The Shadow Princess

It is two thirty in the morning, not an unusual hour for me to be awake. But, I have been awake for over an hour, and, in a larger sense, awake for several hours now, reading with tremendous absorption this book I stumbled upon at the local library yesterday.

Being one of the first ‘holiday’ Fridays of this year’s summer, I had gone to the library in search of Shashi Tharoor’s “The Great Indian Novel.” I had stumbled upon it on the net, and, had read portions of it, in the style that the free Google reader would allow, with in between pages blocked out. Not willing to invest money in buying the book, yet wanting to read it, I had stopped by at the local library to see if they had a copy. They did not, but, as I neared the door, my eyes caught sight of the red lipstick lined lips and Indian ruby jewellery on the hands of the model on the cover of a book...what else is needed to catch the eye of an ageing Indian male salivating for the scents and scenes of India, and, yet not willing to live there...

I picked up the book and the opening pages were about the Queen Mumtaz Mahal in labour, as she gave birth to her last child, the Princess Goharara Begum. Not exactly the sort of stuff that fascinates the male mind, but, the allure of the red lips and ruby jewellery persisted, and, I borrowed the book.

I came back home and continued reading “the Shadow Princess.” And as I did so, images of my school days came back. The first was the story of the tomb of the Itmad-daula, the father of the empress Noor Jehan. I had heard first of this tomb from my brother, a writer of several books on Indian history (KRN Swamy, "The Peacock Throne" and other books). The tomb of the Itmad-daula (Pillar of the Empire, a title given to Mirza Ghiyas Beg, by the emperor Jahangir after Jahangir married Mehrunnisa, and, also overlooked the fifty thousand rupees that Ghiyas Beg had swindled from the royal coffers) was the Baby Taj.

And that took me through several wanderings of the mind as I had grown up.

The book captures so beautifully that strange dementia of the mind that overtakes a man when he loses the woman who absorbs him so totally. As I read about the madness of Shah Jahan at the death of Arjumand Bano (the given name of Mumtaz Mahal) my mind went back to the first time I visited the Agra Fort, two years ago. I remember pausing for a moment at the small mosque-room which is supposed to be the room from where the imprisoned Shah Jahan would gaze out in loving madness across the Yamuna to catch a glimpse of the Taj, where his beloved (too weak a word) obsession lay buried. What a strange madness and how it posseses almost everyone of us...how we struggle and fight with it, and, yet succumb in some way or the other...we are taught to deny it, yet, it is what brings us to life...

The writer, Indu Sundaresan, has done a tremendous amount of research into history, and, done an even more splendid job of weaving together the stories into such a brilliant narrative. The intrigues of the zenana (the harem) and the struggles of the princesses in their search for attention and affection (what’s new about that ?) are told so well. Hadn’t heard of Indu Sundaresan till yesterday. Went to her web site and read about the other books she has written. “The Twentieth Wife”, the story of Mehrunnisa (later named Noor Mahal by Jahangir and as his madness grew for her, graduated the name to Noor Jehan) sounds interesting.

The tales of Dara Shikoh’s Theosophist like explorations into integrating religions is interesting, as also the antics of the Jesuits as they strive to catch his attention. Akbar tried such things before and even in the twenty first century we have these all faith attempts...a bit of an oxymoron...since the word faith, by definition, excludes any other belief...what we perhaps really need is an emergence of total lack of faith to explore freely and without limiting ourself through fear

I am now at the point where Jahanara, perhaps the central character of the book, has a meeting with the exiled Noor Jehan, in the exiled, former empress’ palace at Lahore. The writer has so imaginatively and wonderfully captured the spirit of those days that one would wonder whether she was an ‘embedded’ reporter in the retinue that followed the Padshah, and, all set in language that the twenty first century (and readers in North America) can understand.. .Listen to this advice given by the ageing Empress Noorjehan to the young nineteen year Jahanara exploring her own raging hormones and her need for Mirza Najabat Khan

“Only one last word, my dear,” Mehrunnisa said wearily. “If your Bapa will not allow you to have a legal alliance with Mirza Najabat Khan, you must find another way to do so. Guard your personal happiness carefully, Jahanara; no one else will be willing to do it for you...”

Looks like Dear Abby has been around for some centuries...