Empire of the Moghul: The Tainted Throne (15 page)

The Sufi’s eyes were half closed and he was resting his chin on his folded hands but still he said nothing. Jahangir waited. Perhaps he should have simply sent for Mehrunissa, but his respect for the Sufi and even more for the Sufi’s long-dead father had prevented him.

At last the Sufi spoke. ‘There is some truth in what you say. Almighty God will be your ultimate judge, but you are no longer the only sinner in the relationship between your families. I believe that the account has been balanced. But remember that whatever happiness awaits you, the step you
took to gratify your desires was unworthy of you as a man and as an emperor.’

‘I know.’ Jahangir bowed his head. The Sufi was right. He should not have had Sher Afghan killed. That had been the act of a jealous lover not an all-powerful emperor. But overriding all such thoughts was the joy the Sufi’s words had brought him. Mehrunissa could be his at last. ‘Tell me, Sufi, what does the future hold? Will this woman be the partner of my heart I seek?’

‘That I cannot answer, Majesty. As I told you before, I am not a mighty soul as my father was. I don’t have his gift of prophecy. But if you love her as you say you do – and can make her love you – then all things are possible.’

‘Thank you. You have brought me great happiness. How can I reward you?’

‘I spoke from my understanding of God and his purposes, not for reward, but say a prayer at my father’s tomb before you leave Fatehpur Sikri. Repent again before God of all your sins and excesses, not just the murder of Sher Afghan. Perhaps from his place in Paradise my father can bless you and smooth the path that lies ahead of you.’

‘No, that’s not quite right. Listen . . .’ Salla read the verse aloud, translating from her native Armenian into Persian as she went. Mehrunissa shook her head. She would take a long time to master the language but she was glad of the distraction. Each day was like the one before and doubtless the one to follow. Even though she was again living in Fatima Begam’s household, she was being ostracised. All the time came news of fresh arrests of those suspected of
conspiring with Khusrau. The execution of her brother was enough to make the occupants of the
haram
wary of her. However, Salla, whose scholar father was employed in the imperial library, seemed to have no such inhibitions. She had recently been appointed attendant to Fatima Begam and Mehrunissa was glad of her company. As well as Armenian, Salla had also offered to teach Mehrunissa some English, a language which her father, who in his youth had spent three years as
munshi
or secretary to an English merchant, had taught her.

Salla’s long dark hair, so thick she struggled to drag a brush through it, was hanging round her earnest face as she repeated the translation Mehrunissa had had such problems with: ‘Do not fear when the night grows black as pitch. It is only a passing cloud blotting the radiance of moon and stars. Their light will return, all the more beautiful because once lost.’

The words touched Mehrunissa. ‘Who wrote it?’

‘One of our greatest poets – Hagopian from Yerevan.’

‘How long ago . . .’ But Mehrunissa got no further as Nadya burst into her apartment.

‘Madam, you are to come at once. The
khawajasara
is waiting for you.’

What now? Mehrunissa wondered, rising to her feet. Ever since her audience with Jahangir she had been expecting to be told to return to her parents’ house. The letters she had sent them and her brother Asaf Khan had been guarded. She was certain that any communications passing out of the
haram
– particularly addressed to a family implicated in treason – would be carefully scrutinised.

Following Nadya out into the bright courtyard – according to the shadow falling on the curved marble sundial it was
just approaching midday – Mehrunissa saw Mala awaiting her. Behind the
khawajasara
’s tall figure half a dozen attendants in plain dark green robes were standing hands folded, eyes all fixed on her. Three were eunuchs and three were women.

‘You sent for me.’ Mehrunissa addressed the
khawajasara.

‘Yes, madam.’

‘What is it you want?’

‘I am not permitted to say in this public place. Please follow me.’

The
khawajasara
strutted ahead staff in hand like some great officer of state, which in a way she was. Next went the attendants and finally Mehrunissa. The little procession headed across the main courtyard past the turning leading, as Mehrunissa now knew, to the entrance to Jahangir’s private apartments towards the gates of the
haram
itself. So she was being ejected after all . . .

But then Mehrunissa noticed another small arched entrance to the left of the gatehouse. Reaching it, Mala vanished inside. Following the attendants through the arch Mehrunissa found herself in a narrow passage winding down and sharply to the left. For one wild moment she wondered whether she was being taken to some dungeon but then she noticed that the air was getting warmer. Moisture was trickling down the sandstone walls and she could smell not the dankness of a prison but perfume – rosewater, sandalwood, ambergris. There was another sharp bend and Mehrunissa saw light ahead. A few more steps and she was in a tiny rectangular courtyard with high walls on all sides. Looking up all she could see of the sky was a small rectangle of metallic blue. A fountain bubbled in the centre of the
courtyard and through an opening in the wall directly opposite was the source of the moist, fragrant steam – a
hammam.

‘Please undress,’ the
khawajasara
said.

Mehrunissa stared.

‘The protocol of the
haram
forbade me from telling you before we reached this private place, but the emperor has sent for you. Tonight if you please him you will share his bed. There is no argument. You will do as I say.’

Mehrunissa was so shocked that she stood unresisting as the attendants began undressing her – untying the pearled tassel of her enamelled belt set with polished chunks of rose quartz, sliding her pink silk robe and underskirt from her, taking her silk slippers from her feet. Before she realised it she was standing naked in the bright shaft of sunlight falling in the little courtyard and the
khawajasara
was appraising her body with the dispassionate eye of the slave merchants she had seen in the Kabul bazaar. She shook her long dark hair around her to cover her breasts and turned away, still trying to take in what Mala had said. So Jahangir had sent for her at last but not, it seemed, to be his wife. She was being prepared for his bed as a common concubine.

‘Come,’ said the
khawajasara,
gesturing through the opening into the
hammam.
Inside, the heat of the steam rising from the hot stones on to which scented water was flowing down a marble chute stung her eyes and she could feel the perspiration breaking out on her skin. She had always enjoyed the
hammam
but now she felt her body tense as the long process began. First, lying on a slab of marble as attendants poured yet more water on the hot, sizzling stones, she felt the sweat truly begin to flow, cleansing her skin and making it feel soft and supple as silk. Next, in an adjoining room she
immersed herself in a small tank of water so cold that crystals from the ice brought from the fort icehouse to fill the pool were still floating on its surface. Then she was led to a third, larger room. There was no natural light but the glow of many oil lamps set in niches around the wall revealed the delicate floral frescoes covering the plastered walls and high arched ceiling. Here a Turkish woman with large strong hands massaged her with scented oils as she lay face down on a marble bench.

Pungent incense smoking in a brass burner in one corner of the chamber was beginning to make her head spin. She had lost all sense of time when, her massage complete, a eunuch wrapped a muslin robe so fine it was almost transparent around her and led her to a low stool. Sitting her down, he began to brush her hair, sprinkling it with perfume and interweaving strings of gems into it. Another eunuch, frowning in concentration, plucked her eyebrows and then smudged kohl around her eyes, further darkening her already long black eyelashes. Then, taking an alabaster jar of carmine paste, he reddened her lips. When he stood back his pleased grunt told her he was satisfied with his work. The third eunuch approached next with a jade saucer of henna paste. With a fine brush he painted delicate designs on her arms, hands and feet. Disorientated, she watched him working as if from afar – as if he were preparing some little doll that was nothing to do with her. But his next words made her realise it was indeed her body. ‘Open your robe, madam.’

Mehrunissa looked up at his smooth, slightly petulant face. His voice, even though he was a eunuch, was deep as a man’s. ‘What did you say?’

‘Open your robe please,’ he repeated. When she still didn’t move he leaned down, slid his hands inside the neckline of her muslin robe and gently eased it over her shoulders until her breasts were exposed. Then, lips pursed, he applied the tip of his brush to her breasts, darkening her nipples which stiffened under the brush’s touch and sketching a tracery of tiny flowers on the paler flesh around them. When he had finished he closed her robe again and called, ‘
Khawajasara,
she is ready.’

Mala appeared beside him and together they studied her. Then Mala nodded. ‘Excellent. You’ve done well.’ To Mehrunissa she said, ‘Come outside into the courtyard again.’ Torches were now burning in sconces in the courtyard and in the little window of sky above she could see the first stars already pricking the night sky, telling her how long the preparations had taken.

‘Eat.’ The
khawajasara
gestured to a dish of almonds, pistachios and dried fruits that had been placed on a silver stand near the fountain but Mehrunissa’s stomach felt knotted tight and she shook her head, feeling the weight of the jewels with which it was threaded. ‘As you wish.’ The
khawajasara
clapped her hands and the three female attendants came forward with a loose amber-coloured brocade robe, gold-hued satin slippers, and strings of yellow cat’s eyes to hang round her neck and tie about her slim waist. ‘Please turn so that I can satisfy myself all is as it should be,’ said Mala when they had finished. Obediently Mehrunissa slowly revolved. The sense that her destiny had been taken out of her hands had been growing ever since Mala had revealed what the night ahead held for her. It wouldn’t be long now until she was before Jahangir once more. Last time she had had clear
ideas of what she must say and do. This time she had no idea . . .

‘Enough!’ Mala said. ‘Come. It is time.’

‘
Khawajasara
. . . advise me, guide me.’ Even as she made the appeal Mehrunissa despised herself for it, but she couldn’t help herself.

Mala smiled a tight-lipped smile. ‘It is your task to please the emperor. That is all you need to know.’

It was one of the eunuchs who led Mehrunissa back to the main courtyard and up the flight of stairs leading to the emperor’s apartments. Through the gleaming gauze of the gold-spangled veil Mala had arranged carefully over her head, things looked muted and insubstantial – the silver doors flung open by the Rajput guards to allow her and the eunuch to pass through, the great golden doors into Jahangir’s private apartments, seemed to shimmer like soft fabric rather than hard cold metal.

Just inside the golden doors waited a female attendant Mehrunissa had never seen before, but it was obvious that she and the eunuch knew one another. The eunuch bowed, saying, ‘As ordered by His Majesty, I have brought Mehrunissa.’

‘Thank you, Khaled,’ the woman replied and then, as the eunuch withdrew and the guards outside pulled the golden doors shut behind him, she took Mehrunissa by the hand. ‘I am Asa, the captain of His Majesty’s female bodyguards, and it is my task to ensure that every woman who passes into the imperial bedchamber is unarmed. Please raise your arms.’ Quickly and thoroughly the woman ran her hands over Mehrunissa’s body. ‘Good. Come this way.’

Mehrunissa followed Asa to the far end of the long chamber, past the dais where Jahangir had sat in judgement on her brother and on through a door concealed by a hanging some fifteen feet behind the dais. It led into a wide passageway at the far end of which stood yet more Rajputs protecting the approach to a small square door. Even through her veil Mehrunissa could see the fiery light shed by the gems with which it was studded. Halting by the door, Asa addressed the guards. ‘This woman has been sent for by the emperor. Open the door.’ The Rajputs rushed to obey. Mehrunissa felt Asa’s hand between her shoulder blades gently propelling her forward into the darkened chamber beyond.