It all started with my reading of a scintillating work in war history, titled, Frontier and Overseas Expeditions from India -- 1907. In addition to talking about various military campaigns, it gives a graphic description of battles with Mohmand tribesmen, fought by colonial troops close to Shabqadar Fort in particular. Fascinated by the magical character of Hadda Mullah who figured in many of these campaigns led by Mohmand tribesmen against the British, I requested the Khan of Charsadda, an old friend of mine, to take me to Shabqadar Fort. It was there that he shared a most peculiar story about the adjudicatory brilliance of Ventura Jean Baptiste.

Nearly two centuries ago, the talented and enterprising Italian arrived at the Durbar of Raja Ranjit Singh and presented himself for military service. He was a battle-hardened soul, having served as a member of Napoleon’s army during the Russian Campaign (1812) and the Battle of Waterloo (1815). After some initial hesitation, he was accepted by the Durbar and soon rose to the highest ranks of General and Qazi.

Chronicles of Sikh history give detailed accounts of many expeditions, successfully led by the maverick general during the Sikh era along the troubled tribal regions of present day Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. However, General Ventura has a lesser known feather in his cap owing to an epic judgment that he delivered as member of a jury alongside Raja Ranjit Singh’s illustrious son, Prince Sher Singh.

Sometime during the winter of 1840, a daring group of Mohmand warriors attacked the Shabqadar Fort (then known as Shankar Garh Fort) and made their way inside after a bloody clash. The fighting lasted for the entire night but eventually the Sikhs (led by Prince Sher Singh who happened to be staying at the fort) fought back with tenacity and by morning the attacking tribesmen had been pushed out. Prince Sher Singh was greatly infuriated and immediately ordered a probe to ascertain how the tribesmen had managed to make their way inside the fort. General Ventura was travelling through the area and was immediately co-opted as a member of the jury that carried out detailed investigations for two days.

The verdict handed down surprised everyone; the wooden doors of the fort gate (some 12 feet high) were held responsible for the invasion by the two-man jury and were sentenced to a chained imprisonment of one hundred years.

Leaving Peshawar through Warsak Road, the Khan of Charsadda and I passed through Michini and came across the smaller but lush green towns of Mathira and Haryana. The fact that the name of a road in Delhi was changed was fresh in my mind and I made the mistake of boasting about our people’s magnanimity with history. That was like showing a red rag to Khan -- an ardent disciple of Bacha Khan and a committed Khudai Khidmatgar. He spent the next ten minutes explaining that our destination, Shabqadar, was originally Shankar Garh.

The town started as a fort, built by Ranjeet Singh during the 1830s. The name of the architect who designed and built this fort was Tota Ram, who was issueless initially. During the construction of the fort, his son Shankar was born and so the fort was named Shankar Garh. After 1876, however, the name of the fort was changed to Shabqadar. Fortunately, before the Khan could go further into detail, we had reached the magnificent Kabul River Bridge and his attention shifted from questions of tolerance and plurality to the usurped water rights of Pakhtuns.

As soon as we entered Shabqadar Fort, I could not help feeling transported into the past. The nostalgia was overwhelming. The entry to the fort precincts was a sight: greeted by grandiose trees with widespread canopies, ready to almost embrace the visitors. Several barracks exist all over the place, each carrying stone plaques announcing their construction years from the nineteenth century. True to descriptions, the old fort structure stood in the midst of the complex at a visible elevation, highlighting the existence of some mounds over which it was originally built.

A flight of stairs took us to the main compound and there the old tower, a stone-mud structure was standing in the centre, carrying many plaques from nineteenth and early twentieth century. Majority of these plaques belonged to the British times, commemorating British officers and soldiers who had lost their lives during countless campaigns waged by Mohmand tribesmen. To the Khan of Charrsadda, these inscriptions were actually an ode to the indefatigable spirit of freedom-loving Pashtuns, whom neither the Lahore Darbar nor the British had ever managed to quell.

It took some time and effort to get the Khan of Charsadda to have a look instead at the chained and imprisoned doors, which were actually the motivation for our visit.

The wooden gates of the old fort had been tied to the tower with two heavy chains, attached to each door. The gates and the chains holding the two structures were massive, forlorn structures, painted in black. It was impossible to escape the overwhelming feeling of speechless awe typically experienced when coming face to face with ancient history. The hapless wooden structures which had incurred the wrath of Prince Sher Singh, scion of Ranjit Singh and General Ventura, Napoleon’s companion and a Waterloo veteran were right before us -- it could not get more nostalgic and alluring.

But the Khan almost dragged me from the tower, arguing that there was more history to be seen in the Shabqadar Fort. And there we were standing before a dilapidated room close to the tower. There was a quaint wooden bed in the middle of the room and a huge, old, cloth-made fan was hanging from the ceiling. An old plaque on the door labelled it as "Churchill Hut" and this is what it read: "Winston Churchill as a young subaltern stayed here for a while on a probing mission about Mullah Hudda who was leading an uprising in 1897".

"It is the same Mullah Hudda, mentioned in the colonial masterpiece, Frontier and Overseas Expeditions from India, who also gave sleepless nights to the future Prime Minister of Great Britain," winked a bemused Khan of Charsadda.

From Churchill’s Hut, we went to a small museum, displaying priceless antiques, neatly laid in a dimly-lit series of rooms. Here is this long stand with big reflecting mirrors; these were placed on top of the tower of Shabqadar Fort by the British. A similar mirror with a stand was placed atop the Peshawar’s Balahisar Fort and the mirror reflection was used to communicate messages; there were vintage guns and muskets, all artistically carved; Sikh era swords, carried once by Nahangs and Akalis in their fierce expeditions; and pictures of dignitaries visiting the fort: Khawaja Nazimuddin and many others included.

As we came out of the museum, I cast the chained doors a parting look and asked as to whether these wretched doors would ever be freed or not. The Khan of Charsadda repeated my question to the accompanying grand old FC man -- Khattak by race and exuding irrepressible Pakhtun pride.

I got very little from their heavy Pashto accents but when it was translated for my benefit, I was all smiles and laughter. Prime Minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto was once in the vicinity during the 1970s and was asked whether these chained gates could be freed as the hundred year imprisonment term had already been completed. As one would have expected, Bhutto, possessing the highest degree of wit and humour, turned down the proposal insisting the doors to be kept chained in perpetuity, so that nobody dares to falter in their assigned duties.

"Zinda hai Bhutto", my Pashtun nationalist friend whispered teasingly as he stood in front of the chained doors of Shabqadar Fort, visibly signifying the proud trademark defiance of Pashtuns that the Sikh rulers and Brits had witnessed over centuries.