Kama Houri (The Virgin Goddess)
by Ataullah Mardaan
(GC-294)


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: 

"Now, rub here gently and watch...." 

"What will I see, Aunt Ann?" 

"Wait-and keep rubbing. Yes ... ah ... yes ... keep on." 

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...." 


THE END
