Pawn & Poetry

Autumn 1607. Akbarabad

“Salam Shah Ammi!” Khurram’s voice at her threshold made Rukaiya Begum smile at her son, who arrived bruised and sweaty from his lessons. Alongside him came his Diwan Khwaja Waysi and bowed.

“How are his lessons coming along, Khawaja Sahib?” Rukaiya Begum addressed the man who smiled. “He is ready to go to a war if you ask me, Sultana Begum!”

“Very well! Inform the Padshah then.” The Khwaja agreed and left immediately.

“My Shehzaade, come here.” She appeared worried as she took the watered clothes from the first aid plate and dusted the dirt off his wounds with her own hands.

“I learned defence lessons today.” He smiled at her worried face “I am taking a liking to the sword lessons.”

“I am glad.” Rukaiya smiled back, “I hope you are ready for Navroz too.”

“Ready?” He frowned. “We celebrate Navroz every year, Shah Ammi. What’s special?”

“It is your first Navroz with your father here, and the celebrations will be huge. It is the right time you make appearances alongside him and establish your public image as an heir apparent.”

“ But… Khusrau?” He looked unsure. “Pervez?”

“Khusrau is drowned in opium to get over the pain of losing his sight. His rebellion made him lose public favour. Pervez is busy in Dakkhan to grace the occasion. He is under the guidance of Mahabat Khan. So, it’s your turn; you need to do it for me.” Khurram nodded at Rukaiya’s words.

“Also, after the fair and festivities, and giving away coins and clothes to the needy, there will be a feast at the Turkish Harem. I will arrange it myself.” She smiled.

“A feast?” Khurram frowned “You will arrange it?” He knew how the Dowager Queen kept to herself and barely arranged feasts in the harem since the demise of his grandfather.

“Yes, my child, it’s been a long time since we have had a feast in the Turkish harem for our noble ladies and their families, and I think they need one. I also invited Asmat Begum with her granddaughters. We also need to talk about celebrating your coming of age with the emperor soon.” His face lit up at her words, as his cheeks felt warm, and he blushed slightly.

“What is her name? Did she say?” She asked teasingly as his cheeks felt warm.

“Arjumand.” He said, “Her name is Arjumand.”

Rukaiya Begum smiled, watching him leave in a hurry. She was happy her boy had grown up and happier that he had taken a liking to a Persian girl and not another one from the other zenana. It was time she took the reins of the Timurid dynasty back where it belonged, just as her grandfather had dreamt of it. If not Jahangir, who already seemed smitten by Jagat Gossain, then her Khurram would back the lost glory of Babar that Jalal willingly gave away for alliances she never approved of, with the sons of Hind. Rukaiya frowned, lost in her thoughts. She still had her hopes. Her thoughts ran wild as she pulled the hookah pipe closer to her mouth. It was time she put her pawns to play. She needed to see Khurram with Arjumand herself, consult Salima Begum and speak to Jahangir about their engagement before Jagat Gossain found him a match.

“Jodha Begum is here to see you.” A lady bowed hurriedly as Rukaiya nodded slightly.

Jagat Gossain appeared, clearly unnerved as she stood in front of Rukaiya.

“There is a feast at the Turkish Harem on Navroz, and there is no invitation sent out to me?” She asked, slightly raising her brows as Rukaiya Begum smiled.

“I know it’s not what brought you here, Jodha Begum, tell me what did.” Rukaiya stared at Jagat Gossain’s smile fade.

“Fine, if you want to talk, we will. Tell me what I hear is not true!” Her voice sounded agitated.

“It really depends on what you heard, Begum.” Rukaiya Begum spoke calmly.

“You can’t be doing this! You can’t be actually thinking of such things to get back at me!”

“Get back at you?” Rukaiya sat up, alarmed with a clear displeasure in her voice. “Mind your tone there, Jodha Begum, I am still the late emperor’s chief consort!”

“Why else would you employ her, of all the people, at your service?” Jagat Gossain looked like she was on the verge of a breakdown.

“Who are you referring to, Jodha Begum? As far as I know, I haven’t employed anyone recently.” She shook her head calmly.

“Oh, don’t be so naïve, it doesn’t suit you, Sultana Sahiba.” Jagat Gossain smiled slightly “That girl Mehr, you want to lure towards the emperor. I am very well aware of your plans. I know why, of all the people, you decided to give her a chance.”

“Oh, do you? Because, as far as I know, I think somebody made Azim Koka believe that Ali Quli was about to rebel, and he should be protecting his foster brother. Who was that Jodha Begum?” Rukaiya Begum’s confident words made Jagat Gossain stare at her in disbelief. There was no way Rukaiya Begum could have known of her meetings with Mirza Koka. She was making wild assumptions to get it out of her. The Dowager Queen was smart enough.

“You have no proof of such treason, Sultana Sahiba.” She spoke in a softer tone. “You should know what you accuse of.”

“So should you, Jodha Begum, you are talking to the former Padshah Begum. I have been doing this since I ever knew what life was. And as for proof, I don’t need one. I am helping someone who was put in trouble in the first place by my kin. And as far as employing her goes, I was not sure of it, but I am now. I am sure she makes a difference to this harem still, I want to see how far and how much.” Her words made Jagat Gossain fume.

“He is the emperor now. If you think he is going to repeat the mistake of falling for a mere commoner…”

“Oh, maybe he won’t, but what about MY dear Khurram? He can fall in love with anyone he wants to. And there is a saying…” Rukaiya Begum took a drag from her hookah pipe and spoke, as Jagat Gossain stood stunned. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“You simply can’t drag Khurram into this. He is… he is…” Jagat Gossain looked lost.

“He is my son.” Rukaiya Begum spoke, “And unlike many, I don’t use my king as my pawn. You underestimate my mind, Jodha Begum.” She shook her head.

“You will not win over Khurram this time. You will see.” Jagat Gossain turned to walk away.

“I don’t need to try to win over my own, unlike you, Jodha Begum. Your nature drives them away from you. First the father, then the son. You can sit with all the power in the harem, but you will never be powerful enough.” Rukaiya Begum stood up “And as far as playing games is concerned, I am not interested. All I want is for Khurram to have a bright future, and I think we both are on the same page on that.”

Jagat Gossain took one last glance at the Dowager Queen and walked out of the room. She needed to be more careful next time and not let her emotions get the better of her. She had indeed underestimated the Dowager Queen’s spy system on her movements. If the news of her treason reached the emperor, it could cost her a lot, for she knew no matter what people believed, Jahangir’s interest in Mehrunnisa was still persistent. She now needed to know what Mehr thought of the man, whom she was made to believe, who killed her husband.

Arjumand was humming a tune as she braided her hair, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her own smile made her blush slightly as she stared at the mirror for a few seconds. She had not realised the slight tap on her door, as Mehrunissa entered the room with a dress she had specially designed for her beloved niece. She stopped looking at Arjumand, humming to herself, lost in thought and smiling. Her heart skipped a beat as an unknown fear crept into her heart. She had been familiar with that scene and her mother’s worried face. Ladli pushed through the curtains separating the bedside from the dressing area, making Arjumand stop, alarmed and smile, hugging her cousin. Mehrunissa put the dress down on the bed and smiled, “This is for you, a gift for Navroz.”

“This is beautiful, Phuphi!” Arjumand gasped. “This is better than the jewellery Bade Phuphi gifted! I will wear it to the fair.”

“I will be glad. I am thinking of opening a stall for clothes.” Arjumand smiled at Mehr’s words. “That will be very nice. I will help you and Dadijaan with her perfumes.”

“That will be helpful indeed.” Arjumand sat staring at Mehr’s reflection as she ran her fingers through Arjumand’s half-done braids, tightly putting them together.

“So what were you humming?” Her question took Arjumand by surprise.

“Huh?”

“You were humming something. A tune perhaps?” Mehr smiled.

“A Sufi poem.” Arjumand smiled. “Hafiz”

“Hafiz?” Mehr raised her eyebrows “Who suggested that?”

“Shehzaade Khurram.” Mehrunnisa’s hands stopped at her braids as she saw Arjumand trying hard to hide her blush as Ladli dragged her away to play. Placing the ivory comb down on the dressing table, Mehrunnisa looked at her own reflection in the mirror, with a frown on her face that refused to go.

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A week was all it took for Bondita to get used to work and the new routine. She would wake up early and hurry through her chores, helping Kalindi prepare a tiffin of either Chirer Polao or bread jam and then proceeding to the Roy Chowdhury house. She would arrange the day’s paperwork before Aniruddha arrived at the study room. Occasionally, she would hear him call out to Koeli for breakfast and pack her things, knowing he was almost ready to leave. He would walk into the chamber, check his list, and they would go to work. She would follow him from courtroom to courtroom. She would be sitting in the audience and learning. She would follow him to conferences and client meetings and take notes. They would discuss complicated cases. She would share the tiffin she brought from home. He would at first take a reluctant bite, then eat more than her. She often gave him her share of food discreetly. They usually stayed back after everyone was gone and ordered food for dinner. Some days, he woul...

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“So the question is, do the slum dwellers get their dues to relocate, or do they protest on the road, grabbing media attention? If one of them mentions the sewage project where all this started, we can’t guarantee not dragging certain names then. It will be beyond our control.” Bondita breathed in as she eyed everyone at the table. The conference hall of ARC & Associates had an oval table with a whiteboard, projector and podium and sitting around the table were a stenographer, Bondita’s secondary attorney, Debashish Ghosal, the contractor and his attorney Biswas, the representative of the NGO with the Union leader of the slum, Trilochon, Somnath and Aniruddha. The people of the NGO appreciated her strategy with a nod. Ghoshal looked perplexed as his lawyer whispered something in his ear. Somnath did not look up from the table as Aniruddha passed a note to Trilochon in writing. “Now the decision is yours.” Bondita continued. “We are keen on out-of-court settlement if our basic ...

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RAABTA

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