At the Court of the Amîr: A Narrative

by John Alfred Gray

On Friday, the Sabbath, I went for a ride with the Armenian. We rode east from Kabul past the Bala Hissar, where Cavagnari was, and round the huge marsh or lake that lies in the middle of the Kabul Valley. All around were the mountains, and between them and the lake were fields of clover, stubble where corn had been, gardens, trees, and fortified country houses. The lake is in some parts very deep and in others shallow. Here the rushes grow thick, making a cover for huge numbers of wild duck that flock to Kabul in the autumn and winter. A great deal of the land about the marsh belongs to His Highness’ sister. We passed her country house—a fort. We saw also the tomb where the Amîr’s father is buried. At the extreme east of the lake, near the village of Bîni Hissar, the road took us a little up the foot of the mountain. I pulled up a few minutes to admire the view.

In the foreground, on the margin of the lake, was one tree coloured golden-yellow by the autumn: near it were others still green. Beyond were brown rushes and the lake. Further, on the opposite bank, the trees, massed together, were tinted all shades of green, brown, and yellow. Then rose up the hazy purple mountains, range beyond range, dim and shadowy in the distance, and above, the blue of the sky flecked here and there by little white clouds.

I was charmed—but I could not rouse any enthusiasm in the Armenian. Like most Orientals he looked upon an afternoon ride as an unnecessary and laborious nuisance; still he would not consent to my going alone.

In the autumn and winter the Amîr and the Princes ride duck shooting through the shallow parts of the marsh.

One day, some two or three years after the time of which I am writing, I was riding in this direction with Mr. Collins, the geologist, when, just as we rounded the corner of the Peshawur Road, which leads off directly opposite the Bala Hissar, we heard the rattle of kettledrums. We pulled up, knowing that the Amîr must be at hand. Presently, there came in sight right opposite the Bala Hissar the Amîr’s mounted guard of Barakzais. Then came the drummers, who rode just in front of His Highness. We dismounted as the Amîr approached. He was seated in his palanquin, and the bearers scuffled along rapidly, leaning on the pole. His Highness carries a walking-stick when he rides in the palanquin, and if the pace is not speedy enough, the nearest bearer receives a reminder in the shape of a prod in the back. His Highness, when he saw us, halted the cavalcade and enquired if we were well. He told us he had been duck shooting on the Bala Hissar marsh.

It was a pretty sight. The young Page boys in their gold-embroidered uniforms scampered about on their horses. The guard rode steadily, and the servants, with their turbans and many-coloured garments—one with the chillim, another with a charcoal brazier, a third with a samovar for tea, a fourth with the Amîr’s chair, and so on—these followed in great numbers. Altogether, with the background of the Bala Hissar, it made a striking sight.

The Sick Chief.

At the end of October, the Chief, whose brother was at the Court of the Amîr as hostage, came to Kabul to salaam His Highness. The brother, whom I knew in Turkestan, called one morning upon me to say that the Chief, who had wished to come and see me, was ill with fever; would I visit and prescribe for him. Accordingly, I accompanied my friend to the house the Chief had taken in Kabul. A large following of dependants and servants had arrived with him. They treated me with great respect, and I was shown in an upper-room, where the Chief lay ill with fever. He was a broad-shouldered stout man, about five feet seven inches in height, and I should say about thirty-five years old. He was not alone: the room was nearly full of people; I think an Afghan hates nothing more than his own company: he is bored in no time.

The province belonging to the Chief has a very hot climate. It lies in the south-east. In Kabul, at this time, though the sun was still hot, there was a cutting wind blowing, and the Chief and his people did not wrap themselves up as they should have done.