From the Indus to the Tigris

by H. W. Bellew

Silk and saffron are produced here in considerable quantity, and a variety of fruits. The asafœtida grows wild in great abundance all over the plain, and rhubarb on the surrounding hills. The asafœtida is of two kinds—one called kamá-i-gawí, which is grazed by cattle and used as a potherb, and the other kamá-i-angúza, which yields the gum-resin of commerce. The silk is mostly sent to Kirmán in the raw state, but a good deal is consumed at home in the manufacture of some inferior fabrics for the local markets. The carpets known by the name of this town are not made here, but in the villages of the southern divisions of the district.

Gháyn is the name of a very ancient city, supposed to have been founded by a son of the blacksmith Káwáh of Ispahán, the hero of the Peshdádí kings, who slew the tyrant Záhák, and whose leather apron—afterwards captured by the Arab Sád bin Wacáss—became the standard of Persia, under the name of darafshi Káwání, or the “Káwání standard.” It was studded with the most costly jewels by successive kings, to the last of the Pahlavi race, from whom it was wrested by the Arab conqueror, and sent as a trophy to the Khálif ’Umar.

The son of Káwáh was named Kárin. His city, the ruins of which are here known as Shahri Gabri, or “the Gabr (Guebrc) city,” was built on the slope and crest of a hill ridge overlooking the present town from the south-east. The hill is called “Koh Imám Jáfar,” and is covered with the remains of ancient buildings, and large reservoirs excavated in the solid rock. The city, according to local tradition, was sacked and destroyed by Halákú Khán, the son of Changhiz, and the present town afterwards rose on the plain at the foot of the hill in its stead. In the days of its prosperity this new city must have been a very flourishing and populous centre of life. The environs for a considerable distance are covered with extensive graveyards, in which are some handsome tombs of glazed tiles and slabs of white marble, elaborately carved and inscribed. The valley of Gháyn is a wide plain extending east and west between high mountains, the summits of which are still covered with snow. A high snow-streaked range closes the valley towards the west. It is called Koh Báras, and trending in a north-westerly direction, connects the elevated tablelands of Sarbesha and Alghór with those of Bijistan of the Tún and Tabbas district. Its eastern slopes drain into the Gháyn valley, where its several streams form a considerable rivulet (our camp is pitched on its shore), which flows past the town to the eastward. To the northward, the Gháyn valley is separated from the plains of Nímbulúk and Gúnábád by a low range of bare hills over which there are several easy passes.

The elevation of Gháyn is about 4860 feet above the sea, or much on the same level as that of Birjand, and a little higher than that of Bijistan, from both of which it is separated by tablelands of considerably higher elevation. The climate of Gháyn is described as temperate and salubrious during spring and summer, but bleak and rigorous during autumn and winter. During two or three months of winter the roads over the high land between this and Birjand on the one hand, and Bijistan on the other, are closed to all traffic by the depth of snow then covering the hills. Gháyn, like Birjand, appears to have escaped the horrors of the famine, for we saw no traces of its effects amongst the people, who appeared a fine healthy and robust race, of mixed types of physiognomy, in which the Tátár characters predominated. During our stay here, the weather, though fine and sunny, was decidedly cold, and a keen north-west wind swept down from the hills in stormy gusts. The temperature of the air ranged from 35° Fah. to 75° Fah., and rendered warm clothing not only agreeable but necessary.

From this place, it had been arranged that we should proceed to Turbat Hydari by the direct road through Nímbulúk and Gúnábád, but a very fortunate accident determined us to follow a safer route, particularly as in our unprotected state—the Persian authorities having failed to furnish our party with any escort—we were unprepared to face any unnecessary risk.

On the day after our arrival here, the Afghan Commissioner, Saggid Núr Muhammad Sháh, sought an interview with General Pollock, to consult about our onward journey, as he had received alarming accounts of the dangers on the road it was proposed we should follow. At the interview the Saggid introduced an old acquaintance of his, one Hájí Mullah Abdul Wahid, a merchant of Gizík in the Sunnikhána district. Hearing of our arrival in this country, he had set out for Birjand to see the Saggid, but finding our camp had left the place, followed and overtook us here. The Hájí was an asthmatic old gentleman of nearly seventy years of age, and had seen more prosperous times than fortune had now allotted to him. By way of preface he mentioned that he had cashed bills for Colonel Taylor’s mission at Herat in 1857, and claimed acquaintance with me on the score of having met me at Kandahar with Major Lumsden’s mission. He expressed great respect for the British, and assured us it was only his good-will towards us, and interest in the welfare of his countryman the Saggid, that had prompted him to dissuade us from pursuing the route he had heard we proposed taking. “This route,” said he, “is beset with dangers, and God alone can extricate you from them. You may escape them in Nímbulúk and Gúnábád, but in the Reg Amráni beyond, you must fall into the hands of the Turkmans. They are known to be on the road, and not a week passes without their raiding one or other of the júlagah between this and Turbat.” He told us he knew them well, for he had himself been carried off prisoner by them at the time of Yár Muhammad’s death, and was ransomed a few months later, together with six or seven hundred other Afghan subjects, by his son Syd Muhammad. He described the Turkmans as being very well armed with rifles and double-barrelled guns, and as never charging in parties less than fifty, and sometimes with as many as five hundred. They respect no class, nor sex, nor age, except the Arabs, and sell all they capture in the markets of Khiva, only killing the very aged and infirm, and those who offer resistance. They have been in this vicinity for the last three weeks, and have already carried off from one hundred and sixty to one hundred and eighty of the peasantry of Gháyn. Their favourite routes are by the Dashna-i-Gharcáb in Nímbulúk, and the Reg Amráni to the north of Gúnábád.

He most strongly and repeatedly urged us, as we valued our own safety, not to trust ourselves on the plains of Gúnábád, and advised us to follow one of the more western routes, where we should have the protection of the hills, amongst which the Turkmans fear to entangle themselves. The good old Hájí’s arguments were so just, and so clearly and strongly advanced, that, left as we were to our own resources, there was no hesitation in changing our course, and adopting a safer route through the hills bordering the dangerous tract on the west; and our friend was satisfied that his journey from Gizík, which is sixty miles north-east of Birjand, over an elevated plateau dotted with villages, was not altogether fruitless, since it afforded him the happiness of diverting us from a dangerous route, and the pleasure of experiencing British generosity and gratitude, for the General did not allow his good service to pass unrewarded. The old man took leave of us with genuine expressions of good-will and friendship, and heartily commending us to the protection of God, warned us to be unceasingly on our guard against the cunning and treachery of the Persians. “Be very careful,” said he in a mysterious whisper, “how you drink the tea and coffee they offer you. Many of our people have died with agonising stomachaches after partaking of this refreshment at their hands.”

9th April.—Gháyn to Girimunj, twenty-two miles. Our route was north-westerly, seven miles across the plain, which is covered with asafœtida in profuse abundance, to the little castellated hamlets of Shermurgh at the foot of the hills.

We halted here for breakfast near a kárez stream of intensely brackish water. Here a noisy dispute occurred between our baggagers and a party of eight or ten armed men, who came after them from Gháyn in hot haste and tempers to match, with a couple of Persian officials, whose dignity it was pretended had been offended by our mirakhor, or “master of the stables,” having hired some asses for our baggage without a reference to them. They made a great disturbance immediately in front of where we were seated, pulled each other about, lavished pidr sokhtas and cabr káshídas on all sides, and would not be appeased though the mirakhor uncovered his head to them, kissed the frothy lips of the irate Persian, and offering his beard as sacrifice, entreated his forgiveness. Even our mihmandár, Ali Beg, was as useless in this emergency as he had proved all along the march; and the offended officials, as heedless of his presence as of ours, defiantly threw off our loads, and triumphantly marched off with the asses we had hired.

Had the Persian authorities made the arrangements they were in duty bound to do for our proper escort and treatment, this insult could not have occurred. We were even left to provide our own escort on a road acknowledged to be unsafe for travellers, and received such scant assistance that it was with difficulty fifty matchlockmen were collected to escort our party on this march. On starting from Gháyn it was arranged that we should take the route by Nogháb and Asadabad, skirting the hills on the western border of the Nímbulúk plain; but after proceeding a short distance, some scouts sent out to examine the passes returned, and from their reports it was deemed advisable to turn off into the more westerly route through the hills.