Ruler of the World

the fight was draining from her and he relaxed his hold. ‘I will tell no one what happened just now and, if you value your family’s honour, neither will you. You are my wife and you will do your duty. Do you understand me?’

Hirabai nodded.

‘In that case, it is time to perform your first task as my bride.’ Akbar looked towards the bed. Hirabai turned away, and untying the pearled cord round her waist let her robe fall to the floor. Her delicately curved body was alluring, but anger not desire was what he felt as he lowered himself on top of her and began to thrust, eyes never leaving her face. Not by a single change in her expression did she show any pain or discomfort as he moved faster and faster inside her, anxious not for pleasure but just to get the task done. This was not how he had expected his wedding night with his virgin bride to be. His new wife had violated his trust just as Adham Khan had done. Hirabai was as hostile an enemy as any he had faced on the battlefield. But they, like Adham Khan, had learned not to defy him, and so would she.

Chapter 9

Salim

‘I’m sorry, Majesty, her monthly blood is flowing.’ The khawajasara looked nervously at Akbar as if Hirabai’s failure to conceive could somehow be blamed on her. ‘Her Highness remains melancholy, as she has been ever since your marriage. She will hardly eat. She seldom leaves her apartments to walk in the haram gardens. She talks only with the maids she brought with her from Amber and keeps herself apart from the other women, never joining in with their games or entertainments. Perhaps she has a sickness. . Should I summon a hakim to examine her again?’

‘No.’ It was only six weeks ago that an elderly doctor, a piece of cloth placed over his head to conceal the other inhabitants of the haram from his aged eyes, had been led by two eunuchs to Hirabai’s apartments. Akbar had watched as, emerging from under the cloth like a tortoise poking its head from its shell, the hakim had examined Hirabai, running his hands over her body beneath her loose cotton shift. ‘I can find nothing wrong, Majesty,’ he had said at last. ‘The entrance to her womb is strong and well formed.’

Akbar looked broodingly at the khawajasara, tall, big-boned, well fleshed and handsome despite her forty or so years, who had become superintendent of the haram on the retirement of the woman who had brought him Mayala all those years ago. But it was Hirabai he saw before his eyes. Every time he made love to her he hoped for some change, but always she lay limp and unresponsive. Her passivity disturbed him more than if she had tried to fight him off. Did she still dream of stabbing him? He had ordered the khawajasara to ensure there was nothing sharp in the empress’s apartments. The superintendent had looked at him a little curiously but had of course obeyed. It was as much for Hirabai’s protection as for his own — sometimes he feared she might try to harm herself. He had had her apartments moved to a double-tiered pavilion that, though overlooking the Jumna, had windows inset with fretted marble screens from which it was impossible to jump.

‘Majesty?’

He had forgotten the khawajasara was still there. ‘You are dismissed. Come to me again next month when — God willing — you may bring better news.’

Akbar sat alone for a while. Outside the sky was fresh and clear. The rains were over and he should have been out hunting or hawking. Why did thoughts of Hirabai preoccupy him? It wasn’t love, but perhaps it was pride. . All the court must know things were amiss between the emperor and his bride. They never ate or spent time together except for his nocturnal visits to her bed. Even then, as soon as he was finished he returned to his own apartments. He had never woken in her arms as the pale dawn light came slanting in.

Perhaps his mother would have some words of wisdom — or at least of comfort. Till now he had hesitated to confide in her, hoping each month to hear that Hirabai was pregnant. But time was passing. He was being distracted from the matters that should be occupying his mind, and — if the stories the elderly Jauhar had told him were true — something yet more pernicious was gathering momentum. Bhagwan Das had been right to predict that Akbar’s marriage to a non-Muslim would be criticised. The mullahs were whispering that Akbar’s childless state was a punishment for marrying an infidel Hindu.

Hamida was reading, but seeing Akbar she put her book of poetry down. ‘What is it? You look troubled.’

‘The khawajasara has just made her report to me.’

‘And?’

‘Hirabai has still not conceived.’

‘You must be patient. Remember you have only been married six months.’

‘That’s what I tell myself. But how much longer will I have to wait?’

‘You are a young man. You will take other wives. There will be children — sons — even if they are not Hirabai’s.’

‘It’s not just a matter of my own impatience. Jauhar came to me two weeks ago. Since I made him my vizier he is even better informed about what is being said around the court.’

‘Court gossip doesn’t matter.’

‘This does. Some of the senior clerics — the ulama — are claiming that Hirabai will never bear a child. They say it’s God’s judgement on me for my crime against Islam in marrying an unbeliever.’

‘You rule the empire, not the ulama.’

‘I’m not afraid of them or of their narrow prejudices. At first, I admit, I did wonder whether there was anything in their words, but the more I thought about it the more impossible I found it to believe that a merciful, compassionate God would reject people simply because they hold different beliefs. But some of my subjects may begin to heed their arguments, however absurd. This could sow hatred and division. The ulama know perfectly well why I married a Hindu — not only to strengthen a military alliance but to show that all can prosper under the Moghuls regardless of religion. .’

‘You are wise,’ Hamida said. ‘You see potential dangers early.’

‘That’s what my father encouraged me to do. He said he hadn’t understood the threat his half-brothers posed until it was nearly too late.’

‘That is true. It almost cost us our lives.’

‘I mustn’t make the same mistake, even though the dangers I face are different.’

‘Tell me about Hirabai. I know you are unhappy. . forgive me, but I hear things, and so does Gulbadan. Does Hirabai not please you?’

‘She hates me.’

‘Why should she?’

‘She blames me for executing Rajput officers at Chittorgarh and for razing the fortress. . she thinks of me as the destroyer of her people.’

‘How can she, when her own brother is glad to call himself your ally?’

Akbar shrugged. ‘I think she despises him for it. . but she won’t discuss her feelings.’

‘Are you sure you understand her properly? Perhaps she finds our court alien and is homesick for Rajasthan. In time she may change.’

‘I do understand her, Mother. On our wedding night she tried to stab me.’ Akbar had not meant to say it but the words were out before he could stop them.

‘She did what?’ Any sympathy for her daughter-in-law vanished from Hamida’s face and her eyes flashed. ‘Then you should have had her executed, just as your father should have killed his brothers when they first rebelled. . You said you had learned from his mistakes, yet you lie with a woman who wishes you dead. I don’t understand.’

‘I knew you wouldn’t. That was why I didn’t tell you. I have kept Hirabai as my wife because of what it symbolises to my people. The alliance has pleased the Rajputs. Had I rejected or executed her how could our alliance have held? And Hirabai’s freedom to worship her gods is living proof that my Hindu subjects have nothing to