Mistress of the Throne (The Mughal intrigues) (36 page)

Egging the skit on, the eunuch intoned: “As I close my eyes, Your Majesty, I can see the King of Persia dead. I’m actually watching the Persians carry their king’s coffin to the ground.” The laughter increased. “Don’t disturb me… I want to see them inter the body completely!”

Apparently Dara believed all this nonsense, even in the absence of any solid evidence: The King of Persia was alive, well and ready for any rematch with the Mughals forces. Though the Sufis had given Dara much in his life, insight into the enemy’s weaknesses would not add to these riches.

Then Henna piped in: “Gentlemen, when I close my eyes, I see Mian Mir sitting on the throne of paradise, telling me that I will be in Kandahar only seven days.” Soldiers present at this journey had returned from Kandahar and visited their mistresses in the zenana, giving the ladies ample material for mocking.

Henna then placed some of the empty gold vases in her chunni and wrapped it so it looked like a sack of riches. “I am hereby leaving for Kandahar with the riches of the kingdom.” Dara left Lahore on 11
^th
February, 1653, the date his astrologers picked as being the most auspicious for the journey. Aba – informed by Dara’s runner of this date – sent riches from Delhi to accompany him, including jewels, ammunition, elephants, horses and over one crore rupees in gold for his military treasury. Aba gave Dara 70,000 men for this campaign, 20,000 more than he’d given Aurangzeb. Dara arrived at the outskirts of Kandahar two days later and set up the imperial camp.

Another eunuch playing a part in the skit shouted, “Shall I mount the cavalry across the battlefield?

“No, Jai Singh!” yelled Henna. Among the commanders in Dara’s army was the legendary Hindu raja Jai Singh, head of the Rajput state that bore his name, Jaipur. A strong military man with many skills, he soon felt dismayed by the Prince’s lack of understanding of military matters. Henna bellowed, “I need neither cannons nor cavalry. Find me an ascetic who’ll blow so hard, the Kandahar fort will fall down!”

The women all laughed, and Henna mocked on: “He must spit so hard, the fort walls will crumble under his force.” Now the women were falling over one another with amusement. It was well known that day after day, Dara would invite and entertain gurus and ascetics from the region, some self-proclaimed hypnotists, others magicians, each claiming to have powers to win the battle without firing a single shot – in return for enough money.

“Find me the ascetic who with his piss alone will down the Persians!” Henna could hardly contain her own laughter now, as she took a coconut with a hole cut in the middle and held it to her waist, her body turned sideways. “Allow the piss to fall,” she cried faux-solemnly, tilting the coconut sideways so its water flowed down like a man’s urine.

The night’s debauchery ended like a usual zenana party. Aba never visited; I wasn’t surprised. I was with Bahadur as the women
passed out one by one. “It seems our Dara has become the joke of the kingdom,” I said. “Even young concubines are laughing at him. Do you think he actually said such things to Jai Singh and the other commanders?”

Bahadur stopped cleaning my table. “Your Majesty, what was said I don’t know, but everyone knows that saints and ascetics flowed all over the camp, each bringing his own disciples, and the Prince was convinced that they possessed supernatural powers and abilities.” Bahadur sat sown heavily. “Some were paid 40 rupees and given rations; others were paid in gold, while our army of soldiers watched and waited for Prince Dara to lead them into battle.”

I’d heard the stories many times from many people, but had difficulty understanding how Dara could be so myopic in military matters. Days had turned to weeks, and weeks to months, and while the Mughal army played at waiting games for the ascetics to show their miracles, the Persians had begun sending raids in the midst of the night and beheading soldiers in their tents.

I laughed bitterly. “At one point, Jai Singh even warned of mutiny!”

Bahadur nodded. “Yes, I know, Jai Singh and Prince Dara were continuously furious, Jai Singh complaining that the Prince had spent nearly a quarter of the treasury on voodoo, and the military camp had turned into an ascetic’s pilgrimage.”

Dara ultimately caved in to Jai Singh’s demands and stopped the ascetic nonsense. Several more months passed, and at last Dara’s army under Jai Singh’s command launched an offensive against the Persians in Kandahar that captured smaller surrounding forts around the major fort. On the side of the main fort was a solid granite cliff, over which loomed the citadel that needed to be overtaken.

Jai Singh ordered his men to quarantine the citadel, preventing any goods to flow in or out of the fort, in hopes of starving the enemy.

“Your Majesty, Prince Dara’s impatience has been his greatest weakness. He should have listened to Jai Singh when he advised to
continue the quarantine.” After only a week of the blockade, Dara grew impatient and ordered fire rockets released at the citadel.

I said: “Jai Singh had advised Dara
not
to fire rockets because the fog was too thick, but my ascetic brother was too arrogant.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Those whom Allah wishes to destroy he first makes arrogant.” The rockets missed their target miserably, only lighting the night sky. The Persians responded with this note to the imperial army.

Our Dearest Young Prince
,

Thank you; we’ve never seen a more brilliant fireworks display!

With Deep Respect
,

The Persian Army

This mocking note enraged the usually calm Dara. Wishing to make a direct assault this time, waiting for no cover, Dara demanded his commanders give him ideas about how best to wage such an assault, but none would venture any.

“Do you blame them, Your Majesty?” Bahadur seemed unconventionally open in her criticism of Dara before me. “No commander in the Mughal army had confidence in the Prince. No individual wanted to put his stamp of approval on any of his plans, fearing that a loss would cause the Emperor to lay blame for the failure squarely on their shoulders. The generals were sent by the Kings as chaperones and babysitters rather than subordinates. Any failure of the mission would thus be in their hands; Prince Dara would go unscathed – even by a loss.”

The battle dragged on for four hours, and the Mughal army fought with all its might. But lacking a strong commander at the helm, the heterogeneous unit attacked in a disunited way. The Persians, strengthened by their homogenous background and one religion – they were all Muslims – fought as one. The Mughal army
retreated in defeat, losing over 1,000 soldiers and another 1,000 wounded.

Dara, wounded along with his men, retreated. To further inflame their passion, the Persians began to play victory music loudly and even had dancing girls come outside in view of the imperial camp. Thus Kandahar was again lost to Mughal India.

Dara had returned earlier this month to Delhi in shame, leading back less than half his army, with the remainder mostly being carried on stretchers or walking with bandages on one or more limbs. Men cried out in great pain as their wounds won the battle over them. Aba heard the sounds of the defeated army from the Rang Mahal and looked out of the window with tears in his eyes. The sight of a suffering Dara was always difficult for Aba to bear. He would banish any failing child – even me perhaps – but couldn’t spend a moment without Dara.

I looked out from my apartment that day, too, and saw the army make its way past the Jumna. Much to my dismay, Dara had not succeeded where Aurangzeb failed. Yet, even in loss there was victory, I initially thought. Perhaps after seeing Dara, too, lose this war, Aba would reach out to Aurangzeb and mend fences. He would realise now that this military endeavour was no small task, and that he ought not to blame Aurangzeb for something two other sons, Murad and now Dara, had also failed at. And if the King felt justified in reprimanding Aurangzeb, perhaps he would do the same to Dara, and I’d be able to write Aurangzeb that the King’s love was the same for all his children, not partial towards Dara.

We all gathered in the Diwan-i-khas as Dara slowly walked towards the Peacock Throne with his head hanging low.

A voice intoned: “All Hail, Prince Dara Shikoh!”

The Prince walked towards Aba, stood immediately before the throne and performed the necessary salutation. Then he said slowly, “It is with regret, Jahanpanah, that I must report that my army has failed to capture Kandahar from the Persians.”

Aba leaned forward sadly, not so much over the loss of Kandahar,
but at seeing his son in such a defeated state of mind. He rose from his throne and walked to the Prince, surprising all the nobility in attendance and me as well. Aba then embraced and kissed his son, and said, “You are and always will be the world illuminator, my son! I never cared much for that border town anyway.”

Never cared much for that border town
? These words kept resonating in my ear, echoing through my head. What had I just seen? Since childhood, I’d witnessed my father’s bias towards Dara, but never as profound an instance as this.
He never cared much for that border town?
Why, then, had he banished Aurangzeb to the Deccan and denied him another opportunity to wage battle?

I watched stunned as Dara’s frown turned into a jubilant smile and father and son hugged, the crowd hailing Dara’s name in the background as if nothing had been lost. What would I write to Aurangzeb? What explanation could I give? Everything he’d said was accurate. Here were father and son rejoicing over a
loss
, while a younger, far less culpable brother lived in virtual exile, governor of a region he didn’t even want, like an utter failure?

I won’t allow this to go on longer
, I thought.
This demands an explanation
. Impulsively I spoke out: “Does Jahanpanah wish all the brothers from the four corners of the empire to return, so the royal family may be reunited after all this time of senseless bloodshed in that arid border town?” I had no idea whether or not this was the right thing to propose, but I wanted to see if my father’s anger towards Aurangzeb had perhaps thawed and he might want to see him again.

“No,” replied Aba. “They’ll remain at their posts. We’re fine here” And he kept smiling at his son.

My sources were now telling me Aurangzeb was effectively and energetically converting Fatehpur into a major metropolis, making it, in fact, Aurangzeb’s ‘Taj.’ Just as Aba and I had released our
emotions building the Taj Mahal and Delhi, it seemed Aurangzeb was releasing his rebuilding Fatehpur, or as he’d renamed it, Aurangabad.

Aurangabad was located northeast of the Portuguese town of Goa. Because it had dry soil and no natural rivers, Aurangzeb created a large water tank four kos in circumference and ran a canal from a nearby village to feed it. Near the tank he built his palace, less impressive than the fort at Delhi, but perfect for the more modest Aurangzeb. He now lived there with his family – and built Raushanara a palace there as well. The Deccan was now looking more like home to him. Far from the Mughal pageantry of Delhi, this city had become elegant yet simple enough to reflect its creator.

24

THE MARATHAS

1
^st
May, 1654

T
he eunuchs were tittering: “The pearl embroidery will make Prince Sulaiman’s eyes glow like a diya on a dark night!” They ran hither and thither, setting one robe after another before me for consideration.

After years of bloodshed, first in Balkh then in Kandahar, the Mughal household was once again abuzz with joy and delight. Dara’s oldest son, Sulaiman Shikoh, was to be wed to none other than a Hindu Rajput princess, who was also ironically a niece of Rajah Jai Singh, the ill-fated general Dara had blamed for the loss of Kandahar. Recognising his own myopia in blaming the brave Hindu warrior for the debacle, he’d sought to mend relations by having his son marry the Raja’s niece. Yet again, a Hindu bride graced the Mughal household, and Aurangzeb, reeling from the preferential treatment of Dara by their father and also by the mixed marriage between Hindu and Muslim, opted not to attend or send any presents for the affair.