Nurjahan's Daughter

by Tanushree Podder

  Over time, however, when Shahenshah Jahangir saw his blind son groping through the halls of the palace, helpless and forlorn, he was filled with guilt. He recollected his own rebellions: the thought of such a harsh penalty had never crossed the mind of his father, Emperor Akbar. Eventually Jahangir ordered that the most experienced physicians be put to work on the eyes of the prince so that he might see again.

  Proclamations were made through the land inviting eminent physicians. The emperor promised generous rewards for the cure of his son’s eyes. Many hakims and physicians arrived to try their luck. Among them was Hakim Sadra, a physician who had come all the way from Persia. The hakim undertook to cure the prince within six months and began his treatment to restore Khusrau’s eyes.

  Six months had passed and the emperor called for the hakim and Khusrau, impatient to see the result. Khusrau, for the first time, walked unaided into the court, much to the delight of the emperor. Khusrau had recovered partial vision in one of his eyes.

  Jahangir was overjoyed. For six months he had been ridden by remorse. Now he could sleep at night, his conscience at peace once more.

  ‘Allah is great. We were losing hope that our son would see again. We are delighted with your skills, Hakim Sadra. From today you shall be known as Masihu-uz-Zaman (physician par excellence).’

  The emperor stepped down from his throne and embraced Khusrau. With great love, he helped his son to a seat next to the throne. A khilat, robe of honour, was endowed on the hakim and the emperor poured a cupful of jewels on his head. The ladies, watching the scene from behind the screen, sighed happily.

  6

  It was a balmy day in March. Meherunnisa woke up with a feeling of happy expectation. A tiny bird was singing near her windowsill and its chirping wrung her heart with memories of a wondrous spring she had enjoyed a long time back with her parents at Lahore. The air was laden with the sweet smell of blooming flowers and the sky was a clear, cobalt blue. Delicate wisps of straggly clouds drifted away gracefully, leaving the day bright and cheerful. The rains had ceased after a torrential week and the sun had emerged after days of hiding ’ behind ominous clouds. After years she found herself humming a romantic song. Something in the breeze around her charged ' her with hope.

  It was a perfect day to be spent by the riverside, to laze and loll under the trees that lined the waterfront. For long Laadli had been clamouring for an outing. Meherunnisa summoned Firdaus and instructed her to prepare for a picnic. ‘We will cook in the open, under the shade of the trees by the riverside,’ said Meherunnisa dreamily. ‘Firdaus hurry, make arrangements for the most memorable picnic ever enjoyed by the family.’

  ‘Can’t we pack the food and take it with us?’

  ‘No, no. It is not the same. For a perfect picnic, the food has to be cooked at the location and not carried. I know it involves more work but that is the way it has to be,’ Meherunnisa said, putting an end to the argument.

  Firdaus also loved picnics but hated the complex arrangements that they called for. Elaborate preparations had to be made so food could be cooked at the picnic spot; cooling drinks, snacks, games and carpets had to be carried along; tents had to be set up; and the entire area would have to be cordoned off from the prying eyes of men who were in the area, angling or bathing.

  Firdaus went about instructing the servants on the arrangements to be made. Pots, pans and other paraphernalia had to be packed. Chaupar, ganjifa cards, skipping rope and durries had to be carried. Laadli would want a swing to be put up on a tree, so sturdy ropes had to be carried for the makeshift swing.

  Sher Afghan was reluctant to accompany the women. ‘The governor, Sahib Qutub-ud-Din, has sent for me. He has received a firman from the emperor and wants to deliver it to me personally. If I do not go immediately, he will take offence. You know what a pompous and egocentric fellow he is.’

  ‘Can’t you postpone your journey by a day? I am sure he will not take offence if you go tomorrow. Send word to him through one of the servants that you will be present at his court tomorrow morning. Please, please, let us go and enjoy the beautiful day. Burdwan rarely sees such a perfect day for an outing. Besides, Laadli will be disappointed if you don’t accompany us,’ insisted Meherunnisa.

  ‘Begum, I am as keen as you to enjoy the day in your company, but I don’t like the governor’s attitude. The anti-Persian faction is at work in the emperor’s court at Agra. They have spread rumours that I am involved with the Afghan rebels in Bengal.’

  ‘Why should the emperor believe such rumours? You have been faithful and loyal to him at all times.’

  ‘He has reason to believe these rumours because he has never liked me,’ Sher Afghan said, casting a meaningful look at his wife.

  ‘Despite the fact that you saved his life by slaying a tigress?’ Meherunnisa said, ignoring her husband’s provocative statement.

  ‘That happened such a long time ago that the emperor would rather forget his obligations. I have always been faithful to the throne and its rulers. Jahangir knows that I am an excellent soldier and the royal army needs my services. Yet he has banished me from the court by sending me to this godforsaken place. I suspect he treats me this way because I have married you.’

  At last the truth was out. The words had tumbled out before he could stop them.

  ‘How can you say such a thing? I have never been unfaithful to you in all these years of our marriage!’ Her face paled at the allegation.

  ‘Begum, I do not suspect your fidelity, but I do have my reservations about the emperor’s intentions. The fact remains that I am in his bad books and he has sent his foster brother, Qutub-Ud-Din, to act against me. I am sorry if I said the wrong thing. I am disturbed by the goings-on.’ Sher Afghan was distraught.

  Meherunnisa felt sorry for her husband. She suspected he was right about the emperor’s intentions. Her father had told her of the rumours that Jahangir had tried to convince Sher Afghan, through intermediaries, to divorce Meherunnisa. If the rumours were to be believed–she had never discussed the matter with her husband–the emperor’s treatment of Sher Afghan was obviously a reaction to the soldier’s refusal to do so.

  ‘Let us shelve all problems for tomorrow,’ she said soothingly. After we return from the outing, we can think of a solution to the problem. There is no point in ruining such a beautiful day.’

  At that moment Laadli ran in with her toys and tugged at her father’s hands. He towered above the girl and Meherunnisa was amazed at the tenderness that suffused his face whenever he looked at his daughter. He would readily give his life to fulfil the wishes of his daughter, she thought. As he smiled tenderly at the child, Meherunnisa knew he would not refuse to accompany them for the outing.

  ‘Abbajaan, please come with us. I will not go if you don’t come,’ Laadli said.

  ‘Well, then, I cannot refuse! I guess my meeting will have to wait till tomorrow,’ he said, the cloud of worry temporarily absent from his face.

  His daughter skipped all around him excitedly. ‘Can we take Sultan? I would love to ride him.’

  ‘No, we will not take Sultan,’ Meherunnisa said sternly. ‘I don’t want you riding near the river.’

  ‘Oh, let her be, begum. I will take care of her.’ Turning to his daughter, he said, ‘Don’t worry, we will take Sultan with us.’

  As Meherunnisa had predicted, Laadli had taken after her father with regard to her height. At four, she was taller than most six-year-old girls. She was a natural when it came to horse riding and wielding the dagger. From her mother, the little girl had inherited a flair for music, poetry, and painting.

  Burdwan’s exotic vegetation and verdant landscape was a balm for the tired souls. The swaying palms, tall teaks, trees laden with jackfruit and papayas, banana trees with their long leaves fluttering like flags in the breeze and the wild flowers that dotted the countryside, were a poet’s dream. The picturesque setting erased all the troubling thoughts from Sher Afghan’s mind.

  Tents were pitched and Firdaus
got the makeshift kitchen fires going. Amidst the clatter of utensils, the servants began preparing lunch under the shade of a massive tree. Sher Afghan supervised the setting up of a rope swing while Laadli jumped around excitedly, adding her instructions. It was going to be a beautiful day. After a long time Meherunnisa felt a sense of total happiness, with no dark clouds smearing her horizon.

  She set up her easel near the waterfront and laid out little pots of paints all around her. A boat appeared like a speck on the placid water of the river, its sails stark against the indigo sky. It had been a long time since she had painted. Busy with Laadli and household responsibilities, she had almost forgotten how to wield the brush or compose verses. ‘Now that Laadli is almost four, I should begin taking some time off to do the things I love. All I have done for the past few years is embroider and stitch dresses for her,’ she told her husband, as she tried to capture the magical colours around her on her canvas.

  Sher Afghan, sprawled under a jackfruit tree, was amused at her complaint. His eyes swept over her svelte figure and rested on her painting. An indulgent smile played on his face as he patted her hand. ‘You are good at whatever you do.’ A look filled with intimacy and warmth passed between them and a delightful blush spread on his wife’s face.

  Suddenly Meherunnisa packed up her painting and stood up. ‘It is too beautiful a day to sit at one spot. Let us walk around the waterfront.’

  ‘I feel like playing a game of chaupar with you.’

  ‘We will do that after we have taken a turn. I want to feel the cool breeze on my face. It reminds me of my days at Lahore when the evening breeze blew through the terraced gardens and we took endless walks discussing all sorts of things.’

  As they walked around the mango grove, the smell of the tiny fruits lay thick in the air, attracting a host of insects around them. In the distance a koel cooed with ecstasy, heralding the advent of a joyous spring. Hand-in-hand they walked, with Meherunnisa humming under her breath. This is bliss, thought Sher Afghan, turning to look at Laadli trying to climb a branch of a tree. Like a monkey she clambered up the overhanging branch one minute, only to slip down the next, unmindful of her scraped knees.

  They lunched under the thick foliage of the trees, seated on the ground with a sparkling white dastarkhan spread before them. Despite all the grumbling, Firdaus had managed to put together an excellent meal for the family. There were parathas stuffed with minced meat, a meat curry and a bowlful of greens with a variety of pickles and chutneys.

  Even Laadli, who normally fussed over her food, stuffed herself willingly.

  ‘There is something magical about a picnic. The most ordinary food tastes so good that one ends up overeating. I have eaten so much that all I want to do is the lie down under a tree and sleep for sometime,’ Meherunnisa stated, suppressing a yawn.

  On her bidding, Firdaus brought an embroidered coverlet and spread it on the ground. It wasn’t until the sun decided to call it a day that they began packing up.

  ‘We must do this more often,’ Meherunnisa suggested, picking up her scattered papers.

  ‘Yes, if the weather and the emperor permit us,’ Sher Afghan agreed as he helped her pack the paints.

  The setting sun sprayed the sky orange as birds made their way to their nests. The women got into their palanquins and the men rode alongside, cantering lazily. Darkness had fallen by the time they neared the house. Servants walked ahead with lit lamps to light up the path. They were a short distance away from the house when Sayeed, the stable boy, ran up to them. Panting with exertion, he cried–‘Go back, go back Master! Don’t go to the house. The governor and his soldiers are there. I have heard them whispering ominous things. Please go to the village and get some help!’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Sayeed, why shouldn’t I go to my own house?’ Sher Afghan said brusquely. ‘Move out of my way. The governor will not hurt us. We have not given him any cause for displeasure.’

  He spurred his horse and rode on despite the servant’s passionate appeals. Desperate, Sayeed ran towards Meherunnisa’s palanquin.

  ‘Please stop the master, I beg you. The governor’s men are in a foul mood.’

  Meherunnisa’s heart was hammering fearfully. She cried out to Firdaus, ‘Something untoward is likely to happen. My left eye is twitching. It is not a good omen. Someone please stop the master.’ But Sher Afghan was too far ahead by now.

  He rode into the courtyard of his mansion where the governor, Qutub-ud-din, and his deputy, Pir Khan Kashmiri, along with half a dozen soldiers lay in wait. Like ghosts, they emerged from the shadows of the trees and surrounded the lone man. This is no courtesy visit, Sher Afghan thought looking around, but it was too late to retreat.

  He dismounted and walked up to Qutub-ud-din. The circle of soldiers closed in. Sher Afghan drew his sword from his cummerbund and flashed it warningly. The governor laughed at his gesture and lunged with his sword in hand. Swearing at their duplicity, Sher Afghan lunged at the governor and ran his sword through Qutub-ud-din’s belly, wiping off the mocking smile.

  Within a split second, Pir Khan Kashmiri struck Sher Afghan on the head with a sword, but Sher Afghan returned it so fiercely that his assailant fell dead immediately. The other soldiers now pressed forward menacingly. The Persian fought valiantly, knocking down a couple of them, but he was heavily outnumbered.

  Sher Afghan’s servants were stunned at the suddenness of events. They watched aghast as the governor’s soldiers stabbed their master repeatedly till he fell. Sher Afghan was dead before he hit the ground. Viciously, they continued to attack him to avenge their master’s death.

  The palanquin and the rear party arrived at that moment and the governor’s soldiers fled without suffering any resistance. Meherunnisa ran to her husband and fell on his mutilated corpse, weeping profusely. Lost in her grief she did not notice Laadli trembling in one corner of the courtyard, shock and horror written on her face. Firdaus and Meherunnisa wailed loudly, beating their chests till servants lifted up Sher Afghan’s mutilated body and took it to his chamber. The courtyard was a scene of blood and gore, with the bodies of the governor, Pir Khan and two other soldiers lying in pools of blood. Confused servants ran around, debating what to do. There was mayhem in the house.

  Not a tear escaped the four-year-old Laadli’s eyes as she stared fixedly at the spot where her father had fallen. Meherunnisa was still lamenting loudly, cradling the body of her husband when Sayeed came running in and urged her to leave the house.

  ‘The governor’s soldiers are likely to return in greater strength. They are seeking revenge for their master’s death and will take this opportunity to loot the house. I overheard one of them saying that it was not safe to leave you and the child alive. You must flee. I have arranged for your stay at the house of one of my relatives.’

  ‘Sayeed is right. We must escape before the soldiers return. Spare a thought for your daughter. The master would never have forgiven you for failing to protect his daughter,’ begged Firdaus. ‘There is no time to tarry. Hurry up.’ The practical woman busied herself in gathering valuables in a small bundle. They would need all the jewels they could lay their hands on.

  Meherunnisa was too numb to think lucidly. She nodded mutely and allowed Firdaus to take over. Walking in a daze, Meherunnisa left the house with meagre belongings, holding the hand of her stunned daughter.

  The three women left from the back door, silently walking into the night. The joyful day had turned into one of darkness and tragedy. Led by Sayeed, they rushed through the forests without halting for a moment.

  ‘I shouldn’t have allowed him to go into the house. I should have stopped him somehow,’ Meherunnisa reproached herself continuously when they had reached Sayeed’s relative’s house. ‘Perhaps the governor thought he had been offended–if only I had not forced him to accompany us for the outing, he would have been able to meet the governor. It is all my fault.’

  ‘It was Allah’s will. Why do you blame yourself? Do you think they wou
ld not have killed the master if he had gone to the court? Instead of killing him in Burdwan, they would have killed him at the governor’s house. Can you not see the emperor’s hand in the entire episode?’

  Meherunnisa remained silent. She did not want to believe Jahangir was capable of such an act.

  ‘Don’t torture yourself with guilt,’ Firdaus continued, ‘you have to think about the child.’ Firdaus was worried about Laadli. The little girl had not uttered a single word since the horrific scene in the courtyard. Meherunnisa turned to look at her daughter who was sitting in a corner, her vacant eyes staring into space. Gently she tried to get Laadli to talk, but the child seemed beyond her reach. Emotionally and physically exhausted, Meherunnisa held her daughter till she fell asleep.

  A week passed by quickly. News from Burdwan continued to reach them through Sayeed. The loyal servant did his best to take care of them.

  ‘I have heard that the Badshah Jahangir has sent your brother Asaf Khan to take you to Agra,’ Sayeed told Meherunnisa after some days.

  The very name of Jahangir sent waves of revulsion through her body. She had loved him, but now she could not think of him as anything but a murderer. Horrifying images of the brutalised body of her husband assailed her every time she tried to sleep. They kept her awake, forcing her to relive that horrible night; if she managed to fall asleep, driven by fatigue, she woke up with terrible nightmares.

  Even in her mourning, she worried about the future. Sher Afghan’s jagir and assets had passed on to the empire after his death. According to a law of escheat enacted by Emperor Akbar, all jagirs and properties of a mansabdar reverted to the crown on his death. It was up to the emperor to bestow any kindness or property to the kith and kin of the mansabdar. Meherunnisa did not expect any such benevolence from the emperor, since he had ordered her husband’s death. She had nothing except the clothes on her back and the few jewels she had escaped with. The news that Asaf would be arriving to take her home brought some comfort to Meherunnisa. She longed to be with her parents, to surround herself with the comfort of their love.