"Into the courtyard," said the officer holding his bag. "Toward the smithy."
Sanat Ji Mani was somewhat surprised, for he had not seen many of Timur-i's captives wearing collars or manacles, or chains— he understood that all of them were impractical for Timur-i's style of travel, which required speed uppermost. Still, he supposed, since Timur-i
had decided to make use of his medicinal skills, he would not want to give Sanat Ji Mani the opportunity for escape. Sanat Ji Mani winced at the memories of other times he had been a slave as he continued across the stable courtyard toward the smithy.
"We will have to bind you," said the officer with his bag. "If we do not, the procedure could go awry and you would not want that."
"I suppose not," said Sanat Ji Mani as they approached the smithy.
The other officer called out, "This one is to be stapled. You are to use a new sword."
From inside the smithy there was an oath of complaint, and two muscular men in leather aprons came out, one of them holding heavy tongs. "For this fellow?" he asked. His skin was hard from the constant heat of his work, and his hands were thick as paws.
The officer called back "Yes. And make it quick. We do not want to waste the day here."
"Bring him in," said the older smith and gestured toward a grooming stall. "Secure him there."
The officers did as they were told, the one carrying the bag saying, "It is better if you do not fight. I will leave your supplies with you, so you will be able to tend to the staple when you are ready."
Sanat Ji Mani still could not think how a staple might be used, but he nodded. "Thank you."
The officers confined him efficiently with heavy ropes while the smiths busied themselves on their anvils, their hammers making a penetrating clang that jarred Sanat Ji Mani; he could not see what the smiths were working on the forge, but he smelled hot metal, and supposed this could be the new sword. He could envision a number of uses for that sword, none of which were pleasant. He wanted to tell them that all attempts to brand him had left no marks, but he knew they would not listen.
"Remove his right boot," said the smith.
The officers did as they were ordered while Sanat Ji Mani wondered why they should do such a thing; he said nothing, waiting uneasily.
"Small foot," one of the officers reported. "You can use a small sole."
"Very good," said the smith, and went on working with his hammer. "Confine his leg. Most of them kick when being fitted." He laughed and struck another blow.
The two officers seized Sanat Ji Mani's right leg. "It will be done quickly," one of them said as if to quiet his anxiety, but only serving to increase it.
"Don't let him squirm. If the blade doesn't go between the bones, he'll be of no use to us," said the smith, approaching with something hot in his tongs.
The second smith carried a piece of wood roughly the shape of a foot, but broader; it was about as thick as a thumb is long, and he laid it against Sanat Ji Mani's bare sole, the wider side to the outside of the foot, then bent Sanat Ji Mani's leg so that the wood was on the floor. The soldiers gripped more tightly as the smith with the wood took hold of his toes.
Just before he bent over, Sanat Ji Mani saw what was in the tongs— a sword-blade, still glowing from the forge, bent in a U shape, both ends sharpened. He tensed futilely against what was coming. The first sizzling touch of the hot metal on his foot sent pain rioting up his leg, and when the smith adroitly hammered the staple into place in three swift blows— one end through Sanat Ji Mani's foot, the blade slipping between the bones and into the wood, the other into the wood on the outside of his foot— the odor of burning meat mixed with the acrid scent of heated metal. It was swift and the hurt was so enormous it stifled the scream in his throat.
"Water," one of the smiths ordered, and a moment later it sloshed over the newly placed staple.
"That will stop the festering," the other smith declared; Sanat Ji Mani hardly noticed: he was consumed with agony that leached all thought from his mind and drove him into a stupor.
"He's fainted," said the officer with the bag.
"Just as well," said the older smith. "Let him sleep it off." He gestured to a stall near the rear of the smithy. "Put him there. No one will bother him."
The two officers slung Sanat Ji Mani between them and carried him off to the rear stall.
"Better leave his bag with him. He'll want it when he wakes," said one of the officers.
The other dropped the bag beside Sanat Ji Mani's supine body. "See no one touches this," he called out to the smith.
"That I will," the smith said with a nonchalant wave.
"We must report to Timur-i," said one of the officers.
"Tell him it was successful— clean through the foot and no bones broken. That man will not run anywhere so long as that staple is in his foot." The smith chuckled.
"Send word if he becomes feverish," said the other officer.
The smith waved him away, and signaled to the other smith to bring more work to the forge.
* * *
Report on the sack and pillage of Delhi prepared by the surviving priests of Shiva, carried by messenger to Sultan Nasiruddin Mohammed bin Tughlaq.
* * *
By Allah the All-Seeing, the All-Compassionate, your god, O Sultan, this is a full and accurate account of what transpired in your city of Delhi during the time it was occupied by Timur-i Lenkh and his army. It was the dark of the year in many ways, and we of Delhi paid the price. All of us, no matter what station or caste or loyalty or devotion, have had to endure that which must please only Kali, for a bloodier time has not come to Delhi from the foundation of the world.
When the army went out of the gates, it fell into the hands of the army of Timur-i Lenkh, and suffered a decisive defeat. Timur-i Lenkh brought his army into the city and issued edicts that promised looting only provided certain strictures were adhered to; failure to abide by these requirements would bring swift destruction.
For a few days the people kept to the terms of the surrender, and only valuables were taken. But it was inevitable that a few would protest losing all their goods and their slaves. At first the army of Timur-i executed those who tried to keep their treasure hidden, punishing the transgressor and his family but not calling others to account for the greed of a few. The city's magistrates sat in judgment on those who transgressed and meted out the justice Timur-i Lenkh required,
and many were brought into the service of his occupying army.
It went as well as could be hoped, with less than two hundred killed for their refusal to give up what Timur-i Lenkh required; but then a merchant— a man of your faith, Ismalli Heitan— refused to hand over the gold and jewels he had stored in the cellar of his house, and the killing began in earnest. For the next two days there was nothing but extermination in Delhi. Thousands upon thousands fell under the shimtares of Timur-i Lenkh's army, and their bodies were piled up in the market-squares where the paving-stones were so covered in blood that goats and cattle would not enter them, and dogs sated themselves on the decaying flesh of those who had been their masters.
Timur-i Lenkh has vowed to make another man Sultan of Delhi, to rule the empire— shrunken as it is— for him. You, he has declared, have lost Delhi for failing to defend it. He, unlike you, has promised death to those who remain in Delhi and will not embrace Islam. Those of us who are of the old faith are to be put to death in the morning. I have been ordered to prepare this account for you as a last act of devotion to you as the ruler of Delhi, which Timur-i has claimed for himself and his adherent.
Many hundreds of those who are not to be killed are now slaves of Timur-i Lenkh. He has made native-born men of Delhi and foreigners his property if he has reason to want their capabilities or other attributes to augment his might or the strength of his army. He has taken one priest from this ruined temple to serve him as translator. Others have been ordered to care for his animals and his troops. Most of them have been branded and a metal staple put through their feet so that they cannot run. I myself have seen more than fifty men so constrained, Delhi-born and foreign together.
As to women, most of them have been killed, but a few have been handed over to Timur-i Lenkh's soldiers for their pleasure. Also young, comely boys have been put into whoredom. A few have managed to kill themselves before they had to succumb to Timur-i Lenkh's men, but most have accepted their fate with resignation; they know that they might be killed at once if they do not let their bodies be used by the soldiers, and they would prefer to live than to die.
Delhi is a slaughterhouse today. It will be worse tomorrow when all we priests join the dead. The city should be burned to ashes and
the ashes scattered to the winds, but Timur-i Lenkh is not so kind as to do this: he gloats over the carcasses piled up, and seeks to increase their number as a sign of his potent might. We accept the turning of the Wheel with the followers of the Buddha, who will be our brothers in dying.
Surely now that the days are beginning to lengthen again Timur-i Lenkh will abandon Delhi and seek new conquests. When he leaves there will be nothing but bones to give witness to what has happened here, and their testimony will be mute. In that day, my soul will be glad, for the destruction will finally be at an end.
May your Allah protect you from the army of Timur-i Lenkh. May he restore you to your throne, if there is a throne to claim when all of this is over. I sign myself your subject and the faithful priest of Shiva, Who will bring me to the Burning Ground.
Rishi Harata Medha
PART
II
TULSI KIL
Text of a letter from Zal Iniattir to his uncle Rustam Iniattir, carried on the merchant ship
Dolphin's Eye
to Fustat in the Mameluke Empire.
* * *
To my most respected uncle, the leader of our family, my greetings from this place in the Vindhya Mountains where we have found sanctuary at last. Asirgarh is not as fine a city as Delhi, but we have been received here with hospitality, and we are safe for the time being. Here they will tell us the law and we will abide by it for the good of our House.
We were able to leave Delhi before the army of the Sultan was humiliated by Timur-i and therefore we have kept most of our treasure, although certain sums had to be paid to bring us safely here. I will try to establish our House here and once again begin trading on the merchants' roads of the broad world where Timur-i has not brought destruction.
I have not yet met with the camel-drivers and muleteers who carried our goods from Delhi; I fear some of them may have seen this as an opportunity and claimed our crates and chests as theirs, and struck out to other markets on their own. I am resigned to losing some of our goods in this fashion, but most should arrive in due course.
Our House owes a debt of gratitude to Sanat Ji Mani: truly he is named, for he is a treasure of an ancient soul. He made it possible for me to escape without sacrificing all our goods and our holdings, which I despaired of doing. Without his help, we would not have won free of Delhi before it fell and all would be lost. I do not know if he himself escaped, but I have heard that few did once Timur-i entered the gates of the city.
There is a rumor that Timur-i was overthrown at Delhi and his nephew put up in his place. They say that Timur-i now wanders the roads, lame and blind, afraid and without friends. I do not know if I believe this, for I have heard something of the kind before, but everyone is saying it, and it may be true. I have it on good authority that the soldiers of Timur-i are preparing to leave Delhi and to continue their rampage across the land.
It is assumed that Timur-i will remain in the north, which is why I have chosen this city to the south. This place is not as fine as Delhi, but it has many things to recommend it. We have mountains and two rivers between us and Delhi, so that even if Timur-i's army should strike out in this direction, we will have time enough to leave, if we must.
In this new city, we have purchased a house and I have gone to the Camel-Drivers' Market to learn as much as I can about the state of trade in this place. I have not been successful at all I have sought to accomplish, for these people do not know Parsi and they fear us as strangers; I am engaged now in reassuring the people, for I know we will not prosper until we are welcome.
To that end, I am planning an entertainment for the merchants of the city. It will be costly, but I cannot doubt it will prove to be beneficial to our House. It is allowed for foreigners to prepare such entertainments if they do not compromise any merchant native to this city. It will be my intention to bring no criticism upon our House in this or any venture.
I have asked the magistrates in this place how I might best go about this, and I am told that sponsoring a festival for an occasion they call Danja would be a useful means to accomplish our ends. Danja occurs on the second full moon after the dark of the year, which does not
