In search of the Khyber Knife

Rudyard Kipling’s celebrated poem The Ballad of East and West describes in vivid imagery the confrontation between a tribal chieftain and a British officer over a stolen horse. Instead of reaching for their weapons, they forge a bond of friendship and brotherhood. Towards the end of the poem Kipling writes:

They have looked each other between the eyes, and there they found no fault,

They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on leavened bread and salt:

They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on fire and fresh-cut sod,

On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the Wondrous Names of God.

The Khyber Knife has been a versatile weapon that the tribesmen in British India’s hinterlands had used with abandon against the British soldiers and officers during the 19th and 20th centuries.

While Kipling celebrates the blade as if it were made in the Khyber Pass, he does take liberty. It is an Afghan made knife that was copied from the famous Persian pesh-kazb of the 17th-century Safavid dynasty. It found its way to Central Asia, Afghanistan and then to Mughal India. The name “Khyber knife” was a British innovation and it encompassed all kinds of blades that were manufactured in the mountainous regions straddling British India and Afghanistan. The knives stood distinctly apart from the swords of the region.

The Khyber Knife is an extremely convenient weapon. The longest knife measures about 25 inches long and has a sharp point. it can pierce mail armour and can be thrust into an enemy up to the hilt with minimum force. Along with a Jezail, the long-barreled and antiquated firearm that is associated with this region, the Khyber Knife was part of the dress of the Pashtun tribesmen. It was also a reward for the rite of passage from boyhood to adulthood.

I have always been intrigued by the mention of the Khyber Knife. While there are some blades available in the antique shops in Peshawar, for a genuine Khyber Knife one had to venture into the tribal territory. The nearest tribal bazaar is located in Darra Adam Khel about 20 miles south of Peshawar. “Darra” in Urdu and Pashto means a mountain pass. This particular pass connects the Valley of Peshawar with the southern district of Kohat.

At the turn of the century, the Afridi tribes of this area carried on a lucrative trade in rifles brought from the coastal town of Mekran. Most of these guns were surplus from the Boer War. These guns were a welcome addition to the tribal arsenal to settle personal scores as well as inflict losses on the British rulers. When the British closed the Makran route, the tribesmen started raiding British posts to steal rifles.

The Afridi tribes set up a cottage industry in the hills, duplicating the stolen guns. Demand always exceeded the supply and the industry flourished. It was this need for guns that led to a bizarre episode in which an English girl was abducted from the cantonment of Kohat in 1923. The story of Molly Ellis has become part of the Afridi folklore in these hills.



The Darra Bazaar is a throwback from another time. In small shops the master craftsmen still make all kinds of arms and ammunition which they have been doing for close to 200 years. In fact, in the initial stages of war against the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan, this bazaar and hundreds of small workshops scattered in the surrounding mountains supplied arms to Mujahideen fighters. Later with the involvement of the US and the Western countries, sophisticated arms flowed in and demand for Darra-made arms and ammunition slacked.

According to a long-standing agreement from the days of British rule, the narrow ribbon of asphalt running through the pass is under Pakistani jurisdiction. A foot off the pavement and one is in tribal territory. Here feuds are settled with guns, Islam is practiced passionately until it clashes with the tribal code (and then religion takes a back seat), and guests are treated with unrestrained hospitality. Now, Darra like other tribal areas, is fully incorporated into Pakistan.



The bazaar is also a haven for the sale of contraband such as heroin, opium and other narcotics. The shops also sell knives and body armour.

The young shopkeeper told me that particular knife was blessed because it was used to either slit many a British throat or thrust into their bodies. I was tempted to ask if he had an authentic list of the knife’s victims

Accompanied with my friend Gul Nawab, we traveled to Darra Bazaar and stopped at a shop to inquire about daggers and knives. As is the tradition, the shop keeper asked us to have tea with him. He did not have daggers or knives but pointed to a shop across the road. But he insisted we return to his shop for tea after concluding our business.

The next shop was full of antique knives and other paraphernalia. Yes, he had what we were looking for. We looked at dozens of blades but one particular item grabbed my attention.

It was a 24-inches-long knife with a sharp edge that ended in an equally sharp point. The hilt was made of animal bone and had a comfortable grip. The blade was masterfully forged and had decorations etched along the length of the blunt edge of the knife. It had the original layered scabbard fashioned with thin wood and covered with leather. The scabbard has an attached leather shoulder strap that was as old as the scabbard.

While I was examining and admiring the craftsmanship of the knife, the young shopkeeper told me that particular knife was blessed because it was used to either slit many a British throat or thrust into their bodies. I was tempted to ask if he had an authentic list of the knife’s victims. But I did not. In a bygone era, a sure ticket to paradise was to kill an Englishman. The young shopkeeper was reiterating the folklore.

We haggled over the price until we reached a compromise. I paid him the money and when he offered us a cup of tea, I politely refused saying that we were committed to have tea with the shopkeeper across the road. I picked up the knife and walked across the road to have tea with the gentleman who had directed us to the dagger and knife shop. While we were waiting for tea, I saw the young shopkeeper cross the road and come towards us.

He said he did not want to sell the knife. He put the money on the table and wanted me to return the knife. I said that a deal was a deal. He had sold the knife willingly and I was not interested in giving it back to him.

At that point he reached for the knife on the table. I grabbed his wrist. We stared at each other.

The thin veneer of civility gave way to the brutal primordial urge to defend what was mine. While he had violated the tribal code of acting aggressively towards a stranger, I had in return challenged him - and that, too, on his turf.

We stared at each other while I continued to forcefully hold his wrist. I did not know how the impasse would end. In those parts people have been killed for more trivial things than this one. At that point, the man who had invited us for tea intervened. He reprimanded the young man, saying that he had insulted his guests, and this was not the way of Pashtuns. He told him to go back to his shop before he took things in his own hands.

A total stranger whom we had met barely 30 minutes ago was willing to take a stand on our behalf just because he had called us guests.

They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on fire and fresh-cut sod,

On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the Wondrous Names of God.

I loosened my grip and the young man withdrew his hand and walked away towards his shop.

I thanked our host, drank the scalding tea in a hurry and begged his leave. I threw the knife on the back seat of the car and drove towards Peshawar as fast as I could.

Dr. Sayed Amjad Hussain is an emeritus professor of surgery and an emeritus professor of humanities at the University of Toledo, USA. His is also an op-ed columnist for the daily Toledo Blade and daily Aaj of Peshawar