Beneath a Marble Sky (9 page)

“Only if you’ve a tongue.”

“Did you and Dara…ever kiss?”

Her smile flickered, then vanished. “I’d have liked to, but since he married that ornament, it will never happen. Not with him wed and me beneath him.”

I recalled his wedding, an affair just two months before mine. His wife seemed a kind woman and a part of me envied him. “Has there been anyone else?”

“One.”

“Do I know him?” I asked, taken aback by her admission.

“Do I know who you know?” Before I could answer, she added, “But not likely. He’s the son of a fisherman. He sneaks me away on his boat.”

“It continues?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“But what if someone discovers? No one would marry you.”

Ladli was about to respond when she spied a ladybug at my feet. She carefully picked it up, and held her hand open so that the creature might fly to safety. The wind bore it away. “Could be my great-grandmother,” she jested, though in truth she took such matters seriously.

“What of the boy?”

“Nobody will find out. And I see no reason to keep myself untouched so that some old lout can grope me.”

I considered my experience. The pain, despite lessening considerably, was still a part of the exchange. “What’s it like?”

“Sometimes, the world seems to shake. Other times, it’s as peaceful as the river.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Only in a good way, the way sherbet makes you cringe because it tastes so sweet.”

I recalled my husband’s sweaty, reeking embraces and found it impossible to conjure up such images. Lovemaking with him was like being lain upon by a chamber pot. “Please be careful,” I finally said.

“Don’t worry, Jahanara. And don’t worry over your future. One of these days you’ll find someone who makes you shake.”

“I doubt it,” I replied sadly.

Ladli rose to save an enormous caterpillar. “Food for your husband, the toad,” she said, setting it away from our feet.

“He would probably eat it, for he’s always stuffing something into his mouth.”

“Take it home for him. Mix it up in some curry and he’ll be none the wiser.”

I smiled at the thought. As much as I wanted to stay with my friend and continue such banter, I needed to return home. So we hugged again, and started back toward the kitchen.

Little did I know then of how right Ladli was—that indeed I would discover such a man. For the face I would come to cherish, the spirit who would capture my own, was laboring within the Red Fort’s walls.

Chapter 5

A  Promise to Keep

N
ot
until summer’s end did I finally see my family. Our forces secured a major victory to the south, and columns of men and mounts returned to Agra amid great fanfare. While throngs of Hindustanis applauded from the sides of a dusty road leading to our city, cannons rumbled from atop the Red Fort. Hundreds of enemy soldiers had been captured, and these unfortunate men headed the procession, stumbling into our lair chained to one another. The Deccans had been stripped of their armor and wore nothing but loincloths. Most were muscular figures and would command high prices as slaves.

Khondamir watched the prisoners pass with interest from our spot near the road, for his silver mines demanded fresh men. He would arrive at the imperial stockade early tomorrow before the bidding commenced. I’d heard through the whisperings of a servant that my husband had an arrangement with someone in the army and hence was always able to buy the fittest men.

“Pathetic creatures, aren’t they?” he asked, devouring handfuls of pistachios. His plump figure bestrode a stallion while I sat on my old mare. Still, I was pleased to be present, even if my husband was merely showing me off to those lining the road. He had insisted I wear my best robe and jewels to honor our returning victors.

“The prisoners look weary,” I said, for though the Deccans were our foes, they were bloodied and sagging. In the oppressive midday heat their bodies glistened with sweat.

“Wait until they stay a month in my mines. The cowards should have died fighting.”

Despite my husband having never seen a battlefield, I checked my tongue. “Perhaps they were taken by surprise,” I offered.

“There’s no surprise, woman, in war. Face an enemy. Gut him. Kill him. But you wouldn’t know that. All you know is trees.”

I wasted no further words on him. Instead, I scanned the vast procession for my family. Discerning faces among the throngs of warriors wasn’t easy, as most men wore helmets over grimy features. An endless stream of foot soldiers trudged behind the prisoners. Then came war elephants, hundreds upon hundreds of them. The behemoths pulled cannons, as well as carts laden with plunder, wounded warriors and sacks of grain. A slight man, known as a mahout, sat on the neck of each elephant, guiding his beast by tugging at its leathery ears with a hooked pole.

For a moment I feared I’d missed my family but then spied the royal banners announcing the Emperor’s presence. Drumming my fingers on my saddle, I waited impatiently as Father approached. Father returned from battle, as always, riding the largest of all the war elephants. Like most of our bigger elephants, in addition to carrying a mahout, this beast bore a platform atop its back. Father sat on a cushioned dais, seemingly comfortable beneath the shade of a richly decorated umbrella. A musket overlaid in gold leaned against his thigh.

Before and behind Father’s elephant were several white stallions, which my brothers rode. These mounts wore decorative, though protective coats of leather and steel. The leather armor resembled a blanket that had been draped over each steed, beneath its saddle. Such coverings were dyed in bright colors and inset with copper, silver or gold studs. The horses’ faces were clad with painted iron masks.

I waved to my siblings and Dara broke rank, spurring his mount toward me. The crowds, mostly peasants in filthy garbs, ebbed before his massive stallion. Dara offered coins to a few beggars, removed his gilded helmet, and wiped sweat from his brow. He looked displaced in his chain mail, a layer of steel scales set upon iron mesh that would stop all but the fiercest of blows. Silver spikes protruded from the mail, sharp and unblemished.

As convention dictated, Dara exchanged pleasantries with my husband. They spoke briefly of the battle. My brother must have wanted to show his affection for me, because he leaned in my direction. Yet with Khondamir looking on, he merely smiled. “It does my heart good to see you, Jahanara.”

I yearned to touch him but remained motionless, for such a display would surely enrage Khondamir. “I missed you,” I replied, still drumming my fingers, despising the fact that I couldn’t reach out to him. “Where is Mother?”

“Somewhere in the rearguard. She wanted to ride but is big enough with child that Father demanded she rest on a litter.” Dara winked slyly, for we both knew Father could never truly demand anything of his wife.

“Can I see her, and you?”

My brother grinned, and after Khondamir’s stained mouth, Dara’s teeth seemed unnaturally white. “Tomorrow, in honor of his victory, Father’s hosting a qamargah. Meet us a half morning’s march upriver and we’ll pass the day in the tent.”

“You won’t join in the chase?” Khondamir asked incredulously, for a qamargah was the most popular of hunts.

Dara shrugged. “Striking down a terrified animal is something I’ll gladly refrain from.”

“Plenty of warriors,” Khondamir countered, “will enjoy the kill. As will I.”

“Please do. And while you hunt, I’ll talk with your lovely wife.”

Khondamir grunted at the remark, as if I were anything but lovely. Dara stiffened, but seemed unsure whether he’d heard an insult. I hoped he might rise to my defense, but instead he bid us farewell and hurried to resume his position at Father’s side. The army was entering Agra, and Khondamir, noticing that most of the nobles were returning to their shops and homes, wheeled his mount about. I followed him, excited about the prospect of seeing those I loved.

At dinner I could hardly sit still, and at night, when my husband thrust his filth inside me, I was able to force him from my mind. I slept little afterward, awash with eagerness for the coming day. I longed to feel Mother’s belly and hear of the Empire’s health. There was so much I was missing.

When dawn emerged I prepared a meal for Khondamir. He rose early for the qamargah, ate my food grudgingly, and headed toward his mount. His servants would be on foot, while I was given a decent steed. Blankets and provisions were stowed in saddlebags, and we set out at a brisk pace. Khondamir brandished a stout longbow and sword but no musket. Guns were rarely used in such hunts, for they diminished the skill of the hunter by making the kill too easy.

The journey upriver was uneventful. My husband ate roasted duck and drank arrack from a goatskin bag as he rode. Arrack is a potent drink fashioned from fermented rice, molasses and palm sap. I had sipped it once and would have guessed it to be liquid fire if I hadn’t known better. Khondamir, however, enjoyed it immensely. On occasion he consumed it all day, or at least until he cursed me, fouled himself, and fell unconscious.

My husband didn’t offer conversation as we traveled, and I made no effort to initiate words. At one point he did turn to me and say irritably, “A wife worth a tin of salt would ask if her husband is well.”

“And how are you, my lord, this fine day?” I inquired sweetly.

He tossed a half-eaten drumstick in my direction before spurring his horse ahead. I patted my stallion and began to hum. I knew many songs and whispered them as the land drifted beneath us. The indifferent sun climbed and the river grew narrower and faster. More trees rose here than in Agra, and they dotted the landscape like unruly hairs. Between them swayed thick prairie grass, which hid much wildlife, though I saw three hawks, high above, skipping along currents of air.

When we finally reached the royal camp, mid-morning was upon us. The first thing I noticed was a massive fence encircling the camp. The fence was made of bundled branches the height of a man. These bundles had been placed upright and were tied together, forming a vast circle. To walk from one side of the arena to the other side would have taken longer than was necessary to boil an egg. In the circle’s center stood a sprawling tent. A thicker, but much smaller, circle of wood surrounded this embroidered enclosure.

As such hunts commenced, thousands of soldiers—spread in an immense loop throughout the countryside—beat drums and slowly walked toward one another. Frightened animals trapped ahead of the men were forced toward the wooden circle, which had large openings for the beasts to escape into. Once the animals had been corralled within the circle, its openings were shut, effectively ensnaring the animals. Hunting ensued.

I’d experienced several qamargahs and must confess that I took no pleasure in them. Men struck down spotted deer with arrows, while trained cheetahs chased slighter game. A hunt, depending on the size of the circle, could last for an afternoon or several days.

This structure appeared smaller than most, and I gathered that Father didn’t want to spend too much time in the countryside. Certainly with our enemies pressing in the south and north, he had more urgent engagements. Besides, hunting was far from his favorite passion. He only pursued it to reward his nobles and the officers of his army. After all, most men reveled in the killing.

Dara, perhaps adhering to Hinduism’s belief that all life was reborn, and hence a chased fox could be an ancestor, had never taken part in such sporting. I appreciated my brother’s disdain for hunting and was unashamed that he would likely be the only man present in the tent. After bidding my husband good luck, I dismounted and hurried into the cool structure.

Indeed, Dara sat on a cushion, studying Sanskrit and eating fried balls of goat cheese. Very few Muslims could read Sanskrit, which was the ancient written language of Hinduism, and my brother was determined to master it. Mother rested next to him, her belly swollen to the size of a watermelon. I removed my sandals and, avoiding platters of food and drink, made my way to her. “You’re so big,” I said, placing my hand on her hard stomach.

She hugged me tight, and I smelled a trace of musk on her skin. “How I missed you, Jahanara.”

My eyes teared, but I sought to remain composed. “Why did you leave for so long?” I asked, abruptly vulnerable to the memories of the past weeks, biting my lip so that I wouldn’t cry. “Father isn’t the only one who needs you.” I felt childish to speak so, but my love for my mother was like a cub that constantly requires meat, and she had been gone when I longed for her most.

“What’s happened?”

“Marriage, Mother. Marriage happened.”

“So?” Dara interjected quietly, aware of the other noblewomen in the tent.

“So, some people, my dear brother, are less grand than you think,” I whispered. “And we weren’t all paired as fortunately as you.” I adored Dara, but sometimes his naiveté emboldened me. “Perhaps if Allah hadn’t blessed you as a man, you’d see things differently.”

Dara set his book aside. “Khondamir treats you poorly? But yesterday he seemed decent. Is he—”

“Please stop,” I said, unwilling to describe to Dara what should have been obvious.

Mother squeezed my hand. “We’re home now, Jahanara. And I’m sorry, truly sorry that marriage has been hard for you. Allah knows, we didn’t intend it to be. What can we do to help?”

She had always been a woman of unending strength, and I sat up straighter at her response, suddenly afraid she might think me weak. Regardless of my resentment at being married to Khondamir, I couldn’t lead her to believe that I placed my happiness above my duty. She had been wed in the same manner, and if I were ever to merit her approval I’d have to bear most of my pain in silence. “Tell me,” I said, as servants brought us water sweetened with lemon, “of your time south.” I touched her belly. “How is the child?”

“Leaping like a monkey.” Mother smiled, then wiped a damp cloth across my forehead. She also repositioned a strand of pearls about my neck.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, but even now, after so many pregnancies, it feels distinctly odd.”

I knew that she, despite her unusual liking of politics, enjoyed the process of becoming a mother as much as any woman. I wondered if I might be the same. Was my will so stout that I could be a loving mother and a woman whom men treated with respect? Was it even possible for a woman not wed to an emperor to obtain such standing?

“The fighting was grim,” Mother pronounced, scattering my thoughts. “I saw much of it from a bluff.” She glanced at Dara, and I sensed something pass between them.

“What happened?” I asked my brother.

His eyes, usually untroubled, blinked with emotion. He started to speak, then stopped. Mother dipped her head and he started again. “I…I killed. I killed my first man.”

I was unsure what to say, for he coveted life much more than did his peers. “Oh, Dara,” I muttered, feeling woefully inadequate.

“My musket blew a hole clean through him.”

“I’m so, so terribly sorry.”

“As am I. Sorry for him, sorry for what I saw.”