Nurjahan's Daughter

by Tanushree Podder

  At that moment, Laadli hated her mother more than she had thought possible. She was a ruthless woman and nothing touched her insensitive heart.

  ‘Take my advice, Laadli. Try to accept whatever Allah has destined for you. Stop lamenting about the lover and prepare for the wedding. You shall be an empress one day and empresses don’t cry. Shahryar may be a fool but he is also a prince and one day he could ascend the throne. A small sacrifice has to be made for the comforts of the throne.’

  ‘I do not want to be an empress. I want to be happy. Do you hear that? I want to be happy. I want to escape from the disgusting environment of the harem. I want to live a life of freedom. Please set me free,’ she begged, clutching her mother’s feet.

  ‘Freedom to marry a man off the streets?’ Nur Jahan’s brows arched with disdain as she took a drag from her hookah. ‘That can never be allowed. You have to marry a prince.’

  Laadli stared at her mother with pity. ‘Why am I grovelling before you?’ she said. ‘You can give me nothing. Your very ambitions make you powerless.’

  The bejewelled woman sitting before her was the most powerful woman in the country, but no one knew better than her that Nur Jahan was just an insecure woman who lived in constant fear of losing everything. Nur Jahan dreaded the thought of her besotted husband dying, leaving her bereft of imperial powers. She knew that Jahangir’s days were numbered–he was a sick man. His overindulgence with alcohol and opium was slowly disintegrating his innards and leading him to death. Laadli knew that she was her mother’s only insurance.

  Drawing herself to full height, she stood up tall before her mother. ‘I will agree to marry the prince if you set Imraan free from the dungeons or wherever you have sent him. I will trade my life for his.’

  ‘You are living under an illusion, Laadli. I do not know your lover’s whereabouts.’

  The truth finally dawned on the young woman. Imraan was no longer alive. Nur Jahan could not agree to the trade off because he was already dead. With a sinking heart, she walked slowly out of the room.

  Shahryar was elated with the match. Although no love was lost between Laadli and him, his dreams of power suddenly seemed within reach. Being on the empress’ side would bring handsome rewards. Already the emperor, prodded by Nur Jahan, had bestowed several important jagirs on him. These brought him substantial wealth and had far-reaching consequences in the struggle for power between him and Khurram. He hated his elder brother’s guts and nursed secret ambitions of ascending the throne. All his life, the delicate and feminine prince had been taunted and belittled not only by his father but within the harem also. He would never forgive Khurram for the vile name he had given him. The moniker Nashudani had been Khurram’s gift to Shahryar.

  Right from his childhood, the dull-headed prince had avoided the company of men. He hated the combat training and studies that he was forced to take up. The merest hint of violence could send his heart aflutter. There was nothing that attracted him more than spending time in the dance halls and the bars. Addicted to opium, he spent most of his time with dubious companions who took advantage of his position. Sunk in wine and debauchery, Shahryar spent time away from the court and shunned the harem because of the mocking women. He feared the wrath of his father and hated the derisive remarks of his brother, Khurram. No one gave him any importance nor asked him for his opinion.

  But now, with the support of the empress herself, he could step up the royal ladder. Much as he disliked Laadli for her supercilious airs, he had no objection to marrying her, if that was what it would take to get the throne.

  The occasion of the betrothal of Shahryar, the fourth son of the Emperor of Hindustan, with the daughter of Nur Jahan by Ali Quli Beg, took place at Lahore and was marked by great rejoicings through the city. The emperor gave gifts and valuables valued at a lakh of rupees as a betrothal present. The bride’s uncle, Asaf Khan, the new Itmad-ud-daula, threw a grand feast for the royal guests in his new palace at Lahore.

  On the day of the wedding, Laadli was woken up in the early hours of the morning by giggling attendants and led for the ritualistic bath. Laadli sleepwalked to the hamamgah where Benazir was waiting with a specially prepared unguent of turmeric, sandalwood powder, fresh cream and hundreds of other herbs, all designed to make her skin glow. The attendants smeared her body with the concoction amidst much jesting about the size of her breasts and the proud upward slant of her nipples.

  Warm, scented water was poured over her body to wash away the remnants of the sandalwood paste. Her hair was washed and shampooed with herbal potions and then dried over aromatic fumes. It was braided with a profusion of rose buds and pearl pins were stuck at regular intervals. An old woman applied henna on her feet and palms, tracing delicate patterns over them.

  Laadli sat with the drying henna on her limbs, lost in thought about her future. Imraan still haunted her mind. She didn’t love Shahryar, and she was sure that he did not love her. A maid brought her lemonade fortified with a dash of opium, intended to alleviate her nervousness. All around her, the harem women sang songs of love and ardour, the lyrics loaded with erotic connotations. The rhythm and the music grew faster and Laadli’s mind began reverberating with the music and opium. Her body had grown numb and a languorous feeling overtook her as she was dressed in bridal finery.

  Nur Jahan had taken pains to design the wedding costume of her only daughter. It was a vision in the softest of muslins, a transparent peach qaba with sequinned embroidery, which highlighted her peaches and cream complexion to perfection. The flaming orange veil set with emeralds and pearls, and the orange churidar were ideal bridal wear. The empress had presented her personal hair ornaments to the bride. A heavy gold tiara was pinned on her head to hold the veil in place. The edges of the veil ended in tiny pearls and her ears were covered with gold and rubies. Layers of pearl strings reached up to her chest and her diamond nose-pin dazzled in the light. Her arms were covered with dozens of gold bangles studded with rubies and emeralds. The armlets were intricately designed ropes woven out of gold with strings of pearls and rubies dangling from them.

  Her eyes were rimmed with kohl, the lips were made redder with a special unguent made from ripe pomegranate, the pale cheeks were rubbed with the extracts of rose petals to give them colour, and a splash of gold dust was sprayed on her eyelids. Her clothes smelled of exotic essence and her entire body was glowing with the effort of the women. She looked beautiful. Benazir stared at her friend and whispered–‘You look angelic. I hope you are happy.’

  ‘I was not destined for happiness, Benazir,’ the princess replied, a sardonic twist on her lips.

  As Ratnavali and Benazir led Laadli to the flower-festooned canopy under which the marriage was to take place, Nur Jahan hugged her daughter. ‘I am doing what I think is best for you. I hope you are happy,’ she said emotionally, choking over the words.

  Laadli threw a disdainful look at her mother and walked haughtily to the beautifully decorated podium. She was not going to assuage her mother’s guilt. Viciously, she delighted in punishing the empress with her silence. The emperor was seated near Shahryar, across the hall, in a flower-decorated enclosure. The prince was clad in crimson brocade with zari work and a golden cummerbund. Always a rakish dresser, Shahryar had outdone his costume this time. Jewellery covered every inch of his body. Jahangir was feeling morose and unwell. From time to time he drifted into a stupor. Nur Jahan, radiant and happy, was too preoccupied to notice his condition.

  Once the marriage was solemnised, the assembled nobles began their congratulatory rounds. Gifts flooded the couple: eager to please the empress, most of the nobles and emirs had gone overboard. Nur Jahan, in return, gave away precious pearls and gold mohurs to the guests. Jahangir declared that the important jagir of Dholpur would be given to the young prince. He gifted Laadli with a jagir in Gujarat and several caskets of pearls and diamonds. This was the last wedding that he was likely to attend for many years.

  A grand feast followed the wedding. Special c
hefs of the royal kitchen had worked around the clock to create the mouth-watering fare. The chef for the preparation of the array of meat dishes came from Kashmir, a Shirazi cook was in charge of the succulent kebabs, for the spicy pickles a cook had been brought in from Amber, and so was the cook who made the papads. For the fish delicacies, a cook came in from the Konkan coast and a Persian chef was responsible for the delectable pulao. For the delicious variety of halwas, a Choubey chef was brought from Mathura, while a chef from Bengal prepared the sweetmeats. After the feast, a platter of paan was passed to the guests. Tied in silk thread, the betel leaves were packed with fragrant zarda, ambergris and dates. For weeks, Lahore would talk of nothing but the marriage feast of the emperor’s youngest son.

  As the feasting continued, the women led Laadli to an inner chamber in the harem to prepare her for the bridal chamber. They undressed her and began massaging her with perfumed oils. Dozens of expert hands moved in tandem all over her body, tantalising and teasing, their touch sensuous and intimate. Hundreds of sparks burst in her nerves, firing them with passion. Her opium-ridden mind tingled her senses with delightful warmth. A slow flush rose in her cheeks as she felt herself aflame with desire. Benazir looked slyly at her as a woman gently parted her legs and rubbed the insides of her thighs sensuously. A moan escaped her lips and she closed her eyes in ecstasy. They teased and excited her, laughed at her reactions, as her groin grew moist with molten desire. Her entire body ached for the touch of a man.

  Laughing and teasing, they led her to the bedchamber. Seated on the flower-bedecked bed, she awaited her husband. The overpowering scent of the flowers made her senses swoon and she felt light-headed. It all seemed like a dream. Only Benazir remained by her side till, at last, Shahryar lurched drunkenly into the chamber. He approached his wife with a silly smile that vanished the moment Laadli directed her blazing eyes at him. Desire drained out of her body within moments at the sight of the drunken prince, and her nerves turned taut with loathing. She resisted his clammy hands, which wandered all over her body like serpents. She pushed him away and stood up. Shahryar looking surprised but relieved, sank into the cushions in a drunken stupor. Moments later he was snoring while Laadli stood forlornly staring at the garden beyond, the image of Imraan flooding her mind. Tears of frustration ran down her painted cheeks, leaving ugly lines in their wake.

  Next morning, the women inspected the virgin white sheets on the nuptial bed and shook their heads knowingly. The marriage had not been consummated. Rumours about Nashudani’s impotence began rearing their head and the harem women gossiped about Laadli’s misfortune. The gossip soon reached Nur Jahan. Determined to make a man out of the foolish fellow, the empress began thinking of ways and means of making Laadli seduce him. Nur Jahan knew that she would never be able to stop the tongues wagging until Laadli produced a child. Throughout the empire, people were talking about how she had ruined her daughter’s life.

  She wrung her hands tiredly, so many matters were awaiting her nod. Ever since Jahangir’s health had deteriorated, he had stopped taking even the minutest interest in state affairs. Nur Jahan had no one to guide and advice her. She wished her father were alive. He was the only one who could have helped. There was also the unfinished construction of the mausoleum she was building for her parents. So many responsibilities, sighed the empress, but the most important one was to put Laadli’s life in order.

  Shahryar had suffered rejection for many years, which had driven him to find solace in the company of nautch girls. They did not condemn nor judge him the way his royal relations did. In their company, Shahryar found comfort and camaraderie. Laadli’s haughty and aloof personality doused his passion. Her frosty looks condemned him to impotence. The moment she directed her glacial grey eyes at her husband, he shrank in his clothes. Frustrated, he would seek the company of his friends and drink with them till he lost consciousness. After a few months, Shahryar stopped going to his wife’s chamber. It suited Laadli. She hated the cowardly man she had married; his very touch repelled and nauseated her. No matter how much the empress compelled her, Laadli could not bring herself to seduce her husband. She knew that her mother was distraught at the turn of events. Truth be told, even she had not expected things to turn out so disastrously.

  It was during one of her visits to the mausoleum site that the empress thought of a solution to Laadli’s problem. She would seek the help of Hira Bai, Shahryar’s favourite courtesan, to solve the matter, Nur Jahan decided. The marriage had to be consummated. It was already several months since Shahryar had married Laadli and the tongues had not ceased wagging. In fact, the rumours had gained momentum with each passing day as the prince openly flaunted his relationships with courtesans and young boys. He did it more to spite Laadli than for any other reason. It was his way of seeking revenge.

  As soon as she returned to the palace, Nur Jahan summoned Hira Bai to her chamber and explained the plan to her. In return for her services, the courtesan was offered a vast amount of gold and gifts. According to the plan, Hira Bai would seduce the opium-dulled prince in her chamber and then Laadli would replace the courtesan in the darkness. At first Laadli baulked at the idea proposed by her mother. It was beneath her dignity to seek consummation of her marriage by deceitful methods. She acquiesced only when the empress explained that the pretence was necessary if she wanted to bear a child. Laadli desperately wanted a child of her own, to nurture and love. She agreed to her mother’s plot with great reluctance.

  Shahryar, impassioned by the vulgar gyrations of the courtesan and her crude seduction, tottered to the bed, hali conscious and flung himself on the woman who lay in the dark, barely realising that it was his wife he was making love to. Laadli bore the violent and brutal coupling with disgust, suppressing her screams as he mauled her body ruthlessly.

  For several days the switch of bodies continued till, at last, Laadli could endure it no more. Her body was covered with bruises and her soul felt lacerated with the deception.

  It was a humid morning and the court was in session. Jahangir was listening to the presentation of a bribery case against one of the nobles. Laadli watched the proceedings from behind the screen, seated near her mother. She felt bored and listless. At first, she discarded the sudden wave of nausea as the outcome of foul weather, but she couldn’t ignore the dizziness for long. She swooned and fell in a heap on the floor. The empress immediately had her daughter carried to the harem and the royal physician was summoned. He confirmed what Nur Jahan had already suspected. Laadli was pregnant.

  Relieved and exultant, the empress whispered the news into the emperor’s ears. There was rejoicing and celebration in the harem. The overactive tongues that had been spreading rumours fell silent at the news. Laadli was ecstatic.

  ‘Congratulations, Shehzada,’ the eunuch sniggered as he carried the news to Shahryar.

  The prince was livid when he heard the news. Laadli has been unfaithful, he thought to himself. But how could she have had a lover? She has been under the constant vigil of the eunuchs ever since the Imraan affair. He knew he had not slept with her, then how had she gotten pregnant?

  The thought that he had been cuckolded haunted his mind till the empress sent for him. ‘I had to resort to trickery, Shehzada, since you were not willing to consummate your marriage with Laadli and the rumours were getting more colourful with each passing day,’ she rebuked gently. ‘When your manliness is challenged it is best to set rumours at rest, isn’t it? It would be prudent not to discuss the matter any more,’ she warned, offering him a bowl of kheer.

  ‘But Hira Bai will talk. They like to brag about such things,’ he mumbled sheepishly.

  ‘She will be taken care of. You don’t have to worry about her,’ assured the empress.

  With his suspicions laid to rest, Shahryar strutted proudly around the court accepting the congratulations of the nobles. His manhood had been redeemed. That evening, while playing chaupar, the empress told Jahangir about how she had brought about the consummation of Laad
li’s marriage. The emperor guffawed loudly when he heard the story.

  ‘Begum, you always come up with the most brilliant ideas. It is amazing how your pretty head thinks up such devious plans. I could never have thought of such a solution,’ he complimented. ‘Do you have any solutions for us? We have been married for so many years, fruitlessly.’

  ‘Your Majesty, we should look forward to our grandchild’s birth. I am too old to bear children.’ There was a sorrowful look in her eyes. There would have been no problems of inheritance if she had borne the emperor’s child.

  ‘You will never be old,’ the emperor remarked loyally. Nur Jahan looked as beautiful as the day they had first met. The slight rounding of her figure and the maturity in her lovely eyes suited her better. If anything, she looked lovelier than he remembered. Pride lit up his eyes as he stared at her admiringly.

  ‘Check and mate,’ declared Nur Jahan triumphantly, demolishing the potent piece on the ornate chessboard. The emperor always lost, but he didn’t mind losing to his brilliant wife; she was par excellence where strategy was concerned.

  22

  As the baby grew in her womb, Laadli found herself surrounded by advisors. Suggestions poured in from all sides. She had taken to drinking milk by the gallon although she detested the stuff. Her arms were covered with half a dozen amulets procured from soothsayers.

  ‘You are going crazy with anxiety. Everything will be all right, don’t worry so much. And stop following each and every tip given by those stupid harem women,’ Benazir said, massaging Laadli’s swollen feet. Benazir herself had recently gotten married and lived in Agra.