by M. M. Kaye
‘Then you're wrong. I agree that he might have done it once, but riding rough-shod over the Amir has lost him a vital ally. Yakoub Khan is not one to forgive an insult, and now he will give him as little help as possible, and probably intrigue against him behind his back. Wally, I know what I'm talking about. I've lived in that damned country for months on end, and I know what is being said there – and in places like Herat and Kandahar and Mazar-i-Sharif too. The Afghans do not want this Mission, and they are in no mood to have it forced down their throats.’
‘Then that is their misfortune,’ said Wally, brusquely. ‘Because they are going to have it whether they want it or not. Besides, we gave them such a hell of a thrashing in the Khyber and the Kurram that they had to sue for peace, and I think you'll be finding that troops who have just been as soundly defeated in battle as these fellows have will have learnt their lesson by now and not be over-eager to get another dose of the same medicine.’
Ash came to a stop, and gripping the back of a chair with both hands until his knuckles showed white, explained in a strictly controlled voice that the whole point was that they hadn't learned anything – because they didn't even know that they were defeated. ‘That's one of the things I came here to tell the Commandant: there have been insurrections in Turkestan and Badakshan, and as the defeated regiments have all been hurried off to deal with the situation there, the Amir is having to raise fresh ones to take their place, and the new troops are nothing but an undisciplined rabble who have never been in action against the British Army, and know nothing about the defeats. They have, on the contrary, swallowed whole a score of fairy-tales about “Glorious Afghan Victories”, and worse still they have received no pay for months, because the Amir insists that there is no money in the exchequer to pay them. So they are preying on the wretched villagers instead, and by and large I'd say they were a far greater menace to him than having no troops at all. It's obvious that they are already pretty well out of control, and in my opinion they're likely to prove a serious threat to any British Mission foolish enough to set up shop in Kabul and trust to them to keep order; because they can't do so, and what's more they won't!’
Wally retorted crossly that Cavagnari was bound to have heard all about this already as he had scores of spies collecting information for him. To which Ash agreed: ‘But the trouble is that they come and go, and only someone who has actually lived in Kabul during these past months can have any inkling of the situation there. It's unstable as water and potentially dangerous as a wagon-load of gunpowder, for you can't expect reason from an undisciplined, unpaid rabble that having played no part in the recent hostilities thinks the present withdrawal of our army is a retreat, and is therefore firmly convinced that the invading British were soundly defeated and are scuttling out of Afghanistan with their tails between their legs. Because that is how it looks to them, and so they can see no reason why their new Amir should permit a handful of the defeated, despised and hated “Angrezi-log” to establish a permanent Mission in Kabul. If he does, they will merely regard that as weakness, and think the less of him: and that isn't going to help matters, either.’
Wally turned away to sit on the edge of the table, swinging a booted foot and gazing out of the window at the moonlight that filled the interior of the little fort; and presently he said slowly: ‘Wigram used to say that he wouldn't be in your shoes for anything in the world – because you didn't know where you belonged. But I don't think he was quite right about that. I think myself that you've made up your mind and taken sides: and that it isn't our side you've chosen.’
Ash did not reply, and after a brief pause Wally said: ‘Somehow I always thought that when it came down to brass tacks, you'd choose us. I didn't dream… Ah well, there it is; no use talking about it. We shall never agree as long as you apparently have adopted the Afghan view of this business, while I can't avoid seeing it from ours.’
‘By which you mean Cavagnari's and Lytton's, and all that lot,’ said Ash with something of a snap.
Wally gave a small shrug. ‘If you like.’
‘I don't. But how do you yourself see it, Wally?’
‘Me? Faith, I should have thought that was obvious. I may not know these people like you do – the tribesmen I mean – but I do know that they despise weakness, as you yourself have just pointed out! Well then, whatever your views are as to the rights and wrongs of it, we went to war with them and we won. We defeated them. We made their Amir come to Gandamak to discuss peace terms and sign a treaty with us, and the most important of those terms was that we should be allowed to establish a British Mission in Kabul. Now I'm not going to argue the pros and cons with you, because, praise be, I'm not a politician, but if we back down now, they'll think us a backboneless lot who haven't even the guts to insist on our rights as victors, and despise us accordingly – which you of all people must know is true. We should earn neither friendship nor respect, but only scorn, and even the men of our own Corps would despise us for it and begin to wonder if we'd lost our nerve. Ask Zarin and Awal Shah, or Kamar Din or any of them, what they think, and see what they say. It'll surprise you.’
‘No it wouldn't,’ said Ash tiredly. ‘They'll think the same as you. It's all this fatuous business of “saving face”. We all suffer from that: and pay for it – in blood. We daren't risk “losing face” even if it means throwing justice and reason and common-sense to the winds, and doing something that we know is not only foolhardy, but appallingly dangerous: and in this case, completely unnecessary.’
Wally heaved a resigned sigh and said with a grin: ‘ “It isn't fair”, in fact. God be helping us if he isn't at it again! It's no good, Ash: it's wasting your time you are.’
‘I suppose so,’ admitted Ash ruefully. ‘But as Wigram once said, “One has to try”. Let's hope the Commandant can be brought to see how serious the situation is, and try his hand at persuading Cavagnari and his Forward Policy cronies to have second thoughts on the subject of this Mission. Though I admit I haven't a spark of confidence in our Simla-based decision-makers. Or in Homo-sapiens in general, if it comes to that!’
Wally laughed, and for the first time that night looked as he had done in the old days in Rawalpindi: young and gay and carefree. ‘Wisha, but it's a gloomy devil you are an' all, an' all. ‘Tis ashamed of you I am. Ah, come now, Ash, don't be such a Jeremiah. We really aren't such a hopeless lot as you make out. I know you didn't see eye to eye with Cavagnari, but for all that I'll lay you any odds you like that he brings the Afghans round his thumb and has them eating out of his hand inside a month of our arrival in Kabul. He'll win them over just as Sir Henry Lawrence won over the defeated Sikhs in the days before the Mutiny – you'll see.’
‘Yes… Yes, I shall see,’ said Ash slowly.
‘Of course – I forgot you'd be in Kabul yourself. When do you go back?’
‘As soon as I've seen the Old Man, which I hope will be sometime tomorrow. There's no point in my staying here any longer, is there?’
‘If you mean you won't be able to persuade me into turning down command of the Escort if I have the luck to be offered it, no there isn't.’
‘When do you think you'll know?’
‘I suppose when Cavagnari gets back from Simla.’
‘Simla! I might have known he' d be there.’
‘Faith, I think you might. He came out through the Khyber with General Sam and went straight up there to report to the Viceroy.’
‘And to be rewarded for having bullied Yakoub Khan into accepting the terms of that wretched Peace Treaty, no doubt,’ said Ash with an edge to his voice. ‘A knighthood at the least – Sir Louis Cavagnari, K.C.S.I., etc., etc.’
‘Why not?’ demanded Wally, beginning to bristle. ‘He's earned it.’
‘No doubt. But unless he can persuade his fellow fire-eater, Lytton, to hold up this Mission until Yakoub Khan has had a chance to re-establish some sort of law and order in Kabul, it's likely to prove his death-warrant. And yours too, Wally! Not to mention the jawans,
and everyone else he'll be taking with him. Have the members of the escort been selected yet?’
Not officially, though it's more or less settled. Why?’
‘I wanted to know if Zarin would be going.’
‘Not as far as I know. Nor is Awal Shah. In fact none of your particular cronies.’
‘Except yourself.’
‘Oh, I shall be all right,’ said Wally buoyantly. ‘You don't have to worry about me - I was born under a lucky star. It's yourself's the one you should be worrying about, ye scutt. You can't go hanging around indefinitely in a trouble-spot like Afghanistan merely in order to keep a weather-eye out for your friends, so it's I who'll be giving you a piece of advice for a change. When you see the Old Man, get him to let you come back to us. Go on your knees if necessary. Tell him we need you – which is God's truth so it is.’
Ash looked at him a little oddly and started to say something, but changed his mind and inquired instead when this Mission was supposed to leave – if it did leave.
‘It'll leave all right, make no mistake about that. We expect to set off as soon as Cavagnari returns from Simla. But as I told you, nothing has been decided yet, and for all I know the Viceroy may have other ideas.’
‘Let's hope so. They couldn't be worse than this one,’ observed Ash dryly. ‘Well, goodbye, Wally. I don't know when I shall be seeing you again, but I hope for your sake it won't be in Kabul.’
He held out his hand and Wally gripped it and said warmly: ‘Wherever it is, it can't be too soon: you know that. And if it's Kabul, at least you'll know that I wouldn't have missed being there for anything in the world. Why, it'll be the chance of a lifetime, and if all goes well it's bound to mean promotion for Hamilton, and another long step towards getting my hands on that Field Marshal's baton. Sure now, you wouldn't want to do me out of that, would you? Sorra-a-bit! So don't say “goodbye”, say “I'll see you in Kabul”.’
Zarin had taken much the same view as Wally, when Ash related their conversation the following morning. And once again, as on the previous one, there had been that in his voice that sounded an ominous note of change and warning. A hint of impatience that verged on irritation, and an indefinable suggestion of withdrawal, as though he had retreated to the far side of some invisible barrier. He might almost, thought Ash, appalled by the reflection, have been speaking to a stranger.
Zarin had stopped short of telling him in so many words that his warnings were unwelcome, but that was made clear by his tone. ‘We your friends are no longer boys,’ said Zarin. ‘We are all grown men and can look to our affairs. Awal Shah tells me that he has spoken with the Commandant-Sahib who will see you during the afternoon, when everyone if not asleep is at least within doors.’
He would not meet Ash's eyes, but rose and went out about his duties, saying that he would be back before two o'clock to take Ash to the Commandant's bungalow, and advising him to get some sleep, because he would need to be rested if he meant to set out for Kabul that night – it being too hot to travel by day.
But Ash had not slept, for apart from the fact that Zarin's small, brick-built quarter behind the Cavalry Lines was intolerably hot, he had too many things to think of; and a vital decision to make.
The years that had once seemed to drift by so slowly were now passing with ever-increasing swiftness, like a sluggish train that pants and jerks and puffs as it draws away from a station platform, and then, gathering speed, rattles forward faster and ever faster on the iron rails, eating up the miles as time eats up the years. And Ash, sitting cross-legged on the mud floor and gazing unseeingly at a white-washed wall, looked back down the long corridor of those years and saw many Zarins. The Zarin he had first seen in Koda Dad's quarters in the Hawa Mahal: a tall, handsome youth who could ride and shoot as well as a man, and who had seemed – then and always – to be everything that was brave, splendid and admirable. A dashing, confident Zarin, riding away from Gulkote to join the Guides Cavalry. Zarin at Mardan, wearing the uniform of a sowar; consoling him for the death of Sita and mapping out his future with the aid of Awal Shah. An older Zarin, waiting to greet him on the dock at Bombay, still unchanged, still the same staunch friend and elder brother…
He had been afraid once that their relationship might not survive his return to Mardan as an officer in the Corps, and their sudden reversal in status. But it had done so, thanks in a large part, reflected Ash, to the astringent common-sense and level-headedness of Koda Dad's youngest son rather than to any qualities that he himself possessed. After that it had seemed to him that it would survive anything, short of death, and he had never visualized it ending like this.
Yet it was the end. He realized that quite clearly. They could not continue to see each other and talk together as they used to do, because their paths had already diverged, and the time had come when he must step to the music that he had heard.
That was something that Wigram had once quoted to him, and the words had stayed in his mind: ‘If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer: let him step to the music that he hears.’ It was good advice, and high time he acted upon it, for he knew now that he had never yet succeeded in keeping in step with his companions, whether European or Asiatic, because he himself was neither one nor the other.
The time had come to close the Book of Ashok and Akbar and Ashton Pelham-Martyn of the Guides; to put it away on a shelf and begin a new volume – ‘The Book of Juli’: of Ash and Juli, their future and their children. Perhaps one day, when he was old, he would take down that first volume, and blowing the dust from it, leaf through its pages and re-live the past in memory – fondly, and with no regrets. But for the moment it was better to put all that away and forget it. Ab kutum hogia.*
By the time Zarin returned, the decision had been made: and though Ash did not say so, Zarin was instantly aware of it. Not because of any tension between them, for they spoke together as easily as they had always done, and as though nothing had changed. Yet in some indefinable way, Zarin was aware that Ashok had withdrawn from him; and he knew without being told that in all probability they would not meet again…
‘Perhaps when we are old,’ thought Zarin, as Ash had done. He put the thought away from him and talked cheerfully of the present, speaking of such things as a projected visit to Attock to see his Aunt Fatima and the necessity of purchasing new chargers to replace those lost in the recent campaign, until it was time to take Ash to see the Commandant.
This interview had lasted much longer than the one with Wally on the previous night, for in the hope of persuading Colonel Jenkins to pull any available strings that could possibly help to postpone the sending of a British Mission to Afghanistan (or better still, cause the whole project to be abandoned), Ash had gone into considerable detail as to the situation prevailing in Kabul, and the Commandant, who was well aware that his own Corps were more than likely to be involved, had listened with absorbed attention, and after asking a number of pertinent questions, had promised to do what he could to help; though he admitted that he held out no great hopes of success.
Ash thanked him, and went on to talk of more personal matters. He had a request to make, one that he had given a great deal of thought to during the past few months but had only finally decided upon that same morning, during the hours that he had spent in Zarin's quarters. He asked to be relieved of his present duties, and also to be allowed to resign his Commission and leave not only the Guides, but the army.
He had not, he explained, come to this decision in haste, as the conviction that he could never settle down to becoming an army officer had been growing on him for some time. He presumed that Wigram, when Adjutant, must have told the Commandant something about Anjuli? The Commandant nodded without speaking, and Ash looked relieved and said that in that case he would understand the difficulties that had to be faced. If he had been able to return to Mardan and live openly with his wife it might have been possible for him to come to terms with army life in British Indi
a; but as there were several reasons why that could not be considered, he felt that the time had come to try and make a new life for his wife and himself…
Those long months on the journey to Bhithor, the weeks he had spent there and the years in Afghanistan had spoiled him for the narrow existence of an army officer – even an officer in such a Corps as the Guides – and made him realize that he would never be able to fit into any groove formed by nationality or creed. Therefore the only thing for him to do was to cut his ties with the past and start again, begin afresh as an individual who was neither British nor Indian, but merely a member of the human race.
The Commandant had been kind and sympathetic; and secretly relieved. For bearing in mind that peculiar story of the Hindu widow whom Ashton (according to poor Wigram) claimed to have married, and the scandal such a tale could cause if it were to become generally known, it seemed to him that the best thing for the Corps, as well as for Ashton, was for the young man to resign his commission and retire into civil life, where he could do what he liked.
They had discussed the matter rationally and without animosity; and as the war was now over and the British Army in the process of withdrawing from Afghanistan, and General Browne had already left that country, the Commandant had no hesitation in saying that Ash could consider that his term of duty as intelligence officer to the Peshawar Valley Field Force had ended. He had also accepted Ash's resignation from the Guides and promised to arrange that there would be no difficulties over his resigning his commission. All that could be left to him, but in return he would like to ask a favour.
Would Ashton consent to remain in Kabul for a little longer (it might even be as much as a year) and act as an intelligence agent for the Escort of Guides? – always supposing the proposed British Mission became a reality.
‘I will certainly see that all the information you have just given me is sent to Simla, and do anything else I can do to discourage the Mission being sent – though as I have said before, I am afraid that will be very little. But if it goes, young Hamilton will almost certainly go with it as Military Attaché in command of an Escort of Guides; and after what you have just told me, I would like to know that you were at hand to give him any information he may need about the state of affairs in Kabul, and the attitude of the local population, and so forth. If the Mission is abandoned or the Guides are not, after all, called on to supply an Escort, I would let you know immediately, and you can take it that you would be a civilian from that moment, and need not even return here unless you wish.’