Chronicles of the Secret Service (17 page)

‘But Abdul Qadir does not stop at that. He wants to rouse Afghanistan to ally itself with him in a war against Great Britain. He knows very well the amir, his principal advisers, and certain sections of the people are friendly to us and wouldn’t consider such an arrangement, but to him they don’t count. His agents are swarming through the country, plotting, planning, promising. All he needs is the assistance of an Afghan strong and ambitious enough to rise up at the head of the mass of people, overthrow the king and government, and take possession of the country. You remember what Bacha Saqao did? Well, it can be done again but, of course, from Abdul Qadir’s point of view, the man must be one who, once he has Afghanistan under his control, will promptly throw in his lot – and the well-trained Afghan army – with him against Great Britain. Abdul Qadir believes he has found the man.’

‘The devil he has,’ ejaculated the general. ‘Who is he?’

Major Kershaw smiled slightly.

‘Have you heard of Aziz Ullah, sir?’ he asked.

‘What! That bloody Afghan? Certainly I have. Who in India hasn’t? His name and his Robin Hood adventures are always in the papers. I don’t believe half of them anyway, but he seems to
be causing a hell of a lot of trouble. A thorough scoundrel, of course, but a damned elusive one, from all accounts.’

‘He’s certainly elusive. He has to be, considering he is being sought on all sides by emissaries of the Afghan government who are only too keen to earn the reward offered for his capture.’

‘But what help can Abdul Qadir expect to get from the fellow? He’s only a bandit, isn’t he?’

‘You can call him that if you like, sir, but it is hardly true. He has actually done nothing unlawful. That is, he has not been endeavouring to rouse the people against the government. He appears in a district without warning, preaches reform and the betterment of conditions, and disappears as suddenly as he has appeared, only to turn up again somewhere else. He is provided with ample funds, which he is using to help the poor and needy. He has done a great deal of good. The tales of his robberies from the wealthy and attacks on government banks and institutions are fabrications of the ruling classes who fear his growing influence. You call him a scoundrel because you, like everyone else in this country, know only of him through the stories appearing in the Indian papers – stories, which I can assure you, are inspired by the Afghan authorities. As I say, they fear him and, having so far failed to lay their hands on him, are fighting his propaganda by concocting lies and broadcasting them.’

The general stared at him in amazement.

‘Damn it all!’ he exploded. ‘You seem to admire the fellow.’

‘I certainly do,’ nodded Kershaw. ‘I have seldom felt such an intense admiration for anyone. He is running a greater risk than you’ll probably ever realise. In less than four months he
has obtained such a hold on the minds of the great majority of Afghan people that it is likely they would follow him blindly now in any enterprise he thought fit to conceive. That’s where Abdul Qadir Khan comes in. He realises that, if he can persuade Aziz Ullah to rise against the king and government and take possession of the country – he’ll offer the help of his own Afridis no doubt – he can then count on him, once the Afghan army is on his side, to assist him against us. The cunning of the fellow will be quite apparent to you without any long effort at explanation on my part. The Afghan army is well trained, well equipped, and efficient. Were it thrown into the scale with a different, better disciplined, and more united Afridi force you will gather the great danger that would threaten us. It hardly bears contemplation.’

Sir Leslie considered his words thoughtfully and, like a good soldier put his finger on the weak spot.

‘I can see what we would be up against, if Abdul Qadir
had
the Afghan army with him,’ he grunted, ‘but your very argument concerning its strength and efficiency seems to me to be a safeguard. Under those circumstances, it is unthinkable that Aziz Ullah at the head of a horde of unarmed – except perhaps with home-made weapons – undisciplined fanatics could overpower a government backed by such a fine fighting force.’

Ginger Kershaw smiled.

‘There you lose sight, sir, of something upon which Abdul Qadir is counting. I refer to the superstitious native mind. The Afghan army is a splendid fighting machine under ordinary circumstances, but it is recruited from the very people who
are almost sanctifying Aziz Ullah. The men are certain to have come under his spell, as their fathers and brothers, uncles and cousins have done. If not, you may be sure that Abdul Qadir’s emissaries will see to it that they do. The chances are, therefore, that they would go over to Aziz Ullah without firing a shot against him.’

The general folded his arms before him; frowned portentously at the smiling Kershaw.

‘Damn it, man!’ he growled. ‘This is a far more serious state of affairs than even I contemplated. And you airily tell me to run away to the Hills and – and play.’

At that the Intelligence officer laughed outright.

‘Why not, sir?’ he asked. ‘The Afridis are going to be very quiet for a long time. In the first place, it will take Abdul Qadir several months before he considers they are trained, disciplined, and united sufficiently for his purpose. It would take several months for Aziz Ullah to gain control of Afghanistan and be prepared to join with him in a war against India; that is, if Aziz Ullah were to allow himself to be thus influenced.’

‘Well, he will, won’t he? It stands to reason the infernal Afghan is playing a mighty cunning game in which his own ambitions take first place. It’s all very well your trying to persuade me he’s a fellow to be admired. Naturally, he’s engaged in feathering his own nest. He’s not attempting to gain influence over the people for their good – that’s all rot! Altruism is a word in the dictionary, and it stops there. It isn’t used in real life.’

Kershaw pretended to look shocked.

‘The Jumbo I used to know wasn’t a cynic,’ he commented.

This time Sir Leslie frowned at the nickname. He felt he
was discussing matters in which levity had no place.

‘It isn’t a case of cynicism,’ he snapped. ‘It’s common sense. People all the world over are only altruistic when it pays them to be so.’

‘Well, you’re wrong concerning Aziz Ullah,’ Kershaw told him. ‘But Abdul Qadir probably thinks the same as you. What is more, Aziz Ullah has no intention of allowing him to think otherwise. Had he not appeared suddenly, and obtained his present influence over the Afghans, Abdul Qadir would himself before long, have found an ambitious Afghan with a personality who could gain the same ascendancy. Only the man our Mahsud friend would have backed would have been utterly unscrupulous. Aziz Ullah is not, despite what you have said about him. He has no more intention of wresting the throne from the present amir and overthrowing the government than you have.’

The general looked thoroughly puzzled.

‘How the devil do you know that?’ he demanded.

‘Because Aziz is by way of being a friend of mine.’

‘A friend of yours!’ echoed the astonished GOC.

Kershaw nodded.

‘I’ve been in Afghanistan for the last two months,’ he told the general calmly, ‘ostensibly as representative of a southern India steelworks. I’ve moved about the country quite a lot, and have been in the company of Aziz Ullah on many occasions. That is why I can tell you that the stories of his robberies and depredations have been fabricated, mostly by the people who fear his sudden influence. He has also, whimsically you may think, circulated quite a number himself. He knows all about
Abdul Qadir, and it is his intention to allow the Mahsud to believe the worst of him and find him apparently eager to fall in with his plans. Up to now he has been elusive even with the wily Abdul, but one of these days, when it suits him, he will allow a meeting to be arranged, the result of which will appear entirely satisfactory to Abdul Qadir. But you can take my word for it, sir, that far from joining hands with the Afridis, he is Great Britain’s trump card in this present very interesting game.’

Sir Leslie had listened with amazement and the greatest interest. He leant forward and eyed Kershaw eagerly; quite forgot, for the moment, their difference in rank.

‘Are you absolutely certain of this, Ginger?’ he urged. ‘You’re sure you haven’t somehow fallen under the spell the fellow seems able to weave?’

‘I am so sure,’ returned the Intelligence officer solemnly, ‘that I would bet every penny I have in the world and every penny you have also,’ he added with a smile, ‘if I could lay my hands on it. Aziz Ullah means no harm to the king, government, or any Afghan authority. He is all for helping the people, but that means no disrespect or antagonism to the powers that be. But, for reasons of his own, it tickles him to be classified in the same category as Bacha Saqao. You’ll find out why one day, sir. Anyway, it all boils down to this, and I give you my word it is absolutely authentic: Aziz Ullah has no intention whatever of being a cat’s paw or falling in with Abdul Qadir’s plans. He is going to lead him on, which will be of immense help to us – will probably, like most Orientals, plead for time, and more time, to make up his mind. But you can leave Abdul Qadir and his machinations to him – and to me, sir. The only thing
that worries me is that there may be a slip or a betrayal by some dastard, which will enable the authorities to pounce on him. That thought, I admit, gives me nightmares.’

General Hastings gave vent to a great sigh of relief.

‘You Intelligence fellows certainly do things sometimes,’ he conceded. ‘I take my hat off to you, Ginger. I’ve read about that beggar, and thought he was just a—’

‘Bloody Afghan,’ supplied the other with a grin.

‘Exactly,’ went on Hastings unperturbed. ‘The notion that you had made an ally of him against Abdul Qadir Khan would have struck me as fantastic.’ He rose. ‘Come and have a drink in the mess. You’ve taken a great load off my shoulders.’ They left the office, and walked along the corridor together. They were passing the office of Captain Charteris, when the general stopped, opened the door, and glanced in. His secretary sprang to his feet. ‘I’m off to the Hills tonight, Charteris,’ Sir Leslie astonished that young man by saying. ‘Make all arrangements for my HQ to be established at Murree until further orders.’ He shut the door before the secretary had recovered sufficiently to murmur a formal ‘Very well, sir,’ and walked on. ‘That took the wind out of his sails,’ chuckled Jumbo. ‘By now the young jackanapes is performing cartwheels.’ He became serious again. ‘You see the load I am putting on your shoulders, Kershaw. Gad! If that Aziz fellow has deceived you—!’

‘He hasn’t – and won’t, sir. I know.’

‘Well, you never made a mistake in the old days. I’m putting my whole trust in you.’

‘You can. I’m not a prince.’

‘Eh? What’s that?’

‘I think the Bible warns us that trust should not be placed in princes, sir.’

‘Oh, I see. Just your way of backing yourself. Well, it sounds confident. But, listen to me, mystery man: I expect you to keep me posted while I’m in Murree. I loathe being kept in the dark.’

‘You shall have a full report of how things are progressing directly I get back, sir.’

‘Why – where are you going?’

‘To Afghanistan.’

‘The devil you are. Then, for heaven’s sake, don’t get arrested as a spy or something.’

The entrance of the general into the staff mess room, where his appearances were exceedingly rare, created a profound impression among the officers there. They sprang to attention as duty-bound, then were still further mystified by his geniality, as he made it clear that he wished for no formality.

‘Carry on, gentlemen,’ he directed, ‘and don’t mind us. Kershaw and I are old brothers-in-arms.’

The mess room orderly quickly supplied them with cold drinks in which ice tinkled pleasantly.

‘Here’s a toast, sir,’ murmured Kershaw with a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes. ‘To that bloody Afghan!’

Sir Leslie laughed, and responded with hearty goodwill. ‘To that bloody Afghan!’

At about the time Sir Leslie Hastings and Major Kershaw were drinking their toast to him, the man, to whom the general had referred in such uncomplimentary terms, was lying flat on his back resting after an arduous climb. A short distance away, squatted a score or so of wild-looking Afghans, men who had attached themselves to him and now refused to leave him. Armed to the teeth, they formed an impressive-looking bodyguard and, were the truth revealed, he was glad to have their company. When he had commenced on his strange enterprise four months previously, alone and unknown, he had faced enormous difficulties; on every side, was beset by dangers. Somehow he had overcome all obstacles gradually gaining the confidence of those among whom he appeared so mysteriously and to whom he lectured with such deep earnestness. His works of charity, his
kindliness, his great knowledge, as it appeared to the untutored, ignorant masses, of the power of healing, which he was always prepared to exercise, worked wonders. His terrific strength, for he was a man with enormous shoulders and a great depth of chest, alone won him hundreds of admirers, for all Afghans love physical power, and he was never backward in displaying his. Above all, a most engaging and magnetic personality, gained for him a following that grew with bewildering rapidity, until he knew quite well there were thousands upon thousands ready and eager to follow him were he only to raise a finger.

He would probably have been the first to admit that superstition was responsible for this to a great extent. He was an utter mystery and anything apparently beyond understanding or explanation exercises a profound influence on the untutored mind. Nobody knew actually whence he came, who he was or, in fact, anything about him. In consequence, wild and impossible stories arose concerning his origin. This added to the fact that his mission was so obviously the establishment of a better ordered state of existence for the downtrodden masses, caused him to be regarded as a saint. Some there were who expressed the belief that he had actually descended from Paradise at the behest of Mohammed himself in order to work a miracle on their behalf. Another and a great factor in his favour was his apparently unlimited control of wealth. At least, to the people, among whom he chose to appear, his financial means seemed boundless. It is true he distributed money generously to the really needy, though seldom more than three or four annas a time to each, but these annas to people, accustomed to living on a few pice a day, came in the nature of a windfall.

It was astonishing how quickly news concerning him circulated throughout Afghanistan, once he had become known, and had swept away the suspicion and distrust he first encountered. Hardly a month had passed since his initial appearance, when his arrival in the various villages he decided to visit began to assume the nature of a triumphant event. He exhibited a great love for children which alone won him most of the women as adherents. He wrestled with the strong men, whom he invariably defeated with ease. He soothed the sufferings of some, cured others, who were ill with fevers and kindred diseases – this, I strongly suspect, was accomplished by the judicious and private use of drugs which he carried secretly about his person. In three months the whole of Afghanistan was talking about him, the great bulk of the population in a spirit little short of adoration. His fame gradually spread beyond the borders of that country and articles concerning him became features of quite a number of newspapers not only in Afghanistan, but in India, Persia, Turkestan and other countries devoted to the Muslim faith.

At first the authorities and the enlightened subjects of Afghanistan regarded his coming with a benevolent eye. When, however, it became obvious that he was teaching the masses that they were unnecessarily downtrodden, that they had the right to demand better conditions, better housing, in short, an altogether improved form of existence to that which they endured so stoically and uncomplainingly, government circles began to grow alarmed. They visualised an uprising, a sudden nationwide revolt that would plunge Afghanistan into a state of anarchy. They now saw in this man, who called himself
Aziz Ullah, but who was known generally as The Master, not a harmless visionary but a definite menace. Steps were taken to apprehend him, but that was easier ordered than accomplished. Partially through the resentment such orders almost generally caused and the consequent help and warning he received, and partially through his own forethought, Aziz Ullah was able to avoid the police or soldiers sent to seize him with ease. None of the local authorities in the villages to which he confined his activities dared touch him. They knew any such attempt would probably be more than their lives were worth; perhaps also they were under his dominating influence. Nevertheless, he had several narrow escapes.

The difficulty of apprehending him became such an acute problem that underhand means were adopted by certain officials in the hope of discrediting him. Every crime almost that took place in the vicinity of districts he visited were attributed to him, and inspired articles, declaring him to be a rogue imposing on a gullible people, were printed in the various government-influenced organs. This appeared to amuse rather than dismay Aziz Ullah. In fact, Major Kershaw stated to General Sir Leslie Hastings, he had even started secretly the circulation of certain stories against himself. It is likely that the ginger-haired Intelligence officer was behind this, for most of them hinted at the possibility of Aziz Ullah desiring to seek power and compared him with Bacha Saqao – the bandit who had seized the country after Amanullah’s flight and, for a short span, had reigned as king. They appeared in Indian newspapers, which Kershaw knew Abdul Qadir Khan, the ambitious Mahsud, received and read with keen attention.

Far from undermining Aziz Ullah’s hold on the populace, the government propaganda actually did more to strengthen it. The people who had taken him to their hearts were not so easily influenced to cast him out again. The persecution to which he was subjected only attached them more warmly to him, and began to rouse their resentment and authorities. Matters had reached this pass at the time Major Kershaw was interviewing the General Officer Commanding Peshawar.

Aziz Ullah’s hiding place was situated in a wonderfully secluded spot in the Hindu Kush Mountains, not far from Kabul itself. He had discovered it when preparing for his enterprise and before he had disclosed himself. Nine thousand feet above sea level, a narrow pass meandered by a couple of hundred feet below. There was no actual track to the place; in fact it would have been inaccessible to any but the hardened natives of the district, athletes, or expert mountaineers. Therein lay its great security. It was a saucer-shaped opening in the mountains surrounded on all but one side by grim towering rocks on which a goat could not have found foothold. There was only one way of approach, and that, as described, was only possible to skilled climbers. A handful of men could have held the place against an army, provided they were well provisioned. Aziz Ullah had stocked it well and every time he and his would-be disciples returned they brought fresh supplies to add to the store. A stream trickling down the mountainside provided all the water needed. A small, almost flat plain covered with coarse grass, dotted here and there with boulders and stunted bushes, mostly of the cactus variety, was Aziz Ullah’s recreation ground, his residence one of many caves penetrating far into the frowning and gigantic rock walls.
His followers preferred to herd all together in one of the others.

As he lay on his back apparently asleep, Aziz Ullah was turning several problems over in his mind. One – the reward that had been offered for his apprehension – caused him more interest than concern. He could rely to the hilt on the twenty men who had attached themselves to his person – he had been compelled to choose them from hundreds who had clamoured for the honour – they alone knew where he concealed himself, but wild horses would not have torn the secret from them. His great danger of betrayal lay in the villages and his journeyings from one to another. In every community there is likely to be a Judas. It would be comparatively easy to trap him under some pretext or other and, if the betrayer had companions of the same kidney, spirit him away to a police post. He opened his eyes, and they lighted on the band of stalwarts squatting at a respectful distance from him. Sight of them caused him to smile slightly, and he shook his head a little. No; it would not be easy. It would be most difficult, for the would-be Judas would have to trap that faithful band as well.

A problem that gave him a great deal more thought was the knowledge that the Afridi chieftain, Abdul Qadir Khan, was making earnest attempts to get in touch with him. Emissaries of his were continually endeavouring to arrange a meeting, but always when these men had sidled quietly up to him and whispered their message Aziz Ullah had shaken his head. He chose to let them think he distrusted them – for the present. Sooner or later, he would accept Abdul Qadir’s invitation, but the longer he denied him, the more anxious, he knew, the Mahsud would be to make an alliance with him.

The matter which intrigued his mind above all others, however, was a strange communication that had been imparted to him by the headman of three villages in which he had spent the previous two days. It was to the effect that the government was prepared to delegate a mission to meet him and inquire into the reason for his pilgrimage through the villages and small towns. The mission would hear him in Kabul on a date and at an hour to be decided by him, and promised to give sympathetic consideration to all proposals he cared to put forward for the improvement of conditions for the lowly. The only stipulation imposed was that he should cease until then his public speaking, and should reply at once indicating his readiness to meet the government delegation at the earliest possible moment. Safe conduct was promised to him. Was it a trap? Aziz Ullah was unable to decide. The Afghan mind is subtle and cunning, and the turnabout was, to say the least, startling. The attacks on him, the reward for his apprehension, and now – this! If it were a genuine attempt to meet him amicably, with a view to receiving, at first hand, his suggestions for the welfare of the people, Aziz Ullah felt His Majesty the Amir was behind it. He knew the reigning monarch to be an enlightened ruler eager to serve his people to the best of his ability. The fact that he personally had made little attempt at reform, since coming to the throne, was probably due to his cautious character. No doubt, he always had in mind the fate of Amanullah who, after a visit to Europe, had attempted wholesale westernisation in a gigantic hurry, the result of which had been chaos and the loss of his own throne. Possibly the reigning amir welcomed the idea of a man, who had so
quickly and so amazingly gained the confidence of the masses, being the instrument by which improvements in conditions could be achieved to everyone’s satisfaction. Aziz Ullah had been accepted by the mullahs, whose opinions still carried the greatest weight and who exercised tremendous influence in the country. It was possible they had persuaded the amir to command that he should be given a hearing.

On the whole, Aziz Ullah was disposed to accept the invitation. He thought little of the risk. After all, his whole enterprise had been most hazardous from the beginning. Its success had astonished him. He had expected much greater opposition; had been prepared for complete failure. The manner in which he had carried the people with him had been something of which he had not dreamt in his most optimistic moments. Many times of late, he had found himself lost in admiration of the brilliance of the mind behind that had conceived the project. It was typical of the man that his innate modesty caused him to be utterly unconscious of his own great part in the undertaking and to give all the credit elsewhere. It did not occur to him that, had his own personality and handling of an intensely difficult task not risen triumphant, the thought devoted to the idea, the anticipation of native reactions, the whole conception, in fact, of events as they had actually occurred by a clever, subtle brain would have been useless.

He rose from his resting place in the coarse grass and sauntered towards his followers who sprang to their feet at his approach. In his loose native garb, his great depth of chest seemed perhaps more herculean than it actually was, but no one could doubt that he was an immensely powerful man. He stood
over six feet in height, possessed the light brown skin typical of the Afghan and grey eyes not unusual in that part of the globe. His glossy black hair and beard were well-kept, and offered a striking contrast to the wild hirsute appendages of his twenty doughty disciples. On the whole, he was a strikingly attractive man. Addressing one whom he had chosen to be leader of the others, a gigantic fellow who stood inches taller than he, he directed him to partake of a meal at once, and prepare for a journey.

‘I have considered,’ he declared in his deep, musical voice, ‘the invitation which has been conveyed to me to meet a mission selected by government. It is my wish that my reply shall reach the minister, upon whom may Allah shed light, by the morning hour of prayer. You will tell him, Yusuf, that I will appear before the delegates on the day of the full moon at the tenth hour.’

‘But, master,’ cried Yusuf, ‘is it not unwise? May not the unholy ones have planned this as a trap? Great sorrow should overshadow all who love you, were harm to befall you.’

‘I am in the hands of Allah, the All-merciful, the All-seeing. Great is His Name,’ came in sonorous tones. Every head was bent reverently. ‘You will go, Yusuf!’

The giant Afghan raised no further objections, but set about his preparations at once, assisted by his companions. When he had had a meal, he appeared before Aziz Ullah, who had seated himself on a boulder, and was gazing into space as though in deep meditation. Yusuf stood behind him as though fearful of disturbing these profound thoughts. Aziz, however, had heard him approach and, without turning his head:

‘You are ready to depart, Yusuf?’ he asked.

‘I am ready, master.’