The Twentieth Wife (24 page)

•   •   •

“T
HE
E
MPEROR WISHES
me to return to the Mewar campaign.” Prince Salim strode angrily into his apartments.

From their work, Mahabat Khan, Koka, and Abdullah looked up at him in dismay. Muhammad Sharif had been left in Allahabad as governor.

“When?” Mahabat asked, putting aside the
farman
he had been reading.

“As soon as possible.” Salim signaled for a cup of wine.

“But why, your Highness? Both the Khan-i-khanan and Prince Daniyal are in the Deccan. They can easily travel to Mewar to command the imperial forces.”

Salim gulped down the wine and held out his goblet for more. “You know that Daniyal is a poor leader. He drinks too much and spends too much time in his harem. I must go and instill confidence in the army, uplift the spirits of the men. Those are the Emperor’s words, not mine.”

“Your Highness,” Abdullah said urgently, “You cannot leave Agra at such a crucial time. I beg forgiveness for what I am about to say, but the Emperor is not in good health . . . he is old and . . .” Abdullah let the sentence trail away.

Salim knew what he was about to say. Akbar’s death was imminent; if Salim left Agra now, he would be too far away to claim the throne if Akbar died. He drummed his fingers impatiently on a little rosewood table. What did that matter? The Emperor had proclaimed him heir. Though he did not want to go, at least it would be something to do.

The homecoming had not turned out to be all he wanted. Salim and Akbar spent more time together than they had before the rift, but things were still not as they had once been. Too much had happened—the attempt on the treasury, Fazl’s death. The only time they really felt close to each other was in the royal
zenana,
when the ladies were there to dispel any tension.

The three men around the prince watched him carefully. Didn’t he realize his position in court? Salim’s power play and his impatience to wear the crown had alienated him from most of the powerful nobles at court. Assured of his right to the throne, the prince had not attempted to befriend the courtiers. Now, while he was in a
tenuous relationship with his father, the nobles were openly assembling against him.

“I realize that it is not prudent to leave now,” Salim said. “But my father has commanded me, and I dare not disobey him. Besides, there can be no fear of my claim to the throne. The Emperor himself has publicly announced me to be his heir. Daniyal is no real threat. Who else can there be?”

“Prince Khusrau, your Highness,” Qutubuddin Koka spoke up for the first time.

Salim looked at him in shock. “Khrusrau? My own son?”

“Yes, your Highness. I have heard that both Raja Man Singh and Mirza Aziz Koka have been gathering a coalition to support him.”

Raja Man Singh, brother of Salim’s first wife, Man Bai, was Khusrau’s uncle. He was still at Bengal, having quelled the Afghan rebellion, but even from that distance he had friends at court.

Mirza Aziz Koka was Akbar’s foster brother and lately Khusrau’s father-in-law. Koka’s mother had been Akbar’s wet nurse. Aziz Koka and Man Singh, father-in-law and uncle to Khusrau, were definitely interested in seeing the sixteen-year-old youth ascend the throne to the Mughal empire. He would be easily controlled by these statesmen.

“The Emperor will never countenance putting Khusrau on the throne. It would defy the laws of natural succession. Besides, how could my own son even think of rebelling against me?” Salim cried. He looked away, the irony of his words not escaping him. What was Khusrau doing but following his father’s example? But it was not as simple as that. Khusrau he had barely seen during his childhood; he had been brought into Salim’s presence briefly on special occasions to be shown to him, and then whisked away to his nurses and attendants. Salim did not even like this son of his very much, mostly because he had never really known him.

“It is wise to be circumspect, your Highness,” Mahabat Khan said. “Mirza Koka has been entertaining courtiers for many days
now, doubtless asking for their support. In light of these events, it would be best not to proceed to Mewar.”

“I cannot believe Khusrau will rebel against me even before the crown is upon my head. But what shall I do? I cannot disobey the Emperor,” Salim said. Yet, how could he leave with this new threat rearing its head?

“Perhaps you could pretend to go to Mewar. Once you are away from the capital, we can delay our march. . . .” Mahabat’s eyes gleamed. “We can always invent some excuse, your Highness.”

Salim looked at the three men. They were right; he could not leave the capital now.

The prince set out with his army and arrived at Fatehpur Sikri, a day’s march from Agra. There, in the city his father had built to fete his birth, the city his father had hoped would live as the capital of the Mughal Empire, he set up camp. He had a sense of comfort in coming to Fatehpur Sikri. Salim had grown up in the palaces; he had played hide-and-seek with Mahabat, Koka, and Sharif here; it was his childhood home. But just as he could never hope to recapture the days of happiness with the Emperor, when the empire had not stood between them, so too were gone his hopes of an amicable relationship with Akbar. That trust could never again be recaptured. Under his cohorts’ influence, Salim sent continuous messages to Akbar: the army was not well equipped, there were not enough cavalry to support the infantry, the elephants were ailing, and so on. He demanded a full complement of soldiers before he could progress to Mewar.

After one month, Akbar was disgusted by Salim’s procrastination and sent him a curt message ordering him back to his estates at Allahabad, there to raise revenues to equip the army to his satisfaction. Salim agreed and returned to Allahabad.

•   •   •

S
ENSING THE
E
MPEROR
’
S
discontent with Salim, Mirza Koka and Raja Man Singh redoubled their efforts to present Khusrau as an
alternative heir to the throne. They had one big advantage: Khusrau was a charming, cultured, handsome youth, much beloved by the people, more popular than his father. Prince Salim was disliked, first because of his rebellion and second because of his hand in Abul Fazl’s murder.

And so the next generation rebelled against its sire, just as Salim was himself doing. While father and son were watching each other’s movements warily, another heir to the throne died.

Prince Daniyal, Akbar’s only other surviving son, had been left in charge of the wars in the Deccan under the guardianship of Abdur Rahim, the Khan-i-khanan. Daniyal spent his days and nights in a drunken stupor, cavorting with his wives and slave girls. Akbar had sent a strongly worded message to the Khan-i-khanan to take better care of his charge. Afraid of imperial wrath, Abdur Rahim had ordered a dry spell for Prince Daniyal; he was to be given no drink or opium, healthy food was advised, and the prince was to be kept away from any intoxicants.

Daniyal was very fond of two things, his liquor and hunting. He had even named one of his favorite muskets the
yaka u janaza,
or “same as the bier,” for to be shot with that musket meant to be carried out of the hunt on a bier. Finally that musket would carry him out of his palace at Burhanpur, feet first. Deprived of his drink and suffering acutely from withdrawal symptoms, Daniyal ordered his musketeer to bring him something to drink. The musketeer, in the hopes of pleasing the prince, smuggled in doubly distilled spirit in the musket. The remains of gunpowder and rust in the barrel of the musket mixed with the liquor, and upon drinking it, Daniyal fell severely ill. After forty days of suffering, the prince died.

•   •   •

W
ITH
D
ANIYAL
’
S DEATH
, Salim now saw Khusrau as a viable threat to his claim on the throne. What Salim had once thought to be conjecture on the part of his courtiers—conjecture that he had
nonetheless heeded—seemed to be true. The Khusrau faction was growing strong. While Salim was at Allahabad, Khusrau and his supporters were at court near the Emperor, who was every day growing weaker.

The nobles at court openly started showing their loyalties, even those who had thus far kept doggedly neutral. The Emperor’s death seemed imminent, and the next heir to the throne would compensate them amply for their support. Remaining neutral, while less dangerous than advocating the wrong man, was still not as rewarding. Secret meetings were held all over Agra to calculate the risks and choose the prince most likely to succeed, and then the nobles went to offer their support.

Two religious factions approached Prince Salim at Allahabad. First, there was the Sufi faction of the Naqshbandis, orthodox Muslims who did not support Akbar’s liberal religious outlook. They sent Akbar’s Mir Bakshi, or Paymaster General, Shaikh Farid Bukhari, as an ambassador to Salim, promising to champion his cause if he would promote traditional Islam upon his ascension. Their support was important, and Salim readily agreed to their demands. He already had the endorsement of the Sufi faction under Shaikh Salim Chisti.

The second religious faction of some strength in the country was constituted of Portuguese Jesuits. The Portuguese had been in India for a long time and had established missions in many cities in northern India. Their support was valuable in part because they controlled the major seaports of Goa, Surat, and Cambay, the main ports of access to the Arabian Sea. Any trade conducted with Europe or the Middle Eastern countries had to pass through the hands of the Portuguese. While land routes were still in use for trade, sea routes were becoming more and more important as means of revenue. The Jesuit priests remained neutral as long as possible, realizing that Khusrau was more likely to be sympathetic
to their cause than Salim, but in the end they threw their lot in with Prince Salim, sensing that he would finally be victorious.

While Khusrau was scheming on how to deprive his father of the throne, Salim continued to enjoy his simulated monarchy at Allahabad. Khusrau’s mother, Princess Man Bai, was deeply grieved at the rift between her son and her husband. She wrote many letters to Khusrau, admonishing him, pointing out his duty and obedience to his father, and pleading with him to give up his ambitions. But Khusrau turned a deaf ear to her arguments. The lure of the throne was too powerful. If he had to wait out his father’s reign, it would be at least thirty more years before he could ascend the throne. Finally, Man Bai gave up and took an overdose of opium, plunging Salim’s court into mourning.

When the news of his daughter-in-law’s death reached Agra, the Emperor sent Salim gifts and a letter of condolence, but still the two did not meet. The Emperor was still insistent that Salim pack up and go to Mewar to oversee the campaign there, and Salim still stubbornly refused to go. Father and son remained at loggerheads over the issue, for the Emperor could not see Khusrau as a threat to Salim’s right to the throne.

•   •   •

M
EHRUNNISA GAZED UNSEEINGLY
out of the window, a book open on her lap. Outside, the sun glanced off the Yamuna river, turning it into a placid sheet of silver. Bees droned lazily around the bright fire-orange bougainvillea that clung to the walls of the house. The city of Agra seemed to doze in the heat, but Mehrunnisa’s mind was alert, moving quickly from thought to thought.

She had followed Salim’s movements closely. Each step the prince had taken alienated his father, the nobles of the court, and now the commoners. A monarchy cannot exist without the support of the people, but Salim did not realize that. The prince was even alienating the royal
zenana,
whose members had always doted on him and supported
him. But the ladies were grieved to see the Emperor a ghost of his former self. Akbar was dying, slowly but surely, his death precipitated by Salim’s actions.

Mehrunnisa frowned. Mahabat, Koka, and Sharif were leading Salim into jeopardy, all because they wanted to rule the empire and could not wait. She had no doubt that when Salim came to the throne, it would not be he but his cohorts who would rule.

If she had been married to him . . . no, she would not take her thoughts there again, but they rushed to her mind nevertheless. If only she could have guided him, she would have taught him to wait and act at the right moment. After all, the throne was his. He was the undisputed heir to the empire. But now, Khusrau was being put forward as the next Emperor. That callow youth—how would he rule? He could not, of course, and that would mean a regency and civil unrest, and the empire would disintegrate.

A sudden noise distracted her. Mehrunnisa turned to see Ali Quli rush into the room, but she remained as calm and collected as usual. Her face betrayed none of her thoughts.

“What can I do for you, my lord?” Mehrunnisa asked quietly.

Ali Quli sank onto the divan next to her, his face flushed with excitement. He stared at his wife. “I have some news . . . good news.”

She waited for him to continue.

“Mirza Koka and Raja Man Singh are supporting Khusrau as the next heir to the throne.”

“I know.”

“Well, I have decided to join them.”

Mehrunnisa frowned. “Join the faction against Prince Salim?”

“Yes. The prince is imprudent and unwise. Khusrau will be a better emperor. Besides,” Al Quli grinned, “he is a child, and we shall rule the empire.” He rubbed his hands. “Think of the power, the army I shall command, the cavalry and infantry under me. . . .” His voice trailed off as he contemplated his honors.

“My lord—,” Mehrunnisa hesitated, unsure of how to continue. “As you just said, Khusrau is but a child. If,” she emphasized the word, “
if
he is made emperor, it will cause civil unrest in the empire. It is unnatural to pass by the legitimate heir to the throne. Khusrau’s time has not come. Besides, Prince Salim has yearned for the throne for almost fifteen years now. Do you think he will give up his claim so easily? The final decision lies with Emperor Akbar, and he will not abandon Prince Salim. It would go against the laws of heredity and succession to leave the empire in the hands of a young grandson when his son is yet alive.”