Mistress of the Throne (The Mughal intrigues) (5 page)

While my father was subduing a rebellion in the Deccan, Nur Jahan had made plans to make Prince Shahriar the heir apparent. My father’s rebellion against her and his puppet father had failed, and he’d been forced to live in exile in the Deccan, while my two brothers were held as virtual hostages by Nur Jahan as insurance against any future rebellion. Prince Shahriar had become the heir apparent, just as Nur Jahan had envisioned.

Nur Jahan added in a low voice while staring at the ground: “My daughter is now a widow, as am I. She has a small daughter who will never know her father. Do what you will to me, but please look after my children. They are your own flesh and blood.”

I’d learned from Sati what became of Prince Shahriar. Upon reaching Agra and seizing the throne, Aba ordered the execution of all of his rivals. Prince Shahriar, Prince Dawar Baksh, along with two nephews of my father, were blindfolded and brought to an open field and shot to death by an executioner.

Living with the knowledge that my father was a murderer had proved difficult for me, so I’d tried to forget about this horrific aspect of him. But at moments like these the horror would resurface again, and I’d be reminded of how much blood my Aba had on his hands.

Now he said: “Begum Nur Jahan, it would be untrue for me to say that I am happy with the way you have treated me and my family. You took my children from me and forced us to live like refugees in our own home. You even turned my father against me so he spent his final years cursing me and offering none of his blessings to me or his grandchildren.Yet I do not wish to tarnish my father’s memory by having you harmed. You are after all, the
former
Empress of India.”

I knew Aba had emphasised the word
former
to make it clear that Nur Jahan should understand her place. I’d like to think I was at least partially successful in telepathically communicating with my father, for what he would do next shocked all in the hall.

“I would like you to remain in a private home, right here in Agra,” he went on. “You will be given an annual allowance of two
lakh rupees, but you must remain in the home. You are not to meet with any dignitaries, nor attend any court events. You will not be given command of any cavalry or ships, and you cannot leave your house without the expressed written consent of myself or the Empress, Mumtaz Mahal.”

“May people visit me, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, you may have anyone common visit you as you like, but you will refrain from any involvement in state affairs. I suggest you devote your remaining days to prayer and good works.”

“You are too kind, my King,” said Nur Jahan, as she performed the royal salutation.

I suspected that Nur Jahan had received a much weaker sentence than she’d thought she would. Even Ami, who was a calming hand on the bellicose Mughal throne, looked surprised that a stricter sentence hadn’t been levelled against the former Empress. Perhaps Aba didn’t want to be seen as an executioner of an old lady, a mother, grandmother and stepmother. Perhaps he wanted to save face with his children now, since we knew our father was a murderer.

3

THE POISONING

5
^th
June, 1628

O
ur elephant was right behind Ami’s golden-canopied one. As she was the royal Empress, hers had to be the grandest. Behind us rode over 100 Uzbek bodyguards with silver-tipped spears, along with dozens of eunuchs on horses. Our elephant was among the countless beasts that rode as the official royal zenana.

When summer arrived, our entire royal family decided to retreat to the summer capital in the northern hills of Kashmir to escape the oppressive heat. The pleasure gardens there were supposedly paradise on earth; we kids had only heard of them, but were now anxious to actually experience their glory ourselves.

Gardens held a special meaning to my people. Paradise after death was considered to look like a pleasure garden. By creating beautiful pleasure gardens all over our kingdom, we Mughals tried to attain the closest thing to a paradise possible here on earth. Nowhere was this truer than in Kashmir. Nestled in the northern part of the Indian subcontinent, the Kashmir valley was south of the inhabitable Himalayan terrain, but north of the plains of Agra. It therefore had perfect summer weather, with cold damp winds and clear breezes. My grandfather, Jahangir, often went there when his asthma attacks would start to worsen. It was believed the climate of Kashmir was better for the breathing of an asthmatic.

India was now akin to a patient recovering from a deadly illness. The unchecked virulence of Nur Jahan and her politics had wreaked havoc on the kingdom, with six years of political posturing and intense infighting. The entire royal family had been torn apart, and it seemed at times no one – save Nur Jahan – had been happy with her actions.

New Empress Ami stood in complete contrast to her predecessor. Aba consulted her on all private and public matters of state. She was not just his favourite wife, but also his closest adviser, confidante, and on certain matters, even co-regent. I now shared my elephant, its canopy decorated in gold and azure, with Dara; Raushanara rode with Murad and Shuja. Aurangzeb insisted on having an elephant all to himself.

Aurangzeb still seemed like an enigma to me, an entangled coil I somehow needed to unravel within the confines of my own quiet private world. I wasn’t sure how I would do that.

At times I felt all of Agra had left with us. The centre of the empire was the King, so wherever he went would be the centre. Thus, the centre was moving north and with him, all of the luxuries and responsibilities of the kingdom would go also. A total of at least 80 camels, 30 elephants and 20 carts were devoted just to carrying the royal records. An additional 100 camels carried over 200 cases of Aba’s clothes alone; 50 elephants carried jewels to be distributed to those individuals who had pleased the King with their words and deeds; 100 camels carried cases loaded with silver and gold rupees; another 100 carried water for drinking and bathing; several large carts carried the
hammam
that Aba and his wives would use for bathing.

At a distance of one
kos
in front of us was a horseman with the finest white linens, whose job it was to cover the carcass of any animal lying on the ground, to prevent the Emperor from viewing such a dastardly sight.

Two ‘metropolis’ cities travelled as part of the entourage, one always set up in advance of the other so the emperor wouldn’t have to wait if he wanted to relax. Anticipating the Emperor, the Grand Master of the royal household always picked a scenic location at
which to set up his city. These temporary cities featured red imperial two-storied tents lined with gold, silk and velvet each complete with its own Diwan-i-am and Diwan-i-khas as well as zenana apartments in the rear. A guard of nobles surrounded the area; a separate tent was filled with sweetmeats, fruits, water for drinking and betel leaves. Added were separate tents for the kitchen, the officers, the eunuchs and the animals.

I found myself alone often with Dara during our journey in my new makeshift tent chambers. We enjoyed each other’s company so much, no one objected to him entering the zenana, and many of the zenana ladies even flirted with him, which I think he enjoyed.

On this night, I decided to prod Dara to tell me what had happened during their exile to make Aurangzeb so different. Though reluctant at first, he did tell me the whole story:

“When Aurangzeb and I first arrived at Agra from Nizamshahi, we were incredibly homesick, and the separation from Ami and Aba was especially difficult for Aurangzeb, who was very young at the time.”

“How so? Did he weep often?” I inquired.

“Yes, he wept all the time. He began acting infantile; he started wetting his bed and falling ill. Nur Jahan was ruthless to him, teasing him all the time and calling him a girl and a begum.”

“Oh, my God!” I was appalled. How traumatic it must have been for a child, especially a boy, to be called a member of the opposite sex by an adult!

“Aurangzeb’s depression and agony went on for several months, as all of Nur Jahan’s servants, especially the female ones, continued taunting Aurangzeb. As you yourself noticed, he also wasn’t growing at the same rate as me because he would hardly eat anything – the grief he was enduring stole his appetite. Having received full licence from Nur Jahan to taunt Aurangzeb, the female servants grew ever more cruel to him. One day they sneaked into his room, pinned him down, put makeup on his face and told him he was small because he was really a girl, and he should accept that he was only a princess, not a prince.”

As I continued to listen I was filled with both rage and sadness. I couldn’t help but suspect that this mistreatment had been suffused with Nur Jahan’s virulence.

Many years ago, when my father returned from his campaign in the Deccan with Arjun Singh, the leader of a rebel group that had played an instrumental role in the agitation there Aba assumed Arjun Singh would be imprisoned or executed like most rebels. Instead, Nur Jahan had Arjun Singh imprisoned and given a large cup filled with an elixir of opium seeds. Arjun Singh was allowed no food until he finished the full elixir. Over the course of several weeks, Arjun Singh, who’d been known for his physical strength and masculine leadership skills, drifted more and more into opiate senselessness. Several months later he was completely emaciated and had the wits of an imbecile. Nur Jahan then had his legs severely broken and threw him into the streets of Agra to live the rest of his days as a disabled beggar, unable to even clean himself.

I asked, “Did they also torture you, Dara?”

“They tried to, mainly by cursing Aba in my presence; but soon they realised that they couldn’t upset me, so they directed all their energies at Aurangzeb. I tried to protect him, but they usually kept us apart.”

“But this still doesn’t explain his religious zeal?”

“I’m about to arrive at that point. With no one there to ease his torment, and me being forcibly separated from him, he began reading the Koran for comfort and wisdom. The more Nur Jahan tortured him, the more he would read. He began to sew caps for prayer services and donate them to the mosque. Whenever the servants would come to taunt him, he would recite the Koran, and the Muslim servants would walk away out of fear that they were doing something unjust while the Koran was being read aloud in their ears.”

“Did that stop the torturing?”

“Yes, it did. When Grandfather Jahangir fell sick, Nur Jahan even asked Aurangzeb to lead her in prayer for the Emperor’s life.”

“Was he happy then?”

“He was. He would wake up at any time of the night to recite the Koran if requested to do so. He would speak out against any injustice, such as a drunken man beating his wife or a mullah accepting a bribe. His religion, oddly enough, was rooted in a pure desire to further himself spiritually through the Koran.”

“And you, how did you become spiritually enhanced?”

“I didn’t,” smiled Dara, “at least not according to Aurangzeb. I read the Koran once, but since he and the mullah always stuck to just their own interpretation of it, I began to learn some other religious literature.”

“Such as..?”

“Such as the Gita, the Hindu scripture. One of the zenana girls was a Hindu whose daughter’s name was Gita, and one day I asked what her name meant. She told me it’s the name of a sermon delivered by God to a soldier just before the soldier was about to go to war against his family for the Kingdom of India.”

“Like Aba!” I said.

“Yes, but not exactly…” Dara continued telling me the whole story of the Gita, mesmerising me with this tale of chivalry, duty and sacrifice. It wasn’t as if I’d never heard these principles before, but I’d never before been exposed to any non-Islamic scripture. I never thought something non-Muslim could be so interesting, yet many people, including my younger brother Aurangzeb, considered it blasphemy to draw strength from any religious edict other than the Koran.

It seemed Dara took a special liking to not just the scripture but also the girl who was its namesake. I asked him where she was now, in hopes of making her part of our zenana. Dara looked away at the ground. “She’s dead, Jahanara.”

I didn’t bring up Gita again to Dara, ever-mindful of the traumatic experience he must’ve endured knowing that his first love was dead. I was slowly learning that Mughal men rarely needed prodding to pour their most heartfelt thoughts out to me. Whether it was Aba, Dara, or sometimes even Aurangzeb, in due time, they would tell me
everything. Thus, I decided to put aside all of my worries about my family and simply enjoy the summer in the foothills of the legendary Kashmir valley.

We were indeed amidst an absolute paradise all summer, swimming in Dal Lake and having our lessons on different picnic grounds that adorned the summer capital of India. Aba and Ami spent a great deal of time together, even though Ami was pregnant all summer. Since their wedding, there had been hardly any time that Ami was not either pregnant or recovering from pregnancy. In their 28-year marriage, she would have 14 different pregnancies, almost half ending in miscarriages.