The Moghul Hedonist

by Farzana Moon

  The emperor was about to shoot another command, but the sudden appearance of Jodh Bai was checking his thoughts. She was haloed by the light of naurattan—a tiara of nine jewels, her brocades rustling. Her agate eyes were attaining the color of wine, as if spilling joy from the very font of celebration on this day of her son's wedding.

  "Your Majesty, on this auspicious day of our son's wedding, you should be dancing and scattering gold, not wasting these precious moments in idle gossip" Jodh Bai sailed closer.

  "You have scattered enough gold already from your lovely eyes, my white rose! Or, should the emperor say, Bilqis Makani, since this title becomes you, the lady of pureabode?" Jahangir could not help laughing. "And as for the dance, my love, the emperor is engaged for the first dance." He snatched Sahiba Jamali's hand and whirled her away.

  The gleam and ripple in silks and jewels, were merging with the tides of bhangra music amidst its frenzied beats. The snapping of the fingers and the clapping of the hands were shooting forth waves of colors from jeweled rings and armlets. The partners were taking turns, clapping and whirling. The emperor's red turban with a large ruby in the middle could be seen undulating in waves upon waves of colors as he danced and changed partners. His tall figure with graceful movements was floating like a painted shadow, following his partners with the quicksilver ease of an adept dancer. The bhangra tunes were ebbing to a culmination. The men were standing and clapping, while the ladies were pirouetting on their toes, circling around their partners. This scene was changing, now the ladies were clapping, and the men wooing ladies with the athletic zest of the acrobats. The drums were sounding a crescendo, and the feet of the dancers were shot in the air before landing on the floor with the fury of a thunder. The arms of the men were looping around the waists of the ladies, while they stood there with their backs arched and heads thrown back in a gesture of swooning.

  The emperor's hands were locked behind his back, as he danced his way out of the bhangra circle. Sahiba Jamali behind him, panting and breathless. More of the emperor's wives were crowding around him, demanding the pleasure of dancing with him. But he was evading them all, blowing kisses at them, and escaping their protests and demands. He was drifting farther and farther away from the realm of music and dancing.

  Finding his wine-bearer at his elbow, Jahangir snatched a goblet from him, and quaffed it thirstily. He was about to demand more, when he caught sight of his mother approaching him imperiously. She was followed by Nur Mahal who was entertaining her with wit and humor, it was obvious, for Mariam-uz-Zamani had begun to smile.

  "Ah, Mariam-uz-Zamani! No wonder, your title means, the mother of theuniverse." Jahangir exclaimed happily. "You have brought back my jewel, my own Nur Mahal. I had lost her into the clouds of merriment." He claimed her hands into his own, and kissed her on the cheek. "All the fortunes smile on you, this auspicious day, dear Mamma. The wedding of your grandson, and the empire of Hind at your feet." He stole a glance at Nur Mahal before returning his gaze to his mother.

  "While my other best loved grandson sits forlorn inside the royal prison of his own palace, Your Majesty." Mariam-uz-Zamani sighed to herself.

  "Prince Khusrau would be permitted to visit me as often as he wishes, dear Mamma. Soon, very soon." Jahangir assured, noticing the approach of Salima Sultan.

  Salima Sultan was another surviving wife of the late emperor, the father of Jahangir, the Great Akbar. She was styled Padishah Begum after Akbar's death, and still retained that title and status. Salima Sultan flashed a kind smile at Nur Mahal, and bestowed upon the emperor the sweetest of smiles reserved for him alone. Then she turned to Mariam-uz-Zamani.

  "That endless parade of wedding ceremonies, Mariam-uz-Zamani, everyone is missing you and wondering?" Salima Sultan began softly. "They are right in wondering that you must be indulging in the pleasure of talking with you son, and neglecting to be with your grandson who needs your blessings?" A shadow of pain crossed her features all of a sudden, accentuating her pallor.

  "It is no pleasure talking with the emperor when he carries the weight of Farmans in his very eyes." Mariam-uz-Zamani responded with a dint of regret.

  "Mamma!" Jahangir exclaimed, shifting his attention to Salima Sultan. "Don’t heed Mamma, she has nothing but criticism for the emperor. But how pale you look? Even the fire of jewels is not lending any color to your cheeks? I must command Hakim Sadra to tend to your health." He demurred aloud.

  "It is nothing, Your Majesty. Just plain fatigue. After the wedding, I will have blooms on my cheeks." Salima Sultan murmured soothingly. She slipped her arm around Mariam-uz-Zamani’s waist, and led her away quietly.

  "Where did you fly off, my Nur? Leaving the emperor alone and desolate." Jahangir chanted merrily, as soon as the royal ladies had left.

  "Dancing is not exactly a lonesome indulgence, Your Majesty." Laughter bubbled in Nur Mahal's eyes, as she added. "Quite far from being desolate.”

  "So, you have been spying, my wicked Beauty." Jahangir laughed.

  "Who could miss the tall, handsome emperor, wearing my heart as a tear-drop ruby in his red turban, Your Majesty?" Nur Mahal joined him in his mirth.

  "A centuries of wait, and continents apart you have stayed away from me, my love, and now you jest." Jahangir intoned hoarsely.

  "We should not let more centuries slip past, Your Majesty, lest the royal couple miss your blessings." Nur Mahal shifted her attention to the garlanded stage.

  She stood watching the bride, her lovely niece, whom she adored with all her heart and soul, though her heart right this moment was praying for the sprigs of joy and peace inside the heart of the emperor. Her marble profile appeared cold as ice, and the jewels radiating fire around her face could not dissolve the chill and pallor in her features. Even the flames of ardor and intensity in Jahangir's eyes were lending no warmth to her cheeks, his gaze following hers, feverish and unseeing.

  To the left of the garlanded stage, a group of young dancers were pirouetting on their feet. These lithe dancers with bare waists and layers upon layers of chiffon draped over their hips, were lending the whole scene a semblance of some dream where mists could be seen merging with colors, ethereal and shifting. The guests were standing there entranced, their eyes following each little movement of the dancers, perfumed and bejeweled. A bevy of singers in the background with gleaming studs in their noses were absorbed in such artistry of song and music that no musician could vie with their talents. They were playing thirteen pairs of talas at once and in unison. All fair musicians of this fairest sex had two cymbals on each wrist, two on each shoulder, one on each breast, and two on the fingers of each hand.

  Nur Mahal's thoughts were swept into the tempest of this music as she stood there rapt, oblivious, even to the presence of the emperor beside him. Jahangir too was stricken with awe and admiration, his aesthetic senses not only arresting the tunes, but the loveliness of art with all its perfection. For some strange reason, his sight and senses were rejecting this artistic vision of beauty and harmony, all of a sudden. He was lonesome, his gaze restless and wandering; finally, settling on the bride and the bridegroom. The bride's eyes were closing, as if contemplating bliss, if not the joys of her wedding night. Prince Khurram was admiring the jewels presented to him by Itmadudaula Khan. The belly dancers before him were trying to attract his attention, but nothing could entice him away from the sparkling gems in his possession. Not even the beauty of his young bride! Jahangir was thinking.

  "My son, another Jain Monk!" Jahangir exclaimed abruptly. "Look, Nur, how he admires the jewels? Assessing their worth, while the jewel-like dancers tempt not his ascetic heart. Not even the lily-white purity of his bride, the emperor thinks?"

  "Ascetic, Your Majesty, I disagree." Nur Mahal murmured softly. "He has the most passionate of hearts ever found throbbing inside the bosom of any young man. He has great reverence for form and color in jewels, I admit, and is admiring their beauty, not their worth." Her look was dreamy as she turned to face the emperor.
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  "The same as the emperor's heart! My own heart throbbing in his bosom, then? And a part of it which is left in me, not quite young, but passionate just the same." Jahangir smiled. "Come, love, the emperor must look into the passionate heart of his son, before he dares discover his own." He offered her his arm.

  The emperor and Nur Mahal had reached the garlanded stage with only a few interruptions on the way. At their intended approach, the sea of guests was parting to carve a path for the royal couple. Prince Khurram had abandoned his jewels, and was now enamored by his jewel of a bride. The nuptial ceremonies were coming close to a blessed conclusion, for the court maulvi had closed his Holy Book, and was reciting no more Suras from the Quran. Two servants in crimson robes, carrying gold bowls, were offering rosewater to the bride and the bridegroom. After the ceremonial washing of their hands in rosewater the royal couple signed their marriage contract and was showered with applause with a mingling of blessings and felicitations.

  The showers of rose-petals from the balconies above were bathing all in color and perfume, especially, the bride and the bridegroom. The wedding songs were bursting forth afresh with tunes sweet and nostalgic. An ocean of dancing girls with silver trays balanced on their arms, were floating toward the royal couple with gifts and felicitations. First and foremost, the wedding gifts of the emperor were presented to the newly-weds by the very hands of the dancers. They were quick to empty their silver trays laden with rings, armlets, necklaces, all gleaming in gold settings, all flawless and exquisite.

  The newly-weds were dismounting the garlanded stage, the emperor scattering gold and silver coins at their feet. Prince Khurram was in raptures, his arm slipped around the waist of his bride most possessively. He was pressing her close to him, as if holding on to a dream, his eyes feverish and glowing. The look on his young face was almost of agony and rapture, as if he was afraid that this happy dream would fade if he relinquished his hold on his bride.

  "Soon, you would be whirled into the frenzy of wedding dances, Khurram Baba, and they would drain your energy and passion, if you do not replenish them with wine!" Jahangir's eyes were lit up with a buoyant smile. "A cup of wine on your wedding day, and you would be soaring to the very gates of the heavens."

  "I am in heaven, Your Majesty." Prince Khurram declared passionately. "Besides, Your Majesty, I consider wine my enemy." Was his giddy comment.

  Jahangir began to laugh uncontrollably. His eyes sparkling with a poetic gleam. One quatrain by Avicenna was uncurling its lips in his thoughts, and he began to recite as if it was his own mad inspiration.

  "Wine is a raging enemy, a prudent friend

  A little is an antidote, but much a snake's poison

  In much there is no little injury

  In a little there is much profit."

  Jahangir turned to Nur Mahal. "What do you say in defense of our wedded prince, my lovely empress?" He asked laughingly.

  "That our prince is most prudent." Nur Mahal laughed.

  The festive dances were sprouting and expanding in tides upon tides of music and gaiety. Prince Khurram was drifting into the rhythms of music and dancing irresistibly, but relinquishing not his hold on his lovely bride. The other princes requesting a dance with his bride were turned away by the sheer violence of fever and denial in his eyes, and they were pleading no more. Only the emperor had the privilege of claiming one dance with his daughter-in-law. He had indulged in a few more dances with his other wives and with Nur Mahal, but now he was getting wearied of all dances and festive celebrations. Caught unawares, Jahangir was whirled into the bhangra circle once again by the witchcraft of Nur Mahal, though she herself was whirling away with other partners. The wedding feast was being announced amidst the thunder of clapping and dancing, but Jahangir's thoughts were bent on escaping this dancing and feasting. He was moving in flow with the dancers, his eyes following Nur Mahal. The ladies were clapping now, and the men circling around them with their fingers snapping and their backs swinging. Waiting for such an opportunity, Jahangir floated toward Nur Mahal, his feet tapping and his arms swinging, and he snatched her away from this bhangra madness.

  "The emperor needs fresh air, love." Jahangir pulled her along, his expression urgent and desperate. "The feasting would last till midnight, if not till dawn! And yet, the emperor needs to feast on your beauty alone." He murmured.

  "The Begums would send an arrest warrant for the emperor, if they didn't see him in the feasting hall." Nur Mahal murmured back.

  Endowed with the nobility of her heart and with a clear perception, Nur Mahal had sensed the emperor's sadness, even before he had glided toward her to snatch her away from the tempest of music and dance. Nur Mahal allowed herself the luxury of being snatched away from this arena of music and dancing, though thinking sadly that sadness had made a permanent abode inside the heart of the emperor. But once, they had stepped out on to the verandah of this red sandstone palace, both were quiet in their own separate worlds. Nur Mahal was feeling a nameless sting inside the very fabric of her silence, the ache of sadness inside her reaching the very cores of her soul. Rarely would she feel sad, and that too in brief interludes. Her sadness', though numbered few, were of cosmic revelations, when her heart would yearn to fathom the mystery of injustices done to one in one's short life. And right now, without any rhyme or reason, she was aware of many injustices done to mankind by mankind. Her thoughts were holding on to one spike of an injustice done to her? The emperor professed to love her, but he was in love with the apparition of Anarkali, Nur Mahal was thinking. She could peer into the soul of the emperor with much more ease than into her own, she could hear her thoughts.

  Jahangir's thoughts were in rapport with Nur Mahal's. They too were professing clarity of vision in knowing the heart of his beloved. Both unaware that they were claiming the gift of clairvoyance, though they could not divine the needs of their own souls, much less enter the psyche of each other. The royal gardens were welcoming his sight, and his mood was one of quiet and reverie. Nurturing not sadness, but solitude! They were both lonely. Utterly and absolutely lonely, and that was the only truth they knew about each other. That alone, and nothing more! The emperor loved Nur Mahal the only way he knew he was capable of loving her. There was only one altar in his soul, where both Nur Mahal and Anarkali reigned supreme. The latter was the goddess of his loss and the former, the goddess of his love. Both the dearest and profoundest of his loves, and both irreplaceable and unforgettable.

  The red sandstone palace looming above the gardens appeared to follow the royal couple as they promenaded toward the terraces in utmost silence. The eaves, the domes and the cupolas were spangled with colorful streamers. Even the Moghul standards with couchant lion shadowing a part of the body of the Sun, were unfurled on stately pillars as a part of the embellishments to honor Prince Khurram's wedding. The marble fountains were gurgling in the distance. The emperor and Nur Mahal were living their own dreams inside the quiet hush of their hearts and thoughts. The heavy perfume of the Indian roses was drugging their senses, and they could not help but savor it passionately.

  The gardens were quiet and dreamy. Even the gardeners had retired to their humble abodes, awaiting the promise of a magnificent feast from the royal kitchens. Only the finches and the hoopoes had stayed, celebrating their freedom, and caring not for the sumptuous feasts. They could be seen frolicking in the wind, or gliding down to rest into the arms of the poplars.

  The emperor was choosing not to follow the manicured paths, but straying farther from the palace and the gardens. One familiar moat with its gold fish protected by a fringe of reeds had attracted his attention, and he was lured toward it as if drifting in a dream. Claiming Nur Mahal's hand absently, he was climbing the quaint, little bridge splashed with wild ivy and bridal creeper. The moat was small, and it was left behind as if vanishing in a flash without their ever crossing it. The grass was tall here, and further down were the mighty oaks and jacaranda trees, tracing a path toward the palace gates. The gatew
ay itself was strewn with garlands from the very bower of roses.

  Jahangir's gaze was fixed to the front gateway where his feet had come to a sudden halt, involuntarily. Nur Mahal was standing beside him quiet and contemplative. Her gaze too was arrested to the gateway where two majestic elephants carved in stone, bearing the life-size statues of the Rajput heroes, Patta and Jai Mall, were staring back at her. Jahangir's gaze was kindling to awareness. He turned suddenly, breaking Nur Mahal's contemplative silence with a declaration of his own.

  "Who are these men, my Nur, do you know? The dust of their bodies is cemented in these stones till eternity, for us to behold and admire?" Jahangir reminisced aloud.

  "The Rajput heroes, Your Majesty." Nur Mahal intoned softly, her look sad and profound. "Your father, didn't he kill them at the battle of Chitor?"

  "They were the mighty foes of the mighty Moghuls, my love." Jahangir began whimsically. "Yes, my father killed them, but he admired their valor and might. And after his victory at Chitor, he ordered these statues to be built in honor of their courage in battles. Carved in the book of history, these Rajputs would outlive the Moghuls, my love." He claimed her hand, making her walk beside him. "What sadness' weigh heavy in our hearts and on our shoulders, love?" He thought aloud.

  "Your sadness becomes mine, Your Majesty." Nur Mahal opined softly.

  "Leave the emperor's sadness to its own mute misery, love! It is a sickness no physician on this earth can ever heal, not even your love and beauty, the pearl of myharem." Jahangir elicited one sliver of mirth.

  "Afflicted with love as I am, Your Majesty, I can be a great physician to cure all ailments with love." Nur Mahal commented unconvincingly.

  "Your most obedient patient, my love." Jahangir laughed. Cantering ahead of her with the caprice of an adventurer.

  Nur Mahal had ceased to think, only drifting along in conformity with the emperor's moods, shifting from one of caprice to that of quietude . They were standing at the other side of the moat once again. Nur Mahal straggling a little apart and the emperor standing in one spot, rapt and oblivious. He was watching the mating of a pair of cranes. The naturalist inside him was filled with awe as if the treasures of the seven worlds were laid at his feet by the magic wand of nature's own munificence.