Beneath a Marble Sky

by John Shors

  “As do I.”

  “Soon your father shall find you a husband, and then, I suppose, these walks will cease altogether.”

  A trace of sadness lingered in her voice. Her tone was infectious, for I replied gloomily. “But how am I to find love, as you did, if Father weds me to a stranger?”

  She adjusted a diamond brooch in my hair. “Remember that many marriages of love begin as marriages of politics. Yours may be no different.”

  “And yet it could be.”

  Almost imperceptibly she dropped her head, which was Mother’s way of nodding. “Sometimes, Jahanara, I wish that duty weren’t such a sacred word,” she admitted, slowing her pace. “But few words are more revered. Even if it is a weaker feeling than a mother’s love for her daughter, men die for duty, and women…we women suffer for duty in more insidious ways. Our duty, just as those leading the Empire, is to follow whatever path is best for our people. And while marrying a silversmith might make you happiest, it wouldn’t be best for Hindustan. For how could you help your people if you were to wield no influence?”

  “I could live among them,” I offered, trying to impress her with my insight, “and become their friend.”

  “As you should. But being a friend means sacrificing yourself. And as a woman of high rank, your opportunity to help others—one of your strongest opportunities, in fact—is to marry for political reasons. In doing so you strengthen your father’s authority. You give power to his name and laws. And his laws, as you know, are good for our people.”

  “But don’t we have a duty to ourselves?”

  “We do. And I pray that you’ll find love, as does your father. We found it and I wouldn’t think to deny you such joy.”

  “Just the same—”

  “Believe me, Jahanara, your husband shall be chosen with care. He won’t be a lout, though he’ll be important to the Empire’s fate. As his wife, you’ll have power. Substantial power. And, I hope, between all that duty and power you can come to love each other.”

  “But how can one love a stranger?”

  To my surprise, she smiled. “And what of me?”

  “You?”

  “Certainly. Your father might have loved me from first sight, but do you think I cared a jot for him? He was but a spoiled prince, no more familiar to me than white hairs upon my head. Why would I want to marry him, when I dreamed of kissing Ranjit?”

  “Ranjit? But I’ve heard nothing of him.”

  “Hush,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Another tale for another time. But do you hear my message, Jahanara? If your father and I were thus introduced, and are now so inseparable, then why must your fate be any different?”

  I had no answer and told her so. My mood brightened. I shoved my thoughts of marriage into a closet, bolting it shut. Then I asked of Ranjit, and listened intently to her whispers, reveling in the knowledge that she trusted me with such a story. When we finally arrived home, Mother kissed my cheek. “Now go. Play at the river.”

  I hurried inside the harem and collected my brothers. When I told them that we were to escape our studies, they chattered excitedly. I walked as fast as I dared to my quarters nearby and removed my fine clothes, for I had learned long ago that my friends seemed happiest when I dressed as they did. I pulled on cotton garments and replaced my jewels with simple rings.

  Ladli entered my room, giggling when she saw my attire. A year older than I, she was my dearest friend. Even though a Hindu and a servant, Ladli knew my every secret. Like Nizam, she bore a dark complexion. Where his face was flat, however, hers was finely shaped. She was quite beautiful and, had she been born from an empress and not a seamstress, would have made a wonderful princess.

  We met my brothers outside the harem. Each was dressed in worn garments, except for Aurangzeb, who wore the yellow tunic of a horseman in Father’s army. Shah and Murad, normally quiet, gabbed like a pair of old widows. Dara, inevitably our leader on such rare adventures, started toward the river. His strides were steady and we drifted past the Red Fort.

  People failed to recognize us and only bowed when they spied Aurangzeb. He didn’t return their greetings, though he nodded to several soldiers. One warrior laughed at Aurangzeb’s outfit, for it was far too large, as was his sword, which nearly touched the ground. My brother’s brow furrowed and his pace quickened.

  As we eased past crowds, I noticed Nizam following us, weaving around traders and then disappearing behind some tethered camels. How he could be a slave and so loyal, with neither parents nor future, was a mystery to me. Surely, Mother’s kindness had nurtured his disposition, but it was hard for me to imagine the tragedy of my parents’ deaths.

  I continued to think about Nizam while we walked through a fruit and vegetable bazaar, where women stood with wooden platters atop their heads. The platters bore melons, grapes, chilies, almonds. Much bartering was done as buyers moved about, with younger merchants chasing down reluctant customers.

  Leaving the bazaar, we descended a spiral staircase. We then shared a cobbled alley with a Jesuit priest, passing him hurriedly as his velvet robes reeked of rotting mutton. To a blind beggar I handed coins, while giving a wide berth to a dead Hindu dressed in colorful ceremonial clothes and awaiting a funeral pyre.

  Our feet soon found the vast sandstone ramp exiting the Red Fort. Below the ramp, fat koi swam in the encircling moat. The moat was wider than a street and quite deep. Outside the Red Fort, Agra became even more chaotic. We didn’t have to walk far to the river, but still needed to navigate our way through congested passageways brimming with every race, and as many shades of flesh as coins in a merchant’s purse. In the faces before me, the endless combinations of eyes, noses, mouths and colors, I beheld the history of invasion and conquest in our lands—Greek, Aryan, Hun, Afghan, Mongol, Persian and Turk.

  As many animals as people frequented the cluttered streets of Agra. Because cows are sacred to Hindus, these creatures wandered freely in the city. Hung with copper bells, they stood or slept in the most inconvenient of places. Scavenging rats and crows also darted about the streets. Servants shooed these pests away from their lords, who often held peacocks, monkeys and cheetahs on leashes.

  Within Agra’s alleys greater varieties of clothing were also visible. Depending on their stations, men wore loincloths or armor or tunics. Lords displayed the brightest of colors and the softest of fabrics; farmers and laborers often went shirtless. Though women rarely interacted with men publicly, groups of ladies gathered about stalls and vendors. As with the men, the poorer a woman was, the less her sari or robe shimmered.

  Steep levees held the Yamuna River, and we descended one as we might the side of an Egyptian pyramid I’d read about. Herds of cattle and beached boats—their bows decorated with carved heads of snakes, elephants, tigers and monkeys—crowded the shoreline. A slip of land, however, remained unencumbered, where placid water was filled with women beating clothes against rocks. Hordes of children surrounded the women, some helping with the wash, others playing in the water. Most of the children were younger than we, for our peers labored in the fields, or baked bread in the Red Fort.

  Ladli, still wearing her sari, was the first to stride into a pool at the water’s edge. Her body was no longer that of a girl, and I looked enviously at her jostling breasts. Embarrassed by the flatness of my own chest, I stepped, fully clad, into the river. I followed Ladli until the water rose to my ribs.

  Suddenly sharp claws bit into my leg and I screamed, certain a crocodile had attacked me. My shrieks had barely diminished when Dara broke through the surface. He grinned, innocently asking, “What troubles you, sister? Did you step on something?”

  Though I could receive a scolding for playing with him, I dove forward, surprising him with my quickness. He had his mouth open when we went under, locked together like two serpents. I held him tightly, and we rolled in ankle
-deep mud until he finally broke from my grasp. My eyes widened in time to see him spit out a mouthful of brown water. Now I laughed. Ladli swam over to us and held my hand, giving me a devious look. Dara’s gaze, I noticed, lingered on my friend.

  “I think my brother’s taken with you, Ladli,” I said sweetly. “You’ll have to rescue him next time.”

  Dara, rarely at a loss for words, looked aghast. “I… ”

  Our laughter seemed to echo off the riverbanks. Dara threw a handful of mud at us, which spattered against our backs. He then dove into the water and swam back to shore.

  “He’ll be a fine emperor,” Ladli said, switching to Hindi. “Much like your father.”

  “You always please his eye, Ladli.”

  It was my friend’s turn to be speechless, a rare moment indeed, as her tongue was coarse enough to make any soldier proud. “No,” she sputtered, “he doesn’t see me that way. I’m a servant. Nothing more. ”

  I wiped mud from her back. “Dara sees people for who they are, not as servants or nobles.”

  Her face wrinkled, as if she’d bitten into a lime. “You live in a house of mirrors, my little friend. It sparkles now, but when it shatters you’ll see only fields of dung.”

  “Ladli!”

  “However Dara may view us still doesn’t make us equal.”

  “But it’s true in his eyes,” I replied, somewhat defensively. Looking toward the shore, I saw that Dara had climbed a boulder. His gaze might have been on us, or possibly on some elephants across the river. The ponderous beasts appeared content in the water, spraying themselves and each other. “Go to him,” I said, glancing about to ensure that we were mostly alone. After all, strangers would frown upon an encounter between them. “He’d like your company.” Her mouth formed a protest and I kissed her cheek. “He’s fond of you, Ladli. He always has been.”

  “But why, why would a stallion want a camel?”

  “You’re no camel, but a… ” I paused, wondering how he might see her, “but a snow leopard.”

  “A snow leopard! Really, Jahanara!”

  “You are exotic to him. You’re Hindu. You see things differently than we. And there’s no one more clever or beautiful.”

  “Have you been gulping your father’s wine?”

  “Go to him.”

  She hesitated, then hugged me. “What if he spurns my company?”

  “He’d be a fool to do so. And he is no fool.”

  Ladli turned, wiping mud from her arms as she waded toward Dara. She soon passed Aurangzeb, who stomped upon fish in the shallows. He said something to her, but she avoided his stare. When she approached the boulder, Dara rose. I smiled at his chivalry, proud that he was my brother. They sat an arm’s length from each other and started to talk.

  Floating on my back, with my feet touching the mud, I closed my eyes and reflected. I wished that I were talking to a boy, wished that there were someone who made me smile. If such a boy existed, I wondered what he was doing now. Perhaps he was the son of a nobleman and lived nearby in the Red Fort. Or he could be a carpenter, or even a soldier. Maybe he was born in a distant land and would someday visit Agra. Would I meet him here? Or would we grow old alone and apart? I suspected that my heart had an echo somewhere in the world, but I feared never discovering it.

  Father once told me that would-be lovers were similar to mountains. Two peaks, wonderfully akin and compatible in every way, may rise to the clouds but never witness each other’s majesty because of the space between them. Like a man and a woman from different cities, they would never find each other. Or, if the peaks were blessed, as my parents had been, they might be two mountains of the same range and could bask in each other’s company forever.

  Please, Allah, I prayed, let me be so deserving. Let my destiny be so grand. And please let it unfold soon. I dreaded what would happen once I came of age to marry and Father paired me with some stranger. I might never know love, never feel what Mother did as Father put his arm around her.

  I was still dreaming of love when a shadow loomed above me and suddenly I was thrust underwater. An immense force crushed against my chest, forcing me down into the mud. Confused, I struggled frantically. I opened my eyes, but saw no more than if a brown blanket had been thrown atop me. I tried mightily to rise up from under it, kicking and clawing and biting, fighting the urge to scream.

  When the weight on my chest abruptly lessened, I sprang to the surface. My nose burned and my lungs heaved as I spat out foul water. Recovering, I realized that Aurangzeb stood next to me. His face bore a wicked smile and he laughed. “What ugly beetles,” he said, pointing at my chest. Baffled, I looked down. To my horror I saw that my robe had fallen aside and that only my thin cotton shirt enclosed my chest. My nipples, dark and hard, were plain to see. “I’d like to squash them,” he added.

  Shrieking in rage, I swung my fist as I’d seen fighting men do. I aimed for his nose, but he twisted quickly and I managed only to strike the side of his cheek. A copper ring on my thumb opened a cut under his eye. When a drop of blood tumbled down his face and fell into the water, he slapped me. The blow was loud and a few women looked at us from the shore.

  Aurangzeb’s lips drew back to reveal his teeth. “You’ll regret that,” he promised, quoting a verse from the Qur’an that spoke of vengeance.

  “I hate you!” I snapped, though it was untrue. “And I hate your foolish verses!”

  “You would,” he retorted before wading back to the shallows. When he was near the shoreline, he sat down and placed some mud against his cheek. I wanted to cry, but such a display would only be a victory for him, so I bit my lip and rearranged my robe. I then dropped into the water until it came up to my neck. I kept Aurangzeb in my vision, however, as his revenge would be cruel. He glared at me, and his glare was enough to make me wish Dara was closer.

  I had decided to return to the harem when I heard a muffled shriek. Thinking that it must have been some ploy of Aurangzeb’s, I turned cautiously, gazing about the river’s muddied waters. At first I saw only elephants and floating debris. But then, farther out in the Yamuna, I glimpsed a small arm waving frantically. I heard another cry. It was a child’s voice and my heart dropped like a stone as strong currents swept the child downstream toward me. I looked for an adult to shout to, but no one was near.

  I hesitated, then pulled off my robe and swam from shore, hoping to reach him. Kicking hard, I pulled at the water with my hands. The child seemed to hold something. As I neared him I spied the submerged log but could hardly protect myself as it hammered into my side. Though my breath was smitten from me, I grabbed a branch with one arm and the boy with the other. He must have been only six or seven.

  I tried to scream as we were pulled swiftly downstream, but my lungs ached, and my pitiful cry didn’t carry far. Aurangzeb, who was the closest to us, looked up. I assumed he’d rush to our aid, but instead he watched us silently. He might have even grinned. Soon we’d wash past anyone who could help us and I shrieked again in terror. Praise Allah, a pair of fishermen heard my call and pointed to me. Their boat was beached and they urgently pushed it into the water.

  The current intensified around a bend. My grip on the tree was firm, as were my fingers as they grasped the child’s clothing. One of his arms had a frightful gash and he was bleeding badly, his face was without color. He began to slip deeper into the river, dragging me with him. The water seemed horribly cold.

  I was desperate when I saw the boat churning after us. The two fishermen pulled upon oars, while two other figures stood at the bow. I realized Nizam was present, as was Aurangzeb, who held a rope. The child started to go under and I thrust him up with the last strength I possessed. My arms had turned leaden.

  Just when I thought I’d go under, the rope splashed beside me. I grabbed it with one hand and Aurangzeb hauled us toward the boat. We struck its planks
and Nizam lifted the boy, then me from the water. I collapsed against Nizam and began to sob, tears of relief mingling with tears of sorrow. For I knew Aurangzeb had ignored my pleas and that he’d only come to help when the fishermen saw us.

  I wanted to speak, but the world dimmed as I fell in and out of consciousness. I was barely aware of the oars pulling us to shore. Then I was carried somewhere, shadows falling across me. I saw images, dreams perhaps. A blanket finally embraced me, followed by my mother. She spoke to me and her words came as riddles. I drifted, then slowly, intolerably slowly, climbed. When the world seemed to finally brighten, I opened my eyes. My parents and siblings were present, crowding around the carpet, blankets and cushions comprising my bed. “Mother?” I mumbled.

  When she heard me speak, Mother kissed my face, my lips. “Oh, Jahanara, we were so worried!”

  Father bent over me. “Do you hurt, my child?”

  “No…no, Father.”

  I saw his tears and I cried too. My parents held me as if I were still drowning, Mother squeezing my hands. Father, more prone to emotion than any man I knew, said, “Better I should lose my empire than you, Jahanara. How could the sky live without its stars?”

  “It would be lonely,” I said, for despite their touch I felt nothing but loneliness.

  “You were very brave today,” he replied, stroking my cheek.

  “Indeed,” Mother said quickly, and I recognized that her pride surpassed even Father’s, because as women we weren’t expected to do anything courageous. “You saved the child.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes, bless you,” Mother added. “And your brother saved you.”

  “But he—”

  Aurangzeb stepped forward. “Repay me later,” he interjected, the wound on his cheek oozing red.