Holding Bahar in his arms Zafar cleared his throat and said, ‘I have something to tell you.’
Bahar immediately slipped out of the circle of his arms. ‘Are you going to tell me that it is not possible to meet again?’
‘No, no,’ he protested. ‘I want to confess that I have a wife.’
There was silence for a few moments and then Bahar slapped him hard on his face.
As she began walking away from him, he rushed and caught up with her. ‘Don’t be angry with me. I love you.’
‘All the while you professed love for me, you belonged to someone else. How could you find it in your heart to cheat on your young wife?’
‘It was a marriage arranged by the elders. I was forced into it by the family,’ he protested.
‘You were happy enough to be with her till you met me.’
‘Yes, till I met you, I was content to be with Ayesha. But once I met you I fell helplessly in love with you.’
He pulled her into the shadows once again. ‘Let us run away from here. I want to marry you.’
Shocked at his audacity, Bahar felt herself weakening as she gazed into his eyes. They were burning with feverish passion.
‘There is no point in living in a world of make believe. Our love has no future,’ she sighed.
‘Islam allows a man to take four wives. I will take you as my wife.’
‘What about Ayesha? It is not her fault that you have fallen in love with me. She is young, she deserves a better deal in life,’ Bahar rebuked him.
‘I will provide for her.’
‘You are crazy,’ she retaliated. ‘Had I known that you were a married man, I would never have agreed to meet you. You cheated me by keeping me in the dark.’
‘Let’s go somewhere far away.’
‘Stop it,’ she screamed at him. ‘You have a wife waiting for you at home.’
‘Let us forget the world.’
‘How like a man? Is it possible to live in this world and forget the conventions?’
‘I don’t care about anything.’ He pleaded, ‘Let us run away from Agra.’
‘Don’t be stupid. We will be caught before we can reach the main gate of the fort. There is no place in the empire where the emperor’s concubines can hide. No one would dare to offend the emperor by giving shelter to us.’
‘Are we destined to meet for a few stolen moments, and then spend them in anxiety?’ mumbled Zafar burying his face in her bosom.
‘What else can we do?’
‘I will find a way to take you away from here.’
Zafar sounded confident. ‘We will…’
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Bahar interrupted him. ‘Your wife is not likely to remain a silent spectator while you indulge in romance. Doesn’t she already suspect you?’
‘I guess she suspects that something is amiss but she hasn’t confronted me, yet.’
‘I feel sorry for her.’
‘You don’t feel sorry for me? I have to wait for weeks to catch a glimpse of you.’
‘I can’t see a happy end to this affair.’ She shook her head doubtfully. ‘Sooner or later, someone will discover us and that will be the end of our lives. I do not care for myself but I do care for the others like Zeenat, Shaukat and Salamat, who are risking their lives for us.’
‘We will find a way.’
They clung together in desperation.
In the distance an owl hooted, suddenly. It was Salamat Khan warning him in a prearranged signal. They had to leave. It was dangerous to linger around any longer.
‘I don’t want to go,’ he murmured into her hair, his voice husky with emotions.
‘Go,’ Bahar pushed Zafar away from her, her heart beating a loud tattoo of distress.
They parted with heavy hearts.
It was getting more and more difficult to arrange the meetings. A new set of guards had been posted at the harem gates. They were more vigilant than the ones who had been posted earlier.
Bahar tossed restlessly on her bed. Shaukat had told her that he was scared to approach the soldiers or bribe them. He had heard rumours that the emperor suspected that a few concubines were carrying on romantic affairs in the harem and he had decided to mete out the severest punishment to anyone caught entering the portals of the royal harem.
‘I do not know how long we can carry on like this,’ she confided to Zeenat. ‘I am terrified each time Zafar comes to meet me.’
‘I think Zafar is right. You both should elope.’
‘How? Do you think that’s even possible?’
‘You will have to wait for Shab-é-baraat. The guards are usually lax during the festive occasions. We could smuggle you out of the palace to a place where Zafar could meet you.’
‘Even if you did manage to smuggle me out, where would we go? The emperor’s spies are spread everywhere. It is impossible to escape their notice. The word would be out even before we reached the city gates.’
‘Zafar will find a way, I am sure.’
Ten
It was the night of Shab-é-baraat – the night of the Prophet’s ascent to heaven. The entire city was in a celebratory mood. The Mughals believed that on the blessed night of Shab-é-baraat, the lives and fortunes of the mortals were registered in heaven for the coming year. Sweets, savouries, and curd prepared in the name of the deceased relatives were fed to the poor.
The night sky was lit up with fireworks and the emperor distributed ten thousand rupees to the poor. Houses and palaces were illuminated with hundreds of lanterns and candles, which twinkled through the night. People gathered in the evening by the river banks to see the royal and private barges that floated on the river, beautifully decorated and outlined with coloured lights.
The emperor was in a celebratory mood. He had received good news from the south. Prince Khurram, now known by his title, Shahjahan had once again emerged victorious. The Deccan had been won.
In the harem, women dressed in colourful attire and jewels, prepared to welcome their fortunes for the coming year. Nurjahan had arranged a special mushaira for the evening. At the head of the hall, amidst a heap of cushions, the emperor sat with Nurjahan, flanked by the other women of the harem. A cup of wine rested in his palms and a hukkah by his side. Sipping the wine, Jahangir nodded his head in rhythm with a ghazal being rendered by a pretty concubine. At regular intervals, the verses were interspersed by loud praises from the audience.
‘Wah, wah! Subhan Allah,’ exclaimed Jahangir at the end of the performance and threw her a handful of gold coins. The woman bowed low and collected her bounty with a smile.
The evening resounded with the soulful rendition of verses written by famous poets. Wine flowed and so did eulogy.
In the garden at the back of the harem, Zeenat and Salamat Khan stood tense, listening for footsteps while Bahar and Zafar hugged each other in one corner of the garden. Salamat Khan was ready for any eventuality, his dagger drawn for attack. They both knew the consequences of the dangerous liaison. An imperial concubine was the property of the emperor, even if he never visited her. Any transgression was punishable by death. There was no remission or mercy. All four would be executed in the most horrendous manner imaginable.
There were many dalliances that went on clandestinely in the harem. The women often took the help of faithful eunuchs and servants to fix up rendezvous. Retribution was harsh and swift when they were discovered, yet the affairs continued. There was an efficient network of spies that existed in the harem; eunuchs, servants and concubines exchanged vital information for the sake of rewards and revenge. Nothing could remain hidden for long in the imperial harem; there were no secrets that lasted.
‘It is a dangerous game they are playing,’ stated Salamat, testing the sharpness of his dagger by slicing a flower.
He was a tall and burly Pathan with smouldering eyes. With his trimmed beard and long moustache, he looked menacing. Salamat’s first appearance always invoked fear in women. In the beginning Zeenat was also terrified of hi
m. It was only after a couple of meetings that she realized that his harshness was just a façade, behind which hid a reticent man.
Salamat avoided her for a long time, speaking only when necessary but boredom makes strange bedfellows. The stress of remaining alert made conversation impossible. Tension hung around them like a thick curtain but silence could only add to the anxiety.
After a while Salamat Khan grew less diffident and began exchanging pleasantries with her.
‘Love knows no danger,’ she replied with a deep sigh.
Zeenat still lived in the hope that she would find love at some stage of her life. Her romantic illusions had retained their fragile hold on her mind despite the vagaries of life. She knew she would not care for any dangers when she fell in love.
‘Life is more valuable than love,’ reiterated Salamat, irked by her reply.
‘Of what use is life if there is no love?’
‘I don’t understand poetry but I know that this is a futile affair. The emperor will never allow his concubine to get away with another man. As for Zafar Khan, he is already married. He should spare a thought for his family who are totally dependent on him.’
There was irritation in his voice.
Zeenat stole a look at his face. For Salamat, there were just two colours – black and white. There was no grey. He would never understand the calling of a heart.
‘All this is so foolish.’
‘Then why are you here, risking your life?’ she asked.
‘Because he is my master.’
‘Is that all? Zafar has many employees. Why aren’t they here with him?’
‘I guess he doesn’t trust them,’ he grunted.
‘No,’ she smiled at him. ‘You are here because you love him. You are taking this risk because you care for him.’
‘That is different.’
‘No, it is not different. When a man loves a woman he takes risks. Wouldn’t you do the same if you fell in love?’
‘I will not fall in love.’
Zeenat laughed softly. Despite his bulk, the Pathan was a simpleton.
‘Oh, you cannot plan to fall in love. It just happens. Bahar and Zafar did not decide to fall in love. It happened to them.’
‘You have to be weak in the heart and mind for it to happen.’
‘You mean you are so strong that you will never fall in love?’ she asked archly.
He looked at her upturned face and suddenly his heart began hammering painfully. Her lissom body enveloped in primrose silk stood out in the greenery around them. He felt flustered. He had never been at such close proximity to a woman except the nautch girls in the bazaar and they were of no significance. In any case he was always drunk when he visited them. Zeenat was different. She was a beautiful woman.
‘I asked you a question, Oh Mighty One,’ she teased.
His voice husky with emotion, he stammered, ‘I… I… have no answer.’
They stared at each other for a long moment. Salamat suddenly became conscious of the gentle perfume she was wearing. He had not noticed it earlier. Her soft lips, luminous brown eyes, high cheekbones and the arched brows, he noticed everything. His chest tightened and he gasped for breath. All he wanted was to take her in his arms.
With horror he realized that she could read his mind. ‘If that is what you want, I am willing,’ she whispered coming closer.
He did not know whether she was teasing him or meant it seriously.
‘I do not know what you mean,’ he said moving away from her.
She touched his shoulder gently and dragged his face down towards herself. Then she stood on her toes and brushed his lips lightly with hers.
Stunned, he pushed her away roughly. ‘What are you doing?’ his whisper was sibilant.
‘Just giving you the first lesson of love,’ she gurgled.
That night, the Pathan felt a curious restlessness that wouldn’t go away with wine. No matter how hard he tried, the vision of Zeenat’s upturned face didn’t seem to fade from his mind. Tossing on his bed he fought with a thought that continuously assailed his mind. ‘Is this love?’
For the past few months he had been acutely aware of Zeenat’s attraction but he continued to deny it to himself. But now it was difficult to deny it any longer.
‘I think Salamat is in love with your companion,’ Zafar told Bahar at the next meeting. ‘He has been mooning around for the past few days.’
‘How exciting!’ Bahar was elated. ‘Zeenat is a good girl. She will make him happy. But, her future is as bleak as mine,’ she lamented.
‘We will find a way, trust me.’
Each time they met, Zafar repeated his assurance. In his heart he knew the risk he had taken by falling in love with Bahar. It was not easy for him to lie to his wife. He knew Ayesha was suspicious. She had been asking probing questions. Although he had fobbed her off with excuses about visiting nautch girls, he knew she was not convinced.
‘It is funny. A wife will never object to her husband visiting a nautch girl but she would not tolerate him spending time with a decent woman,’ he confided to Bahar.
‘That’s because no man marries a nautch girl and takes her home whereas having an affair with a decent woman may compel him to marry.’
It was difficult for Bahar to accept that the man she loved had a wife waiting for him. Guilt, resentment, jealousy, and anger washed through her in succession as she went back to her room.
Eleven
The undercurrent of a power tussle between two strong individuals was gathering momentum in the capital. The wilful empress and the determined prince were pitting their willpower against each other. Both of them wanted to demonstrate their importance in the empire. At one time Nurjahan had included Shahjahan in her innermost coterie but now she hated the prince’s growing popularity amongst the nobles as well as the citizens.
The twenty-eight-year-old prince was impatient to wear the crown. Right from his childhood, he had been nurtured upon ambitious ideas by his grandfather, Emperor Akbar. He was just sixteen when the important jagir of Hisar Firoza, the appendage of heir-apparent, was assigned to him. The very title, Shahjahan, the king of the world, given by his father proclaimed his importance. He held the highest rank in the state, the richest jagirs in the empire, and he commanded the finest of the imperial army. These privileges coupled with continued victories made the prince conceited and obstinate.
As days went by, Nurjahan detected his ambition to step into the emperor’s shoes. He was capable, impatient and shrewd – the traits she feared most. Besides, Jahangir seemed to rely increasingly on the judgement of his son. After two consecutive victories, Shahjahan’s stock had also gone up by several notches amongst the generals and ministers, who depended on him for important war decisions.
Irked with his continued refusal to marry Laadli, Nurjahan was on the warpath against Shahjahan. His growing stature in Jahangir’s eyes rang warning bells in her mind. There was no place in the Mughal Empire to hold two wilful people. Shahjahan was ambitious, able and young, and Nurjahan began to consider him as a threat that needed to be controlled.
Of Jahangir’s other sons, Khusrau had stopped being a threat ever since he was blinded. Parvez was drinking himself to death. Shahryar, a weak and irresponsible person, could be controlled easily. It was only Shahjahan who was a possible threat to Nurjahan. Time was running out. The emperor’s health was on a decline. She had to consolidate her position and put her future plans in motion.
Something needs to be done. Shahjahan has to be sent away from the capital. The farther he remained the better.
Her astute mind began working furiously.
The germ of an idea began to grow in her mind as she lay tossing in her bed that night.
The next morning, she ensnared the unsuspecting emperor into the plan.
Jahangir summoned his son to his private chamber. It was a rare occasion of uninterrupted interaction between the father and the son. Shahjahan noticed that the empress was not there. It was un
usual of her to leave them alone. Little did he know that it had been her intention to allow them a private parley.
‘Khurram, my son, your valour is unmatched in the empire,’ the emperor embraced Shahjahan lovingly and led him towards the divan.
‘It is your blessings, father,’ replied the prince respectfully.
‘You have been able to subdue Malik Ambar without any loss of life. It is definitely a big achievement.’
‘It was my good fortune,’ said Shahjahan modestly.
‘You don’t have to be modest about your achievements, son. You are an able commander and a good strategist; there is no doubt about that.’
The prince knew that the emperor’s words were a mere prelude. There was something more important. He waited patiently for the imperial command.
‘Some disturbing news has been received from the Deccan,’ Jahangir cleared his throat meaningfully.
The prince had guessed right. It was to be another journey to the southern state for him.
‘You are the only one I can depute for the task,’ continued the emperor, pacing the chamber, lines of worry criss-crossing the royal forehead.
He had been drinking more than the limits prescribed by the royal physician. Shahjahan noticed the uneven gait and the tired look on his father’s face.
‘You will have to leave for the Deccan at the earliest,’ ended the emperor.
‘It will be my pleasure, Your Majesty,’ replied the prince. It was futile to argue with the emperor once his mind was made. ‘May I put in a small request, Your Majesty?’ he asked humbly.
‘Of course you may. Ask and it shall be granted,’ said the emperor magnanimously, least suspecting the motive of his son.
‘I want you to grant me the custody of my elder brother, Prince Khusrau.’
The emperor was taken aback. Why would Shahjahan ask for the custody of his blind brother? A foreboding crossed his mind. ‘I do not understand, why would you want the custody of Khusrau?’
‘Am I asking for too much, Your Majesty?’
‘No, no, it is just that I don’t understand why… ,’ muttered the emperor.
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