City of Victory

City of Victory (Broadcast on BBC Radio 4, 2004)







To Jehaan, sitting at the windows of the royal harem, it seemed even the blades of grass wet with the rain could inflict wounds. She inhaled the smell of moist earth. A babble of voices rose around her, trailing into wisps of laughter. The sandalwood paste smeared on the burning bare limbs of the women mingled its cool fragrance with roses and heady jasmine. Meherbanu laid a soft hand on her shoulder.

"Why is the queen's favourite sad?" she asked gently, her doe- eyes glistening like black pools.



Jehaan turned away with a sigh from the incredible landscape strewn with boulders created in some primitive dream. "Something lies in wait for me - perhaps another twist of fate, Meher. I can see it in the shells. There is nothing I may call my own except Benwa....and my old father....who wept like a child when they dragged me away. Oh Meher, how I wish our caravan had never entered this city and the queen had never set eyes on me. She asked him to bequeath my beauty to her....she said I would delight her...." Her voice trembled on the last words.




Meherbanu caressed Jehaan' silky head. "I was brought here as a mere slave, but now nothing could make me want to return. Life is satisfying...think of what your great beauty has accomplished, my dear. Rejoice in it. Don't you enjoy the feel of silk on your skin, the glimmer of precious stones? How alluringly these emeralds draw the night from your eyes."

"My beauty has imprisoned me, Meher. I long for the fleeting countryside, the tattered tents, the smell of goat cheese."




In the growing twilight, the masses of rock became shadows, paving the earth, piercing the sky; the wind tore at her, rushing through secret places, cooling, over the large water tanks inside the women's enclosure. Sometimes it was impossible to distinguish the rock-hewn temples and buildings from these twisting, gyrating shapes of stone. Their harmony disturbed her. Bleak, desolate, alone, they stretched into the arid distance. The sturdy watchtowers, guarded by eunuchs, pointed threatening fingers at the sky. Above her, the roof's edge curved into lotus petals.



That morning a frail white dove had injured itself on the iron spikes on the high walls as it flew down to her window. And after that little tragedy, she had ridden Benwa to the great marketplace, and felt her grief dissolve in a riot of sound and colour. No other market in the world was like it - overflowing with an extravagance of diamonds, rubies and emeralds as big as nuggets, and flashing with gilded palanquins that were blinding in their brilliance. No, not even the grandeur of Rome could parallel the solid gold walls of the royal palaces, studded with gems, the ornate beds of silver, the revelry of Vijayanagar's richly dressed inhabitants. Oranges, pomegranates, grapes and roses flung their mellow scent everywhere.



And then she had seen them. Dark eyes flecked with green splinters, staring at her from beneath black clouded brows and curling hair from over a wall. They pierced her, rooting her to the earth, making her breathless. Who was he with such eyes? Why did he stare with such intensity? Would she ever be free from the spell they'd cast on her?



Now, beyond the walls, among the rocks, she searched for them in the rising light of a million stars. Her imagination was on fire....he was a sorcerer...one day he would find her and reveal himself, and he would be as beautiful as the god, Osiris. Oh, why did he excite her so?



In the brilliant heat of the morning, Jehaan followed the queen's procession to the royal bath. Beneath her, Benwa vibrated with energy and the palanquins shimmered like a mirage before her. She was alive to every stone and tree, her palms moist with excitement. Benwa grew silent as a shiver passed through her willowy body.



He was watching her from the shelter of a great rock. He was near, yet she saw only those eyes flashing with green light. For an unbearable eternity they gazed at each other, transfixed. She tried to still her bosom heaving with her quickened breath. She opened her lips to speak, but he vanished in a flash of green, leaving the hurried rustle of leaves behind him. "Come to me!" she whispered, seized with a sudden anguish. Something inexplicable began to curl tender tendrils around her heart.



The tinkling laughter of princesses echoed in the hollows of the bath into which the water streamed from ornate fountains. The pool, bright with red rose petals, was filled with frolicking princesses, the chosen of the King, their lithe and voluptuous bodies glistening with fragrant oils. On over-hanging filigreed balconies, giggled the royal handmaidens.



Into the scented pool descended Jehaan to set free the queen's long tresses in black flowing waves. Under her hands, the queen's skin was silk and pearls of water clung to her lovely face. Above, the bath was open to the blue of the sky. Doves cooed at them from above.



They sat on the steps warmed by the sun, half submerged in the water. Meherbanu, beautiful as the morning, came to drape the queen in soft, white drying sheets.



Later, as Jehaan dressed the queen's heavy swirls of hair, she said -

"Tomorrow night begins Dussehra, our great festival of nine nights. I have ordered some new clothes for you, and jewels. Learn to bear the weight of your jewels gracefully. Learn to walk like a princess. You are too full of the spirit of the wild. Tell me, are you not happy here?"

A searing pain flashed through Jehaan. She bowed her head, and for a moment, like an unsuspecting child, she felt like telling the truth. But the one who spoke to her was the queen. How could she unburden herself without the risk of being watched? Could love bring disgrace? Could love bring punishment? Meherbanu had said the queen did not enjoy her favourites being lured away by men. Blushing, Jehaan answered,

"Oh, great queen, how can I not be happy? You are very kind and I possess everything any woman could dream of".




In the palace, the brocade drapes lit by the sun showered gold on the girls who danced for the queen. They twirled gracefully, their slender arms making flowing patterns in the air. But the queen's gaze never left the most beautiful face she had ever seen. Jehaan sought out Meherbanu. She was embroidering seed pearls onto a turquoise silk from China.

"Oh Jehaan," she said, pausing, "there you are. Did you know that the Queen has ordered a magnificent mantle and a jewelled bridle for Benwa? The whole world will be there to pay homage to the king....but tell me, my dear.whats on your mind? What has happened? You seem so restless."

Jehaan glanced at the queen. She was being fitted for a dress spun from gold thread.

"I'll tell you, Meher. Let's go into the mango orchard."



The trees were laden with the slowly ripening fruit. Beneath their cool shade and the sky filigreed with leaves, Jehaan breathed deep and the words came from her secret depths - "Oh Meher, I don't know what to feel. Is it possible to fall in love with a stranger's eyes? I saw him in the market yesterday and again today in the morning. But only his eyes. Why does he hide from me? And why does he stare if he wants to hide? His eyes haunt me....even in my dreams.... I often imagine what the rest of him looks like...." Jehaan's eyes grew lost in her vision. Meherbanu laughed throatily, flinging back her head.

"Perhaps he hides his ugliness, my love. I've yet to hear a stranger love story! Oh, but how exciting it all must be! Aren't you afraid? Ah, I can tell you love the mystery. He might just kidnap you one of these festive nights. Would you like that? "



Jehaan grew pensive."I don't know," she said. "Perhaps he hides his ugliness from me. But I do long to get away. Just keep moving...always. If there were a caravan..."



"Your yearning for excitement and mystery does not let you rest, my dear. It never will. It keeps you from yielding to the beauty and wealth of this fabled city. It's the vagrant blood in your veins. For you, joy is the freedom of movement, the allure of changing destinations....even your own land, Egypt, could not grow roots into you. But take care, my dear, the royal wrath can raze your dreams to ashes. The Queen must not know your intentions and neither should the King." She sighed and stroked Jehaan's head, anxiety creasing her brow.




Vijayanagar was astir with pomp and revelry for the festival of nine nights. The skies exploded with fireworks, the earth was a carpet of roses. The vibrant air was rent with the thundering salutes of elephants covered in brilliant armour, carrying gilded castles on their backs. The strains of music mingled with the gentle jingle of golden anklets as magnificently clad girls danced before the king. Wearing resplendent white robes embroidered with gold roses, he watched from his enormous gold throne studded with priceless gems.



On the high pavilions flocked jugglers, musicians and story - tellers. Naked men wrestled and monarchs came to pay homage to the king with gold in great chests, ornamented camels and fiery Arab steeds with jewelled reins and saddles.



And then in a pounding of drums, the chanting of voices, and blue incense smoke the sacred rituals began. The king stood upon his pedestal and showered perfume on the decorated horses and oxen covered with flowers. Silence enveloped the people richly dressed in vivid silks and in velvet woven with many colours. Jewels flashed on their clothes and limbs.



Slowly and gracefully, weighed down by their heavy ornaments, the king's 12,000 wives and the harem of 700 princesses moved in a glittering procession, followed by handmaidens bearing glowing lamps of gold.



Jehaan's steps were heavy in the wake of the queen. She was fascinated by the spectacle, but her eyes searched for those eyes. Could she see him in the crowd? Could she slip away? Like stars they passed through the night in a train that seemed eternal. Torches flared everywhere, music, wild and unrestrained pulsated. The rich, dark blood of sacrificial bulls bubbled and steamed into the night. Jehaan moved away as if in a trance, hurrying through the barriers of people, overwhelmed by blood...searching.



Excitement gripped her as realization dawned. She was free to run away amidst the confusion of the festival....to run away from the possessive queen and soft-spoken Meher. She moved firmly towards the stables, covering her jewels, with a velvet mantle.



She stroked Benwa's petal-soft muzzle. Benwa was Egypt to her and the memories of distant lands. He spoke to her in his language of love, his eyes gleaming in conspiracy. It was then she saw it: under the light of the red rising moon dulled by this bejewelled land - a caravan snaking along the streets.




Something uncontrollable rose up in her. There was a rustle. At the entrance to the stable stood the stranger with his burning eyes, the lower half of his face was masked with black silk. A gold ring adorned one ear. A gypsy, she thought, a gypsy like I am. Benwa reared and neighed. Jehaan wondered. He had always been a calm animal. She stroked his muzzle.

"Why do you mask yourself?"

"I am not what I seem, my lady," he said in a soft voice. "I am Mystery. You created me with your longing."

"You...you are not real then?"

"As real as your longing is."

She was puzzled and afraid.
Through the window of the stables, she saw the caravan winding into the distance bright with fireworks.


No one noticed the figure shrouded in the mantle on horseback as it galloped to mingle with the caravan. Or the masked man following with the speed of the wind.