Leaving Langer-Mīr-Ghiās, and passing the villages on the
borders of Gharjestān,*
we reached Chakhcherān. From
the time we left Langer till we came into the vicinity of
Chakhcherān,*
it snowed incessantly. The farther we
advanced, the deeper was the snow. At Chakhcherān the
snow reached above the horses’ knees. Chakhcherān belonged
to Zūlnūn Beg; Mīrak Jān Irdi was his manager there.
I took and paid for all Zūlnūn Beg’s grain. Two or three
days after we had passed Chakhcherān, the snow became
excessively deep; it reached up above the stirrups. In
many places the horses’ feet did not reach the ground, and
the snow still continued to fall. When we passed Chirāghdān,
the snow not only continued deep, but we did not know
the road.*
When at Langer-Mīr-Ghiās, we had consulted
what was the best road to return to Kābul: I and some
others proposed that, as it was winter, we should go by the
route of Kandahār, because, though rather the longer road,
it might be travelled without risk or trouble, while the hill-road
was difficult and dangerous. Kāsim Beg, saying that
that road was far about and this direct, behaved very
perversely; and in the end we resolved on attempting the
Dangers of
his troops
from the
snow.
short road. One Sultan Pashāi was our guide. I do not
know whether it was from old age, or from his heart failing
him, or from the unusual depth of the snow, but having
once lost the road, he never could find it again, so as to
point out the way. As we had given the preference to this
road, in consequence of the earnestness expressed by
Kāsim Beg, he and his sons, anxious to preserve their
reputation, dismounted, and, after beating down the snow,
discovered a road, by which we advanced. Next*
day,
as there was much snow, and the road was not to be found
with all our exertions, we were brought to a complete stand.
Seeing no remedy left, we returned back to a place where
there was abundance of firewood, and dispatched sixty or
seventy chosen men, to return by the road we had come,
and, retracing our footsteps, to find, under the higher
grounds, any Hazāras or other people who might be wintering
there, and to bring a guide who was able to point out
the way. We halted at this spot for three or four days,
waiting the return of the men whom we had sent out.
They did indeed come back, but without having been able
to find a proper guide. Placing our reliance on God, therefore,
and sending on Sultan Pashāi before us, we again
advanced by that very road in which formerly we had been
stopped and forced to return. In the few days that followed,
many were the difficulties and hardships that we endured;
indeed, such hardships and sufferings as I have scarcely
undergone at any other period of my life. It was at this
time that I composed the following verses:
(Tūrki)— There is no violence or injury of fortune that I have not
experienced;This broken heart has endured them all. Alas! is there
one left that I have not encountered*?
For about a week, we continued pressing down the snow,
without being able to advance more than a kos or a kos and
a half. I myself assisted in depressing the snow. Accompanied
by ten or fifteen of my household, and by Kāsim Beg,
his two sons Tengri Berdi and Kamber Ali, and two or
three of his servants, we all dismounted, and worked in
beating down the snow. Every step we sank up to the
middle or the breast, but we still went on*
trampling it
down. As the vigour of the person who went first was
generally expended after he had advanced a few paces, he
stood still, while another advanced and took his place.
The ten, fifteen, or twenty people who worked in trampling
down the snow, next succeeded in dragging on a horse
without a rider. The first horse sank up to the stirrups
and girths, and after advancing ten or fifteen paces, was
worn out. Drawing this horse aside, we brought on another,
and in this way ten, fifteen, or twenty of us trampled
down the snow, and contrived to bring forward the horses
of all our number. The rest of the troops, even our best
men, and many that bore the title of Beg, without dismounting,
advanced along the road that had been beaten for them,
hanging down their heads. This was no time for plaguing
them or employing authority. Every man who possesses
spirit or emulation hastens to such works of himself.
Continuing to advance by a track which we had beaten in
the snow in this manner, we proceeded by a place named
Reaches a
cave.
Anjukān, and in three or four days reached a khawāl,
or cave, called Khawāl-kūti, at the foot of the Zirrīn*
pass.
That day the storm of wind was dreadful. The snow fell
in such quantities,*
that we all expected to meet death
together. The men of that hill country call their caves
and hollows khawāl. When we reached this khawāl, the
storm was terribly violent. We halted at the mouth of it.
The snow was deep, and the path narrow, so that only one
person could pass at a time. The horses too advanced
with difficulty over the road that had been beaten and
trampled down, and the days were at the shortest. The first
of the troops reached this khawāl while it was yet daylight.
About evening and night prayers, the troops ceased coming
in; after which every man was obliged to dismount and
halt where he happened to be. Many men waited for
morning on horseback. The khawāl seemed to be small.
I took a hoe, and having swept away and cleared off the
snow, made for myself, at the mouth of the cave, a resting-place
about the size of a prayer-carpet.*
I dug down in
the snow as deep as my breast, and yet did not reach the
ground. This hole afforded me some shelter from the wind,
and I sat down in it. Some desired me to go into the
cavern, but I would not go. I felt, that for me to be in
a warm dwelling, and in comfort, while my men were in
the midst of snow and drift—for me to be within, enjoying
sleep and ease, while my followers were in trouble and
distress, would be inconsistent with what I owed them,
and a deviation from that society in suffering that was
their due. It was right, that whatever their sufferings and
difficulties were, and whatever they might be obliged to
undergo, I should be a sharer with them. There is a Persian
proverb, that ‘Death in the company of friends is a feast’.
I continued, therefore, to sit in the drift, in the sort of hole
which I had cleared and dug out for myself, till bed-time
prayers, when the snow fell so fast, that, as I had remained
all the while sitting crouching down on my feet, I now found
that four inches of snow had settled on my head, lips,*
and ears. That night I caught a cold in my ear. About
bed-time prayers a party, after having surveyed the cave,
reported that the khawāl was very extensive, and was
sufficiently large to receive all our people. As soon as I
learned this, I shook off the snow that was on my head and
face, and went into the cave. I sent to call in all such of the
people as were at hand. A comfortable place was found
within for fifty or sixty persons; such as had any eatables,
stewed meat, preserved flesh, or anything else in readiness,
produced them; and thus we escaped from the terrible cold,
and snow, and drift, into a wonderfully safe, warm, and
comfortable place, where we could refresh ourselves.
Next morning the snow and tempest ceased. Moving early, we trampled down the snow in the old way, and made a road. We reached the Bāla-dābān.* As the usual road, which is called the Zirrīn kotal, or hill-pass, leads by an excessively steep ascent, we did not attempt it, but proceeded by the lower valley road. Before we reached the Payān-dābān,* the day closed on us. We halted in the defiles* of the valley. The cold was dreadful, and we passed that night in great distress and misery. Many lost their hands and feet from the frost. Kūpek lost his feet, Siyūndūk Turkomān his hands, and Akhi his feet, from the cold of that night. Early next morning we moved down the glen. Although we knew that this was not the usual road, yet, placing our trust in God, we advanced down the valley, and descended by difficult and precipitous places. It was evening prayer before we extricated ourselves from the mouth of the valley.* It was not in the memory of the oldest man, that this pass had ever been descended, when there was so much snow on the ground; nay, it was never known that anybody even conceived the idea of passing it at such a season. Although for some days we endured much from the depth of the snow, yet, in the issue, it was this very circumstance which brought us to our journey’s end. For, if the snow had not been so deep, how was it possible to have gone, as we did, where there was no road, marching over precipices and ravines? Had it not been for the extreme depth of the snow, the whole of our horses and camels must have sunk into the first gulf that we met with:
Reaches
(Persian)— Every good and evil that exists, If you mark it well, is for a blessing.