From the Indus to the Tigris

by H. W. Bellew

The present chief, Khudádád Khán, is about thirty-eight years of age. He has a vacant and at times silly look, and his conversation is trifling. He does not convey the impression of being a man of any weight or ability, and is said to spend most of his time amongst his women. During our visit his two sons were introduced. They were pretty children and richly dressed. The eldest, Mír Mahmúd, was aged seven years, and the other, Mír Shahnawáz, was aged three years.

Such is the composition of the court of Calát. The reception room in which we were assembled is a very mean and neglected chamber. The roof is low and the walls—they had been whitewashed, but apparently very long ago—were cracked in a dangerous manner, and altogether the place wore a very poor and untidy look. The north and west sides of the chamber were occupied by a succession of latticed windows, from which there is a fine prospect of the whole valley and its villages and gardens. This is the one redeeming point in the whole palace, which is only a jumble of huts piled together one above the other to a great height above the rest of the town, of which it forms the most prominent object as seen from a distance.

It is not usual for the Khán to winter here, owing to the severity of the climate. His winter residence is in the milder climate of Gandáva where he has a palace. This year he is kept here by the rebellion of his barons.

We took our leave, and returned to our quarters by the route we came, and very glad to get under shelter again, for our close-fitting uniforms were ill calculated to protect us from such cold, which is here greater than we have anywhere experienced. During the night the thermometer must have sunk to zero outside, for next morning it stood at 8° Fah. in a court full of servants and cattle, and warmed by several little fires. By my aneroid barometer I estimated the elevation of Calát at about 6750 feet above the sea. Hard frost prevailed all the time we were here.

We halted here the next day, and at four P.M. the Khán, attended by his son, Mír Mahmúd, and nephew, Mír Kuram Khán, came to return our visit. He was richly dressed, and rode a fine Baloch horse caparisoned with gold trappings; but he is altogether wanting in deportment, and impressed me even more unfavourably than he did yesterday.

He is the head of the Kambarání family, who claim Arab descent, and profess to come originally from Aleppo. This family has held the government for several generations, and is now reckoned as the royal tribe amongst the Brahoe, though they themselves are neither Brahoe nor Baloch. The Kambarání take wives from both tribes, but they give their daughters to neither, though all are Sunni Muhammadans. In the days of their prosperity, the Kambarání chiefs ruled over the whole of Balochistan as independent despots, owning only nominal allegiance to the Afghan monarchy established by Sháh Ahmad, Durrani. At that time, as now, Balochistan comprised six principal divisions, viz., Kach, Gandáva, Jhálawán, Calát, Sahárawán, Makrán, and Las Bela. Only the four first of these divisions now acknowledge the authority of the Calát chief. Las Bela is independent under a quasi tributary chief; whilst Makrán is divided between Persia and a number of petty local chiefs, whose tenures possess no stability owing to their intestine feuds and rivalries. The endurance of the rule of the present chief of Calát, too, does not appear very secure, owing to the prolonged rebellion of some of his principal barons.

The Khán’s visit was not a very long one, nor very entertaining. He repeated the same queries with which he assailed us yesterday. “How old are you?” “Are you married?” “How many children have you?” and so forth. “How many teeth have you?” only was wanting to bring the list of impertinences to a climax. My gun was produced for his inspection, and the General’s gyroscope was set in motion for the amusement of his son. He handled the gun awkwardly, and examined it perfunctorily, without a trace of interest, as if the attempt to understand its mechanism were quite a hopeless task. The wonderful performances of the gyroscope drew forth some exclamations of astonishment, and when, by an erratic dash, it startled an old gentleman sitting on the floor into a sudden somersault in his haste to escape its attack, it produced a decided impression, not quite free from suspicions as to its being some infernal machine, the real purposes of which we kept secret. “Or else,” said one of the attendants to his neighbour, as the Khán took his departure, “why should they carry such a thing about with them? Did you feel its weight and force as it spun?”

In the evening, after our visit yesterday, the Khán sent us a zújafát, or cooked dinner of several native dishes. This evening he sent us tea, sheep, fowls, eggs, butter, flour, &c., for our servants; and the Wazír Walí Muhammad, who enjoys the reputation of being a clever gastronomic, sent us a rich and varied assortment of dishes, which fully supported the credit of his specialty. They differed little from the menu which it is the delight of Afghans to set before their guests.

Calát is the capital of Balochistan, and the summer residence of the chief. It is a fortified little town, situated on the plain at the extremity of a low ridge of hills called Sháh Mírán, and contains about 8000 inhabitants—a mixture of Baloch, Brahoe, Jat, and Dihwár, with a few Hindu families. The town is indescribably filthy, and wears a thoroughly decayed look. It is the largest town in the country, and the valley in which it stands is the most populous. There are several villages and fruit-gardens crowded together on the upper part of the valley near the town. They produce excellent apricots, plums, peaches, and other fruits, which are dried and exported. The mulberry and sanjit (oleagnus) are common here. The graceful foliage of the latter adorns the water-courses, of which there are a great number in all directions, from hill-streams and the subterranean conduits called kárez.

Great care and attention is paid to the culture of these gardens. They are entirely in the hands of the Dihwár, a Persian-speaking people, who here correspond to the Tajik of Afghanistan, and, like them, are Sunni Muhammadans. In fact, there is not a Shia in the country, and the sect is abominated with truly religious hatred. Lucerne (ushpusht) is largely grown here as a fodder crop, and yields five or six or even eight crops a year, under careful irrigation and manuring. I saw some men digging up the roots of the plant as food for their cattle. They are long and fibrous, and are considered very nourishing food for cows and goats, &c. Beetroot too is grown here, and tobacco in small quantity.