Free The Twentieth Wife by Indu Sundaresan Page B

Emperor’s command. Ghias had not wanted to leave the Emperor to go to Kabul, important as the post was. He had grown fond of Akbar, reverent almost, and thought that being away from court would mean sure death to his career.
    But that was not so. Ghias spread out the farman again under his hands, his eyes skimming over the black-ink Turki and the heavily embossed royal seal in one corner. Instead of forgetting him, the Emperor seemed to have carefully watched him these four years through spies and regular reports from Kabul. It was a comforting thought for Ghias, because he had worked hard and put effort intothe job with a dedication that was paid back not only by the Emperor’s accolades but by the gratitude of the people of Kabul.
    Anklets tinkled by his door, and Ghias smiled. So much had happened in the past four years. Abul and Muhammad were both married now. It had been a little early for Muhammad, but Ghias had hoped to settle his wild ways with the marriage. Unfortunately, that had not happened. If anything, Muhammad had grown more distant, more unreachable. Ghias sighed. Perhaps if there were a child . . . fatherhood would surely bring some calmness. Once Muhammad was settled, a very good rishta had come for Abul, and he too had been married. But before that, Saliha had been married to a nobleman named Sadiq Khan. It would not have been right to marry the sons with an unwed of-age daughter still at home. Saliha’s new family was a good one, and Ghias was not upset at leaving his older daughter in their hands when they returned to Lahore.
    As for the other girls—Mehrunnisa, Manija, and Khadija—they continued their education as usual, along with Shahpur.
    Mehrunnisa—ah, she was now sixteen and seemed to live up to her name, Ghias thought. Sun of Women—she was a beautiful child, physically as well as in spirit. In all their years of marriage, Asmat and he had never shown undue partiality to any one child, but with Mehrunnisa it was difficult not to do so. Her smile, her laughter, the mischievous glint in her blue eyes filled Ghias with a paternal contentment. If it were socially acceptable to have a daughter live at home all her life, Ghias would choose Mehrunnisa to be by him without hesitation.
    Ghias suddenly sobered at the thought. Mehrunnisa was sixteen. Where had time flown? She was now old enough to be married.
    •   •   •
    T HAT NIGHT, WHEN the servants had bowed their way out of the room after extinguishing the lamps, Asmat and Ghias lay side by side in a comfortable silence.
    Asmat spoke first. “It is time we think of Mehrunnisa’s marriage.”
    Ghias turned to look at the shadowed face of his wife. “Yes. She is already sixteen.”
    “We shall miss her,” Asmat said softly.
    Ghias felt for her hand and held it fast, choosing his words with care. He did not want to communicate the sudden emptiness that had descended on him at Asmat’s words. “She will be an asset to us and to her future husband. We have brought her up well.”
    “It must be a brilliant marriage, Ghias. Someone who will understand her needs, encourage her spirit. I know she will make a good wife.”
    “And so it shall be, my dear. I will contact my friends for a suitable husband, and when I find him I shall request permission from the Emperor.” As with any marriage that took place in the vicinity of the court, Ghias had to request—at least formally—permission from Akbar.
    With that, Ghias fell into a restless sleep.
    Across the courtyard, Mehrunnisa lay awake on a cotton mattress in her room. Somewhere in the night, a dog barked at a passing stranger, then yelped with pain as a stone found its mark. Mehrunnisa lay still, hands clasped on her stomach, her mind revolving with thoughts. Back to Lahore at last. Back to the court, to the imperial zenana, to the Empress with her quick mannerisms and her biting sarcasm. But most of all, most of all, back to Salim.
    Mehrunnisa turned on her side, pillowed her