Wild Jasmine (15 page)

“Look,” the emperor said softly, and then he discreetly turned away.

Jamal Khan stared intently at the girl who rose up from the water, walking halfway up the flight of stairs that led out of the pool, pausing a moment to grasp her long black hair and wring it free of moisture.

“Let me, my princess,” a pretty young serving woman said, coming forward to help her mistress. She quickly pinned the girl’s hair atop her head with several ivory pins.

Yasaman stood facing the carved screen, totally unaware she was being observed. She gracefully raised her arms above her head, as was her habit, when Rohana came to sponge her off. Her breasts, quite breathtaking for one so young, thrust forward, their nipples pert and rosy.

She was tall, Jamal observed, with wonderful long legs and slender, high-arched feet. None of his women were tall. If he held her in his arms, where would her head reach? Her waist was so tiny, he thought, he could probably span it with his hands, but her hips were wonderfully voluptuous. Her smooth thighs were firm-fleshed, and the mound between them plump, the groove separating her nether lips a deep slash of mauve shadow. To his surprise he felt his own body responding to her, and he flushed. She was only a virgin, he told himself.
But what a virgin!
his inner self replied.

She smiled at something her servant said, and he was treated to a glimpse of even, white teeth, not yet stained with betel, as were the teeth of so many women. He had thought her beautiful as she stood there, but when she smiled she was extraordinary. If there had been any doubts in his mind about the match, they were now swept away by his sight of the exquisite girl standing so artlessly before him in her innocent nudity.

Akbar watched the series of emotions as they were exposed so unconsciously upon the handsome face of Jamal Khan. His eyes met those of Rugaiya Begum, and she nodded so slightly that had it been anyone else, he would not have noted her approval. Akbar put a firm hand beneath the prince’s elbow and guided him from the room.

“You are satisfied, Jamal Khan? As you can see, my daughter is flawless and without blemish.”

The prince nodded, struggling to find his voice. “
When?
” he finally managed to ask.

“As soon as it can be arranged,” the emperor told him.

Jamal Khan’s senses now cleared. He was once again filled with questions. “Why the haste? The girl is only thirteen, and the law says she cannot be wed until she is fourteen.”

“The haste,” Akbar said smoothly, “is because my daughter has a suitor—she is not aware of him, of course—among the Afghan tribes. There are some who think I should marry her off there for the sake of peace. But the northern tribes are a contentious lot. It would not be of any use to give them my precious daughter. Once she had gone through the Khyber Pass, she would be lost to me. She is gently bred and would not survive in such barbaric surroundings.

“My son, Salim, has only recently brought me word of a plot to kidnap Yasaman for this tribal prince. The conspirators are men of Islam, however. If Yasaman is married elsewhere, they will give up their pursuit of her.

“Your father and I will give it out that this was a match made between us several years ago, with the wedding scheduled now because you cannot wait to claim my child, so great is your love for her. I can waive the law. As you saw, Yasaman already has the body of a woman, even if she has yet to know a man.”

Jamal Khan nodded. “
She is beautiful
,” he said, almost to himself. “It would not be far from the truth to say I cannot wait to possess myself of her loveliness, my lord.”

“Then we may proceed with the formalities, Jamal Khan?”

“Yes, my lord! The sooner the better!”

“Then let us go and tell your good father, for he is a man who worries constantly. I would not want to be the cause of sending him to an early grave. He will be as eager as I to enjoy the grandchildren this match will bring for both of us.” They exited out onto the terrace, and Akbar said enthusiastically, “Yusef, my friend! We are to have a wedding!”

Chapter 4

T
he sachaq was brought to Yasaman Kama Begum. Although she had been expecting it, she was not quite prepared for the generosity of Prince Jamal’s family. The sachaq, prenuptial gifts to the bride, was presented to her on a variety of black lacquered trays decorated in bright, cheerful colors with flowers, fruits, animals, and other designs. One tray contained a selection of gold and silver bracelets and anklets. Another contained earrings in the same metals. A tray of pearl jewelry—necklaces, earrings, and hair ornaments—was followed by trays of diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and one of prettily colored semiprecious stones. Even Rugaiya Begum was moved to amazement by this lavishness.

Tray after tray followed. One contained a stack of shabnam peshwazes, almost brilliant in their whiteness. Another was piled high with saris of the finest materials and in beautiful colors, some plain, some striped with gold or silver, some decorated with designs. A tray of rare oils and perfumes was presented to the princess, and a tiny tray with an alabaster pot of mehdi, festive red dye, was brought.

“I will not smear that awful stuff upon my person, tradition or no tradition,” Yasaman declared firmly, and her mother laughed.

A tray of beautiful fruits was next: pomelos, custard apples, mangosteens, bananas, and coconuts, as well as rare oranges and an odd, prickly, oval fruit sprouting green leaves, which sat in the very center of the tray.

“What is
that?
” Yasaman demanded of the servant holding the tray before her. “I have never seen anything like it before.”

“It is called a pineapple, gracious lady.”

“Is it edible? Where does it come from?”

“When it is peeled, gracious lady, the yellow fruit within is juicy and both sweet and tart. I know not from where it comes, but it is a rare delicacy, I am told.”

“My father brought one home from one of his voyages once,” Adali, who had been overseeing the presentation of the
sachaq, told them. “The fruit is grown on certain South Sea islands.”

“Was it good?” Yasaman wanted to know.

“Delicious,” he assured her.

Finally the last tray was brought. Unlike its black lacquered predecessors, this one was solid gold, and upon it, sitting most regally, was a small coal-black kitten wearing a dainty diamond collar. Even its whiskers were black, but its eyes were the color of clear, golden amber.

“Ohhh!” Yasaman breathed with delight, and reaching out, lifted the small beast off his tray. Gently she cuddled the little creature and was rewarded with a faint, barely formed purr. “Is he not beautiful, Mama Begum? What a wonderful gift!”

“I think Fou-Fou will be very jealous,” Rugaiya Begum said. “She has never had to share you with another cat before.”

“Jiinn will make a fine mate for her,” Yasaman told her mother.

“Jiinn, is it?” Rugaiya Begum laughed. “And you are certain it is a male?”

“It is indeed a gentleman cat, gracious lady,” the servant who had carried the tray spoke up in a singsong voice.

The kitten meowed, and Fou-Fou, in her usual indolent position upon a silken couch, was stirred to curiosity. Leaping from her perch she came forward. Yasaman set the kitten upon the cool tiles of the chamber floor. As if she were unable to believe her eyes, Fou-Fou stopped in her tracks, staring hard. The kitten meowed again, and the white female crouched and hissed. Undaunted, the black kitten launched himself forward and pounced on her. Flabbergasted by this sudden turn of events, the fat white cat tumbled over onto her back even as tiny Jiinn landed upon her fat belly and scampered forward up her furry length to press his dark nose against Fou-Fou’s dainty pink one.

“Allah help us!” Rugaiya Begum cried, expecting to see the spoiled white cat turn angrily upon the bold kitten and kill it. But before their astonished eyes, an utterly besotted look came into Fou-Fou’s lime-green ones. Lifting her head up, she began to vigorously lick the kitten, who started to purr quite loudly. Jiinn tolerated her adoration for a brief minute and then, squirming forward, he began to chew upon Fou-Fou’s ear.

“They love each other!” Yasaman squealed, delighted. “I think it is a very good omen for my marriage, don’t you, Mama Begum?” Then she looked up at the servant who had
brought the kitten. “Is the prince handsome?” she asked him shyly.

“
Very
handsome, my lady princess,” the servant told her with a grin.

Yasaman turned to her mother. “Why can I not see Prince Jamal before we are married, Mama Begum? You saw Papa before you were married. You even talked with him. Why can I not see the prince?”

“Your father and I were first cousins, Yasaman. We grew up together,” Rugaiya Begum explained to her daughter for the hundredth time as Adali shooed the visiting servants from the princess’s apartments. The steward didn’t intend to allow them to remain and take back any juicy gossip to their own palace. “It isn’t necessary or even proper that you and Prince Jamal meet until after the wedding ceremony is performed.”

“When will that be?” Yasaman’s heart was beating quickly with her excitement, and her color was high.

“First the Mehr must be agreed upon, and then the Nikah can be performed by the qazi,” Rugaiya Begum said.

“Why do we need a Mehr? Surely Jamal Khan cannot divorce me. I am Yasaman Kama Begum, the daughter of the Grand Mughal. Wouldn’t it be treason if he divorced me?”

“What if you and he cannot get on, my child? It is unlikely, but it could happen. Your father would not want you to spend the rest of your life in misery. The Mehr is a sum of money the bridegroom must pay you if your marriage is dissolved. His status and your status will determine the amount. I think Jamal Khan will strive very hard to make you happy, my daughter, for it would, I think, impoverish his family for several generations to come were he to divorce you. The Mehr is Islam’s way of protecting a woman from an unscrupulous husband.”

“I do not follow Islam,” Yasaman said quietly. “I follow my conscience. There is much good in Islam, and much good in Christianity, Candra’s religion, and Judaism as well. I have studied the teachings of Zoroaster, and the Buddha, and the Jain. I like the Hindu custom of not harming any living thing; but no one religion seems to satisfy me. Who’s to know what is really right except, perhaps, God Himself?”

“Your bridegroom is of Islam,” Rugaiya Begum reminded her daughter, “and he will raise his sons in its faith.”

“But I will teach them what I have learned as well,” Yasaman said. “They will make their own choice in the end, even as I will.”

“Even Salim chooses Islam, despite Akbar and despite the fact that Jodh Bai is a Hindu,” Rugaiya Begum said, and then wished she had remained silent, for she had not meant to mention Salim.

“Speaking of my brother, where is he?” Yasaman asked. “I have not seen him in the two days since he and you and Papa advised me to accept this marriage.”

The older woman drew a deep breath. “Your brother has gone south to Mewar for your father on matters concerning the empire,” she said calmly.

“He will not be here for my wedding?” The young girl’s face was a mixture of outrage and disappointment.

Rugaiya Begum decided she would not argue this matter, and so she said, “Either your father had to go to Mewar, or Salim had to go, my daughter. I know how greatly you and your brother care for one another, but your father loves you too. Would you deny an old man the pleasure of seeing the last of his daughters married? Salim understood.”

But Salim had not understood, and Rugaiya Begum knew it.

“I do not comprehend it,” he said, close to open anger and defiance. “Suddenly Yasaman must be married, and it must be now,” he complained to his aunt and his father. “You even waive your own laws to suit this matter. Why can I not be here to see my sister married? A day or two at the most. What can it possibly matter?”

“It does matter,” Akbar said implacably. “There is trouble in Mewar. I need you to go, Shaikho Baba, and prevent the difficulties from spreading. You know the trial Mewar is to me. Is this how you will behave when you sit alone on my throne? Putting your own pleasures ahead of your duty to India and to the empire?”

“If it is so important, then you go,” Salim replied rudely. Why, he asked himself, were they so anxious to see him ride away?

Akbar, however, pretended he was not offended by the insult and he laughed. “That is what old men have heirs for, Shaikho Baba! One day you will have the same advantage over Khusrau as I have over you.”

“Why not let Khusrau go to Mewar,” Salim said cleverly. “He is sixteen. It is certainly past time he learned his responsibilities. As the heir after me, he certainly can represent the
Mughal every bit as much as I can, and then I may remain for my sister’s wedding.”

“As the next Mughal, you will have more authority than my grandson, Shaikho Baba, but your idea has merit. Take Khusrau with you,” Akbar replied, “and teach him as I have taught you.”

Rugaiya Begum watched the emotions playing swiftly over the prince’s face. “We will miss you, my nephew,” she told him. “May Allah protect you and Khusrau.”