But as soon as the enemies heard that Nadir Shah had reached Iran, their courage collapsed. Just the sound of his powerful voice was enough for the enemies to surrender. While Nadir Shah was entering Tehran, the enemies pleaded with the prince for peace and came under his protection. When Nadir Shah heard this, he believed that it was all because of the diamond. It was the power of the diamond that had defeated his enemies and won the lost game.
When the prince returned victorious, the public welcomed him with great pomp and show. All of Tehran glittered with the light of lamps. Every street echoed with songs of happiness.
The court convened, poets sang odes of praise. Nadir Shah rose with pride and adorned the prince’s crown with the Mughal-e-Azam. Shouts of ‘Hail, Hail’ came from all sides. From the glitter of the diamond the splendour of the prince’s face increased twofold. Nadir Shah’s heart filled with paternal love; the Nadir who had made rivers of blood flow in Delhi was now shedding tears of pride and joy.6
Suddenly the sound of a gun was heard—bang! bang! The court was shaken. People’s hearts quailed. Alas, lightning had struck! Alas, misfortune! The sound of the gun was still ringing in everyone’s ears when the prince collapsed to the ground like a felled tree. His diamond-decorated crown fell at Nadir Shah’s feet.
Nadir Shah raised his hand and said, crazed with anger and sorrow, ‘Catch the murderers!’ And he fell down upon the dead body of the prince, completely distraught. All of his life’s hopes had come to an end.
People ran towards the assassins. Again the sound was heard—bang! bang!—and both assassins fell. They had committed suicide. They were both rebel leaders.
Oh, human desires! Your foundations are so feeble. A wall built on sand collapses in the rain but even without rain your wall is soon buried under earth. You can have some hope for a lamp in a windstorm, but there is no hope for you. Compared to your fickleness, a children’s playhouse is an unmovable mountain and a whore’s affection firmer than a sati’s resolve.
People lifted Nadir Shah from the prince’s body. Their hearts were shaken by the sound of his crying. Tears were flowing from everyone’s eyes. What had happened was so unexpected, so brutal, so merciless.
Nadir Shah picked up the diamond from the ground. He looked at it once with a sorrowful gaze, then put the crown back on the prince’s head and told his vizier to bury the diamond with the prince’s body.
It was night. Tehran was filled with mourning. Nowhere was seen the light of lamp or fire. No one lit a lamp or cooked a meal. The pipes of the opium-smokers were cold. But there were torches glowing in the cemetery. The prince’s funeral was in progress.
When the last prayer had been said, Nadir Shah laid the crown in the grave next to the body with his own hands. Masons and sculptors were at hand and right away a tomb of bricks, stones and lime began to be built.
For a whole month Nadir Shah didn’t stir from the spot for even a moment. He used to sleep there and run his kingdom from there. The idea had stuck in his heart that the diamond was the source of all his troubles, the cause of his downfall and destruction.
Translated from the Urdu by Afroz Taj
Road to Salvation1
A peasant feels as much pride at the sight of his harvest field as a soldier takes pride in his red turban, a beautiful lady in her jewellery and a doctor in the crowd of patients waiting to see him. Whenever Jhingur looked at his cane fields he felt a wave of enthusiasm washing over him. His three bighas of land would yield him an easy six hundred rupees. And if by God’s grace the rates went up, they’d yield even more. Both his bullocks had grown old so he’d buy a new pair at the Batesar fair. If he could find two more bighas of land, he’d acquire them. Why worry about money? The moneylenders were pleading with him. He thought no end of himself, and so there was hardly anyone in the village he hadn’t fought with.
One evening he was sitting with his son in his lap, shelling peas. Suddenly, he saw a flock of sheep coming towards him. He said to himself, ‘This is not the way for sheep to pass. Can’t they go along the dyke? Why should they be driven along this path? They’ll eat and trample the crop. Who’ll compensate for that? It must be Buddhu, the shepherd. He’s become so haughty, just look at his nerve! He can see me standing here but he doesn’t bother to drive his flock back. What good has he ever done me that I should put up with this? If I want to buy a ram from him he’s sure to demand five rupees. Everywhere you can get a blanket for four rupees but he won’t settle for less than five.’
By now the sheep had reached close to the harvest. Jhingur yelled, ‘Hey you, where do you think you’re taking those sheep? Do you have any sense?’
Buddhu said meekly, ‘Master, they can pass through the boundary path. If I take them back they will have to travel several extra miles.’
‘And do you expect me to allow you to trample my field to save you the hassle of a detour! Why didn’t you take them through some other boundary path! Do you take me for a helpless tanner or has your money gone into your head? Turn them back!’
‘Master, allow me to go just today. If I come back this way ever again you can
