The Moghul Hedonist

by Farzana Moon

  Jahangir, oblivious to the combat of schemes and gentleness' inside the mind of his absent empress, was comfortably installed in the parlor. He was dictating his memoirs to Mutamid Khan, who was the statue of obedience and discretion. Jahangir was seated on his gold throne, the velvets and brocades under him rippling in pools of sunshine which was streaming through the glass windows in sparkling shades. His complexion was rather sallow against the ripples of deep purple on his silk robe, the color of wild berries. His jeweled cummerbund was matching the glittering rings on his fingers, which were lending some warmth to his cold, white hands. Mutamid Khan seated on the Persian carpet in colorful hues of rosettes and medallions, was awed by the aura of peace and serenity in this room. Even the gilt portraits and the gleaming tapestries were enveloped in some sort of hush, but he was barely aware of their beauty and design. He was further awed by the changing of colors in the emperor's eyes, from soft blue to liquid violet.

  Jahangir sat contemplating the jade and crystal vases brimming with purple, saffron and white tuberoses. He had just finished dictating the details of the weighing ceremonies on his lunar and solar birthdays of this current year, and was now resigned to his own world of quiet reflections. His recollections were a mingling of incredulity and astonishment at the flight of years which were dissolved into a whirlwind of chaos and illusion. This year branded with the number sixteen hundred twenty-five was making a bold entry into his head. Time and timelessness and the emperor were fifty-six year old, and had reigned for twenty-five years already. This thought alone was carving a rent in Jahangir's thoughts, blowing it into a bubble of illusion which would never burst. His gaze was alighting on the musician, Muhammed Nayi, who was evoking the loveliest of tunes on his flute. Seated next to him was Shauqi, equally in rapport with his mandolin. Jahangir's gaze was wandering again, and his thoughts entering the passionate realms where he could be seen trundling on the rungs of youth.

  Still young! One mocking thought in Jahangir's head was kindling to a flaming absurdity. Only of late, weak and suffering—the orgy of fever, asthma, delirium? No less virile or youthful, otherwise? His thoughts were tangled somewhere into the marshland of Vedanta.

  There's one lamp in this house, by whose rays

  Wherever I look there is an assembly

  This couplet by Baba Fighani was coming to Jahangir's mind. His thoughts were clinging to the pages of Vedanta where a Brahmin's life was sectioned into four stages.

  "Mutamid Khan, what are the Hindi names for the four periods in a Brahmin's life, explicitly prescribed by the Vedanta? And what do they pertain to, do you recall?" Jahangir asked abruptly.

  "All those names were recorded in the journal of your memoirs from the previous year, Your Majesty, and I remember them clearly." Mutamid Khan responded with the delight of a devoted chronicler. "The first period is called, Brahmacharya, Your Majesty. When a Brahmin boy is only eight year old. At that time he is initiated into a stage of maturity. Abstaining from bodily pleasures, living on alms and studying the Divine Scriptures. The second period is, Grihast, when he marries at the age of sixteen and leads a family life till he is forty-eight. The third period is, Banprasta, when he retires to a jungle with his wife for twelve years. Communing with nature, and providing food for himself and his wife from the bounties of nature whatever they may offer. The fourth, Your Majesty—" He could not continue as Nur Jahan floated into the parlor as some apparition of light and beauty.

  Nur Jahan was wearing white silks with billowing sleeves, all stitched with sapphires. Her oval face wreathed in flaxen curls was luminous by the sparkle of diamonds and sapphires in her hair. She indeed was a beautiful apparition haloed in light! Gliding toward the emperor with the aura of a goddess right out of some heavenly mists. Mutamid Khan bowed his head, and the musicians fell to curtsying in the same manner. Jahangir simply smiled, indicating the gilt chair beside him, and returning his attention to Mutamid Khan.

  "The fourth one, my prudent Scholar, is called Sarvabiyas. The emperor's memory is favoring him this morning." Jahangir intoned cheerfully. "That is when a Brahmin leaves all his possessions, contemplating God for the rest of his life."

  "Are you talking about some mendicant, Your Majesty, who might have been the son of a wealthy king?" Nur Jahan asked softly.

  "If you are thinking about Buddha, then you are sadly mistaken, my Empress." Jahangir flashed her adoring look. "For some vague reason, my Empress, the science of Vedanta was coming to the emperor's mind."

  "The science of Vedanta better be studied at Agra, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan tossed a careless remark.

  "Are you getting wearied of Kashmir, my Empress?" Jahangir asked.

  "No, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan murmured. "But the affairs at Hind must not be neglected for long, Your Majesty."

  "They are secure in the hands of our skillful vizier, Mahabat Khan, are they not?" Jahangir murmured back. His gaze intense and searching.

  "He is ambitious, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan smiled.

  "All men are ambitious, my Empress, I thought you knew that by now." Jahangir flashed her enigmatic look. "With the exception of a pious few, who have lost everything, even their sense of wit and reason."

  "Piety should be applauded, Your Majesty, not condemned." The blue pools in Nur Jahan's eyes were unfolding ideation, if not mysteries.

  "Only if their piety could benefit the world in some way, temporal and spiritual, my Empress." Jahangir's own eyes were gathering profundities. "If all of us favored the concept of dispossession, thinking of feeding on spiritual gluttony alone, and hoping to live on alms proffered to us? Then there would be no one left with any material possessions to distribute alms to the ones seeking?"

  "Spirituality does benefit, Your Majesty. In some subtle ways, if it is not caught into the swamp of greed and cruelty. Spirituality is not for the ambitious, for ambition can never reach the shores of spirituality, which rejects vice and corruption." Nur Jahan's gaze was smoldering with some inner fire of torment, which she could not voice.

  "Ambition, mentioned by you twice in one sitting, my Empress, means, that you are concealing some important matters which the emperor should be aware of." Jahangir's gaze was holding her captive. "Has Mahabat Khan, by any chance, shown any signs of disloyalty? Or, has he usurped some kingdoms?"

  "No, Your Majesty. He is wise enough not to uncloak his disloyalties until he has gained enough power to act upon his spurious designs." Nur Jahan offered reluctantly.

  "Then, he has designs?" Jahangir murmured an inquiry.

  "Not obvious ones, Your Majesty. "He pretends to be devoted to you." Nur Jahan smiled.

  "And what pretense on your part, my Empress, is making you while away this time in riddles?" Jahangir asked intensely. "A messenger from Agra, perhaps? You are shielding the emperor from the pain of some details dark and unfortunate? Baidaulat, rising in defiance and rebellion once again, is that it?"

  "True, Your Majesty, Fadai Khan is here from Agra. Fortunes are on our side, though—" Nur Jahan's measured tones were silenced by an abrupt command from the emperor.

  "Mutamid Khan, summon that wretch of a messenger to our presence." Jahangir's eyes were gathering impatience, if not anger.

  "Prince Shah Jahan is suing for reconciliation, Your Majesty, that's why we have to return to Agra." Nur Jahan's discretion itself was melting against the beacon of accusations in Jahangir's eyes. "You were ill, Your Majesty, and I didn't wish to burden you with something which carried no urgent threat."

  "Always the gentle physician of time, concealing eternity in her eyes to heal the emperor?" Jahangir mocked tenderly.

  Fadai Khan, escorted by Mutamid Khan, was bowing before the emperor and the empress. His expression one of utter devotion and humility.

  "What wars have been brewing inside the heart of Hind, Fadai Khan, while the emperor has been away? Be succinct in your report, yet leave no detail missing. The emperor has not visited his gardens for two whole weeks, and he is dying to take a stroll." Jahangi
r's tone was impatient and commanding.

  "All the wars have been fought, Your Majesty, only the results are simmering and craving your attention." Fadai Khan complied promptly. "Since Mahabat Khan had made alliance with Adil Khan of Bijapur, Ambar Malik in his alarm and confusion, retrieving his guns and ammunition from Daulatabad, had hastened to storm and besiege Sholapur. Prince Perwiz and Mahabat Khan were still in Bijapur, putting the affairs to order and gaining alliances, when Ambar Malik was left free to attack Sholapur, which being the bone of contention between Adil Khan and Nizamul Mulk. Prince Shah Jahan, being informed of these events, had left Orissa, and had hastened to Sholapur enroute Teligana and Golconda. The Prince was heartily welcomed by Ambar Malik, and the two had formed a close alliance to defeat the imperialists in Burhanpur before Prince Perwiz and Mahabat Khan could reach there. Ambar Malik was bent on conquering Sholapur, while Prince Shah Jahan had proceeded toward Burhanpur under a large contingent of reinforcements from Ambar Malik. The fort of Burhanpur was defended by Sarbuland Rai whom Mahabat Khan had posted to receive further reinforcements from Mulla Muhammad. Prince Shah Jahan was not slack in making attack on the fort of Burhanpur under the guidance of his skilled generals, Shah Quli and Abdullah Khan. Shah Quli had succeeded in seizing the citadel, but due to the want of further support, had capitulated. Then Prince Shah Jahan had made a second attack, but was defeated. He was still preparing for a third one, when Prince Perwiz and Mahabat Khan had arrived at the head of large forces. Prince Shah Jahan was forced to retire to Rohangarh in the Balaghat, where he suffered a severe attack of yellow fever. During the Prince's illness, his general Abdullah Khan, under the spell of some religious zeal, left his camp. This pious general has now renounced the world and is settled in Indore to meditate on God. And Prince Shah Jahan, under the spell of his own repentance for his un-filial conduct, as he says, is imploring pardon from you, Your Majesty."

  "Is Baidaulat still ill?" Was Jahangir's abrupt inquiry.

  "Not in good health, Your Majesty. Still recovering." Was Fadai Khan's abashed response, overwhelmed by this sudden revelation that the emperor still loved his son.

  "Crossing through a sea of confusion, men attain liberty from chaos." Jahangir’s eyes were gathering the clouds of pain and sadness. "A body which is bleating to fight with the arm of its strength achieves no gain, when the arm of fortune has abandoned one's body and soul." His gaze was intense and profound. "And what bounties Mahabat Khan is adding to his laurels of victories?" This inquiry was torn out of his mute pain.

  "Only the ones he wishes to claim from the wealth of your generosities, Your Majesty." Fadai Khan offered reluctantly.

  "And if the emperor finds otherwise, he would hang you alive on the tallest cedar in Kashmir." Jahangir shot one missile of a command.

  "He married his daughter to Khwaja Burkhudar, Your Majesty. The lucky groom is the son of Naksh Abandi." Fadai Khan blurted out in all consternation.

  "And without the royal consent of the emperor?" Jahangir exclaimed. "And what else, Fadai Khan? You will be stripped naked and fed to the beasts in these pine-valleys, if you dare conceal the treacheries of Mahabat Khan or of any of my undutiful subjects." His face was flushed and his eyes shining.

  "It is rumored, Your Majesty, that he has collected large sums of money from the recent campaigns, sending no due payments to the royal treasuries." Was Fadai Khan's flustered response. "He has accumulated quite a selection of the choicest elephants too, Your Majesty, and he has no intention of contributing any to the imperial forces at Agra." He added, as if trying to deflect the daggers of rage from the very eyes of the emperor.

  "Oh, the ignorant beasts called men, who know not their appetites till they are choked with the morsels of their own greed and gluttony." Jahangir got to his feet, waving his arm in a gesture of dismissal. "Back to Agra, where treason sits high on the—" He slumped back on his throne, gasping for breath.

  "Quick, summon Hakim Qasim." Nur Jahan was on her feet, her heart sinking against the edicts of dark fates.

  15

  Rebel Prince

  The only dark fate which Nur Jahan had feared the most was the illness of the emperor, following him to the very gates of Agra. This fateful journey from Kashmir to Agra was beset by a heap of challenges, which the emperor had to confront and overcome. The ailing emperor had grown intemperate, bemoaning eternally the loss of the pine-valleys where he could have stayed if left free from the burdens of his own royal duties. Nur Jahan's love had helped him regain some semblance of health, but not until he had found rest and comfort in his palace at Agra.

  Jahangir had forbidden all, even to mention the name of Prince Shah Jahan in his presence, turning a deaf ear to his son's pleas at reconciliation. He was slowly and most willingly, relinquishing all claims of sovereignty into the hands of Nur Jahan. During the period of the emperor's convalescence, the empress was given charge of all the state affairs. Her decisions were to be applauded and her commands obeyed, by the explicit instructions of the emperor's own wishes and commands. One whole month of rest and carefree abandon had worked wonders on the emperor's health and resilience. He was fit to share the burden of his royal duties, emerging forth as the emperor incarnate. Endowed with such bursts of energy at times, he could feel he was ready to mete out pardons or punishments according to the edicts of his own will and justice.

  Nur Jahan had become the emperor's revered saint behind the veil of this astonishing transformation, his staff and his salvation! Paradoxically, this salvation was guarded by the vision of Anarkali, and he had begun to drink heavily once again. Exceeding his portion of wine one cup each day, and adding more each succeeding day, falling into the welcoming arms of peace and serendipity.

  This particular afternoon too, with a flagon of wine by his side, Jahangir was feeling a sense of power and liberty. He was the master of his own will and decisions. Donned in richly embroidered robe of Chinese silk, he was a paragon of royal glory too. He was seated on his gold throne in his favorite palace at Agra, yet sailing on white clouds over the lovely vistas in Kashmir, his mind transporting him there in a gold chariot harnessed by white steeds. A plethora of commands and decisions were escaping the fantastic visions in his reveries, which could hasten his journey to the Eden of his desire. This very day, he was to send a letter of pardon to Prince Shah Jahan, and to conclude the process of reconciliation without further delay. As to the fate of Mahabat Khan, he was to be transferred to Bengal. A Farman was already sent to Mahabat Khan in Ranthambor that he was to repair to Bengal immediately. Mahabat Khan was staying with Prince Perwiz at the castle of Ranthambor, and quite content with his duties as the most amicable of the governors. Both him and the Prince had formed some sort of coalition, and were expecting no such orders from the emperor. Mahabat Khan was to hand over the fort of Ranthambor to Baqar Khan, and to proceed to Bengal. Prince Perwiz was to stay there and accept Jahan Lodi as his new governor.

  Nur Jahan seated by the emperor could not possibly divine the gold chariot harnessed in his mind, her own thoughts earthbound. She was contemplating the dancers and the musicians. The bodies of the young girls in ripples of chiffons were a whirlwind of colors in her wandering thoughts. She was awaiting the outcome of her own decisions through the lips of the emperor. The decisions and commands, which she herself had inculcated into the emperor's head by the sheer witchcraft of her own will and desperation. Her will, to conquer her enemies and the enemies of the emperor. Her desperation, to share the emperor's love along with the ghost of Anarkali, she had thought desperately. And to defeat the mental and physical ailments of the emperor with the most potent brew of all time. The brew of her love and hope, garnished with the will to succeed? She was molded in her chair like one portrait exquisite, where the brush-strokes of the artist could be seen accentuating her very silks in patterns of gold and crimson flowers. A portrait, who had succeeded, without the emperor doubting or detecting in diluting the emperor's wine with water before it was brought to him.


  Nur Jahan's wit, right this moment, was slashed with fears and doubts. Though with her practiced will, she could make water taste like wine to gratify the parched thirsts and hungers of the emperor, she had thought. Right now, she was praying. Praying for the emperor's health, and praying that he wouldn't notice her ingenious concoction of less wine and more water. Her gaze was sweeping over the gilded portraits on the wall, more so to still her fears, than to admire the works of art. Madonna and the Child. The Last Supper. The Christ on the Cross. Her gaze was lingering over the painting in oval frame, where the Virgin Mother stood haloed by the light of her innocence and holiness. She was tearing her gaze away, shifting her attention toward the emperor.

  "You look rested and jubilant this afternoon, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan smiled sweetly. "How delightful it is to feel at peace, and to know the blessings of good health."

  "This joy is in anticipation of our journey to Kashmir, my Nur, my Light." Jahangir smiled in return. "The valleys of Kashmir are calling us, Nur. And our children, with gold and pearl rings in their noses! Joyfully, they await our return.”

  "They would rejoice more, at our freedom, Your Majesty, if the affairs at Agra were peacefully settled." Nur Jahan's gaze was shifting to Mutamid Khan.

  "They are, they are! In my mind and inside my heart, my Empress." Jahangir drained his goblet thirstily. "And they will be committed to paper this very day, before we march to our Eden on the waves of bliss." He laughed.

  Before Nur Jahan could respond, Asaf Khan was announced by Hushiyar Khan at the guarded portals. He appeared to sail on the waves of his own inner mirth, though he had no cause to rejoice. But his heart was giddy with some mysterious absurdity of its own, which he could neither dispel, nor explore.

  "Your Majesty. Padishah Begum." Asaf Khan bowed ceremoniously.

  "Welcome, my kin and my friend." Jahangir indicated him a seat below the throne. "Feel free to receive the bounties of our love, for the emperor is happy today, and is favored by God's blessings in health and prosperity. What happy news you bring to increase our happiness?" He asked suddenly.