The Moghul Hedonist

by Farzana Moon

  Jahangir astride his snow-white horse was exultant and beaming. He had expected a long, grueling battle, and this whiff of swift victory was making him drunk with joy and exhilaration. He could see one of his soldiers carrying the severed head of Bikramajit, and riding toward him posthaste. A spurt of laughter was escaping Jahangir's lips, as he watched his soldier flaunt this trophy of war, as a lesson and warning for all who dared challenge the emperor.

  "Now this head is worth nothing, until it is fashioned into a drinking cup!" Jahangir declared. "Bikramajit, isn't he the one who raided the walled city of Agra? Robbing all the jewels and treasures, which rightfully belonged to the noblemen of our court? Stealing nine hundred thousand rupees from Lashkar Khan alone, though the gates of Fathehpur Sikri were barred against him and Baidaulat?" His eyes were flashing queries at the viziers who had joined him.

  "Yes, Your Majesty. The very same rebel, this mighty Bikramajit." Mahabat Khan murmured without much enthusiasm. "Do you wish us to pursue Prince Shah Jahan, Your Majesty?" He asked enigmatically.

  "Yes, pursue him to the very end of the world! And bring him before the emperor alive or dead." Jahangir commanded under some spell of pain and delirium.

  Mahabat Khan galloped away, without even waiting for further instructions from the emperor. He seemed oblivious, even of Itibar Khan, who was hurrying past him to seek the emperor’s attention.

  "Your Majesty, Prince Shah Jahan is seen fleeing toward Mandu." Itibar Khan announced. His eyes shining with excitement and apprehension. "Prince Perwiz and Prince Shahryar are already in swift pursuit after the fleeing Prince. Do you wish me to join them, Your Majesty?" He appealed.

  "No, Itibar Khan, no." Jahangir chanted happily. "The affairs at Agra demand your august presence. You must return to Agra and guard this city against any horde of future rebels." His tone was heavy and his breath labored. "Mahabat Khan is already on his way. You must look to the preparations of our journey to Ajmer before you leave." He was struggling against the shortness of breath, and fearing an asthma attack. "And then to the pine-valleys of Kashmir, for health, for health." He spurred his horse in the direction of the silk city where Nur Jahan sat awaiting the news of victory.

  13

  Lahore of the Moghuls

  Kashmir with all its glory of peace and perfume had failed to pour strength into the ailing body of the emperor, though several months of rest and respite had slipped past since his return to Kashmir after the victory of Baluchpur. He had fallen ill shortly after he had shared the news of victory with Nur Jahan. Asthma and arthritis had become his most evil of foes, following him at his heels to the very shrine of Ajmer. The journey to Kashmir had been long and cumbersome, and he had made the beautiful palace of Achabal, his home and retreat. Nur Jahan was his constant companion, loving and caring with utmost devotion, but his health was not improving, as if he was destined to founder inside the pools of his own gloom and depression. He was courting Anarkali once again, his spirit broken and despairing. His thoughts, it seemed, were longing for liberty from the agony of flesh, and release from the fetters of their own mental anguish. Such morbid, yet frolicsome thoughts of his could inhale the scent of Anarkali from each lovely bloom in his garden, and from each bright wound within his heart.

  Evenings were the saddest of times for the emperor. During those hours of silence and inactivity, his thoughts could catch the solitary murmur of trees, which appeared to be lamenting some loss, or weeping inconsolably. Paradoxically, his aching soul was the author of such laments, in league with his effort to efface the memory of his fugitive son, Shah Jahan.

  By the sheer stroke of luck, or by the clemency of early summer, Jahangir's condition was improving slowly since the past two weeks of rest and restful contemplations. So, this particular evening, he had ventured out on the terrace in his favorite garden of Achabal. To Jahangir, this was the most delightful of all the gardens in Kashmir, and he was wont to delight in this one the most. It were lush and resplendent, cradled in between the great hills rising above the palace grounds, and down below the valleys of Kashmir dipping in lovely contours. Nur Jahan, delighted by the emperor's willingness to sit on the terrace, had ordered clay lamps to be lighted at the pools and fountains. The white terrace where Jahangir sat on his gilded chair was a perfect spot much favored by him. From here he could see even the distant Chenars and white poplars, peering from behind the hills, lofty and invulnerable. The mirror-like lakes further down the sleepy pavilions were reflecting verdure in hues silver and emerald, filling the emperor's sight and senses with awe and wonder.

  The Persian rug at the emperor's feet was lending Nur Jahan warmth and comfort, where she had abandoned herself to dreams and languor. Her head too was abandoned on the emperor's lap, and she was gazing at the jafari blooms down the terrace steps under some spell of dreamy abeyance. No glittering jewels were adorning her royal person this evening, but soft, creamy pearls. Her blue velvet dress stitched with pearls was accentuating the white purity of her small, oval face. The fountain of her youth was still brimming with the glow of passion, and not corrupted by the ripples of age.

  Jahangir, on the contrary, had aged quickly. The small ridges around his lips and at his temples had carved deep trenches on his gaunt, pallid features. His eyes had attained a feverish brightness, as if ready to kindle the flames of agony at the slightest of provocations, especially, if the provocations came from the arena of rebellions, concerning his rebel of a son, Prince Shah Jahan. The emperor was wearing purple silks this evening, the blue-purplish bags under his eyes soft and swollen. The large amethyst in his turban, was casting gloom over his pale and sunken cheeks. His gaze was taking flight with the hoopoes and the golden orioles. Though, the ocean of silence within him was touching the hem of reality. The storm within him also, underneath that sheet of silence, was yawning and awakening. His thoughts were rising in defense to avoid, not challenge, the fury and stealth of this inner storm. So, they were escaping the gates of his eyes to find the balm of healing from the coffers of peace and loveliness in nature. Paradoxically, his gaze was reaching out to court not peace, but violence. It was arrested to one small spring at the foot of the sloping lawn. This spring was gurgling and spluttering fury all of a sudden, its violence disrupting the hush and peace in this garden.

  "Look at that spring, Nur!" Jahangir declared intensely. "Did it always gush out with such violence without rhyme or reason? It seems to be sitting at the mouth of a volcanic eruption?" He was fascinated by the fury of this small spring.

  "Yes, Your Majesty. And several similar ones down the valley, they too court violence at times." Nur Jahan responded dreamily, without lifting her head.

  "How could it be otherwise, now I remember." Jahangir murmured to himself. "This Achabal of yours, my love, is designed over a powerful mountain spring which rises out of the Sosanwar hill." He demurred aloud.

  "This was also the site of worship for the Hindus, who named this place, Akshanala. Didn't you yourself enlighten me on this subject, Your Majesty?" Nur Jahan murmured.

  "A sight of worship, yes, my Pearl, where a Muslim emperor can sit and worship you till eternity." Jahangir was stroking her hair absently.

  "The garden of paradise for me, Your Majesty, if I may borrow your expression? And this could be ours till eternity if we don't have to return to Agra, Delhi or Lahore." Nur Jahan pressed the emperor's hand to her cheek quite wistfully.

  "I have to leave this paradise, only to check the rebellions of my own son, Baidaulat!" Jahangir sighed.

  The emperor was quiet again, holding and cherishing this summer evening in all its peace and stillness. One more glorious day was gone, leaving behind haze and swoon, and hush and pulchritude. The gold, blue flames from the clay lamps were still struggling to melt the pallor of the dusk and to reveal their own beacons of light. Jahangir's gaze was sailing over the Chenars and poplars, discovering a patch of gold sky where dusk had splattered it with crimson streaks. Just like the molten anguish inside my own he
art, Jahangir was thinking against some surge of awe and wonder. His thoughts were tracing the paths of Baidaulat's rebellions and carving wounds down the very sunsets amidst their journeys long and aimless.

  Prince Shah Jahan, after his defeat at Baluchpur, had retreated to Mandu in the province of Malwa. Upon learning of Prince Perwiz and Mahabat Khan's advance, he had decided to confront them, but was stalled by a sudden blister of rift and confusion amongst his companions. His generals had begun to defect, seeking alliances from the imperialists. So disheartened had he grown by the infidelity of his supporters, that he had no choice but to cross the Narmada River and seek sanctuary at the fort of Asir. Since Prince Perwiz and Mahabat Khan were still following at his heels, he had decided to capture the fort of Asir and to make it as his stronghold. This fort was in possession of Mir Husamuddin—the husband one of the cousins of Nur Jahan. Nur Jahan, adroitly aware of all the moves of this rebel Prince had dispatched a missive to her cousin, instructing him not to let this Prince enter the fort of Asir.

  Jahangir, while journeying thus in his thoughts on those bruised paths, was trying to recall the import of Nur Jahan's missive. But his thoughts themselves were the masters of their journeys, entering the terrains of treachery, where more rebellions could be seen shining in the eyes of Prince Shah Jahan. In obedience to Nur Jahan's instructions, Mir Husamuddin had strengthened his fort against the imminent assault of Prince Shah Jahan. But Prince Shah Jahan, through the unerring deceit of his chief plotter Sharifa had succeeded in seducing the ruler into submission by means of great promises, behind which lurked great threats. Soon after, Prince Shah Jahan had left Gopal Das in charge of the Asir fort, and he himself had found refuge in Burhanpur. He was still being pursued by Prince Perwiz and Mahabat Khan, and was getting wearied of flights and indecisions. Since his plans to retire to Deccan were foiled as he was quick to judge, he was willing to sue for peace from Mahabat Khan. Mahabat Khan had no intention of granting any sanction of peace to this rebel Prince, until he showed some signs of contrition. And the first sign of contrition which he demanded was to hand over Abdur Rahim who had defected and was greatly favored by the Prince. Prince Shah Jahan, though gaining time for further escape, was left with no choices, but to comply. Before delivering Abdur Rahim into the custody of Mahabat Khan, he had made him swear an oath of loyalty to him. Abdur Rahim, despite his pledge to Prince Shah Jahan, had turned to be a staunch supporter of Mahabat Khan, pledging his allegiance to the imperialists once again.

  Prince Shah Jahan was duly informed of Abdur Rahim's implicit desertion, and had no time to lose to fly toward Deccan. He was to suffer more desertions from his generals. Biram Khan was the last one to defect before his anticipated flight toward Deccan. Now in total despair, Prince Shah Jahan was reported to be crossing the Tapti River, still pursued by Prince Perwiz and Mahabat Khan, but had succeeded in escaping once again. This time, into the foreign territory of Golconda which was outside the purview of the Moghul rule. That was the last the emperor had heard about his son's swift flight before embarking on his journey toward Kashmir. Prince Perwiz and Mahabat Khan were instructed to continue their pursuit. Prince Shahryar was constrained to cut short his endeavor of capturing the Prince, since his own health was failing.

  Jahangir’s thoughts were turning toward Prince Shahryar, but some obscure portrait of the long past loss was replacing this dimly-lit recollection of the present. The vast chamber in his mind was dark and imposing. He could see the ghost of Prince Khusrau. Prince Khusrau’s son Balaqi was there too, whom the emperor had recently appointed the governor of Gujrat. This dark chamber in Jahangir's mind was shuddering and expanding, exploring all nooks and crevices. Carving rivulets of memories on the very shores of Bengal where Asaf Khan was assigned the post of governorship. More shadows were imposing their presence inside the darkness of his mind. Anarkali was but the emblem of Nur Jahan, whose presence he could feel with all the agony of love and illusion. The dark waves in his thoughts were charged with the currents of anguish and implacability. Narmada River was coming into view, its waters lashing at the fort of Asir. Nur Jahan was imprisoned inside the fort of Asir, her missive floating into a pool of water around her, all words blotched and muddied. What had made Mir Husamuddin wear the chains of submission?

  "What did you write to Mir Husamuddin, my Nur, when Baidaulat was on his way to Asir?" Jahangir asked abruptly.

  "Your Majesty!" Nur Jahan was startled out of her reveries. "Such a long time, Your Majesty. You should not think about those sad events." She murmured softly.

  "Those sadness' will be forgotten, if the emperor's curiosity is satisfied." Jahangir's eyes were shooting a plea-command which could not be denied.

  "A gist of that letter then, if it appeases your sadness." Nur Jahan heaved herself up, sailing toward the edge of the terrace. "What did I write? Nothing escapes my memory. Yes, it's coming back to me. This is what I wrote, Your Majesty, beware a thousand times, beware, not to allow Prince Shah Jahan and his men to come near the fort. But strengthen the gates and towers. Do your duty! And do not act in such a manner that the stain of a curse and ingratitude for favors should fall on the honor or the forehead of a Sayyid." She stood gazing into the pool of limestone below.

  "To think of that, Nur, I too rebelled against my father." Jahangir ruminated aloud, his gaze admiring the red Himalayan tulips.

  "All children rebel against their fathers at some point in their lives. And the sons of the emperors or the sons of the future emperors are no exceptions." Nur Jahan commented without turning.

  "By the virtue of being born as emperors, the emperors first and foremost, they tend to rule, not to be ruled? So, they become a rule to the exception." Jahangir intoned rather cheerfully. "Carrying the burdens of kingdoms on their shoulders, the emperors demand obedience from their sons." His gaze was caressing the back of his beloved. "The beauty of Kashmir has cradled the emperor into mists of inertia, and he has ceased to think about the affairs of his empire. Any news of Baidaulat, Nur, or from any other quarters, which might interest me?" He asked disinterestedly.

  "Prince Shah Jahan is in Deccan, the last I heard about him, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan murmured. "He is seeking alliances with the Golconda government, I have heard, and with the English merchants of the south. Jagat Singh and his allies in the north are seeking protection and patronage from us. To that request, I have already sent an answer, offering them assistance and complete protection from any intrigue or plotting by any prince or vizier." Her senses were surrendering to the peace in this garden.

  "Your gold fish with gold rings need a better abode than this pool of limestone, Nur." Jahangir commented. "They should have a pool of all marble. The emperor would order another pool built, of marble, with the inlay of mother-of-pearl."

  "They are happy in their humble abode, Your Majesty." One tinkling of mirth escaped Nur Jahan's lips. "Besides, the gold in their noses would clash with the white in marble." She half turned.

  "Come and sit by me, Nur. The emperor's heart is sinking." Jahangir smiled, as if gathering strength from her lovely eyes.

  "Your Majesty, you do look pale and tired." Nur Jahan floated toward him, her look apprehensive. "The air is rather chilly, we better go back to the palace, before—" She was stalled in an act of sitting at the emperor's feet.

  "No, my love, no. Sit in your own gold chair. Your blue velvets clash with the maroon rug." Jahangir smiled again. "The emperor is not talking about some physical ailment, but the disease of the soul." He was gazing into her eyes. "The emperor has failed in many things, my Pearl. Where did he miss? How far has he stumbled into the abyss of follies?" His gaze was smoldering all of a sudden.

  "Where indeed, Your Majesty, if you think you have failed?" Nur Jahan sank into the chair beside him. "By loving too profoundly the one who could not be present to requite your love." She murmured.

  "And loving not enough the one, whose boundless love has sustained me this long?" Jahangir breathed profoundly.

&nb
sp; "We all wade and founder inside this ocean of life without guidance, Your Majesty, knowing not where and whither? But by the law and virtue of our natures we could do no more, no less in what we strive to do." Nur Jahan's own eyes were spilling profundities. "You have loved me enough to keep me close to the shore of safety."

  "Not enough, my love, not enough! And now the emperor has only one wish, to live and to die in this paradise, with you beside him." One kindling of a presage in Jahangir's heart had uttered this cry, not his lips.

  "To live, yes, Your Majesty. This paradise forbids—" Nur Jahan's thoughts were shattered by one bolt of an exclamation from Jahangir's lips.

  "And who is this rude intruder? Woebegone and unattended?" Jahangir's gaze was attacking one lonely figure on the forked path serenaded by the fountains.

  A light of recognition was alighting in the emperor's eyes. Nur Jahan too had recognized the old, forlorn man approaching close to the terrace.

  "Abdur Rahim, Your Majesty. Your own vizier who defected to Prince Shah Jahan and now has pledged his allegiance to the imperialists." Nur Jahan murmured.

  "Your Majesty. Padishah Begum." Abdur Rahim prostrated himself at the feet of both the emperor and the empress.

  "Raise your head, Abdur Rahim, and let the emperor see some sparks of loyalty in your eyes." Jahangir commanded.

  "Too ashamed to raise my head, Your Majesty, lest you see the ravages of disloyalties on my wrinkled brow?" Abdur Rahim could barely murmur.

  "Such times, Abdur Rahim, such trying times." Jahangir's tone was softening. "Let us blame follies of all men on the decrees of fate. And no man need be ashamed of his errors or eccentricities. You have suffered enough, and your faults are forgiven. What news you bring from the bosom of the warring kingdoms?" He asked kindly.