“For some time now,” Rugaiya Begum began, “I have noticed that Prince Salim’s interests in Yasaman appeared to be more that of a man attracted to a woman, and less of a brother for his sister. I attempted to thrust these wicked thoughts from my mind. I did not want to believe what my own instinct was telling me. It was totally unthinkable!”
“You have changed your mind, however,” the priest said to her, “haven’t you, my lady?
Why
?” His blue eyes were now serious.
“Last night,” she told him, “Salim began a campaign of seduction. He entered Yasaman’s bedchamber, and … and … Oh! I cannot tell you the wickedness! Had it not been for Adali …” She stopped, unable to continue for the moment.
“Adali caught them?” the priest inquired, striving to get the whole story before the poor woman dissolved into tears.
“Adali had become suspicious of Prince Salim,” Rugaiya Begum said, regaining a strong hold on her distress. “He secreted himself in Yasaman’s chamber last night and observed all that went on between them.
“The lady Jodh Bai brought Yasaman a Pillow Book yesterday. It had belonged to Candra. She was naturally curious. She was looking through the book when her brother arrived. He suggested that together they might emulate some of the paintings in order that she not be totally ignorant of lovemaking when she marry. He told her that there were ways in which a virgin could obtain great pleasure without losing her virginity.”
“
Christ’s bloody bones!
” the priest exploded, much to
Rugaiya Begum’s shock. She had never before heard him swear so volubly. Cullen Butler looked so fiercely at the older woman that she almost drew back in fright. “Did he breach her maidenhead?” he asked bluntly.
“No! No!” Rugaiya Begum assured him. “Adali swore he did not. Speak with him yourself, Father. He believes the prince waits for a more propitious moment to ravish her completely.”
“Something must be done to stop the devil from his wickedness,” Cullen Butler said. “What is it you propose, my lady, and how may I help you?”
“I have suggested to my lord Akbar that Yasaman be married immediately. Certainly Salim will desist in his evil if she is happy with a husband.”
“And who is the prince you have chosen?” the priest asked.
“Jamal Darya Khan, the younger son of Yusef Khan,” Rugaiya Begum said.
Cullen Butler nodded, thoughtful. “A lusty young man, I hear, but loyal to our lord Akbar, like his father. She would stay here in Kashmir,” he said almost to himself. “Aye! It is a good choice, my lady. You will want me, of course, to prepare Yasaman for a quick marriage.”
“Yes,” Rugaiya Begum told him. “She will not be pleased by the news, I fear. We have let her be a little girl for so long, and now suddenly, before she has the chance to be a young girl, we are telling her she must become a woman. You know how Yasaman prizes her freedom. It will be difficult for her to curb that part of her nature, but she will have to once she is married.
“She is still really too young, but we cannot find another way to protect her from Salim. I tell you this in confidence—the emperor is not very well. The events of the last year have taken a great toll upon his health, although he strives not to show any weakness. When he is no longer here, I will not be able to protect my daughter from Salim. None of us will except a husband.”
“Aye,” the priest agreed, but he was not certain that she was right. Salim was a determined young man who let little stand in the way of his carnal desires. Several years ago he had fallen violently in love with Nur Jahan. Akbar had opposed such a match, not believing that Zain Khan Koka’s daughter was a good consort for a future Mughal, despite her beauty. The girl was far too clever to suit Akbar, and outspoken as
well. She openly reciprocated Salim’s passion. Indeed, she encouraged it, as did her mother.
Zain Khan Koka was one of Akbar’s cleverest and most successful generals. Their families had been close for generations. The girl had been half raised in Akbar’s house. He had always thought her like a sister to Salim. The emperor felt there was an impropriety in such a marriage, but finally he was prevailed upon to give Salim his way.
“After all,” as Zain Khan Koka himself explained to his master, “there is no blood tie between our children, my gracious lord.”
Even Salim’s beloved first wife, Man Bai, and his second wife, Amara, the Princess of Bikaner, had petitioned the Mughal to give Salim his way in the matter. The marriage had taken place. Now Salim’s lusts were directed toward his youngest sister, and Akbar was a dying man. It is not good, the priest thought worriedly.
“How should we approach the princess, my lady?” he inquired of Rugaiya Begum.
“We must wait until my lord Akbar has concluded the match with Yusef Khan,” she told him. “He will send for him this very day, as the general is here in Kashmir to visit with his family. I think that if the marriage is a happy one, and the young Jamal proves himself, that the emperor might give him charge over Kashmir in his name.”
“Is Prince Jamal not Yusef Khan’s youngest son, my lady? What will the others think of such a thing?”
“Surely they must understand that they have not been faithful,” Rugaiya Begum answered him. “Besides, only three of Yusef Khan’s four sons are still living. Yaqub, the eldest, who cannot be trusted; Haider, the middle son, whom my lord does not trust, believing him to be like Prince Yaqub; and Jamal, the youngest, who has proved his loyalty. Ahmed, the second son, died fighting in a civil war against his uncle several years ago. If my lord puts Kashmir into the keeping of any man, it will be Prince Jamal, providing he continues to be loyal.”
Even as Rugaiya Begum and the priest spoke together, Akbar had returned to his apartments. He ate a quick meal consisting of wheat bread and a custard apple, washed down with a cup of hot, sweet black tea. Finished, he rose from his table and, without even seeing his daughter, he called for his horse. Escorted
by his bodyguards, he rode back to his own palace nearby on the lake.
Wular Lake
. He remembered the first time he had seen it, how he had known instantly that Candra would love this land of cool waters and high mountains. He chuckled to himself remembering how she disliked the heat of the plains and the dust of Lahore; but she had tried so hard not to complain. For Candra, he had built the palace in which his daughter now lived; hiring twice the number of workers ordinarily needed on such a site, paying them twice what they were used to receiving, all in order that the palace be ready for his beloved young wife when she gave birth to their child. It had been here that Yasaman had been born, and she grew up loving Kashmir every bit as much as her mother had. Now he was going to give her in marriage to a prince of this land. She would remain here always, and that was good. Rugaiya was correct. Jamal Darya Khan was the perfect match for their daughter.
Akbar rode up to the royal palace, giving orders to one of his aides as he arrived. “Find Yusef Khan. Bring him to me at once. I will be in my private reception room.”
It was early in the day still, and yet the moment it was known that the emperor had returned, officials immediately started besieging him with problems of one kind or another.
“Not yet! Not yet!” he told them, and his dark eyes twinkled. “You are like ants in an anthill, scurrying about filled with your own importance. Are we being invaded in any part of the realm?”
“No, my lord,” the officials chorused.
“Is anyone of import ill or dying?”
“No, my lord.”
“Then leave me be until after I have spoken with my friend, Yusef Khan,” he told them. “And someone bring tea and honey cakes. Is the Grand Mughal to appear niggardly and inhospitable?” He waved them away, and they went. Akbar chuckled.
Bureaucrats!
It seemed to be impossible to run a government without them; or perhaps bureaucrats were like a parasitic growth developing upon a government instead of on a tree or rotting wood, sapping its strength and vitality until it could no longer function properly. It was an interesting thought.
His private reception room was a cool and pleasant place, its walls decorated with wonderful paintings of court life done in bright, fresh colors. Furnished simply and sparingly, it looked
out upon the lake. It was quite remote from the rest of the palace. The only entry to the room was from the terrace, and the other three walls were solid. It was a difficult place upon which to eavesdrop. A servant soon arrived with boiling tea and a plate of freshly made poppy-seed cakes.
“I will serve my guest when he arrives,” the emperor said, and the bowing servant departed.
Yusef Khan came without an escort as he knew his way about the palace and its grounds quite well. He had once lived here. “My lord.” He knelt and placed the emperor’s foot upon his head.
Akbar accepted the obeisance and then told his general, “Rise and sit with me.”
Together the two men sat down upon the pillows strewn about a low table. The emperor poured them cups of tea and shoved the plate with the poppy-seed cakes into the center of the table. The amenities observed, he stared directly at Kashmir’s former ruler and spoke.
“You have proved your loyalty to me many times over these last few years despite our difficult beginnings. Now I will reward you in a manner you will not have expected. I want your youngest son, Jamal Darya Khan, for my youngest daughter, Yasaman Kama Begum. What say you to that, my good Yusef Khan?”
Kashmir’s previous ruler was truly stunned by the Mughal’s words. When his own father had died, his uncle had attempted to usurp the Kashmiri throne, but the Mughal had helped him to regain his rightful inheritance. Akbar had asked in return only that Yusef Khan swear his fealty to the Mughal Empire. Yusef Khan had quickly agreed; but then he had reneged on his promise, until finally Akbar had come into Kashmir and taken it away from him.
Nonetheless, he had been forgiven. He had eventually proved his worth as one of Akbar’s most reliable generals, but his place in the emperor’s court was constantly being endangered by his eldest son, Yaqub. His son Haider was equally rebellious, but he was also a coward.
His youngest son, Jamal, however, had become the joy of his father’s life by virtue of his noble behavior. Now both he and the boy would profit by it. Akbar’s words, in effect, told him that Kashmir would eventually be ruled by his family again, although as a vassal state. It was enough!
“
My lord!
There are no words that can possibly express the
joy your words have given me! I am astounded that you would honor my family so. I swear to you on my son’s behalf that the princess Yasaman will be treated like the young queen she deserves to be!”
“I am told your son has a small zenana, but no consort, Yusef. Is this true?” Akbar asked, coming directly to the point. “Yasaman must be her husband’s first consort; the mother of his heir. No Imperial Mughal princess can accept a lesser portion in life.”
“Jamal has no wife, and only five women in his zenana, sire. None has been with him for very long. There are no children yet,” Yusef Khan told his lord.
“Is there any one woman who holds his heart?” Akbar demanded. “Tell the truth, for I will learn it eventually. I do not want Yasaman unhappy. She can adjust as long as she understands what is involved. I would like it if your son could love her, but I realize that such a thing may not be possible.”
“Jamal is a charming young man, very much like his late mother,” Yusef Khan said. “To my knowledge, no one woman enthralls him. The reason his zenana is so small, and the women in it of recent purchase, is that he becomes easily bored with his maidens.”
“Is he not virile, then?” the emperor inquired. Frequently a man had difficulties and blamed his women for the problem.
“He is, I have heard, quite virile,” Yusef Khan replied. “I believe his restlessness stems from boredom. I do not think that any woman has ever intrigued him enough to win his heart. I cannot guarantee that he will love your daughter, my lord. You know as well as I do that arranged marriages are usually nothing more than alliances for land, or gold, or power. Your daughter is young. Why not just allow her the opportunity to fall in love? She is the last of your children and not important dynastically.”
Akbar sighed deeply. “If such a choice were available to me, Yusef Khan, I should gladly take it; but alas, it is not. I must take you into my confidence, my friend. I have not been well for several years now. Indeed, I believe I may be dying. I want to see my daughter wed, and perhaps I may even see one of her children before the thread of my life is snapped. I dare not leave her fate to her brother. Salim adores Yasaman and, indeed, has often stated that no man is worthy of her. Such an attitude, while charming, is, I am sure you realize, very impractical. Yasaman could easily end up an ancient maiden. No,
Yusef Khan. My daughter is meant to marry and have children, and if God so wills it, a husband who loves her. She has been raised away from my court. While she realizes her place, her life has been a simple one, and she is happiest here in Kashmir.
“A union between our children could cement relations between our families for generations. It would make Kashmir truly an important part of my empire. What greater gift can I offer your people than my own dear daughter? Tell me, Yusef Khan, do you believe your son Jamal is capable of ruling Kashmir in my name?”
“He is intelligent, my lord,” Yusef Khan answered, the blood singing in his ears, “and he knows how to be loyal.”
“Then perhaps if the marriage between our children is a happy one, and if it prospers, Jamal Khan could find himself governing here for me,” Akbar told his general calmly. “Shall we begin the marriage negotiations then, Yusef Khan?”
The general nodded. “I will this very day obtain my son’s consent to this marriage, my lord.”
When Yusef Khan had departed, Akbar considered his own position. During the years of his rule he had been responsible for a number of civil reforms. Unwilling participants could no longer be simply bartered off in marriage by greedy families. The consent of both the bride and the bridegroom, as well as that of the parents, had to be obtained before a settlement could even be discussed. There was a tax for the license, the cost of which depended upon the financial status of the parties involved. He would charge himself twenty muhrs for Yasaman’s marriage tax; double that of a rich man. But first he had to convince his youngest daughter that this marriage was in her best interests, and that she could be happy with Prince Jamal.