Although we allowed the sweet breeze of forgiveness to blow over the accursed city, we did not want its citizens to believe that their crimes had been atoned for. We sent our men to enter the homes of the
omarah
and rich merchants and take everything they could find.
Those who remonstrated were brought before us. We had them flogged in front of their kinsmen. The floors of their homes were dug up and their women stripped naked. Many, unable to face themselves after the chastisement they had received, ended their miserable existence with their own hands. Gold and silver and precious stones flowed into our treasury as the waters of the Oxus flow into the sea. We sent the good news to Iran with the proclamation that no taxes would be levied on our Iranian subjects for the next three years. For rightly has Hazrat Ali Murtaza said: ‘The better part of generosity is speedy giving!’
After all this we found we were out of countenance with ourselves. We dismissed our attendants and told them we wanted to be alone. We sat for many hours taking counsel with ourselves. We had conquered the four kingdoms prophesied for us in our dreams. With the spear of Islam we had pierced the heart of the land of infidels and sent thousands of idolaters to hell; we had served Allah and His Prophet (peace upon Him).
We had amassed wealth and lit the lamp of prosperity in millions of Iranian homes; our sons and their sons up to seven generations could eat their fill and not finish the harvest we had reaped with our sword. The people of Asia stood in awe of our name. All men were eager to follow our banner to wherever we chose to take it. We had the fairest of women in our harem: Caucasians, Turks, Iranis, Arabs, Afghans and Hindvis. Our loins had yielded a host of sturdy sons and comely daughters. We had everything a man could ask for. And yet a strange melancholy pervaded our being.
Noor Bai was ever in our mind. We went over the night she had spent with us. We could not believe she could have wanted to harm us or even let herself be used as an instrument of another’s mischievous design. We were not even sure whether any mischief had in fact been contemplated. But our ears had been filled with venomous rumour with Noor Bai’s name mixed in it. We clapped our hands and asked the attendant to bring the girl to our presence.
Noor Bai washed our feet with her tears. She lay on the carpet and between sobs asked us many times to tell her why we had ever suspected her. We had no reason; so we did not deign to reply. We only gazed at her prostrate form— a waist that curved like a bow and buttocks that would delight those who desired to take their pleasure in them. Our appreciation of her did not kindle any desire in our loins. Besides, by now we knew that although we could command her body, we could not rule her heart.
Once again, to atone for the suspicion we had harboured against her, we slipped a pair of gold bangles on her wrist and told her to leave. She refused to go. She sat with her head between our knees, peering into our face. ‘Your Majesty is angry with the world, she remarked, truthfully reading our disposition. ‘It is all the people you have had killed. That was not a good thing to do.
We were amazed by her boldness. We stroked her head and were suddenly overcome with revulsion against ourselves. We covered our face with our hands to hide the tears that welled up in our eyes: but we could not hold back a sob that convulsed our chest. Noor Bai became bolder and without seeking our permission made herself comfortable on our lap. The unmanly spasm of weakness passed. We gently removed Noor Bai from our middle and asked her to leave us alone. Before she left she made us promise that we would send for Hakeem Alavi Khan of Ballimaran. ‘He will apply leeches and remove the angry blood that courses through Your Majesty’s frame, she said.
The next day we sent for Hakeem Alavi Khan who, we were told, had the healing powers of Jesus (upon Whom be peace). He was bent under the weight of years and his long white beard; he walked with the aid of a stick. He had the audacity that old men gain when they know they have not very long to live. He began reprimanding us. ‘If you do not learn to control your temper, your temper will control you, he said.
We agreed we were quick to temper. ‘Not only quick to anger, Your Majesty’ retorted the
hakeem
‘but dangerously ill-tempered; anger is a species of madness. If not checked, it becomes incurable. ‘His words were more bitter than his medicines. But after the braying of sycophants and flatterers, this man’s blunt speech sounded like the music of the lute. It was from his tongue that we heard of the havoc that had been caused in the city. We tried to explain to him that it was the people of Delhi who had first laid hands on our soldiers and we had but given them freedom to retaliate.
‘La haul valla quwwat!’
exclaimed the old
hakeem.
‘Retaliate against women and children! Kill innocent people! Is that the kind of justice that prevails in your country?’
We did not take offence but let him speak on. Thereafter we sent for Hakeem Alavi Khan, more to hear what he had to say than for his prescriptions. While he had the temerity to bring our shortcomings to our notice, he also gave us aphrodisiacs compounded of crushed pearls and Yemen honey. For although we were in robust health, we felt that the thirty-three ladies in our harem and now the young and ardent Noor Bai might strain our constitution.
We cannot recall whether it was the advice of Hakeem Alavi Khan or the ministrations of Noor Bai that changed our mind. We passed no sentences of death for fifteen days. We began to laugh and joke with our companions. We asked Qazmaruddin Khan, who was Chancellor of the Mughal Exchequer, if it was true that he had 850 women in his harem. When he admitted that it was so, we remarked, ‘You should take another hundred-and-fifty and become a
mim-bashi
(commander of one thousand).’ People laughed and laughed till tears came into their eyes. The joke was repeated to us many times by many flatterers.
We left the Mughal to his own counsel in the hope that he would have the good sense to make
peshkash
of his own accord. But Mohammed Shah’s skull was stuffed with cunning instead of commonsense. He tried to match our patience with guile. He had it conveyed to us that our two households should be linked by a marriage alliance. We gave our consent in the belief that he wanted an excuse to pay his dues in the form of dowry. Consequently our well-beloved son, Prince Nasrulla Mirza, the second fruit of our loins, was betrothed to the daughter of Yezdan Baksh, son of Kam Baksh, son of Emperor Aurangzeb.
On such occasions it is customary among the people of Hindustan to indulge in jest. Women of the Mughal seraglio who were very proud of their lineage asked our son to name his ancestors up to seven forefathers. Prince Nasrulla Mirza became speechless with embarrassment; he knew of the days when all our worldly wealth consisted of a camel and a flock of sheep. His tongue remained locked between his teeth. We intervened on his behalf: ‘Son, tell them that you are the son of Nadir Shah, the son of the sword, the grandson of the sword; and so on to seventy instead of seven generations.’ The women responded with ‘
Ash! Ash! Marhaba!
’
All this was happening only fifteen days after the terrible punishment we had meted out to the citizens of Delhi but they seemed eager to forget it and join the marriage celebrations. The walls of the Red Fort were lit with oil-lamps and there was a grand display of fireworks. There was much drinking and nautch. The
nikah
took place on 26 March 1739 followed by
dawat-i-valima
(a grand feast of consummation). The Mughal made presents to us and our officers. Perhaps he hoped that having given one of his kinswomen to our son he could settle his account with a few trinkets. We decided to teach him a lesson that an Iranian could as easily outwit an Indian in wile as he could outmatch him on the field of battle.
We were informed that there were two very precious things in the possession of the Mughal royal family. One was the
takht-i-taoos
(the Peacock Throne) made of solid gold, inset with diamonds, rubies and emeralds. It was valued at nine crore rupees. The other was the diamond
Koh-i-Noor
(the Mountain of Light), said to be larger than a pigeon’s egg and worth all the world’s income for seven days. We ordered a search of the palace vaults but neither the throne nor the diamond could be found.
We questioned Mohammed Shah. He told us that the throne had been broken up nineteen years earlier and that he had never seen the
Koh-i-Noor
. Saadath Khan had however told us that the
Koh-i-Noor
was in the possession of Mohammed Shah. Instead of wearing it on his arm, as was the custom of his predecessors, he hid it in the folds of his turban. We planned a stratagem by which we would acquire this diamond without betraying our desire to have it.
We assembled a
darbar
where all the Indian
omarah
and our Iranian generals were present. First we explained to Mohammed Shah the duties of a king. Then we escorted him to the marble seat of his ancestors and beckoned to one of our servants to bring a crown we had ordered to be prepared for the occasion. We removed Mohammed Shah’s turban and placed the crown on his head.
‘May Allah grant you prosperity and long life!’ we said. The courtiers applauded. We noticed that Mohammed Shah’s eyes hovered round the turban which now lay between us. The speech he made in response seemed as much addressed to us as to his headgear. He said he looked upon us as his elder brother. That made our task easier. As he sat down we rose to our feet and said that we were given to understand that in Hindustan it was customary for men who pledged fraternal friendship towards each other to exchange turbans. We removed the crown from his head and placed our turban in its stead. We bowed our head for him to do likewise. The poor fellow did as he was told. He gave us the
Koh-i-Noor
with his own hands. We embraced him and dismissed the court.
The diamond was indeed in the folds of his turban. It was the size of a hawk’s egg and so brilliant that it seemed to have captured the soul of the sun in its breast. We made no secret of having acquired it and wore it on our right arm.
By the end of April the sun’s rays had become like tongues of flame from the fires of
gehennum
. Our body was covered with prickly heat and despite Hakeem Alavi Khan’s
sherbets
we lost appetite for food and female company. ‘Delhi is not the place for you,’ said the old
hakeem
to us. ‘
Ameen
,’ we replied. ‘A day in Isphahan is worth a lifetime in your country.’
We spoke truly for though we had heard so much in praise of Delhi there was little that pleased us about it. We did not like the people or their manners; we did not like their food or their wines. Their watermelons were without flavour and produced wind in our stomach. The mango which had been lauded so much we found too sweet for our taste; besides it soiled our hands and beard. And Delhi’s climate produced only laziness, prickly heat and bad temper.
We ordered that all that had been taken from the city should be loaded on elephants, camels and asses and preparations made for our return to Iran. We made arrangements for the administration of the country. We attached the four
subahs
beyond the Indus to our empire but the rest we left to Mohammed Shah and Nizam-ul-Mulk. The king was simple and pleasure-loving; the minister cunning and ambitious. If the arrangement did not work, we would have the right to annex the country.
On Saturday, 5 May 1739, we left the capital city of the Mughals. There were only two people with whom we left some of our heart. One was the sharp-tongued Hakeem Alavi Khan and the other the saucy Noor Bai. An Emperor may command anything within his empire except an honest man and a woman’s heart. We could have forced both to accompany us but we knew that the old man would not be able to make the journey and Noor Bai would have cried all the time. We realized that we could take her body with us, but her heart would remain behind in Delhi. And what is a woman’s body worth if her heart not be in it!
We loaded the
hakeem
with presents and gave Noor Bai her weight in gold and bade them and the city of Delhi farewell.
Bhagmati has just left. I suspect she was not happy with the previous night’s love-making but what am I to do. I am old now. I feel morose. The phone rings. The Tughlak Road police station on the line. ‘Am I Budh Singh’s employer?’
‘Well, sort of, he is
chowkidar
of the entire block, I pay him a little extra to keep an eye on my flat. What’s the matter? Has he been run over; accident-shaksidant?’
‘No, he has been molesting women.’
I can believe anything about Budh Singh, but not molesting women. There must be some mistake. If the poor fellow has named me as his employer, I must not let him down. I drive to the police station.
Budh Singh is sitting on the floor of the verandah chained to a policeman who is seated on a chair chewing a
betel-
leaf. Neither of them take the slightest notice of me. I bend down and ask Budh Singh to tell me what happened. He glowers at me without saying anything: I plead with him to tell me what transpired so I can get him out on bail. ‘He’s mad,’ says the policeman spitting
betel
phlegm on the floor. Budh Singh slowly turns his head, fixes the constable with a baleful look and mutters: ‘You mad! Your mother mad; your sister mad. Who are you to call me mad?
Bahinchod
!’
‘I told you he is mad,’ says the constable calmly chewing the cud. ‘No use talking to him. Go inside and speak to the inspector sahib.’
I go in to the reporting room, tell them what I have come for. The sub-inspector offers me a seat and tells me that Budh Singh has been arrested for ‘eve-teasing’. I protest. I tell him that Budh Singh is a man of impeccable character, has never shown any interest in women and so on. But at times something happens to him. I point to my head.
The sub-inspector nods and tells me of Budh’s eve-teasing. He was apparently walking along the corridors of Connaught Circus mumbling to himself (‘Prayer,’ I interject, ‘he prays all the time’) when he suddenly grabbed a young woman’s bosom pressed it and said
bhaw, bhaw
. Before she could recover from the shock, he grabbed the other bosom and likewise pressed it with a
bhaw, bhaw
. ‘Ah yes, poor man! You know he was once a truck-driver in the army; he must have thought they were bulb horns,’ I explain. The sub-inspector is more understanding than the women in Connaught Circus. Apparently Budh Singh pressed many other female bulb horns. There was a hue and cry and some students beat him up. That wasn’t the end. There was a woman banana-seller with her basket full of bananas sitting on the pavement. Budh Singh examined them and asked the price. He thought they were overpriced and offered to sell his own at a much cheaper rate. And showed it to the banana-seller. The lady did not appreciate the gesture and told Budh Singh to offer it to his mother. What could Budh Singh do? He grabbed the banana-seller’s bosoms with both his hands and said
bhaw, bhaw
. Then the police got him. ‘He must have been thinking of his trucking days,’ I explain again. ‘It comes over him once in a while.’ The sub-inspector is most kind. They’ve already beaten Budh Singh. ‘That’s enough punishment for pressing four bosoms and showing his penis. He did not fuck anyone’s mother, did he?’ he says. ‘But don’t let him do it again.’