Today Wah! In Exile and my police and trusted regiments protected the funeral. I ordered the Oudh recruited sowars to ‘hang their heads in shame and stay away if they had any decency in them at all’ — as if that is remotely possible. Funerals are targets as much as weddings and I did not mean to let the clan be attacked twice! The funeral lasted all day and all night. I sang a dirge from the ‘People of the Book of Homer’ as the Pathans call ‘The Iliad’.
The Sufi sang a magical song of deep longing for the ‘Lost Love of the Beloved’. “My breaks for grieving for the Lost Love of the Beloved! Oh where is my Beloved? I stare into the bloody dust and weep! Where is the Divine Love of the Beloved of Humanity? Lost! For Humanity has lost it’s heart to hatred! And in hatred who can see love? Even Divine Love? So the world bleeds, and my heart bleeds, for the Lost Love of the Beloved!”
Khan Son # 1 suddenly stood up and announced ‘Syed Ahmad the Vice Regent of Allah is, as you all know, just sleeping, until the day he is resurrected to lead the grand jihad of the holy men of Patna, Bareilly, Tonk, and Delhi toward victory! But as before, the Vice Regent of Allah has offered everyone here in Peshawar an opportunity to swear absolute allegiance to him as the Dictator of the Punjab and the Emperor of the Pathans!” Every grieving Pathan stared at Khan Son # 1 as if in utter horror.
Then Khan Son # 1 unfurled a lungis or turban cloth of excessively gaudy hue and truly vulgar bad taste. He melodramatically tossed the cloth on the ground. “As before, the Dictator of the Punjab and the Emperor of the Pathans COMMANDS you, his subjects, to come for and touch his magical turban lungis to swear eternal obedience to him, your divine MASTER appointed by Allah and the Prophet himself! Who dares defy him? Surrender to his Islam and bow before your divinely appointed MASTER!”
Everyone starred at the turban cloth which snaked across the dirt before them. You could hear a pin drop! This was the first time I could use that cliche! You really could hear a pin drop! Then a burly khan of a clan allied by marriage to the clan that had been all but exterminated swaggered up. He did a grand ritual salute to the lungis cloth and then rubbed his dirty boots on the cloth as if cleaning them. That was without doubt the most terrible thing a man could do other beside spiting on another man’s durbar carpet or throwing a slipper at someone. After that every Pathan man and woman and child rushed forward to clean their boots or slippers or shoes on the turban lungis of the Dictator of the Punjab and the Emperor of the Pathans appointed by Allah and the Prophet himself to be their MASTER.
Afterwards, I told Khan Son # 1 he was brilliant. Utterly brilliant.
“Indeed Father of my heart” he replied. “After all, I am the adopted son of a right royal prick. I must be brilliant!”
Today I arrested the entire Oudh recruited sowar unit of cavalry for the murder of the clan. I proved the plot by solid, if circumstantial evidence. They howled and jeered me and the entire court throughout the entire proceedings declaring they could only be judged by a Muslim imam or cleric or mullah per Sharia Law (which of course would have allowed them to walk away free because under Sharia Law it is entirely lawful to kill kafirs and even Muslims if they were deemed kafir by takfir and therefore not even half a blood debt need be offered).
Rai Memsahib prosecuted and they spat on her the entire time as Son # 1 stood ramrod straight as he ran the court durbar as they spat at his wife and then him. Rosh Sahib defended the jeering murderers but they rejected him as a Hindu and spat on him. So he sat quiet with his hands folded over his chest as they hung themselves with their boasts in open court. They spat on Son # 1 too. Ditto Son # 2. Ditto myself. They jeered when I announced their guilt and the date of their death by hanging. ‘Allah al Akbar’ they howled. ‘God is Great!’. ‘Jihad! Jihad! Jihad!’
The night before they died the senior cleric came with the Sufi cleric. He offered to pray for their souls in hell. They spat on him. “We are going to Paradise! We are martyrs! Blessed twice fold! Our martyrdom is equal to Haij!”
“Are you so very sure of that sons?” the Sufi whispered. “What if you are wrong? What if you were tempted not by Allah but the Devil for did not the Prophet predict evil doers would come disguised as false followers of Islam? And they would only be recognized by their fanaticism and heartless, cruel evil?” That got the sowars. They paused. But then they huffed and strutted behind the iron bars and jeered the Sufi.
The dawn wherein they died I left the execution to Wah! In Exile. The courtyard was full of Pathans. At one point the Wahhabi junior cleric appeared as I was leaving. I told the Wahhabi fanatic “I am still investigating your link to the mass murder!”. He spat at me but then slithered away. I left. Later, I heard the three survivors of the massacre came up and nodded and a Sikh policemen sprayed pig blood on the men before they there cleanly executed per proper rules of hanging. But I was not there and as they did not dance in the air because of a botched execution I choose to ignore it.