When Mehrunnisa arrived at the palace, the Padshah Begam scolded her soundly. “Why did you not come to visit me before, child?”
Mehrunnisa stood silent, with her head bowed.
“Is it because of Salim?”
She lifted eyes to her. No doubt Ruqayya had heard of the encounter through Salim’s retinue, for she herself had not breathed a word of it to anyone.
“Oh, yes, I know,” Ruqayya said sharply in response to Mehrunnisa’s unasked question. Then her tone softened. “Come here, child.”
Mehrunnisa sat down near the Empress.
“Salim was naturally enamored of you. But believe me, he thinks of it no more. His memory is very short, for some things. And if he saw you again, he would not remember.”
Mehrunnisa’s heart sank. Was what Ruqayya said true? It must be. That was why Salim had not called for her—not because he was busy with other things, but because he simply did not remember.
“There is nothing you can do, my dear,” Ruqayya continued. “Remember that you are promised to another man.” Ruqayya put a finger under her chin and tilted her face. “His Majesty would never sanction a breakup of your engagement. Never. Do you understand?”
“Yes, your Majesty,” Mehrunnisa said in a low voice. She turned her face away from Ruqayya. What use were all these admonitions? All that mattered was that Salim did not want her.
The Empress clicked her tongue and looked hard at her. “Somehow, I do not believe that you do. Be careful, Mehrunnisa. Your family’s honor depends upon you.”
• • •
THE MINA BAZAAR was in full swing at the royal palace. For three days every month, the harem palaces were thrown open to traders and merchants, who were allowed to set up stalls to display their wares. Since the ladies of the zenana went unveiled to the Mina bazaar, only women were allowed to sell the goods; the merchants sent their wives and daughters to keep shop on their behalf.
The ladies of the imperial zenana shopped, haggled, and bargained to their hearts’ content, and the Emperor joined them in their activities. The bazaar gave the harem ladies a sense of freedom and much pleasure, so Akbar named the event Khushroz, “days of joy.”
Prince Salim swayed from side to side in his corner of the Mina bazaar, his eyes dull. He stretched himself and flexed his arms. A shout of laughter came from a jewelry stall, and Salim turned toward the sound, more out of reflex than curiosity.
The Emperor stood there, his arms around two pretty concubines, who were squealing with laughter as the lady of the stall tried to haggle with him for a pair of emerald bracelets.
Salim’s wives stood near him, gazing wistfully at the gaily festooned stalls.
The prince gave them an irritable glance and then called to the chief eunuch of his harem. “Hoshiyar, go with my wives and help them select some satin and gold cloth.”
“Yes, your Highness.” Hoshiyar Khan bowed, turned, and raised his hand to guide Salim’s wives, his face impassive. He looked thoughtfully at the prince, wondering at his listlessness. The prince had not been himself for a few weeks now—not since his encounter with the girl in Empress Ruqayya’s apartments.
Hoshiyar made sure to keep himself informed. Through his acquisition of knowledge, he had worked his way up the ranks to his current position with cunning and a ruthlessness that helped him get rid of any rivals. In the zenana, the ladies treated him with respect and a little fear, for anything Hoshiyar knew to their detriment invariably found its way to Jagat Gosini. Hoshiyar bowed to only one woman: the woman who ruled Salim’s harem, Princess Jagat Gosini. He was her eyes and ears outside the walls of the harem; within it, her right-hand man. Intelligent creature that he was, Hoshiyar recognized intelligence in the princess and never tried to undermine her in any way. She would make a powerful enemy. Now she worried about Mehrunnisa. Why? Salim seemed to have forgotten her—but not completely; he was floundering, grasping for something out of his reach. And not really knowing what it was.
“Oh, and take the others with you. I wish to be alone,” the prince said.
The servants scampered off with glee. Salim turned slowly and walked toward the gardens.
On the way, a vendor yelled out to him, “Your Highness, look at these beautiful birds.”
A young girl sat at a stall surrounded by brass cages, each containing a variety of colored birds. She was quite pretty, her coarse features brightened by her smile. Salim eyed her with appreciation. Taking advantage of his interest, she brought forward a mynah with a bright yellow bill.
“Now isn’t that pretty, your Highness?” she tried to cajole, stammering as she did so.
Salim grinned, watching her bravado disappear. She had been bold in calling to him, but now that he stood in front of her, she was suddenly shy. “How much?”
“A special price for you, huzoor.” She batted her eyelashes becomingly. “Just five rupees.”
“Three,” Salim said, smiling.
“Oh, huzoor,” the vendor sighed, putting away the cage. “I wish I could sell it to you for three rupees, but the cost of living is so high. . . .” She suddenly brightened. “I will take four for it.”
“Only if you throw in the two pigeons,” Salim said, pointing at two pristine, unspeckled Persian pigeons.
“Done.”
Salim brought out four silver rupees from his cumberbund and handed them to the girl. He wanted to give her more for such a fine performance, but it would spoil their little game. He looked around for Hoshiyar, who as usual was not far from his side, despite Salim’s order to go wait on his wives.
He handed the mynah to Hoshiyar, took out the Persian pigeons, and held them to his chest. They cooed softly in his arms. He rubbed his cheek against their feathers and descended the stone steps into the garden. The noise from the bazaar seemed to fade away. The green lawn stretched out in front of him, luminous with morning dew. Bees droned over the flowers, their wings iridescent in the warm sunlight.
His eye was caught by the red roses on the border in heavy bloom. Their thorns had been trimmed by the royal malis, each painstakingly removed by hand to protect the royal family. Salim bent down, and the sweet aroma of sun-fired roses filled his nostrils. He straightened and looked around for Hoshiyar, who was nowhere to be seen. He then saw the veiled girl seated under the dense shade of the chenar tree.
“Hey, you!”
She rose and walked up to the prince.
“Hold these for me.” Salim handed her the pigeons and went off to pluck the roses. When he came back, the girl was standing there, eyes downcast, holding just one pigeon.
“Where is the other bird?” he demanded angrily.
“Your Highness, it flew away.”
“How?”
“Like this!”
To Salim’s amazement, the girl lifted her hands, her blue glass bangles falling back with a tinkle on her wrists, and released the second bird. It flew away into the distant sky. He turned back to her, enraged. She was watching the pigeon. His memory stirred. Where had he heard that voice before? A slight breeze swept through the garden, and the veil molded her face.
“Mehrunnisa!”
“Your Highness, I apologize.”
Salim waved an impatient hand, letting the roses fall to his feet. “Never mind the bird. Why did you run away from me the other day?”
“I could not stay.”
“Why not?” Salim reached for her hand and held it. Her fingers were long and slender, the nails henna-tipped, the skin as smooth as pearls. They stood smiling at each other with no words, just happiness. Salim reached out and pulled her veil from her head. He took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. Suddenly, he ached to touch her everywhere, to feel her skin against his, to hear her voice and her laughter.
“You are the most beautiful woman I have seen, Mehrunnisa.”
She tilted her head at him. An errant breeze lifted a lock of her hair and blew it across her mouth. “But you have so many beautiful women in your harem, your Highness. Surely ther
e is one there who surpasses me in beauty?”
Salim tilted his head to the other side, his tone matching the lilt in her voice. “That is simply not possible. What are you doing here alone in the garden? Why are you not at the bazaar?”
“It tired me.”
“As it did me.” Salim raised her hand to his lips and rubbed his fingers over the back slowly. His touch then strayed down her wrist, rippling over the bangles.
‘Your Highness, his Majesty desires your presence.” Hoshiyar was standing at the top of the stone steps.
They turned to see the eunuch, his eyes hooded and watchful.
“Tell him I am busy. I shall be there in a few minutes,” Salim said.
“Now, your Highness,” Hoshiyar said gently. “His Majesty does not like to be kept waiting.”
Salim turned to Mehrunnisa. “Will you wait for me? I will be back soon.”
“Where would I go, your Highness? If you have commanded me, I can only obey.”
He leaned close to her, his eyes bright with amusement. “This from the girl who released my pigeons. I do not command, Mehrunnisa. I request. Please wait, so I can come back to you.”
As he left, Mehrunnisa turned away, so she did not see Hoshiyar gazing at her thoughtfully. Rubbing his chin, Hoshiyar followed his master to the Emperor’s side.
Mehrunnisa sat down on the stone bench under the tree and pulled her veil back over her head. So he had not forgotten her.
A slow smile spread over her features. She had seen him come into the garden well before he had seen her. She had crouched into the tree, thinking that as he stood in the glare of the sun he would not be able to see her under the shade of the chenar. Mehrunnisa drew her knees to her chest, hugged her arms around them, and watched Salim. At that moment she did not care that he had forgotten her, that he did not know who she was. It was enough that fate had given her this one chance. Startled when Salim called upon her to hold the birds, she rose to go to him without thinking. While his back was turned, she deliberately let one of the pigeons loose, wanting to see how he would react. Now, Mehrunnisa sat against the backrest of the bench, playing Salim’s every word and gesture over in her mind: the look in his eyes, the feel of his mouth on her hand . . .
She heard the sound of approaching footsteps and looked up with a smile that faded when she saw Ruqayya Sultan Begam entering the garden, attendants in tow. Please, Allah, the Empress should leave before Salim returned. Ruqayya left her servants and came to her.
Mehrunnisa stood up and bowed.
“What are you up to now, Mehrunnisa?” Ruqayya sat down and patted the bench.
“I have no idea what you are talking—”
“Yes, you do. Listen to me. Salim may outwardly be a man, but inside he is a child. He is always searching for his ideal mate.” Ruqayya paused and stared hard at Mehrunnisa. “I can see you know the prince’s character and are taking advantage of it.”
“Your Majesty,” Mehrunnisa protested hotly. “That is unfair. I am doing nothing of the sort. The prince is interested in me. Why shouldn’t I . . . encourage that interest?”
“Because you are as good as married, that’s why,” Ruqayya said firmly. “And his Majesty will not sanction an end to your betrothal.”
“Why not?”
“My dear, you were away from court when the incident took place. Prince Salim tried to poison the Emperor through one of the royal physicians.”
“That is not true—it is just a rumor.”
Ruqayya smiled grimly and said, “Are you doubting my word?”
Mehrunnisa shook her head.
“It is true. And it is the reason why the Emperor and Salim have been at odds for the past two years.” The Empress took Mehrunnisa’s hand in her own. “The Emperor will not go back on his word, if for nothing else, simply because Salim has proved to be such a disappointment.”
“Why is Prince Salim a disappointment to the Emperor? I thought he loved him well.” Mehrunnisa’s voice was subdued.
Ruqayya sighed and sat back. “He does. Too well perhaps. We all love Salim. We wished for him, prayed for him, and when he came it was as though Allah had smiled on all of us. But over the years . . . the Emperor and Salim have not been able to agree on most matters. The prince wants a crown that is his, and he is unwilling to wait for it. He listens too much to his cohorts, too little to us. He is restless, dissatisfied with his life.”
“Perhaps his Majesty should give the prince more?”
The Empress shook her head. “What more can a royal prince, an heir apparent, get from his father? Salim is too young to wear the crown, too rash in acting out his wants. The poisoning incident still rankles with his Majesty; he feels betrayed by this child he so wanted, so cherished. It is something even I do not understand, Mehrunnisa, so you cannot be expected to. Do not lay your hopes on anything but your marriage to Ali Quli. Remember this, my dear: your actions in the future could well undermine your father’s standing in court. You do not want that to happen, do you?”
“Of course not, your Majesty. But how would it affect my father?”
“Mehrunnisa, Mirza Beg has promised to marry you to Ali Quli. The Emperor will not agree to go back on his word, and if you persist in encouraging Salim, your father will have to shoulder the blame.”
Silence stretched between the two women as the Empress watched the play of emotions across Mehrunnisa’s face.
“What shall I do, your Majesty?” Mehrunnisa asked finally.
• • •
“YOUR HIGHNESS, THE Empress is talking with Mehrunnisa right now,” Hoshiyar bent and whispered in Jagat Gosini’s ear.
“Good. Let me know what happens.”
Hoshiyar turned to leave, but the princess caught his sleeve and pulled him back. “And Hoshiyar, not a word of this to anyone, do you understand?”
Hoshiyar bowed. “Yes, your Highness. I shall be discretion itself.”
Jagat Gosini nodded and turned to her husband. Salim was sitting next to Akbar in the center of the bazaar, his feet tapping to an unheard rhythm. So her lord wanted to rush back to the gardens to meet with his latest paramour. Her glance flickered to the juggler in front of the Emperor. He twirled three flaming torches in the air and manipulated them deftly, flipping them first under one leg, then the other. The ladies of the zenana exclaimed aloud, clapping their hands when the juggler finished. He bowed and made way for the snake charmer with his basket of cobras and his mongoose on a leash.
Jagat Gosini rubbed her forehead. There was something about Mehrunnisa she did not like and—if she could admit it— something about her she feared. A wry smile crossed her face. Born of royal blood, a princess in every sense of the word, Jagat Gosini had been brought up to think of herself as someone special. Then, when her marriage was arranged with Prince Salim, her expectations had been fulfilled. For Salim would be Emperor, and she would rule the zenana as his Padshah Begam, and one day Khurram would ascend the throne of the Mughal Empire. Now it seemed that a new threat to her ambitions loomed on the horizon.
If Mehrunnisa came to the zenana, there would be a conflict for power. This much she knew. The girl had a vicious tongue and no sense of etiquette, no notion of how to behave in the presence of royalty. And if Salim persisted in mooning about her, she, Jagat Gosini, could well lose the advantage she had so carefully built up over the years. She was not willing to give that up without a fight. It had taken time to gain supremacy over Khusrau’s and Parviz’s mothers, but she finally had done it. When Salim became Emperor, she would be the Padshah Begam.
Someone touched her shoulder.
“The gardens are empty, your Highness.”
“Thank you, Hoshiyar.” Jagat Gosini moved away from the group around the Emperor with a grim smile.
• • •
PRINCE SALIM WAS finally granted permission to leave the Emperor’s presence. He hurried to the gardens and found them deserted. Hoshiyar followed him there.
“Where is she, Hoshiyar?” Salim aske
d, turning to the eunuch. “She said she would wait.”
“It has been some time, your Highness.”
“Where can I find her?”
Hoshiyar hesitated, searching through his mind for an appropriate reply. The princess would be furious if she knew, but then, why not tell the prince . . .
“Answer the question, Hoshiyar. Do you hesitate because my wives are jealous?” Salim asked, a flash of understanding in his eyes.
“At Ruqayya Sultan Begam’s apartments. She comes to visit the Empress.”
Salim smiled at the eunuch. “Good. You must realize that I am your master. You report to me, not my wives. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly, your Highness,” Hoshiyar replied with a straight face.
This time Mehrunnisa did not slip easily from Salim’s memory.
• • •
THE LONG HOT Lahore summer had waned into a welcome autumn. The sun sank lower in the sky, and by afternoon its dying rays were touched with a hint of coolness. All the windows in the royal palaces were shut to the outside air, and within the rooms, coal braziers blazed cheerfully.
It had been two weeks since Mehrunnisa’s encounter with the prince in the gardens. She still came to visit Ruqayya during the day and did not know that in the evenings, most evenings, Salim came to see his stepmother, hoping to meet her there. The Empress did not talk to Mehrunnisa of Salim’s visits or of Salim or of their talk in the gardens. Ruqayya just watched, slyly, enjoying the drama around her. Then one day, just as Mehrunnisa was leaving to go home, the Empress persuaded her to stay longer. Her servants had told her Salim was going to visit again that evening.
“May I step outside for a few minutes, your Majesty?” Mehrunnisa asked. The room was stifling. Smoke from the braziers swirled in unending circles around the ceiling, combined with the heavy sandalwood incense with which the Empress liked to perfume her apartments.
“Go, child.” Ruqayya waved a languid hand at her, lying back on a divan. Today, they must meet, Salim and Mehrunnisa, and in her presence so that some sense could be drummed into them. This infatuation, though exciting for the whole harem, was pointless. The Emperor would never sanction it.
The Twentieth Wife Page 10