Freya Stark - The Valleys of the Assassins: and Other Persian Travels (Modern Library Paperbacks)

Freya Stark,

from a pencil sketch by Dorothy Hawkslcy.

The Valleys of the Assassins and

Other Persian Travels

by

FREYA STARK

LONDON

JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W

First 'Edition

1934

To W. P . KER

In Loving Memory

CONTENTS

P A R T I . L U R I S T A N

P A G E

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter I. A FORTNIGHT IN N. W. LURISTAN

1931

Chapter II. Ti HIDDEN TREASURE 1932 . 60

The Coolies of Baghdad

. 60

The Treasure

. 62

Crossing the Frontier

. 67

Waterless Hills

The Law of Hospitality .

The Great Mountain

Night in Garau .

The Tribe at Home

The Defile of the Unbelievers .

. 103

The City of the Larti .

. n o

Tire Valley of the Hindiviini .

. 120

The Graves of the Beni Parwar

. 127

Capture

.

.

.

. 133

A Mild Affair with Bandits . . 138

Return to Garau .

. 151

The Forests of Aftab

To the Capital of Pusht-i-Kuh

. 166

The Government of Pusht-i-Kuh

. 172

The Way to Mandali

. 178

The Gangir Valley

. 185

Finish in Baghdad

. 189

P A R T E . M A Z A N D E R A N

P A G E

Chapter III. A JOURNEY TO THE VALLEY OF

THE ASSASSINS 1930 - . 197

Chapter IV. THE ASSASSINS' CASTLE OF

LAMIASAR 1931... 234

Chapter V. THE THRONE OF SOLOMON 1931 252

Sitt Zeinabars Tomb

A Doctor in Alamut

. 258

Life in the Village

. 265

Three Weddings

. 271

The Master of Flocks

. 280

The Watering Resort

. 285

The Throne of Solomon .

. 294

Shepherds from the fungle

Kalar Dasht.... . 309

The Site of Kalar .

Lahu

.

.

.

.

.

- 325

Night in the Chains Valley

. 329

The Squire of Bijeno

The Pass of Siolis into Talaghan . 338

The Upper Shah Rud .

To the Teheran Road .

- 351

AN IMAGINATIVE AUNT W H O , FOR MY NINTH BIRTHDAY, SENT A copy of the Arabian Nights, was, I suppose, the original cause of trouble.

Unfostered and unnoticed, the little flame so kindled fed secretly on dreams. Chance, such as the existence of a Syrian missionary near my home, nourished it; and Fate, with long months of illness and leisure, blew it to a blaze bright enough to light my w a y through labyrinths of Arabic, and eventually to land me on the coast of Syria at the end o f 1927.

Here, I thought, all difficulty was over: I had n o w but to look around me, to learn, and to enjoy.

A n d so it would have been had not those twin Virtues so fatal to the joie de vivre of our civilized West, the sense of responsibility and the illusion, dear to well-regulated minds, that every action must have a purposehad not these virtues of Responsibility and Purpose met me at every step with the embarrassing enquiry: " Why are you here alone?" and:

" What do y o u intend to doi"

I may confess at once that I had never thought of w h y I came, far less of w h y I came alone: and as to what I was going to d o I saw no cause to trouble about a thing so nebulous beforehand. My sense of responsibility was in effect deficient, and purpose non-existent. W h e n excessively badgered, the only explanation I could think of for being so unwantedly in Asia was an interest in Arabic grammara statement rarely accepted in that candid spirit in which I offered it to unconvinced enquirers.

I came to the conclusion that some more ascctic reason than mere enjoyment should be found if one wishes to travel in peace: to do things for fun smacks of levity, immorality almost, in our utilitarian world. A n d though personally I think the world is wrong, and I know in my heart of hearts that it is a most excellent reason to do tilings merely because one likes the doing of them, I would advise all diose who wish to see unwrinkled brows in passport offices to start out ready labelled as entomologists, anthropologists, or whatever other -ology they diink suitable and propitious.

But as this book is intended for the Public, and is therefore necessarily truthful, I must admit that for my o w n part I travelled single-mindedly for fun. I learned my scanty Arabic for fun, and a litde Persianand then went for the same reason to look for the Assassin castles and the Luristan bronzes in the manner here related. A n d here I would like to thank the much-tried, frequently accused, and not unreasonably perplexed officials w h o came across me, for much indulgence, not always unmixed with disapproval, but invariably kind.

I have given events and impressions as they occurred, as accurately as I could. This I am particularly anxious to say in regard to the Treasure Hunt in Luristan, which might otherwise be suspected of fantasy by readers unacquainted with lands so sensational: the only alteration made there is to disguise the situation of the treasure map and cave.

I have many to remember who were good to me in my journeying, British, Arabic, and Persian, whose presence lives in the enchanted frame of days and whose kindnesses are beyond the possibility of recording.

FREYA STARK,

Villa Freia

Asolo

Italy

Apart from much help and encouragement, I must also thank the R o y a l Geographical Society for permission to use in this book t w o maps first published by them, and to reprint the article on Lamiasar.

PART I . L U R I S T A N

Chapter I. A. Fortnight in JV. W. Luristan

Chapter II. The Hidden Treasure

A FORTNIGHT IN N.W. LURISTAN

IN THE WASTES OF CIVILIZATION, LURISTAN IS STILL AN

enchanted name. Its streams are dotted blue lines on the map and the position of its hills a matter of taste. It is still a country for die explorer.

He finds out what he cannot do

A n d then he goes and does it.

I did not do it, for I penetrated only a very little way. But I spent a fortnight in that part of the country where one is less frequently murdered, and I saw the Lurs in their o w n medieval garbthe white tight-waisted coat with sleeves hanging in points from the elbow and white felt caps over the curls that hide their ears. As the aim of the Persian government is to have them all dressed a la Ferangi in a year's time, with peaked kepis and the Shah's portrait stamped on the lining, it is worth while perhaps to give a picture of them as far as possible before too much tidiness spoils them.

Behold then Hajji and me, climbing on very scraggy ponies up to the Varazan Pass. Behind us is the town of Nihavend and the nearer mound of Gian where French archaeologists give kind hospitality and press Bovril and ham into one's saddle-bagsthe latter not to be touched, alas! because of religion, which is always interfering with the pleasant conduct of life.