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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



got fresh mules, and soon passed through 

 the belt of fig and date gardens that 

 I flourish along the river. Before us the 

 desert reappeared — a barren, treeless 

 plain. Smooth it was, save where we 

 bounced over the banks of ruined canals, 

 remnants of the irrigation system built 

 ages ago by the Babylonians. 



Half way to Kerbela, and scattered for 

 a mile along the route, we passed a cara- 

 van taking corpses for burial at the holy 

 city of Nedjef. Among the dead was the 

 body of a Persian nobleman. Three hun- 

 dred paid mourners, who had come all 

 the way from Teheran, sent up their 

 weird chant as we passed. 



Strict as are the Turkish quarantine 

 regulations, badly "cured" bodies or 

 bones are often smuggled in from Per- 

 sia, and on a hot day the wise traveler 

 will stay at a discreet distance from these 

 death caravans. The odor, when notice- 

 able, is peculiarly penetrating and sick- 

 ening. 



It is a month's marching from Teheran 

 to Kerbela, and these dismal persons had 

 wept all the way. 



Kerbela, likewise a sacred Shia city, 

 we reached about four in the afternoon. 



THi: PII.GRIM HORDi: 



Kerbela sucks life from the unending 

 pilgrim horde. Myriads of Shias have 

 come and gone in centuries past, and mil- 

 lions are buried in the plain outside the 

 city. Of its 75,000 permanent residents, 

 nearly all are Shias. Hussein, martyred 

 son of Ali, is buried in the magnificent 

 mosque of Kerbela, and in the vaults 

 about his tomb are stored the priceless 

 offerings of the Shias who have come to 

 pray, and paid tribute to the Mujteheds, 

 or interpreters of the law. These Mujte- 

 heds, of whom there are twelve, have 

 long been a thorn in the side of Persia's 

 government. Safe in their retreat at 

 Kerbela, they have hatched many of the 

 political plots that made murder and riot 

 in Teheran. 



As early as 1350 Kerbela was known 

 as a retreat for learned Moslem teachers. 

 Shah Namat Ulla studied at Kerbela and 

 lived 40 days on dust, tradition says. 

 Many of his prophecies still live. In her 

 book, "On the Eace of the Waters," Mrs. 

 Steele quotes one of them, as follows : 



"Fire worship for a hundred years, 

 A century of Christ and tears ; 

 Then the true God shall come again, 

 And every infidel be slain." 



Major Sykes, in his work on Persia, 

 says this prophecy was on every one's 

 lips a generation ago and was perhaps 

 the main cause of the Indian mutiny. 



The Wahabi marauder, 'Abd-Allah, 

 looted the treasure vaults of Kerbela in 

 the last century, pillaged the tomb of 

 Fatima's son, and slew nearly the whole 

 population of the city. In Zehm's "Ara- 

 bic" (page 332) is a list of the booty 

 taken, comprising gold tiles from the 

 dome of the mosque, great quantities of 

 gold coin, rich Kashmir shawls, etc., and 

 many Abyssinian slaves. 



Beyond the mosque, however, Kerbela 

 has few attractions for the traveler. The 

 people showed no resentment as I wan- 

 dered through the narrow bazaar on the 

 evening of our arrival. I slept the night 

 in a mud-walled khan, surrounded by 

 scores of talking, singing, swearing, quar- 

 reling Persians. Donkeys, camels, dogs, 

 and chickens were all crowded together 

 with the human element of the caravans ; 

 but an hour after dark quiet ensued, for 

 men and beasts who march all day must 

 sleep at night (see page 586). 



At dawn the confusion of, the crowded 

 khan awakened me, and I was glad when 

 my servant said our mules were ready 

 and we might be off. Fortified with a 

 hasty breakfast of dates, Arab bread, and 

 tea, we extricated our mules from the 

 fighting, scrambling horde before the 

 khan gate and moved away. It is two 

 days by caravan from Kerbela to Nedjef, 

 though the distance is less than 60 miles. 

 An hour south of Kerbela we came 

 once more upon the desert, dreary and 

 monotonous. Vast spots appeared cov- 

 ered with a thin, salty crust that crackled 

 as the mules walked over it. After a few 

 miles these spots faded away and we en- 

 tered on a rolling sea of gray sand, the 

 margin of the great waste that sweeps 

 Arabia from Kerbela and Nedjef to 

 Mecca, Aden, and the Red Sea. Our 

 six mules filed head to tail. Besides my 

 servant, two zaptiehs (soldiers) came 

 also. The governor of Kerbela had sent 

 them as an escort. The Turkish au- 

 thorities refuse to be responsible for the 



