For a daughter: O my daughter! so much caressed, Whom I had kept so tenderly, Now you have deserted me, This world is the place of sorrow. VI. agent in Cabul during the last war, who knows the Afghans well, was not mistaken when he ascribed the rising of the Afghans in 1839 to the preaching of the mollas and the songs of the poets. What the molla preaches the poet sings; and when the molla has preached and the poet sung, the turn of speech goes soon to the gun. I could unfortunately procure no songs of the first war; I must pass at once to the most popular cycle of historical ballads now in existence. -the cycle of the Ambela campaign. That campaign, not much known to the general English reader, I suppose, is not yet forgotten on the Punjab border, and has left amongst the Afghans more vivid recollections than even the last war, though more than twenABOUT the romantic and religious lit-ty-five years have elapsed since then. erature of the Afghans there is too little or too much to say. I come at once to a subject of more particular interest: What is the echo of political events in the popular literature? AFGHAN POLITICS PAIGN THE AMBELA CAMTHE AFGHAN WAR. The history of Afghanistan could be traced in songs from our days back to the days of Ahmed Shah, the founder of the Durani empire; even further, to the time of Akbar. Not all those songs are contemporary with the events, but they embody at least an old tradition, and sometimes, through the happy habit of plagiarism, are authentic relics of the past. The wars with the Sikhs, the quarrels of the Barukzai Sardars, the crusade, miracles and death of Seid Ahmed, have a left poetical records, still preserved in the memory of the older poets of the day and soon to be buried with them. I leave these older songs of mere antiquarian interest and come to the question of actual interest: What have the poets of the more recent period to tell the people in the British districts, Afghanistan and Yaghistan? or better, What do these people expect their poets to tell them about their masters, allies, and foes, the Engriz? It is characteristic of the one-sidedness of the English, that neither Kaye, the author of that otherwise beautiful and thorough history of the first Afghan war, nor Mr. Hensman, of the Pioneer, the reporter of the last Afghan war, seems to have had the slightest suspicion of the all-powerful influence of popular poetry in either case. Imagine a German writing a history of the French Revolution without mentioning the "Marseillaise." Songs, moreover, with singing, non-writing people, are the only reliable documents which remain to prove their true feeling. Mohammed Hayat, the assistant political In 1824, as the Sikh infidels were holding the Punjab, a Seid from Barelli, Seid Ahmed, preached a return to the primitive purity of Islam; he established himself amongst the tribes of Yaghistan with a small band of devoted men from Hindustan, and on the 20th of December, 1826, preached the sacred war, and the conquest of the infidels from the Sikhs to the Chinese. After wonderful successes, he perished in an encounter with the Sikhs. But the colony of "Hindustani fanatics," as they are called, which he had brought with him, remained there, receiving recruits, arms, and money from their brothers in Bengal, ever ready to fight the good battle. In 1849 the British took the place of the Sikhs in the hatred of the Hindustanis as well as in the empire of Punjab. From 1850 to 1857 they had to send sixteen expeditions against the rebel camp at Sitana, whence plundering raids were continually directed across the border. In 1863, after new outrages, it was decided that an expedition should be sent to expel them from their den, and on the 19th of October a well-equipped force of seven thousand men entered the then unknown Ambela Pass, under the orders of General Chamberlain. The Ambela Pass turns round the inexpugnable Massif of Sitana, but it belongs to neutral tribes. Chamberlain thought it inopportune to inform them of his plans, lest the Hindustanis should have time to prepare for resistance; he hoped he could reach Sitana in a day or two, burn it down, and then retire at once into British territory. The Afghans did not view things in that light; when they saw seven thousand men, with four thousand mules of baggage, draw near the pass they took fear; they believed their own indepen thy native place, the sacred land of Buner and Svat! The General cried out: "I have no breath left in my body. O disaster! My army is Where is the use? In vain have I tried to cut to pieces. I shall not endeavor again. dence was in danger, and blocked the all Yaghistan came pouring upon the pass; success That campaign ended officially in a On the top ot Katalgarh the Firangis came On the top of Katalgarh the Firangis had The youths wore red girdles and two-colored buckles; cries' rose from every side; rifle bullets rained like rain. reduce Svat." snakes. They plunge into the thickets, but they will not be saved for all that, the ruffians, the They do not dare to face the Ghazis in the fight; the Ghazis have made them flee along the valley. Islam has made a great feast upon them. For six months † the Firangis have fought on the banks of Surkavi; they have perished wholesale. From the top of a high rock the Master has pronounced the tekbir, for he is the butcher that slaughters them. To realize all the frantic eloquence of the last line, one must remember that every head of cattle that is slaughtered is supposed to be a sacrifice to Allah, and is Allah rkbar ("God is great"). made sacred to him with the tekbir — The old fakir, the sahib of Svat, was the ideal centre of the struggle. It was said that he had come riding on a horse at the head of forty thousand horsemen. As he most prudently kept at safe distance from gunshot, they said that he had the gift of making himself unseen: The shadow of the hero's gown overshadows the Ghazis. Flee away, O Firangis! if you want to save your life. The Sahib comes riding and the Akuzais follow. In the Ambela ravines lie the White with their red girdles and their dishevelled hair. The mercy of the Lord was on the Babaji,‡ for he threw back the Firangis as far as Cal Through the intercession of the Prophet lame in both feet whoever makes war upon and Master, accept this prayer of mine: make Rifle bullets rained as fine rain. The Dep-me, throw illness on his family, call calamity uty said to the Commissioner: "They have upon him. with them a powerful Fakir, against whom there is no fighting.' The regiments of the White † cried aloud, on account of the Pir: "When shall we be delivered? They storm our ramparts; we cannot stop the Ghazis; The sahib of Svát. "Blessed be + The Gaurá, or British troops; the native contingent are called Kálá, the black. before Dagar, O Lord. It is well known in Let Zaid Ullah Khan,§ of Dagar, tremble Dagar that Zaid Ullah's name is Nihang.|| As the Ghazis had met, he went in the dead of night and made it known to the Firangis. * A murdar. The infidel dies a carion; the faithful one dies a sháhid, a martyr. In fact, for two months. The father, the sahib. One of the first who deserted. The last Afghan war produced also a plentiful crop of songs, though I do not find any in my collection that can compete with the savage eloquence of the Ambela songs. They breathe hate and scorn enough, but hardly anything better. Here are fragments that may give an idea of the general tone: The Firangi set out in a rage; he wants to wage battle; he has collected an army. But Havâs† has received their money, and he serves loyally the Engriz. Havâs let himself be bought; he is not ashamed of his bad renown. Before the Lord his forehead is black. He told Kamnari: “I shall serve thee loyally.' Havâs is a traitor; he nourishes treason's self in his veins. Great is the glory of the Ghazis. Glory to the Ghazis! who have solidly seized the sword. The Lat has spread rupees with full hands; the Ghazis cried with shame. He has filled with them the Afridis, who feed on the flesh of the dead. The Mohmands are numerous, like dust; the Ghazis have hurried forward with forced marches and I have sung. But there were no chiefs, no munitions. Had they been all of one accord, had they all met on one point, had they camped at Bash Balag, the Firangis would not have taken Lal The murder of Cavagnari — or, as they pronounce it, Kamnari is often alluded to, generally as a fine feat of Islam. The current native report is, that an Afghan regiment came to ask their arrears of pay from the new emir, Yaqub Khan, who directed them to Cavagnari, as being the real master in Cabul. They were sent back by Cavagnari to the emir, and again by the emir to Cavagnari, who ordered his men to fire at them, though they were disarmed; then all the city rose, and the massacre followed. Mohammed Yaqub Khan was the son of the Emir; he was not a child- he was great, clever, and learned. He called for Kamnari; he gave him Bala Hissar;* Kamnari stayed there for a few days. A band of ardel† came to the castle to present a petition to Yaqub: "Our pay has been left near your father, we are in urgent need of it." Yaqub cursed them with anger. They went to Kamnari, the Infidel. The true Ghazí, it is with the sword he fills his hunger. There was a tumult; the Firangis were slaughtered in Cabul; the Emir did not know of it. The Emir was angry; he called for the soldiers; the soldiers said: "The massacre was done by Mohammed Jan Khan." Mohammed Jan Khan said: "I confess it; I have killed that madman with my own hand. I cut his throat; my knife grew blunt." The news came to Company.§ He flew into a passion, and said: "Lat Rapat,|| go at once. Rapat went through the Kurum valley towards Cabul. May God save us from that reptile! Rapat, like a reptile, entered the heart of Yaqub Khan; Yaqub left Cabul. Mohammed Yaqub, to save his life, went to Rapat, turning his back to Islam. He made Yaqub a prisoner, he sent him down to the plain. Hindustan became his country, and he forgot his native place. Was he drunk with wine or drunk with blang?¶ no one knows. But the Ghazi Mohammed Jan Khan colHe went into the open lected the Ghazis. field and pursued Rapat. Rapat was lost and all amazed, and he said to Mohammed Jan : "You are my lord, I am your slave." This Mohammed Jan, whom the poet most gratuitously, I am glad to say, credits with the murder of Cavagnari, was a home-born servant of Yaqub Khan,** and he was with the emir's brother, Ayub, the sword of the nation, as the old molla of Ghazni, Mushki Alam, was its voice and soul. Mohammed Jan was the leader, and so was the Sahibzadá Mushki Alam. Company had to mourn on that account. Whoever has courage to fight face to face, let him slaughter that ruffian.it Mohammed Jan Khan stretched out the hand against Rapat; he uncovered the locks of his head.‡‡ May God give him victory! Lat Rapat, Lord Robert (Sir Frederick Roberts). TKhanazida ghulam. When he put himself in the hands of Lat Rapat. tt "That ruffian" is Company. tt A great insult to a Hindu. They had many battles in Cabul -- battles | Abdul Rahman is the child of the Russians,* to the death - with gun and sword. When he had driven them from Cabul, he marched on Ghazni; he fought a great battle. There were white men, there were black men, but he made them all blood-red. Ayub Khan and Mohammed Khan encamped both of them in the field; they kissed one another in the battle. Mohammed Jan fought to the last. However, when all was over and Abdulrahman was on the throne, he announced his readiness to submit and recognize the new emir. But Abdulrahman trusts more to the dead than to the living. Mohammed, enticed by the unworthy son of the sahib of Svat, Miyan Gul Kalan, presented himself to the emir, who had him put to death. But one day, as the emir was riding through the bazar of Jelalabad, he heard these lines: The Ghazi Mohammed Jan Khan, martyr, has passed from this world.. The Emir had him put to death. He was taken by treason. Since Emir Abdulrahman sits on the throne at Cabul, man has lost his faith in man. camp The emir, stung to the quick, alighted from his elephant and did not disdain to go to the poet and apologize before him. I wonder what sort of songs are ringing now in the bazars of Ghazni and Candahar. I shall conclude with a Persian song that was sung at Cabul in the time when General Roberts was besieged in his at Shirkhan; many of its lines have again an interest of actuality. To understand them one must remember that Ayub Khan, who is now again to the front, and has just left his prison at Teheran to try his chance, is the brother of the late emir Yaqub, now a prisoner in India at Dehra Dun; that little Musa Khan is the son of Yaqub, and was proclaimed emir in his place by Ayub and Mohammed Jan. If Abdulrahman falls, Musa will reign under the regency of Ayub. He has been for years the hope of the Ghazis, and popular legend is already busy about him. People from the exile court at Teheran, who come to Peshawer, tell in the bazar that he is always repeating to his uncle: "Uncle, let us declare war on the English; either they will kill me or I will deliver my father." Yaqub Khan is the man of Right, Come, boy, and get the grapes! * Musa Khan is the Emir of the Afghans, Come, boy Bullets. The boy is General Roberts. Come, boy Cabul has become Hindustan,t Come, boy. . . Shame will be the lot of our wives, ‡ Come, boy. But there is still one great battle to be fought, Come, boy. The signal will come from Iran, Come, boy... The plain is all red with flowers, § Come, boy The red roses are the blood of martyrs, Come, boy Double rupees fly about on every side, Come, boy. Herat belongs to Teheran, Come, boy ။ Is Herat again the proposed price of Persian assistance? Will the next Afghan frontier commission have to draw the Perso-Afghar line east of Herat? I must say here that not all the political songs of the Afghans evince such feelings of desperate aversion. Though in the songs from Afghanistan and Yaghistan there is no love lost on the British, the from the British districts are often songs in a rather different spirit. Mahmud, the author of the scathing satire on Afzul Khan, quoted above, is a staunch supporter of the British raj, and has written a ballad on the justice of the English: The Sáhibs have the same law both for the weak and for the strong. They practise to perfection justice and equity, and make no difference in a lawsuit between the strong and the weak. The man of honor they treat with honor and they shield not the thief, the scamp, the gamester. They wield royalty as it becomes babs. kings, and take tribute from Rajahs and Na It must be confessed that the loyal poetry of the Afghans has not the same go and swing as that which is not loyal. They are at their best in satire, which, however, can be loyal too. What indictment of the dilapidations in the commissariat could be shorter and sharper than these lines, written after the last Afghan war? He is no longer so. † A British province. English morality is supposed to be in Afghanistan what French morality is supposed to be in England. the rising of 1839 is ascribed by native tradition to an "English lord" having debauched, the wife of one of the first Afghan chiefs, Abdullah Achakzai. Abdullah revenge. An ordre du jour de moralite by General killed them with his own hand, and called his people to Roberts recommends the soldiers to avoid the indiscretions committed during the first occupation of Cabul, in order to remove the prejudice of past years, and "cause the British name to be as highly respected in Afghanistan as it is throughout the civilized world" (H. Hensman, The Afghan War of 1879-80, p. 68). § Grown out of the blood of martyrs. This song was published in the Civil and Military Gazette of Lahore as an "Afghan Nursery Rhyme (April 15, 1880). Everybody has bought the tatoos of the Commissariat; for four annast the camels of the Commissariat. In fine dress, boots on their feet, a cane in hand, strut about the munshist of the Commissariat. Their fathers and grandfathers did not know what an ass is, and here they are driving in tam tam,§ the rich men of the Commissariat. as a reassuring symptom of a negative From The National Review. JEFFERIES, AND THE OPEN AIR. It is time to conclude. The reader may already have drawn his conclusion for himself. The songs, on the whole, confirm, by the Afghans' own confession, the rather unfavorable estimate which has RICHARD been suggested by their history in the last fifty years. A strong race, nothing like IT is a curious contradiction that while the mild Hindoo―of a strong but mixed the public never appreciated the works of metal; a sense of honor that can do with- Richard Jefferies when he lived, and we out truth; the half-conventional virtues of are confronted again by the melancholy the savage; real love ignored; the respect spectacle a spectacle unfortunately faof the weak a weakness. A sense of miliar to the experience of literature and religion that teaches no charity, no self-art of a man of genius dying in poverty control, no self-improvement, and is best and distress, his death has awakened our gratified in the damnation of alien creeds. intellectual sense and gratitude for the As to the intellectual side, no high imagi- great part which Richard Jefferies has per. nation, a limited range of ideas, but at formed in expressing the many subtle and the same time one of the highest of all exquisite pleasures which, to the pure and gifts-one which effete Europe has lost simple-minded lovers of nature, are ever simplicity and directness of expres- around and among us. sion. Politically, none of the virtues that The poetry of country life and of the make a nation, the clan and the family simple and purer natures of the country divided against themselves, and the word poor has been expressed in painting by cousin meaning "deadly foe;" the for- the French artist Millet. With him, as eigner hardly worse hated than the coun- with Richard Jefferies, the genius of his tryman, and played off against him. The work was never fully appreciated during Englishman hated as an infidel, despised his life. He died, not in poverty, but ceras unreliable and immoral; ¶ in the im- tainly a poor and neglected artist. It is pending struggle for the empire of Asia the sympathy of after years that has realno help to be hoped except for cash, no ized the genius of his work, and the almost promise to be trusted except on bill of sublime pathos which speaks to us in his exchange; in fact, no permanent and sin- picture of the "Angelus." I do not know cere support to be expected, because the why work like that of Jefferies or of Milfields for loot lie across the Indus, not let, its counterpart in painting, should across the Oxus. It must be said, in fair- have excited so little enthusiasm during ness to the tribes, that sixty years ago the lifetime of its authors. Experience at Christians could travel safely though Af-least teaches us that, when first-rate work ghanistan, that the present desperate feelings were created in 1838 by the wanton aggression of Lord Auckland, the Liberal, and that, while they were slowly dying out,** they were revived ten years ago by Lord Lytton, the Conservative, too intensely, perhaps, for any hope to be left of stemming again the current of hatred and distrust. It may be added however, of this kind has been done, posterity has accorded it almost a fancy value. Í venture to express a hope that this may be so in regard to Richard Jefferies. As I am writing there lies on my library table Izaac Walton's own copy of the Reliquiæ Wottonianæ." 66 Blest silent groves, O may ye be Forever pitch their tents And peace still slumber by these purling fountains Which we may every year Find when we come a-fishing here. |