by Shazia Omar
DARK DIAMOND
DARK
DIAMOND
Shazia Omar
First published in India 2016
© 2016 by Shazia Omar
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For the youth of Bengal, may you love and be free.
‘The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit,
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.’
—Omar Qayyam
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Author’s Note
HYDERABAD 1185
CHAPTER 1
L
egend has it, outside the city of Golconda lived a tantric devotee named Hira Lal. In youth he was dedicated to the worship of Kali but later worked in a mine to sustain his destitute family. One night before Kali puja, Hira went to bed without food, with only a glass of water to quench his thirst, yet he was grateful and thanked his goddess.
The next day, inside the jaws of a cavernous mine, Hira chipped away as if possessed, eyes unnaturally bright in the struggling flame of a candle. His pick had hit something solid and he was in a frenzy to pry it out. The foreman had blown the whistle twice. The guard on duty shouted, ‘If I have to call once more, I am going to break your knees.’
Hira’s body wanted to obey. He was hungry, tired and depressed. He had been working since sunrise. It was probably only a rock. His wife would chastise him for his late return. ‘Ever an optimist,’ she would say as she ladled cold aloo bhaji onto his plate.
He rubbed his sore elbow and hammered once more. Suddenly the rock surrendered. Rubble crumbled to the ground and from within the dry bits of earth came a promising sparkle. He dropped to his knees. The pick fell away from his hand. He lifted the pile of sediment to his lips and blew gently.
His hopeful breath scattered the dust and uncovered a gem that filled his palms with a bewitching glow. He raised it to the candle. It was a brilliant dark diamond, once midnight indigo, once stormy violet, smooth and larger than his two fists. It glowed like a star from Hell. A strange elation came over Hira. This stone would buy his liberty.
He removed the scarf from his head and tenderly polished the diamond. His wife was ill with blood cough. His children had dropped out of school. This was the touchstone that would transform their lives. He thanked Goddess Kali.
‘Don’t make me come in there!’ shouted the guard.
Hira hid the diamond in his dhuti and walked out. He bowed, praying the guard would not search him.
Baring his fangs, the guard landed a punishing blow to Hira’s ear. ‘What did you find?’
Hira emptied his basket. A few of the gems were worth a trifle but the guard was not impressed.
‘Is this it? You made me wait for this?’ He slapped Hira across the face then cracked his knuckles. ‘Go!’ He spat at Hira’s back as he turned to leave.
Hira could not conceal the excitement coursing through his veins as he darted home. He had heard of miracles but never dared hope for one.
‘So late?’ Rupa greeted him when he reached. ‘The children are asleep.’ She laughed when he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her to the air.
‘My love, you will not believe what I have to show you!’
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Did you steal fruit from the overlord’s orchard? Really Hira, it is too dangerous. His wife is a witch, do not anger her. Is it a mango?’
‘No, it is much grander,’ he said. Kneeling before her, he kissed her palms and placed in them the diamond.
‘O Gracious Kali,’ cried Rupa. ‘You work in mysterious ways.’
‘A diamond this size must be worth half the King’s treasury. I won’t have to work another day in my life!’
‘You won’t?’
‘We will live in a house.’
‘We will?’
‘Our children will go to school.’
‘They will?’
‘We will eat mutton.’
‘We will?’
‘Twice a day.’
‘Oh Hira!’
‘We will live as kings!’
Hira Lal and Rupa embraced, laughing and weeping at once.
‘If others come to know, they will kill us,’ said Hira at last. ‘We must take it to the mine overlord right away.’
‘Now?’ said Rupa. ‘In the middle of the night?’
‘We can’t keep it,’ Hira reasoned. �
��Too risky.’
‘Let’s take it to the Maharaja ourselves?’ said Rupa. ‘I don’t trust the overlord or his wife.’
‘He may be rough but he’s a good man,’ said Hira. ‘He won’t deny us our reward. We cannot betray him. It would not be right.’
Rupa sighed.
‘Come with me?’ suggested Hira Lal so she could enjoy the gem a while longer. They wrapped the diamond in a rough spun cloth and made their way to the home of the overlord.
A dog barked as they approached. Hira knocked on the door. A grumble and a scuffle sounded within.
The overlord received them, scratching his hairy chest, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He saw Hira and scowled. ‘You have some nerve disturbing me so late.’
‘Master, look what I found.’ Hira presented him with the parcel. It unravelled to reveal the diamond.
‘Never seen anything like it,’ said the overlord. ‘Kohinoor ka behna!’
Hira cleared his throat. ‘I request the honour of accompanying you to present this to the Raja.’
‘You do, do you?’ said the overlord.
Hira nodded. He had to ensure his due.
‘Come inside,’ said the overlord.
Before Hira could defend himself, the man hurtled a broad-bladed dhup down upon his arm, cleaving it in two. Hira howled in anguish.
Inside, the overlord’s infant began to wail. His wife called out from her room, ‘Who is it, so late?’
The overlord hissed at Hira, ‘Thief, leave before I call the guards and have you thrown in the dungeon!’
Hira rushed to the door.
Rupa screamed. ‘We shall inform the Raja of your brutality.’
Scarce had she finished her words, the bully grabbed her hair and threw her to the ground. ‘I cannot allow news of this treasure to spread,’ he said. ‘I have to kill you both.’
‘O Master, be merciful.’ Hira bent his head to the ground. ‘If you have one grain of goodness in your soul, release her. She will tell no one of the diamond. It was I who found it. Kill me, spare her. We have young children.’
The overlord turned his wanton eyes to Rupa. ‘Alright. You can live. But you have to kill him. I do not want his blood on my karma.’ He thrust the dhup into her hands. It was four feet long and heavy.
Rupa looked at her husband standing miserably before her and collapsed into tears.
‘Do it or I shall have him kill you instead,’ said the overlord.
Rupa wailed in agony.
‘My love,’ said Hira gently. ‘You must kill me. Do it for our children. They need you.’
Rupa crawled to the feet of the overlord, sobbing, ‘Have mercy, Sire.’ The overlord kicked her away.
‘Leave her!’ bellowed Hira Lal.
With what little strength she had, Rupa lifted the dhup and stabbed it into her own heart. Hands over her wound, she sank to the ground.
‘No!’ Hira crumpled in grief by her side.
The overlord pinned him to the wall. ‘Who else knows?’
‘No one,’ said Hira. Enraged, he lunged at the overlord.
The overlord wrenched the weapon out of his wife and struck at him with its cold steel, mercilessly hacking into him.
Hira Lal called out for help, ‘Jaya Mata Kali, Divine Mother, hear my cries. You are the destroyer of time! You are the embodiment of terror! You are the giver of boons! Avenge my wife’s death! Hrim! Srim! Krim!’
A gust of wind threw open the windows, tearing the door off its hinges. Before them appeared Kali, Goddess of Destruction, red eyes, dishevelled hair, breath like roaring waves. She wore a garland of skulls, a skirt of human arms and in her hand was a vengeful khadga.
The overlord who had a minute earlier towered in domination now quaked in fear. ‘Forgive me!’ he begged. ‘Forgive me, Ma Kali!’ He tried to hand her the diamond.
Kali turned to Hira, blood dripping from her lips. What Hira saw in her eyes was Love, a love more tender than he had ever known in his belaboured life. So sweet was her gaze, his pain disappeared. His sadness dissolved and poured out of his soul as tears of joy.
Kali cupped Hira’s face in her palm and stroked his hair. She kissed him on the crown of his head and liberated him with death.
She rose to her full form, seven thousand feet tall. With the fury of the tortured and the betrayed, with the rage of the oppressed and the exiled, with the miseries of monsoons unleashed, she brought her jagged blade down on the overlord’s head, smashing it in. She then hacked his wife to gory pieces and then his suckling child, then his animals: the dogs, goats and ducks. When nothing lived in the vicinity of his homestead, Kali raised the diamond to Heaven and said, ‘This stone which man so adores, whosoever possesses it shall suffer. All that they cherish shall perish.’
VERSAILLES 1684
CHAPTER 2
T
he night’s chill clutched at her bones. Madeline could not draw her cloak tight enough to ward off the dread. Beggars huddled by gutters cursed as carriages splashed mud. Drunken rogues quarrelled on street corners. Madeline hurried past so urgently even the skilled pickpockets hadn’t time to assail her.
She skirted the periphery of L’Hotel du Turannes and looked over her shoulders. It was unlikely that she had been followed. She was dressed in a man’s hooded cloak and trousers, her purse carefully concealed. Still one could never be sure. She knocked three times against the wooden gate, invoking Saint Anne for protection.
A scar faced man cracked open the door wide enough for her to slip in a coin of some value. He examined the currency then allowed her in but not before itching his jaw with the edge of his chipped dagger.
The smell of stale ale and smoke accosted her. Rambunctious men drank frothy slosh and flirted with lacy bar maids. The tavern catered to a morally ambiguous and highly inebriated clientele. It still drew a crowd though it was built two years earlier, when King Louis moved to Versailles.
Madeline whispered in the doorman’s ear and handed him another coin. He nodded and led her to a room with two tables and one lamp.
At the lit table were four men playing cards. At the table shrouded in shadows, a man with a tricorne hat sipped on a drink. From his outline she could make out he was narrowly built and chiselled. He wore an overcoat, breeches and pointy leather boots. She had no view of his belt to ascertain his weaponry. His tumbler was nearly drained.
‘Are you Captain Costa?’ she asked.
The stranger nodded.
‘I was told you have a ship.’ She lowered her hood. ‘Is there some place private to discuss matters of delicacy?’
He motioned to the table across from them. ‘Mi amigas,’ he said. ‘Your secrets are safe here.’
Madeline did not want to negotiate in the open. Only yesterday, Duc de la Rochefien was incarcerated for conspiring against the King. ‘I have no secrets,’ she replied. What did he know?
‘We all have secrets,’ said Costa. ‘Some dirtier than others.’
‘I beg your pardon, I am a natural philosopher not a creature of dirty secrets.’ What was he insinuating? Had he heard? Certainly her deportment and grace had not given her away. She had spent most of her adult life studying and perfecting the tropes of nobility.
The captain shrugged.
Reluctantly, she sat down next to him. ‘I require safe passage to Bengal.’
‘What are you running away from?’ he asked.
Madeline produced a woeful countenance. ‘Alas, my father is unwell. It is for him, this expedition. Bengal’s herbal solutions are renowned. I hope to find something that might cure him. I have been informed that you are familiar with the route?’
Costa nodded.
‘I will pay in gold.’ She produced from her leather purse a promissory note.
A gold tooth sparkled when Costa smiled. ‘I’ll take you to the Subedar in six months.’
Madeline shivered. She had heard of the Mughal Viceroy of Bengal, a fitful despot who lived in Dacca and killed on whim.
As if readi
ng her fears, Costa continued, ‘He’s my mate. We’re like this.’ He crossed two fingers. His nails were untrimmed and grimy, his hand calloused.
Most sea captains Madeline had met were braggarts and liars. ‘It is not Dacca I wish to travel to but the Port of Chatgaon.’
‘Chatgaon?’ said Costa. ‘Nothing there but tigers.’
‘There is a tribe in the hills of Chatgaon with ancient recipes known to cure my father’s affliction.’
‘Dutiful daughter,’ said Captain Costa.
Madeline could not tell if he was being earnest. Her hands perspired inside her gloves. Even if he were to agree to ferry her to Hindustan, how would she possibly survive six months in his scurvied company?
She spoke authoritatively to seal the deal. ‘I offer you 20,000 crowns. Half now and the remaining to be paid upon my safe return to France.’
‘Double that and pay upfront,’ said Costa. ‘That’s what Tavernier paid me.’
‘Monsieur, I do not have the purse of a thief,’ said Madeline.
‘No, just the debts of a liar?’ said Costa.
‘How dare you cast such aspersions!’ said Madeline, blood rising to her face.
A bar maid stepped into the room and offered them drinks. Madeline declined in a hurry to get on with business. The captain bantered with the girl who in turn laughed and lingered. Madeline glowered, waiting for the tart to leave. Patience, she told herself. She must do this for her father. At long last the bar maid stepped out.
‘You can’t escape your troubles,’ said Costa before she could get in a word. ‘You have to change your way of thinking. That’s what I discovered from my years of wandering. The only escape is to reshape your attitude. Reconsider your foolish mission. The sea is no tame lover. No place for natural philosophers. Nor women.’
‘Women are stronger than you think,’ snapped Madeline.
‘Ain’t that the truth, Mother Mary.’
If this lowly buccaneer wasn’t her last resort, she would have slapped him for his insolence. With icy politeness, she replied, ‘Attack a kitten, its father will run, tail between its legs. Its mother will fight till her last breath.’ She bit her lip. She mustn’t antagonise him. ‘I assure you, I shall be an entirely pleasant travel companion. My father was a sea captain.’