Mistress of the Throne (The Mughal intrigues) (31 page)

20

REVENGE

10
^th
April, 1647

A
ba went to visit Raushanara on the 10
^th
of the following month, as I’d advised. I didn’t want to bear him bad news, but I hinted to him that something amiss was occurring in the zenana, and that if he visited her on that day, he’d surely find out what it was. He later told me what transpired:

Aba began: “You must miss Aurangzeb since he’s been on the front lines for so long?”

Raushanara lamented Aurangzeb’s plight as usual. “You have no idea, Aba. I can neither sleep nor sit. I worry for my brother and my countrymen all the time.”

“You are a good princess! Tell me, how do you feel the Taj is coming along?”

Raushanara answered quickly, “Wonderful, Aba! It’s your finest work yet!”

Aba felt Raushanara had answered too swiftly, almost as if she wanted him to leave, just as I’d cautioned him she would.

Her head moved from side to side slightly. “Aba, we have something special happening tomorrow, just the zenana ladies. May I ask your permission to rest?”

Aba smiled thinly and asked, “My child, when was the last time you took a bath?”

Raushanara replied, “Why, today, Aba!”

Aba nodded. “My child, this summer heat is destroying everyone. Do me a favour, bathe again before you sleep. Your face shouldn’t rest tonight with the chemicals and substances of the flesh sitting on your otherwise beautiful skin. Let’s light the cauldron and heat the water at once!”

“N-no Aba!!!” she stammered. “I prefer
cool
baths in the summer!”

“Nonsense! I can’t risk you getting sick!” Aba motioned to one of the eunuchs to light a fire under the cauldron to warm it for Raushanara. Raushanara must have felt near-panic, wondering if and how her lovers might somehow escape.

The cauldron was lit, and Aba sat in front of Raushanara with a fixed smile, knowing full well that this wasn’t what Raushanara wanted.

“Keep the fire hot, eunuch!” he ordered. He glared now at Raushanara, a slick smile crossing his face. Raushanara looked downright fearful.

Just then, loud men’s screams echoed from the baths. Aba stared fixedly and ordered firmly, “Keep the fire burning, eunuch! And let no one escape the cauldron!”

Men’s screaming grew louder, and now sounds of struggle rose. Burly Uzbeks eunuchs must have been pushing the men trying to get free back into the cauldron.

“Aba, please don’t!” cried Raushanara.

“The bath must be sufficiently warm now,” said Aba wryly. “Keep warming that cauldron, eunuch!” he called cheerily.

Some time later the exruciating sounds died out, and Raushanara wept openly under Aba’s relentless stare. The eunuch appeared, slowly walked towards Aba and said, “All who were in the cauldron have been boiled, Your Highness.”

Aba smiled at Raushanara and shouted, “Good! Now, go feed them to the dogs!’

Aba then forced Raushanara to go to the courtyard and made her watch as her former lovers were indeed devoured by the dogs.

I was sad to hear of this cruel outcome of events. I’d thought perhaps Aba would simply imprison the men. Angry as I’d been at Raushanara, I couldn’t help pity my sister.

I heard she just lay on the ground wailing as the soldiers laughed at the sight of her lovers being devoured. Eventually the animals finished their meal and dragged off whatever bones were left, and Raushanara was left alone.

Dara, Gauhara, Aba and I went to the site of the Taj Mahal on a bright day in 1648, to witness the removal of the choking ramp constructed around it. We all dressed in expensive robes, with Nadira Begum taking care of Dara’s children in the Agra heat.

Dara now had three: Sulaiman and Siphor Shikoh (sons) and Jani Begum (daughter). Aba loved his grandchildren from Dara immensely, but was only lukewarm to his grandchildren from Aurangzeb: Mohammad Sultan, Muazzam (sons) and Zeb-un-nissa, Zinat-un-nissa and Badr-un nissa (daughters).

Already within this generation, political alliances were forming: I was close to my namesake Jani Begum and Aurangzeb’s eldest daughter Zeb-un-nissa, while Raushanara always clung to Badr-un-nissa. Raushanara even went so far as to convince my brother to change Badr-un-nissa’s name to Mehrunnisa, Nur Jahan’s original name. Upon my objections, Aurangzeb declined to do so, reserving Raushanara’s suggestion for some future progeny, perhaps.

On this day Aba’s other children were absent. Only Gauhara, Dara and I went with our father. Shuja and Murad sent gifts for the occasion with their apologies, while Aurangzeb wasn’t even invited by Aba, though he’d won Aba’s debacle in Central Asia less than a year before. Raushanara stayed back at the palace, still in mourning.

Drummers and elephants were present at the event while the crowds danced in jubilant drunkenness. Dara looked to Aba and asked him when the scaffolding would be completely off.

I said, “They’re saying three weeks, but they’ll remove the bricks from around the central dome today.”

Aba looked at me, as if he knew a secret I had yet to know. “Tell the men I want the scaffold off
today
, and whatever bricks they remove, they can keep for their own homes.”

This order was read aloud, and the 20,000 workers removed the bricks in a flurry of panic, each hoarding anything they could find in large bags and sacks. Peasants loaded containers with what they collected, with every small cart claiming an owner within minutes. The Mughals watched standing atop the raised platform of the central pool, while at a distance the Taj Mahal revealed itself, looking like a beautiful Persian maiden slipping a thin gown from off her perfectly shaped, olive-skinned body.

None of us Mughals moved; the heat didn’t bother us. We were witnessing an event none before us and possibly none after would ever be able to experience. How often does paradise unveil itself before you, while you enjoy a perfect view? This was the unveiling of a sculpture, disrobing of a goddess, exposure of a masterpiece. Hours and hours passed, and every eye stayed fixed on the Taj, no one moving even once to see what others may have been doing. A firecracker could have exploded behind us and we wouldn’t have moved.

Finally, the last of the bricks were removed, to reveal the solid white structure on a raised marble platform. It was perfect, its symmetry accurate to the final inch. All the stones were placed according to design and shone in the distance.

Aba calmly said, “Your mother is at home in paradise, my children.” I saw copious tears flow from his eyes as he contemplated what he’d created for her.

During the past 22 years, 20,000 labourers had constructed the world’s finest monument, at a cost of 3.2 crore rupees. Of course, this price didn’t include the 1,036 sacks of gold used to cast the railing surrounding the sarcophagus and the equal amounts of silver used for the doors.

Mumtazabad, now having its own civil affairs department and police force, had been settled around the Taj to offer it non-stop logistical support. Yet it was the
act
of building the Taj that Ami had truly craved, more than the building itself. By immersing himself in this project for so long, he’d been able to celebrate his love rather than mourn his lover’s passing. Nearly a quarter-century had passed since her death, and Aba had now found other reasons to awaken every morning: his children, grandchildren, and perhaps great grandchildren (should he live so long). And he had territories to conquer, buildings to commission and poetry to compose. Life was now too full to remain in melancholy. Ami had succeeded in her mission – to give Aba new life after her death.

Aurangzeb was promoted from Governor of Gujarat to Governor of Multan and Sindh, further north. Aba, realising Murad was an ineffectual leader in the troubled border province, had chosen to assign Aurangzeb that post. Aurangzeb, with his wife and five children, moved to Lahore and began ruling the province. Raushanara returned to Agra, content that Aba and I had now moved permanently to Delhi.

Kandahar now became the focus of Aba’s attention. Always a contentious city, its location was strategically important to both the Persians and the Mughals. Merchants from China, Persia, Central Asia and India all crossed through this Silk Road city. Control of it assured control of trade. My ancestor, Babur, first took the city, but it soon fell into Persian hands. Babur’s grandson, Akbar, then regained control, only for his son, Jahangir, to lose it. Aba then won it back in 1638. Under the weak and politically inept Murad, the Persians felt confidant Kandahar would be theirs for the taking. Thus, they launched a fresh assault against it in 1648, and by February 1649, Kandahar had fallen to the Persians yet again.

Aba asked me to stamp the royal seal on this letter he would send to Aurangzeb, delineating his instructions.

My Dear Aurangzeb
,

As you know, we have lost Kandahar, in no small part due to the ineptitude of your brother Murad. It is now up to us to win it back and drive off the Persians once and for all. Certainly we can win Kandahar back; it has been done before – by me. I need you to march on to Kandahar, right now merely to reinforce the troops already stationed in the area. I myself will be leaving Delhi by the time this letter reaches you and staying in Kabul, to act as a rearguard commander. Make me proud, son, just as you did in Balkh. I know you will win Kandahar back for the Mughals and defeat the enemy again
.

Yours eternally
,

Aba

I said, “Aba, you’re putting a lot of faith in Aurangzeb.”

Without looking at me, choosing instead to rummage through his papers, he mumbled, “Yes, yes… he’s the only one who can do this…” He moved to the other corner of the room, put his papers down and added, “Unfortunately…”

The word slipped from his lips, it seemed. I felt almost as if he hadn’t wanted me to hear it, but for some extent didn’t really care if I did. He looked up at me. “Just make sure this letter gets to the runner at once. I’m needed in the Khas Mahal.”

As per the royal instructions, Aurangzeb set out for Kandahar. He chose to leave his wife, Dilras, behind in Lahore with their children. My most beloved of her children was her oldest daughter, Zeb-un-nisa. Having failed to reach Aurangzeb, I had succeeded in befriending this child of his, who exhibited my characteristics more than her father’s. Aurangzeb had a complicated relationship with her. My traits – my independence, candour, strong opinions
– Aurangzeb tolerated because I was his older sister. Women like Dilras or Zeb-un-Nissa who depended on him; he viewed as his inferiors, his property.