Princess Ladli Begam's

CHAPTER VII: THE BELIEF

“Wazir Khan come to visit, Princess.”

I flinched from the cot, got up to look around for Nazeer Khan around my room. He stood behind the curtain. “Did he take Jafar with him?” I waited for him to answer, but he didn't nod and shook his head. However, Nazeer looked at me confidently, something that had answered my passion without being spoken in the form of words.

I understood for a long time. And when my confidence was overwritten by a smile from her lips, I ran to get the veil and veil. I smeared kohl around my eyes, then I ran towards the meeting hall. The veil has been exposed, hanging between the pillars and the floor surface. Mother sat on the lips of the curtain, with a thick veil of her favorite silk. Not far ahead, Wazir Khan sat obediently. Occasionally, his hands would reach for a ceramic glass filled with chai or scratch his white beard.

Wazir Khan was too old to be a subahdar, but his expertise in statecraft and Mughal Islamic law had brought him better fortune than his own age. I wonder why Shah Jahan is still watching people like him. But now I know that Wazir Khan is not a random person. The man had spoken too much, with a perfect and orderly vocabulary without offending. But the meaning is clear. For the first time, I saw my mother hear more than talk.

Behind Wazir Khan, sat my man—Jafar Husein Beg. I looked at him with happy eyes. My heart is beating like a musician's dholak. My breathing is heavy, and I don't know what to do when maybe I'll talk. My eyes were fixed on him, though as much as I tried to divert my eyes. He does look like Shah Jahan, too similar. From behind the veil, I can't even tell the two apart. Only, Jafar's nose is straighter than Shah Jahan's nose which is bent like a bird's beak. In addition, Jafar's eyes are brown, while Shah Jahan's eyes are jet black. A little bit of a mistake, I'd consider him the Sultan I love.

I clinked the bracelet from behind the curtain. My mother glanced at me, smiled and said. “My daughter, Wazir Khan. Ladli.”

Wazir Khan performs konish on the spot he sits. “Greetings, Princess. May God give you health. Does Lahore air make you uncomfortable?”

I smiled at him. “That's three years, Wazir Khan. And you just asked me about air now?”

He laughed, very softly, but his lips were hidden behind a thick beard. I wasn't looking at Wazir Khan, but the man sitting behind him. Jafar didn't look at me, but I saw his head turned to face the veil curiously. It was as if he was shocked and realized something. I saw his forehead frowning, and his eyeballs were circling thinking of something. He should have remembered. He must have remembered. There is no other woman in the world named Ladli. After all, I had invited him to our griya. And he has come.

Wazir Khan glanced at Jafar. “My Secretary, Your Majesty, Jafar Husein.”

Jafar doing konish. “Safety for you, Your Majesty. May God grant long life and life means.”

Mom nodded twice. “My life means something, Mr. Jafar. I have been through a time that cannot be borne by three, four, five women. God has taught me so much and I have taken it. Although maybe I just did it when it was all over and too late.” Mom laughed. “I'm not the kind of person to easily regret, Jafar. But being in your village has made me generous.”

“The state of life has led us to be better, Your Majesty. The violence we incite behind the day will be remembered as a sin. And the days that come we will use to repair everything and heal wounds.”

“He's a good young man, Wazir Khan. Where are you from, Jafar?”

“Multan, Your Highness.”

“Is your father a minister or a noble?”

“My father was a Persian escape, Your Majesty. We moved from Qandahar after Sultan Jahangir and Shah Abbas fought. My father died in Multan, and I became the secretary of Wazir Khan through state exams.”

Mom raised her chin. Will he like this guy? I wondered. “Oh? We have something in common with the past, Jafar. My father and mother were Persian escapes.” Mother took her gold bracelet, thrusting it at Jafar. “Take, Jafar. Take the. You're not going to refuse a gift from Sultan Begam, are you?”

So, he took it, staggered forward, took his bracelet with a heavy heart, and retreated backwards carefully as well. When he got too close, I could almost see his face from a distance of a few cubits once more.

“How old are you, Jafar?”

He looked at Mom's face. “Twenty-five spring, Your Grace.”

“And not married?” Mom turned her head to the right.

“I have to keep focusing on this job until I am absolutely sure that I am ready to get married. Women and children will demand too much attention, so I don't want to be too hasty on these two things.”

I jerked. We're our age. She was born in the same year as me, and I no longer need to guess how much distance was stretched between the ages of the two of us. Twenty-five spring, and not married yet! My passion for love rose and burned, carried by a hasty hope. I felt as if I was a young girl with perfect virginity. But I didn't realize I was a widow. I had a million dreams as a girl, but I was locked in by obligations and taboos from behind the bars of widowed status.

“You're the same age, Ladli.” Mom looked back, then I nodded without saying a word. He looked at Wazir Khan back and spoke to him. “There will be my birthday in two days, Wazir Khan. I hope you'll come here again. I asked myself who else would go to the lonely Sultan's Widow. Nobody wants to respect the exiles, right? Political prisoners usually end their lives in the lowest possible ways. I don't want to die as a poor man, Wazir Khan. I am Sultan Begam. My husband is the ruler of India.”

“I'll come, Your Grace. It was an honor to attend a banquet from Nur Jahan Sultan Begam.” Wazir Khan drank his chai, making a sound.

***

We have hired some workers to decorate the house. When he learned that Sultan Begam was going to hold a birthday celebration, the neighbors of the kayak kusuk, then came to throng the door offering help. Of course this is welcome, because we are not sure we can finish this party with four people. For two days, the house was constantly plagued by the clangs of hammers, pots, cauldrons, the screaming sounds of the workers, the beaten and smoothed wood, the blows of the thick Persian carpet, and the, the titles of silk and velvet, the sound of water spilling or gurgling, the crackling of a horse-drawn carriage or bulls, not to mention the sound of animals being slaughtered or taken away. I often close my nose when the rancid smell of blood pokes my nose, or when dust puffs form a pile in the corners of the house. The veil never leaves the face, for there are too many men, and too much dust to deal with. Hindu and Muslim women wash cooking utensils, gathering in one large cauldron to cook chicken curry and lamb chops. I smiled at their familiarity, which I often followed when time allowed me to join them. When I was with all these people, feeling the pleasure and fatigue of being an ordinary person, splashing the sweat that fell and dripping, he said, I realized that laughing and joking meant a lot in the midst of these difficult women. Maybe that's what has kept them alive, and that's what keeps them so close despite their different beliefs.

Fruits in large quantities were carried in horse carriages, carefully lowered by the village children. King bananas, watermelon, pumpkin, forest apple, pear, plum, pineapple, pomegranate, orange, dragon fruit, wine, melon, water guava, guava, and there are so many fresh vegetables such as broccoli, broccoli, mustard, carrots, turnips, spinach, eggplant, cucumbers, tomatoes, nuts, as well as spices such as pepper, turmeric, nutmeg, cloves, pepper, and cinnamon. Nazeer Khan examined these ingredients carefully as the children placed them where he commanded.

Not far from him, Mother noticed as the oil lamps framed in carved places were hung. The light is played in the form of several images, reflected on the floor or wall. Then, Persian carpets were held throughout the house in matching colors. I checked until there was really no part of the house that was not covered at all. Then, curtains were installed at each boundary of the niche. The color is multifaceted, bright beautiful impeccably. Teenage girls string jasmine tendrils and roses and daisies, wrapped around them in rambutan trees, mangoes, as well as garden lights. Oil lamps were lined up along the cobblestone streets, lit at night so that none of the parts of the house were left in darkness.

When evening breaks, the entire meal is prepared on a long table. Biryani, burfi, samosa, paneer, khumbi, chaat, rasagola, assam, poori, idli, vada, bondai, baiji, paan, chappatis, chai, ghee, jellie, nan, yang, and there's a flurry of fermented wine in there. The women began to decorate themselves. Henna pastes flooded our skin, and I felt that this was like a wedding feast. On the back of my hand, the henna had been carved into a groove of roses, and behind it, on the palm, a peacock with a tail climbed up into the part of a beautiful stretchy arm.

I've been arranging this makeup since an hour ago. After the faithful are called to bow in their prayer mats and say “maha holy God the most high and praiseworthy God,” the invitations begin to flock in festive feasts. I watched everything from the balcony, waiting, when would Jafar Husein arrive with the entourage of Wazir Khan. As the party went on, I felt empty but hopeful. When the dholak and sehnai buzzed in rhythm below, while a singer chanted the verses of love and hope, I cried. Now, I have to accept that love and hope are back in me. I ran into the room to justify the decoration. A row of kohl shone around my eyebrows, then a tikka of pearls was hung on my head. I smeared my lips with mulberry fruit liquid, which made the red glow in a perfect hue. My henna has dried up, but the color is so unmistakable. I picked up a veil and veil that was in rhythm with a plain white blouse and a book-nails skirt of silk. When I was ready, I realized, that this was the first time I had dressed up with all my heart. At least, the first time after my desire to attract the attention of Shah Jahan at the night market festival.

“She came,” Nazeer Khan said in surprise. He stood in the doorway, watching myself to look at him.

I looked at him while tidying up the veil. “Tell him to meet me in the darkest corner of the park, Nazeer.”

“What? You're crazy, Princess.” He went inside to stand in front of me. “This is your home, and you're a Princess. How can you invite Jafar to meet under the umbrella of darkness. Think risk. Think about what if your mother knew.”

“He won't know if someone doesn't leak it,” I said while wearing silk shoes. “I dress up for Jafar. And it's been a long time since Shah Jahan, Nazeer.” I clasped his wrinkled hands, begging for his mercy. “Tree. Let this Prince's Widow revel for one night. I have long sought my fortune. And now, Jafar has brought him in directly. I loved her from one look. And how I wanted to see it too often because this feeling was playing around in my heart.”

“How can you love him? You just looked at her once, Princess.”

“God has a plan, Nazeer. God has love for me.”

He's clucking. “And what is love Jafar?”

“We won't know until there's proof. Follow my words. Take him to the darkest corner of the garden, where the shrub tree sits alone. I'll be there in a few minutes.”

He shakes in disbelief. It is very difficult for this eunuch to digest. But I don't really care, because my love is something I'm going to love alone. I have made it clear, unbroken, that I want Jafar Husein among the darkness of the shrub tree. And he will bring it, even if he does not like it, for I command it. A meeting like this has risks, for sure. I would be considered very despicable if I was found to meet him alone, with me calling him anyway. Mom will be angry, and I can't guess what kind of rampage she's got for this. But, we can guess whose head will be rolled from the top of the execution pole. Must be Jafar's head, because he's not the Sultan's family. Nazeer retreated to look at me once more, his face covered in wrinkles. For a moment I thought he had aged all of a sudden, but it was a sad experiment he had.

“For there is love in him, Nazeer. Love Allah.”

I waited for Jafar under the shrub ten minutes later, just as I promised Nazeer. In this corner of the park, I managed to protect myself from the mischievous glow. The shrub has promised protection from behind its sturdy trunk, as well as from its gripping dark shadow. As long as I wait, I pray to God. I pray that no one will know that Ladli Begam is waiting for his secret lover behind the chocolate bar of a tree. From here, the atmosphere of the earthquake. The kitchen workers were moving dishes to the front hall to be served to the party attendees. The singer's voice was shrill, laden in the night air. I hugged myself, aware of the fear. It's been a long time since love existed, and now it's coming in a way that's not very true. Shahryar has made me think that a Royal Prince is not at all as attractive as their title. And Shah Jahan is the proof. That even a noble Prince will not be separated from the confines of tradition and the love of his woman, his wife, his lover, in the end, the mother of his children. I struggle with my instincts. Is Jafar not an impingement? Because he is similar, very similar to Shah Jahan. I fell in love with the charm, not the honest and comfortable attitude from the beginning, although that was my reason later. But, I was beginning to fear that me or her could just leave each other for a reason. He was a state official, despite being a secretary, and he could move to any province according to his Sultan's orders.

I bit my lower lip. My palms are soaked in sweat. I felt the damp air in my silk blouse fluttered by the night wind, and then crept into the hair that was seared behind the veil. I nodded, is this the right way? As I weighed in, I saw two people walking from a distance. They had moved from the blessed bundle of light towards the darkness. I watched him very uneasily, and knew that it was Nazeer Khan and Jafar. He makai a red turban, with a white tunic and silk shoes in rhythm. When he stopped, his eyes fell. Every now and then, she looked at my entire outfit, then denied herself to look further.

“Leave us both, Nazeer,” I said in a roar of hot breath.

“But, Princess.”

“Leave us because I ordered it.”

So Nazeer left very worried. He left my beloved alone, holding straight before me like a solid tree. I watched him with jelly, feeling that my chest would spurt out from behind the ribs. But Jafar didn't talk. Long silence stretched between the two of us, until I felt like I was dealing with no one. Every now and then, two people pass by not far from us, but they don't even notice.

“What's up, Mr Jafar?” I said to him, as if he was far away.

“I'm sorry, Princess. I didn't know it was you.” He replied as if his words were despicable the other day. “I didn't know that you were Sultan Begam's son. Please excuse my willingness to speak first on the Ravi.” river

I laugh. I took off the veil so that he would freely look at my face that was specially made for him. “And is that a problem, Jafar? We are a family of outcast sultans. You've heard the story that your Sultan has exiled his stepmother in Lahore, haven't you? After all, my father was not the Sultan. My father was Ali Quli Istalju, a Persian soldier. Why should we dispute that position? I'm not a princess, Jafar. I'm just an ordinary Begam. Because there's no blood in my veins.”

He lifted his face as I revealed that. Her face was very sweet, and I cursed this darkness because it prevented me from freely touching her comfort. “Did You marry Prince Shahryar, Princess?”

I nodded, my face water sour on him. “Yes. In the past, I was his wife. He's nashudani, you know? I don't think there's a single person in the sultanate who doesn't know that my husband used to be nashudani.”

“I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I didn't mean.”

“No, please. No apologies from your lips for me.” I clasped his hand suddenly. He noticed this, surprised at my actions, but he knew himself to be caught up in the same feeling, and he refused to let go of the grip of my hand. “Don't call me Princess or Her Majesty. I'm not Princess noble. I'm just an ordinary Begam, Jafar.”

“Yes, Ladli,” he said quietly, smiling sweetly at the end. “How about that?”

“Better. Do you mind when Nazeer Khan brings you here?”

He shook his head, lifting his back to stand straight. “Of course not. I'll never have an answer to reject your call. When he said, there I darted with him.”

“For the love of God, Jafar. Thank you.”

“And there will be much love of God to you, Ladli.”

I cringed at him. “What kind of love?”

“What kind of love do you want? You know God will grant dreams.”

“Not a cheap dream, certainly.”

She's laughing a little. Among the party's thunderclaps, our voices were muffled by the dominating noise. I stared at her face incessantly, laughing and smiling many times because her words were so sweet on my little earlobe. Tonight, I've stepped over two things. First, I opened my veil in front of a foreign man. And secondly, I've touched her suddenly like a cheap nautch girl. I wonder where my common sense is, but love has taken me through time. I wanted to commemorate the soul, but my day was empty of hope for its love. I want him to say “I love you.” I want the sin to be unbending in her lips, so that I can hear it so well and be sure that there is no doubt in her heart about me, and whether she loves me or not, I need to know now.

He held my hand now, and I felt my heart pounding in rhythm. My body warmed up, so I felt that my body was soulless. “How long have you been waiting to be free from the curse of love, Ladli?”

“More than you think, Jafar,” I replied. “I've exhausted the wait for this kind of thing. I have struggled with my life, and I feel that my life in the past was tasteless. Like being in the gut of hell.”

He clutched my hand even stronger, even in the longest moment of pain. “Isn't there your love in the past?”

“On devotion, and ridiculous devotion anyway.” I was crying in front of him. Like a silvery ray, the water seeped out from my cheek to tell Jafar how grievously my heart was tormented by made-up feelings and obligations. She wiped my tears, gently brushed my cheeks, and that's when I said. “Don't you know how much I want someone to do it for me?”

“I've done it for you, Ladli.”

“And will you do it again when I ask?”

He looked at me, a calm, peaceful gaze without having to ask. He didn't ask me anything, didn't expect a jagir or mansab from Mom. Because he knew that no one could expect much from the Sultan of Begam. “Isn't it too hasty to start this, ladies?”

I took his hand slowly off my face, and then I looked at his beautiful face again without blemish. “Not us in a hurry, because my love is coming too fast to you.”

“We are not poets, Ladli. What kind of love do you have.”

“Which love did you choose from me, Jafar? I'll give it to you when you ask. What am I without love? Why am I hiding this love from you? I have dressed up especially for you, so that you may know that I have hoped and waited, that I also want you to understand about my wrathful desires. How I want to die for it, Jafar.”

He wiped my soft and smooth cheeks. He looked at my whole face, and he realized how much I love him now. Jafar had seen my faith, but I had not seen a glimmer of firmness in his honest eyes. He's leaning forward. It pecked my smooth forehead, and how I felt like I was flying in open space. How long has it been since, I can't remember, never could, a man did this to me. My father died when I was two years old. I can't remember if he ever kissed me or not. And either Shah Jahan or Shahryar, both of them gave nothing but nista and heartache. Jafar was the first to start. He was an ordinary man whose love I could guess. I don't need that confession from him, because he did it by trying to pull myself out of mala and lara.

“We will meet again, My beloved,” he said. “I have to go back.”

“At Allah's permission, Jafar. With God's permission. Come back to me later.”

He went from behind the darkness, leaving me alone with a sadness that dissolved in love. Happiness comes on end, followed by grim feelings and restlessness in the soul. Within myself, I had come to believe that she would have me quickly, and we would marry with joy. But, I forgot one thing later, that the Dowager Prince could never marry again.[]