The Moghul

by Thomas Hoover

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The advance of Prince Jadar's army west toward the Rajput stronghold of Udaipur was like nothing Brian Hawksworth had ever seen. Jadar was marching into the heart of ancient Rajput country, and the movement of his army suddenly came to resemble a triumphant victory procession.

  The heavy artillery formed the first contingent, drawn by teams of elephants and bullocks. Two thousand infantry moved in front, smoothing the ground with spades. The army's baggage animals followed the artillery, and after this came Jadar's personal treasury—camels loaded with gold and silver coin—together with his records and archives. Next in the line of march were elephants carrying the zenana women's jewels and a collection of ornate swords and daggers that Jadar periodically gave to his officers as presents. Then came the water camels, and finally Jadar's kitchen and provisions. The baggage was followed by the ordinary cavalry, and after them rode Jadar and his retinue of nobles. Behind him came his zenana. The rear of the procession was brought up by women and servants, then elephants, camels, and mules carrying the remainder of the baggage and tents.

  Some of Jadar's zenana women traveled in gilded chaudols carried on the shoulders of four bearers and shaded with netting of colored embroidered silk. Others were transported in enclosed palanquins, also covered with silk nets decorated with gold fringe and tassels. Still others chose to ride in swaying litters suspended between two elephants or two strong camels. A female slave walked near each litter carrying a peacock tail to brush off dust and keep away flies.

  Jadar's first and favorite wife, Mumtaz, seemed to scorn all these comforts, displaying herself regally all day long from atop her own personal elephant, riding in a gold howdah shaded by a vast tapestry umbrella. Her elephant was festooned with embroideries, yak tails, and large silver bells; and directly behind her, on six smaller elephants, rode the women of her immediate household. Her eunuchs rode clustered around her on horses, each carrying a wand signifying his office and sweating profusely beneath his jeweled turban. A vanguard of footmen with bamboo canes walked ahead of Mumtaz's elephant clearing a path through the crowds.

  Jadar himself traveled mainly on his favorite Arabian horse—except when passing through cities, when he would switch to a conspicuously bedecked elephant—surrounded by the high-ranking nobles. Trailing out behind this first circle were the ranks of the lesser mansabdars, who rode in full military dress, displaying swords, bows, shields. While this procession inched along at its regal pace, Jadar and his nobles frequently paused ostentatiously to bag tiger or chase stripe-eared antelope with the prince's brace of hunting chitahs.

  A complete set of tents for Jadar and his zenana traveled a day ahead, to ensure that a fully prepared camp always awaited him and his women when, at approximately three in the afternoon, the procession would stop and begin to settle for the night. Each of his larger tents could be disassembled into three separate sections, and all of these together required a full fifty baggage elephants for transport. Moving the smaller tents required almost a hundred camels. Wardrobes and kitchen utensils were carried by some fifty mules, and special porters carried by hand Jadar's personal porcelains, his gilt beds, and a few of his silk tents.

  The procession was a lavish display of all the wealth and arms Jadar had remaining. And nothing about it hinted that his was an army on the run . . . which in fact it was.

  Hawksworth puzzled over Jadar's extravagant pomp for several days, finding it uncharacteristic, and finally con­cluded it was a deliberate Indian strategy.

  Jadar has to raise another army and quickly. He'll not do it if he has the look of a fugitive and loser about him. He's managed to hold the Imperial army at bay for a while, wound them enough to escape entrapment. But he's wounded too, and badly. The Imperial army may be shattered for the moment, but Jadar's lost half his own men. The winner will be the one who can rebuild first and attack. If Jadar doesn't make some alliances and get some men soon, Inayat Latif and the queen will chase him from one end of India to the other.

  Along the way a few independent Rajput chieftains had come to his banner, but not enough. When Hawksworth asked Shirin what she thought Jadar's chances were of raising a Rajput army large enough to face Inayat Latif, she had made no effort to conceal her concern.

  "The greatest Rajput nobles are waiting to see whether Maharana Karan Singh of Udaipur will decide to openly support him. He's the leader of the ranas of Mewar, which is the name for the lands of Rajputana around Udaipur, and they're the highest in rank of all the Rajput chieftains of India. If Maharana Karan Singh agrees to support him with his own army, the other ranas of Mewar may follow, and after them perhaps all of Rajputana."

  "What do you mean? He's providing Jadar a place to stay, or at least to hide while he licks his wounds. That looks like support to me."

  Shirin had tried to smile. "Permitting Prince Jadar to camp in Udaipur doesn't necessarily imply support. It could also be interpreted merely as traditional Rajput hospitality. It's one thing to open your guesthouse to a son of the Moghul. It's something quite different to commit your army to aid his rebellion." She drew her horse closer to Hawksworth's. "You see, Maharana Karan Singh and his father Amar Singh before him have had a treaty of peace with Arangbar for almost ten years, after many decades of bloody war between Mewar and the Moghuls. There are many Rajput chieftains in Mewar who do not want him to renounce that treaty. They're weary of Moghul armies invading Rajputana and burning their fields and cities. Prince Jadar will have to negotiate with Maharana Karan Singh if he's to be persuaded to help. The prince will have to offer him something in return for his aid. For the risk he'll be taking should the prince lose. That's why the other Rajputs are waiting. Everyone here knows the prince has no chance if the maharana withholds his support."

  A noticeable feeling of relief swept through the long columns of Jadar's cavalry the afternoon that Maharana Karan Singh was sighted riding out on his elephant, surrounded by a retinue of his personal guard, to welcome Prince Jadar at the high stone gate leading through the walls of the mountain city of Udaipur. Throughout the ranks of Jadar's bedraggled army it was seen as a positive omen.

  The army and the lesser mansabdars camped outside the city walls; the highest-ranking nobles were invited to stay in the maharana's city palace, set on a high cliff overlooking Pichola Lake; and Jadar, his zenana, and his personal guards were ferried with much pomp across to the new guest palace on Jagmandir Island, in the center of the lake. As one of Arangbar's khans and a foreign ambassador, Brian Hawksworth was installed by the maharana in a special suite in his city palace reserved for dignitaries.

  In an even more auspicious gesture, the maharana invited Prince Jadar to dine with him in the palace that evening. The ancient Rajputana tradition of hospitality did not normally require dining with your guests, and the Rajput chieftains traveling with Jadar were again heartened. Late in the afternoon, an invitation also arrived requesting that Ambassador Hawksworth and Shirin, characterized as Jadar's personal aide, join the dinner.

  "Why do you think he wants us?" When the maharana's servants had left, Hawksworth showed the gilded invitation to Shirin. She was on their balcony watching white-necked cranes glide across the surface of Pichola Lake, spreading out hundreds of feet below them.

  "Perhaps the maharana is curious to meet a feringhi. I'm sure he's never seen one before." She hesitated. "Or perhaps Prince Jadar arranged for you to be there. To imply he has the support of the English king's warships."

  "You know I don't speak for King James on matters of war."

  "Tonight you must appear to do so. I'm sure your king would help Prince Jadar if he knew him."

  "He'll support him if he becomes Moghul."

  "Then you must help Prince Jadar tonight. So that he will."

  Shirin had overseen the servants who had been sent to clean and repair Hawksworth's doublet and hose. Then a bath was brought, accompanied by barbers and manicurists. The maharana sent a vial of musk perfume to Shirin, buried in a basket of flowers. By t
he time they were escorted through the high scalloped archway leading into the palace banquet hall, they both were bathed, perfumed, and refreshed; and Hawksworth again looked almost like an ambassador.

  Accustomed to the red sandstone of Agra, he was momentarily astounded to see a room fashioned entirely from purest white marble. The hall was long and wide, with two rows of bracketed columns its entire length. Maharana Karan Singh sat at the far end in front of a marble screen, his gold wand of office at his side, reclining against an enormous bolster of gold brocade. He appeared to be Jadar's age, with eyes that sparkled mischievously, a long Rajput moustache, glistening with wax, which curled upward at the ends, and a turban of gold brocade. He wore a long red and white striped satin skirt beneath a translucent cloak. His necklace and earrings were matching green emeralds. Seated around him, on red carpets woven with designs of fighting elephants, were his Rajput nobles, each in white with an orange turban and a gold-trimmed brocade sash at his waist. Every Rajput in the room had a gold-handled katar.

  Jadar saw Hawksworth and Shirin enter and rose to greet them. The prince was dressed in his finest, with a cloak of gold cloth, pale green trousers, red velvet slippers, a long double string of pearls around his neck, and a pink silk turban crisscrossed with flowered brocade and secured with a large ruby. He led Hawksworth before the maharana and introduced him, in Rajasthani. Jadar then translated the introduction into Turki for Hawksworth, who was startled to learn that he was a high-ranking member of Angrezi—English—royalty. He looked around and realized he was easily the most shabbily attired man in the room, including the servants.

  After the introduction Hawksworth took his place among Jadar's own retinue of nobles. Shirin was seated on the carpet directly behind him.

  All the guests sat in a line facing a long gold-threaded cloth spread along the floor. Food was brought in on silver trays, which were placed on silver stools directly in front of each diner. Hawksworth had scarcely taken his seat before a full wine cup was placed in his hands. It was never allowed to approach dryness.

  The banquet was lavish, equaling anything he had seen in Agra. It was immediately apparent that roast game was the speciality of Udaipur, as tray after tray of antelope, venison, hare, and wild duck were placed before him. In its emphasis on roasted meats, the food could almost have been English, save it was all seasoned with spices he had never tasted in London. The centerpiece was an elaborately glazed wild boar the maharana had bagged personally from horseback with a spear. Nominal Muslim though he was, Prince Jadar downed a generous portion of the boar and praised the flavor.

  The trays of meat were accompanied by spiced curds, local yogurts, and baked vegetables swimming in ghee. The meal concluded with dried fruits which had been sugared and perfumed, followed by mouth-freshening pan, the betel leaves wrapped around spiced bhang, currants, sweet imported coconut.

  The final offering, eagerly awaited by all the Rajputs, was opium. As they popped down handfuls of the brown balls, Hawksworth discreetly signaled for more wine. After the dishes were cleared, several jeweled women in red trousers and thin billowing blouses entered, drank glasses of wine in honor of the maharana, then danced among the guests to the accompaniment of a large sarangi.

  After the dancers had been dismissed, Prince Jadar rose and proposed a toast to the maharana. The toast was ceremonial, elaborate, and—it seemed—entirely expected by everyone.

  "To His Highness, the Maharana of Udaipur: whose line flows directly from the great Kusa, son of Rama, King of Ajodhya and the noble hero of the Ramayana. Descendant of the Royal House of the Sun, whose subjects will refuse their food if neither he nor his brother the Sun are present to show their face upon it and bless it."

  The maharana's reply was equally effusive, describing Jadar as the greatest Moghul warrior in all of history, the equal of his Mongol forebears Genghis Khan and Tamer­lane, a worthy descendant of the early Moghul conquerors Babur and Humayun, and finally, the one Moghul whose martial skills might actually approach those of the fighting Rajputs of Mewar—an oblique reference to the fact that Jadar had led the Moghul army that subdued Mewar a decade earlier and induced its Rajputs to finally ac­knowledge Moghul dominance over northwest India.

  Immoderate praise of one another's armies followed next. Then the maharana said something else, and Jadar turned suddenly toward Hawksworth.

  "Ambassador Hawksworth. His Highness has asked to speak with you."

  Hawksworth rose from the carpet and moved forward. Around him the Udaipur Rajputs studied him with open curiosity. They had listened to lavish toasts for years, but none had ever before seen a feringhi in a doublet. The very concept of such a phenomenon exceeded their imagination.

  "His Highness has asked permission to allow his court painters to make your portrait, so that he may remember your likeness. Dressed as you are tonight. Do you have any objection?"

  "Please tell His Highness I would be honored." Hawks­worth found himself startled, and unsure what reply was appropriate. "Please tell him that my own father was once a painter in England."

  Jadar smiled through his teeth. "You mean I should tell him there are of course many skilled artists in your noble land of England. Your own father, as we both know, was a great khan in England, not a lowly craftsman."

  As Hawksworth nodded dully, Jadar turned and trans­lated this to the maharana. Karan Singh's eyes brightened as he replied to Jadar.

  "He asks if your king's painters are expert in Ragamala?"

  "I'm not entirely sure what His Highness refers to." Hawksworth examined Jadar with a puzzled expression.

  Jadar translated and the Rajput looked surprised. He turned and quickly said something to one of the servants, who vanished and reappeared moments later with a leatherbound folio. The maharana spoke briefly to Jadar, then passed the book.

  "The maharana politely suggests that possibly your English king's painters have not yet achieved the sophistica­tion required for Ragamala. He asks me to show you one of his personal albums." Jadar opened the book and handed it to Hawksworth.

  It was filled with vibrant miniature paintings, executed on heavy sheets of paper that had been treated with a white pigment of rice water and lavishly embellished with gold leaf. They showed round-eyed young women with firm breasts and slender wrists lounging in beautifully stylized gardens and courtyards, playing gilded instruments or sensuously embracing their lovers, many surrounded by doves, peacocks, tame deer, and tapestry-covered elephants. In some the blue-faced god Krishna played an instrument that looked something like a sitar, to the wistful gaze of long­ing doe-eyed women whose breasts swelled through their gauze wraps. The paintings imparted to Hawksworth a curi­ous world of emotional intensity: a celebration of life, love, and devotion.

  "Each Ragamala painting depicts the mood of a specific raga." Jadar pointed to one of a jeweled woman feeding a peacock which leaned down from a white marble rooftop, while her lover reached his arms to encircle her. "This is a raga named Hindol, a morning raga of love. The Ragamala paintings of Mewar are a perfect blend of music, poetry, and pure art." Jadar winked. "After the maharana has painted you in your native costume, perhaps he will have his artists paint you as the young god Krishna, enticing some milkmaids to your leafy bed."

  The maharana spoke again to Jadar.

  "He asks whether these are anything like the paintings your king's artists create for English ragas?"

  "Tell him we don't have ragas in England. Our music is different."

  Jadar tried to mask his discomfort. "Perhaps I should merely say your English ragas are in a different style from those we have in India. He will not be impressed to learn that English music is not yet advanced enough to have developed the raga."

  Jadar's reply seemed to satisfy the maharana. He turned and said something to one of the men sitting near him.

  "His Highness has ordered that you be given an album of Ragamala paintings to take back to your king, so the painters at his court may try to copy them and begin to
learn greatness."

  "His Majesty, King James, will be deeply honored by the rana's gift." Hawksworth bowed diplomatically, deciding not to inform the maharana that King James had no painters and little taste.

  The maharana beamed in satisfaction and dismissed Hawksworth with a nod.

  Then the exchange of gifts began. Jadar produced a gold cloak for the maharana, a jewel-encrusted sword, a jeweled saddle, and promised to deliver an elephant with a silver howdah. The maharana in turn gave Jadar an emerald the size of a large walnut, a gilded shield studded with jewels, and a brace of jeweled katars. Each thanked the other extravagantly and set the presents aside.

  Then Jadar suddenly stood up and began removing his turban. The room fell silent at this unprecedented act.

  "Tonight, in gratitude for his friendship, for his offer of an abode to one who no longer has any roof save a tent, I offer to His Highness, the Maharana of Udaipur, my own turban, that he may have a lasting token of my gratitude. That in the years ahead when, Allah willing, these dark days are past, we will neither of us forget my indebtedness on this night."

  As Jadar stepped forward to present the turban, the maharana's eyes flooded with emotion. Before Jadar had moved more than a pace, Karan Singh was on his feet, ripping off his own turban. They met in the center of the room, each reverently placing his own turban on the other's head, then embracing.

  Hawksworth looked around the room and saw Rajputs who would gut an enemy without a blink now near to tears. He leaned back toward Shirin.

  "What's the significance of the turbans?"

  "It's the rarest gift any man could present to another. I've never before heard of a Moghul or a Rajput giving his turban. The story of this will be told throughout Mewar. We have just seen the creation of a legend."

  Then the maharana's voice rose. "Mewar, the abode of all that is beautiful in the world, is made even more beautiful by your presence. In years past we have stood shield to shield with you; tonight we embrace you in friendship. We wish you victory over those who would deny you your birthright, which you have earned both by blood and by deed. No other in India is more fit to reign, more just to govern, more honorable to his friends, more feared by his foes. Tonight we offer you our hand and our prayers that Lord Krishna will always stand with you."

  Hawksworth turned to Shirin and whispered. "What's he saying?"

  Her eyes were dark. "He's delaying his answer to the prince. Offering him prayers to Lord Krishna. Prince Jadar doesn't need prayers to Krishna. He needs Rajputs. Thousands of Rajputs. But perhaps in time the maharana can be convinced. Banquets are not the place for negotia­tion. They're the place for perfumed talk."

  Jadar was smiling as though he had just been offered the whole of Rajputana. He managed to thank the maharana lavishly.

  The maharana beamed and signaled for pan leaves again, signifying the evening was ended. The room emptied in moments.

  "I think Jadar could be in serious trouble." Hawksworth turned to Shirin as they entered the hallway. "If he fails to get support here, what will he do?"

  "I don't know. I think he may still manage an alliance before he's through. But it will be costly. Otherwise he'll probably have to move south and try to convince Malik Ambar to commit him his Maratha army. But Rajputs are better." She moved closer. "I'm suddenly so very, very tired of armies and tents and strategies. I don't know where it will end. Time is running out. For him and for us." She brushed him lightly with her body. "Will you make love to me tonight as though we'd never heard of Rajputs and Marathas? We'll look at the lake in the moonlight and forget everything, just for tonight." She opened her hand. Inside were several small brown balls. "I took some of the maharana's affion. Tonight we have no battles to fight."