Throughout the afternoon, they poured in: men of all kinds-tall, short, fat, thin. Mongol eyes glinted in desire; white-bearded, long-haired Sikhs nestled between her breasts, and her quivering limbs were bent under the weight of huge Afghans. A numb tiredness overcame Ann. She could not move-she was like a living receptacle, waiting immobile for men from all over the world to come and empty their frustrations, desires and lusts within her.
FOREWORD
There is nothing really remarkable about the old, grey tombstone in the deserted military cemetery of Abbotabad in Northern India. Except, perhaps that it is one of the few graves that is not a monument to the terrible smallpox epidemic of 1856. However, like all the other stone crosses, house-like sepulchers and Weeping Angels, the inscription on the old, grey stone has been worn away by the corroding sun and by generations of human neglect. Yet, if you take the trouble you can still make out its sorrowing legend:
IN LOVING MEMORY OF ANN PEMBERTON Beloved Daughter of COLONEL JOHN PEMBERTON:
Cruelly Killed In Her Eighteenth Year AUGUST 1888
Blessed Are The Pure In Heart
RIP
If after that you happen to travel west to Nowshera, Peshawar, Kohat or Kabul, you will surely hear the story of Ann Pemberton. It is not the sort of story that the Assistant Tax Collector or the Circuit Judge will tell you-but all along the North-West Frontier Province, in the most unexpected places, people will speak to you about her.
A grandson of her father's syce told me in Riwalpindi:
"She was a strange one. My grandfather used to say few men could ride a horse like her."
Another old man, who looked at least a hundred, said to me:
"I saw her as a child. I do not believe the stories. The Missahib was so English...."
Everywhere I went, someone had something new to add to the legend of this strange girl.
In Dargai somebody showed me her old prayer book. In 'Pindi a military historian showed me the yellowing report referring to the strange murder of a British officer in 1888. In any case, whatever the reality may be, I have collected in this book the entire legend of Ann Pemberton as I heard it in North-West India.
It had proved a fascinating task-this search for this elusive personality who rode like the wind; who spoke Hindustani and Puslitoo fluently in an age when white women wore long sleeves to protect themselves from the tainting sun; and whose passionate nature was more suited to the wild frontier where she was born, than the calm land of her origin. If I have taken some liberties with the story, I know she will forgive me.
Lahore, Feb. 18th. 1955. Ataullah Mardaan
CHAPTER ONE
In her dream Ann thought she heard drums. Opening her eyes, struggling to escape from the oppressive weight of sleep, she heard the steady patter grow louder. Rat tat-tat t-r-r-at. Rat-tat tat tat t-r-r-at. A parade! Excitedly she jumped out of bed, ran to the bathroom and looked out of the window. Across the lawn, through the huge chenar trees that spread their leaves like a woman's uncombed hair, she could see the soldiers drawn up in a square. Eagerly she leaned forward to see what was happening....
"Ann missahib, what are you doing up at this hour? And standing at the window like that without a robe! Suppose someone saw you?"
Ann turned away from the window with a start. She had been so absorbed in the drums that she had not heard the old Indian ayah enter the room.
"What is happening, Amina? Why are all the soldiers there?"
"Do not look, missahib, it is nothing for you. They are punishing a soldier, that is all."
"What did he do? And what will they do to him? Will they shoot him?"
"No, no, I suppose the Subedar-major will flog him-for it was not a very serious offence."
"What was it, Amina? Tell me...."
"Now, enough of this, missbaba, it is not a subject for women. What would your mother say if she heard you? Now get up and get dressed. I must go bring your mother's tea to her." With a sigh the fat old Indian nannie waddled away, fussily tidying up odds and ends as she made her heavy way through the dainty little room.
Ann waited until the ayah had left the room. For a moment she hesitated, but the dry rattle of the drums was irresistible. She looked out of the window again, then quickly she put on her shoes, threw a cloak over her nightgown and quietly slipped out into the cool morning air. She stopped for a moment to see if anyone was around, then bending low so as to be out of sight, she swiftly ran towards a clump of prickly, bushy plants that were hidden behind a large pile of yellow stones. She crouched down carefully behind the pile, and by softly parting the bushes she got an excellent view of the parade ground.
The men of Her Imperial Majesty Queen Victoria's Sixth Afghan Rifles were smartly drawn up to attention in the square. In the center of the square stood a rough wooden pole, and standing stiffly beside it was a powerful, heavy-bearded Sikh non-commissioned officer. The drums grew louder. Someone barked out a short command, and two turbaned orderlies led in a tall, proud-looking Afridi tribesman. He was easily over six feet tall, his bare chest glittered like bronze in the morning sunlight, and his dark-red bobbed hair fell in a sweeping arc around his face. He was led to the post and his hands were tied around the slender column. Once again Ann heard the rasping command-the drums rose to a steady crescendo-and the huge Sikh Subedar-major raised his whip and brought it down sharply across the back of the pinioned man. The cat o' nine tails-the famous taskmaster of Her Majesty's army-curled and writhed in the air, as if to anticipate the agony of its victim. Ann saw the tall Pathan stand upright, his eyes closed, his head held high, the muscles of his back tensed to meet each lash; but he barely flinched as the steel knots tore into his naked flesh. He seemed to be almost disinterested in the situation, as if he were patiently allowing this to happen to him in some fantastic dream world, secure that in reality, he was far, far away.
"Pachees-twenty-five ... chabbis-twenty-six...."
Higher the whip curled wildly, tearing his skin with its steel-nailed fingers.
"Tees-thirty. Ektees-thirty-one."
Ann felt her heart beat faster. The man was still immobile, unbending. It was magnificent! Nothing could humiliate him. He seemed inviolable. She crawled closer to the rock, feeling the excitement mount within her.
"Paintalis-forty-five." Crack! "Chhyalis." Crack!
"Faster," she murmured, "harder, faster ... beat him, beat him...."
"Saintalis. Artalis." Crack! "Unchas. Pachas."
Suddenly the man collapsed. His torn body doubled up convulsively and fell in a crumpled heap and lay quivering against the post. Instinctively Ann covered her eyes. She felt nauseated, numb, drained of all excitement; and then suddenly she was afraid. She looked fleetingly again at the crumpled, bleeding figure, then quickly she turned and ran into the house....
The sun smiled obstinately in the sky. It was seven o'clock and the birds flew around in a flurry of activity in anticipation of the evening's cool. From over the hill came the lonely sound of the bugle stridently calling Her Majesty's servants to their evening meal. Mrs. "Colonel" Pemberton bustled in from the garden, gingerly lifting her long, full skirt to avoid a puddle as she stepped into her bungalow.
"Ann, Ann, make haste; it is time to dress for the assembly ball."
"She is already in her bath, mensahib," replied the ever-present Amina.
Ann stretched her long, white legs out vertically and hastily started to wash her feet as she heard her mother's shrill voice. She stood up in the tin tub and reached for a towel. She stepped out of her bath and stood in front of the small round mirror on the wooden table, and carefully studied her face. She ran her hand delicately over the small, upturned nose, and around the light-blue eyes set under long curved brows, searching for skin blemishes. Then she bit her lips to redden their natural rose to a provocative crimson. Tossing back her long, blonde hair, she took the little mirror in her hand and lowered it to examine her breasts. She looked critically at the full white orbs with their little strawberry nipples. Bending backwards, she glanced in the mirror to catch a glimpse of the round, tensed breasts and the stiff little upturned nipples in profile. Moving the mirror down to the level of her stomach, she gently ran her hand over the round navel and the crisp golden hairs at the foot of her mound. Then she hesitated, looked quickly towards the door, and put her leg upon a chair. Lowering the mirror carefully between her legs, she parted the gold covered lips of her sex and looked at the deep, pink flesh. Timidly she placed a finger on the smooth, moist underlip and caressed it. A strange excitement seemed to fill her and she steadily increased the pressure, massaging gently back and forth, sometimes touching the little pink bud which hung like a hibiscus flower in the vale of her sex.
"Ann missahib, are you ready?" In a panic Ann quickly stood upright and replaced the mirror on the table. "Your mother is waiting."
"Yes, yes, Amina, please come and help me dress."
The ayah waddled into the bedroom, and Ann followed her. Amina had laid out her new pink organza dress. Swiftly, with the aid of the servant woman, Ann looped up her long, gold hair into two low wings on either side of her oval face, and twisted it into a heavy chignon at the top of her head. Then, holding on to the bed, she let the ayah lace her into the stiff whale-bone stays, which made her already-tiny waist look impossibly small. Deftly she slipped her petticoat with its bulky crinoline basket over her head, and stepped into the new organza dress. As the old ayah clumsily did up the twenty small pearl buttons that ornamented the back of the dress, Ann tried to question her about the morning.
"Please tell me, Amina. Why did they punish the sepoy today?"
"When will you learn not to be so inquisitive, Ann missbaba? It will get you into trouble one day! Anyway he was not a real soldier-just one of those northern tribesmen. Bad men, all of them."
"Yes, but what did he do that was wrong?"
"I do not know; he probably disobeyed the Subedarmajor. Now come, you must get ready...."
Ann sighed. Amina was renowned in the camp for her knowledge of the intimate details of the lives of the officers and their servants, and generally she liked nothing better than to be invited to indulge in a long and lurid gossip. However, when she chose, and for her own mysterious reasons, she could be more close and secretive than any Intelligence agent of the Frontier Forces, and Ann reluctantly realized that this was one of those occasions....
The mess hall was a blaze of light. On a raised platform at the far end of the room, the band of the Seventh Native Cavalry-in scarlet and gold-was playing a waltz. Around the hall, colorful as flowers in a conservatory, sat the ladies in their fluted silks, thin muslins and shimmering taffetas. Hawk-eyed regimental mothers stared severely at the young officers until, at last, their offspring were safely on the dance floor respectfully enclosed in the war-like arms of some young subaltern. The elderly officers and married men clustered together at one end of the hall. Officers of the Afghan Rifles in dark mess uniforms, leaning on long silver swords, chatted amiably with tall Lancers in scarlet tunics and bare-kneed Highlanders in bright clan tartans. Couples on the dance floor whirled to the music, adroitly dodging the Indian servants who dashed among them carrying precariously balanced trays of drinks and refreshments. But those who derived the greatest pleasure from the ball were the dark-eyed unofficial spectators, who peeped timidly through the long windows. Heavily veiled women, carrying cherry-eyed children, stood staring at this unknown world, where bare-necked women, clasped in the arms of gold-haired men, twirled together in the startling intimacy of some strange ritual dance.
Ann, her eyes closed, her head thrown back, was waltzing with a young officer from the Gordon Highlanders. She loved this dance, and completely abandoned herself to the giddy sensation of turning round and round and round-steadied only by the strong arms of a man. As she twirled, her mind a blank, her body an ecstasy of movement, down to the southern end of the hall, she was suddenly shocked back to reality by the sound of her father's voice.
"What are they going to do with this man who was flogged today?" Major Danbury was asking her father.
"Yakub Khan? He is not a bad fellow really; only like all these Pathan tribesmen, he is too damn independent. Can't bear orders, you know. Too good a man to dismiss however-a real magician with horses. Best thing is to take him out of the ranks and attach him to one of the domestic service units. Don't mind taking him on myself."
"Not a bad idea, old man; why don't you take him on as a syce (groom) for Ann. Solve everybody's problems. You know that daughter of yours does career around the countryside all alone. Very dangerous for a white woman, here on the Frontier."
"Hmmm, I suppose it would be all right. I'll speak to the Subedar-major in the morning. These Afridi chaps usually have a great respect for women. After all, they keep their own locked up!" And both the men laughed.
Ann felt her heart beat faster. As the music grew to its final crescendo, she could hardly wait for the last downward stroke of the band-master's baton. The final chord had barely died away, when she excused herself and ran towards the ladies' cloakroom. Once she was out of sight, she carefully slipped out of the back door and ran lightly across the compound.
It was dark. All around her, Ann heard the shrill whistle of the crickets and the deeper bass notes of the frogs, and sometimes, in the distance the staccato, mirthless laughter of a famished hyena. As she approached the stables, Ann stopped for a moment, her heart beating, awed by the audacity of what she was about to do. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate.
"I must think ... think hard ... what am I going to say to him? Will he not think it strange...." But her mind was numb; all she saw was the brown body cut by the hissing whip and the small rivulets of blood that worked their way across his deep chest with its forest of dark, curly hair. Suddenly she heard a step behind her. Terrified, she turned around and saw her father's old syce looking at her in surprise.
"What are you doing here, Ann missahib? All alone near the servant's quarters?"
"I ... I ... came to see Yakub Khan."
"Yakub Khan?"
"Yes, he is to be my new syce and I wish to speak to him."
"You have only to give me your command, and I shall see that he performs it."
"No, I would rather speak to him myself. Please ask him to come here, Daud Khan."
"As you wish, missahib." The old man gave her a curious glance and vanished as quietly as he had arrived.
Ann waited. Each second seemed an hour. She was torn between a sudden desire to run away and a deep longing to see this man. She felt completely numb like someone who walks through mysteriously familiar forests in a dream. Sick with excitement, she felt an unfamiliar dull pain tense the muscles of her belly.
"Oh dear God; this is stupid-he's only a servant." she told herself. "I must control myself. What a fool I am ... what a shameless, stupid fool. If I should be caught ... oh please, dear Lord, make him come ... please ... please ... please...."
"Missahib." The gentle voice startled her like the crack of a gun.
"Oh, here you are...." She was trembling. The man looked at her, puzzled.
"You called for me?" Ann looked at him. He loomed over her, a head and shoulders taller. She could see his slim frame dimly outlined by the thin, white shirt that hung down to his knees. He was not wearing a turban, and his dark, severely-cut hair accentuated the pallor of his face. She could barely distinguish his features in the dusk, but, looking closer, she was surprised to see that his eyes were a cold, clear green.
"You wanted to see me...." he repeated patiently.
"Yes ... I ... you ... you are to be appointed my new syce, and I wish to go riding tomorrow morning. So have Black Peter ready at seven, and you may mount Bulbul."
"Very well. Is that all, missahib?" The question was faintly mocking.
"Yes that is all"-she hesitated-"I hope you will be in a condition to ride tomorrow morning."
"I am not ill."
Ann felt the blood rush to her cheeks. The man had deliberately misunderstood her. She had come to see him out of sympathy-and he had rejected her pity. Furious, she said:
"Is it then usual for you to be whipped?"
She saw the green eyes harden. They were like a cat's eyes in the dark-cold, distant, angry. She felt him "tense and for a moment she imagined that he was going to strike her. He seemed to make a great effort.
"Will that be all, missahib?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Then I shall be at your house at seven. Salaam, missahib."
"Salaam."
All at once she was overcome by remorse. She should not have hurt him.
"Yakub Khan." The words were out before she could stop then.
"Yes." He did not come back. He only stopped and looked. "Nothing."
He turned away and went on as if nothing had happened. Ann felt sick. What a fool she had been! How could she have humiliated herself like that! She was shaking with rage.
"I will teach you, you damn black. I will lather you for this." Suddenly she stopped-smiled. She was swearing exactly like her father. She imagined her mother saying:
"I do not know what to do about Ann. She is so like a boy...."
Slowly she turned and made her way back to the ball. At the entrance of the large hall she was met by Robin McCleod.
"Heavens, child; where have you been? Your mother is frantic."
"I went to the stables to order my horse for tomorrow."
"I could have done that for you, or one of the servants! Really, lassie, you should not go near the servants' quarters alone! The native men don't like it, not to speak of your mother. However I'll say nothing ... Oh! Mrs. Pemberton, your daughter is back-safe and sound."
Ann saw her mother descending on her with ominous clucks and the injured air that always preceded a long scolding in public. Grasping Robin by the arm, she said:
"Quick, let's dance, Robin."
Robin looked around and saw Mrs. Pemberton determinedly threading her way through the dancers. He laughed understandingly.
"All right," he said, "but next time, my girl, be more careful ... or you will land in serious trouble one day." Ann closed her eyes and swung into the lilting circles of the waltz. Bending slightly backwards, she threw herself furiously into the fast-pivoting round of the dance ... she closed her eyes tighter and imagined she was dancing wildly and alone around an idol with cold, green eyes.
They had been riding for an hour, Ann in front, and Yakub Khan following at a respectful distance. She had tried to draw him into conversation but he had so far successfully avoided being caught in the net of her words, and had remained cool, polite, aloof. Ann felt frustrated and angry. Something was wrong. She had not slept with excitement all night-she had imagined so many adventures-that this reality was unbearable. Suddenly she stopped.
"Let us go home," she commanded. Without a word the Afridi wheeled his horse around and followed her. Ann was irritated. Why was he so negative-so nothing? She had seen him as a magnificent victim at the sacrificial altar of male pride. She had even been able to anger him last night, but today he was nothing. He was a servants-a thing without personality-without even a sex. She wanted to lift her riding whip to hit him, just to see him bleed once again. Turning to him, she said abruptly:
"Why do you people treat your women so badly?"
"We do not, missahib," he replied.
"You lock them up and allow them no pleasures."
"That is not true; they have a great deal of pleasure...." Once again the imperceptible mocking tone.
"What pleasure can compensate for the lack of freedom?" she goaded him. But he had lapsed into an obstinate silence again. Ann felt she had been slighted. She did not try to talk to him any more, but rode on in silence until they were back at the stables. There she dismounted, threw her reins to him and walked away with a curt nod of dismissal.
Back in the house, Ann felt empty. She wandered absently from room to room, feeling lost and frustrated. When at eleven o'clock her mother suggested a visit to Captain Stanton's ailing wife, she accepted with an enthusiasm that greatly surprised her parent. However Mrs. Stanton's vivid descriptions of tropical fever had no calming effect on the tumult within her. After a short while, she complained of a migraine and asked her mother for permission to return home. Once she was back in the comforting solitude of her room Ann did not know what to do. She lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling-her body an agony of strange longing. Suddenly she got up and left the house and started for the servants' quarters.
In every British army camp, the servants' quarters were separated from the house by a large expanse of garden. And the distance between server and served was even more distinctly marked by a high hedge which marked the boundary between the two classes. It was not usual for European adults to wander on the other side of this hedge, though every white child born in India spends most of his early years behind this boundary playing with his servants' children. Until one day he is finally called back to the other side, and somehow never finds his way back to his early companions.
As Ann approached the separating hedge, she heard the sound of the water bucket being raised from the well. Peering through the close leaves of the hedge she saw a man bending over the well. She felt a sudden surge of excitement. She did not need to see his face; she knew that back, with its delicate tracery of scars. The man slowly pulled the bucket of water out of the well. Forgetting all caution Ann knelt on the grass and soundlessly parted the leaves of the hedge. It did not occur to her that a casual passer-by might think it strange to see a white woman peeping through the hedge. The man had taken off his turban and was loosening the string of his pajama-like trousers. He stepped out of the baggy trousers and threw them on a stone. Ann put a hand to her mouth; her heart hammered and she felt ill. For the first time in her life she saw a man naked. Before her stood the Afridi-tall, powerful, brown; his body as smooth as a column except that between his rounded thighs lay a firm brown rod of flesh. Ann felt her stomach tighten. She had seen the same rod on horses and once a girl had told her that if the fleshy rod touched a woman, a baby was made. Ann cowered behind the hedge as if to protect herself from the mysterious power of the quiet, yet menacing rod. Suddenly she saw him dip a little silver mug into the bucket and pour the cool, clean water over his sun-dried skin. He shuddered as the cold water slapped his warm flesh and the rod between his legs quivered.
As he poured water all over him, Ann saw the brown rod harden-as if what had been flesh before had now become some smooth brown stone. Each cold splash of water caused it to quiver and jerk and rise a little farther away from his legs, until finally it was standing horizontally against the column of his body. The man took the brown organ carefully in his hands and poured water over it, gently rubbing it, while the flesh jumped and quivered in his fingers like a living thing with a heart of its own. Ann could bear no more. She wanted to reach out and touch the strange brown rod-yet she was afraid of its mysterious powers. Perhaps even just looking at it had worked some strange change within her. Frightened, she rose quickly and ran back to the house.
She closed the door of her room and threw herself on the bed. Her body was aflame. She did not understand this strange sensation. She felt she wanted to tear off her skin, roll on the ground, hurt herself. Her breasts felt as if they were ripe fruit, ready to drop from the slender stalk of her body. Abruptly, she got up from the bed, throwing her legs violently over the side, opened the door of her room and bumped right into her mother.
"Goodness, child; what is the matter? Are you ill?"
"No, mother; I am well ... I fell asleep and had a bad dream."
Mrs. Pemberton clucked sympathetically.
"Ann, dear, Mrs. Davidson and I have to go to town, so could you look after little Peter if you have nothing else arranged?" She pointed to the little boy who clutched her skirt with grimy fingers.
"All right, Mother; when will you be back?"
"In time to dress for dinner. Now, Peter, stay with your Aunt Ann, and do not cry, like the grown up little soldier you are." And with many kisses and waves Mrs. Pemberton disappeared down the hallway.
Ann looked helplessly at the six-year-old child.
"Come in, Peter," she said.
She closed the door of her room and lay down on the bed. Her belly was hard, and her limbs felt as if they were shaken by some strange ague. Her clothes felt like iron on her body. She decided to take off her dress and lie down in her shift. For an instant she hesitated, realising the boy was in the room; then, seeing him absorbed in some imaginary game, she quietly stepped out of her gown.
"Aunt Ann, what are those for?" Ann started at the sound of the child's voice. Then a hot flush covered her cheeks. The boy was pointing at her breasts.
"Little boys must not ask such impertinent questions."
"But I have seen Mother feed our baby there-can you do that?"
"Peter, you really must not talk so much."
"But CAN you?"
Once again Ann felt the strange suffocating sensation. She trembled. She remembered how once, about a year ago, Amina had given her a bath, and when she had soaped her breasts, the nipples had grown hard and the same warm sensation had coursed through her body. She turned excitedly to the little boy.
"Peter, come here. Will you keep a secret? If I let you drink here like your baby sister, you promise not to tell mother?"
The boy solemnly shook his head. Trembling, Ann got on the bed.
"Come here, Peter," she whispered, and lifted the little boy beside her on the bed. Fumbling, she opened her bodice and pulled out the darkening tip of one breast.
"Go on, Peter, do what the baby does." The boy looked frightened. Gently Ann pushed his head toward her breasts.
"Go on; it is all right," she reassured him. Suddenly the boy grabbed her nipple in his hand. With a moan of pain Ann urged him on.
"Yes, yes, Peter. Go on, suck it; suck it, Peter." The boy put the tip in his mouth. Ann pressed his head, hard, against her, and almost cried out as she felt his teeth clumsily close around the soft pink aureole. The child squeezed her breast in his hard little fingers and sucked and bit. Sometimes his tongue crossed the sensitive bud of her nipple, causing her to moan and cry out. She had never experienced such strange yet pleasureful pain. The boy, frightened by the new intensity in her voice, and hurt by the convulsive pressure of her fingers against his head, suddenly let go. Ann sobbed. The fire was consuming her completely now.
"Peter," she said desperately, "look here ... if you rub this little thing here ... something wonderful will happen. Really! You will see a wonderful magic." Slowly, as if in a dream, Ann lifted her skirt, opened her legs wide and gently separated the gold-framed lips of her sex. Taking the boy's hand she said:
The little boy stroked the lips of her sex with his butterfly fingers. Gently he moved on the smooth moist skin and churned the white juices of her body. With his finger, he tickled the little pink bud, which trembled at his touch. Ann felt herself drawn down by some fierce current.
"Rub, Peter, rub," she cried in pain, afraid that once again he would stop. "Please, please! You will really see some wonderful magic."
"When, Aunt Ann?" whined the child.
"Now, now," she gasped as some unknown urgency gripped her. "Harder, Peter, harder ... yes ... yes ... now...."
The boy was pummeling frantically. All of a sudden Ann felt the stone in her belly melt and burst and the fragment seemed to fly out of her, shaking her body in spasm after spasm. She lay there shuddering, her limbs twitching, drifting into the wonderful limbo of satiation. She did not hear the frightened wail and the plaintive voice repeating:
"When is the magic, Aunt Ann ... you promised me! When is the magic?"
The next day Ann woke late. She carefully dressed herself and came down to lunch. As she sat facing her mother and father, she briefly thought of the events of the last afternoon. The incident had already assumed a dream-like unreality. Ann turned to her father.
"I think I shall go riding this evening, when it is cooler."
"Please, Ann, promise me that you will always take Yakub Khan with you. Is it not wise for an eighteen-year-old unmarried girl to ride alone around an Army camp."
Ann clapped her hands, and when the Berar appeared around the door, like some turbaned genie from a fairy tale, she told him to send a message to Yakub Khan to prepare the horses for the evening.
Ann was just about to excuse herself, after the fruit had been served, when the servant returned and told her that Yakub Khan had sent a message saying that he was too ill to go out this evening. "That is nonsense!"
The words rushed out before Ann could stop herself. Her father raised his eyebrows.
"If the man is ill, Ann, take another syce with you. I am sure Daud Khan is free tonight."
Ann bit her lip. She had made a fool of herself again, this time in front of her parents. She got up quickly and said that she would attend to the matter herself.
Out in the afternoon sun Ann felt she would choke with rage. She savagely broke a long twig from a Peepul tree and walked down the garden hitting at all the bushes and flowers that came in her path.
"If he refuses to go-I swear I shall have him whipped...." She walked determinedly towards the servants' quarters.
"Yakub Khan! Yakub Khan!"
A woman swiftly rose from the floor of one of the huts, like a startled bird, and ran indoors. Who was she? Ann's heart beat faster ... his wife ... his sister? Suddenly the curtain was lifted from the same doorway and he was standing there-dark and sullen.
"You called me?"
"Yes, I want the horses saddled at six this evening."
"I am ill. I shall send your father's man."
"It is you who are my syce, Yakub Khan."
"I am sorry, but...."
"You shall bring the horses this evening. You are not ill, and if you persist in being lazy, I shall report you to the Subedar-major. You surely do not want a second public disgrace." She saw his lips tighten into a thin line. At last she had been able to rouse him to some reaction. She felt a thrill of triumph and continued relentlessly:
"You had better feel well by this evening."
The man did not reply. Ann waited. He did not even look at her. He just stood there, waiting for her to leave. Quickly she turned away.
"At six then," she snapped and walked away.
She was ready and dressed at five o'clock. Nervously she waited for the knock on her door. At six sharp she heard the Berar call.
"The horses are here, missahib."
For a moment she was afraid to go out. What should she do if he were not there? Then, quickly, like a swimmer taking the initial plunge, she ran down the steps to the gate. He was standing there with the two horses. Ann could not help smiling. She had won! She was no longer afraid of him. Swiftly she mounted her horse and headed for the lonely wilderness, to the north of the camp....
They had been riding for about two hours, and the man had not said a word. He followed her like a reluctant shadow. Ann could stand it no longer. She reined in her horse.
"Yakub Khan-I want to make Black Peter jump those bushes there." The man shrugged.
"Did you hear me? Why do you not answer? I want...."
"They are too high." He sounded sullen, weary.
"Nonsense, why do you not take Bulbul over first?"
"He may hurt himself. I would not risk it."
"Coward!" she spat the word out, spurring her horse savagely. "Come on Peter-hup!"
The horse lunged forward, surprised by the sudden bite of the spur. He galloped blindly forward until he saw the gray bushes loom up suddenly in front of him. Terrified, he tried to stop, slipped and fell onto his forelegs. Ann was brutally catapulted in the air, and thrown into the bushes. For an instant she lay stunned. Then all at once, reality came rushing back at her. She had fallen on her back-her head dangled a few inches from the ground and her body was supported by the stubby bushes. One leg was buried deep in the thorny twigs, while the other was blocked high in the air by a branch of a tree, and as silence suddenly closed around her like a solid block, she realized that she had been screaming. She raised her head a little and saw that the syce had jumped off his horse and was running towards her. He called urgently to ask is she was hurt, put out a hand to help her-and suddenly stopped. For a long moment he stood absolutely still looking at the wide parted legs encased in their frilly pantaloons-ridiculous and inviting in their helplessness. Ann felt tears of humiliation and shame smart in her eyes.
"Help me out of here. Help me, you fool," she screamed, her voice shrill with anger.
Yakub Khan was startled into action at the sound of her voice. He bent over her to lift her up by the shoulders, and as he did so his body touched the crotch of her wide open legs. Ann sobbed; she was aware only of the humiliation and impotence of her present position. Blindly she raised the riding crop that she still clutched in her hand and lashed at him.
"You beast, you devil ... why do you not help me?" she sobbed.
The man's eyes were like jade. He stopped for a moment, breathing hard-then in one swift movement he dragged her off the bushes and threw her on the ground. He tore the whip out of her hand and lashed her across the body.
"Kutti-bitch-you'll get what you want! Yes, I shall certainly obey the Colonel sahib's daughter!"
He threw himself on top of her and started to tear at her pantaloons.
"You white whore. You didn't know what you were asking for! You were panting for a man; well, you shall have one."
Ann screamed. He slapped her hard across the head, and as she lay stunned, she heard the sound of cloth tearing. She felt herself being lifted up and the dress ripped from her back. She was helpless, caught in a fantastic nightmare. She seemed to be watching all this happen to her from some distant world of consciousness-paralyzed-unable to move. She tried to call out, as she felt him tear at her body, but no sound came from her open mouth. A pain more intense than any she had ever felt gripped her belly. The man's hand was on her breast. He had pulled free the nipple that had been partially concealed by the front of her dress and was chewing it with ferocity. Suddenly he thrust his thighs between her trembling limbs and parted her legs wide-wide. Ann saw the green eyes burn above her, and she tried desperately to cry out. Savagely he put a hand over her mouth and smothered her cries. Then, forcing open her mouth with his fingers, he thrust in his tongue. He ran his tongue roughly inside her mouth, and then brutally pushed it deep into her throat.. Ann choked, but he only penetrated harder and deeper into her mouth. She felt she would suffocate. She did not see his long, hard sex rear out. She only felt it pushing, hard and ruthless, against the soft skin of her thighs. She felt his groping fingers, impersonal and purposeful-open the lips of her vagina. For a second he ran his finger along the slippery surface and then, as if scorning such preliminaries, the hard torpedo of flesh tore through her virgin opening and penetrated to the center of her being. Ann shuddered at the brutal thrust, and her body twisted and strained in an effort to shake off its cruel burden. Her soft breasts rubbed against his chest, and her bucking hips only succeeded in increasing his desire. Deeper his tongue thrust into her throat and with every thrust his ramming sex tore into her virgin belly. His attacks were deep and hard. His hands clutched at her smarting breasts and "kneaded the soft heap of her stomach. Suddenly she felt the entire force of his being tense. His teeth closed convulsively over her tongue, and she felt the sudden taste of blood in her mouth. One hand anchored in the blonde hairs of her bush and tore the golden threads with each new, urgent thrust. The other hand moved under her back and gripped her buttocks, pulling them up towards him. He drew out. Paused for an instant-and then plunged in again faster and faster, harder and harder, until with a gasp he collapsed on her body, and the flood gates burst, shattering their cascade of milk-white stars within her.
CHAPTER TWO
It was only about seven o'clock in the morning, but the sun was high in the sky. The garden had lost its early-morning dew-twinkle freshness. The wide, green trees, the small, sturdy shrubs and the bright-coloured flowers had already started to droop in the crushing light of the too generous sun. Even the birds sat solemnly in the trees blinking their eyes as if they had a hangover. While far away in the distance, mocking the dusty countryside, rose the cool snow-capped peaks of the Hindu Kush.
Ann looked out of the window at the garden, which seemed as still and colorful as an intricate oriental tapestry. She shivered and closed the window. She was afraid. The Berar had just announced that the syce was waiting with the horses. She was afraid because she had not asked him to come this morning. She had lain sobbing in the forest last night until Yakub Khan had returned with an old cloak. She did not remember how she got home, or how she sat through dinner with her parents. Her body felt tired and weary, as if she had just got up after a long illness. She sat on the bed. It would do him good to wait. She got up again and walked around the room, sick with nervousness. What should she say to him? How should she act? Should she have told her parents? She sat down again, and tried to think of the man. As she thought of his long fingers and his strange green eyes, she knew that she had made her decision a long time ago. For a moment longer she hesitated; then, shaking herself violently like a dog after a bath, she walked briskly out of the house to meet him.
She saw Yakub Khan sitting patiently on the brick gate, the reins of the two horses lying loosely in his hands. He was wearing tight jodhpurs, with a military tunic, and on his head was the traditional fan-like turban of the Pathans. As Ann approached he got up courteously and greeted her.
"Salaam, missahib. Did you sleep well?"
Ann looked at him sharply, but she could detect no special familiarity in his tone. Without replying, she let him help her on her horse; and like any other day, the syce held his animal back, letting her ride ahead as was her privilege.
For a long time they rode on in silence, past fields of yellow wheat, green corn and bright mustard plants. Every now and then a skeleton-like farmer looked up at them with sad eyes and, as if to contradict the pathetic impression, greeted them with a flashing smile. Early morning platoons of turbaned and button shining sepoys thumped by on practice marches. The horses occasionally raised their heads and whinnied nervously as clumsy bullock carts rumbled across the road; or they would shy at the sight of haughty camels laden with mysterious bundles, padding their slow way north to distant Sikiang and Turkestan.
For once Ann was grateful for his silence. She rode quietly ahead, drinking in the early morning sounds, feeling strangely happy and content. Then suddenly, as the bright sunlight gave way to an unnatural gloom, she realized that the horse, through force of habit, had headed for the lonely wooded wilderness. For a moment, Ann was tempted to turn back and "keep to the roads full of morning traffic. Then, almost too embarrassed to underline last night's adventure, she quietly let the animal continue. They rode deep into the wilderness, through groves of dark pines and strange misshapen conifers. The horses, stumbling over the loose red rocks and scratching their flanks against the prickly branches, made unerringly for the broad strip of grassy down known as 'Shaitan-ki-jeeb'-the Devil's Tongue. Ann reined her horse to admire the wild and hilly panorama, so typical of the Frontier. She knew that she should not have stopped, but as she felt Yakub's arm tighten around her waist, she realized that in some strange way this gesture had become the focus of her life, since yesterday. The Pathan carefully slipped her off her horse and carried her on to his own. He perched her facing him on the pommel of his saddle. She did not dare to speak as she felt his long fingers slowly opening the buttons of her riding habit. He undid her bodice to set free her breasts which sprang out of their prison like two white pigeons leaving their coop. He bent his head and raising one breast slightly he took the soft pink tip in his mouth. Gently, he ran his tongue over the velvet circle, and felt it harden with desire. Ann closed her eyes and leaned back offering her breasts to the caressing touch as his hand slowly squeezed the blue-veined globes, and rotated the fruit-like nipples. She moaned. She felt a trembling in her loins as if the very center of her being suddenly strained at the prison bars of flesh, eager to break out. She rotated her hips gently to assuage the intense feeling within her, until she felt Yakub's hand slowly pull at her long skirt. He lifted the straight wool skirt high over her knees and then stopped, exasperated.
"Why do you women wear these trousers?"
The fear and tension within her dissolved at the sound of his voice, and she felt a great tenderness for the strange man. Gently she kissed him on the cheek, and let her head drop on to his shoulder. He pushed her away roughly; and, taking out the long thin Pathan knife, he swiftly and neatly cut away the front of her pantaloons. Then, with one hand, he deftly opened his jodhpurs and revealed the long, hard truncheon of his sex.
"Take this in your mouth," he commanded.
For a brief instant, Ann hesitated, afraid once again of the hard, quivering rod. Fiercely, he pushed her head down between his parted thighs and inserted the taut organ in her mouth. Ann felt a great unreasonable joy as she felt the strong length of flesh violate her mouth. Timidly she ran her tongue over its furrowed tip, and felt the rod quiver and jump. She felt a sudden surge of excitement as she realized her power over his sex. Furiously, she began to suck and bite his instrument, crushing its base in her hand and pulling the crisp, black hairs of his mound. She bent further forward, teasing the strong rod in her mouth, like a dog with a bone.
He slid his hands down her back and parted the heavy semi-circles of her buttocks, widening the narrow vale and running his finger down the soft furrow. Then, gently lifting the heavy gloves off the saddle, his long fingers found the hidden well of her sex. She trembled as she felt his fingers caress the deep abyss that led to the very core of her being, and the musky fluid of her body responded to his touch. Suddenly he pulled his stone-hard organ violently away from her grasping lips, and lifting her off the saddle-she felt as if she were suspended between heaven and earth in an eternity of longing-he brought her down hard on his upright sex. The fleshy spear spiked into the very center of her body and she cried out from the sudden shock of pleasure. Then suddenly she felt the horse move beneath her, and the rod inside her stabbed her with short jerks as the animal trotted. She grasped his shoulders and offered her breasts to his violating tongue, oblivious to everything except the moving pleasure within her body. Dimly she heard the man laugh, and realized that they were now galloping down the hillside, and she was pinioned on the speeding horse, like some gold butterfly desperately clinging to the stamen of a forest flower. With each lunge of the horse's muscled shoulder his sex penetrated deeper into her body, until swiftly she felt his body stiffen and the cascading river of his desire swelled and rushed to meet the murky waters of her own contentment.
"This desire is all my preoccupation. I have lost all seeming interest in things befitting my age and station. I live in a constant void between the moments when I esteem that I fulfill my one purpose in life. I know not where this will lead, for he is but a heathen and a servant, and perhaps incapable to Christian Virtue. For I, myself, am so beyond the pale of redemption that I dare no longer commune with my own kind. For I have become like one of the lonely yellow dogs that have no home and spend nights crying for the moon.
Ann Pemberton. Abbotabad. 1888."
These strange words were found in Ann Pemberton's prayer book, and it seems that after this moment of truth, she did indeed cut herself off from her past, and allowed herself to be entirely swallowed by the floodtides of her desire.
She saw Yakub Khan every day, but even that was not enough, and she often sought him out two or three times in a day. Her desire overcame her sense of caution and she took terrible risks to be with the Pathan even for a few minutes, and to quench the burning fire in her loins.
The afternoon was always a good time. The baked earth, having fought all morning against the sun, collapsed, defeated under the crushing force of the heat. Everyone slept. The farmer, with his turban wrapped round his face, dozed beside his field. The dogs twitched in reverie in the shade of the huge peepul trees; only the flies whirled in frenzied circles of activity around the still forms, providing a drowsy humming accompaniment to the still time of day.
Ann lay panting in the dark interior of the little room. Since Yakub's wife had left to visit her family for a few days, she had twice managed to steal past the barrier that separated the servants' quarters and creep unseen into the dark interior of his little room. She loved the tiny but dark room, with its strong odor of saddle soap and mustard oil; the sturdy string bed with its coverlet of cotton patchwork; the packing case that served as a dresser, cluttered with mugs, knives, jars, oils and mysterious "tabeez" good-luck medals. She knew Yakub did not like her coming here. He was ashamed of his poverty, and he felt the situation was too dangerous.
"Are you too hot, missahib?"
"No."
She turned on her side and felt the hard string bed creak. She was naked and in the dark interior her body gleamed like a pearl.
"Your body is so white ... it is like that of a houri."
"Houri?"
"Yes-angels of Paradise. It is said that one is blinded by the radiance of their bodies."
He carefully undid the pins in her hair and let the golden strands fall to the floor. Slipping off the bed, he knelt beside her, and gently started to lick her body.
Slowly his tongue furled and unfurled over her heavy breasts until the two nipples became as hard and bright as berries. He caressed her curved body, licking her stomach and the hollow bowl of her navel, gently and attentively like a cat cleaning its young. His hand slid between her thighs and separated the heavy, cream-coloured flesh, and his tongue pushed through the yellow fuzz that grew like a protective forest over her love center, and slipped into the narrow glove of her sex. Gently and rhythmically his long, muscular tongue thrust into the coral opening of her vagina, pushing in and out in a gentle imitation of his own black power. He seemed to stroke the strength back into her body, and under the caressing rhythm of his hands and tongue, life slowly surged back into the woman. Her rosy love-lips twitched and closed convulsively around his tongue. Her thighs widened, yielding their hidden depths more fully to his taking. Then, in an instant, like a cloud across the sun, the dark body covered the quivering gold and drove her whiteness into his own dark oblivion....
Night. There are pools, even in the north of India, where the lotus blooms at night. Ann lay quiet, her head embedded in soft grass-blue-black in the pale moonlight. Her hair turned to silver, fell over the bank into the water. She lay listening to the sounds of the night-the rustle of trees, swaying like temple dancers in the wind; the rapid croak of frogs, and the lonely distant wail of the jackal. She lay quiet and content; the heavy sex within her filled her completely. She was completed and annihilated ... The man beside her stirred uneasily.
"Ann, missahib ... are you awake?"
"Hmmmmm...?"
"Ann, missahib, I do not like this. We will be caught one day. It will be bad for me, but worse for you, missahib."
"We will not be caught; I shall be careful." Her voice was sleepy, disinterested.
"It would be all right if we were content to meet only for our rides ... but this way, everyone will soon know. It is always dangerous to invent lies ... Suppose you should be discovered?"
"Then I shall die content."
"Please, missahib, think carefully of what I have said when I am away. I suppose your father told you that I am accompanying him to Dargai."
The whip of sudden reality lashed Ann out of her torpor.
"You are going away? For how long?"
The words seemed to tear at her throat.
"That depends on the Colonel sahib-but I think about a week."
A week! Eight days and eight nights! How would she live through those days of enforced virginity?
"Do not go." It was a command.
"But, missahib, I cannot refuse; you know that."
"Yes, but for my sake do not go!"
There was a silence. The emptiness within Ann became tangent as the Pathan slowly drew out of her body.
"It is time you returned, missahib." The voice was cold, distant. Ann sighed. It was so difficult to have any emotional contact with this man. Every time she tried to come close to him ... he quietly slipped away. Afraid that one day, the strange unknown sentimentality might really take possession of his mind and soul, and rob him of his one treasure-independence.
"Salaam, missahib." The man was already dressed and ready to leave.
"Salaalm, Yakub. God be with you," she answered.
It was two days now since Colonel Pemberton had left with a small platoon-including Yakub Khan-for Dargai on the eastern frontier of Afghanistan. Two long, lonely, tiresome days. After the impact of the last few weeks, Ann had completely lost touch with the mannered pattern of her former existence. The only truth she now knew was the pulsing throb in her loins, and the rosy limbo of satiety.
Two days ... Ann sighed ... Two days of uninterrupted visits to the cloth-shops; of complaints about the domestic staff, of ladies' teas, cards and skin remedies....
She sat with her mother on the veranda. Mrs. Pemberton, happily ignorant of her daughter's double life, chattered on, disseminating local gossip and moral judgments in equal parts...."That Mrs. Elwin-really it is indecent the way she talks to men!"
Ann closed her eyes.
"And your daughter, mother dear, rolls naked in the grass with servants...." she felt like saying.
"Unthinkable for a real lady!" said Mrs. Pemberton as she added her own "Amen" to her daughter's thoughts. Do not forget, Ann dear, that we are to go to the ball tonight. Major Carlson and dear Robin have promised to escort us."
Once again, a ball! The same wooden Mess hall, lined with the same faces. Mustached majors glittering in uniforms; women twittering like spoiled myna birds in a cage. The same people one saw every day, pretending to be new and different with the aid of a strip of coloured muslin and a spot of forbidden rouge.
Voices ... repeating the same phrases week after week....
"What have they done about the frontier Command...?"
"Did he really get posted to Kabul?"
"My Durzi said he needed eight yards ... so I had to have the material sent from Delhi...."
"Didn't you know that Commissioner Howes was the second cousin of Philip de Boynes, who is the nephew of Lord Darlington...."
A little lost world-creating its own peers, its own heroes and its own knaves. A world closing out the reality around it-trying to forget the dark eyes filled with suspicion and hate, looking through the windows-and remembering only the blue. The blue eyes of Sandhurst, of the Cam, of parties to Henley and picnics on the Downs.
"Ann, lass, you look splendid!"
Ann glanced at herself in the mirror-she did indeed look very fetching. She was wearing a pale mauve dress, that was cut low off the shoulders, and tapered down to a small tight bodice. A narrow scarlet ribbon tied around the waist and the skirt spread out in large folds over the huge crinoline basket. Her blonde hair was lifted off her neck in a small bun at the back of her head and fell in ringlets on either side of her face. Between her breasts where the dress dived to a deep V, Ann had modestly placed a crimson rose.
Smiling at Robin, she offered her hand to him and was swept off to the dance floor. Ann felt the familiar excitement rise within her. The lights, the laughter and above all the lilting rhythm of the waltz brought a flush to her pale face.
"Ann, you are so beautiful."
"Do you think so, Robin?"
"Lass, I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."
Ann laughed. Yakub never made extravagant compliments. He never spoke unless it was absolutely necessary. But then this was so far from Yakub's world.
"Why, Robin, how you can flatter a lady!"
"I ... I ... am not flattering, Ann. I meant it."
He swept her round in the waltz, his hand hard round her waist. Ann felt her senses reel. She was aware only of the twirling dance and the strong male pressure on her body.
"Robin, I am feeling a little dizzy. Let us go out."
"Heavens, yes! Come, be careful now, lass; take my arm."
He led her carefully out of the hall, as if he were afraid that she would break into a thousand pieces before she reached the veranda. Ann felt her heart beat faster. The night was warm and she was with a man who adored her. She took Robin's arm and turned gently towards him.
"Robin," her voice was husky with longing.
"Oh, Ann, I love you so ... do you know it?"
She smiled and pressed his arm urgently. Now, if only he would take her! He bent down and kissed her hand. He was trembling. Ann put her arm on his shoulder and drew him closer. Shaking with nervousness, he bent his head and kissed her on the mouth. His lips were cold and moist, and he brushed her mouth with a wet, nerveless kiss. She felt his perspiring hands on her arm. Quickly Ann jerked away her head.
"I am sorry, Ann. I did not mean to go so far. Please forgive me if I have offended you. I am a brute."
For a moment Ann wanted to strike him. God! He had offended her. An officer of the Highlanders, and he did not yet know when a woman was offering herself to him! She was shaking with frustration and anger. The fool! The child! Idiot! Turning abruptly she said:
"I am very tired, Robin. Please excuse me. Tell Mother that I have gone home,"-and before he could reply, she was running across the lawn.
Sick with desire, Ann threw herself naked on her bed. She was trembling. Her limbs ached with longing, and she felt as if she would burst.
"I cannot wait a week. I shall go mad."
She twisted her body and threshed her limbs, rubbing her belly against the cool sheets in an effort to soothe the insistent pain within her. But it was of no avail. She got up wearily and went to look for the ayah, who usually slept in an adjacent room. She opened the door of the little back room and dimly saw the outline of a string bed.
"Amina."
"She is not here tonight, missahib. She had to visit her mother, so she asked me to sleep here instead of her."
"Who are you?"
"I am her niece, Sunderbai."
Ann looked closely at the girl. She was a plump little girl of about sixteen, with a little turned-up nose; sad, dark eyes and shiny, black skin. The little girl moved to stand up, respectfully, in the presence of the white woman, and Ann saw her plump, firm little breasts quiver under the loose shirt she wore. She sat down next to the girl and stroked her long oiled hair.
"Sunderbai-what a pretty name. What does it mean?"
"The beautiful," replied the girl with a giggle. "Are you married?"
"No, missahib-but I will be in five months."
"Oh. And do you know what a wife's duty to her husband is?"
"No, missahib."
"Would you like to learn?" Once again the girl giggled. "Then I will show you."
Swiftly, she pressed the girl back on the bed and pulled off her short night shirt. Then, gently, she ran her hand over the plump, smooth belly, cupped her palms over the thrusting young breasts with their black nipples. The girl looked at her with startled dark eyes, too afraid to cry out. Ann reassured her, calling her many endearing names until she felt the taut muscles relax, and the girl start to tremble with the early ague of desire. Ann playfully pulled the black, rubbery nipples, savouring the sight of her white fingers on the black satin orbs of flesh. Gently caressing the girl, she pried her knees apart and put two rose tipped fingers into the inky darkness of her sex. Slowly she started to move her fingers within the girl's small virgin opening-thrusting her two fingers in and out, while her thumb slid over the moist purple sensitive sex-lips. The girl started to gasp. Her hips began an instinctive, convulsive, twitching dance, as Ann continued to titillate her virgin hollow and to smooth the heavy nipples with her tongue. Not long afterwards, as Ann increased the steady pounding within her, the girl came. For the first time in her life the juices welled up and ran like a creamy torrent over Ann's hand.
Ann was now burning. She lay down next to the girl and pulled the child onto her body. Imitating the older woman, the girl seized Ann's white breast and put it in her mouth. Ann arched her body as the sharp tongue ran warm over her nipples and sent the familiar electric messages down to her loins. She put her hands on the child's buttocks and groped for the little puckered anus. Then, parting the heavy half-moons of dark flesh, she viciously sank two forefingers into the tight little nether hole. The girl cried out and fiercely bit Ann's breast-leaving a little circular imprint of teeth that looked like some strange ornament Then as the pressure between her buttocks increased she crushed Ann's breast in her two small hands. Sensing her urgency, Ann slid her off her body, and, thrusting wide her legs, she plunged her head into the stygian depths. Spreading her own legs on either side of Sunderbai's face, she rubbed her golden sex against the girl's face. Gently, she set the example, licking the purple inner lips between the black marble thighs, and bringing moist comfort to the girl's burning love center. Suddenly Ann felt the muscles of her abdomen tighten sharply, and as electric currents of excitement ran through her she knew that the girl had started to imitate her feeding greedily, and thrusting her little snake tongue far into her passage. For a long time they lay there, mutually absorbed in each other-giving and receiving-until at last Ann felt the warm salt-sweet liquid bathe her face-and from the surprised cry she knew that the girl, too, had received her baptism of pleasure.
"Ann baba, hurry and get dressed. Robin sahib is outside and wishes to speak to you."
Ann was awakened by the excited ayah's voice next morning.
"Robin? What would he want with me at this hour?"
"I do not know, missahib," said Amina with a huge smile, every molar indicating that she knew perfectly well what it was all about. Ann hustled into a pale pink sprigged muslin dress, ornamented with a demure little lace fichu at the neck. She looked the very picture of a Colonel's daughter, with her small, full body, round face, gold center-parted hair and the little clinging ringlets. The ayah hastily slipped a white shawl about her shoulders, and pushed her young charge into the drawing room.
Young Captain McCleod was standing with his back to the door, looking out of the window. He was nervous and kept hitting the back of his knees with the leather baton he carried. Furthermore it was obviously a very special occasion, for Robin was in his dress kilt, complete with sporran. As Ann entered the room he turned around and flushed.
"Good morning, Robin."
"And a good morning to you Ann-I hope you slept well."
"Yes, thank you." Ann waited, puzzled. Robin seemed ill at ease.
"Ann...." he started and stopped abruptly. He walked around the room hitting himself with the baton, as if to goad himself into action. Then wheeling suddenly round he burst out:
"Ann-you know I love you. Will you be my wife?"
As she had no immediate reaction, he hastily added:
"I've already spoken to your mother-she is delighted."
Ann stared at Robin, unable to speak. Poor, stupid Robin. Here he was doing her the honour of asking her to be his wife. He loved her sincerely and after all she was of solid army stock. Good breeding material! She stifled a mad desire to laugh. Poor Robin! If only he knew Miss Pemberton spent her leisure hours on a string bed with one of the native servants! She was almost tempted to tell him.
"Ann...."
She was startled from her reverie. Desperately she searched for an answer. Poor, foolish child! Clumsily, she gave the first excuse that came into her head.
"Robin ... I do not feel that I am as yet prepared to be a wife, though I am extremely sensible of the honour you do me!"
Robin looked as if he had been whipped. He stood there looking like a left-over Christmas tree in his bright colours and gold buttons.
"But Ann, there is no haste. If you would like more time...."
Ann felt the anger rising within her.
"I am sorry, Robin, but when I have made up my mind, I seldom change it. And now I must beg you to excuse me as I have some matters to attend to. Good day."
She walked quickly out of the room. She knew he was looking at her, absolutely stricken. She hated weak men. Robin was like most of the young officers around the camp. Well-bred, honest, upright-and dull. Yakub had once called them wet-nosed young puppies. Ann laughed. Robin was like a wet-nosed young puppy despite the ceremonial sword and the white pith helmet with its golden spike and plumes. These young men offered security, honesty and respectability during their lifetime and a widow's pension when they died a hero's death. They were like thoroughbred young hounds, and tribesmen were jackals. Yakub, like most Pathans, descended from a long line of fierce warriors, who obeyed no laws except their own inflexible tribal codes. They were temperamental men long used to freedom and not to the yoke of discipline and serfdom. Neither the Hindu rulers, nor the great Moghul Emperors had ever succeeded in taming them. And, now, Her Imperial Majesty's forces were powerless before them. They did not attempt to conquer; they were content merely to make sure that none of these warring tribes ever crossed the border into India.
Ann wondered what Yakub really thought of her. She knew that the Pathans regarded their women more or less as chattel. Women, to them, were made purely for the purpose of begetting children, caring for the physical needs of the male. She wondered what he thought of this white woman-his employer-who day after day sought him out only to yield completely to his power: to prostrate herself in worship before his rearing sex.
"Ann."
It was her mother. Her usually flaccid cheeks were red with anger.
"I have just seen Robin-how could you be so cruel? Do you realise you are already eighteen? Youth does not last forever, you know. Look at your cousins; they are all married." Mrs. Pemberton started to cry. "Why should I be burdened with an ungrateful child who does not understand what is good for her? What will your poor Father say? Ann, I command you to accept." Her voice trailed off into incoherent sobs. Ann waited until her mother's sobs abated, then she quietly said:
"It is impossible Mother, for reasons you would not understand."
At that, Mrs. Pemberton broke into a fresh cascade of tears. She blew her nose and all her little curls shook like catkins in the wind.
"You wait, child, until your Father comes back! Then you will see...." She rushed out of the room, heaving with sobs.
Ann made no move to follow her. She knew that the sympathetic Amina would be on hand to comfort and console with her. However, her mother's visit had upset Ann. She felt now, as if she were adrift in some nameless sea, and the only anchor she had was far away. He had to come back soon or she would be lost....
CHAPTER THREE
It is said that when Ulysses came home alone to Ithaca, his old hounds were the first to greet him-and so it was with Colonel Pemberton. Before even the turbaned sentinels came to attention, the yapping of a dozen skinny yellow dogs heralded the return of the small platoon from Dargai. They marched through the camp, with Pemberton riding at the head on a chestnut gelding. Behind him rode another English officer, some mounted non-commissioned officers and bringing up the rear were the native foot soldiers. The men looked tired and weary, as soldiers do after a routine mission which has a great deal of discomfort and very little glory attached to it. The whole platoon halted on the parade ground. A Highland major, his kilt swinging daintily against his hairy legs, came out to formally welcome the troop.
"Welcome back, sir. Did you have a successful mission?"
"Yes, thank you."
Pemberton signalled to his syce. A bearded Pathan came running up and grasped the horse by the bridle, and steadied the stirrup to help Pemberton dismount.
The colonel turned to the young subaltern, ordered him to dismiss the men and to report to him later. Then, saluting quickly, he lumbered off towards the little wooden clubhouse to have a quick drink before reporting to his general.
The little tired platoon stood patiently waiting for the English subaltern to give the order of dismissal. The young man wearily barked:
"At ease. Dismiss."
Like a disturbed hive, the little troop broke up, each man running in the direction of his barracks and the comfort of a hot cup of tea.
Ann knew Yakub was back. The day had seemed like an eternity-each minute a hundred years. She had managed to see him for a moment at the stables, and had told him to meet her at eleven the same night. She knew he did not like this pre-arranged rendezvous, but she was confident that he would not dare refuse, as he was still too afraid of her position. Ann stretched on the bed-in a few moments it would be time to steal out and meet him. She stirred restlessly on the bed, stretching her limbs, and clenching her fists, trying to calm the insistent throbbing in her loins. Sitting up, she lit a candle and carried it with her to her looking glass. She took off her shapeless linen night shirt and looked critically at herself. She never tired of looking at her body, and it seemed to her now that every time she saw Yakub, some new and indefinable change took place-the barely perceptible rounding of a curve, or a new leanness to some flat plane. With the candle held high, its guttering light throwing strange shadows, her small face with its cascade of yellow hair seemed almost like a death's head, as the light made fantastic hollow circles around her blue eyes. Her short, firm neck flowed into well rounded shoulders and plump arms, and as if upheld by the silken blue veins, that showed faintly beneath her transparent skin, her round, white breasts towered out of the shadows. Heavy pear-shaped orbs were stretched taut by her uplifted arm as she held the candle high. The slender waist seemed too frail to support the burden of the rose-tipped fruit, had it not been for the firm round hips that swelled beneath. Turning slowly, she surveyed her back-muscular and slender-spreading out into two white heavy dimpled haunches, that pillared down into strong thighs and surprisingly slim legs. Not a perfect body-but a body that was round and soft, made for the pleasures of love. She put the candle on the table and reached for a jar of mustard oil that Amina had given her and told her that Indian brides always rubbed their bodies with the thick liquid on the eve of their wedding.
She poured a little on to her hand and spread it over her breasts, stomach and legs, gently massaging the skin so that it glistened ivory in the candle light. Then she slipped her cloak over her naked body, twisted her heavy hair into a knot, and stole out into the night....
He was sitting quietly by the little stream, behind a tall bush of feathery elephant grass. Quickly Ann ran towards him and slid down beside him. He looked at her and smiled.
"Salaam, missahib."
"Salaam, Yakub. How was the journey?"
"It went well by the grace of Allah"-and he lapsed into silence. Ann waited, but he made no move towards her. She was trembling violently now, as if she were in the throes of a malarial fever. With a sudden movement she threw herself on to his lap. Twisting around, she put her arms around his neck and pulled down his head to meet her moist, open mouth. To her surprise the man jerked his head back. Ann looked up.
"Yakub Khan, do you not want me any more?"
"I did not say that."
"Then why do you refuse to...."
Ann suddenly realized that there was no real word for "kiss" and that in fact, he had never kissed her. Encouraged by the thought, she suddenly pushed him back on the wet grass and lay struggling on top of him. For a moment he lay there as if he were stunned, then, taking hold of her chignon, he pushed her violently off him. Ann struggled up; she was oblivious to everything except the terrible gnawing desire in her loins. Swiftly she threw off her cloak and stood naked, gleaming like a camellia, in the pale moonlight. She lay down on the grass and spread her legs wide, offering her pale sex to his taking. The man remained seated beside her and did not move. With a sob, Ann sprang on him, tearing at his clothes with her nails, her legs gripped around him. She felt him stiffen with anger. Then he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her off him, as a man does a clawing kitten. He was really angry now. Throwing her roughly on the ground, he mounted her and plunged his powerful rod between her trembling thighs. He did not even bother to take off his trousers and the buttons of his tunic bit into her skin, marking the white breasts with the insignia of the Queen! Fiercely he lunged at her as if he wanted to stun her with the heavy blows. Ann cried out with joy at the pain. He slapped her face hard, and kept on hitting her as the desperate working of his loins grew more tense.
"Rundi-harlot-you rutting bitch-I'll burn your greedy hollow." He drove in deeper, crushing her beneath him, and as he felt the cyclic tightening within him, he quickly drew out his quivering sex and exploded all over her face.
The sun was shining, but the rain came down in a fine drizzle, like a transparent curtain over the earth. The soft patter of the rain was constantly broken by a high-pitched wailing melody and the harsher jingling sounds of a tambourine. Ann looked up from her book and turned to Amina, who was sitting sewing beside her.
"What is all the singing about? Is today a festival?"
"No, missbaba, they are preparing a bride for her marriage."
"A bride?"
"Yes, one of those Pathans is getting married and the women are singing the 'nimkf wedding songs while they dress the girl."
"Oh! what fun ... please, Amina, may we not go and watch?"
"All right, this once I will take you; but you know your mother does not like your mixing too much with the servants."
The old ayah lumbered up, pulled her head cloth over her head, and opened a parasol to protect her young mistress from the fine rain. They walked across the large garden until they came to the servants' enclosure.
The rectangular-shaped yard was filled with women. Ann felt she was looking at some eccentric artist's palette. Red, yellow, saffron, white, blue and green mingled together in the bright sunlight. Black skins shone with the artificial glitter of oil and rarefied butter. Dark eyes looked at the white woman without curiosity, as the women laughed and chattered together, liberated from the restricting presence of men. In the center of the circle, a group of women were singing in high-pitched nasal voices, banging on a hollow-toned pitcher to mark the rhythm, and shaking a tambourine as accompaniment. These women were strikingly different from the dark women around them. Tall, lean, fair with hawk-like faces and pale eyes, they were the Mahsuds and Afridisthe sturdy Pathan women of the frontier.
In the midst of the singing group, bowed down by the weight of her elaborate draperies, sat the bride. She wore a huge, full, divided skirt, intricately embroidered in gold. Above that she had on a fine white, long-sleeved shirt that came down to her knees. Around her head and shoulders she had draped a large red silk shawl, beautifully worked in silver and gold. She sat there-a little unmoving bundle of finery-while women chanted and sang around her. When she moved to pull her shawl even further over her face, Ann saw that the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet were dyed orange.
Suddenly in the distance, a masculine voice shouted. Instinctively a dozen hands fluttered and the glittering eyes were quickly hidden behind veils. Two men came running in, carrying a bamboo palanquin. They lifted the bride into it, and, just before they pulled down the curtains to conceal her completely, Ann caught a glimpse of her face. She looked about thirteen years old and her heavy, coal-black eyes had the bewildered look of a lost child. Then quickly she was buried behind curtains of silk. The women were all hushed now, and from the other end of the quarters came the long-drawn wail of a Pathan trumpet-a throb of drums swiftly took up the rhythm, building faster and faster.
"The groom is coming," Amina excitedly whispered.
First in sight were the musicians playing and dancing at the same time-then came the bride's father-a tall bearded Afridi wearing a bright blue fan-turban and the male members of her family. They had just represented the young bride at the marriage and answered "yes" for her. After them, riding a gaily decorated horse, clad in pure white "pajamas" and shirt, his face hidden by a screen of flowers, came the groom. Ann gasped. She did not need to see the face-she knew the groom was Yakub Khan! Turning quickly to Amina she cried:
"But that is my syce, is it not? I thought he was already married."
"He is, missbaba, but his wife has borne him no children, so he is taking another."
Ann cowered against the gaily coloured women. She did not want to be seen by the man. As she saw him riding, tall and straight, she thought of the thirteen-year-old child who, tonight, would cry in terror under his weight, and who would be forced 'to bear his seed. The two men lifted up the palanquin, and joined the procession which slowly moved on. The groom was taking his bride home. Behind her rocking palanquin came her relatives, carrying pots and pans and bales of silk, and leading a flock of sheep-her dowry to her new husband. The rain had stopped. Ann stood silently with Amina watching the bright procession move away.
"Rain and sun-jackal's wedding! That's what they are-all jackals, these Pathans." Amina grunted with the usual distaste of the Eastern Hindu for the untamed Pathans. Ann slowly started to move away. Her hands were clammy and wet; she shivered. Tonight he would take that child in his arms and ravage her. She would cry for her mother in terror ... she would not know how to enjoy the tiger strength of his loins and the terrible fountain of his seed. Ann turned to the ayah.
"Where are they going?" Her voice was harsh in her ears.
"Oh, they will visit first, then they will go to his quarters, leave the bride there and come back here for a feast. No one will be able to sleep tonight with the noise they will make-the pigs...." And she started to wander back to the house. Ann followed slowly. She had to see him tonight. She was afraid that, like all his people, Yakub might be too impressed by virginity. After all she, too, had come to him as a virgin. It was he who had taught her balloon hips to writhe and rotate in the most primordial of all dances. It was he who had taught her fruit-like nipples to harden in immediate response....
"Amina, let us go and see what is happening at the groom's house ... I feel I should give Yakub Khan a gift. After all, he does look after the horses very well."
"Give him two rupees, missbaba; it is enough. Your parents will undoubtedly give him a gift."
"No, Amina, I have a better idea ... I shall give him the new silk square my aunt sent me, as a gift to his wife."
"It is much too good for those 'jungelee' savages," the woman muttered, but Ann was already running home.
The bride had already been put in the dark interior of Yakub Khan's little room, and the women sat chattering on the little veranda, their backs turned to the men and their shawls held carefully over their faces.
The men were laughing and joking in a group in front of the little room. Yakub Khan sat amongst them-tall and dazzling in white. A hushed silence fell on the group as Ann walked into the enclosure followed by her ayah. A couple of women daringly peeped from behind their shawls to catch a glimpse of the intruder. Yakub Khan rose courteously and went to greet her.
"Be welcome, missahib," he said. Ann held out the silk material and asked him to accept it as a gift for his new wife. Before he could answer, the guests started to cheer: "Shabash! ... shabash! ... wah ... wah...."
Yakub thanked her with a brilliant smile, but his eyes were guarded.
"May I see the bride?" she asked, pressing her advantage. He hesitated but the flattered father of the girl urged him on.
"Yes, yes; let her see my daughter."
Without a word, Yakub Khan walked up the steps and led her into his hut. There, sitting on the string bed that had often borne the weight of their threshing bodies, sat the child-bride. Ann turned to Yakub with a smile and said softly in English: "Tonight."
He looked as if he had not quite understood. She pointed to herself and said again: "Tonight."
Then he laughed. He shrugged, pointed to the little girl and then to her. "Tonight," he answered.
Ann turned away. She was angered by his condescending tone. Quickly she left the room, wishing the crowd outside a curt good-day. She walked towards the house feeling humiliated. She always had to ask ... and beg ... and yet she was glad she had gone there. Yakub would be able to compare tonight the terrified submission of the child with her own passionate yielding. She smiled as she thought of the thin, under-developed body that would struggle like a butterfly on a pin to escape from his thrusting sex; and her own generous thighs that would open to the sky to enclose his bull-rod in her lips of love.
Colonel Pemberton took off his tunic. The night was warm and heavy. He looked up at the sky to see if storm clouds hung in the air, but the night was clear and starlit. He felt restless. His good wife sat in the drawing-room playing an interminable game of "patience." Colonel Pemberton had long since tired of spending a quiet evening alone with his spouse. They had very little in common, and within the narrow surroundings of the army camp, the local scandals were the common property of officers and wives alike. He sighed. Always the same problem: what to do in the evenings, how to while away the tedious hours between dinner and the cotton oblivion of sleep. He looked again at the sky and made the inevitable remark:
"I am going to the Mess."
His wife nodded, preoccupied with her cards. Pemberton put on his coat, brushed his sparse hair flat with his hands and went out, remembering to tell the ayah to go and sit with his wife.
It was a beautiful evening. The sun had set but the sky was like the heavy shot silk of Dacca-a deep orange streaked with blue, green and purple. Silhouetted against the sky a slowly moving caravan wended its plodding way to the west-the camel bells tinkling, like chips of ice, in the warm air. Pemberton breathed deeply. In his own way he loved this huge sub-continent, and like many of Her Majesty's servants, felt lost when he left this complex country. Crows were forming patterns in the sky. Pemberton decided to go for a walk before going on to the Mess. He cut off the dirt road that led from the camp and headed for the forest wilderness to the north.
He had been walking at a brisk pace for about half an hour, when he stopped to catch his breath. He had grown unaccustomed to this kind of exercise. He stopped, breathing hard, and realized that the long walk had also had an effect on his bladder. He looked carefully around, then, finding no one about, he turned his back-through force of habit-and pissed into a clump of green bushes. He was just about to finish, when his attention was caught by commotion among the bushes. Quietly he advanced on tiptoe, hoping to see some timid wild animal, and peered through the bushes. Pemberton stood rooted to the ground-shocked! For, there, among the bushes he could see the outline of two forms lying on the grass-one was dark and the other was white! Afraid to breathe, he stood among the leaves and watched. The white legs-a woman's-were clasped around the dark brown male haunches. Slowly the ivory limbs parted, revealing their golden treasure. Pemberton trembled instinctively his hand reached down to his trouser buttons, and with a shock, he realized that his sex was still hanging out of his britches! The brown hand reached up and broke off the large feathery flower of the elephant grass. He trimmed off some of the lower leaves, and gently opening the proffered, gold-furred sex, he slowly stroked the glistening coral skin with the bushy flower. The white limbs trembled and fell farther apart, leaving the rosy aperture more vulnerable to the attack of the leafy intruder. Playfully the brown hand pushed the bushy flower through the moist opening, and a low moan of contentment escaped from the bushes....
Pemberton stood as if he had turned to stone. He was sweating. He was so near the couple that he could see every detail of the red-gold sex, so generous in its welcome. He felt a dull stab of pain and looking down, saw that he was tightly squeezing his organ-now upright and full-in his right hand. Unconsciously he started to move his hand up and down. His loins started to twitch, responding to the slow pleasure of his sex.
The flower was moving faster in its rosy receptacle, and the thick white juice started slowly to ooze out, like a lazy stream in a ruby valley. Now the brown hand suddenly pulled the flower out, its once feathery leaves were now limp and moist, and holding the golden lips open with his fingers, his dark head appeared from behind the bushy screen and fell on the rosy fruit as if to devour it....
Pemberton pushed his aching organ faster and faster into the tunnel of his hand. His loins, so long dormant, attacked the hollowed hand with brutal frenzy.
Suddenly the brown head, roused by the low moans that came from behind the screen of leaves, stopped its feasting. It raised its head and looked up towards its invisible partner....
With a shock the colonel exploded! Disgusted, he wiped the yellow, barren seed from his trousers, and quickly hid his sex as if he wished to forget its existence. Trembling with anger, he felt the nausea rising up within him-for the brown head feasting on the rose-white fruit was the head of his servant, Yakub Khan!
Colonel Pemberton sat drooping in his bare office. He had not slept all night. He felt old and ill. Nervously he got up and started to pace up and down the room. He had thought of court martialing the Pathan, but that would not be fair; after all the white limbs had been more than welcoming. Pemberton shuddered-he felt like killing the servant, but after all, as a representative of Imperial justice he had to be just ... Moreover he had to be careful not to start any trouble, for the men of the Frontier had a clan spirit more dangerous than that of any Scottish Highlander. Pemberton sighed and collapsed in his chair ... The gentle knock on the door startled him as if it had been an explosion.
"Kon-hai-Who's there?"
An orderly slouched in, came to an exaggerated attention and saluted as if he were thumbing his nose. "Syce Yakub Khan is waiting to see you."
"Let him come in."
Pemberton hastily sat upright in his chair, and assumed his best look of parade-ground ferocity. The orderly moved aside to let the tall Pathan enter.
"You may go, Rao Bahadur."
The little orderly stamped, saluted, wheeled right about turn and reluctantly went out. Pemberton stared at the tall Afridi in silence-then he gently said:
"Yakub Khan, what I have to say is not easy. You have been a good syce and I am reluctant to let you go, but circumstances force me to be severe with you. You know our laws-the Imperial Queen has laws as inflexible as your own tribal codes. Yet, you have chosen to disobey them, and you must now suffer the punishment."
The man did not stir. Pemberton went on:
"Beyond all law, it is forbidden that the white and brown race should mix. This law is at the very foundation of our rule here. Many of your own people also respect this rule as one of the most sacred and consider it a sin to mix with us white people. Yet it has been made known to me that you have brought dishonor to a white woman. In justice I shall add that it is not altogether your crime alone. The white lady is equally guilty. We must rid ourselves of this canker in our society. If you will reveal her name to me, I shall lighten the burden of your punishment."
The Pathan was silent. Then looking at the colonel very directly he said:
"Sahib, I cannot. I may not."
Pemberton flushed. It did not pay to be reasonable with these people.
"Khan, I command you to tell me."
The man was still silent. Pemberton rose from his desk and walked agitatedly to the window.
"You have married again and soon you will have children. If you do not reveal the name to me, you shall be dismissed in dishonor, without pension. And you and your loved ones will be doomed to starvation and penury."
"Inshallah!" The man looked at him insolently. Pemberton felt the anger mount within him.
"Jackal-is this how you repay my kindness? For the last time I command you to speak!"
The Pathan merely bowed his head and said nothing. Pemberton was beside himself; he drew his sword and raising it struck the Pathan across the cheek with the flat of the blade. "Tell me!" he shouted.
The Afridi did not move. He just stood there eyes cast down. Exasperated, Pemberton rushed to the desk and wrote out an order.
"If you have not left the camp within four hours, and if you are not out of Abbotabad by the end of the day, you will be shot ... Rao Bahadur!" The little Gurkha eagerly rushed into the room.
"This man has been dismissed from my service. See that he leaves the camp within four hours-and above all see that he speaks to no one-he is under arrest."
The Pathan saluted.
"Khoda Hafeez-God go with you," he courteously replied and went out of the room.
Pemberton was trembling. This thing revolted him to the very depths of his soul. He thought once again of the white legs grasping the brown, bowed black head drinking at the rosy fountain. He felt his loins tense at the thought and his sex stirred in its prison of clothes. Agitated he marched out of the office towards the club room. He felt old, tired and degraded and, in a personal way, ashamed that one of his own kind could so betray her womanhood.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ann pulled on her long riding boots and walked slowly towards the gate. She had been helping her mother all afternoon with some tapestry work and she was looking forward to a good gallop across the plains. She quickened her step as she saw the two horses standing patiently at the gate-and then she suddenly stopped. The man holding the horses was not Yakub Khan. Ann felt a cold thrust of fear run through her body ... some thing was wrong. With an effort she approached the man and asked:
"Is Yakub Khan ill?"
"No, missahib, he has gone."
"Gone?"
"Yes, he left this afternoon."
"When ... when ... will he return?"
"He will not, missahib. He has gone back to his village."
For a moment Ann thought she was going to faint. It seemed to her that she stood for years holding the horse's reins in her hand.
"Are you not well, missbaba?" The servant's voice roused her from her torpor. Without replying she jumped on the horse and rode away, followed by the worried syce....
At dinner she asked her father why her syce had been changed. Colonel Pemberton answered rather gruffly that the Afridi had family problems that had precipitated his departure.
"It is the same with all of them," he added. "They stay a few years and then the moment something happens, they vanish overnight. They will never have any loyalty to us. They keep faith only with their own people of the northern plains."
Ann looked hastily down at her plate as she felt the tears smarting in her eyes, waiting to break loose and wind their way down the landscape of her face. Indeed, these people did only keep faith with their own kind. She had given herself to the Pathan. Instead of being flattered by her generous and unusual gift of white flesh, instead of taking advantage of her submission, he had quietly left without even a word of parting....
Ann lay tossing in bed. She closed her eyes and saw the years and years of Sundays ahead ... years of sick visits, of Friday cotillions, of promenades with her mother and the young Guards officers. Years of low voiced conversations, "musicales," of sitting upright on tapestried chairs, her body strangled of all life by the daily prison of lace and whale bone. She turned on her face and sobbed. She thought of Yakub's strong hands tightening on her buttocks, as he drew her closer, his thrusting loins plunging into the very center of her being. The violence of his nature had become indispensable to her. She could only survive if daily she were a panting victim at that voluntary sacrifice. She knew that whatever lay ahead, her decision had been made a long time ago. Since the first time she had fallen-feeling the sharp stones and grass under her back and the dark power of the man within her-that there was no other path she could follow. So she cried a little for the sun-lit days of her girlhood now so far away and then, turning over, fell asleep.
Ann left the house early next morning. She wore her riding habit and took her ivory-topped switch. She did not leave a note for her parents, but simply walked out of the house, and out of their lives. She knew that once she left the confines of the Army camp, any Pathan would be able to lead her to Yakub Khan, so she simply walked away, early one summer morning, and headed northwards.
She walked quietly along the dirt road for some time, curiously watched by sleepy peasants and by heavily veiled women trotting to market, balancing huge baskets on their heads. Ann walked on, strangely content, until she heard the raucous peal of the distant bugle. Reveille. She turned off the road and cut across the fields, making for the rocky wilderness of trees and shrubs that stretched northwards to Kabul.
She had been walking for some hours-the sun was high in the sky-when she decided to sit down and rest until the evening. She felt neither afraid nor hungry; she was only aware of a strange excitement. She did not think of her mother and father. She did not even think of Yakub Khan. For the first time in her life, she was absolutely free. She sat enjoying her liberty, thrilled to feel the unfamiliar absence of commitments. She sat quietly, her body roasting in the sun, content to be just one other living thing amongst so many in the forest.
"Ann. Ann. Where are you?"
Ann sat up, trembling. Quickly, she rose to her feet but the voices were very near.
"Ann. Do not hide. I shall find you out. Where are you?"
It was Robin. Ann cursed softly. How had he known she had left the house? The sounds came nearer branches and twigs crackling under the horses' hooves.
"Ann, please come out-I am alone."
Ann breathed deeply. She was already too removed from her old life to respond automatically to his call. Quietly she waited for him to find her.
"Ann. Answer me!"
Then he saw her. She was standing quietly underneath a huge elm. She was dressed in brown and her riding habit seemed to blend into the brown-red colour of the forest. Her golden head gleamed like a shaft of sunlight. She did not try to escape. She only looked at him gravely and silently.
"Ann, why did you not answer? Thank God I have found you. What are you doing here?"
She did not answer. Robin jumped off his horse and ran swiftly to the standing girl and took her hands.
"Do not touch me."
Her voice was dry. Robin looked at her in amazement. "Ann?"
She did not reply. She stood tense and trembling against a tree.
"Ann. What is it, lassie?"
"How did you find me? Who told you? How did you know?"
The words came out in a torrent.
"One of the men saw you leave and told me. You Know, if anything happens to you they will all be punished. It is not wise to take such risks."
The girl looked quietly down at her boots as if she were seeing them for the first time. Then, abruptly raising her head, she smiled and said:
"You had better go home, Robin. I am not coming back."
Robin looked at her, too stunned to reply. She continued.
"I advise you not to mention this to anyone. Go home and forget that you saw me."
"Ann, lassie, be reasonable. It is dangerous for a young gentlewoman to be out alone."
Ann laughed. She felt wonderfully free. An unfathomable chasm existed between her and this man; a chasm that she could never cross now.
"Ann, I love you. You know that, and I shall never cease to regard you as my bride. Whatever your final answer may be-you are the only woman who I can conceive of as being the mother of my children."
Ann felt herself shaken by uncontrollable laughter. She laughed and laughed, shrill and taut, her breasts shaking with the violence of her mirth.
"Ann!"
Robin was shaking her. She grew suddenly serious.
"You fool! You god-damned fool!"
"Ann!" the voice was shocked; outraged.
"So you would choose me as the mother of your children. Well, Robin, let me tell you that I would rather spawn bastards than bear any of your children-if indeed you're capable of taking a woman."
Robin felt his world crumble round him. As if to preserve the last vestiges of decency, he reached out and struck the woman across the mouth. Then, immediately realizing the enormity of what he had done, he bowed his head and humbly apologized.
"Ann ... oh ... Ann ... how can you say such terrible things? Why do you? What devil is there inside you?"
Ann looked at the boy and she felt weary. "Go home, Robin. I am staying here. I shall never consider returning, and I beg of you not to persist."
"Where are you going?"
Ann began to tremble. She knew she was fast losing control of herself.
"Please go," she could hardly speak. "Ann, my dearest."
He did not see the switch rise into the air. He only saw its supple curve strike his face. "Bitch!"
"Yes, bitch. Do you know where I am going Robin? I am going after Yakub Khan. You see, he is my lover...." She was exultant now.
Robin looked ill. Pressing her advantage, she continued:
"You are not a man. You are such a gentleman that you have forgotten what it is to be male. Even Black Peter is worth more than you." She was shouting now. Reaching for the neck of her habit, she tore open the buttons, gropingly opened her bodice, tore aside the cloth to expose the secret tip of a full white breast.
"Look, Robin; dare you look? Or are you afraid?" She did not see him move. Her head hit the tree trunk as she fell, the man on top of her, his sword hilt pressing against her soft stomach.
"You whore ... bitch ... cunt...."
He was screaming. He tore the habit from her body, slit her underclothes with one sharp thrust of his small dagger. Her white body leaped out of the clothes, like some polar butterfly escaping from its chrysalis.
"Get up."
He was standing up, the sword drawn. Ann obeyed. "Now walk to that stone."
Ann walked naked in the forest, her large rounded hips dimpling provocatively.
"Lie down." She lay down on the grass, her hips supported by the stone.
Automatically she parted her knees. The gesture drove Robin to madness. He threw himself across her body and slapped her face. She struggled violently. They rolled on the hard ground like two men wrestling. Then Robin swiftly extricated himself, and, picking up his sword, ordered her to lie still. Ann stared at him in terror. Her body smarted from the blows. She saw him take out his riding glove and put it on his hand.
"Open your legs."
Trembling, she obeyed. With his gloved hand, he roughly parted her quivering thighs and ran his finger down her gaping sex. Kneeling, he looked long and carefully at the secret opening that welcomed him like a moist mouth. Then, all of a sudden he slapped her. Ann groaned and pressed her knees together. Fiercely he wrenched them apart, slapping her again and again on the heavy flesh of her thighs and on the wounded slit of her sex. Terrified, she sat up and tried to throw him off. He pinioned her arms and turned her violently over on her stomach. He was sobbing.
"You damned whore ... I would not touch you with my bare hands ... no gentleman will ever touch you...."
She felt his hands grasp her buttocks. She tried to struggle, but could not move. His groping fingers found the small dark circle of her anus. He inserted his fingers-Ann's body sharply contracted with pain-and, widening the muscles, he slipped in his small, plump sex. Ann cried out at this unfamiliar penetration. Slowly the organ swelled within her, and then, like some mad carpenter, he hammered ferociously at her buttocks. Her limp hanging breasts rubbed against the rough rock and her sensitive nipples were scratched by the sharp stones. She struggled and tried to withdraw. But the little fat organ inside her was screwed in like a vise and continued to plunge and twist unmercifully. She lay limp and unresisting. Suddenly Robin slapped her sharply across the buttocks.
"Is this what the blacks like you for ... you cold bitch?"
Grasping the smarting mounds of her backside, he pushed her hips savagely back and forth against the grey stone. Then, as he felt his rage culminate for the ultimate furious outburst, he grasped her breasts and pulled her body towards him as he quivered in the last desperate throes before he collapsed.
Ann struggled. She tried to pull from under the leaden weight of the exhausted man-but it was no use. She twisted round and saw the man-his body limp, his eyes closed, mouth open, breathing heavily. His lax hands grasped her buttocks. Her breasts ached and little rivulets of blood coursed slowly down the white swellings. Her knees were a mass of torn flesh. The sight of him, lying weak and helpless across her torn body, disgusted her. Almost unconsciously she reached behind her for a large stone and brought it down, with all her strength, on his head. She saw his body leap and his hands thrust outwards. Trembling, she pounded again and again at his head until she heard the bone crack, and saw the blood slowly ooze out of his mouth. Suddenly she stopped, exhausted. She looked down at the crushed skull. In terror she pushed him off her back, threw on her riding habit, and, leaving her torn underclothes by his body, ran madly away.
She seemed to be running for hours when she suddenly saw a lone horseman in the distance. She called to him with all the strength in her tired body. The man stopped, looked round and waited. Stumbling, she ran up to him.
"Khoda Hafeez."
The man courteously greeted her. Only a slight frown betrayed his surprise at the sight of this Englishwoman, her blonde hair tumbling to her waist, her face stained with tears, the riding habit torn and bloodstained. Ann caught hold of his stirrup as if to support herself.
"Please, please, take me to Yakub Khan near Nowshera ... I need help ... Do you know him?"
The man looked guarded. It was as if a veil had been pulled over his eyes.
"Yakub Khan ... yes I know him. But cannot I take you back to your people?"
She knew that he was suspicious. The Pathan does not normally like to be involved in any way with the rulers of India.
"Please, you must believe me ... I need Yakub Khan urgently ... please tell me where I may find him!" The man hesitated-then he shrugged and got off his horse.
"Would you like to ride?"
"Can we not both ride?"
The Pathan stared at her-it was a very uncommon suggestion. It was not usual for women to propose to ride together on the same horse, but then, evidently this was a very extraordinary woman.
"If you wish," he answered, embarrassed. He helped her onto the croup, and then jumped into the saddle. Spurring his horse, he galloped away as if he expected fifty British devils to jump out of the wilderness after him.
CHAPTER FIVE
The men were at prayer. Facing in the direction of Mecca, they stood heads uplifted, eyes closed. All at once, with the precision of ballet dancers, they knelt together and prostrated themselves....
Ann watched the dance-like movements of worship with fascination. It was strange to see Yakub, his hands grasping his ears, his eyes tightly closed, solemnly bowed in prayer. She found it hard to believe that this was the same man whose strong hands had brutally violated her body, and for whose pleasure-giving loins she had left behind a lifetime. She had just arrived at this village where Yakub's small house nestled, like a small mushroom, among the foothills of the Hindu Kush. Ann sat down wearily. She had ridden until nightfall behind the Afridi peasant who had picked her up at Abbotabad. Since then she had traveled-she did not know exactly for how many days-on horseback, on foot, and in strange, lurching bullock carts, until, at last, she found herself face to face with Yakub. The Pathan had evinced no great surprise at her arrival, but Ann knew that mysteriously rapid messenger system among the tribesmen had already warned him of her projected visit. He had merely greeted her and asked her to sit and wait until the evening prayers were finished.
Worship was over. The men stood up. To Ann's deep amazement, Yakub Khan walked into the house with them and left her sitting alone on the hillside. She rose indignantly, dusted her skirt, and walked with her mother's determined step towards the little house. She had hardly taken a few steps when two heavily garbed women wearing the concealing cloak-like "burkha," came out of this house and signalled to her. One was a tall, mature woman of about thirty, who seemed vaguely familiar to Ann; the other-she realized with a shock-was the child bride of Abbotabad. The older woman raised her hand to her forehead in greeting.
"Khoda Hafeez. The master says that you are to dispose of your European clothes and put on native dress." She spoke in a strange formal manner.
Ann followed the two women, who led her through the back of the house into a small courtyard. They stopped beside a little murky pond, and told her to undress. Ann thankfully slipped off her dirty riding habit, and dipped a white leg into the cool water.
"How white she is, Shaukat Bibi ... just like snow...." the little girl cried excitedly.
Arm looked at herself reflected in the dirty pond. Her body glowed like a white "chambella" flower, that hides in the dark forests of India. A bright yellow leaf, floating on the water, coquettishly came to anchor on the reflected image of her mound. Smiling, Ann stirred the water with her toes, causing the leaf to sail round and round her rippling image-sometimes settling on her breast, sometimes brushing her full, pink mouth and then sliding downwards, like an excited finger, and caressing the whole slim length of her leg. The older woman had filled an earthen jar with water and she poured some of it over Ann's body. Then, taking a handful of dried grass, she plastered the weeds with wet mud and started to rub Ann's body. She looked like a strange wood-nymph standing in the middle of the pond-her body speckled brown and white, and her long, fair hair fluttering in the evening breeze. Sitting down in the shallow pool, Ann gave herself up completely to the soothing, sensual pressure of the Indian woman's hands on her wet body.
After the bath, they led her indoors and told her to lie down on the string bed. The older woman asked her to raise her arms above her head and she tied her wrists to the head of the wooden bed frame. The younger girl took some resinous gum out of a small jar and started to soften its consistency, working it energetically between her fingers. Then, holding Ann's arm taut, she started to pluck the sparse blonde hair from under her arm. Ann screamed. She tried to struggle, but the older woman impassively held her legs. She twisted her body in an effort to escape, but the more she struggled the more it hurt. However, the little girl was very quick and efficient, and in a very short while she had completely denuded the white woman's armpits of hair. The older woman now tied Ann's feet to the bed, and, bending over, she held her hips firmly down against the dirty cloth mattress. Ann watched with horror, as the little girl, flicking her fingers, approached the sensitive forest of her mound. She groaned and writhed, for it seemed as if a thousand little needles were being driven into her body. The little girl looked up and laughed.
"Shaukat Bibi, this one is happy to look like a bear! Chee! Fancy a man sleeping with that-he may as well take a dog to bed with him," and she savagely plucked another golden shoot from Ann's smarting thigh. Then with a quick movement, she parted Ann's knees and started to pluck the hairs from the sensitive lips of her sex. Ann cried out with the pain. She tried to move, but in vain; she was securely tied, and the older woman bore down heavily on her trembling loins. When the depilatory torture was over, Ann was released. She rose trembling from the bed, her body a mass of pain. The little girl brought her a scrap of broken mirror and held it before her. Ann gasped. Her mound, deprived of hair, rose like a small cleft vase between her legs-pink and pure and clean. Despite the pain, she could not help but smile, as she looked at the soft, smooth, girlish swelling with its tempting deep pink slit. The woman now sat her down and combed and oiled her long blond hair which they deftly wove into a heavy chignon at the nape of her neck. Then, gently pushing her back on the bed, they massaged her body all over with some heavy, musky oil. As their slim flexible fingers traveled over her body, Ann felt the familiar dull excitement start to throb in her belly, and she looked forward with longing to the night and the punishing limbs of Yakub.
The woman had dressed Ann in wide, white pajamas and a long, printed shirt. Around her head and over her shoulders they had draped a huge cotton shawl, and had placed open-toed sandals on her feet. They told her to sit quietly in the room and wait for their return. Ann sat patiently in the dark stuffy little chamber, heavy with the scent of oil and resin. Soon, the women were back with some food. Though Ann was hungry, she ate the spiced mutton stew and stiff wheat cake without much relish. A little later the young girl came back bringing her a bowl of light green tea.
"The master says that you are to sleep with us here, and tomorrow you are to share the work of the house and fields-memsahib," she added mockingly, calling her by the flattering title given to all European women. Ann had a sudden impulse to strike the impudent girl. The latter, guessing her intention, ran suddenly from the room, stopping only to look back at the angry woman with narrow, mocking eyes.
Ann lay on one of the cloth mats laid out on the floor. Evidently the bed was purely ornamental, for she was soon joined by the other two women who spread their thin mattresses on either side of her. They slept in their clothes, slightly loosening the cord of their pajamas, and when they saw that Ann was about to undress they sharply reprimanded her and told her to sleep in the clothes she had on. Ann lay down, but she could not sleep. She was wondering why Yakub had not yet come to see her. The heavy cotton pajamas rubbed against her naked mound, the gentle friction only serving to increase her desire. Suddenly she heard footsteps, and, looking up, she saw Yakub Khan come into the room. She sat upright and threw off her cotton covering.
"Yakib-at last here you are!"
He ignored her as if had not heard her. He turned to the little girl and gently kicked her. She raised her head and looked up at her husband with large startled eyes.
"Chaleya-come."
"Hajee."
Abruptly he turned and left the room. Ann was too surprised to stop him. She got up immediately to follow him out but the older woman's hand was grasping her arm.
"You are not to go unless called." There was something menacing in her tone. Ann obeyed. She lay down again and watched the little girl. She had sleepily left her bed and was groping her way to the window sill. She pulled down a little jar of ointment, and spreading her legs, she rubbed it into the narrow sex. Taking a little oil from another bottle, she lifted her long, white shirt and massaged her small pointed breasts, polishing the nipples until they became as hard and as pointed as the sharp spikes on Arab shields. Then, sighing deeply and looking back longingly at her bed, she dragged herself out of the room. Arm lay still, her heart beating. The heavy oil filled the room with its musky odor. She tossed on her thin mat, her senses excited by the perfume, but she did not dare get up as she knew that the still woman next to her watched her closely with her hard, dark eyes. Suddenly a moan broke the heavy silence of the night. Ann trembled ... she could hear the string bed creak and strain and the whole house seemed filled with the odor of semen and sweat. Ann thought of the little bed in Yakub's hut in Abbotabad and, turning over on her stomach, she buried her face in the dirty mattress and wept.
A week had passed ... Every day Ann worked with the women: cleaning the house, feeding the livestock, sewing and preparing and cooking the spiced food. She lived exclusively in a world of women-covering her face when a man approached, not so much through any newly acquired sense of values, but because she feared being recognized. Every night she waited trembling in the dark, her body afire with desire, but he only entered the room twice, and each time it was to fetch the thin young wife. Ann felt deeply humiliated. Now that she had completely given herself to him, he refused to accept the generous gift of her body. Her dislike for the sharp, mocking young wife grew into hatred, and she waited for an opportunity to take revenge. Ann knew that Yakub was deliberately avoiding her to prove his absolute independence to her. To show her that she was no more the "missahib" who commanded and he the servant who obeyed. She resolved to speak to him at the first opportunity, and to remind him of the unrestrained passion of their love. She had seen the little wife reluctantly go to his bed when called, and return tired and shaken. While the other women slept heavily, never even lifting her head to look at her husband. Surely, she thought triumphantly, he could not fail to appreciate her after two such women. She could not help but feel that he was testing her in some mysterious way....
The next night Ann crept out of bed, telling the woman that she was going to the small pit that served as a toilet. She took a little vessel of water with her and left the room. Carefully she crept around the back of the house, slipped out and waited beside the front door for Yakub to pass by. She must have been standing for about half an hour in the cool night, when she recognized his footsteps. He had been to the little outhouse that served as a bam for their thin cow, small flock of goats and horses. He stopped outside the door to clean his bare feet with a stick. Ann seeing him absorbed in his task rushed out and threw her arms around his neck. He jerked up in surprise and pulled himself free.
"You!" he spat out the word.
"Yakub, why are you doing this? You beast. You are doing this on purpose to torture me." Hysterically she sobbed, beating him with her fists. He adroitly caught both her hands and pushed her against the wall.
"Shaukat ... Axurie ... jaldee ... come"
The women came running out of the house, the older woman carrying a lantern.
"Quick, catch this she-devil and bring her in," Without waiting for them to move, he lifted her up and carried her into the house. He carried her into a room she had never entered before. It was a small room, as dark as the women's chamber, completely bare except for five rifles standing against the wall, a wooden chest and a wide string bed covered with heavy cloths and furs. Throwing Ann on the bed, he ordered the women to undress her. Ann did not resist; it was a relief to have even the women's hands touch her naked body.
They turned her onto her stomach and held her hands and feet. She heard him open the chest, and before she had even time to wonder what he was going to do, she felt the leather switch cut across her flaccid buttocks. She cried out, reflexively tensing her muscles for the next blow. The switch came down again and again on her hard, white rotundities, streaking them with red welts. Then, turning her over onto her back he struck her across the breasts. Ann groaned, her nipples hardened provocatively as if they welcomed this brutal familiarity. Then they suddenly released her. Instinctively Ann leaped up from the bed and ran for protection to the chest. Yakub followed her with a whip. She jumped onto the wooden chest in an effort to escape the dancing lash, but it cut relentlessly across her buttocks. Jumping off, she ran to the bed, crawled on it and begged him to stop. He dropped the whip and, holding her down on the bed, slapped her hard across the breast. Then he dragged her off the bed and sat her on the chest, tying her hands behind her back. Ann sat sobbing quietly on the chest, her shoulders pulled back and her trembling breasts jutting out from her body, the nipples torn and bleeding. The older woman tied her feet together and then quietly retired to a corner of the room and sat down. Yakub called to the little girl; she came passively towards him and took off her clothes. She stood in the centre of the room like a shiny, black skeleton. Thin to the point of emaciation, her two small breasts looked like two small thorns on a dark rose stem. Her oiled black hair fell rippling to her tiny apple-hard buttocks. She rose on her toes and walked towards the tall man. By now, he was completely naked, too, and his lean body was like a flame in the orange glow of the lamp. He sat on the edge of the bed and signalled to the girl. Like a thin curl of smoke she knelt at his feet and, putting her hands on his knees, she took his long firm sex into her narrow mouth. With a sudden thrust he pushed it in deep. It seemed almost too big for her delicate mouth, but she accepted it submissively, opening her lips wide and running her tongue cunningly over its tip. Yakub Khan moaned and his hips began a twitching rotary movement. Turning his head, he looked at Ann with a malicious smile on his lips. Ann felt as if she would burst-her thighs were moist with the excited juices that poured out of her quivering sex. Slowly the man disengaged his throbbing organ from the girl's snake-like kisses and raising her up, he lifted her onto his knees. She stood there like a small statue of the dusky blood Goddess Kali-thin and black, her tight breasts sharp and evil as thorns. He spread his knees wide, automatically parting her legs, and her dark hairless sex opened like an orchid before his mouth. His lips closed around the smooth mound and his tongue explored the purple depths, like an inquisitive bee. The girl quivered. Ann sobbed. Her haunches trembled and the pain in her belly was unendurable. She looked at the fortunate girl-her thin black legs were trembling, but her face was impassive, as if the pleasure she felt in her loins was completely detached from every other part of her being. Suddenly the man pulled at her black hips and forced the little girl to sit across his knees. Groping like a light-blind mole, his heavy rod sought for the hidden cave of her vagina and deftly inserted itself. A little cry escaped from her thin lips, but she still sat absolutely motionless and impassive, like a little black idol, on his knees. He moved her almost weightless body up and down, sometimes in a circular rotary movement and sometimes he raised and lowered her roughly onto his erect sex. Ann struggled; her feet were cut by straining at the imprisoning string. She rotated her hips, on the bare wooden chest in a desperate effort to relieve her pain. She wanted to throw herself between the man and the girl and to insinuate her white body between the black and the brown. She craved to bite the taut black nipples and to offer her golden slit to the thrusting, powerful organ. She cried out in her desire-but no one paid any heed to the perspiring white woman moaning in the darkness.
The black girl was now riding faster and faster on the knees of her master. And, as he felt the final convulsion rise in his loins, he seized her sharp breasts in his mouth and grasping the small fruit buttocks in his hands, he fell back on the bed, his penis stabbing the innermost depths of her being, as he buried his living seed securely within her.
The white skin began to be darkened by the sun-only the blue eyes and radiant hair revealed the origin of the third woman. One evening, as the men were away searching for stray members of their little flock of goats, Ann took the first wife aside and questioned her about many matters:
"How can you stand living in the same house when he loves Azurie more than you?"
The woman shrugged. She was tall, big boned, silent. Her large square face was expressionless and almost manly with its long, etched features and wide, flat cheek bones. She gave the impression of rock-like stillness. Only the sharp, green eyes, so like her husband's betrayed the violence of her nature.
"I am barren," she said in her slow, impersonal voice. "Women are vessels to be filled by men. If I cannot contain the precious liquid, my husband has the right to choose and love another woman."
"Yes, but does it not make you angry ... jealous?"
"What has it got to do with you how I feel? My mother chose my husband. He has been good to me and allowed me to remain in his house. He has kept to his bargain. If he sent me away he would have to return my dowry, so you see I am not completely without protection."
"But how can you live ... night after night ... seeing him love the other?"
"In the beginning it used to hurt me. I traveled all over the country from Rawalpindi to Afghanistan visiting the tombs of Saints and talking to holy men, in the hope to diverting God's will. But I soon realized that Allah had ordained this, and so now I am resigned. It is only right that I should be deprived of some of the joys of marriage, seeing that I cannot fulfill my part of the bargain and give my husband an heir."
"Why do you not return to your family?"
"And be a living reminder of my disgrace? Never. My parents would suffer greatly if their daughter was sent back by her husband. People would say, 'See that Shaukat, not only was she barren but she was so useless that her husband sent her back to her mother.' No, a woman's lot is a sad one in this life and we must find the courage to bear it."
"I could not live like this ... seeing him take the other woman more often than myself ... I could not."
The woman shrugged disinterestedly and walked away to find sticks to light the fire for the evening meal....
Ann was sitting in the sun sifting rice in a little bamboo tray, when the girl came to call her:
"The master is calling you," she said.
Ann rose quickly, covered the rice to protect it from the marauding chickens and followed the girl, taking care to cover her face completely with her cotton shawl.
Yakub Khan was sitting on a string bed under a large umbrella-shaped tree. He was dressed in the usual grey pajamas and long shirt, but over this he wore a sleeveless gaily decorated bolero. He dismissed the young wife with a gesture and beckoned to Ann. She did not wait for him to speak, but started immediately to complain of his neglect and of her unhappiness. Yakub did not interrupt her but he caught hold of her arm and squeezed it brutally until she subsided.
"Ann, you must not speak without permission."
"Permission? From whom?"
"Ann, you are no longer the missahib living among your own kind. You chose to follow me and live with my people, so now you must follow our ways."
Ann waited in silence. Yakub smiled, seeing her suddenly so docile.
"I suppose you have been wondering why I have been avoiding you recently," he continued in his gentle voice. "I shall tell you the truth. You repulse me. I have no stomach for women who are forward, immodest and shameless. You do not yet understand what womanhood is, my child." Taking her hand gently, he guided her to the bed. "Sit down, and do not be afraid. Men are what women make them. I am not a beast; I am a simple man of my people. To us the most attractive thing about a woman is her modesty and virtue. I am more excited by a trembling virgin or a virtuous woman who succumbs to me through complete submission than by any bitch who points her breasts indiscriminately at any man! If you live here with us, you must learn the joys of complete submission...." He raised his head.
"Stand up, and undo your pajama."
Ann hesitated. They were seated not far from the little house, and she was afraid that one of the villagers might pass by. Then slowly she undid the white cord and let the heavy trousers fall to the ground. Yakub drew her close to him and gently stroked her full white thighs.
"Ours is a religion of self-control. You know that we nave very definite rules with regard to our conduct. A man disposes of his leisure in accordance with his status. Moreover we are brought up to honour women and to protect them from any bodily or spiritual harm ... but to honour a woman it is necessary that she herself command this respect." He got up from the bed, and turning the blonde girl round, he made her bend over.
"Open your legs."
She obeyed. Without any further ceremony he quietly inserted his throbbing organ into the pocket of her womb. Arm gasped. It had been weeks now since she had had a man, and the unexpected quality of his entry only increased her passion. Trembling, she began to jerk her buttocks, rotating, her hips round and round as the long penis-now stiff and full-penetrated deeper into her belly. She started to shake, and the bucking of her loins increased as she rose towards her climax. Suddenly, without warning, the plunging sex was violently withdrawn. For a moment she did not realise what had happened, then with a cry of rage she turned to face her tormentor. Yakub Khan gently held her off and smiled.
"Slowly ... I see that it will take quite some time to make you understand. There are subtler pleasures than brutality, and there is little pleasure for a man when a woman is too eager and hot. Force is the man's role-acceptance the woman's."
Ann knelt on the hard string bed and buried her head in her hands. The strings bit into her knees, and a cool breeze fanned her naked, exposed buttocks, crept up the inviting channel between her thighs, making her feel naked and exposed. Once again the man mounted her. She felt the steady pressure of his rod as her muscles opened to welcome him into her body. His loins seemed content to fill her but his hands roamed over her body caressing her rock pink nipples and brushing the golden down on her stomach and mound. His fingers were like a sculptor's, creating new sensations and deeper desires as they brushed over every part of her-eyes, lips, into the moist pink mouth, ears, breasts, back-and dived between the swelling buttocks into the secret recess of her anus. Ann bit her tongue, repressing an urgent desire to cry out. She was sweating; she wanted to grasp the huge body of the man and press it against her until she either died or was finally satisfied. But she was too afraid that the weaving, caressing magic hands would leave her body. She shuddered as she felt the tumult mount within her. Slowly she started to move her hips, as if in some strange mystic dance. The man responded strongly, thrusting his power within her, and his hands continued to seek out every secret of her body. She felt the torrential surge within her. Her muscles tensed-and suddenly he was gone! With a terrible effort, Ann kept absolutely still. She neither moved nor cried out, waiting in an agony of suspense for the dark power to tear at her loins. Then he was back; this time he took her hard and ruthlessly, as he used to in the days when they lay struggling in his small dark room in Abbotabad. And Ann sobbed with relief, as her body culminated its desire in an unendurable agony of pleasure.
Later, as she lay dozing on the grass, she heard him gently order her to rejoin the other women. She rose up, at once, and bending low before him she touched his feet in respectful salutation as she had seen his wives do....
The days succeeded one another in a steady pattern of routine events. Once a week the three women did the washing-rubbing the clothes with a strong, waxy soap and beating them clean on the rocks beside the stream. On another day they would spend the afternoon attending to their toilet, cutting their toenails with a little pocket knife, searching for hours for signs of lice or dandruff in the long loose hair and plucking the unwanted tender hairs from the smooth curves of their bodies. On another day one of the two wives would follow her husband to market, walking behind him, heavily veiled and carrying a huge basket on her head.
At night after the animals had been fed and locked for the night, the dinner prepared and eaten, the women lay down to sleep in their little room. Sometimes they heard the men gather in the little village square and sing ballads and love songs of the Pathans until sleep crept, unnoticed, over them. On other nights, however, the two younger women waited-not daring to sleep-in case the choice should fall on them.
Ann hated the thin, black girl with her narrow mocking eyes. Here in the village Yakub was more abstemious than he had been in Abbotabad. He followed the precepts of his faith, and only called in his women two or three times a week, and more often than not the choice fell on the thin little wife. The little girl, realising her advantage, did everything in her power to provoke the blonde girl. Only Shaukat slept on quietly in her heavy loneliness, and kept the difficult peace between the two younger women in her calm, slow, understanding way.
However, one day the little wife must have revealed her antagonism towards the blonde woman to her husband. For some days later, while Ann was throwing seed to the chickens, she heard someone call her name. Turning round, she saw Yakub standing near the barn, brushing his horses. He called her over and asked her directly if she were jealous of the young wife, Azurie, and if she were planning to do any harm to the girl. Ann was taken aback by this sudden accusation and denied it strongly, yet something in her tone belied her words. Yakub looked at her sharply.
"I know you too well, Ann, not to fear you. Remember that Azurie is the woman who will bear my children, so to me she is doubly precious. My first wife is barren and you are not my wife."
Ann looked at the Pathan with disgust. They were all the same, these men, despite their difference of background and temperament. Like animals, they wanted only one thing in life-to assure the continuity of their race. They would take their pleasure indiscriminately of any woman, but the woman who was to be the mother of their children they held as something sacred. That human vessel, whatever it may be, was worth more to them than all the hours of earth and heaven. Even she had once been so prized. Poor Robin ... Turning to the man she said acidly:
"But I, too, can bear children; there is nothing unusual in that."
The man shrugged.
"I am not interested. You came here by yourself and I have welcomed you in accordance with the laws of hospitality of my people-that is all. And it shall never be any more."
In that moment Ann hated the Pathan more than she had ever hated anybody. She hated him because of her need, both physical and material, of him, and she knew, that though he enjoyed the freedom of her body, he could easily dispense with it. Angered she cried.
"And after your have your child, will you still be delighted by that under developed female who greets your passion with boredom and goes to your bed with fear and reluctance? If these are the fruits of modesty, admit that you receive more pleasure from my immodest loins?"
Yakub smiled. His green eyes looked at her ironically.
"What is this pleasure? A sensation-look, my Queen of Love!"
He swiftly unknotted the cord of his grey pajamas and taking his long sex in his hand, he clamped his fingers around its soft stem. Moving his hollowed hand up and down, he made the soft organ slowly harden and swell. With a laugh, he pointed to the quivering shaft:
This, too, gives me a pleasant sensation, and this....
He roughly took hold of an old she-goat that was nestling in the barn with the horses. He clutched the animal by the tail and slid his member quickly into her hidden passageway. The animal grunted, then placidly accepted the unexpected intrusion and went on chewing. Yakub looked laughingly at Ann, and slowly thrust his penis in and out of the goat. He caressed the coarse black hair and murmured endearing names. Then, as the friction steadily increased, his face grew tense and he plunged in faster and faster. His hands gripped the goat's strong pelt and his face became suffused and contracted, until with a final lunge he fell exhausted across the back of the animal!
Ann watched him in horror. She felt nauseated. The man had so obviously relished the experience, and the evil smelling old goat, with its imbecile face and its dung-matted hair, had accepted his passion with dumb unconcern. Before the man could say another word, she turned away and was sick....
That evening a new life started for Ann Pemberton. Perhaps no one was aware of it, but for the first time Ann sank down on her little cloth mattress with the same leaden sigh as Shaukat, and, turning on her side, she quietly fell asleep.
CHAPTER SIX
The sun rested on the western horizon like a huge Chinese lantern; the sky around it was streaked with colours. Ann slowly walked towards the little hut, driving the small flock of goats in front of her. She herded them into the little yard, raked some hay for them and turned to fill the water trough. She was surprised to find herself alone-usually at this hour the yard was a hive of activity, with the women cleaning the cooking pots near the pump, and Yakub rubbing down the horses. She carefully closed the gate to the yard, taking care to latch it properly. As she walked towards the house she heard voices raised in discussion. She lifted her shawl across her face and was about to slip quietly into the women's room, when she noticed the two wives sitting in the room, their faces unveiled! She stopped. A man was talking loudly to the spellbound household. He was wearing the usual drab grey pajama and shirt of the Pathans, but his clothes were covered with mud and his face was almost white with dust. He was much shorter than Yakub, squarely built with enormous heavy shoulders. His skin was unusually dark for a Pathan, and he flourished a pair of huge black moustaches. Seeing Ann standing in the doorway he turned and looked at her with huge, glittering long-lashed black eyes and stopped talking abruptly. Yakub rose and beckoned to Ann. "This, Daulat, is the woman."
The dark man carefully studied Ann, narrowing his eyes, as if to get a more accurate estimate.
"Salaam, Aleikum, I am Yakub's brother. I have come from Rawalpindi and I passed by Abbotabad to see if Yakub was there. I was told that he had left for his village." He stopped and looked nervously at Yakub.
"Daulat has just told us that an Englishman was found dead some months ago, and I am suspected of the murder," Yakub said, looking at the white girl. Ann felt weak. She had completely dismissed Robin from her mind during these months. She looked around terrified. Obviously the men knew who was responsible for the murder, as every Pathan in the district knew. She felt numb. She did not dare deny the crime, but she was afraid; she had heard so many terrible stories of Pathan justice. Bowing her head she murmured.
"I k ... killed him by mistake ... he tried to force his attentions on me., it was in self defense...."
"No doubt a woman's virtue demands every sacrifice," the tall Afridi replied.
"I did not think that they would accuse an ... an ... Indian of the crime. That is why I did not mention it. I shall tell them all now ... I shall tell them I did it...."
Yakub sighed and walked to the window.
"That would be of little use. They already know who did it ... but they will not sacrifice Colonel sahib's reputation." He stood still for a long time, completely lost in thought, then, turning to his brother, he said:
"When should we leave?"
"As soon as possible. The Englishmen have already sent a small platoon after you."
"Shall we take the woman?"
"That is for you to say. I am always in complete agreement with your decisions."
"Then we shall take her. Shaukat, see that she is dressed as a man by tonight, and prepare some food for the journey. We shall be away quite a long time."
At once, the younger woman broke into a loud wail, but the elder firmly silenced her and led her out.
The day passed like a dream. Ann sat cowering in the room. The younger girl wailed and sobbed all day, as she cooked the flat, round "pharatas" for the journey. The elder woman bustled about arranging clothes and helping the men with the horses. About six o'clock in the evening, another man entered the women's quarters. He was Shaukat's uncle, and had come to stay with the two women during their husband's absence. While the three men were talking in the yard, Shaukat brought in the men's clothes and told Ann to prepare herself for the journey. First, she made Ann sit on the string bed and put a cloth around her shoulders. Then, with a stick, she applied a sticky black substance to the girl's fair hair. Ann cried out in protest, but the woman stolidly went on applying the sticky henna so popular among the Pathans. Ann saw the delicate gold of her hair slowly turn to a dull red. Before Ann could realise what was happening, Shaukat had caught her long hair in one hand and deftly cut the locks with a sharp knife. Ann closed her eyes and sobbed-the last physical tie with her past was now broken. The long, fair locks of Miss Pemberton had been replaced by a rough red Pathan bob. Next, Shaukat coloured Ann's skin with a dark nut dye. She made the girl stand up, and, taking a long piece of stiff cotton she wound it tightly round Ann's full round breasts; then, taking the loose, grey shirt and pajamas, she put them on the white girl. Ann looked in the glass. She was a red-headed boy, flat chested, slim and small. She slippered her feet into the curly-toed slippers and allowed Shaukat to wind a dark turban round her head. The men were calling urgently now. Ann ran out of the house, delighting in the new freedom allowed her by the superficial change of sex. Yakub and the dark man were already mounted. They had tied the food bags on their saddles, and had slung long ornate Pathan rifles on their backs. Ann mounted a small boy horse, feeling strange at first in the unfamiliar native saddle and taking the reins in her hand. They waved farewell to the women and galloped westwards towards the Khyber Pass and freedom in Afghanistan....
They camped near a little stream that ran like a blue vein through the caked sand. Daulat made a fire, and they ate "pharatus" with vegetable stew. After the meal, Ann lay down on her blanket and looked quietly up at the star-studded sky. The night was cool and eerily silent. She looked at the two men silhouetted against the sky-one a small, dark shadow and the other a pale glow-talking in whispers. She wondered about the striking difference between the two brothers; and had learned that Daulat was only a blood brother. They had been breast-fed by the same nurse, and later the two little boys had solemnly cut their fingers and exchanged an oath of everlasting friendship. Ann never failed to be amazed by the complex ritual and the involved and delicate personal relationships in India. Each sect, province or caste had a different set of rules, a different attitude to things. Indeed the European not only failed to understand these complex codes-he never tried to penetrate beneath the surface of this mysterious sub-continent.
Ann closed her eyes and felt the heavy repose of her body gently relaxing into sleep. She was awakened by a scuffing noise. Opening her eyes, she saw the moon, huge and cold, right above her. The country all around her was brilliantly illuminated by the cold light; even the camp fire burned silver. Instinctively she reached out her hand to touch Yakub. He was not beside her, nor was his bedding there. Alarmed, she sat up and looked quickly round, and then she saw them. Daulat was sitting cross-legged, his back against a tree; and lying on the ground before him, his body across the other man's knees, was Yakub Khan! Quietly Ann turned on her stomach to watch them. The dark man was gently caressing his friend, running his hand over his pale stomach and gently stroking the inner softness of his thighs. Creeping closer to the couple, Ann saw that the small man's dark sex-frighteningly large for so small a man-lay between Yakub's knees. Daulat bent over and took his brother's long sex into his mouth. The man across his loins murmured in ecstasy, moving his knees together and causing a delicious friction to his partner's long organ. Suddenly Daulat gently pushed Yakub off his knees and stood up. The latter hastily knelt on the ground, his head cushioned in his arms, and spread his legs. The short, dark man quickly knelt behind him. He parted the muscular globes, and gently ran his tongue down the shadowy vale between the moonlit mountains of flesh. Gently he found the little puckered hole and placed his thick organ against it. For a second he let it rest there, murmuring guttural endearments all the while. Then, with a short thrust, he penetrated into the nether depths of the Pathan. Putting his hands under the lean belly, he gently massaged the swollen organ. In rhythmic unison, the two men strained and bucked against each other-and the quiet night was broken by their hoarse exclamations and by the gentle slap of muscular buttocks. Ann watched fascinated. She had never known Yakub so demonstrative or so tender. He seemed like a delicate pale stalk next to the thick brutality of the other man. Suddenly a subtle and urgent tension seemed to grip the two men. The tender intimacy between them gave place to passion, and they attacked each other with renewed fury, their loins hitting and slapping as they raced towards the moment of fulfillment. The dark man was terrible in his climax. He seemed to be convulsed. His mouth hung open and his body twitched hysterically as spasm after spasm shook him. He seemed to be coming forever. He lay, across Yakub's relaxed body, trembling and gasping still, shaken by the torrent that poured from his bowels. Finally he lay still.
Ann cowered, too afraid to move. She did not know how long she lay there, when she saw the short man suddenly rise. He murmured something to Yakub, and kissed him on the cheek. The two men embraced; then Yakub took his friend's thick organ-alive with excitement again-into his mouth. At the same time he parted his long legs, offering his own long rod to the purple lips that rounded to receive it. For a long time they lay on the ground, quietly caressing each other. Then all of a sudden the dark man got up and caught one of the loosely tethered horses. Patting the animal reassuringly, he put his arms over its back and gave a little jump, so that he was lying across the horse's side, his arms over its back. Yakub came up behind him and swiftly plunged in between the hanging buttocks. Then he gave the horse a little pat and the animal obediently moved round and round its tether. Yakub walked slowly abreast of the beast, savouring the delicious friction caused by the horse's motion, until once again the tidal dam within him burst, pouring forth the sweet juices of relief. Soon afterwards both men fell into a deep sleep, and Ann saw that they lay like two devoted children, their hands clasped and their feet entwined.
They had been riding for many days now through the Malak-and, and were heading for the Khyber Pass.
In every village they asked for shelter and they were well received-the Pathan being noted for his hospitality. The head of the village would run out to meet them, and would formally welcome them with traditional greetings. In accordance with the Pathan codes, the headman never asked them where they came from or where they were bound. It was always Yakub who informed them of his situation, and after that their hosts were always doubly sympathetic and solicitous.
Ann thrived on this strange life. She was now called Ghulam; and both Daulat and Yakub took great care to always refer to her by that name, even when they were alone. She enjoyed the increased freedom, after the months spent behind the veil, and the more she saw of the Pathans the more she liked them. She loved their food-almost entirely composed of mutton-yet each dish so utterly different in taste and odor from any other. Once in the afternoon, she had joined in a game of native polo, played on a grassy plateau, with the towering snow-capped Hindu Kush mountains as background.
Riding through the mountains, over narrow passes cutting away to steep gorges, Ann learned a great deal about the laws of "Pantcholi" and its rigid application. The Pathan is forced by the arid nature of his country to be wild and lawless. Nothing-or very little-grows on the rugged hills and plains of the North-West Frontier Province, and to keep alive the Pathan has had to resort to theft, plunder, murder, usury and the white slave trade. Through the difficult centuries, the law of Pantcholi was evolved to safeguard his interests. The laws of Pantcholi are based on the simple principle of "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth." If, for instance, a man kills the father of a certain family, the family, to redeem their honour, are bound to kill the murderer or his father. But on the other hand, vengeances may be prevented by the offer of blood money, a kind of ransom. Many a Pathan family has been in debt for generations because a hot-tempered ancestor incurred a debt of blood money that he could not fully acquit in his lifetime, and succeeding generations have to undertake to pay the compensation. Ann also learned to respect the religious zeal of these wild people. Four times a day, Daulat and Yakub would stop for their "nimaz," spreading their little mats on the ground and kneeling down to face Mecca.
Yet, despite her fascination of this new life and her complete rift with the past, Ann felt lost. She did not really belong to these people. She could never hope to fully understand them, and sometimes, when she sat alone in the evenings watching the men bowed in prayer, she felt a terrible loneliness. Even the distant ranges of the Hindu Kush and the blued hills of the Khyber made her feel more alien. For, somewhere in her consciousness, there was a longing for green fields, quiet oaks and rivers that flowed through the banks overhung with timid wood flowers....
One evening as they finished their meal, Ann retired to the little room offered to the three travellers by the village. She lay down quietly in the darkness, listening to the wailing sobbing voice singing a border legend-the story of the border chief who became one of the Afghan Ghanzi kings of India. She closed her eyes and dozed contentedly when the door opened and the two men came in. Yakub walked straight up to her and said:
"Ghulam, Daulat, my brother, has need of you." Ann looked at him puzzled. "Need of me?"
"Yes, as you know, all that is Daulat's is mine and all that is mine is his. Therefore you too belong to him," and looking at the two of them, he quickly left the room.
Ann stayed in her corner. Her heart was pounding in her body. She had always been afraid of this strange, dark little man with his drooping moustaches, and burning black eyes.
Quietly he approached her, and taking her by the arm, he pulled her towards the middle of the room. Deftly he slipped his hands underneath her long shirt and unknotted the right scarf that bound her breasts, and pushed her slowly to the floor. Ann felt her belly tighten. The small man had incredibly soft hands, yet through the stubby fingers there surged a strange, mesmeric power. He lay next to her on the ground, softly stroking her belly-round and round, caressing her breasts scarred by the tight binding, and stroking her heavy thighs. Ann had never known such hands.
The little man had the power to soothe and excite all at once. She wanted to cry out with desire at his gentle, soft fingers rhythmically plucking at her nipples, and the next instant she was lulled in to quietness by his cat's tongue lapping down her back and neck. Lying on her back, her eyes closed, her legs wide apart, she surrendered herself to those magic fingers. She felt his butterfly lips rub her oval breasts, making them swell as if they were about to burst. Then he stroked the still golden mouth of her sex, stirring her juices and sending electric telegrams of desire to all her limbs. And now, the soft, wet tongue was lapping in her navel, and then she was gently raised and the moist organ continued its soft licking over her buttocks and down the soft vale between. Two fingers gently widened the puckered, petulant mouth of her anus and the moist tongue wove patterns of longing around and inside the little opening. Moaning softly, she completely abandoned herself to him, lulled into a mesmeric state of desire, her body one tingling mass of sensation. He would not let her touch him, but played her body like some instrument, content to see the harmonic response to his stimulation. Now his fingers were softly thrumming her anus, while the other hand was gently stroking her mouth and giving her a buccal contentment she had not had since infancy. Turning under the ever-moving hands, she felt her body ready to give its final response to the almost unendurable ecstasy. Her hips started a short rhythmic dance and her mouth closed on the hand within it. All her forces gathered for the final expression of satisfaction. The small dark man felt her tenseness and swiftly he turned and wedged his lips against her pulsing sex-just in time to receive her milky gratitude as it poured out of her pleasure-racked body.
The ancient Kabul Road leads from Peshawar to Afghanistan, through the famous Khyber pass. In high summer the Khyber is a beautiful place. The rocky austerity is softened by the paint-box hues of wild flowers growing out of every available nook and cranny. The narrow, dusty roads are lined with trees and the brown, tired looking grass offers a respite from the dust. Terraced fields of wheat glitter in the sunlight and, above the bright colours, cool and severe, rise the snow-topped peaks of the Hindu Kush-a constant reminder of the severe winter to come.
They were now approaching Mahsud territory. Every so often they would meet groups of horsemen, their animals gaily decorated with colorful head trappings and pompoms. Even their heavy carved rifles were decorated with gay tassels. They watched, hard-eyed and suspicious as the little party rode by. Sometimes Yakub would greet them as they rode past, and they would either return a slight nod, or nothing at all. The Mahsuds were lean, hard men like the Afridis, with an amazing variety of countenance: interesting faces, some so handsome that it was almost unbelievable; others ugly, others diabolical, apparently incarnations of scheming, pitiless evil. They were easily distinguished from the Afridisby their turbans. They did not wear the gold "kulla"-the stiff skull cap that forms the base of most Moslem turbans, but bundled their turbans straight on to the head and often chose black as a colour, instead of blue and brown, other more usual Pathan colours.
As soon as they entered Mahsud territory the entire character of the flight changed. What had been a calm, unhurried retreat now assumed a sense of urgency. Yakub explained to Ann that the Mahsuds were wild and unreliable tribesmen chiefly responsible for most of the terrible blood feuds of the border.
"The Mahsud is the jackal of the frontier. He attacks without warning and he shows no pity. It is best that we pass through this territory as soon as possible."
He spurred his horse on to running trot and the other two followed his example. They rode for most of the day, stopping for a two-hour break in the afternoon to eat some dry "pharatas" and to make tea. After their hurried meal Yakub and Ann rested, while Daulat led the horses farther downstream to water them. Then, once again they mounted the sturdy, nimble-footed animals and continued on the long trek. Ann had by now become used to sitting all day in the saddle. In the beginning her limbs had ached, and she had found it difficult to walk when she dismounted. However she had done all in her power to conceal her physical discomfort as she did not want to be a burden on the two men, and she was afraid that their village hosts might suspect the truth about her sex. She rode on through the long hours, lost in thought. However, she very seldom thought about the military camp at Abbotabad-except once, when she saw a Pathan, wearing an old army tunic, peacefully working on his wheat field. Then, for the first time since her departure, she thought of the early-morning parades, the Sunday picnics and the interminable dances. As if he read her thoughts, Yakub suddenly asked her if she were homesick. Ann vehemently denied any such sentiment, but the Pathan turning to his brother remarked:
"The fish born in the sea returns to die in the sea."
The two men had suddenly stopped. Yakub was shielding his eyes against the sun and was excitedly pointing to something. Ann followed the direction of his hand and saw a lone rider waving to the men from the valley below. The two men seemed nervous. They could not decide whether to go down to meet the man or whether to wait for him. The decision, however, was taken out of their hands as the rider started to gallop towards them. As he approached he fired his rifle in the air-the traditional Pathan greeting.
"Salaam, Aleikum." Then turning to Yakub, he spoke to him in Puslitoo, the Pathan language. Ann listened. The newcomer seemed excited. Listening hard, she caught the words "khust" and "lashkar." She looked anxiously at Daulat. The man was now questioning Yakub, who seemed deeply worried. Daulat shrugged-it appeared that the newcomer had seen a "khust" (patrol) of Gurkhas with an English officer prowling around the hills a few days ago. They were evidently searching for someone.
The newcomer merely passed the news on. Ann knew that in a few hours every Pathan in the region would be warned of the "khust" and every man with some guilt on his conscience would have disappeared by the time the British arrived. It was well nigh impossible for the authorities to catch these wily tribesman unawares. Thanking the rider, Yakub turned to his companions and urged them to ride with all speed to the next village.
The next hour passed in a whirl of dust, sweat and flying stones, as the three riders galloped, cantered and trotted to the nearest little village. It was almost evening when they saw the little brown roofs clustered like mushrooms on the rock face. Yakub fired the customary shots and almost at once two men rode out to greet them. They were Wazir tribesmen and wore gay waist coats decorated with oblong, silver brooches and charms. Yakub greeted them and asked to be led to the chief of the village, as he had something of importance to tell him. The two men led them without further question into the village. Their entrance was greeted by the frantic barking of yellow mongrel dogs and the cries of delighted children. Women ran into the house, hastily dropping pots and pans, and veiling their faces at the sight of the strangers. They dismounted, tied their horses to a tree and followed the two Wazirs to the central hut. Sitting on a string bed before the hut was a very tall, thin old man. His almost transparent skin was stretched tightly over the fine bones of his face. A sharp, curved nose like a beak jutted out over a snow-white moustache and a long, soft white beard. The almost hidden lips were long and thin. As he rose to his full height to greet the visitors, the old man towered over all the other Pathans. Yakub greeted him and told him about the British khust. The old man seemed very excited by the news. He ordered a full gathering of the village to be called in the evening. He thanked Yakub profusely and invited the three visitors to be his guests.
Ann had just finished helping Daulat bed the horses for the night, when the big drum began to boom. Instantly the village was a flurry of activity: men, boys and children suddenly materialized from all corners of the hamlet and ran towards the central hut; horsemen galloped in from outside, mysteriously warned of the meeting; dogs barked, women shouted, and the sound of scampering feet was everywhere. Daulat and Ann were pulled along with the tide to the center of the little village. The men had formed a semi-circle around the string bed. In the center sat the old Chief and Yakub, while on the floor around them squatted four or five elderly men-the village elders. The Chief waited until it seemed that all his people were there, and then, rising, he presented Yakub to the village and conveyed his message to the people. At once pandemonium broke out among the crowd. Questions were flung at the chief, who asked Yakub to answer them. Yakub assured the men that the khust would not arrive in the region before the next day or so. The crowd became agitated and many men started to leave. The Chief thanked Yakub publicly; then, turning to his men, he exhorted them to be wary and reminded them to conduct themselves with honour. Raising his arms, he blessed them, reciting a well known frontier poem:
God is on our side Tis ours now to strike In a foreign land we are Beware, O Ghaziz! God is on our side.
The men cheered and answered his greeting and quickly dispersed. In a moment there was hardly a man to be seen. The gray-clad figures had vanished into the darkening evening like ghosts at the stroke of morning.
The Chief led Yakub, Daulat and Ann into his hut, where a feast awaited them. It was a delicious meal. First came a course of succulent roast sheep's ribs, with roast liver. A sheep's haunch followed, softly boiled, beautiful. After that arrived sliced meat lumps set amidst bright, spiced, yellow rice, laced with raisins, nuts, herbs and a side accompaniment of onion and potato. The final non-carnivorous course was a pink blancmange, all washed down by the distinctive Pathan drink, milkless green tea or "casa," flavored with cardamon seeds.
Ann ate to her heart's content. There was enough meat between the four of them to last a British household for a month, and she much preferred the spicy, hot native food to the pale roasts and salted, boiled vegetables of her own home.
After dinner one of the men prepared the tall hubble bubble. He spilled a little powder into some boiling water and poured the mixture into the little pot to which he attached the stem of the instrument. The "hookah" was first passed to Yakub, who puffed at it and then passed it back to the Chieftain. Ann waited nervously for her turn. She had never smoked a hookah before, and it was reputed to make a beginner very sick. Timidly she put the pipe in her mouth and puffed. The bitter, moist, acrid taste rushed down her throat to her lungs. She had an uncontrollable impulse to cough; her eyes started to water, and she felt as if her lungs, mouth and nose were on fire. Quickly she passed the "hookah" to one of the other guests, and, covering her mouth with her hand, she coughed discreetly.
Yakub and the Chieftain were engrossed in a whispered conversation. The other men lay around the room listening to the passionate ballad singer who intoned the historic ghazals-ballads of epic Frontier heroes. Sweetmeats made of pistachio and honey, wrapped in pure silver, were passed around. Ann settled contentedly against a cushion and savored the relative tranquility of the occasion. After days of exposure in the saddle, it was good to be well fed, clean and comfortable once again. She closed her eyes and dozed, quietly lulled by the whispered conversation and by the sorrowful notes of the ghazal.
She opened her eyes with a start and saw Yakub bending over her.
"Listen carefully to what I have to say: Rehmet Ali Khan has been of invaluable assistance to us, and as a gift I have explained our true situation to him and have offered you to him. So submit willingly to him. He is a man who has been unusually kind to us."
Ann looked at him in anger. She felt powerless, humiliated.
"Do you always treat your women like this?"
"You are not one of our women; neither are you a European lady any more. Since you have already given yourself to more than one man, there could not be any moral issue involved. So you had better obey, or it will go worse for you."
Not long after the gathering broke up, Daulat showed Ann the room allotted to her, and left her there alone. She waited quietly, lying on the narrow string bed for about an hour. Then, just as she had decided to sleep, she heard voices outside her door and the old Chieftain look even more spectral. His fine white flickering light of the lamp made the lean frame of the Chieftain look every more spectral. His fine white beard looked like smoke in the dim light. As he walked towards the bed, the lamp threw gigantic shadow on the wall and ceiling of the little room.
The old man set the lamp on the table near the bed and asked the girl to rise. Ann got up from the bed and stood nervously before him. The old man looked at her and smiled.
"I wish to see the woman beneath the man."
Slowly Ann undressed. She slipped her long white shirt over her head and carefully undid the rough cotton band that concealed her breasts. As the cloth sprang away from the rosy protuberances, the full, white, heavy-tipped orbs came into view.
She undid the knot at her waist and let her pajamas slip to her ankles. For a moment she stood utterly still, her breasts quivering after their sudden release; her smooth, round stomach gleamed in the soft light, her naval a dark well of mystery. The shadows flickered across the rounded, dimpled surface of the buttocks, giving a false and exciting impression of movement. She heard the old man breathing deeply. She could feel his gaze burning her body. For a long moment he sat absolutely still, then he spoke in his gentle fluting voice.
"What a charming boy! Are you as accomplished as you are beautiful? Can you ride, fight, wrestle? Come try me."
The old man got up and started to undress. In a second he was completely naked, except for a small loin cloth. Picking up a coverlet from the bed, he threw it on the floor; then, spitting on his hands, he waited for his opponent. Ann looked at the fantastic figure of the Chief-long and thin, the white, beard floating like vapor across his chest, and she had a wild impulse to laugh. Then, entering into the spirit of the game, she hurled herself at him. The old man caught her in a strong leg hold and threw her easily on the mat. Then, lying on top of her, he slowly started to twist her arm. Ann cried out. Her arm was pulled up behind her back and her heavy breasts stuck out like twin domes at the muscular strain. Holding her arm firmly, the old man bent his head and ran his tongue lightly over the straining nipples. Ann trembled. Her breasts protruded voluptuously into his face, the nipples stretched and hard.
As the moist tongue caressed the pink buds, her belly quivered under the soft, subtle tickle of the white beard, she could feel the hard protuberance of his sex pushing against her. Twisting her arm further, he made her arch her body until her head fell back and her two breasts stood out of the smooth planes of her body like strong twin towers. The old man greedily fell on the hard globes and sucked and chewed her nipples in a frenzy. Ann tried to free herself from his devouring mouth, but every move only brought a more acute pain to her arm. Then, abruptly, he released her. Quickly he stripped off his loin cloth and revealed the longest organ Ann had ever seen! She gazed at it terrified, yet fascinated.
As if compelled by her thoughts the organ slowly raised its blunted head and twitched. It looked like a thick, blind snake seeking for its entrance tunnel. Kneeling down, the old man pushed his palpitating organ under Ann's arm and fitted the tip neatly into the hollow of her armpit. Then, pushing her amis against her body, he squeezed the organ until it began to swell. Ann felt weak at the thought of the organ entering her body, but the sharp sword of desire was already piercing her loins as she felt the soft brush of beard against her breasts. She spread her legs on either side of his body, and lifting her foot she placed it in between his thin, hard buttocks, running her toes up and down his furry vale. With her free hand, she caressed his huge hanging globes that joined the bucking, twitching sex. The old man was muttering under his breath. She could feel his soft spicy breath on her face-a mixture of onion, garlic, cardamon and tobacco. He opened his mouth and moaned in ecstasy and Ann saw that the dark gap was pierced by four long, yellow teeth.
Swiftly moving his sex from her armpit he lifted her up like a child and carried her to the bed. He placed her on her side and carefully bent one of her knees. For a second he stood looking down at her prone body lying on the bed, the breasts slack and pointed, lying one on top of the other; the arched midriff narrowing to the small waist; and the generous curve of dimpled hip accentuated by the bent knee. Then, climbing on the bed, he lay behind her and searched for the narrow pocket of her body with his hands. When he found the entrance, he gently slid into her distended gulf, and as her moist interior channel closed round his organ he lost all control of himself. The huge pulsing penis pushed in farther and father. A sharp pain enveloped her. She tried to tear her body away, but she was pinned like a butterfly to his long merciless rod. Deeper and deeper he dug into her. Then, quickly pulling her leg up, he slid on top of her, to penetrate her even more fully. Holding her spread-eagled on the bed, he pushed his huge organ farther in. The woman sobbed.
"Please, please stop this; you will kill me." But still the measured pounding continued, hitting deeper and deeper into her womb, until with a final thrust he penetrated to the full length of his fantastic organ. Ann screamed; she was in agony; the huge rod had torn a passage through her body. She lay writhing while the long creature mounting her turned and twisted and jabbed, the wiry hairs of his mound scraping her naked crotch, while his hanging white beard gently stroked her breasts as if to compensate for the ravaging piston within her. Ann's legs were bent double and she felt as if she would break in two, but the old man still pounded her with his serpent-long sex. Ann was sweating, the room spun dimly round; she was conscious only of the pain within her and the merciless shaft that had penetrated her body to her very brain it seemed. Then all was darkness. Consciousness came like a feeble dawn, and through the grayness Ann became aware of an incessant throbbing. Opening her eyes she saw with a shock that the old man was still mounted on her. His narrow face seemed more transparent than ever and his nose was like the tearing beak of some carnivorous bird of prey. As if in some trance, his body continued its strange dance within her-twisting, urging, receding. She had lost all consciousness of time. She only knew that she was torn in some rhythmic universe. Once again she tried to struggle; she tried to speak but the words would not form. Again the searing pain tore through her and she welcomed darkness.
Many times during the night Ann lost consciousness; and each time, she awoke to find the old man still perched on her like some predatory bird of prey. How long he remained she did not know. She only knew that after an eternity she was finally freed from his imprisoning thighs, before she floated back into a limbo of pain, fatigue and exhaustion.
Ann did not know how many days she stayed in the little room. She dimly realized that she was ill. The tremendous strain of the last months had eventually taken its toll, and she lay tossing on the hard bed with a fever..
The days passed in a fantastic drugged dream. They gave her herbs to drink; and one evening, an old, old man came and sat by her bed for hours throwing little coloured packets of dust on her body and mumbling strange sing-song incantations under his breath.
She vaguely remembered that finally the British "khust" had arrived, because she was put into an all-concealing burkha and pointed out as the Chief's pregnant daughter. Then finally one day she rose from her bed and went outside. She was dressed in her male disguise, but she was sure that the whole village knew her secret. She sat quietly in the sun, resting and letting her strength flow back into her body, until one day she felt strong enough to leave the village. She was given a horse and one of the men guided her down the rugged paths. They rode for about an hour when the man stopped and whistled. Back from the hills came the answering call, and a few seconds later Yakub and Daulat rode to meet her. Neither of the men mentioned her illness nor the terrible night of torture with the Chief.
As they rode silently along, Ann wondered at these people, so different from her own. She could never fathom their reticence and their strange tact. A normal thing (to her) like kissing, revolted them, yet they were content to let the brutality of the other night pass without comment.
Yakub had stopped now. They were approaching the narrowest part of the Khyber Pass. He whistled. There was silence. Then the answering whistle came from the hills. Still hesitant, the Afridi waited a moment longer, then he urged on his horse. They advanced slowly, the men nervous, fingering their rifles, their keen eyes scanning the horizon for the faintest sign: a bent blade of grass, a pebble falling, anything. Slowly they rode down the Pass, the cliff face rising steeply on either side. Even the horses were nervous. They tossed their heads and chewed at the iron bits in their mouths. As evening descended on the little party, Yakub decided to camp for the night. Quietly they got off their horses, hardly daring to breathe, and lit a fire. They ate a hasty meal and lay down to snatch some sleep, while Yakub mounted guard with a rifle in his hand.
No one knew where they came from, or how they came. The only thing they saw was the cloud of dust. They heard the patter of rifle shots and then they were surrounded. The men were obviously Mahsuds. They tied their prisoners to their saddles, blindfolded them, and led them away.
It was a horrible sensation: riding, tied and blind, on a horse being led no one knew where. Ann had never felt so frightened or helpless in her life. She could not calculate how long they rode. Finally she felt the horse stop beneath her, and she heard the loud babble of conversation as the men got off their horses and chatted together. She felt herself being dragged off her horse and she was pulled away. Stumbling over the rough ground, she followed her captor until she felt him tie her to a tree and take off her blindfold. For a moment she could not see; then as the focus became clearer she saw that the men had camped down for the night on a little plateau, protected on all sides by steep cliffs. Yakub and Daulat were tied next to her. Ann looked at her two companions. Yakub's eyes were red and Daulat's seemed blacker than ever. Turning to them she whispered:
"Why did they attack us? Who are they?"
The men seemed unwilling to talk. Finally Yakub answered:
"They are Mahsuds. They have always been our enemies."
Ann was not satisfied with the explanation, but she did not push the problem any further. Closing her eyes, she tried to sleep. There seemed nothing else to do.
She was awakened by wild shouts. Sounds of music, laughter, shouting came from the circle round the bonfire. The Mahsuds were obviously celebrating their capture. She felt a sudden stab in her bladder, and turning to Yakub, she said.
"I want to relieve myself."
Yakub called to the guard who sat a few yards away his rifle pointing at them. The man carefully released Ann and told her to hurry up. She was so occupied in preventing the guard from discovering her secret that she did not see the slim young man in front of her until she heard his cry:
"Y'llah! This one has lost his sex!"
He dragged her violently into the flickering light near the bonfire, lifted her skirt and saw the cotton bandage. He cried out to his companions and dragged her into the big circle of men.
A big bonfire burned in the centre of the yard and around it two men were frantically beating huge drums. A couple of young men ambled into the center of the circle, and made tentative forward and backward steps. A few more joined them, and danced in a half-hearted fashion; then as the numbers grew and the tempo slowly quickened, fire ran among them, flickered between them and the drummer at the center and spread to the spectators. As the swirling, shouting, head-swaying men went round faster and faster, the flame of their excitement fused the entire group in an absorbed, barbaric unity. Circling, the slim forms bent and swayed gently, violently, in abrupt alternations. In them were all the deep reserves of wiry strength: intense vitality stirred under partial control.
From lowered heads in line, the black, bobbed masses of oiled hair fell loose. Rhythmically, downwards and sideways, they swung and jerked to the throb of the drum, to stamp or shuffle of feet and stir of dust. Then, with a flick the heads rose, the tresses slapped back into neat place. They were like a row of long-stalked, sturdy flowers, tossing black petals in a breeze of drum beats.
Watching the whirling devilish dancers, Ann momentarily forgot her plight. She was completely caught up in the bedeviled rhythm. On and on the spinning figures stamped, bent and turned. She did not notice that a little interested group had gathered round her, and was startled to feel herself suddenly dragged away from the anonymity of the crowd, and led to the center of the circle. Her young captor dragged her among the whirling dancers and whispered to the perspiring drummer, who laughed, and abruptly stopped the beat. For about half a measure the dancers circled round, unaware that the music had stopped. Then a babble of angry voices and confusion broke out.
The young Mahsud had mounted on the shoulders of the drummer and was waving his hands for silence. As the noise subsided he shouted into the crowd.
"Listen, my brothers! We have been truly fortunate today. Not only have we captured much money, but Allah has seen fit to send us a new diversion. Indeed, a houri has fallen from heaven. If you all will be seated, I will show you this amazing sight."
A murmur went up among the crowd, and the excited men sat down. There was complete silence now. Every head was turned expectantly towards the young man. Jumping off his perch, he led Ann to the centre of the dance arena, near the bonfire. With a deft movement he slid his hands up her skirt and slit the bandages that imprisoned her breasts; then, pulling her forward, he raised his hand.
"This young man Ghulam Khan was one of the three Afridis captured today. I noticed at the pass that he did not seem to be a very fearsome warrior; and this, my brothers, is the reason why."
With a quick movement he slit the cord of her pajamas and lifted her long shirt above her head.
A gasp ran through the crowd, as they saw the white body, the heavy breasts with their shadowed tips and the naked cleft mound that concealed her treasures. Then pandemonium broke loose. Ann felt herself carried off the ground; a hundred hands reached for her, tore at her clothes and body. She screamed, but her voice was drowned amid the laughter and cries of the men. Suddenly she felt herself pulled, pulled away from the grasping hands, and she was free again. Her saviour was the smiling young Mahsud who had first discovered her. Next to him stood an elderly man with a heavy, black beard. Both had drawn their swords and stood as a protective shield before Ann. The mob, robbed of its succulent prey, rushed towards the little group and then stopped bewildered. The elderly man stepped forward.
""My children, let us all enjoy this occasion and not destroy the instrument of our pleasure before we can use it. If you will all be seated, you will see that you will all have a chance to amuse yourselves."
The crowd slowly withdrew and sat down. Two young boys came out with long flacons of green tea which they served to the men, along with beetle nut and cloves to chew. The young man led Ann into the center of the circle once again. She was completely naked now; and as she walked into the dance arena, the drums slowly started to beat. The young man hit her sharply on the legs and ordered her to dance. Ann was stunned. She had never danced anything beyond the waltzes, polkas and scottishes required of every accomplished lady, and the throbbing syncopated rhythm of the drums was completely alien to her. She stood still, looking helplessly into the crowd. Cries of anger broke out among the disappointed men.
"Dance ... dance ... bitch."
The young man raised his sword and struck her viciously across the buttock. The crowd roared its approval, as a long red mark appeared on the white skin. Suddenly a slim young man jumped into the arena and started the complicated steps of, the dance. Turning to Ann, he struck her hard across the breast.
"Dance ... dance...."
Slowly Ann started to move. She tried to imitate the steps of the young man, but he turned like quicksilver around her-niocking, jeering, reaching out a slender hand to pinch her quivering buttocks, or to teasingly pull a nipple. Helplessly Ann did little bobbing steps to the rhythm of the drum. Her dyed red hair bobbed like the other Pathans', bounced on her neck and her breasts quivered and shook like white blancmange.
The crowd was growing excited now. The green tea, spiced with the mild aphrodisiac herbs of the North, sent the heat into her loins; and the white, shaking breasts of the woman and the dimpled buttocks added delicious fuel to their fire. Suddenly, like a circling hawk, the young dancer grabbed Ann by the hand and led her into the crowd of seated men. Hands reached out and grabbed her. A brown hand tore at her breast; another long, lean finger jabbed brutally through the prudish opening of her anus: fingers pinched, scratched, mouths bit. Ann screamed. She felt as if she were running through an enchanted forest, the living trees grabbing at her limbs, scratching her breasts and penetrating into the privacy of her innermost being. Sobbing, she followed the dancing dervish until he led her out of the mob. She stood trembling beside him, too dazed even to be glad to have been saved from the sea of fingers. All around her the men swarmed.
"Let us see the woman...."
"Bismillah, is she a virgin?"
"What white woman is?"
"Let us see the scared channel...."
Laughter, oaths, lewd phrases ... Ann knew that it was more than lust that stirred them. The most precious and inviolable thing in all the British territories was the white woman, and now these men-always restive under foreign rule-had one in their power. Suddenly she was borne aloft on the crest of this wave of excitement. Two men piled about a dozen sleeping mats, one on top of the other, to form a sort of high bed, and they placed the woman on it. One enormous Pathan held her hands, while two others pinioned her legs high against her body.
"Now come and see for yourself," the young dancer cried.
The men ran forward in groups. The first one opened the already gaping mouth of her sex, and, inserting a thin stick, drew it out and held it up.
"Look, its deep ... deep enough for a horse to enter."
Laughter drowned her sobs. Another man ran forward and savagely bit her breasts, shaking his head like a dog with a rat. Hands went into her wounded vagina ... fingers tore at her sparse pubic hairs plucking them for souvenirs. One man urinated between her breasts ... another suddenly raised his head and spat on her. His spittle, scarlet from the beetle nut, ran like blood down the contracted length of her body and filled her naval like a small pond. A cry of delight rose from the crowd. They surrounded her, spitting on her breasts, her armpits, her face, and her mouth. Someone put his hands under her buttocks, and, lifting her slightly, spat full and deeply into her sex. Ann screamed in horror. Her body was covered in a red stream of spittle, which ran down her legs and dripped on to the floor. She seemed to be drenched in blood. And the sight of her heavy white body covered in the red liquid drove the tribesmen into a frenzy. Suddenly a cry ripped through the excited throng.
"Aekaela Paghal ... let him have the whore. Aekaela Paghal ... here at last is your chance."
A roar of approval answered the cry. Voices all round her shouted:
"Aekaela ... Aekaela ... where are you? Do you want a white woman ... Aekaela?"
Suddenly from the throng the dancer burst out, leading a strange figure by the hand.
For want of any other definition, it was a man, but village gossip had it that his accursed parents had committed suicide after his birth. Small, hunchbacked, club-footed, he was completely cross-eyed. His nose was broken flat and hung, an amorphous lump of flesh on his face. Bewildered, he followed the young dancer. Incapable of thought or speech-for the crippled thing was a congenital idiot-he was nonetheless treated with kindness by his community and lived off their charity, for in India cripples are considered signs of God's wrath, and kindness to them is especially pleasing to the deity.
Ann stared terrorized as the idiot was led before her.
He looked at her, laughing quietly to himself, the saliva drooling in a steady stream down his chin. Quickly a dozen deft hands undressed him, exposing his twisted body, his deformed legs and a shriveled disused organ hanging, like an angry reproach between his legs.
"Look, Aekaela ... what a beautiful woman we have found for you ... today you will be no longer a virgin."
The idiot smiled uncomprehendingly and made some incoherent noise.
"Honey; put honey on her ... he loves honey ... Aekaela will kill for honey...."
Again the crowd roared. Two men came running back with a pot of honey. Holding Ann firmly against the bed they opened her legs wide and poured the sticky liquid over her mound and rubbed it into the deep pink lips of her sex. Ann stirred. The men's fingers, lubricated with honey, caused her stomach to contract, and small shocks of desire began to pulse through her bruised body. They were dragging the idiot to the bed. The creature had smelled the honey and was whimpering like a dog....
"Here Aekaela ... here...."
Taking his head, they buried it deep in Ann's loins. The idiot screeched. Greedily he fell to licking the honey. He grasped Ann's thighs; and, like a hairy bee between two slim lilies, he lay guzzling at her pink sex, forgetting everything in the ecstasy of the sweet, sticky liquid. The men quickly lifted his body on top of Ann's. Ann was nauseated. The creature smelled, and his misshapen legs lay flat and hard across her breasts, while the broken mass of nose was flattened against her soft cleft mound. The men pushed the idiot's haunches into her face. Ann moaned and tried to free her head but someone forced open her lips and inserted the limp and filthy sex into her mouth. She made a choking sound, but the Mahsuds relentlessly pushed the cripple's buttocks firmly against her. She closed her eyes, praying for darkness to overcome her. But slowly as the creature's horny tongue licked the sides of her white thighs, as his teeth nipped the purple genital flower-in order to devour every morsel of the honey-as his tongue jabbed through the coral passage to her womb, she felt the familiar stirring within her and the acrid love juices started to flow and to mingle with the honey. Almost reflexively she started to suck at the organ in her mouth. Under the intricate caresses of her tongue, the fleshy rod started to harden and grow firm. She contentedly bit and teased the soft baton until she felt his loins contract, and the most primeval of all knowledge caused him to slowly and stumblingly start pushing with his hips. Soon he was sliding the organ in and out of her pursed lips. A loud cheer went up from the men, breathlessly watching the spectacle. The idiot got more and more excited. He quivered and whimpered, his head buried in the pink sex, his buttocks bucking like an angry mule.
"Show him, show him ... Aekaela, not like that...!"
Amused shouts ran through the crowd. Somebody pried him away from the woman's body. He screamed like a wounded puppy. Turning him round, they lowered him gently back on to the woman. Automatically Ann opened her legs wide. Somebody guided his plunging sex into the moist slit of her body, and he entered with all the force of a mating animal. He screamed in rapture at this new sensation, clutching her waist convulsively, as if he were afraid they would take her away again. He instinctively moved his small penis in and out. Hands seized Ann's breast and put her delicate nipple into his mouth. Ann felt her body respond to the creature's frantic stabs. Her hips rose to meet him as they rocked in the most elemental of all earthly rhythms....
The men were very excited now. Hoarse shouts rang out. The drum started to beat, someone viciously upset the makeshift bed and the couple rolled to the ground. The men were stamping all around them. Ann dimly felt someone spit on their bodies, and people were throwing handfuls of sand at them. But she was only conscious of the little jigging thing skewered to her body, shaking it to its very depths. As the idiot, excited by the cries, the throbbing drum, and the strong odor of perspiring male bodies, rose trembling to his first climax, he clung desperately to the white round creature beneath him. Madly he tried to sink into her body, and as the spasms racked him he bit into the soft, soft white fruit in his mouth. Ann shrieked as she felt the blood trickle warmly down her breast. The last thing she saw was the idiot dragged off her. Hands wrenched her limbs apart and then all was darkness.
The earth had stretched out its great roots and sewn her to its crust forever. She tried to escape, to lift her head, but all she could do was open her eyes and stare at the sky. She did not know what day it was. It was still summer, for the sky was a deep, gentle blue, and the scarlet flowers of the gholmoor tree burned like a torch in the sunlight. It was then that she realized that she had been drugged. She lay listening to the unbelievable stillness, too limp to move, too numb to call out; and she could feel the tickling sensation of the small creatures that moved against her body in the grass: With a sigh, Ann slept.
When she awoke, the sun was dipping to the west. She tried to get up, and this time she succeeded. She wondered where all the people had gone. Rising, she unsteadily made her way towards the smoking bonfire. Everything was deserted. She walked dazedly along, and was suddenly startled by a little yellow dog that rose suddenly from the dust and barked at her. She stood and called. Her voice floated over the deserted plateau and sounded lost and lonely. It was then that she heard the cry-a strangled, muffled sound. Hurrying in the direction of the cry, she called again ... again the reply. Quickly she searched along the cliffs until she saw a small cave entrance. She crawled nervously in, and peered into the dark interior. There on the floor, gagged and bound, lay Yakub Khan and Daulat. With a great cry of relief, Ann bent down and tried to undo the great knots. She undid the bandage over their mouths and the two men used their newly recovered speech to curse the tribe, which had left them in this plight. Ann had never seen Yakub so angry. His eyes were almost brown with anger and he was trembling as if he were ill. Without another word, he quickly went in search of their horses. He followed some easily discernible track, until, half way up a cliff, he found an old mare patiently chewing grass. Quickly he led her down and made a sort of saddle out of some pieces of sacking he found. He lifted Ann on to this contraption and told Daulat to ride in front; then guiding the horse by its rope halter, Yakub led the way.
For a long time they rode in silence. Every half hour Daulat and Yakub would change places and take turns at riding. They seemed to have some plan in mind, because every so often Yakub would stop and carefully survey the surrounding country. They made slow progress during the afternoon, and as evening approached, they dismounted, carefully tethered their only animal and made a small fire. They were hungry, but there was nothing to eat. Ann felt weary and empty. She lay down quickly an tried to sleep to forget the gnawing pain in her belly. She heard the men softly chatting together, as she gently sank into the comforting oblivion of sleep. But she could not rest, and every time she awoke she heard the men still murmuring, the liquid Puslitoo syllables pattering like raindrops in the still silence of the night.
When she got up next morning, Daulat and the horse had disappeared. Yakub was reticent, and seemed lost in his own thoughts. He squatted on the ground, his head on his knees. Ann sat quietly, trying not to think of the gnawing hunger within her, and not wishing to disturb the sorrowing man. Suddenly he looked up.
"Before anything else, I am going to have my revenge. Daulat has gone to see what he can find out."
"But why, Yakub ... why did they want to ambush us ... after all we were only poor fugitives."
Yakub laughed shortly.
"I did not tell you, Rehmet Khan had asked me to undertake a small mission for him. He had recently received a large sum of money from an Arab trader for some British weapons he had sold, and he asked me to take the money across the border and give it into the safe keeping of his uncle in Kabul. I was to get a good percentage of the money for my pains. Evidently someone knew about the plan and sold the information to the Mahsudi Gurmanis-that is why they attacked us."
Ann did not have to ask any further questions. She knew that Pathan law demanded revenge. Yakub would have to risk his life to steal something of equal value from the Mahsuds, or be called a coward to his dying day.
"Did they harm you?" his voice was hard.
Ann did not reply. If she told him the true story, she was afraid that he would be forced to do even greater harm to the tribe.
"Answer me. Did they hurt you?"
She was silent.
"Well?"
Reluctantly she replied:
"They tried to humiliate me-but that is because they realized that I was a white woman. It has nothing to do with you."
Yakub said nothing. He stood up and started pacing nervously up and down, scanning the horizon for signs of Daulat. He was very angry and his bitterness infected all those around him. Suddenly he stood up. In the distance a cloud of dust grew steadily larger. Ann got up too, and looked excitedly as three horsemen came galloping towards them. The leader fired the ceremonial shots of greeting, as he came racing towards them. Behind him came another man, and finally Daulat. They reined in sharply-their horses sliding on the sand in the effort to suddenly stop, and the man spoke to Yakub. He was wearing a fur cap and his face was large and flat, with high cheekbones and slanting eyes of the Mongols. He spoke Puslitoo with a strong accent.
"Your friend has told me your story. If you wish, you may join our caravan that is travelling to Kabul."
Yakub thanked him, and without any further comment jumped up behind Daulat. The second Mongol stretched out his hand and pulled Ann onto the croup of his sturdy pony. Ann sat still, carefully holding herself away from the man's body. She was afraid of touching him, in case he should feel the softness of her insecurely tied breasts under the man's shirt, as they galloped along.
That night Ann ate well. The caravan was composed of Central Asians travelling to Turkestan. They were on their way home after a long and successful visit to India. The little Mongols were incredibly dirty, but they were happy, friendly people. Their women wandered unveiled, unashamedly feeding rosy-cheeked babies, with eyes like tiny black scars. Children ran screaming and laughing among the little wagons, while small pug-nosed dogs and bleating goats got in every one's way. Hairy Bactrian camels stood in aloof stillness in the midst of all the joyful activity, while the small, sturdy Mongol ponies, their forelegs tied, hopped about chewing at the dewy grass. Amidst this beehive, the two Pathans walked like mythical giants, causing the dogs to bark and the women to giggle behind their wool shawls.
Daulat had found out that the Mahsuds had galloped away northwards hoping to mislead the avenging Afridisand Wazirs, and had then doubled back and continued westwards. The band had, in fact, camped for the night only a few miles away. He had got the news from some nomadic Arabs, who had stopped the caravan at noon to complain that their sheep had been stolen by a band of marauding Mahsuds.
Yakub was resolved to go forward with his plan without any further delay. The leader of the Mongols, wise in the way of the Pathans, offered him some men. But Yakub, with true Afridi obstinacy, refused, not wishing to share the kudos with anyone else. He thanked the Mongol, and told him that he and Daulat were perfectly capable of managing such an affair alone. Ann begged Yakub to take her along with them on this dangerous mission. At first, he would not hear of it; then he finally agreed, provided that she would wait with the horses at an appointed place and act, if necessary, as a decoy for the pursuers.
That night the three of them retired early for the night and slept until about midnight, when Yakub gently awoke the other two. They quietly saddled three horses and rode out of the little encampment. The night guard saw them leave and called out after them:
"God be on your side and right your cause...."
It was a dark night. They rode quietly and swiftly, their horses' hooves clicking against the stones. Ann kept well behind the others, letting her horse have his head to find his own way through the darkness. They rode silently, oppressed, each one controlling his own nervousness so as not to disturb the others. Finally they came to a small grove. Yakub reined his horse and told Ann to wait here with the three animals. It was a small circular grove of trees, almost hidden in a sort of little crater near the mountainside. Ann walked the horses into the little crater and sat down quietly to await the return of the two men.
The two men walked softly across the rough countryside, carefully testing each step before they continued. The night was dark, and the ground was a mass of little rocks and pebbles that rolled away and clattered down the hillside.
They walked slowly, advancing silently, inch by inch, for about five hundred yards, until they saw the dim outline of huts and the nicker of a fire. Yakub dropped down and waited, while Daulat advanced, his bare feet silent as a cat's paws, towards the encampment. He stopped, licked his finger to find the direction of the wind, and approached from the opposite direction. He crept closer until he saw the night guard-a tall Pathan-silhouetted by the fire, his rifle leaning against a tree. Unnoticed by the guard, the silence of the night was broken by the cry of a night owl. Silence. Back came the answer. Yakub advanced to join his brother. Daulat crouched down while Yakub made his way carefully around the back of the huts. He glided like some ominous shadow between the small huts, heading directly for the central one. Again the night owl cried. This time he was answered by the crack of a rifle. The sentry, alerted, sprang for his gun and shouted. From every side men poured out of the huts. Again the gun exploded. Mahsud guns answered, and the men headed in the direction of the shots. In the confusion, they did not see the tall grey shape swoop down like an eagle into the central hut ... and run out with a heavy bundle in his arms. They did not heed their women's screams until they heard the rifle shots coming from the other side of the camp. Rushing across to look, they did not in their confusion, notice the other grey shape crawl silently away, nor did they see the first grey figure running swiftly in the darkness.
Daulat was the first to arrive. He slid quietly into the grove and sat there catching his breath. Minutes later a faint crackle betrayed the presence of Yakub, who came in carrying a large bundle. Daulat sprang up at his arrival, and took the bundle from him and carefully laid it on the ground. Ann peered closely at the strange shape, and was horrified to see a pair or large, dark eyes staring sadly at her from the bundle. "What is that?" she asked alarmed. "You will soon find out," Daulat answered. He took the wrapped thing out of the bundle and stood it on its feet. It was a little girl of about fourteen, her mouth filled with a gag, her eyes terrified and tear-filled. "Are you going to hold her for ransom?" Daulat shook his head, then he looked questioningly at Yakub. The latter had recovered his breath, and was staring at the child, his eyes full of hatred.
"Now," he said grimly, "comes the amusing part." Taking hold of the child, roughly, he tore off all its clothes. The little girl stood, thin and trembling in the dark night. Her little slim body shone faintly in the darkness. Her breasts-barely perceptible except for the brown tops-shook with her smothered sobs. Reaching for his knotted horsewhip, Yakub suddenly struck the girl across the legs. The girl shuddered; her body trembled. Again and again he struck her, sometimes with the flat of his hand, across her face. Then, suddenly seizing hold of her, he called to Daulat. The latter seemed to understand at once. He squatted on the ground and placed the girl on his knees. Her thin, dark limbs flailed about in an effort to escape, but in her terror she succeeded only in arousing Yakub's desire by the flashing glimpse of her narrow mouth of love, scarcely protected by a few dark tendrils of hair. Daulat parted her legs and pinioned the slim thighs against his own. The girl in some instinctive way seemed to realise that she was about to lose her greatest treasure, and she struggled desperately in his arms, her small, unformed breasts trembling provocatively with the violence of her movements. Yakub knelt down and loosened his pajamas. From his thighs his sex reared out like some deadly canon aiming resolutely for destruction. He placed his member against her narrow slit, and, straining forward, he entered her in one great thrust. The girl jerked upwards in pain, twisting in Daulat's arms. She tried to pull away, but the tearing rod inside her punished her virgin organs without mercy. Daulat was starting to get very excited by the struggling form on his knees. Swiftly Yakub put his hands under the girls slender buttocks and pulled her off the other man's knees. Automatically the girl wrapped her legs around his waist, whimpering as the raking penis penetrated her even more deeply in this position.
Daulat undid his pajamas. The sight of the thin, flat-chested shivering girl had excited him considerably. His sex rose high against his body. Without a word, Yakub lay down on the hard ground, the girl, still wound round his waist, lying on top of him. Her shaking body caused delicious sensations of pleasure to run through his long organ, tightly enclosed in the virgin round. Daulat carefully approached the child from behind, and, kneeling down, he parted her thin buttocks. The girl tensed, alerted, did not understand what was happening. Then suddenly she felt the thick, blunt fingers searching for the delicate furrow, and she started to shake with terror. Daulat gently inserted one finger in her tight, black ring, as if to test the muscular circle. Then, without further preliminaries, he stabbed hard at the tiny gathered hole. The girl bucked in pain and her strong virgin muscles repulsed the rounded head of the short black rod.
Once again he placed his throbbing organ against the little circle; and, placing his hands on her belly, he thrust with all his might. This time the muscles relented and the sturdy shaft penetrated into the velvet depths. Holding her firmly, he thrust again and again at her rearing buttocks until he had fully penetrated. The girl was now doubly transfixed. Every savage thrust in her pouting anus made her jump with pain ... causing exquisite sensation to the man beneath. Slowly, as if moved by some cosmic rhythm, the two men started to rock together. The darker plunging downwards; while the other contracted his hips upwards. The child between them was crushed by the vicious onslaught of the two loins. As the men increased the fervor of their attacks on the twice violated body, the girl collapsed and fainted, unheeding the terrible climax of her persecutors.
For a long time the two men lay utterly still, the frail form of the girl sandwiched between them, until Daulat rose and lifted the still form off Yakub.
Quickly the two men dressed. Then, tying the girl's hands together, they quickly revived her with sharp slaps. As soon as the child regained consciousness, Yakub took his sharp pocket knife and, before Ann could stop him, sliced off the end of the little girl's nose. The child writhed in agony and the blood poured down her face and splashed on to her naked body. Ann who had watched the preceding scene with mixed emotions of terror and mounting desire, threw herself savagely at Yakub.
"Beast ... brute ... how can you be so cruel?"
The Pathan merely slapped her sharply across the face, by way of a reply. Then, quickly mounting his horse, he threw the little girl across the saddle and led the way out of the small glade. They had only ridden a few hundred yards, when he stopped, untied the girl, lowered her to the ground and told her how to find her way home. Ann felt deeply troubled at the thought of the child lost and wounded in the wilderness.
"Yakub, do you think she will find her way home?"
The man shrugged.
"Probably, if a wolf or hyena doesn't get her."
"I hope she arrives home safely. Once she sees her mother, all this will seem like just a terrible nightmare."
The two men laughed.
"On the contrary it will just be the beginning of the nightmare."
"What do you mean?" she asked startled.
"Her father is Abdur Wakht Gurmani, the head of this village of Mahsuds. Do you think he would ever accept a daughter who has been "stained"-made unchaste, and whose nose has been cut, just as if she were an adulteress or a promiscuous woman, as a symbol of her downfall? No. If she returns home she will be killed."
Ann gasped in horror.
"No ... surely not by her parents?"
"The father is an evil devil, but he is a chieftain, and no Pathan would allow such dishonor to come to his family. No, if he doesn't kill her, the tribe will ... These are things, Ghulam, that you cannot understand unless you are born among our people. The laws of the Frontier are hard and inflexible. Take heed, now that you are one of us, that you do not trespass and merit punishment."
Ann bowed her head. There was a savagery in these people that was beyond her comprehension. Then again,-one had only to look at the red cliff, jagged and hard; the crusted, dusty earth covered with sturdy grasses and sharp nettles ... and above it all the cold, severe, white tops of the distant mountains, to understand the hard race that toiled on these wild plateaus; to understand how a people who loved their horses with a rare tenderness and devotion, could calmly and with a sense of perfect justice, condemn a bleeding, whimpering, frightened child to death.
It was barely dawn when they arrived at the encampment, but the place was already astir. The men were washing their hands, mouths and noses prior to saying their prayers. Than all over the camp, as if they had been struck by some strange illness, men fell to the ground in adoration.
In the far north of India, dawn is a splendid thing. It is a dramatic curtain raiser to the long and tiring drama of a summer's day. One instant the world is still sleeping in the shadow of night, and then suddenly, the sky is a bright scarlet and the distant mountains seem to be dripping blood. Then the golden orb, blinding in its brightness, bursts through, turning the red to brilliant gold.
But even before the sun's dramatic entry, life is stirring in the foot hills. The Indian peasant is up and already tending his fields, engaged for another fourteen hours in the desperate struggle to survive. The little birds, unerringly awakening at that mysterious moment when night turns into a pale mauve precursor of dawn, welcome the greedy spectacle of light with busy twitterings. Only the lazy crow waits for the full, strong sunlight before joining his hoarse bass "caw" to the twittering soprano symphony.
The caravan set out a few hours after sunrise. First the nimble ponies and mules led the way over the narrow passes. Then came the huge, soft-padded camels, followed by the small flocks of sheep and goats and the usual accompaniment of snarling, biting yellow-brown mongrel dogs.
After a long, slow march of about two hours, the party stopped for a rest. The flat-faced, smiling women rushed down from their camels and started to brew the famous cups of hot, sweet tea. However, they were soon on their way again, walking and riding slowly but steadily towards Kabul.
They reached Sarobi in the evening, and after a brief pause, began to climb over the Lataband range that stood between them and Kabul.
The Lataband is very peculiar. Although some peaks are as high as ten or eleven thousand feet, the range seems to be composed of myriads of little pebbles buried in a sandy foundation. In fold after fold, these strange mountains recede like some huge ocean roller.
Down, down this winding range, the little troupe marched to the music of camel bells and the joyful barking of dogs, heading towards the distant mountains and the haven of Kabul.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The descent from the Lataband to Kabul is one of breathtaking beauty. As the road winds down from the mountain's featureless bulk, an unfolding sweeping vision of a great, green plain meets the eye. Shimmering waterways cut across it like threads of silver, and tall poplars and bright orchards adorn it. And far in the North are the virginal peaks of the Hindu Kush, in eternal vigilance over the plain.
Ahead is Kabul-a distant puzzle of flat roofs dominated by domes and minarets. The Kabul river runs like a ribbon around the tiny, winding streets and shadowy-roofed bazaars. Great heavy Bactrian camels lumber through the crowds. Men bent double beneath heavy burdens stagger down the narrow streets, while pack asses piled with household goods trot briskly in the center of the confusion. People of many nationalities and costumes mingle in the streets of this strategic city: Pathans in baggy trousers, Mongol nomads from the Oxus in long-sleeved, loosely-cut, hairy coats; exquisitely costumed Persians; Turki merchants in wide striped robes; bearded Sikhs from the distant plains of India, and here and there fur-capped Russian traders.
As they entered the city, Yakub took leave of his Mongol escorts, who were continuing their long trek back to the lonely, frost-kissed plains of the Khirgiz. The three travellers rode through the narrow streets and penetrated deep into the heart of the city. After the silence of the long country days, Ann found the noise of Kabul deafening. She followed the two men, forcing her way past the groping hands of beggars and the aggressive pushcarts of traders. Weaving through the maze of streets, they finally stopped outside a little tea house. They threw the reins to a snot-nosed little Mongol boy and sat down on little wooden stools. The proprietor fought his way from the other end of the shop past Afghans, Turks and Mongols, angrily brushing away the thick clouds of flies, until he reached the travellers. He assumed his most professional smile, and hesitated for a second, not sure of what language to speak. Then, noticing their fan-like gold crowned turbans, he stammered a greeting in broken Puslitoo. Yakub ordered tea and asked the man if he knew the address of a certain Afghan called Afzul Jaffer Khan. The owner went into a long pantomime of concentrated thought: he closed his eyes, knitted his brows, wrinkled his forehead, repeated the name several times, then suddenly smiling he barked:
"Yes, yes, yes ... you want to go? Yes? Very good ... heh! heh! heh! I will show you how ... I got to...." and nodding, winking and smiling he started on his return battle to reach the back of the shop to fetch the three Pathans their tea.
After the first shock of noise, smell and dirt, Ann was glad to be in a city once again. Slowly she relaxed, enjoying the feeling of crowded humanity with its distinctive, unpleasant and yet strangely comforting smell, and its continuous murmur of sound. Suddenly Yakub got up and told them that he was personally going to look for his friend. He walked out of the tea house and was soon swallowed up by the ever-changing crowd.
Ann sat facing Daulat, thinking of the long ride. At last they had reached Kabul. She wondered what the future held in store for her in this far northern outpost, yet she was not anxious. Since her departure from Abbotabad she had grown used to the idea of living only in the present, of accepting what life offered and being resigned to its adversities. For the moment, she was perfectly content to sit in this crowded tea shop, listening to the babble of Asia, slowly sipping the hot, sweet, green tea.
Yakub returned in about an hour. He seemed very excited; he quickly sat down, first looking round him with a conspiratorial air, and leaning forward, whispered:
"I have just found out that there are British agents here looking for us. We must be very careful. My friend has advised us to separate for the time being, as the agents are looking for three Pathans travelling together. Ghulam, you will stay here with my friend, who is an honorable person. I myself will go north, and Daulat will return tonight to Sarobi. Now we will leave quickly. I shall accompany Ghulam to my friend's house, and I shall meet you later, Daulat, near the Mongol bazaar."
As prompt as a soldier, Daulat rose and quietly made his way out of the shop. Ann and Yakub waited for a few minutes longer and then also rose and left the establishment.
Once more Ann followed the Pathan through the narrow, winding streets; weaving, it seemed, down into the very core of the city. Without hesitation she entered an old pink-stone building after him. They walked through a dirty courtyard and stopped before an ornate carved door. The host must have been peeping from some unseen hiding place, for no sooner had they reached the door than it was opened. A short, fat man with a round, fleshy face, thin drooping moustaches and curious slanting eyes let them in. Yakub presented her to the man, Afzul Jaffer Khan, entrusted her to his care. Taking leave of her, he promised to send a message in about two days. Then he dashed out of the door way, leaving Ann alone in the strange house.
The man looked briefly at her; then, opening his mouth, he yelled for somebody. A woman, draped in the heavy Moslem burkha, but with her face uncovered, bustled into the room. The slant-eyed man merely gestured in Ann's direction and went out. The woman turned to Ann and smiled, displaying two rows of red-stained teeth. Then to Ann's amazement she nodded and said: "Come" in heavily accented but clearly understandable English.
She led Ann through a dim courtyard to a little room. It was furnished in the usual way: in a corner was the string bed; a little mud stove near the door and a small stool was placed near the bed. The only distinguishing feature was a heavy sheepskin that lay on the floor like a rug. The woman asked Ann if she would like to take a bath and led her out to a little screened section of the courtyard.
Wearily, Ann undressed, grateful to rid herself of the shapeless male garments. She poured the cool water over her warm body, rubbing her breasts to try and erase the red marks left by the bandages. She sat down on the cool, damp floor, delighting in the feeling of the cold, moist stone under her naked buttocks, and slowly poured vessel after vessel of water over her hot, tired body. She had not finished her ablutions when she was interrupted by the sound of voices. The woman, who had taken charge of her, knocked on the flimsy partition and asked her to come out. Ann emerged naked and dripping, her red hair falling over her face like seaweed. She was startled to see Afzul Jaffer Khan and another man standing next to the woman and solemnly watching her. They spoke to the woman in some strange language; and then, turning to Ann, Jaffer Khan said in bad Puslitoo:
"Let the woman show you, we want to see...."
Bewildered, Ann followed the woman to a little stone dais. She was asked to sit down, and the woman gently parted her knees. One of the men approached her and said:
"I advise you to be obedient. You are now with us, and I wish to see what I have bought ... so please, if you are amiable, nothing will happen."
The woman pushed Ann gently on to her back, and held her legs far apart, until her knees were pointing to the skies. One of the men, then bent down and, opening the lips of her sex, started to examine her vulnerable orifice. There was something impersonal in his touch, as if the moist, pink slit were merely an object. He inserted two fingers into her body and turned them round within her. Ann felt the muscles flex at his touch and her heavy thighs started to tremble. Then, closing her legs with a sharp slap, he told her to turn around and crouch down. Parting her cream-smooth buttocks he searched for the little puckered anus, and Jaffer suddenly skewered his fingers into her nether hold. Ann bucked in surprise, bringing her heavy buttocks smack into his face. The man gave a grunt of annoyance and turned to the woman. She quickly left the yard and returned a few seconds later carrying a long, round object-a sort of cloth truncheon. The woman now held Ann down, while Jaffer Khan once again felt for her little anus. He gently widened the orifice with his fingers, while his friend neatly inserted the cloth truncheon, pushing it deeper and deeper into Ann's body. When he had pushed in all but a little tip, the two men got up, and the woman released Ann.
"You will keep the instrument in you for some hours; it will loosen your muscles. You see we are thoughtful of our women...."
Ann did not reply. She fully realized now that Yakub had sold her to this man, to pay back the money that had been stolen from him. She felt distended and uncomfortable as she walked slowly back to her room. She lay down face downwards on the bed and fell asleep. Soon afterwards the woman came and covered her with a sheet....
It was morning. Through the little slit window, a solitary shaft of sunlight proclaimed the day. Ann opened her eyes. They had taken the cloth rod out the previous night, but she still felt stretched and swollen. A little later the woman entered with a bowl of green tea. The tea seemed to be more spiced than usual and when Ann remarked this, the woman smiled and said:
"It will make you feel strong."
A short while later the two men came and took her out. Ann was amazed that they had given her no clothes to wear, for as she left the room, the woman had thrown an all-concealing Burkha over her, but under its voluminous folds she was completely naked. She followed the two men, peeping uncomfortably through the little eye holes in the headpiece until they came to a huge covered bazaar. They walked through the clamor of competitive merchants and climbed a little stand. The stand, at the far end of the bazaar, was a little raised dais, completely bare, but leading into a small room that was protected by a curtain. The two men led her into the room and took off her burkha. They handed her a heavy smelling jar of ointment and told her to rub her breasts with it and to apply the cream to her armpits and sex. Then they arranged the cushions on the raised divan-the only piece of furniture in the room-and laying Ann on the bed they tied her hands to a sort of post above her head, and tied ropes around her ankles. As they were preparing her room, a young man entered and said something to the other two. A moment later Ann heard the young man about from the stand outside. At first, she did not understand what he said, then as he began to shout in Puslitoo she understood.
"A clean girl! Absolutely new! Never touched by any man except her husband! White as snow! Only a few annas! Come! ... ".........
And the young man cheerfully shouted his wares and loudly joked with the other merchants waiting for his clientele.
Ann waited patiently. The little room was hot, and she felt strangely excited. Jaffer Khan and the other man were squatting on the floor, smoking a hookah and talking. She tried to ask them what she was supposed to do, but they completely ignored her presence and continued their conversation. Ann closed her eyes and tried to sleep. The flies were humming deliriously around her body, and she was unable to brush them off. She twisted her body, trying to frighten them away. At once Jaffer Khan looked up, rose with a smile and brushed the buzzing insects away. Then he sat on the bed and continued to fan her slowly. Ann was amazed at his considerate manner. He never touched her and seemed to regard her like a valuable piece of property, that had to be well taken care of to render its full value. She sighed deeply, closed her eyes once again, and dozed off quietly.
Suddenly she was aroused by a loud babble of voices outside. The barker was angrily crying:
"Not enough! ... Not enough! ... How many here? Twenty ... thirty ... go call your friends ... quick! ... we can start!"
The voices grew louder. There seemed to be some serious altercation between the barker and the crowds. The hubbub grew louder and louder until Jaffer Khan rose with an exasperated shout and went outside. The argument now became three-sided. Obviously Jaffer Khan had a different attitude from the other two factions. The discussion grew more violent. The voices getting angrier and angrier until, unexpectedly, the argument came to a sudden halt. A second later Jaffer Khan came bustling back into the little room. His face was red from the shouting and he was bad-tempered.
"Hurry," he said to the other man. "We're going to start right away. Come on now-quick!"
The two men took hold of Ann's legs, bent her knees back against her body, and attached her feet to the sides of the bed. Then they shifted a cushion under her buttocks and hastily left the room....
Ann waited, trying not to feel the strain on her leg muscles. She could hear a loud hum of voices outside, then the curtain was drawn aside and a man entered. He was a short, yellow-skinned Mongol. His head was completely shaven and he wore little gold rings with a turquoise stone in each ear. Quickly he went up to the head of the bed and stared at her body. He awkwardly touched her breasts, ran his hand down her stomach; then, getting on the bed, he took out his organ. It was a short, stubby instrument only in partial erection; and wasting no time, he parted the lips of Ann's helpless sex and slid the soft mass in. At once a transformation overcame him. Grasping her knees, he frantically drove into her, plunging and rearing in a frenzy of action. Ann felt herself tingle at the ramming pleasure, and her own hips rose to meet his. For a while they rocked in complete unison, absorbed in the desperate friction; then Ann slowly became aware of loud shouts and oaths from outside....
"Hurry up ... time is up...."
"Thieving Mongol."
"If you don't come out, I shall burst...."
"He'll use up everything ... there'll be nothing left for us...."
The curtain lifted and the angry face of Jaffer Khan appeared around it, swearing at the Mongol.
The little man plunged in even more swiftly and brutally, and, goading himself, he hastily came to his climax. He drew out immediately and without another glance dashed out of the room. Immediately four men entered. They were tall, laughing Afghans. The first one undid his pajamas and dived into Ann's waiting sex in one swift movement. His companions stood around laughing and joking. One slapped the Afghan playfully on the bare buttocks each time he thrust at the woman. Another glued his mouth to Ann's nipple and greedily sucked at her breast. Ann writhed under the twofold stimulation. Her body tingled with a myriad sensations of pleasure. She felt the Afghan steadily rise to his climax, trembling. She felt her own excitement soar with his, and she came in complete unison with the man. He had barely finished when one of his excited friends dragged him off and inserted his throbbing organ into the girl.
Again she felt the waves of her body rise within her as the blunt instrument pushed past the muscular orbit into the dark depths of her joy. She rose once again to her climax, and then she was mounted afresh.
Throughout the afternoon they poured in: men of all kinds-tall, short, fat, thin. Mongol eyes glinted in desire; white-bearded, long-haired Sikhs nestled between her breasts, and her quivering limbs were bent under the weight of huge Afghans. A numb tiredness overcame Ann. She could not move-she was like a living receptacle, waiting immobile, for men from all over the world to come and empty their frustrations, desires and lusts within her.
She lost touch with everything around her except the shock of the brutal entry and the response of her body. She did not even see the faces of the man anymore. She had been satiated beyond desire by a plunging stream of anonymity. Gasping, she accepted her task, the weary limbs offering the little well of pleasure to another voracious body.
It was late when they untied her. She quietly put on her concealing burkha and followed the two men back to the little house. Ann had never been so tired in her life. She went straight to her little room and sank on the bed. She barely heard the woman enter the room. She only felt her pull the burkha off her deadened limbs and then the soft, strong hands were massaging her body all over. Ann sobbed from relief. Slowly the woman's nimble fingers worked the life back into her body, and after a while, she felt well enough to eat a meal of yellow rice and mutton-ball stew. Then she fell back on the bed and swiftly fell down ... down ... into the dark oblivion of sleep.
The days passed in quick succession. She had barely any time to think. No sooner was she awake in the afternoon, than she was taken to the bazaar to await her customers. Every evening she came back to the house exhausted, her body and limbs numb. But her owners were not unkind to her. They looked after her well, and once a week they gave her a little money and she was allowed to go to one of the bazaars, heavily veiled and chaperoned by her fat female guardian, to buy herself anything she fancied.
The first time Ann went to the bazaar she wandered aimlessly amongst the shrieking vendors not knowing quite what to buy. She had so little use for anything these days. Suddenly a strange voice behind her said:
"What a beauty ... what a beauty ... what a beauty!" in English.
Startled, Ann turned around and peered through the cotton grille of her burkha. She looked all over, but saw nothing but the dusky native faces around her. Then, all at once, she saw it. It was a green Indian parrot with a red collar and it chattered amiably, to itself in English! Ann could not resist it-it was so long since she had heard her own tongue. She bargained with the merchant for the bird and finally came home with it happily squawking on a perch. Since then, she had bought little things like little silver clips for her hair, perfumed oil, and kohl for the eyes-but she did not really care, for she had no life of her own, and very rarely did she come into contact with people.
The only time anyone had actually looked at her as a person was a young student a few weeks before. He had stumbled blushing and confused into her room, but the sight of Ann trussed and bound froze him into complete immobility. For a long time he did not make a sound. He just stood looking at her. Then all at once the flood gates broke and a stream of eloquence came pouring out. He sat on the bed and spoke earnestly about the noble spirit of man! He urged her to change her life and find the "right path!" Ann had an uncontrollable desire to laugh at his thin, earnest face, but then she also was strangely touched, because he was the first person, in months, who had regarded her as a person and not merely as an instrument of pleasure.
One day about four in the afternoon, a small, slim man entered the room. It was difficult to discern his nationality, and he spoke Urdu with a strange accent He looked Ann over very carefully, put one hand on her breast and bending over her, kissed her full and passionately on the mouth. Ann jerked her head back in amazement. It was strange behaviour for an Indian. The man raised his head looked her straight in the eyes, smiled, and kissed her again ... Ann gasped. She looked carefully at his face and discovered that his eyes were a peculiar light brown tinged with green. She was about to speak, to say something, when she heard Jaffer Khan cry that the man's five minutes were over. Quickly he rose and left her....
Ann thought about the strange man all day. Asians seldom kissed and the Mongols looked upon such a practice with horror. She had not been kissed since she left Abbotabad, and she had forgotten what a pleasant sensation the action created. The man's embrace had aroused a welter of desire within her. As she thought of his lips pressed against hers, of his tongue softly caressing the rosy caves of her mouth, she felt her pulse beat faster, and the sleepy Chinese mounted on her was surprised by the sudden passionate surge of the woman beneath him, who bucked beneath him making him feel like a small cork bobbing on a mighty ocean.
The next day, about three in the afternoon, the strange man came again. Ann smiled as he entered the room. He did not return her greeting but looked seriously at her for a long time. He sat beside her on the bed and stroked her hair, then gently he bent down and kissed her on the lips. Ann responded to the familiar caress and without thinking she whispered:
"Oh please never stop...." in English.
The man jerked his head away, looked closely at her and then replied softly.
"So you understand?" His voice was decidedly English.
Ann tried to struggle up, her eyes black with terror, but the man soothingly pushed her back on the bed.
"Do not be afraid. I know everything-you risk nothing. I will arrange it. When you go to the market tomorrow, stand at the bangle shop and ask for a gold and green bracelet. I will recognize you under the burkha and take you away. Do you agree? Do you agree?"
Ann looked closely at the man. His skin was a dark brown and his hair black. His eyes were much darker than Yakub's. She nodded. She was not unhappy in this new life, and in some strange way she had lost all her curiosity and her desire for constant excitement. Quietly she promised, not really knowing why, to carry out his instructions, and as he left she gave herself as calmly as before to the next male....
The next day Ann awoke with a vague feeling of uneasiness. She was now settled in this strange life and the prospect of new change did not delight her. However she knew that she would go to the bazaar today. Destiny was driving her along on its flood tide and in some mysterious way Ann realized that she had to submit to its forces. She took her weekly twelve annas out of her little box, and, calling to the fat woman, she went along to the market. She did not bother to take her parrot or any of the little trinkets she had bought. She just walked out of the building, as she had walked quietly out of her father's house some months ago.
The sun was beating down on the covered market. Ann and the fat woman walked past the richly-laden food stalls piled high with coloured sweetmeats. Halwas of rainbow colours; pistachio nut toffee and the transparent golden jelabees twinkled temptingly is the sun. Farther down, bales of multicolored cloth spilled on to the street: silks and muslins from Dacca, the organdie-gauze from Benares and the delicate embroidered wool from Kashmir. Ann walked blindly past all these tempting wares, until she came to the cheap jewelry stalls. The little Punjabi behind the stall shouted excitedly as the two burkha-clad women seemed to hesitate in front of his wares.
"Look! Look! Just take a look; you don't have to buy! Ah! come, two beautiful ladies like you-because I can see that you are beautiful. Never make a mistake! Can always tell if it is an ugly or a beautiful lady beneath a burkha. The beautiful ones buy lovely things-the ugly ones know it is no use! Come ... look ... look ... my beauties...."
Ann stopped before the stall, and raising her voice asked:
"Have you a green and gold bracelet?"
The man looked up startled then quickly regaining his composure, he said:
"Certainly, the only shop that has such bangles. If you will step inside behind the counter, ladies, I will show you what you want."
To Ann's astonishment the woman stepped in with great alacrity. Ann followed nervously behind. They stepped behind the huge counter and were completely hidden from view. The Punjabli quickly pulled out a red burkha which he substituted for Ann's old black one and pushed her out the back door. Ann followed meekly. She was surprised at her woman's complicity in this affair. At the door her strange client was waiting for her. He started to walk slowly down the street, casually winding his way among the stalls, while Ann followed behind. They calmly walked away from the market, and headed down a relatively broad street. Suddenly the man turned sharply into a doorway, which opened on a dark passageway, and walked quickly in the shadows until he came to another small alley, which proved to be a dead end. At the last house he knocked three times. After a moment the door opened and they climbed up twisting stairs until they came to a small room. The man closed the door.
"Now Miss Pemberton, take off those heavy clothes and make yourself at home."
Ann complied; she sat down wearily on the bed.
"You are not very curious are you? Do you not want to know who I am, or why I have-if I may use the expression-kidnapped you?"
Ann shrugged.
"I do not really care," she said simply. The man raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Well, Miss Pemberton I have heard a lot about you, and expected to be surprised, but this really ... In a girl of your age this passivity is unnatural. Anyway I shall tell you what I am about, for my own sake, if not to satisfy your curiosity. My name I cannot disclose, but call me Arthur if you should wish to address me. I live in Kabul and work for Her Majesty's Imperial Government. I recently came to know of your case, and it was left to my discretion to solve the affair. It is very simple. You will sign a paper testifying that you were kidnapped. We shall together find Yakub Khan, then he will be judged and shot. After he is out of the way, you will be a person of much interest and pity. In fact we can speak of your outstanding courage and add admiration to the other emotions you will excite. So, you see you have nothing to fear ... Now Miss Pemberton are you in agreement with my plan?"
Ann did not answer. Her mind was echoing the words, "He will be judged and shot." Yakub dead. She tried to imagine such a thing ... It was strange she did not feel anything. She could think of all their past pleasures without any feeling. She was numb. Quietly she answered.
"I am in agreement."
"Very well!" He got up energetically. "Now stay in the room and do not stir outside. I am going to see what I can find out...."
It was evening when he returned. He came into the little room bubbling with enthusiasm. Talking in his abrupt, clipped way, he said:
"Well, well, it's been a successful day ... I found out quite a lot. I can predict that we will have our bird quite soon ... and have you been comfortable, Miss Pemberton?"
He had barely finished speaking before he was out of the room again and down the stairs. Ann heard him ordering a meal and was surprised when, a few minutes, later a man entered with steaming copper pots full of rice pilau and thin, red-hot mutton stew.
That night there was a full moon. Ann looked out from the little window across the jumbled roofs of the strange town-with the tall minarets and domes silhouetted in the bright, silver light. The air was heavy with moisture and the suffocating heat predicted a thunderstorm. She heard a quiet step beside her and found that the man had joined her at the window. She looked at his thin, intense face and the strange, inscrutable eyes. She felt him put an arm tentatively around her waist. Turning suddenly to him she whispered.
"Please ... please ... kiss me"
He took her in his arms and crushed his mouth against hers, searching for her little tongue. For a long time they just stood by the window exploring each other's mouths. Ann kissed the slim man with a passionate fury, as if she wished to complete her metamorphosis and wipe out the memories of the last few months.
Then suddenly he lifted her up and carried her onto the string bed. Quickly he undid his native pajamas and sat beside her. Gently he caressed her limbs, nibbled moistly at her breasts and ran his hand over her ample thighs. Ann curved her back, and forcing his head down she made him kiss every inch of her burning body. Slowly she lifted her legs apart and let his body sink on hers. Then, taking his head in her hands, she trembled with joy as his moist, long and firm organ penetrated her simultaneously. With a sigh of contentment she gave herself up to the act of love....
CHAPTER EIGHT
The one-eyed man stood at the comer of the street; he held a little embroidered cap in his hand. One sad eye looked appealingly at the unheeding passers-by.
"Baksheesh! Baksheesh! Turki sahib ... may your business prosper. Baksheesh! Baksheesh! Ah! Pathanwala you do not even look at a poor cripple ... Hai! Gareeb admi ... Poor man ... Baksheeh...!"
The tall, green-eyed Pathan walked coldly by. He entered a little tea shop at the end of the street and disappeared. The beggar started to sing loudly in a high-pitched quavering voice. A few seconds later a young man dashed by and entered the tea shop....
Ann stood nervously on the threshold of the large room. Arthur had spent most of last night thinking up this elaborate plan. She had tried to dissuade him from entering into all the complex details, but he had insisted. So, here she was the bait at the end of the long line of British justice. She looked desperately round the crowded room trying to locate Yakub, but the room was dimly lit and all she could see was a sea of swarthy turbaned faces. She walked into the room and tried to study each section of the place closely.
"You are looking for someone, my boy?"
It was a large fair Afghan with a broken nose.
"Ye ... e ... yes. I am looking for a Pathan gentleman. I have an important message to deliver to him."
"A Pathan? What does he look like?
Ann described Yakub. The man looked thoughtful, then he said without hesitation:
"Down, straight to the right-in the far corner."
Ann thanked him and hurried down, jostling past gesticulating Turks and twittering Chinese until she came to the end of the room. She looked into the little corner on the right and her heart started to pound....
Yakub Khan was seated half concealed in a dark corner. He was sipping tea with an abstracted air, but his huge body gave no evidence of strain. Ann cautiously made her way towards him, taking care to keep her face in the shadows and to avoid the thin shaft of light that pierced through the window.
"Yakub."
With a start he turned around and saw her. "You!"
"Yes-me. Why did you leave me with those people, Yakub? Did you know who they were?"
The man was very angry, but he did not dare say anything. For a long time he was absolutely silent, as if he did not trust himself to speak. Then he quietly asked her.
"How did you find me?"
She opened her eyes wide.
"I asked people ... may I join you?"
The man nodded. He shouted to the proprietor to bring some more tea, and went on sipping his own cup, completely indifferent. Ann waited. Finally he asked:
"What do you intend to do?"
She shrugged.
"What do you intend to do?"
"I shall have to find work, and once I have found work I shall send for my family. You must not depend on me too much."
She nodded.
"You need not worry. I have other plans!" Yakub looked up sharply-nervous. "Other plans?"
"Yes, a man-one of those who came to Afzul Jaffer Khan's stall-took quite a liking to me; and asked me to live with him. He is quite a rich man and very gentle."
"Good, I always told you that your fortune lay between your legs."
Ann felt suddenly and unreasonably angry, that this man should sneer at her in this way. He had not even tried to excuse his breach of faith. She had a terrible desire to hit him. Then she remembered Arthur and immediately controlled herself.
"Yakub, we have been friends for so long, that now that we come to part, I have a small favour to ask of you."
"What is it?"
"I should above all else like to spend a few hours with you alone." The man laughed.
"Is that all? Why the pleasure is mine. But will not your future love object?" Suddenly he stopped laughing and looked at her warily.
"Why do you want that particularly?"
"Because, my dear friend, despite everything I am very fond of you. Evidently, or I would not have followed you so far...."
He looked at her steadily as if he were trying to read her mind. Ann felt his distrust like a solid block between them. Like an animal, some instinct warned him of a trap.
"Please ... just for a few hours," she murmured softly.
He did not reply, but sat hunched up, thinking. Then, after many minutes he finally acquiesced.
They finished their tea in silence, and Yakub signalled to the proprietor.
The man came over and talked quietly with Yakub; then he nodded his head over and over again, flashed a gold tooth at them and led the way up a flight of stairs and through a narrow passageway into a small, dark room.
Ann peered through the darkness and dimly saw the bed. She slapped her hands, and two beetles scampered out from under the coverlet. The Pathan had remained outside and was talking to the proprietor. He slammed the door and came into the room. Ann turned to him:
"This is just like your little room in Abbotabad." He laughed bitterly.
"Yes-and I escaped being shot on account of it."
Ann froze. Why had he mentioned that? She had never thought of Yakub as a person with the normal emotions of fear and sorrow. Yakub was a fever, a desire, a pressure between her limbs. All at once she realized that he was afraid. Afraid of the British might ... afraid of the future. He seemed to have some vague presentiment of impending disaster. She had an irresistible desire to leave him alone and run out of the room. But she herself was afraid and so she remained. Slowly she turned towards him:
"Yakub, I want you to do something, that you have never done."
"What?"
"Kiss me-on the mouth, like the Europeans do," she mimed the action. He shrugged. "If you wish."
Ann put her arms around his neck. She had to stand on her toes to reach him. She put her mouth against his and forced his lips open. Yakub let her have her way, allowing her pink tongue to slip into his mouth and wander caressingly in the soft cavity. He slid his hands down her back and grasped her buttocks in his two hands. Suddenly he bit her mouth. Ann felt the blood spurt from her lips. She tried to pull her head her way, but the man roughly pushed her back on the bed. He pulled up her man's shirt, tore the bandages from her breast and savagely bit the white mounds, that seemed to tremble under his touch. Ann gave herself to him with complete abandon. Her body responded to the familiar pressure of his loins. She felt her limbs tremble and her belly constrict in anticipation. Quickly he slid the pajamas off her long brown legs-and then abruptly he rolled off her.
"Take off your shirt and get up."
She obeyed.
"Walk slowly round the room ... I want you to fill my eyes ... to remember exactly and to try and understand...."
Ann threw back her shoulders and started to walk around the small, dark room. She was one of those rare women who do not feel awkward naked. She walked proudly, stepping carefully first on the ball of her foot and then on the heel. Her firm, rounded buttocks dimpled with each step, and the strong muscles threw first one part and then another into relief. Her heavy breasts trembled lightly and her short, red hair fell in a circle round her face.
The Pathan sat on the little string bed and stared solemnly at the moving woman. His eyes wandered down her body slowly, as if he were trying to imprint the pale image in his mind forever.
"Sit down."
Ann immediately did as she was told. The man got up and stood a few feet away. "Open your legs."
She hesitated an instant, then obeyed. The man smiled.
"Just that ... it is very funny when you look at it straight like that ... not exactly beautiful ... and I have made myself an outcaste just because of it...."
Ann felt the blood rush to her face. He was disgusting. He never failed to humiliate her. Quickly she rose up and without another word, started slipping on her pajamas. But before she had even found the opening the man had torn them from her hand. He slapped her viciously across the buttock. Ann whimpered, "Why do you always have to be so brutal?"
"Because that is the only way to treat you ... you love it, my woman ... you thrive on it...."
Sneering, he hit her again. He slapped her hard across the breast. Ann felt the familiar feeling of warmth stream through her body. She realized with horror that the man was right. She responded to violence as the bright sun flower opens to the sun's punishing rays. She threw herself on the bed, and opened her legs-shivering as the relentless blows came down on the soft skin of her thighs, and on the soft, closed vale of her sex. Then suddenly the blows ceased. The man grabbed her under the belly and pulled her plump soft buttocks towards him. He roughly parted the swelling half moons, and his long muscular tongue moistly searched for her little pouting anus. Ann trembled as she felt his soft insistent tongue caress the downy vale between her haunches. She put her hand between her legs and reached for the Pathan's rubbery organ. Gently, she caressed it-pulling and rubbing-revelling in the sensation of power it gave her as she felt the long stem of flesh swell and stiffen between her fingers. The man softly moaned at her feathery touch. Slowly he moved his hips, inserting and twisting the stiff rod in the dark, moist palm of her hand, until he felt the invisible shock race through his loins, then without any warning he withdrew from her closed fingers and penetrated deep and suddenly into the flexed circle of her anus. Ann felt a momentary pain as the plunging organ tore past the defending muscular ring, then as the strong bands widened and closed comfortable around the intruder, she began to shake her hips in response to the rhythmic friction. The Pathan gently plucked and stroked her nipples, while his loins punished her parted buttocks. He drove in deeper and deeper into the innermost cave of her belly. Ann twisted under him, her mouth open, her eyes closed, her whole being one mass of tingling sensation. She felt the piston blows rouse the sluggish juices of her sex and the huge tide welled up, within her, awaiting the moment of release-but the man suddenly withdrew. Quickly he turned her round and placed his long, hard sex against her lips. Ann's generous mouth opened to receive his instrument, and her strong teeth closed round it, while her tongue painted the tip with new and more urgent desires. The man had placed his mouth against her hidden lips and lay there-his full brown lips against her downy coral opening-sucking the bittersweet juices from her body. Ann had completely forgotten the purpose of her visit. She was completely possessed by the plunging pleasure in her mouth and by the exquisite titivation between her legs. For a long time they lay there absorbed in their mutual delight, until, simultaneously they released each other, and, mounting the woman, the man inserted his painful sex into her waiting cavity. The muscles closed round him convulsively and both rode furiously to the bursting culmination.
Ann lay with her eyes closed. She did not hear the door open. She sat up startled by the sudden release of the satisfying pleasure and saw Yakub standing limply between two men. She stared at him-paralyzed, helpless-like someone drifting powerlessly on the turgid waters of a nightmare. Arthur's voice broke through the fog....
"Get dressed, Ann, we must leave right away."
She looked around, stunned. Yakub was not in the room. She looked absently down at her naked bod-ygrey in the dim light-and a mysterious trickle of blood trickled out from between her legs and ran down her thigh. She stared at it unmoved-one word seemed to fill her mind and deafen all other thoughts....
"Kill ... kill ... kill ... kill...."
Arthur was impatiently shaking her.
"Ann please, please, make haste ... we have to leave; they are expecting us at Nowshera...."
Slowly, she put on her clothes and followed him out. Already a small detachment of soldiers waited below. A motley crowd of people had gathered round, and stood silently waiting. Ann walked behind Arthur; they climbed into a sort of wagon, and the mounted soldiers accompanied them through the narrow streets of Kabul. People ran out of their house to watch the little group pass-silent, suspicious people, full of heavy and impotent sympathy for one of their own kind. Ann turned her head and saw Arthur smiling. He caught her eye and laughed like a naughty schoolboy:
"Put the fear of God in 'em ... Ann, my girl; we have put the fear of God in 'em ... ," he giggled. "Not a squawk out of 'em ... that's what they understand ... force ... power ... Look at 'em struck dumb!" And his voice trailed off into a series of high-pitched titters.
Ann did not remember much about the journey back to Abbotabad. She slept most of the time. Twice she heard some desultory shooting, but, on the whole, the journey was without incident. She lay passively in the wagon-incapable of thought, not daring to look out and see the man riding bound and trussed between two armed sepoys. She felt caught in a huge trap-as if the real world had spread beyond her control and become unreal. Sometimes she lay still and wept softly for hours-wept because she did not feel anything except the paralyzing numbness. Then, one day, as she sat looking at the darkening sky, she saw the small silhouette of a jackal crying out in rage at its hunger. There was an urgency in its wailing cry, and yet a sort of cringing submission....
He was like-Yakub! Yakub, who, despite his magnificent body and his long heritage of courage, could look at her with his green eyes moist and dark with fear and say:
"I almost got shot for it...."
Suddenly she was glad. Glad with all her heart that she had helped to destroy him. She was cured. Yakub, the fever, was gone-what was left was a useless impotent husk. She would see him once again, glorified as he was the first time she saw him, and then all would be still.
"Miss Pemberton...."
They were on the outskirts of Nowshera. She smiled at the suddenly formal Englishman. "Yes, Mr. Arthur?"
"Miss Pemberton, we will treat your story with discretion-you may rely on me to give no details."
"Thank you sir, and you may be assured of my full co-operation," she answered sardonically....
... The clinking of swords ... sun streaming down on the turbans and glinting off the silver spurs ... one of us is caught, trapped; he will be led to the slaughter ... hate ... hate ... the dark eyes staring ... it's not my fault ... a woman is not to blame ... I am all right father ... mother ... mother ... no I am all right ... yes my hair has been cut ... I was afraid ... oh God ... I am more afraid now ... please stop looking at me ... please ... why did I come back ... jackals, all of you ... stop looking at me like that ... I love the scent of violets in Nowshera....
It was the hour before dawn. The padding feet of the servants aroused her from her nervous slumber. She heard the clink of her father's sword-the batman was polishing it against the stone floor. Nervously she got out of bed-the window was open. Outside, the garden was grey and still. Every so often the shrill chip of a dreaming bird broke the silence.
Ann tip-toed into the next room. The ayah was still asleep. Quietly she closed the door and ran into the bathroom. She dressed quickly and soundlessly, taking great care not to wake the ayah by any inadvertent clumsiness. Then, she came back into the room and waited. She waited alone in the deep grey of the morning, wondering if death were like this-quiet and grey and still. Then she heard her father's steps crunching down the garden path. Quickly she threw on her cloak and slipped out of the bathroom door into the garden. She ran swiftly across until she came to the pile of loose stones-and sank down behind the bushes.
The Parade ground was deserted. Quietly, Ann waited. The sky had subtly changed to a light bluegrey, and the earth seemed to stir in its sleep. She shivered. The air was cool and a cold breeze was coming down from the mountains-a wind from the Hindu Kush was rushing down to meet and bear away the fleeing soul of one of its children ... Abruptly Ann stood up. She could not permit herself to get sentimental over the episode. She walked softly into the garden, trying hard to regain the soft grey numbness that protected her since her arrival in Abbotabad. Suddenly she stood still. She heard them-the tramp of feet against the beaten sand and pebbles, and the clear clink of silver and spurs. A young officer marched at the head of the column; they entered the square; the men divided into two and then into four, and formed up smartly along the sides of the square. They stood at ease, waiting.
Ann sat down behind the bushes. She felt better now that the men were, unknowingly, keeping her company. She looked at their faces. Their eyes were heavy-lidded with sleep, but despite the heavy drowsiness of their bodies, Ann could feel a certain nervousness. The men looked at each other from time to time. They were quiet and afraid. A little while later, four men entered with a long pole-the gibbet! Ann's heart constricted. They were not going to shoot him-Yakub was to be hung. She saw a huge Sikh subedar weigh the rope with stones and sandbags-discussing, arranging, with the preoccupied air of a perfectionist. He seemed to be the only one who was not in any way affected. Wide awake, alert, he arranged the monstrous pole with the loving care of an artist. When he had completed his task, he stood stiffly at attention beside it. Then Ann heard it.
Tat tat tr-r-r-r-r-r trat! Rat ... trat tr-r-r-r... tat!
The muffled drums rolled the message. The countryside seemed to hold its breath. Ann knew that the busy farmer would raise his head and pause to listen ... his wife would look up, sad-eyed, and hug her baby closer to her breast ... the dogs would prick up their ears and growl ... while the horses in the stables would stamp nervously and whinny in their stalls....
The drummers came to a halt on either side of the pole. Following them were six mounted officers. Ann recognized her father, another colonel, a major and three young lieutenants. They ranged themselves in front of the pole and waited. Slowly the drums grew louder ... calling ... calling ... And then suddenly he was there. He was standing erect. His face was very pale; his hands were tied behind his back, and two sepoys, swords drawn, walked on either side of him. Next to them was a Moslem Iman, who recited something from a little book. The four man halted before the pole, facing the mounted officers. The little red-faced major drew out a paper and re-read the sentence; ... "hung by the neck until he dies. May God have mercy on his soul."
Ann felt that time was suddenly rushing ahead, dragging her along. She wanted the scene to freeze-to stay as it was, pathetic, frightening but doomed never to reach its awful culmination. She wanted to scream ... to cry out ... to attract his attention ... he should know that she was there. She wondered whether he thought of her, or whether the confines of his mind were completely filled with the image of the gibbet. The cold wind swept whistling down from the Kush. The men shivered.
Suddenly the drums started to build up their slow crescendo. The man mounted the steps. The Iman followed him, kissed him on both cheeks and left him alone. He stood there, as if he were already isolated in the strange loneliness of death. The Sikh subedar bustled up and put a sack over his head. They helped him carefully up the last steps-as if they were afraid that he might fall and escape them. The noose coiled round his neck-tightened. The drums rattled loudly ... and the body jerked, swung, twitched convulsively and was still....
Ann sat quietly on her stone. Her eyes were closed. She did not want to look. She hated the soldiers, the officers, but most of all she hated herself-as she felt the warm tears break through the barrier of her lashes and roll down her cheeks.
Blood on the bier ... his wife's blood ... the night is still, in respect to human pain ... a simple wooden bier ... for it is written that all men shall go as equals to their death ... These are the songs we sang for your father, these are the songs we sing for you ... take him away ... put him in the earth before sundown-that we may return to life ... the house is still ... is she asleep ... or is she listening in the darkness for the sound of feet bearing him away....
Mrs. Cummings rose from her seat with a rustle of petticoats and rang the bell. The berar came rushing into the room and stood obediently waiting for an order.
"Some more tea please. Ann, dear, are you sure you would not like a little calomel tea?"
Ann was seated on a deep sofa between two enormous ladies. Her mother was at the other end of the room, whispering excitedly to another woman.
Mrs. Cummings smiled delightedly. She had been the first to invite the Pemberton girl and it had been a great success. Everyone had come, and a lot of uninvited ladies had "called" accidentally. She turned towards her celebrity:
"I must simply say-I know it is wicked of me to mention it-that I admire your courage. I should have died of fright...."
She had broken the ice. Everyone eagerly asked questions:
"Were they cruel, Miss Pemberton?"
"Did you see their women?" ... "it must have been exciting...."
"Were you not terrified?"
Ann did not reply. She did not have to. Her mouth not only answered all the queries; she asked some of the questions herself....
It was about a week now since Yakub's death. At first Ann had been stunned-lost-then it had happened. She had started to receive invitations from everybody-dinners, teas, balls and promenades. Her first reaction had been to refuse; to hide away from the prying eyes, the questioning mouths, until she realized that Arthur had indeed made a heroine of her. In his version, Miss Pemberton had been kidnapped and held for ransom. She had been untouched (he let it be understood) and conducted herself with great courage during her ordeal. Ann had accepted this version with relief and gratitude. Arthur had proved a true friend, indeed. He had never tried to see her again, and on the one occasion they had met, he had called her "Miss Pemberton."
However, despite Arthur's convincing story, Ann wondered if many of the women who fawned on her did not entertain their own suspicions. She soon found out how true her estimate was. One day, when Ann was shopping with her mother, they overheard two women discussing the "unfortunate Pemberton child." ... "so sad, first that boy is killed, then she is kidnapped. I can not help but feel there must be a connection. Do you suppose she encouraged the native? Otherwise he would not have taken such risks!"
Ann's mother turned away and started to sob. She stumbled into the carriage and turned furiously on her daughter:
"I cannot help but agree. It is all so vexing ... if you had not refused poor Robin, he would have been more careful ... I shall never live down this disgrace."
Ann felt like striking her mother. Mrs. Pemberton always turned everything into a personal affront. She had been decidedly cold to her since her return, and Ann was sure that her mother did not believe Arthur's story. She had never forgiven Ann for refusing Robin's proposal; and now, after the dreadful scandal, Ann was a marked woman. It would indeed be difficult to find a good husband. Which man, which man could be sure that Ann Pemberton had not been touched by the blacks? Ann turned impatiently to her mother.
"Mama, please stop crying. I have been thinking this whole thing over, and I feel the best solution is for you to send me to England."
Mrs. Pemberton looked up, and tentatively stopped sniffing. She looked warily at her daughter.
"Do you really mean it, Ann?"
"Why, yes, mother; Uncle Henry and Aunt Alice will be only too pleased to have me-and it will give me an opportunity to forget this dreadful story."
Mrs. Pemberton dried her eyes at this encouraging thought, and looked extremely cheerful. She even took her daughter's hand in her own plump one and told her in a conspiratorial whisper:
"Your father will feel much better, with you safe at home-he does not sleep well through worry...."
The next days passed in a flurry of activity. It was decided that Ann should travel down to Bombay, with the next escort, and take a ship for England from there. Ann was busy packing her trunks and boxes, which were being sent by pack horse caravan to Bombay. She spent her day pleasantly, knee deep in dresses, curios, books and toilet articles....
One day, she was returning from the bazaar with her ayah-they had been to buy bangles and little woolen shawls-when she decided to get out of the carriage and walk the rest of the way home. The two women walked in front, followed by a military orderly, since Ann was not allowed to go out without a man servant. Amina was explaining a strange village story to her in great detail. As they approached the gate of the house, they saw about four or five native women ahead of them, about to turn into the gate that led to the servants' quarters. One of the women-a small, slight person-dropped a cluster of bananas from the basket on her head. She stopped to pick it up ... Ann froze. For staring straight at her was Azurie-the thin, black child-wife of Yakub. Ann stood rooted to the ground. She could not take her eyes off the young woman. But the girl quickly stooped, picked up her bananas, and ran away....
Ann wanted to scream. Her heart was pounding. She was afraid. She caught hold of Arnina's hand and quickly led her into the house.
That night Ann did not dare to sleep alone. She asked the ayah to bring her string bed into her room. All night long she shivered, wondering what Azurie was doing in Abbotabad. She tossed uncomfortably, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw the sharp face and the long mocking eyes of the quick black girl. She did not know why she was afraid, but she felt, suddenly, that nothing could protect her from Yakub's vengeance.
The next day, Ann begged her father to let her leave immediately for Bombay. She tried to explain her fears, but her father, though sympathetic, told her that she was unduly nervous. Ann kept close to the house for the next few days. But, as the sun smiled brightly in the sky, and the long warm summer days melted into cool, soft evenings, she began to feel that her terror had been unreasonable. The days and weeks passed and nothing happened, and Ann began to laugh at her fears. She even went as far as walking past the servants' quarters with Amina. Yakub's old room was now occupied by a fat Punjabi berar, his giggling wife and their numerous happy, shouting children. Ann even tried to casually question some of the servants, but no one even hinted that the little wife had been there. She began to wonder if she had dreamed the whole incident....
Life was good. The shadows of the past had been brushed away like dusty cobwebs. Ann was looking forward to going to England and then there was plenty to do. She had quite forgotten about Robin-and in a way, she completely believed Arthur's version of the story. She had pulled a sort of mental curtain over her memory-so that Jaffer Khan, Azurie, the old Chieftain and the Mahsuds had no more reality than the Giants of Gulliver's Travels or the Valley of Despair in the Pilgrim's Progress-faint creatures of a distant imagination. At the moment there were too many actual things to think about-the clothes for the voyage; the gay holiday in Bombay; the sea voyage; and then the calm, peaceful dimly-remembered beauty of England. Yes, indeed, life was good....
It was a blazing summer afternoon. The sun, realising that his reign would soon be over, crushed the earth with the fury of his energy. The trees bowed limply under the weight of the bright heat, and even the heavy sun flowers bent their heads towards the earth in an effort to escape the blinding light.
Ann sat alone in her room. Colonel Pemberton was away on a tour, and Mrs. Pemberton was visiting the Reverend and Mrs. Mandle. Only the ayah dozed on the shady verandah. In the little white room it was hot. Ann drew the blinds, took off her dress and lay down in her shift. She closed her eyes and let the heavy afternoon dull her into slumber ... Deep in her sleep she felt something weighing on her. She struggled, but the weight was still there. She opened her eyes and dinked in the darkness-then terror rushed over her like a great sweeping wave. She tried to scream, but the pressure was clamped on her mouth. She tried to rise but she was held down-she looked helplessly, mad with fright, into the burning eyes of Daulat!
The man deftly stuffed a gag into her mouth. Soundlessly he bound her hands and feet; then, rolling her over like a stuffed dummy, he quietly ripped the clothes from her body. For a moment he stared at the trussed white body. Then like a maddened dog he fell upon her. He bit her breasts--taking her nipples between his sharp flat teeth, he tore the slender tips. The girl's body bucked in agony, but the man's heavy weight pinned her to the bed. Viciously he inserted his knees between her legs, forcing her legs apart and causing the string that bound her ankles to bite into her delicate skin. He took out a small leather truncheon and soundlessly started to beat her thighs and the coral flesh of her sex.
The woman shuddered in pain as the stiff leather stunned the hyper-sensitive nerves of her tender sex mouth. The man seemed to be in a paroxysm of rage. The blows lost all sense of direction and rained on her body in spasm after spasm of fury. His sex reared like a ghostly shape against the white cloth of his trousers. Over and over again he beat at her helpless body. He never looked at her and he never made a sound. He beat her furiously until suddenly he stopped-as if his strength had abruptly given out-and fell across her with a strangled sob. For a long moment he lay there, inert, breathing heavily, until the force slowly flowed back into him; then, rising slowly, he turned her over and pushed her legs into a kneeling position. Roughly he parted the trembling white buttocks, and plunged into her nether hole. Ann trembled. Through the throbbing pain of her body she felt herself responding to the sinuous widening and the blunt pleasure within her. Slowly, despite herself, her hips started to move in unison with his-brushing across his white shirt, and sometimes feeling the delicious cool prick of a bone button. The man drove into her with the full force of his body. His hand desperately sought her feathered sex, and he inserted his fingers brutally into the moist channel to her womb. Ann tried to wriggle away from the clawing fingers, but her movements only caused her more pain. He pushed his fingers through her channel widening the narrow entrance, until Ann thought she would burst. The pain was unendurable. She thought she would die-but despite the terrible shuddering of her body, the man pushed and stretched farther and farther in, inserting his closed fist through the passage and hitting her mercilessly with his loins from the back.
She moaned as the torn muscles gave way before his hand. She felt she had reached the ultimate endurance of agony-but her own body betrayed her. Rushing down the broadened channel the pleasure juices of her system swept over the brutal hand. Her hips contracted and she felt herself come endlessly in spasm after spasm. She lay racked, wondering dimly at the strange mixture of pleasure and pain, until she felt she could endure neither ... The man had withdrawn from her body, allowing the pale liquid to spray out and run down her legs. She saw the small knife, a bright arc about her face, she felt a strange sensation, and then blood poured down into her mouth. She dimly saw his sex hover above her eyes, she saw, his hips contract and the man-milk start to fall-she felt a terrible plunging hollow in her stomach, and felt her hips cease their spasmodic contraction as the red-dark overcame her....
Miss Pemberton was found murdered in her bed one August afternoon. She was found by her ayah, Amina-who screamed and promptly fainted away. An hour later Mrs. Pemberton arrived. By then the Camp Commandant had taken charge, and they had considerably altered the scene. They had wiped the body clean and had taken out the Pathan knife, and they had covered up the face, so that Mrs. Pemberton should not see the mutilated nose.
Little was said about the murder. The motive was obviously revenge, and authorities did little to search for the murderer. These things were endless-and now that the strange train of events had come full circle, it was thought best to bury the whole story along with Miss Pemberton, rather than risk another outburst of tribal war. Reports were sent to Delhi and to England about the affair, and the Regiment was ordered south. New people came; the story changed with every newcomer; and Ann Pemberton became a legend: a frontier story that people will tell you; adding wisely, "You see Pathans are like that...."
