On The Beach The So-Called Town Of
Sonmiani - A Collection Of Dilapidated Mud Huts, Over Which Two Or
Three Tattered Red And Yellow Banners Flutter In The Breeze, And
Beneath Which A Small And Shallow Harbour Emits A Powerful Odour Of
Mud, Sewage, And Rotten Fish.
Every hut is surmounted by a "badgir,"
or wind-catcher - a queer-looking contrivance, in shape exactly like a
prompter's box, used in the summer heats to cool the interior of the
dark, stifling huts.
A mob of ragged, wild-looking Baluchis, with
long, matted locks and gaudy rags, completes this dreary picture.
Shouts of "Kamoo!" from the crowd brought a tall, good-looking native,
clad in white, out of an adjacent hut, who, I was relieved to find,
was the interpreter destined to accompany us to Kelat. The camels and
escort were, he said, ready for a start on the morrow, if necessary.
In the mean time there was a bare but clean Government bungalow at our
disposal, and in this we were soon settled. But notwithstanding the
comparative comfort of our quarters compared with the filthy native
houses around, I determined to get away as soon as possible. The
mosquitoes were bad enough, but the flies were far worse. Ceiling,
walls, and floor were black with them. One not only ate them with
one's food, but they inflicted a nasty, poisonous bite. As for the
smells, they were beyond description; but the fact that a dead camel
was slowly decomposing in the immediate vicinity of our dwelling may
have had something to do with this.
With all these drawbacks, I was glad to find the population, although
dirty, decidedly friendly - rather too much so, indeed; for the little
whitewashed room was crowded to overflowing the greater part of the
day with relays of visitors, who apparently looked upon us as a kind
of show got up for their entertainment. Towards sunset a tall, swarthy
fellow, about fifty years old, with sharp, restless eyes and a huge
hook nose, made his appearance at the doorway; and this was the signal
for a general stampede, for my visitor was no other than the head-man
of Sonmiani - Chengiz Khan.
Chengiz was attired in a very dirty white garment, loose and flowing
to the heels, and a pair of gold-embroidered slippers. A small conical
cap of green silk was perched rakishly on the top of his head, from
which fell, below the shoulders, a tumbled mass of thick, coarse,
black hair. The head-man was unarmed, but his followers, five in
number, fairly bristled with daggers and pistols. Like all natives,
Chengiz was at first shy and reserved. It was only when I had
prevailed upon him to take a cigar that my visitor became more at his
ease. Having lit his cheroot, he took a long pull and passed it on to
one of his followers, who repeated the performance. When it had gone
the round twice it was thrown away; and Chengiz, turning to Kamoo,
gravely asked if I wished for anything before he retired for the
night.
"You should reach Kelat in twenty-five days," was the answer to my
question, "provided the camels keep well and you have no difficulty
with the people at Gwarjak; they are not used to Europeans, and may
give you some trouble."
One of the men here whispered to his chief.
"Malak is the name of the head-man at Gwarjak," went on Chengiz - "a
treacherous, dangerous fellow. Do not have much to do with Malak; he
detests Europeans."
Malak was, judging from my experiences that night, not the only
Baluchi possessed of this failing. Chengiz having left, I retired to
rest, to be suddenly aroused at midnight by a piercing yell, and to
find a tall, half-naked fellow, with wild eyes and a face plastered
with yellow mud, standing over me, brandishing a heavy club. Though a
revolver was at hand, it was useless; for I saw at a glance that I had
to deal with a madman. After a severe tussle, Gerome and I managed to
throw out the unwelcome visitor and bar the door, though we saw him
for an hour or more prowling backwards and forwards in the moonlight
in front of the bungalow, muttering to himself, waving his arms about,
and breaking every now and then into peals of loud laughter. The
incident now seems trifling enough, though it left a powerful
impression upon my mind that night, on the eve of setting out through
an unknown country, where the life of a European more or less is of
little moment to the wild tribes of the interior. The madman was a
dervish, the head-man said, and perfectly harmless as a rule, but
liable to fits of rage at sight of a European and unbeliever. I was,
therefore, not sorry to hear next morning that this ardent follower
of the Prophet had been securely locked up, and would not be released
till the morrow, when we were well on the road to Beila.
There are, I imagine, few countries practically so little known to
Europeans as the one we were about to traverse. I had, up to the time
of my visit, often wondered that, with India so near, Baluchistan
should have been so long allowed to remain the _terra incognita_
it is. My surprise ceased on arrival at Kelat. It is impossible
to conceive a more monotonous or uninteresting journey, from a
traveller's point of view, than that from the sea to Quetta - a
distance (by my route) of nearly five hundred miles, during which
I passed (with the exception of Kelat and Beila) but half a dozen
villages worthy of the name, and met, outside the villages in
question, a dozen human beings at the most. This is, perhaps, scarcely
to be wondered at. The entire population of the country does not
exceed 450,000, while its area is estimated at something like 140,000
square miles, of which 60,000 are under Persian rule, and the
remaining 80,000 (nominally) under the suzerainty of the Khan of
Kelat.
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