"أيام ثيم ولَّت" [و‎‎٧‎٣] (٢٤٨/١٤٥)

74
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ate. A few days of this and I had enough confidence to take the
train to Peshawar, where the city was full of Pathans, very many
of them Afridis. j j
Nobody in the crowded trains spared a second-glance for a surly
and taciturn Pathan and indeed one was treated with considerable
respect.
Sitting squeezed up against two young Sikhs in the inevitably
crowded third-class compartment, I was somewhat puzzled by their
cryptic conversation until one of them produced a Communist
broad-sheet written in Gurmukhi; the other had a list, in the
same script, of names, addresses and sums of money. * It was
obvious that they were Communist workers and, as at the time
Russia was still in league with Germany, I judged that the Police
would be interested to know about them. I took the list from the
pocket of the man next to me but, reflecting that the Police
might wish to find it on him for use as evidence, replaced it.
At the next station I got out and, while the train was waiting,
had time to telephone the Intelligence Bureau in Peshawar and
rejoin the train. However, as luck would have it, the man with
the list in his pocket got out at the next station!
A Pathan police inspector in plain clothes got into the carriage
one stop short of Peshawar and we entered into conversation.
Fortunately he spoke Persian, and we were able to converse
without any likelihood of anyone else in the carriage being able
to understand. At the t i cket-barr i er in Peshawar the man was
stopped and the communist literature found inside his jumper. He
was led away, but I never heard what further action was taken or
whether his colleague was apprehended.
Special rules governed tribesmen staying in Peshawar and they
were required to spend the night in Serais where several hundred
would sleep on string beds in a large dormitory, and where their
names and tribal particulars were recorded on entry. This
presented no problem as I had my answers ready, but an
embarrassment was that the occupant of the next bed was a young
Tirah Afridi, fortunately from a different tribe from the one to
which I claimed to belong. He was inquisitive and friendly and
insisted that I should return to my village and claim my share of
the tribal 'allowances' (sums of money paid to the elders in
consideration of the good behaviour of the tribe, and shared
among all members). This, of course, I had no intention of
doing .
An interesting angle arose in the discussion of my supposed
employment as the personal servant of an Englishman. "Of
course," said my friend "You don't tell him the truth!"
I happened to know the head of the Intelligence Bureau in
Peshawar from Quetta days. He was "Father" (so called because
his hair was prematurely white) Wood, and the only man to suspect
my bona fides was his Afridi orderly. However I brazened it out