invite; lips red and full, licked by nimble tongues; nipples painted with kumkum and opium; silk skirts whispering across sleek thighs. The girls seem to float to cushions at the edge of the jali screen, attracted by the light. Basant takes a seat in a darker corner, and nearly trips over the legs of someone already seated in the shadows.
It is Hing.
Basant mixes an apology and a greeting into an embarrassed confusion. “Well, well,” Hing rasps, his red, rheumy eyes looking up at him through globelike spectacles. “Spring Blossom, as I live and breathe. The very brother I wanted to see. And accompanied by two such upstanding young women. Why are you with them, I wonder? Taking a step down, are we?” He casts a disdainful glance around the room. “Or maybe a step up.”
“Let’s see,” Hing continues, “I gave three strict orders to protect our beloved emperor from his own outsized desires, to wit. One: No daytime visits from Breakfast and Lunch. Two: Absolutely those two strumpets will be kept from the purdah room. Three: Never feed those animals aphrodisiacs before evening. But what have we here?” Hing looks around the room, as if surprised to find the twin nautch girls nearby. “Really, how amusing you are, Spring Blossom. Why one might think you didn’t care a fig for my orders.”
Hing enjoys Basant’s discomfort. “I am old, Basant. I enjoy so few things anymore.” He stares at Basant with those wet, sick eyes. “You won’t believe me, but it amuses me to see you gaping there. Makes me feel like a child again.
“So, darling, enjoy yourself. Disobey whenever you wish! Pay no mind to me.” Hing’s breath wheezes. “You see, that’s the way of things these days. You can do almost anything if you amuse the right people.”
Hing waves a shriveled, jewel-laden hand, and his eunuch boy suddenly appears from the shadows. He steps to Master Hing’s side, and the feeble old eunuch begins the long process of standing. “I know better, Basant, than to be your enemy. You have so many friends now. I too shall be your friend. But, dear Spring Blossom, let me give you some advice: You would do better to have me as an enemy than as a friend.”
Basant scarcely knows what to say. “But I would want you as my friend, master, unworthy though I am.”
“So you disregard my advice?” Hing sighs. “No matter, Spring Blossom. Oh, dear, look at this …” Hing grimaces, gesturing toward the activity in the Diwan-i-Khas.
Through the screen, they see the nobles standing at the silver rail, and an attractive slim-hipped youth in a fine, sky-blue jama steps forward.
The youth calls on Dara to recite. Dara agrees, glowing at the request, and the youth turns aside, blushing. Without any preamble Dara starts to recite his latest work: a translation of the Hindu Upanishads into Persian. He lifts his head and closes his eyes, intoning his majestic words with artful solemnity. Those in attendance nod appreciatively, extending their hands at particularly poignant passages. Only about half of them understand Persian.
“Look at Dara, look!” Hing says. “Head over heels for a little boy who scarcely has a beard. Disgusting.” Hing snorts. “In my day, a prince would be happy with his wife, or he’d take a concubine. Worse come to worse, he’d find a eunuch. What was wrong with that?” He scowls at Dara, shaking his head. “This modern custom of bringing your fancy boys to the palace—it makes me ill. And think of what he has given him—a mandsab of five thousand horses. For what, I ask you? For having long hands and a soft ass.” He fixes Basant with a glare. “Remind you of anyone?”
Outside the jali, Dara lilts along in perfect Persian. Inside, Hing is struggling to stand. Basant puts a hand under his elbow, and Hing twists away. Then he relents. “I forgot you wanted me for a friend,” he wheezes, offering his elbow. With Basant’s help the old eunuch gets to his feet.
Hing is nearly to the door
It is Hing.
Basant mixes an apology and a greeting into an embarrassed confusion. “Well, well,” Hing rasps, his red, rheumy eyes looking up at him through globelike spectacles. “Spring Blossom, as I live and breathe. The very brother I wanted to see. And accompanied by two such upstanding young women. Why are you with them, I wonder? Taking a step down, are we?” He casts a disdainful glance around the room. “Or maybe a step up.”
“Let’s see,” Hing continues, “I gave three strict orders to protect our beloved emperor from his own outsized desires, to wit. One: No daytime visits from Breakfast and Lunch. Two: Absolutely those two strumpets will be kept from the purdah room. Three: Never feed those animals aphrodisiacs before evening. But what have we here?” Hing looks around the room, as if surprised to find the twin nautch girls nearby. “Really, how amusing you are, Spring Blossom. Why one might think you didn’t care a fig for my orders.”
Hing enjoys Basant’s discomfort. “I am old, Basant. I enjoy so few things anymore.” He stares at Basant with those wet, sick eyes. “You won’t believe me, but it amuses me to see you gaping there. Makes me feel like a child again.
“So, darling, enjoy yourself. Disobey whenever you wish! Pay no mind to me.” Hing’s breath wheezes. “You see, that’s the way of things these days. You can do almost anything if you amuse the right people.”
Hing waves a shriveled, jewel-laden hand, and his eunuch boy suddenly appears from the shadows. He steps to Master Hing’s side, and the feeble old eunuch begins the long process of standing. “I know better, Basant, than to be your enemy. You have so many friends now. I too shall be your friend. But, dear Spring Blossom, let me give you some advice: You would do better to have me as an enemy than as a friend.”
Basant scarcely knows what to say. “But I would want you as my friend, master, unworthy though I am.”
“So you disregard my advice?” Hing sighs. “No matter, Spring Blossom. Oh, dear, look at this …” Hing grimaces, gesturing toward the activity in the Diwan-i-Khas.
Through the screen, they see the nobles standing at the silver rail, and an attractive slim-hipped youth in a fine, sky-blue jama steps forward.
The youth calls on Dara to recite. Dara agrees, glowing at the request, and the youth turns aside, blushing. Without any preamble Dara starts to recite his latest work: a translation of the Hindu Upanishads into Persian. He lifts his head and closes his eyes, intoning his majestic words with artful solemnity. Those in attendance nod appreciatively, extending their hands at particularly poignant passages. Only about half of them understand Persian.
“Look at Dara, look!” Hing says. “Head over heels for a little boy who scarcely has a beard. Disgusting.” Hing snorts. “In my day, a prince would be happy with his wife, or he’d take a concubine. Worse come to worse, he’d find a eunuch. What was wrong with that?” He scowls at Dara, shaking his head. “This modern custom of bringing your fancy boys to the palace—it makes me ill. And think of what he has given him—a mandsab of five thousand horses. For what, I ask you? For having long hands and a soft ass.” He fixes Basant with a glare. “Remind you of anyone?”
Outside the jali, Dara lilts along in perfect Persian. Inside, Hing is struggling to stand. Basant puts a hand under his elbow, and Hing twists away. Then he relents. “I forgot you wanted me for a friend,” he wheezes, offering his elbow. With Basant’s help the old eunuch gets to his feet.
Hing is nearly to the door
Similar Books
