Beneath a Marble Sky

by John Shors

  “He is our brother.”

  “So?” I exclaimed. “He may have our blood, but not our hearts. Did you see him on the elephant? He reveled in the killing! He castrated that poor boy for the sheer joy of it!”

  “I don’t—”

  “He defied Father! And yet you think that because he’s your brother he’ll cede you the throne? Are you mad?”

  “To fight him goes against every principle I hold dear!”

  “The Prophet Muhammad, the founder of Islam, fought his foes!”

  “But he was persecuted! I’m not!”

  “But you shall be! And Aurangzeb’s more dangerous than any of the jackals Muhammad encountered!”

  Dara’s face, which had always given me comfort, flashed with anger. “I’m not Muhammad, Jahanara! And if you wish to fight Aurangzeb, you had better do so yourself!”

  I hurried from him. Though I loved Dara immensely, he also enraged me, for I feared his weakness would be our undoing. To stop from crying I bit my tongue, forcing myself to scheme as I stumbled forward. There must be a way out of this wretched mess, I thought, a road appeasing Aurangzeb’s need for revenge. If I could satiate this revenge, I might remain safe.

  As I debated what to do, I rushed to the royal physician’s quarters, seeking the boy. When I saw the old man’s face I knew his patient had died. “They brought him too late,” he whispered, “and the cuts were too…much too profound.”

  Weeping, I left the physician and ran to the closest mosque. It happened to be the newly finished Moti Masjid, the Pearl Mosque. The site, entirely of white marble, boasted a sprawling courtyard and a façade segmented by seven identical archways. Above the archways, three large domes rose skyward.

  In a corner of the courtyard I faced Mecca, praying that the child was in Paradise and that he would be content for all eternity. I also prayed for a way to quench Aurangzeb’s thirst for revenge. I forced myself to scheme, and scheme relentlessly, for I understood that I must act with haste. Aurangzeb was deadly now and would strike without pause. I debated going to Father but decided that by involving him, I’d put the throne at even greater risk. After all, it wasn’t unthinkable to have a son plot against a father.

  The day lengthened as I prayed. When Allah finally graced me with an answer, I thanked Him until my cheeks dried of tears. His answer would bring me pain and humiliation, but I hoped it would spare me a worse fate. My plan depended on Ladli, and so I sought her in the royal kitchen, where she still worked on occasion. I pretended to be angry at her, demanding that she follow me. I must have been an adept actress, for Ladli’s masters smiled as she shuffled past.

  As soon as we were within a long unused storeroom, I hugged her. I told her that I loved her and that she would always be my friend. I also whispered of what had transpired, and of how I was in danger. She, unlike Dara, didn’t question my words.

  “What are we to do?” she asked.

  “I have a plan,” I answered softly. “But it involves you and is dangerous.”

  “Tell me.”

  “The only way Aurangzeb will leave me in peace is if he has his revenge. I hurt him today, and he needs to hurt me back.”

  “Like the child he is.”

  I ignored her remark, my mind still churning. “Does he consider you a friend?”

  “Perhaps…yes, maybe he does. I cook sweets for his men or, better said, his snakes. And I fawn over him, even if he tells his snakes in that overwrought voice of his that he’s bedded me. He lies to them and they cheer him for it.”

  My disgust with my brother deepened. “Good. Because I want you to betray me.”

  “Betray you?”

  “Tell him that last week I stole from my husband.” She started to protest, but I tightened my grip on her hand. “Tomorrow morning, whisper to Aurangzeb that I took a golden ring from Khondamir’s chest. Tell him that I buried it under a brick in my room.”

  “It’s true?”

  “It shall be. Because Aurangzeb will inform my husband of the crime, and when Khondamir discovers the ring gone, I’ll be beaten.” I paused, wishing some other path existed. “I’ll be humiliated in my own home.”

  “But he’ll hurt you! There must be another way!”

  “This way I can control the hurt. A beating from my husband will be better than a drop of poison from Aurangzeb, or the knife of one of his butchers. And yet, I think a beating will still my brother’s need for revenge.” I squeezed her fingers. “He’d rather disgrace me than anything else.”

  “But better to give the dog a lesser weapon! You’ll lose face in court. The nobles will laugh—”

  “My humiliation will never become public. I know my brother. Though he may be what you say, he’ll realize that if Father discovered he betrayed me, he’d suffer.” Because, I thought sadly, he recognizes that Father loves me more than him.

  “But the pain.”

  “Frightens me. Yet…” I hesitated, wishing today was but a dream. “Yet I’m more fearful of what shall happen to us.”

  “Us?”

  “After this,” I whispered, “we can never be seen as friends again. For if Aurangzeb thinks that you deceived him, you’ll die. So always we must appear as enemies. Only in secret can we be friends.” My voice quivered and I bit my lip. “This pains me, Ladli. More, much more than you’ll ever know. But it also saves me. And it may help me in the future. For as surely as the monsoon brings life, Aurangzeb will vie for the throne once my father dies. It cannot be given to him. Years from now, perhaps, if he trusts you, we can use this trust to our advantage. We can mislead him, or help Dara in some way.”

  “But is it worth so great a price, our friendship?”

  I didn’t know how to reply. The girl in me said no, but the woman said yes. “A time will come when any friend of mine shall be in danger,” I forced myself to say. “And when that time arrives, I’d rather have you as Aurangzeb’s ally than mine.”

  Ladli, always so strong, blinked away a tear. “Are we truly finished?”

  “Not truly,” I replied, gripping her hands in mine, struggling to contain my misery. “We’ll meet secretly, and perhaps someday we may be seen together again.”

  Silence arose in the storeroom as Ladli contemplated our future, no sounds save her quick breaths. When she trembled, I closed my eyes, despising myself for hurting her. “May Shiva forgive me, I’ll do what you ask,” she agreed reluctantly.

  I held her, feeling the heavy toll of years, years short in number but becoming long with demands. I was tired of being strong, so weary of duty and scheming that at that moment I’d have traded my station with any serving girl in Agra. “Thank you, Ladli,” I said, willing myself to disregard such thoughts. “It’s a dreadful step, I know. But believe me, you do not want to be viewed as my friend when Father dies.”

  She shrugged, as if suddenly resigned to whatever future lay ahead. “When Aurangzeb is reborn as a slug you can step on him. Maybe even I will.”

  “If you’re right about karma, he will be,” I said, absently adjusting her sari, feeling the firmness of her stomach. “Tomorrow, seek out Aurangzeb and ask him to pay you for information about me. Demand a great deal, or he’ll be wary. If he offers nothing, or even half of what you ask, walk away. But if he gives much, pursue our plan. And then, months from now, return to me quietly and we’ll talk.”

  “More likely whisper,” she foretold, then added a curse. “I do love you, Jahanara.”

  “And I you, my sister.” I hugged her again, hiding my fear. For Khondamir loathed me, and the theft would give him cause to beat me senseless. I had never tasted the sting of a whip, and the thought of it against my flesh terrified me. “Be careful, Ladli,” I said. “Be careful and be strong.”

  At these words we started to cry. Though she was like fire and I sought to be like steel,
we weren’t immune to swells of emotion. I did think of her as a sister, and losing her so soon after Mother’s passing was more pain than I wished to bear. And I had to bear it alone.

  I left her sniffling in the storeroom and returned to my home. I found Khondamir’s ring, which was as thick as he. After hiding it beneath my secret brick, I lay on my sleeping carpet and blanket, trying to harden myself for what lay ahead. Feelings of helplessness and despondency bedeviled my sleep, and I drifted somewhere between the worlds of dreams and reality.

  The next morning I tried to act naturally but had to excuse myself from breakfast to take a lengthy walk away from the river. I didn’t want to look at the mausoleum, for its site was where I longed to be. I yearned to tell Isa of my woes, to let him protect me, but I could never ask him to do so. I’d be selfishly endangering him, as I had already done with Ladli.

  After spending the afternoon at a mosque, I returned home just before dusk. When I neared Khondamir’s grounds, Aurangzeb approached from the opposite direction. He rode a fine mount and wore unadorned leather armor and a curved sword at his side. My feelings conflicted as I saw his wicked grin. My ruse must have worked, and now I’d endure its consequences.

  “Are you well?” he asked, his voice unnaturally loud, as always.

  “Fine, Aurangzeb,” I replied, trying to sound interested. “And you? How are your lovely children?”

  My brother looked skyward. “The Qur’an says, ‘Vying for more and more diverts you, until you go to the tombs. Then you will be questioned about comfort on that day.’”

  “Why do you quote—”

  “Only a sinner…” he paused to spit at my feet, “would steal from her lord.”

  “Steal from her lord?”

  “Save your lies, sinner, for Khondamir.” A roar erupted from within the house, followed by breaking glass. “He’s found the ring.”

  I managed to pretend outrage. “Ladli! I’ll have her whipped, by Allah. I’ll—”

  “Do nothing of the sort!”

  Because he’d love the sight, I fell to my knees. “Please, please help me, Aurangzeb. Please don’t leave me to him. I’m sorry, so sorry for insulting you. Please!”

  He laughed before spurring his horse away. Rising toward Mecca, I quickly begged Allah’s forgiveness, for I had stolen. But then I asked that He might protect me. I was still asking when my name was shouted. Wanting to hide my shame from the servants, I strode directly into my room. Khondamir was present, shaking in rage. He held the ring in one hand and the brick in the other. The brick he hurled at me. I ducked under it and didn’t need to pretend to be terrified. I had expected him to be angry, but he seemed enraged beyond reason.

  “My lord,” I began, but he waived me to silence.

  “You defile me!” he shrieked.

  “I’d have repaid—”

  “Silence!”

  He stuck the ring on his finger and grabbed a leather belt from a nearby table. I blanched at the sight. “It’s a mistake!”

  Khondamir grabbed and tossed me, bottom up, over a table. “Move from this spot, and emperor’s daughter or not, I’ll have you gutted!” Spittle flew from his lips as he raged, and veins pulsed at his temples. He yanked off my robe, shirt and skirt. Suddenly I was naked. A drop of his sweat fell on my buttocks, followed by the heavy leather. The belt bit into me like a wild boar might. It tore at my flesh and I yelped in pain.

  “Good, you bitch,” Khondamir hissed.

  “Please no!”

  The belt assaulted me and I moaned. He grunted as he swung and stabbing pain followed each grunt. I began to swim in agony. For all I knew, he had set my backside afire and I was burning alive.

  “Steal from me!” he screamed. “From me!”

  “Please don’t—”

  “You whore!”

  The blows continued.

  “Please!”

  “Silence!”

  I bit the wood of the table as the beating raged. The timber splintered in my mouth and I tasted blood. I tried to stay quiet but could sooner have checked the movement of my heart. I beseeched him to stop. I promised him anything. I pleaded and writhed and whimpered. He must have liked hearing me beg, for his temper ebbed. The blows came less frequently, lacking the strength of their predecessors.

  “Get up,” he finally demanded.

  It took all my strength to do as commanded. My legs were bloody and I wept at the sight. Gingerly, I wrapped my robe about myself. “I’m so…so sorry, my lord,” I whispered.

  “No whore will sleep in this house tonight,” he replied, breathing heavily.

  “But—”

  “Leave!” he shrieked, slapping me across the face.

  I could never walk to town, so I shuffled to the stables. A servant, his face hinting of his pity for me, helped me straddle a horse. A moan escaped me as my weight pressed down upon my wounds. I thanked the man, then weakly spurred my mount. Within a few steps my saddle was slick with blood.

  Where to go? Nizam would help me but likely kill Khondamir. A dead husband would end one problem but enrage Aurangzeb. No, it would be easier to deal with Aurangzeb if I lived in shame with my husband. I could also seek Father, but alas, he’d avenge me a thousandfold. And love Dara as I might, his comforting face would do little to ease my mind.

  I went to Isa. However much I hesitated to involve him, I knew he’d shelter me and do as I asked. Dusk had surrendered to night when I finally found him. Thankfully, our workers had gone home and the site was silent. Isa had erected a bungalow near the foundation and usually slept within its sandstone walls. I called out his name as I approached. I wailed and fell from my horse into his arms.

  He asked no questions but carried me within. When he saw my blood-soaked robe he paused before gently removing it. Though ashamed of my state, I cried at the lovingness of his touch. Isa lay me, facedown, on his sleeping carpet. He then ran from the room. He was gone for some time and I began to worry. At last he returned with an aloe plant and wet rags. Isa wiped my wounds clean. He then used a pair of bricks to smash the aloe, which he smeared upon my cuts before draping a silk sheet over me.

  “Forgive me,” I whispered.

  “Hush, Swallow.”

  He knelt before me and stroked my brow. He wiped away my tears. His fingers touched my lips and I kissed them, causing him to be still. The kiss lingered between us. When the moment had passed, Isa placed a goatskin flask of wine to my mouth. I suckled from it like an infant at her mother’s breast.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked softly.

  I took a long breath and whispered to him the tale, describing my brothers, my fears, and my husband. He never interrupted and, when I was finished, sat in silence. He sipped the wine, then I heard his breath catch.

  “I’m sorry, Jahanara. What can I do?”

  “Just hold me.”

  And so he did. His hands, the strong hands of a man who created beauty, cradled my head. He looked into my eyes and his tears glistened. How I wanted him to kiss me then, despite my pain and humiliation! One kiss would have made the suffering easy to bear. Though I sensed his adoration for me, he didn’t turn my face and place his lips against mine. No, to do that, at least in his mind, would have been to dishonor me, for a kiss then might be construed as pity. And I yearned not for his pity, but his love.

  Through a window I saw the stars thicken. The moon was but a sliver. “How shall it look,” I whispered, “in such paltry light?”

  “Not as lovely as you, my Swallow. For that, we need a full moon.”

  My tears fell then, despite my effort to contain them. I didn’t weep because of my pain, but because I wanted this man. I hungered for him, for we seemed to speak without words. Yet I could not have him. Nor would I ever.

  “He’ll pay for this
,” he said.

  “Please don’t try and avenge me.”

  “He deserves to die for what he’s done.”

  “Then he will. But at the hands of Allah and no one else.”

  “But why?”

  “Because what we build is more important than what happened tonight. And because of what happened tonight Aurangzeb will leave me in peace. I’ll pretend to be humiliated in his presence and hence I’ll be safe. But if Khondamir were to die, I would surely be at risk.”

  “You are at risk.”

  “His rage is spent, Isa. And we can’t jeopardize your project.”

  Outside, my horse neighed. “You’re a clever and fearless woman,” he said so quietly that I had to strain to hear him. “Perhaps I should call you a hawk and not a swallow.”

  “I like Swallow better.”

  “May I… ” he paused, collecting himself. “I’d like to lay down beside you.” The fact that he’d ask brought more tears to my eyes. I nodded and he spread himself next to me. His arm went around my back and he held me closely. “What a gift you are,” he said. “What a wondrous gift.”

  Though my pain had only relented a little, his flesh was warm and soothing. I wanted to feel more of him, more of his joyous touch. For the first time I truly understood how my parents had felt for each other. I understood the taste, the insanity of love. Because as sure as the sun would rise tomorrow I loved him so.

  Chapter 8

  Allah Smiles

  The Qur’an is a book of many faces. As much as Aurangzeb liked to quote its passages concerning revenge, misdeeds and hellfire, it is also a text that speaks often of forgiveness, charity and goodwill. Unlike my brother, I always found these verses to be the most profound. They comforted me tremendously.