The Feast of Roses Read Free Page B

jharoka of the day.
    They walked in silence, hand in hand, not looking at each other. The servants behind them padded on soft bare feet, Mehrunnisa’s ghagara swished over the smooth marble floors. She could not talk, could not bring herself to ask again—would she be standing behind the arch of the balcony or with the Emperor? In a sudden flight of superstition, she looked again at the sky as they passed, but no, the clouds lay massive and unwilling. A weight settled over her and her feet dragged.
    They reached the entrance to the balcony, where the eunuchs of the imperial zenana spread out from the doorway in two lines. When Jahangir entered the balcony, they would close ranks behind him.
    Hoshiyar Khan stood in front, taller than most of the other men around him. He was dressed, even this early in the morning, as immaculately as a king. His hair was smoothed down below his turban, his face grave with responsibility, his manner impeccable. Hoshiyar had been head eunuch of Emperor Jahangir’s harem for twenty-five years now. For a long time, almost all that time, Hoshiyar had been Empress Jagat Gosini’s shadow, by her side, advising her, lending her his support. A month before her wedding, Mehrunnisa, greatly daring, asked for him to be her personal eunuch. So Hoshiyar had come to her side, and willingly, for had he not wanted to be here, he would have found a way to disregard even Jahangir’s orders.
    He bowed. “I trust your Majesties had a good night?”
    He would know of all that passed, know also that Mehrunnisa had dismissed his men from the verandah, know that they had left at her command and why. It seemed to Mehrunnisa that he nodded briefly, just a flicker of an eyelash, with a smile more on his countenance than on his lips before he turned to the Emperor.
    Hoshiyar leaned out of the arch and raised his hand. The royal orchestra started to play, announcing the Emperor’s arrival. The shehnai trilled, the drums were beaten, and in the distance, a cannon let out a harmless boom.
    Mehrunnisa almost spoke again, opened her mouth, and then closed it. With the noise of the orchestra echoing around them, the Emperor reached behind her head. Her indigo veil lay shawl-like over her shoulders, and he raised one end and brought it over her face. As Jahangir stepped out into the balcony to the glow of the lightening eastern sky, he tightened his grip on Mehrunnisa’s hand and pulled her with him.
    Almost the first sensation she experienced, one utterly irrelevant, was that the marble ledge of the balcony, carved with thin vines of jasmine flowers, came up to her waist. It hid their hands, still linked together. Then Mehrunnisa looked down at the expanse of inclined backs, clad in thin cottons embroidered with gold zari, bowed in unison. The nobles and the commoners, the orchestra itself to one side, the slaves and guards armed with spears and muskets—not one eye was raised to them.
    Even the Mir Tozak, the Master of Ceremonies, had his head bent. His was the first to raise though, the first to see the Emperor and the lady by his side. His voice, when he found it, came in an uneasy quaver, “All hail Jahangir Padshah!”
    The nobles straightened up and saw the veiled figure at Jahangir’s side. Involuntarily, most of the men drew in breaths of astonishment. In the silent courtyard, stilled of drums and trumpets, the noise was like a rush of wind, gone in an instant.
    Mehrunnisa held on tight to Jahangir’s hand. Unsaid between them was that Jahangir was granting her a privilege, and Mehrunnisa acknowledged it in silence. It was not a privilege she would misuse. It filled her heart that he would take her into the jharoka despite the chaos it would cause.
    Mehrunnisa watched the men below, knowing no one could see her face. This life of hers, behind a veil, had its advantages. Her hands were cold. It was the first time a woman from the imperial harem had appeared in public, veiled from view, but boldly present.