Mistress of the Throne (The Mughal intrigues) (8 page)

I opened my eyes and looked at her. Her demeanour had been sad for the past several weeks, and I knew why: She’d suffered another miscarriage, and with each of these, Ami had told me she felt as though she herself was dying. Were all these miscarriages a prelude to something much more serious and tragic? Keenly aware of her own mortality, she began immersing herself in service to the unfortunate, perhaps hoping that helping those in need would absolve her of any sin she might have committed, and that she’d be granted a long and prosperous life, alongside her first love – Aba.

Now she prayed: “You’ve taken seven of my children, I’ve never questioned your will, and I don’t dare do so now. But, Creator of this World, understand a mother’s anguish at watching her child take the path of evil. To watch as your child, whom you’ve held and hugged and kissed, walks the path of injustice is unthinkable. Give this peasant servant of yours this one wish: Take my life, but spare Aurangzeb’s soul!”

I looked at my mother in surprise, but then quickly closed my eyes and resumed my own prayer. I couldn’t bear the thought of
losing my Ami, the anchor that held everything together. If there was one person against whom no one in the family had any complaint – not even Nur Jahan – it was Ami. Her leaving this world would be a disaster not only for me, but the entire imperial household. I began to pray more fervently, hoping that my prayer and not my mother’s would be answered.

“Please take
me
, Allah,” I pleaded in my mind. “Take all my riches, and let me live my life in the mud huts on the far side of Agra, and give me a painful death. Deny me any children and any love, and I will still say my life has been blessed. But please spare my mother. Don’t let her die!”

On the far side of Agra were districts where the peasants lived in simple huts made only of mud and straw. These would often disappear during extreme weather, as the wind and rains washed the inhabitants into the river along with their homes and belongings. While the nobles were often rewarded with hundreds of acres of lands and cavalry, the peasants, the backbone of our revenue system, toiled all day in the fields and gave more than a third of their income in taxes and bribes to corrupt officials. A poor harvest wouldn’t preclude the peasant from paying such taxes, and often he’d have to mortgage his farm during such seasons. Continued poor harvests would cause the peasant to default on his mortgage payments and lose his land and livelihood. Such was the sad, ugly truth behind the opulence of the Mughal Empire. For all the wealth that existed in the royal household, the average citizen’s lot was far from comfortable. Ami understood this and upon Aba’s coronation, she began spending vast sums of money to feed the poor, and she even gave regular audiences to women whose husbands had died and who now needed to feed their families.

I was tormented by my mother’s anguish and felt compelled to help her somehow. Was Aurangzeb’s intolerance his own creation, or was an evil hand misguiding him? I began pondering the possibilities. I asked my eunuch, Bahadur, to find out who had been in contact with Aurangzeb after we returned from Kashmir. I was certain someone was pulling the strings, and my little brother
hadn’t concocted the plan on his own. Bahadur was a gentle soul who never engaged in zenana gossip for her own amusement. After being assigned to me, she became almost an older sibling, protecting me from the dangers that lurked in unthinkable places in the palace. The other women of the harem feared her, and their treatment of me changed once I was placed in her charge. I now commanded respect; my suggestions were no longer met with taunts and sarcasm, and the women would go out of their way to include me on trips and hunts.

She now told me, “Begum Sahiba, both your brother and your sister, Raushanara, have been paying regular visits to the former Empress, Nur Jahan.”

I froze in horror. I’d heard of Nur Jahan’s vindictiveness, but I couldn’t believe her tentacles could run so deep into the fabric of my family. “Bahadur, are you sure? I can’t act on a rumour…”

“I assure you, Begum Sahiba, this is no rumour. Several of my sources, including Nur Jahan’s own eunuch, Hoshiyar Khan, have attested to this.”

I resolved not to make either parent of mine privy to this information; I opted instead to take matters into my own hands. With Bahadur by my side, I took a detour on my way to visit the mud huts of Agra and personally confront the former empress.

A small haveli began to come into focus as our palanquin made its way towards Nur Jahan’s home. There was an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach as we approached, as if Nur Jahan had placed a curse on the air around her haveli.

Yet, I was determined to not be intimidated by this woman. She had caused so much grief in my life that I opted to do what was right for my family and confront her. By this age, I’d developed my mother’s sense of confidence and sophistication in dealing with difficult matters.

Bahadur approached the haveli first and made contact with Hoshiyar Khan. After the two eunuchs discussed the purpose of the visit, Bahadur escorted me to the main room where Nur Jahan would receive me.

Though we exchanged the customary salutations, I didn’t waste any time on casual conversation, instead forthrightly saying: “Aunt Nur Jahan, I’m here to tell you plainly: leave Aurangzeb alone!”

Nur Jahan smiled slimly. “What makes you think I’ve said anything to Aurangzeb?”

“He told me!” I lied. “I know everything. I know how you manipulated him to poison Manu and told him it was God’s will for her to die. Why won’t you leave him alone? Why do you wish to turn him into a fanatic?”

If Nur Jahan was surprised at my boldness, she didn’t let on. Instead, while I was speaking, she began walking around her room, rearranging figurines on her table as if she were preoccupied. She replied calmly, “I’m not saying anything his own heart’s not telling him.”

“He’s a child!” I nearly screamed. “You’re poisoning his mind!”

Nur Jahan continued to fiddle with her tea, avoiding eye contact with me.

“How did you become like this?” I probed.

She froze and moved only her eyes towards me. Realising I’d just struck a nerve, I prodded her more. “You couldn’t always have been like this…”

Before marrying my grandfather, Nur Jahan had been in an abusive marriage with a Persian soldier, Sher Afghan, and those many years had made my grand aunt a tough individual who always plotted and schemed for her own interests, and whose cold ambition knew no limits.

She waved dismissively at the air. “As I said, fair Princess, you cannot understand any of this!” She walked away from my chair.

“I can’t understand any of this?” I replied bitingly. “You’re poisoning my happy home and trying to destroy your own niece’s family. What more is there to understand?”

“Is
my
home not destroyed?” she shrieked. Is my daughter not a widow who refuses to remarry because she’s so traumatised by what your father did to her husband? My grandchild is raised in this house like a prisoner, afforded none of the luxuries you and your siblings enjoy!”

I fought to remain calm. “Will punishing Aurangzeb for my father’s mistake fix everything?” I pressed.

Nur Jahan took a deep breath to regain her composure, and then went on: “You can’t understand. You’ve never been poor.”

“What does wealth have to do with this?” I retorted. “My father gave you a handsome pension to live on; you have plenty of money.”

“Women in this society have to fend for themselves, she replied, “… always…”

“How can you say that?” I shot back. “My mother has more riches than any woman in the history of India. Women are getting more rights every day under my father.”

“Not the same as men.”

“Almost!” I countered.

Nur Jahan just stared at me as if laying me bare to the bone with her eyes. She must have felt my unease. “You are very beautiful, Jahanara,” she said, “a true Persian.”

Embarrassed, I looked away and replied in a low voice, “I’m only half Persian.”

“Oh, no, my dear! You’re fully Persian! Those long slender fingers, that olive skin, those sensual eyes, and that silky black hair could never belong to a Hindustani. You’re a Persian. Maybe your naiveté and peaceful demeanour is Hindustani – we Persians love war – but physically you’re a Persian beauty.”

I sensed she was trying to toy with me now. I composed myself and hurled back, “What does my appearance have to do with the plight of women in India?”

Nur Jahan just smiled, as if amused by my outburst. “Tell me, Jahanara. You’re how old now? 16, 17?”

“Fifteen.”

She chuckled. “We Persian women develop fast, don’t we? My body was also fully developed by this age. My breasts were more developed than my Hindustani maid’s, and she was 20!”

She began to run her finger along the edges of my face, and I looked away, feeling myself blush at her compliments. She purred, “Have you ever been in love, Jahanara?”

Stunned, I stared at her. “I love my parents. I love my family.”

“That’s not the love I’m talking about.”

My shyness and her comment’s directness made me even more uncomfortable. I looked away, and she said, “Have you ever loved a man who wasn’t related to you?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern, Empress Nur Jahan.”

“Oh, but you see it
is
. My dear, no matter how beautiful you are, how sensual your face and how well developed your body, it will never be touched by any man. That’s the sad truth of the Mughal Empire.”

My eyebrows wrenched in confusion and anger as I felt Nur Jahan take control of the conversation and steer it into uncharted territory. “What are you talking about? My Aba will find a prince for me!”

“Is that what he told you?” she laughed condescendingly. “He lied. No Mughal daughter of the Emperor is allowed to marry. None of your aunts married, and none of their aunts married. You and your sisters have been damned to a celibate existence, while your brothers will enjoy harems of 300 women each.”

I started to feel suffocated. I’d come here to talk about Aurangzeb, and somehow we were now talking about me? My head throbbed with a strange mixture of emotions: embarrassment, disgust and rage. I spat back: “More of your lies!”

She chuckled again and moved her hands sensuously over my lips and neck. “I wish they were. No matter how good you are, my dear, no man will touch you. Sensual intimacy will never be yours. Get wise before it’s too late, and find an heir to the throne to groom in your image. If you wish to survive, that’s the only way.”

I wrenched Nur Jahan’s hand from my face and shouted, “Is that what you’re trying to do with Aurangzeb? Groom him for your own ends?”

“Why should I groom him? My days in this world are numbered. By the time he or any of your brothers becomes king, I’ll be but a memory. I have other reasons to groom him…”

“Like what?”

“Oh, you’ll see. No one has ever wronged me and lived happily. Even if it’s from beyond the grave, I’ll get even with your father,” Nur Jahan replied ominously.

“How? By turning Aurangzeb into a zealot?”

“Precisely.”

“That’s a strange way to get revenge.”

“Your own life will tell you why it’s not strange.”

Consumed with rage, I turned to storm out of Nur Jahan’s residence, but before I’d gone some distance I whirled around and spat, “If your life is dedicated to destroying Aurangzeb, then
my
life will be dedicated to
preserving
him!”

Nur Jahan’s chest heaved and her eyes reddened with rage at my challenge.

I continued: “You and I are made of the same Persian blood, eh? I swear to you, I’ll see my father’s image in whoever becomes king, and I’ll help him rule Mughal India to the best of my abilities. I’ll never cross my king!”

Nur Jahan pursed her lips as if about to reply, but I never gave her the chance: “You tried it your way, Nur Jahan; I’ll do it mine!”

5

PIT OF DEATH

4
^th
January, 1631

A
re you getting more comfortable with these elephant rides?” Ami smiled.

I didn’t think anyone would ever be comfortable riding on top of these massive beasts, but I was getting more used to it. “Yes, Ami!” I would lie just to make her happy.

Nearly two years had passed since Manu’s poisoning, and Ami was pregnant yet again. Having miscarried many times before, it seemed this time she was determined to give birth to a living child. This was now her fourteenth pregnancy, her previous 13 having resulted in the birth of four sons, two daughters and seven miscarriages.

As fate would have it, there was yet another war to be fought, this time in the Deccan, and as always, Ami insisted on being by Aba’s side during the war, even in pregnancy.

We set out for the Deccan with the entire kingdom at our disposal. Not everyone came though; Dara, Shuja, Aurangzeb, and Raushanara remained in Agra while I, along with young Murad, accompanied our parents. I was riding with Ami in her palanquin due to her health.

She moaned, “Try being pregnant on these rides! Every bump feels like a contraction.” Ami was beyond modesty at this point. She
would continue lamenting her condition to me. Not knowing how to respond, I would simply smile.