Nurjahan's Daughter by Tanushree Podder

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    Three times a day, the new ruler appeared at a jharoka that opened onto the courtyard of the palace. As the sun rose, Jahangir appeared at the eastern jharoka, his face aglow with the first rays of the sun. Hundreds of people began their day with his image in their minds. Again in the afternoon, the emperor appeared at the jharoka to assure his subjects that all was well with him. His last appearance was at the western jharoka at sunset. Even on days when he was not feeling well, Jahangir did not miss this routine of giving his subjects an audience from the jharoka.
    Jahangir then set about establishing edicts that were to be followed throughout his dominions. With an objective of eliminating the corrupt practices of the powerful nobles in the kingdom, the emperor ordered stringent obedience of his laws. Jahangir also granted amnesty for all prisoners in his empire.
    There was jubilation amongst people as the new emperor began his reign on a positive note. His ordinances found immense favour with the subjects, who had long suffered the excesses of the nobles. Tales of his largesse spread through the country.
    But there was one person who he continued to treat with disdain. After weeks of travelling, when Sher Afghan finally reached Agra to pay his respects to the new emperor, Jahangir received him coldly.
    Sher Afghan bowed low to perform a respectful kornish. ‘May your Majesty live a thousand years,’ he saluted. ‘Your humble slave is at your service.’
    Sher Afghan had brought expensive presents for the emperor. There were yards of expensive muslin–a speciality of Dacca, silks, strings of huge pearls and a steed of the finest Arabian breed. Meherunnisa had sent a painting of the emperor that she had done herself.
    ‘Gift this painting to the emperor. You might succeed in deflecting some of his anger with it.’
    As she had anticipated, the portrait seemed to please the emperor more than the other gifts. There was a twinkle in his eyes, lit by the memory of his past romance with the soldier’s wife.
    ‘So, you have finally decided to accept me as your emperor.’ The imperial tone had softened and so had the frigid look in his eyes.
    ‘Your Majesty, you are destined to be a great Mughal emperor. How could a lowly soldier like me think otherwise?’
    ‘Your gifts are calculated to touch my heart. Who is the artist of this skilful portrait?’ asked Jahangir, although he knew the answer. He twirled his moustache thoughtfully, his bejewelled fingers stroking the lines on the paper.
    ‘The portrait was painted by the wife of this humble servant, Your Highness.’ The Persian braved a smile.
    ‘Sher Afghan, you once saved my life and I am indebted to you for that. That is the only reason why I have not punished you for taking a conflicting posture against me in the past. I expect your unflinching loyalty and I will not honour you with an appointment at the court till I am satisfied of your faithfulness beyond all doubt. Till such time, you may continue to enjoy the fruits of Burdwan.’
    The slight was obvious. The emperor was still angry. Sher Afghan was disappointed, but he did not give Jahangir the pleasure of perceiving it. For long Sher Afghan had desired a return to Agra, but Akbar had consistently refused to heed his request. Many thought this was a conscious decision on the part of the emperor, in order to protect Sher Afghan from Salim’s wrath.
    ‘I can see that you are wearing the royal ring gifted by me,’ Jahangir pointed at an expensive ring on Sher Afghan’s finger. He had gifted him the ring when the soldier saved his life. ‘As long as you keep it on your finger, no harm will come to you.’
    With a nod of his head he dismissed the soldier.
    Sher Afghan suppressed his disappointment and made his way back to his father-in-law’s house. Both Mirza Ghias Baig and his son, Asaf Khan, had been granted favours by Jahangir. Over a banquet of delicacies laid out by Asmat, the three men