by Farzana Moon
During the night-long repast and conversation with Mahabat Khan, Jahangir had discovered that this lunatic of a general not only hated Asaf Khan but the empress too. After discovering this fact, all his thoughts were centered on one point, and that point was to insure the safety of his beloved at all costs. Mahabat Khan had urged the emperor to deprive the empress of all power, and Jahangir had granted his consent. Encouraged by the emperor’s air of sympathy and understanding, this madman was dissolved into tears of humility and gratitude. To win his absolute trust, Jahangir had assured him that he himself distrusted the empress.
Jahangir was counting on Nur Jahan's disposition to anger and implacability in situations dire and uncontrollable. He was sure that she would launch an attack, but he had assured Mahabat Khan otherwise. Telling the besotted lunatic that since he had sent the missive along with his signet ring, she would not dare disobey the emperor's command. Jahangir's mind was miles ahead of Mahabat Khan's in plots and intrigues, since his beloved's safety was paramount in his thoughts and since Mahabat Khan's hatred for the empress could not be melted with gifts or threats. Jahangir had no hope that Nur Jahan would win, but was convinced that her attack would cause rifts amongst the Rajputs, thus weakening their strength and resolve. His head was brimming with plans to win further trust of Mahabat Khan. Since Nur Jahan would attack, and would probably be unsuccessful, the emperor would issue an edict of punishment to chastise the empress for defying the emperor's orders. This plan was brewing in Jahangir's head like the gunpowder from canon, and he could not help exploring more possibilities. This edict of punishment would be followed by an edict of pardon, as if Mahabat Khan himself was the author of both the edicts. In the aftermath of his plans and schemes, Jahangir was not exactly sure what he was going to say, but he was positive that he would shape the flow of the events with the inexorability of his will and prudence.
Wearing the mantle of surface-calm, Jahangir had already disillusioned the mad traitor. Mahabat Khan had begun to act and think that the emperor was resigned to his fate of captivity, and was favoring his cause in forcing the empress to relinquish all power and grandeur. The mantle of surface-calm, strange as it might seem, was also the result of a sudden transformation in Jahangir's mind, soul and spirit. He had begun to view things as the mists evanescent, embracing the beat of realities and delusions into the rhythm of time. Some cosmic puzzle, vague and pre-ordained, he had thought, which would complete its course, and reveal its completion as if it was mounted on the wheels of fortunes and misfortunes, scrambled and unscrambled by a million minds in its own core since eons. He didn't know, but a kernel of spirituality was sprouting inside him, rather awakening somewhere inside the ocean of his soul and psyche. He was sucked into the tunnel of light, yet groping for something inside the pool of darkness.
This blind, terrible search for something inside the silence of Jahangir's heart was kindled by the fires of a longing to live, while witnessing the cinders of death, hot and glowing. His body and mind were gathering the sparks of vitality and renewal, but something inside him were on the verge of atrophy and surcease. And yet again, he could feel his thoughts riding on the currents of euphoria, reaching out for the clouds of delirium, as if they contained in their little hearts the waters of sanity, if not the promise of hope and mercy.
Mahabat Khan, in return, was so befuddled by the emperor's outward show of self-surrender, that he had begun to doubt his will and authority in keeping this royal prisoner under constant vigilance. Guided by the flood of his inner turbulence, Mahabat Khan had begun to cling to the trust and the friendship of the emperor. Before that night of candor and camaraderie was over, he was so deliciously bewitched that he had presented a valuable gift to the emperor. This gift was an old coin with the picture of the king-philosopher of India by the name of Menander, carved on one side, and the other side depicting the bust of Pallas Athene. After receiving this gift, Jahangir had bestowed upon him his own gold coin with Zodiacal bull, adding, that this was a token of his trust and friendship for Mahabat Khan. With this great note of trust and friendship, both the emperor and the general had agreed on taking some rest. Before leaving, Mahabat Khan had set his own gift beside the emperor’s, declaring, that he was leaving his trust with the emperor. Now as Mahabat Khan kept pacing, he could not help seeing those two coins glittering beside the inkstand, where the emperor's jeweled cup lay abandoned.
"Your Majesty, now the empress is in my custody too. Your royal granddaughter got injured in the fray—" Mahabat Khan began feverishly.
At the mention of his granddaughter's injury, an imperceptible shadow of pain swept over Jahangir's features, but no pain was surfacing in his eyes as he lifted his gaze. He was wearing purple silks with a matching turban. The large amethyst in his turban was accentuating his pallor, as if no blood was coursing in his veins but light and ether. His gaze was intense and profound. Flickering suddenly, with a gleam of inspiration, as if the lake-blue depths of a lonely stream had come alive.
Jahangir's hand was reaching out for the goblet of wine, his gaze never leaving Mahabat Khan. Mahabat Khan was wading inside the currents of his soliloquy and self-absorption, not even aware of the emperor's close scrutiny. While sipping his wine, Jahangir had claimed his pen and had scribbled a brief note on the gold-sprinkled paper. With utmost calm and without haste, he folded the note into a small square, and slipped it into the hands of his eunuch, Hushiyar Khan. Stealing a look at the raging lunatic in his feverish pacing, Jahangir whispered to Hushiyar Khan.
"You are to deliver this note into the hands of the empress in a swath of bandages which I will send." Jahangir’s lips were parted in one crescent of a smile.
"So much needless panic and bloodshed." Mahabat Khan's pace was dwindling, and the look in his eyes dark and smoldering. "How could Padishah Begum disobey the emperor? How could she think that her forces of five hundred against my five thousand would ever win, or did she know? How many imperialists are slain and how many Rajputs lost? What grievous tragedy! I am working on your behalf, Your Majesty, you must understand that. The power is slipping from your hands—" His feet were coming to a stumbling halt near the emperor’s throne. "You have given too much power to Padishah Begum, Your Majesty. The drums and orchestra beating before her wherever she goes. As if, as if she could rule and crush the empire of Hind in her tiny fists if she wished, and with her charm and witchcraft alone. She has cast a spell over you, Your Majesty, wielding power and disobeying your commands. Padishah Begum, yes, she is carving her way to the throne with Prince Shahryar as her pawn. Prince Perwiz should be the rightful heir to the throne, as the matters stand? Yes, Your Majesty, I am here to save you from the scheming influence of Padishah Begum. To insure your safety and to proclaim you as the sole sovereign of the whole empire. Your kingdoms have been usurped by Padishah Begum for so long, for so long."
"Your prudence, Mahabat, is lifting the veil of darkness from the emperor's eyes." Jahangir drained his cup, replacing it on the table wrought in gold and ivory. "The emperor is much grieved by this tragic warfare. Much more, even than the fact that his granddaughter has suffered an injury. The emperor wishes to send her the bandages and to inquire about her health. That account settled, we will discuss other matters."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Mahabat Khan murmured doubtfully. "I myself will command your royal physician to—" His thoughts were disrupted by one impatient wave of the emperor’s arm.
"No, my good friend, no. No need to alarm the emperor's physicians." Jahangir turned his attention to his eunuch. "Hushiyar Khan, fetch that roll of bandages from the emperor's hunting chest and take it to the tent of the empress. And return posthaste. The emperor wishes to know how the little princess fares?"
Mahabat Khan stood there demurring, but when Hushiyar Khan proceeded to leave, he balked his way with the alacrity of a panther. Jahangir sat there watching unperturbed, as if there was nothing unusual in the manner of his corrupt general. Mahabat Khan was summoning his guards to escort Hushi
yar Khan. Also instructing them to stay alert and note every word which passes between him and the empress. After the eunuch had left with his escort, Mahabat Khan turned haughtily toward the emperor.
"Padishah Begum has submitted voluntarily, Your Majesty, but she can't be trusted." Mahabat Khan gloated shamelessly. "She has disobeyed you, Your Majesty. If your justice still prevails, she deserves strict punishment. Now is the time, Your Majesty, to free yourself from the yolk of her power. You should have believed me when I told you that she would attack." He appeared to be gasping for breath.
"Not disobedience, but treason!" Jahangir muttered ominously. He was summoning the daggers of steel in his eyes to play the part of a tyrant.
"Treason!" Mahabat Khan was taken aback, as if stunned by the impact of this accusation. His cup of vengeance was brimming, yet the beauty of the empress was scorching his soul with the tortures of the damned. He didn't wish her death, only subjugation, with a dash of humiliation. "Treason, Your Majesty, calls for death, if not exile?" He murmured.
"On the scale of the emperor's justice, only death is the answer to treason." Jahangir's gaze was bright and intense.
"You will not sentence the empress to death, Your Majesty, will you?" Was Mahabat Khan's flustered plea-inquiry.
"Yes, death sentence! A just edict. The emperor will write himself." Jahangir intoned firmly. His inspiration to deal with this madman with a little madness of his own was working wonders, Jahangir was quick to notice. "Yes, treason earns no favor from the emperor for anyone, be they kins, foes or friends."
"If you write that edict, Your Majesty, I myself will carry it to Padishah Begum." One cry of fear and ecstasy escaped Mahabat Khan's madness.
"Summon Mutamid Khan, Mahabat, the emperor feels rather week." Jahangir pressed his temples and closed his eyes.
Mahabat Khan obeyed the emperor with the speed of a falcon. He was soaring out of this tent on his own, and leaving his own guards abashed. Jahangir kept his eyes closed, the wisps of inspirations, garnished with wild schemes inside his head, now a great conflagration. Even his heart was a jungle of wildfire, caught inside the convulsions of agony and longings. His whole body was burning with the fever-agony of separation from his beloved. The emperor's own safety and the safety of his beloved were staked against the pillars of power and madness. And Mahabat Khan alone was the guardian over both, remaining in utmost command, despite the mental strategies concocted by the emperor's despair and ingenuity.
Such thoughts and many more savage ones about his beloved's absence and captivity were whirling in Jahangir's head as he sat listening to the thundering within his heart. Though the master of his decisions and strategies, his thoughts were walking on red, hot coals to be united with his beloved, and to breathe the air of freedom in her presence. He was aware of Mahabat Khan's power resting mighty over his subservient soldiers, the Rajputs. Besides, the Rajputs outnumbered the imperialists five to one, and were ruled by a madman. Perspicacious as the emperor was, his senses were honed more acute during those past few hours of his captivity. And he had guessed quite accurately that Mahabat Khan would not permit Nur Jahan to see the emperor, unless he could win his trust by professing his own mistrust and indifference toward the empress. His thoughts dancing on red hot coals could now behold the result of his strategy and inspiration, where Mahabat Khan's shrewdness was confounded. He could envision Nur Jahan receiving his note in a swath of bandages, and her candor in perceiving all. Her wit and wisdom, he knew, would unravel the puzzling events which could commence their march as soon as Mahabat Khan would return with Mutamid Khan.
Mutamid Khan, too eager to see the emperor, obeyed Mahabat Khan most sincerely and willingly. Meanwhile, Jahangir had succeeded in bringing order to the chaos within him, and when Mutamid Khan arrived, his expression was calm and contemplative. He had donned the mask of sadness and relentlessness, while
dictating the edict of death for Nur Jahan. Entrusting this sealed edict into the hands of Mahabat Khan, Jahangir smiled into his eyes as if he was grateful to this mad traitor for opening his eyes to the invincibility of Nur Jahan's power over the emperor. Mahabat Khan in return, drunk with the wine of trust and friendship from the emperor, was grateful to deliver this edict into the hands of the proud empress. He had floated out of this tent in demented glee, though his heart was courting fears and forebodings. He could feel his heart constricting, longing only for a glimpse of the sad beauty of the empress.
Mutamid Khan was sitting at the feet of the emperor, pale as a corpse. His look was glazed, and he was unable to voice his horror at such a shocking edict. His hands which had trembled while penning the words were now listless and white as the glaciers of ice. After Mahabat Khan's exit, Jahangir whispered quickly, his eyes glued to the guards who were standing within a hearing distance, alert and tireless.
"A ruse, Mutamid. Gird your courage. Believe not a word what the emperor says. He is carving his way to meet the empress and to gain liberty."
The empress surrounded by the guards outside her tent, was preparing herself for a shock after shock inside the misery of her captivity. The emperor's little note swathed in bandages, had enveloped her into mists of despair and hopelessness. Hushiyar Khan had left with his escort, and she had not deigned to share the import of this note with her daughter or son-in-law, who had watched her read it with a gasp of incredulity. She had devoured each word with a profound, enigmatic gleam, which could not be concealed behind the facade of serenity in her expression.
Nur Jahan’s eyes were feverish and sparkling now, as she continued pacing, much like a caged tigress, it was obvious. Her thoughts were communing with the emperor's inside some dark tunnel of magic and mystery. Her wit and wisdom, right this tragic moment, were sharp as the naked blade of a dagger, poised for stabbing. They were cutting the heart of this dark tunnel within her, where unvoiced thoughts could embrace the cult of love and longings. Her thoughts were gathering such wordless rapport with the emperor's thoughts, that she had not even noticed the abrupt intrusion of Mahabat Khan. Only Prince Shahryar had leapt to his feet, and the moaning princess in Ladli Begum's lap was sucked into silence.
Noticing Mahabat Khan inside the tent, Nur Jahan was suspended in her act of pacing. The feverish sparkle in her eyes was kindled to a burning intensity. Mahabat Khan too was suspended, stricken dumb by the shafts of her beauty and sadness. His heart was lurching down to some Scythian deeps, where tortures of the body and soul were abysmal and everlasting. He was holding out the edict, awed, stricken.
"The emperor wishes you to read this edict, Padishah Begum." One hoarse challenge escaped Mahabat Khan's pain and exultance.
Nur Jahan claimed the note with silent grace and dignity. Her features were pale and luminescent from the fire of tragedy and misfortune smoldering inside her. She unsealed the note most reverently, and was lost in its contents as if no one existed in the world for her but this note of hope and tragedy. A shadow of pain swept across her features, but her demeanor was calm and graceful as she stood searching the meaning behind that brutal expression. She was a sculpture of ice and fire, of gold and ivory. She was not aware of her charm and beauty, which her sadness had carved and sculpted. Neither was she aware of the ugliness of passion in the eyes of Mahabat Khan, which were feasting on her sadness with a mingling of desire and reverence. She had closed her eyes for one brief moment, as if praying for wisdom and fortitude. Her eyes, when she opened them, were like the clear, blue lakes, revealing nothing, but their polished depths of serenity. She had snatched one mystery of a thought from the emperor's lips, her own thoughts were confirming, and she was ready to voice it without fear.
"My last request, Mahabat. May I see the emperor before I—" Nur Jahan left the pause for a dramatic affect, as if her heart was breaking. "May I, hope to bathe with my tears, the hand which affixed this seal to my death warrant." She murmured.
"I will plead with the emperor, Padishah Begum." Mahabat Khan fled, as if his very eyes were gouged with the
brands of iron, hot and searing.
Mahabat Khan's heart was racked with pain and grief, as he returned to the emperor's gilded prison. But his thoughts were clearing, sloughing off the burdens of pain and grief, and getting more demented and tyrannous in their search for peace and sanity. A million imponderables were surfacing in his head, as he entered the gilded prison of his own will and dementia. He found the emperor contemplating his favorite coins, and he stood watching without saying a word. Actually, he needed time to decipher his thoughts, and to glean some sort of truth out of the emperor's moods. Hushiyar Khan and Mukhlis Khan were lolling against gold pillows at the foot of the emperor's throne, as if resting in utmost comfort. Mutamid Khan, seated across from them, was spilling entries into the royal journal with swift, bold strokes in Persian.
Jahangir's lips were taut and his pallor gleaming, as he sat contemplating his gold coin with Zodiacal bull. He was abandoning it whimsically, and picking up the other one from the table in gold and ivory. This coin was the gift from Mahabat Khan on the night of his captivity, when both had drunk deep of the wine from the goblets and from the cups of friendship. Only the Rajput guards posted right outside the tent were a harsh reminder that no such amity existed between the general and the emperor. Jahangir seemed fascinated by this antique coin, as if looking into the very eyes of Menander, the Bactrian Greek philosopher-king of north-west India. He was turning the coin over, watching Pallas Athene on the reverse side, his expression rapt and pensive.
Pride and self-gratification were leaping out of Mahabat Khan's very eyes, as he watched the emperor admiring his gift with such affectionate intensity. He inched closer, first peering over Mutamid Khan's shoulders to assess the import of his liquid entries. Discovering, that the royal scribe was delineating the history of his own antique coin, he was further bloated with a sense of euphoria. He was forgetting, completely and absolutely, his aching, searing torment, and edging closer to the emperor.