The Twentieth Wife (36 page)

“Mama.” Ladli put a hand to her face and turned her eyes from Jahangir. “Is that Prince Khurram? How beautiful he is!”

These were familiar words. Once, so many years before when Jahangir was Prince Salim, Mehrunnisa had thought
him
beautiful too. Her gaze flickered to Khurram in pleasant surprise. He had grown into a handsome boy; Arjumand was very lucky. He stood to one side, gazing around him uncertainly. Mehrunnisa smiled, remembering the curly-haired child she had once looked after. Khurram seemed overwhelmed and uncomfortable to be the focus of all the attention. Quite natural, since he could not have been more than fifteen. He fidgeted around on his feet, rubbed his smooth face, and glanced back at the palanquins being carried into the courtyard.

The ladies of the royal
zenana
descended one by one, led by a heavily veiled lady. Empress Jagat Gosini, no doubt, Mehrunnisa thought. Then she was sure. Jagat Gosini strode up to Khurram and nodded distantly as Ghias bowed to her.

It was a pity Ruqayya was not here. She had chosen to stay back
at Agra when the royal harem made its journey to Lahore. Mehrunnisa would have liked to meet the Empress again. She wondered idly who led the royal
zenana
now that Jahangir was Emperor. Ruqayya must find it galling to give precedence to Jagat Gosini and Jahangir’s wives after three decades of being supreme in the harem.

The formalities completed, Jahangir, Prince Khurram, and the ladies entered the house. Mehrunnisa set Ladli down and turned to welcome the
zenana
ladies.

•   •   •

T
HE BETROTHAL CEREMONY
took place with great solemnity. The ladies of Ghias Beg’s household and the Emperor’s wives sat behind a silk screen watching the proceedings. Arjumand was at the very front, near the
parda,
a gold-sequined veil covering her head. Mehrunnisa saw Khurram glance once or twice at her niece. Each time he looked at her, the ladies burst into giggles, and Khurram hurriedly looked away. Mehrunnisa leaned over to hug Arjumand. “He is very handsome, my dear,” she whispered to her niece and was rewarded with a shy nod. The men sat in the center of the room: the Qazi on one side, Jahangir and Ghias Beg on the other. The Qazi registered the formal engagement of Arjumand Banu Begam, daughter of Abul Hasan and granddaughter of Ghias Beg, to Prince Khurram, son of Emperor Jahangir. Ghias signed the contract and bowed to the Emperor as he gave him the goose-feather quill. Khurram was in for a very nice surprise, Mehrunnisa thought. Her niece was more beautiful than any other woman in the family. Once Khurram saw her, he would be pleased.

After the ceremony, the rooms were cleared. The servants streamed in with the dishes of goat and chicken curries; copper platters of whole river fish roasted over coals with garlic and lemon juice; turmeric and saffron-tinted
pulavs
sprinkled with raisins, cashews, and walnuts; and silver jugs of
khus
and ginger sherbets. The men ate in one part of the room and the ladies in another, long muslin curtains hanging between them.

From behind the
parda,
Mehrunnisa watched Jahangir. This man would have been her husband if matters had turned out differently—and today, it might well have been her son who would have had the chance of becoming the next Emperor of India.

She turned to look at Jagat Gosini. The Empress held court in one corner of the room, her ladies fluttering around her. There was no doubt who headed the
zenana
now. There was an imperious tone in Jagat Gosini’s voice, an arrogant look on her face, and she raised her eyebrows disdainfully when something displeased her. Just like Ruqayya.

A slow smiled spread across Mehrunnisa’s face. All this play-acting had aged Jagat Gosini. It had been all right in Ruqayya; the Dowager Empress had not been born beautiful, so she had had to use all her other skills to keep her place in the
zenana
and in Akbar’s heart. But Jagat Gosini was beautiful—at least, she had been. Now she rarely smiled; her mouth was set in a thin, disapproving line, her face grim. How did Jahangir take all this? The Emperor was not usually drawn to morose, long-faced women. If she remembered correctly, he liked his women to be good-humored, seductive, and witty.

“This
burfi
is terrible.”

Mehrunnisa looked up from her musings to see Jagat Gosini push away a plate of coconut-flaked sweets.

“I beg pardon, your Majesty. I shall send for some more,” Asmat Begam said hurriedly, signaling to the servants.

“No, I do not want any more. Bring me a glass of wine,” Jagat Gosini commanded.

Asmat bowed. “At once, your Majesty.”

Mehrunnisa frowned, hackles rising along her spine. Ever since Jagat Gosini had come into the house she had been complaining. Either the food was not cooked to perfection, or the servants were lax, or something else. Her mother had been sent scurrying around to bring the choicest
pulavs,
curries, and sweets for the Empress.
Asmat had not even had time to sit down and eat her lunch. She looked harried and tired; her hair had escaped from her usual neat plait, and her veil had fallen off her head. And Mehrunnisa knew how much trouble Asmat had taken with the feast and the preparations for the ceremony. She had hardly seen her mother in the last few days, catching only brief glimpses of her as she rushed about the house, cleaning it and personally inspecting the food.

Now the Empress was ordering her around as though she were a menial. Stiff-backed, Mehrunnisa rose from the divan and went up to her mother. “I shall bring the Empress her wine. Why don’t you sit down for a while?” She pulled the reluctant Asmat to a divan and firmly sat her down.

“I want my wine,” Jagat Gosini said.

“At once, your Majesty,” Mehrunnisa said. “My mother is tired; I will be able to serve you better.”

“Who are you?”

“Mehrunnisa, Ali Quli’s wife.” She moved away to pour the wine.

When she handed the goblet to Jagat Gosini, the Empress asked, “Where have I seen you before?”

There was drama in this moment. Mehrunnisa realized it and couldn’t help making use of it.
Khurram.
All she had to do was say the prince’s name, and Jagat Gosini would remember. She opened her mouth, then shut it. She let the silence stretch delicately between them as the Empress’s brows began to contract, and then shrugged. “I don’t know, your Majesty.”

Jagat Gosini nodded with a flush, feeling that she had somehow been vanquished, and turned away to mull things over. Then her voice came, sharp and biting,
“Now
I remember you. You are married to that Persian soldier of ill repute.”

Mehrunnisa glared at her, swallowing the words of bitterness that came rising up her throat.

“Tell me,” the Empress murmured, snapping her fingers to gather the ladies of the harem. “The last time I inquired about you, there were no children. How long have you been married?”

Mehrunnisa ignored the question and said instead in a soft voice, “You inquired about me, your Majesty? A mere soldier’s wife? Why?”

“I . . . the Emperor . . . we like to keep informed of our subjects. All our subjects, even the ones who betray the throne, as your husband has done. Now answer my question: how long have you been married?”

“Thirteen years, your Majesty.”

“And no children yet? Your husband should take another wife, if he already has not—one who will serve him better.”

“I do have a child, your Majesty,” Mehrunnisa said heatedly, stepping away from Jagat Gosini and colliding with one of the harem ladies behind her. She dipped out of the circle, then pulled Ladli into it.

The Empress looked over the child and saw her brilliant gray eyes, the shock of thick hair knotted at her nape, the pink cheeks, the gap on her midriff where her miniature silk
choli
did not quite meet the top of her
ghagara.

“A pretty child,” she murmured. Then, slipping a pair of gold bangles off her wrists, she offered them to Ladli. “Here, take these.”

Ladli screwed up her mouth, sensing her mother’s unease, and shook her head violently. “Don’t want them. You keep them.”

Jagat Gosini’s eyes glittered as she looked over Ladli’s head at Mehrunnisa. “Only a girl child for your husband, my dear? And such an arrogant one. You must teach her humility. Commoners must never refuse a gift from royalty.”

“But our family is going to be associated with yours, your Majesty,” Mehrunnisa said. “Surely we are no longer common?”

“Only by my grace is your family to be united with ours, Mehrunnisa. Do not forget that,” Jagat Gosini snapped. She pushed
the bangles at Ladli again. “Take them, child. I command you.”

Mehrunnisa leaned over Ladli and took the bangles. She said, “Thank you, your Majesty.” She bowed and moved away from the circle around the Empress, head held high. When they were out of the room, she sent Ladli to play with her cousins, then ran to the back courtyard. There she leaned over the well in the hot sunshine and threw the bangles in, watching as they spun golden through the air before splashing into the water.

The gift was a demand of humility from Jagat Gosini; Ladli would never wear the bangles. She, and Mehrunnisa, did not need charity. Trembling with rage, she sat on the ground, leaning against the wall of the well. Her tongue had almost got her into trouble, had almost broken Arjumand’s engagement. Although Jahangir had probably commanded the union, a word from Jagat Gosini could easily have broken it. What a fool she had been. It would have dishonored her Bapa, Maji, Abul . . . as for Arjumand, she would never have been married. A royal prince’s reject would not find many suitors.

Mehrunnisa sat there until her uncovered head grew hot in the sun. Then, composing herself, she went back into the house to help Asmat with the preparations and play the part of a good daughter.

Toward afternoon, when the sun was high in the sky and the heat was blinding, the courtiers and attendants slipped off into shaded cloisters in Ghias’s gardens, there to take a short nap or rendezvous with lovers.

•   •   •

T
HE ROOM WAS
cool and dark,
khus
mats had been pulled over the windows, and attendants sat outside, sprinkling water on the mats. The
khus
rushes grew on riverbanks, where they dipped their heady aroma into the air. Cut, woven into mats, and sprinkled with water, they released their perfume once more. The hot afternoon wind blowing over the Gangetic plains was miraculously turned into a cool, scented breeze as it wafted through the
khus.
All around
the room the ladies lay supine on their divans, unwilling to move. This time of the day was enervating, no physical activity was possible, and the heavy lunch lulled them into a pleasant doze.

Mehrunnisa leaned against the cool stone walls of the room and closed her eyes. Her daughter was asleep next to her, with her head on her mother’s lap. Ladli moved restlessly, and Mehrunnisa patted her back to sleep.

There was a hush over the room, broken only by the soft gurgling of the
hukkahs
and the muted conversation of the younger harem ladies. Blue smoke floated lazily up to the ceiling from the water pipes, mixing with the sandalwood of incense censers.

Mehrunnisa settled herself more comfortably against the wall and looked around. Jagat Gosini was asleep on a divan, her head pillowed on the velvet bolster. She lay perfectly still, hands crossed on her chest. In repose, her expression had softened, and she looked youthful, reminding Mehrunnisa of the day she had met the Empress in Ruqayya’s gardens. She had much to thank Ruqayya for, she thought. Mehrunnisa had met Jahangir as a prince in her courtyard. But—and here she shuddered—if it hadn’t been for Ruqayya’s influence, she would not be married to Ali Quli.

Just then, the
khus
mat over the door was lifted, and harsh sunshine flooded the room. Mehrunnisa shielded her eyes and turned away. A man’s figure blotted the light, his face not visible, but she recognized him almost immediately from his turban. The large white heron feather was Jahangir’s favorite ornament. Mehrunnisa sat frozen in her place, her heart beating out every other sound. Her hand stilled on Ladli’s shoulder.

“Your Majesty, you have come to join us,” some of the ladies cried out. In a few moments the whole room was bustling as the ladies rose and bowed to the Emperor. They glanced surreptitiously at the small mirrors on their thumb rings to make sure their hair and makeup were in place. A few of the concubines rushed up to Jahangir and hung on his arm, coaxing him to their divans.

Jahangir laughed down at their bright faces and selected one concubine. Just as she was pulling him to her seat, Jagat Gosini spoke. “Come here, your Majesty.”

Jahangir glanced at her, then gently disengaged himself from the girl’s hands, leaning down to whisper something in her ear. She pouted and turned away. Jahangir shrugged, walked up to his Empress, and sat down next to her.

“Congratulations, my dear. You are to have a very beautiful daughter-in-law,” he said.

“Thank you, your Majesty. We are indeed fortunate to be related to Mirza Beg’s family,” Jagat Gosini replied.

Mehrunnisa raised her eyebrows in disbelief. Was this the same bad-tempered Empress of two hours ago? Jagat Gosini had changed; she was simpering and flirting like an adolescent. But Jahangir seemed oblivious to her wiles. His gaze kept roving to the pretty young concubine, who was now lounging seductively on her divan facing Jahangir, giving him the full benefit of her charms. Nonetheless, Jahangir stayed by his Empress; he wanted to honor her on the day her son had become betrothed.

“Asmat, get the Emperor some wine,” Jagat Gosini said imperiously, still looking at her lord. “Asmat!”

“I will do it, your Majesty,” Mehrunnisa said from her corner, her cheeks flaming in anger. Asmat had gone to the kitchens much earlier. How dare the Empress treat her mother this way?

“What are you waiting for?” Jagat Gosini said, the dulcet tones turning harsh, still without looking at Mehrunnisa. Suddenly, her head snapped in Mehrunnisa’s direction and she said quickly, “Get a servant to do it. Not you.”