Princess Ladli Begam's

CHAPTER III: BLESSING OF GOD

It had been months since the nightmare in reality had passed. Never did I stop to regret my mother's choice or regret my own life. During these months, Shahryar came to me many times. And still nothing changed because I was still treated like his dog. In one night, I had to watch her call three slave girls and she made love to them in front of my eyes. Oh how I was disgusted at that sight. But my body doesn't have enough courage to destroy it. If only God had given me a glimmer of hope and courage in my actions, I would have thrown a dull dagger on his soft chest.

But I refused to tell my mother anything about this. Even though Nazeer Khan knows—maybe I'm wrong, he won't tell mom this because I asked him to promise when he gets caught standing in the doorway one night. My suffering has been alone. I have swallowed the poison of life without sharing. It is my heart and body that burns alone. There is no place to share but Allah. Anyone is not aware that the Queen's daughter Nur Jahan is in trouble half-dead.

The Sultanate travelled to Lahore a few days later. We were led in a large parade procession of elephants, camels, horses, stretchers, chariots, chariots, chariots, thousands of pedestrian ministers and soldiers and slaves. I sat in the howdah, a roofed seat on an elephant. Thin curtains covered his entire side, and I could freely wear a veil inside. During the journey, I spent my time reciting poetry, embroidery, reciting the Qur’an His Majesty, looking at the curtains a little to feel the healthy air that does not threaten.

The further north, the Hindustant climate is getting colder. This is because the northern region is in direct contact with the Himalayan Mountains. Lahore is just a few miles from there, preceded by Kabul and Kashmir in the outermost position of the sultanate. During this time, Sultan Jahangir suffered from asthma, which made my mother take over the government. So he needed fresh air to breathe a sigh of relief, so that he had the power to lead the palace trial, he said, so that he can appear in the jarokha every morning to tell all his beloved people that their Sultan is still alive and the sultanate he leads is safe and sentosa. The smell of the mountains is the goal. And he will definitely move to Kashmir when the Shahryar military operation is over.

We arrived at Lahore fort two months later. The rain has been pouring down on the city since morning, and will continue until evening. The mud slowed our movement. Elephants and horses drowned. It took me a while to get him out of there. I saw from behind the curtain the drops of water still falling from the dark sky like a clean thin curtain. Roses, jasmine, daisies, lilies, musk, central hibiscus are in perfect bloom. The tamarind, neem, and frangipani trees are beautifully laid out all over the cobbled streets, lined up like a welcoming procession. People were harvesting their rice, or plucking melons or pumpkins in fertile fields. As the sultanate parade passed, the Sultan Jahangir's entourage's guide shouted: “do taslim!” And so, the whole person did: put his hand on his forehead, put it down, put it again three times. The veiled or purdah women hide behind the windows of their homes, peering through their cold and small lattices.

Our horses neighed, wagging their nape wet with rainwater. I took out my hand that clashed the golden bracelet outside the curtain, feeling the air. D it's cold. So I pulled out a thick wool blanket and weighted it down to the neck. My elephant swayed along with the elongated human flow, and stopped as the gate of the fort opened. The iron chain was lowered, then a wooden door opened into a path in front of the group. Sultan Jahangir led the royal entourage at the front, followed by Shahryar, the upper class nobles, Padshah Begam, the Queens, their children, and the last were the ministers. Our people shouted the sentence “zindabad Sultan”, the Sultan's longevity, as much as three times. Then, a meeting in Diwan-i Am, the Sultanate Hall for a public hearing, was prepared half an hour later.

Shahryar leaves tomorrow, not yet perfect at dawn. Leave the rest of the night by our side for a few hours. He had brought five thousand cavalry and two thousand infantry under his command. They had marched north-west and would not return until the Persian Shah Abbas's forces had run backwards. But, one unexpected thing arrived this morning. Hastily carried by the messenger Agra. That Prince Khurram, the bi-daulat, was rebelling north.

Then something disturbed me later, because I was pregnant.

***

Everyone had forgotten, that Prince Khurram had brought Khan-i-Khanan Abdur Rahim, the supreme commander of the sultanate army was by his side to Burhanpur. Now, the two of them led a giant army north. He marched forward with a stern look as if convinced that victory would be his. Sultan Jahangir called the nobles for a hearing after the news arrived. The zenana women stood behind the grating veil behind the Sultan's throne, listening intently until this was over. During that time, my mother looked at my body, and realized that pregnancy had stopped in my body.

“You pregnant?” he asked while touching my stomach. I tried to react slowly to avoid it. “I heard you don't want to eat anything but mashed khichri. You pregnant, Ladli?” ask again.

I put my index finger on her lips, hinting her not to speak too strongly. There are too many women here, and there will be too many women who do not want this baby to be born into the world. “Let this be our secret,” I said in his ear.

“Will I have a healer,” he said half a whisper.

“No, please. For the love of God, Mum.”

He frowned, feeling astonished. “Why? Shahryar will be happy.” He looked back, watching the zenana women whispering as Sultan Jahangir said he would oppose Khurram walking to Agra.

“No, he won't,” I replied weakly. My breath was filled with exhaustion. “This child will not be a boy. I swear, by the love of God, that this child will never be a boy. He could ask for a boy from his concubines. But not from my womb. Not this one! If he became the Sultan, well that's what he said at least, he could raise his sons as successors to the sultanate. Mughal law does not require that the Queen's only child be the Sultan. The children of the concubines have rights. And I know Sharyar can do it.”

Mom squeezed my hand, indicating that I was talking too much and she didn't like it. “But, Ladli, don't you think the boys profit? Don't you want a position in the sultanate's zenana as Sultan Begam? Imagine if Shahryar died and your son would be the next Sultan.”

“Please,” I squeezed her hand back, then my tears welled up inside my glittering clear eyeballs. “Do not force me.”

He gave up, then walked away from me in silence. I don't know what you're thinking, but the look on her face doesn't seem very like or happy. We went back to silence, stretching out the silence for a few moments. Neither I nor he now listen to the words of Sultan Jahangir to fight his son bi-daulat was on his way. A large army was prepared, well armed, commandeered by the elect. Then Sultan Jahangir tucked his farman over the savagery of his son who would be exiled forever if he lost the battle.

So, the motorcade moved the next day. Commanded by Mahabat Khan, a general was summoned from the Kabul area, where he was isolated for years in the sultanate's outermost areas. Sultan Jahangir had given him the authority to pursue Khurram, raising his pride back to the palace, because Mahabat Khan was deliberately placed in the furthest place because he was disliked by my mother many years ago. And calling him back now was a mistake.

Mahabat Khan moved away like a bunch of termites. He brought a large army as the mullahs recited verses of the Qur’an from inside the mosque after dawn. When the earth is a bluish expanse. The Great Mughal flag depicted a golden lion falling asleep surging in the cold air. I would bet that Mahabat Khan had thought, that if he managed to catch up to Khurram, he would be remembered as a hero of the sultanate. His position in the palace will be returned, and either he or Sultan Jahangir will be familiar again as before. But Mahabat Khan was wrong. Because there will be no appreciation for this service. He did indeed gallop south as expected, ravaging Prince Khurram's forces and pursuing them as fugitives. He had hoped for too much, but he would not get anything out of that hope in the end.

I counted how long it had been since the man had moved. One month, two, three, four, and the news of victory and rest entered my mother's zenana immediately. Sultan Jahangir suffered from high fever at that time. Seven pieces of ice cubes were tied up in cloth and placed under his pillow. He howled at midnight to ask Kashmir. But my mother doubted whether she could bring the entire sultanate to move further north. News from Shahryar has not yet arrived, but a spy has returned and said that Prince Nashudani did nothing but parade around Qandahar half-heartedly. He did not conquer Shah Abbas. Just a walk where he likes. Sok scares with his troops are arrogant and starving. Maybe he knew that he was not capable at all.

So, my mother called Shahryar back to Lahore Fortress, ending his ridiculous pretence military operation. Following behind them, a letter of agreement and demand from Shah Abbas was filed with the Sultan. In reality, Sultan Jahangir did not have enough time to rise from his place and read the demands of his enemy. It is too early to say that the Sultan has recovered from his illness. My mother withheld the letter, waiting in case Sultan Jahangir improved for the next two days. But no, because the fever is back. Fed up, Shah Abbas took Qandahar from the sultanate. He had stolen the most important trading commodity in the Mughal empire which was directly related to the international trade of the silk line. My situation was no better, though Shahryar softened on me because he knew I contained his seed. He knelt on his alphabet to pray five times a day, praying that the child I was carrying was a man. But I know that his prayers will not be answered, because he's a badmash who likes to drink and play women.

A letter arrived from Mahabat Khan. He had pursued Khurram until his army was scattered all over the place he had left. Elephants and horses became carcasses in the middle of the street, which forced Khurram to tire and stop north. He returned again to Burhanpur, but the sultanate now refused him. No one will accept it because Sultan Jahangir said he will exile him forever. So, he moved further south, to the Kingdom of Golconda, his old enemy. It could be a new protection for him.

Mahabat Khan stopped at the border line. Establishing monitoring posts and tents and fortifications, in case Khurram entered suddenly with his guerrilla attack. But, for an entire month, the Prince was nowhere to be seen. He had taken Arjumand and his sons away from the sultanate for some time, feeling sorry for themselves in the kingdom of others, running away from mala and death. It is unfortunate the fate of my lover, because he now has no wealth that he can pay for his soldiers. I pray that God will give King Golconda generosity so that he may receive Khurram and his army in the palace. His soldiers are now eager to get out, overshadowed by their passion for home and home. Golconda is not their home. Mughals are where they live.

So, two months later, Khurram sent an apology letter to his father. He pleaded no longer to be pursued, accepted into the sultanate he loved, but willing to be exiled from government. Sultan Jahangir agreed. With the assurance of his two sons, Dara Shikoh and Shah Shuja, were sent to Agra as a guarantee that he would no longer rebel in the future. I am relieved that Khurram can now live comfortably.

By then, my womb had reached its time. My stomach was soaring like a watermelon, a big round like it was about to explode, and the child inside was often kicking, forcing it to come out. My body drooped on the floor, falling, between unconsciousness and fainting as warm water flooded my groin. My breath was wheezing, my heart was pumping blood quickly. The eunuchs brought my body back to the room, while my hands held their tunics in pain. I called my mother's name, Mehrunnisa, whimpering with a very intense experiment. My body was laid on the bed, then I groaned again while crying. Who will accompany my delivery now? Shahreyars? Of course not. He won't see blood. The coward would not look at a wife he did not love screaming in pain as he watched in prayer. There will be no prayer for him. But for the boy he hoped there would be.

The doctors are called. They came in and took off the veil. No man will be allowed in, not even Nazeer Khan.

“It won't hurt, Princess,” said someone among them when drinking herbs from her wool bag into my dry mouth. He saw me pause the drink, forcing me to drink it again many times. “You just need to catch your breath and get the child's head out easily.”

The woman took a woolen cloth that had been soaked in warm water in a copper bowl to wipe her hands. He glanced at me, glancing with a smile. “Padshah Begam is walking here, Princess.”

I speak the names of Allah the Most High when the contractions come again. My teeth clapped, and then I sweated. The healers told me to push the baby out, take a breath, exhale slowly, then push the baby back. Contractions roared me further, making me scream, groaning in pain. Kuremas sheets my bed to endure the pain. Oh, O Allah, is this how Arjumand felt when she was about to give birth? And, many times already. I can't imagine how much pain Arjumand has. But maybe he's been trained in this pain.

An hour later, there was no change. I often stop to charge, then race songs to hold death. If this child does not survive, then I will die for it. Or, we could both have been unlucky and die during labor. Goods times are so better. There will be no good when this child is born, even though he is a boy—no, he cannot be a boy, I cry within myself. So, my groans hardened, I pushed the baby hard. Why hasn't mom come yet? Was the farman sultanate more important than the life of his daughter threatened? There was no Shahryar, no mother, and in the end, my tears seeped, fell from my sweaty cheeks, there would be no Khurram. I imagined my lover sitting by my side, telling me a romance, and then slowly peeling my forehead and cheeks and lips with love. I was just imagining it and I felt my pain lessen. But, again when I tried to make myself aware, it was just a sickening dream and delusion.

“Ladli!” The voice screamed from outside. From where I was lying, I saw my mother running in shock. He threw his veil at any place, but Nazeer Khan quoted him later. “Oh, O Allah, what happened to my daughter?” She examined my groin cavity, watching it so well that she was completely convinced that something was wrong with her child's womb. “What happened to the baby?”

“Looks,” said the healer while wiping off sweat. He got up to look at my mother's stiffened face. “The baby is breech, Your Highness.”

Breech? What kind of horrible word is that? I was scared to death when I heard it. I strengthened myself, but I doubted if I was really strong. My breath was irregular, and then I sobbed. The horror holds me alone. Am I going to die? Or is this child going to die? Or will we both die? Am I not going to see Khurram again?

Mom ran to my side. I wiped my sweat slowly, and he sat down on a small wooden chair. “Quiet, Ladliku darling. Everything's gonna be fine. There's nothing to be afraid of. The healers know what they have to do.”

“Oh, Mom. I'm gonna die. Look,” I replied while telling her to watch my stomach still bulging. Contractions came to me without pause, but I was breathing deeply and needed to rest. The doctors gave me honey. Tastes sweet. He said to strengthen my body.

“No, shut up, honey. I'll be by your side until the baby is born.”

Before I could answer his question, the healer came to Mom. “We must seat the Princess, Your Majesty. The baby must be removed or she will die.”

“I know.”

I did not have time to answer, or just give a nod to the actions that would be done to me. My body sat down, then my crotch opened wide. The healer reached into the part between my crotch, nodded, then said. “Take warm water.” Another healer brought him warm water in a basin, and he washed his hands until he was absolutely sure I was ready. “Driven, Princess.”

I groaned, my heart almost jumped because of this. I took my breath deep. As I closed my mouth, I groaned again as strongly as possible. A few minutes later, the doctor said that his leg had come out. He pulled the baby slowly, still covered in fresh blood dripping. Stay head. A doctor gave me honey again. I don't know how many times this very sweet liquid got into my mouth, and maybe I was so tired that it felt bad.

“One more time, Ladli. Push and get the baby out.” Mother ruled with fear.

I groan. This time, I'm sure I no longer have the energy after that groan. My body fell, but I knew that my son's round head had come out. His screams rang out as the healer slapped his tiny butt. I didn't have time to ask if he was a boy or a girl, but I knew he was safe. For a seventeen-year-old woman, this is terrifying. I drooped on the blood-soaked bedsheet, unable to utter a single vocabulary around me. In my heart, I murmured, thank God. I lived. I'm still alive. My heart was still beating furiously, so I calmed myself down.

Mom came to me. He picked up a wet wool cloth and wiped it on my slippery forehead. “Congratulations, My dear. You're a mother. She ...” Mother glanced at the healer who wrapped my son in a warm wool blanket. The patches of blood were still on him, but he was no longer crying. “A woman,” she continued slowly, like despair.

“What? Say it again,” my door to him.

“You've heard it, Ladli. A woman.”

The spirit burned back inside me. I asked the child to be brought to me from the arms of the physician. “For God's love, bring him here.” For a moment, the boy was in my arms. I opened my blouse button, and then he sucked my ass hungry. A perfect child, a perfect daughter. Thank you, O God. She chick. Cut this kid out when he drinks my ass greedily. I counted the number of fingers, no one was deformed. Her eyes were closed, her lips were like rose buds, and her hair was black as it was night. Shahryar won't like it, for sure, and I won't care about his wrath or his opinion. If she doesn't want to raise this child alone, let me raise her. I'll raise him with my ego, and I won't let his mischievous hands touch his perfect female body. I kissed her blood-stained hair, and her clenched legs and hands were cold.

“She should have a name,” says mom stroking her hair.

“Arzani. I call him Arzani. Arzani Begam.”

Arzanis. The Beneficent.

From the next room, I heard Shahryar yelling. “Free women?” He was so angry that the clangs of vases and gold plates could be heard all the way here. The healers looked at me with sadness, but I convinced myself that Shahryar was not the problem. This child is mine, not hers.

“There will be another child for you,” said the mother by my side. “Usiamu seventeen years.”

I didn't nod or shudder disapprovingly. But, within myself, I doubt, nor hope. After that, there will be no more children for Shahryar.[]