Escape from Harem

by Tanushree Podder

  Alarmed, the empress sent for the royal physician. ‘You must rest. We will find a way out,’ she consoled.

  He must not die on me, she thought, not at this juncture. The entire empire will collapse. I need time to work things out. He must continue to live till then, she prayed.

  In reply to Shahjahan’s missive, a strongly worded letter came from the emperor. ‘Your refusal to obey the imperial command has caused us serious concern. The pretext of the rainy season is not convincing since the Persians will not wait for a suitable season before attacking Qandahar.’ It further read: ‘As you are aware, the Mughal law requires unquestioning subservience to the emperor’s orders. Disobedience on any pretext will tantamount to rebellion. We trust Allah to endow you with wisdom to follow the right path.’

  Shahjahan was on a warpath. His first show of strength was to seize the jagir of Dholpur that had been gifted by the emperor to Shahryar as a wedding gift. Nurjahan retaliated by confiscating all his properties in the north. She sent him word that he would have to face the consequences of his treacherous actions. Once again, Shahjahan struck back by trying to capture the treasury at Agra. He was thwarted in his efforts by the empress who pre-empted his move. Nurjahan was shrewd enough to predict exactly where the prince would strike next. Although the massive gates of the Agra Fort had been closed on him, Shahjahan ordered his soldiers to plunder the city of all wealth.

  Saddened by the conduct of his son on whom he had bestowed untold wealth and position, Jahangir confessed to his empress, ‘He is the only able son I have. Must he do this to ensure his succession? With Khusrau gone and Parvez’s drinking excesses, who else can look after this empire?’

  Wisely, Nurjahan refrained from reminding him that he had forgotten to mention Shahryar.

  ‘Shahjahan should be punished for his disobedience,’ she insisted. ‘No one should be allowed to get away with treason. If you don’t punish your son, it will send wrong signals to everyone in the empire. Did Shahenshah Akbar not prepare to go to war against you when you rose in rebellion?’

  Too tired to argue, the emperor slumped into a meditative stance. ‘The Mughal history is fraught with revolts carried out by the sons against their fathers.’ Jahangir mumbled like a man possessed. ‘First it was I who raised the flag of mutiny against my father, the Great Akbar, and then it was Khusrau against me, and now Shahjahan, my beloved son who has risen in mutiny.’

  The ashen pallor on the emperor’s face sent panic waves down Nurjahan’s spine. Silently, she prayed, Allah! Grant him more time.

  The disturbed emperor noted in his memoirs, ‘What shall I say of my own sufferings? In pain and weakness, I must still ride and be active, and in this state, must proceed against such an undutiful son. I am issuing an order that he shall be known as bedoulat (wretch) from now on.’

  ‘Your Majesty, I do not think that you should overlook the revolt,’ goaded Nurjahan, seated across him. They were engaged in a game of chaupar. ‘Save your king,’ she warned, moving her queen.

  ‘So be it,’ stated Jahangir philosophically. ‘This king has always been killed by the queen.’

  ‘Do I detect sarcasm in the statement, Your Majesty?’ asked the empress archly.

  ‘No Begum, I don’t have to resort to sarcasm. I am only stating the truth.’ There was resignation in his voice.

  ‘Checkmate,’ declared his queen triumphantly, sweeping his king off the board with a flourish.

  Jahangir sat back and smoked his hukkah thoughtfully. ‘You are right. The revolt should not be ignored. Khurram needs to be reminded that his father is still alive. I am still the emperor.’

  The emperor issued orders that the rebellious prince should be brought to him in chains. He deputed the reliable General Mahabat Khan and Prince Parvez to capture Shahjahan.

  ‘Mahabat Khan, you are the only one I can trust with the job,’ said Jahangir as he sent off the general on the mission. ‘There are very few reliable men left in the empire.’

  The general bowed stiffly and replied in a voice devoid of any emotion, ‘As long as there is breath in this body, you will not have to worry about anything, Your Majesty. I will not rest till I have brought the rebellious prince before you.’

  The general and the prince left on the assignment. Parvez, keen on proving his ability, charged ahead in pursuit of Shahjahan.

  ‘I will leave for Delhi so that I can be closer to the operations,’ declared Jahangir.

  ‘But your health!’ protested Nurjahan. ‘The hakims will never allow you to travel so far.’

  ‘Damn the hakims! The empire is more important than me.’ His eyes blazed with anger. It was a long time since she had seen him in this mood.

  ‘All right, I will make the preparations for our journey,’ she acquiesced.

  ‘No,’ he thundered. ‘This is a journey that I must make on my own. It is my son we are discussing.’

  The empress was taken aback at the ferocity of his tone. This was the first time in many years that he had asserted himself so strongly. Charged by his presence, the soldiers felt a fresh wave of enthusiasm run through them as they prepared for the assault.

  It was near Delhi that the rebels suffered their first defeat. Undeterred, Shahjahan pushed towards the hills of Malwa with his family, sure that he could defeat the imperial army once he reached familiar grounds. Arjumand, alarmed at the speed with which the emperor’s soldiers were gaining ground, warned him to change his route.

  ‘Don’t worry Arju, we will beat them at their game. In war it is more important to know your enemy’s strategy. Numbers don’t matter as much. I am familiar with the strategy of the emperor’s army.’

  The hills ringed protectively around them for a while, and then they were out in the open once again, fighting the enemy.

  Trounced once again, Shahjahan retracted his steps and took refuge in the dense forests fringing the hills.

  ‘We will have to seek refuge in one of the forts in the area,’ he declared. ‘We cannot linger in the forests for long.’

  ‘My Lord, no one will dare to offend the emperor by giving us sanctuary,’ said Arjumand.

  ‘Don’t worry yourself over these problems, Begum. Leave the worrying to me. I will find a way,’ he assured, pretending a confidence he was far from feeling.

  But fate was spinning a web against the rebel prince.

  Twenty-three

  The desperate and exhausted Shahjahan was kept on the run by the combined Mughal forces led by Mahabat Khan and Prince Parvez. Jahangir had earlier overlooked Parvez while considering an heir. Parvez was addicted to wine and opium and had never displayed any interest in taking part in campaigns. When Parvez realized that the emperor was disgusted by the conduct of Shahjahan and was ready to reconsider the matter of succession, he knew that the time had come for him to act judiciously. By capturing Shahjahan, he could please his father as well as eliminate his elder brother from the line of succession.

  For Shahjahan, it was a crucial decision. He could not proceed towards the north as the emperor’s forces awaited him there. From the east, the combined forces of Mahabat Khan and Parvez raced towards him. The west was in the grip of hostile elements. He had no option but to retreat southwards.

  ‘I know the territory like the back of my hand.’ He told the worried Arjumand. ‘Whether it is Mahabat Khan or Parvez, they will find the going tough in these terrains.’

  ‘But the imperial army is very large. They have the resources we lack.’

  ‘We have to take a chance on that, Begum.’

  For the first time Arjumand detected the lack of confidence in his voice.

  He threw a worried look at Arjumand, who was once again with a child. Her wan face was shadowed with anxiousness and exhaustion. His voice turned gentle. ‘I wish you would remain at your father’s house. It would make things much easier for you and for me. The children also need a stable life.’

  ‘I would much rather be with you than anywhere else,’ she replied, her jaws setting into
the familiar adamant lines. They had gone through the same debate many times in the last six months.

  ‘We will be going through a very rough patch, Arju. It is going to be very uncomfortable for you. I am worried about your health more than anything else.’

  ‘Please don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. Besides, there are Satiunnisa, Zeenat, and Hakim Wazir Ali to take care of me. Look after the war front. I beseech you,’ she cried, moved at her husband’s plight. The lines of worry on his forehead had deepened in the past few months. He looked much older than his thirty-one years.

  The emperor had devised a three-pronged attack on Shahjahan. Jahangir could be ailing but the strategist in him was still active. While Parvez led one contingent of the troop, following the rebel to Mandu, Dawar Baksh, the son of Khusrau, marched with another contingent towards Ahmadnagar. The emperor himself proceeded to Ajmer to be closer to the battlefields. It was a difficult battle; the hot weather, humidity and heavy rainfall hampered the operations. Many of Shahjahan’s soldiers deserted him reducing his already depleted forces to a pathetic lot.

  ‘Why are the soldiers leaving us?’ Arjumand was horrified to note that only a small band of straggly men were following their caravan. They looked impoverished, hungry and demoralized.

  No one could fight a battle with such an army.

  ‘Begum, I don’t have anything to give them anymore. There is no money for salaries and the provisions are low. Why should a man fight on a hungry belly? Only the most dedicated ones have remained but I wonder how long they will fight for me.’

  The dejection in his voice was too perceptible to ignore. They were on the run once again.

  Dispirited, Arjumand lay back on her cushions to give her aching back some comfort. Zeenat, who was hovering around, came instantly and plumped up the cushions to make her comfortable.

  After much deliberation, Shahjahan decided to seek the help of Rana Karan Singh of Mewar.

  ‘He is a friend,’ he told Arjumand.

  ‘Will he forgive you for defeating Mewar?’

  ‘I could have slain them and allowed my soldiers to loot the kingdom. He knows that. We have fought together in the emperor’s interest and he has professed his friendship to me. Besides, Rajputs never go back on their word. I guess it is time to test his word.’

  ‘But will he risk the emperor’s wrath?’ she asked doubtfully. ‘What if he were to betray you and hand us over to the emperor?’

  ‘My dear Arju, he will never do that, trust me.’

  True to his expectations, the Rana received them with open arms and housed them in his beautiful palace situated amidst a lake. Like a vision in marble, the Jag Mandir Palace seemed to float on the Pichola Lake, serene and beautiful. Arjumand gasped at the sight of the palace surrounded by a garden as magnificent as Eden.

  The changing light of the sun as it went down transformed the marble structure into an ethereal edifice. Shahjahan stood gaping, dusty and dishevelled, mesmerized by the perfect architecture of the palace.

  For the moment, the warrior in him had receded and the architect in him surfaced.

  ‘Fantastic, unbelievable!’ he exclaimed appreciatively. ‘This is exactly the way I have envisioned a palace to be – pristine, enchanting, and peaceful. This is the dream palace I had in my mind for years. Who is the architect, Karan? I feel like kissing his hands. He has created a masterpiece.’

  ‘Enough time for that, my friend,’ laughed Karan Singh, ‘what you need right now is rest.’

  There couldn’t have been a more perfect setting or refuge for the weary travellers. The Rajput ruler went out of his way to provide comfort and luxuries to the prince on the run. The sound of lapping waters of the lake, the cool breeze, and the cold marble floor under their feet lulled their fears. It was like another world.

  For the first time in many months, they felt at peace. Arjumand and the children were ecstatic at the thought of sleeping between silk covers and tasting the delicious food offered by their host.

  They frolicked in the gardens, lay under the marble cupolas and spent hours under the starlit night, seated beneath the canopy of a blue sky. Music reverberated through the halls that were lit up by silver lamps, reflecting the jasper columns and walls embellished with semi-precious stones. The anklets of dancing girls rang melodiously as they twirled and pirouetted delicately to the tunes played by the musicians.

  The tranquil environment pushed all dangers away from the mind and the prince began to revel in the amusements offered by the Mewar ruler. But the run of good luck lasted for a little more than three months. One morning they received intelligence that General Mahabat Khan and Prince Parvez were closing in. Not wanting to put his friend in peril, Shahjahan decided to leave before the imperial army arrived.

  ‘Do not worry my friend, the Rajput soldiers will fight till the last drop of blood to save you from the Mughal army,’ assured Raja Karan Singh.

  But Shahjahan would not agree to remain in Mewar any longer. ‘I will not subject your people to bloodshed. The Mughal army is powerful. Although the Rajputs are valiant, they do not have the arms and the numbers to match the imperial army,’ he said preparing to leave.

  The Rana loaded them with arms and provisions before seeing them off.

  Shahjahan began his journey once again. Through hills and forests they moved towards the Deccan. A torrent of rain hit them as they left Mewar. The heavy veil of rain obscured their path slowing down their progress. Flooded fields, rivers in spate and uncertainty dogged their journey. The soaked garments, dripping shelters and dwindling stocks began to hound the small retinue. Soon the food grains were infested with vermin and even the animals grew restless.

  Desperate, they searched for shelter. Sometimes it was the caves, and at other times abandoned houses that provided them with a cover over their head. But they didn’t dare to slow down. The imperial army was hot in pursuit behind them. Many times they lost their way in the jungles where the paths had become obliterated and flooded. Slush and grime depressed their souls.

  Arjumand’s condition was pitiable. The baby was due any time but she didn’t have the luxury of complaining. Stoically, she bore all the pain and tried to keep a smile on her face. Zeenat wondered how she could go through such discomfort and not whine. She couldn’t imagine any woman willing to embrace so much trouble for the love of her husband. Shahjahan had suggested that Arjumand and the children should stay back at Mewar but she had rejected the proposal outright.

  ‘I’ll go wherever you go,’ she had stated adamantly.

  ‘You will slow me down,’ he had said angrily. Shahjahan was angry with himself for not being able to offer her the barest comfort that a woman needed during pregnancy. ‘You will be looked after by the Rana. No one will harm you. Once the child is born and the monsoon is over, you could join me again.’

  But Arjumand had continued to pack her belongings; an obstinate thrust of her lower lip the only indication of her wilfulness. With a sigh, Shahjahan realized that his faithful Arjumand was not going to relent.

  The children were used to the hardship by now. At nine, Jahanara, was a responsible and considerate girl. Her smile rarely left her face. She and Dara were good natured and adjusted easily to situations. It was Roshanara who complained constantly about everything, while the five-year-old Aurangzeb bore the reverses stoically.

  ‘I want to sleep on a bed,’ said Roshanara. ‘It has been three days since I slept on a bed.’

  ‘Just another day, darling, and then we will be at our next stop,’ her mother consoled. ‘There you will have everything you want – good food, comfortable bed, toys, clothes, everything.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. You always say the same thing whenever I ask you for anything.’

  ‘Don’t trouble me, Roshan, I am tired.’

  ‘I am also sick and tired of everything.’ The girl was on the verge of throwing a tantrum.

  Satiunnisa threw a glance at her and shook her head. Arjumand needed rest. S
he was looking totally exhausted. There were dark rings of exhaustion around her eyes.

  ‘How will you bear the responsibilities of royalty if you can’t bear a few discomforts,’ Arjumand scolded Roshanara one day. ‘Look at Jaani, does she ever complain the way you do?’

  ‘You are always comparing me with Jahanara.’ The girl sulked, jealous of her elder sister. ‘I don’t like her.’

  ‘You are a selfish girl. After everything she does for you, you say that you don’t like her,’ chided her mother.

  They were camped at an abandoned house for the night. The roof had caved in at most places. Cobwebs and dirt covered most rooms that were just a few broken walls. Piles of bricks were scattered on all sides. Arjumand was seated on one of the massive caskets that carried their supplies. Satiunnisa was trying to make the children comfortable with the scant resources they carried. Shuja, the youngest prince, had already fallen asleep near his mother.

  In a room across the open space, a few servants were trying to coax the damp wood into a fire in the makeshift chulha they had built to cook the dinner.

  ‘Tell them to cook elsewhere, the smoke makes my eyes water,’ complained Roshanara rubbing them with the back of her grimy hands.

  ‘They can’t go out in the rain, Roshan,’ Jahanara explained gently. ‘It is just a matter of few minutes. Once the fire is lit, the wood won’t smoke so much.’

  ‘You are always taking the side of servants,’ Roshanara grumbled.

  Huddled in the tiny space, they struggled to keep themselves from getting soaked by the rain that was coming in from all sides. Roshanara and Aurangzeb had managed to grab the only dry corner of the room, while Jahanara and Dara were happily chatting near the corner, their conversation punctuated by the sporadic clap of thunder. In another room, Shahjahan sat with his commanders, chalking out the route they would follow in the morning.

  Listening to the altercation, Zeenat realized how much the girl resented her elder sister.