The Twentieth Wife (40 page)

A messenger rode up to the
jharoka
and dismounted. He bowed and pulled a letter out of his cummerbund. Jahangir reached down for it immediately. He knew it was important, or else the messenger would have waited until he had adjourned to court. He read the letter slowly, his face growing grim. This was the final straw. He rose and walked back to the royal palace.

A few minutes later, Mahabat Khan and Muhammad Sharif, glancing up at the
jharoka
and finding it empty, left their seats in the courtyard and rushed into the palace.

“Your Majesty, I hope there is no bad news,” Mahabat Khan said as he caught up with the Emperor.

“There is,” Jahangir said curtly. “Ali Quli has been up to something. I have received news from Bengal that he is gathering forces in secret. Send an army to check on him.”

“Your Majesty, perhaps it would be better to investigate the matter first,” Muhammad Sharif said in a cautious voice.

“Why? The man has already proved that he is a dissident. He should have been executed for his crimes, but instead I pardoned him. He shall not escape now,” Jahangir said, striding in front of his ministers.

“Sire . . .” Sharif coughed and cleared his throat, then, seeing the Emperor a few paces ahead, ran to catch up with him. “Your interest in his wife—the whole court knows of it. To suddenly order his execution now would be unseemly.”

“What has this to do with Mehrunnisa? Do you think the people will accuse me of devious behavior just to gain her?” Jahangir stopped and turned to face the two men.

Sharif and Mahabat Khan remained silent. That was exactly what they thought, and what the whole country would think. It was a delicate situation, one that had to be handled with the greatest diplomacy. Besides, there was the small matter of the promise to Empress Jagat Gosini. Mahabat nudged Sharif.

“Your Majesty, please reconsider your decision,” Sharif said, taking Mahabat’s cue. “It would be better to investigate the matter first. Perhaps you could have the governor of Bengal pay Ali Quli a visit, or you could command Ali Quli to wait upon you. That way, the whole court will see your intentions as impartial.”

“Hmmm . . .” Jahangir stroked his chin. “You may be right. I’m sure enough evidence can be gathered against this man. I will write to my foster brother, Qutubuddin Khan Koka, immediately.”

As he turned away in dismissal, Jahangir allowed a small smile to come to his lips. Fate had thrown Ali Quli’s life in his hands. As for Mahabat and Sharif . . . it almost seemed as though they were trying to dissuade him. Why? They had no affection for Ali Quli; in fact, they disliked him actively. As for Mehrunnisa, they knew nothing of her. Yet, this was the second time Mahabat had voiced an opinion about her. Why?

The Emperor watched his two most powerful ministers back out of his presence. Mahabat’s insistence made him suspicious, and only time would tell him why. There were more important matters, for perhaps he would have Mehrunnisa after all. There was hope. He could not have taken her by force from Ali Quli and justified his actions to the empire. But rebellion—that was different. Even posterity could not fault his actions now.

That evening, he sat down and wrote to Qutubuddin Khan Koka, the governor of Bengal. Koka was to summon Ali Quli and
question him closely on his activities. If Koka was not satisfied, he was to send Ali Quli to court to answer directly to the Emperor. At all costs, he must meet with the soldier personally and make his decision. Jahangir added that if Ali Quli refused to come to court and Koka discovered any sedition, he was given full authority to punish him as he saw fit.

A few days later, the imperial court moved residence from Lahore to Kabul, to spend the approaching summer months in cool comfort.

•   •   •

I
N
B
ENGAL,
Q
UTUBUDDIN
Khan Koka received the Emperor’s letter. He immediately relayed a message to Ali Quli to present himself.

Ali Quli ignored him.

Koka was furious. He was acting on Jahangir’s orders, so indirectly Ali Quli had disobeyed the Emperor’s summons. He gathered a large force of well-armed soldiers and marched to Bardwan.

•   •   •

T
HE AFTERNOON SUN
stalked sentinel in the sky, sending the people below scurrying for cover. The hot rays beat down upon Bardwan, and all signs of life disappeared from Ali Quli’s house. Shutters were drawn over the windows and laid over with
khus
mats. Horses stomped in the stables, twitching slow-moving flies off their backs. The grooms lay supine on the hay; their only movement was to lift smoldering
beedis
to their mouths and then, exhausted by the effort, to lie back and watch the smoke swirl to the roof.

A messenger came running into the courtyard. Sweat poured from him, drenching semicircles under his collar and both armpits. “Call for your master,” he gasped. “I bring important news.”

One of the grooms bolted upright and raced for the house. Ali Quli came rushing out in a few minutes, buttoning his
qaba;
he had been waked from his nap. “What is it?”

“Sahib,
the governor of Bengal, Qutubuddin Khan Koka, is on his way here.”

Ali Quli frowned. What did Koka want? Was it possible he had got an inkling of his plans? Or was Koka coming to Bardwan because he hadn’t responded to his summons? Either way, there would be a confrontation, and Ali Quli was determined to be prepared for it. The servants watched him in silence; the only sound was of the messenger panting. Ali Quli looked at the man.

“Take him to the kitchens and give him something to drink,” he said curtly. He called for his eunuch. “Bakir! Send a message to the Amirs in the neighborhood that Koka is on his way here. They are to prepare their men for battle if necessary. I will give them the signal. Wait . . .” He turned to the messenger. “How far is the governor from Bardwan?”

“A day’s march,
Sahib.”

Ali Quli nodded and turned back to Bakir. “Tell the Amirs to prepare themselves by tomorrow.”

Bakir ran off to do his bidding.

Ali Quli walked back into the house. When he entered his apartments he found his wife waiting for him. The noise in the courtyard had drawn her to the window, and she had heard the exchange between Ali Quli and the servants.

“My lord, don’t do anything rash. The governor may just be visiting you with a message,” Mehrunnisa pleaded. If only he would listen to her. . . . But Ali Quli was past listening to advice; he had caught the scent of battle, and it drew him inexorably into its embrace.

“Go back to your apartments. I will handle this matter,” Ali Quli said shortly.

“Please . . .” Mehrunnisa laid a hand on his arm. “If there is a difference of opinion, talk it over with the governor. He is an emissary from the Emperor.”

He flung her hand away. “What do you care? After all, I stand between you and your Emperor, the man who will make you Empress.” He glowered at her, and Mehrunnisa dropped her eyes to the ground.

“I see that I am right.” He smiled sarcastically. “Do not worry, dear wife. I will live for many years yet; it may be too many for your liking.” He pushed her toward the door. “Now go. I have plans to make.”

Mehrunnisa left his apartments slowly. Somehow, she had a feeling this would not end well.

•   •   •

“A
TTACK!” HE YELLED,
his sword raised. At his command, the army marched on and on. . . . Ali Quli opened his eyes and stared at the dark ceiling. Where was he? He heaved a sigh of relief as the room came into focus. It had been a dream. He turned over and became aware that the sound of marching footsteps was very real.

He jumped out of bed and staggered sleepily to the window. He peered into the darkness, listening, but all was silent. As he looked down, someone struck a match to light a torch. What was going on?

Ali Quli shook himself awake, grabbed his sword, and ran downstairs. Bakir met him at the front door.

“What is happening?” Ali Quli demanded.

“I don’t know, sire.” Bakir unlocked the door.

The two men rushed into the courtyard. More torches flared, illuminating the space. The courtyard was deserted of all but the grooms. Ali Quli breathed more easily. It had been a dream, after all.

Three men stepped forward from the shadows. Ali Quli tightened his grip on the sword when he recognized them. Qutubuddin Khan Koka, flanked by two Kashmiri servants, Amba Khan and Haidar Malik, bowed to Ali Quli.

“Al-Salam alekum,
Ali Quli,” Koka said.

“Walekum-al-Salam,”
Ali Quli replied, still clutching his sword.

Koka spread his hands out. “I am unarmed and come in peace.”

Ali Quli let his shoulders relax. A sudden movement caught his eye. One of the grooms had lit another torch and was carrying it to the far end of the courtyard. The gloom dispersed, and Ali Quli saw the imperial forces, in full armor, standing in orderly rows behind the governor.

He clenched his free hand into a fist and turned to Koka, an ugly look taking over his face. So this was the governor’s idea of coming in peace? The courtyard swam in a red haze before his eyes.

Koka had stepped forward. He said, “I come from the Emperor—”

Ali Quli gave a loud shout. It was the sound of rage, of broken sleep, full of all the injustice he had suffered in the past few years. Still screaming like an animal in pain, Ali Quli jumped on Koka. Before the governor had time to react, he plunged his sword into Koka’s stomach. Koka staggered back, reaching for his sheathed dagger. Ali Quli barged headlong into the governor and hacked wildly. Somewhere in his now deranged brain, he felt the satisfaction of making contact with Koka’s flesh with each stroke of his sword.

Koka’s guts spilled out, making a bloody mess on the floor. He put a hand to his stomach to hold in his bowels and fell to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Ali Quli saw Amba Khan rush at him with his sword raised.

Ali Quli turned on him. He lifted his sword and brought it down heavily upon Amba Khan, cleaving steel through Amba’s hair. The force of the action nearly took off Amba’s head, and he fell, dead before he hit the ground.

At the same moment, Haidar Malik and the rest of Koka’s army fell upon Ali Quli. Surrounded on all sides by the enemy, Ali Quli fought like a cornered animal, twirling his bloody sword and frothing at the mouth. He managed to kill two men, but there were too many of them.

Suddenly he felt a red-hot pain and looked down to see a sword sticking out of his stomach. His energy seemed to drain away with the blood that flowed from his body. He tried to raise his sword but could not. The pain was too intense. Koka’s army rained blows on him. His body seemed on fire and then . . . there was nothing.

•   •   •

M
EHRUNNISA STOOD FROZEN
at the window, her hand still raised to part the curtains. The stench of blood came up to her nose, and she gagged involuntarily, raising nerveless fingers to her mouth. She wanted desperately to look away from the carnage in the courtyard, but her eyes kept returning to it over and over again.

She watched in fascinated horror as Koka’s men pounced on her husband’s body and cut it to pieces, hacking wildly long after he was dead. They then turned on Bakir and the grooms. In a few minutes, the ground was drenched with blood, and dismembered arms and legs lay everywhere.

The men below had turned into savage animals excited by the smell and sight of blood. Their lust unsatisfied, they looked around for other victims.

“The house!” a man yelled.

As one, the men rushed toward the front door, pushing one another violently in their effort to get in. Mehrunnisa’s mind suddenly snapped into action. She ran to her daughter’s room and shook her by the shoulder. “Come, wake up. We have to leave.”

Ladli awoke slowly and stared at her mother. “Is it morning already?”

“There is no time to talk. Let’s go.” Mehrunnisa pulled a sheet around her daughter, picked her up, and ran to the door.

Below, the soldiers had entered the house. Slave girls screamed as they were dragged out of bed and raped. Vessels clattered to the floor, curtains were ripped, and furniture was broken.

“The wretch had a wife,” someone yelled. “Find her.”

Mehrunnisa heard the words and froze where she stood.

“Mama,” Ladli wailed.

“Hush!” Mehrunnisa said fiercely, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Keep quiet, or they will find us.”

They were coming upstairs now. She could hear footsteps
pounding up to the landing. She turned and went back to the rooms. Perhaps they could climb down a window and escape. She rushed blindly and bumped into something. Two hands clutched her arms in a hard grip. Mehrunnisa’s heart plummeted as she looked into the bloodshot eyes of the soldier.

“Please . . .” But the words would not come beyond the plea.

He asked in a harsh whisper, “Are you Ali Quli’s wife?”

Dumbstruck with fright, Mehrunnisa could only nod. Her heart skipped a beat. For the first time in her life she knew pure, mind-numbing terror. The man was splattered with blood from a deep gash over his right eye that was bleeding down his face and onto his hands.

“Come.” He pulled her roughly.

“No!”

“Don’t shout; the soldiers will hear you. Come—,” he said again, as she pulled away from him. “I will protect you from them. You have to hide. They are bloodthirsty and will not rest until you are dead . . . or even worse.”

The sound of footsteps neared. The man hurried Mehrunnisa and Ladli into the large trunk in one corner where she kept her veils. He had barely shut the lid and turned the key when soldiers pounded into the room.

“Is she here?”

“No, she must have fled from the house,” the man answered. “She cannot have gone far on foot. Look outside.”

But the soldiers seemed not to hear the man. They rushed about the room, pulling open cupboards, spilling the contents, running their swords through silk and linen. One kicked the wood chest, and the sound rattled around her. Mehrunnisa cowered inside, holding fiercely on to Ladli. Then suddenly, they all rushed out of the room, leaving a dense, welcome silence. Inside the dark trunk, Mehrunnisa clutched Ladli to her and heaved a trembling sigh of relief as she heard the sound of receding footsteps. After a few minutes, the man unlocked the trunk and peered in. “You can come out. They have left.”