The character of the Pathan is a favourite theme of disparagement amongst the frontier officials of the last half-century and more. In 1855, Mr. Temple, then Secretary to the Chief Commissioner of the Punjab, wrote thus of them: “Now these tribes are savages—noble savages perhaps—and not without some tincture of virtue and generosity, but still absolutely barbarians nevertheless.... They have nominally a religion, but Muhammadanism, as understood by them, is no better, or perhaps is actually worse, than the creeds of the wildest race on earth. In their eyes the one great commandment is blood for blood, and fire and sword for all infidels.... They are superstitious and priest-ridden. But the priests are as ignorant as they are bigoted, and use their influence simply for preaching crusades against unbelievers, and inculcate the doctrine of rapine and bloodshed against the defenceless people of the plain.... They are a sensual race. They are very avaricious; for gold they will do almost anything, except betray a guest. They are thievish and predatory to the last degree. The Pathan mother offers prayers that her son may be a successful robber. They are utterly faithless to public engagements; it would never even occur to their minds that an oath on the Koran was binding, if against their own interests.... They are fierce and bloodthirsty ... they are perpetually at war with each other. Every tribe and section of a tribe has its internecine wars, every family its hereditary blood-feuds, and every individual his personal foes. There is hardly a man whose hands are unstained. Every person counts up his murders. Each tribe has a debtor and creditor account with its neighbours, life for life.... They consider retaliation and revenge to be the strongest of all obligations. They possess gallantry and courage themselves, and admire such qualities in others.... To their minds hospitality is the first of virtues. Any person who can make his way into their dwellings will not only be safe, but will be kindly received. But as soon as he has left the roof of his entertainer he may be robbed and killed.”
Code of Honour
Mr. Ibbetson wrote of the Pathan in 1881: “The true Pathan is perhaps the most barbaric of all the races with which we are brought into contact in the Punjab.... He is bloodthirsty, cruel and vindictive in the highest degree; he does not know what truth or faith is, insomuch that the saying Afghan be iman (i.e. an Afghan is without conscience) has passed into a proverb among his neighbours; and though he is not without courage of a sort, and is often curiously reckless of his life, he would scorn to face an enemy whom he could stab from behind, or to meet him on equal terms if it were possible to take advantage of him, however meanly. It is easy to convict him out of his own mouth; here are some of his proverbs: ‘a Pathan’s enmity smoulders like a dung fire’; ‘a cousin’s tooth breaks upon a cousin’;[[1]] ‘keep a cousin poor but use him’; ‘when he is little play with him; when he is grown up he is a cousin, fight him’; ‘speak good words to an enemy very softly; gradually destroy him root and branch.’ At the same time he has a code of honour which he strictly observes, and which he quotes with pride under the name of Pukhtunwali. It imposes on him three chief obligations—Nanawatai, or the right of asylum, which compels him to shelter and protect even an enemy who comes as a suppliant; Badal, or the necessity for revenge by retaliation; and Mailmastai, or openhanded hospitality to all who may demand it. And of these three perhaps the last is the greatest. And there is a charm about him, especially about the leading men, which almost makes one forget his treacherous nature. As the proverb says—‘the Pathan is one moment a saint, and the next a devil.’ For centuries he has been, on our frontier at least, subject to no man. He leads a wild, free, active life in the rugged fastnesses of his mountains; and there is an air of masculine independence about him which is refreshing in a country like India. He is a bigot of the most fanatical type, exceedingly proud and extraordinarily superstitious.” Holdich says of the Pathan that “he will shoot his own relations just as soon as the relations of his enemy—possibly sooner—and he will shoot them from behind. Yet the individual Pathan may be trusted to be true to his salt and to his engagements.”
Of one Pathan tribe Macgregor said that “there is no doubt, like other Pathans, they would not shrink from any falsehood, however atrocious, to gain an end. Money could buy their services for the foulest deed; cruelty of the most revolting kind would mark their actions to a wounded or helpless foe, as much as cowardice would stamp them against determined resistance.” While Mr. Elsmie has spoken as follows of his five years’ experience as a Commissioner and Judge among the Pathans of the Peshawar border: “Crime of the worst conceivable kind is a matter of almost daily occurrence; murder in all its phases, unblushing assassination in broad daylight before a crowd of witnesses; the carefully planned secret murder of the sleeping victim at dead of night, murder by robbers, by rioters, by poisoners, by boys, and by women sword in hand. Blood always crying for blood, revenge looked upon as a virtue, the heritage of retribution passed on as a solemn duty from father to son. It would seem that the spirit of murder is latent in the heart of nearly every man in the valley.” But, on the other hand, Oliver tells us in Across the Border, that the Pathan has sometimes been condemned in what appear too sweeping terms, and that “there is a sort of charm about the better sort that inclines many people to forget his treacherous nature, and even his ‘vice is sometimes by action dignified.’”
A Juster Judgment
Probably what Lieut. Enriquez says about these tribesmen in his Pathan Borderland describes them with, on the whole, more justice, if less vehemence, than have some of those other writers from whom quotations have here been made. “The Pathan,” he says, “is not so black as he is painted. It should not be overlooked that most of the tribes have only been established three hundred years in their present territories, and that their habits are not really much worse than were those of the various English tribes during the first few centuries after their final settlement. The conditions of a feudal system, under which each baron lived in his own castle, and waged constant war with his neighbours over disputes relating to land and women, are simply being repeated again across our border. For stories of gross treachery, or cold-blooded murder and inter-family strife, we have only to turn back the pages of our own history book. In fact, it seems quite unfair to judge the Pathan according to twentieth century standards. For him it is still the tenth century. Moreover, it is ungenerous to assert that there are not many noble exceptions amongst them.... When you meet a Pathan, you meet a man like yourself.... He will never allow you to abuse him, but makes up for it amply by never making you wish to do so. There is perhaps no native of India who is less irritating to our nerves, and his ideas of tact seem to run on quite the same lines as our own.... He takes his independence for granted, and very seldom parades it in the garb of rudeness.”
Take him for all in all, there is in the Pathan much to like, a good deal to respect and much to detest. He is very susceptible to the personal influence of Englishmen who are strong, resolute and fearless—men of the type of Nicholson, Abbott, Cavagnari, Battye and many others. In our service he has usually been a loyal and devoted sepoy, and no better instance of the loyalty of the Pathan soldier can be given than is furnished by that of the small body of Khyber Rifles in 1897, who, as Holdich has told us, “maintained British honour in the Khyber, while 9,500 British troops about the Peshawar frontier looked on.”
Blood-feuds
The Pathan enlists freely into our service—there are at the present moment something like eleven thousand Pathans in the Indian Army, and probably the recruiting among the tribesmen was never brisker than during the few months immediately following the close of the operations in Tirah of 1897–98—and he will march anywhere and fight anyone against whom he may be led. Over and over again have Pathans fought in our ranks against their fellow-tribesmen and their own homes. Not only against fathers and brothers, but even against the still more potent religious appeals from the local Ghazis. One thing, however, the Pathan recruit does not give up, “but brings with him to his regiment, keeps through his service, must have leave to look after, will resign promotion to gratify, and looks forward to retiring to thoroughly enjoy—and that is—his cherished feud.” If he has not got one when he joins, he may inherit one which may become just as binding, though it concerns people he has not seen for years, and hardly knew when he left home. In India the white man wants leave to get married, he is sick, he needs a change, or to avoid a bad station—for the Pathan soldier there is only one class of “urgent private affairs,” but for this he must have leave. Everyone knows for what purpose he goes; it is the only reason when the refusal of leave would justify desertion. In many of the Punjab regiments which recruit Pathans there are cases of trans-frontier soldiers who will serve together in all amity for years, but between whom is so bitter a feud that they must take their furlough at different times, since, if they went together, not all would come back.
As to the personal appearance of “the raw material,” here is a picture drawn from life by Oliver: “The style of the Tribesman is a little after the manner of Rob Roy—‘my foot is on my native heath,’ and ‘am I not a Pathan’? Even when he leaves his native heath behind, he takes his manners with him. He will come down, a stalwart, manly-looking ruffian, with frank and open manners, rather Jewish features, long hair plentifully oiled under a high turban, with a loose tunic, blue for choice—the better to hide the dirt—worn very long, baggy drawers, a lungi or sash across his shoulders, grass sandals, a sheepskin coat with the hair inside, thickly populated, a long heavy knife, and a rifle, if he is allowed to carry either. He is certain to be filthy and he may be ragged, but he will saunter into a Viceregal durbar as proud as Lucifer, and with an air of unconcern a diplomatist might envy.”