Chapter 38
Garden of the Taj
January 1636
Father and his entourage remained in the construction site, leaving Jahanara and the ladies of the harem to continue on into the nearly complete garden that stretched from the base of the tall plinth of Mother’s mausoleum southward.
Jahanara could see the work crews at their tasks well above the temporary jali set up to preserve decorum. The Taj itself was nearly complete, with only the details of calligraphy and inlay to provide the fine finish. Soon the outer scaffolds would be removed, revealing the pearl white of Mother’s final resting place.
Father wanted the principal construction completed in time for the fifth anniversary of Mother’s death and the prayers that custom required be said over her on that day. To her eye, it looked as if he would have his wish.
Turning from the view, Jahanara took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of the fresh-turned earth and green growing things. The mixed orchards of young trees and plants that perfumed the air would eventually help provide for the upkeep of Mother’s mausoleum, but for now the fresh plantings required great care and monitoring. As that was so, Jahanara had decided the women and servants of the harem would see to that care while Father visited the construction site.
The harem had spread out in the large expanse of garden, breaking into small groups to tend to one grove or another.
A smiling Monique joined her friends in the shade of one of the largest trees, basket in hand. Even the mission ladies seemed to be enjoying themselves. And who would not enjoy a cool, sun-filled day such as this? She smiled. In fact, aside from Roshanara’s stubborn refusal to come, Jahanara didn’t think she could be happier with the results of this day’s outing.
Jahanara decided to join the mission women and started walking that way when a child’s shrill scream sucked all pleasure from the moment, stopping her cold.
She turned and saw Roshanrai with one five-year-old fist full of her slightly younger half-sister’s hair. Mother’s youngest daughter, Guaharara, stepped in between her half-sisters, slapping at Roshanrai, who responded with an attempt to bury her free hand in Guaharara’s belly.
Jahanara waved a hand. Smidha repeated the gesture, sending a squadron of royal nannies sweeping in to separate the princesses. One of the women yelped and staggered back, cradling her hand.
Smidha tutted. “Biting, again.”
Jahanara suppressed a sigh. “Indeed.” While all of his children shared Father’s temper to some degree, Roshanrai had a mean streak. “Have her returned to Red Fort. She is not to have any sweets or allowed her entertainments for as long as it takes the nanny to heal—or next Friday, whichever happens last.”
“Your will, Begum Sahib.”
“Problems?” Priscilla asked, having approached while Jahanara was distracted.
Jahanara glanced at the up-timer to see the nod Priscilla directed at the nannies ushering Roshanrai away.
“Problems years in the making can rarely be fixed with a single afternoon, even one as pleasant as this.” She sighed, watching a group of harem guards form up to escort the young royal back to Red Fort.
“That’s for sure.”
Jahanara returned her attention to her guest: “Do I detect a plaintive note?”
“I used to enjoy the occasional hunting trip back home, but that”—she gestured at the jali separating them from the rest of the world—“isn’t going to happen here.”
“They didn’t invite you?”
“Why bother?”
“Because you want to go, of course!”
“But—”
Jahanara shook her head. “You seem confused: Nur hunts. I hunt. Many of the residents of the harem hunt. In fact, I have some quality trophies.”
“What?”
“Purdah has its requirements, certainly; but we hunt, just as we ride.”
“Well, that will teach me to think solely in terms of my own assumptions.”
Jahanara sniffed. “Everyone of us falls victim to such errors on occasion. Shall I send a messenger? Have them come and collect you?”
Priscilla shrugged. “They said they were leaving this morning.”
“That was the plan, but I happen to know that Dara wanted to finish relating the story of his recent adventure among the Sikhs first. He has engaged the services of an historian, and I can tell you from personal experience that Dara always wants to get his words just right before committing them to posterity.”
“I, uh, see.”
“Therefore, he’s not likely to have finished before noon. Shall I send for them?”
“You wouldn’t think me disrespectful? We all enjoy your company.”
Jahanara waved Priscilla’s weak protest aside. “Of course not. I know how eager you have been to get away from the confines of the harem.”
“But—”
“I know because I feel the need to break from these confines as well, even if for the briefest while.” She smiled and summoned another messenger. “So, let me do this for you.”
Between Taj and Red Fort, Agra
They were just departing Red Fort when the second messenger from Father’s harem arrived and delivered a message, this one under Father’s personal seal.
Dara quickly read it and hid a satisfied smile.
Finally.
Waving the messenger away, he turned in the saddle to address Salim: “See, I told you this late start on our hunting trip was propitious, Salim! Father wishes to see you as soon as possible at Mother’s mausoleum.”
“Oh, Shehzada? Care to guess what he wishes of his humble servant?”
Dara smiled, shaking his head. “And risk denying him the pleasure of telling you himself? I think not.”
“Very well. I will meet you back upon the road, if the emperor allows it.”
“Oh, no, we’re going to the Taj as well. It seems my sister is most irritated with me, as we neglected to invite the up-timer lady and her companions to hunt with us.”
“What’s that, Shehzada?” Rodney asked in passable, if horribly accented, Persian. He and John had been riding, if you could call it that, behind their mihmandar.
“Earlier this afternoon, Begum Sahib informed me, in no uncertain terms, that she is displeased with me. She insists we are missing a lady from our hunting party, namely your wife, Mr. Totman.”
“Oh.” The senior mission representatives gathered together, speaking in rapid-fire English.
“Have I your permission to ride ahead, Shehzada?” Salim asked.
“Of course. Won’t do to keep Father waiting.”
Salim bowed from the saddle and sped off.
“We are not upsetting the pear cart by bringing my wife with us, are we?” Rodney asked.
“Pear cart? I do not understand this idiom.”
“Apple cart,” Bertram corrected the up-timer’s Persian. “He means to ask if this hunting with the ladies will cause conservatives at court undue distress, and therefore irritate the Sultan Al’Azam.”
Dara smiled. “Oh, no, of course not. Purdah will have to be observed, of course, but it is actually quite common. My mother liked to hunt almost as much as Father. In fact”—he glanced around conspiratorially—“she claimed to be a better shot than he was.”
He trailed off as he saw the group of riders approaching at a leisurely pace. “Ah, my youngest half-sister on her way back to the harem, where she is to be prevented from enjoying herself in any way.”
“And what, pray tell, merits such punishment for a royal?” Gervais asked, appearing genuinely interested.
Dara smiled, “Jahanara reports she was very bad today—she bit one of her attendants.”
Gervais grinned. “Good to see my daughter was not the only one to savage those set to watch her.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. Nannies and whomever else she could sink those little teeth into.”
Everyone chuckled at that, except for Bertram, whose expression seemed an odd mix of disbelief and delight.
Dara suspected that Bertram held some affection for his friend’s daughter. He wondered why he hadn’t asked for her hand? Surely Gervais would grant his permission?
Taj Mahal
As the gates of the garden had been secured with smooth-cheeked harem guards who watched his passing with suspicion, Salim turned his horse toward the river entrance. A multitude of horses nearly filled the narrow strip of land between tank and the river. Those belonged to all the guards, he supposed.
Salim dismounted and handed his reins to a waiting groom. Making his way around the tower that would, once completed, stand sentinel on the river’s edge, he crossed the long, temporary causeway set up to aid in construction.
Recognizing the man in charge, he smiled and addressed the captain: “Peace, Javed.”
“Peace, Salim.”
He surrendered his weapons with the captain and was allowed entry.
Passing another pair of guards just inside the door, he climbed the stairs two at a time.
Five years ago, if anyone had told Salim he would be on a first name basis with the emperor’s personal guard, he’d have laughed and asked the speaker how much opium they’d been smoking.
Then again, achieving a certain height was a necessary prerequisite to any fall, he reflected, walking the gallery to the interior flight of stairs.
He emerged into sunlight again on red sandstone, the white plinth to his right dazzling in the sun.
Eyes requiring a moment to adjust after the shadowed stair, he paused. Few men were visible, slowly removing the brick and wood scaffolding covering the towering white walls of the mausoleum atop the plinth. The site was quieter than he’d expected.
Salim walked around to the front of the plinth.
A group of eunuchs stood guard at the entrance to the garden, opposite the stairs inside the plinth. They watched him approach and turn right, climbing the stairs inside the plinth.
Wishing to avoid interrupting some craftsman’s hard work and assuming the emperor would be outside, Salim walked around the far side of the mausoleum. A few more of the scaffold-men came into view but did not appear interested in talking to another of the palace’s interlopers.
He came around the building to find Shah Jahan standing along the western edge of the plinth, looking to the west and the temporary gate erected there.
If he recalled correctly, that was the future site of the complex’s mosque.
The emperor wore emerald silks that made him stand out like a jewel among the three other men behind him. Not that their clothing did not cost a small fortune—which reminded Salim, he needed to get another set of robes if he was to remain at court.
He examined the men, wondering who they were. Two of them had their turbans tied in the Muslim style, the third in Hindu fashion. The architect and overseers?
He stopped at a respectful distance.
Waiting for the emperor’s attention, Salim realized a truth: This is the closest Shah Jahan ever got to being alone. The better part of his court, his servants, even his slaves remained at Red Fort while he paid his respects. No wonder he came here at every opportunity.
Salim did not have to wait long. The emperor rounded on one of the men with him and, in doing so, saw the amir.
Summoning Salim with a wave, Shah Jahan said something to the men with him.
The Hindu shook his head and raised his hands.
Shah Jahan said something more, got what appeared to be another denial in return.
Closing to within a few gaz, Salim made his obeisance.
“Make them stop,” said Shah Jahan.
“Your will, Sultan Al’Azam,” the overseer replied. The men did not speak to Salim as they crossed his path on their way to the front of the building.
The emperor nodded at Salim. “Amir. Good to see some of my subjects capable of performing their duties without constant supervision.”
“I am sorry, Sultan Al’Azam?”
Shah Jahan waved at the backs of the men he’d sent into the building. “Those men were told that I want to review construction without men crawling all over the site, distracting me.” He looked up at the monument to his wife. “To better assess how the work progresses, I need to see it without such, you understand.”
“Yes, Sultan Al’Azam.”
The men disappeared around the corner. A moment later, those working on the scaffolding retreated inside.
“You probably wonder why I summoned you.”
“I serve at your pleasure, Sultan Al’Azam.”
Shah Jahan turned to face him again, a wry grin twisting his beard. “You strike upon exactly the reason I summoned you. My son has petitioned me for leave to enlist you in his service. If that is your wish, I grant and affirm it.”
“Thank you, Sultan Al’Azam. Before giving my answer, may I ask a question?”
Shah Jahan nodded.
“Who will you name as mihmandar to the up-timers after I leave your service?”
The emperor waggled his head. “You will continue to serve me in that office until such time as I grant Dara Shikoh full responsibility for dealing with them, in my name, of course.”
Unhappy is the man who serves two masters. Concealing his misgivings, Salim bowed deeply. “Then I thank you for this opportunity to serve your son.”
“Serve him as well as you have me, and I have no doubt you will be given rewards commensurate with that—” A strangled cry from the construction site cut across the emperor’s speech.
He wheeled around and stalked angrily toward the entrance. “This is precisely why I don’t want workers on site while I am here!”
There are to be no workers?
He’s alone.
We are alone up here.
“Sultan Al’Azam?” Salim said, a few steps behind the angry emperor.
“Is it too much to ask that my orders be obeyed?”
Sudden fear lent Salim’s feet wings.
Finding himself beside the emperor, he resisted the urge to grab Shah Jahan’s arm and physically restrain him. “Sultan Al’Azam…forgive the question, but am I to understand that it is your standing order that no one but the overseer and architects should be on the site while you are here?”
“Yes! These fools—”
One of the architects emerged from the mausoleum, silks far darker than when he went in.
“Sultan Al’Azam!” Salim grabbed the emperor’s arm, hauling him to a stop.
Shah Jahan’s response to being touched was instantaneous and showed the man’s fine martial training: half-turning toward him, the emperor grabbed the offending hand across the fingers and rolled it up and away, little finger first.
The painful move weakened Salim’s grip and freed Shah Jahan’s arm. “You dare—?” Shah Jahan began, reaching with his free hand for the dagger at his belt.
The architect staggered, then collapsed not five paces from them, exposing a back carved to bloody meat by cruel sword strokes.
Backing off, Salim raised his hands and pointed at the dead man, shouting: “Assassins, Sultan!”
He wasn’t sure if it was his warning or the men boiling from the shadows of the mausoleum, but the emperor slid into a fighting stance and drew blades into both hands.
There were too many to fight, and they were too close to run without risking a blade in the back.
Cursing his lack of weapons and hoping Shah Jahan would use the time to good advantage, Salim bellowed “assassins!” as loud as he could and threw himself at the men who would kill his emperor.
He was on the first man in a few strides, ducking a cut meant to cleave his skull and putting his shoulder into the man’s belly. They both went down. Rolling in a tangle of limbs, Salim clutched at the other’s wrist with one hand while seeking at the man’s waist for the dagger he’d seen there.
Dimly aware of the feet of other men running past them at the emperor, Salim strove to finish his opponent as quickly as possible.
White pain flashed as the assassin bit his right shoulder through the silks.
“Dog!” Salim grunted, questing fingers wrapping around the fist the assassin’s hand made over the hilt of the dagger.
Heavier, and a bit stronger than his opponent, Salim used his advantages to the fullest: rolling over his opponent, Salim reared back and hammered his shoulder into the man’s jaw. The strength in the man’s arms went, allowing Salim to snatch the dagger free and shove it into the assassin’s gut, sawing upward. Feeling the popping of organ meat as the blade carved innards, Salim sat up and quickly took his bearings.
Shah Jahan must have run several steps before turning to face his attackers, as he was now much closer to the entrance to the harem and backing slowly. A crescent of five swordsmen was trying to bring him down, but the emperor was keeping the assassins at bay with an impressive display of skill.
Others were closing on the emperor, but still more were running past, heading toward the stairs.
“Into the harem. Quickly! Kill him and get to the others!” someone shouted.
“You will not have my children!” Shah Jahan screamed, sidestepping one attack and bringing his sword across in an whistling arc that ended in a spatter of red on the other side of the legs of one of the men trying to run past.
The runner fell in two pieces.
They could not hope to survive this, so they hurried, hoping to swamp the emperor and the harem guards with numbers before dying themselves.
Salim collected the assassin’s sword and surged to his feet. Stalking toward the men pressing Shah Jahan, he took one from behind with a crosscut that smoothly separated head from shoulders.
Blood from the corpse shot across the emperor’s fine silks. Salim couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a grim smile pulling Shah Jahan’s beard.
Stepping over the corpse, Salim attacked the next man, clearing space to join the emperor in the center of the shrinking ring of blades.
The emperor kept weaving a flickering curtain, blades of Damascus steel the only thing between flesh and the questing blades of his attackers. Salim, knowing he had neither the quality of blades nor the training to equal the emperor, protected his ruler’s back with grim resolve.
The failing of fanatics: lacking the greater skill at arms, they could not overcome Shah Jahan and Salim quickly. And so, uncertain they would succeed with a single rush, they delayed.
If they could but hold, the guards would reach them.
It was then he heard the emperor’s labored breathing and finally felt the blood from his wound sliding down his arm.
If.
Garden of the Taj
Jahanara sat back, enjoying the cool air as she listened to Monique regale her and several others of the harem with an outrageous tale.
A shout drifted across the garden, the word lost in the distance.
Jahanara looked toward the Taj, saw the eunuchs stationed there turn and step through the partition to deal with the disturbance. She returned her attention to Monique, irritated she’d missed something that had the other women laughing.
“Shehzadi,” Atisheh said, jogging up with a smiling Guaharara riding her shoulders, “get the children together. Get ready to move.”
“What?”
Distant, discordant sounds reached Jahanara’s ears.
Atisheh lifted Guaharara from her seat and pushed the five-year-old into Jahanara’s arms, nodding toward the Taj. “Someone has raised the alarm. We sent a number of guards off with Roshanrai, so we do not have our usual complement. Get the children together. Stay calm. Get ready to fight. Trust no one.”
“But, where are you going?” she asked, even as her ears identified the sounds: Fighting? But—
Oh, no! Father!
“To defend you, of course.” Atisheh turned away. She hadn’t made it three steps when one of the eunuchs reeled through the jali, bright blood on his face.
“Merciful God!” Jahanara prayed.
Atisheh drew steel and started to trot forward. Two of her tribe joined her, converging from the groups of harem inmates scattered through the garden.
Struggling for calm, Jahanara handed Guaharara off to Smidha. Monique’s tale had died with the guard, and everyone was starting to look around. “Ladies, gather your children. Gather here. Quickly.”
A band of armed men burst from the opening, bloody swords in hand.
Atisheh and her sisters charged.
Outside the Taj
“So what will we be hunting?” Rodney asked, fidgeting in the saddle.
Dara smiled. “Lion, tiger, blackbuck, anything else we can get.”
“Tiger?” John asked.
“Yes.”
Dara didn’t miss John’s pained expression. “What is it, John?”
“Nothing, Shehzada.”
“Please, speak freely.”
John shrugged and looked across at Angelo and Gervais. Speaking in English and trusting in their greater facility with Persian, he said: “I like hunting as much as the next hillbilly, but when we came from, tigers are an endangered species, hunted nearly to extinction.”
Dara shook his head. “Really? They are a lethal threat in our lands, killing herdsmen, farmers, and taking their livestock.”
Another shrug. “Hunt too much of anything and it will eventually die out, Shehzada.”
“I cannot imagine us having such an effect on God’s creation.”
A nod in the direction of the massive building being erected on the shores of the river was John’s only reply.
The entire party looked at the growing building that all of them knew would defy the destructive hand of nature for hundreds of years.
They proceeded in considered silence for some time.
“Where are Father’s guards?” Dara asked. “They should be visible, even from here.”
Bertram could see a few running along this side of base of the tall walls that rose from the riverside. He looked higher, a flash catching his eye…steel in sunlight?
“Shehzada! Someone is fighting up there!”
“I see it! Ride!” Dara put spurs to his horse.
The rest of the party rocked into a canter behind Dara, as his personal guard raced to overtake them.