From Delhi to Palam (Short Story)

 

 

From Delhi to Palam

By

Tipu Salman Makhdoom

(Translated from Punjabi)

 

1803

The year 1803 was a strange, disquieting year in the annals of history. In Europe, Napoleon was relentlessly waging war against the British, while across a vast ocean, the US Supreme Court, in the landmark case of "Marbury v. Madison," asserted a profound new power: the right of courts to invalidate any government law that violated the Constitution.

This was the same year that Delhi's Red Fort stood cloaked in sorrow. It was a monument to weakness, age, and utter helplessness. Its grand walls and magnificent minarets, once the epitome of imperial splendor, seemed dull and lifeless, even under the fierce, bright sunshine of the autumn months. The Marathas, having lost their final war to the British, had surrendered the Emperor of Hindustan to the Company Bahadur. Now, the emperor's royal stipend would be paid by the very same people who had brought his empire to its knees. Upon receiving this grim news, Shah Alam had turned to his chief eunuch, Zamurrud, and asked her to recount the tale from the great book, Siyasatnama, by the Seljuk Prime Minister Nizam al-Mulk Tusi. It was the story of Umar ibn al-Layth, who, after losing the battle of Balkh, simply said, "In the morning I was a ruler, and by evening, a captive."

The seventy-five-year-old Shah Alam II chewed on a piece of quail, his fingers lingering on the succulent meat. Yet, he found the fingers of twenty-four-year-old Gulbadan to be softer still than the quail that had cooked for six hours on a low flame. As he held her silky wrist in one hand and sucked her fingers, his other hand rested on the handmaiden’s bare waist. A wave of shyness and mischief would cause her to writhe, and with each graceful twist, a tickle would spread through the Emperor of Hindustan's stomach.

Shah Alam II—what a magnificent and awe-inspiring title. Yet the British merely scoffed at his long list of honorifics, and the envious would sneer, "The Empire of Shah Alam, from Delhi to Palam." Palam, after all, was just a short carriage ride from Delhi's heart.

Shah Alam II was the middle step in the three-stair fall of the Mughal Empire, an empire that was crumbling under the unbearable weight of its own empty words.

Aurangzeb Alamgir had remained on the battlefield until the day he died. He had reduced the Marathas to little more than mountain rats. Wherever the Mughal army established a camp, a thriving city would spring up. This vast army of hundreds of thousands, which had been fighting for years without pause, had all its needs met right within the camp. As they set up their encampment, markets would materialize: a vegetable market, a meat market, and even a red-light district. In the evening, thousands of cooking pots would be placed on the fire. If you climbed a small hillock, you would see a sea of tents stretching as far as the eye could see. When the army marched, its elephants, horses, mules, and soldiers would walk for miles, a moving river of power. In the very center, on a royal elephant, rode the Mughal Emperor of Hindustan himself. His hair was white, a rosary was in his hand, and the Quran lay open in his lap as he moved with his army into battle. Wherever he went, the full glory of the empire was on display.

Aurangzeb Alamgir's son was the first step in the decline of the Mughal Empire. He became the Emperor of Hindustan in 1707 and had two titles: Shah Alam and Bahadur Shah. Both would prove to be ill-fated. Shah Alam II accepted a humiliating allowance from the British, and his grandson, Bahadur Shah II, also known as Bahadur Shah Zafar, would be the one to finally bring the Mughal Empire to utter ruin. These two were the next steps down the staircase.

After indulging the emperor with quail, venison kebabs, duck curry, lamb pilaf, almond and walnut halwa, and pomegranate juice, Gulbadan dipped the tips of his fingers in a golden bowl, encrusted with jewels and filled with rosewater. She then used a corner of her fine muslin shawl, dipped in the same fragrant liquid, to gently wipe the emperor's lips.

At a subtle sign from the chief eunuch, Zamurrud, three Abyssinian slaves carried the dishes away to the royal kitchen. With another sign from Zamurrud, a handmaiden placed a bejeweled golden betel-nut box in front of the emperor. Zamurrud gestured with her finger, and an Abyssinian slave brought a fresh hookah and placed it next to the emperor. Another beautiful handmaiden peered from behind a velvet curtain, and without any gesture from Zamurrud, she understood the command. Her anklets jingling, she came inside. She bowed and spoke in a soft voice, "This handmaiden, Shireen Lab, bows before Your Majesty."

Gulbadan gently took the emperor's hand from her waist and placed it on his thigh. She straightened the pillows and propped the emperor's elbow on one of them. The emperor shifted to lean against the pillows. The two handmaidens fanning him with peacock feathers moved away and stood silently behind him. Gulbadan took three or four puffs from the hookah to warm it up and ensure the tobacco was right. Then she snuggled next to the emperor and began to give him puffs with her own hand. Before each puff, she would take a drag herself and then pass the gurgling hookah to the emperor. Meanwhile, Shireen Lab had sat in front of the emperor and was twisting a ball of opium the size of a Kabuli chickpea into a fragrant betel-nut leaf, following the Hakim's secret instructions.

After preparing the betel-nut leaf, she moved into the emperor's lap. Gulbadan was whispering the story of the betel-nut leaf into the emperor's ear. The emperor opened his mouth, and Shireen Lab placed the betel-nut leaf inside. As she did so, the emperor sucked Shireen Lab's tongue and lips. Both handmaidens giggled, and a rare smile spread across the emperor’s face.

 

1739

In 1639, Ustad Ahmad Lahori, hailed by Shah Jahan as the "Nadirul Asr" (The Wonder of the Age), was simultaneously building the Taj Mahal on one side for Queen Mumtaz Mahal's tomb and laying the foundations of the Red Fort on the other. Who could say if a brick of ill-fortune was laid in its foundations at that very moment?

Shah Jahan planted the seed of his desire deep in the architect's imagination, where, by the ruler’s sheer will, the Red Fort was conceived. Craftsmen and materials arrived from every corner of the known world. For a whole decade, the Mughal Empire echoed with tales of its creation and grandeur. Who could have known that this magnificent glory was fated to last for only a single century?

In 1739, the eleven-year-old Shah Alam II witnessed two stark scenes with his own eyes. The same Delhi, the same Red Fort. Inside the fort, the Mughal Emperor Muhammad Shah Rangeela danced with handmaidens, his feet adorned with bells, while outside, the Iranian armies of Nader Shah Durrani were methodically massacring people in the city streets. Then, with those same eyes, he watched as the legendary Peacock Throne and the Koh-i-Noor diamond were loaded onto Nader Shah’s Iranian pack animals, leaving the fort forever.

 

1803

The emperor's two favorite handmaidens continued their playful games. At times, they would massage his thighs, and at other times, on the pretense of fixing his hair, they would playfully hide his face in their bodices. The emperor’s special eunuchs, handmaidens, and musicians had also come and sat around, and the chamber was filled with laughter and jokes. Every now and then, someone would tell a joke, someone would recite a ghazal, and sometimes the musicians would sing a melodious raag. No one got up to dance.

The doorman delivered a hushed message to the armed eunuch standing outside the emperor's chamber. The eunuch at the door relayed it to the one inside. The one inside passed the message to the next, who in turn whispered the news into the ear of Zamurrud, who was sitting next to the emperor. Zamurrud responded with a slight nod, no more than the blink of an eye. The assembly member went back to his place, and the gathering continued as if nothing had happened.

Two more hours passed, and the lively assembly began to quiet down. Now Zamurrud rose to her feet, and Gulbadan and Shireen Lab instantly shrank back like the sensitive mimosa plant. The eunuch snuggled up to the emperor and spoke in a soft voice, "Greetings, Emperor of the World, this servant, Zamurrud, bows before you."

The emperor slightly turned his face toward her. The gesture was both a silent answer and a question.

Zamurrud moved her mouth close to the emperor’s ear. She had approached the King as if she were walking on water. Then, with an exquisite delicacy, she placed her soft hand on his chest and whispered the matter into his ear. She remained motionless, like a living statue, until the emperor spoke. The two handmaidens sitting nearby watched her every move with a mix of admiration and envy. Though younger, they often told each other that they were better servants than Zamurrud, but deep down, they knew she was no ordinary rival. She was more beautiful, yes, but it was her gestures that were truly captivating. It was no wonder the emperor was so completely devoted to her.

Zamurrud's hand slowly slid from the emperor's chest down toward his stomach, and the emperor’s hand rested on her waist. As he sat, Shah Alam began to melt. Then, Zamurrud gently pulled her hand away. The emperor turned his face toward her, and understanding his silent cue, Zamurrud rose. She announced, "The Ruler of Sardhana and the Valiant Commander of the Armies of Sardhana, the adopted daughter of the emperor, Zaib-un-Nisa Begum Samru, seeks permission to kiss your feet."

“Permission granted,” Shah Alam said.

Everyone heard the words, but no one moved until Zamurrud’s eye gave the signal. At once, the name of the Nawab of Sardhana, Zaib-un-Nisa, Begum Samru, was announced, passed from the assembly members to the inner eunuchs, and then to the outer eunuchs and finally to the doormen.

Had Begum Samru’s hair not been loose and her chest not about to burst from the tightness of her tunic, she would have looked like a male general arriving. In a time of peace, this was the first time she had come in military uniform. Upon reaching the emperor, Samru bowed three times, then went forward, knelt at the royal feet, and placed her hands on the emperor's knees. The emperor said, "Zaib-un-Nisa," and pulled her into a tight embrace.

 

1757

It was truly an irony that Shah Alam's father held the title Alamgir II. How could he be compared to Alamgir I, Aurangzeb Alamgir, without whose permission not even a bird dared to fly in all of Hindustan? Alamgir II was a mere puppet of his minister, Imad-ul-Mulk, who would eventually be his killer.

The year 1757 was a pivotal moment in global affairs. In America, whispers of freedom from British rule were turning into open discussion. In France, the spark of revolution was beginning to glow. In Bengal, Mir Jafar had become the Nawab after British defeated Nawab Siraj-ud-Daulah, and the Company Bahadur was seizing all the wealth with both hands. In that very same year, Ahmad Shah Abdali entered Delhi.

He had come to Hindustan many times before, would loot the land, and then leave. This was the routine of these Afghans. Punjab lay on the way, so he always plundered Punjab first. The governor of Punjab and his Mughal army, caught up in their own petty politics, would either surrender without a fight or flee after a half-hearted struggle. Whatever the outcome, Punjab was always ravaged. The Punjabis even coined a cynical proverb: "Whatever you ate and drank is yours; the rest belongs to Ahmad Shah."

After looting Punjab twice, the third time lost its novelty. The Punjabis had nothing left to give. So, Abdali turned his sights on Delhi. This wasn't his first visit. In 1739, as a soldier in the army of Nader Shah Iranian, he had already plundered the city. Now, eighteen years later, he had returned, once again, to sack Delhi.

This time, too, the Mughal emperor had no power to fight. He, along with his murderous minister Imad-ul-Mulk, stood at the gate of the Red Fort to welcome the plunderer. What a tragic spectacle. The flamboyant Emperor Muhammad Shah Rangeela had welcomed Nader Shah Iranian into the Red Fort, allowing Delhi to be plundered, and now Shah Alam’s father welcomed Ahmad Shah Afghan, inviting him to loot Delhi again. Shah Alam's father, Alamgir II, could not even muster the courage to fight the Afghan army. The soul of Emperor Aurangzeb, Alamgir I, must have trembled in his grave. Alamgir I had ruled Afghanistan, and no Afghan dared to even challenge him. Now, Alamgir II stood outside, ready to be beaten by the very Afghans his predecessor had ruled.

Abdali did not need to massacre anyone in Delhi. There was no resistance. The entire city was plundered without a fight. But the wealthy, the ministers, and the royal family faced a terrible fate. The Afghan officers divided the houses of the nobles and ministers among themselves. First, they plundered the houses. Then, they terrorized the men to steal their hidden valuables. Then, they looted the jewelry of the daughters and daughters-in-law. Afterward, they broke the legs and arms of the men and abducted the beautiful women, whether they were daughters, daughters-in-law, or handmaidens, whether they were Muslim or Hindu.

First, like Nader Shah, Abdali looted the treasury, then he went on to squeeze the princes one by one. Those who had something were allowed to live after giving it up; those who had already been completely looted were beaten until they died. Along with the treasury, all the beautiful princesses, handmaidens, and eunuchs were also stolen, and Abdali returned to Afghanistan. Before leaving, he appointed his officer, Najib-ud-Daulah, as the minister for Alamgir II. Who had the audacity to refuse?

For a whole year, only Najib Rohilla’s orders were followed in the Red Fort.

In 1757, on one side, the British Company Bahadur was conquering Bengal by defeating Nawab Siraj-ud-Daulah in the Battle of Plassey, and here, Ahmad Shah Afghan was shaking the very foundations of Alamgir II’s Delhi. On one side, the British made Mir Jafar the Nawab of Bengal, and in Delhi, Abdali made Najib Rohilla the minister. Both were puppets of those who had appointed them.

The kingship that Najib received was more a puppet of Imad-ul-Mulk than of Alamgir. Imad was a master of conspiracy and had no equal. The day after Najib was made minister, Imad began plotting against him. It took him a year to build a relationship with the Marathas, and with the help of the Maratha army, he drove Najib out of Delhi. Once again, Imad’s authority reigned in the Red Fort.

But in that one year, Najib had turned the entire Red Fort against Imad. He had either killed or driven away all of his men. Imad had returned, but this time he was alone. Imad was alone at the top, and Najib’s men were alone at the bottom. The situation was such that Alamgir II began to regain some power. Imad spent a whole year trying, but things were not as they used to be. Now Alamgir II was also becoming brave and began to act like a true emperor. Frustrated, Imad killed the emperor in 1759.

After his father’s death, it was Shah Alam II's turn to rule. However, both Imad and the Marathas were afraid of Shah Alam. They announced the kingship of Shah Jahan III. To save his life, Shah Alam fled to Awadh, to Nawab Shuja-ud-Daulah. After some time, Shah Alam began to negotiate with the Marathas for help to take over Delhi. The Marathas were not happy with Imad. He had conspired with them to get rid of Najib Rohilla, whom Abdali had appointed, but he was a cunning man and would not give them any lead. The Marathas wanted both Delhi and a Mughal emperor of their choice in Delhi. The public, along with the nawabs and rajas of the small states, would not object to the Mughal emperor’s order. On behalf of Shah Alam, the Marathas attacked Delhi again, drove away Imad and Shah Jahan III, and announced Shah Alam II's kingship.

Shah Alam became emperor, but he was smart enough not to return to Delhi. He was well aware of the conspiracies of the Delhi court and had seen his own father, the Emperor of Hindustan, being killed by his own minister. The very same Marathas who had now made him emperor had also encouraged that murder.

On the other hand, in 1760, the Company Bahadur had removed Nawab Mir Jafar and appointed his son-in-law, Mir Qasim, as the Nawab of Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa. Mir Qasim was trying to keep the Company Bahadur in their place and retain his own rule, rather than being a puppet of the British like his father-in-law. This caused tensions to escalate between the British and Mir Qasim. The Nawab of Awadh, Shuja, wanted to join Mir Qasim to crush the British because he feared that if they became stronger in Bengal, they would eventually attack Awadh. However, the Nawab needed the Mughal emperor for a war against the British. Shuja knew that if the Mughal emperor supported him and Mir Qasim, it would be easier to defeat the British. The people would not support the British against the Mughal emperor, and no other nawab or raja would raise an army against him. So, Nawab Shuja also advised the emperor to stay with him.

A third reason was the rumors that Abdali was coming to capture Delhi again, and this time, he would have to face the Marathas directly because they were the new rulers of Delhi. Shuja feared the Marathas after the British. The Afghans would loot Punjab or, at most, Delhi and leave, but if the Marathas became too powerful, they would try to capture Awadh sooner or later. So, he was ready to join Abdali to fight the Marathas. Shah Alam was worried about what to do in these circumstances—whom to support and whom to fight?

While in Awadh, Shah Alam had grown fond of the Nawab's minister, Mirza Najaf Khan. He was a clever and well-intentioned man. Shah Alam summoned Najaf. Mirza Najaf stood with his hands folded in respect.

"Mirza, you are the special minister of the Nawab of Awadh."

Najaf had been in the court since childhood; he understood what the emperor meant.

"This servant is a slave of the Emperor of Hindustan and is a servant of the Nawab only because of his command," Mirza's head remained bowed.

"Mirza. I have heard that Abdali is preparing to march on Delhi again."

"Your Majesty has heard correctly. And the Nawab will fight under his banner," Mirza said and paused for a moment. He raised his head and met the emperor's eyes. "Against the Marathas."

"Did you give this advice to the Nawab?"

"No, Your Majesty, this decision is the result of the Marathas' greedy eyes on Awadh."

"Do you also think this is right, Mirza?"

Najaf was silent for a while.

"If the Emperor of Hindustan is seen with the Afghans in the war, he will become an enemy of the Marathas. If he is seen with the Marathas, he will become an enemy of the Afghans."

Najaf stopped after saying this.

"And Mirza, what if the emperor is not seen with anyone in the war?"

"Then, Your Majesty, whether the Afghans win or lose, Abdali will return to Kandahar."

Shah Alam weighed Najaf's words for a long time. Then, giving him his ruby-encrusted ring as a reward, he said, "Mirza, I will ask Shuja for you."

"What greater fortune could I have, Your Majesty?" Najaf said with respect, taking the ring and kissing the emperor's hand.

So Shah Alam remained peacefully in Awadh, neither entering Delhi nor going to Panipat.

And what happened was exactly what he expected. In 1761, in the Third Battle of Panipat, Ahmad Shah Abdali, along with Najib Rohilla and the Nawab of Awadh Shuja-ud-Daulah, fought and crushed the Marathas. Abdali again entered Delhi. There was no need to change the emperor; he was already sitting outside and was also in the refuge of his ally, Nawab Shuja. Abdali again handed Delhi over to Najib Rohilla and, after looting, returned to Afghanistan.

After breaking the back of the Marathas, Shuja turned his attention to the British and began to encourage the Nawab of Bengal, Mir Qasim. Qasim was already unhappy with the British. The situation deteriorated and led to war. In 1764, the armies faced each other on the battlefield of Buxar. On one side were the armies of Nawab Mir Qasim of Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa, and Nawab Shuja-ud-Daulah of Awadh under the banner of the Mughal Emperor Shah Alam II. On the other side was the army of the Company Bahadur.

Now Shah Alam's Delhi was in trouble again. After Panipat, the Marathas’ power had been broken; at that time, they could not get Delhi for Shah Alam. If the Nawabs had won at Buxar, he could have taken their armies and occupied Delhi, but if they lost, who would save Delhi from the Afghans for Shah Alam? There had been no war between the Mughal emperor and the British until now, but it was about to happen because Nawab Shuja had forced him to fight this war. And after winning, why would the British help Shah Alam?

The Battle of Buxar happened, but Shah Alam did not leave his tent. He stayed inside, completing his ghazal.

The British won the war. Mir Qasim fled, and Shuja returned to Awadh. Shah Alam sent a message to the British, and meetings were held. The company took Shah Alam to Allahabad. Now the Company Bahadur also understood that the Mughal emperor was like an elephant: worth million alive and a million and quarter dead. Even if the emperor was useless, if the occupation of Bengal was under the order of the Mughal emperor, no one would object. In 1765, the Company Bahadur had the Diwani of Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa (the right to collect taxes) written over by Shah Alam II. At the same time, they took a heavy war indemnity from Shuja and stationed their armies in Awadh as well. Then Shah Alam kept asking the British to give him an army so he could go and sit in Delhi. But their attention had turned toward Haider Ali of Mysore and Tipu Sultan.

 

 

1803

Begum Samru sat beside Shah Alam. "How are you, my beautiful daughter? Is all well?" Shah Alam asked, his voice filled with a grandfather's tender affection.

"Yes, Your Majesty, by the grace of God," she replied.

Meanwhile, the handmaidens brought sherbet, betel-nut, and a fresh hookah. Zamurrud, with a touch of her hand to the emperor’s, offered the betel-nut and hookah to Samru. After a little small talk, Shah Alam turned his face toward Zamurrud. Zamurrud clapped her hands and, with the single word, "Takhliya" (Privacy), the chamber’s occupants rose and bowed low. Zamurrud gestured with her eye, and Gulbadan and Shireen Lab also stood. Now, only the emperor, Zamurrud, Samru, and two handmaidens fanning with peacock feathers remained.

"The British armies have made the streets of Delhi a bed of roses," Begum Samru said, gesturing toward the bright scarlet tunics of the British soldiers.

"Yes, Zaib-un-Nisa," Shah Alam sighed, "after the red turbans, it is the red coats who now rule Delhi." He was referring to the Marathas.

"You are right, Your Majesty," Begru Samru conceded, "at least they are better than the white trousers." Her remark was directed toward the Afghan soldiers of Ghulam Qadir Rohilla, whom she had fought in 1787 to save Shah Alam. This was the same year that, in another corner of the world, America, having drafted its constitution, declared the independence of its constitutional democracy.

As soon as she spoke, Samru regretted her words. She had brought up a grim memory.

After a long silence, Shah Alam recited two couplets from his own ghazal:

I am helpless at your hand, what work can I do?

Shall I tear my collar and bring you infamy?

In this world, I have only one complaint, from you alone,

Why should I complain about the wheel of time?

No one spoke. Zamurrud gestured, and the eunuch standing at the door went to get wine for the emperor. Zamurrud knelt, first kissing Shah Alam's lips, then his eyes, and with an almost unbearable tenderness, she licked his tears.

Crafting a goblet with her own hands, Zamurrud first offered it to Samru. Then, she made a goblet for the emperor, taking his permission to serve the first sip herself. Kneeling on either side of him, she pressed her breasts against his chest and, taking a sip from the goblet, placed her mouth against his. After passing him the sip of wine, Zamurrud filled the emperor's mouth with her tongue and, at the same time, placed a hand between his legs. The emperor’s hands found her waist, and he began to suck her tongue in return.

The emperor was refreshed again.

"Zaib-un-Nisa, we always forget your European name. What was your name after you converted to Christianity?" the emperor asked, chewing on a walnut kernel.

"Forget it, Your Majesty," Samru said with a warm smile. "That's for the people. For you, I am your Zaib-un-Nisa."

"That is right," the emperor said. "You are my dearest daughter."

For a while, Samru asked the emperor about his Arabic, Persian, and Hindustani poetry and made him laugh, saying that English and French poetry were so disjointed and without rhythm, as if children had written lullabies. Then, she mentioned her French husband who used to tell her about an Italian scholar named Machiavelli. He had written the most famous book on European politics, whose name was "The Prince."

Machiavelli's counsel was that if a king is surrounded by powerful states, he should openly support one of them. In this way, whether he wins or loses, one power will always stand with him. Not supporting anyone would mean that whoever wins will see the king as a lone figure who offered no support, and in that case, the victor will crush him.

Shah Alam and Zamurrud listened intently to this wisdom.

 

1777

Kautilya Chanakya, a master of political science who studied at the University of Taxila and was the prime minister of Maharaja Chandragupta Maurya, had written his book "Arthashastra," or 'statecraft,' at the same time that Aristotle was teaching philosophy in Greece and his student, Alexander, was conquering the world. Chanakya wrote that in politics, it is necessary to make a deal with an enemy if a friend does not help.

In 1770, Najib Rohilla died, and his son, Zabita Rohilla, became the true ruler of Delhi. Zabita was even more cruel than his father, so no one in Delhi was happy with him.

Shah Alam marked the page about making a deal with an enemy in the Arthashastra with a peacock feather and sent a message to the Marathas. Ahmad Shah Abdali was on his deathbed. The Marathas were regaining power and already wanted to reclaim their rule over Delhi. The deal was made. Shah Alam left the Company Bahadur and, in 1772, with the Maratha army, he occupied Delhi. Zabita Rohilla fled but did not give up. Delhi was once again occupied by the Marathas in the name of Shah Alam. The Marathas had become the sworn enemies of the Afghans, especially after the Battle of Panipat. Najib Rohilla had also fought this war with Abdali, and now his son, despite losing, would not give up his mischief. The hide-and-seek between the Marathas and Zabita Rohilla continued.

In 1777, the independent American armies had made the British's situation difficult, and in a battle that same year, after losing to the Marathas, Zabita Rohilla fled, and in the spoils of war, his son fell into the hands of the Marathas. Najib Rohilla's grandson, Ghulam Qadir Rohilla, a handsome ten-year-old boy. Shah Alam kept him with him in the palace.

 

1788

In 1788, France was in a state of decay. The king's indulgences, flawed policies, and fighting wars with the British alongside the Americans in the American War of Independence had bankrupted France. For this reason, the following year, the French Revolution caused a sensation in the history of the world. In one corner of the world, the British had conquered Australia, and in another, the American states had ratified their constitution.

And in that same year, there was a scene of doomsday in Delhi's Red Fort. Rohilla soldiers were looting the city. Ghulam Qadir Rohilla sat on the Mughal throne, drinking wine, while all the princesses danced before him. On one side, Shah Alam, the princes, and the ministers were sitting on their knees, under the shadow of Afghan swords.

Qadir's face was flushed with wine. He drank and laughed, a hollow, bitter sound.

 

1783

The emperor had kept Ghulam Qadir Rohilla with him at all times. The boy remained with him in court, ate, and slept with him. The boy had completely won the emperor's heart. So much so that not only were the handmaidens jealous, but even the eunuchs were.

Only a few weeks had passed when one day, Shah Alam emerged from his bedchamber, his temper as black as an unlit chamber. Namkeen was summoned. Namkeen was the emperor's special eunuch. The boy was handed over to Namkeen to be trained and made worthy of the Emperor of Hindustan's love. For a few months, the boy disappeared into the private quarters of the Red Fort. Namkeen taught him the etiquette of love. He was trained by special personal servants. Teachers of Arabic, Persian, and Hindustani were hired to cultivate in him a taste for poetry. Expert musicians were assigned to teach him rhythm and harmony. At the same time, he was taught to make his anklets jingle on tight-fitting pants and to gyrate in a tight-fitting tunic.

Six months later, when Namkeen presented Qadir to the emperor, Shah Alam was pleased just by seeing his kohl-lined eyes, his lips stained red from betel-nut, his swaying gait, and his flexible bow. When he woke up in the morning, he was even happier. Namkeen was rewarded with a pearl necklace from the emperor's own neck.

The years passed like nights of youth, quickly. The emperor's love for Qadir Rohilla grew. On the other hand, saving Delhi became a twenty-four-hour problem. When Sikh groups attacked, he would beg the Marathas to save Delhi. Once, Begum Samru saved Delhi from a Sikh attack; otherwise, the city would have been looted again before the Maratha army could arrive. So that the Marathas did not become too strong, the emperor also kept in touch with the Afghans. He would send a message to Zabita Rohilla that he had raised Qadir like his own son. The emperor had even given Qadir the title of "Roshan-ud-Daulah." But after the rule of the Sikh Misls in Punjab, no Afghan army had enough strength left to cross Punjab and attack Hindustan. So the power of the Afghans was diminishing. So Shah Alam was also in touch with the Company Bahadur.

After struggling all day like pieces on a chessboard, his mind would be dull, and in the evening, a gathering would be held. First, there would be a gathering of dance and music. Musicians and dancers from all over Hindustan would come, show their art, and receive rewards and allowances from the emperor. Then painters, sculptors, and goldsmiths would come, present their art, and receive rewards and allowances. Then it would be the turn of storytellers and poets. They would listen to the emperor's Urdu, Hindustani, Persian, Arabic, and Turkish poetry and recite their own work, receiving rewards and allowances.

Years passed like this. Qadir Rohilla grew a mustache.

Being tied to the emperor all the time had many benefits, but the great disadvantage was that the boy was not aware that many of the palace's handmaidens and eunuchs, whose royal love he had usurped, were always on the lookout to make him fall out of the emperor's favor.

Being a boy and the emperor's "favorite," Qadir also had access to the royal harem. Entering the royal harem was not an easy task. Two armies kept an eye on every movement in the harem twenty-four hours a day. One was the old and ugly handmaidens whom no man of the royal family wanted to sleep with, and the other was the army of eunuchs, who were the only link between the harem and the outside world.

For a royal eunuch, making a young boy who had never seen a woman fall in love with a handmaiden was child's play. The royal handmaidens yearned for a man's touch, and they also knew that if the emperor had a favorite eunuch, he could arrange anything in the harem.

The boy was caught red-handed with an emperor's handmaiden in the harem. How the boy slipped through so many eyes, how he entered the handmaiden's room, and then got caught right in bed—it was not an issue of how it happened. The thing that was bothering the emperor was what punishment to give the boy. The handmaiden had been sentenced to the solitary confinement of the prison, but what should be done with the boy? The emperor did not even remember who the handmaiden was. Any handmaiden with whom the emperor spent the night became forbidden to all other men in the world. And if the emperor did not fall in love with her on the first night, her second turn could only come when Namkeen wanted it. Most of the time, their second turn never came.

The emperor was very fond of the boy, and secondly, killing him would ruin the relationship with the Afghans forever, which was not in Shah Alam's interest at all at that time. But punishment was also necessary. This was a matter of the Emperor of Hindustan's honor. His harem had been attacked. This had become a game of three between two people. No one could win or lose. Only one solution was left: the emperor's honor would be saved, the boy would be seen alive by the Afghans in the palace, and he would also continue to make the emperor's nights colorful.

The royal physician dissolved an appropriate amount of opium in a sip of water and gave it to Namkeen. A strong eunuch grabbed the chained boy's mouth and opened it, and Namkeen poured the sip of opium into the boy's mouth. The strong man closed his mouth and also closed his nose. The boy swallowed the sip.

By the time the surgeon came and heated his tools over a fire, the boy had already become tipsy. But he had understood what was about to happen to him. He was laid on his back, and four strong eunuchs held his legs and arms. When his clothes were being cut, he tried to writhe, shout dirty curses, and spit at the surgeon’s face, but the amount of opium was just right. When the surgeon plunged the red-hot glowing knife between Qadir's legs, his urine also flowed with his spittle. A fountain of blood came out from under Qadir's stomach. The surgeon's hands were covered in blood, but he continued to cut the pouch of flesh with great care and skill. As long as the royal surgeon was operating between his thighs, sounds came from his mouth as if he was gargling.

After keeping the boy on opium for three days, the physician slowly began to reduce the amount. This was not something that could be hidden. Now he was free, but everyone who came and went would mock him. In the palace, his name became "Afghan Lamb."

A little while later, news came that Zabita Rohilla was very ill. Ghulam Qadir Rohilla, also known as Afghan Lamb, was sent to his father.

 

1788

Every prince, noble, and minister was squeezed, one by one. This continued until Ghulam Qadir Rohilla stopped them. Those whom Qadir remembered calling him "Afghan Lamb" or teasing him by calling him "Queen of the World" were beaten until they died. The princesses, handmaidens, and eunuchs who used to mock him were given as a reward to the Afghan officers and were stripped naked in front of Qadir.

After every death or act of adultery, Qadir would look at Shah Alam. The emperor's face was blank. Perhaps the physician had given him an appropriate amount of opium, or he had seen so much in his life that he drank these shocks as one more bitter sip. Seeing his blank face, Qadir's heels would catch fire and it would go up to his skull.

Four strong Afghans laid the emperor on his back and held down his legs and arms. Ghulam Qadir Rohilla climbed onto the emperor's chest.

"Emperor of Hindustan, Shah Alam II, remember the time when your men were sitting on me like this. Remember?"

Shah Alam said nothing. His sunken eyes were fixed on the glowing red needle.

"Shah Alam, you cut me with a hot iron like this, didn't you? Remember!"

Qadir brought the glowing needle close to Shah Alam's left eye. The emperor's face shrank in terror.

Seeing the emperor's distorted face, Qadir laughed loudly.

"Shah Alam, you attacked my manhood, didn't you? But I'm not that low. What kind of man are you left anyways? Look, your harem is writhing under the legs of my army. You wanted to save them, didn't you? Now save them from me."

Qadir continued to laugh like a madman. The emperor's eyelashes were singed by the heat of the needle.

"You saw the spectacle of my helplessness with these eyes, didn't you?"

The emperor said nothing.

"You gestured to the surgeon with these eyes to cut my manhood, didn't you? Now these eyes will not be able to make any gesture. They will not remain at all. Now you will not see anything after the face of Ghulam Qadir Rohilla. Now you will remember my face for the rest of your life in the solitary confinement of the prison. Look, look at me carefully, the last face of your life."

Saying this, Qadir opened the emperor's left eye with his left hand and placed the glowing iron needle on the eyeball. The sound of burning flesh was drowned out by the Emperor of Hindustan's screams. The emperor writhed so hard that Qadir fell to one side. He kept laughing, watching the emperor writhe and scream. Then he gestured to a soldier. The soldier turned the emperor's face to the left, and Qadir now opened the right eye and passed the glowing needle through the middle of the eye. The emperor's screams began to tear the palace roofs. For a long time, the Emperor of Hindustan kept twitching, and such sounds came from his throat as if he were gargling.

When the Marathas brought Ghulam Qadir Rohilla's head, the wounds on Shah Alam II's eyes had healed. Namkeen whispered in the emperor's ear that Qadir's head had been brought in a platter in front of him. The emperor's white eyes were fixed on Qadir's head as if he could see it.

 

1803

Begum Samru left, and the emperor summoned the scribe. Three thousand pages of the Urdu epic "Ajaib-ul-Qasas" had already been written. The emperor began to dictate the story further. The prince had been imprisoned in a blind well. His hands and feet were free, but he could not make a bird fly outside the well. The prince was bound by the invisible chains of the Fairy King.

Zamurrud felt that Shah Alam II was dictating his own story by taking the name of Prince Shams-ul-Ajaib.