Fit for a King III
Part III
Wisdom
Beloved audience, before revealing to you the denouement that you have been expecting, I am going to use a technique which I learnt from my Ustaad, Jalal-ud-Din Khan Abdul Qayyum the Wise. Many a would-be storyteller _ and I mention no name _ spoil a good narration by revealing too much too early. Let us go back a little bit.
Noor would later confide to her closest friend and confidante Nagueen Begum that after she had bitten into Sher Khan’s offering and squashed one piece between her palate and tongue, and let the explosion of the flavours released spread on her taste buds, the sensation she had experienced was the closest thing she knew to what she felt when the Emperor demanded a night of passion after he came back from a three-day Shikar. The Shahenshah closed his eyes and obviously wanted to say something complimentary, but only ecstatic chuckles came forth. He commanded that Sher Khan be given a special insignia which he called The Order of the Purple Baigan. Yes, the Wizard had triumphed again.
Meanwhile in the village Shaikh Mahaboob, having had no solace at all from beating his senior wife, took ill and locked himself in his room. But to everyone’s surprise, he suddenly appeared in the morning with a big smile on his face. He spoke to nobody, asked his servant Ali to run after Badmash the handsome rooster, catch him and tie his legs. He had a mission. Now Badmash
was as spectacular a fowl as anyone had set eyes upon. He had dark orange plumes intermingled with gold, and a glimmering black body with a bluish green shimmer, a crest as fleshy and as red as the sweetest Kashmiri cherries. His crystalline black eyes shone with menace. He crowed proudly and lustily, and was the uncontested master of Mahaboob’s farmyard. The zamindar at one time had had culinary designs on him, but had finally decided that he was worth much more as a sire of future feathered wonders. He loved Badmash, and had refused more than handsome offers from city folks who had wanted to own him. Never, he had sworn, I’d rather kill him than let someone else have him. But after having had his ears filled with venom by the green-eyed monster, he made up his mind to offer his prized possession to the Emperor. If he had rewarded that idolater Ram Parsad with a bag of gold for some measly brinjals, how many bags of gold would he not give for a bird of such magnificence?
The Shahenshah was mightily impressed when he saw the offering. There was not a single bird in his coop comparable in splendour to this newcomer. He consulted with his Chief Wazir on what might be a suitable reward, and all the time Shaikh Mahaboob’s eyes glinted in anticipation of a reward which would make the village shudder with awe. The Emperor finally clapped his hands, and a courtier arrived carrying five bags of gold. He looked at the monarch who nodded, and he advanced towards Mahaboob who eagerly stretched his hands to receive his reward. But at the very moment, Empress Noor stood up. Alam Panna, she said to her husband, I think you are making a mistake. Shaikh Mahaboob here will feel insulted if you offer him gold. He came to the palace to bring you a gift which money cannot buy. He came to honour you his emperor, he does not expect to be paid, he is not that sort of man. Are you, Shailkh Mahaboob? The zamindar was not much given to stammering or hesitation, he was the sort of man who said outright what was on his mind, and his listeners had better learn to live with that. But the assembled courtiers and palace visitors saw his lips quaver and heard no sound at first. You see, you have humiliated him, and he is overcome with shame, the Empress Noor added.
‘You did not come to the palace in the expectation of a reward, did you?’ the Emperor asked.
‘No, Alam Panna, of course not’.
‘But how can we show you our appreciation? You must let us show you some form of appreciation.’
‘Well, Alam Panna, if you insist on gold, I will…’
‘O Wise husband,’ Noor said, ‘I know what we can do, this pakora from Jannat which Sher Khan made, you said you wouldn’t share it with our prophet himself.
‘On whom be peace, the whole assembly chorused.’
‘Yes?’
‘I think this is the only fitting gift there is for our generous subject. Let us share it with this kind man.’ Whereupon she clapped her hands, and a servant appeared with a plate of Sher Khan’s aubergine creation, which filled the hall with its aroma.
‘Eat,’ Shahenshah Abdul Aleem Khan told the petrified zamindar. ‘It’s a dish fit for an Emperor.’
