The Moghul Hedonist

by Farzana Moon

  Meanwhile, Mahabat Khan, after he had released Asaf Khan and the other prisoners, was reported to be seen on his way toward Tattah. He had changed his route though, and had marched straight toward the east. He was hoarding large sums of money under his name in the imperial treasury of Bengal, and was intent to retrieve it before the imperial Farmans could rob him of such fortunes. Nur Jahan was informed of Mahabat Khan's each and every move, and had acted quickly to thwart his designs. She had appointed Rai Singh, Ali Quli, Safdar Khan, Sipandar Khan and Nuruddin Quli to foil the treacherous designs of Mahabat Khan. They were supplied with a contingent of thousand men to intercept the traitor, and to fetch the entire treasury of Bengal to Lahore, before it could be pilfered. Abu Talib was to head this expedition, and transfer all the coins, gold and jewels into the treasury of Lahore.

  A few months had elapsed since Nur Jahan had trusted all these men with such an imperative expedition, but so far she had heard no news concerning this matter. She was shadowed by her fears, the emperor's ailing and grieving spirit entering her own and wreaking vengeance inside the quagmire of her soul and spirit. She had had no time to inquire into this matter, not until recently, as the emperor was feeling a little reprieve from his illness so as to afford her the luxury of looking into the heart of the political matters, which needed the wands of justice and vengeance. She had sent orders to Abdur Rahim in Delhi to repair immediately to Bengal, and to furnish her with the news concerning Mahabat Khan's moves and treacheries. Abdur Rahim was aged, and in not too good a frame of health to venture such a long journey. But urged by the empress, he had consented to follow the fugitive with every last ounce of his will and strength.

  Though a victim of his own lacerating spirit, Jahangir too had emerged forth to touch the anchor of action after feeling a little reprieve from his illness, which could permit him to think and act according to his own wishes. He had appointed Asaf Khan the governor of Punjab, with Mir Jumla as his assistant. Muqarab Khan who had received the governorship of Bengal, as soon as the emperor had reached Lahore, had met a tragic end. He was boating, when a squall of wind had toppled his boat, and he was drowned. After this tragedy, Fadai Khan was transferred to Bengal to ensure its peace.

  Jahangir was still a prisoner to his grief, but the enormity of this grief itself was lending him an astonishing sense of peace and self-surrender. Prince Shahryar alone had become his solace and his salvation. He of course, was the protégé of Nur Jahan, and much beloved by her to gain and retain the emperor's favor. Last week, Prince Shahryar, under the tutelage of Nur Jahan, had arranged a garden party to celebrate the first revival of the emperor's health, and his spirits had been greatly revived since the affable prince was the chief host himself. The emperor's grandees too, as the guests of the royal prince, had been a source of great delight to the emperor by the virtue of their light spirits unencumbered by the burdens of royal intrigues. Paradoxically, the emperor's grief and tragedies had become a part of his self-surrender, his surreal peace as he named them, veiling his pains and torments against the mantle of illusion.

  Illusion itself was the only reality which could hold open the portals of serenity inside the emperor's heart and mind. The same illusion was leading him closer to Anarkali. He could behold her standing in the window of his mind, eternally young in the eternal gardens of Kashmir, beckoning him to the paradise of perfume and surcease. He was longing to return to Kashmir, with the impatience of a lover who could not wait to be united with his beloved. His paradise was calling him, his beloved perfumed and bejeweled, wearing the crown of youth and beauty, and waiting! The light of his heart and soul could be no other than Nur Jahan, his beloved, this illusion. Yet this beloved was leading him to yet another Beloved, Jahangir had begun to think in rare moments of half lucidity, half delirium.

  Right now, the emperor was seemingly absorbed in watching his grandsons, but his mind had left its present abode into the realms of the subconscious. For some vague, astonishing whim of the subconscious itself, Jahangir was transported back into the times and trials of his captivity. He could see himself standing on the narrow bridge of his recent grief, yet looking down into the abyss of his past sufferings, and trying not to jump into the waters of illusions. The waters of illusions were rising up to his knees, but before they could immerse him in complete oblivion, he was whirled back into the present by one loud boast from Asaf Khan.

  "Asaf, what kind of promise Mahabat Khan extracted from you, before you were released? I have heard he bound you in some sort of solemn oath?" Jahangir asked abruptly. His look was dreamy, much in the semblance of a suffered monarch who really didn't wish to touch the rags of memories.

  "An oath on the Quran, Your Majesty." Asaf Khan admitted reluctantly. "He made me take an oath, Your Majesty, somewhat of the context, that I would always be a brother to him since he was kind enough to grant me liberty."

  "You should have fought him, Asaf, and would have gained release by your own strength." Nur Jahan flashed her brother an accusing look, before the emperor could collect his thoughts. "You should have made him like the dust on this earth, and would have punished him in a manner so as to make him an object-lesson for the whole world?" Her hatred against Mahabat Khan was constricting her heart.

  "A single man amongst the pack of tyrants, Padishah Begum?" Asaf Khan smiled ruefully. "He had me surrounded by the Rajput soldiers, and ordered them to kill me if I disobeyed. I am lucky to be alive as it stands." He made one hopeless gesture.

  Jahangir was watching Nur Jahan. He appeared to be absorbing the sparkle in her eyes in some daze of memories, where his own query was lost and forgotten. The blue diamonds in her hair and around her throat were lending her oval features the fire and glow of marble. Her small, white hands were folded into her lap, sculpted and prayerlike. Jahangir was watching her hands now, gleaning the sense of vulnerability from that posture, which he alone could feel and detect. The lines of suffering around his eyes were relaxing into a tender smile. This smile was copied by the glittering diamond in his turban, and by the smooth, round pearls in his ears, it seemed.

  "Let your brother live in peace, my Nur, and remind him not of the shameful past." Jahangir murmured tenderly. "A dead vizier is no use to the emperor, and while living he may yet assist the emperor in his journey toward death." One wisp of a prophecy escaped his lips.

  "Your Majesty!" Exclaimed Nur Jahan.

  "How unkind of you, Your Majesty, to stab me with another dagger of a tragedy while I am still chilled inside the pools of grief for my—our son? How could you even think—such terrible thoughts?" Sahiba Jamali murmured.

  "Forgive the emperor, my Mistress of Beauty. My grief has taken the liberty to voice such terrible thoughts. But we should cast away this veil of darkness. We would all wash our grief in the scented valleys of Kashmir." Jahangir consoled, returning his gaze to Nur Jahan. "The preparations of our journey to Kashmir, my Nur, are they complete? The emperor regrets to burden you with everything, but your youth and courage are eternal as I often confess to myself, so you must take charge."

  "Eternal as long as you are with me, Your Majesty." Nur Jahan elicited a brave smile. "I would be old and wrinkled in a flash, if you but mentioned death one more time?" Her eyes were lit up with the fire of a challenge.

  "You have not answered me, my Nur? Are we to journey early next morning?" Jahangir's eyes were gathering the stars of adorations.

  "We are, Your Majesty, before the Sun turns you to a statue of gold." Nur Jahan's wit was coming to her rescue to cheer the emperor.

  "Why don't we stay in Kashmir forever and forever?" Karamasi Begum chanted aloud, to no one in particular.

  "With your delicate constitution, you would be turned into a pillar of ice, my love, if we stayed in Kashmir forever." Jahangir flashed her a searching look.

  "Mamma! Empires could not be ruled, if we were to stay chilled in the paradise of comfort and luxury all the time." Prince Shahryar began to laugh suddenly. He was aspiring to be an heir to th
e throne, and he could not suppress this feeling of power. The only and the rightful heir to the throne, he could not help but think!

  "Your Majesty, look, I can beat Prince Dara in fencing. He doesn't know how to defend—" Prince Aurangzeb was seeking the emperor's attention.

  Jahangir was falling prey to his mute ruminations. The ebb and flow of royal parlance was barely grazing his awareness. His gaze was fixed to Prince Shahryar with an unseeing intensity, and Prince Aurangzeb's intrusive tones were evoking no sense of reality for him. Now Prince Dara Shikoh was seeking the emperor's attention. His voice, though petulant, had the richness of song and music, and it had succeeded in breaking the chain of the emperor's mute ruminations.

  "Prince Aurangzeb is a royal cheat, Your Majesty. Besides, he doesn't know the rules of fencing." Prince Dara Shikoh relinquished his sword at the emperor's feet, offering a gallant curtsy. "Your own jeweled sword, Your Majesty, I am unworthy." He was luring the emperor into his own aura of lighthearted gaiety.

  "Your are worthy of all the jewels on this earth and in the skies, my gallant Prince." Jahangir smiled, noticing Prince Aurangzeb standing in the background, sullen and downcast. "Learn to fence with humor, my Prince." He chided the little prince, whose eyes were hoarding ammunition of spite and hatred for his elder brother. "What misery shines on your little brow, my Prince?" He thought aloud, startled by what he saw in the eyes of the young prince. "Prince Aurangzeb—my beloved grandson, you are too young to have that expression in your eyes—of misery and wretchedness? Smile for the emperor. I can't recall seeing you smile, ever?"

  Prince Aurangzeb forced a smile, his eyes still glinting inner rage, which he could not express. Prince Dara Shikoh's features were lit up with pleasure and amusement, as he stood watching the forced smile on his brother's face. His own expression was one of mischief, as if he was about to tickle his little brother to fits of laughter. Prince Balaqi's eyes were turning to Prince Aurangzeb, his look charged with the intensity of a revelation. Suddenly, he broke his silence.

  "I have seen him smile, Your Majesty, when torturing one black ant in a bowl of water sprinkled with red pepper." Prince Balaqi offered tremulously.

  "My own grandson with no better occupation, but to tease the harmless ants." Jahangir's gaze was probing Prince Balaqi, as if he had seen him for the first time.

  "Only when he is not practicing fencing or learning Persian, Your Majesty." Prince Balaqi murmured timidly, retreating back into his shell of silence.

  "To escape the rigors of learning, your Majesty, young princes have to find some means of diversion." Prince Tahmuras interceded for the young devil, with a dint of good humor.

  "Our Prince Dara Shikoh, I am sure, entertains himself with no such diversions which may nurture the briars of cruelty." Jahangir ruminated aloud, his gaze sweeping over Prince Tahmuras and Prince Hoshang in one searching intensity.

  "Prince Dara Shikoh is exceptionally loving and kind-hearted, Your Majesty. He is a mystic and an avid reader, even at this tender age, as far as I can tell." Prince Hoshang opined aloud, his expression light and carefree.

  "Yes, my angelic Prince." Jahangir's gaze appeared to hold Prince Dara Shikoh in a warm embrace. His gaze was wandering, and espying Ladli Begum. "And where is my lovely granddaughter?" He asked capriciously.

  "She is taking her royal beauty rest with her royal ayah, Your Majesty." Ladli Begum smiled profusely.

  "Ah, the beauty and innocence of childhood." Jahangir sighed, his gaze straying toward Prince Shahryar. "Fetch the emperor a cool goblet of wine, my Prince, to toast our journey to Kashmir." He commanded.

  "Watered and scented with only a hint of wine, Prince Shahryar." Nur Jahan was quick to issue her own command.

  Prince Shahryar was on his feet to obey both the emperor and the empress, his face wreathed in a winsome smile. On his way, he could hear Hushiyar Khan announcing the arrival of Abu Talib. Abu Talib's gallant entry was attracting the attention of all the ladies, and a sudden hush was pervading this vast chamber.

  "What news, Abu Talib?" Was Jahangir's laconic inquiry after Abu Talib had pulled himself up from his lengthy curtsy.

  "Both good and bad, Your Majesty." Abu Talib lowered his eyes.

  "If not evil or tragic, they carry no sting of pain." Jahangir murmured to himself. "Pour it out, Abu Talib, pour it all! The emperor has learned to mix both good and evil in a bittersweet concoction suitable to his taste!" His very eyes were issuing commands.

  "Mahabat Khan, Your Majesty, he robbed the Bengal treasury of all its jewels." Abu Talib began cautiously. "But we caught up with him near Shahabad where he had concealed all the treasures. It was a rest house, and we were able to drive the guards away to retrieve the treasures. Unfortunately, Mahabat Khan himself escaped once again. He was pursued by the imperialists though, but he fled through the hills and the forests of Mewar, always dodging, always escaping. The imperial army has left the fugitive on his own now, bringing the treasures back to Lahore safely."

  "The treasures of the world, vain and perishable." Jahangir murmured to himself. "And what evil abode is housing the wretched rebel now?" He made a feeble gesture, as if to stall further inquisition in his own thoughts.

  "Passing through the territory of Rajpipliya and Bihara, he is in Junair now, Your Majesty." Abu Talib murmured back. "He has made alliance with Prince Shah Jahan. His own cavalry of two thousand is now joined with the dwindling troops of Prince Shah Jahan. It is also reported that Mahabat Khan has presented a large diamond of great value to Prince Shah Jahan. Prince Shah Jahan in return, rewarded him with war elephants, along with a horse and sword and a dagger inlaid with precious gems."

  "The fleeting pleasures and fleeting fortunes." Jahangir closed his eyes. "Not so bad, Abu Talib, not so bad. The emperor is spared the labor of mixing the good with the bad." He opened his eyes, his look wearied and distraught.

  "Not bad, Your Majesty!" Nur Jahan could not help but exclaim, concealing her fears in one silken smile. "The alliance of the demented rebel with Prince Shah Jahan is quite alarming. We should send a large body of troops under the command of Khan Jahan to bury this evil serpent in dust forever." She was trying to control her anger.

  "This world, the end of which is destined to be miserable, can scarcely be worth the risk of so much violence." Jahangir's look was wearied, gathering profundities. "I said that before, another time, another place, didn't I? Why does the emperor have to repeat his own thoughts?" His next feeble gesture was arrested in the air, as Mutamid Khan trundled into the room unannounced.

  "Your Majesty." Mutamid Khan swept his arm in one impeccable curtsy. "Abdur Rahim died in his sleep suddenly, Your Majesty. He died in his palace in Delhi."

  "And he was supposed to—" Nur Jahan closed her eyes, as if to shut out the vision of fear and death from her sight and psyche.

  "A blessed death envied by the saints and the sinners alike." Was Jahangir's wearied response. "Now leave us, Mutamid Khan. The emperor needs to rest before his coveted journey to Kashmir.

  Mutamid Khan scrambled himself to his feet, retracing his steps obediently. Jahangir watched him, waving his arms to dismiss the rest of the royal brood. His gaze was holding Nur Jahan captive in some urgency of need and desire.

  "Come, Nur. Lull the emperor to sleep with your sweet voice. The scented pine-valleys in Kashmir await us. The reek of death and tragedies, we leave behind in this land infested with greed and malefic designs." Jahangir's look was enigmatic.

  22

  Last Pilgrimage to Kashmir

  Kashmir was the loveliest this spring in beauty and splendor, enhanced by the profusion of scents and flowers. Crowned in golden-red, the wreaths of sunset were adorning Baghi-Bahar in the most exquisite of shades and nuances. Jahangir and Nur Jahan were seated on one marble bench, splashed with velvets and damasks. Below the terrace, they could see the beautiful arena of garden with all its glory in silk and tapestry. This garden was Jahangir's favorite, and visiting it was like paying homage to a sh
rine. He had already made three pilgrimages to this favorite shrine of his, and still was not sated with the quiet deeps within it. Each time, he was tempted to return to this garden with the longings of a lover, and each time gleaning some mysterious powers from its silence and pulchritude. The last two times he had visited Baghi-Bahar in the company of his entire household, but this time he wished to be alone with his beloved Nur Jahan.

  Jahangir was holding on to the empty goblets of silence within him and without, as he sat admiring the loveliness of Baghi-Bahar. Inside him were joy and peace, and some mute rivulets of sorrows too. His very eyes were brimming with the wine of nature's beauty, and this glorious hush was filling his heart with awe and bliss. All his past sufferings seemed dulled, rather drugged by the sweetness of hush and solitude. The rivulets of sorrows were surfacing in his thoughts, creating bubbles of prophetic visions, which he had seen and arrested so often lately, but with the self-surrender of a pious devotee. These prophetic visions were his sweet companions, urging him to quaff the wine of beauty to his fill, for never again would he be able to taste such pleasures. Death was looming over his shoulders, he could feel its breath and shadow. And yet this shadow was not hovering like some evil tyrant, but like a messenger of joy and peace. This strange, yet familiar messenger was clothed in darkness, revealing light! The scent of beloved, Anarkali herself?