Nurjahan's Daughter (22 page)

Gifts and valuable offerings arrived in abundance as the nobles rushed to seek the emperor’s blessings. The offerings ranged from priceless gems and jewels, precious gold and silver articles, ivory, and jade artefacts, to expensive Arabian horses, mammoth elephants procured from the jungles of the northeast frontiers, and slaves brought from far-off lands. Silk from China, muslin from Dacca, velvet, porcelain, crystals, pearls, rubies, emeralds, diamonds, and rare paintings were given as gifts.

The emperor, in turn, handed out grants in the form of jagirs, horses and promotions. The cost of the gifts was translated as the degree of loyalty towards the emperor and the grants were in keeping with the presents that the nobles offered. Whether it was the coronation anniversary, Nauroz or the emperor’s birthday, all the emirs were expected to make lavish offerings. If the emperor decided to visit any of the nobles, it was the officer’s duty to make offerings worth the emperor’s visit. Many nobles were known to have gone bankrupt trying to make a suitable offering.

The dowry that each marriage brought in for the emperor also helped fill up the royal coffers. When emperor Jahangir married Man Bai, her father, Raja Bhagwan Das, presented him with several strings of Persian, Arab, Turkish and Kutch horses with gold saddles, together with a hundred elephants with gem-encrusted gold howdahs, Abyssinian, Circassian and Indian male and female slaves, and vessels full of gold and jewels. Each emir who attended the wedding was given purebred Arabian horses with gold saddles.

Once the gifting ritual was over, the emperor moved to the palace to enjoy himself. The list of entertainments ran long. First, there were tournaments of all kinds, with generous rewards being given to the winners, and then a procession of amusements in the harem. Dance and music accompanied with wine and an elaborate feast lasted till every muscle was exhausted and the mind dulled with opium. Only when the emperor was incapable of rising to his feet were the celebrations brought to an end.

Soon the emperor and his royal entourage were on their way to Ajmer again, to pay homage to Chisti’s dargah. The emperor was in high spirits. The forests near Ajmer were his favourite hunting grounds and he enjoyed the thought of spending leisurely time near the banks of Ana Sagar Lake, which were being beautified jointly by the empress and Prince Khurram. Sitting in one of the curtained palanquins, Laadli found herself amused at the wasteful luxury of the journey that could have fed thousands of poor people for many years. At one time, as a child, she had been impressed by the procession, but now it seemed such a foolish effort at impressing people who barely managed a couple of meals every day.

Barely had the royal caravan reached Ajmer when news came that Arjumand had given birth to a son. Prince Dara Shikhoh’s birth brought great jubilation in the royal quarters. The child was Jahangir’s first grandson and would one day inherit the empire. Trumpets belted out happy notes along with cymbals and drums. Jahangir and Nur Jahan visited the young couple and gifted a gold cradle studded with precious jewels along with seven gold cups filled with pearls.

While outwardly all seemed well between Nur Jahan and her stepson, a rift was slowly sundering their alliance. With each passing day, the emperor’s dependence on alcohol grew: he was consuming twenty cups of wine along with several pellets of opium each day. This addiction did not help his already failing health. It was enough to send the royal physician into a frenzy, but Jahangir was unperturbed. In the backdrop of his father’s ill health, Khurram’s many victories had made him a contending power in his own right. Nur Jahan intended to scuttle Khurram’s plans to inveigle himself with his father. She kept Khurram on the move, not allowing him to remain by his father’s side. He was sent from one campaign to another, travelling constantly with his wife and children through different lands.

This time, his days of luxurious leisure at Ajmer were cut short by the imperial command instructing him to travel to Deccan to subjugate the Abyssinian slave, Malik Amber, who possessed tremendous military and administrative talents. The Deccan rulers had never been completely subservient to Mughal emperors, often rising to revolt. Jahangir desired to punish the lot and sent Khurram to vanquish them. Autumn was on its last leg and winter chill was itching to spread its tentacles when Khurram started from Ajmer for the Deccan. In his excitement, the emperor loaded the prince with presents as he set out on the grand campaign. The prince was honoured with the title of Shah, which no Timurid prince had ever received. The stylishly crafted and bejewelled swords presented by the emperor were valued at over a million rupees and a dagger with a jade sculpted, gem-encrusted handle was worth rupees forty thousand.

‘Khurram is the only one I can depend on,’ the emperor lamented. ‘Khusrau is a traitor, Pervez is busy drinking himself to death and Shahryar is a nashudani, good for nothing.’ Nur Jahan said nothing.

After Khurram left for the south, Jahangir expressed a desire to travel to Mandu. A lavish reception awaited him and his seraglio at the palace of Baz Bahadur and Roopmati. Perched along the Vindhya ranges, Mandu, with its natural defences, was originally the fort capital of the Parmar rulers of Malwa. Towards the end of the thirteenth century, it was ruled by the Sultans of Malwa, the first of whom named it Shadiabad–‘City of Joy’. And indeed the pervading spirit of Mandu was of gaiety. Its rulers built exquisite palaces like the Jahaz Mahal and Hindola Mahal, ornamental canals, baths and pavilions which were graceful and refined, reflecting those times of peace and plenty.

Towards the end of the thirteenth century, Mandu became the pleasure resort of the Sultans of Malwa. Sultan Baz Bahadur, the romantic ruler of Mandu, decided to give up battling after he suffered a disgraceful defeat at the hands of Queen Durgavati. Instead, he decided to give himself up to the pleasure of music.

‘Benazir, do you know the legend about the lovers Roopmati and Baz Bahadur?’ asked Laadli. Below them the clear waters of the river Narmada flowed calmly, its silvery stream meandering through the forest. They were standing on the spot known as the Roopmati’s Pavilion. The pavilion–which stood on one side of a steep cliff–had once been a retreat for Roopmati. Here, the queen had stood near the windows, gazing at the river flowing through the Nimar plains. The passing of a gentle wind through the gorge sounded like sighs of an anguished lover. Far away, a balladeer was singing. The notes were unfamiliar and the lyrics unclear. All that Laadli could decipher was that he was singing about the immortal lovers, Roopmati and Baz Bahadur.

‘I know you are dying to hear of the love story, aren’t you?’ Benazir said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

‘Of course I am. Is it possible to stay in the palace and remain untouched by the legend?’

‘It is said that Roopmati was the daughter of a Hindu noble. Her name means “one endowed with beauty”. She was gifted with a melodious voice–it is said that wild beasts from the jungle would come to her door to hear her singing. One day, she was singing in the garden and the Sultan of Malwa, Baz Bahadur, happened to pass by. He was enchanted with her voice and kept returning to the garden so he could catch a glimpse of the singer’s face. And one day he saw her. People say that it was love at first glance. Roopmati became his favourite wife and he constructed this beautiful palace for her.’

‘Their love story has a tragic end, doesn’t it?

Benazir nodded. ‘Adham Khan was Akbar’s foster brother and a very powerful general in the Mughal army. The emperor sent him to conquer the lands of Malwa. After defeating the ruler, he unleashed a reign of terror, killing innocent people and molesting the women. His unruly soldiers went on a rampage. Adham Khan had heard of Roopmati’s beauty. He sent her a proposal, which she refused. The queen waited for Baz Bahadur to rescue her from the lecherous general but Baz Bahadur had fled from Mandu to escape the Mughal army.’

‘How terrible!’ Laadli was appalled, her mind conjuring images of the desperate woman caught between a ruthless victor and a cowardly lover.

‘Roopmati waited in vain. Finally, unable to fend off Adham Khan’s advances, she swallowed poison. People say that her ghost still wanders around Mandu, calling out to Baz Bahadur.’

Laadli gazed at the tiny lake nearby, abloom with pink lotuses, as she thought about the heartbroken Roopmati’s soul still searching for her lover.

‘But who knows what is the truth?’ Benazir was saying. ‘These are stories people tell. I would like to see the ghost myself before I lend any credence to the stuff.’ Noting Laadli’s far-off look, she added, ‘Now stop dreaming of the queen’s ghost and get ready for the hunt! The empress will not take it kindly if you are late. And don’t you try to wriggle out of the arrangements.’

‘You know how much I hate to go for these blood-thirsty expeditions,’ Laadli said, shaking her head slowly.

‘Since there is no escape for us, shouldn’t we accept the inevitable and get ready to join the others? The hunting party has already begun gathering on the grounds.’

With a deep sigh, Laadli began dressing for the hunt, her mind still captivated by the stories of love.

The salubrious climes of Mandu delighted the empress and she had planned endless excursions in the forests around the palace. The news that thousands of people were dying across Punjab and Lahore due to a dreadful scourge did not disturb the mood. The dense Malwa forest offered plenty of sport and the emperor, addicted to hunting, looked forward to slaying some tigers and leopards. Camps had already been set up at vantage points and the rounding of the beasts had begun.

The hunt party set out. The emperor, astride a mammoth tusker, a falcon perched on his gloved hand, took the lead. Nur Jahan was seated on an equally impressive elephant. Behind the royal couple rode the English ambassador, Sir Thomas Roe, and other ministers.

Far behind, maintaining a comfortable distance from her mother, Laadli rode with her friend Benazir, reluctantly kicking her mount. She hated hunting, but the empress would brook no objection.

‘A princess must hunt. She must be skilled at everything–administration, politics, hunting or hawking, she is expected to accompany the emperor at all times.’

‘But I don’t want to hunt, I would rather remain at the palace.’

But as usual Nur Jahan’s word had been final. No one could argue with the empress, her wishes were expected to be followed, unquestioningly.

From far off came the sound of drums being beaten by the hundreds of foot soldiers that were herding the wild beasts. Behind them came thousands of horsemen who gathered together to form a circle around the forest, trapping within it countless animals like tigers, leopards, wild boars, and deer. The circle grew smaller as the soldiers advanced. And then the hunting party stepped in.

The smell of fear hung heavy over the atmosphere as frightened animals darted for safety. Birds screeched and fluttered their wings fearfully, reaching for the highest branches in the trees. As the hunters closed in, the frenzy amplified in momentum and the beasts emerged from their hideouts. Laadli wished the morbid exercise would end soon.

Four tigers sprang out of the bushes and approached the empress’ elephant menacingly, but she was unperturbed. The emperor looked at Nur Jahan and said, ‘All yours!’

She asked, ‘Arrow or bullet?’

The emperor raised two fingers, put them down, and raised them again without saying a word. He was careful not to make any sound that would disturb the animals. The couple, with their complete understanding of each other, didn’t need words to convey their thoughts. Nur Jahan understood that he wanted her to shoot two of the tigers with arrows and the remaining two with bullets. She loaded two guns and kept them ready. Then she took up her bow and selected two arrows. In the twinkling of an eye she raised the bow and let fly two arrows at the tigers. Her aim was unerring and two large beasts fell with arrows stuck in their hearts. She then picked up the guns and dropped the other two tigers in quick succession.

Not a shot was wasted and not a beast escaped. There was loud appreciation of her marksmanship. Jahangir smiled proudly and glanced at the English ambassador.

‘Fantastic! Unbelievable! I have never seen anything like this. You are a great hunter, Empress,’ cried Thomas Roe, realising that he was expected to shower compliments on the empress for her prowess. Much of his compliment was, indeed, heartfelt. He had never witnessed such marksmanship.

The emperor chuckled delightedly–‘Would any one your English women be able to duplicate the empress’ accomplishment?’

‘Frankly, Your Royal Highness, I don’t think any woman in England, or even Hindustan for that matter, would be able to imitate it.’ The ambassador was sincere in his praise.

Laadli, however, felt nothing but revulsion at the sight of the creatures lying in a pool of blood. What were human beings trying to prove by killing helpless creatures? she wondered sadly.

There was to be no respite from the empress’ pursuit of pleasure. She was either playing chaugan with her ladies or engaging in falconry. The emperor, ever willing to match his hawking skills with hers, bantered over the rewards.

‘I bet your falcon can’t beat Jaanbaaz.’ Jaanbaaz was the emperor’s favourite falcon, trained by the master hawker, Mirza Arshad Khan. It could swoop on its prey and bring it back to its master within a matter of minutes.

Not one to accept defeat, Nur Jahan brought out her hawk that she lovingly called Altaf. Almost immediately the nobles and ladies began betting excitedly. Laadli watched sadly as the two falcons were let off to lunge on their preys. Minutes later, the falcons laid two bloody pigeons at the feet of their masters.

That evening, she sat in the pavilion of Rani Roopmati, gazing at the rippling waves of the river down below.

‘I will never hunt, no matter if people take me to be weak and incompetent. I don’t have to prove my ability by shedding the blood of innocent creatures,’ she muttered under her breath.

T
he day was just about to break as the three girls crept away to the stables. The camp was quiet, with most people sleeping off the previous night’s excesses. Even the guards were lax, lulled by the knowledge that the royals slept peacefully. The girls walked their horses to the deep end of the forest, praying that the animals would remain silent. After walking for ten minutes they rode away, thrilled by their escape. The cool air stung their faces as the horses galloped into the forest. All around them, birds twittered loudly, preparing to leave their nests for the day.