The festivities over the days that followed were everything Akbar had promised. Wedding gifts from across the empire: gems, dishes of jade, silver and gold, high-stepping Arab horses, embroidered shawls of the softest wool — yet another gift from the chastened Sultan of Kashmir — and even a pair of lions were displayed through the streets of Lahore. Camel races were organised along the banks of the Ravi river. To his great satisfaction Salim beat both his half-brothers in one contest, successfully urging his snorting, spitting, splay-footed mount over the finishing line, the roars of the spectators in his ears. The strongest of his father’s fighting elephants were pitted against one another within high earth barricades, fighting until their grey hides were lacerated and their tusks dripped with blood, while every night there was more feasting and towards midnight so many fireworks that they turned the dark world back to day.
But every evening, however spectacular and novel the entertainments, Salim’s thoughts turned to the moment when he could again be in Man Bai’s eager arms till the morning sun was warming the palace. Suleiman Beg joked that if he continued like this he would need ointment from the
‘I name you, my first and most beloved son, Khusrau.’ So saying, Salim picked up the white jade saucer filled with tiny gold coins and poured them gently over the baby’s head. ‘May your life be crowned with success, in token of which I shower you with these earthly riches.’ The child blinked, then looked up at Salim from the silk-fringed green velvet cushion on which he was lying. Salim expected at any moment to hear wails of protest but instead Khusrau smiled and thrashed his arms and legs. Salim picked up the cushion and raised it high so all could see his healthy young son. A polite murmuring followed as the assembled courtiers and commanders exclaimed aloud at the child’s vigour and lustiness and uttered good wishes for his long life.
Salim glanced at his father standing by his side on the marble dais. This was Akbar’s first grandson and his face, still handsome and firm-jawed though he was in his forties, looked both pleased and proud. The previous day Salim had received a pair of hunting leopards in velvet coats, their gilded leather collars set with emeralds — a certain sign of his father’s approval. Surely now that he had become a father himself Akbar would give him some position in which he could demonstrate his abilities. Given the chance to lead a Moghul army, he could prove to everyone — not just his father — that he was a good fighter and commander and would one day make a great emperor.
His half-brothers were no rivals, Akbar must see that. Murad had married three months ago, but even at his tender age he had been drunk at his wedding feast and later had had to be half carried to his bride’s bed. Salim had known of Murad’s love of wine and spirits, but until his wedding his half-brother had managed to conceal his drunkenness from Akbar. Their father had been so enraged that he had ordered Murad immediately on campaign in the south. To keep an eye on him, he had sent one of his senior commanders with orders that not a drop of alcohol was to pass his son’s lips. As for Daniyal, he was going the same way as Murad. Since reaching adolescence, pleasure and self-indulgence were all he seemed to care about. Salim rarely saw either of his half-brothers but he had heard the stories, particularly the one about how Daniyal had ordered the largest fountain in the marble courtyard of his apartments to be made to flow with the rich red wine of Ghazni, not water, and how he and his companions had stripped naked to frolic in it, and the one about the time a drunken Murad had dressed as a woman and danced lewdly before not only his courtiers but also an envoy sent by the Portuguese from their enclave of Goa.
Salim smiled as he gently placed his son back in the arms of one of his milk-mothers, a sister of Suleiman Beg. As he did so he vowed he would spend more time with his son than Akbar had done with him. He would have more sons too, not only by Man Bai but also by his other wives — Jodh Bai, a Rajput princess from Marwar, and Sahib Jamal, daughter of one of Akbar’s commanders. He enjoyed his growing
The only shadow, as Salim moved to take his place at the feast to celebrate his son’s birth, was Man Bai. She still excited him sexually but he hadn’t been prepared for her jealousy when, six months after his marriage to her, his father had announced that he wished Salim to take a further wife. Man Bai had pleaded with him not to do it, weeping copiously in her apartments and — as the day of his second wedding approached — refusing to eat. Again and again he had explained that he must obey his father but she wouldn’t listen, shrieking at him that he was betraying her. Summoned by a nervous attendant to his
With her wild hair, red-rimmed eyes and gaunt features, Man Bai had reminded him of a mad young woman he had sometimes seen in the bazaar, going from person to person upbraiding them for some imaginary injury and being driven away by stones and dung. He had hardly recognised his beautiful Rajput wife as she clung trembling and dishevelled to the stonework. He had coaxed her down, explaining as patiently and tenderly as he could that as a royal Moghul prince he must do his father’s bidding and marry again, but of course it would not affect his feelings for her.
Except that it had. Man Bai’s unreasoning hysteria had made him wonder what else he didn’t know about his cousin. It had also made him realise that what he felt for her wasn’t love — only sexual passion. She should be happy living in the magnificence of the Moghul court surrounded by luxuries beyond those even a Rajput princess was used to. He made frequent visits to her bed where they were each other’s equals in the giving and receiving of pleasure. That should surely be enough. It was foolishness to expect to be his only wife. But her unexpected jealousy had left him wary of Man Bai. His visits to her had grown less frequent and not long after her threatened suicide he had indeed married Jodh Bai. With her plump body and round face she wasn’t as beautiful as Man Bai, but her wit made him laugh and he liked her company even if he didn’t feel a close bond with her.
As fate would have it, four months after his marriage to Jodh Bai and just before his marriage to Sahib Jamal, Man Bai had become pregnant with Khusrau — the first of the next generation of the Moghul dynasty. The status that conferred should satisfy Man Bai, but if it didn’t there was nothing he could do and he would not allow it to worry him — though it did, particularly the thought that their son might inherit some of her self-centred lack of control.
Akbar’s deep voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘Let us now go to feast the birth of this new prince. May he and the dynasty prosper.’
As he took his place at the feast, Salim offered up a silent prayer for his own prosperity. If he became the next Moghul emperor, what might he not be able to do for his sons?
Part V
Chapter 20
Once again, more than three years after his first journey there, Salim was sitting in an elephant howdah as the great beast plodded its way towards Kashmir. This time, though, the circumstances were very different. Their long journey was aimed at peace and pleasure, not war and conquest. Both he and his father had fallen in love with the beauty of Kashmir, its peaceful valleys, glistening lakes and flower-strewn meadows, and above all the respite it
