Travels in Central Asia: Being the Account of a Journey from Teheran Across the Turkoman Desert on the Eastern Shore of the Caspian to Khiva, Bokhara, and SamarcandVámbéry, Ármin
History
Travels in Central Asia: Being the Account of a Journey from Teheran Across the Turkoman Desert on the Eastern Shore of the Caspian to Khiva, Bokhara, and Samarcand
Vámbéry, Ármin
Asia, Central -- Description and travel; Vámbéry, Ármin, 1832-1913 -- Travel -- Asia, Central
It is as impossible to measure the degree of the benefit as to
describe the enjoyment of such a draught! I felt myself fully
satisfied, and imagined that I could again hold out three days! The
water had been replenished, but not my bread. Debility and want of
appetite had rendered me somewhat careless, and I thought that I could
employ for firing, not the wood which was at a little distance, but
the camels' dung. I had not collected enough. I placed the dough in
the hot ashes, and it was not till after half an hour that I
discovered the insufficiency of the heat. I hastened {111} to fetch
wood, which I set on fire; it was now dark, and the Kervanbashi called
out to me, demanding, 'if I wanted to betray the karavan to the
robbers.' So I was obliged to extinguish the fire, and to remove my
bread, which was not only not leavened, but was only half baked.
The next morning, May 23, our station was Koymat Ata. It had formerly
a well, now dried up; no great loss, for the water, like that from all
the other wells in the district, was undrinkable. Unfortunately the
heat, particularly in the forenoon, was really unendurable. The rays
of the sun often warm the dry sand to the depth of a foot, and the
ground becomes so hot, that even the wildest inhabitant of Central
Asia, whose habits make him scorn all covering for the feet, is forced
to bind a piece of leather under his soles, in the form of a sandal.
What wonder if my refreshing draught of yesterday was forgotten, and I
saw myself again a prey to the most fearful torments of thirst! At
mid-day the Kervanbashi informed us that we were now near the renowned
place of pilgrimage and station named Kahriman Ata, and that to fulfil
our pious duty we should dismount and walk on foot a quarter of an
hour to the tomb of the saint. Let the reader picture to himself my
sufferings. Weak and enfeebled from heat and thirst, I was forced to
quit my seat, and join the procession of pilgrims, to march to a tomb
situated on an elevation, at a distance of fifteen minutes' walk,
where, with parched throat, I was expected to bellow forth telkin and
passages from the Koran, like one possessed. 'Oh! (thought I) thou
cruel saint, couldst thou not have got thyself interred elsewhere, to
spare me the terrible martyrdom of this pilgrimage?' Quite out of
{112} breath, I fell down before the tomb, which was thirty feet long,
and ornamented with rams' horns, the signs of supremacy in Central
Asia. The Kervanbashi recounted to us that the saint who therein
reposed was a giant as tall as his grave was long; [Footnote 24]
that he had for countless years past defended the wells around from
the attacks of evil spirits that sought to fill them up with stones.
In the vicinity, several small graves are visible, the last
resting-places of poor travellers, who in different parts of the
desert have perished from the hands of robbers or from the fury of the
elements. The news of wells under the protection of the saint
overjoyed me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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