The Moghul Hedonist

by Farzana Moon

  "Your Majesty. Padishah Begum." Banarasi fell into a lengthy curtsy.

  "Don't water this garden with your tears, Banarasi. Shalamar is sacred to us." Jahangir stole a warm look at Nur Jahan. "Such a beautiful spring day and what woe is written all over your face?" He asked kindly.

  "Your Majesty." Banarasi gasped for breath. "Khan Jahan of Multan—a messenger from him just arrived. The troops of Shah Abbas have laid siege on Kandahar."

  "Is that all?" Jahangir smiled. "Abul Aziz, the young governor over there, has enough forces to crush those mighty foes into insignificant lumps of blood and gore. Besides, Mahabat Khan's contingent must be close at hand, since Prince Shah Jahan is disinclined to take charge of this campaign." He added intensely.

  "Prince Shah Jahan is not only disinclined, Your Majesty, but—" Banarasi stopped, catching a mute warning from Nur Jahan's flashing eyes.

  "But what, you impudent dolt?" Jahangir demanded with a sudden kindling of rage and impatience. His breathing was labored.

  "Prince Shah Jahan has obeyed your command, Your Majesty." Was Barnarsi's befuddled response. "He has marched as far as north to Mandu—"

  "And then what, my truant sage? Speak up, or your tongue will be fed to the mulberry trees. A great feast to the silkworms!" Was Jahangir's incensed command.

  "Shah Jahan, the Prince, Your Majesty. He is demanding the command of the Moghul armies, the governorship of the Punjab, the ownership of the fort at Ranthambor—and then, he says, he will march to Kandahar. And that too, after the rainy season, if all his demands are met." Banarasi offered quickly.

  "Baidaulat, he dares?" Jahangir’s breathing was heavy and difficult.

  "Summon Hakim Qasim, Banarasi." Nur Jahan commanded.

  "No need for a physician, Nur." Jahangir was flying toward the palace.

  "You need rest, then, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan pleaded. She was keeping pace with the emperor, and praying for his health.

  "Send orders to Baidaulat, my Nur, to return to Agra with all his troops. He is yet to be deprived of all his jagirs." Jahangir was trying to control his breathing and was succeeding. "And we must journey to Multan at once. All princes and viziers would be ordered to meet us there. Prince Perwiz and Asaf Khan—Multan is to be our stronghold, to dispatch forces to Kandahar—" The wooden steps of his palace were spinning under his feet.

  The emperor was smiling to himself. A swift haze slipping before his sight in the likeness of a splendid dream. The smile on his face was shrinking to one painful convulsion. His features were flushed, then attaining pallor as white as the shroud of death.

  Hakim Qasim, assisted by a coterie of servants, were relieving the empress of her royal burden. Nur Jahan herself was in a daze, no prayers escaping her thundering heart. The emperor had fainted into the arms of bliss. He was in oblivion, seeking love of his beloved, not the agony of his empress.

  12

  Battle Between Prince and the Emperor

  The Lahore fort with all its bastions and gardens was an imposing city in itself. It appeared to be looming over the palace gardens like a giant rock, cradling the stables, pavilions and colonnades in its impregnable arms. Jahangir was standing across one shapeless moat, facing an arena of stables where all sorts of beasts were kept for his sole pleasure-indulgence in breeding and entertainment. Appareled in silks of green and purple, he was a part of the scenic splendor, beyond which the palace gates could be seen hosting the loveliest of blooms. The emperor had just abandoned the luxury of his palace after being informed by his chief fowler, Abul Latif that one of the female elephants was in labor and about to deliver. He himself had instructed Abul Latif for the delivery of such news, and had hurried to the scene with the exhilaration of a father-to-be. Nur Jahan and other ladies of the harem, uninterested in such matters, had stayed inside the palace with no intention of venturing out to watch this miracle of a birth. They were playing cards, and unrolling the parchments of intrigues in their minds and hearts. But Jahangir, as a born naturalist and with his penchant to unfold nature in every aspect, could not have missed this opportunity, even for the kingdoms of the world. And this intensity of his need and aesthetic pleasure were visible in his eyes as he stood there all agog, surrounded by a coterie of his royal attendants.

  Since his journey from Kashmir, Jahangir's health had improved but little with no hope of total recovery against the bouts of his excesses which could not be restrained. Moreover, he was besieged by a string of misfortunes which could not lend him the opportunity to nurture his body and mind with strength. The first stop in his journey from Kashmir was on the outskirts of Rawalpindi. Then the royal cavalcade had halted at Multan. The city of Multan was their stronghold to dispatch enforcements to Kandahar. Jahangir was still ailing and weighed down with grief by the tenacity of Prince Shah Jahan's disobedience, as he had reached Lahore. Prince Shah Jahan was hurling a succession of embassies down the emperor's way, protesting his devotion to the emperor, and cloaking his disobediences in the mantle of misunderstanding between him and the emperor. Tearing this mantle of misunderstanding to rags, the emperor could not be dissuaded from sending orders from his sick bed, forbidding his once beloved son to ever set foot inside the courts of Agra or Lahore. No sooner had he recovered a little, that another vicious blow from fate had clamped him down to bed. The emperor's mother, Mariam-uz-Zamani, had died suddenly in her palace at Agra. Though crushed by the burdens of grief and illness, he had summoned enough strength to journey to Agra. Mariam-uz-Zamani was buried in a tomb at Sikandrah next to her husband—the late emperor Akbar and Jahangir had returned to Lahore, utterly crushed by the weight of his own grief, and of his mental and physical sufferings.

  Nur Jahan was always beside him, consoling and soothing the ailing emperor. She was his anchor of love and light in the darkest of times. But he was wooing his bride of wine more intensely than ever. Approaching closer to Anarkali in oblivion, and neglecting to court joy from the one and only love of his life, Nur Jahan. Amidst his rare moods of sobriety, he had begun to entertain remorse, if not the imponderables. Thinking, that he was wedded to Nur Jahan in the eternal damnation of his own Guilt.

  Paradoxically, Nur Jahan herself had begun to suffer the guilt of her own passion, wild and tempestuous. Her great, great passion, which had failed to heal the canker of loss and grief within the ever-turbulent soul of the emperor. All her wedded life she had tried, but in vain. The dead beloved was alluring him to the abode of darkness, while she could not entice him to the sanctuary of light. Her lighthearted gaiety, always clinging toward hope, was now suffering the blight of hopelessness. For the first time in her life, she was truly and madly jealous of the emperor's dead beloved. Her very soul was stricken by the rods of misery and disconsolation.

  The goddess of death and doom! Nur Jahan's very thoughts had stabbed Anarkali with accusations mute and heart-rending. She had begun to curse her own love and beauty, which could not save the emperor from drowning into the pit of misery and sorrow. Her heart and soul had uttered such loud laments that they had penetrated the emperor's oblivion, even when he could not be awakened from the stupor of his drunkenness. Finally, he could be seen surfacing on the shores of sobriety to heed the pleas of his living beloved. Both were swept together into the currents of awareness. Both seeking refuge and anchor inside the tormented souls of one another.

  The emperor had cut down on his consumption of wine. More so to please Nur Jahan than to improve his health! And the sea-nymph of jealousy in Nur Jahan's heart was swallowed by the tides of love inside her heart.

  The ill-fated news at home and from abroad had not changed much during the bleak months of the emperor's convalescence. Those months were not always bleak, interspersed with entertainment, when black fates slept. But nothing could rub off the tarnish of deaths and rebellions, which could be seen looming over the courts at Agra and Lahore. This particular September morning, Jahangir had awakened with a sense of hope and promise. Somewhere, in this jungle of misfortunes, were joy and pe
ace not far behind, he had thought. Now sunshine warming his heart was polishing his thoughts too as dearest of his companions, as he stood watching the birth of the baby elephants.

  Nur Jahan too had shared the same sense of optimism as of the emperor's, this bright, peace-loving morning. She was awaiting the birth of her grandchild with a longing akin to the mingling of joy and pain. Her beloved Ladli was about to pour blessings into this household with a royal babe, and Nur Jahan was wishing to hasten this moment with dreams and prayers. Her efforts to keep Prince Shahryar at her daughter's side had proven unsuccessful, but she was not unhappy. Prince Shahryar had to play the part of an heir apparent, and was dispatched to Dholpur to settle some accounts which needed urgent attention.

  Now as Nur Jahan sat with the harem ladies, listening to the royal gossip, her restless thoughts were bouncing back and forth to gain entry into the chamber of her daughter. It was not long after the emperor had left, that she herself had slipped away to see her daughter confined in her own gilded chamber. Ladli Begum’s confinement was self-imposed, for she had grown much too heavy to carry her burden around without panting, or scolding her ladies-in-waiting for comfort and assistance. Nur Jahan, unsuspecting the hour of birth, had entered her daughter's chamber when the pangs of childbirth were choking her breath and voice. While Nur Jahan was witnessing the miracle of a birth in her daughter's room, the emperor was witnessing the same miracle from the womb of his favorite elephant named, Bansi-badan.

  "Miracles happen, every day, Your Majesty, God's own miracles." Abul Latif was running a commentary. "Your favorite Bansi-badan, Your Majesty. You have treated her like a princess all these years, and now she is going to be a mother."

  "How long has been the gestation period? Eighteen months, is it?" Jahangir was thinking aloud. His lips tasting the soma of exhilaration.

  "Nineteen months, Your Majesty." Abul Latif offered happily.

  "Then the child would be male. If it were eighteen months, then the baby would surely be female." Jahangir’s thoughts were ecstatic.

  "Look, Your Majesty, you can see the baby's feet." Abul Latif chimed excitedly.

  "Yes, the baby elephants are born with their feet first. What mysteries lurk behind the designs of Nature—" Jahangir's eyes were a beacon of light.

  The baby was born, and the mother was scattering dust upon it with the slow, rhythmic movements of her feet. The baby elephant could neither cry nor stir while the mother reached down to pet it with her trunk. Suddenly, the baby elephant was lumbering to its feet, and dashing straight toward its mother's breasts.

  "What tenderness, how enchanting!" Jahangir's exclamation was swallowed by a whirlwind of noise from behind.

  Hushiyar Khan, in the livery of gold and crimson, with the speed of a hurricane, was whirling closer to the emperor. In a flash, he was at the emperor's feet in one breezy curtsy, and announcing gustily.

  "Your Majesty, Ladli Begum has given birth to a beautiful daughter. Padishah Begum is requesting your company." Hushiyar Khan’s eyes shone with excitement.

  "And Bansi-badan has given birth to a handsome male elephant." Jahangir laughed, retracing his steps toward the palace gates.

  The narrow path sprinkled with red dust, was heralding the emperor closer to the palace. The willows with swooping arms, were admiring their reflections in the crystal-clear lakes. Jahangir had halted but briefly, to admire the lotuses, floating so blissfully by the grand steps of the palace in their serene pools. The arches and the cupolas of the facade were fading against an array of pavilions, as Jahangir mounted the vast staircase to reach the palace doors. The emeralds in his ears and a large amethyst in his turban were caught in a blaze of sunshine, before they were concealed behind the imposing doors in gilt and ebony.

  Nur Jahan was in raptures beyond imagination. She had swathed her grand-daughter in the softest of silks with her own hands, before leaving her into the care of the royal ayahs. Fluttering down the damasked hallway, she had shared her joyful news with the other ladies of the harem. Not minding in the least, their joyless murmurs of felicitations. Then she had flown to her own chamber, as if whipped by the mists of her delirium and giddiness. Abandoning herself to the comforts of her chamber, she had summoned the dancing girls. More so to retain the abundance of joy inside her than to banish the affectations of the harem ladies from her thoughts. She was settling herself to the rhythms of serenity, the dancing girls before her some mist-illusions.

  While luxuriating thus in her sense of peace and solitude, Nur Jahan was barely aware of the girls in shimmering whirlwinds. Since her thoughts were seeking the pools in reveries, the studs in the noses of the dancers and tilaks on their foreheads were reflected in her mind's sight alone. She was becoming aware though, that these two dancers were performing Bharata Natyam with the mythological representation of gods and the goddesses. Their intense, spiritual movements were filling her thoughts with awe and bliss, making her float somewhere in realms alien and nameless.

  Nur Jahan was transported to some magical world of her own, where repose and silence reigned supreme. Her thoughts were wandering away from dancers to the gilded furnishings in this room. The figurative angels and nymphs in the large, gilt frames. The large painting on the mantel, depicting men on horseback, riding close to the arena of the lions and the elephants and a pair of hoopoes flying overhead. The gilded painting next to it was of the peacocks with their plumes fanned out, standing by the reed-infested canal brimming with lotuses. Her gaze was wandering no more, a beatific smile alighting on her lips and in her eyes. She herself was painted in the flash of time, her face wreathed in a subtle glow from the sparkle of diamonds on her royal person.

  This was the scene, upon which Jahangir materialized, finding his beloved in a halo of light and repose. He was holding out his arms, joy flooding from his eyes. Unmindful of the dancing girls, Nur Jahan sank into the emperor's arms. Her heart was thundering, and her eyes warm and radiant. Jahangir was quick to dismiss the dancers, before installing his beloved on the velvety davenport.

  "I can't contain this joy, Your Majesty. How painful joy is, at times, my own little granddaughter." Nur Jahan muttered effusively.

  "More joy, if you can contain it, my Nur! The emperor himself has sired a male elephant, metaphorically." Jahangir pressed her hands into his own.

  "Very propitious signs, Your Majesty. These beloved births, this blessed day!" Nur Jahan exclaimed.

  "I hope, Nur, these births, especially, the birth of our granddaughter, prove propitious to our home and State." Jahangir ruminated wistfully.

  "Imagine, Your Majesty, me, a grandmother! Does that mean I am getting old?" Nur Jahan chirped brightly.

  "Grand and beautiful, yes." The stars of adoration in Jahangir's eyes were caressing her youthful features. "And a young mother to the entire royal brood in our empire, including the emperor." He teased. "Though, the emperor is getting old, really old. A grandfather many times over. What is your secret, Nur, you never age? How do you stay so young and beautiful?"

  "The draughts of jealousy, Your Majesty, that's my secret." Nur Jahan laughed. "My secret to youth and beauty! I am fated to drink those draughts so religiously that age is shamed into exile." Her ruby-red lips were drinking their own wine of mirth.

  "Then soon, you would grow old, my love. Much too long have you been deprived of those draughts of jealousy! Several months from now?" Jahangir kissed her hands. "Anarkali is banished inside the caskets of time. In my very soul, never to escape into this reality of a delusion. She has aged along with the emperor, and has grown wrinkled. While your love and beauty keep me alive, if not youthful." His heart was gathering the throbs of a presage.

  "The old emperor has yet to suggest a name for our granddaughter, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan sang evasively.

  "The old emperor's memory is failing too, my Nur. He has forgotten all the beautiful names." Jahangir quipped.

  "I have been thinking, Your Majesty, Princess Wali, or Princess Ladali? Do they appeal to yo
u?" Nur Jahan suggested charmingly.

  "How could you even think of such atrocious names, Nur?” Jahangir exclaimed with a sudden passion. "Your fine taste in building gardens and monuments must defy even the shadow of ugliness in such names. Arzani, yes, Princess Arzani, sounds much better, if not beautiful."

  "I knew, Your Majesty, your old memory would resurrect at least one beautiful name!" Nur Jahan smiled to herself.

  "Your guile, Nur, and your bewitching charm, confound the emperor each hour of the day." He slipped his arm around her waist. "Nothing beautiful could ever be born from ugliness in the emperor's head or heart! But from your heart pure and mind beautiful, all that I see or hear is beauty. I have yet to visit the tomb of your father. How much wealth and genius have you lavished on that monument?" He asked abruptly.

  "The purse of the poor empress dares not flaunt its poverty, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan quipped with the spontaneity of a skilled politician. "And the genius belongs to the architects, Your Majesty."

  "The emperor has heard otherwise." Jahangir got to his feet, stealthy presage inside him surfacing again as he began pacing. "It boasts of your wealth and genius alone, the emperor has heard, my love. You are its sole architect."

  "Since you dissuaded me to build it with pure silver, Your Majesty, it displays the rags of my riches." Nur Jahan's eyes were polished with the jewels of her wit.

  "You should be proud to flaunt those rags with jeweled expressions before the emperor's eyes, my Nur, since he is bound to see them sometime." Jahangir flashed her enigmatic look. "More jewels are shining on your father's tomb than in the emperor's treasury, I have heard."