Free The Feast of Roses by Indu Sundaresan Page B

the sun. Her lips were cracked, and wetting them with her tongue had only made them more dry. She felt her hold on the Emperor slipping.
    “Come, your Majesty,” Hoshiyar Khan said at her ear. He led her away, and she let him, leaning on his arm as though she was suddenly very, very old.
    •  •  •
    There were to be celebrations all evening in Empress Jagat Gosini’s apartments. Preparations had started even before the royal party returned from the hunt, even as the bullet left the Empress’s musket and fled in search of the lion. For among the soldiers behind the elephant were Jagat Gosini’s stewards. They waited only to see who fired the shot, and then ran back to the palaces in the fort with the news. Twenty minutes behind them were the imperial runners, sent on to the treasury in search of the pearl necklace, for it had to be waiting for the royal party when they returned.
    So the whole zenana knew of the hunt, knew who had killed the prey, who was to be lauded upon her return and who to be ignored. The harem was aflutter with gossip. Mouths worked busily. Those envious of Mehrunnisa and predicting the demise of Jahangir’s affections for her, those in Jagat Gosini’s camp, those hateful of Dowager Empress Ruqayya—and these last went to her as she woke to tell her the news. So unfortunate. You have put so much faith in Mehrunnisa, your Majesty, and it seemed as though that faith was to be justified. But the Emperor —and here there was a sigh, long and theatrical— he enjoys women who are brave, who can shoot.
    And so it happened that when Mehrunnisa returned from the hunt, she found Ruqayya in her apartments, waiting for her, the ever-present hukkah against her mouth. Mehrunnisa was surprised at this visit; Ruqayya never went to anyone, people came to her. They talked for some time as Mehrunnisa’s bath was prepared, and then Mehrunnisa went to bed to sleep away the afternoon. In the evening, Ruqayya said, with Hoshiyar Khan by their side, they would really talk.
    As Mehrunnisa slept, so did Empress Jagat Gosini. But she did so after having given orders for the night’s feast. In the royal kitchens, fifteen cooks were commandeered for the Empress. They went by foot to the outskirts of the city to the slaughterhouse. There they picked out a goat, chickens, and ducks and watched as they were slaughtered, washed, and put into sacks. In the kitchens, water-carriers poured river water out of leather bags into earthenware jars, which were sealed with white cloth until the cooks were ready to use the water. Every single ritual was supervised by the Mir Bakawal, the Master of the Kitchen.
    The rice for the pulav was rinsed three times and let to soak for twenty minutes, until it plumped up to a pearl softness just like the Empress’s new necklace. Cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, coriander seeds, fenugreek, anise—all sorts of spices and herbs were ground, wet and dry. When the cooks were ready to put the dishes together, they washed their hands well, and wore thin white muslin masks over their noses and mouths, and white cloth caps over their hair. Not a drop of sweat could sully the Emperor’s meal. In one corner, the Mir Bakawal watched, and if a cook sneezed he was sent out, the food he was cooking thrown away, and another cook would take his place. Jahangir’s favorite foods were prepared—he had many—and that afternoon, fifty-one different dishes simmered, stewed, steamed, roasted, and boiled over the wood fires of the kitchens. The Emperor could not possibly eat every one of the dishes, perhaps he would not even taste all of them, but if he wanted something special, it would be there.
    When the food was ready, it was packed into gold and silver vessels, porcelain and earthenware vessels, brought out every day from a storage stronghold. The dishes in gold and silver vessels were wrapped with red cloth, the others in white cloth. They were then sealed with the imprint of the imperial kitchens, and in