A Necessary Evil
Page 33
‘You remember when we spoke last time, I cautioned you about the concept of justice. What matters is the truth. You have that.’
‘And if I seek to act on it? I doubt the India Office will take kindly to the fact that a British subject was murdered.’
‘They would do nothing, Captain. The days when the British could openly meddle in the affairs of a native state are long gone. With all that’s happening in the rest of India, their only concern is that Sambalpore remain a stable and trusted ally, and that we join the Chamber of Princes. It would take the deaths of a thousand accountants before they would jeopardise that.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said. ‘But it would be wrong of me not to mention it in my report.’
The old maharani sighed. ‘It would be a shame if such baseless allegations were allowed to tarnish Sambalpore’s reputation. I would wish to avoid such things.’
She fell silent for a moment. ‘There is a woman of your acquaintance,’ she continued, ‘a Miss Shreya Bidika. She has not been prosecuted for her seditious acts against the kingdom, despite the advice of the Dewan and the head of the militia. I would not wish to have to commence proceedings against her, after all.’
The situation was clear. I could report Golding’s death to the authorities in Calcutta, but, as the Maharani had stated, it was hardly likely they’d act upon it. And, just in case I decided to do something foolish, she still held Shreya Bidika as insurance. I was beginning to understand how she’d managed to control this country for fifty years. I had to hand it to her. She probably was a better choice of ruler than either Adhir or Punit.
‘And now,’ she said as the purdah car drew up, ‘you must excuse me. There are affairs of state to which I must attend.’ She took my hand. ‘I hope we meet again some day, Captain. In the meantime, remember what I told you. Your soul craves the truth. You have that now. Justice is a matter for the gods.’
She released my hand and walked towards the car. The chauffeur opened the rear door and for a moment I caught sight of Davé on the back seat. He had three lines marked in ash on his forehead.
The car sped off, leaving me with the Maharani’s words ringing in my ears. Slowly I walked out of the compound, towards the banyan tree by the riverbank, under which Annie stood waiting.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This novel was inspired by the tale of the Begums of Bhopal, a dynasty of Muslim queens who ruled the Indian princely state of Bhopal for most of the period between 1819 and 1926. In today’s climate of religious fundamentalism and reactionary politics, we would do well to remember that for a hundred years, an Indian kingdom was administered (and administered well) by a line of Muslim women.
The kingdom of Sambalpur (Sambalpore) did exist as a princely state, roughly within the borders set out in the book, though it was seized by the East India Company in 1849 under the doctrine of lapse, when its last ruler, Narayan Singh, died without a direct male heir.
It had a history stretching back several thousand years and is mentioned in the book of Ptolemy as Sambalaka on the left bank of the river ‘Manada’, the present-day Mahanadi. It is also mentioned in Chinese historical records, including those of Xuanzang, and in the writings of the celebrated King Indrabhuti of Sambalaka of Odra Desha, the oldest known king of Sambalpur and the founder of Vajrayana Buddhism and Lamaism.
Sambalpur has always been a centre for the worship of Lord Jagannath, with tenth-century records mentioning an idol of the deity in a cave near Sonepur within the kingdom. It would appear too that the Lord Jagannath bestowed his blessings upon the kingdom. It is the only location in Orissa where diamonds and coal were both prevalent. Indeed, the seventeenth-century French merchant Jean-Baptiste Tavernier in his travel account Six Voyages en Turquie, en Perse et aux Indes (1676–77) wrote about the numerous famous diamond mines of Sambalpur. He states that eight thousand people were at work in these mines at the time of his visit, though evidence suggests the diamonds were in alluvial deposits rather than deep mines. According to the English historian Edward Gibbon, Sambalpuri diamonds were exported as far afield as imperial Rome.
For those wishing to learn more about the Indian princely states and their flamboyant maharajas, the excellent Highness: The Maharajahs of India by Ann Morrow would make a fascinating and extremely readable place to start.
And for those interested in the lost world of opium smoking, Opium Fiend by Steven Martin is an eye-opening account of one man’s fascination and descent into addiction with this most exotic of drugs.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There are so many people who have helped take this book from an idea in my head to a fully formed novel, and I’m indebted to each and every one of them for their insight, advice, patience and good humour.
I’m indebted, in particular, to my wonderful team of editors, Alison Hennessey, Kate Harvey and Jade Chandler who have complemented each other’s work so seamlessly and so excellently over the last eighteen months.
Thanks also to team Harvill Seeker, especially Anna Redman for her tireless work over the last two years travelling the length and breadth of the country publicising the book and visiting every Travelodge en route, September Withers for marketing the book so enthusiastically, Kris Potter for his wonderful artwork and Alison Tullet for her eagle eyes. Thanks too, to Liz Foley, Rachel Cugnoni, Richard Cable, Bethan Jones, Alex Russell, Tom Drake-Lee, Penny Liechti and the wider team at Vintage for believing in Sam and Surrender-not and for being so supportive.
I’m grateful to my agent, Sam Copeland, the handsomest man in publishing, for having faith in me, and to the team at Rogers Coleridge and White for all their hard work.
Thank you to my wife, Sonal, whose love and support makes everything possible, and to my boys, Milan and Aran, for bringing chaos to our lives.
A debt of gratitude is owed to Val McDermid, as well as to Vaseem Khan and the other members of Team Dishoom for their support, to the staff of the Idea Store in Canary Wharf for giving me a place to write, and to Yoana Karamitrova for keeping Sonal and me sane.
Thanks of course, to all those good friends who let me borrow their names without worrying about what I’d do with them: to my old art teacher, Mr Wilson, to Derek Carmichael, Nicholas Portelli, Vivek Arora, and Rajan Kumar, to my partners at Houghton Street Capital, Hash Davé, Neeraj Bhardwaj and Alok Gangola – you are like family to me and you owe me for not making any of you a eunuch.
And finally, a special thank you to Adhir Sahaye, Punit Bedi and Mark Golding – sorry for killing you.
Also by Abir Mukherjee
A RISING MAN
A NECESSARY EVIL
Pegasus Books, Ltd.
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Copyright © 2018 by Abir Mukherjee
First Pegasus Books hardcover edition April 2018
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