This time there were no jubilations to celebrate Shahjahan’s victory. The steady decline in the emperor’s health had made him temperamental and unpredictable. He no longer cared for his son’s victories or for the riches that came with them. All he wanted was a respite from his sufferings and he resorted to opium for that. If Shahjahan was disappointed, he didn’t show it. He was waiting to strike at an opportune moment.
News arrived from Lahore, where Jahangir was camped, that the emperor’s health was causing concern to the royal physicians.
Eager to consolidate her position, Nurjahan prevailed upon her husband to give his consent for the wedding of Shahryar with Laadli. Many years back, the emperor had promised that Laadli would be wedded to one of his sons; now she reminded him of that promise. Once the youngest prince is married to my daughter, I can push his case for the throne, she decided.
‘I think it is time that Laadli got settled,’ she broached.
The emperor threw a bored look at her and turned his attention back to his favourite elephant, which was grappling with one belonging to the empress. The royal couple was watching a combat between two elephants. The emperor was unwell. She noticed the dark circles of exhaustion under her husband’s eyes.
‘I knew Girdhar can easily trounce your elephant. He has the speed and skill to knock down all beasts,’ clapped Jahangir as Girdhar won the first round without any difficulty.
‘That may be so, but this is just the first round, Your Majesty. Things can change in the second one. Speed doesn’t always ensure victory, strategy does.’
‘Your Majesty has not replied. I think it is time for Laadli’s marriage,’ she repeated patiently.
‘Of course, she should be married off immediately. No point in waiting any longer,’ he stated vaguely.
‘And who do you think she should marry,’ asked Jahangir, leaning to get a better view of the beasts who were in the final round of the combat.
‘Surely Your Majesty realizes that it has to be one of the princes.’
Her words caught his attention. ‘Which prince do you have in mind, Begum? Khusrau is dead, Khurram has refused to marry her, and Parvez will not marry her either. It is best that we look elsewhere; maybe a high-ranking noble. There are many handsome and rich nobles in the court. I am sure you know them better than I do.’
‘Your Majesty is being sarcastic,’ pouted Nurjahan. ‘I am serious.’
‘So am I, Begum,’ he shook his head impatiently. ‘Can we talk about this later? This is the most exciting round of the match.’
It was only when they were seated at the Sheesh Mahal later, listening to the royal musicians that the emperor remembered.
‘You had mentioned something about Laadli’s marriage, Begum. We did not conclude the discussion at that time, if I remember correctly.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty, you wanted to watch the combat,’ complained Nurjahan petulantly.
‘Well, we can talk now.’
‘I was proposing that she be married to a prince.’
‘And I told you that was not possible since none of the princes are ready to marry her; though why they refuse to marry her is beyond me.’
Lately, the emperor had shown signs of impatience with her suggestions. Nurjahan knew that her control over him was waning. It worried her.
‘You have not thought about Shahryar, Your Majesty. He is unmarried and he would be quite willing to marry her.’
For a moment, the emperor stared at her as if she had gone mad, and then he burst out laughing. Curious eyes turned towards them.
‘Are you crazy, Begum? Is this a joke? You want Shahryar – that good-for-nothing fool to marry your daughter?’
‘Why not? He is a man and he is a prince, too.’
‘Hardly,’ guffawed Jahangir. ‘I would say he is neither a man nor a prince. Haven’t you heard stories about his dalliances with young boys?’
‘They could just be stories,’ insisted the empress.
‘You must be out of your mind. There are many good men in the court, choose one of them and I will provide ample dowry for your daughter. We could grant them titles and jagirs to make their life comfortable.’
‘No, Your Majesty, my mind is made up. Laadli must be married to Shahryar.’
The emperor looked at his wife with surprise. ‘You are serious! Why are you intent on ruining your daughter’s life?’
‘I have taken the decision after serious thought ‘
‘Well, she is your daughter,’ he shrugged indifferently.
‘Then, I have your permission for their marriage?’
‘Can I refuse?’ asked Jahangir tiredly. He couldn’t understand why she wanted to have her daughter married to Shahryar, the most useless man in the entire empire.
Nurjahan started preparing for the wedding with great enthusiasm. The royal astrologers were consulted and an auspicious date fixed for the marriage. Despite everyone’s misgivings, she went ahead with the arrangements.
‘It will be a grand wedding,’ she declared. ‘A wedding Lahore will talk about for months.’
The wedding was solemnized with great pomp and pageantry. A large pond was filled with copper coins of various denominations and for fifty days after the wedding these coins were distributed amongst the poor. The empress also bore the cost of marriages of one hundred destitute girls who were married on the same day as her daughter. No expenses were spared for the wedding feast that was hosted by Nurjahan’s father, the Itmad-ud-Daula. Hundreds of dishes prepared by the best of chefs brought from all parts of the country, were served at the banquet.
The generous dowry given by the empress was laid out in a large hall. There was an array of expensive ornaments, gold embroidered silk dresses, fifty-one bridal attires, purebred Arabian horses, caparisoned elephants, slaves carrying gold, precious jewels, ornate items crafted out of jade, onyx, and ivory.
Casks full of exotic wines, yards of silk and brocade, Persian carpets, sandalwood chests full of pearls, chess boards crafted from the purest ivory, jade handled daggers and swords with rubies encrusted in them, copies of illustrated holy books, leather bound editions of poems written by Hafiz, gold-enamelled palanquins – the entire place was overflowing with gifts for the newly weds.
Every guest invited to the wedding received expensive pearls and gold mohurs from the empress. Jahangir gifted many rich jagirs to the couple. This was the last wedding that he was likely to attend.
Twenty-one
Down south, sitting in her boudoir, Arjumand lamented the wedding. ‘Poor Laadli,’ she mumbled. They had just received the news. ‘How could my aunt marry her off to Shahryar? She is willing to barter her daughter’s happiness for her ambitions.’
The princess had not yet recovered from the miscarriage, and spent much of her time propped up on the bed, with Satiunnisa reading out passages from various books to her.
‘It is time Laadli stood up to her mother,’ she commented. ‘All her life she has done what her mother wanted.’
‘Perhaps she is too insecure to protest. After all, her mother is the only person in her life. Maybe in her position, I would have done the same,’ said Zeenat.
She could empathize with the girl. Carrying a hamper full of clothes, she paused near the door for a moment.
‘What happened? Are you all right?’ asked Satiunnisa, who had been observing her.
‘It’s nothing. I just felt giddy,’ Zeenat replied.
Lately, she had been feeling weak and listless. An awful morning sickness made it impossible for her to eat anything. The very smell of food made her feel nauseated. She had hired a woman to do the cooking at home.
‘You must force yourself to eat,’ advised Arjumand. ‘Not eating will weaken your body. And it is not good for the baby either.’
She instructed one of the servants to bring some food for Zeenat. ‘Try some porridge. That was the only thing I could eat when I was carrying Dara.’
Zeenat smiled gratefully. She knew how lucky she was to have su
ch a kind mistress. From time to time she touched her belly, to reassure herself that her pregnancy was not a wishful thinking.
Suddenly, Abdul, burst into the courtyard followed by Isa, who was trying to stop the boy.
‘Ammi,’ the boy cried. ‘Baba…’
In a flash Zeenat, rushed to his side, her heart hammering wildly. ‘What happened to Baba?’
She shook him by the shoulders.
‘He was attacked by some ruffians while returning from Ahmedabad.’
‘Where is he?’ she asked, her face ashen.
‘I don’t know. I just heard some soldiers talking.’
‘Allah,’ whispered Zeenat as her head reeled and she collapsed.
Satiunnisa rushed to the boy who had begun whining. ‘Are you sure? Where did you hear the news?’ she demanded.
‘Isa run to the camp. Find out if it is true.’ She commanded, thrusting Abdul into the arms of a servant.
Then she heaved Zeenat, with the help of a servant, on to the bed and called for the midwife.
One look at her and the midwife shook her head. ‘The shock has caused the woman’s womb to contract, expelling the foetus,’ she said. ‘There is nothing I can do to save the baby.’
Satiunnisa quickly made arrangements for Zeenat to be sent home with a couple of servants.
It was almost dark by the time Zeenat woke up, groggy from the medicines the midwife had given her. She stared vacantly at the ceiling, struggling to come to terms with the loss. Suddenly they heard the sound of hoof beats. Minutes later Salamat Khan burst into the room.
Ignoring her pain Zeenat ran towards him.
‘Allah be praised,’ she cried, ‘you are safe.’
‘Why? What was supposed to have happened to me?’ he laughed.
‘Abdul said that you were attacked by some goons on your way from Ahmedabad.’
‘Foolish boy, it was Sharafat Khan who was assaulted. Abdul must have heard wrong.’
Haltingly, Zeenat narrated the day’s happenings. Shocked and aggrieved, the Pathan could do nothing but hold her tightly in his arms.
Her pain wouldn’t go away, no matter how much Salamat tried to console her. Her grief was something no one could understand. For months she had prayed at all the dargahs for a baby and now… all because of a rumour carried by Abdul.
To add to their worries, the boy had disappeared. Salamat Khan searched for him everywhere but he was untraceable. The Pathan was distraught. He loved the boy like his own son.
‘He was feeling very guilty. He told me so,’ Isa informed them. ‘He kept crying that it was because of him that Ammi lost the baby.’
‘I hope he doesn’t do something silly.’ Zeenat fretted.
‘Don’t worry Zeenat, Isa and I will bring him home. He must be hiding somewhere.’
‘Yes, I am sure we will find him,’ Isa sounded confident. ‘Besides, the boy was scared that he would get a thrashing from you. That is why he must have gone into hiding.’
‘How long can he hide? Hunger will eventually drive him back home,’ said Salamat Khan, trying to mask his concern.
The next morning they searched all over the town for the boy, but Abdul seemed to have vanished into thin air. Dejected, Salamat and Isa were returning home, their horses cantering at a leisurely pace through the rough, deserted land. Suddenly, they spotted a ruined mansion standing at one side of the track. It was totally dilapidated, its doors and windows covered with spider webs. Grass and weeds as high as their knees surrounded the structure.
‘Let us look inside,’ suggested Salamat. Something told him that the boy could be hiding in the abandoned mansion.
They were greeted by soft sniffles. Abdul was cowering in a corner of what had once been an enormous hall. ‘Abba,’ the boy whimpered. ‘You are alive?’ he seemed surprised to find Salamat standing before him.
Before the burly Pathan could say anything, Isa grabbed the boy by the shoulders and shook him hard.
‘What are you doing here? Do you know how much trouble you have caused by running away?’
‘Isa, let him go,’ shouted Salamat. ‘If he doesn’t love us, there is no point in taking him home.’
‘I love you, Abba,’ the boy cried.
‘If you really loved me, you would never have caused me so much worry. Your ammi is also suffering because of your stupid actions.’
‘Abba, please forgive me,’ cried Abdul, rushing into Salamat’s arms. ‘I was so worried about Ammi. I couldn’t face her after what happened.’
‘Hush, don’t cry.’ Salamat stroked the boy’s head. ‘It was not your fault. Some stupid soldiers heard the name wrong and spread a rumour. It was not your fault at all.’
Zeenat was delighted to see them bringing the dishevelled boy home. She clung to Abdul with relief.
It was only after a week that Zeenat went back to work.
‘You need not come to the palace till you have recovered,’ said Arjumand kindly.
‘I am fine. I need to be busy otherwise I tend to brood.’
‘Everything will be all right,’ consoled Satiunnisa. ‘You will have many children.’
‘It must be my sins that I am paying for,’ Zeenat said morosely. ‘Allah is punishing me for offering my soiled body to a good man like Salamat.’ Tears welled up in her eyes.
‘Don’t be silly. I have also suffered from a miscarriage. Do you think I have also sinned and Allah is punishing me?’ scolded Arjumand. ‘These are normal problems that besiege women. A miscarriage is not a payment for sins.’
‘You are chaste, Begum. That is why Allah has gifted you with so many beautiful children. Your miscarriage was due to the weakness of body but my case is different.’
Nothing they said could convince Zeenat that the incident was not connected with any sin.
Twenty-two
‘That woman will cause the downfall of the great empire built by our forefathers,’ seethed Shahjahan.
Arjumand silently watched her husband as he read the latest communiqué from Agra.
‘Is it about Qandahar?’ she finally asked.
‘It is not just about Qandahar. It is about the survival of the Mughal Empire. Someone has to stem the rot. The emperor must wake up to the dangers otherwise it could be too late.’
Asaf Khan, Arjumand’s father had sent secret missives about the dangerous developments in the capital.
‘The emperor has stopped heeding to his ministers on state matters,’ it read. ‘It is the empress who runs the empire. The advice given by old ministers like General Mahabat Khan are totally ignored by the emperor. In fact, the general is in trouble with Nurjahan because of his outspoken nature. She is now bent upon ruining him. To compound the problems, there is trouble in Qandahar. News has reached the emperor that the Shah of Persia is marching towards Qandahar with a large army. I fear that you may be commanded to head the army for a campaign mounted against the Shah. There are rumours that Nurjahan is contemplating such a move.’
Asaf Khan was an important member of Nurjahan’s coterie but he nurtured a soft corner for Shahjahan. His sister’s arrogance and craze for power had distanced them. In the beginning, she had relied upon the wisdom of her father, Itmad-ud-Duala, and her brother, Asaf Khan. But as her position grew in the empire she began to ignore them. By the time her father died, she had gained complete authority on the kingdom. Tactfully, she had weaned the emperor from the influence of the important nobles and ministers of the court.
News about Qandahar disturbed the empress for she hardly had worthy generals she could control.
Qandahar had long been a thorn in the Mughal Empire’s side. Right from the time of Babar and Humayun its ownership had been a problem between the Persian ruler and the Mughals. Jahangir had been lulled into a false sense of security by the clever Shah who sent missives of friendship for many years.
By now, Nurjahan had decided to promote her son-in-law, Shahryar’s claim to the throne. For this she needed an excuse to distance Shahjahan from the emperor. Qa
ndahar offered an attractive solution to her problems. On her insistence, Jahangir, issued a farman commanding his son to proceed towards Qandahar to settle score with the Persian ruler.
‘I can see what her strategy is,’ Shahjahan’s voice expressed the hatred he felt for Nurjahan. ‘She wants to send me away so that she can promote her son-in-law, Shahryar, as the prospective heir.’
‘What will you do now?’ Arjumand’s heart sank at the thought of travelling so far. Not fully recovered, she knew Shahjahan would not allow her to accompany him.
‘I will refuse to go,’ he replied.
‘That is exactly what she wants. Don’t you see her plan? If you refuse, she will tell the emperor that you are defying his orders. You will be playing into her hands.’
‘Then what should I do? I can’t go to Qandahar when things are so uncertain here. The emperor is not in good health. If he were to pass away, the empire will pass into her hands. She will prop up that fool, Shahryar, as the ruler while actually holding the reins in her hand.’
Arjumand had no answers. Her aunt was far too astute to be outsmarted.
After careful deliberation, Shahjahan drafted a letter for the emperor.
‘It is not the right season for a campaign,’ he wrote. ‘I have decided to move to Mandu for the monsoon and begin the journey after the rains are over. Your Majesty must grant me the authority to administer the state of Punjab.’
He then proceeded to request for a huge amount of funds for the purchase of arms and provisions for a prolonged warfare against the Shah of Persia. Not content with these, he also asked for the fort at Ranthambhor so that Arjumand and the children could stay there while he fought at Qandahar.
Jahangir was livid when he received the letter. ‘He dares to challenge my judgement, Begum, my own son. He is putting conditions for obeying imperial command.’ His face turned a dangerous red as he gasped for air.
‘Your Majesty, you must not get excited,’ Nurjahan rushed to his side. ‘It is not good for your health.’
‘My health be damned. If that fool thinks he can get away with such excuses, he is mistaken. I will have him imprisoned for treason.’ He panted.
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