By Khpalwak Mohmand
There are some incidents recorded in the pages of history that may seem absurd, but in fact they reflect a deep system of oppression and exploitation. Incidents such as the “imprisonment” of a tree and a door during the British colonial era are among them. These events not only expose the imperial mindset but also bring to light a distorted concept of justice in which power itself becomes the standard of right and wrong. While the soil of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa holds within it countless stories of bravery and resistance, it also preserves some unusual historical markers that reflect strange decisions of British imperial rule and its intoxication with power. Whether in the valley of the tribal district of Khyber or the fertile plains of Charsadda, the foreign rulers did not only imprison and restrain human beings but also declared trees and doors as “rebels”, chaining them in locks and iron fetters.
The tree in the Landi Kotal valley of Khyber district, which has been “imprisoned” for a century and a half, still stands as a silent witness. An old walnut tree greets every visitor at the entrance of the historic military cantonment of Landi Kotal. Its branches no longer bear fruit, but the heavy chains wrapped around its trunk and the plaque fixed to it, which reads in English, “I am under arrest”, tell a story that is both amusing and bitter. The incident dates back to 1898, when a British army officer, reportedly in a drunken state, was passing through the area. He believed the tree was moving and attempting to harm him. On the basis of this perceived “rebellion”, the officer declared it guilty and ordered soldiers to arrest the tree immediately. Today, despite more than 125 years having passed, those chains remain in place, serving as a reminder of the arrogance of British rule, where even the delusion of an officer could become law.
The second incident concerns the “rebel” gates of Shabqadar Fort (Sikhon Dhari) in Charsadda District. The FC Fort in Shabqadar, located at the junction of Mohmand District, bears witness to another unusual form of punishment. The heavy wooden doors of the fort are still bound with thick chains and locks. According to tradition, these gates were also made “prisoners” during British rule. It is said that the freedom fighter of the Mohmand tribe, Masil Khan Momand, attacked Shabqadar Fort to free his fellow prisoners and succeeded in releasing his comrades through one such gate. When these gates were not closed in time during the attack, the British authorities declared them guilty of “negligence and disobedience” and ordered them to be chained and locked until further notice. Today, these locked gates stand as testimony to an authoritarian system in which the concepts of reward and punishment often defied logic and reason.
The psychology of imperialism and the shadow of the FCR cannot be separated from such episodes. Historians do not view these events as mere coincidences or isolated acts of individual officers. Rather, they reflect a deeper psychological strategy of colonial power. In border regions where tribal autonomy posed a persistent challenge to British authority, such measures were designed to send a silent yet intimidating message. It was also the era when harsh laws such as the Frontier Crimes Regulation (FCR) were imposed on the region. Just as the tree in Landi Kotal was chained and the gates of Shabqadar were locked, entire communities were similarly bound under collective responsibility, and their freedoms constrained. The colonial administration sought to convey a message: if even speechless trees and lifeless gates could not escape the reach of imperial law, what chance did rebellious humans have?
These chains were, in essence, symbols of a colonial mindset that treated oppression disguised as law as legitimate. Today, these trees and gates are not merely tourist curiosities but reminders of a deeper lesson. Visitors who come here, whether tourists or local citizens, often find themselves asking a simple question: should these silent objects not be granted “freedom” now? Ultimately, it would not be wrong to say that these stories of imprisoning trees and gates may provoke a smile, but they also compel reflection on whether we, in some form or another, still remain subject to similar forms of “blind justice” today. The real purpose of history is to ensure that we learn from it, so that in the future justice may truly mean justice, and not simply another name for power.
(The writer is senior journalist at tribal district Mohmand, has in-depth knowledge of national and international issues, can be reached at editorial@metro-morning.com)
