The House of Worship (Ibadat Khana Story in English)

 

Ibadat Khana

(The House of Worship )

By

Tipu Salman Makhdoom

Translated from Punjabi

 

1581

Fatehpur Sikri

Akbar's Portuguese Queen, Maria, sat in his lap, engaged in playful intimacy. The Emperor's heart yearned to stay, yet his duty called; all the scholars awaited him in the Ibadat Khana.

"Enough, my love, you must let me go now. Tonight, I must spend in the Ibadat Khana." The Mughal Emperor Akbar said, affectionately laying a hand on Maria's supple, bare hip, attempting to move her aside.

Maria clung to him even tighter and pressed her luscious lips against the Emperor's thick, strong neck. Akbar felt as if a dollop of sweet cream had been placed upon his throat.

"No, Emperor, I won't let you leave tonight. Today, my body burns with a fervent heat. Tonight, I will slake my fire in your Imperial Ocean."

Akbar laughed. Such boldness could only come from a European woman.

"Not tonight, my life, tonight is for business. Tomorrow, you will be my Queen, and I, your slave. I'll do whatever you command. Now, let me go."

But Maria's passion was beyond control today. It had been so long since Akbar had come to her chambers to sleep.

"No, my King. Today, I will conceal you within myself. No one can tear you away from me now. If you leave me tonight, I will hang myself." Maria began to pout, her eyes growing tearful.

Inwardly, Akbar did not want to leave her, but what could he do? All the scholars were waiting.

"Forgive me this one night, my beautiful Queen, I am compelled. Kingship is no easy task."

"If an Emperor cannot spend one night in love with his Queen by his own will, what good is such an Empire? To hell with this Kingship!"

Akbar laughed again. She had a point. Akbar, too, was eager for the Queen's swollen breasts and full thighs, and the Queen was teasing him mercilessly. It had been a long wait for their conjugal union.

"Queen, I will stay with you all night tomorrow, I promise. Just let me go today." Akbar made a half-hearted, final attempt, but the Queen wouldn't yield. She was determined to quench her thirst with the King's essence tonight.

Akbar, a keen hunter and fond of wrestling with elephants, was not yet forty.

 

London

Prime Minister William Cecil strode through the cold, dark corridors of Whitehall Palace, contemplating the decisions made in court. The Queen must have summoned him to discuss trade with the Ottoman Empire. Heavy Indian, Persian, and Turkish carpets covered the floor, yet the chill crept into his very core.

"The Queen has already established the 'Company Bahadur' for trade with Turkey, so what's left to discuss?" Cecil thought, frustrated.

The ceiling of the corridor was high, and the walls were paneled with wooden planks up to the roof. Paintings adorned the walls here and there, and every few steps, there was either a table or a sculpture. He took care that the scabbard of the sword fastened at his waist did not knock against anything. It had started snowing outside again, so his leather boots were damp. His white beard was visible beyond the white collar that reached his chin and ears. Past the guard at the corridor's end, this was the second guard standing outside the Queen's room. The guard bowed to the Prime Minister and, without asking or explaining, pushed one leaf of the door ajar and announced:

"Prime Minister William Cecil is here."

A maidservant’s voice called from within:

"Let him enter."

The guard pushed the heavy, wide wooden door. Cecil gathered his broad, deep green silk frock and the warm, maroon robe worn over it, and stepped inside.

The large room was also covered with carpets and wooden paneling. The Queen's bed was situated on one side, and a table and chair on the other. Queen Elizabeth I sat in a chair before the roaring fire in the fireplace, with a maidservant standing beside her. Seeing the fire, Cecil's shins, shivering in his tight white hose, felt even colder.

Taking long strides, Cecil moved right up to the fire. Then he realized it would be difficult to bow to the Queen from there. He stepped back two paces, bowed, then took a step forward and knelt on one knee.

The Queen extended her right hand, which Cecil leaned in to kiss. The Queen gripped Cecil's fingers tightly. Cecil froze there, barely suppressing a smile. The Queen's heart quickened. Even at this age, the sight of a stately man like Cecil would melt the Queen's heart. Such mischievous acts were common knowledge in court, but everyone knew the Queen did them merely to amuse herself. Nothing more. In the presence of her maid, this was a playful act, not a message. The Queen smiled mischievously. After gripping his hand tightly for a minute or two, the Queen loosened her hold. Kissing the unmarried royal hand, Cecil rose to his feet.

The Queen asked the maidservant to bring the chair from the table. The chair was brought, and the Queen, asking the maidservant to leave, gestured for Cecil to sit. The chair was too far from the fire, and Cecil was still shivering. He picked up the chair, moved it closer to the fire, and sat facing the Queen.

"Yes, Queen, you wanted to consult on trade with the Ottoman Empire?"

"No, Cecil, I've already signed the charter for the 'Turkey Company'. Now the trade will begin, and we'll see what happens."

"It will go well, Queen. The Ottoman Caliph is as troubled as we are by the Spanish and Portuguese ships in the Indian and Mediterranean Seas. They dominate all trade from India to Europe."

"Your concerns are valid, Cecil. These two were already harming Ottoman trade by controlling the Mediterranean and the overland routes in Europe. Now that Vasco da Gama has found the sea route to the Indian Ocean, the matter has worsened. The Portuguese have now established themselves at the Goa port in India, further decreasing Ottoman trade. That's why Turkey will certainly cooperate with us."

"Indeed, Queen. So far, the Caliph seems sensible to me."

"Yes," the Queen said, adjusting her voluminous, deep violet, floral frock, "he seems wise, but I have more faith in his Queen than in the Caliph himself."

"Yes, Queen. Safiye Sultan is European, she is clever, and her influence in court is considerable."

They had discussed all these points many times while deciding on the 'Turkey Company' charter, and Cecil was getting agitated hearing them again.

"Queen, what matter do you wish to discuss now?"

The Queen was silent for a while. The yellow light of the fire was making her very fair face look sallow. Cecil realized something major was brewing in the Queen's mind. He sharpened his wits and waited to see what new scheme the Queen would propose.

"I want you to send a clever person to India."

Cecil did not grasp the idea. What was she talking about? But he said nothing.

"I want someone to go to India in disguise, meet the Mughal Emperor Akbar, and persuade him to expel the Portuguese from his country."

Cecil remained silent, but his mind was whirring like a gyroscope. The Queen was thinking clearly. Akbar was an open-minded king, while the Portuguese were fanatical Jesuit Catholics. Akbar could be turned against them on this point.

The Portuguese had established a colony at the Goa port in India and were acting arbitrarily. Due to their naval superiority over the Mughals, they also controlled the trade of the Arabian Sea. If the trade between India and Europe came into English hands, they would pay Akbar higher taxes, which would benefit him immensely; he could ally with the English. At this time, the Ottomans had poor relations with both the Mughals and the Portuguese. If the Indian trade fell into our hands, we could become the trade bridge between India and the Ottoman Empire. This would be beneficial for all three countries.

"Your Majesty, you have truly thought of an excellent plan." Cecil praised the Queen sincerely. "Your Majesty, I have a young man in mind, Francis Bacon. He is a young philosopher. Educated and intelligent. He could be sent."

"This is no job for philosophers, Cecil. Send a shrewd diplomat."

Cecil smiled.

"Queen, I will send the shrewd diplomat as his interpreter. The Emperor is fond of philosophy and organizes debates among scholars; it will be easier to reach him through a philosopher."

 

Constantinople 

Port

The Golden Horn port looked like a masterpiece of painting—colorful, vast, and magnificent. There was a throng of activity. Many ships, large and small, were coming and going. The English Company's ship dropped anchor. It was one of the larger vessels. Still, Berkeley was amazed to see so many ships, so many nationalities, and such a great bustle. No wonder he meticulously prepared himself again before taking the launch, polishing his medals and restyling his hair before getting into the boat to head for the port.

As he set foot on the rope ladder, he felt the warmth of the sun. He looked up at the sky; he had never seen such a clear, bright blue in Britain. Today, he finally understood what azure truly was. Placing his second foot on the ladder, he heard the shrieking of seabirds flying overhead. A strange sense of vibrant, overflowing life seeped into his very being.

The small boat bobbed as it moved toward the harbor, and a flash of light caught his eye. Sunbeams seemed to be playing in the deep blue water. As they passed one ship, they saw Romanian merchants loading crates of glass goods onto small boats with the help of Abyssinian slaves. On a nearby ship, Egyptian merchants were unloading bales of cloth from boats onto the ship, also using their slaves. Dodging ships, boats, and anchors, the small craft continued toward the harbor.

Stepping onto the harbor, Berkeley was confused about what to do. People of every nationality were present, and thousands of crates of trade goods were scattered everywhere. Just then, a Turkish soldier spotted that he was new here. The soldier gestured for Berkeley to follow and started walking toward the city. Berkeley and his two officers followed the soldier. Berkeley saw many other Turkish soldiers and officers along the way, wearing high caps, long coats, hose, and knee-high boots over their trousers. The men's attire immediately betrayed their nationalities. The long coats of the Europeans, the robes of the Muslims, and the Kurtas, Dhotis, and Shalwars of the Indian and Persian merchants revealed their origin even before their skin color was seen.

Berkeley tried to speak to the accompanying soldier two or three times, but he ignored him. One of his officers, Black, spoke Persian and also tried, but to no avail. Berkeley suspected Turkish was the common language and ordinary people wouldn't understand Persian, yet he kept trying. There was no harm in testing his luck.

Dodging people and horse-drawn carriages, they entered a large building with high arches. Up the stairs was a big courtyard, at the end of which was a massive arch-shaped door. Two guards stood alert at the door. Inside, two more guards stood in the hall. Ahead, two more guards stood before another door. These guards stopped them. The soldier exchanged some whispers with them, and one guard went inside.

A little later, the guard called the soldier who had accompanied them inside. The three Englishmen were left alone with the guards. There was no place to sit, so they kept standing. After half an hour, the guard peeked out of the doorway, looked intently at the three, and, estimating that Berkeley was the officer from his shiny medals, motioned for him to enter. Berkeley gestured for his officers to come too, but the guard stopped them. "Farsi, Farsi," Berkeley said, putting a hand on his Persian-speaking officer's shoulder. The guard thought for a minute, understood, and let all three enter.

This was a very large room. A high ceiling made the room feel even bigger. Large windows reached the ceiling, flooding the room with light. The sound of their English boot heels clacking on the wooden floor made Berkeley nervous. An Iranian carpet in blue and green covered a section of floor. A legless table sat on the carpet, behind which a Turk in a heavy robe and large turban was seated. Two Turkish officers sat respectfully before him, their hands clasped. Four minor officers stood to one side.

The guard pointed to the standing officers, signaling them to join that group. The man in the robe looked at them, and Berkeley, placing his hand on his chest, said loudly, "Salaam."

The robed man accepted the greeting with a nod. Then Black spoke in Persian.

"Sir, I told them we are officers of the 'Turkey Company' chartered by the Queen of Britain and have brought a commercial vessel."

"Then why doesn't he speak?" Berkeley asked, his eyes fixed on the man in the robe.

"Sir, it's the custom of the East; those who rush are considered fools here." Black's eyes were also fixed on the man in the robe.

"Does he even understand Persian?" Berkeley was worried by the lack of response.

"Don't know, Sir, let's wait."

After a while, the man in the robe signaled with his head, and one of the standing officers said something to Black in Persian.

"Sir, they are asking for the trade permit."

Berkeley breathed a sigh of relief and pulled the Company's charter and the Caliph's permit from his coat pocket. As he was wondering whom to give them to, Black took the documents and handed them to the standing officer who had spoken. He, in turn, passed them to one of the seated officers, who respectfully rose to his knees, opened both papers, and placed them before the man in the robe on the table. The robed man glanced at the papers, then picked up the Caliph's permit and examined the red wax seal closely. Satisfied, he placed the paper back.

The seated officer picked up the papers and handed them to the standing officer, who gave them to Black and then said something.

"Sir, he says we are welcome."

"Good," Berkeley said. No one said anything or moved. Berkeley was confused.

"What now?"

"Now we must ask permission to leave, Sir." Both men's eyes remained fixed on the robed man.

"But we need to meet the Queen."

"For that, we should go to the palace, Sir."

"Ask them where Safiye Sultan can be met."

It was as if acid had been thrown onto the gathering. Everyone raised their heads to look at Berkeley as a snake raises its hood to strike. The three English officers were startled.

Black quickly bowed and repeated, "Respected Queen, Respected Queen," in Persian. Berkeley whispered in his ear to tell the man in the robe that Berkeley had brought a special message from Queen Elizabeth I for Safiye Sultan.

When Black relayed this, the robed man held out his hand.

"Black, tell him I will only give that message to the Queen, and no one else."

Black hesitated for two seconds, then bowed and said that the Queen of Britain had given specific instructions that the message was to be delivered only to the Queen.

For the first time, the robed man spoke. His Persian was fluent.

"The Queen of the Ottoman Empire does not meet everyone."

"It is necessary for the message of one Queen to reach another Queen," Black said, for he understood the courtier's mentality.

"I can convey the message to Her Majesty, not you people," the man in the robe said, turning his face away.

Hearing Black's translation of this conversation, Berkeley decided to leave. They asked the robed man for permission and left.

 

Topkapi Palace

The Albanian consort of the Ottoman Sultan, Murad III, Safiye Sultan, lay reclined on a swing in her chamber. Thick carpets covered the black wooden swing, upon which large bolsters were placed, and the Queen was smoking a hookah. The courtly nobles secretly referred to her as 'The Cobra' (Naagan). With the slick movements of a snake, she reached the bedside of anyone she wished, and whomever she bit never asked for water. This venomous beauty could only have the secret name of 'The Cobra'. Behind her, two handmaidens gently swayed the swing with each pendulum motion. Next to them stood the Agha.

The fair-skinned Gazanfar Agha was the chief of the palace eunuchs. The robe that draped over his tall, slender Italian body was no less opulent than the Queen's, but no jewel sewn onto that robe possessed the keen brilliance of the Agha's eyes. Apart from the Caliph, the Queen, and the Queen Mother, every person in the Empire listened to him with bated breath. Moreover, everyone feared the movement of his prominent jawbones. The weight of his words was in no way less than a Sultan's decree.

An Iranian fire-worshiper sat on the carpet before him, dressed in a white robe and a round cap.

"Your Majesty, Haaseki Sultan! The esteemed Mobad is the spiritual father of the Iranian fire-worshipers," Gazanfar introduced the Zoroastrian priest.

The Queen's hookah gurgled.

"Your Majesty, the esteemed Mobad has been residing in India for many years."

The Queen's hookah gurgled.

"Your Majesty, the esteemed Mobad is a disciple of the great Zoroastrian scholar, Dastur Meherji Rana."

The Queen's hookah gurgled.

"Your Majesty, the esteemed Mobad also meets with the Indian King Akbar, alongside the great Dastur."

This time, the Queen's hookah remained silent.

-----------------------------------

 

Gazanfar Agha exited Safiye Sultan's room, only to find a handmaiden standing before him.

"I commend your boldness," Gazanfar smiled, tilting his neck. The earring in his ear swung gently, and the precious diamond set within it sparkled with every movement.

"I offer a rare gift for the Great Agha," the handmaiden extended a silk satchel toward him.

Gazanfar did not move.

With a charming gesture, the handmaiden opened the satchel; inside lay a ruby the size of a cuckoo's egg.

Gazanfar stared at the ruby for a moment. Once satisfied that the stone was valuable, he turned his gaze to the handmaiden. He said nothing.

"An English officer requests an audience with the Queen."

Gazanfar’s smile vanished.

"He carries a letter from the Queen of Britain," the handmaiden added quickly, her voice betraying nervousness.

Gazanfar looked again at the gleaming stone in the handmaiden’s hand, then back at her.

"This English officer has sent a message for the Great Agha; he wishes to meet the Agha himself to present him with some gifts."

Gazanfar took the ruby from the handmaiden's hand and walked away. The handmaiden ran after him, distressed.

"Great Agha!"

"Next month," Gazanfar said without turning back, and was gone.

The handmaiden stopped, placed a hand on her bodice, and took a long breath. The gold coins tucked into her bodice had been well-earned. Now I will charge double the gold coins for a meeting with the Agha, she thought, and smiled.

 

Goa

The Holy Father "Rodolfo Acquaviva" was walking slowly toward the market. The swaying shade of the coconut trees lining the street was pleasing to the Portuguese priest.

To one side lay the harbor. Ships were arriving or departing. Some had sails unfurled, others furled. Commercial goods were being unloaded from some and loaded into others. Small boats ferried cargo and people between the ships and the harbor. Some bullock carts, laden with crates of goods, were heading for the market, while others were arriving for loading onto the ships. Father Rodolfo looked toward the harbor, where ships were visible as far as the eye could see across the Arabian Sea. One ship had arrived from Iran, and another was ready to sail for Egypt.

A gust of wind brought a storm of fragrances to the Father's nostrils. Turmeric, cinnamon, black pepper, salt, gunpowder, wet wood, fresh fish, seawater, and countless other scents combined to create a bazaar of perfumes in his nostrils. In the clear, bright sun, his body felt alive, melting and expanding. The sun's warmth revitalized him. Gradually, the scene before him seemed to come to life.

A dark-skinned Abyssinian was opening his basket, performing a snake charming show. To one side, a magician was breathing fire. On the other, an Arab and an Iranian were arguing over a deal. Nearby, Jewish merchants in long coats were buying goods from one trader and selling them immediately to another. In one spot, Arab traders in robes walked about, selling dates. People of every nationality were present: Abyssinian slaves, Indians, Iranians, Turks, Uzbeks, Armenians, Albanians, Hungarians, French, Italians, Arabs, Greeks, Yemenis, Kurds, Egyptians, and merchants from countless other countries were scattered everywhere. Some were unloading their goods, others were storing them, some were striking deals, and others were loading crates onto carts to take them to the city. Piles of crates and lines of carts stood waiting.

Large ships stretched far into the distance. Seeing the tall sails, the stacks of commercial crates, and the people of every color and background, the Father uttered a prayer in praise of God.

The Father took one last look at this beautiful spectacle of the bright day and turned toward the market. He had always liked the market. Coming here, the Father felt the presence of life, and with it, the urge to convert every race in the world to Christianity. Even more than that, the urge to convert the infidel Protestant English to Jesuit Catholicism.

The market of Goa was also a colorful world. In one shop, Gujarati merchants were displaying bales of muslin, and next door, Armenian traders were selling blue-patterned Chinese porcelain. An Arab merchant was sitting with his dates, trying to settle a deal with a Punjabi trader. Across the way, a Bijapuri merchant sold silk saris, and a French merchant was haggling to bring the price down. In between, local women in colorful saris were calling out, displaying baskets of fresh vegetables and fish. Over there, a Jewish father and son sat with their precious stones. Further on were spice shops, piled high with turmeric, cinnamon, black pepper, cloves, frankincense, sugar, salt, and many other spices, thronged with customers of French, Italian, Portuguese, Armenian, Albanian, Turkish, and many other nationalities. The largest crowds were at the indigo shops. The loud smells of fresh fish and vegetables were now being eclipsed by the strong scents of the spices. People of every race could be seen, wearing robes, kurtas, coats, turbans, caps, trousers, top, shalwars, and dhotis.

Crossing the market, the Father turned toward the Viceroy’s palace.

Now the route was lined with churches with large domes and airy houses with high ceilings and wide verandas. All were built in the Portuguese style, but with high ceilings and large windows to suit the hot, humid climate of Goa.

"Dom Francisco Mascarenhas" was the new Portuguese Viceroy in Goa. Father Rodolfo entered his office.

It was a very large room. The floor was wooden and wooden ceiling had three large chandeliers hanging from it. The walls were hung with life-size portraits of Portuguese and Spanish royalty, and huge maps of the Portuguese colonies in Europe, America, Africa, and Asia. Most of the things were date-palm brown, yet the bright sun streaming through the ceiling-high windows, was illuminating the room.

Beneath the central chandelier stood a large table and a regal chair. The Viceroy sat there, wearing a long coat, tall boots, trousers, and a hat adorned with an ostrich feather. The Father sat down across from him. The Viceroy gestured with his hand, and everyone else left.

"Father, when are you leaving for Emperor Akbar's Ibadat Khana?"

"I will depart in two weeks."

"Are you sure you will get an audience with the Emperor?"

"A special message has arrived from Sheikh Abul Fazl. The Emperor is scheduled to hold a gathering after two months. If God wills, a meeting will certainly take place."

"Father, can you, by any means, convert the Emperor to Christianity?"

"My child, I am doing the work assigned to me by God. If it is His will, the Emperor will surely find the truth."

The Viceroy was a very cunning diplomat. He was frustrated by the Father’s ambiguous reply. However, he knew that while the Father was a priest, he was also a great scholar and master of the art of diplomacy.

"Father, I have heard the Emperor is rebellious against Islam and wishes to convert to another religion?"

"The Emperor is not rebellious against Islam; he is rebellious against the Muslim scholars."

"And can this be extended to make him rebellious against Islam itself?"

"You know that the Emperor is indeed unlettered, but he is not ignorant. He has a keen sense of right and wrong."

"Father, you are a shining example of the truth of Christianity and an expert in the arguments that prove its veracity. I am confident you can persuade the Emperor."

The Father remained silent. The Viceroy waited for an answer until the Father spoke himself.

"Emperor Akbar is certainly enlightened, but he is also astute. If one of his Nine Jewels is the open-minded Islamic scholar Abul Fazl, the other is the fanatical Mullah Badauni."

"Father, he is enlightened, rebellious against his own faith, and consulting with priests and pundits of other religions about adopting a new one. Can you not prove Christianity true compared to the other religions?"

"Mr. Viceroy, as I have submitted, the Emperor is rebellious against the Muslims, not the faith."

"Father, I've heard that if the Emperor is not convinced by any religion, he will found his own religion."

"That is what is heard."

"Father, in that case, won't the people of every religion turn against him?"

"This is Hindustan, Viceroy, not Portugal. Here, if governance is based on religion, the devout fight amongst themselves; if governance is not based on religion, everyone remains loyal to the King. The Emperor understands this."

"And Father, then toward what are you steering the Emperor?"

"The English have reached Constantinople, and their next step is to set foot in India. Before the English can link us with Badauni, I will convince him that we are the Abul Fazls of Christianity." A look of disgust crossed the Father's face as he said this.

The Viceroy laughed.

"Father, that is like turning day into night! How will the King believe you?"

"The English are clever, but not open-minded. Only a short time ago, their Parliament passed a law to catch and execute witches. I will see how they reconcile this with their so-called open-mindedness." The Father said with a poisonous smile, and continued. "Furthermore, our girl, Maria, is the King's Queen, esteemed Viceroy. I will meet with her. She can be of great service to us."

The Viceroy’s eyes sparkled.

 

Fatehpur Sikri

By the time Francis Bacon arrived at Fatehpur Sikri, the sun had turned from golden to deep orange.

Bacon’s heart sank. From his vantage point on the hillock, the entire city looked like a deep maroon Persian carpet. Every major building in the city was made of red stone, and it seemed to be a kind of stone that glowed like incandescent coals in the red light of the setting sun.

Seeing his astonishment, the interpreter accompanying him pointed out the various buildings. When he saw the Panch Mahal, his feet seemed to freeze. Such a beautiful five-story structure—he felt as though he had entered the world of the Arabian Nights. When the interpreter told him that this was the royal women’s palace, and that it was designed so that a strong breeze blew through its upper floors at all times, he was stunned.

As they passed through the city, Bacon was astonished by everything. Passing by the buildings, he was filled with admiration for the delicate work carved into the stones. Seeing the wide, ruler-straight roads, the magnificence of Indian knowledge, skill, and art overwhelmed him.

His eyes widened when he saw the Jama Masjid (Grand Mosque). He was awestruck by the sheer size of its dome. Right behind the Jama Masjid was Abul Fazl's house. A large veranda was at the front. The guards outside inquired about their purpose, reported inside, and gestured for them to enter upon receiving permission.

Inside was a large hall. Bacon silently admired the craftsmanship and high taste displayed in the fine work on the ceiling, columns, and floor of the room. A little later, Abul Fazl arrived. A Rajasthani with Yemeni features: medium height, light beard. He wore a heavy Rajasthani turban and a green silk shawl over a light orange robe. Bacon bowed in greeting. Abul Fazl also bowed and said, "Allah Akbar" (God is Great).

The interpreter introduced him as the English philosopher who had come to seek the knowledge of the East.

"I have been waiting for you. I am also writing a history of India. I will have the opportunity to learn from conversing with you."

"Esteemed Abul Fazl, what are you saying? It is a great fortune just to see a scholar like you, and you have granted me the honor of a meeting."

"That is your generosity, Mr. Bacon. I have heard about your navy and your trade relations with the Ottoman Empire."

Bacon was jolted. The Indians were not as cut off from the world as he had assumed.

"Esteemed Abul Fazl, those are the matters of rulers; I don't know much about them. I am just a humble student."

"Very good. Whose country's history are you writing?"

"Well, I have read the history of the great powers of Europe. And in doing so, I realized that our people don't know much about the history of the East. That is why I came here to seek the history of the great country of India. Then I learned that a scholar like you is writing the history of India, so I thought I would translate your Indian history. It would be my great fortune if I could be favored with a copy of your Indian history."

"That is good. The history is not complete yet, but I would be happy to give you a copy of what has been written. However, since this history is being written at the Emperor's command, it will not be possible without the Emperor's permission."

"Esteemed Abul Fazl, I am confident that the Emperor will give you permission. I have heard that the Emperor of India is a learned and enlightened ruler. It is a country's good fortune to have such a ruler."

Abul Fazl was pleased to hear this. "I am glad that you, too, are an enlightened scholar. These days, the Emperor is holding discussions on philosophy and religions in the Ibadat Khana. I will try to arrange for you to attend such a gathering."

"If that were to happen, I would consider myself the luckiest person in the world. That would be a tremendous honor."

"Very well, come, let me show you my history book."

 

Ibadat Khana

The grand structure of the Ibadat Khana seemed to float in the darkness of the new moon night, illuminated by the soft light of oil lamps.

There was a door at the base of the staircase. In front, under the dome, was the circular platform where the King sat, surrounded by two more platforms, each one step lower. The lowest platform seated the interpreters and students, and it was quite lively. The middle platform was for the scholars.

To the right of the King's platform, the first spot was reserved for Abul Fazl, which was empty. Next to him sat Abul Fazl's poet brother, Faizi. Next to Faizi sat the Zoroastrian scholar Dastur Meherji Rana, with his long white beard and a gathered long white gown, a white round cap on his head, and a waistband and shawl in wheat color. Facing the King's platform sat the Hindu priest Purushottam Das. He wore a dhoti with a vermilion colored shawl draped over it, and his head and face were shaved except for a topknot at the back. Next to him sat the Buddhist monk Acharya Siddharth. Wrapped in a yellow cloth, his head, face, and even eyebrows were shaved. To the left of the King's platform sat the Jewish Rabbi Yitzhak, with a long white beard, wearing a black robe and a small round cap. With him sat Father Rodolfo, wearing a black robe and a tall cap. Next to him sat Mullah Abdul Qadir Badauni, with a white beard and a turban.

It was time for the night prayer (Isha), but everyone was still waiting for the King. The interpreters were present on the lowest platform, but no one was speaking to anyone else.

Just then, Abul Fazl arrived. Everyone became alert upon his entry, but no one stood up. After seating Bacon and his interpreter on the lowest platform, he approached his place on the middle platform and, before sitting, placed his hand on his heart and greeted everyone. "Allah Akbar."

No one spoke, they just nodded in acknowledgment. Everyone understood that since Abul Fazl had arrived, the Emperor would soon follow. Shortly afterward, the King's arrival was announced. Everyone stood up. The King appeared from the room behind the royal platform at the top. When the King sat, all the scholars sat down too. Abul Fazl rose to his knees and began to speak.

"May the Emperor's fortune be high. Today, according to the Emperor's command, we will continue yesterday's discussion….."

The King raised his hand. Abul Fazl immediately fell silent and sat back down.

"We have been conversing for many days, and I have heard the wisdom and knowledge of all of you on various matters. But today, I want all the scholars to tell me in a single sentence: What is the relationship between God and Man according to your faith?"

This was not new. The King often ended an ongoing debate abruptly to start a new one, sometimes happily, sometimes out of frustration.

Everyone began to organize their thoughts. Then Badauni spoke.

"Emperor of the World, according to Islam, the relationship between God and Man is that of the Ruler and the Ruled (Haakim and Mahkoom). God's job is to command, and Man's job is to obey the command."

Akbar listened carefully, then glanced at Abul Fazl, whose face wore a poisonous smile upon seeing Badauni speak.

A little later, the Jewish Rabbi spoke.

"Emperor, according to Judaism, the relationship between God and Man is a Covenant. 'Yahweh' made a covenant with us that if we follow His law, He will bless us with the rule of Israel and His favors."

Akbar bowed his head, pondering the words. Then he looked up at the scholars.

Now the Father spoke.

"Emperor of Hindustan, the relationship between God and Man in Christianity is one of Great Love. God placed Man in Paradise, but Man made a mistake and was punished. Then, the loving God came down to Earth and suffered the punishment meant for Man, thereby forgiving his mistake. Man's duty is to love his God."

Akbar looked at Abul Fazl again and nodded.

Now the priest Purushottam spoke.

"In Hinduism, there is no difference between God and Man. Every man is a form of God; his duty is to recognize the God within himself."

At this, Akbar exclaimed, "Wow!" At the same time, Abul Fazl, in a state of ecstasy, proclaimed, "Allah Akbar."

A look of disgust spread across Badauni's face.

This time, the Acharya spoke.

"Emperor, there is no God in Buddhism. Man receives the fruit of his karma. If anyone cannot digest this, let him understand that this principle is God."

Akbar stared at the Acharya for a long time. Then he looked toward the Dastur.

The Dastur spoke.

"The relationship between God and Man is that of Companions. Man can decide good and evil for himself. It is Man's choice whether to support God Ahura Mazda or become a companion of the evil spirit Ahriman through bad deeds."

Akbar took a long breath.

Listening to these profound philosophies—which the scholars' interpreters were relaying to the gathering in Persian and other languages, and which Bacon's interpreter was translating into English in his ear—a maelstrom began in Bacon's mind. He had never heard or read such deep philosophies. The relationship between God and Man as Ruler and Ruled, Love, Covenant, Companion, Different Forms of the Same Entity, and Law. Are these people or deep oceans of knowledge? Bacon’s mind struggled to assimilate these ideas. Based on each of these relationships, the character of God also changes. How profoundly, how freely, and how differently people in India think about the existence and nature of God! And there, in Europe, we are passing laws to find and kill witches! This country is centuries ahead of us in knowledge. I will find countless opportunities to learn here, Bacon thought, beginning to plan to ask Abul Fazl to arrange his meetings with these scholars.

When all these remarks were finished, Abul Fazl sat up attentively, assuming that the King would now initiate a debate with him to introduce whatever was on his mind. But Akbar said nothing. A moment passed, and Abul Fazl began to feel restless.

Finally, Akbar spoke.

"I have listened to everyone's words carefully. They are all excellent, but it is surprising that if God is one, then why is His relationship with every religion different? I want to reflect on these matters in solitude for some time. We will meet again tomorrow evening."

Saying this, the King stood up. Everyone else stood up with him. The King signaled for Abul Fazl to follow him and exited through the back door. Abul Fazl quickly followed him.

"The Emperor enjoyed tonight's gathering." Abul Fazl broached the subject, trying to gauge Akbar's mood.

Akbar smiled. "Yes, Abul Fazl, the words were, as always, marvelous."

"Even so, did the Emperor find the words very special tonight that he wishes to reflect on them in solitude?" Abul Fazl asked, surprised.

Akbar gestured, and the twenty-five guards surrounding him moved ten paces away.

"Abul Fazl, tonight I wish to spend in the arms of Queen Maria. You manage the scholars. We will discuss something else tomorrow."

Abul Fazl was silent for two moments.

"So, does the Emperor find these discussions superficial?"

Akbar smiled. "No, Abul Fazl, these were marvelous words. I always ponder the words of these scholars. But I was born a Muslim, and I will die a Muslim."

"Then, Emperor of the World, what is the purpose of these gatherings?"

"Abul Fazl, you are wise. I am a King, not a Mullah or a Pandit. I have to rule over my subjects, not deliver them to Paradise. But people do not understand this. If I remain only a Muslim, I cannot be the King of all. In reality, if I remain a follower of any single religion, I cannot be the King of all my subjects."

"So, does the Emperor intend to declare himself faithless?" Abul Fazl asked, worried.

"No, Abul Fazl, that would be useless."

Abul Fazl remained silent, failing to comprehend.

Gazing at the stars in the sky, Akbar said, "Therefore, I will keep everyone confused. Everyone will continue to believe that I am either inclined toward, or can be inclined toward, their religion. Hence, they will all remain engaged with the hope of converting me."

Abul Fazl instinctively stepped forward and bowed, kissing Akbar's hand. "The wisdom and understanding of the Emperor of the World surpass all the books and knowledge of the universe."

"Enough, Abul Fazl, now let me go. My heart yearns for the Queen's embrace." Akbar said playfully, and walked toward the palace.