Navroz Mela, 1608, Rankatta, Agra.
The Nawroz Festivities and fair were
arranged in the village of Rankatta near Agra for the year. A few days before
the festivals, tents were set up for the royal family, and chieftains also made
their way to the village with their wives and daughters. The last to arrive at
the occasion was the emperor himself, who had stopped on the way, at the tomb of
his father, posthumously honoured “Arsh Ashyani”. He, however, managed to reach it on the dawn of the festivities.
Padshah Jahangir adjusted his turquoise gem-studded turban and stared at his reflection in the mirror, while his attendants
helped him with the muslin robe. Did he look anything close to the late emperor
whom everyone idolised? Did he look convincing enough to himself? He sighed,
careful enough not to let the stress show on his face. Ever since he had his
senses, Salim felt this way. The pressure of being an heir apparent, added to
the constant rebuke and doubt by his own people, and when his father doubted
his ability to lead the Timurid throne, he rebelled in frustration. It was not
easy to fit into the expectations of ruling like Emperor Akbar. He had always
looked up to his father’s skill in diplomacy. He sipped on his cup of wine,
trying to gulp in the bitter taste of expectations with it.
“The Shehzaada is here.” The guard
announced with a bow as he nodded with a smile. He felt the need to be close to
Khurram sometimes, something he had not been able to do with Khusrau, and
something his own father never did. This day was their first official father-son moment. His first chance at making Khurram feel at home in Agra. The boy
had lived most of his days in Lahore near his grandparents, and Jahangir
doubted if he held grudges against his own father.
Jahangir kept down the cup of wine, half-finished, on the tray and dismissed the attendants as Khurram entered the room
and bowed. His red turban, gold and green robe, and glittering smile were not
to be missed.
“Today is your official appearance at the Navroz
Khurram Baba.” Jahangir turned to face his son, who nodded slightly. “On this
auspicious occasion, I would like to have you on the weighing scale.” Khurram
looked up at his father, surprised. Traditionally, it would be the emperor who
was weighed on a scale, with clothes, jewellery and things, to be distributed
to the poor later in the day.
“But Padshah... why me?” Khurram asked, not
hiding his surprise.
“Can I not let my son take my place once?
It is your first Navroz here.”
“Gratitude Padshah...” He had bowed, as was
the rule, but Khurram was surprised by a sudden hug from his father. Jahangir
patted his back slightly and gestured at the door.
The Navroz fair was organised in the open-air Bazaar meant for the ladies. Colourful stalls were set up by the ladies of
the harem, as well as families of eminent chieftains of the court. Some Rajputs
sold Bandhni veils and turbans, while some Persian stalls had handmade carpets.
Asmat Begum set up the perfumes she had made especially to sell at the fair, up
in coloured fancy bottles for the ladies to try while Arjumand and Ladli sat
patiently behind her. As excited as Arjumand was for the new dress, she was
happier to see Ladli.
Mehr Un Nissa hurried with her stall. She
put up some nice dress material samples on display and took out her drawing
books to draw up order designs for the ladies. Her light yellow dress
complemented her glowing skin, and her surma-clad eyes shone from expecting the
first customer. She exchanged a glance with her mother and smiled, satisfied with how
her stall appeared.
The courtroom cheered as the emperor made
his way to the Dais of public appearance with Shehzaade Khurram in tow, and Asaf
Khan leading the way to the weighing scales. Ulemas and Pandits stood witness
as the riches in jewellery, weapons and clothes were brought in from the
treasury, waiting to be weighed. On the window of appearances, behind the
purdah, stood the Begums. As Salima Begum and Rukaiya Begum made their way to
witness the events, Jahangir gave his nod. Asaf Khan bowed, holding out his
hand for the emperor to step up on the weighing scale, and Jahangir pushed
Khurram ahead. The scholars exchanged puzzled glances, and so did the courtiers.
“Pardon me, my Lord; it is neither the
Shehzaada’s solar nor lunar weighing nor his win in any war. The Navroz
tradition...”
“I want Khurram Baba to be weighed. For
many of his solar or lunar weightings, I have not been present, and from this
day, I hope he has many wins. I declare sending Shehzaade Khurram on his first
expedition soon.”
The crowd cheered as Khurram looked up at
the window. There stood Jagat Gossain, her eyes sparkling proudly, but his eyes
travelled to his Shah Ammi’s smile, which lit up her eyes. She was proud of
him. As Jagat Gossain found his eyes wandering from hers to the lady, her heart
sank. Sahila Banu stole a glance at her and smiled at the happenings of the
day.
Khurram was weighed, and the wealth was distributed to the poor and needy. He then sat beside his father’s throne for
the special day’s events unfolding at the court. The ladies made their way out
to the Bazaar.
Sahila Banu, with her ladies, was followed at a quick pace by Jagat Gossain, who showed her around the Bazaar, introducing her
to some of the ladies again. Her eyes stopped as Asmat Begum bowed.
“Why, you are here to see Asmat Begum!” Jagat
Gossain smiled,” I thought the mothers of Ladies in waiting are not allowed to
have stalls here.”
“You know, right, my lady, but my husband and
son are still courtiers of the emperor.” Asmat Begum smiled, bowing now to Sahila Banu. “Padshah Banu, can I have the pleasure of mesmerising you with some
perfumes?”
“Why not?” Sahila Banu smiled, dismissing
Jagat Gossain’s stare. “I love mild ones.”
“Perhaps Lavender then?” Asmat Begum
offered a scent of the purple liquid that made Sahila Banu smile.
“Perhaps some Jasmine for you, my lady?”
Jagat Gossain stared at the girl who offered her the scent. She was about
Khurram’s age.
“Who are you?” Jagat Gossain asked, rubbing
the scent on her wrist slightly. “Her helper?”
“I am Mirza Asaf Khan’s daughter, my lady.”
She bowed. Jagat Gossain nodded, taking the perfume and ordering her lady-in-waiting to pay the girl.
“Aren’t you the one studying with the
princesses nowadays?” Sahila Banu asked softly.
“Yes, my lady," Arjumand smiled, "The Sultana
Sahiba has been too kind.” Jagat Gossain’s smile faded a little as she looked
at the girl again. Her brows narrowed slightly as she asked, “Have you met
Shehzaade Khurram, my son?” Arjumand was taken aback by the question, more so
because she thought Rukaiya Begum was his mother.
“I...” Jagat Gossain didn’t wait for her to
respond as she stared back at the eunuch who followed her. He replied in an
affirmative nod as Jagat Gossain left in a hurry.
Arjumand stood awestruck at her behaviour
as Ladli tucked her skirt. She picked the child up on her lap as she saw
Sahila Banu make her way to her aunt’s stall.
“Come, Ladli, let's go see the fair.”
Mehr Un Nissa was taking orders from one of
the ladies for a pearl-studded veil when she was pushed away to make room for
Padshah Banu. Mehr looked up from her sketch and hurried with a bow.
“So, I heard you impressed Sultana Begum
with a dress.” Sahila Banu smiled.
“She is too kind.” Mehr Un Nissa smiled.
“Show me a unique piece you can make for
me.” Sahila Banu scanned her dress material as Mehr Un Nissa hurried with her
designs.
“I heard of your husband.” Sahila Banu
spoke as she checked one sample out.” Sad that the emperor ordered him...” She
stopped as if she had said something she shouldn’t have, and saw Mehr Un Nissa’s
jaws clench slightly. “His... trail... for betrayal... before he... passed
away...”
Mehr was quiet. Sahila chose a fabric and
slid it towards her. “I want it in a week.”
“Sure, Padshah Banu.” Mehr bowed as she
left.
“It’s time for you to visit the fair.” Asaf
Khan informed the emperor, while Khurram’s eyes lit up.
“Seems like the Shehzaade wants to visit
the fair soon.” Jahangir laughed slightly “Come on, Baba. Let’s go see what the
ladies are selling.”
Jahangir would lie to himself if he said
that the thought of seeing Mehr never crossed his mind. He was aware that she
was here, aware that Rukaiya Begum took her under her wings, yet there was a
boundary he couldn’t cross to reach out to her. A boundary that Salim should
have crossed years ago, but the emperor couldn’t for the newly widowed mother.
A part of his heart hoped she was there, that he would see her face after a
decade, and things would go back to the way they were when they met for the first
time. The other part of him never wanted to see her face, feel the pain that ached his heart once, and perhaps see sadness or anger in her eyes. He could
never take a disappointed look from Mehr. His thoughts trailed as the Nagada
announced his arrival.
The Nagada made Khurram’s heart leap as he
caught a glimpse of Arjumand, with Ladli in her arms, trying out some bangles
at a stall. His heart wanted to leave his father’s side and rush to her, talk
to her, and know what she was up to. But he looked away, taking small, dignified
steps behind his father.
Arjumand smiled at Khurram’s sight, taking a
step towards him in the crowd, but stopped as he looked away, waving to some
people in courtesy, his turban shining and his aura that of royalty. Her smile
faded as her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t know why Khurram was looking away, which made
her sad. He was the prince after all, and unlike their afternoon poetry
sessions, he had an image to uphold, here, on royal duty. She saw him disappear
into the crowd after his father.
Mehr Un Nissa looked up from her customers at the sound of Nagada, and her face turned a little pale. There he was, a few
feet away, his twirling moustache like his father’s, his pace that of an
emperor and his eyes inspecting the crowd. Mehr Un Nissa had prepared in her
head for this moment. Yet, she wasn’t ready. Her throat dried up, as her heart
leapt. She felt guilty about the way he still made her feel. She felt guilty about
how she felt towards him, after everything that happened; she cursed herself
for forgetting at that moment that she was Ali Quli’s widow, not his lover anymore.
The crowd in front of him dispersed as he
could see Asmat Begum’s perfume stall now. His eyes wandered to her left and
stopped, locked in another pair of eyes staring back at him. A shiver ran down
his spine as he gulped. He wanted to look away, but couldn’t; she wanted to
stare away, but couldn’t. A few more pairs of eyes witnessed this and exchanged
glances as Mehr Un Nisa slowly turned pale. Something churned in her stomach as
she felt her knees go weak. She hoped he would look away. Jahangir clenched his
jaw and fisted his hand over his sword to clear the blur of his vision. He
looked away forcefully and sighed.
“Why, you are here!” A familiar voice made
him feel relieved.
“Badi Ammi.” He turned and greeted Rukaiya
with a smile, “I just brought Khurram here...”
“Khurram, why don’t you introduce your
father to your new friend?” Jahangir frowned a little, clueless at her words, as
Khurram was taken aback.
“Shah Ammi?”
“Where is she?” Rukaiya Begum looked
around.
“I will go... get her.” Khurram rushed
through the crowd as Jahangir stood with a questioning look, and Rukaiya smiled.
“I think before you send your son to war,
you must see his choice of a bride.”
“A Bride?” Jahangir was a little taken
aback. In his head, Khurram was still the child, running about in the gardens
of Lahore, as Badi Ammi smiled at him.
Arjumand gasped at the sudden pull on her
wrist in the crowd as Khurram stood in front of her with a smile. Her cheeks
flushed warmly as he let go of her hand, and she looked away.
“I was looking for you.” Khurram smiled.
“How are you, Ladli?”
“Why?” Arjumand frowned. “You just ignored
me a while ago.”
“Ignored you?” Khurram frowned. “I... just
followed my... he wants to meet you.”
“Who?” Arjumand looked scared.
“My father, the Padshah.” Khurram smiled, “Shah
Ammi told me to take you there.”
“But... why me?” Arjumand thought she had
lost her voice, scared.
“Because you are...” Khurram stopped and
stared at her scared face “A friend.” He held her by the wrist and pulled him a
little to follow him through the crowd.
Rukaiya Begum’s smile faded a little to see
Arjumand, with Ladli in her arms. But she maintained her calm as the girl bowed
to Jahangir.
“She is the daughter of Mirza Asaf Khan.”
Rukaiya Begum spoke rather plainly.
“Is this your sister?” Jahangir acknowledged the girl.
“She is my aunt’s daughter.” Arjumand
looked scared as the Emperor stared at her cousin.
“Of course she is.” He sighed. She had her
mother’s eyes.
Jahangir left the crowd towards the Khas
Mahal as Rukaiya followed him.
Mehr Un Nissa was quick to rush to
Arjumand’s side to collect Ladli, a little scared and overprotective.
“Phuphi, meet Shehzaade Khurram,” Arjumand
spoke as Mehr Un Nissa bowed. He wouldn’t perhaps remember the times when he
was small, and she often met him in the gardens while waiting to catch a
glimpse of his father. She hoped he didn’t know who she was. Khurram’s smile
made it evident that he didn’t.
“You have a lovely daughter, my Lady.” He
spoke, “Can I have the pleasure of her company at times when Arjumand and I
recite poetry in the afternoons?”
“It will be her honour, Shehzaade.” Mehr Un
Nissa forced a smile as she held Ladli close. What if Emperor Jahangir was a threat to her child as much as he was to
her late husband? For the first time, the thought of losing Ladli crossed
her mind and scared her.
The
very famous Navroz festival fair was where Jahangir had met Mehr-un-Nissa, and
most probably, Khurram met Arjumand. For the sake of the story, Khurram and
Arjumand are friends, which was also very much possible since no clear
historical account of how they met is available. Mehr-un-Nisa’s newest designs
became a trend in the Mughal court and the talk of noble ladies, not only when
she designed clothes herself but even when she became empress. Her style of
angrakha, hats and jewellery was copied by ladies of the Timurid clan, often
even in later years.
