Chattri
literally “umbrella” or “canopy”; here a dome-shaped pavilion built over a funerary site
Chaugan
polo
Choli
bodice, blouse
Chudidar
pajama-style trousers, fitted tight around the ankles and shins
Chukkar
period of play in polo, usually seven minutes long
Chula
fireplace with walls for cooking
Chunam
a type of plaster made with quicklime and sand
Dargah
tomb of a Sufi saint
Dholak
double-headed hand drum
Dhoti
garment of loose cloth worn around the waist
Diya
lamp
Durbar
court proceeding
Farman
imperial edict; almost exclusively the privilege of the Emperor
Firangi
foreigner
Gaddi
seat
Ghagara
Pleated, full-length skirt
Ghari
measure of time; approximately twenty-four minutes; the day and night were divided into twenty-four gharis
Ghariyali
timekeeper
Ghee
clarified butter
Hakim
physician
Halva
sweet confection
Hammam
bathhouse
Havaldar
policeman
Haveli
house, mansion
Hinabandi
ceremony, part of the wedding celebrations, during which henna is applied to the bride’s hands and feet
Hookah
water pipe for smoking tobacco
Howdah
canopied seat, usually on an elephant or a camel
Huzoor
sire
Imam
Muslim spiritual leader
Jagir
estate, parcel of land
Jali
screen
Jharoka
overhanging balcony used by the Emperor for audiences
Kabab
grilled meat on a skewer
Karkhana
workshop, atelier
Khazana
treasure
Khilat
Arabic for “dress”; here a specific coat given by the Emperor to a subject
Khus
aromatic grass
Khutba
Proclamation of sovereignty; usually before the noon prayers at mosques around the empire
Kichri
mixture of rice, lentils, and ghee; usually poor people’s food
Konish
form of salutation
Kurta
long-sleeved tunic
Maidan
open field
Mali
gardener
Mansab
military rank denoted by the number of cavalry and infantry a noble had under his command
Mardana
men’s quarters in the house
Mast
intoxicated; when referring to elephants, “energetic”
Matka
earthenware pot
Mehr
gift from the groom to the bride during the wedding ceremony
Mirza
title for a nobleman
Mohur
gold coin
Mulla
man trained in Islamic law and tradition
Naan
leavened bread baked in a clay oven
Nadiri
sleeveless, thigh-length coat
Nautch
dance
Nilgau
a bluish-gray wild ox
Nishan
imperial edict; usually the privilege of queens, princesses, and princes
Paan
betel leaf, used as a digestive
Pahr
measure of time, the length of a watch; the day and night were divided into four pahrs each
Pargana
land holding
Peshwaz
long-sleeved, high-waisted garment that flowed to the knees
Pishtaq
portal, entry
Punkah
fan
Purdah
literally “curtain”; here to mean the veil
Qaba
overcoat with long sleeves
Qazi
judge who rules in accordance with Islamic law
Rauza
tomb
Sachaq
customary wedding gift to the bride
Salah
ritual prayer
Sarai
rest house for travelers
Sehra
headdress worn by the groom during a wedding ceremony
Shamiana
canopy, tent
Shenai
woodwind instrument
Shikara
slim wooden boat used in Kashmir
Sitar
stringed musical instrument
Sura
Arabic for “chapter” of the Quran
Tabla
pair of hand drums
Taslim
form of salutation
‘Urs
death anniversary
Uzuk
royal seal
Zari
gold or silver wire thread used in embroidery
Zenana
harem quarters or the women within; consisted of wives, concubines, mothers, sisters, cousins—any women who required shelter and were related to the imperial family
Shadow Princess
INDU SUNDARESAN
A Readers Club Guide
QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION
1. In what ways does Mumtaz Mahal’s death change the dynamics of the royal household and, ultimately, the future of the Empire? How does her passing affect Jahanara in particular?
2. Before her death, Mumtaz Mahal noted that “there was already a slender rivalry” between her two eldest daughters, “so inconsequential now as almost not to exist.” How does this “slender rivalry” develop into a full-blown contentious relationship between the sisters? How much of their dislike for one another has to do with personality and how much with the environment in which they live?
3. Why does the Emperor forbid Jahanara, and also Roshanara, for whom he has little affection, from marrying? Why does Jahanara never ask her father for permission to marry Najabat Khan?
4. Roshanara is often spiteful toward Jahanara, starting rumors of incest between her sister and the Emperor and setting her sights on Najabat Khan. What does she hope to gain by doing these things? Is her behavior at all understandable? Why or why not?
5. How is Jahanara both powerful and powerless? In what ways is she a “shadow princess,” as the novel’s title suggests?
6. How is Jahanara influential in matters of state? In what instances are her opinions and insight most critical? Why does she staunchly support Dara as Shah Jahan’s successor and vehemently oppose Aurangzeb’s claim to the throne?
7. Why does Jahanara give up her son, Antarah? Does she have any other choice? “In the end, it was Aurangzeb, with his rigid views on propriety and decency, who reached out a hand to his sister’s son, a boy she would never acknowledge in public.” Why does Aurangzeb, and not Dara or one of Jahanara’s other brothers, reach out to Antarah?
8. Indu Sundaresan reveals in the Afterword that after Shah Jahan’s death, Jahanara returns to court to be the head of Aurangzeb’s harem. Do you find it surprising that she would accept a position in her brother’s household given her feelings for him? Why or why not?
9. Have you read Indu Sundaresan’s novels The Twentieth Wife and The Feast of Roses? If so, how do they compare to Shadow Princess? If not, are you now interested in reading them?
ENHANCE YOUR BOOK CLUB
1. Feast on an Indian meal, ei
ther meeting at a restaurant or having each member bring a different dish. Enhance the atmosphere by eating apples, sipping chai tea (“fragrant with cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg”), and savoring chicken biryani like the characters do in the book. Check out www.recipesindian.com.
2. Visit www.InduSundaresan.com to find out more about the author and her other books in the “Taj Mahal Trilogy,” read the back story behind Shadow Princess, and view a family tree outlining the major players in the novels.
A CONVERSATION WITH INDU SUNDARESAN
The Luminous Tomb in the Taj Mahal is constructed from white marble. What is the significance of the color white in Indian culture? What about red and green, the signature colors of Jahanara and Roshanara?
White is actually the color of mourning in most of India for both Hindus and Muslims. Red is the color of weddings, clothing, decorations, and jewelry, so also now a lot of green.
As for the Taj Mahal (the mausoleum itself), it’s almost entirely constructed from striated white marble. I think Emperor Shah Jahan was inspired by the tomb (Itimad-Ud-Daulah’s tomb) that still stands today across the River Yamuna from the Taj. This was the mausoleum Mehrunnisa constructed for her father circa 1628 when she was still Empress, and it’s the first important example of an all-white marble tomb in the reign of the Mughals. All other tombs until then—Emperor Akbar’s tomb in Sikandra; Emperor Humayun’s tomb in Delhi—were made largely of the red sandstone found plentifully in quarries near Agra and Fatehpur Sikri. White marble was mostly used for inlay.
The novel includes fascinating passages about the creation of the Taj Mahal. What can you tell us about your visits to the Taj Mahal? What was it about the majestic monument that made the greatest impression on you?
There’s that moment when I step into the cavernous hallway of the Great Gate, the main entrance to the tomb, and step out onto the platform that leads into the gardens of the Taj, that is always magical. Here, in moving from the darkness to the light, I’m confronted with this “traditional” view of the Taj—the long reflecting pool along the pathway, the square pool that halves this long pool, the red sandstone platform that houses the white marble mausoleum in the center.
When I visit the Taj Mahal, I roam the entire complex—the two red sandstone buildings, the mosque to the left (west), and the assembly hall to the right (east) that flank the marble mausoleum; the Great Gate itself, which people often pass through quickly, eager for their first sight of the Taj; the pavilions that mark the four corners of the complex, even the space in front of the riverfront terrace where Mumtaz Mahal is said to have been buried briefly until the terrace and the subterranean rooms under the mausoleum were completed.
I’ve been to the river’s bank and seen the back of the Taj (the same view you see on the Shadow Princess cover); I’ve roamed through the Jilaukhana, the forecourt to the tomb, which is where a visitor can buy tickets and enter through before getting to the Great Gate.
In researching every structure in the Taj’s mammoth complex, I’ve become familiar with each of these buildings; I know their history, their purpose, their original intent.
You once said in an interview that Indian people have been hearing stories about the great noblewomen of the Mughal Empire all their lives. How have Western readers reacted to your novels The Twentieth Wife and The Feast of Roses? For those who have yet to read Shadow Princess, what would you like to tell them about Jahanara?
From people who are unfamiliar with India’s history, especially the Mughal period, I hear stories of how they welcome this glimpse into a world that’s unfamiliar to them, and more important, how they can relate to a woman who lived in seventeenth-century India. Readers admire Mehrunnisa’s ambition, even her cunning, and her capacity for loving and being caring—feelings and thoughts that are contemporary, I think, to any generation. She was a woman hidden behind a veil, who had enormous power and exercised that power to the best of her abilities.
Jahanara, in Shadow Princess, inherits a similar power, but unlike Mehrunnisa she doesn’t have to fight for it. And yet, there are plenty of obstacles in her way. Beloved as she is of her father, immensely rich from inheriting her mother’s income, she still has to fight to put her brother Dara on the throne, and engage in a rivalry with her sister.
The interesting thing about Mehrunnisa and Jahanara is that they were both powerful women—one (in a more traditional role) in her husband Emperor Jahangir’s harem, the other (more unconventionally) in her father’s harem. They both had the devotion of the male principal, but even after writing these three novels of the trilogy I still wonder—was the wife more beloved than the daughter? Or the other way around?
You mention in the Afterword that you came across references to Jahanara while doing research for a previous novel. What was it about the princess that captured your interest? Did you know immediately that she would be the focus of one of your novels?
The initial mentions of Jahanara and Roshanara came when I was reading (for The Twentieth Wife and The Feast of Roses) Niccolao Manucci’s travelogue. (For those of you interested, the full reference is in the bibliography in Shadow Princess.)
This is what I remember reading: Jahanara was a mere seventeen when her mother died, and she became powerful almost immediately after Mumtaz’s death; she was never allowed to marry; she and Roshanara smuggled men into the harem for their pleasure; and they both dabbled in politics and supported different brothers as their father’s successors.
There was enough, in these little bits of information, to intrigue me and I knew then that they would be part of a future novel; it hadn’t taken shape in my mind fully, that would only come later, after I had finished The Splendor of Silence and In the Convent of Little Flowers. At the time, I read, stored away the information, and went on to write something else.
Turn the page for a sneak peak of Indu Sundaresan's new novel, Mountain of Light.
Fragment of Light
June 1817
The midday sun leaned over to place its fiery kiss upon the Shalimar Gardens in Lahore, four and a half miles east of the fort and walled city. The blazing light wavered into a haze around the almond, guava, and mango trees, and except under the trees where it could not penetrate, all shadows leached into the blistering ground.
The Shalimar Gardens—the Abode of Pleasure—was a name taken by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan from the gardens his father had built in the valley of Kashmir. In the late 1630s, the Ravi River in Lahore flooded its banks. Angry waters swamped and carved out new geographical features, shifting vast quantities of mud from one place to another, leaving acclivities and declivities where none had existed before. One such slope in the land was born after this flood. So it was here Emperor Shah Jahan ordered the garden to be built in three terraces that descended from the south to the north.
At high noon on this day of June 1817, two young men tarried in the central platform of the pool in the middle terrace.
They were both bareheaded, their chests bare also. Each wore only a kispet—long, tight shorts of buffalo hide leather, which covered them from their waists down, the ends rucked up over their knees to facilitate ease of movement. The upper halves of their bodies, and their legs and feet, glistened with sesame oil, pungent and aromatic in the sear of the sun. Earlier in the morning—according to the rules of the game—they had smoothed the oil on each other. It was the first and last gesture of amity and goodwill.
For their referee, they had corralled an old gardener lounging in the deep shade of the nearby tamarind tree, a hand-rolled beedi wrapped in his fist, smoke coiling out from between his fingers.
“Him?” Ibrahim Khan had asked, thick eyebrows elevated in disbelief.
His sovereign had shrugged, lifting massive, muscled shoulders. “As good as anyone else, Ibrahim. We know the rules ourselves. The only other man around is Zaman, and he’s useless, as you know. Should I have to call upon one of the flowers in my zenana instead?”
Ibrahim grinned. “With respect, your Maj
esty, the women of your harem will only support you. And they’re likely to squeal or curse in horror when I defeat you. Calling on them is not conducive to an even playing field.”
A small smile flitted across Shah Shuja’s face. And when it did, it lightened his features, brought a sparkle to his gray eyes, erased the embedded lines of worry on his forehead. Made him, so Ibrahim thought, more like the deeply powerful man he had known all of his life.
A tiny spear of ache stabbed Ibrahim’s heart. They were far removed from what they had once been. Shuja had been born of a king—Shah Timur Durrani—whose father had established the Afghan Empire in the name of the Durrani dynasty. Timur had had many sons, of many wives, as was the established custom of the time. There was no law of primogeniture—the eldest son did not automatically inherit the throne. Nor was he gifted with quiescent brothers willing to live out their lives as governors of districts or provinces. At Timur’s death, the throne had changed hands four times, one son or the other claiming it for his own for a brief while, driven from it when another had amassed enough of a threatening army. And so Shuja had lost his kingdom to his half brother Shah Mahmud.
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