AMANULLAH

presence. He was a minor giant in the administration.
He was a little god in his realm. For he was Ram
Prasad, magnificent in white breeches and shako. His
Majesty's specially imported head chauffeur and chief
of the garage, hired from British India.

Ram Prasad was a philosopher and a wit, and, bene-
fitting by the freedom of speech in a neutral country,
he addressed me familiarly and affectionately as " my
dear man," later shortening it into an embarrassing
" my dear." . . *

I took his photograph standing in front of the line of
glittering cars over which he had command. He repaid
my flattering and interest by playing taxi-man to me,
taking out the cars for my use whenever I needed them,
and causing endless trouble to the British Legation
once, when I arrived there magnificently in the back
of the black Rolls Royce which had been a gift from
King George of England to King Amanullah of Afghan-
istan.

For when the King went to the Legation, these days,
he went there unobtrusively and quietly. . „ .

With Ram Prasad at the wheel of the sporting Rolls
which had been Amanullah's wonder chariot over the
northern hills, I toured the outlying roads of the city,
and once drove the sleek car full out along the wide
rough road. Amanullah never knew how his car was
being used by a mere English journalist* and the secret
died with Ram Prasad a month later.

Ram Prasad told me many secrets of the Court. He
knew a lot. As it turned out, he knew too much. He
died violently, but still garbed, I hope, in those wonderful
white breeches and high polished boots*

The best view of the new order in Kabul, however,
was in the outskirts of the old city, or just outside the
humble hotel where I was staying. There was the

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