The next day Madeline dressed in lilac and sat on the docks poring over her books. She distinctly preferred pastels to bold colours and she liked especially to wear heavily brocaded dresses though the underskirt made them somewhat cumbersome in the ship.
Her research was disrupted by the rowdy cheers of Costa and the crew who were huddled around a cockfight. They had pitted their cockerel from Portugal against a scrawny red-breasted jungle fowl half its size.
On closer inspection, Madeline saw that the local fowl’s owner was an anguished local boy who was as scrawny as his bird. His pleas to release his pet from the ring fell on unrelenting pirate ears pierced with golden hoops.
The cockerel had a natural skull cap of white feathers that stood erect like a helm on its head making it even more enormous than it already was.
The fight had barely begun when a retinue of soldiers approached the boat, a strange grey beast in their tow.
The captain’s face lit up. ‘Hold the game, it’s the Subedar!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll bet he will wager three gold coins on the local cock. He’s a patriot!’
The pirates snickered. The birds were seized. The Bengali boy looked momentarily relieved. Um Olho held the monstrous cockerel to his hairy chest.
The Subedar and the Imperial guards arrived. It turned out the grey beast was called an elephant. Madeline had never seen a creature so majestic.
‘Governor, would you wager three gold coins against my crew in favour of your local bird?’ said Costa.
The pirates greeted this challenge with whoops of joy. The Subedar appeared to ponder the proposition. Madeline did not expect the Subedar to agree. The gamble was clearly in the pirates’ favour. The local fowl would be pulverized.
‘Alright,’ said the Subedar.
‘I advise against it, Sire,’ said Amir Dhand, glaring at the pirates. ‘Chances of winning are slim.’ He toyed with his battle axe in a display of menace.
‘Shall we raise the stakes? Double that, boys?’ Costa instigated.
Madeline couldn’t believe it. Was Costa trying to swindle the Subedar? Amir Dhand fidgeted uncomfortably. He cracked his knuckles and wiped his sweaty palms on his kurta.
‘Aye, Captain,’ said Perna de Pau, egging him on. ‘Double it!’
‘Six golden coins?’ A Cheshire grin appeared on Costa’s face.
Dhand smouldered at the pirates.
‘Unless ye be a lily-livered loon?’ urged Perna de Pau.
‘Are you calling me a coward?’ Subedar Khan demanded. ‘The last man who called me that left his slanderous tongue hanging at the tip of my blade. I ACCEPT your challenge.’
Amir Dhand grimaced, unable to tolerate the shame of his Subedar being bamboozled. ‘Captain, our fowl is dying already. Allow us a replacement.’
‘I’m sorry Amir-i-Akhur,’ said Costa. ‘This is the bird you bet on.’
‘Now look here,’ said the Amir, puffing his formidable chest. He was easily double the size of the European seafarers. He outsized even most Moors. His muscles were massive and hard. His fingers tightened around the heavy wooden handle of his battle axe.
Madeline flinched but the pirates stood their ground.
‘Six gold coins,’ said the Subedar, agreeing to double the stakes. ‘Go!’
‘What? No, Sire,’ argued the Amir.
‘The Guv’ner said go!’ said Um Olho. He patted his prized possession and spat off to the side of the ship.
Costa signalled. The birds were released into the ring. There was no circle dance. The cockerel wasted no time. It dove straight for the jungle fowl’s brain. Little fowl was on the run, fleeing from the monster as fast as its little legs could carry it. It tried to escape the enclosure but tattered pirate boots kicked it back in. The louder it squawked, the louder the pirates cheered in joyful anticipation of six gold coins.
‘God Almighty,’ said the Subedar. ‘Is that a rooster or a dragon?’
‘Aye, he’s a rare cock. A white-crested Polish cockerel. I call him Bobo.’ Um Olho’s eye sparkled with affection. He took a bite out of a red apple and threw it at the fowl’s head, knocking it off its feet. It reeled, red crown quivering, trying to regain balance. Bobo, the cockerel, pounced on its emaciated neck.
Amir Dhand shouted, ‘Foul on fowl!’
Subedar Khan snatched the fowl away from enemy beaks. The pirates hollered threats and vulgar insults. Ignoring the uproar, Subedar Khan whispered a prayer and blew it upon the jungle fowl’s head then released it back in the circle.
From the moment it landed, it went ballistic. It charged like a demon and rammed its beak directly into Bobo’s eye. Victory swung like a pendulum. Within a minute, the battle was over. Bobo was minced meat.
White featheres lay in a pool of garnet blood. Bobo’s headless body ran in a frantic search for Eden, colliding into a dispersing wall of disappointed pirate boots till it was yanked up by Um Olho.
The pirate groaned, cradling the limp headless bloody cockerel to his hairy chest.
The local boy clapped with joy, as surprised as the others at the unlikely outcome. He tried to collect his dues from the pirates but received instead a punch in the eye.
‘I believe you boys owe the Governor some money,’ said Captain Costa to the pirates. ‘It’s unfortunate. I would have sworn that prize was yours to bag.’
Um Olho puffed his chest, his eyes inflamed. He drew his cutlass to strike the Subedar.
Subedar Khan glared at him, tiger eye to eye.
Um Olho howled in frustration and brought his blade hurtling down onto the red apple instead, splitting it in two.
‘I’m terribly sorry, fellows,’ said Captain Costa. ‘The Subedar won it fair and square. Pay up now. Go on, all of you.’
The pirates grumbled and toyed with clasp knives while reluctantly emptying their pockets. Collectively they mustered a pile of four gold coins, a brass harmonica and a compass. Subedar Khan ceremoniously collected his dues while Amir Dhand gloated.
‘Now scram, be gone,’ said Captain Costa. ‘We are off to the bazaar. See to it that the braces are secure, hurry up or I’ll make you walk the plank.’
The irate pirates gyrated back to the ship. The Subedar tossed the gold coins to the local boy and pocketed the harmonica and compass.
‘How did you win, Sire?’ Madeline gushed.
‘Simple, really,’ said the Subedar. ‘In a fight, the smaller one always tries harder.’ He drew the compass from his pocket. Its dial whirred and settled pointing to the true North.
‘Monsiour, it was a miracle! Like David and Goliath,’ said Madeline. ‘You won against all odds!’
‘Did you pinch the cock’s testicles?’ asked Captain Costa.
Subedar Khan smiled.
‘Come on, Subedar,’ jeered the captain. ‘This must have been the tenth time I’ve seen you do that trick. Is that all you’ve got?’
‘Remember when we bet on hounds in Chatgaon?’ said Subedar Khan.
‘What did you do to them?’ asked the pirate.
‘I gave them a whiff of raw meat,’ said the Subedar, chuckling.
‘Old dog,’ said Costa. ‘You need some new tricks.’
It seemed to Madeline these two had a history.
For their trip to the Meena Bazaar, Captain Costa, Subedar Khan and Amir Dhand mounted stallions. Madeline was introduced to Didi Ma, an elderly lady who had accompanied them to be her chaperone. They were helped onto a howdah on the back of an elephant.
The beast straightened its hind legs and then its front legs, sending Madeline rocking forward then back. This caused the fontange of her headdress to slip off, leaving the wired framework over her hair in vulgar display. Madeline hastily readjusted her wig and top-knot and placed the fontage upon it once more. The lace trimming had come loose and hung clumsily in front of her face. Riding an elephant felt much like being at sea except the howdah was decorated in silks with tinsels of silver and pearls outlining its edges.
‘Bengal is the land of 700 rivers,’ said Didi Ma, as they swayed forth. ‘This is the Buriganga River. It belongs to Goddess Ganga. Magical herbs grow along its banks. Emperor Akbar drank water from the Ganges daily, had it delivered to him via a string of camels even when he was in Punjab, 200 miles away. Subedar Khan occasionally drinks it too. Some say it is amrita, the nectar of immortality.’
‘How old is Subedar Khan?’ asked Madeline.
‘No one knows,’ said Didi Ma mysteriously.
The river was vast. The docks were lined with fishing boats, sail boats, cargo ships and dinghies. Mughal architecture dotted the streets of the city that began as the docks ended. Domes of gold glittered under the tropical sun. Window panes and bolts that were in Paris made of iron were here gold or silver, intricately inlaid with gems. Never before had Madeline seen such opulence.
Vendors and merchants lined the road selling fascinating knick knacks. Children waved at the elephant. Beside them pack-horses laden with sacks of delicate muslin trotted by. Madeline strained to watch the fabric. It was so subtle yet elegant. True haute couture!
‘Tell me about Ganga?’ asked Madeline.
‘Ganga was a female energy who loved the supreme male energy, Shiva. Shiva loved Ganga too because she was divine but his wife was possessive so Ganga could not be with him though she longed to.’
Didi Ma’s face took on the same glow Madeline noticed on Abdul when he told a tale. It seemed Bengalis liked to talk.
‘One day a fight broke out between the Devil and God,’ said Didi Ma, animated. ‘60,000 people burned on Earth and were strewn as corpses. The smell of rotting flesh permeated the air. The people asked a rishi named Bhagiratha for help.
‘Bhagiratha prayed to Shiva for salvation. Shiva asked him to pray to Ganga for she embodied the energy of water needed to heal and cleanse. Bhagiratha did sadhona to Ganga.
‘Ganga heard his prayers and agreed to help but her force was too strong. She could not control her immense flow. She would drown Mother Earth. No one but Shiva could temper her vigour.
‘Bhagiratha returned to Shiva for help. He was so sincere in his prayer that Shiva listened and let Ganga flow through him to Earth, cooling her without destroying her. So Ganga got what she wanted and was united with her lover forever.’ Didi Ma’s eyes glazed over as if remembering a past love of her own. ‘Ah, here we are!’ she said, catching herself. ‘The famous Chowk Bazaar built by our Subedar.’
As the elephant and horses were handed to stable boys, Madeline eyed the bazaar. It was more splendid than she had imagined. Its roofs and walls were inlaid with rubies and emeralds. The bamboos structures within the bazaar were wrapped in strands of pearls and precious stones and held up shamianas of crimson velvet bordered with golden embroidery. After admiring a while, red and yellow spots danced before Madeline’s eyes.
A cacophony of voices rose above the humid air. Merchants of every caste and creed offered a wide range of gastronomical treats. A man with a basket of fish called in base, ‘Eelish maach, rui maach, pangash maaaaaaach.’ A puffed rice vendor called out in baritone, ‘Moori. Moori. Moooooooooooori!’ A halva maker called in high tenor, ‘Lal Mithai. Chom chom. Golap jamunnnnnnnnnnn.’
To Madeline, the Orient was extravagant and exotic. She had heard of the pomp and splendour of Bengal but her research had not prepared her for this. The sounds, colours, heat, life, everything seemed to be magnified many times over what she was accustomed to. It seemed she had been living life in bland and here it was lived in full flavour, hot and spicy!
Two kinds of Europeans arrived in Hindustan. Those arriving from Kandahar, passing through the Ottoman and Safavid empires, acclimitizing to the Islamic world as they moved in. Then there were those like her, arriving in India from a maritime voyage, with no idea of what to expect.
A rope ladder was lowered from the howdah for Madeline’s descent. Dhand offered his strong arms to help her down. The courtyard of the Meena Bazaar was cordoned off with sheets of brocaded silk to ensure women shoppers a modicum of privacy. Didi Ma accompanied Madeline into the tent while the Subedar, Amir and Captain lingered by the periphery.
The Subedar commanded the elite force to wait at the edge of the caravanserai, much to Dhand’s flustered opposition.
‘It is not suitable for a Subedar to be roaming around without a fleet of bodyguards,’ Amir Dhand opined.
‘I have you, don’t I?’ the Subedar replied. He was at ease among people, his royal vestibules hidden.
Madeline stepped into the sequestered garden. Noble women gathered at stalls, haggling with merchants over necklaces modeled by statuesque slave-girls from Abyssinia. Their armed eunuchs and handmaidens busied themselves with a second tier of opportunistic merchants who ferried a cheaper range of goods in wicker baskets.
Women wore muslin, a simple cloth, fluid in form and graceful. Their hair was natural and they had virtually no cosmetic décor on their faces. Their inimitable glamour came from their confidence and dignity, and yes, of course, their jewels, each of which looked like it must have cost a fortune. Like women in France, they too wore their wealth on their bodies but in less cumbersome a manner, as valuable jewels not heaps of cloth.
Madeline became conscious of her own masses of cloth that weighed her down. Perhaps she could have done without the underskirt. Her pile of curls wig made her head look conical and accentuated her physical flaws: high forehead, uneven hairline. No one here wore wigs. Her frilly parasol blocked the scathing sun but made her even more conspicuous on the streets.
Madeline observed the elegant Mughal metropolis as every form of wonder unfolded before her. Parades of snake charmers, monkey dancers, fire spinners, magicians, astrologers, astronomers, yogis, sadhus, rishies, merchants, tailors, seamstresses, jewellers, cobblers crossed her path. Each street she peered into looked like a painting: fine architecture, gurgling fountains and gardens covered in roses, people clad in flowing outfits of sophisticated style.
Here the calls were different. ‘Zabarzad, yaqat, ainul hirrat, ilmas…’ she heard. ‘Emeralds, sapphires, cat’s eyes, diamonds…’ Every where she looked, stones shined with brilliance. Merchants here had all the trimmings one could desire to adorn the finest of gowns.
A bevy of ladies were gushing and oohing in delight. Madeline stepped closer to investigate.
‘Madam,’ an atelier called out. ‘This way!’ With a flourish, he lifted a velvet coverlet to reveal his wares.
Madeline’s eyes lit up. Brass trays displayed a rainbow of gems: rubies, emeralds, sapphires, amethysts, citrine and gold. Madeline gazed in awe at a solid gold rose with dewdrops of rubies nestled on a cushion of red satin.
‘I have no words to express its beauty,’ said Madeline, tears leaking from her eyes.
‘The Sun blushes when he looks upon the jewels of this Empire,’ said the atelier, his purple turban bobbing as he moved.
Madeline’s eyes fell upon a cluster of pearls the size of oranges.
‘You will not find pearls like these even if you dive into the seas of Heaven for all of eternity,’ he said, following her gaze. ‘The pearl fishers of Motijheel can remain underwater for hours without clips on noses or cotton in ears.’
Madeline was about to ask the price when Didi Ma interrupted.
‘And that one?’ she asked.
The atelier stroked his whiskers. ‘That is a talisman to ward off the Evil Eye.’ He handed her a turquoise with an onyx.
Didi Ma seemed to consider the item. Madeline was too moved by the sophistication of Mughal fashions to worry about the occult. Bengali women with their silk finery and dazzling jewels seemed to celebrate beauty in a way she had never known and she wanted to join in.
With Didi Ma’s help, Madeline tried on several rings and purchased two. She applied henna to her palms and fingertips. She placed a bindi for her forehead. She had her hair braided with flowers. She allowed a perfumer to dab her neck and wrists with a crisp scent of sandalwood and musk.
A magnificent Quran sat on display with calligraphic letters and borders inlaid with gold. Bengal was a place where one could indulge in worldy pleasures or mystical magic. Suddenly the possibility for complete self-transformation loomed before Madeline. Here no one knew who she was. Perhaps here she could start over? She was wondering if she could cut ties with her old life and be free when she caught sight of something spectacular.
‘That diamond! Can I see it?’
‘Madam,’ said the atelier, beaming with pride. ‘You have an expert eye. Let me introduce myself, I am Jalal. This is the most precious piece in my collection.’ He held it up for her to admire. ‘In Hindustan, we prefer rough diamonds to polished ones because a virgin is more desirable than a woman who is not one!’
Didi Ma overheard this and puffing her chest, took a protective stand next to Madeline.
The atelier meant no harm. Besotted with his diamond he chattered on, ‘This stone is from Kollur. Hundred and one percent authentic!’ He passed it to her.
It was set between two sapphires. Madeline held it to the sun. It shattered light like a crystal prism into a rainbow upon her arm. Seeing a Kollur diamond with her own eyes for the first time gave her a giddy feeling in her stomach. This diamond was probably worth more than the King’s crown! And here it was, sitting idly in the shop of a common atelier. She smiled politely and decided to come back later, alone.