The next day, Champa buckled under the pressure of the ulema’s threats and decided to visit the Subedar to appeal on behalf of the madrasa. A lengthy line of people waited at the Diwan-i-am but a dwarf at the door ushered her in. Champa took a seat.
‘The Amir-ul-Umra, Mughal Viceroy of Emperor Aurangzeb, Governor of Bengal, Subedar Shayista Khan cometh,’ announced the dwarf.
Subedar Khan entered looking fierce and decorated. A generously embroidered sword belt held a menacing talwar sheathed in a case of bejewelled leather. His turban was pinned with an emerald broach. He had pearls around his neck. He looked nothing like the cloaked commoner she met in Jannat. Everyone bowed in taslim. Champa followed their lead, wishing she could get a closer look.
Subedar Khan sat upon a gem-adorned dais and gave the signal for the proceedings to begin. The dwarf led the first citizen to the stand from where he presented his woes. The Subedar voiced his verdict with unopposable authority and though he was severe with his punishment, he was not entirely unjust. Champa felt hopeful.
When her turn came, the dwarf led her to the stand and she bowed in taslim as she had seen the others do. Her hands were sweaty, her heart racing, her mouth dry. This was indeed the same man she had met earlier. Though shaven and well-dressed now, he had the same piercing brown eyes.
He recognized her too and did not conceal his surprise. ‘You? Here?’ he asked.
Afraid of losing courage, she launched into her plea, the way she had heard the others do. ‘Your Highness, most just and clement of rulers, I have come to seek your support. I request protection for the girls’ madrasa where I teach. Relgious fanatics are pestering us. I appeal to you for help.’
‘No,’ said the Subedar with finality. High on the pulpit, there was no space for negotiation.
What a brute, thought Champa, though this was not unexpected. A man who killed cats was capable of anything!
The dwarf urged Champa off the stand.
‘But Sire, if these girls are denied education, they will grow up in darkness,’ she squealed. Raising her voice louder, ‘Surely this orphanage has a special place in your heart? It was built by your ...’
‘There shall be no discussion,’ snapped the Subedar. ‘The Emperor has ordered us to respect the ulema.’
The Imperial guards edged towards her. Unable to touch a woman, they hovered by the stand, bewildered.
‘But you hate the Emperor!’ Champa said just loud enough for the Subedar to hear. She had seen his memories. She had seen the puffed-up Emperor presenting to his father a head on a platter. She had sensed the Subedar’s deep despair. It didn’t make sense.
‘Enough!’ thundered Subedar Khan.
Champa looked around the room. The grand durbar, the Persian rugs, the golden chandeliers, the guards in jewelled uniform. The Subedar concealed his beliefs and lied to the Emperor for this position of power. He was dishonest and weak. He would not help her. No one would. She would have to help herself.