Aurangzeb blamed everyone but himself for the plight of our land. He disparaged Hindus with increasing belligerence. Muslims he held to impossible standards. My brother scorned the advice of the brightest minds in Agra, deriding their overtures for peace. He mocked the advocates of such plans, though they increased in number with each battlefield defeat. Nobles who once flocked to Aurangzeb’s standard now conspired against him. There were treasonous whispers. There were betrayals.
The Empire’s fate, I must admit, meant less to me than it once had, though Father and I were saddened to hear of these tidings. The thought of our people suffering was a crushing reminder of our failures. So many Hindustanis had depended on us, and by our shortcomings many of these brave citizens were dead.
We lamented but could do little else. How can I explain our enfeeblement other than to say that prison sapped our strength and resolve? I wallowed in guilt, anger and sorrow. Father, meanwhile, readied himself for death and sometimes was troubled that I kept him from it. After all, he had spent almost seven years in that cell. With each passing year, he told me, he felt further removed from Mother.
I kept him from death partly for selfish reasons. Quite simply, I loved him far too much to let him go. Though visiting nobles begged me to nurture him back to health for the Empire’s sake, I cared for him mainly because he had always cared for me. Besides, the nobles were right. The Empire might need him one day soon. Mother wouldn’t have wanted him to die, not when there was a chance, no matter how small, that Aurangzeb might be overthrown. If Father could rule again, he could bring peace to Hindustan. He could feed our poor, mend our mistakes.
“I want to be with her,” he whispered late one night as we stood next to the window.
The moon was ripe, and as I did at this time each month, I stared at its face. My eyes always watered when I thought of Isa looking out, over the mountains, at this same moon. Tonight was no different. “I know, Father.”
“I’d like to visit her tomb once more before I die.”
“Look at it,” I whispered. “Do you think in all the world another such thing exists?”
Under a full moon the Taj Mahal’s brilliance was staggering. “No. But neither does another version of your mother.” Father tried to smile. “You’re close, my child, but even pearls stolen from the same oyster have differences.”
“Is enough of her in me?” I asked quietly. I’d sought this answer for as long as I could remember.
“Aren’t such pearls made of the same sand?”
A star fell from the sky, and I thought of Isa seeing it in the Deccan. “He shall think of me now.”
“He’ll be finished in another year,” he said. “And then you’ll be reunited.”
I wondered if Father was right. When word came that Isa and Arjumand were free, would Aurangzeb be assassinated shortly afterward? Or would the Sultan somehow fail to get his men into the Red Fort? If he failed, could I escape with Father, even if he didn’t want to flee with me? Or would I have to go alone? Such questions troubled me often, for though I was determined to keep my promise to Isa and Arjumand, the thought of leaving Father behind made me lose sleep almost every night.
The next morning, to my surprise, Aurangzeb, Ladli and Khondamir entered our cell. I’d last seen my friend and my brother many years previous and my eyes widened in shock. Ladli appeared little different: even if her hips and belly had thickened, age hadn’t tempered her beauty. Her face was still youthful and her hair remained black. She wore a cream-colored robe painted with Chinese dragons, and her neck was draped with a golden chain.
Aurangzeb, meanwhile, looked as if time had sucked the vigor from him. He was much thinner than I remembered. His face was deeply lined, though not with wrinkles of laughter but of vexation. His beard was gray and his hair had receded. He limped as he came forward, and I wondered in what manner he had been wounded.
Father stood as the group approached, while I remained on the floor. “It’s good to see you, my son,” Father said, for in his heart of hearts he wanted to forgive Aurangzeb.
Aurangzeb’s face twitched, and to me he seemed a nervous man. “I’m no son of yours, remember?” he replied, his right hand wrapped about the hilt of his sword.
An uncomfortable silence followed. Then Khondamir smiled at me. “You look old, woman. What ails you?”
“Your stench.”
Aurangzeb grunted. I sought his eyes, which seemed lifeless. “A mistake to have returned,” he said.
“So it seems,” I replied. Behind Aurangzeb, Ladli blinked rapidly. She was telling me of danger.
“Did you know, sinner, that last week there was another attempt on my life?” Before I could comment, he added, “Poison this time. A poison arrow shot into my tent that struck my best bodyguard instead of me.”
“I’m sorry to hear—”
“That it failed?” he finished, his ire palpable.
Father weakly shuffled forward. “We had no idea, my son, of where you were a week ago. Surely you don’t think Jahanara was responsible?”
“She’s threatened me with her cobra, with her assassin!” he shouted, his voice like a clap of thunder. “Now that she’s been caught again, she wants me dead!”
“But Aurangzeb—”
“Call me Alamgir, by God!”
“It wasn’t her doing!” Father argued, the effort making him cough.
Aurangzeb disregarded him. He stepped closer to me, and I rose to face him. “You told me about your snake. You boasted that your assassin would place it in my bed. You threatened me! Your brother! And because of your threat I’ve killed more traitors than I can count.”
“They were only traitors to Dara.”
“Even now, you confront me. You foolish, useless woman. Without your assassin you’d be nothing to me. But because of him, I’m here, away from where I’m needed. Because I believe he still lives.”
“He does. You’ve murdered the wrong men.”
“Well, what would happen if I discovered his name? What if you told me his name and I killed him? Then where would we stand? What power would you hold over me with him dead?”
“I’ll never tell you.”
“Won’t you?” he asked sarcastically, his face twitching again. “Guards!” Four jailers hurried into the room, which was now crammed with people. “Hold the old man,” he said to two men, who moved to grab Father. “And you two, give the sinner a drink.”
“Please, my son, she’s innocent,” Father pleaded.
At a nod from Aurangzeb one of the guards cuffed Father. A pair of my brother’s underlings grabbed me roughly and dragged me to the washbasin, a porcelain tub filled with water.
“I’ve done nothing!”
“Drink up!” he roared.
The men forced me to my knees and dunked my head beneath the water. I struggled against them but might as well have fought the tide. Still I thrashed, banging my head several times against the basin. When at last I could hold my breath no longer, I was abruptly yanked from the water. I gasped, retched and gasped again.
“Who is he?” Aurangzeb demanded, pulling my hair, raising me up.
“Leave her be!” Father begged.
“Take him from here!”
I looked to Ladli for help as Father was dragged from the room. However much she tried to hide her emotions, I could plainly see her terror. Surprisingly, Khondamir also appeared fearful. Perhaps he had underestimated Aurangzeb’s wrath.
“Tell me!”
I said nothing and was again thrown beneath the water. I struggled less this time, but when I began to black out, I kicked with my legs and clawed with my nails. I saw Isa and Arjumand in my mind’s eye and begged Allah to give me an answer.
The jailers pulled me out, tossing me to the ground. I whimpered pathetically, forcing myself to l
ook around the room. Ladli bit her lip. Khondamir sweated. Though I’d ignored prayer since the night I was raped, I asked Allah again for guidance. I was unafraid of death but couldn’t imagine dying without seeing my loved ones again.
This time they held me longer, gripping my hair, forcing me to the tub’s bottom. I hardly fought them but opened my eyes and saw the light around me. My lungs finally expanded and I inhaled a mouthful of water. Convulsing, I threw myself against my tormentors, managing to knock the basin over. I was unaware of it falling—only of myself coughing up water and dropping to the stone floor.
Slowly the world gathered into focus. Aurangzeb had unsheathed his sword and stood above me. “Give me the answer I seek, Jahanara, or lose a hand.” His voice possessed less of an edge, as if he now tried to speak to me as a brother.
I nodded weakly, praying as I never had. Though I was numb with pain and horror, my mind was strangely lucid. I saw Isa and Arjumand working on their mosque. I saw Mother. And then I saw the answer that would save me.
“Please, brother,” I begged, my voice cracking and strained. “I love him.” My tears were real as I thought of Isa, longing for his comfort even now. “Our love’s a secret. Please, please don’t hurt him.”
The blade dropped to my hand. Its tip traced the contours of a knuckle, and though I felt nothing, I saw blood seep from my skin. Aurangzeb’s face twitched again. He seemed unable to control it. “His name. Give me his name and you’ll live.”
“But I love him!”
“Hold her arm!”
“Wait! Wait!” I sobbed. I tried to rise, but my legs were as strong as strings.
“His name!”
I gulped for breath, and Aurangzeb lifted his sword. “I’ll tell you!” I shrieked as the blade began its descent. My brother stopped in mid swing, but again placed the steel against my flesh.
“Tell me now,” he stammered, “or lose the hand.”
I moaned in abject sorrow, then looked over to where Khondamir stood. “I’m sorry, my love.”
For a moment, confusion reigned. No one seemed to understand what I had said. Khondamir, unexpectedly, was the first to recover from the shock of my words. “She’s mad!” he muttered.
“Please, my husband, please forgive me!” I wailed.
“You lying whore! She speaks nonsense, Alamgir. The bitch hates me and you know it!”
I pretended to be wounded by him. “What? How can…why would you say that?”
“You treacherous whore!”
“Please don’t say such things!” I wept mightily, my sobs true and unyielding. “Not now. Not after we’ve been through so much.”
Khondamir started to speak, but my brother angrily motioned him to silence. “Been through what? Tell me! Tell me now, by God!”
“Do you remember…the golden ring?” When he nodded, I continued reluctantly, “It was my lord’s idea that I pretend to steal it.”
“What?”
“It was right after I discovered that Ladli had betrayed me by becoming your companion.”
“She lies!” Khondamir screamed.
“Please, my husband. I’ve no choice.”
“Don’t listen to her!”
Aurangzeb strode to Khondamir quickly and, without a word, smashed the hilt of his sword into that ponderous stomach. My husband lost his breath, falling to his knees. He retched. He began to weep.
“Please don’t hurt him. Please!” I cried, reaching out toward Khondamir.
“What of Ladli?”
“It was my husband’s idea that I tell Ladli I stole his ring. He thought she might tell you. And he knew you hated me.”
“So?”
“So, just as my lord guessed, Ladli told you, and you told him of the theft. He pretended to beat me because he knew you’d relish my suffering. And thus he might earn your favor and trust.”
“You used me!” Ladli screeched, so loud that Akbar took flight, slipping through the window. “You deceitful dog!”
I allowed myself a thin smile. “I wish it had been my idea.”
“But what did he gain by my favor?” Aurangzeb challenged.
“What did he gain?” I repeated, and I knew then that Khondamir was dead, since my next words were true. “Didn’t you grant him special trading privileges with the army? Didn’t he grow richer because of you? Because of your hate for me, and your joy in my beating? And that first day, when I told you of the cobra, he was here. Who but he could have arranged for the snake to be placed in your bed?”
“But he wanted to sell you to a brothel. And you said your child wasn’t of his seed.”
“All an act!”
“For what reason?”
“Because he loves me!” I shrieked, sobbing. “And he understood that only if you feared my revenge would I be safe from you. And so he had the snake placed in your bed, all the while pretending to be your friend and advisor. And all the while he told me of your doings! He told me everything!”
“No!”
“He wanted to assassinate you! Shoot you in the chaos of a hunt! But I never let him! I made him promise—”
Aurangzeb screamed then, a terrible cry of rage that seemed to shake the Red Fort itself. He moved so quickly that I hardly had time to react. “Stop!” I cried as he rushed Khondamir, with his sword held high.
My husband’s eyes bulged and he held up his arms as if to ward off the blow. He tried to speak, but only a moan escaped his lips. Aurangzeb’s blade hissed as it swept down, lopping off Khondamir’s thick left arm as if it were made of butter. The blade continued without pause. It tore into his neck, cleaving through flesh and bone. Two thumps sounded as his body and head fell to the floor.
Aurangzeb spun toward me. I made no move to resist his blade. Twisting toward Mecca, I prayed for an easy road to Paradise. I felt the touch of iron at my chest, and I closed my eyes.
“I should slay you now!” Aurangzeb roared, his blade pressing harder against me.
“Please do.”
“No!” he raged.
“Please,” I begged, praying that he would do the opposite of what I asked, as he always had.
“No, a better punishment for you is life! And how can you live, knowing that you betrayed not only me, but also your husband?” He spat on me. His blade rose to touch my chin.
“Send me to Paradise,” I pleaded.
“You’re no woman, sinner, but a thing that crawls into men’s hearts and eats away at our flesh. Such a thing doesn’t deserve death, but life!” He knocked me from my knees and I fell backward. The guards then dragged Khondamir’s remains away, and Aurangzeb stormed out of the cell with Ladli behind him.
Revenge was unlike what I had imagined. It didn’t satisfy, nor did it please.
I felt only emptiness.
“What you did was right,” Father said the next day, after he had returned to the cell and I told him the story.
“Right?”
“It kept you alive, my child. Would you rather that Arjumand be motherless? And that Khondamir, who was like the mud beneath your feet, still live?”
“He—”
“Deserved to die slower,” Father voiced. “And you should think of him no more. He’s gone and you’re better for it, as, indeed, are your loved ones.” Father pulled on his leather glove and held up a scrap of breakfast for Akbar, who alighted on his wrist and gulped down the fatty meat. “I wonder how long our friend shall live,” Father mused. “When I’m gone, will you free him?”
“He is free,” I muttered, wondering if freedom truly existed.
Father raised the falcon higher, so that he might see outside. “He won’t like living here alone. Board up the window and let him find a mate.”
I nodded, watching Akbar, as he in turn studied me. The falcon
alerted me to someone’s approach. His head spun toward the door and he flew up to the rafter as our cell opened. I expected Aurangzeb, or one of our jailers, and let out a gasp when I spied Ladli. She was dressed in black like a Persian, with a thick veil covering all but her eyes.
After the door was shut and locked behind her, she hurried toward me. It had been infinitely too long since I held her, and I wept as she hugged me tight. We didn’t speak but clung to each other as only best friends could. The bond that held us was different than that which tethered Isa and me, but no less strong.
I pulled down her veil to kiss her cheek. Only then did I notice that one of her eyes was bruised and that her lips were swollen. “He hurt you,” I whispered, motioning at Father to guard the door.
“He flew into such a rage, Jahanara.” She pulled the veil back over her face. “The brainless coward blamed me for being duped by Khondamir’s plan.”
“He was the one duped!”
“I’m leaving him, leaving Agra forever. I can’t tolerate him any longer. He’s…he’s changed me into a different woman, one who’s fearful and weak.” A tear tumbled from her eye. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“That I’m deserting you.”
“How many times have you saved me, Ladli? Twice? Three times? You aren’t deserting me, and I’d die if he hurt you more.”
A sudden commotion rang from the hallway, and Ladli flinched. “I shouldn’t be here. He’d kill us all if he found out.” She turned to and from the door. “Since he was bested by Shivaji, he seems to have lost any trace of reason.”
I leaned closer to my friend. “Bested by Shivaji?”
“Your flea-infested brother fell into a trap, chasing Shivaji into a valley, a valley whose peaks were laced with explosives. They say the mountains themselves fell on our men. We lost four thousand of our best troops and Aurangzeb limped home in shame.”
“Did Shivaji escape?”