On the appointed day (namely, June 1, 1813) the Rajah accompanied by several experts—he was determined there should be no mistake this time—proceeded to Shadera where Shuja was residing. The two potentates sat in profound silence for one whole hour, neither being disposed to speak first. Runjeet Singh was consumed with impatient desire to see the Koh-i-nûr, so at length he hinted to an attendant, who in turn hinted to Shah Shuja the purpose for which they were all thus solemnly assembled. Shuja, silent still, nodded to a servant, who speedily placed upon the carpet a small casket. Then again a tremendous silence ensued which Runjeet bore as long as he could, and at last he nodded to a servant to open the casket. The Koh-i-nûr lay revealed, and was recognized by the experts as the true gem.
Runjeet, for the first time speaking, asked, "At what price do you value it?"
Shuja, answering from out of his woeful knowledge, said: "At good luck; for it has ever been the associate of him who has vanquished his foes."
Shah Shuja seemed to imagine the diamond to be a bearer of blessings. This is the common belief in India with regard to large diamonds, which are supposed to possess magic virtues; but Edwin Arnold, than whom there exists no better authority about Indian legends, distinctly states that according to a Hindoo tradition "a baleful influence" was ascribed to the Koh-i-nûr. "The genii of the mines, as it declared, enviously persecuted with misfortunes the successive holders of this treasure." Rapidly glancing over the history which we know he draws the conclusion that the tradition sprang up after the event.
To Runjeet Singh, at any rate, the Koh-i-nûr brought no misfortune. He wore it as a bracelet and it glittered on the old king's arm at many a Sikh durbar.
On his deathbed, the Brahmans who surrounded Runjeet tried to induce him to offer up the great diamond to the image of Juggernaut. The covetous priests were willing to run the risk of any amount of baleful influences, provided they could secure the Koh-i-nûr as a forehead jewel for their idol. Runjeet nodded his head, so the Brahmans averred; and on the strength of this dubious testamentary bequest they claimed the stone. The royal treasurer, however, less fearful of the wrath of the god than of that of the succeeding rajah, refused to give it up.
Kurruck Singh wore this symbol of royalty for a brief space and then died of poison to make way for a usurper, Shere Singh. This unlucky monarch was killed in a durbar as he sat on his throne in Lahore, and the Koh-i-nûr was flashing in his turban at the very moment when the assassin aimed the treacherous shot.
And now, last of all the Indian owners of the wonderful gem, we come to Dhuleep Singh, the infant son of Runjeet the Lion. It has been said that the Koh-i-nûr belonged ever to the strong; it was scarcely probable therefore that it would remain for any length of time in the feeble grasp of this child. Indeed, his elevation upon the throne of Lahore was a signal for all sorts of intrigues and machinations on the part both of those who were in power and wished to keep it, and of those who were out of power but wished to acquire it.
In the midst of all this turmoil a new and hardier race appears upon the scene. Lord Dalhousie annexes Lahore, and the English flag floats for the first time over the Koh-i-nûr.
In March, 1849, the king of Lahore was formally deposed. The scene was short and business-like, very different from the stately Oriental silence between Runjeet Singh and Shah Shuja on the occasion of the last change of allegiance made by the fickle diamond. A crowd of natives, without arms or jewels, a few English officers, a man reading the proclamation in Hindustani, Persian and English, the boy-king affixing his seal to the paper with careless haste—that was all. The ancient kingdom of the Five Rivers ceased to exist, and its last king became an English gentleman with a large income.