Begum Sahib: The Enigma

March 1658, Agra

" In bloodshed and hatred,

In battles and bravery,

Tears of love, years of hope,

All was lost."

Months passed by as Shah Jahan grew sicker than before. His mind was disturbed by the constant move of his sons and the talk of their alliances against Dara. He had crowned Dara the heir. Jahanara had backed his decision. Now he feared for his most loved son’s life.

“Janni.” He had feebly extended his hand to her as she entered the Khas Mahal. “My child”

“Yes, Father.” Jahanara stared at the empty eyes of the Emperor that lacked spark.

“How long has it been since your mother left us?” He asked, staring at the Taj in the distance.

“Father…”

“Tell me, Janni.”

“It’s been twenty-six years, that she…”

“She was my will to live, Janni. I see Dara finding that will in Nadira. After her death, I didn’t rule well, did I?” He stared at his favourite child.

Jahanara’s jaws stiffened. “You were a father like a king… You are…” She stopped at his hand gesture

“I were…” He stared at the sky “Janni, your mother calls me, but how can I leave like this? I have sinned. I hurt my father and killed my brothers. I am yet to receive my punishments. Watch my children…” Jahanara could hear no more. She left his chamber for her garden house.

April 1658. Agra.

" Without death, can thy name be immortal?
Without a servant, can a master be Noble?" ~ Dara Shukoh

 Jahanara was in her chambers when Dara sought an audience with the Begum Sahib.

“ You wrote this?” Jahanara looked proud at her younger brother as he handed her his last work.

“Mingling of the two oceans.” She read, “I am so proud of you, Dara.”

“Begum Sahib,, He spoke with sincerity, “I need to talk.”

“What is it?” Jahanara grew worried.

“I will be going to war any time it is required. I know all our brothers have stopped writing to you.” He stopped as Jahanara stared at him.

“I know the day is near, but will you…” He stopped.

“Tell me, Dara.”

“Will you take care of Nadira and my children if I…”

“Dara!” Jahanara stood up “How can you talk like that? If a war happens, you need to fight and win, for our sake!” She almost scolded him; he shook his head and apologised. He turned to leave.

“Dara.” He stopped at the threshold “I promise to look after them as much as I can, still my last day” He left without turning, as Jahanara shed tears.

May 1658, Agra

" He who knows Virtue and Vice knows that intrigued ruin the country" ~ Qudsi.

Aurangzeb and Murad were marching to Samugarh. Jahanara could hear the army nearing, or was it her imagination? Dara was marching his troops out of the fort the next morning. Shah Jahan was no longer a king. He was a father who hugged his favourite son and wept like a child. Jahanara had extended her hands towards Nadira Begum, who stood at the threshold. She had no words. A Soldier came in, “Rao of Bundi is here with his army, and he requests an audience with the prince.” Dara nodded.

“I…” Jahanara had made her father, the prince, the queen and Nadira stare. “I would like to meet him first.” She had said with authority. Her father and brother had nodded. She requested his audience at her pavilion. He was there in minutes. Clad in a golden turban and white attire.

“What is the news from the enemies?” She sounded normal.

“Our troops are greater in number than expected. Mir Jumla has been aiding Aurangzeb. So are Najabat Khan and his troops.” He fisted his palm. “I can’t stand that man, Najabat Khan.”

She stared up from behind the veil. What had he heard about the Khan to hate him? Or worse, what had he heard about ‘them’?

“And who will lead our sides apart from you and Dara?”

“My brother is here at your service, Begum Sahib, and so is my son. Bharat.” She smiled at the name. The son of Hind.

“Is there anything…” she paused to choose her words while he looked up “Anything you want…” and the last words came almost like a whisper “, from me?”

A pause made her feel she shouldn’t have said that. Not in front of his soldiers, the eunuchs or Koli.

“Make sure my younger son lives to become king, to take forward the pedigree if I…”

“I will try my best if I have the power.” She promised, “May you win.”

“Take care…Begum Sahib.” He said with a salute and left. Jahanara ‘s chest felt heavy. 

She watched the women of the zenana, anxious. She stared at her father being pacified by his queens. She watched Dara’s daughters sit scared. She could stay in the harem no longer.

“Koli, send for my ride. I will visit Mother at dusk”

“But pardon me, Begum Sahib, isn’t that risky?” Koli’s words made her laugh. Yes, so unlike her and the situation. She was amused.

“I hold no crown, Koli. No one will gain anything by killing me. Send for my ride”

The moon has just started to show itself in the fading lights of the evening. The sky was red. So was the marble atop the Taj. Much like the blood that was going to be shed. She stood admiring the architecture of the Taj. She then dismissed the guards at the base of the tomb as she climbed up the stairs to her mother. She wanted to be alone. Perhaps the red reflecting on the marble was her mother telling her, “Janni. I know why you are here.” She entered the tomb.

The cold marbles housed the warmest heart she knew. She had woven a garland with her own hands that she now placed upon the tomb. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she sat down, hugging the marble tomb.

“Our world is crumbling, Mother. Your brave Janni is not that brave after all, “she sobbed. The stone was cold and silent. She craved the comfort of her hug. “I was told such a day would come, and I have to be strong. Look, Ammi, your daughter is failing.” She heard footsteps at the entrance. Alarmed, she wiped her tears. It was dark already, and a little lamp shone at the tomb. And in its light, she saw him. He paid his respect to the empress he never saw and stared at her moist eyes and the face she had veiled.

In the silence, she had softly said, “Call out the name of the thing you hold dearest to your heart, and hear the Taj echo your voice.”

Her name echoed, sending shivers down her spine. She stared at him with longing. Twenty-five years since the first time she saw him at court, and he never looked up at her face. Neither did he ever speak to her about things she wanted to hear. Did she mind if the mother she held closest to her heart heard her secrets tonight? He was about to live when she extended her hand to him with a short “Stay.” He held it and sat down beside her on the marble floor. The moonlight was reflecting upon the jharokhas.

“Once, someone wrote me a letter.” She found words at last, “ A letter I hide in the amulet I wear, a letter I dare not part with till my last breath.” She stopped as his hand tightened on hers.

“Once someone called me his Samjogini. Does he feel the same after all these years? Am I his will to return home and fight for love, like Prithvi did for …” She could speak no more.

He was silent. She removed her veil and said, “Look at me and answer.” He didn’t look at her. Instead, he left her hand and got up.

“Once on the brink of my youth, I had a dream. A dream that seemed like an impossible one, but I dared to dream it. I dared to hope it was for real. Growing older and wiser, closer to death, makes you see things clearly, and I see those. I see all the hate and bloodshed that could have been if I had acted upon it. Some dreams are so perfect that they can never be real. They are never for the world to understand. They are never for the world to accept. Some Love needs no acceptance. They are greater than that. All these years made me realise, Jahanara Begum, that you and I have lived a love people don’t often encounter. Haven’t we?” He stared with his deep eyes, warming her heart like never before as he wiped away her tears with his cold hands.

“We have lived a love that transforms souls, enlightens them.” She nodded.

“And you enlighten mine. Our worlds are different. You see my world. You make me see yours. And you respect what you see, Jahanara Begum. That in itself is divine love”

Jahanara had never felt him so near to her heart ever before, even in her dreams. She had woven another garland. He bowed before her, just like the groom in her dreams, as she put it around his neck.

“If I survive the war, I will go on a pilgrimage to the Himalayas. I will stop fighting wars like Ashoka once did, and I will leave my title to my son. But now, I will fight for the oath I took in your name and protect your brother. Nothing will happen to him as long as I am alive.” He spoke with his eyes shining. 

Jahanara felt like it was the last time she would see him. She held his hands in hers and kissed them like she saw her mother, kiss her father’s and Nadira, Dara’s. She smiled at him as he said, “If I die trying to save Dara, it will be my honour, and then I will wait for you on the other side of the realm of the Sun, to meet you there, or in another life.  And if I survive Jahanara, I will wait for you at the foot of the mountains, for the pilgrimage of the Himalayas. I will wait till you come.”

Jahanara had never dreaded dawn as she did that day. As the first lights of dawn stirred her awake from her slumber, she found he was gone, and so was the garland she had brought for him. She bowed to her mother from afar and hurried back to the fort. The troops were leaving in front of the Diwan E Khas. Dara was consoling a sobbing Nadira. Jahanara remembered what Rao Raja had told her once.

“When a Rajput goes to war, the Rajputani smiles as she bids him goodbye. Once Samjogini told Prithvi that to die with honour was to live forever. And she would meet him again to be his in the afterlife, embracing the flames for his love, if he shows his valour against his enemies. A Rajputani never cries when a Rajput warrior goes to fight”

Jahanara watched from afar as Chattar Sal assembled his troops. Her quilt was now on his elephant, and her garland on his war horse. He had come to bid a formal goodbye with salutation. Jahanara stood with a smile, not a tear shone in her eyes, as they met his. He was proud of her.

She had watched the elephant go from the top of her tower for as long as it was visible. At the gates, he had stared back while she stood on the stairs. She could see the fierce will for glory in his eyes. She watched Dara leave behind a weak Nadira. She smiled at him with hope.

9^th June 1658

" Rarely has a piebald pearl (half black and half white) been seen, unless it is the tears of a damsel with collyrium in her eyes." ~ Zeb Un Nissa

The moonlit night of the Nur Mahal was peaceful, but her heart remained turbulent. Her brothers were on a hunt for each other’s blood. The red bricks of the Agra Fort itself reminded her of the blood that was being shed. She stared with a sigh at the Taj from a distance. White Marble. Precious stones.  A symbol of love, of which she was the first fruit. For the last twenty-seven years, her mother lay there. She wished her mother would talk back to her today. At forty-four, she felt like her world would crumble. It was the end. She knew in her heart that even when the surroundings were silent, a lamp secretly burned in each chamber, and each heart anticipated the fate of the future.

The Taj Mahal was a symbol of Love and forever for her parents. The world didn’t know what it meant to her. She tried to calm her restless heart, holding an amulet close to her chest. Inside the amulet was a letter. A letter she dared not part with, till her last breath.

She was going to meet her brother Aurangzeb on behalf of her father in the morning. The Battle of Samugarh was lost, and so was hope, after fifteen days of the war. Dara was on the run. His wife and kids had joined him. Fearing for his life, Jahanara decided to talk to Aurangzeb. Shah Jahan took ill at the news. The fate of his Harem was in question, and so was his life. Jahanara had started tasting all the food given to the emperor herself. To avoid murder. Sins, her brothers had done enough.

She remembered how the messenger described the war, the clash of the sides, and how each of the brave hearts fell. All she heard was his name, and then the world around her seemed distant. She had walked away numb from her teary father and into the darkness of her chambers. She had held on to the amulet and heard her heartbeat. She had felt him nearer than ever. She let her silent tear flow. 

Did he remember her when he breathed his last? She wondered between her sobs. She remembered his last words. Dawn seemed far as her life was plunged into darkness. 

Aurangzeb had seized the fort as Shah Jahan closed the gates. It was opened at Jahanara’s order in one last attempt to reconcile. “He will listen to you.” It was someone’s voice in her head. She had met the new emperor, crowned “Alamgir”. He expected gifts and acceptance. But Jahanara was an elder sister meeting her youngest brother.

“You have sinned. Now apologise to Father and stop the bloodshed. He will make you the emperor. Divide the empire among you all. In return, let Dara live in a small province peacefully.” Aurangzeb laughed at her offer. She also knew that the emperor was in no position to make such offers. Besides, Dara was the popular one. His survival would mean danger.

“ Begum Sahib,, He had said calmly, “I don’t accept such offers. And since you always showed your never-ending love to Dara, as did the emperor, all of you will remain in the Nur Mahal until I find and kill the Heretic.” Jahanara’s blood boiled as colour flushed from her face. This was the same Aurangzeb she had saved so many times. The same one she loved and defended. She left without another word. 

On her way back, an injured Rajput soldier from their camp stopped her procession and demanded a meeting. He was from Bundi.

“The Rao gave this “, he handed her a blood-soaked pearl necklace. The blood painted her hands red as she shuddered in horror. “How… how did he…” She had managed.

He was attacking Murad with all his might. He had called upon the Rajputs and shielded Dara, who ran away. This left him exposed to the enemy. Aurangzeb’s men fell on him. Najabat Khan cut the Rao with his sword, and he bled to death before Dara felt guilty and arrived back with help, too late.

Jahanara held the pearl close to her chest and wept her way back to the palace.

Aurangzeb’s troops had shut the emperor and his queens up at the Nur Mahal Palace. Since that day, she started keeping a journal for her buried thoughts. She spends days reminiscing about her childhood with her ageing father, keeping him away from the politics of the country and Aurangzeb. Roshanara came to visit, only to show her might as the new Padishah Begum and had little sympathy for her father.

Spring of 1663...

" O waterfall, for whose sake dost thou mourn?
And what matter of pain was it that, like me,
Through the life-long night, thou didn't dash thy head against the rock and weep?" ~Zeb Un Nissa

Aurangzeb was reimposing the Jizya. He had also stopped music and the arts in the court. Jahanara longed for the music that once filled the air from the Diwan E Khas. Dara’s severed head was sent as a gift to her father, and she wept inconsolably for her brother, Nadira, who had died of illness and the children who were in captivity. Jahanara took more interest in Sufism under the teachings of her mentor, Mian Mir, who once taught her tolerance. Tolerance, she needed more now. She spends her days remembering things she learnt and writing about them, and reading every work Dara left behind. In his words, she found Dara closer to her. She had asked for the custody of Jani Begum, Dara’s youngest daughter, from Roshanara, seeing how she mistreated the girl. Aurangzeb didn’t oppose it. Roshanara, for her ways, was falling out of his favour too. She had misused his name in her favour as the Padishah Begum while he was ill. She had even mistreated his favourite wife, Dilras. Aurangzeb didn't forgive her. Shah Jahan had told Jahanara to write to Aurangzeb on his behalf. He had reminded his son that his son could do the same to him. Aurangzeb reminded him that he was paying for his sins and partiality. His cruel attitude made Shah Jahan weaker.

Agra, 1666

Shahjahan was dying. He spoke of Mumtaz more often than not. One night, the Akbarbadi Begum handed Jahanara the Quran to be read out to her dying father. He stopped her recitation with his own clear voice and also ordered his queens to live in peace and in god’s name. He held Jahanara’s hand and said, “I forgive him, Janni, you forgive him too and reconcile. You have a lot more to do. To take care of Dara’s children and those of your other brothers. “ She nodded in silent tears and ordered a procession for him the next morning. Aurangzeb did not permit that. Shah Jahan was buried in the silence of the night. The little he had left, Jahanara gave away to the poor.

" A Fakira, who was cursed to be a princess,

Lived and died in oblivion, forgotten by time."

Nearly a month after Shah Jahan's death, Emperor Alamgir came to take the throne of Agra. He visited Jahanara Begum and apologised for his behaviour. He offered peace and raised her monthly revenue, and gave her back the post of Padishah Begum. She left for Delhi with Jani Begum for Ali Mardan Khan’s house in Delhi, where she stayed and worked on Sufism. She refused to stay in the fort where her brother was murdered. Her influence on Aurangzeb’s politics was very limited as she tried in vain to make him change his opinions on Hindus. He, however, at her request, made Chattar Sal’s youngest son Bhao Singh the Rao of Bundi and the jagir of Aurangabad.

Since her arrival in Delhi, she took to complete Sufism and saintly ways of living secluded from public eyes. But Aurangzeb often visited her and talked for hours about politics and took her opinions. She didn't give her opinions freely to the intolerant one. She, however, was an irreplaceable treasure to him and his harem. 

" The way of the world is not worth seeing a second time, not a man looked back when he left this heap of dust"~ Abu Talib Karim.

Jahanara made sure that Jani Begum had a secure life and proposed her marriage to Aurangzeb’s third son. The Marriage was held in her palace in grandeur. Later that year, as she headed the women’s education system that was once Nur Jahan’s dream, she talked to Emperor Alamgir about the abolition of the marriage law imposed on the princesses. The emperor, who was against everything Akbar stood for, agreed instantly and abolished the law of letting his own daughters marry their cousins. Princess Zebunnisaa, however, followed Jahanara’s path to Sufism and became a saint and poetess. 

Jahanara spent her last days, not wearing any jewellery or riches, living simply in her house away from the politics of the Red Fort and writing two books she left behind as her legacy to Sufism. One was the life story of her mentor.  She lived like the saint she always wanted to be. Upon her illness, when the emperor asked for her last wish, she said, “Let no marble cenotaph or rich gems cover my tomb. For even in death, graves are plundered for riches, and people find no peace. Let my tomb have an open sky and a grass covering. Because grass only grows back when being stepped on. God always cares for the poor.”

She died finally in peace, on the morning of 6th September 1681, at her house in Shahjanabad and was mourned by her nieces and the people of Hind. The emperor declared a three-day state of mourning for his beloved sister, his, upon whom he bestowed the title of Sahibat Ur Zamani or Mistress of the Age. 

Thus, true to her wish, her simple tomb stands amidst many at the Hazrat Nizamuddin Dargah in Delhi and beside her rests her niece. On a marble slab near her tomb is the carving,

“He is the living, the sustaining

Let no one cover my grave except greenery,

For this very grass suffices as a tomb cover for the poor

The annihilated Fakira Lady Jahanara

Daughter of Shah Jahan, the Warrior”

The grass cover is often occasionally laid with rose petal offerings, and women offer their prayers like a deity to the poor and helpless. These people, who are often clueless about who she was, give her the respect of a saint she didn't get as a princess. Many homeless people still live inside the premises of her small tomb.

Lost in the pages of history, Jahanara Begum remains a princess who worked all her life for the people with the very limited resources she had. She yearned for a child and a family, which she found in bringing up Jani Begum and her life’s purposes were fulfilled with the abolition of the law. She lived her life in mystic ways, attending to religious saints who taught her about life. She often missed her parents and brother terribly, and the rumours of incest and having multiple lovers still haunt her image in numerous books. She forgave Aurangzeb of all his sins and also gave him advice when his own son, Mohammad Akbar, rebelled against him in January 1681. Away from the veils of politics and darkness, she had loved deeply and remained loyal to the Rao Raja Chattar Sal till her death and kept her promise to him. She was a lady of deep understanding, patience and intelligence and a character often not given the respect she truly deserves. Her writing, literacy and political sense, while helping her father and brother run the empire too, were worth the praise. Even British ambassadors to India had been mesmerised by the essence of the character of this great princess, history remembers as “Begum Sahib”.

" Death hath no sting for the Mystic,

The awakened heart fears no sleep,

If thy soul hath abandoned the body,

What matters?

When the skin becomes old,

The snake casts it off." 
~ Dara Shikoh