CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Father Manoel Pinheiro's clean-shaven face was grim and his lips set tightly against the brisk air as he pushed a path through the crowded alley, headed toward the riverside palace of Nadir Sharif. Around him large black cauldrons of frying bread filled the dawn with the aroma of oil and spice. He had slipped from the mission house at first light and, clasping his peaked black hat tightly over his forehead, he had tried to melt inconspicuously among the rattling bullock carts and noisy street vendors. Now he paused for breath and watched as a large white cow licked the few grains of rice from the begging bowl of a dozing leper. The image seemed to capture all the despair of India, and he suddenly felt himself overwhelmed by the enormity of the Church's burden. Before he could move on, a crowd of chanting Hindus jostled him against a wall as they poured into a small, garishly decorated temple brimming with poly-colored heathen idols. On either side Hindu fakirs sat listlessly, long white hair streaming down over their streaked faces, their limpid eyes devoid of God's understanding. He shook his head sadly as he made the sign of the cross over them, and found his heart near bursting.
On every hand, he told himself, the fields are ripe unto harvest, the flocks wanting a keeper. For every soul in this forgotten land we bring to God and the Church, a hundred, nay a thousand, are born into eternal darkness, damned forever. Our task is overwhelming, even with God's help.
He thought of the Holy Church, the Society of Jesus, and their long years of disappointment in India. But now, at last, it seemed their hopes and prayers might be nearing fulfillment. After all the years of humiliation and ignominy, there seemed a chance, a genuine chance, that Arangbar, the Great Moghul himself, would at last consent to be baptized into the Holy Church. After him, all of India would surely soon follow.
Father Pinheiro crossed himself again, and prayed silently that God would make him a worthy instrument of His will.
The burden of India was by now a Jesuit legend. It had been taken up when the first mission came to the court of Akman over three decades before. And even now the pagan fields of India remained, in many ways, the greatest challenge of the Society of Jesus and the Holy Church.
India had, it was true, been held in the grip of Portuguese sea power for many years before the first mission arrived in Agra. But Portuguese arms and trade had not served the work of the Church. They had served the greed of Portuguese merchants and the coffers of Portuguese royalty. The lost souls of India were denied the Grace of the Holy Church.
Then, in 1540, a priest named Ignatius Loyola, once a nobleman and a soldier, founded the Society of Jesus, whose dual purpose was to defend the Holy Church against the Protestant Reformation and begin preaching the True Faith to the pagan lands of Asia and the Americas. In 1542 the Society of Jesus reached Portuguese Goa, on the very shores of India, in the person of Francis Xavier, a close friend of Ignatius Loyola's from student days at the University of Paris.
With Goa as base of operations, the society had immediately pushed farther eastward, reaching Japan and Macao a few short years later. Paradoxically, it was India itself that had initially eluded their influence. Finally, in 1573, the Great Akman journeyed south and encountered the members of the Society of Jesus for the first time. He was awed by their learning and moral integrity, and soon thereafter he posted an envoy to Goa requesting that a Jesuit mission be sent to his court. Three Jesuit fathers traveled to Fatehpur Sekri.
The Jesuits' hopes soared when they were immediately invited to debate the orthodox Islamic mullahs at Akman's court. The leader of the mission, a soft-spoken Italian father with encyclopedic learning, knew the Quran well in translation and easily refuted the mullahs' absolutist arguments—to the obvious delight of Akman. It was only after several months at Fatehpur Sekri that the three learned fathers began to suspect that Akman's real purpose in inviting them was to have on hand skilled debaters for entertainment.
Akman may have had scant patience with Islam, but it had grown obvious he had no desire to become a Christian either. He was an intellectual who amused himself by questioning the ideas and teachings of all faiths, with the inevitable result that he always found something in each to affront his own reason. He was, in fact, beginning to form the notion that he himself was as great a leader as any of the spiritual teachers he had heard about, and accordingly should simply declare himself an object of worship. After a decade the three Jesuits finally conceded their first mission was a failure and abjectly returned to Goa.
Almost a decade later, in 1590, Akman again requested that Jesuit fathers be sent to his court. Once more a mission was sent, and once more its members eventually concluded Akman had no real intention of encouraging Christianity in India. The second mission was also abandoned.
There remained some, however, in Goa and in Rome, who believed the Great Moghul Akman still could be converted. Furthermore, as the Protestant countries began to venture into the Indies, the political usefulness of having Portuguese priests near the ruler of India became increasingly obvious. Thus, in 1595, a third mission was sent to Akman's court. Father Pinheiro remembered well their instructions upon departing Goa. They would convert Akman if they could; but equally important now, they would ensure that Portuguese trading interests were protected.
The Jesuit fathers drew close to Akman, became valued advisers, and found themselves being consulted on questions ranging from whether Jesus was the Son of God or merely a Prophet, to the advisability of smoking tobacco. Still, the only lasting achievement of the mission was to extract from Akman a firman granting Jesuits the right to free exercise of the Catholic religion. They wanted his soul, and through it the soul of India, but the most they ever attained was his protection. He died a royal skeptic, but a sovereign whose religious tolerance shocked the dogmatic sixteenth-century world.
Father Pinheiro paused to study the outline of the Red Fort against the morning sky and listened to the azan call to Islamic prayer sounding from a nearby mosque. He smiled to think that the schism between the rule of Arangbar and the rule of Islam might soon be complete. Like Akman, Arangbar had never bothered to hide his distaste for the mullahs who flooded his court. He collected Italian paintings of the Virgin for his palace, even scandalizing the mullahs by hanging one in the Diwan-i-Am, and whenever one of the Jesuit fathers journeyed to Goa, there was always a request for more Christian art. True the Moghul’s understanding of blasphemy was erratic, as evidenced by a recent evening in the Diwan-i-Khas when, drunk and roaring with laughter, Arangbar had set a wager with the Jesuits on how long he could stand with his arms outstretched as a cross. But then he had built a church for the mission, and also provided them a house, which he now visited ever more frequently to secretly indulge his passion for forbidden pork.
A scant two months before, Arangbar had taken an action that sent the mission's hopes soaring. He had summoned the Jesuit fathers to baptize two of his young nephews, ordering the boys to become Christians. The mullahs had been outraged, immediately spreading the pernicious rumor he had done so merely to better remove them from the line of succession. In Goa, however, the mission was roundly congratulated on nearing its goal. If Arangbar became a Christian, many in his court and perhaps eventually all of India would someday follow.
This had all been before the arrival of the English heretic, Hawksworth. At the very moment when Arangbar's mind seemed within their grasp, there had now emerged the specter that all their work might be undone. Arangbar had treated the Englishman as though he were qualified to speak on theological matters and had even questioned him about the most Holy Sacrament, when the Church's doctrine regarding this Mystery had already been fully expounded to him by Father Sarmento himself. Arangbar had listened with seeming interest while the Englishman proceeded to tell him much that was contrary to the Truth and to Church teaching. When asked point blank, the Englishman had even denied that His Holiness, the pope, should be acknowledged head of the Universal Church, going on to characterize His Holiness' political concerns in almost scatological ter
ms. Father Sarmento, normally the most forbearing of priests, was nearing despair.
Most disturbing of all, Arangbar had only last week asked the Englishman by what means the Portuguese fortress at the northern port of Diu could be recaptured by India. The Englishman had confided that he believed a blockade by a dozen English frigates, supported by an Indian land army of no more than twenty thousand, could force the Portuguese garrison to capitulate from hunger!
Clearly Arangbar was growing eccentric. The English heretic had beguiled him and was near to becoming a serious detriment to Portuguese interests. To make matters worse, there was the latest dispatch from Goa, which had arrived only the previous evening. Father Pinheiro had studied it well into the night, and finally concluded that the time had come to stop the Englishman. He also concluded it was time to make this unmistakably clear to Nadir Sharif. As the situation continued to deteriorate, only the influence of Nadir Sharif could still neutralize the Englishman.
Father Pinheiro moved on through the jostling street, occasionally swabbing his brow. And as he looked about him, he began to dream of the day there would be a Christian India. It would be the society's greatest triumph. What would it be like? What would Arangbar do to silence the heretical mullahs? Would the time come when India, like Europe, would require an Inquisition to purify the sovereignty of the Church?
One thing was certain. With a Catholic monarch in India, there would be no further English trade, no Dutch trade, no Protestant trade. The declining fortunes of Portuguese commerce at Goa, the Protestant challenge to Portuguese supremacy in the Indies, would both be permanently reversed in a single stroke.
The thought heartened him as he looked up to see the sandstone turrets of Nadir Sharif’s palace gleaming in the morning sun.
"Father, it is always a pleasure to see you." Nadir Sharif bowed lightly and indicated a bolster. He did not order refreshments from the servants. "No matter what the hour."
"I realize the time is early. I wanted to find you at home. And to come here when there were the fewest possible eyes on the street." Pinheiro paused and then decided to sit. He was perspiring heavily from the walk, even though the real heat of the day lay hours ahead.
Nadir Sharif flinched at the Jesuit's school-book Persian and examined him with ill-concealed disdain, knowing word of his visit surely had already found the ears of the queen.
"Then I should ask the occasion for this unexpected pleasure." Nadir Sharif seated himself and discreetly examined the Jesuit's soiled black habit.
"The English trading fleet, Excellency. The news is most disturbing. I received a pigeon last evening from His Excellency, Miguel Vaijantes. The armada he dispatched along the coast to sweep for the English fleet returned three days ago, finding nothing. The English may have eluded us. He has now ordered the armada to sail north from Goa, into the bay, but by now the English fleet could be nearing Surat, or perhaps they have veered north to the port of Cambay. His Excellency fears that they may possibly escape our patrols entirely and make landfall. He has asked me to inform you privately that the firman for English trade must be delayed at all costs, until the English fleet can be sighted and engaged."
"I have made every effort. The Viceroy knows that." Nadir Sharif casually adjusted the jewel on his turban. "It has been stopped so far."
"But if the fleet lands? And if the heretic English king has sent new gifts for His Majesty?" Pinheiro tried to maintain his dignity as he nervously wiped his face with the black fold of a sleeve.
"If the English do make landfall, and dispatch more gifts for His Majesty, I fear no power in Agra can stop him from signing the firman.'' Nadir Sharifs face assumed an expression of conciliatory resignation. "The English will undoubtedly make the trading firman a condition of further presents."
"You know that is unacceptable, Excellency." Pinheiro's eyes narrowed. "The mission cannot allow it. You know that as well as I."
"Forgive me, but I've always understood your mission here was not to concern itself with trade."
"The Holy Church is not engaged in trade, Excellency. But our position here is dependent, as you are well aware, on the fortunes of Goa. The two are entwined, as are all secular and spiritual aspects of life. Whatever disturbs one must inevitably affect the other. It cannot be otherwise."
"Obviously." Nadir Sharif stroked the tip of his moustache a moment in thought. "So what would you have me do? The English feringhi cannot be harmed. He drinks every evening with His Majesty."
"There are other ways to negate the heretic's influence. Perhaps the Englishman's . . . situation with His Majesty can be rendered less intimate. Perhaps he could be removed from favor. If only for a time."
"So you have come to ask me to work miracles for you, when you do nothing for yourself." Nadir Sharif rose and strolled to a latticework window. He studied the garden for a moment, then spoke without turning. "Have you advised His Majesty in explicit terms of the Viceroy's displeasure with the English intrusion into our . . . into Portuguese waters?"
"It has been made known. Many times."
"But have you suggested the consequences?" Nadir Sharif turned and gazed past Pinheiro, his eyes playing on the scalloped marble arch of the entryway.
"The consequences are obvious. The warships at Goa are capable of terminating all trade in the Indian Ocean if His Excellency so pleases."
"Then you should merely engage the English." Nadir Sharif consciously deleted the irony from his voice.
"That is an entirely separate matter. The English frigates are of a new design, very swift. They may possibly have eluded us for a time." Pinheiro's voice hardened. "But do not doubt our galleons are swifter than any of the trading vessels of His Majesty's fleet. India's own Red Sea trade continues only at the Viceroy's discretion."
"That is true enough. But are you prepared to demonstrate your . . . displeasure." Nadir Sharif revolved back to the window. "I do not think His Majesty actually believes the Viceroy would ever take hostile action."
"What are you suggesting?" Pinheiro's voice betrayed momentary disbelief.
"Nothing that you have not already brought to His Majesty's attention. But possibly he does not believe you have the conviction, or the strength, to carry it through. The English feringhi constantly brags to him of English superiority at sea, hinting that his king will soon drive Portugal from the Indian Ocean. I've heard it so often myself I confess I'm near to believing him too."
"I can assure you that the protection, and control, of India's ports will always remain in Portuguese hands."
"Then you would still have me believe you have the power to impound Indian shipping, even a vessel owned by His Majesty, thereby exposing the English as helpless to prevent it?" Nadir Sharif seemed absorbed in the garden, his hands clasped easily behind him in perfect repose.
"Of course." Pinheiro stood dazed at the implications of Nadir Sharifs words. He paused for a moment, digesting them. "Do I understand you to be suggesting the Viceroy take hostile action against one of His Majesty's own trading ships?"
"You have contested the Englishman with words, and he seems to be winning." Nadir Sharif turned and examined Pinheiro. "Your Viceroy is undoubtedly aware that Her Majesty, Queen Janahara, is equally disturbed by the Englishman. She too is concerned with the possible effects on her . . . trading arrangements if the English gain undue influence."
"Would she be willing to speak to His Majesty?"
"Again you talk merely of words. What have they gained you?"
"Father Sarmento would never consent to an overt action. He would be too fearful of the possible consequences to the mission."
"Bold measures are for bold men. I think His Excellency, Miguel Vaijantes, understands boldness. And His Majesty understands boldness better than anyone." Nadir Sharif paused. "It may be of interest to His Excellency to know that His Majesty currently has a vessel en route from the Red Sea, with cargo owned by the mother of His Majesty, the dowager Maryam Zamani. It is due to make landfall within the w
eek, if it has managed to hold its schedule. The vessel's safety is, quite naturally, of utmost concern to His Majesty . . ."
"I think I understand." Father Pinheiro again swabbed the moisture from his brow. "But Father Sarmento . . ."
"What possible concern could Father Sarmento have with decisions made by His Excellency, Miguel Vaijantes? He is the Viceroy." Nadir Sharif nodded toward a pudgy eunuch hovering at the doorway, who immediately entered with a tray of betel leaves, signaling that the meeting was adjourned.
"His Excellency will undoubtedly be most appreciative of your thoughts." Pinheiro paused. "Still, wouldn't it be prudent to advise Her Majesty, lest she mistake our Viceroy's intentions?"
"I will attend to it." Nadir Sharif smiled warmly. "You must be aware, however, that if His Majesty chooses to respond irresponsibly, I will know nothing about any action that may be taken. The Viceroy must weather his own seas."
"Naturally." Pinheiro bowed. "You have always been a friend. I thank you, and bless you in God's name."
"Your thanks are sufficient." Nadir Sharif smiled again and watched as the Jesuit was led through the scalloped doorway by the waiting eunuch.
Only when he turned back to the window did he realize his palms were drenched with perspiration.