Word: emperor
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...Bahadur Shah Zafar II, the Mughal Emperor of India, led an enviable existence. He no longer hunted, as he once loved to do, but he still read and wrote poetry, flew his kites, talked to his numerous sons and grandsons, and, from his residence in the Red Fort, enjoyed the views of his beloved city, Delhi. The city was all that was left of Zafar's dominion, but even there he wasn't really in charge; the year was 1857, and the British East India Company ruled Delhi and most of the rest of India. Then, in the course...
...story ends badly for Zafar and Delhi. After a bitter siege, the British retake the capital, the citizens are massacred, and the old Emperor is exiled to Burma, where he dies, neglected and forgotten. Yet despite his flaws-Zafar was indecisive and easily manipulated by bad advisers-he still emerges as something of a hero in Dalrymple's narrative. Throughout the British siege, he obstinately refuses to alienate the Hindus by giving in to demands of Muslim fanatics among the rebels...
...Without Zafar, Dalrymple writes, "it would be almost impossible to imagine that Hindu sepoys could ever have rallied to the Red Fort and the standard of a Muslim leader, joining with their Muslim brothers in an attempt to revive the Mughal Empire." By invoking the memory of the last Emperor, Dalrymple reminds Indians of a time when such religious harmony was easy to come...
There is nothing offhand about The Peacock Throne, named after the Red Fort seat from which the 17th century Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan held sway over all Hindustan. Saraf casts a scientist's eye on the country of his birth and finds it still preoccupied with holding sway. He starts with Indira Gandhi's 1984 assassination by Sikh bodyguards and the spasm of anti-Sikh violence that ensued. Kartar Singh, a Sikh who runs a Chandni Chowk appliance store, narrowly escapes death in the rioting - and leverages that experience to gain influence in a Hindu nationalist party...
...agitated TV cameraman sits on the edge of a couch. "Have you seen him?" I ask. "If I had seen him I wouldn't be here," he snaps. So we head out again, popping our heads into every club and casino we see. At the Grand Emperor Hotel, its entrance fronted by two gilded carriages, we ride an escalator to the amplified sound of jangling coins broadcast through the sound system. I doubt he's really here, but on a floor of slot machines, I ask hotel staff to page Mr. Kim. The woman behind the desk stares...