Princess Ladli Begam's

CHAPTER V: EXILE

As expected, Prince Khurram marched to Lahore when he learned that his father had died. He brought a large army ready to die from his place of exile. Over the years of neglect and misrepresentation of my mother's tutelage, Prince Khurram has built his own defenses and army. Well wait for the moment until he can detonate his own weapon. Arjumand was, of course, with him alive or dead. So, they really marched north. Khan-i Khanan Abdur Rahim, Commander of the Sultanate Army, and Mahabat Khan were on his side. I had guessed before, and knew that now my guess was not wrong because either Abul Hasan's uncle or Mahabat Khan had planned this since the Sultan's hostage-taking.

The letter was rushed, inscribed with a warning doodle, which was emphasized in a serious tone, that the entire entourage of Sultan Jahangir should go to Lahore as soon as possible. But it was Shahryar who had been there, the nashudani. While my mother and I will perform a funeral ceremony for Sultan Jahangir here with uncle Abul Hasan. The entire male audience was wearing white tunics and white turbans, made as simple as possible for everyone to be judged equally. Women wear white tight blouses, white skirts, veils and white veils wrapped around the face. The mullahs recited Al-Fatihah's letter again, over and over again, shouted by the whole audience, then a mullah led the prayer. Sandalwood was burned around the coffin, and the Sultan's body was brought there to be laid.

Sultan Jahangir has been bathed in camphor water, so the smell makes me sneeze many times. She was wrapped in a three-sheet white shroud and placed inside a crate. We will move to Lahore while food for the fakir is prepared by the sultanate's kitchen. Because during the journey, there will be thousands of people who collect a ration of a piece of bread, which is replaced with a prayer for the Sultan.

Mom and I stood in front of the tent to wait for the men to finish their duties. As the coffins were carried by the eunuchs of the palace, Abul Hasan's uncle came to us on his horse. He tethered the animal, then ran to Mom's side seriously.

“What else, Abul?”

“Sorry. But you two won't be allowed to lead this accompaniment.”

Mother frowned, until her eyebrows seemed to be fused. “What? Wh why? Not so our deal.”

“That's my deal, Mehrunnisa,” said uncle Abul Hasan, calling my mother's name gently. “You and Ladli will be herded in the sultanate's elephants until we arrive at Lahore.”

But, my mother shook her head, never agreeing on what advice people dropped on her. “No, Abul. No.” Mother took a few steps forward to release the mooring of Uncle Abul Hasan's horse, but the man came to hold her arm. “Let me go, Abul. Do you know what you're doing now? I'm Sultan Begam, Widow Sultan.”

“A widow, Mehrunnisa. And a widow cannot be seen on horseback or walk in public for the next four months after her husband's death.”

Mother took her hand off from Uncle Abul Hasan, while all I did was watch the two from the front of the tent. “Oh? Since when did you learn to have a tongue, Abul? Stop this silliness and bring the group here.”

Uncle Abul shook his head, then called out to the five imperial guards. He turned around to turn his back on us and released his horse moorings confidently. “Prince Khurram has ordered me, Mehrunnisa. And I will because he is my son-in-law.” He galloped away, avoiding my mother's gaze in contrast.

At that moment, my mother opened her eyes. He knows that now, there will be no hope for us. We have let one traitor roam around ourselves, letting him hear too much, letting him know what he does not need to catch. In the end, we let him take the funeral procession of Sultan Jahangir back to Lahore. If Shahryar is not finished off by Khurram, then he will be finished off by Abul Hasan's uncle.

Five bodyguards led us into the tent, and an elephant with a thick curtain was prepared in front. We climbed it reluctantly. My mother kept telling me about her brother's betrayal. If only he had the thought of killing his brother in the past because of the inheritance they had set aside, perhaps he would regret it today for not doing so long ago.

“Curse you, Abul. And if Shahryar is going to be Sultan, I'll make sure you're in jail with your son-in-law and your beloved son forever

However, his voice was ignored. We moved slowly to Lahore, deliberately, to smooth the path of Prince Khurram to cut off Shahryar's head with his hand. But strangely enough, on the way, Abul Hasan's uncle crowned Dawar, the son of the late Prince Khusrau, to be the next Sultan, very hasty because he thought Prince Khurram was too slow from the south. But then, we arrived at the Lahore fort first from Khurram. Abul Hasan's uncle broke through the gates and defeated Shahryar's entire army with ease. The troops fled south, which was to be combed out by the Khurram army led by Mahabat Khan and Abdur Rahim. So, now, the sultanate has had the victor. Loyalty had swelled on Khurram's side, like boils ready to break. And on the other hand, on Shahryar's side, or literally, on Mother's side, people began to change their minds to hang on to that nashudani Prince. Uncle Abul Hasan had persuaded them, giving them assurance to live if they defected from my husband. So, rather than risk losing their heads and their wives' children being impoverished, the nobles changed their course and fled to Khurram's side.

When the Lahore Fort was conquered, Abul Hasan's uncle dragged Shahryar before Dawar to his knees. He was so horrible with his leprin, even I wanted to vomit when I looked at him from the howdah. Six guards were called there. One man held Shahryar's head, two men held his feet, the other two held his hands. He thrashed, swearing, but his head was subdued forcefully. A last guard picked up the iron that had been heated. It's bright red, smoky. It fizzed, as if it was hunting prey.

Shahryar was forced to look up at the empty blue sky. As he reached for the vision for himself, hot iron was plugged into his eyes. He thrashed, screaming in pain, his tongue stretched out to help his voice squeal like a street dog. I closed my mouth when I saw this sad sight before my eyes, while all Mom did was cry for her poor, leprosy daughter-in-law. When they were done, Shahryar was left on the ground, curled up alone, in pain of fate and himself. Shortly after, the palace physician came to treat the wound in his eyes. He blind.

Three days later, when the five of us were able to sit in the room: Me, Mother, Nazeer Khan, Shahryar, and Arzani, news reached Abul Hasan's uncle that Prince Khurram would be there any minute. So, he threw the Rose, which he had crowned hurriedly, into the same room as us. Although this room is part of the fort, we are not allowed to set foot anywhere we want. Subtly, Uncle Abul Hasan has imprisoned us all. I pray to God that none of this will seem worse. What else after this? I dare not suspect, while the Shahryar**** is now thrashing when the pulse in his eyes becomes so. I took care of him as much as possible, but he refused harshly. Even so, I still brought her clothes and food and blankets.

“Mother, what happened when Prince Khurram came here?” Arzani looked at me blankly. It's sad to see a three-year-old trying to understand all this as part of his childhood memory. “Will he hurt us?”

“He will not hurt the grandson of Sultan Begam,” I said in response, for that is all I can say, while my hands hugged his little head in my lap.

Mom was watching us all. His heart ached now, but there was not a single sentence he could speak as a representative of his own grief. She was not even allowed to see her beloved husband's body one last time before being buried in the ground. He was once nicknamed Nur Jahan Begam, whose words were feared, his murkanya mourned, his voice echoed from behind the grating veil, but now, he was the poor Widow of the Sultan alone.

Just as the day was promised, Khurram came to the fortress of Lahore. We can hear the screams of Zindabad! Zindabad! Zindabad! Shabash, Pana Realm! Shabash, Pana Realm! He must have come with a big procession, for the sultanate orchestra was buzzing with excitement when they found their longing Prince arriving at the gate of the fortress. I guess that now he must be more handsome. Thinking of her charming looks, the glint of her eyes hunting me, had ruined my night dreams into nothingness. Now, after all this time, Khurram came back to me.

The iron door opened when two guards lifted Shahryar and Dawar from us. Mother stopped them by force, dumping someone on the floor. “What are you doing? Who ordered you?”

Mom frowned. “What? The bi-daulat has converted itself? Look how shameless he is. Did he ascend the throne by the permission of God?”

“Of course, Sultan Begam. He is a winner that Allah approves.”

“Quite answer my question briefly, Badmash! Is Arjumand Padshah Begam?”

They nodded, watching each other. Then look at the looks of my aging mother. “Yes, Sultan Begam. His Sultan gave him the title Mumtaz Mahal.”

“What?”

I shuddered, a sense of amazement coming to me. Mumtaz Mahal's. Selected in the palace. I don't know what kind of happiness Khurram might be able to do for his wife. However, this, title, a blessing, a sign of blessing, Mumtaz Mahal is priceless. I got goosebumps myself hearing it. My mother was weak, falling out of place. Khurram has warned everyone that if his father can give his wife the title Nur Jahan, then he could do the same by giving the title Mumtaz Mahal to his Queen. At that moment, Dawar and Shahryar were brought from before us, disappearing from behind the open iron door. As I pondered, my heart was pumping blood too fast. I can even hear it ticking in a cage of my bones.

I saw a glittering iron door, and then two people entered slowly. As the two men stood before us, and we looked up without command, I saw Khurram there, and Arjumand. Dear arjumandku.

He ran to my side to hug me familiarly. I cried on his shoulder, hoping, if only I could, that the wound lodged in me could he throw away. “Oh, Arjumand,”. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

“No, Ladli, no. Forgetit. Shh. It's all over, Ladli,” said as he broke up, watching Arzani by my side awkwardly. He kissed my son gently, hugged him familiarly and held him in the soft clutches of his hands. “Oh, Dear. You're too small to see this.” He was sobbing, probably very sad on my luck as his cousin. And all he knew was that the story of the plaintiff was accompanied by my cruel betrayal of his feelings. Because she knows I love her husband.

I wiped my tears slowly, watching Arjumand return. “I'll bring Arzani on the kids,” he said gently. And when I nodded, he left with the boy. I don't have any thoughts. Arjumand is a generous woman. But something else bothered me later. Khurram—, who from now on will be known as Shah Jahan, stands before me. I looked at his body. Her chest was a field, her upright demeanor, her beautiful eyes, her thin lips were fondling her, and her jawbone was firm. This prince, my beloved, hasn't changed since the last time I saw him marching to Burhanpur for military operations. He had turned into a grown man, and the Sultan anyway. Her face was blushing with the sun, while my face was blushing with this love.

“What do you want?” Mom threw a glance at just anyone.

“Listen to me, Mehrunnisa.” Khurram lifted his chin. He knew that for some reason, he had been ignored by my mother. So he sat down, demanding his attention on us. “At Allah's permission, I will execute Shahryar and Dawar tomorrow. We're going home to Agra with the entire treasure vault. And while we prgi, you guys will stay.”

“Both?” my mother asked, looking directly at her sparkling eyes. I died half-dead when I found out that my husband would lose his head tomorrow. So, I cried sedu sedan, sobbing alone, while my mother was trembling.

Khurram nodded, not saying anything.

“You're crazy, Khurram. You have killed all men for the throne of your father. I wondered if your son would not imitate his father? There is an irony in this, because children will learn. That their father had sat in the Sultan's seat in a filthy and despicable manner. So the children will imitate him. Your children, Dara Shikoh, Shah Shuja, Aurangzeb, and Murad, will emulate the same. You can pull my tongue out if one of your children won't rebel later.”

“Impressive,” respond Khurram. He got up to leave. “I came here as Sultan, and then you preached as if you were my mother. Remember, Mehrunnisa,” she turned her head to the right side, watching my mother with her eyes. “You are the one responsible for my mother's death. I won't ask how, but I know you did. Al-Qur’an His Majesty has said “And if you do evil, then the loss for the crime will be on yourself.” Don't blame me, Mehrunnisa. Because you're the one who's planning to put my sister who****** that's on the throne. What the fuck?”

My mother gulped her saliva, took a deep breath. I saw him growling as Khurram turned to leave. Two conclusions. One, we'll be left out. Two, there will be bad events during his reign. For the curse he instilled was not only for my mother, but also for herself, for she killed all the brothers and the whole family who had blood relations with the Sultan. And that verse, the one he quotes from the Qur’an His Majesty, has struck his own heart. I think he knows himself. So Khurram galloped off to leave us.

“I have one message, Mehrunnisa.” He turned around once again. “You won't be allowed to leave Lahore forever.”

“You badmash!, badmash!” Mother threw a porcelain towards the door, which broke when it hit the floor. Then, Khurram left. I only saw him for a moment, and he went away like a ghost with his indifference. He has been away, for years, in military operations, with Arjumand always by his side, the children in his bed. And I now have the answer, that the feeling that Khurram had, be it a glimmer or a hunk, is now gone without rest.

The next day, as promised, Shahryar and Dawar and two of Khurram's other cousins were executed. They were lined up outside the fortress, with their hands tied, and their eyes wrapped in black silk. The mullahs recited prayers around him, playing the galloping motion of the executioner without hesitation like bloodthirsty. Two minutes apart, their heads and necks hissed as a curved sword passed between them. Their bodies were left to rot, while the heads were plugged in front of the fortress gate. I was crying at that moment. Although Shahryar was despicable, and at least I am grateful that God took him, he is my husband. I don't want Arzani to remember that his father was murdered by his own uncle.

In the afternoon, as the sun rose above the head track, the sultanate's entourage moved to Agra in a large parade. We were left in Lahore. Roughly, isolated. Forever![]