Wild Jasmine (33 page)

There would be nothing, however, to indicate that this was the caravan of a royal Mughal princess. Yasaman was only close to Rohana and Toramalli, among her servants, and to her high steward, Adali. None of the trio would allow her to leave them behind despite the fact that she had offered them their freedom, along with dowries for the two sisters who were pretty and young enough yet to find husbands, and a monetary
settlement for Adali so he might go into business for himself. All refused.

“Our life is with you, gracious lady,” Adali had said, speaking for them all. “If you leave us behind, we will be in danger. Even if we were not privy to your plans, Prince Salim would not believe we did not know your destination. He would hunt us down and torture us for answers we could not give him. Besides, what would you do without us? We have served you your whole life.”

“And served me well,” she told them. “Very well, you may come with me, but you come not as slaves, rather as freed servants. If at any time you wish to leave me, you have but to ask. I will settle a sum of money upon you then for your term of faithful service. From this day, however, you will receive your wages yearly, as well as a clothing allowance, your room, and your board. Is it agreed?”

They fell to their knees before her, thanking her. Their princess had been more than generous. Then, to their horror, Yasaman had told them that they must learn to ride horses. That would be their means of transportation to the coast Now, several weeks later, they prepared nervously for their upcoming journey over the dusty summer roads of India, heading for the sea which only Adali and Father Cullen had ever seen.

Adali escorted Rohana and Toramalli, dressed as young men, to the caravan site and returned for his mistress and the priest. Akbar had slipped away from his own palace and entered his wife’s palace through an underground passage that connected them. Now father and daughter stood together with Rugaiya Begum.

“What can I say to you, Yasaman, that you do not already know?” Akbar asked his youngest child. “Will it help you to once again hear that you are my favorite child? That were I not dying, I should not be strong enough to send you from me and from this terrible danger you face at your brother Salim’s hands? Ahhh, Yasaman, how I love you! Never forget that you were born of the great love that was once shared between Candra and me. I can only pray that she will welcome you into her heart as I once welcomed her into mine when she arrived in this land, frightened and alone. Tell her … tell her I have never forgotten what we once shared, and that I take the memory of her to my grave. I shall be dead before you reach this England that I am sending you to, my daughter, but you will know for certain that I have joined our ancestors by this sign
that Rugaiya Begum shall send to you.” He removed a strand of black pearls from about his neck and gave them to the older woman.

“I know I must go, and yet I do not want to leave you,” Yasaman told him. “Still, my hatred of Salim is so great now that I dare not remain else I be driven to violence or worse to some plot against my brother’s succession. I would not hurt you, Papa. I know that despite everything, you love your Shaikho Baba. If I remained, you would be forced to choose between your love for him and your love for me.”

“The priest, your cousin, tells me that Candra’s family will welcome you gladly and with love, Yasaman. Take courage in that knowledge, but never forget that no matter where you are, you are the Mughal Akbar’s daughter. In your veins runs the blood of Genghis Khan, Kublai Khan, and the great Tamerlane; noble members all of a proud and ancient race. You are their descendant, and you must never bow your head before any man or woman, for none is your true equal!” Taking her by the shoulders, he kissed her forehead. “Go with the God who watches over us all, my child.”

She struggled against them, but the tears sprang into her turquoise eyes, making them shine and glitter. “I will not forget, my father,” she told him. “How could I ever forget that I am your daughter?”

He smiled weakly at her as he made a small attempt at humor. “You are a handsome son for so dutiful a daughter,” he told her, for she was dressed in man’s garb, her dark hair tucked beneath a small white turban.

Yasaman bit her lip and quickly turned away lest her resolve not to weep openly weaken. “Mama Begum, you are my only mother and I shall love you forever! Do not forget me,” Yasaman begged, hugging the older woman.

My heart is breaking, Rugaiya Begum thought sadly, but she answered bravely, “I am the mother fortunate enough to have raised you to womanhood. I love you with all my heart, my daughter, but Candra is the mother who bore you. We did not ever believe you should know her, but fate has dictated otherwise. There is much in her, I remember, that reminds me of you. She is intelligent, and kind, and her temper burned every bit as hot as yours does. Do not dislike her because your kismet has driven you from India. None of this is her fault, and I thank Allah that she is there, a safe haven for us to send you to, Yasaman.” Rugaiya Begum kissed her daughter tenderly
and then said, “Go now. Never look back, Yasaman. Always look forward as you travel through life. Memories are good things to have, but to live life is to obey Allah’s wishes for us. Remember that too.”

Adali took his mistress by the arm and quickly led her from the chamber where Akbar and Rugaiya Begum remained. She did not see the stricken look upon the Mughal’s face, or hear the bitter sobs that came from Rugaiya Begum, who collapsed in her husband’s arms, weeping.

Adali and Yasaman left the palace and, walking swiftly across the courtyards and walkways, through arches and over marble footbridges, exited the Red Fort through the small private south gate where the guardsman now slept a wine-induced sleep at his post. Cullen Butler was waiting for them with the horses. Mounting, they rode across the city of Agra to its outskirts, where their caravan awaited them.

The moon was bright as they traveled along, and Cullen Butler could see the silent tears that rolled down Yasaman’s face. “Are you all right?” he finally asked her.

Swallowing hard, she nodded. “If I don’t weep a bit, I shall scream,” she admitted. “It has been a terrible few hours.”

“I want you to speak English from now on,” he told her. “You need to practice, and besides, if you do, we won’t have to worry about anyone overhearing and understanding us,” he explained in that tongue.

“Very well, cousin,” she agreed. “I had indeed best practice the use of Candra’s native tongue. You and I must teach my maidens on the long voyage how to speak proper English.”

He smiled back at her, and Yasaman wondered if the rest of her other family looked like Cullen Butler. They had explained his true relationship to her weeks ago when she had recovered from the miscarriage of her child. It had seemed a sign at the time. She had lost one family in Jamal and their baby, only to have gained another in Cullen Butler, whom she had actually known her entire life.

They arrived safely in the port city of Cambay, and Alain O’Flaherty, after his initial shock, greeted his newfound cousin warmly. As they had been several weeks upon the road, Yasaman welcomed the next few days of rest while they awaited the arrival of the O’Malley-Small fleet.

When, however, her companion saw the princess beginning to grow restless, an excursion to Cambay’s marketplace was
arranged. In the company of Alain, who was a younger version of Cullen Butler, and with Adali and her female servants, Yasaman walked through the market. Properly veiled and with such a prosperous-looking party, she was assailed on all sides by the shouting merchants hawking their wares. She bought several wonderful bolts of silk, and others of cotton. Blocks of foil-wrapped tea, both green and black, were added to her stash. A slipper merchant’s stall caught her eye, but there was, to her disappointment, nothing to fit her slender foot.

“I should think not!” Toramalli huffed indignantly. “You are a princess and not some common creature who buys her footwear in an open market.” She turned to Alain. “Why, good sir, all my mistress’s slippers are made for her alone. Do you know how the foot of a princess is measured?” And before he could answer, she continued on. “Why, it is measured with a string of pearls, and the pearls not needed for the shoemaker, our lady has given to my sister and me.” She held up a particularly beautiful strand from about her neck. “Those discarded gems over the years have gone to make me this fine necklace! No, indeed! A princess does not buy her footwear in a marketplace.”

Alain was astounded. “Is this fact?” he asked Yasaman.

“Yes it is,” she said with a small smile.

“Amazing! Here these last few days you have been questioning all of us about life in England, and yet your life is far more fascinating, cousin.”

When they returned to the harbor, they found that eight ships of the O’Malley-Small trading fleet had arrived at Cambay. The fleet was under the command of Captain Michael Small, who told them that there were eight other vessels with which they would rendezvous off the African coast and were now in the Spice Islands picking up their cargos.

To Yasaman’s surprise, Captain Small knew immediately who she was. He had been told of her by her uncle Murrough many years ago, he explained, for the secret of her existence had weighed heavily upon Murrough, who had captained the vessel that brought Velvet home from India. Michael Small’s kindness reassured the princess, who was growing more nervous as the time of her departure approached.

Yasaman’s fortune was loaded onto her family’s fleet. She would travel upon
Cardiff Rose
. Captain Small had ceded his large quarters to his royal passenger and her companions. The simple, spare area was now lush with colorful silk cushions
and seductive gauze hangings. Hiraman, the parrot, shrieked noisily from his perch. Fou-Fou and Jiinn had settled themselves regally upon the cushions. Only Baba, Yasaman’s monkey, seemed truly unhappy.

“I have, on occasion, seen birds like this one in England,” the captain told Yasaman, “and the cats will, of course, thrive quite nicely, but I fear for this little fellow.” He cuddled the monkey in the crook of his arm. “He may not survive our cold weather.”

“He is the first pet I ever had,” Yasaman said. “My father gave him to me for my fourth birthday.” She scratched the monkey’s small round head and a tear slipped down her cheek. “I don’t really pay a great deal of attention to him anymore, but I will miss him if I leave him behind. What will happen to him?”

“Give him to me,” Alain said. “I’ll give him a good home. He seems to enjoy playing in the courtyard trees by my office, cousin. He might even find himself a lady monkey to keep him company in his old age,” the factor told Yasaman with a twinkle in his eye. “Every gentleman should have a lady to keep him happy when he has had his fill of adventuring. I think Baba has reached that stage of life. He seems to like me, don’t you, old fellow?”

She sighed deeply, but then agreed. “Take him, Alain, but promise me you will be good to him. He doesn’t like thunderstorms. He’ll want to cuddle in your arms if there is one. And he loves fresh coconut and mango. You will see he gets those fruits, won’t you?”

“I will treat him as my own.”

Alain O’Flaherty departed the ship with Baba clinging to his shoulder, chattering excitedly with relief to be off the vessel. The factor remained upon the docks overseeing the raising of the gangway and the anchor. He watched as the sails on all of the ships were raised slowly, catching the gentle afternoon trade winds. He stood waving as the O’Malley-Small ships cleared the harbor.

Captain Michael Small, having seen his ship safely out of the harbor and into the open sea, joined his passenger at the ship’s rail. Yasaman stood silently watching the coastline as it quickly disappeared.
India
. The land of her birth. The blood of its people ran in her veins, but then so, too, did the blood of the English. She had always been so certain of who she was and where she belonged. Now she was not so certain.

The captain took her delicate hand in his big rough one and told her, “Do not be sad, my child. There is a saying among our people that when one door closes, another one is certain to open. You have so much to look forward to, Yasaman. Do not despair.”

“As I have so much to anticipate, Captain,” she told him, “I also have so many memories to recall. I can never forget India.”

“You must not!” he said. “Ah, no, Yasaman, you must never forget any experience, good or bad. Learn from them, treasure them, but never, ever forget. That, dear girl, is life, and life, your grandmother Lady de Marisco has taught me, is good. It is to be lived to the fullest, even in the darkest of times. And now, Yasaman Begum, you have closed the door on one part of your life, only to find the next door wide open and ready for you to walk through.” He squeezed her hand. “I will be with you, and Cullen Butler, and your Adali, and your women. Do not be afraid, Princess.”

Remember you are the Mughal’s daughter
, she heard Rugaiya Begum saying in her heart. “I am not afraid, Michael Small,” she told him. “If I am sad in leaving my home, so am I happy to have my … my mother’s family to be going to in England.”

“You’re a brave lass, Yasaman, but then you come from a race of brave women,” he told her.

“Not Yasaman, Captain,” she replied, and she gazed a final time on the disappearing coast of India. “I have left Yasaman Kama Begum behind me. If I am to blend into this new world I must enter, it is best if I do not seem different. From this moment on you will call me Jasmine, which is the English translation of my name. And it is the custom, is it not, for the English to have surnames? Do you think my grandparents would mind if I took their surname as my own?”

“No,” he said quietly, “I do not think they would mind. Rather, I think they will be most pleased.”

“Then it is settled,” she said with a smile. “I am Jasmine de Marisco from this day forth,
but,
” she added, “I
will, nonetheless, always be the Mughal’s daughter.
”

Part II