The hakims and Satti al-Nisa looked at Shah Jahan. ‘Do as the empress says but remain within earshot,’ he ordered.
‘Mumtaz …’ he began as soon as they were alone.
‘No, let me speak. My life is flowing from me with my blood. I’m dying … I know it. There is nothing anyone can do. I must have these final precious moments with you. Put your strong arms around me … let me feel the beat of your heart.’
Kneeling down again he cradled her in his arms. ‘You have given birth to a fine child and you will recover … the hakims will stop the bleeding …’
‘No, my heart tells me that it isn’t so. Listen to me … our remaining time together is short. I have things to ask of you while my mind is still clear …’
‘Anything.’
‘Please don’t marry again … if you have more children by another woman they will be a threat to our own sons. That mustn’t happen … rivalries between half-brothers bring nothing but sorrow. We both know that.’
‘I could never marry another. You are everything to me … everything.’
‘That gives me such comfort — knowing that I can endure anything, even the pain of parting from you. But I have something else to beg of you. In my dreams I’ve seen a white marble tomb, luminous as a great pearl … build me such a resting place where you and our children can come to remember me.’
‘Don’t speak of tombs. We will have many more years together.’ He held her even tighter, as if by doing so he could make the life force pulsing within him flow into her and give her strength.
‘Please … you must promise me … you must. Then I can go in peace to whatever awaits me.’
‘When the time comes I will create you a paradise on earth. I will spare nothing, no cost, no effort. It will be the marvel of the world not only for its flawless beauty but because people will know it represents a flawless love.’
He heard Mumtaz give a deep sigh as if what he said had satisfied her. For a few minutes they clung to one other in silence, then Mumtaz whispered, ‘You mustn’t spend your life in regret, not you or Dara, Jahanara or any of our children … Love them as I did … They have so much before them, as I once did, the night I first saw you at the Meena Bazaar. Do you remember that night? All the lanterns hanging on the trees and how you came to my stall. You didn’t bargain very well … Shah Jahan, in the years to come remember how much I loved you — more than I ever thought it possible to love another …’
‘And I love you … that is why you mustn’t leave me …’
‘My fate is written. I don’t have a choice. Stand up and let me look at you one last time …’
As if in a dream Shah Jahan released her and rose. Her pale face held such an expression of yearning that tears came pouring down his face as all sensation drained from his body and he struggled to find words. ‘Mumtaz …’ was all he could manage. He knelt and cradled her once more.
A veil was already falling over her beautiful eyes. So many times on the battlefield he’d seen that look on the face of friend or foe at the very moment the soul was about to flee the body. ‘Don’t forget me …’ she whispered as her head fell back. As he looked down on her small, blood-soaked form it seemed to him that her last words to him on this earth still lingered, though the woman he loved was gone for ever.
Chapter 5
The face reflected in the mirror of burnished silver was a stranger’s. Shah Jahan studied the gaunt features, the bags beneath the swollen eyes and the locks of hair straggling from beneath his cap that looked silvery white when they should have been dark. The mirror must be faulty. He flung it against a stone pillar and watched the tiny seed pearls dislodged from the frame roll over the carpet. What did it matter what he looked like anyway — whether he ate or drank … whether he saw another sunrise or not? Without Mumtaz his life was over.
From beyond the double doors of his room he caught the murmur of voices and frowned. He had ordered that no one was to disturb him … not even his sons and daughters. For the past five days nobody had dared intrude on his grief though now and then he had heard footfalls and subdued voices, doubtless debating how long the emperor intended to seclude himself. He hardly knew himself. Perhaps for ever … resuming court life was unthinkable. How could he listen to petitions from fawning courtiers concealing selfish ambitions beneath honeyed words or decide between plaintiffs arguing about trivial matters when his whole being was empty and drained of emotion?
For the first hours after Mumtaz’s death he had moved in a kind of numb trance, distant from the horror and the shock. He had watched Satti al-Nisa gently cleanse Mumtaz’s body with camphor water, untangle her long hair with an ivory comb and dress her in a plain shift as tears ran down her own cheeks. When she had completed her work and the imams had recited verses for the dead from the Koran, everyone had left the death chamber so that he could take his final leave. As he had kissed those already chill lips goodbye, for a moment his hand had strayed to the dagger in his sash, so strong had been the temptation to end his own existence and join her in Paradise.
And now Mumtaz, wrapped in the traditional woman’s shroud of five pieces of white cotton, was lying in her temporary resting place across the Tapti river within the walls of an old Moghul pleasure ground — the Zainabad Gardens — her head to the north and her face turned towards Mecca. He had followed her bier dressed in the plainest of clothes, wearing not a single jewel and barely conscious of the procession of elephants bearing his children and his courtiers following behind, their solemn pace set by the slow beat of a single drum.
Walking over to the casement Shah Jahan looked across the Tapti, imagining that through the pearly early morning light he could see the glow of the thousand candles he had ordered to be kept burning around Mumtaz’s grave. Suddenly his head began to spin and he gripped the edge of a marble table to stop himself falling. With shaking hand he reached for a pitcher of water and emptied its contents down his throat. As the liquid hit the pit of his stomach he thought he was about to be sick. Slumping to the ground, he leant back against the wall and closed his eyes.
‘Father … Father … wake up!’
A gentle voice was intruding into his troubled sleep and a hand was shaking his shoulder. Shah Jahan opened heavy eyes to see Jahanara kneeling by him. ‘Why are you here? I said I wanted to be alone …’ he muttered. The sun was slanting through the casement but he had no idea how long he’d been sleeping.
‘I’ve been so worried about you, we all have … We couldn’t obey your order not to be disturbed any longer.’
Shah Jahan pulled the cap he had been wearing from his head. As he ran a hand through his hair he heard Jahanara gasp.
‘My appearance shocks you, but I’ve no more use for fine clothes or rich gems … I followed your mother’s bier in these coarse garments and I’ll wear them until they fall from my body.’
‘It’s your hair, Father …’
‘What d’you mean?’ He tugged a lock forward and examined it. When he had ridden from the battlefield to Mumtaz’s side it had been dark as night. Now it was mostly white. The mirror hadn’t lied. ‘God has truly cursed me. He has punished me for my sins and cast me out. This is one of his signs.’
‘Father … Father, please … Shock and grief are the cause …’
‘No, it’s a message. God is reminding me that despite my power, my wealth, I’m only human — born to suffer just like the peasants who are dying because of the drought.’ He gave a mirthless laugh, then stopped as a yet darker thought came to him. What if Mumtaz’s death was God’s retribution for the deaths of his half-brothers? As he stared down at the carpet, the swirls of crimson red and indigo blue danced before him and he felt himself growing dizzy again. Leaning forward he put his head in his hands and began rocking gently to and fro.