Across the hallowed peaks ....

The dry brown red cedar leaf crunched under the horse’s hoof, splintering into a hundred pieces with a distinct crackle. Rehmat Khan Barakzai, astride the sturdy Arabian horse, wrapped his keffiyah closer to his face, to protect himself from the chilly autumn winds that had begun to blow across the Afghan city of Kandahar. He looked across the barren landscape, a drab mixture of  grey and light brown and yellow. Here and there, the spruce and deodar trees sprang out of the ground, bereft of leaves, which lay scattered at the  base of their trunks. He scanned the area with the vision of a hawk, his eyes honed in

the Pashtun highlands ,  watching the Afghans , clad in their usual long flowing clothes ,go about their daily business. A bearded man carting away some fruit , a man on horseback rushing away to somewhere , few others strolling towards a mosque .Rehmat Khan was annoyed that the person he was waiting for hadn’t yet showed up . He put his hand to his forehead and peered into the distance . Rehmat Khan spotted a lone horseman , slowly making his way towards him. His the outline of his kapol could be clearly made out . Finally ! , thought Rehmat Khan ,  even as he raised his right hand and waved it,  signalling to the new comer.

“Taso sanga yay?” asked Barakzai ,  cheerfully, as Mohamadzai came within earshot. “Pakhair” came the reply, Mohamadzai’s  white teeth glistening in a broad smile. He was well into his fifties, with a rapidly graying  beard and cheeks which had grown infirm with age. There was still a firm determination in his eyes though, a sign of the numerous trials by fire he had to go undergo as Khan of his tribe.

Barakzai gave a sharp jab to this horse with his right heel, and turned

towards the dusty road leading to the tomb of Sher-e-Surkh. The old fort at Kandahar towered above them, lording over the Pashtun heartland.  The two warlords had been invited to a jirga by the Pir Sabir Shah. Slowly they made their way their horses moving in a rhythmic trot over the barren track. It was customary for the Pashtuns to conduct such jirgas from time to time. These councils, would then decide issues of social and political importance to the Pashtuns. The untimely death of Nadir Shah, the Persian ,had prompted this latest jirga. Sensing that the Afghan lands would fall into disarray one again, Pir Sabir Shah had organized this jirga at the holy place. The Mohamadzai, Popalzai, Barakzai, Jadran, and other Pashtun chieftains had been specially invited. 
Before long, the two of them had arrived at the simple sandstone monument that was the tomb of Sher-e-Surkh. Rehmat Khan Barakzai looked at the group of camel hide tents which came in view as they climbed a hillock. Coarse cream coloured fabric, blending into the surrounding plains. Barakzai and Mohamadzai trotted closer to the camp,where the Pir himself was ready to welcome them.
Pir Sabir Shah wore a green robe which reached down to his ankles. A black turban adorned his head with one end dangling loose over his left shoulder. His white beard, with the moustache completely shaved off, reached down to his chest. The Pir, a hafeez of the Qu'ran, welcomed the newcomers with a kind smile, causing more wrinkles to appear on an already heavily wrinkled face.Rehmat Khan Barakzai sat cross legged on the coarse rug provided to him and surveyed the rare gathering of Pashtun chiefs. A couple of them were Mohamadzai tribesmen from elsewhere. Shinwaris, Jadran, Yousufzais, and others made up the motley crowd . Rehmat Khan noticed that the Afridis of the Khyber Pass were absent from the august gathering.There was much chatter and gossiping going on. But one young, tall Pakhtun conspicuously kept to himself. He seemed engrossed in himself, unwilling to join in the banter. Haji Jamal Khan, one of the most popular people at the jirga, was engaged in a rather animated discussion with two others. Even as they were busy deciding upon a new king, young servants brought food and drink for them.--- excerpt from ' Sahyadris to Hindukush '