Nurjahan's Daughter

by Tanushree Podder

  Unaware of what was brewing in her mother’s mind, Laadli decided to keep the rendezvous she and her lover had planned later that day. The two girls, Benazir and Laadli, crept out of the palace and made their way towards the garden where Imraan was waiting at the usual corner seat by the fountain.

  The artist was lost in contemplation when he heard a few voices behind him. Turning, he spotted a few familiar faces. The young men were staggering drunkenly.

  ‘Mian Imraan, what are you doing here, all alone?’ one of them said. Altaf was always high on opium.

  ‘He is thinking of his next painting, I presume,’ said Amjad, who resented the young artist’s meteoric rise. A failed artist, he was perpetually searching for someone to pay for his wine.

  The third man, less drunk than his friends, tried to drag the other two away. ‘Come on, we have a rendezvous with Zeenat Bano, the nautch girl,’ he reminded them.

  As the inebriated men were walking away, they ran into the two girls. Not realising what lay in wait for them, Benazir and Laadli were hurrying towards Imraan.

  Amjad lurched towards them. ‘So this is the reason for our great artist’s presence in the garden. What a lovely reason for waiting.’

  ‘Hold your tongue, Amjad,’ threatened Imraan. With his hands he gestured to the women to turn back to the palace, but he was too late.

  Altaf caught hold of Laadli’s arm and pulled her towards him, while Amjad had caught hold of Benazir and was dragging her towards the bench. As Imraan rushed towards them, the third man struck him on the nose. Spotting the blood spurting from his nostrils, Laadli screamed and began struggling against her captor–‘Imraan!’ she cried.

  ‘Well, well! The heart cries for the lover! Lift your veil and let me see your beautiful face,’ Altaf slurred.

  As she thrashed about to escape his embrace, her veil dropped.

  ‘You fool, do you think you will go unpunished for this dastardly act of yours?’ her eyes blazed. With her free hand she slapped him on his surprised face. The man tightened his hand around her in a fearful grip that hurt. ‘You slapped me,’ he shouted. ‘I will show you what it means to slap Altaf.’ His voice was cruel.

  ‘Let them go,’ shouted Imraan, trying to grapple with the men. ‘You do not know who they are.’

  He pleaded with the drunken fellows to release the girls but they jeered at him. ‘Yes, yes, tell us who they are. Are they from the royal harem?’

  ‘Of course they belong to the harem. Look at the jewellery and the fair faces,’ chuckled Altaf.

  Attracted by the shouts, a crowd soon collected and began taking sides. The girls, realising their opportunity, quickly made their escape in the resulting melee. Harassed and scared they ran back to the palace but trouble awaited them when they reached the gates of the harem. An overzealous guard decided to establish their identity before letting them in. Despite Benazir’s pleas that they worked for the empress, the guard was not satisfied. He was a new recruit and wanted to prove his sincerity to the bosses.

  As the girls were cajoling the guard to let them in, Hoshiyar, the chief eunuch of the harem, strolled by. ‘What goes on there?’ he shouted, walking towards them.

  ‘Sir, these women wanted to enter the harem and when I asked them to prove their identity, they told me that they work for the empress. They say that they were out on an errand.’

  ‘Is that so? I know all the women who reside within the walls of the harem. I can tell you whether they belong here or not.’

  Laadli knew all was lost. Hoshiyar smirked sadistically when he lifted their veils. ‘Well, well, it is none other than the empress’ daughter. But what might the princess be doing in those coarse garments. Was it a rendezvous outside the palace walls?’

  ‘It is none of your business,’ snapped Laadli, moving past the gaping guard. Even as the girls made their way to their apartments, they knew that Hoshiyar would report the matter to Nur Jahan.

  ‘With all her spies around, she was bound to find out about Imraan one day. I will just have to seek my mother’s forgiveness,’ Laadli said.

  ‘I doubt if the empress will be merciful in this matter.’

  Benazir was right. The empress was incensed. She had suspected that something was going on behind her back, and now she was convinced that Laadli was meeting someone secretly. She decided to find out. Her network of spies was efficient and it was just a matter of a few hours before Nur Jahan learnt that Laadli had regularly been meeting her tutor, Imraan. She called Hoshiyar and issued explicit instructions to the eunuch.

  That night, Benazir rushed into Laadli’s apartment. ‘Nissar has brought news that the empress has got wind of your affair.’

  ‘Hoshiyar must have reported yesterday night’s incident to her,’ said the princess. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve decided to meet my mother and tell her everything.’

  ‘It is too late, Laadli! I think Imraan’s life is in danger. The empress has decided to punish the artist,’ Benazir cried.

  Laadli was full of trepidation–‘What should I do? If she has decided to end the affair, she will do so at any cost!’

  ‘Send Nissar with a message. Instruct him to leave Agra immediately.’

  ‘I will die without him, Benazir!’

  ‘Would you rather lead that unfortunate fellow to his grave? Don’t you understand the peril he is facing by staying in this city? Control yourself, Laadli. Let him go away for the time being. We will find a way out later. The empress must not find him.’

  That night Laadli had a horrifying nightmare. In her dream, she saw the emperor seated on his throne and Imraan standing in chains before the court. He was being tried for the temerity of falling in love with the empress’ daughter. The nobles and soldiers were jeering at him. Then, Laadli saw herself, her veil askew, clothes dishevelled and tears streaking her cheeks. ‘Jahanpanah, I beg you to spare Imraan’s life. Take my life instead,’ she begged. The courtiers sniggered at her as she clung to the emperor’s feet. Her mother glared at her from behind the jaali. The harem women laughed at her but she wouldn’t let go of Jahangir’s feet. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed loudly, ‘Your Majesty, I beg you to let him go.’ The guards dragged her away, even as Imraan struggled futilely against his shackles. Then she dreamt that a mammoth elephant stood with its enormous foot poised to stamp out the life of her lover. Imraan was entrenched in a hole, only his head visible above the ground. As the foot came down on her lover’s head, she screamed.

  Her scream brought Firdaus running to her. Laadli was soaked in perspiration and her heart was hammering wildly. Tears were flowing down her cheeks. As a child, nightmares of her father’s murder would wake her up, and now it was the nightmare of Imraan’s death that had terrified her. Would she be haunted by nightmares of death forever?

  Laadli passed the rest of the night pacing her chamber agitatedly, as she waited for the first light of dawn to light up the east. At last, her mind was made up. She quickly penned a note for her lover and despatched Nissar to Imraan’s house.

  ‘Nissar, you must hurry. Run to Imraan’s house and warn him of the danger. Ask him to leave immediately for Marwar. Ratnavali is married to the prince there. I’ll write her a note to grant asylum to Imraan for some time. Carry this note to him immediately. His life is in grave danger.’

  Without a word, the eunuch hurried off with the message. Laadli’s note never reached the artist. It was intercepted by Hoshiyar Khan. The cunning eunuch, anticipating Laadli’s move, had waited near the harem gate. As soon as Nissar emerged from the gate, he was seized along with the missive by the guards.

  Within moments, Laadli’s letter was with the empress, who ordered that the eunuch be thrown into the dungeon. With despair, Laadli learnt of Nissar’s fate. All her attempts to contact Imraan failed; he seemed to have disappeared into thin air. No one knew where he had gone. She could only hope that he had been able to escape before the royal guards had reached him. Nur Jahan noticed her daughter’s wan face but refrained from discussi
ng the matter with her. She determined to have her married to Shahryar at the earliest.

  A few days later, Laadli entered the empress’ chambers. ‘I want to speak to you, Ammijaan.’ She had used the term Ammijaan to address the empress after a long time. The chasm between the two women had grown increasingly wide. ‘Why did you have to do this?’

  ‘Do what, Laadli?’ the empress feigned innocence.

  ‘You have punished Imraan and sent Nissar to the dungeon. Neither of them has done you any harm to deserve such a terrible end. You should have punished me for the misdemeanour.’

  ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’

  ‘You know very well what I am talking about. Imraan has disappeared, no one knows his whereabouts.’

  ‘How am I to blame for that? May be he got tired of romancing you, or may be he did not have the guts to face the repercussions. Anything is possible.’

  ‘You know that is not true. He would never desert me. As for guts, he has much more of it than many so-called brave men. In my entire life, I have met just two valiant men–my father, Sher Afghan, and Imraan. Unfortunately, both of them were victims of your machinations.’

  ‘Hold your tongue, Laadli! You are crossing your limit. I had nothing to do with Imraan. As for Nissar, this is what he deserves for having encouraged you to indulge in indecent escapades. He is paid by the emperor to restrain you, not to assist you in your dalliances. You may go now.’

  Laadli fumed at her mother’s words and stomped out in a rush. She almost collided with Shahryar who was strolling towards the empress’ chamber. He was the last person she wanted to meet at the moment, she despised the effeminate prince.

  ‘Well, well, why are you rushing Laadli?’ he drawled.

  She ignored him and kept walking towards her apartment, her vision blurred by tears.

  21

  Laadli flung herself down on the bed. The sharp shards of her dreams seemed to litter the floor of her apartments. She lay in her bed wondering if her lover was alive. The cool breeze coming from the river fanned her hot, feverish body. As if in trance, she watched a huge spider waiting patiently in the silken web it had spun in a corner to ensnare its prey. She watched as a tiny insect walked into the web. It struggled to free itself from the silken skein unsuccessfully, while the wily spider watched calmly from a corner. Suddenly, the spider pounced on the unsuspecting creature. Within minutes, the insect was dead.

  Laadli woke up with a fever that the hakim’s prescriptions seemed unable to cure. By the third day, even Nur Jahan was perturbed at the strange illness. ‘What is wrong with the girl?’ she asked the royal physician. ‘Why doesn’t the fever go?’

  The old man shook his head. ‘I don’t think it is a physical problem. It is in her mind.’

  Guilty, Nur Jahan shouted angrily: ‘What is the use of your knowledge if you can’t heal the princess?’

  The physician shrank back in fear. Nur Jahan’s temper was legendary. ‘I will prepare a special potion for the princess tonight,’ he whispered, bowing himself out of her presence.

  A week passed, but the fever persisted. The shadows under Laadli’s eyes deepened even further, as the pallor on her face became more pronounced. Laadli refused to speak a word to her mother. The worried empress expressed her anxiety to Jahangir.

  ‘I don’t know how to deal with her sickness. It is all because of that artist. I wish we had never set eyes on that man.’

  ‘Begum, I am to blame for all the problems. If I had not suggested that he tutor her to play the sitar, things would not have gotten out of control.’

  ‘No, no, Jahanpanah, don’t blame yourself. It is destiny.’ Nur Jahan was contrite.

  The days passed and Laadli’s fever receded of its own accord. She realised the futility of her position. There was nothing she could do either to trace Imraan or be with him. With Benazir and Firdaus by her side, she slowly began to recover. Sitting in the garden one evening, she held Benazir’s hand and said, ‘It does not matter if he is no longer with me. I had some time with him, and for that I will always be grateful. No one can snatch his memory from me nor wipe his image from my heart.’

  Laadli’s run of misfortune had not ended however: news reached her that Mirza Ghias Baig, who had been ailing ever since his wife died, was on his deathbed. Laadli’s heart skipped a beat at the information. First her beloved grandmother had passed away, then she had lost Imraan, and now the only other person she loved in the world was also leaving her.

  ‘Why am I so unfortunate? Everyone I love is deserting me,’ Laadli lamented to her friend. Without waiting for her mother’s permission, she summoned a palanquin and rushed to see her grandfather.

  The old man lay helplessly in his bed; his breath coming in shallow rasping bursts. His once imposing body seemed to have shrunk in size. ‘Abba,’ she cried, tears pricking her eyes. Sitting on the floor by his bed Laadli stroked the old man’s feet lovingly.

  The tired eyes flickered in response and the Mirza tried to speak. With his hands, he weakly gestured at the girl as if in benediction and closed his eyes.

  Half an hour later, Nur Jahan arrived with the emperor. They rushed to the old man’s side. Laadli moved away towards a window and stared out at the gigantic mango tree in the courtyard. Her mind was numb with grief.

  As if in acknowledgment of his daughter’s presence, Mirza opened his eyes and a rueful smile lit them up for a moment. He clasped her hands in his shrivelled ones and tried to say something. The lips moved but no words emerged from them. The exhausted soul finally soared and left the body with a shudder. Loud wails filled the room and Laadli knew her grandfather was no more. She felt abandoned and desolate.

  Jahangir was grief-stricken. The wise old man had been his advisor for many long years. There were very few dependable ministers in his court, and Mirza Ghias Baig had been one of them. He had been unbiased in his counsel and sincere in his efforts. With the death of her father, Nur Jahan lost her friend, philosopher and mentor. For many years she had depended on her father for guidance.

  A few months after her father’s demise, she approached the emperor for permission to construct a mausoleum in Agra for her parents. Realising that the work would serve to divert her, the emperor quickly granted her all the monies required for the grand monument she intended to build.

  ‘It will be all marble and silver, standing tall near the banks of the Yamuna, a memorial that will take people’s breath away with its grandeur,’ she declared one evening.

  Jahangir had a great respect for his wife’s architectural abilities. The beautiful monuments she had designed spoke of her talent. There was one last thing that needed to be done before she put her energies into constructing the mausoleum.

  ‘Jahanpanah, you have given me everything I have asked for, but my mind is besieged with worries about Laadli’s future. I will know no peace till the girl is settled.’

  ‘You are right, begum, it is time Laadli got married. After her unfortunate romance with that artist, it is necessary that she gets married.’

  ‘Shahenshah, I want to remind you of the promise you made during our wedding. You had promised that Laadli would be married to one of the princes and that he would ascend the throne.’

  ‘Who do you have in mind? Prince Khurram has already declined to marry Laadli. We can’t force him to do so.’

  ‘I was thinking of Shahryar.’

  ‘Shahryar? Have you taken leave of your senses, Nur? He is inept and stupid. Laadli is an intelligent and sensitive girl. I do not think it is right for us to tie her down with that fool. Have you heard the rumours about his preference for boys?’

  ‘I have heard them but I think it wiser to discount the rumours. They could just be the products of malicious minds. I have no doubt that Laadli will be able to change his habits. Besides, I will personally take it upon myself to reform his wayward nature.’

  The emperor could sense the rising anger in her. Lately, he had been feeling fatigued and the very thought of
arguing with her tired him. All he wanted was to rest in the gardens of Kashmir, writing his memoirs.

  ‘As you wish, begum. It was just a thought I expressed. If you feel that he is right for your daughter, I have no objection to the marriage. Now stop fretting and sit by my side. Will you read aloud the latest set of verses composed by Sa’adi for me, in your dulcet voice? It calms my disturbed nerves.’

  Now that she had got her way, Nur Jahan happily indulged his whims and read out the verses aloud in tune. Jahangir loved nothing better than listening to her sing verses of famous composers. He sipped his wine and closed his eyes. This was far better than indulging in futile arguments, where the empress would have the final say in any case. In all the years of their married life, the emperor had never revoked her decisions. They were final and brooked no opposition. His consent was incidental.

  Laadli was not surprised when her mother announced her marriage with Shahryar. She had sensed it coming. Like the emperor, she submitted to her mother’s desire rather than get into a fruitless argument with her. Grief-stricken, she did not have the spirit to fight Nur Jahan. The hermit’s prophecy haunted her. But Laadli decided to make at least one attempt at dissuading her mother.

  The empress was seated in the pavilion enjoying the evening breeze that wafted in from the river across the fort. The musicians were playing a soft evening raag and the servants were lighting up the candles in embellished candelabras.

  ‘I want to speak to you,’ Laadli performed a hasty kornish as she approached the empress.

  ‘If it is about the marriage, there is no use. My mind is made up. And I do not want to hear anything about Shahryar, either.’

  ‘I don’t want to marry, not now, not ever. Emperor Akbar had proclaimed a law against the marriage of Mughal princesses. According to his diktat princesses were destined to maidenhood. I want to exercise that right to remain unwedded.’

  Nur Jahan’s laughter sounded harsh in the serene surroundings. ‘You are not a princess. You forget that your father was a common soldier and you are a princess by name, not by birth. The edict of Shahenshah Akbar was meant for Mughal princesses, not for pretenders. I am an empress because I married an emperor, but you are a princess because the emperor was generous enough to grant you the title.’