around them, all the while smiling and uttering not a cry.’
‘But it was wrong. . why should they give up their lives before their time? What good did it do?’
‘It proved their love, courage and devotion and brought honour to their families. As I have told you before, we Rajputs are the children of the sun and of fire. We perhaps more than any other Hindus believe in the power of the flame to cleanse and ennoble us. Many, many times in our history — the last was at the end of your father’s siege of Chittorgarh — when it seemed that our menfolk faced certain death on the battlefield, Rajput women dressed in their finest clothes and jewels as if it was their wedding day. Then, faces transfigured by the glory that awaited them, they followed their queen in a stately procession to where a great fire had been lit. One by one, they committed the sacred rite of
Of course, no one would ever expect her to burn on Akbar’s pyre since Muslims did not cremate their dead, Salim thought, though looking at the almost fanatical pride on her face he knew that had his mother been married to a Rajput she would have followed him gladly into the flames. But all Salim could think of was Shakuntala’s terrified young face. Barely two years older than he, she had chosen life not death and every instinct told him she had been right. His mother’s veneration of suicide seemed chilling, and proud though he was of his Rajput ancestry this was something he couldn’t share. Many times when trying to judge between his father and his mother he’d been left confused and uncertain, but not this time.
Chapter 18
‘I have decided that I will move the capital of the empire from this city of Fatehpur Sikri to Lahore. Preparations will begin immediately. I and the court will begin our journey to Lahore in two months’ time. The council is dismissed.’
Standing at the back of the chamber, Salim felt his heart beat faster as he watched his father sweep past him and disappear through the curtained doorway into the sunlit courtyard followed by his tall green-turbaned bodyguards. By the startled look on their faces and the excited hubbub of voices, the members of his father’s council were as surprised and shocked as he was by Akbar’s pronouncement, which had been made at the end of a routine not to say tedious council session about the level of market taxes. Only Abul Fazl seemed unperturbed as he completed his notes of the meeting, the slight smile on his smooth fleshy face suggesting — probably intentionally — to any onlookers that Akbar had long since taken him into his confidence. Why did he so often feel like punching Abul Fazl to wipe away that supercilious smile? Salim wondered. Perhaps because he wished his father would share more of his thoughts with him. In particular, this decision to move from Fatehpur Sikri both intrigued him and worried him. His father rarely acted on impulse. He had probably calculated that to announce his decision when and how he had would indicate that his mind was made up and he would brook no debate or questioning of the move.
Therefore, the relocation must be important to his father’s plans. But why? As his father’s eldest son, surely he should know him well enough to understand his motives. What’s more, what would it mean for him? Did Akbar intend the whole court to move? Or would he leave some part of it behind in these beautiful new buildings? Would he himself accompany his father? And what about his mother Hirabai? Might she be left behind in her private sandstone palace in Fatehpur Sikri? That seemed only too likely. He still enjoyed his visits to his mother, however infrequent they had become and however often she inveighed against his father. His concern grew as he realised he might be separated from one or other of his parents. He must know what was in his father’s mind. Hadn’t he a right to ask?
Without pausing for reflection which might dampen his resolution, Salim pushed his way through the assembled courtiers lingering around the doorway of the room to debate the move to Lahore. As soon as he was out in the courtyard, he ran past the fountains bubbling and glinting in the noonday sun to his father’s private quarters. Once through the carved wooden doors that the guards opened immediately to him, Salim saw his father unbuckling his ceremonial sword. Suddenly he felt his confidence dip and hesitated, uncertain what to say or indeed whether to leave as quickly as he had come. However, his father had seen him enter and asked, ‘Salim, what do you want?’
‘To know why we are leaving Fatehpur Sikri,’ Salim blurted out.
‘It is a good question and a fair one too. If you sit on that stool over there and wait a moment while I change my clothes I will give you the answer you deserve.’
Salim sat on the low gilded stool, nervously twisting a gold ring given to him by his mother which he habitually wore on the index finger of his right hand. His father completed his change and washed his hands and face in a gold bowl of rosewater held out by one of his young attendants before dismissing them with a wave of his hand and sitting down on another stool near his son.
‘Why do you think I decided to move the court to Lahore, Salim?’
For a moment Salim was lost for words as if overcome by his temerity in questioning his father about a major decision. Then he stammered, ‘I don’t know. . I was so surprised that you wished to leave a city that you yourself had built only recently at such cost to honour the great seer Shaikh Salim Chishti as well as to celebrate the birth of my brothers and myself and your great victories in Gujarat and Bengal. . I could not think why. That is why I came to you. . to find out. . I heard one of the courtiers say something about the water supply. .’
‘It’s not the water. That problem can be solved. And put out of your mind any thought of the cost of this city. Our empire is now so rich that money spent in the past should not and does not play any part in decisions about the future. I intend the consequences of my move to be greater power, greater wealth for the empire — enough to build ten, even a hundred Fatehpur Sikris.’
‘What do you mean, Father?’
‘Your great-grandfather Babur wrote that if a king does not offer his followers the prospect of war and plunder, their idle minds will soon turn to thoughts of rebellion against him. I have myself come to realise that if a monarch doesn’t fix his mind on conquest, neighbouring rulers think him weak and it’s only a matter of time before they contemplate invading his lands. The reason for the move to Lahore is that I intend to broaden the boundaries of our empire once more.’
Exhilaration mingled with relief in Salim. His father’s thoughts were on conquest and external wars, nothing else. ‘You must mean to expand our northern dominions if you base our command centre in Lahore. But in which direction?’
‘In all directions in due course. The rulers of Sind and Baluchistan have long been a threat to us and it wounds my pride that the Shah of Persia seized Kandahar during the time Bairam Khan was regent and I have yet to recover it. Nevertheless a wise ruler, however powerful, takes on only one enemy at a time and I have decided that my first campaign should be in Kashmir.’
‘Aren’t the rulers relations of ours?’
‘Yes. Haidar Mirza, a cousin of my father, seized the land in Sher Shah’s time and later ruled it as a vassal of my father. But his descendants — perhaps presuming on our shared blood — have refused to pay us homage or tribute. Now they will learn that there can be only one head of a family and that if he is to preserve his authority, not to say his throne, he must treat disrespect with equal severity, whether shown by those like the Uzbeks whose ancestors were long foes, or those closer to him.’ Akbar paused and Salim saw an icy look in his eyes. Then his father went on, ‘Indeed, the latter may merit harsher treatment given their disregard of their obligations. Think only of your grandfather Humayun. He would have saved himself much trouble if he had dealt more severely with his half-brothers when they first showed him disrespect.’
Even though he knew his father’s words were aimed at the rulers of Kashmir, not at any closer relation, Salim felt an involuntary shiver.
Salim looked out from the swaying howdah on the large elephant that was plodding at the end of the line of imperial elephants upwards through the Vale of Kashmir. Now that the early morning mists had lifted, Salim could see, over the heads of the line of horsemen flanking the elephants, glossy green-leaved rhododendron bushes
