RANI: (Gets up.) You believe all this, Larins. (As if in a dream, Wondering aloud.)
Yes … Yes … I must. I am a Queen … My poor people. My son … Dalip … (Pause.)
I must go now.
(She goes up to him.)
Oh Larins, I am afraid to like you.
LAWRENCE: Why?
RANI: For reasons the Resident understands.
LAWRENCE: And if the reasons were not there.
RANI: Then I wouldn’t be afraid.
(Pause.)
Oh Larins. (She takes his hand.) Larins, take this. (Hands him a diamond.) This is a symbol of our friendship and yours for safe-keeping. It belonged to His Highness and I value it greatly. Don’t lose it and don’t wear it. I must go now.
(She gets up.)
LAWRENCE: (Enthusiastically.) Did it really belong to the Lion?
RANI: Yes.
(Lawrence displays it on his robe.)
Don’t wear it, please.
LAWRENCE: Why?
RANI: Because it’s sacred.
LAWRENCE: (Hypnotized.) It’s beautiful!
RANI: Larins, what’s the matter? It seems to make you uneasy.
LAWRENCE: (Uneasily.) Oh no, no.
(Slowly he recovers, beams suddenly and swaggers about displaying the jewel to an imaginary audience.)
RANI: (Puzzled.) Please, Larins. Don’t.
(Pause.)
Are you all right?
LAWRENCE: (Absorbed.) Yes.
RANI: Then put it away.
HENRY: (Recovering.) Yes. Yes, of course.
RANI: (Putting on her veil.) Zubheda Begum salaams the Resident Sahib, and regrets that she could not interest him in her famous song.
(Lawrence returns the salaams. Lights fade.)
Act Two Scene 1
The Residency. Next day. It is late morning. The air quivers with heat and is full of the scent of white and yellow jasmine. Dust rises and whirls languorously at the slightest breeze. From near at hand comes the long, slow creaking of a Persian wheel, turning lazily. Water comes up and splashes out. Lawrence, Sher Singh, and Edwardes sit talking outside on the verandah. Lawrence is dressed in a chogah and is seated on a charpoy, leaning on a cushion. He smokes a hookah which is occasionally passed around to the other two, who are seated on the same charpoy to his left.
LAWRENCE: (Contemplative.) See those fierce plains, Edwardes! Everything has passed on them.
EDWARDES: Sir?
LAWRENCE: (Preoccupied.) Yes, they’ve all gone by; gone by this field on their way in or out of Hindustan—emperors, generals, saints, and beautiful women. Cities rose here in splendour, cities of the Aryas, the Mauryas …
EDWARDES: Cities of the Guptas, Moghuls.
LAWRENCE: They all rose and were destroyed and now lie forgotten among these wheatfields. So many great men passed on this ground—Alexander, Kanishka.
EDWARDES: Harsha, Timur, Babur.
SHER SINGH: What’s this—a roll-call?
LAWRENCE: (Continuing.) They’re only names. The peasant has seen it all. Today, tomorrow, yesterday—it’s the peasant who holds the Punjab.
SHER SINGH: Larins Sahib’s a philosopher this morning.
EDWARDES: Such glorious dust inspires philosophy even among Company men. Have a drink, sir? Sher Singh?
LAWRENCE: No thanks.
SHER SINGH: I’ll have some English wine. You Angrez know how to live.
LAWRENCE: (Continuing as if no interruption had taken place.) We are to all appearances more powerful in India than we ever were. Nevertheless, when our downfall comes it will be rapid and the world will wonder more at the suddenness of the Empire’s end than at all it achieved. Empires grow old and perish. Ours in India can hardly be called old, but seems destined to be short-lived—what with that bungling lot in Calcutta. We appear to have passed the brilliance and vigour of our youth, and it may be that we’ve reached a premature old age. Who knows, Sher Singh, who knows how many will come after the British?
EDWARDES: But the peasant will always be there.
LAWRENCE: Yes, the Punjab peasant will always be there. Isn’t it reasonable then, that we win him to our side? To win him, we must work for him, for his sake. The memory of the British should rest in the peasant’s heart, in his timelessness.
SHER SINGH: As Sadi says, ‘The smoke of the poor man’s heart goes up to heaven.’
LAWRENCE: He also says, ‘What matters is to die on a silken pillow, or on the cold earth?’
SHER SINGH: (Clapping.) Wah, wah! Only a silk pillow’s softer.
LAWRENCE: But death’s the same.
SHER SINGH: A conqueror’s talk of the peasant smacks of hypocrisy.
LAWRENCE: Perhaps.
SHER SINGH: To the peasant they’re all the same.
LAWRENCE: What do you mean?
SHER SINGH: The peasant is an excuse for other ambitions.
LAWRENCE: There’s much good we can do for him, Sher Singh.
SHER SINGH: Ah Larins, even the wisest men forget where good ends and power begins.
LAWRENCE: (Remembering.) Is it time for the Shah’ alami Gate?
EDWARDES: Yes, sir. I’ll go and gather the men.
(Exit.)
SHER SINGH: (Noticing a jewel in Lawrence’s hand.) Larins, what’s that?
LAWRENCE: (Embarrassed.) Why, a jewel.
SHER SINGH: Where did you get it?
LAWRENCE: Do you like it?
SHER SINGH: Let me see it.
LAWRENCE: (Embarrassed.) No.
SHER SINGH: Wah Guru! That’s the Koh-i-noor? Who gave it to you? Larins, please return it. You can’t wear it.
LAWRENCE: Why not?
SHER SINGH: Only His late Highness could wear it.
LAWRENCE: Why can’t I?
SHER SINGH: (Panicky.) Larins, put it away. You’ll spoil everything. The people won’t like it. Give it back.
LAWRENCE: No.
(Embarrassed pause as Lawrence’s face shows him struggling with himself. Suddenly replaces it in his pocket.)
SHER SINGH: Let’s go, Larins Sahib!
(Exeunt.)
Act Two Scene 2
Shah’alami Gate, Lahore. Half an hour later. Sher Singh, Edwardes, Abbot, and Lumsden are facing the audience and Lawrence is making a speech. Noise of crowd.
LAWRENCE: Again, most honoured citizens of Lahore: yesterday’s killing of a cow on this spot has grieved me personally. On behalf of the entire English community, I assure you that this will not happen again. Please accept our sincere apologies.
(Shouts and booing from the crowd.)
My dear friend, Sher Singh, who, as you know, comes from one of the noblest families …
(Shouts: ‘Sher Singh, Angrezi todi.’)
To convince you of our sincerity, I have
