Aurangzeb had disembarked and, flanked on each side by twelve bodyguards in silver breastplates, was making his way towards the peacock throne followed at a respectful distance by the courtiers. Reaching the throne, Aurangzeb paused for a moment, looked up at the dazzling canopy, then mounted its golden steps, turned and sat down. His courtiers ranged themselves before him. Then at a single shrill trumpet blast they fell to the ground, prostrating themselves in the age-old obeisance of the korunush, arms spread wide and faces pressed against the earth. At the further sounding of a trumpet they rose again. Next, a bearded man whom Shah Jahan hadn’t noticed before stepped forward. Dressed in a white robe and black turban he looked like a mullah. At a sign from Aurangzeb, he turned to face the courtiers and began a loud chant that Shah Jahan recognised at once as the prayer inaugurating the reign of a new Moghul emperor:
‘By the grace of God, and in succession to the glorious reigns of the mighty Genghis Khan and Timur, of Babur the Great and Humayun, of Akbar and Jahangir, of Shah Jahan …’
As Shah Jahan heard his own name, for a moment he clenched his eyes tight shut.
‘… I now proclaim that Aurangzeb is the new Emperor of Hindustan. May his glorious reign bring light to his people so that they and their descendants will bless his name for centuries without end and his memory will be as a shaft of sunlight driving away the darkness of the world. Long life to the Ruler of the Age!’
As the mullah ceased his sonorous chanting, Aurangzeb raised his right hand. From behind the throne emerged a line of qorchis, each carrying a heaped tray. From the glint Shah Jahan guessed what they were carrying — gold rupees, the traditional gift of a new emperor to his people. At a nod from Aurangzeb, the qorchis divided, half making their way to the right, the other half to the left, where the spectators were waiting. As they reached the cordon of soldiers they threw the contents of the trays into the air, showering the crowds with golden coins. There was a wild scrambling as people rushed for a share of the new emperor’s largesse. Meanwhile, more qorchis brought silken robes of honour and small bags doubtless containing money and jewels which Aurangzeb began handing to his nobles as each in turn approached the throne and knelt before him. Shah Jahan’s eyes narrowed as the tall figure of Khalilullah Khan advanced and Aurangzeb presented him with a sword whose jewelled scabbard flashed in the dying rays of the sun. The reward of treachery.
By the time Aurangzeb had finished, the light was fading and attendants were thrusting burning torches into the ground at intervals along the riverbank. From the battlements of the fort came the crack and whizz of fireworks and bursts of gold and green stars patterned the sky above Aurangzeb. Unseen drums and trumpets were sounding and attendants carrying lanterns waited to escort the emperor and his courtiers back to the boats. So many lamps had been lit on the imperial barge that the dark waters of the Jumna shimmered gold around it.
What had this ritual really been about, Shah Jahan wondered. Why had Aurangzeb chosen the riverbank as the place to proclaim himself emperor instead of the Hall of Public Audience within the fort? There was only one answer … Aurangzeb had chosen a spot directly opposite his father’s apartments in the fort because he had wanted, just as Makhdumi Khan had hinted, to show his father who was emperor now. Taking one last look through the jali, Shah Jahan saw his son still seated on his throne erect and motionless and looking directly towards him, as if he knew his father was watching and that after all these years he had his full attention at last.
Chapter 23
‘He refuses to come to Agra to see me. Look what he writes … that I have forfeited the rights of a father …’ Shah Jahan held out Aurangzeb’s letter to Jahanara, whom Makhdumi Khan was now allowing to visit him each day.
Over the past six months of their incarceration she herself had written several times to her brother begging him to come to Shah Jahan. She had advanced every argument she could think of — Shah Jahan’s age and frailty, the duty owed by a son to his father, even the love Aurangzeb had once had for her. She had reminded him of how he had rushed to her bedside after she had nearly burned to death. His replies had been polite but cold, their implication that by choosing to give her loyalty to their father she had forfeited any rights to his affection or attention, but as she read Aurangzeb’s brutal words to Shah Jahan she gasped.
You ask me to come to you. Why should I? What good would it do either of us?
You demand to know how I can treat you, my father, in this way. The answer is simple. You were never a father to me and so can have no claims on me.
You never loved me. You slighted and neglected me in favour of your other children — the more so after the death of my mother. You scorned me when I advised you to follow more closely the teachings of our religion in your own life and that of the empire.
You upbraid me for my treatment of the heretic Dara and of the murderer Murad as if the fact that they are my brothers should make me excuse their crimes. They deserved their fates and I acted within the law in punishing them. Indeed I would have been culpable if I had not. What’s more, your protests are the purest hypocrisy. You appear to forget you had my uncles Khusrau and Shahriyar killed for no better reason than that they stood between you and the fulfilment of your ambition, yet under the customs of our people their claims to the throne were no less than yours. You, not I, are the murderer — the truly guilty man.
Father and daughter were silent for a minute or two. Then Shah Jahan said, ‘There is some truth in what he writes. I was responsible for the deaths of my half-brothers, but they had to die for the safety of all of you — my children — and of the dynasty. They died so that my sons, full brothers, would never have to face the dangers I had to. I was never easy in my mind about their deaths. Now it seems it was all for nothing … the old cycle of blood, of father against son, of brother against brother, has begun again. I blame myself. I was complacent when I should have been vigilant. I believed the rivalries that have cursed the Moghuls for generations could never happen in my family.’
‘You couldn’t have foreseen Aurangzeb’s behaviour.’
‘You did — you tried to warn me about him!’
‘No. I was worried that you and he were drawing apart but I never dreamed his discontent would lead him to rebel against you or to kill Dara …’ Jahanara’s voice shook. Fighting to retain her composure, she turned back to the rest of Aurangzeb’s letter.
But now I must raise practical matters. I have wished to be merciful and give you time to adjust to your new circumstances. I have tolerated your abusive and accusing letters as the outpourings of an old man whose mental and physical powers are fading and who cannot accept that the times have moved on and he is no longer emperor. I have also borne your continued refusal over these past months to give up your imperial jewels, but my patience is becoming exhausted. You will either send me what I ask — including Timur’s ring — or I will have them taken from you. I hope you will act with dignity, but the choice is yours.
Hearing a movement, Jahanara looked up. Her father was on his knees before the leather-bound chest in which he kept his most precious possessions. Taking a key on a slender gold chain from round his neck, he opened the chest and then reaching inside began flinging out the contents — enamelled chains, necklaces of rubies, emeralds and diamonds and heavy gold bracelets. Out they all came to lie gleaming on the carpet.