The bazaar, through which we passed on our way to the Mir, does not seem a very busy one. Although not a public or religious holiday, many of the stalls were closed. Kelát was once the great channel for merchandise from Kandahár and Cábul to India, but the caravan trade is now insignificant. There is in the season a considerable traffic in dates, but that is all, for the roads to Persia and Afghanistán are very unsafe. Only a few weeks previous to my visit, a Kelát merchant, proceeding with a large caravan to Kermán, in Persia, was robbed and murdered in the frontier district west of Kharán. Few now attempt the journey, most of the goods being sent to Quetta, and thence by rail to various parts of India, by sea to Persia.
Art and industry are, as well as trade, practically at a standstill in the Khan's city, though a handsome embroidery, peculiar to Kelát, is made by the women, and fetches high prices in India, while some of the natives are clever at brass work and ironmongery. Noticing a Russian samovar in one of the shops, I entered and inquired of the owner (through the Wazir) how it had reached Kelát. "From Russia," was the reply, "viâ Meshéd, Herat, and Kandahár. There is a good caravan-road the whole way," added the Baluchi, taking down a small brass shield from a peg in the wall. "This came from Bokhára, viâ Cábul, only ten days, ago; but trade is not what it was." "Would there be any difficulty in making that journey?" I asked. "For you—an Englishman—yes," said the man, with a queer smile, and was continuing, when "The Khan will be growing impatient," broke in the Wazir, taking my hand and leading me hurriedly into the street.
An Afghan guard of honour was drawn up at the entrance of the palace, wearing the nearest approach to a uniform I had yet seen—dark-green tunics, light-blue trousers, and white turbans, clean, well fitting, and evidently kept for state occasions. Each man carried a Berdán rifle and cavalry sabre. It struck me as a curious coincidence that the former rifle is in general use throughout the Russian army. Leaving my escort with strict injunctions to keep their tempers, and under no circumstances to allow themselves to be drawn into a quarrel, I followed the Wazir and his attendants into the Mir. The entrance is through an underground passage about forty yards long by seven wide, ill-smelling and in total darkness. Arrived at the end, we again emerged into daylight, and, ascending a flight of rickety wooden steps, found ourselves in the durbar-room—a spacious apartment, its walls decorated with green, gold, and crimson panels, alternating with large looking-glasses. Costly rugs and carpets from Persia and Bokhára strewed the grimy floor of the chamber, which is about sixty feet long, and commands a splendid view of the city and fertile plains beyond. Awaiting me upon the balcony was the Khan, surrounded by his suite and another guard of Afghans. A couple of dilapidated cane-bottomed chairs were then brought and set one on each side of the crimson velvet divan occupied by his Highness. Having made my bow, which was acknowledged by a curt nod, I was conducted to the seat on the right hand of the Khan by Azim Khan, his son, who seated himself upon his father's left hand The Wazir, suite, soldiers, and attendants then squatted round us in a semicircle, and the interview commenced.
A long silence followed, broken only by the whish of the fly-brush as a white-clad Baluchi whisked it lazily to and fro over the Khan's head. The balcony on which we were received is poised at a dizzy height over the beehive-looking dwellings and narrow, tortuous streets of the brown city, which to-day were bathed in sunshine. The Khan's residence is well chosen. The pestilent stenches of his capital cannot ascend to this height, only the sweet scent of hay and clover-fields, and the distant murmur of a large population, while a glorious panorama of emerald-green plain stretches away to a rocky, picturesque range of hills on the horizon.
His Highness Mir Khudadad, Khan of Kelát, is about sixty years old. He would be tall were it not for a decided stoop, which, together with a toothless lower jaw, gives him the appearance of being considerably more than his age. His complexion is very dark, even for a Baluch, and he wears a rusty black beard and moustaches, presumably dyed, from the streaks of red and white that run through them, and long, coarse pepper-and-salt locks streaming far below his shoulders. His personal appearance gave me anything but a favourable impression. The Khan has a scowling expression, keen, piercing black eyes, and a sharp hooked nose that reminded one forcibly of Cruikshank's picture of Fagin the Jew in "Oliver Twist."
The Khan was dressed in a long, loose, white garment, with red silk embroidery of beautiful workmanship. A thin white Cashmere shawl was thrown carelessly over his shoulders, and he wore a conical violet silk cap, trimmed with gold lace, and a pair of pointed green morocco slippers, turned up at the toes, and ornamented with the same material. A massive gold necklace, or collar, thickly studded with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires, hung round his neck. The stones, some of them of great size, were set indiscriminately without any regard to pattern or design. Mir Khudadad wore no other jewels, with the exception of three small torquoise rings, all worn on the little finger of the left hand. He carried no arms, but held in his right hand a large and very dirty pocket-handkerchief of a bright yellow hue with large red spots, which somewhat detracted from his regal appearance. The Khan is a great snuff-taker, and during the audience continually refreshed himself from the contents of a small gold box carried by his son. Prince Azim, who was dressed in a green silk jacket and loose magenta-coloured trousers, is a pleasant-mannered lad of about twenty. He is of much lighter complexion than his father and has a strong Jewish cast of feature. A huge cabochon emerald of great value, suspended from the neck, was Azim's sole ornament.
[Illustration: PALACE OF THE KHAN. KELÁT.]
A conversation now commenced, carried on through the medium of the Wazir and my interpreter. The Khan has a fidgety, uneasy manner that must be intensely exasperating to his court. More than once during the audience, having asked a question with much apparent earnestness, he would suddenly break in, in the middle of a reply, and hum a tune, or start off on a totally different subject from the one under discussion. At other times he would repeat a question twice or thrice, and, his eyes fixed on vacancy, utterly ignore the answers of the Wazir, who evidently stood in great awe of his eccentric sovereign. Though the following colloquy may appear brief to the reader, it took nearly an hour to get through.
"Where do you come from, and what are you?" was the Khan's first question.
"From Russia, your Highness."