Nurjahan's Daughter by Tanushree Podder Read Free Book Online

ride Sultan, you pretend to be my horse and I’ll ride on you.’
    ‘Allah! What else would you have an old woman do? Go and play with your doll.’
    ‘I don’t like playing with dolls.’
    ‘Let us play chaupar, then,’ suggested Firdaus.
    ‘That is such a dull game.’
    ‘It is the game intelligent people play. Even the emperor loves the game.’
    ‘Does the emperor play chaupar?’ The child was surprised.
    ‘He does. He has built the squares of the chaupar board on the floor of his palace and he plays with live pieces–beautiful maidens dressed as chess pieces stand in the squares and move at the command of the players. It is a fascinating sight.’
    ‘Anyway, I am not interested in playing that game.’ Turning to her mother, the child complained–‘Firdaus does not listen to me. Send her away to Bade Abba.’ Bade Abba was Laadli’s name for her grandfather.
    ‘I would rather go and stay with your Bade Abba. At least no one will bother me there,’ grumbled Firdaus.
    Meherunnisa smiled as she listened to their banter. ‘Why don’t you humour her a little? She is bored.’
    Grumbling, Firdaus led the child to the balcony from where they could see the pond with the lotus flowers.
    ‘I want to hear a story,’ Laadli demanded. ‘I want to hear Ammijaan’s story. Tell me about the time she was taken to the royal zenana.’
    ‘When your grandfather was appointed as a courtier in Emperor Akbar’s court, your mother was just a year old. She was a pretty child and a very intelligent one too: I still remember how quickly she could learn things. She was taught Persian verses, calligraphy and music by her mother. At your age, she was already reciting the Quran and painting lovely pictures.’
    ‘I can do that too. I can do many more things,’ Laadli boasted.
    ‘All right, you are a very intelligent child and so was your mother. Your grandmother is a talented musician. She can play the Tar-é-Shiraaz, which the Persians consider the Sultan of instruments.’
    ‘What is Tar?’
    ‘It is a stringed instrument, much like a long-necked lute. It is carved from mulberry wood and its upper surface is shaped like two hearts of different sizes, joined at the points. The sound box is covered with lambskin. It produces a lovely melody in the hands of a talented player, and your grandmother taught this art to your mother. She can play it better than anyone I have ever heard.’
    ‘Will she teach me to play Tar?’
    ‘Of course, she will teach you to play it. Do you want to hear the rest of the story?’
    ‘Yes, of course.’
    ‘As I was saying, your mother began learning all kinds of arts at a very early age. As a girl of six, she accompanied her mother to the royal zenana. During one of her visits to the zenana, your mother played the Tar for Bilquees Begum. The empress was so captivated by the child’s skilful handling of the instrument that she offered to keep your mother in the royal harem. That day onwards, your mother spent more time at the harem than at home.’
    ‘I wish I could go to the royal harem and see what it looks like. I have heard that it is as luxurious and beautiful as jannat,’’ sighed Laadli. There was a dreamy look in her eyes as the child tried to visualise the grandeur of the royal palace.
    ‘Maybe you will see it one day.’
    There is more heartbreak and sorrow in those glittering palaces than I have seen anywhere, thought the nurse. She had spent enough time in the harem to know what went on behind those beautiful fretwork marble screens. Girls as young as thirteen, picked by the royal men to satisfy their lust for a night, pined away for life, separated from their beloved families, living on the emperor’s charity. The concubines spent the long years of their life locked within the four walls of the harem. They amused themselves with frivolous activities to keep busy, but within their minds was an untold turmoil that sought release through vicarious pleasures and endless