“The truth would be a knife to your heart, Jodh Bai,” Rugaiya Begum said. “I love you too much to be the instrument of any hurt that would strike you. Do not press me, I beg you!”
“
The truth!
” Jodh Bai insisted.
Rugaiya Begum sighed. She could indeed refuse to tell her friend, but Jodh Bai would not be satisfied. She would continue to press her, and she would certainly press Akbar. “It is Salim,” Rugaiya Begum said finally, and she quickly explained before Yasaman returned and overheard them.
Jodh Bai’s soft eyes filled with tears. “Ahhh,” she said, “what are we to do with my son? That he would do such a thing fills me with pain.”
“The matter is settled, my old friend,” Rugaiya Begum told her. “Salim will now lose interest. Think no more on it, I beg you.”
Jodh Bai nodded. “But Yasaman is so young to be married,” she replied. “She does not even know this young man who is now her husband.”
“His reputation is spotless, I assure you, dear friend,” Rugaiya Begum said. “Even with such a threat hanging over my child, I would not let her go to someone unsuitable, but hush! She is returning.” Rugaiya Begum rose to her feet and held out her hands to her daughter. “You are ready?”
“I am ready, Mama Begum,” was the reply.
Discreetly, Rugaiya Begum and Jodh Bai, who had also gotten to her feet, escorted Yasaman across the terrace. They moved down a narrow flight of marble steps to the gaily decorated little boat, which was called a shikara, that awaited her. The boat was painted in red lacquer with beautiful designs in gold swirling across its surface. A brightly striped red and gold awning shaded the deep blue satin bench which was decorated with plump multicolored pillows. The boatman, who stood at attention in the stern of the little vessel, bowed low to the princess as the two older women helped her into the boat, each hugging her before they let her go.
“Your husband will join you in but a moment, my daughter,” Rugaiya Begum told Yasaman. “May Allah bless your union and make you fruitful.”
“Indeed, may you be the mother of many sons,” Jodh Bai echoed Rugaiya Begum’s good wishes. “I will come and see you before we return south.”
“Thank you, Mama Begum. Thank you, my aunt.” Yasaman looked straight ahead, not daring to make eye contact with them lest her fears suddenly overcome her again and she begin to sob. This marriage was becoming quite terrifying. She almost cried out when she heard their footsteps retreating up the staircase. Instead she concentrated upon Ali, the fisherman,
who, with his sons and most of their adult family, were crammed into their fishing boats nearby. Shyly she waved to them, and was rewarded with a small cheer, their good wishes for her happiness floating across the quiet waters of the lake.
“They will capsize themselves in their enthusiasm,” a masculine voice said. The boat tipped with his weight as he entered it and sat next to her. He knew the story of Ali’s luck. Everyone on the lake did. It would appear the tale had not been an exaggeration.
“Would you have me be rude and ignore them?” Yasaman said sharply. She would not look at him. How easily he could converse with her, she thought. Yet he had still not formally greeted her. Oh, why did I agree to this marriage? she wailed silently.
“And is the Mughal’s daughter never rude?” he gently mocked her. “Indeed, if it is so, then I have gained a true paragon for a wife.”
“Ohhh!” Her head snapped about and she glared up at him. “You, my lord, are absolutely insufferable! Not once since our marriage vows were spoken have you had the courtesy to speak to me! Now you would give me a lesson in good manners? And mock me unfairly in the bargain? If the law allowed it, I should divorce you this minute!”
Jamal Darya Khan was overcome with a deep urge to laugh, but he manfully contained himself. The incredible turquoise-blue eyes blazing up at him were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. What was more, his sense of fairness forced him to admit that she was absolutely correct. It was he who had been rude to her by ignoring her totally.
He had been not just a little annoyed at the way his father and the Mughal had maneuvered him into this marriage; but that was certainly not the girl’s fault. Allah only knew, the match was extremely advantageous to his family. His bride, too, had undoubtedly been coerced in some benign manner. She was very young, and so beautiful that even sitting here next to her, he could not quite believe that this incredible loveliness was now his.
“Princess,” he said gently, “custom, as you know, keeps a bride and bridegroom separated on their wedding day.” Reaching up, he undid her pale gold gauze veil to revel in her features fully. “Ahhhh,” he sighed deeply, one hand covering his heart in an expressive gesture as the other hand delicately
traced the outline of her jaw, “you are so extravagantly fair, my bride!”
A blush suffused her cheeks. She was unable to continue looking at him. Her black lashes lowered, brushing against her creamy skin, even as her anger melted easily away. She felt momentarily tongue-tied. She felt shy; suddenly gauche. None of it was comfortable for Yasaman, who was used to being in full control of her emotions.
He tipped her face up. “Look at me, my bride. I have never seen eyes as magnificent as yours are. I am totally overcome with your innocent beauty. Tell me that you forgive me. I would not have you angry with the man whose heart you have so quickly captured.”
She caught his gaze in hers, thinking how meltingly beautiful his own velvet-brown eyes were. Then her mind began to function once again and she said, “You have me at a disadvantage, my lord. I am unused to such compliments and know not how to answer. Should I tell you that you are even more handsome than my brother, Salim?”
He smiled into her face, and she thought that his smile was a lovely one, his teeth so pearly and white against the pale gold of his skin. “I am happy that mine are the first lover’s praises to be heard by your dainty, shell-like ears,” he told her.
Yasaman giggled. She could not help it. “
Shell-like ears?
” She giggled again. “My lord, such an outrageous term for a less than beautiful feature of the body. I may be young, but I am not a fool.”
Jamal Khan laughed aloud. “I swear,” he told her, “I am so carried away by your beauty, Princess, that I begin to babble.” Then he took her hand in his. “Can we be friends now?”
“I am not certain,” she said quietly. “I do not know you yet, my lord. Indeed, I know little about you except that you are an obedient son.”
“And I know as little of you, my princess, except that you were born to the Mughal and his English wife, but raised by Rugaiya Begum.”
They sat silently for the next several minutes as the shikara was swiftly rowed across the lake. Then Jamal Khan spoke once again.
“Look, my princess! The moon is rising.”
She looked in the direction that he was pointing and said, “It was full on my birthday, a few days ago. Alas, it has begun to wane.”
“Even as my love for you begins to grow,” he promised her.
Yasaman blushed again. His words were so wonderfully thrilling. She had never imagined that a man could say such lovely things, and what was more, he sounded so sincere. Perhaps, just perhaps, this marriage was not a bad thing and would work out. Still, she knew not what to answer him back. So she remained quiet.
He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. Then, raising it up, he turned it over and placed a warm kiss upon her palm. “Such a dainty hand, my princess,” he murmured low. “I am overcome with the thought that soon that hand will caress me.”
The touch of his mouth upon her skin set her heart to leaping in her chest. “
Ohhh,
” she gasped as the sensation suffused her body, leaving her weak with the simple pleasure his first kiss had created.
Now it was his turn to be silent. How old was she? he wondered, trying to remember.
Thirteen!
She had just turned thirteen, but she already had her woman’s flow, he had been told. Allah in his heavenly garden! She was, it was quite obvious, so innocent; not that the knowledge wasn’t pleasurable. He found himself suddenly overcome with delight that no other man had touched her, or complimented her, or kissed her lips as he soon intended kissing them.
She was a pure virgin, although she would certainly know what was expected of her; what was to come. She would have her Pillow Book, as all brides did. He had never possessed a virgin before. The few women he kept in his zenana were experienced in the arts of pleasing a man’s sensual nature. There was nothing that he could teach them. Yasaman, however, was totally untutored, and it would be he who would instruct her.
The little boat lightly bumped the marble quay of his palace. The boatman sprang out and made the vessel fast. He then discreetly disappeared from view, leaving them alone. Jamal Khan stood up and stepped from the boat onto the quay, turning to draw Yasaman behind him.
“At present you will not find my … our home as fine a palace as your own. You have my permission to do whatever you so choose to make it a pleasant and happy place for us to live in, my princess. Buy what you will. The servants have been perhaps lax in their duties since my mother’s death. They are now in your charge, as are all matters pertaining to this household.”
“It will take me a few days to explore everything, to learn
which of the servants is lazy, or simply negligent because of lack of guidance,” Yasaman said. “My own body servants, Toramalli and Rohana, will be here tomorrow. Mama Begum would like Adali, my high steward, to remain with her, but I may need his services.”
“Your chambers will have been prepared for you,” Jamal Khan told her. “I left orders with the women in my zenana to do so. They should best know what pleases another woman. Come now, Princess.”
“A moment, my lord,” Yasaman said. “I must speak with you, but do not wish to be overheard by any.”
“What is it, my bride? You have but to ask me and I will grant you your dearest desire,” he vowed romantically.
“Perhaps not when you have heard me out, my lord,” she said softly.
He looked curiously at her, but nonetheless said, “Speak.”
“I am your lawfully married wife, my lord, but we do not yet know each other. I know that men will couple for pure pleasure with women unknown to them. I, however, as you know, have been gently raised. I find it repugnant that you would expect me to yield my body to you tonight, or any night for that matter, until some affection has grown between us. I do not know if you will understand this, but I must, nonetheless, appeal to you. I have been enjoined by my mother to accept my lord’s decision in all matters, and so I will.” She lowered her eyes modestly.
“And if I say I want you in my bed tonight, Princess, you will accept my decision in the matter?” he asked her.
“I have no real choice, my lord, do I? As an obedient wife I must, though it would grieve me greatly to find your lust far greater than your desire for relations between us to be pleasing and harmonious,” Yasaman told him sweetly.
Jamal Khan laughed. “No girl your age should be so skilled with words, my princess. You are, I think, much too clever for a simple man of Kashmir as myself. Better you turn your talents to giving your husband a thousand and one nights of supreme delights. Still, I am of a mind to grant your request. Several days ago we knew naught of each other, yet now we find ourselves bound together for a lifetime. Should my lusts threaten to overwhelm me, the women in my zenana know well how to please me, as you will also in time. For now let us just be friends.”
“Mama Begum says that the best marriages begin with the
making of friends, my lord. She has never lied to me,” Yasaman said.
“Come,” he said, taking her hand once more. “Let me show you your new home. I am astounded that the servants are nowhere in evidence to welcome their new mistress, and the torches are not lit upon the terraces, or the lamps within the house.”
He led her up the steps from the quay onto a lovely marble terrace similar to the one bordering her own palace. Here, however, she could see even in the waning moonlight that the plantings were obviously neglected, overgrown, or simply dying. Yasaman frowned. Here was something that would need her immediate attention. Gardens were most important to the Mughals. This year’s growing season was almost done, but there was next year’s to consider.
They passed beneath an arched entry into the building, and Jamal Khan said, “These are your quarters, Princess, but again I ask, why are there no lamps lit? I left orders your chambers were to be cleaned and made welcoming for you.”
“The servants are obviously lax, my lord,” Yasaman observed. “I must, I can see, take them in hand at once.”
“Since my mother’s death there has been little order here. I am a man and do not know what to do,” he replied helplessly.
Yasaman laughed softly. “As long as you are well-fed and have clean clothes,” she teased him, “you are content, eh, my lord? As long as you can hunt and there are pretty women to sing to you and tend to your more passionate nature, eh? But what of the ladies in your zenana? Is there not one amongst them who might have directed the servants?”
“It is not their function to direct servants,” he said somewhat sheepishly. “Their duties lie elsewhere, as you surely know.”
Yasaman’s mother had always said that men, no matter their ages, were like little boys. Yasaman had had virtually no contact with men of any sort in her short lifetime, other than those comfortable gentlemen who belonged to her immediate family. She was certainly beginning to understand now exactly what Mama Begum had meant. As long as his personal needs were fulfilled and his life was not uncomfortable, Jamal Khan had been content to let his palace fall into disrepair, his servants run wild, and his women lie lazily about like fungus on a tree. These things were going to change, she thought grimly to herself,
but right now she needed sleep. It had been an exhausting day.
“We must find someone to light us lamps,” she told him in her most practical tone.
“The zenana is through that door,” he said, pointing into the half gloom of the room. “This is the women’s part of the palace.