From the Indus to the Tigris

by H. W. Bellew

At the top of the pass (the ascent from the sarae at its foot occupied us an hour and five minutes without a halt), the aneroid indicated an elevation of 9390 feet above the sea. The summit was covered with wide fields of snow, and afforded an extensive view of the plain of Mashhad on the one side, and that of Nishabor on the other. The range runs from north-west to south-east, gradually subsiding towards the latter direction, but in the former rising into the high snow-clad mountains of Kháwar and Binaloh. A strong west wind, cold and withering, swept the pass, and had cleared its crest of snow. Here we found an immense number of cairns, some of large size, and thousands of shreds of cloth fluttered from them like pennants in the breeze. This is the first spot at which the pilgrim coming from the westward sights the shrine of Imám Razá. The sky was unfortunately overcast with clouds, and we did not distinguish the gilded dome and minars, though the city itself was plainly discernible. Near the top we passed a small party of pilgrims hurrying down the hill. They had with them two pannier-mules carrying veiled ladies. They must have had a trying and hazardous journey, for the road is extremely difficult, and, when we saw them, their clumsy vehicles swayed from side to side in a most alarming manner, over the very brink of tremendous precipices. Their mules were allowed to pick their own way, and always took the precipice edge, as if out of bravado, to show how far they could go without toppling over, though really from an instinct of self-preservation, and to avoid contact with projecting rocks on the hillside, a sudden concussion against which would most likely send them and their loads off the narrow path down the precipice.

The descent is by a very steep and stony path in a deep defile, and in twenty minutes brought us to Rabát Dihrúd, a dilapidated resting-house, where we alighted for breakfast. Below this the path is extremely rough, steep, and difficult, down a narrow winding gorge, blocked here and there by snowdrifts, undermined by running water beneath. Several of our cattle fell here by the snow subsiding under them, and were extricated with difficulty. The rocks around are as rugged, wild, and barren as the gorge is narrow, steep, and difficult, and altogether the scene is one of weirdly picturesque character, whilst the skeletons of men and cattle that strew the path everywhere testify to its fatality.

At five miles down from the Rabát a branch defile joins from the right, and thence the descent becomes less steep, and follows a line of willow, ash, and poplar trees (all polled for the manufacture of charcoal), along the course of a strong rivulet, and a few miles onwards conducts through a succession of vineyards to Dihrúd, where we found accommodation in some empty houses, of which there is, miserabile dictu, no lack. The village has been decimated by the famine, and wears a gloomy, miserable, and deserted look, in the midst of luxuriant vineyards and orchards, exuberant in their foliage from want of hands to tend and prune them. Its people, such as are left, pale, haggard, and hungry, wander listlessly through its deserted quarters and crumbling tenements, resignedly waiting the ripening of their crops, and eking out the while a miserable subsistence on such stores of fruit and grain as are yet left to them.

5th May.—Dihrúd to Nishabor, twenty-two miles, and halt a day—route west, down a gravelly slope and then W.N.W. across the populous and fertile plain of Nishabor, to the garden of Imám Wardi Khán, a little beyond the city. At the sixth mile we passed Cadamgah a little to the left. There is a shrine here, built over a stone bearing the impression of a foot, said to be that of the saint buried at Mashhad, and pilgrims visit it on their way to the mausoleum. A couple of miles farther on is the village of Ardaghích, and then Abbasabad and Shahabad, all on the left. To the right, following the hill skirt northward, are the villages of Kháwar, Burjilirán, Dasht, Bijan, Ayik, Rúh, and others. The plain, in fact, is dotted all over with villages and green spots of cultivation and fruit trees. Thirty or forty villages are seen at one view on either side the route, and give the plain a most populous and flourishing look, but they are all more or less depopulated owing to losses from the famine.

Beyond Shahabad we passed a wide extent of ruins a little to the left of the road. Prominent amongst them are a tall blue-domed tomb, and the battlements of an extensive fort. They mark the site of ancient Nishabor, which was destroyed at the period of the Arab conquest. It was subsequently restored, and, in the time of Sabuktagin, was the residence of his son, Mahmúd of Ghazni, as governor of Khorassan. Under his rule it regained its former prosperity, but afterwards experienced many misfortunes, and was repeatedly plundered by Tátárs and Uzbaks, and was finally razed to the ground, and its people massacred, by Changhiz Khán.

The present town rose from its remains, on the plain close by, and for centuries had a hard struggle for existence, being repeatedly plundered by Turkmans and Uzbaks, who annually ravaged the country. Early in the eighteenth century it was restored by Abbas Culi Khán, a Kurd of the Bayát tribe, and from him was taken in 1752 by Sháh Ahmad, Durrani. The Afghan afterwards reinstated the Kurd in the government of this frontier province of his newly-established kingdom, having secured his loyalty by the bonds of matrimonial alliance, giving his own sister in marriage to the chief, and one of his daughters in marriage to his son.

On the death of Sháh Ahmad, and the removal of the seat of government from Kandahar to Kabul, the Bayát chief became independent, as did the rest of the local chiefs on this frontier. The weakness produced by this divided authority and independent action facilitated the Cajar designs in this direction, and in 1793 the city fell to Agha Muhammad Sháh, the first sovereign of that dynasty. The city formerly contained nine thousand inhabitants, but its present population is less than half that number. As we passed by the city on the way to our garden quarters, we were beset by an importunate crowd of starving creatures, most pitiful objects to behold. Their pinched features, attenuated limbs, and prominent joints, gave them a look of utter helplessness; but, to our astonishment, they fought, and screamed, and bit, and tore each other with fierce energy, in their struggles for the small coins we threw amongst them. Our escort charged in amongst them, and flogged right and left; but the sight of money had rendered them frantic, and the lashes fell upon them unheeded, so intensely fixed were their imaginations on the prospect of securing the wherewithal to satisfy the cravings of their hunger. I saw several of the weaker ones knocked down and ridden over by the horses; and some of our escort actually fell back to despoil the stronger of the petty wealth they had secured in the struggle!

Imám Wardi’s garden, in which we are accommodated, is a bequest by the founder to the shrine at Mashhad. It has a handsome pavilion at each end, and between them extends a long row of ornamental tanks furnished with pipes for fountains. On either side the ground is laid out in vineyards and fruit gardens interspersed, between which are flower-beds bordered by beautiful rose-bushes, now in full blossom. Some of these—double roses—are of a bright-yellow colour, and others—single—are of a yellow colour outside and scarlet inside. The garden is used as a resting-place for the Sháh and all distinguished travellers in this region.

The district of Nishabor was formerly reckoned one of the most populous and fertile places in Persia, and is certainly the most flourishing-looking place we have seen in the country. In reality, however, its villages are only half peopled, and many of its kárez streams have run dry. The district comprises the twelve divisions, or bulúk, of Zabarkhan, Ardighích, Zarbi Gházi, Ishkabad, Sághabad, Mázúl, Tahtí Júlgah, Rewand, Tághun Koh, Bári Madán, Sarwiláyat and Dihrúd. It also contains twelve perennial streams, and formerly was irrigated by twelve thousand kárez streams; but of these, three-fourths are now dry, or have become filled up. Its villages and hamlets are reckoned at twelve hundred, and it is said to possess twelve different mines, that yield turquoise, salt, lead, copper, antimony, and iron, also marble and soapstone. The turquoise-mines are in the Bári Madán bulúk, and a second has recently been discovered in the hills to the south, separating Nishabor from Turshíz. The plain of Nishabor is girt on three sides by lofty hills, but towards the south slopes to a great salt desert, continuous with the kavír of Yúnasi by gaps through a low range of marly water-worn ridges.

7th May.—Nishabor to Záminabad, sixteen miles—route W.S.W. across the plain, passing many little square forts on either side the road. These, like all the others on the south and west quarters of the plain, are bare of trees, but are surrounded by wide corn-fields. Trees, we were told, would not grow here, owing to the strong winds that prevail from the west and south. We marched in the face of a strong cold south-west wind, which swept up and drove before it thick clouds of saline dust, until the clouds above dissolved into a thin shower, which cleared the atmosphere and laid the dust.