He was still pondering when he heard a series of shrill trumpet blasts — the signal he had ordered to be given to rouse the people of Agra from their sleep and summon them to the banks of the Jumna to witness the reappearance of their emperor on his jharoka balcony. ‘Qorchi, bring me my robes, please.’ Normally the emperor made his brief appearance on the balcony in a simple cotton tunic, but his people hadn’t seen him for nearly three months. He would wear green brocade and sparkle with jewels when he stepped from his bedchamber on to the carved sandstone balcony as the rising sun warmed the earth. He would raise his arms to bless them and the day to come, remaining there longer than usual so that none could doubt that it was indeed their emperor, returned to health, before them.
Half an hour later, the task was done. Shah Jahan turned away from the cheering crowds gathered below and went back into his apartments. Jahanara would be waiting for him on his private terrace as he had asked. For a moment he hesitated, then made his way there, shading his eyes against the now brilliant light as he came outside again. Jahanara was standing there but did not come forward. For a moment they stood looking at one another, then Shah Jahan strode towards her.
He could find no words. Dara had been so eloquent on her behalf, so convincing in his explanations, so insistent that she was innocent, and in his heart Shah Jahan had known his son was right. How could he have reacted with such unthinking anger? Once again he had failed her. ‘Forgive me,’ he managed at last. ‘I judged you in haste and in anger. I make no excuses …’
‘It is past, Father. Perhaps we shouldn’t speak of it again.’ Jahanara’s tone was measured, devoid of the conflicting emotions swirling within her.
‘But tell me you forgive me or I will not be able to rest.’
‘I forgive you.’ As she spoke those words, as she knew she must for the sake of the dynasty, Jahanara saw her father visibly relax. But were they really true, she wondered. Could she forgive him again? Eventually, perhaps, though it would take time to forget his immediate, unthinking belief in her guilt and his unreasoning anger. But looking at her father with fresh eyes after so many weeks of separation, she realised with a shock how old he looked. His broad shoulders were bowed and his once muscular body — a warrior’s body — looked thin and fragile. His still handsome face was riven with deep lines. Had his illness really taken such a toll or was it that she was only now seeing him as he really was?
Pity welled within her and she managed a smile, but it faded as another thought struck her. ‘I’m not the only one who has suffered an injustice. You wronged Nicholas Ballantyne too. He was blameless for what happened. I turned to him because I was worried about my brothers — Aurangzeb especially. I was too impulsive, I know. I should have reflected how my actions might appear to others. But Nicholas’s only crime was to try to help me despite his reluctance. He is taking ship for England. Let me write to him. My letter may not reach him in time but I would like him to know that all is well … that our family are conscious of what they owe him.’
‘Of course. Tell him I regret what happened and remember his past service with gratitude. Should he ever return to my court he will be welcome.’ Shah Jahan put his hand on Jahanara’s arm. He felt a deep relief that one breach at least was mended, but a deadly weariness followed. He sighed and for a moment closed his eyes.
‘Father … are you all right? Should I summon your hakims?’
‘No. I’ve been an invalid too long and must become an emperor once more.’ Shah Jahan straightened his back. ‘How much has Dara told you of your brothers’ rebellion?’
‘That they have used your illness as an excuse to raise troops and intend to challenge for the throne …’
Shah Jahan frowned. ‘That is the gist of it. I keep thinking what your mother would have thought and how badly I have let her memory down. I should have paid more attention to what your brothers were doing and controlled them better, making regular imperial progresses through their provinces. Instead I gave them and their ambitious counsellors time and opportunity to plot against me.’
Jahanara did not respond for a moment. Her father was right. Grief at Mumtaz’s death had forced him into an emotional seclusion from which he had never fully emerged, blunting his empathy with all of his children, herself included, as his willingness to believe the worst of her had shown. But how could she say any of that to him? ‘Father, the past is gone. Nothing you have done or failed to do can justify my brothers’ rebellion. Concentrate on bringing them to heel.’
Shah Jahan looked round the familiar circle of his counsellors, their faces proof that the news of his sons’ insurrection which he had just broken was as great a surprise to them as it had been to him a few hours earlier. Unless, of course, some of them were good dissemblers. At least one had money worries — his lands had been badly affected by drought. What if Aurangzeb had offered him a handsome sum for his support, Shah Jahan wondered, looking hard into the man’s face. And another over there near the door was known to have coveted a rich jagir that not long before his illness he’d granted to another. He too might have been bought. Who could say? Most men had their price. But at least his Rajput allies, Raja Jai Singh of Amber and Raja Jaswant Singh of Marwar were utterly loyal, he was sure, bound to the Moghuls since Akbar’s time by family ties as well as those of honour. Raising his hands, he spoke again. ‘I have told you only the main facts about the treachery of my three youngest sons. Now Prince Dara will give you as much detail about their movements and that of their forces as we’ve been able to gather.’
‘Aurangzeb’s army is already on the march from the Deccan,’ Dara said. ‘He is apparently claiming that this is not a rebellion — merely that there have been so many rumours that he wishes to come to Agra in person to satisfy himself that the emperor is indeed alive. Shah Shuja also has an army in the field, advancing west along the Ganges. It contains many war elephants bred in the jungles of Assam as well as a large number of horsemen and foot soldiers.’
‘Aurangzeb of course already had standing forces ready to deploy against the rulers of the south, but how did Shah Shuja raise so many men so quickly?’ asked Jai Singh.
Shah Jahan answered. ‘Bengal’s coffers are deep enough to buy him an army twice that size, and he also has the revenues of Bihar, which I was foolish enough to award him though others advised against it. Go on, Dara.’
‘My brother Murad is as deeply implicated as the others. He’s apparently also been mustering troops and buying equipment — or trying to, because unlike his brothers’ his treasuries are nearly empty thanks to his extravagance and incompetence. He’s attempting to raise loans among the wealthy merchants of Gujarat and that will delay him, but not for long, I fear …’
‘You really think they all intend to bring their armies to Agra?’ asked Jaswant Singh.
‘It would seem so. I believe they have made a pact with one another, but whether it is to support one of them for the throne or to divide the empire between them isn’t clear,’ Dara replied.
‘Then it will come to a battle unless I can prevent it,’ said Shah Jahan. ‘I have already sent messages by post riders to every one of my governors and senior officials in the provinces assuring them that I am returned to health — and that anyone who aids my rebellious sons will suffer a traitor’s death. I have also written to my sons, demanding they cease their rebellion and reminding them of their duty to their father. But matters may well have advanced too far for that to have much effect on these ingrates. I have no choice but to command you to prepare the imperial troops immediately for war, summoning every warrior you can muster from your fiefs and ordering your vassals to do the same. Perhaps when the traitors realise the strength of the forces ranging against them they will see reason and pull back before Moghul sheds the blood of Moghul.’