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AMANULLAH

Government employees, rose from their charpoys as we
drove in. An old Indian salaamed. The driver spoke to
him, and announced that accommodation for me would
be found. Food? There would be food. Abed? There
would be a bed. Things were not so bad.

They brought a chair into the garden, and I sat there
in solitary state, while the Persian clerks chattered
lazily, and the old Indian busied about his preparations.
Then he came proudly to me and announced that
chicken pillau would appear very soon. Would I eat
outside, where it was getting cool ? I would.

The sun was now over the hills, and the dusk came
cool and glamorous. It was a strange situation in which
I found myself. Not more than a mile away, I could
hear bugle-calls. Then I heard the pipers playing.
They must be playing outside the Mess, where the officers
were having short drinks before dinner. As I waited
for dinner of chicken pillau and water, I could imagine
the ice clinking in their glasses, the gay and noisy
chatter, the jokes and the banter of a military Mess.

There, all was order and efficiency. Here, all was
hidden mystery, a world very old in guile and wicked-
ness. There was civilisation and respectability. Here
was a dangerous little corner of the world unvisited by
theferinghe, a no man's land still. All that lay between
us was that strand of barbed wire, and a babu with his
book of rules and a Ghurka guard.

Nothing is more strict than the Frontier rules of
the Khyber. Though, theoretically, I was in Afghan
territory, actually I was in the tribal region, surrounded
on all sides by the little villages of the hills still un-
disturbed by any Englishman's wanderings. Sitting
there, I remembered all the old tales of soldiers who had
been lost in the hills as dusk came on, and never seen
again. There had been one or two recent cases, still

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