Nurjahan's Daughter (13 page)

The stir, however, lasted only till Meherunnisa made her entry. She took everyone’s breath away with her dress, which seemed to have been spun by a diligent spider from gossamer thin strands of white silk. She was clad in a transparent white qaba, which had been embroidered with pristine pearls. Its full sleeves hugged the arms and ended in a froth of lace imported from Europe. The silver veil was deceptively simple but elaborate in texture and weave. The white satin churidar sheathed her legs in a tight embrace. The entire effect was ethereal. There was an audible gasp of admiration as Meherunnisa walked into the hall, her delicate feet shod in white satin slippers embellished with white pearls. There was barely any trace of jewellery on her person except a strand of pearls on her neck and a pair of magnificent pearl earrings. Instead of jewellery, she had made clever use of fresh flowers. White jasmines were woven in her raven tresses. She blew in like a whiff of fresh air and innocent charm into the circle of gaudily clad women laden with gold and precious gems. Crimson, gold, purple, green were the predominant colours in the hall, and Meherunnisa stood out in the crowd like an innocent dove. There was a hush as the matrons apprised her critically and took in all the details of her attire.

‘You have surpassed my expectations, Meherunnisa,’ complimented Ruqayya Begum, chuckling at the stir her dress had caused. ‘You will be besieged with demands from the women.’

The begum’s prediction proved right. The clamour for Meherunnisa’s services was immediate. All of a sudden, the dark colours they had worn all their lives looked garish and dated. Hitherto, the harem women had worn cumbersome tunics of knee length, with long and straight sleeves. Over this, they wore a full-length caftan with buttons that reached the waist. Many of them wore three caftans of varying sleeve lengths–one over the other. All these were now summarily discarded. Meherunnisa had the entire harem waiting in line for her designs. Whether it was for festivals or weddings or simple feasts, it was her creations everyone wanted to wear.

Firdaus was roped in to work on the pile of fabrics as orders poured in. Even Laadli was entrusted with small errands like delivering the dresses or sewing the buttons. Unable to cope with the volume of work, Meherunnisa employed some seamstresses to work under her supervision. They worked through the day and sometimes the night, to satisfy the ever-increasing demand from the harem women. Meherunnisa’s business expanded and her reputation spread all across the city, but there was a restlessness in her that didn’t find solace in money or fame. The fire of ambition consumed her totally; she wanted to achieve more.

‘You don’t have to work so hard, now that there are so many women working on the orders,’ Firdaus said, massaging Meherunnisa’s tired body with hot mustard oil in which she had added eucalyptus leaves for a soothing effect. ‘You have to learn to take things easy. Maybe we should turn down some of them.’

‘No!’ Meherunnisa sat up. ‘I will employ more women to handle the orders but no one should be refused.’

The next day, four more women were employed to take up embroidery work.

It was difficult for Meherunnisa to relax. With so many women working under her, she had more time to spare, but her restlessness only increased. One morning Firdaus found her illustrating a book of poems. ‘I can see that you have taken up a new business,’ Firdaus scowled at her mistress.

‘I have to keep myself busy. Now that the seamstresses are capable of working on their own, I need to do something else.’

Meherunnisa took her painting seriously. She gifted the first few copies of poetry books that she illustrated to Ruqayya Begum and other queens, and soon there were requests for similar books. She calligraphed the verses of famous poets like Saadi, Hafiz, and Firdausi and it didn’t take much time before her work was in demand. Her fame travelled through the empire as a capable illustrator. In between illustrating books for customers, she managed to find the time to illustrate a book for Laadli. It was the Persian book of fables,
Kalila and Dimna,
comprising stories about animals. After seeing Laadli’s book, every child in the harem wanted a copy of her own.

W
ithin a year, Meherunnisa’s business had expanded beyond her expectations and she had enough money to buy whatever luxuries she wanted for her apartment. There was more money than they required to meet their needs, and she distributed part of her earnings to the orphans who sat in the mosques, begging for money.

Laadli, meanwhile, was unable to exorcise her demons. The thought of staying amongst the people she held responsible for her father’s death seemed like an act of betrayal to her father’s memory. She continued to remain in a shell, and nightmares still plagued her. Seeing no signs of improvement in her daughter, a worried Meherunnisa decided to take her to the royal hakim.

The hakim’s prescription was simple. ‘Your daughter has suffered an immense shock. The claustrophobic environment of the harem is not good for her. She needs open and salubrious surroundings. And she needs to be around people who care for her.’

Meherunnisa confided in Ruqayya Begum about her child’s problem.

‘Bring her to my apartments. Its open space and gardens will cheer her up. Besides, there are other children around. And I will also request Jahangir to send you to your parents’ house for a few weeks.’

‘Yes, Your Highness, I think it would be best if I could take Laadli to my parents’ place. I myself would be much happier living there. I don’t know why the emperor desires that I should stay at the harem.’

For many months, Meherunnisa had wondered about Jahangir’s intentions. Surely he must know that she held him responsible for the murder of her husband, and that the idea of staying at the imperial harem would therefore be repugnant to her?

‘I think you know the reasons, Meherunnisa.’

‘I do not understand them.’

‘Don’t try to pretend naiveté. You can’t be unaware that the emperor is in love with you. Everyone in the harem knows about his feelings for you. He wants you to remain under his protection in the harem.’

‘Forgive me, Your Highness, if I disagree. I would be well protected in my father’s house. Besides, I am financially independent now and I can look after Laadli and myself quite well. I do not need anybody’s charity. As far as the emperor’s love is concerned, it can hardly be reciprocated if I am held as a prisoner in his harem.’

‘What gives you the impression that you are a prisoner?’

‘If I were a free person, would I be held against my wishes in the confinement of the harem? I cannot even take my daughter to a more suitable environment.’

‘I will speak to Jahangir about your problem. I am sure, he will not refuse you permission to visit your parents,’ the queen promised.

Meherunnisa began bringing her daughter to the queen’s apartments every day. The girl would sit in a corner, watching the women giggling, playing tricks on each other, and nibbling at the delicacies laid before them. They spent hours discussing jewellery and the emperor’s moods, playing chaupar and ganjifa, or composing inane verses. She hated their foolish chatter, and when she could no longer stand the noise, she escaped to the garden to stare at the sedately flowing river winding its way along the palace walls.

Her closest companions were a parrot called Mithoo, and a white dove named Minna. Laadli had taught the parrot to speak a few words and the dove to carry little notes. She spent hours training the two birds. At
least they can fly. They don’t have to live in the harem,
she thought.

One day when she was sitting in the pavilion watching the peacocks preening with delight at the sight of black, rain-bearing clouds, her thoughts were intruded upon by a voice. She turned around and saw the teenaged Prince Khurram standing close to her. She got up and, after a self-conscious bow, began walking away from him.

‘Please stay,’ he commanded, his voice stern. Laadli stood transfixed, her eyes downcast. ‘Do you like this place?’

Laadli nodded obediently, resentful at the loss of her privacy.

‘So do I. It is beautiful, isn’t it? I could spend many hours staring at the river,’ he said, taking a seat next to her on the marble bench. The six-year-old girl cringed at his touch as he put out a hand to point out the flurry of pigeons near the steps.

‘That white pigeon is called Shirin. And that one with the spotted tail is known as Farhad. They have been named after the famous lovers.’

His interest in the doves calmed her.
He’s not as bad as I expected him to be,
thought the girl. Firdaus had repeatedly warned her against talking to the princes. ‘They are a spoilt lot. It is best not be get close to them,’ she had cautioned Laadli.

‘And that dove near the cote is a short-tempered one,’ said Laadli hesitantly, pointing to a grey dove hovering near the lovers. ‘It keeps pecking angrily at the others all the time so I have named it Naraaz.’

They both burst out laughing as Naraaz suddenly pirouetted and pecked violently at another bird that had dared to pick a grain from its food bowl. All of a sudden Minna, the white dove, appeared from nowhere and settled on Laadli’s shoulder.

‘Minna is the most intelligent bird I have seen. She can carry letters and understand most of what I tell her. I have a parrot called Mithoo that can speak a few words. Do you want to see her?’ Laadli called out to Mithoo and the parrot dutifully landed near her. It began pecking at the grains the girl held out in her hand.

Khurram burst out laughing. ‘You seem to have trained them very well. I wish I had the patience to train a few birds.’

‘It takes a lot of time, and yes, patience is essential if you want to train them.’ Laadli’s serious face brought a smile to the prince’s face. He wanted to make her smile. She looked so pretty when she smiled. He felt sorry for the girl. He had heard all about her father’s murder and how her mother had been incarcerated in the harem. It was common knowledge that his father, the emperor, loved the woman and would not let her out of his harem.

‘Do you like riddles?’ asked Khurram suddenly.

‘Yes, I know many of them. My mother knows more riddles than anyone in the harem. She can keep Ruqayya Begum amused for hours with her riddles.’

‘Well, tell me one and let me judge whether they are any good.’

‘All right, try this one. Two partridges ahead of one, two partridges behind one; tell me how many partridges in all?’

Laadli waited with an amused look on her face while the prince mused over the riddle.

‘Five?’ he asked.

‘No. Guess again.’

‘I think it is five.’

‘Silly, it is three.’

‘How?’

‘See, there are two partridges before the one at the end of the line and two partridges behind the one in the front, that makes it a total of three,’ Laadli was animated as she explained the riddle by drawing three birds on the wet earth.

‘You draw quite well for a girl your age,’ remarked Khurram pointing to the partridges she had casually drawn on the ground.

‘I can draw all kinds of birds. When I was very young my Abba presented me an album with paintings of birds. I began drawing the birds that roamed around Burdwan. I have a good collection of those drawings. I’ll show them to you one day.’

‘I would like that very much. Do you come here every day?’

‘Yes, my mother insists that I accompany her to Ruqayya Begum’s palace although I find it very boring to lister to those stupid women chattering away about silly matters. So I escape to this garden to watch the birds and the river.’

‘Will you bring your album tomorrow? I will also bring a few paintings that I have done.’

‘That will be nice. We can exchange the paintings, if you like.’

Laadli liked the prince. He was friendly and kind, unlike the picture painted by Firdaus. Perhaps it was because they had common interests. For the first time since she had arrived at Agra, Laadli felt that she had a friend. Meherunnisa noticed the change in her daughter and so did Firdaus.

‘I think Laadli has found a friend, finally,’ said Meherunnisa. Laadli was busy painting.

‘Yes, she has stopped chattering with the parrot and seems to be in a very happy mood. She has been sketching birds since this afternoon.’

When the prince and the girl met again, they sat together near the fountain and exchanged notes on the paintings.

Over the next few days, they spoke about verses, riddles and paintings. They mimicked the women at the harem; they laughed over the silly eunuchs and tested each other’s cleverness with their riddles. Laadli felt happy in his company. She shared her dreams and aspirations with him. No one, not even her mother had been privy to the girl’s innermost thoughts. Gradually she felt herself warming to the prince. On his part, he found her innocence appealing. Most of the girls he met fawned over him, flirting and batting their eyelashes. They had just one thought in their minds–marrying royalty. Laadli was different. She was like a fresh whiff of breeze that delighted him.

‘I want to be a painter when I grow up,’ she told him one day.

‘You must do that. My father has a huge atelier and there are many painters there. You must have heard of Mansur and Abul Hasan. But there are only male painters in the court. Maybe you should speak to my father some day. He can ask one of the artists to teach you the art.’

‘I don’t want to speak to the emperor,’ Laadli said, shaking her head resolutely.

‘Why not? Are you afraid of him? You don’t have to be afraid of him. The emperor is very fond of children and he is partial towards girls.’

‘Should I tell you something?’ Laadli glanced around cautiously. ‘But first you must promise not to tell anyone.’

‘I promise. I won’t part with your secret.’

‘I hate the emperor. He killed my father.’

The prince was taken aback by the hatred in her voice. Khurram had heard whispers about his father’s role in Sher Afghan’s murder, but had believed them to be mere rumours.

‘That’s not true,’ he said.

‘I saw my father butchered by the emperor’s foster brother and his men,’ Laadli said, agitated. ‘The coward came with so many soldiers to fight a lone man. He tricked my father because he did not have the courage to face him in the battlefield. My father was a hero who fought so many battles for the Mughals. He saved your father’s life, yet the emperor got him murdered.’