CHAPTER XLVII.

THE BASE OF THE HINDÚ KÚSH.

CROSSING THE INDUS A PICTURESQUE SCENE MEN IN CHAINARMOUR-THE ROCK OF PIHUR-THE HINDÚ KUSH-SWABI AFGHAN KHANS-A BLOOD-HORSE-ACROSS THE BORDER-THE RUINS OF RANIGAT IDENTIFIED WITH AORNOS-ANTIQUITIES OF YUSUFZAI DISTRICT.

STARTING from Torbela on the afternoon of this day, I went about seven or eight miles down the left bank of the Indus to a ferry there is nearly opposite the mighty rock of Pihúr, which rises on the opposite shore, or rather almost out of the bed of the river, for in seasons of flood this rock is surrounded by the stream. Here I was passed over from the protection of the Hazara authorities to those of the Yusufzai district. Crossing the great river in another of those large highpooped carved boats of white wood, such as, in all probability, bore Alexander the Great across the Indus, on the opposite bank a very strange sight appeared, which looked as if it might have been taken out of the middle ages, or even out of the time of the Grecian conqueror. The boundary-line between our territory. and that of Afghanistan here leaves the Indus and runs. along the foot of the Hindú Kúsh, and one is supposed now to be in special need of being taken care of; so I was received on landing, and with great dignity, by a number of Afghan Khans belonging to our side of the

border, by a native officer of police, a body of mounted police, and a number of the retainers of the Khans, some of whom were horsemen in chain-armour.

Nothing could be more picturesque than the scene. It was now evening, and through the clear air the red light of the setting sun flamed over the yellow sands of the Indus, and burned on the high summits of the wild mountains around. The Afghan chiefs, with the retainers beside them, and their fine horses, were picturesque enough figures; but the most picturesque feature in the scene was, undoubtedly, the men in chain-armour, who carried immensely long spears, rode the wildest and shaggiest-looking of horses, wore brass helmets on their heads over crimson handkerchiefs, and galloped about between us and the hills, shaking their long spears, as if an immediate descent of the enemy was expected and they were prepared to do battle for us to the death. Unfortunately the enemy never did put in an appearance all the way along the border; but the men in armour did very well instead, and imparted a delightful sense of danger to the mysterious mountains.

The rock of Pihúr is between 300 and 400 feet high, and it would be a pleasant place of residence were it not for the wind which blows very violently up or down the Indus valley, and did so all night when I was there. Here I began to realise for the first time (belief being quite a different thing) that I was of some importance in the world. Guards slept in the veranda of the bungalow in which I was, though it was placed on the extreme summit of the rock and looked down precipices; guards paced round it all night; there was a guard half-way down the rock; another guard at the foot of the rock; and, when I looked down to the valley below, in the morning before daybreak, there were my friends in chain-armour riding round the rock

in the moonlight, but slowly, and drooping in their saddles as if they were asleep and recruiting after the fatigues of the day.

From Pihúr we rode about twenty miles along the base of the mountains to the Thána of Swabi, passing through the village of Topi, the Khán of which accompanied us on the journey. The mountains here and all along the border have a very singular effect, because they rise so suddenly above the plain. Our transIndus territory is here almost a dead level, being broken only by water-courses, at this season dry, which descend abruptly below the surface of the plain. From this wide level, which is scarcely 1800 feet above the sea, the mountains of the Hindú Kúsh rise quite abruptly for thousands of feet, range towering above range till we come to the line of snowy summits. As I have already pointed out, these mountains are really a continuation of the Himálaya, being separated from the latter by the gorge of the Indus, and running more directly to the west. Sir A. Burnes has told us that the name Hindú Kúsh is unknown to the Afghans, but that there is a particular peak, and also a pass, bearing that name. This mountain is far from our present neighbourhood, being between Afghanistan and Túrkestan. A good deal of doubt hangs over the derivation and meaning of the word; but, fancifully or not, the Kúsh has been identified with the Gaukasus of Pliny, and the whole of the immense range from the Himálaya to the Paropamisan Mountains, is known in this country as the Indian Caucasus. It is supposed to have a maximum height of about 20,000 feet, but very little really is known about it, and that adds to the interest of the range. Its highest peak or cluster of peaks appears to be the Koh-i-Baba, the Hindú Kúsh proper, between Kaubul and Bamían; and in the near neighbourhood of the British border there seem to be

no peaks quite 16,000 feet high, though some way back from it, beyond Swat, there is one of 18,564, and another of 19,132-the altitude of these heights, I presume, having been taken from points within our own territory or that of Kashmir. In geological formation these mountains do not seem to differ much from the Himálaya, being chiefly composed of quartz, granite, gneiss, mica-schist, slates, and limestone; but they are richer in metals—namely, gold, lead, copper, tin, iron, and antimony. The most remarkable difference between the two ranges is, that in their western portion the Hindú Kúsh are not backed to the north by elevated table-lands like those of Tibet, but sink abruptly into the low plains of Túrkestan. They are even more destitute of wood than the Himálaya, but have more valleys which are something better than mere gorges.

The Thána at Swabi is a very large strong place, with high walls, and could stand a siege by the mountaineers. It was here arranged that I should make a day's excursion, and recross the frontier, in order to visit the famous ruins of Ranikhet or Ranigat. This, however, I was told, was not a journey to be lightly undertaken. The Thánadar of Swabi, the officer of police, and quite a number of Afghan Khans, with their followers (including the inevitable horsemen in chain-armour) thought it necessary to accompany me, all armed to the teeth, and mounted on fine horses. The chiefs who went with me were Mir Ruzzun, Khan of Topi; Manir, Khan of Jeda; Shah Aswur, Khan of Manir; Sumundu, Khan of Maneri; Amir, Khan of Shewa; Husain Shah, the Thánadar of Swabi; and the officer of police, Khan Bahádúr Jhunota. It was a most imposing retinue; and in lieu of my solid Khiva horse, they mounted me on a splendid and beautiful steed, which would have been much more useful than my own for the purpose of running away, if that had been at all necessary.

I

could well, however, have dispensed with this arrangement, for by this time I had begun to suffer intensely from intercostal rheumatism; I could get no sleep because of it, and every quick movement on horseback was torture. I should like to have ridden slowly to Ranigat, a distance of about twelve miles from the Thána, as the quietest and humblest of pilgrims; but it is impossible to ride slowly on a blood-horse, with halfa-dozen Afghan Khans prancing round you; and however much you wished to do so, the blood-horse would object, so I had to lead a sort of steeplechase, especially in coming back, when, my blood having got thoroughly heated by torture and climbing, the rheumatism left me for the nonce, and by taking a bee-line, I easily outstripped the Khans, who must have been somewhat exhausted by their long fast, it being the month of Ramadan, when good Mohammedans, do not taste anything from sunrise to sunset. This horse I had must have been worth £200 at least; and when I returned it to its owner he told me that he could not think of taking it away from me after I had done him the honour of riding upon it. I accepted this offer at its true value, and found no difficulty in getting the Khan to take back his steed. I was curious enough to inquire at Mardán what would have been the result if I had accepted the offer, and was told that it would have caused endless indignation, and would probably have led to the murder, not of myself, but of somebody who had nothing whatever to do with the affair.

Leaving our horses at the little village of Nowigram, we climbed on foot for a thousand feet up the steep hill on which are the ruins of Ranigat. General Cunningham* has the merit of having identified this place with the Aornos of Alexander the Great. The antiquarian discussion on this point would hardly interest the gene* See his Ancient Geography of India, I. The Budhist period, p. 58.