The Honey Thief (9 page)

He hasn’t thought of his reasons for assassinating Mohammad Nadir Shah for more than a week now. He doesn’t dwell day and night on the suffering of the Hazara. He doesn’t even think, ‘This is a blow for freedom.’ His plan is now his destiny and all feelings of hatred and enmity have vanished. There is only the deed. He will shoot the King. The pocket has been sewn into his coat. He has rehearsed the moment at which he retrieves the pistol from his right sleeve with his left hand a hundred times. He has checked the pistol’s mechanism again and again. He has tested his aim. He has told himself over and over, ‘Aim for the heart.’ He is already dead. All that remains of Abdul Khaliq the student, the son, the brother is the power to aim a pistol and pull the trigger. He is already dead, but he is content. His dreamy smile is not a disguise hiding fear and anxiety. His dreamy smile hides nothing at all. It is almost as if the deed would be enacted all by itself even if he fell asleep before the King’s visit and did not wake up until the day after. In his sleep, he would find his way to the assembly. In his sleep he would take the pistol from his right sleeve with his left hand and fire at the King’s heart. The deed will be done, asleep or awake. Nothing can stop it.

On the day of the assembly, Abdul Khaliq in his coat with the secret pocket is waiting in line to be greeted by Mohammad Nadir Shah. Everything is as he’d imagined. His classmates look shy, all of them dressed in the best clothes their families can provide. The school principal, Mulavi Mohammad Ayayub, stands proudly before the assembled students, ready to bow to the King. Three of Abdul Khaliq’s teachers stand together behind Mulavi Mohammad Ayayub, ranked in seniority from right to left.

In three weeks’ time, the school principal and the three teachers behind him will be hanged in exactly the same order in which they now stand. But on this day, they are not to know that. Neither the school principal nor any of Abdul Khaliq’s teachers harbour any designs against the life of the King, although in the interrogations that precede their hanging each will confess, after torment, that Abdul Khaliq told them that he intended to shoot the King.

Since nobody on earth knows that Abdul Khaliq is carrying a loaded pistol in a secret pocket, the young man might, if he wished, change his mind about the whole scheme and return to his family after being greeted by the King. It is a possibility. The King is greeting a student at the start of the line in which Abdul Khaliq waits. There is time to reconsider. Even when the King is about to speak to the student next to Abdul Khaliq, there is time. But Abdul Khaliq has now reached for the loaded pistol in the secret pocket, and a second later, he has fired it twice. ‘Aim for the heart,’ is the refrain in his head as he fires, and his aim is good. The King is dead before he has the chance to utter the words to the student on Abdul Khaliq’s right, ‘God grant you success with your studies.’

And so it is done. No power on earth can restore life to the King. No power on earth can save Abdul Khaliq from the torment that awaits him. The teachers and the school principal watch on in horror as Abdul Khaliq is seized by the King’s soldiers and held by his arms – their lives are over. The bodyguards and ministers who carry the King’s bleeding body from the courtyard are already dreading what blame may be attached to them merely for being present at this calamity. The students have retreated into a huddle, kept from leaving the courtyard by the dead King’s soldiers – many of them fear that when the great axe falls, it will fall on them.

5

The Death of Abdul Khaliq

Abdul Khaliq is a prisoner in a cell guarded by six soldiers of the new King Mohammad Zahir Shah, the son of the dead King. The prisoner is dressed in the special uniform of those detained in Kabul Prison – loose grey trousers and a black-and-white striped vest. The special uniform is the innovation of the late King, who thought the prisoners in Afghan jails should wear similar identifying garments to those worn by prisoners in British jails. For the first few days of his imprisonment, Abdul Khaliq endures beatings and interrogation. High-ranking officers of the new King’s army take turns screaming at him, as if the louder the screams, the more evident their loyalty to the new King will seem. But with the passing of a few more days, it becomes clear that Abdul Khaliq was not the chosen assassin of an army of Hazara rebels. He says as much himself. The officers shriek at him, ‘Carrion! Who is your master?’ and Abdul Khaliq answers, ‘I have no master but God.’

‘And who gave you this weapon, carrion?’

‘I paid for it with my own money,’ says Abdul Khaliq.

The officers don’t know whether to believe him or not. He seems too dreamy to be part of a clever plot. But at the same time, it is almost impossible for the officers to accept that a boy such as Abdul Khaliq could be responsible for the death of a king. It seems contrary to the law of Heaven. What? A foolish boy such as this end the life of the mighty Mohammad Nadir Shah? And yet, better that he should be a fool than a genius.

The new King’s generals and ministers consult with the mullahs. The fate of the assassin will be death, of course, but by what method? He should die in a way equal in horror to the horror of his deed. And so a plan is devised.

Abdul Khaliq’s classmates and teachers have been interrogated, too, including the school principal. And every member of Abdul Khaliq’s family. Would this fool of a boy have dreamed up this deed without the influence of others? That would be unbelievable. His teachers and the school principal himself would have made suggestions. Perhaps they said, ‘The King is just a mortal man,’ or, ‘Other kings have died while still on the throne; this King may go the same way.’ They may have said, ‘The Hazara have suffered for many decades under the rule of the Barakzai.’ Perhaps someone whispered to Abdul Khaliq, ‘What glory awaits the man who ends the life of this King!’ It is suggested to the tormentors who serve in the prison that it would be best if those close to the prisoner – family, friends, teachers – confessed to having said such things. Such is the skill of the tormentors that a confession is signed by each of the suspects.

A mullah and a minister of the government visit Abdul Khaliq in his prison cell to inform him that the King’s court, made up of experts in the laws of Afghanistan, have found him guilty of murder. They then describe the punishment he will endure. At this moment, Abdul Khaliq ceases to be a boy in chains seated on a wooden bench in a prison cell and becomes the embodiment of the Hazara people. He hears barely a word said to him. He sits with his head bowed in his striped prison shirt, his hands manacled, heavy chains looped over his shoulders, a metal collar around his neck. When he killed Mohammad Nadir Shah, he was killing a symbol. Now he himself has become a symbol. He is the Hazara of the ages, abused, attacked, imprisoned in chains, without any rights in his own country. He is the Hazara who fought back, and when he suffers on the scaffold, he will be the Hazara whose punishment for resisting is as shocking as his tormentors can devise.

*   *   *

A scaffold has been built in the Old City area of Kabul, known as Dehmazang. Notices have been posted around the capital stating the date and time that the king-killer, Abdul Khaliq, and his accomplices will face the wrath of the people. The notices emphasise that it is ‘the people’ who demand justice in this dreadful matter, not the new King, not his government. No mention is made of a death sentence, but everybody knows that a scaffold and gallows have not been erected just for show.

A great crowd has gathered in Dehmazang. Onlookers hem in the small square in which the scaffold stands, packed shoulder to shoulder. Many people have taken up positions on the tops of walls and on rooftops. Others fill windows in buildings that overlook the square. The onlookers do not include women; it is forbidden for women to attend a public execution. Children are strongly discouraged from attending such events, but a number do, although none of them are girls. A small number of Europeans and Russians and Englishmen can be distinguished here and there. And many Hazaras.

Small glasses of tea are being sold by merchants moving with difficulty through the crowd. Storytellers are also taking advantage of the gathering, offering for a small fee to give an account of the life of the king-killer Abdul Khaliq and the role played in the murder of Nadir Shah by Abdul Khaliq’s teachers and schoolmates and relatives. The storytellers tell of the terrible remorse of those who are about to die on the scaffold, such ‘scaffold repentance’ stories being traditional at a public execution in Kabul. They are completely fictitious, and the public knows that they are fictitious, but a well-written repentance speech is appreciated all the same.

The scaffold is furnished with a long timber spar supported by two uprights. Three nooses are attached to the spar.

At the announced time, a call issues from the mosque, a chant that carries all over Dehmazang. The call has nothing to do with the execution; it only offers praise to God. But this call, at this time, is accepted as a signal by those present, other than the Hazaras, that the events about to unfold are sanctioned by Heaven.

From the gate of Kabul Prison comes a procession of soldiers and prisoners, led by a mullah in brown robes and a black turban. Behind the mullah comes the judge, dressed in black robes and a white turban. The judge is much smaller in stature than the mullah, and in fact has a lower status. Some of the soldiers carry firearms, others carry spears and swords. All of the prisoners are in chains, but no prisoner is as heavily shackled as the small figure at the rear of the procession, surrounded by six guards.

A thrill goes through the crowd. This is the king-killer, this boy, so small? Is it possible? Those at ground level push forward to see the king-killer up close, but the guards threaten them with their weapons, forcing them back. The boy himself, Abdul Khaliq, looks only at the ground, his face blank.

The platform of the scaffold is not high – only three steps up from the flagstones of the square. Already waiting on the platform are the officers of the King who have been awarded the honour of putting the king-killer to death – a shared honour.

Two other men stand waiting on the scaffold, both of them powerfully built. They are the hangmen.

A great roar erupts from the crowd as the king-killer is led up the three steps to the platform of the scaffold. Some of the cries from the crowd are curses, but many people call out humane encouragement to the king-killer.

‘Have courage, poor creature!’

‘Bear your death with dignity!’

The king-killer says nothing at all. The Hazaras in the crowd whisper their prayers and exhortations quietly.

The mullah, who has also mounted the scaffold accompanied by the judge, has in his hands a scroll, which he now unrolls. He steps to the front of the platform and raises his hand to quieten the crowd. When he is satisfied that the hush is reverent enough, he hands the scroll to the judge. The judge reads from his document in a high-pitched voice that disappoints many in the crowd. The occasion calls for a deep, booming delivery. What the judge has to say is lengthy, and he reads slowly. He begins by telling the crowd that everything he reads is by order of the King, Mohammad Zahir. The King, he says, has suffered the great sorrow of losing his father, and in this period of mourning, has judged it unfitting for himself to attend the punishment of those who brought him such sorrow.

A murmur of approval issues from the crowd. It would be thought barbarous for the King to attend executions carried out in his name. It would suggest a relish of vengeance, unworthy of a monarch.

The judge now names the crime committed, the murder of Mohammad Nadir Shah, who was King by the will of God. The crime of murder against Mohammad Nadir Shah is therefore a crime against Heaven. The judge names the place at which the murder occurred, the date and hour and minute of the murder, the manner of killing, and finally, the name of the murderer himself, Abdul Khaliq of this city, who has confessed to the deed. Then the judge names the accomplices of the murderer, one by one, and the sentence passed on each. The sentence passed on Abdul Khaliq himself is simply ‘Death before the people.’

When the judge lowers his scroll, he nods towards the mullah, who in turn nods towards a man with an apparatus new to some in the crowd. The apparatus is a camera, and the camera operator is in attendance to preserve an image of the king-killer in the hands of those who will put him to death – a souvenir. Abdul Khaliq is nudged by the soldiers until he takes up a position before his executioners. The camera operator in his European suit and tie adjusts his apparatus, fixed on a tripod, then calls for the king-killer to look at him directly. For the first time since his appearance before the crowd, Abdul Khaliq raises his eyes and looks straight ahead. Perhaps he is curious, or perhaps his cooperation is just one more instance of the symbolic part he is playing in the drama, permitting the onlookers one clear view of the face that stands for the face of all Hazaras.

A bright flash fixes the image of Abdul Khaliq within the apparatus.