Chapter 33
Lahore Fort, Diwan-i-Am
August 1635
“He what?” Dara said, unsure he’d heard his advisor correctly. He was, as yet, unused to the new personnel Father had assigned to him in order to reconstitute his household court. So much so he could not even recall this one’s name, especially with all the funeral preparations to see to.
“Hargobind Singh rides to Lahore, wishing to be present for the internment of Mian Mir, Shehzada,” the eunuch clarified.
“He does, does he?” he said, noncommittal. I don’t have time for this. I must begin writing the eulogy.
“Yes, Shehzada.”
“Very well. Make sure he is accorded every respect, then.”
“Is that wise, Shehzada?” The eunuch persisted.
Kwaja Magul, Dara finally dredged the name from memory. He sniffed, irritated at the eunuch’s manner but powerless to dismiss the fellow. As an imperial appointee to his household, there was little Dara could do without offending Father and adding to the perception he could not manage his own court.
Besides, it was not this one’s fault that Dara lost so many loyal men and advisors at Ramdaspur. That was his alone.
“He will be accorded every respect as he attends the funeral of my teacher, understood?”
A respectful bow of the head accompanied the eunuch’s next words but did not stop them: “Of course, Shehzada. I only ask as some of the other Orders will be present, and may resent his presence…aggressively.”
“So be it!” Dara snapped.
“I merely—”
“And I heard your concerns. Now do as I command.”
“Are you certain, Shehzada?”
Restraining, just barely, the urge to cuff the eunuch about the ears, Dara felt his cheeks flush. “Is there some other concern you have yet to voice? Something so critical that you decide to question orders twice given?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“Forgive me the effrontery, Shehzada, but Shah Jahan himself commanded me to be certain you were making the best decisions possible, and ordered us”—he gestured at the other advisors—“to confirm you gave careful consideration to every decision before making them public, purely because of your recent…illness.”
Dara looked at the rest of the advisors, each of whom silently nodded agreement. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, asked: “And what is it that I am failing to consider, my advisors?”
Kwaja waggled his head and answered as if Dara had not laced his question with bitter sarcasm: “Certain powerful groups, among them the Naqshbandi Order, are, how shall I say it? Content to see Mian Mir and his conciliatory rhetoric gone from this world, and will take it amiss if Hargobind Singh is present at what they view as a properly Islamic rite.”
“View? They would co-opt it, given half a chance!” Dara surged to his feet and began pacing.
“Correct, Shehzada. Shah Jahan’s orders that the tax on nonbelievers be rescinded has already caused a great deal of unrest among the nobles and orders most affected by it…” The eunuch trailed off, looking sidelong at Dara’s military advisor, Vidur Khan.
The Rajput nodded, taking up the thread. “It is as Kwaja Magul says, Shehzada. I would add that the entire Muslim population of the region, not just the nobility, are uneasy. They are like the grass in the dry season, waiting for the least spark that brings the wildfire. And the presence of Hargobind may just prove the match that lights a conflagration that will not be contained.”
“Yet he and Mian Mir held one another in mutual admiration and respect,” Dara mused. “With the recent peace concluded between the emperor and Hargobind, it may be that denying him the opportunity to pay his respects would lead to outright war, not just unrest.”
“A difficult quandary, Shehzada.”
A quandary that would, should Dara defer it to his father for a decision, not only fail to meet the religious requirements of their faith, but cause whatever esteem he might have with these men to evaporate, never to return.
Dara stopped pacing, feeling their eyes on him. “Hargobind will come to the funeral, as he wishes. I will write to make him aware of the delicate situation. Let the news-writers inform everyone that he comes under my protection and with my full friendship and regard.”
“Yes, Shehzada,” his advisors chorused.
Did his solution please them? he wondered. Or were they merely humoring him, having followed his father’s instruction? It was impossible to know.
“Are there any other matters of import before I begin writing the eulogy? How goes recruitment?”
“Slowly, Shehzada. With his recent deployment of such large armies into the Deccan and Bengal, Shah Jahan depleted much of the readily available manpower.”
“I see. I would prefer quality over great numbers regardless. Perhaps some of your kin would take up arms in my name? Rajput arms are respected the world over.”
The Rajput smiled so broadly his teeth were visible as his large mustache curled up. “Of course, Shehzada. I have already posted to my holdings and among the families of my home, asking for sons to join your household.”
“Excellent. I will ask the same of Salim.”
The mustache drooped, teeth disappearing.
“What is it?”
“Few are the people who trust the Afghans, Shehzada, and rightly so.”
“The Afghani rulers of the petty kingdoms in Bengal have been a problem, I’ll admit, but those from the North are a different breed. Besides, the Afghans may be fractious and unruly, but they are excellent fighters, as their possession of so much of Bengal proves.”
“And rather more intolerant of nonbelievers than those that have lived here long, Shehzada,” the eunuch added.
“True. Who would you have me recruit, then? From among the Maratha? The Mewari?”
Vidur Khan waggled his head. “If you wish it, Shehzada. Recruiting from among those who do not share in power now has proven an effective path to power in the past.”
Father had done exactly that. And yet. And yet…
“You would have me avoid recruiting Afghans and in the next breath advise me to recruit from among those who have no share of power under my father. How do you reconcile these two?”
Vidur Khan bowed his head, “Shehzada commands, we obey.”
In other words: we’re giving you options, and we will not only carry out those orders, we’ll report exactly what you tell us to your father.
“Very well. Recruit from among the Afghans to the north and continue your drive to collect more of your kinsmen.”
“As you command. There are also a great number of Atishbaz who would gladly serve,” Vidur continued. “Speaking of which, Talawat the gunsmith, the fellow you employed before, he wishes to meet with you.”
“Oh?” Dara asked, interested. Most of the craftsmen employed by his establishment survived his failure in battle but had found employment elsewhere while he was believed dead. That the gunsmith wished to meet with Dara might indicate a desire to return to his service. He would certainly be welcome.
“Yes, Shehzada. Something about wishing to explore the ferenghis’ firearms.”
“Ah, yes. Have him come to me and I will arrange it personally.”
Lahore Fort, Dara’s Quarters
“Amir Salim Yilmaz,” Dara said, looking up from qalam and paper before him.
“Shehzada.”
Dara waved a hand. “Please, be seated and at your ease. I yet have some writing to do.”
Sitting, Salim waved away a slave’s offer of refreshment and sat silent while the prince continued to work on the document.
The prince’s brow was furrowed, but not with pain or frustrated desire for the pipe, as it had so often in the recent past. No, using qalam, the reed pen of calligraphers, was no easy task, and the prince had a reputation to uphold.
He really was good. One misplaced stroke and the entire sheet of paper would be wasted, yet he worked with the surety of a scribe decades at his craft.
It occurred to Salim then, watching Dara write, how young the prince was.
After a long wait, Dara pursed his lips, muttered, “I think I have struck the proper tone…”
“Pardon, Shehzada?”
“What? Oh, yes…Apologies…Writing the eulogy for Mian Mir proves a challenge. A man whose spirit and teachings changed the lives of so many defies easy description…”
“I would imagine so,” Salim said, feeling the loss all over again. It was one thing to know a loved one has ascended to Paradise, quite another to avoid selfish feelings of loss and pain as you marked the days of their passing.
Cleaning it carefully, Dara set the qalam in its cradle. “I asked you to attend me because I have requests to make of you.”
“Where your father’s demands on my time and service permit, I am at your service, Shehzada.”
“These requests should not impinge on your Imperial service beyond your post as mihmandar to the ferenghi.”
Salim simply bowed.
“My servant, Talawat, wishes to talk to Rodney and John about their gunpowder weapons. He is most interested in their mechanisms.”
How had he learned…? Oh, of course—Salim’s kinsmen talked too much. They must have spoken of the attack where others could hear.
“I will ask them. I doubt they will refuse you, but I must beg your pardon, Shehzada: does the emperor know of this request?”
The prince frowned momentarily. “I do not think so. I will inform him of the request, as I expect you to report it.”
Salim bowed his head, “I am sorry to question you so, Shehzada, but—”
Dara spoke over him, waving him down: “But you must, and I understand completely. Father may wish to keep such a resource to himself, and that is his prerogative as emperor. You do him good service as one of his amirs by asking.”
“Thank you for your understanding, Shehzada.”
“Think nothing of it. Now, I would have your opinion on Hargobind Singh.”
“Shehzada?”
“Sorry, I am not being clear: I would have your opinion on how his presence at Mian Mir’s funeral will be received.”
“By whom, Shehzada?”
“Father and the…wider court.”
“Surely your advisors have given you their learned opi—”
“The advisors Father provided me have rendered their opinions. I ask yours.”
“The emperor will surely see, and approve of, the reasoning behind your decision to include the Sikh.”
“And?”
“Difficulty with the more conservative and orthodox Muslims will likely follow Hargobind Singh’s attendance, but it is not such an outrage they will be moved to rebel, given our teacher’s tolerance for the Sikhs.”
“Meaning Mian Mir had already driven away those who would be offended.”
“Yes, Shehzada.”
“And the rest, the non-Muslims?”
“I am not experienced enough with courtly politics to know, Shehzada.”
“Your best guess, then.”
“Most Hindus are reasonably friendly with the Sikhs, and will likely see the guru’s attendance as a sign of improving relations between all non-Muslims and Muslims.”
“So, you do not think it a bad idea to invite the guru?”
“No, Shehzada, though I do worry that someone may attempt an assassination of him while he is here.”
Dara smiled and rubbed his shoulder pointedly. “You have not seen Bhidi Chand and the rest of the guru’s bodyguard fight. I assure you that anyone wishing to slay Hargobind Singh will have a hard time of it.”
“I bow to your greater experience there, but even if unsuccessful, such an attempt will certainly cause the solemn occasion to erupt in riots and violence, potentially spreading such discord throughout the Punjab.”
Dara nodded. Seeming to come to some conclusion, he looked up at Salim. “Would you agree to the move if I were to petition Father to have you assigned to me as an advisor?”
Salim didn’t bother to conceal his surprise at the offer. “Of course, Shehzada, though the emperor may not grant the move purely because of my duties as mihmandar to the foreigners.”
“True. I shall make the request anyway. I will have need of men of experience I can trust.”
“Surely you can trust those men the emperor has assigned you already?”
“I can trust them insofar as they will assist me in making decisions Father approves of. On matters they may have a personal interest in, they may seek advantage at my expense, reporting falsely or omitting information in their reports to sow distrust between myself and Father. Nur Jahan did exactly that when she infected Jahangir with poisoned words against my father by controlling the information my grandfather received on the goings on in my father’s princely court.”
“Surely the bond between you and the emperor is stronger than that?”
“Now, yes. But who can say what will happen in a year, or ten? Especially if I am given a governorship someplace distant. Beyond that, the law, as you know, is not something even emperors can ignore: every true-born son shall inherit the same share as his brothers, being twice that of his sisters.
“Father allots me a much larger stipend than my brothers. But since my failure at Ramdaspur claimed the lives of so many that I had come to rely on, I possess a great deal of ready cash but lack trustworthy men I can swear into service, not to mention men I can trust to command them on my behalf.”
Unsure what to say, Salim ventured: “You face many difficulties, Shehzada.”
Dara shook his head. “I complain too much.”
“Given time, I know I can gather trustworthy men willing to serve you, Shehzada.”
“But first we must persuade Father to place you with me.”
“I will write to him tonight, Shehzada.”
“Good. I will be sure to do the same.” He picked up the thick, spotless paper, “once I am done with this. Will you listen to what I have written thus far?”
“Certainly, Shehzada.”
Lahore
“I don’t think we should get any closer,” Angelo said.
“No, probably not,” Gervais agreed, lifting his borrowed binoculars to watch the funeral procession come to a staggering, bunching halt at the burial site. The mausoleum Dara had decreed would be a shrine to Mian Mir was a simple, attractive building cited at the center of the quadrangle of gardens. The mob began to overflow the gardens, surrounding the grave site in row after row of mourners. One group, far smaller than the main body and separated from the rest by a mutually agreed-on space, formed a thin wedge point on to the tomb. Gervais blinked, then focused at the point of the wedge. Their turbans were tied differently, and their leader was…
Hargobind Singh had come. He must have been waiting for the procession at the tomb. A brave and possibly provocative move.
After a moment he could hear Dara Shikoh’s voice rising and falling from the heart of the crowd. Gervais, unable to distinguish individual words at this remove, instead observed the audience. Based on the strong emotion evident on every face, the eulogy was a powerful one.
He’d decided to try to observe the funeral from a safe distance, in case something untoward happened. Not that he could stop it, but even a few minutes warning could prove the difference between capture and an easy escape.
Bored, Angelo dismounted and sidled into the lengthening late-afternoon shade of the upright wheel of a Persian well that had been abandoned to a slow desiccation in the dry, relentless heat.
Following suit, Gervais squatted next to his old friend and asked, “You happy?”
Angelo snorted. “What kind of question is that?”
Gervais shrugged. “I know it’s not a question we commonly ask one another, but these Americans, they chase after happiness like you and I chase wealth, setting great store by it. When I bought your contract from the diwan in Surat, I knew you were in a bad way and needed help, but I never asked if you wanted in on this. Later, I never really asked if you had other plans, just set you to work.”
“I hardly call translating hard labor. And translating for these people is far less dangerous than trying to skim enough from transactions in the port to pay down my debt.”
Gervais shrugged again. “I just don’t want to have made things worse for you.” He gestured at the crowd of mourners. “There are risks, big risks, in dealing with the up-timers. Without even meaning to, they can spark sweeping, violent change.”
“Of course there are risks, but I am happy to get a chance to return to the centers of power and the rewards such proximity provides. I had thought such opportunities beyond me.” Angelo smiled. “And they were, until you bought my debt.”
“Opportunities?”
Angelo winked. “Don’t worry, nothing that puts us at risk.”
Gervais looked a stern question at him.
“Your friends have generated quite the stir at court, and I’ve had a number of invitations to serve with nobles who would not receive me before, simply because of my association with the up-timer physicians who saved Dara Shikoh. When the mission’s work is done, I will have no lack of places to make my fortune.”
“I see.”
“Any idea when that will be?”
“What, when we’ll leave?”
Angelo nodded.
“Not sure. At least another two years.”
“Careful, India may claim your soul, as it has mine.”
Gervais waved a fly away. “I thank you for the warning, but while it has its charms, I will take what I can from it and return…” he trailed off, unsure where—and what—he would return to.
Angelo, watching him, chuckled quietly. “You don’t know where you’d go, do you?”
“No, I don’t. I suppose I’ll leave it up to Monique.”
“She’ll likely say the same thing.”
“I don’t know. She’s got an eye for Bertram.”
“I thought I saw something there, but it’s difficult to pierce the veils.”
“Well, he doesn’t seem prepared to act on it, even if he knows she’s interested.”
“He isn’t an easy read.”
“No, he isn’t.”
“What about him?” Angelo punched his bearded chin in the direction of the funeral.
“Dara?”
“He’s doing better. The wounds are almost entirely healed and he hasn’t smoked in some time. I was worried he might be driven back to the pipe by this loss, but my daughter says Nadira Begum and Jahanara have joined forces to forbid the use of opium in Dara’s harem.”
“His sister has that kind of influence?”
Gervais shrugged. “Some oddity of Jahanara’s position in her father’s household, and the fact that Dara’s household and court have so recently been reconstituted using personnel from Shah Jahan’s establishment.”
“Ah.” Angelo lowered his voice. “You are aware of the rumors?”
“Which ones?”
“Those that indicate that Jahanara and Shah Jahan have an improper relationship, and that those relations are the true reason Shah Jahan refuses to let her marry.”
Gervais opened his mouth to rebuke Angelo for spreading such a vile rumor, but stopped himself. Angelo was just letting him know what was being said, not gossiping. “Do you place any credence in these rumors?”
“No, and I don’t think any of the rest of the royal family do, either. I just thought you should know.”
“Any idea who is spreading that story around?”
Angelo shook his head. “I first heard it while we were in camp.”
“From whom?”
“A minor noble, a commander of one hundred, in service to Shah Shuja. We were drinking.” He smiled. “Or rather, I was drinking, and he was drunk.”
“And did others confirm or contest this rumor?”
“Most treated the words as the ramblings of a drunk.”
“But not all.”
“No, not all.”
“How many were present?”
“Ten men of the same rank as the speaker, all in service to Shah Shuja.”
Filing that datum away for future thought, Gervais eyed the lowering sun. “Do they bury him by nightfall?”
“Usually, but you know as well as I that things are different for important people.”