Mistress of the Throne (The Mughal intrigues) (43 page)

Neither side was attacking yet, each probably hoping to set up a defence. Then Dara’s gunners opened fire, barely skimming the front line of Aurangzeb’s soldiers. Dara ordered a direct assault, possibly thinking the gunfire had silenced the enemies’ own artillery. Both wings of Dara’s armies marched in – giving Aurangzeb the opportunity to fire a cannon into the heart of the wings, killing hundreds before they could ever reach the rebel army. Those that did make it – still thousands – now engaged in close combat with the enemy.

Now the Hindu Rajput contingent charged Murad’s army. I caught a glimpse of Murad on horseback. He motioned his hand sideways as if ordering his men to ‘slice’ his enemies. I’d never seen his face spew such hatred.

The Rajput soldiers attacked him, hurling their javelins. Murad fell off his horse and slashed his sword towards the Rajput general, Ram Singh. Ram Singh fell, too, and the two now met hand-to-hand. Murad fell to the ground and the General lunged on top of him, but Murad shielded himself with his own sword. Murad then kicked the General off and mounted the General’s empty horse. Ram Singh ran after Murad, but just then one of Aurangzeb’s men attacked the general from the rear and fatally wounded him.

Seeing this, the Rajputs ran after Murad and surrounded him. Murad’s army tried to fend them off, but the Rajputs formed a giant circle around them and closed in, suffocating his regiment. Murad’s regiment seemed less seasoned and well-trained than the rest of Aurangzeb’s army. These weren’t career warriors, but instead low-class men of unwarlike habits — a bunch of brutes and outlaws who didn’t fight as a unit.

As Murad’s men ran out of ammunition, the Rajputs went in for the kill, cutting off the heads and arms of as many men as they could. For a moment, it seemed like victory was Dara’s, but then the tide of battle began turning, and soon the Rajputs began to fall. One by one, each saffron-coloured face fell, and at last the ground took on a bloody, saffron-mixed colour.

Now red-stained swords and daggers flailed in the wind, and Dara marched forward on his elephant towards Aurangzeb, who was now on horseback. Aurangzeb began to retreat, but why, I wondered? Soon, Dara changed from his elephant to a mobile horse, and chased after Aurangzeb.

“Dara, don’t do that, you idiot!” I yelled as if Dara could hear me. I could tell Dara was walking into a trap! A dismounted royal elephant gives an army the false impression that their leader’s fallen, and a leaderless army’s tantamount to a headless man. Chaos would ensue.

I saw Aurangzeb’s men chanting now, probably, “Prince Dara has fallen!” which would further feed the frenzy. Though I couldn’t tell what they were saying, the effect was the same: Dara’s men looked around to catch a glimpse of their leader, but saw his empty, decorated elephant, further disillusioning them.

The rebel soldiers pushed back against the imperial army now, and the butchers, bakers and carpenters now ran for their lives, assuming no doubt that if they stayed and fought, the rebel Prince who’d now be King would execute them all. Thus, all Dara’s men either died or fled, leaving him alone with a small cordon of bodyguards in the middle of the battlefield. Fearing for his own life, he ran towards the countryside. In the shade of a neem tree he took off his helmet, so depressed and exhausted, he just sat on the ground, unwilling to move at the sounds of enemy kettledrums now approaching his way...

I watched this entire battle from the fort, as if it were an elephant fight in the royal arena. Seeing my worst fears come true, I paced back and forth, not sure what to do next. I ran to my father, who I knew must be equally distressed at seeing his favourite son defeated on the battlefield. I found Aba was lying in bed, staring silently at the ceiling, tears and fear in his eyes.

“Aba!” I screamed. “How can you lie in bed at a time like this? Say something, Aba! What is Dara to do now? Say something!”

But Aba just lay there, unwilling and unable to offer any advice. From that moment on, he must have known his reign was over. No matter what he did in the coming days to stop Aurangzeb’s advancement, he would eventually be captured by this son, removed as emperor and probably executed – if he were lucky.

Dara got up and rode on to Delhi, bypassing Agra with the hopes, I’m told, of meeting Nadira and their children there, continuing his flight and perhaps regrouping, though he was now fully cognizant of the fact that Agra would fall and he could do nothing more about it. Meanwhile, Aurangzeb approached the gates of Agra, but refused to enter. As Aba had a generation ago, Aurangzeb merely waited outside
for the astrologers to offer him an auspicious date to enter. But he sent his army and commanders inside to loot Agra, take control of the treasury and offices and ask us for a formal surrender.

Alamgir
would be his new name now that he would soon be the next Mughal King of India. At last the years of his despair had ended. No longer would he have to receive imperial permission before making decisions; he could attack and destroy as he pleased. And at last he could spread Islam as he saw fit.

Like any army since the beginning of time given such latitude, Aurangzeb’s men wreaked havoc all over Agra. Men and women ran through the streets, young women were kidnapped, men were slaughtered and goods were stolen as his army unleashed its wrath on Agra for supporting Dara. These families had sent their men to fight against Aurangzeb’s army, and time for retribution had arrived, so the army exacted revenge on the helpless public who’d unwillingly taken indirect part in this family feud.

“Aba, you must get up; Aurangzeb’s men are marching towards the fort!”

Aba just lay there, murmuring to himself, “All is lost, all is gone!”

I shook my father repeatedly, begging him to snap out of his despair and take charge like the brave soldier he’d once been and could be again, but to no avail. Aba was thoroughly broken, knowing his Dara would now soon be dead, and that the kingdom he’d built would fall into the hands of the one son he’d always tried to keep it from. His parents had given him a safe and secure India, but he would be the Mughal to turn it over to a monster. He had nothing to say, no defence to give, no solution to offer.

I finally gave up pleading with my father and ran to the Diwan-i-khas. I had the guards seal the gates of the fort and plant armed guards along the periphery. If Aurangzeb was going to take the fort, it wouldn’t be without a fight. But then another idea came to me…

That night I wore my black robe disguise one last time, not to visit the river that had given me my visions for the past few years, but instead to visit the man who now controlled most of our lives, Aurangzeb.

I was told he was sleeping alone in his imperial tent. His wife, Dilras, had died a few months before, earning from him only a few moments of silence, but certainly no tears. His children were still in Aurangabad with his other wives, while he, as always, was alone. He preferred his own company – non-judgmental (of himself, anyway), loyal and dependable.

I rode with Bahadur at my side, helping guide me to Aurangzeb’s tent. There I dismounted and entered the tent while Bahadur stood guard outside.

I touched his shoulder, waking him from his deep sleep. Aurangzeb started, sat up and lunged towards me with his dagger.

“It’s I, Jahanara!” I said quickly. Aurangzeb moved back and laid down his dagger. “I was forced to dress this way to evade recognition, brother. How are you?”

Aurangzeb looked at the ground. Having won the greatest prize by committing one of the greatest sins – fighting an older brother – and now waiting to commit more, what might his state of mind be, I wondered. “I know, Aurangzeb, that no one in Hindustan is happy tonight, not even the victors.”

Aurangzeb listened glumly, his discombobulated hair and messy night clothes adding to his demeanour.

I said, “Hindustan lost many of its sons today, and before the war is over, so many people will have died that the wood for cremation and land for cemeteries will all be used up. Aba has lost control of himself; he’s devastated by the fear that further bloodshed awaits us. And no one who can stop all this but you, my brother.”

Aurangzeb then softly said, “There is nothing I can do.”

“I don’t ask that you compromise in any way, Aurangzeb. You’ve rightfully won the throne of India as the brave soldier you are. But I suggest to you an offer: that you divide the kingdom into four parts: Dara for Punjab, Murad for Gujarat, Shuja for Bengal, your oldest son for Deccan, and you take the rest, with full title to the throne!”

“I refuse to give that infidel an inch!”

I’d fully expected Aurangzeb would scoff at the idea of giving Dara
anything. “But even if you won’t give Dara Punjab, will you allow him to at least live there in peace, as your subject?”

Myriad emotions crossed Aurangzeb’s face; then at last he said, “I’ll think it over.”

I just stared at my brother for a few minutes. In utter silence, neither of us spoke a word. I then rose to leave, but said quietly as I turned away: “I’ll open the doors to the fort tomorrow, Aurangzeb.”

Aurangzeb suddenly gazed at me in amazement. He couldn’t have expected me to give up the fort so easily. At last he gave me the respect he hadn’t yet at this meeting: He looked me straight in the eye.

I said, “Please visit Aba just once. He needs to know you mean him no harm. I’m not opening the fort for an enemy, Aurangzeb, but for my brother, who’s come home.” I wished him a comfortable sleep, hoping he would allow his heart a measure of calm.

Aurangzeb stared at me dumbfounded; I walked out of the tent in my disguise and rode back to the fort. His heart, I was hoping, would soften. In childhood, before me he’d always melted like ice on a hot day.

The next morning all Agra braced itself for the arrival of Alamgir, as he would now be known. Soldiers lined the path from the rebel camp to the fort’s main entrance. Slowly, led by his heavily decorated elephant, Alamgir’s procession moved towards the fort. Aba and I looked through the Samman Burj at the procession, cautiously optimistic that the new king would grant a humble pardon to the former one and begin his reign with mercy and compassion.

I ordered the gates opened so that as Alamgir rode in he’d see an open door, symbolising my love for him. Emotionally, I knew closed doors were what my fateful brother was used to, but this time I opened the doors for him personally even if the sitting emperor couldn’t. I was now in full control, having sidelined Aba for his own good.

“All Hail! Emperor Alamgir” shouted his men repeatedly as he rode through.

Aurangzeb smiled and nodded to his men, who for the past several years had probably endured every hardship and test he could put them through, all for this moment.

Alamgir dismounted from his elephant after entering the Red Fort and walking with a small contingent of armed soldiers to the Diwan-i-khas, where Aba sat on the Peacock Throne with me and Raushanara at his side. I wouldn’t be hidden behind a marble screen today; too much was riding on the events that would occur in this hall for me not to be seated in the open, and I didn’t feel I could trust my disillusioned father to keep the situation from degenerating.

“Greetings, Aba!” called out Aurangzeb triumphantly, without asking his blessing as he had in the past.

“Greetings, my son!” Aba rose like an old stallion staggering to his feet. “I’m so pleased to see you. You have made me proud!”

“Really? Prouder than you are of Dara?”

Aba had no reply to his son’s cruel jibe.

Aurangzeb’s gaze swept the hall dramatically. “And where
is
Dara, anyway? He ran from the battlefield like a mouse!”

I couldn’t help but worry; these weren’t the words of a forgiving brother.

“Whatever is his fate will happen,” sighed Aba.

“Men are masters of their own fates, O King,” smirked Aurangzeb. “And only the foolish blame their weaknesses on nature. I’m here to tell you that I, Alamgir, will control my fate. I won’t let circumstances control
me
.”

Aba said weakly, “However you wish to proceed, the choice is yours.”

“Yes it is, isn’t it?” beamed Aurangzeb. “Guards, please escort my father to prison.”

Without hesitation I shouted, “
No!
What is this, Aurangzeb?”

“What is it, you ask?” he shot back in disgust. “This is I, preventing my own downfall by a manipulative father! Look at this letter he tried to sneak to that infidel Dara!”

He waved a note in the air and then threw it at my feet.

Dear Dara
,

Stay in Shahjahanabad. There’s no lack of money or troops. I’ll see to matters here
.

Aba

I said, “He couldn’t have written this, he was barely lucid until this morning!”

“You lie! You all lie!!” cried Aurangzeb.

“Yes, brother,” Raushanara now sneered, “they’re liars, all right! I saw with my own eyes these two devising plans to imprison you after they’ve won your favour!”

I looked at my sister in disgust; of course Raushanara had been manipulating events all along, most importantly Aurangzeb to not reconcile with us so she could take my place as empress. But what could I do? I knew Aurangzeb – now Alamgir – would never believe me over her. His mind was too corrupted already by power and revenge, and nothing I said or did would reverse his decisions now.

He ordered, “Guards, please also escort the Empress to the prison with my Aba!”

I was hurt but not surprised. I’d go with the guards and my father to my new home.

“I’ll take
that
!” rasped Raushanara, snatching the muhr uzak from my hand. Then she ran to the new emperor, and the two laughed together.

“It worked!” crowed Aurangzeb. “You misguided Dara to the Chambal river, to falsely locate our crossing, and it was all worth it! “You’ll make a terrific empress,” he added, looking at me as the guards led Aba and me away.

“And you a wise emperor, my brother,” Raushanara glowed. “You, a wise emperor!”

29

PARADISE LOST

29
^th
September, 1658