Dressed in a lavender silk frock with a peach stomacher and petticoat, Madeline studied the books she purchased at the Port of Masulipatam. Costa, it turned out, was a metropolitan merchant whose strange intelligence allowed him to make money wherever he went. He sailed from port to port, trading goods: weapons, nautical equipment, jewels and other random booty. He conducted the exchanges in so swift and exact a manner, Madeline marvelled that he could have been a true bred merchant if he had not become a pirate. His interest gave her ample opportunity to delve into research for her mission.
The first book she picked up was about diamonds. It contained fascinating facts about the colour of diamonds and the light they refracted. Black diamonds absorbed the most light and pink diamonds the least, while blue and yellow were somewhere in between. The illustrations were of sensational diamonds set in the Peacock Throne.
The throne of the Mughal Emperor was made of rubies and emeralds and Kohinoor, the brightest diamond in the world. The canopy above it was fringed with pearls and above that was a golden peacock with a tail of blue sapphires and a ruby breast. Madeline dipped her quill in ink and drew the throne in her moleskin diary, replicating the exquisite details as best she could. She wondered what sort of people the bejewelled Mughals were, with their lavish lifestyles and their dazzling gems. She imagined how it would feel to wear a strand of first water diamonds from the coveted Kollur mines.
The second book she purchased was a collection of recipes of concoctions that could make a man forget a night, confess a secret, fall out of love, sedate or even kill him. Such potions might prove useful so she copied them into her notebook and hoped for a chance to test them.
Armed with a spy-glass she had assembled herself, she gazed at the distant shoreline of Bengal. Orchards, water wheels, prosperous villages and manicured gardens dotted the riverside. Brown-bodied children splashed in the water. Beyond the banks, lush jungle foliage spread out like an emerald carpet. A seagull flew overhead. The sky was a brilliant sapphire, unlike the grey canvas suspended perpetually over Versailles. The aquatic voyage had fatigued her both physically and psychologically but with the end in sight, an inexplicable hope sprouted in her heart.
‘Can you see it?’ asked Abdul. His voice conveyed the eagerness of homecoming. ‘The Emperor’s Paradise?’
Madeline passed Abdul her spy-glass and helped him adjust it to his eye. From his squeals of delight, she knew when it came into focus.
‘There it is!’ said Abdul. ‘Lal Bagh Fortress.’
‘What does Lal Bagh mean?’ asked Madeline.
‘Lal is red,’ explained Abdul. ‘And Bagh means garden but it also means tiger.’
‘So ... the fortress is full of flowers?’
‘Indeed it is brimming with impeccable gardens. The Subedar relishes his roses but he is as ferocious as a beast. Bagh Khan is what the simple folk call him. Tiger Khan, Subedar of Bengal.’
Madeline had grown fond of Abdul’s apocryphal stories. Many afternoons she spent by his side, learning about the countries he had visited: their histories, politics, cultures and beliefs. He seemed to know something about everything though she suspected he embellished the truth and sometimes indulged in outright confabulation.
‘Tell me more about the Subedar,’ she asked. ‘What sort of weapon does he wield?’
‘Subedar Khan is a master warrior,’ began Abdul. ‘He is adept with most forms of martial arts but predominantly he fights with a sword called Azdahar which means Dragon. It was a gift. It belonged to Emperor Akbar.’
‘Akbar’s sword?’ Madeline was awestruck. ‘But how did he get Akbar’s sword?’
‘The Subedar is no country bumpkin. He is of high pedigree. His father was Shah Jahan’s vizier. His grandfather was Jahangir’s vizier. Aurangzeb is his nephew.’
‘Is it true he was trained by a Sufi?’
Abdul nodded. ‘I met a man, a chowkidar from Agra palace, who told me a wondrous tale of the Subedar when he was a boy. Would you like to hear it?’
Madeline nodded.
‘As a child, the Subedar was known as Talib. He was a reserved and serious boy. His father was a political strategist who threw lavish parties and had a cold demeanour. His mother was occupied with her younger children. Talib was raised mostly by a Kashmiri aseel whom he loved dearly.
‘One afternoon, his father berated the aseel and Talib, though merely a boy of six, drew a dagger to defend her honour. He was given a thrashing and sent to bed without dinner but in the morning he did not relent and eventually his father apologized to the maid.
‘After his aunt married Emperor Jahangir, Talib found himself free to explore the wonderland of Agra. He drifted around the palace, among stable keepers and guards, in and out of school with a handful of friends, mostly princes. There were endless games of hide and seek to play in the intriguing passageways of the fort and delightfully vulgar stories to eavesdrop on in the tents of burly soldiers drunk on sharab.
‘Warriors from around the Empire travelled to the Mughal court to teach the princes their skills in exchange for rewards. Among them were wrestlers from Panjab, yogis from Bundelkhand, slingers from Gujarat, archers from Assam and stone-throwers from Bihar. Talib was trained alongside Dara and Aurangzeb, under the guidance of the Emperor’s personal tutor, Huzur Seif Khan.
‘Huzur was a Sufi of the highest order and a formidable warrior, honoured with the title Seif Khan, Sword Master, for his valiant service in the Mughal army. He taught Talib mathematics, Arabic, Persian and self-defence. He read passages by Jalal ad-Din Rumi off exquisite manuscripts from Tabriz. He explained to Talib: the purpose of life is to love and the truest lover is God.
‘At first Master Huzur was impatient with Talib who, though athletic and adept with weaponry, was more interested in horses and elephants than studies. Huzur would say, ‘Your father, the Itiqad al-Daula, your grandfather, the Intimad al-Daula, and you? The Idiot al-Daula?’
‘Then something happened that made the Sufi scholar realize the potential of his new protégé. It was along the course of a routine training. Huzur had taken Talib, Dara and Aurangzeb to a moss-covered boulder in a forest nearby. He asked the boys to hit the rock with their bare hands’ knife edge while chanting ‘Al-Haq’ which meant ‘Truth’.
‘‘Perform each strike with perfect precision one thousand times and Universal Truth shall be revealed to you. Allah is al-Haq,’ he said, then went to the mosque to pray.
‘The moment he disappeared, Dara stopped his practice. He had no interest in fighting and while the pursuit of Universal Truth tickled his fancy, he was distracted by a gazelle. Nimble and quick, he scampered off behind it in search of a water hole.
‘Aurangzeb looked to see if his young uncle would follow but Talib had the ethos of a warrior and continued industriously. Soon Aurangzeb grew bored. ‘I already know the Truth,’ he said. ‘The Truth is that we shall never fight with our hands when we have canons and steel.’ He pulled a Damascan katara out from under his kurta and held it before Talib. Together they admired the ripples of folded metal that ran along the length of the short blade.
‘Aurangzeb brought the dagger hurtling down on the rock. The impact left no injuries on the blade or the rock, only a ringing pain in his shoulder. ‘One cannot use Truth to rule, one must use deception.’ With that, Aurangzeb ran into the thicket to play too.
‘Hands bruised and pulpy like an overripe plum, Talib persevered not because he was afraid of Huzur’s wrath but because he wanted to see Allah. Minutes rolled into hours. Sun set and with darkness a fresh horde of challenges. Night expanded and contracted in waves. Talib lost count as he slipped in and out of sleep. In the midst of the delirium, between crickets, frogs, foxes and owls, Talib heard a tune. It was a melancholic melody coming from no discernible direction, everywhere all at once. At that moment, Talib’s hand sliced through the rock as if it were made of wet mud.’
‘Splitting the rock in two?’ asked Madeline.
Abdul nodded. ‘When Master Huzur returned to the glade the next morning, he found Talib asleep on the grass, hands bloody, rock split in two. Talib could not recall how he had done it, only that at one stage he had heard Bageshri, the raga of Dawn. Huzur said it was possible because Talib had experienced Truth in his heart.’
‘He sliced through the rock?’ asked Madeline, incredulous.
‘With meditation, anything is possible,’ replied Abdul. ‘Wizards can rearrange the very structure of matter. From then on Huzur treated the boy not as a disciple but a prodigy, initiated him into the realm of the metaphysical, primed him to one day protect the Empire from its enemies.’
‘The Subedar is a wizard?’ asked Madeline.
‘Some say that is how he amassed his vast wealth and influence. Alas, he gave up his mysticism to become a warrior when he took on the title Amir-ul-Umra Shayista Khan.’
Madeline marvelled, a man with wealth, power and magic! She wondered if the Subedar could be of help to her. If only she could find a way to win his favour. She leafed through her book of spells in search of ideas.