Saturday Snippet: Crime in the Punjab after the Indian Mutiny

 

Robert Warburton was an unusual figure in the British administration of India and Afghanistan during the second half of the 19th century.  He was half Afghan, his father being Lt. Col. Robert Warburton of the Royal Artillery and his mother Shah Jahan Begum, niece of Dost Mohammad Khan, Emir of Afghanistan.  Interracial marriages were frowned upon by the "establishment" of the British Raj, so Warburton's record of success as Political Officer in charge of the Khyber Pass region was most unusual (although it was helped, of course, by his dual Afghan and British heritage).  He retired as a Colonel with a double Indian knighthood.  His widow published his memoirs, "Eighteen Years in the Khyber", in 1900.

For this morning's Snippet, I've chosen several excerpts dealing with crime and punishment in the Punjab in the early 1870's.

My duties now gave me my first experiences of a category of crimes and ways of carrying them out which would have seemed marvellous in any other locality.

These crimes were: cattle poisoning; setting fire to crops which had been reaped and heaped up for threshing purposes; murders for revenge, or on account of zar, zan, or zamin (wealth, woman, land).

Poisoning cattle was a cruel act, and, although one of frequent occurrence, it was very difficult to trace the crime to the real offenders. The method of poisoning was to mix arsenic and flour together, and wrap the mixture round with hay so as to attract the notice of the passing animal; or the mixture would be placed in the hollow of an ear of Indian corn and bound round with grass, and thrown on the ground where an enemy's cattle were known to be taken out to graze. The lads in charge of the animals would be seen marching in front, picking up and examining every suspicious bundle that they noticed, but even with this precaution many cattle were poisoned and died. Sometimes the poisonous mixture was introduced into a feeding-trough, but this was a dangerous experiment and more easy of detection. There were instances, however, when the crime was rather boldly executed, yet, notwithstanding the risk of detection run, the proof of guilt could not be legally brought home. On one occasion, in a crowded thoroughfare, a fruit-seller saw his enemy's buffalo coming along. The attendant, thinking that the animal was safe from harm in such a place, lagged a few yards behind his charge to talk to a stall keeper. To take a slice of melon, peel it, and plaster it with a mixture of arsenical dough, throw it in front of the buffalo, and watch it taken down with a twirl of the tongue was for the fruit-seller the work of an instant. The careless keeper of the animal, suspecting no danger, saw nothing of this; but the buffalo died, and the owner charged the fruitseller with the offence. When I put the question to him, 'Why do you charge this fruit-seller with having poisoned your buffalo?' the immediate answer was, 'Because I have no other enemy in the world who would do me this harm.' People in the Peshawar Valley counted their enemies and knew them well.

Burning cut crops was another infamous proceeding, for at one fell stroke the season's produce belonging to one man, or to half a village, would be destroyed in a few minutes. The civil authorities used to advise the village headmen to place earthen vessels filled with water close to their ricks, and to keep men on watch and ward until the harvest grain had been gathered in; but the Pathan is a lazy individual and careless to a degree. The consequence was that great and frequent losses occurred from these incendiary fires—losses which might easily have been avoided if the owners of the ricks had only displayed a little more attention to their property and watchfulness against their known enemies. It was difficult otherwise to prevent these burnings or to detect the culprit, for an enemy determined to have his revenge had often a dust storm or the darkness of night to assist him in his nefarious design. One system of carrying out this offence which came to my notice as a magistrate deserves a passing word.

In India, away from the forest tracts, scarcity of fuel presses heavily on the poor. To meet this great want droppings of bullocks, cows, and buffaloes are carefully collected, mixed with straw, made into cakes about ten inches in diameter, dried in the sun, and used for cooking and domestic purposes. A bit of this cake when lit acts as a slow match, giving out the least modicum of smoke, which is hardly noticed even if openly carried by hand in broad daylight. To place a good pinch of gunpowder into a hollow made in a piece of this cake, to cover it over to prevent the powder from falling out, to light it at one end, creep on all fours, place it in the stacks of wheat, barley, or millet at the close of the spring, or in those of Indian corn at the close of the autumn harvest, was a very simple process. The slow match, hardly giving any smoke, burnt until it reached the powder, then there was a sudden blaze, and the whole harvest collected at that spot was destroyed. Of course the real culprit was never seen, for he is far away by the time the fire breaks out, but the complainant knows his enemy, and when the deputy inspector of police arrives to make inquiries, he is assured that no one but Din Muhammad, the complainant's enemy, could have done it. He had been seen and watched creeping towards the stacks, and on reaching them he had taken a match-box, lit a match, set fire to the crops, and then fled. Further, the blaze had revealed his features, and So-and-so could swear on the Koran that they had identified him. But Din Muhammad, on his part, is quite equal to the occasion. Was he not, at the very hour of the conflagration, at a wedding in a neighbouring village; and did not A and B meet him as he was going there? Did not C and D see him as he stood at the corner of the village guest-house; and did he not have a smoke with E and F at their well, as he was returning homewards? Din Muhammad has taken the precaution to secure his witnesses and to rehearse his defence for days before he ventures to make the attempt on his enemy's collected crops!

After many years' experience of crime in the Peshawar Valley, it is my full belief that in the carrying out of a deliberate murder the perpetrators previously rehearse the whole line of defence for days and weeks, and not until they think that they are quite perfect in their parts is the murder attempted. No wonder that some of the criminal cases which have come up for inquiry in the Peshawar Valley would have puzzled a modern Solomon.

Here is a case in point which was reported to me by the Deputy Commissioner of Kohat. A Bangash landowner had fallen in love with a neighbour's wife and taken her across the border amongst the independent tribes, who gave him shelter and food. Nothing in the world would induce them to surrender him alive, but they had no hesitation in offering to kill him, or to get him murdered whilst in their country. After some trouble, the husband and brothers of the woman induced an agent to go to the runaway couple and assure the man that if he came in and made it up in money the husband would be satisfied and divorce the woman, whom, later on, after the usual time of separation, the co-respondent could then arrange to marry. The agent was promised a large sum of money if he would bring that individual by a certain route, where the husband and his friends would be lying in ambush. This the agent succeeded in doing, but the other side, thinking it safer not to have any witnesses to their coup d'etat, first shot the offender dead and then treated the agent in the same way, burying both bodies.

But another case which attracted great notice was the murder of Shahdad Khan, Khan of Hund. This man, assisted by a clever, unscrupulous secretary, had managed to win most of his land suits in the settlement courts. He was under the belief that he was acting on his rights. His opponents felt equally certain that these rights had for their foundation false evidence, bribery, and corrupt native settlement officials. 'Der tang yd' (' We are very tang')—and when a Pathan uses this sentence he means that his cup is full, and that you must not be surprised at what he does. So the good people of Hund arranged to get rid of their Khan in their own fashion. Two hired assassins were brought from another village, and when the time came for the dastardly deed to be carried out (it was in broad daylight) the people turned in the direction of the river Indus and shouted, 'See, the river is rising and coming in,' whilst the murderers did their work in the mosque where the Khan was at prayers. They then made their escape without anyone attempting to capture them. What made the thing so strange was that the Khan's son, munshi (or secretary), and all his friends and supporters knew who these hired assassins were; but not a word of this did they, or would they, reveal to the authorities who came to make inquiries. Two near relations of the Khan, innocent men, who had been foremost in contesting his claim to lands in dispute, were charged with the murder and committed to sessions, but after a careful inquiry they were acquitted.

. . .

As magistrates there was one duty which we were one and all bound to carry out in rotation, highly odious and objectionable as it was to us. This obligation chiefly fell on the junior magistrates, Assistant Commissioners at the headquarters of the district, and if by chance there happened to be only one official present, the unpleasant duty at times came oftener than one liked. A magistrate had to attend and be present at every execution, when the last penalty of the law had to be carried out on a prisoner in the jail. The place of execution was outside the jail walls, about 100 yards to the west in the direction of the Khyber hills. I shall never forget the first occasion I had to be present at one of these hateful exhibitions. A young lad, belonging to a well known dancing family, had been murdered under rather cruel circumstances, for the sake of the few ornaments which his foolish mother had decked the child out in. Learning the exact date on which the offender had to suffer his punishment, the mother had asked all her female acquaintances and friends to attend and see the sentence carried out on the murderer of her son. As the procession, under the direction of the Civil Surgeon, who was also Superintendent of the Jail, appeared on the ground assigned for this duty, the high mound to the south of the gallows was covered with women dressed out in their best and finest silks, a regular parterre of colours. The mother rushed towards the prisoner uttering language not complimentary to the relations of the wretched culprit, but the Superintendent directed the guard to convey her to the gateway, and so she was deprived of the satisfaction which she had anticipated of witnessing the hanging of the offender.

The forts of Michni, Shabkaddar, Abazai were then held by the military, and their commandants were Major Macdonald, Major Callander, and Colonel Soady. The last-named place was situated on the left bank of the Swat River, about five miles from the spot where it issues from the hills and about twentyeight from Peshawar Cantonments. The officers named were often seen at Peshawar, and were much liked for their hospitality and general good fellowship to all who had to go out to these forts on pleasure or duty.

Major Macdonald was murdered in the spring of 1873 by Bahram Khan Mohmand of Lalpura, assisted by a number of his followers, a short distance out of Fort Michni, in the direction of the hills. What was the motive for this cowardly outrage I never exactly learnt, as at the time of the event I had gone to Calcutta with the object of passing the High Proficiency test in Persian. But what I heard on my return was this. Major Macdonald was the owner of a very fine bull-dog, and whilst walking out one day followed by the animal, he met Bahram Khan and some of his men, accompanied by some village curs of the commonest type. These attacked the bull-dog, and Macdonald, losing his temper, spoke in severe tones to the leader of the cavalcade, not knowing that he was related to the family of Mohmand chiefs of Lalpura. The parties after this went their way, and the British officer thought no more of the incident. Not so the Mohmand, who had the commandant of Fort Michni watched, and learnt that he was in the habit of walking to a certain quarter nearly every day quite unarmed. One day Major Macdonald and Captain Clifford, commanding the detachment from Peshawar, accompanied by the same bull-dog, were out for their usual stroll, when they were attacked by Bahram Khan and his gang. The Major was killed, and the dog, trying to save his master's body from mutilation, was badly cut about with either swords or long hill knives, whilst Captain Clifford managed with difficulty to escape. As you enter the Peshawar Church, by the door facing the Club grounds, Macdonald's monument, erected by public subscription, is on the right-hand side, and the inscription tells the reader that he was murdered by Mohmand Afridis. A strange error after twenty-four years' experience of two tribes entirely different from each other!

Colonel Soady, Governor of Fort Abazai, was an officer much feared and respected by the villagers living outside his command. To amuse himself he cultivated some of the fort lands, and in the production of his barley, wheat, mustard, and sugar-cane crops he had to indent on the water cuts for irrigating his fields. Whether he indented too freely, or whether the villagers had an idea that the fact of the commandant taking to cultivation was trespassing on their rights, an ill-feeling sprang up against him which lasted for years. They secured his English plough and threw it into the river; they used to cut down his crops at night, and he often had to stand in defensive attitude for the protection of his property, rifle in hand. He had his own ways of retaliation, however. One night, to prevent a high official from using his encamping ground, he let loose the floodgates, and next morning, when the official's baggage and tents arrived, there were two feet of standing water on what some hours before had been dry ground.

. . .

In Peshawar during 1870, as now, necessity forced every officer to have a watchman to keep guard over his horses, goods, and chattels from about 5 P.m. to say 7 A.m. the next morning. This gentleman, who was generally a thief himself, came to the house as the sun was setting, and cleared out the next morning, when he went away to his own home and kept to his own business until evening again approached, when he re-appeared at his master's house. He had no hesitation in getting his master's neighbour robbed, or if two officers lived in the same house and only one kept a night watchman, the other officer was almost certain to be robbed, unless he consented to pay blackmail to the tune of Rs. 5 a month by entertaining another scamp of a chowkidar or watchman. When I was living with my friend Colonel Hennessy, the Kotwal of the Cantonment Police supplied me with a ragged ruffian wearing shoes made from the dwarf palm, with a useless pistol stuck in his waist-band, as my guardian. He was a Bassi Khel Afridi, a sub-division of the Aka Khel, numbering about 300 armed men, every one of whom was a thief by birth, instinct, and profession; but in those days I was ignorant of these matters. My guardian took fair care of me, until one night he had a portion of my tent removed from my verandah. The police, however, having traced his footsteps, my watchman's security, amounting to Rs. 30, was handed over to make good my loss, and the Bassi Khel made himself scarce. When I went to live with the Head of the Police in the month of July 1870 my old rooms at Colonel Hennessy's were given over to a brother officer who had returned from leave in Kashmir. He refused to keep a watchman, and so one evening after mess, on returning to his quarters, he found his rooms entirely cleared out. Poor fellow, he was an officer always neat and exceedingly particular about his appearance and dress, and his loss was close upon 300Z. sterling in value, hardly any of which was ever recouped to him.

The audacity with which thieves in the Peshawar Valley broke into houses and barracks in Cantonments, and carried off property, chiefly rifles, baffles all description. This applies not only to the old days of our occupation, but to very recent dates. In the spring of 1897 a thief shot a Dogra sentry of the 20th Panjab Infantry dead not far from their main guard, and managed to escape with his rifle. During March 1898, as the Headquarter camp of the Tirah Expeditionary Force was encamped at Peshawar on the parade ground of the 35th Sikhs, a sentry of this regiment was shot dead and his Martini taken away. The more valuable the arm is, the more daring and the more venturesome will the thief be to get hold of the weapon. But the boldness of these thieves is not only practised in the Cantonments of Peshawar and Naushehra; it is exemplified at Taru, Naushehra, Akora, Khyrabad, the four marching stages between Peshawar and Attock. I do not know which of these stages has the worst reputation, but from my experience of it Taru would be hard to beat. A regiment of the Panjab Frontier Force, marching from Kohat through the Kohat Pass to the Rawal Pindi darbar in the spring of 1885, had all their night sentries' rifles loaded with buckshot cartridges. Nothing was lost on the journey, and Rawal Pindi was reached in safety. Here, thinking that they were out of the region of rifle thieves, an order was issued to discontinue the use of buckshot cartridges by sentries placed on duty round the camp between sunset and sunrise. The very first night of the discontinuance two Martini-Henry rifles were carried off. Rifle thieves had followed the regiment over every inch of their march from Kohat, and had accepted the very first opportunity and chance given them of carrying away the weapons, which weapons I recovered for the regiment some years afterwards. Instances have occurred in which professional thieves have followed a regiment on the march from Peshawar to some down-country station for a month or more, waiting for the chance of getting a good loot, and they seldom returned empty handed. I believe there is hardly a station or encamping ground in Northern India and the Panjab where these men have not one or more friends and allies, who house and feed the thieves, and help them in secreting and removing arms and rifles stolen, receiving in turn a share from the sale and disposal of the same. Honour amongst thieves is exemplified in the way in which the above custom is always respected and thoroughly carried out, whatever be the nationality or religion of the thief and his helper.

. . .

One other incident to illustrate the boldness of Afghan thieves. One morning the men of the Corps of Guides, whilst at their target-practice at Mardan, were astonished to see a Pathan mounted on a horse with a military saddle going away at full speed towards Gujar-Garlie (a village two miles from the cantonment of Hoti-Mardan) followed by a police sowar with a drawn sword mounted on a horse with a hunting saddle. Coming up to the runaway the sowar fetched him down with a cut, and pursuer and pursued moved on to the civil lines, where the matter was thus explained. The Sessions Judge of Peshawar Division, followed by his police orderly sowar, had ridden into the compound of Mr. Beckett, Assistant Commissioner, and, dismounting, made a sign to his orderly to hold his animal pending the arrival of his syce or groom. The orderly, seeing a Pathan seated in the compound, called to him to hold his horse whilst he took charge of the animal ridden by the Sessions Judge. The Pathan did so, and, getting into the saddle, made off as hard as his mount could go; the sowar, seeing how the land lay, jumped on to the judge's horse, gave chase, and managed to cut down the thief and secure his own horse. It appears that this same Pathan had previously played a similar trick on a groom in the service of the Executive Engineer, who was taking his master's horse from Mardan to Katlang. Meeting the Pathan on the road, he asked him to hold the animal for a moment whilst he dismounted. The Pathan did so, but immediately went off with his prize, which he produced before the Akhund of Swat, Sayad Abdul Grhaffur, at Saidu in Swat. But the Akhund—or Babaji, as he was reverentially called by his followers —sent the animal back to the Assistant Commissioner at Mardan. The Pathan, who was committed for trial to the sessions court, endeavoured to make himself out insane. At that stage I was sent to officiate for Mr. Beckett, and had to record the medical evidence, which substantiated the fact that the culprit was entirely free from any symptoms of insanity.

Judging by the experience of US forces and contractors in the region over the past couple of decades, even though the British Raj is long gone, it looks like things haven't changed much!

Peter