Dark Diamond

by Shazia Omar

  Yes, said Shayista.

  ‘You see the fields of paddy?’ said the djinn.

  A stretch of paddy loomed ahead. The sky was a startling blue. The air crisp.

  ‘You see that mango tree by the hill?’

  He saw a grove of mango trees ahead. The tangy smell enwrapped him.

  ‘Upon the leaf, do you see a dew drop?’

  Her power of suggestion was nonpareil. Shayista saw exactly what she said: a trembling leaf, a dew drop sparkling immaculate. Within it, the delicate universe spun alive.

  ‘That is where I live,’ she said.

  Shayista wanted to stand up and open his eyes but he could do neither. The physical plane no longer existed, only the astral plane was real and here she was real too. Confronted by something he had never believed in, Shayista felt humbled. There were perhaps many worlds, dimensions and ideas that existed beyond his comprehension.

  He found he was standing in Agra Palace, in the elephant ring, in the fighting pit. Only it wasn’t him, it was his spirit animal, a Royal Bengal tiger made of glowing white light.

  From the other end of the ring came a blood-thirsty howl. It was the djinn, incarnated as a dragon-scaled demoness with eight arms. As she approached, the ground shook.

  Shayista was frightened, more frightened than he had ever been. Never had he fought djinn, if such a battle were even possible. How did one fight a creature of smokeless fire?

  Through the violet mist, Shayista saw his fortress garden far below, his physical body slumped on the ground. Costa and Dhand had penetrated the pir’s forcefield. Costa had ensnared Zulfiqar’s bony wrist with his whip and Dhand lunged at him with a flying side kick. It landed on his shoulder and sent him flying through the air. He lost of hold of the diamond.

  Shayista’s attention was drawn back to the ring. The djinn dragon was racing towards him. Alarmed, he tried to embody the tiger. He stepped cautiously, testing his limbs, one paw then the other. His tread was solid, his paws silent but strong. His shoulder blades commanded acceleration. With each step he was moving faster, gaining momentum. Soon he was running. The demoness was running too. When she was close enough, Shayista leapt on her, biting into her shoulder with his powerful feline jaws.

  The djinn reeled in pain. ‘It was you who killed Arjumand,’ she screeched.

  Shayista’s mind flooded with self-lacerating thoughts. He had failed to save his sister, failed to protect her sons.

  The djinn struck him in the stomach and sent him hurtling through the air, crashing into the wall. He landed in a cloud of dust.

  Barely had he landed, he had to leap out of the way as the djinn swooped down on him.

  He ran. His sleek tiger body effortlessly picked up speed but there was nowhere to escape. He turned to charge at the djinn again. He swiped at her with razor claws, tearing off a chunk of her head. Curdled blood gushed out.

  The djinn shrieked and slowed her pursuit.

  Shayista licked clean his wound and watched.

  Bit by bit, she revived, invigorated with fury. ‘Ellora died for loving you,’ she said.

  Shayista felt his body freeze. Ellora whom he loved, Ellora whom he failed to save.

  Two grotesque cobra heads rose out of the djinn’s split skull. The Devil himself could not create a more hateful beast.

  Shayista felt a tremor of uncertainty.

  The spirit of smokeless fire expanded, drawing herself up to double his size, a black vortex swirling towards him.

  Using the massive muscles of his hind legs, he leapt at her, plunging his teeth into her neck.

  The djinn howled, ‘You let Huzur die,’ she shouted. ‘You let Pari die.’

  Shayista started losing grip of her neck. He felt weak, unable to hold on.

  The demoness was growing in size. She grabbed him by the neck and threw him off.

  Shayista landed hard on the ground and whimpered.

  Her dark energy grew strong as his light faded.

  He saw below, Zulfiqar had cornered Dhand and Costa. They were losing their battle.

  The djinn laughed. ‘Your friends will die.’

  ‘No!’ roared Shayista. He leapt at the djinn. By now she was an immense force. His bite did nothing to her. The djinn shook him off as if he were a gnat.

  She began throttling the life out of him. His head spun. His white light flickered. The world was losing shape.

  As the last flutter of his spirit threatened to extinguish, Pari’s amulet wrapped around his paw-wrist tingled.

  Help me, Shayista prayed.

  Inside his mind, the spirit of his venerable Huzur appeared. ‘Only through love can we break free of our limitations,’ he said. ‘Tear down the boundaries. Let love flow.’

  Love is rough and tyrannous, thought Shayista.

  ‘You cannot close your heart. Open yourself to love.’

  But how? thought Shayista.

  ‘You have so many questions. There is only one answer, one Truth.’

  Shayista remembered a lesson he had learned as a child when Huzur had left him by a rock. He had prayed and prayed in earnest and at one point he felt the boundary of his ego melt away and he connected to God. The Truth he experienced was Divine Unity. It was an ephemeral Truth that mostly he forgot to remember as he stumbled through the rolling solitude of life.

  ‘A Sufi’s force is from Love,’ said Huzur. ‘The Love that comes with practice and discipline and surrender, the Love that allows the spirit to fly out of the cage of rationality, the Love that dwells in perfect union, the undying Love of the soul, the soul which is connected to all souls, eternal and infinite, the Soul of God. That Love is strong in you, Talib. Embrace it. Forgive yourself and embrace love.’

  Glowing Huzur light in Shayista’s mind’s eye disappeared.

  Shayista realized he could not fight the djinn with hatred. His anger made her stronger. He had to accept his mistakes. He had to suffer his pain. And then, crushed by it all, he had to affirm life and let love in. Only positive energy could counter the curse.

  Shayista tried to recreate the sensation he had experienced in youth when he had connected to the cosmos. His light flickered hopefully. He found that he could breathe again. He gulped in air and clung to the feeling, channelling his energy. The deeper he breathed, the brighter he glowed. His energy whirled like a dervish, spinning faster and faster. His heart expanded. He placed a paw on the djinn’s chest and gently pushed her away.

  ‘Do not fight me,’ he said. ‘You want freedom. The pir is your enemy, not I. I grant you your freedom. With love, I release you from this prison.’

  The djinn hissed and erupted into blisters oozing with pus under Shayista’s paws.

  ‘Have you been enslaved so long that you have forgotten what it means to be free?’ asked Shayista. ‘I grant you freedom. You are no longer chained to this world.’

  The djinn convulsed and began disintegrating.

  Shayista’s white light grew brighter and within his tiger body his heart beat red like a blazing fire. He found himself forgiving God for the Destiny he was granted. Love flooded into him. He started to glow. He forgave his father and radiated brighter, light emenating to the sky. He forgave himself and the entire cosmos was lit brilliant.

  Shayista climbed upon the shrinking djinn and squeezed it into a compact ball that he could contain within his paws. He pressed his paws together till there no space left for darkness. The djinn became a wisp of smoke and vanished.

  In the distance Shayista heard the roar of the Buriganga and the song of a nightingale. He felt the warmth of sun on his back and the kiss of a misty winter morning. He recalled the wind of Bengal Bay and the melancholy of monsoon rains. He remembered laughter shared with friends and mornings when he awoke in his lover’s arms. The tiny yet immeasurable space within his heart expanded into infinite tenderness. How precious life was, how unbearably precious.

  Thank you, he said to God. Subhanallah!

  He opened his eyes and was back in the physical world. Near
by, he saw the pir had drawn a silver dagger and was thrusting it at Dhand. Dhand stepped back just in time and caught the pir’s wrist, redirecting the weapon. It pierced through the black garbs and into the pir’s heart. The last thing Shayista saw was the pir fall to the ground. At the same time, he collapsed too.

  CHAPTER 52

  W

  hen Shayista awoke, he was lying in his garden in the flesh cage of his human body. The metaphysical battle with the djinn had not manifested its wounds on his physical body but it had brought about an astonishing change. It made him age. He became an 84 year old in an 84 year old body. His muscles felt feeble, his skin soft and wrinkled.

  The black diamond rested in its silver box next to him. He noticed Champa seated at a distance, staring at him in horror. The corpse of the pir lay by her feet, shrouded in her shawl.

  ‘They killed him,’ she said, her voice scarce above a whisper. ‘He was a pious man who helped people and they killed him.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Champa. He wanted to destroy Bengal.’

  ‘They didn’t have to kill him,’ she said.

  Shayista regretted that it was his friends who killed the pir. It should have been him. He should have sewn the pir into a donkey’s pelt.

  ‘You cannot save Bengal from its enemies,’ said Champa. ‘You are not God. Light and darkness both exist within us. You are so busy trying to extinguish the darkness in others that you don’t see the beast you are unleashing within yourself. All this killing is making you evil.’

  Shayista felt like she had slapped him with the Truth.

  ‘Power corrupts completely. If you want power, you have to play by power’s rules: you have to play from the head not the heart. Release the desire for power. Desire is from the ego.’

  Her words struck a chord. Somewhere along the journey, he had lost the plot. Though he had forgiven himself only minutes ago, now again he was filled with self-loathing.

  ‘Leaders should lead with love,’ she said.

  Shayista hung his head. ‘I’m a failure. I’m worthless.’

  Champa frowned and wiped a film of sweat off his forehead.

  He saw in her eyes that she cared for him tremendously. What had he done to deserve her affection? He felt wretched. Azdahar had spilt the blood of so many sons and fathers. With arrogant vigour he had crushed entire clans to hold power. The facade of purpose he had built came crumbling down. He thought of the stormy victory in 1630 when half his men died by his side. They had won but for what?

  Shayista held the diamond in his palm. This malignant beauty had destroyed the lives of hundreds before him and would destroy hundreds more. He had to get rid of it.

  Shayista ran out of the garden, rushing through the walkways of the fortress, racing to the main gates as if possessed, sprinting past the guards and out into the open night.

  The diamond howled, clamouring in his ears, weeping, screaming, screeching as he ran to the river and flung himself in. The mighty Buriganga beat against him, furious currents carrying shipwrecked hearts and drowned sorrows. The machinations of time and mutinies of friends hung heavy above him, he was waist deep in roaring waves.

  With vicious force he had decimated his opposition. The truth of it hit him hard and he staggered to stay afloat. He raised his arm to fling the wretched curse into the fathomless river when a faint sound from behind stopped him.

  ‘Shayista, don’t!’ It was Champa, calling from the shore, her body a meagre outline of black in the distance.

  Her voice carried clear across the water and now the howling of the diamond and roaring of the waves and pounding of blood in the temples of his head receded. Resigned, he waded back to the shore and to Champa.

  ‘Do you know the story of Kali?’ she asked.

  Shayista shook his head.

  ‘Kali was born out of Durga’s forehead to fight the buffalo-demon. Once born, the black goddess turned feral and ate all the demons she came across and drank their blood. Their heads she strung on a chain around her neck. It seemed impossible to tranquilize her fury. Her attacks began expanding to include any and all wrongdoers. But everyone does wrong sometimes.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Mighty Shiva stopped Kali’s destructive rampage by lying down in her path. When the goddess realized just who she was standing on, she finally calmed down.’

  ‘Are you telling me to calm down?’

  ‘Extreme destruction is not the way. Ma Kali is also Shakti. She is unconditional love. Her blackness is a symbol of eternal darkness which has the potential to both destroy and create. Love is more powerful than hatred. Look within, Talib,’ said Champa. She handed him a book. ‘I came to give you this.’

  It was a book of verses by Hafez. He opened it to a page that had been folded in.

  ‘I wish I could show you

  when you are lonely or in darkness,

  the astonishing light of your own being.’

  CHAPTER 53

  T

  he Emperor arrived a few days later upon a golden howdah. He had travelled by land, the rivers were not yet swollen with the rains of Srabon. Caparisoned elephants marched before him. Behind him, a retinue of horses, camels, musketeers and columns of infantry.

  The entire imperial army of Dacca stood in formation to receive him. Shayista welcomed him with a fleet of dhols, trumpets and a statue made of gold. Nasim Banu had a velvet carpet two miles long laid out across the walkway leading up to the fortress with flowers planted along both sides.

  That night, the Emperor, his family, attendants and soldiers feasted heartily on spit-roasted chicken with herbs, koftas and kebebs, lamb cooked in the tandooor, Persian pulao, and then retired to luxurious tents set up for slumber.

  The next morning, Shayista greeted the Emperor in the Durbar Hall. Aurangzeb was dressed in a starched kurta, rigid and austere. By his side were his Vizier, his Amir-i-Akhur, his Diwan-i-Baksh and an Englishman introduced as Governor of the East India Company. To Shayista’s surprise, the Emperor was accompanied by Madeline. She was wearing a wide-skirted gown and a wig of curls. She avoided his gaze and shuffled behind the Englishman.

  Shayista had not seen his nephew in over two years and they had much to discuss. He was not pleased to have so many outsiders present. He had not even allowed Dhand to attend the meeting.

  ‘Uncle,’ began Aurangzeb, ‘Thank you for this grand reception.’

  ‘Emperor Aurangzeb Alamgir this is but a humble offering compared to what you deserve,’ said Shayista, bowing.

  ‘I am grateful to you for bringing cultivation and commerce to the far eastern stretches of the Empire. Revenues have never been higher. Rice has never been cheaper.’

  Shayista bowed humbly.

  ‘You have brought about an epic transformation in Bengal. For this, all of posterity should salute you.’

  ‘It was my duty,’ said Shayista, bowing again.

  ‘Mostly you have done well but I have a few concerns.’ He stroked his beard thoughtfully.

  ‘Yes, your Highness?’ said Shayista.

  ‘You reprimanded a Hindu zamindar for trade with the English?’ said Aurangzeb.

  Shayista didn’t blink.

  ‘We need the jiziya to pay for our battles,’ said Aurangzeb.

  Shayista resisted the temptation to tell him it was wrong to divide people by religion to extort advantages from one group in favour of the other. People of all faiths should be treated with dignity and respect. Diversity was to be celebrated not used to create hierarchies.

  Aurangzeb continued. ‘I have been informed of an incident in which thirty members of the ulema were killed accidentally by your mansabdars.’ His voice was arctic.

  Aurangzeb had always been narrow-minded. It was Dara who had absorbed the words of their Sufi Huzur. Shayista masked his anger.

  ‘Most disturbing of all ...’ Aurangzeb shook his head in disapproval. ‘Rumours suggest you and your friends killed a revered pir. There are riots in Indur Goli. This is not what I expected when I
removed Azzam and posted you back here.’

  The snide remark dug at Shayista. How dare Aurangzeb compare him to his whimsical son? Still Shayista maintained a stoic veneer.

  The Englishman leaned to the Emperor’s ear and whispered.

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Aurangzeb. ‘One more thing. I hear you have a diamond from the Kollur mines, a diamond that rivals the Kohinoor?’

  Shayista could not believe his eyes. Aurangzeb was taking counsel from the Englishman? This was too much to bear.

  ‘I want that diamond,’ said Aurangzeb. ‘It belongs to the Empire.’

  ‘Your Highness, it is cursed,’ said Shayista.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ interrupted the Englishman. ‘Did you say, cursed? You see, Sire, the old Viceroy is trying to hood-wink you! Cursed, my ar...’

  ‘It’s alright,’ said Aurangzeb. ‘It’s alright, Uncle, I have deciphered the cause of your strange behaviour. You are under a spell of black magic. Fortunately I am here to rescue you. Guards,’ he shouted. ‘Bring the witch.’

  The gates of the durbar opened and two soldiers marched in carrying a rough spun cloth parcel that they laid at Shayista’s feet. The bundle unravelled to reveal a livid Champa within, tied and gagged at the mouth.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ said Shayista, jumping to ungag her and remove her bonds. ‘If you have hurt her, you will pay.’

  ‘Step aside, Uncle,’ said Aurangzeb. ‘She has poisoned your mind and made you kill her father and grandfather. She has tricked you but fear not, tomorrow she will hang.’

  ‘NO!’ shouted Shayista. He could no longer uphold the construction of the Empire. The illusion had cracked.

  The room was brighter, the path clearer. He felt a transformation beginning. Success was not defined by externals, what he earned, what he built, what he accomplished, who he killed, but how deeply he loved.

  ‘I will not let you hurt her. And I will not kill for you again.’ Shayista threw Azdahar to the ground before the Emperor. It fell with a minatory clatter.

  Aurangzeb gasped in shock.

  ‘How dare you address the Emperor in such a manner!’ said the Englishman.