The Twentieth Wife

by Indu Sundaresan

  “No, I do not want any more. Bring me a glass of wine,” Jagat Gosini commanded.

  Asmat bowed. “At once, your Majesty.”

  Mehrunnisa frowned, hackles rising along her spine. Ever since Jagat Gosini had come into the house she had been complaining. Either the food was not cooked to perfection, or the servants were lax, or something else. Her mother had been sent scurrying around to bring the choicest pulavs, curries, and sweets for the Empress. Asmat had not even had time to sit down and eat her lunch. She looked harried and tired; her hair had escaped from her usual neat plait, and her veil had fallen off her head. And Mehrunnisa knew how much trouble Asmat had taken with the feast and the preparations for the ceremony. She had hardly seen her mother in the last few days, catching only brief glimpses of her as she rushed about the house, cleaning it and personally inspecting the food.

  Now the Empress was ordering her around as though she were a menial. Stiff-backed, Mehrunnisa rose from the divan and went up to her mother. “I shall bring the Empress her wine. Why don’t you sit down for a while?” She pulled the reluctant Asmat to a divan and firmly sat her down.

  “I want my wine,” Jagat Gosini said.

  “At once, your Majesty,” Mehrunnisa said. “My mother is tired; I will be able to serve you better.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Mehrunnisa, Ali Quli’s wife.” She moved away to pour the wine.

  When she handed the goblet to Jagat Gosini, the Empress asked, “Where have I seen you before?”

  There was drama in this moment. Mehrunnisa realized it and couldn’t help making use of it. Khurram. All she had to do was say the prince’s name, and Jagat Gosini would remember. She opened her mouth, then shut it. She let the silence stretch delicately between them as the Empress’s brows began to contract, and then shrugged. “I don’t know, your Majesty.”

  Jagat Gosini nodded with a flush, feeling that she had somehow been vanquished, and turned away to mull things over. Then her voice came, sharp and biting, “Now I remember you. You are married to that Persian soldier of ill repute.”

  Mehrunnisa glared at her, swallowing the words of bitterness that came rising up her throat.

  “Tell me,” the Empress murmured, snapping her fingers to gather the ladies of the harem. “The last time I inquired about you, there were no children. How long have you been married?”

  Mehrunnisa ignored the question and said instead in a soft voice, “You inquired about me, your Majesty? A mere soldier’s wife? Why?”

  “I . . . the Emperor . . . we like to keep informed of our subjects. All our subjects, even the ones who betray the throne, as your husband has done. Now answer my question: how long have you been married?”

  “Thirteen years, your Majesty.”

  “And no children yet? Your husband should take another wife, if he already has not—one who will serve him better.”

  “I do have a child, your Majesty,” Mehrunnisa said heatedly, stepping away from Jagat Gosini and colliding with one of the harem ladies behind her. She dipped out of the circle, then pulled Ladli into it.

  The Empress looked over the child and saw her brilliant gray eyes, the shock of thick hair knotted at her nape, the pink cheeks, the gap on her midriff where her miniature silk choli did not quite meet the top of her ghagara.

  “A pretty child,” she murmured. Then, slipping a pair of gold bangles off her wrists, she offered them to Ladli. “Here, take these.”

  Ladli screwed up her mouth, sensing her mother’s unease, and shook her head violently. “Don’t want them. You keep them.”

  Jagat Gosini’s eyes glittered as she looked over Ladli’s head at Mehrunnisa. “Only a girl child for your husband, my dear? And such an arrogant one. You must teach her humility. Commoners must never refuse a gift from royalty.”

  “But our family is going to be associated with yours, your Majesty,” Mehrunnisa said. “Surely we are no longer common?”

  “Only by my grace is your family to be united with ours, Mehrunnisa. Do not forget that,” Jagat Gosini snapped. She pushed the bangles at Ladli again. “Take them, child. I command you.”

  Mehrunnisa leaned over Ladli and took the bangles. She said, “Thank you, your Majesty.” She bowed and moved away from the circle around the Empress, head held high. When they were out of the room, she sent Ladli to play with her cousins, then ran to the back courtyard. There she leaned over the well in the hot sunshine and threw the bangles in, watching as they spun golden through the air before splashing into the water.

  The gift was a demand of humility from Jagat Gosini; Ladli would never wear the bangles. She, and Mehrunnisa, did not need charity. Trembling with rage, she sat on the ground, leaning against the wall of the well. Her tongue had almost got her into trouble, had almost broken Arjumand’s engagement. Although Jahangir had probably commanded the union, a word from Jagat Gosini could easily have broken it. What a fool she had been. It would have dishonored her Bapa, Maji, Abul . . . as for Arjumand, she would never have been married. A royal prince’s reject would not find many suitors.

  Mehrunnisa sat there until her uncovered head grew hot in the sun. Then, composing herself, she went back into the house to help Asmat with the preparations and play the part of a good daughter.

  Toward afternoon, when the sun was high in the sky and the heat was blinding, the courtiers and attendants slipped off into shaded cloisters in Ghias’s gardens, there to take a short nap or rendezvous with lovers.

  • • •

  THE ROOM WAS cool and dark, khus mats had been pulled over the windows, and attendants sat outside, sprinkling water on the mats. The khus rushes grew on riverbanks, where they dipped their heady aroma into the air. Cut, woven into mats, and sprinkled with water, they released their perfume once more. The hot afternoon wind blowing over the Gangetic plains was miraculously turned into a cool, scented breeze as it wafted through the khus. All around the room the ladies lay supine on their divans, unwilling to move. This time of the day was enervating, no physical activity was possible, and the heavy lunch lulled them into a pleasant doze.

  Mehrunnisa leaned against the cool stone walls of the room and closed her eyes. Her daughter was asleep next to her, with her head on her mother’s lap. Ladli moved restlessly, and Mehrunnisa patted her back to sleep.

  There was a hush over the room, broken only by the soft gurgling of the hukkahs and the muted conversation of the younger harem ladies. Blue smoke floated lazily up to the ceiling from the water pipes, mixing with the sandalwood of incense censers.

  Mehrunnisa settled herself more comfortably against the wall and looked around. Jagat Gosini was asleep on a divan, her head pillowed on the velvet bolster. She lay perfectly still, hands crossed on her chest. In repose, her expression had softened, and she looked youthful, reminding Mehrunnisa of the day she had met the Empress in Ruqayya’s gardens. She had much to thank Ruqayya for, she thought. Mehrunnisa had met Jahangir as a prince in her courtyard. But—and here she shuddered—if it hadn’t been for Ruqayya’s influence, she would not be married to Ali Quli.

  Just then, the khus mat over the door was lifted, and harsh sunshine flooded the room. Mehrunnisa shielded her eyes and turned away. A man’s figure blotted the light, his face not visible, but she recognized him almost immediately from his turban. The large white heron feather was Jahangir’s favorite ornament. Mehrunnisa sat frozen in her place, her heart beating out every other sound. Her hand stilled on Ladli’s shoulder.

  “Your Majesty, you have come to join us,” some of the ladies cried out. In a few moments the whole room was bustling as the ladies rose and bowed to the Emperor. They glanced surreptitiously at the small mirrors on their thumb rings to make sure their hair and makeup were in place. A few of the concubines rushed up to Jahangir and hung on his arm, coaxing him to their divans.

  Jahangir laughed down at their bright faces and selected one concubine. Just as she was pulling him to her seat, Jagat Gosini spoke. “Come here, your Majesty.”

&
nbsp; Jahangir glanced at her, then gently disengaged himself from the girl’s hands, leaning down to whisper something in her ear. She pouted and turned away. Jahangir shrugged, walked up to his Empress, and sat down next to her.

  “Congratulations, my dear. You are to have a very beautiful daughter-in-law,” he said.

  “Thank you, your Majesty. We are indeed fortunate to be related to Mirza Beg’s family,” Jagat Gosini replied.

  Mehrunnisa raised her eyebrows in disbelief. Was this the same bad-tempered Empress of two hours ago? Jagat Gosini had changed; she was simpering and flirting like an adolescent. But Jahangir seemed oblivious to her wiles. His gaze kept roving to the pretty young concubine, who was now lounging seductively on her divan facing Jahangir, giving him the full benefit of her charms. Nonetheless, Jahangir stayed by his Empress; he wanted to honor her on the day her son had become betrothed.

  “Asmat, get the Emperor some wine,” Jagat Gosini said imperiously, still looking at her lord. “Asmat!”

  “I will do it, your Majesty,” Mehrunnisa said from her corner, her cheeks flaming in anger. Asmat had gone to the kitchens much earlier. How dare the Empress treat her mother this way?

  “What are you waiting for?” Jagat Gosini said, the dulcet tones turning harsh, still without looking at Mehrunnisa. Suddenly, her head snapped in Mehrunnisa’s direction and she said quickly, “Get a servant to do it. Not you.”

  “But, your Majesty, there are no servants here. Only me,” Mehrunnisa replied. She shifted Ladli’s head onto a pillow, rose, and went to the tray by Jagat Gosini’s elbow. The Empress shook her head and indicated the door, as if to say get out.

  Determinedly not looking at her, Mehrunnisa poured the wine and held it out to Jahangir.

  Her heart pounded as Jahangir reached for the goblet, but he did so without giving her a glance. Their fingers touched briefly. Look at me. He did not, his attention still caught by the concubine. With great deliberation, Mehrunnisa let go of the goblet and stepped back. Jahangir had not quite gotten hold of the goblet, and it fell to the floor with a clatter, spilling the wine on the divan and staining the edge of the Empress’s ghagara. Mehrunnisa had stepped out of the way long before.

  “Stupid girl! Don’t you know how to serve wine?” Jagat Gosini got up and shook off her ghagara, glaring at Mehrunnisa. Mehrunnisa stared back at her steadily, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Jahangir look at her briefly, and then turn to look with more interest.

  “I apologize, your Majesty. It will not happen again,” Mehrunnisa said, a demure, innocent look on her face.

  “It had better not. Go get some towels.”

  “Wait!” The Emperor’s voice rang out through the room. He rose to his feet, stumbling as he did so. “Who are you?”

  Mehrunnisa smiled at him, suddenly the consummate actress. In Bengal, Ali Quli ignored her and the coolies gazed at her stupidly. But here, among all these beautiful women, she, the mother of a child and old in the eyes of all men, could command the attention of the man who had everything. It was the best feeling in the world. “Mirza Ghias Beg’s daughter, your Majesty.”

  Jahangir stared at her, his eyes drinking her in like a man who had long thirsted for water. She was here, right in front of him. The passing years seemed to melt away, leaving them in the corridor again. He knew who she was, of course, but he had to say something, and that was the first question that had come to mind.

  He took a deep trembling breath. She had an aristocratic nose, rosebud lips, and a slender frame. The court painters would die for a sitting. Her breasts heaved under the silk choli. She was blushing, the color lending her charm. She stood absolutely still, hands at her sides, fingers encircled with diamond and ruby rings.

  Mehrunnisa raised her eyes to Jahangir’s face and was jolted by what she saw. What had started out as a game to annoy Jagat Gosini was turning into something more serious. The people around them melted away into the fringes of her consciousness. She wanted to touch him, just to hold his hand and feel the warmth of his skin on hers. With him, this man she knew only from afar, she felt protected, safe, as though she did not need to fight battles. He would do that for her, like a safe harbor where she could rest her thoughts. Suddenly, she felt tired from all these years of living, of wanting him, of wanting a child, of getting only one of her desires after such a long time.

  “Your Majesty, I am drenched with the wine. Send her to get me some towels,” Jagat Gosini complained, trying to pull Jahangir back to the divan.

  “Send someone else, my dear,” Jahangir said, pushing away her arm. “I want to talk to her.” He turned to Mehrunnisa with a gentle voice. “What is your name?” But he knew her name; he had said it to himself many times. He just wanted to hear her say it.

  “Mehrunnisa.”

  “Sun of Women.” Jahangir rolled the words around his tongue. He looked over her contemplatively. “Yes, you are.”

  Mehrunnisa shifted under his gaze. She felt as though he were mentally stripping her of everything—her clothes, her emotions—and peering into her deepest secrets. Would he see the love? Would he see thirteen years of yearning? She saw that he had not forgotten her. That thought sent heat through her veins. It was easy for her to remember him; she had wanted him since she was eight. But for him to hold her in his memory . . . to ask her name even though he seemed to know it . . . yet, he had made no move to seek her out since he became Emperor. What did this mean? How could she have known that she still had this much power over him? What would Jahangir do? There was no father to thwart his wishes now.

  “Your Majesty, Mehrunnisa is wanted in the kitchens. She has to give instructions to the cooks.” Asmat Begam’s voice broke into the silence.

  They all turned to see her standing next to them, a respectful but watchful look on her face.

  All of a sudden Mehrunnisa did not want to go. She would play this out to the end. The Emperor had the power to give her so much; why should she not take it? Her back stiffened, and Asmat, seeing the gesture and recognizing it well, said quietly, “Please, your Majesty.”

  “Send someone else, Asmat,” Jahangir said.

  “I beg pardon, your Majesty. But”—Mehrunnisa’s mother hesitated—“my daughter is a married woman and—”

  Jahangir turned and looked at Asmat, her words finally sinking in. He nodded slowly. “I understand. You are given permission to leave, Mehrunnisa.”

  Mehrunnisa bowed and moved away. She was uncertain, wanting to stay, not wanting to leave. She dragged her feet out of the room, feeling Jahangir’s and Jagat Gosini’s eyes on her. She glanced back, and a shiver went up her spine. The Emperor was looking at her with lust, the Empress with implacable hatred.

  She hesitated in the doorway. Asmat Begam put a firm hand on her back and pushed her out.

  • • •

  THAT NIGHT MEHRUNNISA lay awake in her bed. Asmat had not said a word except to send her to the kitchens with spurious instructions. A few hours later, afternoon chai was served, and then the royal party had gone back to the palace. The family had retired to their rooms early for some much-needed rest; there was no opportunity for conversation with her mother.

  But Mehrunnisa could not sleep. Had she done right in trying to get Jahangir’s attention again? Her previous ploys to capture him seemed childish now, especially when the stakes were higher. There was more, much more to gain . . . and to lose.

  Jahangir fascinated her. Gone was the petulant prince she had known. In his place stood a strong man, one possessed of much power, charm, and cruelty. All his life, Jahangir had been accustomed to getting what he wanted. No one had denied him anything before, and as Emperor, no one could deny him anything now.

  Mehrunnisa shivered. She rose, pulled a shawl over her shoulders, and went to the window. She stood staring down into the deserted courtyard. It was dark except for the small pool of light from a lantern hung on the doorway of the stables. What would the Emperor do now? Jahangir’s sense of justice was legendary. People all over
the country talked of his twelve edicts of conduct and the Chain of Justice. But equally legendary was his cruelty. The Emperor thought little of executing men en masse, inflicting on them the cruelest punishments and tortures. If Jahangir wanted Mehrunnisa, then Jahangir would get Mehrunnisa. But at what price? Mehrunnisa was a married woman and belonged to Ali Quli.

  Mehrunnisa had tried not to give herself the luxury of self-pity at her marriage to Ali Quli, at their deteriorating relationship, at her childlessness for so many years, at the jibes and snickers because of it, or at having only a girl child at the end of it all. Now she thought that there were two parts of her: one for Ladli, whose every breath was precious to her, the other for Jahangir, the man she had dreamed of for many years. Neither precluded the other, and both, she realized now, were equally important. Neither could be denied, no matter how much she forced herself not to think of the Emperor.

  She raised her eyes from the courtyard and looked over the walls of the house. The city of Lahore was asleep, but lights twinkled in the darkness from the street lamps. In the distance, she could see the ramparts of the Lahore fort bathed in the golden light of torches.

  The situation was difficult, too difficult. Mehrunnisa sighed, turned back into the room, and crawled into bed. As her weight settled on the mattress, Ladli moved in sleep to fling a leg over her mother. Mehrunnisa lay awake for a long while, then forced her eyes shut. She had to sleep soon, or she would not be prepared for the lecture her mother would give her in the morning.

  • • •

  GHIAS BEG KICKED his heels into the horse’s flanks to urge it into a faster pace. The Emperor had expressly sent for him. He was surprised and not just a little apprehensive about the summons. He mentally ran over the previous day’s events. Had he done anything to displease Jahangir? He did not think so. Everything had gone smoothly. The Emperor had seemed pleased and been very generous in his gifts to Arjumand.

  Still wondering, Ghias presented himself at the reception hall. When he entered, he found Mahabat Khan and Muhammad Sharif standing on either side of Jahangir.