by Farzana Moon
"My father told me a story, Asaf, which might explain these imponderables." Jahangir began reminiscently. "One man named Hasan Sabbah was once on a journey by the sea in a company of other sea-faring men. Suddenly, a storm overwhelmed them. They were all seized with great consternation, and fearing that they would be drowned. Hasan Sabbah, on the contrary, remained calm and cheerful. When questioned by others what kept him so cheerful, he answered simply: all of us would be saved. On reaching the land safely, all his companions were assured that the edicts of future were revealed to him. Had they asked him, he would have told them that he was undisturbed through this assurance alone that the will of God could not be altered. And that his announcement of the good tidings for their security was caused by that reflection, that if they were to drown, no one could have saved them. And that if he had voiced his reflections about drowning, they would have taken to vain supplications."
"Since my reason is confounded, Your Majesty, I better go and worship God in the secret chambers of my heart." Asaf Khan's eyes were shining like the feverish stars. "Praying that our journey to Lahore be safe, that the magicians in Jehlum would not allure us for long and finally that the gardens of Kabul would not imprison us for life." His inward turmoil was surfacing in his eyes, his gaze bright and restless.
"Most worshippers of God are intent on the advancement of their own desires, not on His worship, that's my father's saying too." Jahangir quoted under the weight of sudden weariness, which was constricting his heart.
"Strange, Your Majesty, that you have been quoting your father all evening." Nur Jahan commented abruptly. "I have never heard you talk about him so much, but lately."
"Yes, I feel his presence, and the—" Jahangir's thoughts dared not utter the name of Anarkali. Flashing a smile at Nur Jahan, he turned to Asaf Khan. "Leave us, Asaf. The emperor wishes to take a stroll in his garden, and to cast off the spell of beautiful memories before they arrest him here forever." He got to his feet thoughtfully.
Asaf Khan bowed his head and sauntered away most obediently, not another word escaping his lips. Jahangir assisted Nur Jahan to her feet, and stood gazing into her eyes. They were both suspended there it seemed, against the haze of their own reveries. Much like the lovers, under the spell of ineffable silence, they began promenading.
"To bid farewell to this Eden is like parting from a beloved. Though, my beloved is leaving with me." Jahangir murmured.
"This is not the last farewell, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan murmured back.
"It seems like one, Nur, the last one." Jahangir's gaze was devouring the flowerbeds of poppies and carnations.
"And yet we would return again, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan breathed tenderly. "You always feel this way, Your Majesty, whenever we leave Kashmir. And yet you know we will always return. Again and again and forever. A time would come when we would just stay, and never leave."
"Yes, my Nur, yes. I wish to die here—in these fragrant pine-valleys. Buried deep under the beautiful tapestries of my own gardens." Jahangir's thoughts were throbbing with the will of their own, drunk by the hush and beauty of this garden.
"Why dwell on death and darkness, Your Majesty, when life is offering you joys and hopes from its own bounteous treasures? You have withstood the tests of tragedies and rebellions, and have never faltered? And now this talk of death, why, Your Majesty?" Nur Jahan appeared to demure aloud as if expecting no answers.
"I don't know, Nur, my heart is heavy. I can feel its sadness. It is telling me something. Some sort of foreboding, as if we will not even reach Kabul? Maybe, my soul has seen the tablets of fate, which announce that we would not ever come back to our Eden." Jahangir was heeding the verdict of his thoughts.
"And the tablets in my soul repeat, Your Majesty, that we shall return." Nur Jahan's optimistic thoughts were coming to her rescue.
"Then, shall we heed the tablets of your soul, my Pearl, and say goodnight to our children," Jahangir elicited one snort of a laughter.
"Children!" exclaimed Nur Jahan, forgetting about the fish.
"How neglectful of you, my empress!" Jahangir declared with a sudden blithe. "Our dear little children with gold and pearls in their noses."
The moonlit lake under the canopy of stars was calm and smooth, yet rippling with lace-shadows from the cypress' and the willows. Jahangir and Nur Jahan were standing under one great willow by the pond, where the wild lilies in clusters of orange were wafting their own night scent. The night air was cool, and further scented by a myriad of blooms creeping wildly over the edges of this shell-like pond. The emperor and the empress were gazing wistfully into the clear depths of the pond where the gold fish with royal adornments in their noses floated freely and luxuriantly. Jahangir stirred, turning to face Nur Jahan, his expression suddenly rapt and incredulous.
Nur Jahan was molded pure by the very hands of moon-beams, sparkling like some apparition of gold and light. Her pale, ivory features were luminescent and glowing. The blue heavens and the glittering stars had landed into her very eyes. Jahangir's thoughts themselves were bowing in worship at her feet. He was standing before the goddess of love. Without her he could not live. Even the memory of Anarkali would fade into a vacuum, if she was to vanish like a dream? Something inside him was stabbing and lamenting. For a millionth times in his life he had fallen in love with this woman, this Nur, this light? He had wronged her as many countless times as the brilliant stars in a millennium? He had been unfaithful to her, by loving another?
"My Nur, my Light." Jahangir could barely hear his own murmur of a plea. "Have I ever told you that I love you?"
"Not that I can recall hearing it, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan smiled sadly.
"Then you must never forget, my Beloved, that the emperor loves you with all his heart and soul. Infinitely and passionately." Jahangir claimed her hands, kissing them. "I have always this fear, my Nur, that I am going to lose you." His heart was aching tenderly, knowing not the violence of lust, but the bliss in love.
"You will never lose me, Your Majesty. I might—" Two big tears were glittering in Nur Jahan's eyes. "If you truly love me, Your Majesty, you will take care of your health, for me, for our great love." Tears were spilling down her cheeks.
"Beloved!" One agonized cry was arrested on Jahangir's lips, as he kissed her tears. "One holy kiss under the moon to seal our love. Come, beloved, the emperor will hold you close tonight, much like a devoted lover, without the animal lust of a man courting pain and oblivion, but a man striving to understand love and to nurture bliss in loving," He slipped his arm around her waist, leading her toward the palace.
The moon-beams themselves were following the lovers to the palace doors. Their hearts were the streams of love, pure and gurgling, but such a love could not be desecrated with expressions. Nur Jahan was swooning with bliss, and the emperor was rapt in murmuring endearments.
"You are the light of my heart, Nur, the light of my soul, the light of my love—" Each fiber in Jahangir's body was consumed in love for Nur Jahan.
17
Emperor in Captivity
On the outskirts of Jehlum, the royal encampment by the river Behat was a splendid city in itself. A few elms and poplars scattered here and there could now boast of the splendid tents of the princes and the viziers with white and green awnings. In the middle of which was erected the most opulent one of the emperor's in gold and scarlet. Across from the river, separated by a low, wooden bridge was another city of silken tents for the royal entourage. Those tents were for the guards and soldiers, who were to keep account of the provisions necessary during this long journey. Since Asaf Khan was appointed to keep stock of these supplies, his own grand tent was pitched right amidst the lesser grand ones of the guards and the soldiers.
Barely a week since the royal cavalcade had arrived in Jehlum, and Asaf Khan was more involved in arranging entertainments for the emperor, than heeding the reports of Mahabat Khan's unwelcome, yet planned journey toward the very banks of river Behat. The emperor himself ign
orant of such reports had abandoned himself to the luxury of daily entertainments, which were conducive to his good health. Greatly pleased by the emperor's joyful spirits, Nur Jahan herself had neglected to delve into the rumors of Mahabat Khan's secret plans or meanderings. Besides, she was much, too much in love, rather suspended on the wings of bliss by the emperor's own love for her. In such a state of bliss-rapture, she would have failed to notice, even if the hurricanes struck, drowning all into the blue turquoise waters of the river Behat.
The entertainment on the banks of the river Behat, this particular afternoon, was more magical than wondrous. It was evoking gasps of delight from the lips of the royal ladies as well as from the younger princes and princesses. The emperor in his Persian robe of gold and a red turban studded with emeralds, sat entranced, unable to tear his gaze away from the whirlwind of magic and illusion, fascinated by the skill of dancers and magicians. He was seated on a throne of mother-of-pearl, the low dais under him smothered in lengths of velvets, soft and shimmering. Seated next to him was Nur Jahan, her colorful silks broidered with gold and silver. At the foot of the throne were tiers upon tiers of seating arrangements strewn with rich Persian carpets and brocaded pillows. All these seats were occupied by the royal household, including the aunts and the uncles, and of course, the emperor's wives. Since Asaf Khan had seen the rehearsal of this entertainment the night before, he had excused himself on the grounds of much-needed rest, and had retired to his own encampment.
Just before leaving, Asaf Khan had invited Prince Shahryar to his encampment, proposing rest, since the Prince had been unwell for a few days. Adding jokingly, that the air on the other side of the river Behat might benefit the Prince's health. Prince Shahryar had accepted the invitation eagerly, for on the other side of the river there were abundance of verdure in contrast to the scanty elms and poplars where the emperor had chosen to erect his own luxuriant tents. Besides, there were fields upon fields of wheat on the other side, and he had been thinking of solitary walks with his adored wife and Princess Arzani. So Asaf Khan's proposal had come to him as a God-send boon, and he had requested the emperor if he and his family could accompany Asaf Khan.
The sanction to such a whimsical request was granted by the emperor, but his heart had pounded with such astounding violence, that he had a mind to retract his decision. This nameless violence within Jahangir’s heart had vanished swiftly, while he had watched his son leave, returning his attention to the pillars of pomp and magic. Nur Jahan's heart too, for some strange and astonishing reason, had fluttered at the very inception of the emperor's consent, her thoughts uttering a warning. It was rather a foreboding, but she was quick to dispel it, ascribing her fear to her sole concern for the health of Prince Shahryar. Though, Prince Shahryar was suffering no major ailments. Only inertia and languor had kept him confined to his own tent, feeling or imagining little aches and pains in his limbs, and no traces of fever to justify his complaints.
Prince Shahryar along with his wife and daughter had left long since, but now as Nur Jahan sat watching the jugglers and the magicians, her heart had begun to flutter once again. It was restless and shooting warnings, longing to cross the river to keep a watch over the emperor's troops, who—for sure, could be languishing in a carefree abandon. Before she could penetrate the truth of her inner warnings, her gaze as well as her thoughts were arrested to the magical performance of horror and disbelief.
One man was being dismembered limb by limb by the very hands of a magician, and each part of his body thrown into a basket. The last part of this body was his severed head. The magician was overturning the basket, and all limbs were attracted toward the head as if to a magnet, each part of the body whole and intact, as if this body was never torn apart. The man was walking away with his head held high, smiling and waving. The gasps of disbelief from the audience followed by a great applause were fading as the jugglers from Bengal appeared on the stage amidst the blaring of horns and trumpets. They were revealing the body of a decapitated man from under the sheet, and then restoring him to full stature by the swishing of wands over his head. The same man was producing a few coils of ropes, and tossing them into the air where they could be seen suspended without any support. One Pomeranian was tied to the lower extremity of the rope and left dangling. This frisky dog was quick to climb the rope, and had vanished into the thin air with the speed of a comet. In the same manner, one at a time, a hog, a lion, a tiger and a panther were tied to the end of the rope, all vanishing into some void which could not be discerned by a naked eye. The performers were gathering into a circle, curtsying and enjoying the thunderous applause.
"Never in my entire life I have experienced such witchcraft and disillusionment." Jahangir was laughing, his gaze shifting to Nur Jahan. "Now the emperor is ready for hunting, and I hope it turns out to be as delightful as this magic and mystery."
"Since I am not invited to hunt, Your Majesty, may I visit my brother's encampment which boasts of verdure and a few clusters of flowers? Besides, since our journey from Kashmir, I have rarely spent any time with my daughter and granddaughter, and my heart is longing for their company?" Nur Jahan requested suddenly.
"You uninvited yourself this morning, my love, remember?" Jahangir smiled. "And your brother, and my son and his family uninvited themselves from the pleasure of this fantastic performance, strange? You are all conspiring against the emperor, I can feel?" His eyes were gathering the rills of amusement and tenderness.
"Yes, Your Majesty, we are going to abduct you into the jungles of our schemes. You will be our prisoner, shackled to our own commands to indulge in the pleasure of hunting and entertainment." Nur Jahan retorted, her heart still restless.
"The emperor is your lifetime captive, my love, not ever wishing to be released from the shackles of your beauty and witchcraft." Jahangir quipped. "Won't you come with me, to hunting, my Nur? I can't endure to be parted from you, not even for a moment." He murmured, trying to disperse the dark clouds in his thoughts.
"If you wish it, Your Majesty, I dare not decline." Nur Jahan murmured back.
"The emperor is a slave to your wishes, my pearl." Jahangir got to his feet slowly and thoughtfully. "No, you must go. For some vague, absurd reason, I feel that you need to get away from the emperor—for a while, at least?"
"I can't fathom my own unrest, Your Majesty. I feel—can't explain what I feel?
But something inside me is commanding me not to leave you, as if you will be left alone and—"
"Alone, my love!" Jahangir was smiling, watching his other wives approaching
closer. "You will go, my Nur. Just for this afternoon—until I return from my hunt." His low murmur was rather a command than consent.
This early afternoon with its sepulchral haze was suspended into a vacuum, as if no wondrous acrobats and magicians had ever splintered its hush. The entertainers had retired to their own silken abodes, and the emperor was alone in his gilded tent. He was anticipating a great hunt, and was thinking about Nur Jahan's reluctance to leave, though both had donned the masks of cheerfulness while parting. He could still see her face wreathed in the saddest of smiles as she was being escorted over the bridge by the royal guards and by her lady-in-waiting. His own heart was sad—still sad, his thoughts somehow were turning to his other wives who could be indulging in the afternoon siesta, or playing cards in the comfort of their own luxuriant tents.
Jahangir's thoughts were straying and frolicking as he stood contemplating whether to summon his valet right this moment, or wait till he is done selecting his hunting gear and riding habit. Some sort of mad elation was thundering in his head, sounding nameless commands, the import of which he could neither catch, nor decipher. A whirlwind of memories were craving the attention of his awareness, and approaching closer to him with a threat of the hurricanes. All memories were now seething and breaking into liquid mists. They were peering into the eyes of doom, and fogging the profounder depths of reality where light could never lift the veil of darkness
. An ocean of love was throbbing inside his heart, calling Nur Jahan, repeating her name. Anarkali was outside this realm of madness. His mind and heart were on fire, leaping out of his body, and consumed by the wildfires of their own imaginations. Impatiently, he was turning toward the low desk in jade and ivory where his gold flagon lay gleaming. He filled his cup with ruby wine and stood sipping it absently. His thoughts were entering the tent-chamber next to his own where his royal servants kept guard, and into the next reserved for the soldiers, and into the last one where the imperial guards of the highest rank kept vigilance.
A sumptuous palace in the wilderness. One rude thought in Jahangir's mind was suspended against the sudden sprouting of noise.
The afternoon hush was broken, rather shattered. There were splitting and sundering of sounds, as if river Behat was gathering some tempests. The voices were rising and ebbing, in his own head, Jahangir was thinking. He was turning slowly, espying Mutamid Khan, whose loud exclamation could not be missed as a rag of illusion.
"This temerity and presumption is beyond all rule." Mutamid Khan was protesting with someone only he could see. "If you will wait a minute, I will go in and make a report to His Majesty."
Jahangir's heart was a volcano of forebodings, something inside him stabbing and lacerating. He sought his chair and sank into it with a feeling of hopeless, helpless pain. His one hand was clenched into a fist on his lap, and the other poised before him with his wine cup held firmly. Jahu and Arab Dost had charged into the royal tent, falling at the emperor's feet in a succession of curtsies.
"Your Majesty." Jahu gasped. "Mahabat Khan—" He could not continue. Tears of shame and misery were glistening in his eyes.
"Your Majesty." Arab Dost attempted with small ammunition of courage. "Mahabat Khan—he is here with a large body of Rajput soldiers. A coup, Your Majesty, the treason, the vilest of—" His confusion was truncated as Mahabat Khan himself stormed into the tent. He was attended by two of his sons, a wall of Rajputs following him. This solid wall of men was attaining the gleam of spears and shields, all raised high, all glinting threats.
