Nurjahan's Daughter (23 page)

It was Ratnavali’s idea to escape for an unescorted ride, before sunrise.

‘There is no charm in being surrounded by the eunuchs who demand that you stick to the rules. I want to experience the magic of the forest without anyone watching over me.’

The idea appealed to Laadli and Benazir, who loved to slip away from their escorts whenever possible. They rode through the dense foliage, enjoying the multitude of smells. A small waterfall with sparkling water tempted them to halt. They dismounted, tethered the horses on one side and stepped into the cold water of the small pool under the waterfall. Laadli shivered as she dangled her feet in the icy pool.

‘It is so nice here, away from the stifling atmosphere of the court. I wish I could stay here forever,’ she said dreamily.

Ratnavali sighed loudly and said, ‘Yes, wouldn’t it be lovely? But it is all very well for you to speak like that–my days of freedom are coming to an end.’

She was already betrothed to a Rajput prince and the marriage was to take place shortly.

‘If the empress’ plans are successful, it won’t be long before the Shehzadi is also tied in knots with some prince,’ joked Benazir.

‘I hope none of them live to wed me. The feud between the sons is growing each day and I won’t be surprised if they finish each other off before the emperor dies, leaving no heir to the throne,’ laughed Laadli.

All of a sudden Laadli spotted a cave at one end of the water pool. The dark, cavernous interiors loomed mysteriously, provoking their interest.

‘What do you think occupies that cave?’

‘Some wild bears, most probably,’ replied Ratnavali, splashing her feet in the water.

‘Or some lioness with her cubs,’ hazarded Benazir.

‘Or a hermit with immense knowledge of the past and future,’ said Laadli. ‘Let us go and find out. Shall we wager on our guesses?’

‘I think it is dangerous to go into the cave. None of us is a good shot, and if there are wild beasts inside, we will be dead geese. No one will know where to find us.’

‘You have always been a coward Benazir. Come on, let me lead you into that cave. My Rajput blood is challenged at the thought of proving its valour,’ laughed Ratnavali.

The girls picked their way gingerly through the brambles and the puddles to reach the mouth of the cave. Laadli peered inside and gasped. A hermit sat cross-legged on a tiger skin with a lamp before him. His eyes were closed in meditation and a glow surrounded his face like a halo.

‘You have won,’ whispered Benazir.

‘Sshhhhh! Let us go away before we disturb his meditation. It is said that breaking a hermit’s meditation is not a good omen,’ Ratnavali hissed.

Laadli continued to gaze at the hermit, unwilling to move.

Benazir tugged at her arm but she brushed it away impatiently. At that moment the hermit opened his eyes and beckoned them. The girls were transfixed. They slowly made their way to his side without a word. It was as though he were pulling them to his side with an invisible string. ‘So you have finally arrived,’ the deep voice rumbled like a thousand waves splashing against a rock. A tremor passed through the girls. ‘You have kept me waiting for long. There is no reason to be afraid. Your arrival here was ordained at birth. None of us can do anything against our destiny. We are mere puppets in the hands of the Almighty who pulls the strings whichever way He deems right.’

The girls prostrated themselves before the hermit.

‘Baba, can you predict our future?’ asked Ratnavali, who was a great believer in the Hindu philosophy of rebirth and destiny.

The sage smiled. The girls were surprised at the gentleness of that smile. ‘Do you really want to know what fate has written in your palms? Sometimes it is better to leave the future unknown.’

‘I am curious.’

‘Ah, curiosity! That disagreeable characteristic which makes us so impatient and vulnerable at the same time.’

‘Will it harm me if I tried to find out a little bit about my future?’ Ratnavali probed, her heart beating fiercely.

‘No, it will not harm you to know a little bit, but too much curiosity could definitely harm you. I will allow you a brief glimpse into your future.’

The sage commanded her to look into the bowl lying before him. ‘Look into the water and you’ll see a shadowy picture of your destiny.’

Cold and clammy fingers climbed slowly down her spine as Ratnavali gazed into the bowl. Her mind felt numb as a strange compulsion propelled her body into a vortex. ‘Gaze into those ripples and when they are steady you will see the man you are to wed,’ the prophet commanded.

The frightened girl peeped closer into the bowl and discerned several disturbing figures of violence. Amidst them she found a handsome warrior riding on a white steed. He was the prince she was to marry. Involuntarily she shivered.

‘Don’t be afraid. He is a brave man who will overcome many enemies and wars. Can you see those figures?’ he asked, pointing at the indistinct silhouettes. ‘They augur many wars. You are betrothed to a great Rajput prince.’

The figures were hazy and Ratnavali leaned closer to see them clearly. The voice went on: ‘Your life will see many hurdles as your husband wages numerous wars. But there will be compensations–he will bring glory to your kingdom and you will find great love with your husband. You will be a mother to many children. Is there anything else you wish to know?’

Ratnavali shook her head silently. Laadli was eager to ask him about her future, but she hesitated. Her religion did not allow any room for prophetic visions.

‘Do not hesitate to ask whatever is in your mind. It is not wrong to be curious about the events in your life, but it is wrong to try to alter the course of those events. As the empress’ daughter you are destined to face many challenges in your life.’

Taken aback, Laadli glanced at her friends. How had he known that she was the empress’ daughter? Hesitantly she asked, ‘Tell me Baba, if my mother will be able to get me married to one of the emperor’s sons.’

Laadli’s question seemed to amuse the hermit and he burst into loud laughter, his mirth echoing within the womb of the cave. The girls shivered. ‘The mysteries of destiny don’t unravel themselves so easily, child.’

‘Baba, I want to know what the future holds for me,’ Laadli insisted as she crept closer to the bowl by his side. The ripples were violent and the figures reflected on them, unsteady. ‘Why can’t I see anything?’ she cried.

‘Look closer. Close your eyes tight and then open them slowly,’ the voice commanded. ‘You will eventually be wed to one of the sons of the emperor, but before that I see love arriving in your life. You will be surrounded by music, art and beauty. There will be many happy moments when the handsome man comes into your life, but beware. He does not belong to a royal family. I see a horrendous end to your romance. There will be much bloodshed and tragedy. I can’t tell you more than that.’

Laadli watched fascinated as the ripples turned steady and the haze lifted. The figures were clearer and she glimpsed herself mirrored in the water, dressed in bridal finery, beside her stood a handsome man. Suddenly, the man disappeared and a pool of redness occupied the place next to her. She was petrified as she stared at the bloodstains that were reflected clearly in the bowl. Horrified, she covered her eyes with her hands.

Benazir, horrified with the tragic predictions about Laadli’s life, had no desire to know her future. It was much better to remain ignorant than to suffer the horrific visions of a violent destiny. As if he sensed her feelings, the hermit closed his eyes in a dismissive gesture. The girls bowed to him and walked out of the cave. A coldness crept through them as they turned back towards the royal camp. Laadli was greatly disturbed. The vision in the bowl tormented her.

‘Don’t bother about the predictions, Laadli. How will you fall in love with a commoner when you never get to meet any? Just ignore the prophecy and live your life the best you can,’ said Benazir, trying to console her distraught friend.

Laadli shook her head and said, ‘No, the hermit was very learned. How did he know all those things about me?’

The light-heartedness of the morning had evaporated. The dark predictions of the hermit loomed ominously before them, his warnings echoing through their minds. They rode back to the camp in silence.

T
he year rolled by and the royal couple continued to enjoy their leisurely life at Mandu. They amused themselves with long rides in the forest, chess and chaugan, falconry hunting, and boat rides on the river. Neither were overly concerned about Prince Khurram, who was still carrying out his seige of the fort at Ahmadnagar, his heavily pregnant wife by his side. Arjumand accompanied her husband for every campaign–no matter how difficult the terrain or how uncomfortable the living. The doting couple had made a pact not to separate, ever.

Eager to keep the emperor entertained, Nur Jahan arranged for a fishing trip. The emperor loved angling and no one knew it better than her. She discovered that the river Narmada, flowing at the footsteps of Mandu, was full of rohu, Jahangir’s favourite fish. Several large barges were equipped with fishing gear and the entourage set out for the day. Camps were set up on the other side of the riverbank for the fish to be cooked and an open-air picnic was arranged. Jahangir was delighted when he drew no less than twelve large rohus in his net.

An impromptu poetry contest was organised by the empress and the nobles vied with each other to win the huge ruby ring promised to the winner by the emperor.

‘If the rosebud can be opened by the breeze in the meadow, the key to our heart’s lock is the beloved’s smile,’
recited Nur Jahan opening the contest, and the emperor immediately declared her the winner. Modestly she declined the prize and gently rebuked him for his favouritism.

‘Laadli, why don’t you recite the couplet you composed yesterday?’ the empress said suddenly, turning to her daughter.

The very thought of reciting her couplet before the assembly sent a shiver up Laadli’s spine. ‘The verse is not ready,’ she demurred politely. ‘I am still working on it.’ Murmuring her apologies, she quickly made an exit before her mother insisted.

Campfires were lit and musicians entertained the emperor while the cooks roasted the fish. Kebabs were made, curries tempered and pulao garnished. A delicious aroma wafted from the makeshift kitchen. Lanterns, swinging from the branches of trees, lit up the riverbank, their bright flames of light setting the ripples aglow. Colourful carpets covered the grass, soft bolsters lined the edges and dozens of silk cushions were heaped to support the corpulent bodies of the nobles.

‘What a delightful way to spend an evening,’ remarked the emperor. ‘It is these ideas of yours which bind me to you so faithfully,’ he told the empress, sipping his favourite wine.

A fresh bout of celebrations began to herald the emperor’s birthday and the entire harem turned into a beehive of activity. Great rejoicing for an entire week took over the entire Mughal Empire. Mandu was besieged by visiting nobles and emirs who had travelled all the way from various parts of the empire to pay their homage. Special dancers and musicians were brought in from Agra. Mellifluous music and the sound of the heavy metal anklets of the dancers rang through the halls. The night sky was made resplendent with fireworks displays.

It was the lunar birthday of the emperor and the day began with the traditional weighing ceremony. Seated in the courtyard of the palace, Jahangir was weighed twelve times on a giant golden scale. The first weighing was done with gold on one side and the emperor on the other; this was followed by silver, copper, iron, spices, silk, perfumes, ghee, rice, milk and two types of grains. Jahangir’s weight was carefully noted and there was much commendation by the gathering, for the emperor had gained weight.

Standing at the end of the hall, Laadli and her friends giggled; after all the feasting, it was not a surprise that the emperor had put on more weight and that his girth was flabby.

All the things that the emperor was weighed against were distributed amongst priests, fakirs, poor and destitute. Prayers were chanted continuously to augur good fortune and health for the emperor. In the temples and mosques people prayed for the emperor, while another knot was tied on the silken thread that kept an account of the emperor’s age.

Cauldrons full of food were distributed amongst the poor and sacks full of special feed for birds were given to servants, to be scattered on the streets. The emperor personally gifted purses to the dancers, musicians, artists, poets, craftsmen, architects, and royal servants.

In the royal kitchen, Nur Jahan cooked Jahangir’s favourite dishes with her own hands. Wines of all kinds had been procured from different parts of the country. Bards composed special poems, and miniaturists painted pictures of the emperor’s profile to adorn the palace halls.

After much deliberation, Laadli decided that she would present a beautiful muslin turban to the emperor. She knew of his partiality to Dacca muslin, which was the lightest imaginable fabric, almost magical in its texture. She had picked up exquisite material from a trader during Eid and saved it for a special occasion. Royal purple in colour, it was a full thirty yards in length, but so exquisitely fine that it hardly weighed anything. The old man had called it Shabnam.

‘It is a rare muslin,’ he had said. ‘Do you know that this muslin, when laid wet on the grass, becomes almost invisible, and because it becomes indistinguishable from the dew, it is named Shabnam.’

When she presented the turban to the emperor, he was ecstatic. ‘This is the best gift I have received on my birthday. Tell me, child, what would you want in return?’

The empress delighted in his appreciation of her daughter. And for the first time Laadli had not flinched at the emperor’s touch as he patted her head. It was a good sign.

‘Your Majesty, I want nothing in return. Your pleasure is more valuable than any material thing that I can ask for.’

‘Nur, your daughter is blessed with a sweet tongue. We are charmed by her speech,’ the emperor said. ‘Laadli, you may ask us for anything and we shall be glad to grant it to you.’