«^t^c^<^<^t^c^t^fcs^t^t^

EX-KING OF AFGHANISTAN

sunshine. The black silk hats of his juniors surrounded
him with Western dignity. They sat in a little wedge,
without a smile on their faces, in front of the uniform
purdahs that marked the place of the women of Aman-
uHah's Court.

Other delegates and their wives made up another
small portion of the audience. And the crowd, swelled
that day by thousands from Kabul and the shops of
the suburbs, milled and struggled on the outskirts of
the arena for another glance at that truly astonishing
company of delegates. I struggled through to the circle
and pretended to be an expert photographer.

Then, without further ceremony, there began the
business of the first " modern" Afghan Parliament
ever held in the country. It was also destined to be
the last.

Amanullah strode to the centre of the arena. Asking
advice from the engineer in charge of the loud speakers,
he shifted his feet till he was in the exact position. The
band started yet another burst of the National Anthem,
but were silenced after the first few bars. And Aman-
ullah spoke.

His voice was hard and strong. It carried to the
limits of that crowd of five hundred or so people
gathered in and round the arena. It carried over their
heads into the gardens, and there may have been a dull
echo of it for my mullah, to whom my thoughts would
always turn as the sole real person I knew in the new
Afghanistan. He was probably sitting on his peak above
the valley, silent and deep in thought.

Amanullah's voice was charged with vigour and en-
thusiasm. It was a thrilling voice, the voice of a con-
queror and a brave man. It thrilled every man who
heard it. It caused little ripples of excitement to pass
over that strange company,

173