The Moghul Hedonist

by Farzana Moon

  The garden itself was efflorescent with happy blooms, where all the princes and guests had assembled to celebrate the emperor's birthday. The Persian and Bokhara carpets were unrolled in tides upon tides of color from palace gates to the imposing facade of the palace. The tablas were evoking the tunes most wild and the sitars trying to subdue their violence on the strings of peace, much like the changing of rhythms, of peace and violence inside the heart of the emperor. His thoughts were entering the harem of his palace to be with Nur Jahan. Paying homage to her beauty and kneeling in gratitude before Brenier. Brenier was the English physician, who had recently and miraculously cured Nur Jahan of her fevers and violent headaches.

  Am I going to lose my Beloved the second time? Is she not the one and the same beloved—Anarkali? One and the same! Tormented and tormenting. Jahangir's thoughts were gathering the rills of joy and sadness.

  Anarkali was offering the emperor her gift of love on his birthday. Her own death and tragedy? But the emperor didn't wish to be sad on his birthday, Jahangir could hear one agonized groan inside the blister of his thoughts. The silence of agony in his soul was pleading with Anarkali. Requesting a boon of freedom from his dead beloved. Freedom from pain, from memory, from love unforgettable! He was becoming oblivious to all. The rounds of weighing were banished from his sight and senses. Only the last round with the jars of melted butter and sacks of corn and grain, were transporting him back to the world of celebrations. Free at last from this ritual of a birthday celebration, Jahangir’s thoughts were heaving a sigh of relief. Free at last, and still shackled to Anarkali's love in memories, Jahangir was proceeding toward his throne.

  How can I carry this burden of loss and grief in my soul, and still live to love another? Jahangir's thoughts were jolted to awakening by this lament from within.

  The gold throne encrusted with jewels where Jahangir sat sipping his wine, was his sanctuary outside the prison of pain and memory. He was fascinated by the scintillating glow of lace-patterns from the poplars where they danced and trembled like the turbulent waves. His aesthetic senses were courting bliss, and alighting on Prince Khurram in this sea of color and sparkle. The prince was appareled in purple silks, and sailing toward the throne like a devotee, followed by a stream of his companions.

  "Your Majesty." Prince Khurram curtsied. "May I present Rana Amar and Kunwar Karan of Mewar? They have journeyed with me, Your Majesty, to offer their allegiance to the emperor."

  "Foes turned friends are most welcome in our court." Jahangir laughed. “Surrender, is an act of valor most sublime, requiring much more courage than a will to fight and win." He beamed at his new allies. "You would be equipped with Iraqi horses to enjoy the hunt in Mandu as a reward for your valor and courage."

  "Thank you, Your Majesty. We are already indebted to your generosities." Kunwar Karan was the bold one to respond with utmost candor.

  Rana Kamar, the bashful one, curtsied low once again. His very gaze offering gratitude as if he was overwhelmed by the pools of warmth in the eyes of the emperor?

  "Such rare, charming manners in this time and age when intrigues and rebellions breed more foes than friends! The emperor is greatly pleased." Jahangir commented, turning his attention to his son. "Khurram Baba, you are to command Abul Hakim to carve two life-size statues of Rana Amar and Kunwar Karan. Each one on horseback carved out of smooth, unblemished rocks. Those statues would adorn the emperor's garden at Agra right below his balcony—the seat of jharoka."

  "I have been waiting to make a request, Your Majesty." Prince Khurram began charmingly. "Since the keys of Ahmadnagar fort and other strongholds have been delivered into your hands, Your Majesty, I feel bold to make such a request. Adil Khan, as you know, Your Majesty, has had great influence in making his ambassadors, Afzal Khan and Ray Rayan to submit to the authority of your sovereign rule. Considering this, may I request that Adil Khan be bestowed with the title of Farzand, son?” He smiled.

  "Summon the orphanous youth to my presence, Khurram Baba. The emperor can deny you nothing on this auspicious day of his birthday. Though its grandeur, truly but sadly, pales before the laurels of your victories." His very gaze was paying compliments.

  Adil Khan was summoned from behind by the imperial agent. Since Adil Khan was expecting such summons, he was quick to hurl himself forward. Prostrating himself before the emperor, all flushed and overwhelmed.

  "You will become, at Shah Khurram's request

  Renowned in the world as my son,"

  Jahangir was inspired with this gift of a couplet. "The emperor bestows upon you the title of Farzand." He sang happily.

  "Thank you, Your Majesty. Such great honor—" Adil Khan could barely murmur. Before he could unloosen the string of joy in his heart, the kanchanis—the dancing girls, whirled closer to the throne in a rainbow of colors.

  These kanchanis were urged by the giddy viziers to offer felicitations to the emperor with song and dancing. Their voices were sailing on the strings of a lovelorn. With half naked bellies and layers of chiffons over their waists, their jeweled hands could be seen slithering down their hips in movements both lurid and provocative. The viziers and courtiers with their eyes shining and their faces flushed were transfixed. Jahangir was amused, only his aesthetic senses gathering shimmering folds in color and sparkle where bodies were lost in the insignificant details of rhythm and balance. His pleasure now sated, the emperor's gaze was sweeping over the sea of his courtiers, and getting arrested to Brenier where he stood earthed. Brenier was watching this orgy of dance and revelry with a melancholy absorption. Jahangir was smiling to himself, his thoughts branding this strange physician with the epithet of a warlock, whose magic and necromancy had cured the beloved of the emperor, not his medical skills? A curious, little magic-wand was whistling in his own head, summoning Nur Jahan, her feverish eyes cutting his heart to pieces. His heart was too joyful this very moment to court sad illusions and his thoughts were blooming forth to bestow gifts upon this lone physician who appeared smitten with love. Trays upon trays of gold and jewels were sparkling in the emperor’s head as magnanimous gifts, but his thoughts were bent on dissolving Brenier's melancholia with a wand of magic. Such a wand of magic-inspiration was swinging down his thoughts like a bolt of lightning. Choosing one kanchani with his gaze alone, the emperor had made his decision. Not in the least aware of Brenier's own passionate heart which was lost to another kanchani, not chosen by the emperor.

  "Summon Brenier to the emperor's presence." Jahangir commanded over his shoulders to Asaf Khan. "The emperor wishes to bestow a gift upon him." His gaze was fixed to the goddesses of song and dance.

  Brenier was summoned quickly amidst the frenzy of music and dancing. He was stumbling forth in some daze of joy and melancholy. His expression was one of a lover in great misery, as if shot by the arrows of Cupid, Jahangir's thoughts were snatched into the whimsical circle of their own wonder and curiosity.

  "Brenier, You are a great physician. In recompense to your miraculous healing of the empress, the emperor is going to reward you with many a boons." Jahangir smiled. "As a first boon, the emperor bestows upon you the kanchani in shimmering chiffons of green." He indicated the lead dancer. The girl was frozen midway in her act of swirling.

  "Your Majesty." Muttered Brenier in all consternation. "I hope, Your Majesty, you would not be offended, if I decline this gift so munificently offered." He could not breathe. His gaze was lured to the other kanchani beside the one chosen by the emperor, with the mute appeal of a wounded lover. He had fallen in love with that particular kanchani, but his confession had brought only rejections, and now he seemed to be sinking deeper into the rivers of agony, his gaze appealing his beloved in silence. "In lieu thereof, Your Majesty." His gaze returned to the emperor. "Would your generosity permit me to claim the kanchani in crimson chiffons stitched with little stars—" He could not speak, fright and delirium choking his voice.

  For one brief moment, the air itself was charged with fear and astonishment. T
he hush was complete and absolute, even the rhythm of music swallowed by silence. No one had ever dared decline the emperor's gift in hope of substituting for another! Besides, the girl whom Brenier had indicated was a Muslim and the physician himself a Christian. This fact alone had stricken the courtiers dumb with shock and disbelief. Soon, their shock and disbelief was dissolved, they had begun to consult each other in subdued tones. Their eyes were shining, as if saying, that the emperor would be angry, and would not ever grant his consent to this ludicrous plea of the physician.

  Jahangir, on the contrary, was calm and contemplative. Far from getting angry, he was not even feeling offended by the request of the physician. Since he himself was not the one to entertain any religious scruples, permitting only the purity of his heart to dictate his moods, he was not thinking about the disparity of religions between kanchani and the physician. He was greatly amused, rather experiencing a feeling of tenderness toward this physician, who seemed to be smitten by love and suffering.

  "Hushiyar Khan." Jahangir commanded Nur Jahan's eunuch in sight. "Be as gallant as to carry that kanchani in crimson chiffons into your arms, and lower her gently into the lap of Brenier. The emperor’s gift to the good physician." He began to laugh.

  Hushiyar Khan was quick to obey the emperor's orders. Brenier, recovering from his painful stupor was now kissing the girl's feet. The courtiers were whispering no more, but joining the emperor in his mirth to please him. This din of mirth and revelry was slashed suddenly, as the two mastiffs sent to the emperor as gifts by East India Company had bounded loose of Thomas Roe's vigil and restraint. They were attacking one elephant and fastening their teeth into its trunk. The emperor's mirth was now uncontrollable, as if the circus beasts had entered the arena of his own palace gardens. Thomas Roe was desperate, trying to restrain the mastiffs with the help of the royal guards. After accomplishing this task, he was plodding toward the throne, all flustered.

  "The emperor would feed these mastiffs with silver tongs, Roe, and they would learn the etiquettes of the Moghul court!" Jahangir declared laughingly.

  "Your Majesty, I am glad you are pleased with these gifts." One murmur of an apology escaped Thomas Roe's taut lips. "East India Company is fortunate in winning the emperor's favor. The English coach which our King James sent didn't meet Your Majesty's approval. Alas, the Chinese velvet was stripped and replaced with Persian velvet. The brass nails abandoned for the silver ones." His laments were burdened with the weight of remorse and apology.

  "Yes, these rude mastiffs have proved to be a rare delight for the emperor on his birthday." Jahangir's mirth was dwindling. "My royal elephant, the victim of such a brutal attack! He needs hot spray to ease the discomfort inflicted by these savage beasts. This hot spray, emperor's own invention, mark you. I devised this method so that they don't suffer cold in the winters. All the royal elephants get this special treatment. And these mastiffs would be doused in cold water as well, as a reward for their violent behavior." The mists of sadness were alighting in his eyes all of a sudden.

  "May I present a few portraits, Your Majesty? They are painted by the gentle hands, and no rude colors taint the beauty of their subjects." Thomas Roe was regaining his sense of wit and decorum.

  "No treasures in the world are more precious to the emperor than the treasures of Art. Especially, if they arrest nature and mankind in colors most vivid, which have the power to throb with the life of their own." Jahangir granted his consent.

  Thomas Roe's footman was at his master's side with the alacrity of Sancho Panza. Carrying a bundle of portraits, and revealing one at a time with the pride of an artist. The portraits were delivered to the emperor through Asaf Khan, who could not help steal a look at them with the skepticism of an art connoisseur. Two of these portraits were of some fair and beautiful English women. One was of a woman at her toilette, and the other was of a woman seated in a parlor busy at her embroidery. The third one was of Venus and Satyr. The emperor's gaze was lingering the most on the third portrait. It sure was vivid and throbbing with life. Venus appeared to be mocking the naked Satyr, and pressing her white hand against his nose.

  "A Sylvan demigod and the Italian goddess of bloom and beauty." Jahangir murmured to himself. His thoughts resurrecting the deities dead and forgotten. "The emperor likes the portrait of Jesus and Virgin Mary the best, Roe, the one you presented last time." He lifted his gaze slowly. "This portrait here, somehow, is proclaiming loudly the superiority of white race. White Venus suspending the brown demigod by the nose? But the emperor welcomes these gifts." He smiled, waving dismissal.

  "May I please, Your Majesty, once again submit my proposal about the treaty between India and England? Before I leave, Your Majesty." Thomas Roe pleaded.

  "Oh, yes, you are deserting us, Roe! Leaving us soon, much too soon. This very evening, to be precise, how the emperor forgets? Leaving the gold-paved streets of Hind for the dusty roads of England? This is the land of the heathens, you think?" Jahangir's tone was light and bantering. "You have been unhappy in Hind, the emperor regrets. Your chaplain, John Hall died, didn't he? And didn't you send a letter to someone in Surat, requesting another clergyman? Don't be surprised as to how, but the emperor knows the import of your letter. I can't live here without the comfort of God's word and heavenly sacraments. Didn't you write that?"

  "True to my own God, as you are to your own, Your Majesty." Thomas Roe murmured humbly. “May I get your consent to that trade treaty, Your Majesty, before I leave?" He pleaded assiduously.

  "The emperor doesn't deal with these insignificant matters, Roe. Though he has assigned Asaf Khan to deliver a letter of agreement into your hands." Jahangir intoned thoughtfully. "I have also left with him a letter to King James, penned by my own hands. You may recite my greetings to your king in my own words: when Your Majesty shall open this letter, let your heart be as fresh as a sweet garden. Gifts to your king are in safe keeping with Asaf Khan too. An exquisite tent in rainbow colors. A royal silk umbrella. Silk-wool Bokhara carpets. Several caskets laden with jewels. A rare breed of red deer. And a pair of antelopes. Don't forget to take special care of the antelopes."

  "Thank you, Your Majesty. I would guard them with my life." Thomas Roe breathed happily. "If I may, Your Majesty? May I ask if those antelopes are tame?"

  "One is perfectly tamed, as far as the emperor knows. He is my personal friend, and the emperor has assigned a monument to him at Agra." Jahangir beamed congenially. "And now as a token of our own friendship and farewell, share a cup of wine with the emperor." He was holding out his own cup to Jawahir Khan. His very gaze commanding him to fill another one for Thomas Roe.

  The strong Indian wine was offered to Thomas Roe in a cup of gold encrusted with rubies. A few sips, and his eyes were watery. The astringent taste was burning through his throat like hot lava. Since the emperor was in a jovial mood, he was commanding Jawahir Khan to replenish the ambassador's cup as soon as it was empty. Further commanding Thomas Roe to drink to the emperor's health and for the prosperity of his empire. Over the fifth cup, Thomas Roe was caught under the assault of sneezes most violent and painful. Hot tears were running down his eyes, his lips dry and stinging. This wild spectacle of a big man sneezing over his wine was plunging the emperor into a violent fit of mirth. The emperor was laughing uncontrollably. His hands pressed against his ribs, he was hauling himself up with a desperate attempt at controlling his laughter. Finally, his mirth was subsided and he was able to wave dismissal in a dignified manner. Before leaving his throne, he was shooting one last command at Jawahir Khan.

  "Bestow this gold flagon and the jeweled cup, as gifts, upon this distinguished ambassador as the tokens of remembrance for my birthday." Jahangir was sailing on the clouds of mirth toward his palace.

  Since Prince Khurram claimed his place beside the emperor in his merry sailing, Jahangir tossed a benevolent invitation at the Prince.

  "Invite Kunwar Karan to the palace, Khurram Baba. His wit and valor would gather bounteous gifts
from the empress, I am sure." Jahangir's mirth was gathering more bubbles of joy. "No more Khurram Baba? Shah Jahan, should the emperor say, to exalt your blessed title with his royal lips."

  "Shah Jahan, Your Majesty, is blessed with another princely son! He would be the one receiving bounteous gifts from the empress for himself and for his royal son." Prince Khurram announced happily.

  "Are you always in the habit of postponing the happiest of news till the end?" Jahangir exclaimed. His eyes spilling joy, and his feet floating over the marble steps in his haste to reach the gilded portals.

  Seated on a gold couch with Nur Jahan beside him, Jahangir was still celebrating his birthday with wine and gifts. All the royal household had assembled in this room, including the guests invited by the emperor. This palace at Mandu could boast of large, spacious rooms, but this one chosen by the emperor for his birthday celebrations was the largest of them all with tall ceilings and the size of several courtyards. On all sides, it was flanked by imposing windows in latticework, which were left curtain-less to absorb the glory of the gardens. Some of the begums were lolling against the brocaded pillows, and some sitting couchant on the gold davenports. The emperor's wives were wafting their own scents of joy and perfume, and heaping gifts at the emperor's feet with cries of great felicitations. The young princes and princess' were happy and heedless in their own world of cards and jests. The younger ones attended by the royal ayahs were the center of attraction for everyone, smothered with hugs and kisses, and shifted from lap to lap with the warmth of love and tenderness. Jahangir himself had hugged his newly-born grandson, Prince Shah Shuja, bestowing upon him the strings of pearls, and cradling him into the warmth of his love and endearments. After this he was surrounded by his wives and flooded with gifts. Finally, he had sought refuge on the gold couch beside Nur Jahan, pleading reprieve from gifts and felicitations.