The Moghul

confirms once again what I think of His Excellency." She laughed with contempt. "Samad is a great poet. He's perhaps the last great Persian writer, in the tradition of Omar Khayyam. He has favored me by allowing me to be one of his disciples."
    "So you come here to write poems?"
    "When I feel something I want to say."
    "But I've also found lists of names here, and numbers."
    "I told you I can't tell you everything." Shirin's look darkened momentarily as she drank again lightly from the cup, then settled it on the table. He found himself watching her face, drawn to her by something he could not fully understand. "But I can tell you this. There's someone in India who will one day rid us of the infidel Portuguese. Do you know of Prince Jadar?"
    "He's the son of the Moghul. I'm guessing he'll probably succeed one day."
    "He should. If he's not betrayed. Things are very unsettled in Agra. He has many enemies there." She paused. "He has enemies here."
    "I'm not sure I understand."
    "Then you should. Because what happens in Agra will affect everyone. Even you."
    "But what does Agra politics have to do with me? The knife was Portuguese."
    "To understand what's happening, you should first know about Akman, the one we remember now as the Great Moghul. He was the father of Arangbar, the Moghul now. I was only a small girl when Akman died, but I still remember my sadness, my feeling the universe would collapse. We worshiped him almost. It's not talked about now, but the truth is Akman didn't really want Arangbar to succeed him, nobody did. But he had no choice. In fact, when Akman died, Arangbar's eldest son started a rebellion to deny him the throne, but that son's troops betrayed him, and after they surrendered Arangbar blinded him in punishment. Khusrav, his own son. Although Prince Jadar was still only a young boy then, we all thought after that he would be Moghul himself one day. But that was before the Persians came to power in Agra."
    "But aren't you Persian yourself?"
    "I was born in India, but yes, I have the great fortune to be of Persian blood. There are many Persians in India. You know, Persians still intimidate the Moghuls. Ours is a magnificent culture, an ancient culture, and Persians never let the Moghuls forget it." Shirin had dabbed at her brow and rose to peer out the door of the observatory building, as though by instinct. "Did you know that the first Moghul came to India less than a hundred years ago, actually after the Portuguese? He was named Babur, a distant descendant of the Mongol warrior Genghis Khan, and he was from Central Asia. Babur was the grandfather of Akman. They say he had wanted to invade Persia but that the ruling dynasty, the Safavis, was too strong. So he invaded India instead, and the Moghuls have been trying to make it into Persia ever since. That's why Persians can always find work in India. They teach their language at court, and give lessons in fashion, and in painting and garden design. Samad came here from Persia, and now he's the national poet."
    "What do these Persians have to do with whatever's happening in Agra? Are you, or your family, somehow involved too?"
    "My father was Shayhk Mirak." She hesitated a moment, as though expecting a response. Then she continued evenly, "Of course, you'd not know of him. He was a court painter. He came to India when Akman was Moghul and took a position under the Persian Mir Sayyid Ali, who directed the painting studio Akman founded. You know, I've always found it amusing that Akman had to use Persian artists to create the Moghul school of Indian painting. Anyway, my father was very skilled at Moghul portraits, which everybody now says were invented by Akman. And when Akman died, Arangbar named my father to head the school. It lasted until she was brought to Agra."
    "Who?"
    "The queen, the one called Janahara."
    "But why was your father sent away?"
    "Because I was sent away."
    Hawksworth thought he sensed a kind of nervous intensity quivering behind Shirin's voice. It's your story, he told himself, that I'd really like to hear. But he said nothing, and the silence swelled. Finally she spoke again.
    "To understand the trouble now, you must understand about the queen. Her story is almost amazing, and already legends are growing around her. It's said she was born the day her father, Zainul Beg, left Persia as an adventurer bound for India. He ordered her abandoned in the sun to die, but after the caravan traveled on his wife lamented for the baby