Tatyana’s Diary

Tatyana R. Sep 28th

Happy Birthday my beloved Aleksey, I am so happy that this day eventually came –since, do you remember, the day so long ago that we were pronounced husband and wife- yet I am also saddened with the fact that you are away and not here beside me. Your mother insisted that I erase you from my heart completely ever since The Tsar declared that the men who ventured into Khiva some time ago were massacred by the Khan, but I couldn’t bring myself to forget about you and those days we spent together so joyously. I started this journal around the time you left for Khiva to read it to you when you would return to me, eventually, and to inform you of my very thoughts whilst you were gone; which mostly were of you and I knew you would find this very amusing. I say mostly because if I do dream of you, desire you and fill my mind with you every second of the day; it would be so hard for me to accept the harsh fact when it does come. And it came. You promised me with all your heart that you would never leave me, that however selfish I would become; you would accept it, that is the vow you took. Now I have become that ignoble woman and hopefully, if you are living –which I am certain you are- you would still breathe for me.
       It has not been so long since Napoleon Bounaparte and his men of 400,000 marched through Vilnius for the purpose of invading our country. What a fool! What did he expect, that Our Tsar Alexander was as foolish as he? The whole world was in favour of Bounaparte and his men and as they enjoyed the publicity, we had already followed orders from The Tsar to burn Moscow; He planned to burn Moscow so that when Bounaparte and his French troops did arrive, they would have no food nor supplies to survive the upcoming Russian winter. And the plan worked brilliantly. As I watched Moscow being reduced to ashes, the guerilla bands were secretly watching the entrance for signs of Bounaparte, and the Cossacks prepared to catch the troops in surprise, their minds thirsting to afflict pain on the French. It seemed so easy, really, the troops were continuously attacked by our Cossacks and guerillas but we also had Mother Nature as our ally; most of the soldiers were already dying of frostbite, starvation and diseases as they reached Moscow. Eventually, the French troops gave themselves up to us, defeated and dying, we gave them the Russian hospitality by tormenting them endlessly although there were very few who escaped the cruel fate inflicted upon them. The Tsar organized this special event for everyone; peasants, women, children and I believe even our animals saw it as quite an entertaining spectacle; many of Bounaparte’s men were arranged into a line, stripped of their clothing, presented with the anticipation of their own deaths as they watched their comrades screech in excruciating pain and agony. The rest of his men were imprisoned and were presented to the soldiers so that they too could enjoy themselves, although I do not know exactly what happened within those walls I can well imagine, I heard that they were buried alive, defenselessly. We might sound like barbarians but the French troops deserved it, especially Bounaparte; though he retreated and was instead exiled on Saint Helena.
       My beloved, as I witnessed the mass-slaughter, I could not help but feel vengeful and in spite of the atrocious events which happened before my eyes, I was quite content with the killing of those French men. I felt that this was my vengeance, finally played out especially for you. I miss you so deeply; I still vividly remember the September I first met you and your sister, Irena –who also misses you greatly and who is now married to one of your childhood friends, Roman. They have two children, and how envious am I of them, I still dream of the day I could finally have a child with you. Do you remember that extremely chilly day in November, when we met near Lake Glubokoe? We sat next to each other and talked so much of current affairs, it felt like time had stopped and left us alone, surrounded by an infinite desert of beautiful white snow. I did not even feel the chill air against my skin because I had you by my side; I had always hated winter before I found you. The snow seemed ravishing and rather delicate, it felt quite rich against my skin when you were with me but since you have left, the once beautiful snow now saddens me so.
       Aleksey, if you are alive please return to me… Our Tsar Alexander is currently playing a very dangerous game with the rest of the world. I do not understand what he has found so desirable that he would risk our precious country for, I am sure whatever it is it must be incredibly important; this must also be what Bounaparte so desperately sought.

Diary of an Estranged Soldier

Aleksey R. Dec 17^th

       It’s hot and humid, very hot actually, then the night appears. It’s cool during the night, quite pleasant; but then day returns, bringing with it the painful memories of yesterday. It’s hot again, the sun pierces me with it’s intense light and I’m left to wonder if I would live just that long to view the next twilight. My love, the weather changes as abrupt as a blue fly- capable of flapping 70 beats per minute- in the deserts of Central Asia. I originally intended to write a journal to keep my sanity intact as we travel through the desert to eventually reach Khiva; the desert kingdom, but as the moon rotates around our precious earth, this journal became my only friend. Yet I don’t have much paper nor ink left…

       It was during April, as I recall, that the Tsar ordered us to visit Khiva, and as I was enslaved and tortured by the Great Khan, I kept recording the days gone by. I am a free man now but I have seen much blood and felt too much pain and fear to be alive. I can breathe and speak, I could even view the most beautiful skies and lands but I am dead inside. I have seen my commander and major executed brutally and my fellow soldiers tortured inhumanely- their heads stuffed with straw whilst they blow their last breaths-  yet even though I am lucky to be breathing, I do not feel so. I ran away into the vast desert whilst being sold off to Asian slave traders- how astonished they were seeing foreigners being sold as slaves! The Khiveans regard this man-slaughtering as a sport, something entertaining to witness…what barbarism.

       How selfish of The Tsar to send us into Khiva and expect that the Khan would submit to us by mere force; I believe that he fully knows how we would end up, dead and used as food to feed their livestock. Bekovich has told us the real purpose of The Tsar wanting The Khan’s support; he said The Tsar has heard the great treasures and wonders that lie inside a land called “India”. Within that land, spices of rich textures are grown and vast amounts of precious gold can be found on the river banks, this region where only very few Russians have set foot have been said to have deposits of legendary riches. I suppose I understand how this India would appeal to our Tsar; especially since he desired to rise so much above the other European lands, but what does he expect? Us Russians, we do not experience much hot weather and could die quite easily from a heat wave. I have also gathered some information from listening to the Khiveans speak of this India when I questioned them; The British have been said to carry vast amounts of gold across the sea back to their country, which would encourage The Tsar even more to get hold of these riches. How I wish I knew this when we started the expedition… had I known this I would not have left my other half behind. As I yearn for you, dream of you and desire to be with you, the days go by yet nothing changes but my growing affection for you.    

 

 I have been traveling past the vast stretch of desert for at least two months; every oasis I see is a beautiful paradise of an illusion. I could walk forever but I would never come across a real one. However, I marvel at the view before me; the desert seems to hold infinite amounts of sand, the vegetation is the most bizarre spectacle of all! I am in awe of how these organisms could survive in such an extreme climate. The animals I have seen are also quite stunning and very distant from our native animals, yet I do wonder where they get their water? Dear Tatyana, although this never-ending space may separate us, I wish you could see how enchanting this barren land truly is. Hopefully when the desert cats start to feed on my dying flesh, you would somehow obtain this journal and read that my very last thoughts were of you, even though I know myself that such a foolish idea is impossible.

       I do not know fully the ideas and plans that have grown inside the clever mind of our Tsar, but I do realize what a dangerous game he is playing. Though, in our case, this game’s prize is much more than all the money in Russia could buy; an illustrious piece of land which has been sought after by the two most powerful countries in Europe.

The Diary of a Nushki Merchant – A New Beginning

April 18^th 1810

Dear Diary,

After four months of crossing through the lawless and harsh terrain of the country of Afghanistan, I can finally state that we have made it within Herat’s great wall and finally fulfill our assignment in good spirit and health. I must declare that I feel like a new man; having to travel miles, endure the heat, be wary of bandits, I must declare that it appears like I have been blessed with a new soul.

I’ve never ventured this far from my home Nushki, and now to have set foot in Heart so far and distant, I cannot help but feel entranced by the beauty and proud of my acts. Never in my life have I come across a place filled with lush greens, the shades far richer than the coarse fields that were planted back at home. The city of Herat lay in between highly elevated mountains, settling in a lavishly cultivated valley. The river that ran through the valley started up in the mountain, twisting and curving its way through the entire length of the valley. Farmers must be very fortunate as their gardens flowed with colours, indicating a rich harvest was imminent; the villagers themselves were fortunate as they could enjoy the majestic landscape Herat had to offer them. The walls that surrounded Herat were meant to keep intruders out, however, to me; they seemed to be very welcoming, especially since the drawbridge opened at our arrival. Perhaps I should stay here instead of returning back to Nushki; like I always say diary, what have I got to come home to?

Once again the Tartan traded his guise, returning back to the horse dealer I had met him as. As it may be, the Tartan does not mean any harm; his change of guise was due to his safety as well as us, his escorts, and is not due to any secrets he may have or may not have. The horse dealer has not bought the horses for his wealthy employer; instead he has chosen to go on a brief pilgrimage to the holy city of Meshed, before returning to India with the horses. Although I still do not believe he really is Muslim, I do respect that he is choosing a fulfilling life for himself.

As for me, I have decided not to accompany the Tartan as he embarks upon his own pilgrimage. I also have decided not to accompany the other Nushki villagers as they make their way back through the hash environment of Afghanistan to return to their families and or businesses. However, I did seek them out, giving them my blessings before they embarked. I’m ready to begin a new life, maybe as a farmer or continue as a merchant in Herat. This town itself has proven to me that great things are to be expected, and that is why I am staying.

Maybe one day I shall come across this Tartan horse dealer, and be able to thank him for changing my life vastly. Through this voyage I have experienced a whole new side of life that I would not have expected if I were to stay in Nushki. Yes, I did view the journey as an obligation; however, more as if it was given to me by Allah himself.

We shall be expecting better things my dear diary,

Arman Husayn

The Diary of a Nushki Merchant – Embark

April 5^th 1810

Dear Diary,

Yesterday I departed from my never changing home, and embarked upon my journey. It seems that the merchant tales that I stated before were correct. Upon our departure from Nushki, and our arrival of Afghanistan we attracted the adversities we have been trying to refrain from.

The coming of a harsh storm was imminent the day we left; the clouds above created a thick gray blanket, rumbling with rage. The once piercing sun hid beneath them, hiding its light. However, the horse dealer was keen to leave the village, not wanting to wait for the storm to pass, even though there was vast amount of shelter in Nushki, than out in the barren desert.

As soon as we left for Afghanistan, the rain began to crash amongst our skin, entirely soaking our clothes and possessions. The clouds seemed to have dried themselves from months of holding water, however, either way the falling rain pierced us. The storm was monstrous, yet we couldn’t avoid it. There was no where to take shelter as the storm took vengeance on us; but thankfully, to the eyes of a fellow merchant, we were able to find an abandoned hut. Despite the peeling of the walls, and vermin that seemed to cover the floor, the hut was suitable and provided us with time as well as shelter as we waited the storm out.

The Tartar also happened to inform us before heading out of Nushki, that as we continued to head towards the Afghan frontier we would be met by thirty armed Afghans. The Afghans were planning an ambush on the horse dealer, robbing him of his possessions as well as his pride. Of course, all of these obstacles would have petrified me, causing me to stay in Nushki, and watch four men escort the horse dealer; perhaps it would have if I was under different circumstances.

Instead, I could feel the adrenaline pulse through my veins. It had only been a couple of hours since I commenced on the expedition, and already I have had the most thrilling events happen to me in the whole twenty three years that I have set foot on this earth. The thought of comprehending in battle incited me, even though it was highly unlikely that I would live; after all I am only a merchant.

However, my adrenaline quickly diminished as the Tartan I am escorting changed his image. His image had changed from a horse dealer and into a man as a pilgrim from Mecca. I must say that his guise seemed to have insulted my religion as well as, cause me to question his true intentions. Being a fellow Muslim; I could tell that this Tartan did not carry out any of the Islam lifestyle’s regulations. He had not joined any of the daily prayers, and could not even say a prayer himself. Despite the rage that built up inside of me, I kept a hold of my anger, and stayed quite.

The horse dealer’s change of guise was due to safety. He stated that he believed that if he were a Muslim the pilgrim, the Afghans would not take notice and instead, pay their blessings to him; a cover up as well as a safety issue for our expedition. The questions began to flood my mind. Was he really a horse dealer? Or was it a safety issue as well as a cover up for his individual set goal. Should we really be afraid of the Afghans, or is he the real enemy?

Till my mind is scrambled again,

Arman Husayn

Correspondance between Tsar Paul and Napoleon Bonaparte

March 16th, 1801
My esteemed sir Napoleon,
I, Tsar Paul of Russia approach you with the absolute respect a man of your military stature could possibly deserve. I will not waste your valuable time with petty flattery any longer, instead I shall get right down to the reason of my exchange with you.
I have been keeping a very close eye on the situation between your army and the British forces, and offer my dearest sympathies for the disappointing turnout of your invasion attempt on India, as well as the dire situation concerning your stranded troops. However, before you begin measures to bring those troops home, I would desire for you to hear out a proposal I have devised, concerning an attack on the British by both of our armies simultaneously.
My predecessor, Catherine the Great, led my country well and conquered much territory in the name of the Russian Empire. During her rule, India was an object of desire for our empire, and she and her officers had formulated a plan to conquer it. The plan in a basic summation was to march Russian troops through Bokhara and Kabul, announcing to those they encountered their aim was to restore Muslim rule under the Moguls to its former glory. They hoped this would attract Muslim khanates along the route to India to serve under their banner, and also stimulate Muslim rebellions and uprisings within India against their British rulers as word spread of the Russian war effort. This plan, however never was initiated as they had doubts as to whether the Russian army, after their long trek, would be able to pose a threat to the British, even with those that rallied under their banner along the way.
However, I believe that there is a way for the plan to work. If the armies of Russia and France work together towards this goal, it is almost certain that Britain will be defeated. I have planned out the paths we shall take should you accept my offer, as well as the times it will take mong other intricate details.
My army of 35,000 Cossack soldiers will descend through the country of Turkestan, along the way rather than recruiting khanates as in my predecessor’s original plan, I hope to recruit substantial forces of Turcoman warriors through the simple promise of riches and gold should they assist us in achieving our goal. Simultaneously, a French army of similar size to my forces will traverse the Danube River, where you will find Russian vessels waiting for you. You will cross the Black Sea, Don and Volga Rivers as well as the Caspian Sea in these ships until you make land at Astrabad, on the southern shore of the Caspian Sea. Here, our armies shall rendezvous, and then continue on their way through Persia and Afghanistan. In order to be sure that we are not hindered on our way through Persia and Afghanistan, outrunners and envoys will run ahead of our troops and explain to the natives our reason for launching this attack. They will say that the sufferings under which the population of India groans have inspired France and Russia with compassion, and we have united for the sole purpose of freeing India’s millions from the tyrannical and barbarous yoke of the English. Hopefully this will also replenish and strengthen our armies’ numbers and make victory over Britain even more certain. I have also taken the liberty of calculating the time our journey will take. It will take your army 25 days to reach the Black Sea, and after 55 days further we will have crossed Persia’s border, and after 45 more days we will eventually reach the River Indus, where we will launch our attack against the British.
Should you accept my offer, we will formulate a much more precise plan of attack to eliminate the chance of failure on our long journey there.
I eagerly await your response
In the name of the Russian Empire,
Tsar Paul Petrovich of Russia

March 30th, 1801
Honoured Tsar Paul of Russia,
I have read and considered your proposal to me concerning a joint attack on the British in India, and though I commend your effort in planning out the venture in its entirety and respect that we share the desire to drive the British out of India for our own purposes, I am not impressed with the plan as it is formulated currently.
I am rather unimpressed by the naivety of your designated route. Supposing the combined army can be united at Astrabad, how do you propose that it shall get to India, across a barren and nearly savage country, a march of nearly 1000 miles? The whole plan is very tenuous, and could undermined by numerous variable and unplanned occurrences, for example, the weather conditions during the French armies travels downriver and across the seas, as well as our reception by the natives through the countries we traverse. It is unwise to suppose they will be swayed by your vague promises without having a back-up plan should they prove hostile.
At his point I am neither declining nor accepting your proposal until I can be convinced by your verification of how you propose to introduce fail safes into our journey, as well as review your planned routes, for at the moment they are needlessly dangerous and carelessly naïve.
With regards,
Napoleon Bonaparte of France

April 21st, 1801
Exalted Sir Napoleon Bonaparte,
I am disheartened by your reluctance to accept my offer and join my cause against the British Empire. However, I do wish very much for you to join me and so have investigated the reasons you felt unsure about my plan. The region you referred to as a barren, nearly savage country is neither barren nor savage at all. From what my reliable sources and advisors have informed me, the region has been long traversed by open and spacious roads. Rivers water it at nearly every step; there is no want of grass for fodder. Rice grows in abundance, and a march through such an area will not be arduous in the least, and even may allow us to do much restocking on food supplies.
I assure you that the weather conditions in the regions that your army will be traversing by ship have never been anything but promising and perfect for a journey such as this at the time of year we plan to carry out this endeavour.
The natives you expressed your concern about will not cause us any trouble, if they do not agree with our cause one look at our combined forces and they will fear for their lies should they be harbouring malicious thoughts towards us.
The French and Russian armies are eager for glory. They are brave, patient and unwearied. Their courage, their perseverance and the wisdom of their commanders will enable them to surpass all obstacles. I truly hope you reconsider your distrust of this endeavour, but I will inform you that in the case that you do not accept my proposal, I will continue the attack as planned, without the aid of the French army.
With great admiration in the name of the Russian Empire,
Tsar Paul Petrovich of Russia.

5th May 1801
Respected Tsar of Russia,
While I admire and respect all the thought, time and effort you have put into this venture, I must respectfully decline. I do not believe the journey as planned has a very high rate of success, in fact in my experienced opinion it is almost certainly doomed to fail. The sheer number of men you hope to traverse across such barren, unwelcome regions renders will certainly result in disaster. Though your sources may tell you that the route to India is lush and gifted with bountiful crop and water, I know well enough that it is a dreadfully inhospitable region.
No matter how much more reassurance you give me, I am not comfortable in the planned route to attack the British in India, no matter how great my desire to do so.
My final decision is that I refuse to join you on your haphazard plan of attack, but do not protest in your decision to continue without my aid.
I would also encourage you to cease even contemplating the possibility of carrying out your plan of attack. Every step along the way is wrought with danger, uncertainty and inhospitality. To go along with such an endeavour even with our combined might would be a desperate gamble, but to go it alone you are sure to fail. As much as a doubt your chances of survival alone, I do not wish to see so many lives pointlessly murdered through such inept planning, and so I wish you luck and hope that you are successful in your endeavours.
With sincere regards,
Napoleon Bonaparte of France

Adventures through Baluchistan by Henry Pottinger

A storm ahead

It was on a stormy spring March day in 1810 that I began my journey through North Baluchistan riding upon a camel. Glancing past the few rain-dropped date palms I was able to realize the pure adrenaline that the adventures I was about to embark on would bring upon me. I was enthralled. Charles Christie and I were about to become subsequent players in the great game, and more than ever, I was feverish to let the games begin

It had taken Christie and I a duration of two months before we reached the remote and desolate village called Nushki. It was here where we separated and while Christie journeyed further westwards towards Southern Persia, I remained in the village until my caravan was sufficiently prepared. Only minutes after our arrival the rain began to pour. Bursts of lightning jolted through the barren skies and water poured so vigorously that it looked as if the soil would dispatch. Although I had never before been affrighted by a storm of such, my wet turban was not the only thing that left me shivering. The remainder of the last night that Christie and I were together, we discussed our plans and agreed a rendezvous where we would meet after our voyages through Baluchistan

I woke the following day as the first rays of sunlight escaped through the wooly clouds. Since our native house lacked the supply of food I took a short walk to the nearest market where a filling meal awaited me. Cooked in a mud oven was a warm loaf of flatbread, which I spread with a generous layer of creamy fresh cheese. The taste was slightly crumbly, similar to a soft Parmesan but also had the angelic creaminess of a young gouda cheese. Drizzled with an earthy honey, my meal seemed almost complete until I received a glass of buttermilk, which nicely complimented the meal, leaving an after taste that still lingers in my mind.

After leaving the market I stumbled across a young dark-haired boy selling freshly picked dates. An assortment of wild fruits and berries appeared when he opened the small casket, which he had hung from his neck. Almonds, pecans and walnuts were also pilled in the wooden container.

“Laktva!“ he exclaimed.

I assumed that this was a word they used to describe the fruit. Just looking at the rainbow colors filling that casket I was amazed at how great the Baluchi diet really was. In the end, I bought a handful of nuts and dates, and made my way back to the house.

Parting from Christie was most certainly not an easy task since we had been traveling with each other for quite some time. I waved goodbye uncomfortably as his cloak disappeared in the distance. After all, the next few days held much more anxiety for me than I was aware of.

Farewell, great dunes of Helmund

Luckily it did not take long before the small caravan was ready and I, along with the company of five others, set off on the road towards the Helmund desert. Starring out towards the lifeless dunes reminded me of a never-ending ocean rippling with every movement. The heat escaped the surface of sand through waves of vehemence and sights and sounds were so blurred by the immense sun that I suddenly felt quite lightheaded. A long nap was what I needed in many such occasions. But although the headache had vanished when I woke, the reoccurring scenery remained the same.

As I recollect, the Helmund seemed as if it had been a faultlessly placed gift of Mother Nature, dropped in the center of southeast Baluchistan. This was for the reason that it would have been advantageous as a defense mechanism to attacking enemies. My four companions and I soon found why after a few miles when the dunes began to exponentially increase in size, some of which nearly up to twenty feet. Fine, red sand twinkled as we passed, leaving a crimson glow that gradually blended into the bright blue skies. It was surely a moment not to forget, for we had difficulty getting the camels to climb over these dunes with ease. Particles of sand flew up with the wind and nibbled at the camel’s hooves. They did not seem pleased. Adding to this discomfort the following say was the blazing sun and even sharper wind. It forced the sand specks and splinters to reach even our mouths and noses.

Our thirst stopped us from persisting any further. We had reached a dry bed of a river situated beside an abandoned village, where our lack of water supplies was soon to be recuperated. Subsequent to digging several holes, we managed to obtain two skins of water, which we finished on all men and camels, thinking that we would not need reserve to enable us to reach the next village. I was thankful that our throats were no longer parched in agony.

Riding the camel a further distance through the red dunes was an agonizing pursuit. The heat gyrated to a forming storm up ahead. I was secretly fearful of a replication of the storm I had experienced before, however, I was determined to keep traveling and minimize the breaks to ensure a correct keeping in schedule. This time, the rain drops were thicker, like the consistency of a grape compared to a freshly picked New Delhi mango. They fell concomitantly, accompanied by whirlwinds and forceful gusts of the stormy breeze. To us it seemed such a contrast to the necessitation of water which we had desired earlier today. As one of our men said “the deserts are unpredictable like the actions of an untamed Kathiawar horse”. The inky atmosphere clouding the path ahead seemed more than a good enough signal for us to postpone our travels.

Architecture of the Gods

Reaching the city of Kullugan was both compulsive and alleviating. One of our men, Andreev, turned out to be married to the daughter of the Sirdar of Makran, so an unplanned visit to him was bound to take place. However, I was advised to change my guise of a horse-trader into one of a religious hadji.

Upon entering the mud-built walls of the city, we were received by the Sirdar’s elders and himself, who brought us to a group of conjoined rooms about five minutes from the city entrance. Not having eaten anything for the past day and a half, we were eager to ingest possibly more than one meal. This proved to be a rather difficult task, however, due to the lack of food supplies caused by a recent drought. We managed to acquire a few handfuls of dates each and barley flour, which we used to create our very own flatbread. It was not a spectacular meal but proved to be good enough to fill all five of us.

The following night, the Sirdar came down to our rooms and began a conversation, which to my horror had incorporated a few aspects of religion. I was able to bluff my way through the hours, but was not able to escape the invitation of visiting the mosque before our departure the following day. To my surprise, this was not as big as a mistake as I thought it would be.

Although the religious aspect of the mosque was not enough to leave me impressed, the architectural side definitely did grasp me. Walking on the narrow concrete path leading up to it, I already began to take notice of the structural buildings put together. It gave off such a warm atmosphere, the swaying trees in the breeze along the path, like servants greeting a king to his castle.

I was also amazed at the beautiful forms and lines created by the smooth domes and towers. The colors were also very vibrant, a cool blue tone was used to color the entrance towers while white carved frieze patterns detailed the walls. Patterns I had never quite seen like this before, were dancing right before my eyes-flowers, ferns and star-like shapes as well. It was a truly artistic approach of decoration to a place where such a vast amount of people visited to honor their God. This was the best I had found in Kullugan.

Leaving somewhere enjoyable had become almost a custom now. What I most realized as we climbed on top of the camels again, though, were the lovely signs of summer. The storm seemed to be such a vast distance away, never to set foot near me until a years time.

The few trees that lived through the drought were beginning to grow leaves of the purest green. I was even able to notice the ephedra buds beginning to burst like ripened fruit, their cadmium colors sprouting through the crevices of patched grass. Riding away with my cloak floating in the wind, I noticed that my journeys up to now had eluded me from troubles and steered me in the direction of beauty. The Great Game to me so far, seemed indeed an easy game to play.

Memoirs of a Cossack

Dear Diary,

The overpowering snowstorms are proving this invasion to be a test of endurance instead. Our very name is being put to the test. Just one month into the march towards Khiva, I myself, a mighty Cossack, am starting to fear of what lies ahead. I was told to consume as little as possible throughout the harsh days, because of the little food we brought alone with us. Apart from that, little progress has been made with our mission. The artillery has made it difficult for us to move at a swift pace, and with forty thousand horses to maintain, it became clear to me that a mission of this scale would not go unnoticed by surrounding inhabitants.

Dear Diary,

Trying to reach one thousand miles seemed like an eternity. We are currently trekking through the Irgiz Desert. A barren, empty land. I can’t help but feel an unbearable sadness as I go through this frozen landscape. It’s the cold. We could not have left at a worst time. A few hundred meters in front of me was the Chief, urging us to keep moving despite the tired look on his face. Inspiring us to make a mark on history, when we all agreed, that we might not make it through winter. The Chief makes it through each day with the belief that the storms will calm down. But I am far more pessimistic. It has now been 2 months.

Dear Diary,

Today, we were told that we were within 2 weeks distance of crossing the Irgiz Desert. That however, actually did present a glimmer of hope for us. We pressed on. Despite all the troubles I endured, I began to picture the riches we would obtain if we were to be successful in this mission. I began to wonder what this mystifying land of India would be like. How true are the stories of the untold riches that lay in India? I suddenly found myself more curious, but more driven than ever, and because of this, I realized that I did not get as tired as easily as I did, or at least I didn’t mind it as much as I did. I realized what influenced the Tsar to want to send us all the way to India. I felt it.

Dear Diary,

Already four months into this offensive, we began to really miss the things back home. Demitri had been longing to return to his two daughters. He would spend the day telling us his stories from hunting in the woods. That made reflect on my childhood times. But ever since Pa died when I was ten, I never got to go hunting. How hard it was for Mother. I miss her so. I would sometimes regret so much the wrong doing I have done to her. These things keep my mind occupied for most of the time. But I cannot fail to acknowledge the fatigue that the men have been through over the past four months. Brocken and scarred just by the winter, it seemed sensational to hear that we will soon be approaching the Aral Sea.  

Dear Diary,

It was this morning that I heard the bad news. A horseman was spotted by one of ours, coming from where we left. I was amazed and shocked, and so were the others. He came riding a staggeringly fit black horse, carrying dozens of small sacs. The rider was weary. After he had talked to the Chief in the front of the pack, we were asked to gather around. I myself couldn’t hear the words coming out of the Chief, but later on, Demitri told me, “We’re heading back. Tsar Paul was assassinated on March 23^rd Alexander is now the Tsar, and he has ordered our immediate return.” I could not believe the news, neither could I believe the fact that I didn’t know whether to be happy that I was going home. We had come all the way, only to be called back. But I looked around at our enervated men. I thought to myself, this was indeed the right decision, and at the right time as well.

The Diary Of A Horse Dealer, Part 2.

April 4th, 1810.

I am very nearly at my wits end. We have been riding at night to escape the heat of the morning. The land at night is nothing like that of the day. The temperatures change so suddenly within a few hours. Oh! What I would do for some gray between the black and white!

Henry.

April 5th, 1810.

The decision to travel during the night was not without incident. The lack of visibility disorientated the caravan, and I have found the use of my compass to be essential. However, the object must not be revealed to others, who might suspect the use of black magic.

Henry.

April 7th, 1810.

We have found a dry river bed. The men I had hired for my caravan are digging deep down, and I hope that we can find some form of nourishment. We spotted a village in the desert. Hoping that there was some life inside the abandoned buildings, we approached. However, from half a mile away, it was obvious that there were no humans occupying the settlement.
Ah! Great news. The men have found water! I will cut this entry short. Hopefully, there is some form of liquid at the bottom.

Henry.

April 8th, 1810.

After several days of staggering towards my goal, the heavens had opened with a sudden violent storm. The desert’s sudden change of weather reminds me of Lieutenant Lewis, whose sudden personality changes often leave me perplexed.
Hours ago, we had been walking through the desert. The sand had changed into black gravel. While my shoes had protected my feet from acquiring various cuts, the sheer rigidity of the ground caused blisters to form on the soles of my feet.
Peculiarly, prior to the storm, I noticed whirlwinds of sand being thrown up. Even from a moderate distance away, the sand battered the caravan, leaving minute particles of the yellow stuff in every crevice of our belongings.
I had noticed that just prior to the storm, the air seemed to allow one to perspire much easier. I could relate the humidity of the air to that of India – dry, but one may still perspire.
However, in the current situation we are in now, the caravan and I are completely drenched. The rain fell in the largest drops I ever remembered to have seen. The air was so completely darkened that I was absolutely unable to discern anything at the distance of even five yards.

Apparently my guide had noticed my awe at the weather. He exclaimed that this weather was considered mild. Mild!
“Oh yes. Summer time is when the heavens truly open. Absolutely impassable to travelers,” My guide, Mr. Hunt, mentioned. Summer is not too far away, making this expedition, should we fail to finish by then, impossible.

Henry.

April 21st, 1810.
The daunting heat hit us again. We were forced to continue throughout the night and carry on into the day as a lack of supplies threatens the expedition. Further cutbacks on supplies had been undertaken, and this only exaggerates the sun’s overbearing weight upon us. A person may endure with some patience and hope, the presence of fatigue or hunger, heat or cold, and even natural rest for a considerable length of time. But to feel one’s throat so parched and dry that you respire with difficulty, to dread moving your tongue in your mouth from the apprehensions of suffocation it causes, and not to have the means of allaying those dreadful sensations, are… the extreme pitch of a traveler’s calamities.

The city of Kerman can not be far now. We have walked for miles, and have faced any obstacle thrown in our path. We must nearly be there.

My Master, My Commander, My friend

The following diary entries are from Peter The great. The word count only starts below.

 

September 5^th 1716

I have been looking to expand and fortify my lands for numerous years now and as I gaze at maps, a certain country keeps drawing my attention, India. We are still very vulnerable to attack and need to set up boundaries with fortified walls in the near future. Other European countries have booming economies and unimaginable riches from their expansions and voyages into the Middle East. It is my duty to my country to not only ensure we not only surpass the economies of all other European countries but also that we have a brute armed force that no one wishes to encounter on any a day. I have been studying the books and have come to the conclusion that we are in great need of an uprising in the economy fast as us warring with simultaneously Sweden and Turkey has drained our riches severely.  As I was dining this afternoon in the halls of my estate, a messenger approached with a rather intriguing message. Within the message I found the following,

“O mighty one,
I feel it is of my duty to inform you that we have recently come across great knowledge of riches in central Asia. Unlimited amounts of gold is said to be washing up along the banks of the River Oxus on a daily basis. We hope the knowledge pleases you greatly

Your royal servant,

Alexander Gorbachov”

I sat there for a while pondering on the news I had just received. What was I to do? I had often heard rumors of this ‘gold river’ and a land called ‘India’ filled with legendary riches from Russian travellers but discarded them as there was no proof of their existence. On this day my faith, in this almighty river almost flowing with gold and land satiated with dreamlike riches, was restored. I knew there had to be some way of reaching these treasures and I was going to be the one who provided my country with what could only be described as ‘a wealth fit for gods’.

 

September 8^th 1716

The past few days have been rather quiet. Not much has occurred since the news of this river, running with solid gold. I spent many hours slumped over my desk hacking away at ideas of how to both gain access to this river and also India. How could this be done? Breakfast and the morning drove on by with still no answer. Midday arrived just as my stomach started grumbling for food once again. As I was feasting on a rather large fruit to which I haven’t got any knowledge of what it was, it hit me like a meteor falling from the sky. As I was chewing and grinding up this wondrous fruit, my eyes began to wonder across the walls of my endless halls. There right in front of me was a painting, but not just an ordinary painting with landscapes and flowers. This painting, although lacking a great deal in having an array of colors, spoke to me. It was reaching out and grasping all my attention, after awhile I realized that I had even stopped chewing. The Painting was an image of the ancient city of Khiva, which lay engulfed by monstrous sand dunes. As soon as I had finished admiring the painting I got straight back to work. This city was the missing puzzle piece in which I would successfully gain access to India while also gaining access to ‘the golden stream’. I remembered now that a few years had passed since the Khan of Khiva, seeking my assistance in restraining unruly tribes that were causing troubles, had approached me.  In return for my assistance him and his tribe were to become my vassal. Back when I was approached this offer was of no importance to me as I wasn’t the slightest bit interested in Central Asia. But now with The River Oxus and India at pretty much grasping reach I must gain access to this city of Khiva. At once plans must be made, an expedition must be sent to Khiva and the sooner this was achieved the sooner Russia would be able to expand and develop not only with a vicious military but also a thriving economy.

 

January 17^th 1718

I was approached today while enjoying afternoon tea with a good friend of mine. Apparently bearing news from my endeavors in Central Asia. I was handed a mangled letter in which stated:

My master, my commander, my friend,

I am writing an account of recent tidings on the thought that I may not make it back with my lungs still respiring for air. Ill start at the beginning. We started our voyage in April 1917 under Bekovich’s command, all 4000 infantry and 500 horses/camels boarded 100’s of boats and set sail. It all took a great deal longer than expected and it wasn’t until mid-June, at which point we started marching through the Steamy desert with one destination, Khiva. The heat was overwhelming and after only a few days we came face to face with our first casualties. By this point we were at war with the shifting sand of the desert and many of us were now suffering from heat stroke and other sicknesses. While fending off the constant approach of the suns destructive heat rays we often-encountered ruthless tribes whose only purpose was to obliterate our hope to advance. We knew you would be furious if we turned around and came back now, so we pushed on through day and night stopping only for some hours at the hottest times of the day to get some well needed sleep. Finally August approached and we were drawing closer to our destination. As we rested one last time before the final march, we were a few hours strut from the capital. Bekovich sent couriers ahead bearing gifts and ensuring that the Khan was aware of our peaceful intentions. He then ordered the rest of us to prepare for whatever may happen next. Our moral was rather low as we had been on the move for months with freezing nights and scorching days and many of our companions succumbed to the desert. Many of us were dreading the thought of striding into a full frontal combat now as our numbers were depleted and we were malnourished and suffering from sleep deprivation. All was looking well as we saw emerge on the distant horizon none other than the Khan himself. Bekovich and the Khan traded greetings and then strode off in the direction the Khan had arrived from. We were ordered to evacuate camp and embark on our march into Khiva. I was one of the last stragglers to arrive at Khiva and was only filled in later on what had occurred over the next hours. I arrived to find few fleeing the premises begging for my comrades and I to take flight with them. Hesitantly my comrades and I marched on, as we drew nearer to the city walls the stench of blood was blown in our direction by the ever-soft breeze. Soon lifeless bodies of our countrymen could be seen scattered across the sandy floors. Hastily we bolted off in the direction from which we came. We set camp a few miles out behind some dunes, where we had a constant guard keeping watch. Other surviving stragglers joined us over the course of the next few hours. Apparently when Bekovich arrived at Khiva the Khan simply requested that he split his forces so that his men could be accommodated in other parts of the city, as the capital didn’t have enough space. Bekovich wearisome that a refusal to do this could anger the Khan agreed to split his forces and did so without the need of any persuasion. The Khivans had been waiting for this opportunity, as they led small groups of Russian troops into different parts of the city they flabbergasted them and massacred them without much warning. Bekovich himself was hacked to death and then beheaded while the Khan looked on. Some managed to escape and flee for their lives many of which were now camping out with my other comrades and I. Bekovich’s head with a few other senior officers heads were detached from their lifeless blood-stained bodies and stuffed only to be placed on display. About forty of us have gathered on the outskirts of Khiva and gathered supplies then to make our ways back through the never-ending deserts, across the mountainous sand dunes, through anything that will stand in our way of returning home to Russia, to you and to our loved ones waiting anxiously at home for us. We were an odd forty determined to face anything in our paths just to return home and bear this news to you all mighty one.

Regards,

Nikolas Andreev

This Letter brought tears to my eyes as I felt for the weeping families of those lost on the expedition however I was far too busy on other fronts elsewhere to deal with this as of yet. The Khan of Khiva would have to wait.

The Journal of Henry Pottinger

March 31st
Today was a rough day. My men and I were forced to cross the first out of two deserts. We battled through many, many obstacles. However, in the end I realized that it was good news for us British, to know that the terrain was on our side, making it harder for the invaders to overcome our path. We needed everything possible to defend India. We managed to over come the tough sand dunes, it did not only affect us, but our camels suffered a great deal as well. Honestly I made all my men ignore all the problems we were facings, because all I wanted to do was just keeping moving.

We covered a lot of land. However we got to a point where there were no landmarks, at this point I then instructed our guide to plot our course using mountain ranges. As night approached I decided that it would be best for us to leave at midnight, avoiding the heat in the coming morning. Personally I really didn’t enjoy riding in the heat, and I thought that it was the safest option to take. However, this decision was wrong, we ended up lost not knowing where to go.

I knew at this point there was no choice but to use my compass, unknown by my men. As it was night, I had to break through the glass of my compass forcing through it with my thumb. Once I felt the thin needle brush against my thumb, I tried to feel the direction it was pointing to, and this allowed me to lead my men to that same direction. At this point in time, I feel very convinced with my compass, and I feel sure of the direction we are heading. I need to go, my men need me and it’s too difficult to write like this in the dark.
Henry Pottinger

April 1st
As morning broke out and daylight came, we were all astonished including I at where we were. Even though whilst I was using the compass the night before I was pretty sure about the situation, I didn’t think that we were this accurate with our location. Even though my compass proved me right, I still feel that I shouldn’t let my men know about it. I’ll just continue using it in secret to sketch bearings on my map. Strangely enough my men think of the compass as a strange instrument, and I just don’t want to cause too much problems.

We started our day quite moderate. We started of riding for 19 hours traveling at least 48 miles. I knew that our food and water supply was running really low, however I wanted to continue on, covering more ground. My aim was to continue riding until we reached the mountains were we could re-stock on our water supply. I didn’t feel it was too necessary to stop at this point in time. However my men were too tired to go, so I eventually gave in and stopped for the night. I really didn’t want this because we didn’t really get much today, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I just hate stopping, I don’t like having not achieved anything of the day.
Henry Pottinger

April 2nd
This afternoon we arrived at the village of Kullugan. We were escorted to our lodgings, which are accommodated with two rooms. These rooms are rather miserable and tacky, but I guess they’ve got to do. I thought it was best to buy food here for our onward journey, since we didn’t eat for at least 30 hours, but this was rather difficult. This village was suffering from a drought, and little was available, so we just bought some dates and barley flour. The start of this day was all right, not the greatest, but we all survived.

I wanted to move on forward to the next village, however I was warned that that village was at war. I was told that it would’ve been suicidal for me to move forward, without any armed men. As I really wanted to get going, I hired six extra-armed men, and changed our route.

I just finished having the strangest conversation with the village elders and even with the Sirdar. It is late at night; they came up to my lodgings around two hours ago. Our conversations were greatly based on religion. As there was a holy man he shared all his thoughts, and I had no choice but to listen with respect. I got pretty annoyed at times, I could identify all this flaws of the Muslim theology that he was mentioning, however he was still able to work his way through without showing much suspicion about it. I was finally called upon when they started their argument about the nature of the sun and moon. A third party, myself was required to judge why both sometimes appeared at the same time. I was so fed up; all I wanted was to just sleep. I’m so tired, and I really want an early start tomorrow. So I just ended up agreeing to the latter view. I was so thankful that the debate didn’t last any longer. I’m just ready to get some sleep.
Henry Pottinger

April 9th
We arrived in the village of Puhra, where a letter from the Sidrar from the previous village was awaiting me. The Khan of Puhra, called upon his clerk to read the letter out loud. This was really embarrassing. The letter contained a lot of information that I didn’t want to be heard out loud. Everyone was listening, and I just couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. The letter contained the writer’s suspicion of me the holy man who was crossing their territories, was actually someone from high birth who gave up everything to become a holy man. I knew that the intention of this letter was to make sure that I was well received upon the members of this village. This really made me feel good about myself. On the other hand, however I also knew that this letter was to prove that I was a Christian pilgrim but more importantly an Englishman. This is what made me feel so uncomfortable. I really felt out of place.

I couldn’t take it, now everybody looked at me as a completely different person. Then what made me feel so embarrassed was when out of the blue a little boy said that if me being a holy man were never mentioned, then he would have thought that I was somewhat the brother of Grant. This little boy came so close to the truth, that it was rather terrifying. He was probably the only one who has ever set eyes on a European, and maybe could identify the resemblance.

Then another unlikely situation occurred. I was really shaken with everything that was happening, and I couldn’t help but to cover up my feelings. I never knew that it would get this far.  Due to everything that was happening, the Khan then asked me whether or not I was actually a European. This really came to a surprise to me. However he then said that if I truly was then no harm would come upon me. At this point, I was very confused. I didn’t know if it was truly right to confuse or to just leave it with them thinking that I was a holy men. But I ended up believing that the right thing to do was confuse, and that’s exactly what I did. But I also told them that I was in the service of a rich Hindu merchant. As we were falling closer to the Persian frontier I felt much safer. If I had mentioned earlier on in my journey they would have thought that I was an English spy, and would have cost my life. The positive part about this whole situation is that my disguise was never mentioned, and my real profession and real purpose of this journey was never identified, and this I was grateful of.

This day couldn’t get anymore dramatic. My guide kept going on and on about the fact that I was an Englishmen. He started mentioning about the several theological debates that took place with the holy men in the pervious village. Everybody started laughing at me. They all didn’t understand why I would include myself in a discussion about religion that I didn’t even believe in. The guide started getting upset when one of my other men claimed that he all a long knew that he wasn’t a holy men, but was surprised at the fact that I was an Englishman.

At this point in time, my day just got to its worse. A huge argument broke out mainly involving my guide. He started accusing one of my men to be my accessory in my deception. I just couldn’t take it. I couldn’t afford me team to fall out of place at this point in our journey. But good thing the Khan saved the day by putting through some humor to this heated argument about myself. I couldn’t help but be thankful that my guide ended up forgiving me. This day was quite a surprise, I learnt a lot about my self and aspects I needed to improve on. Even though the day started of as an embarrassment, the day ended rather peacefully. This journey was starting to end up really rather interesting.
Henry Pottinger