Wild Jasmine (5 page)

“Has my son chosen a husband for her yet?” Mariam Makani asked.

“She is too young,” Rugaiya replied. “You know how Akbar feels about marrying too young. Yasaman is not quite seven yet. There is plenty of time.”

“She grows so quickly,” Mariam Makani noted. “She will
be taller than most girls, but already she is a beauty. Akbar is wise to wait with her. She will only grow more beautiful with each passing year. Her bride price will be great, and her husband a man of much influence and power. That is as it should be for a daughter of Akbar the Great.” She paused in her conversation to drink deeply from her cup. “Do you speak to her of Candia Begum?”

Rugaiya nodded. “Yes,” she said. “It is not fair that she not know of the mother who gave birth to her and who left her so very reluctantly. Their separation was not of Candra’s making. Given the choice—and she was not—Candra would never have left her child.”

“I am sorry I did not know her,” Mariam Makani said. “Akbar grieved greatly for her; and you and Jodh Bai speak so fondly of her. What was she like?”

Rugaiya Begum was somewhat surprised by her mother-in-law’s query. Mariam Makani had never before inquired about Candra. In the brief time that Candra had been with them, Mariam Makani had been traveling on a religious pilgrimage. She had been home but a few days when her son’s two favorite wives had sent for her out of desperation. Candra was gone and Akbar had locked himself in a high tower of the Lahore palace. Candra’s weeping servants, Rohana and Toramalli, had brought the infant Princess Yasaman to Rugaiya Begum. They were virtually incoherent with their grief.

“Candra was a beautiful woman,” Rugaiya said slowly, striving to remember the face of her long-ago friend. “She was quite different from anyone we have ever seen. Even the Portuguese women are similar to us in coloring, as you know. Candra had skin like polished silk. It was as white as the mountain snows. Her eyes were as green as the emeralds you wear, Mariam Makani; and her hair! Ahh, what hair she had! It was a deep, rich brown, and it was filled with fiery red lights. She called the color,” and here Rugaiya Begum cudgeled her memory for a long moment, “
Auburn!
” she finished triumphantly.

“I have always known it was from Candra that Yasaman gained her light-colored eyes,” the elderly woman replied, “but I thought their eyes would be the same color. Emerald-green you say. How interesting. I have seen blue-eyed Englishmen at my son’s court; but none have had eyes like a turquoise, as does Yasaman. I wonder if there is one with such eyes in Candra’s family? But tell me, Rugaiya Begum, of Candra herself.
Her beauty I suspected, for my granddaughter is beautiful. The fairest of Akbar’s children, in fact. Tell me of the woman my son loved so deeply.” Mariam Makani reached for a honeyed pastry and popped it into her mouth.

“Candra was intelligent,” Rugaiya said quietly. “She had exquisite manners. The first time Jodh Bai saw her in the baths, Candra recognized in Jodh Bai a woman of royalty and bowed as they passed. She was kind, and there was no meanness in her at all. Almira and some of Akbar’s other wives were fiercely jealous of her. They set themselves against Candra and took every opportunity they could find to insult her. She met their insolence with spirited courtesy, accepting none of their slights, and defending her position with gallantry. Her demeanor infuriated them.” Rugaiya chuckled.

“Did she truly love my son?”

“Oh, yes! And when Yasaman was born to Candra, she was radiant with her happiness. Then when Yasaman was but six months of age, tragedy struck. Candra’s uncle, a Christian priest, arrived at court. Candra’s first husband had not been killed as she had thought. Both he and her family wanted Candra back. I am told she refused to go, telling Akbar that she would sooner be the lowest of the low within his household than to be parted from him.”

“But my son’s sense of honor would not permit such a thing,” Mariam Makani said knowingly. “Foolish man! He sacrificed his own happiness and Candra’s for his honor. Had it been me, I should have killed the priest and put an end to it then and there!” She snorted with impatience at her son’s past behavior. “Still, some good came of it. You are a good mother to my granddaughter, Yasaman. Her kismet is a fortunate one, I believe.”

“So the astrologers predicted at her birth,” Rugaiya replied.

Mariam Makani rose to her feet. “I have tarried with you a long time this day,” she noted. “It is past time I went to my own home.”

“Your presence has honored our house,” Rugaiya murmured, standing politely. “I hope, Mariam Makani, that you will come again soon.”

“Perhaps before you leave for Kashmir at the end of the month,” her mother-in-law promised.

Rugaiya Begum escorted her guest to her elephant, waiting politely as Mariam Makani was helped into her gold and scarlet howdah, waving as the old queen mother’s small procession
wended its way from her courtyard. Only then did she turn back into the little palace, hurrying up the staircase to the second level and down the hallway to her daughter’s bedchamber. Yasaman had already been bathed and fed. She was tucked into her small bed, her beautiful blue and gold parrot in his brass cage within her sight.

Rugaiya Begum smiled and said, “I have come to bid you good-night, my child. Have you had a happy day?”

Yasaman smiled sleepily. “Oh, yes, Mama Begum!”

Rugaiya Begum bent down and kissed the little girl’s cheek. “May God give you sweet dreams, my daughter,” she said.

“Tell me of Candra again,” Yasaman begged. Her eyes were heavy, but her tone determined.

Rugaiya positioned herself on the edge of the child’s bed. To argue would be useless. Yasaman was very stubborn when she wanted something. She would fall asleep within five minutes if not thwarted. “Once upon a time,” Rugaiya Begum began, “there was a beautiful princess who came from many months’ distance away, over the vast seas to the land of the great emperor Akbar. She was the most beautiful maiden that the emperor had ever seen, and he immediately fell in love with her and made her his fortieth wife. He called her Candra in honor of the moon, for she was, he said, as fair as the moon. After several months a child was born from the love shared by Akbar and Candra. Candra loved her child with all her heart, and the infant princess was named Yasaman Kama. Yasaman for the jasmine flowers whose scent was Candra’s favorite, and Kama, which means
love
, for the little girl had been conceived and born of love.”

Yasaman’s eyes suddenly widened. “Papa!” she cried joyfully, holding out her arms to her father even as Rugaiya Begum arose, bowing to her husband, her hands folded in a gesture of respect.

“My little love,” the emperor said with a warm smile for this youngest of his children. He bent to kiss her, then sat down upon the edge of her bed. “What story does your Mama Begum tell you?” he asked.

“The story of Candra!” the little girl replied excitedly. “It is my favorite story of all, Papa, except for its sad ending. How I wish it had a happier ending.”

Akbar’s expressive dark eyes clouded for a moment with the painful memory and he sighed sadly, deeply.

“My dearest lord,” Rugaiya Begum said, “I beg your forgiveness,
but I have never thought it right that Yasaman not know the truth.”

He looked up at her, and she almost cried out at the hurt she saw in his face. Then he took her hand in his and answered, “I gave you our daughter to raise, my dear wife. You can do no wrong with her in my eyes. Continue with your tale now, for Yasaman will not rest until it is finished, will you, my little love?”

Yasaman shook her head most vigorously.

“Now, where was I?” Rugaiya wondered aloud, remembering quite clearly where she had stopped, but enjoying her daughter’s excitement.

“The little girl had been conceived and born of love,” Yasaman prompted her.

“Ahh, yes,” she said, and then continued, “When the child was but a half a year old, a wise man came from Candra’s native land. He brought terrible news, and Candra was forced to leave her beloved daughter and the emperor, Akbar. She did not want to go, but more important, she did not want to leave her child. Akbar, however, would not allow his little daughter to be taken from him; and so Candra placed her baby into the keeping of her friend, Rugaiya Begum. ‘Be the Mama Begum to my child as I cannot now be,’ she said, and Rugaiya Begum, whom Allah had not blessed with a child of her own womb, happily agreed because she loved her friend, and she loved the baby. Candra left the emperor’s lands, never to be seen again by him or the others who loved her.

“It is known that she reached her own land safely, and each year upon the birthday of Yasaman Kama Begum, the emperor, Akbar, sends a perfect pearl to Candra’s mother, who is Yasaman’s other grandmama, that Candra’s family may be reassured that the child thrives.”

Yasaman’s eyes were now shut tightly. Her breathing had slowed and her left thumb crept slowly into her mouth. The two adults rose from their places at the side of her bed and departed the room. Rugaiya Begum led her husband to the small dining room within the palace, for he had come to take supper with her.

“I must apologize for the simplicity of the meal, my lord, but you did not give me a great deal of notice,” she said.

“I enjoy your simple meals, my dear wife,” he told her. “Each day in the main palace I must eat in state. There are a minimum of five hundred dishes served to me. No one eating
with me can touch a morsel until each of these dishes is presented to me. It is exhausting.”

Rugaiya lowered her head to hide her smile. Akbar was the ruler of this vast land. He might complain of all the pomp surrounding his daily life, but if he really desired to make that life more simple, he had but to command it. The truth was, he generally enjoyed all the fuss, although occasionally, like this evening, he sought a more simple life. Raising her eyes, she signaled her servants to begin serving them.

The meal began with a watermelon sherbet to cleanse the palate for the delights to come. A honey loaf sprinkled with poppy seeds was put upon the table, followed by a leg of delicately cooked baby lamb, chicken in a mustard leaf curry, a river fish with red chili, bowls of carrots, tiny, sharp herbed pickles, and saffron rice. Akbar tore the loaf in half and helped himself generously to each of the dishes offered him. When he had finished, a lemon sherbet was brought to him, and then lychees, peeled, in a dish of light wine were set before him along with a tray of fresh fruits, a bowl of shelled pistachios, and a plate of rose petals encased in crystallized honey.

He ate with gusto, and when he was finished he said, “I sleep better for your simple meals, my dear Rugaiya.”

“So do we all, my lord,” she answered him with a smile. “We are no longer as young as we once were.”

“I am not
that
old,” he protested.

“Do not forget, my lord,” Rugaiya teased him mischievously, “that I am well aware of your exact age. We are cousins, after all, as well as husband and wife.”

He chuckled. “It is true,” he agreed, “but I am still young enough to enjoy a comely maiden in my bed.”

“Is any man
ever
too old for a comely maiden?” she replied wickedly. It pleased her that after all these years she could still make him laugh. Now, more than ever, he needed to laugh.

“Have you always been this wise,” he teased back, “or is it
your
age? Remember, I know how old you are too!”

“But you are far too noble to disclose that information publicly, my lord, I am certain,” she said.

Again he laughed, but then he grew a trifle sober and asked her, “Why do you not tell Yasaman exactly why Candra was taken from us? Does she not ever ask just what the ‘terrible news’ brought by the wise man was? She is normally as curious as a monkey.”

“But she is still just a child, my lord, barely out of her babyhood.
For now it is enough that Candra loved her and did not want to leave her. She would not understand even if I attempted to explain the truth to her. Later on when she is older and capable of more intricate thought, I will tell her precisely what happened if she wants to know. It may not be important to her then.”

“Why did you tell her at all then, my dear one?”

“Because if I had not, one day you may be certain someone would have. There is no way anyone would believe Yasaman was a child of your seed and my womb. It is obvious I am not her natural mother. I am plump and big-boned. My eyes are black. My skin is a wheaten-gold in color. Yasaman, on the other hand, is slender and delicately made. Her turquoise eyes give her away as the daughter of another woman. Her skin is the color of heavy cream, and her black hair, though it is as straight as yours, my lord, shines with hidden fire, even as Candra’s did.

“There would come a day when someone, out of mischief, or jealousy, or just plain meanness, would have told Yasaman of Candra. They would not know the truth as I know the truth. Did you not order Abul Fazl, your personal historian, to erase all mention of Candra from his writings of your reign? I know that you did it because of your great pain over the matter, but others would not know that. They would try and make something unkind of it. They would hurt my child, and I will never allow anyone to hurt her! As long as there is breath in my body and strength in my arms, no one shall harm our daughter!”

Akbar nodded, and taking her hand in his, he pressed it lovingly. “I chose wisely when I gave Yasaman to you, Rugaiya. I can remember back to when Candra came to me about how jealous Shaikho Baba was of me, for he wanted her for himself. When Yasaman was born he even suggested she might not be my daughter but the get of some Portuguese who had first taken Candra for his own pleasure. He was very angry in his deep disappointment, yet today he adores his little sister.”

“No one looking at Yasaman could doubt she was your child, my dear lord,” Rugaiya Begum said. “The tiny mole between her upper lip and her left nostril is the twin to yours, but for its size, which is smaller; and although she does not resemble you exactly, her imperious look when she is thwarted is your look.” She laughed. “She quite cows the servants with that look.”