End of An Era

In early 1626, Agra

Nur Jahan had written to Shah Jahan and his family under the royal seal three times since he had surrendered and taken an oath of loyalty by sending Dara and Aurangzeb over to her care. All three times, the messenger came back empty-handed. Restless and in doubt, Nur Jahan walked into the chamber the princes shared. Dara was reading a book, which he immediately kept aside to bow to the empress.
“Can you write a letter to your mother?” Nur Jahan looked worried. “This is urgent.”
“Is something wrong, Padshah Begum?” He asked, arching his brows. “You look pale.”
“The Sultana Begum...” Nur Jahan spoke softly, “He is unwell.”
“But has Abbu not been informed?” Dara asked with a frown. Nur Jahan nodded.
“I have written three letters informing him about the illness of the Sultana, and asking him to come and see her. She had been looking for him every time she opened her eyes. She doesn’t seem to remember things lately.” Nur Jahan looked worried. “All three times the letter has been unanswered. Perhaps he feels it is a trap we are setting in her name to get him here.”
“Can I go... meet Shah Daadi?” Dara asked, his eyes moist. Nur Jahan agreed. She has taken a liking to this boy. He reminded her of his mother’s kind and generous nature in more ways than one. Unlike Aurangzeb, who seemed to be like his father, doubting everyone around him, Dara was everyone’s favourite.
When Dara Shukoh entered the chambers of Rukaiya Sultana Begum, with a very reluctant Aurangzeb in tow, it smelled of medicine and cleaning clothes. He walked across the room, as the nurses bowed and medicine men moved away to see the pale figure of Rukaiya Begum on the bed, supported by pillows on all sides, sleeping. She had no jewellery on her; a fine muslin dress designed by the empress covered her body, and her hair had been washed and let loose to dry. He checked her forehead for temperature. She was sweating. Pervez Banu was sitting across the room, near the windowsill, in silence, overlooking the Yamuna, in tears. She exchanged a glance with Dara and shook her head a little. Dara understood.

“She was awake a while ago. Should I wake her up?” One of the nurses asked. Dara shook his head. “We will wait.” He sat down at her feet and stared at the almost lifeless body. Aurangzeb stood close to him for some time, and then the silence of the room made him feel restless. He was not so good in such situations. He poked Dara with his finger and hand and gestured that he was leaving. Dara immediately disagreed and ordered him to stay put, but he ran away anyway. Dara shook his head. He could never make this little brother listen.

A rumbling sound from the dowager queen shifted his attention as he leaned closer to listen to her soft and almost inaudible voice. The nurses offered drinking water. Pervez Banu rushed to her side. She shook her head and refused to drink.
Back when Dara had arrived at Agra four years ago, Shah Daadi was his afternoon storyteller. He heard of the great-grandfather they never knew, from her, and of the land she called home, Kabul. She told him of Padshah Akbar’s great ideas in religious unity and Din I Ilahi. Dara was mesmerised. He picked up the books from the royal library on every religion he knew of that existed in Hind, and started reading about them. He often shared his interests with Shah Daadi. She would often say he looked like his father, acted like his mother and thought like his great-grandfather. Shah Daadi would affectionately hold him close and remind him of how compassion can also make great kings. Perhaps she was disappointed. Every time he asked about his father, she never spoke beyond his childhood days. 

“My Khurram Baba '' she often said, “was left here in my heart. Now he is Shah Jahan. Not my Khurram anymore. He has outgrown his childhood and his Shah Ammi.” Dara understood that perhaps his father’s actions had hurt her. He never came to meet her or apologise in person. His letter of apology was formal and sealed. Maybe Shah Daadi expected more. From what little Dara understood at his age, it was this hurt that caused such drastic deterioration in the health of Shah Daadi.
She murmured again, jolting Dara from his thoughts. He leaned in closer.
“Ba...ba... Khurram....” She said, “Are you here?” Dara felt a lump in his throat as she stared at him blankly. Then she smiled, holding his hand in her cold palms, with all the force she had, “Khurram? Is that you?”
“No, I...” Dara couldn’t finish, he had tears on his cheeks “Yes... Yes, it is me.”
“How could you forget your Shah Ammi?” She said like a child who complained to their mothers, “ I was asking for you all the time... these people... they... they...” Her fingers pointed at the nurses and shook; she lost her thought and frowned at the door.
“Look, Khurram, look!” She said, her eyes almost glittering with joy, “There he is.”
“Who?” Dara looked back at the empty threshold and frowned, “There is no one there.”
“See, Jalal, your Khurram can’t recognise you. But I... I do... Jalal? It has been so long... how are you?” Dara Shukoh frowned at her and shared a helpless glance at the medicine man.
“She is hallucinating.” He whispered, “Happens towards the end... You should inform the emperor.” Dara was about to get up, and stopped because his hand was still in Rukaiya Begum’s hands. He slowly slipped his hand away and ran as fast as he could.

When Nur Jahan saw Dara at the threshold at such odd hours, she knew. 
“I will fetch the Padshah; you get the messenger to reach your father, now!” She said as she walked away briskly.
Jahangir couldn’t gather his courage to go beyond the threshold, behind Nur Jahan, who was in tears. All the people who perhaps knew the empress enough to mourn her were long gone; all of those left were not here. Nur Jahan sat at her feet, with muffled sobs as she kept murmuring in a trance.
“Jalal... “ Dara Shukoh stared at Nur Jahan and back at Jahangir at the threshold, who turned pale at the words. 
“Who is she calling?” Dara asked one of the nurses, who shook her head.
“The late emperor.” Nur Jahan spoke, her voice trembling, “Her husband.”
“But...” Dara decided to stay quiet. He took a few steps back, bowed to the emperor and walked away in search of Aurangzeb. Aurangzeb was sitting beside the talab, throwing stones in it quite indifferently, when Dara found him.
“What are you doing here?” Dara asked, wiping away his tears.
“Thinking.” Aurangzeb’s words made him frown.
“What are you thinking now?” Dara asked, “Come with me.”
“Could he not have come if he wished to? How is he so cruel to the mother who brought him up?” Dara stopped at his words.
“Enough now. You judge people too easily.” He shook his head, “We don’t know what his circumstances are.” Dara tried to sound reasonable.
“Do you hear yourself? Can you ever abandon our mother if she...” Aurangzeb stared right at him, and Dara knew the boy had cried. Unlike him, Aurangzeb just couldn’t show his emotions to everyone. Hence, he was often misunderstood.
“Come with me.” Dara said a little softly to his brother, “It’s time to say goodbye.”

Mumtaj Mahal walked into the chambers where Shah Jahan sat, going through yet another letter.
“You have read the three letters umpteenth times and figured out thousands of possibilities and deception theories. If you don’t go there, how will you know?”
He looked up at her and back at the letters.
“It is not that.”
“Then what is it?” Mumtaj Mahal spoke, “I refuse to understand your logic, Shehzaade. Shah Ammi is ill; she is asking for you. What can possibly matter more than that?” 
“My life!” Shah Jahan looked up at her and spoke firmly, “My life matters more than that, and I don’t trust Nur Jahan with it. I don’t trust her being in the same place as me.” Mumtaj Mahal shrugged, “And you do realise our sons are in her care?”
Shah Jahan shook his head “I am sure these are traps.” Mumtaj Mahal sighed. “Of late, you feel everyone is planning and plotting against you. Is there anyone you trust?”
“Yes, of course. You. My children.” He spoke as she raised her eyebrows ``Dara will never betray me.”
“He is not your only child.” Mumtaj Mahal had a hint of amusement in her voice now. Her husband was a hopeless overthinker.
“There is news from the Akbarabad fort.” Jahanara Begum stood at their threshold with a pale face. 

Nur Jahan had sent off the remains of Rukaiya Begum’s deceased body in a beautiful coffin to Kabul with Pervez Banu, who wanted to witness her last rites. Jahangir looked broken and ill. Like he could take the pain no more.
“I want to go to the mountains again.” He said as soon as the entourage left.
“We will, as soon as the medicine men say you are fit to travel.” She said,
“We will stop by Lahore too, on the way.” Jahangir spoke, “And then visit Kabul.”
“As you wish.” Nur Jahan reassured the restless emperor. “You should rest now.”
Shah Jahan had reached Kabul with Jahanara before the entourage arrived. It was Pervez Banu who spotted them at the Babar E Bagh and ran to hug her sister. Seeing the women of the Harem cry, Shah Jahan’s heart sank a little. He had failed his Shah Ammi. She wanted to see him on the throne, but she left without a glimpse of him at all. Shah Jahan stood helpless.

“She kept murmuring things.” Perhez Banu spoke in between sobs. “She called out to the late emperor...” Shah Jahan’s eyes sparkled with tears as he heard of her last few minutes. “She kept crying and she ... mistook Dara for you. I wish you were there.”
Shah Jahan gulped. Dara was there to do what he was supposed to do. Be with his mother. He ran to the coffin, dressed in beautiful roses, the favourite of his Shah Baba. He ran his hands through the coffin. Jahanara placed her hand gently on her father’s shoulders. It was time to let Shah Ammi rest in peace.
He helped the rather surprised men to dig the grave a little and helped to place the coffin down as well. When the marble tombstone was selected, he chose to honour her name as “Empress, Mother, and Beloved wife of the late emperor Jalaluddin Mohammad Akbar.” Jahanara nodded in agreement. Perhez Banu cried. Jahanara decided she was going home to her mother, instead of back to Agra. She couldn’t leave her sister alone in this hour of loss. 

A marble stone was placed as instructed over the tomb, curved in designs she would love. Shah Jahan lit the first candle on her grave and decorated it with rose petals himself.
It was a month or two later when Jahangir’s entourage reached Kabul. Nur Jahan visited the tomb of Babar and then searched for the Sultana Begum. Jahangir pointed at the place in silence. They stood to witness a tree of paper flowers in pink blooms providing shade to her grave, as nature blessed the kind soul of Rukaiya Sultana Begum.

Rukaiya Begum’s life is very little accounted for, except for her marriage to Akbar, her adoption of Khurram from Jagat Gossain because she was childless, her visit to Bagh e Babar with Jahangir and her death as recorded by both the official records of Jahangir and Shah Jahan. After her death, the battle of accession started more openly against the ticking clock of Jahangir’s health.