A Fortnight in N.W. Luristan
looting goes on all the rime in a country which the police
cannot possibly keep under observation: by the time that an
organized expedition can face the risk of going there, very
little will be left for anyone to find: I felt that one was justified
in trying to discover as much as possible while one was on
the spot. As for my Persian friends whose kindness was of
such assistance, they had no responsibility in the matter, for
it never entered their heads that I had not come with full
powers from Teheran.
After lunch we took leave of'Abdul Khan and started on our
way to Chavari to rejoin our escort. Our Lur guide from
Qal'a Kafrash had already left the day before: he took an
affectionate farewell of me, but he carried oSHajjis sheepskin
waistcoat as a souvenir without mentioning it.
Abdul Khan gave me a new guide, a young man with a
turban who rode his wild little pony like a centaur and dwelt
lovingly on the days when Luristan still echoed with bullets.
On the way down Gatchenah he asked me to turn aside to see
a sick cousin of his in the tents of the Nuralis of Jusuf Khan,
who lived a little way down the valley. This Jusuf had been
a young leader beloved by all the northern Lurs: he was taken
and executed in Hamadan; his followers, including my guide,
lifted his body from the cemetery and brought it to Kermen-
shah, and then carried it with high wailing dirges four days*
journey to its burial-place at Hulailan. Jusuf's brother is
now chief of the clan.
He came forward to meet me, and led me into a tent where
a dying man lay. The people of his tribe sat and stood around
him, clamorous as soon as I came in: but the sick man was
already far on his journey, looking out on to another world
with the strange astonished glance of death. No crowd
could penetrate into his solitude, nor did he change his gaze
as I bathed his face and arms.
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