Mistress of the Throne (The Mughal intrigues) (39 page)

“I don’t care whether it was said,” I said, looking towards the river, away from my brother. “You Mughal men have a history of committing treacherous acts against one another whenever it’s convenient.”

Dara continued to stare at me, and I shifted my gaze directly to him. “You are the crown prince, and will ultimately be king. I need you to promise me,” I continued as I walked over to him and folded my hands before him, “that if any of your brothers declare war on you and you are victorious, you will not kill them as punishment.”

Dara held my hand in his and stood up, his eyes widening as if with optimism and promise of a better tomorrow. “Jahanara, I promise you that not only will I not slay any of my brothers, I will forgive their offence against me and treat their sons and daughters as my own.”

I began to tear with delight, confident in Dara’s virtues and honesty. I then asked him for one more favour, a favour I’d dared never to ask my father for fear I’d be viewed unfavourably: “When you’re king, Dara, please allow your daughters to marry. Please allow Jani to love a man as you’ve loved Nadira and Aba loved Ami.”

Dara smiled at me, his chiselled, bearded face looking down on me, wrinkles forming on his forehead. “Yes, Jahanara. I’ve already told this to Aba: Once I am king, every Mughal princess will be allowed marriage, and I will treat not just Jani’s marriage as my own, but also the marriages of all of Aurangzeb’s daughters. All of Aba’s grandchildren will be married the way I was. I promise. This pleases Aba, too.”

I began to cry open-heartedly. Had some aunt of mine asked for this when Aba was crown prince, perhaps I this day would have been someone’s love, someone’s mother and perhaps even someone’s grandmother? I wouldn’t have had to endure the humiliation of allegations of incest, nor run around in shadowy alleys to meet with Gabriel like a thief. For all the power Nur Jahan held and for all the influence she’d at one point wielded, she’d never thought of the plight of the Mughal daughters as her own, and never once considered that her own grand-nieces were doomed to lives of celibacy because of these ancient traditions. Other princesses wouldn’t suffer the way I’d had to. Jani would be someone’s love, and through her, I would be victorious.

“Your Highness!” yelled an approaching runner. “Someone is here from Golconda requesting to speak to you. He’s badly wounded and being treated by the hakims in the fort. He brings you a message from Golconda.”

Golconda, further south from Aurangzeb’s Deccan, was home to the world’s only known diamond mines. Aba had purchased a
large beautiful diamond from Golconda for his Peacock Throne, the Kohinoor. Golconda’s capital city, Hyderabad, was famous as a centre for diamond trade for the entire world. In Golconda one could find steel for Damascus blades; swords, daggers, and lances produced here were used throughout the world; and carpets, fish and wheat were produced in large quantities. Maybe the rest of the Deccan was wasteland, but Golconda was fertile, with tobacco and palm trees everywhere.

Golconda was ruled by Sultan Abdullah Qutb Shah, a decent yet aggressive military man. For all the riches of Golconda, he’d resisted the urge to engage the Mughals in battle for several decades. The Mughals, in turn, left Golconda alone, content with their own riches farther north.

I said, “We’ll see him in the Diwan-i-khas. Tell the hakims to give him the utmost care, and when he’s feeling able, we’ll receive him properly there.”

What did the presence of this wounded runner truly represent? Sadullah had run to the Deccan to rally Aurangzeb; my letter to Aurangzeb had been rebuffed; and now a representative from a neighbouring kingdom was appearing before us, severely wounded? I prayed to Allah that Aurangzeb had nothing to do with this.

As I sat on my divan later that night, Bahadur prepared my hookah for me. I asked her, “What do you think went on in the Deccan, Bahadur?” The question was rhetorical. My visions had already given me enough information to know Aurangzeb was creating mischief.

“Your Majesty,” she replied, “what do
you
think is happening there?” Still readying my hookah, she continued, “Everyone knows how wealthy Golconda is, and with no financial help from the Emperor, I suspect Prince Aurangzeb must’ve tried to invade it.”

“Nonsense!” I sniffed, though I knew what Bahadur was saying was probably true. I just couldn’t bear to hear it. “How could he invade our allies and we not even know of it?”

Bahadur looked away. “Your hookah is ready, Your Majesty.” She seemed uninterested in talking to me further.

The messenger Khalid Shah appeared the following day in the Diwan-i-khas, badly wounded with bandages on both arms, kneeling on a cane.

Dara said, “This is hardly a way to represent the Sultan, runner.”

Khalid’s face was severely bruised and swollen face, and the hakims had wrapped his head and jaw in a disfiguring white bandage. It appeared one of his legs and one of his arms were broken as well.

Aba sat on his throne, paying little attention to the court proceedings, leaving Dara to do most of the talking.

“Your Majesty,” cried Khalid, “I was sent to bring you greetings from Sultan Qutb Shah, with diamonds from our famous mines and trays of rubies and gems, along with elephants and horses. Our embassy sent 15 people with several dozen concubines and female slaves for your pleasure.”

The runner had at last said something of value to my sexually driven father, I thought. Hearing of concubines and female slaves, the aging monarch turned his head towards the runner, his eyebrows raised curiously.

“Our contingent left a few weeks ago from Hyderabad, and we were travelling alongside the jungles in your dominion, en route to this beautiful majestic capital of yours. Khalid paused, unable to bow in honour of our new city. Then he said, “Suddenly we were attacked by a cordon of the Mughal army in the Deccan!”

Dara looked in my direction as if gesturing me to understand that it had to be Aurangzeb who’d ordered this.

“They surrounded us and demanded that we go with them, but we refused. They then tried to chain us and take us with them, but we fought back with our swords and daggers. The army killed our whole embassy, and the concubines all fled towards wherever they thought they could find cover. The riches meant for Your Majesty were confiscated, and I barely escaped. Playing dead, I hid under one of my soldiers and later trekked here on a limping horse that had been badly wounded in the skirmish.”

I said, “How do you know the men who attacked you were Mughals and not bandits merely dressed as Mughals?” Dara appeared irritated by my interruption.

The runner said, “Your Majesty, had they been bandits, I’m certain they would have merely looted us. Instead, they tried to kidnap us. They carried the Mughal flag and wore the traditional burgundy tunics.”

Dara asked, “What was to have been the purpose of your visit?”

Khalid anwered: “To tell His Majesty that the Sultan of Golconda views you as his brother and wishes you no harm. But war is being thrust upon us by your son, Aurangzeb. He threatens to attack our nation because we’ve confiscated the cargo of Mir Jumla, a businessman of poor character in our realm.”

I’d heard before of Mir Jumla, a Persian businessman who’d made his fortune in Golconda’s diamond business. Backed by this fortune, he’d managed to spread his influence over other matters and by now had essentially created a monopoly over civil and military matters, much to the Sultan’s chagrin. Qutb Shah viewed him as a growing threat, especially since he’d begun to muster his own private armies within the borders of Golconda. To curtail his power any further, Qutb Shah began imposing fees and levies against his revenue, and he slowly laid restrictions on how many men he could employ in his military service. A distraught Mir Jumla was looking for asylum but afraid to approach the Mughals, fearful that the noble Shah Jahan would rebuff him and the thought of moving to them would further alienate Qutb Shah.

I asked sharply from behind the screen, “But why have you confiscated his cargo?” I wanted to know the real basis for the war, and if Aurangzeb was in the wrong as this runner claimed.

“Your Majesty, Mir Jumla has refused to pay the taxes levied against him. The confiscation was his punishment.”

“But we heard,” Dara said, “that you seized cargo we had bought from you through Mir Jumla.”

Khalid Shah paused for a long moment and the hall fell silent. I was flabbergasted at learning there’d been correspondence between Dara and the Deccan. If Dara was heir to the throne, I still was the queen and bearer of the royal seal.

“Begging Your Majesty’s forgiveness, this servant of yours would like to inform you that no sales have occurred between our two kingdoms. Your representative in the Deccan has pried in our private affairs by granting sanctuary to the evil Mir Jumla.”

“Runner,” growled Aba, “choose your words carefully! You are accusing a royal prince of deceit, a crime punishable by death!”

I found it ironic that though always suspicious of Aurangzeb, Aba now acted as though he felt it a personal affront to allow an outsider to insult a member of the royal family.

“I beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty. But I assure you, no business transaction has occurred.”

“You must stay here,” said Dara. “You will be our eyes and ears as we continue our investigation of this matter!”

Afterwards Dara, Aba and I continued our discussion in the Macchi Bawan.

“What do you wish to do?” Aba asked Dara.

“We must send a letter to Aurangzeb forbidding him to attack Golconda under any circumstances!” Dara replied, looking towards me. I looked away, embarrassed on Aurangzeb’s behalf, but also still somewhat hopeful that this might be a misunderstanding.

I said, “We must also ask him for any proof he may have of transactions.”

“So be it!” said Aba.

“That wretch!” yelled Dara. “He should be skinned alive!”

I felt shock at seeing this belligerent side of my once-passive brother.

Dara fumed, “He deliberately disobeyed imperial orders and marched onto Golconda!”

“What orders, Dara?” I spat. “How could I not have been privy to all this?” I felt my influence and authority had slowly slipped from me, just as I’d feared.

Dara said, “I received a letter from Aurangzeb.”

“You?”

“Well… it was addressed to Aba, but I read it and replied to it.”

Aba looked away, as to dismiss my unmade question. Dara must have realised I’d grown furious.

“The letter said that Mir Jumla wanted to sell cargo to the Mughal Empire, and this is why Qutb Shah seized that cargo.”

“So what did you say?”

“I told Aurangzeb to write to the Sultan to release all the cargo in seven days or else military force would be used against him.”

“Did you do your own separate investigation into the matter?”

“Investigation?” Dara seemed puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Shaking his head, Aba said, “You authorised military force against a neighbour without verifying the facts?”

“That’s not the point, he intentionally misrepresented the facts! What’s worse, instead of seven it now appears he gave Qutb Shah only two days to comply!”

“What do you want to do now?” asked Aba.

“I want an embassy to travel to the Deccan, nonstop under the royal seal of the Empress, that attests to the fact that we wish for this military excursion to come to a halt.”

Aba, his eyes gleaming greedily, said, “Have Golconda’s riches been compromised?”

“If they have,” said Dara, “we’ll return them and start again. We’ll help them repair their empire and repay the families of their fallen from the royal treasury.”

Dara looked towards me for support, which I reluctantly gave in the form of a subtle nod. No matter how neutral I tried to be, the lines between right and wrong couldn’t be clearer: This war in Golconda was clearly a war of choice, and it must be ended.

While Raushanara, Aurangzeb and Sadullah had formed a team in the south, Dara and I made up a reluctant northern team, and both were vying for the approval of the overly sexualised Aba who, rather than bothering with these matters, would have liked to retire to his harem for enjoyment and pleasure.

26

COMING OF THE STORM

6
^th
September, 1657

I
wrote several letters to Aurangzeb trying to explain what had happened and imploring him to confide in me about his true intentions regarding the Golconda debacle. But Aurangzeb seemed to have lost faith in my loyalty and seemed to no longer wish any further communication with me. Banished to the Deccan by Aba, humiliated by Dara and prevented from achieving the prize of Golconda by my royal seal, Aurangzeb also refused to talk with anyone else in my triumvirate.

I was in my apartment still pondering the future of Mughal women during the reign of Dara Shikoh when inauspicious news arrived. “Empress,” called out a female servant, “Wazir Khan has sent for you! The Emperor is ill.”

I ran from my apartment to the Emperor’s chambers.

“Wazir Khan,” I said, out of breath, “what’s wrong with Aba?”

“I don’t know why, Empress, but for some reason, the Emperor hasn’t been able to empty his bladder for the last several days.”