Rose Attar

ROSE ATTAR
(Short story)

SRIPADA SUBRAHMANYA SASTRY
Translated from the original in Telugu by
DR. M VEERABHADRA SASTRY

Another step forward, the Dewan comes into view.

Several kinds of people, fawning, waiting and calling on him in his crowded room are already in view. They included prominent citizens, kinsfolk of the king and employees of various grades. Some of them noticed the new arrival, Shukurali Khan.

Khan stood near the room and peeped in. He straightened himself and with stretched hands held the small Attar vial, pulled the cork out and after a split second replaced it.

The fragrance that spread in the air in that flash of time made everyone of those present take a serious note of it. Some of the Jawans nearby felt intoxicated. The gentlemen inside the chamber inhaled deeply with enlarged nostrils. The Thanedar who stood behind the Dewan glancing over the papers before him looked up with surprise and interest: “So, the Khan comes!” he said to himself and diverted his glance in embarrassed puzzlement.

Dewanji jerked his head up and in a stern voice demanded; “What odour is this?” His irritation found an expression in feigned cough. A dark patch in pleasant moonlight.

The Attar made of khus-khus gave, no doubt, a strong scent but was very pleasing. The Dewan calling it an “odour” moved many of the audience to mirth, but they suppressed their giggle, transferring it to their looks. The Thanedar turned his head glancing significantly at a prominent man in the audience. Even the Jawans felt the coarseness of the Dewan and bent their heads biting their lips.

Khan was stupefied. Dewanji’s choice of words, he felt, came as a portent. The Dewan was just around fifty and there could be no justification for him to be averse to the fragrance.

Very recently, Khan visited Golkonda, it took two difficult months for him to gain entry into the palace. He had to work out his way to the vizier for over several weeks. But, once he could reach him, there were no further problems. The vizier was clay in his hands as soon as the same khus-khus Attar was shown to him. Not only the vizier, the others too and even the Nawab himself had appreciated the quality of his scents.

As against the turmoils at Golkonda, it took two difficult months for him to gain entry into the palace. He had to work out his way to the vizier for over several weeks. But, once he could reach him, there were no further problems. The vizier was clay in his hands as soon as the same khus-khus Attar was shown to him. Not only the vizier, the others too and even the Nawab himself had appreciated the quality of his scents.

As against the turmoils at Golkonda, it was a walk over here in Peddapuram. The day on which he set his foot, he gathered all the information necessary. The Thanedar was won over the second day. On the following day he gained entry into the fort. And now, this blockade!

The Hindu royalty and gentry did not fancy much for pleasures like this, he knew. That did not mean they were cool to such things. Even so, Khan could not swallow the fact that a person only next to the king was as insensitive as to call the fragrance of a rare Attar merely an “odour”. It was not com­patible with the dignity of a royal court. Was it such that the Dewan was unaware of the slur he was creating on the image of his ruler or was it an indication of the royal attitude too being similar?

Khan grew uneasy about the outcome of his trip to Peddapuram but he did not give way to despondency. He looked at the door-keeping Jawans with vacant eyes.

The Thanedar directed his glance to the door and called the Jawan in a loud voice. The Jawan went in obediently and reported that an Attar merchant had come seeking audience. The Thanedar added in a low tone: “Yes, the same saheb I told you about.” But the Dewan took no note immediately. After a few seconds, the Dewan said, without lifting his head and in a biting tone, “Does the fellow wish to open a shop right in the fort?”

Khan’s face became white with cold rage. The Jawan and even the Thanedar were dumbfounded. But an old scholar among the audience opened his toothless mouth seizing the opportunity, “If you kindly pardon my impertinence...” Dewanji still continued to exert feigned absorption in the papers before him. But the scholar continued undeterred, enlisting the support of others by his earnest looks. “If may not be entirely charitable to remark that the fellow is trying to open a shop here. However he appears to be an enlightened man. Because the Thanedar could only in­troduce him, his abilities remain unexplored. And, would it be proper for such a one to speak about his own accomplishments? So, I think he did a right thing in making his Attar speak for himself. Quite appropriate, is it not? He comes from Delhi, where he moves in noble circles. He deserves the honour of an audience.”

Dewanji kept silent. But he put the pen down and picked up his snuff box. The Thanedar knew it was an indication that the Dewan relented. He directed the Jawan to send Khan in. Dewanji sat with knitted eyebrows. His eyes sparkled with some sudden devilry.

Khan came in and salaamed the Dewan. “I have come all the way from Delhi for the honour of presenting myself before your honour, he said.

The Dewan responded only with a batting of his eyelids. “On what purpose?”

“I make Attars, your honour. I was told that Peddapuram was the only kingdom worth visiting after Golkonda empire in the south. So, I came on wings to your august person.”

“Yes, yes. One on wings is sure to fly over to one place or the other.”

Khan was hurt but did not lose his balance. “As your honour so aptly put it, one had to fly to a place where he hopes to find patrons like your honour. That was why, four generations ago my forefathers left Persia for good and migrated to Delhi. They had bright chances to join the army but could not leave the traditional skill that went with the family. We have been pre­paring Attars under the great patronage of the Delhi emperors.”

Noncommittally, the Dewan said, “Could be. He still wore a stern look. Khan went on.

“I obtained leave from my father and came down to the south in order to serve the royalty here. I am happy that the Nawab of Golkonda and his viziers appreciated my industry.”

“Then, it is well.”

“As I already submitted, I heard about the Peddapuram kingdom and its great traditions. I came rushing here. With your kind indulgence, sir,” said Khan and placed a small container with a red soft silk lining before the Dewan. A small bottle lay in it. The eyes of the audience were filled with greed as Khan explained:

“This is jasmine Attar. The bottle contains only two tolas of it. But it took two spring seasons to make it.”

The Dewan just made a splutter of a sound with his tongue.

“It would be improper on my part to eulogize on my product. Your honour can assess it as well. But one request. Please keep the bottle a little away from the face when your honour uncovers the cork.”

All the men around steadied themselves with concentration anticipating the strong scent. The Dewan scoffed: “As if we are dying to uncover it.”

It was with difficulty that Khan maintained his poise at the crude, crushing words of the Dewan. He was not unaware how men turn into brutes intoxicated by power. Moving among thousands of officers in Delhi, he learnt the ways of the world. He was not incapable of hurling a fitting retort. But that would not help the purpose on which he went there. Shukurali Khan valued his reputation more than the monetary gains. For that, it was essential for him to meet the king. The kings were usually surrounded by beasts like this.

He resolved to keep unruffled even if it demanded much effort. An alternative to a cutting repartee was to allow him to make an ass of himself. As the Khan was about to say something, the Thanedar intervened, “Dewanji would scrutinize the Attar at a convenient time. You may meanwhile submit why, you came here and what you want.”

The Khan took out another small casket with a green silk lining. It held a small glass vial with some red essence in it. The bottle was sparkling like a diamond. All eyes were rivetted on it except, of course, those of the Dewan. Blow after blow to Khan! But he remained stolid.

“I prepared this Attar specially for His Majesty, the king of Peddapuram, I heard that the Nawab of Golkonda favoured Attar of khus-khus and so specially made it. With a similar devotion, I prepared this rose Attar for His Majesty, as I learnt that he favoured this variety. The bottle contains only a tola of it. I used Kashmir variety of roses for that. In and around Delhi, we get only the Persian roses. So, it took full two years for the preparation.

Khan’s narration won appreciation and goodwill among the men in the room. Dewanji did not give out any such feelings. He simply said in a monotone: “No surprise. It takes time if one wants to produce good things.” He then added jeeringly: “At what cost price?”

Dewanji saw the effect of his words on Khan who was petrified and felt a viscious pleasure. The onlookers were dumbfounded.

A few moment passed. Khan controlled himself and found tongue. “You are aware, your honour, that it is intended as a present to His Majesty, the king of Peddapuram, a diamond among the royalty of the south. A question about its price cannot crop up except in disregard of propriety,” he said in a hurt, yet dignified, tone.

Dewanji feigned innocence and said: “We put the question only in the process of assessing how well you are honouring our lord.”

“Am I to conclude that there is no one to assess such things in the royal court?”

“You tell me it is intended for my king. Do you, then, think somebody could uncover the lid and examine the contents before it reached him?”

“If you graciously permit me to present……..”

“Well, we are the king’s servants and we have certain duties and functions.”

The eyes of the old scholar gleamed with mockery at the words of the Dewan. Was the Dewan behaving like one? Khan ventured a sarcastic dig: “Exactly what I would submit, your honour!”

The Dewan went on resenting the interruption: “Do the viziers at Delhi simply allow anything purported to be intended for their Emperor without the least scrutiny?”

All the men in the room who were sympathetic towards Khan recognized the impasse created by the evil genius of the Dewan. Among themselves, they communicated with one another their disgust through mute signs. The Thanedar in an attempt to save the situation, addressed his words to Khan: “Dewanji is extremely busy attending to some important matters. You may go now and come to wait on him later.”

Khan felt the warmth of sympathy from all others which soothed him in a way. He salaamed the Dewan and retraced his steps.

By the time he crossed the threshold of the room, a Jawan joined him and handed over the two containers.

Khan could not think of sleep that night. Neither could he relish food. He felt a dull pain in his head.

Scenes from his meeting with the Dewan earlier appeared and reappeared before him and made him live again those wounded moments of shame, helplessness, anger and hurt. Pointed glances of the Dewan, and his enquiry about the cost price of the rose Attar haunted his mind.

Life never moves uniformly smooth. Its ripeness and maturity warrant hurdles and challenges. There was pleasure in over­coming unforeseen difficulties, Khan reflected.

While the qualities of head lead life in some cases, the qualities of heart dominate in the other. Where more importance goes to the brain, people tend to become rigid and unsympathetic. Arts and appreciation of arts and skills go closer with the qualities of heart. The bliss arising out of artistic creation or temperament is the culmination of an untiring pursuit of artistic interests, with pure heart, dedicated attention, and undivided disposition toward keeping oneself and people around happy and comfortable. The creations of such people lend meaning and purpose and enrich the human existence. Khan was one such man.

Khan would not have felt upset if the Dewan refused his offer. Khan was never after money. He longed for recognition. If what he wanted was mere prosperity in trade, what need was there for him to undertake the arduous journey to the south? Viziers, opulent persons, dignitaries of the Moghul court” – all the more those who could appreciate his work – were many in Delhi. What brought him all the way was the reputa­tion of the king of Peddapuram, Sri Sri Sri Vatsavayi Chatur­bhuja Timma Jagapati Maharaja, as connoissuer of supreme taste –a greater one than the Sultan of Delhi. Khan could not resist the temptation. He did his best as he never did in his life till them. He flew on wings to the Andhra country, to Peddapuram.

And in Peddapuram! Did he land in a ditch with thorny bushes! He discovered that the diamond after which he came lay concealed in a heap of worthless pebbles. The dirty trick played by the Dewan was beyond even the much intrigue–given viziers of Delhi. The Peddapuram kingdom that was so attractive from afar was disappointing from within. He felt like one who lost his way in a forest of wild animals. He cursed himself for venturing into an unknown land.

But, how could the Maharaja know how an artist was suffering at the hands of his heartless servants? Are not many instances of dissatisfaction and resentment even in the reigns of great and just rulers merely caused by the stupid overactions of unfit men in higher s eats of echelon?

Khan began wondering whether he could ultimately get out with self-respect in tact, let alone honours from the court.

A distant crow of a cock heralded the dawn.

The first thing Khan did was to run to the Thanedar and fall at his feet. The Thanedar was aware that no one till date had produced such magnificent Attar in the court of Peddapuram. He was also aware that the Dewan did not want Khan to receive the honour due to him. Khan would rather lay down his life than disclose the cost price of the Attar. If it went to the notice of the king, he would undoubtedly extend his generous patronage to Khan. The Thanedar knew this for certain.

The Thanedar sat pensive for a while and abruptly shot a question, “Can you take a risk?”

“I find no way of keeping up my pride. Why live without it?”

“Then, listen carefully. It may not be possible for you now to enter the fort. In case you can enter, you may not be able to advance. Supposing you somehow advance, you cannot stay there long enough. But, if you can manage, there is a way to fulfil your desire.”

“I am all ears. sir.”

“The Maharaja mounts his best horse and goes out for a ride at seven thirty every morning. You should make an endea­vour to catch his eyes after he reaches the open yard inside the fort and before he crossed the main gate. At least, your khus-khus Attar must draw his attention to you.”

“As you command, sir.”

“Listen, Dewanji might have guessed this possibility. He would have taken steps to prevent the occurrence. Anyway, no orders have been issued until this minute. If you are lucky enough or the Maharaja is, this may not cross the mind of the Dewan. This is all I can do for you. Now, you are on your own.”

Khan let out a deep sigh.

“The one I presented yesterday to you was sandalwood Attar. Please accept this bottle of khus-khus. Dewanji had not been kind to me and had no chance to accept this. You were kind enough to guide me in what could be my last move. If I survive this day, I assure you, I shall cherish the help you rendered until my last breath.”

Khan bent his head and salaamed him thrice before hastily withdrawing.

Khan entered the fort.

He passed through the semi-circular path leading into the open yard. Four soldiers who were on watch swarmed around him and stopped him on the edge.

Blood boiled in Khan. With a mighty effort he mustered a composed appearance. “I am proceeding to call on Dewanji. Why do you stop me?”

“This is not the proper time to call on him. Go .” they cried harshly.

“I am not a total stranger. I called on him yesterday evening on business. It is in that connection I go again.”

“Not now.”

“Then lead me to the office·room of the Thanedar.”

“The Thanedar is with Dewanji”

“In that case, I shall wait in the room till he returns.”

“No waiting business in the office. You may as well go to his residence in the town and wait there.”

The discussion went on …….   pleads and counter pleads.

Khan gratefully remembered the advice–“Somehow manage to stay on long enough.” The soldiers had their orders from the Dewan not to let Khan advance. They felt happy that they could stall him. One by one several other people: thronged the scene. Some men moving in and out too stopped and looked on. Some persons of nobility who played chess and cards with the Maharaja arrived and watched the scene with interest.

New arrivals began enquiring as to what was happening. The soldiers explained the situation. Time passed on in a heavy tread. Khan heard his inner voice telling him that he had but to keep his ground for a mere few minutes more. Someone came rushing and whispered to the soldiers who were content to have managed to halt Khan’s advance. They suddenly moved into action and pressed Khan to get away.

Khan knew that the Maharaja had started. And so the soldiers wished to send him away. They might not argue any more but push him out of the way physically. Had all his effort to go in vain? Cannot he do anything?

Khan trembled with impotent rage. His eyes were blood shot. His looks became sharp like arrows. He flared up. “Is this the honour given to arts and skills in the famous kingdom of Peddapuram?” he shouted in a shriek. He pulled out the bottle of the rose Attar. All the men around stupidly stared at him.

“I prepared this specially for the use of the great connoisseur, Sri Jagapati. I held him in respect. I regarded him on par with the Sultan of Delhi. I had to build it up drop by drop. I fancied that this Attar would give me the recognition I wished for in my life. Having come here all the way, I ruefully recognised that the Lord of Peddapuram is surrounded by ignoble men. The fragrance of a rose can be felt far away. But the existence of the thorns around it is felt only when one approaches it. I do not take this as a discourtesy to me personally, nor to my rose Attar. I have no way left to reach the great lord. But, I would not take this with me. I would rather welcome death–­extinction of my family which keenly pursues this profession. Let the fame of the Peddapuram king, so vilely corrupted by the intrigues of the Dewan, live long and exude fragrance purified by my rose Attar.”

So saying, Khan held up his breath for a while and threw the bottle striking it against the wall of the fort.

The bottle broke into smithereens.

The gentry of the royal company gaped with blowing, thundering hearts.

A divine fragrance pervaded the air.
Men around felt intoxicated.

A few seconds passed. The audience regained senses and looked at Khan, who stood rooted to the ground as wood. They saw his fixed looks and turned .

Sri Sri Sri Vatsavayi Chaturbhuja Timma Jagapati Maharaja sat on his steed with eyes closed in a bliss. The steed lined its head high and was making an effort to breathe deeply.

People who visit the scene relate that the area smells like a rose even now.