Princess Ladli Begam's

CHAPTER XIII: THE TRAIL OF TEARS

I can't remember exactly when I looked at Jafar. At the last time we met, he let me go with tears. Curate it, then I sleep, for it is heartbreaking to part with our beloved lover and son. When I set foot back home, both Mother and Nazeer and Arzani greeted me with hugs and thanks to God. I have nothing left but these three people, who are even more valuable than myself. At first, they watched my stomach deflate, but then refused to ask what happened to the child. Do they think I threw it away? Or killed? Or give it to a commoner woman? Either way, I'm grateful there are no questions, because a few questions only bring a stroke of wound.

Did Khusrow grow up? It's been ten years since I last remembered her screams. He who cries, he who thirsts, he who is hungry, he who wet the bed, he who laughs, he who unites me with Jafar. I still have my blood-covered underwear. The fishy aroma still reminds me of the events of that night, when I ran the bar, threw myself into the stream, gave birth alone which I thought would be the end of my life. But then, Khusrow was born, a boy. His cry began love, bringing blessings, for it was proof that the seed of Jafar was fully developed in my womb. I often visit the banks of the Ravi river, listen to one or two women slamming clothes, or go to the hut that has now been reot in the middle of the opposite forest. And at that time, I will curl up alone until the time of finding me.

I nodded above the balcony. Now, the orange rays of the sun burst into the western edge of the horizon. As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing worse than a mother's longing for her child. I haven't seen Khusrow since we split up. I can't imagine what his face looks like, or his temperament as a boy is fun. Did Jafar give her a good mother? Is my son okay? When I think about it, even in the same circumstances, over and over again, I still cry. There was no more comfort when the two men left. The whole party and banquet and fun in our house seemed to disappear without taste. I couldn't taste food well for ten years, couldn't sleep comfortably because the dreams of Jafar and Khusrow came snaring. When I regained my senses, thunder boomed furiously in the night sky.

Now, I'm forty. Aging came to me slowly, then when I realized later, I was too late. Aging comes without pause, but the results are promising. Now my life will be exhausted in the waiting and emptiness of the old widow. My way was slower, and my voice was no longer as sharp as before. Age ran out in my blood, and the water of life slowly evaporated from my body. I never remembered Shahryar even though I was his widow. He is a part of the past that gives a little consolation in the form of an Arzani. Besides, the whole thing was a nightmare.

The sound of coughing from inside the room shocked me. The cough came over and over, whacking the old chest. I walked in slowly, stumbled a little, then bent over the edge of the cot. My mother leaned on her pillow. His eyes closed, narrowing withstanding the pain. His breathing was wet, dirty by the mucus inside his old lungs. Her hair was perfectly bleached, leaving a youth passion that was eroded by time at death. Sometimes, sweat rolled over his old arm and forehead, so I would gently wipe them away so he wouldn't grumble in pain.

“Ladli,” he said slowly. I answered him by raising my back towards him. His blue eyes were still as bright as when he was young. It was only a witness that a woman once ruled an omnipotent sultanate on the plains of Hindustant.

“I'm here,” I said.

“I think it's time. Where is Nazeer?”

I'm shaking. “She was resting in her room. Is Mom hungry? I'll get you something.” I was about to stand up, but he held me back.

“Sit, Honey. We'll just talk.”

My heart weighs in on it, because it's more like a breakup that she's trying to soften in sweet moments. I sat on the side, listening intently as he spoke.

A series of coughs hit him, and he spoke. “I remember the first time I met Sultan Jahangir at Meena Bazaar in Agra. I can still remember the smell of her perfume, her clever snap of her finger, as well as her awesome face.” He's laughing a little. “She is very beautiful as a man.”

“I think he's handsome, Bu.”

Mother laughed again, this time punctuated by a small cough. “I remember my first paan leaf.”

“How does it feel?”

“Agrevious. I thought I would get used to paan upon entering the sultanate's zenana. But you know how much I hate paan leaves even though it's good for teeth. I can't stand the red.”

I stroked his hand. I vaguely knew that life had been drawn from him. He was preparing to welcome death, which he was facing with great preparation. Because many years ago, Mother had designed a tomb for him, made while he was still alive, located next to the tomb of Sultan Jahangir. That way, no one will be able to separate them forever.

“Ladli,” called him, as if I were far from his reach.

“I'm here, Bu.”

“I haven't asked you this since ten years ago. But, I know you're a generous woman. So I'm sure you didn't dump or kill your son, right?” He's waiting for my reaction. There was a pause in that conversation until I nodded. Then he continued. “Did you give it to Jafar?”

“Ya,” replied. Tears pooled in the pelupuk.

“Have you ever seen that kid, Ladli?”

“Not yet. But I knew he would grow into a dashing man.”

Mother raised her eyebrows, as if she was about to dart. “Ah, boys in the end.” He clucked, smiling innocently. “I remember how much you didn't want a boy at first. But Jafar is throwing that desire out in you. What made you turn yourself in to her, son.”

The warm water drove in a straight line on my cheek. I clasped Mom's hand which slowed down as she moved to me. “Because of his love, Mom. She has a love that is always honest with me.” I took a breath, but my breath was wet from the sadness that came. “He does not love me because of politics, or mansab or jagir that he can get. It all came from his soul. He was the first for me, and the last.”

“Isn't Shah Jahan the first?”

I shook my head while smiling. “It was the wrong love. I am so ashamed of that love when I think about it. He and Arjumand have been destined together, forever, on earth the love of God.”

“And what's left for you, my dear?” Mom squeezed my finger, then slowly, how surprised I was as she cried. “Which love will accompany my daughter? Is this daughter of mine, this Ladli Begam, only destined to lament her fate on the tempest. What will you bring to your death, son? Which love will accompany you in heaven. It is cruel if God only gives you a life without taste.”

I am so glad I heard it. So I hugged him as hard as I could. I kissed her aging forehead, and then I cried there. “There is a lot of love. Mother's love, Arzani's love, Nazeer Khan's love, and Allah's love.” I lowered my voice, sobbing alone there. “Perhaps Jafar's love is with me.”

“And the kid.”

“Yes. Yes.” I wiped my tears there. This time, I was sure that God had pulled her slowly. His feet cooled for a moment, followed by a slow pain. I never regret being betrothed to Shahryar. I never regretted being dumped with Mom in Lahore. Because now, my whole life is in this cold land. My mother loved me, and that was enough. I did not want him to throw me out of the corner of his heart because of my disappointing actions. And now, she's stretching death as a brave woman. The Queen Nur Jahan Padshah Begam! I knew his name would be etched in a history book. His name will be remembered as the real ruler behind the veil of the women. And in the end, I'll have my own place in the column of Indian Mughal women.

“I remember your first word, Ladli. Mother. Are you going to mention it in your last word?” She smiles. “Perhaps not, for God has a right in that word. You have grown up almost to resemble me, an old grandmother, but still ringing in my mind your form of a child running in the garden zenana. Now, you've given birth, and I feel like you've just been born. Who ...” He coughed. Breathing broken. Shivering comes to him. “... the boy's name, Ladli?”

“Amir Khusrow.” I cried back to her side. He fought half-dead to keep death from coming to him, perhaps one to two seconds.

“A poet. You know the famous poem? If there is heaven in the world, here it is, here it is.”

I kissed her sagging cheeks, so soft. “I know, My dear mother. Rest with the love of God. Because Sultan Jahangir has been waiting.”

“Life with love, Ladli. And when you meet me in heaven, you must promise to tell your mother this story of my grandson.” He laughed, displaying his faded white teeth. “You must take care of Nazeer. He has served us all his life. Perhaps this is his greatest gift, for he is very comfortable living with our estranged.”

“Ya, yes.” My tears spilled, breaking on the back of his hand. I sobbed very strongly, my cries breaking the fresh air. At that moment, Mom caught her breath slowly. He felt a tightness in his chest radiating to all the other parts of his body. Now, his senses don't work. He shook his head, groaning uncertainly, as if he was looking for something in his keen eye. Clasped his hand. “I'm here, I'm always here.”

Then, in one breath, I saw his chest screeching. As the chest fell and weakened, the course of life was gone. Mother's eyes are empty, without twinkle, their light dims in her extinguished flame. I folded her hands, crying on her right side. Now, Queen Nur Jahan Padshah Begam, or Nur Jahan Sultan Begam, is gone.

***

According to his will, Mother's body was placed in her sarcophagus in a tomb she had built. The tomb was made of red sandstone, decorated with arched pillars and intricate niches with ornate pietra dura as well as calligraphy of the Qur’an His Majesty. In his marble sarcophagus, there is an inscription in Persian. Here lies Nur Jahan Begam. Only Allah is Almighty. The tomb is located next to the tomb of Sultan Jahangir, who made them lovers during the foot of time running towards the end of time. All of Mother's property, her wealth which is very much since she served as Padshah Begam to Sultan Begam, spilled on me one. We were able to live for many years until death with this money, because the amount of treasure left behind far exceeded what we needed to live in Lahore. Mother left behind sarai-sarai, parks, ships, all of which could be enjoyed at any time, although Shah Jahan had cut off half of it. However, the money was still immeasurable.

Mother's face was clean when she died. When he finished being bathed in camphor water, I seemed to be shown on the scene of a young woman with a perfect face who embraced death into the afterlife. He had been weary of fighting for decades in this foreign land, had shown all over the sultanate that the star of fortune had once been plunged to its head and charm, that made her the most powerful and wealthy woman in the history of Mughal India.

I'm the one who's been the saddest, while Nazeer hasn't spoken since Mom died. But I've heard him cry at night, and I'm willing to bet that the mahaduka comes when he's alone. Now, Nazeer has lost his beloved employer. He had received an incredible blessing by putting his head under loyalty to Nur Jahan Begam. As a head of the zenana eunuch sultanate, Nazeer had been very good at playing in the female world. He had firmly held on to Mother, which made them both extremely difficult to conquer. Because if one is dealing with zenana, there are only two themes that control the lifeblood. Padshah Begam and Head Eunuch.

Since we no longer live in the Red Fort, there will be no mourning events for a week or a month in a row. The mullahs told us that the mourning event was only held for three days. So, during that time, the neighbors have helped us to prepare food for the audience. We are engaged in this event, which is very important, because every time at the end of the event, there will be a prayer that is echoed to the sky for one Mother. But then, when I thought Mom's soul had gone away with the love of the people she left behind, something troubled me later. I have forgotten that Arzani is now twenty-one years old, a very old age for the average Mughal Indian girl to marry. But, I myself am still engaged to Shahryar when I was like him. Over the years, I've forgotten when I last saw him develop. He was no longer a careless boy who went to the Ravi river to pick up fish, or a child who liked to pluck watermelons in the fields of others mischievously. Now, her body was beautifully curled, slender flawlessly. Her hair was long, like a dark curtain. His face was oval, his nose small but sharp. Her eyes sparkled when she rolled in one direction, and her lips glazed perfectly like a rose. He has a promising face, but I've never heard of his interest in anyone.

We were folding silk cloths at the time. I watched her carefully, and I realized how beautiful Arzani was. So, I clasped his hand slowly, trying to get attention. “Darling, you're twenty-one. You know what happened to the girls at that age? They have fondled two or three children.”

He smiled, occasionally displaying his teeth as white as milk. “My friends are the proof. Sometimes I feel jealous of it.”

I frowned, realizing that he wanted a marriage. “Seek someone. Or, go to the zenana of the sultanate. Jahanara once promised to find you a man. He could've arranged your wedding because he's Begam Sahib.”

Arzani. A few strands of hair covered her blackened eyeballs. “I don't want a match. Living inside the Red Fort would not be fun. Will I marry one of the princes? Wh who? Aurangzeb? A murad? Let me find someone, maybe someday.”

So, we never talked about this at all.

One afternoon, Nazeer came to me on the balcony. He had also aged perfectly, with deep wrinkled lines on his gentle face. Sometimes, I think it's a wound rinse, but it's a perfectly blackened wrinkle line. She was five years older than Mom, but Nazeer's age seemed subtle.

“She's coming, Princess,” she whispered slowly.

“Again, Nazeer. It's been ten years.” I didn't turn my face to her. In front of me, the panorama of Shahdara village is soft. The horizon bends, the color is bright blue, creating its own place for the sun to dip in at dusk. I don't know what I think, but it creates a bitterness wrapped in an unbearable longing. “How is it?”

“He's aging perfectly, Princess.”

I smiled wryly. “And the kid?”

“Princess should see for himself.”

I sighed, my eyes narrowed at the rays of the sun. Am I going to get that roundabout when I run to reach it? But now, my age has aged, with legs sometimes stumbling on rocks and floors. My eyes are no longer alert, but I can distinguish something even though I have my eyesight slowly. Will Jafar be interested in me? Men can keep hundreds of concubines in their homes as wives age and are no longer exciting. And now, I'm going to ask myself, then believe, that I'm no longer as attractive as before. I once found a gray hair, so I knew that death came to me unmoved by a long pause.

I'm holding a wrinkle on the cheek. “Is .. I'm sorry I asked you, Nazeer. Am I still attractive?”

He giggled, amused being held. “Sure, Princess. Are you scared?”

“The boys thought we were straw dolls. They can store concubines in the hundreds. The nobles did it. And ... Jafar is a man, so there's no harm in asking you that.”

“I'm not so sure that Jafar will do it.” He took a breath, felt heavy. “Know, Princess. He loves you very much.”

“How does it feel, Nazeer? How does it feel to feel nothing?” I glanced at him. In my eyes, his shadow was completely motionless, while our black shadows were both paraded elongated by the sun. I want to know, maybe a little bit, how it feels to feel nothing at all. How can one survive without love? Would Nazeer answer that? Although it's a secret, I want him to say something.

“Have you ever been in love, Nazeer.”

“I doubt, Princess.”

I nodded, then nodded. “Take me to him.” And he nodded anyway.

We rode to the Ravi River. I wore a thick silk veil, which was combined with a veil in rhythm. My tunic is green, striped by golden thread. Nazeer still has shrewdness as a horse jockey. His voice was still loud, and he pulled and slammed the bridle as if it was half his age. On the banks of the Ravi river, where my past is nesting, someone stood tall. His body faced the stream, very calm and unpretentious. I descended slowly from the horse, stumbling towards the ground steps filled with wet dry foliage. The closer I get to her, the more vulnerable my heart is. Tears expanded, then slid in rhythm with my footsteps that began to shudder. I opened the veil, approaching carefully. When the distance between the two of us seemed to be no longer tenuous, he turned to me.

How surprised I was. He has aged. Uban has lodged in the dark hairs that stick out of its turban. His beard was round, faint gray patterned. As he smiled, his lips were dragged into a crescent moon. The wrinkles made him seem very tired on long adventures. I cried happily then. We said nothing for a while, but our hearts had been soared by passionate desire. She was crying, and so was I. We sobbed, we held each other, in the end, she clutched me with love. It was very tight, unchanged since the last time I remembered it. He kissed my nape, and I sobbed at his nape. For ten years, this was his first time, and this was probably the only chance he had of meeting me. I hugged him, but my hands were not perfectly circular behind his back filled with clay muscles.

“How are you doing, Ladli?” She was still crying in that embrace.

“At Allah's mercy, Jafar. I have been given strength until this day comes. I'm almost tired. You know that this is too long.” I closed my eyes there, then more tears seeped into her sparkling tunic.

“I'm sorry. But this is the only chance. Prince Aurangzeb has taken us to the Deccan. I couldn't run from him, as much as we did a parade around the sultanate. Shah Jahan always ordered us to the Deccan, far south for futile military operations. Maybe he knows I'm there, so keep us both away.”

I shook my head, then broke into a hug. “No, Jafar. He didn't know you were there. I have heard that the center for Arjumand has been partially completed. So she's just focused on her lover's grave rather than the silly story of the two of us.”

“Contest so.” She wiped her tears, held my hips with a smile. “How's your love, Ladli.”

“God has taken care of it for you, always, and forever, Jafar.”

“I brought you something. I hope you like.”

I cringe. Then, Jafar let me go. His gaze was fixed on one of the spruce trees. When he paused his sentence for a while, something appeared slowly from his sturdy trunk. A horse and a boy. I squinted at first, but then my tears spilled unbearably. The boy stood up straight, walking with definite steps. His jaw was firm, his eyes were round, his eyebrows were curling beautifully over his black eyes. His nose is small but sharp. Her lips are still red, like mulberry fruit. The skin is clean, only slightly tanned due to sunburn in the Deccan.

We stared at each other for a while. Then, awkwardly, he walked slowly towards me. His steps made me sniffle the sedan. As he was one cubit away, I could hear his breathing pierce the path of his lungs. I smiled at him, and he smiled at me. I squatted myself in front of him. My hands stretched freely, then he ran to hug me.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Ya.” She was crying on my shoulder. It was painful, but this is the situation. Jafar sobbed not far from us, while Nazeer Khan watched this incident without making a sound.

“Call me.”

“Mother.”

“One more time, Son. Please.”

“Mother,” said. He hugged me tighter, this time sobbing there.

“Cium me. Kiss me, Khusrow.”

He broke our embrace. I kissed my cheeks and lips many times. I kissed her forehead full of love, then her scalp alternately. I hugged her again, as if I didn't want her to leave. After ten years of waiting, he came to me with an attitude as if he had developed into a teenager, but he was still a boy. But, his self-reliance had been seen. He will be strong, because Jafar trains him in battle and battle. I kissed her again.

“Did you miss your mother?”

“Yes, Mom. I've been waiting, too long.”

“Im sorry Mom, Darling. Mom had no choice. And your father knows it.”

He nodded in understanding, then looked at Jafar. The man came to us to hug as hard as he could. In her arms, we cried together. This grief is utterly unbearable, which more closely resembles an escape and a secret love. My mother was dead, Shah Jahan was already indifferent to this, but we still acted as if we were being hunted by a dozen sultanate soldiers.

Khusrow was asleep on my lap that afternoon. We spent time in the forest until the evening came combing through time. Our hands clenched, sometimes Khusrow hugged him very tightly, as if he had been promised this from birth. And indeed, I had asked Jafar to bring it to me back then. Now, he keeps his promise. I know I love the right people.

“Thank you for bringing Khusrow to me.” Her hair is black.

Jafar smiled, ranum on his face. “Thank you for keeping your love for me. I don't know what to say, because I'm not a poet of love. But I feel that my peace is now there. For years, I've been waiting for this.”

“Are you married?”

“Ya,” the answer is grim. Before I asked who the lucky lady was, she answered it herself. “A girl. I found it in Delhi.”

“Does he know who Khusrow is? And who is her mother?”

“Sure. I told him all that when we were getting married.”

I cringe. “And does he not mind this? Is he jealous?”

Jafar laughed, sounding shahdu among the friction of river water with mossy stones. He clasped my finger, and I knew what it meant. “Even if he's jealous, he won't say anything. He has learned much from you, for I told him everything about you Jafar took a breath, seeming relief to him. “She was happy. Very pleased. Because a Princess gave her son to a commoner girl.”

“I hope so.” I bowed, watching Khusrow take a deep breath in his sleep. Every now and then, there would be a small mosquito, and I patted it while muttering furiously at the animal.

“Come with me, Ladli. Get out of Shahdara, get out of Lahore. I need you beside me. Khusrow. And do you think that she's not terribly sad when she finds out that her mother isn't next to her every night? Perhaps to tell a story or two. We cried happily together when he was just born. And now, I want us to cry as he grows up.”

I smile. I took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. My feet swipe the wet foliage below. I resolved myself to speak, so that Jafar would understand how strong I am in this choice. “No, Jafar. I can't.”

“Sultan Begam is dead, Ladli.”

“My body is here, forever. I'm not leaving my mother here alone. After all, Arzani will be married, surely, one day, and I don't want him to be lonely isolated here.”

He clucked, grim on his face. “Don't you love me?”

“Sure I love you. Because I love you, I gave Khusrow to you. So that, one day, when I die away from you,” I clasped his hand harder. There was sadness on both of our faces. “There will be Khusrow who replaces me. Perhaps, you will only know of my death when you visit back here. And that's not even when, Jafar. Or maybe you have died somewhere in the sultanate area.”

He wiped my cheek. “Why should you say that, My beloved?”

“Because I want to live the afterlife with you in heaven.”

We parted ways as the muazzin chanted time for the believers to pray. We were separated by the voice of the Adhan, and we knew when we would meet again. Nazeer drove our horses very slowly, giving me a little time and opportunity to observe Jafar and Khusrow who were shrinking as we walked away. The farewell this time did not hurt much, for I knew that both my beloved and my son could live in the sultanate, shrouded by so many officers and soldiers scattered in the army of the Princes. Khusrow cried when I was leaving, but Jafar promised him that they would come again next time. I don't know when, I'm still in doubt, but it's a powerful weapon for kids his age. My horse breezed freely through the path towards the village, leaving behind a surreptitious view. Perhaps, if God wills to have mercy on us, the two men will return to my side. And we, perhaps, one day, for a short time, for I will be very old later, will live as a whole family.

Nazeer and I looked up at the night sky stars in our house. My back rests on a pillar, while my hand holds Khusrow's blood-spattered underwear. Nazeer sat under the stairs that led to the back garden, where Jafar and I met secretly in the clutches of darkness. Do I have a memory of Jafar? I tried to remember, but I found nothing. Let the memory of him be left only at a time in the past, which has been twisted and hardened for the rest of my life which is sometimes fond and sometimes full of nothing. A star falls from space, darting bluish. I watched him, fascinated, but didn't say anything. It's like a diamond.

“A shooting star, Princess. Make a request.”

I smiled at him. “It's not necessary. I won't beg for anything because everything is more than enough.”

“Do you not want to see them again?”

“Sure I want to. But I'm sure he'll come. One day, perhaps if it is my center that stands firm, I will welcome them from behind death.”

Nazeer looked at me, then moved to the other side of the pillar. His knees were bent to the chest, his head leaned against the pillar. He's sleepy, I thought. So he's cursing weakly. “I'm sorry for telling your mother, Princess. That's a mistake I'll never forgive myself.”

I laugh. “It's okay, Nazeer. My story wouldn't go perfectly without it.”

“Will you be happy with this life, Princess?”

I sighed, then stuck my finger between the hair shafts. “Initial, I want to die. But now I know that God gives life that is not free.”

“You have lived lovingly, Princess. Be happy with it.”

I smile. We sat there until the night grew old, leaving the sky slowly to pour into the inhospitable black clouds. The silver light flashed, occasionally falling on my forehead which began to wrinkle. I watched Nazeer sleep. He snored earlier, but now I can't even see his chest going up and down. I thought he was sleeping, but I knew his breath was gone. Nazeer has left.[]