The Moghul Hedonist

by Farzana Moon

  "I would be stealing a heap of jewels from your treasury, Your Majesty, if I dared embellish this tomb with words. Your treasury, Your Majesty, can fashion a hundred such tombs with jewels precious, and never see the dearth of any pilfering." Nur Jahan was becoming aware of the emperor's dark mood.

  "Won't you delight the emperor with your sweet expressions, my Nur?" Jahangir murmured, his feet coming to a slow halt before the window, and he stood looking out at the terraces down below.

  "With great pleasure, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan began quickly. "To begin with, the floor is all sandalwood, in hues tan, gold and brown. My own design for the floor is farshi-chandani, overlaid in the patterns of stems, flowers and tendrils. The mausoleum itself stands in the middle of the garden on a decorated platform. This platform is surrounded by fountains and walkways. The arches and turrets of this mausoleum are softened by a domed kiosk. This kiosk cascades down gracefully over both the tombs of papa and mamma. Both resting in peace, side-by-side. Their tombs flanked by latticed railings." She paused, her thoughts transporting her to the actual site in Agra, cradled by the banks of Jamna. "Yes, the tombs are like the brilliant caskets, inlaid with semiprecious stones. Pietra dura of the marble tombs is exquisite. Onyx, topaz, jasper and carnelian fit perfectly, like a jeweled tapestry. Carved and inlaid archways in marble seem to be the handiwork of the angels themselves. The facade is carved with the designs of a cypress, the sprinkler, and a cup and saucer—" She paused, as if on the verge of revealing something which she wished the emperor to discover on his own.

  "I should have made you the architect of Prince Khusrau's tomb." Jahangir turned slowly. "My unfortunate Prince, he rests under a canopy, wrought in mother-of-pearl."

  "It will be wrought in pure silver, Your Majesty, if you leave it to me. But that you would not permit." Was Nur Jahan's subtle comment.

  "No embellishments of any sort on other tombs could ever compare with the ones on Itmadudaula’s tomb, as I gather from your description, Nur." Jahangir drifted toward her, eliciting a bright smile. "I have this sudden longing, Nur, to visit your father's tomb. A week's journey at the most if we start right away? In a leisurely pace, that is."

  "Right away, Your Majesty!" Nur Jahan exclaimed incredulously.

  "And why not?" Jahangir commented with the repose of a dreamer.

  "Your Majesty! You promised your viziers that you would stay here till the embassies from Kandahar and from—" Nur Jahan's very thoughts were choking against the ardor and intensity in his gaze.

  "You know, Nur, the emperor's whims. If he decides on something, no embassies in the world can ever detain him." Jahangir's eyes were gathering a passionate storm against their facade of repose. "Unless, your ingenuity, my pearl, can unroll that tapestry in marble right here in this chamber?" He challenged.

  "The last beautiful stitch, which I was concealing from you, Your Majesty?" Nur Jahan began sweetly. "I will show it to you, Your Majesty! If you promise not to leave Lahore, until all unruly affairs have fallen into some semblance of discipline."

  "Your ingenuity is working, already." Jahangir smiled. "The emperor was wondering why your description sounded incomplete?"

  "Then you promise, Your Majesty?" A soft flush crept over Nur Jahan's cheeks.

  "My spirit, right now, is too ardent, to make any promises." Jahangir murmured, his very gaze devouring her.

  "At the very entrance of the mausoleum, Your Majesty, the cypress' are now encircled by the twining creepers." Nur Jahan could barely murmur this great secret of their mutual love.

  "Ah, the emblem of our love into the very arms of nature." Jahangir pressed her to him, kissing her wildly.

  At the very inception of whetting his appetite, a loud knock jolted him out of his passionate frenzy. In a flash, he had stumbled to his feet. Thundering with rage and impatience of a warring lord.

  "Come in at the peril of your own life? If this intrusion is not worth a kingdom, you will forfeit your head." Jahangir waved his arm at the stunned eunuch by the door.

  "Your Majesty!" Hushiyar Khan inched closer, and fell at the emperor's feet. "The Persian ambassador, Haider Beg, craves your audience, Your Majesty. Kandahar has fallen—" He could not breathe, feeling the emperor's rage looming over him.

  Nur Jahan stifled one painful lament, while the emperor stood there glowering. The serpent of rage inside him was uncoiling, and spewing venom into the very throbs of his anguished heart.

  "The blight of fortunes." Jahangir murmured under his breath. "Go, grant admission to the messenger of woe, and stand guard at the door." He commanded.

  "Yes, Your Majesty." Hushiyar Khan bounced back to his feet, and fled.

  Jahangir and Nur Jahan's eyes were locked together after the dazed eunuch had fled. The eyes of the empress were shining with torment, while rage and anguish were smoldering vivid in the emperor's. Both were mute, both arrested under some spell, abysmal and profound. Haider Beg was announced, and they seemed oblivious, chained to their own world of silence. Noticing his presence only when he lumbered closer, offering curtsies. He was standing there humbly, waiting to be addressed.

  "What evil news you bring, Haider Beg?" Jahangir demanded intensely.

  "No evil news, Your Majesty. The king of Persia sends his greetings, and hopes that the relationship of brotherhood between him and Your Majesty will prosper." Haider Beg lowered his eyes as well as his head.

  "Is this the purport of your embassy, Haider Beg, and nothing else?" Jahangir's eyes were shooting commands.

  "The King of Persia also informs you, Your Majesty, that he has taken Kandahar in accordance with the wishes of your late father and grandfather." Haider Beg began smoothly. "And the King of Persia further states that since Kandahar rightfully belonged to the Persians, he hopes that this possession will cause no rift between the two mighty empires, Hind and Persia."

  "That petty kingdom as Shah Abbas called Kandahar? Writing to me respectfully, that this petty kingdom is not worth losing our friendship and brotherhood—" Jahangir paused before giving vent to his rage. "And now he takes that petty kingdom with the sword of treachery. What besotted worm of an ambassador you are! Tell my brother Shah Abbas, that Kandahar belongs to the Moghuls, not to the Persians. And we will take it back, not by the sword of treachery, but by the sheer brutal force of our mighty wills and arms. Begone, begone. And never dare convey such evil report concealed inside the raiments of deceit and ambition." He waved dismissal.

  Bowing impeccably and without a word, Haider Beg vanished behind the doors. Before the emperor could contemplate his anguish, another messenger entered breezily. This rude messenger was Itibar Khan, the governor of Agra, almost colliding with Haider Beg on his way out. He was followed by Hushiyar Khan, whose attempts in impeding the governor's approach were proving unsuccessful. Both were bowing before the emperor, but Jahangir's eyes were flashing rage at Hushiyar Khan alone.

  "Didn't the emperor command you to keep guard at the door?" Jahangir demanded.

  "Your Majesty—" Was Hushiyar Khan’s choked response.

  "Begone, begone." Jahangir waved dismissal. "And don't let anyone enter, even if you have to use a whip to restrain their impudence." He turned to Itibar Khan. "And what do you have to say in your defense, my knight of Agra?" He demanded.

  "Your Majesty, pardon me. I bring grievous news, which can't be delayed." Itibar Khan pleaded, wearing a shroud of ominous silence.

  "More grievous than the fall of Kandahar? All the kingdoms melting in their own pools of insidious plots?" Jahangir lamented aloud. "Evil times and rude fates, Itibar Khan? Let the rivers of misfortunes run free, and the emperor will not hold you prisoner to his rage."

  "Your Majesty, Prince Shah Jahan had a little skirmish with Prince Shahryar in Dholpur. Prince Shah Jahan sent his vizier Darya Khan with a small contingent of troops to seize Dholpur from Prince Shahryar. Prince Shahryar gathered his own troops to counter the attack, and many men from both parties were killed."

  "Oh, Baidaulat!
Unworthy of all the favors which I bestowed upon him?" Jahangir’s attention was shifting to Nur Jahan. "Didn't the emperor bestow the perghana of Dholpur on you and Prince Shahryar, my empress?"

  "Yes, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan murmured, striving to pacify the emperor lest his anger make him ill. "But Prince Shah Jahan had petitioned you for the ownership of Dholpur, Your Majesty, if you recall?"

  "Petitioned!" Jahangir exclaimed. "That royal wretch has torn off the veil of respect, and has turned his face toward the valley of ruin." His rage was landing on Itibar Khan. "Tell Baidaulat that he is deprived of all his jagirs in the north, including Hissar. And that he is not permitted to set foot in Agra or Lahore."

  Itibar Khan stood there chilled. His lips moving without sounds or words.

  "Depart posthaste, Itibar Khan, and deliver this message. This is the emperor's Farman to Baidaulat. The Prince is not to plead with the emperor, or to approach him without summons." Jahangir waved dismissal, his anger mounting as Itibar stood there chilled. "Begone, I say, begone. Don't stand there like some mighty oak. You will be chopped down to insignificant timber by the emperor's very wrath, if you don't flee." His gaze itself was issuing this Farman.

  "There is more, Your Majesty—" Itibar Khan suppressed a sigh. "Prince Shah Jahan has unfurled the banners of revolt, and is marching toward Agra."

  "Oh, that insolent, ill starred rebel! My own son? Now that Kandahar is fallen, this inauspicious son of the emperor is out there to strike an ax at the foot of his own dominions." Jahangir's anger was replaced by anguish. "Must the emperor now abandon the cause of Kandahar and fight with his own son? Yes, Itibar Khan, yes. This open rebellion must be quelled, even if the emperor has to gather forces from all quarters of his empire. Dispatch urgent summons to Mahabat Khan in Kabul. He is to return to Agra with all his forces. Summon all, Afzal Khan from Kandahar, Prince Perwiz from Allahabad, Prince Shahryar from Behar. Another urgent message to Asaf Khan to transfer the imperial treasury from Agra to Lahore. And you yourself repair to Agra to guard the citadel. Begone, begone. No more, no more."

  Itibar Khan retraced his steps slowly and heavily. His thoughts were burdened by the loads of sufferings on the emperor's shoulders and inside his heart. Besides, his own bitter judgment against the undutiful son of the emperor was weighing heavy on his shoulders. Jahangir's eyes were flashing after the retreating vizier, but no more commands were escaping his lips. His heart was constricting with rage and anguish. His arms too were shooting up in one hopeless gesture, and his gaze returning to Nur Jahan.

  "Pain and weakness still my companions. And I must ride and fight my own son on the dusty roads unsuitable to my health!" Jahangir exclaimed histrionically.

  "Must you, Your Majesty?" Nur Jahan demurred aloud, presage and anguish stabbing her own heart.

  "Must the emperor? When his son has drunk the wine of error!" Another exclamation escaped Jahangir's lips. "Wine! The emperor needs flagons of wine to drown his sorrow."

  "A stroll in the garden perhaps, Your Majesty. Wine? In such a state that you are, will—" Nur Jahan's appeal was scorched by the bolt of lightning in Jahangir's eyes.

  "A meager stroll is no substitute for wine, Nur! The emperor will go hunting. Drinking wine from the bruised lips of nature and from the eyes of the hunted beasts." Jahangir announced.

  "Hunting, Your Majesty!" Declared Nur Jahan. "You would break your vow of nonviolence?" Her eyes were shining with disbelief.

  "That vow, my Nur, was taken when Baidaulat was the constellation of my affections." Jahangir mocked. "That was when my grandson, Prince Shuja was ill, and I had vowed that I would not again sport with a gun or inflict any injury on a living thing with my own hands. Wasn't that the solemn vow of the emperor at the tomb of Muinuddin Chishti?" His anger was abating all of a sudden. "And now that Prince Shuja is not ill, and that Prince Shah Jahan is drowning into the ocean of his own hideous follies, the emperor is absolved of all his vows. Forbidden by your lovely eyes, my Nur, the emperor can neither crave a drink, nor a hunting expedition. Do you have a quick remedy to appease the emperor's sufferings? Yes, I know—" He drifted toward her in some dream-haze of desire and torment.

  In a flash, Nur Jahan was caught into a wild embrace, her lips and cheeks burning against the violence of kisses from the lips of the emperor. Both were foundering into a deluge of passion, the violence itself mitigating the pain and suffering in their hearts and souls. Both had surrendered their minds and bodies to the naked lust of the desires unsated and insatiable. Both were intertwined like the cypress and the creeper, where injuries of the soul could not hurt the emblem of love.

  The royal encampment southward of Delhi was swathed in hush and quiet of the evening. The colorful tents were keeping the ladies of the harem in utmost comfort. Another such luxuriant tent was Nur Jahan's comforting abode with Bokhara rugs and gold awnings. The guards and sentries outside were keeping watch over this silk city of tents, vigilant at all times to gratify each little need or whim of the royal ladies. Though surrounded by all imaginable luxuries, Nur Jahan's thoughts were trooping down the rough paths on the field of Baluchpur. Baluchpur was the warring field where the emperor along with a contingent of great army, was encamped to fight against the forces of Prince Shah Jahan. The mind of the empress was at peace though, entertaining no fears or tragedies. Her intuition alone was witness that the emperor would return wearing the laurels of victory, while the royal rebel would be forced to retreat in disgrace. Actually, her thoughts were leaving the battlefield and accosting the pine-valleys of Kashmir, where they were sure to journey after this decisive battle. She was recalling the emperor's promise of such a journey with a sense of joy splintered with pains and sadness'. Her thoughts were digging down the passion-fields of ardent nights and suffered days. Unearthing sweet and bitter memories, where the emperor's caprice and passion could be seen rising on the heights of absurdity when the oceans of his grief were fresh and churning. Then Anarkali was forgotten amidst the fever of his warring thoughts and thoughtful strategies. And the emperor's anger was consumed by the breeze of passion, where Nur Jahan alone was the queen of love and intrigue.

  Before their march from Lahore, the empress herself had secured swift alliances for the emperor. Her network of spies had informed her that Prince Shah Jahan was supported by most of the great Emirs stationed in Malwa, Deccan and Gujrat. Also, swift couriers were feeding her with news from all quarters of the empire. Abdur Rahim and his son Darab Khan had defected, swearing allegiance with the rebel prince, Prince Shah Jahan. Prince Shah Jahan had gathered forces of twenty thousand armed men, and Sharza Khan, Himmat Khan, Rustam Khan, Darya Khan, Mansur Khan, Bairam Beg and Sarbuland Khan were his most prominent generals. To match the forces of the rebel Prince, Nur Jahan had summoned Rajput feudatories to the support of the throne. The princes of Bundi, Kotah, Amber and Marwar had genially responded to the urgent request-commands of the empress. Bir Singh Deo was the foremost amongst them to embrace the cause of the emperor and the empress. The emperor's own summons to his princes and viziers were quickly heeded, all willing to join in this campaign against Prince Shah Jahan. Prince Perwiz, Prince Shahryar, Asaf Khan and Mahabat Khan were given the command of mighty contingents to fight and succeed. Many, many more allies of power and eminence had joined the royal troops to chastise this rebel Prince.

  Then the imperial cavalcade, equipped with a mighty will to win, had marched forth from Lahore in a jubilant flood of hope and adventure. Jahangir and Nur Jahan had reposed briefly at Nur Sarai before commencing this feverish journey to Agra and Delhi. There, in their favorite rest-house with the paintings of lotuses, peacocks and dueling elephants, they were lovers, not warriors. Knowing only the bliss of nearness and togetherness and forgetting about the warring world in the realms of reality and illusion.

  This Sarai was erected by Nur Jahan Begum.

  Jahangir had ordered this inscription to be carved on one marble slab, before leaving that paradisiacal rest-house. Nur Jahan was smilin
g inside the pool of her calm introspection at the thought of this sweet remembrance. A sad, happy smile was surfacing in her eyes too, but she was not aware, only vaguely conscious of her thoughts and recollections. Inside the folds of her joy, pain was awakening, wide-eyed and turbulent.

  On the vast field of Baluchpur, Jahangir in his chain-mail and gold helmet was shooting orders like the poisoned arrows. His heart and soul were poisoned too, with rage and hatred for his son, who had dared rise against the emperor in open rebellion. Though, Prince Shah Jahan, afraid of direct confrontation with his father, had retired himself below the hills, letting his generals assume full command of the battle. The battle was raging furiously as anticipated. The imperialists were pounding the unskilled forces of the Prince with a shower of arrows and a battery of insults. Jahangir himself, astride his Arabian steed, was commanding his generals to launch a succession of assaults. Mahabat Khan with his van under Firoz Jang was ahead of the cavalry. Asaf Khan with eight thousand troops under his command was stationed to the right flank of the emperor. Behind the emperor's own contingent of troops was Abul Hasan with horse and soldier in equal number to Asaf Khan's, for a possible assault or reinforcement. Abdullah Khan with his troops of ten thousand was covering left flank of the emperor. Prince Perwiz, Prince Shahryar, Itibar Khan and Nawazish Khan were scattered on all sides at the head of their own disciplined ranks. From the vantage point of his position, Jahangir could see that Prince Shah Jahan's troops were being routed.

  Suddenly, Prince Shah Jahan's general Bikramajit was seen brandishing his sword to meet the challenge of the imperialists. He was shot in the temple by Nawazish Khan. The proud Bikramajit was unhorsed, and trampled by the riderless horses from the band of his own undisciplined army who had lost their heads from their shoulders in this fierce melee. Witnessing the fall of this mighty general, there were chaos and confusion in the ranks of Prince Shah Jahan's troops. All were fleeing, hounded by the imperialists. Such a pandemonium of flight had ensued, that the soldiers of the rebel Prince were being crushed under the feet of their own warring elephants. Even the princes of Merwar, known for their valor, were fleeing for their lives. Kunwar Bahim himself was seen galloping down the slope to inform Prince Shah Jahan of this woeful defeat.