Free Mistress of the Throne (The Mughal intrigues) by Gupta Ruchir Page B

father reached Ami’s stall, he’s said to have stopped in his tracks. This was no maiden to be flirted with. She didn’t evenlook typically Indian; she had Persian skin tone, and was tall and slender, and yet, for all these attributes, decidedly well-mannered and polite. Both their eyes are said to have gazed at one another for several minutes before Ami smiled and said, “Is there anything in my stall that pleases you, sir?”
    “Much in this stall pleases me,” he replied. “This stall stands unique; it is the pride of the entire bazaar. If all the other booths were removed and only this one remained, it would be enough for me to come here every day and stay until it closes.”
    Ami told me her face had turned red. After all, what wasn’t there to love in my Aba? Ami was a 15-year-old maiden, in her sexual prime, and here she’d met the future Emperor of India, just one year older, who was already a veteran of one war and a famous poet; a poet and a soldier, with good looks, artistic abilities, her age and a Muslim aristocrat. What girl wouldn’t fall in love with him? But she was not to be won over easily. She was to be a wife, she thought, not a concubine. Nor would she accept being second to any other wife. If she was to be Aba’s wife, she’d only be his if she knew she’d be the primary one. For this, she needed to know that Aba really wanted her.
    She asked him, “Are you here to purchase something?”
    “Depends,” he smiled back. “Is your heart for sale?”
    “A heart is not a piece of property to be bought, but a reward to be won, Sir.”
    “How may I win yours?” Aba asked.
    “Well, why don’t you start by purchasing something expensive from my stall so I can tell everyone that I, too, am a good shopkeeper?”
    “Then why don’t you sell me this large piece of glass shaped like a diamond?”
    “Sir,” she blushed, “this piece isn’t just shaped like a diamond, it
is
a diamond!”
    Ami knew she was addressing the royal Prince, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. If he knew shewas aware of his identity, he’d expect to be spoken to as royalty, and any back-talking or snide remark would be interpreted as an insult to the King. This way she could plead ignorance and also show Aba she wasn’t like those other girls who’d happily flirt with him and be taken by him anywhere, under any role.
    She fingered the diamond sensuously. “Not even a prince could afford this gem, sir.”
    “Why? How much is it?”
    “10,000 rupees.”
    Aba immediately took 10,000 rupees from his left pocket, grabbed the piece of ‘glass’ from her hand and disappeared into the crowd.
    Ami told me she knew from that moment that if she got married, it would only be to Aba, but she didn’t know whether her stand-offish attitude had turned him off. She’d acted so to show confidence, but had she gone too far and made it seem she was arrogant? She remembered what her equally beautiful aunt, Nur Jahan, had told her on her 15 th birthday – that because Ami was beautiful and fair-skinned like her, it would be important to show as little conceit as possible. Nothing is more attractive, confided her aunt, than a person who can be arrogant, but chooses not to be.
    Summarily, Aba went to his father and asked for permission to marry Ami. My grandfather was a reigning contradiction: though an alcoholic, he’d outlawed the drinking of alcohol in his kingdom. Though he’d received a modest punishment when he rebelled against his own father, the Emperor Akbar, Jahangir had punished his own son Khusrau’s rebellion by torturing Khusrau’s men in front of him and then blinding him. Such contradictions were a staple of my grandfather’s kingship and would surface yet again at this request.
    He told Aba: “Marriage for Mughal princes is a matter of political gain, not fulfilling passion. For passion, you have the harems with the concubines. So make this woman your concubine – you can do