Pillow Talk from the Harem of Tipu
Tipu and Hazarat recline among the soft pillows of the balcony that over looks a small private garden. The sunset is beginning to fade from bright pink to lavender.
Hazarat: My Lord, you look haggard this evening is trouble afoot in our land?
He gently lifts her henna hand and examines the delicate fingers and strokes her plam.
Tipu: My sweet love. Mysore stands refreshed this day. All is calm in Goa and our people rejoice at our success. It is the news from far Europe that is disturbing. The King of Portugal is dead and we don’t know why. One rumor is that his recent setbacks in Goa and Oman spiraled him into deep despair and he took his own life. Yet from another source he has been deposed and his heir now sits upon the throne. An impatient youth I would suppose.
Hazarat: I am sorry my Lord; the passing of a king is not to be taken lightly.
Tipu: But there is more. Lord Bonaparte of France has been over throne and all his empire is in confusion. He too may be dead, or tossed into some fetid dungeon like a common thief. A sad fate for one of such talent and ingenuity.
Hazarat: Oh! I am undone.
Tipu: Hold your tears and weeping, I am not finished. The mighty Qing has been toppled too. More than that, I cannot say. His fate is yet unknown and his replacement, like the others, still veiled as is the face of god. Our world, already set a kilter by European greed and conquest, is knocked about again times three. News will come and we will look upon the new face of Europe soon I hope. Tomorrow will be for affairs of state sending condolences to those in mourning, but tonight we shall dance!
As he stood and pulled Hazarat to her feet, the drums started a slow beat; they entered, and with clear agony, each let the other’s hand drop away. The turns began slowly….