From the Indus to the Tigris

by H. W. Bellew

We halted here a day, and received a post from India with dates from Peshawar up to the 20th March. The packet came by the route of Kurram and Ghazni to Kandahar, and thence by Farráh, Herat, and Ghoryán to this. Our Afghan friends have certainly earned our gratitude for the promptitude and safety with which they have maintained our postal communication with India. Our weekly budgets from that side have seldom failed to reach us punctually, notwithstanding the rapidity of our movements, and the difficulties and dangers of the road on this side of Kandahar, where no post is established. In this respect, at all events, Afghanistan may favourably compare with Persia, where there are no proper established posts at all. Sir F. Goldsmid’s party had only received two posts since we joined them in Sistan—namely, one at Banjár, and the other only yesterday as we set out from Yúnasi. It came viâ Mashhad, with dates from Tehran to the 8th March, and London of 14th January.

Abdullahabad is a charming place, and, like most Persian villages, lost in a maze of gardens and vineyards. Through its centre flows a clear hill stream, and to its south stands a strong little castle, now in a state of decay, like all the other fortifications we have seen in all this frontier. It appears as if they had all been dismantled on purpose to prevent the people from entertaining any thought of revolt, and to deprive them of the temptation to rebellion that such handy strongholds might give rise to.

During our stay here a party of a hundred horsemen, under ’Abdul Husen Khán, grandson of the celebrated Karai chief Ishák Khán, arrived here from Mashhad as escort for our party. With them came a messenger to Sistan, bearing a jewelled sword and letters of commendation from the Sháh for Mír ’Alam Khán, the governor of that newly acquired province.

20th April.—Abdullahabad to Turbat Hydari, thirty-two miles, and halt two days. We set out at four A.M., and pursued a generally north-east course over a wide upland pasture tract towards the Asgand range of hills, which stretch across the plain from north-west to south-east. A lofty mass away to our left, and separated from the rest of the range by an intervening chain of lesser hills covered with a furrowed surface of white marl, is called Koh Fighan, or “the hill of lamentation,” and is said to be the site of Rustam’s retreat for mourning after he had unwittingly killed his son Sohráb.

At eight or ten miles out we passed the villages of Doghabad and Salmidasht, on the left and right respectively, and farther on, passing over the undulating plain of Maháwalát, alighted at a kárez stream for breakfast. As a steady rain had set in, we pitched a bell-tent for the more comfortable discussion of this repast, for which our appetites were well whetted by the morning ride of twelve miles. Our escort of Karai horsemen meanwhile dismounted and scattered themselves over the hillocks around. They are a remarkably fine body of men, and excellently mounted, but are indifferently armed, and are wanting in the dash and elasticity so characteristic of the Afghan trooper. On the march they diverted themselves and us too with a display of their horsemanship and mock fights. Their movements appeared to me slow, and the firing at full galop harmless, particularly when, in retreat, the fugitive loads, and turning round in the saddle, with a wide sweep over the horizon, discharges his rifle in the direction of his pursuer. Against a European armed with a revolver the Khorassan horseman would have a poor chance of escape. They are wonderfully hardy, however, both man and horse, and accomplish incredibly long marches, carrying their own and horses’ food and clothing, with little inconvenience. Our new companions, Hájí Agha Beg and the peshkhidwat Muhammad Karím, entertained us, in truly Persian hyperbole, with amusing accounts of the Turkmans, and never failed to enlarge on the prowess of the Persian cavalry against them. The Hájí, as a piece of the latest news from Mashhad, informed us of the capture of eight hundred of these pidr sokhta (burnt fathers), and the release of upwards of a thousand captives they were carrying off, by a brilliant display of military tactics on the part of a son of the Hisámussaltanat. The Turkmans, he told us, had entered the Burdjnurd lands through the Darband pass, and were allowed to proceed well ahead unmolested, when the pass behind them, which it seems is the only route of ingress and egress, was occupied by a party of the Mashhad troops. On the return of the raiders with their plunder and captives, they were suddenly attacked in front and rear, and killed and captured, for exchange, to the number of eight hundred.

“The heads of the slain,” said he, “have been brought in for exhibition at the gates of the city. You will see them on reaching Mashhad.” This was welcome news to me, for I was anxious to obtain a few skulls of this race for the collection of my learned friend, and distinguished anthropologist, Dr Barnard Davis, and therefore availed myself of the opportunity to engage the interest of our companion in procuring me a few specimens. “Any number is at your service,” replied he with charming readiness. “How many, and of which kind, do you require?” I naturally inquired what the different kinds were, and presently learned that some were merely stuck on a lance, and allowed to bleach intact in the sun, and that others were prepared so as to preserve the features. In these last, the bones of the skull were smashed by blows with a wooden mallet, and the brain, soft parts, and fragments withdrawn through the neck. The interior was then stuffed with straw, and the integument allowed to dry over it. “Thanks!” I said; “I should like two of each kind, and shall esteem it a great favour if you will procure them for me.” “Ba chasm-házir!” (“By my eyes—present!” or “With all my heart!”) “They are ready,” was his prompt reply. “They are yours. I will bring them to you myself so soon as we reach the city.” This was very satisfactory, and I congratulated myself on my prospective good fortune. But to anticipate the sequel. I did not then know the Persian character so well as I do now, and was consequently completely deceived by the Hájí’s specious politeness. On arrival at Mashhad, we found the whole story was a myth, only created for our amusement. There had been no brilliant exploit against the Turkmans, nor was a single head, stuffed or bleached, procurable. So much for Persian veracity.

At a couple of miles from Turbat Hydari we were met by the governor of the district, Hájí Mirzá Mahmúd Khán. He was attended by twenty cavaliers, and preceded by a couple of yadak, or led horses, handsomely caparisoned. He is a remarkably handsome man, with very polished manners, and was richly dressed. He received us with graceful civility, and conducted our party to the residence prepared for us in a garden adjoining his own quarters.

Our road passed through a long succession of gardens and orchards and villages, and finally led through the main bazár of Turbat, which is full of life, and well supplied. It consists of two main streets crossing at right angles, and covered in by a succession of domes built of red brick. Altogether it is the most flourishing place we have seen on this frontier. Turbat Hydari is picturesquely situated on the bank of a deep and wide ravine, in the midst of lofty hills, and is surrounded by a cluster of villages, each embosomed in luxuriant orchards, mulberry plantations and vineyards. Its elevation is about 4562 feet above the sea, and it enjoys a delightfully salubrious climate. During our stay the weather was unpropitious, and rain fell constantly, with only brief intervals of sunshine, and the air was damp, chill, and raw. In winter, snow lies deep for a month or six weeks.

The town derives its name from the mausoleum of a Bukhára saint buried here, and is the capital of the district of the same name, which comprises the divisions or bulúk of Maháwalát, Turbat, Záwah, Kháf, Azghan or Asgand, Báyak, and Rúkh. Previous to the famine this district was one of the most populous, fertile, and prosperous places in Persia, but it has suffered fearfully in the dearth of the last three years. Owing to deaths and emigration its population has been reduced by twenty thousand, and several villages are now deserted. It is reckoned it cannot recover its losses for another generation. Formerly, the silk crop alone in this district produced an annual profit of forty thousand tumans, or about eighty thousand dollars, but the yield now is less than a tenth of that amount. Formerly, too, from fifteen to twenty thousand pilgrims, mostly from Bukhára, annually visited the shrine here, but the famine has quite put a stop to this source of wealth.

Turbat is the headquarters of the Karai, a tribe of Tátár origin, whose settlement here dates from the time of Tamerlane. They subsequently became dispersed in the successive revolutions and conquests that for centuries convulsed this region, and their lands were left more or less waste and depopulated. Nadír resettled seven thousand families of the tribe in Turbat. On his death, Sháh Ahmad annexed the country to Afghanistan, and secured the good-will of their chief, Ishák Khán, by a liberal policy of protection and favour. On the decline of the Durrani dynasty, and the extension eastwards of the Cajar rule, this district, and the adjoining principality of Mashhad, wrested from the unfortunate Sháh Rokh Mirzá, were restored to Persia. The Karai, however, proved very rebellious subjects, and took a leading part in the successive revolts marking the earlier years of the Cajar authority on this border. In 1816, Ishák, and his son Husen ’Ali, were executed at Mashhad by Muhammad Walí Mirzá, the governor, and another son, Muhammad Khán, placed in the government of the district.