From the Indus to the Tigris

by H. W. Bellew

In the gardens here we found numbers of thrushes, starlings, and magpies. We also saw the red-billed crow and the golden eagle. The magpie (here called shakúk, and at Kabul, kalghúchak) is of the same colour and character as the English bird, but smaller in size. The villagers here were friendly, and free from the arrogance of the Afghan. They appeared a peaceable, industrious and thriving community.

25th January.—We left Calát, under a salute of eleven guns, at 11.10 A.M., and marched twenty-six miles to the village of Mundi Hájí in the Mungachar valley. Our route was due north down the slope of the Calát valley. At about the third mile we cleared the villages and gardens, and going on over corn-fields and across irrigation streams, at the sixth mile came to the Baba Walí ziyárat, a sacred shrine on the further side of a deep pebbly ravine.

Here we parted from our kind friend Major Harrison, Political Agent at the Court of Calát (“the fortress,” in Arabic), and stood a few minutes to view the landscape we had left behind us at the southern extremity of the valley. Calát, with its lofty citadel and towering palace, stood forth the most dominant feature in the scene. Below it were crowded together a number of villages, gardens, and corn-fields, that told of peace and plenty, despite their present forlorn look under the withering blasts of an almost arctic winter; whilst the background was closed by a great snow-clad mountain, on the other side of which is Nichára. Such was Calát as we saw it, but such, fortunately, is not always its appearance. The forests of naked twigs and branches that now testify to the severity of the season will a few weeks hence put forth their buds, and in summer will be bowed down with the weight of their foliage and fruit. The snowy barrier above will disappear, and disclose dark belts of the arbor vitæ and pistacia, whilst the bare plain below will put on its coat of green, and roll with fields of yellow corn. As described, the summer must indeed be a delightful season here; and if it is mild in proportion to the severity of the winter, I can understand the ecstasies with which the natives expatiate on its delights. Taking a last look at Calát, and a parting adieu from our friend, we turned and faced the dreary waste of hill and dale that stretched away before us to the northward.

Our road skirted a low ridge of hills on our left, and led by a well-beaten path over the pasture ground of Bandúkhí. At the ninth mile we passed a cross-road leading to the village of Girání on the other side of the ridge to our left, and beyond it gently descended to the pastures of Marján, from which we rose on to an undulating upland tract, leaving the valley to our right, and came to the Laghání Kotal. This is a rough pass over a ridge of slate and sandstone hills, and conducts down a long and stony hill-skirt to the plain of Mungachar, which is an alluvial valley, intersected by numerous kárez conduits, dotted here and there with villages, and covered with great patches of snow-white saline encrustations. From the top of the pass we got a good view of the Chihltan mountain away to the north, and of the Kárcháp range away to the south-west, both deeply covered with snow; whilst nearer at hand, to our right front and right, were the lesser hills of Koh Márán and Keláb, just whitened at their summits.

On descending to the valley, we had to make a long detour to the right, in order to avoid a wide extent of mire, produced by flooding the fields from the kárez streams, and only reached Mundi Hájí at the foot of Bidiring hill at five P.M. This is a little hamlet of six or seven detached houses; and as the evening air was very cold, and our baggage not even in sight across the plain (it did not all come up till ten P.M.), we took shelter in the principal house, which was very willingly vacated by its tenants for our use.

On our way across the valley we passed the ruins of a village called Dádar. It was the largest of the ten or twelve villages that are scattered over the Mungachar plain, and was plundered and destroyed by the rebel Sherdil Khán some eight years ago, when he ousted the present Khán of Calát, as has already been mentioned.

Whilst we were waiting the arrival of our baggage, our host, Ummed Khán, Ráisání, walked in and unconcernedly seated himself on the carpet he had obligingly spread for us. He was a petty farmer, of simple unsophisticated manners, and quite charmed us with his good nature, sensible conversation, and freedom from prejudice. He was explaining to us the protective virtues of a bag of dust that attracted my attention as it hung against one of the two props supporting the roof, when the arrival of our cook with the kitchen establishment was announced, and he disappeared to provide fuel and water. Having done this, he returned and favoured us with his company, whilst we disposed of our evening meal; and we now heard the history of the bag above mentioned. It was briefly this:—Saggid Maurúsí, the patron saint of this place, and whose shrine stands on a rocky mound hard by, was a very holy man. During his life he dispensed charms with a liberal hand for the protection of the faithful against all manner of evils; and since his death, so great was the sanctity of his character, the virtues of his charms have been communicated to the ashes of his tomb. All who seek the intercession of the saint carry away a little of the dust from his shrine, and keep it in their houses, to avert the evil eye, and protect the inmates and their cattle, &c., from sickness or other calamity. The dust is called khurda and is an undoubted efficacious charm.

Our host having paused in his conversation, I offered him a cup of tea, which, to my surprise—accustomed as I had been to the narrow prejudices of Indian caste—he readily accepted, as also some cold fowl. Another cup of tea and another fowl was offered for the lady of the house, whose bright eyes were curiously peering at us from the doorway of an opposite chamber. The husband took them away, and presently a merry laugh of gratification assured us of the appreciation of the attention. Early next morning, whilst doing a rough toilet outside, my glass propped against a wall, I caught the reflection of our landlady straining her eyes from the opposite side of the court to see what I was looking into as my comb and brushes performed their usual offices. Turning round, I gratified her curiosity with a peep at her own comely features in the glass. Her delight and unrestrained simplicity were most amusing. She held the mirror in both hands before her, viewed herself in it, posed her head first on this side then on the other, smiled, frowned, stared, trimmed her mouth, smoothed her hair, and stroked her nose in succession. She turned the mirror round and examined its back a moment, and then again devoted herself to its reflecting surface, and, taking up her baby, placed its cheek against her own, and viewed both together, and smiled with innocent satisfaction. It was an amusing spectacle, and in every particular, excepting the baby, was the exact repetition of what I have seen a monkey do with a looking-glass. The young woman was so evidently pleased with the mirror, that I gave it to her, and she ran off inside the house, no doubt to look at it afresh.

We left Mundi Hájí at 8.10 A.M., and marched twenty-six miles, and camped at the Kárez Amánullah. The morning air was sharp, and, by the thermometer, showed nine degrees of frost. Our path led over a narrow stony upland, covered with artemisia scrub, and bounded on either side by the hill ranges of Bidiring and Buzi, both of which were tipped with snow. In two hours we reached the crest of the upland, and by a gentle slope in another hour reached a roadside shrine on the border of the Khad Mastung, or Lower Mastung valley.

We halted here awhile to allow the baggage to get on ahead, and meanwhile examined the horns, of which a great number adorned the shrine. They were mostly those of the ibex and uriár (or wild sheep), here called het and kharr respectively, and in Persia buz and bakhta. None of the horns were very large or unusually fine, but I took a couple of each kind as specimens.