Did she love the emperor? Yes, she probably did. Of course she fed him opium. Of course she enjoyed his power and was not coy about letting people know she wielded it. He had witnessed that on many occasions. However, when she wiped his brow or held the bowl for him to cough into when he was ill, he had seen love on her face. Perhaps her motives were as mixed as his own. Everything would probably become clearer as they made the long journey back south again to Lahore, which could not be much longer delayed. The nights were becoming chill and autumn was drawing on. By then, too, he would need to decide what to do himself. Although he had planned his capture of the imperial party with care, he realised he had not thought enough about his next steps and had now become almost paralysed by indecision as to how to win new allies and secure a position in power for the long term. Since his arrival in Kashmir he had done little other than to send messages to Asaf Khan for onward transmission to his son-in-law, assuring Khurram of his sons’ good health and good treatment, and of his loyalty to the imperial family in general as well as his understanding of Khurram’s situation in particular. As he mused, Mahabat Khan made up his mind that they would start for the plains in a week.
‘I’ll be sorry to leave Kashmir.’
‘Even though we’ve been prisoners here?’
‘Yes. Nothing can detract from the beauty of the place, and Mahabat Khan has been respectful to us.’
‘That kind of respect costs him nothing. If he had asked you whether you were ready to leave Kashmir that would have been proper respect. Instead he just announced the date politely as if we were his servants.’
‘To be fair to him, we couldn’t have stayed much longer. In another couple of weeks the first snows will begin to fall in the passes.’
‘True. Anyway, despite Mahabat Khan’s presumption I’m glad we’re leaving. Our plans depend on our returning to the plains.’ Mehrunissa rose and began to mix a little opium with rosewater for her husband. ‘You will remember to remain acquiescent whatever Mahabat Khan requests as we descend from Kashmir, won’t you? As the moment to act grows closer it’s vital we do or say nothing to rouse his suspicion.’
‘Of course. In any case, he asks very little.’
‘And you must be discreet in front of your grandsons. Children are good at hearing things they were not intended to hear and then blurting them out to impress people.’
‘I’ve said nothing.’
‘Good. There’s also the risk that they might deliberately use anything they overhear to persuade Mahabat Khan to send them back to their parents – especially Dara Shukoh. I’ve noticed how he enjoys going about with Mahabat Khan, listening to his stories of battles, and he’s always asking questions.’
‘He’s an intelligent and curious boy. Besides, don’t all children ask questions? I know I did. It’s part of growing up.’
‘Perhaps. But we must be careful, especially now we’re getting nearer to achieving what we want.’
‘Sometimes I wonder if we couldn’t reach some sort of accommodation, some compromise with Mahabat Khan, rather than all this plotting of yours.’
‘You speak as if Mahabat Khan could be trusted. We know nothing about what’s really in his mind.’
‘You don’t think he means us harm?’
‘He gives the appearance of being a decent man and he’s certainly a good general, but never forget that above all he’s a traitor who has seized power that can only be given by you, not taken. He’s also taken huge risks, which – unless he’s a complete fool – he must realise. If he perceives a danger to himself who knows what he might not be capable of? Besides, my “plots” as you call them go well.’ Mehrunissa shook the opium and rosewater together in a pink bottle, then poured a little, handed it to him and pulled the soft, intricately patterned Kashmir shawl a little tighter around him. Jahangir was coughing more and the air was becoming colder.
‘You will play your part just as I play mine, won’t you?’ she persisted. ‘Mahabat Khan is wary of me, but he respects you . . .’
From the north bank of the Jhelum, seated in his golden howdah on his favourite elephant Thunderer, Jahangir watched Mahabat Khan and Ashok. The two men were sitting relaxed on their horses on a muddy hillock on the south bank, looking back towards the new bridge of boats that they had had constructed across the Jhelum on the latest stage of the return journey from Kashmir. The river was slower-flowing and narrower than in the spring and they had found it relatively easy to obtain enough boats to rope together to form the bottom of the bridge and then to fashion planking from branches and pieces of camp equipment to lay across them.
The weather had been kind and progress quick down through the passes and valleys. Here the leaves on the trees were turning red and gold as the local people completed their harvests of apples and pears and the drying of the grapes and apricots for which their region was famous throughout Hindustan. Farmers were stocking their barns with root vegetables, corn and straw to feed themselves and their animals through the long harsh winter. It had been an almost idyllic journey, soothing the minds of all. Mehrunissa had seemingly immersed herself in Persian poetry, only emerging from her quarters to give orders for attendants to leave the camp to collect autumn flowers and animal specimens for Jahangir who, she told Mahabat Khan, had been inspired by the autumn beauty to renew his study of the natural world with added vigour.
Earlier that day Mahabat Khan had told Jahangir that everyone should be over the Jhelum well before dusk, and that the next morning they should be able to set out for Lahore. Then he had crossed the bridge with Ashok and a vanguard of a third of his forces, leaving Rajesh – whose offer to command the rearguard that day Mahabat Khan had gratefully and unthinkingly accepted – to send over the imperial family and their escort when ordered to do so and finally to cross himself with the remaining men.
Switching his glance towards the bridge itself, Jahangir saw a tall, purple-turbaned Rajput mounted on a chestnut stallion, which skittered nervously as the bridge swayed beneath its hooves, crossing back to the north side. Presumably he was the messenger bringing the order from Mahabat Khan to Rajesh to bring the imperial party across. The Rajput did indeed ride up to Rajesh, sitting stiffly on his white horse only a few feet from Jahangir’s elephant, and the emperor felt his heart beat a little faster as it had in his youth before a battle.
‘Rajesh, Mahabat Khan commands you to begin bringing the emperor and empress across the river.’
Rajesh hesitated for what seemed an age. Then he said, voice tense and jerky with emotion, ‘Tell Mahabat Khan I cannot . . . I mean I will not . . .’ Jahangir relaxed. Mehrunissa’s plan was going to work. All the long hours of plotting and persuasion including his own wooing of Rajesh under Mehrunissa’s guidance were bearing fruit. What a woman she was. What an opponent she would have made if she had been a man.
Rajesh went on, his words coming more easily now the breach was begun. ‘Tell Mahabat Khan that as a holder of an imperial office, at present that of divisional master of horse, my duty is to the emperor and the empress alone. The emperor has promised me and my men further advancement if we will answer only to him. I will take command of the detachments of loyal vassals who are even now hastening to the emperor’s side. I regret I must sever all connections with Mahabat Khan, but out of past loyalty to him tell him I am returning you safe and unharmed and that I have persuaded the emperor to wait half an hour after you have crossed back before he gives the order to open fire against you and the other rebels against his rightful power.’
On the opposite bank Mahabat Khan had also been in deep thought. Although Jahangir and Mehrunissa had continued calmly to accept his authority he had got little further in his debate with himself about how to consolidate his position. The emperor had been right that to be in authority was to be lonely. He had felt unable to consult others or discuss his views with them, fearing that to do so might be taken as weakness or indecision. That in turn had led him into procrastination on the bigger issues, leaving him to concent
rate in too much detail on tangible topics such as food and supplies for the journey. Now he wheeled his horse and rode down the short distance to the boat bridge. The emperor and empress should begin crossing soon.
As he reached the bridge he was surprised to see the purple-turbaned Rajput riding slowly back across the gently swaying bridge of boats alone, and no sign that the imperial party was preparing to follow. What was going on? He jumped down from his horse and ran to meet the rider as he came off the bridge.
As the young Rajput stammered out Rajesh’s message Mahabat Khan’s face contorted with fury and he flung his riding gauntlets to the ground.
Mehrunissa had outwitted him. How could he have been made such a fool of? It suddenly dawned on him that when she had supposedly sent attendants out for plant and animal specimens they had actually been carrying letters or messages to and from supporters. He knew too that he was now paying the price for agreeing without proper thought to the couple’s pleas not to dismiss the remnants of Jahangir’s imperial bodyguard. How could Rajesh betray him? How had Mehrunissa won him over? How had he persuaded the men he commanded to join him?
Even to Mahabat Khan in his anger the answer to these questions became quickly obvious. For the venal Rajesh the promise of a pardon and promotion beyond that he himself had secured for him had been enough. As for his men, they were mostly from the small poor Rajput state of which Rajesh’s father was the ruler. They owed their loyalty to Rajesh first. Whatever the reason for their betrayal of him, now was not the time to brood upon it. He must act and act quickly. The realisation energised him. ‘Burn the bridge,’ he yelled to Ashok, ‘Rajesh has betrayed us. Bring brands from the noon cooking fires. I will set the first flame.’
As an astonished Ashok rode off, Mahabat Khan decided something else. Despite his anger and appetite for revenge he would not attempt to recapture the emperor and empress. He was made for battle where the distinction between friend and foe was clear and each action had a direct consequence, not for the amorphous and ambiguous world of court politics. Jahangir had been right. The achievement of an ambition for supreme power was its own punishment. He and his remaining men, outnumbered as they were, would withdraw to the hills. Once there he could consider his future . . . decide to whom he might offer his support, relinquishing to that person the supreme leader’s responsibility for difficult decisions.
‘Your scheme worked. I congratulate you,’ said Jahangir that night. Mehrunissa looked exultant. He had often seen just that look on her face after a successful kill during a tiger hunt. He smiled to think how she had played and outwitted Mahabat Khan – one of his best and most intelligent commanders – as if he had been little more than a fat trout in the Jhelum transfixed by her lure.
‘I warned Mahabat Khan at the beginning of all this that his victory was only temporary. I hope he remembers my words.’
‘I am sure he will. What do you think he’ll do now?’
‘I don’t know. I doubt he does. But he would be wise to leave the empire, perhaps go home to Persia. He must know that a crime like his can’t go unpunished and that once you’ve returned safely to Lahore you’ll send armies against him.’
Jahangir nodded. She was right. Mahabat Khan had seen an opportunity and taken it. Unless he suffered for it others might be tempted to rebellion. But he should never have allowed the whole thing to happen in the first place. Perhaps he was growing old . . . At the thought a little of his triumph ebbed. When he returned to his capital he must demonstrate to all that his grip on his empire was as tight as ever. But now he told himself he should relax – tonight he and Mehrunissa should simply enjoy their new-found freedom and Dara Shukoh and Aurangzeb should join them to share their triumph.
‘Bring my grandsons to me,’ he called to a qorchi. A few minutes later the boys entered the tent and Jahangir embraced each in turn. ‘This is a great moment,’ he told them.
‘Why, Grandfather?’ Dara Shukoh asked.
Everything that had happened during recent months must have seemed strange to the child, Jahangir reflected as he replied, ‘We have outwitted our enemy Mahabat Khan and regained our freedom.’
‘Was Mahabat Khan our enemy?’ Dara Shukoh looked surprised.
‘Yes,’ Jahangir answered. ‘He held us against our will and wanted to dictate to me whom I should choose as my advisers and how I should run the empire.’
‘But I thought . . . I mean the way you talked to him . . . you had become friends.’
Jahangir smiled. ‘No. That was pretence. To gain what he wants a ruler must sometimes practise deception. You will understand that when you grow older. Now, taste some of these sweetmeats – and you too, Aurangzeb.’
He held out a silver dish of dried apricots stuffed with marzipan, but though Aurangzeb took a fistful Dara Shukoh didn’t help himself. He still looked thoughtful, then said, ‘Before he sent us to you my father told us things about you.’
Jahangir stiffened. ‘What things?’
‘That you are not only our grandfather and the emperor, but also a great man. Therefore we should always show respect to you. Was that what Mahabat Khan did wrong? Did he fail to respect you?’
Jahangir nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. Had Khurram really said that of him? If so, had he simply been trying to ensure his sons did nothing to annoy him, or had he truly meant those words?
Jahangir looked up as fireworks lit the night sky above his encampment on the northwestern plains near the town of Bhimbaar. Two days ago Shahriyar and Ladli had arrived with their young daughter – born just before Jahangir had left for Kashmir – and ten thousand men to escort him the rest of the way back to Lahore. Several of his most senior courtiers and officials had accompanied them. With their security now beyond doubt, Mehrunissa had suggested holding a celebration to mark both their arrival and his deliverance from Mahabat Khan and he had readily agreed. As the last and greatest firework exploded, sending a mass of red and purple stars shooting across the heavens, Jahangir felt content. Despite Mahabat Khan’s treachery, his grip over his empire was still strong. Not only had his scouts reported that Mahabat Khan himself had not emerged from the hills into which he had fled a month ago but his officials had brought news that Khurram remained quiet in the south, that an insurrection in Gujarat had been swiftly put down by the Moghul governor there and that elsewhere in the empire all was peaceful.
As soon as the fireworks – purchased as a prelude to tonight’s revelry from a caravan of Chinese travelling merchants passing northwards towards Peshawar and the Khyber Pass – were over Jahangir inspected the arrangements for the feast. He had ordered the imperial dais to be set up at the very centre of the vast encampment, about fifty yards in front of his scarlet tent, and covered in gold cloth. The low imperial throne and next to it an intricately carved stool for Shahriyar already stood on it. A little to one side, screened by green silken hangings embroidered with gold thread, was the area where Mehrunissa and her daughter Ladli were to eat. Attendants were still placing red velvet cushions trimmed with gold around a long, low table set with silver plates and drinking vessels for Jahangir’s senior officers and high officials in front of the dais. Further back were tables set less elaborately for more junior officers and courtiers while other servants had created dining spaces elsewhere in the camp for the rest of his men.
The smell of roasting meats – deer and mutton, ducks, hens and peafowl – was already rising from hundreds of cooking spits set up over open fires. The portable tandoori ovens were being filled with meats more subtly prepared with yogurts and spices. Cooking pots with dishes flavoured with dried Kashmiri fruit – apricots, cherries and sultanas – as well as spices were already simmering. Dough was being prepared so that bread could be made and brought to the tables hot when required. Puddings of rice and rosewater and of ground almonds and cream, some topped with gold leaf, had been prepared and covered with cloths. Yes, everything was as it should be. Jahangir grunted with approval and returned to his tent where his qorchis wai
ted to dress him for the feast.
An hour later his officers were in their places as to the blare of trumpets the awning of the imperial tent was raised again and four palanquins, each carried by four bearers, emerged. The first two stopped in front of the dais. The second two, which were closed, were carried to its rear so that Mehrunissa and Ladli could enter the screened area unobserved by onlookers. To a final flourish of trumpets Jahangir slowly descended from his palanquin, to be joined by the slim figure of Shahriyar from the second. The prince helped his father mount the dais and cross to the throne.
Before he seated himself, Jahangir glanced for a moment into the twinkling stars in the velvet darkness above. Was he being fanciful or were they shining particularly brightly tonight, honouring his celebration by their silver radiance? Then he motioned for silence and spoke, his voice firm. ‘We feast here today to celebrate both the arrival of my beloved son Shahriyar and our escape from the domination of the treacherous Mahabat Khan. His crime is neither forgiven nor forgotten. His punishment is merely deferred.’ Pausing while he looked around him, he noted a rather nervous-looking Rajesh dressed in Moghul green, with a patch of the same colour over his empty eye socket. His monocular gaze was fixed on the silver plate in front of him and he was abstractedly twisting at one of his buttons.
‘But this isn’t the time to dwell on past events and their consequences. What matters is the future of the empire.’ As he spoke, Jahangir noticed Shahriyar shifting a little on his stool, but despite Mehrunissa’s urgings before they left the imperial tent he had decided not to reiterate that Shahriyar was his heir. There was no need to speak about such things tonight – not when his cough seemed to have improved and he was feeling so much more vigorous. Despite Mehrunissa’s constant and lavish praise of him, Shahriyar’s performance of those duties Jahangir had assigned to him had sometimes failed to convince his father that he had sufficient intellect or ability to command to flourish if he succeeded to the imperial throne. His concerns had been strengthened by reports of Shahriyar’s indecision and inactivity during his captivity in Kashmir, mentioned to him discreetly by some of his newly arrived officials.
Empire of the Moghul: The Tainted Throne Page 31
