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June 6, 2003
Khyber Knights: A Fascinating Book
I had just finished reading and enjoying the widely acclaimed book ‘The O’Reilly Factor’ about ‘the good, the bad and the completely ridiculous in American life’ when I received by mail a book ‘Khyber Knights’ by another O’Reilly with a tongue-twisting first name-CuChullaine. This book was three time as big -a wrist-twisting, over 600-page to me - and claimed to be ‘an equestrian travel classic’. These two factors were enough for me to carefully deposit the book on a shelf and as carefully forget all about it.
But, turning the first couple of pages I found an inscription addressed to me by the author saying: ‘In memory of a country we deeply miss and dearly love’. He had signed it as Asadullah Khan, his Muslim name.
I started reading the book casually, by way of responding to the courtesy of the author, but soon I found myself in its fascinating grip. It took me four days to finish the book but it was time well spent.
First a few words about the author and his story. An adventure-seeker American, O’Reilly, used to ride and race motor bikes in America for the thrill of it. His itch for adventure took him to Afghanistan years before that country started experiencing political convulsions leading to its invasion by the Soviet Union. He lived and was at home with the Afghans of Mazar-e-Sharif. He shared with the Afghans the passion for horses and took part in the Afghan sport of Buz Kashi. He became fluent in Pushtu language, enjoyed the local dress, food , the way of life and values. He converted to Islam and took the name Asadullah Khan
Following the Soviet invasion in 1979, he moved to Peshawar and made it his home along with another American, Beau Fontaine, a musician who also converted to Islam and took the name Ali Muhammad. On a visit to Rawalpindi, they were arrested by Pakistan’s narcotics police and put in the same jail where Bhutto was confined and finally hanged. Being a trumped up case, it could not be proved in a court of law. Once released they, along with another young Pathan jail mate, leave for Peshawar and for travel on horse back hundreds of miles in the rugged, mountainous and highly hazardous areas of northern Pakistan. The travel is replete with thrills, adventures and hardships.
On return to the plains, Ali Muhammad finds himself deeply in love with a courtesan, a stunning Pathan beauty of Swat. Ali Muhammad wants to marry her. The two friends try to rescue her but by a twist of circumstances the avaricious tribal Malik holding her hostage for Ali’s money escapes along with her and his sons to his comrades in Afghanistan to avoid being killed by Pakistani troops. They dissolve in the sound and smoke of the Afghan war leaving Ali Muhammad to pine after her and plan to risk his life in her pursuit.
The book is divided in four parts, each dealing with a different phase of this fictional account of actual events. I wish the author had composed separate, self-contained, scripts on each of these four different aspects of his narrative.
‘Pakistan’, the author claims, ‘has molded me, at times almost destroyed me. It has shaped me into the man I am today and still holds the key to the secret parts of my heart.’
The first two parts of the narrative have a more direct bearing on the above claim. Unfortunately, Asadullah and Ali Muhammad were both maltreated by the narcotics police and no better by the Pindi jail wardens. The incidents happened in 1983 when the country was under Gen.Zia’s martial law with all its attendant follies.
The overall picture of the state of affairs in the country as reflected in the narrative is not complimentary. Adversities turn to gray the white areas and the gray areas into black.
Asadullah was born a century too late. He was born to ride a horse. No doubt, a ride on Harley Davidson thrilled him but not to the extent he sought and got on the back of a horse. God created the horse to be ridden by man; a horse without a rider looks naked and incomplete. And, it seems that God created Asadullah chiefly to ride a horse and to sit like a crown on the head of a king. Modern age has done away with the kings, crowns and horse riders. A roadside post on a street near my house says: “Equestrian Crossing”; over the past ten years I or any member of my family has never seen a horse crossing that busy road.
Asadullah could not travel back in time on Well’s time machine. So, he went to a country still lingering in the 19th century. But, the reality of the 20th century brought the two giants of the age to a clash of interest in the region. A war by proxy caught in its vortex the denizens of the region including persons like Asadullah who had made it their home. He escapes to the rugged mountains in the exhilarating company of his musician friend and the horses he virtually worships. He treats them with nothing but the utmost affection.
The largest potion of his narrative, almost half the book, is thus allotted to the travels in northern areas of Pakistan rarely traversed by other foreign visitors. It is this portion that has won encomiums by other writers, particularly the horse-back long riders. Asadullah logged more than a thousand miles in that area, a remarkable feat by any measure.
But to me, the best portion of the narrative is about the love of Ali Muhammad for the courtesan, Shaheen. It reflects Asadullah’s remarkable faculty of observation and his eye for the details. His picture of a whore house, the conduct of the pimp, the enchanting and seductive manners of the courtesans, the incongruity of the pimp offering evening prayers in the courtyard along with Ali Muhammad, are all superbly presented. Asadullah, no doubt, wields a powerful pen; his prose is elegant to say the least.
Reading about Ali Muhammad’s consuming love for Shaheen, I was reminded of the love story of a priest for a courtesan woven by the winner of Nobel Prize for literature in 1921, Anatole France. The book names after the courtesan ‘Thais’ was published in 1890 and immediately evoked interest for its nonconformist and therefore offensive theme to many among the world of letters of that period. It was translated into several languages.
It was adapted to Hindu cultural milieu and published as a novel, named also after the courtesan “Chiterlikha”, meaning the painter, the artist. It was superbly produced as a film sixty years back and immediately became a hit. It still evokes interest of connoisseurs.
Anatole France was at his best portraying the conflict between the dedication of an ascetic to God and his human urge and drive for the enchanting woman who found abode in his heart. In both stories carnal love consumes the holy men who struggle to place their devotion to God above any carnal thought. Both fail, both die consumed by the flame of their own desire.
In Asadullah’s account of his friend’s desire to possess exclusively, through marriage, the women he had lost his heart to is no less consuming. The beauty of Asadullah’s pen can be appreciated only when you read this portion of the book.
(Arifhussaini@hotmail.com Ph:714-280-1902)
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