The Mulberry Empire

by Philip Hensher

  A messenger approached – not one of the King’s, but one of the Governor’s own men, deep in a bow, inspecting the ground. Auckland paused and waited.

  ‘Great Governor, sir,’ he said. ‘Whose presence waters the barren lands of our poor country, under whose wisdom every savage pagan finds cool shelter, in the light of whose eyes—’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Auckland said. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘—in the light of whose eyes—’ the messenger continued, unable to stop himself for a moment in his automatic path. Then he recollected himself and said, ‘Shah Shujah is here.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘He is approaching with his suite, from the north. He has sent word.’

  ‘I see,’ the Governor General said. ‘When he arrives, tell him that I am with the King and that he … may join us at his leisure.’

  The entourage looked appalled.

  ‘Sir,’ Burnes piped up – he was at the back of the group, only having attached himself to them in the course of their progress through the camp. ‘Are you proposing that Shah Shujah and Run-jeet Singh meet?’

  ‘Indeed I am,’ Auckland said. ‘That, in fact, was the precise purpose I asked them to attend us here.’

  ‘Sir, we had no idea you were proposing to bring them together,’ the nazir said, seriously worried.

  ‘I see no problem,’ Auckland said. ‘They are my guests, are they not? They will behave themselves like gentlemen.’

  ‘Is Your Lordship quite determined on what I must call a reckless course of action?’ Burnes said.

  Auckland wavered in his course.

  ‘I must remind Your Lordship of the fact of the Mountain of Light,’ Burnes went on, pressing his advantage.

  ‘Remind me, sir,’ Auckland said. ‘You are speaking in riddles, and we do not have a great deal of time.’

  ‘The great diamond, sir,’ Burnes said. ‘The Koh-i-Noor, the Mountain of Light.’

  ‘More diamonds, Burnes? Have we not enough diamonds yet? Are they proposing to give my poor sister a diamond she will never wear?’

  ‘I think it most unlikely, sir,’ Burnes persevered. ‘It is the greatest diamond in the world, and worn constantly by Runjeet Singh. If he were to be wearing it today, and it seems most probable, it would be out of the question that we could risk the consequences of guiding Shah Shujah into his presence. Sir, you may do as you choose, but there is no prospect of any serious conversation taking place while the late King of Afghanistan is obliged to look at his rival, with the Mountain of Light on his arm.’

  ‘Oh, come, come,’ Auckland said. ‘They are quite grown up, are they not? Is the King of Afghanistan so very weak a man that he envies another man his diamonds, no … matter how fine? Does not Shah Shujah live in Ludhiana, and am I to suppose he never chooses to meet his generous host? They are not ladies’… maids, you know, Burnes.’

  ‘I assure you, sir, the Koh-i-Noor is too great a fact to be passed over, and we must not allow Runjeet to flaunt it in the face of Shah Shujah. Do you not recall, sir – it was once the property of the Afghan court. That was the price of Runjeet Singh’s friendship to the King when he was fleeing for his life, twenty years ago. I have no doubt whatsoever that Shah Shujah is of the opinion that Runjeet Singh stole the object from him, that he extracted it by leaving the poor man no choice. Sir, Runjeet Singh wears it for a single reason – he has no fondness for jewels. He wears it to remind himself and us that his neighbours have no power over him. It is as good as wearing Peshawar on his sleeve. We cannot ask him to remove it, but we may not risk asking Shah Shujah into the presence.’

  Burnes had talked too much. The Governor General stood there, twenty yards from the Sikh tent, white and clenched and furious. Nobody said anything.

  ‘Most gracious Lord,’ the messenger, surprisingly, started, but it was far too late. Auckland exploded.

  ‘Does everything in this country come down to jewellery?’ he cried, speaking fluently in his rage. ‘Am I, the King’s, the Queen’s representative in this place, being told that I may not run an affair of this import as I choose because one damned fellow objects to another damned fellow’s taste in personal adornments? Are we to be sent running from one damned scented fool to another the whole day long because of some idiotic brooch? A diamond, sir, a blessed diamond – I have been in this country not five years, and I hope never to see another diamond as long as I live. Are you seriously telling me, sir, that a King, a former King, but a King, will not talk sensibly because he has one diamond fewer? Are they not damned keen to offload every single piece of highly expensive carbon they happen to have acquired on my poor sister? Has anyone, pray, thought to ask Shah Shujah whether he truly feels like this, or if he is prepared to act as the King he once was? Sir, you astonish me. To propose, to m-m-me, the Governor General—’

  5.

  It was then that the largest of the tents opened up, and from its depths, like an insect from a flower, came a tiny little old man. He was first, but behind him came a swarm of men. He was radiant in gold, and behind him the violently clashing purples and yellows and reds and blues of his turbanned court crowded and jostled, aching the eye. The Governor fell silent, and, at a little sign from the nazir, the others dropped back a pace. Runjeet Singh came forward; shrivelled, bent, dark, but white-haired, his kindly face was twisted and broken around his sightless eye. There was something awesome about him, tiny as he was; his face, asymmetrical, torn off to one side by some ancient violence, was pointed, alert, keen. He wore no weapon, but in his face there was everything he had ever seen, and in the single dark knowing eye of the warrior there seemed buried every man he had ever seen killed.

  He came directly up to Auckland, smiling benignly, and made a single, odd gesture of the hand, smoothing across the neck and throat. Burnes’s eyes moved, with difficulty, from his fantastic face, and saw that it was there, set in an amulet on the little old arm, a stone dull and irregular, translucent like a white jellied fruit but shining, a piece of matt glass – no, of crystal – no (the mind shifted with some difficulty) – truly, a diamond. Truly – the mind was still shifting, slowly, incredulously – a diamond. You could see Lord Auckland changing his mind. Behind him, the entire entourage stared at the diamond, and, as one man, boggled, and their collective opinion moved in line with Auckland’s, and no one said anything at all. Shah Shujah should not be permitted to enter the presence of this astonishing thing and its astonishing thief. Nobody should. It was beyond what humanity could be expected to bear.

  ‘Do you like my diamond?’ Runjeet Singh asked perkily. Auckland was transfixed. ‘Nice, isn’t it? I always wear it, you know. I could see you were interested in it. And my English, you see, do you not think it fine? I have been told so – fine – no, magnificent was the word. Well, there’s quite a story behind that, the diamond, I mean. I must tell you later, do remind me, won’t you?’

  ‘Gracious King,’ the Governor General started. He ran through his long prepared speech of idle compliments. The King listened, smiling, nodding from time to time, as if one piece of flattery were more particularly apposite than another. The Governor General finished, and the King produced his own speech in the same, incontrovertible style. It all took twenty minutes.

  ‘Now, let’s see,’ the King said cosily. ‘Where shall we go? I must say, we all most enjoyed our breakfast, terribly kind of you, but now I feel bound to return the honour. I do hope you will come to my quarters, most comfortable, you know.’

  It had been decided that the King would be invited to the Governor’s quarters, but Auckland weakly agreed, and the whole assembly moved behind the white-haired little old man, snuffling from time to time like a tiny white mouse, into the silken palace.

  ‘I expect your ladies will be joining the remainder of my court shortly,’ Runjeet Singh said kindly. ‘I know they will be delighted. Your two sisters, I understand? And no wife? None at all? My dear fellow – well, do sit down. All of you? Well, well, as you wish. I do hope,’ the King said,
settling down, ‘that you are not suffering too much from the heat. I myself dislike it a great deal, and, you know, in the Punjab we have a far more agreeable climate, quite moderate, you know. Now, let us see.’

  ‘Great King,’ Auckland began, pulling himself together. As long as you spent in the East, it was difficult not to be reminded from time to time of the Arabian Nights, and here, sitting in a silken tent, surrounded by fierce shining men with scimitars, talking to a wise king with the face of a wounded animal and the fantastic tongue of an afrit, the feeling that one was in the middle of some superb story was stronger than ever before. Burnes watched the Governor General work his way round slowly to the subject of Kabul and Dost Mohammed. There was, in truth, little to say, and Runjeet Singh nodded encouragingly from time to time, like a kind master reassuring a slow pupil construing one of Virgil’s trickier passages. All that needed to be done was to suggest to the King that he enjoyed the full support of the British, and turn his thoughts towards the matter of Kabul. He could be useful; and there was nothing more desirable than that he be given the impression that the English found him not just useful, but indispensable.

  ‘We know very little of the Dost,’ Auckland concluded. ‘He … may be a good ruler. But our concern is that there is a king of the Afghans whom we can trust. That king … may be Dost Mohammed, or it … may not be. We simply do not know.’

  ‘As soon trust a monkey with a banana,’ Runjeet Singh put in levelly.

  ‘That is our fear,’ Auckland said. ‘Great Lion, we are exceedingly grateful for your advice. May I be … frank? Our concern, here, is for your security. We … fear that you may have a neighbour with designs on your provinces. An assault on a friend so great as you is, to us, as an attack on a most beloved brother, and we would always seek to avoid such an eventuality.’

  The response was astonishing. Runjeet Singh screwed up his little face and raised his little fists. ‘Peshawar belongs to me!’ he cried. ‘It was always Ours, always!’

  ‘We are entirely in agreement,’ Auckland said smoothly. ‘At the … forefront of our minds is the need to secure what is rightfully our neighbour’s. I mean you, I mean Peshawar. We have, of course, a secondary concern, which you will regard as … more selfish, but which we strongly wish to share with you. You see, Your … Majesty, we are being entirely honest and open with you on this subject, as we hope to be in all our dealings. We look at our … maps, and we see our great and powerful neighbour in the Punjab, who is our friend, and another great and powerful King in Persia, with whom we enjoy excellent relations – sir, let me … finish, please – and between the two, there is a tract of land of which we know nothing. If there were someone ruling over Kabul whom we could trust – whom we knew something of, who we could be assured could bring to a barren and lawless land the prosperity, justice and peace which your greatness has given to his own kingdom, how very different our lives would be!’

  Auckland was clearly rather pleased with himself, but, Burnes noted, he had broken the great rule of never mentioning any other oriental ruler in the presence of another with anything but denigration. Runjeet Singh was scowling. ‘The Shah of Persia,’ he hissed.

  Auckland tried to recover. ‘Sir, I did not mean to compare the Shah of Persia with you, or to suggest for a …’

  Auckland was stuck on his consonant, and sat and gasped for his M.

  ‘The Shah of Persia,’ Runjeet Singh said again, scornfully.

  ‘… for a … m … m … moment that the relations we have established with him can possibly rank with the regard we have for your unexampled wisdom, under the shade of which we hope to, um, drink camel’s milk and feed each other with dates in, um, an eternity which may cause us to think that we are already in paradise with the houris …’

  Auckland was hopelessly out of his depth here, and Burnes could only hope that his wild compliment would be taken by Runjeet Singh as the sort of thing that Englishmen routinely said to each other.

  ‘… but the point remains, that we are strongly of the view that it would benefit both of us if there were a king in Kabul who did not look with envy on Your … Majesty’s undoubted possessions, and who preferred our … friendship to the … friendship of others. We believe that there are those who approach a ruler such as Dost … Mohammed with their sharp teeth hidden in a smile, and are concerned that one whose experience and wisdom is so much narrower than a king such as yourself, sir, may see only the smile. That is our concern, and we greatly … fear for the consequences if you find yourself with a neighbour who is hostile to you, and to us.’

  ‘Of course,’ Runjeet Singh said, ‘you cannot be unaware that the Russians are already received with great expressions of friendship by the Shah of Persia, of whose friendship you seem so assured.’

  Auckland swallowed a blunt riposte. ‘Your … Majesty’s percep-tiveness and information are a constant source of admiration and astonishment to Her … Majesty, Queen Victoria, and we are most humbly grateful for your wise comments.’

  ‘Very well,’ Runjeet Singh said. ‘So, I am here to discuss the barbarians whose howls and execrations from beyond Our walls pollute the air of Our territories.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Auckland said.

  ‘The man who calls himself King of the Afghans – you wish to remove him?’

  ‘We wish to be assured that the ruler at your gates is a man deserving of our enduring trust, and of yours,’ Auckland said, avoiding the question.

  ‘I see,’ Runjeet Singh said. Then he thought hard for a moment, and said something. For a moment, the court of the Governor strained forward, not having understood or quite heard what the King had said: but at this moment, he had dropped into his native language. A prince, prepared, stepped forward and translated, an innocent expression on his face. The King of the Punjab sat back with a calm expression, observing his courtier drop the royal bombshell. ‘And, His Majesty has just said, Your Excellency is proposing,’ the prince said, ‘that the present ruler of Kabul be disposed of, and his lands be given to His Majesty the King of the Punjab.’

  The whole of the Governor’s entourage almost fell over with astonishment. How Runjeet Singh could have thought that he had been summoned to be offered an entire country was beyond credulity. What on earth the Governor General had said to put this appalling notion into the King’s head could not be recalled. Auckland flushed, and now there was almost nothing to say. It was not at all clear that Dost Mohammed should be removed, but if another ruler were to be installed, then no one would want to create an empire for a ruler who, despite all protestations of friendship, might turn into an enemy at any moment. For a moment, Auckland could be seen wondering what effect the name of Shah Shujah would have at this point; then his eyes flickered down to the diamond, and he was silent. His mouth opened and closed, but he was utterly silent.

  ‘Well, all that can be decided,’ Runjeet Singh said kindly, returning to English. ‘This is all most interesting.’

  ‘Thank you for the great honour of your presence,’ Auckland said, choking. ‘I hope to have the honour of entertaining Your … Majesty’s party this afternoon, to dinner.’

  ‘With pleasure,’ Runjeet Singh said. ‘Very great pleasure.’

  The party, dismissed, withdrew backwards, bowing, the little white mouse grinning and waving from his pile of gold and silk. Outside, the Governor turned smartly, and strode off, almost purple in the face. No one dared say anything, but trotted sharply behind him. As they entered the main body of the camp, they almost collided with the Governor’s sisters and their attendants, clean and fresh and rustling in their pale pink silks. Auckland stopped sharply.

  ‘F … F… Fanny, Emily, go and pay your damned compliments to the King’s damned women. Now, if you please, not next week.’

  The appearance of a flock of birds, all scattering in one movement, Burnes thought, was produced only by the alarmed frantic movements of the women’s hands, as they all fluttered at once. Fanny and Emily, snub-nosed in their bony pink dresses,
gazed at their once-placid brother speechlessly.

  ‘And I hope they are all thrown onto his fah – fah – fah – fah – fah – funeral pyre,’ George shouted. ‘And damned soon. Meredith – my quarters, now, if you please.’

  The Governor General and the nazir and a frightened-looking Company fellow strode off, leaving the others standing in silence.

  ‘Gwacious heavens,’ Frampton opined. ‘What a fool that old King must be.’

  ‘What is it? What, pray, has taken place?’ Macnaghten said, bustling up and fastening his stock. Everyone ignored him.

  ‘He can hardly have been serious,’ Burnes said. ‘Even Runjeet Singh can hardly be expected to believe that he was called here to be offered an entire country, which in any case isn’t in our possession.’

  ‘Gwacious heavens,’ Frampton said again. ‘What a bwute.’

  6.

  Elsewhere, in the women’s quarters, Fanny and Emily were sitting, and making stilted conversation, and politely ignoring the pile of jewels which had been unceremoniously dumped at their feet in tribute. Their dresses were unutterably ruined with oil, which was starting to itch horribly.

  ‘I do hope,’ Fanny said, ‘that your journey was not too tiring.’

  The women of the Sikh court broke into tremendous giggling, their hands flying up to their faces, their little eyes peeping out at the two cross pink ladies.

  ‘It is so interesting to travel through a country so beautiful as India,’ Emily persevered. ‘I have long heard reports of the loveliness of your nation, and have long nurtured the ambition to make the journey there, but, as my brother said only this morning, the Punjab has been gracious in sending some of its loveliest sights to us. I mean you,’ she finished crossly.