Wild Jasmine (9 page)

“Orissa would be too hot for Yasaman,” Rugaiya Begum said. “You know she absolutely wilts in the heat, and the dampness off the Bay of Bengal would kill her before her time. I see a similar problem with Khandesh, and besides, I’m not certain how the lady Leila would like it if you married Yasaman to the son of the man who overthrew her father. As for Mewar, you cannot make peace with them or bribe them with our daughter. I am astounded you would even suggest it. They are very troublesome people, the folk of Mewar,” Rugaiya Begum concluded.

Akbar hid a small smile. Rugaiya Begum had obviously already decided upon Yasaman’s future husband. It was a mere formality that she consult with him. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “you are right about Orissa, Khandesh, and Mewar, my dear. Do you have another suggestion you want to make to me? You, of course, are Yasaman’s mother and want only what is best for her.”

Rugaiya Begum chuckled. How well he knew her. “Yasaman,” she began, “loves Kashmir above all places. Each year she manages to spend more and more time here and less in Lahore and Agra. She has actually spent most of this year here. I think that nothing would make her happier than if she could remain here for the rest of her life. Yusef Khan, the former ruler of Kashmir, who is now your most loyal general, has several surviving sons. The eldest, Yaqub Ali Khan, is, for all his recent submission to you, a rebel, and the middle son, Haider, follows him. Jamal Darya Khan does not.”

“How old is Jamal Khan?” the emperor asked.

“He is twenty-three, my lord,” she replied.

“Does he have any wives?”

“No. He has a zenana, not a large one—perhaps a half a dozen women of whom he is fond, but not overly attached.

“Yaqub Khan is some years Prince Jamal’s senior and has a different mother. This youngest son is the offspring of a lady from a respectable but not very important Kashmiri family. The story, I am told, is that Yusef Khan married her when her father, a loyal government official, begged him to take the girl into his zenana. The man was on his deathbed. There was no other family, and he feared for his child. She was quite lovely—Prince Jamal is a particularly handsome young man.

“Upon seeing the maiden, Yusef Khan agreed to marry her and to provide for her, which was, of course, far more than the official had hoped. The wedding was celebrated almost immediately, before the dying father. Yusef Khan took the maiden to his bed that very night, and proof of the consummation was brought to her father the next morning. He died that same day. Then several weeks later the new bride announced that she was expecting a child. It is said that Yusef Khan was most pleased, although Yaqub Khan’s mother was not, particularly when the new baby turned out to be another son.

“This prince was raised by his mother from his earliest years to be totally loyal to his father and his father’s wishes. It is how the grateful lady repaid her debt to her lord. That is why, when Yusef Khan so gracefully accepted defeat at your hands in the battle for Kashmir and then became one of your most loyal generals, Prince Jamal did not rebel against you as did his brother, Yaqub Khan.

“I knew Prince Jamal’s mother. She died two years ago, but she was a good and gracious woman. I believe this young prince would be a perfect husband for Yasaman. When you learn to trust him yourself as you trust his father, you might even make him governor here in your name. You cannot help but bind the Kashmiri people closer to you, my dear Akbar, by making a son of their former ruling family your voice and marrying your own beloved daughter to him as well.

“Forgive me for speaking the unspeakable, but you will not always be here for Yasaman, and neither will I. One day Salim will rule, and with his favorite sister married to Kashmir’s governor, his northern flank will be safe. You must think on the future when you think of Yasaman’s marriage and Salim’s kingship,” she finished.

“You have thought this out most carefully, haven’t you, my dear Rugaiya? I will, of course, want to meet this young paragon
of princely virtue before rendering a decision in the matter.” Akbar smiled at his wife. “Does Yasaman know Prince Jamal?”

Rugaiya Begum shook her head in the negative. “Yasaman knows nothing but the simple life she has always lived within the safety of her family. It has not been necessary that she know anything else.”

He nodded slowly. “No. You are wise, my dear, in the ways of your motherhood. Salima was correct, however, when she said the girl had matured physically. She is suddenly quite beautiful. Indeed, the most beautiful of all my children. I wish Candra could see her now. Perhaps it is best we marry her young. Her mother was young when I took her as my wife.” For a moment his eyes were misty with his memories. “Young and very passionate,” he said softly, “and so beautiful.”

“So you still think of her,” Rugaiya Begum answered him. “I certainly have never forgotten her. Sometimes Yasaman will gesture in a certain manner, or glance in a particular way, and I see Candra.”

Akbar looked at her and said candidly, “A day has not gone by since Candra was taken from me that I have not thought of her, my dear. I did not stop loving her because she was no longer here. The proof of my great love for my English rose is Yasaman. I want only what is best for her. If you say that Prince Jamal Darya Khan is the best husband our daughter can have, then I trust your judgment.”

“I thank you, my dearest lord,” Rugaiya Begum said. “I have indeed thought long and hard on this matter. Although she is half of our blood, and has been raised in India, Yasaman has Candra’s blood in her as well. There is an independence and determination about her that is totally alien. The Kashmiri peoples are independent-minded too. Here she will be freer to be herself.”

“And,” the emperor continued with a smile, “once Yasaman delves into that Pillow Book Jodh Bai gave her tonight, her youthful curiosity will quickly assert itself. Who better to be the recipient of that curiosity than an eager and equally passionate young bridegroom?”

“Do you remember,” Rugaiya Begum reminded him, “how you could not breach Candra’s defenses at first, and you came to Jodh Bai and me for aid? The book was originally intended as a gift for Jodh Bai’s niece who was to be married, but instead she offered to send it to Candra.”

The memory was a bittersweet one for Akbar, but still he smiled and said, “She was so curious, and yet shy of it. I remember sitting with her and turning the pages for her, watching her slow arousal until at last she yielded herself to me. I have relived that night a thousand times and again a thousand in my mind over the years.” He sighed deeply.

“And now the book belongs to the child she bore you,” Rugaiya Begum said. “I wonder if perhaps I should not have let her have it until after her marriage is arranged.”

Akbar shook his head. “She is innocent, but curious, Rugaiya. I think it better to allow her curiosity an innocent release.”

While her parents spoke on the things that would decide her future, Yasaman had stood patiently as her two women servants removed her clothing and sponged her with rose water. Twin sisters, Rohana and Toramalli were twenty-four years of age and identical in features but for one thing. They each carried a small flower-shaped birthmark set at the edge of an eye. Toramalli’s, however, was situated by the corner of her right eye, and Rohana’s was by the corner of her left eye. They had expressive dark brown eyes, golden skin, and long, straight black hair. They had been barely ten years of age when the Mughal had presented them to Candra, and when she had departed India, they had remained to serve her child.

Rohana undid her mistress’s long black hair and brushed it free of gold dust. Then she perfumed it with jasmine oil. Toramalli brought her lady a large, light shawl to wrap about her, for the evening had turned cool. Then the two servants escorted Yasaman to her bed.

“Leave me,” the princess told them. “Go to your own beds.”

The twin sisters bowed themselves from the bedchamber. Alone, Yasaman leapt from her bed to fetch a small oil lamp and the Pillow Book. Setting the lamp on the little round table next to her bed, Yasaman settled herself down and opened the book. The small shawl slid about her shoulders, but she didn’t notice. She leafed past the title page with its cryptic words from the
Kama Sutra
to the page with the first painting. The colors were clear and bright. The picture depicted a prince, fully clothed, wearing a lotus crown, seated with his equally clothed consort.

Yasaman found herself slightly disappointed. There was nothing at all titillating about it. Yasaman knew enough about
the Hindu faith to know that the lotus crown indicated that the wearer had attained a high level of spiritual awareness. Did a man have to reach such a spiritual plateau in order to make love to a woman? And what about the woman? Or did she misunderstand entirely? Perhaps men also wore lotus crowns when they made love to a woman. Yes! That had to be it! She turned the page to find she was totally mistaken.

The second painting showed the prince unclothed and crownless, his consort also unclothed. The young woman, looking coyly from beneath her eyelashes, cuddled against her lord, who had quite a firm grasp on one of her breasts, while his other hand roamed freely over the lady’s bare belly.
This
was definitely more interesting, Yasaman thought, encouraged. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it would feel like to have a man fondling her so intimately. She couldn’t even begin to conceive such a thing because she had never known a man romantically, nor had she even known a man about whom she might fantasize romantically. The only men she had ever known were her father, Abul Fazl, her brothers, Adali—who was a eunuch—and Father Cullen, who might as well be one. Salim was so handsome, though, it would be easy to think of him as a lover if he wasn’t her brother.

She turned the page of the book to find that the prince and his consort were now quite intimately entwined, gazing lovingly into one another’s eyes. The prince’s lingham was thrust boldly forward in anticipation of the pleasure to come. Closing her eyes, Yasaman tried her hardest to imagine how such a moment would feel. Her shawl fell completely away from her shoulders. With a deep sigh she cupped her own breast in her hand and then shivered at the tiny thrill of excitement she felt race through her.

And at that moment the faintest of footfalls caught her attention. Her eyes flew open just as a man slipped into her chamber from the terrace, Yasaman blushed guiltily in the half darkness as she recognized the silhouette of her brother, Salim, in the moonlight. He stepped into the room saying, “Still awake, little monkey?” His eyes slid with surprise over her lush nudity.

“Salim!” she squealed softly. “It is late! What on earth are you doing here?” Her erotic thoughts at first made her forget her nudity, but then she drew her shawl up.

“I promised you I would be back,” he told her, walking across the chamber and seating himself by her side.
Allah!
he
thought. What a magnificent body she has, my sweet baby sister.
She must be mine! I can let no other man have her!

“I did not think you meant tonight,” Yasaman replied, suddenly uncomfortable, and a little annoyed that he had interrupted her fantasy just as it was becoming interesting.

He heard the irritation in her voice. Though it was slight, and no one else would have heard it, he knew every nuance of her emotions. She fascinated him and always had. There was something different about Yasaman he could not quite pinpoint, but she was unlike any other female he knew. Then his eye caught the book in her lap. “What is this, little monkey?” he asked her, seeing quite clearly what it was.

“It is a Pillow Book. Your mother gave it to me tonight. It once belonged to the Rose Princess,” Yasaman said.

“A Pillow Book? Of course! Both Man Bai and Nur Jahan had Pillow Books among their bridal chests. Of course I did not need them,” he told her boastfully. “So Rugaiya Begum is really considering a betrothal for you, Yasaman?”

“Papa and Mama Begum could hardly wait for me to leave them tonight so they might discuss it,” Yasaman admitted. “I wonder who they will choose to be my husband.”

“And you could barely wait to leave so you might learn all the knowledge the Pillow Book contains,” he teased her gently, ignoring her last remark.

“
Salim!
” she said, pretending outrage, but then she sighed. “All the Pillow Book can do is show me
how
a man and a woman make love, my brother.”

“
And that is not enough?
” he probed gently.
Allah!
Was he to be provided an opportunity he had not even dared to imagine? His heart hammered in his ears and he felt his blood racing excitedly in his veins.

“I cannot help but be curious as to how I would
feel,
” Yasaman replied, “if I were the consort in that picture. Is that wrong of me, Salim? What if they choose a husband for me, but I do not like it when he makes love to me? How do I even know I will like to make love at all? Oh, it is so difficult to be a maiden!”

Salim put his arm about his young sister, his fingers gently caressing her flesh. How soft it was! “Of course you are not wrong to wonder these things, Yasaman,” he said soothingly. “All girls do. There is really quite a simple solution to your problem, you know. Girls with older brothers have solved this
same problem the same way since the beginning of time, little monkey.” How delicious her hair smelled.

“
How?
” she asked, looking curiously into his handsome face. Why had she never noticed before how sensual Salim’s mouth was?

“Together we can emulate what is on the pages of the Pillow Book.
Not
, mind you,” he continued quickly, seeing her look of surprise and seeking to reassure her, “the full consummation of a man and a woman’s love. No, no! Your precious maidenhead belongs to your husband, my sister; but there is nothing to prevent me from teaching you what will please that husband as outlined here on the pages of the Pillow Book. I know how very much you dislike appearing at a disadvantage.” And as if to emphasize his point, Salim reached out, his hand finding one of her breasts, and cupped it within his palm. Very gently the ball of his thumb rubbed against her nipple. He heard her sharp intake of breath. “You will not,” he murmured hotly in her ear, “look foolish, my sister, if you will but trust me.” Lowering his head for a moment, he kissed her rounded shoulder.