Delhi (21 page)

In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful and in the name of His Messenger, the Refuge of the World, I, Abdul Muzaffar Mohiuddin Mohammed, on whom Allah in His Divine wisdom bestowed the sovereignty of the Empire of Hindustan, pen this brief account of the ninety years of his life and forty-eight years of his reign. I do this so that Allah who is just will punish those who have transgressed against truth in writing about me. And may He forgive His humble servitor for presenting his side of the story in his own words.

This sinner, full of iniquities, was born in Dohad, a small town in the province of Gujarat. A poet composed for us the title
Aftab-e-Alamtab
meaning the Sun-whose-Radiance- would-take-the-World-in-its Embrace. Another bard composed the chronogram:
Gauhar-e-Taj-Muluk-Aurangzeb
meaning Aurangzeb-a-Pearl-in-the-Emperor’s-crown. The letters of both these titles when added up gave the year of our birth 1027 Hijri corresponding to 1618 of the Christian calendar. We were born on the 15th day Zi’qad (3 November) under the dual signs of Libra and Scorpio. Astrologers predicted that our character would partake of the qualities of both: justice and mercy from the scales; and from the scorpion which carries venom in its tail, tenacity of purpose and the power to destroy those who dared to trample on our rights.

At the time of our birth our Sire, then known as Prince Khurram, was Viceroy of the Deccan and his Sire, Jahangir, Emperor of Hindustan. Our royal mother who reposes in the peace of the marble mausoleum in Agra named after her as the Taj Mahal, bore fourteen children in fourteen years of happy conjugation. Seven of these children were summoned to paradise by Allah. Of the seven who were permitted to sojourn in the world, the eldest, Jahanara, was followed by Dara Shikoh, Shuja and Roshanara Begum. This creature of dust was the fifth surviving child and the third son of our parents. After us came Murad. Gauhar Ara made her entrance into the world the same day as our revered mother took leave of it on 7 June 1631.

Since the memory of mortals begins to accumulate only after the sixth or the seventh year, we remember little of our childhood. We were told later that our grandfather, Emperor Jahangir, being for some reason displeased with our father, had our elder brother Dara Shikoh and ourselves taken as hostages to reside with him at Lahore. We were then eight years old.

The Emperor appointed men of wisdom and piety to be our teachers. Mir Mohammed Hashim Gilani and Aitmad Khan taught us the sacred word of Allah, the traditions of our holy Prophet (on Whom be peace). We were also taught Persian, Turki, Hindi and the art of calligraphy. We were content to learn whatever was considered worthy of learning. Indeed what more is there to learn than the word of God and the precedents of His chosen Messenger! However, Dara Shikoh preferred reading the books of infidels and holding discourses with heretics. He gave up saying his prayers and fasting during Ramadan. On one of his fingers he wore a ring with the word
prabhu
inscribed in Devnagri characters. He also bestowed patronage on men who created the likenesses of living things on paper and stone, singers, lute-players, dancers and such others. The gift of intellect that God had given him he magnified into something of his own making. He became haughty in his manner, pompous in his speech and arrogant towards the
omarah
. Of such it has been truly said: ‘If the blanket of man’s fate has been woven black, even the waters of Zam Zam and Kausar cannot wash it white.’

As often happens in families, some members were closer to each other than to others. Our father’s favourite children were the two eldest, Jahanara Begum and Dara Shikoh, and the two were perforce drawn closer to each other than to any of their other brothers or sisters. Although we maintained equal affection towards all our kin, Roshanara sought our company more than that of her other brothers. Likewise the youngest, Gauhar Ara, attached herself to Murad.

Our father, Shah Jahan, when he became Emperor of Hindustan in October 1627 once spoke of his four sons in the following words: ‘Dara Shikoh has made himself an enemy of good men; Murad has set his heart on drinking; Shuja has no good trait except contentment. The resolution and intelligence of Aurangzeb prove that he alone can shoulder the burden of ruling India. But he is physically weak.’

We had seen only fifteen summers when we proved to the world that just as our heart did not lack resolution our arms did not lack strength. In the early hours of one morning, when the sun had only made its presence known to the minarets of the Royal Mosque, a vast concourse assembled along the sandbanks of the river to watch a fight between two elephants—Sudhakar armed with spearlike tusks and Surat Sundar which, despite its tusks being removed, was as big as its adversary. The beasts had been fed on hashish. After entangling with each other for some time, Sudhakar, goaded by its mahout and angered by the yelling of the people, suddenly wrenched itself free, turned upon the crowd and crushed many people under its mighty feet. Everyone except us fled in panic and terror. Seeing us alone, Sudhakar charged towards us. We held our horse in check. As the maddened elephant bore down upon us we struck its forehead with our spear with such force that it was stunned to a halt. However, with a swipe of its trunk it knocked down our horse beneath us. We rose to our feet, drew our sword and slashed its trunk. By then others, including Shuja and Raja Jai Singh, galloped up and attacked the beast. The other elephant, Surat Sundar, came back into the fray as well and chased Sudhakar off the ground. His Majesty chided us for our rashness. We replied: ‘Death drops the curtain even on emperors; that is no dishonour. The shame lay in what our brother did.’ Since Shuja had done whatever he could, it was apparent to everyone that our words were aimed at Dara Shikoh for he had behaved like a coward. His Majesty pretended as if he had not heard us. He had us weighed against gold coins which he presented to us and bestowed on us the title of
Bahadur
(the brave). A few months later he appointed us governor of the Deccan. Dara Shikoh’s heart became heavy with envy.

At the age of seventeen we were married to Dilras Bano Begum, daughter of Shah Nawaz Safawi. The following year Murad, then only fourteen, married Dilras Bano’s younger sister and so, besides being our brother, he also became our brother-in-law. Though we were in the prime of youth, and youth has its compulsions, we wasted little time on the nuptial couch. Living in camp amongst our comrades-in-arms became us more than dallying with the ladies of the harem. Gilani Sahib, our teacher, had impressed upon us that a ruler should always be on the move; being in one place gives the impression of repose and repose brings a thousand calamities. We realized early that it is bad for kings as it is for water to remain in the same place; stagnant water goes putrid and a stagnant king’s power slips out of his hands. Unlike other monarchs of Hindustan and the nobility of the times, no more than five women enjoyed our intimacy; they produced ten children from our seed. Only one of these women we really and truly loved but her sojourn was brief and bore no fruit.

*

We were thirty-five years old. The searing heat of summer had given way to the season of dark clouds, cool breezes and rain. We had gone to call on our aunt at Burhanpur and were strolling in her deer park along the banks of the river Tapti. We heard the laughter of young girls at a swing and stopped where we were in order to save them embarrassment as they were unveiled. The girls began to sing in chorus. We caught some words of their song which was about a young bride pining for her groom. They were singing in
Raga Megh Malhar
which was appropriate for the time and the season. One voice rose above the others; dulcet, clear it seemed to spread over the verdant greenery like drops of dew glittering under a morning sun. Our feet were drawn towards the voice. The girls fled from our presence but the voice stayed. Till then only our ears had been bewitched. What we saw bewitched our eyes as well: a young girl clad in diaphanous white, her jet black hair hanging down to her waist, her hands clasping the bough of a tree loaded with mangoes—exposing her chemise bursting outward. She continued to sing as she swayed and regarded us with her large gazelle-like eyes. We stood rooted to the earth a few footsteps from this apparition of matchless beauty. The girl leapt up, plucked a mango from the branch and tossed it towards us. It hit us on our heart and we felt we had been struck by lightning. Then the girl turned and ran away into the palace. ‘Allah be praised!’ we exclaimed. ‘Is that a mortal or a houri from paradise!’ One of our companions who had joined us replied. ‘Sire! Allah forgive me if I am wrong but that could be no other than your aunt’s slave, Hira Bai. Her fame as the comeliest of women and a nightingale amongst singers is the talk of the Deccan.’ We tarried for a while to recover our composure. But when we paid our respects to our
mausi
(mother’s sister) Saliha Bano, she could read our misfortune in our countenance and in the confusion of words in which we addressed her. We implored her assistance to give us our heart’s desire. ‘Take all the women of my harem and in return give me Hira Bai,’ we beseeched her. Saliha Bano said she would do anything, even sacrifice her life for us but was afraid of what her husband Saif Khan, governor of Burhanpur (who was notorious for his ungovernable temper), might say. Our friend and companion, Murshid Quli Khan, undertook to murder Saif Khan. But we restrained him from acting against the
shariat
law. Instead Murshid simply went to Saif Khan and put our proposal as bluntly as he could. Saif Khan pondered the matter and then informed our aunt that he would exchange Hira Bai for one of our slaves, Chattar Bai.

It was thus that Hira Bai was brought in a palanquin to our harem. For many months we thought of nothing but her and sought no company save hers. From her hand we even took a cup of wine which had hitherto been an abomination to us— and would have as gladly sipped it even if it had been deadly poison. She herself forbade us to do so. Stories of our infatuation were carried by tale-bearers to Dara who further poisoned our father’s ears against us. He was reported to have told the Emperor:’ See the piety and abstinence of that hypocritical knave! He has gone to the dogs for the sake of a wench of his aunt’s household.’

Allah in His infinite wisdom decided that we were straying from the path of duty and took Hira Bai from us. We buried her in Aurangabad beside a tank full of our tears.

Our father was given to lending his ear to gossip and the prattle of soothsayers. It was narrated to us that once an imposter who passed for a holy man gave His Majesty two apples and said that as long as the smell of the fruits remained on his hands no illness that afflicted him would take a fatal course. When asked which of his sons would destroy his dynasty the knave is said to have replied, ‘Aurangzeb.’ We who had kissed our father’s hands many times never detected the smell of apples on them. And far from destroying the kingdom, we extended its domains beyond the furthest limits known to our forefathers. Nevertheless our father’s mind was poisoned against us; it was reported to us that to mock our fair complexion and our character he had described us as ‘a white snake’.

An incident confirmed our suspicions. One evening Jahanara Begum, while carrying a candle to her bedchamber, stumbled and let the flame touch her muslin garments. She suffered grievous burns; two maidservants who took her in their embrace to smother the fire were burned to death. Dara Shikoh delayed sending the news to us. Consequently, it was only after a month that we were able to reach Agra. His Majesty was out of countenance with us and relieved us of the governorship. All our explanations were ignored. Ultimately we wrote in anguish:
If His Majesty wishes that of all his servants
I alone should pass my life in dishonour and at last perish in an
unbecoming manner, I have no recourse but to obey... Ten years ago
I realized this fact; I knew my life was a target.

Later the same year Dara Shikoh invited us to his palace by the river Jamna. Having been slighted by him many times we preferred to keep our distance from him by staying near the entrance, whereupon he incited the emperor to rebuke us about the necessity of keeping our rank. We were forbidden from attending court for seven months.

This was only one among many such incidents. The emperor put us away as if we were not of his seed. To our brothers and their sons he sent presents of gold and jewellery on their birthdays; never to us or our children. Recommendations we made for promoting loyal servants were turned down. We were accused of misappropriating the wealth of Golconda which had fallen into our hands and even of eating Deccani mangoes meant for the emperor’s table. It was reported to us that, while on a visit to Delhi, the emperor had recognized Dara as the future King of Hindustan. He appeared in the
darbar
wearing a robe of honour conferred by the emperor and sat on a gold chair placed beside the peacock throne. If Dara is speaking the truth, which is seldom, His Majesty apparently said to him: ‘My child, I have made up my mind not to do any important business or decide on any great undertaking henceforth without your knowledge and without consulting you first... I cannot sufficiently thank Allah for blessing me with a son like you.’

As we have said before, and will say a hundred times, we had no desire for power or kingship. But, as our teachers had often reminded us, since Allah in His wisdom had given us birth in a dynasty of kings, it was our duty to serve humanity and to spread Islam by making mankind bear witness to the true faith. Gilani Sahib used to say that Hindustan was like a piece of bread given by the Bestower of Gifts to our ancestors Taimur, Babar, Humayun, Akbar, Jahangir and Shah Jahan. He used to impress upon us that though Allah was bountiful, it was the duty of those who received His bounty to extend the domain of Islam. ‘Make the best of life,’ he said, ‘but remember it is transitory: only the name of Allah is immortal.’