Empire of the Moghul: The Tainted Throne

by Alex Rutherford

  Followed by some of his bodyguards, Khurram quickly ascended the two flights of white marble stairs leading to the second floor of the palace where, after some moments’ thought amid the chaos of the gatehouse, he had remembered the imperial quarters were. He began to fling open the ivory-inlaid doors, lining a corridor only dimly lit by a single casement at one end, searching for his sons. Where were they? Had Mehrunissa and Shahriyar spirited them away to act as hostages for their own safe passage? Even worse, had they killed them in sour revenge for his success? He wouldn’t put it past Mehrunissa, he thought, involuntarily clenching his hand tighter around his sword hilt.

  The first room he went into was entirely empty and the only movement was that of the muslin curtains blowing in the breeze through the casement. The second was empty too and so was the third, although an overturned silver goblet and a small pool of spilled sherbet suggested that an occupant had recently left in a hurry. As he emerged from that room sword in hand another door opened further along the corridor and a straight-backed dark-clad female figure emerged, a cream shawl shrouding her face. She began to walk steadily towards him, head held high. Almost instantly Khurram realised from the posture and self-possession the form displayed that it was Mehrunissa. Before he could give the order to seize her she pulled back her shawl and flung herself on to the floor twelve feet from him.

  ‘I yield, Khurram. The prize of the throne is yours. Do with me as you will,’ she said, but then added, ‘but first you will want to know where Dara Shukoh and Aurangzeb are, won’t you?’

  Khurram started. Was Mehrunissa going to surrender his sons, the only possible bargaining counter she had, without seeking some concessions in return?

  ‘Yes, yes. Where are they?’

  ‘Confined by Shahriyar to two small rooms in the basement of the circular sandstone tower in the east wing of the palace. They were under twenty-four-hour guard, although judging by the courage shown by Shahriyar and his men alike the guards will by now have taken to their heels to save themselves. Don’t worry. Your sons are well, even if a little thin and pale from the lack of light and exercise.’

  ‘You’re not lying, are you?’ Khurram shouted, caught between hope and fear. This all seemed too easy. Was it one of Mehrunissa’s tricks – some kind of trap?

  ‘Why should I lie? The game is over. You are the victor. What possible benefit could I gain from rousing your anger? Go to them now.’

  ‘Confine this woman to the haram quarters. I will deal with her later,’ Khurram ordered as he ran to retrace his steps down the stairs, back through the gatehouse and into the sunlit courtyard. There he saw some of Shahriyar’s soldiers squatting arms tied behind their backs against one of the walls while his own men were searching others and stacking up captured weapons.

  Yes, there was the circular tower in the east wing and, yes, there seemed to be stairs leading down below ground level to a basement. Khurram ran over to it and descended the stairs two at a time, but his foot slipped on one of the moss-covered bottom steps and he turned his ankle once more. Just saving himself from falling, he looked round to see a low archway leading into a dark, damp, musty-smelling passage. Followed by some of his bodyguards he half ran, half limped into it. It was a dead end, but on either side was a single door. Each door had a small iron grille cut into the top and each was secured by an iron chain.

  ‘Dara and Aurangzeb,’ Khurram shouted, ‘are you in there?’

  There was no reply. Fearing the worst, he forced himself to look through the grille in the right-hand door. Aurangzeb was lying on a string charpoy of the type found in the houses of poor villagers, gagged with a piece of dirty brown cloth and his hands manacled to the wall. Beneath the charpoy was a brass bowl brimming with urine and faeces next to a clay plate on which was a piece of half-eaten chapatti. Relief that his sons were alive mingled with anger that anyone should have treated them in this way as Khurram turned to the other grille and saw Dara Shukoh similarly manacled and gagged.

  ‘Force these doors open,’ he shouted to the bodyguards who had followed him. One – a burly Rajput – began to throw himself from one door to the other but to no great effect. Then another produced a large metal rod and inserted it into the chain securing Dara Shukoh’s cell and with an immense grunt of effort wrenched one of the links free. As the door creaked open Khurram pushed past the man into the fetid room. Quickly he began with fumbling fingers to untie the gag while his guards got to work on the manacles. ‘Dara Shukoh, you’re safe,’ he said, trying to hold back the welling tears as he finally succeeded in unknotting the cloth. At the same time, his hands freed, Dara Shukoh – his whole body quivering with emotion – threw his arms round his father’s neck. Moments later Aurangzeb, released by more of the guards, rushed into his brother’s cell and embraced them both. Khurram could not hold back the tears of joy and relief any longer. But despite their distorting effect he could still see that his sons were hollow eyed and much thinner than they should have been.

  After a few minutes during which none of the three could speak Khurram asked, ‘How long have you been kept like this?’

  ‘Fourteen days, Father,’ said Dara Shukoh, his voice still husky and dry from the gag.

  ‘That is since we’ve been in these cells with just one hand manacled to the wall. It’s only been in the last few hours that both our hands have been manacled and we’ve been gagged,’ put in Aurangzeb.

  ‘Who gave the order for you to be imprisoned?’

  ‘When we were first brought here one of the guards told me it was Shahriyar,’ said Dara Shukoh. ‘The guard was gentle with me and put soft cloth round my wrist before he put the manacle on. Please be merciful to him.’

  ‘I’ll make sure he isn’t punished too severely. Did he say why Shahriyar was imprisoning you?’

  ‘To prevent us from escaping or being rescued so he could use us as hostages,’ said Dara Shukoh, and then added after a moment, ‘Father, I think Shahriyar came down here to get us a little while ago. The door rattled as if someone was trying to release the chain and I heard a voice I think was his shouting for the guards. But they didn’t come and he could find no way of opening the doors.’

  ‘That was probably fortunate. There’s no knowing what panic and fear might have induced him to do,’ said Khurram, his anger increasingly turning towards Shahriyar rather than Mehrunissa. She at least had had the courage to confront him and the good sense both to know when she had lost and to reveal his sons’ whereabouts. Disengaging himself from his boys’ embrace, he said, ‘Let’s get you into the courtyard, into the sun. Afterwards the two of you can wash and eat while I search for Shahriyar.’

  Quickly they left the damp basement rooms and climbed the stairs into the light, both the boys shading their eyes against the glare of the sun they had not seen for a fortnight.

  Only a minute or two after they emerged, Khurram saw a female figure being pushed roughly into the courtyard from the direction of the haram. His first reaction was to wonder what further outrage Mehrunissa had committed despite her seeming acquiescence in her defeat when she had surrendered herself to him. However, he soon realised that this woman was taller even than Mehrunissa, and broader shouldered. She was using all her strength to resist the guards dragging her towards Khurram, refusing to move her feet and struggling vigorously. When she came closer Khurram saw that her chin was covered with a stubble unknown to even the most hirsute of women. It was a man in woman’s clothing – Shahriyar, his handsome features marred by a purple swelling around his right eye, which looked almost closed. Clearly he had not been captured without a struggle.

  ‘Where did you find him?’ Khurram asked one of the guards holding on to Shahriyar, who by now had dropped to his knees, hands clasped in supplication.

  ‘We searched the haram after confining the Empress Mehrunissa, her daughter Ladli and Ladli’s child. We found no one who did not have the right to be there until we came to one of the last and smallest rooms in the complex. I entered it. It was
where the soiled linen and dirty garments were collected prior to washing. All seemed to be in order, but when I turned to leave, a small movement in a large pile of white washing near the door caught my eye, small enough even to have been a mouse, but I decided to investigate. I’m glad I did. When I kicked the pile, my foot thudded into flesh and a woman leapt up and tried to escape, scratching at my face as she went. I grabbed her by the shoulder and threw her on her back on to the pile of washing and dropped to my knees, straddling her so she could not escape. “Who are you? Why are you trying to escape?” I shouted. “I fear you’re going to rape me. I’m a virgin and don’t want to be the victim of a rough warrior like you,” she said in a high voice. Even though it sounded unlike any woman I’d ever heard, I started to get up but as I did so she kneed me in the groin. When I doubled up in pain she tried to push me aside but I held on to her. Next she bit my arm. That was when her veil flapped loose and I saw she was a man and I punched her hard. She didn’t struggle any more.’

  ‘You did well,’ said Khurram. Turning to Shahriyar, he demanded, ‘And you, Shahriyar, what have you to say for yourself?’

  ‘Spare me,’ his half-brother pleaded, his eyes fixed imploringly on Khurram.

  ‘Why should I after what you did to my sons? How dare you treat innocent imperial princes like common criminals?’

  ‘It wasn’t me. I was only—’

  ‘Only what?’

  ‘Following Mehrunissa’s wishes.’

  ‘Let’s see what she has to say about that. Bring the empress here,’ Khurram ordered one of the guards. Minutes later she stood before him, still looking calm and composed. ‘This creature says he was only obeying your orders.’

  ‘Well, let him produce them. What kind of man can so forget himself as to hide behind the skirts of a woman? Did I attend the council meetings? Did I order your sons to be manacled? Ask their guards – if you can find them.’

  A good point, thought Khurram, remembering what his sons had told him. ‘Well, Shahriyar, answer this charge.’

  ‘But I knew it was what she wanted . . . that my actions would please her and Ladli. Mehrunissa rejoiced in your downfall and disgrace. She was behind it, everyone knows that.’

  ‘Mehrunissa, is this true?’

  ‘I was no friend to you for many years. Of course I admit it. But I did not act out of petty spite or personal animosity. We all look to ourselves first. I acted in my own interest . . . that in doing so I damaged yours and Arjumand’s was a side-effect not the object. Yes, I may be responsible for much of your suffering and yes I am ready to die for it . . . but some of the petty, vicious refinements in the treatment of your sons were not mine, you should know that.’

  That certainly was true, thought Khurram. Dara Shukoh had told him in the courtyard that the friendly guard had said that Shahriyar had personally instructed him that the food for their cells should be not from the imperial kitchens but water and old chapattis and that their divans should be exchanged for the charpoys. Anger welled within him again as he demanded, ‘Is what Mehrunissa said true?’ Shahriyar said nothing. ‘You deserve to die,’ Khurram told him, and then turning to Mehrunissa asked, ‘Have you anything to say as to why he should not?’

  Mehrunissa steeled herself as she had when she had stood before Jahangir all those years ago beside her bleeding, tortured conspirator of a brother. She could do nothing for Shahriyar. To give herself and Ladli and her granddaughter a chance he was a necessary sacrifice.

  ‘For what the advice of a woman is worth, his deeds merit death. To keep him alive would only be to preserve a threat to your throne. Remember the perils of the leniency shown by your ancestors. Think of Kamran and Humayun, Khusrau and your father. Once rebels taste power they want it again. You, your beloved Arjumand and your children will sleep safer with Shahriyar gone. You know that deep within you. You want Shahriyar dead, and Khusrau too. I see that . . . have you the courage to recognise it? Do what the necessity of survival demands. Use my words to salve your conscience if you are so weak as to need to do so. Let a woman share the blame. Why not?’

  Mehrunissa’s words resonated in Khurram’s head. Yes, even if in his heart he knew he would have acted little differently to his half-brothers in bidding for their father’s vacant throne, he would be glad if they were dead and their threat gone for ever. And yes, he was weak enough to wish the decision could be taken out of his hands so that he need not face up to the depths of his selfishness . . . But if he were to be an emperor he must accept the burden of responsibility. After some time during which no one spoke, he said, ‘Shahriyar, you will die now – not just because your crimes merit it but for the sake of the dynasty and myself and my sons. Guards, take him away. Execute him by sword stroke. Do it cleanly and quickly.’

  Shahriyar seemed to faint and the guards reached down and began to drag him away. Halfway across the courtyard he began to scream, bucking and kicking in their grip. For some reason, perhaps to demonstrate his resolve and responsibility for what was happening, Khurram forced himself to watch until the guards and his struggling half-brother disappeared from sight. Then he turned to Mehrunissa. She was still looking steadily and defiantly at him, eyes focused and lips firmly closed. But as he scrutinised her, Khurram began to realise she was an old woman. There were bags under her eyes and her dark irises were fading round their edges. Fine hairs covered her upper lip and lines radiated around her mouth. Her jawline was sagging. She was an old widow from whom power was ebbing as completely as her looks, however much she might still wish to dominate events. Unlike Shahriyar she seemed unafraid to die. Perhaps a greater punishment would be to ignore her. Let her see how little she would count for any more.

  ‘As for you, Mehrunissa, you will live in the seclusion your grief as an imperial widow demands. I will find some distant place in which you may meditate on your loss and your sins and prayerfully await divine judgement untroubled by the affairs of a world that will soon forget you.’

  Mehrunissa said nothing as she was led away. Once again she had what she wanted. She would live. However, as the reality of her fate began to sink in she started to wonder would she have been better to die now rather than to fade into obscurity. Death was inevitable. Why had she not brought it on now as she knew she could have done? Had her courage failed her for once? It was a question that would continue to haunt her.

  That night, sitting in the imperial quarters listening to the sounds of his men’s exuberant feasting, Khurram penned two letters by candlelight. The first was to Arjumand, long and full of love and the news of the safety of their sons and how he had secured the throne. It summoned her to meet him outside Agra with their remaining children as soon as she could in preparation for his coronation in his capital. The second was much shorter and more sombre and addressed to the Governor of Burhanpur.

  At the sound of a fanfare of trumpets Khurram, quickly followed by Dara Shukoh and Aurangzeb, ducked out of the scarlet tent in his camp at the village of Sikandra, five miles outside Agra. Close to the tomb of his beloved grandfather Akbar – the soaring sandstone gateway was visible through the neem trees – Sikandra had seemed to Khurram a fitting place to halt before his triumphal entry into Agra. This was no campaign camp, with austere lines of soldiers’ tents and run with military discipline, but a vast tented city where the celebrations of his triumph had already begun. Banners of Moghul green fluttered from the roofs of the tents of his nobles and commanders, grouped around his own tent and spreading in all directions. Every night since his arrival here from Lahore two weeks ago had seen lavish feasting and entertainments, paid for from the coffers of the Agra treasuries to which he now had the keys. Every day the numbers in his camp had been swelling as vassal rulers arrived in answer to the summons of the Moghul emperor-in-waiting.

  And at last the person whose arrival he had been anticipating above all others was approaching. He could see, glinting in the midday sun, Arjumand’s silver, emerald-encrusted howdah swaying atop the richly caparisoned elephant
he had sent to carry her the final miles of her journey. Ahead of her rode some of Mahabat Khan’s Rajput horsemen and behind he could make out the elephant on which his four other children would be travelling, including the new son, Murad Bakhsh, he hadn’t yet seen. At the thought that at last his family would be together again, Khurram felt a surge of happiness greater even than when he contemplated the moment he would mount the Moghul throne. He smiled at Dara Shukoh and Aurangzeb, dressed in coats and turbans of silver cloth in readiness for this moment. ‘It’s your mother. She’s coming,’ he said softly.

  He led the boys to a tall tent nearly twenty feet high at its apex that had been erected in front of the haram tents in readiness for the arrival of Arjumand’s elephant. Khurram had to force himself to stay still, standing between his sons with a hand on each of their shoulders, as her elephant approached, the two mahouts perched behind its gold-painted ears guiding it skilfully with their metal rods towards the great tent. As soon as the elephant had entered, followed by Khurram and his sons, attendants pulled the curtains back in place. Khurram waited while the mahouts brought the great beast to its knees and sliding from its neck swiftly positioned the dismounting block of gilded wood that had been placed ready. Then, touching their hands to their breasts, they quickly left the tent.