Swords From the East (69 page)

The people of Herat sing in a low and delicate fashion. There was a singer of Jahangir Mirza's present, by name Mir Jan, who always sang in a loud harsh voice and out of tune. My brother, who was far gone, proposed that he should sing. He sang accordingly, but in a horribly disagreeable tone. The men of Khorassan pride themselves on good manners. Though they turned away their ears and frowned, no one ventured to stop Mir Jan out of respect for my brother.

Afterward we went to the new winter palace. By the time we reached it, Y suf, the foster-brother, being extremely drunk, rose and danced. He was a musical man, and danced well. The party began to be very merry and friendly. Mazafar Mirza pressed upon me a sword and a whitish Kiptchak horse. Two of his slaves performed indecent, scurvy tricks while the company was heated with wine. The party did not break up until an untimely hour.

During all the twenty days in Herat I rode out to see some new place, and a feast was always ready when we halted.

The winter was come and snow began to fall in the mountains that separated me from my dominion of Kabul. Both Kabul and Ghazni were prone to external violence and internal confusion-at the hands of the tribes. It was a month's journey by the short mountain road, even if this was passable. It did not seem good to me to winter so far from my kingdom, and as I could not make Iny hosts understand this, I summoned my men and left Herat.

At first I was obliged to march slowly, to give my followers who were scattered afield a chance to join me. So long did we tarry that before we left the foothills behind we saw the moon of Ramazan.

Snow fell incessantly. The farther we advanced, the deeper was the snow. At first it reached to the horses' knees; in two or three days it rose above the stirrups, and in many places the animals could not find footing. And still the snow fell.*

When we passed the last of the large villages-where we bought up all available grain-not only did the snow continue deep, but we began to be uncertain of the road.

I, and others, proposed going around by Kandahar in the south, where we could keep to the valleys. As it was winter, the shorter mountain road would be difficult and dangerous.

Kasim Beg, however, insisted that the southern road was far around, and this one direct. In the end we resolved to go ahead on the mountain track.

One Sultan Bishai was our guide. I do not know whether it was on account of old age, or his heart failing him, or the depth of the snow-but when he lost the road he never found it again.

As we had come this way on the urging of Kasim Beg, he and his sons were anxious to preserve their reputation for sagacity, and managed to discover a road, after dismounting and trampling down the snow. Next day the drifts were higher, and as the road was no longer to be found in spite of all exertions, we were brought to a stand.

There was nothing for it but to turn back to a place where firewood could be found in plenty. Here we sent our sixty or seventy chosen men to look for Hazaras or other tribesmen who might be wintering under the heights.

At this place we halted three or four days, waiting the return of the men we had sent out. They came back, indeed, but without having found a proper guide. Putting our trust in God, and sending Sultan Bishai before us, therefore, we again advanced by the road where we had been checked.

In the days that followed we endured many hardships and difficulties-such suffering as I have not undergone at any other time. For a week we kept on, trampling down the snow, yet making no more than two or three miles a day. I helped at treading down the drifts. With ten or fifteen of my household, Kasim Beg and his sons and servants, we all dismounted and went at the labor.

At each step the man in advance sank to the chest, but still we went on trampling it down. The strength of the leading man soon became exhausted, and he gave way to another. The dozen who followed then pulled forward a horse without a rider; the horse sank to the stirrups, and was done up after advancing a bowshot. He was then pulled aside and another brought up. In this way our party broke the trail, while the rest-even our best men, many of them Begs-rode without dismounting along the track, hanging their heads. It was no time for worrying them with orders-if a man has pluck and endurance he will hasten to such work of his own accord.

Our trail led us in three or four days to a khawal, or cave, called Kha- wal-Koti, at the foot of the Zirrin Pass.*

That day the wind rose and the snow fell so heavily that we all expected to meet death together. When we reached the cave the storm was at its height. The drifts were so high, the path so narrow, only one person could move forward at a time. The horses, too, came on with difficulty over the beaten track, and the hours of daylight were at their shortest. We halted at the mouth of the cavern-the first of us who had reached the khawal before twilight ended.

When it was dark, about evening prayers, the men ceased coming in because they had halted wherever they happened to be. Many men waited for morning in the saddles.

The cave seemed to be small. I took a hoe, and after clearing and scraping the snow away, made a resting-place for myself at the mouth of the cave, about the size of a prayer carpet; I dug down in the snow as deep as my breast but did not reach the ground. This hole gave me some shelter from the wind and I sat down in it.

My men urged me to go into the cavern but I would not. I felt that for me to be in warm shelter and comfort, while my other followers were out in the snow and the drift-for me to be sleeping at ease inside while my men were in distress-was not what I owed them. It would have been forsaking their fellowship in suffering. It was right that, whatever their troubles were, I should share with them. There is a proverb: "Death in the company of friends is a feast."

So I kept on sitting in the drift, in the hole I had dug out, until bedtime prayers when the snow fell so fast that, as I had been crouching on my feet all the time, I found four inches of snow on my head and shoulders. That night I caught a cold in my ear.

About that time a party, after exploring the depths of the cavern, came out and reported that the khawal was spacious enough to hold and shelter all our people. As soon as I learned this I shook off the snow that was on my head and ears and went into the cavern, sending out to call in everybody who could be found near at hand.

A comfortable place was available for fifty or sixty. Those who had any eatables-stewed meat, preserved flesh, or anything in readiness-brought them out. Thus we escaped from the terrible snow, cold, and drift into a wonderfully warm and safe place where we could refresh ourselves.

Next morning the snow had ceased falling. Moving out early, we trampled down the snow in the old way and opened up a road. So we came to the top of the pass. As the summer road winds up at this point to steep ascents, we did not attempt it, but pushed down into the lower valley. Before we reached the valley floor the day ended.

We halted as we were in the defiles, and the cold that night was dreadful. Many lost their hands and feet from the frost. Kepek lost his feet, Sewan- duk Turkoman his hands, and Akhi his feet from the cold of that night. As soon as it was light again we moved down the ravine.

Although we knew we were off the road, yet, placing our faith in God, we descended along the precipices to the valley. It was evening prayers before we reached easier going in the valley. It was not in the memory of the oldest man that this pass had ever been descended when there was so much snow-or indeed that anyone had crossed it in midwinter. Although the depth of the snow had been a hardship, it was this very thing that brought us to our journey's end. If the snow had not been so heavy,
how could we have crossed clefts and gullies where there was no road?*
Our horses and camels must have fallen into the first crevasse.

It was bedtime prayers when we straggled into the village of Yeke Auleng. The people of the place had seen us as we descended the heights, and carried us into their houses, bringing out fat sheep for us, quantities of hay and grain for the horses, and plenty of wood and dried dung to kindle fires. For days we had had no fire.

To pass from the cold and snow into a village of warm houses, to find good bread and mutton as we did, is a joy that can be understood only by those who suffered such hardships.

We rested ourselves and the horses one day at Yeke Auleng and marched on. Word was brought in that the wandering Turkoman Hazaras had pitched their winter quarters with their families and flocks and goods on the line of my march. A body of them, posting themselves in a narrow defile, had checked my advance riders with arrows.

When I rode forward to investigate I saw that there was really no defile, but some of the Hazaras had gathered with their belongings in a gully on a steep knoll and were shooting arrows at our men. My followers who had tried to pass the height were falling back in confusion. I joined them and tried to encourage them, calling out-"Stand-stand!"

No one would heed me. They scattered to different places, and one of them shouted to me-"Arrows are flying near your head."

"Be you bold!" I assured him. "Many arrows have passed near my head."

And I added that retainers were kept to serve their master in time of need, not to look on while their master marched alone against the enemy. Although I had not put on my helmet, or horse's mail, or my armor, and had only my bow, I spurred on my horse.

When my men saw me making for the foe, they followed. Reaching the hill where the Hazaras stood, they began to make their way up, partly on horseback, partly on foot, without minding the arrows. As soon as the Hazaras saw that my men were in earnest, they did not venture to stand, but took to flight. Our people hunted them up the hills like deer. Such property as was abandoned, we took, with some of the sheep.

Keeping to the ridges of the hills, we drove off herds of the tribe's horses. When it all ended, fourteen or fifteen of the robber chieftains of the Hazaras had fallen into our hands. I had intended to put them to death; but Kasim Beg, happening to meet them, was filled with untimely compassion and let them go.

Chapter III

Rebellion at Kabul

While we were plundering the Hazaras, a messenger came up from Kabul. The flame of revolt had arisen in my city.

I had left Mohammed Hussain Mirza, my uncle-in-law, in charge as governor. With him was Khan Mirza, my cousin.

With the aid of the princess imperial, my grandmother, these twain had won over the Moghul warriors to them, after spreading a report that I, the king, had been seized in Khorassan and carried away to the Eagle Castle at Herat. Many of my people believed that I was dead, and the tribes were in tumult.

My own officers had behaved very well. They had put the citadel of Kabul in shape to resist a siege, and had withdrawn into it with the loyal forces. The rebels held the city and had attacked the citadel for twentysix days.

Upon this I wrote the tidings of my arrival and sent the missive to my officers by a servant of Kasim Be-. To this man I explained the plan I would follow.

I was to circle to the north and descend by the Ghur Pass, marching on swiftly and taking the enemy by surprise in the rear. The signal of my coming was to be a fire kindled on the Minar Hill, and my officers were to answer my approach by a fire in the summit of the old kiosk in the citadel. When we attacked the rebels, they were to sally out. Such were the instructions I gave the servant of Kasim Be,-.

Next morning we pressed on swiftly-those of us who were able to keep in the saddle. Mounting again before day, we descended the Pass of Ghur the following evening and halted in a valley where there was no snow and we could wash and rest the horses.

But as soon as we pushed on, the snow became deeper; near Minar Hill the cold became bitter. Here I sent two men to the Begs in the citadel, to let them know we were coming to keep our agreement and to order them to be on the alert. After surmounting Minar Hill we were forced to kindle fires to warm ourselves, or the frost would have made us powerless to move.

This was not the place where we were to kindle the beacon fire, but we were unable to stand the cold.

Dawn was near at hand when we set out up the slope toward the city, the snow reaching to the horses' thighs. The drifts were deep and such of our people as wandered from the track fared badly. Sinking in the snow and climbing out, we reached the gates of Kabul without being discovered, and at the appointed time.

Before then we had seen a fire blazing in the citadel, and knew that my officers were prepared. When we passed through the outskirts I sent the right wing of my forces to seize the Mulla Baba bridge. With the center and left I advanced through the caravanserais, into a deserted garden. We had gone forward as far as Mulla Baba's garden when my outriders brought back to me, wounded and unhorsed, a party that had pushed on ahead.

This detachment of four warriors had gone boldly to Khan Mirza's house, seeking my cousin, one of the leaders of the rebels. Without halting, they had run into the palace. The alarm had been given and all was uproar. Khan Mirza mounted his horse, galloped off, and escaped from the city.

My four men had been cut up by his followers, and were smarting from saber and arrow wounds. We had reached a dark alley where our horsemen were crowded together. Some of the enemy had come into the alley and made a stand, so that we could not go forward, or turn to go back.

I asked the men nearest me to dismount and open a way with their arrows, and at this the rebels were shaken and withdrew. We formed again in the saddle and waited-it seemed a long time-for the coming of my garrison from the citadel. Before they joined us the enemy had been driven from most of the streets. I made my way toward my cousin's palace, and fell in with the two men I had sent into the citadel, who were seeking the king. They led me into the garden from which Khan Mirza had fled.

Here, at the gate, Dost Sirpuli-a man to whom I had shown great favor in Kabul on account of his bravery-appeared with a naked sword in his hand and made at me. I had put on my quilted vest, but not my mail or helmet.