Beginning of an Era

1605, Lahore Fort

As footsteps approached the cold, dark room, the ladies in waiting rushed to prepare the evening hookah and light up the red stone mansion. Their Sultana never liked a room left dark after dusk. But the wave of her dismissive hand made them stop as a single lamp flickered in a corner, making the shadows dance in the faint light while she ordered them to leave her alone. They slowly moved away, leaving the elderly lady to her thoughts.

Drawing the veil of the Sharara away from her head, she sat down in between two velvet cushions on the seat, looking over the evening sky that had turned a shade of red. Taking the tip of the hookah pipe in her hand, Rukaiya Sultana Begum sighed.

The Zenana Mahal opposite her palace was decked in lamps and marigolds, as a mark of festivities, with Hindustani musicians playing something for the Rajput ladies to dance to. The aroma of a feast as well as perfumes filled the air, as guests kept arriving. The Queen Mother was overlooking the celebrations of her son’s official coronation. His wives laughed and made merry while on the other side of the Palace stood a contrasting scene of silence.

The Turkish Harem was drowned in a sense of loss and darkness. Silence lurked at every corner of the fairly empty corridors. The oldest queen, Salima Begum, sat in the courtyard overlooking the preparations of the feast that had been ordered for the harem ladies by the new emperor. The aroma of cooked meat filled the air, but none of the ladies drank wine or gossiped. Salima Begum sighed, looking around for someone, as a eunuch came and bowed.

“The feast is ready. Convey my words to Pa… “She stopped, carefully biting her lips with a sigh. “The Sultana Sahiba.”

“But Begum Sahiba, she had instructed us not to disturb her in the evening. She wanted to be left alone and would be fasting.” The words made Salima Begum’s eyes shine a little as music from the Zenana filled the silent air.

Rukaiya Begum had clearly stated her reasons for being absent from the coronation ceremony, as the mourning Padshah Begum of the deceased emperor, and wanted to be left alone. The Rajput traditions, the beaming faces of the Queen Mother and the smiles of their courtiers made her feel as if she was imprisoned in this happy place. She couldn’t even mourn him in peace. The music hurt her ears. She was slipping away into oblivion, fading away into death even while she was alive.

It was not that she felt disrespected in the new regime. Salim had sought her advice and permission for the coronation as per the traditions, and chosen the name “Jahangir” for himself. If rumours were to be believed, then he had slowly poisoned his own father for the throne. Yet when he stood in front of her, Rukaiya blessed him with success and glory. She had to bless the son he loved but never understood. She had willingly given up her rights as the Padshah Begum to the deceased emperor. As per the traditions, the Queen-Mother, Mariam Ur Zamani, had taken over the duties until the new Emperor chose his empress. She had been there while the announcements were made. Yet in a crowd of kin, she knew her loss was unparalleled and irreplaceable.

“Oh, Jalal.”

 Her voice cracked in a whisper as teardrops wet her surma-clad eyes and trickled down her now wrinkling cheeks. “It has only been a mere few months, yet it seems like you were never here; you are forgotten.” She sobbed, holding on to the cushion with both hands. “I am failing you, Jalal; I am failing to keep us alive.” She knew this day would come when she would perhaps live a life as insignificant as the concubines in the harem, but could she complain? She had lived the most glorious life and witnessed the most powerful reign by his side. She had survived childless, in the Harem and his heart.

She was alarmed by the footsteps in the hallway. She had clearly said no visitors were to disturb her now. But who could it be to defy the guards that stood at her door?

“Shah Ammi” She quickly wiped away her tears as she heard Khurram at the threshold “Why are you sitting alone?”

“Khurram Baba, why are you here, my Shehzaade?” Rukaiya Sultana Begum tried to ease her voice. “You must be...”

“Come join the Turkish Harem at dinner. Salima Begum has arranged everything.” He said in a curious voice, “All the noble ladies want to see you.”

“You carry on, my child. I do not feel very good, but I am sure Salima Begum will take care of them well. I will attend to the guests in the morning.” Rukaiya tried to look away as Khurram’s eyes reflected worry. Was it her imagination, or did he have his grandfather’s eyes?

“They said he will choose Jagat Gossain Begum as his Padshah Begum,” Khurram said in a matter-of-fact tone.  Rukaiya stared at his emotionless face while he spoke of his biological mother. A sudden guilt crept into her heart. She had separated this child at birth from his mother. There was no surprise that his emotions were on her side more than his own mother’s. But then Rukaiya knew she had raised him well. Adequate enough to be an Emperor, he would be as trained in his weaponry as in his administrative skills, as well as books and poetry. Rukaiya had made him the way Jalal would have loved their child to be. He was kind yet clever. Rukaiya cupped his face with half a smile.

“My dear, if it is so, then give her my regards. I will arrange for some gifts.” Khurram looked at her face, a little worried.

“Are you all right, Shah Ammi?”

“Yes, my child. I am. You go on; be present at court and please your father.” Rukaiya said in a rather emotionless voice. The boy, at the threshold of his teens, was unaware of how the politics of the house worked. He did not know his value to her existence now. Her only hope to remain relevant in the Harem was Khurram. He was already his father’s favourite over the over-ambitious Khusrau, who could pose a threat to Jahangir’s throne. After all, the apple never fell far from the tree.

“Your boy will one day rule Hind.” Jalal often used to tell her as they watched him play “king” with his playmates. She often smiled, shrugging off the Emperor’s words as a consolation to her unfulfilled desires. Now, the Emperor’s clearly implied liking towards Khurram as his heir apparent made her hope. Rukaiya heaved a sigh of relief. There was still a chance for the Timurid traditions to live in the overcrowded harem, through her son. She had to make sure every move and every pawn was played well from now on.

Khurram sat close to her lap, making her feel at peace in his innocence and warmth. He often spoke of things she failed to understand. She remembered those evenings not very long back when Jalal and he used to indulge in these conversations about saints and Sufis, of spirituality and Din I Ilahi as the future of the land. Unfortunately, even the greatest emperor was wrong at times, like he was wrong about his beloved Sheikhu Baba. The man who sat on the throne today was not the boy Rukaiya loved and pampered, but the one who had rebelled against the land, his own father, and had perhaps, if rumours were to be believed, killed him.

She had watched in silence as the Queen Mother made sure that the Rajputs were a strong part of the Harem, marrying her son and heir apparent first to Maan Bai of Amer, whom Jahangir lovingly called Shah Begum and then to a princess of Marwar who was renamed Jagat Gossain. She stared at Khurram’s bright face. He was the reason she had stayed put through many wrongs, overseen the otherwise obvious signs that the Emperor was being surrounded by enemies not far from home, and perhaps was responsible in some ways for losing him. He was the reason she needed to fight on.

Khurram, the later Shah Jahan, was brought up by Rukaiya Sultana Begum, his grandfather’s first wife and chief consort, not only as a guardian but as an adopted son. He regarded his grandparents as his parents and stayed with them until Akbar’s demise. His biological mother was Marwar Princess Jagat Gossaini (her title). After Akbar’s death and his consequent training, they moved to Agra, where he finally stayed with his biological parents. Emperor Akbar died in 1605 from dysentery. Although nothing is clearly mentioned, rumours had it that it was Jahangir or his aides who had poisoned the emperor. However, these are only folklore with no historical evidence.