From the Indus to the Tigris

by H. W. Bellew

We marched from Pír Chhatta at half-past seven next morning. After crossing a few marly banks, snow-white with saline encrustation, we entered a long narrow defile, bounded on the right by high hills of bare rugged rock, and on the left by a low shelf of conglomerate; a few stunted bushes of salvadora, jujube, and mimosa were scattered here and there amongst the rocks, and the surface, everywhere rough and stony, was one mass of marine fossils. At four miles we emerged from this defile into the Míloh Pass, which opens on to the plains a little to the south of where we camped at Pír Chhatta. Where we entered it, the hills diverge, and enclose a wide boulder-strewn basin, through which winds the Míloh rivulet in three or four shallow streams, that reunite at the outlet of the pass.

The Míloh Pass, by us called the “Mooleah Pass,” is so named, I was told by our attendants, on account of the blue colour of the hills. They may look so at a distance, but are anything but blue on close inspection. At all events, the natives call them so, and hence the name; their pronunciation of the Hindustani nilá, “blue,” being míloh.

Beyond this basin—every pebble and every rock in which is full of madrepores, ammonites, belemnites, oysters, and other marine fossils—we entered a very narrow and winding gorge between perpendicular walls of bare rock, two or three hundred feet high. Flowing down its pebbly passage is a strong and brisk stream, which is crossed nine times in the transit. From this circumstance the passage is called Nah-langa Tangí, or “the strait with nine crossings.” The water we found very cold, and about sixteen inches deep. On either side, up to a height of nearly six feet, the rocks are streaked with the water-lines of the hot-weather floods. These floods are described as coming down very suddenly after rains upon the hills in the interior: their violence and velocity are irresistible; and the raging torrent carries with it huge boulders, uprooted trees, and cattle caught in its flood.

So sudden are these floods, and often when there are no signs of rain at hand, that natives never camp in the bed of the stream, but always on the shelving banks that are found in different parts of the pass. The Nah-langa Tangí is about three and a half miles long, and conducts into a great basin in the hills. The scenery here is the wildest that can be imagined. The surface is strewed with huge rocks, and traversed by shelving banks of conglomerate and shingle; here and there are thick belts of tamarisk trees, amidst which the Míloh rivulet winds its tortuous course; around rise rugged hills of bare rock, the strata of which are snapped and twisted and contorted in a most violent and irregular manner. At the outlet of the gorge the strata are perpendicular; beyond it, they present every kind of contortion; and in some spots were noticed to form three parts of a circle. In some of the hills, the strata were horizontal, and dipped to the westward at an angle of about forty degrees; in others, but in a hill due west of our camp at Kúhov, the inclination was toward the eastward.

From this basin our path led along some shelving banks of shingle to a small flat called Kúhov. We camped here on some stubble-fields of Indian-corn and sesame, having marched twelve miles. There is no village here, but there are several small strips of corn-fields on the ledges bordering the bed of the rivulet. In a secluded nook amongst the hills close to our camp we found a temporary settlement of Zangíjo Brahoe, dependants of the Mír of Kotra. There were about twenty-four booths, ranged in two parallel rows. They were formed of palm-leaf mats, spread upon a light framework supported on sticks, and had a very flimsy appearance, and certainly provided the minimum amount of shelter. They are here called kirrí, and the only merit they possess is their portability. Their occupants were extremely poor and dirty, but they appeared healthy and happy, and are certainly hardy. During the cold weather they move about amongst the lower valleys and glens with their cattle and flocks, and in the spring move up for the summer months to the higher tablelands about Calát.

On the line of march we passed a káfila of eighty camels, laden with dates from Panjgúr to Kotra, under charge of a party of Bizanjo Brahoe, most of whom were armed with sword and matchlock. The camels were of a small breed, but very handsome and clean-limbed; some of them were nearly of a white colour. We found no supplies were procurable at Kúhov, not even forage for our cattle. Our conductor, Pír Ján, however, had been roused to a proper sense of his duties by the reprimand he got yesterday, and our requirements were consequently anticipated and provided for beforehand.

Our next stage was sixteen miles to Hatáchi. The path, leading at first south and then south-west, winds along the pebbly bed of the pass, and crosses its stream several times en route. The rise is very gradual, and the hills approach and diverge alternately, forming a succession of basins connected together by narrow straits. About half-way we came to a long strip of sprouting corn in the midst of a great belt of tamarisk jangal, which occupies the greater, portion of the pass. This patch of cultivation is called Páni Wánt, “the division of the waters;” and scattered about amidst the fields are a few huts of the Músiyáni Brahoe, dependants of the chief of Zehrí.

Beyond Páni Wánt we passed through a narrow gap between lofty walls of perpendicular rock, in laminated horizontal strata, much fissured and weather-worn, and entered the wide basin of Jáh—that is to say, wide compared with the rest of the pass. Here too there is a good deal of corn cultivation, and along the foot of the hills in sheltered nooks were some small encampments of the Chanál Brahoe.

Amongst the fields are observed solitary little mud huts of neat, and, for these parts, substantial build. They belong to the Hindu grain-dealers of Kotra, who come up here each harvest to select the grain in liquidation of advances made to the cultivators during the cold season. Formerly this land was laid out in rice crops, but this has been put a stop to by the Kotra Mírs, as it interfered with the irrigation of their lands on the plain.

We passed a káfila here of fifty camels laden with dates from Panjgúr to Kotra, under charge of Bizanjo Brahoe. With this káfila, as with the one passed yesterday, were three or four fine young negro lads. The Brahoe were all armed, and clad in thick camlet coats; they wore the national cap, and altogether looked a very independent and hardy set of fellows. Beyond Jáh we passed through a tamarisk jangal, and rose on to a wide shelving bank that stretched up to the foot of the hills on our right. Here we camped at Hatáchi, the largest habitation we have seen since leaving Kotra. It consists of some twenty-five or thirty mud huts scattered over the surface. The inhabitants are very poor and ill-favoured, and the men especially very dark and ugly. Some of the young women I saw were comely; and I was surprised to see several with undoubted African blood in their veins, to judge from their cast of countenance and frizzly hair.