Shah Jahan was silent, anger and guilt contending within him. Eventually, keeping his voice level with an effort, he said, ‘That was different. I had no choice. I only did what I did because otherwise my half-brothers would have killed me – and indeed you – to rid themselves of potential rivals. But such times are long gone. I’ll not tolerate such barbaric notions within my family. All my sons are full brothers, brought up by a caring father and mother to love one another – not the offspring of rival wives and concubines scheming against each other.’
‘You think because we are full brothers that will unite us? Ask Dara if that’s what he believes! Have you forgotten Cain and Abel? Fraternal rivalries are a part of fallen man.’
‘You’ve still given me no evidence that Dara wants to hurt you – that your fears are anything but fantasy …’
‘No, far from it. As I was saying, Dara suspects that when the time comes one of his brothers may challenge him for the throne. Shah Shuja is idle at heart even if he enjoys power and has his own ambitions. Murad is young and unproven. The one Dara should most fear at present is me and I’m sure he does. He knows I’m as able as he – perhaps more so. I could tell he didn’t welcome my return to court from the Deccan. It suits his purpose better that I – and if it comes to it Shah Shuja – should be far away from the centre of influence and from you. And it would suit him best of all if I were permanently out of the way. He knows that I disapprove of his ideas – his passion for Sufi mysticism, his denigration of our religious traditions. Only a week ago one of our mullahs warned me that Dara had said that the empire had no need of bigots like me …’
Shah Jahan held up his hand, his head so full of Aurangzeb’s assertions and accusations that he hardly knew where to begin. ‘You’re wrong. It’s natural that you and Dara should have your differences, even your rivalries. You are young men close together in age. But I cannot tolerate your unfounded suspicions, your wild accusations. Who is this mullah who has tried to set you against your brother?’
‘I cannot tell you. He spoke to me in confidence and I will never reveal his name.’
‘I have had enough of your arrogance and your disobedience … of your assertions of what you will or will not do, as if you – not I – were emperor. You disobeyed my order to visit Dara’s underground chamber and now you tell me you will not give me a name I ask for.’ Shah Jahan began striding up and down the room. ‘You accuse Dara of high-handedness and ambition but you’re the one who’s consumed by them – and by jealousy of your brother, even if you try to deny it.’
‘Perhaps I am jealous, though not for the reasons you think. Even when Dara and I were children given up by you as hostages to Mehrunissa, I knew you loved him more. I can still remember what happened when you came to rescue us from the dungeons of the Lahore palace … how you called out Dara’s name first, not mine – how saving him was your main concern.’
‘That’s madness. I loved both of you – still love you. You are my son just as much as Dara.’ Shah Jahan stared nonplussed at his son.
‘You say that, but it isn’t true. If it were, you’d have sent Dara away to govern a province just as you did Shah Shuja and me. Instead you keep him here by your side at court like a mother hen with a favourite chick. What has he ever done? Has he fought as I have, risking his life for the empire? No! Because in your eyes his life is too precious to be hazarded. Instead he lives a soft life in his palace on the Jumna, as spoiled and pampered and indulged as any woman in his haram.’
‘Silence! I can listen to no more of this. Everything you accuse me – or Dara – of is fantasy. But it is dangerous fantasy. What would happen if it leaked out to the court that two of the emperor’s sons were locked in rivalry – that one was even planning to murder the other? Just think what capital our enemies within and beyond our borders could make of it … how much mischief they could stir. I tell you, Aurangzeb, this one-sided feud with your brother must cease here. So must your accusations against me.’ Shah Jahan stopped pacing and turned to look at his son.
Aurangzeb, though, said nothing, his face was set in that expression Shah Jahan knew only too well. Exasperation with his son’s crazy views mingled with concern that he should think himself so unloved, so unappreciated, yet for the sake of his family and his empire he must show strength, not weakness, and put a stop to this behaviour now, or where might it not lead? ‘I have made my decision. Until I can be certain that you have returned to a more rational way of thinking, I cannot allow you to continue as my viceroy in the Deccan.’
For the first time since their meeting had begun, Shah Jahan saw that his words had struck home. Aurangzeb seemed visibly to recoil. ‘Father …’
‘No. I haven’t finished. You will remain in the Agra fort indefinitely. I can’t risk having you far from my sight in your present frame of mind. I hope that in the months to come you will reflect on your foolish behaviour and your unjust accusations. You have shocked and disappointed me more than you realise.’
Back in his own apartments, Shah Jahan sat for a while, still deep in thought. The incident had helped him reach a decision. It was time that he signalled to his family and the wider world which of his sons he wished to succeed him and end all doubt – or misplaced hope – that any of his younger sons might have. They could reconcile themselves to their disappointment while he still lived and could restrain them from any conflict.
Two days later, as he took his place in the Hall of Public Audience upon his glittering peacock throne, he felt proud. What other ruler could have created such magnificence? His courtiers and commanders, arranged before him in order of precedence, were dressed in their finest clothes and jewels, just as he had instructed. Ashok Singh was resplendent in orange silk robes and a diamond-hilted dagger in his sash. So it should be for one of the most significant proclamations of his reign. Glancing to where Dara was standing, flanked by Shah Shuja and Murad, he raised his hands to command attention, though the silence in the many-pillared hall was already absolute.
‘I have summoned you here today to honour my beloved eldest son, Dara Shukoh, before my court. I hereby award him the estates of Hissar Firoza and the right to pitch the scarlet tent.’ Even before he had finished speaking he saw the quickly exchanged glances. Everyone knew what he meant – he had as good as declared Dara heir to the Moghul throne. It wouldn’t take Aurangzeb, still confined in his apartments, long to hear the news and understand its implications. Perhaps, at last, Aurangzeb would see the world as it really was and understand that the throne would never be his. He should have acted faster to dispel false hopes and prevent the souring of fraternal love but, God willing, he was in time. Aurangzeb would reflect on his folly and come to accept that he would never have been his father’s choice while Dara lived. He would also realise that Dara would have had no need to dispose of him – that he had never been a rival – though that would be hard for a proud man like Aurangzeb to stomach.
Chapter 12
‘Father, I must ask you something …’
‘What is it, Jahanara? There’s nothing wrong, is there? Your health …?’
Ever since receiving her message Shah Jahan had been wondering what had prompted her request that he visit her in her mansion when nearly every day she travelled by palanquin to the fort.
‘I’m fine, Father. It’s not about me, it’s about Aurangzeb.’
‘So he’s asked you to intercede for him, has he?’
‘No. He has no idea that I’m doing so. But when I see something so amiss in our family I can’t ignore it. Forgive me, Father, but perhaps I notice things you don’t.’
The rebuke, gentle though it was, hurt. ‘I see clearly enough. Aurangzeb only has himself to blame. I thought he was a man, but he didn’t behave like one.’
‘I agree … and I think Aurangzeb himself understands that now. I’ve spent a lot of time with him, listening to his outpourings and trying to make him see reason. He accepts that his accusations were foolish and wants only to regain your favour.
He begs you to allow him to return to the Deccan …’
‘I’ve found an excellent replacement and have no need of him.’
‘Father – when I was ill and you were keeping watch by my bedside I sometimes heard you promise God that you’d do anything so long as I survived. God indeed returned me to life, and it’s I – not He – who now asks this favour of you.’
‘Jahanara …’
‘Please! Aurangzeb is unhappy. Forgive him, as you once asked me to forgive you. Release him from his confinement.’
‘What then?’
‘Find him some new appointment. If not in the Deccan, then somewhere else where he can use his talents and his energy instead of wasting them and growing bitter. He won’t disappoint you, Father, and that’s not just my opinion. I’ve talked to Dara. Although at first he was angry with Aurangzeb – and offended by his preposterous claims – he says the dispute was not of his making and he is prepared to overlook what happened and see Aurangzeb reinstated if he is contrite.’
‘Why does Aurangzeb dislike Dara so much? Is it simple jealousy?’
‘Perhaps – but it’s not all Aurangzeb’s fault. As long ago as when I was recovering from my burns I saw tensions building between them. Now Dara is so confident in his own abilities and in your favour that even to me he can seem patronising – though unintentionally, I’m sure. Aurangzeb is devoid of humour where he himself is concerned and swift to detect a slight – intended or not – particularly from Dara. Rivalry is a part of it, of course.’
‘Some rivalry is natural, I know, but Aurangzeb spoke as if he hated Dara. What has his brother done to offend him so deeply?’
Jahanara hesitated, then said, ‘There’s the religious divide between them, of course.’
‘Religious? I know that Dara is interested in Sufi teachings and Aurangzeb spends much time with the mullahs but I’ve never imagined religion to be a serious source of conflict between them.’
‘You’re wrong. You know what Dara’s like – tolerant and so curious about everything … Aurangzeb is drawn to the certainties of our Sunni scholars and mullahs and believes that deviating from their orthodoxy is heresy. He believes Dara’s philosophising is heretical and a danger to our rule. I’ve often heard him say that the problems of the Moghul empire are because we have fallen away from the true and strict Muslim path of righteousness. He blames the Hindus and the Shias in your employ for the corruption that he believes is tainting our administration. He told me that while he was in the Deccan he found numerous instances of usury and injustice perpetrated by our Hindu subjects – whole villages exploited as slaves by landowners who keep them in poverty and debt.’
‘It is not religion but character that counts in such matters. If he knew of crimes, it was his duty as my viceroy to put things right.’
‘Of course, and he says that is what he tried to do. But he argues that the rottenness goes to the very heart of government. Encouraged by the more extreme mullahs, he would like every Hindu – “infidels” as he calls them – thrown from high office.’
‘Then he is a fool. My grandfather understood that the way to bind our empire together and make it prosper was to be fair to all its subjects – Hindus such as Ashok Singh as well as Muslims. As you yourself once reminded me, Hindus are among my most trusted and loyal courtiers and generals, and royal Rajput blood runs in our veins.’
‘That’s what Dara says, and that’s why they argue. The last time, only a day or two before the visit to Dara’s mansion, they nearly came to blows when Aurangzeb said we should prohibit the building of more Hindu temples.’
‘Perhaps they both forget that I am still emperor and that it’s for me to decide who holds high office in my empire and who doesn’t and what religious buildings we permit.’
‘I didn’t mean to make you angry. I just wanted to explain one of the things that has gone wrong between my brothers.’
‘Nothing you’ve said explains why Aurangzeb should suspect Dara of seeking to murder him.’
‘Aurangzeb knows now that he was being absurd. But look at things from his point of view. Dara isn’t always tactful. Indeed since they were children he’s enjoyed baiting Aurangzeb. Now that they are men he knows just where to direct his barbs so that Aurangzeb has begun to think Dara his enemy and to harbour exaggerated suspicions, seeing malice in Dara’s every action … But he says that is over now and that he was wrong about the underground room and wants to regain your good opinion. I believe him.’
Shah Jahan was silent. Was she right? Since the incident in Dara’s mansion, Aurangzeb had been living quietly in the fort. Although he’d had a discreet watch kept there’d been nothing suspicious. Not a hint of sedition or even resentment at Dara’s elevation to emperor-in-waiting in all but name. Aurangzeb was either a good dissimulator or else genuinely contrite.
‘Please, Father. Show him you forgive him and allow him the chance to prove his worth. At least allow him to attend your council meetings like Dara and Murad. By excluding Aurangzeb you slight him in the eyes of the court. He is, as we both know, a proud man and, although he would never show it to you, it hurts him.’
‘It wasn’t my intention to humiliate him but to teach him a lesson about the strife behaviour such as his could cause. If, as you suggest, he has learned it, I will allow him to come to the council. It all depends on him. If he behaves himself I may even find a fresh position for him. If not, he will not find me so lenient again …’
Four months later, as servants lit the evening candles in the Hall of Private Audience, Shah Jahan prepared to address his counsellors, Dara, Aurangzeb and Murad among them. In recent weeks Aurangzeb had listened gravely to the discussions but had said little himself except on several occasions to agree almost fulsomely with points made by Dara as the counsellors debated taxes or the suppression of rebellious minor vassals or improvements to the great trunk road that bound the empire together, north to south. Perhaps the animosity between the brothers really was over. Shah Jahan hoped so. The opportunity that had suddenly presented itself to his dynasty might never occur again – at least not in his lifetime – and he couldn’t let foolish arguments between his sons distract him or his senior commanders, nor would he allow them to do so.
Raising his head, he began. ‘This is no ordinary meeting of my council but a council of war. As my governors in Kabul and Badakhshan have been reporting these past weeks, the Uzbek tribes beyond the Oxus river are at each other’s throats and anarchy rules their lands. Their chaos is our opportunity.’
‘What do you mean, Majesty?’ asked Ashok Singh, immaculate as ever in a gold brocade tunic.
‘I mean that the Uzbeks are in no position to defend themselves. If we act quickly, we can advance north and seize Balkh. The city is a valuable trading post and control of it would greatly benefit our merchants in Kabul. But Balkh would only be a stepping stone. Once in Balkh, we can cross the Oxus and take Samarkand just a hundred and seventy miles beyond the river. The golden city can be ours if we grasp the opportunity that fate offers …’
Shah Jahan paused and looked at the faces around him, some expressing enthusiasm, some doubt, but most simply stunned. He’d told no one of his decision, not even Dara. It was the fulfilment of a long-nurtured ambition. Often when unable to sleep, he’d lain in the darkness listening to an attendant reading from his great-great-grandfather’s diaries. He had loved the Baburnama ever since he was a boy – Babur’s frank depiction of his years as a young raider prince in quest of a throne, never losing faith however desperate his circumstances, however great the danger, had inspired him. But one thing above all had resonated – Babur’s determination to rule Samarkand, a city he seized not once but three times during his turbulent life. When the reports of the Uzbek disturbances had arrived he had determined to act.
‘You look surprised,’ he went on. ‘You forget that before the Moghuls came into Hindustan we ruled beyond the Oxus. My ancestor Timur made Samarkand his capital and my great-great-grandfather Babur
also captured it. The Moghuls have inalienable ancestral rights to those lands.’
‘But Babur couldn’t hold Samarkand, however hard he tried. Ultimately the Uzbeks defeated him,’ said Dara.
‘That was because he was outnumbered. He didn’t have the resources of a great empire behind him, as I have. Also he faced an enemy united under a great Uzbek warlord, Shaibani Khan. At the moment the Uzbeks have no such leader.’
‘I understand what you’re saying, Father,’ put in Aurangzeb. ‘It’s our destiny to reclaim our birthright across the Oxus. And if we succeed, we’ll rule from Samarkand to beyond the Deccan – something not even Timur managed.’
Shah Jahan nodded. Aurangzeb was the only man in the room who looked as if he truly understood what he was proposing and was excited by it, and that disappointed him. Perhaps the rest were still adjusting to the idea.
‘You’re sure the reports are correct, Father?’ Dara was frowning a little. ‘Can we be certain the Uzbeks are fighting each other to the extent we’ve been told? And even if they are, won’t they put their differences aside and unite to resist a foreign invader?’
‘I trust the reports of my officials. One describes a massacre by one Uzbek clan of another when at least five thousand people were killed, women and children as well as men. Uzbek blood feuds run deep. They should be too intent on avenging themselves on one another to pay much attention to us until it’s too late. But of course the situation might change. That’s why we must act now.’
‘You mentioned resources, Majesty. How many troops would you send north?’ asked Ashok Singh. ‘We would need a large and well-supplied army. Conditions in the mountains are tough, and the weather is extreme.’
‘We’ll debate the details later but I suggest at least fifty thousand horsemen and ten thousand musketeers with cannon and infantry to match to take Balkh, then more if necessary to cross the Oxus and move on Samarkand. It depends on the strength of the Uzbek resistance.’
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