PERSIAN CARAVAN SKETCHES 



44 f 



innocent peasants are said to have been 

 killed. Countless wealth had been taken 

 from caravans. Some 40,000 tomans 

 (about $80,000) in specie, recently seized, 

 had been recovered and the Persian au- 

 thorities were trying to find out, by the 

 aid of promises and tortures, the hiding 

 place in the mountains where the bulk of 

 the loot had been stored. 



NAGAR ALICHE, A FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD 

 DESPERADO 



Nagar Aliche, the fourteen-year-old 

 son of one of the robber chieftains, was 

 among the handful who knew where this 

 treasure lay hidden. His deeds were 

 more the talk of the bazaar than those of 

 any of the older brigands. Popular 

 rumor accredited him with over two hun- 

 dred human killings by his own hand or 

 rifle. When the Governor of Ispahan 

 threatened to have him blown from the 

 mouth of a cannon unless he told where 

 the booty could be recovered, he is re- 

 ported to have replied arrogantly: 



"I kill others every way. Watch them 

 die fast, slow. Myself not yet killed. 

 Like best to be blown from cannon. See 

 quick what comes after." 



There are other stories of this lad 

 which confirm reports of his fearlessness. 

 When a thousand or so British-trained 

 and officered Persian soldiers had arrived 

 from the south to help the local Bakh- 

 tiari, and the main gang of bandits had 

 been rounded up, captured, or extermi- 

 nated, a tiny band of leaders escaped 

 through treachery to their own men. For 

 ten days they were chased among the 

 mountains. 



Finally all but the boy, Aliche, and two 

 followers were killed or captured. Four 

 days later the three were cornered behind 

 a garden wall. The two men were anxious 

 to give in. "What's the use?'' they said. 



The youngster turned, gave them a 

 scornful glance, shot them dead, killed 

 three more of the attacking Bakhtiari 

 with his last three cartridges, and then 

 gave himself up. 



When Aliche, led shackled before the 

 Governor, was asked how many men. 

 women, and children he had killed, he 

 haughtily replied : 



"If I had imagined you were such a 



fool as to want to know, I would have 

 stopped to count." 



WHERE BANDITS SWING SLOWLY IN THE 



BREEZE 



We drove to the Maidan-i-Shah, where 

 Shah Abbas and his courtiers used to 

 compete in polo and feats of horseman- 

 ship. In the center of the square a great 

 crowd was assembled around a lone gal- 

 lows. There the dead body of Jaffar 

 Khouli, one of the most notorious of the 

 brigand chieftains, was hanging, turning 

 slowly in the breeze. He had died early 

 that morning from wounds received in 

 the fighting — he had boasted he would 

 never be taken alive. But unless he was 

 exposed thus the Persians would prob- 

 ably not believe that he had been caught 

 or killed (see illustration, page 436). 



Imagine a street in size and congestion 

 like the central aisle of a department store 

 during a Christmas rush, only — . The 

 blazing electric lamps are shafts of sun- 

 light that pierce the small apertures in 

 the successive brick domes overhead and 

 filter down through the hanging dust, and 

 under foot the earthen street is soft with 

 dust or soggy, with occasional holes 

 which drip down to sewer pits. 



You must not be surprised if you feel 

 something hairy brushing your cheek. 

 You start to jab an indignant elbow into 

 a red-bearded worthy (they dye their 

 beards with henna as soon as they begin 

 to get gray) and find it is only the mangy 

 hide of a passing camel, for, I must 

 hasten to add, the bazaar smells can even 

 stifle at their very birthplace the preg- 

 nantly masterful aroma of those stealthy- 

 footed beasts. 



BAZAAR SNAP-SHOTS, SMELLS, AXD ONE- 

 EYED MAIDENS 



Diminutive asses with choking loads of 

 hay flatten you against a wall or drive 

 you into the opening of one of the tiny 

 counter-like stores that line the way ; 

 mules with reeking piles of raw hides 

 fresh from the tanneries (Ye gods, how 

 much attar of roses would it take to 

 drown a Persian tannery ) obstinately 

 refuse to give you the right of way ; the 

 head of a horse, champing on the cruel 

 Persian hit, unexpectedly projects over 

 your shoulder, as you leap to safety with 



