In the City of Gold and Silver

by Kenize Mourad

  “Mumtaz?”

  They fall into each other’s arms, kissing and exclaiming with joy. They cannot believe it; it has been so long! They hug each other tenderly, move slightly apart, looking at each other.

  “You are still so beautiful!”

  “And you even more beautiful than before!”

  Holding each other around the waist, they laugh in pleasure, and embrace again, happy, so happy to be united after all this time! How had they done without each other all these years?

  Examining her friend more closely, Hazrat Mahal notices the fine lines at the corners of her lips and around her eyes, little wrinkles of unhappiness. She recalls what the matrons had told her—the marriage, the sterility, the repudiation . . .

  Even though Mumtaz no longer glows with the innocent optimism of her adolescence, in no way does she seem like a woman dejected by life. A sparkle twinkles in her eyes.

  “Why did you never come to see me?” asks Hazrat Mahal.

  “You know, Muhammadi,” she bites her lip. “Forgive me, but you will always be Muhammadi to me, the brave friend who intervened when others made fun of my naivety. I did not come because I feared I would be a burden on you. And then I said to myself, if you had really wanted to see me, it would have been easy for you to send someone to fetch me.”

  Hazrat Mahal feels tears welling up in her eyes.

  “Can you forgive me? I have been so selfish, swept away by the whirlwind of my love for the king, the pride of giving him a son, then drowning in the conflicts and intrigues of the zenana, where one has to be on one’s guard at all times if one’s do not want to be crushed. When I finally searched for you about a year ago, nobody knew where you were. I was terribly worried. I imagined the worst . . . Tell me, what happened to you? After you were repudiated, who looked after you? Why did you not contact me?”

  “I did not contact any of my former acquaintances. I felt too ashamed. And you, well, there are so many people demanding your attention . . . ”

  “Mumtaz! It is not at all the same thing! You were my best friend!”

  “I was afraid you had changed, and feared being rejected. That would have been the last straw. I preferred not to try, so I could keep the wonderful memories of our adolescence intact.”

  “But then what convinced you to come today?”

  Mumtaz straightened herself up, a mischievous gleam in her eyes:

  “Today I do not need to ask you for anything. On the contrary, I have something for you.”

  Then, in response to her friend’s surprise:

  “Let me tell you what happened to me. My marriage soon turned into a nightmare. My mother-in-law humiliated me constantly, particularly after she realised I could not bear her any grandchildren. She began to beat me . . . four years of insults, abuse and ill-treatment. My husband did not dare say anything, he had feelings of affection for me, but he was weak. And on his mother’s insistence, he eventually divorced me.

  “Repudiation is so dreaded by women that they are willing to endure anything to avoid it. For me—quite the reverse—it was an extraordinary relief. Finally, I was free! But penniless . . . So I took on protectors who were kind and treated me with far more consideration than my husband and his family ever had. I discovered that a married woman’s ‘respectable’ status is far less enviable than a courtesan’s. After all, what respect are we talking about? A married man does not respect what he considers his property, he has nothing left to conquer, he uses you any way he likes. You are even less than a prostitute, who at least has the freedom to refuse to share her bed. A married woman who does not possess a personal fortune is totally dependent on her husband’s good will and moods, especially if she has children.

  “As a courtesan, my life began again. My first protector was an older man. He treated me a bit like a daughter. He died after two years. I wept for him. The second had a heart attack when the Angrez confiscated the taluqdars’ lands, after the king, your husband, was deposed. He was left paralysed. I wanted to visit him to bring him some comfort, but believing I was after his money, his family refused to receive me.

  “Everything has changed since the kingdom was annexed. As you must have noticed, half the Chowk is closed. The old days, the brilliant nights when we were admired and feted, are over. The new rich have replaced the ruined aristocrats, and just because they pay us, they think they are entitled to everything. The few Angrez who send for us from the Kanpur garrison are no better. Their puritanical religion has riddled them with a sense of guilt. Like children on the verge of a forbidden act, they suffocate with desire. But as soon as they are satisfied, they leave without a word, as quickly as possible, without a glance, as if they wanted to forget what they consider shameful filth, rather than a celebratory meeting of bodies. All the courtesans hate them; in fact, most of them refused such a degrading relationship until we were made to understand how useful it was.”

  “Useful?”

  “We are the only ones who can travel freely, even now. We are invited to sing and dance at weddings, circumcisions. Nobody thinks to question our comings and goings, so we also have access to the Angrez. We allay their suspicions by charming them and making their heads spin with our useless chatter, then we try to make them talk, to get information out of them—details that often seem insignificant to us, but, when pieced together, can provide the military command with precious information. At the moment I am seeing an officer who disagrees with his commander, and when he has had enough, he talks to me without suspecting for an instant that his sweet bird-brained courtesan could be a spy. I must say, I have come to enjoy this double game and I am quite good at it. The chief has congratulated me several times.”

  “So who is this chief then?” enquires Hazrat Mahal, intrigued.

  “Come on, guess! You know him very well. He is one of your advisors. Somebody whom no one suspects, as he has always visited the courtesans. Although, these days the women whom he used to see are in despair, as he neglects them. It seems he has been seduced by a beauty who keeps him at arm’s length, and he no longer even looks at other women!”

  Hazrat Mahal feels as if her heart is going to stop, could it be . . .

  “Is it . . . Rajah Jai Lal?” she guesses in a strangled voice.

  “Exactly! It is he who persuaded us to start seeing the Angrez again, and every week we report back to him what we have learnt. I thought that, as the regent, you should also know so that the decisions you make will be informed ones.”

  When the two young women separate late in the evening, promising to meet again soon, Hazrat Mahal hugs her friend tightly in her arms and Mumtaz, amazed, wonders why the regent is thanking her so effusively.

  24

  Welcome, Rajah Sahib! Please be seated and let us chat for a while.”

  Hazrat Mahal greets Rajah Jai Lal with her most dazzling smile when he turns up for his usual afternoon session to report on the latest military operations and the state of the army.

  Amazed at this warm reception, which he is no longer used to, the rajah stands rooted to the spot, frowning. For weeks now, the regent has addressed him in a strictly professional manner, whereas before, she had encouraged a relaxed, almost friendly contact. He had not understood the abrupt change of heart, which had hurt him. But he had finally come to terms with it, telling himself he had overestimated her, as he should have known by now that all women, especially queens, are fickle.

  What has come over her today? She suddenly seems to notice I exist. Is she expecting me to fall at her feet, overwhelmed with gratitude? Who does she take me for?

  When he answers her, his tone is chilly:

  “Forgive me, Huzoor, I cannot stay, I have a lot to do. Recorded on these sheets of paper, you will find an account of operations of the past few days and the army’s requirements for the coming week. Would you please take a look at them, we can discuss the details later.”

 
And without giving her the time to react, he takes his leave.

  Left alone, Hazrat Mahal is momentarily stunned, then she starts laughing.

  Well done! Could I have imagined he would react otherwise? It is this quality of freedom I appreciate in him . . . Whatever is at stake, he is incapable of docility or behaving like a subservient courtier. I hurt him; it will not be easy to regain his trust, but I will. His friendship is very precious to me.

  His friendship? . . .

  With an impatient gesture she rejects the other word that imposes itself with increasing insistence. Is she not married to Wajid Ali Shah? A good man, whom she respects and who is all the more deserving of her loyalty since he is a prisoner, separated from his loved ones.

  Jai Lal is also married and has sons he is proud of. His wife, it is said, is primarily his children’s mother. There is little romance in arranged marriages—generally set up between cousins so that all the land remains within the family. But it is precisely because these marriages are devoid of romantic illusions that they are solid: the woman devotes herself to the children, and the man has the freedom to pursue his dreams . . . elsewhere!

  All night long, Hazrat Mahal has debated with herself to reach the conclusion that the best she can hope for is to recreate a relationship of trust with the rajah, whereas to venture beyond that would be asking for trouble.

  Thus, when she receives him at the palace the following day, her attitude is one of serene amiability. She wants to finalise the last details of the plan for the king’s escape.

  “As you know, Jan-e-Alam is growing weaker by the day. We must not wait any longer. If anything were to happen to him, I would never forgive myself.”

  The rajah cannot help feeling taken aback:

  Does she still love her husband so much or is it guilt? Whether he was involved in the rebellion or not, the British would have imprisoned the king either way, according to the principle determined by the powers that be: better to be unfair than unwise. But why am I worrying about her? What she does and what she thinks, in so far as it does not interfere with our struggle, is no business of mine . . .

  “The difficulty,” continues Hazrat Mahal, “was to find a man clever enough to gain access to the fortress without arousing suspicion. But he also had to be totally incorruptible, as the British are ready to pay handsomely for any information regarding our plans. I spent a long time searching for this rare gem, and I believe I have found him in London. He is a member of Her Majesty Malika Kishwar’s retinue.”

  “Why in London?” asks the rajah, astounded. “Was it not simpler to choose somebody here?”

  “It had to be someone totally committed. Where could I be surer of finding him than amongst those who left their families and their properties behind, without a moment’s hesitation, to go and plead the king’s cause in cold and hostile England? Contact was established through the Queen Mother. The man will leave London within the week. He will disembark in Bombay and from there, he will set off directly to Benares. He will not pass through Lucknow so that no one will be able to connect him to us. In Benares, the anglicised Indian will vanish . . . to reappear in the guise of one of the town’s innumerable sadhus.76 Nobody would dare mistreat them—the Hindus implore their blessings, the others fear their curses. Our sadhu will travel to Calcutta, where he will make sure he is noticed for his piety and attract attention by performing a few ‘miracles’ accomplished with the aid of assistants.

  “As his reputation will have preceded him, the sepoys at Fort William, Hindus for the majority, will take good care of him! In addition, he will already have half a dozen accomplices on-site.”

  “How clever! However, there still remains the problem we have already raised: what will the king do with his freedom? Will he lead the troops into battle?”

  “He may try to find a compromise, but then it is no longer our problem, it will be up to him to decide!”

  The rajah tenses and replies in an icy tone:

  “I’m afraid, Huzoor, you have not fully grasped how much things have changed. These last months, tens of thousands of men have given their lives to liberate their country, to regain the freedom of their beliefs and their traditions, to recover their dignity. The British army has put the entire region to fire and sword, whole villages and fields have been devastated, women raped, children quartered. Do you really believe all this can be forgotten? For my part, I cannot ask my soldiers to sacrifice their lives if it means returning to the former situation. Furthermore, do not delude yourself, the British will refuse any negotiations with us ‘natives,’ who have not only dared to rebel, but have also committed the sacrilege of attacking white women and children. They swore their vengeance would be terrible!”

  “If I understand you correctly, Rajah Sahib, you would refuse to obey the king if he were to order you to stop the struggle?”

  “My soldiers would be the first to refuse, Huzoor, if I ordered them to! Just like the thousands of peasants, who urged their taluqdars to join the rebellion, would refuse! Our people are patient, so much so that they are sometimes considered passive, but when they revolt, they fight to the bitter end because, unlike the elite, they have nothing left to lose.”

  * * *

  “How dare he speak to you like that?”

  After the rajah’s departure, Mammoo had joined his mistress, and he does not hide his indignation at what he classifies as “deceitfulness.” Overjoyed at the opportunity to belittle the man he considers his rival, he presses the point home:

  “He swore his loyalty to you and has the audacity to go against you on the pretext that his soldiers would not follow his lead! In reality, he is playing a double game to satisfy his own personal ambition. These Hindus are hypocrites!”

  More malicious gossip! Hazrat Mahal turns purple with rage:

  “I forbid you to speak like that! If I find out you are spreading such nonsense, I will not hesitate to have you banished! Can you not see that our Hindu sepoys worship my son Birjis Qadar, just as they do their god Krishna? I will not tolerate that Awadh’s Hindu-Muslim culture, our ‘gold and silver culture,’ this extraordinary monument of humanism and tolerance, be threatened by the stupidity of religious prejudice.”

  At her violent reaction, the eunuch lowers his head. Never has his mistress treated him in this manner. Going against popular opinion, she had appointed him minister of the Court, and now she threatens to dismiss him. Does she really think she is strong enough to dispense with him?

  “I only want to protect you, Huzoor, as I have always done,” he stammers. “Your position attracts a lot of jealousy, people speak ill of you . . . ”

  “Well, let them gossip! All the years I spent in the zenana taught me how to ignore it. If you want to be esteemed by all and sundry, you end up doing nothing at all!”

  “Be careful, Huzoor, you have a powerful enemy who has the people’s ear and is trying to undermine your authority. Several times, I heard him criticise your decisions and say you are leading the country to ruin.”

  “Are you referring to that madman, the maulvi?”

  “Ahmadullah Shah is not mad. Quite the contrary, he is extremely intelligent and cunning. He declares himself a prophet inspired by God, and vows he will wipe out all the British. His disciples come from the poorer classes and he knows how to talk to them, how to manipulate their suspicion against the rich and powerful. He criticises the weakness of the men at Court and the cowardice of certain generals. He is always at the head of his troops in battle, taking unimaginable risks. He has escaped death so many times that our compatriots, religious by nature, consider him a supernatural being who is going to lead them to victory.”

  “And what exactly does he hold against me?”

  “He reproaches you for not respecting purdah, wearing only a light veil over your hair when you are in the company of men, and also for protecting the British!”

  �
��Protecting the British?”

  “He heard that you had the lives of the refugee women and children spared, and even give them shelter in the palace before sending them on to Allahabad under escort.”

  “And I am proud of having done so! Would this monster have me stand by and let innocent civilians be slaughtered? Does he not know that Islam forbids attacking the innocent? All these religious figures who interpret the Holy Quran as they see fit to make it serve their own purposes are our worst enemies! They are more dangerous than the foreigners who are fighting us, since they caricature our religion to such an extent that one day the Muslims will be seen as fanatics to be crushed!”

  Hazrat Mahal can no longer contain her indignation:

  “Maulvis, mullahs, imams, these people have no right to dictate how others should behave! Prophet Muhammad did not want a clergy. He saw only too well what damage these priests can perpetrate. He wanted the believer to be alone with the sacred book—the word of God—to be able to interpret the scriptures himself, in accordance with his conscience. If he insisted so strongly that Muslims, both men and women, study—saying that, if necessary, they should go as far as China in search of knowledge!—it was precisely in order to ensure that believers would be capable of managing their own lives with the help of the Quran alone.”

  * * *

  Today, August 22nd, is the beginning of Muharram, the period of mourning for Shia Muslims in remembrance of Hussain, the Prophet’s grandson, who along with his whole family was assassinated in 680 by Yazid, the Umayyad caliph, for refusing to recognise his authority. Since this massacre in Karbala, Iraq, Shias all over the world commemorate the tragedy every year during Muharram.

  This Muharram is the first one since Birjis Qadar’s coronation and, despite the battle, the regent intends to ensure it is celebrated with as much pomp as during Wajid Ali Shah’s time. It will be an opportunity for the young king to appear before the crowds, and to reinforce the soldiers’ morale and determination. In fact, even though the ceremony is specifically Shiite, Hindus generally participate in it too.