Within the Imperial State :: An account of Sikandara

[Serenierre]

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IMPERIAL FORTRESS
Shahdara

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One after another, the black sedans came to a standstill in-front of the mammoth structure, and the policemen wasted no time in jumping into their well rehearsed duties. As commander of the Chancellor's security detail, Captain Sherdil had the responsibility of following the official protocol for the visit to the fortress. As he walked towards the check post of the Imperial Guards, he could see from the corner of his eyes that, Chancellor Jhangvi had stepped out of the car and was walking briskly, his secretary next to him holding his briefcase, towards the marble pavilion to wait for the official permission to enter the fortress.

The imposing red sandstone edifice of the main entryway into the fortress rose menacingly before him, though the moat had been closed, the cannons long since removed and replaced with replicas, and wonderful gardens planted where once soldiers would march before going onto battle with the Emperor, the aura of the fortress still conveyed the terror it was designed to instil in any foolish warrior who thought to attack it.

Arriving at the Imperial Guard's station, he gave the two officers present a salute and began: "The Chancellor of His Illustrious Majesty's government seeks an audience with his Sovereign."

The imperial guards present saluted the police officer, their crisp, regal uniform standing in direct contrast with the simple, dark blue one of the man before them. The taller of the two, who also had an excellent moustache, shaped neatly conveyed the importance of the rank, said: "The presence of His Excellency The Chancellor is expected. The order has been granted for the opening of the gates." Following his signal, a landau – the one reserved for the Chancellor and the only form of transport allowed inside the fortress – came into the courtyard and stopped in-front of the pavilion, where the Chancellor had been waiting.

And this was the manner in which the Chancellor would begin his bi-monthly meetings with the Emperor, by following a tradition that had been set in place during the 1600s, though it had been quite interesting to take part in such an exotic ritual the first few times, the novelty for Chancellor Jhangvi had really faded by now, after two and a half years in his office.

The long ride from the main gateway to the Emperor's office always took the Chancellor through the inner gardens of the Palace –*those closed for the public, which had to make do with the rather plain parklands outside the palace walls. The route they took used to send them past the lovely cherry blossom trees sent as a diplomatic gift by Touyou late in the previous century. Though they were a foreign breed, they fitted in nicely within the airy atmosphere of the inner gardens. Along the way, many of the smaller royal palaces, which housed the various minor imperial family members remained as beautiful as ever; their tile-work and masonry looking especially brilliant in that early winter afternoon sunlight.

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Daftar-e-Khaas​

The Daftar-e-Khaas – the building which served as the Emperor's office – had once, according to legend, belonged to a mistress of an Emperor during the mid-1750s, who had killed herself in a fit of opium induced rage at discovering she was not the sole keeper of the Emperor's heart. Though whether it was true or not was something no one could ever really say. As the building came into view, he prepared himself for the usual ceremony put on by the imperial guards, yet another tradition within these ancient walls, where they would officially announce his arrival using trumpets and criers.

Though the facade of the palace greeted each visitor from an era long forgotten, the interior of the many buildings and palaces and manors within had long ago been modernised, with indoor plumbing, electricity and central air-conditioning taken for granted. That sudden shift from the past to the present had always disconcerted him but he always wondered how the architects responsible for that had managed to save the exterior while so radically transforming the interior.

Although led by one of the many guards stationed there, he had visited this place enough times to remember where exactly to go without getting lost in the many rooms, yet the protocol was the protocol. All members of the government or public are to be led to the Emperor by the imperial guards. At times, he had to admit to himself, these traditions were quite stifling but at others he found himself quite taken by the mystique of the citadel.

As he walked into the office, the Emperor sat reviewing some papers at his desk, looking up only when his presence was announced: "His Excellency The Chancellor has arrived," said the guard before leaving the two of them alone in the traditionally decorated room. After the customary round of greetings, he sat down on the chair directly facing the Emperor, from here he could see outside, from the second floor window, the very beautiful fountain surrounded by the Danish red-oakwood trees, another diplomatic gift to the Emperor.

"I'm quite disappointed with how these past few days have unfolded," the Emperor said to him, "the Imperial Party has become quite troublesome."

"Yes, it has Your Majesty."

"And you are sure, absolutely so, that you want to dissolve the Parliament?" he paused, looking up at his Chancellor, "I only ask because of the current situation with the economy and the regional tensions... there is a chance you may lose."

"Yes, the party is aware of that... but a defeat would still be better than to be held hostage in the manner we are by the IFI and the Imperials..."

"Hmm..." the Emperor said, going quiet for a few seconds, "Then that's that. Here," he passed an envelope, "is the edict dissolving the Parliament and calling for elections."

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As the Chancellor walked out of his office, he pressed the secret button for the Grand Vizier –*the head of the imperial household – to come. Within a few moments, the septuagenarian walked into the room, "Your Majesty," he said bowing in the Sheravani manner, his left hand behind his back and his right hand on his forehead.

"As you know, the parliament has been dissolved because of this dubious business with the feudalists. The reason I've summoned you is so that you can convey to the Imperial Party my displeasure at their behaviour... inform the Election Chief as well of my opinion of them."

"Does His Majesty have any plans for the Labour Party?"

"No, their behaviour these past few days has sealed their fate... their base will shrink by itself. It's simply for us to watch them die a miserable death at the ballot box," he said matter-of-factly. "That will be all."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

 

[Serenierre]

RESIDENCE OF ESKANDER HAYAT
16 Nur-e-Mulk Rd
Shahdara​

The seats of government in all nations are dens of intrigue, at the same time, evoking a certain aura of mystique for the "common folk" of the land – and Shahdara was no different. The majestic buildings and the grandiose monuments, the crisply dressed police officers, and imperial guardsmen out on regular parades through the park-lands just outside the Imperial Fortress did little to assuage any anxiety of a first time visitor to the unusually exotic city.

Though Shahdara had long ago expanded beyond the historic walls that so dominated its skyline, it was only within these walls that these feelings could be evoked, for it was here that the imperial family and the nobility, the politicians and the bureaucracy, the reformers and the feudals, and the religious clerics and the secular judges were based. All living and working there under the benevolent, yet harsh, gaze of the Emperor. And so, Shahdara was home to intense political bickering and infighting amongst these many groups; surprising to no one was then the continually changing face of Sikandari politics as alliances broke and formed overnight.

And over the many centuries that preceded this one, a careful balance had emerged, with each power group remaining in their own quarter within the citadel. Only stepping out for work – or for those moments where intrigue was called for.

So it was here, along the Nur-e-Mulk road that the feudal elite – the strongest, richest, and most powerful of the agricultural landowners of the realm – had set up their homes away from home. Mansions of different sizes, reflecting the varying degrees of Imperial favour granted to each family, were hidden from public view by the trees that rose majestically from the two sides of the road, meeting in the middle, arching wonderfully over the smooth tarmac, providing, both, privacy and natural beauty to these feudal landlords and their kin.

One such house there belonged to a man who was not particularly happy that day. Eskander Hayat, it could be argued, was the most powerful man, save the Emperor, by virtue of his being the largest feudal landowner – the good fortune of inheriting the best fertile land from his family and further augmenting it by a few strategic marriages. With this position, it had been easy to get the usually divided feudal lords to agree to form a political alliance – the Imperial Party– to safeguard their rights in the face of rising reformist zeal.

His mood had soured earlier that morning when he had been informed, by one of his informants, that the Election Commissioner had suddenly taken it upon himself to re-draw the rural constituencies – his powerbase – and reduce their number by expanding their size, to better reflect the populace. That he was fine enough with, things like this were common before the elections, but rumours were floating across Shahdara that the Emperor was irked by the Imperial Party's recent behaviour. The truth was plain for all to see. Yet, he remained baffled. Was it not his party that had shown the country the rigidity and irresponsibility of the Labour Party? Was it not because of his party that the Labour Party was shown to reveal its soft spot for communism?

"The Emperor should be thanking me... us," he muttered to himself, lighting his third cigarette that morning. But what was he to do? His Emperor had made up his mind, incorrectly or rightly so, it was not for him to debate about. He and his group were, by far, the most loyal to the Emperor and to how things had been done in this country for centuries, so why was the Emperor so cold towards them? Embracing these radicals bent on westernising all of Sikandara. It was just beyond reason. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. So it was clear. Eskander Hayat was not at all feeling pleasant that day.

IMPERIAL PARTY HEADQUARTERS
15 Huda Avenue
Shahdara

Eskander Hayat sat quietly in the conference chamber. The party's top leadership had gathered to discuss the election strategy and to list the names of its candidates. He had sent out a memo to each of the men in the room earlier that day. Rather than feeling dejected and broken, as he had, they had become all the more motivated for the campaign. Telling him that the Emperor was testing their resolve and that His Majesty was simply clouding his stand to throw off the revivalists, progressives and socialists. That had calmed him down – or had it been the whiskey – to convene the meeting that night.

"Your Lordship," Janib Khan said to Hayat, "it is rumoured that the Labour Party leadership is divided and scattered... so I propose we funnel funds to the reporters to make it seem much larger and deeper than it is... it would weaken their morale."

Another man, called Hazoor Elahi spoke: "But, no, we should be aiming to show our own strengths... we should hold a rally, speak with local divisions of the party to amass a decent number of people and-"

Janib Khan interrupted: "With all due respect, Elahi Sahab, that will achieve nothing... it is far too soft... now is the time to be on the offensive with these communists."

Dildar Qasuri looked up from his papers and said: "While these two are busy arguing about these petty things, Your Lordship what do you propose we do to weaken the mullahs? If these rumours are true, our biggest threat at the moment are not those cockroaches in red but these bearded demons."

"Yes, I do agree... they are the only ones who can threaten our hold... at present, at-least."

Janib Khan: "We could organise a news campaign to set the mullahs against the communists... plant fake stories and the like."

"Yes, that would be something."

Dildar Qasuri added: "And of-course we would be vigorously campaigning in the rural districts, the local landlords would be more than willing to suppress elements not in their – and by default our own – interest if Hayat Sahab exerts some of his influence."

Hayat heard the suggestions quietly. "I think that would be wisest."

The meeting went till about one o'clock in the morning, at which time, the pink tea was served and the conversations turned to informal matters. Boasts of conquests and deflowerings of young and supple countryside maidens, the usual round of complaints over the Imperial tribute due from the feudal lords and the financial pinch from the Potenzan situation were the topics of discussion that night.

How strange life was, Hayat said to himself, within a day he had gone from the lowest of the lows to this elation. Truly, how strange was life. ​

 

[Serenierre]

Winters in the Imperial Citadel were harsh, with a grey overcast sky, strong frigid gusts of wind and the occasional snowfall, a common occurrence. So it surprised Danish Intezar all the more when he looked out at the demonstrators below, all thirty thousand of them who had been with the Labour Party's sit-in since the party had walked out of parliament. Haris Qanuni stepped off the podium, having just finished another speech. In all honesty, these demonstrators had been hastily gathered by the local divisions of the Labour Party, bribing the poor with meals and money to bulk up the strength of the demonstration. This was democracy in Sikandara – at-least for the socialists. Though for that moment, just after Qanuni wrapped up his speech, these poor simpletons seemed to have forgotten the frigid winter air around them and were completely taken in by these hollow promises.

Qanuni sat next to one of the Labour MPs, on the steps of the Parliament building, so confident and so calm, and sure of his charismatic appeal, proving himself to be the dangerous rival that he was for Intezar. The current generation of party leaders were actively looking out for their successors. Through his own connections, he had conclusively found out that his name and that of Qanuni were the ones that were being considered for the party's general secretaryship. And whisperings amongst the other MPs had indicated to him that the final decision would be based on how both men behaved during these incoming elections.

Another party leader finished his speech and Intezar was momentarily brought back to reality, just to applaud for the man, and then returned deep to his thoughts.

The Emperor's willingness to deal with Chancellor Jhangvi was apparent, his decrees and orders had been entirely supportive of the Progressives' government, much to the annoyance of others in parliament. But the fact could not be disputed His Majesty was not acting in good faith, he thought the treasonous idea. When he should have simply vetoed the anti-communist resolution, he chose to dissolve Parliament and call for new elections and that too at a time when the Progressives and the Muslim revivalists were at their strongest. Though, Qanuni had been jubilant about this prospect of new elections. Saying: "We can break the impasse in Parliament."

While he was right in some ways, it still was not wise to behave in the manner he was doing these past few days. The party was facing an uphill struggle to retain its current strength in the legislature. Why was no one aware of that? Or if they were, why were they staying quiet? At a time when the elections should have been the priority, why was this accursed rally still going on? These questions were running through his mind incessantly. He pulled the coat tighter around himself, feeling the biting winds deep in his bones. To say that he was nervous would have been an understatement.

December 1952; Labour Party demonstration
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