Benazir moved closer and peered over Laadli’s shoulders as she unwrapped the portrait.
‘Yah Allah, it is an exact copy of you,’ she exclaimed.
‘Do I really look so beautiful?’ Laadli whispered. The artist had captured the startled look in her grey eyes and given them a mysterious depth. The rosebud mouth seemed to quiver with some secret passion. She seemed like a hunted gazelle poised for flight. There was naivete and purity in the eyes.
‘You must have seen her face!’ Benazir exclaimed. ‘It is not possible to create such likeness without having seen someone. But where and how did you catch a glimpse of the princess?’
‘I have a confession to make: I have seen the princess.’
‘How? When?’ There was incredulity in the girls’ voices.
‘It is not possible to make a portrait without seeing someone, so I made arrangements to catch sight of the shehzadi.’
Imraan went on to relate how he had placed the mirror near the paintings and observed her, surreptitiously.
‘You would have been executed if any of the eunuchs had seen you looking at the princess.’
‘That was a risk I was prepared to take for the sake of a glimpse of her beautiful face.’
He risked his life to see me, she thought, trembling with excitement. It was just as she had dreamt. He was the lover she had craved for, seated at Roopmati’s pavilion at Mandu. After a moment’s hesitation, she threw back her veil and gazed into Imraan’s eyes.
‘You can look at me without any fear now,’ she announced bravely.
They looked into each other’s eyes, drinking deeply. The artist could not help falling in love with the nubile girl. She was so eager and so undemanding. The saint’s words of caution were thrown to the winds as he gazed into those fathomless and yielding grey eyes. Fired by passion, they were more beautiful than he remembered.
‘We must go now,’ Benazir’s voice seemed to come from a distance.
‘You haven’t kept your part of the wager, princess. Where is my portrait?’ Imraan asked huskily.
She withdrew a canvas from under her bodice and gave it to him.
‘Not bad,’ commented the artist.
The portrait bore a close likeness to the artist although it was far from perfect. ‘Some day, I will teach you to draw better,’ he murmured, kissing her hands.
Laadli withdrew her hands as though live charcoals had singed them. His lips were hot with passion. Without e backward glance, she ran out of the garden followed by Benazir, her heart thumping dangerously.
‘Oh Benazir, I had never imagined I could be so happy!’ Laadli said when they were within the safety of her chamber. The journey back to the palace had been uneventful: the inebriated guards had taken no notice of them.
‘You are treading on dangerous grounds, princess,’ she warned.
‘I cannot live my life wondering what could have been, Benazir,’ Laadli told her friend earnestly. ‘I am truly happy for the first time in so many years. How can I let it go?’
Days turned into weeks and weeks into months as the two lovers stole moments in the niches and corners of the garden. Laadli’s faithful eunuch, Nissar Khan, arranged the meetings. The eunuch had been the emperor’s personal valet till he entered into Laadli services after she rescued him from the emperor’s wrath. The incident had taken place a year ago when, one evening, the emperor was seated in the royal harem near his beloved Nur Jahan. Inebriated with wine, Jahangir ordered for a bowl of dry fruits. The eunuch ran to obey his bidding and in his haste tripped on the edge of a carpet. The emperor was beside himself with rage–his favourite crystal bowl had slipped out of Nissar’s fingers as he fell down. The incensed emperor swore at the eunuch and ordered that he be imprisoned. Jahangir was known to declare severe punishments like lashing and even death sentences to his attendants for such petty mistakes. The eunuch stood trembling with fear and there was silence as the entire assembly waited for the emperor’s pronouncement. No one dared intervene. Even Nur Jahan remained silent.
Laadli suddenly rushed to the emperor and fell at his feet to beg for clemency. ‘Jahanpanah, I beg you for forgiveness. Please pardon the hapless fellow,’ she cried. Her heart tore at the sight of the trembling eunuch. ‘You had asked me to name a reward on your birthday. I remind you of that promise, Sir. Grant me this eunuch as the reward and I shall remain ever grateful.’
The emperor was trembling with rage. His intoxicated brain, clouded with opium, could hardly comprehend much of her garble. Grunting with anger, he brushed her away. Laadli clung to the emperor’s feet without flinching as he tried to kick her away.
‘Stupid child, why do you want to waste away a precious reward for the sake of a eunuch? Have you gone crazy?’ he shouted.
Nur Jahan tried to intervene. ‘Laadli, what foolishness is this? Get up and go to your chamber immediately,’ she ordered.
But the princess was determined to have her way. ‘Don’t let your ideals of justice be tarnished, merciful emperor. I am asking for this eunuch’s life in exchange of a reward you granted me a few months ago. Surely, His Majesty has not forgotten his promise.’
The Mughals were proud of their reputation as people who kept their promises. Jahangir vacillated, unable to deny her the custody of Nissar Khan’s life. ‘All right, he is yours from this moment. Let his cursed face never appear before me, for then I shall not be responsible for his life.’
Everyone sighed with relief and the eunuch collapsed in a heap at Laadli’s feet. He was dragged away by the other attendants. From that day, Nissar became a constant shadow of the young princess. He proved to be a valuable attendant as he provided her with all the gossip and spied for her. It was the grateful eunuch who became the main channel of communication between Laadli and Imraan. Nissar ensured that they could meet clandestinely. He carried missives between the two lovers and warned them of any imminent dangers that may arrive in the form of spies or guards.
It was dangerous for the lovers to meet in the palace gardens so they met outside the fort, in the commoner’s gardens. Laadli and Benazir, clad in coarse cotton lehengas to pass off as Hindu maids who worked in the harem, travelled on foot to meet the artist. Sometimes, Ratnavali would go in a palanquin on the pretext of visiting some temple and Laadli would accompany her as a maid, her face hidden behind a veil. Although they met almost every day, the lovers were not content with the stolen hours. They craved for the togetherness of a lifetime.
‘Let us run away somewhere,’ Laadli proposed one day. ‘We will travel far away to Persia where no one will know our identity. There we will live like ordinary people, far away from the Mughal court and the empress.’
‘Do you think she will let us go? Your mother will hound and follow us till she finds us and then she will execute both of us. She will never allow us to escape. You know that better than me, Laadli.’
‘How long can we live in this manner–hiding and snatching moments together? The tension of being discovered is becoming unbearable. The emperor has decided to move to Kashmir for the summer. Does that mean that we will be separated for the season? I will die without you. You must convince him to allow you to accompany the royal retinue,’ insisted Laadli.
But even before Imraan could ask Jahangir’s permission to accompany the royal party to Kashmir, the emperor summoned him for an interview.
‘Imraan Baksh, we want you to accompany us to Kashmir and paint for us all the beauty and glory of that place so that we can surround ourselves with those beautiful paintings when we return to Agra.’
Laadli was overjoyed when she heard the news.
19
On his way to Kashmir, Jahangir received news that the Deccan was besieged with problems once again. Malik Ambar, the Abyssinian slave who had been subjugated by Shah Jahan, was creating trouble again. The emperor despatched Shah Jahan to take charge of the campaign.
Once more, the harried prince found himself travelling to Burhanpur with his family. Arjumand Bano was pregnant and
the journey was difficult, but no amount of coaxing by her husband could convince her to stay back in the palace.
Shah Jahan, frustrated at being made to travel constantly, seethed within. He knew that the crown should rightfully come to him, but the emperor was vacillating and bestowing too much power on Nur Jahan. Realising the uncertainty of his position at court, Shah Jahan decided to get rid of his rivals at opportune moments. As his first move, he insisted on having charge of his elder brother Khusrau, who still languished as a prisoner in the palace. Although the emperor did not trust Shah Jahan with the custody of Khusrau, he had to accede to the prince’s wish because he was the only one who could subdue Malik Ambar.
The two brothers left their father at Lahore for Ahmadnagar where Shah Jahan managed to chalk out a hasty reconciliation with Malik Ambar. The prince was keen on returning to the capital: the Mughal troops were a harassed lot as there was a scarcity of food and material in the camp.
The journey to Kashmir was doomed from the start. Jahangir’s intemperance had now begun to tell seriously on his health and his asthma was getting worse. The royal physicians appealed to him to reduce his dependence on wine and opium. The hazardous journey took several weeks, but the emperor was ecstatic as he sighted the lofty mountains in the distance.
‘At last, I sight peace and happiness for my tormented soul,’ he declared tiredly.
Once they arrived in the vale of Kashmir, Jahangir worked furiously on his journal. He penned descriptions of the meadows, the stately trees, the springs, cascades, and the brooks running down the valley and swelling into majestic rivers. He wrote of the clear rivulets springing from the mountains and escalating into picturesque lakes. At Kashmir, he indulged in his favourite hobby of planning the layouts of new gardens.
And then news of Khusrau’s death arrived from Burhanpur. The blind prince had died, the messenger said, of colic while in Shah Jahan’s custody. No one in the court believed that the death was natural. The body had been hastily interred on the orders of Shah Jahan, denying the emperor the last glimpse of his eldest son’s body. Jahangir was devastated. Although Khusrau had rebelled and caused him a lot of grief, Jahangir had always nursed a soft corner for him. He had hoped that the prince would eventually succeed him to the throne.
‘Nur, how could he have died so suddenly, he left us just the other day with his brother. I can’t believe that this could have happened,’ the emperor wailed.
Nur Jahan knew that the death had been manipulated to clear Shah Jahan’s way to the throne, but she held her tongue.
In the meanwhile, Laadli and Imraan continued to meet secretly in the maze of the innumerable gardens of Kashmir, exchanging vows of love and promises to spend their lives in each other’s arms. It was far easier to romance in secret in the lovely valley than it was in the plains. The strict vigil of the eunuchs and guards had relaxed, lulled by the serene beauty of the surroundings.
Their idyll came to an end when the camp received news that the empress’ mother was seriously ill. Nur Jahan was agitated and insisted that they travel back to Agra in time to see her mother.
‘We always assume that those whom we love will live forever,’ Laadli cried, leaning her head on her lover’s shoulder as they sat on a cold stone bench near a stream. Imraan was staring moodily at the water that gushed happily on its journey over the smooth rocks. The news that the royal entourage was to make its way back to the capital disturbed him. He was aware that meeting Laadli would be extremely difficult once they left Kashmir.
‘I have always been close to my grandmother. I have so many happy memories of the days spent in my grandparents’ house,’ she continued, her heart heavy with despair. ‘I can’t imagine her gone.’
‘We are just puppets in the hands of the Almighty, Laadli,’ Imraan tried to console her. ‘Who knows when he will call us back to be with him?’
‘I am thankful to Allah for bringing you in my life. I can bear anything as long as you are with me.’
20
Before the emperor’s camp could reach Agra, Asmat died in the arms of her husband. Ghias Baig was inconsolable; he had loved his wife deeply. The tragic blow seemed to sap him of his will to live: overnight he seemed to show his age, transforming from an upright, proud noble, into an old, bent man. Asmat had been the trunk that supported the sprawling family tree, with its many branches, binding them in a mesh of togetherness with her love. Under her benign shade, the tender branches had grown and flourished, unaffected by the storms of events that shook up the others around them.
The empress’ palanquin arrived at her father’s mansion on the fifth day after her mother’s demise. Laadli and Nur Jahan stepped out of it and stood helplessly at the threshold of the quiet house. Silence hung over the huge mansion like a heavy shroud. Tears clouded her eyes as Laadli recalled the joy she had experienced there. She could almost smell the rich flavours of her grandmother’s cuisine as she stepped into the house. The gentle and loving touch was still there, hanging around them like a protective cocoon.
Quietly she walked into the large, sunny room that had once been Asmat’s chamber. She had spent so many happy hours in that room listening to stories, feasting on the delicacies prepared by her grandmother. Laadli sat down on the floor and, closing her eyes, she attempted to recall each smell, taste, touch and emotion that she had experienced in the room. The cool floor embraced her in its fold, stoking memories of her grandmother’s comforting touch.
Her heart overflowing with grief, Nur Jahan crossed the open courtyard with its trees and fountains and walked into her father’s darkened study. She could see the old man framed against the light filtering in from the window, seated cross-legged near his desk, lost in his thoughts. His vulnerability touched her. Sitting close to him, she held his hand and pressed it gently. They remained sitting that way for many moments. At last she spoke–‘Come father, you are much too important a man to waste your life in the darkness of this room. You are much too strong and capable.’
But he shook his head and pleaded–‘Meher, the light has gone out of my life. Let me dwell in the darkness, steeped in my grief.’
There was no point arguing with him. Resolving to return another day to try and convince him, she went back to her palace. The empress returned six months later, this time to talk about a subject she had not discussed with anyone. Her father still rarely stepped out of his study. After the initial greetings and small talk, Nur Jahan broached the subject of Laadli’s marriage.
‘There is something I need to discuss with you. 1 need your advice in the matter. Abba, you know that the emperor’s health has been failing. If only I could get Laadli married, my responsibility would be over.’
Ghias Baig was absentminded as he responded, ‘And whom do you have in mind for your daughter this time?’ He felt much too tired to continue any discussion with his strong-willed daughter and wished she would leave.
‘I know that mother’s death has struck a devastating blow to you, but Abba, you can advise me on this subject without being caustic about it.’
‘You don’t need my advice any longer, you are the all-powerful empress. You can do whatever you want.’
‘Please don’t speak to me like that, Abba. You know I love you and respect your judgement. I am pleading with you to help me decide about Laadli’s marriage. She is as dear to you as she is to me, and I know that you will never give wrong counsel about her life.’
‘If you really want my advice, forget about getting her married to any of the princes. Khusrau is no more. Khurram is already married to Arjumand and he will not marry Laadli. Who else is there to consider?’
Nur Jahan hesitated. ‘I was thinking of Shahryar.’
The Itmad-ud-daulah could hardly believe his ears. Outrage roused him from his grief. ‘Have you gone crazy? Your greed for power has gone to your head! Are you seriously contemplating getting your daughter married to that good-for-nothing? Do you want to ruin her life? Meherunnisa, think for a while, that girl has suffered
enough. Let her be. Don’t involve her in your foolish plotting.’ He rose from his seat and began pacing agitatedly in the room, shaking his head with disbelief.
Nur Jahan parried his remarks with a counter offensive. ‘How can you accuse me of trying to ruin my daughter’s life? I want the best for her. I want her to be an empress.’
‘Don’t try to convince me that you are thinking of your daughter, you are only concerned about yourself. You don’t want to lose the reins of power after Jahangir’s death. You want to control the empire by proxy. Getting Laadli married is just one of your foolish attempts at clinging to power. Let me make it clear to you–after Jahangir’s death, no one can stop Shah Jahan from ascending the throne. With Khusrau out of the way, there is nothing you can do to deter him. He is able and ambitious. As for Shahryar, he is an imbecile with all the wrong habits. He will never become the emperor. All you will succeed in doing is ruin your daughter’s life.’
The empress was shocked by her father’s anger. She had not anticipated such a vehement objection to her idea. ‘Meherunnisa,’ her father said, now trying to cajole her, ‘I know that you are a very adamant girl, you have always been so, but I beg you to reconsider. If you have any concern for Laadli, please don’t pursue this plan of yours. We will find her someone with whom she can find happiness. I love her too much to be able to bear her unhappiness. Forget Shahryar. Have you not heard all the rumours about him?’
‘They do not affect me. Whether he visits nautch girls or sleeps with teenaged boys: all that can be brought to an end. Once Laadli is married to him, I will take the responsibility of changing Shahryar’s behaviour.’
‘You are silly if you think that you can change the ways of a delinquent when the emperor could not do so,’ Ghias Baig shook his head sadly. He knew now that his daughter’s mind was made up and nothing he said could alter it.
‘Poor Laadli,’ whispered the old man as he watched Nur Jahan walking away angrily.
Nurjahan's Daughter Page 23
