Beneath a Marble Sky

by John Shors

  Yet the enemy still surged up the hill. They flooded our ranks, pausing only to kill our wounded. I was within range now, and a few warriors, perhaps thinking me an officer, fired arrows upward. The bolts thudded into the soil about me as I pulled the heavy shield from the side of my saddle, and then cowered behind it. More arrows fell, accompanied now by bullets. To stay here, I knew, was to die. But what choice did I have?

  Suddenly my horse, my beautiful mount, stumbled. He cried out in agony and toppled forward, throwing me from the saddle. Shrieking, I turned in the air, landing in the deep mud on my back. My body throbbed, but I rolled over and drew to my knees. I trembled uncontrollably now, for this horror was too overwhelming. Unsheathing my sword, I crawled to my mount, intent on ending his misery. But I needn’t have bothered. His neck was ripped open and his eyes had already glazed over.

  When the horns finally sounded, I barely heard them. But our men cheered abruptly and I knew Nizam had at last arrived. The enemy must be ripe for slaughter, I thought, for they had thrown all their foot soldiers and cavalry into us. Surely their gunners were unprotected.

  The avenging screams of twenty thousand strong rose to obscure even the storm. Through the driving rain I caught glimpses of our horsemen decimating the surprised enemy, for suddenly Aurangzeb’s force was caught between two deadly groups of men. Our cavalry below, and our foot soldiers above, rained bullets and arrows into their masses. The enemy began to fall in vast numbers and I stood, praying that Nizam’s plan would work. It did for a time, and our forces howled in triumph.

  Allah, however, deserted us then. One heartbeat Dara was atop his elephant urging his men forward, and the next, cannon fire ripped into the monstrous beast and the battle thus changed. The elephant wailed horribly before tumbling into our barricade of logs. Dara was thrown from his platform, thrown fast and hard. Several logs appeared to fall on him, as did the elephant.

  I was already running toward him when the first shout of panic burst out. “The Prince is dead!” a young standard bearer yelled. “Dead!”

  Panic rippled through our men like fire atop oil. Believing their leader slain, they suddenly retreated from the fighting, thinking of themselves rather than of the Empire. If Dara was lost, so was our cause, for he was the future emperor and a man worth fighting for. Officers yelled at those fleeing to face our foe, but all discipline had perished with Dara’s disappearance. Frantic, I stumbled down the hill toward where he had fallen. The long tunic restricted my movements and I toppled awkwardly, sliding down the mud. Dara’s elephant had a hole in its side the size of my head, yet it still lived. It tried to stand, managed to for an instant, and then toppled forward, crushing a trio of Aurangzeb’s men. Amid the scattered wreckage of the barricade, I quickly found Dara. His head was bloodied beneath his dented helmet, but I felt his breath against my hand. “He lives!” I shouted. “The Prince lives!”

  Though a few warriors paused to look at me, I was far too late to save us from slaughter. Cradling Dara’s head on my lap, I watched as our men tried to escape the encroaching hordes. Some did, but hundreds of our warriors were shot in the back as they fled about the hill. Others, finding no escape, turned to face their foes. These men fought like demons but were outnumbered and inundated. Their throats were slit and their pockets emptied with appalling efficiency.

  I withdrew Dara’s helmet, ripped off a piece of my tunic and tied it about his head to stop the bleeding. About to tighten it further, I paused as a horse galloped toward me. I was nearly beneath its hooves when a hand reached down and pulled me violently from the ground. The rider, with amazing strength, threw me behind him. My nails had started to claw at his face by the time I recognized Nizam.

  “But Dara!” I cried.

  He spurred his mount toward a break in the lines. A stout warrior stepped before us, leveling a musket. His weapon misfired and Nizam’s curved blade fell swiftly as we passed, opening the man’s shoulder. An arrow appeared simultaneously in Nizam’s thigh. I’d no idea how it had arrived there. He roared in fury and spurred his horse as two more soldiers ran in front of us, grinning when they saw my long hair. Nizam thrust aside the spear of one, skewering the man with his sword. The other warrior shouted for help and men ran forward to surround us. They tried to pull me from the horse and Nizam beat them aside, howling like an animal. It seemed as if Allah had blessed him that day, for bullets missed him and swords rebounded from his armor. His vengeful blade rose and fell in never-ending arcs, most sweeps maiming an enemy.

  Our mount jumped over a ruined cannon and suddenly I was falling. I struck the ground brutally, crosses of light dancing in my vision. Though I expected my clothes to be torn off immediately, I realized that an officer had reached me first. His sword was bright with the blood of our men, but his eyes weren’t cruel and I hoped he would protect me.

  Nizam turned his horse around and tried to fight his way back to me. Dozens of men surged between us, however, and many were busy notching arrows. “Leave me!” I screamed. “You’ll do me no good dead!” He killed a balding warrior and winced as a blade glanced off his saddle. “Flee!” I shouted. “By the love of Allah, flee!”

  His rage seemed to boil over and he snarled, spurring his steed into a thicket of men. They scattered before him and he was free, galloping toward a gap in the lines. Two more warriors died in his wake before he vaulted over a pile of bodies. Then the rain swallowed him whole, and I didn’t know whether he lived or died.

  The officer bent down, offering me a hand. “Princess Jahanara,” he said, bowing slightly. Though men still fought around us, the battle ebbed and to him it appeared nonexistent.

  I recognized him, recalling dimly that our fathers were acquaintances. I nodded, then remembered my brother. “Dara,” I cried, trying to stand, my legs trembling and unresponsive.

  “Alamgir has him, my lady. He lives.”

  “Who? Who has him?”

  “Your brother, Alamgir. For that’s what he now calls himself.”

  Alamgir meant “Conqueror of the World” and I shuddered at what the name portended. “He shall,” I replied weakly, “always be Aurangzeb to me.”

  “That he might. But if I were you, I’d call him Alamgir. For I heard what you said to him, and his wrath will be terrible.”

  I closed my eyes, thinking of what he would do to me. Aurangzeb would be maddened by blood lust and I knew that if I met him now, he would feed me to his warriors. “Are you, Humayun, a man of honor?”

  He seemed surprised that I remembered his name. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Then strike me unconscious and take me thus to Alamgir. For if he finds me awake, I’ll…” I paused, biting my lip, fighting sudden tears, “I’ll die horribly.”

  Humayun nodded. “I will, my lady, always counsel him against your death.”

  “Thank you.”

  He bowed again before lifting the hilt of his blade. I had only time to turn toward Mecca before it smote my head. There was a blinding, consuming pain. And then there was nothing.

  Chapter 17

  Death and Dishonor

  The Red Fort surrendered in a single day. With tens of thousands of troops massed against it, and only a few thousand warriors within its walls, no other choice existed. Though still feverish, Father was imprisoned in the Musamman Burj, the Octagonal Tower. Father had built this two-story tower atop the Red Fort’s eastern wall so ladies could see far beyond Agra’s boundaries. Aurangzeb imprisoned him within it quite deliberately, for the Musamman Burj provided an unobstructed view of the Taj Mahal, offering Father sight of what he cherished above all but might not touch again.

  The day of Father’s imprisonment was the darkest of my life. Not because we had lost, but because of what was to happen. For Aurangzeb, now supreme ruler of the Empire, had accused and condemned Dara of heresy.

  My brother, may Allah forgive us all, was to be beh
eaded.

  Upon awakening I found myself naked, but, aside from a bloody scalp, otherwise unharmed. I lay in a gloomy cell. The place reeked of urine and it took me a moment to realize that I wasn’t alone, for pacing about the cage was a pair of hunting cheetahs. I cried out instinctively but then stilled. The cheetahs growled and circled me as they might a wounded gazelle. No weapon was present in the cell but for a gnawed bone the size of my arm, which I grabbed as I crawled into a corner.

  Little time passed before Aurangzeb called upon me. A handful of his men accompanied him, and each laughed at my nakedness and fear. “They haven’t been fed for days,” Aurangzeb announced, nodding at the cats. “Mustn’t like the smell of infidels. But then, who does?” My brother eyed me, his gaze sweeping up and down my body. “Give them time, let their hunger grow, and they’ll try you.”

  “I’ll try her,” one of his men said, as I sought to cover myself.

  Aurangzeb ignored him. “You might like to know, sinner, that Dara was convicted of heresy. He’ll lose his head tomorrow.”

  “No!” I yelled, disbelieving my ears. “No, please, no! He’s an advocate of Islam! He—”

  “Deserves to die!”

  “For what? What has he done?”

  “Must you always debate me?” Aurangzeb roared, spittle flying from his lips. “Would an advocate of Islam call Hinduism an equal faith? Equal, by God! He weakened the Empire with his treasonous book!”

  “He only tried to bring us together, to show that we could live as one! Where’s the treason in that?”

  “It’s everywhere! On every foul, infected page! And he’ll die for those pages. For his blasphemy!”

  “But please, Aur…Alamgir, he’s your brother.”

  “Brothers lose heads like any others! As do sisters.”

  As he started to turn, I cried, “What does Allah say of murder?”

  He wheeled around on me, grabbing the cell’s iron bars. “Heretics are executed, not murdered!”

  “He’s no heretic! Imprison him if you must, but let him live.”

  “You’ll watch him die tomorrow,” he hissed, “unless my cheetahs grow hungry.”

  “It’s murder! Murder!”

  The men laughed as they left, making gestures that made me ill. In my haste to protect Dara I’d forgotten my nakedness and stood openly. “What’s happening?” I mumbled to myself, barely able to brave my sorrow. If I had been alone in this world, with no father, lover or daughter, I might well have let the cheetahs devour me. Better to endure the gnashing of their teeth than to harbor thoughts of what tomorrow would bring. How, by all that was good, had it come to this?

  When night arrived, my cell cooled considerably. In the darkness the cheetahs’ eyes glowed like yellow moons, orbs that stared at me constantly, vanishing only when the great cats blinked. I urinated near my corner, as if marking my territory. My scent gave them pause, but their growls persisted and I became fearful. I could, maybe, tolerate the notion of their teeth on my flesh, but the idea of never again seeing Isa and Arjumand caused me to tremble in anguish. I tried to imagine what they were doing at this very moment. Did they sleep in the same room? Did he tell her a story, or show her how to design a fountain? Perhaps they thought of me. Perhaps our thoughts could meet, even if we could not.

  Much later, after exhaustion had rendered me unconscious, I sensed a wetness against my head. The rank smell of decay pervaded my lungs. I gagged, screaming when I realized that the larger of the two cheetahs was licking my bloodied scalp. The beast bared its fangs and I swung my club, striking the animal hard in the backside. Yelping, it ran to the other corner.

  Soon both cheetahs growled. They paced tirelessly about the cage, nearing me with each circle. I swung my bone when they approached too closely. I cursed them loudly and tried to appear bigger than was true. One of the beasts darted forward, sinking its teeth into my club. The cheetah yanked it from my grasp and suddenly I was defenseless. When they neared again, I didn’t dare strike out, for they might grab hold of my leg or arm as they had my bone.

  I’ll try for their eyes, I thought frantically. If they attack me, I’ll claw out their eyes!

  Suddenly a shaft of light fell on my cage. Someone had opened the door to this place and now walked quietly down the corridor. The cheetahs retreated as my visitor approached. Whoever came calling wore a black robe and no sandals, apparently desiring to arrive in secrecy. I didn’t know if an assassin had been sent to cut my throat, or if someone planned on liberating me.

  Delicate hands rose to pull back a black hood, and to my joy I saw that the apparition was Ladli. My friend reached into a bag, producing a pair of bloody steaks. With a grunt she heaved the steaks toward the cheetahs, which growled before sniffing at the meat. I hurried toward her and our hands met outside the bars. Though I remained caged, my emotions were freed and I wept silently. She stroked my arm, leaning forward to kiss my cheek. “I’ve no time, my sister,” she whispered.

  “Have you news of—”

  “Isa?”

  “You know?”

  Despite her nervousness, she smiled. “I can see, Jahanara,” she replied, her fingers gripping my hand.

  “I should have told you, but—”

  She shrugged. Her eyes, with their long lashes, darted about. She glanced at my nakedness, and her face contorted. “I should bury a knife in his back for this.” When I kept silent, she asked, “What do you need?”

  Make the pain leave me, I thought. Wake me from this nightmare. “Can you pass a message to Isa?” I begged, longing to hold him, to kiss Arjumand. “He’s in Allahabad with Arjumand, staying in some stable. Please tell him that I love him, that I’ll see them soon.”

  “I’ll try,” she said, folding up her bag. “I don’t think the pox-ridden coward will kill you. He knows the people hold you too dear and wouldn’t stand for it. But there could be an accident, or he might imprison you for forever and a day.”

  “Does he truly mean to behead…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Ladli had once loved my brother, and her tears, abrupt and unguarded, were as real as mine. “Be strong,” I whispered, though my words were a farce, for I felt like collapsing. “Be strong and be careful.”

  “And you.”

  “I love you, Ladli.”

  She kissed my forehead and departed. I prayed that Ladli returned unseen to her quarters and thanked Allah for giving her to me as a friend. This one woman, this daughter of a commoner, had proven herself more loyal, cunning and caring than Father’s most powerful nobles. I beseeched Allah someday to free her from Aurangzeb and see to it that we were reunited.

  The cheetahs slept after their meal and, despite being frightfully cold, I closed my eyes and endured the night. When morning finally arrived, I was amazed to see that the giant cats had crawled to less than a pace from me. They lay curled against each other, living pieces of art, though surely no man but Isa could create such beauty. I watched the beasts for some time, thinking that if I ever escaped my brother I’d return to free them. They hadn’t wanted to eat me last night, but animals lean with starvation had little choice in such matters. Like all beneath Aurangzeb’s yoke, the cheetahs were forced to do his bidding.

  Not long after dawn a warrior appeared and threw me a worn robe. I put it on hastily and asked him what was to happen. He grunted, and a moment later Aurangzeb, still wearing his armor, appeared with four bodyguards. My brother opened the cage, shook his head at the resting cheetahs, and kicked one hard. “Worthless beasts,” he snarled, motioning for me to be brought out.

  I started forward willingly, but his men nonetheless grabbed me. One squeezed my buttocks and I forced myself to still my tongue. I remained silent as the men followed Aurangzeb to the royal stables. There, they lifted me onto a horse. My brother leapt on his white stallion before leaning toward me. “You shall w
atch his death, sinner. And if your black eyes stray from him, stray just once, I’ll make you carve off his head.”

  “He’s never hurt you. Ne—”

  Aurangzeb backhanded me across the face, almost knocking me from my saddle. Blood trickled from my lip. “He’s a traitor and a heretic!” he retorted. “And our disgraceful brother will be dealt with as such!”

  I didn’t wipe the blood from my chin, as my beating would anger the people. Instead, I bit the wound, tore at it with my teeth until more blood oozed forth. Aurangzeb spurred his horse ahead and one of his brutes led my mare by her reins. We left the Red Fort and soon were on Agra’s broadest street. A commotion raged ahead. As we neared, I saw that hundreds of people argued along the street. Though troops sought to keep the peace, sporadic fighting broke out in pockets. Men fell and did not rise. Hindus shouted about injustice and Muslims chanted fervently for Aurangzeb.

  In the center of the uproar, at an immense intersection, was Dara. He sat with his son, Suleiman, atop a scarred war elephant. Both prisoners were naked but for loincloths, had their arms bound behind them, and were covered in filth. I watched in horror as dozens of onlookers hurled vegetables at them, onions and potatoes leaving welts upon their torsos.

  Only this finite number of people, however, tossed vegetables and chanted for Dara’s death. Most of those present were Hindus and stood before the drawn swords of Aurangzeb’s men begging for my brother’s life. Other Hindus struggled against whichever Muslims were most intent on humiliating and harming Dara. My brother pleaded with those defending him to refrain from violence. He beseeched them to stand still, saying that his death would be much worse if his last sight was of his people killing each other.