Wild Jasmine (25 page)

“The shame is not yours, Man Bai, but rather my grandson’s and my nephew’s. Do not fear, my child. There will be no rebellion against Salim, and my lord Akbar will never disinherit him. I will speak with my brother, your father, the raja of Amber. He will speak most forcefully, I assure you, with Madho Singh.”

Man Bai, however, did not long remain reassured. That very evening, the evening of the first full moon of spring, the women of Salim’s zenana gathered together to celebrate in the open courtyard. All were garbed in pink, and other than the moon itself, there was no light.

Nur Jahan, Salim’s favorite wife, found herself next to Man Bai. “That traitor you have spawned deserves to die for his disloyalty, not to be rewarded with a rich and nubile princess!” she hissed in sweetly venomous tones.

“Do not dare to speak of my son so,” Man Bai responded spiritedly. “He is a good boy and loves his father.”

“An unnatural son who would rebel against his father,” Nur Jahan retorted angrily. “Khusrau is no fit heir for
my
lord Salim.

“
My
lord looks among his other sons for a worthier heir. He is quite pleased, I am told, with Prince Khurram in particular. The emperor loves the lad too.” Laughing at the stunned look on Man Bai’s face, Nur Jahan danced gaily off.

Man Bai broke away from the other women to seek out her husband. “Is it true,” she demanded, “that you seek to replace
my
son with Prince Khurram?”

“At least Khurram is too young yet to rebel against me,” he told her, meaning it as a jest.

Man Bai paled. Nur Jahan, bitch that she was, had obviously been speaking the truth. Salim had turned against their son, and why not? He had been appallingly disloyal. “Ahh, the shame of it,” Man Bai whispered to herself hopelessly. Without another word, she fled the festivities. They found her in the morning. Dead. She had taken her own life by eating a lethal quantity of opium.

Salim was inconsolable over Man Bai’s suicide. He fell back into his old habits of excess drink, now laced more heavily with opiates, and a general self-indulgence of the worst kind. His new companions were the absolute dregs of his father’s court. They were greedy, ambitious sycophants who pandered to Salim’s blackest moods, supplying him with whatever he desired, be it wine or young girls. A court news writer who was foolish enough to report the prince’s behavior publicly was brought before Salim and murdered by being flayed alive.

Learning of his heir’s latest atrocious behavior, Akbar decided to teach Salim a lesson once and for all. If his eldest son was to inherit his throne, his behavior had to radically change. If he was incapable of that change, then it was time for Akbar to settle the succession upon one of his grandsons. His other
surviving son, Prince Daniyal, a charming, sweet-natured man, was an alcoholic incapable of little other than writing rather good poetry. Prince Murad had recently died from his overindulgence. Akbar shook his head in despair, and canceling his plans to visit his daughter in Kashmir, marched from Agra on August 21, 1604, toward Allahabad, where his eldest son held his own court.

The river between the two cities was low, and Akbar’s boat stuck upon a sandbar. While he waited for it to be floated free, word came from Agra that Mariam Makani was ill and desired her son’s presence.

“
Is she really ill?
” the emperor demanded sternly of the hapless messenger. He glowered at the man. “Or is this one of her ploys to wheedle around me so that I will not punish Prince Salim?”

“I will not deny, most high, that the dowager is upset by this new estrangement between you and the prince; but she is indeed quite ill,” the messenger told Akbar. Then tears came into his eyes, for Mariam Makani was greatly loved. “My wife,” the servant told the Mughal, “has served the dowager for forty years, most high. She fears that her mistress may be dying.”

Akbar grew pale at the man’s words. “
This is true?
” he half whispered fearfully.

The messenger nodded somberly. The emperor sighed deeply and sadly. Then he gave the order to return to Agra, and he hurried with all possible speed to his mother’s side. Salim would keep.

Mariam Makani had shrunken into a mere wisp of a woman. She was so frail that she was unable to walk any longer. She had not left her bed in two months. Her skin was like delicate parchment. Her once fine black hair was now sparse and snow white. The pink of her scalp was quite visible to the naked eye. Only her dark eyes showed signs of vibrant life. As Akbar sat by her side, she clutched at him with a small, clawed hand.

“
Salim!
” she whispered.

“Safe from my wrath for now, Mother,” he told her with a small attempt at humor.

“
He must come … after you
,” she said hoarsely.

Akbar shook his head. “I become more unsure each day as to whether he is fit to follow me, Mother. You know that I love him, but he seems to have inherited all the worst of the Mughals
and the Rajputs. I may have to pass over him in favor of one of my grandsons if the empire is to survive.”

Mariam Makani shook her head fiercely. “
No!
” she said. “Barbur. My Humayun. Akbar.
Salim!
”

He understood the importance of the Mughal succession to her, but Salim was half Hindu and most of his sons had even more Rajput blood in their veins than Mughal. It was a different world from the world of his grandfather and his father, who had spent most of their lives fighting for territory on the subcontinent of India.

As if she sensed his thoughts, she rasped out to him with her last bit of strength, “Find a Mughal girl for Salim. Make their son your successor after Salim. These Rajput princesses weaken our blood.” Then she closed her eyes and fell asleep, for the conversation had been much too much for her.

How simple it all seemed to her, he thought.
Find a Mughal girl for Salim. Make their child your heir after Salim
. Akbar sighed. If he were ten years younger himself, perhaps it would be possible, but not now. His mother, having lived to a great age, tended to forget that he was old too.

And then there was Salim. They had been at swords’ points from the moment Salim realized that what Akbar had would one day belong to him. And Salim, impatient, had wanted his father’s power and possessions from that time on. His mother’s words, however, made Akbar realize that he would have to come to terms with his eldest son. Neither Khusrau nor any of his other grandsons were really old enough to rule India. His kingdom must have a grown man to come after him.

Mariam Makani never regained consciousness after her conversation with her son Akbar. She died on August 29, 1604, in her seventy-seventh year. Akbar shaved his head, his beard, and his moustache as a sign of filial respect; and led his nation in the brief, general mourning of his mother, whose death was much lamented by the general population. Mariam Makani had been loved for her kindness and her charity to all.

A messenger was dispatched to Kashmir to inform Yasaman Kama Begum of her grandmother’s passing. Yasaman wept at her loss. “You would have loved her,” she told Jamal Khan. “Everyone did.” Then she brightened. “But in the spring you will at least finally get to meet all of my family when we go to Agra for Papa’s fiftieth-year celebration of his rule. Ohh, what a fine time we will have! And Mama Begum will come with us and be able to catch up on all the court gossip she so loves!”

“And I will finally get to meet your brother, Salim,” Jamal Khan said to his wife.

“Yes,” Yasaman replied. “It is important that you know Salim and that you like each other. Mama Begum says that Papa will confer the governorship of Kashmir upon you at the special Darbar that is to be held during the celebrations. We must choose a very special gift for my father, Jamal. It must outshine everyone else’s. My brothers will give him elephants, as they always do.” She laughed. “My father loves elephants, particularly good fighting elephants, and people who wish to please him are always gifting him with the beasts. The royal stables at all Papa’s palaces are filled with elephants. Papa is always giving them away as gifts himself because he simply has too many of them. We will not give the emperor elephants.”

“No,” Jamal Khan agreed, thinking he liked the sound of her chuckle when she was happy and amused, as she was now. “A sapphire,” Jamal Khan replied. “The finest sapphires in the world are mined here in Kashmir. Recently a particularly beautiful stone was brought to me. It weighs over three pounds and has been cut to show its perfection. I have named it the Wular Blue after this lake upon which we live.”

He clapped his hands sharply and told the servant answering his summons, “Go to the high steward, Adali, and tell him to bring the Wular Blue to me.”

“Very good, my lord,” the servant replied.

Several minutes later Adali appeared and set a box before them upon the ebony table. The box was painted to a high gloss with black lacquer, and decorated with scenes of snow-covered mountains, lakes, and the natural flora and fauna of Kashmir. The corners of the lid were adorned with gold filigree which matched the lock. Adali undid the catch and slowly lifted the box’s lid. Within, nestled upon a bed of white silk, was an enormous deep blue sapphire of such perfect beauty and clarity that Yasaman found herself at a loss for words.

“What do you think?” he asked her, smiling.

Yasaman finally managed to find her voice. “I have never seen anything so beautiful,” she said. “It is rightly named, my lord. My father will treasure it.”

“It is better than elephants?” he teased her.

She laughed. “Far better than elephants! My brothers will be green with envy at your cleverness. I, however, am not certain that I am not angry with you.” She was unable to take her eyes from the magnificent sapphire.

“And why is that, my jasmine blossom?” he asked, his eyes twinkling at Adali, who was unable to restrain a quick grin.

“Why, my lord, you are to gift my father with this wonderful sapphire when you might have given it to me,” she said, pretending an outrage she did not feel.

“The Wular Blue is a very special jewel,” he told her in serious tones. “It is meant for an emperor.” He nodded to Adali, who withdrew a flat ivory case from his robes. “This necklace, however, is meant to grace the pretty neck of a princess of Kashmir,” Jamal Khan said, taking the box from Adali and handing it to his wife.

With a delighted little shriek, Yasaman snatched the box from him and opened it. Within was a marvelous necklace of perfectly matched deep blue stones set in pale white gold. “Ohhh, Jamal! They are wonderful!” she told him, lifting the necklace from the box to fasten it about her throat.

“The stones in the necklace are called the Stars of Kashmir,” he said. “My father gave them to my mother when I was born. I thought you would enjoy wearing them to court in Agra. The wife of the governor of Kashmir should outshine all the other ladies.”

“
Yes!
” Yasaman agreed, flinging herself into his arms and kissing him enthusiastically. “I will put all those gossipy old crows who are married to my brothers to shame. Even Nur Jahan will envy me the Stars of Kashmir. I know she has nothing half so fine,” Yasaman gloated.

“Ahh, greedy one,” Jamal said, taking her into his arms and cuddling her, “I am helpless before you. You have captured my heart. I shall never love another. Surely children born of such a love will be great in this land.”

Children
. Yasaman wanted children, but at first she had deferred to Mama Begum’s wishes in the matter. Rugaiya Begum had worried that if a barely pubescent Yasaman became pregnant, it might injure, weaken, or even kill her. Consequently, Yasaman had taken a noxious brew that Toramalli made fresh every morning. It would, Rugaiya Begum told her daughter, prevent conception as long as she took it. Yasaman had dutifully followed her mother’s instruction in the first year of her marriage, but shortly after her fourteenth birthday and the celebration of her first year as Jamal Khan’s wife, she had ceased taking the medicine.

“I want his children!” she told Rugaiya Begum, and the older woman finally acquiesced, for Yasaman was obviously healthy.

* * *

In the company of her daughter and son-in-law, Rugaiya Begum traveled south to Agra during the early winter thaw. Akbar was to celebrate the beginning of his fiftieth year as India’s ruler on the eleventh day of March. Both women knew that at this particular time Akbar would settle his affairs publicly a final time. Barring any further lapses in behavior, Salim would be declared once and for all his father’s heir. That very open declaration should end any further attempts on Khusrau’s behalf, hopefully putting a stop to the younger prince’s thoughts of superseding his father to the throne.

Salim had been properly chastised for his horrendous behavior of the previous summer. In mid-autumn, using his grandmother’s death as an excuse to see his father, he had come to Agra to pay Akbar a condolence call. He appeared publicly at the emperor’s weekly Darbar bringing many gifts, including a fine diamond and two hundred elephants. Publicly, Akbar forgave his son; but he was not about to let him off as easily as Salim had anticipated. Elephants were not enough this time to placate the emperor.

The heir was arrested on his father’s orders and brought to the zenana, where Akbar was awaiting him in Jodh Bai’s apartments. The presence of his mother reassured Salim that he would not be harmed, but he was forced to listen to a catalogue of his sins as both his father and his mother chastised him.

His head ached from a night of debauchery and particularly strong wine. He was also aggravated because his father had ordered the arrest of his current best friend, Raja Basu of Mau. Fortunately, one of Salim’s court spies had warned him in time, and Basu had been able to flee home. Knowing that sincere repentance was expected of him, Salim forced tears to his eyes. Weeping, he begged his parents’ pardon for all the misery he had caused them. Tears and avowals of better behavior always seemed to work.

Jodh Bai, trusting and ready to forgive her son as ever, also wept. Then embracing Salim, she immediately forgave him.