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 Kharan (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 Kharan 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.
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