She was going to meet him once again. He was no longer the Khurram she adored. He was emperor Shah Jahan–ruthless, brutal and all-powerful. He had ordered the killing of her husband, just as his father had ordered her father’s death. Would Arzani hate Shah Jahan on learning that he had had her father killed, much as she had hated Jahangir when she learnt that he had ordered her father’s murder? Laadli wondered.
As they passed into the beautiful royal garden, Laadli recollected her first meeting with Imraan and her eyes misted at the memory. Was he still alive, hiding in some obscure village, or had he been executed on her mother’s orders? She would never know.
Five-year-old Arzani reminded Laadli of herself, decades ago. She had the same confused and excited look at the prospect of staying in Agra.
Shah Jahan did not accord Nur Jahan any of the respect that the dowager queens of the Mughal Empire were normally granted. She was summoned to the Diwan-é-aam before the entire assembly of courtiers and nobles. Heavily veiled, she walked with dignity to the head of the crowd and performed a respectful kornish before the emperor. With great regret in her voice, she declared–‘Shahenshah-é-Alam, I come to you with reverence. May Allah give you a thousand years of fruitful reign! I have no desire but to lead a life of piety and peace, wallowing in the memories of my husband, Emperor Jahangir. Your beloved father deserves a grand mausoleum and I am here to request your permission to build a memorial for him.’
Each word spoken by her was directed towards earning the sympathy of the courtiers. Shah Jahan was familiar with her wily ways. From behind the marble fretwork screen Mumtaz Mahal listened to the cleverly worded appeal of her aunt with admiration. The shrew is invincible! she thought. Laadli, seated with her cousin, was also filled with appreciation for her mother. With just a few sentences she had managed to convey her acceptance of Shah Jahan’s rule, gained sympathy as a hapless widow, and also managed to force the emperor’s hand for a grant of money for the construction of Jahangir’s memorial. Was it any wonder that she had ruled the Mughal Empire for so many years?
Shah Jahan was seething with hatred for the woman, but he camouflaged his feelings and replied with kindness–‘Begum Meherunnisa, we appreciate your feelings for the deceased emperor and agree that he deserves a grand monument in his memory. You will be given an adequate pension and a grant of monies to build the memorial.’
A hush fell on the court when Shah Jahan addressed her as Meherunnisa instead of the title, Nur Jahan. With just one word he had made apparent to all her fall from grace. Nur Jahan’s face took on an ashen hue. In a single moment he had reduced her to a common woman, divested of all royal trappings. While the crowd cheered his magnanimity with regard to the memorial and her pension, Nur Jahan thanked Shah Jahan, bowed thrice in kornish, and walked back to the harem.
Once there, she allowed her indignation to show. ‘He has the gall to insult me in public,’ she raged.
‘Hush mother! Let no one hear you. We are in no position to rebuke the emperor,’ Laadli patted her mother’s hand consolingly.
That evening, Shah Jahan visited their apartment–one of the smaller ones in the harem–and spoke to Nur Jahan in private.
‘You will never again step inside Agra. I am exiling you to Lahore, forever. You shall be granted a pension of sixteen lakh rupees per annum for your maintenance. As for the mausoleum, you may start the construction of the same in the Dilkhusha gardens. At the smallest hint of any trouble from you, I shall be forced to take the severest of actions. It is because of your relationship with my wife that you have been granted amnesty–but that relationship is not strong enough to withstand treachery.’
He strode away before Nur Jahan could reply. Laadli, who was waiting by the door, hastened to perform her kornish. The emperor smiled and remarked–‘You look well, Laadli. I hope that your wisdom will guide your mother’s steps and restrain her from imprudence. I may not be merciful the next time.’
‘She is a harmless woman, Your Majesty. I guarantee you her loyalty,’ Laadli replied quietly.
‘You are welcome to approach us whenever you need help.’
Shah Jahan had not forsaken her, Laadli thought, bowing as he walked out of the room.
Despite the undercurrents of hostility, Mumtaz Mahal invited them for a banquet at her palace. Laadli was happy to see that the empress remained the affable Arjumand who had shared many evenings of whispered conversation with her. Nur Jahan wisely refrained from discussing politics and spoke only about the family. Laadli was captivated by the eldest princess, Jahanara, who was reported to be the favourite child of the emperor. All of fourteen, she was as beautiful as her mother. Busy with raising children, Mumtaz Mahal hardly found time to counsel the emperor. In any case, she was not interested in politics, so it fell on the young princess to manage the affairs of the harem and take an interest in politics. Laadli found her to be a very mature and level-headed girl with many talents–arts and music were just some of them. With much in common, there was an instant rapport between the two of them.
After a week’s stay at Agra, the two women began their return journey, braving the biting northern winds that numbed their bodies. The mist lifted reluctantly from the streets of Agra as the warm rays of a dilute sun pierced the sky. The smoke rising from a mass of chulahs heralded the advent of another day. Life was stirring in the wayside tea stall where a bunch of shivering bodies in tattered blankets waited for the first cup of warming ambrosia before yet another day of labour. From the east parapet of the walled city, the sun rose. The capital of the mighty Mughuls was poised for another day as Nur Jahan’s caravan left for Lahore.
Their progress was slow as Arzani fell ill and a persistent bout of cough overtook her tender body. Nur Jahan, depressed and silent, was lost in thought as they travelled through the familiar streets of Agra.
‘You must not take Shah Jahan’s harsh words to heart. He is merely retaliating for all the hardship he had to go through before he seized the throne.’
‘He has stripped me of the last vestige of dignity. He humiliated me. How can I ever forgive him for that?’
‘You must forget it. We are going to Lahore to begin a new life. Everyone respects you there. We will start afresh–you, me and Arzani.’
‘Isn’t it funny? From Meherunnisa, I was elevated to Nur Jahan, the empress of the Mughal Empire, and now I am Meherunnisa once again,’ Nur Jahan said. And then ruefully, ‘The journey from a common woman to an empress took much longer.’
Lahore, beloved Lahore, thought Laadli, her eyes brimming with tears of relief, as she sighted the tall minarets and lofty pillars of the city. ‘May Allah grant: us peace,’ she said, as they entered the portals and made their way towards the mansion that they had been given to reside in. It was modest but spacious; it was a far cry from the royal palaces that they had occupied for years, yet it was home to Laadli. She loved the huge garden, which was lined with fruit trees. It was the right place for her daughter to grow up.
The women led a quiet life. Meherunnisa remained engaged in reading poetry and designing clothes, occasionally venturing out to the dargah. She grew increasingly devout, spending hours in her tiny prayer room.
A whole year passed; the long winter was over and the women heralded the advent of spring with great enthusiasm. Lahore wore a festive look: Shah Jahan was arriving to the city of Lahore for the first time since ascending the throne. There was excitement in the air as people went about decorating their houses, markets and city streets with garlands of flowers. ‘The drums are beating at: the Naubat Khana of the fort, announcing the arrival of the emperor,’ announced Zaib, a servant girl, breathless with excitement.
Shah Jahan was received by the governor, Wazir Khan, and gifted with jewels, gold and silver utensils, carpets, hundreds of horses and camels, valued at lakhs of rupees. The emperor visited the temporary mausoleum of his father and distributed alms to the poor. Then he entered the Lahore fort and inspected the palaces. An expression of displeasure clouded his
handsome features. Even as a youth, Shah Jahan had not been impressed by the mosques and palaces constructed by Akbar and Jahangir. The only mausoleum that had invoked some satisfaction for him aesthetically, was the one constructed by Nur Jahan for her parents. As he stood before the Khawabgah-e-Jahangir, which had been used by his father as his sleeping quarters, its red sandstone columns standing stark against the skyline, he squinted thoughtfully.
The quadrangle held many structures made by Jahangir. All sombre and austere, their harsh lines were somewhat softened by the fountains and the water channels. The strong, square, red stone buildings were so typical of his grandfather’s style, followed faithfully by Jahangir without much alteration. He preferred something ethereal, soft and delicate.
Summoning Wazir Khan, he ordered–‘Have these structures replaced by elegant halls and palaces. I want the most skilled artisans to be employed without consideration of the costs. The palaces should be made of marble instead of these harsh red stones. Use cusped arches and pillars with tapering shafts for beauty.’ Shah Jahan wanted the work finished by the time he returned from his sojourn at Kashmir. He then ordered the reconstruction of the ghusalkhana and khwabgah. The reconstruction of the Shah Burj, the royal tower built by Jahangir, was entrusted to Asaf Khan who had won the emperor’s admiration with the design of his opulent palace at Lahore, which had taken ten years to complete.
Meherunnisa was predictably indignant when she heard of the reconstruction efforts. ‘Replacing red stone with marble cannot wipe out history.’
Although her niece Mumtaz Mahal was residing at Lahore and so was her brother–now an important man–neither of them took the trouble of visiting her. She had not been invited for the grand feasts held in their palaces.
‘Fate is a zealous accountant. It keeps faithful account of every sin and charity. The wheels of fortune will turn one day,’ Laadli often found her mother muttering viciously. The very name of Shah Jahan seemed to throw her into a nasty mood.
26
Four years passed in a blinking of the eye. Arzani was eight years old. Laadli was determined that the child should lead as normal a life as possible. Meherunnisa busied herself with the construction of her husband’s mausoleum, which was coming up slowly. Money was a constraint. The grandiose plans drawn up by Meherunnisa needed unlimited resources. Her fervent appeals to the emperor for financial assistance had yielded no results. From time to time Shah Jahan grudgingly parted with a meagre amount for the structure.
‘The great Badshah sleeps in such humble quarters,’ Meherunnisa remarked, drawing the outlines of her dream structure. ‘If I had the resources, I would make him a mausoleum that would haunt the memory of all who saw it just once. I created a memorable one for my father because I had the money and the power to do so. And now, I have to beg for each coin.’
Laadli looked at her mother’s drawing and sighed–it was grandiose and would cost quite a lot of money. ‘That design involves an extensive use of marble, Ammijaan. It is likely to cost several lakhs of rupees. Perhaps we could modify the building material and reduce the cost.’
Her statement incensed Meherunnisa. ‘If he car end lakhs of rupees on reconstructing each palace bulk by his father and grandfather, surely he can contribute some money for his father’s mausoleum?’
‘Why don’t we design clothes for the harem women just as we did at Agra before you became an empress? That will keep us busy and bring in some money as well,’ Laadli suggested.
‘As usual, my wise daughter is right. Practical and balanced, you always find a solution. Why not? Neither am I an empress nor are you a princess now.’
‘Don’t be so bitter, Ammi, it is not good for you. We may not be royalty but we can be happy. I am happy, so is Arzani, and I want you to be happy too. Times change and so does fortune. Accepting the Almighty’s decision makes life much easier, so why not accept it with grace. You were always the wise one, running a gigantic empire, counselling the women and creating so many beautiful things. You can still make use of your talents.’
As Laadli had expected, the demand for clothes designed by Meherunnisa poured in as soon as word spread that she was ready to create the beautiful dresses that had once been a rage in the harems of Agra. They worked hard, with Arzani pitching in occasionally. Together, the three of them crafted exquisite ensembles, recreating the magic that had made Meherunnisa’s designs popular at Agra.
News of Shah Jahan’s campaign at Burhanpur reached them, along with tidings that Mumtaz Mahal, heavy with another pregnancy, was suffering from ill health. ‘His destiny seems to be inexorably entwined with that city,’ commented Meherunnisa. ‘What I do not understand, is why my niece accompanies him everywhere. Her constant state of pregnancy never ceases to amaze me either!’
It was June. Unbearable whirlwinds of violent sand storms whipped the city. Meherunnisa and Laadli were resting in the cool comfort of their apartment when a maid brought in the news that the entire city of Lahore was in mourning. Mumtaz Mahal had died while giving birth to their fourteenth child. The baby, Gauharara, had survived.
From travellers arriving from Agra, Laadli heard that the emperor, devastated by his wife’s death, had become a recluse, refusing to attend to his imperial responsibilities. After Mumtaz Mahal’s death, Shah Jahan locked himself in his rooms and refused to eat for eight days. When he emerged from the room, his lustrous black beard had turned completely white. It was left to the young Jahanara to take control of the situation. Laadli’s heart went out to the girl who had been burdened with such enormous responsibility at a tender age. Her letter of condolence conveyed the profound grief she felt at the death of Mumtaz Mahal, a cousin she had always loved. It didn’t surprise her when Jahanara responded with alacrity and despatched an invitation for Laadli to visit her at Agra.
‘Your presence here at this juncture will help in reducing the vacuum we are experiencing. It will give me emotional strength,’ the invitation read.
‘I wish I could travel to Agra to comfort the family,’ Laadli expressed. Meherunnisa was embroidering a bridal dress for the governor’s daughter and Arzani was helping her select the sequins and pearls to be used in embellishing the dress.
‘I will advise you against the journey. Jahanara has invited you, but Shah Jahan may not welcome us.’
With a heavy heart, Laadli decided not to leave Lahore. The journey would be long, and, her mother was right, she did not know how the emperor would react to seeing them.
The year rolled by slowly as the cold hands of winter gradually erased the heat of summer. Jahangir’s mausoleum was almost complete. Shah Jahan was now quick to respond to Meherunnisa’s pleas for finances to complete the structure. The loss of his wife had made Shah Jahan understand his stepmother’s need to build a memorial for someone she had loved. He was already planning a grand memorial for Mumtaz Mahal; one that would stand eternally as evidence of his everlasting love for her.
The city of Lahore dressed up again to receive the emperor after almost three years. It was rumoured that the eldest prince, Dara Shikoh, was to be married in the city, to his childhood love, Nadira.
Laadli was heartened by the news–she would try to meet Jahanara. She sent a note through the groom to the Shah Begum, as the princess was now known, and was delighted when Jahanara responded warmly, inviting her to the harem. There was excitement as the three women dressed up for the visit. Meherunnisa fussed over her appearance. ‘I look so old. Will Jahanara recognise me?’ She had greyed astonishingly in the past one year.
‘You look very beautiful, Badi Ammi,’ assured the twelve-year-old Arzani.
‘No one can look more beautiful than you, Arzani,’ her grandmother said indulgently. There was no doubt that the girl was a beauty. She had inherited Shahryar’s delicate looks and Laadli’s lovely complexion and stature. Laadli glanced at her daughter and wondered how time had flown. It was seven years since Jahangir had died and they had come to stay at Lahore. Soon it will be time to get Arzani married, she
thought sadly. The thought wrenched her heart. It will be difficult to live without her.
The women climbed into the palanquin and made their way to the palace. The emperor had decided to spend the winter at Lahore. There would be many more meetings and visits to the royal harem. Meherunnisa was excited. It had been a long time since she had entered the portals of the Lahore fort. As she emerged from the palanquin at the steps leading to the harem, she sighed and looked around wistfully. The old structures had gone; the new palace was like a dream–all white and beautiful.
‘There was a time when everyone ran to do my bidding. Today, I enter the harem unheralded.’
She was mistaken. No sooner did she utter the words, than there was a flurry of figures and a rustle of silk and Jahanara was at their side. ‘Welcome to the harem, grand aunt! I have been waiting impatiently for your arrival.’ She hugged Laadli and kissed Arzani lovingly.
‘Allah, what a beauty your daughter has turned out to be.’
She led them to her lavish apartments. The walls of the apartment were ablaze with floral motifs embedded with precious stones. Even the floors, fashioned out of flawless marble, were embedded with jewels. Carved niches broke the uniformity of the walls, their hollows lit up by coloured candles.
Arzani ran around the apartments, amazement writ large on her face. She had never witnessed such opulence. Outside, a large tank shaded by a massive banyan tree, with a fountain and lotuses, caught her fancy. It was a world of wonder; a dream abode.
‘It is all so beautiful Apa,’ she exclaimed breathlessly.
‘Would you like to stay with me for a few weeks? The emperor is staying at Lahore for a couple of weeks before going back to Agra. Dara is to be married and there will be great rejoicing in the palace.’
‘Yes, yes, I would love to stay here with you.’
Nurjahan's Daughter Page 29