by Farzana Moon
Man Singh, though the emperor's maternal uncle, had had a major part in inciting Prince Khusrau to rebellion. Right after Jahangir's accession, Man Singh had been bold enough to predict that the emperor's reign would last only two years. Jahangir had merely laughed himself to forgetfulness. Condoning Man Singh's divinations, which were based on astrological misconceptions, the emperor had asserted. After two years, while the emperor's reign was still prosperous and flourishing, Man Singh's own heart had begun to court fears and doubts. He had decided to flee to Bikaner, pressed by his fears that the emperor's rage would surely fall on him sooner or later. Since then he had been living there in seclusion and obscurity. Several years of self-exile, and Man Singh's name was never mentioned to the emperor until now when the royal entourage had halted at Gujrat. The emperor was informed that Man Singh had contracted leprosy, but was now completely healed. Jahangir was curious to witness this miracle with his own eyes, and had sent orders for Man Singh to appear before him. Man Singh, receiving such summons had become so overcome with fear that he had died of sheer fright on his way from Bikaner to Gujrat.
Gujrat had become a haven for hunting for both the emperor and the empress, Ahmadabad their favorite resort for hunting and exploring. Nur Jahan could boast of hunting many birds and tigers, while honing her skills to perfection. She was close to perfecting her skills when the royal entourage had to return to Agra. More than a year had flitted past on the wings of heedless time since their visit to Gujrat, the emperor had to remind the empress, though both were equally baffled by the flight of time unnoticed by them. Only Thomas Roe's final departure to England was noticed in Gujrat. He had followed the emperor from Mandu to Gujrat as predicted by Prince Shah Jahan. He had stayed in Gujrat only a few months, exploring on his own, and languishing on the ports for fun and pleasure. Before sailing on his good ship Anne, he had imparted his last bulletin of news from England that a great bard by the name of Shakespeare had died.
The journey back to Agra had been swift and frolicsome. Enhanced by the breeze of good news that Prince Shah Jahan was blessed with another princely son. This third prince of Arjumand Banu was born in the village of Dauhad and named, Aurangzeb. Upon reaching Agra, the royal entourage was awed by the ecliptic manifestation between Libra and Scorpio. Gazing at the sky, Jahangir had thought that the eclipse looked like a javelin, but then he had exclaimed under some spell of disbelief.
It has the perfect shape of a porcupine!
Sixteen days later, Agra had been visited by another wondrous manifestation. In the same quarter of the sky, a comet with long tail had made its appearance. By now the astrologers were quivering with fear. Divining portents, and foretelling misfortunes.
Most of the misfortunes had fallen on the royal household, though much later than predicted. Jahangir had to leave the sanctuary of Agra to quell rebellions in Lahore. Soon, he had succeeded in obtaining submission from the proud lord of this rich and warring province. Amidst these battles of pride and politics, Jahangir had not neglected to indulge in the pleasures of hunting and exploring. He was much enamored by one wild antelope which he had hunted without causing much injury to the beast. This antelope had become his companion of the wars and intrigues, and with much patience and affection, he had succeeded in taming it. So delighted was he after this task was accomplished that he had ordered a house to be built for this antelope inside the very precincts of Lahore, which would be called Hiran Minar. No sooner had he returned to Agra, that he was stricken with grief by the most tragic of news.
The emperor's wife Jodh Bai, the mother of his beloved son Prince Shah Jahan, had died suddenly. Jahangir's own grief at his wife's death was doubled by the grief of his grieving son. Shah Jahan had loved and revered his mother with the passion of an innocent child who could never imagine such a loss, save alone its crushing impact on his passionate heart. Such hopeless, helpless pain had taken hold of Jahangir's own mind at the grief of his beloved son, that he had begun searching for antidotes and diversions to ease Shah Jahan’s suffering. Thinking about Prince Shah Jahan's artistic temperament and of his passionate devotion to gardens, the name of Fathehpur Sikri had come to Jahangir's mind like a Godsend prayer and revelation. Fathehpur Sikri had beautiful gardens built by Akbar, and Jahangir had thought of transporting his entire household to Fathehpur Sikri for the sole comfort and diversion of Shah Jahan. He himself had found comfort in such thoughts and had decided to move to Fathehpur Sikri before embarking on his long journey to Kashmir. Prince Shah Jahan's sufferings were visible in tears and laments, while the emperor's were mute and stabbing like the blades of ice, though he had begun to pray and meditate. Praying to his father, the Great Akbar, not to God, as if seeking justice for the injuries done by God to mankind!
No intercession from man or God had come to the emperor to console him in his sufferings. His was not consoled in his grief and he could find no magic potions to pacify the grief of his son. While the preparations of journey to Fathehpur Sikri were being finalized, the emperor had fallen victim to his own bouts of drinking and forgetting. He was drinking heavily, and defying the onslaught of asthma, naming such attacks as insignificant tremors of the body and soul. Before the royal household could embark on their journey to Fathehpur Sikri, Prince Jahandar was struck with yellow fever. This handsome prince was sucked into the furnace of death, and Agra was once again the house of mourning under the weight of this fresh tragedy.
The veil of mourning was not to leave the royal family, every scalding hour of the day and night, it was becoming obvious. After much delay, on their way to Fathehpur Sikri, they were confronted with evil news if not with misfortunes. Bubonic plague had broken out in Doab, inching its way to the very destination where they had hoped to find refuge from pain and sorrow. Even before the royal entourage could reach the precincts of Fathehpur Sikri, the plague had spread as far as Lahore and Sirhind. It had enveloped Agra, Delhi and the entire population of Doab into mists of shock and horror, where death stood looming and grinning. To fight this epidemic was a lost cause, but to provide relief to the living victims was one imperative need which had possessed the emperor's mind like an eternal conflagration. Some cosmic energy was poured into his body to fight death, and to release life from the clutches of this foul murrain. After installing his royal family in the palace at Fathehpur Sikri, he had immersed himself in all possible endeavors to defeat this pestilence and to provide aid to the families of the victims.
The emperor had banished his own sorrow to crusade against death, disease and suffering. He was quick to devise a plan which could accelerate the supply of food and medicine to all, even in the remotest of villages in Hind. This plan was conceived with the swiftness of lightning, and executed with the precision of an arrow. The emperor was bursting with cosmic energy, and Anarkali had become his healer and comforter both, where no grief or despair could be seen inside the vast misery of this earth blackened with the soot of death. She was his love and salvation. Comforting him, and visiting with him the families of the afflicted and the suffering. By the time the epidemic was disappearing by the virtue of its havoc and culmination, the cosmic energy of the emperor was draining. He was seeking bliss in oblivion. Anarkali had left him. Wine was the panacea to all his sufferings. He had succumbed to the violence of asthma.
Fever, lethargy and shortness of breath, had become the emperor's legacy from the violence of asthma attacks. He was further afflicted with a pressure around the temples and in the middle of his forehead. This pressure alone was enough to affect his sight with the onslaught of severe headaches. The royal physician Hakim Rukna, with his skillful ministrations, had been able to cure the emperor's headaches, and his sight was restored to normal. Hakim Rukna was an expert surgeon. He had cut open the vein in the emperor's head, draining out several ounces of blood to ease the pressure. After that surgical procedure, the pressure around the emperor's temples was immediately reduced, and he could feel instant relief from pressure and congestion. For his asthma attacks, the
emperor was advised not to drink, or to reduce the consumption of wine for a few months at least. Feeling reprieve from his physical sufferings and to ward off his mental ones, he had turned his thoughts toward his son, Shah Jahan. Fathehpur Sikri was recovered from the ravages of plague, and the emperor had ordered several excursions to this city to divert his son's attention from grief and mourning. The prince and the emperor had visited the shrines and the architectural wonders which Akbar had had built during his reign of forty-nine years. Anarkali was the emperor's guide wherever he went, but in truth Nur Jahan was with him at all times. The empress incarnate, to allot small portions of wine to the emperor, and to delight both the prince and the emperor with her wit and wisdom. Shah Jahan was consoled, more truthfully so after reading the inscription which Akbar had inscribed on the Victory Gate of Fathehpur Sikri.
The world is a bridge. Pass over it, but do not build upon it. He who hopes for an hour may hope for an eternity. The world is but an hour. Spend it in devotion, the rest is unseen.
Jahangir had learned to nurture hopes like a gardener whose labor and patience could be rewarded with scented blooms in the future. And the road to Kashmir was a journey of hope, indeed. The emperor was drinking only the allotted portions of wine in perfect obedience to the advice of his royal physicians. His mental and physical sufferings of the past few months had honed his features to pale ivory, but his wit was returning, along with his love for life. Before continuing his journey, he had celebrated his fiftieth birthday with usual pomp and weighing ceremonies as befitting the emperor of Hind. He had also visited the tomb of Muinuddin Chishti to make a solemn vow not to shoot with gun and bullet, and not to injure any living thing with his own hands. Nur Jahan had watched him take that vow of nonviolence, and could not help but inquire the logic behind this vow. Jahangir was quick to satisfy her curiosity.
If you already don't know, my pearl, my grandson, Prince Shuja is ill, I am making this vow with a prayer that he gets well. Besides, at Allahabad, my lovely Nur, when I was a young prince and had set up my own court, I had vowed to myself that on my fiftieth birthday I would cease the practice of hunting and shooting any living creature with my own hands. Jahangir had responded effusively.
The wholesome air of Kashmir had worked wonders on the emperor's health, though his features were still pale and gaunt. Even his pallor had a subtle glow in it, shining with the vitality of youth, as if the emperor was transformed into a young prince once again. He was forever bestowing presents on Nur Jahan, and showering her with compliments. His aesthetic senses were not content alone with the beauty in nature, but with the beauty of the cosmic mind. Well versed in the doctrines of religion and philosophy, he was striving to learn more to quench the inner hungers of his body and soul. In his eagerness to feed his mind with the fresh morsels of spirituality, he had sought the company of one Jain monk, Jadhrup, in his own hermitage, instead of summoning him to his palace. He had spent many cherished hours with him to gain some sort of understanding in the science of Vedanta. After returning to his palace, he would share this knowledge with Nur Jahan. Goading her to argument and discussion as to the similarities between the two sciences, that of Sufism and of Vedanta.
Nur Jahan's own mind was quite sharp to absorb and dissect each word, and she would get into heated discussions with the emperor. Theology was not her forte' though, and while riding through the hunting grounds, she would implore the emperor to let her hunt and shoot the tigers. Rather mocking gently for his vow of nonviolence, which would not permit him the pleasure of hunting. The emperor would always consent most heartily, wearing her mockery in his own eyes and admiring her skills in hunting. Once she had killed one ferocious tiger with one single shot, and the emperor had been in raptures over her prowess in hunting and shooting. On another occasion, she had shot two tigers with one shot each, straight from her howdah, and had knocked two more insensible with four shots. Jahangir was awed than impressed, and had presented her a pair of diamond bracelets as a reward for her unerring skills.
Nur Jahan was wearing those bracelets even today while riding beside the emperor, their royal steeds enjoying a leisurely canter. She was quiet and content. At this particular moment, she was gazing at her diamond bracelets wistfully. Her thoughts were recollecting the words of a poet who had penned an impromptu couplet at the scene of hunting, where she had shot two tigers.
Though Nur Jahan in form be a woman
In the ranks of men, she is a tiger-slayer.
A beatific smile was curling on Nur Jahan's lips at the thought of this cherished memory. The valleys of Kashmir had risen to greet her with the soma of youth, and she had drunk deep of its nectar—blossoming like a flower. The scented flowers in these pine-valleys had the power to turn any couple into romantic lovers, and Jahangir was the first to be smitten afresh with love. Loving his beloved Nur with the passion of a youthful prince and granting her the freedom to build palaces, mosques and gardens inside the very heart of Kashmir.
Jahangir was riding quietly, enjoying the bliss and peace in nature, and of the valleys. His aesthetic senses were absorbing all colors, and grateful for the beautiful companion beside him. Anarkali was resting sweetly in her tomb at Lahore, leaving the royal couple alone to the indulgence of their own bliss and ecstasy. Nur Jahan's thoughts were getting entangled inside the wonderworks of her design and architecture, though she was becoming aware of the emperor's silence. Sensing his sadness, even before he himself could catch its scent and stealth. His thoughts were looking back at the shades and shadows of death. His beloved son Jahandar. His beloved wife Jodh Bai! Something deep within him was entombing him in peace with Anarkali.
The Kashmiri girls were still singing and dancing ahead of the royal couple. They were caught in their own mood of joy and festivity with a carefree abandon. Jahangir was not watching the dancers, though his gaze was unveiling the vistas as if seeing the bride of nature for the very first time. Nur Jahan's gaze was unfolding fields upon fields of saffron, which were coming into view against the undulating contours of the valleys. Saffron and other wild flowers were wafting such overpowering scent that Jahangir could feel the vein in his forehead throbbing with the threat of a headache. He pressed his temples, sneezing violently, his eyes stinging. The strong scent pervading the glens and the valleys was now seething in his very veins, and he appeared to be gasping for breath.
"Your Majesty, you should have permitted Hakim Rukna to accompany us." Nur Jahan commented, concealing her fear inside the blue pools of her eyes.
"Ah, that Messiah of Age! He has cured the emperor completely, my Nur." Jahangir was feeling a sudden relief. "This perfume from saffron is overpowering." His eyes were absorbing sparkle from the amethyst in his turban. "The emperor will suffer the siege of a headache, not the shortness of breath, if he doesn't flee from this valley of perfume and enchantment." He spurred his horse, joining the bevy of Kashmiri girls. "Don't you get headaches from this strong scent of saffron, my pretty damsels?"
"What is a headache, Your Majesty?" Was one baffled exclamation from the lips of the lead dancer.
"Stay in bliss to your ignorance then, my lovely heathens." Jahangir laughed.
"When one feels a terrible, pounding ache in one's head, it's called a headache, sweet maidens." Nur Jahan expounded.
The Kashmiri girls merely laughed, further baffled by this explanation, for they had not ever suffered any headaches. Headaches were unknown in Kashmir, they would have confessed, if the emperor would have but asked. But both the emperor and the empress were cantering past them, while they stood there in stunned silence.
"The emperor should take lessons from you, my lovely mentor." Jahangir flashed Nur Jahan a wistful glance. "How would you describe the Bubonic plague? Except that the victims had buboes under the armpits, or in the groin, or below the throat?"
"Please, Your Majesty, let us forget about those terrible times. Those terrible deaths, people dying in droves." Nur Jahan pleaded softly. "All I can remember is people
talking about mice. They had seen the foul creatures rushing out of their holes, striking themselves against the doors of the houses and falling dead at the very steps. Visiting deaths upon the occupants if they didn't vacate their own homes."
"Yes, sweet Nur, you are right." Jahangir demurred. "This paradise on earth makes one almost forget great misfortunes in the whole wide world. Kashmir is a garden of eternal spring. A delightful flowerbed and a heart-expanding heritage for the dervishes. If one were to praise Kashmir, oceans of ink would run dry in writing paeans upon paeans—" His thoughts were swallowed by the panoramic wonder unfolding before his sight like the dream-clouds. He reined his horse at the edge of the plateau where Nur Jahan's newly-built mosque stood lofty and picturesque.
Nur Jahan too had brought her steed to a slow halt beside the emperor, her gaze warm and brimming with admiration. The Pattar mosque with its scalloped doors and carved vaulting was welcoming the royal visitors with a silent grandeur. The Kashmiri girls were lost in the valleys down below. They were merely obeying the emperor's earlier command that they were free to leave as soon as the emperor and the empress would ride ahead of them. Now the lover and the beloved were left alone to explore their own altars of love. Both were quiet, both astride their mounts like the miracles of nature caught on the canvas of time. Both were cherishing the luxury of silence and solitude. Jahangir was admiring the front facade of nine arches, from where the portico down below was still under construction. The shallow, decorative cusped arches, further enclosed in rectangular frames, appeared to be suspended in the air. Jahangir's gaze was abandoning this piece of great architecture, and turning to the sublime rider beside him.
