After Rajeev Subramanian died, Vijay Patel sat for a long time, consumed by grief. He had known the man all of his life and he had been one of the finest people Vijay had ever known. To see him cut down for no reason other than to further another man's lust for power was almost more than he could bear. Finally, a sound behind him penetrated the fog and he turned sharply. Standing about five feet away were two children . . . one a young boy of twelve or thirteen and the other a girl, a year or so younger. The boy had his arm around his companion and both stood frozen, staring at Vijay with huge, terror-filled eyes. Vijay remained perfectly still, knowing that any movement would send the two fleeing in blind panic. It took two tries before Vijay was able to reply.
"Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you."
After a long moment, the boy asked hesitantly, "Is Mr. Subramanian injured? The lady sent us away . . ."
Vijay looked down at the body of his friend sadly, unsure how to respond. "What is your name?"
"Nasim." The boy paused, then asked solemnly, "He is dead, isn't he?"
Vijay sighed. "Yes, Nasim, he is."
"The Janissaries did this."
The flat tone and depth of hatred in the boy's voice shook Vijay clear to his soul. "What do you know of the Janissaries?" he asked.
"They are evil men! The Sultan has banned them. They have no right here!"
"No, they do not, Nasim. Can you do something for me?"
The child eyed him warily. "What do you want?"
"We cannot leave them here like this. I need for you to run home and get your father. Tell him that Mr. Subramanian and his wife have been attacked and that I need his help."
"Who are you?" the boy questioned belligerently.
"I am Vijay Patel. Please, Nasim. Go quickly. There is no dignity in this for our friend, and I need help to do what is proper."
Nasim stared at him for a long time. Finally, he nodded, and drawing the girl with him, the two turned and ran. Vijay rose to his feet slowly. Then, leaning down, he picked up Rajeev's limp body and carried it back to where Anila lay. Then he sat down once more to wait. When the boy returned, he brought not only his own father, but what appeared to be two thirds of the men from the surrounding countryside. They were silent and grim as they stopped and stared at the sight of the Subramanians. Vijay rose to face them.
"I am . . ."
"You are known to us, Vijay Patel," the man in the lead interrupted him stiffly.
Vijay hesitated and then bowed to the man respectfully. "You honor me. And you are . . . ?"
For a long moment, Vijay wondered if the man would answer. Finally, he inclined his head slightly. "I am Tarang Kumar."
Vijay felt a small amount of relief. Tarang Kumar . . . Rajeev's main mine foreman . . . a man who could be trusted. "I seek your assistance, Tarang Kumar. Our friends have been brutally attacked and murdered. We cannot leave them like this. Will you help me provide a fitting place for them to lie until a member of their family can be found?"
The man nodded and then gestured to the others, several of whom moved in, lifted the bodies with care, and carried them away. "His son will be sent for," the man stated. "Where are the other children?"
Vijay closed his eyes briefly in pain and then gestured silently at the still smoking rubble nearby. When he opened them again, he saw both agony and rage in the man's face.
"Nasim!" he snapped sharply. From the crowd, the boy stepped forward once more.
"Yes, Father."
"The other children. Where were they?"
"They were all in the study room, Father. Only four of us were outside . . . having been given specific jobs to do by the Lady Anila."
"What of Maia and Srinivasan?"
"They were in the house. I saw them just before I left. The lady had sent for them."
"And your little sister?"
Vijay saw the boy tremble. "Ramani was within also, Father."
The fury in the man's eyes was fearsome as he stared at Vijay. "Who has done this?!" he demanded fiercely.
"The boy said Janissaries . . ."
"They have a leader. Janissaries do not act without orders. Who???"
"I do not know for certain," Vijay hedged cautiously. In his ears, Rajeev's dying words echoed . . . war is upon us . . . If he could not diffuse it, this situation could be the fuse that would ignite it. "They were dead and the attackers gone before I arrived."
"Nasim, did you see the man who lead the Janissaries?"
"Yes, Father."
"Who was he?"
"I do not know. I had never seen him before . . . but I will know him when I see him again!" The fury in the boy was no less than that of his father.
"Then we will find him and he will pay!" the man snarled in frustration and turned away.
"Wait!" Vijay called frantically. "Tarang, you cannot go rampaging through the countryside searching for one man amidst the entire population of Bangalore. Think! If you do this, the Janissaries will beset you for certain."
"What would you have us do?" the man demanded, turning to Vijay once more. Behind him, the crowd had been growing as word had spread across the countryside and people began congregating. "They have been destroying our homes, razing our crops, stealing our sons, attacking our daughters . . . And now they have killed the one man who stood up to them and defended our right to live! Do you expect us to just sit back and allow this to continue? We have the right to defend ourselves . . . the right to exact justice from those that harm us!"
"No!" Vijay snapped back forcefully. "Yes, you have the right to defend yourself if attacked. But you do NOT have the right to decree who shall pay for those crimes. Only the Sultan has the right to call for a man's death in that way."
"The Sultan is not here! None even know how to reach him . . ."
"I know how to reach him. I talk with him regularly, as did Rajeev."
"Then tell me, Vijay Patel. If you know the mind of the Sultan so well . . . why is he not here, defending his people, rather than being in some foreign country where he gets word of what happens only through others?" The man's anger and grief were almost overpowering and the low, ugly murmur of the crowd told Vijay that Kumar was doing nothing more than giving voice to their own thoughts.
Glaring back at the man fiercely, Vijay demanded, "Would you have the Sultan dead . . . dead as his father died . . . with a knife in his back from one he called 'friend'? The Sultan has attempted to come back more times than I can count. But both Rajeev Subramanian and I counseled him to stay away. It is not safe for him in the Palace . . ."
"The Regent . . ." the man spat, but Vijay cut him off before he could say anything else.
"The Regent plays the most dangerous game of them all . . . positioning herself among her son's enemies so that he does not have to do so." The stunned expressions on the faces around him said that none of them had considered that possibility. "Who do you think sent me here to warn Rajeev today?" he demanded fiercely. But then he faltered and looked back over his shoulder at the smoldering remains behind him. "Unfortunately, the warning came too late . . ."
"But what of Kefira?" a new voice asked, as a middle-aged woman stepped forward out of the crowd. "No one has seen her in months. If she is truly to be the Sultan's wife and she is being held at the palace . . ."
Vijay's head snapped up sharply. "Where did you hear that?" he demanded.
"The Lady Neela announced the impending marriage this morning," Nasim's father replied. "She claimed the girl was in seclusion. Was she in this house?"
"No," Vijay responded flatly, thinking quickly. Neela had said nothing to him of the marriage announcement. If what Rajeev had said about the feelings between his middle daughter and the young Sultan were true, there was no doubt this announcement would bring Hadji Singh back here at the earliest opportunity. He had to be stopped . . . before it was too late. He looked at the man in front of him once again. "It is vital that I find a telephone. Do you know where the closest one is?"
The man hesitated, searching Vijay's face. What he saw there, Vijay would never know, but after a moment, he gestured and said, "There is one in the village. Follow me."
They made a hasty trip on foot to a village about two miles away. By the time they reached there, it was already dark. The man led Vijay to a small building that served as a general store, post office and meeting place. Vijay did not hesitate as he entered the building and spotted the phone on the back wall. Crossing to it swiftly, he was dialing before he even had the phone to his ear. Long moments passed as the circuits clicked and the connection was made. Finally, with one final loud click, the phone began to ring. The third ring was cut off abruptly and a familiar voice said,
"This is Hadji Singh. I am unavailable to take your call right now, but if you will leave your name and a number where you can be reached, I will return your call as soon as I can." Vijay swore as the long tone heralded the activation of the machine.
"Excellency, this is Vijay Patel. Events have occurred that I MUST discuss with you immediately. I will remain at this number for as long as I can . . . " He rattled off the number on the phone. "If I must leave before you can call, I will leave word with someone here on how I may be reached. This is urgent, Excellency. Call me as soon as possible. Do not attempt to return here without contacting me first. This is of utmost importance. And whatever you do, Excellency, do NOT attempt to call the Palace. Telephone lines are not secure there." He broke the connection and then stared blankly at the wall in front of him. He had two other numbers that the Sultan had given him to use in an emergency. He did not know who they would reach, but he could only assume that whoever they were, they were people the Sultan trusted. After a moment's further hesitation, he began dialing once more. After what seemed to be an endless wait, the connection was made and an achingly familiar voice answered.
"Hello. You have reached the number of Kefira Subramanian at Columbia University. I am not in just now, but please leave a message and I will be happy to return your call when I get home." Swearing under his breath, Vijay quickly left a similar message on Kefira's machine as he had left on Hadji's. Putting the receiver back into its cradle, he turned and faced Kumar once more.
"The Regent must be warned of what has happened and, if possible, I must get her out of the Palace and to safety. Someone must wait here in case the Sultan calls back so that he can be warned. Can I rely on you to do this, Tarang?"
"What shall I say to him if he calls?"
"Tell him what has transpired here, and tell him that Rajeev's dying message to him was that it is vital that he not return to Bangalore just yet. Will you do this?"
Slowly the man nodded. "I will do as you ask. But you . . . what will you do?"
Vijay sighed. "I must return to the task set for me. Rajeev, with his last breath, asked me to protect the Sultan. I have no choice. I must return to the Palace."
Tarang said slowly. "Our friend, Rajeev, has not given you an easy task. I believe you will need his grace if you truly plan to face the vipers that reside there once more." The man hesitated and Vijay lifted a questioning eyebrow. Slowly, Tarang asked, "Can you tell me one thing, Mr. Patel?"
"I will try. What is it that you want to know?"
"Is what the Palace announced true?"
Vijay looked confused. "What? I do not understand."
"About Kefira Subramanian . . . Rajeev's daughter. Is it true about her being betrothed to the Sultan?"
Vijay hesitated and then figured it was too late to try to cover it up now. "Yes."
Kumar looked disturbed. "She was supposed to be in seclusion in her father's house . . . to be preserved to be the Sultan's wife. And yet you say with absolute certainty that she was not lost here. Where is she, Mr. Patel?"
"She is in the United States, out of reach of the Sultan's enemies, attending school."
"But what of . . ."
"Mr. Kumar, today is a new age. Ms. Subramanian is in the United States . . . with the Sultan's blessing and encouragement, sheltered by the Sultan's American father . . . even though he has selected her to be his wife. The world has changed. It is time that Bangalore does the same."
For a long time, Kumar stared at him. Slowly, he nodded. "It is true that times are much different than in the past."
"He loves her, Tarang. Rajeev himself was astonished at the depth of feeling between them. Do we have the right to judge what is right and wrong where love is concerned?"
Once more, Kumar nodded. "Only time will tell. I will await the Sultan's call. Go with God, Mr. Patel."
Vijay nodded and turned away. He hoped fervently that Kumar's good will would accompany him, because he suspected he would need all the help he could get.
It was almost ten p.m. by the time Vijay returned to the Royal Palace in Bangalore City. He was exhausted and depressed and a slow, burning anger curdled his stomach. What should have been an easy, two-hour trip had turned into a nightmare. Word of Rajeev Subramanian's death had spread like a plague, igniting a fury among the rural populace that had exploded into violence. Farmers, miners, and the destitute poor roamed the countryside, armed with whatever weapons they could find, searching for an outlet for their anger. An outpost of the Royal Guard on the edge of the Subramanian lands had been attacked by a maddened horde. About a dozen villagers died - casualties of the melee. But the soldiers that were killed suffered a much more brutal fate. They were savagely beaten until they were all but unrecognizable and then their bodies were hastily hung from a nearby tree - left on display as a crude message of defiance. Vijay was stopped and threatened several times by the roving bands, and was saved from suffering the same fate as those soldiers only by his well-known alliance with the Subramanian family.
In fact, he owed his life to one such mob, if only accidentally. He had been stopped by a troop of Janissaries and was about to be pulled from his car when a group of villagers descended on them. Vijay was quickly forgotten in the ensuing riot. The fighting was swift and brutal and in the end, close to 30 men were dead . . . including all of the Janissaries who had stopped him. Vijay was finally forced to abandon his car and take to the countryside as he neared the city. The enraged masses had not reached that far yet, but armed bands of the Royal Guard monitored all roads into the city and Vijay knew that if he had any hope of reaching Neela and getting her away, he needed to reach the Palace undetected.
He was able to find his way back to the old Pilgrim's Trail and made his way carefully to the postern door at the rear of the palace. Shouting and the clash of weapons sounded clearly from either side of the palace as guardsmen drilled and kept watch on the main thoroughfares to the Palace. But as yet, the entrances that nestled against the mountains were quiet. He had re-entered the palace and was making his way cautiously along a dim, seldom-used corridor, searching for the entrance to the secret passages, when the sound of marching feet and harsh voices reached him. In the echoing stone corridors, it was difficult to tell how many men were approaching, but it sounded like a full detachment. He looked around wildly, trying to find a place to hide, but there was no safe place in sight. He turned, prepared to make a run for the back door once more, when the stone wall behind him suddenly opened silently and a hand snatched at his tunic and dragged him into darkness. The wall closed in front of him as a hand clamped tightly over his mouth. Through the false wall, he heard the clash of weapons as the soldiers turned the corner and pushed past the place he had stood only moments before. Then a brusque voice commanded,
"Secure the old door and post a guard inside, but do not allow anyone approaching from outside to know you are there. We want to learn of anyone who has knowledge of this passage."
The hand in his tunic yanked sharply, making the intent of leaving this place clear. Vijay didn't hesitate. He turned and stumbled willingly in the direction indicated, groping blindly in the near total darkness of the passages, as the overheard sounds faded away. Finally, the hand indicated he should stop and suddenly he felt fresh air fan his face. Then he was pushed forward once more and he stepped out of the stuffy, black corridors into the relatively brighter dimness of a darkened room. Vijay shielded his eyes against a sudden flare of fire, but when he peered cautiously through his fingers, the blazing light had steadied into the warm gleam of an oil lamp. His savior was revealed as he saw Neela Singh set the lamp down onto a filthy ledge and turn to him.
"Is this place secure?" he questioned her in a hoarse whisper, gazing around in confusion. The space they were in appeared to be a small room . . . perhaps that of a servant or a small child. But it was filthy, covered in cobwebs, and seemed to have been abandoned centuries before. Furniture still cluttered the room, but it was old and uncared for. The wood of the divans along the wall had darkened and dried and the fabrics that had once covered the seats were moth-eaten.
"We are safe here for now," Neela replied, staring at him intently. "We are deep in the oldest area of the Palace. Many of these rooms have not been used in 150 years and the access to these sections has been walled off. We will not be followed or found here. Now, tell me what has happened."
Vijay shook his head. "In a moment. First, what has happened here? The men in the hall . . . who are they loyal to?"
"I do not know for certain," Neela replied in frustration. "They wear the uniforms of the Palace Guard, however I do not know any of the men I have seen today."
"Then we must assume their loyalties do not lie with the Sultan. Are there more men than usual?"
"Yes, many more! I even searched for the Captain of the Guard late this afternoon to find out why, but was unable to locate him."
Vijay frowned. "He was loyal and now he is missing. That is not good. What about your announcement of the Sultan's engagement to Kefira Subramanian this morning?"
"What????" Neela sputtered in shock. "I did no such thing! I would not go against my son's wishes in this matter!"
"Someone has done so," Vijay told her grimly. "It came as an official announcement from the Palace and you are the one quoted."
Neela looked stunned and more than a little sick. "This will bring him back here," she muttered. "He will know that tradition states that if he does not return to answer the accusations that are sure to follow when they find out Kefira is not here, her family's lives will be forfeit."
"I am certain that was the point," Vijay replied. He gazed at her steadily for a long moment before he said softly, "But there are no lives left to forfeit."
Neela had been staring vacantly at the far wall. Now, her head jerked around sharply and she stared at him in shock once more. "What do you mean?" she demanded.
"They are already dead, Excellency. I arrived too late."
"No," she whispered hoarsely. She wavered on her feet for a moment and then sank abruptly onto one of the divans. Dust rose around her like a cloud. "How?"
"Rajeev and Anila were shot," he replied. "I found them in front of the house when I arrived. They had been left to lie where they died."
She looked up at him. "And the children?"
"Excellency . . ." he began hesitantly, not wishing to recount that particular horror.
"Where are the children?" she demanded relentlessly. A feverish light had lit in her eyes and Vijay knew that if he did not answer that she would order him to do so.
"They were in the house," he replied reluctantly," . . . along with all of the other children from the household staff and many from the surrounding countryside. Rajeev and Anila insisted that they spend the afternoons with a tutor learning to read and write . . ."
"And where are they now?"
Vijay's eyes locked with hers as he answered gravely, "The Janissaries set fire to the house."
"No!" Neela went whiter than the sari she wore, and for an instant, he thought she might collapse. But the moment passed and when she looked up at him again, her expression was fixed in a countenance so grim he unconsciously moved back from her a step.
"What of his eldest son?" she asked, her voice remote.
Vijay shook his head. "I was waylaid on the road by a band of Janissaries. They were laughing about Rajeev's death. They claim that they overran Sumant and his family before they even realized what was happening."
"So he destroyed the entire family," Neela said softly, in that same cold, remote tone.
"As far as I know, the only two left are Kefira and her elder sister, Daria."
"That one!" Neela spat in disgust. "Worthless creature . . . empty-headed and vain."
"And married into the Rajiq family . . . who are firmly loyal to Birla."
Neela stood once more and faced him squarely. "Did Arun Birla do this?"
Vijay hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."
"You are certain."
"Yes. Rajeev was alive . . . barely . . . when I found him. He identified his attacker."
"Was there anyone else?" Vijay shook his head. "So you are saying we cannot prove that he did this."
"There is a boy," Vijay said cautiously.
"What boy?" Neela demanded harshly.
"His name is Nasim and he worked as the stable boy for the Subramanian family. His father was Rajeev's oversight foreman in his mining operations. The boy claims he saw the man who commanded the band of Janissaries. He did not know the man's name, but claimed he would know him again if he saw him."
Neela turned away and began to pace. "We need that boy. If the he can identify his attacker as Birla, we have grounds to remove him from the Council and . . ."
"I am afraid it is already too late for that, Excellency."
"Bangalore cannot survive despots like Vikram and Deepak again, Mr. Patel," Neela began. "It cannot be allowed to happen . . ."
Vijay smiled grimly. "It will not. Birla expects to sweep in much as Deepak did, using the Janissaries and their ruthless tactics to subdue the people. He believes that they will bow to his will much as they did before. But in this he has miscalculated."
"In what way?" she demanded.
"He has underestimated the Sultan. Birla understands greed and the desire for power, and he judges others, expecting them to want the same things. But the Sultan has never desired power. Quite the opposite . . . he has held power for the last five years and has spent the entire time working to prepare the people for the day when Bangalore would have no Sultan." Neela's wordless exclamation caused Vijay to shake his head at her. "Your son does not wish to rule, Lady. Surely you have realized that by this time. In his very being, he believes that the people have the right to govern themselves. You can hardly blame him. The time he has spent in Bangalore and India in his short life largely have not been good experiences. Plus, his truly formative years were spent being raised in America, a country that defends its people's right to self-government fiercely. He has also traveled extensively and has seen examples of all forms of government . . . both good and bad . . . so he is neither naïve nor inexperienced. All of the programs that Birla has thought so pointless . . . expanded education, availability of computers to the poorest of our people, government social programs, innovative programs in farming, industry and social service, the funding of higher education outside the country for our best and brightest . . . it all had one purpose. To open the eyes of the common people to the possibilities the future offered to them, their children, and their grandchildren."
"Yes, yes, I understand that. Hadji has explained it often enough. But what good does it do if . . ."
Vijay cut her off. "Tell me, Lady, what did the people in the countryside do when Deepak overthrew and murdered your husband?"
She looked at him in exasperation. "What could they do? Deepak controlled the Janissaries. He would have slaughtered them wholesale given the slightest provocation. They went about their lives as best as they could and they endured. That is why this cannot be allowed to happen!"
"Exactly," Vijay agreed. "Do you know what the people do today, Excellency? They fight. The Sultan has shown them that there is a chance for a better life if they follow him. He has given them land and money and the knowledge necessary to make that happen and so they follow him. "The people are loyal, Excellency, even if some of the old wealthy families are not. And they greatly outnumber those that follow Birla. The people will fight to the last man for the Sultan because the Sultan has proven to them that he has their best interests foremost in his thoughts. Birla does not understand this and, in the end, it will be his undoing."
Neela stared at the young man in front of her for a long time. Finally, in a flat voice, she said, "My son planned this."
"No," Vijay corrected her. "He did everything in his power to prevent this. He has systematically undermined the old alliances that fought to keep the traditional ways in place, and he has replaced many of those men who held positions of power with ones that he trusts and who share his goals. He plays Palace politics very well, Excellency, and in most cases the people involved rarely know he is doing so. Birla was the last man of any real power remaining. I do not know if he finally recognized what the Sultan was doing, or if he simply got tired of waiting. Personally, I believe it is probably the latter. Birla is too arrogant and self-centered to recognize the moves the Sultan made. I also believe that the situation exploded on him unexpectedly."
Neela had been watching her companion carefully as he spoke. "In what way?" she questioned.
"I believe Birla was the man who led the Janissaries today, but I do not believe he went there to kill Rajeev Subramanian. Birla may be blinded by the desire for power, but he is not stupid. The time he spent as Bangalore's representative to the Indian government taught him that it does not pay to alienate his neighbors. If his intent had been to kill Rajeev, he would not have gone personally because he would know that he could ill afford to be directly linked to such an action . . . particularly in light of the now-public planned alliance between the two families. I believe his intent was exactly as he voiced it to you . . . to bring the entire Subramanian family to the Palace to use as leverage to draw the Sultan and his prospective wife back to this country."
"Could Mr. Subrmanian have triggered this in some way?"
Vijay shook his head. "It is unlikely. Rajeev would not have risked his wife or children in a violent confrontation . . . not when he knew that it would take time for the Sultan to be drawn back. He would have agreed to what Birla wanted, playing for time. We may never know what precipitated the violence, Lady. But I do believe that Rajeev's dying words to me were correct . . . war is upon us, whether we like it or not, and we must turn our attention to the safety of the Sultan and the best interests of our people."
"Hadji!" Neela exclaimed, whirling away to begin pacing once more. "If what you say is true about the announcement of his betrothal, he could already be on his way back here. He must be warned!"
"I attempted to do so very soon after Rajeev's death. I could not reach him personally, but was able to leave a message on both his answering machine and that of Ms. Subramanian. I told him to call back . . ."
"Not here!"
"No, not here. I specifically warned him that the Palace telephones are not secure. The number I left was to a local village near the Subramanian home. A man that can be trusted is waiting there for his call with a warning message."
"Did you try the Quest Compound?"
"I have a third number, but I do not know whom it belongs to and do not have it memorized. I have only had the need to call the Sultan twice since he named me to the Council a year ago. Normally, he contacts me."
Neela chewed her lip thoughtfully. "The other number must be that of Quest Compound. But I hesitate to try to call that one. For one thing, we have no idea which phones we can trust and which ones we cannot. And for another, I know that Benton Quest has been ill. Hadji will not appreciate it if we stress Dr. Quest further by alerting him that there are problems here that could be a danger to his adopted son. No, if Hadji is still in the United States, he will get the message you left for him. And if he has already left for Bangalore, then alerting the Quests will be of no use."
"What do we do then?"
Neela turned to gaze at him again. "We gather as much information as we can, we try to get the people loyal to my son to safety, and we wait for direction from the Sultan. I do not believe we have any other choice."
