The Feast of Roses (7 page)

A eunuch silently brought in a gold tray bearing
paan.
Mehrunnisa slipped it into her mouth and chewed. The entire operation had taken over an hour, and all the while, without Ladli there to distract her, Mehrunnisa had been thinking. The hunt would be important, even decisive.

For it was time to meet her biggest rival in the imperial
zenana.

T
he imperial hunting grounds were vigilantly guarded all through the year, and except for partridges, quails, and hares, which were caught by nets, no one was allowed to disturb the wildlife within the grounds. Consequently game abounded; antelopes, blue oxen called
nilgau,
and lions roamed freely. The land encompassed forests with tall grasses, sometimes reaching eight feet in height, which would conceal even a man seated on a horse.

For two weeks, the keepers had stalked out a lion for the Emperor. They followed the animal to its favorite resting spot, a clearing in the forest under a patchwork of sunlight. They did this for a few days, blending into the undergrowth with clothes of green cotton, river mud smeared over their skins to keep their smell from the lion’s nostrils. When the lion left the spot, the men brought a donkey into the clearing and tied it to a stake in the ground. Then they waited, pendant on branches of the trees, upwind from the lion. The first day, the lion stood at the edge of the clearing, suspicious of this meal that came so easily. And for the first few hours, the donkey brayed, twisting its neck this way and that, almost strangling itself when it saw the lion. Then the lion approached, carefully, skirting around the donkey. It neared. It swiped at a haunch, ripping through flesh and drawing blood. By this time, the donkey was silent, its brays abandoned in fear and trembling, knowing it was to die.

This happened day after day, and the lion turned too slothful to stalk its prey. It came leaping out of the undergrowth in one bound to fall upon the donkey, which had no time to even let out a sound, and no chance to even lose courage before it died.

The day of the hunt came bright and clear. The clouds had broken for a brief respite, leaving an earth lavish with green after just a few days of rain. The palaces of the fort at Agra stirred well before sunrise, as the hunt had to begin before the day became too hot.

On the morning of the hunt, the donkey was led to the stake as usual. But today its throat was forced open, and two handfuls of opium were shoved into its stomach by the keepers. The lion would come again for its free meal, and again it would pounce on the hapless donkey, slashing through the soft flesh of its belly first, eating the undigested opium. An opium-drugged lion was easier to hunt.

At sunrise, three thousand soldiers beating drums formed a circle around the forest. They were carrying large nets made of a thick jute fiber. As they walked inward, all the game within the forest fled toward the center. Once the circle had been narrowed to a few miles in diameter, the royal party would enter the forest and there find the game waiting to be slaughtered.

Mehrunnisa was in her apartments, getting ready for the hunt. There was a hush in the room as the slave girls moved around on bare feet, straightening the sheets, laying out her clothes, talking in whispers. She stood in front of a long mirror, looking at her reflection. A sudden gust of early morning breeze swept through the room, sending the oil lamps wavering, bringing goose bumps up her arms. Jahangir had not been hunting since their wedding, but it was one of his favorite occupations. She did not want to disappoint him today.

For most of the night, Mehrunnisa had lain sleepless, rising to stand at the windows of her apartments. In the inner streets of the forts, the night guards had appeared and ebbed into shadows, clad in soft-soled boots so as not to disturb the palaces. In the early dawn, before the first light escaped from the horizon, she had been in the balcony of her apartments, leaning over the edge. On the farther bank of the Yamuna was the
dhobi ghat,
where the
dhobis
washed the laundry. Little pinpoints of light from their lamps had bobbed in a line as they had picked their way to the edge of the water, and then there had been the rhythmic slap of cloth against stone. And just as she had been able to make out their figures, hunched over, hands busy, the slave girls had come in to wake her for the hunt.

Hoshiyar Khan entered, carrying a musket bagged in red velvet, its snout poking out of the wrapping.

“With his Majesty’s compliments. He wishes for you to shoot with his favorite musket.”

Mehrunnisa reached for it. The weight took her by surprise, and for a moment her hands fell and then settled around the iron barrel. She read the Persian verses engraved over the barrel, etched into the metal. This was a hunting musket, not a war musket—the verses lauded the chase. She held it up to her shoulder, as Ali Quli had once taught her, and put a finger in the trigger. The musket was not loaded, and the trigger pulled back smoothly with a well-oiled click. She handed the musket back to Hoshiyar and wiped damp palms on the silk of her pajamas.

“It is a sign of great favor, your Majesty.”

She turned to the eunuch. “I know.”

His face was bland. Mehrunnisa opened her mouth, then closed it. No, this was not the time to betray her fears. There was never a time to betray her fears. Not even to Hoshiyar. With him especially, she must be careful.

Hoshiyar said quietly, “It is time to go, your Majesty.”

The sun rose in the eastern sky as the royal party assembled in the main courtyard of the fort. As Mehrunnisa came into the courtyard, she saw Jahangir and Jagat Gosini standing close to each other, conversing in low voices. It had been many years since Mehrunnisa had seen Jagat Gosini in anything other than passing glimpses. The Empress was only a few years older than Mehrunnisa, but she had more to show her age—the rule of Jahangir’s
zenana
for six years, a child who was now a twenty-year-old man, a marriage that had lasted even longer. And yet, when she smiled at the Emperor, she became youthful, flirting, her hair brilliantly black in the morning glow, her eyes the same shining ebony as black slate.

They talked and then did not. When Jahangir turned to instruct one of the grooms, pointing to the jeweled blinders of an Arabian horse, she turned too, said something, and Jahangir nodded. It was all done in comfort, without hesitation, talk that flowed from twenty-five years of togetherness. Mehrunnisa’s toe jammed against a paving stone and she stumbled, clutching Hoshiyar’s arm to steady herself. How could she compete with this, what they had? It would come with time, but no matter what, Jagat Gosini would always have had more time with him.

The Empress said something, and Jahangir put back his head and laughed. Mehrunnisa stopped at the sound of that laugh, a hundred questions in her mind. How long had they been here? Where had the Emperor spent the night? With the Empress? For he had not been with Mehrunnisa. She knew she did not have claim to all of Jahangir’s waking hours, or even his sleeping ones. This she had known before she had agreed to be Jahangir’s wife—that she would have to share him. No Emperor could devote himself to just one wife, when there were courtiers, diplomats, wives, concubines, sisters, aunts, and mothers, all wanting a slice of his attention.

A warm hand touched the skin of her back, between her short
choli
blouse and the start of her pleated pajamas. “Come, your Majesty. The Emperor will wish to start on the hunt soon. He will be happy if you are content too,” Hoshiyar said softly, bending to catch her ear. Mehrunnisa nodded. She started to walk toward them again.

The Emperor turned at the sound of Mehrunnisa’s footsteps. “There you are. I was wondering what happened to you.”

Mehrunnisa gracefully performed the
konish
in greeting; her right hand went up to her forehead and she bowed. “I took some time getting ready, your Majesty.” She indicated the musket in Hoshiyar Khan’s hands. “Thank you for the gift.”

“It gives me pleasure, my love.”

Mehrunnisa then took a deep breath and turned to Jagat Gosini. They were meeting for the first time as equals. All these years, Jagat Gosini had always been a notch above her. Her position made her so. But even so, at one time, when she had had the care of Khurram, Mehrunnisa had had an upper hand. It must have hurt, she could not imagine giving up Ladli to anyone. But Jagat Gosini was still powerful, still an Empress, still, in this
zenana
world of theirs, the Padshah Begam. Silence settled thickly around them as they stood watching each other carefully.

Eunuchs and slave girls froze in their places. The grooms, who had been busily adjusting the saddles on the royal horses, stopped and stared. And they waited for some movement, some speech, something other than the breeze that lifted the edges of the two Empresses’ veils with gentle fingers.

Mehrunnisa bowed to Jagat Gosini, but she did so stiffly, her head barely bending, her eyes not leaving the Empress’s gaze. “Please accept my compliments.”

A flush bloomed on Jagat Gosini’s face. It was a simple statement, but an insult. In the first place, Mehrunnisa should have performed the
konish
or the
taslim;
secondly, it was not her place to speak first, and then to speak without respect . . . it was a slap on the face.

“And mine,” Jagat Gosini replied, enunciating carefully, the weight of her anger underlining each word.

Mehrunnisa turned to Jahangir. He stood watching, giving away nothing of his thoughts. The Emperor did not have a tremendous amount of affection for Jagat Gosini, but he would not countenance a public display of disrespect. Although he had never explicitly said anything, he did not like fights within his
zenana.
This much Mehrunnisa had understood from her years of living within the walls of the harem. She could have been more polite, but she had not wanted to be.

“We should leave,” Jahangir said. He spoke in a low voice, but at his words the activity in the courtyard resumed in a frenzy, as though the pause had not occurred. Every person there had heard the exchange between the two women, knew that etiquette had been ruffled, and saw that Jahangir had done nothing in retaliation. Glances stole at the new Empress with admiration—in so few words she had diminished Empress Jagat Gosini. How brave she was, how proud, what a noble bearing for a woman born to a Persian refugee. There would be much to talk about after the hunt.

The mahout brought the imperial elephant forward. He caught hold of one of its ears and slithered off its neck, pendant for a moment like an earring, before he fell on his feet. He then knocked his stick against the elephant’s trunk and commanded it to kneel.

The imperial
howdah
had been strapped onto the elephant’s back. It was a canopied seat made of wood plated with gold. A thick mattress covered with satin reposed on the
howdah.
Cushions, buttoned with rubies, were strewn around for comfort. Four thin gold pillars held up the silver cloth canopy fringed with pearls and diamonds.

Jahangir climbed into the
howdah
first, and Mehrunnisa followed. None of the eunuchs present had dared to assist Jagat Gosini in after the Emperor. In a small way, the hierarchy was being broken. The muskets were handed in, and the mahout jumped on top of the elephant’s neck. It lifted to its feet slowly, forelegs rising first, the
howdah
tilting back and then forward. As the elephant lumbered out of the courtyard, the two ladies pulled their veils over their heads.

Outside, the Emperor was joined by five hundred Ahadis. They took up positions on the sides, in front, and behind, forming a tight net around the royal elephant. The rest of the court rode behind with their soldiers, all heavily armed with muskets and spears.

The sky grew pink as the imperial party progressed through the streets of Agra. As usual, almost the whole city had turned out to watch the Emperor. The crowd stretched their necks to catch a glimpse of the two women in the
howdah.
People shouted praises as they passed, and Jahangir threw silver rupees into the crowd, pleased with their adulation.

Suddenly a child yelled out, “Which one is the beautiful Empress Nur Jahan?”

Mehrunnisa smiled under her veil and waved a graceful hand at the little girl. The crowd roared its pleasure, and Jagat Gosini became more furious. The people had never commended her in such a manner.

Jahangir handed Mehrunnisa the gold brocade bag. “Throw some silver rupees to the little girl, my dear.”

Mehrunnisa dipped her hand in the bag and threw the coins into the crowd. The crowd roared even louder. They certainly approved of the Empress now. The elephant moved slowly through Agra, stopping at places while the guards cleared the roads.

Finally, the imperial party left the city and proceeded toward the hunting grounds. The keepers had by this time beaten the lion into its retreat in the center of the forest. As the Emperor approached, the Mir Shikar, Master of the Hunt, came running up to the royal elephant and fell to his knees in salutation.

“The lion awaits, your Majesty.”

Jahangir threw the man some rupees, showering silver over his head. He scrambled in the dust for the coins and counted them surreptitiously. Fifteen rupees! It would feed his family for a few months.

The elephant carried the Emperor and his wives into the forest. When they had reached the soldiers guarding the enclosure with their nets, the Emperor signaled them to move on inward.

The forest was thick and dense with vegetation, overhead the trees formed an awning from the rising sun. It was cool and damp in the shade, redolent of rotting leaves. All was quiet except for the sound of twigs and grass crackling under the feet of the soldiers as they moved forward. A quail flew out of the grass, squawking, a group of gazelles flew nimbly across an open expanse. Muskets rose to shoulders and then fell. The lion was the prey.