by John Shors
The soldiers looked at me oddly as they passed, for rarely did one see a woman on horseback, especially without escort. Though these were hard men, with full beards and scarred faces, I heard only a few crude remarks. When I spied the battalion’s leader, a young captain I had met before, I called to him. He shouted my name and steered his mount toward mine. After we exchanged pleasantries, I inquired about the fighting to the south. Apparently, it had started when a fierce Deccan raiding party crossed into our southern lands. For years they had sought independence from the Empire. On this occasion the Deccans had burnt down homes, stolen rice and taken children as slaves. Such events were so common that the captain hardly commented on them. Still, the fighting was bloody and Father had requested reinforcements.
After wishing the man good fortune, I navigated the cluttered streets. The closer I drew to the Red Fort, the more congealed my environs became. Normally, merchants hawked all sorts of wares to me, but now, in my plain robe, I inspired few propositions. A toothless butcher did point me toward a rack of hanging meats. Flies covered the haunches of beef, and I turned my gaze elsewhere.
My energy waning, I approached the citadel. Its sandstone ramp was being swept clear of dung and washed clean by a score of slaves. Most were Hindus, for when I was halfway up the ramp, and a muezzin’s wails for prayer commenced, only a handful of workers and myself turned toward Mecca. I prayed for our soldiers and for the safety of my family. I was tempted to ask Allah for help with my husband but decided that He had nobler projects to attend.
I left my tired mount with a stable boy and headed toward the royal apartments. It took little effort to find Ladli. She was busy peeling carrots in the imperial kitchen, where she so often toiled. When she saw me, she let out a squeal and dropped her knife. An older servant was about to admonish her when I cleared my throat and asked that Ladli be dismissed.
My friend came to me quickly. We hurried from all ears and before long found ourselves atop one of the fort’s mighty ramparts, which had been designed to hold fighting men and offered a splendid view of Agra. Thousands of homes, mosques and bazaars stretched far into the distance before merging with the river or gentle hills. The mosques’ minarets rose like giant brown needles into the sky, high enough so the muezzins could be heard far and wide, and high enough that these men could not look into windows of adjacent homes, where views of women might distract them.
Built alongside the river, Agra is shaped like a crescent moon. At the Yamuna’s banks are mostly palaces, stone and brick with lush gardens. Farther from the river rose the homes of the commoners, as abundant as monsoon raindrops and growing more tightly packed together each year as our city swelled above five hundred thousand.
Most distant from the river and its breezes were Agra’s slums. From our perch atop the Red Fort, the slums reminded me of a dirty carpet. A seemingly infinite number of hovels rested so close together that it was hard to discern the narrow paths separating them. Mother had taken us into this realm on several occasions, as she wanted us to see how those less fortunate lived. While she spoke to the poor of their needs, my eyes wandered about the foreign environs.
Rats, odors, filth and disease infested Agra’s slums. Ragged children hunted the rats. The poorest of the poor ate these creatures, roasting them in wretched alleys above dung-fueled fires. It had been agonizing for me to look upon the homeless, for open sores covered faces and arms, and flies covered sores. I was told that thousands of these people slept outside on beds of festering hay. The more blessed of the slum’s inhabitants dwelt in decrepit mud-brick homes. Many such shelters had collapsed and were long ago looted of timber and stone.
“Shiva’s been busy,” Ladli said, interrupting my thoughts.
Shiva was the Hindu god of destruction and creation, and yes, had been busy, for within the slums, the thatched roof of one hovel was ablaze. I turned toward Mecca and said a quick prayer. In part to spite my husband, in part to help the fire’s victims, I promised Allah to send a servant into the slums with coins for those injured. I’d send a physician as well. Though Ladli was equally accustomed to such sights, I saw her lips quiver as she spoke to her gods. I squeezed her hand. “I’ve missed you.”
“But why?” she asked, her russet-colored face tightening as she hugged me. “Doesn’t a certain buzzard keep you happy?”
“Me, happy?” I shifted atop a sandstone block. “I’m just another scrap of meat for his gullet.”
“Truly?”
I watched the smoke drift upward, diffusing into the pale Hindustani sky. “Not too many years ago, I came here with my parents. We picnicked. They fed each other cherries and spat the pits below.” I picked up a pebble and tossed it off the side. “They’re so in love, Ladli. I always prayed that I’d have the same.”
“But you don’t,” she said, her voice interrupted by the faraway trumpeting of elephants. On a broad riverbank, a circle of men assembled. Even from this distance I could tell that they were nobles, for the colors of their tunics were bright and varied. All the men held long spears. Before them, in the center of their circle, stood two elephants.
Knowing that the beasts would be prodded until at last they charged each other and bloodied their tusks, I shifted my gaze to a tiny mirror on my finger. I found myself wishing I loved a man who cherished the imperfections of my face. Though Mother possessed no such flaws, I was certain that Father would have delighted in a stray mole, or a crooked tooth, had they been hers. “He struck me the other night,” I confessed. “And then he made me…”
“Made you what?”
I hesitated, the memory too foul. “Nothing. But can you imagine my father striking my mother? He’d die a thousand deaths before doing so.”
“The dog!” she stammered. “That worm-infested, bastard son of a whore.”
Her tongue always made me smile, and today was no exception. “Really, Ladli, the things you say.”
“Perhaps if you hadn’t been raised in the harem—”
“I can curse if I want to.”
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Who, you say, did you marry?”
I grinned, suddenly feeling warm and uncaged. “A pox-ridden maggot of a man with a brick for a brain and a dung heap for a home.”
Ladli fought the urge to laugh. “Not bad for one so highborn. But surely you can be more inventive. Practice sometimes in his presence, when he reminds you of certain creatures.”
“Like a boar?”
“A boar is much too clever. He’s more of a toad, for you won’t find an uglier, nor a more witless creature.” She tugged at her sari, loosening its embrace from her ample breasts. Though a garment that made her look magnificent, saris seemed always to torment her. “I’d like to whip whoever devised this,” she said. “Or better yet, make men wear it for a day.”
“Can you imagine Khondamir in one?”
Her jaw dropped at the thought. “I’ll try not to, my little Muslim friend.”
As we chuckled I tossed more pebbles off the rampart. Ladli continued to fuss with her sari. The fire had spread below and consumed several hovels. I said a second prayer for their inhabitants before turning to my companion. “Can I ask you something?”
“Only if you’ve a tongue.”
“Did you and Dara…ever kiss?”
Her smile flickered, then vanished. “I’d have liked to, but since he married that ornament, it will never happen. Not with him wed and me beneath him.”
I recalled his wedding, an affair just two months before mine. His wife seemed a kind woman and a part of me envied him. “Has there been anyone else?”
“One.”
“Do I know him?” I asked, taken aback by her admission.
“Do I know who you know?” Before I could answer, she added, “But not likely. He’s the son of a fisherman. He sneaks
me away on his boat.”
“It continues?”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“But what if someone discovers? No one would marry you.”
Ladli was about to respond when she spied a ladybug at my feet. She carefully picked it up, and held her hand open so that the creature might fly to safety. The wind bore it away. “Could be my great-grandmother,” she jested, though in truth she took such matters seriously.
“What of the boy?”
“Nobody will find out. And I see no reason to keep myself untouched so that some old lout can grope me.”
I considered my experience. The pain, despite lessening considerably, was still a part of the exchange. “What’s it like?”
“Sometimes, the world seems to shake. Other times, it’s as peaceful as the river.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Only in a good way, the way sherbet makes you cringe because it tastes so sweet.”
I recalled my husband’s sweaty, reeking embraces and found it impossible to conjure up such images. Lovemaking with him was like being lain upon by a chamber pot. “Please be careful,” I finally said.
“Don’t worry, Jahanara. And don’t worry over your future. One of these days you’ll find someone who makes you shake.”
“I doubt it,” I replied sadly.
Ladli rose to save an enormous caterpillar. “Food for your husband, the toad,” she said, setting it away from our feet.
“He would probably eat it, for he’s always stuffing something into his mouth.”
“Take it home for him. Mix it up in some curry and he’ll be none the wiser.”
I smiled at the thought. As much as I wanted to stay with my friend and continue such banter, I needed to return home. So we hugged again, and started back toward the kitchen.
Little did I know then of how right Ladli was—that indeed I would discover such a man. For the face I would come to cherish, the spirit who would capture my own, was laboring within the Red Fort’s walls.
Chapter 5
A Promise to Keep
Not until summer’s end did I finally see my family. Our forces secured a major victory to the south, and columns of men and mounts returned to Agra amid great fanfare. While throngs of Hindustanis applauded from the sides of a dusty road leading to our city, cannons rumbled from atop the Red Fort. Hundreds of enemy soldiers had been captured, and these unfortunate men headed the procession, stumbling into our lair chained to one another. The Deccans had been stripped of their armor and wore nothing but loincloths. Most were muscular figures and would command high prices as slaves.
Khondamir watched the prisoners pass with interest from our spot near the road, for his silver mines demanded fresh men. He would arrive at the imperial stockade early tomorrow before the bidding commenced. I’d heard through the whisperings of a servant that my husband had an arrangement with someone in the army and hence was always able to buy the fittest men.
“Pathetic creatures, aren’t they?” he asked, devouring handfuls of pistachios. His plump figure bestrode a stallion while I sat on my old mare. Still, I was pleased to be present, even if my husband was merely showing me off to those lining the road. He had insisted I wear my best robe and jewels to honor our returning victors.
“The prisoners look weary,” I said, for though the Deccans were our foes, they were bloodied and sagging. In the oppressive midday heat their bodies glistened with sweat.
“Wait until they stay a month in my mines. The cowards should have died fighting.”
Despite my husband having never seen a battlefield, I checked my tongue. “Perhaps they were taken by surprise,” I offered.
“There’s no surprise, woman, in war. Face an enemy. Gut him. Kill him. But you wouldn’t know that. All you know is trees.”
I wasted no further words on him. Instead, I scanned the vast procession for my family. Discerning faces among the throngs of warriors wasn’t easy, as most men wore helmets over grimy features. An endless stream of foot soldiers trudged behind the prisoners. Then came war elephants, hundreds upon hundreds of them. The behemoths pulled cannons, as well as carts laden with plunder, wounded warriors and sacks of grain. A slight man, known as a mahout, sat on the neck of each elephant, guiding his beast by tugging at its leathery ears with a hooked pole.
For a moment I feared I’d missed my family but then spied the royal banners announcing the Emperor’s presence. Drumming my fingers on my saddle, I waited impatiently as Father approached. Father returned from battle, as always, riding the largest of all the war elephants. Like most of our bigger elephants, in addition to carrying a mahout, this beast bore a platform atop its back. Father sat on a cushioned dais, seemingly comfortable beneath the shade of a richly decorated umbrella. A musket overlaid in gold leaned against his thigh.
Before and behind Father’s elephant were several white stallions, which my brothers rode. These mounts wore decorative, though protective coats of leather and steel. The leather armor resembled a blanket that had been draped over each steed, beneath its saddle. Such coverings were dyed in bright colors and inset with copper, silver or gold studs. The horses’ faces were clad with painted iron masks.
I waved to my siblings and Dara broke rank, spurring his mount toward me. The crowds, mostly peasants in filthy garbs, ebbed before his massive stallion. Dara offered coins to a few beggars, removed his gilded helmet, and wiped sweat from his brow. He looked displaced in his chain mail, a layer of steel scales set upon iron mesh that would stop all but the fiercest of blows. Silver spikes protruded from the mail, sharp and unblemished.
As convention dictated, Dara exchanged pleasantries with my husband. They spoke briefly of the battle. My brother must have wanted to show his affection for me, because he leaned in my direction. Yet with Khondamir looking on, he merely smiled. “It does my heart good to see you, Jahanara.”
I yearned to touch him but remained motionless, for such a display would surely enrage Khondamir. “I missed you,” I replied, still drumming my fingers, despising the fact that I couldn’t reach out to him. “Where is Mother?”
“Somewhere in the rearguard. She wanted to ride but is big enough with child that Father demanded she rest on a litter.” Dara winked slyly, for we both knew Father could never truly demand anything of his wife.
“Can I see her, and you?”
My brother grinned, and after Khondamir’s stained mouth, Dara’s teeth seemed unnaturally white. “Tomorrow, in honor of his victory, Father’s hosting a qamargah. Meet us a half morning’s march upriver and we’ll pass the day in the tent.”
“You won’t join in the chase?” Khondamir asked incredulously, for a qamargah was the most popular of hunts.
Dara shrugged. “Striking down a terrified animal is something I’ll gladly refrain from.”
“Plenty of warriors,” Khondamir countered, “will enjoy the kill. As will I.”
“Please do. And while you hunt, I’ll talk with your lovely wife.”
Khondamir grunted at the remark, as if I were anything but lovely. Dara stiffened, but seemed unsure whether he’d heard an insult. I hoped he might rise to my defense, but instead he bid us farewell and hurried to resume his position at Father’s side. The army was entering Agra, and Khondamir, noticing that most of the nobles were returning to their shops and homes, wheeled his mount about. I followed him, excited about the prospect of seeing those I loved.
At dinner I could hardly sit still, and at night, when my husband thrust his filth inside me, I was able to force him from my mind. I slept little afterward, awash with eagerness for the coming day. I longed to feel Mother’s belly and hear of the Empire’s health. There was so much I was missing.
When dawn emerged I prepared a meal for Khondamir. He rose early for the qamargah, ate my food grudgingly, and headed toward his mount. His servants
would be on foot, while I was given a decent steed. Blankets and provisions were stowed in saddlebags, and we set out at a brisk pace. Khondamir brandished a stout longbow and sword but no musket. Guns were rarely used in such hunts, for they diminished the skill of the hunter by making the kill too easy.
The journey upriver was uneventful. My husband ate roasted duck and drank arrack from a goatskin bag as he rode. Arrack is a potent drink fashioned from fermented rice, molasses and palm sap. I had sipped it once and would have guessed it to be liquid fire if I hadn’t known better. Khondamir, however, enjoyed it immensely. On occasion he consumed it all day, or at least until he cursed me, fouled himself, and fell unconscious.
My husband didn’t offer conversation as we traveled, and I made no effort to initiate words. At one point he did turn to me and say irritably, “A wife worth a tin of salt would ask if her husband is well.”
“And how are you, my lord, this fine day?” I inquired sweetly.
He tossed a half-eaten drumstick in my direction before spurring his horse ahead. I patted my stallion and began to hum. I knew many songs and whispered them as the land drifted beneath us. The indifferent sun climbed and the river grew narrower and faster. More trees rose here than in Agra, and they dotted the landscape like unruly hairs. Between them swayed thick prairie grass, which hid much wildlife, though I saw three hawks, high above, skipping along currents of air.
When we finally reached the royal camp, mid-morning was upon us. The first thing I noticed was a massive fence encircling the camp. The fence was made of bundled branches the height of a man. These bundles had been placed upright and were tied together, forming a vast circle. To walk from one side of the arena to the other side would have taken longer than was necessary to boil an egg. In the circle’s center stood a sprawling tent. A thicker, but much smaller, circle of wood surrounded this embroidered enclosure.