‘What about Kashmir? I thought that was the place closest to your heart,’ teased Nur Jahan.
‘Ah! Kashmir! That is a heavenly place. But begum, one can’t rule the country from Kashmir.’
Those were happy times and even the empress took time off to relax from her vigil. There were no rebellions to control, no wars to wage, peace prevailed in the empire.
The emperor spent more time writing his memoirs, noting each event with painstaking zeal. A pair of Sarus cranes that had been captured when they were just a month old, travelled with the emperor wherever he went. He had named them Laila and Majnu. The emperor watched their growth and habits with great interest. Royal artists had been instructed to draw images of the two cranes at every stage and the chronologists had been commanded to record each move of the pair.
The emperor fretted continuously about the cranes because they showed no inclination to mate. When the cranes were about five years old, they finally decided to oblige the emperor. A soldier, who had been commanded to monitor their movements, carried the happy news to the emperor.
Rushing to the birds, the emperor and his artist watched the pair with eager eyes as they performed an elaborate mating dance. Pirouetting gracefully around each other Laila and Majnu romanced, blissfully unaware of the watchful eyes. The birds alternately circled around each other with opened wings, bowed their heads and leapt into the air. Then they mated. The emperor was delighted. He described the mating ritual in great detail in his diary.
When Laila laid her first egg, Jahangir recorded the date, size and the description of the egg. The emperor was passing more and more time in such activities, leaving the task of ruling the empire in the hands of his empress.
One evening, as the emperor sat with Nur Jahan in the garden, under a canopy of stars, he asked her–‘Malika, what is the item that is circulated the most in our empire?’
The empress thought for a moment and then replied–‘The Imperial coins, of course! They travel from hand to hand, from trader to the common man and know no boundaries or religion.’
Jahangir was delighted. ‘As usual, you are right. Indeed, it is the coins that represent the ruler’s power. I have been toying with the idea of redesigning the coins. Right from my grandfather to this day, there has been little change in their appearance. Don’t you think it is time we made some changes?’
‘What does the emperor have in mind?’ asked Nur Jahan, enthused about the idea.
‘I thought that in place of the month, the coins could carry a figure of the constellation which belongs to the month. For instance, the figure of a ram could be engraved in the coins released in the month of Farwardin, and the coins released in the month of Urdbihist could carry the figure of a bull on them.’
‘What a wonderful idea! Let me design the series of coins. They will be so beautiful that people will want to possess and retain them instead of just trading with them.’
The coins were designed and struck in the royal mints. The special coins were released on the emperor’s birthday and found immediate approval amongst people. They were exchanged for twenty times higher than their face value and, as Nur Jahan had predicted, people began hoarding them.
The nobles were not surprised. The emperor’s fixation with coins was well known throughout the court. No one had forgotten the four gigantic gold asharfis weighing 400 tolas, 300 tolas, 200 tolas and 100 tolas presented to the Persian ambassador on Jahangir’s birthday. These were the world’s biggest gold coins and the most expensive ones. The largest coin contained almost twelve kilograms of pure gold!
Inscribed on the huge coin, in Persian, was a couplet eulogising the grace of Nur Jahan.
Ba Hukm Shah Jahangir yaft sad zewer,
Banam Nur Jahan Badshah Begum zar.
(By the order of Jahangir, gold had a hundred splendours added to it by receiving the impression of the name of Nur Jahan, the Queen Begum.)
13
Many people wondered what it was about Nur Jahan that made the emperor so besotted with her. Nur Jahan was thirty-four years old when she married Jahangir, middle-aged by all accounts, besides being encumbered with a daughter. She was beautiful, no doubt, but there were more beautiful women in the harem. Nur Jahan’s magic lay in her intelligence, artistic temperament and quick wit. She could compose poetry with the fluency of a bard, design a garden with the skill of an accomplished architect, and hunt with the expertise of a huntsman. She could entertain the emperor with her verses and vast treasure of riddles, while impressing him with her dazzling beauty and political proficiency. She could pit her brains against the best politician and emerge a winner.
‘You have to work hard at being an empress,’ she told Laadli. ‘It is not easy. The harem women are jealous of my position because they only see the glitter and the power. They cannot see the toil and stress that lies behind the sceptre and the crown.’
The royal entourage was back at Agra to celebrate the ninth anniversary of the emperor’s accession to the throne. The public jubilation lasted a full week. The bazaars and public places were decorated with colourful velvet, silk and flowers. Firework displays and various kinds of amusements occupied people throughout the empire. At the royal court, celebrations began with a display of elephants and horses in their finery, and with the emperor inspecting his cavalry and infantry.
In the Diwan-é-aam, nobles, emirs and princes gathered to pay homage to the emperor, who was seated on his magnificent throne that stood within the boundaries of a golden railing. On the right of the throne stood a pedestal with a golden scale, promising justice to every citizen. No one, not even his own sons, were allowed to step inside the golden boundary. A step lower, inside a silver railing, the princes stood, along with the highest-ranking viziers. With them stood an attendant with a gold sceptre. Another step lower, enclosed inside a circle of crimson wooden railing, stood the rest of the nobles and emirs, and with them stood an attendant with a silver sceptre. The commoners were allowed to stand beyond the crimson railing.
Gifts and valuable offerings arrived in abundance as the nobles rushed to seek the emperor’s blessings. The offerings ranged from priceless gems and jewels, precious gold and silver articles, ivory, and jade artefacts, to expensive Arabian horses, mammoth elephants procured from the jungles of the northeast frontiers, and slaves brought from far-off lands. Silk from China, muslin from Dacca, velvet, porcelain, crystals, pearls, rubies, emeralds, diamonds, and rare paintings were given as gifts.
The emperor, in turn, handed out grants in the form of jagirs, horses and promotions. The cost of the gifts was translated as the degree of loyalty towards the emperor and the grants were in keeping with the presents that the nobles offered. Whether it was the coronation anniversary, Nauroz or the emperor’s birthday, all the emirs were expected to make lavish offerings. If the emperor decided to visit any of the nobles, it was the officer’s duty to make offerings worth the emperor’s visit. Many nobles were known to have gone bankrupt trying to make a suitable offering.
The dowry that each marriage brought in for the emperor also helped fill up the royal coffers. When emperor Jahangir married Man Bai, her father, Raja Bhagwan Das, presented him with several strings of Persian, Arab, Turkish and Kutch horses with gold saddles, together with a hundred elephants with gem-encrusted gold howdahs, Abyssinian, Circassian and Indian male and female slaves, and vessels full of gold and jewels. Each emir who attended the wedding was given purebred Arabian horses with gold saddles.
Once the gifting ritual was over, the emperor moved to the palace to enjoy himself. The list of entertainments ran long. First, there were tournaments of all kinds, with generous rewards being given to the winners, and then a procession of amusements in the harem. Dance and music accompanied with wine and an elaborate feast lasted till every muscle was exhausted and the mind dulled with opium. Only when the emperor was incapable of rising to his feet were the celebrations brought to an end.
Soon the emperor and his royal entourage were on their
way to Ajmer again, to pay homage to Chisti’s dargah. The emperor was in high spirits. The forests near Ajmer were his favourite hunting grounds and he enjoyed the thought of spending leisurely time near the banks of Ana Sagar Lake, which were being beautified jointly by the empress and Prince Khurram. Sitting in one of the curtained palanquins, Laadli found herself amused at the wasteful luxury of the journey that could have fed thousands of poor people for many years. At one time, as a child, she had been impressed by the procession, but now it seemed such a foolish effort at impressing people who barely managed a couple of meals every day.
Barely had the royal caravan reached Ajmer when news came that Arjumand had given birth to a son. Prince Dara Shikhoh’s birth brought great jubilation in the royal quarters. The child was Jahangir’s first grandson and would one day inherit the empire. Trumpets belted out happy notes along with cymbals and drums. Jahangir and Nur Jahan visited the young couple and gifted a gold cradle studded with precious jewels along with seven gold cups filled with pearls.
While outwardly all seemed well between Nur Jahan and her stepson, a rift was slowly sundering their alliance. With each passing day, the emperor’s dependence on alcohol grew: he was consuming twenty cups of wine along with several pellets of opium each day. This addiction did not help his already failing health. It was enough to send the royal physician into a frenzy, but Jahangir was unperturbed. In the backdrop of his father’s ill health, Khurram’s many victories had made him a contending power in his own right. Nur Jahan intended to scuttle Khurram’s plans to inveigle himself with his father. She kept Khurram on the move, not allowing him to remain by his father’s side. He was sent from one campaign to another, travelling constantly with his wife and children through different lands.
This time, his days of luxurious leisure at Ajmer were cut short by the imperial command instructing him to travel to Deccan to subjugate the Abyssinian slave, Malik Amber, who possessed tremendous military and administrative talents. The Deccan rulers had never been completely subservient to Mughal emperors, often rising to revolt. Jahangir desired to punish the lot and sent Khurram to vanquish them. Autumn was on its last leg and winter chill was itching to spread its tentacles when Khurram started from Ajmer for the Deccan. In his excitement, the emperor loaded the prince with presents as he set out on the grand campaign. The prince was honoured with the title of Shah, which no Timurid prince had ever received. The stylishly crafted and bejewelled swords presented by the emperor were valued at over a million rupees and a dagger with a jade sculpted, gem-encrusted handle was worth rupees forty thousand.
‘Khurram is the only one I can depend on,’ the emperor lamented. ‘Khusrau is a traitor, Pervez is busy drinking himself to death and Shahryar is a nashudani, good for nothing.’ Nur Jahan said nothing.
After Khurram left for the south, Jahangir expressed a desire to travel to Mandu. A lavish reception awaited him and his seraglio at the palace of Baz Bahadur and Roopmati. Perched along the Vindhya ranges, Mandu, with its natural defences, was originally the fort capital of the Parmar rulers of Malwa. Towards the end of the thirteenth century, it was ruled by the Sultans of Malwa, the first of whom named it Shadiabad–‘City of Joy’. And indeed the pervading spirit of Mandu was of gaiety. Its rulers built exquisite palaces like the Jahaz Mahal and Hindola Mahal, ornamental canals, baths and pavilions which were graceful and refined, reflecting those times of peace and plenty.
Towards the end of the thirteenth century, Mandu became the pleasure resort of the Sultans of Malwa. Sultan Baz Bahadur, the romantic ruler of Mandu, decided to give up battling after he suffered a disgraceful defeat at the hands of Queen Durgavati. Instead, he decided to give himself up to the pleasure of music.
‘Benazir, do you know the legend about the lovers Roopmati and Baz Bahadur?’ asked Laadli. Below them the clear waters of the river Narmada flowed calmly, its silvery stream meandering through the forest. They were standing on the spot known as the Roopmati’s Pavilion. The pavilion–which stood on one side of a steep cliff–had once been a retreat for Roopmati. Here, the queen had stood near the windows, gazing at the river flowing through the Nimar plains. The passing of a gentle wind through the gorge sounded like sighs of an anguished lover. Far away, a balladeer was singing. The notes were unfamiliar and the lyrics unclear. All that Laadli could decipher was that he was singing about the immortal lovers, Roopmati and Baz Bahadur.
‘I know you are dying to hear of the love story, aren’t you?’ Benazir said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
‘Of course I am. Is it possible to stay in the palace and remain untouched by the legend?’
‘It is said that Roopmati was the daughter of a Hindu noble. Her name means “one endowed with beauty”. She was gifted with a melodious voice–it is said that wild beasts from the jungle would come to her door to hear her singing. One day, she was singing in the garden and the Sultan of Malwa, Baz Bahadur, happened to pass by. He was enchanted with her voice and kept returning to the garden so he could catch a glimpse of the singer’s face. And one day he saw her. People say that it was love at first glance. Roopmati became his favourite wife and he constructed this beautiful palace for her.’
‘Their love story has a tragic end, doesn’t it?
Benazir nodded. ‘Adham Khan was Akbar’s foster brother and a very powerful general in the Mughal army. The emperor sent him to conquer the lands of Malwa. After defeating the ruler, he unleashed a reign of terror, killing innocent people and molesting the women. His unruly soldiers went on a rampage. Adham Khan had heard of Roopmati’s beauty. He sent her a proposal, which she refused. The queen waited for Baz Bahadur to rescue her from the lecherous general but Baz Bahadur had fled from Mandu to escape the Mughal army.’
‘How terrible!’ Laadli was appalled, her mind conjuring images of the desperate woman caught between a ruthless victor and a cowardly lover.
‘Roopmati waited in vain. Finally, unable to fend off Adham Khan’s advances, she swallowed poison. People say that her ghost still wanders around Mandu, calling out to Baz Bahadur.’
Laadli gazed at the tiny lake nearby, abloom with pink lotuses, as she thought about the heartbroken Roopmati’s soul still searching for her lover.
‘But who knows what is the truth?’ Benazir was saying. ‘These are stories people tell. I would like to see the ghost myself before I lend any credence to the stuff.’ Noting Laadli’s far-off look, she added, ‘Now stop dreaming of the queen’s ghost and get ready for the hunt! The empress will not take it kindly if you are late. And don’t you try to wriggle out of the arrangements.’
‘You know how much I hate to go for these blood-thirsty expeditions,’ Laadli said, shaking her head slowly.
‘Since there is no escape for us, shouldn’t we accept the inevitable and get ready to join the others? The hunting party has already begun gathering on the grounds.’
With a deep sigh, Laadli began dressing for the hunt, her mind still captivated by the stories of love.
The salubrious climes of Mandu delighted the empress and she had planned endless excursions in the forests around the palace. The news that thousands of people were dying across Punjab and Lahore due to a dreadful scourge did not disturb the mood. The dense Malwa forest offered plenty of sport and the emperor, addicted to hunting, looked forward to slaying some tigers and leopards. Camps had already been set up at vantage points and the rounding of the beasts had begun.
The hunt party set out. The emperor, astride a mammoth tusker, a falcon perched on his gloved hand, took the lead. Nur Jahan was seated on an equally impressive elephant. Behind the royal couple rode the English ambassador, Sir Thomas Roe, and other ministers.
Far behind, maintaining a comfortable distance from her mother, Laadli rode with her friend Benazir, reluctantly kicking her mount. She hated hunting, but the empress would brook no objection.
‘A princess must hunt. She must be skilled at everything–administration, politics, hunting or hawking, she is expected to accompany the em
peror at all times.’
‘But I don’t want to hunt, I would rather remain at the palace.’
But as usual Nur Jahan’s word had been final. No one could argue with the empress, her wishes were expected to be followed, unquestioningly.
From far off came the sound of drums being beaten by the hundreds of foot soldiers that were herding the wild beasts. Behind them came thousands of horsemen who gathered together to form a circle around the forest, trapping within it countless animals like tigers, leopards, wild boars, and deer. The circle grew smaller as the soldiers advanced. And then the hunting party stepped in.
The smell of fear hung heavy over the atmosphere as frightened animals darted for safety. Birds screeched and fluttered their wings fearfully, reaching for the highest branches in the trees. As the hunters closed in, the frenzy amplified in momentum and the beasts emerged from their hideouts. Laadli wished the morbid exercise would end soon.
Four tigers sprang out of the bushes and approached the empress’ elephant menacingly, but she was unperturbed. The emperor looked at Nur Jahan and said, ‘All yours!’
She asked, ‘Arrow or bullet?’
The emperor raised two fingers, put them down, and raised them again without saying a word. He was careful not to make any sound that would disturb the animals. The couple, with their complete understanding of each other, didn’t need words to convey their thoughts. Nur Jahan understood that he wanted her to shoot two of the tigers with arrows and the remaining two with bullets. She loaded two guns and kept them ready. Then she took up her bow and selected two arrows. In the twinkling of an eye she raised the bow and let fly two arrows at the tigers. Her aim was unerring and two large beasts fell with arrows stuck in their hearts. She then picked up the guns and dropped the other two tigers in quick succession.
Not a shot was wasted and not a beast escaped. There was loud appreciation of her marksmanship. Jahangir smiled proudly and glanced at the English ambassador.
Nurjahan's Daughter Page 17