Beneath a Marble Sky (19 page)

“No!” I cried, horrified by the notion.

“What other way existed? You couldn’t have expected me to earn his trust by baking him sweets?”

“But I never asked—”

“You didn’t ask,” she interrupted angrily. “And I’m no fool so don’t treat me as such!” Ladli stepped away from me. “It just happened one day. He came to me, and I let him…I let him do as he wished. Because I knew then, as I’d always known, that I could best serve your father, and you, if I were his mistress.”

I reached out to her in the flickering light. She retreated again, but I closed the distance between us, taking her hand. “Does he mistreat you?”

“Is he a man?” she asked harshly, and I knew he had beaten her. “But it rarely happens,” she added, “for the coward knows I’m strong enough to leave him.”

“When did it start?”

“Four or five moons ago.”

“Is it—”

“He often asks of you,” she said. “And I tell him little things, things that could never truly help him. But he wouldn’t mind seeing you dead also. He’s certain I hate you, but when I told him the people loved you so much that they’d turn against him if he killed you, he believed me.”

“It seems my brother—”

“Connives as much as he defecates,” she concluded, adding a curse. “Be wary of him, Jahanara. His evil swells. Have you heard what he did to the Christians?”

“Not a word.”

“The Portuguese dug a new den in Bengal, a province so distant from Agra that they thought themselves safe. There they killed our people, taking our children as slaves. Aurangzeb discovered their crimes and marched to the coast with his best men. He captured the Portuguese, placed them in a church they’d built and set it aflame.”

“I might have done the same. After all, they murdered our people.”

“Yes, but would you have placed our children within the church, so that they would burn with the killers? You see, Aurangzeb believed that the Portuguese infected their minds. And so they were destroyed.”

I saw children screaming, their hair on fire, and I slumped. “I should kill him,” I whispered sadly. “He’ll destroy the Empire.”

“I’d gladly feed him arsenic stew if it were possible, but how? His bodyguard, Balkhi, samples all his food. The half-wit even sleeps nearby. And during the day Aurangzeb’s protected by the Empire’s best men. He’s grown paranoid, Jahanara, and thinks every stranger must be an assassin sent by Dara.”

The room felt hot and I pulled at a violet veil pinned at my brow. “Dara would never murder him,” I said with finality and regret. “Nor could I, in truth. But I’d like to banish him, send him to some rock in the sea.”

“Make it a small rock. A snake-infested stone with no water or shade.”

“I’ll go to Dara,” I decided. “Whatever I do, Aurangzeb will never suspect you betrayed him. But still, be careful, my friend. Act surprised when you hear what’s happened.”

“He’s my puppet, Jahanara. The brains in your family ran out after you.” Ladli adjusted her sari, cursing the garment, as I’d heard her do on many occasions.

“Do you have needs?” I asked.

“The beauty of being a prince’s mistress, my scheming little friend, is that you’re well looked after. I’ve enough coins to last a lifetime.”

“Then leave him! Escape tonight and never return!”

“Most of the money I give to a Hindu monk, who builds a temple.” She finished toying with her sari. “Someday, I’ll leave him. But only when you’re safe, and only when I can brag to the zealot of the temple he paid for with his precious rupees. Brag of all the Hindus he made happy.”

“Don’t provoke him.”

“Stop worrying. While he spends his next life slithering through offal, we’ll drink wine and live decadently.”

How can I not worry? I wondered. How would Mother cope with such calamities? “Thank you, Ladli,” I said, hugging her. “You’re more a friend than I have any right to ask for.”

She shrugged. “Outwit him, Jahanara. Outwit him and we’ll be together again.”

I squeezed her tightly, hating to think of what she’d sacrificed in order to gain Aurangzeb’s confidence, and what she would continue to suffer. But she was determined to help, and so I tried to shove from my mind any images of my brother defiling her.

We retraced our footsteps through the tunnels and parted. The night, thick and moonless, cloaked us well. I rode my horse hard to the Red Fort, leaving him at the imperial stable, and headed toward Dara’s chambers. No one I knew saw me, for I followed corridors used solely by slaves. Such passageways were usually empty this time of night, though I passed a cook and a harlot as they debated the value of wine against pleasure.

Despite his marriage, Dara preferred to sleep alone, because he often worked late into the night. I found him thus, an ancient manuscript propped upon his lap and a candle guttering nearby. My eyes glimpsed enough of the text to see that it was probably the
Upanishads
, though like most everyone but Dara, I was unable to read Sanskrit. I knew that he’d finished a draft of his translation, and I surmised that he now must be proofing his words.

“Where are your wife and son?” I asked, blowing out the candle.

“Why do you extinguish—”

“Be quiet, Dara. The night has ears.”

“But must we speak in darkness? Can the night also see?”

“Keenly.”

He sighed, knowing my presence portended nothing good. “What troubles you?” he asked, and I retold the plot to kill him, my voice urgent. He listened impassively before inquiring, “How do you know this?”

I trusted Dara but believed I’d endanger Ladli if I revealed her. “I can’t say. But the information is good.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“Please, Dara, don’t ask me that again.”

“But how I can judge the tale’s validity if I am ignorant of its source?”

I resisted my temper, though my response was curt. “Do you trust me? Because if you do, you’ll heed my words: Aurangzeb shall kill you on your journey.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t believe it.”

“Did you hear of the Christians?” I asked. When he nodded, I said, “Can one who murders children be suspected of nothing less than evil?”

“Fine! I’ll bring my own men. They won’t know of the plot but will shelter me.”

“Your men? Or Aurangzeb’s? Who controls the army, Dara? And how can you rely on loyalty when so much is at stake?”

“I’m to be the next emperor,” he replied testily. “They had better protect me.”

“Why? Aurangzeb could also be the next—”

“Enough, Jahanara! I do love you, but by Allah, you can drive me mad.” Dara set the book aside, marking his place with a peacock’s feather. “I’ll bring twenty men I trust and will be quite safe. Further theatrics are unnecessary.”

“Theatrics? I’m trying to save you.”

“And I thank you for that. But you needn’t say anything more.”

I nodded, already thinking of how I could cancel the trip without either of my brothers suspecting anything. “Fine,” I agreed, my foot tapping determinedly. “Twenty men should be enough. Too many would arouse Aurangzeb’s suspicions and too few would leave you vulnerable.”

He reached out and touched my shoulder. “Thank you, Jahanara, for relenting.”

I didn’t move from his touch, but neither did I respond in kind. “You make a mistake,” I said quietly, “in treating him like a brother.”

“Possibly. But he is our brother and I can’t treat him any other way. I won’t hurt him, for enough pain already exists in this world without brothers hurting brothers.” I rubbed my brow in frustration but remained silent. I had failed tonight, failed completely, for Dara should have been swayed by my arguments. “Thank you for seeking me,” he said, striving now to be gracious. “I wouldn’t barter you for any other sister in the world, rash as you may be.”

“Perhaps a mute sister would be more to your liking.”

“Mother was hardly mute, Jahanara. And you’re little different than she.”

Yet I am different, I thought. She was so strong, so certain of the paths before her. My strength, if it can be called that, is born of necessity. It’s false, and therefore, I’m false. “Mother would have demanded more action,” I finally replied. “I must not possess her will.”

“But you do. You do. I simply disagree with your philosophy.”

“You think I covet blood? That I somehow relish it?”

“No.”

“Then stop talking as if I do.” I picked up the heavy book as he apologized. Leafing through its pages in the darkness, I inhaled the paper’s aged scent. Why was my brother studying when he should be plotting? And why was I plotting when I should be loving? “I miss the life of a child,” I said tiredly. “Things were…uncomplicated. Shall they ever be so again?”

“The Hindus would say yes, for they believe we’ll play as children again.”

“I’d like that,” I replied, but I wasn’t sure I could believe it.

“As would I.”

I kissed him good night, then quietly left his room. My mind embracing and discarding schemes, I struggled to free Dara from Aurangzeb’s trap.

T
he day before
my brothers were to depart, I crafted a plan. The previous night I had almost gone to Father but resisted the urge because I sensed that somehow it would misfire. Father would demand to know of my source, or in his rush to protect Dara, might reveal to Aurangzeb that we were privy to his plans. As much faith as I placed in Father, he was much less conniving than Mother. If he hunted, she stalked. If he listened, she devoured innuendo. And so I kept my knowledge from Father, for I feared that ultimately Ladli would die from his involvement. If Father simply killed Aurangzeb the problem would be solved, but he would never murder his son.

I alone needed to deal with the matter. Though I worked as usual by Isa’s side at the Taj Mahal, my thoughts were elsewhere. I did whisper to him of my predicament, and he gave me what advice he could. But such advice was as worthwhile as my insight on building minarets might be. Isa worried, which was unusual, and I reassured him by promising that Aurangzeb would never order my death for the exact reason Ladli had mentioned. Still, Isa wanted to protect me. I loved him without pause then, for I saw in his eyes that he was unable to imagine life without me. He talked of another journey to the inn, and I swore to plan a second rendezvous after this crisis was resolved.

For once, Isa occupied only a small portion of my mind. It was Aurangzeb who I pondered, and it was Allah who received my prayers. After much contemplation, He graced me with a solution, albeit a dangerous one. For it to unfold properly, I had first to visit the physician who was present when Mother died. I went to him wearing tattered clothes and a heavy veil over my face so that no one would recognize me. Stooping like a weathered woman might, I shuffled to his door. Once inside his mud-brick home, I pulled his curtains shut and revealed myself. His leathery face tightened in surprise.

“How are you, old one?” I asked politely.

“I’m so sorry, child, about your mother.”

“Please, please, still your tongue.” Each time I saw him, whether on the street or at a bazaar, he apologized for his failure during Mother’s labor. “You did your best. We could have asked for no more.”

“She was, quite simply, the loveliest of women.”

“Yes, yes, she was,” I said, envisioning her face. “She always favored you, always wanted you by her side.” He tried to smile and I saw that he possessed only two front teeth. Outside, a dog howled. “My father wanted you as well. His loyalty ran deep. Are you as loyal to him?” I asked, wanting to provoke a reaction.

His offense was real. “But of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Do you trust that I’m his instrument? Will you do as I say and never give me reason for concern?”

The old man nodded. His head was wrapped in such a heavy-looking turban that I wondered if he could bring it up again. “You haven’t cause to ask me these questions, my lady. I’d cut my own hand off if you ordered me to.”

“Keep your hand, my friend. And I pose no order but a favor.”

“Which is?”

“In the middle of the night my dear brother, Dara, shall become quite ill. This illness is for his safety and the safety of the Empire.”

“But only Allah can predict—”

“He’ll be served rancid meat, cooked for only a moment. The meat’s poisons will make him sick, terribly so. But he won’t die.” At this statement I looked to him for confirmation, and he nodded ponderously. “When summoned, examine him with care, and then say that he may have malaria, or perhaps a fever. Add that he could recover in a week, or could die tomorrow.” I paused, leaning closer to him. “You see, old one, he must be kept in bed for several days. If his illness isn’t acute enough, and he tries to rise, give him something to loosen his bowels. And scare him mercilessly in the process.”

“But—” the physician stopped, perhaps thinking it better not to question me. “I can do these things,” he finally said. “But I don’t like them.”

“Just know that by doing them, you’ll save his life. For if he’s well tomorrow, he will surely die.”

“Then I’ll do my best to protect him.”

I reached into my robe and withdrew a pashmina scarf, one so fine that it could easily be pulled through a ring. “For your lady,” I said, certain that he’d refuse money, but couldn’t resist pleasing his mistress. Alas, his wife had died some years before.

“But I’m too old for a—”

“I know many secrets,” I interrupted, teasing him, trying to buoy his spirits and my own. “And she’ll enjoy it against her skin.”

He bowed to me affectionately, for he had brought me into this world. “You add meaning to this tired life,” he said.

“Nonsense. Your mistress gives you meaning, not I.”

“She’s—”

“Lucky,” I said. “As I’ll be with you at my side, if Allah is so kind as to bless me with a child.”

“It would be an honor, my lady.”

“For me,” I replied, grasping his soft hands. “Until then, old one. And please, don’t speak of this again.”

“Allah Himself couldn’t pry the secret from me.”

I winked at him and pulled my veil back over my face. Once on the flagstones outside his home I hurried into a narrow alley, where I peeled off my worn robe and veil, revealing my true clothes. I then mounted one of father’s stallions and hunted for Nizam. I found him at the Taj Mahal supervising a score of men who pushed a stone block into place. Like all the workers, Nizam was dressed in a cotton shirt and short leggings. His hands were bloody, yet his face was untroubled.