Fatehpur Sikri was indeed a paradise in red
sandstone. The more Rukaiya stayed in
the fortress, the more she fell in love with Jalal’s dream city. Every detail
of the curving on the walls and pillars, its domes and arches, gates and palaces, was well detailed and reflected Jalal’s thoughts and ideals. He was later a
bit inclined towards secularism. He had built temples in the Rajput Harem. If
it was from his soul or just for the sake of Politics that he preached
secularism, Rukaiya Begum didn’t understand. All she knew was that she had
never approved of him celebrating every festival of every religion himself. The
zenana had many more festivities with the inclusion of his other queens,
including Holi and Diwali, with the growing Rajput members, and she made sure
they were celebrated with equal grandeur as much as Navroz or Eid. But never in
these occasions had she or the Turk kins stepped out to celebrate like the
Emperor.
She woke to the music of Tansen’s melodious
voice every morning, as it echoed in the courtyard of her palace, which
overlooked Jalal’s Khwab Ghar. She then attended the Diwan E Khas with Jalal and gave her input on the politics of the land. She would often take a relaxing
bath with the help of her ladies and sit surrounded by heaps of books and
letters that Abdul brought from the Panch Mahal for her. Her favourite spot
became the Turkish Bath that the emperor had built in the area of her palace.
The terrain was hot, especially in the afternoons, and the bath had temperature-adjustable water to soothe them. In the evenings, she would take a stroll around
the Harem and meet the ageing Mariam Makani for a while, and often before dinner, she and Jalal would discuss Sufism and poetry. Often in the darkest hours of
the night, as the emperor engaged in merriment in his entertainment pavilion, she would sit with the faint tune of music coming from a distance and smile
contentedly. She had wanted this life, close to him. He had fulfilled her wish.
Rukaiya Begum believed that Padshah Akbar
would be remembered one day as greater than his grandfather, Babur. He had smiled
at her thought. Jalal had made very impressive strategic moves, sending Rajputs
against Rajputs. He also sent troops of Hindus to Deccan and himself waged war
against Gwalior, Malwa and other rebellious regions. She knew Mariam Ur Zamani
and her ladies in secret did not approve of the idea of letting Rajputs fight
an inner battle, but Maan Singh was too happy to serve his emperor. Rukaiya
Begum had been impressed with the newly appointed Khan E Khana, Abdur Rahim,
the teenage son of Bairam Khan, who already proved his worth as an able and
loyal heir. She had exchanged letters with him on many of his missions.
One afternoon, as she was reading the
official letters that had arrived for Jalal, Salima Begum and Mariam Ur Zamani
had sought a meeting with her. Shehzaadi Mehr was married with much grandeur to
the son of one of the chieftains, and Salima Begum often came with issues
concerning Shehzaada Salim. Both Mariam Ur Zamani and Salima Begum were worried
about how Shehzaada Salim was growing up spoiled by his kins. All of five, the Shehzaada
was famous for his tantrums and mood swings. The ladies feared his mood, and the
concubines and eunuchs stayed away. With the other children, Shehzaadi Khanum,
Shehzaada Murad and Shehzaada Daniel growing up under the care of Mariam
Makani, it was only Salim who enjoyed the luxuries of being the heir to the
throne.
Rukaiya Begum often dismissed the ladies’
concerns about him getting spoiled. He was just a fruit of the Timurid dynasty, showing his might from a young age, she often said. Salima Begum understood her
reasons to dote on Salim, and Salim’s over-fondness of the Padishah Begum, who
always saved him from the wrath of his father.
“What had Shehzaade Azeem done now?”
Rukaiya Begum frowned slightly as Salima Begum and Mariam Ur Zamani bowed
before her. A little healthier than she used to be, Rukaiya Begum sat leaning
on her cushion and opened the silver box full of neatly wrapped betel leaves.
She filled her mouth with one and stared at the two silent women. “I sometimes
feel you see and make much more of what actually happens.” Her voice was that
of disapproval, and Mariam Ur Zamani stared at her with a sigh.
“Our concern is real, Padishah Begum.” She
spoke softly, “Yesterday, Salim did not like his dinner, and in a fit of rage, he
almost ...”
“Why did anyone serve him a dinner he
didn’t like?” The Padishah Begum’s words made the concerned mother silent. “Did
I not order the cooks to make exactly what Salim wants?” She had clapped her
hands for Abdul. The Eunuch arrived and bowed before her, and she ordered in a
firm tone, “Make sure today’s dinner is laid with every item Shehzaade Salim
loves.”
“But...” Salima Begum spoke, exchanging
glances with Mariam Ur Zamani.
“You may leave. I have some work.” The
Padishah Begum had dismissed the ladies.
The Emperor arrived at his palace late in
the evening, from an outpost inspection near Agra. Upon his arrival, the
Padishah Begum was immediately called into his chambers, making Rukaiya Begum
frown worried.
He was sitting on the carpet, saying his
evening prayers, as Rukaiya Begum managed to enter the room noiselessly. Traces
of Jalal’s hair, which were hidden beneath his Turban most of the time, were
showing signs of greying. She smiled, noticing them. She sat behind him, waiting
for him to finish his prayers. He turned, facing her with a rather serious
face, put on his turban, and sat down across her on the cushions.
“Shehzaada Mirza has been captured.” He
spoke in a monotonous voice that made Rukaiya Begum stare at him wide-eyed.
“Captured?” She had a hint of
disappointment in her voice, “But why?”
“Because he rebelled.” Jalal looked
agitated “He was all set to declare Kabul independent from the empire. Should
have curbed him down when we had the chances...” His eyes stopped at her cold
glare.
“He was an infant, and curbing him down
meant killing him!” She retorted.
“He is not an infant anymore!” He shrugged, making Rukaiya Begum sigh, “We should kill him now.” He rose from his place and
walked up to the window overlooking the Talab. The moonlight shone on it.
“Yes, why not!” Rukaiya Begum rose to her
feet, in a calm but cold voice, “Kill everyone who comes in your way to the
throne. Mirza, Khan Baba, Kins, Chiefs, stillborns. Maybe one day kill your own
children...”
“Rukaiya!” He frowned, turning to her, irked, “I told you many times, I or anyone else would never plot against Khan
Baba. No one had any hand in either your miscarriage or the death of Harka
Bai’s infants. It is up to you to believe what you want to.” He added rather
coldly, “I called upon you to tell you that he will be executed. I can’t keep my
promise to you. This needs to be done.” Rukaiya Begum had given him one stare,
which he could not decipher, before she walked out of his chambers, without
looking back even once.
Deep in the night, Jalal parted his curtains
to see that the light in the Sultana’s house was still burning. He frowned, knowing
his decision had disturbed her. Back when they were children, Rukaiya had often
played with Mirza and doted on him. Her motherly instincts were natural since
childhood. He sighed at the memories. Then he spotted Shehzaada Salim making
his way up the footwalks of the Talab, towards the sitting area in between. He
frowned slightly. What was the child doing at the darkest hour of the night?
Salim had managed to steal a small amount of
opium away from the eyes of his keepers and had sat down to inspect the same
with great curiosity. He was about to
smell it when he was startled at the sudden pull of his collar and the slap
that resounded across the silent courtyard. His father looked visibly angry as
the opium fell from his hand, and Salim, red in anger, with tears in his eyes, fumed. Not a teardrop escaped his eyes, nor a sound from his lips.
“Padshah!” Both of them stared at the
startled expression of the Padishah Begum, who must have witnessed the scene
from her chambers.
Salim, in a reflex, ran to hug her, tightly, and Rukaiya Begum, in the shadow and light, could see his cheeks red from the
slap.
“He is a child, how can you...”
“Ask the child what he was doing?” Jalal
had stopped her with his angry voice. Onlookers gathered from all quarters by
then, and Salim hung on to his Badi Ammi. Rukaiya picked up the small piece of
paper, containing something, which was thrown her way by the Emperor. She knew
exactly what that was.
“Who gave you this?” Her stern voice scared
Salim as he lowered his head.
“What happened?” Mariam Ur Zamani had
arrived at the scene and gasped at what her five-year-old had done. He was
about to taste opium.
“Did you not hear what she asked?” Jalal
fumed at his son, “Who gave you this? Where did you get it?” The child stood
quietly. Head bowed. Visibly scared.
“You will be locked up for a day, without
any food or water.” The emperor’s words made the women gasp worried “Anyone
giving you any food will be executed by my order, is that clear?” His words
were met with silence as the soldiers dragged away the Shehzaade to
confinement.
“Please, please...” He was pleading, “I am
sorry, I truly am!”
Rukaiya Begum couldn’t sleep at night. In
the morning, she looked across her palace to the Raniwas of the Rajputs, hoping
to get some news about the prince.
“The Padshah left at dawn; he will be back
for lunch.” Abdul had bowed to her with the news.
“Did he release Shehzaade Salim?” Abdul
shook his head. Rukaiya Begum skipped her breakfast and walked across the
courtyard to the Raniwas at midday.
The eunuchs bowed, and the Rajput ladies
rushed to inform Mariam Ur Zamani. She had walked out of her chambers in
urgency.
“Where is Shehzaade Salim confined?” Her
words were met with a silent indication of the lady’s hand. Rukaiya Begum stood
before the closed doors, guarded by two of the Emperor’s guards.
“Open the door.” She ordered.
“We are sorry, Padishah Begum, but the
emperor has...”
“It is my order; if you do not obey me, I
will get you executed.”She spoke in anger, “Now open the door.”
The guards obeyed her silently as Shehzaada
Salim stared at the light falling from outside into his chamber.
“Badi Ammi.” He smiled hopefully.
“I told you to call her Padishah Begum in
public.” His mother protested softly behind the Padishah Begum.
“Look what I brought for my Salim.” Rukaiya
Begum smiled, taking out an apple from beneath her veil. “Here. Have this.” The
soldiers exchanged glances with each other, and so did his mother and Salima Begum.
“But the Padshah will get you executed, Badi
Ammi.” He frowned at the lady, a little scared. Rukaiya Begum smiled. She did
not know about the future, but at that moment, this child cared more about her
than his own starvation. She shook her head, placing the apple on his lap.
“Let him get me executed. I can do that for
my Sheikhu Baba.” Her words were met
with a smile as the boy took a hungry bite of his apple. Locking his doors
again, Padishah Begum walked away to make lunch arrangements for the Padshah.
She did not know why Jalal stared at her
rather suspiciously, thrice during his lunch. Then he asked, “ What did you do
since morning?”
“The Usual.” She shrugged, "Why?”
“I thought I warned everyone not to feed
Sheikhu Baba. Everyone included you.”
“I...” She stared at him, a little
surprised,” How do you know?”
“Because you are feeding me without
pleading for his release.” He shook his head “Rukaiya, he needs to know he made
a mistake.”
“He knows, he is truly sorry.” She shrugged, “Trust me.”
“You cannot be an advocate for his bad behaviour
all the time. Even Mariam Ur Zamani fears he is getting spoiled.”
“She just doesn’t know how a Timurid blood
can be handled.” Rukaiya had snapped in a manner very unlike her.
“Then what about Salima Begum?” He frowned, “She also...”
“She told you, didn’t she?” Rukaiya Begum
frowned “Now what? You will get me executed?”
“Don’t be naive, Rukaiya.” He had stopped at
his morsel “All I am saying is that love Salim; don’t spoil him. He needs to
learn conduct befitting of a Timurid heir.”
Rukaiya Begum stared at him in silence.
“I have decided to hand over his lessons to
Maan Singh and also send him away for some days to Lahore with Mariam Makani.”
He stared at her lack of responses “ I know you dote on him, and also miss
Shehzaadi Mehr, but this is for his best.”
“I know.” Rukaiya had spoken softly and
sighed.
He had left to explore Agra, on horseback
after lunch, smiling at her once, at the gates. It was almost evening when she
was watching the doves fly around and the peacocks perched on the rooftops when
Abdul came running in urgency.
“Padishah Begum. Padishah Begum.” His wails
alerted Rukaiya, whose heart skipped a beat. “The Shahehshah has been hit by an
arrow.”
The Emperor was rushed to his Khwab Ghar,
where soldiers barred entrance for the crowd of worried onlookers outside, and
the medicine men checked on the emperor. He was unconscious. The Padishah Begum
had to appear in the Diwan E Aam, trying to calm her racing heart and trembling
voice and announce that the Padishah was fit and fine, just escaped with a minor
injury. It was needed to show the enemies that they failed. She then ran to his
chambers in urgency. Rahim stood
guarding the door, as her eyes met the teary eyes of Mariam Ur Zamani and the
worried face of Salima Begum. Rahim did not stop the Padishah Begum.
She walked
across the threshold and into his chambers as the nurses and medicine men ran
around him, making medicine, applying balms, and dressing his wound. The arrow
had narrowly escaped his heart. He looked in pain, his head was sweaty, and his clothes were soaked in blood. For a moment, Rukaiya Begum’s mind travelled back to her
father’s coffin. He had the same kind of blood-soaked ... the smell of the
blood was making her feel uneasy.
“Padishah Begum!” She had heard Rahim
scream. The splashes of water on her face startled her as she found herself on
the floor, surrounded by Abdul and a few nurses.
“Are you all right, Begum?” the nurses asked
“You fainted...”
“Jalal!” She had sat up on the cold floor
and saw the emperor struggling to breathe. The known fear gripped Rukaiya Begum.
“Jalal!” She ran to hold his stone-cold hand in hers and rub it with
tears in her eyes.
“What happened?” “Let us inside, please.”
There was a commotion at the door.
“Jalal.” She saw him frown slightly as if
he was trying to respond to her call.
“Padishah Begum.” The oldest medicine man
spoke in a kind voice, “He needs rest.”
Rukaiya sat down on the floor beside
him, her hand in his, her eyes not leaving him for a moment. She monitored his
breathing in her fear, prayed every time he winced, and rubbed his hands and
feet as the nurses did.
“Padishah Begum.” Abdul had called in vain
for the umpteenth time in two days, “You should go and eat something.”
“Not unless he opens his eyes.” She was
adamant.
Deep inside, Rukaiya went through her entire life and regretted the
way she sometimes fought with him, hurt him or perhaps questioned her trust in
him. She regretted not giving him an heir. And she feared the worst. Losing him
was not an option. He was the only one left in the world whom she still called
her own. The Almighty couldn’t be so cruel to her.
On the third day, Jalal opened his eyes
to see Rukaiya Begum, kneeling by his side, on the floor, her hand in his. He
moved a little, alerting her as she jumped in her place and stared at him, looking at her.
“Jalal?” Her voice choked as the medicine
men came by immediately, “Oh, Jalal!”
He was declared out of danger, prompting a
celebration in the Haram, and Rukaiya Begum sat by his bed, running her fingers
through his hair, as all his other Begums came to see him and enquire about his
health.
She then walked out to have a bath, dress and eat, then step into the
Diwan E Khas, to talk to his chiefs.
“We need to know who did this.” She spoke
as the men agreed.
“We are on to it.” Rahim spoke sincerely, “We have been inspecting the body of the paid killer. He had killed himself.”
“Any leads?” She had asked, frowning.
“Not yet, Padishah Begum, but as soon as
we....”
“Then do it quick, and redirect all issues
to me for the month. The emperor needs to rest.” The men had bowed and left.
Maan Singh had arrived in urgency, in a few
days, from his expedition to Mewar, to enquire about the Emperor’s health.
“Did you succeed in making a peace talk?”
The emperor asked, half lying in his bed. He shook his head.
“They want war...” Maan Singh clenched his
jaw, remembering the words used by Kunwar Amar Singh, the heir to the throne.
He dared to raise a question about his pedigree.
“Then we will give them that”, the emperor
spoke, “Send me the details of what you need and...”
“I thought I said all issues were
redirected to me this month.” The emperor stopped with a slight smile at the
Padishah Begum’s words as she appeared on his threshold with freshly cut fruit
and nuts. “No one informed you, Kunwar Maan Singh?” Her tone was that of
disapproval.
“Yes. I am truly sorry, Padishah Begum. I
was here to enquire about the Padshah’s health. I should leave.” He had bowed
before the lady and left.
“Actually, I asked him...” Jalal had stopped
at her glare as she sat down in front of him.
“You are not yet fit, and you are talking
about going to war again...” She looked disappointed.
“I will be fit soon, given the amount of
nursing care I am getting from you.” He smiled.
“Do I also need permission to worry for
you?” She frowned.
“Not at all. In fact, you have been doing
that all your life, and the more we get older your worries increase.” He had
smiled, amused.
“I fear...” Rukaiya Begum had looked away
to hide her tears and insecurities “I fear losing you, Jalal.”
“I am not leaving you so soon.” He held
her hand and smiled at her, “Don’t you worry.”
“But you are still not permitted to talk of
wars unless you are absolutely fit.”
“As you say, Padishah Begum.” He smiled, “Your wish is my command.”
