“It is wise to be circumspect, your Highness,” Mahabat Khan said. “Mirza Koka has been entertaining courtiers for many days now, doubtless asking for their support. In light of these events, it would be best not to proceed to Mewar.”
“I cannot believe Khusrau will rebel against me even before the crown is upon my head. But what shall I do? I cannot disobey the Emperor,” Salim said. Yet, how could he leave with this new threat rearing its head?
“Perhaps you could pretend to go to Mewar. Once you are away from the capital, we can delay our march. . . .” Mahabat’s eyes gleamed. “We can always invent some excuse, your Highness.”
Salim looked at the three men. They were right; he could not leave the capital now.
The prince set out with his army and arrived at Fatehpur Sikri, a day’s march from Agra. There, in the city his father had built to fete his birth, the city his father had hoped would live as the capital of the Mughal Empire, he set up camp. He had a sense of comfort in coming to Fatehpur Sikri. Salim had grown up in the palaces; he had played hide-and-seek with Mahabat, Koka, and Sharif here; it was his childhood home. But just as he could never hope to recapture the days of happiness with the Emperor, when the empire had not stood between them, so too were gone his hopes of an amicable relationship with Akbar. That trust could never again be recaptured. Under his cohorts’ influence, Salim sent continuous messages to Akbar: the army was not well equipped, there were not enough cavalry to support the infantry, the elephants were ailing, and so on. He demanded a full complement of soldiers before he could progress to Mewar.
After one month, Akbar was disgusted by Salim’s procrastination and sent him a curt message ordering him back to his estates at Allahabad, there to raise revenues to equip the army to his satisfaction. Salim agreed and returned to Allahabad.
• • •
SENSING THE EMPEROR’S discontent with Salim, Mirza Koka and Raja Man Singh redoubled their efforts to present Khusrau as an alternative heir to the throne. They had one big advantage: Khusrau was a charming, cultured, handsome youth, much beloved by the people, more popular than his father. Prince Salim was disliked, first because of his rebellion and second because of his hand in Abul Fazl’s murder.
And so the next generation rebelled against its sire, just as Salim was himself doing. While father and son were watching each other’s movements warily, another heir to the throne died.
Prince Daniyal, Akbar’s only other surviving son, had been left in charge of the wars in the Deccan under the guardianship of Abdur Rahim, the Khan-i-khanan. Daniyal spent his days and nights in a drunken stupor, cavorting with his wives and slave girls. Akbar had sent a strongly worded message to the Khan-i-khanan to take better care of his charge. Afraid of imperial wrath, Abdur Rahim had ordered a dry spell for Prince Daniyal; he was to be given no drink or opium, healthy food was advised, and the prince was to be kept away from any intoxicants.
Daniyal was very fond of two things, his liquor and hunting. He had even named one of his favorite muskets the yaka u janaza, or “same as the bier,” for to be shot with that musket meant to be carried out of the hunt on a bier. Finally that musket would carry him out of his palace at Burhanpur, feet first. Deprived of his drink and suffering acutely from withdrawal symptoms, Daniyal ordered his musketeer to bring him something to drink. The musketeer, in the hopes of pleasing the prince, smuggled in doubly distilled spirit in the musket. The remains of gunpowder and rust in the barrel of the musket mixed with the liquor, and upon drinking it, Daniyal fell severely ill. After forty days of suffering, the prince died.
• • •
WITH DANIYAL’S DEATH, Salim now saw Khusrau as a viable threat to his claim on the throne. What Salim had once thought to be conjecture on the part of his courtiers—conjecture that he had nonetheless heeded—seemed to be true. The Khusrau faction was growing strong. While Salim was at Allahabad, Khusrau and his supporters were at court near the Emperor, who was every day growing weaker.
The nobles at court openly started showing their loyalties, even those who had thus far kept doggedly neutral. The Emperor’s death seemed imminent, and the next heir to the throne would compensate them amply for their support. Remaining neutral, while less dangerous than advocating the wrong man, was still not as rewarding. Secret meetings were held all over Agra to calculate the risks and choose the prince most likely to succeed, and then the nobles went to offer their support.
Two religious factions approached Prince Salim at Allahabad. First, there was the Sufi faction of the Naqshbandis, orthodox Muslims who did not support Akbar’s liberal religious outlook. They sent Akbar’s Mir Bakshi, or Paymaster General, Shaikh Farid Bukhari, as an ambassador to Salim, promising to champion his cause if he would promote traditional Islam upon his ascension. Their support was important, and Salim readily agreed to their demands. He already had the endorsement of the Sufi faction under Shaikh Salim Chisti.
The second religious faction of some strength in the country was constituted of Portuguese Jesuits. The Portuguese had been in India for a long time and had established missions in many cities in northern India. Their support was valuable in part because they controlled the major seaports of Goa, Surat, and Cambay, the main ports of access to the Arabian Sea. Any trade conducted with Europe or the Middle Eastern countries had to pass through the hands of the Portuguese. While land routes were still in use for trade, sea routes were becoming more and more important as means of revenue. The Jesuit priests remained neutral as long as possible, realizing that Khusrau was more likely to be sympathetic to their cause than Salim, but in the end they threw their lot in with Prince Salim, sensing that he would finally be victorious.
While Khusrau was scheming on how to deprive his father of the throne, Salim continued to enjoy his simulated monarchy at Allahabad. Khusrau’s mother, Princess Man Bai, was deeply grieved at the rift between her son and her husband. She wrote many letters to Khusrau, admonishing him, pointing out his duty and obedience to his father, and pleading with him to give up his ambitions. But Khusrau turned a deaf ear to her arguments. The lure of the throne was too powerful. If he had to wait out his father’s reign, it would be at least thirty more years before he could ascend the throne. Finally, Man Bai gave up and took an overdose of opium, plunging Salim’s court into mourning.
When the news of his daughter-in-law’s death reached Agra, the Emperor sent Salim gifts and a letter of condolence, but still the two did not meet. The Emperor was still insistent that Salim pack up and go to Mewar to oversee the campaign there, and Salim still stubbornly refused to go. Father and son remained at loggerheads over the issue, for the Emperor could not see Khusrau as a threat to Salim’s right to the throne.
• • •
MEHRUNNISA GAZED UNSEEINGLY out of the window, a book open on her lap. Outside, the sun glanced off the Yamuna river, turning it into a placid sheet of silver. Bees droned lazily around the bright fire-orange bougainvillea that clung to the walls of the house. The city of Agra seemed to doze in the heat, but Mehrunnisa’s mind was alert, moving quickly from thought to thought.
She had followed Salim’s movements closely. Each step the prince had taken alienated his father, the nobles of the court, and now the commoners. A monarchy cannot exist without the support of the people, but Salim did not realize that. The prince was even alienating the royal zenana, whose members had always doted on him and supported him. But the ladies were grieved to see the Emperor a ghost of his former self. Akbar was dying, slowly but surely, his death precipitated by Salim’s actions.
Mehrunnisa frowned. Mahabat, Koka, and Sharif were leading Salim into jeopardy, all because they wanted to rule the empire and could not wait. She had no doubt that when Salim came to the throne, it would not be he but his cohorts who would rule.
If she had been married to him . . . no, she would not take her thoughts there again, but they rushed to her mind nevertheless. If only she could have guided him, she would have taught him to wait and act at the right moment
. After all, the throne was his. He was the undisputed heir to the empire. But now, Khusrau was being put forward as the next Emperor. That callow youth—how would he rule? He could not, of course, and that would mean a regency and civil unrest, and the empire would disintegrate.
A sudden noise distracted her. Mehrunnisa turned to see Ali Quli rush into the room, but she remained as calm and collected as usual. Her face betrayed none of her thoughts.
“What can I do for you, my lord?” Mehrunnisa asked quietly.
Ali Quli sank onto the divan next to her, his face flushed with excitement. He stared at his wife. “I have some news . . . good news.”
She waited for him to continue.
“Mirza Koka and Raja Man Singh are supporting Khusrau as the next heir to the throne.”
“I know.”
“Well, I have decided to join them.”
Mehrunnisa frowned. “Join the faction against Prince Salim?”
“Yes. The prince is imprudent and unwise. Khusrau will be a better emperor. Besides,” Al Quli grinned, “he is a child, and we shall rule the empire.” He rubbed his hands. “Think of the power, the army I shall command, the cavalry and infantry under me. . . .” His voice trailed off as he contemplated his honors.
“My lord—,” Mehrunnisa hesitated, unsure of how to continue. “As you just said, Khusrau is but a child. If,” she emphasized the word, “if he is made emperor, it will cause civil unrest in the empire. It is unnatural to pass by the legitimate heir to the throne. Khusrau’s time has not come. Besides, Prince Salim has yearned for the throne for almost fifteen years now. Do you think he will give up his claim so easily? The final decision lies with Emperor Akbar, and he will not abandon Prince Salim. It would go against the laws of heredity and succession to leave the empire in the hands of a young grandson when his son is yet alive.”
“But if the Emperor dies? What then?”
“The Emperor will definitely name Prince Salim heir before he dies. His Majesty is well aware of his duties and responsibilities to the empire. If Khusrau fights the decision, there will be unnecessary bloodshed, and people will die fighting a lost cause, for Salim is the stronger of the two,” Mehrunnisa replied.
“Khusrau has Raja Man Singh on his side. Do not forget that the Raja is probably the most seasoned soldier in the whole empire: a skirmish between Salim and Khusrau will only end in Salim’s defeat.”
“But what of the people? And the other nobles at court? Do you think they will allow interference with the laws of succession the Chagatai Turks have followed for centuries?”
“Well . . .” Ali Quli demurred. He had not thought of the other nobles. True, Mirza Koka and Raja Man Singh were two of the most powerful nobles at court, but there were others whose support was necessary. Ali Quli flushed. Why couldn’t his wife be like other men’s wives? They were ready to follow their husband’s initiative without question; why not Mehrunnisa?
“Mirza Koka is even now canvassing the other nobles at court for their support. They will certainly favor our cause,” he said defiantly.
“Khusrau will clearly lose,” Mehrunnisa said, wanting to shout at him for being so obtuse. If Ali Quli had been less of a soldier and more of a statesman, he would have seen the situation as impossible. How could a man who was so brave in battle be so stupid in all other aspects of life? Short of killing Prince Salim, there was no way that Khusrau would ascend the throne, and even if he did, he would not hold it long. “It is best to remain neutral at this time. We must wait and see how the events progress, my lord.”
“No!” Ali Quli said. “I have decided. My support will be for Prince Khusrau. That is the end of the matter.”
As he was leaving he turned again. “I did not come to you for advice, Mehrunnisa, merely to inform you of what I was doing. Even that seems to have been unnecessary—” He held up his hand as she opened her mouth. “Keep quiet and listen. Confine your interests to the house and the children you are supposed to have. This is man’s work. Just because you cannot fulfill your responsibilities as a woman does not mean you can interfere in this issue.”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” Mehrunnisa said. His words tore at her heart.
“I will talk to you as I wish. I am your husband. I know your father is a powerful courtier; I know he is respected by the Emperor. But it is under my roof you live. You are my wife, not anymore your father’s daughter. Is that clear?”
She stared angrily at him, despising him at that moment more than she ever had, every childhood lesson on being obedient to her husband forgotten. Ali Quli bent over her, took the book from her hands, and kissed her palms, one after the other. “It is good to see that you do not cringe at my touch.”
He stalked out of the room.
When he had gone, Mehrunnisa fell slowly onto the carpet, holding her hands in front of her. She spat on them and rubbed them furiously on the pile, erasing the memory of his touch. Then she collapsed and lay there, her hair shrouding her face. Her tears came unchecked, blocking her breathing, tiring her immeasurably. An hour later she was still lying on the carpet, its pattern imprinted on her wet cheek. There was no turning back from this marriage, no escape from this life. It had to go on. She had to go on: one step in front of another, a smile on her face on family occasions.
Mehrunnisa turned and lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She touched her belly lightly through the top of her ghagara; then she put her hand inside and touched her skin. Five weeks now—and every day she watched for blood. Five weeks, and she had not told Ali Quli.
Her hand still on her belly, she thought of the man she was tied to. Three years ago, when Prince Salim had left Mewar to try and capture the treasury, Ali Quli had walked away from him at Agra, leaving the prince to go to Allahabad with the army. That had been a prudent move. It would have been unwise to defy the Emperor for the prince—even though in her heart, for all his mistakes, her loyalty skewed toward Salim. And it still was unwise to defy Akbar. For Mehrunnisa knew, from her conversations at the royal zenana and from the hints the ladies dropped, that despite all Salim might have done in the past, Akbar firmly supported him over Khusrau. To the Emperor, Khusrau was still very much a nonentity, a child, more a pest than a real threat. He could not countenance putting Khusrau on the throne over Salim, so he ignored him, even though the young prince was at court. But, Mehrunnisa thought, Salim still needed to be here at Agra to show himself. It was foolish to be away from the capital at this time.
Mehrunnisa rose from the floor as a sudden wave of nausea hit her. She ran outside to the courtyard and threw up her morning meal of chappatis and ducks’ eggs. Her stomach churned as she wiped her mouth against the foul smell. She stayed in the courtyard for a long time, not caring that a passing servant would see her leaning against the pillar, trembling and shivering. Please Allah, please, let this one live. Let me fulfill my responsibility as a woman. Let me be a woman. For she knew she would never be considered one until she had a child.
Two weeks later, Prince Salim returned to Agra from Allahabad, as though in response to a silent summons from Mehrunnisa. He was received again in the Diwan-i-am by the Emperor. Again, Akbar took off his imperial turban in front of the whole assembly and placed it on Salim’s head. It was a warning to onlookers, especially to Raja Man Singh and Mirza Aziz Koka and eventually to all of Khusrau’s supporters, including Ali Quli. Akbar was ailing—of that there was no doubt—but he had risen from his sickbed to greet Salim in front of everyone.
This open show of affection sent the Khusrau faction into near panic.
TEN
This annoyed Akbar more; but his excitement was intensified, when at that moment Khursaw came up, and abused in unmeasured terms his father in the presence of the emperor. Akbar withdrew, and sent next morning for Ali, to whom he said that the vexation caused by Khursaw’s bad behaviour had made him ill.
—H. Blochmann and H. S. Jarrett, trans., Ain-i-Akbari
IN 1605, SUMMER CAME TO Agra in a blaze of bri
ght days. For months the Indo-Gangetic plains baked in the heat of an unforgiving sun. Rivers dried to a mere trickle, exposing huge, sandy, pebbly beds on either side. Fishermen despaired of making a living, and farmers watched the empty, cloudless skies with anxious eyes as the paddy fields became parched, leaving the seedlings yellow and limp. Even the river Yamuna, which flowed through the city in wide, smooth, clear-glass curves, became sluggish and muddy for want of the rains. The summer monsoons were late as usual; this year it seemed they would not come.
At the royal palaces in Agra, life went on with a semblance of normality. A hush had descended over the empire since Prince Salim’s return to Agra two uneasy months earlier. Akbar took to his bed more often now, rarely attending the daily darbars at the Diwan-i-am, and when the Emperor did make an appearance, he shocked courtiers and onlookers by the increasing pallor of his face and his gaunt, stooped bearing. The end was near. Even Akbar seemed to know it. So he made Salim sit next to the royal throne on a special gaddi, on his right, proclaiming his claim to the empire. Standing farther down, much farther down, was usually a fuming Khusrau.
The hot summer days passed slowly, listlessly. Within the zenana walls, gossips chattered at every corner—maids, slave girls, guards, eunuchs, ladies-in-waiting, ancillary aunts, cousins, daughters, wives, and concubines. No one even bothered to be circumspect anymore. Yet, all their lives depended on who ascended the throne. If it was Salim, his immediate harem of wives would rule the zenana; if Khusrau, then his wife, the daughter of Mirza Aziz Koka. It was a thought to be shuddered at. Surely Khusrau’s time had not come. And among all these women sat Ruqayya Sultan Begam. As Akbar’s Padshah Begam, she had the most to lose. Not only would her husband die, she would be relegated to the position of a Dowager Empress. There would perhaps be small luxuries still to be enjoyed—she would be allowed to keep her royal palace, her servants, even her income—but there would be no power any more. It would be an empty title, an impotent palace, and with it would come decreasing respect.
The Twentieth Wife Page 18