Spring 1607, Bagh E Babar, Kabul
Rukaiya Sultana Begum knelt before the
stone-cold marble tomb of her grandfather, Babar for the first time since she
left the place for Lahore decades ago. A lot had changed. Mirza Mohammad’s
descendants no longer occupied the small palace of Kabul, and it was in a sad
state. Rukaiya was disappointed to see the place of her childhood, her carefree
days with Jalal, them growing up, facing life, being neglected in such a state.
Jahangir had read her thoughts and immediately ordered restoration.
When the Emperor had offered her a trip to
Kabul, alongside him and his troops, she had readily agreed with the thought of
taking Khurram to see the place she grew up in. She had spent long afternoons
telling him stories of her childhood, of Bega Begum, Gulbadan Begum, Hamida
Banu Begum and her own mother, she had stopped to check herself while she
mentioned Bairam Khan or Maham Anga many times. Khurram had seen her eyes
shine at the mention of her parents and of Aqiqa, the daughter she never had.
Khurram knew what the trip meant for his Ammi, and showed great interest as she
showed him around the place that had lost its glory.
Standing in front of the white Mausoleum of
the great grandfather she mentioned, Rukaiya looked around at the Bagh E Babar,
the heavenly garden that bloomed with Tulips and roses. She brushed her hands
against the roses Jalal loved so much and smiled. Their stay was decided at the
premises of the garden itself, besides the Mosque Jahangir had ordered to be
built in the name of his forefathers. Rukaiya took Khurram’s hand and led him
to a corner of the garden that had a stone canopy and little pink bougainvillaea
that fell like coloured papers on the cold floor.
“My Nikkah happened here.” She smiled at
the place and then at Khurram.
“Oh Shah Ammi, that must have been a grand
event!” Khurram smiled.
Rukaiya shook her head. It was in a hurry,
and among the few people who mattered, but the moment Jalal had smiled at her,
all her insecurities had been put to rest. Somewhere down the years, Jalal had lost
that smile, and she had her will to trust him. Rukaiya shook out of her thought as
Khurram called her to the farthest corner where the guards stood alert. Ever
since Khusrau rebelled, the Emperor made sure both he and Khurram enjoyed
additional security. She smiled walking up to him.
“Look, isn’t this grave your father’s?”
Khurram asked looking at the marble tomb that lay under the shadow of the
larger ones beside it, insignificant and lost. The Persian scripture on it
however was intact. Rukaiya Begum sat down, with a heavy heart, brushing off
some dirt and leaves that had obstructed the name and brushed her hand against
the tombstone with a sigh. Khurram sat down beside her in silence, observing.
Memories flooded Rukaiya’s heart. Her childhood, her carefree laughter, her
father coming back from wars, her mother taking care of him, her running to hug
him after days, the blood, sweat, his smile, her giggle, his gifts, and the
news that changed things forever. Rukaiya never saw her father’s body nor did
she ever visit his tomb. For the first time in years, burdened with all that
she had, Rukaiya wanted to hold on to him and weep. She remembered how he
always scolded her mother whenever she cried. Today she was alone. Khurram
wiped off her tears suddenly bringing her back to reality. She held Khurram’s
hands in hers. He nodded.
“ Badi Ammi, I am sorry to interrupt.” The
Emperor’s voice made them stand up as Khurram promptly bowed to his father,
“But we should get moving, I need to return to Agra and I will drop you to
Lahore on the way.”
“Very well.” She nodded as Jahangir
noticed the tombstone they sat beside and gave a concerned look to her.
“Can I ask for something?” Her words made
the father and son stop and frown at her.
“Order anything you please Badi Ammi.”
Jahangir smiled “And it will be done.”
“When I die, I don’t want to have a
mausoleum of my own.” Her words made him frown “But Badi Ammi, you were the
Padshah Begum, this is a ...”
“I want to lie beside my father, here, in
this very garden.” She said staring at the flower beds, “I want to go back to
who I was, before all this.”
“May Allah bless you with long life Badi
Ammi.” Jahangir said with a shake of his head “But your wishes will be
respected.”
“Come to the tent now Shah Ammi.” Khurram
held her hand, clearly displeased at the conversation. “You are not going
anywhere. But we will catch a cold if we stand here any longer.”
She smiled being led away by Khurram, as
she turned back to have one last stare at the place so silent and serene that
she wanted to rest her tired soul there forever. In her head, Jalal’s voice
echoed. He would have disapproved of her decision, reminded her of who she was,
and what her mausoleum would signify,
her status, power, title, and importance to the dynasty, all that she now
wanted to leave behind as baggage of her misdeeds. She stared at Khurram
sharpening his sword on a stone in the tent and sighed. She perhaps still had
some baggage she needed to carry and some more sins to be done before she
really could rest in peace someday.
The night sky of Kabul was filled with
stars as she stared at them from her tent sleeplessness. She felt like she was
finally home yet not there. She wondered why she never urged Jalal to visit and
neither did she ever want to herself. It was almost dinner time when one of her
ladies-in-waiting came and bowed announcing the arrival of Afraziyab Mirza
Hakim, the son of her cousin and rebellion Mirza Mohammad. Rukaiya Begum sat in
grace as he was led into the tent and bowed presenting her with gifts.
He had the figure of his father and was
slightly leaner and lacked the polished royal look that clearly stated his
fallen position from the royal life because of his father.
“ Sultana Sahiba” He bowed “My mother says
you are my Phuphi.”
“Yes indeed.” Rukaiya smiled at him, “Your
father was probably an infant when I last saw him though.”
“You were not present during his... umm...
trial?” he was clearly awkward to mention his father’s misdeed against the
emperor as she shook her head. “No. I was at Lahore.” She said with a sigh “But
I did try to...”
“I know. My mother said you were the only
one who could treat us like family.” He spoke a little unsure.
“You have the Timurid blood running in you
Afraziyab Mirza, you are as Timurid as I am, and many aren’t in the family.” He
looked up at her words. “I have come to seek your help. We are not being able
to sustain a life befitting of our Timurid heritage ever since the late emperor
cut off my father’s pension because of his misdeeds. My mother died a few years
ago, along with my younger brother. My sister is gravely ill too. I would ...”
“I will tell the Emperor to start your
pension immediately and get medical help for your sister. When she gets better
come down to Lahore and I can see to it that you get a job to sustain your
family. Do you have children?”
“No heirs Begum.” He said with a
disappointed tone Rukaiya was familiar with “Just a daughter.” He looked up at
her and then stared around at the hovering eyes of the guards.
“Pardon my audacity but can I ask you
something?” His words made Rukaiya nod.
“I have heard that the... um.... emperor
.... plotted to... the late emperor’s death wasn’t natural.”
“Mirza Mohammad Afraziyab Hakim!” Rukaiya’s
voice of authority resonated through the tent as he stood alarmed.
“Who gave you the right and courage to come
into the tent of the Dowager Queen and speak ill of her family or the Emperor
of the state?” Her displeased voice prompted Khurram to order the guards to
take the man away as he begged for forgiveness.
“Are you okay Ammi?” He asked as Rukaiya
Begum fumed.
“Hafeez!” She called on a Eunuch who bowed
to her.
“Make sure everyone in the Harem knows of
this pleasure trip of mine with Khurram and the Emperor. There has to be
someone spreading poison and I will not let that affect my equation with the
emperor.” He bowed and left immediately as Rukaiya stared at Khurram.
“I
will not let anything put your future at stake. I have never openly blamed or
accused your father of anything and neither will you. This is a family; the
Timurid blood needs to stay united otherwise enemies of the state will rise to
the opportunity. People will try to jeopardise the administration at any cost
for their personal interests. We cannot repeat the history of the greatest
dynasties of Hind with internal doubts and war. Promise me.”
“Shah Ammi...” Khurram held her hand urging
her to calm down.
“Promise me Khurram Baba you will not do
anything that will let enemies seek opportunities to break the dynasty.”
“I won’t Ammi, I promise.”
Little did Rukaiya know that promises were
as fragile as life, and often perished with it.
Both
Jahangir and Shah Jahan in their biographies mention their eventful trip to
Babar Gardens with Rukaiya Begum. While Jahangir was repenting his cruel
decision of blinding his firstborn and seeking refuge in the garden, Khurram
had taken the opportunity to be by his father’s side.
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