At the Court of the Amîr: A Narrative

by John Alfred Gray

I enquired what he did besides guarding my house. They said, “Have you not noticed that on some nights another man takes his place?” I had noticed it. I was then informed that he was one of the official executioners, whose duty it was to strangle certain of the prisoners in jail. The unfortunate is told one day that he will have the privilege that night of sleeping in a separate room. He is conducted there, and finds there is one other occupant of the room. As soon as he is asleep the other occupant—my friend!—secretly placing a noose round the neck of the sleeper, suddenly draws it tight and throws his whole weight upon the chest, striking the victim violently over the heart.

The late Governor of Kabul and chief of the police, Naib Mir Sultan, whom the Amîr hanged recently for his iniquities, largely employed this means of getting rid of prisoners. An anxious woman would come to him with perhaps a thousand rupees, and implore his intercession on behalf of her husband who was in jail. The Naib would say, “Yes, he would do what he could, he knew the case was coming on directly, but it was an expensive business; if she could bring another thousand perhaps the thing could be done.” And he would keep her dangling on some time, squeezing out of her all the money he could get, and then she would be informed officially that her husband had died in jail of an illness!

Sometimes a prisoner who was sick would ask permission to see the doctor, and he would be brought to me at the hospital with chains round his ankles, in charge of a soldier with fixed bayonet. But I was very careful about prescribing for a prisoner, for the Naib was an adept in the use of poisons as well as of stranglers, and a death might be imputed to me. Another way he had of removing objectionable men who were not prisoners. Some night two of the police knock loudly at a man’s door, saying, “Get up at once, Amîr Sahib calls you.” This is quite likely to be true, for His Highness often continues at his work late into the night, and the man hurries on his clothes and goes out with the police. He is never seen again; but some days afterwards his head is found in one place and his body in another. Then the widow in great distress goes before the Amîr and tells her story.

The Amîr naturally enquires, “Who is your husband?” The woman explains, saying, “Amîr Sahib sent for him on such and such a night.” The Amîr, of course, tells her that he did not, and enquires if she can identify the soldiers who came for her husband. She cannot, for it being night and she a woman, she has never seen them. The natural conclusion is that some enemies of her husband have personated soldiers and murdered him.

I have, however, heard other explanations of these incidents.

The End of the Naib.

The Naib was not a bad-looking man: he had a dark skin, but rather an agreeable expression than otherwise. He never dared go out without a large guard of his police, the townspeople would have torn him to pieces. Prince Habibullah disliked him even when I first entered the service in 1889, and, finally, his iniquities were proven to the Amîr. I forget what the particular charge against him was, but he was fined, they said, a hundred lacs of rupees to begin with, somewhere about half a million! He paid it, and another fine was imposed which necessitated his selling up everything. Brought before the Amîr soon after this, he was insolent, and His Highness in exasperation seized him by the beard and struck him in the face. The soldiers then hurried him away to a tree outside. Someone suggested his praying. “Pray!” he said, with a laugh, “after a life like mine? No, I’ll die as I have lived;” and they hanged him on the tree.

This is the story as I heard it at the time. I did not see him hanged, for there was a cholera epidemic in Kabul, and I was there. The Amîr was at Paghman in the mountains.

Though Friday is the Sabbath, the shops are open on that day as well as on other days in the week. Somewhat less work is done, especially at the time of the priests’ oration in the principal musjids, about two in the afternoon. In Kabul the Amîr’s workshops are closed, and the Out-patient Hospital also. The Amîr himself, too, does less work on that day, otherwise there is no great difference between the Sabbath and other days in the week.

I spoke just now of fees to a priest for a “burial” service, but, perhaps, that is hardly a correct term to apply, for I never saw any service or ceremony performed at the actual time of burial. However, it is possible there may be, though I never saw one, but I have seen the service performed at a death bed.