The youth had not been long gone when the doors opened again to admit Jahanara. He could guess her reaction when he told her what he planned to do, but he would not be dissuaded. He might be old but he was an emperor and a warrior and he would show his rebellious children — daughters as well as sons — exactly what that meant.
‘Is it true that Aurangzeb has written to you at last? I came here from the haram as soon as I heard the story.’
Shah Jahan nodded. Aurangzeb had returned to Agra a week ago — he had witnessed his son’s boastful return, banners flying, drums beating, from the battlements himself — but it had taken Aurangzeb till now to send any communication.
‘What does he say? Was it him who gave the order to stop the cannonade?’
‘Yes. He writes that Murad should never have begun the bombardment of a fort housing a man so old and frail as myself. However, this is not because he intends us any good. He claims it is his duty both to me — who am no longer fit to rule or even to command the fort garrison — and to the empire to force my surrender as soon as possible so that he can restore order. What’s more, he also claims that he has found a means of doing so.’
‘How?’
‘By cutting off the fort’s water supply. A rebel detachment has seized the fort’s water gate opening on to the Jumna so we can no longer take in fresh water. All we have are a few stagnant long disused wells … He hopes in this summer heat to break the spirit of our troops.’
‘I don’t understand him … I’d hoped that even having come this far he and Murad might yet draw back …’
‘They have no sense of shame or guilt.’
‘Does Aurangzeb say anything about Dara?’
‘Nothing. My hope is that Aurangzeb has returned to Agra because Dara has evaded him.’
‘I will write to my brothers … I will make Aurangzeb and Murad see reason.’
‘They will not listen and I won’t let you demean yourself by pleading with traitors.’
‘I wouldn’t plead … I am their equal …’
‘Even so, I forbid it. I am still emperor. I’m not going to remain here in the fort waiting impotently for my sons’ next outrages against me. They have told the world that I am too old and ill to rule but I will show them and my subjects otherwise.’
‘What do you mean to do?’
‘Ride out to face them at the head of my men. The garrison are still loyal and will follow me, I am certain.’ As he spoke, Shah Jahan drew himself up. ‘I’ve been inactive too long. I should have taken to the field myself instead of sending Dara against his brothers. It gave credence to their claims that I was losing my powers but it still isn’t too late. Even if I am killed, I will have regained my pride, and in time Dara and Suleiman may return to avenge me.’
‘Father, you can’t do this … Please …’
‘It is the only way. I have left a letter with my steward to be given to Aurangzeb and Murad if I die, telling them it is my last my wish that they treat you with all honour and respect. Despite everything that has happened and their malice towards me, I still trust them to do so. You mustn’t be afraid.’
‘I’m not — at least not for myself, but I fear for you … Aurangzeb knows your nature. He has provoked you to this. Forgive me, Father, but you are acting rashly and in haste.’
‘Perhaps, but at least I am acting. I may no longer have the body of a warrior, but I have the warrior spirit.’
For a moment he saw his wife’s lovely face before him. Many, many times she had watched him ride off to battle and he had always returned to her. Never had he thought that she would be the one to die and leave him … but that was long ago and perhaps he would soon be with her in Paradise. Hearing a knock on the door, he rose as Jahanara drew her veil. Was it the qorchi returning with his sword? If so, the youth had been quick. But as the doors opened he saw that it was his garrison commander.
‘Majesty, a further messenger has arrived under flag of truce from your sons. He insists on seeing you in person. He says he has something for you from Prince Aurangzeb.’
‘What? Another letter?’
‘No, Majesty. It looks like some kind of parcel. When I ordered my men to inspect it, the messenger resisted, saying he had been instructed to hand it only to you and he would not yield it up. If you wish it, Majesty, I will order my men to take it from him.’
‘No, search him for weapons then bring him to me under close guard.’
Shah Jahan and Jahanara exchanged glances but neither said anything as they waited. A few minutes later the commander returned, followed by eight of his guards surrounding a tall, bearded man with the neat black turban and plain flowing robes of an official. He was carrying a large brocade bag secured with a piece of silken cord.
‘I understand you have something for me. What is it?’ Shah Jahan asked.
‘My master did not tell me — only that I must hand it to you and no one else.’
‘Very well. Place it on the carpet in front of you then step well back. Guards, keep an eye on him.’ Shah Jahan waited until the man had retreated and his guards were stationed round him. Then he approached the brocade bag and carefully lifted it. Despite its bulk it wasn’t very heavy. Placing it back on the carpet, he leaned over and unfastened the silk cord. Inside was another bag, this time of a coarser material, fastened round the top with a piece of thin rope. Shah Jahan lifted it out carefully. Tucked beneath the rope was a sliver of folded paper. Pulling it out, Shah Jahan opened it: The only punishment for heresy is death. God’s will has been done and those in the gardens of Paradise rejoice.
Shah Jahan flung the note aside and ripped open the bag. As he did so, a sickly sweet stench — the once encountered never forgotten stench of death — filled his nostrils and his gorge rose. Yet another parcel was inside the bag, this time cocooned in a swathe of black silk. He unravelled the silk with frantic hands and at last something rolled out across the carpet: Dara’s head, no longer handsome, with creamy white maggots crawling around his dead eyes and in and out of his gaping mouth and blood-encrusted nostrils.
With Jahanara’s anguished cries coming as if from far away, Shah Jahan’s eyes remained fixed on the rotting object before him for some moments. Then he said dully, ‘I can bear no more. Let it be over. Open the gates …’
Chapter 22
Shah Jahan had been wondering when the officer Aurangzeb had placed in control of the Agra fort would present himself. He had already been told that he was an Uzbek — one of Khalilullah Khan’s men who with his commander had deserted Dara at Samugarh. Now Makhdumi Khan stood before him and he could see him for himself. He was tall, with a close-cropped grey beard and a pink shiny scar that looked recent across his right eyebrow. He made no attempt at obeisance but nor did he meet Shah Jahan’s gaze, keeping his eyes averted.
‘Why have you ignored the messages I sent you? Answer me now! Where are my daughters?’ Shah Jahan demanded.
‘Princess Gauharara has left the fort at her own request to join Princess Roshanara in the palace she now occupies along the Jumna. Your other daughter remains confined here in the imperial haram.’