Under the messenger's guidance, and attended by Gerôme and a guard of five men with loaded rifles, I set out. Both the Russian and myself carried and prominently displayed a brace of revolvers. A walk of ten minutes brought us to a cleared space by the river. In the centre blazed a huge bonfire, round which, in a semicircle, were squatted some two or three hundred natives, watching the twistings and contortions of half a dozen grotesque creatures with painted faces, and long, streaming hair, who, as they turned slowly round and round, varied the performance with leaps and bounds, alternately groaning, wailing, and screaming at the top of their voices.
[Illustration: A "ZIGRI" IN GWARJAK]
A horn, a lute, and half a dozen tom-toms accompanied the dance. Some distance away, and surrounded by his grim-looking guard, sat Malak, who, though he did not rise to receive me, beckoned me to his side with more politeness than usual. It was a weird, strange sight. The repulsive, half-naked figures leaping round the fire, the silent, awestruck crowd of Baluchis, the wild barbaric music, and pillar of flame flashing on the dark, sullen face of Malak and his followers, was not a little impressive, especially as I was in a state of pleasing uncertainty as to the object of my host's sudden change of manner, and whether this might not be a little dramatic introduction to an attack upon our party. This was, however, evidently not my sulky friend's intention, for, as I rose to go, he actually stood up and took my hand. "At Gajjar," he said, "you will be able to get all you want, but take my advice, and get away from here early to-morrow morning. They do not like you."
Four hours after we were en route. The Zigri was still going on as we rode out of the village. Malak and his guard still sat motionless, the weird dancers and crowd of onlookers were still there, the huge bonfire blazing as brightly as ever, though the Eastern sky was lightening. As we passed within a hundred yards, I waved my hand, but the compliment was not returned. Some of the crowd looked up at the caravan; all must have seen it, but averted their faces till we had passed. I was not, on the whole, sorry to leave Gwarjak.
But one European, Colonel M—— of the Indian service, had visited Gwarjak for fifteen years prior to my visit. My road thither from Noundra has never been traversed save by natives, and it was, perhaps, more by good luck than good management that we came through successfully. The inhabitants of Gwarjak are a tribe known as the Nushirvanis, who claim to be of Persian descent. It was only at Quetta that I learnt that my friend Malak was only Viceroy of this inhospitable district. The head-quarters and residence of the Chief, one Nimrood Khan, is at Kharán (a hundred and fifty miles north-west of Gwarjak). Nimrood, who was fortunately absent, detests Europeans, and would probably have made matters even worse for us. Intermixed freely with the wild and lawless tribes of the Baluch-Afghan frontier (from which Kharán is but a few miles distant), it is scarcely to be wondered at that the Nushirvanis are inimical to Europeans, whom they are taught by their chiefs and Afghan neighbours to look upon as natural enemies.
Although we had not as yet formed a very favourable idea of Baluch hospitality, our reception at every village from here to the capital amply atoned for the rough and uncivil behaviour of the wild Nushirvanis. We were now once more on the beaten track, for though the country south of Gwarjak was, previous to our crossing it, unexplored, the journey from Kelát to Gajjar has frequently been made by Europeans during the past few years. Our reception by the natives of Gajjar (only twenty miles from Gwarjak) was a pleasant contrast to that given us at the latter place. Camp was no sooner pitched than presents of eggs, milk, rice, and tobacco were brought in, and I was cordially welcomed by the chief of the village.
Gajjar is a ramshackle, tumble-down place of about three hundred inhabitants. On a small hillock to the right of the village stands the fort, a square building of solid masonry, which, however, is now roofless, and has only three walls standing. The garrison (of six men) were lodged in a flimsy tent pitched in the centre of the ruins. Half the houses were constructed of dried mud; the remainder, as at Gwarjak, of palm leaves. The village stands in a grove of date palms, and the swarms of flies were consequently almost unendurable. We encamped close to the village well, to which, during the afternoon, many of the female population came to draw water. Two of them, bright, pleasant-featured girls of eighteen or twenty, were the best-looking specimens of the Baluch woman that I met with throughout the journey.
Towards sunset the corpse of a young man was borne past my tent and interred in a little cemetery hard by. The burial rites of the Baluchis are very similar to those of Persia. When a death occurs, mourners are sent for, and food is prepared at the deceased's house for such friends as desire to be present at the reading of prayers for the dead, while "kairats," or charitable distributions of food, are made for the benefit of the soul of the deceased. A wife, on the decease of her husband, neglects washing, and is supposed to sit lamenting by herself for not less than fifteen days. Long before this, however, her female friends come to her house and beg her to desist from weeping, bringing with them the powder of a plant called "larra." With this the widow washes her head, and then resumes her former life and occupations. If, however, by thoughtlessness or malice, her friends defer their visit, she must mourn for a much longer period alone. A curious Baluch custom is that of digging a grave much deeper for a woman than a man. They argue that woman is by nature so restless she would not remain quiet, even in death, without a larger proportion of earth over her.
[Illustration: NOMAD BALUCH TENT]
In the matter of births and marriages the Baluchis, being of the Mohammedan religion, regulate their ceremonies mainly according to the Korán. Marriage is attended with great festivities. The first step is the "zang," or betrothal, which is regarded as of a very sacred nature, the final rite being known as "nikkar." On the wedding-day the bridegroom, gorgeously arrayed, and mounted on his best horse or camel, proceeds with his friends to a "ziarat," or shrine, there to implore a blessing, after which the "winnis," or marriage, is gone through by a moullah. On the birth of a child there is also much feasting. The fourth day after birth a name is given to the infant, and on the sixth an entertainment to friends. The following day the rite of circumcision ("kattam") is performed, though not always, this being sometimes postponed for a year or more. On this occasion (as at a death) large distributions of food are made to the poor.