ted
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.

Although we had not as yet formed a very favourable idea of Baluch
hospitality, our reception at every village from here to the capital
amply atoned for the rough and uncivil behaviour of the wild
Nushirvanis. We were now once more on the beaten track, for though the
country south of Gwarjak was, previous to our crossing it, unexplored,
the journey from Kelat to Gajjar has frequently been made by Europeans
during the past few years. Our reception by the natives of Gajjar
(only twenty miles from Gwarjak) was a pleasant contrast to that given
us at the latter place. Camp was no sooner pitched than presents of
eggs, milk, rice, and tobacco were brought in, and I was cordially
welcomed by the chief of the village.

Gajjar is a ramshackle, tumble-down place of about three hundred
inhabitants. On a small hillock to the right of the village stands
the fort, a square building of solid masonry, which, however, is now
roofless, and has only three walls standing. The garrison (of six men)
were lodged in a flimsy tent pitched in the centre of the ruins.
Half the houses were constructed of dried mud; the remainder, as at
Gwarjak, of palm leaves. The village stands in a grove of date palms,
and the swarms of flies were consequently almost unendurable. We
encamped close to the village well, to which, during the afternoon,
many of the female population came to draw water. Two of them, bright,
pleasant-featured girls of eighteen or twenty, were the best-looking
specimens of the Baluch wom