The Far Pavilions

by M. M. Kaye

  ‘And if it is not abandoned, sir?’

  ‘Then I would ask you to remain in Kabul as long as the Guides are there. As soon as their term of duty expires and they are relieved by some other regiment, you are free to go. Will you do that?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Ash. ‘Yes, of course.’

  It would have been difficult, in the circumstances, to refuse such a request – even if it had occurred to him to do so, which it did not. In fact, it suited him very well. Juli was happy in Kabul – and besides, it would give him more time to decide what he meant to do and where they would go, for if the Corps sent an Escort to Kabul, their tour of duty would not be less than a year. Which would also mean that he would be seeing a good deal of Wally, who need not be told until the year was almost up that he, Ash, had sent in his papers and would never be returning to the Guides…

  Ash left Mardan for the last time as the moon rose, and Zarin accompanied him past the sentries and watched him stride away across the milky plain towards the Border hills.

  They had embraced at parting and exchanged the formal sentences of farewell as they had done so often before: ‘Pa makhe da kha' – may your future be bright… ‘Amin sara' – and yours also. But both knew in their hearts that they were saying them to each other for the last time, and that this was a final farewell. They had reached the parting of the ways, and from now on their paths would lead in different directions and would not cross again, no matter how bright their separate futures might be.

  Ash turned once to look back, and saw that Zarin had not moved but was still standing there, a small dark shape against the moon-washed spaces. Lifting an arm in a brief salute he turned and went on; and did not stop again until he was beyond Khan Mai. By which time Mardan had long been hidden from him by distance and the folds of the plain.

  ‘That leaves only Wally,’ thought Ash. ‘… my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou been unto me…’

  The four pillars of his imaginary house were falling one by one. First Mahdoo and then Koda Dad; and now Zarin. Only Wally left; and even he was no longer the staunch support that he had once been, for he had grown away and acquired other interests and different values, and Ash wondered how long it would be before he too must be left behind – as Zarin had been. Not yet, at least; for they would probably be meeting in Kabul in the near future. Besides, there was no reason to fear that he would lose Wally as he had lost Zarin. And even if he did, would it matter so much, now that he had Juli?

  Thinking of his wife, he saw her face as clearly as though it had actually materialized out of the moonlight before him: her grave eyes and sweet, tender mouth, her serene brow and the lovely, shadowy hollows below her cheek bones. Juli, who was his quietness and peace and refreshment: his dear delight. It seemed to him that her gaze held a faint trace of reproach, and he said aloud: ‘Is it selfish of me to want you both?’

  The sound of his own voice startled him. The hot night was so still that although he had spoken very softly, the moonlit silence magnified the sound out of all proportion and served to remind him that he might not be the only traveller abroad that night. The reflection successfully changed the direction of his thoughts, for he knew that the people of this region had no love for strangers and a habit of shooting first and asking questions afterwards; and quickening his pace he strode on with his mind alert to danger rather than preoccupied with unprofitable hopes and regrets.

  Shortly before dawn he found a safe cleft among the rocks, where he was able to sleep for the best part of the day. And when he dreamed it was not of Zarin or Wally, or anyone in the life he had left behind him, but of Anjuli.

  He returned to Kabul by way of the Malakand Pass, and found the city and the plain simmering in an unaccustomed cauldron of heat and dust that made him think more kindly of the temperatures that he had left behind in Mardan, because although Kabul stood six thousand feet above sea-level, the rainfall was scanty and the earth was parched for lack of moisture. But the breeze that blew off the snowfields of the Hindu Kush at evening cooled the upper rooms of the Sirdar's house and made the nights pleasant. And Anjuli had been waiting for him.

  They had not talked much that first night, and Ash had touched only briefly on his abortive trip to Mardan and his parting with Zarin. But next day, and on many of the long June days that followed, they talked of the future, though in a desultory manner and with no sense of urgency, for Nakshband Khan pressed them to stay, saying that even if a British Mission did not after all come to Kabul, there was no point in their leaving until the hot weather was over and autumn brought in cooler days. There was no hurry. The whole summer lay before them, and there was plenty of time in which to decide where they would go when they left Afghanistan – if they left at all this year, and did not decide to spend the winter there and leave in the spring, after the almond trees had bloomed, which might be the best plan.

  As June gave place to July, summer lightning flickered among the hills and clouds drove across the mountain ranges, but though little rain fell, that little was enough to turn the withered grass green again, and Anjuli rejoiced in the grey days because sun-glare and dust and blazing skies reminded her of Bhithor, while Ash, watching her, would forget to make plans for the future because he found the present so deeply satisfying.

  But July was barely half over when the future broke in upon them in the form of disturbing stories concerning the ruthless pillaging of lonely hamlets by bands of unpaid and undisciplined soldiers, who ever since the signing of the Peace Treaty had been converging on Kabul from all parts of Afghanistan.

  Each day brought more of these masterless men to the valley, until even the Sirdar became alarmed and reinforced the bars on his doors and windows: ‘For if even half the tales we hear are true,’ said the Sirdar, ‘we are none of us safe. These men may call themselves soldiers, but having received no payment for many weeks they have become a disorderly rabble and no better than bandits. They are preying on the people of this valley, snatching anything they desire from the villagers and shooting down all who resist.’

  ‘I know,’ said Ash. ‘I have been among the villages.’

  He had indeed; and in doing so had both seen and heard more than enough to show him that the Sirdar's fears were far from groundless, for the situation in the valley had deteriorated sharply during the past weeks. There were far too many armed and aimless men in the villages and on the road leading to the city, and on several occasions he had passed through sizeable crowds who were being exhorted by some fakir to wage a Jehad against all Infidels. As for the capital itself, it was overfull of truculent, hungry-looking soldiers who swaggered through the streets, shouldering aside the more peaceful citizens and openly helping themselves, without paying, to fruit and cooked food from shops and stalls in the bazaars.

  The very air felt heavy with the threat of violence and unrest, and there were times when Ash was tempted to desert his post and take Juli away, because it seemed to him that Afghanistan was becoming too dangerous a country for her to linger in. But he had given his word to the Commandant, and he could not break it: for by now there was no one who had not heard that a British Mission, headed by Cavagnari-Sahib and accompanied by an Escort of the ‘Guide Corps’, had already set out for Kabul.

  Book Eight

  The Land of Cain

  59

  The solitary bird, its beak agape in the simmering heat, had been dozing on the branch of a stunted pine tree near the crest of the pass when it heard the first sounds from below, and opened a wary eye.

  As yet the voices and the clop and clatter of horses' hooves were too far off to be alarming, but they were coming nearer, and as the sounds grew in volume and the creak of saddles and the jingle of harness were added to the noise of hoof-beats and voices, the bird flattened its ruffled feathers and cocked its head, listening to the racket caused by a large body of horsemen riding up the hill path. There must have been close on three hundred of them, of which less than a third were Englishmen – the others bei
ng Indian troops and Afghan soldiery – and as the two leadingriders came into view the bird took fright, and abandoning its siesta, flew away with an angry chattering cry.

  The General was aware that the distinguished civilian who rode beside him had put up his hand as though in salute and muttered something under his breath, and supposing himself to be addressed he said: ‘I' sorry; what did you say?’

  ‘That bird: look –’

  The General glanced in the direction of the pointing finger and said: ‘Oh yes. A magpie. One doesn't often see them at this height. Is that what you were saying?’

  ‘No. I was counting ten backwards.’

  ‘Counting –?’ Major General Sir Frederick Roberts, known to his command as ‘Bobs’, appeared bewildered.

  Cavagnari laughed and looked a little shamefaced. ‘Oh, it's just a foolish superstition. It's supposed to ward off bad luck if you count ten backwards when you see a magpie. Don't you do that in England, or is it only an Irish superstition?’

  ‘I don't know. I certainly haven't heard of it in my part of England. Though I believe we salute them. Magpies, I mean.’

  ‘You didn't salute that one.’

  ‘Nor I did. Well, it's too late now. It's gone. Anyway, I'm not a particularly superstitious chap.’

  ‘I wonder if I am?’ mused Cavagnari. ‘I wouldn't have said so. But I suppose I must be, for I admit I would rather not have seen that bird. You won't tell my wife we saw a magpie, will you? She wouldn't like it. She's always been superstitious about such things, and she'd think it was a bad omen and worry about it.’

  ‘No, of course I won't,’ returned the General lightly. But the request surprised him, and it occurred to him that poor Louis must be feeling less confident about this Mission to Kabul than one had supposed, if a trivial incident like seeing a magpie could upset him – which it obviously had, because he was looking gloomy and thoughtful; and all at once, much older…

  Major Cavagnari had arrived in Simla in early June to discuss the implementation of the Treaty of Gandamak with his friend the Viceroy, and to receive his reward for having induced the new Amir, Yakoub Khan, to sign it. When he left again in July it was as Major Sir Louis Cavagnari, K.C.S.I., Her Majesty's Envoy Designate and Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court of Kabul.

  Never one to allow grass to grow beneath his feet, the one-time Deputy Commissioner of Peshawar had completed his arrangements within a few days of his return, and as soon as all was ready the British Mission had set out for Kabul.

  Considering that a war had been fought in order to establish it, the Mission was a surprisingly modest one. But Pierre Louis Napoleon was no fool, and though the Viceroy, Lord Lytton (who regarded it as the first step toward establishing a permanent British presence in Afghanistan, and, as such, a triumph for the Forward Policy), might be blithely confident of its success, the newly appointed Envoy was not so sanguine.

  Unlike Lord Lytton, Louis Cavagnari's work had given him considerable experience of the Amir's subjects, and whatever Ash might think to the contrary, he was well aware of the risks involved in forcing such a presence upon a reluctant population, and equally aware that nothing short of an army could guarantee the safety of any British Mission. Consequently he saw no reason to hazard more lives than necessary, and had therefore kept the numbers down to a minimum, restricting his suite to only three men: William Jenkyns, secretary and political assistant; a medical officer, Surgeon-Major Ambrose Kelly, and a military attaché Lieutenant Walter Hamilton, v.c., both of the Guides, the latter in command of a picked Escort of twenty-five cavalry and fifty-two infantry of the same Corps.

  Apart from a single hospital assistant and the indispensable camp-followers – servants, syces and others who accompanied the Mission – that had been all. For though the Envoy designate had been careful not to damp the Viceroy's enthusiasm, he had admitted to certain close friends in Simla that he reckoned the chances were four to one that he would never return from his mission, adding that if his death were to lead to ‘the red line being placed on the Hindu Kush’, he would not complain.

  The size of the Mission had been a disappointment to Wally, who had visualized a far larger and more imposing cavalcade: one that would impress the Afghans and do credit to the British Empire. The meagreness of the Envoy's party struck him as a depressing example of Government cheeseparing, but he had consoled himself with the thought that it was an indication of the power and prestige of the Raj that where lesser nations would have found it necessary to bolster their Envoy's consequence with a horde of minor officials and an outsize Escort, a mere handful of men was sufficient for the British. Besides, the smaller the numbers the greater the glory.

  It did not strike him as odd that Cavagnari proposed to travel to Kabul by way of the Kurram Valley and the Shutergardan Pass rather than by the far shorter and easier route through the Khyber, as he himself had already marched through the charnel-house that heat and drought and cholera had made of that road when the army had withdrawn from Afghanistan after the signing of the Peace Treaty, and men and baggage animals had dropped and died in their thousands on the line of march. The bodies of the former had been buried in shallow graves hurriedly scraped out of the scanty earth by the roadside, but it had not been possible to do the same for the corpses of mules and camels; and knowing that the Khyber would still be foul with the sight and stench of corruption, Wally had no desire to pass that way again until time, weather and the eaters of carrion had cleansed the road and hidden the evidence under a merciful pall of dust and grass.

  By comparison the Kurram Valley, even at that season of the year, must be a paradise. And as it was no longer a part of Afghanistan (having been ceded to the British under the terms of the treaty) the victorious troops that garrisoned it had not been withdrawn; which Wally confidently supposed would ensure a peaceful passage as far as the Afghan frontier. But in this he was mistaken.

  The tribes were indifferent to such things as treaties or agreements between rival governments and they continued to harass the garrisons, murdering soldiers and camp-followers and stealing rifles, ammunition and baggage animals. Deserters carried off camels under the very noses of the sentries, caravans carrying fruit from Afghanistan to India were stopped on the Shutergardan Pass and plundered by marauding bands of Gilzais, and in July alone, a British surgeon had been stabbed to death and an Indian officer of the 21st Punjabis, together with his orderly, had been attacked and killed within sight of their escort who had been riding a short distance behind. Even General Roberts himself had narrowly escaped being captured by men of the Ahmed Khel…

  ‘They will all be killed. Every one of them!’ exclaimed that one-time Viceroy of India, John Lawrence – brother of Sir Henry of Punjab fame – when the news reached London that the British Mission had set out for Kabul. And if conditions in the Kurram were anything to go by, the outlook was murky enough to justify that pessimistic remark.

  There was certainly little sign of peace in the valley, and in order to ensure the Mission's safety a mountain battery, a squadron of Bengal Lancers and three companies of Highlanders and Gurkhas had been detailed to protect them. In addition to which General Roberts, and no less than fifty of his officers who wished to honour the new Envoy, had joined his party to set it on its way.

  Thus royally escorted, Sir Louis Cavagnari and the members of his Mission had arrived at Kasim Khel, five miles from the crest of the Shutergardan Pass and barely three from the Afghan border – the cliffs known as Karatiga, the White Rock. Here, having camped for the night, they entertained the General and his staff to a farewell dinner: a function that proved to be remarkably noisy and convivial in spite of the fact that tomorrow they would be parting company, and no one could be certain as to what lay ahead.

  The party broke up late, and on the following morning the Amir's representative, Sirdar Khushdil Khan, escorted by a squadron of the 9th Afghan Cavalry, rode into the camp to conduct the Mission on the last leg of its journey towards the frontier.<
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  The Amir's representative was accompanied by the head of the Ghilzai tribe, a gaunt, hatchet-faced greybeard by the name of Padshah Khan, whom Wally, for one, distrusted on sight. Not that he thought much better of Khushdil Khan, whose sinister countenance and sly, evasive eyes struck him as even more unpleasant than the wolf-like face of the robber chief. ‘Wouldn't trust either of ‘em as far as I could throw the mess piano,’ confided Wally in a whispered aside to Surgeon-Major Kelly, who smiled a tight-lipped smile and replied in an undertone that from now on they would have no alternative but to trust them, as until they reached Kabul that unprepossessing pair and the motley crew of ruffians they had brought with them were officially responsible for their safety. ‘Which I have to admit, I do not find particularly comforting,’ added the doctor thoughtfully.

  The motley crew referred to were mounted on small, wiry-looking horses and decked out in what appeared to be the cast-off uniforms of British Dragoons, topped by long-discarded helmets acquired from the Bengal Horse Artillery. They were armed with smooth-bore carbines and tulwars, and Wally, eyeing them with professional interest, decided that his Guides ought to be able to handle them with ease. Apart from village hall amateur dramatics, he could not remember having seen such an outlandish assortment of warriors, and had it not been for their fierce, bearded faces and the hard gleam in their eyes, the effect would have been laughable.