The Moghul Hedonist

by Farzana Moon

  Nur Jahan could see into the vault of her own heart and beyond the heavens. The tomb of Anarkali was unfolding, not inside her, but suspended from the heavens, pervading the very soul of the emperor. Her thoughts were marching into neat files as soldiers valiant and vengeful. Trooping onward to demolish this tomb, carrying on their shoulders an altar pure and noble. This altar, her own altar of love, which was to be erected inside the very colonnades of the emperor's heart and soul. So immersed she was into this cosmic surrender of her senses that she didn't notice the emperor's approach.

  "Laden with burdens, the emperor always comes back to you, my Nur." Jahangir smiled, his arms held out to assist the empress to her feet.

  "Your Majesty." Nur Jahan was startled to her feet. "What new burdens weigh heavy on your shoulders?" She claimed the emperor's hands and stood facing him.

  "Bengal is on fire and burning away, while the cool-warmth in these pine-valleys is serene and comforting!" Jahangir declared.

  "The Deccani treaty is broken then." Was Nur Jahan's rueful response.

  "This news is not that tragic, my love! The emperor has absolute trust in God. He would grant the emperor victory." Jahangir slipped his arm around her waist, diverting her attention to the blue patch of a sky, where a sickle moon serenaded the stars. "What do you see up there, my pearl?"

  "One curved dagger of ice, aiming to slash the very heart of the sky." Nur Jahan's wit was returning, along with her awareness to pain and tragedy.

  "What strange depiction of the ermine crescent, my love?" Jahangir pressed her closer to him. "Your comments, rather thoughts, were more inspiring when I had shown you a meteor on the horizon." His mood as well as his tone was ardent.

  "I forget how inspired I was, Your Majesty?" Nur Jahan smiled.

  "No star has ever raised its head so far, you had said, my Nur." Warmth and tenderness in Jahangir's gaze were cutting right through her soul. "And what poetic élan? It is the celestial sphere, lions girded in service to the emperor, didn't you say that, my pearl?" He grazed his lips against her cheek.

  "Now I feel ashamed of ever singing such flattery to the emperor." A tremor of mirth escaped Nur Jahan's lips.

  Jahangir was kissing her eyes, lips, throat. His heart longing to absorb her very soul inside him.

  "When do we leave Kashmir, Your Majesty?" Nur Jahan could barely murmur against the shower of kisses.

  “Not yet, dear love." Jahangir murmured back. "A couple of months from hence. Prince Shah Jahan is to lead the march to Deccan. When the emperor has worthy sons, he needs not worry." He was exploring the snow-valley in her bosom, and unrobing her.

  The Bokhara carpet was the imperial bed of the royal couple under the canopy of stars, cold and glittering. The sky and the mountains singing, expanding.

  9

  Emperor’s Illness

  Another balmy day in Kashmir, a New Year, a new summer day! One large chamber in Kashmir palace was exposed to the brightness of such a day with its damask curtains tied back in gold tassels. The chamber walls were adorned with Persian calligraphy, which the emperor could not admire as he lay senseless on his gilded bed. He had had an asthma attack a day before this very afternoon, and had suffered shortness of breath. Today, while lying couchant against a heap of pillow, he had lost consciousness. Two hours had elapsed since then, and he was surrounded by his wives, princes, princesses and royal physicians. This was not the emperor's first asthma attack since his visit to Kashmir. He had had several within the last four months amidst his excesses of drinking and excursion. Prince Perwiz, upon learning of the emperor's illnesses had journeyed from Burhanpur, hoping to be of some assistance in cheering the emperor. But his cheerful arrival was slashed with fears and doubts by finding the emperor in this comatose state, from where he could not return to greet his son. The royal physicians were trying desperately to revive the emperor, but of no avail.

  Nur Jahan, seated beside the emperor's bed, was gazing at the emperor's hands as if they were the dearest of objects she could not take her eyes off. Prince Perwiz was seated next to Nur Jahan, despair and dejection shining in his eyes. At the foot the bed, Prince Shahryar was almost sunk deep into his chair, his expression rather solemn than stunned. Hakim Sadra and Hakim Rukna were standing by the window, whispering and consulting, now and then examining a few vials on the marble chest. The emperor's other wives were scattered here and there, glued to their chairs, numb and chilled. Amongst them, Nurunnisa, Khairunnisa, Salihah Banu, Malika Jahan and Sahiba Jamali, the most solemn ones sinking deeper into the pits of grief and silence. Nur Jahan herself had lost roses on her cheeks, which once the purity of Kashmir had bestowed upon her to complement her beauty. The ribbons of sunshine were flooding into this room, as if reaching out to fill the hearts of the royal occupants with hope, but no one seemed to notice the warmth of nature from the very heart of sky, bright and generous. Only the physicians standing by the window could catch the shafts of sunshine, beholding the majesty of domed arches and galleries with stone pillars, all polished by gold from sunlight. They were more aware of the hush outside than of the inside gloom. Wondering, why the candles were lit in broad daylight on the terraces and balconies where brass planters stood blazing with a profusion of red geraniums.

  Even before the onslaught of asthma, Kashmir had become the valley of ruin for the emperor. It was visited by plague right after Prince Shah Jahan's departure to Lahore, from where he was to commence his Deccani campaign. Almost half a year had sailed past since then, the beautiful spring settling into the bosom of the summer with sighs profound. These sighs were unnoticed by the emperor, he had thrown himself into a whirlwind of activity to aid the families of the plague victims. The food and medicine supplies were to be ordered, and the emperor had personally attended to those demands, lest dalliance cause more damage than ordained. He was supervising all supplies most diligently, and sending a flurry of messengers to the neighboring cities for constant flow of provisions for the families suffered and bereaved. And just before the plague had relinquished its hold on Kashmir, the emperor himself had fallen victim to asthma. So frequent were these attacks that he seemed to wade into the waters of recovery and illness with a desperate struggle to reach the shore of health. The shore of health could be a mirage, for he could not abstain from drinking, rather seeking the waters of oblivion.

  Now as the emperor lay unconscious, the royal physicians were in utter despair, their own pleas to the emperor choked in their thoughts. Since the past few weeks, they had pleaded with the emperor not to drink or at least to cut down on his consumption of wine until he could gain back a few ounces of strength. The emperor had not heeded their pleas, and they had surrendered themselves to a sense of helplessness.

  Prince Perwiz was rising to his feet as if stung by the arrows of divination and revelation. He had begun to pace around the emperor's bed in circles, as if caught under a spell of madness and delirium. Paradoxically, his thoughts were quite sober, reviving the ritual of his great, great grandfather, who had saved the life of his son by immolating his own to God. All eyes were turned to the Prince, though he seemed oblivious even to his own pacing and silent prayers. The blue, feverish flames in Nur Jahan's eyes could only see his jeweled turban in red and green, but she was closing her eyes. Behind the closed shutters of pain and fever in her gaze, she could see nothing but the cold, emaciated hands of the emperor. Her anguished thoughts were kneading a string of prayers.

  Look, Your Majesty, your son, Prince Perwiz is here, ready to sacrifice his life to save yours. Nur Jahan's thoughts were reaching out to the emperor. All the Begums are here, your wives, your sons, your daughter. Her hand was seeking the emperor's, guided by her soul. My mamma, my papa, all is here, Your Majesty. And your grandchildren, two little adorable sons of your most beloved Prince! All calling you, all praying for you. Come back to us, Your Majesty, speak to us, merciful God. The string of her prayers was broken at the subtle tremor in the emperor’s hand.

  Nur Jahan's eyes wer
e shot open, lifting the veil of sorrow, gathering a mist of tears. Jahangir's own eyes were fixed to her in some daze of recognition. Prince Perwiz's feet were chilled at the foot of the bed in an act of pacing. Sighs of relief were suspended in the room. Ripples of joy were kindling all eyes with the warmth of joy and hope. The physicians were standing there like carved statues, only their eyes burning with awe and disbelief. No one could speak, the hush so profound that the emperor's voice when it found its way, sounded ethereal.

  "Why! What is this?" Jahangir's gaze was gathering all in its feverish intensity. "Why is everyone gathered here like the shining ants? Surely, the emperor has not contracted plague, or you all would be running miles away from him?" His gaze was returning to Nur Jahan after lingering briefly on Prince Perwiz at the foot of the bed. "No, the emperor may be a victim of hallucination, but certainly not of plague." He was pressing his temples. "No fever, no headache, no bleeding of the nose!"

  "No, Your Majesty, no." Joyful protests were breaking forth on the lips of the Begums.

  "Come, my Prince of Burhanpur. Come, embrace the emperor." Jahangir's eyes were gathering humor and perception. "You are a loving and dutiful son. May you prosper and succeed in life, always." His psyche, not sight, was piercing the veil of this tearful gathering.

  Prince Perwiz obeyed with the speed of a gymnast, dropping his head on the emperor's chest, and forcing back his tears.

  "And you all thought that the emperor was dying." Jahangir laughed suddenly.

  "No, Your Majesty, no." Another chorus of protests met the emperor's mirth.

  "Then, begone, all of you. The emperor commands." Jahangir waved his arms. The splinter of finality in his tone brooking no disobedience.

  A sea of silks was parting and dissolving, the jeweled gowns and colorful turbans disappearing behind the gilded doors into the vestibule yonder. Nur Jahan herself was heaving herself up as if weighed down by the tempests of dreams and dream-enchantments. Not even knowing that the emperor's gaze was devouring her with the intensity of a dream-lover.

  "Not you, my Nur, not you! All, but you. You are the empress, remember." Jahangir murmured, his gaze sailing out of the window to the balcony yonder. "Why are these diyas and candles lit on my balcony on the very face of this bright day?" His eyes were shining with astonishment as he returned his gaze to his beloved.

  "Tonight will be the night of Shab-i-barat, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan sank back into her seat with a sigh of relief. "Since you love to celebrate all festivals, Your Majesty, Begums and I thought that these early marks of celebrations would bring you back to celebrate—back to consciousness."

  "So, the emperor was unconscious, not sleeping as he presumed." Jahangir’s look was dreamy. "Now I remember, I had a headache. It is coming back, not the—" He was looking at the profusion of bracelets on his arms which he didn't remember wearing before. "What are these?"

  "Today is also the Hindu festival of Rakhi, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan offered quickly. "Remember, Your Majesty, this beautiful festival when the ladies adorn the arms of men with flower bracelets. But your Hindu wives have fashioned these gold ones with gems as the tokens of their love and devotion. In this case, it may sound absurd though, since sisters tie bracelets on the arms of their brothers for the gifts of cash?" She reached out to claim the porcelain cup from the bedside table. "Drink this, Your Majesty, it would cure your headache." She held out the cup to the emperor.

  "Plague!" Jahangir exclaimed. "You all thought I was dying?"

  "Not me, Your Majesty, not for a moment!" Nur Jahan blew a kiss into the cup, offering it again. "My intuition tells me, Your Majesty, that you cannot betray my love so suddenly." Her eyes were holding out their own cups of wit and mirth.

  "Your wit would kill me soon, if not your beauty, my pearl." Jahangir smiled. "What do you have in there? Camel's milk?"

  "No, Your Majesty, goat's." Nur Jahan chirped coaxingly.

  "Toss a few grapes in there, my Nur, and the emperor would drink. Chased by a flagon of wine, of course." Jahangir's own wit was returning.

  "You promised, Your Majesty!" Nur Jahan feigned shock and disbelief. "You will not even get one cup, Your Majesty, until your health is restored. Besides, all the grapevines in Kashmir are burnt to cinders."

  "And when did you learn to lie to the emperor, my lovely physician?" Jahangir mocked.

  "If you drink this, Your Majesty, you would be gratified with a tale right out of the bowels of plague. It would be a mystical feast to your curiosity and intellect, I assure you." Nur Jahan coaxed.

  "I will be moved to joy—mystically if the plague has vanished completely." Jahangir claimed the cup reluctantly.

  "It has, Your Majesty, it has." Nur Jahan stood propping pillows behind the emperor's back.

  "This is no ambrosia for the mortal gods." Jahangir drank obediently.

  "And wine turns to hemlock even for the immortal gods, if taken in excess." Nur Jahan returned to her seat thoughtfully.

  "And where is that mystical feast, my lovely Nur? Let it pour from your lips which are the color of pomegranates, and the emperor would be healed." Jahangir's gaze was a blaze of curiosity.

  "Just to whet your appetite, Your Majesty, let me comment that the things had come to such a pass during the epidemic that from fear of death fathers approached not their sons, and sons were afraid to go near their fathers." Nur Jahan began sweetly. "Now, the mystical feast. A strange thing happened in the town where the plague began. First, a huge fire broke out without any visible cause, and burnt down three thousand houses. Then the people of the city whose houses were intact spotted large circles on their front doors. Inside the big circles were two middle size circles and one small one. All the houses in this vicinity had such circles, some white and the other pale in hue closer to yellow. The mosques of this city were etched with the same circles appearing from nowhere. Right after the conflagration and the appearance of the circles, the plague had diminished, almost vanished."

  "Many strange things I have heard about magic and miracles, but these occurrences supersede all cannons of reason." Jahangir was feeling drowsy all of a sudden. "All wisdom is with God! I trust the Almighty will have mercy on His sinful slaves, and will free them from such a calamity as plague." His subconscious appeared to be speaking, not his thoughts. "The emperor has been swimming inside the murky pools of illnesses, I gather. All the royal burdens falling on you, my Nur. Any important matters which the emperor must know and digest?"

  "Beside the murrains, fading fortunately, peace and prosperity reign in your empire, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan soothed quickly. "One snippet of sad news from Agra. Muhammad Riza, the Persian ambassador of Shah Abbas, died of diarrhea." She offered reluctantly.

  "May God rest his soul in peace." Jahangir prayed aloud. "Dispatch swift orders to Muhammad Qasim, my Nur, to convey the goods and chattels of the late ambassador to Shah Abbas. The Persian monarch, in his own good judgment, will reward the heirs of the deceased with all the material wealth, the emperor hopes." His thoughts were exploring one dream out of the very fabric of his subconscious. "How are Prince Shah Jahan's campaigns faring in Deccan?" He asked abruptly.

  "Prince Shah Jahan is gracing his youth with the laurels of victories, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan was quick to feign joy for the victories of the Prince, her intuition warning her against this proud victor. "The Marathas in Mandu had no recourse left but to flee against the onslaught of the Turkish musketeers. Of course, they would have fled anyway before the valor of Prince Shah Jahan. All foes and rebels are fleeing pell-mell. Ujjain has ceded, and the fort of Daulatabad is captured. The town of Kharki is fallen, and Ambar Malik has submitted."

  "Yes, Prince Shah Jahan, my handsome and valorous son." Jahangir murmured dreamily. "I must send him gifts when I return to Lahore. In our treasury we have a precious plume with a ruby in the middle, which Shah of Persia sent me as a gift. That would be an appropriate gift for his valor and wisdom. Also, my horse named Rum Ratan, which the Prince admires the best.
That horse too, my Nur, if you know, was a gift from my brother, Shah Abbas." Fatigue and weariness were making him opiate.

  "You need rest, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan smiled, though her heart was gathering premonitions. "Just close your eyes, Your Majesty, and don't think of anything. I myself would fetch fruits and viands, garnished with Kashmiri almonds."

  "No, my Nur, no! The emperor is not hungry." Jahangir protested with a sudden vehemence. "Hold my hand, love, and stay close to me." He appealed with the urgency of a frightened child. "I need your beauty and your wisdom, to guide me inside the jungles of my dreams."

  "My wisdom, Your Majesty, tells me that Prince Shah Jahan doesn't deserve the gifts you propose to send him." Was Nur Jahan’s involuntary comment. "And I don't mean the value of those gifts, but the sentimental worth with which they were sent."

  "Passing strange, my love. Strange indeed! Your comment about Prince Shah Jahan, not deserving." Jahangir's thoughts were choking his own dream. "Has he acted in some unmannerly fashion lately? What prompted you to say that?"

  "No, Your Majesty. He is valorous and courteous, rather debonair. Perfectly at ease with himself and in command of every task which he undertakes. Fortunes themselves smile upon him, and herald him to the rungs of victories." Nur Jahan began cheerfully. "Only the tongue of my intuition is rude and clamoring these days, Your Majesty. Warning me, that Prince Shah Jahan's every move needs to be supervised, about what, I don't know?"

  "A woman's intuition? If the emperor may resort to such a mundane utterance?" Jahangir smiled, that illusive dream invading his very eyes.

  "Not just a woman's intuition, Your Majesty! But the intuition of the empress, guided by the wisdom of the seers." Nur Jahan quipped.