The Moghul Part 89

"The brown was clearly winning before he was frightened by the d.a.m.ned 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"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 d.a.m.ned 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 bra.s.s 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 b.u.t.t end of a lance. The stunned prisoner turned to watch in terror as the elephant lumbered toward him, flapping its ears in antic.i.p.ation.

"He was sentenced yesterday, Sahib."

"What did he do? Steal some n.o.bleman'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 antic.i.p.ation.

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 pa.s.sed.

"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 cl.u.s.tered 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_.