by Farzana Moon
"What hateful truths would come out of these hateful lies, my love, the emperor might never wish to know." Jahangir slipped his arm around her waist, grazing his lips against her cheeks.
The emperor was soon consumed by the bliss and magic of his beloved's nearness. Kisses and endearments trembling on his lips. His passionate bliss was heaving sighs and shuddering, as the gateway to Shahara garden came into view with all its glory and splendor. The emperor and the empress were abandoning their velvety comforts to explore the velvety lawns and flowerbeds. Mahabat Khan was keeping his distance, his gaze averted and his expression inscrutable. The Rajput guards were scattered here and there, peering beyond the scenic splendor with absolute disinterest. They were wandering like the stray animals, oblivious to the scented air, which the goblets of roses were doling out to all, generously and indiscriminately .
With the hunger of an artist, Jahangir was feeding his sight with nuances sweet and colorful. He could not be denied the pleasure of inhaling this perfumed air, as if goblets upon goblets of wine from the hearts of the scented blooms were held out for his gratification alone. The lilacs in clusters of mauve and purple, matching his silks, were absorbing sunshine and rustling in the wind. A dream-world was unfolding before Jahangir's sight in the semblance of colorful tapestries, the amethyst in his turban blazing and following his own admiring gaze. Nur Jahan too was smitten by the beauty of this garden, her embroidered silks the color of heliotropes in their oval flowerbeds. She was lured to the marble fountains, splashing and serenading the orange poppies as they swayed and swooned. The empress was attended by her eunuchs, her lady-in-waiting following her. But the emperor's only escorts were Mahabat Khan and a coterie of Rajput guards. They were not far behind, their expressions sullen, as if they were caught in the desert-storm of their duties, than of visiting the loveliest of the gardens.
The marble terraces gleaming under the Sun were welcoming the emperor and the empress to their polished hearths. They were walking on the carpet of silk in grass, edged with blooming wonders as far as the sight could reach and absorb. The narcissi, the anemones, the ranunculus, the dog-roses and forget-me-nots in abundant clusters were the nature's own portraits on the canvas of this garden. One narrow path spruced with red-brick dust could be seen shining like a ruby rivulet. It was meandering its way toward a double terrace, canopied with bridal ivy. The red Himalayan tulips in earthen pots were greeting the royal couple, as they mounted the marble steps to admire the bridal ivy. Mahabat Khan and his Rajput guards were suspended down below under the shade of the magnolia and wisteria trees in half bloom. Up on the terrace were hush and the white purity of silence. Both the emperor and the empress stood watching the spruce and camellia trees down below, their hearts filled with awe and fear. Mehr Harwi had ventured forth on the terrace, and Mahabat Khan was contemplating to do the same.
"Your Majesty, you should prod Mahabat Khan. He has not spoken a word since we got here." Nur Jahan murmured. She was aware of Mehr Harwi, and could also see her eunuchs mounting the marble steps. Without even meeting the emperor's gaze, she strolled away, her eunuchs and lady-in-waiting following her obediently.
Jahangir stood admiring the silken splendor of this garden, as if the urgency in Nur Jahan's tone had stirred not a single thought in his head. His gaze was following one hoopoe in its graceful flight. This sleek, slender bird, sailing in the wind with utmost freedom was absorbing Jahangir attention, and his heart had begun to throb with a sudden violence. His aesthetic senses were drugged with the wine of beauty from the nature's own benevolent cups, but they were hungering and thirsting for something more than wine and beauty. A sudden stab of pain was wrenching out the simmering violence from within, which was leaping to his eyes. His very gaze was tearing this veil of awe and hush with its own daggers of ice and fire.
The sea of color and the carpets of flowers were no more soothing Jahangir's senses, but cutting through the very fabrics of his surface-calm. The wound of captivity, which he had bandaged so carefully, was ripped open and bleeding. It was foaming at the mouth with torments silenced, and spewing forth the bile of grief and despair. Jahangir was turning with the intention of joining Nur Jahan, when he noticed Mahabat Khan, standing not too far away. The traitor was edging closer, reticent as before.
"You need not follow the emperor, Mahabat, he has no intention to escape this golden cage of captivity." Jahangir declared caustically.
"Your Majesty!" Protested Mahabat Khan. "You know I am protecting your own interests, Your Majesty." He murmured. His gaze was wandering toward Nur Jahan where she stood leaning over the terrace with her back toward them.
"You look downcast, my friend. I have not failed to notice—still wearing that dejected expression which shone in your eyes early this morning?" Jahangir donned a mask of concern.
"Your safety is my prime concern, Your Majesty." Was Mahabat Khan's evasive response.
"My safety! The emperor is concerned about your safety." Jahangir let fall the seed of doubt, his gaze warm and intense.
"My safety, Your Majesty? Protected by a wall of Rajputs, I entertain no fears about myself." Was Mahabat Khan's startled response.
"We will talk about it, Mahabat, when we are alone. When the empress is not with us." Jahangir murmured. His eyes were summoning the stars of secrecy.
"We will, Your Majesty, we will." Mahabat Khan murmured, his own look conspiratorial.
"What heavy burden is pressing you to gloom, Mahabat? Don't be afraid to share it with the emperor." Jahangir murmured, as if trying to placate the fears of a child.
"Not much, Your Majesty, not much." Mahabat Khan murmured to himself.
"There is something then." Jahangir's gaze was profound and searching. "You would share it with the emperor on our journey to Lahore, perhaps?"
"Our journey, Your Majesty." Mahabat Khan's eyes were gathering that demented look again. That look, which had become his guide and master in all these days of tyranny and madness. "I meant to share some good news with you, Your Majesty." One feeble expression escaped his taut, unsmiling lips.
"Good news, Mahabat, and you have been keeping all that to yourself!" Jahangir elicited one snort of mirth.
"So that I could keep the others to myself too, which are not so good, Your Majesty." An involuntary confession was wrenched free from his thoughts.
"The good news first, then?" Jahangir intoned calmly.
"Ambar Malik, Your Majesty, that Abyssinian dog finally died in his eightieth year." Mahabat Khan exploded with a sudden burst of vehemence.
"Now Deccan will be saved from the looming threat of terror!" Jahangir demurred aloud. "That Abyssinian slave, dead? One must forgive the dead, Mahabat, for the comfort of one's own soul, and for the salvation of that soul which is no more. Death demands a certain grain of respect from us all, who tyrannize while living." He was trying to conceal his sense of betrayal in innuendoes. "Though an Abyssinian slave, he rose to great power, and was a great warrior, the emperor must admit—" He paused, his gaze intense and smoldering. "And now, the not-too good news, Mahabat?"
"Prince Shah Jahan, Your Majesty, hearing of your captivity—though, you are not a captive, Your Majesty. I am your devoted slave, and working for your interests alone. Prince Shah Jahan has left Deccan, and is proceeding toward Ajmer, with the intention of rebellion, I am sure." Mahabat Khan expounded incoherently."
"Not so bad, Mahabat, not bad at all." Jahangir smiled. His heart was fluttering suddenly, but he was not heeding its warnings. "The emperor is not concerned about the rebellions any more. With you as his shield of devotion and friendship, you would crush all rebellions, intended or otherwise." He appeared to dismiss the subject as if it was insignificant. "Such news carry no more threat to me, since I have your absolute support." He added with an attempt at cheerfulness, but failed.
"That's not all, Your Majesty. More grievous news—" Mahabat Khan announced.
"The emperor is accustomed to grief and tragedies." Jahangir assured him
unconvincingly. "And there is nothing much too burdensome which the emperor can't carry on his shoulders with grace." Innuendoes were escaping his lips once again.
"Prince Perwiz in Burhanpur is very ill, Your Majesty." Mahabat Khan offered reluctantly.
"How ill? What cause?" A shadow of pain lingered over Jahangir's brow, but his gaze was cold and piercing.
"Overindulgence in drinking, Your Majesty." Mahabat Khan tackled the second inquiry first, not trusting his voice or thoughts. "The Prince is languishing between coma and delirium."
"No reprimands will reach him, but mercy and compassion from God." Jahangir murmured. "Are the royal physicians with him?" Fatigue and weariness were silencing the storm of pain inside his thundering heart.
"He is attended by the most skillful of physicians, Your Majesty—" Mahabat Khan's quick response was swallowed by an abrupt crescendo of noise from the pounding of hoof beats.
The hush and beauty of Shahara garden was tarnished by this sudden sweep of a hurricane, where the horses could be seen flying with the speed of lightning. A large group of Rajputs with terror written all over their faces had trampled the garden paths clear to the cascading fountains. They were leaving their panting steeds unattended, and racing toward the terrace, as if driven mad by the very whips of the demons. Their feet were coming to stumbling halts right below the terrace, where they were suspended chilled in some stupor of fear and hopelessness. The leader of these Rajputs was gasping for breath, and seeking Mahabat Khan's attention. He seemed to be blind to the presence of the emperor standing opposite Mahabat Khan. His sightless eyes were revealing the cold steel of forebodings, and he had begun to flail his arms.
"We must return to the palace, Mahabat Khan." This Rajput soldier appeared to be the master of his own commands. "The Kabulis are fighting with the Rajputs. One small skirmish is turned into a great battle—" He could say no more, for Mahabat Khan had begun to bark orders with the rage of a wounded tiger.
20
End of Hundred Days of Captivity
Another glorious day in Kabul was anticipating the glorification of its lust for blood with another battle. The very eyes of the lusty Sun could be gratified in its anticipation, if the Rajputs were to nurse their prides in attacking the Kabulis. Last night's fight with the Kabulis had proven disastrous to Mahabat Khan. All night long, the traitor general was heard raving and pacing incessantly. He could be seen wringing his hands in utter despair, and his loud imprecations could not fail to reach the shame and fatigue of the sleepless soldiers. Half of his soldiers were wounded and scattered amidst the heaps of the dying and the dead. Rajputs, the mightiest of his generals, had perished into the bloodbath of their own courage and recklessness. Half of his soldiers, who had escaped the swords of the Kabulis, were stunned by the swift tides of slaughter.
The ones who were dead could be applauded than bereaved, for they had chosen the honor of death instead of the ignominy of defeat. The fortunate ones, not slain by the hands of the Kabulis, had held on to the banners of ascendancy till darkness itself had swallowed all melee and brutal encounters. The eyes of the Rajputs could be seen shining with hatred at the Kabulis, even after both the parties had retired to their posts at nightfall. The beasts and the soldiers, all were spent and exhausted by the sheer burden of doom and darkness in the valley. The sheet of silence itself had muffled the vows of vengeance on the lips of the warring foes, who could not even think of the morning, where cries of war could breathe once more. Mahabat Khan was in utter shock, mourning the great losses, and despairing of his own will to keep its sanity and power intact. He was mired deep into the marshland of his ugly schemes, and his thoughts were struggling to swim to the shore of safety. But he was falling deeper and deeper into the abyss of grief and disconsolation.
While Mahabat Khan had paced in his room like a caged beast, Jahangir too had spent a night of extreme discomfort and restlessness. Now on the verge of victory and release, his pent up sufferings of the past few months were taking a toll on his health. No real asthma attack was imminent, but something inside him were constricting and expanding, as if the next laboring breath which he could take would be the last one for him. Inside the rose and ivory bedroom of his great, great grandfather, he had lain fighting this strange violence from within and without, attended only by Nur Jahan.
This palace, where he lay suffering now, had become Jahangir's only refuge from the painful present, as soon as he had come to Kabul. This palace was built by Babur with exquisite taste and passionate love, but now it was stripped bare of all its fineries with the exception of a few adornments which could not be removed. Jahangir had walked the empty halls against the shadow of his imagination, resurrecting well-recorded memories of the past with a yearning akin to love and nostalgia. He was always attended by the Rajput guards, but he had learned to efface them by the wand of his imagination, great and fantastic.
Nur Jahan never accompanied the emperor on such solitary tours of the palace, but she could follow his thoughts with the intuition of a keen beloved. And she could not miss reading his thoughts either, when he returned to the bedroom, and sat watching the ceiling in rapt silence and wonder. He would sit there quiet and brooding, while absorbing the faded colors in damask and tapestry, as if gleaning strength from the very walls and vacuums. This particular night, after the tumult of the war had subsided, Jahangir had entered this bedroom in some sort of swoon and exhilaration. His eyes were shining with the fire of hope and anticipation, but then he was absorbed in watching the faded splendor of this room with the same quiet and brooding intensity as before. While getting ready for bed, his breath had grown labored, and some stealthy pain in the pit of his stomach was carving its way down his back.
Nur Jahan was more of an angel to appease Jahangir's physical pains, than a skilled physician to offer remedies. Ministering to him with the love of a mother, who could heal her child with faith and prayer alone. She had soothed his pain with watered wine, and then had concocted her panacea for all ills, rosewater mixed with borage tea. The emperor was comforted, more so by her endearments and encouragements, than by the potions she was so quick to brew and serve. Holding a prayer-book of love in her eyes, she had urged the emperor to will faith and strength, till the dawn of victory could bring them release from these briny waters of captivity. Jahangir would doze off, and then awaken, finding Nur Jahan holding his hand, and lulling him to sleep with her eyes alone. Despite the restlessness in the night, he had awakened refreshed, his mental and physical pains dwindling, as willed by Nur Jahan.
The day had dawned, quite naturally and without the trumpets of fears. The coquetry of dawn had relinquished its hold to the lust of the Sun. The white, crimson streaks of the early morning were washed by the molten gold in sunshine. Gold was everywhere, on the rooftops, over the valleys, inside the gorges, dancing in the glens and deep under the shimmering lakes. Kabul was awakened to a sense of peace, as if no blood was spilt in the night near the sacred grounds of the royal palace. Jahangir too had awakened with some astonishing sense of peace and silence. The damask curtains were swept aside, and the windows thrown open by Nur Jahan's explicit orders. She herself looked serene and rested, but her heart was burning in the fever of hope and fright. She was anticipating release, and dreading misfortunes.
Nur Jahan's wit and wisdom were at culmination this morning. She had spilled beads upon beads of ideas and possibilities, till the emperor himself was suffused with vigor and energy. He was ready to accomplish even the impossible. True, half of Mahabat Khan's soldiers were retired to the Hades, but the rest half were powerful enough to slay the imperialists, if covert measures were not taken to capture them off guard. Since the preparations for journey to Lahore were complete, Mahabat Khan would pose no objection to leaving this very day. Besides, he would wish to leave this hated city, before another fight with the Kabulis could wipe off the entire contingent of his Rajput soldiers.
The morning hours were spent in a frenzied haste to bury the dead, and
to burden the living with the tasks of yet another journey. Mahabat Khan was determined to guard his royal captives in the pomp and grandeur of a journey in conformity with the Moghul standards of wealth and opulence. The hour of the journey was nigh, when the emperor had summoned Mahabat Khan to his presence. Jahangir was pacing in the gilded parlor of his great, great grandfather, as if Babur himself had entered his spirit and psyche. He was attended by his own viziers, and of course by the Rajput guards. The emperor's viziers were composed and cheerful, while the Rajput guards, sullen and unfriendly. Mahabat Khan's breezy approach could not fail to attract everyone's attention, since his face was flushed with rage at being summoned by the emperor. Jahangir was dismissing all with an imperious wave of his arm. His very gaze indicating to the traitor that he wished to converse with him in utmost secrecy. The emperor's viziers were leaving obediently, but the Rajput guards were not stirring. Impudence and defiance shining in their dark eyes.
"You may say anything in their presence, Your Majesty, they are my trusted companions." Mahabat Khan waved his arms, his tone wild and exigent.
"As you wish, Mahabat! This is of utmost secrecy, and concerns your safety more than mine." Jahangir murmured. He was holding the trump of victory inside his heart, but simulating fear in his eyes. "I have learned of this a few moments ago. Should we postpone this journey?" He asked quickly without divulging anything.
"No, Your Majesty! I mean—what is it that you fear? My guards are brave and trustworthy. What have you learnt?" Mahabat Khan's gaze was feverish.
"The empress has designs against you, Mahabat. I thought I could trust her a little." Jahangir rubbed his hands as if in utter despair. "Remember, Abu Talib's wife, the grandmother of Khan Khanan? In league with her, the empress has construed an evil plot to assassinate you. Since she has succeeded in gathering covert alliances and gaining full support of the imperialists, considering that most of the Rajput soldiers are dead, we are exposed to great danger. It would be difficult to thwart the designs of the empress, even if the Rajputs fought till their last breath." He began to pace.