by Farzana Moon
The emperor and the empress were approaching closer to the walled terraces of this enchanted garden called, Dorogha Bagh. Behind them, the Sun crowned in golden red, was dipping further down the chariots of the west. The music was in the air, and the terraces were throbbing with festive colors in gold and velvets, flaunting jeweled buntings. The Begums and princess' were a shimmering sea of silks and brocades. And the princes with bright plumes in their colorful turbans could be seen laughing and feasting. The tall poplars shading the velvety lawns were sifting and scattering light from a myriad of candles so profusely lit by the fountains. The violets and red roses in their round flowerbeds were vivid and glowing, as if wreaths of sunsets had fallen on the ground. The large tables with damask tablecloths were laden with fruits and viands of countless varieties. The wine-bearers in liveries of red and gold were eager to drain their gold flagons into the sparkling cups. The emperor and the empress were floating freely, much like the singers and the musicians who were there to entertain the royal family in the semblance of troubadours.
Nur Jahan had caught sight of Princess Arzani deflowering a pot of tulips, and was quick to arrest her into her arms. Jahangir was distracted by a bevy of younger princess' who were trying to emulate the dancers by pirouetting on their toes. Nur Jahan was kissing and hugging her grand-daughter. She was joined by Ladli Begum who was arrayed in the finest of silks and jewels much like Nur Jahan's, with the exception of diamond tiara on her head.
"Our beloved Arzani will turn out to be a flower thief, if you do not teach her to admire the precious blooms." Nur Jahan's eyes were cradling her daughter into the light of love, and lowering the bundle of velvets on the carpet.
Princess Arzani, barely three years old, was not only a bundle of velvets, but of pearls with a creamy net so craftily woven in the brown thatch of her curls. She was bouncing away in glee, not even acknowledging the presence of her mother. Nur Jahan was watching her granddaughter with a tender fascination, while Ladli Begum was exploding into a volley of mirth.
"You have spoiled her, Padishah Begum, and you expect me to teach her the virtues of beauty and aesthetics?" Ladli Begum chanted joyfully.
"An utter folly too, in neglecting to teach my own daughter the art of survival in this court of intrigues." A subtle rill of sadness was alighting in Nur Jahan's eyes.
"Intrigues dare not come near me, Padishah Begum, as long as I am favored by you." Ladli Begum chanted with all the purity of joy and innocence. "Favored by my own mother! The most powerful and the most benevolent of the empress' on the continent of this whole wide world? And the empress most beloved by the emperor!"
"And how long these favors are going to last, my sweet Princess?" Nur Jahan's gaze was profound. "For how long, my love, how long? When the empress is dead—cold and powerless in her grave to rescue you form the tides of deceit and treachery?"
"Forever and forever, Padishah Begum, I hope and pray." Ladli Begum's happy disposition was not deflated by such sad musings. "You will live, Padishah Begum, to see our dear Arzani wedded and for many, many more years to pour your love on many more generations to come." She drank daintily out of her cup, laughing.
"Do you ever advise your husband, my heedless Ladli, to stay close to the emperor as much as possible? To win his favors as many as he can?" Nur Jahan began exigently, as if the tides of time were pressing upon her heart and mind. "Prince Shahryar is to be the heir to the throne, and he must prove himself worthy. He has to pave his way toward this legacy and to learn how to rule. Not to be ruled by his scheming, plotting brothers?"
"You have, Padishah Begum! I mean, paved the way smooth for Prince Shahryar." Ladli Begum acknowledged with a gleam of pride and gratitude. "Prince Shah Jahan being in disgrace, and Prince Perwiz—" She could not betray the violence of her own dreams against the probing gaze of her mother.
"And Prince Perwiz, the king of ambition, though he has not rebelled as yet?" Nur Jahan snatched the words out of her daughter's thoughts with a keen sense of perspicacity.
Their eyes were locked, as if they stood cementing the link of understanding without words, and sharing infinity in love and hope, which could only be shared by two loving hearts. Their mutual trance was broken by the breezy approach of Prince Shahryar. He was balancing two goblets of wine in his hands, and entering their world with the scent of hilarity.
"My charming Prince, are you seeking oblivion in the cups of wine?" The stars of admonition trembled in Nur Jahan's eyes as she greeted the Prince. "And the empress stands here neglected. Not a drop to sweeten her palate or thoughts?"
"The emperor himself sent you this goblet, Padishah Begum." Prince Shahryar offered her the cup with a gallant curtsy of his head. "The emperor's heart is floating there at the bottom of this cup, that's what my father told me to say." He laughed, stealing a tender look at his wife.
"I can see his heart floating in a nimbus over the very heads of his wives." Nur Jahan quipped. Her gaze was reaching out to the emperor where he stood drinking, and laughing. "Look, how he ogles the dancers over the shoulders of his wives, while claiming to be the most attentive of husbands! I have seen and intercepted that look before, but not his other wives, not them? They are too giddy to notice." She laughed. "You should be there with the emperor, my handsome Prince. Suing for favors and wooing the bride of kingship, not wasting your time in courting your own bride." She stole a glance at her daughter. "She will always be there." She affirmed.
"And the throne too, Padishah Begum." Prince Shahryar’s mirth was bubbling in his eyes. "With one of my brothers turning a rebel and a traitor, I might inherit the throne." He drank deeply out of his cup.
"Keep an eye on Prince Perwiz, my imprudent Prince. He has enough ambition to color your dreams with the blood of hatred and intrigue." Nur Jahan warned smoothly.
"Both my eyes are riveted on him, Padishah Begum." Prince Shahryar chuckled deliciously. "He is bloated with pride and arrogance. Telling his viziers that he is the rightful heir. Marking me doomed as the son of a concubine, and Prince Shah Jahan as the vessel of treachery and perdition. His own words, Padishah Begum, not mine."
"Shahryar!" Ladli Begum exclaimed, her eyes flashing.
"No concubine of the emperor is branded with shame or disgrace, unless she herself chooses to entertain such demeaning thoughts." Nur Jahan's eyes too were flashing. "Abstain from drinking in excess, my Prince. Lest your tongue lashes out disrespect, instead of respect. Respect—which you owe to your own self, to your wife and to your mother." She was turning away, her gaze suddenly warm and tender.
Ladli Begum and Prince Shahryar stood watching the empress, as she glided past them swiftly and gracefully. Silence was their link to love and friendship, no words escaping their lips. The empress was lost beyond the profusion of French marigolds, before they turned to face each other. Their eyes met, resurrecting the blooms of scented memories. Ladli Begum's eyes were bright and glowing. Prince Shahryar’s were brimming with love, which he could not share with anyone but with his adored wife.
Nur Jahan, with her own lighthearted gaiety, was attracting admirers on her way to the low terrace, where the emperor stood conversing with his other wives. The younger princes and princesses were flocking around her. They could be seen vying with each other to claim her as their sole confidante in sharing their own little anecdotes. She in return was gratified to see the gleams of joy and gratitude in their eyes as her rewards of indulgence and kindness in caring and sharing. Even the dancers with bare shoulders and gossamer skirts were greeting her with palms joined and uplifted, and showering her with compliments. Barely had she escaped the charge of her own sisters and their husbands, when her gaze was arrested to the emperor's daughters. Princess Bihar Banu was standing there with her husband Tahmuras, radiant and mirthful. A few feet away from that happy couple was a circle of princes, entertaining Princess Sultanunnisa, but she seemed forlorn and detached, molded alive in her own solitary world where no one could reach her. Nur Jahan could not help noticing the
shadow of misery in the eyes of this older princess as she flitted past, and a stab of remorse lunged at her very sense of gaiety before she could advance further.
Why didn't I ever befriend Sultanunnisa? Nur Jahan's thoughts were creating a name and a face from the white mists of the past. A name was emerging, Man Bai, the mother of Princess Sultanunnisa who had died even before Jahangir had acceded to his throne. Why didn't I befriend any of the princesses? Her thoughts were welcoming the too familiar face of Karamasi Begum, the mother of Prince Shahryar and Princess Bihar Banu. How could I? Did I have the time? A succession of intrigues and rebellions. Prince Shah Jahan, the warring lords, the perfidious wars. The emperor's illness'— Her thoughts were huddling against some warm refuge.
Nur Jahan was floating in some daze, her senses stealing the scents of purity from clusters upon clusters of white lilies. Her sprightly steps were leading her up to the terrace where the emperor stood drinking with the fervor of a hedonist. The gleaming marble under her feet felt smooth, yet unwelcoming. It seemed to be swimming in liquid colors from the reflections of silks and brocades adorning the royal ladies. Karamasi, Nurunnisa, Khairunnisa, Salihah Banu, Malika Jahan, Sahiba Jamali, and many, many more of the emperor's wives were feeding the emperor with the delicious morsels of gossip. Sahiba Jamali was breaking through the circle of the other wives, edging closer to the emperor, not even noticing Nur Jahan, who was caught half way between this circle of wives. She stood exchanging amenities with each one of them, and laughing with a wild abandon. More so to drown her regrets and sadnesses than to gratify the happy brides with her wit and gaiety.
"Your Majesty, Prince Perwiz is drinking much too heavily, I have been informed." Sahiba Jamali was murmuring low. "My son, my only son—even insensible to the needs of his royal household and of his little kingdoms." Her voice was drowning against the beat of the tablas.
Nur Jahan was closer to the emperor now, inside the intimate circle of the other wives. She had caught the spark of fear in Sahiba Jamali's voice, and was expecting some sort of soothing response from the emperor to still the fears of his wife. As the emperor stood there drinking without uttering a word, Nur Jahan's own attention was shifting to the emperor, demanding a response from her gaze alone. Her eyes were speaking more than she could voice, as if accusing him of drunken stupor and of neglecting to soothe the fears of his wives. Jahangir himself was watching her, the cup of wine poised before him in an act of taking another sip.
"The emperor has heard what his beloved wife just said, my Nur." Jahangir murmured, shifting his attention to Sahiba Jamali. "All the emperor can do, my love, is to send him a letter of reprimand. Forbidding him to drink? So scarce are the grains of obedience inside the heads of my sons, that I wonder how they discipline their own children?" He drained his cup greedily.
"Little kingdoms can be destroyed with little neglect. And large kingdoms crash on one's head with the weight of self-neglect if restraint is not practiced." Nur Jahan murmured to herself.
"An edict, Your Majesty, not just a reprimand! Yes, a strict Farman should be dispatched, if he is to be saved from drowning himself into the rivers of wine." Sahiba Jamali's anguish itself had elicited this poetic plea.
"No edict of my father could ever restrain me from excessive drinking, my love." Jahangir laughed suddenly. "I will chastise him personally. That always worked for me, when my father came and imprisoned me under his strict commands." His eyes were glowing with some inner fire-need of liberty and surcease, all in one.
"Are we allowed to chastise you personally, Your Majesty?" Malika Jahan sang half earnestly, half teasingly.
"Only if you can usurp the emperor's empire, my sweet rebel." Jahangir laughed.
"That is simple, Your Majesty. We can all arrest you in your own palace at Kashmir, and rule Hind from behind the veils of treachery." Salihah Banu could not help jumping into this pool of mirth and mischief.
"If you wish to keep your pretty head on your shoulders, my love, you will not resort to such treason." Jahangir could not help indulging his wives in this game of idle pleasure. Though, his heart was throbbing suddenly with a real sense of doom.
"You wouldn't behead your beautiful wives, Your Majesty? Your kind and forgiving heart will not permit it. It would break." Was Nurunnisa's mirthful comment.
"My heart is accustomed to breaking so religiously, my love, that it feels not the splinters of grief anymore. Justice shall be done!" Was Jahangir's jovial comment.
"We would be the power and justice both, Your Majesty, us together. Nothing could harm us!" Khairunnisa declared happily.
"The empress can smell treason from the very breath of air. In fact, from the fort of Agra to the very borders of Kabul?" One prophecy of a comment escaped Nur Jahan's psyche. Drowned in her mirth, she could not unspool the mystery of this treason, which had nothing to do with the emperor's wives.
Asaf Khan had landed into this pool of mirth, and was now seeking the emperor's attention.
"It will be a treason not to enjoy the fruits of Kashmir, and the delectable feast which is longing to be consumed." Asaf Khan was tossing this plea into the sea of mirth and gaiety. "If I was not afraid of the breech of etiquettes, I would attack those viands even before the emperor could taste one morsel?"
"The emperor can't live on mirth alone." Jahangir was quick to escape this sea of mirth. Commanding over his shoulders. "Come Nur, join your brother in the gluttony of this feast."
The Chenars flanked by marble fountains, were hosting an array of tables with shimmering tablecloths in gold and damask. The large fruit and floral arrangements were gracing the tables laden with Moghul cuisine of the finest varieties. In the distance, the poppies and carnations were swaying in the wind, oblivious to the music of feasting and merry-making. Jahangir and Nur Jahan were flitting from table to table, tasting all viands with their eyes alone, and claiming not a morsel from this bounteous feast. Asaf Khan, joined by other princes and princesses was following them, eager to devour everything if the emperor could only hasten the ritual of feasting.
"This grape will be enough to announce the bacchanal feasting." Jahangir snatched one grape from the ruby-red cluster and tossed it into his mouth.
Asaf Khan was quick to attack the steaming dishes with a sigh of relief, now that the ritual of feasting was announced formally. The princes were heaping their gold plates with viands and vegetables, whatever appeared delectable and inviting. The princess' were keen on the dainty fruits as appetizers, the plums, apples, peaches, melons, apricots, all sliced in shapes of shells and flowers.
"The emperor is craving for some dish of a culinary excellence by the ingenuity of our royal cooks, my Nur." Jahangir turned to Nur Jahan. "Hope, some such delights are awaiting the emperor this evening? Depending, if this feast was prepared under your skillful instructions, of course?"
"Fish, rice and vegetables in a variety of flaming colors, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan teased.
"Half cooked rice, unflavored fish, tasteless vegetables! The emperor has partaken of such peasant feasts quite often while hunting." Jahangir's eyes were tearing the veil of her banter with the warmth of a smile. "The emperor is craving for pheasants garnished with almonds. Hares cooked in wine. Legs of lambs stuffed with nuts. The tender chicken cutlets swimming in a sauce of poppy-seeds."
This evening of song and music, of dancing and feasting had drifted past the hour of midnight, coming to a sated halt in the middle of the garden. The emperor was seated on his gold chair with a brocade canopy overhead. Nur Jahan and Asaf Khan were keeping him company and finalizing the plans of their journey to Kabul. The garden was still lit with candles and colorful oil lamps. Though, it was absorbing more light from the full Moon with its own canopy of stars. The princes and princesses had retired early, longing for rest before their long, long journey to Kabul. The Begums too had sought the comforts of the palace, abandoning the beauty of this garden with tender adieus. A coterie of servants were still hauling the carpets and furniture back to
the palace, and restoring Dorogha Bagh to its neat, uncluttered serenity. The night air scented with the perfume from flowers was evoking some lone yearnings in Jahangir's heart. His heart was groping for something in the darkness, which it could neither touch, nor unveil. Some sort of peace and self-surrender were seething in the very fabric of his psyche, holding on to the glory of this year's bounteous spring. But he knew that he would not ever feel the same even if he was to visit a million such springs into the very heart of Kashmir. Nur Jahan's own thoughts were turning to the journey ahead, but she was content to listen to the exchange of views and ideas between her brother and the emperor. Actually, she had ceased to fondle any threads of conversation, since her own thoughts were awakening to one flame of a warning, which she could neither catch, nor extinguish. Asaf Khan was bubbling with enthusiasm, not in the least aware of the hush and enchantment in the bosom of this fragrant garden.
"A great entertainment of jugglers and magicians has been arranged for Your Majesty's pleasure in Jehlum, Your Majesty." Asaf Khan was saying. "Those jugglers are awesome, Your Majesty. They have honed their art and magic to such perfection, I hear, that one feels floating inside the mists astonishing and spellbound."
"A rope-dancer performs with his feet and hands, and a poet with his tongue, my father used to say." Jahangir ruminated aloud.
"Poets only weave the mists of lies, Your Majesty, but the jugglers and the magicians, they flash the mists of miracles before our sight, pouring wonder inside the very temples our hearts." Asaf Khan intoned proudly, as if he himself was the magician.
"Miracles abound only within the temples of diverse creeds, Asaf. And wonders are only the products of our mental deceptions, for who could dare ascertain truth inside the fabric of lies?" Jahangir murmured profoundly. His sight, as well his senses were cherishing the murmur of songs from the moonlit fountains.
"Then, should we close our eyes to the wonders of wisdom, Your Majesty, and abandon miracles in some dark pit of lies?" Asaf Khan protested.
