‘Satti al-Nisa, send word that I wish all my children to eat with us this evening.’ Their company would revive her spirits, Mumtaz thought, impatient with herself for conjuring dark thoughts when she should be happy. Weren’t her six fine children proof that, despite past trials, God had been good? And it was right that just now they should be together as much as possible. In two weeks’ time Dara Shukoh would leave Agra with a Moghul embassy to the court of the Persian shah. Shah Jahan thought that at nearly fourteen and almost a man it was high time for Dara Shukoh to start gaining experience of imperial duties, and she had agreed.
Serenity regained, Mumtaz stretched. Soon she would prepare for the evening ahead. Her attendants would massage her body with scented oils, rim her eyes with kohl and dress her in the clothes her husband loved to see her wear — flowing pyjamas of muslins so gossamer-thin the court tailors gave them names like ‘running water’ and ‘woven air’ and an embroidered choli, a tight bodice. Suddenly she thought she heard the beat of the drum which announced that the emperor had entered the haram. Startled, she sat up — it couldn’t be … Shah Jahan normally arrived just after sunset. Moments later attendants flung back the double doors and he entered.
One look at his face told her he was troubled. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’
He said nothing but pulled her to him and held her close. The warmth of her body, the familiar jasmine scent of her hair, made him give thanks yet again that Ismail Khan had failed in his attack. He didn’t fear death but being parted from those he loved … At last he released her and stepping back slowly eased off his coat. Her eyes flew to his bandaged forearm. ‘You have had an accident?’
‘No. Not an accident. Someone tried to kill me … don’t worry, there’s no need. It’s a flesh wound. The hakim has attended to it.’
‘Who was it?’ Mumtaz’s voice was a horrified whisper.
‘Ismail Khan. He burst through my guards and attempted to stab me.’
‘Jani’s nephew? But he’s only a boy … Why? What possessed him? And what will you do to him?’
‘He wanted to avenge Jani. He’s already been punished. I was merciful — I granted him a quick death. I couldn’t let him live … not after he’d attempted to murder me.’
‘Perhaps not, but …’ She stopped.
Shah Jahan took her face gently in his hands. ‘Ever since we married everything I’ve done has been for us and for our children … to protect our lives and our future.’
‘I’ve never doubted it, never … not in all these years. But it doesn’t stop me feeling guilty — and also a little afraid. We have everything we ever wanted but there was a price and it was paid in blood.’
Shah Jahan’s hands dropped to his sides. ‘If I had not had them killed, my half-brothers would have killed me … our sons as well. Their deaths are not something I’m proud of but they were necessary. It would be a lie to say I wished the deeds undone. Though the past troubles me sometimes — as I know it does you — there is nothing I’d change.’
‘You did what you had to … I understand that. But what if Ismail Khan was only the first? How many others will seek revenge because of your actions?’
‘I am the Moghul emperor and rule over a hundred million souls. As such my life will always be at risk from many quarters. But I will protect myself and my family … I will never relax my vigilance. I will keep us safe, I promise you.’
Towards sunset Shah Jahan watched from his silver throne as a line of twelve imperial servants approached through the assembled ranks of his courtiers, every man bearing a gold candlestick in which a tall camphor-scented candle was burning. As each reached the dais he bowed before Shah Jahan, then carried his candle away to begin lighting the wicks in the giant brass diyas — large shallow saucers filled with mustard oil — set around the courtyards of the fort. The candle-bearers were followed first by the commander of the guard who assured him in formal tones ‘The fort is secure for the night, Majesty’, and then by his favourite court singer — a young Tajik with a fine, deep voice — who sang a verse in praise of the emperor before adding a prayer for the continuance of his auspicious reign. Shah Jahan enjoyed this nightly ritual which Akbar had instigated. Such links with his grandfather’s long and successful reign were fitting, he thought as he descended the dais and walked through the rows of his bowing courtiers towards Mumtaz’s apartments in the haram. In his hand he held a scroll of paper tied with green velvet ribbons.
‘I have a gift for you — a poem written in your praise by one of the court poets,’ he said, bending to kiss her lips.
‘What does it say?’
‘It’s a bit flowery but it says what I think.’
‘Maybe that’s because you told him what to write.’
‘Well, perhaps. But should I read it to you?’
‘Go on,’ said Mumtaz, a gentle smile on her face as Shah Jahan loosened the ribbons and unrolled the paper.
‘No dust from her behaviour ever settles
On the mirror of the emperor’s mind.
She is always seeking to please the king;
She knows full well the King of Kings’ temperament.
In her eyes she has the light of-’
Before Shah Jahan could finish, Satti al-Nisa appeared through the thin muslin curtain embroidered with gold stars and moons covering the arched doorway.
‘What is it?’ demanded Shah Jahan. ‘I gave orders not to be disturbed.’
‘I’m sorry, Majesty, but Abdul Aziz has arrived from the south. I told him you and Her Majesty had retired for the night but he was insistent on seeing you.’
‘I will come,’ said Shah Jahan. What could have brought the son of his commander in the Deccan to Agra with such urgency that he was demanding to see him at this hour? One thing for sure, the news was unlikely to be good, he thought as he hurried from the room and across the haram courtyard, where two rows of fountains were bubbling in the silver moonlight. Reaching the gatehouse, by the light of the flaming torches kept burning there at night he recognised the slim figure of Abdul Aziz pacing to and fro beyond it. When he saw his emperor emerge into the main courtyard, the young man immediately prostrated himself.
‘Rise,’ said Shah Jahan. As Abdul Aziz did so, he saw that the man’s face and garments were streaked with dust and sweat. He hadn’t even paused to bathe and change before seeking the emperor’s presence. ‘What brings you to me so urgently?’
‘My father sent me to report to you immediately about the reverses your armies in the Deccan have suffered. The rulers of Golconda and Bijapur have renounced their allegiance to you and invaded from the southwest. They overran our frontier defences and penetrated deep into our territory. My father assembled a large army well equipped with war elephants and modern cannon and confronted them about ninety miles south of the Tapti river. At first the invaders would not stand and fight but finally my father forced them to do so.’
‘He is a good general.’
‘Yes, Majesty, he was …’ Abdul Aziz’s face was etched with grief. ‘The battle lasted a whole day with no quarter given on either side. Men collapsed and died simply from exhaustion from the heat and lack of water. Towards sunset the invaders began to give ground. My father mounted his grey stallion to lead a last charge to disperse them … I begged him to let me accompany him but he wouldn’t.’ Tears were now running through the dust on Abdul Aziz’s face. ‘The weight of our horsemen’s onslaught overwhelmed the invaders. Many fell. As my father attacked one of their cannon positions the artillerymen got off one last shot. By great misfortune the ball hit my father’s right arm as he waved it above his head to urge our men on, severing the limb above the elbow. He wouldn’t accept treatment until the position was taken and the enemy in retreat. Then he allowed the hakims to apply a tourniquet and dress and tidy the stump. Despite the pain and his loss of blood he slept well that night and I had great hopes for his speedy recovery …’ Abdul Aziz paused.