Nurjahan's Daughter (11 page)

‘Don’t be a fool, Sayeed, why shouldn’t I go to my own house?’ Sher Afghan said brusquely. ‘Move out of my way. The governor will not hurt us. We have not given him any cause for displeasure.’

He spurred his horse and rode on despite the servant’s passionate appeals. Desperate, Sayeed ran towards Meherunnisa’s palanquin.

‘Please stop the master, I beg you. The governor’s men are in a foul mood.’

Meherunnisa’s heart was hammering fearfully. She cried out to Firdaus, ‘Something untoward is likely to happen. My left eye is twitching. It is not a good omen. Someone please stop the master.’ But Sher Afghan was too far ahead by now.

He rode into the courtyard of his mansion where the governor, Qutub-ud-din, and his deputy, Pir Khan Kashmiri, along with half a dozen soldiers lay in wait. Like ghosts, they emerged from the shadows of the trees and surrounded the lone man. This is no courtesy visit, Sher Afghan thought looking around, but it was too late to retreat.

He dismounted and walked up to Qutub-ud-din. The circle of soldiers closed in. Sher Afghan drew his sword from his cummerbund and flashed it warningly. The governor laughed at his gesture and lunged with his sword in hand. Swearing at their duplicity, Sher Afghan lunged at the governor and ran his sword through Qutub-ud-din’s belly, wiping off the mocking smile.

Within a split second, Pir Khan Kashmiri struck Sher Afghan on the head with a sword, but Sher Afghan returned it so fiercely that his assailant fell dead immediately. The other soldiers now pressed forward menacingly. The Persian fought valiantly, knocking down a couple of them, but he was heavily outnumbered.

Sher Afghan’s servants were stunned at the suddenness of events. They watched aghast as the governor’s soldiers stabbed their master repeatedly till he fell. Sher Afghan was dead before he hit the ground. Viciously, they continued to attack him to avenge their master’s death.

The palanquin and the rear party arrived at that moment and the governor’s soldiers fled without suffering any resistance. Meherunnisa ran to her husband and fell on his mutilated corpse, weeping profusely. Lost in her grief she did not notice Laadli trembling in one corner of the courtyard, shock and horror written on her face. Firdaus and Meherunnisa wailed loudly, beating their chests till servants lifted up Sher Afghan’s mutilated body and took it to his chamber. The courtyard was a scene of blood and gore, with the bodies of the governor, Pir Khan and two other soldiers lying in pools of blood. Confused servants ran around, debating what to do. There was mayhem in the house.

Not a tear escaped the four-year-old Laadli’s eyes as she stared fixedly at the spot where her father had fallen. Meherunnisa was still lamenting loudly, cradling the body of her husband when Sayeed came running in and urged her to leave the house.

‘The governor’s soldiers are likely to return in greater strength. They are seeking revenge for their master’s death and will take this opportunity to loot the house. I overheard one of them saying that it was not safe to leave you and the child alive. You must flee. I have arranged for your stay at the house of one of my relatives.’

‘Sayeed is right. We must escape before the soldiers return. Spare a thought for your daughter. The master would never have forgiven you for failing to protect his daughter,’ begged Firdaus. ‘There is no time to tarry. Hurry up.’ The practical woman busied herself in gathering valuables in a small bundle. They would need all the jewels they could lay their hands on.

Meherunnisa was too numb to think lucidly. She nodded mutely and allowed Firdaus to take over. Walking in a daze, Meherunnisa left the house with meagre belongings, holding the hand of her stunned daughter.

The three women left from the back door, silently walking into the night. The joyful day had turned into one of darkness and tragedy. Led by Sayeed, they rushed through the forests without halting for a moment.

‘I shouldn’t have allowed him to go into the house. I should have stopped him somehow,’ Meherunnisa reproached herself continuously when they had reached Sayeed’s relative’s house. ‘Perhaps the governor thought he had been offended–if only I had not forced him to accompany us for the outing, he would have been able to meet the governor. It is all my fault.’

‘It was Allah’s will. Why do you blame yourself? Do you think they would not have killed the master if he had gone to the court? Instead of killing him in Burdwan, they would have killed him at the governor’s house. Can you not see the emperor’s hand in the entire episode?’

Meherunnisa remained silent. She did not want to believe Jahangir was capable of such an act.

‘Don’t torture yourself with guilt,’ Firdaus continued, ‘you have to think about the child.’ Firdaus was worried about Laadli. The little girl had not uttered a single word since the horrific scene in the courtyard. Meherunnisa turned to look at her daughter who was sitting in a corner, her vacant eyes staring into space. Gently she tried to get Laadli to talk, but the child seemed beyond her reach. Emotionally and physically exhausted, Meherunnisa held her daughter till she fell asleep.

A week passed by quickly. News from Burdwan continued to reach them through Sayeed. The loyal servant did his best to take care of them.

‘I have heard that the Badshah Jahangir has sent your brother Asaf Khan to take you to Agra,’ Sayeed told Meherunnisa after some days.

The very name of Jahangir sent waves of revulsion through her body. She had loved him, but now she could not think of him as anything but a murderer. Horrifying images of the brutalised body of her husband assailed her every time she tried to sleep. They kept her awake, forcing her to relive that horrible night; if she managed to fall asleep, driven by fatigue, she woke up with terrible nightmares.

Even in her mourning, she worried about the future. Sher Afghan’s jagir and assets had passed on to the empire after his death. According to a law of escheat enacted by Emperor Akbar, all jagirs and properties of a mansabdar reverted to the crown on his death. It was up to the emperor to bestow any kindness or property to the kith and kin of the mansabdar. Meherunnisa did not expect any such benevolence from the emperor, since he had ordered her husband’s death. She had nothing except the clothes on her back and the few jewels she had escaped with. The news that Asaf would be arriving to take her home brought some comfort to Meherunnisa. She longed to be with her parents, to surround herself with the comfort of their love.

It took four months for her brother to reach Burdwan. As he rode into the courtyard of his sister’s house, a heavy feeling of despondency assailed Asaf Khan. He walked from room to room searching for a trace of human occupancy. The house was empty: thieves had ransacked it and stripped it clean of all valuables. There was nothing left of the splendour it had once seen. The looters had spared nothing, not even the expensive doors and floor tiles. Outside, the fountains had gone dry. Even the fruit-bearing trees seemed to sag with sadness and neglect. A solitary frangipani tree laden with flowers stood desolately at one side. His heart ached at the sight of the ruined mansion. He had not loved his brother-in-law, but he had respected him for his valour and openness. Sher Afghan had not deserved such a gruesome end.

Asaf rode around the village, looking for someone who could enlighten him on the fate of his sister, but no one seemed to know anything. Either they were wary of telling him or they really knew nothing about Sher Afghan’s family. He pitched his camp in Sher Afghan’s house and waited for his soldiers to gather some information.

Two days passed before Asaf’s soldiers brought Sayeed before him.

‘Sir, this boy was employed in this house. He must be aware about the fate of the women,’ said the captain of the soldiers.

‘Tell me where they have been taken, boy. We’ll reward you for the information.’

‘Are you a soldier of Emperor Jahangir?’ Sayeed asked.

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Then I am sorry I can’t tell you anything,’ the boy said, his mouth set in an obstinate line. Sayeed crossed his arms across his chest in an unyielding gesture.

‘Why won’t you tell me?’

‘Because the emperor ordered the killing of my master.’

‘But I am Meherunnisa’s brother. I have come to take her back safely to Agra.’

‘You should have told me that in the first instance,’ smiled Sayeed, flashing his strong white teeth. ‘Follow me. I will show you where your sister stays.’

Meherunnisa wept when she saw her brother. The dam of grief burst uncontrollably as she clung to him. Till then, she had tried to remain composed for fear of upsetting her daughter. She cried silently in the dark, soaking her pillow at night, and maintained a calm front during the day. But now she could control herself no longer. Asaf was heartbroken at the sight of his sister. Meherunnisa was his favourite sibling and he had always been very protective about her. When Salim was romancing her, only Asaf had been supportive of the relationship. The rest of the family, including her parents, had been apprehensive about the romance and its outcome.

From behind a pillar, Laadli v/atched her mother crying inconsolably.

‘Hush sister, everything will be all right. Pack your things and let us go. Ammijaan is waiting for you.’ With open arms, he approached his niece. ‘I am your uncle, Laadli. I have come to take you home. You would like that, won’t you?’

Laadli’s blank stare broke his heart.

Hours later, the family began their arduous journey back to Agra, where Mirza Ghias Baig and his wife waited eagerly for their daughter and grandchild.

Meherunnisa’s heart grew a little lighter as the greenery of Bengal gave way to the flora of the north. The graceful palm and banana trees slowly vanished; the pungent smells of jackfruit gave way to the majestic neem, mango, jamun and kikar trees. The rice fields gradually vanished, replaced by the nodding yellow of mustard in the fields.

On their way to Agra they passed Bihar, the outskirts of which city a well-known Sufi saint resided. On his sister’s insistence, Asaf agreed to halt for the night so that she could pay her respects to the saint.

Anxious about her future, Meherunnisa begged the seer to give her some indication of what her life would be like. ‘My husband’s death has left me bereft of all hope. I feel very insecure and helpless. Tell me, great saint, what is going to happen?’

The holy man’s piercing gaze sent a shiver of fear through her body. After what seemed like ages, the old man said in a tremulous voice–‘I see a crown on your head. You have a magnificent decade before you, but I see sorrow ahead if you let your ambitious nature take over.’

Heavy clouds from the incense lay between Meherunnisa and the fakir, making it difficult for her to read his features.

‘Baba, tell me how I can avert the disaster,’ she begged.

‘Your greed will be the cause of your downfall. I can tell you nothing more; one has to face one’s destiny. No one can change its course.’ And the fakir closed his eyes in a dismissive gesture.

U
nused to the heat and dust, Laadli fell ill during the journey. Meherunnisa watched over her anxiously, as she lay burning with fever and dysentery. Firdaus, worn down by her own aches and pains, could not help much in the care of the girl. Finally, after five months of hard travelling, they arrived, on a hot June day, at Agra.

Laadli had lost weight during the journey and looked wan after her illness. Through the journey, the girl had barely said anything, only responding when spoken to. Meherunnisa’s heart ached at the sight of the dark rings around her daughter’s face. She sat Laadli on her lap and rocked her child lovingly. ‘We are at Agra, my baby. Soon, you will be at your grandparents’ house. We shall have a comfortable place to stay and you will have cousins to play with. You will love the house: there are many trees there, and birds nests on the trees. Your grandmother will make many delicacies and your grandfather will bring you many new toys.’ Her attempts at cheering the child barely elicited a spark of interest in the grey eyes.

But as they entered the city portals, winding their way through the crowded, cobbled streets, Meherunnisa sensed some animation in her daughter. The streets were lined with hundreds of tiny shops selling almost everything that a person could want: there were grain shops with fat men in strange turbans weighing out the requirements of the customers; perfumery shops lined with flagons of attars, their aroma wafting in the heavy breeze; sweetmeat shops arrayed with all kinds of halwas and sweets. Bales of fabric–colourful velvets, silks, brocades, printed chintz and muslin–occupied the shelves in the next shop where a group of women were haggling with a shopkeeper over a few yards of bright fabric. Beyond the street, at the head of another lane, stood an imposing jewellery shop with exotic ornaments in its showcases. An array of armlets, bangles, nose rings, anklets, hair adornments, wristbands and necklaces dazzled Laadli’s eye. She had never seen such a variety at Burdwan.

‘This is a beautiful city,’ she said, speaking without having first been spoken to for the first time in many months. ‘Will we live here forever?’

‘I don’t know, my child. Who can predict the future?’

A monkey performing tricks on one side of the lane caught Laadli’s attention and she leaned forward, a smile creasing her face. ‘Look Ammi, the monkey is doing cartwheels,’ shouted Laadli, clapping her hands excitedly. Meherunnisa sighed deeply as she felt some of her own grief lift. She exchanged a smile with Firdaus.

The palanquin traversed through the maze of streets and reached the wide road leading to the fort; her parents lived in a large mansion in the same area. The avenue was lined with fruit-bearing trees, which shaded the path. The sidewalk was ablaze with the petals of fallen flowers. Meherunnisa felt a surge of nostalgia as they travelled on the well-remembered road to the haveli.
Just a few more
turns
before we reach home,
she thought happily.

Suddenly, their palanquin bearers halted. A posse of soldiers had ridden up to them. The emir who was leading the soldiers went up to Asaf Khan. ‘Sir, I have the emperor’s order to take the ladies to the royal harem. Begum Meherunnisa has been appointed as a lady-in-waiting to the emperor’s stepmother, Ruqayya Begum. All arrangements have been made at the imperial harem to house the women.’