<< Prev Page  |  Main Page | Next Page >> Annexation Rupinderpal Singh Dhillon Chenab 3 Murder Dhyan Singh watched from the balcony above the durbar court, as the new King Kharak Singh was invested. It pleased him that Nau Nihal was holed up in Peshawar and not attending his father’s first formal day as King. The months had passed since the funeral, and now on this mild September morning, the eldest heir of the old lion had become king. Dhyan noticed that not too far from the pomp and ceremony, his son Hira Singh stood, tall and glorious in his green salwar and yellow turban. In his mind’s eyes he saw Hira standing there as the Sikh Priest read from the Adi Granth and swore in the new King. His Hira. Indeed Ranjit’s favourite. The boy looked even more royal than the rest of them. The jealous and loud Shere Singh, with his pompous mock British ways (Hira’s hold of the git-mit tongue was far superior, he told himself), the new Queen, Chand Kaur and that prostitute who dared call herself the Lion’s last love, Jinda Kaur. She paraded her little boy whenever she had the chance. Then there was Chet Singh. Dhyan saw him as a threat. He had made an excuse to come up here. The truth was he could not bear the Sukerchakrias any longer. He had enjoyed serving the old wily king. But this lot were aristocratic buffoons. It was time to make his play. Dhyan turned and stepped inside of the room. He would have to go back down stairs. Dhyan caught a glimpse of himself in an oval mirror, surrounding by spears sticking out in many directions, like unkempt hair. He was fully aware of his looks. He wore a short beard, made prominent by its raven blackness against taut bronzed skin. Large grey eyes sat above high cheekbones. He exuded confidence, which some took as arrogance. He did not care. Hira in contrast was thinner and darker, but just as tall. He would make his presence felt below. From behind he heard a loud cheer. The king is dead, long live the king, he thought. *          *          *          *          *               Dhyan walked through the mob of courtiers, priests and warriors straight to his son’s side. The new king was seating on the peacock throne, laughing and chatting with Chet Singh and Nalwa. “How are you my son?” he asked. “ Great Bapu. We are all to go out hunting some tigers as part of the celebrations.” “ Good. Show them who the best hunter is my boy. How are you Gulab?” he asked his brother who had just joined his kinsmen. “ I am well Dhyan Bhaji.” He looked about him, a little nervously, Dhyan thought. “ The ceremonies have dried me out. Shall we go for a drink at my abode?” “ Do you not want to participate in the hunt?” Dhyan asked while looking up at the king. “ Not I, I am not gamesome today. Young Hira, go now with Shere Singh. I suggest you ride with his elephant. The man is a good shot.” Gulab smiled. “ I will. I’ll see you later Bapu. Cha-cha Ji,” he nodded and moved off. Dhyan grasped the opportunity to take his younger sibling aside. “ How has Nalwa been these past months?” he enquired. “ Melancholy. That was apparent at the funeral. He doesn’t trust us, you know. But he trusts the King less.” Gulab looked straight into his elder brothers grey orbs. “ I have not seen that love and kindness in his eyes that he bestowed upon our former lord. I told him I loved him as a friend and would support him. Shere Singh has been vying clearly for power. I offered our support. But he is too stubborn and ha a strange attitude to those who were wont to love him” Gulab paused. “ I do not blame him, what with all the goings on these past few months. Shere Singh is growing stronger with the Khalsa, and the army itself is agitated. Don’t be deceived, I share his concerns too. I have merely veiled my look, especially since I do not agree with this. My position as prime Minster is all but a shadow of what it use to be, as long as that Chet Singh sticks like a parasite too the king. Thus my behaviour has been vexed of late. I look within myself a lot nowadays my brother. What has he that Hira has not?” He threw his head in disgust at the throne’s direction. “ Dhyan, I have heard many whispering in Lahore, speak of how you should not succumb to this regime. You must have your eyes about you, and seek within yourself, your hidden worthiness. I will second your hopes. Any action must be by stealth. This is not the time as yet.” Gulab moved further back into the shadows. “ No Gulab, I know. Let me be your mirror, and let you see what you must do.” Dhyan rolled after him. “Listen, as you too can’t see yourself, and let me show you what must be done.” “ What devious schemes and dangers are you preparing to take me into, Dhyan, that means you have to be my mirror? What do you look for in me? An idea on how to rid these Sikhs from power, and place us on the Peacock throne? Govindghar has all the treasures that I want. And we the opportunity with our influences if we play it right.” “ Gulab, one must look further than the gold. This is a sick and weak king. I remember that day Kharak and I swam in the Ravi, through its angry tide. We both plunged in, as the torrent roared, successfully negotiating it for a while. Then he cried, ‘ Help me, dear Dhyan, or I’ll sink.’ I carried him out, the wretched creature, as he shook, colour flying from his puny lips, and that eye that now looks on the world as master, had no lustre, cried ‘ Give me some drink, Dhyan.’ A sick man, no, a sick girl. He is a man of feeble temperament, and now sits majestic, as if only he can bear the palm alone. We all know him. Even the British know him. Thus the Punjab is weakened.” Dhyan said excitedly. “ My brother, you propose a conspiracy, beyond my greed. You would indeed have your son as king. Still your point is valid and shared by many. The old lion went soft in his last days.” Gulab looked at the King with clear disappointment.             Dhyan smiled, as the horns were blown, and the hunting party gathered. His son Hira was clearly the centrepiece. He had caught his brother’s expression, and noted jealousy dancing in his eyes. They both watched the slim ferret like sovereign slither towards his horse, helped by the ever-present Chet Singh. The king had to be helped up onto his steed. Yes, thought Dhyan, Hira would make a better king.             The hunting party on their horses, elephants and camels set off out of the city towards the jungle. Hira (looking very handsome, thought Dhyan) sat next to Shere Singh on his elephant, wearing chain mail and armour, polished so well, that one could see Shere Singh’s reflection in it. And in the middle of the party, astride his horse sat Kharak Singh. The true game, to be hunted at the appropriate time thought Dhyan. Let us see what happens when his wayward son Nau Nihal arrives. *          *         *         *          *             The two servants stretched the grey cloth length ways. It was about four foot wide and ten foot long. Each of the men held the width between their hands. Their right hands pulled hard, whilst their left twisted the cloth towards the right, eventually rolling it into a rope. Now one tugged hard as the other folded it, keeping it taut, and walked towards the first man. The turban made it was passed over to Hira who sat fiddling with his punch-dagger. He took the turban, and placed one end of the long cloth in his mouth, and took it across his forehead and around the back of his head, and then back the other way, thus forming an X shape. He then quickly spun it around his cranium following the shape set by the first stroke, only swapping sides when there was not much length left. The result was an upside V above his nose. The last foot of cloth then was stuffed through his turban from above his nape, and used to cover the top of his head by spreading it out over the top-knot, which he had wrapped the cloth around, and pressed into the main folds. Thus he was ready for court.             Dhyan had sat watching him from his desk, smoking a Hookah. He had just read the last notes sent to him by the Governor of Multan summarising the taxes that had been collected on behalf of the Durbar. “ I have been informed that Nau Nihal has arrived this morning from Peshawar. I hear that he was not told the investiture date.” Hira said as he adjusted his turban. “ Just as well. I fear his foolish father places Chet Singh above his son. That won’t go down too well,” Dhyan replied, flicking through the tax sheets. “ I won’t rely too much on him Bapu. I hear he says bad things about you.” Hira walked over. “ Bad things? Putt, I think the son trusts me far less than his father. I am Kharak’s Prime Minister, after all. No I think he even despises my importance, and that is what makes Chet a greater threat to him than I.” Dhyan took a deep lug from the pipe. “ It was Chet Singh who advised The King, despite my protestations, too not allow the boy at the investiture. Seen as a threat. As is your friend, Shere Singh.” “ If you knew that why did you not do something about it?” Hira asked. “ Putt, why should I? Both Nau and Shere want the throne. I am protecting the King’s interests. Besides now father and son can have their differences over that foolish Chet Singh. It is to our advantage.” Dhyan took another lug. “ Bapu, then surely you should want Shere Singh as king?” Hira asked. “ No. I want you as king. Observe and learn. One’s friend should be close, but one’s enemies even closer. Day by day Ranjit Singh’s Punjab is dying. The majority Muslim population do not like being ruled by these Sikhs. And the map around us is turning British red.” Dhyan put his papers away. “ Our friend is Shere Singh. Indeed the King himself. Our nemesis is Nau Nihal. His return is a threat, but we must keep him sweet.” Hira stroked his beard. “ My boy, you will go along way. Leave it to me and your uncles, and you shall be king.” Dhyan stood up. “ But we must work fro the shadows.  Our nature cannot be tainted with the milk of human kindness here. Never think that either Nau or Shere are about anything but conspiracy. That much even the foolish Kharak realises. Thus despite Nau being his son, he has been kept away. Let them all devour each other. But I fear what this Chet Singh is scheming?” Dhyan hoped for confrontation between father and son, but was not sure that this would happen. What if Chet helped them to reunite? That would be a problem. Chet must look as if he has desires for the throne. This courtier now had the King’s ear, leaving Dhyan outside. Not acceptable. “ Putt, look like the innocent deer, but be the jackal underneath. Leave this business in my dispatch, and keep them all sweet and off our trail. I will observe what happens in court today. This could be the day the tide can be turned. These Juts are hotheads, and I can trust them to foolishly make a scene. No one does intrigue and betrayal better than them during times of peace. Keep Shere Singh’s ear.” “ Father, that is easy. I know he is constantly in touch with the ghost men.” Hira countenance betrayed that he was visualising himself upon the throne already. “ One by one, as did Ashoka slay his brothers. But leave now for court and I’ll join you. Your uncle and I have planned this since the hunt.” Dhyan waved his son out. Now he must enter court and greet Nau in front of the others with respect, and show the King the same. Any excuse to trip up Chet Singh could help create the ideal situation. He would go down and see what games the courtiers play.               Dhyan entered the courtroom an hour later. The durbar was bustling with activity. Courtiers, politicians and priests stood around like snakes in a pit. Warriors also waded into the political arena. Amongst them, Hari Singh stood with two of his young soldiers. In the old days he would have sat near the king, on his own throne. Gulab stood next to Shere Singh and his own son. And hovering behind the King and Queen, under the shemiana, was that eel, Chet Singh. This was the man who thought he could compete with the Brahmins?             Dhyan shook hands with fellow admistrators, nobles and priests. He acknowledged his clan from afar, and finally stopped next to Lehna Singh Majithia, a dark skinned Sardar, wearing a target on his back, and Faqir Aziz Ud-Din. The latter was a close friend of Dhyan and a senior cabinet member. “ Where is Nau Nihal Singh?” Dhyan asked, searching the court like an owl hunting its prey. “ He has not been seen her as yet.” Lehna replied. “ I think he may have spoken to his father in private.” Added Aziz. “ I doubt that. Chet Singh has stopped direct access to the King,” added Lehna. “ Very unlikely. He is not that influential my friend. Myself and Aziz as his ministers will always have his ear. I think Nau meant to come to court” Dhyan folded his arms. “ Is that what you would desire?” Aziz asked. Dhyan chose not to answer. Adjacent to them stood a group of Sikh men, highlighted by the European General Jean-François Allard. This man had been useful in training the Fauj-I-Ain. He had emigrated from France after the Napoleonic wars and taught the ghost man fighting systems to the Sikhs. He was one of several in Ranjit Singh’s pay. There was Jean-Baptiste Ventura the Spaniard who also stood in court, and the odd Russian Officer. Allard was a taller man than most Indians. His long roman nose and greying beard, parted in the centre like Shere Singh’s made him as distinct as his fusion of European and Indian garments. He had retired, and with the King’s death left the Fauj –I-Ain divided amongst the Sikh generals, under the official control of Shere Singh. The Frenchman was too busy with his family nowadays. He was more involved in the shawl trade. Good, it left the Khalsa unchecked, and less the King’s warriors than the Jathedar in Amritsar. The Frenchman had turned around and caught his eye. Dhyan bowed, mocking the European, by curtsying like he had seen Allard do in the past. The white man ignored him. “ He didn’t like that” Lehna laughed. “ No. Excuse me my friends.” Dhyan wadded towards Hari Singh. This also brought him in close proximity to the sovereign. The King was busy listening to the complaints of a Muslim trader. “ Sat Sri Akal Hari Sahib.” He greeted the fox like General. “ Sat Sri Akal, Prime Minster.” Hari placed his hands together formally. “ Please, don’t be so, call me Dhyan. We have known each other for years. What has brought such formality on?” Dhyan waved his hands and smiled at the two men standing with Nalwa. “ One must know one’s place Prime Minster.” Hari Singh replied, and on seeing Dhyan acknowledge his associates added, “ Say Sat Sri Akal boys. We must never be rude.” “ Sat Sri Akal,” Arjun and Satwant joined hands in unison and bowed. “ Hari, this is absurd.” Dhyan looked straight into the hunting eyes of Nalwa. “ You once told me how chess was invented. A Brahmin Prime Minster invented no?” Hari asked rhetorically, “ and it was in order to teach the Kshatri King about strategy and real power? Boys, the King only has one move on the board. The Prime Minster can move in any direction and as many squares as he likes. That is right isn’t it?” “ Indeed. I respect you too much to see you like that. We are now in a new era, but we must not let the ways of the old pass. Respect and old friendships still count. I hear Nau Nihal will come to the Durbar today?” Dhyan was really trying to access whether the general would continue to support a weak King, or side with his son or half brother. He decided to ignore the slight. “ He is. As you can see the King has a queue of people waiting to see him. But I am sure his son will be seen immediately. I would have thought as Prime Minster you would be privy to his majesty and need not ask such questions?” Hari replied.             Dhyan did not like Hari. Principles and stupid fool. You do not know who to make friends and who enemies. Never mind, you will be one I’ll watch, thought the Prime Minster. Dhyan know knew clearly that this one would not back him in a coup d’etat. “ The British do not have a Prime Minster you know. They use the Queen instead. Foolish really,” He looked up at Chand Kaur. “ And instead of elephants they use fortresses. Very illogical. What fortress can be moved? These Ferrangi have strange strategy no?” “ I do not know of that. But I feel that the kingdom must be wary of them.” Nalwa retorted. “ Indeed. And this would be your good advise to our Liege?” Dhyan did not wait for the answer. The entrance of Nau Nihal had just been announced. The King stopped talking to the trader, as everyone’s attention went to the lone figure of Ranjit Singh’s favourite grandson.             Nau Nihal cut a tall and svelte figure as he stood opposite the throne, just inside of the entrance. The trader moved away from the King as the prince walked swiftly towards his father, the crowd parting like the Red Sea for Moses. Nau was round of face, dark and lightly bearded. He wore the colourful garments of the Guacharos, a large sharp steel quoit around his turban, and jagged edged metal karas around his forearms.             All eyes were on the prince as he finally stopped before his parents, placed his hands together, lowered his head and said his Sat Sri Akals. His mother looked up at her husband for his reaction. He looked at Chet Singh. So telling thought, Dhyan. Does this fool on the throne not have his own brain? Nau had also noticed his father’s gaze dart towards Chet Singh, who it was said he disliked. As much as me hopefully, Dhyan desired. “ Bapu Ji, Maharaja Ji. I hoped to be at the investiture, but news reached Peshawar too late.” He bowed again. “ Well you are here my son..ack, ack!” The King coughed, trying to hide his lips behind a knarled stick like hand. His yellow face was spotted, oozing snakes of perspiration, trailing from somewhere within his turban to his beard. “ And we must celebrate! Ack, ack!” “ Your Highness, what is to celebrate? You need to see a fakir my lord. And not surround yourself with these spoons,” he spat the last word out as he looked at Chet Singh, Dhyan and Gulab in turn. “ Father, the British are using our men to fight their battles in Afghanistan. But give us nothing in return. They must be chased out of the Kingdom.” This time a look of disgust towards Hira, no, aimed at Shere Singh, Dhyan observed. “ Son, they are our allies. Loved dearly, we hold them…ack, ack…to our bosoms. Our great father loved them so.” The King sought confirmation from Chet Singh who nodded. “ He did not. They have broken the treaties, Bapu Ji. Ma, tell him. These Ferrangi should not be traded with or granted passage. I have heard news from the border..” Chet Singh interrupted him. “ Who spins these tales, Prince? To whose gain is it? They have a treaty with us. Indeed their power is so great..” The Prince in turn angrily interrupted Chet. “ You dare? What power? You coward! They are men. Like us. They can never match our valour. I say be wary of them, and be more wary of their friends in the Durbar!” He turned around and stared at the court accusingly. “ This is a delicate time. We must forget our Shere-I-Punjab’s secular ways. I say make this a Sikh state!”             Dhyan smirked as many in the crowd cheered. This would prove all too easy. He stepped forward, but said nothing. Just looked at the King. Chet nervously slid behind the throne as Nau touched his mother’s feet. “ I should have been here, Ma” She looked down, held his hands and sadly gazed in his eyes. “ Who do you accuse of treachery Nau!” Boomed Shere Singh’s voice. “ Are you going to take us into a futile war with the Redcoats? You should hold your tongue. You will split the Khalsa! And I am the army!” “ You are the army? Here that people! My uncle is the army. You are foolish not to remedy this white man’s slight.” He now stood up full length standing between his parents. “ Your eyes uncle our on my parents throne.”             Shere Singh went to slip his sword out, but before he could do it, Hira held his hand. Dhyan now turned to the King. This was perfect. “ Your lordship, your son has a point about our neighbours. But he misjudges his highness, Shere Singh.” He knew that Shere Singh would not address his half brother or visa versa. “ Your brother is only thinking of the army and your protection. The British are mighty, and indeed we have a treaty with them. Infighting amongst us is what they will benefit from. The Prince is fiery, but must understand that this should be left to your ministers.” He bowed. “ Ministers! Father, he means himself and this worm!” Nau glared at Chet Singh. “ Enough. You have embarrassed yourself! I am sorry that you were not here. But that is not cause to become aggressive. Ack, ack. Go now.” Kharak feebly waved his son away. The fear of what Shere Singh might have done was painted across his face. As the annoyed Nau passed Dhyan, the latter faintly exhaled “ Some ministers have more say in the ear then others. This can blind.”             Nau looked into Dhyan’s eyes, anger trying to adjust to what was said and the purpose behind it. He then looked up again at Chet Singh and back at Dhyan and Nalwa behind him. Then swiftly walked away. Dhyan nodded at Gulab, who followed the Prince to a corner of the Durbar. The prince had already made enemies of Shere Singh and Chet Singh. He had public ally embarrassed his father. Now Chet Singh was surely a threat to Nau? Perfect, Dhyan thought. “ That was ill tempered,” Nalwa had now come to Dhyan’s side. “ But I agree with about the British. Despite what you may think.” “ You do? My dear friend, shall I address thee only as General? My dear General the battlefield is your arena and this is mine. And the British too make their decisions in their parliament. And those men are like me, and I understand them well. There will never be an obvious attack. You waste your time recruiting for a false invasion. If I was you I would be more worried about what you saw here today. It is the royal household we must watch.” Dhyan stated. “ No, it is probably the players in your field.” With that Nalwa moved on to pursue an audience with the King, as the Durbar again quietened down for business. Dhyan idly observed Hari expand Nau’s argument with the same logic he had used to recruit his mostly village Jat brigades. The same old arguments about ending the British embassy in Lahore, stooping trade, not giving passage to the British on their way from Afghanistan. Plots to dethrone the king, without suggesting who intended on being the puppet replacement. It was lucid but far too imaginatively conceived to be taken seriously or fit in with how things seemed. It also enraged Shere Singh enough to defend his Union Jack waving friends. After all who else would gain from Kharak’s demise? Nau? He could. But nowhere was there any hidden message about the Dogras. That was what Dhyan liked. Let them all do away with each other and let Hira come from the shadows. If anything the two arguing men had managed to convince Dhyan of the usefulness of the British in his enterprise. Dhyan turned his attention to Nau and Gulab. As pre-planned his brother scratched his beard to indicate that their plan had worked. Wonderful! “ Goodbye, Chet Singh.” Dhyan murmured. *          *          *          *          *             Shere Singh’s messenger stood in a corridor of the Lahore’s Sikh temple, admiring the decorations and gilded engravings on the wall. He had always liked art. The best engravings had had seen had been the gold gilded ones encasing the Harminder Sahib in Amritsar, commissioned by the late King. The effect was a fantastic golden temple. He followed the story as told on the wall until he had passed to a quiet corner. It was Wednesday night, and due to the dark cloak of night, not many souls were about. He had not enjoyed that trip to Clerk’s house. He had found McMurdo abominable. Still he had done his master’s bidding, caught in a game he was unsure of. Especially after the investiture and his master’s attitude to the King. Nau’s speech earlier this month had driven him to more concerns. Since then he had watched Shere Singh rally the Khalsa army like he had never done before, negotiating with its generals. Chet Singh had all but replaced Dhyan as de facto Prime Minster. The King took console from no one else.             The messenger traced his fingers around a portrait of the first Guru; Nanak Dev Ji sitting with his hand raised in prayer, between Mardana and his other companion, whose name he always forgot. Whilst trying to rack his brains for the name, he thought he heard a rasping sound from around the corner. He paused and listened. Sure enough, he could make out two voices whispering together. He decided to edge his way to the side, keeping back enough not to be noticed. Anyone out at this time in the temple, hiding in its dark shadows had something to hide. And if important, the information would be useful for Shere Singh. “ Dhyan Singh, I must say you have some front. But I can not fault your thought pattern” The first voice said. “ I know you do not approve of me..” begun the second voice, being interrupted by, “..Distrust you to say the least. But like you I share the same concerns about Chet. He is no good for my father” the voice replied “ Hush! Walls have ears in Lahore. He is no good for our country. Say you it will be done then?” “ It will. It should, but you must be the doer. I only your alibi. No one must know.” “ No one will. There are plenty in this court who would be rid of him. The scent can be thrown.” “ Then do it swiftly. I will not allow myself to be tainted. The whole of the Durbar heard what I had to say.” “ Don’t forget you said it about me too. Don’t worry, I have people who will testify you were elsewhere. Leave it to me. We will then have his majesty’s ear.” “ This had better work.”             The messenger slowly slipped back, hugging the wall. This was worth telling. Indeed, an hour later he stood in Shere Singh’s room, watching the man play chess with his son, Pretab, eight years old, with big wide eyes sitting cross legged, hands clasped, intently staring at the board. “ So Nau is in a plot with Dhyan?” Without even looking up. “ Chet Singh has no value, and will probably weaken my brother. I actually approve. Dhyan the sly fox. And you say he sounds as if he will do it himself? Fool. You sure?” He looked up. “ Well, it may even be Nau.” The messenger replied. “ The boy is a hot spur, but not an imbecile. He would make a better king. They probably have an assassin planned. Tell no one. Let us see how this Dogra can aid us, achaa?” “ Achaa Ji” The messenger nodded. “ Check” Pretab said, a smile crossing his mouth as wide as Shere Singh’s emerald waist belt. Shere Singh slapped him. *          *          *          *          *             Dhyan has waited for Kharak Singh to walk into the palace gardens, and for Chand Kaur to entertain the high-class ladies in the palace. It was the perfect place. Chet Singh had then been sent a message through one of Hira’s friends to see Nau in his father’s chambers. Reluctantly Chet had arrived with a guard. “ Why the soldier?” Nau asked. “ I did not know it was you, my lord.” Chet replied bending low. Nau was sitting on one of his father’s grand chairs, legs both thrown over the right arm, head flung beyond the left, with a goblet of wine in his hand. “ Chet, Chet. Do you not trust your King’s son?” He chided. “ Sir, I do, but I …” began the courtier. “..wanted some protection, on account of what happened in the court last month? Don’t be so absurd. I was angry that day.” Nau swung himself off the chair and drunkenly sauntered towards the two men. “ Besides, my minions have passed me news that it is the Dogra’s I should worry about. Relax.” “ The Dogras?” Chet looked confused. “ Yes. Listen man, you can go,” To the guard. The soldier looked uneasy. “ Come on man, this is about reconciliation. You don’t think so? Very well, have it your way. Guard escort me out. That’s an order!”             Nau flung himself on the soldier, took his arm and marched out, crashing the door behind him. Chet could hear the guard protesting, as he vanished out of earshot. It was, as Dhyan had wanted it. Dhyan emerged from behind an arras, surprising Chet who had just turned to leave. “ Mad isn’t he? I told him he was wrong about you. Yet he accuses us? The Dogras? Well, I don’t know. You have gained much influence with the king.” Dhyan smiled cruelly. “ You hide behind walls? What is the meaning of this? People know Nau called me here” Chet’s hand instinctively hovered above his scabbard. “ Not a wall, an arras you fool. And Nau is now gone, isn’t he? Your guard, the witness. Our name mentioned, but we’re not here are we?” Dhyan squared up to Chet Singh. “ You back a weak and very ill king.” “ You are out of favour. You won’t be Premier for long.” Chet spat. “ You wound me in every way, Chet. Your glory stands in slippery ground. Under your guidance a stupid king has taken power from those it belongs to. But your advices have got him nowhere. You will not be missed. There will be great relief after you are gone. You are in my way, Sardar Ji. And I would move before it is too late” Dhyan raised his voice. “ You don’t scare me. I’ll have you arrested.” Chet began to draw his sword. “Grounds? Grounds? You are the one who advised the Maharajah not to have his son at the investiture?” Dhyan too went for his own Kirpan. “ That was foolish. It has made you enemies.”             Chet drew his sword and spread his arms out, chest inciting the Prime Minster. Dhyan was not that foolish. He slipped his own sword back into its scabbard and threw his baldric down. “ Calm down. I merely want to talk. W e was both invited here by Nau. I merely placed myself behind the arras, as I did not know whom to trust. You yourself brought your guard. What game do you think he plays?” Dhyan watched the man slowly lower his arms. But not put the blade away.             At that vital moment the door behind Chet opened and Nau walked in, shutting it firmly. He looked at the scene. At Chet then Dhyan. “ What’s this? I invite you both to talk, and you are at each other’s throats? I asked you here to discuss our real enemies! The British!” With pure anger prince leaned into Chet’s face then smashed his fist down on the courtier’s arm, sending the blade crashing. “ I always hated you Chet. You have made my father your puppet.” “ Your lordship,” Chet began. “ Your man thinks I am now downstairs. There is no one outside, Sardar Ji. I have waited for this day” Nau looked fierce. “ You are not planning to kill us both?” The startled Chet backed off towards Dhyan. “ He will not kill me. He may hate us both, but you are the greater evil.” As Chet turned towards Dhyan a dagger pounded down into his neck. Dhyan smiled above him. “ No I am going to kill you. You were careless with your sword, and have lost your chance.” “ Finish him. I want to watch him die.” Chet fell to his knees and tried to reach his sword. Now Dhyan’s Kirpan slashed across the courtier’s chest. He fell back twisting his legs, and grabbed onto Nau Nihal’s tunic. “ Your power has gone. Chet, surely even you realise, enemies must come together when they have the one foe?” Nau pushed him and stepped back as another stroke caught his back. Then as he lay there Dhyan ripped into his belly several times with the metal tooth, a large pond of blood enlarging beneath his feet. Nau had already opened the door and slipped out. Dhyan wiped his sword on the corpse and wadded out of the blood. He would have to get rid of the clothes. He threw down an emerald signet. It was one he had stolen from an insignificant courtier by Teja Singh, a friend of Shere Singh’s. So many hands had played in Chet’s death. But Dhyan trusted none of them enough. So he had done it himself. He now had to quickly get to his alibi. He kicked the corpse hard in the head. “ So begins the path for my family on the throne.”