Beneath a Marble Sky (25 page)

“Muslims field my—”

“You’re a fine soldier, Aurangzeb, but a child in matters of the court! You would be a leashed cheetah in the hands of a skilled noble, and Jahanara’s puppet were she to sit on the Peacock Throne.”

Aurangzeb clenched his teeth, his jaw knotting. “You’d let a woman—”

“She’d rule brilliantly!” Father retorted. “Do you think your mother couldn’t have led the Empire? Surely she wouldn’t divide our people, or spend all day studying religions.”

Dara, who had thus far been spared Father’s wrath, grimaced. I understood then my father’s situation. However much he loved Dara, clearly he feared that his oldest son was too weak to lead us against our foes. He was prodding him now, hoping he’d take his duties more seriously.

“I need you, Aurangzeb,” Father pronounced. “But I cannot have you undermining the Empire! From this day forward you’ll treat Hindus with respect. We must have their support! If I hear of another temple being desecrated or some other such nonsense, I’ll have you scrubbing stables!”

Aurangzeb’s hand twitched, and I thought he might reach for his sword. Surely he debated taking his blade to us then. With us gutted, he could claim the throne. Ladli had said he feared that by killing Father he’d incur the wrath of the nobles. And while I believed she was partially right, I suspected his religion had more to do with his hesitation than anything else. For in Islam, no greater sin exists than to kill one’s father.

“Where do I march?” he asked finally, hate simmering in his gaze.

“Take fifty thousand men north to deal with the Persians. They’re the more imminent threat. The Deccans can be subdued later. Scatter the Persians before you. Raze their forts, poison their wells and burn their grain. Make it impossible for them to war against us.”

Aurangzeb had never led so many men. Though Father had humiliated him, my sibling must have been pleased at the command. “How many heads would you like?” he asked, looking at the floor.

“Hurt them badly, Aurangzeb. We’ll be the ones to dictate the terms of peace.”

Aurangzeb gracelessly excused himself. After he left, Dara straightened. “Do you remember the battle of—”

“The point, Dara?” Father interjected.

My oldest brother winced, for he was accustomed to speaking circuitously. “Is it wise, Father, to leave Agra so defenseless?”

Father and I both knew Dara was more concerned about having fifty thousand of our finest warriors under Aurangzeb’s command. “Agra,” Father countered, “is more than capable of defending itself. We have an even larger army within a half-day’s march of the city.”

“So close?”

“So I said. Now perhaps you should attend to your duties. That is, if no books need attending.”

Dara sought to smile. “My books, Father, will rest unopened.”

In my brothers’ absence the sun seemed much warmer. The Emperor and I sat facing it, nibbling on cubes of melon. Father was suddenly quiet, and I hesitated to interfere with his mood. Instead, I pondered how to best deal with Aurangzeb. Obviously, Father and Aurangzeb wielded ample networks of spies. I had only Ladli. And to be of any use to Dara, I’d need more information than she could garner. But whom could I trust to help me?

“Mosquitoes,” Father said. “My sons are like mosquitoes.”

Far below, a monkey sprang from one rooftop to the next. The Red Fort was inundated with these creatures, which we often kept as pets. “Forgive me for saying so,” I whispered, “but I think you rely too heavily on Aurangzeb.”

“But what am I to do, Jahanara? The throne was always intended for Dara, but is he a man who will strike fear into the black hearts of the Persians? The Deccans? The Portuguese? Sadly, I think not. And Aurangzeb, though I…bear him little love, can defeat our foes.”

“Defeat them at what price? He’ll never want peace with our neighbors or with the Hindus. He’ll destroy everythi—”

Father held up his hand. “That is why we must help Dara become a ruler. He’s wiser than Aurangzeb. Now we must teach him to be almost as ferocious.”

I deemed it an impossible task but said nothing. My mind was weary of such conversations. I wanted to tell Father about my little Arjumand, of how fast she could crawl. Or speak to him of our mausoleum. Instead, we sat and worried.

I shall think of his world for this day, I thought. I’ll plan and plot as Mother would wish. But come evening, only Isa and Arjumand will occupy my mind.

I kissed Father good-bye and headed toward the Taj Mahal. I chose to make the lengthy walk rather than ride. As I navigated Agra’s streets and then the wide avenues leading toward the mausoleum, my mind focused on how I could better understand Aurangzeb. A solution revealed itself, but I hesitated to pursue its intricacies. For the solution placed in danger the life of yet another I adored.

Deciding with reluctance, with vast reluctance, to leave the choice to my companion, I proceeded through the mausoleum’s garden. Its fruit trees, planted several years before, had grown to the height of my head. Beneath their slight trunks ran tidy rows of tulips, crocuses and dahlias. Koi swam in the canals along the path, gobbling at insects that landed in the water.

It took little time to locate Nizam. Atop the neck of a bull elephant, he urged it to drag a bundle of bamboo to the platform’s base. When the elephant obeyed his command, he treated it to a piece of sugarcane, which the beast grasped with its limber trunk. Nizam, who had always seemed so feminine in the confines of the harem, was now more a man than most I knew. Years of toiling on the Taj Mahal had given him the muscles of a wrestler. His chest and shoulders had broadened. He even seemed to stand straighter.

Nizam leapt from his elephant with the agility of a cheetah. Without my asking, he followed me toward the river, away from the thousands of workers. A trio of barges were moored at its shore. We walked past these brooding giants to a quiet place where women beat clothes against rocks. I shivered, recognizing it as the spot where I had almost drowned.

“My lady?” Nizam said as we rounded a bend and found no one near.

“How are you, Nizam?”

“I’m well, thank you.”

“I mean, how are you really?”

He glanced at the Taj Mahal, seeming to soak up the sight. “Content.”

I almost discarded my question then, for I didn’t want his happiness to be fleeting. But I was always taught that duty should supersede all such emotions. And so I forced myself to speak. “Would you care to leave this place?”

“Leave? But why?”

I debated again if I could seek anyone else. Perhaps I could simply employ a soldier to do what I desired.

“Why, my lady?”

Pulling my veil farther back on my brow, I said, “Aurangzeb will soon head north to fight the Persians.”

“I’ve heard as much.”

“You understand, Nizam, better than anyone, of his…dislike for Dara and me.” After making certain no one had crept closer, I continued. “Only a few people know this, but he tried to murder Dara not long ago. Your rotten meat saved him.”

“How?”

“It doesn’t matter. What does is that I’ve become intimate with his tactics. His military tactics, that is. He commands fifty thousand warriors, Nizam. Fifty thousand. But how does he wield them? How are his traps sprung and what do his enemies dread most? I must learn of his strengths and weaknesses, for I fear that someday, when Father dies, Aurangzeb and Dara shall meet on a battlefield. If that happens I plan on being at Dara’s side. And I need to give him sound advice.”

“I’m not trained in military matters, my lady.”

“Nor is anyone at birth. But some can learn of these things, and you’d learn them better than most. You learn, Nizam, by watching. You don’t ask questions as I do, but you miss nothing. You see the best way to dress stones and soon you’re dressing them. And you’ll see how his army deploys and thus anticipate that deployment.”

“How would I join his force?”

“Aurangzeb will conscript men before he marches. It would be easy for you to join his ranks.”

“And how badly, may I ask, do you need this done?”

I had never lied to Nizam and I wouldn’t start now. “I need it, my friend. But not enough to sadden you. If working with your new brothers on the Taj Mahal is what you love, then I ask that you stay. Work until it’s done and perhaps history will remember you. Surely I shall.”

He rubbed dirt from his hands, which seemed unnaturally large, as did the rest of his features. “I wonder if Persia’s as beautiful as Hindustan. Could it be?”

“Not likely. And you’ll be at war, Nizam. You may die in battle or Aurangzeb might discover you.”

“Discover me?” He grunted. “Your brother never saw me, my lady. Not when I served him dinner, nor when I let him swat me with a wooden sword.”

Unable to keep myself composed at these words, I sought his hand. Intertwined with his my fingers looked like a child’s. “You are undeserving of such memories. You should have been our friend, not our slave.”

“Aren’t we friends, Jahanara?”

He had never called me by my name, and my grip tightened. Though I wanted to kiss his cheek, I knew he’d feel awkward if I did. “Yes,” I replied. “And we’ll always be so.”

“Then don’t worry about the past. For it’s truly old.”

How noble you are, I thought. How noble and strong and rare. “Thank you, Nizam,” I said. “Thank you for being the man you are.”

“Thank you for seeing me.”

We returned to the Taj Mahal, pausing to gaze at the stately dome which was almost halfway finished. Beneath it stretched graceful supporting arches, four main arches in total, one on each of the square’s faces. Two smaller arches, stacked above each other, bordered the larger arches. And at each cut corner of the square, where it yearned to become an octagon, dwelt another set of stacked arches. Isa had designed the arches to resemble the white gates of Paradise. Though men once laughed at his idea and deemed it wishful thinking, Isa was clearly right. For the arches could have been portals. And Paradise, I hoped, was half as beautiful.

“I’ll miss it, my lady.”

“I know. And how I shall miss you.”

“I won’t be long in his war,” he said. “For I want to see it finished.”

“Promise me?” When he nodded, I said, “Return safely or I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Good-bye, my lady.”

I squeezed his hand and watched him walk away. He didn’t leave the mausoleum but returned to his elephant, as if he wanted to place a few more stones before departing. Someday, I thought, I’ll repay this man. I’ll repay all those who have risked so much.

Trembling, I wandered back to my room in the Red Fort. Arjumand gave me a moment of joy, then my thoughts soured as I worried for my friends. Who was I to put Ladli and Nizam in jeopardy? How could I twist our friendships into this…obedience? Such thoughts troubled me all afternoon. They plagued me throughout dinner and dusk. Finally, I was able to carry Arjumand down the long corridor to Isa’s home. He met me on the stairs. Yet tonight, as almost never before, his appearance didn’t cheer me. I felt unwashed in his presence, as if my sins had soiled my skin.

“What troubles you?” he asked as I sat down tiredly and gave Arjumand my breast. I had little interest in conversation, but when he persisted, I told him of all that had transpired, of how I used Nizam. “You gave him a choice, Jahanara,” Isa countered. “He didn’t have to go.”

“Did I?”

He took Arjumand, kissing her fleshy cheek. “Truthfully? No, you didn’t. But to Nizam, duty’s a sacred thing. He might love working on the Taj Mahal, but he couldn’t live with himself if he failed in his duty to you.”

“He has never failed me. But I’ve failed him.”

Isa kissed our child again before placing her gently in the crib. Humming, he stroked her thigh until she settled. He then sat on our sleeping carpet and pushed another pillow behind my back. “I think, Swallow, that Nizam might not find the army so terrible. Remember how at the Ganges he’d ride all day, exploring new lands? He was like a boy on that trip. His eyes never paused. And now, he’ll travel to Persia, journey with men who’ll become his friends.”

“I remember. But he wasn’t at war.”

“Someday, Jahanara, you’ll make it right. Buy him a piece of land, and let him build his own home. Even help him build it. Nothing would make him happier.”

Sighing, I unpinned my veil, worried I might never be able to compensate Nizam. “And what would make you happy?”

“Truly happy?”

“Yes.”

“For you to see yourself as I do.”

“As what?”

“As inspiration. As beauty and grace and wisdom all gathered up in one little frame.”

I bit my lip, cherishing his words but disbelieving them. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

“You should love yourself. But alas I think that in order to love yourself, you need other people to love you. This is your only weakness, Jahanara. Because you live your life as you believe others deem you should. You live it for your father, your mother, for everyone but yourself.”

“But I need—”

“To live as you wish.”

“I don’t know how.”