CHAPTER NINE.
A LEGACY OF VENGEANCE.
The Nawab Mahomed Mushim Khan, commonly known as Mushim Khan, Chief ofthe Gularzai, was seated beneath the shade of an apricot tope,discussing affairs of state with his brother and vizier, Kuhandil Khan.
The hour of prayer was just over, yet here and there a group of belatedworshippers was still engaged in the prescribed ceremonial, bowing down,low and oft, in the direction of the Holy City, while others werewending their way towards the gate in the long low mud wall behind whichstood the village. Here and there, too, knelt camels, in process ofbeing loaded for a journey, eternally snarling and roaring, as is theway of those cross-grained, hideous, but essentially useful animals, andflocks of black goats and of fat-tailed Persian sheep moved lazily offto their browsing grounds attended by tall, shaggy herdsmen armed withtheir long-barrelled, sickle-stocked guns--and accompanied by greatsavage dogs, a match for wolf or panther, and far more dangerous thaneither to any human being not well armed, who should incur theirhostility. Even as Raynier had set forth, there was not anything hereof the jewelled gorgeousness and architectural splendour popularlyassociated with the conventional Nawab, yet it was Mushim Khan'sprincipal and favourite place of abode.
It lay in a basin-like hollow. Overhead and around, a grim array ofchaotic peaks towered to a considerable height--the slopes lined withcliffs, and strewn with tumbled rocks, representing a vastness of areawhich the unaccustomed eye took some time to appreciate. Through thisvalley a small river flowed, having for its outlet a narrow, cliff-hungpass, which was, in fact, the principal access to the great naturalamphitheatre.
In describing the chief's personal appearance Raynier had notexaggerated. Mushim Khan was unquestionably a fine-looking man. Talland straight, his powerful frame was well set off by the flowingwhiteness of his garments, and the symmetrical folds of his snowy turbanmade an effective framework to the strong and dignified face. It was afiner face than those possessed by most of his countrymen, beingsomewhat fuller, and, though regular of feature, yet had not thathawk-like and predatory expression engendered by the lean andexaggeratedly aquiline cast of profile of the rest. His full beard andthe two long tresses hanging low down on either side of his broad chestwere jet black, but in view of the custom of dyeing such his age wouldbe hard to determine approximately. His brother, the Sirdar KuhandilKhan, was scarcely his inferior in appearance--in fact, there was sostrong a family likeness between them that they might easily have beenmistaken for each other.
"I know not why we should join in this _jihad_," the chief was saying,"nor do I know who is this Hadji Haroun who is stirring it up. He comesfrom the Orakzai, and he had better return to them in peace."
"That had he," agreed the other. "And yet, wherever he goes unrestremains behind him on his path. It seems that he of Kabul has too many_mullahs_, and when such become troublesome he sends them forth to stirup unrest among such as need them not."
"And our people are being inflamed by unrest, brother?"
"Are they not?" answered Kuhandil Khan. "Murad Afzul is here among themagain, and it seems that he is drawing all men with him."
"Murad Afzul?" and the chief's brows darkened. "Murad Afzul! I have amind to make an end of that robber. To what purpose should we allowsuch as he to draw us into war with the Feringhi? And what should comeof such war? Will our land grow fat beneath it or our people increase?"
"It would not be good to make an end of him at this moment," said thevizier. "His following is large and powerful, and our people are everturbulent. For long has he been teaching them to cast eyes uponMazaran, whose garrison is weak, and where there is much plunder."
"Then Murad Afzul is chief of the Gularzai," said Mushim Khan, bitterly."Well, we shall see, for I will order him to take his possessions anddepart."
"The omen is favourable," said the vizier, lifting his eyes. "Lo--herehe comes?"
Two men were approaching--one tall and of middle age, the other ofmedium height and old. These drew near and salaamed, yet without theobsequious servility customary on approaching the presence of the moredespotic Eastern ruler; for these mountain chiefs ruled more bypatriarchal prestige than despotic power. Mushim Khan gave them peace,and they seated themselves.
With the taller and younger of the two we are already acquainted. Theother was lean and wrinkled, with fierce eyes staring restlessly outfrom beneath shaggy brows. He had also a trick of clenching andunclenching his claw-like fingers as though gripping something, andthis, together with his bony, hawk-like countenance and rolling eyes,gave him an indescribably cruel, not to say demoniacal, aspect.
"Peace to the chief of the Gularzai," began this man, in a nasal gratingsnuffle. "Peace to him whom the Feringhi hath created a Nawab, for mensay he loves peace."
"And on you peace, who have beheld the tomb of the Prophet," returnedMushim Khan, in deep tones, for he was not pleased to behold thisstranger, this interfering _mullah_, who stirred up strife whichever wayhe went, and was, in fact, engaged in preaching _jihad_ throughout themountain tribes.
The _mullah_, Hadji Haroun, was possessed of a very evil gift ofeloquence, evil because invariably turned towards the stirring up ofstrife, and the sowing of plot and intrigue. For long he spoke,unfolding his plan, the design of which was to involve the Gularzai incommon with other of the mountain tribes in an aggressive war with theIndian Government. An insignificant military expedition was then onfoot against an insignificant unit of these, and here was a grandopportunity to assert themselves, and enjoy some sport in the shape ofthe slaughter of infidels, which would be pleasing to Allah at the sametime--and the seizing of considerable loot, which would be pleasing tothemselves. The opportunity was here. The Feringhi were unsuspiciousthat any hostility could be in existence against them, for had not the_Sirkar_ just created Mushim Khan a Nawab. The town of Mazaran simplylay in the hand of the Gularzai, and could be taken without a blow,captured by a clever surprise.
What tribe or combination of tribes had ever prevailed in the end whenpitted against the _Sirkar_? No--not in the end, but which of them wasany the worse? Soldiers were sent. There was a fight or two, and peacewas made. Then things were just as they had been before. The Gularzaiwould soon become as women, and forget what battle was, if they satstill much longer.
To all of this the chief listened gravely. He distrusted the speaker,and wholly disapproved of the plan, for he had already been sounded onthe matter, and that not once. Murad Afzul spat from time to time,nodding his evil head in approval as he gloated in anticipation over thedelights in store--of the bazaar in Mazaran running with blood, and thecamel loads of choice loot which should find their way to his mountainretreat. Oh, there were merry times ahead.
Yet assuredly disappointment awaited, for Mushim Khan, having heard allthat had been said, absolutely declined to join in the plot. He hadgiven the _Sirkar_ assurances of his friendship. The new Sahib who hadcome as representative of the _Sirkar_, had treated himstraightforwardly and as a brother, and he refused to behave towards himtreacherously and as a liar. Infidel or not, to act thus towards himwould not be pleasing to Allah, nor could it be justified out of theteaching of His Prophet.
"As a brother?" repeated the crafty _mullah_, now about to throw histrump card. "And was not the Sirdar Allahyar Khan a brother of theNawab?"
"Surely," answered Mushim Khan, looking slightly puzzled, for he saw nocoherence in the question.
"And his end--peace to his soul?" went on the _mullah_. "And his end,what was it?"
"His end was that of a brave man if a mistaken one," replied the chief,in a deep voice, and frowning, for he disliked and resented the rakingup of this matter. But Hadji Haroun nodded, looking as though awaitingfurther particulars.
"He died fighting the Feringhi, by whom he was shot--and is now inParadise," supplemented Kuhandil Khan.
"But if he was not so shot?" pursued the _mullah_, a gleam of triumphantmalice darting from his cruel eyes.
&n
bsp; "Then he is alive?"
The words broke simultaneously from the chief and his brother. But the_mullah_ dropped his eyes to the ground, and for a moment kept silence.Then he said,--
"Would that he were. Would that his end had been that of a soldier.But it was not. Ya, Mahomed! What an end was his! Wah-wah! what anend!"
And the crooked, claw-like fingers clenched and unclenched upon emptyair. Murad Afzul, who had been prepared for this psychological moment,now rose, and having salaamed, moved away, for it was not fitting thathe should hear the terrible disclosure about to be made to the twobrothers.
"The Sirdar Allahyar Khan was a havildar in one of the regiments servingunder the Feringhi at the time of the great rising?" went on the_mullah_, in a kind of slow monotone.
"And by them he was shot, by reason of the part he took against them inthe rising," said the chief. "And, after all, it was what he mightexpect, for many of the Feringhi were then slain."
"By them he was not shot, O Chief of the Gularzai whom the Feringhi havenamed Nawab," returned the _mullah_. "By them he was hanged."
"Hanged?" broke from both, in incredulous horror. "Now that cannot be.The Feringhi would never put to so shameful a death a man of hisdescent."
"Yet he was hanged, O chiefs--hanged in such fashion as is not to benamed--hanged with a portion of swine flesh tied to his body."
Both the listeners had half sprung to their feet, and all unconsciouslyhad struck a crouching, wild-beast attitude--and in truth their faceswere in keeping. Their lips had gone back from their teeth and theireyes were glaring.
"Is this a lie, old man?" gasped Mushim Khan. "For if it is thou shaltdie. Yes, thou shalt die the death of the boiling fat unless thou canstprove its truth, and this wert thou a hundred times a _mullah_ or eventhe grandson of the Prophet himself."
But the other did not quail.
"It is no lie. Ya, Mahomed! To such a death did they put a Sirdar ofthe Gularzai. Many were so put to death by the Feringhi, they declaringthat such had slain their women and children, having first been lashed,and so also did Allahyar Khan die. But before he died there was one whostood by to whom he whispered his bequest of vengeance, and from thatone at his own death came the knowledge to me. Read; here is proof."
He drew a soiled, faded parchment from beneath his clothing, andtendered it to the chief. It was traced in Pushtu characters, and setforth how the Sirdar Allahyar Khan, havildar in a regiment recruitedfrom all the border tribes, having been accused--and falsely--of beingconcerned in the murders of women and children, was adjudged to behanged as the speaker had described; but the name of the officer incommand who had ordered this savage retribution was somewhat difficultto decipher. Watching the two brothers, their heads meeting over thescroll, their features perfectly convulsed with horror and fury, HadjiHaroun smiled evilly to himself, though his countenance wore rather asnarl than a smile.
"The name?" they growled, looking up. "The name, the name?"
"General Raynier Sahib," answered the _mullah_, fairly quivering withdelight. "Say now, Chief of the Gularzai. Is the Sahib yonder atMazaran still as thy brother?"
"What has _he_ to do with this?" thundered the chief.
"Ya, Allah! Observe, O Nawab. He who is now as the _Sirkar_ at Mazaranis named Raynier Sahib. He is the son of the man who thus slew thebrother of the chief of the Gularzai. Say; is he still as thy brother?"
The Sirdar's Oath: A Tale of the North-West Frontier Page 9
