The imminent wedding of Prince Allaudin and Princess Layla was a
momentous event in the history of the Moghul empire. It represented the
final merging of two dynasties. One, that of the Moghul Akman and his
first son Arangbar, was in direct assent from the Mongols of the
steppes who had conquered India by the sword less than a century
before, melding under one rule a disorganized array of Muslim and Hindu
states. The other dynasty, that of Queen Janahara, her Persian father
Zainul Beg, her brother Nadir Sharif, and now her daughter Layla,
represented a very different kind of conqueror. At court they were
called, always in whispers, the "Persian junta."
Whereas no combination of forces indigenous to India--even the
recalcitrant Rajput warrior chieftains of the northwest--had ever
succeeded in wresting power from the invading Moghuls, this
extraordinary Persian family had, in one generation, come to rule India
virtually as equals with the dynasty of Akman, assuming the power that
the decadent Arangbar had let slowly slip away. With the marriage of
Queen Janahara's daughter to the weakling son of Arangbar, a son she
was carefully promoting to the role of heir-apparent, the last element
in the Persian strategy would be in place. When Arangbar died, or was
dethroned, the powerful line of Akman, who had unified India by a blend
of force and diplomatic marriages, would be supplanted by what was, in
effect, a palace coup. The "Persian junta" would have positioned itself
to assume effective control of India: Prince Allaudin, for so long as
he was allowed to maintain even the appearance of rule, would be
nothing more than a titular sovereign. Queen Janahara, together with
her father and her brother, would be the real ruler of India.
The queen could, of course, have contented herself for a time longer
merely to direct Arangbar from beside the throne, but that could never
be entirely satisfactory. Arangbar still wielded power when he so
chose, and that power could be enormous.
India had no independent judiciary, no parliament, no constitution.
There was, instead and only, the word of the Moghul. Criminals were
brought before him to be tried and sentenced. Offices of state were
filled, or vacated, on his personal whim. The army marched at his word.
And he owned, in effect, a large part of Indian soil, since large
estates went not to heirs but returned to the Moghul when their current
"owner" died. He granted lands and salaries as reward for loyalty and
service. And he alone granted titles. Seldom in history had a land so
vast, and a people so diverse, been held so absolutely under the
unquestioned rule of a single hand. Queen Janahara now looked
confidently forward to the day that hand would be hers.
The power Arangbar now possessed was thought by many to have brought
his own undoing. Originally an introspective if sometimes whimsical
sovereign--whose early memoirs were filled with scientific observations
on India's fauna and flora, and statesman-like ruminations on the
philosophy of governing--he had become slowly dissolute to the point of
incapacity. A man who had forsworn both alcohol and drugs until well
into his third decade of life, he was now hopelessly addicted to both.
In consequence his judgment and instincts had grown ever more
unreliable. And since all appointments of salary and place depended on
his word alone, no career or fortune was truly secure. It was into this
vacuum of sound leadership that the "Persian junta" of Janahara's
family had moved.
The Persian junta was supported by all those at court who feared
Arangbar's growing caprice, by other influential Persians, by the
powerful mullahs of the Shi'ite sect of Islam, by Hindus who still
habored historic grievances against Moghul rule . . . and by the
Portuguese. The "Persian junta" was not loved. But it did not need to
be loved; it enjoyed an even more compelling ingredient for success: it
was feared. Even those who might have preferred the succession of
Prince Jadar wisely held silent. The tides of history were there for
all to see.
Even Brian Hawksworth saw them.
The private palace of Zainul Beg, father of Janahara and Nadir Sharif
and grandfather of Princess Layla, was more modest than that of Nadir
Sharif, and its architecture more Persian, almost consciously
reminiscent of the land of his birth. It lay on the banks of the Jamuna
River, farther down from the palace of Nadir Sharif, and this evening
it was brilliantly illuminated by bonfires along the riverside. Even
the river itself was lighted. A dozen barks filled with lamps had been
towed upriver from the Red Fort, and now their camphor-oil flames cast
a dazzling white sheen over the pink turrets of the palace. On the
opposite bank of the Jamuna, men were lighting candles and floating
them in hollow clay pots across the surface of the water, where they
drifted gently downstream toward the Red Fort, creating a line of
illumination that would eventually stretch for miles.
Although Hawksworth's money was starting to grow short, he had used a
large portion of what was left to purchase a new pair of striped Indian
trousers, an expensive brocade turban, and ornate velvet slippers. He
alighted from his palanquin at the palace gate looking like a Moghul
grandee, to be greeted almost immediately by Zainul Beg's eunuchs and
ushered into the main hall. As he entered, the eunuchs directed him
toward a large silver fish stationed by the door. It was ornamented
with green lapis lazuli scales and fitted with seven spouts shooting
thin streams of rosewater outward into a large basin. Hawksworth was by
now accustomed to this Moghul ritual, and he quickly removed his new
slippers and splashed his feet in the basin to the minimal extent
acceptable. Then he turned and made his way through the line of nobles
reverently awaiting the arrival of Arangbar. He had become such a
familiar sight at royal gatherings that his presence excited no unusual
notice.
The marble walls of the hall were hung with new Persian tapestries and
the floors covered with silk carpets embroidered with silver and gold.
At the corners were immense vases of solid gold studded with precious
stones that sparkled in the lamp light. Incense burners wrought from
silver hung from the walls. Servants circulated among the crowd bearing
trays of rolled betel leaves, glasses of lemony _sharbat_, and cups of
green milky _bhang_. In deference to the ceremonial significance of
this holy Muslim occasion, there would be no wine until after the
Shi'ite mullahs had left. Hawksworth decided to take a glass of
_sharbat _and wait for the wine.
He strolled through the buzzing crowd of bejeweled men and anonymous,
veiled women and reflected on the bizarre ceremonies of a Moghul
marriage.
His first taste had come only the previous evening, when he had been
invited to the Red Fort to witness and take part in the henna _bandi
_ceremony. The square just below the _Diwan-i-Khas_, where Arangbar's
birthday weighing was held only two weeks before, had been cleared and
made ready for the henna ceremony. Hawksworth had arrived and been
granted a place near Nadir Sharif and Arangbar. The crowd was already
being entertained by music and dancing women. Allaudin was there,
slightly nervous in anticipation of his upcoming ordeal.
Then the procession arrived: women of the _zenana _rode into the
courtyard on palanquins, in a flower-bedecked line bearing henna--a red
paste extracted from the plant of the same name--and gifts sent from
Layla to Allaudin. The bride was not present; she had not yet been seen
by Allaudin or any of his family, including Arangbar. The women of the
_zenana_, all veiled, spread before the Moghul the gifts that, on this
night, the bride was expected to present to the bridegroom. The eunuchs
bore trays which had been covered with basketwork raised in domes, over
which were thrown draperies of gold cloth and brocade in a rainbow of
colors. They were brought before Allaudin and Arangbar and uncovered
one by one. The first tray was of beaten silver and it held a new suit
for the bridegroom, a tailored cloak and trousers woven with strands of
gold. Others bore gold and silver vessels containing cosmetics and
toiletries--collyrium, kohl, musky perfumes--and plates of sweets, betel
leaves tied with strings of gold, and a confectionary of dried fruits
and preserves. The eunuchs also brought in sprays of flowers containing
disguised fireworks wheels, which were ignited as they entered to
create a startling, fiery garden of color.
Next the women led Allaudin to rooms behind the _Diwan-i-Khas_, where
he was dressed in the new clothes provided for him by the bride. Bamboo
slats were placed across the doorway to enable the _zenana _women to
watch the ceremony. While he was gone, an opening was prepared in the
screen separating the _zenana _from the courtyard and a low stool was
placed just outside. The screen was specially constructed to allow the
hands and feet of the one sitting on the stool to be reached from
behind it.
When Allaudin returned, he assumed his place again beside Arangbar,
shifting occasionally in mild discomfort from the stiff new clothes. It
was obvious to Hawksworth that he wished to appear bored by the
ceremonies, but his eyes betrayed his apprehension.
Then a eunuch approached and announced to the male assembly--Arangbar,
Allaudin, Nadir Sharif, Zainul Beg, and a retinue of other men with
vague ties to royal blood who were waiting at the center of the
courtyard--that "the bridegroom is wanted."
"Go quickly." Arangbar pushed Allaudin toward the stool waiting in
front of the screen covering the entrance to the zenana. "It's always a
man's fate to be made the fool by his women."
Allaudin marched across the courtyard with as much dignity as his stiff
new clothes allowed, and seated himself with a flourish on the stool.
The air was rich with incense and music from the upper balconies. As
Hawksworth and the other male guests watched, women from behind the
screen ordered Allaudin to insert his hands and feet through the new
holes. He was then teased and fed small lumps of sugar candy while the
women behind the screen began to tie dark red cloths, soaked in a paste
of moist leaves of henna, onto his hands and feet.
"This ceremony is very important, Inglish." Arangbar had beamed with
satisfaction as he watched. "Henna is a charm to promote their union.
The women anoint the bride with it also, in private. It will make him
virile and her fertile."
As the women continued to dye Allaudin's hands and feet with the paste,
musicians and singers began to entertain him. Some of the songs, all
extemporary, lauded him as a prince among men, while others rhapsodized
over the beauty of the bride. Listening to their songs, Hawksworth had
to remind himself that none of the singers had actually seen the bride,
whose beauty they now extolled as that of one woman in thousands. Then
the singers sang of the impending happiness of the pair, as inevitable,
they declared, as that Paradise awaiting Believers after life on earth
is past.
After the women had finished their task, Allaudin turned to face the
assembled men wearing a vaguely sheepish expression. Hawksworth had
caught himself laughing out loud at the preposterous figure Allaudin
struck, standing before them with hands and feet dripping red with
henna.
Then he noticed a group of veiled women filing out from behind the
screen and approaching. They carried a silver chalice filled with red
henna paste. The women stopped in front of Arangbar, bowed with the
_teslim_, and began to anoint his fingers with henna. Then they tied
each reddened finger with a small, goId-embroidered handkerchief. He
smiled widely and signaled a eunuch to bring him a ball of opium. Next
the women proceeded to Zainul Beg and reddened his fingers also, then
Nadir Sharif, then all the other family members. Finally they stopped
in front of Hawksworth.
A robust woman from the _zenana _seized his fingers and began to daub
them with henna paste. It was thick and smelled of saffron. He watched
helplessly as his fingers disappeared into the red, after which they
too were swathed in the small kerchiefs of silk and gold.
"It will make you virile too, Inglish. This is a great omen for your
good fortune," Arangbar observed wryly, delighted by the confused look
on Hawksworth's face.
The women disappeared back into the _zenana _and the music began again,
now with more dancers. Hawksworth recognized among them the young women
Sangeeta, who had danced Kathak for Arangbar that first night in the
_Diwan-i-Khas_. She was resplendent, and her face announced her pride
in being selected for the first night of the wedding celebrations.
After she had finished her dance, the veiled women again emerged from
the _zenana_, carrying a large silver vessel, and saluted Allaudin. He
was brought to the center of the square, where they began to remove the
red bindings on his hands and feet. His hands, then his feet, were
bathed in rosewater. After they were dried, he was taken back to the
_Diwan-i-Khas _and attired in yet another of the new suits of clothes
given to him by the bride. He returned to the general cheers of the
assembled guests, whose hands had also been washed while he was gone.
As the formal ceremonies drew to a close, Arangbar produced heavy
brocade waist sashes for all the male guests. Hawksworth was last, and
when he received his from Arangbar's hand, he bowed in thanks and
examined it quizzically.
"It is a _kamar-band_, Inglish, for you to wear tomorrow night at the
wedding." Arangbar took Hawksworth's red-stained fingers and examined
them for a moment. "If you can get the rest of the henna off your
fingers by then."
He roared with delight and signaled the musicians to start again.
Allaudin was escorted from the square by a number of young men in
foppish cloaks--Hawksworth assumed they were his friends--and then, as
midnight approached, servants appeared with the evening's meal.
While the men drank and dined, Sangeeta entertained them with more
Kathak dance. When she was near exhaustion, other dancers were brought
out, and the music and dance continued undiminished through the short
hours remaining before dawn. Only when the eastern sky began to lighten
did Arangbar rise and bid the guests farewell. The courtyard cleared in
moments.
As the crowd dispersed, Hawksworth watched the Moghul down another ball
of opium and call for Sangeeta to accompany him into the palace. She
was escorted by the eunuchs, her smile brighter than the rising sun.
Hawksworth was momentarily startled as a fanfare of trumpets announced
to the guests in Zainul Beg's hall that Arangbar was approaching. The
center of the hall cleared, leaving a pathway from the entrance to a
low platform at the opposite end, on which were two large cushions
fashioned from gold cloth. On some unseen command musicians in an
adjacent room began to play, and then the doors of the hall opened
wide.
Women from Arangbar's _zenana _entered first, sweeping past the guests
in a glitter of silks and jewels unlike anything Hawksworth had ever
seen. The women displayed heavy gold necklaces and multiple strands of
pearls. Their arms were scarcely visible beneath their wide gold
bracelets. For this evening, all wore a headdress of silver cloth and a
veil.
More trumpets sounded as Arangbar himself entered, Queen Janahara
striding imperiously behind him. Hawksworth examined her hard features
with curiosity for a moment before the significance of the scene
registered. She was not wearing a veil.
He looked about him and realized that the other guests had noticed as
well.
Nadir Sharif trailed behind the royal couple, and after him came a few
select officials of the court, including the _qazi _who would perform
the ceremony and officially record the marriage.
As Arangbar and Janahara seated themselves on the cushioned platform,
the guests all performed the _teslim_. Arangbar motioned for the crowd
to be seated, and Hawksworth was already halfway to the carpet before
he noticed that no one else had moved. Only after Arangbar had demanded
three times that the guests seat themselves did those around Hawksworth
accede to his request.
More trays of rolled betel leaves and _sharbat _were circulated, and
the guests settled to listen to a lively raga performed on sitar and
tabla drums by musicians who were seated on a small dais at the
opposite end of the hall. The time was approaching eight o'clock when
the musicians brought the music to a rousing finish.
Hawksworth found himself beginning to wonder where the bride and groom
were. They were nowhere to be seen.
No sooner had the last notes of the raga melted into the tapestried
walls than there came a knocking at the closed doors of the hall. There
were sounds of a raucous, but not rancorous, argument. Everyone around
Hawksworth fell silent to listen. There were more words, and he managed
to grasp that the family of the bride was demanding a payment for
entry, apparently a mock ritual. Finally there was the jingle of coins
dropping into a cup. The money seemed to settle the dispute, for the
doors of the hall suddenly burst open, to the sounds of a trumpet
fanfare.
Hawksworth looked through the doorway to see a horse and rider,
surrounded by a milling crowd.
In the lamplight he could see the horse was covered with a fine brocade
tapestry, into which fresh flowers had been woven. Its legs, tail, and
mane had been dyed red with henna, and all its body outside the
tapestry was covered with glistening spangles. The rider's cloak and
turban were heavy with gold thread, and his face was hidden behind a
thick veil of silver cloth attached to the top of this turban and
hanging to his waist. On either side of the horse two young men stood,
each carrying a large paper umbrella, which they held over the rider's
head. Behind them clustered singers, dancers, musicians, and a mob of
tipsy young men in extravagant finery.
The crowd cheered the veiled rider and he saluted them. From the
chatter of the guests, Hawksworth gathered that the horse had led a
procession through the streets of Agra for the past two hours in
preparation for this grand entrance.
The rider, whom Hawksworth assumed to be Prince Allaudin, was helped
onto the back of one of the young men. He was then carried to the dais
where Arangbar and Janahara sat and gently lowered to the ground. The
silver veil was removed and he performed the _teslim_, the fatigue in
his face beginning to show.
Arangbar beckoned him to rise, and two eunuchs who had been part of the
Moghul's train stepped forward and placed two large silver boxes beside
him on the dais. Arangbar opened the first and drew out a string of
large pearls. He admired them for a moment, showed them to Janahara,
then looped them around Allaudin's neck. Next he opened the other box
and drew out a crown of silver trimmed in gold. He rose to his feet and
held it aloft.
"Two months past I presented a _sachaq_, a marriage present, of two
_lakhs _of silver rupees to honor the bride. And tonight I bestow on my
son the same _sehra_, the same bridegroom's crown, that was placed on
my head the night I wed Her Majesty, Queen Janahara."
Allaudin slipped off his turban and knelt before Arangbar. After the
crown was fitted, he stood erect to acknowledge the cheers of the
crowd.
Without further ceremony, Arangbar turned and spoke to Zainul Beg. The
old _wazir _beckoned two eunuchs forward and passed an order. There
were shouts, and torches were lighted in the upper balcony of the hall.
Then, as Hawksworth watched in amazement, the tapestries at the far end
of the hall were drawn away, opening the pavilion to the riverfront.
Arangbar and Janahara revolved on their cushions to face the water,
which was now a sea of floating candles and lamps. The guests surged
forward toward the opening, and as Hawksworth passed near the royal
dais, Arangbar's voice cut through the din.
"Inglish, come and join us. There will be no henna on your fingers
tonight." He gestured toward the carpet near his feet. "Sit here. I
would have your opinion of this."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Hawksworth sensed that Arangbar was already
partly drunk. "What will happen now?"
"Just more tradition, Inglish, but the part I always enjoy most." He
pointed toward the river, where servants were carrying torches in the
direction of three decorated wheels, each several feet across, mounted
atop what appeared to be small-gauge cannon. "Tell me if your king has
anything to equal this."
As he spoke the servants touched the torches to the center of each
wheel. Lines of burning sulfur traced their spokes, then ignited the
squibs attached around their perimeter. At that instant, other servants
stepped forward and thrust a burning taper to the touchhole of each
cannon. The cannon spewed flame, lofting the wheels upward over the
river. They suddenly began to rotate, creating a whirling circle of
colored flame tips in the night sky. Just as they reached the top of
their trajectory, they began to explode one by one, showering sparks
and fire across the face of the Jamuna.
The turbaned crowd scarcely had time to exclaim its delight before a
blue flame suddenly appeared from behind where the wheels had been,
illuminating the palace walls in a shimmering, ghostly light. As it
grew, Hawksworth realized it was an artificial tree whose branches were
saturated with black powder and brimstone. Next more flames spewed from
the tops of five towers that had been erected near the riverfront.
There were sharp reports, as though a musket had been fired, and dense
streaks of red billowed into the sky. All around powder pots began to
explode, hurtling lightning, dazzling white with camphor, and writhing
serpents of flame into the smoky night air.
"Well, Inglish, what do you think?' Arangbar turned to Hawksworth with
a delighted smile. "Have you ever seen anything to compare?"
"We have fireworks in England too, Your Majesty, particularly on the
eve of St. John's Day, when we have barges of fireworks on the Thames.
And sometimes they're used in plays and pageants. And at the wedding of
His Majesty's daughter, four of King James's gunners gave a show with a
fiery castle, a dragon, a damsel, and St. George. But English fireworks
generally make more noise than these." Hawksworth paused, wondering how
much to tell. "And some countries in Europe use fireworks in battle,
Majesty. Helmets that throw fire, swords and lances with fiery points,
and bucklers that give out flames when struck."
Arangbar gave him a puzzled glance. "But what good are those, Inglish?
In battle the most important use of flame is the fire lance. What use
are sparking swords? Watch and you will see what I mean."
Arangbar pointed to a line of Rajput marksmen, carrying horn bows and
heavy spears, who had assembled at one side of the clearing. While they
fell into a formation perpendicular to the river, servants were placing
clay pots on small stands at the opposite side, perhaps seventy yards
away. The Rajputs watched impassively as the arrows in their bows were
lighted, and then on the shout of their commander they lifted their
bows and fired in unison.
Ten streaks of flame shot across the riverfront, and the crowd fell
expectantly silent. All the arrows seemed to reach their target at
precisely the same instant. Each had been aimed at a separate pot, and
as they impacted, the silence was rent by what sounded like a single
explosion. The pots, Hawksworth realized, had been primed with powder,
ready to detonate.
The smoke was still drifting across the grounds when torch carriers
with large flambeaux moved to the center, illuminating scaffolding that
had been hastily erected. More clay pots, painted white, hung suspended
from the scaffolds on long ropes. The servants set the pots swinging
and then fell back, while the Rajputs ignited the tips of their spears.
Again flame streaked across the clearing and again there was a
simultaneous explosion as the spears caught the swinging pots.
Arangbar joined the cheers, then turned and slapped Hawksworth on the
shoulder. "That, Inglish, is how you use fire in battle. You must put
it where you want it. No soldier of India would be daunted by trick
swords and bucklers."
"My king agrees with you, Majesty. He leaves such toys to the Germans."
The display continued for almost an hour, as one exotic device after
another was carried next to the riverfront. The water became littered
with burning paper and the air so dense with smoke that Queen Janahara
finally started to cough. Arangbar immediately ordered an end to the
fireworks, and as the crowd filed back into the hall, the tapestries
were lowered to again conceal the smoky view of the river.
Now the music began, and the dancing, as musicians and women moved to
the center of the hall. Servants circulated with more betel leaves and
_sharbat_, and Arangbar took his first ball of opium.
Hawksworth glanced guardedly at the queen. Her manner was imperious,
regal, everything a sovereign should be. Everything Allaudin was not.
And, he thought, probably a lot Arangbar himself is not.
She'll soon have India by the _cojones_, not a doubt on it. And then
it's farewell Jadar. And probably farewell Arangbar too. Will I get a
signed _firman _for trade before it's too late?
As midnight neared, the music and dance were suddenly interrupted by
trumpets and a drum roll and shouts of "the bride comes." The curtains
covering a large doorway leading into the palace were drawn open, and a
closed palanquin was brought in by four eunuchs. It was accompanied by
veiled women singing something Hawksworth did not understand. The
palanquin was carried to the center of the room, where a low platform
covered with gold brocade had been positioned, and then the eunuchs
lowered it to the marble floor. The curtains were drawn aside and a
veiled woman emerged, her small body almost smothered in a dress that
seemed made of multiple layers of beaten gold. She was helped to the
middle of the platform, still wearing a veil that covered her entire
face. Chants of "Hail to the bride" arose on all sides.
Then Allaudin was escorted forward, taking his place on the platform
beside her. He stole a quick, distasteful glance at the veiled figure
beside him, then an official smile illuminated his face and he sat
patiently as the _qazi _was summoned in front of them. The official was
bearded, stern- faced, and transparently arrogant. He stood before the
veiled bride and motioned around him for silence.
"Is it by your own consent that this marriage take place with Prince
Allaudin, son of His Royal Majesty?"
From beneath the layers of the veil came a muffled, almost hesitant,
"It is by my consent."
The _qazi _seemed satisfied and began reading a passage from the Quran,
informing her that marriage depends on three circumstances: the assent
of the bride and groom, the evidence of two witnesses, and the marriage
settlement. He then turned to Allaudin and asked him to name the sum he
brought.
Allaudin mumbled a figure that Hawksworth did not catch, but then the
_qazi _repeated it for the guests. Hawksworth caught his breath when he
realized the amount named was fifty _lakhs _of rupees. Then Allaudin
said something else, which the _qazi _did not repeat.
Later Hawksworth learned that Allaudin had added he was giving only ten
lakhs of rupees then, and the balance at some indefinite future time.
The _qazi _blessed the royal pair, praying that they would be blissful
in this world and in eternity, and then wrote something quickly in a
book he carried. Finally the eunuchs appeared again and assisted the
bride into the palanquin. The marriage ceremony seemed to be over.
A glass of wine was placed in Hawksworth's hand, and he looked up to
see Arangbar beaming with satisfaction.
"Now we drink, Inglish. Come, sit closer and help me toast the
bridegroom."
"It was truly a royal wedding, Your Majesty."
"But it's not over, Inglish." Arangbar roared with laughter. "The
hardest part is yet to come. Does my son have the strength to complete
the work he's offered to undertake? No one can leave until we're sure."
Hawksworth had begun his third glass of wine when Princess Layla
reappeared, wearing a lighter dress, though still resplendent. Behind
her eunuchs carried several palanquins piled high with vessels and
trays of silver. Following them were servants bearing bundles on their
heads.
"Those are the wares she brings to the marriage, Inglish, and her
servants. I think she will make him a good wife."
The royal pair moved together, Layla still veiled, and then Queen
Janahara stepped down from the dais and took a large mirror handed her
by a turbaned eunuch. She walked to the couple and stopped directly in
front of them. As they stood facing her, she held the mirror before
Allaudin and reached to lift Layla's veil, giving him his first glimpse
of his bride.
Hawksworth studied her with curiosity. She was plain. And she looked
very frightened.
"It's auspicious, Inglish, if his first sight of his bride is in a
mirror. I have not seen her before either." Arangbar examined her for a
moment, then turned to Nadir Sharif. "What do you think? Should I buy
him another one for his bed?"
"She's a goddess of beauty, Majesty. Inspiration for a poet."
"Is that what you think?" Arangbar sipped pensively from his cup.
"Well, perhaps it's true. We'll discover soon enough if she inspires
her groom."
The guests watched as Allaudin and Layla were helped into a large
palanquin. In moments their procession was winding out of the palace,
followed by Layla's household silver, to a great fanfare of drums and
trumpets and the shouts of servants.
"Peace on the Prophet!"
"There is no nobility but the nobility of Mohammed!"
"Allah be with Him, the noblest, the purest, the highest!"
Hawksworth settled back against his bolster and realized groggily that
it was already past two o'clock in the morning.
When the wedding procession had disappeared from view, the jubilant
servants immediately turned to preparations for the banquet.
"Sometimes life can be sweet, Inglish." Arangbar leaned back against a
bolster and pinched Janahara's hand. "I think he should have more
wives. You know there's a saying in India: 'A man should have four
wives: A Persian to have someone to talk to; a Khurasani to keep his
house; a big-breasted Hindu from the South to nurse his children; and a
Bengali to whip, as a warning to the other three.' So far he has only
the Persian."
Hawksworth noticed that Janahara did not join in the general laughter.
Then Arangbar took another drink and turned to Hawksworth.
"But you know I don't entirely agree with that wisdom, Inglish. The
Holy Prophet, on whom be peace, wisely realized a man needs more than
one wife. He also demanded of us that we give each of them equal
attention, never to turn away from any one of them. What man can do
that, even with Allah's help? It is never possible. So we all do the
best we can. It is the will of Allah." Arangbar paused to swallow a
ball of affion as he watched the trays of lamb being placed before
them. "Tell me, Inglish, have you found a wife for yourself yet?"
"Not as yet, Your Majesty." He paused. "There are so many to choose."
"Then take more than one, Inglish." Arangbar washed down the opium.
"It's not allowed for a Christian, Majesty."
"Then become a Muslim." Arangbar smiled and took another sip from his
glass. "Are you circumcised, Inglish?"
"Majesty?"
"Never mind." Arangbar laughed out loud. "Neither am I. How are the
mullahs to know? My father, Akman, actually wanted to start his own
religion, combining the wisdom of India, Persia, and the West. He
thought circumcision was an absurd practice. You know, there was once a
_feringhi _here, I believe he was Portuguese, who decided to become a
Muslim, a True Believer. Apparently he had found a Muslim woman he
wanted to marry, and her father declared she could never marry a
Christian. So he had himself circumcised." Arangbar paused
dramatically. "And immediately bled to death. But doubtless he was
healed by the time he reached Paradise. Perhaps he made up there for
what he missed here." Arangbar chuckled and took a sip of wine.
Hawksworth noticed that Queen Janahara was trying with great difficulty
to retain her pleased expression. "Do you believe there is a Paradise
after death, Inglish?"
"What man can say. Majesty? No one has returned from death to tell what
he found. I think life is best lived in the present."
"I've always believed the same, Inglish. And I've lived as few men on
Allah's earth have lived." Arangbar settled himself against his bolster
and reached for another glass. He was starting to grow visibly tipsy.
"I now enjoy all Allah could possibly grant to a living man. There is
nothing on earth I cannot have. And yet, do you know, I still have many
griefs. Show me the man whose heart is free of grief." He took a piece
of lamb from a dish and washed it down. "So I find my greatest
happiness with wine. Like a low-caste camel driver. Why must I still
endure sorrow, Inglish?"
"We all are mortal. Majesty."
"That we are. Inglish. But I will soon see this Paradise, if it exists.
I will find out the truth soon enough. And when I'm finally wise, who
will then come after me? Now my sons practically war among themselves.
Someday, Inglish, I fear they may decide to war against me as well. And
what of those I see around me? Do they think I am blind to their
deceit?" Arangbar leaned farther back on the bolster. Nadir Sharif sat
listening, rolling a ball of lamb between his fingers. "Sometimes I
think you may be the only honest man left in India, Inglish. You are
the only one who has ever dared refuse to _teslim_. It is only with the
greatest forbearance that I do not order you hanged."
"I thank Your Majesty." Hawksworth took a decanter and poured more wine
into Arangbar's glass before replenishing his own.
"No, Inglish, instead you should thank your Christian God. If He
listens to you. But sometimes I wonder. I've heard you called a heretic
more than once."
"And I have names for the Jesuits, Your Majesty. Would you care to hear
them?"
"No, Inglish. Frankly, I have names for them too. But tell me, what am
I to do to find peace?" Arangbar lowered his voice, but only slightly.
"I see around me an army of sycophants, _nautch _women dressed as men.
Whom dare I trust? You know, my own people were once warriors, Mongols
of the steppes. They knew that the only ties that last are blood. And
that's why this wedding cheers me. It is blood to blood." Arangbar
turned and again touched Janahara's hand. Her face was expressionless
as she accepted the gesture. "The only person in India I dare trust
completely is my own queen. She is the only one who cannot, will not
deceive me. Never. I feel it is true, as I feel nothing else in life.
Nothing else."
Janahara's face remained a mask as Arangbar drank again. Nadir Sharif
was watching wordlessly, his face beginning to turn noticeably grim.
Hawksworth realized he had not been mentioned.
"I have loved her since I was a youth, Inglish," Arangbar continued,
his voice growing maudlin. "And she has never betrayed my trust. That's
the reason I would do anything she asked me. Anything, anytime. I
always know it is right."
Hawksworth found himself marveling as he glanced at Janahara's
calculating eyes.
I'd not trust her with two pence. He must be God's own fool.
Arangbar sat silent for a moment, savoring his own pronouncement, then
he turned to Janahara and spoke to her in a dull slur.
"Ask something of me. Let me prove to the Inglish that I can never deny
you."
Janahara turned as though she had not been listening. Hawksworth knew
she had been straining for every word.
"What could I ask, Majesty? You have given me all I could ever want.
Tonight you even gave me a husband for my daughter. Now I can die with
the peace of Allah."
"But I must give you something." He settled his wine cup shakily on the
carpet, jostling red splashes across the Persian design. "You must name
it."
"But there is nothing I could ask that I do not already have."
"Sometimes you vex me with your good nature. The Inglish will now
suspect the Moghul of India is a vain braggart." He fumbled with his
turban, trying to detach the large blue sapphire attached to the front.
"I will give you a jewel, even though you have not asked it."
"I beg Your Majesty." She reached to stay his hand. "There is nothing
more I could ever want."
"But I must give you something."
She smiled in defeat. "If you must bestow a present, why not give
something to the bride and groom? This is their wedding, not mine."
"Then at least you must name it. It will be my gift to you through
them." He turned to Hawksworth. "Whatever else you do. Inglish, never
marry a Persian. They forever study to try your patience."
Hawksworth noticed Nadir Sharifs eyes harden as he listened. He slowly
gripped the side of his bolster and absently pulled away a piece of
gold fringe.
"Then give them a small token, to show your confidence in Allaudin."
"I asked you to name it."
"Very well. Perhaps you could grant him the royal _jagirs _in Dholpur,
those closest to Agra."
Arangbar's sleepy eyes widened slightly.
"Those _jagirs _always go to the prince nearest the throne. I granted
them only last year to Prince Jadar, as part of his price to undertake
the campaign in the Deccan."
"But Prince Allaudin can administer them more easily. He's here. And
you can compensate Jadar with others. Perhaps some in the north, near
the fortress of Qandahar? You'll have to send him there after the
campaign in the Deccan." Janahara's voice was silken now.
Hawksworth turned to see Nadir Sharifs face growing ashen.
She's trying to drive Jadar into oblivion. Rob him of his best estates,
then send him to defend a piece of mountain rock. Surely Arangbar will
refuse. Jadar will never agree. She must know that. Nadir Sharif
certainly knows it.
"What would Prince Jadar say to such a trade?" Arangbar sipped from his
wineglass and shifted slightly, his eyes again barely in focus.
"Why should he object? He's never here. And surely he'll be ready to
obey Your Majesty and return to defend Qandahar after he completes his
campaign in the south. The threat from the Persian Safavis in the north
is already growing."
"I doubt very much he will agree so easily to march north again. Not
yet. Though I pray to Allah that he would."
"Then this will give him all the more reason."
"He may not see it as a reason. He may see it as a betrayal. You know
he's temperamental."
Hawksworth suddenly found himself wondering if the trade had been
planned with Allaudin. It was obvious Nadir Sharif had been taken
completely by surprise.
"Then I suppose it's best dropped." Janahara turned her face away. "You
can just forget I ever asked."
Arangbar looked crushed. He sipped thoughtfully on his wine for a
moment.
"Perhaps if I consulted Prince Jadar first." He paused to study his
empty wine cup. "The _jagirs _ were granted . . ."
"Perhaps Your Majesty thinks Prince Allaudin should have no estates at
all? Perhaps you think he is not yet fit?"
"He's fit, by Allah. He's my son." Arangbar impulsively seized another
ball of opium and began to chew on it thoughtfully. "I'll find a way to
compensate Jadar. Surely he'll be reasonable. After all, there must be
a wedding gift."
"Then you'll agree to grant it?" Janahara's tone was quiet and
inquiring."
"Majesty." Nadir Sharifs voice seemed strangely unguarded. "Prince
Jadar . . ."
Arangbar seemed not to hear him. "I grant it. In the morning I'll
summon the _qazi_, and let this be recorded as my gift to my youngest
son and his new bride." Arangbar's tenseness seemed to dissolve as he
leaned back on the bolster and took another ball of opium. "But only on
the condition that he perform his duty tonight. Let him plow the field
he has before he's granted more."
Arangbar turned to Hawksworth. "Do you know what else will happen,
Inglish, if he fails in his duty the first night?"
"No, Majesty."
"Some of her women will send him a distaff, which they use with their
spinning wheels. With a message that since he cannot do a man's work,
it is fitting he should do a woman's. But I think he'll succeed."
Arangbar turned to Janahara with a wink. "He's been practicing for
months with the _nautch _girls in the palace."
The queen did not smile as she took a rolled betel leaf from a tray.
A messenger appeared at the foot of the dais and performed the
_teslim_. His voice was quivering. "The sheet has not yet come out, may
it please Your Majesty."
Arangbar laughed. "Then perhaps the furrow is too narrow to receive his
plow. Have a mullah bless some water and send it in to him. And tell
him I'm waiting to see if he's yet a man."
"A Shi'ite mullah, Your Majesty, or a Sunni?"
"From this night forward, he will have Shi'ite mullahs perform all the
duties for his household," Janahara interrupted.
The messenger performed the _teslim _to the queen and backed from the
room. Arangbar sat silent, drinking.
"What does it matter?" He finally turned to her. "Let him have whatever
he pleases."
"That is easy for you to say. But it does not please Allah. Tonight
should be taken as an omen."
"Tonight is an omen of nothing. Tonight my son is charged to make a
woman out of a Persian girl of fifteen, who knows nothing of her duties
in bed. But he'll succeed. Give him time."
"I think tonight is an omen. Allah is not pleased when you allow open
heresies to flourish."
Arangbar was watching a dancer who had approached the dais to begin a
suggestive _nautch _dance for him. It seemed to Hawksworth that they
were already well acquainted, for she smiled at him knowingly, avoiding
the queen's glance.
"I care nothing for heresies." Arangbar turned back to Janahara. "I
only care for the honor of my reign."
"But a faith divided does you no honor."
"Then unite it if you care so much. I have other duties." Arangbar
turned again to watch the dancer. She had a large ring in one side of
her nose, and her eyes seemed to snap as she slapped her bare feet
against the carpeted floor. "I never knew she was so good." He turned
to Nadir Sharif. "Send her a small ruby and find out for me tomorrow
what her salary is. Whatever it is, I think she should have more."
"As you wish. Majesty." Nadir Sharif bowed lightly and turned again to
watch the dancer.
Hawksworth studied the prime minister's face. It was grim, leaden.
It's everything Shirin said would happen. Prince Jadar has been
stripped of his lands, and the queen has been granted license to start
an inquisition.
You'd better get the _firman _signed, before the country starts coming
apart.
The doors of the hall burst open, and a crowd of women entered. They
carried a silver plate, on which was a folded silken sheet. They moved
quickly before the queen and performed the _teslim_. Then one held out
the plate.
The queen took the sheet and inspected it. Hawksworth watched her,
puzzling, then remembered that in Muslim society a bloodstained wedding
sheet is considered evidence, vital to the honor of both the families,
of the bride's virginity and the groom's virility. With a triumphant
smile, Janahara nodded and turned to exhibit the sheet to Arangbar.
There were light pink traces across the white silk.
"He's a man after all." Arangbar passed the sheet to Zainul Beg, who
beamed and passed it to Nadir Sharif. The prime minister smiled with
approval.
"He has earned his _jagirs_." Arangbar turned to Janahara. "Let it be
recorded. And now we feast."
More silver dishes of baked lamp appeared from inside the palace,
brought by eunuchs who inspected them carefully before handing them to
serving women. The music and dancing were exultant now and lasted until
the light of dawn showed. The drunken guests waited reverently until
Arangbar, who had gone to sleep, was carried from the hall on a
palanquin. Then they began to disperse.
Hawksworth reached Nadir Sharif's side as the prime minister was moving
out through the large, tapestry-adorned doorway.
"What really happened tonight?"
"What do you mean, Ambassador?"
"The transfer of _jagirs_. What will Jadar do?"
"Ambassador, that's a matter for the rulers of India to decide. It's
not your affair." Nadir Sharif did not look around. "Instead let me ask
you a question. When will your English fleet make landfall? They are
overdue, but there have been no further sightings. I'm beginning to
wonder if there really is a fleet."
"Perhaps the weather's been against them." Hawksworth tried to steady
himself on his feet. "After all, it was sighted by Jadar's men."
"Was it? Or did you and Prince Jadar deceive us all? If there's no
fleet. Ambassador, you're in very serious trouble. There will be no
_firman_. His Majesty is hardly a fool."
"He promised to sign the _firman _long before the sighting."
"You do not know him as I do. You have another week, perhaps two, and
then . . . Let me merely say you cannot drink the fleet into existence.
We are both going to have difficulty explaining this deception to His
Majesty. You met with the prince. I'm beginning to wonder now if you
both planned this. If you did, it was most unwise."
"Then wait two weeks and see." Hawksworth felt his palms grow moist.
"Two weeks is not so long a time."
"It is a very long time, Ambassador. Much is happening. You have made
many of the wrong friends. Good evening, Ambassador. I must speak to
Her Majesty." Nadir Sharif turned and was swallowed by the crowd.
As Hawksworth moved into the street, he saw that the front of the
palace was already bathed in morning light. And Agra was beginning to
come to life. He strolled for a time along the side of the Jamuna,
where burned-out candles still floated, and studied the outline of the
Red Fort against the morning sky.
What if there really is no fleet? What if it really was a trick by
Jadar, for some reason of his own? To destroy my mission? Has he
cozened us all?
Midmorning was approaching when he finally reached his lodge at the
rear of Nadir Sharifs estate. As he passed through the curtained
doorway, he saw Kamala waiting, her eyes dark. She was wearing none of
her jewels.
"Have you heard?" She took his turban and knelt to remove his _kamar-
band_.
"Heard what?"
"Do you know the Sufi Samad? And the Persian woman who was with him?"
Hawksworth examined her, wondering who else knew of his stay in
Fatehpur Sekri.
"Why do you ask?"
"If you do know them, it is no longer wise to admit it."
"Why?" Hawksworth felt his gut tighten. Suddenly Kamala's touch no
longer stirred him.
"The news is already spreading in Agra." She began removing his cloak,
pausing to smooth her hand across his chest. "They were arrested last
night, while the wedding was underway, in the bazaar this morning they
say he is sure to be condemned to death for heresy, and she for aiding
him. People think they will both be executed within the week."