From the Indus to the Tigris

by H. W. Bellew

Under a civilised government there is not a doubt the Garmsel would soon recover its pristine prosperity, and then this part of the Helmand valley would rival in the salubrity of its climate that of the Tigris at Baghdad. It has been, as history records, and as its own silent memorials abundantly testify, the seat of a thriving and populous people, and it still possesses all but the main requisite for their restoration. When the curse of anarchy and lawlessness is replaced in this region by the blessings of peace and order; then Garmsel will once more become the seat of prosperity and plenty. But when can one hope to see such a revolution effected in this home of robbers and outlaws? The advancing civilisation of the West must some day penetrate to this neglected corner, and the children’s children of its present inhabitants may live to hear the railway whistle echoing over their now desert wastes.

From Rúdbár we marched twenty-eight miles to Calá Ján Beg, and camped in a tamarisk forest on the river bank. Our route was nearly due west along the course of the river, and for the whole distance passed through a quick succession of ruins, the remains of ancient forts, cities, and canals.

The first ruins are those of Pushtí Gáo, close to Rúdbár. Amongst them is traced the course of a great canal called Júe Garshasp. It is said in ancient times to have irrigated the southern half of the Sistan plain, but the accuracy of this statement is doubtful, for we failed to trace it in our onward progress. The main channel is said to have run from Rúdbár to Fákú under the name of Balbákhan, and to have given off numerous branches on either side.

Between these ruins and the river bank a long strip of corn-fields extends for seven or eight miles, and amongst them are scattered numerous sand-drift hillocks, topped by clumps of tamarisk trees. Beyond this cultivation the country between the desert cliffs and the river bank presents a bare undulating surface closely set with smooth brown pebbles. Here and there between the successive ruins are low ridges dotted with tamarisk trees, now budding into foliage.

At about the sixteenth mile we came to the ruins surrounding Calá Mádari Pádsháh, or “the fort of the king’s mother.” The fort itself is in fair preservation, and appears to be of much more recent date than the ruins that surround it. It is said to have been the residence of the mother of Kai Khusran. At about eight or ten miles beyond it are the extensive ruins of Kaikobád, a city named after its founder, the first of the Kayáni sovereigns, and subsequently said to have been the capital of Kai Khusran. Two tall dilapidated towers, at some three hundred yards apart, are pointed out as the site of his palace, and the fenestered curtain walls projecting from them towards each other give an outline of the palatial court. These ruins are all of raw brick, and wear a very ancient look, and prove the astonishing durability of the material.

I diverged from the route to explore the ruins, and on the uneven surface covering decayed walls and the foundations of houses found fragments of red brick, but saw none of the arched roofs so common in the more modern ruins, or those of the Arab period. The palace extended quite to the river bank, and across it on the opposite shore are the ruins of a compact town round a central fort raised on a low artificial mound.

The ground about these ruins, which extend for five or six miles along the river bank, is very uneven, being thrown into irregular ridges and mounds by accumulations of sand upon the débris and foundations of walls, &c. Owing to this superficial covering we saw no broken pottery or glazed ware, as in the other ruins previously passed.

A few miles farther on we came to our camping-ground, an open strip of sand in the midst of a belt of tamarisk forest, close to the river and the Calá Ján Beg. This last is a ruined fort of much more recent date than the ruins of Kaikobád, and derives its present name from the fact of the Baloch chief, Ján Beg, having been on one occasion driven to seek shelter within its protecting walls from the attacks of the Núrzais, whose lands he had invaded. He seems to have made good his stand in this country, for his family now occupy all the river tract from Rúdbár to Chakansúr.

Ján Beg was the son of the Abdullah Khán, Sanjarání Baloch, previously mentioned, and appears to have rivalled his father, whom he succeeded, in the violence and lawlessness of his character, and the obstinacy with which he contested the Núrzais for the possession of the pasture tracts on this part of the Helmand course. He left three sons, named Khán Jahán, Nunwáb, and Islám, who at the commencement of the present century had spread themselves over the alluvium on the right bank of the river from Ishkinak and Husenabad up to the vicinity of Chakansúr, as palás-nishín, or “dwellers in booths.” The palás, or booth, is a movable cabin formed of wickerwork walls, and thatched with reeds. Each of these chiefs had a number of dependants or subjects, consisting of various Baloch tribes. Their number amounted to several hundred families, and they were collectively styled tawcí, or bondsmen. They cultivated sufficient land for the supply of their immediate wants, and for the rest, were mainly occupied in tending their herds of camels and flocks of sheep, in plundering their neighbours, and in protecting themselves from reprisals.

Their permanent location in fixed abodes in this country dates from the time (1810) that the Wazír Fata Khán, Bárakzai, settled the three brothers in their respective possessions, namely Khán Jahán at Chakansúr, Nunwáb at Bandar Fákú, and Islám at Rúdbár. These places are now held severally by their respective sons, Ibráhím, Kamál, and Imám, and they constitute an important party in the political divisions of Sistan. They hold all the lower course of the Helmand from Rúdbár to its termination in the Hámún, and the country on its right bank up to Kaddah and Khásh, formerly possessed by the Núrzais. They are a very turbulent and predatory people, and habitually plunder their neighbours, and often organise raids across the Persian frontier. The best commentary on the life these people lead was afforded by the reply of a native to some inquiries I made regarding the perilous adventure of M. Ferrier in Garmsel with Assad Khán in 1845, so graphically described in the twenty-seventh chapter of his “Caravan Journeys.” “Who cares to know,” said he, “What befell a wandering Farangi in this country a century ago? Adventures such as you describe are of daily occurrence here, and nobody takes note of them except the actual participators.”