Everyone in the harem made fun of Zeenat and her search for a bride. Six months had passed since her hunt began. Now back to work, she had not given up on her mission. Abdul had also resigned himself to becoming an old bachelor.
‘Most of my colleagues are fathers of two children by now,’ he complained. ‘I am talking about the men of my age.’
‘All right, I will fix up your marriage with the first girl I see tomorrow morning,’ came Zeenat’s irritated voice from the kitchen. ‘In any case, I am tired of cooking and keeping the house for you. Your wife should be doing it now.’
‘I bet you will forget all about your vow by morning,’ joked Abdul.
True to his words, Zeenat forgot all about the matter as soon as she entered the harem the next morning. Her normal routine was disrupted when one of the servants rushed to her and reported that Naseem was very ill. Concerned, Zeenat followed the girl to Naseem’s room.
As she entered the dank room, her nostrils caught the odour of death. It was so familiar that she could never go wrong. The cloying smell of incense mingled with the odour of a life slipping away. With a sigh, she proceeded towards the bed where the woman lay.
The ever-smiling face of Naseem, another victim of Jahangir’s momentary fancy, was creased with pain. She grasped Zeenat’s hand and cried, ‘Zeenat, please help me. This pain is unbearable.’
Tears sprang into Zeenat’s eyes as she stroked the woman’s head soothingly. ‘Relax, Naseem, I am here. Just breathe deeply and relax.’ To the servant girl, who was still hovering around, she commanded, ‘Fetch the hakim, quick.’
‘The hakim has already been here in the morning,’ said the girl.
‘What did she say?’ demanded Zeenat.
‘She… she…’ stammered the girl avoiding her eyes. ‘She said there was nothing more to be done except praying.’
‘Then let us pray.’
Zeenat sat down on the ground near the woman and began praying loudly, reciting verses from the Koran. Verses that were meant to ease Naseem’s way to the realm beyond.
Her voice seemed to soothe the woman as she slipped into a coma. Lost in her prayers, Zeenat did not realize that life had ebbed out of Naseem’s body till the servant girl shook her gently. Naseem’s head had rolled to a side. Her face had frozen in a grimace of death. Slowly, she covered the woman’s head and walked out, willing her steps to cover the distance to the garden outside.
Over the years, Zeenat had developed a friendship with the happy-go-lucky Naseem, who had been condemned to a couple of rooms in the harem. Yet, nothing could suppress the woman’s joyous spirit.
‘Don’t you ever feel depressed,’ Zeenat had asked her once.
‘Depressed? Why should I feel depressed?’ Naseem had been surprised. ‘Life is too short for regrets. I want to live it well, accepting everything that Allah throws in my way.’
‘It must be difficult to remain blasé all the time,’ Zeenat had protested, not believing the woman. She must be play-acting, she thought. How can anyone remain happy all the time?
‘I don’t believe that you don’t, at some time or the other, feel miserable about the condition life has put you in. I also don’t believe you never wish you had a husband and children…’
‘Ah, if wishes were horses… ,’ Naseem sighed. ‘What is the point in pining about what can never be.’
‘I can’t do it.’
‘It is easy. Just close your eyes and imagine,’ commanded Naseem.
‘Imagine what?’
‘Imagine that you are in Paradise. With all these gardens and beautiful structures it is not difficult to picture that, is it? Now imagine yourself as the queen, surrounded with all kinds of luxuries. Think of what life can be like; oh there are so many things one can imagine. I do it all the time.’
‘Isn’t that like running away from reality?’ asked Zeenat, exasperated with the childishness of the entire idea.
‘Does it matter? What matters is to be happy. If imagination can make life easier, why not? I don’t see anything wrong in it. Wouldn’t life become unbearable if one were to go through it wanting things that are unattainable?’ asked Naseem, a dimple appearing on her left cheek.
The oddest things can happen when one is not prepared for them, thought Zeenat, as she walked towards Naseem’s room, one evening, three weeks after her friend’s death. Abdul had stopped reminding her about a bride.
She was lost in her thoughts as she entered the room and lit a candle. For the past three weeks she had been lighting candles every evening because she believed that Naseem wouldn’t have liked to keep her room dark.
In a few days, they will allot this room to another woman, anyway, she thought.
As she turned to go, she found the emperor’s head eunuch leading a young girl through the passage. The girl was very young. Something in her reminded Zeenat of her journey to the emperor’s room many decades back. There was the same touch of fear in the girl’s gait.
‘Wait, Isa,’ Zeenat requested. She instinctively knew he was taking the girl to Shahjahan’s chamber. The harem was abuzz with stories of his lasciviousness.
The eunuch, like so many before him, was entrusted with the task of supplying nubile girls for the emperor’s pleasure each night. Isa halted and raised his brows in surprise. The girl cowered in the shadows, uncertainly. She is beautiful thought Zeenat studying her flawless features. And innocent, too.
Her mind journeyed back to the day when she had traversed innumerable halls and gardens to reach Jahangir’s chamber. ‘Are you taking her to the emperor?’ she asked Isa.
‘Where else?’ he stated scornfully. The years they had served together had brought Satiunnisa and Isa close to Zeenat. Although they never talked about it, each of them knew that they would do anything to help the other in times of need.
‘Please Isa, let the girl come with me. Take some other girl to the emperor.’
‘Are you crazy? Where will I find another one at this time of the night?’
‘Please, Isa, I beg you.’
‘Don’t ask for the impossible.’ He replied gruffly. ‘In any case, why do you need the girl?’
Meanwhile the girl, shocked with the happenings, had shrunk into a corner. ‘What is your name?’ asked Zeenat.
‘Nafisa,’ murmured the girl, her eyes wide with fright.
‘That’s a lovely name,’ said Zeenat gently. ‘Would you like to come with me?’
‘Zeenat, don’t be foolish. I am taking her to the emperor,’ intervened Isa.
‘Isa, I want this girl for Abdul’s bride,’ declared Zeenat firmly.
‘Are you crazy? You can find another bride for your son. Get off my path, crazy woman.’
‘No, Isa, you will not refuse me, I know.’
‘Woman, I don’t know what is wrong with you, but I can’t oblige you.’
‘Please Isa,’ begged Zeenat. ‘Just once, do me this favour. I will never forget your kindness.’
Gazing into her eyes, the eunuch hesitated, ‘And what will I tell the emperor?’
‘I will find you another girl within the next fifteen minutes. Will that be all right?’ she asked.
The eunuch looked sternly at her and admonished, ‘Zeenat, if anyone learns of this incident, I will strangle you with my own hands. Now go and fetch another woman. Nafisa will go with you only after someone replaces her.’
Smiling, Zeenat rushed towards the back rooms of the harem where the servants resided. She knew that many young slaves would happily give themselves up to the emperor. In fact, many of them lived in the hope that he would allow them to spend a night with him.
It took her precisely ten minutes to return with a dusky beauty with a voluptuous figure, whose eyes danced with mischief. Zeenat was confident that the emperor would find her company enjoyable. Relieved, Isa handed over the charge of Nafisa to her.
Abdul never learnt how his mother had found him a bride but he was elated with her choice. Zeenat’s ageing eyes had spotted the right girl for him. The girl was
devoted to her mother-in-law. Her devotion stemmed out of gratitude.
‘I don’t know what happened,’ Zeenat confided to Satiunnisa, later. ‘It was like a message from the almighty, commanding me to rescue the girl. Some greater power propelled me towards her.’
Zeenat had told no one but Satiunnisa about how she found a wife for Abdul. Apart from Isa, Zeenat, Satiunnisa and Nafisa, no one ever learnt the truth; not even her son.
Thirty-two
Years rolled by. The Mughal Empire had never seen such opulence as it did under Shahjahan. A couple of years back, Zeenat had finally been allowed to retire from her duties at the harem. She was now a grandmother to five delightful children and her life was full of their prattle and antics. Occasionally she visited the harem, to catch up with all the gossip. Sometimes she was invited for ceremonies at the harem; at other times she visited the princesses to pay her respects to them.
‘I have no complaints,’ she would declare on her visits. ‘Allah has been kind to me.’
A bit of arthritis that made her mornings painful, and a little fading of the eyesight were the only signs of her ageing. ‘I can no longer move as fast as I could,’ she told her grandson when he wanted her to play hide-and-seek with him. But she obliged him, nevertheless.
For many years Zeenat had wanted to visit the dargah of Moinuddin Chisti at Ajmer.
‘I had vowed to place a chadar on the mazar when I found a good bride for my son. I must fulfil that vow. Who knows when I will be asked to vacate my post on earth? If I reach the almighty’s darbar without fulfilling the vow, will he not send me to hell?’
‘Come on, Ammi, you are going to be at your post for a long time. Don’t worry about that,’ consoled her daughter-in-law. ‘Have you gone to the dargah before?’
‘I had gone there with Bahar Begum, bless her soul, when Emperor Jahangir’s harem travelled to Ajmer.’
‘It must have been a beautiful experience,’ said Nafisa.
‘Yes it was.’ Zeenat’s eyes went dreamy at the memory of the unforgettable days. ‘I have been telling Abdul to arrange for my visit to the Chisti’s dargah but he has not bothered.’
‘Don’t worry, Ammi, I will remind him,’ consoled her daughter-in-law. ‘What will you pray for, if you go there?’
‘I will thank Allah for giving me a good son and a virtuous daughter-in-law. What more can a woman want?’ out of the corner of her eyes she looked at Nafisa who was blushing at the compliment. ‘And then I shall pray for more grandchildren.’
‘Aren’t there enough of them?’ laughed the young woman.
‘There are never enough children to bring joy to a house.’
In the past eight years, Abdul and Nafisa had given her five lovely grandchildren to play with. Zeenat never ceased to boast about the intelligence of her grandsons and the beauty of her granddaughters. ‘They take after their grandparents,’ she would say. ‘The intelligence comes from Salamat Khan, God bless his soul. And the beauty? Well, you know where it comes from, need I say more?’
‘Abdul, I am warning you,’ Zeenat threatened her son that evening. ‘If you don’t send me to Ajmer now, I will go on my own.’
‘Patience, Ammi, just wait for some more time. As soon as I get leave, I will take all of you to Ajmer,’ he said, licking his fingers. ‘Give me some more of that delicious lamb curry,’ he requested.
‘I am not waiting any longer,’ grumbled his mother as she ladled a large portion of the curry on his platter and heaped a pile of naans on a side.
‘I have heard some disquieting reports from people,’ he tried to change the subject. ‘There is serious problem brewing between the four princes. Dara and Aurangzeb are at loggerheads with each other.’
‘That’s nothing new,’ said Zeenat. ‘They have hated each other for years. Ever since they were children, I remember Dara and Jahanara always joined forces while Roshanara and Aurangzeb formed the rival camp. Murad and Shuja were like rolling stones, going from one camp to the other.’
‘But they are not children anymore. Aurangzeb has been given the command of Deccan, which was once the territory of his father. Dara remains with the emperor, though why the emperor does not wish to part with him remains a mystery. Shuja has Bengal and Murad Gujarat. From outside it seems to be equitable, but Aurangzeb resents Dara’s influence on the emperor.’
‘He has always been jealous of the eldest prince. I remember him keeping out of all celebrations, his sombre face reflecting the disgust he felt at the sight of all the wine and women.’
‘Aurangzeb professes to be a puritan. He claims to be a pious Muslim. According to him, Islam does not permit wine, music and dancing girls. In any case, he believes Dara to be a charlatan and a kafir.’
‘Some say that he would like to inherit the Mughal throne and it is this ambition that makes him hate his eldest brother.’
‘But the emperor has made up his mind on putting Dara on the throne, and being the eldest prince, he is definitely entitled to it. Besides, Jahanara supports his candidature and she is the most influential person in the kingdom.’
With a sigh Zeenat gathered the plates and bowls. ‘It is a mercy that Mumtaz Mahal is no longer around to see all this. She would have been a very unhappy woman if she had been around.’
‘Maybe all this wouldn’t have happened if she had still been around,’ remarked Nafisa thoughtfully.
‘At least the emperor would not have indulged in the kind of activities he has been doing lately,’ said Zeenat with a distasteful twist to her mouth.
‘I have heard that all kinds of women walk in and out of the emperor’s chamber,’ Nafisa whispered. ‘Aliya was saying that he watches nude dances in his palace.’
‘It is a tragedy. All the years when Mumtaz was alive, he never looked at another woman, and now he has gone berserk.’
‘Not just that, there are rumours that he and Jahanara…’
‘Not a word more,’ warned Zeenat who was averse to listening anything about her favourite princess.
Abdul was happy that his mother’s mind had been diverted from the Ajmer topic, but no sooner had he washed his hands after dinner she broached on the subject once again. Handing him a towel, she reprimanded, ‘You think you are too clever, my son. I haven’t forgotten about the Ajmer trip.’
‘Oh Ammi, you won’t forget, will you?’
‘Listen, I am not asking you to send me to Mecca. If you keep delaying my trip to Ajmer, I will soon clamour for a visit to the holy Mecca.’
‘Allah, grant some wisdom to my mother,’ Abdul rolled his eyes in mock anger.
‘Why don’t you make the arrangements?’ Nafisa intervened. ‘Ammi has been telling you for a long time now.’
‘Well, well, if both of you gang up against me, I will have to do something or else I may not get my next meal.’
Zeenat beamed lovingly at her daughter-in-law, ‘See, your words have more influence than mine.’
Three days later, Zeenat left for Ajmer with a group of neighbours who were travelling there on pilgrimage. After many instructions from both Abdul and Nafisa, she was finally allowed to leave.
‘Don’t forget to pray for your sixth grandchild,’ said Abdul.
‘Shaitan,’ Zeenat shouted back.
Thirty-three
March 1644, Agra
The season was beginning to turn. After months of harsh winter, it was gloriously pleasant. The magic of spring was visible in the buds that blossomed on the flowering trees. It rejuvenated and enlivened everything it touched. The water of the Yamuna shimmered and dazzled, reflecting the blue sky. There was a song on every lip and a smile on every face. It was time to exult and celebrate the glory of nature.
The Hindus paid homage to the wonders of spring with the colourful splash of their festival, Holi. There were swings on the mango trees that had just begun budding; the cloying smell of the night blooming flowers permeated the gardens. Larvae moulted and butterflies emerged, flitting joyfully from one plant to another.
‘During Nauroz, portions of happiness are distributed to people,’ Zeenat had told the princesses. ‘You can wish for anything you like and hope for it to be granted. On the first day, one is supposed to bathe in the river and anoint the body with oil to ward off diseases and misfortunes.’
The preferred colour was green. It heralded the advent of spring, a symbol of rejuvenation. Towers, minarets, and palaces were illuminated with hundreds of lamps, and the entire town twinkled like fairyland. The streets and bazaars bustled with people who greeted each other with great affection.
For the women in the emperor’s harem it had a special significance. The much-awaited Meena Bazaar was round the corner.
Musicians and dancing girls arrived from distant places to entertain the nobles and the royalty.
The festivities inside the palace were held on a grand scale. The Peacock Throne was on display. An expensive shamiyanah, embroidered in gold and pearls, was spread overhead. Tents were pitched on the open grounds, each one vying with the other in richness and décor. There were some with the inner sides decorated in embroidered velvet, with precious stones set in them. Carpets of silk covered the ground. Even the cushions that were placed on the seats were emblazoned with precious stones.
The reverberation of celebrations rarely quietened in the capital. There was always something to celebrate. If it wasn’t Nauroz, it was Id; if it wasn’t Id, then it was the solar or lunar birthday of the emperor, or the day of his coronation. Besides, there were the weddings and births and victories to be celebrated. Each occasion was an excuse to ride the crest of joy.
The emperor was ecstatic. His dream was shaping up perfectly. The pristine white marble of the mausoleum shimmered like a tear-drop looming up from the banks of the river, delicate and divine. Its fragile lines flowed like a beautiful picture, against the background of the rippling waves of Yamuna. The artisans were working round the clock to fulfil the frenzied commands of the architect, their hands shaping and carving arabesque on the purest of the marble screens. Cartloads of emeralds, turquoise, rubies, garnets, amethysts and other precious stones arrived from the treasuries all around the country to fill the voids in the patterns crafted by the masters.
Escape from Harem Page 22