From behind the screen, a delighted Arjumand watched as her husband was feted and honoured in the court. Grand celebrations followed the reception. Nurjahan had personally arranged for the festivities. The best of food, wine and entertainment were laid out, surpassing any festivity ever witnessed by the people of Ajmer.
The harem resounded with the sounds of music and entertainment arranged by Nurjahan, who had also received a huge amount of money and jewellery from the prince as offering. She was ecstatic. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for; the right time to broach the topic of his marriage with Laadli, her own daughter.
A grand feast had been organized in honour of the conqueror. The most exquisite tapestries were brought out and hung on the walls; bright Kashmiri carpets covered the marble floors. There were fresh flowers in the jade and porcelain vases that lined the courtyard. Silver incense containers were placed in the empress’s chamber and the ladies lounged against bright silk cushions embellished with pearls and sequins.
Festoons and decorations were put up on all the pillars that surrounded the hall. Musicians were called and nautch girls invited to perform during the evening. The setting of the sun heralded the string of entertainment in the harem. By no means was the day allowed to end with the darkening of the horizon. Dance and music accompanied with wine and elaborate food lasted till every muscle was exhausted and the mind dulled with opium. Only when the emperor was incapable of rising to his feet were the celebrations called off.
With each passing day, the emperor’s obsession with drinking grew at a phenomenal rate. He was consuming twenty cups of wine along with several pellets of opium each day. It was enough to send the royal physician into frenzy but Jahangir was unperturbed.
Excursions and hunts in the forests of Ajmer were organized by Nurjahan for the amusement of the royal men. Amidst all the revelry came the occasion of Khurram’s twenty-fourth birthday, providing the royalty with yet another reason to continue the celebrations. The prince had never tasted wine in the twenty-four years of his life. That evening, the emperor offered wine to his son and insisted that Khurram drink it to celebrate his birthday.
Barely had the festivities of Khurram’s birthday ended when Arjumand gave birth to a daughter. They named her Jahanara, the Jewel of the World. As he gazed upon the face of his newborn daughter, the proud father lost his heart once again. That evening Jahangir and Nurjahan paid a visit to Arjumand and the child and heaped all kinds of gifts on them.
There was no dearth of reasons to celebrate. After the victory, the prince’s birthday, and the birth of his daughter came the ninth anniversary of the emperor’s accession to the grand throne of the Mughal Empire.
To Zeenat’s eager eyes, every celebration was a spectacle to be enjoyed. She had seen very little of life in the palaces. Her enthusiasm was infectious. Even the normally aloof Bahar Begum found herself drawn unwittingly into the vortex of preparations as Zeenat went into frenzy.
‘You must have a new dress to wear for the ceremony,’ she insisted to her mistress. ‘I stumbled upon some interesting news when last evening I sneaked into the seamstress’s house. She is stitching the empress’s dress. Nurjahan is keeping it a secret but her seamstress told me that the favoured colour for the season is mustard yellow. You have to get a dress in that colour.’
‘Foolish girl, don’t you know that no one is allowed to wear the colour favoured by the empress, at least not in the same season.’ Bahar laughed as Zeenat made a face.
‘In that case, you could settle for green. It is a colour that goes well with yellow.’
Bahar shook her head indulgently. Nothing could dampen the girl’s enthusiasm.
The public jubilation lasted a full week. The bazaars and public places were decorated with colourful velvet, silk and flowers. Firework displays and various kinds of amusements entertained people throughout the empire. At the royal court, celebrations began with the display of elephants and horses in their finery, and the emperor inspecting his cavalry and infantry.
In the court, nobles and princes gathered to pay their homage to the emperor who was seated in his magnificent throne bordered by a golden railing. On the right side of the throne stood a pedestal with a golden scale, promising justice to every citizen. No one, not even his own sons, were allowed to step inside the golden railing. A step lower, inside the silver railing, along with the princes stood the highest ranking viziers. Another step lower, enclosed inside a circle of crimson wooden railing stood the rest of the nobles and emirs and with them stood the attendant with a silver sceptre.
Commoners were allowed to stand beyond the crimson railing. It was the distance from the emperor that decided a person’s importance in the royal court. He was the omnipotent sun surrounded by the lesser stars.
Gifts and valuable offerings arrived in abundance as the nobles rushed to seek the emperor’s blessings. The offerings ranged from priceless gems and jewels, precious gold and silver articles, ivory and jade artefacts, to expensive Arabian horses, mammoth elephants procured from the jungles of the north-east frontiers, or slaves brought from far off lands. Silks from China, muslin of Dacca, velvet, porcelain, crystals, pearls, rubies, emeralds, diamonds, rare paintings – in fact, anything of value could constitute a gift.
It was a trade-off. Gifts were given in exchange of grants in the form of estates, horses and promotions. The cost of the gifts was taken as the degree of loyalty towards the emperor and the grants were in keeping with the offerings from the nobles. The emperor inspected the offerings and translated them into his benediction. It was said that the royal treasury was bursting with riches.
From Humayun to Akbar, all Mughal emperors had devised many means of getting richer. Whether it was the coronation anniversary, Nauroz, or the emperor’s birthday, all the nobles were expected to make lavish offerings. If the emperor decided to visit any of the nobles, it was his duty to make lavish offerings to the monarch. Many nobles were known to have gone bankrupt trying to make suitable offerings.
Once the gifting ritual was over, it was time for amusement and feasting. The list of entertainment ran long. There were tournaments of all kinds, ranging from ones in which elephants took part to tournaments in archery. Generous rewards were given to the winners and large sums of money were distributed among the poor.
The harem echoed with the laughter and tinkling of anklets as women rushed to greet the emperor. Gifts were exchanged and congratulatory notes read out for the emperor before the royal celebration began. Musicians struck up melodious compositions, wine flowed and the revelry began. Seated next to Nurjahan, Jahangir surveyed the flock of beautiful women who dotted the hall. Hidden behind the doors, the lesser women watched the happenings with interest. Zeenat stood with them, her eyes wide with excitement, absorbing the magnificence of it all.
Seven
The year glided away silently. Continuous revelry seemed to dominate the royal court. Amidst all these events Arjumand Begum gave birth to their first son, Dara Shikoh. The birth was announced with trumpets, cymbals and drums through the empire.
Jahangir and Nurjahan made a visit to the harem to see the newborn and gifted him a solid gold cradle studded with precious stones. Another generation of Mughal emperors had been ensured with the birth of Dara. Everyone knew that Khurram was the likely heir since the blind Khusrau was out of the race and Parvez, an alcoholic, had proved himself incompetent and weak. The Mughals had set no rules for inheriting the throne. It had to be wrested by the most able son of the emperor.
Nurjahan also knew that Khurram was the future Mughal emperor. Her astute mind ticked with plans. I have to keep him in my camp, she decided, once he wears the crown, he should not forget me. To ensure my prominence, I have to get Laadli married to him. She has to be the next empress.
With that objective in mind, Nurjahan began to drop hints about the benefits that could come his way if he married her daughter, Laadli Bano.
The occasion was perfect. With Nauroz just a few days away
, it was time for celebration and festivities. Determined to broach the subject of his marriage with Laadli, Nurjahan, organized a lavish feast for the prince. She cooked his favourite dessert, a thick and creamy kheer topped with a generous garnish of nuts and raisins.
‘This is the perfect way to end a meal,’ complimented Khurram, accepting the silver bowl from her. ‘Frankly speaking, no one can make kheer the way you do, Your Majesty.’
Laadli hovered around in the background, too timid to say anything. She had been instructed by her mother to take special care of the prince.
‘No one? Not even Arjumand?’ asked Nurjahan archly.
‘Not even her,’ he conceded.
‘But Laadli can make it better than me. You must taste the kheer she makes. In fact, she cooks biryani better than any royal cook.’
‘Is that true, Laadli?’ asked Khurram, a crooked smile playing on his lips. He was fond of the girl in a brotherly way.
She blushed and bowed her head. She was embarrassed by her mother’s blatant effort to hook the prince.
Arjumand and Khurram exchanged knowing smiles over the girl’s bent head.
The emperor, flushed with happiness, was indulging in his tenth cup of opium-laced wine. Nurjahan rushed towards him with a smile, ‘Jahanpanah, you have already consumed too much wine.’
‘Don’t stop me today, Begum. It is the season for rejoicing,’ he protested.
Aware that he needed just an excuse to drink, she snatched away the cup with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes and said, ‘If you get drunk on wine, who will I drown in the pools of my eyes?’
‘Wah, wah! Subhan Allah,’ praised the emperor. ‘Did you compose the verse?’
Nurjahan performed a mock salute and smiled, ‘With a husband who prefers to drink wine to my intoxicating eyes, I have no recourse than to convey it through a verse.’
Floored with her words, the emperor grabbed her in his arms and gazed into her eyes saying, ‘Drown me in your eyes, Begum. Death would be more pleasurable than living.’
While the royal couple indulged in frivolous lovemaking, the prince winked at his wife.
It was past midnight when the party broke up.
‘If she thinks she can push me into a marriage with that sullen-faced daughter of hers, she is mistaken,’ thundered Khurram back in his royal chamber. They had just returned from the banquet. Nurjahan had told him bluntly that she would back his candidature for the crown only if he married Laadli.
‘I wouldn’t mind having my cousin here,’ teased Arjumand. Laadli was a cousin she pitied. The mousy girl, too timid to rise against her mother’s autocracy, spent much of her time trying to keep out of the empress’s way. She had inherited neither her mother’s beauty nor guile.
‘I feel bad for the girl. She is so shy and nervous.’ Arjumand sighed.
‘Why do you always try to protect her? Laadli should learn to stand up to her mother, after all she is a grown up girl now. I like the girl but I can’t marry her, not even for a kingdom.’
‘Why not?’ Arjumand was enjoying his discomfiture. ‘You will get a new begum and I will have a companion who is also a sister. Besides, with Nurjahan’s support, the throne will be yours for sure.’
Khurram stopped pacing and stared at his wife. There was a glow on Arjumand’s face. Her dress stretched around a rotund belly, proclaiming yet another pregnancy. ‘I would need a stronger reason than that for marrying Laadli.’
‘Well, I could then find some respite from your attention and maybe Laadli and I could share the burden of producing your children.’
‘My dear Arju!’ he was at her feet immediately, ‘You are a beautiful mother. I wouldn’t want my children to come from any other woman.’
‘Not even if the empress ordered you?’
‘Never!’ the prince declared with vehemence. ‘I am not Jahangir to dance to her tunes.’
Everyone knew how much Khurram hated his father’s weakness. He made no attempt to hide his displeasure about the fact that Nurjahan had usurped the kingdom by cashing on Jahangir’s weakness.
In her boudoir Nurjahan was seething at Khurram’s refusal to marry Laadli. The prince is becoming too arrogant. Success has gone to his head, she mused, the emperor has been fawning too much on him. It is time to trim his wings.
News arrived from the Deccan. Adilshah and Malik Ambar were on the warpath with the Mughal army stationed there. Prince Parvez, who had been camping in the region, had been unable to control the dissent within the imperial army, which had encouraged the enemies to mount fresh campaigns.
The news gave Nurjahan a legitimate excuse to send the prince away from the emperor and the capital.
‘Only Khurram can subjugate the rulers of Deccan,’ she said, planting a seed of the idea in Jahangir’s mind.
‘I think you are right, Begum. I must send Khurram to the Deccan.’
As usual, she had succeeded in getting her way.
The prince, happy to get another chance to prove his battle skills, paraded the pick of his army before the emperor in the Hall of Public Audience, the Diwan-i-Aam. Jahangir was so pleased that he immediately bestowed the title of Shah on the prince.
He was also allowed the right to use the emperor’s insignia throughout the campaign, a rare privilege never before granted to a prince. Jahangir came out and embraced his son and bade him a touching farewell. Special prayers were held in the mosques and temples for the prince’s victory.
Seated behind the screen in the hall, Nurjahan watched the event along with her niece, Arjumand. Raising a shapely eyebrow, she said, ‘I hope you are not thinking of accompanying Khurram.’
‘I must go with him, Your Majesty.’
‘Has your physician allowed you to undertake the rough journey?’
‘It doesn’t matter whether he allows or not. I must do what I have to.’ The resolute look on Arjumand’s face deterred her aunt from probing further.
Soon after Khurram and Arjumand left for the Deccan, Jahangir also decided to leave Ajmer. For three long years the emperor had been in the tiny town of Ajmer, revelling in festivities as he believed his stay was blessed by the Sufi saint Khwaja Moinuddin Chisti.
‘It is his blessings that brought us the victory of Mewar,’ he stated reverently. ‘Also the two grandchildren were born in this town. But now it is time to leave Ajmer. We have been away from Agra for far too long.’
It was time to get back to the capital.
Eight
1617, Agra
Winter gave way to spring as the royals returned to Agra. Everyone heaved a sigh of relief on reaching the capital after the discomfort of the long journey. Dusty homes, cobwebs and dirt greeted all those who had abandoned their homes to follow the emperor to Ajmer. For three years the houses had been locked and now they needed to be cleaned and repaired.
There could have been no better way to begin the season. Everything donned a new mantle as houses were given a fresh coat of lime and spruced up.
Preparations for Nauroz began with great enthusiasm. Unmindful of the intricacies of politics and Nurjahan’s machinations, the harem buzzed with excitement and activity.
For the women in the royal harem, it was time to celebrate. Nauroz was also the time for the much-awaited Meena Bazaar. The entire harem resounded with activity as women began making lists of items they would sell at their stalls. For months they had been collecting and creating different kinds of handicrafts. Some had spent hours poring over intricate embroidery while others had laboured on exquisite decorative pieces. There were jewels, perfumes, embroidered silks and cottons, lotions and potions, caged birds and hukkahs, jewellery boxes inlaid with precious stones, marble spittoons, brassware, copperware, jade and pearls. Exotic laces and saffron pouches, illustrated books as well as miniature paintings, each woman had amassed a heap of goods for the annual bazaar.
The chatter of women resounded through the harem; their excitement reaching a feverish pitch as they dressed for the evening. For weeks they had l
aboured on the attire, perfumes, jewels and accessories they would wear for the special day. A steady stream of jewellers and seamstresses had invaded the harem for the past one month.
The services of expert hair fashioners and masseurs were much in demand. The empress had devised a novel hairstyle for the season and everyone wanted to copy her creation. The women clamoured for the curly look, which was fashioned by crimping the tresses in heated iron clips, and then combing them backwards. It was touted as the fashion of the season!
This time, the event promised to be more interesting. The emperor, always on the lookout for a novel idea, had ordered that the bazaar would be held at night so that the garden could be lit up. As usual, Nurjahan was enthusiastic about the idea.
Lamps were placed around the trees and bushes creating interesting shadows. Potters shaped beautiful terracotta lamps with artfully designed apertures from where the lights could spill out in attractive patterns on the leaves and flowers. These were hung from the trees. The paths were lit by hundreds of beautiful candelabras. Much to the delight of Jahangir, the empress personally supervised all the arrangements. At one corner, a podium was erected where the musicians sat playing melodious evening ragas that resonated through the garden, enhancing the dreamy ambience.
Between the tall cypress trees, rose and frangipani shrubs and mango trees stood colourful stalls laid out with amazing wealth of ware.
Dozens of gaily-festooned stalls were set up all around the garden where the women displayed their ware. Every celebration was an opportunity for the women of the harem to show off their elaborate dresses and expensive jewellery. The normal indolence of a humdrum existence made them long for a diversion; they needed some stimulation to drive away their tedium.
Women laid out their ware on beautiful silk rugs, Persian carpets and bright coverlets. There were caged birds, bolts of velvets, muslins and silks, embroidered cushions, garments and brocade dresses. Fragrances, unguents, henna, lotions and many potions rubbed shoulders with copies of the Koran and volumes of poems.
Escape from Harem Page 7
