Short Stow: THE PINK SHAWL

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXVII, Issue 19379, 31 December 1932, Page 9

Short Stow: THE PINK SHAWL

WAS pitch dark inside the mud hut. Mrs. Dennison, standing at the slit-shaped window with her baby in her arms, could see the council-fire two hundred yards away. Every Waz'.r in the village, saving the men who had been placed as sentry over the hut, was assembled round that fire. They were holding a durbar (council), and the purpose of the durbar was to decide whether the white woman and her child chould die slowly in the time-honoured fashion, or be held for ransom.

The third occupant of the hut, Janni by name and children’s nurse by profession, had already made up her mind for the worst. A Frontier-bred woman, she knew all about the Wazirs and their customs. She beat upon the mud floor with thin braceletted arms and wailed her terror aloud. •'Silence, Janni,” her mistress said for the hundredth time, “Perhaps the Major Sahib and his Pathans will arrive in time to save us. Maybe they are already creeping up the hill.”

But in her heart Mrs. Dennison knew that they were doing no such thing. Not even Major Dennison and his blood-brothers, the Pathans of the Second Chuingas, could achieve the impossible by getting from Fort Kotan to this village in under thirty-si* hours. There were shorter cuts across the Pennel Hills, but those short cuts, unfortunately, were the jealously preserved secrets of the shepherd caste, and unknown even to Baluchistan Intelligence.

The composure with which Mrs. Dennison was facing her ghastly ordeal

was worthy of a woman who had elected to accompany her husband to

that grim little outpost. Fort Kotan, on the border of the Furious Gormal, rather than seek the comfort of a hillstation. But beneath her calm exterior her heart was held in the grip of ice-cold terror. She also knew the reputation of these Wazir tribesmen. They were the most cruel and most crafty of all the wild inhabitants of the Gormal. But surely, she told herself, even the V/azirs wouldn’t harm her baby! They couldn’t be cruel to the little thing sleeping so peacefully and co happily in his bright pink shawl.

What she had been called upon to face had been enough to try the nerves of the strongest. Two days before her tonga had been ambushed by Wazir raiders upon the Koch road actually within sight of the Fort Kotan cantonment. She had been driving herself with Janni and the baby as companions. And she had anticipated danger as little as if it had been on a road at home. Possibly less, for the Koch road was devoid of motor traffic.

It is usually the most unexpected that happens upon the Northwest Frontier, and this occasion was no exception to the rule. Just when Mrs. Dennison was turning her pony with the intention of returning to her bungalow and tea, there was a rush of wolfish forms from the shadow of a gorge, and the tonga was surrounded by a dozen Wazirs.

They were raiders from the village over which Said Khan, the fiercest chieftain in the Furious Gomal, rules. Rifles had been their real objective in visiting in Fort Kotan. but this unexpected capture caused them to change their mind-. Especially did it cause them to change their minds when Janni screamed out that the white woman was the wife of Major Dennison Sahib cf Baluchistan Intelligence. and the baby his only son. When the Wazirs heard that piece of news, they knew that Allah the allknowing and all-under tanding had at last recognized their extreme piety, and had decided to reward them in a

suitable manner. Any white woman and child would have been a rich prize, but that the wife and only son of the “White Djinn,” “The man with

a thousand ears,” “The Cunning One,” —those were a few of the nicknames the people of the Furious Gomal had be:towed upon Dennison—should fall into their hands was almost too good to be true. But when they had brought their captives to Said Khan’s village, the ayah's words were confirmed. There was a renegade Pathan of the Second Chuinga-, a deserter from Fort Kotan, living in the village who was able to identify the white woman and the baby. This gentleman’s name was Fazil Ali, and he was a hulking fellow with fierce eyes, and fierce up-turned mustaches. Fazil Ali welcomed the memsahib with yells of in-olent laughter. He had, he informed the chief, a little matter to settle with this white woman. She was the wife of Den lison Sahib, and just prior to his desertion Dennison Sahib had r truck him in the face and shamefully abused him before wintesses. Playing with his kn'fe, the great Pathan hinted that here was a heaven-sent opportunity for him to settle the account. What I am now relating is what happened when the captives had first

arrived in the village. You can picture Mrs. Dennison, tall and slim with her face as white as her linen dres: confronting Said Khan, w r ho was gross and old with smallpox-scarred cheeks and eyes as wicked and crafty as those of a rogue elephant. Beside Mrs. Dennison stood the tiny figure of Janni with the baby in his bright pink shawl in her arms. And all round them surged the ragged mob of Wazir villagers.

The first interview' took place on the bare brown space outside Said Khan’s watch-tower. It was noonday, and the turmoil of hills all round seemed to quiver and shake in the intolerable glare. Behind them was the straggling village with gaps in the rows of mud huts showing where bombing planes from Peshawar had lately scored lucky hits.

Said Khan turned a deaf ear to the deserter's hints. He wai too cautious and too crafty to allow Fazal Ali to take his revenge then and there. But it was not mercy that made him hesitate: it was partly fear, partly cupidity. He was uneasy as to what Dennison Sahib, the most dreaded sahib in the Gomal, might do if his wife and only son were ill-treated; and he w'as wondering how much ransom the British Raj w'ould pay for their safe return.

Finally he put the question to Mrs. Dennison, and Mrs. Dennison, who could speak Pushtu, promptly valued herself at five thousand rupees and her baby at ten thousand. The vastness of the amount made Said Khan blink and seemed to impress even Fazal Ali. The deserter put his knife back in his belt, and said that for a consideration of a thousand rupees he w'ould be prepared to waive the matter of his personal revenge.

At that point Janni could restrain her feelings no longer. Whereas Mrs. Dennison had ignored the ex-Sepoy’s insolence, the old ayah turned upon him and abused him like a furious hen.

“Ha, dog that bites his master and runs away!” she shrilled. “It is not for the sake of the money that thou would’st spare our lives. It is because you are afraid of Dennison Sahib whose salt you once ate. Having served under him, you know w'hat manner of man he is. Did you dare to injure his memsahib, he would follow you to hell and take a revenge that would make the birds scream for pity.”

The deserter scowled down at her. He had changed sadly for the worse since he had deserted from Fort Kotan. The once smart Sepoy had become wild and unkept as any of the Wazir hillmen.

“Hold your prate, chattering monkey,” he said. “Only that I must obey the wishes of the chief, I would soon see if your blood matches the colour of the shawl in which the brat is wrapped. It is well known that I have no fear of Dennison Sahib. Did I not draw my bayonet that day upon the office verandah because he abu~ed me unjustly in the presence of certain low-born ones frem the bazaar? Ay, and I would have slain him had not others sprung upon me and held my arms. Then when they placed me in the jail I escaped and came hither to join Said Khan, knowing him to be Dennison Sahib’s greatest enemy. Would I have behaved thus had I known fear?” “You are afraid.” the old woman screamed. “The Sepoys of the second Chuinga spit and curse at the mention of thy name. Thou hast blackened the honour of your regiment.” Terrified that in his fury the Pathan would slash her ayah’s face with his knife, Mrs. Dennison interpo'ed. B dding Janni cease her taunts, she faced the chief. “Said Khan,” she cried, “thou art too clever to pay heed to the bickering of those fools. Also, thou are wise enough to know that if any harm befall myself and my child the sahiblog will not re t until the rocks run red with the blood of thy followers. Consider these things before paying heed to the words of the deserter. His spite against Dennison Sahib is not thy concern. Why should you lo e a big reward for the sake of a worth- ' less traitor?”

She had spoken cleverly, her woman’s wits sharpened by the extremity of the danger. She knew enough about the ways of the Frontier to know that the ultimate fate of herself and her baby was r/mply a tos-up. They might be held for ransom and returned uninjured; on

the other hand they might be put to death with unspeakable cruelty.

And she knew that the presence of the deserter was the dangerous factor in the situation. He had the ear of Said Khan, and lie was out for revenge. There is no more merciless and implacable enemy in the world than a once loyal Pathan who believe: himself to have been unjustly treated.

And the pity of it was that the cause of the quarrel between her husband and this man had been so ridiculously trivial. Heat and overstrained nerves more than anything else. It was not from Dennison him'elf she had heard the story—the Intelligence officer never discussed official matters even with his wife —but it had come to her from other sources. It was a silly story, somthing about Fazal Ali upsetting a bottle of ink on the office ver&nda (he had been office orderly), and losing his temper when Dennison had reprimanded him. When Mrs. Dennison had first heard the tale she had reflected that even the cleverest of men are apt to behave like children at times.

Anyway, it had happened, and this was the result. Fazal Ali’s desire for revenge was the dangerous element. To counteract it, she would have to play upon the chief's cupidity.

Said Khan scratched his fat cheek in perplexity. Allah had bestowed his gifts with so bountiful a hand that he was uncertain how best to take advantage of his good fortune.

“Memsahib” he said at last, “I am the ruler of this village and not swayed by the words of any man. But the deserter is not alone in desiring vengeance on Dennison Sahib. Look around, and you will see the mischief that the Cunning One has wrought in this village. Three and four times a week the devil-birds from Peshawar pass over dropping the eggs that explode. Beyond question it is the Cunning One who sends them. Is it then likely that we who dwell here should bear him love?”

The question was reasonable enough. From where Mrs. Dennison stood she could see the damage done by the aerial torpedoes dropped by the Peshawar bombers as reprisals for various raids. WhGle rows of mud huts had been reduced to heaps of dust, and a donkey, killed in the last raid and still unburied, advertised its presence in a fashion most unpleasant to European nostrils. The white woman contrived a laugh. “All the more reason why we should be returned unharmed,” she said. “I swear to thee, Said Khan, that if one hair of my child’s head is harmed, the devil-birds will fly overhead until there is not one hut left. They will drop their eggs until even the hill has disappeared.” But Said Khan laughed at the threat, and Fazal Ali spat scornfully upon the ground. “That would be a fine waste oi the money of the Raj,” he sneered. “Mud huts are easily built, and we can hide in safetly 'in the caves until the devil-

By GARNETT RADCLIFFE

birds have gone. But if they thought of dropping gas bombs it would be a different story. There is no escaping the poison vapors even in the deepest caves.”

“Of a surety they will drop gas bombs,” Mrs. Dennison said quickly. “There will be no device known to the sahibs that they will not use. Take thought, Said Khan. Were it not better to get the ransom than that the whole tribe be destroyed?” The argument m’ght have won the day, but then another element introduced itself. This was .he mullah (priest) of the tribe. He was a very old man with snowy beard and cruel, fanatical eyes. “What talk of weaklings is this?’ He thrust S his way througn the crowd towards the captives. “Said Khan, thou are bewitched by this white she-devil. She must die—she and her ill-begotten brat must die that the gates of Paradise may be opened. Death to the Unbelievers! Since ye are cowards. I shall do the deed myself— ’ He had drawm his knife and was sw'ooping upon the women like a furious eagle v'hen Fazal Ali glided in front of him. The huge Pathan’s teeth were showing as he flung back the holy man with scant ceremony. “Not so, mullah-ji. The pleasure of their deaths is my right. And, by Allah, if the chief give: permission it W'ill be by no swift knife-thrust that I speed them to hell. They will die slowly, and there will be good sport—the best sport this village has ever witnessed!” Torture was what he meant. The nurse’s screams of terror tore up into the sky. From the pink bundle in her arms there came a protesting wail. Said Khan rose cursing to his feet. He was so obese that he had to be assisted by his two sons. “Silence, Fazal Ali,” he thundered. “Mullah-ji, hold thy noise. Does my will count for nothing in this village? Am I a dog that I should sit silen; and unheard? I tell thee the decision is for me alone.” Gross and shapeless in his filthy rags, he was yet a formidable figure as he stood glaring about him like a rogue elephant meditating a charge. Dead silence fell upon the crowd. Fazal Ali and even the mullah cowed before his anger. When all was silent, Said Khan spoke: “There w'ill be a durbar to-nigh£ for the purpose of settling this matter,” he said. “In the meant : me the memsahib and the child mu~t be placed in a hut with a man to guard them least they should escape. Nay, Mullah-ji, thou canst say what is in they mind at the council-fire to-night. Go now' and pray that w'e are not visited by the devil-birds from Peshaw'ar.”

If the aged fanatic did obey this command, his prayers w'ere not answered. About four o’clock in the afternoon four bombers roared low over the village and four eighteen-inch aerial torpedoes were dropped. The result of the bombing might be summarised as one bull, two outers and a

miss. The bull demolished three mud huts and killed two Wazirs, the outers burst beyond the village wall and damaged nothing except the rocks, and the miss did not explode at all. It had dropped into a drift of sand too soft to touch off the detonator.

Naturally, the lads who flew these devil-birds had net known of the presence of the w'hite woman and the baby in the village when they released the bombs. For by so doing they increased Mrs. Dennison’s peril tenfold. Their hut was not one of the ones damaged, but the shattering explosions (an aerial torpedo can blow a hole in solid rock in which you could bury a cottage and makes a noi e like the end of the W'orld) the shattering explosions sent the ayah almost mad with fear, and w'ould have terified Mrs Dennison also had she not been too occupied in soothing the baby. And not only that, but w'hen the bombers had roared out of ear:hot a mob of furious v. llagers, prominent among whom was the . deserter, came clamoring for ! vengeance around the hut. | They w'ould indeed have burst in and j taken their vengeance then and there. , had not the cumbrous w'ooden bolt I that barred the door proved obstinate and delayed their rush until the arrival cf the chief. Y/hile Fazal Ali was still trying to get it open ’with the Wazirs howling at his back like a pack of w'olves, Said Khan came cn the scene and restored order. The ex-Sepoy craved pardon for his breach of discipline. “I was afraid those others would have robbed me of my vengeance,” he explained to the angry chief. “I have sworn that if the memsahib and the child are to die it will be by my knife.” “Then it is well for thee that the bolt proved difficult to draw. Fazal Ali.” Said Khan said grimly. “If thou had~t killed them without waiting for the decision of the durbar, thine own life would have been the penalty. I am swifter to punish disobedience than thy late master, Dennison Sahib.” The crowd was dispersed, and the terrified women inside the hut could ; breathe again. That inopportune visit of the bombers seemed to Mrs. Dennison to be the last straw. It had made the anger of the Wazirs blaze up afresh. She could hear the relatives ! cf the men who had been killed howling for vengeance as they searched j among the ruins of the hut. ! At sunset the women and children of the village began to build the council-fire on the bare space in front of the watchtower. They used faggots and bricks around it so that the patriarchs of the tribe might recline in comfort. In the midst of the preparations a ragged, foot-sore native arrived .and requested to see the chief. He was a shepherd from the southern hills of the Gomal, and he had come with a warning for Said Khan. With graphic gestures he told the chief that the avengers from Fort Kotan were already hot upon the trial. This man had actually been in Fort Kotan when the news of Mrs. Denni-

son s capture had reached the garrison. Never had he witnessed such anger. It would seem that the mad sahibs valued the sanctity of their womanfolk above all else.

“The British soldiers would scarcely await the orders of their officers before taking to the hills,” he cried. “Allah have mercy on any who meets those men. for it will need much blood to quench their wrath. But they are not the most to be feared. Dennison Sahib himself has left the fort with two score Pathans of the Second Chuingas. They are travelling acros: the hills as fast

as a wounded leopard. Even now they cannot be far off. Had I not used the secret paths known only to the shepherd caste I could not have got here in time to give the warning. Beware how you treat the memsahib, Said Khan. The White Djinn is as dangerous as a wolf robbed of her whelp:.” But Said Khan only laughed. “I have no fear of Dennison Sahib,” be said. “I can match cunning with cunning and craft with craft. The White Djinn and his Pathans cannot be here for many hours; there will be ample t me in which to hold the durbar. And I tell thee, shepherd, that Dennison Sahib and the Pathans will not attack while the memsahib and the child are in the village. As long a: we hold them captive we are safe.” By that speech the Wazir chief displayed both cunning and his knowledge of the psychology of the white man. While his wife and son were prisoners. Dennison’s hands were tied. The sun had now disappeared, and the I.iidan night rushed down upon the village. A light was applied to the council-fire. The faggots caught, and the ruddy flames leapt high into the air. Said Khan took the place of honour with the mullah at his right hand. One by one the partiachs of the tribe seated themselves in order of precedence. Close behind them stood the younger tribe men, and the leaping flames shone upon the ring of fierce, bearded faces. And so I come back Co the point at which the story opened. From where she stood at the window cf the hut two hundred yards away in the darkness, Mrs. Dennison could see the red light of the fire shining j through the closely packed figures of the crowding Wazirs. In the silence ' that reigned over the remainder of the village she could hear their voices rais|ed in hot argument, j The baby was now asleep. She pushed back a corner of the pink shawl and raised a tiny hand to her lips. They ! couldn't hurt her little one, she told | herself. Not even Fazal Ali could take i such a dastardly revenge. That the durbar was not finding it easy to agree was evident from the ncise the Wazirs were making. Voice: I grew loud and angry. It was the mullah, that terrible old man with the mad, fanatical eyes, who w r as doing most cf the talking. And he was find-

ing support among the relatives of the I men who had been killed by the ! bomber. In his religious zeal the priest had I lo t even his fear of Said Khan. “Speak not of ransom ” he howled. . “Has not a reward been promised to the Faithful who shall slay the unbelievers? Would ye throw away the bliss cf the Paradise for a few thousand rupees that may never be pa d? Or is it perchance that thou art afraid. Said Khan? I: the name of the Cunning One so terrible that it has struck terror into thy heart?” At the mention of Dennison a growl ran round the ring. Men felt for their knives and glanced over their shoulders into the darkness. Said Khan’s eyes flamed with anger. The mullah’s taunt: had struck home. “Beware, mullah-ji, that thou dost not test my patience too highly,” he cried. “I care nothing for Dennison .~ahib. If it is the will of the durbar that the white woman and the child should die, I give my consent. We will put the matter to the test. Those that wish that they should die extend their hands.” A forest of hands, many of which held naked knives, shot towards the fire. The mullah’.; eloquence had tipped the scale. From where she was Mrs. Dennison could hear the deathchorus rising around the fire. There was no mistaking the meaning of the bloodcurdling cries. She collapsed on her knees, and her lip: moved in silent prayer. The mullah was on his feet. Foam flew from his lips as he pointed to the knives.

“It is settled. Said Khan. Death—death to the unbelievers! They must die slowly a: was the custom of the olden days. I swear the white woman shall kiss the Koran before she dies.”

His words were drowned in the clamor of wild voices. Fazal Ali sprang forward. The de-erter’s knife was in his hand, and his teeth gleamed white beneath his black mustache.

“I claim my vengeance, Said Khan,” he cried. “There is a long score between Den.lison Sahib and myself, and now the time has come for settlement. I will fetch the brat, and the sport can then begin.”

Scarcely waiting for the chief’s a~sent, he burst out of the throng and ran like a tiger in the direction of the hut. The darkness swallowed him up. As he dashed round the corner of the hut, the Wazir on guard sprang in front of him with raised jezail.

’’What now, Fazal Ali? Has the chief decided on their deaths?”

“Ay, and I have come to fetch the unbeliever',” the deserter cried. “Make haste and open the door. The durbar waits for the sport to begin.”

The Wazir turned to obey. Fazal Ali’s knife slid into his back until the hilt touched the padded coat. As he fell, the Pathan caught him and laid him noiselessly on the ground. An instant later he was inside the hut. He drew himself up, and his hand went to his turban in military salute.

| “Memsahib,” he said, “thou must | leave this place quickly. I have slain I the sentry, and the road i: clear. Take j the path behind the hut that leads down the ravine. I will overtake you in a few moments.” Mrs. Dennison started through the darkness at the towering figure standing to attention on the threshold. “Thou are still loyal!” she gasped. “I serve the British Raj,!” Fazal Ali said proudly. “It was by Dennison Sahib's order I came to this village pretending to be a deserter. To observe the efforts of the bombing was the purpose of which he sent me. The quarrel before the witnesses was a private arrangement between the sahib and myself to trick these Wazir dogs. But make haste, memsahib, and go. But first there is one request I would crave—if the memsahib could spare me the pink shawl in which the child is wrapped?” Mrs. Dennison was surprised by the reque-t, but she obeyed. Again Fazal Ali bade her make haste. Followed by the ayah, she left the hut and in a moment was on the path leading into the safety of the ravine.

The big Pathan did not accompany them at once. When they were gone, he strode back to the council-fire, and in his arms was a tiny pink bundle which he carried with the greatest care. He halted on the outskirts of the crowd and raised it high so that all might see. “Behold my vengeance. Said Khan.” he called. “Mark well how this child cries when he feels the fire.” The throw was a good one for the pink bundle went straight over their heads into the glowing heart of the fire. With yells and laughter the Wazirs craned forward to watch.

A dozen yards away there was a deep crevice in the rock. Fazal Ali reached it in four trides and hurled himself face-downwards into its sheltering depths. He was just in time. It took about

three seconds for the heat to penetrate the steel shell of the aerial torpedo wrapped in the pink shawl, and then there was a that must have been aud ble for many miles. A circle of flame shot far out into the darkness, and the hill seemed to quiver and shake as if slapped by a gigantic hand. Fazal Ali rose to his feet and surveyed the ghastly scene.

“I can report to Dennison Sahib that there was one bomb that was not altogether wasted,” he observed.

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