Chapter Eighteen

At this time Sher Afghan was stationed at Burdwan as a deputy under the Subadar of Bengal.

Motibibi, arriving at Burdwan, repaired to the dwelling of Sher Afghan. Sher Afghan, together with his household, received her there with the warmest hospitality. In the days when Sher Afghan and Meher-un-nissa had dwelt at Agra, Moti had been a familiar acquaintance of theirs. Between her and Meher-un-nissa there had existed a particular affection. Afterwards both had become rivals for the prize of the imperial throne of Delhi. Now, brought together once more, Meher-un-nissa was musing within herself: "In whose destiny hath Providence written the sovereignty of Hindustan? Providence knoweth, and Selim knoweth, and if any other knoweth, it is this Lutfunnisa. Let me see — will Lutfunnisa disclose nothing?" And Motibibi, in like manner, was bent upon discovering Meher-un-nissa's mind.

Meher-un-nissa had at that time won the renown of being the foremost in beauty and accomplishment throughout all India. In truth, such a woman is born but rarely upon the earth. In loveliness her supremacy among the women celebrated of history is acknowledged by every historian. In no branch of learning could many men of her age be esteemed her superior. In song and in dance Meher-un-nissa was without peer; in the composing of verse and in the limning of pictures she enthralled the minds of all. Her witty discourse was yet more bewitching than her beauty. Nor was Moti destitute of these accomplishments. On this day these two wondrous women were each eager to fathom the heart of the other.

Meher-un-nissa was seated in her private chamber, painting a likeness. Moti sat near her shoulder, watching the work and chewing betel. Meher-un-nissa asked, "How comes the picture?" Motibibi answered, "Even as thy pictures are wont to be — so it is. That none other is so skilled in painting as thou, that alone is matter for sorrow."

Mehe. If that be true, wherefore is it matter for sorrow?

M. Were another as skilled in painting as thou, the world might keep some likeness of that face of thine.

Mehe. The dust of the grave will keep the likeness of this face.

This Meher-un-nissa spoke with somewhat of gravity.

M. Sister! Why is thy spirit so dull to-day?

Mehe. Dull? Where is the dullness? Yet how can I forget that to-morrow morning thou wilt forsake me and depart? Why wilt thou not stay two days more and content me?

M. Who hath not a craving for happiness? Were it in my power, why should I depart? But I am the servant of another — how can I tarry?

Mehe. Thou hast no more love for me; hadst thou, by no means wouldst thou go. Having come, why canst thou not remain?

M. I have told thee all. My own brother, a mansabdar of the Mughal army, was wounded grievously in the war with the Pathans of Orissa and lay in peril of his life. Hearing tidings of his danger I came, with the Begum's leave, to see him. Long have I tarried in Orissa; longer it is not meet to tarry. Long it is since I had sight of thee, therefore I have stayed these two days.

Mehe. On what day didst thou promise the Begum that thy letter should reach her?

Moti perceived that Meher-un-nissa was mocking her. In polished and piercing irony Meher-un-nissa was an adept; Moti was not her equal therein. Yet she was no woman to be put out of countenance. She answered, "Can a journey of three months thither and back be reckoned to a day? But long indeed have I tarried; further delay might breed displeasure."

Meher-un-nissa, smiling that smile which could enchant the world, said, "Whose displeasure dost thou dread? The Prince's, or his consort's?"

Moti, a little abashed, replied, "Why wouldst thou shame this shameless one? The displeasure of both is to be feared!"

Mehe. But let me ask thee — wherefore dost thou not thyself take the title of Begum? I had heard that Prince Selim would wed thee and make thee his Khas Begum; how far hath that gone?

M. I am of myself sufficiently in bondage. The little freedom that is mine, wherefore should I cast it away? As the companion of the Begum I could come at ease to Orissa; were I Selim's Begum, could I have come to Orissa?

Mehe. She who shall be the chief consort of the Lord of Delhi — what need hath she to come to Orissa?

M. That I should be Selim's chief consort, such presumption I never harbour. In this land of Hindustan, Meher-un-nissa alone is worthy to be the heart's queen of the Lord of Delhi.

Meher-un-nissa cast down her face. After a moment's silence she said, "Sister! I do not think that thou hast spoken this to grieve me, nor to sound my heart. Yet this is my entreaty to thee — that I am the wedded wife of Sher Afghan, that in thought, word, and deed I am the handmaid of Sher Afghan — forget thou not this when thou speakest."

The shameless Moti was not abashed by this rebuke; rather she found in it a further opening. She said, "That thou art devoted in soul to thy lord, that I well know. For that very reason have I ventured, by indirection, to lay this matter before thee. That Selim is yet unable to forget the spell of thy beauty — this is what I would have thee know. Be on thy guard."

Mehe. Now I understand. But what is there to fear?

Moti, after some hesitation, said, "The fear of widowhood."

So saying, Moti fixed a keen gaze upon Meher-un-nissa's countenance; yet she could discern thereon no sign either of dread or of gladness. Meher-un-nissa replied with pride,

"The fear of widowhood! Sher Afghan is not unable to defend himself. Moreover, within the dominions of the Emperor Akbar, even his own son cannot, without cause, take another's life and go unscathed."

M. Truly spoken; but the latest tidings from Agra are these — that the Emperor Akbar is dead. Selim hath ascended the throne. Who now shall curb the Lord of Delhi?

Meher-un-nissa heard no more. Her whole frame began to tremble and shudder. Again she cast down her face; from her eyes the tears began to flow. Moti asked, "Wherefore dost thou weep?"

Meher-un-nissa, fetching a sigh, said, "Selim upon the throne of Hindustan — and I, where am I?"

Moti's desire was fulfilled. She said, "Even now thou hast not been able to forget the Prince?"

Meher-un-nissa, in a voice broken with feeling, answered, "Whom should I forget? I might forget my very being, yet the Prince I cannot forget. But hear, sister! Of a sudden the door of my heart hath opened; thou hast heard these words; yet by mine oath, let them not pass to any other ear."

Moti said, "Be it so. But when Selim shall hear that I have been at Burdwan, he will surely ask — what said Meher-un-nissa of me? What shall I then answer?"

Meher-un-nissa, after pondering awhile, said, "Tell him this — that Meher-un-nissa shall worship him within her heart. At need, she will lay down her very life for him. But never will she yield up her honour. While her husband lives, this handmaid will never show her face to the Lord of Delhi. And if, by the Lord of Delhi's hand, her husband's life be taken, then with the slayer of her husband she will hold no union in this life."

Having spoken thus, Meher-un-nissa rose and went out from that place. Motibibi sat astonished. Yet the victory was Motibibi's. The mind of Meher-un-nissa Motibibi had learned; of Motibibi's hopes and designs Meher-un-nissa had learned nothing at all. She who in after days, by the might of her own wit, became the very mistress of the Lord of Delhi, even she was overcome by Moti. The reason was this — that Meher-un-nissa was a woman of love, while Moti in this matter was nothing but self-seeking.

The strange courses of the human heart Motibibi well understood. Reflecting upon Meher-un-nissa's words, she came to a conclusion which time afterwards proved true. She perceived that Meher-un-nissa was truly enamoured of Jahangir; therefore, whatever womanly pride might now make her say, when the way lay open the bent of her heart could not be stayed. The Emperor's desire would surely be fulfilled.

By this conclusion all Moti's hopes and designs were uprooted. Yet was Moti utterly grieved thereby? Not so. Nay, a faint sweetness of joy even stole upon her. Wherefore so unlooked-for a peace of mind arose within her, at first Moti could not understand. She set forth upon the road to Agra. Several days passed upon the journey. In those few days she came to understand the temper of her own heart.