From the Indus to the Tigris

by H. W. Bellew

20th February.—Culá Búst to Hazárjuft, forty miles. We set out at 6.45 A.M., and passing some villages and walled gardens, proceeded in a S.S.E. direction, along the left bank of the Helmand, which here divides into several channels, separated by long island strips. At three miles we came to the Argandáb, where it joins the Helmand, at a bend the latter river makes to the westward, opposite an abrupt sandhill bluff.

The angle between the point of junction of these two rivers is dotted with clusters of reed cabins, mud huts, and walled vineyards, belonging to different tribes, such as the Núrzai, Achakzai, Bárakzai, Bárech, Uzbak, and others.

The Argandáb, or Tarnak, as it is also called, flows close under the cliffs of the sandy desert to the south, and joining the Helmand at its sudden bend to the westward, appears to receive that river as an affluent, whereas itself is really the confluent. Its channel here is very wide and sandy, showing marks of a considerable back-water in the flood season. As we saw it, the Argandáb here has a shallow gentle stream, about forty yards wide, and only two feet deep in the centre. The water flows over a sandy bottom, and, like the Tarnak at Kandahar, is very turbid.

Beyond the river we rose on to the desert skirt through a gap in the sandhills, and then winding round to the S.S.W., proceeded over a dreary waste of sandhills and hollows. At a mile from the river the road divides into two branches. That to the right follows the course of the Helmand, and passes straight across ridge and gully, whilst that to the left sweeps round over an undulating sandy waste called Ním-chol, or “half desert,” and at twelve miles joins the first at Gudar Burhána, where is a ford across the Helmand to the Záras district of Girishk.

Our baggage proceeded by the former route; we took the latter, and got a good view of the desert skirt. I made a detour of a few miles to the south in quest of some bustard I had marked in that direction, and was surprised to find the surface covered with a by no means sparse jangal. There was a great variety of plants and bushes fit for fuel, and a thin grass was everywhere sprouting from the loose soil of red sand. A species of tamarisk called tághaz, and a kind of willow called bárak, were the most common shrubs. The latter is burnt for charcoal, which is used in the manufacture of gunpowder. The small species of jujube and a variety of salsolaceæ were also observed, but the great majority I did not recognise at all.

I could now understand the reason of this tract being the winter resort of the nomad tribes of Southern Afghanistan. It produces a more varied and richer vegetation than the wide plains and bleak steppes of the Kandahar basin, and the hollows between its undulations provide a shelter from the keen wintry blasts that sweep the plain country with blighting severity.

As far as the eye could reach, south, east, and west, was one vast undulating surface of brushwood thinly scattered over a billowy sea of reddish-yellow sand. I galloped some way ahead of my attendant troopers, and found myself alone on this desolate scene, with the horizon as its limit. Though the surface was scored with a multitude of long lines of cattle-tracks trending to the river, not a tent was to be seen, nor any living creature; even the bustard I was following vanished from my view. I reined up a moment to view the scene, and suddenly the oppression of its silence weighed upon me, and told me I was alone. A reverie was stealing over me, when presently my horse, neighing with impatience, broke the current of my thoughts, and turned my attention to the direction he himself had faced to. Appearing over a sandhill in the distant rear, I saw a horseman urging his horse towards me, and waving his arm in the direction of the river. Not knowing what might be up, I galloped off in the direction indicated, and we shortly after met on the beaten track which had been followed by our party. An explanation followed, and he chidingly informed me that we had got too far away from the main body. “We ourselves,” he said, “never think of going alone into these wastes. The wandering nomads are always lurking after the unwary traveller on their domain, and view him only as a God-send to be stripped and plundered, if not killed. God forbid that any evil should befall you. Our heads are answer for your safety.” With this mild reproof, he proposed we should hasten on, which we forthwith did, and overtook our party in the wide hollow of Gudar Burhána. Beyond this we ascended a high ridge of sand, and turning off the road to the right, mounted one of the hummocks overlooking the Helmand, and alighted for breakfast at eighteen miles from Búst, and nearly half-way to Hazárjuft. Meanwhile our baggage with the infantry escort passed on ahead.

From our elevated position we got an extensive view of the great plain to the northward. Nádálí and Calá Búst were indistinctly visible to the north and north-east respectively, and away to the west was seen the black isolated Landi hill called also Khanishín, the only hill to be seen in the whole prospect. Immediately below us flowed the still stream of the Helmand, and on its opposite bank lay the populous and well-cultivated tract of Záras. It is included in the Girishk district, and is freely irrigated from canals drawn of from the Helmand some miles above the position of Búst. Its principal villages are Khalach, Záras, Surkhdazd, Shahmalán, and Moín Calá; the last in the direction of Hazárjuft.

The air was delightfully pure and mild, the sky without a cloud, and the noonday sun agreeably warm. Our simple fare, cold fowl and the leavened cakes of wheat bread called nán, washed down with fresh water, was enjoyed with a relish and appetite that only such exercise and such a climate combined could produce. An attendant with a stock of cold provisions and a supply of water always accompanied us on the march, and we generally halted half-way on the march for breakfast on some convenient roadside spot. Our host, the Saggid, always joined us at the repast, and generally produced some home-made sweetmeats as a bonne bouche at the close of the meal. We enjoyed these al fresco breakfasts thoroughly. The cleanliness and excellence of the Afghan cookery made full amends for the want of variety in the fare. The simple food was, to my mind, far preferable and more wholesome than the doubtful compounds prepared by our Indian servants in imitation of the orthodox English dishes that commonly load our tables in India. In the roasting of a fowl the Afghan certainly excels. In their hands the toughest rooster comes to the feast plump, tender, and juicy, and with a flavour not to be surpassed. The secret lies in the slow process of roasting over live embers, with a free use of melted butter as the fowl is turned from side to side.