Ash & Tara and the Emerald Dagger

Sujit Saraf

Description

7 July 1924. Sultana Daku, notorious leader of a gang of bhantu dacoits that terrorized the towns and villages of the United Provinces, awaits Lt. Col. Samuel Pearce s arrival in Haldwani jail. It is Sultana s last night. In the morning he will be hanged. Wrapped in a haze of charas and nostalgia, the daku speaks all night as the Englishman listens. He recounts tales of incredible feats and narrow escapes, of the camaraderie he shared with his bhantu companions, of his love for the nautanki dancer Phulkanwar, and of the shocking betrayal that brought him to the gallows. But even as Pearce and the reader are drawn into Sultana s confession, the contradictions that emerge reveal the daku s own demons his fears, superstitions and ruthless excesses and an unshakeable belief in his criminal destiny that clashes all too often with his secret longings and hopes. Combining swashbuckling adventure with a moving story of human frailty and fortitude, The Confession of Sultana Daku is a grand narrative that is as mesmerizing as it is unsettling. Told with remarkable flair, passion and a rare sensitivity, it seals Sujit Saraf s reputation as a master storyteller.

Informations

• Publié par: Penguin Books Ltd
• Date de parution: 13 novembre 2009
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9788184753868
• Langue: English

Extrait

JEANNE PERRETT
Ash & Tara and The Emerald Dagger

PENGUIN BOOKS
Contents
About the Author
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Author s Note
Acknowledgements
Copyright Page
PUFFIN BOOKS
The Emerald Dagger
Jeanne Perrett has taught English for over twenty-five years and is the author of several international course books for children. She lives in Greece with her husband and their four children.
Prologue
Northern India, 1557
The boy awoke, threw off the thin cotton cover and sat bolt upright, his heart beating fast and his body cold with damp sweat. He glanced quickly around the tent to reassure himself. Yes, it had been a dream. The same dream that had visited him night after night. A battle, shouting, chaos, confusion, arrows, a sense of terrible danger, the sound of furious galloping Then a horse appears through a cloud of dust, someone bends down and reaches towards him and, just as he is about to see who the mysterious horseman is, fear floods through him and he jolts upright and awake.
A slash of light filled the tent as a servant entered and knelt.
Your Majesty, I have been sent to awaken you and tell you that the time has come.
Akbar looked up.
Do we have news of the enemy s whereabouts? Have my scouts returned? he asked, rising from his low bed and splashing his face with cold water from the earthenware bowl which the servant held out for him.
We got back just before sunrise. Another man, his shadow huge and dark against the light entered the tent, holding a breastplate and a helmet. Magesh, said Akbar, inclining his head slightly at his Master of Arms, the strongest man in his army. Magesh bowed.
The news is not good, Your Majesty. Raja Ali Mal has gathered his army in the foothills. We believe they are planning to attack the fort of Panjipat this morning with a view to taking it and then the town. We must surround and surprise them before they can advance.
Are we ready? asked Akbar, slipping his arms through the armour and fastening the thick leather straps.
We are armed, but whether we can ever be ready
Akbar looked at Magesh. He knew what he was thinking. That he, Akbar, son of Humayun, was, at not yet fifteen years old, too young to lead an army, let alone defend the empire he had inherited.
If we are armed and if we are united, then we are ready, said Akbar.
Shall I have your horse saddled, Your Majesty? asked Magesh.
I thought you knew, replied Akbar, walking out of the tent and into the bright morning sunshine. I may be the son of an emperor but I ride like a village lad. Free. Fearless. And without a saddle. Come, I think we have no more time to lose.
Their camp was just outside the town of Panjipat and they rode towards the hills-a thousand men, orange, red and yellow headscarves and pennants fluttering led by Akbar on his white horse. As they stormed over the sandy ground, he knew that Magesh s hope of arriving in secret was a fool s one.
He was familiar with this northern territory. On these level plains the enemy would be able to hear them thundering forward long before they caught sight of the sand the horses were kicking up. Their only chance of victory was in their might and numbers. He had good men behind him and many of them. He also knew that they were about to face a formidable enemy. Raja Ali Mal was wealthy and determined to gain new territory, at any cost. What Akbar did not know was whether they would meet an organized army or a ramshackle bunch of opportunists.
But whatever happened, Akbar rejoiced in riding his horse now. When he was astride a horse, he felt like a boy again; full of energy and courage and with a heart as light as a kite.
They reached the foothills. Akbar tugged on his reins and gave the order to halt. He veered around on his horse and faced his men.
We have no idea where they might be now, he said to them. They may have spread out or they may be gathered in one place. This terrain is rocky and dangerous. Our horses can only go so far. If you have to dismount and continue on foot, leave someone with the animals. Magesh, take your men up and to the left. I will take the right. They will have heard us coming and that means they have the upper hand. Surprise and tactics are theirs, not ours. We have only strength and numbers on our side.
He started to lead his men up and into the hills, watching as Magesh did the same on the far side, leaving one group to spread out and maintain guard at the front. Out of nowhere, a shower of arrows flew through the sky, hitting the men directly behind Akbar and they fell from their horses, thudding to the hard ground.
Forward! yelled Akbar but suddenly dark shapes started to appear from behind rocks, from within the hills and awful battle cries filled the air.
Dismount and advance! cried Akbar, grabbing the long sword at his side.
The horses were confused at being free of their mounts. Some reared up, some started to gallop away and Akbar s army was suddenly in chaos. They were surrounded by men with daggers, swords, bows and arrows and Akbar could see and hear his men groaning in agony as they fell to the ground, one by one. But this was no time to tend to the dying or wounded.
He had to find Raja Ali Mal. If he could find and capture the head of the army, the leader of the rebellion, then the rest of them would surrender. He twisted around and swept his sword here and there in the dust and confusion, lashing out at the enemy forces, relying only on his keen hearing to reach his targets. His hands felt slippery. He glanced down and saw that they were wet with blood. Ducking down, arrows flying over his head, he ran over the rocks and up into the hills. As he had told Magesh, he was a village lad in spirit, and being young and agile, these rocks and crevices held no fear for him. The shouts and terrible cries from below grew distant as he crouched behind a large rock and looked all around. He heard the sound of pebbles slipping just ahead of him. Someone was behind the rock next to him.
He grabbed his sword with both hands and was about to advance and take a mighty swipe when he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head. He staggered backwards, almost reeling to the ground, his vision dazed and blurred.
Surrender, you young fool! sneered a voice close to his ear. The town of Panjipat is ours. Concede defeat and we might let you live. Akbar looked up and saw the face of Raja Ali Mal grinning at him cruelly.
Never! said Akbar and, summoning all his strength, he tried to raise his sword but as he did so, he felt it being tugged from his hands.
Good try, said Raja Ali Mal, waving the sword and pushing him backwards with its hilt, sending Akbar sprawling on to the ground. I ll admit you re brave but this time you re outwitted. And since you are so stubborn, looks like this will be your last time, boy.
Akbar realized he was unarmed and completely helpless. His head was swimming from the blow and he could feel himself being dragged over the rocks and down the hills to the plain. He grew weaker with each terrible knock to his body.
Magesh! Where are you? he managed to call out. For the first time in his short life he felt truly terrified.
I m here, Your Majesty, Akbar could hear the voice of his Master of Arms but in his confusion could not make out where it was coming from. He could only see a dark man somewhere behind Raja Ali Mal.
Someone raised a hand high above his head and there was a flash of his own steel sword. Then, as if in a dream, he saw a cloud of dust and the thundering sounds of a horse galloping towards him reached his ears.
The mysterious horseman! Akbar s thoughts were so confused that he no longer knew if he was awake or dreaming, alive or dead.
The horseman, his white robes billowing, swept past them. Akbar s sword fell with a clatter from the hands of Raja Ali Mal, now bewildered and weaponless.
Someone bent down towards Akbar. The horseman s face was swathed in a white cloth, and only his bright eyes could be seen, piercing into the boy s eyes. The man was holding out a dagger. It was a wonderful dagger; heavy, golden, with one enormous shining green emerald in the centre of its large, curved handle. Akbar stared at it and up into the eyes of the man. A shiver of knowing and truth shot through him. He had a sudden memory of the kind eyes of his father, Humayun. But his father had died just over a year ago. The eyes which now looked down at him with compassion and love could not be his.
Take this, young emperor, the stranger was saying, and Akbar grabbed the dagger. As soon as he held it in his hands, he felt a surge of energy and strength and, without thinking of what he was doing, he stabbed upwards with it, whilst seizing his own sword with his other hand.
He heard a cry of terrible agony and saw Raja Ali Mal fall. Akbar had no idea if he had stabbed the Raja or if the horseman had swiped and felled him. He whipped around to see where his saviour was. The man was galloping away.
Wait! cried Akbar. Who are you?
The horseman, swathed in white robes, reared to a sudden halt and twisted around.
It matters not who I am, he called across the shimmering sand. Know me only as the giver of the emerald dagger. It will bring you good fortune, O Akbar the Great, emperor of India! Always be wise. Always be just. And always keep the emerald dagger close by you. Then he banged his thighs hard against his horse and disappeared in a cloud of dust, sand and light.
Magesh appeared by Akbar s side. His face was contorted with anger.
We have lost many men, he said. That was a shambles. We were disorganized and weak. He almost spat as he spoke. But, thanks to me, they are retreating, he continued. I managed to mortally wound Raja