From the Indus to the Tigris

by H. W. Bellew

During the night a steady soaking rain set in; and as it continued in the morning, there was some question as to whether we should be able to proceed on our march. But the point was soon settled when we found the impossibility of procuring any provisions here either for man or beast. So we struck our tents, and at 8.40 A.M. set out on our march of twenty miles to Khán Calá of Súráb, and a most trying and disagreeable march it proved. As we left camp, heavy mists hung over the country, and obscured everything from view beyond a couple of hundred yards or so, whilst a thin drenching rain, that presently changed to sleet and then to snow, descended very perseveringly upon us. Fortunately for us, the soil here is a coarse gravel, with only a small admixture of earth, and our cattle consequently got over it without hindrance.

After riding half-an-hour in a north-westerly direction, we turned northwards into a narrow gap in the hills, and beyond it came to the Anjíra plateau, and at 10.10 A.M. halted at a sarae near its north end, for shelter from the rain and for breakfast. In the gap we passed amongst a number of very fine and extensive gaur-band. They are the largest we have seen, and, from their position and appearance, were probably built as defensive works. Two or three of these massive breastworks were on the plain a little in advance of the ridge of hills separating Lákoryán from Anjíra, but most of them were built across gaps between the prominent peaks of the ridge. On the Anjíra side of the ridge, on some level ground to the right of the road, we found a large collection of very substantial walls, of from two to eight feet high. They appeared like the remains of an ancient town. Owing to the inclement weather we did not stop to examine them.

Near the sarae is a little stream, which carries the drainage of this plateau down to the Míloh rivulet, which it joins somewhere near Narr; and on a turfy bank a few hundred yards off is a solitary hut, with an adjoining walled enclosure. In the latter stands a masonry pillar, about ten feet high, and of recent construction. The monument, our companions informed us, is built on the spot where the corpse of the late Nasír Khán, brother of the present chief of Calát, was washed previous to conveyance for burial in the family sepulchre, he having died here on his way to the capital.

Whilst here, the rain ceased, and the sky cleared for a while, and we got a view of the country around, and a more dreary and inhospitable-looking prospect it would be difficult to find out of Balochistan. To the north, above the lower ridges bounding the plateau in that direction, was seen the snow-topped Harboí mountain, and it was the only feature that relieved the general ruggedness of the bare hills around. The plateau itself, like that of Lákoryán, is covered with saline efflorescence, and supports only a thin growth of pasture herbs. Away to the north-east we spied a few leafless trees around a small hamlet, and by it observed a flock of sheep, tended by a couple of shepherds. Nearer at hand the plain was covered by a wide extent of cemetery, thickly crowded with graves, whilst solitary tombs were here and there scattered over the general surface, and only attracted attention by the shreds of rag floating in the breeze from the poles supported in the pile of loose stones that covered them.

At noon we mounted our horses and proceeded on our way, the clouds again lowering and threatening more rain, by which, indeed, we were very soon overtaken in the form of a storm from the north-west. We had crossed a succession of ridges and gullies, the rocks of which were green, blue, and red-coloured sandstone, amongst masses of lighter hue full of fossil ammonites, oysters, and other marine shells, and emerged on a wide plateau called Khulkná Khad, where we were exposed to the full force of a numbing north wind and blinding drifts of snow.

We made our way across this bleak plateau as best we could, and passed en route a weather-bound káfila of sixty camels, with wool from Núshkí for Karáchí. The camels with their pack-saddles on were let loose to graze on the wormwood, camel-thorn, and saltworts, which here covered the surface more thickly than we had anywhere seen; whilst the drivers, having piled the loads in the form of a circle, and spread felt cloths across from one load to the other, crouched for protection from the weather under the shelter thus afforded. A few of them stepped out to view us as we rode by, and fine manly-looking fellows they were—all Afghans.

Beyond this we crossed a low ridge of hills by a narrow and rough strait, at the entrance to which we noticed a number of perfect cháp circles, and four or five cheda pillars—one of which, to the right of our path, occupied a very conspicuous position on the ledge of a prominent rock—and then entered on the wide and undulating tableland of Azákhel and Súráb, on which are several villages and fruit-gardens, and more cultivation than we have anywhere seen in this country as yet; in fact, we here reached an inhabited region. Our path skirted the hills to the east, and led past a roadside shrine called Lulla Sulemán ná Kher. The head of the tomb is marked by four or five long poles, to which are fastened numberless shreds of cloth, stuck upright in a heap of loose stones, samples of the rocks of the surrounding mountains, and on the top of them lie a number of horns of the wild goat and wild sheep. I stopped to examine these, and amongst the stones found a fine fossil convoluted conch, which I told an attendant trooper I wanted, and he, without hesitation, took it up and brought it into camp, and I subsequently sent it to Peshawar with some horns and other specimens from Kandahar, as I shall have occasion to mention hereafter. I did not see any granite amongst the stones on this shrine, and hence conclude that there is none in the adjacent hills, for the pile is formed by contributions of devotees from all the surrounding country.

Away to the right from Sulemán ná Kher we saw the villages and gardens of Ghijdegán and Dhand, and farther on, passing the collection of hamlets known as Nighár, at 2.45 P.M. arrived at Khán Calá of Súráb, where we were very glad to find shelter in a dirty little hut vacated for us, and thaw our frozen limbs. The last six miles of our march were most trying from the intense cold and driving snow, and completely numbed us, so that we could not have held out against it much longer. The north wind is most piercing, and cuts to the very bones. It is called Shomál bád, or “north wind” par excellence, by the natives, and is dreaded as extremely dangerous, often proving fatal by numbing the powers of life. The villagers expressed astonishment at our travelling in such weather, and some of our Khozdár escort chimed in with, “It’s only the Sáhibs who ever think of doing such things; and when they go forward, we must follow them. Surely there is a special providence that presides over their protection.”

In truth, our native attendants suffered severely. The hands, feet, and faces of several of the troopers of our escort of Sindh Horse became swollen, puffy, and painful, but they held out manfully to the end. Not so our Khozdár attendants; they succumbed to the weather even before we had accomplished half the march, and this is the more remarkable, as they were travelling in their own country. They one by one wrapped up their faces in the capacious folds of their turbans so closely that there was barely room for them to use their eyes, and gathering their loose cloaks about them, sat their horses more like bundles of clothes than horsemen. Having thus resigned themselves to their fate, they gradually fell away from our party, and took shelter in the first villages we came to.

We ourselves were not without showing evidences of the effects of the wintry blast. The snow freezing upon our mustaches and beards had stiffened them, so that talking became a painful exertion; we therefore proceeded in silence, with our heads set down against the howling wind and driving snow, and presently dropped away from one another—the General here, Major Harrison there, and I elsewhere—each following his own pace to the village ahead of us. My feet were so numbed that on dismounting I did not feel the ground, and consequently nearly fell, and it was some minutes before I could freely use my limbs.