“Salaam Walekum!” One by one, men gestured to me as I walked by, receiving but a nod and smile in return. Feeling somewhat confident, I dared to disguise my voice, using as deep a tone as my throat would allow, and reply, “Walekum Salaam!”
I was actually enjoying this, walking more briskly, with more confidence and conviction in my voice, to the shop owner, the butcher with his goat carcass hanging; I repeated the same salutation to the seller of grains and lentils, thoroughly convinced that my disguise was working.
Leaving the market, I was walking out of the main fort when the wind suddenly grew stronger, blowing more of my turban aloft, until suddenly I felt its weight lifted entirely from the top of my head.
I grabbed the edge of the headpiece as it began to roll down the street, and vaguely heard someone yell, “Guards!” Had I been spotted? I wasn’t sure, but my hair, which was tied up to hide its length, had also begun to unravel, and as I chased my turban, I paid little attention to whether or not my face was visible and its expression still disguised.
Grabbing hold of the turban, I pulled it toward me like the rope of a struggling mountain climber who’d just lost his footing and planted it on my head, not caring whether or not any of my long strands fell down beside it. Gaining full control then, I tucked my strands inside, all the while hoping that no one was watching me, for I’d totally lost control of the situation.
I then ran as fast as I could; the time for vanity and self-confidence had passed. My only hope was that no one had seen me and if they had, that they wouldn’t say anything.
Aurangzeb returned to Agra the following month as per our father’s orders, but he spent little time with me, only an obligatory visit to ask about my health. I remember vividly our candid conversation that day. He arrived in my palace wearing a humble yellow robe with a white turban. I often implored him to dress more like a prince, with golden or burgundy robes, but he wouldn’t relent, insisting always that such attire was a sign of sinful vanity. Aurangzeb sat on the divan with his arms at his side. He seemed very confused and tense during this time. I was hesitant to prod him as to the cause of this. I feared he felt disillusioned about everything that had happened and almost embarrassed to now be the only son of Aba with no real title of governorship. He knew he’d only been allowed to return because of my help, and I think knowing this emasculated him further.
I sat next to him, my head still bandaged from my scars as Gabriel had instructed. I took a sip of my ginger tea and looked for a way to begin the conversation. At last I asked: “Do you like the structure?”
Aurangzeb continued to avoid eye contact. Was he angry at me for what Aba had done? He shrugged, “It’s perfect for this kingdom.”
This kingdom? This seemed like a typical Aurangzeb remark meant to ridicule the kingdom for its glamour and riches.
I put my cup down and mustered the strength to move the conversation along. “Aurangzeb, I know you received news of my illness later than everyone else.”
Aurangzeb finally looked at me resignedly. He’d told Aba this, but his father wouldn’t believe him.
I added: “I also know that someone in this kingdom intentionally blocked the news from reaching you.”
Aurangzeb continued to stare at me, as if disinterested with this information. Then I offered, “Raushanara! My spies have told me everything!”
He looked startled. “How can you be so sure? Everyone here is engaged in political intrigue. How can you be so sure your spies are telling you the truth?”
“It’s the truth,” I insisted. “She’s not your ally!”
Aurangzeb looked away, and then moved just his eyes in my direction. “How do you know Dara wasn’t behind this?”
“Dara? Why would he do such a thing?”
“Why not?” he shot back bitterly. “Didn’t he abandon me during the elephant fight? Isn’t he the one who constantly poisons Aba’s heart against me? With me out of the picture, he’s free to be the hero… you know, the brother who attended to grieving Aba.”
“Dara isn’t like that…”
“Yes, he is! He’s not the ascetic devotee you all treat him as. Behind his façade of Sufism is a calculating politician who’s been trying to get rid of me since day one.”
“I tell you, Aurangzeb, Raushanara is not your friend. No matter what you think, she’s trying to poison you against the rest of us, specifically me.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Because she doesn’t like that I’m empress. She wishes to drive a wedge between me and as many people as possible. With you on her side, she can build her own team of confidantes.”
Aurangzeb’s eyes narrowed and he nodded slightly, as if in dawning acknowledgment of the truth of what I was saying. I knew that despite the fact that I’d supported his arch enemy for the throne, Aurangzeb respected me immensely and knew that Raushanara was exceedingly jealous of me. But could he let himself believe she would act on that jealousy? Like himself, she always seemed to be consigned to second place because of Aba’s partiality.
Aurangzeb took a deep breath and sighed. “Jahanara, thank you for pleading my cause to the King, but I don’t feel Agra is for me. I wish to continue spending my time in prayer and solitude. I’ll be leaving for Fatehpur in the morning.”
15
SHAHJAHANABAD
9th November, 1644
I hadn’t seen Gabriel in almost a week, though I’d written to him a few times, never receiving a response. I’d grown concerned that perhaps something was amiss, but tried to convince myself I was being overly anxious. Bahadur finally arrived one day with a letter from Gabrel. The brief letter read:
Dear Jahanara,
I have received orders from my Captain Bruton to travel to Bengal and establish a trading post there.
What? Gabriel was going to leave Agra and travel elsewhere? The news sank my heart as soon as I read it.
I am prepared to leave the East India Company if you ask me to, but this is your decision. We have spent many months and countless moments together. If you ask me to leave the East India Company I will do so, but the request must come from you.
Love,
Gabriel
How should I answer? How could I interfere with the trajectory of his life, when I wasn’t even willing to make him openly a part of mine? To keep him here in secret was wicked, for we weren’t married and never could be. I agonised over how to reply to him.
“What reply do you have for me, “Bahadur questioned as he looked intently at me. I looked away. I was scared. I knew what I had to do, but could not summon the courage to do it. In my cowardice I began immersing myself in my official duties: issuing edicts, conferring honours on nobles, and advising the King. “There is no reply now,” I finally replied after being questioned multiple times by Bahadur. “I must attend to court business! The King has requested my presence in the Macchi Bawan for some important news.
“Shall I accompany you, Your Majesty?”
“If you wish, Bahadur, but this matter will not be brought up!” Bahadur nodded in the affirmative but gave me the disappointed look I was slowly becoming accustomed to. We quietly walked to the Macchi Bawan, uttering not a word to one another.
As soon as we entered, Aba was hovering over large parchments with illustrations. I could not help but wonder whether a new building was being commissioned and if so, then in whose honour.
Aba remarked, “The city will be an imperfect semicircle, on the banks of the Jumna, not far from the ancient city of Delhi. It will draw on both Hindu and Muslim influences. The streets will be in the shape of a bow from north to south, with a central avenue piercing them at perpendicular angles in the middle, like an archer’s arm or an arrow. The location of the new Red Fort will be the junction of the axis, an auspicious centre according to Hindu beliefs of Vastu Shastra.”
Vastu Shastra, a Hindu concept, broadly defined which locations were auspicious for a home, and within the dwelling, which rooms should be placed in which direction
.
“But the entire city, my child,” continued my excited Aba, “will be like an actual man, because a man lives best in a physical environment that’s similar to him. Look at the paper: Here is the palace, so imagine this being the head of a man, and this central avenue goes from the centre of the palace all the way down, like the spine. These streets are like its ribs, and this… look at this – what do you think this is?”
Aba pointed to a large structure off to one side of the main avenue.
I said, “It looks like a mausoleum.”
“No,” smiled Aba, “this is a mosque, the largest one outside of Mecca, and it will represent the heart, because the heart can only be where there is God. It will be the Jama Masjid.”
I smiled to see my father so excited and was amazed at how much thought and work he’d put into this new city. Aba had chosen the banks along the Jumna near the ancient capital of Delhi as the city for his new capital for a reason:
Delhi had been one of the oldest sites in the history of India; some scholars believed as many as 12 different civilisations had existed within its borders in the previous 3,000 years. The Pandavs, the heroes of the Hindu scripture Gita, which Dara always quoted, were said to have built the first ever city on that land, calling it Indra Prastha, God Indra’s City. Then came the Hindu Mauryan Kings, one of whom was named Dillu, giving the city the name Dilli, or Delhi. Then came a host of further successor states: The Tomars, the Chauhans, and then the first Muslim rulers, Ghori, Khilji, Tughluq, Sayyid and Lodhi dynasties, stretching the time clock almost to 1526, when my great-great-great-grandfather Babur invaded Delhi and established his kingdom. Delhi remained the capital of Mughal India for another 20 years, but in 1558, my great-grandfather Akbar decided to move the capital to Agra due to its closer proximity to the unruly Deccan. Since then Delhi had remained in relative ruin, a constant reminder of India’s multicultural background as well as her violent heritage.
Aba wanted to link us Mughals back to Delhi, hoping that by doing so he would not only have the chance to be creative in building and planning a brand new city, but the linkage with Delhi would also offer the new city historical legitimacy. He had plans drawn up as early as 1629, but the actual work didn’t begin until much later.
“But why, Aba?” I asked. “Why now? We’re not even done with the structure.”
“Who cares?” he laughed. “The structure is just about finished, just needs a few more touches. Besides, I can’t live in Agra anymore; it’s much too congested, and I cannot properly honour dignitaries here with all the congestion. A capital city should be open. Shahjahanabad will have gates leading into every corner of the empire!
“And I’ve thought of a name for your mother’s mausoleum. We’re not going to call it ‘the structure’ anymore, nor will we use something long and difficult to remember. It should be something simple, so even these firangis can remember when they return to their home. We shall name it after your mother – Mumtaz Mahal.”
“Mumtaz Mahal?” I mused. “That does sound pleasant, but do you really want all the commoners saying mother’s full name aloud. Would that not be disrespectful to her memory?”
Aba’s brows furrowed; he gazed into the air and started blabbing: “Mumtaz, Taz, Mum, Mahal, Mahal Taz, Dastaan-i-mahal… no… mahal Taz mum, no…”
I just stared at him, keenly aware that when Aba started to think out loud, no one was supposed to disturb him when he was engrossed in deep thought. In fact, all his big ideas came from such moments.
“Mahal taz… Taz Mahal – that’s it! Taz Mahal, so as not to be confused with Mumtaz Mahal. Simply Taz Mahal!”
“Taz Mahal,” I echoed. “It’s perfect, Aba!”
We set out for Delhi the next morning. My elephant was the grandest, second only to Aba’s; I rode under an azure canopy with a Mughal lion painted in gold. I chose to ride alone so I could be at peace with my thoughts and memories of my several rendezvous with Gabriel.
Gabriel and I had spent the previous several months meeting at the mansion Aba granted him alongside the Jumna. The location provided me with a clear view of the structure. I would enter Gabriel’s mansion as a servant boy and he would receive me as such. I tried learning some basic words of English while also helping him perfect his Persian. He would tell me stories of distant lands he’d travelled to: Persia, China, Ceylon, Baghdad, and of course his homeland.
I felt strangely free whenever I dressed as a boy, as though a tremendous burden had been lifted off my head. I even visited the structure dressed as a boy, and enjoyed seeing how the everyday labourers lived and worked. Streams of sweat poured down the sun-darkened labourers as they toiled every day for my mother’s future home. Women, some pregnant, balanced basins of earth on their heads. Sometimes low-level administrators would tap me to leave, telling me I was getting in their way. A lifetime as a royal made it difficult for me to bear ever being spoken to this way. But I would smile regardless, and move on.
I didn’t question the morality of what I was doing with Gabriel; I just lacked the strength to deal with that question. I lived for the moment and chose to relish it.
As our procession approached Delhi, I could tell this land had seen great civilisations before. Ruined fortresses with walls as high and thick as our Red Fort in Agra were peppered around the city. Mud huts covered the landscape, presumably housing the descendants of the people who once owned these civilisations. Overgrown shrubs and untamed forests had reclaimed land that at one time must have been beautiful gardens and walkways. Makeshift homes were made from remnants of what once must have been civil buildings or mansions. Beyond the ruins lay endless jungles with smoke emitting haphazardly from their midst; signs of life existing even there.
I couldn’t help but wonder if this was what would become of our descendants one day. The thought left me worried and in despair for a few moments. What led to this great civilisation’s collapse? What could I as queen do to prevent this from happening us? My mind again drifted to my brothers and who would be king. I never had any doubts that Dara would be a great king, but would he be able to be a valiant warrior who could fend off invading forces? What about Aurangzeb? Would he really be as intolerant a king as he was a prince?
The people in the mud huts coalesced around our procession, begging for alms. Aba loved this part of his journeys. He distributed silver coins to all who desired tokens of what was to come to their destitute land. This would now be the capital of our empire, and they would be its proud citizens.
We dismounted from our elephants and walked around the city, eventually climbing a tower that stood by itself. I’d been told it had once been part of a grand palace, of which it was all that now remained.
“Why are we here, Aba? I’m afraid this tower may collapse at any moment, too.”
Aba snorted, “Nonsense! This tower had withstood the elements all these years. Nothing our earthly bodies do to it will have an effect.”
We climbed its spiral staircase with its steps partly broken in some areas. Finally, we reached the top and looked out on the landscape. I now understood why climbing this tower was so important to Aba: From here one could view the entire city of Delhi – the ruins, slums and jungles.
Aba pointed. “That’s where our new Red Fort shall be, alongside the Jumna.”
I squinted but could barely see the edge of the river.
Aba went on to show me where the city would be and its different buildings would lie. “Yet again, the queen shall be its manager,” he declared.
“Me? But Aba, I know nothing about all this.”
“Nonsense,” he huffed. “You’ve learned much about architecture in the last several years. Come now, and embrace your father.”
I looked out again. My future? In this jungle? I took a deep breath and then grew pensive. For a moment, I felt transported back to the time when Aba stood on the Samman Burj and proclaimed the riverside location as the new home for his mausoleum for Ami. Now, I stood here overlooking another jungle, being
given the chance to build my own ‘structure.’ I burst out, “I’ll do it, Aba!”
He smiled, and I continued: “I shall make this the most beautiful city the world has ever seen! You won’t be disappointed.”
Aba put his arms on my shoulders and kissed me on the forehead. “I never am with you, my child. Never.”
As the sun’s rays waned, our caravan began its journey back to Agra. I smiled as we left this now desolate land that was to be our new home in a few short years. Peasant children ran behind our caravan, as though they wished for us to take them back to Agra also. Eventually tired, one by one they peeled off till no one was left chasing us. We slowly rode near the Jumna river, and in the distance I could see the Hindu sadhus bathing in the water. These men looked extremely old, probably even over 100, but their bodies looked strong, and I’d often been afraid of them. The caravan slowed, possibly, I thought, due to a ditch or obstacle that it would have to overtake to continue forward. Such delays were common when we set out in the jungle.
I peeked out at the sadhus as our caravan continued to slow down. They all began shaking their heads from side to side, as if telling me not to do something. Old thin men, with chiselled, muscled arms belying their age, white hair and long white beards, all in unison continued to shake their heads as they made eye contact with me. Then, one of the sadhus raised his finger and began waving it from side to side as if insisting that I heed their message. Finally, one of the sadhus ascended from the river and walked towards our caravan. The imperial soldiers blocked him from coming close to my elephant, so he resisted and cried out: “Heed my advice! He who builds his city in Delhi is bound to one day lose it!”
I felt shaken by this naked man’s challenge of our plans, for I sensed he knew the truth of what he was saying. “Nonsense, Your Majesty,” scoffed Bahadur. “These sadhus always scare people. They probably want you to pay them to lift the curse on Delhi. It’s just a ploy to extort imperial alms from you.”
Mistress of the Throne (The Mughal intrigues) Page 16