Free The Feast of Roses by Indu Sundaresan Page A

and willed her hands to lift the musket to aim it at the lion.
    A shot reverberated through the forest, coming fast at the edge of the lion’s roar and the elephant’s cry. The lion lay at the feet of the elephant. The shot had caught it in midleap, through its heart. Its head was askew, neck snapped in the fall. A small round hole blossomed under its ribs, trickling blood on the dusty ground.
    The soldiers let out a cry. “The Empress has shot the lion!”
    The drummers beat their drums loudly, and the silent forest echoed with the noise of human voices and laughter.
    Mehrunnisa sat still, her hands trembling around the musket, her finger still pulling the trigger back. Jagat Gosini pulled herself upright; the elephant’s rearing had thrown her to the back, against Jahangir. Lying thus, half across her husband, her musket pulled up to her, the metal lodged under her chin, she had fired. Mehrunnisa’s gun lay cold, Jagat Gosini’s smoked in wisps and whorls. Her face, her hands, and even Jahangir’s hands, for he had held her as she had shot, were peppered with black flakes of gunpowder. The Emperor rubbed Jagat Gosini’s face free of the gunpowder, and she smiled at him, a little smile showing she was grateful for the action.
    “You have done well, my dear wife. The lion could have killed us. You are indeed an excellent shot.”
    He then turned to Mehrunnisa. She put her musket down, its weight suddenly heavy on her shoulder. It had all happened so fast, without warning. One moment the lion was in front of them, flushed out of its hiding place, the next it was dead. And not because she had shot it.
    “See how brave Jagat Gosini is,” Jahangir said. “I am very proud of her. What other king can claim such a markswoman in his harem?”
    “You are right, your Majesty. The Empress has done us all proud,” Mehrunnisa replied. Still she did not look at Jagat Gosini. As the acrid smell of freshly burned gunpowder bittered the air, she sensed a brief smile on the Empress’s face.
    The hunt went on. Antelopes and nilgau, wild blue oxen, were flushed out of the tall grass and killed expertly by the accompanying nobles. At noon, the royal party returned to the fort, dragging behind them the carcasses from the hunt.
    Mehrunnisa sat hunched in her place in the howdah. All morning, Jahangir had praised Jagat Gosini for her skill, her valor, and her bravery in the face of danger. It was all true. Not one of her own shots had found its mark. The nobles had laughed openly when she had missed. Even the Emperor had smiled, showing her how to hold the musket, how to pull back on the trigger, how to cushion the recoil against her shoulder. And he had pointed out Jagat Gosini’s skill. Watch her, my dear, see how she takes aim.
    When they came back to the fort, dusty and tired, Jahangir left them without a word. Before he did, even as they descended from the howdah, needing the aid of eunuchs now, a slave girl stood near with a silver tray in her hands. Jahangir lifted the satin cloth covering the tray. On it, on a bed of velvet cloth, lay an exquisite necklace of gold and pearls. The Emperor lifted the necklace and clasped it around Empress Jagat Gosini’s bent neck, over her veil. The ends of the necklace captured her veil around her head, the pearls glowing like the moon in the afternoon sun. Then, as they all bowed, Jahangir left. He had said little during the hunt, now he walked away without even looking at Mehrunnisa. Jagat Gosini’s entourage settled around her like a flock of pigeons, exclaiming at the necklace, praising her, and they moved out together. She did not speak to Mehrunnisa either.
    Mehrunnisa stood alone in the courtyard watching her husband leave, listening to Jagat Gosini’s unsaid words. What else could you expect of woman not born to royalty? Not aware of royal etiquette or pastimes? You are common, Mehrunnisa. Nothing but common. Mehrunnisa was wearied from the hunt. She was hot, her skin blistered from