Tag Archives: Mughal Emperor Jahangir

Tongue of pearls: Mutribi al-Asamm Samarqandi’s ‘Conversations with Emperor Jahangir’

DELHI :

Emperor Jahangir’s inquisitive mind is revealed in his conversations with Mutribi al-Asamm Samarqandi

The 18 decades of the Great Mughals (1526-1707) produced some first-rate literature.

Many fine books came from the rulers themselves, steeped in a tradition of high culture that required them to be literate. The Baburnama, the first memoir/ autobiography of the subcontinent, is as readable today and as modestly written as Julius Caesar’s books (Cicero said of Caesar’s prose that it is unadorned, like a classical statue). The Tuzuk of Jahangir is filled with bombast, vanity and anger, but it is so honest and has so much detail, particularly on the side of his interests as a naturalist, that it is a work of the highest order.

And then there are the works that are smaller but sparkling, like little jewels. One such is the life of Humayun by his sister, Babur’s daughter and Akbar’s aunt, Gulbadan Begum. Written in Persian, as opposed to the Chagatai Turk that Babur wrote in, it is clear and direct, and as thorough a portrayal of Babur and Humayun as what they produced themselves. The story we know of Babur circumambulating the bed of a very ill Humayun and asking, in pagan fashion, to be taken instead of him, is from her book.

Courtly manners

The work we are looking at this time is from a lesser noble, a traveller from Samarqand called Mutribi al-Asamm, who spent time in Jahangir’s court. It is available in translation as Conversations with Emperor Jahangir. The Mughals loved having people over from their ancestral lands, which they would never see again, and lavished them with gifts and honours. Mutribi came to India (Jahangir was based in Lahore) roughly 400 years ago in 1627, when he was 70 and the emperor 58, only a few months away from his death.

Mutribi’s writing reveals a lot about the flowery manner of the court. He visits Jahangir a month after arriving in India and the emperor asks why he has waited this long. Mutribi refers to himself in the text as the “incompetent narrator” and Jahangir as possessing “a tongue of pearls”. At that first meeting, Jahangir gives him a thousand rupees and Noor Jahan (“may her chastity be preserved”) another five hundred, possibly the equivalent of crores in our time.

At their next meeting, Jahangir inquires about the hue of the black stone from which his ancestor Timur’s sepulchre is made in Samarqand. The emperor produces stones which Mutribi compares unfavourably to the original (“it is so bright you can see your face in it”).

Lord bountiful

The transactional manner of the exchanges is apparent from another meeting in which Jahangir asks Mutribi which of the Iraqi thoroughbred horses on display he would like to be given. Mutribi says, “whichever is more expensive,” possibly to make the emperor feel that he is being generous rather than his supplicant greedy. Again, when Jahangir offers him a choice of saddle — velvet or broadcloth — the answer is velvet, because it is more expensive. Jahangir says velvet gets wet easily, to which Mutribi says that the monsoon is far off. The two meet 24 times in two months before Mutribi returns. Towards the end, the following conversation is held:

“The pleasantness of Samarqand was being discussed. The Emperor asked me, ‘Is Samarqand spelled with a ‘q’ or with a ‘k’?’

‘Either way is correct,’ I replied. ‘In Tabari’s history and several other books it is referred to as Samarkand, but in popular usage it has become known as Samarqand. Some say that the name comes from Samar and Qamar, two slaves of Alexander the Great who built the city which was then named for them. Their graves are situated in the main market square of Samarqand.”’

Then Jahangir inquires about an ancestral tomb, asking how much it requires to be maintained. ‘“If you want to do it properly, 10,000 rupees,’ I [Mutribi] said, ‘otherwise 5,000 rupees just to keep it going.’

‘If 10,000 rupees will maintain it,’ he said, ‘then we have decided that in accordance with your information we will send 10,000 rupees, in order that that blessed station be maintained.’

I said, ‘O God, as long as the Sun and the Moon shall be, may Jahangir son of Akbar remain King.’”

Aakar Patel is a columnist and translator of Urdu and Gujarati non-fiction works.

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Books / by Aakar Patel / November 13th, 2021

Great dynasties of the world: The Mughals

INDIA :

Ian Sansom on a clan whose empire became synonymous with India

Shah Jahan, who built the Taj Mahal. / Photograph: dbimages/Alamy
Shah Jahan, who built the Taj Mahal. / Photograph: dbimages/Alamy

In the month of Ramadan of the year 899,” writes the great Babur (1483-1530) in his autobiography, The Baburnama, “and in the 12th year of my age, I became ruler in the country of Fergana.” Babur – his name means “tiger” – inherited the tiny kingdom of Fergana, in what is now Uzbekistan, from his father. The family was descended from Genghis Khan and Tamerlane the Great; Babur the boy-king became the first of the Mughal emperors, a family of Turko-Mongol rulers who, according to the historian Abraham Eraly, “so decisively stamped their personalities on India that the Mughal Empire became, in the public perception, synonymous with India.”

Babur established his empire through conquest, successfully invading India in 1526. His son, Humayun (1508-1556), who succeeded him, came close to losing everything that his father had achieved. It wasn’t until the rule of Akbar (1542-1605), Humayun’s son, that the Mughal Empire was consolidated. Akbar, like Margaret Thatcher, slept only four hours a night. When he was awake, which was most of the time, he set about expanding the Mughal territories abroad and reforming the government at home. He ended the tax imposed on non-Muslims. He invited Jesuit missionaries into his court. And he formed his own religion. Above all, he knew how to make friends as well as enemies. According to his court historian, Abul Fazl, “His majesty forms matrimonial alliances with princes of Hindustan and of other countries; and secures by these ties of harmony the peace of the world.”

Jahangir (1569-1627) succeeded his father, Akbar, in 1605. He preferred to drink and carouse rather than to rule, and his wife, Nur Jahan, took on the responsibility of the state. The fifth Mughal emperor, Shah Jahan (1592-1666), was more like his grandfather Akbar and his great-great-grandfather Babur: a schemer, a man of grand plans and ideas. When his wife, Mumtaz, died in 1631, Shah Jahan was grief-stricken, so much so that, according to one observer, he “gave up the practice of plucking out grey hair from his beard”. He also decided to build his wife a memorial. The English travel writer Peter Mundy described the construction: “The building is begun and goes on with excessive labour and cost, prosecuted with extraordinary dilligence, Gold silver esteemed common Mettal, and Marble but as ordinarie stones.” According to Rudyard Kipling, the place was “the embodiment of all things pure, all things holy, and all things unhappy”. It was the Taj Mahal.

Shah Jahan’s rule ended with a war of succession between his sons, in which Aurangzeb (1618-1707) emerged triumphant. Having killed his brothers, he imprisoned his father. After Aurangzeb the decline of the Mughals began. In 1738, India was invaded by the forces of Nadir Shah, ruler of Iran. Territories were divided. Then the British East India Company moved in.

The last of the long line of Mughal emperors was Bahadur Shah II, known as Zafar. “Personally, he was one of the most talented, tolerant and likeable of his dynasty,” writes William Dalrymple in The Last Mughal  (2006). The first emperor, Babur, had been a warrior. Zafar was an aesthete – a poet and an architect. Alas, empires tend not to survive under aesthetes. “While the British progressively took over more and more of the Mughal Emperor’s power,” writes Dalrymple, “the court busied itself in the obsessive pursuit of the most cleverly turned ghazal, the most perfect Urdu couplet.”

Zafar died in exile in Rangoon in 1862. His courtiers were hanged and much of Mughal Delhi was destroyed. “The death of the ex-King may be said to have had no effect on the Mahomedan part of the populace,” wrote the British commissioner at the time, “except for a few fanatics who watch and pray for the final triumph of Islam.”

source: http://www.theguardian.com / The Guardian – International Edition / Home> Family> Great Dynasties of the World / by Ian Sansom / July 16th, 2019

The emperor of oleander blossoms

INDIA :

Colourful life: Jahangir preferring a Sufi sheikh to kings, a miniature painting by Mughal artist Bichitr, ca. 1620 | Photo Credit: Wiki Commons
Colourful life: Jahangir preferring a Sufi sheikh to kings, a miniature painting by Mughal artist Bichitr, ca. 1620 | Photo Credit: Wiki Commons

Were the Mughals the most literary dynasty that ever ruled India?

The Mughals have garnered many adjectives over the centuries. Once, when the world looked in awe at the power and wealth of Hindustan, they were simply ‘Great’. More recently, as Hindustan locks itself in a manic tussle with its past, they are ‘foreign’ or ‘invaders’, often both. Perhaps it’s time for a calming epithet: the Mughals were, without question, literary.

The first of them, Babur, is known for defeating Ibrahim Lodi in Panipat, but almost equally renowned for his autobiography. It’s not that kings hadn’t written before. Julius Caesar was composing accounts of his Gallic campaigns in 1 BC. The earliest autobiography — an account of a person’s life, not a record of events — was St. Augustine’s Confessions, written circa 400 AD. Babur, living a millennium later and a world away, invented the form for himself with Baburnama, the first personal memoir in Islamic literature. And he did it with flair — “both a Caesar and a Cervantes”, as Amitav Ghosh has described him — writing with lucid ease, whether of the pangs of his first love or his battle strategies. (The first autobiography in an Indian language, incidentally, may be Ardhakathanak (‘Half Life’) by Banarasidas, a Jain merchant who wrote in Braj Bhasha, and in verse, in the 17th century.)

The urge to write

In the centuries after Panipat, the Mughal empire grew into a global superpower, then shrunk to a wretched speck. The last Mughal ruled little besides the Red Fort, but he did preside over an efflorescence of Urdu poetry: Ghalib, Momin and Zauq shone bright in his court, and Bahadur Shah ‘Zafar’ was no mean poet himself. Imprisoned and exiled after the Uprising of 1857, the frail emperor would write Na wo taj hai na wo takht hai, na wo shah hai na dayar hai (‘No crown remains no throne remains, neither ruler nor realm remains’). The urge to write, however, that remained: Bahadur Shah is said to have etched his verses on the walls of his prison, with charcoal, when he was denied paper and pen.

Babur may not have been entirely displeased. In a letter to his son, Humayun, Babur offers equally urgent advice on how to rule and how to write. The unfortunate Humayun is ticked off on both counts: his desire for solitude is “a fatal flaw in kingship”, and his prose is convoluted. “Who has ever heard of prose designed to be an enigma?” writes Babur, exasperated. Humayun must write, instead, “with uncomplicated, clear, and plain words”.

Father and son

Humayun was unable to meet his father’s exacting standards, both as ruler (he lost the fledgling empire) and as writer (even if he did die in a library), but the literary gene stayed with the dynasty. It blossomed in Gulbadan, one of Babur’s daughters, who wrote the Humayun-nama; it gestated in Akbar, who was as famously illiterate as he was fond of commissioning histories and translations; and, most notably, it flowered in Jahangir, whose literary talents equalled, if not exceeded, his great-grandfather’s.

William M. Thackston, who has translated the Baburnama, admits that despite its many surprises and charms, the memoirs can sometimes lag a bit: the “reader may skip or skim at will”. The Jahangirnama, on the other hand, flows like a breeze — so much as to attract the criticism to which ‘popular’ writing is prone. Thackston, who has also translated the Jahangirnama, writes that while much of this work is “fascinating…for the general reader” much is also “of little or no historical significance”. Fun to read, that is, but inadequately serious. As Jahangir himself is often accused of being: lightweight.

Playful tone

It’s true enough that the Jahangirnama is marked by a sometimes startling whimsy. Once, marching with his nobility along a rivulet, its banks overgrown with oleanders, Jahangir had them all arrange the blossoms on their turbans so that “an amazing field of flowers was… made!” Another time, having caught a dozen-odd fish, Jahangir released them all with pearls pinned to their noses. Even when he is writing of seemingly sober matters, Jahangir can’t help a certain playfulness.

Near the beginning of the book, for example, Jahangir lists a set of decrees that he issued when he became emperor. Among these worthy orders — abolishing certain taxes and punishments, building wells and hospitals — was one that banned the manufacture and sale of alcohol.

Here, however, Jahangir adds a caveat: he has been drinking — and has often been drunk — since he was 18. Later, he offers a detailed account of his alcoholism and de-addiction (his hands shook so much, others poured the liquor down his throat; a doctor told him he wouldn’t last six months; he diluted his arrack with wine and raised his spirits with opium) — a remarkable confession made even more so by the fact that Jahangir makes it immediately after describing the “great persistence” it took for him to get his son, Shahjahan, to down a birthday drink.

A drinking problem is not all the emperor disclosed. The Jahangirnama also contains a frank account of murder; or, at least, an order to murder, which led to the ambush and assassination of Akbar’s friend and biographer, Abu’l Fazl.

Murder most murky

The plot is murky and tangled, but in brief it was thus: as prince, Jahangir felt threatened by Abu’l Fazl’s influence over the emperor, Akbar, and so had him killed. It was a ruthless decision, and reveals a man of steely ambition under the drunken haze and oleander blossoms.

It’s an ambition that’s often overshadowed by Jahangir’s acute sense of beauty and delight in nature. He could describe the weather such that you can feel it, “the air was so fine, a patch of cloud was screening the light and heat of the sun, and a gentle rain was falling”. Spring flowers in Kashmir would make his heart “burst into blossom”.

Among the best-known passages in the Jahangirnama are those about the mating, nesting and eventual parenthood of Jahangir’s pet saras cranes, Laila and Majnu. So intense is his joy in their rituals — “I immediately ran out to watch” he writes of the dawn on which they mated; then of how Majnu would guard his mate all night, and scratch her back with his beak at dawn to relieve her of nesting duties — that one gets the sense Jahangir would have sat on those eggs himself, if he could.

Writers’ prerogative

It’s passages like this that prompted Henry Beveridge, editor of a 19th-century translation of the Jahangirnama, to declare that Jahangir would have been a “better and happier man” as the “head of a Natural History Museum”. And yet, would the head of a museum have commissioned the painting of Inayat Khan? This, too, is a story in the Jahangirnama. A hard-drinking nobleman appeared before Jahangir, asking for sick leave.

Inayat Khan was emaciated beyond belief. “How can a human being remain alive in this shape?” the emperor exclaimed. Jahangir let Inayat Khan go home, gave him a generous grant, but also, he summoned his painters. Like the extinct dodo, of which Jahangir’s atelier has produced the most authentic record, so the painters now created a terribly vivid portrait of a dying man.

Such single-mindedness is, of course, the prerogative of emperors — and also, perhaps, of writers. Both to rule and to narrate requires a certain distance, even coldness. In fact, of late, Jahangir’s writings, and therefore his rule, are being re-evaluated.

The historian Corinne Lefèvre, for example, does not read the Jahangirnama as a record of imperial fancies, but finds it “a masterpiece of… imperial propaganda”. Jahangir himself suggested as much when he ordered copies of his book sent to other kings as a “manual for ruling”.

Unlike his father, Jahangir did not create the intricate foundations of a nation-state. Unlike his son, Jahangir did not build the Taj Mahal. No lasting administrative reforms, no carved blocks of marble, it’s a book that Jahangir left us to read. Just words.

No wonder he’s so open to interpretation.

The writer’s most recent book is Jahangir: An Intimate Portrait of a Great Mughal.

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Books – The Lead / by Parvati Sharma / November 09th, 2018

‘Nur Jahan is the history of India’: Historian Ruby Lal on her new book

INDIA :

In an interview with Indianexpress.com, Lal spoke about the incredible achievements of Nur Jahan. Remnants of imperial orders issued by her, coins minted in her name, paintings that paid ode to her sovereignty and bravery are all evidence of the enormously powerful figure she was.

Left- Cover of the book ‘Empress: The astonishing reign of Nur Jahan’ (wwnorton.com) Right- Historian Ruby Lal (personal website of Ruby Lal)
Left- Cover of the book ‘Empress: The astonishing reign of Nur Jahan’ (wwnorton.com) Right- Historian Ruby Lal (personal website of Ruby Lal)

For four centuries, from when she was at the centre of one of the largest empires of the world, Nur Jahan, the twentieth and supposedly the most loved wife of Mughal emperor Jahangir, has been a household name in the Subcontinent. Though she was not officially the ruler of Mughal India, Nur Jahan has been noted by historians to be the real power behind the throne. A politically astute and charismatic figure, she ruled Mughal India as a co-sovereign of Jahangir and is known to have been more decisive and influential than he ever was. Historian Ruby Lal in her latest book, ‘Empress: The astonishing reign of Nur Jahan’, dives deep into the intriguing world of the only woman to have helmed the Mughal empire. Tracing her life in great detail, Lal attempts to rip apart narratives of romance and exoticism that surround the image of Nur Jahan and focus upon what made a Muslim woman living in seventeenth-century India, one of the most authoritarian figures in Indian history.

In an interview with Indianexpress.com, Lal spoke about the incredible achievements of Nur Jahan. “People say she always sat right next to Jehangir in the court and that if some cases or decisions came up and if she agreed with him, she would pat him on the back and he would say yes to that decision,” says Lal who is Professor of South Asian Studies at Emory University in Atlanta. Remnants of imperial orders issued by her, coins minted in her name, paintings that paid ode to her sovereignty and bravery are all evidence of the enormously powerful figure she was. Charting the life history of Nur Jahan, and placing her in the background of the pluralistic cultural space that Mughal India was, Lal puts together an evocative biographical account of the queen.

Here are excerpts from the interview with Lal.

Popular perception of Nur Jahan is somehow constricted to the romantic relationship she shared with Jahangir. Why is that the case?

There is a very long history of the erasure of Nur Jahan’s power that I chart in the book. As she traveled through the length and breadth of the country with Jahangir – issuing imperial orders, hunting a killer tiger near Mathura, discussing the expansion of the empire- she rose to being the co-sovereign. This does not mean that in her own time people did not raise eyebrows. In 1622, her stepson and Jahangir’s son Shah Jahan had risen in revolt. The catalyst for his revolt was the moment when Nur Jahan arranged a match for her daughter from her first marriage, Ladli; she chose the youngest prince, Shahriyar for her. About that time, Shah Jahan went into rebellion against Jahangir. And its is very clear that he felt threatened; he knew about the power of Nur Jahan. In fact, Shah Jahan and Nur Jahan had been closely aligned. The year 1622 is when certain chroniclers begin to write about the chaos that Nur Jahan Begum had raked up between the father and son.

“There is a very long history of the erasure of Nur Jahan’s power that I chart in the book,” says Ruby Lal. (Wikimedia Commons)
“There is a very long history of the erasure of Nur Jahan’s power that I chart in the book,” says Ruby Lal. (Wikimedia Commons)

So the early criticism appears to begin around this time. The other major moment of critique of Nur’s power was when they were on their way to Kashmir and Mahabat Khan (who went on to capture Jahangir later in 1626) goes on the journey with them to a certain distance and according to one of the chroniclers he says to Jahangir that a man who was governed by a woman is likely to suffer from unforseen results. In 1626, she, completely visible, goes to save Jahangir (sitting upon an elephant on a roaring river), commanding all men including her brother Asaf Khan. She stratergises and eventually saves the emperor. After this, we begin to come across a word called Fitna, in the records.

Fitna is a very loaded term in Islamic history. It is used for the first time during the Shia-Sunni split for civil strife. It was also used against Ayesha, Prophet Muhammad’s favourite wife, when she went on a battle against Ali who was eventually the leader of the Shias. Over time, the word came to be used against women’s visibility, their sexuality and so on. Following 1626, this is one word that is used repeatedly against nur – that is to say that her power produced chaos.

Later, in the Shahjahanama, we find that at one point that the chronicler lists her power as a “problem”: the Shahjahanama reverts to the male inheritance of power and completely undoes her co-sovereignty with Jahangir.

Then there were also visitors to India like Thomas Roe, the ambassador of James I of England who follows Nur and Jahangir through the camps in Gujarat and Malwa. He calls her the Goddess of heathen impiety.

In the 19th century orientalist renditions of the romance of Nur and Jahangir become very important in the histories of the time; later, the colonial renditions highlight and forward such stories. Nur Jahan becomes classic oriental queen. Thus, a long-standing history of the erasure of the power of an astonishing emperess. It is certain that the erasure of Nur’s power travels into modern times and we only hear about her romance with Jahangir, not about her work as co-sovereign of the empire.

Jahangir is often compared with Akbar and criticised for being an uncompetitive, flamboyant king, who spent much of his time in drinking and merrymaking. But the fact that it was during the reign of Jahangir that a woman became so powerful, what does it say about his attitude towards women?

You are right, this is how Jahangir has come to be imagined. There are a range of scholars who for sometime now have been rethinking Jahangir’s reign, his philosophical and artistic engagements. My book foregrounds the ways in which Jahangir seeks to go differently from how Akbar articulated his sovereignty. If you look at the reigns of Babur and Humayun, there was no stone harem: the kings were nomadic and forever on the move. During Akbar the Great, for the first time in Mughal history, the imperial harem is built in stone in Fatehpur Sikhri. For the first time in the Ain-e-Akbari, women are declared as ‘pardeh-giyan’ which means “the veiled ones.”

“My book foregrounds the ways in which Jahangir seeks to go differently from how Akbar articulated his sovereignty,” says Ruby Lal. (Wikimedia Commons)
“My book foregrounds the ways in which Jahangir seeks to go differently from how Akbar articulated his sovereignty,” says Ruby Lal. (Wikimedia Commons)

But what Jahangir does is that he goes back to the ethics of Babur. He was constantly wandering, he was constantly moving. The ethics of a peripatetic life and movement, which contributed to the co-sovereignty of Nur Jahan. Nur Jahan is the biggest example of Jahangir’s attitude towards women. An 18th-century chronicler that advances the Jahangirnama to the end of Jahangir’s death had suggested that the emperor had once claimed that he had given the sovereignty to Nur Jahan Begum and that he was quite content with his wine and meat. It’s an allegorical statement: and one indicates his admiration of Nur, something that he chronicles in his own memoir

Would Nur Jahan be this powerful had she not been married to Jahangir or had she not been part of the Mughal empire?

I think, Nur Jahan, looking at her whole life history and context, would have expressed her power differently in other circumstances. Her life history shows her dynamism and boldness. Of course, as I have been saying, and detail in the book that the plural landscape of Hindustan was very important- in that that it fostered experimentation and all sorts of ways of being (alongside war other challenges of co-existence of multi-confessional identities). We should also remember that she comes from an important Persian family background, deeply invested in poetry, arts, calligraphy. Then her own initiative must be highlighted: there were other women in the harem – and indeed Nur walks in the tracks of these women’s power – but no one becomes a co-sovereign. That speaks something about her boldness, her endeavours and of course her ambition.

Islamic societies are often noted to be more regressive compared to others in their treatment of women. In your book do you try to subvert this notion?

I Am trying to suggest that Nur Jahan is the history of India. She was a Shia married to a Sunni Muslim who was also half Hindu Rajput. Further, Nur Jahan is the only woman ruler among the great Mughals of India (there are technical signs of being a sovereign and informal signs, both of which I detail in the book). That is the history of India. As far as Islam is concerned, people should know that there were incredible and powerful women in Islamic history all the way through. We have Ayesha, Raziya, we have Nur Jahan Begum, we have any number of powerful women. It is also the multicultural world. In the modern world, we tend to think in terms of fixed identities. People in early modern times were much more open. Jahangir was engaging with Siddichandra, a Jain monk. Nur Jahan used to tease him about the pleasures of the flesh.  What does this tell you? It tells you about an open engagement. It tells you about how experimental Islam is, how mixed Islam is, how vibrant Muslim women are and how Islam is so deeply attached to India.

‘Empress: The astonishing reign of Nur Jahan’ has been published by W.W.Norton in the United States earlier this month and will be published by Penguin Books in India soon.
source: http://www.indianexpress.com / The Indian Express / Home> Research / by Anrija Roychowdhury, New Delhi / July 11th, 2018

Nur Jahan: The Mughal queen who wielded the musket

NEW DELHI , INDIA  :

Ruby Lal’s book gives a new life to Nur Jahanas Jahangir’s co-sovereign, a position never held by any Mughal woman

EmpressNurJahan01MPOs31aug2018

While there may be more than a grain of truth in Jahangir’s devotion to his beloved spouse (it has been the subject of several movies), Nur Jahan’s political acumen and gallantry make her phenomenal career trajectory seem inevitable.

The polemical potential of Ruby Lal’s new book is apparent from its title, even before we get to the text proper. Empress: The Astonishing Reign Of Nur Jahan takes the spotlight away from Jahangir, one of the Great Mughals, to shine it on his 20th and favourite wife, who, as Lal proposes, not only scaled untold heights during his reign but also announced herself to be his “co-sovereign”.

“Scholars have for some time acknowledged her power, almost in bullet points, but never in any concrete way thought through it,” says Lal, who teaches at Emory University in the US, on email. “There is still the tendency in scholarly and other writings to lock Nur’s power in a romantic story with Jahangir: in fact, that romance becomes the explanation for her rise.”

While there may be more than a grain of truth in Jahangir’s devotion to his beloved spouse (it has been the subject of several movies), Nur Jahan’s political acumen and gallantry make her phenomenal career trajectory seem inevitable. Lal begins, for instance, with a spectacular scene of a hunt, in which a musket-bearing Nur Jahan kills a man-eating tiger in Mathura, where the royal cavalcade made a stop on its way to the Himalayan foothills in the autumn of 1619. Nur, 42 at the time, had been married to Jahangir, her second husband, since 1611. It was a fate her parents, Ghiyas Beg and Asmat Begum, could never have foreseen when their daughter, Mihr un-Nisa, was born in 1577 by the roadside outside Kandahar, as they fled their home in Herat.

Hounded out of Persia due to religious persecution, Beg sought Akbar’s patronage in the late 16th century, and it was generously provided. Eventually decorated as I’timad ud-Daula, or the Pillar of the State, by his regal son-in-law, Beg went on to assume the highest rank in Jahangir’s service. His family did well by the Mughal rulers too. Beg’s son, Asaf Khan, would turn out to be the future emperor Shah Jahan’s father-in-law. But it was Beg’s daughter, Mihr un-Nisa, honoured by her royal husband as Nur Jahan, or the Light of the World, who assured him a place in history.

EmpressNurJahan02MPOs31aug2018

If Nur was exemplary for being the first woman in the subcontinent to exercise direct executive privilege, she was doubly impressive for achieving such a status as a rank outsider. “Remember, she was not a Mughal by bloodline,” says Lal, “not like Queen Elizabeth I (of England) or Queen Christina (of Sweden), who were from royal families.” Nur’s elevation, in the context of her times, was certainly unprecedented, though women in the Mughal harem, especially the elders, often did act as confidantes, advisers and counsellors to the emperor.

Gulbadan Banu Begum, Babar’s daughter and Akbar’s aunt, and Hamideh Begum, Akbar’s mother, were matriarchs to reckon with. Nur’s mother, a lady of refinement and education, was credited with the discovery of an itar (perfume) while boiling petals to make rosewater. But no one went as far as Nur, who made appearances on the imperial balcony, issued firmans (orders) and had coins embossed with her own image—all of which were kingly prerogatives. A skilled marksman, Nur would also lead an army later in life in a failed attempt to rescue Jahangir when he was held hostage by one of his aggrieved officials.

Although the Mughal harem has claimed the attention of scholars, Ira Mukhoty’s recent feminist history, Daughters Of The Sun: Empresses, Queens And Begums Of The Mughal Empire, breathed fresh life into it, making it accessible and emotionally absorbing to the common reader. Lal’s book, replete with research but also narrated with a sense of drama befitting a novel, complements it beautifully.

With the paucity of first-person testimonies from the women of the era, it is not surprising that much of the narrative of Empress is pieced together from observations left behind by Nur Jahan’s contemporaries in the footnotes and interstices of archival documents. “The records are plenty and rich,” says Lal, emphatically, “it’s how you approach the courtly documents, paintings, poetry, coins, architecture, and even legends.”

The British diplomat Thomas Roe, for instance, who visited Jahangir’s court to woo him for exclusive trading rights, was piqued by Nur’s bossiness. But her charisma, intelligence and stately demeanour didn’t escape him. “Noormahel fulfils the observation that in all actions of consequence in Court, a woman is not only always an ingredient, but commonly a principal drug of most virtue,” he noted, “and she shows that they are not incapable of conducting business, nor her self void of wit and subtlety.” It’s not hard to imagine why tales were spun around Jahangir’s early infatuation with Nur, since the days he was Prince Salim. Some chroniclers even claim that young Mihr was married off to a fellow Persian nobleman, Ali Quli, to keep her away from the smitten crown prince.

Yet it would be patently unfair to reduce Nur’s influence to her “womanly wiles”. As an astute observer of court politics, she played her hand shrewdly. Initially, she forged an alliance with the ambitious Prince Khurram (later Shah Jahan), but then Nur got her only daughter, Ladli Begum (by her first husband), married to the younger Prince Shahryar, hoping to push the latter for the throne. With Jahangir’s health worsening due to his addiction to alcohol and opium and civil wars breaking out between factions of the royal family, Nur became increasingly anxious about her hold over the palace. The last straw was the ascension of Shah Jahan to the throne after Jahangir’s death when he stripped Nur of her privileges. She was packed off to live on a modest pension away from the court. In exile, too, she conducted herself with the dignity and grace suited to her station as a noblewoman. Known for her philanthropic work for the poor, she also built a tomb for her parents in Agra that would become the model for the Taj Mahal.

Nur Jahan was neither a Machiavellian dissenter nor a feminist rebel, as Lal writes tellingly. She seemed to have accepted the “emphatically patriarchal” norms of her time, the rules of the feudal, aristocratic world she spent her life in. “I do not believe feminist history should be one in which the woman is always a winner,” says Lal. “It is (rather) what she does, and how effectively she does it, despite all odds. Vulnerability is feminist history.”

source: http://www.livemint.com / Live Mint / Home> Lounge> Leisure / by Somak Ghoshal / August 31st, 2018