Tug of War

1616, Agra

Mahabat Khan was summoned to court at Agra as soon as the Padshah arrived back from a long vacation in the mountains. If sources were to be believed, then he looked frail and ill. Rumour was that the serious illness had decreased but not vanished from his body. Was he incurable? Mahabat Khan wondered.

Upon his arrival at court, he was immediately called closer to the Padshah, where he sat reclined beside Nur Jahan. Mahabat Khan bowed to them. Jahangir stared at Nur Jahan as if to urge her to go on. So she cleared her throat and asked in a clear, firm voice of authority,
“Do you think you have been transparent with the accounts so far, Mirza Mahabat Khan?” The courtroom was engulfed in awkward silence and an exchange of glances. The empress was questioning one of the Padshah’s strongest men. The men shook their heads disapprovingly as the emperor sat in silence. He was giving her too much authority for a woman. Mahabat Khan looked up at her face and was quick to look away, his brows narrowed as though he was irked. 
“Padshah Salamat, what is this?” He asked with a frown, “Have I been called all the way from Dakkhan to give answers on revenue accounts? I could have sent them to the Padshah Begum via messengers.” 
“Answer her question.” Jahangir seemed unnerved.
“What is this humiliation?” Mahabat Khan asked, hoping to find support in the crowd, “Is this how we are paid for our loyalty?”
“Answer the question, Mahabat Khan.” Asaf Khan stared at him coldly.
“I believe I have always been transparent with the Padshah.” Mahabat Khan spoke, “No matter what people think.” His last words were directed at the one who now sat with a faint smile on her face.
“That is odd, for the number of elephants received for the Padshah was 800, whereas only 600 reached the capital.” She read aloud from the sealed papers, “Did 200 of them lose their way?” A gasp and murmur went around the courtroom. 
Asaf Khan had held the grip of his sword now. He was calculating every move Mahabat Khan made. The man was standing and staring at his sister, and didn’t seem affected by the humiliation at all.
“I believe 200 were gifted to Shehzaade Pervez and were kept at his service at Dakkhan.” He said.
“But the tradition is to send all the revenues and gifts to the emperor first.” Mirza Asaf Khan spoke. “I verified the orders.”
“Not everything happens by tradition here now, does it?” Mahabat Khan asked him as Jahangir sat up, visibly disturbed. 
“Enough now!” He said, raising his hand. Mahabat Khan couldn’t help but notice it shaking a little.

He bowed, “Jahan Panah. Bringing the elephants to and fro in this humid summer could make them ill. Since 200 of the troops were gifted to Shehzaade, we kept them at Dakkhan for his service. If you find anything amiss in the revenue, it is the mistake of my accountant. I will verify them henceforth. If you don’t believe me, provide me with a new and trusted man to do the accounts and see for yourself. Don’t humiliate me this way, for I have always been loyal.” 
“Hmm.” Jahangir stared at the man bowing before him, lost in thought.
“My loyalty is always with you.” Mahabat Khan spoke, “I can never betray you or arrange troops behind your back. Some people are jealous of my prominence.” He stared right at Asaf Khan, who clenched his jaws.
“Some people wrongly misinformed the Padshah Begum about me. I assure you.” He spoke again.
“Very well.” Jahangir spoke much to Nur Jahan’s surprise, “I give you a chance to prove yourself.”
“You are kind, Jahan Panah, Padshah Begum!” He had bowed. Nur Jahan sighed. Then she spoke to her husband in a whisper, “Why did you do that?”
“He was being reasonable. Besides, let’s give him a chance; he is one of my main men.” Jahangir shrugged. “I can’t lose their favour over elephants.” He shrugged.
“It is not just about elephants. Don’t you see?” Nur Jahan urged.
“I see your point, but let me be diplomatic. I assure you, he will pose no more threat. He knows he is being scrutinised.” He reassured her. Nur Jahan didn’t find it a reason enough to believe him. She continued to stare at the man with hawk eyes. Whispers ran across the courtroom.

Today, Mahabat Khan, one of the loyal chiefs, was accused by the empress over a petty issue, and who knew who could be next? What if they didn’t have a reason convenient enough like Mahabat Khan? Where would they land? Prison or under the feet of the royal elephants? Padshah Begum was clearly a woman who didn’t know how to run a court.

Nur Jahan knew every single opinion that went about in whispers. Mahabat Khan flashed his best smile as he spoke again, this time at her, “Padshah Begum, as you may know, Shehzaade Dawar Baksh is of age and ready for his military training and first-hand experience. I would like to take him with me to Qandahar. Shehzade Pervez is stationed at Dakkhan and doesn’t need me as of now. Can I have the pleasure of guiding Mirza Dawar Baksh the way I guided his uncle?” Nur Jahan clenched her jaw. The courtiers agreed. There was no better teacher for the future of the throne, the emperor’s first grandson, than Mahabat Khan. 

“Well, he is officially under her care.” Jahangir looked at his wife, “So anything you decide is fine with me.”
“Certainly.” Nur Jahan said reluctantly. “Dawar Baksh will be honoured to have a teacher like you.”
“Checkmate.” Mahabat Khan whispered to himself. He had to be careful from now on. He had underestimated the empress. She had more brains than the beauty she was known for. Nobody in all these years caught the loopholes in his revenues like she did. Something in his attitude made Nur Jahan feel ill at ease. Something told her this war was far from over.
“So what has been decided about the female genocide laws?” One of the Rajput kings remembered.

Nur Jahan suggested putting female immolation and genocide under the act of murder by law in the country. The decision was received with mixed reactions. While some feared that the Hindu Orthodox would go against the emperor and see it as an act against their religion, others saw it as a welcome change, much needed, a step ahead from when the late emperor decided to impose a law against Sati.
Nur Jahan was firm on her idea. Women need to be educated, independent and opinionated. She is not someone’s property. Nur Jahan had already made efforts to open educational institutions for women and girls, and she was not going to back down on female genocides.

Jahangir supported her decision. She had been brave to face the pundits and argue her point, “No religion can tell us to kill women; the same who represent the goddesses, such acts of crime should stop.” The empress was impressive and adamant. Mahabat Khan watched the court proceedings of the matter with deep interest. The court was divided into two opinions on the Hindu side over this. Could he use their doubts about the empress for his own good? Mahabat Khan’s mind was running with ideas.

Ladli Begum had received a letter from Mumtaj Mahal. She now wrote to her from Burhanpur or Ajmer, under the royal seal. In each letter, written in royal ink and scented papers, she described the places, their travels, their family and Shehzaade Khurram’s success. Ladli wrote back, praying for her happiness and Shehzaade Khurram’s wins. It was not very often that he visited Agra now. And even if he did, hearing of Sultana Begum’s illness was short and brief. Mumtaj Mahal had given birth to another boy, the emperor named Shah Shuja. Ladli Begum hoped to meet her nephews and nieces soon. From Mumtaj Mahal’s letter, she got to know that Shehzaade Khurram was going to drop by Agra before going on yet another expedition. Ladli Begum smiled to herself. 

The rumours of Shehzaade Khurram’s over-obsession with his wife and the number of pregnancies she had in these few years worried Ladli Begum at times. She kept asking about Mumtaj Mahal’s health and well-being, but her letters always reassured Ladli in some way. She was happy, and being a mother suited her. There was no doubt about it. The palace rumours about Shehzaade’s uncontrollable sexual desires were hard for Ladli to swallow, especially picturing the Shehzaade Khurram she knew as some monster who could treat a wife like a piece of meat. She knew these were horrible rumours, spread by those favouring Pervez Mirza or perhaps Dawar Baksh too. At first, these affected her and made her worry, and then she got used to the idea of ignoring such bazaar gossip. Nobody in the zenana or the entire Agra had seen the prince with his wives, she had. And she had seen his love and respect for women, and his desire to treat daughters as equal to sons. They didn’t know the Shehzaade Khurram she knew. She had grown up admiring him; there was no way gossip could change that. The ladies were perhaps jealous of Mumtaj Mahal.
It was almost evening when she was strolling in the garden, with a poetry book in her hand, lost in thought, when footsteps behind her alerted her to someone’s presence. She turned in haste and caught Shehzaade Shahryar off guard.

“What’s wrong with you?” She frowned at him, “Why are you following me?”
“I am not.” He shook his head. “I was looking for you.”
“What do you want?” Ladli Begum asked coldly.
“I wanted to give you these.” He held out a few small apples with a smile, “I got them from the supply that arrived from the mountains yesterday.”
“Very well.” Ladli Begum held out her dupatta as Shahryr filled it up.
“I heard Shehzaade Khurram will be back soon.” He said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I know.” Ladli smiled, “I can’t wait to see him.” Her smile was caught off guard by Shahryar, and she added, “It’s been a long time since I...I have heard of the children.”
“Are you sure? Or are you happy you are going to see Shehzaade Khurram?” he asked, folding his arms close to his chest, in a tone of jest.
“You say whatever you feel like. You are just jealous of him!” Ladli Begum said scornfully.
“Yes, of course, I am very jealous of him.” Shahryar shrugged with a taunt.
“I am in a good mood and I don’t wish to ruin it by talking to you, Shehzaade.” She was about to walk away when Shahryr caught hold of her hand.
“We used to be friends, Ladli. What happened?” He asked almost in a murmur. Ladli Begum jerked his grip off her hand and said rather rudely, “Be friends with you? I would rather choose to die alone.”
“Why do you hate me so much? What did I do to you?” He asked.
“Hate? No, I don’t even think of you to hate you, Shahryar. You broke my trust.”
“For heaven’s sake, Lady, that was ages ago!” He shrugged, “I was a child, and so were you.”
“We aren’t children now, Shehzaade. You are a prince. I... am nobody.”
“Then why did you call me by my name? Like you used to?” He asked.
“That was a slip of the tongue, I apologise.” She said in haste.
“Ladli, stop being so stubborn all the time. Talk to me.” He urged.
“Please leave me alone. And don’t ever touch me again!” She said in a hasty, rude tone and moved back two steps away from him. Her eyes shone as she looked up at his face, and his smile had faded into gloom.
“You are in love with him, aren’t you?” He asked, irked as colour flushed from her cheeks.
“I am not.” She protested louder than usual.
“Yes, you are; you always have been. You always said there is nobody like Shehzaade Khurram.”
“And I stand by that, there is nobody like...”
“You never gave anybody a chance, Ladli Begum.” Shehzade Shahryr took a few steps back and let out a sigh “You were my only friend, the only one who didn’t laugh when I lost a fight or missed an arrow. Yes, I made a mistake, I repented, and I tried to reach out to you.”
“Well, maybe you are trying too hard! Back off a bit.” Ladli Begum narrowed her brows as he smiled faintly, shaking his head. 

The drum rolls announced the arrival of a royal procession, interrupting their conversation as Ladli Begum ran towards the roof of the harem, with a smile, her heart beating fast, hoping to catch a glimpse of Shehzaade Khurram. Shahryar stood there, watching her go. A few apples fell down on the road while she ran, and Shahryar picked them up and walked away towards his own chamber.
Shehzade Khurram was sitting by the Talab, almost at midnight, when he heard footsteps behind him. Smiling faintly, he said without turning to have a look, “Ladli Begum, how are you?” Ladli was pleasantly surprised. She smiled as she sat down beside him on the cold stone floor and asked, “How did you know it was me?”
Shehzaade Khurram smiled at her, “Well, I have met Shah Ammi, Jagat Gossain and Padshah. There is nobody else who would have wanted to meet me today, except you!” Ladli Begum smiled at his words. He knew her so well. Unlike Shahryar. 
“How is Aapa? And the kids?” She asked, offering him an apple. He smiled and took it. What Ladli Begum didn’t notice as she munched on hers was that the Shehzaade was careful enough not to eat it. He put it away in his pocket and stared at her munching hers, and smiled.
“Everyone is doing well. Janni and Dara are almost like twins. You should see how Perhez Banu looks after them.” A smile formed on his lips. “You should visit sometimes when Shah Ammi comes.”
“I would love to!” Ladli Begum agreed, “Now that you invited me.”
“I may not be there, but you will not be bored with politics then!” Shehzade Khurram smiled, “How are you doing?”
“I am good.” She smiled. “Things are good here. But I miss our afternoon chats and poetry.”
“Those were such good days, weren’t they?” Khurram smiled, “So carefree. Arjumand would always forget the lines, and I would...”
“And stealing fruits from the orchard when nobody was looking.” Ladli Begum giggled. Her innocent giggle was still intact. Shehzade Khurram thanked the heavens for that.
“You and Shahryr did that more often, didn’t you? Do you spend time with him?” Shehzaade Khurram asked.
“I miss you... all...” Ladli Begum said softly, “I barely see you anymore.”
“Arjumand speaks of you often, too. She reads out your letters to me. Thank you for all your prayers.” Shehzade Khurram smiled, “I pray for you too.”
“You have always been so kind to me.” Ladli Begum smiled as her cheeks grew warm.
“You were a gem in this stone-cold mansion, Ladli, a hard one to find. I just wanted to preserve your innocence.” Shehzaade Khurram smiled at her. “But...I have to go now.”
“When will I see you again?” Ladli Begum asked. 
"Hopefully soon. I heard the emperor will take a trip to Burhanpur; ask your mother if you can come along then?” Ladli Begum nodded in happiness. Shehzade Khurram walked away towards his chambers as she watched him leave her in the solitude of the midnight moonbeam.

From his chambers, that sleepless night, Prince Shahryar watched the moon and wondered, Was life always going to be like this? He had lived most of his life on leftovers. He did what others said to do, took what was left after the other princes had their share, and never chose anything for himself. His mother was voiceless, always reminding him to count his blessings and the mercy the emperor had on them, but Shahryr was slowly losing patience. Wasn’t the Padshah his father, too? Then why was he always ignored? Why was he always laughed at, and nobody defended him for being who he was? Why was he not strong enough? Shahryar remembered a proverb he had read. “Claim what is yours, and don’t stop till you have it.” What if none of this was his? Not this palace he called home, not the people he called kin, not even the only friend he ever had? Tears blurred his vision. He was glad that he was alone. Could she not see through him at all?