places, and mounting my horse, set off towards the camp, attended by my personal orderly in uniform, and Shukrullah Beg leading the way.

Near the camp we met the horse sent out for me, and crossing a small rivulet, arrived in front of the great tent. Here I dismounted, and sent in my card by one of the servants ranged in two rows in front of the tent door. Presently a very intelligent-looking man stepped out, and, with a deferential manner, invited me to walk in. I did so, and removing my hat, bowed to the Prince, who was seated, oriental fashion on a broad cushion, like a mattress. Without rising, he motioned me to a chair placed at the side of his cushion. As I took my seat, his son, the only other occupant of the tent, and who had risen from his kneeling posture seated on his heels as I entered, again resumed his former position on the other side of the cushion. He was a handsome young man with a glossy black beard, and throughout the interview observed a respectful silence, with an attentive gaze towards his father. The Prince was plainly dressed in a suit of black cloth, and, with spectacles adjusted, appeared to have been busy with a number of manuscripts that lay in a small pile before him. His close-trimmed grizzly beard gave him a somewhat stern expression, but his voice was gentle and his manner affable, with an easy sense of conscious dignity. He inquired how I fared on my travels, and how long I had resided in Persia. “It is my first visit to the country,” I said, “and I have been marching through it for four months.” With an inquiring look of doubt he asked where I had learned the language, and was pleased to compliment me on my knowledge of it. He alluded in a kindly way to the death of Mr Alison, said it was a great loss to Persia, and speculated on his successor, giving his own vote for Sir H. Rawlinson. He made several inquiries regarding Sistan, and asked if the boundary had been settled. The question, I replied, was now under discussion at Tehran. He had heard of the assassination of Lord Mayo, and asked whether it was true that a general rebellion in India had followed the tragedy. He referred to European politics very sensibly; said the defeat of the French took all Persians by surprise; they must fight again, but Prussia would maintain the position she had gained in Europe. He spoke in disparaging terms of Turkey; the country was rotten to the core, had no credit, no organisation, and no army; she was doomed sooner or later to fall before Russian progress. He supposed the proposed Euphrates Valley railway would soon be set on foot; it would prove the regeneration of Persia. The country now, he said, was in a deplorable state, upwards of a million of its people had perished in the famine. The country, he said, was naturally divided into five fifths. One fifth was desert, two fifths were mountain, another fifth was pasture, and the remaining fifth was arable and habitable.

In such converse the set courses of coffee, sherbet, tea, and ice, with the calyán between each, were got through, and I took my leave with the same ceremony as on entering. On returning to my quarters in the post-house, I found a sheep, trays of sweetmeats, four great cones of Russian white sugar, two large packets of tea, and two boxes of gáz (a sweetmeat prepared at Kirmánshah from manna), had been politely sent over for me by the Imáduddaula—a civility which in the East corresponds with an invitation to dinner in the West. I was much pleased with this visit, particularly as it afforded me an opportunity of correcting some mistaken notions regarding the pride and insincerity of the Persians, and the disposition of the leading men of the country towards our nation.

In the Imáduddaula I found a dignified, quiet, and well-informed man, who spoke sensibly on all matters, and bore himself like a prince. He thanked me for my visit, said he was much pleased to have seen me, and wished me a prosperous journey onwards, and hoped I would make use of his garden-house at Kirmánshah during my stay there.