Shah Jahan held up his hand, his head so full of Aurangzeb’s assertions and accusations that he hardly knew where to begin. ‘You’re wrong. It’s natural that you and Dara should have your differences, even your rivalries. You are young men close together in age. But I cannot tolerate your unfounded suspicions, your wild accusations. Who is this mullah who has tried to set you against your brother?’
‘I cannot tell you. He spoke to me in confidence and I will never reveal his name.’
‘I have had enough of your arrogance and your disobedience … of your assertions of what you will or will not do, as if you — not I — were emperor. You disobeyed my order to visit Dara’s underground chamber and now you tell me you will not give me a name I ask for.’ Shah Jahan began striding up and down the room. ‘You accuse Dara of high-handedness and ambition but you’re the one who’s consumed by them — and by jealousy of your brother, even if you try to deny it.’
‘Perhaps I am jealous, though not for the reasons you think. Even when Dara and I were children given up by you as hostages to Mehrunissa, I knew you loved him more. I can still remember what happened when you came to rescue us from the dungeons of the Lahore palace … how you called out Dara’s name first, not mine — how saving him was your main concern.’
‘That’s madness. I loved both of you — still love you. You are my son just as much as Dara.’ Shah Jahan stared nonplussed at his son.
‘You say that, but it isn’t true. If it were, you’d have sent Dara away to govern a province just as you did Shah Shuja and me. Instead you keep him here by your side at court like a mother hen with a favourite chick. What has he ever done? Has he fought as I have, risking his life for the empire? No! Because in your eyes his life is too precious to be hazarded. Instead he lives a soft life in his palace on the Jumna, as spoiled and pampered and indulged as any woman in his haram.’
‘Silence! I can listen to no more of this. Everything you accuse me — or Dara — of is fantasy. But it is dangerous fantasy. What would happen if it leaked out to the court that two of the emperor’s sons were locked in rivalry — that one was even planning to murder the other? Just think what capital our enemies within and beyond our borders could make of it … how much mischief they could stir. I tell you, Aurangzeb, this one-sided feud with your brother must cease here. So must your accusations against me.’ Shah Jahan stopped pacing and turned to look at his son.
Aurangzeb, though, said nothing, his face was set in that expression Shah Jahan knew only too well. Exasperation with his son’s crazy views mingled with concern that he should think himself so unloved, so unappreciated, yet for the sake of his family and his empire he must show strength, not weakness, and put a stop to this behaviour now, or where might it not lead? ‘I have made my decision. Until I can be certain that you have returned to a more rational way of thinking, I cannot allow you to continue as my viceroy in the Deccan.’
For the first time since their meeting had begun, Shah Jahan saw that his words had struck home. Aurangzeb seemed visibly to recoil. ‘Father …’
‘No. I haven’t finished. You will remain in the Agra fort indefinitely. I can’t risk having you far from my sight in your present frame of mind. I hope that in the months to come you will reflect on your foolish behaviour and your unjust accusations. You have shocked and disappointed me more than you realise.’
Back in his own apartments, Shah Jahan sat for a while, still deep in thought. The incident had helped him reach a decision. It was time that he signalled to his family and the wider world which of his sons he wished to succeed him and end all doubt — or misplaced hope — that any of his younger sons might have. They could reconcile themselves to their disappointment while he still lived and could restrain them from any conflict.
Two days later, as he took his place in the Hall of Public Audience upon his glittering peacock throne, he felt proud. What other ruler could have created such magnificence? His courtiers and commanders, arranged before him in order of precedence, were dressed in their finest clothes and jewels, just as he had instructed. Ashok Singh was resplendent in orange silk robes and a diamond-hilted dagger in his sash. So it should be for one of the most significant proclamations of his reign. Glancing to where Dara was standing, flanked by Shah Shuja and Murad, he raised his hands to command attention, though the silence in the many-pillared hall was already absolute.
‘I have summoned you here today to honour my beloved eldest son, Dara Shukoh, before my court. I hereby award him the estates of Hissar Firoza and the right to pitch the scarlet tent.’ Even before he had finished speaking he saw the quickly exchanged glances. Everyone knew what he meant — he had as good as declared Dara heir to the Moghul throne. It wouldn’t take Aurangzeb, still confined in his apartments, long to hear the news and understand its implications. Perhaps, at last, Aurangzeb would see the world as it really was and understand that the throne would never be his. He should have acted faster to dispel false hopes and prevent the souring of fraternal love but, God willing, he was in time. Aurangzeb would reflect on his folly and come to accept that he would never have been his father’s choice while Dara lived. He would also realise that Dara would have had no need to dispose of him — that he had never been a rival — though that would be hard for a proud man like Aurangzeb to stomach.
Chapter 12
‘Father, I must ask you something …’
‘What is it, Jahanara? There’s nothing wrong, is there? Your health …?’
Ever since receiving her message Shah Jahan had been wondering what had prompted her request that he visit her in her mansion when nearly every day she travelled by palanquin to the fort.
‘I’m fine, Father. It’s not about me, it’s about Aurangzeb.’
‘So he’s asked you to intercede for him, has he?’
‘No. He has no idea that I’m doing so. But when I see something so amiss in our family I can’t ignore it. Forgive me, Father, but perhaps I notice things you don’t.’
The rebuke, gentle though it was, hurt. ‘I see clearly enough. Aurangzeb only has himself to blame. I thought he was a man, but he didn’t behave like one.’
‘I agree … and I think Aurangzeb himself understands that now. I’ve spent a lot of time with him, listening to his outpourings and trying to make him see reason. He accepts that his accusations were foolish and wants only to regain your favour. He begs you to allow him to return to the Deccan …’
‘I’ve found an excellent replacement and have no need of him.’
‘Father — when I was ill and you were keeping watch by my bedside I sometimes heard you promise God that you’d do anything so long as I survived. God indeed returned me to life, and it’s I — not He — who now asks this favour of you.’
‘Jahanara …’
‘Please! Aurangzeb is unhappy. Forgive him, as you once asked me to forgive you. Release him from his confinement.’
‘What then?’
‘Find him some new appointment. If not in the Deccan, then somewhere else where he can use his talents and his energy instead of wasting them and growing bitter. He won’t disappoint you, Father, and that’s not just my opinion. I’ve talked to Dara. Although at first he was angry with Aurangzeb — and offended by his preposterous claims — he says the dispute was not of his making and he is prepared to overlook what happened and see Aurangzeb reinstated if he is contrite.’