Acute Akbar Versus The Spirited Nur Jahan: The Soul’s Journey Through Time and the Who’s Who of Rebirth

By Susheila Naravane

Acute Akbar Versus The Spirited Nur Jahan is a gripping account of the reign of the Mughal Emperor Akbar. The narrative brings the Mughal court to life even as it describes Akbar’s relationship with his son Jehangir and the other members of his extended family. 
The story of Nur Jahan has it's roots in Akbar’s reign and times. That’s why our story begins with Akbar’s reign, tracing the intrigues at the court: stories being played out in the lives of his subjects (both Hindu and Muslim) and conspiracies within and outside the realm of the Mughal empire. 
Woven into this narrative is the possibility of reincarnation due to the karmic interaction between various communities in recurring births. The story is told through the perspective of a protagonist from the twenty first century.  
The book pulsates with the rhythms of life as lived in the times of Akbar’s rule. With its interplay of faiths and cultures, it transports the reader into Akbar’s court with its rich imagery. How did the young Mehrunissa, a courtier’s daughter, come to be the queen of the mighty Mughal empire wielding immense influence? She was a rarity for any woman in those times, let alone a muslim woman. Did the elements of destiny and desire play an important role, or was it a matter of court and harem intrigue? 
The book takes a fresh look at how Mehrunissa became Nur Jahan at a time when the Mughals were at the zenith of their power in India.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Sep 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781789012316

Book preview

9781789012316.jpg

Copyright © 2018 Susheila Naravane

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

Matador

9 Priory Business Park,

Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,

Leicestershire. LE8 0RX

Tel: [phone]

Email: [e-mail]

Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

Twitter: @matadorbooks

ISBN 978 1789012 316

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

Glossary

1.Aali Jah – Your Majesty

2.Abba – father

3.Abba huzoor – respected father

4.Abba jaan – father dear

5.Ahadi – gentleman trooper

6.Agya chakra – Point of divine contact in middle of brows

7.Amarnath – Hindu god Shiv

8.Arsh Ashiyani – Title of a king

9.Atga – guardian

10.Auliya – (Urdu) holy man (ascetic)

11.Azeri – from Azerbaijan

12.Badtamiz – bad-mannered

13.Baig (beg) – a lord

14.Bania – grocer

15.Barr-u-bahr – architect and engineer

16.Bedaulat – beggar

17.Begum – a lord’s wife

18.Bhagwan – (pronounced bhugwan) God

19.Bharat Varsh – India

20.Brahmin – Hindu priest

21.Burqa – Gown with hood and veil

22.Chaddar – sheet

23.Dargah – tomb of a Muslim saint

24.Darwesh – holy man

25.Diwan – governor

26.Diwan-i-bayutat- Turkish for manager of royal household

27.Esai – Christian

28.Fakir – Muslim ascetic

29.Farash khana – tents, carpets, bedding store in palace

30.Farman – order, command (royal)

31.Farsi – Persian

32.Faujdar – Fortress commander

33.Fatwa – edict passed by Muslim clergy

34.Firangi – foreigner

35.Grand mufti – chief expert in Muslim law

36.Gulab – rose

37.Gul aftab – sunflower

38.Haakim – doctor

39.Halwai – (Hindi) sweetmeat maker

40.Hazrat Isa – Honourable Jesus

41.Hindus – (derived from River Sindhu (Indus)) original natives of India

42.Isa – Jesus

43.Jahan panah – refuge of the world (king)

44.Jaan – life or a substitute for dear

45.Jannat – Heaven

46.Jannat ashiyani – One who is in heaven (dead) for a dead king

47.Jagirdar – fief holder

48.Jyotish – fortune teller

49.Kafila – caravan

50.Kafir – non-Muslim, unbeliever

51.Kakhan – Uzbek chief

52.Kamiz – top worn over salwar

53.Kanya – girl; see also Vishkanya

54.Karma – action(s)

55.Kayasth – of mixed descent

56.Khatra – danger

57.Khabardar – beware

58.Khamiz – shirt

59.Khan khanan – chief khan, chief nobleman

60.Khatri – of warrior class

61.Khatun – lady

62.Khichdi – cooked mixture of lentils and rice

63.Khidmatiya – servant

64.Khufiya – secret service

65.Kotha – house of dancing girls

66.Khillat – ceremonial robe

67.Khuda – God

68.Khuda hafiz – God be with you

69.Khutba – prayer at accession

70.Khwaja sara – chief eunuch

71.Kurnish – bowing in salutation to monarch

72.Kishmish – raisin

73.Laila and Majnu – two lovers of ancient Arabia

74.Madar – mother

75.Mahatma – great soul

76.Mahawat – elephant driver

77.Makhdum-ul-mulk – chief officer

78.Mallika – queen

79.Mama – maternal uncle

80.Mansab – grant of land with command of troops

81.Mansabdar – fief holder

82.Matbakh khana – kitchen

83.Maulvi – Muslim priest

84.Meher – bride price paid to father

85.Meherbani – kindness

86.Mihir – sun

87.Meer (mir) – lord

88.Mir bakshi – paymaster of the army

89.Mir kafila – head of caravan

90.Mohar – gold coin

91.Moksh (Sanskrit) – release of soul from rebirth

92.Muezzin – one who gives call for prayers

93.Muhtarma – ‘’respected lady’’

94.Mullah – Muslim priest

95.Muslim ulema – clergy

96.Musth – elephant in rut

97.Mutahi nikah – temporary marriage

98.Nikah – proper marriage

99.Nirvana – (Hindi) liberation of soul from the cycle of birth and death

100.Paan – betel leaf

101.Pathan – Afghan

102.Pandit – Hindu priest

103.Peer (Pir) – Muslim holy man

104.Qayamat – death

105.Posteen – warm jacket

106.Rabab – string instrument

107.Rajputni – Rajput woman

108.Sachak – (Urdu) engagement

109.Sadhu – Hindu ascetic, who wears a saffron robe

110.Sadhana guru – One who guides spiritual practice

111.Sadr – Muslim priest

112.Sahibs – four companions of the Prophet

113.Salaam alekum – a greeting

114.Saltanat – sultanate

115.Sayyad – descendant of the Prophet of Islam

116.Shahbaaz – Hawk

117.Shahzaada – prince (son of a king)

118.Shaitan – Devil

119.Shaitanpura – abode of the Devil – notorious area

120.Shias – those Muslims who revere the Prophet’s descendants, through his daughter Fatima

121.Shikar – hunting

122.Shirin – who loved Farhad

123.Sifarat khana – Portuguese embassy

124.Sirka – vinegar

125.Suba – province

126.Sufrachi – attendant

127.Sufi – Muslim ascetic, a spiritual person

128.Sulah – peace treaty

129.Sulah-i-kul – peace with all

130.Surahi – earthen water pitcher

131.Taslim – salutation

132.Ulema – clergy

133.Umara – nobles

134.Vakil – prime minister

135.Vazir – prime minister

136.Vishkanya – poison- or disease-impregnated girl

137.Wali ahad – crown prince

138.Walekum saalam – greetings!

139.Ya Khuda – Oh God

140.Zakat – 2.5 per cent tax paid by Muslims to help other Muslims

141.Zamindar – landholder

142.Zat – foot soldiers

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the Mughal Emperor Akbar, our immuniser-in-chief, with his profound vision and diplomacy, military might and brilliant generalship.

Akbar’s excellent administration, fiscal prudence, good governance and justice system inoculated this land against invasion.

The book is also dedicated to his daughter-in-law, the feminist Begum Nur Jahan who is an inspiration to Indian women to fight for their rights.

Also to my country, Hindustan, to our armed forces, the devoted guardians of our sovereignty, may it be everlasting.

The British, who ruled later, added the perfume of their jurisprudence to this flower that is India today. May we be eternally vigilant and free.

Lastly, to my paternal grandmother, Sharada Naravane, who encouraged my love of reading.

Contents

1.The Dream

2.Qudsia

3.Akbar’s Coronation

4.Kabul

5.The Tutor

6.Hamida chooses Maham (1560)

7.The Chief Of Intelligence

8.Statecraft

9.Bahraich Fair

10.The Spectre From Chausa Ferry

11.The Sultan Seeks Advice

12.The Caravan From Iraq

13.The Khan Zaman Ali Quli Khan Uzbek

14.The Kacchwahas Of Amber

15.Raja Maldeo Of Jodhpur

16.The Street Of The Courtesans

17.An Epoch-Making Royal Marriage

18.East to Chunargarh and Chausa Ferry

19.Akbar’s Twentieth Birthday

20.The Hamaam of Sheikh Abd un Nabi

21.Nawroz – Female Intrigue (1563)

22.The Attempt On The Sultan’s Life

23.The shias at court – Muzaffar turbati made vazir

24.Akbar Consolidates His Grip (1567)

25.A Message For Zakia Khanum

26.Peshrau Khan – The Arranger

27.Kingship And God, The Mahzar, Iran, And Central Asia (1574)

28.From Iran To Hindustan (1577)

29.The Neighbourhood And Hindustan Iran – Tehran (1577)

30.Akbar’s Sickness (1582)

31.The Goonga Ghar (The Dumb House)

32.The Queen Mother Introspects (1582)

33.The Iranian Family (1585)

34.Central Asia Abdullah Khan Uzbek (1586)

35.The Iranian Family Again

36.Nowroz (1587)

37.The Zenith Of Power

38.Ghiyas Beg And Family

39.Akbar And His Heir Salim

40.The Esai (Christian) Missionaries

41.The Intriguers

42.Ghiyas Beg Meets Peshrau Khan Next Diwan Of Kabul

43.The Wali Ahad Prince Salim

44.Guhar-un-Nissa Begum Takes A Hand (1596)

45.A New Life (1594)

46.A Dilemma For The Khan Khanan - The Attempted Assassination (1596)

47.The Red Herring

48.Kabul – And Childbirth

49.Death Of Abdullah Khan Uzbek (1598)

50.Akbar Looks South – The Conquest Of Asirgarh (1598)

51.Agra and Lahore –Regime Change

52.Kutbuddin In Bangal

53.The Widow

54.A State Of Limbo (May 1607)

55.The Nikah (marriage)

56.The New Malika

57.Affairs Of State

58.And Now, The Who’s Who Of Rebirth

59.The Last Days Of Nur Jahan

Chapter 1

The Dream

Amala got up, thinking of her dream. It was early morning, just before sunrise. These dreams of hers were getting out of hand. She didn’t know what to make of it all, and if they didn’t stop soon she was sure they would drive her round the bend. Just now, for instance, before she got up, she had been dreaming that she was walking in the space within the outer and inner walls of an old fort, perhaps in the dungeons. It was dark, and there was the typical dank, musty atmosphere and sense of stale trapped air associated with a monument that was at least four hundred years old. Then she heard a sepulchral voice say a woman named Nur Jahan, and she woke up and saw it was dawn.

What on earth was this all about? she thought. Why should she get a dream like that, about a famous Mughal queen consort who died four hundred years ago? For the life of her, she couldn’t make any sense out of it. She had been a Persian woman and a Muslim, and she herself was a Vedanti, mistakenly called Hindu, the two – Hinduism and Islam – except for their common belief in God, being poles apart in every way as far as their customs, culture, and religious beliefs went. She, Nur Jahan was born four hundred years earlier in time, in an era when royalty ruled, while she, Amala, was living in an age in which democracy prevailed: in a much-truncated Bharatvarsha or Hindustan (now called India) monarchy was rare; what few local royals there were had no power and were mere figureheads, on display at ceremonial occasions to add a touch of glamour.

The weird part of it was that some of the dreams came true, though there was no saying when: some almost immediately, and some months later. Some of them were warning dreams, and some were dreams to the contrary, as the dream books said. She had started reading books on dreams to try to make some sense out of them. Some of the interpretations were correct, and again some were not. But she couldn’t understand why her dreams had started at this particular time of her life. She had turned thirty-six a few months ago. Suddenly a thought struck her. Wait a minute. Was it perhaps because of the mantra she had started saying a few days before the dreams started? She had just started studying astrology, and since she had an exalted Jupiter in her first house, which, for Jupiter, is that planet’s position of power, in the zodiacal sign of cancer, her teacher, Mr Joshi, thought she should chant the planet’s mantra daily after her morning bath. She had also started saying the sun’s very powerful Gayatri mantra, turning her face towards that luminary at sunrise, as is the custom.

Her mind went back to the latest dream. Why should she dream about this woman who lived four hundred years ago? Was she connected to her in some way, a relative of hers maybe, in those long-ago times, a Muslim then, reborn as a Hindu now? The idea of rebirth is so imbedded in the Indian (Hindu) mind that there was never a time when it wasn’t there. Absolutely accepted as a fact of life, that’s what it is.

[Now we have Amala’s voice-over: Extremely necessary, by way of explanation, chapter by chapter, as we go along, with her comments, some wry, some loaded with acid wit, and some with dry fact, to bring the reader back to the present from four centuries ago.

What was the reason for the sepulchral voice? Was it to give Amala the strong suggestion of reincarnation, because of the circumstances of her own life at the time, which she could accept or reject, depending on whether it made sense or not, to try and identify various main dramatis personae in the story of the empress who lived four hundred years ago with the dramatis personae in the story of her own life? Did she have anything to do with Nur Jahan? Was it her soul reincarnated in this body of Amala? The thought made her laugh out loud. For God’s sake, did she want the sceptical modern reader to dismiss her as some kind of a nut case, with delusions of grandeur? She had no intention of making a laughing stock of herself in this world of the twenty-first century, where so many actually didn’t believe in God or the saints/sages, or in miracles, in the existence of sheer, revered goodness and kindness in the personas of Moses, Jesus, Mohommed the Prophet, the Vedantic godly incarnations of Lord Krishna and Lord Raam, of Zarthusth, the Iranian prophet, the Lords Buddha or Mahaveer of the Jains, of the Sikh prophet Guru Nanak, who were born in Hindustan, the land below the Himalayas.

A curious fact common to all faiths is that most of them either begin or end their prayers with a common sound, the Hindus, Buddhists, and Jains with the primordial sound of OHM, beginning with the vowel O and ending with the consonant M. The Jews say the word OHMEN, the Christians AAMEN, and the Muslims AAMEEN. That’s something to think about.

Today, science rules, but its aim is to provide material comfort of various sorts, the most important being health but not spiritual comfort. Science is very much to be respected, but must all reverence only be given to formulae like e=mc2?

The basic Hindu belief is that to be born with a brain that can devise such formulae, a soul’s KARMA, or actions of past lives, must be good! At the very least, there must be avoidance of, and sincere repentance for, bad actions, for a person to achieve something in life. That is the goal of human existence, as distinct from the animal.

Thinking hard, she had to admit that, yes, perhaps there was a reason for suspecting a case of reincarnation, of characters involved in a similar story, for a replay, the reason being that the soul of the empress Nur Jahan perhaps wants to set right some misconceptions about her, that whatever happened after she turned sixteen, i.e. her first marriage to Sher Afghan, then her widowhood at twenty-nine and subsequent marriage to the Mughal Emperor Jahangir in 1611, at age thirty-four, was not by any design of hers, for the simple reason that SHE HAD NO CHOICE: when Amala went to enquire, the head of the History Department at the University of Bombay, a senior lady, told her, in no uncertain terms, about her marriage to Jahangir at the age of thirty-four, after she was a widow for four years, to Amala’s great disappointment at finding no story, as she had been led to believe there was. Indeed, in an article by a Pakistani writer, about when he overflew the tombs of Jahangir and Nur Jahan at Shahdara, he referred to them as two great lovers. Obviously the history professor meant that there was no great love story, and the love, or, rather, the desire to possess the most beautiful woman in his empire, was on Jahangir’s side only!

Whatever happens to anyone who is born in this world is fated, the result of their Karma, according to the Hindus.

Being only seventeen when she, Mehr-un-Nissa, to whom Jahangir later gave the title of Nur Jahan, Light of the World, when she was about thirty-seven years old, was married off to a young officer by the imperial dictate of the Mughal Emperor Akbar, who had heard the story of the strange circumstances of her birth and perhaps wanted to, or was prompted to by interested courtiers, test the prediction of soothsayers present at the time that she was born, about her great destiny; she was too young to nurse any ambition to marry royalty, although the crown prince had shown great interest in her because of her outstanding looks, which perhaps encouraged her parents to hope.

More than the story of Nur Jahan and Jahangir, the story of the building of the empire is fascinating and started with the real empire builder, Jahangir’s father, Akbar, the third and most important sultan, who embarked on the construction of such a strong edifice of administration that all sorts of talented people flocked to Hindustan from all the neighbouring areas of the north-west, from Iran and Central Asia, Arabia, and even Turkey and its environs.

Besides wisdom, Akbar had real faith in God and a sincere desire to give good governance to his people so that there may be contentment and peace in his kingdom. Some have called him a benevolent despot. He was a responsible and sensible ruler, and also human enough to occasionally have some quirky ideas too, which fortunately was seldom.]

Many Hindus have always been fascinated by the idea of rebirth and believe in it implicitly. There are procedures of meditation in Hindustan (India) by which one may find out what we were in our last life. In Tibet the Buddhist monks have a procedure in which one stares fixedly by candlelight at one’s reflection in a mirror and notices the way the image changes to show the forms one’s soul had taken in previous lives.

The Buddha, after all, was born and brought up a Vedanti (Hindu). On attaining enlightenment he was called the Buddha, or the wise one, as a tribute to his great wisdom.

The sages, however, have a caution for new initiates into the spiritual path. Suppose you find out that you were a very nasty piece of work in your last incarnation and committed a lot of heinous crimes: what then? Or that the child you love was in fact your enemy in your last life and you agreed to be the means by which his soul could get a human birth, which is the most desired one, as it is the only one which enables the soul to aspire and achieve, so that you could make restitution to it for wrongs done, and thus be freed of debt? Her guru always said that this was probably the explanation if one had a badly behaved and ungrateful or disobedient offspring. The same thing applied to other relationships, siblings, parents, and spouse, Sometimes you meet a complete stranger who does you a very good turn that changes your life for the better, for no reason at all, in that it isn’t in exchange for any action of yours or a self-serving good deed but just out of the goodness of his heart. So many people have experienced such a thing. There is no other rational explanation for this except that one has been repaid for a similar good deed in some past life, of which there may have been millions, and only the soul, which has eternal life, can keep track of them!

The Hindu belief is that the same divine spirit or all pervasive soul that breathes in us also breathes in the animals and plants and all living things, besides manifesting itself even in the rocks and sand, the rivers and the air we breathe, and in everything around us, hence the concept of the Hindu animal gods, such as the elephant god Ganesh or the monkey god Hanuman, to emphasise that animals have a soul too but, unlike humans, no awareness in their minds that distinguishes between good and bad actions, or of anything, except the feeling of hunger and some physical functions of their bodies.

This awareness had come to her with the advent of her guru (spiritual preceptor) into her life. It was he who kindled the divine spark that launched her into the spiritual search and is not possible without a guru. Every human has the potential for divinity, said Swami Vivekanand. Out of the darkness of ignorance, then, one steps into the light of divine knowledge by connecting with the Almighty through meditation, the mantra given by the guru being like the call sign that the wireless operator keeps repeating to establish contact, concentrating on the point between the brows, called the Agya Chakra, situated where the pineal gland is located, and is always shown in pictures of the Hindu god Shiv.

Chapter 2

Qudsia

As she had to go on her pilgrimage to the Amarnath cave now, in August, she went to meet her old friend Qudsia from school days, as she, being a professor of English literature, was the best qualified to judge the book on its merits. She was also a student of history and, because of her vast reading and experience of publishing her own works, best suited to find a publisher. Besides, Amala’s sixth sense made her wonder if she would return from her journey.

Where do I come into all this? Qudsia asked, rather surprised. You know I only took history as a subject in college because it was grouped with the other two subjects I really wanted to study.

I’m coming to that, Qudsia. Firstly, I always loved history. You come into it because you’re a friend and have an MA in literature, you know what good writing is, and I need your advice. It’s an extraordinary and fascinating story, but it’s not only that. There’s another dimension to this whole thing, a spiritual dimension, Amala finished.

Spiritual! Qudsia’s voice rose to a shriek. And you chose a sceptic like me to tell all this to? I haven’t the foggiest notion of such things, and you know it.

Amala held up her hand. Hold it right there. I’ll answer your questions one by one, the last one first. I was as much a hedonist as you till I met my guru, in my fifties. The appearance of the spiritual mentor in one’s life makes all the difference, and is the most fortunate thing to happen to any person. God has been very kind indeed.

This last produced a profound effect on the listener, whose jaw began to sag.

After a pause, Amala continued, I chose you to unburden myself to because we understand each other so well. One of the objects of this exercise is to explain to the world what Hindustan or the real India is all about.

Now some explanation of your new-found spirituality? And about your guru? I find all this very bewildering. You have changed a lot.

You would understand the change if you’d been through an emotional wringer as I have, a terrible rollercoaster ride, Qudsia.

Okay, so what’s the subject of the book? Qudsia asked.

It is about a historical character and reincarnation, about being reborn again and again as a result of the deeds or Karma of the last life or lives, until the birth in which the good Karma wipes out the bad completely, so that there is no rebirth. My purpose, Qudsia, is to use a sceptic like you as a touchstone. If my novel does make a mark on the touchstone of your mind, then my objective will have been achieved. Besides, you are more experienced in finding publishers. I’m going on this pilgrimage to the Amarnath cave in the Himalayas, the time for which is in August. It’s a difficult and dangerous trek over the mountains, and I have doubts if I will return.

What bosh! How can it be, with all the modern facilities available these days?

Facilities are all very well, but when one’s time is up, it’s up. It’s a matter of the Almighty’s wish, and no one’s been able to do anything about it yet, or ever will. There are a lot of things I haven’t told you yet. I get these dreams which come true, though there are some I can’t interpret. I have a feeling that I won’t return. That is why I want you to go to the publisher.

And now I’d better be off. I’m awfully tired and sleepy. She yawned mightily, stretching her arms and legs as she got out of the armchair. Happy reading, Qudsia! You have my number and email address if you want me to do some corrections, she called over her shoulder as she descended down the stairs.

Closing the door on her friends vanishing back, and turning back into the room, Qudsia’s eye fell on the manuscript. Deciding that she may as well start now, she picked it up and settled down to read, and was immediately transported from the familiar scene of her sitting room, in suffocatingly hot and humid Mumbai in the twenty-first century, to the scene of some sort of a ceremony in which all the people were in Mughal dress of the sixteenth century, where all attention seemed to be focused on the figure of an extremely sturdy and strong-looking boy in his very early teens, with slanty eyes, a ruddy complexion, and a very strong and resolute face, which in one so young yet had a very commanding, self-assured and royal expression, the laughter lines at the outer edges of the eyes giving the sense of a humorous disposition. He was sitting on a stone slab resting on two boulders, in a time four hundred years earlier.

Acute Akbar versus the Spirited Nur Jahan

[Amala’s voice-over: Ever since that dream in which she had seen herself wandering in the chambers under the battlements, between the two walls, outer and inner, of an old fort, as she had seen in the Red Fort of Delhi, where they had stayed when her husband was the fortress commander, his battalion being stationed in the fort, and she had heard the sepulchral voice, nothing would do but that she hunt in one big library after another for anything she could glean about the lady, and about the Mughal Emperor Akbar and his reign. In school, learning about his wisdom that begat his religious tolerance, military prowess, and excellent administration, she had always admired him. Older now, she could appreciate that wisdom more. There was no doubt that he was A ONE’ER! One helluva guy and no mistake! However, there was one thing she just could not understand, and that was why he had prevented his son, Prince Salim, from marrying Mehr-un-Nissa (later named Nur Jahan by her husband, the Emperor Jahangir (Prince Salim)) in a Mutahi ceremony, like the Persians, as he already had the permissible four nikahi wives. He, like his father and all nobles, already had so many wives that one more would not have made any difference! One of the reasons given was by a professor of history of the University of Calcutta, a Muslim, who read out to her from a contemporary manuscript translated into Urdu. The reason for Akbar’s refusal was ascribed to the jealousy of Abul Fazl, his chronicler, who feared that if the marriage took place her father, Ghiyas Beg Tehrani, would become more powerful at court than himself, and intrigued with other interested parties to prevent it! This is borne out by the fact that Prince Salim, when he found out, had Abul Fazl killed by Bir Singh Bundela, just to give the rival party, to which Abul Fazl belonged, a foretaste of what they could expect if they opposed his wishes. After all, he was the future emperor and a descendant of Taimur the Terrible, to boot!

Since Nur Jahan was born into an Iranian family while on their way into Hindustan in 1577, when the Mughal Emperor Akbar had been on the throne for twenty-one years, the story of his reign for that much time needs to come before hers. Because of her sunny smile, she was named Mihr-un-nissa, or sun among women, by her father, Ghiyas Beg Tehrani, and her mother, Asmat Banu. They will come in later, at the mentioned date. For now, we will read about the Emperor Akbar, whom the above lines have just described, and his times, starting with his coronation.]

Chapter 3

Akbar’s Coronation

The atmosphere was one of solemnity in the garden at Kalanaur that morning of 14 February 1556. The new ruler of the Mughal Chagatai dynasty descended from Chinghiz Khan and Taimur, Jalaluddin Mohammed Akbar, was to be crowned, but the recent death, at the age of forty-seven, of his father, the Emperor Humayun, cast a shadow over the whole proceedings, not least on the face of the boy king, as yet only thirteen, so that, for him, it was no time for celebration. The regent, Behram Khan, had improvised a platform for the occasion. The boy was dressed in a golden robe and a dark tiara, both likewise hastily improvised, for there was a need for haste as the crowning had to be over before the enemies of the Mughals, the Sur Afghans, got wind of the death of the emperor.

From amongst the circle of surrounding nobles, Jalal’s four boon companions looked on with suitably serious faces. They couldn’t believe that Jalal, their companion in so much fun and mischief, was being crowned badshah! Having lost his father, he was now the sole support for his mother. Everything had happened so fast that they were rather bewildered. After all, like him, they were all four only boys still, and used to being looked after by their parents. Aziz Koka, the closest and dearest, was the son of Shamsuddin Khan. As his mother, Jiji Anaga, was the prince’s wet nurse, he was Akbar’s foster brother, or Kokaltash – Koka for short. Then there was Tahir Khan, the son of Meer Khurd; Masum Khan, the son of Muinuddin Ahmad Farankhudi; and Dostum Khan, the son of Rustam I Turkistani.

After the coronation was over came the presents, which ought to have been exciting for a boy of thirteen. And did he get presents that day! His friends gaped as noble after noble came with large silver platters, on which were lain gifts ranging from gold mohurs (coins), ornaments, and gems to swords and daggers with delicately chased and bejewelled hilts, guns, and golden plates and drinking cups. Jalal, though, wasn’t looking in the least excited. He hardly gave the gifts a passing glance. That was because, at the first one he beheld, which happened to be a dagger, he remembered his father. Whenever he excelled himself in marksmanship, or a bout with swords, or in unarmed combat, there were many gifts from a fond Humayun. The latest, tucked into his waistband, was a dagger of finest Damascus steel, its hilt encrusted with precious stones.

With a capacity for affection being one of his dominant characteristics, it was difficult not to remember his father, who had been such a loving parent. Especially now, when he looked at the solemn faces of his four friends, due to the unusual occasion for which their young lives had not prepared them, and remembered how Humayun had showered his affection on them as well. When he gave his son a gift, there would be a gift for each of them, a Turkish Tipuchak horse for Dostum, a robe for Tahir, a sword for Masum, and a ring for Aziz. How much luckier they were than him, to have their fathers still alive. He hated becoming king because his father’s death had brought this about. Nor could he show how miserable he felt. A Turk, and a Taimurid prince at that, had at all times to behave like a man. His father wouldn’t have wanted it. So many times he had remonstrated with his mother when she had gone into hysterics at some prank of the boy’s, like the time when a new horse, a beast of most malevolent disposition, had thrown him.

You mustn’t mollycoddle him, Begum, he had chided." A Turk grows up in the saddle. If you make such a fuss about an everyday happening of no consequence, you’ll make a sissy of him. He has to fight battles when he grows up. A grandson of Babar Badshah cannot be otherwise. How many times had he told Jalal of how his father, Firdaus Makani Babar Badshah, had had to fend for himself at the very young age of eleven when his father, Umar Sheikh, fell from the precipice under the walls of Akshi fort while tending his pigeons, and died. After that it was all he could do to keep sway over his little kingdom of Ferghana, in Central Asia. Neither had Babar had someone like Behram Khan, his Khan Baba, to advise and look after him. Behram really was very kind, and he, being a Mughal prince and a Chagatai Turk, shouldn’t show tears like a sissy, Jalal told himself. He decided he really mustn’t think of his father just now, otherwise he would disgrace himself.

It was as though his reign had started with a bang. No sooner was the coronation over than the tasks of warring and governance began in right earnest, as the Sur rivals were spoiling for a fight. The greatest foe, however, was Hemu, the Hindu prime minister of Adil Shah Sur, who wasted no time in taking Agra, which was in the charge of Iskander Uzbek, and Delhi, in charge of Tardi Beg. The whole country, from Gwalior to the River Sutlej, was now in his hands, to Behram’s and Akbar’s chagrin. They decided that Hemu would have to be fought, though they had a combined strength of twenty thousand, compared to Hemu’s army of one hundred thousand men whose morale was at its height due to their recent victories.

The field of Panipat once more saw two armies arrayed against each other. Behram commanded the Mughal army from the rear, keeping Akbar safe with him. Ali Quli Khan i Shaibani, the Uzbek, was in charge of the centre; his uncle, Sikander Uzbek, had the right wing; while another Uzbek, Abdullah Khan, had the left. Hemu’s artillery had already been captured by Ali Quli Khan, but he charged boldly and overthrew the Mughal right and left wings. Their centre, however, held firm, and Ali Quli Khan, with a detachment, made a detour and attacked Hemu’s centre from behind. Hemu fought bravely but an arrow struck him in the eye and made him unconscious. The Mughals, instead of being defeated, were victorious.

That was a close shave, Your Majesty, Behram said later, puffing wearily, as their valets removed their armour and brought hot water for their baths.

We almost lost today if it hadn’t been for Ali Quli Khan and that attack he made. You fought very well. I only wish His Late Majesty, your father, had seen you in action. He would have been very proud.

Akbar was too tired to reply. His arms ached with wielding the heavy sword with which he had managed to cut off at least ten arms and heads this day, in spite of Behram’s insisting on keeping him close by his side, saying he was too young, and there would be plenty of opportunities to show his soldierly prowess in the future. The last head had been that of Hemu, who was brought in front of him a prisoner and whose head Akbar had cut off at Behram’s request. His guardian wanted him to be called a Ghazi, the slayer of infidels. November was half over when couriers came in advance with the news that the queen mother, with the royal harem, was on its way from Kabul to join the emperor and would be with him in two weeks’ time. They were to join him at Mankot.

Before going, there was the celebration of the great and significant victory over Hemu at Panipat. Behram suggested various appointments to reward the amirs. The three Uzbek chiefs were honoured. Ali Quli Khan i Shaibani was made khan zaman, his uncle, Abdullah Khan Uzbek, made Shujaat Khan, and his brother, Iskander Khan, was made Khan Alam. These were the soldiers of fortune, who, under the leadership of Behram, had followed Humayun on his return from Iran, with assistance from Shah Tehmasp, their king, in terms of men and money, and, like Behram, who was Iranian, they were also Shia, though Uzbek. Mullah Peer Mohommed Khan Shirwani was made Nasir-ul-Mulk, and Qiya Khan Gung governor of Agra.

On the third of the Muslim month of Safar, the next day, they were to go to Mankot, hunting and hawking on the way. With a day in the open to look forward to, Akbar found his friends as excited as he was. It was a long time since they had been carefree, with the Sur Afghans and Hemu looming large over the horizon.

Khizr Khwaja’s gift has arrived, Huzur (Your Majesty), Aziz said, not addressing him as Jalal any more, as they had all been instructed, for now he was the shahenshah, their master, and the new emperor of Hindustan. We have all been admiring him.

Looks rather a devil to me, Dostum Khan commented laconically.

I would take any risk for a horse like that. The envy in Masum Farankhudi’s voice was barely hidden.

Only a king can ride him. Tahir Khan, matter-of-fact as usual, clapped his hands and made a sign to the groom to bring the animal closer.

Akbar looked at the beautiful black Iraqi horse with appreciation. It was indeed a gift for a king. His uncle, Khizr Khwaja, the husband of his father’s sister, Gulbadan Begum, certainly knew horse flesh.

Haroun, he said, stroking his mane. I shall call him Haroun.

The next instant he had vaulted into the saddle, only to get a surprise unusual for one who had tamed many horses and then some. The steed reared violently to a height not seen before, whinnying and snorting with fury.

The nobles around were aghast, but the most perturbed of all was Khizr Khwaja, who had been about to tell his young nephew that the horse, though beautiful, had a temper to match and would have to be first gradually broken in. Now he watched helplessly as the horse bolted at lightning speed, with Akbar crouched low on his back, his arms around his neck. Within seconds, horse and rider were out of sight, and it took some time for the dazed courtiers to follow suit.

There were anxious moments for those who stayed behind, until the horse again appeared on the horizon with Akbar, triumphant, on his back. Horse and rider were covered with sweat, with Akbar calling loudly for a lump of sugar. His friends crowded round, congratulating him on the feat of horsemanship, as he tried to feed his new pet with the sugar, stroking the devil lovingly and talking to him in a low voice. After some initial rearing and rolling of the eyes, the horse submitted grudgingly to being fed from the king’s hand, which spoke volumes about the boy’s ability to win hearts and get his own way, for, as the head groom now testified, not a single one of his men had been able to get round the rascal.

A veritable Shaitan (Devil), that’s what he is, Your Majesty, he said, as he took the reins from Akbar, whereupon the beast again commenced his antics, to the head groom’s acute discomfiture and Akbar’s mischievous and unconcealed delight.

They started off early the next day, with Akbar, as he had said, mounted on Haroun. As there was a distinct nip in the air, they all had their posteens and helmets on. Before cockcrow, Behram, already booted and spurred, had come for Akbar, and now, as they rode, they watched the early glow of dawn slowly appear on the horizon, only to be hidden again as they entered the dark gloom of the forest, in which the teeming animal life was just beginning to stir.

There, there, loosen the strings, Your Majesty, Aziz whispered, unable to contain his excitement, pointing to where a covey of partridges had been surprised out of some bushes. As Akbar untied the falcon’s jesses, he saw that Behram’s goshawk was already after its prey. The Baaz rose up, circling slowly, its bright yellow eyes fixed on the plumpest of the birds, which, because of its weight, could not fly as well as the others. The whole game was plain sailing for the hawk, who took his time, descending in circles to where his prey had taken shelter in a bush whose foliage was insufficient to hide it from the predator’s sharp sight, until, in one fell swoop, he was upon the hapless bird, and then he was soaring up, his victim in his talons, until he was called down by his master.

Akbar now unhooded his sparrow hawk, Dilawar. For an instant the bird regarded him with his keen, unwinking gaze, bright and alert, and the next he was on his way into the skies, chasing a partridge, which, spryer then the rest, rose to the highest limit its weight would allow, until both birds became invisible, and it was only when the hawk seemed to fall like a stone that the watchers became aware that it had got the better of its prey, on which it had pounced on its downward swoop, flying back with the partridge firmly clutched in its strong claws. No sooner had it deposited its prey at its master’s feet than it was off again after another that the beaters had flushed from cover. Akbar presented him with the last one of all, which, its work done, it now ate at leisure, with hungry relish, alternately preening itself and giving him a bright, beady look of self-satisfied pride as it tore off the strips of flesh.

Akbar was having the time of his life. He loved this sport as no other. The keen excitement, the cries of the falconers, the thick deep forest with its teeming life and myriad sounds, and the varied game, all thrilled him unimaginably. Here was nature at her most splendid, beautiful, peaceful, and vibrant. As far as he was concerned, he would fain spend all his time in these wonderful surroundings.

Behram congratulated him on the prowess of his hawk, which, though smaller than his own, was the better hunter of the two. His friends were ecstatic, thrilled by what they had seen. It was some time since the death of the late emperor, and with all the enemies to contend with it was quite a while since they had had the time for such an outing. They crowded round their one-time playmate Jalal, now their liege lord, the very young Emperor Akbar, all etiquette forgotten, raising their voices in a chorus of requests that he hunt deer today with the cheetah Samand Manik, given to him the previous year, a little before his father died, his foster brother Aziz the most vociferous of all.

The first time a leopard had been tried, there had been an unexpected denouement when he had chased a fawn. As soon as he had caught the poor creature, Akbar shot and killed the leopard and delivered the fawn, which rejoined its mother, So now everyone was keen to see a leopard in action, hoping that this time at least it chased a buck instead of a doe or a fawn.

Accordingly, the beaters once more set to work, for it was a qamurgah hunt, and the more timid denizens of the forest – rabbits, deer, and Neelgai (blue bull) – were running for their lives, beside fox and wild boar. Now, at a sign from the sultan, Samand Manik’s keeper stepped up to him and removed the leopard’s collar.

Just as he did so, an antelope, leaping gracefully, crossed in front of them. The cheetah bounded in pursuit. It was a thrilling spectacle to watch the two fleet-footed creatures, the deer running for its life and the predator, muscles rippling under his silky, spotted coat, closing in with merciless finality. Everyone watched this first trial of the leopard with awestruck incredulity.

There was much shouting and clapping of hands when Samand Manik caught up with and demolished his prey by jumping on it and biting the back of its neck.

There were plenty of chances for those that wanted to try their skill with bows and arrows and the spear.

This gold hilted dagger for anyone who can bring down the most ducks with their archery, shouted Akbar excitedly, waving a beautiful poniard with a blade of finest Greek steel from Stamboul.

The season was just right for hunting duck, which had been sighted in the neighbourhood in the last week, according to the meer shikar (head huntsman), Qiya Khan Gung. The hunters now eagerly turned in the direction of the lake nearby, on whose surface the ducks alighted. Akbar having indicated his wish to follow behind slowly with Behram, Aziz spurred his horse on the most furiously, while Tahir and Dostum rode more slowly behind. Masum Farankhudi, however, followed hot behind Aziz, causing Akbar to smile to himself. He had noticed that Masum always sought to compete with Aziz, who, as his foster brother or koka, was the closest to him of all his friends. How else could it be, when Aziz’s mother, Jiji Anaga, had suckled him and Akbar by turns?

With the arrival of so large a multitude and its attendant sounds, however hard they might have tried to suppress them, the duck began to rise and the air was filled with their cries of alarm, the barking of the dogs, the hiss of arrows, and the jingle of harness, topped by the shouts of the hunters as their arrows found their mark. A fat duck, the first victim, fell to Aziz’s arrow, and then Masum, Behram Khan, Tahir, and Dostum were excitedly counting their scores as well, Akbar deliberately refraining in order to give the others a chance. The pile of ducks at his feet, however, grew steadily as his favourite dog, Mahuwa, a beautiful Saluki bitch from the Hazara district north of Rawalpindi, retrieved them one after the other and naturally brought them to her master.

After duck, it was the turn of rabbit, antelope, and wild buffalo to fall to their guns. Pig being taboo in Islam, the wild boar was left for the Hindus to hunt. The royal cooks, seeing the piles of game, put their biggest cauldrons on the fire and set to preparing the spices for the various viands. That night, all, from the highest amir to the humblest, feasted their fill of the choice meats roasted on the spits, not to mention the pulaw made with the long-grained Afghan rice, flat round rotis, bread made of leavened wheat flour, and the fragrant, spicy curries of Hindustan. Behram, always very particular about looking after his charge, relented enough at the entreaties of the amirs to allow a little wine on account of the occasion, the first one when everyone had been able to relax and enjoy themselves after the death of Humayun. As Akbar was only fourteen and not used to alcohol, he could only try out a small cup at most, a ration that was all the regent allowed to everyone else, including himself, albeit allowing a much larger cup to the other adults.

And while they ate, Humayun’s musicians regaled them with the gentle music of the rabab and the romantic ballads of the Afghan frontier. They sat listening to the compelling, soul stirring notes late into the night.

Long after they had retired to bed, Akbar lay looking up at the star-filled sky through the tied-up tent flap, head cradled on his hands. He relived every minute of the magical day he had spent in the forest, going over the excitement of the chase, the cries of the hunters and the animals, the keen edge to their appetite, and the food, cooked over the camp fires, more delicious than any he had ever eaten. He had been on hunts with Humayun, but then he had been younger and not allowed to hunt bigger game; besides, they had never been so carefree then, with so many foes after them. Today’s had been a delightful, memorable experience that he knew he would never forget. He made up his mind that, as long as he was emperor of Hindustan, he would spend as much time in the forest, hunting, as he possibly could. And, with that firm resolve, he fell asleep.

Chapter 4

Kabul

The coming of the month of Mohram (November 1556) had made no difference to the climate of Kabul in the Hijri year 963. It was biting cold, and in the royal apartments in the fortress of Bala Hisar the ladies were gathered round the fire drinking tea from the samovar kept boiling over it when the slave girl entered. Her manner conveying suppressed excitement, she bowed low in kurnish, the Turkish salute to royalty, and announced that there was a messenger from Hindustan with good news from Behram Khan.

The messenger followed on her heels. Booted, helmeted, and covered with dust, it was evident he had come post haste and had just got off his horse. Bowing respectfully, and placing a cloth-wrapped bundle down in front, he extended the message towards them. Bibi Mubarika, Akbar’s grandfather emperor Babar’s Afghan widow, whom they all called Afghani Aghacha, being the eldest, signed to him to read it. The regent’s message was short and sweet. His Majesty Akbar Badshah had gained a great victory at Panipat over his enemy Hemu, who had been killed. The messenger now opened the bundle to expose the head of the vanquished foe.

So Akbar, her son, was the victor. To the Iranian and Shia Hamida, her son was her entire world. Forced at fourteen to marry the thirty-three-year-old Humayun – because he had refused to take no for an answer, and those were troubled times, when there was no saying but other suitors may be worse, or a girl could be abducted by any ruffian – she had never loved her husband. And after years of wandering by his side and suffering hardships, she was no admirer of his easy-going ways. But Akbar was different. Even as a child he possessed an understanding and quickness of observation far beyond his years. She remembered the time when Behram had praised the boy’s intellect to his father. According to him, he had never seen such an acute intellect and precocity in one so young. Akbar was eleven then. What had caused him to remark it was an occasion when Akbar had upbraided an officer of the army for not caring for the feeding of his men. According to Akbar, if they were under-nourished and became weak and discontented, how would they fight? Then again last year, when Humayun had entered Delhi and Lahore, the boy had distributed gifts of money among the Mughal soldiers, so that they would not plunder the inhabitants, whom he looked upon as his father’s subjects.

Of course, Akbar was influenced by Humayun’s periodic advice and example. Very often he told his son of the difficulties his own father, Babar Badshah, had faced when little more than a boy, constantly losing his little kingdom of Ferghana in Central Asia and having to retake it, and being hounded from one place to another by the redoubtable Uzbek chieftain Shaibani Khan.

The boy always listened with the greatest attention to the tales of his grandfather’s many vicissitudes and of his ultimately going to Kabul and then Hindustan, of the battle against Ibrahim Lodi on the field of Panipat, and of Babar’s victory. His greatest interest, though, was manifest when Humayun and his chief amirs had their dissertations on the military reasons for the various victories, Panipat among them, as well as the defeats. Of which charge, and by whom, had suddenly changed the fortunes of battle, of how archers, elephants, or guns, had tilted the balance, and of the characteristics shown in battle by men from different regions, besides the personal exploits of various chieftains, who were the amirs of the empire.

So many times Hamida had listened as Humayun read to Akbar from his father’s autobiography, the Babarnama, so that his late grandfather became a living, breathing entity to the prince. His grandfather neither forgot that he was a descendant of the great Taimur and Chengiz Khan, nor let his descendants forget what was expected from a Taimurid prince. If Akbar was therefore convinced that they had to be greater than others in all they did, it was not surprising.

A king must always be big, Humayun used to say. Do you know what the name Babar means? It means lion, and that’s what my father was – a lion at heart. He could never do anything petty or small. To be generous with rewards and pardon is another kingly attribute. He must never be mean or bear a grudge. That is for ordinary people, who can be pardoned such traits. In a ruler it does not suit, as it is not expected of him and diminishes respect. As for the people, my father said I should never be mean or tyrannical to anyone. They must be treated like his own children by the king. As for the umara (nobles), they must be controlled so they don’t harass the peasants and traders. If given too much liberty, the nobles can become rebellious and try to overthrow the king. Therefore their power must be curtailed.

As this advice was usually tendered at those peaceful times when the badshah came to her pavilion, she was an unconscious listener. She could also not fail to notice Humayun’s pride in this first son. The only other one was Mah Chuchak Begum’s son Mirza Mohommed Hakim, who was too young yet for appraisal and lived with his mother in Kabul. In Humayun’s interest there was the inevitable curiosity of a royal father concerning his son’s ability to succeed him as a ruler and carry on the Chagatai dynasty. Even at the young age of eleven, Akbar’s strength, courage, and physical prowess with arms was indubitable, and when he excelled himself at archery or a bout with swords or in unarmed combat, there were many gifts from an adoring father. Once, when they were making preparations to invade Hindustan to take back their dominions from the Sur Afghans, his father had sent him to inspect the camps and report any administrative shortcomings. Akbar reported the failure of a camp commandant to provide adequate food, corn, pulses, and meat to his men. Akbar had been indignant at this neglect. Our soldiers’ comfort and needs come first, and no effort should be spared to make them happy, he had declared, like a man three times his age!

Indeed, a seasoned soldier like Behram Khan, his ataliq, had been amazed at this and remarked on his poise, which was like that of a veteran general, with uncanny observation, admonishing inefficiency and recognising merit in officers.

Hamida thought back to that other time when a messenger had come in February, who had brought the news of Humayun’s death. She had worried then about her son’s future. The coronation had taken place, but keeping the crown on one’s head was something else. Adversity is the greatest teacher, and it makes a person cunning. Tempered in this school herself, Hamida, though only twenty-eight, was fitted to deal with any eventuality. She was concerned for Akbar, and felt she ought to be with him now, for, after all, he was still only a boy, and the weight of an entire kingdom had fallen on his young shoulders. Of course, there was his loyal regent, Behram, to advise him, but suppose his intentions changed. All said and done, a kingdom was a kingdom, and there was always a sword suspended over a king’s head. If Behram remained constant, then there was nothing to fear, but would he? It was only lately that Humayun had, after fighting and fleeing from treacherous enemies, consolidated his hold over his dominions. It was foolishness, compounded by laziness and lack of foresight, that had caused them to be lost in the first instance. His brother Kamran Mirza was a byword for treachery and ruthlessness, like the time he had suspended Akbar, his hostage, from the ramparts of Kabul to prevent Humayun from attacking the fort. He had repeatedly rebelled against him and instigated the other two brothers, Askari and Hindal, to do the same, and this in spite of having given them, according to his father’s wish, their share of the kingdom, or, perhaps, because of his kindness in doing so! As for his faithless followers, their number was legion! It was no wonder, then, that Hamida didn’t have much faith in human nature, and no confidence in loyalty for its own sake. Quite often it just couldn’t be found. If she had learnt one lesson, it was that self-interest was the paramount consideration of those who followed a leader. As long as he could satisfy that, he had the power to rule. She decided that she would always protect Akbar from being betrayed by flatterers and false friends by advising him. They had not, praise be to Allah, got back their kingdom just to lose it again out of sheer stupidity. As long as she had anything to do with things, she would not let her son’s fortunes suffer. She wanted to join Akbar forthwith, but was advised to wait as it was not safe to venture out of Kabul yet because of the Sur Afghans.

Now, however, with Hemu dead, there was nothing to stop her. The Islamic month of Safar had not ended when Hamida, with the rest of the Harem, reached Mankot in the Punjab. In a few days, the sight of Akbar, impatiently awaited, compensated her for the loss, on the way, of her twin infant daughters. Seeing her son’s broad shoulders and strong arms, and hearing about his manly exploits, Hamida felt a surge of maternal pride. These were his days of fun and frolic, but his responsibility was awesome. May almighty Allah give her wisdom, that she may correctly advise her son, she prayed.

The Sur revolt against Mughal rule quickly came to an end. Behram was looking after the affairs of the kingdom very ably. In addition, the regent was diligently adding to Akbar’s dominions by sending the Mughal chieftains at the head of detachments of the army to various kingdoms and annexing them. The forts of Gwalior and Ajmer were won, and the Uzbek Ali Quli Khan i Shaibani took Sambhal.

This year, 1556–57, and Mankot, were landmarks in Akbar’s life. He was fifteen now, and this was when he fell in love for the first time. The girl was Dil Afroz Bano, or she who lights up the heart. She was the daughter of Humayun’s grandee Abdullah Khan Mughal. When he first set eyes on her, he thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Shamshad Begum, the shrewd wife of the Nasir-ul-Mulk, Peer Muhammed Khan Shirwani, contrived the meeting. The girl’s mother was her cousin, and she was anxious about her daughter’s future, as her fiancée had died at Panipat. The match had been arranged in Herat when she was seventeen, two years ago. She was nineteen to Akbar’s fourteen, and undeniably beautiful. Akbar had only to set eyes on her and the battle was won. Akbar would be grateful, thought the courtier Peer Mohommed Khan, planning his career.

This explained how the girl happened to be there, sitting without her veil in the palace garden with Shamshad Begum, when Akbar and his friends trooped in for their archery practice. The scheming lady removed her veil and told her she could remove hers as well, as no one was likely to come there. The older woman, on seeing the king, rose with simulated surprise, and, reassuming the veil, bowed low in kurnish. The girl did likewise, before reassuming the veil and bowing in kurnish. Akbar, though, stunned, went on staring into space as though mesmerised, before, mindful of his companions, assuming an air of nonchalance, his mind furiously working as to her identity.

For the rest of the day, he could think of little else. He had only one wife so far, who was,