Princess Ladli Begam's

CHAPTER X: THE TURMOIL OF THE SOUL

Shah Jahan will be on a visit to Lahore three days after our return from Kashmir. He had sent a letter to Wazir Khan, which Jafar leaked in his letter to me, that Shah Jahan would visit his father's tomb in Shahdara when they arrived. Mom and I were asked not to show up, unless it didn't matter if we were to be dragged back into the house or thrown away somewhere. I have heard that Shah Jahan has built a tomb for Arjumand in Agra. Purchased from a vassal King, the tomb's land stands on the banks of the Yamuna River, imaged as a sacred depiction of a young woman, and will become the most popular love monument of all time. People from all over the sultanate came to the place to complain of fate. The course of the Yamuna river was changed, created in accordance with the wishes of the Sultan's imagination. Precious stones were brought in from all over the place, spending almost a third of the sultanate treasury to begin the project. Mirah, lapizlazuli, onyx, agate, emerald, jade, sapphire, ruby, diamonds in unusual shapes, and there is so much marble. Arjumand's tomb will be constructed of white marble, and will be completed decades from now.

Mom laughed when she heard Shah Jahan's ridiculous threat to us. He wore a thin veil, standing on the balcony with Nazeer to face the sun, as if he were acting as a death row inmate gazing at his last dawn today. I watched him slowly from behind the pillar, hearing their whispers which were sometimes very taboo to be heard. I knew that Mother would remain in her place even though the Sultan and his entourage would arrive. And when people do taslim, my mother will refuse to do it because she is the Sultan of Begam.

Shah Jahan will visit the tomb of Sultan Jahangir in Shahdara, in Dilkusha Park, not far from our home. The tomb itself was financed by Shah Jahan as his last devotion to the Father. But it is Mother's job to watch over every piece of stone that is stuck in the tomb, every carving, every letter of the Qur’an, he said, and what kind of garden or flowers will decorate the tomb of her beloved husband. The tomb of Sultan Jahangir is made of red sandstone and marble, flanked by four large towering minarets, beautifully assembled with calligraphy and arch pillars, a symbol of Indo-Islam-Persian architecture. Sultan Jahangir himself was buried in a marble coffin, then the interior of the tomb was decorated by pietra dura in many details and an elaborate series of flower tendrils.

Just three days after the letter was aired, a large parade came to Shahdara. The orchestra of the sultanate became a trigger for all the people to march on the side of the causeway, do taslim when ordered, bow when shouted, go when the entourage of the sultanate passed. The parade was still the same, still noisy and crowded, still crowded and difficult with their luggage. The Sultan's elephant stood at the front, with howdah gilded in gold and encrusted with precious stones. Behind him, a row of noble horses were galloping. Their feet clenched the dust, and the dust fell back to the loose ground. Other elephants followed behind, this time definitely the zenana women, because a series of small stretchers that used to be often used by concubines to travel looked neatly arranged in the back. I would bet that it was Shah Jahan's son, the Jahanara, who had led these women. Not far from them, a bunch of eunuchs and veiled waitresses passed by with all the luggage. Cookware, banners, gifts, stationery, long fans, and more.

Mother stood on the edge of the balcony, her face and body leaning forward. It had been a long time since he no longer smelled the typical smell of the sultanate, a sickening smell, but full of unconvincing promises. I watched him stand there, a little scared, but I knew Shah Jahan wouldn't dare hurt us all. People under the house shouting “zindabad Sultan. Zindabad Sultan's. Zindabad Sultan.” Then they did taslim until this group passed. Shah Jahan split his entourage in two, with one other group heading for Lahore Fort. The royal family will make a pilgrimage to the tomb of Sultan Jahangir, and I don't want Mom to be among them all.

“We have to go, Ladli.” Mother turned around slowly, but I stopped her movement.

“We're not going there. We'll die if Shah Jahan sees us.”

Mom grunts, annoyed on her face. “Tak. He's not gonna kill an old woman. He must know, the bi-soult must know, Ladli, that I designed his father's tomb. That for many years lived comfortably in the rain of praise and wealth, it was I who went to great pains to build my husband's tomb for him.”

I clicked, but he broke through my body before I spoke. I chased him to the front porch, but all of our steps stopped as the sultanate guards stood in front of our house just in case. Their daggers were perfectly saddled, while their hands held a pointed spear with a green Mughal flag ornament decorated with curled lions. Thank goodness, I thought demikan. Shah Jahan has taken swift action to address Mom's hasty actions. And luckily, I don't want to fight this Sultanate's guard. He went back to the room with Nazeer. Rona burned her face.

Shah Jahan's visit was short, not half an hour. He returned to Lahore Fort later, accompanied by an army of personal sultanate guards, praised again along the way by his beloved people. From behind the curtain, I tried to get a silhouette of his face, but anything was invisible because he was covered in howdah tassels. When a guard in front of our porch left, a boy brought me a letter. I knew it was Jafar, so I opened my letter quickly.

Ladliku darling.

Sultan Shah Jahan has given a little consolation to Shahdara, as Nouruz will be held here during the Sultan's stay. That means there will be a Meena Bazaar, and women will flock to it to peddle jewelry as well as clothing. I want you there, my love. Bring whatever you can sell, because that's not the most important thing, but yourself. I'll be with Wazir Khan. The nobles will go around the tent to buy things they don't need, but I will go around to buy your love for me. I will tell you indirectly, through my attitude, to the Sultan that I want to marry you. Because it is allowed to ask any woman in Meena Bazaar even though only as a concubine. Wait for me there, in a firm tent in the corner of the garden, and accept no one but me in your tent. Because actually, not the merchandise that is targeted, but the seller who is still young. For my love for you, Ladli. And by God's love for us, I will come.

I closed the letter, smelling the sweet smell of the letter slowly. Jafar was brave, very brave to say inappropriately to Shah Jahan, that he desired to marry a Prince Dowager. Nouruz will be held in a week, and after that, the Sultan's entourage will gallop forward into Kashmir. I gathered all the attention I could find. Silver rings, gold bracelets, anklets, nose rings, jewel earrings, nose earrings, headdresses, silk veils, veils, spices, even precious stones such as rubies and jade. All these items are placed in different baskets, grouped, then prepared until the festival arrives. I said this to Mom, and she snorted in anger. I knew what I was doing was risky, and at first, he didn't approve of it at all, for he knew that my only purpose was to show off to Shah Jahan that I, now estranged, had found an honest handsome man.

But stubbornness rules me. I will still go, I said indifferently, and Mother agreed later. He didn't say anything, but gave me a few hundred rupees to hire people to set up tents inside the fort. The Meena Bazaar, created by Sultan Humayun, held every change of Hijri gender occurred, when the first date of Muharram fell in the traditional Islamic calendar. All the women, the ladies, the concubines, the servants, the noble women, the virgins, the lonely widows, will sell behind tents without veils. For just one night, the Sultan and his ministers and young Princes will be looking for fun among the tents, most will be looking for new concubines for the zenana in their respective homes. But, my concept was well planned, that it was Jafar who would come to my tent, not someone else. And in that way, the marriage will take place, because if the woman agrees in that place, the Sultan's blessing has been given indirectly.

A week later, the Lahore Fortress opened at night. The women were led in strict guard, carefully examined by Kashmiri women, carefully examined what kind of goods they brought into the region. We have our own places, and the decorations and merchandise mark the social status of the person himself in the eyes of the men. My tent is made of red canvas, decorated with yellow silk latticed curtains, lit with oil lamps of gardens. Jasmine tendrils were all around me, giving off a sickening aroma. I peddled my jewels in front, slapped on a red silk cloth. There, I had arranged jewels and precious stones, and spices were in webbing. The eunuchs would go around to make sure that everything was ready, and at the last touch, all the veils would be removed.

I observed myself behind a small golden mirror. Will Jafar be interested in my performance tonight? I wore a white long-sleeved tight blouse, a silk-booked skirt of a similar color, and pearly pearls as big as orange seeds all over her clothes. Circles of the bracelet crowded the arms, and my wedding ring was still splashed on the ring finger. This is my kathak dance shirt years ago, when I innocently peddled for Shah Jahan. But now, I will offer myself to Jafar, and he will bring victory over me before the Sultan.

The night wind came bringing discomfort. I hugged myself inside the tent, horrified at what could happen later. What if Shah Jahan disagrees, what if he never agrees? He sent me a call, and I never answered with or without reason. I no longer wanted to hope for it, but Shah Jahan's charm still often shaded in my dreams and brains. What will happen to Jafar? Was he going to die when challenging his Sultan? I realized when the eunuchs shouted. The whole audience stood up to do taslim. And that's how I do it. My hand stuck to my forehead, went down, and then stuck again three times. Shah Jahan's entourage came to the event. The women shouted in excitement, calling out to the Sultan with their own charm and subtlety. I get goosebumps with that attitude, because even respectable women can turn as low as nautch girls in the city market.

Shah Jahan wore a silk tunic, an intricately wrapped turban over his head, made of white fused green silk. A heron bristles in the shape of a red diamond stood firmly in the middle, swaying by the matching wind. Shah Jahan's belt is studded with diamonds, flickering like stars in the night sky. He stepped up with certainty, with his back straight and a dazzling smile. I have bet that he has come out of his mourning for Arjumand, and that grieving period will be replaced by the eternal devotion of a mesmerizing tomb at Agra. He sat on a velvet pillow, followed by a row of sweaters. On his right side stood the Great Vizier, Sadullah Khan, a smart stocky man. On his left stood Wazir Khan, the subahdar of Lahore. I did not see Jafar on the side of Wazir Khan, but my worries were erased when another royal entourage thronged the sides of the Sultan. I suspect he has been among them all, but his actions are invisible. Shortly after the Sultan, the Princes and Princesses of the Sultanate came. They were perfect children, impeccably booked, taught to be the best of noble descent to carry the authority of the sultanate itself.

The eldest son, Jahanara, was Begam Sahib, Princess of all Princesses, ruler of the zenana Shah Jahan at a very young age. The second son, a cheerful man, tolerance of all religions, was intelligent and his lips were good at inscribing intellectuals without books. Dara Shikoh, the Crown Prince. The third son is Shah Shuja, a handsome, tall, but hasty Prince. The fourth child, Roshanara, was a princess. His face was not as beautiful as Jahanara, but he had a true aura of royalty. Roshanara had been unfriendly to Jahanara since her brother was Begam Sahib, and neither Rosahanara nor Jahanara, both chose to compete in their actions, to the extent that their actions affected their father's love as well as the sultanate. However, Roshanara had lost because their father loved Jahanara and Dara Shikoh, too much to the exclusion of the other children, which made Roshanara also hate her father, believing to reject Dara as a Crown Prince. For this reason, he sided with the fifth child, Aurangzeb, a loner, fanatic of the Islamic religion that he always spread even on the battlefield. Aurangzeb did not like Dara, and he felt that the tolerance his brother had spread was very despicable. On a small scale, divisions have occurred, as each of Shah Jahan's sons has split into two camps. Jahanara to Dara Shikoh, and Roshanara to Aurangzeb. The sixth child is Murad Baksh, still young, unmarried, and of a very special nature******childish time itself. And in the end, the last son, Gauhara, a Princess who took her mother to death. He was the last child, the youngest forgotten, but his birth was always remembered, because his appearance in the world brought death to Arjumand.

The Meena Bazaar event opened when the sultanate orchestra was buzzing with excitement. The clanging of grapes rolled onto the carpet of nobles, and their laughter spread across the night sky, making me shudder alone. As the night was about to age into the early hours, and I began to saturate this monotonous atmosphere, eunuch Shah Jahan advanced into the middle of the field to shout.

“Close sight of all of you!”

And so, all the women bowed, hoping, timidly to the destiny of those who were to come. I hoped Jafar would dart, hold my hand, and take me out to ask Shah Jahan for his blessing. I could hear the whispers of the women in some tents, and they laughed at their own whispers. They had imagined ridiculous things, but they could not guess what was coming. I checked all my clothes, afraid that my appearance would be very unsatisfactory to my own lover. When I heard the footsteps of silk shoes walking through the garden, my heart shot with excitement. My chest was filled with a sprinkling of dreams, which immediately turned into hope. At the end of the park, the other women had shouted, grateful at what had approached them. A rich, gentleman, a lover, a poet, they can get one of those types. One by one the shouts began to crowd out, then another woman clenched her blind jealousy. I felt someone coming to me. He approached carefully, and the silhouette of his face in the shadows of the footpath made me calm down. It's Jafar! He's coming for me! My peek inside. His hand was stretched out to me, so I clasped his hand carefully. But something feels different. Jafar's hands were not this soft, nor were they decorated with various precious stones. When I thought it was my lover's hand that was embracing me, it was Sultan Shah Jahan who was nailing before me. Our gazes met, and I shook my head, deeply ashamed and awkward at my attitude. I was wrong! I don't know where Jafar is, and why has he been so long? Why did the Sultan come?

Shah Jahan looked at me. His gaze descended exploring my slender body, unchanged since the last time he recalled. I didn't say anything, nor did he. The world froze for a moment, because behind the lowly boisterousness of the nobles, I could feel nothing but sorrow. We were cooped up in our own moods, as if we were talking about desire and longing. I took my hand off slowly, then I shook my head, afraid of myself. My hands shook violently, and I carried myself away from this place. Still there, Shah Jahan did not move from where he stood. I don't look at people's eyes on me. Some had known that I was Ladli Begam, but their voices were held back by curiosity that surpassed the Sultan.

That night, a nightmare in the form of reality came to me.

***

I never stopped regretting the decision to join Meena Bazaar that night. Shah Jahan's views are still on my mind. His eyes had played with my body, running what he wanted, as if he had expected too much of my feelings and body. But I slapped him as fast as lightning. I carried all those things away past the guards, crying sedu sedan all the way home. It never occurred to me that this is how it became. I wrote a letter to Jafar, many times, even I forgot how much. I asked a lot of things in it. Where was he then? Did he see the events highlighted by everyone that night? Does he know where my tent is? But all the questions were insatiable, for none of my letters were answered.

My hopes were dashed at that very moment. Shah Jahan has seen me? What do you think of me being this young man? Will he try to return to call me to his zenana? Perhaps I let him hope, that he may understand how painful it is to expect too much of the impossible love. Mom or Nazeer Khan never talked about this. I almost forgot Arzani, that he was my only son, that it was only because of his existence that I survived, that my love for him has brought me this far. Time and time again I sleep myself, regretting the action. Why am I among all these women? Sell as if I were a market nautch girl. I apologized to my daughter many times as she slept, as she was deaf and mute at the exploding wrath. Cut it out, and drops of tears fell on the strands of her hair.

A letter from Jafar came to me in one evening. I opened the letter carefully, very worried at first. He asked me to come to the banks of the Ravi river when night came, just as the full moon hung beautifully in the western sky. So, I secretly left. I don't know how long I've been out of Mom's sight, but I guess that there's no way she doesn't know. I took an Arabian horse from the stables, and I spurred this animal to gallop in the darkness of the night. I wear a black shirt, a veil and a veil of a similar color. Now I am like a ghost, for under the darkness my body is but a mirage on horseback.

This animal is fast. I told my heart not to beat threateningly even though I thought something was wrong. When I got to the banks of the Ravi river, my horse sauntered down the path where we used to meet. Under the grove of trees, where the darkness sat and settled until the bright dawn arrived, Jafar stood there. Instead of looking at me, his back was upright, his chest facing the indigo-colored stream with the silvery moonlight around his peaceful groove. I tethered my horse to a shrub tree, stepping carefully to approach him so that he would not be surprised. But, he seemed to be away, so far away that I could not touch his body or voice. Along with my steps, my body was shaken, and I started to get scared. My feet stepped on the wet twigs, the leaves scattered under the road, making a sound, but Jafar was not disturbed by it. He knew I was coming, but he reluctantly shaved his victim's head at me.

I stopped right behind his back, but he didn't turn to me. I took a breath. Did something bad happen? Why is he freezing? Jafar's soul isn't here, and he's like a human-shaped lump of ice. I took a deep breath, and I called out his name slowly. “Jafar,” I said. He didn't turn around. The silence had stretched on to our circumstances from the very beginning, inflicting whispers and murmurs on both of us. “Jafar,” I said again. He didn't turn around. His breath was perfectly drawn, his chest moving in line with his withered back then upright. I wanted to hug her, but I recollected that intention. “My love, what's up?”

“Don't call me your lover, Ladli.”

I jerked. What's wrong with her? His voice was sharp, I felt violence in that tone of voice. I'm moving forward slowly. “What's up, Jafar? Why aren't you in Meena's Bazaar? I've been waiting for you, I've ..” I stopped at my word, reluctant to tell him the events about Shah Jahan to me, but I doubt that he doesn't know.

“Continue, Ladli.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“Are you not satisfied after meeting your lover? I've heard that she has held your hand, but you ran away later. What's up, Ladli? Why don't you stay longer for her?”

I stepped up again, this time in a hurry. “What are you talking about, Jafar? By the love of God, I don't understand your talk and attitude.”

He laughed, but it was very painful, not his usual laughter. “Love God?” He turned to me. When his face was shown to me, coinciding with the silvery moonlight sweeping across his face, how I was aghast at the sadness that lay there. He's been crying, giving me goosebumps. Her lips were flat, not like the usual rose buds. Those sadness lines made him older, so I couldn't convince myself that he was sad. “Love God, Ladli? What do you know about God's love? You have deceived me in your way, and how much I was fooled by it.”

“What? Why are you talking as if I've hurt you?”

“This has been talked.” He took out a paper that was rolled out from behind his tunic. A letter, and he gripped the letter furiously. “Until how much longer will this trickery end up on me? How much longer are you going to get rid of your falsehood? Why me, Ladli? Why?”

I cringe. “I never sent you a letter.”

“Maybe, but your mother.”

He threw the letter to the ground. I leaned over to take it. I opened the letter carefully, then my heart jumped. My blood is hardened, it heats up into wrath and sorrow.

Mr. Jafar.

I know you have put hope and love in my daughter Ladli. And I knew that hope had turned into a dream of an honest young man. But I'm sorry to tell you this, Mr. Jafar, because Ladli doesn't love you at all. You have received a love that is not yours. How stupid of you not to know that. My daughter just met your face once, and she told you she loved you so much? Don't silly. I don't know what you're doing in Kashmir, but I'm not deaf, Mr. Jafar. I am Sultan Begam, and I know my son's actions better than yours. Do you think that he came to you as Jafar Husein? Ladli loves you because you look like Shah Jahan, your own Sultan. You have known that Ladli loved someone in the past, and bitterly I say that that man is your own Sultan. Have you never even seen Shah Jahan's face? There was a flawless resemblance on the faces of the two of you, and Ladli, who had suffered for so long on the unexpressed love, decided to give you that inappropriate affection. Nothing more, Mr. Jafar. I began to wonder if he ever thought of you as anything other than an impingement? How sad your story is, Mr. Jafar, for you have been played by my daughter. So, reject it. Gone from. Never call or go with her again. For you know that all the love that has been poured out on you is not yours. It belongs to Shah Jahan, and you are nothing more than a mere consolation.

My tears were floating, heartache came to me over and over. Mother Tega nian wrote this kind of letter to Jafar. Under the letter, an old stamp belonged to Mom. “At the blessing of Nur Jahan Begam.” I didn't know what to say, or what to explain in what vocabulary, because the only thing stuck in my brain was Jafar's merciless feelings. At first, she may receive this letter with love, but her love is torn to shreds when this letter is revealed before her.

“I can explain this to you,” I said broken.

“No, Jafar. I didn't fool you. That night, I came to you as Jafar Husein, not Shah Jahan. Please listen to me.”

“Silence, Ladli!” His voice broke the night. Two wild deer ran into the bushes, hiding from the rampaging wrath of Jafar. Now, he's as hard as a rock, won't falter even if I give him love words as sweet as anything. “Tell me the truth.”

I took a few steps forward. “I did sin at that love, Jafar. In the beginning, I did consider you that way, a mere consolation, for my love was hard and very difficult to convey.” She closed her eyes as the sentence came out of my lips, and she cried in silence. I spoke my words boldly. “But, when all this passed, I had forgotten that my pretense on this feeling dissolved in whole love. You're the only one who gave that love out of your eyes. Your personality is sublime, and you can quench my soul's thirst for inadequate love. In the past, I had hoped too much, hurting at the expectations I made myself. I can't forget Shah Jahan despite being married to Shahryar, while Shahryar's doing only treats me like his stupid dog. How can I survive that?”

She's quiet. He breathed deeply. “Sultan Begam has spoken, Ladli. He doesn't approve of this. You are a Princess. And I have known that after the death of Padshah Begam Mumtaz Mahal, the Sultan was attracted to you.” Jafar threw his gaze into the stream. He played his fingers to grind out the deep bark of the tree.

“He Sultan Begam, Jafar. The wasted Sultan Begam.”

“She's your mother!”

I fell silent, my tears spilled, skating on both of my cheeks. My breath was tight, and I sobbed for it. Tonight, I'm dealing with someone else, not my lover. He's very far away. Its tenderness has gone, in line with the pain of being. It's all my fault. I who had started it in a hurry, did not know whether the path I had chosen was right or should be considered with the cook. But now, everything has gone. Jafar knew the hidden story, and knew the beginning of why I fell for him.

“If the reason is my image, Ladli, I would choose to be unsteady rather than just a runaway. It was so sad that my heart read the letter, torn to shreds and my soul at the words of your mother. She doesn't like me very much, and I hope you can return this gold bracelet to her.” He took out the bracelet that Mom had given him. The bracelet shone, sparkling as the moonlight fell on it. “I'll let you go for your other love, Ladli. I'll assume that none of this ever happened. That our journey, our escape, our love, is just a dream and a dream. But I was wrong, because no matter how much I fall asleep and wake up, you are the truth. God has cursed me with this love.”

I wiped away the tears that ran down my cheeks. “I never expected to live with a man more than you, Jafar. By the love of God, because that is how it is.”

“Come back to your mother, Ladli. Maybe he knew that you were coming to me, and he didn't want his son to meet a badmash like me.”

“You are not ********.”

“But your mother has said it very carefully in her letter.”

“Oh, Jafar.” I tried to hold her, but she refused. The closer I got, the more hurt his heart became.

“We are not in a mirage, Ladli. Life is reality. I'm not a poet, neither are you. I don't have as many words as poets to express heartache and betrayal. But I can tell you enough how much I feel right now. I didn't even have the strength to just get up from the couch and sit up straight. My fingers were shaking, heartache was burning my chest, and I was crying like a weak man. I have experienced with swords and spears, become fierce in the field of action, wounded and bleeding, but the pain can be restored. But this ... ” She holds his chest. “I don't know when he'll recover.”

“I never betrayed you, Jafar.”

“Back, Ladli.”

He's turned my back. His breath was pulled slowly, then he sighed slowly. Heartache has clouded his love for me, I don't even know if it's still lodged in his heart or if there are only memories. Jafar put his hope in me, very confident, and almost died of his own hope. She talked to me about her hopes for marriage, even though she knew that it was impossible for the Dowager Prince to marry. He had been determined to oppose Shah Jahan, but now he knew that my love was for Shah Jahan as well.

I took my breath, annoyance came within me. “You fool, Jafar! You coward! What makes you think that this letter is my heart's temper? My mother wrote it, not me. It was Sultan Begam who poisoned our love. Do you think that I would go to great lengths to escape Shah Jahan's love for you on a trip to Kashmir? Would someone do that? Am I going to give up my body to you that night? Which woman is willing? Which woman would love a man she doesn't even love? I'm not a nautch girl. And you're not a pleasure peddler. We are lovers, and we know what we should do as lovers. There is no lie in my race, and nothing is falsified in my hope of you, that I only want to live with you, not in Shah Jahan's zenana.” I turned around to leave. I raise my horse, and then I drive this animal furiously. Before I left, I turned my body to face him. “I'll never see you again. By the love of God, never!”

He was flinching in his place. My horse stepped in silence, for it was as if the night had no desire to speak. I could not hear the sound of young crickets, or the squeaking of rats and the clear flow of the Ravi River. My mind came and went, but insisted on not coming back. Along the way, I cried and sobbed alone on the horse. I covered my face with a veil, and then my lips bled because I pulled the part with my white teeth. When a few steps reached the grounds of the house, I got off the horse, afraid that this noise would keep Arzani awake from his sleep. I guided my horse in a staggered step towards the stables. As my feet set against the wet grass, two women stepped out from the shadows. I squinted my eyes, I wiped my tears to make them imperceptible. It was Jahanara, and his mother's lady-in-waiting, Satti Khanum.

He did konish. “Assalamu’alaikum, Bibi.”

“Waalaikumussalam, Jahanara. What are you doing here?”

He took off his veil, smiling beautifully. “I visited Sultan Begam and Arzani. I heard she was lonely, so I came here.”

“Ah,” respond me to him. At a very young age, Jahanara had taken all of his father's zenana. She was the most powerful woman in the sultanate, with unequaled wealth, and extraordinary beauty. But unfortunately, I heard that all daughters of Shah Jahan will not be allowed to marry. “He's a cheerful boy, Jahanara. And thank you for visiting.”

He passed to go. When the distance between the two of us almost stretched out, he turned to me. “I'm sorry I said this, Aunty.” And I turned around. On his face, there was something he had put up. He's not here for Sultan Begam, but for anything else. “What ...” He cleared his throat. “Did my father send something to Aunty?”

I frowned, dislike ruling my heart. What does this kid want to know? “Did you hear something inappropriate, Jahanara? If you are, you better not have to care. You're Begam Sahib, and you have a great responsibility.”

He ducked. “I know that. And I'm sorry, Auntie. If Dad did send something, whether in any form it, it would be better if Aunt refused it. There will be no room for aunty in the sultanate's zenana. Mother has told me that there will be no more beloved wife of our father after his departure.”

I looked at him sharply. Jahanara must have known about this, and he, with his bow, stood up to declare his prestige and status in the zenana of the sultanate. It was too bad for a boy to speak in front of his aunt. “What are you thinking, Jahanara? Do you think I really want your father? Think carefully. I don't want a single ruby or its blessing. And you should know that, because I've been estranged for too long. It's too bad you're talking to me, as if you're saying you're better than me. I have heard that Shah Jahan loves you very much, and there are also rumors that you two are stuck in an inappropriate relationship.”

“That's not true,” grunts. “Someone has spread it.”

Satti Khanum led the princess to leave. “We must return, Princess. Sultan is waiting.”

“Listen to your lady talk, Jahanara,” I said to her.

“Be careful of your circumstances here, Aunty.” He walked while putting up his veil. Rona had burned all the excesses in Jahanara's facial features. He had been wrong to think I would take his father to be my husband. And he was so despicable in my sight for he was shameless with his own aunt. “Arzani will probably need me someday. And if so, come to Zenana as a cousin, not a half-brother. Because it could be that I will arrange a wedding for her someday.”

I grinned. “I thought I'd need that, Jahanara. Thank you.”

Satti Khanum led Jahanara on a stretcher, and four men carried him very gently. I didn't check if he was walking away, because my gaze was fixed on the house. This horse had waited too long to be tethered to the stables, so I put down my animal mount and darted towards the house.

My skirt swept the floor, dragged by my shaky legs. Mom sat on a pile of pillows, sipping a cup of chai with Nazeer Khan. They laugh, whispering in secret. I approached carefully. Mother's letter was in my hands, I clenched in fury. As I approached, I placed the letter carefully.

“Is it appropriate to send this letter to Jafar?”

Their laughter dimmed, Mother's gaze incarnated watchful. He took the letter, then put it back carelessly. “I've told him the truth.”

“What kind of truth?” I was half screaming. Now I cry in front of him. “Did Mom ever think of the consequences? He almost died because of this letter. Does God like this act? What have we done? I just love him and it's not hard.”

“You're a Princess, Ladli. And it is inappropriate if ..”

“I'm an ordinary Begam! My father Ali Quli Istalju!” as if. Now, screams are pouring into the house. I saw Arzani come and peek out from behind the grating curtain. No one spoke as I sobbed before them, so I continued my words in the midst of my sobbing. “Jafar is an honest, kind and well mannered man. There is no blame in him, because his life was difficult and full of suffering from the beginning. He has been booked in such a way as to be a man with a brain. I've ...” I've sat myself there, fallen on the carpet. “I've been waiting for this for so long. I was very young when Shahryar died, and now, with great sadness, I have found his place. By the love of God, ma'am, have mercy on your daughter. Have mercy on her dying love. Have pity on her wailing self, for there is no emptiness worse than losing love.”

My mother corrected my sentence well. He took his chai, sipped it slowly. “Listen to me, Ladli. I never expected anything from you. You gave birth to Arzani and that's enough. At first, I thought it would be better if a boy was born, but you would prefer that a girl be lodged in your womb. I did not understand at first, and realized later, that if a boy was born, surely Shah Jahan would kill him.” He tried to get my attention, but all I did was cry. “Then I don't want to hinder your happiness. I didn't mean to yank the signal at Jafar to get him away from you. It's just, I'm not ready for this reality.”

“Think of my happiness. I have suffered for too long. The love of God comes to me now. I saw the love of God in Jafar. I have never asked for anything but this happiness, which I have found in my own way.” I wailed in front of him. “Please, fix everything, Bu.”

He shook his head, his stubbornness became so. “No, Ladli.”

Then, I'm leaving. I was desperate for this, not knowing what happened next. Mother had insisted on destroying everything about this, and she would remain determined until she died in bed. My feet stepped upwards, trembling incoherently. Tears had made my head go round and round, and I was almost numb to it. When all this passed, I felt a pain coming in my stomach, and then nausea followed. I have no desire for anything, no desire to eat a mouthful of rice or khichri from a plate. At first I thought I was sick, but then I realized slowly that I was pregnant.[]