But what motive did Ruqaiya Begum have to kill her husband’s guardian? Mahesh Das watched the lily fronds in the garden below bend with the breeze. The clouds had disappeared now, revealing a brilliant blue sky. Fountains sprayed a mist of water into the bright morning air. The day was getting hotter.
What, indeed?
* * *
‘Khan Baba did not like me very much,’ said Ruqaiya Begum, ‘and I too returned the sentiment. Sometimes, two people do not like each other and there is not much one can do about it.’
Ruqaiya Begum sat daintily on the edge of the bed, turned to the side, legs crossed, one sandal dangling off the foot. She looked at his hands with what he thought was appreciation, and found himself wishing that he could hide them somewhere.
Mahesh Das twirled the silver goblet in his hand, making the pomegranate seeds swirl and slowly settle to the bottom of the pink, clear liquid. Much like him, Ruqaiya Begum’s eyes had not left him for even a second since he had walked in. But it was not the hateful curiosity that he encountered everywhere; it had warmth, much like her smile.
‘You have come to watch me quite intently, Mahesh Das ji,’ she said, lowering her gaze.
‘I beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty.’ Mahesh Das bowed in her direction awkwardly. ‘I have not spent much time in the company of women—at least not of your grace. It is only with admiration, therefore, that I stare. I…I do not know what a man must say to a lady–’
‘Why, sir, we are human just as you. You should talk to us as you would to another man.’
‘Ah, that is what ladies say, Your Highness. In my village too I wooed a girl once who said she wanted to be spoken to as a man, but the moment I began rambling about horses and bandits, she left me for the milkman.’
Ruqaiya laughed, a low tinkle. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But why must a Brahmin such as you speak of horses and bandits, sir? I would think you would have much to say about your Vedas and…the Unipashads?’
‘Upanishads. Even men would not tolerate me speaking about them, Your Majesty. No one wishes to speak of the Vedas, although everyone wishes to know one who says he has read them.’
‘So,’ she said, cocking her head to one side, ‘are you one who says he has read them?’
‘I have read enough to make people believe that I have, my lady.’ He suddenly realized that he had been lulled into a sense of comfort; she had extracted too many truths from him for one day.
She saw his face change, and a cloud came over her thin brow. She looked down at her hands, clasped in one another. ‘I trust you have come to ask me questions,’ she said. ‘Do forgive my curiosity; sometimes it gets the better of me.’
‘Indeed, my lady. I have come to ask you about what happened last night.’
‘Then perhaps you are wasting your time here, sir, for the harem ladies are often the last to know of what occurs in the palace.’
‘But no one knows the emperor as intimately as you—the harem ladies. So perhaps whatever little you do know, you know more deeply than the rest of us,’ said Mahesh Das.
‘Perhaps.’ She looked away.
‘You said Bairam Khan did not like you. Did you ever wonder why that was so?’ Mahesh Das had unconsciously edged forward in his seat, and was now leaning his elbows on his thighs. ‘Why should anyone wonder about something that is clear to the whole world, sir?’
‘Sometimes the world is wrong, Your Highness.’ But most of the time, more often than it is admitted, he thought, the world is right.
She was about to say something and then stopped. She started again. ‘It is not something that a woman ought to admit to a man, perhaps.’ Her brows met in the middle, above the bridge of her nose. She had shaved off the offending brow, but new strands were beginning to take root once more, and the skin there had a worn look to it, from taking to the blade too often.
She was not a beautiful woman, he thought. Bairam Khan would not have approved of anything less than perfect for Akbar’s first queen, so perhaps he had made his displeasure felt. But could that be it?
‘Let us just say that I am not all that a queen ought to be,’ she said, her voice and gaze dropping at the same time to the vibrant red and white bed sheet on which she sat. ‘A king wishes from his queen many things; I cannot grant him the strongest of his wishes.’
‘The wish for a son,’ said Mahesh Das, understanding at last. He could see now why Bairam Khan would have made an open plea to Akbar against ‘wasting’ time on a queen such as Ruqaiya. But how foolish it was to assume that men cared just about a son? Poems and songs had never been written about a man’s heart, but it yearned for the same things as a woman’s. A man needed love too. Companionship. A woman he could talk to, share his emotions with, a friend he could sleep with, next to whom he could wake up. How naive of Bairam Khan to think that he could steer Akbar’s attentions from this fine queen just because she was barren?
‘I know what you are thinking, sir,’ she said. ‘You think the emperor has thrown away much of his youth by marrying me. Do you not?’
Mahesh Das bowed. ‘My lady, who the emperor bestows attentions upon is not for me to judge. I am but his servant. Everything that is worth his attention is worth my devout worship.’ He looked into her grey eyes for a moment longer than necessary, until she looked away. ‘And dare I say, if I was the emperor, it would pain me to look away from you even for a moment, my queen.’
‘You only say that because you are blinded with love for your king,’ she said but her flushed cheeks told him she had liked his flattery.
He changed the tone of his voice suddenly, to that of a stern master. ‘Did you hate Bairam Khan enough to want to kill him, Your Highness?’
If she got flustered by the sudden note of harshness, she did not show it. She pondered the question for a while and said, ‘I would be lying if I said I did not wish he was dead. But…I…I know it is a ghastly thing to say, that I wished for the death of my husband’s guardian, to whom we owe this life, this kingdom…everything!’
‘But you did...’
‘Yes, but I did. Only in some of my weakest moments, sir, I assure you, but I did. Sometimes Jalal would come and tell me all that Khan Baba had said, and it would make my blood boil. I would feel that he is trying to take my Jalal away from me, making me just one of the women in the harem whom he never visits. Once he finds a queen that can give him a son, why would he come for me?’
‘You must give yourself more credit than that, Your Highness.’
‘Ah,’ she said with a wave of her hand.
Mahesh Das observed her strong hands. Within the padding of silk and muslin that covered her, she had a stocky, packed frame. She had a steady hand too, he knew, because he had heard of her passion for painting carpets.
A strong, steady hand, and a powerful body. Princesses from Afghanistan learnt to ride horses and wield swords well enough to flee or defend themselves in dire situations. If she looked mentally unable to perform a deed such as stabbing a man, Mahesh Das had no doubt that she would be up to it physically.
‘When was the last time you saw Bairam Khan alive?’ he asked.
‘When I left the dining room yesterday. Right after Jalal and Salima left, when the half gong past the eighth had gone off.’
‘You came back…here, my lady?’
‘Yes, to this very room.’
‘And your servants let you in, I suppose?’
‘No servants, sir, but the guards did see me, yes.’
‘And you saw no one on your way from the palace to the harem?’
‘None, besides the guards that stood at the palace exit.’
Mahesh Das got to his feet and wrapped his cloth around his chest, up to the neck. He turned around and clasped his hands behind his back. He went to the window and looked out at the courtyard below. There, in the near distance was the corridor leading to Bairam Khan’s chamber. Ruqaiya Begum had an unobstructed view of the path leading from the harem to the regent’s house and the garden that surrounded
it too.
He took a deep breath, but his nostrils twitched at something in the air. On the bottom corner of the window sill, he spotted a dark, wet stain. He ran his finger over it and held it up to his nose. The smell reminded him of lilies.
‘I know what you are thinking,’ she said slowly.
He turned his head to the side, training one ear in her direction.
‘You think that after I returned to my room, I saw that Khan Baba was in his chambers, alone, and I took the opportunity to visit him, and let him know of the anger that has been festering in me all these years. You think that perhaps the words turned to actions and that perhaps–’
‘I think no such thing, my queen.’
‘But it is possible, what I said, is it not?’
Mahesh Das turned around and folded his arms. ‘Is it?’
She smiled. ‘I suppose anything is possible. But it did not occur to me that I should go to my window and see what Bairam Khan was doing, sir. If I had, perhaps I would have seen something, something that would help you catch the killer.’
Mahesh Das walked up to the queen, who was now standing beside the bed. He stood less than an arm’s length away from her, staring into those puzzling grey eyes. She had lined them with a blue pencil, and one stray line ran away from the corner of each eye toward the ear. For a moment he did not say anything. He waited until the amused defiance in her gaze ebbed away, bit by bit, and was replaced by mild perplexity.
‘You do know, my lady,’ he said at last, ‘that if you were to confess to killing Bairam Khan, the emperor would do everything to protect you?’
A frown knitted her brow. ‘I do not share your confidence in the emperor’s love for me, sir. If by any chance I am named the killer, Jalal will take my life or he will banish me back to the mountains of Kabul.’
‘I shall not let it happen.’
She raised her hand, hesitated for a brief second, then lowered it again. ‘I am certain that you would be gallant enough to protect me, sir, but you would be powerless, would you not, before the might of the emperor’s will?’
‘Still,’ said Mahesh Das, ‘it will be better if you confessed to your crime, Your Highness. Pardon will come easier that way.’
‘Confess to a crime that I did not commit, sir? Is that what you would have me do, just so you solve this little problem and gain the emperor’s favour?’
‘I think you know more than you let on, my queen,’ said Mahesh Das, taking one step towards the exit. ‘Either you tell me what it is or I shall find out anyhow.’
She smiled. ‘We all have our little secrets, do we not, Mahesh Das ji? I am certain you have yours too.’
‘I shall take your leave now, Your Majesty,’ Mahesh Das bowed. ‘It has been a pleasure talking to you.’
‘Likewise. You are an interesting man. I do wish that you catch Bairam Khan’s killer, and that Jalal keeps you here as a courtier.’
He gave her a tight smile, opened the door behind him, and stepped out. Mahesh Das let his gaze wander in the direction of the corridor leading to Bairam Khan’s room. He felt like he was on the cusp of something right at that moment, some insight that should have come to him, or it had come and left with blinding quickness. The lily fronds in the fountain appeared fresh as ever even in the scorching noon sun, and the lawn appeared soft and tender. Fountains sprinkled water, servants went about their errands, the breeze blew from the direction of the Yamuna.
He took a big lungful of air.
Lilies.
Something to do with lilies.
Everything seemed normal. And yet nothing was.
Eighteen
IN THE FEW MINUTES it had taken Mahesh Das to gulp down his ghee-coated roti and mango pickle, the air had turned cool and misty, the sky overcast with heavy grey clouds.
He nodded absently at the girl as she allowed him into the emperor’s room.
As the doors closed behind him and his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Mahesh Das realized that the room was empty. The lamps lining the walls had been turned down low, and the dark brown curtains on the main window—the one looking out into the gardens—had been drawn, letting through slits of sunlight. No servants, no maids. And no emperor either.
‘Your Majesty?’ he said, his words casting an echo. On the bedside table sat an ivory plate full of ripe apples and a bunch of black grapes. Mahesh Das thought of going back. Somebody had clearly been mistaken.
Just then, a bearded man jumped into the room from the back window, nimble and quiet. He wore a stained yellow kurta, a green turban tied around the head, with the end dangling on one shoulder, and a white lower garment that looked like a loose dhoti. He was barefooted, and his toes appeared to be smeared in dung.
Mahesh Das opened his mouth to scream. An intruder in the emperor’s chamber! But when the man stood up from his crouch and held up his hand, the bow in his legs became visible. He took off the turban first, and then removed his beard.
‘Jahanpanah.’ Mahesh Das bowed. ‘Sit,’ said Akbar, rubbing his cheeks. ‘That false hair gives me itches.’ He went into the bathroom, and for a few minutes Mahesh Das heard the sound of water. When he re-emerged his feet and face were clean. Akbar had changed into a bright yellow garment now, with blue vines and dahlias painted over it in an intricate, sinewy pattern. His silk turban had pearls lining it on the side, and the string came together to hold up an emerald in the centre, right above his forehead.
‘I generally do not venture out in disguise during the day,’ he said, ‘but what use is a disguise if it is used only under the cover of darkness?’
‘Is it not dangerous, sir, going out by yourself like this?’
‘Ah, even Khan Baba used to say the same thing. But being the emperor is tiring. I know more about what people think when I am disguised as a commoner. It allows me to make friends with the servants. Why, today I helped the gardener at the harem plant some roses in the orchard.’
‘Indeed? Did none of the ladies see you?’
Akbar laughed. ‘I suspect Gulbadan Begum did, but I do not think she recognized me.’ He took a seat opposite Mahesh Das. ‘You see, a king’s life is in danger only when he is recognized as the king. If you are a servant, you are suddenly the safest man in the world.’ Mahesh Das bent his head. ‘Anyway,’ said Akbar, clicking his fingers, ‘what have you learnt?’
Two maids appeared with goblets and an amphora full of wine. They filled their goblets and left as quietly.
‘It is too early to say, Your Highness.’
‘But you have been speaking with members of the royal family, we hear.’
It was clear now that Akbar had set a pair of eyes on him.
‘Yes, sire,’ he replied, ‘but I have only spoken to Maham Anga and Ruqaiya Begum.’
‘Ruqaiya? Why do you think Ruqaiya would do something like this? She knows better than everyone else how much Khan Baba meant to us.’
‘I am certain she does, Jahanpanah. Like you, I did not think that she had anything to do with the matter, either. My intention was to speak with Maham Anga and Adham Khan, and on the way back I passed by the queen’s chambers, so I thought I should present myself to her.’
‘Indeed?’ A frown of suspicion came over Akbar’s face. ‘You speak in the past tense. Does that mean that you have changed your mind after speaking to her?’
Mahesh Das hesitated before reaching out for the goblet. It wouldn’t be wrong to drink the wine, however, since he had given the impression of being a Brahmin, he worried that if he did, he would risk coming across as an imposter. That would invite Akbar’s ire. He decided to give it a try. The surface of his tongue tingled at the first sip. He took his time, lolled it around the inside of his mouth, and swallowed at leisure.
‘Well?’ said Akbar.
‘I do not know, sir,’ said Mahesh Das. ‘Something about Ruqaiya Begum makes me wonder…But you her better than I do. Would you say that she was the kind of woman who can plunge a knife into a man’s back?’
Akbar c
onsidered the shiny rim of his goblet for a moment. ‘She knows how to wield a sword, of that I am certain,’ he said, ‘but I have not seen her injure a real man or even an animal for that matter. She likes to have squirrels and cats run about the garden and her chambers, so perhaps she would think twice before killing a man.’
‘Unless she hated him so much that she would have to kill him.’
‘Yes, but is Ruqaiya capable of such hate?’
‘You don’t think so, Jahanpanah?’
‘I would like to say no,’ said Akbar, ‘but who can tell with maidens and queens?’ He took a gulp of his wine, and immediately clicked his fingers to summon a maid. ‘Get me some half-cut lemons and a bowl of olives. Anything for you?’
Mahesh Das shook his head.
The servant bowed and disappeared.
‘But what I wish to know more than anything,’ said Akbar, lowering his voice into a whisper, ‘is why anyone would have wanted to kill Khan Baba the day before he was to leave forever. The “why” troubles me more than the “who”. Did he know something we do not?’
‘There could be any number of reasons, Your Highness,’ said Mahesh Das, feeling his tongue loosening a little to the salty tanginess of the wine. His head felt light, and suddenly he thought everything around him had become sharper and clearer. ‘Perhaps the murderer had some knowledge that you and I do not have. Perhaps he had reasons for believing that Bairam Khan was not going to leave for Mecca after all.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that Bairam Khan is a hardened warrior and strategist, Your Majesty. What if he had planned to leave, but not to Mecca? What if he had camped a few hundred miles north of here, had assembled noblemen like you had done a few days prior, and launched a surprise attack on you?’
The Crows of Agra Page 10