Chapter 1: The Boy with Ink-Stained Hands
It was in 1643 when Lahore was in the zenith of the Mughal
Empire, a jewel of art, poetry and intrigue. The Grand Library was a refuge to
which not many people knew of and it was hidden in between the marble halls and
domes of the imperial palace. The and death-dew scrolls and manuscripts of all
Hindustan were here, and it was here that a lad called Zameer lay his days
a-crouch over parchment and forbidden ink. Zameer was a lad of sixteen, and
sharp as a scholar in his memory, and as dangerous as a blade in his curiosity.
Being orphaned in a famine at Multan, he had been brought up by Master Farhad,
the royal calligrapher, who realized that he had an unnatural skill in reading
old Persian and Sanskrit, not to mention Syriac. Zameer did not want to write
official histories or to copy royal decrees. He used to creep into the
forbidden area, where scrolls sealed with the Emperor seal were stored. It was
there he discovered the manuscript--in a midnight-blue binding, wax-sealed, and
with the word Naqsh-e-Khoon--The Blood Design, written on it. He was not
allowed to touch it. Yet the wax was already broken.
Chapter 2: Whispers in the Scroll Room
Later at night, when the palace was silent and the
chandeliers were lighting dimly, Zameer went to the library. He struck one of
his oil lamps, and drew the manuscript off the shelf. When he turned over its
old leaves the room seemed different. The ink glimmered rather than black. it
was not poetry or prose, but a confession, by an unknown courtier, and related
to a conspiracy to dethrone the Emperor Shah Jahan. Every page had secrets:
secret alliances, names of traitors, codes hidden as poems. The same name
recurred everywhere--Aftab Beg, a very strong noble, and a intimate relative of
the imperial family. But the betrayal was not what Zameer found most
disturbing, it was that line that sounded like a curse repeating itself in the
margins: Only one with ink-stained hands shall awaken the truth. The paper
appeared to answer Zameer. Certain lines would show themselves when he touched
the page only. Others dissolved and came back as though in the night. He had
ceased to read a book. He was reading the book.
Chapter 3: The Blood Letter
One week after, Master Farhad fell when he was offering his
morning prayers. His hand had been covered with red, but not with ink, but
blood. The court doctors asserted it to be poison. Others murmured that it was
punishment of the gods. Zameer alone was better informed. A torn sheet of the
midnight manuscript was found in the satchel of Master Farhad, wrapped in a
prayer-cloth-written to Zameer, son of no name. It said, they are spying. The
truth thou has discovered, must not come to light, or many will go down with me
into silence.” Zameer had a panic in his chest. Had he read the manuscript,
Farhad should have attempted to save him. That shelter had taken his life. That
night Zameer escaped out of the palace and carried the manuscript under his
robes. He was not willing to risk remaining. The same person who had silenced
Farhad would definitely come after him. Yet before going, he pushed one thing
underneath the body of Farhad-- a jasmine flower, the favorite of Mira.
Chapter 4: The Princess in the Window
Zameer could think of a single person who could possibly
make sense of the power of the manuscript, Princess Mira, the daughter of
Emperor Shah Jahan. Mira was non-political and non-pious unlike her siblings. She
was a poet, shut up in a tower of her own palace, and was able to write verses
which even the Emperor himself had read with amazement. Years earlier they had
met when Zameer had brought a book of Persian ghazals to her chamber. After
that, they shared poems in the spine of books, words that were never uttered
but drenched in desire. Mira, who was a princess, knew more of forbidden
knowledge than others. He climbed into the wall of her garden in the early
morning. And she waited, as who had dreamed that he would come back. Her hands
shook when he put the manuscript in her lap. She had seen it before, she
whispered. My mother had a copy. It is not history--it is prophecy, said she.” Zameer
looked at her. Prophecy of what? Of blood moon. Of fire. As of a betrayal in
invisible ink.”
Chapter 5: The Cipher of Flames
Zameer and Mira worked on the manuscript in secret for days.
Over the firelight and warm breath new verses were discerned--coded words,
charts, even ancient maps of secret palace rooms. There was one verse which
Mira could not finish: the name of traitor shall burn all alone in the garden
beneath the tomb, where seven jasmine trees guard stone. That night they
discovered the tomb--an old forgotten tomb beneath the garden of Shalimar. Around
a stone platform there were seven jasmine trees. It consisted of a single
scroll which was hidden in a copper urn beneath it. And on it were written the
names of the conspirators, and the list was bound up in blood. And there at the
bottom of the wax burned a name known to me: Mira. Mira reeled. “My name… Why?”
Zameer gazed at her with pounding heart. Unless, it is not you. It is somebody
using your name!” They were both aware of who. Her brother--prince Murad,
second-born to the throne. He was never able to understand her relationship
with their father. and now it looked like he had intended to set her up.
Chapter 6: The Night of Broken Stars
On the following night the skies were red. Above Lahore a
blood moon was glowing, as the manuscript had predicted. Within the palace the
Emperor had been seized with a violent illness, to which the food had been
impregnated with the crushed poppy and ashes. The guards of the city poured in
and started arresting people, and Mira went under palace arrest. There was one
thing Zameer could do--give the manuscript to the most trusted of the viziers
of the Emperor, Nawab Ashraf. However, when he came into the chamber of vizier
he beheld something that made his blood turn cold. Nawab Ashraf had already
gone through the manuscript. It is too late, said the vizier, smiling. Did you
think you alone were witty Enough to follow its ink? Zameer drew back. You have
poisoned the Emperor? I did no more than open the gate, he said. The traitors
passed on by themselves. Then he beat Zameer about the head with a jewelled
cane. When the blood came to his eyes he saw the manuscript fall out of his
hand--and burn in the fireplace.
Chapter 7: The Last Voice
Zameer woke up in a jail underneath the palace. His head
pounded, his body pained and across the cell was someone he never expected to
see--Princess Mira. The manuscript was lost, the evidence burnt away, she had
been convicted of treason. I have failed you, said Zameer. Mira smiled a
little. And what you told me was true. That is more than most rulers ever had.”
Zameer crawled nearer. Nothing is left of the flower one gave to Farhad, have
you? She nodded. It is in me. Then all was not lost, he leaned and whispered. There
in the petals of the dried jasmine Zameer had torn out before the vizier had
stolen it there was a slip of the manuscript that might serve to prove the
plot. Enough to acquit Mira. And who would take credence of them?
Chapter 8: The Emperor’s Dream
However, still alive, emperor Shah Jahan suffered in his
fever and saw visions. A white woman. A youngster with ink-stained hands. His
concubines referred to it as insanity. His priests referred to it as divine. But
the Emperor regarded it as memory. He sent to bring out both prisoners to him. And
Mira kneeled at her father and talked of truth, of poetry, of treason in the
darkness at his court. Next Zameer moved, trembling, and held the fragment of
manuscript, which he displayed in the jasmine. The eyes of the Emperor opened. He
had the smell recalled. The flower was the same that his late Empress Mumtaz
wore. He said, with a sigh, I believe you. And with that the tables turned.
Chapter 9: The Fall of the Vizier
At daybreak Nawab Ashraf and Prince Murad were taken. There
were secret passages in their rooms and they had maps, poisons and intercepted
letters. And the Emperor who was still feeble promulgated a royal edict in
which he exonerated Mira, and appointed Zameer the historian of the court. The
marble halls Zameer was walking in were the first in his life, and he was not a
servant anymore, he was a witness of truth. The paper had been burnt. But the
truth, which it contained, had already been communicated. Zameer started his
own version. The Midnight Manuscript: As Remembered by the One Who Was meant to
Forget.
Chapter 10: The Ink Never Fades
Years passed. Lahore was back to peace. The Emperor became
aged, and Mira assumed the direction of most of the affairs of court, a silent
queen, excepting in name. Zameer remained with her, and he wrote not only
history, but the feeling that existed between the lines. The two never got
married. But they loved, in love deep and name-less. He wrote every night. And
each morning she read. On the last day of his life when his hands were no
longer able to hold a pen, he said, in a small voice, The ink… did not fade. Mira
smiled and tears came. “No, Zameer. It will never.
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