If ever the pot called the kettle black, it is the story of Anglo-Russian recriminations. Russian intrigues are ever met by British manœuvres and Muscovite earth-hunger can only be paralleled by English annexations. Here a tribe is instigated to revolt, so that its extermination may “rectify a boundary,” there an illusory scientific frontier is gradually created by encroachments on the territories of feudatories accused of disloyalty, if not of attempts to poison our agents. By setting son against father, brother against brother and, in the general tumult, destroying intervening republics and monarchies, Anglo-Russian dominions are becoming conterminous. Above all

And it is this unremitting suspicion which is alike the secret of present success and the cause of eventual failure in wresting and keeping Asiatic countries and of the undying hatred which injured natives feel towards Europeans.

The attempt to obtain the surrender of the Takk fort, and of the Takk valley, a short and easy road to the British District of Kaghán, has merely indicated to Russia the nearest way to India, just as we forced her attention to Hunza and are now drawing it to Chitrál. David Urquhart used to accuse us of conspiracy with Russia in foreign politics. Lord Dufferin in his Belfast speech sought the safety of India in his friendship with M. de Giers and his Secretary popularized Russia in India by getting his work on “Russia” translated into Urdu. Certainly the coincidence of Russian as well as British officials being benefited by their respective encroachments, Commissions, Delimitations, etc., would show their “mutual interest” to consist in keeping up the farce of “Cox and Box” in Central Asia, which must end in a tragedy.

As an official since 1855, when I served Her Majesty during the Russian War, I wish to warn the British public against the will-o’-the-wisp of our foreign policy, especially in India. I can conceive that a small, moral and happy people should seek the ascendancy of its principles, even if accompanied by confusion in the camps of its enemies. I can understand that the doctrines of Free Trade, of a free Press, a Parliamentary rule, the Anti-Slavery propaganda and philanthropic enterprises generally, with which the British name is connected, should have been as good as an army to us in every country of the world in which they created a Liberal party, but these doctrines have often weakened foreign Executive Governments, whilst “Free Trade” ruined their native manufacture. What I, however, cannot understand is that a swarming, starving and unhappy population should seek consolation for misery at home in Quixotism abroad, especially when that Quixotism is played out. If bread costs as much now as in 1832 although the price of wheat has fallen from 60s. to 27s. a quarter, it is, indeed, high time that we should lavish no more blood and treasure on the stones of foreign politics, but that we should first extract the beam from our own eye before we try to take out the mote from the eye of others.

What these foreign politics are worth may be inferred from the growing distrust on the Continent of British meddlesomeness or from what we should ourselves feel if even so kindred a race as the Prussians sought to monopolize British wealth and positions. It would be worse, if they did so without possessing a thorough knowledge of the English language or of British institutions. Yet we are not filled with misgivings when our Indian Viceroys or Secretaries of State cannot speak Hindustani, the lingua franca of India or when an Under-Secretary has a difficulty in finding Calcutta on the Map.

India should be governed in the fulness of knowledge and sympathy, not by short cuts. It should not be the preserve of a Class, but the one proud boast of its many and varied peoples. When Her Majesty assumed Her Indian title, it was by a mere accident, in which pars magna fui, at the last moment, that the Proclamation was translated to those whom it concerned at the Imperial Assemblage. This superciliousness, wherever we can safely show it, the cynical abandonment of our friends, the breach of pledges, the constant experimentalizing on the natives, the mysteriousness that conceals official ignorance, is the enemy to British rule in India, not Russia. A powerful Empire can afford to discard the arts of the weak, and should even “show its hand.” India should be ruled by a permanent Viceroy, a member of the Royal family, not by one whom the exigencies of party can appoint and shift. When in 1869 the Chiefs and people of the Panjab deputed me to submit their petition that H.R.H. the Prince of Wales be pleased to visit India, it was because they felt that it was desirable in the interests of loyalty to the Throne. If it be true that H.R.H. the Duke of Connaught is going out as the next Viceroy, I can only say that the longer his admirers miss him in England, the better for India, which requires its best interests to be grouped round a permanent Chief.

Dec. 7th.—As for the wanton aggression on Chilás which never gave us the least trouble, as all our Deputy Commissioners of Abbottabad can testify, it is a sequel of our interference last year with Hunza-Nagyr. The Gilgit Residency has disturbed a peace that has existed since 1856 and now continues in its suicidal policy of indicating and paving the nearest military road to British territory to an invader. In November 1891 I wrote of the possibility of driving even the peaceful, if puritanical, Chilásis into aggression and now the Times telegraphs the cock-and-bull story of the raft, enlarged in to-day’s Times telegram into an attack of the Chilási tribesmen aided by those of Darêl (another newly-created foe) on our convoy proceeding from Bunji—the extreme frontier of Kashmir according to the treaty of 1846—to Dr. Robertson’s Camp at (now) Talpenn (spelt “Thalpin” in the telegram) and (then) Gôr, with, of course, the inevitable result of the victory of the heroism of rifles against a few old muskets and iron wrist-bands (which the Chilásis use in fighting).

There are still other realms to conquer for our heroes. There is the small Republic of Talitsha of 11 houses; there is Chilás itself which admits women to the tribal Councils and is thus in advance even of the India Office and of the Supreme Council of the Government of India; there is the Republic of Muhammadan learning, Kandiá, that has not a single fort; there is, of course, pastoral Dareyl; there are the Koli-Palus tribes, agricultural Tangîr and other little Republics. Soon may we hear of acts of “treachery,” “disloyalty,” etc. from Hôdur and Sazîn, till we shoot down the supposed offenders with Gatlings and destroy the survivors with our civilization. I humbly protest against these tribes being sacrificed to a mistaken Russophobia. I have some claim to be heard. I discovered and named Dardistan and am a friend of its peoples. Although my life was attempted more than once by agents of the Maharaja of Kashmir, I was the means of saving that of his Commander-in-Chief, Zoraweru, when on his Dareyl expedition. This is what the Gilgit Doctor did in 1866 and what the Gilgit Doctor should do in 1892. This is how friendship for the British name was, and should be, cemented, and not by shedding innocent blood or by acts worthy of agents provocateurs.

As for the “toujours perdrix” of the Afghan advance from Asmar (Times, December 8th) it is better than the telegram in the Standard of the 2nd December 1892, in which the Amir makes Sher Afzul Ruler of Kafiristan, a country that has yet to be conquered, and which says “Consequently there is now no buffer-state between Afghanistan and the Pamirs”!! “Goods carried from India to Russian Turkestan, through Chitral and Kafiristan, will pay duty to the Amir.” Such journalistic forecasts and geography are inevitable when full and faithful official information, such as it is, is, in a free country, not obtainable by Parliament, the Press, and the Public. Reuter’s Central Asian Telegrams, though meagre, are more correct than those of certain correspondents of the Times and Standard.

Dec. 9th.—Dr. Robertson has, at last, entered Chilás, and found it deserted. Solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant. The Times Correspondent now admits that Chilás has no connexion with Chitrál, but he still gives us “Tangail” for “Tangir,” and omits the name of the member of the ex-royal family of Yasin, who is supposed to have stirred up against us the tribes of Darel and “Tangail,” among whom he has resided for years. This is one of the Khushwaqtias, though not the loyal chief to whom I have referred, and who has rendered us good service. So we have now an excuse for entering Tangir also. In the meanwhile, the Russian Svet points out that the Russians “would only have to march some 250 miles along a good road to enter Cashmere,” “since it is impossible to invade India viâ Afghanistan.” Yet are we nibbling at the Amir Abdurrahman, whose troops merely occupy the status quo ante at Asmar, confronted by Umra Khan on the other side of the Kuner river. We are forgetting the lessons of the Afghan campaigns, and especially that, although Abdurrahman allowed himself to be proclaimed by us, in his absence, as Amir, he marched in at one side of Kabul, whilst we marched out at the other. We forget that, with the whole country against us in a revived Jehád, with the discontent among our native troops and with a crushing expenditure, we preferred a political fiasco in order to avoid a still greater military fiasco. The Russians also urge “the construction of a military road on their side from Marghelan across the Pamirs” leaving us to finish it for them on our side of the Hindukush. The pretension to Wakhan, however, is already disposed of in Prince Gortchakoff’s Convention with Lord Granville in 1872, and no notice need be taken of the preposterous claim of the Svet to place Chitrál under a Russian protectorate! Thus have we sown the wind and reaped the whirlwind. Our real defence of India lies, as Lord Lawrence ever held, in its good government, and to this I would respectfully add, in justice to its Chiefs, wherever they have a legitimate grievance. Mere speeches of Viceroys, unaccompanied by acts, will not convince them of our “good intentions.” It is also not by emasculating the Dard tribes and breaking down their powers of resistance to the level of Slaves to the British, that we can interpose an effectual barrier to the invading Myriads of Slavs that threaten the world’s freedom. By giving to the loyalty of India the liberty which it deserves, on the indigenous bases that it alone really understands and in accordance with the requirements of the age, we can alone lead our still martial Indian Millions in the defence of the Roman Citizenship which should be the reward of their chivalrous allegiance to the Queen.

G. W. Leitner.

P.S.—15 Dec. 1892. The just cause of Nizám-ul-Mulk appears to have triumphed. Sher Afzul is said to have fled. So far Chitrál. As for Chilás, the people have come to Dr. Robertson’s Camp and express friendliness.

APPENDIX III.
FABLES, LEGENDS, AND SONGS OF CHITRAL[113]
(called Chitrár by the natives).

Collected by H. H. Sirdar Nizám-ul-Mulk, Raja of Yasin, etc., and by Dr. G. W. Leitner, and translated from Persian or Chitráli.

I. Fables.

1. The Vindictive Fowl.

A fowl sat near a thistle, and opened a rag, in which corals were tied up. Suddenly one fell into the thistle; the fowl said, “O thistle, give me my coral.” The thistle said, “This is not my business.” The fowl said, “Then I will burn thee.” The thistle agreed. The fowl then begged the fire to burn the thistle. The fire replied, “Why should I burn this weak thorn?” The fowl thereupon threatened to extinguish the fire by appealing to water: “O water, kill this fire for my sake.” The water asked, “What is thy enmity with the fire, that I should kill it?” The fowl said, “I will bring a lean cow to drink thee up.” The water said, “Well”; but the cow refused, as it was too lean and weak to do so. Then the fowl threatened to bring the wolf to eat the cow. The wolf refused, as he could feed better on fat sheep. The fowl threatened the wolf with the huntsman, as he would not eat the lean cow. The huntsman refused to shoot the wolf, as it was not fit to eat. The fowl then threatened the huntsman with the mouse. The huntsman replied, “Most welcome.” But the mouse said that it was feeding on almonds and other nice things, and had no need to gnaw the leather-skin of the huntsman. The fowl then said, “I will tell the cat to eat thee.” The mouse said, “The cat is my enemy in any case, and will try to catch and eat me, wherever it comes across me, so what is the use of your telling the cat?” The fowl then begged the cat to eat the mouse. The cat agreed to do so whenever it was hungry: “Now,” it added, “I do not care to do so.” The fowl then became very angry, and threatened to bring little boys to worry the cat. The cat said, “Yes.” The fowl then begged the little boys to snatch the cat one from the other, so that it might know what it was to be vexed. The boys, however, just then wanted to play and fight among themselves, and did not care to interrupt their own game. The fowl then threatened to get an old man to beat the boys. The boys said, “By all means.” But the old man refused to beat the boys without any cause, and called the fowl a fool. The fowl then said to the Pîr (old man), “I will tell the wind to carry away thy wool.” The old man acquiesced; and the wind, when ordered by the fowl, with its usual perverseness, obeyed the fowl, and carried off the old man’s wool. Then the old man beat the boys, and the boys worried the cat, and the cat ran after the mouse, and the mouse bit the huntsman in the waist, and the huntsman went after the wolf, and the wolf bit the cow, and the cow drank the water, and the water came down on the fire, and the fire burnt the thistle, and the thistle gave the coral to the fowl, and the fowl took back its coral.

2. The Story of the Golden Mouse who tells the Story of a Mouse and a Frog.

There was a kind of mice that had a golden body. They never went out of their hole. One day one of them thought: “I will go out and see the wonders of God’s creation.” So it did; and when thirty or forty yards from its hole, a cat, prowling for game, saw it come out from the hole. The cat, that was full of wiles, plotted to get near the hole, awaiting the return of the mouse, who, after its peregrinations, noticed the mouth of the hole closed by the wicked cat. The mouse then wished to go another way, and turned to the left, towards a tree, on which sat concealed a crow, expecting to devour the mouse when it should run away from the cat. The crow then pounced on the mouse, who cried out to God, “O God, why have these misfortunes overtaken such a small being as myself? My only help is in thee, to save me from these calamities.” The mouse was confused, and ran hither and thither, in vain seeking a refuge, when it saw another cat stealthily approaching it; and, in its perplexity, the mouse nearly ran into the cat’s paws; but that cat had been caught in a hunter’s net, and could do nothing. The crow, and the cat which was watching at the hole, saw that the mouse had got near another cat between the two. They thought that the mouse had fallen a victim to the second cat, and that it was no use remaining. It was the fortune of the mouse that they should be so deceived. The trembling mouse saw that the two enemies had gone. It thanked the Creator for having escaped from the cat and the crow, and it said, “It would be most unmanly of me not to deliver the cat in the net, as it has been the instrument of my safety; but then, if I set it free, it will eat me.” The mouse was immersed in thought, and came to the conclusion to gnaw the net at a distance from the cat, and that as soon as the hunter should come in sight, the cat then, being afraid of the hunter, would seek its own safety, and not trouble itself about the mouse. “Thus I will free the cat from the hunter and the net, and deliver my own life from the cat,” was the thought of the mouse. It then began to gnaw the net at a distance. The cat then said to the mouse, “If you want to save me, for God’s sake, then gnaw the net round my throat, and not at a distance; that is no use to me when the hunter will come. You err if you think that I will eat you as soon as I get out. For all the faults, hitherto, have been on the side of cats, which you mice have never injured, so that, if you are magnanimous and release me, there is no such ungrateful monster in the world as would return evil for the unmerited good that I implore you to bestow on me.” The golden mouse, which was very wise, did not attend to this false speech, but continued to gnaw the net at a distance, so that, when the hunter came, there only remained the threads round the neck of the cat, which the mouse bit asunder at the last moment and then ran back into its hole. The cat bolted up the tree where the crow had sat, the huntsman saw that the cat had escaped, and that his net was gnawed in several places, so he took the net to get it repaired in the Bazaar.

Then the cat descended from the tree and said to herself, “The time of meals is over, it is no use to go home; I had better make friends with the mouse, entice it out of the hole, and eat it.” This she did, and going to the hole, called out: “O faithful companion and sympathizing friend, although there has been enmity between cats and mice for a long time, thou hast, by God’s order, been the cause of my release, therefore come out of the hole, and let us lay the foundation of our friendship.” The mouse replied: “I once tried to come out, and then I fell from one danger into another. Now it is difficult for me to comply with your request. I have cut the threads encircling your throat, not out of friendship for you, but out of gratitude to God. Nor is our friendship of any use in this world, as you will gather from the story of

3. “The Frog and the Mouse.”

The mouse then narrated: “There was once a mouse that went out for a promenade, and going into people’s houses, found food here and there, and in the dawn of the next morning it was returning to its home. It came to a place where there was a large tank, round which there were flowers and trees; and a voice was heard from out of the tank. Coming near, it saw that it emanated from a being that had no hair on its body, no tail, and no ear. The mouse said to itself: ‘What is this ill-formed being?’ and thanked God that it was not the ugliest of creatures. With this thought the mouse, that was standing still, shook its head to and fro. The frog, however, thought that the mouse was smitten with astonishment at his beauty and entranced with pleasure at his voice, and jumping out of the corner of the tank came near: ‘I know, beloved, that you are standing charmed with my voice; we ought to lay the firm basis of our friendship, but you are sharper than I am, therefore go to the house of an old woman and steal from it a thread, and bring it here.’ The mouse obeyed the order. The frog then said: ‘Now tie one end to your tail and I will tie the other end to my leg, because I want to go to your house, where you have a large family and there are many other mice, so that I may know you from the others. If again you visit me, the tank is large, my friends many, and you too ought to distinguish me from the rest. Again, when I want to see you I will follow the thread to your hole, and when you want to see me you will follow it to the tank.’ This being settled, they parted. One day the frog wanted to see the mouse. Coming out of the tank he was going to its hole, when he saw the mouse-hawk, who pounced upon the frog as he was limping along, and flew up with him in its claws. This pulled the end to which the mouse was tied. It thought that its lover had come to the place and wanted to see it; so it came out, only to be dragged along in the air under the mouse-hawk. As the unfortunate mouse passed a Bazaar it called out: ‘O ye Mussulmans, learn from my fate what happens to whoever befriends beings of a different species.’

“Now,” said the golden mouse to the cat, “this is the story which teaches me what to do; and that is, to decline your friendship and to try never again to see your face.”

4. The Quail and the Fox.

A quail and a fox were friends. The fox said: “Why should you not make me laugh some day?” The quail replied, “This is easy.” So they went to a Bazaar, where the quail, looking through the hole in the wall of a house, saw a man sitting, and his wife turning up and down the “samanak” sweetmeat with a big wooden ladle (much in the same way as the Turkish rakat lokum, or lumps of delight, are made). The quail then settled on the head of the man. The woman said to him, “Don’t stir; I will catch it.” Then the quail sat on the woman’s head, so the man asked the woman to be quiet, as he would catch the quail, which, however, then flew back to the head of the man. This annoyed the wife, who struck at the quail with the wooden ladle, but hit instead the face of her husband, whose eye and beard were covered with the sweetmeat, and who thereupon beat his wife. When the fox saw this, he rejoiced and laughed greatly; and both the fox and quail returned to their home. After a time the fox said to the quail: “It is true that you have made me laugh, but could you feed me?” This the quail undertook to do, and with the fox went to a place where a woman was carrying a plate of loaves of bread to her husband in the fields. Then the quail repeated her tactics, and sat on the head of the woman, who tried to catch it with one hand. The quail escaped and settled on one shoulder, then on another, and so on till the woman became enraged, put the plate of bread on the ground, and ran after the quail, who, by little leaps, attracted her further and further away till she was at a considerable distance from it, when the fox pounced on the bread and appeased his hunger.

Some time after, the fox wanted to put the cleverness of the quail again to the test, and said: “You have made me laugh, you have fed me, now make me weep.” The quail replied, “Why, this is the easiest task of all,” so she took the fox to the gate of the town and called out: “O ye dogs of the Bazaar, come ye as many as ye are, for a fox has come to the gate!” So all the dogs, hearing this good news, assembled to hunt the fox, which, seeing the multitude of its enemies, fled till he reached a high place. Turning round, he saw the dogs following, so he jumped down and broke his back. The fox therefore helplessly sat down and said to the approaching quail: “O sympathizing companion, see how my mouth has become filled with mud and blood, and how my back has been broken. This is my fate in this world; now, could you kindly clean my mouth from mud and blood, as my end is near?” The intention of the fox was, that he should take the opportunity of this artifice to swallow the quail in revenge of her being the cause of its death. The quail, in her unwise friendship, began to clean the fox’s mouth. The accursed fox caught her in his mouth; but the quail, which was intelligent and clever, said, “O beloved friend, your eating me is lawful, because I forgive you my blood, on condition that you pronounce my name, otherwise you will suffer an injury.” The base fox, although full of wiles, clouded by approaching death, fell into the trap, and as soon as he said “O quail,” his teeth separated, and the quail flew away from him and was safe, whilst the fox died.

II. Stories and Legends.

There is a story which seems to illustrate the fact that private hatred is often the cause of the injury that is ascribed to accident. A man slaughtered a goat, and kept it over-night in an outhouse. His enemy put a number of cats through the airhole, and when their noise awoke the master of the house he only found the bones of his goat. But he took their bones, and scattered them over the field of his enemy the same night; and the dogs came, smelling the bones, searched for them, and destroyed the wheat that was ripe for reaping. One blamed the cats, the other blamed the dogs; but both had the reward of their own actions.

Sulei was a man well known on the frontier of Chitrál for his eloquence. One day, as he was travelling, he met a man from Badakhshan, who asked him whether he knew Persian. Sulei said, “No.” “Then,” replied the Badakhshi, “you are lost” [nobody, worthless]. Sulei at once rejoined, “Do you know Khowár?” (the language of Chitrál). “No,” said the Badakhshi. “Then you too are lost,” wittily concluded Sulei (to show that personal worth or eloquence does not depend on knowing any particular language).

It is related that beyond Upper Chitrár there is a country called Shin or Rashan. It is very beautiful, and its plains are gardens, and its trees bear much fruit, and its chunars (plane trees) and willows make it a shaded land. Its earth is red, and its water is white and tasty. They say that in ancient times the river of that district for a time flowed with milk without the dashing (of the waves) of water.

Besir is a place near Ayin towards Kafiristan. The inhabitants were formerly savage Kafirs, but are now subjects of the Mehter (Prince) of Chitrár. They carry loads of wood, and do not neglect the work of the Mehter. They are numerous and peaceful, and in helplessness like fowls, but they are still Kafirs; though in consequence of their want of energy and courage they are called “Kalàsh.” The people of Ayin say that in ancient times five savages fled into the Shidi Mount and concealed themselves there.

Shidi is below Ayin opposite Gherát on the east (whence Shidi is on the west). Between them is a river. It is said that these savages had to get their food by the chase. One day word came to them from God that “to-day three troops of deer will pass; don’t interfere with the first, but do so with the others.” When, however, the troops came, the savages forgot the injunctions of God, and struck the first deer. Now there was a cavern in the mountain where they lived, into which they took the two or three deer that they had killed and were preparing to cook, two being sent out to fetch water. By God’s order the lips of the cavern were closed, and the three men imprisoned in it. God converted the three into bees, whilst the two who had gone to fetch water fled towards Afghanistan. Thus were created the first honey-bees, who, finding their way out of the cavern, spread themselves and their sweet gift all over the world. This is a story told by the Kalàsh, who credit that the bees are there still; but it is difficult to get there, as the mountains are too steep, but people go near it and, pushing long rods into the hole of the cavern, bring them back covered with honey.

Shah Muhterim is the name of a Mehter (prince), the grandfather of the present Ruler of Chitrár. This Mehter was renowned as a descendant of fairies, who all were under his command. Whatever he ordered the fairies did. Thus some time passed. From among them he married a fairy, with whom he made many excursions. She bore him a daughter. Seven generations have passed since that time. This daughter is still alive, and her sign among the fairies is that her hair is white, which does not happen to ordinary fairies. Whenever a descendant of the Shah Muhterim leaves this transitory world for the region of permanence, all the fairies, who reside in the mountains of Chitrár, together with that white-haired lady, weep and lament, and their voices are clearly heard. This statement is sure and true, and all the men on the frontiers of Chitrár are aware of the above fact.

The People of Aujer (the Bœotia of Chitral).

There is a country “Aujer,” on the frontier of Chitrár (or Chitrāl as we call it), the inhabitants of which in ancient times were renowned for their stupidity. One had taken service at Chitrár, and at a certain public dinner noticed that the King (Padishah) ate nothing. So he thought that it was because the others had not given anything to the king. This made him very sorry. He left the assembly, and reached home towards evening; there he prepared a great amount of bread, and brought it next day to the council enclosure, beckoning to the king with his finger to come secretly to him. The king could not make this out, and sent a servant to inquire what was the matter; but the man would not say anything except that the king should come himself. On this the king sent his confidant to find out what all this meant. The man answered the inquiries of the confidant by declaring that he had no news or claim, but “as they all ate yesterday and gave nothing to the king, my heart has become burnt, and I have cooked all this bread for him.” The messenger returned and told the king, who told the meeting, causing them all to laugh. The king, too, smiled, and said: “As this poor man has felt for my need, I feel for his;” and ordered the treasurer to open for him the door of the treasury, so that he might take from it what he liked. The treasurer took him to the gate, next to which was the treasurer’s own house, where he had put a big water-melon, on which fell the eye of that stupid man from Aujer. He had never seen such a thing, and when he asked, “What is it?” the treasurer, knowing what a fool he had to deal with, said, “This is the egg of a donkey.” Then he showed him the gold, silver, jewels, precious cloths, and clean habiliments of the treasury from which to select the king’s present. The man was pleased with nothing, and said, “I do not want this; but, if you please, give me the egg of the donkey, then I shall indeed be glad.” The treasurer and the king’s confidant, consulting together, came to the conclusion that this would amuse the king to hear, and gave him the melon, with the injunction not to return to the king, but to take the egg to his house, and come after some nights (days). The fool was charmed with this request, went towards his home, but climbing a height, the melon fell out of his hand, rolled down towards a tree and broke in two pieces. Now there was a hare under that tree, which fled as the melon touched the tree. The fool went to his house full of grief, said nothing to his wife and children, but sat mournfully in a corner. The wife said, “O man, why art thou sorry? and what has happened?” The man replied: “Why do you ask? there is no necessity.” Finally, on the woman much cajoling him, he said: “From the treasury of the prince (mehter) I had brought the egg of the donkey; it fell from me on the road, broke, and the young one fled out from its midst. I tried my utmost, but could not catch it.” The woman said: “You silly fellow! had you brought it, we might have put loads on it.” The man replied, “You flighty thing! how could it do so, when it was still so young? Why, its back would have been broken.” So he got into a great rage, took his axe, and cut down his wife, who died on the spot.

Once, a donkey having four feet, in this country of donkeys having two feet, put his head into a jar of jáo (barley), but could not extricate it again. So the villagers assembled, but could not hit on a plan to effect this result. But there was a wise man in that land, and he was sent for and came. He examined all the circumstances of the case, and finally decided that they should do him “Bismillah”; that is to say, that they should cut his throat with the formula, “in the name of God,” which makes such an act lawful. When they had done this to the poor donkey, the head remained in the jar, and the wise man ordered them now to break the jar. This they did, and brought out the head of the donkey. The wise man then said: “If I had not been here, in what manner could you have been delivered of this difficulty?” This view was approved by all, even by the owner of the donkey.

Two brothers in that country of idiots, being tired of buying salt every day, decided on sowing it over their fields, so that it may bring forth salt abundantly. The grass grew up, and the grasshoppers came; and the brothers, fearing that their crop of salt would be destroyed, armed themselves with bows and arrows to kill the grasshoppers. But the grasshoppers jumped hither and thither, and were difficult to kill; and one of the brothers hit the other by mistake with an arrow instead of a grasshopper, and he got angry, and shot back and killed his brother.

A penknife once fell into the hands of this people, so they held a council in order to consider what it was. Some thought it was the young one of a sword, the others that it was the baby of an axe, but that its teeth had not yet come out. So the argument waxing hot, they fell to fight one another, and many were wounded and killed.

A number of these people, considering that it was not proper that birds alone should fly, and that they were able to do so, clad themselves in posteens (some of which are made from the light down of the Hindukush eagle), and threw themselves down from a great height, with the result that they reached the ground killed and mangled.

III. Songs.

A Song (of evidently recent date, as the influence on it of Persian poetry is obvious).

The Confession of the Soul.

The following is an attempt to render the pretty tune of a more worldly Laila and Majnûn song, which reminds one of the “Yodeln” of the Tyrolese. It was sung to me by Taighûn Shah, the poet-minstrel of the Raja, to the accompaniment of a kind of guitar. The Chitráli language, it will be perceived, is musical.

APPENDIX IV.
THE RACES AND LANGUAGES OF THE HINDU-KUSH.

By Dr. G. W. Leitner.

The accompanying illustration was autotyped some years ago from a photograph taken in 1881, and is now published for the first time. Following the numbers on each figure represented we come first to No. 1, the tall Khudayár, the son of an Akhun or Shiah priest of Nagyr, a country ruled by the old and wise Tham or Raja Zafar Ali Khan, whose two sons, Alidád Khan in 1866, and Habib ulla Khan in 1886, instructed me in the Khajuná language, which is spoken alike in gentle but brave Nagyr and in its hereditary rival country, the impious and savage Hunza “Hun-land,” represented by figure 6, Matavalli, the ex-kidnapper whom I took to England, trained to some Muhammadan piety, and sent to Kerbelá a year ago. No. 2 was an excellent man, an Uzbek visitor from Koláb, one Najmuddin, a poet and theologian, who gave me an account of his country. Nos. 3 and 4 are pilgrims from Nagyr to the distant Shiah shrine in Syria of the martyrdom of Husain at Kerbelá; No. 5 is a Chitráli soldier, whilst No. 7 is a distinguished Arabic Scholar from Gabriál, from whom much of my information was derived regarding a peaceful and learned home, now, alas! threatened by European approach, which my travels in 1866 and 1872, and my sympathetic intercourse with the tribes of the Hindu Kush, have unfortunately facilitated. The Jalkóti, Dareyli, and others, who are referred to in the course of the present narrative, will either figure on other illustrations or must be “taken as read.” No. 8 is the Sunni Moulvi Habibulla, a Tájik of Bukhara and a Hakîm (physician). No. 9 is my old retainer, Ghulám Muhammad, a Shiah of Gilgit, a Shîn Dard (highest caste), who was prevented by me from cutting down his mother, which he was attempting to do in order “to save her the pain of parting from him.” 10. Ibrahim Khan, a Shiah, Rôno (highest official caste) of Nagyr, pilgrim to Kerbelá. 11. Sultan Ali Yashkun (2nd Shîn caste) Shiah, of Nagyr, pilgrim to Kerbelá. The word “Yashkun” is, perhaps, connected with “Yuechi.”

The languages spoken by these men are: Khajuná by the Hunza-Nagyr men; Arnyiá by the Chitráli; Turki by the Uzbek from Koláb; Shiná by the Gilgiti; Pakhtu and Shuthun, a dialect of Shiná, by the Gabriáli. The people of Hunza are dreaded robbers and kidnappers; they, together with the people of Nagyr, speak a language, Khajuná, which philologists have not yet been able to classify, but which I believe to be a remnant of a pre-historic language. They are great wine-drinkers and most licentious. They are nominally Muláis, a heresy within the Shiah schism from the orthodox Sunni Muhammadan faith, but they really only worship their Chief or Raja, commonly called “Thàm.” The present ruler’s name is Mohammad Khan. They are at constant feud with the people of Nagyr, who have some civilization, and are now devoted Shiahs (whence the number of pilgrims, four, from one village). They are generally fair, and taller than the people of Hunza, who are described as dark skeletons. The Nagyris have fine embroideries, and are said to be accomplished musicians. Their forts confront those of Hunza on the other side of the same river. The people of Badakhshán used to deal largely in kidnapped slaves. A refugee, Shahzada Hasan, from the former royal line (which claims descent from Alexander the Great), who has been turned out by the Afghan faction, was then at Gilgit with a number of retainers on fine Badakhshi horses, awaiting the fortunes of war, or, perhaps, the support of the British. He was a younger brother of Jehandár Shah, who used to infest the Koláb road, after being turned out by a relative, Mahmûd Shah, with the help of the Amir of Kabul. Koláb is about eleven marches from Faizabád, the capital of Badakhshán. The Chitráli is from Shogòt, the residence of Adam Khor (man-eater), brother of Aman-ul-Mulk, of Chitrál, who used to sell his Shiah subjects regularly into slavery and to kidnap Bashgeli Kafirs. The man from Gabriál was attracted to Lahore by the fame of the Oriental College, Lahore, as were also several others in this group; and there can be no doubt that this institution may still serve as a nucleus for sending pioneers of our civilization throughout Central Asia. Gabriál is a town in Kandiá, or Kiliá, which is a secluded Dard country, keeping itself aloof from tribal wars. Gilgit and its representative have been described in my “Dardistan,” to which refer, published in parts between 1866 and 1877.

I. POLO IN HUNZA-NAGYR.

Although our first practical knowledge of “Polo” was derived from the Manipuri game as played at Calcutta, it is not Manipur, but Hunza and Nagyr, that maintain the original rules of the ancient “Chaughán-bazi,” so famous in Persian history. The account given by J. Moray Brown for the “Badminton Library” of the introduction of Polo into England (Longmans, Green & Co., 1891), seems to me to be at variance with the facts within my knowledge, for it was introduced into England in 1867, not 1869, by one who had played the Tibetan game as brought to Lahore by me in 1866, after a tour in Middle and Little Tibet. Since then it has become acclimatized not only in England, but also in Europe. The Tibet game, however, does not reach the perfection of the Nagyr game, although it seems to be superior to that of Manipur. Nor is Polo the only game in Hunza-Nagyr. “Shooting whilst galloping” at a gourd filled with ashes over a wooden scaffold rivals the wonderful performances of “archery on horseback,” in which the people of Hunza and Nagyr (not “Nagar,” or the common Hindi word for “town,” as the telegram has it) are so proficient. Nor are European accompaniments wanting to these Central Asian games; for prizes are awarded, people bet freely in Hunza as they do here, they drink as freely, listen to music, and witness the dancing of lady charmers, the Dayál, who, in Hunza, are supposed to be sorceresses, without whom great festivities lose their main attraction. The people are such keen sportsmen that it is not uncommon for the Tham, or ruler, to confiscate the house of the unskilful hunter who has allowed a Markhôr (Ibex) that he might have shot to escape him. Indeed, this even happens when a number of Markhôrs are shut up in an enclosure, “tsá,” as a preserve for hunting. The following literally translated dialogue regarding Polo and its rules tells an attentive reader more “between the lines” than pages of instructions:—