Diary of
Tansen, Fatehpur Sikri, 1st March 1586
The
muezzin is calling for the Maghrib prayer with his husky yet melodious voice. The
magpie robin, back from its seasonal migration,
is twitting enchanting lullabies at my window. My
quill is shrieking on the rough parchment, playing with the dancing shadows of
the candle on the paper. These sounds, these notes are pure music to my ears.
But today no music can bring its usual quietude to the great Tansen as the most
shocking news came to the court: the death of the Grand Vizier Birbal on 16th
February of Anno Domini 1586.
Jahanpanah
Akbar was profoundly affected, refused to preside at the Durbar and fasted for
two long days. The circumstances of Birbal’s death are still obscure: Akbar
sent Birbal to help Zain Khan protect the northwest frontiers of the empire and
Birbal easily succumbed to the assault of the Afghans, caught like a rat in a
trap. I was indeed surprised: Birbal, the greatest mind I have ever met, the
most talented military strategist of the empire, must have been the victim of a
betrayal! In the name of our friendship, I have decided to investigate. This
diary will be my companion in this journey.
Diary of Tansen,
Fatehpur Sikri, 2nd March 1586
Maheshdas,
who became Birbal, was my companion when I had the immense privilege to
entertain the divine ears of His Highness the Maharaja Ramachandra of Rewa with
my humble music. Birbal left the court of His Highness in circumstances I
ignored, a few months after I had joined. I remember the day he departed for
the royal court of Akbar the Great, the great patron of arts: I felt
ill-at-ease and avoided the Maharaja’s eyes as Birbal displayed an indecent and
incomprehensible joy.
Few years
later, when the reputation of my talent crossed the frontiers of the kingdom of
Rewa, I had to abandon the magnanimity of my noble king to join His Imperial
Majesty Akbar. I was devastated by the perspective of belonging to the royal
court of the Mughal enemy. The happy prospect of reuniting with my friend Maheshdas
came as a consolation. My role as courtier was however pleasant, for the
personality of Akbar the Great promptly charmed me. It would have appeared that
the consideration was mutual: I soon entered the council of His Majesty, known
as navaratna, the nine jewels, where Birbal also belonged. I had soon forgotten
my allegiance to the maharaja of Rewa, converted to Islam and strengthened my bonds
with Jahanpanah Akbar by marrying His daughter, the noble Meherunnissa.
As for Birbal,
his wit, incommensurable wisdom and knowledge rapidly conquered His Majesty. He
had created an irreplaceable role for himself as the most trusted minister of
Akbar. His Majesty relied on him so much than even His servant Ajam had been
warmly recommended by Birbal.
Diary of
Tansen, Fatehpur Sikri, 3rd March 1586
I
initiated my investigation by questioning the seven other jewels of Akbar’s
council. At some point, all of them had envied the position of Birbal and
endeavoured to conceal their jealousy. They nevertheless would never have
risked the favours of Jahanpanah Akbar to plot the assassination of Birbal. But
the court was teeming with a plethora of enemies. Among them, Zain Khan appeared
as the ideal suspect: he had a motive, a golden opportunity to commit his crime
and designed culprits as the Afghans. I however had no evidence to confound
Khan. I thus decided to interrogate the
surviving soldiers of the attack who had returned to Sikri. “In the name of
Raja Birbal, I urge you, valiant warriors, to prudently answer my questions.
Carefully describe the attack!” Although they were bound to some level of professional
discretion, they expressed their pain and anger in unison.
“It was
the darkest and coldest night of the year, Miyan Tansen! The wind aggravated
the natural humidity of Lund Khwar. These circumstances would have deterred any
sensible warrior but the determination of Birbal was inflexible. We progressed
for several hours in the plains, hindered by our heavy weapons and thick jamas.
The exhilarating three-beat gait of our galloping mounts faded into a palpable
tension as we slowed down upon reaching Katlang. We were ascending the
mountains step by step, blinded by the steam fuming from the nostrils of our
horses. We startled as they sporadically snickered and whinnied in the silence.
Suddenly, the most terrifying scream made our blood run cold. A hail of arrows
and stones paralyzed us. We immediately tried to manoeuvre back but we failed as
the narrowness of the passage and our confusion contributed to the chaos. The
only possibility was to affront the intrepid Pashtun tribes. Birbal quickly understood
it and ordered us to attack. He lead us, fiercely spurring his nervous and
determined mount, and brandishing his tawar. A reckless Yusufzai, who had been
hidden in the rocks, jumped on Birbal’s horse. With a disconcerting determination,
he plunged his hand into Birbal’s boot, where his deadly katar was hidden.
Birbal did not get the chance to react: the Pashtun warrior ruthlessly pierced
him with Raja’s favourite weapon.”
“Why did
Birbal decide to attack in the night in the worst conditions?” I shared the
warriors’ incomprehension. “We heard him violently quarrel with Zain Khan the
previous day. Zain refused to manoeuvre in the mountains. Birbal saw in Khan’s
reluctance an opportunity to put Khan in a perilous situation with Akbar.” I
decided to follow my intuition: “What was Birbal wearing?”“Miyan Tansen, he was
wearing a silk yellow jama and a turban with a flamboyant peacock plume. Our
turbans had a simple cock feather.”
Oh dear
Birbal, why did you fail to foresee Khan’s ambush? Didn’t you realize that an
opportunist Khan was well aware that you would always contradict him? I am now convinced
that the Pashtun killer knew exactly what he was doing, who Birbal was from his
distinctive attire and how to kill him, thanks to a providential and
evil-minded informant. My doubts against Khan are now stronger than ever.
Diary of
Tansen, Fatehpur Sikri, 4th March 1586
The
reaction of Jahanpanah Akbar left me perplexed when I confided my doubts to His
Majesty. He firmly ordered that I put an end to my investigation at once to
allow the soul of Birbal to rest in peace. I was nonetheless unable to dry up
the flow of questions erupting in my mind. Why would Jahanpanah Akbar refuse to
avenge His favourite minister? Could His Majesty be protecting Khan? I also
failed to understand why Akbar did not scatter the ashes of Birbal in Ganga
River, preferring to immerse them in a well next to the river. This jigsaw
puzzle was more intricate than ever.
I was restlessly
pondering on the riddle, reluctant to admit my impotence. Someone could have
helped me. I decided to tempt my fortune and penetrated into the dark labyrinth
of alleys of the town where I promptly found Ajam. Interrogating Ajam was as
difficult as making the sun rise from the west and for good reason: Ajam was
mute, which made him the most discreet servant of His Majesty. Ajam obviously
understood my questions, but I was incapable of interpreting his answers that
seemed like agitated and ample gestures. I was deeply disappointed and about to
abandon. I started humming this beautiful and powerful ballad that had always instantaneously
put my senses at rest. Ajam was carefully listening, transfigured. As I sang
the last note, my eyes closed to appreciate the quietude, Ajam jumped on his
feet and exclaimed: “Miyan Tansen, your voice is divine!”. “Ajam, can you
speak?” I frowned. The poor devil bit his lips and lay at my feet, looking
miserable. “Miyan Tansen, I implore you, do not denounce me. It is all because
of Raja Birbal!” “Ease your conscience at once!” I ordered.
What he
revealed stupefied me: Ajam was Birbal’s faithful spy and dutifully reported him
the merest movement and word of His Majesty! I was discovering Birbal’s true colours:
his personality was not as luminous as it initially appeared to me. “Why, Ajam?
Why did Raja Birbal order you to spy on His Majesty? And do you know what
happened to your master?” “Miyan Tansen, my duty was only to report His majesty’s
slightest actions. I am in total ignorance of Birbal’s great intents. His loss
is terrible and I would dearly want to know who killed my master.” “Do you
remember anything incongruous about Akbar’s behaviour that you did not have the
time to report to Birbal?” “No, Miyan Tansen. His Majesty just pronounced few
obscure words to a mysterious messenger the day before Raja Birbal was sent to
the northwest frontiers: “God bless that imbecile guard! And remember I want
the ring, that accursed Trojan horse!””
Immediately
those words triggered some vague memories. Ring? Trojan horse? Why did this
association sound so familiar? When and where did I hear them? These questions
need to be answered. I am also eager to discover who the imbecile guard is!
Diary of Tansen, Fatehpur Sikri, 5th March 1586
Today I
decided to present my condolences to Birbal’s son. His visage was inscrutable
but his attitude was full of dignity. I believed it helped him to evoke his late
father, so he accepted to satisfy my curiosity and recounted the circumstances
of Birbal’s arrival at Akbar’s court.
“What?
Miyan Tansen? I concede that you arrived at the court much later, but are you
really unaware of the story? Let me tell you the words I have heard from my dear
father about a thousand times. Birbal was a young boy when he first met Akbar
as the king was hunting. Since his childhood, Birbal’s demonstration of wit had
always bordered on impertinence. This enchanted Akbar as His Majesty was
questioning Birbal. Akbar gave him His ring as recompense for his witty answer.
The ring would help Akbar recognize Birbal when the later would be ready to
join the former’s court.”
The
ring!! A Trojan horse! Would Birbal have used this ring as a mean to enter the
court and deceive His Majesty? Would the faithful courtier have hidden a reckless
enemy? But what were his motives?
“Miyan
Tansen, let me tell you the most amusing part of the story! When Birbal arrived
at the palace wearing simple attire, the guard refused to grant him the access to the palace. Birbal then produced the ring earlier given by His Majesty. The
guard was highly impressed as he recognized His Majesty’s seal but grabbed the
opportunity to bribe Birbal: “My boy, I will help you. The price of my favour
is ridiculous considering your current fortune: I want half of what the king
gives you.” Birbal accepted immediately. When Akbar recognized the ring, he asked
Birbal how he could fulfil his desires. “Huzoor, I would be delighted if Your
Majesty could punish me with one hundred whip lashes.” Akbar frowned from perplexity
but laughed heartily when Birbal recounted the incident and asked him to share
his punishment with the corrupted guard.”
How could
have I ignored such an interested story? Was Akbar referring to the same imbecile
guard as Ajam mentioned? “My son, do you recall the name of the guard?” “I
believe it was Sahl or Sehl.” “May the soul of your father rest in peace! And
if you happen to have the ring, please choose the safest place to hide it.” I
was convinced that the ring was an indispensable piece of the puzzle.
Diary of
Tansen, Fatehpur Sikri, 10th March 1586
After
five days of a relentlessly hunt, I have finally tracked down Sahl, the
corrupted guard, in the deepest parts of the city. Akbar threw him out of the
palace after the incident with Birbal. Sahl never recovered from the bitter
humiliation he faced the day of Birbal’s arrival in Fatehpur Sikri. His
stinging memories had been fuelling his resentment and he was delighted to hear
about Birbal’s death.
“Miyan
Tansen! It is one of the happiest days of my life! The scoundrel who ruined my existence
is no more! I was well advised to send to His Majesty the missive I found!” His
provocation was intolerable. But I was eager to know more! “What is this
nonsense, Sahl? What missive?” “Oh, Miyan Tansen, don’t despise me. Your
attitude will change at once! I had always been seeking revenge against Birbal
and I had been spying on him since his arrival in Sikri, waiting for the
perfect occasion. I soon discovered he was regularly receiving some letters by carrier
pigeon, a beautiful bird with an iridescent plumage. Every time, he would
withdraw into his residence to exit few days later looking as bright as the sun.
This game piqued my curiosity: for several years I failed to intercept the
bird. But the birth of my first grandson brought me luck, God bless him! As soon as I saw the bird, I carefully chose
the sharpest stone and adjusted my catapult! I swear to Allah, I never had the
smallest drop of alcohol. But that day was special! The toxic potion performed a
miracle: The pigeon dropped dead, few meters away from me. I rushed up to the
bird and carefully untied the letter from its foot. My neighbour, a wise man, deciphered
the message. I don’t remember the substance, but I could smell a rat: a big fat
rat which might eat the smug Birbal alive if it were to reach His Majesty. You
understand, Miyan Tansen! It was my duty to send it to the palace. Few days
later, Birbal was sent to the front to never return!"
A wave of
melancholy overwhelmed him: there was no denying that Birbal had tried to cheat
His Majesty. And Akbar seemed to have discovered the traitor, whom He sent to
the northwest frontiers. Birbal’s motives were the only missing piece of this
intricate jigsaw puzzle.
Diary of
Tansen, Fatehpur Sikri, 11th March 1586
I am so
grateful! My investigation is coming to an end. Last night brought me one
missing piece of the puzzle. The past few days had left me disoriented: a
strong ague contributed to aggravate my delirious state as I was falling asleep.
My dream transported me some years ago in the palace of the Maharaja of Rewa.
It was one of the hottest days of the summer and I was wandering in the garden looking
for some fresh air. I froze and hid behind a tree as I heard some voices. I
recognized the high-pitched voice of His Highness enthusiastically saying “Maheshdas!
This is our solution! This ring would be our Trojan horse!” The exact same
words pronounced by Akbar!!! I now recall that I heard this mysterious phrase
only few days before Birbal left Rewa to join Akbar. This sentence now makes
complete sense in the light of these fateful events! His Highness, my estimated
king, was also conspiring against Akbar.
I needed
to know the content of the letter intercepted by Sahl. If, like he pretended, Birbal
was regularly receiving and sending some correspondences through his pigeon,
these letters might still exist. I decided to visit Birbal’s son one last time.
“My dear son, please think carefully. Was your father the recipient of some
missives sent by some carrier pigeons?” “Yes, Miyan Tansen, he isolated himself
in his office for several hours upon receiving them and forbade anyone to
enter.”
Birbal’s brave
son obligingly granted me the access of his father’s office. A strong feeling
of guilt assailed me as I was violating Birbal’s intimacy. But my curiosity was
irresistible. The office was a typical interior with very few pieces of
furniture. Only a large cabinet with occidental design drew my attention. I had
seen these kinds of cabinets in Rewa. The servants were always pretending that
they were magical and would swallow anything. My Cartesian brain was however
suspecting a trick from the carpenter. I studied it for long minutes, opened
the drawers, closed them, reopened them; but the cabinet was not ready to give
up its secret. As I was closing the bottom drawer for the tenth time, I heard a
distinctive clicking noise. I removed the drawer and found the key to open the
secret compartment! A graph would better explain this ingenious mechanism.
My heart
was beating fast from exhilaration. The secret compartment revealed an abundant
epistolary correspondence between the Maharaja of Rewa and Birbal: the ultimate
proof of Birbal’s betrayal!
Diary of
Tansen, Fatehpur Sikri, 12th March 1586
I have
spent the entire night reading all the letters. Birbal’s vows of allegiance to
the Maharaja of Rewa had always remained intact. His alleged loyalty to
Jahanpanah Akbar was a clever cover to perpetrate his crime. Birbal preyed upon
Akbar’s illiteracy and magnanimity to establish his potent influence with the
ultimate goal of leading Akbar to His ruin and allow the Maharaja of Rewa and
the other Hindu rulers to regain their majesty. The plan had been carefully
prepared by the two. No wonder why Birbal was so joyful when he left Rewa: he
was about to embrace his deadly mission.
Akbar must
have been furious upon reading the letter: the person He cherished the most,
whose intellectual superiority He admired, was a ruthless rival! How could the
visionary Akbar the Great have been cheated by such a conceited character? Only
the death of Birbal could quench His thirst for revenge. Jahanpanah Akbar could
have publically chastised the criminal and set an example, but that would have
revealed His incredible gullibility. Discretion was what His Majesty wanted.
The war in Northwest offered Him a golden opportunity. He sent Birbal on a
false pretext and intimated Zain Khan to eliminate Birbal. Khan cheerfully obliged by plotting the ambush.
The two mourning days were absolutely not the expression of His deep affection
but the result of His bitterness against His former friend and His frustration
not to have the ring.
I
understand, yet deplore, that His Majesty refused to immerse the ashes of Birbal
in the holy river Ganga. The Great Akbar could not have borne what He called His
water of immortality to be polluted by some criminals. I sometimes regret my
curiosity. The truth I discovered had casted a crude light over the betrayal
and the cruelty of three persons I cherished. My beloved son, if you happen to
find this diary one day, you shall pass on this missive to your lineage for the
sake of the verity. But it shall always remain secret. The ugly truth should
not conceal the utmost wisdom of Birbal’s teaching and the world shall enjoy
the beautiful and bright legend of the fruitful friendship between Birbal and
Akbar.
