The joy in the girl’s young face almost broke her parents’ hearts. How they loved her! Salim’s face was not quite as happy, although he continued to smile. Yasaman turned to her father. “I will accept Prince Jamal Darya Khan for my husband, my lord father,” she said formally.
Akbar kissed his daughter on both of her cheeks, relief pouring through him. Although he had pretended confidence to assure Rugaiya, he had not really been certain that he could pull off this coup. Salim was so unpredictable—but then he caught his son by surprise, allowing him no time to think up excuses for Yasaman not to marry Prince Jamal. Now he must get Salim out of Kashmir so that he could engineer a quick wedding ceremony between his daughter and her intended husband. Seeing the dark, lustful looks his son was casting in his sister’s direction, Akbar thought the quicker the marriage was celebrated and consummated, the better. Yasaman was really in jeopardy.
The Grand Mughal returned to his own palace to meet with Yusef Khan and his son. He wanted to talk seriously with this young man who was to be his son-in-law. Jamal Khan must understand how very precious Yasaman was to him and to the future emperor. He must not think he could mistreat her. Suddenly the Mughal found himself worried at the haste with which this marriage must be accomplished.
Akbar was encouraged, however, by his first glimpse of Yusef Khan’s son. Jamal Khan was tall; indeed he was at least two inches taller than the emperor himself. His skin was pale gold and fresh-looking, and he had the body of a man accustomed to regular exercise.
Good!
Akbar thought. He is obviously not one of these effete princes, like so many in the south. The young man’s hair was black as night, and his doe eyes a meltingly romantic deep brown, typical of the Kashmiri men. His features, Akbar noted with pleasure, were excellent. He was, in fact, extremely handsome; his forehead and cheekbones high, his nose slim and classic, his lips full, his chin oval in shape. The children of this union should be gorgeous, the emperor considered, and he was pleased.
“My gracious lord!” Yusef Khan knelt, touching his head to the floor before Akbar’s feet.
Jamal Khan, however, looked Akbar directly in the eyes before emulating his father’s behavior. He said nothing.
Proud
, Akbar thought to himself. He is proud. I can see that although he has given his consent, he is not happy with this
situation. That was interesting. Any other young prince would be falling all over himself to become the Mughal’s son-in-law. I will have to know why he is so reticent, Akbar decided.
“Arise,” the Mughal told his guests. “Let us sit and talk.”
The three men settled themselves around a table upon which servants placed a large bowl of fruit and cups of steaming green tea from China, The tea had the fragrance of peaches. The servants withdrew.
“Introduce me properly to your son, Yusef Khan,” Akbar said, and the general complied.
Jamal Khan greeted his overlord politely, but cautiously.
Never one to beat about the bush, the Mughal said, “You have, your father tells me, given your consent to this marriage; yet I sense you have reservations. Tell me what disturbs you. I will answer all your questions truthfully and try to soothe your fears. This is a good match for you and my daughter, Yasaman, as well as for Kashmir.”
“So it would appear, my lord,” Jamal Khan said quietly. His voice was musical and in the medium range tonally. “But you are correct. I am hesitant.”
“Would it be the natural hesitancy of a lusty young man about to take a wife, Jamal Khan?” the emperor said, and his dark eyes twinkled.
Jamal Khan laughed. “Perhaps, my lord, it is. To be frank with you, I am not sure I am ready to be a husband.”
“No man ever is,” the emperor replied with a chuckle. “What else troubles you?”
“Nothing really troubles me, my lord, but I should like to know a little more about the princess. I know the lady Rugaiya Begum has raised her, but it is said that she is not the lady who gave life to Yasaman Kama Begum. Is this so? Who did give birth to your daughter, and why did she not raise her own child?”
“Yasaman’s mother was an English lady of a wealthy and noble family.” Akbar sighed deeply, and then continued with his tale. He spoke quietly, but the sorrow was visible in his fine dark eyes as he did so.
“A day has not gone by since Candra was taken from me that I have not thought about her. I loved her. My love for her has never changed, though fate parted us,” he sadly concluded. Then Akbar paused, and looking at the prince, asked, “What else do you wish to know, Jamal Khan?”
Yusef Khan sent his son a beseeching look. He was frankly
embarrassed to have been allowed this very private glimpse into his lord’s secret soul.
Cease!
the look begged, but Jamal Khan ignored his father and instead said, “What faith does the princess follow?”
“Like her father,” Akbar replied, “she has been taught the tenets of every known religion. She takes what she deems good from each, but such a faith has no name unless you would call it tolerance. She has also been taught scholarly subjects by a priest, Father Cullen Butler. He will remain with her household as long as it pleases her.”
Jamal Khan nodded and said, “You say she has been taught scholarly subjects. What are they?”
“Languages, for one,” Akbar answered. “She speaks Arabic; Hindi; the dialect of Kashmir; her mother’s tongue, English; Portuguese and French—the Western tongues having been taught her by the priest who also instructed her in a language called Latin, which is not generally spoken today in Europe except in the Church. It amused him, however, to teach her. She can read and write in all those tongues. She knows mathematics and astronomy. She plays several instruments and dances beautifully.” He smiled. “Although she is young, she is an amusing conversationalist. You will never be bored with her.”
“My son.” Yusef Khan had finally regained his voice. “I think you have asked our lord Akbar more than enough questions.”
“He has not asked me the most important question of all, Yusef,” the Mughal teased, seeing his general’s distress, but impressed by Prince Jamal’s determination to learn what he felt he needed to learn. Akbar looked at the prince and asked, “Do you not wish to know if she is beautiful, Jamal Khan?”
“It would not, I think, make any difference, my lord,” the prince replied honestly. “This is a political match, is it not?”
“Most matches among our class are, Jamal Khan,” was Akbar’s equally honest answer. “I have forty wives and most of them were foisted upon me. One of my brides I lusted after in my youth, and forced her husband to divorce her so I might have her. Unfortunately, the passion faded quickly. Too often passion does, and if there is nothing else there, it is sad for both parties involved. But there was always something to like, I found, in each woman. I sought it out and concentrated upon it. Rugaiya Begum, Yasaman’s foster mother, is very dear to me. She is my cousin and we grew up together. Prince Salim’s
mother, Jodh Bai, the Amber Princess, was a delightful surprise. I fell in love with her, and I have never stopped loving her. So, too, with Candra.”
“Does the princess look like her mother?” Jamal Khan inquired.
Akbar thought for a long moment, and then he said, “Yes and no. Candra had beautiful hair that was rich, red-brown in color. I had never seen anything like it before, nor have I since. Her eyes were green, and her skin fairer than any I have encountered in a lifetime. The English are not sallow folk like the Portuguese women. My daughter, however, has night-black hair, and her eyes are the color of line turquoise. Her skin is fair, like heavy cream, but not quite as fair as her mother’s. Her face is shaped like a heart, unlike Candra’s and mine, but she does have her mother’s full mouth and long, slim nose. She has my look in her eyes, which are almond-shaped; and the mole I bear between my upper lip and left nostril, although the mark upon her is, of course, smaller, more feminine.”
“
Is she beautiful?
” Jamal Khan asked, now frankly curious.
“You will judge for yourself, my young prince,” the emperor told him and arose from his seat. “We will go secretly to Yasaman’s palace, where you may observe her without her knowing you are there.” Akbar walked swiftly from the room, giving orders as he went.
Both Yusef Khan and his son, surprised, scrambled to their feet and followed their overlord. Horses were brought, and the distance between the two palaces was quickly traveled. The emperor sent a mounted messenger ahead to warn Rugaiya Begum of his coming. She met them at the entrance to Yasaman’s palace.
A most handsome women, Yusef Khan thought, as Rugaiya Begum salaamed to her guests, her large hands together in a gesture of obeisance. “My dear lord, you come at a most inopportune time. Yasaman has just gone to her bath,” she told her husband and his companions.
Akbar smiled, obviously not in the least disturbed by her announcement. “Excellent!” he said. “The prince has come to see for himself if Yasaman is beautiful. What better place than her bath to discover this?”
“
My lord!
” Rugaiya Begum was frankly shocked.
“Once,” the emperor said, boldly ignoring her and addressing his companions, “I observed Candra in her bath. It was before we came together as man and woman. I must admit that
despite my great experience with women at that time, it still whetted my appetite for her fair flesh.” He turned back to his wife. “You will lead the way, my dear, and then see that one of Yasaman’s serving girls encourages her mistress from the bath, that Prince Jamal may observe our daughter in all her natural beauty. She will ravish his heart, I am certain, for all her youth.”
Adali came to greet the emperor, and Rugaiya Begum instructed him of Akbar’s wishes. The eunuch’s eyebrows twitched just slightly, to the Mughal’s amusement. Adali was a very proper fellow, and the overeagerness to serve he had possessed in his youth had, in his middle years, given way to just a touch of pomposity.
The high steward of Yasaman’s household was a half-caste, the product of a liaison between an Indian mother and a French seaman father. He had been gelded in his youth when a famine made it necessary to sell him into slavery. His bilingual abilities had made his fortune when Candra had been introduced into the zenana of the Grand Mughal. Candra spoke neither Arabic nor Portuguese, but she did speak French. Adali’s French, although a cruder version of his mistress’s, allowed Candra to assimilate into the zenana with the eunuch acting as her translator. When Candra had been returned to her native land, Adali had been appointed high steward of Yasaman’s household. He watched over the princess scrupulously, and, Akbar thought, if a eunuch could feel paternal, Adali’s feelings toward Yasaman Kama Begum were certainly that of a father for a beloved child. The Mughal could not be jealous, though. It pleased him to have his youngest child surrounded by such caring people.
“There is a wall of jasper carved like a screen that faces the steps leading down to the princess’s bathing pool, my lord,” Adali said. “It is possible for you and your guests to secrete yourselves behind it without being observed, yet you will be able to see the princess. My lady knows the way. I will go ahead and instruct Rohana in your wishes.” He bowed politely and, turning, glided smoothly off.
“Adali is the high steward of my daughter’s house. He and all her servants will stay with Yasaman,” Akbar said. “I think you will be quite pleased with Yasaman’s dowry.”
“My household could use someone with discipline,” Jamal Khan noted, looking about him at the cleanliness and order of this place. The housekeeping in his own palace left a great deal
to be desired, but that was because since his mother had died there was no one to instruct the servants. That was a wife’s duty, but the prince had no wife. He was beginning to see advantages to this marriage that he had not seen before.
“We must speak softly lest Yasaman hear us and be embarrassed,” Akbar instructed them.
“It is not really necessary that I go with you,” Yusef Khan said. He was very uncomfortable with the situation, although he realized that the emperor was cleverly overcoming his son’s reluctance by showing him the princess as only a husband should see her. Still, he would never be able to look his daughter-in-law in the eye if he saw her so. “Princess Yasaman’s beauty and goodness are well-known,” he finished lamely.
“Apparently not to your son,” Akbar replied, amused. He fully recognized his general’s discomfort and respected his sensibilities. Still, he could not resist teasing him a bit further. “Do you not want to see that the girl is perfect, Yusef?”
“No, my lord,” came the agonized reply. “I accept your word in this matter, as I do in all things.”
Akbar chuckled. “Go through there,” he said, pointing to a wide arched opening. “You will find a cool breeze upon the terrace, and we will join you shortly, my friend.”
Yusef Khan gratefully complied.
“Well now, my son,” the Mughal said, his voice heavy with unspoken meaning, “shall we go observe your bride in all her glory? You will not be disappointed, Jamal Khan.”
“Her beauty will be appreciated, my lord, but I am not so young or so unfamiliar with women that I am not aware there must be more between a man and wife for the marriage to be happy. My father took my mother as a favor to a dying friend. He thought her beautiful and sweet, but she was, in fact, quite clever. She caught his interest immediately, and she held that interest her entire lifetime as his wife.”
“You loved your mother,” Akbar said, as a statement of fact, not a question. “It is good for a man to love and respect his mother. It is the woman who gives a man life; who nourishes the man in his early years; from whom he learns his first, and perhaps most important lessons. Love and respect my daughter who will be the mother of your sons, Jamal Khan, and you will be a contented man. My own mother has often been a thorn in my thumb, but she is wise. She loves me above all others, and I love and honor her above all others.”
Rugaiya Begum now led them through a door, her fingers going to her lips as she warned them to silence. The room into which they entered smelled heavily of jasmine flowers. They stood motionless behind the carved jasper screen, allowing their eyes to become used to the filtered sunlight and the rich perfumed steam rising from the bathing pool.