The Legend of the Diabolical Rajah of Jaipur
The Sorcerer and the Rajah; in the Hall of the Winds]
The Crown of Krishna
In the City Palace, is the chamber of the Harem, its original intention was to allow royal ladies to observe everyday life in the street below without being seen, also known as Hawa Mahal, or better known as “The Hall of the Winds.” Our story takes place in Jaipur, India, in the year 1799, within these walls, they were constructed of red pink limestone, and is five stories tall, the palace has the most beautiful face in the world for a structure.
(AD 1799) Baklha, the adopted son of the Sultan of Jaipur, had a ruthless disposition by nature, was not impressed either with the luxury that his father surrounded his youthful life with. Cruel and deviant and malicious, he was, and was despised by his country men, for that very reason; and was to the contrary of his step-father, who was wise as an owl, and his son foolish like a lamb. As a result, his two sons far from complimented one another, and all the more put emphasis on the others flaws.
Rajah Baklha, like King Solomon, ruler of the Jews of a bygone era, the Rajah was a lover of wine, women, song and twilight: and let us not forget the deep roots of enchantment arts, or those mystic and ever possessing black arts better known as Necromancer. His step-father in spite of all his efforts to tame his son’s spirit, he left him alone to content with them herself, to continued and suffers on his rocky course of mendacity, and invidious behavior.
At about this time there came a soothsayer: a necromancer (he was said to have learned his black arts from an ancient Mu-man of the old continent of Lemur, in the Pacific), he came into what is known as The Pink City, for the city was all painted pink, as well as the legendary Palace of the Winds, with its beautiful façade for all to adore in the mornings, and at nights, all to curse as one stepped over beast and human bodies sleeping on the grass and roadside; for poverty was prevalent.
And so it was, the sorcerer made his presence known throughout the city, as he showed his skill in spells and enchantments, in fortune telling, and herbs, healing and philosophy, in prophecy of future events to be for; and so this was how he made his living, his, money and goods, a barter he was to included; all throughout India no other city had such a man of quality, in those far-off days. He traveled from Delhi, to Agra to Lucknow Jaipur, on an elephant’s head, and when he made his appearance, he was greeted with the most respected.
The Rajah, hearing of his arrival within the city, made haste to have his company, sending a servant to find him, and set up a meeting. The sorcerer was in his own right a warlock of a supernatural demonic class, or so it would appear, whom bore no fear of Sultan or Rajah in all lands of India, lawless or not, and he knew of the Rajah, and so he would meet his match perhaps, that is to say, the Rajah would equally be matched, in a diabolical way.
—The servant having cast his eyes upon the sorcerer, simply could not digest this, in essence, he could not fathom what a great man of his status would look like, that this is what a great man would did like, in reality for with only an imagination to go by, one builds such images, no man could live up to them: he, the sorcerer being short and plump, humble and soft spoken, with a curve to his smile, thin legs holding up that chunky torso, and a eeriness to his composure, although it was relaxed, too satiate, and astute, one might say.
With little uncertainty, the servant now within his presence, knew he was the necromancer, oh yes, yes indeed, without a doubt, it was all in his laughter, his eyes of amber, warlock eyes, vanishing as you looked at him, vanishing as if a flame inside of them were blown-out. There was also a needled coldness to his presence like a glacier—taken hold of his hand, as they greeted one another.
Said the servant, “I am the servant of the Rajah Baklha, and he has sent me here to make arrangements, and payment if need be for your services. He wishes to know what lies ahead, the future, if it be destruction or promise.”
“Oh yes! Awa, yes, I wish to serve him if infect I can; I have heard of his scarlet runaway temper, and his pan-like strains of malefic-behavior…much like mine when I was young and foolish. But I am an old prophet of long forecast and I can help him now, perhaps better than before, before being in my youth.”
Like a serpent gliding by, they withdrew to see the Rajah immediately.
Within the palace guest chamber, sat the Sorcerer and the Rajah, across from one another—it was as he, the Sorcerer liked it—wanted it to be, commented to the Rajah, in a thanking manner, that it was set up as he would have wished it to be, for it was dark and gloomy in the room, as he recited incantations, in a peculiar tongue uncommon for the understanding of the Rajah; chants that seemed to sew together spells in the air, tying vapors that appeared out of nowhere, and shifting shadows as if someone or thing was shape-shifting amongst them, ghosts perhaps, therefore, thought the Rajah: what is my future, but says nothing.
The Sorcerer seeing the uneasiness, the impatience of the Rajah, said in a smooth, slow, and calming voice:
“Three diamonds, two rubies, and one large gold coin, which will do for my payment.”
The Rajah looked strange upon the Sorcerer, for he had asked exactly what was in his pockets, and so without any a due, he pulled out the items and handed them to the seer, fascinated that he knew exactly, perfectly the correct amount and items, for he had told no body, nor given any clues to his servants on what he had in those deep pockets of his.
Moreover, both remained seated, facing one another, as they had continued in a silent manner for several minutes, watching and listening, meditating the Rajah in particular, observed a shape-shifting ghost as it fled from one corner of the chamber to another, and onto another, as it went in circles, thinking: why did this warlock bring a ghoul with him? Looking images came and left, looking images that looked out at him, and then reburied themselves within themselves.
Of the other images, he saw people being killed, city walls falling, wars going on—all such images were coming out of the vapor the ghost had seemed to produce as it went in its so called circle, producing imagery upon descriptions of future time.
But the Rajah did not manage to decipher these images, and again said nothing as if he were bored and waiting for a translator. But this was his future, had he looked hard enough.
“The shapes you’ve seen are locations within the sub-continent of India who have come and gone and to be;” said the Sorcerer with a tangy tone to his voice, waiting for the Rajah to say something. Then suddenly (again) a vapor appeared, and molded into a thulium-shadow, with forms that were—seemingly—trying to grab at the Rajah, with a shadow of a knife; it was appeased when the young Rajah leaned back into his chair, as if he was no threat. At this moment, the prince gave the seer his grievances and demanded he focus on him and his future, his empire to be. Yet the images kept coming in the form (now) of animals—attacking.
Now the sorcerer stood up, presented his petition: that should he let the Rajah live he would do a big injustice for the city, his step-father, the Sultan, of whom was to become ill, and the throne given to him, for the Sorcerer had seen this within the empires that had come and gone within the vapor-shadows the Rajah did not want to acknowledge. They were his doings, the wars to be, the turmoil in the city. Hence, the Sorcerer pulled out a knife from his tunic, unexpectedly, and he stabbed the Rajah to death; at that very moment the old Sultan had walked through the door and said, “Job well done,” and paid him a handsome sum.
And you could see instantly, the absolutely rigid body, of the Rajah, he died absolutely stiff, as if he was dead already, had been dead, as if he had died over night, laying on the floor, his legs drew up. The young Rajah, should never had known what was to be, had he not requested the Sorcerer, for the old Sultan, learned as well his legacy, should he pass it on to his son, he was watching from an unnoticeable distance, in the darkest place of the chamber,
Written Oct/Nov., 2004; Edited 7/2008, the author spent some time in Jaipur in 1997.
This story was original written for the Mango Tree Press, a literature magazine of out India, that gave the author some insight on how the story should proceed, but the magazine folded up, in the last months of 2004, this story being written, and unedited, and lost all in, October, of 2004, and dedicated to its editor at the time, it was lost since then, and found 7-28-2008. It now has been edited, and what was going to be put into the short story can no longer be substantiated, and therefore you get the story raw, and as it was before the editor responded to the author.
The Sorcerer and the Rajah; in the Hall of the Winds]
The Crown of Krishna
In the City Palace, is the chamber of the Harem, its original intention was to allow royal ladies to observe everyday life in the street below without being seen, also known as Hawa Mahal, or better known as “The Hall of the Winds.” Our story takes place in Jaipur, India, in the year 1799, within these walls, they were constructed of red pink limestone, and is five stories tall, the palace has the most beautiful face in the world for a structure.
(AD 1799) Baklha, the adopted son of the Sultan of Jaipur, had a ruthless disposition by nature, was not impressed either with the luxury that his father surrounded his youthful life with. Cruel and deviant and malicious, he was, and was despised by his country men, for that very reason; and was to the contrary of his step-father, who was wise as an owl, and his son foolish like a lamb. As a result, his two sons far from complimented one another, and all the more put emphasis on the others flaws.
Rajah Baklha, like King Solomon, ruler of the Jews of a bygone era, the Rajah was a lover of wine, women, song and twilight: and let us not forget the deep roots of enchantment arts, or those mystic and ever possessing black arts better known as Necromancer. His step-father in spite of all his efforts to tame his son’s spirit, he left him alone to content with them herself, to continued and suffers on his rocky course of mendacity, and invidious behavior.
At about this time there came a soothsayer: a necromancer (he was said to have learned his black arts from an ancient Mu-man of the old continent of Lemur, in the Pacific), he came into what is known as The Pink City, for the city was all painted pink, as well as the legendary Palace of the Winds, with its beautiful façade for all to adore in the mornings, and at nights, all to curse as one stepped over beast and human bodies sleeping on the grass and roadside; for poverty was prevalent.
And so it was, the sorcerer made his presence known throughout the city, as he showed his skill in spells and enchantments, in fortune telling, and herbs, healing and philosophy, in prophecy of future events to be for; and so this was how he made his living, his, money and goods, a barter he was to included; all throughout India no other city had such a man of quality, in those far-off days. He traveled from Delhi, to Agra to Lucknow Jaipur, on an elephant’s head, and when he made his appearance, he was greeted with the most respected.
The Rajah, hearing of his arrival within the city, made haste to have his company, sending a servant to find him, and set up a meeting. The sorcerer was in his own right a warlock of a supernatural demonic class, or so it would appear, whom bore no fear of Sultan or Rajah in all lands of India, lawless or not, and he knew of the Rajah, and so he would meet his match perhaps, that is to say, the Rajah would equally be matched, in a diabolical way.
—The servant having cast his eyes upon the sorcerer, simply could not digest this, in essence, he could not fathom what a great man of his status would look like, that this is what a great man would did like, in reality for with only an imagination to go by, one builds such images, no man could live up to them: he, the sorcerer being short and plump, humble and soft spoken, with a curve to his smile, thin legs holding up that chunky torso, and a eeriness to his composure, although it was relaxed, too satiate, and astute, one might say.
With little uncertainty, the servant now within his presence, knew he was the necromancer, oh yes, yes indeed, without a doubt, it was all in his laughter, his eyes of amber, warlock eyes, vanishing as you looked at him, vanishing as if a flame inside of them were blown-out. There was also a needled coldness to his presence like a glacier—taken hold of his hand, as they greeted one another.
Said the servant, “I am the servant of the Rajah Baklha, and he has sent me here to make arrangements, and payment if need be for your services. He wishes to know what lies ahead, the future, if it be destruction or promise.”
“Oh yes! Awa, yes, I wish to serve him if infect I can; I have heard of his scarlet runaway temper, and his pan-like strains of malefic-behavior…much like mine when I was young and foolish. But I am an old prophet of long forecast and I can help him now, perhaps better than before, before being in my youth.”
Like a serpent gliding by, they withdrew to see the Rajah immediately.
Within the palace guest chamber, sat the Sorcerer and the Rajah, across from one another—it was as he, the Sorcerer liked it—wanted it to be, commented to the Rajah, in a thanking manner, that it was set up as he would have wished it to be, for it was dark and gloomy in the room, as he recited incantations, in a peculiar tongue uncommon for the understanding of the Rajah; chants that seemed to sew together spells in the air, tying vapors that appeared out of nowhere, and shifting shadows as if someone or thing was shape-shifting amongst them, ghosts perhaps, therefore, thought the Rajah: what is my future, but says nothing.
The Sorcerer seeing the uneasiness, the impatience of the Rajah, said in a smooth, slow, and calming voice:
“Three diamonds, two rubies, and one large gold coin, which will do for my payment.”
The Rajah looked strange upon the Sorcerer, for he had asked exactly what was in his pockets, and so without any a due, he pulled out the items and handed them to the seer, fascinated that he knew exactly, perfectly the correct amount and items, for he had told no body, nor given any clues to his servants on what he had in those deep pockets of his.
Moreover, both remained seated, facing one another, as they had continued in a silent manner for several minutes, watching and listening, meditating the Rajah in particular, observed a shape-shifting ghost as it fled from one corner of the chamber to another, and onto another, as it went in circles, thinking: why did this warlock bring a ghoul with him? Looking images came and left, looking images that looked out at him, and then reburied themselves within themselves.
Of the other images, he saw people being killed, city walls falling, wars going on—all such images were coming out of the vapor the ghost had seemed to produce as it went in its so called circle, producing imagery upon descriptions of future time.
But the Rajah did not manage to decipher these images, and again said nothing as if he were bored and waiting for a translator. But this was his future, had he looked hard enough.
“The shapes you’ve seen are locations within the sub-continent of India who have come and gone and to be;” said the Sorcerer with a tangy tone to his voice, waiting for the Rajah to say something. Then suddenly (again) a vapor appeared, and molded into a thulium-shadow, with forms that were—seemingly—trying to grab at the Rajah, with a shadow of a knife; it was appeased when the young Rajah leaned back into his chair, as if he was no threat. At this moment, the prince gave the seer his grievances and demanded he focus on him and his future, his empire to be. Yet the images kept coming in the form (now) of animals—attacking.
Now the sorcerer stood up, presented his petition: that should he let the Rajah live he would do a big injustice for the city, his step-father, the Sultan, of whom was to become ill, and the throne given to him, for the Sorcerer had seen this within the empires that had come and gone within the vapor-shadows the Rajah did not want to acknowledge. They were his doings, the wars to be, the turmoil in the city. Hence, the Sorcerer pulled out a knife from his tunic, unexpectedly, and he stabbed the Rajah to death; at that very moment the old Sultan had walked through the door and said, “Job well done,” and paid him a handsome sum.
And you could see instantly, the absolutely rigid body, of the Rajah, he died absolutely stiff, as if he was dead already, had been dead, as if he had died over night, laying on the floor, his legs drew up. The young Rajah, should never had known what was to be, had he not requested the Sorcerer, for the old Sultan, learned as well his legacy, should he pass it on to his son, he was watching from an unnoticeable distance, in the darkest place of the chamber,
Written Oct/Nov., 2004; Edited 7/2008, the author spent some time in Jaipur in 1997.
This story was original written for the Mango Tree Press, a literature magazine of out India, that gave the author some insight on how the story should proceed, but the magazine folded up, in the last months of 2004, this story being written, and unedited, and lost all in, October, of 2004, and dedicated to its editor at the time, it was lost since then, and found 7-28-2008. It now has been edited, and what was going to be put into the short story can no longer be substantiated, and therefore you get the story raw, and as it was before the editor responded to the author.
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