From the Indus to the Tigris

by H. W. Bellew

Beyond this we passed through an interrupted ridge of hills, the highest of which, away to the south, is called Tagi Atashkhana, and is said to produce flint stones, and then sloped gently down to the Dashtí Náummed, or “desert of despair,” which is the great boundary between Afghanistan and Persia. It is here about six miles wide, and runs north and south between parallel ranges of hills. The surface is covered with a profusion of excellent pasture plants and asafœtida in great abundance. In former times it used to be the common grazing-ground for the cattle of the Afghan tribes in the vicinity, from Sistan, Hokát and Farráh; but owing to the border disputes between the Persian and Afghan governments it has been deserted for several years, and its pastures are now the hunting-ground of marauding Baloch and Afghans, who harry the country from all sides.

Though hardly six miles wide where we crossed it, this belt of desert is said to expand considerably towards the north and south, and in the former direction extends up to the limits of Mashhad. On its farther side we camped at the outlet of a gully draining the range of hills dividing Afghanistan from Persia, near a well called Cháhi Sagak, or “dog’s well.” It is the farthest point claimed as Afghan territory in this direction, and is a mere camping-stage, without a vestige of habitation or cultivation; in fact, there are no signs of such in all this tract west of Imám Záhid. The name of the well is applied in a disparaging sense, and very appropriately too, for its water was the worst we had anywhere met with on the whole of our long march. The liquid hardly deserved the name of water, for it was a thick, muddy, putrid brine, which it was impossible to drink disguised in any way. We tried it with tea and coffee and brandy, but neither lessened its salt taste, nor concealed its smell of sulphureted hydrogen, and we were content to do without. Our cattle one and all refused it, and the only ones who used it were some of our baggage-servants, with stomachs stronger and instincts weaker than those of the brutes they drove.

The land rises gently all the way in this march, and at Cháhi Sagak is about 1100 feet higher than at Harút Rúd. The weather was mild and cloudy all day, with occasional north-westerly breezes. We saw a number of gazelles on the line of march, and fresh signs of wild asses, a herd of which had been startled out of sight by our baggagers ahead.

23d March.—Cháhi Sagak to Duroh, twenty-eight miles. At first our route was westerly up the course of a winding drainage gully, flanked on each side by low hills of friable slate, in the clefts and hollows of which were scattered a few pistacia trees (the khinjak of the Afghans), here called bannáh, and shrubs of the wild almond and barberry.

At about the sixth mile we reached the watershed, and ascended an adjoining eminence for a view of the country. Towards the north and west the prospect was obstructed by hills, but to the south and east we obtained an extensive view of the great desert of Gháyn and Kirmán, called Dashtí Lút, and the wide plan of Sistan, on either side of the range we were crossing. Each bore a striking resemblance to the other in the vast extent of level surface unrelieved by any more attractive objects than great patches of saline encrustation on the one side, and long silvery streaks of water on the other.

By the indications of the aneroid barometer, I estimated the height of this watershed at 3870 feet above the sea. Beyond this we crossed a hilly country drained by a number of wide pebbly channels that converge towards the south. The principal of these are the Rúdi ushtur ran, or “the camel-track river,” and the Rúdi míl, and both, though now quite dry, bear traces of the action of considerable floods at certain seasons. Their beds and banks supported a thin growth of tamarisk and other bushes, and here and there their channels were obstructed by huge blocks of granite rock.

On the west of the Rúdi Míl rises a high hill called Calá Koh, from the resemblance of its summit to a fort, and its name is applied to the whole range, the different peaks of which are distinguished by their several distinctive appellations. The scenery amongst these hills is very wild and rugged. Great ridges of bare rock close the view in every direction, whilst the hollows between the lesser heights present a very broken surface, dotted here and there with thorny bushes, as rough and hardy looking as the rocks amongst which they grow.

Beyond Rúdi Míl we passed through a gap in the Calá Koh range, and entered a circular basin enclosed by low hills of grey granite. Its soil is a firm gravel, and the surface abounded in tulips, orchids, lilies, and other bulbous herbs. From this we passed into another similar basin, in which we found some cattle at graze, the first we have seen since leaving Sistan; and beyond it emerged on to the Duroh júlga, where we camped at the foot of the hills, close to the village of that name, the first we have come to in Persia.

The climate here is notably different from that of the country we have left behind. During the day the air was delightfully mild and balmy, and at night fresh and bracing. In crossing the Calá Koh range, we have in fact entered a different country. The change too is observable no less in the characteristics of its people than of its climate. The people here are much fairer skinned than the Afghans, are differently clothed, and appear a more orderly community.

Duroh is a flourishing little village surrounded by corn-fields and walled gardens. It is supplied with water from a spring in the hills hard by, and is protected by a couple of fortified towers on some rocky heights overlooking the village. Below it is a wide sandy ravine, and beyond lies a long level valley extending north and south between hills, and covered with a profusion of pasture herbs, on which we found some large herds of cattle at graze.