and proposed a toast to the maharana. The toast was ceremonial,
elaborate, and--it seemed--entirely expected by everyone.
"To His Highness, the Maharana of Udaipur: whose line flows directly
from the great Kusa, son of Rama, King of Ajodhya and the noble hero of
the Ramayana. Descendant of the Royal House of the Sun, whose subjects
will refuse their food if neither he nor his brother the Sun are
present to show their face upon it and bless it."
The maharana's reply was equally effusive, describing Jadar as the
greatest Moghul warrior in all of history, the equal of his Mongol
forebears Genghis Khan and Tamerlane, a worthy descendant of the early
Moghul conquerors Babur and Humayun, and finally, the one Moghul whose
martial skills might actually approach those of the fighting Rajputs of
Mewar--an oblique reference to the fact that Jadar had led the Moghul
army that subdued Mewar a decade earlier and induced its Rajputs to
finally acknowledge Moghul dominance over northwest India.
Immoderate praise of one another's armies followed next. Then the
maharana said something else, and Jadar turned suddenly toward
Hawksworth.
"Ambassador Hawksworth. His Highness has asked to speak with you."
Hawksworth rose from the carpet and moved forward. Around him the
Udaipur Rajputs studied him with open curiosity. They had listened to
lavish toasts for years, but none had ever before seen a _feringhi _in
a doublet. The very concept of such a phenomenon exceeded their
imagination.
"His Highness has asked permission to allow his court painters to make
your portrait, so that he may remember your likeness. Dressed as you
are tonight. Do you have any objection?"
"Please tell His Highness I would be honored." Hawksworth found himself
startled, and unsure what reply was appropriate. "Please tell him that
my own father was once a painter in England."
Jadar smiled through his teeth. "You mean I should tell him there are
of course many skilled artists in your noble land of England. Your own
father, as we both know, was a great khan in England, not a lowly
craftsman."
As Hawksworth nodded dully, Jadar turned and translated this to the
maharana. Karan Singh's eyes brightened as he replied to Jadar.
"He asks if your king's painters are expert in Ragamala?"
"I'm not entirely sure what His Highness refers to." Hawksworth
examined Jadar with a puzzled expression.
Jadar translated and the Rajput looked surprised. He turned and quickly
said something to one of the servants, who vanished and reappeared
moments later with a leatherbound folio. The maharana spoke briefly to
Jadar, then passed the book.
"The maharana politely suggests that possibly your English king's
painters have not yet achieved the sophistication required for
Ragamala. He asks me to show you one of his personal albums." Jadar
opened the book and handed it to Hawksworth.
It was filled with vibrant miniature paintings, executed on heavy
sheets of paper that had been treated with a white pigment of rice
water and lavishly embellished with gold leaf. They showed round-eyed
young women with firm breasts and slender wrists lounging in
beautifully stylized gardens and courtyards, playing gilded instruments
or sensuously embracing their lovers, many surrounded by doves,
peacocks, tame deer, and tapestry-covered elephants. In some the blue-
faced god Krishna played an instrument that looked something like a
sitar, to the wistful gaze of longing doe-eyed women whose breasts
swelled through their gauze wraps. The paintings imparted to Hawksworth
a curious world of emotional intensity: a celebration of life, love,
and devotion.
"Each Ragamala painting depicts the mood of a specific raga." Jadar
pointed to one of a jeweled woman feeding a peacock which leaned down
from a white marble rooftop, while her lover reached his arms to
encircle her. "This is a raga named Hindol, a morning raga of love. The
Ragamala paintings of Mewar are a perfect blend of music, poetry, and
pure art." Jadar winked. "After the maharana has painted you in your
native costume, perhaps he will have his artists paint you as the young
god Krishna, enticing some milkmaids to your leafy bed."
The maharana spoke again to Jadar.
"He asks whether these are anything like the paintings your king's
artists create for English ragas?"
"Tell him we don't have ragas in England. Our music is different."
Jadar tried to mask his discomfort. "Perhaps I should merely say your
English ragas are in a different style from those we have in India. He
will not be impressed to learn that English music is not yet advanced
enough to have developed the raga."
Jadar's reply seemed to satisfy the maharana. He turned and said
something to one of the men sitting near him.
"His Highness has ordered that you be given an album of Ragamala
paintings to take back to your king, so the painters at his court may
try to copy them and begin to learn greatness."
"His Majesty, King James, will be deeply honored by the rana's gift."
Hawksworth bowed diplomatically, deciding not to inform the maharana
that King James had no painters and little taste.
The maharana beamed in satisfaction and dismissed Hawksworth with a
nod.
Then the exchange of gifts began. Jadar produced a gold cloak for the
maharana, a jewel-encrusted sword, a jeweled saddle, and promised to
deliver an elephant with a silver howdah. The maharana in turn gave
Jadar an emerald the size of a large walnut, a gilded shield studded
with jewels, and a brace of jeweled katars. Each thanked the other
extravagantly and set the presents aside.
Then Jadar suddenly stood up and began removing his turban. The room
fell silent at this unprecedented act.
"Tonight, in gratitude for his friendship, for his offer of an abode to
one who no longer has any roof save a tent, I offer to His Highness,
the Maharana of Udaipur, my own turban, that he may have a lasting
token of my gratitude. That in the years ahead when, Allah willing,
these dark days are past, we will neither of us forget my indebtedness
on this night."
As Jadar stepped forward to present the turban, the maharana's eyes
flooded with emotion. Before Jadar had moved more than a pace, Karan
Singh was on his feet, ripping off his own turban. They met in the
center of the room, each reverently placing his own turban on the
other's head, then embracing.
Hawksworth looked around the room and saw Rajputs who would gut an
enemy without a blink now near to tears. He leaned back toward Shirin.
"What's the significance of the turbans?"
"It's the rarest gift any man could present to another. I've never
before heard of a Moghul or a Rajput giving his turban. The story of
this will be told throughout Mewar. We have just seen the creation of a
legend."
Then the maharana's voice rose. "Mewar, the abode of all that is
beautiful in the world, is made even more beautiful by your presence.
In years past we have stood shield to shield with you; tonight we
embrace you in friendship. We wish you victory over those who would
deny you your birthright, which you have earned both by blood and by
deed. No other in India is more fit to reign, more just to govern, more
honorable to his friends, more feared by his foes. Tonight we offer you
our hand and our prayers that Lord Krishna will always stand with you."