The Twentieth Wife (28 page)

Ruqayya was not at the balcony. She chose to spend her days in her apartments, still in mourning for Emperor Akbar. And since Ruqayya was not there, neither was Mehrunnisa.

Jahangir and Jagat Gosini looked at each other across the breadth of the courtyard. The imperial orchestra started to play. The leather-headed
dholaks
resonated with loud booms. The gold tassels on the musicians’ trumpets fluttered in the wind. Large brass cymbals clanged in tune with the music. The sun danced off the sea of jewels in turbans and shimmered on the gold embroidery of
qabas
and sashes. “Long live Emperor Jahangir!” The cry resounded around the walls as the assembled nobles punched their fists in the air. “Hail to Empress Jagat Gosini!” the women in the balconies cried out in unison. Both of them raised their right hands to their foreheads and bowed, again and again. Jahangir smiled at Jagat Gosini, dismounted, and led the way through the courtiers to his throne.

•   •   •

C
OURT WAS IN
session at the
Diwan-i-am
in the royal fort at Agra. The Emperor’s throne, at one end, was set in a small balcony raised five feet from the ground, enclosed in a verandah held up by marble pillars. Two huge wooden elephants adorned the front of the balcony, on which stood slaves with fly switches. The nobles were assembled around the throne in three groups, each distanced from the Emperor according to its rank and status.

“Call Mirza Ghias Beg!” The Mir Tozak’s voice rang out in the silent courtyard.

Ghias Beg came forward and performed the
taslim
. Earlier that week, Mehrunnisa had visited his house, and father and daughter had sat together in the garden after lunch in a companionable silence. Ghias had looked at her intently, wondering why a little
smile lit up her eyes every now and then. Ah, she was beautiful, this child of his. More beautiful and kind and gentle than his other children—a fact he would not admit to. If only he could wipe away the sudden, fleeting sorrow that came upon her every now and then. Was it because she had no child? Ghias was a man, not used to gossiping in the women’s quarters of his house or to hearing gossip about women’s doings, but Mehrunnisa’s childlessness hurt him deeply, because it must surely cause her pain.

“Tell me,” he commanded, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

“Remember to perform the
konish
properly, Bapa,” she replied. “I know”—she waved away his objecting gesture—“I know you have done the
konish
many times, and to the great Emperor Akbar himself. But these are new times, and with new times will come new honors, new rewards. Oh, Bapa, how wonderful this all is for you.”

“We can only hope,” Ghias murmured, smiling nonetheless.

Then they both sobered, thinking of Ali Quli. Mehrunnisa’s husband had openly supported Prince Khusrau, who was now in deep disgrace. Ali Quli’s follies would not touch Ghias, but they would affect Mehrunnisa as his wife. Only time would tell how.

The rectangular overhead
punkahs
in the
Diwan-i-am
swished back and forth, pulled by a rope on the ground. Ghias felt their cool breeze fan the back of his neck as he straightened up from the
taslim
in front of Emperor Jahangir. He remembered when, so many years ago, there had been such madness between Salim and Mehrunnisa. If anything had come of it, his daughter would have been an Empress. He waited for his emperor to speak.

Jahangir looked down from his magnificent throne. “Mirza Beg, I am pleased with your service to the empire and to my esteemed father.”

“I only did my duty, your Majesty.”

“And you did it well, Mirza Beg,” Jahangir said, “From this day, you will be
diwan
of the empire along with Wazir Khan.”

Ghias Beg felt his knees go weak under him. He had expected a new title, yes, but
diwan
? Allah must have smiled on him. He thought back to twenty-eight years ago, when, standing on a busy bazaar street in Qandahar on the outer fringe of the Mughal Empire with only four precious gold
mohurs
tucked in his cummerbund, he had wondered how he would support his family. Now he was treasurer of that empire. “Thank you, your Majesty. It is a great honor.”

Jahangir nodded. “You will also be called Itimadaddaula.”

“Pillar of the Government.” Ghias bent his head, glorying in the moment. It would be hard to focus on the rest of the
darbar
after such an honor. Silently, he bowed again to the Emperor and backed to his place.

Jahangir turned and nodded to the Mir Tozak.

“Call Muhammad Sharif!”

Muhammad Sharif came forward. Sharif had been left at Allahabad as governor when the Emperor returned to Agra to be by his father’s side. Sharif was made the chief minister of state and given the title of Grand Vizier and Amir-ul-umra.

Bir Singh Deo, the rebel chieftain who had murdered Abul Fazl on Jahangir’s orders, now came out of hiding. He was given a
mansab
of three thousand horses and the title Raja. The Emperor did not forget even him. Fazl’s death had been necessary to his plans, even though it had caused his father much pain. Part of being royal was making those decisions; who would live and who would die.

Finally, it was time to deal with the dissenters.

A hush came over the court as the Mir Tozak’s voice rang out again. “Call Ali Quli!”

The courtiers parted and made way for Mehrunnisa’s husband. A truculent Ali Quli came forward and performed the
taslim.

Jahangir looked at him thoughtfully. What was he to do with this man? Ali Quli had deserted him at Agra and had joined up with the Khusrau faction. Should he put him to death for disloyalty?
That
would free Mehrunnisa.
The thought came out of nowhere, with no warning. Now that he was Emperor, she could be his. He looked down at his hands, at the ruby and diamond ring Akbar had worn and then given to him. So many years had passed since that evening in the verandah outside Empress Ruqayya’s apartments. They had both been young then—children really. But it was impossible that she remembered. Too much time had passed. He looked up to meet Ali Quli’s unflinching gaze, aware that the whole court watched them. He had given this man the title of Tiger Slayer because he had saved his life in the forests near Mewar. It was a heavy debt to bear.

“I have decided to overlook your misdeeds, Ali Quli,” Jahangir said. “You were misled by dissident elements in my empire, but your long years of bravery in the battlefield and your services to me speak on your behalf. You are granted the
jagir
of Bardwan in Bengal. Prepare to leave for your estates tomorrow.”

A surprised chatter broke out in court. The Emperor had in effect pardoned Ali Quli. Jahangir nodded to himself. He had done right; Akbar would have approved.

“Silence in the court!” the Mir Tozak shouted.

The nobles quieted as a servant approached the Mir Tozak. They had a whispered conversation. The Mir Tozak went up to Jahangir.

“Your Majesty, Prince Khusrau begs an audience.”

At his words, the whole court drew in a breath of surprise again. The new Emperor’s first audience was proving to be unpredictable and exciting. The courtiers would have a lot to talk about tonight at dinner. Tomorrow the news would fly all over the empire.

Jahangir smiled to himself at the reaction. Only a few people knew that Khusrau had been captured and brought into custody. He had wanted it thus.

“Command him here.”

Raja Man Singh and Khusrau entered the
Diwan-i-am.
Khusrau slunk in behind the raja, his face red, unwilling to meet his father’s
eyes. Uncle and nephew quickly paid obeisance to their new Emperor.

“Come here, Khusrau,” Jahangir ordered.

Khusrau approached his father diffidently. Jahangir rose, descended from his throne, and embraced his son in front of the court. The nobles murmured their approval. The Emperor stepped back, still holding onto Khusrau’s stiff shoulders. What was he to do with this son of his? Now that he had the crown firmly on his head, Khusrau no longer posed an open threat to him—but could he ever be completely sure? He looked at his son, and just for a moment Khusrau met his eyes with a look of pure malevolence. Then the prince looked down.

Jahangir recoiled, let go of his son, and went back to his throne. He forced his voice to be neutral. “You have betrayed me,” he said aloud. “The empire has witnessed a son’s disloyalty to his father. Your actions have shamed you, and now you are here to beg forgiveness. I shall grant you that forgiveness; after all, you are my son. Let the court be witness to the love and affection I bear for you despite your treachery.”

The nobles nodded appreciatively.

Jahangir looked around at the Mir Bakshi, the Paymaster of the court. “Give Prince Khusrau one hundred thousand rupees and a house to live in.”

Khusrau fell to his knees and mumbled, “Thank you, your Majesty. Your generosity knows no bounds. I am truly ashamed of my misdeeds and beg forgiveness if I have caused you any distress.”

Jahangir then turned to Raja Man Singh. The old general looked up at the Emperor from under white bushy eyebrows, holding himself upright with pride.

Man Singh had originally secreted Khusrau away from the fort with the intention of taking him to Bengal, but once Jahangir had been crowned Emperor, he realized that the effort was futile. Besides, the two had found all roads closed to them. Jahangir had
positioned guards along the Yamuna river and on the way to Bengal, and Raja Man Singh and Khusrau had been politely turned back. They had not been arrested, however, but Man Singh took the hint and brought Khusrau back to Agra to plead mercy from Jahangir.

The Emperor knew that he could not publicly shame Raja Man Singh as he had done Khusrau. It would be better to placate him now. He needed Raja Man Singh in Bengal, which was a hotbed of dissident activity and still a stronghold of Afghan rebels. The climate was damp and unhealthy and seemed to foster discontent among the locals. Consequently, the governor of Bengal had to be a strong statesman and a brave warrior. Man Singh was both, and so was Ali Quli. Although the two had previously collaborated on Khusrau’s behalf, they could do little to further his son’s cause in Bengal while Khusrau was at Agra under Jahangir’s custody.

“Raja Man Singh, I forgive your role in Khusrau’s revolt. It was understandable, given the nature of your relationship to him. As a sign of my pardon, your
mansab
will be raised to two thousand horses, and you will continue your post as governor of Bengal,” Jahangir said, as the Mir Tozak brought forward the
charqab,
a sleeveless vest, as a robe of honor, and a jeweled sword to present to the Raja.

“Thank you, your Majesty.” Man Singh bowed to the Emperor and moved back to his place in the court.

Court was adjourned for the day.

•   •   •

J
AHANGIR LAY ON
his royal bed, staring up at the golden canopy. The first day of duties had passed.

Emperor! With a sudden shiver Jahangir realized once again the word pertained to him. With Khusrau in custody, he was undisputed Emperor. And he would stay so. It was an obligation that thrilled him, yet unnerved him. He would guard the responsibility well. As soon as Jahangir arrived back to the harem he had sent for his Grand Vizier, Muhammad Sharif.

“Muhammad, I want a twenty-four-hour guard posted around Prince Khusrau’s apartments. No one shall meet him without my permission. Also, I want spies put in his service. Khusrau has not yet given up his quest for the throne; I could see it in his face at court. See to it that he is cut off from any communication from the outside.”

“It shall be done, your Majesty.” Muhammad Sharif’s face broke into a malicious grin. His cold eyes suddenly gleamed. Muhammad and Prince Khusrau had been at odds even before Khusrau’s revolt, and he was happy to have charge of the prince’s custody. Jahangir could not have chosen a better jailer.

Now, alone at night, the attendants and wives dismissed, Jahangir said his title out aloud: “Nuruddin Muhammad Jahangir Padshah Ghazi.” Nuruddin meant “Light of the Faith,” Padshah denoted “Emperor” or “head of the house of Timur,” and Jahangir meant “World Conqueror.”

Jahangir smiled. He was Emperor of the world, like the sun to his people. They depended on his bounty just as the farmer depends on sunlight. And he was the head of the house of Timur, the ultimate symbol of independent sovereignty.

The day had been very satisfactory indeed, Jahangir thought. All of his supporters had been publicly rewarded, and the dissidents had been punished . . . all except one: Mirza Aziz Koka, Khusrau’s father-in-law. Jahangir clicked his tongue. Khusrau, always Khusrau. Something would have to be done about Mirza Koka. He could not reside here at Agra with Khusrau so near. Something would be done about Mirza Koka.

Jahangir closed his eyes as the room blurred into a haze.

•   •   •

“M
IRZA
A
ZIZ
K
OKA
, Emperor Jahangir commands your presence.”

The doors at the far end of the
Diwan-i-khas
swung open silently on well-oiled hinges.

The nobles parted to make way for Khusrau’s father-in-law.
Mirza Koka marched into the court, his head bowed, his cheeks burning.

Mahabat Khan and Muhammad Sharif, standing closest to the Emperor as a sign of their status in court, smiled slyly at each other. Behind the throne, the
zenana
ladies crowded in the balcony, hidden from view by a latticework marble screen. Mirza Koka, foster brother to Akbar, had grown up in the royal harem. He was a great favorite of the ladies, and they had turned out in full force to witness his trial.

Mirza Koka’s footsteps echoed in the silent court. As soon as he was under the throne, he saluted the Emperor with the
konish
and waited, his eyes on the ground, for Jahangir to speak.

Jahangir looked at him, his nostrils curling with dislike. Mirza Koka had actively championed Khusrau’s cause, and unlike Raja Man Singh, he had no merit as a soldier and therefore was of no use to the throne.