Mumblings from Munchkinland #5-

By appointment to HRH the Sovereign-Ruler of the Sefarid Empire and Most Noble Purveyor of 1\11 its Territo~ies, August Convenor of the Tyrolian Assembly, Adjudicator Emperticus at the_ High Court of Maar, and owner of Peop,-a small dog.

Mumblings_from Munchkinland -- the only Uest Australian fanzine published in ! OF MOUNTAINS AND METEORS

Summers in Peshawar are not pleasant. Temperatures soar into the 40s in May and then hang up there until mid-way through September. The best escape from the heat is to go north, towards the high peaks of the Hindu Kush, and that's exactly what we did recently.

There are three major valley chains in northern Pakistani; the westernmost one is Chitral. There are two ways to reach it. One is to travel for 15 hours along winding roads in an ornate but cramped bus driven by a mad (in one sense or another) Pakistani, eating meals in shabby roadside "diners", being deafened by the bus horn and choked by dust.

The other way to get to Chitral is to fly in. This takes half an hour in an air-conditioned Fokker Friendship, with a light snack served en route and spectacular views of the mountains all the way.

We decided to fly in.

The only catch with flying is, weather conditions can turn nasty very suddenly, resulting in last-minute cancellations. Although this happened to us, we made it off the next day and the flight into Chitral was spectacular, swinging in between high mountain peaks capped with snow, with tiny villages clinging to the hillsides. It was over all too soon. We got a good look at Chitral as we flew in, since the airport is north of the town and the planes have to come in very low. A jeep taxi took us into town and we asked to get dropped off at the Tirich Mir Hotel.

Tirich Mir is the highest peak visible at the head of the valley and the hotel bearing its name had been recommended to us by a friend. The jeep driver gave us a funny look when we asked for it but then shrugged and headed down the road. When we got to the hotel, we saw what the joke was -- the rubble was still smoking in a few places. The place had been set alight the night before by a mob of villagers angry over the lack of aid received following an earthquake earlier in the year. Apparently the hotel had been owned by someone responsible for distributing the relief money.

We found another hotel nearby and then went to see an Australian volunteer working with the local village women to develop and market their handicrafts. For some reason, the inhabitants of this valley do not have as wide a range of traditional crafts as those in the adjacent valley, Swat. Our colleague will be trying to figure out why during her stay in Chitral.

Chitral is a fair-sized town, with a long bazaar along the main street, which runs parallel to the Kunar River. A ground is often the main attraction for townfolk and tourists -- the game originated in the northern areas of Pakistan and is still very popular. Substitute a beheaded sheep or goat for the ball and you have the Afghan game of , which is also played up here. Yet another horseborne sport is naiza-bazi, or tent-pegging, shown opposite. We missed seeing all of these due to heavy rain just before we arrived which made the grounds too soft.

- 2 - We found a few things in the bazaar and then took a walk over the river where we could see more fields and trees. The hillside above the fields looked odd from a distance and turned out to be tillite -- a conglomerate of boulders, stones and gravel deposited by a glacier as it receded up the valley. I clambered about a bit and then met Megan at the base of the cliff. I was not surprised to find her surrounded by local children.

- 3 -

On our way back to the bridge across the river the father of some of the kids invited us into his home. Behind the mudbrick walls was a small compound with fruit trees, a vegetable patch and a few mudbrick buildings. The kids kept running around and peering at us as we sipped a cup of tea with the man and then Megan and I were separated so she could sit with the women. Both the father and I knew some Dari, so we were able to have a short conversation about his family and home. It was very pleasant.

The next day we set out for the Kalash valleys. The Kafir Kalash, or Black Infidels, are an anomaly in Pakistan -- non-Muslims who have inhabitated three small valleys below Chitral for centuries. Many have light complexions and eyes and the story goes that they are descendants of Alexander's army. The "black" comes from the black dresses worn by the women, but over these they wear elaborate necklaces, vests and head-dresses, decorated with bright beads, buttons, cowrie shells, embroidery and red pompoms. The men, in contrast, wear just the normal shalwar kameez.

The Pakistani tourist office exploits the Kalash people in that they feature heavily in all of the brochures, but, being animistic in their beliefs, the government seems to feel no responsibility to protect them and their culture. A larger group of Kalash living across the border in what was originally Kafiristan were forced to accept Islam by the Afghan rulers last century. The area is now known as Nuristan, meaning "Land of Light". The Government of Pakistan obviously wants their Kalash to "see the light", too, for they're allowing more and more Muslims to move into the valleys and mosques are now a common sight. The two valleys we visited seemed to be 60% Muslim already. In the remaining valley, the Kalash have taken things into their own hands and blocked the only road in.

We stayed overnight with a Kalash family who had tacked a sign to their home reading "Kalash View Hotel". In fact, they merely had a spare room to rent out -- and that was given to an Austrian researcher who knew the family well and had shared the jeep into the valley with us. They put Megan and I up in a building next door which turned out to be the community meeting place. Luckily, no meetings were scheduled for the time of our stay.

The guidebook we had listed a number of hikes one could take amid the mountains here and suggested that the walk from Bumburet, where we were, to the adjacent valley, Biror, was one of the least strenuous. That sounded like our level of hike. We fell for it.

Our host suggested we take a guide -- actually, he suggested we take the road to Biror first, but we didn't listen -- and arranged one for us the next morning. We started out after breakfast, past the ornately carved doors and animal figures of some of the homes, over the river and across alpine-like grassy slopes. This was going to be a cinch, we figured. Half an hour later, we began to wonder, as we stood just a short way up a mountain that looked to go on forever. As the slope got steeper, our pauses to enjoy the view became more and more frequent. After a few hours, we hit the tree-line and began to march past pines instead of slate and scrub. The wild mountain strawberries tempted us to rest a while every now and then, but we eventually made it to the top. The climb had taken us four hours. [continued on p. 14]

- 4 - THE GREAT PESHAWAR MOVIE BINGE (AND WHINGE)

It's hard to keep up with all the latest cinema releases living in Peshawar. There are a few movie theatres here but nowhere near as many as one would find in or the US. In any case, the local theatres usually only show Pashtu films or violence films from Hong Kong dubbed into English. These film ads should give you some idea of what I mean. The Pashtu films are typically long, violent musicals. Fights and shoot-outs are interspersed with scenes of plump women (they like them big here) trilling high-pitched tunes, swinging their generous thighs and making eyes at the beefy heroes. Plots usually revolve around revenge.

When a Western film does show up, it tends to be of the same genre, though cheap horror films are also popular -- particularly those with sadomasochistic elements.

Video stores do a flourishing business. Many stock only Indian and Pashtu films, though the ones closest to University Town cater to the expatriate community. We managed to get a video machine at our house for a few days recently so we went on a movie watching binge.

All of the local videos seem to be pirate copies, some so poorly taped as to be unwatchable. And all of them are annoying, as the video stores run advertisements across the bottom of the screen for the entire movie!

Some are even worse. One we saw had obviously been recorded in a cinema, as the quality was terrible and shadows of people going to and from their seats passed across the screen every so often. We had to laugh.

Many of the films we watched had an sf or fantasy bent, though one of the best was a 12th century romance about Abelard and Heloise, Stealing Heaven. We also saw Dances with Wolves, x - 5 - having read about its sweep of Academy Awards in the newspapers. Everyone we watched it with enjoyed it but agreed that it was not much more than a remake of Little Big Man.

Two of the sf/fantasy films we watched were "based on" established works but in such a way as to rekindle a primal animosity I have. This centers on the question: Why do so many film-makers feel the need to tamper so much with a novel or work which has inspired them? Surely the success of the work in its original form proves that its author(s) or creator(s) have produced something which many people enjoy. I realize that transferal to the screen requires some adjustments to a work, but wholescale and apparently arbitrary changes often result in a film bearing few of the characteristics of the original.

In some cases, this verges on the criminal. It's as though some producers realize they've got a lemon on their hands and decide that we'll swallow their mess whole so long as they call it by a name we already know. In short, they live off the creative talents and reputations of others. The TV serial War of the Worlds is a perfect example. A dreadful effort, with idiotic scripts played out by wooden actors amid cheap sets. Using the title of H.G. Wells' novel (which they likely only knew from the George Pal film of the 1950s) was cynical and, to my mind, outrageous.

And so, to Batman. Early apprehensions about this film began when the lead was announced as Michael Keaton. He lacks the physique for the role and his best talents, as a comic, were of no use. His weak lead, especially opposite Jack Nicholson as The Joker (albeit a rather fat-faced Joker) was a major failing of the film. It led to The Joker getting more attention than The Batman throughout the film, especially in the ludicrous duel of Batplane versus The Joker with a sidearm. That was never Batman's style! And why did they give Bruce Wayne glasses? Were the writers confusing him with Clark Kent? Or is it merely that glasses are trendy this season?

Of the other actors, the only performance I thought particularly worthy, if undemanding, was Jack Palance's.

The sets were dark, the script inconsequential and the time period seemed to drift back and forth between the 1930s and 1990s for no apparent reason. Okay, so Batman is a comicbook character and they might have been trying to bring a "comicbook" atmosphere to the film. If so, they need to learn more about comicbooks and the magic which has sustained Batman for over a half century. All in all, I thought this was a dismal effort. And I don't mean that as a compliment to the film's film noire look.

Another disappointment was Total Recall. I'm on shakier ground here, because the copy I saw did not have all of the credits on it so I don't know if Philip K. Dick was actually mentioned, but a bell kept ringing in my head as I watched. Although it was just slightly above "Rambo on Mars" (as Arthur C. Clarke described it) the film certainly didn't explore the idea of memory erasure and implantation that so fascinated Dick. And the "just add water" approach to terraforming Mars at the picture's climax was simply ludicrous. Another standard, violent chase movie which could have been so much better.

- 6 - By chance, we happened upon one genre film we thought was very good, Defending Your Life. This may be a sleeper; we hadn't heard anything about it (not that that means much). The film starred Meryl Streep and Albert Brooks, who also wrote and directed the film -- and, therefore, was able to oversee the entire creative process from start to finish. I can't help wondering if this control was a large factor in the film's success.

Several of the basic premises of the film (that we on Earth can advance to a higher state of being after death by learning to face our fears, and that on Earth we use only 3% of our total mental capacities) sounded suspiciously like claims made by L. Ron's mob, but no matter. A good balance of humour and pathos in the script make Defending Your Life well worth seeing and the unbilled guest appearance of a nutty New Age actress (guess who) as a host at the Past Lives Pavillion is a hoot.

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THE DYING HOBO

(Courtesy of Heffalump & Ork Railway Lines)

Beside a Western water tank one cold December day, Inside an empty boxcar, a dying hobo lay. His pardner stood beside him with low and drooping head, Listening to the last words the luckless floater said:

"I'm going to a better land where everything is bright, Where handouts grow on bushes and you can camp out every night, Where you do not have to work at all or even change your socks, And little streams of whiskey come trickling down the rocks.

"Tell my hasher back in Denver that her face no more I'll view; Tell her that I've jumped the fast freight and I'm going through. Ask her not to weep for me, no tears her eyes must lurk, For I'm going to a land where I'll not have to work.

"Hark, the train is coming! I must catch it on the fly. Farewell, pardner, I must leave you. It ain't so hard to die." The hobo stopped. His head fell back; he'd sung his last refrain. His pardner swiped his hat & shoes and jumped the eastbound train.

-- Anon.

- 7 -

FANZINES RECEIVED

Thyme #82 (LynC, Melbourne, Vic.)

The last from LynC, but apparently not the last overall, after all. Thyme has found new editors and will continue. #82 has lots of con reports and reminiscences about Thyme's past decade, and a valuable bibliography of Australian fantastic fiction published so far in 1991. LynC has packed a lot into her last issue; it will be interesting to see what direction the new editors take the zine in.

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Stefantasy #108 (William M. Danner, Kennerdell, Pa.)

A glimpse into the past of railway travel begins this issue; a look at the idiocy known as astrology completes it. In between are numerous letters from around the world discussing a diversity of matters wild and wooly. It's great reading.

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Q36J (Marc Ortlieb, Forest Hill, Vic.)

Marc tackles shit in this issue -- literarily -- in an essay which redresses the lack of attention most sf writers give to the basic bodily functions. Having discovered how easy it is to collect intestinal parasites just by hopping around this little globe of ours, I thought this piece was quite relevant. Marc also makes some pertinent comments about recent Australian sf. ======

Stungunn #14 (Ian Gunn, Blackburn, Vic.)

A special war issue, with various war-related items, funny and serious. It's a good mix. Ian is best known as a fanartist and his illustrations are a highlight of the zine, including an on- going comic strip. There's also a rant over the cane toad Ditmar Awards, written before the hoax was revealed.

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Pink 10 (Karen Pender-Gunn, Blackburn, Vic.)

Everything you always wanted to know about stegosauri, but were afraid to ask. Apparently, every issue of Pink is built around a single theme, which seems to suggest an obsessive personality at work. Much of this issue consists of reproductions of stegosaur artwork and puzzles from various sources, as well as originals by Ian Gunn. The result is a kind of kiddie-zine. I'm not sure if that was the intention. Next issue is on chocolate.

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Also received: Gegenschein #60 (Eric Lindsay, NSW) and Explorer #11, 13, 14 (Guido Henschel, Hamburg). Danke schön to both.

- 10 - THE READER SQUEAKS

William M. Danner, Kennerdell, Pa. April 29, 1991

Today your #4 came... The contents are fascinating, except for the convention report which I skimmed through. I've never cared much for convention reports, and this one is better than lots of them I've skimmed before. The center spread of headlines on the Gulf War is most enlightening. The idea that Madass (Bob Hope's term for him) might bring about a return to sanity and railroads is a weird one. I keep wondering when someone, possibly one of his loyal subjects, will ventilate him with a machine gun.

The tv program is interesting too. Lots of it is meaningless, and then "Laurel & Hardy (Cartoon) 5:00". I have a lot of L&H films on 8mm (and one on 16mm) but such things as those inane cartoons made in the names of famous people are a waste of time.

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Bob Nelson, Mt Pleasant, W.A. May 7, 1991

Mumblings, page 14, "A Peshawar Television Guide" is accompanied by a photo which results in a certain deception. The 4:35 L&H is a cartoon and bears no resemblance to Laurel & Hardy as shown in the photo or as seen in real life or in the flicks. The cartoon is made by Hanna-Barbera, 'nough said!

[You and Bill Danner must share the prize for spotting this. But the lie lies with Pakistani journalism -- I saw the programme whilst in Islamabad recently and it turned out to be short talkies, not the abominable cartoon.]

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Harry Pol, Nieuwegein, The Netherlands May 5, 1991

The headlines on the Gulf War were morbidly fascinating and probably about as unsettling to the average reader from the West as our headlines would seem to a Muslim public. Strange how basically peaceful religions manage to get caught up in violent conflicts or even cause such conflicts.

Being a bit of a traveller myself, I enjoyed your "Letter from Laos". I was in Thailand three years ago and saw quite a few Buddhist wats. Despite being a determined atheist I find temples, cathedrals and the like interesting viewing -- probably because so much time, effort and skill is put into building them.

From Mumblings I gather you're a bit of a Bob Shaw fan, so I've copied a story from the January issue of Interzone which you may have missed in Peshawar.

[Yes, somehow I did happen to miss that issue. Thanks for the BoSh short, it was great to see.]

- 11 - Bill Good, Passaic, N.J. May 7, 1991

I enjoy trying to share what I enjoy and regarding those [books sent last year], none of the 3 books had a cover of what I consider "near-naked". All showed a woman, as a woman is the protagonist, and on the second book she is depicted with her legs showing to a little above the knees, arms close to the shoulders, holding a sword out and having an expression of extreme pain on her face (no décolletage). Would that have qualified, do you think?

[I guess so. That's the book that's missing. Remember, the women cover up pretty thoroughly here; it wouldn't take much to excite a frustrated PakiPost employee.]

Anyway, here is what I hope will get through this time:

Cachalot (Alan Dean Foster). A very prolific author, this story is set in a universe he has written much in. It is a place with interstellar travel, aliens both allies and enemies, and a variety of recurring characters in a couple of series. This book only has the general setting, it is not in a series. Cachalot is a water planet where the human (inhumane?) race has transplanted the pitifully few remaining cetaceans, to be theirs forever.

Retief of the CDT (Keith Laumer). Stretching back a ways here, but if you did not know Laumer served as an Air Force attaché in Vietnam you might be able to look at these stories and the author in a different perspective.

The Walkaway Clause (John Dalmas). A fairly new author, this story is about how the walkaway clause is viewed by an ethical assassin. And, of course, that's the only type the Guild permits.

The Ayes of Texas (Daniel da Cruz). Awright, so 1982 isn't so recent either and world events since make the plot of the evil Russians being taken on by the noble Texans silly, but I liked the story and its sequels.

In Harry Pol's article in Mumblings #4 he mentions a suggestion made of how to save Holland by outfitting it with a spindizzy drive. Well, I read James Blish's "Cities in Flight" novels years ago. Just a few days ago, however, I saw the first of them on the bookshelves once again. No problem there for me. My problem is with the fact that the publisher was peddling them as new. Grrrr.

Finally, I'm including a tape of Eric Bogle's music. I'm impressed with his music; the first song of his I ever heard was "No Man's Land" and it hit me deeply on a personal level. Hope it gets through.

[They all did this time, Bill. Besyar, besyar tashakor (Thank you very, very much). You certainly read some interesting books. A few days ago it looked like the plot of da Cruz's book might not be so far out; thankfully, things seem to have calmed down in the USSR now. Eric Bogle is Australian and a number of his songs were very popular there, especially "And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda". This had a similar effect on many Aussies as "No Man's Land" did on you.]

- 12 - Roger Dard, East Victoria Park, W.A. May 31, 1991

Thanks for Mumblings from Munchkinland #4. The Weird Tales-like cover gave me a thrill. I've been a devoted WT fan all my life.

Both back and front covers were excellent. Disregard the politics -- those local artists over there are good and they could make it in the fantasy and horror comics. After all, some of the best comic artists in recent years come from the Philippines and Spain. No reason why the Pakistanis couldn't give it a whirl.

The Pakistani reaction to the Gulf War was interesting, too, as here in Australia most of the news and pictures came from the US networks. So it was interesting to hear from "the other side".

The account of your trip to Laos was of great interest. You don't hear much of this mysterious and obscure little nation. Makes me want to visit it, but I never will, of course. Many years ago, Art Wilson, an American sf fan, used to write to me from Vientiane. With the change of government he went to Hong Kong, then finally back to the States, where he died of cancer. He was a very colourful personality.

Finally, what can I say about William M. Danner of Kennerdell, Pa.? Anybody who says my story "Blueberry Pie" is something Bloch could turn out is my friend for life. Thanks, Bill!

Munchkinland continues to improve. I thought #4 the best yet.

[Egoboo is always gratefully received in Munchkinland. Thanks, Roger. The back cover of #4 was actually by an Afghan artist, but I take your point. Maybe once the Jihad is over...]

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Harry Pol, Lake Nakuru, Tanzania July 14, 1991

Hi there! At the moment I'm greatly enjoying a holiday here in Tanzania; the wildlife is magnificent!

[You do get around, don't you, Harry? Thanks for the card; the flamingoes are very...er...pink. Karen Pender-Gunn will no doubt be envious.]

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- 13 - [continued from p.4]

We assumed that the descent would be easier and quicker, but fewer trees, a higher sun, and slippery rocks made it murder. Bruised and battered, we finally came out to the river basin and then it was only another mile to the nearest village.

That night we slept very well. The next morning we slept very well. We arose in the late morning, found there were no jeeps available to take us back to Chitral, and decided to have a snooze on the bank of the river. We eventually got a lift back with two other foreigners, but not before I realized I had diarrhoea.

By the time we reached Chitral, I had a headache and fever. We put up at another hotel, I went to bed, and a doctor came to see me. His prescriptions killed the fever after a day, but the diarrhoea persisted for the rest of our trip. You can get used to these things after a while, so we took another jeep ride the next day to visit some hot springs at Garam Chasma.

Garam Chasma is a small frontier town very near the border with . It serves as a supply point for mujahideen passing over the mountains in both directions. We saw lots of mujahideen, pack horses and ammunition boxes. By comparison, the hot springs were nothing to see -- muddy ground with large concrete blocks laid over the main spring sites to protect them.

The local rocks showed lots of mineralization, as you'd expect, but for me the main attraction of the springs was at our hotel. The proprietor had constructed a swimming pool supplied by the hot springs. I hadn't had a swim in over a year and a half, since leaving Australia. There are few public pools in Pakistan and few Pakistanis know how to swim, especially in the north. So when some young boys asked me to teach them how to swim, I was happy to do what I could. Megan couldn't enjoy the pool, since no ladies' swimsuits were available -- the mere thought of women appearing in public with so little clothes on would leave the locals aghast. It was great fun for me, though.

Garam Chasma also provided me with something else I'd missed for a long time -- a clear nightsky. Peshawar's skies are terrible for viewing, being dusty and thus very light; Chitral was not as bad, but still not much good, and in the Kalash valleys I'd been too tired to look. The sky above Garam Chasma was spectacular. I couldn't recognize a thing after Draco and the Big Dipper, not having seen the northern sky for almost 20 years, but it was still a thrill just to lie back and look at all the stars.

Our jeep ride back to Chitral the next day was annoying. We had to wait until they had enough passengers, and then there was a dispute over who should ride in front next to the driver. A sick man had taken the seat, but some of the others wanted Megan and I to sit there so nobody would have to sit next to her in the back. When we finally got underway, with us in the back, these brave mujahideen were still squirming a bit at the presence of this woman among them. The fellow who wound up having to sit next to her finally convinced himself that she was his "sister", but still tried to get a kid to take his place soon after.

- 14 - In Chitral we put up at another hotel and thought briefly about trying for Mastuj, higher up among the mountains, but Megan had collected some ailment and I still had mine, so we thought it best to return to Peshawar. This, despite the tales we had heard, we decided to do by bus. (Hey, we're thrillseekers. What can I say?)

The first stage of this trip was to Dir -- not far away as the crow flies, but including the Lowari Pass, 3200 m high, accessible by an unsealed road only part of the year. After reaching the Pass, we spent more than an hour just travelling back and forth along switchbacks up the mountainside. At the peak, two other guys in the bus shouted me a cup of tea as we watched clouds roll in to obscure what had promised to be a magnificent view. The down side was gentler, following broader curves around the mountain slopes.

Dir doesn't have much of a reputation but we liked it. The cloth shops in the bazaar had some nice materials and some fancy knives I looked at before deciding they would be too hard to explain to customs when we leave Pakistan. We stayed in a place built by the British in the 1930s. The nightsky was already becoming lighter.

I mention the sky again because I knew the Perseid meteor shower was due sometime in August and had been hoping we'd be able to see it in a clear sky. As soon as we got back to Peshawar the next day I looked up the date of the shower and found that its peak was due two days from then. Unlucky, but this did give me a chance to buy a cable release for my camera. I used this for some time exposures on the night of the shower and may have caught a few meteors, but the Peshawar nightsky was really dreadful and left me bemoaning the beautiful mountain skies we had just left behind.

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Refugee Update: Just a few weeks ago news reports claimed that a UNHCR representative had suggested to the Govt. of Pakistan that it grant citizenship to those refugees unwilling to go back. This was met by hoots of laughter from all of the Afghans I know and a retraction was published soon after. Lots of negotiations between various parties (UN, US, USSR, Pakistan, Iran, mujahideen) are being held to try to find a peaceful settlement to the war, but some mujahideen factions are still keen to fight on.

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The front cover this time shows a W.W. Denslow chowkidar from The Wizard of Oz watching over one of the former rulers of these parts (artist unknown). The horseman on p.2 is by one H. Shinwari, an Afghan. The loco on p.7 steams in via Bill Danner's Stefantasy and the silhouettes on p.13 are uncredited in the Swedish book from which they were taken. On the back cover is a reminder to Afghans that the current Jihad is not their first fight.

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#5 now takes a dive. The next issue is likely to be the last from Pakistan, so get those letters in quick, folks, to:

Chris Nelson, P.O. Box 1084, University Town, Peshawar, PAKISTAN

- 15 -

A Note on the Covers

A variety of Sovereign Rulers of the Sefarid Empire (etc., etc.) appeared on the cover of the original print version of this issue, produced around August 1991. They all bore uncanny resemblances to former Mughal rulers, thanks to a sticker set I came across in the Old Bazaar in Peshawar. Below is a section of the sheet, to add a bit more colour to this PDF version.

The source of the back cover (and that of Mumblings 4, rudely uncredited in either issue) was Anthony Hyman’s Propaganda Posters of the Afghan Resistance (Central Asian Survey Incidental papers series, no.3) Oxford: Society for Central Asian Studies, 1985. July 2010