The Serpent's Tooth

by Alex Rutherford

  ‘But such a vast army will take time to raise. Remember how many of our governors are saying they need longer to assemble troops than in the past … that our nobles grow ever laxer in maintaining standing armies for imperial use,’ Dara persisted.

  Dara shouldn’t be so cautious or so questioning, Shah Jahan thought. ‘I know, but any noble who is slow to send troops will be punished. Also, I’ve decided to employ foreign mercenaries. I have already put the Englishman Nicholas Ballantyne in charge of recruiting three thousand of them.’

  ‘Who will lead the army?’ asked Ashok Singh, posing the question that had most troubled Shah Jahan.

  Towards the back of the room, Shah Jahan saw Aurangzeb stand and look towards him. He had proved a capable and decisive commander in the Deccan and was the obvious choice, as he himself must know. Dara had had little direct experience of fighting, Shah Shuja was away in Bengal and would take too long to recall, while Murad was young and untried. He had sat up deep into the night pondering whether he should indeed give Aurangzeb the command. He had very nearly decided to – in most ways it would be the logical decision – but he had not been able entirely to dismiss memories of his son’s irrational and unpredictable behaviour from his mind. The more he had thought about it the more worried he had become. Could he take the risk of Aurangzeb’s suddenly deviating from his orders because of some obsession, or indeed of his either imagining or provoking dissent among his senior officers? As dawn had seeped into his room he had decided that Aurangzeb must wait a little longer for fresh responsibilities.

  ‘I have decided to give the command of my armies to Prince Murad.’ There were gasps of surprise and a look of pure amazement flashed across Murad’s face. ‘I know this is your first major campaign, Murad, but it’s time you learned the art of warfare and I know you won’t disappoint me. To advise you and to take day-to-day management of the troops I am appointing you, Ashok Singh, who have proved your courage – and your military skill – time and again since we fought together in the Deccan all those years ago. My son can have no better mentor.’

  ‘But Father …’ Aurangzeb took a step forward. ‘You should send me. Haven’t I just shown I alone understand your ambition? Haven’t I demonstrated to you what I’m capable of as a leader of armies ever since my first campaign against the Raja of Orchha? Did I yield a single patch of scrubby land in the Deccan? Haven’t I made the rulers of Bijapur and Golconda fear me on the battlefield and grovel in their eagerness to secure a treaty with the Moghuls? Let me go to Balkh and you’ll see how quickly its walls tumble beneath the onslaught of our cannon …’

  ‘No, Aurangzeb. I’ve made my decision.’

  ‘It’s the wrong one and you’ll regret it.’

  Shah Jahan heard sharp intakes of breath all around the hall. This was the very insubordination he had feared. He had been right in deciding not to send Aurangzeb and immediately took a further decision – unpremeditated but one his son had just brought upon himself. ‘I repeat that my mind is made up. In any case, I’ve decided on another appointment for you. I’d not intended to announce it today but I’m sending you to Gujarat. My governor there is elderly and ill and you will replace him. One of your tasks will be to see how well the English are keeping their promise to protect our merchant vessels and pilgrim fleets from pirates.’

  ‘Gujarat?’ For a moment Aurangzeb said nothing more but stared straight ahead. Like most of the other counsellors, Dara was looking at the carpet, as if wishing to avoid anyone’s eyes, while Murad was glancing between his father and Aurangzeb and back again. ‘If you insist, Father, I will of course go to Gujarat,’ Aurangzeb said at last, the fire in his eyes belying the meekness of his words.

  ‘Good. You will depart within the next few days. Now let us turn our attention back to details of the Balkh campaign – I am determined to send my army well equipped and provisioned and we have little time to lose.’

  Chapter 13

  ‘You are the only person I can turn to now. You’ve been loyal to us in dangerous times as well as more prosperous ones.’ Jahanara could still scarcely believe that she had asked Nicholas Ballantyne to visit her in the courtyard of her palace on the banks of the Jumna, but many hours of careful thought had convinced her she must. ‘Forgive me. You must be thirsty.’ Turning to an attendant, she said, ‘Fetch some iced sherbet, please,’ before gesturing to Nicholas to sit opposite her on cushions piled beneath a canopy to protect against the afternoon sun.

  ‘How can I help, Highness?’

  ‘In a few days’ time my father’s armies depart for the north and you will go with them.’

  ‘Yes. To lead the foreign mercenaries.’ Nicholas’s expression betrayed his puzzlement.

  ‘Can I be frank? I am worried about Murad. This is my brother’s first important campaign. He’s had no experience of command or real training for it. I believe my father has made a grave error in appointing him, though I cannot say so.’

  ‘Ashok Singh has experience of the north. He quelled the tribes in the hills around Kabul some years ago. He will guide the prince.’

  ‘He will try, but you don’t know Murad. He was only an infant when my father became emperor and still very young when our mother died. He’s grown up in the haram, spoiled and indulged for his good looks and high spirits. He is no fool but he’s used to having his own way and can be impulsive … headstrong even if the mood takes him. My father doesn’t see that side of him. Murad is in awe of him – ever respectful and obedient in his presence – but I know his real nature. Once Murad is far from court, power may go to his head. Equally, it may overwhelm him. Though my father doesn’t agree, I think Ashok Singh – good and loyal general though he is – will find it hard to understand and control Murad’s reactions if my brother is confronted by the unfamiliar or unexpected.’

  ‘Forgive me, Highness, but wouldn’t you do better to discuss this with your other brothers?’

  ‘Dara Shukoh doesn’t share my concerns. He thinks it will do Murad good to shoulder some responsibility.’ Jahanara frowned, recalling her brief conversation with Dara, currently so absorbed in the philosophising of the Sufi he had invited to court that he had had little time for what he casually dismissed as her female fluttering and fussing. ‘Shah Shuja is far away in Bengal and Aurangzeb is on his way to Gujarat. In any case …’ She hesitated and cast Nicholas a searching look. Yet if she didn’t trust him, why had she invited him here? She forced herself to continue. ‘Aurangzeb couldn’t be expected to have very much sympathy with my concerns. He thought my father should have given him the command of the army and he was right. Aurangzeb is a resolute campaigner and experienced fighter and was the obvious choice.’

  ‘Then why didn’t the emperor appoint him?’

  ‘As you and all the court know, some while ago he and Aurangzeb had a … disagreement. That was why my father terminated Aurangzeb’s appointment in the Deccan so suddenly. I believe he gave Murad command of the Uzbek campaign partly to teach Aurangzeb a lesson – put him in his place, you might say. To be truthful, I’m worried about Aurangzeb too – that his relationship with Dara and my father is broken beyond any but the most superficial repair.’

  Jahanara paused, tears forming in her eyes as she watched Nicholas sip the rose-flavoured sherbet from the jade cup, his unruly fair hair flopping over his sunburnt face. Why couldn’t life be as it had been in the past when her mother lived and their family was united against the world by their difficulties? Suddenly she was a child again, peeping through the curtains of her litter and seeing Nicholas, a reassuring presence, riding close when she and her family were in flight from Jahangir in the swamps of Bengal. With those recollections came lighter ones – Nicholas playing with her and Dara in the Portuguese compound at Hooghly, distracting them from the worry of their mother lying ill, of his teaching Aurangzeb swordplay and carving a toy soldier for Murad.

  Straightening her back, Jahanara began again. ‘You were always kind to me and my brothers and sister when we wer
e children. That is why I’m appealing to you now to help me allay at least one of my worries by keeping watch over Murad and advising and restraining him if you can. As a foreigner and commander of his elite mercenaries as well as someone he has known since childhood you can be more blunt with him than the other commanders, who will feel they must treat him with the deference due to an imperial prince, however foolish or unconsidered his actions.’

  ‘I am not one of his most senior commanders, and though you think being a foreigner may give me an advantage it may equally exclude me from his inner circle.’

  ‘Even so – and strange as my request may sound – please do your best. And write to me by the imperial post riders when you can.’ Jahanara glanced at her three waiting women, standing impassive. If only she could be alone with Nicholas … but such a thing was unthinkable. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her attendants, but the temptation to gossip could be irresistible to even the loyallest.

  Rising, Jahanara went to Nicholas and bending for a moment laid her small henna-painted hand on his sleeve. ‘Please, Nicholas … You know enough of our customs to realise I wouldn’t have invited you here if I wasn’t really concerned about the future of my family. You move in the world of men, whereas I …’

  ‘Majesty, a further despatch has come for you.’

  As he took the folded paper from his steward, Shah Jahan saw from the seal that it was from Ashok Singh and opened it with impatient fingers. It was nearly a month since he had last had news of Murad’s campaign and that had been merely a brief report that the army was making progress towards Balkh.

  Majesty, as we advanced towards Balkh the local rulers harassed us hard, making darting raids to plunder our baggage and killing any who straggled. However, we were not dismayed. When ten days ago Uzbeks under a prince descended from your ancestor Babur’s great enemy Shaibani Khan attacked us at dusk as we made camp, we fought them off, maintaining our discipline as we fired from behind our wagons. The next morning with your son’s permission I led our horsemen in pursuit of the retreating enemy. We caught up with their main body and scattered it to the winds, killing many and suffering few losses ourselves. The Uzbek prince sold himself dear when surrounded with his bodyguard but I am proud to report a Rajput lance put an end to his life and to his men’s resistance. Our victory cleared the way to Balkh which we reached three days later.

  At first the city’s commander rejected our offer of terms with bellicose and abusive defiance. However, after a day’s cannonade from our largest weapons had damaged his walls he changed his mind and in most abject and humble terms craved our pardon and promised to surrender if only we would renew our offer. To save time – one of the most precious commodities in regions such as this which have only a limited campaigning season – as well as to spare human life, your son on my advice agreed. We entered Balkh in triumph, green banners high and trumpets sounding to the heavens.

  Since then we have despatched an advance force to the Oxus to locate a suitable crossing place – the river is broad and its currents treacherous – and then to assemble vessels from which they can construct a bridge of boats and to find sufficient wood – not plentiful in this area – to make enough rafts to float our cannon and heavy baggage across. God willing, in a few days’ time we will be over the river and advancing on glorious and golden Samarkand. The Uzbeks know we are coming and the news of our success and our strength may unite their warring factions, but nevertheless if we move quickly – as I am advising most strongly – they will still be no match for us and we will ride in triumph into Samarkand as we did into Balkh.

  Your son asks me to send you his deepest respects, to tell you he rejoices in the conquests he has made on your behalf and to assure you he will spare no effort not only to take Timur’s great capital but to achieve an absolute and lasting victory and the permanent expansion of your dominions.

  Forgetful of those around him, as he finished reading Shah Jahan let out a great shout of joy and raised his clenched fist in a victory salute. Samarkand with its great palaces and madrasas, its orchards and gold-bearing river, would be his – the fulfilment of his long-nurtured ambition. Not even his grandfather the great Akbar had thought of such an audacious plan. After one and a half centuries the Moghuls were reclaiming their ancestral lands. That would be something for his chroniclers to write about and for his descendants to glory in when they sat on his peacock throne. What’s more, Murad was proving his worth. Neither Aurangzeb nor even Dara could have done better.

  Soon he would summon his council, but first he wanted to share the good news with his family. A few minutes later eunuchs flung open the great gilded wooden doors of the haram and his Rajput guards bowed low as Shah Jahan entered. Dara, he knew, was out hunting but he hoped to find Jahanara there – she often visited her younger sisters. But as he came into Roshanara’s apartments, to his disappointment he saw she was alone. She looked up and smiled.

  ‘I’ve received great news from Murad’s army. They have taken Balkh and will shortly be across the Oxus and in a few more days in Samarkand.’

  ‘That’s wonderful! Our empire will know no rivals! Will you give a feast to celebrate?’

  ‘No … not yet. Let’s wait for news of Samarkand and then I will give the greatest celebrations Hindustan and the Moghuls have ever seen.’

  ‘Aurangzeb will be glad to hear of the success of our armies. Should I write to him in Gujarat – and also to Shah Shuja in Bengal – so they can both share in our happiness?’

  ‘No. Let me have that pleasure. But where is Jahanara? I must tell her.’

  ‘In her own house. Satti al-Nisa has taken Gauharara there today.’

  ‘After I’ve told my council the news, I will ride there.’

  He was already turning to leave when he heard Roshanara say, ‘Father, I’m not sure if this is a good time, but there’s something you should perhaps know.’

  There was an edge to Roshanara’s voice that did not bode well and Shah Jahan turned back. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Some months ago I recommended a young Gujarati noblewoman called Nasreen to Jahanara as an attendant. I had always found her diligent and thought she would serve my sister well. Nasreen has an aunt here in the haram and when she visits her she also sometimes comes to see me. A few weeks ago she told me something I haven’t been able to dismiss from my thoughts – that not long before Murad and the army left Agra, Nicholas Ballantyne visited my sister in her mansion. He was with her for nearly an hour, and though Nasreen couldn’t overhear what they were saying she said they spoke very earnestly.’

  Shah Jahan blinked in surprise. What could Nicholas Ballantyne and Jahanara have to discuss? And how could his daughter be so blind to propriety as to entertain a man in her palace?

  ‘You look angry, Father. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’

  ‘Did Jahanara herself say anything to you about Nicholas’s visit?’

  ‘No, and that in itself seemed strange.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ask her?’ The directness of his question seemed to surprise Roshanara. For a moment she looked down, then shrugged. ‘I was too embarrassed – it might have looked as if I were prying. Besides, it’s hardly my place to question her. She is the honoured First Lady of the Empire while I’m only her younger sister.’

  Recognising the sense of grievance implicit in her remark, Shah Jahan felt more of his earlier elation at the news from Balkh seep away. ‘What made you decide to tell me? And why did you wait so long?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure what to do at first but then I began to worry about my sister’s reputation – especially as she doesn’t live here in the haram but has her own establishment. It’s all too easy for wild stories to circulate at court. I insisted Nasreen promise to tell no one else and also to swear the other attendants present that day to secrecy. I decided I should tell you, not only because you are our father but so that you could talk to Jahanara … make her understand that such behaviour could damage her position …’

 
; ‘You were right to do so. As you yourself said, malicious gossip spreads fast and redounds to no one’s credit. Now, though, put the matter from your mind.’

  After Shah Jahan had left her apartments Roshanara stood for a moment. When her father was buoyed by a great triumph had definitely not been the time, she now realised, to raise Jahanara’s behaviour. But even so, his reaction hadn’t been the one she’d anticipated. Shah Jahan had seemed as suspicious of her motives as of Jahanara’s – but why was she so surprised? Jahanara was perfect in his eyes. Yet she herself had done nothing wrong … Everything she’d told her father had been pure truth, and if Jahanara – for all her status – was foolish enough to be indiscreet then she deserved any consequences. Nasreen had already told her that Nicholas was writing regularly to Jahanara though she had never managed to read any of the letters – Jahanara always locked them in her jewel chest. She would continue to watch and listen. Perhaps one day Nasreen would provide enough evidence to prove to her father that he should have paid more attention to her and to teach Jahanara a deserved lesson. Her father was blind to his two elder children’s faults and both of them too confident of the place they held in his heart. As a consequence both did as they pleased and acted as if their younger brothers and sisters didn’t matter. But let them wait …

  ‘I summoned you at this late hour because the news is too grave to keep until tomorrow.’ Shah Jahan looked round at his counsellors, whose sleepy faces and hastily pulled on apparel showed that many had not long left their beds. He could still scarcely believe what he had read in the two despatches that had just arrived within half an hour of each other despite having been written over a week apart. For many days he had been waiting for the news that his army was safely across the Oxus and advancing on Samarkand, but it hadn’t come. Instead every despatch had related a series of excuses – the river was too high to cross and they were waiting for the level to fall … the supplies of fodder for the baggage animals were running low and they were waiting for more … fever had broken out among the foreign mercenaries, who were unused to the food and the climate … Uzbeks had been seen on the opposite bank of the Oxus preparing to oppose their crossing so they might need to feint to cross elsewhere.