The Moghul Hedonist

by Farzana Moon

  "The emperor is in everlasting bliss just by being with you, my love. So close, so adorable, so bewitching." Was Jahangir’s ardent response. "And to tell stories is the only way the emperor can keep you beside him, or you would be fluttering in the gardens like a butterfly, leaving the emperor alone and desolate."

  "If and when, depending upon the truth and sincerity of your wishes, Your Majesty, I can fall right into your arms like a moth attracted to one burning flame." Nur Jahan laughed.

  "Then come close, my pretty moth, and stay in eternal embrace, inside the very heart of the emperor." Jahangir slipped his arm around her waist. Kissing her on the lips. "Do you still wish to hear the story, love?" Ardor and mischief were shining in his eyes.

  "Yes, yes, Your Majesty! If you hold me close like this, and keep your arms around me forever and forever." Nur Jahan murmured under some spell of joy and pain.

  "Keeping you pressed close to me, and into my arms is, no favor to you, my pearl. My delight and privilege alone, entirely mine." Jahangir was gazing into her eyes adoringly. "If you don't want to hear this story, my Nur? Say no! The emperor's soul is hungering for love. Can we, Nur—can we make love right here, since neither of us wish to return to the palace as yet?"

  "Your Majesty!" Nur Jahan was appalled, her eyes flashing giddy reproof. "What if someone straggles into the—what impropriety? I want to hear that story, Your Majesty, truly, I do. We need to stay in this garden a little longer, it is most conducive to your health. Please, Your Majesty, I am dying to hear that story."

  "So far, this garden has offered no cure to the malady of my soul." Jahangir heaved a mock sigh. "Fortunately, this story is not long. And this is a true story, my Nur, as far as the stories go. I presume?" He paused, his look distant. "Shah Alam was a revered saint who used to raise the dead to life. After he raised several dead men to life, his father got incensed that this practice was contrary to the Will of God. So the father banished his son form his house. The saint was a widower and had a son of tender years by his late wife, so they both retired to a secluded hermitage. This saint had a female servant who had no children and was later blessed by a son by the prayers of this saint. She was the only one to visit him occasionally. Years had passed and her son had grown to be a young man of twenty-seven, when he died suddenly. So stricken was she with grief that she went lamenting to the hermitage of Shah Alam, pleading for the boon of her son's life. Shah Alam had ceased the practice of raising the dead for many a long years, so he told his servant that he had lost his powers. Since Shah Alam could not be persuaded, his son told the servant to wait outside till he himself pleaded with his father on her behalf. Shah Alam was confronted with utmost despair when he heard his son that he was willing to exchange his own life with the son of the servant so that the dead man could be raised to life. Shah Alam had no choice but to give in to the pleas of his son, and after making him lay down on his cot, he prayed earnestly. God, take my own son in the place of my servant's. His son's soul left his body immediately after this prayer, and the saint plodded out to face the grief-stricken mother. He told her to return home, informing her that she would find her son in good health. True to the saint's bidding, the mother hurried home, and was greeted by her son as if no shadow of death had touched his young body." He concluded rather tonelessly.

  Nur Jahan had fallen into a reverie of her own, luxuriating in the sense of closeness rather than heeding the words which sounded remote and receding. She seemed fascinated by the emperor's bracelet of pearls and rubies, and was not even aware that the story had ended. The emperor's own attention was caught by the tapestry of colors in this garden, so tenderly vibrant against the haze of dusk and serenity. Each fiber in his soul was becoming aware of the hush and the quietude all around, longing for the presence of his beloved. She was nowhere to be found but deep down the valleys of death, he was thinking. His living beloved was with him! She was bending over and kissing his arm, her lips feeling the pearls and rubies on his bracelet.

  "That bracelet has a story too, my Nur, and you know that story." Jahangir murmured tenderly. "Besides, the emperor is wearied of stories and of life." He murmured the last part to himself. "Promise me, Nur, you would bury me in this eternal spring of a garden when I die."

  "Your Majesty!" Nur Jahan's exclamation was choked by a sudden stab of pain within her heart. "You would not die, not before me. You would have a long, long life. A thousand lives, I pray. Spending at least half with me, and half with—" She could not utter the name of the emperor's dead beloved.

  "Death is as real as the air we breathe in and out, my love, and its course cannot be averted, much less diverted." Jahangir heard the unvoiced pang in Nur Jahan's heart, his own shuddering. "Let us make promises, love, while we live. Hoping, they would be fulfilled in the passage of time. If I die first, you bring me to Kashmir to bury me in this beloved garden of ours. And if you die before—I would carry you into my arms to this very spot consecrated by our love. A great monument would rise above your shrine, loaded with the loveliest of flowers from the very gardens you yourself have created."

  "I am selfish, Your Majesty. I would keep you with me wherever I live. If it is Kashmir, your hope would be fulfilled?" Nur Jahan’s eyes were glinting poetry.

  "Let there be neither light, nor a flower

  On the grave of this humble person

  Nor the wings of the moth burn in flames of love

  Nor the nightingale send out his wailing cry"

  She recited without pain or sadness.

  "My love!" Jahangir pressed her closer, rather clinging to her desperately. "Let us bathe in this pool with our goldfish. They are our children, and we their guardian angels. Our grief and nightmares would be purged right now, this very evening.”

  "Your Majesty." Nur Jahan's very thoughts were swooning. "What if—" Her unvoiced fears were surfacing before Jahangir's very sight.

  Prince Shah Jahan was seen emerging from the shadows like a shining knight.

  "You are right, love." Jahangir confessed quickly, his arms falling limp to his sides. "Next time, the emperor would issue edicts before leaving his palace that he is not to be disturbed in this sweet bliss of a paradise."

  "Your Majesty. Padishah Begum." Prince Shah Jahan greeted with one gallant bow of his head. "May I crave your audience, Your Majesty?" He asked somberly.

  "What urgency makes your brow cloud thus, Shah Jahan?" Jahangir was heaving himself up thoughtfully.

  "Grievous news from Deccan, Your Majesty." Prince Shah Jahan attempted a smile, his look dreamy.

  "Join me in a stroll, my austere messenger." Jahangir slipped on his shoes, tossing a comment over his shoulders. "Would you like to join us, my Nur?"

  "If you would excuse me, Your Majesty, I would rather sit here and contemplate." Nur Jahan smiled. "The view from here is serene and delightful."

  "Then the emperor must balance the burden of calamities over his shoulders alone." Jahangir turned to his heels.

  "Padishah Begum." Prince Shah Jahan bowed with one flourish of his arm, before following the emperor.

  The terraced garden down below was absorbing shadows from dusk as Nur Jahan sat watching the prince and the emperor strolling side-by-side. Her own thoughts were heavy with the weight of joys and pains, she could neither recount, nor abandon. So drowned was she in her lone contemplations that she didn't even notice the Kashmiri girls decking the terraces and pavilions of this garden with lamps and candles. She was aware of the prince and the emperor though, two glittering shadows in their own world scented with flowers. They too were oblivious of the lovely intruders, who were quick to breathe light into the garden and then vanish behind the shadows.

  "The Deccanis have broken their peace treaty, Your Majesty." Prince Shah Jahan was saying. "Ambar Malik has formed a league with Bijapur and Golconda. He has called up the Maratha bands and has mustered sixty thousand troops. The rebellions are sprouting in all parts of Bengal. Mandu, Berar, Kangra, Balapur, just to name a few of the cities
where the danger of rebellions is most imminent." He paused as if making sure that the emperor was absorbing all details.

  "Then you must repair to Deccan at the head of a large force, my valorous Prince." Jahangir snatched that pause to issue a quick command. "Yes, to fight those mites of rebellion and to burn the roots of their seditions in the entire land of Bengal." Rage was brewing inside him with the violence of a volcano.

  "I must, Your Majesty." Prince Shah Jahan gloated inwardly. "But first, may I journey to Lahore, Your Majesty? To gather all the forces and to take Prince Khusrau with me?" His latter request was one suave murmur.

  "Prince Khusrau! Why must you take the unfortunate prince with you?" Jahangir declared impatiently. “Isn't that enough that he has been left into your custody, entirely? Didn't you yourself leave him with Asaf Khan, who obeys each and every command of yours, keeping strict vigilance over Prince Khusrau? My first-born son, misfortunes have made him the victim of intrigues. The emperor rarely gets to see him." His heart was waving the reeds of premonitions. "Prince Khusrau, why my unfortunate prince? Why not take Prince Perwiz, or Prince Shahryar?"

  "Prince Khusrau is prone to seditions, Your Majesty." Was Prince Shah Jahan's winsome response. "Prince Perwiz and Prince Shahryar, they are not as devious as Prince Khusrau, Your Majesty. Prince Khusrau, your prince incarnate? The other princes, my brothers, they have never raised the banners of rebellion against you, Your Majesty? Nor are they capable of even harboring seditious thoughts."

  "Yes, my crafty Prince, you are probably correct in judging your other brothers with kindness." Jahangir began thoughtfully. "But you have other motives behind your insistence in taking Prince Khusrau with you? He is best loved by the people of Hind and he is my first-born. Are those not a couple of valid reasons to prompt you to such an action?" He demurred aloud.

  "What, if I may decline, Your Majesty? To lead the Deccani campaign, I mean, under the weight of a genuine excuse too? That my wife, whom I love beyond any kingdoms on this earth, needs rest from journeys long." Prince Shah Jahan began ruminatively. "She has blessed me with two daughters and three sons. Such an angel, never complaining about the hardships of the child-births in alien lands, or about the discomforts on the battlefields."

  "You, declining this honor, my Prince?" Jahangir exclaimed, his eyes flashing. "I will tell you a story, Khurram Baba, which might seduce your own seditious thoughts to calm obedience." His tone was softening. "The emperor is in a mood to tell stories this evening, rather needs to! Where does this strange need come from, don't ask?" He paused, words spilling down his lips will-lessly. "Paradoxically, this story originates from the very heart of Mandu. A raja by the name of Jai Singh ruled Mandu justly and happily. One day when one of his faithful servants was cutting grass, his sickle was turned to gold. He took the sickle to a goldsmith by the name of Madan, who told the astonished servant that an alchemist's stone might have transmuted this sickle to gold. Then both the servant and the blacksmith rushed to the site, and discovered the Stone. They presented this Stone to the raja. Jai Singh was glad to receive such a treasure, used it wisely to produce gold, and made his kingdom more prosperous than ever. He reigned twelve more years after this Stone was found, and built a great fort. He was growing old and losing interest in the world and its worldly treasures, and decided to retire. Before retiring, he held an assembly on the banks of river Narbada, bestowing gifts upon his viziers and grandees. One Brahmin was his closest of friends, so he bestowed upon him the Stone. This Brahmin was offended, thinking this gift as a worthless pebble, and was quick to toss it into the river. After learning about its worth, his sorrow was great. All his life was spent in searching this stone, but he never found it."

  "A fantastic tale of delusion and enchantment, Your Majesty." Prince Shah Jahan commented cheerfully. "But what has this to do with my going to Deccan, or declining?"

  "My imbecile Prince, do you willfully refuse to glean the moral out of this story?" Jahangir chided genially. "The cities of Deccan are like the pearls presented to you by the emperor. And if you toss them away like the unworthy pebbles, you might lose all the kingdoms of Hind. Styled by me as Shah Jahan, Ruler of the World, do you think you can rule the emperor?"

  "Under the burden of such threats, Your Majesty, must I march to Deccan?" Prince Shah Jahan murmured assiduously.

  "And you think, my wise Prince, that emperor can't snatch your own threats from the throne of your presumptions?" Jahangir confessed sadly. "A subject’s duty, first and foremost, is toward his sovereign, against all the rest of the burdens he might have to share or endure."

  "Without Prince Khusrau as the mastermind of mischief, I dare not leave, Your Majesty." Prince Shah Jahan breathed tenaciously.

  "Then take him with you, my heedless Prince." Jahangir waved impatiently. "Yes, take him, if you can endure the laments of the harem ladies when they hear about it." His gaze was intense and piercing. "I feign would talk with my unfortunate son. A few times that I have seen him, he looked morose and dejected. And yet I love him as much as—" His heart was unveiling the portrait of Anarkali. "Yes, the emperor loves him. Take care of Prince Khusrau, Khurram Baba. Let no harm ever come to him by your hands." He commanded with an impatient wave of his arm.

  "Your Majesty, you are wearing the gift of my Pearl on your arm!" Prince Shah Jahan exclaimed evasively. "I can even tell which one is my pearl, though they both look the same." He smiled charmingly.

  "The twin pearls, another story!" Jahangir caught and held the smile in his son's eyes with a profound fascination. "You are a genius in finding and discovering rare gems, my Prince. When you gave me this pearl, you nurtured in me a longing to get another pearl of the same size, shape and beauty, so that they can complement each other on a bracelet of rubies." His thoughts were accosting memories warm and painful. "When I despaired of finding a matching pearl, Khurram Baba, you were the one who came to the emperor's rescue. Lending me hope, that you had seen a similar pearl in the turban of your grandfather. And this is the product of your remarkable memory as far as jewels are concerned." He looked at his bracelet as if reading fortunes. "I can't tell which pearl is yours, and which one from the turban of my beloved father. How can you, my ingenious scholar? How can you remember such details about jewels as to when they were worn, who wore them, where they were stored?" His eyes were kindling disbelief.

  "Because my second love is jewels, Your Majesty." Prince Shah Jahan laughed. "I acquire jewels from all continents in the world. They even come to me of their own accord, it seems, Your Majesty. Though I dare steal some from the beautiful eyes of my Arjumand." He added wistfully.

  "You are in love! Still in love?" Jahangir was awed, rather humbled by the flood of love and tenderness in his son's eyes. "This great love of yours is tragic somehow. All great loves are tragic? Take good care of Arjumand Banu, Khurram Baba. Never let her out of your sight." He murmured.

  "Do I need reminding, Your Majesty?" Prince Shah Jahan laughed again. "She is wedded to my soul as well as to my heart, we cannot be separated. My soul-companion in wars and campaigns too, that's how our royal babes come squalling into this world of warfare and rebellion."

  "May God keep you in His shadow, and may happiness go with you to Deccan." Jahangir murmured, retracing his steps toward the pool where Nur Jahan sat waiting.

  "Your Majesty. Hope, you will not stay in Kashmir for long." Was Prince Shah Jahan's vague comment. "I hear the plague is headed this way."

  "Plagues follows the emperor wherever he goes." Jahangir murmured over his shoulders. "And the emperor is not afraid, either of death or treason." He waved dismissal. "Inform the Begums, Prince charming, not to venture out near the pool this evening. The emperor would return shortly, and then we would picnic in the garden of Achabal."

  Nur Jahan had not stirred from the spot where the emperor had left her, as if painted alive on the tapestry of this garden. Her silks and jewels were chasing the shadows and in return shimmering, rather gleeful. Her heart was gathe
ring no such glee, but pain against the haze of memories wild and passionate. Her own love for the emperor was tragic, though she had not caught his utterance in conformity with her thoughts mute and turbulent. Her love for him was like a river, deep and profound, she had been thinking inside the oceans of her own poetic reveries. She could not help loving this emperor, her aesthetic genius as she called him, and a mystic? A mystic who was foundering forever inside the whirlwinds of his agonies indescribable. He was as much in love with his own agony and torment as with her wit and beauty. Living and dying in some tempest of sun-baked sufferings and wind-swept longings. Dying at the altar of his dead beloved each day, and reviving himself with the soma of pain in life from the bottomless depths of her own love and understanding.

  The curse! This sea of inebriation!

  Nur Jahan was suspended in her own thoughts like a marionette, buffeted by the storm-clouds of laughing fates. But she was not heeding the fates, rather defying their onslaught. The ocean of love inside her was swollen and brimming. She loved her joys as well as her pains. Welcomed her serenity as well as the chaos from within and without. Her heart was too warm and passionate to permit the nurturing of pain. It was eager to celebrate, not mourn. Always serenading joy, always lulling the pain to sleep. Right now, while sinking deeper and deeper into the realms of her subconscious she was at peace with herself. Neither sad, nor wistful. Just inert and brooding.

  Suddenly, Nur Jahan's senses were catching a signal of warning from the very silence of her subconscious. Her senses were alert, as if inhaling the reek of deceit and treason. Shah Jahan, whom she loved the best, was chilled in her awareness under a glacier of suspicion. Her intuition was revealing something corrupt and malefic, as if a jungle of schemes were sprouting inside the head of Prince Shah Jahan. Her heart had begun to throb, thundering with the pulse of presage. Even now, she was cutting this presage to shreds, rather exploring the nuances of joy and gaiety which could always be captured and vivified. Her thoughts were floating toward Prince Shahryar, who was to be her son-in-law. This thought too was absorbed into the calm waters of her chill and inertia. Something inside her was coiling, awakening, expanding. She was lonesome.