Mistress of the Throne (The Mughal intrigues) (24 page)

We set out for Delhi the next morning. My elephant was the grandest, second only to Aba’s; I rode under an azure canopy with a Mughal lion painted in gold. I chose to ride alone so I could be at peace with my thoughts and memories of my several rendezvous with Gabriel.

Gabriel and I had spent the previous several months meeting at the mansion Aba granted him alongside the Jumna. The location provided me with a clear view of the structure. I would enter Gabriel’s mansion as a servant boy and he would receive me as such. I tried learning some basic words of English while also helping him perfect his Persian. He would tell me stories of distant lands he’d travelled to: Persia, China, Ceylon, Baghdad, and of course his homeland.

I felt strangely free whenever I dressed as a boy, as though a tremendous burden had been lifted off my head. I even visited the structure dressed as a boy, and enjoyed seeing how the everyday labourers lived and worked. Streams of sweat poured down the sun-darkened labourers as they toiled every day for my mother’s future home. Women, some pregnant, balanced basins of earth on their heads. Sometimes low-level administrators would tap me to leave, telling me I was getting in their way. A lifetime as a royal made it difficult for me to bear ever being spoken to this way. But I would smile regardless, and move on.

I didn’t question the morality of what I was doing with Gabriel; I just lacked the strength to deal with that question. I lived for the moment and chose to relish it.

As our procession approached Delhi, I could tell this land had seen great civilisations before. Ruined fortresses with walls as high and thick as our Red Fort in Agra were peppered around the city. Mud huts covered the landscape, presumably housing the descendants of the people who once owned these civilisations. Overgrown shrubs and untamed forests had reclaimed land that at one time must have been beautiful gardens and walkways. Makeshift homes were made from remnants of what once must have been civil buildings or mansions. Beyond the ruins lay endless jungles with smoke emitting haphazardly from their midst; signs of life existing even there.

I couldn’t help but wonder if this was what would become of our descendants one day. The thought left me worried and in despair for a few moments. What led to this great civilisation’s collapse? What could I as queen do to prevent this from happening us? My mind
again drifted to my brothers and who would be king. I never had any doubts that Dara would be a great king, but would he be able to be a valiant warrior who could fend off invading forces? What about Aurangzeb? Would he really be as intolerant a king as he was a prince?

The people in the mud huts coalesced around our procession, begging for alms. Aba loved this part of his journeys. He distributed silver coins to all who desired tokens of what was to come to their destitute land. This would now be the capital of our empire, and they would be its proud citizens.

We dismounted from our elephants and walked around the city, eventually climbing a tower that stood by itself. I’d been told it had once been part of a grand palace, of which it was all that now remained.

“Why are we here, Aba? I’m afraid this tower may collapse at any moment, too.”

Aba snorted, “Nonsense! This tower had withstood the elements all these years. Nothing our earthly bodies do to it will have an effect.”

We climbed its spiral staircase with its steps partly broken in some areas. Finally, we reached the top and looked out on the landscape. I now understood why climbing this tower was so important to Aba: From here one could view the entire city of Delhi – the ruins, slums and jungles.

Aba pointed. “That’s where our new Red Fort shall be, alongside the Jumna.”

I squinted but could barely see the edge of the river.

Aba went on to show me where the city would be and its different buildings would lie. “Yet again, the queen shall be its manager,” he declared.

“Me? But Aba, I know nothing about all this.”

“Nonsense,” he huffed. “You’ve learned much about architecture in the last several years. Come now, and embrace your father.”

I looked out again.
My future? In this jungle?
I took a deep breath and then grew pensive. For a moment, I felt transported back
to the time when Aba stood on the Samman Burj and proclaimed the riverside location as the new home for his mausoleum for Ami. Now, I stood here overlooking another jungle, being given the chance to build my own ‘structure.’ I burst out, “I’ll do it, Aba!”

He smiled, and I continued: “I shall make this the most beautiful city the world has ever seen! You won’t be disappointed.”

Aba put his arms on my shoulders and kissed me on the forehead. “I never am with you, my child. Never.”

As the sun’s rays waned, our caravan began its journey back to Agra. I smiled as we left this now desolate land that was to be our new home in a few short years. Peasant children ran behind our caravan, as though they wished for us to take them back to Agra also. Eventually tired, one by one they peeled off till no one was left chasing us. We slowly rode near the Jumna river, and in the distance I could see the Hindu sadhus bathing in the water. These men looked extremely old, probably even over 100, but their bodies looked strong, and I’d often been afraid of them. The caravan slowed, possibly, I thought, due to a ditch or obstacle that it would have to overtake to continue forward. Such delays were common when we set out in the jungle.

I peeked out at the sadhus as our caravan continued to slow down. They all began shaking their heads from side to side, as if telling me not to do something. Old thin men, with chiselled, muscled arms belying their age, white hair and long white beards, all in unison continued to shake their heads as they made eye contact with me. Then, one of the sadhus raised his finger and began waving it from side to side as if insisting that I heed their message. Finally, one of the sadhus ascended from the river and walked towards our caravan. The imperial soldiers blocked him from coming close to my elephant, so he resisted and cried out: “Heed my advice! He who builds his city in Delhi is bound to one day lose it!”

I felt shaken by this naked man’s challenge of our plans, for I sensed he knew the truth of what he was saying. “Nonsense, Your Majesty,” scoffed Bahadur. “These sadhus always scare people. They
probably want you to pay them to lift the curse on Delhi. It’s just a ploy to extort imperial alms from you.”

“No alms, oh Queen!” The sadhu didn’t relent. “This naked fakir needs nothing but what mother earth has already provided! Do not come back here. He who builds here will be destroyed himself!”

Just then, the caravan began moving more quickly, and the imperial soldiers pushed the sadhus away and marched on with us. But the sadhu’s voice followed us, more distantly: “Do not build here, oh Queen! He who builds a city in Delhi is bound to lose it!” And his words continued to echo in my mind all the way to Agra.

Sitting in the Macchi Bawan where many years ago I’d interviewed the architects for the Taz, I now sat with Aba’s drawings of the new city and tried to give his ideas the breadth and depth he’d given the Taz. The main avenue that was to run down the centre of the city needed to have some unique attribute that defined it. In its grandiosity would lay the magnificence of the entire city. I was rummaging through paintings of the other shrines and buildings that had been built both by Mughals and non-Mughals to draw inspiration.

One such painting was of the Hindu city of Varanasi; I noticed in it that at night the Hindus would light candles and float them on the banks of the river. The glow radiated into the buildings bordering the river, giving them and the people standing beside them a special sheen. This avenue, I felt, needed to draw on this imagery. There needed to be water and light on that avenue. Delhi (or Shahajahanabad as Aba renamed it) had a very arid climate, so water was necessary throughout the city, but the main avenue commanded its presence more than any other area.

I found myself almost possessed by this idea, and began to feel the way Aba often commented he felt when he was inspired to build. The imagery had entered my mind, but my eyes had yet to form a complete vision.

I was looking intently through images and rummaging through my thoughts when Bahadur entered. “Your Highness, you summoned me?” I motioned for him to have a seat as I gave him a heartfelt letter I had written for Gabriel.

I now realised that love involves pain. Though I had immersed myself in courtly matters: granting petitions, conferring honours on nobles, supervising construction of the mausoleum and impressing the
muhr uzak
on official edicts, I couldn’t escape the reality that I had created for myself. My note read:

My Dear Gabriel
,

Please forgive me for taking so long to respond to your letter. I have been torn as to what is the most appropriate course. I cannot ask that you leave your company unless I am willing to give you full acceptance here. I know the King will never accept a liaison for me, especially with a firangi. I ask that you follow your captain’s orders and leave at once. If destiny desires, we will meet again
.

Love
,

Jahanara

My hands had hurt as I wrote these words to this man I had given every part of my being. He’d found the most special place in my heart, yet in a twist of ruthless irony, I now had to send him away myself. I now understood the sort of pain the other women in the zenana felt, and how difficult it is to leave him who owns your heart, regardless of the consequences. Your world begins to shrink, and all you see is
him
. And while your heart and mind remain with him, think incessantly of him and nothing else, your body is forced to live apart, in agony.

I tried to forget Gabriel, but sometimes one’s mind isn’t as obedient as we hope it to be. With Gabriel, I got away from the cloying formalities of the court and could be just myself and live in those moments for no one but myself. I often asked myself: Did I
love Gabriel or what he represented to me – freedom, intimacy and companionship? As for most things, I didn’t know the answer, and so I continued to live without prodding myself further; I just wept in my apartment in the Khas Mahal, feeling as alone as I had the day after my mother died. Indeed something did die for me that night – my dream. Besides being an Empress who wielded more power than any before me, I longed to have an ordinary family with someone I could love as much as my parents had loved each other. Yet, through no fault of my own, I would have to watch that love forever slip me by; and if I chose to protect it, I would have to tell lie after lie. I began to feel I had no one to turn to anymore.

I lay on my bed, my face staring out at the elegantly decorated ceiling of my apartment, my elbow bent and my forearm sitting across my forehead. I began to wonder who, besides Gabe, had taken care of me the most when I was on the verge of dying. My father cared, but he still was too unstable emotionally to be leaned on for comfort. Sati cared, but her message was always to just bear the burden, though it was unclear how one could carry such a heavy load a whole life. Who had come to me in my hour of need and offered me something new and different that perhaps could help me understand the world and my place in it better?

Then I turned my head to the side and saw a green curtain blowing in the wind. Though it may seem odd, this green silk cloth made me think of the green turban I once saw Dara wearing, an emblem of the Sufi movement Dara belonged to and had prodded me many times to join or at least learn about. I remembered the promise I made to Dara, to learn about his Sufi movement and understand the Qadiriya movement from my benefactor, Mullah Badakshi. In this hour of darkness, when all seemed to be failing, I would go to him.

We all gathered in the Diwan-i-khas a few days later. Aurangzeb presented his dagger to the guard and asked to be presented to the court. He then presented a petition to Aba: He wanted to be the Governor of Gujarat. Gujarat bordered the Deccan on the north, so
Aurangzeb was familiar with the political landscape in that area. He said, “Staying in Agra, I am of no use to Your Majesty. Let me bring
this
chaotic region under your control.”