As he rode back through the gateway into Burhanpur a few days later, Shah Jahan saw Aslan Beg waiting for him in the sunlit courtyard, a letter in his hand. ‘Majesty, a rider brought this yesterday. It is from the Lady Jahanara. I thought you would wish to see it immediately.’
Shah Jahan broke the seal at once.
Father, I wanted you to know as soon as possible that we have reached Agra safely after ten weeks of travel and that my mother’s body has been laid in a temporary grave on the banks of the Jumna exactly as you wished. As we approached the city, wailing crowds lined the highway, covering their heads with dust and weeping. So has it been throughout the journey, as if the indigo of grief had descended on our land. I will write later at greater length.
As he read, Shah Jahan felt a familiar dark desolation steal over him, dissipating his pleasure at his military success. When he and Mumtaz had left Agra he had never imagined that their life together was almost over. With her by his side he had looked to the future and the fulfilment of his ambitions to expand his empire with confidence, but now, whatever triumphs he achieved as an emperor, what could they mean to him as a man when so much joy and warmth had been taken from him? What consolation could he find in building a cold tomb? He had promised Mumtaz he would not give way to despair, but was that a promise he could keep?
Chapter 6
‘Welcome to Burhanpur, Ustad Ahmad.’
‘I am honoured you sent for me, Majesty. I came as quickly as I could.’
Shah Jahan scrutinised the tall, slenderly built man bowing low before him, hoping that at last he had found an architect who could help give expression to the vision of Mumtaz’s tomb that had begun crystallizing in his mind but was still incomplete. ‘My father-in-law Asaf Khan wrote to me that you have designed buildings of great beauty for Shah Abbas. The task I have for you is greater than any the Persian shah can have set — to design a mausoleum for my wife of such unique beauty that later generations will still hail it as a wonder of our age. The thought doesn’t intimidate you?’
‘No. It’s a challenge no true artist could resist.’
Clearly Ustad Ahmad was not a modest man, but that was a good thing, Shah Jahan thought. Others he’d consulted — like his master builder — had been over-eager to please, praising everything he himself had suggested and contributing few ideas themselves. He waved the architect to sit at the long low table. ‘What thoughts do you have for me?’
‘I think you are familiar with the way the Persians design their gardens?’
‘I’ve seen paintings and drawings. I know they call them pairidaeza.’
‘Exactly, Majesty, “gardens of Paradise”, with two bisecting watercourses running north to south and east to west to represent the sacred rivers of Paradise. Such should be the setting for the tomb of her late Majesty.’
‘But I have already written to you saying that I wished the tomb to be built in the centre of a garden. Do you have nothing new to suggest?’ Shah Jahan couldn’t keep irritation from his voice but Ustad Ahmad didn’t seem abashed.
‘I do, Majesty. I believe the tomb should not sit in the centre of the garden — instead it should overlook it, dominating the eye. The land you have purchased on the banks of the Jumna is perfect for what I have in mind.’
Shah Jahan looked at Ustad Ahmad, trying to picture what he meant. Ashok Singh had suggested he acquire the site which was immediately downstream of an almost right-angled bend in the Jumna river, from his father, the Raja of Amber, because it was so close to the fort — barely a mile and a half away — that the tomb would not only be visible from the battlements but could be visited by boat. The architect continued. ‘I propose building the tomb on a raised platform on the riverbank with the gardens laid out below.’
‘But can the bank take the weight? My builders say the soil is sandy and light and the force of the river may cause erosion.’
‘The bend in the Jumna reduces the thrust of the current at that point. Besides, there are ways of reinforcing the bank to support the buildings.’
‘Buildings? You’re suggesting more than one?’
‘Yes. Let me show you, Majesty.’ Ustad Ahmad took a large folded paper from his battered green leather satchel, opened it and spread it on the table. ‘I have drawn everything on a grid so you can see clearly the layout I’m proposing. The mausoleum would stand on two platforms — a large one surmounted by a smaller plinth for the tomb itself.’
‘What are these structures you’ve marked on either side of the tomb?’
‘To the west a three-domed mosque and to the east a similar structure to be a resthouse for pilgrims but also the jabab — the echo — of the mosque, enhancing the symmetry which is so important to my design. And look, Majesty, to complete the effect, at the far end of the north-south waterway, directly opposite the tomb, I propose a southern gatehouse. As they enter, visitors will see the mausoleum rise before them as if floating against the limitless backdrop of the sky.’
Shah Jahan scanned Ustad Ahmad’s drawing — he had indeed created an image of perfect balance. Yet everything would depend on the design of the tomb itself, which was marked only by a circle. ‘What about the mausoleum?’
The architect produced a silk-wrapped bundle from his bag. ‘Before I show you this let me explain my thoughts. I recently visited the Emperor Humayun’s tomb in Delhi. What if, I wondered, the late empress’s mausoleum was, like Humayun’s, built to an octagonal plan but fuller of light, better befitting the memory of a woman? I experimented over and again with the proportions and concluded that the base should be a cube with its vertical corners chamfered to produce the octagon. The sarcophagus itself would lie in the middle of a central octagonal chamber surrounded by eight interconnecting chambers on each of two levels. The exterior facades would consist of two storeys of arched recesses. But enough words, Majesty. Allow me to show you what I mean.’
Ustad Ahmad opened his parcel and took out some wooden blocks which he began carefully arranging into an octagonal structure. ‘Look, Majesty — on each of the four main sides would be iwans, entrance arches, whose top border would rise above the rest of the facade. The height from the ground to the top of the dome would be two hundred and forty feet.’
‘And the dome itself?’
‘I suggest a double one. Again, allow me to demonstrate.’ From his pocket this time, Ustad Ahmad took out two pieces of polished alabaster. ‘In the Emperor Humayun’s tomb inner and outer domes rest on a low drum. What I propose here is an inner dome rising eighty feet from the ground and a swelling outer dome shaped somewhat like a guava, topped by a golden finial.’ As he was talking Ustad Ahmad balanced the inner dome on the model’s octagonal walls then carefully slid the elongated outer dome over it. ‘Finally I suggest placing four chattris, domed kiosks, used in so many of the palaces of your Hindu allies, around the main dome, like pearls surrounding the central gem in a ring.’
Shah Jahan stared at the model in front of him. It was perfect. How had this man understood his wishes so well when he had been unable to articulate them properly even to himself? Ustad Ahmad was looking hard at him, perhaps uncertain how to interpret his silence.
‘I’m appointing you my architect to oversee the creation of the empress’s mausoleum. Return to Agra immediately. Whatever you require — money, materials, labour — you shall have it.’
‘Majesty, I have one further question. What material should we build in? Sandstone?’
‘For the subsidiary buildings perhaps, but the mausoleum itself is to be of the purest white marble — I have already told the Raja of Amber that I will purchase the entire output of his quarries at Makrana and asked him to arrange the safe transport of the marble the two hundred miles to Agra.’