This Fertile Plain, About Fifteen Miles Long By Ten
Broad, Is Bounded On The North-West By A Chain Of Limestone Mountains,
The Name Of Which I Was Unable To Ascertain.
Here for the second time
since Beila we found a village and traces of inhabitants, the former
encircled for a considerable distance by fields of maize and barley,
enclosed by neat banks and hedges - a grateful contrast to the desolate
waste behind us.
It was the most perfect oasis imaginable. Shady
forest trees and shrubs surrounded us on every side, a clear stream of
running water fringed with ferns and wild flowers rippled through our
camp, while the poor half-starved horses of the escort revelled in the
long, rich grass. Hard by a cluster of three or four leaf huts, half
hidden in a grove of date palms, lay (part of) the little village
of Dhaira, deserted at this busy hour of the day save by women and
children. The latter fled upon our arrival, and did not reappear until
the evening, when the return of the men reassured them sufficiently to
approach our tents and look upon the strange and unwelcome features of
the Farangi without fear.
From here, by advice of the Wazir of Beila, a messenger was despatched
to Malak, at Gwarjak, twenty miles distant, requesting permission to
travel through his dominions. I resolved to proceed no further without
the chief's sanction, or to afford him in any way an excuse for making
himself unpleasant. In the mean time, arms and accoutrements were
looked to, and the escort cleaned and smartened up as well as
circumstances would permit. The natives overcame their shyness next
morning, and brought us goat's milk and "rogan," or clarified butter.
The Baluchis seldom eat meat, their food principally consisting of
cakes or bread made of grain, with buttermilk and rice. A favourite
preparation known as "shalansh," and called "krout" by the Afghans, is
made by boiling buttermilk till the original quantity is reduced by
half. The remainder is then strained through a thick felt bag, in the
sun. When the draining ceases, the mass in the bag is formed into
small lumps dried hard by the sun's rays. When required for use these
lumps are pounded and placed in warm water, where they are worked by
the hands until dissolved. The thickened fluid is then boiled with
rogan and eaten with bread.
Assafoetida, indigenous to the country, is largely used among all
classes for flavouring dishes. So much is this noxious plant liked
by Baluchis, that it goes by the name of "khush-khorak," or pleasant
food. At Kelat, in the palace of the Khan, I was offered it pickled,
but it is usually eaten stewed in butter.
About midday, to my great surprise, Malak made his appearance in
person, mounted on a good-looking chestnut stallion, its bridle
and saddle adorned with gold and silver trappings. Four attendants
followed on sorry-looking steeds. The chief, a tall, well-built
fellow, about thirty years of age, with a sulky, sinister cast of
countenance, was clad in a bright green satin jacket, white and gold
turban, loose dark-blue trousers, and embroidered slippers. The loss
of one eye gave him a still more unpleasant expression, a lock
of coarse black hair being dragged over the face to conceal the
disfigurement. The whole party were armed to the teeth, and carried
guns, shields, and revolvers.
Our interview did not commence propitiously. Swinging himself off his
horse, Malak returned my salutation with a sulky nod, and swaggered
into the tent, signing to his suite to follow his example. Curtly
refusing my offer of refreshment, he called for his pipe-bearer, and,
lighting a kalyan, commenced puffing vigorously at some abominably
smelling tobacco, which soon rendered the interior of the tent
unbearable. It is, unfortunately, Baluch etiquette to allow a guest
to open the conversation. Malak, well aware of this, maintained
a stolid silence, and appeared hugely to enjoy the annoyance and
impatience I tried in vain to conceal. It was not till nearly an hour
had elapsed that this amiable visitor at last inquired, in a rude,
surly tone, what I wanted. My interpreter's services were then called
in, but it was not without demur and a long consultation with his
suite that Malak consented to accompany me to Gwarjak on the morrow.
Matters were finally arranged, on the understanding that I did not
remain more than one day at Gwarjak, but proceeded to Kelat without
delay.
I strolled out with a gun in the evening, and managed to bag a
brace of partridges, which swarmed in the maize and barley fields.
Overcoming the fears of the women, I was permitted to approach and
inspect, though not enter, one of their dwellings. The latter,
constructed of dried palm leaves, were about fifteen feet long by
eight feet broad, and were entirely devoid of rugs, carpets, or
furniture of any kind, and indescribably filthy. The men, though shy
and suspicious, would have been friendly, had it not been for Malak,
who followed me like a shadow; but nothing would induce the women and
children to approach either Gerome or myself. "What is this?" said one
old fellow to Malak, stroking my face with his horny, grimy palm. "I
never saw anything like it before." Most of the men were clothed in
dirty, discoloured rags. The women wore simply a cloth tied loosely
over the loins, while male and female children fourteen or fifteen
years old ran about stark naked.
A curious flower, the "kosisant," grows luxuriantly about here. It is
in shape something like a huge asparagus, and about two feet high,
being covered from top to bottom with tiny white-and-yellow blossoms,
with a sweet but sickly perfume. It consists but of one shoot or
stalk, and bursts through the ground apparently with great force,
displacing the soil for several inches.
We left for Gwarjak at 5.30 the following morning. Etiquette compelled
Malak to offer me his horse, while he mounted my camel - an operation
effected with very bad grace by my host.
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