Tiger Claws by John Speed Read Free Book Online

the rebel kings have fallen, one by one, their tributes have returned. “The wealth of the Deccan,” Jumla continues, “has been underestimated. The wealth of some of those small kingdoms rivals all the rest of the empire combined.”
    Shah Jahan, hearing this, lifts an eyebrow skeptically.
    It is time for Jumla to make his point. He calls for his servant to bring a box covered in black velvet. He takes the box, and with a sweeping bow, places it in Shah Jahan’s quivering, outstretched hand. “From Aurangzeb and all your faithful servants,” Jumla intones.
    Shah Jahan fiddles with the small box, unfastening its clasps, and finally lifting the lid. His eyes grow wide. “It’s not real,” Shah Jahan whispers. He is too fascinated by the contents to notice Jumla’s assurances that it is, indeed, real. At last, Shah Jahan lifts from its velvet casket a
stone clear as glass, a diamond bigger than an egg, faceted and brilliant. Except for the startled gasps of some of the courtiers, the hall is silent, as they marvel at the stone’s size, its clarity, its fire.
    “This jewel beyond price,” Jumla says, “this diamond beyond compare, was captured by your son, Aurangzeb from the Golcondan king. And this gem is but a fraction of their treasure, a mere hint of the wealth of that kingdom.” Shah Jahan seems lost in fascination (for he has already taken much opium that morning), but Assaf Khan is listening hard, as is Dara.
    “Aurangzeb is now breaking down the very door of Golconda. Our armies have laid siege for months. Wealth such as you see is within inches of your fingertips.”
    Now Dara speaks, again pretending that the audience is Shah Jahan, but stealing glances at Assaf Khan all the while. “But general, our dear friend the king of Golconda has written us. He begs to know why our brother Aurangzeb storms his gates. He has promised tribute and sued for peace. And what, we would know, should we tell that poor man? We are at a loss why our brother should attack a man so ready to yield. Unless my brother’s purpose is at odds with our dear father’s?”
    Aurangzeb stands silent on the other side of Shah Jahan, his head bowed slightly, his eyes half-closed, as if praying. Mir Jumla responds, “The Golcondan king thinks that he can get a better deal from you than from Aurangzeb.” His eyes narrow. “I think he’s right.”
    The courtiers nearby are shocked by this exchange, and expect that Shah Jahan will intervene, but the emperor seems too intrigued by the brilliance of his new plaything.
    “It is our father’s will that all his dominions be at peace. Lift the siege at once,” Dara replies, recovering.
    “When I hear it from your father’s lips.”
    “I have spoken. That is enough.”
    Maybe Jumla expects the court to be shocked at this statement, but as he looks around the assembled nobles, he discovers that Dara’s assertion is not news.
    Jumla glances at Aurangzeb for guidance. Perhaps he finds it in Aurangzeb’s impassive face. He wheels on Dara angrily. “This is your will, Dara, not your father’s. You are fearful of Aurangzeb and wish to spoil his victory. You fear that his radiance will outshine yours.”
    Dara looks at Jumla, pleasantly, but slightly irritated, like a man tiring of the games of a favorite nephew. “General, you have been in the company of one who cares little for ceremony, and, in truth one who cares little
for our father. He has proven this a hundred ways. But here in Agra, sir, you would be wise to think before you speak.”
    At that moment, all the hall again grows quiet, anticipating some great outburst, some outpouring of emotion. Even Shah Jahan grows still; placing the diamond in his lap, he looks up, as if dazed.
    Jumla is about to reply, but when Aurangzeb raises his hand, he stops. The courtiers shift their glances, from brother to brother, taking each man’s measure. They look at Dara in his silks and jewels, the eldest, the favorite, and at Aurangzeb in his