For jealousy is the rage of a man: therefore he will not spare in the
day of vengeance.—_Prov._ vi. 34.
Almonds and raisins, Sahib? Grapes from Kabul? Or a pony of the rarest
if the Sahib will only come with me. He is thirteen three, Sahib, plays
polo, goes in a cart, carries a lady and—Holy Kurshed and the Blessed
Imams, it is the Sahib himself! My heart is made fat and my eye glad.
May you never be tired! As is cold water in the Tirah, so is the sight
of a friend in a far place. And what do _you_ in this accursed land?
South of Delhi, Sahib, you know the saying—“Rats are the men and trulls
the women.” It was an order? Ahoo! An order is an order till one is
strong enough to disobey. O my brother, O my friend, we have met in an
auspicious hour! Is all well in the heart and the body and the house? In
a lucky day have we two come together again.
I am to go with you? Your favour is great. Will there be picket-room in
the compound? I have three horses and the bundles and the horse-boy.
Moreover, remember that the police here hold me a horse-thief. What do
these Lowland bastards know of horse-thieves? Do you remember that time
in Peshawur when Kamal hammered on the gates of Jumrud—mountebank that
he was—and lifted the Colonel’s horses all in one night? Kamal is dead
now, but his nephew has taken up the matter, and there will be more
horses amissing if the Khaiber Levies do not look to it.
The Peace of God and the favour of His Prophet be upon this house and
all that is in it! Shafizullah, rope the mottled mare under the tree and
draw water. The horses can stand in the sun, but double the felts over
the loins. Nay, my friend, do not trouble to look them over. They are to
sell to the Officer fools who know so many things of the horse. The mare
is heavy in foal; the gray is a devil unlicked; and the dun—but you know
the trick of the peg. When they are sold I go back to Pubbi, or, it may
be, the Valley of Peshawur.
O friend of my heart, it is good to see you again. I have been bowing
and lying all day to the Officer Sahibs in respect to those horses; and
my mouth is dry for straight talk. _Auggrh!_ Before a meal tobacco is
good. Do not join me, for we are not in our own country. Sit in the
verandah and I will spread my cloth here. But first I will drink. _In
the name of God returning thanks, thrice!_ This is sweet water,
indeed—sweet as the water of Sheoran when it comes from the snows.
They are all well and pleased in the North—Khoda Baksh and the others.
Yar Khan has come down with the horses from Kurdistan—six and thirty
head only, and a full half pack-ponies—and has said openly in the
Kashmir Serai that you English should send guns and blow the Amir into
Hell. There are _fifteen_ tolls now on the Kabul road; and at Dakka,
when he thought he was clear, Yar Khan was stripped of all his Balkh
stallions by the Governor! This is a great injustice, and Yar Khan is
hot with rage. And of the others: Mahbub Ali is still at Pubbi, writing
God knows what. Tugluq Khan is in jail for the business of the Kohat
Police Post. Faiz Beg came down from Ismail-ki-Dhera with a Bokhariot
belt for thee, my brother, at the closing of the year, but none knew
whither thou hadst gone: there was no news left behind. The Cousins have
taken a new run near Pakpattan to breed mules for the Government carts,
and there is a story in Bazar of a priest. Oho! Such a salt tale!
Listen——
Sahib, why do you ask that? My clothes are fouled because of the dust on
the road. My eyes are sad because of the glare of the sun. My feet are
swollen because I have washed them in bitter water, and my cheeks are
hollow because the food here is bad. Fire burn your money! What do I
want with it? I am rich and I thought you were my friend; but you are
like the others—a Sahib. Is a man sad? Give him money, say the Sahibs.
Is he dishonoured? Give him money, say the Sahibs. Hath he a wrong upon
his head? Give him money, say the Sahibs. Such are the Sahibs, and such
art thou—even thou.
Nay, do not look at the feet of the dun. Pity it is that I ever taught
you to know the legs of a horse. Footsore? Be it so. What of that? The
roads are hard. And the mare footsore? She bears a double burden, Sahib.
And now I pray you, give me permission to depart. Great favour and
honour has the Sahib done me, and graciously has he shown his belief
that the horses are stolen. Will it please him to send me to the Thana?
To call a sweeper and have me led away by one of these lizard-men? I am
the Sahib’s friend. I have drunk water in the shadow of his house, and
he has blackened my face. Remains there anything more to do? Will the
Sahib give me eight annas to make smooth the injury and—complete the
insult——?
Forgive me, my brother. I knew not—I know not now—what I say. Yes, I
lied to you! I will put dust on my head—and I am an Afridi! The horses
have been marched footsore from the Valley to this place, and my eyes
are dim, and my body aches for the want of sleep, and my heart is dried
up with sorrow and shame. But as it was my shame, so by God the
Dispenser of Justice—by Allah-al-Mumit—it shall be my own revenge!
We have spoken together with naked hearts before this, and our hands
have dipped into the same dish and thou hast been to me as a brother.
Therefore I pay thee back with lies and ingratitude—as a Pathan. Listen
now! When the grief of the soul is too heavy for endurance it may be a
little eased by speech, and, moreover, the mind of a true man is as a
well, and the pebble of confession dropped therein sinks and is no more
seen. From the Valley have I come on foot, league by league, with a fire
in my chest like the fire of the Pit. And why? Hast thou, then, so
quickly forgotten our customs, among this folk who sell their wives and
their daughters for silver? Come back with me to the North and be among
men once more. Come back, when this matter is accomplished and I call
for thee! The bloom of the peach-orchards is upon all the Valley, and
_here_ is only dust and a great stink. There is a pleasant wind among
the mulberry trees, and the streams are bright with snow-water, and the
caravans go up and the caravans go down, and a hundred fires sparkle in
the gut of the Pass, and tent-peg answers hammer-nose, and pack-horse
squeals to pack-horse across the drift smoke of the evening. It is good
in the North now. Come back with me. Let us return to our own people!
Come!
* * * * *
Whence is my sorrow? Does a man tear out his heart and make fritters
thereof over a slow fire for aught other than a woman? Do not laugh,
friend of mine, for your time will also be. A woman of the Abazai was
she, and I took her to wife to staunch the feud between our village and
the men of Ghor. I am no longer young? The lime has touched my beard?
True. I had no need of the wedding? Nay, but I loved her. What saith
Rahman: “Into whose heart Love enters, there is Folly _and naught else_.
By a glance of the eye she hath blinded thee; and by the eyelids and the
fringe of the eyelids taken thee into the captivity without ransom, _and
naught else_.” Dost thou remember that song at the sheep-roasting in the
Pindi camp among the Uzbegs of the Amir?
The Abazai are dogs and their women the servants of sin. There was a
lover of her own people, but of that her father told me naught. My
friend, curse for me in your prayers, as I curse at each praying from
the Fakr to the Isha, the name of Daoud Shah, Abazai, whose head is
still upon his neck, whose hands are still upon his wrists, who has done
me dishonour, who has made my name a laughing-stock among the women of
Little Malikand.
I went into Hindustan at the end of two months—to Cherat. I was gone
twelve days only; but I had said that I would be fifteen days absent.
This I did to try her, for it is written: “Trust not the incapable.”
Coming up the gorge alone in the falling of the light, I heard the voice
of a man singing at the door of my house; and it was the voice of Daoud
Shah, and the song that he sang was “_Dray wara yow dee_”—“All three are
one.” It was as though a heel-rope had been slipped round my heart and
all the Devils were drawing it tight past endurance. I crept silently up
the hill-road, but the fuse of my matchlock was wetted with the rain,
and I could not slay Daoud Shah from afar. Moreover, it was in my mind
to kill the woman also. Thus he sang, sitting outside my house, and,
anon, the woman opened the door, and I came nearer, crawling on my belly
among the rocks. I had only my knife to my hand. But a stone slipped
under my foot, and the two looked down the hillside, and he, leaving his
matchlock, fled from my anger, because he was afraid for the life that
was in him. But the woman moved not till I stood in front of her,
crying: “O woman, what is this that thou hast done?” And she, void of
fear, though she knew my thought, laughed, saying: “It is a little
thing. I loved him, and _thou_ art a dog and cattle-thief coming by
night. Strike!” And I, being still blinded by her beauty, for, O my
friend, the women of the Abazai are very fair, said: “Hast thou no
fear?” And she answered: “None—but only the fear that I do not die.”
Then said I: “Have no fear.” And she bowed her head, and I smote it off
at the neck-bone so that it leaped between my feet. Thereafter the rage
of our people came upon me, and I hacked off the breasts, that the men
of Little Malikand might know the crime, and cast the body into the
water-course that flows to the Kabul river. _Dray wara yow dee! Dray
wara yow dee!_ The body without the head, the soul without light, and my
own darkling heart—all three are one—all three are one!
That night, making no halt, I went to Ghor and demanded news of Daoud
Shah. Men said: “He is gone to Pubbi for horses. What wouldst thou of
him? There is peace between the villages.” I made answer: “Aye! The
peace of treachery and the love that the Devil Atala bore to Gurel.” So
I fired thrice into the gate and laughed and went my way.
In those hours, brother and friend of my heart’s heart, the moon and the
stars were as blood above me, and in my mouth was the taste of dry
earth. Also, I broke no bread, and my drink was the rain of the Valley
of Ghor upon my face.
At Pubbi I found Mahbub Ali, the writer, sitting upon his charpoy, and
gave up my arms according to your Law. But I was not grieved, for it was
in my heart that I should kill Daoud Shah with my bare hands thus—as a
man strips a bunch of raisins. Mahbub Ali said: “Daoud Shah has even now
gone hot-foot to Peshawur, and he will pick up his horses upon the road
to Delhi, for it is said that the Bombay Tramway Company are buying
horses there by the truck-load; eight horses to the truck.” And that was
a true saying.
Then I saw that the hunting would be no little thing, for the man was
gone into your borders to save himself against my wrath. And shall he
save himself so? Am I not alive? Though he run northward to the Dora and
the snow, or southerly to the Black Water, I will follow him, as a lover
follows the footsteps of his mistress, and coming upon him I will take
him tenderly—Aho! so tenderly!—in my arms, saying: “Well hast thou done
and well shalt thou be repaid.” And out of that embrace Daoud Shah shall
not go forth with the breath in his nostrils. _Auggrh!_ Where is the
pitcher? I am as thirsty as a mother-mare in the first month.
Your Law! What is your Law to me? When the horses fight on the runs do
they regard the boundary pillars; or do the kites of Ali Musjid forbear
because the carrion lies under the shadow of the Ghor Kuttri? The matter
began across the Border. It shall finish where God pleases. Here, in my
own country, or in Hell. All three are one.
Listen now, sharer of the sorrow of my heart, and I will tell of the
hunting. I followed to Peshawur from Pubbi, and I went to and fro about
the streets of Peshawur like a houseless dog, seeking for my enemy. Once
I thought that I saw him washing his mouth in the conduit in the big
square, but when I came up he was gone. It may be that it was he, and,
seeing my face, he had fled.
A girl of the bazar said that he would go to Nowshera. I said: “O
heart’s heart, does Daoud Shah visit thee?” And she said: “Even so.” I
said: “I would fain see him, for we be friends parted for two years.
Hide me, I pray, here in the shadow of the window shutter, and I will
wait for his coming.” And the girl said: “O Pathan, look into my eyes!”
And I turned, leaning upon her breast, and looked into her eyes,
swearing that I spoke the very Truth of God. But she answered: “Never
friend waited friend with such eyes. Lie to God and the Prophet, but to
a woman ye cannot lie. Get hence! There shall no harm befall Daoud Shah
by cause of me.”
I would have strangled that girl but for the fear of your Police; and
thus the hunting would have come to naught. Therefore I only laughed and
departed, and she leaned over the window-bar in the night and mocked me
down the street. Her name is Jamun. When I have made my account with the
man I will return to Peshawur and—her lovers shall desire her no more
for her beauty’s sake. She shall not be _Jamun_, but _Ak_, the cripple
among trees. Ho! Ho! _Ak_ shall she be!
At Peshawur I bought the horses and grapes, and the almonds and dried
fruits, that the reason of my wanderings might be open to the
Government, and that there might be no hindrance upon the road. But when
I came to Nowshera he was gone, and I knew not where to go. I stayed one
day at Nowshera, and in the night a Voice spoke in my ears as I slept
among the horses. All night it flew round my head and would not cease
from whispering. I was upon my belly, sleeping as the Devils sleep, and
it may have been that the Voice was the voice of a Devil. It said: “Go
south, and thou shalt come upon Daoud Shah.” Listen, my brother and
chiefest among friends—listen! Is the tale a long one? Think how it was
long to me. I have trodden every league of the road from Pubbi to this
place; and from Nowshera my guide was only the Voice and the lust of
vengeance.
To the Uttock I went, but that was no hindrance to me. Ho! Ho! A man may
turn the word twice, even in his trouble. The Uttock was no _uttock_
[obstacle] to me; and I heard the Voice above the noise of the waters
beating on the big rock, saying: “Go to the right.” So I went to
Pindigheb, and in those days my sleep was taken from me utterly, and the
head of the woman of the Abazai was before me night and day, even as it
had fallen between my feet. _Dray wara yow dee! Dray wara yow dee!_
Fire, ashes, and my couch, all three are one—all three are one!
Now I was far from the winter path of the dealers who had gone to
Sialkot and so south by the rail and the Big Road to the line of
cantonments; but there was a Sahib in camp at Pindigheb who bought from
me a white mare at a good price, and told me that one Daoud Shah had
passed to Shahpur with horses. Then I saw that the warning of the Voice
was true, and made swift to come to the Salt Hills. The Jhelum was in
flood, but I could not wait, and, in the crossing, a bay stallion was
washed down and drowned. Herein was God hard to me—not in respect of the
beast, of that I had no care—but in this snatching. While I was upon the
right bank urging the horses into the water, Daoud Shah was upon the
left; for—_Alghias! Alghias!_—the hoofs of my mare scattered the hot
ashes of his fires when we came up the hither bank in the light of
morning. But he had fled. His feet were made swift by the terror of
Death. And I went south from Shahpur as the kite flies. I dared not turn
aside, lest I should miss my vengeance—which is my right. From Shahpur I
skirted by the Jhelum, for I thought that he would avoid the Desert of
the Rechna. But, presently, at Sahiwal, I turned away upon the road to
Jhang, Samundri, and Gugera, till, upon a night, the mottled mare
breasted the fence of the rail that runs to Montgomery. And that place
was Okara, and the head of the woman of the Abazai lay upon the sand
between my feet.
Thence I went to Fazilka, and they said that I was mad to bring starved
horses there. The Voice was with me, and I was _not_ mad, but only
wearied, because I could not find Daoud Shah. It was written that I
should not find him at Rania nor Bahadurgarh, and I came into Delhi from
the west, and there also I found him not. My friend, I have seen many
strange things in my wanderings. I have seen Devils rioting across the
Rechna as the stallions riot in spring. I have heard the _Djinns_
calling to each other from holes in the sand, and I have seen them pass
before my face. There are no Devils, say the Sahibs? They are very wise,
but they do not know all things about devils or—horses. Ho! Ho! I say to
you who are laughing at my misery, that I have seen the Devils at high
noon whooping and leaping on the shoals of the Chenab. And was I afraid?
My brother, when the desire of a man is set upon one thing alone, he
fears neither God nor Man nor Devil. If my vengeance failed, I would
splinter the Gates of Paradise with the butt of my gun, or I would cut
my way into Hell with my knife, and I would call upon Those who Govern
there for the body of Daoud Shah. What love so deep as hate?
Do not speak. I know the thought in your heart. Is the white of this eye
clouded? How does the blood beat at the wrist? There is no madness in my
flesh, but only the vehemence of the desire that has eaten me up.
Listen!
South of Delhi I knew not the country at all. Therefore I cannot say
where I went, but I passed through many cities. I knew only that it was
laid upon me to go south. When the horses could march no more, I threw
myself upon the earth, and waited till the day. There was no sleep with
me in that journeying; and that was a heavy burden. Dost thou know,
brother of mine, the evil of wakefulness that cannot break—when the
bones are sore for lack of sleep, and the skin of the temples twitches
with weariness, and yet—there is no sleep—there is no sleep? _Dray wara
yow dee! Dray wara yow dee!_ The eye of the Sun, the eye of the Moon,
and my own unrestful eyes—all three are one—all three are one!
There was a city the name whereof I have forgotten, and there the Voice
called all night. That was ten days ago. It has cheated me afresh.
I have come hither from a place called Hamirpur, and, behold, it is my
Fate that I should meet with thee to my comfort and the increase of
friendship. This is a good omen. By the joy of looking upon thy face the
weariness has gone from my feet, and the sorrow of my so long travel is
forgotten. Also my heart is peaceful; for I know that the end is near.
It may be that I shall find Daoud Shah in this city going northward,
since a Hillman will ever head back to his Hills when the spring warns.
And shall he see those hills of our country? Surely I shall overtake
him! Surely my vengeance is safe! Surely God hath him in the hollow of
His hand against my claiming. There shall no harm befall Daoud Shah till
I come; for I would fain kill him quick and whole with the life sticking
firm in his body. A pomegranate is sweetest when the cloves break away
unwilling from the rind. Let it be in the daytime, that I may see his
face, and my delight may be crowned.
And when I have accomplished the matter and my Honour is made clean, I
shall return thanks unto God, the Holder of the Scale of the Law, and I
shall sleep. From the night, through the day, and into the night again I
shall sleep; and no dream shall trouble me.