Dark Diamond

by Shazia Omar

‘One of my dancers?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hmm. You do know cavalry is not allowed into my harem?’

  ‘Sorry, Sire. We’re in love.’

  ‘In love?’

  Dhand nodded.

  Shayista laughed and embraced his friend. ‘May you be blessed with joy and happiness!’

  ‘Thank you, Sire,’ said Dhand.

  ‘And many sons and daughters!’ added Costa, slapping him on the back.

  ‘Yes, especially a daughter,’ said Shayista with a sigh.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Dhand, tears in his eyes.

  ‘And how is our little one?’ asked Costa, reminded of her now. ‘How is Pari?’

  Shayista looked away and shook his head.

  ‘She is an angel,’ said Dhand gently.

  ‘But ... how?’ Costa stammered, as he understood what Dhand meant.

  ‘An unfortunate fever,’ said Shayista.

  ‘She was the prettiest lady I ever saw,’ said Costa.

  ‘A gift from God,’ said Dhand.

  Shayista nodded.

  Costa dug into his pocket and retrieved a golden pendant which he handed to Shayista. Shayista looked at it closely. It said Al-Haq. His face drained of colour. ‘You stole my daughter’s necklace?’ he bellowed.

  ‘I’m a pirate,’ explained Costa, anguished.

  ‘It was a protective talisman.’ Shayista’s temper flared.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Costa, backing away. ‘I’m a kleptomaniac sheep-biting clotpole!’

  Shayista punched him, a heavy blow to his stomach.

  Costa doubled over in pain, gasping to catch his breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ he wheezed. ‘I’m trying to mend my ways. I’m sorry she’s gone. I suffer your pain, amiga.’

  Shayista heard the sincerity in his voice. Fighting Costa would not bring Pari back. He sat down with a doleful sigh and wrapped the necklace around his wrist.

  Costa looked miserable. ‘At least you have a home. I don’t have that.’

  ‘Home is not a place, it’s a feeling,’ said Shayista. ‘I too am homeless. I have interred my heart.’

  The emotional banter of two grown men feeling sorry for themselves made Dhand uncomfortable. He whistled out of tune and paced restlessly. ‘Look around, Sire,’ he said, retreating to his obsessive paranoia. ‘You’re not safe. Bengal isn’t secure. There are lunatics among us.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Amir,’ the captain chuckled. ‘No scurvied, lice-infested oaf would attack the Governor in his own province.’

  Scarcely had he uttered the words, a black-shafted arrow came tearing at them. Shayista’s trained ears heard it whistling through the air in the nick of time. He pulled Dhand to the ground yanking him away from its arc of death. The projectile deprived of its intentional target lodged into the side of the tent.

  It was a wooden arrow with a steel head and black feathers. Shayista recognized it as a Maratha weapon. There was no way to pursue the retreating assassin as a commotion erupted inside the tent creating pandemonium. Swarms of women, children, eunuchs, goats and sun-weathered poultry stampeded out.

  Wading against the crowd, Shayista entered the tent to find Madeline staring into the beady eyes of a colossal king cobra that had crawled out of a discarded bag. She looked like she was going to faint. The serpent’s girth was thicker than her waist and it raised its head to a formidable height of six feet.

  The snake hissed its forked tongue. Madeline was standing too close to run, the kiss of death a sliver away. Didi Ma prayed fiercely off to the side, swaying to and fro, rushing her tazbi through her fingers. The others had pulled away leaving a wide circumference around Madeline and the viper.

  Shayista leapt over people, pushed Madeline out of the way and brought out his harmonica from his pocket. The sudden movement infuriated the cobra. It snapped towards Shayista and hissed violently, looming up to its full length.

  Shayista pressed the harmonica to his lips. Hypnotic notes emerged mesmerizing the snake and onlookers alike. Shayista swayed like a pendulum. The cobra swayed too, spellbound.

  Amir Dhand rushed into the tent and gasped when he saw the Subedar in this life-threatening position. Moments later, the cobra slithered out of the tent into the foliaged fringes of the bazaar. The crowd cheered. Amir Dhand clapped. Madeline thanked her saints for the sweet escape.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Shayista asked her.

  ‘You saved my life,’ she said, her voice shaky.

  ‘Think nothing of it.’

  ‘Sire, you could have died!’ scolded Dhand. ‘You should have killed it.’

  ‘You know killing snakes brings bad luck?’ said Shayista. He was not generally one to harm wild animals.

  ‘How did you do that?’ asked Madeline.

  ‘I have a friend from Beder graam,’ said Shayista. ‘The village of snake charmers. They’ll teach you a thing or two if you visit their homes.’ He had stayed with a kind family, disguised as a weary traveller, some years ago.

  ‘The cobra was a decoy so the archer could escape,’ observed Costa, arriving on the scene with the arrow that had been aimed at the royal insignia on Dhand’s cloak.

  There were letters carved down the side of the projectile.

  ‘Return Kalinoor or risk eternal damnation.’

  It seemed the Marathas were closing in on him. What more could go wrong in one week?

  CHAPTER 29

  A

  t the Diwan-i-am the next day, a group of Sunni mullahs arrived as per the summons. Bhopal led them to the stand. Alim Al-Ali, cleric commander, bowed in first.

  ‘Who are you to pass provincial policy?’ asked Shayista.

  Beads of sweat collected on his forehead. He ran his fingers through his unkept beard and stuttered, ‘Your Highness, other provinces in the Empire are passing the same laws with the Emperor’s approval.’

  ‘I will never pass a law that prohibits girls from schools.’ Shayista could not believe the ulema’s gall. Was this yet another outcome of the diamond’s curse or did they truly believe the solution to their disillusioned state lay in the exclusion of women?

  ‘Women are like tamarinds,’ a mullah piped in. He was young, his beard not fully formed yet. ‘When we see them, we are tempted to suck. If they roam among us, can you blame us for desiring them?’

  ‘Hence forth, rape will be punishable by castration,’ said Shayista.

  The man balked.

  ‘Allah has forbidden books by non-Mohammedans,’ said another mullah. ‘Only the Quran should be taught in schools and only the ulema are qualified to teach it!’

  Shayista frowned. ‘The density of your ignorance has obscured your view. Allah cannot be known through authoritarian dogma. To find Allah, one must journey into the question, ‘Who Am I?’’

  ‘We know who we are! We are God-fearing men,’ said Alim. ‘We follow the rules in the Quran. Music is haram. No more qawalis!’

  ‘Music is the highest form of worship,’ said Shayista, though this was not the sort of sapient throng to appreciate esoteric lessons on Sufi secrets. ‘I pray that Allah showers you with wisdom to clear your misconceptions.’

  ‘Emperor Aurangzeb has disbanded the Mughal atelier in Delhi and the artists have come to you in search of patronage,’ said Alim. ‘We advise you not to give them employment in your court.’

  ‘Your understanding of theology is weak,’ said Subedar Khan, wondering how they knew this already. ‘Your spiritual paucity is appalling.’

  ‘What about jiziya?’ said Alim. ‘Aurangzeb has reinstated the tax for Hindus.’

  There was no end to their intolerance. Their abhorrent desire to create division enraged Shayista. ‘Bengal is a secular, liberal and enlightened social sphere. If I hear of any further complaint against women, children, teachers, Hindus, musicians, dancers or artists, there will be severe consequences.’ His voice hovered above a lethal whisper. ‘This is your final warning.’

  What little confidence the mullahs had left dissipated. The
y dispersed in a hurry, tripping over each other on the way.

  Bhopal lingered by the plinth. ‘Don’t worry, Sire,’ he said. ‘I have an idea.’

  ‘Shall I send them to the gallows?’ said Shayista.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Behead them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Musket fire?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The plank?’ offered Shayista. ‘Feed them to the crocodiles?’

  ‘NO!’ said Bhopal. ‘Why not buy the ulema’s support? For all their talk of spirituality, they are really after your wealth. With a few lacs, you could build them a mosque like the Seven Domed one you built for the others. Give it eight domes?’

  ‘Bhopal, I am ashamed of you. Would you really have me buy their loyalty? That would only empower them. Radical beliefs will destabilise Bengal if not rooted out. This might be part of the curse!’

  ‘Curse?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Bhopal. I will handle it,’ reassured Shayista.

  ‘Be careful,’ warned Bhopal. ‘The Emperor arrives in a few weeks. He has ordered that the ulema be respected. We mustn’t anger him.’

  Shayista chafed at the advice. Now his chief revenue officer sounded like his wife. With the Nauraz fast approaching, there were bigger things to worry about than his nephew. Kalinoor was out to destroy Bengal. He had to be ready. He completed the public session then retired to his chamber to oil his sword.

  CHAPTER 30

  T

  he next morning Madeline ventured out on her own to collect clues for her clandestine mission. She wore a pistachio green frock with a matching stomacher and petticoat but skipped the underwire and wig as the heat was unbearable. Finding a mahut to ferry her to the bazaar was uncomplicated. There were hundreds of people milling around the dock to serve the visitors from overseas.

  Floating on an elephant along the banks of the Buriganga for the second time, Madeline thought of her precarious situation. From whispers in the salons of Versailles, she had learned of a group of jewel hunters called the Ruby Monkeys who lived in the hinterlands of Chatgaon and could reputedly locate any gem in the East. She had embarked on this journey in the hopes that she would be able to find them and they would help her map the mines. What would happen if things didn’t go as she hoped?

  At the bazaar, Madeline paid the mahut, straightened her gown and made her way to the meena tent. She walked straight to Jalal who was serenading shoppers. He recognized her and broke into a grin.

  ‘Hello Madam,’ he exclaimed. ‘Is it my diamond that has brought you back?’

  Madeline nodded.

  He retrieved the stone from its stand and held it delicately between two gloved fingers. ‘It weighs 3191/2 ratis,’ he said with pride.

  ‘How do you know it’s from Kollur?’ she asked.

  ‘Kollur diamonds have a quality like water.’ He held it up to the sun. A river appeared to run through it.

  Madeline looked longingly at the specimen. ‘How did you procure it?’ she asked.

  ‘My son,’ the atelier boasted. ‘Deccan sultans only allowed the purest souls to descend into the depths of the Kollur mines.’ He dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘My son has been there! He got this diamond himself but don’t tell anyone.’

  Madeline nodded, understanding the diamond was stolen.

  ‘He is a fine boy,’ said the vendor.

  ‘He knows where the mines are?’ Madeline asked with a fabricated nonchalance.

  Jalal shook his head fervently. ‘No, they blindfolded him, thank God. Such perilous knowledge is bound to corrupt one’s soul! Only the Emperor’s own men know the whereabouts. And perhaps the Ruby Monkeys.’

  ‘Ruby Monkeys?’ Madeline perked up.

  ‘Diamond hunters, the best in the world,’ explained Jalal. ‘I’ve asked my son to visit them to get us some new gems but he is depressed.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know really. He has no mother.’

  ‘Perhaps I could talk to him?’ offered Madeline.

  Jalal was touched by her kindness. ‘Alright, come back tomorrow?’

  ‘Bien sur!’ Madeline agreed.

  She left the bazaar feeling elated. How quickly one’s fate could turn in the Orient, land of possibility and wonder. She was one step closer to finding the Ruby Monkeys and mapping the Kollur mines! Who said one could not navigate one’s destiny? Here she was, charting her way to royalty.

  CHAPTER 31

  M

  oonlight poured in through the broken doors of the empty classrooms. Champa arrived at the madrasa to find extremists had vandalized their premises, torn down book shelves, destroyed a map of Persia, stomped on their flower beds and killed their geese.

  ‘Again?’ she asked Guru Ma, choking on tears. ‘Is this about the dance classes?’

  ‘They were upset. Their meeting with the Subedar went poorly this morning,’ explained Guru Ma, trying to restore order to the ransacked room.

  ‘Am I wrong, Guru Ma, to teach the girls to dance?’

  ‘There are as many paths to God as there are people in this world,’ said Guru Ma. ‘They are fighting for power. The ulema want to control our thoughts so they can control our resources.’

  ‘What’s the solution?’

  ‘Dialogue, love, prayer,’ said the headmistress.

  ‘Can we really fight violence with love?’ asked Champa.

  ‘No but we can fight power with knowledge. The pen is mightier than the sword.’

  Champa hugged Guru Ma. The woman who had been her pillar of strength looked fatigued and despondent. Champa couldn’t help but feel guilty. Her own father was involved in these heinous acts of vandalism. The mullahs were bigoted and violent, a dangerous combination. She wished she could summon the djinn to frighten them off.

  CHAPTER 32

  C

  asting her fear of assailants aside, Nasim Banu returned to the pir. His outlandish offer to channel the spirit of her son was too tempting to turn down. She didn’t expect much of it but then the pir had been so successful with her appearance of youth that she couldn’t help but wish.

  She had with her a gargantuan emerald necklace, an heirloom from Shayista’s mother who received it from Emperor Jahangir when he married Nur Jahan. Set between two rubies, clasped in gold, nonpareil was its beauty. She presented it to Pir Baba, folded within a satin cloth of olive. She hoped it would secure his help.

  The pir unfolded the cloth and stared at the gem, surprise superseded by fury. ‘What is this?’ he bellowed.

  ‘An emerald, Pir Baba,’ Nasim stammered, wishing her eunuch had come into the room with her.

  ‘Have you no diamonds?’ the pir demanded. Crazed eyes bore into her. ‘Dark diamonds? Why didn’t you bring me one of those?’

  Nasim was perplexed. She had seen a black diamond once. Shayista had given it to Pari on her sixteenth birthday. It was indeed a remarkable stone, caught one’s eye from a distance, but Shayista took it back when Pari died. He said he would give it to the daughter of the Persian Shah. ‘I have a pink diamond, not a black one.’

  ‘Liar!’ fumed the pir, eyes demented with rage. A vein on his forehead throbbed.

  Nasim considered running out of the room to escape his startling fury but the thought of Abul Fateh froze her feet. ‘I might have a black amethyst, Pir Baba,’ she offered.

  Zulfiqar studied her face. At last he believed her ignorance. ‘Listen carefully. The Subedar has in his possession a very distinct black diamond called Kalinoor. Bring me that diamond if you want to speak to your son.’

  ‘But my Lord husband has given that diamond to the daughter of the Persian Shah,’ said Nasim.

  ‘Enough of these wild goose chases!’ thundered the pir. ‘Your husband planted that lie just as he planted so many others to protect the secret. Kalinoor is in Lal Bagh Fort. Search under every floor panel if you have to. I will not be set back again. Find me the diamond!’

  Nasim had never been yelled at before. Too distraught to discuss any
further, she excused herself and rushed out with as much composure as she could muster.

  CHAPTER 33

  T

  he next day, Champa buckled under the pressure of the ulema’s threats and decided to visit the Subedar to appeal on behalf of the madrasa. A lengthy line of people waited at the Diwan-i-am but a dwarf at the door ushered her in. Champa took a seat.

  ‘The Amir-ul-Umra, Mughal Viceroy of Emperor Aurangzeb, Governor of Bengal, Subedar Shayista Khan cometh,’ announced the dwarf.

  Subedar Khan entered looking fierce and decorated. A generously embroidered sword belt held a menacing talwar sheathed in a case of bejewelled leather. His turban was pinned with an emerald broach. He had pearls around his neck. He looked nothing like the cloaked commoner she met in Jannat. Everyone bowed in taslim. Champa followed their lead, wishing she could get a closer look.

  Subedar Khan sat upon a gem-adorned dais and gave the signal for the proceedings to begin. The dwarf led the first citizen to the stand from where he presented his woes. The Subedar voiced his verdict with unopposable authority and though he was severe with his punishment, he was not entirely unjust. Champa felt hopeful.

  When her turn came, the dwarf led her to the stand and she bowed in taslim as she had seen the others do. Her hands were sweaty, her heart racing, her mouth dry. This was indeed the same man she had met earlier. Though shaven and well-dressed now, he had the same piercing brown eyes.

  He recognized her too and did not conceal his surprise. ‘You? Here?’ he asked.

  Afraid of losing courage, she launched into her plea, the way she had heard the others do. ‘Your Highness, most just and clement of rulers, I have come to seek your support. I request protection for the girls’ madrasa where I teach. Relgious fanatics are pestering us. I appeal to you for help.’

  ‘No,’ said the Subedar with finality. High on the pulpit, there was no space for negotiation.

  What a brute, thought Champa, though this was not unexpected. A man who killed cats was capable of anything!

  The dwarf urged Champa off the stand.

  ‘But Sire, if these girls are denied education, they will grow up in darkness,’ she squealed. Raising her voice louder, ‘Surely this orphanage has a special place in your heart? It was built by your ...’