Free Shadow Princess by Indu Sundaresan Page B

the guards outside, the gesture had seemed indecent and exciting, as though he was being offered a glimpse of something sacred and forbidden. He saw the long lashes resting against cheeks that were glowing with red, a blush, because of him and his presence. He saw her hair curl against tiny ears in which were two small diamonds—her inheritance did not allow for the immense riches they all took so carelessly for granted. He even noticed her hands resting on her knees, the fingers long, the nails oval, the entire tips—nails and skin—colored a faint orange. Like the others, Nadira was in mourning and had not colored her hands with henna since the Empress’s death. What would Mama have thought of Nadira as a bride for him? He had to marry, all Emperors were obliged to beget heirs for the Empire, and here was a woman whom they all knew, whom they would not be wrenching away from another kingdom and another home—whose loyalty could never be questioned. Who had no living and powerful relatives to invoke rebellions. And yet, Nadira had little to offer. She would bring no magnificent dowry to the marriage, no alliances with powerful kings, no fealty sworn to the Mughal throne. Dara knew, as he stood at the cusp of becoming the sixth Emperor of Hindustan, that Nadira Begam, daughter of the poor, dead Prince Parviz, could never be an Emperor’s wife. Rulers could not choose where they married or marry for anything akin to love.
    He smiled wryly. His grandfather had married for love, a twentieth wife who was both Dara’s stepgrandmother and his grandaunt. But these two intimate relationships had been only trouble for Bapa and Mama—and a lesson to all of them in consanguinity. Much better to stay with the dictum that politics and love did not mix well.
    Dara took Nadira’s hand in his and kissed the fingers. Her skin gave off the aroma of sandalwood, and the hand lay soft in his large ones. She was trembling.
    “Did I do well in telling you, Dara?”
    “Brilliantly, Nadira.”
    He rose abruptly and backed out of the baradari without a word of farewell, leaving Nadira to find her way back to the palaces across the river. This time, Dara allowed himself to be rowed across the pond and pondered as he went to the boat that would take him across the Tapti. Once on the other side, he went to Jahanara’s apartments and, when he did not find her there, sent word to her in their father’s apartments for her to come and meet him immediately. She did, and they talked together for three hours, until the Emperor roused himself and asked for his daughter again.
    She went back to her father with an ache in her heart. The Empire would be Dara’s, this they all knew well already—but how could Bapa even think of giving it up now? When Jahanara neared the door, Aurangzeb came up to her. “Have you heard, Jahan?”
    At her nod, he said, “I wanted to be the first to tell you.”
    She frowned. “This is not a race, Aurangzeb. Bapa is in there, dying slowly and—” She looked hard at him. “What do you care if Bapa . . . Why is it important to you ?”
    He took a step back and flushed, his neck and cheeks stained crimson, his face mutinous. “Yes, why to me? Dara is the one who would care, who should care. Isn’t that what you think?”
    Jahanara turned away, disgusted. Surely her other brothers could not be salivating over the throne already. Was this an indication of things to come? Had Mama’s death changed so much in their lives? She stayed at the door, pointedly ignoring Aurangzeb until he stumbled, spun around, and then ran to his apartments. When his footsteps had faded away, Jahanara opened the door and went inside, suddenly terrified that if her father took this decision he could plunge them into a civil war.
    And the Empire would disintegrate.

rauza-i-munavvara
    The Luminous Tomb
    Nur Jahan’s great monument to her father is important . . . because it reflected architectural transitions . . . that were to