by Farzana Moon
"Then, my lovely seer, would you interpret this dream of the emperor?" Jahangir's heart was one throb of exhilaration. "While you thought the emperor was dying, my pearl, he was living the nightmares not ever lived before in the waking, sleeping hours of his entire life."
"Please, Your Majesty, don't re-live that nightmare if it is sprinkled with ill omens." Nur Jahan pleaded quickly. "The seers themselves say that nightmares should be left unvoiced to ward off ill fortunes." Her heart was throbbing ominously.
"You share all the burdens of the empire, my Nur, and shrink from sharing the emperor's dream or nightmare?" Jahangir chided.
"And how can I help not sharing it, when my heart is dying to snatch it from the very cups of your eyes, Your Majesty?" Was Nur Jahan's effusive protest. "I would absolve its ill affects with my witchcraft if need be."
"If your witchcraft can reach that banyan tree." Jahangir began with all haste, as if afraid to lose his dream. "That banyan tree in Shaikhupur where we enjoyed hunting, and then journeyed to Daulatabad. Do you remember, my Nur?"
"How can I forget, Your Majesty, I killed a rather sleek tiger over there." Nur Jahan pressed the emperor's hand to her cheek. “And that banyan tree on which you carved the impression of your hand above the impression of Prince Shah Jahan's hand. Then those impressions were transferred on a tile of marble, if I recall correctly, and that piece of marble was fastened to the trunk of the same tree."
"Yes, the same one, my Nur." Jahangir began exigently. "Yes, in my dream, I was sitting under the shade of that banyan tree. Around me were heaps upon heaps of gold coins, all scattered. I was feeling a few on the palm of my hands. Especially, the ones with the Zodiac signs. One Nur-Jahani gold mohur was attracting my attention, the one struck in your name. I was searching for more gold mohurs minted in your name with other constellations, the one with the ram and the other with a bull. I had all those before me, turned over, so that I could read the inscriptions on the back. Fate's pen wrote on the coin in letters of light. I was reading the inscription penned by Asaf Khan, right under it the script of Kalima which seemed to be on fire, below which my name was inscribed. One gold heap before me was stirring. Prince Shah Jahan was materializing from under its glittering depths. He was carrying a severed head in his hand. Another form was emerging from the gold heap next to him. It was Mahabat Khan’s. Prince Shah Jahan was tossing the severed head to Mahabat Khan, and exclaiming. Tell the emperor that his first-born is dead. I could see Prince Khusrau's head, still bleeding, tossed at my feet in return. Mahabat Khan and Prince Shah Jahan were rolling in laughter, and disappearing under the mounds of gold." He closed his eyes.
"Mahabat Khan is another viper in disguise, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan murmured inaudibly. "The Kalima on your gold mohur is going to protect us all from any adversities which may lie in ambush."
"The emperor wishes to visit that clear pool in the garden of Verang, my Nur. Before we journey to Lahore?" Jahangir murmured opiately.
"We will, Your Majesty, we will." Nur Jahan was murmuring back. Trying to lull the emperor to sleep with the sweetness of her voice and touch.
"Have you visited those caves behind our sacred pool, my Nur?" Jahangir was trying to keep his eyes open, as if afraid to sleep.
"No, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan was cupping emperor's hand into both hers.
"Do you know what Verang means, my Nur?" Jahangir was persistent.
"Yes, Your Majesty. It means a snake." Nur Jahan breathed tenderly.
"A large snake, my Nur." Jahangir's eyelids were getting heavy and his voice heavier still. "In those caves there is an altar for that snake. A retreat for the Hindus and the recluses. To pray and meditate. Yes, I must take you there before we journey to Lahore. We must leave, in a week's time at the most. Look to the preparations of the journey, my Nur." He could barely keep his eyes open.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Now I must go and fetch your favorite dishes." Nur Jahan was willing him rest and sleep.
"No, beloved, stay. Never leave me. Not ever leave me." Jahangir's eyes were falling shut. He had seen the face of Anarkali in the eyes of Nur Jahan.
10
A Royal Wedding
The spring in Agra had donned the palace gardens in the loveliest of blooms upon Jahangir's return from Lahore. The long journey from Kashmir to Lahore had not much improved the emperor's health, but Agra had greeted him with the hopes of renewal, offering him garlands of flowers from the very hands of nature. This particular afternoon, sunshine itself was pouring joy into the flagons of celebrations for the wedding of Prince Shahryar with Princess Ladli. The guests were pouring into the garden, anticipating a grand feast amidst the fanfare of grand ceremonies. Jugglers too were there, practicing their skills to entertain, and the young girls were whirling on their toes in accompaniment with the beat of the tablas. The bride and bridegroom were imprisoned in their own garlanded chambers. They had to go through a regiment of rituals in toiletry and dressing before they could journey on the path to a succession of ceremonies.
The Agra palace in red sandstone, from pillared verandahs to four gates, was decked with vines and garlands of flowers. One large chamber with damasked walls was the comfortable abode where Jahangir and Nur Jahan sat talking and laughing. Nur Jahan's parents had joined the royal couple, and they were all immersed in the luxury of their merriment before joining the guests in the palace garden. The emperor was appareled most exquisitely in the finest of silks, the color of sapphires. One large diamond in his mauve turban was accentuating his pallor. This diamond was presented to him by Khwaja Jahan, the governor of Agra, and the emperor had found matching diamonds to adorn his ears. Right now, he was bathed in sparkle and glitter from the wealth of jewels on his royal person, and seated on his gold throne presented to him by a European goldsmith by the name of Hanarmand. The emperor was so pleased with this gift that he had installed it in his chamber.
Nur Jahan’ gown of Chinese silk was lending her fair cheeks the tinge of rose and ivory. A tiara of rubies and diamonds was matching the jeweled sash at her tiny waist. She was nibbling on sweets from the silver bowl resting on one alabaster stand beside her. This bowl itself was exquisite in design, carved in the semblance of a fish and encrusted with jewels.
Asmat Begum and Itmadudaula Khan too were richly appareled, seated on gilt chairs dripping with red velvets. Asmat Begum was feeding her husband with the delicious morsels of court gossip, and laughing. Nur Jahan was listening and smiling to herself. Jahangir was rapt in admiring the painting in his lap, which he had just received as a gift of his own aesthetic observations caught on the canvas by his court painters.
This work of art was vivid in each little detail, and throbbing with the colors of life. A pair of saras painted with bright blue wings were feeding their young ones with locusts and grasshoppers. One peafowl was visible from under the shade of the tamarinds, as if watching this whole scene with a great interest. Wild geese were soaring overhead into the blue bowl of a sky. Jahangir could relate with this scene most profoundly, for he himself had watched these saras in the process of hatching and feeding their young ones. He sat contemplating the painting with utmost absorption.
"Look, Itmadudaula, how my court painters have captured that entire scene with the brush of inspiration." Jahangir held out the painting to his father-in-law.
"Yes, Your Majesty. These young ones are still chirping in your garden somewhere, I can attest." Itmadudaula Khan claimed the painting, smiling. "Had I not known that Your Majesty observed the hatching and feeding of these saras, I would have thought that the painter had drawn this entire scene out of his imagination."
"How patiently you observed, Your Majesty." Asmat Begum was leaning over to have a better view of the painting. "One young one was hatched after thirty-four days, and the other one after thirty-six, didn’t you tell us?”
"I prefer the paintings of Farrukh Beg. Of dancing girls and of royal ladies at their toilette." Nur Jahan's eyes were flashing this comment at her parents.
"Just because mine is engraved the same way, and on the precious gold mohurs too, Your Majesty!" Nur Jahan teased happily. "You do look handsome on the gold coin, Your Majesty, I confess. But my own pulsates with the life of youth and beauty."
"Don't you believe her, Your Majesty!" Itmadudaula Khan exclaimed. "All the paintings on her chamber walls rising up to the ceiling belie her artistic preferences."
"Oh, those awful scenes with the splashes of court splendor!" Asmat Begum chided, trying to stifle the sudden flaring of pain in her stomach.
"And wouldn't you be happy, my Nur, if the emperor bestowed upon you the paintings which he is wont to hide in the gold caskets layered with the softest of silks?" Jahangir's eyes were brimming with mischief, if not with adoration.
"Of course, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan sang sprightfully. "But I would be happier still if my beautiful pearl is found. Alas, I broke my necklace and lost that gem!"
"Does the emperor not bestow enough pearls and diamonds on you, my Nur, that you should mourn the loss of such a paltry gift?" Jahangir consoled.
"A paltry gift, Your Majesty!" Nur Jahan declared. "That one pearl is worth fifteen thousand rupees, Your Majesty. Besides, you gave me that necklace on my birthday." She could not say another word, noticing the gleam of amusement in the emperor's eyes.
"Didn't Jotik Ray, that diviner and astrologer, predict that this pearl would be found soon?" Asmat Begum was asking her husband.
"No dearth of diviners in the Moghul courts, Asmat? Another soothsayer divining that a fair damsel would bring this pearl to the empress in a state of ecstasy?" Itmadudaula Khan shifted his attention to the emperor. "What need you have of pearls and jewels, Your Majesty? Indeed, that is true. You are the world conqueror. Mighty of the mightiest in power and justice, where no treasures of the world are needed to rule and subjugate." His eyes were holding the lamps of flattery and inspiration. "You are the lord over all Hind, now that Prince Shah Jahan has subjugated all the lords of Deccan. Winning their hearts too with his virtues of charm and generosity!"
"Ah, my fortunate son! How the emperor sang praises of his victories with wine and rejoicing, and received him with all due honors?" Jahangir murmured happily. "Alas, that he can't be here to attend the wedding of his brother." A shadow of pain was splintering his joy. "Didn't the emperor greet him with the ardor of a poet? Thy time is happy in that thou hast made me happy." He recited. "And as to your flattery, Itmadudaula, this verse which I penned on my birthday will suit your mood."
"Thou art the mighty One, O Lord
Thou art the cherisher of rich and poor
I'm not a world-conqueror or law-giver
I'm one of the beggars at this gate
Help me in what is good and right
Else what good comes from me to anyone
I'm master to my servants
To the Lord, I'm a loyal servant."
He picked one pallet of opium from the porcelain bowl, and tossed it into his mouth.
"Such humble verse with the breath of greatness, Your Majesty!" Nur Jahan applauded. "If Prince Shah Jahan has his own way, the emperor may become his servant, not the Lord's." Her warning was sweet and explicit.
"What makes you say that, Nur?" Jahangir's heart was probing its own sadness. "Is my favorite son harboring any designs of treachery?"
"No, Your Majesty. He is the pillar of devotion and obedience, as ever." Nur Jahan intoned charmingly. "Only, that he is asserting too much authority in Deccan. Winning friends and alliances! The men, who can't be trusted as to remain faithful to the empire. He is gathering more forces than he needs, against the Deccani contingent, I hear." A subtle warning was concealed behind the sweetness in her voice.
"The empress sounds very jealous, I presume." Jahangir laughed, shifting his attention toward his father-in-law. "Are the titles and favors making my beloved son proud and presumptuous, Itmadudaula? Is he becoming the victim of indiscretion?”
"The Prince has an independent nature, Your Majesty." Itmadudaula Khan began discreetly. "No indiscretion on his part, as far as I know. I haven't heard anything except that his ward—" His reluctance was snatched by Asmat Begum.
"All base canards, Your Majesty." Asmat Begum began quickly. "Prince Khusrau is surrounded by all princely comforts. Living in utmost luxury, and evil tongues are filling Prince Shah Jahan's coffers with the soot of calumnies, that’s all!"
"Ah, my unfortunate son. Khusrau, Khusrau." Jahangir let out a string of sighs. "I wish he was here too, to celebrate his brother's wedding." He got to his feet absently.
Jahangir stood facing the portrait on the wall as if he was all alone. This could have been true for no one spoke, with the exception that all were there and all immersed in absolute hush. Nur Jahan was watching the emperor, being watched by her parents in return. The emperor seemed to be gazing right through the canvas, as if divining the thoughts of the emperor of Constantinople, who had sent this to him as a gift. The picture was hanging low in a gilded frame. The silk on the canvas was yellowed by age, but through its faded colors the masterful strokes of the artist could not be mistaken. This artist, with his ingenious skill, had succeeded in depicting the semblance of Tamerlane on a man as common as any tourist walking on the streets of Tabriz. The man on this silk painting wore a plumed turban and a colorful robe. He was seated on a throne, as regal as Tamerlane, but had no resemblance to this tyrant lord feared by the ages past. With the exception of that unmistakable aura of power and wisdom around his very features, which, to the naked eye, were presenting him in the semblance Tamerlane, but to the discerning eye of the emperor, nothing was concealed. Jahangir was always drawn to this portrait whenever he had a chance to sit in this room. He was wont to find solace in this portrait as some wide open avenue of ideation and diversion. Often unmasking it with his thoughts, and pronouncing this portrait-man as an impostor feigning to be Tamerlane. Right now as he stood watching the portrait with his back toward all, his heart was bleeding for Prince Khusrau. And in that red rivulet of pain and sorrow, his thoughts were painting the portrait of Anarkali.
"This portrait has no resemblance, even to the immediate descendants of Tamerlane." Jahangir was half turning, when he espied Mehr Harwi.
Mehr Harwi was standing by the gilded doors, her eyes alone seeking the emperor's permission to enter this chamber. Jahangir granted his consent with a mere wave of his arm, and ambled toward the chest with koftgari design. Mehr Harwi curtsied low and fled toward the empress. Jahangir's attention was absorbed by a copy of the Quran on the polished surface of the chest, and he seemed lost in his own solitary contemplations. This copy of the Quran was bound in a gold cover with two jeweled roses in the middle. He had received this gift from Muzaffar Khan, and had decided to bestow it on Shahryar and his bride as one of the wedding gifts. He picked up this copy of the Quran and stood flitting its pages.
Meanwhile, Mehr Harwi had fallen into a lengthy curtsy at the feet of the empress. She was gasping for breath, trying to find her voice. Finally, she had recovered, and was disclosing a large pearl on the palm of her hand.
"Padishah Begum. One of the Turkish girls found it in the Oratory." Mehr Harwi was collapsing into a curtsy once again.
"Oh, my dream-pearl! My own gift from the astrologers and soothsayers." Nur Jahan was fondling the pearl on the palm of her own hand with a childish glee.
"A good omen to commence the wedding ceremonies of my grand-daughter." Asmat Begum was rising to her feet, the pain in the pit of her stomach returning.
"This good omen would herald us all into the garden where our guests are waiting." Jahangir held out the copy of the Quran to his father-in-law. "Here, Itmadudaula, carry this with you. This is one of the emperor's gifts to the bridal couple.”
"I feel honored to carry it, Your Majesty. They would be honored to receive it, I can—" Itmadudaula's speech was checked by an exclamation from Nur Jahan.
"Are you ill, Mamma? Here, drink this." Nur Jahan was snatching a porcelain cup from the table beside her.
Both Jahangir and Itmadudaula Khan were by Asmat Begum's side in a flash. Jahangir, becoming aware of the beads of perspiration on the brow of Asmat Begum, was offering her his silk kerchief. Itmadudaula Khan was assisting his wife to the chair.
"I am fine. Just one of my giddy spells." Asmat Begum was waving away all attempts at ministration. "Go, join the wedding celebrations. I would be sailing behind in a few minutes. Don't keep the emperor waiting."
"Mamma." Nur Jahan could barely murmur.
"Despite your protests, Asmat Begum, you would be besieged by our royal physicians." Jahangir muttered, turning toward Nur Jahan. "Come, my Nur, your mother's edict must be obeyed. The wedding celebrations are longing for the company of the emperor and the empress." He offered her his arm.
The emperor was looking into the eyes of Anarkali where Nur Jahan was dissolved into the mists dissipating. The dead beloved had risen from her bright sepulcher, bruised and unrelenting. And his heart was chilled by this reflection frozen in time. Nur Jahan could not miss that look of agony in the emperor's eyes, and now her own heart was throbbing in torments everlasting. Her velvet shoes were digging deep into the Bokhara rugs down the vast, garlanded staircase, but she seemed not aware of the yielding steps beneath her against the poundings inside her heart. Jahangir, on the contrary, was banishing his pains and agonies, and awakening to the pathos of awareness. They had both landed down the Hall of Forty Pillars as if drifting in a dream, but Jahangir was the first one to notice Hushiyar Khan, the eunuch of Nur Jahan. Commanding this devoted eunuch to his presence, the emperor was quick to dispatch him with the orders of summoning Hakim Ruhullah, who would then attend to the needs of Asmat Begum.