Kannada writer P Lankesh’s play in translation: This dying emperor possesses neither army nor throne

(A dimly lit chamber in one of the Mughal palaces. Shadows loom. Nizam-ul-Mulk, the second Diwan of Delhi, paces like a trapped animal. He gulps wine to steady his trembling hands. The weight of Nadir’s brutality hangs over him; he has heard how the Mughal King was humiliated. Fear sits on his chest like a stone.)

Mulk: Hamid!… Hamid!

Hamid: (off-stage) Huzoor, just a moment! It’s still not roasted!

Mulk: Be quick, or, I’ll throw you into the fire instead!

(Hamid enters, carrying the scent of burnt meat with him.)

Hamid: These rogues sell all the young turkeys to Persian soldiers and leave us the scraps. They refuse to roast evenly! If you want, I’ll serve them halfcooked… but don’t blame me later.

Mulk: Who asked for your useless turkeys! I told you to call Afzal immediately. Did you?

Hamid: I did, Huzoor. He was getting dressed. I told Pasha too; he hadn’t bathed yet, but he said he’d come.

Mulk: (As Hamid tries to leave) Wait. Don’t go. Tonight… I cannot stand myself alone. I even forget I’m a Mughal Diwan.

(He lifts the wine vessel, but his hand shakes violently. Hamid gently takes it and pours the wine. Mulk drinks, but the anxiety stays.)

Mulk: Hamid… do you think Afzal will actually come?

Hamid: Of course, Huzoor. If you summon him, he will come.

Mulk: You don’t understand people, Hamid. Times shift… loyalties shift with them. (Leans forward) Those guards, have they reported anything about the Peacock Throne and the Kohinoor?

Hamid: Yes, Huzoor. They say everything is safe.

Mulk: (Anxiously) And yet neither Afzal nor Pasha has arrived… (Short silence. Hamid prepares the hookah for Mulk, then busies himself tidying the room.)

Mulk: Don’t go quiet! Keep talking till they get here; the silence is eating me alive.

Hamid: Then Delhi has chosen the perfect hour, Huzoor… it is bursting with matters to speak of! (Continues talking while wiping surfaces) These Persians, what impudence! Just yesterday at the Flower Market, I went for roses. The shop belonged to a giant of a woman, a real shrew. A Persian soldier picked flowers, asked the price. She doubled it. He looks her up and down and says, “I’ll pay double if you come along with the flowers.” She shouts, “Shut your mouth and pay!” He simply walks off with the flowers. She runs after him wailing, people laughing… It was the last day anyone saw her. Not even her husband asks after her these days.

Mulk: (Freezes, hearing something) There’s noise outside. See, is that Afzal and Pasha?

Hamid: (Peeking out) Yes! It’s them, Huzoor; (sniffs the air)… and the meat is burnt to charcoal!

(He dashes out. Afzal and Pasha enter. Afzal is young, sharp; Pasha is old, loyal, scarred by decades of service.)

Mulk: (Rushing to them, embracing Pasha, clasping Afzal’s hands) Thank God you’ve come. I thought neither of you would dare show your face tonight.

Pasha: Oh, Diwan Sahib! What could keep us from you?

Mulk: Much has changed in a day… both of you must have heard.

Afzal: Yes, Huzoor. Nadir Shah’s illness has worsened. I was in his court yesterday; I saw everything with my own eyes.

Pasha: Even Delhi’s birds have fled in fright. The Mughal army is full of trembling cracks.

Mulk: You have no idea what I’m going through.

Pasha: I cannot imagine the Diwan of Delhi being afraid of anything.

Mulk: Listen to me. That crazy Nadir may send for me any moment.

Afzal and Pasha: But why?

Mulk: You both know why.

Afzal: Huzoor, I know nothing. I can’t speak for Pasha, but I am… your loyal servant.

Pasha: Fear breeds suspicion. These are dark days. But you know my devotion; I’ve served the Mughals for 50 years. My life belongs to the throne.

Mulk: Be that as it may… (turning to Afzal) Tell me; why is Nadir behaving like this? What happened in his court yesterday?

Afzal: He flew into a rage at Sadat Khan. He spoke of a letter Khan had written six months ago. That… letter killed him.

Mulk: (Nervously) What was in that letter?

Afzal: Nothing dangerous, I thought. It warned that the Marathas were rising again, threatening the Islamic state, and urged Nadir to come to Hindustan to restore order. But Nadir sees treachery everywhere now.

Mulk: (Trembling) Did… did he mention my name?

Pasha: (Scoffs, ignoring the question) Persians, especially Nadir, are simple brutes. They know nothing of politics, poetry, civilisation…

Mulk: (Interrupting sharply) Leave that aside! Afzal, did he speak my name?

Afzal: Not then… not while speaking of the letter.

Mulk: (Leaning in) When, then?

Afzal: Much later. After he slapped our King. He said the “other Diwan” must also be informed of what happened.

Mulk: (Voice cracking) Then tell me: what am I to do now?

Pasha: In courts and kingdoms, such storms are common. Courage must answer courage…

Mulk: (Irritated) Pasha, be silent. (Turns to Afzal) Tell me what I can do to escape this danger.

Afzal: There is only one path now, Huzoor, to understand the depth of the peril. Every word uttered before him can inflame his anger. His illness grows worse. Our Mughal King is paralysed by confusion. He no longer knows how to bring order back to this chaos.

Mulk: Where is our King now? What is he doing?

Afzal: Last we heard, he was in Chandni Chowk… but no one knows where he went after that.

Mulk: What do we do now?

Afzal: Whatever you command.

Mulk: Before either the King or Nadir sends for me, I must act, quickly, and make a few decisions of my own.

Afzal: Huzoor, don’t meet Nadir before meeting the King.

Mulk: Leave that to me.