Far Pavilions (162 page)

The sounds had been borne clearly on the still air, for the Sirdar's house was no great distance from the citadel, and like Wally, Ash was agreeably surprised by the mood of the crowds that streamed past on their way to watch the procession. But the Sirdar, who with other members of his household had gone out to see the Mission arrive, reported that its size and lack of grandeur had disappointed the Kabulis, who had expected something far more flamboyant. True, there had been elephants, but only two of them, and as they had come from the Amir's elephant lines they could be seen on all state occasions.

‘Also only three Sahibs besides Cavagnari-Sahib, and not even four-score men from my old regiment. What manner of Embassy is this? The Russ-log numbered many more. Moreover they wore rich furs and great boots of leather, and tall hats fashioned from the pelts of young lambs, and the fronts of their coats were bright with silver cartridges, row on row of them. Ah, that was indeed a great
tamarsha.
But this,’ – the Sirdar spread out a lean hand and wagged it to and fro, palm downwards, to indicate something small and near the ground, ‘this was a poor show. The Sirkar should have arranged a better one, for many of those who watched were asking how it was possible that a Government who could not afford to send a larger embassy would be able to pay the Amir's soldiers all they are owed; and if not -’

‘What is that?’ interrupted Ash sharply. ‘Where did you hear this?’

‘I have told you: from those I stood among in the press near the Shah Shahie Gate, where I went to watch Cavagnari-Sahib and those with him enter the Bala Hissar.’

‘No, I mean this tale that the Mission is expected to give the army its arrears of pay. There was no mention of that in the Treaty.’

‘Was there not? Then I can only tell you that many here believe it to be so. They say also that Cavagnari-Sahib will not only pay the army in full, but that he will put an end to compulsory military service and abate the excessive taxation that has long been a cause of great hardship to our people. Are these things also untrue?’

‘They must be. Unless there was some secret agreement, which I think is unlikely. The terms of the Peace Treaty were made public, and the only mention of financial aid was a promise on the part of the Government of India to pay the Amir a year's subsidy of six
lakhs
of rupees.’

The Sirdar said dryly: ‘Then perchance the Amir will spend those rupees, when he gets them, on paying his soldiers. But you must not forget that few here have even heard of that Treaty, and fewer still will have read it. Also, as you and I both know, half Afghanistan believes that their countrymen won great victories in the war and forced the armies of the Raj to retreat back to India, leaving many thousands dead behind them, and if they believe that, why should they not believe these other things? It may even be that the Amir himself has caused such tales to be spread abroad in the hope of persuading the people to allow Cavagnari-Sahib and his following to come here without hindrance, and to refrain from harming them, since only a fool kills the man who pays. Myself, I can only tell you that half Kabul believes that Cavagnari-Sahib is here to purchase all they need from the Amir, whether it be exemption of taxes and military service or peace from the depredations of their unpaid army; and for this reason they were dismayed when they saw how small a train he had brought with him, and at once began to doubt if it were true that he came laden with riches.’

The Sirdar's disclosures came as an unpleasant surprise to Ash, who, not having come across this particular story before, went out at once into the city to see for himself how much truth there was in these statements. Half an hour had been enough to confirm them all: and if he needed further discouragement he received it on his return, when his host met him with the news that Munshi Bakhtiar Khan, the acting representative of the British Government in Kabul, had died on the previous day.

‘It was given out that he died of the cholera,’ said the Sirdar, ‘but I have heard otherwise. I have been told in secret by – by someone well known to me that he was poisoned in order that he should not speak to Cavagnari-Sahib of certain things that he knew. This I think very likely, because there is no doubt that he could have told the Sahib much. But now his knowledge is buried with him in the grave. He was no friend of the late Amir's, and his appointment caused great offence in the Bala Hissar. But he was both clever and cunning and he made other friends here, several of whom are whispering behind their hands that his death was contrived by enemies – though I doubt if any word of that will reach the ears of the Sahibs.’

It was enough that it had reached Ash's, and on the following day he deliberately broke a promise he had made to Anjuli, and applied for the post he had held once before in that city: as scribe in the service of Munshi Naim Shah, one of the many officials attached to the court, who lived in the Bala Hissar itself.

‘It will only be for a few hours each day, Larla,’ he explained to Anjuli when she protested, white-faced, that he was putting his head into the tiger's mouth to no purpose; ‘and I shall be in no more danger there than I am here – perhaps even less, since half Kabul knows that the Sirdar-Sahib is a pensioner of the Guides, so it is always possible that his guests may be suspect. But having worked for Munshi Naim Shah before, I am known to a number of people in the Bala Hissar, and none will question my right to be there. Besides, the citadel is like a great ants' nest, and I doubt if anyone can say now many people live within its walls and how many come there daily to work or ask for favours, or to visit relatives or sell goods. I shall be no more than one ant among many.’

But Anjuli, who throughout the spring and early summer had been so happy in Kabul, had recently fallen a prey to terror, and the city and its surroundings that she had once thought so friendly and beautiful had suddenly become sinister and threatening. She knew that the entire valley was subject to earth tremors, and though the first of these that she had experienced had been barely noticeable, of late there had been one or two that were far more daunting. The tall house had swayed alarmingly, and though the Kabulis accepted the frequent earthquakes as a matter of course, to Anjuli the tremors had always been eerie and frightening. Nor, in these days, did she find anything reassuring when she looked out of any window that faced the street, and saw the men who passed below.

These lean hawk-faced Afghans with their long ragged locks and unkempt beards, their cartridge-belts, muskets and tulwars, were a very different breed of men from the gentle, friendly, unarmed hill-folk she remembered from her childhood days in Gulkote, and even bearing in mind the viciousness and cruelty that had existed in Bhithor and been practised by Janoo-Rani and Nandu in Karidkote, it seemed to her now that compared with Kabul both had been places where the majority of people lived safe and very ordinary lives, undisturbed by blood-feuds, armed revolt against their rulers or the sudden outbreak of fratricidal strife between one tribe and the next, such as bedevilled this violent land. The very name of the great range of mountains that bounded the Land of Cain to the north had become a threat to her, for ‘Hindu Kush’ meant ‘Killer of Hindus’, and she was – she had once been – a Hindu.

She knew that the Sirdar's house had stout walls and strong doors, and that the few windows that looked out on to the narrow street were protected by carved shutters and iron bars, but the feeling of tension and danger from the streets outside seemed to seep into the house through every chink and crack, as insidiously as the pervasive dust and the evil smells of the city. And she had only to look up from the flat mud roof, or the windows of the rooms that had been allotted to Ashok and herself, to see the menacing bulk of the Bala Hissar.

The great citadel appeared to loom over the Sirdar's house, its ancient towers and endless battlements blocking out the morning sun and preventing any wind from the south or east cooling the close-packed buildings below, and lately, living in its shadow, Anjuli had become aware of a recurrence of those terrors that had afflicted her during the flight from Bhithor and for so many days afterwards. But this time the source and the focus of that terror was the Bala Hissar, though she could not have explained even to herself why this should be. It was as though some evil emanated from it, and the thought of her husband entering such an ill-omened place was not to be borne.

‘But why go there at all?’ implored Anjuli, her eyes dark with dread. ‘Where is the need, when you can learn all you wish in the city? You say you will come back each evening, but what if these people should rise in revolt? If that happens, those who live in the Bala Hissar will close the gates, and it will become a trap from which you may not be able to escape. Oh my love, I am afraid… afraid!’

‘There is no need, Heart's-dearest. I promise you I shall be in no danger,’ said Ash, holding her tightly and rocking her in his arms. ‘But if I am to help my friends, it is not enough to hear only the wild tales that rumour-mongers spread in the city, because half of them are untrue. I must also hear what is said in the palace itself by those who see the Amir or his ministers daily, and so know what they say and think and how they mean to act. The four Sahibs in the Mission will not learn this, for no one will tell it to them – unless I do. That is what I am here for. But I promise you that I will be careful and take no risks.’

‘How can you say that when you must know that every time you enter its gates, you walk into danger?’ protested Anjuli. ‘My love, I beg of you –’

But Ash only shook his head and stifled her words with kisses, and when he tore himself away it was to go to the Bala Hissar, where, as he well knew, the room in which he would work overlooked the Residency and the compound in which the British Mission had been housed.

60

The ancient citadel of the Amirs of Afghanistan was built upon the steep slopes of a fortified hill, the Shere Dawaza, that dominated the city and a large part of the valley of Kabul.

It was surrounded by a long, rambling outer wall, some thirty feet high and pierced by four main gateways that were flanked by towers and topped with crumbling battlements. Within this were other walls, one of which enclosed the Amir's palace in the upper Bala Hissar. Higher still stood the fort, while above it the whole Shere Dawaza hill was ringed by a wall that climbed the steep flanks and followed the line of the rocky heights, so that sentries manning the blockhouses here could look out at the enormous circle of mountain ranges, and down on palace and city, the entire sweep of the valley and the wide, winding ribbon of silver that was the Kabul River.

The lower Bala Hissar was a town in itself, crammed with the houses of courtiers and officials and all those who worked for them, and possessing its own shops and bazaars. It was in this part of the citadel that the Residency stood, and from his window Ash could see the whole stretch of the compound – the clutter of servants' quarters and store rooms, the cavalry pickets and the stables at the far end, lying almost in the towering shadow of the Amir's great Arsenal, and directly below him the barracks, an oblong, fort-like structure that enclosed a line of covered quarters on either side, and was bisected by a long open courtyard entered through a deep archway at one end and a stout door at the other.

Behind that far door a narrow lane divided the barrack block from the Residency proper, which consisted of two separate houses facing each other across a walled courtyard some ninety feet square, in the nearer and taller of which Wally, Secretary Jenkyns and Surgeon Kelly had their rooms, while the Envoy himself occupied the other: a two-storey building that on the southern side was part of the outer wall of the citadel, so that the windows there had a sheer drop below them to the moat, and a magnificent view of the valley and the far snows.

Ash too shared that view, since not only the Envoy's house but the far side of the entire compound stopped at the thirty-foot drop of the wall, beyond which stretched the open country, the river and the hills and the vast panorama of the Hindu Kush. But the beauty of the view held no interest for him – his attention being reserved for the compound below, where he could catch an occasional glimpse of the Envoy and his suite, watch their servants and the men of the Escort busy about their duties, and keep a check on callers at the Residency – and an eye on Wally's comings and goings.

Wally, like Anjuli, had formed an unfavourable impression of the Bala Hissar, though for different reasons. He did not find it sinister: he thought it deplorably shoddy. Having expected the famous citadel to be a magnificent and impressive place (something along the lines of Shah Jehan's Red Fort at Delhi, only better, as it was built on a hill), he had been disgusted to find it a rabbit-warren of dilapidated buildings and fetid alleyways, huddled behind a series of irregular and often half-ruined walls and interspersed by what appeared to be waste ground on which little or nothing grew.

The grandly styled ‘Residency’ had proved equally disappointing, being no more than a number of mud-brick buildings in a large compound that was hemmed about, on three sides, by houses built on rising ground, and on the fourth by the south wall of the citadel.