by Farzana Moon
"You must not succumb to despair and dejection, Asaf." Nur Jahan began without any trace of anger or bitterness. "This is not the time to plunge oneself into some pit of misery and hopelessness, but to awaken one's courage and wisdom to act and conquer. You must do your best to repair this evil. We need support and advice, your advice, as to what course to undertake."
"What kind of advice a wretched man can give accused by his own sister, of sloth and negligence, Padishah Begum." Asaf Khan protested, leaping to his feet suddenly.
"The words uttered in pain and anguish, Asaf! Demented times and demented thoughts. Why can't you forget all for one bleating moment, and rise above the heap of your simmering hurt and pride? Look into the eyes of this rife necessity, Asaf, and think only of rescuing the emperor!" Nur Jahan declared impatiently.
"If you take my advice, Padishah Begum, then plan craftily, devising some sort of peaceful negotiations with the vile traitor. He has committed a capital offense, and he is no fool as to understand that this treason will cost him his head if he persists in keeping the emperor prisoner." Asaf Khan opined fiercely. "War will cost many lives. Our own lives would be endangered, if we launch an attack. An unwise move, I should say."
"Our lives! What are our lives as compared to the emperor's? Do you know what would happen, my prudent brother, if any harm came to the emperor? All of us would be thrown into the waters of shame and ignominy—slaughtered like the beasts, if not banished like some stray cattle from the pastures rich and—" Nur Jahan's thoughts were truncated by the appearance of Prince Shahryar followed by Fadai Khan.
"Are Mahabat Khan's troops in view? How many, do you know?" Nur Jahan queried Fadai Khan even before he could lift himself up from his curtsy.
"Two hundred Rajputs are posted on the bridge, Padishah Begum." Fadai Khan breathed ominously. "A large number are with him, and a great number encamped not far from the royal barges on the east side."
"And where is the emperor now? Have you heard?" Nur Jahan's gaze was intense.
"The emperor has gone hunting, Padishah Begum, as scheduled. Attended by Mahabat Khan and his body of Rajput soldiers." Fadai Khan murmured.
"What is the morale of our troops?" Nur Jahan asked intensely.
"Filled with shame and chagrin, Padishah Begum. They are longing to kill the Rajputs with their bare hands." Fadai Khan's eyes were sparkling with devotion.
"They don't have to wait for long, Fadai Khan." Nur Jahan assured unconvincingly. "Prepare them for a decisive battle which must commence early in the morning. Mahabat Khan's audacity must not tarnish the polish of our imperial strength."
"What hope do we have to win this fight with the Rajputs, when they are guarding the bridge with naked defiance to the imperial authority?" Asaf Khan declared abruptly.
"If Mahabat Khan doesn't repent of this evil, Asaf, he would be thrown into the waters of perdition, along with his horde of Rajputs, by the might and valor of our own troops. What are small bridges against hope and faith, which can conquer the mountains?" Nur Jahan flashed a quick reproof at her brother. "Go, Asaf, with Fadai Khan, and do your duty." She commanded sternly. "Instruct Abul Hasan and Iradat Khan to gather all the troops, they are to lead and command. Early next morning, we must cross the bridge, and capture the captor."
Fadai Khan bowed his head with utmost obedience, his eyes bright with elation. As he turned to leave, Asaf Khan followed him reluctantly. Prince Shahryar kept standing there mute and ponderous.
"What would become of the emperor if we rescue him not from this lizard of a traitor?" Nur Jahan stood wringing her hands, her gaze bouncing off the shoulders of Prince Shahryar, feverish and sightless.
"I myself would lead the troops, Padishah Begum." Prince Shahryar murmured consolingly. "No need to worry. The emperor is safe, and will be rescued from this farce of captivity." He vanished outside the tent.
Finding herself alone, Nur Jahan flung herself in her chair and buried her face into her hands. Tears were stinging her eyes, pouring down her cheeks in torrents. Her heart was constricting in convulsions of pain and agony, and she was sobbing uncontrollably.
18
Empress made Captive
The sleepless dawn was awakening with a shudder as the imperial troops stood gazing at the cold, pearly sky. Suddenly, the sun's eyes were lowering banners of molten gold as the soldiers stood waiting final orders from the empress. The night long preparations of the imperialists in neat files, and the advance of a few ranks closer to the bridge, could not be left unnoticed by Mahabat Khan. His fear and suspicion concerning an imminent attack by the imperialists were now confirmed. Before this attack could be materialized, he had ordered the bridge to be burnt. The emperor was imprisoned inside the vacant tent of Prince Shahryar under the close vigilance of Mahabat Khan himself. He was heard barking orders all night long to his own soldiers who were shuffling back and forth to feed him with the morsels of the latest maneuvers by the imperialists.
The burning of one small bridge or even the fires of hell could not deter Nur Jahan from her desperate plan in launching the attack. She was wearing no jewels but the jewels of her resolve and implacability. Her commands were a shower of rapiers, arresting all in the haze-mist of awe and submission. Such were the powers of her beauty and courage that all men were implanted alive on the poles of obedience, subservient and spellbound. Before anyone knew, the entire regiment was plunged deep into the blue turquoise waters of the river Behat. The imperialists were seen gathering as one giant wave, and fording their way toward the other shore where the emperor sat captive under the mad tyranny of Mahabat Khan.
The calm waters of the river were turned into angry tides by the intrusion of the horses, the camels and the carriages. A flood of footmen was following in their wake too, wading after the horsemen in the liquid fury of its own. Amidst these violent currents was rising Nur Jahan seated on her noble elephant. She was cradling her granddaughter into her lap, and shooting commands, if not arrows. The imperialists drugged with the waters of pride and courage was approaching closer to the royal encampment to confront the traitors and the intruders. These traitors were a wall of eight hundred Rajputs astride on their graceful steeds and warring elephants to crush the advancing imperialists with all their might and strength. Suddenly, the river was engulfed by a tempest of war cries. The warring elephants of the Rajputs were a raging storm. Another stealthy assault from the rear was a tidal wave, violent and billowing. A horde of horsemen, were dashing headlong toward the imperialists, and plying their swords indiscriminately.
The spears and arrows were a sheet of angry clouds, as if raining God's wrath from the very mirror of the sky. A pandemonium had visited the earth, the raging, maddening fury of the waters stabbing and consuming all who dared challenge the fates. Nothing could be discerned but quicksilver death and riderless horses. The blue waters were tinged with scarlet, the sun itself aghast at this shimmering sheet of red and gold. All were haze and confusion. Men unhorsed, wounded and dying. Some, gasping for breath, others drowning inside the ripples of their own screams, wild and agonized. The carriages were pressing too close, the elephants jostling each other, the men and horses wading frantically.
The imperialists were caught unawares into a whirlpool of frenzy and assault. Their ranks were dispersed, their wills shattered. Panic and confusion had crushed their pride and valor, and they were fleeing for their lives. Pain and terror themselves were whipping them back to the refuge of their own encampments where they could be safe from the assaults of the fierce Rajputs. Some were still fighting, more in defense than to gain victory. The imperialists had become an undisciplined lot, courting despair and hopelessness. The men in command too, were overwhelmed with shame and fatigue, knowing not whither they went, or which direction they were to lead their soldiers.
Nur Jahan herself was fighting desperately. She had emptied her fourth quiver of arrows, and was retrieving another one to blind the very eyes of fates, if not of the Rajputs. She was a woman possessed, nei
ther knowing fear, not courting hopelessness. While shooting arrows at the enemy, her gaze was flashing daggers at her own soldiers in cowardly flight. Without turning, she was shooting another command at her eunuch, Nadim, who was intent on protecting the empress with his own unerring skills.
"Ask the valorous Moghuls, Nadim, is this the time for delay and irresolution? Tell them that the empress commands that they should strike boldly and with utmost confidence. If we keep advancing, the enemy would be repulsed. They would be the ones taking flight, not us." Nur Jahan's commands were as swift as her arrows.
Prince Shahryar was right behind Nur Jahan, intrepid and reckless, and fighting valiantly. He seemed oblivious to the hungry, roaring waves which had swallowed the sanity of the few and were consuming the madness of the others. He was a part of this fury and violence, the waves themselves licking clean his bloody sword, while he contemplated another blow to strike his next foe, and the next. Fadai Khan was nearing the shore against a shower of arrows, but none reaching his swift, slippery movements. He seemed not aware of the men drowning right and left of him, his will alone carrying him on the currents of fates toward the gilded cage of the emperor. Mutamid Khan was following the lead of Fadai Khan's will and resilience. He had escaped Mahabat Khan's vigilance during the night, and had supplied the empress with the latest news from the camp of imprisonment. Now, he was eager to return to that prison, accompanied by Abul Hasan and other grandees. Asaf Khan with his son Abu Talib, along with Iradat Khan, was hemmed in by a group of desperate Rajputs. All these three men were fighting desperately, succeeding in breaking that terrible circle, and resorting to flight.
Meanwhile, undetected, Fadai Khan had succeeded in reaching the tent of Prince Shahryar, where the emperor was held prisoner. While the Rajputs were engaged in driving away the rest of the imperial soldiers, Fadai Khan with a handful of his followers was besieging the Rajput guards with threats and arrows.
Mahabat Khan was not there to check Fadai Khan's siege and tenacity. He had just left the emperor with a few Rajput guards, venturing forth on the shore to confirm the news of victory. His heart was in ecstatic swoon, as he stood watching the flight of the imperialists, and his own men raising cries of victory and jubilations. Self-pride and self-gloating were the beacons of madness in his eyes as he beheld the elephant of the empress lumbering toward the shore. The warring beast was pierced in the back by a myriad of arrows, its trunk slashed with sword-cuts, but the empress was unscathed.
The elephant of the empress was leaving the bloody waters of Behat, plodding on to the wet sand with strides as small as the crawling of an ant. Suddenly, one stray arrow from somewhere landed into Nur Jahan's lap, piercing straight into the arm of her granddaughter. With the swiftness of a skilled physician, Nur Jahan plucked the arrow out, her hands and white silks splashed with blood.
Mahabat Khan, bloated with the wine of victory, cantered toward the howdah of the empress. Nur Jahan didn't even look up. She was absorbed in wrapping the wound of her granddaughter in her own Pashmina shawl. Mahabat Khan was met by the loud cries of Princess Arzani, and he stopped in his act of summoning his guards to make the formal arrest. Nur Jahan's pale, luminous features and scarlet lips with the silken warmth of tenderness, struck Mahabat Khan with a stab of remorse. His throat was dry and his heart trembling. He was rather smitten with the agonies of the damned by the aura of her sad beauty which could never fail to bewitch even the purest of the puritans. One diabolical urge was uncoiling inside him like the serpent of vengeance, to kill her before she could poison his heart and soul.
Nur Jahan was oblivious to the affect of her sad beauty on this wicked man. All her love and attention were devoted to her granddaughter. A few unruly curls had escaped her red scarf, these flaxen clusters gleaming on her shoulders like the treasures of gold from the Sun's own bounteous wealth. The light and transparency in her features and the glow of ivory down her throat were molding her whole being into the unreality of a goddess, not of this earth. After bandaging her granddaughter, she was pressing her to her breast and murmuring endearments, as if she was all alone in this jungle of pain and tragedy. Princess Arzani was lulled to some semblance of comfort, whimpering as if in a dream. Nur Jahan's eyes were finally turning to Mahabat Khan, calm and serene as the dream-blue skies.
"No need to arrest the empress, Mahabat Khan. She submits to your tyranny voluntarily." Nur Jahan murmured, her eyes suddenly glittering. "No need to post the guards either. I will stay in my tent until commanded by you to see the emperor." She alighted from her howdah, assisted by her eunuch Nadim, and followed by her lady-in-waiting, Mehr Harwi.
Mahabat Khan stood there rapt and awed, unable to move or speak. Even oblivious to the presence of Prince Shahryar and Ladli Begum who had just reached the shore. The empress was sailing gracefully toward her own tent without another word or glance at the impudent traitor. She was followed by her daughter and son-in-law, who were floating after her in some stupor of fatigue and torment. While Nur Jahan was drifting along, a few of the emperor's own soldiers had begun to beat the drums, as was customary to announce the arrival of the empress. Mahabat Khan would have stood there stricken till eternity, had not his son Bihroz rushed to him with the news that Fadai Khan was about to capture the Rajput guards and to gain entry into the emperor's tent.
Mahabat Khan was startled to action with the instinct of a wild beast. He was waving his arms and shouting orders. His commands and instructions were quick as lightning to gather the scattered Rajputs and capture Fadai Khan. He himself was flying toward the emperor's tent with the fury of a hurricane. Fadai Khan, catching this uproar, had abandoned his post and was fleeing toward the shores of safety.
Mahabat Khan, brandishing his sword and dashing through the files of his Rajput guards, was met by a scene most placid inside the gilded prison of the emperor. This scene was rather comic in contrast to the uproar and confusion outside. The emperor was comfortably seated on his throne, his devoted servants Hushiyar Khan and Mukhlis Khan were standing before him like a wall of defense. They were the statues of immobility, their eyes riveted to the scattered sheet of arrows at their feet, which had neither harmed them, nor the emperor. The emperor was protected by the aura of his own serenity which could not be disrupted, as was obvious to any discerning eye which could behold this astonishing scene. Even the wall of defense by his two devoted servants was unnoticed by the emperor, and he seemed not aware of the stormy return of Mahabat Khan.
Jahangir was reading the verses of Rumi, his one hand still holding the jeweled pen. A few couplets scribbled by his own hand on the gold-sprinkled paper were the only witness that they had claimed his attention for a while. Mahabat Khan, after storming into the tent, had shattered this wall of immobility by a furious wave of his own arm. He had begun to pace like a madman, unable to utter any more commands or inanities. Hushiyar Khan and Mukhlis Khan were now standing on either side of the emperor's throne, still clothed in dignity and silence. Jahangir kept reading as if oblivious to the incongruity of this scene, where his authority itself was ruled by the whims and insanity of this traitor, wild and unpredictable.
Actually, after the first shock of his captivity, Jahangir had donned a mask of amenity and friendship. His fertile mind was plotting as it had not ever before in all the tragedies during his entire life. In fact, his aesthetic senses—a mixture of whim and caprice, were challenged by the novelty of this strange coup. Challenged, rather by the absurdity of his captivity, where Mahabat Khan respected his authority, and yet commanded with the stupidity of an absolute fool. Jahangir was not long to discover this fact, which had amused him, after he had recovered from the initial shock of this unavoidable tragedy. While hunting, Jahangir had succeeded in banishing all his fears inside the deepest chambers of his heart, where all his past secrets and tragedies lay buried. He had rather enjoyed the hunt, heeding the voice of wisdom for once, as if it was reaching him through the mysterious voids in his soul and psyche.
This madman
is dangerous, and the emperor needs to win his trust and friendship before he could subjugate this traitor to his own imperial will. One sliver of inspiration like this and many more kindled by the lamps of revelations were befriending the emperor after his hunt and his journey back to the gilded prison inside the tent of Prince Shahryar. Mahabat Khan was greatly respectful of the emperor's needs, almost subservient in fulfilling those needs, and brimming with devotion and solicitude. Jahangir too had summoned his spirit of buoyancy, especially, after the hunt. Besides, carrying inspirations and revelations in his head, he was quick to melt his anger and bitterness inside the pools of hopes which would assist him in conquering one demented rebel worth many kingdoms.
Jahangir's thoughts were lit by the fire of challenges. He had conquered many a kingdoms, Jahangir's thoughts had expounded, but they were the dull, soulless challenges, nurturing no joy or fulfillment inside the laurels of victories. To defeat this living, throbbing temple of animal kingdom in Mahabat Khan's heart was a unique challenge, which the emperor had not ever encountered or undertaken? He was avidly and astonishingly elated by this prospect, to conquer the demoniacal kingdom inside the mind and heart of this traitor. Jahangir's body and soul had begun to pulsate with the sense of adventure, all the grief of the past dissolving into the bubbles of delusion and delirium.
Paradoxically, grief and illness were gathering inside the realms of Jahangir's psyche with the stealth of inevitability, but he himself was not aware of their concealed violence. He was the man pressed by fate, donning the mantle of self-deception, and mounting the rungs of liberty and surcease, while defying reason with the whip of insane reasoning. His thoughts had begun to weave a tapestry of intrigue, welcoming the blind, churning depths of mysteries in his soul suffered and suffering. His heart was a cauldron of fire and implacability, longing to be united with his beloved. This time, Nur Jahan, his true beloved. He could not endure to be parted from Nur Jahan, could not placate the stabbing fury inside his heart. One night of separation, and the truth had dawned upon him like a bolt of lightning, that his soul was linked with that of Nur Jahan’s inside the cosmic mists of time and age. His longings to be near her were so wild and terrible, that they had made him the master of intrigues overnight.