by Farzana Moon
Nur Jahan was all perfumed and bejeweled. Her red silks broidered with silver rosettes appeared to cling to her tiny waist and ample bosom with a caressive softness. She was wearing the empire-style gown of her own design. It was open at the breast, artfully held together in ribbons of lace and satin. This entire gown was splashed with diamonds, each rosette boasting its own precious jewel in the middle. Noticing the emperor lost in reveries, she had paused in the middle of the room, folding her hands behind her back. She was holding a pair of ruby earrings on the palm of her right hand. Her fingers were closing around them as she floated closer. Standing behind the emperor's chair, she covered his eyes with her left hand.
"Who am I, Your Majesty? If you could guess, you would be rewarded with a set of ruby earrings." Nur Jahan sang merrily.
"How could I go wrong, my light of the world? Your very breath wafts the scent of roses." Jahangir laughed.
"Just because I am wearing the scent of roses!" Nur Jahan laughed. "This itr—the scent of roses, which mamma invented. And what did she get in return?" She held out the rubies on the palm of her hand.
"My genius of a mother-in-law! I bestowed upon her a string of pearls. She was so grateful that she rewarded the emperor with the burden of her own gratitude? By naming her invention after me, itr-i-Jahangiri, is that what she said?" Jahangir claimed the earrings dreamily. "And the emperor in return of her gratitude, my love, bestowed upon her daughter the title of Nur Jahan. My Nur." His voice was low and tender. "You deserve this title absolutely. Though, it came late, only after the death of Salima Sultan styled as Padishah Begum. Now the whole world bows before you! You are Padishah Begum and Nur Jahan, light of the world, my own Nur."
"Nur Jahan known only to you, Your Majesty. And Padishah Begum to the ladies of the harem alone." Nur Jahan was removing pearl earrings off the emperor's ears.
"Ah, the emperor has neglected to proclaim this title to the world, is that so? It shall be done. You are the empress, love, you have to remind the emperor. He is extremely forgetful." Jahangir claimed her hand, kissing each finger blissfully. "And why must the emperor wear rubies instead of the pearls?" He asked capriciously.
"For two most significant reasons, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan stood admiring the rubies in his ears, which she had just replaced with the pearl ones. "First, the smooth, little pearls do not complement the uncut ruby in your turban. Secondly, since all the courtiers copy the emperor and are wearing pearl earrings, the emperor needs to steer them toward variety."
"And next time, you would be designing the empire-style robe for the emperor?" Jahangir laughed.
"If you could be persuaded to wear it, Your Majesty? It might start a new vogue in the court. But then I would have to invent an entirely new style of gowns to suit the ladies of the harem." Nur Jahan quipped brightly.
"Come, sweet, your wit alone is the occasion to celebrate. The emperor is thirsting for wine." Jahangir's sudden urge for wine was like one of his capricious moods. "Pour some for the emperor. Where did you hide the gold flagon?"
"Beyond your reach, and your imagination, Your Majesty!" Nur Jahan declared sweetly. "Besides, you have already exhausted your allowance of two cups in the morning, Your Majesty. And if you wish to drink one now, you won’t get any in the afternoon." Her eyes were flashing mirth and rebuke.
"From your lips divine then. Much sweeter than wine." Jahangir stumbled to his feet. He snatched her to him, crushing her lips with kisses wild and feverish.
All of a sudden, his thirst for love and wine was like fire inside him. It was rising to his lips, singeing them with parched hungers of the soul wild and turbulent. His thoughts too were hungering for violence, courting some hurricane of hatred which he had never seen before inside the storm-clouds of his mind. He could feel the serpent of agony and torment inside him, revealing its own volcano of odium. The reek of desire oozing forth from its lips, to disfigure this beauty, to maim and destroy his love? Such savagery in pain! Such devastating rage and misery! He could feel it all, the pain and the paralysis. Wrenching himself free from his violence, he swayed back. Stricken afresh by the witchcraft of her beauty, he stood there in awe, humbled, dazzled. Gazing at her. Absorbing the flash of diamonds in her eyes and on her royal person. His own mind was flashing the portrait of Anarkali, the author of hatred and violence. The lake-blue eyes of Anarkali were shining through the blue pools of Nur Jahan's.
"You need to lie down and catch your breath, my Nur, while the emperor tries to curb his passion for more wine." Jahangir began to pace in some stupor of pain and giddiness. "If the emperor wishes, he will have a reservoir of wine in this very room. And your beautiful eyes have to drain it every night, so that the emperor may drink from them even in his sleep."
"Remember, Your Majesty, the fever and the headaches? If I had not taken wine away from you, you would have suffered more than want and craving." Nur Jahan could barely murmur, sinking into a chair beside the desk. "The health of the empire depends upon the health of the emperor, everyone knows that! If you don't trust me, ask your politicians and physicians, Your Majesty?"
"Trust, my love, is an inadequate word in comparison with the physician who saved my life, you. And that's you and you alone. You are my saint and healer both!" Jahangir recalled under some spell of delirium. "Absolute surrender to your advice and judgment, that's how the emperor feels. Yes, surrender is the right word, branded on the lips of my heart and soul with the pen of love and gratitude. Imagine, you, the empress, treating me to all the healthy meals cooked by your own hands! And diverting my attention from wine with tales delicious and enchanting!"
"And to soothe the rashes, rubbing your face with sweet unguents, Your Majesty! Just to raise your gall and fever, I suppose?" Nur Jahan resorted to wit.
Her lips were still smarting against the sting of hatred which she could not help but feel against the pools of frenzy and violence in the emperor's kisses. This hatred, which she too had not ever noticed before during this brief period of love and conflict in marriage. True, his bouts in lovemaking, at times, could rise to the heights of brutal hungers, but not ever before had she felt this weight of hatred with all its fever of madness and violence. This strange discovery was numbing her senses and chilling her thoughts. She could feel the ache of loneliness inside the very silence of her soul and psyche. Though lonely herself, she could feel the pain and loneliness of the emperor. He was mired deep in sorrow, reliving the dead past, inside the very grave of Anarkali? Nur Jahan's thoughts were following the emperor in the ritual of his pacing.
"Had the burden of royal duties not compelled me to appear before my subjects, morning, noon and evening, I would have peeled those rashes off my face with my own hands. Permitting no physicians to tend me, but you, my sweet." Jahangir was saying.
Nur Jahan had fallen prey to her own reveries, but this confession of the emperor was reaching her awareness. In fact, it was having a startling affect upon her mute sufferings. She was stirring in her chair, the night-blue in her eyes stark and profound.
"That illness has passed, and so has the emperor's gall." Jahangir continued. "And now the emperor wishes to share this piece of good news with you. To burden you more with duties than love, my Nur." He was still pacing. "Our empire is mounting the rungs of peace, justice and prosperity. "Ahad, the Afghan is defeated on the very borders of Jalalabad. Rana Amar Singh of Mewar, he has submitted before our fortunate Prince Khurram without a fight. God of Mercy has destroyed Bahadur, the chief of Gujrat. Though, he died peacefully in his bed, taking along with him the leaven of turbulence and insubordination. The Portuguese are defeated by the hands of the English on the very port of Surat. Most of their vessels are burnt. The Portuguese, what tenacious spirits rule them? In their flight, they had the audacity to send a message to Muqqarab Khan to sue for peace and intervention. Claiming, that they had come to the port with peaceful intentions, and that the English were the first ones to start the fight—" His feet were coming to a slow halt before his desk where
Nur Jahan sat absorbed in admiring the bust of St. John's head cut in gold and amber. "You have not even caught one word out of the bulletin of my news, my Nur?" He murmured rather dolefully.
"Each word is engraved inside the tablets of my heart, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan turned her head slowly. "Your Majesty, the English are gaining too much power, I fear. They are assuming utmost authority over the ports and the cities, as if the whole empire belongs to them." Some alien fears and doubts were surfacing in her eyes.
"And what more do you fear, the light of my soul?" Jahangir asked quickly. Lowering himself into his gilt chair, and puzzled by the clouds of fear in her eyes.
"Your reputation, Your Majesty. Most of all, your whims and caprice." Nur Jahan responded serenely.
"The reputation of the emperors is tarnished if they are cruel, unjust or bigoted? Or malefic, or avaricious." Jahangir began ponderously. "Do you think, my Nur, that any of those formidable vices are a part of the emperor's character?"
"None, Your Majesty." Was Nur Jahan's evasive response. "Yet cruelty and kindness, and all the conflicting vices and virtues reside in all of us."
"Honesty is dear to my heart, my precious Nur. Do you find the emperor cruel?" Jahangir's eyes appeared to search the very essence of beauty concealed within her.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan murmured reluctantly.
"What inspires you to accuse the emperor of cruelty?" Jahangir goaded softly.
"The demolition of that temple near Ajmer." Nur Jahan averted her gaze.
"Oh, that hideous monument! That emblem of ugliness and deformity." One snort of a laughter escaped Jahangir's lips. "A sore sight to my aesthetic senses! Are you talking about the same temple dedicated to Vishnu? Displaying an idol cut out of a black stone with a pig's head and the body of a man? My senses revolt at the mere thought of it. Had I not seen it, I would not have ordered it destroyed."
"Beauty and ugliness are relative terms, Your Majesty. If you destroy everything which offends your sight, you would attract a horde of enemies." Nur Jahan's eyes were now flashing. "What appears ugly to one may be a paragon of beauty to the other. Since one cannot preserve beauty from turning into ugliness, one has no right to turn ugliness into a heap of ruins. Besides, idols and temples are as sacred to the Hindus, as mosques and gardens are to the Muslims."
"I have no theological abhorrence of idolatry in Hinduism, my Nur, but a visual repulsion of specific forms which thwart my personal sense of beauty." Jahangir thought aloud, a flood of interest shining in his eyes.
"Who would believe you, Your Majesty? Not your courtiers, who heard you declaring aloud, worthless religion of the Hindus! And that too, when Hindus were not far behind in the assembly." Nur Jahan's eyes were gathering rills of mirth and raillery.
"And that too, my sweet, was the result of my indignation at the site of ugliness. No hint of cruelty in my acts or expressions? Your accusations are proving wrong and worthless." Jahangir smiled, his own eyes gathering mischief.
"Whim and caprice then." Nur Jahan muttered sweetly. "No one can tell that you don't have a grain of bigotry in you when you say such things, Your Majesty. That's what I mean, when I say I fear your whims and caprice."
"Everyone should know, each and every blathering fool of them. Yes, my lone inquisitor, everyone should know." Jahangir began vehemently "I respect and revere the gods of the Hindus. Especially, their goddesses! Of course, not Kali, the goddess of creation and destruction, but Sita, the Helen of Hind. Shri, Durga and Parvati too. And most certainly Lakshami, the goddess of beauty and wealth. The emperor adores and worships them all. Does the emperor not celebrate all the Hindu festivals with as much pomp as all the Muslim festivals?" His gaze was contemplating the masterpiece of Virgin Mary over the mantel. "And the emperor idolizes Virgin Mary."
"And Khadija?" Nur Jahan queried softly.
"Yes, Khadija, the beloved wife of Prophet Muhammed. You are much like Khadija, my love, though I am no prophet. You have made the emperor forget all his other wives." Jahangir teased. "Do they live in this palace? Are they alive?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. They are intriguingly alive and deliciously happy." Nur Jahan laughed. "You should have their portraits drawn by the court painters. All those portraits could grace these walls, and you would never miss them. This bedroom looks depressing with the paintings of turbaned men and hunting scenes. Time and age demand the depiction of harem scenes, and harem ladies. Such art and beauty in a woman's form, and the Moghul painters don't capture it on the canvas. All the reflections of beautiful imagery missing in your palaces, Your Majesty, and your aesthetic senses do not revolt against such negligence?"
"Because the emperor prefers the living, breathing art in beauty and youth, my sweet rebel." Jahangir laughed. "You yourself dabble in painting, my Nur, don't you? Arrest your youth and beauty in a self-portrait, and leave the turbaned emperor to his own depressing fate."
"Now don't accuse the empress of such indelicacy, Your Majesty. I don't find turbaned men depressing, as long as they are the living, breathing emblems of grace and courtesy." Nur Jahan joined him in his mirth.
"Only the emperor can withstand accusations and inquisitions, and he alone, not you! Have you exhausted your source of accusations yet? Entirely, I mean?" Was Jahangir's wistful provocation.
"Not quite, Your Majesty! Not entirely, either. Since your whims carry you to the oceans of rage and forgetfulness, someone has to row your boat to the shore of awareness." Nur Jahan sang poetically. "Isn't it wrong to destroy the hermitage of a yogi whose entire life is devoted to the service of God? White domed abode of the yogi, it was not hideous, but serene and comely? And yet, you ordered its destruction! Homes are sacred too, Your Majesty, and their sanctity must be preserved under all circumstances."
"That holy imposter, oh, my righteous love!" Jahangir declared with a mingling of mirth and vehemence. "How can you defend such a mad reptile who earns his living by evil means? Pretending to devote his life to God alone, does he? Don't you know what practice of his incited my rage the most? A part of his act in worshipping God, as you say, was to stuff flour into his mouth and imitate the cry of an animal. He was the architect of lies and of the great ones too. Spreading rumors that the tank adjacent to his white domed building—the serene and comely one in your estimation, was bottomless. I had it measured before I ordered it demolished. It came to exactly twelve cubits deep and one and a half mile in circumference."
"Lies can be remedied with reprimands, Your Majesty, not with destruction." Nur Jahan murmured dreamily.
"Not, when they float higher than the mountains, love! Then they become a giant hurdle in the face of truth, immovable and immutable." Jahangir intoned unconvincingly. "So far, you have only recounted the emperor's cruelties, my love, and his whims and caprices too! Any kindnesses which you might like to conjure up?"
"Many, Your Majesty, and your love, if I may dwell on that for a moment." Nur Jahan began intensely. "Especially, since you have become a grandfather. No father in this whole world could love his daughter more as Prince Khurram does, but you love your granddaughter more, even Arjumand Banu confesses. Well, who can resist loving Princess Jahanara? A bloom of only one fleeting summer, and charming as a rosebud! I digress, but kindness' like the charities begin at home, or they should, I would say. Your kindness to Prince Khusrau, for one, allowing him to visit you as often as he pleases."
"Ah, Khusrau, my unfortunate son!" Jahangir stifled a sigh of regret. "If he was just plain maudlin, I could be moved to sympathy, trying my best to make those visits pleasant and endurable? But he is so aloof, so doleful, that he leaves me in the gloomiest of moods after each visit."
"I have tried to dispel his gloom, Your Majesty. God knows, I still try." Nur Jahan began intensely. "I even offered him the hand of my sweet Ladli in marriage, but he will have none of her. He says he is in love with his wife, and has no wish to acquire more." She commented without bitterness.
"Princess Ladli. She is beautiful!" Jahangir r
eminisced aloud. "And my son, he is much like me in that respect. Utterly and absolutely in love with his wife!" He paused. Mischief alighting in his eyes with a quicksilver haste. "How would you feel, Nur, if the emperor took another bride, still professing to be madly in love with you?"
"My charm and beauty would dissolve any new bride of yours to oblivion, Your Majesty, like the rest of them." Nur Jahan chanted mirthfully.
"The emperor dares not disagree, my Nur. For your beauty and witchcraft might turn him into a toad." Jahangir laughed. "I have this great urge to go to Nur Chashma right now, the only fountain named after you, my Nur. And then go hunting. Just the two of us. No guards, no courtiers! No pomp, no ceremony?"
"Right on the dot when it is time to receive the embassies, Your Majesty?" Nur Jahan teased. "Especially today, when another English ambassador is to present himself before you. He had been ill before he reached Ajmer. My only hope is that he can prove himself to be less proud than the rest of them whom we have received so far. And less bigoted, and less avaricious! All the scum of London are gathering here. Disdaining the Hindu gods, and uttering blasphemies when the name of Islam is mentioned. Shrewd merchants though, and that is a compliment, not the measure of their greed!"
"Wearing a noose of ignorance around their necks, they are still not as besotted as they seem, my Nur." Jahangir began happily. "Besides, freedom of speech is dear to the emperor. Secular, or religious, as far as there is tolerance for all religions in his empire."
"Your kindness and generosity, Your Majesty, which I neglected to mention. You pardon and condone all the offences of the priests, padres and the pundits. Your rod of justice, and your sense of tolerance for all religions." Nur Jahan breathed under the spell of her own generous spirit. "Justice and tolerance! Two of the most highly prized virtues in this age and time." She added intensely.
