The Moghul Hedonist

by Farzana Moon

  The emperor was now leading Nur Jahan into the tapestried hallway with a maze of doors to the left and right, which seemed to be expanding endlessly into more chambers and corridors. Nur Jahan was becoming aware of the chamber of mirrors with mosaic floors, to her right. This chamber was equipped with marble fountains in the middle, and a large tank the size of a swimming pool. She was so profoundly absorbed in recalling the details of this chamber, that she didn't notice they were stepping out into the open on the turreted gazebo.

  This large gazebo was occupied mainly by the poets and the younger princes, and they were surging toward the royal couple with smiles and greetings. The musicians by the marble fountains were striking beautiful melodies, sweet and intoxicating. Shauqi, the mandolin player was oblivious to all, but to the wild notes of his wedding songs. Nayi, the flute player, was vying with him with the loveliest of tunes ever evoked on a royal wedding. Prince Perwiz was seen surfing on the scene.

  "Your Majesty. Padishah Begum." Prince Perwiz swayed and curtsied. "All the gardens in Hind are stripped bare to deck this wedding!"

  "Not this garden, my Prince, not Nur Manzil." Nur Jahan smiled. "This Nur Manzil has everlasting blooms, and no one dare pluck any without my permission."

  "Yes, my happy Prince, our empress with everlasting youth has the power to keep her gardens in eternal bloom! Not only Nur Manzil, but Nur Afshan and Moti bagh too. And don't forget the gardens in Kashmir." Jahangir gaze was piercing. "You should plant gardens too, my inebriated scholar! Bhang grows wild in the village of Panj Bara which the emperor bestowed upon you, replace it with flowers." He chided.

  "Bhang doesn't suit the tastes of our royal prince, Your Majesty. Though, abundance of wine keeps him fit and merry." Asaf Khan, emerging from behind, seemed to be patronizing the giddy prince.

  "Ah, Asaf, you are neglecting your duties." Jahangir teased. "Feasting and gormandizing while you should be attending to the affairs in Gujrat?"

  "Padishah Begum ordered me to join these festivities, Your Majesty, instead of sending me a gentle invitation." Asaf Khan rejoined brightly.

  "Oh, my dear, dear brothers! Do they ever obey the empress?" Nur Jahan teased. "And did you, Asaf, heed my other commands? Where is our dear brother Itaqid Khan? Our sisters, where are they? Manija and her husband Qasim Khan? Our little Khadija and her husband Hakim Beg?"

  "The imperial orders didn't suit their temperaments, Padishah Begum." Was Asaf Khan's mirthful response. "Besides, how could I disobey the emperor? His commands were to leave these happy kin in their unhappy kingdoms, where they could keep a check on the intrigues and rebellions of their subjects."

  "Before this feasting could turn into a dish of warring territories, Your Majesty, may I present Sayyid Hasan, the ambassador from Persia?" Mutamid Khan edged closer. He had just left the circle of the poets, Sayyid Hasan trailing behind him.

  "If my brother Shah Abbas is not coveting Kandahar for his Persian domains?" Jahangir laughed, granting consent with a quick wave of his arm.

  "Shah Abbas, the k

  King of Persia sends this gift to the emperor of Hindustan, Your Majesty." Sayyid Hasan procured one crystal goblet encrusted with rubies.

  "A most charming gift." Jahangir was eager to claim the goblet. "With the permission of the empress, it would be put to test." He flashed a smile at Nur Jahan.

  Before Nur Jahan could protest, the wine-bearer was at hand to obey the emperor. Jahangir was quick to drain his cup thirstily, holding it out for replenishing.

  "This goblet is too beautiful to be poisoned with wine, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan murmured, her eyes flashing daggers at the wine-bearer.

  "This is the nectar of love, my Empress, though you may choose to name it poison." Jahangir smiled, turning his attention to Sayyid Hasan. "For this rare gift, Sayyid, the emperor is going to send Shah Abbas his own jeweled jug fashioned like a cock. And that would hold more wine than this dainty crystal cup." He stood contemplating rubies on the gold rim of this goblet. "And another rare gift! A wild ass exceedingly strange in appearance. Shah Abbas would be pleased beyond measure. This ass looks like a lion—exactly, without exaggeration. From the tip of its nose to the end of its tail, and from two points of its ears to the top of its hoof, there are black markings. And fine, black lines around its eyes. One might say the painter of fate, with a strange brush, has left this wild ass on the page of this world." His gaze was returning to Nur Jahan. "What would the empress bestow upon the ambassador from Persia?"

  "My own gold mohur, Your Majesty, the one which is called, the Star of Destiny." Nur Jahan smiled.

  "Ah, the Star of Destiny." Jahangir's gaze was straying down the courtyard below where an elephant parade was just commencing.

  These elephants being paraded before the guests were causing quite a din of cheer and applause. More than one dozen in a group, all these were the favorite elephants of the emperor. They were decked with coverings of fine brocade, besides being garlanded and painted with bright colors. He stood admiring the richly appareled elephants, but his thoughts were running a backward course, and holding Mahabat Khan captive on the way. The emperor had entrusted Mahabat Khan with all the expenditure for this wedding. Now noticing the precious brocades on the backs of his elephants as some needless expense, his gaze was searching Mahabat Khan where he had seen him earlier amongst the group of the poets. Mahabat Khan was still glued to that giddy circle, and enjoying the recitations of couplets wild and lurid.

  "Mahabat Khan, come hither, and lay open the accounts of expenditure for this wedding." Jahangir commanded. "Particularly, how much did it cost to don the elephants thus in rich brocades?"

  "Your Majesty." Mahabat Khan was leaving the happy circle of the poets, and stumbling into the snare of the emperor's inquisition. "I know nothing about it, Your Majesty." He was bowing and murmuring. "These brocades were prepared in the harem. Her Majesty, the Empress had sent them to me."

  "Then, may I put the same question to you, my empress?" Jahangir asked.

  "Practically nothing, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan sang happily. "These coverings have been made by palace tailors from the bags in which the letters and petitions of the nobles and the ambassadors are received. Nothing was purchased, so no funds from the royal treasury were pilfered."

  "You are the paragon of thrift, my Empress." Jahangir complimented.

  The terraces were teeming with guests in waves upon waves of silks and jewels. But the emperor's gaze was arrested to the courtyard, where the chess game with beautiful girls dressed as pawns, knights, soldiers, viziers, kings and queens, were luring the male guests to a stalemate of awe and silence. The alfresco Parcheesi floor of the courtyard was divided into sixty-four squares with vermilion lines to create a life-size chessboard. A few girls as pawns and soldiers were banished from their squares, though they stood there laughing amongst themselves. They were dead, metaphorically, killed by their willful lords who were determined to trample over the lives of their subjects.

  "And don't tell the emperor, Mahabat, that this chess game is not one of your brilliant schemes to turn these wedding festivities into a battleground of mirth and delirium?" Jahangir's gaze was returning to Mahabat Khan with the stars of inquisition.

  "A great entertainment for the royal ladies, Your Majesty." Was Mahabat Khan’s delirious response. "This charming spectacle works to their benefit to rule, govern and displace their own lords." He averted his gaze.

  "Most beneficial for the lords, I must say." Was Nur Jahan's sweet comment, concealing one dagger of a threat. "For it improves their skills to shuffle and replace their ladies without a pang of remorse or contrition."

  Jahangir began to laugh. Greatly amused, more so by Nur Jahan's wit, than by Mahabat Khan's dull-witted insinuation. Overwhelmed by his mirth, his gaze was frolicking once again. This time gathering the circle of poets in its ocean billowing with caprice and commands. He could see Talib Amuli in there, upon whom he had bestowed the title of Malikush Shuara, meaning, the King of Poets.


  "Leave that witless circle, my King of Poets. Come, delight the emperor with your poetry where it is appreciated the most." Jahangir commanded. He was waving dismissal at the rest of the courtiers, who had flocked around him uninvited.

  All were dispersing like the giddy waves, caught in their own mindless currents. Talib Amuli was sprinting past all, and edging closer to the royal couple with the speed of a comet. In his hand, he was holding a large rose the size and color of a morning sun.

  "Your flattering title itself, Your Majesty, has garbed my poetry into rags of silence." Talib Amuli curtsied. "But I do wish to present this rose to you, Your Majesty, as a gift of my mute inspiration." He held out the rose.

  "A rare gift such as this should have been left breathing on its stem for all to cherish and admire." Jahangir claimed the rose, inhaling its fragrance.

  "Without the consent of Padishah Begum, I would not have dared pluck it, Your Majesty." Talib Amuli smiled, stealing a look of gratitude at the empress. "This is a gift of Her Majesty's graciousness, and I have taken the liberty to present it to the emperor."

  "A faithless poet! Exchanging his own gift for a favor from the emperor." Nur Jahan's eyes were shining with mirth.

  "You must garnish this gift with a rich verse of yours, Talib, or the emperor's ungraciousness would visit you soon." Jahangir commanded.

  "Yes, Your Majesty." Talib Amuli bowed his head.

  "Spring longs to riffle thy parterre

  For the flowers in thy hand are fresher than those on his branch

  I've closed my lips from speech that you'd say

  His mouth is but a scar on his face."

  He glued his lips together in the imitation of a crescent.

  "If the court poets made it a habit of acting and writing in this refrain, the emperor might strip them off their titles." Jahangir's eyes were gathering poetic stars. "The verse of Anwari suits better on this occasion than any impromptu verses ever sung by the Moghul poets." He smiled before reciting the cherished verse.

  "Tis a day of mirth and jollity

  A daily market of flowers and odors

  The earth-heaps are suffused with ambergris

  The zephyr sheds rose-water from his skirt

  From contact with the morning breeze the pool

  Is roughened and pointed like the edge of a file."

  He was turning toward Nur Jahan with a whimsical smile. "The gardens of delight need exploring, my empress. Let the poets sing hymns of praises to the bridal couple, while we court the bride of nature."

  The bridal couple had just emerged out into the garden, floating ahead of the musicians, as if carried on the strings of melodies from the wedding songs. A canopied stage smothered with velvets and brocades was welcoming them to its royal bosom. The servants with gold and silver trays balanced on their arms, had begun to serve hors d’oeuvres to the guests. Jahangir and Nur Jahan, caught in a flurry of greetings here and there, were straying farther from the jubilant sea of music and dancing. The terraces and marble fountains were left behind, and they were entering a grove where poplars stood tall and mighty. They could see the purple irises in the distance, the ones which Nur Jahan had insisted in importing from Kashmir. The feet of both the emperor and the empress were coming to a slow, involuntary halt before one jets d'eau. It was bubbling and gathering music in its own pool of marble and sunshine.

  Jahangir and Nur Jahan were suspended there as if transported into some valley of peace. Both were quiet, both content to be alone, together. Both welcoming the silence, both exiled from the fever of feasting and celebration. Nur Jahan's senses were in abeyance, still drugged with the wine of perfume and beauty in Nur Manzil. Jahangir too had drunk deep of the beauty of this garden, and his aesthetic senses were swooning. He had feasted on scent and color with the ardor of a lover, but much like a true lover, his thoughts were gathering doubts and sadness'. Something alien and nameless was simmering inside him. A kind of sadness, which he had not ever felt before. It was strange and mysterious, as if his heart would choke with grief and despair. Grief and despair? They were no closer to him than song and music, which were reaching him on the strings of breeze in faded ripples. Something inside him were bleeding and cankerous, some enormous rent which could not be mended or healed.

  "My heart is burdened with nameless grief, Nur. Stay close to me, always. Not ever leave me. Not even for a moment, all this evening." Jahangir pleaded.

  Nur Jahan was startled out of her own reverie of peace and serenity. She could not speak, her gaze alone searching the cause of the emperor's malady. His pale, sharp features were attaining the glow of ivory against the intensity in her wild, searching gaze. Actually, the feeling of sadness in Jahangir's thoughts and mirrored into his eyes was dissolving, leaving behind only the sparkle of awe, as if he had just discovered the beauty of his beloved. The white rose in crimson silks. The gleam of pearls framed over her oval face. Her lake-blue eyes. The dream-boat oceans. Her poppy-red lips.

  A goddess molded in ivory. The purity of pearls and rubies in her complexion? A goddess, whose worth I can never imagine? A goddess, whose youth I have tarnished with my own canker of love and despair. Jahangir was thinking.

  "Why so, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan carved a ripple in this pool of silence. "The wedding of my daughter and of your beloved son and you talk of grief?"

  "Don't you hear the cry of a nightingale, my Nur, it is drowning all the festive songs in its loud laments. Also, pouring grief into the emperor's heart." Jahangir’s gaze was arrested to the nightingale, who was ransacking a crow's nest up on the Chenar.

  "Not lamenting, Your Majesty, but serenading hope in life, as you yourself remind me year after year." Nur Jahan followed the emperor’s gaze. "Look, Your Majesty, how it has emptied out the crow's nest of all its eggs! Now it would lay its own in its empty lair. How well I remember since last year! The crow mistaking the nightingale's eggs as its own, and hatching and tending the young ones till—" Her heart was fluttering all of a sudden.

  "Ah, the crow! Black as the night with black, beady eyes." Jahangir demurred aloud. "In all aspects, nightingale resembles crow with the exception of its red eyes."

  "With the exception of white spots, as on this female, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan tried to still the fluttering in her heart. "These lovely colors in Spring are playing tricks on your sight and senses." She laughed.

  "Yes, love, I can see." Jahangir could see Anarkali in nature as well as in the lovely eyes of Nur Jahan. "Yes, I can see only love! Love in nature, and love in your beautiful eyes. The spring of love is bubbling inside my heart, and all around us." He slipped his arm around her waist. "Let us stroll down the grove yonder. Maybe we will meet a tiger in love, and the emperor will vie his love for you with vows much nobler than the animal passion?"

  "Tiger in love, Your Majesty? I have only encountered the ferocious ones, the victims of my shooting." Nur Jahan could not help boasting.

  "How did I ever forget to tell you about this, my Nur?" Jahangir began reminiscently. "I was in Lahore and you stayed in Agra? One of your cruel edicts which carve rents of separation." He laughed. "Well, in Lahore, Dewar Bakhsh presented me with a tiger, who had an affection for a goat. Since this was strange, I tried an experiment. The goat was taken away from the tiger. The tiger was disconsolate after being separated from the goat. I ordered another goat to be brought to his cage. The tiger smelled this goat, and then broke its back in a fit of rage. A sheep was then brought to his cage, and he devoured it mercilessly. Finally, I ordered the old goat to be brought back to his cage. At once, he took the goat to its breast and licked its face. Never before I had seen such love by animals tame or wild!"

  "And how do you propose to vie with that love, Your Majesty?" Was Nur Jahan's bright challenge.

  "By caging you inside a glass palace, so that no one could take you away from me." Jahangir retorted mirthfully.

  "Not even death?" Was Nur Jahan's sing-song rejoinder.

  "Especially, death!" Jahangi
r's feet came to a sudden halt under the canopy of cypresses. "I will stand guard at the door, fighting death till my last breath."

  "Death fights no duels, not even with an emperor, Your Majesty. It strikes its victims in absolute stealth without a grain of mercy." Mirth and mockery were shining in Nur Jahan's eyes. "But you may paint my beauty with the pen of destiny, and keep it as a specimen for your experiments."

  "What cruel jests, Nur?" Jahangir chided intensely. "Your wit tastes bitter to the emperor, wonder why? Let us return to the garden of festivity where songs breathe life, and banish death to its rightful abode of silence. Behind the very gates of Hades." He drifted ahead of her. "What made you say that, beloved?"

  "Forgive me, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan sang contritely. "Strange as it may seem, I was thinking about the time when you had had that old man brought to the palace. The one who was dying and you ordered the court painters to paint a fresh picture each day to the very end of his life." The wedding songs were reaching her awareness.

  "And not in the least strange that the emperor was thinking about love!" Jahangir's gaze was reaching out to the sea of colors in the distance. "Love of one beast to another? Love of a man for a woman—" He paused, smothering his thoughts alive ordead unvoiced. "Love of a father to his children. Love of a mother to her babes who stay eternally young in her loving thoughts. Yes, the love of a mother! Another story, the great truth, not a parable! Did I ever tell you that story, Nur? You can never fathom such love, Nur, in that story." His eyes were kindling a bright challenge.

  "I know such love, Your Majesty." Was Nur Jahan's tremulous response.

  "Such a one which could make you sacrifice your own life for your child, Nur?" Jahangir's thoughts were inhaling the scent of that story.

  "If it needs sacrificing, Your Majesty?" Nur Jahan murmured.

  "Not the need, my love, but immolating one's life without rhyme or reason?" Jahangir thought aloud.

  "Then, may I know the reason of its greatness, Your Majesty?" Nur Jahan could sense the emperor's need to tell this story.