MUMTAJ MAHAL

By K. CHANDRASEKHARAN

(Translated by the Author from the original in Tamil)

It was an unforgettable scene at Agra. People were engrossed in the ensuing celebrations of prince Khurram’s assumption of the title of Shah Jahan (The ruler of the world). The Mughal monarch, so very well known for his reign in history, had usurped the throne of Delhi from his father. The dead body of his father, Jahangir, had been interred in a tomb at Lahore and Nur Jahan his consort, was in prison.

All these events were not quite unexpected at the Mughal court. Nur Jahan tried her best to employ strategem for suppressing the supporters of Khurram but failed miserably. Even her own brother, Asaf Khan, turned her mortal enemy.

There was a large crowd of men and women gathered in the fort to witness the festivities connected with the investiture.

But none outside ever knew that certain significant happenings had transpired within. The function was to come off in a few hours. The concourse at the Diwan-i-khas was eagerly watching for the queen to appear on the balcony: for Nur Jahan had brought the custom into vogue, to appear there on very select occasions, despite the fact that the Begums, being purdah nashins, never before used to appear in public. Hence the vast mass of people were looking forward to a gaze at the Begum, Arjumand Bano.

Had the fort been in its prior condition, visitors could have guessed some of the events in advance. But the great changes effected, as also the fresh buildings in marble, lavishly added by Shah Jahan, made the place look entirely different and wonderful. The pools of clear water from the river Jumna, as well as the myriad fountains in the gardens, splashing rose-water all round, made all eyes and hearts feel a strange thrill. It was a paradise enough.

As soon as the young sun rose in the sky, the maids and slave-girls of the zenana began to stir about in feverish activity in view of the preparations for the day. The Begum was drying her flowing tresses in the fumes of scented wood and sandal and also conversing gently with Juleka, a confidante of hers. Around her stood women bearing on silver trays costly costumes and ornaments of gems and pearls set in gold.

“Why all this, Jule?” questioned the Begum of her maid.

“Don’t you know, Begum gab, that the time is approaching for the king to arrive? Pray, speak with caution.”

“Ah, let him come. Am I to be afraid of anyone? Are guards to be surrounding me always to prevent my speaking freely?”

“Yes, Begum Sab, orders are that your desires are not to be heeded today; for the Badshah will be soon conferring on you a new title by which alone you will have to be recognised hereafter in the realm. Therefore, it is necessary for you to put on special garments and jewels for looking pleasing in his eyes.”

A slave girl ran in hurrying towards them and whispered something in the ear of Juleka. And she in turn conveyed to the princess: “I understand Begum Sab, your illustrious father is soon expected here. There is a messenger who awaits your ladyship’s reply.”

There ensued a sudden snap in the conversation, apparently quite inexplicable. But the insistence for a reply resulted in a nod indicating the Begum’s agreeableness. The message was carried back post-haste.

Juleka contnuied her conversation; she said, “perhaps you are not aware of the Badshah’s desire to decorate you with the insignia of Mumtaj Mahal (Light of the palace).” And having said this she cast a longing, loving glance at her adorable mistress.

“Why? Is not my name beautiful as it is? Should I not be consulted even in such intimate matters as the changing of my name?”

From the answer of Juleka it was evident she had not approved of Mumtaj’s indifference to everything pertaining to herself. For she spoke with a certain amount of ardour: “Are these fit words for a Moghal princess on the throne of Delhi? Soon the world, which did not hesitate to aclaim your aunt as Nur Jahan (Light of the world) will love to call you by the term of Mumtaj Mahal, finding you the proud possessor of both light and laughter.” The Begum did not fail to notice the hidden significance of Juleka’s observations. So she pursued, “Do you really think it a greater honour to be called Mumtaj, when I occupy the same status as my aunt’s, which had earned for her the celebrated title of Nur Jahan?” and as if recollecting the message from her father, she wrapped her head and shoulders in a thin shawl.

Asaf Khan was not only the nearest relation of the Emperor, but his chief minister as well. His influence at the royal court was immense. His own glittering retinue equalled the monarch’s in splendour. His men followed him wherever he went. The Mughal court showed him great respect and all the officials bowed before him. It was not difficult to divine the cause of his power at court. The king consulted him in everything of consequence to the realm. The manner in which the menials about the zenana fussed on his arrival amply bore out his unquestioned authority. Such a commotion and excitement never attended even the Badshah’s approach.

The Begum received her father without any apparent enthusiasm. Further, the lines marking her brow indicated clearly her mind was disturbed.

Asaf Khan looked tall and majestic of demeanour. There was hardly any trace of greying anywhere in his hair, on the head or the beard. He held his head with an unapproachable bearing. Seeing signs of weariness and anxiety on his daughter’s face, he queried: “Why, my dear, do you look so much careworn? You are scheduled to receive from the Badshah the grand honorific of Mumtaj Mahal!”

Mumtaj, on hearing his stern voice, felt no inclination to recover her naturalness. Once again he asked: “Daughter, do you at all try to justify your being the niece of your aunt Nur Jahan? Why this feebleness in your looks? I sought you to make you feel happy and I expected a different welcome from you.” He paused a bit in trying to soften his voice.

“Ah, speak you, father, of my aunt? Has she any place here? Poor lady! she is withering away in some dungeon!” she said, and, before she could finish her sentence, tears had welled up in her eyes.

“Foolish girl, do you still recognise in her your kinswoman? Has she not impressed you of her murderous intentions? I as well as your husband almost stood the risk of meeting our deaths at her hands. Yet Mehrunnissa has been fortunate to have been spared her life. Your husband’s tender heart alone saved her from the gallows. Well, it will be no crime if she were to be hacked to pieces and thrown to wild dogs and hungry wolves!” His eyes grew red with anger as he uttered these words. A minute later he was calm and began again thus: “Well, Bano, I hastened here to inform you beforehand that you must appear otherwise, and in a manner befitting the occasion. Forget your aunt; she is the very devil in human form.”

“Dear father, it is the same blood that courses in my aunt’s veins, as in yours. I cannot understand your unkindness towards her nor your cruel treatment of one so near–an empress indeed in her own right!” She could not proceed further because of contending emotions within.

Asaf Khan pierced her with his look. He lowered his voice and continued: “Ah my daughter, when you can admire so much your aunt, why have you abandoned all her qualities? Can’t you emulate her at least, in a remote manner, and prove of sterner stuff. Indeed it is my misfortune you are made so soft a creature. Alas, Allah be blamed for shaping you like this when, with your rare endowments of beauty and virtue, you could have turned out to be a more powerful queen, with courage and decision. There is, however, hardly time for dreams and reflections now. Don’t give way to puerile thoughts. Beware, when the Badshah meets you, you must behave better and never allow words, as these you gave expression to before me, to puzzle him.”

It was not clear how Mumtaj reacted to his admonitions, whether with concern or otherwise. A deep sigh was the only sequel to all her father’s exhortations. Asaf Khan left her in that state. But before her heavings could subside, Shah Jahan entered the harem without any previous announcement. Mumtaj opened wide her eyes and devoured him with her gaze even from a distance.

“Darling, when arrangements are moving apace, why are you still not dressed and decorated for the occasion?…Where are the slaves?...Hello, who is there?...None here!” There was disappointment and irritation mingled in his tone.

“I am quite prepared to welcome you, my Lord. It is not I that requires preparation, but you for making a visit to my zenana. Are there yet troubles ahead of you? Your tireless pre-occupation with disposing of your own kith and kin in cold murder can leave you very little time for seeking me or my company. Have you guessed what love and expectation are dammed up here, in this little vessel of a human heart, awaiting release to fill you with refreshing balm for your hours of anxious preparation?” She thus went on without the least attempt to conceal her true fears and real concern for him.

Shah Jahan’s instantaneous answer to all her words was an undelaying clasp of her in his strong arms. He was not affected by what she said. He showed little slowness in expressing his deep passion for her.

She, on her side, showed little consciousness of having either transgressed her limits or accused him of foul deeds. Shah Jahan was equally unwilling to postpone his caresses in retaliation of her erstwhile unfeigned compassion for others. Mumtaj leaned on his broad shoulders and stroked the pearls hanging from his neck. They thus drank of each other’s gaze. Speech remained imprisoned while love effectively spoke through their eyes. But he was the first to release his hand and gently part the curls falling on her peerless forehead.

“Sweetest! It is for you and for you alone I perpetrated so many horrible deeds...Yes, you are here imprisoned even as my breath. But you have a claim to be known outside also, and therefore I have thought it fit to decorate you with a new title.” He said this with evident pride and satisfaction.

“Your heart is to me my all. I seek nothing outside. No, my Lord, I have no ambitions to achieve further. May I ever rest my little crown on these broad shoulders and end my days.” Her eyes were wet and the drops from them seemed the dews which fill the lotus petals at dawn. Shah Jahan wiped them quickly and uttered: “Sweetheart, if you feel no security anywhere else, may that ever be,” and he madly sought her lips.

Mumtaj did not stop his intoxication nor dismiss his fondness as untimely. On the other hand she was still in the possession of her own thoughts, in calmer moments framed. She started speaking again: “Can I aspire to be greater than my aunt whose lustre shone the brightest till a few months ago! If dire fate had in store for her such a disaster as has engulfed her, what of me, a poor creature to compare with her. My refuge lies here in my Lord’s hands. Should I also be overtaken by fate to undergo imprisonment, I shall find contentment in being imprisoned in my Lord’s heart. An eclipse can dim even the lustre of the sun. Let me wish to glow with steadiness therefore in your soul. That is all I crave for in this life” said she with her tender arms round his hefty shoulders.

Shah Jahan pressed her close while his lips rained kisses on her face, neck and shoulders. “Ask of me whatever is dearest to your heart; I cannot refuse anything to you today. The least of your commands will not go unheeded or remain unfulfilled,” he assured her.

She extricated herself from his arms and spoke: “Well then, refuse not a small request of mine. For long have I been cherishing a desire that dreads to show itself out lest it should get scotched the very moment of its emergence. Let me see my aunt and get her blessings ere I am covered with honours and titles!”

She had not finished her sentence, before Shah Jahan jumped up from his seat hearing her last words. But only for a second was he thus excited; for at the next he calmed himself and recollected how he had promised her satisfaction of any request, and he resolved to keep it at any cost. Yet he began, “Am I listening to you, my darling! You are mistaken in your belief that your aunt is a kind woman. She will vomit only venom. You are so innocent and unassuming that she can easily strip you clean with her words. Ponder awhile your own lack of wisdom,” and he tried to lift her face to see what change was there as a reaction to his warning. But seeing deep disappointment alone writ large on her face, he decided to let her have her way. He drew himself up and cautioned her thus: “Mumtaj, go if you want to see her. I do not prevent you, having given you my word. Only one condition I shall impose. Do not tarry longer than necessary with her.” He then left her, walking slowly towards his own apartments. Mumtaj peeped into the mirror only to be confronted with her own strange looks reflected there. She wondered why her eyes betrayed so much of trepidation. Being the first woman in the whole of Hindustan, what need had she to evince fear and caution of the kind? Had not her husband and her own father proved themselves quite strong of mind on occasions demanding of extreme nerve and decision? Doubts and questions rose, wave on wave, in her, but to no purpose, as they never came within reach of the shore.

With her maid Juleka leading the way, Mumtaj arrived at the prison. Before the sentry on duty there could realise who the visitors were, the sight of the ring bearing the royal insignia had secured admission into the jail for them. No further preliminaries were undergone by the visitors to get into the dismal chamber where Nur Jahan lay.

In the dim light of a single torch, was seen the form of Nur Jahan resting on a couch with her eyes fixed on the distant future. She seemed not conscious of happenings around her. When she regained her awareness of things near her by the sound of steps, she failed to recognise her own niece because of the long period of separation from her.?

“Who are you?” queried the elder lady.

“Aunt, are you unable to place me?”

“Ah, is it you!” exclaimed Nur Jahan, though still her comprehension of the situation was not perfect. Silence therefore resulted, for a while, from the intrusion of strangers, as it were, into the cell. Then it was Mumtaj that tried to break the silence by her words: “It is I, Arjumand, come to seek your gracious blessings.” Without waiting to complete her own sentence, she knelt ‘before Nur Jahan and expressed by her sense of courtesy and submissiveness that she was on a real mission of peace and goodwill to her aunt.

“Silly girl, why these pretences to cheat me?” cried Nur Jahan, as she was hardly prepared for a visit like that. Mumtaj could only repeat what she had already uttered. She added: “Have you forgotten me so soon? Have I ever harmed you? I am confident you will not reject me.”

“Yes, now I am able to make you out; and I could expect this and more with Time’s relentless sport with me…..But stop all this sentimental talk; they are empty words, carrying no real import. Only I want to know what induced you, when your status is on the rise, to meet me, buried fathoms deep in ignominy. The whole country will be waiting on you and you alone. Why then your condescension to visit me? I know it is to punish me. I smell some deep design in all this. You are a mere tool in others’ hands. Let me hear first what you have in store for me, and then if I find anything of machination, instead of falling a prey to your plot, I will put an end to my life.” Nur Jahan poured out the vials of her wrath, and taking a shining little dagger from out her skirt, she waved it before the younger woman, as if, the moment she decided to finish herself, she would resort to it, without any further ado. And she closed saying: “If you take one step towards me, well, I shall seek my safety in depositing this precious piece of metal into my bosom.”

“Please, please desist from such an act, aunt! Should you die for no reason? Whatever I am given can be shared by you with me” began Mumtaj, but ere she could proceed further, the other again retorted: “So, you too take me to be a miserable wretch. Ah, precious child of my brother! So you find delight in your elevation in contrast to my fall and humiliation! How could you understand my state of mind? I ruled the entire Hindustan. Why–Persia, Iran and Arabia too felt my influence. The great ruler at Delhi bowed before my supreme authority. It was with trepidation people ever raised their eyes to me. Your husband and your dear father have now joined hands to push me down, trample me under foot, and humble me to the dust. Know, my young lady, this royal house of the Mughals recognises neither law nor convention in the matter of seeking its ambitions. Patricide and fratricide are common sport to the members of this great dynasty. Beware, you may also meet with a similar fate. I have no more fear of anything. Even if I am ordered to be beheaded, I have the satisfaction that they cannot in a day remove the head of mine stamped on all the coins in the realm. Go then, learn to rule your husband if you feel any need for power. If you delay a moment longer, you will only have a shorter period of glory than mine.”

She closed her eyes a little while and then shrieked as if hurt by something: “Go; go away, do not stand before me. Merciful Allah gave these eyes for witnessing better things and not for gazing at you.”

Mumtaj felt dazed at what had happened. She saw in that face before her a sustained rivalry between haughtiness and ambition, every second either of them bidding for victory over the other. She trembled at the thought that the Light of the world should turn into a wild conflagration.

Mumtaj returned defeated in her mission. All her hopes and dreams had fallen to the ground. Her secret feeling that the sight of her youth and tenderness would accomplish what words of harshness could never recover proved a mere wish. Her heart sank within her.

Without anyone watching her on the way back to her apartment, Mumtaj tried to digest her defeat in solitude. But her Lord and master, Shah Jahan, was already there ready to take her with him for the presentation at the Diwan-i-khas. His raiment was of gold and his neck was encircled with strings of pearls interlaced with topazes and rubies. He panted with pride at the thought that he would be covering his sweetheart with honours and titles which he valued more than his own. Her tired looks easily conveyed to him the result of Mumtaj’s pilgrimage to the prison. With a slight sneer in his voice he asked: “Darling, had you your fill of gifts from your dear aunt?”

Mumtaj was downcast, while the stream from her eyes fell in drops, startling him unawares. Anger and pain battled for refuge in his face. The timidity of his Begum made him more sorrowful at the sequel to his precautions. Nevertheless he brushed aside all his feelings in his eagerness to draw her near and whisper in her ear: “ Bano, you did condescend to meet your aunt; and now you regret the step you took! Did I not warn you?”

Mumtaj Mahal moved aside from him. Adjusting her veil on her face she added thoughtfully: “There is truth in what she said. Your great House is certainly cruel and steely-hearted. Your rule of law is to live by taking others’ lives. In your mad pursuit of blood-spilling, father, brother, son or cousin, are all one to you. It is unbecoming of you to imprison a woman because of your mortal fear of her.” Shah Jahan failed not to notice the spirited declamation in her tone. But he did not much mind anything so long as she yielded herself to his passionate caresses and breathless embrace.

He then after a pause said: “Mercy it is the wicked woman did not hurl all her abuses at you. I see on the other hand she has been able to inspirit you a little; for otherwise, you would have swooned at her ravings;” his last words conveyed a mild sarcasm.

Mumtaj turned quickly at those words, and, shaking her head, said: “Yes, I had my share too of her recriminations. Your guess is correct. She derided me as foolish and useless; she exhorted me to show my mettle by ruling over you. Her head, she said, is stamped on the coins which circulate in Hindustan, while my head may not even rest on my shoulders for long.” Mumtaj finished all her words in a single breath.

Shah Jahan still held her in his tight clasp. He seemed to perceive something in the distance. With stifled emotions he began: “Yes, Mumtaj, what you have uttered now is perhaps true. I pledge my word before Allah that you are destined to rule me. Yet, your power over me is nothing comparable with Nur Jahan’s. Love’s bonds woven by you are unbreakable. I will remain ever your slave. A thousand Nur Jahans cannot displace you in the hearts of my people. You will be made to shine till eternity. You may find Nur,Jahan’s head on all the coins for some time. But your beauty, your purity, your very soul–everything will be treasured in a singular creation of mine that will last, a symbol of all that we cherish here as limitless. I will never be Shah Jahan, if I do not perform a feat of imagination that will excellently portray for ages to come what woman’s constancy in love, her purity in outlook, her compassion towards others and last but not least her devotion to her own dearest can induce in man, the creator. May this creation remain ever a mystery to coming generations!”

Shah Jahan spoke forgetting himself. Mumtaj did not realise the hidden purport of his impassioned utterance. He too was not fully aware, perhaps, of the potentiality that lay behind his consuming love for his queen. Could he have had the intuition to foresee her death before his own? No, never; he could not have felt then that she would die earlier than himself. Nor could it ever be that he treasured her in order to leave to the world a greater treasure of art.

Nothing is now clear. But we who see the Taj by day and by night feel what true love can perform. We cannot pass by it without being impressed with the fruition undying love, the peak of art’s creativity in the wonder in immaculate whiteness. When we find the language that art speaks has greater power than the language of a lover, we bow to the one force that binds all–Love.

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