by Farzana Moon
"What is to be done, Your Majesty, what—" Mahabat Khan stood there wringing his hands under some spell of stupefaction. Stunned and bewildered.
"The only course left to us, Mahabat, is." Jahangir's feet came to an abrupt halt before this cowering traitor. His eyes were blazing with some inner fire of a revelation as he continued. "Yes, the only wise course! Stay concealed, surrounded by your own guards, Mahabat, while we journey. Don't let the Rajput soldiers come near the imperialists, lest they invent an excuse to provoke a fight. I will ride with the empress as if none of her secrets are disclosed to me. Once safe in Lahore, we would gain the support of more Rajputs, and then? We would make our own plans." He pressed his temples, trying to dispel the inner violence inside him on the verge of a physical illness.
"A great plan, Your Majesty." Mahabat Khan breathed frantically. He was holding on to this plan like a drowning man, clutching at the reed of hope. "Let us not delay our journey any further, Your Majesty. I will be your obedient servant. Upon my life, no harm will ever come to you." He could not help noticing the emperor's pallor, his own heart thundering warnings.
"Come, my friends." Mahabat Khan beckoned to the Rajput guards. "The emperor doesn't need our protection! We would be the ones, craving his wisdom and ingenuity to save our lives." He was commanding feverishly.
The sea of cavalcade with Rajputs still the bane of the imperialists was sliding down toward Lahore via Jehlum. One more day's march from the Rhotas, and they would reach the same bank of river Behat where the initial captivity of the emperor was staged, enacted and retained. During this entire journey, Mahabat Khan had effaced himself inside the chains of his own fears and doubts. He had stayed behind the shield of his Rajput contingent, feeling quite safe in his guarded sanctuary. His orders were hushed from behind the scene, urging his guards to keep strict vigilance over the emperor's gilded carriage.
Inside this gilded carriage, the plans of the emperor and the empress had been finalized, even before they had decided to encamp on the banks of river Behat. This was the destination they had chosen to free themselves from the yolk of the Rajputs. The imperialists were to arrest Mahabat Khan, and to fight the Rajputs, if necessary. The long journeys and the burdens of anxieties, charged with silence and oppression from the traitor, were proving fatal to the emperor's health. But his will and fortitude were goading him to persevere, and he could feel the spurts of energy boosting his mental and physical vigor. Nur Jahan too was overwhelmed by fears and apprehensions. More so by the emperor's failing health, than by the imminent threat of war between the Rajputs and the imperialists. A large contingent of the imperialists from Lahore was already encamped on the opposite side of the river Behat, and staying in ambush. They were ready to wage war, if the Rajputs retaliated, or resisted capture.
The blue turquoise waters of Behat were glittering under the Sun, as Jahangir attended by a few Rajput guards stood watching the disciplined ranks of his imperial soldiers. His pallor was accentuated by the citron robes hugging him closer at the waist under a jeweled cummerbund. The large diamonds in his turban appeared to radiate such aura of power around him this particular afternoon, that even the Rajput guards could not help noticing this subtle change in the emperor's demeanor. They were cowering behind him, rather than guarding him, their hearts brimming with awe and dread. Despite the warmth from sunshine, the air was cool, gathering mist and haze in its frolicking gusts. Jahangir, sensitive to such weather, had felt chills even inside the warmth and luxury of his own tent, and had donned a velvet mantle lined with ermine, before venturing out.
The red velvet mantle of the emperor was flapping in the wind, and lending him the semblance of a royal magician who could dissolve all ranks into dust by the sheer intensity of his gaze, if he willed it so. The emperor's viziers and courtiers were keeping him company, their fox-tail cloaks rippling and shuddering. Jahangir himself had ordered these cloaks for them, forever the master of Moghul etiquette and propriety, that if the emperor donned something special, his courtiers were bound to follow the custom. The emperor was the model of vogue and etiquette, he had not forgotten the time when he had holes bored in his ears, and had ordered all his courtiers to pierce their ears. Now the colorful jewels were sparkling in the ears of all his courtiers, and he was transported back to the courts of Agra and Lahore. His gaze was returning to the soldiers, who were wearing embroidered vests in the fashion of the cavaliers in peaceful times. Jahangir seemed fascinated by the colorful patterns on these vests, his gaze rapt and intense. Suddenly, he turned around, his gaze holding Buland Khan captive in its intensity.
"Buland Khan, go inform Mahabat Khan that the emperor forbids him to bring his troops on this side of the river for parade and rehearsal. The empress wishes to inspect the files of the imperialists, and he is advised to stay indoors." Jahangir commanded. His gaze shooting daggers at the Rajput guards, who stood there bewildered and speechless.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Buland Khan obeyed happily.
"Seize all these heathens and bound them in heavy chains." Jahangir issued another command with an imperious wave of his arm. His heart was dithering, lest the other Rajputs come trooping on to defend themselves and turn this peaceful takeover of power into a bloody fight.
The imperialists pounced upon the Rajput guards before they could unsheathe their swords. Their hands were clamped behind their backs and their hilts emptied of all weapons. This abrupt command for their arrest was such a shocking blow to the Rajput guards that they could not even move, their expressions chilled and stunned.
The air was charged with hush and forebodings, as Jahangir stood there towering over all like the mighty magician. His gaze was sailing over the colorful city of the traitor's encampment, where he lay concealed along with his followers. No Rajput soldiers were visible as the guardians of this low encampment, as if they were all hiding in their silken abodes to escape the wrath of the emperor. Jahangir's gaze was slowly returning to his imperial captors with one flicker of a smile.
"No harm is to be done to these demented prisoners." Jahangir intoned rather kindly. "They will have time enough to repent and grovel into the mire of their own shame, till we reach Lahore. Then redress and punishment would follow." His look was enigmatic, rather compassionate.
"Should we send signal to the imperialists on the other bank to join us, Your Majesty?" Abul Hasan asked, his eyes shining with relief and excitement.
"No, my faithful vizier, no." Jahangir's eyes were gathering a feverish glow. "No need, no need as yet. The Rajputs are sleeping, it seems. And they will prove to be the most humble of prisoners when they wake up, just like these unfortunate guards." He waved at his soldiers. His gaze alone commanding to haul these prisoners away.
"The imperialists are waiting for your orders, Your Majesty. Should I inform them of your decision?" Fadai Khan edged closer. Seeking the emperor's attention as some reward for his secret efforts in spying and plotting.
"Muqqarab Khan is assigned to carry the messages, but the emperor will wait till the traitor is delivered into his hands." Jahangir thought aloud, his breath heavy and labored. "Abul Hasan." He turned to his other vizier impatiently. "Go, inform Buland Khan to fetch the traitor, instead of forbidding him to come out of his evil lair."
Abul Hasan was too eager to obey the emperor's command, but no sooner had he reached half way that he espied Buland Khan racing toward him. Now both were racing toward the emperor, breathless and gasping.
"Your Majesty, Mahabat Khan has fled." Buland Khan was the first one to announce amidst throes of elation and disbelief. "He must have fled just after we pitched our tents, or during the night, we can't tell. All his tents are empty, all his soldiers gone."
"And Asaf Khan, and the other prisoners?" Jahangir asked weakly, holding his labored breath in abeyance.
"He took everyone with him, Your Majesty. Asaf Khan, Abu Talib, Prince Hoshang, Prince Tahmuras, Lashkar Khan and all." Buland Khan murmured with a trace of guilt, as if it was his fault.
"The traitor couldn't be far. Send a contingent of the imperialists after him. He must be captured." Jahangir's voice rose and fell like the distant murmur of a thunder. He stood gasping for breath, unable to fend off the assault of asthma.
One hundred days of Mahabat Khan's demented reign had ended abruptly and peacefully as the emperor lay in his tent, attended by his physicians. Nur Jahan was beside him, pale and serene. Jahangir was recovering his breath, though issuing no orders, and entrusting all matters into the hands of the empress. All those past months of strain and suffering were now churning inside him like the angry waves, as if released by the very hands of relief which was courting rest and self-surrender. He was overwhelmed with fatigue, and all his strength was drained. His sight and senses were accosting reveries again. Anarkali, who was banished from his thoughts all those months of stealthy torment, could not be restrained from visiting him once more. He was seeking oblivion, welcoming the intrusion of long-cherished love and grief. A shining parade of illusions were drifting in his head, dreaming away dreams, slashed by the pincers of reality. Anarkali was pervading the serene, blue pools of Nur Jahan's eyes. Smiling at him! Offering him the bliss and comfort of eternity where there were no pains, no betrayals, no tragedies, no ailments, but the light of joy, love, peace.
Absolute Surcease!
Jahangir was waving the physicians away, gazing into the eyes of Nur Jahan. He could not see his empress, Anarkali was there, donned in the pale blue gown of silk designed by Nur Jahan. She had borrowed the tiara of diamonds from the empress too? Her whole body was throbbing with the light of diamonds. A soft, radiant dream was lulling the emperor to a restful sleep. The paradise itself was his bed and pillow.
Nur Jahan was pacing softly, while the emperor rested in the mist-haze of his comforting dreams. Jahangir's breathing was even and unlabored, and there was a healthy glow on his pallid cheeks as he slept like a child cradled into the arms of relief. This fact alone was lending Nur Jahan's thoughts more strength and vitality to think about the matters at hand. She was concerned more about the emperor's health, and had changed her plans as to Mahabat Khan's arrest and retribution. Her prudence alone, garnished with the salt of intuition had informed her that Mahabat Khan would resist captivity, and would surrender only after a decisive battle. So, she had made her decision. She could not afford the war of vengeance, since the emperor was ill. With the wisdom and resilience of a skilled general she had disciplined her thoughts, that she would rather let the traitor wander alone in self-exile, than command the imperialists to court danger and bloodshed.
The army of disciplined thoughts as her weapons, Nur Jahan had chosen Afzal Khan as her imperial messenger. She had personally dispatched Afzal Khan at the head of a large force, demanding from Mahabat Khan the safe release of the royal hostages. Her thoughts now, as she kept pacing, were following Afzal Khan, though her gaze now and then would turn to the emperor to make sure that his breathing was normal. The candle-lit warmth of the damascened tent was comforting her thoughts. She could see the half lifted flap of the imperial tent, and her feet were carrying her toward this opening will-lessly. She could peer through the very fabric of dusk, it seemed, where the lengthening shadows of the evening were no more. The imperialists were celebrating their release with wine and song, and she was catching a few shreds of their revelry. Suddenly, she turned, with the intention of lighting more candles, and found the emperor awake. His gaze was bright and caressive, reaching out to her with all tenderness.
"Your Majesty." Nur Jahan floated toward him with the eagerness of a young girl. "How do you feel, Your Majesty?" She felt his brow, her eyes spilling joy.
"Alive and carefree." Jahangir snatched her hand to his lips, and showered it with kisses.
"Your Majesty!" Nur Jahan's low exclamation was caught in a limbo by the shuffling of feet outside the tent.
Hushiyar Khan's jubilant voice was heard bouncing off the tent, announcing the arrival of Prince Hoshang and Prince Tahmuras.
Nur Jahan was inviting the royal princes in a fever of hope and anticipation. Afzal Khan was lingering behind, and Hushiyar Khan was curtsying before retreating. The emperor was delighting in the company of his royal nephews, and shooting arrows of questions without even giving them the time to respond. Noticing the emperor's delight and absorption, Nur Jahan was quick to avail herself the opportunity of speaking with Afzal Khan.
"Where is Asaf Khan?" Nur Jahan demanded not too loud.
"Padishah Begum." Afzal Khan bowed his head. "Mahabat Khan is keeping Asaf Khan hostage till, he says, he is safe in Tattah."
"Then deliver this Farman of the empress into the hands of this fleeing villain, Afzal Khan!" Nur Jahan's very eyes were flashing commands. "That the empress commands the release of her brother. And that if he disobeys, the imperialists have my orders to tear him and his Rajput soldiers to pieces." She waved an impatient dismissal.
"My Nur." Jahangir's attention was turned to her abruptly. "All the emperor wants is to reach Lahore, and to rest inside the comfort of his palace." His gaze was bright and feverish.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan was drifting toward him with the smile of an angel. "The first thing next morning, Your Majesty, we journey to Lahore." She murmured, clasping his hands into her own, and closing her eyes.
21
Sanctuary of Lahore
The red sandstone palace at Lahore with its exquisite engravings of angels, nymphs and peacocks, had donned a mantle of mourning. The lions and elephants carved in stone at the gateways too were arrested in a haze of sepulchral silence, it seemed. They were absorbing pale haze of the evening, splintered by the lengthening shadows of the pipals and poplars. Inside the palace, the emperor seated in his favorite room with walls displaying an array of stylized lotuses, was one pale ghost depicted on the canvas of time and place. Lonesome as ever, he was burdened by the weight of his grief and suffering. Grief was no stranger to him, but the death of his son, Prince Perwiz, had landed upon him like a raging battle, a countless daggers stabbing his heart without mercy, and reducing it to a bleeding sieve of eternal torment. Right now, he was in the company of his chosen royal household, and foundering inside the pools of his silent agony like a man with no will left to save himself from the valleys of despair and sorrow.
Nur Jahan, seated by the emperor, on the contrary, was courting no such silence and lonesomeness. She was engaging Ladli Begum and Prince Shahryar into a lively ripple of conversation, more so to dispel the emperor's gloom, than to evoke a sense of warmth and gaiety amongst the brood of this royal household. Prince Balaqi was reticent and contemplative as ever, more intent on watching the emperor, than participating in any part of the conversation incited by Nur Jahan. Prince Hoshang and Prince Tahmuras were fascinated by the exotic tales narrated by Asaf Khan, who had the special gift of turning the mundane into a popular folklore. Karamasi Begum was pouring some court gossip into the ears of Sahiba Jamali Begum, but the latter was a statue of ice, oblivious to any sound or sight. Sahiba Jamali Begum was tasting only the salt of her own bitter, bitter grief. She was hugging the loss of her only son, her beloved Prince Perwiz, with a despair so chilled that nothing could melt her shock and disbelief to tears of grief and disconsolation. Prince Aurangzeb barely nine, and Prince Dara Shikoh a little over twelve, were trying to humor the emperor with their skills at mock sword fight. The emperor, though visibly attentive, was leagues apart from this scene of gallantry.
Immediately after his return to Lahore, the emperor was besieged by the grievous news of his son's death. Prince Perwiz in Burhanpur, the victim of his excessive drinking, as the emperor had learned earlier, was further attacked by colic and fallen into a coma. He was cauterized five places on the head and the forehead. Though regaining consciousness for a few hours, the Prince had relapsed into a coma from which he was never going to emerge to know the joys and pains in life. It was reported to the emperor that the Prince could not voice the throes of his agony, but all were surfaced on his fe
atures tortured with pain. At the ripe age of thirty-eight, Prince Perwiz had succumbed to death, reducing the contenders for the throne to two, Prince Shah Jahan and Prince Shahryar. His body was brought to Agra, and buried in his own garden by the command of the ailing and grieving emperor. After this tragedy, Jahangir's health had been on a constant decline, his moods changing from one of stoic resignation to maudlin depression. He had abandoned all affairs of the court and empire into the hands of Nur Jahan. The news of the various intrigues had a way to filter into his awareness, but he was not moving a finger to guard his wealth or empire. Nur Jahan was in absolute power in all matters of state and sovereignty, but powerless in the domains of her fears and doubts. She was worried more about the emperor's health, than concerned in checking the strings of intrigues.
The court gossip was blaming Prince Shah Jahan for the death of Prince Perwiz, alluding to some rumors that Prince Shah Jahan had poisoned his brother. Jahangir and Nur Jahan were aware of such rumors, but they had taken no action to refute or to validate such blame, which could tarnish further the already tarnished character of the rebel prince, Prince Shah Jahan. Jahangir's grief over the death of his son was so profound, that he had grown insensible to all forms of gossip or rumor, so he was spared the need of punishing or acquitting his son based on the falsity or validity of the blame. Nur Jahan herself was so overwhelmed by the rapid decline of the emperor's health, that she did not dare burden him with more tragedies, laced with blames or accusations.
Prince Shah Jahan, for the time being, was left alone to carve his destiny of failure or success. Even before the imperial cavalcade had reached Lahore, Prince Shah Jahan was on the move to reach the sanctuary of Tattah. He had written a letter to Shah Abbas of Persia, hoping for alliance, but had received only reprimand and rejection. Shah Abbas had advised the rebel Prince to be a dutiful son, and to cease being a vagrant. Unheeding any advice, Prince Shah Jahan had attempted to conquer Tattah, with the intention of making this city his refuge and asylum! The governor of Tattah, Shariful Mulk, appointed by Prince Shahryar had fiercely opposed the rebel Prince, and Prince Shah Jahan was left in the limbo once again. Destitute of soldiers and ammunition, Prince Shah Jahan had then abandoned the plan to subdue Tattah, and had marched toward Deccan via Gujrat and Bihar. While in Gujrat, he had learned about the death of Prince Perwiz, and had continued his march without even halting for a single day to mourn the death of his brother with due courtesy and propriety. Not very far from Gujrat, he himself had fallen ill, and was carried on a palki toward Deccan. He had chosen the route of Rajpipliya, arriving in Nasik Trimbak to retrieve his stores and equipage. His health was improving, and he had moved closer to Kashmir to regain more vigor of the body and mind. With his cavalry of two thousand Prince Shah Jahan had decided to rest in the pine-valleys, hoping for favorable means to plan his next move.