The Crows of Agra

by Sharath Komarraju

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Everything else I heard was garbled, sir. I would not know what else he said.’

  ‘Nothing more?’ asked Mahesh Das.

  Ahmed thought again for a moment. ‘No, sir. Just small words here and there...’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘He kept saying “throne”. And he referred to the emperor by his name.’ Ahmed bent his head, as if thinking of the emperor’s name was blasphemy itself. ‘Jalal, he would say. And also “revenge”.’

  ‘Revenge?’ said Mahesh Das. ‘What do you think he was referring to there?’

  Ahmed shrugged. ‘I would not know, my lord.’

  ‘Go on. What happened next?’

  ‘Shamsuddin Khan came out first, and a few minutes later Adham Khan exited the chambers. This must have been around the half-hour gong after the tenth.’

  ‘Did you hear any voices after Shamsuddin Khan left the room? Did Adham Khan and the regent talk to each other afterward?’

  ‘They did, sir. This time I heard softer voices. Then, about fifteen minutes after Adham Khan left, Salima Sultan Begum arrived. She stopped at the corridor entrance and told us to disperse.’

  Mahesh Das nodded at him to continue.

  ‘For about two minutes or so, after she entered the Khan Sahib’s chambers, all was quiet. Then we heard her shriek. We ran to the room, pushed open the door and then–’

  ‘Yes, I know. You found the regent dead and his wife unconscious next to him. You asked the guard to sound the gong and then carried her out,’ Mahesh Das said impatiently. ‘But tell me, Ahmed, when you got there was the door shut from the inside?’

  ‘It was closed but not locked. One did have to push it to open it.’

  ‘And how much time passed between Salima Begum entering the room and her cry?’

  Ahmed scratched his beard again. ‘It seemed no more than a few minutes, my lord.’

  ‘Can you perhaps tell me exactly? Was it one minute?’

  ‘Perhaps two, sir, no more than that. It was almost immediate.’

  ‘Are you certain that between the time of Adham Khan’s departure and Salima Begum’s arrival, Bairam Khan had no visitors?’

  Ahmed replied immediately. ‘Yes, sir. I am certain.’

  ‘Then you must think that Bairam Khan’s killer must be either Shamsuddin Khan or Adham Khan?’

  Blood drained out of Ahmed’s face. ‘I make no such claim, sir. I am just a servant. How could I level such a charge against the noblemen?’

  Mahesh Das smiled. That was the right answer. But from both his and Nazeen’s evidence, it left no other possibility open. Yes, there were still questions to be answered—whether the window had been open or closed, for instance—and a few other points of interest, but unless some new fact came into light, one of the two men had to have killed the regent.

  He dug into his sack and produced two silver coins, bearing Bairam Khan’s head. Two years ago, the regent had ordered all coins with Humayun’s head on them be melted, and new coins minted with his own image embossed upon them. He had said that since he was the acting king of the land, foreign traders accepted coins with less complaint if it was his face that showed on the coins they received in exchange for goods. It had seemed like a perfectly logical reason at the time.

  But now, Mahesh Das wondered.

  He handed them over to Ahmed, who took them with a profusion of thanks. His grubby fingers massaged the coins, and he held them up, squinting at them, as if to check if they were indeed real, before depositing them into his coat pocket.

  Mahesh Das felt a pulsing ache on his temples. Leaning back, he covered his lids, one with the thumb, the other with the tip of his index finger, and gestured for a thimble of water.

  He ‘You may go now, Ahmed. I shall summon you and Nazneen later if I have any more questions.’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, sahib.’

  Just as Ahmed left, a guard from the Imperial palace entered his room... He held his spear to one side, bowed with one hand raised to the chest, and said, ‘The emperor has summoned you, sire, to his chambers in an hour.’

  Mahesh Das quelled a rising groan and said weakly, ‘I shall be there.’

  Twenty Nine

  MAHESH DAS ARRIVED at Akbar’s chambers just as Adham Khan was exiting. He looked pale and shaken. Still on his guard, Mahesh Das took a step back to let the man pass.

  To his surprise, Adham Khan looked past him and walked briskly on. It was as if the whole business in his room had been forgotten.

  Or was he imagining things? wondered Mahesh Das.

  Akbar was in the middle of an oil massage when Mahesh Das walked in. He noticed his hairless chest and slender arms and found it hard to imagine this same man wielding a sword or a mace or a rifle on the battlefield.

  ‘Adham Khan was just here,’ said Akbar, as one of the girls began to oil his moustache. ‘He had much to say about why you were a threat to the kingdom of Agra.’

  Mahesh Das bowed and took a seat in front of him. ‘He called upon my chambers too, my lord, a few hours ago. He had much to say to me too, as to why I must go away to my village and never return.’

  ‘I think he is getting nervous because you are on his track, Mahesh Das.’

  ‘I do not know, sire.’

  The girls had small hands, but when they kneaded the emperor’s muscles, they did so with much rigour, sending out slapping sounds into the air.

  ‘I told him that you would stay as long as it takes for us to find Khan Baba’s killer,’ said Akbar, lifting his right arm and pointing to an untouched spot under his armpit. ‘I shall assign two of my guards to you so that he shall not try anything dangerous.’

  Mahesh Das bowed gratefully. ‘I have meant to request you for that very thing, Your Majesty.’

  ‘I do not feel safe around that boy.’ Akbar looked at the closed room, his eyes narrowing. ‘He lapses into these spells of anger. Atgah Khan says he has seen soldiers behave that way in war camps, when they have been away from home for too long. They swing between being extremely docile and friendly, to being nothing short of wild beasts. Atgah Khan says that such men become unpredictable. The army is best served by either sending them home, or failing that, killing them.’

  Mahesh Das couldn’t agree more. Wild beast, he thought, described Adham Khan perfectly. And yet a moment ago, the same man looked shaken and pale as if he had just seen a ghost.

  Akbar lifted his other arm and the girls combed the armpit hair with their moist fingers. His eyes became dreamy like that of a well-fed cat. ‘I am beginning to think that it was Adham who killed Khan Baba. What do you think?’

  ‘It is too early to say, my lord,’ said Mahesh Das. ‘But Salima Begum recalls listening in on a conversation between Adham Khan and Maham Anga, on the courtyard of the imperial palace where we all gathered the night before.’

  ‘Does she, now?’

  ‘Huzoor. She says that Maham Anga and Adham Khan were speaking of whether Bairam Khan would indeed leave for Mecca the next morning.’

  ‘You know,’ said Akbar, ‘that is odd. That same evening, I saw Maham Anga and Adham Khan on the balcony too, speaking with one another. I caught a few words here and there, but I did not think they were speaking of Khan Baba. Now that I think of it, perhaps–’

  ‘What did you hear, sire?’

  ‘I think Maham Anga was saying that Bairam Khan would not leave for Mecca in his life, not until the throne was up for grabs.’ Akbar bent forward so that the ladies could take care of the back of his neck. ‘But Salima…I did not see Salima anywhere then.’

  ‘Perhaps you had come to the balcony after Salima Begum left, or perhaps she had come after you had left.’

  Akbar nodded. ‘Perhaps. It is strange, is it not, that I have not thought of this until you told me what Salima heard? Now that I think back to the words, there could only have been one interpretation. They were, of course, planning to break in and kill Khan Baba.’

  ‘Perhaps not the only interp
retation, my lord,’ said Mahesh Das, ‘but yes, the most likely one.’

  ‘You are not yet convinced that it was Adham Khan?’

  ‘There is much else to think about too, Your Majesty. For instance just this morning, I was taking a walk in the garden and I ran into Shamsuddin Khan behind Bairam Khan’s chambers.’

  ‘Atgah?’ Akbar reclined in his chair and splayed his arms wide, prompting the girls to massage his torso.

  ‘He has been seen in Bairam Khan’s room the night of the murder, sire.’

  Akbar smiled and looked down at his shining hands. He patted his stomach a couple of times and said, ‘Atgah Khan is becoming senile. Will you tell me, Mahesh Das, all about these servants you speak of, and what they have told you?’

  Mahesh Das recounted what Nazneen and Ahmed had told him that day, a narrative to which Akbar heard with deep interest, though at times his focus seemed to waver, and his eyes acquired a distant look, as though something was playing on his mind. Once or twice he interrupted Mahesh Das with questions, and nodded at the answers he received.

  ‘These are Gulbadan Begum’s servants, are they not?’

  ‘Not both of them, Jahanpanah,’ said Mahesh Das, ‘just the woman.’

  The corner of Akbar’s mouth rose in a grin. ‘And the man, of course, is the woman’s servant.’

  ‘Indeed, my lord,’ said Mahesh Das. ‘Atgah Khan said the same thing. He thinks that Gulbadan Begum’s motive for killing Bairam Khan is much stronger than all the others. But if there are witnesses, they will say what she wants them to say.’

  ‘That is not reason enough to say for sure that she has done the deed. Is it?’

  ‘It is not, but I think Atgah Khan has something to strengthen his convictions. Something he has not yet told me about. But I hope to find out tonight.’

  ‘But just for the sake of humouring ourselves,’ said Akbar, ‘let us play this game. Where did you say you saw him when he told you this fantastic theory?’

  ‘Right in Bairam Khan’s garden, sire, below his front room window.’

  ‘What possible thing could he have found find outside in the garden when the crime was committed inside the house?’ Akbar’s face betrayed his agitation now. Deep lines appeared near his temples and his eyes narrowed into slits.

  ‘He told me that I was looking at it all wrong, my lord.’ Mahesh Das drew his shawl tighter around his chest to guard against the gathering chill. It was going to be a cold evening.

  ‘That sounds like the blabbering of an old fool to me,’ said Akbar sharply. ‘I would like to talk to him myself. If he flounders, then perhaps he is no longer fit to be general after all. Perhaps he ought to go to Mecca too.’ Akbar gestured for his clothes to be brought to him. ‘What time are you going to meet him?’

  ‘After dinner, sire. He said I should call after the ninth gong.’

  The girls brought Akbar his clothes. One of them guided his arms through a white-and-gold kurta and the other set on his head a turban with a string of pearls set in it. He clicked his fingers, at which two men wheeled a mirror into the room. Akbar stood up and examined himself. Then he pointed to the trolley of colourful garments to be brought over, and from there he chose a cobalt blue tunic and pyjamas.

  For a while he stood looking at the mirror, tunic held up against his shoulder. At last, he tossed it at one of the girls, commanding her to find a colour that suited him better.

  Then he turned to Mahesh Das, as though surprised that he was still there. With a wave of the hand he said, ‘I shall accompany you to Atgah Khan’s chambers this evening.’

  Mahesh Das got up and bowed. When he was at the door, Akbar called out to him and said, ‘Do not tell Atgah that I shall be coming. Let it be a surprise.’

  * * *

  It was the sound of the gong—resounding like a thunderclap—that woke Mahesh Das. The back of his neck was bathed in sweat and his heart was pounding in his ears. The dull throb of a headache began to stir. This couldn’t be good, he thought.

  He looked out of the window. Night had fallen, deep and dark. He shut his eyes tight, wishing that the ache would recede. When this was all over, he would ask his servants to install a few more candle stands in the room, especially around the corners. In this murky light, the figures that looked so beautiful and vibrant in daylight turned grotesque and eerie.

  He remembered Bairam Khan’s room and it too had the similar effect. That row of armoured soldier figurines that lined the wall had been almost fully shrouded in darkness because of the broken candle stands. Mahesh Das could not bear to think of sleeping in a room full of those strange tin soldiers. It gave him the creeps.

  A page appeared at the door, his fresh young face flustered.

  ‘Yes?’ said Mahesh Das.

  ‘My lord,’ said the boy, bowing. ‘The gong has sounded!’

  ‘I heard it. What was it about?’

  ‘Sir, it is Atgah Khan, sir. The general.’

  Mahesh Das sat up in his bed, all his senses suddenly alert. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Sir, it is just after the seventh strike.’

  Mahesh Das got up with a start. He was supposed to meet the general in ninety minutes.

  ‘Why has Atgah Khan summoned us?’ he asked absentmindedly.

  ‘He has not, sire,’ said the page frantically, ‘the prince has killed him!’

  Thirty

  ‘THE PRINCE?’ Mahesh Das asked, startled by the news.

  ‘Adham Khan, sir, he killed the general. He struck him with his sword in the courtyard. Everyone saw it, sir!’

  Mahesh Das sprang out of his bed and threw the shawl over himself. The throbbing in the head intensified.

  He followed the servant out of his room, walking as fast as his legs could carry him. They turned the first bend in the corridor and then began to run down the steps that led them into the main courtyard. Even from this distance Mahesh Das could see that a crowd had gathered in the torch-lit clearing, just off the central gazebo where Akbar had tended to Salima Begum a few nights back.

  The first thing that struck Mahesh Das when he saw Akbar pacing up and down was how calm he looked. Four paces one way, turn with a twist, and four paces the other. He was in the same gold-and-white garment from the evening, but the turban was now missing. A row of soldiers dressed in white, held their swords up to the sky. There was a battery of spearmen too, with their weapons tucked under their arms, pointing forward. It looked more like a battlefield than a peaceful palace courtyard.

  In the middle of the courtyard, a few feet away from the gazebo, a white spot fluttered in the breeze. It had a red blot of blood in the middle, and on taking a few steps closer, Mahesh Das realized it was the general.

  ‘Atgah,’ Akbar said, when he saw Mahesh Das approach. ‘Our Atgah Khan is dead, Mahesh Das.’ He extended his arm toward the dead body, and on his gesture, two attendants arrived, got down to their knees, and revealed the general’s face.

  The colour in Atgah Khan’s face had not yet ebbed. But for the slash on his torso, he looked like he would sit up any moment now and ask everyone what the fuss was about.

  ‘How…how did it happen, You Majesty?’

  ‘Adham Khan, that monster, he killed our Atgah!’ said Akbar, his voice trembling with rage. ‘He accosted Atgah on his evening walk and drove a sword through him.’

  ‘I gather there were witnesses, Your Highness?’ said Mahesh Das.

  ‘Indeed!’ said Akbar. ‘All these people saw him do it!’

  The guards and servants who were present nodded sagely. One of them, a boy of perhaps twelve, stepped forward, more as a result of being pushed ahead by the others rather than of his own volition, and said, ‘Yes, huzoor, what His Majesty says is true. It happened just before the evening prayers.’

  ‘We have spoken this very evening, have we not, Mahesh Das, that this man has a streak of madness running through him?’ Akbar began to pace again. ‘We should have taken action right at that moment. But it does not matter now. I sha
ll set things right this very night. That wretch! He thinks nothing of serving his king, and on top of it he plots and kills all the king’s friends.’

  ‘Your Majesty, where is Maham Anga?’ Mahesh Das asked.

  ‘The women are not to witness what I am about to do. It is for their own good.’

  Mahesh Das heard scuffling and groaning sounds by the gate. Two guards of the Imperial Army were dragging Adham Khan by the arms to the courtyard. Two more soldiers marched with them on either side. Adham Khan’s lip was cut, his left eye was swollen and had turned a bright shade of purple. His mouth had been gagged with and a black rag. When he saw Akbar, he seemed renewed with a burst of energy, lunging towards him with a moan, but the soldiers restrained him. His fists were balled up tightly and his teeth dug into the rag.

  Akbar walked up to Adham Khan, but stood out of his reach. ‘You shall not speak another word, Adham!’ he said. ‘The more you speak, the more you will melt our heart and remind us that you are the son of our dear Maham Anga. But you have crossed the line of forgiveness this time. You have pushed us—the very beacon of kindness and mercy—to our limit. You have killed our dear Atgah and our dear Khan Baba too. That too on the day before he was about to leave for Mecca. You merciless wretch!’

  Adham Khan who was beginning to understand what lay in store for him, started to sob—a painful wretched moan escaped his lips, and tears streamed down his face.

  Mahesh Das noticed that the prince’s lower garments had become moist too and a puddle collected on the black granite tiles below.

  Akbar stepped forward and slapped Adham Khan across the face.

  ‘Take him up that balcony!’ said Akbar. ‘And throw him down here, on his head.’

  Mahesh Das realized why the ladies had been asked to stay away. This was going to be an execution. The soldiers in red carried Adham Khan up the stairs to the balcony facing the courtyard. They carried him to the edge. Adham Khan struggled, trying to wrench himself away from his captors. When they tossed him over, head first, he turned in the air and landed with a thud on his back, the spine crunching as it hit the floor.