The Mughal Harem

THE UNCANNY SHADES OF ROYALTY

That lovely winter morning, I sat cross-legged, hunching over a heap of pink petalled tiny camellias, separating the fragile green stems from the flowers one by one using my long frail fingers. The round-shaped cane basket overflowed with small specs of nature pleading to be floated across on the crystal-clear inviting water reflecting a crimson shade. 

The sandstone walls enclosing the basin area formed a glassy image on the unwavering water surface. A splendid day in the month of Nowruz, the Persian new year in Agra (Hindustan), the prime city of the royal Mughals, where the residential palace of the dignified and chaste princesses was being decorated with several shades of cherry red and glittering gold, the colour of the distinguished. I, along with my Turki companions as ladies-in-waiting to the noble household, were detailed to layer the stagnant cold water in the enormous red sandstone basin with petals of lotus and jasmine, thus revealing hues of classic white and magenta. 

The sprinklers from above sprayed rose water over the pool, whereas honey milk paste was being prepared near the basin area for the Shahzaadi’s bathing ritual. Bathing was a commotion in itself with countable eunuchs and colourful attired ladies attending to the royal highness, their giggles and gossips frolicking around. Attached to the bathing space was Begum Jahan Ara’s high rising chamber. 

‘Your bath is ready, Begum Jahanara’, I conveyed, raising my right-hand cupping inward to my forehead, my torso bent forward into a salaam, my eyes lowered to the intricately woven maroon velvet carpet. A fly buzzed by from one corner to another, resting on the carpet tussle. It reminded me to burn few camphor tablets, keeping these infested flies at bay. I straightened my spine.

She acknowledged with a courteous smile, a stunning girl both in looks and temperament. At the age of sixteen, she was every inch gracious, loving, and generous with her words and deeds. The eldest daughter of Emperor Shah Jahan and Padshah Begum Mumtaz Mahal, Jahanara was loved by all. 

There were some talks in the highest circles about her marriage since she was elder to the princes, Dara and Aurangzeb. Jahan Ara’s younger sister, Shahzaadi Roshan Ara, was very much opposite in nature to her elder sibling. I was somehow glad to be under Begum Jahan Ara’s refuge for a reason undefined. The inner harmony and sanctity I felt under her wing are good enough for me after all the years of turmoil I had faced in the Turkish kingdom from where I was rescued. 

As Begum Jahan Ara rose from her place where she was seated after a challenging sword fight practice in the wee hours of the morning with one of the female Abyssinian in the covered courtyard, I helped her remove stained fragrant clothes from her firm yet supple, feminine build. I noticed her hands worn out with skin brandished with intense red rashes. The cruel metallic sword in her soft hands would charge at each move, strengthening her warrior skills while lowering her feminine grace. Her bandaged forehead revealed beautiful hair locks as I unwound them for the scalp to breathe.       

The Begum squealed in delight as she stepped into the pool with her traditional cloak removed and resting on the sandstone steps. Neknam, the Nazir attached to the Begum and my only confidante, had proposed to apply the aromatic and traditional Unani paste over her, to which she politely declined. Begum Jahan Ara has this insane habit of abiding by a humble attitude instead of royal airs.

‘Get me my cloak, Firdouz’, uttered the Begum as I rushed to pick up the heavy embroidered royal blue cape from the basin stairs. As she walked out of the pool, I covered her with the royal cloth dropped lightly over her petite shoulders. While I was busy with the Shahzaadi escorting her to the dressing area, Neknam, under the constant supervision of the Mahaldar aka the chief supervisor of the Mughal harem Qadir Bibijaan, continued to clean the basin after her majestic bath. This routine was sacrosanct followed every other day.

The dressing quarter was yet another splendor of the harem where intricately carved white marbled statues were placed in the extreme corners of the room. The area was divided into two, with a continuously moving water stream evolving from a water fountain placed in the imperial palace grounds. The sides of the water body were lit with heavenly-looking mirrored candle stands that enlightened the entire room during wee hours. The dressing table was no less than a six feet tall silver mirror in the shape of an oval with detailed oxidised work in the form of ferns and petals, thus improvising upon the riches of the palace. A wooden oak wood cabinet was kept on one side of the gigantic mirror comprising all the riches in the form of precious stones and crystals that may cost a fortune for the lowly. 

As Begum Jahan Ara receded on the four-legged cushioned stool placed right in front of the mirror, two other maids inflamed the Bukhoor in the gold-coloured traditional incense burner using charcoal of wood. Her long hair was unfolded, and the incense was rotated around her upright frame for the skin pores to absorb the fragrant aura of the roses. Meanwhile, I opened the cupboard to choose her attire for the day, which was a silk white coloured front open long dress called the Peshwaz, woven with gold and silver threads with strings of pearls on the cuffs and a bright coloured churidar(tight bottom wear) with white pearls hanging at the bottom. 

The odhni(scarf) covering her head was of fine brocade, which would fall waist length at her back. It was a wasteful trend to hand over the expensive clothing to the lower category once worn. However, for the elegant jewellery, there was no such absurd rule. As I opened the jewellery box consisting of precious stones customized with fine craftsmanship which would have been enough for my next seven generations to survive, the luster of the gems blinded me for a fraction of a second. Lying in a red casket, the jewels flashed their image on the mirror pasted right above them on the opening. The entire room lit up into various shades and shapes with the un-deterring sunlight falling straight on the casket. 

I extracted a heavy three-string pearl necklace with a blue turquoise stone embedded in between and matching earrings to go with it. Another ornament usually worn is the heavily embellished waist band etched in gold and rubies tied under the navel to reveal a curvy figure. The forehead was covered with a tikka (an ornament worn on the head centre partition) and a jhumar (another ornament) worn on the side hair partition encrusted with gems and fine threads. Fine stone studded bangles would define the wrists and beautiful henna embossed hands. A unique ring with a tiny circled mirror was worn on the thumb to constantly check how one looks at any given point. Kohl adored eyes and pan-smitten dewy lips with a huge nose stud completed the princess look. Not forgetting to mention, the hair braids were different for each day, with strings of jasmine planted in the curvatures and a jewelled hair clip on every twist adorned the look. Itr-i-gulab (rose scent) was the new trend catching up amongst the higher class, thus creating a scenario of who looks the fairest in the zenana.   

The entire harem was bustling with energy as it was the start of the most awaited New year festival in March, which shall last for a whooping nineteen days. Bazaars were set up for the royal blood in the palatial grounds to remain secluded from the local crowd yet entertain themselves to limitless stalls, enterprising theatre, and shopping sprees.     

As Begum Jahan Ara primed up to participate in the exciting events of the festival, Neknam rushed inside the dressing room, her face puffed red similar to a boiling kettle, addressing the princess in her shrill voice,

‘Padshah Begum Mumtaz Mahal is on the way to meet you Shehzaadi. She seems to be on a high temperament. Don’t know the reason though’, she added for the princess to be extra cautious. Mumtaz begum’s anger would touch skies if not alleviated at the right moment. Her daughter knew the tricks to do so. 

Jahan Ara immediately ordered her maids to expedite their tasks and leave. Meanwhile, I hurriedly took Neknam’s assistance to finish my work by buttoning up her top wear and draping her odhni which took a few decent minutes. I wished for more time in my hands, but it was sooner, the better with the present scenario. A hush-hush was heard right outside the chamber when emerged a booming voice of the female guard,

‘Padshah Begum of Hindustan, Begum Mumtaz Mahal has arrived.’ announced the guard.

All ladies stayed in the harem with the royal ladies residing in the most striking abodes with their helping hands close by. The queen resided in one of the harem's most exotic wings, which inspired awe in the populace. Instead of wooden peaks in the room, she had gold-domed towers. An open porch in the front had the most ostentatiously detailed pillars carved most intricately. Inside there were no doors but only arches covered with glittering sequenced linings. She dwelled in one of the rooms with the floors a soft blue hue representing head in the clouds. It was a renowned status symbol for the remaining harem. 

Jahan Ara instantly dispersed her maids as Mumtaz Mahal entered her eldest daughter’s chamber. Neknam and I took a few steps back into the red sheer curtained area, and our eyes lowered with a sense of respect and dignity for the first lady of Hindustan. Adorning a beautiful royal blue velvet sherara with a heavily crafted scarf covering her head while the sacred crown was rising into hoops and joining in the middle under an orb of blue enamel with gold stars entangled in the roots of her jet-black hair, she looked bewitching with agitation reddening her cheeks vividly. 

Her belly protruded heavily as she expected her fourteenth child with Emperor Shah Jahan. The physician had explicitly advised the Begum to curtail her frequent pregnancies, which left her with limited time to recover from the atrocities of a deteriorated health but in vain. Her body had gradually weakened over the years since she never received the right amount of time to replenish the lost nutrients post-pregnancy. Her back formed an inverted U with excessive load over her tummy area; a slight slumped posture.

Mumtaz Mahal paced towards Jahan Ara with a grave expression. Her fists tightened as she attuned her breathing pattern to avoid looking vulnerable and irritated, though it was mostly because of weight. Jahan Ara greeted her mother with salaam and subsequently adjusted her sharara to fall in pleats, waiting for her Maman to explode. Her pregnant mother needed utmost care and consideration at this point, which she was more than willing to offer. Mumtaz’s ladies-in-waiting were left to stand outside the chamber as Mumtaz needed to speak to her daughter privately. 

Mumtaz Mahal burst out’

‘Your shameless sister, Roshan Ara, has created a ruckus within the palace walls. Have you ever tried to find out what befits her from undertaking such dishonourable ordeals?’

Jahan Ara clasped her hands, a bit surprised at being caught unaware of the on-goings within the palace walls.

‘It seems I am not aware, Maman. If you let me know, maybe I could speak to her?’, her brows twitching out of concern.

Her mother fuming with rage, resided on the gold-based bed stead and rested her back on the colossal velvet cushion donned on the four-legged seating. She continued while I avoided eavesdropping. Neknam nudged me into hearing out the authentic details as this topic about the younger princess had become the talk of the town. We were preparing to face the wrath of Jahan Ara since it was our timely duty to make her aware of the proceedings and the gossip of the harem each day, in which we had failed miserably. Who would want to listen to brutally honest chinwag about her own sister? I had missed a few seconds of the conversation,

‘...two men had been residing with her for several days. Yesterday night, one of them was permitted to leave and was committed to the care of the female attendants who promised to venture him out of the seraglio safely under cover of the night without raising any eyebrows. But during the operation, they became panicky and fled upon seeing the guards, leaving the poor stranded man to wander alone in the palatial gardens. He was found unattended and taken before your father, who interrogated him. He discovered this young man had scaled the palace walls while entering, taking a decision to send him back the same way. 

Your father tried to hush things up to save Roshan Ara’s name by directing the eunuch to take this person onto the palace walls for him to leave. But exceeding his master’s expectation, the eunuch threw him off the palace walls onto the ground below. Your father is furious upon that senior eunuch. He has commanded his removal from the office and a hundred lashes though the reason given out was that he is too severe upon the servants in the palace. Now, you tell me, what am I supposed to do with this immature lady? Even Aurangzeb and Dara are beginning to lose respect for her’, the first lady paused, a cry of helplessness trailing by.

Jahan Ara faced our direction as her gaze pierced straight through the sheer into our uncomfortable bodies. Her unfaltering stare raised questions at us for not apprising her about such an important incident in the harem. Neknam chewed on to her fingernails, petrified while I sweated profusely, awaiting punishment from our beloved mistress. Jahan Ara held her mother in an embrace and promised her she would definitely look into the matter. 

‘Maman, please take care of your health as this is not the time for you to remain stressed about such trivial issues. Please rest, and next time I will be readily available at your discretion’. With this, Mumtaz Mahal exited the chamber with signs of relief painted on her face. There were a few more seconds of calmness, and we knew it was the silence before a storm.

‘Come out, you two,’ Jahan Ara’s thundering voice shook me. The curtains fluttered in the cold wind as I sluggishly stepped out with Neknam, expecting the worst moment of my life.

I bit my lower lip profusely, allowing it to swell as if stung by a bee. My ears flushed hot as blood gushed into them, no less than physical pain. Neknam swang to and fro out of anxiety, her usual trait when caught off guard.  

Jahan Ara remarked, ‘I am extremely disappointed by you two. The least I could expect was a first and foremost update on such a significant event’. She paused as if contemplating a severe punishment to get our loyalties straight. My head lopped off to one side.

‘You both are aware of how delicate the impression of a royal is’, she delayed her speech,’ specially my sister’s.’ She wrangled her palms together in a tight knot, the flesh on her forehead flexing together. Love could manifest as worry, and she truly worried about her. 

‘This is the first and last time I forgive you both for such an ordeal. Do not give me a second chance or else I am no more responsible for you both anymore’. By the time we lifted our grateful yet culpable gaze, she vanished into thin air. My lungs caught upon some air as I huffed with watery eyes. I pondered upon the fact as to why had I faltered to spew out details about her royal sister. I could tell I was apprehensive spilling the beans, and that could be considered the most natural emotions yet I shall choose duty over emotions hereafter. Neknam was equally relieved and made to abide by God to be righteous enough to gain back her master’s trust.

Jahan Ara glided into the red sandstone corridor with vine creepers swamping the huge pillars, supporting the white marble roof tinted with dozens of lady-like statues. The cemented corridor walls held round metallic plates with cone-shaped structures lodged into them, rummaged as flammable torches to brighten the hours of darkness. The residential harem was shaped as a square, and a separate, spacious and splendid dwelling was provided for every royal lady of the harem. After all, the enclosure was nothing else than the Mahal, which comprised only a portion of the palace, which was a part of the fort. 

A massive wall encircled the harem with the administrative offices outside, including tents for nobles and barracks for guards. There was a Zenana Masjid with an awe-inspiring carved gallery specially designed for the women folk. The ornamental gardens with trimmed bushes encircled the harem while the water reservoirs continuously ran to ward off the harsh weather conditions. Hammams, or in other words, steam baths and underground cells were used to mitigate the heat waves. 

The private chambers of Jahan Ara and other female royals were interconnected through walkways covered with softly moulded glassy white rubble stones. The whole was incorporated into one harmonious area with an octagonal tank situated in the center of the infrastructure. Every private chamber was in accordance with the rank and income of the ladies. In particular, the Khaas Mahal was the most beautiful of all, with plates of gold and mirrors of silver adorning the marble walls. 

Exquisite portraits and magnificent figures completed the look of the spacious dwelling. Every apartment of the royal ladies was bearing a distinct name viz ‘The Pearl Palace’ or ‘The Diamond Palace’ or ‘The Painted Palace’ as per the chamber interiors. However, the queens and princesses of high stature who were allotted glorious dwellings did not live in them alone. They were always surrounded by dozens of ladies-in-waiting companions, musicians, dancing girls, maids, and slave girls. 

And I was one of them. Firdouz.

II

THE SEED OF VENGEANCE

Roshan Ara resided in the left wing of the harem, which had an entrance of its own. It was disconnected from the rest of the zenana as specified by the princess while the construction was on. No