POEMS FROM THE FRONTIER
On June 4th this topic will have its first birthday and I declare officially open the celebration week. Furthermore, for celebrating the first anniversary, which in one year has surpassed 600 posts and 37k views, Peshawar Tribune has released a new book of poems collecting all the masterpieces released during this long and bloody year: Poems from the Frontier, hereafter some examples of the included works.
But before let me thanks the group of great friends who allowed all this, in order of joining the topic: Umra khan, Mad Guru, JBaumal, Cpt Shanks, Rhingyll and, last but not least, all the viewers that gave some encouraging posts in the topic or…simply thought about doing it.
Let me close with the words taken from an old Punjabi poem I always teach to my Waziris “working” on the Frontier:
Har Yaar Ko Raaz Mat Batao,
Yaaro Ke Bhi Yaar Hote Hain
That is:
Don't tell every friend a secret,
Friends also have friends…
in other words:
"Never trust anyone on the Frontier"
THE CARAVANSERAI
who dismays doughed horses who kneeling camels,
who loads and unloads bales and bassokes,
who draws water for the evening meal,
who pays for camels and who hires new servants,
who screams, discusses, sells and bargains....
and in the midst of all this confusion prowls the poor desperate Wazir, telling everyone that he was a powerful khan and asking for his stories
in exchange for little food and a sip of water. "
reinterpretation of a RK poem in a sad story , enclosed in the book " The Wazir and his missed Mules" available in every decent bookstore in Wana and Miranshah.
Battle of Bannu Miran shah rd
In the rattle of the battle
In the fog of fusillade
There are Gurkhas’ kukris,
Ready for Afridis to kiss
And stalwart fiercely stand,
Rifle on shoulder and kukri in hand
And when the battles over
No fear if ther’s no cover
You forget those bloody miles
And those gentle Gurkha smiles.
You can thank your Gods, even Kali
And shout 'Ayo Gurkhali! '
Death to Khans Bahadur and Wali
Jai Mahakali, Ayo Gurkhali'
'Johnny Gurkha' Poem by R.Winkle (which inspired Res John Burman’s one)
The old Havildar
Beneath an ancient bodhi-tree,
Fast by the Kabul's tide,
In silent thought sat Paramjit Singh,
A Khalsa havildar of the Queen;
He mused on things now done and past,
For he had reached his home at last,
His empty sleeve his pride.
Ten years before a Ludhiana lout,
beneath the self same tree,
He met an officer on a horse with creamy mare,
who’d come with honeyed words
and the intriguing beat of drum,
Cajoling all who glory sought,
and telling how the regiments fought
The Waziri and the Afridi clans
With shouts of victory.
WaheGuru Ji ! Rang in his ears,
(
https://i.postimg.cc/LXz8DV1s/Officer.jpg)
The famous battlecry of war
And since those day Paramjit, getting higher rank
On Punjabi plains, from Peshawar
To fierce Bannu and mighty Tank
‘Mid festering bogs and scenery of hell
Now I’m havildar he said and I learnt
How Khalsa soldiers died and fell.
And a sorrow grim fades his sight
But all they witness how Khalsa can fight
And he knows his village brothers have seen
He got a medal with the name of the Queen!
And now he rides a creamy mare horse
And cajols in the villages with honeyed words “of course
No one got more glory than Khalsa force!”
The famous Winkie’s poem inspired the work by General Sir James Wilcox
You’re A Better Man Than I Am, Dirka Grimm
“Pack up your money pull up your tent Sgt Crood,
Dirka Grim's bugle call goes over rocks and wood,
Truly he is a better man that we had understood!”
From “Peshawar barracks ballads” by Reginald Winkie
the Guides Squadron charge
half a league, half a league, half a league onward rode Fully leading his Guides....
Pathans to right of them, Pathans to left of them, Pathans in front of them, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of hell. Rode Fully’s Guides
Flashed all their sabres bare, Flashed as they turned in air,
Sabring the pathans there, Charging many tribes, while All the world wondered.
Plunged in the dusty-smoke, Right through the line they broke;
Afridis and Orakzai, Reeled from the sabre stroke, Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not. Not the Fully’s Guides!
When can their glory fade? Oh the wild charge they made! All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made! Honour the Fully’s Guides, Noble Squadron!
JAI HO SINGH’S RIDE
by Reginald Winkie
(with apologies to Henry Wodsworth Longfellow)
LISTEN, my children, as to you I sing
Of the three day ride of Jai Ho Singh,
On the fifth of August in eighteen-nine-oh:
Hardly a man is still on the go
Who remembers that event occurring.
He said to his sister, Maryam,
“If the Iron Amir has conveyed
Breechloaders to the Yusufzais, as you say
Then I must ride to the sahibs and spread the alarm,
Before the Tribesmen strike with those modern arms!”
Then he climbed on his horse and said farewell
To his beloved Habibi, with whom he did dwell.
His comrade-in-arms wished him Godspeed,
He hoped & prayed Jai Ho would succeed,
And return home alive, a living monument to Khalsa pride.
For three days on rode Jai Ho Singh,
While Jezails and Sniders took shots at him,
A wound he sustained, yet he stayed on his game--
Then from one jagged cliff a Ghazi charged,
Attempting from his saddle Jai Ho to dislodge,
“Allah Akbar!” the Ghazi cried as he raised his Tulwar over his head,
But Jai Ho thrust his saber up and his own eyes saw red,
And before the Tulwar could strike, that Ghazi fell dead.
Jai Ho Singh rode on, under cliff and over hill,
Still bleeding from the Jezail bullet wound, until--
A kindly Mussulmaan took pity on him,
And gave Singh thirst-quenching water to regain his trim,
And on August the 8th, at long last,
Jai Ho Singh reached the Malakand Pass!
Then thanks to that same uniform which drew so many foes,
The picquets of 9th Gurkhas waved for him onwards to go,
To the Dargai Cantonments of Peshawar Field Force,
Where with little ado he made his report,
Concerning news from the Iron Amir's court,
Of trading rifles for a prisoner he could use to extort,
To which Brigadier Stewart Ruff-Husband did retort:
“Jemadar Jai Ho Singh, 2nd Punjab Cavalry, Piffers, Retired…
I salute you—truly you are the Khalsa’s pride!”
A report that shall echo on into time!
For borne on the hot-wind of the Past,
From the dawn of the Raj, until the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
Sepoys and sowars, both active and retire-eed,
Shall accomplish their mission, on foot or by steed,
No matter the odds, no matter how slim,
They will get the job done--like Jai Ho Singh.
THE UNPALPABLE JEZAILS
(
https://i.postimg.cc/V6bWWtQ9/SS-Tower.jpg)
(
https://i.postimg.cc/NFcm8PxY/TT-mullahs.jpg)
When I wasn’t in the need of jezails I had arsenals.
When I need jezails they were converted to unpalpables.
Punjab Your eyes are beautiful and
You have also beautiful hair…
Beneath the blanket of the stars
In the company of the moon
On the riverbank two mullahs
By the side of water’s boon
In a pavilion covered by flowers
Sat immersed in Rule consultation
They speak about Khans powers
And the outcome of their divination
From “Peshawar barracks ballads” by Reginald Winkie
The deaf mule ballad
During the march of the column
you can hear the sounds of water bottles
and mess tins slamming ...and persevering song
of the Gordon highlanders bagpipes playing their Cock of the North…
"Auntie Mary had a canary
Up the leg of her drawers;
She was sleeping, it was creeping,
Up the leg of her drawers"
With its best foot first
And the road a-sliding past,
An' every bloomin' campin'-ground exactly like the last;
While the Big Drum says,
With 'is "rowdy-dowdy-dow!" --
"Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argy jow?
(Why don't you get on?)”...
Poems from "the deaf Mule Ballad " by Reginald Winkie
The spied column from Bannu
Stump stump
The cadenced steps of the Northumberlands
Donk donk
The slow hoofs of the mules in the lands
Ding ding
The tin of the canteens
Scrubble scrubble
The rifles straps over the shoulders
Hiss hiss
the silence of the stool pigeon
gogogo soldiers of the Queen’s
behind the hills
an hidden enemy ‘ve seen
and soon you learn
Pashtun’s aiming skills
for your concern.
Last night you had some meat,
and a pint of beer as well
Which you enjoyed as a great feat,
as many a man could tell.
And then you to your tents went,
and taking off your boots,
Each of you the drinks repent
and thinks to tomorrow shoots
But today it will be a different story
And for many of you the last glory
Snip snip
The bullets for an end so gory!.
From “Peshawar barracks ballads” by Reginald Winkie
the North and the South
They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the spines,
The dun they went like wounded bulls, but the lances like new-roused porcupines.
But there is neither civilized nor savage, frontier, breed, weapon, birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, tho’ they come from the ends of the earth,
A life is lost, a common language spoke; only your honor between famine and dearth,
Only your value when the bitter alternative should be worse than your death!
by R.Winkie in the “Peshwar barrack ballad”
Major Rawson’s quest ballad
(
https://i.postimg.cc/hjLX7HB7/Lancers-2.jpg)
Run Run All brigades are already busy, who will go?
Run Run “I shall be the man” said Major Rowson
Run Run “and my squadron will say so:
We are the Hodson’s Horse
And success will come of course!”
Run run blue jackets still wet of paint
Run run no trick no faint”
“Major Rowson in your hands I put the RAJ destiny”
“And I won’t fail for the Queen and the Hodson’s honor!”
Run run towards Khyber pass…
Run Run …and far away!
(
https://i.postimg.cc/gcqnNF6M/Lancers-5.jpg)
Run run towards the Mohmands lands!
Will Major Rowson succeed intercepting Zibbib before he meets the Tsarists?
Over the hill and far away to Queen Victoria we all obey
From R.Winkie “Ballads from Peshawar Barracks”
O'er the hills and the Yusufzais,
Through Wazirs, Afridis and Orazkais,
Queen Victoria commands and we obey,
Over the hills and far away.
If I should fall to rise no more,
As many comrades did before,
This Indian song you have to play,
Over the hills and far away.
Mullah Powinda “the goat”
Beneath vague voices and the feeble din,
Strangely as if through a shield,
Through the khattak dancers in a row
One sees the towering old mullah.
A welcoming voice, a direct look,
With eyebrows, grizzled and curved,
Of nothing in particular he spoke
And to you said no more than he should.
Among the tribesmen and the khans
Amid the day’s whirlwind,
It seems that they’d forgotten
His past dramatic legend.
They forgot the day of anguish,
The night of cries: “To arms.”
The disheartening salt-marshes,
The camels’ measured tread;
Forgot the margins of shifting sand
Where a bad-luck company dragged;
Forgot Maiwand and Jandola carnage,
Tochi Valley fallen to the Ferenghee’s flag.
Forgotten? — No! Each time it occurs
That some attention-grabbing incident
Dims the spark of his peaceful eyes,
Refreshing them with old events.
“What is with you?” — “My foot aches.” —
“Gout?” — “No, an old jezail wound.”
Suddenly provoked, he awakes
And breaks the tedium of the Punjabi sun.
And he told me that none of those
Among all of the veterans,
In lines with up raised tulwars
Or in rows of resting on the ground,
Could force him out of the shabby bed,
Clever, foxy and corpulent,
As his heart repeatedly agonized
Over memories of mishaps past.
But a new Rule is moving his world,
And he wakes up from his deserved rest,
Grabs his jezail and embraces the jihad,
‘Cause the True Ruler claims his life.
Among the rocks
Jumping and landing
He forgets the pain in the foot
No gout he told…just goat!!!
R.Winkie from “Peshawar barracks ballads” which inspired Gumilev’s famous poem
Colonel Fullerton in Spinwam
All hearts break, that it’s raining death
Today in Thal, heroes’ blood is being shed
The khaki uniform will be our coffin
Soldiers, come home – the fresh wildflowers have wilted and died
Pasthun have become wolves, humanity no longer exists
Murder’s a common occurrence and no one hear your noise
The flower has turned into ashes, every sound means a shot
Look at that Colonel over there; he’ll yearn eternally for his boys
Mighty Fully, we crave Your mercy, here You’re Rahim and you’re Rahman,
Today you’re Alfa and you’re Omega, we crave your Mercy or a pint of beer.
But we never see rain of mercy here, only rain of death by any Afghan
Whether in Thal or Spinwam, or Ali Mirali Mir
They are content with discord, They are content with blood,
They will never be content with a ferenghee khan.
Angel of death’s veil is coated over lives all around
Freedom from the Forbidden, a ray of light
Help one another, soldiers, else life doesn’t sound;
Help one another and follow your Colonel to the fight!
The ballad of Gurjas “stonesangar” Khan and Captain Marmaduke “Tiffin” Gonnester
Gurjas Khan was a warrior bold:
His tulwar and his rifle were bossed with gold,
He shot at Gurkhas and he scared Mackenzies
From ground behind rocks they shouted like frenzies:
While over the Punjab the warriors cried,
"The hero fights for his countryside!"
But little they cared for their own stress,
The worn white soldiers in rifle green dress
They cursed their luck, as the Gurkhas will,
But gave him credit for cunning and skill!)