She fell silent. Saying anything further, she thought, would be a mistake. And she hoped…
Nadira did not fail her. “You see?” her sister-in-law exclaimed, gesturing with her hand toward Jahanara. “You should be ashamed of yourself, husband! Your sister has never done anything except in furtherance of our needs and interests, in the interest of preserving our son’s life and chance to rule. Ashamed of yourself, I say! Ashamed!”
Shame did not come naturally to Dara Shikoh—or any Mughal royal, being honest about it, including Jahanara. But his wife’s vehement censure caused him to close his mouth and flush. At least a bit.
Jahanara decided the moment was ripe. It was probably the only chance she had.
“I have one condition,” she said. “You have treated Salim disgracefully, and must make amends.” She held up her hand stiffly, as if to ward off any dispute. “I will be gone, so there will no longer be cause for foul rumors and idle gossip. And you can put what remains to rest by appointing Salim governor of Gujarat.”
She lowered the hand and began counting off on the fingers. “That will accomplish several things. First, it will make clear that your exile of Salim was merely your clever subterfuge of war. Second, it will help clear my name and honor, since you would certainly not give the Afghan such responsibility if you had any doubts or suspicions about him. And finally”—she stopped counting on her fingers and lowered both hands into her lap—“he will be a good governor. You know it as well as I do. And the Das family will assist him in rooting out those who might retain some vestige of loyalty to the pretenders. He has proven very capable at everything he puts his hand to.”
Including me. She forced the smile brought by that memory to go into hiding.
Dara was running fingers through his beard again. A good sign, she thought.
“Very well,” he said, after a minute or so. “But!”
He raised a cautioning finger. “Salim is not to be told until after you have left for Surat. I want no further encounters between you!”
“Of course, brother,” she said, trying to sound as submissive as possible. “By all means, do not make the announcement until I have left Red Fort. By the time he can get to Surat, I will already be crossing the sea.”
Unless he’s a superb horseman with a string of superb horses.
Chapter 52
Sinhagad Fort
Western Ghats
“Well, at least we should be safe enough here,” said Iqtadar, leaning over the wall and looking down at the steep hillside below. “Need to clear away some brush, though, if we’re going to be here for very long.”
He turned away and looked at Salim. “Just how long will we be here, Amir?”
Salim spread his hands wide. “I have no idea. Hopefully, not long. But…”
Standing to his left and also looking over the wall, Sunil chuckled and did a fair imitation of Salim: “My return is dependent on the whims of the emperor. Will he decide to reward me? Shorten me by a head? Who can say?”
Both of Salim’s other lieutenants smiled. “What do you think, Iqtadar?” asked Mohammed. “Should we bet on it?”
“Enough,” said Salim. His tone was mild, but his subordinates obeyed instantly. By now, Salim’s authority over them was unquestioned, in fact as well as in theory.
He had chosen this fortress as the place to quarter his troops because he himself had no idea what Dara Shikoh intended to do with him. The Bhonsle clan had agreed to let him take possession of Sinhagad, since they were not using it themselves. Indeed, taking possession of the fortress had required ousting a band of outlaws who had been living there, but that hadn’t required any fighting. As soon as the bandits saw Salim and his sowar approaching, they had fled hurriedly.
They would find a refuge somewhere else, easily enough. This whole region of the Western Ghats had been a harsh, chaotic landscape for years. In 1630, in the course of their war with the Sultanate of Ahmadnagar, an army of the Sultanate of Bijapur had razed the city of Pune about twenty miles or so northeast of Sinhagad. Salim knew that Shah Jahan had made plans to seize the area for the Mughals and rebuild it, but his assassination and the subsequent war of succession had ended that plan, at least for the time being.
“We wait,” said Salim. “We have provisions enough for a month, two with some foraging. By then we should know something.”
And what will I do if that “something” is a summons to answer for my errors in Agra?
A summons that would most likely end in his death, if Dara still polished his anger. Salim might even be trampled by elephants, a traditional method of execution. Jahanara would try to intercede for him, but it was possible her brother might remain angry enough to have her executed as well. That would be done privately, though, not as a public spectacle.
But…perhaps not, also. Dara Shikoh was another adherent to the teachings of Mian Mir.
Still, that left exile. Or immurement.
A reward of some sort was even possible. Salim had, after all, done the Sultan Al’Azam many services.
“We should be quite secure here in Sinhagad,” he said firmly.
Which means I’ll have plenty of time to brood.
Stop. It.
He’d think of Jahanara instead. Those memories were worth dying for. They were the best of his entire life.
Agra
Mission House
“I’m not going to lie, folks,” said Bobby, sprawling on a pile of cushions. “I’ll be glad to get back home. India was…well, interesting, for sure. But I can’t say it was all that much fun.”
“At least we’re going home,” said Ricky. “Which Randy ain’t—not even his body.”
Bobby made a face. “Yeah, I’ve
