by Farzana Moon
“Go in peace. You may stay in Mehtab garden and learn the art of discipline and etiquette.” Bahadur Shah Zafar waved dismissal, closing his eyes.
“Zil-e-Subhani, you have just given them the right to fight the British.” Prince Mirza Mughal curtsied, uncertain and apprehensive. “Who is going to be their leader?”
“I didn’t promise anything. I just gave them my blessings.” Was Bahadur Shah Zafar’s dazed response. “You can be their leader, my Prince, and train them properly so that they remove their shoes before they come to Diwan-i-Khas.”
“Yes, Zil-e-Subhani.” Prince Mirza Mughal looked flustered and discomfited.
“So many sepoys already here, Zil-e-Subhani, and more would be coming I heard.” Ahsanullah Khan voiced his own concern. “Who would be feeding them?”
“That’s their responsibility. I told them there are no funds in our royal treasury, didn’t I?” Bahadur Shah Zafar pressed his temples. “I am getting a headache, Ahsanullah, don’t bother me with petty details.”
“Zil-e-Subhani.” Muinud-din Hasan the police officer of Delhi stormed into Diwan-i-Khas, prostrating and gasping for breath. “Sepoys are everywhere. Torching the houses of the Europeans and killing men, women and children most brutally and indiscriminately. They are in the bazaar too, looting and plundering and killing the native shopkeepers. There is chaos everywhere, Zil-e-Subhani, beyond our control. Not enough men to disperse this rabble. Please, Zil-e-Subhani, command these men to desist from killing and plundering.”
“And I just blessed them.” Bahadur Shah Zafar opened his eyes, which were reflecting the fever of pain and madness. “Maybe Captain Douglas has sent the message to Meerut and we would be getting British troops soon. Why they didn’t chase these sepoys from Meerut, I can’t understand?”
“Captain Douglas has just been murdered, Zil-e-Subhani.” Mahbub Ali Khan was the next intruder entering breezily. “William Fraser too is killed as he tried to lock Calcutta Gate of the palace. Sepoys are on a murderous spree, killing Reverend Jennings and his daughter also.”
“A pandemonium, Zil-e-Subhani.” Ghulam Abbas even forgot his curtsy as if mad with grief. “Horrible, savage murders committed by Indian sepoys. Infantry regiments of Delhi have joined the sepoys from Meerut and are killing every white male, female or child they can find. Police stations are on fire. Street lamps are broken. Banks are being robbed. In one of the banks one gentleman with two ladies and two children took refuge on the roof, but were bludgeoned to death. It’s Judgment Day.”
“Makhund Lal, come close.” Bahadur Shah commanded his private secretary. “Since no Britishers chased these sepoys, we are not likely to get any help from Meerut. So write a letter to the Lieutenant Governor of Agra if he could send some European troops to Delhi. Also inform him that Indian sepoys after murdering their officers in Meerut have come to Delhi and that I feel helpless in taking any measure against them, since I have absolutely no troops, only royal guards. After the murders of Captain Douglas and William Fraser, no one is safe in this palace.” He eased himself up slowly, an impromptu quatrain struggling in his head. “Write this down as a postscript.
“I have reached the last breath of my life
You must come that I may survive
If I no longer survive
What use will be your coming”
He plodded out of Diwan-i-Khas, unseeing. Not even acknowledging the curtsies of his sons and courtiers.
Whose body is this, carrying the corpse of a young prince, becoming emperor then demoted to king. Bahadur Shah Zafar drifted through the gilded halls like a ghost contemplating his past as a collage of memories painful and glorious. This old body can’t carry any more burdens of tragedies. Why is my heart trembling like a leaf and my mind whirling with a dizzying speed, feverish and luminous? I am dying probably, or have died? Such bliss, all agony of the spirit is gone, all torments stilled. He seemed to be floating in clouds as he sought the staircase to his bed chamber.
Chapter Nine A Hoary Conflagration
Bahadur Shah Zafar seated inside Diwan-i-Khas on his Peacock Throne with blazing gems looked forlorn and distraught. Amethysts in his crown matching his robe were throbbing like purple wounds, though ropes of peals around his neck were softening the dazzling colors in jewels and silks on his royal person. His pallor was heightened by the feverish glow in his eyes which had grown large and bright within five days since the arrival of sepoys from Meerut. Delhi had become a city of nightmares, ravaged by thieves, zealots and cutthroats. Daily reports of rapine, cruelty and murder had been piling high in the office of Makhund Lal along with urgent petitions for King’s perusal. Some sort of pain and exaltation had entered Bahadur Shah Zafar’s mind, making it its permanent abode, though he seemed to be listening attentively and commiserating.
“Sepoys are demanding the custody of forty-nine Europeans under your protection, Zil-e-Subhani.” Zakaullah was commenting rather than seeking the king’s attention. “They say those white folks are their prisoners and they want to deal with them in any manner they deem just.”
“And what is just in their perception is nothing but the root of injustice!” Bahadur Shah Zafar exclaimed with a sudden passion. “Murderers all, thirsting for the blood of the hopeless, helpless prisoners. They want to kill them, that much is obvious. First I was virtually the prisoner of the British, now I am a prisoner once again imprisoned inside my own palace by my family and subjects.”
“Delhi is in flames, Zil-e-Subhani. Sepoys are torching the houses of all Europeans.” Zohur Ali the police officer began exigently before anyone else could speak. “Four or five days ago, can’t even remember exactly. Four European gentlemen were concealed inside the home of Muhammad Ibrahim. A group of sepoys raided that house for plundering, and killing all four gentlemen. Close to Ellenborough Tank, another sepoy killed a European woman trying to escape dressed as a native woman. Indiscriminate killings everywhere and shops are being looted in the bazaars. Anarchy and lawlessness, Zil-e-Subhani. Shopkeepers are pleading for your help and intervention.”
“These grievance were addressed I believe.” Bahadur Shah Zafar shifted his gaze from the police officer to his vizier. “Didn’t I, Mahbub Ali Khan, order Prince Mirza Mughal to take immediate steps to stop this spree of killing and plundering?”
“Yes, Zil-e-Subhani.” Mahbub Ali Khan bowed his head, avoiding the feverish gaze of the king. “Astride his elephant he rode through the bazaar, sounding this proclamation that any individual convicted of killing or plundering would be punished severely. Life for life. And for plundering the loss of hands.”
“Delhi has become a den of fear and panic, Zil-e-Subhani.” Chuni Lal began hastily, for it had become the norm for everyone during the court sessions since the past five days of chaos and confusion. “Shopkeepers have closed their shops, refusing to open until assured of safety for their lives and goods.”
“To this affect also, Prince Mirza Mughal sounded a proclamation that shopkeepers refusing to open their shops would be fined and imprisoned.” Ghulam Abbas offered this information for the benefit of both the king and the news writer.”
“How could they open their shops when there are not enough men to enforce the law?” Mubarak Shah another police officer glowered at Ghulam Abbas. “The other day one of the sepoys went to a shop demanding two pounds of sweetmeats for a pice. The shopkeeper was shocked, exclaiming: Ah, Mahraj, two pounds of sweetmeat for one pice! No one has ever asked for so much for practically nothing. To which the sepoy raised his musket and shot the poor man.”
“So each sepoy has become a king in his own estimation, a tyrant king for sure. Cruel and heartless!” Bahadur Shah Zafar lamented aloud, his look smoldering with unspent anguish.
“We need brave and honest officers and generals, Zil-e-Subhani, to pound sense into the heads of these sepoys on a mission to loot, murder and destroy.” Hasan Askari the Mulla began nervously. “Three days ago a group of sepoys were heard laughing and gloating over their vile bravado
in killing Raja kalyan Singh of Kishangarh who had given refuge to twenty-nine European men, women and children. They had stormed into Raja’s palace, not only killing him and his family, but all the Europeans. Some other sepoys went to the house of Colonel Skinner, captured his son and killed him right in front of the Chief Police Station. The same sepoys went to the homes of deputy collectors Naryan Das and Ram Charan Das, accusing them of concealing Europeans and plundered their homes. They are also the ones who killed Kazi Pannes and his son for no reason at all. Also two Englishmen dressed as natives were killed by them. Such cruelty and lawlessness, Zil-e-Subhani! Only your authority as a king can tame these savage men.”
“No one listens to me! My palace and gardens are invaded by hoodlums, loud and unruly. I have neither the means, nor the power to evict them.” Bahadur Shah Zafar’s eyes were lit up with sparkling pain from some font of inward torment. “Prince Mirza Mughal, Prince Khizr Sultan, even my grandson Prince Abul Bakr are commanded by me to take charge of the affairs. Daily I remind them that they must take steps to insure the safety of the citizens. Urgently I command and demand that all killing and plundering must stop. They assure me they are doing their best to obey my commands and yet conditions of anarchy and violence are persistent.”
“The royal princes are inexperienced I regret to say, Zil-e-Subhani.” Ahsanullah Khan began cautiously. “So far they have not succeeded in quelling the rampage of murders. Also the shops in Sabzi Mandi; Teliwara; Rajpur and Mandersa are being looted every night by the Gujars. Gujars have also plundered late William Fraser’s house. Taking away all his furniture and tearing up the records of Commissionership and of the Agency.”
“That reminds me I had ordered the bodies of William Fraser and Captain Douglas to be buried in a proper graveyard. Report to me, Ahsanullah if my order was carried out promptly?” Bahadur Shah Zafar’s gaze was unseeing, his look distant and glazed. “Don’t forget to tell other viziers that I have made Bakht Khan general over our soldiers to defend our palace and to safeguard our citizens. Peace comes out of chaos I have heard. Also lull, after a storm, I am hoping.”
“Your order was carried out with utmost obedience, Zil-e-Subhani, but the storm is not abating, yet gaining momentum.” Was Ahsanullah Khan’s rueful response. “Even yesterday a goldsmith killed a man of the same trade against whom he had an enmity. As far as the sepoys are concerned, they are still killing and plundering. Last night, just on a wild spree, a group of sepoys plundered the home of Agha Muhammad Khan, taking away all his jewels and furniture. Also a late night report came that the Magistrate of Rhotak has run away and his treasury is exposed to robbery. Gujars are still—” His commentary was truncated by the breezy arrival of Basant Ali Khan, his face flushed with the Lucifer-charm of humility and subservience.
“Zil-e-Subhani.” Basant Ali Khan prostrated himself at the foot of the throne. “Sepoys are demanding the release of the European prisoners in the palace. They want your consent to kill them.”
“Consent to kill? Fools and heathens!” Bahadur Shah Zafar was startled to his feet as if stung. “Don’t they know killing is forbidden in Islam with the exception of self-defense? And fighting is permitted only if all means of peace are exhausted. These unfortunate prisoners are victims of tragic times and it is our duty to keep them safe until peace is restored.” He descended the throne, aiming for the garden, followed by poets and viziers.
Unfortunately for Bahadur Shah Zafar, the garden this precise moment was teeming with rough-looking sepoys, wearing dirty boots, their uniforms unkempt. He seemed oblivious to their loud arguments. They didn’t notice the king either, trailed by a scanty entourage. Discovering the king scurrying past them, a few of the sepoys came running toward him.
“Ari Badshah, listen, where is our pay? Who is going to feed us?” One bold sepoy blocked his way.
“I didn’t invite you here. You must leave this garden.” Bahadur Shah Zafar waved imperiously.
“Look here, King.” Another one edged closer, snatching his royal hand. “Your grandson, I hear, has plundered the house of Hamid Ali Khan and is holding the Nawab prisoner in your palace. Is that true?”
“Bahadur Shah Zafar jerked his hand out of his grasp, wincing at this insolence, unable to speak.
“Listen, old fellow, I say!” A young sepoy grabbed Bahadur Shah Zafar’s beard. “We are proclaiming Jihad against Hindus, what do you say?”
“Keep your hands away from king’s holy beard if you want to keep them attached to your arms.” Ghalib humbled the young man with a fierce blow, glaring at him menacingly.
“Before King’s eyes Hindus and Muslims are equal, you lunatic!” Bahadur Shah Zafar emerged out of his shock, livid and trembling. “And Jihad is inner struggle to fight the evil within you if you only knew.” He strode away, numb with grief.
“These sepoys are polluting the city like locusts, Zil-e-Subhani, led by no commander, yet ready to fight.” Ghalib murmured as if to himself.
“The skies have fallen down on us
I can no longer rest or sleep
Only my final departure is now certain
Whether it comes in the morning or night”
This impromptu quatrain was Bahadur Shah Zafar’s only response, his feet tracing the path to Rang Mahal.
Three grueling days of shock and grief since Bahadur Shah Zafar had escaped the insolence of sepoys in his palace garden and he was still the prisoner of his own grief and shock. Finding refuge in Rang Mahal that day, he had retired for a siesta, not even suspecting the treachery of Basant Ali Khan in league with sepoys. This particular day he was in his bed chamber in the same palace of Rang Mahal, pacing, while Zeenat Mahal lounged on the davenport, thoughtful and apprehensive. Bahadur Shah Zafar’s thoughts were tugging at the events of past three days in the ritual dance of circling and stabbing.
Basant Ali Khan after making sure that the king had retired for a siesta, had gone to Gulab Shah, concocting lies most grand that the king had sanctioned the murder of all Europeans. Sepoys were exultant, herding all the prisoners out into the courtyard under the pipal tree and murdering all men, women and children most brutally and gleefully.
“The tragic deaths of the Europeans have left you weak and debilitated, Zil-e-Subhani.” Zeenat Mahal began softly. “You must take control over the sepoys. They have proclaimed you king since you are the rightful king and you have the authority to command strict discipline before they go shooting out into the streets, committing more crimes of cowardice and dishonor.”
“They already have, Beloved, if you only knew!” A cry of agony escaped Bahadur Shah Zafar’s lips. “I have no authority, otherwise, why would I choose to live in this pandemonium of filth and insolence. Have you not noticed hordes of sepoys desecrating the palace grounds with their loud, garrulous presence?” His feet came to a sudden halt by the gilded mirror. He stood watching his reflection—a stranger all bejeweled, eyes smoldering with the fever of madness.
“You must have courage, Zil-e-Subhani, and perseverance.” Zeenat Mahal looked baffled, her voice small and pleading. “I am not aware how matters stand. No Britishers have pledged their assistance to support or protect you, so you have no choice but to carry this burden of kingship and assert your authority for the sake of peace and well-being of all your subjects in Delhi.”
“My subjects are cutting the throats of each other and sepoys are slitting the throats of the Europeans as well of those who protest against their acts of cruelty and injustice.” Bahadur Shah Zafar tore himself away from his own reflection in the mirror and resumed his pacing. “Such cold-blooded murders. Poor Mr. Skinner too, did you know, they dragged him by the hair and shot him.”
“You should appeal to the British again, Zil-e-Subhani. Sending details of all the atrocities, maybe they would heed.” Zeenat Mahal suggested hopelessly.
“Don’t let anyone hear about this, Beloved.” Bahadur Shah Zafar groaned suddenly. “Sepoys accused Ahsanullah Khan of siding with the British and almost arrest
ed him. With great difficulty I persuaded them to let him go. If they get wind of what you just said, they might imprison you too. I am already their prisoner.”
“Have things come to such a pass, Zil-e-Subhani, that sepoys would dare arrest the king’s wife?” Was Zeenat Mahal’s shocked exclamation.
“Much more than that, Beloved.” Bahadur Shah Zafar stopped in his act of pacing, his look glazed. “I am constrained to go to bazaar myself to quell the fears of the shopkeepers. Urging them to keep their shops open while making promises for the safety of their lives and goods. Not even knowing if those promises would be fulfilled. I am trying my best. And yet the proof of my helplessness—isn’t it enough that I am a prisoner in my own palace? Now I must go and face the unruly horde of petitioners or sepoys self-styled as leaders.” He drifted out of his chamber, not even noticing the stunned expression of his beloved.
Out in the glare of afternoon sun Mehtab garden seemed desolate to Bahadur Shah Zafar, his look feverish and distraught. In contrast to last few days, there were less sepoys scattered here and there, dozing under the Mulsari tree or simply resting. He was grateful of the peace and quiet all around, noticing suddenly Ghalib, Mahbub Ali Khan and Ahsanullah Khan standing close to his state elephant Maula Bakhsh which was obviously brought here for his ride to the bazaar. He was barely half way from the trio of men waiting for him when Bakht Khan materialized before him, salaaming him in clear violation of the royal etiquettes.
“Here, Your Majesty, take this sword.” Bakht Khan held out his sword to Bahadur Shah Zafar as if talking to an equal. “We have proclaimed Jihad against infidels. In the bazaar if any estranged Hindu complains to you, cut his tongue off before cutting his jugular vein.”
“You lunatic!” Bahadur Shah Zafar thundered with a sudden passion. “I can endure the rudeness of the sepoys and their officers, but not their zeal and bigotry against my subjects. You, Muslims are to me like one eye and Hindus are dear to me like my other eye. I would go blind for sure if you lance my eyes with daggers of hatred and ignorance. Remove yourself from my presence. Go, absolve yourself of such vile thoughts.” He took one step and was stalled by another rude intruder.
