Tiger Claws (45 page)
Authors: John Speed
Shahji looks back at him easily, more comfortable with open anger than with the covert agendas of the court. “As you wish. I did not name you, sir, because you seek glory. A commander must not desire battle, but
find ways to avoid it. He must seek the harder path that leads to peace. Much as he might want a battle,” Shahji adds, turning to face Afzul Khan, “the queen’s commander must not say so. He must protect the queen. No battle is without cost, sir, and no country, not even Bijapur, is rich enough to bear the cost of endless victories. Bijapur must choose her battles wisely, and win the battles that she chooses.”
find ways to avoid it. He must seek the harder path that leads to peace. Much as he might want a battle,” Shahji adds, turning to face Afzul Khan, “the queen’s commander must not say so. He must protect the queen. No battle is without cost, sir, and no country, not even Bijapur, is rich enough to bear the cost of endless victories. Bijapur must choose her battles wisely, and win the battles that she chooses.”
Afzul Khan seems almost ready to explode. “Coward!” he bellows. The nobles shout and wave their fists at Shahji, and struggle to keep Afzul Khan from attacking him.
“Bloated fool,” Shaista Khan whispers, unheard by anyone.
“Silence! Silence!” Wali Khan commands. As the crowd of nobles settles down, Whisper leans close to the sultana and murmurs in her ear.
“Hear my words and obey,” says the sultana quietly. One by one the nobles lower their heads. “I will do as General Shahji suggests: divide our forces into two parts. I place Afzul Khan in charge of the western army. The combined forces will remain under the command of Shahji. General, name anyone you will to lead the eastern army; except our trusty servant Wali Khan; we need his full attention as vizier.”
Afzul Khan seems uncertain whether to regard this decision as a vindication or an insult, but the nobles around him, eager for his approval, bow and whisper their congratulations.
“Madam,” Shahji answers, “I beg you to reconsider.”
“You have heard our wishes. I need men of wisdom near me, general.”
“But I am not wise, madam.”
“We disagree.” Beneath the mountainous veil, her head turns almost imperceptibly. “Afzul, prepare with General Shahji a plan to send a force to Poona. It is my hope that Shivaji is indeed, as he claims, the most loyal of my subjects. Should things turn out different, let Bijapur be ready. And General Shahji,” she adds, turning like a dark boulder, “do not neglect the safety of our eastern border. Despite the protests of our dear ambassador,” she nods to Shaista Khan, “I fear for our safety.”
Uninvited, Shaista Khan speaks out once more. “You made wise choices, madam,” he says. He hides his pleasure as the nobles glance at him doubtfully, trying to guess the hidden meaning of a Mogul compliment.
The sultana merely nods, and though she may be trembling underneath her enormous veil, she gives no indication of her feelings. Then she stands to leave.
The nobles chatter together when she leaves, none of them satisfied, exactly as the sultana might have hoped.
“Shahu tells me you’ve managed to get yourself pregnant.”
Jijabai glares at Sai Bai, who’s stirring a pot of boiling dal. Her tone suggests that her son had nothing to do with it. Sai Bai takes a moment to prepare herself before she looks up. She tries to shape her face into the form of a dutiful daughter-in-law, one who never feels tired, or put upon, or worked to death; one whose life is full of ease and pleasure; one whose mother-in-law is as sweet as buffalo milk, not as shrewish as … well, as Jijabai.
“I’m waiting,” Jijabai says.
“Mother, I hope so, but who knows? I’m only a few days late … .”
“You’re pregnant,” Jijabai says with finality, as though Sai Bai’s uncertainty is all the proof she needs. “Let’s hope it’s a son.” Jijabai glares at Sai Bai. “A daughter’s useless now.”
“What can I do about it now, mother?”
“You can pray. Go to the temple every day. Trelochan knows the mantras. Make offerings. Be generous.”
“Where will I get the money, mother?”
“Just tell Dadaji. He’ll …” Jijabai’s voice trails off, and she curses herself for remembering too late. “I mean Balaji.” Jijabai spits out the name. She hates losing face.
“He won’t give me money unless Shahu says so, mother.”
Jijabai purses her lips. “You’ll have to ask Shahu then, won’t you?”
“He won’t do it, mother. He doesn’t care if it’s a boy or a girl.”
“Fool! Of course he cares. Have you no sense at all?”
“He is my husband, mother. Would you have me contradict him?”
It’s always like this, Jijabai thinks. I can’t tell if she really is as stupid as she appears, or whether it’s just an act designed to irritate me. Why can’t she simply obey me? “Listen to me for once. You think I am your enemy. But I’m your friend. You and I are like this; like root and branch. What do we women have except each other? Who else can we trust? I am the mother of your husband, and you are the mother of my grandchild … my grandchildren. We must be friends. I need you, Sai Bai, and you need me. Believe me—you have no one else.”
Until she says this last statement, Sai Bai had been touched, seeing Jijabai as a real woman, not just a witch sent to plague her. But at those words, Sai Bai rounds on her. “How can you say this to me? I have your son. What more should I need but him?”
A tear rolls slowly down the older woman’s cheek. “Don’t look at me!” Jijabai’s order comes out like a plea. “This is not for you to see!”
“Mother,” Sai Bai whispers, and suddenly Jijabai is in her arms, broken with sobbing. “What’s wrong, mother dear?”
“Men are like monkeys!” Jijabai sobs. “They hop from tree to tree, not caring. They pick up some shiny thing; they hold it for a little while. Then they grow bored and cast it aside.”
“That’s what Shahji did to you, mother.” Sai Bai pats Jijabai’s back, so full of bones.
“You think the son is different from the father?”
Sai Bai straightens. “You say this to me? About your son?”
“
His
son.” The words hang in the air between them.
His
son.” The words hang in the air between them.
“You’re wrong about him.”
“Am I? You say this only because he has once more brought you to his bed. Have you forgotten how long he abandoned you? Don’t be a fool! Once you get big, believe me, he’ll be gone. What happened last time, eh? How long did you spend in your lonely bed, clutching a pillow for comfort?”
“He’s changed.”
“How long before he grows tired of you? How long until he finds his way to that nautch girl? And how will you stop him, eh? You had no luck last time.”
Jijabai’s eyes are dark with pain, wrinkles forming where the skin once was smooth. I won’t end up like her! Sai Bai vows. And yet how will it be different? She knows Jijabai is right.
Damn her. Damn Shivaji. Now the two of them are sobbing. “He … he … he was going to kill himself.” She hadn’t meant to tell this.
Sai Bai begins to weep, and Jijabai weeps with her. “He’s tried it before. My poor son! My poor son!”
“What should I do, mother?”
It is the question that Jijabai has longed for, the one she doubted she would ever hear. “You must trust me daughter. Trust me. Trust me.” And now it is Jijabai who comforts Sai Bai with her thin, tired arms.
Shivaji’s strong room is small and damp, a room dug out of the ground, reached by earth-cut stairs, guarded by an iron-bound door. In the lamplight, jewels glisten. “This?” Bala asks, holding up a gem-encrusted pin.
“All right,” Shivaji replies.
They are looking for gifts to send to the sultana. Bala lifts a jade spoon, its handle trimmed with tiny diamonds. Shivaji nods, and Bala places it in the velvet bag where he stowed the pin.
Shivaji shows Bala a small dagger, its golden handle enameled with jewel-like glass. Bala shrugs. “Not really something for a queen, is it?”
Shivaji considers. “How about for her boy?”
“Maybe.” Bala drops the dagger in the bag as well. His eyes fasten on something. “What about this?” he asks, holding up a necklace.
Shivaji shrugs. “I don’t think so. I think … I think we stole it from her.”
As they walk up the stairway from the strong room, Bala tries out an idea. “Suppose we sent this via Shaista Khan?”
“Why would we want to do that?”
“If we let Shaista Khan act as our representative, let him present our note and gifts, it will give Bijapur something to think about.”
“Everyone knows the Moguls seek to annex Bijapur.”
“Yes, everyone knows, but no one says so. It’s different in Bijapur.”
Shivaji frowns, looking at the sun glinting through the immense mango trees that surround the palace walls. “Why don’t I just go to the sultana and plead for mercy? What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I don’t like to imagine the worst, lord. I couldn’t imagine anything horrible enough. I heard such stories. That man Afzul Khan …”
“But we’re nearly out of money. No guns. Our army unready. Bijapur, from all accounts, about to attack us.”
“I trust Shaista Khan. He says delay, so let’s delay. A note and a few gifts can’t hurt, can it? Besides, things change, Shahu. They change like that.”
“It’s only delaying the inevitable.”
Bala looks at Shivaji seriously. “Listen, Shahu, I’ll tell you what’s inevitable. We have the goddess herself on our side. How shall we fail? We swore to rid this land of Muslim rule. She heard our vow. You are leaving the goddess out of your equations, Shahu. You must not forget her.”
“Yet you would have me use a Muslim, a Mogul too, the worst sort …”
“I don’t hate Muslims, Shahu. I am just tired of living under their thumbs. I say use whatever means we must.”
Shivaji eyes are fixed on the ground, his mind working. “If we must ask Shaista Khan to represent us, won’t they laugh?”
“No one laughs at Shaista Khan, Shahu.”
“All right, Bala. Ask Shaista Khan to present our note and our gifts. But I tell you, Bala, I don’t like it. He’s still a Mogul for all his pretended friendship. He’s got a scheme.” Shivaji thinks this over. “Well, what harm can it do? Send the note and gifts to Bijapur by a swift rider. Then see if you can find Trelochan and Tanaji. We need a plan, if only for appearance’s sake.”
Just before lunch Bandal and Jedhe ride into the courtyard. They are welcomed and hurried into the palace. All through their lunch, they seem about to say more than mere pleasantries, but Shivaji tells them to save business for later, when the others will be there.
So now in Shivaji’s upstairs room, Shivaji sits between Balaji and Trelochan; Tanaji, Hanuman, Jedhe, and Bandal surround him, and across from Shivaji sits Iron. Lakshman, as always, sits in a corner.
Iron grins. “It’s a regular war party, Shahu. Like when we made plans with your father.” Nodding to Jedhe, he adds, “Too bad Tukoji couldn’t come. Your father was General Shahji’s best lieutenant.” Jedhe shrugs.
There’s news to tell. First Tanaji describes the army outside Poona. There’s two thousand men. The armorers are working day and night. There are plenty of ponies, too. But only a few flintlocks, and no cannon.
“Never mind,” laughs Iron. “With you leading them, Tana, they won’t need cannon!”
“I won’t lead them.” Tanaji’s words are deep and bitter. “I’ve told Shahu this. Now I tell you. I’ll train them, yes—I’ll fight, yes. But I’m through leading men into battle—it will be someone else.”
“Then why the hell are you here, Tana?” Iron growls.
“He’s here at my invitation, uncle, as are you,” Shivaji says softly.
Then Tanaji speaks of how they took Singhaghad and Purandhar. Everyone has heard bits and pieces but now they hear the whole story. Tanaji tells it simply, fact by fact, but everyone is smiling when he’s done.
“It was a brilliant move, cousin,” Jedhe says, eyes bright.
“That remains to be seen,” Shivaji says.
Balaji goes next. “Bala has taken Dadaji’s place,” Shivaji announces, “I’ve put him in charge of our business affairs.”
“No one can take Dadaji’s place, Shahu,” Balaji says, lowering his round bald head. Bala then tells of the completion of the Poona wall, and of the progress of the fortification of Bhatghar.
“Iron and I stopped to see that, Shahu,” interrupts Hanuman. “It’s very good, very strong.”
Bala tells of his visit to Bijapur and his meeting with the sultana. Iron’s eyes sparkle over his big mustache. “I’ve still got a friend or two at Bijapur. Seems there was quite a stir when you took those forts. Afzul Khan’s in charge of the Bijapuri armies now. Your father’s out.”
“That’s a relief,” says Trelochan. “It is not right for a son to go against his father.”
Bandal raises his head. “There’s a man in my village … well, hardly a man any more, not after Afzul Khan got through. He left him his ears and his tongue. No lips though—he can’t talk, just drools. No eyes. No teeth. No hands or arms or legs. No dick of course. His wife’s a saint. She won’t let him die. I’m sure he wants to.”
“Lots of them were like that, son,” Iron says. “Make you shit your pants, some of them. But Afzul Khan was the worst. He’d drive his men—like something evil. Afzul Khan’s a rakshasa.”
“Afzul Khan is not our greatest problem,” Shivaji says. “Tell them, Bala.” Bala describes the strong room, and the treasury, or what’s left of it. The gold is nearly gone.
Jedhe turns to Shivaji, ashen-faced. “This is bad, cousin.”
“As you say,” Shivaji replies. “I will understand if anyone now chooses to leave this council.”
Eyes glance from face to face, but only Bandal and Jedhe seem truly disturbed.
“Hell, Shahu, it’s always been hopeless,” Iron says with a shrug.
“It’s not hopeless at all,” Bala insists. “We need to dig deep, that’s all. Raise taxes a little. We’ll be fine.”
Iron clears his throat and glances around the circle. “You’re speaking like a child, Bala. It’s all very well what you say, but … we’ve just collected the allotment for fucking Bijapur. There’s nothing left!”
“There’s always something left,” Bala says coldly. “You just have to want it bad enough to take it.”
“Yes, well, then come on try, youngster,” Iron answers, barely keeping his temper. “If you want to finance a rebellion, you don’t suck your people dry. You need their support as well as their money. More.”
“I agree,” Shivaji says.
Iron shakes his head. “If Tukoji were here, I can imagine what he’d say. Where is your father, Jedhe?”
Jedhe glances at Bandal, then sits up and looks into Iron’s eyes. “I’ve put him under house arrest, uncle.”
“Explain yourself!” Iron yells.
Jedhe instead turns to Shivaji. “He planned to move against you, Shahu. He planned to come against you in force … to bring you to Bijapur in a cage.”
“Even so, Jedhe,” Trelochan whispers in horror, “he is your father. The Vedas say …”
But Jedhe sneers. “The Vedas mean nothing to me.”
“Silence.” At Shivaji’s word the men sit back; slowly they regain their composure. “What was your plan, Jedhe?”
Taking a deep breath, Jedhe speaks: “You think you can do this by yourself, Shahu? You’ve taken over forts, sure, but not by fighting. Sleight of hand. Tricks. Stealth.”
“If it works …,” Tanaji says quietly.
“It works only for a while, uncle. The time comes when armies must attack, when blood must spill.”
“True enough,” Iron mumbles. He seems to be mulling something over.
“To gain all, dare all. That’s the proverb, eh? Look at you, Iron, and you, Tanaji, and you, Hanuman, and you too, Shahu. You dared all, and so against all odds, you took Torna. See what you’ve started? I want to be a part of it.”
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