The Moghul Part 94

The smoke from the _ghats _behind him still seared in his lungs. Only when he reached the top of the steps could he force himself to look back. Scavenger birds wheeled in the sky above and small barks with single oarsmen plied the muddy face of the Jamuna. Along the banks were toiling washermen, Untouchables, who wore nothing save a brown loincloth and a kerchief over their heads. They stood in a long row, knee-deep at the water's edge, mechanically slapping folded lengths of cloth against stacks of flat stones. They seemed unconcerned by the nearness of the funeral ghats, stone platforms at the river's edge that were built out above the steps leading down into the water. As he silently surveyed the crowd around him, from somewhere on the street above a voice chanted a funeral litany: Ram Nam Sach Hai, the Name of Ram Is Truth Itself.

It had taken four days for Kamala to die. The morning after she had danced, she had begun to show unmistakable symptoms of the plague. She had called for Brahmin priests and, seating herself on a wooden plank in their presence, had removed her _todus_, the ear pendants that were the mark of her _devadasi _caste, and placed them together with twelve gold coins on the plank before her. It was her deconsecration. Then with a look of infinite peace, she had announced she was ready to die.

Next she informed the priests that since she had no sons in Agra, no family at all, she wanted Brian Hawksworth to officiate at her funeral.

He had not understood what she wanted until the servants whispered it to him. The Brahmins had been scandalized and at first had refused to agree, insisting he had no caste and consequently was a despicable Untouchable. Finally, after more payments, they had reluctantly consented. Then she had turned to him and explained what she had done.

When he tried to argue, she had appealed to him in the name of s.h.i.+va.

"I only ask you do this one last thing for me," she had said, going on to insist his responsibilities would not be difficult. "There are Hindu servants in the palace. Though they are low caste, they know enough Turki to guide you."

After the Brahmins had departed, she called the servants and, as Hawksworth watched, ordered them to remove all her jewels from the rosewood box where she kept them. Then she asked him to accompany them as they took the jewels through the Hindu section of Agra, to a temple of the G.o.ddess Mari, who presides over epidemics. They were to donate all her jewels to the G.o.ddess. Smiling at Hawksworth's astonishment, she had explained that Hindus believe a person's reincarnation is directly influenced by the amount of alms given in his or her previous life. This last act of charity might even bring her back as a Brahmin.

Two days later she lapsed into a delirium of fever. As death drew near, the Hindu servants again summoned the priests to visit the palace. The plague was spreading now, and with it fear, and at first none had been willing to comply. Only after it was agreed that they would be paid three times the usual price for the ceremonies did the Brahmins come.

They had laid Kamala's body on a bed of _kusa _gra.s.s in the open air, sprinkled her head with water brought from the sacred Ganges River, and smeared her brow with Ganges clay. She had seemed only vaguely conscious of what they were doing.

When at last she died, her body was immediately washed, perfumed, and bedecked with flowers. Then she was wrapped in linen, lifted onto a bamboo bier, and carried toward the river ghats by the Hindu servants, winding through the streets with her body held above their heads, intoning a funeral dirge. Hawksworth had led the procession, carrying a firepot with sacred fire provided by Nadir Sharifs Hindu servants.

The riverside was already crowded with mourners, for there had been many deaths, and the air was acrid from the smoke of cremation pyres.

On the steps above the ghats was a row of thatch umbrellas, and sitting on a reed mat beneath each was a Brahmin priest. All were s.h.i.+rtless, potbellied, and wore three stripes of white clay down their forehead in honor of Vishnu's trident. The servants approached one of the priests and began to bargain with him. After a time the man rose and signified agreement. The servants whispered to Hawksworth that he was there to provide funeral rites for hire, adding with some satisfaction that Brahmins who served at the ghats were despised as mercenaries by the rest of their caste.

After the bargain had been struck, the priest retired beneath his umbrella to watch while they purchased logs from vendors and began construction of a pyre. When finished, it was small, no more than three feet high, and irregular; but no one seemed to care. Satisfied, they proceeded to douse it with oil.

Then the Brahmin priest was summoned from his umbrella and he rose and came down the steps, bowing to a stone s.h.i.+va lingam as he pa.s.sed. After he had performed a short ceremony, chanting from the Vedas, the winding sheet was cut away and Kamala's body was lifted atop the stack of wood.

A mortal sadness had swept through Hawksworth as he stood holding the torch, listening to the Brahmin chant and studying the flow of the river. He thought again of Kamala, of the times he had secretly admired her erotic bearing, the times she had sat patiently explaining how best to draw the long sensuous notes from his new sitar, the times he had held her in his arms. And he thought again of their last evening, when she had danced with the power of a G.o.d.

When at last he moved toward the bier, the servants had touched his arm and pointed him toward her feet, explaining that only if the deceased were a man could the pyre be lighted at the head.

The oil-soaked logs had kindled quickly, sending out the sweet smoke of _neem_. Soon the pyre was nothing but yellow tongues of fire, and for a moment he thought he glimpsed her once more, in among the flames, dancing as the G.o.ddess Parvati, the beloved consort of s.h.i.+va.

When he turned to walk away, the servants had caught his sleeve and indicated he must remain. As her "son" it was his duty to ensure that the heat burst her skull, releasing her soul. Otherwise he would have to do it himself.

He waited, the smoke drifting over him, astonished that a religion capable of the beauty of her dance could treat death with such barbarity. At last, to his infinite relief, the servants indicated they could leave. They gathered up the pot of sacred fire and took his arm to lead him away. It was then he had pulled away, wanting to be alone with her one last time. Finally, no longer able to check his tears, he had turned and started blindly up the steps, alone.

Now he stared numbly back, as though awakened from a nightmare. Almost without thinking, he searched the pocket of his jerkin until his fingers closed around a flask of brandy. He drew deeply on it twice before turning to make his way on through the streets of Agra.

"You took an astonis.h.i.+ng risk merely to honor the whims of your Hindu dancer, Amba.s.sador." Nadir Sharif had summoned Hawksworth to his reception room at sunset. "Few men here would have done it."

"I've lived through plagues twice before. In 1592 over ten thousand in London died of the plague, and in 1603, in the summer after King James's coronation, over thirty thousand died, one person out of every five. If I were going to die, I would have by now." Hawksworth listened to his own bravado and wondered if it sounded as hollow as it was. He remembered his own haunting fear during the height of the last plague, when rowdy, swearing Bearers, rogues some declared more ill-bred than hangmen, plied the city with rented barrows, their cries of "Cast out your dead" ringing through the deserted streets. They charged sixpence a corpse, and for their fee they carted the bodies to open pits at the city's edge for unconsecrated, anonymous burial, the cutpurse and the alderman piled side by side. As he remembered London again, suddenly the Hindu rites seemed considerably less barbaric.

"You're a brave man, nonetheless, or a foolish one." Nadir Sharif gestured him toward a bolster. "Tell me, have your English physicians determined the cause of the infection?"

"There are many theories. The Puritans say it's G.o.d's vengeance; and astrologers point out that there was a conjunction of the planets Jupiter and Saturn when the last plague struck. But our physicians seem to have two main theories. Some hold it's caused by an excess of corrupt humors in the body, whereas others claim it's spread by poisonous air, which has taken up vapors contrary to nature."

Nadir Sharif sat pensive and silent for a moment, as though pondering the explanations. Then he turned to Hawksworth.

"What you seem to have told me is that your physicians have absolutely no idea what causes the plague. So they have very ingeniously invented names for the main points of their ignorance." He smiled. "Indian physicians have been known to do the same. Tell me then, what do you think causes it?"

"I don't know either. It seems to worsen in the years after crops have been bad, when there are hungry dogs and rats scavenging in the streets. During the last plague all the dogs in London were killed or sent out of the city, but it didn't seem to help."

"And what about the rats?"

"There've always been men in England who make a living as rat-catchers, but with the dogs gone during the plague, the rats naturally started to multiply."

Nadir smiled thoughtfully. "You know, the Hindus have a book, the Bhagavata Parana, that warns men to quit their house if they see a sickly rat near it. Indians have long a.s.sumed vermin bring disease.

Have you considered the possibility that the source of the plague might be the rats, rather than the dogs? Perhaps by removing the dogs, you eliminated the best deterrent to the bearer of the plague, the rats?"

"No one has thought of that."

"Well, the European plague has finally reached India, whatever its cause." Nadir Sharif looked away gloomily. "Almost a hundred people died in Agra this past week. Our physicians are still searching for a cure. What remedies do you use in England? I think His Majesty would be most interested to know."

"I suppose the measures are more general than specific. Englishmen try to ward it off by purging the pestilent air around them. They burn rosemary and juniper and bay leaves in their homes. During the last plague the price of rosemary went up from twelve pence an armful to six s.h.i.+llings a handful. But the only people helped seemed to be herb wives and gardeners. One physician claimed the plague could be avoided by wearing a bag of a.r.s.enic next to the skin. There's also a belief that if you bury half a dozen peeled onions near your home, they'll gather all the infection in the neighborhood. And some people fumigate the contagious vapors from their rooms by dropping a red-hot brick into a basin of vinegar."

"Do these curious nostrums work?" Nadir Sharif tried to mask his skepticism.

"I suppose it's possible. Who can say for sure? But the plague always diminishes after a time, usually with the onset of winter."

"Doesn't your king do anything?"

"He usually leaves London if an infection starts to spread. In 1603, the year of his coronation, he first went to Richmond, then to Southampton, then to Wilton. He traveled all summer and only returned in the autumn."

"Is that all he did? Travel?"

"There were Plague Orders in all the infected towns. And any house where someone was infected had to have a red cross painted on the door and a Plague Bill attached. No one inside could leave. Anyone caught outside was whipped and set in the stocks."

"And did these measures help?"

"Englishmen resent being told they can't leave home. So people would tear the Plague Bills off their doors and go about their business. Some towns hired warders at sixpence a day to watch the houses and make sure no one left. But when so many are infected, it's impossible to watch everyone. So there were also orders forbidding a.s.semblies. King James banned the holding of fairs within fifty miles of London. And all gatherings in London were prohibited by a city order--playhouses, gaming houses, c.o.c.kpits, bear-baiting, bowling, football. Even ballad singers were told to stay off the streets."

"His Majesty may find that interesting." Nadir Sharif turned and signaled for _sharbat _from the servants. "Perhaps he should issue laws forbidding a.s.sembly before he leaves Agra."

"Is he leaving?" Hawksworth felt his heart stop.

"Day after tomorrow." Nadir Sharif watched as the tray of _sharbat _cups arrived and immediately directed it toward Hawksworth.

"I have to see him one last time before he leaves. Before I leave."

"I really think that's impossible now. He's canceled the daily _durbar_. No one can see him. Even I have difficulty meeting with him."

Nadir Sharif accepted a cup from the tray and examined Hawksworth sorrowfully as he sipped it. "In any case, I fear a meeting would do you little good, Amba.s.sador. He's busy arranging the departure for all the court, including the _zenana_. There are thousands of people to move, and on very short notice. In fact, I've been trying to see Her Majesty for several days, but she has received no one." He smiled evenly. "Not even her own brother."

"Where's His Majesty planning to go?"

"Not so very far, actually. Ordinarily he probably would

travel north, toward Kashmir. But since winter is approaching, he's decided to go west, to Fatehpur Sekri. The area around the old palace has remained free of the infection."