Classic Poem

Not by the arms of the Bangash have I been defeated, believe me;
In the fight of Gunbut Heaven it was that fought against me:
It was not the Bangash, or their arms, or numbers;
But it was the incantations of the dogs of Mecca that undid us.
Since they fled to the mountains without fighting,
Great was the injury that many of my bands did me.
That I did not send my best horsemen on in front
Is a thing that gave me great cause for repentance.
That we did not all advance at once and keep together
Was all owing to the folly of the Hussun-kheyis.
A hundred blessings on the bands of the Mohmunds!
For timely was their action on that day.
Red were they with blood and well-smeared their swords with slaying,
Gallantly did each one throw his life away.
When with his sword he struck down Sher Khan from his horse,
Great was the feat that Abad Khan showed on that field.
Yet though the Bangash Chieftain fell, the Khataks were defeated —
So strange were the events of that day.
When Abad Khan came back bravely from the battle,
To his father right welcome was the gift that he brought.
In tatters were the clothes about his body,
All red with blood his face was like a Scarlet Poppy.
Fighting hand to hand, he took vengeance for his father;
Deserving was he in that action of all praise.
While he was fighting on that field, few the horsemen that stayed with him;
All the rest had sought in flight their safety or their ease.
Curses, then, upon the Khatak horsemen:
With one accord they thought but of escape.
Gallant were the warriors, who died on the field of Gunbut;
Dear to each one's heart was the honour of the Afghans.
Great is my regret for all my warriors,
But especially for the fresh youth of Abdullah;
With his enemy he wrestled on his horse;
Yet his fortune naught availed him on that day.
Never have I seen such a daring fight
Since I was born a Khatak, made a Chief.
All the day-long fight my warriors and they yield not;
In one moment, in the wink of an eye, comes defeat:
Not by greed, nor by hope, nor by shame or fear,
But by necessity, was all my army moved.
An army should be urged by pride, or hope of plunder;
All those troops of mine were but serving for their bread;
They all were collected round me for my pay:
This was the reason that forthwith they were defeated.
How will he fight who hopes not for honour, nor yet profit?
Easy is the slaughter of such as these.
Such as are collected from need, or from compulsion,
What stability is there in those armies?
That I myself escaped from the blows of the enemy —
In that, indeed, was Heaven kind to me.
As the Heron tries to imitate the Falcon,
Thus the flight was of the foeman on that day:
Had I been sound, and in my place, what would he have done?
But wounded was I, and thus this ruin came.
Though my fortune openly does not befriend me,
Still great is my confidence in it in secret.
Great my hopes for a long life and happier times,
Though my enemy rejoices over me for a while.
Those who died in the battle are not the only warriors I have;
They are but a few guests that I invited to die in honour's cause.
Whether friend it was, or foe, who was slain in that battle,
From each one was my object well attained.
Many were my enemies, who remained not from that fight;
As an empty dream were their perverse desires.
Forty score of my warriors were slain on that field:
On the vigil of the Feast day a fitting sacrifice was made.
It was the thousand and eighty-sixth year of the Hijra,
The Snow was on the mountains, it was yet the early Spring.
Who leaves the field unwounded, not a man is he;
Wounded was I when I left, I went to save my life.
At one time flight is manly, and again it is unmanly;
To the wise this fact is well known.
It was for the vengeance that I fled from off the field,
No thought was mine of life or this world's goods.
The fierce Tiger sometimes fights, sometimes seeks safety;
Yet who is there would despise him for his flight?
The Prophet, too, fled before the Infidels,
Though his heart was bent upon their slaughter.
Whether victory be mine or defeat, the battle-field for me:
For there my father and my grandfather have thrown my lot.
If in this world I live on, then shall I see
What success or what ill-luck attends my sword.
Greater were Khush-hal's power than that of all the Bangash,
If only the Khataks and Karlanrai had some pride.