slammed its black adversary in the side with its tusks, barely missing
the leg of the mahout. The black elephant staggered backward, against
the side of the fort. It was now clearly on the defensive, as the
larger elephant began slamming it repeatedly in the side.
Hawksworth found himself caught up in the taste of imminent victory.
"Charkhi! Charkhi!" A cry began to rise from the crowd. The man holding
the burning taper looked up toward Arangbar, who signaled lightly with
his hand. Then the men holding the long poles tipped them toward the
taper, and the two ends of papered bamboo were quickly ignited.
The bamboo sticks started to whirl like pinwheels, popping and throwing
sparks from the gunpowder packed inside. The keepers turned and thrust
the poles under the face of the brown elephant, sending him rearing
backward in fright.
Although the black elephant now lay crushed against the wall, the brown
was too distracted by the sudden noise to press his advantage. Instead
he wheeled away from the exploding bamboo and began to charge wildly
toward the edge of the crowd. Retreating bodies pummeled about
Hawksworth, and there were frightened calls of "_lor langar_." As the
elephant neared the crowd, its second rider, with a look of infinite
regret, threw down the log chained to its forefoot. The chain whipped
against its leg, and in moments it was tangled and stumbling.
By then the smaller black elephant had recovered its feet and came
galloping in chase. In moments he was there, slamming his larger
adversary with his tusks. The brown elephant stumbled awkwardly,
tangled in the chain, and then collapsed into the dust. With a victory
yell the mahout of the black elephant pulled a cord releasing a canvas
cloth over its eyes. The heaving animal immediately began to gentle,
and its jubilant keepers ran forward to lead it away.
"Your elephant lost, Sahib. My regrettings. May I have the twenty
rupees?"
"But it was fixed!" Hawksworth held tightly to his purse.
"The brown was clearly winning before he was frightened by the damned
fireworks."
"Did I neglect to tell the Sahib that the black elephant is a _khasa_,
from His Majesty's private stable? His Majesty does not like to see his
elephants lose."
"You conniving bastard."
"His Majesty makes the rules. Sahib. It is permitted to use the
_charkhi _fireworks once during a contest, if His Majesty judges that
the elephants need to be disciplined. May Allah grant you better luck
next week." The man stood waiting, hand outstretched.
"You're a damned thief."
"That is a harsh judgment. Sahib. I am merely a poor man who must live.
If you wait, you will see what happens to criminals here."
With a sigh of resignation Hawksworth began to count out the twenty
silver rupees, trying to look as sporting as he could muster. He found
himself in grudging admiration of the swindler's style. Then he
suddenly realized what the man had said.
The rumors must have been right.
"You mean there'll be an execution?"
"This is the day. His Majesty always has executions on Tuesday, after
the elephant fights."
Hawksworth looked up to see another bull elephant being ridden into the
plaza. He had sharpened tusks, each decorated with a single heavy brass
ring, and was guided by a single rider, a fierce-looking, unshaven
mahout. The elephant was festooned with bells, but there were no chains
about any of its legs.
At the other end of the square a balding man, with a short black beard
and a ragged green cloak, was being dragged forward by Imperial guards.
Hawksworth noticed that his arms had been bound behind him, by a heavy
cord circled just above the elbows. His eyes brimmed with fear.
The guards shoved him struggling toward the middle of the plaza. When
they reached the central clearing, the officer of the guard knocked him
to his knees with the butt end of a lance. The stunned prisoner turned
to watch in terror as the elephant lumbered toward him, flapping its
ears in anticipation.
"He was sentenced yesterday, Sahib."
"What did he do? Steal some nobleman's sheep? In England that's a
hanging offense."
"Oh no, Sahib, Islamic law does not give the death penalty for theft,
unless a thief is notorious. And even then he must be caught in the
act. If it is proved you have stolen something worth more than a
certain amount, then the sentence is to have your right hand cut off.
But for that to happen there must either be two witnesses or the thief
must himself confess. Islamic law is not cruel; it is just."
"What's this man accused of then?"
"He was tried and found guilty under Islamic law of _qatlul-'amd_, a
willful murder. His name is Kaliyan, and he is a Hindu and the son of
Bijai Ganga Ram. He is accused of having kept a common Muslim woman as
his concubine, and when the woman's father discovered this and went to
reclaim her to restore his family's honor, this man murdered him and
buried him behind his house. He confessed the act yesterday morning
before His Majesty."
The elephant moved with calm deliberation toward the kneeling prisoner,
guided by the mahout, until it towered directly over the quivering man.
Suddenly it whipped its trunk about the man's torso and lifted him
squirming into the air, holding him firmly against its banded tusks. It
swung the screaming man back and forth in delight for a long moment,
seeming to relish the torment, then dashed him violently to the ground.
The prisoner hit on his back, gasping, and weakly tried to roll to his
feet. Before he could gain his footing, the elephant was there again,
seizing him once more with its leathery trunk and again slamming him to
the ground.
"The elephant will torment him for a time. Sahib. Before the moment of
death." The small brown man's eyes shone in anticipation.
Again the prisoner was lifted and again dashed to the ground. Now he no
longer attempted to struggle; he merely lay moaning in a broken voice.
Then the mahout shouted something to the elephant and the animal
suddenly reared above the man, crushing down on him with both front
feet. There was a final, rending scream and then silence, as blood
sprayed over the dust. The elephant reared again, and again mashed the
lifeless body. Then again. Finally the animal placed one foot on the
man's lower torso and seized his crushed chest with its trunk,
wrenching upward and rending the body in two. Maddened by the smell of
blood, he whipped the torn half upward and slammed it once more against
the hard earth. Finally the mahout tapped the blood-spattered elephant
with his _ankus_ and began guiding it toward the back of the square.
The crowd, which had held a spellbound silence, erupted into cheers.
"That's the most brutal death I've ever seen." Hawksworth found his
voice only after the initial shock had passed.
"It's why so few men dare to commit murder, Sahib. But His Majesty is
very just. All criminals are given a full Islamic trial before they are
executed."
Hawksworth looked up to see yet another man being led into the plaza.
The cheers of the crowd died abruptly. He wore only a loincloth, which
was pure white, and his hands were bound not behind him but in front,
secured through a large wooden clamp that had been locked together like
European stocks. Hawksworth took one look and felt his own groin
tighten.
"All praise to Allah the Merciful. And to the Holy Prophet, on whom be
peace," one of the white-bearded mullahs shouted through the silence.
He wore a gray turban, a dingy collarless shirt that reached to his
knees, and over that a long black vest. He carried a staff and was
barefoot. Other mullahs clustered around him immediately and joined his
call.
"Murder! Murder!" Another voice began to chant, from a young man
standing near Hawksworth. Then other young men with him took up the cry
and began to surge forward. They were fresh-faced, with clean white
shirts and trousers, and they awkwardly began to brandish short swords.
Imperial guards immediately threw a line across the crowd and held the
young men back with short pikes. While the crowd watched, the prisoner
continued to walk alone and unescorted toward the center of the square.
Hawksworth studied the face again, the deep sad eyes above a flowing
white beard, and there was no doubt. He turned to the man standing
beside him.
"Do you know who that is?"
"Of course, Sahib. He's the heretic poet Samad. Did you hear that he
denied the existence of Allah in an Islamic court? He has been
sentenced to death."
"Who are those men with the swords?"
"They're his disciples. I think they came today to try to save him."
Hawksworth turned to see the elephant again being urged forward.
"What about. . . what about the Persian woman I heard was arrested with
him?"
"I do not think she has been executed yet, Sahib. They say she will be
hanged, secretly, in the fort. Women are not executed by elephant."
"When . . ." Hawksworth struggled to contain his voice. "When do they
say she'll be hanged?"
"Perhaps in a week or two. Perhaps she is already dead." He moved
forward to watch. "What do poor Believers know of justice inside the
fort? But the heretic Samad will die for all to see, so there will be
no rumors that he still lives. Already there are stories in Agra that
he had escaped to Persia."
Samad had reached the center of the square. As the elephant approached,
he turned to the crowd of young men, raising his bound hands toward
them in a gesture of recognition.
"Do not grieve for this weak clay." His voice was sonorous, hypnotic,
and the crowd fell curiously quiet. "Grieve for yourselves, you who
must travel on a short while, sorrowing still."
The crowd erupted again, the mullahs and many others urging his death,
the young followers decrying it. Again he lifted his hands, and his
voice seemed to bring silence around it.
"I say to you do not grieve. You will all soon know far greater sorrow.
Soon death will lay his dark hand across the city of Agra, upon Muslim
and Hindu alike, upon woman and child. Many will perish without cause.
Therefore grieve not for me. Grieve for yourselves, when death will
descend upon your doorsteps, there to take the innocent. Sorrow for
your own."
The crowd had listened in hushed silence. Then a bearded mullah shouted
"Death to the heretic" and others took up the cry.
Samad watched the elephant quietly as it continued to lumber forward.
When it reached him, he bowed to it with an ironic smile. The mahout
looked upward toward the black throne of the _Diwan-i-Khas_, where
Arangbar and Janahara sat waiting. Arangbar turned to the queen, with
what seemed a question, and she replied without moving her stare from
the court below. Arangbar paused a moment, then signaled the mahout to
proceed. The bearded mahout saluted the Moghul, then urged the elephant
forward with his sharp _ankus_.
The elephant flapped its bloodstained ears in confusion but did not
move.
The mahout goaded it again and shouted something in its ear, but it
merely waved its trunk and trumpeted.
"Merciful Allah. The elephant does not smell his crime." The small man
caught Hawksworth's questioning look. "The Great Akman believed
elephants would not kill an innocent man, that they can always smell a
man's guilt. But I have never before seen one refuse to kill a
prisoner. I think Samad must be a wizard, who has entranced the
animal."
"Innocent," a young man from the group of disciples yelled out above
the silence.
The mahout goaded the elephant once more, but still it stood unmoving.
"Innocent." More cries went up from Samad's young followers, and again
they pressed forward, swords in hand. In moments the plaza became a
battleground, blood staining the earth as the Imperial guards began
turning their pikes against the line of disciples. Then others in the
crowd, mullahs leading them, broke through and joined the battle
against the young men. Sword rang against sword and calls to Allah rent
the air.
Samad stood quietly watching as the battle edged toward him. Then
suddenly a group of bearded mullahs broke from the crowd and surged
toward him, swords drawn. Hawksworth instinctively reached for his own
weapon, but the man beside him caught his arm. He looked down to see a
small, rust-handled _katar _pointed against his chest.
"This is the will of Allah. An infidel must not interfere."
The mullahs had formed a ring around Samad. He stood silently, waiting,
as the leader stepped forward and thrust a long sword into the bare
skin of his lower stomach. He jerked but did not fall, standing tall as
another swung a sharp blade across his open neck. His head dropped to
one side and he slumped forward, as two more men thrust swords into his
belly. In seconds he disappeared beneath a crowd of black cloaks.
From a low latticework window down the east side of the Red Fort, past
the Jasmine Tower and many levels down the Khas Mahal, it was just
possible to see the center of the plaza. A woman stood by the window
watching as the crowd turned on the young men and, one by one, cut them
down. Then she saw a bloodstained body being hoisted above a black-
cloaked assembly and carried triumphantly toward the river gate.
There had been tears as Shirin watched. But as she turned away, toward
the darkness of the cell, her eyes were hard and dry.