For my experience at Furrah teaches me that this is
really the object of their visit.
Another ingenious argument of these polite and, after a certain childish
fashion, astute Asiatics, is a direct appeal to my magnaminity. "We know
you are brave, and to accomplish your object would even allow the
Ghilzais to cut your throat; but the Wali begs you to sacrifice yourself
for the reputation of his country, by keeping out of danger," they plead.
"If you get killed, Afghanistan will get a bad name."
They are in dead earnest about converting me by argument and pleadings to
their view of the case. I point out that, so far as the reputation of
Afghanistan is concerned, there can be little difference between
forbidding travellers to go through for fear of their getting murdered,
and their actual killing. I remind them, too, that I am a "nokshi," and
can let the people of Frangistan understand this if I am turned back.
These arguments, of course, avail me nothing; the upshot of instructions
received from the Boundary Commission camp, is that I am to be conducted
at once back into Persia.
Horses have to be shod, and all sorts of preparations made next morning,
and it is near about noon before we are ready to start. Our destination
is the Persian frontier village of Karize, about one hundred miles to the
west.
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