The Moghul, page 43
She watched the palanquin ease up the weathered, winding path leadingto the fortress gate. The procession had moved slowly through the gateat the northeast corner of the city's walls and now the Rajputs wereclustered around the palanquin and the lone rider. The night was still,awash in a wild desert fragrance, and the moon was curing slowly fromwhite to a rarified gold. Her vantage, in a corner turret of the wall,was shadow-less and perfect. She examined the rider and smiled when sherecognized the face.
Nadir Sharif. You have kept your part of the bargain. All of it.
As she studied him through the half light, she wondered why they werecoming a day earlier than planned. Then the palanquin stopped and theother figure emerged. She hesitated before looking, at last forcingherself, willing her eyes to see.
After a long moment she turned to the tall man standing next to her.His beard was white, as were his robes. His eyes saw what she saw, buthe did not smile. He turned to her and nodded wordlessly. Then hetightened his white robe and moved easily down the stone staircasetoward the courtyard below.
Hawksworth had sensed the autumn light begin to fall rapidly as theyapproached the gates of the fortress-city. Already there was a palemoon, promising fullness. In size and grandeur the portals of the gatereminded Hawksworth of the Red Fort in Agra, only the walls themselveswere considerably less formidable. The palace itself sat atop a woodedhill, and already the stones of the abandoned roadway leading up thehill were becoming overgrown. There was a small village at the bottomof the hill, where smoke from evening cooking fires had begun to rise,but from the fortress itself there was no smoke, no hint of life orhabitation.
He alighted from the palanquin at the bottom of a steep stairwayleading to the palace gate and together with Nadir Sharif passed slowlyup the abandoned steps. The Rajputs trailed behind them as they reachedthe top and passed under the shadow of a tulip-curved arch that framedthe gateway. The dark surrounded them like an envelope, and the Rajputguards pushed forward, toward the black outline of two massive woodendoors at the back of the recess. They pushed open the doors, and beforethem lay a vast open courtyard, empty in the moonlight.
"Is this place completely abandoned? I still don't understand why I'mhere."
Nadir Sharif smiled. "On the contrary, Ambassador. It's far fromabandoned. But it appears so, does it not?"
Then Hawksworth saw a figure approaching them, gliding noiselesslyacross the red sandstone pavement of the court. The figure carried anoil lamp, which illuminated a bearded face framed in a white shawl.
"You are welcome in the name of Allah." The figure bowed a greeting."What brings armed men to our door? It is too late now to pray. We longago sounded the last _azan_."
"His Majesty has sent a _feringhi _here, to be cared for by you for twodays." Nadir Sharif stepped forward. "He was injured today during_shikar_."
"Our hands are always open." The figure turned and moved across theplaza toward a building that looked, in the new moonlight, to be amosque. When they reached the entrance, the man turned and spoke to theRajputs in a language Hawksworth did not understand.
"He says this is the house of God," Nadir Sharif translated. "He hascommanded the Rajputs to leave their shoes and their weapons here ifthey wish to follow. I think they will refuse. Perhaps it would be bestif we all left you now. You'll be well cared for. Day after tomorrowI'll send a horse for you."
"What's going on? You mean I'm going to be here alone?" Hawksworthsuddenly realized he was being abandoned, at an abandoned city. Hewhirled on Nadir Sharif. "You suggested this. You brought me here. Whatthe hell is this for? I could have returned to Agra, or even stayedwith the hunt."
"You're a perceptive man, Ambassador." Nadir Sharif smiled and lookedup at the moon. "But as far as I know, you're here entirely bycoincidence. I cannot be responsible for anything that happens to you,or anyone you see. This is merely the hand of chance. Please try tounderstand."
"What do you mean?"
"I will see you in two days, Ambassador. Enjoy your rest."
Nadir Sharif bowed, and in moments he and the Rajputs had melted intothe moonlight.
Hawksworth watched them leave with a mounting sense of disquiet. Thenhe turned and peered past the hooded figure, who stood waiting. Themosque looked empty, a cavern of flickering shadows against intricateplaster calligraphy. He unbuckled the sheath of his sword and passed itto the man as he kicked away his loose slippers. The man took the swordwithout a word, examined it for a moment as though evaluating itsworkmanship, then turned to lead the way.
They moved silently across the polished stone floor, past enormouscolumns that disappeared into the darkness of the vaulted space abovethem. Hawksworth relished the coolness of the stones against his barefeet, then ducked barely in time to avoid a hanging lamp, extinguishednow, its polished metalwork almost invisible against the gloom.
Ahead a lamp flickered through the dark. They passed beneath it, thenstopped at a closed door at the rear of the mosque. The man spoke aword Hawksworth did not understand and the door was swung open from theinside, revealing an illuminated passageway.
Four men were waiting. As Hawksworth and his guide passed through, thedoor closed behind them and the men silently drew around.
The passageway was long, freshly plastered, and floored in marblemosaic. It was cool, as though immune from the heat of the day, andscented faintly with rose incense that had been blended with the oil inthe hanging lamps.
At the end of the corridor was another stairway, again of white marble,and as they moved up its steps the man who had greeted Hawksworthextinguished his lamp with a brass cup he carried.
Beyond the stair was another corridor, then another door that opened asthey approached. Hawksworth realized they were in an upper story of alarge building directly behind the mosque. They passed through the doorand emerged into a room facing a balcony that overlooked the abandonedsquare below.
In the center of the room was a raised dais, covered with a thickPersian carpet. The man who had been Hawksworth's guide moved to thedais, mounted it, and seated himself. With a flourish he dropped hiswhite hood and the wrap that had been around him. Hawksworth realizedwith a shock that his long white hair streamed to his waist. He wasnaked save for a loincloth. He gestured for Hawksworth to sit,indicating a bolster.
"Welcome, English." He waited until the surprise had registered inHawksworth's face. "We've been expecting you, but not quite so soon."
"Who are you?"
"I was once a Persian." He smiled. "But I've almost forgotten mycountry's manners. First I should offer you some refreshment, and onlythen turn to affairs. Normally I would offer _sharbat_, but Iunderstand you prefer wine?"
Hawksworth stared at him speechless. No pious Muslim would drink wine.That much he knew.
"Don't look so surprised. We Persian poets often drink wine . . .for divine inspiration." He laughed broadly. "At least that's ourexcuse. Perhaps Allah will forgive us. 'A garden of flowers, a cup ofwine, Mark the repose of a joyous mind.'"
He signaled one of the men, and a chalice of wine appeared, seeminglyfrom nowhere. "I once learned a Latin expression,'in vino Veritas." Asa Christian you must know it. 'In wine there is truth.' Have some wineand we will search for truth together."
"Let's start with some truth from you. How do you know so much aboutme? And you still haven't told me who you are."
"Who am I? You know, that's the most important question you can ask anyman. Let us say I am one who has forsworn everything the world wouldhave . . . and thereby found the one thing most others have lost." Hesmiled easily. "Can you guess what that is?"
"Tell me."
"My own freedom. To make verse, to drink wine, to love. I have nothingnow that can be taken away, so I live without fear. I am a Muslimreviled by the mullahs, a poet denounced by the Moghul's courtversifiers, a teacher rejected by those who no longer care to learn. Ilive here because there is no other place I can be. Perhaps I soon willbe gone, but right here, right now, I am free. Because I bear nothingbut love for those who would harm me." He stared out over the balconyfor a moment in silence. "Show me the man who lives in fear of death,and I will show you one already dead in his soul. Show me the man whoknows hate, and I will show you one who can never truly know love." Hepaused again and once more the room grew heavy with silence. "Love,English, love is the sweetness of desert honey. It is life itself. Butyou, I think, have yet to know its taste. Because you are a slave toyour own striving. But until you give all else over, as I have done,you can never truly know love."
"How do you think you know so much about me? I know nothing about you.Or about why I'm here."
"But I think you've heard of me."
Hawksworth stared at him for a moment, and suddenly everything cametogether. He could have shouted his realization.
"You're Samad. The Sufi. . . ." He stopped, his heart racing. "Where is. . .?"
"Yes, I'm a poet, and I'm called a Sufi because there is nothing elseto call me."
"You're not really a Sufi?"
"Who knows what a Sufi is, my English friend? Not even a Sufi knows.Sufis do not teach beliefs. They merely ask that you know who you are."
"I thought they're supposed to be mystics, like some of the SpanishCatholics."
"Mystics yearn to merge with God. To find that part within us all thatis God. Sufis teach methods for clearing away the clutter that obscuresour knowledge of who we are So perhaps we're mystics. But we're notbeloved by the mullahs."
"Why not? Sufis are Muslims."
"Because Sufis ignore them. The mullahs say we must guide our lives bythe Laws of the Prophet, but Sufis know God can only be reached throughlove. A pure life counts for nothing if the heart is impure. Prayersfive times a day are empty words if there is no love." Samad pausedagain, and then spoke slowly and quietly. "I am trying to decide ifthen is love about you, English."
"You seem to think you know a lot about me. There's only one person whowanted me to meet you. And she was in Surat. Where is she now? Is shehere?"
"She's no longer in Surat. Be sure of that. But at this moment you arehere with me. Why always seek after what you do not have? You see, I doknow much about you. You're a pilgrim." He waved his hand absently."But then we all are pilgrims. All searching for something. We call itdifferent names--fulfillment, knowledge, beauty, God. But you still havenot found what you seek, is that not true?' Samad watched Hawksworth insilence as he drank from his own wineglass. "Yes, it is given manynames, but it is in fact only one thing. We are all searching, myEnglish, for our own self. But the self is not easy to find, so wetravel afar, hoping it lies elsewhere. Searching inward in a much moredifficult journey."
Hawksworth started to speak, but Samad silenced him with a wave of thehand. "Know that you will find the thing you most want only when youcease to search. Only then can you listen to the quiet of the heart,only then can you find true content." Samad drank again from his wine."This last week you have found, so you think, your fortune. You havereceived worldly honors from the Moghul, you have news of imminentsuccess for your English king. But these things will only bring youdespair in the end."
"I don't understand what you mean."
Samad laughed and finished off his glass. "Then let me tell
you a story about myself, English. I was born a Persian Jew, a merchantat my birth by historic family vocation. But my people have ignored thegreatest Prophet of all, the Prophet Mohammed. His voice invites all,and I heard that voice. I became Muslim, but still I was a merchant. APersian merchant. And, perhaps not unlike you, I traveled to Indiasearch of . . . not the greater Prophet, but the baser profit. Andhere, my English, I found the other thing I searched for. I foundlove. Pure love, consuming love. The kind of love few men areprivileged to know. The love of a boy whose beauty and purity couldonly have come from God. But this love was mistaken by the world, wascalled impure, and he was hidden from me. So the only one left for meto love was God. Thus I cast away my garments, my worldliness, and gavemyself to Him. And once more I was misunderstood."
Samad paused and called for another glass of wine. Then he turned backto Hawksworth. "So I have told the world my story in verse. And nowthere are many who understand. Not the mullahs, but the people. I havegiven them words that could only come from a pure heart, words of joythat all men can share." Samad stopped and smiled. "You know wePersians are born poets. It's said we changed Sufism from mysticspeculation to mystic art. All I know is the great poets of Persiafound in Sufism a vehicle for their art that gave back to Islam almostmore than it took. But then a poet's vocation must always be to give. Ihave given the people of India my heart, and they have loved me inreturn. Yet such love engenders envy in the minds of men who know itnot. The Shi'ite mullahs would have condemned me for heresy long agowere it not for one man, a man who has understood and protected me. Theonly man in India who is not afraid of he Persian Shi'ites at court.And now he too is gone. With him went my life."
"And who was that?"
"Can you not guess? You have already met him." Samad smiled. "PrinceJadar."
Hawksworth suddenly felt as though the world had closed about him.
"Why did you contrive to get me here tonight?"
"Because I wished to see you. And I can no longer walk abroad. It hasbeen forbidden on pain of death. But death is something I am almostready to welcome. One day soon I will walk the streets of Agra oncemore, for the last time.
Hawksworth wondered if the claim was bravado, or truth.
"But why did you want to see me?" Hawksworth studied Samad closely.Suddenly he decided to ask the question directly. "To ask me to helpJadar? You can tell him for me that I want no part of his politics. I'mhere to get a trade agreement, a _firman_. That's my mission, why I wassent.
Samad settled his wineglass on the carpet with a sigh of resignation."You've heard nothing I have said. I am telling you it would be bestfor you to forget about your 'mission.' Your destiny is no longer inyour hands. But if you will open your heart, you will find it hasriches to compensate you manyfold. Still, they can be yours only if youcan know love. But now, I fear, the only love you know is self-love,ambition. You have not yet understood it is empty as mirror.
