Introduction
The purpose of writing a continuation to the previous
story was not only the love for the style, era and the appreciation it
received. It was also the need to finish the unfinished tale of Rukaiya Begum’s
glorious life. She lived through Jahangir’s critical reign, managed to witness
Noor Jahan’s rise as coregent, made Shehzaade Khurram fit to be Emperor Shah
Jahan and even brought up his first daughter, Pervez Banu. Through her eyes, we
will witness the glorious power and turmoil of family politics and the events
that shaped the early years in the lives of her great-grandchildren, Jahanara
(Born 1614) Dara Shikoh (Born 1616) and Aurangzeb (Born 1618) Unfortunately,
she died a year before Khurram sat on the throne of the empire, in 1627.
It took me some time, however, to decide on a second
lead for the story. I was always curious to write a story piece on Noor Jahan because I find her quite fascinating. While some describe the lady as cunning
and smart, others see her make her way up the ladder of power using her brains
and beauty like no other Mughal woman ever dared to do. Noor Jahan is the only
Mughal woman to have coins minted in her name, and schools and colleges were established
for women separately and promoted the education and well-being of women. She
also had a passion for power, but unfortunately couldn’t kill for it. Some
crucial life choices led her against Jahangir’s favourite son and she spends
her widowed life in oblivion in Lahore. However, her reign was a curious one I
wished to take you to, hence here she becomes my second character, taking
forward the story that started with Rukaiya Begum. I will be honest here, she
wasn’t my first choice of a second lead; Jagat Gossain was, for she was mother
to Khurram and a rival to Noor. Unfortunately, she didn’t live long enough to
see Shah Jahan reign unlike Noor Jahan neither did she ever influence her own
grandchildren. Also, to mention here, we will witness the talk about the love
story of Khurram and Arjumand grow while the others ambitiously play their
games and pawns. Arjumand, better known as Mumtaz Mahal, might not have been as
ambitious as Noor Jahan, her aunt but strangely enough, she is perhaps the most
widely known empress in her short reign of three years, first for the glorious
Taj, secondly for her children. We will witness the turmoil and life of Ladli
Begum, the daughter of Nur Jahan from her first husband, and her life as a
commoner in the royal palace. This is as much their story as it is of Nur and
Rukaiya.
Someday I hope to knit the third part of this series, continuing the tales of the Harem with my very favourite Jahanara and her niece Zeb Un Nissa as well. Until then, here I leave you with a tale, of love, lust, revenge, treachery, battles and scars, and the women who witnessed it all, emotionally.
The following are the sources of Information which I used to write this fiction:
Mahal by Subhadra Sengupta
Daughters of the Sun by Ira Mukhoty
Empress by Ruby Lal
Noor Jahan by Elison Banks Findly
Tuzk E Jahangir
Shah Jahan Nama
Nur Jahan’s Daughter by Tanusree Poddar
Akbarnama
Private Life of the Mughals in India by R. Nath
Gulbadan by Rumer Godden
Akbar the Great Mogol By Vincent Smith
Prologue
“Move out of the way!” She heard her voice tremble as she ran frantically through the winding road. The child sat in the middle of the narrow mountain road, playing with his pebbles.
“Move!” Her voice didn’t seem to reach him as the rhythmic sound of approaching hooves increased. She ran towards the child as he looked up at her worried face clueless.
In the nick of time, she had managed to save her little boy. She held him tightly in her arms in relief.
“Shah Ammi!” The voice resonated from afar. “Ammi! Ammi.”
The urgency of the voice made the mountains fade away into the darkness, then the unwinding roads plunged into it, and finally, the boy she held in her protective arms was no longer there. She tried to hold on to anything she found around her, the trees, the boy’s hand, the sound of hooves, and even the mountains before her eyes in vain as everything faded into darkness. She jerked awake as her son tapped on her shoulder. She opened her eyes at the sight of him, a little relieved, but the faces of the others in the room made her heart sink.
“He is not responding, Padshah Begum.” The eunuch had hardly finished the sentence as she pushed the crowd aside and ran as fast as she could, barefooted, towards his Khwab Ghar. Her son followed, worried. It just couldn’t be. Not this soon. Not now.
“You know what you have to do, just do the right thing.”
His words resonated in her ears as the wind howled. She held her child close to her bosom as the horse sped through the forests towards Agra. The cold blade of the sword brushed against her skin, warm from the scorching summer sun, and her heart pounded in her chest against her sleeping child’s breath. She checked the forehead for any signs of fever. Relieved she stared ahead at the clearing from where smoke rose up to the sky. The horse stopped at the side of the clearing. She needed to be careful. The line between foes and friends was blurred now. She needed to be sure. The blood on her muslin angrakha had still not dried. His blood. She tied the horse to a tree away from sight and sighed as the child fluttered her eyes. The sound of careful footsteps behind her on the dried leaves alarmed her as she turned, ready to attack.
“Asaf Bhaijaan!” The relief in her voice reflected in her face as she sat down on the forest floor on her knees, her tired body surrendering to her sobs, as the child in her arms wailed.
The man standing in front of her was quick to pick up the crying child in his arms and stared at the sister he always loved and pampered, silently.
“We don’t have much time Mehr. We need to move.” He gave her his hand.
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