Shayista felt a pang in his heart as he watched Champa leave. So she was the new teacher in Pari’s madrasa? He had thought she was just a quirky witch who danced occasionally at Jannat. Instead, she was a fiery young lady fighting for the empowerment of women. He regretted that her spark was directed towards him in anger. Was it true what she said? Did he hate his Emperor?
After sitting through a few more petitions, Shayista asked Bhopal to dismiss the court for the day. Hidden under his cloak despite the sun, he made his way to the stables.
He wanted to help Champa but to do so openly would jeopardize the school even further. There was Aurangzeb’s spy among them and the ulema and the curse. He couldn’t let others know that he cared about this school. All that he cherished perished. Did Kalinoor know about the madrasa already? Was that the next target?
Bageshri was happy to see him. Shayista patted his steed and mounted the jewelled saddle. He realized he was delirious, cogitating the consciousness of an inanimate object. Of course Kalinoor did not know about the madrasa. Of course there was no curse. There were only greedy men who wanted to establish oppressive power structures.
Shayista galloped out towards the madrasa and wondered how it had changed over the year since Pari had died.
Waves crashed along the banks of the Buriganga. Energy was eternal and connected but mortality felt finite and isolated. Beyond his duties, there was nothing he lived for. He was struck by the emptiness of his existence.
Pari had loved the madrasa. To protect her from danger outside the fort, he had tried to discourage her from getting too involved but she was born to love. No cage could hold her in. Finding him unsupportive, she had asked her tutor for help and sold her jewellery for funds. When he saw the strength of her resolution, he relented and financed the establishment. He gave her 1,000 gold coins and five boxes of books for the school library.
Shayista slowed his stallion to a canter as he approached the madrasa. It was apparent the premises had been vandalized. The doors were smashed in, trees hacked, swings torn. Surveying the ruins, his heart broke once again. For all the sophistication of Bengal, there were still so many fools.
Voices in the garden drew his attention. Concealing Bageshri behind bushes, he approached in stealth.
Champa was sitting with a group of girls under the boughs of a krishnachura tree. ‘I have a treat for you,’ she said. ‘Look what I purchased from a hakim at the bazaar today.’ She retrieved an object wrapped in silk and passed it to the girls.
‘What is it?’ asked Marium.
‘A magnifying glass,’ she said.
‘Will we be able to see stars?’ asked Rezina.
‘It is not a stargazer,’ explained Champa. ‘It’s a magnifying glass. It makes things appear larger than they really are. Look.’
Champa held the magnifying glass over a pile of dried leaves and caught a ray of sunlight. The glass concentrated the light to a pinpoint so fine, it burned a hole through parchment. The girls clapped in delight.
Shayista marvelled at Champa’s teaching style. She was confident and bold. He could see the girls adored her. Mullahs with their misplaced understanding of Islam wanted to stop this? They dreamt of virginal houris in the cool pavilions of Paradise and for that reward they would blindly follow their leader without any questions. How could he explain to them that houris were not incarnations of heavenly sluts but symbols of unconditional love? How could he show them that the vilest sin of all was disrespecting life?
Shayista shuddered to think of Bengal under the leadership of men without hearts or imagination. These viruses needed to be exterminated one by one but who would do it? Was it his Destiny to destroy enemies ad infinitum? This was one responsibility he did not want but whom could he hand it over to? Pari was dead. Prince Azam was a deboshed fool. That Ibrahim fellow had the brain of a barn swallow. Shayista’s own sons were already deployed in rural regions, not capable of handling voluminous responsibilities. No competent leader had emerged to take the mantle of command off his shoulders.
Lost in thought, Shayista didn’t realize Champa had caught sight of his shadow. Suddenly she was standing before him with a jade-hilted paper knife, coming out to protect her girls from the lurking stranger that she saw him as.
Shayista gently disarmed her with a crouching tiger strike that sent the paper knife hurtling across the garden without hurting her. He lowered his hood. Champa’s jaw dropped as she recognized him. She fell to taslim.
‘I need to talk to you,’ he said.
She nodded and instructed the girls to take a recess. She led Shayista to the inner room where the headmistress was sitting at her desk, deep in study.
‘Guru Ma, we have a distinguished guest,’ said Champa. ‘The Subedar of Bengal. Subedar Khan, this is Saraswathi Rai.’
Guru Ma bowed in taslim, astonished to see him. He bowed back in respect. They greeted each other as old friends, a relationship Champa had forgotten about.
‘Why are you here?’ Champa asked. ‘You already denied us your help. What else could you possibly have to say? Or have you come to shut us down?’
Shayista’s face was pained. ‘I could not openly support the madrasa. That would make it a target. Your grandfather was right. Everything I cherish perishes.’
Champa’s eyes showed that she understood what he said. ‘What will you do?’
‘I don’t know yet. How does one destroy a curse? Perhaps it would be safest to close the madrasa for a while? I fear for your safety.’
‘Champa Miss!’ called a voice from outside. ‘What is this word, come see?’
Called back to task, Champa walked out to assist the girl.
‘Closing the school is not what Pari would have wanted,’ said Guru Ma, carrying on the conversation.
‘The mullahs have been indoctrinated,’ said Shayista. ‘How do I dissolve their delusions?’
‘Your daughter knew the answer.’ Guru Ma poured a glass of water for Shayista. ‘Princess Pari was passionate about this orphanage.’
‘It is dangerous to pursue certain paths,’ said Shayista.
‘History is shaped by the brave. The brave must take risks. To remain silent is to make space for the militancy of intolerance. One must uphold freedom.’
‘As Pari did,’ said Shayista, ruefully.
Guru Ma nodded. ‘What a brave one she was. When you refused to fund the madrasa, she made arrangements to sell her own jewellery. The invaluable diamond, the ...’ She stopped herself short.
‘Sell what?’ Shayista probed.
‘Nothing,’ said Guru Ma.
‘Kalinoor?’ he asked.
Guru Ma nodded.
‘She told you about Kalinoor?’
Guru Ma sighed. ‘She showed it to me once. She said it was hers to sell if she wanted.’
Shayista was not surprised that Pari didn’t think for a moment to sell anything else from the palace, only her own jewels. ‘Does anyone else knows about Kalinoor?’ he asked.
Swati nodded. ‘Only the gem merchant from whom Pari got a quote.’
Suddenly Shayista understood why Kalinoor had become the centre of attention. Word had gotten out. Pari had unintentionally let the secret slip. ‘Merchant?’
‘A French gentleman.’
Shayista let the bad news sank in. He asked Guru Ma not to tell anyone. For Pari’s sake she promised. He left before Champa returned. He had been so careful about the diamond just so this wouldn’t happen. Now greed was on the loose.