Reflections: Shadow Princess

To the uninitiated, Shadow Princess, is the third book in a series that fictionalizes some of the powerful, albeit, hidden personalities of the Mughal dynasty. The first two books - The Twentieth Wife, and The Feast of Roses, narrate the colorful life of one of the most influential and impressive women of the Mughal Empire - Jahangir’s twentieth, and most beloved wife - Nur Jahan (or Mehrunissa). In this third book, Shah-Jahan (Jahangir’s rebellious son) is the sovereign ruler of the Mughal lands, who is shattered at losing his dear wife, Mumtaz Mahal (Arjumand). He struggles to cope with his heartbreak, and diverts his sorrow to the construction of the most spectacular tomb for her - the Luminous Tomb (or the Taj Mahal). At his time of distress, he banks on his strong and clever daughter, Jahanara, an uncanny reminder of his wife. Shah Jahan’s dependence on Jahanara is so immense, that the pristine and loving bond between father and daughter gets besmirched due to treacherous rumors. Yet, the bond never wanes, and Jahanara resolutely stays by her father’s side, till his demise. Although Jahanara has receded into the shadows of history texts, this book pulls her out and spills out her story.

Although I read the first two books last year, I had no curiosity or interest in reading the third (and I think, final) book of the series. The deceit and greed of the Mughal time period tired me. I knew what to expect from this book - the repeat of events. Greedy Aurangazeb snatches the throne, imprisons his ill father and kills his brothers. History surely repeated in the Mughal dynasty. However, what re-piqued my interest was the last book I read - The Enchantress of Florence. Salman Rushdie’s descriptions of the Mughal era made me thirsty for more, and who else but Indu Sundaresan can deliver astounding descriptions of Mughal life.

And so, I grabbed this book. The writing quenched my thirst suitably - more than adequately. Almost beyond the point of satiation. I think Indu Sundaresan has mastered the art of writing about the Mughal era - her words are poetic, romantic, and extremely elegant and beautiful. Her florid writing seems to make any scene, even the most mundane, scintillating and interesting. This is partly due to the artistic and poetic touch she gives to every detail - be it a landscape, a person, a building, a tiny artifact. Particularly, her prose shines with the meticulous details she carefully and artfully uses to describe the Taj Mahal, and its construction. I am a person who usually never pays attention to details (well almost, never). I gather the big picture and then move on. But writers like her, kindle the romantic poet in the reader. The words make us skew our rigid (boring) perspectives just a little; to slant our eyes to see the cast of colors and shadows thrown by a plain oil-wicker lamp, or to squint at the afternoon sun lighting up a garden in a million different shades.

So yes, having dedicated a whole effusive paragraph to the writing, let me get to my quibbles. I hate that I’m starting to sound like a pompous, pretentious, know-it-all book critic, but I have to say that while the writing was impressive, it didn’t capture the characters or the story well. Jahanara was described almost identical to how Mehrunissa was. I find no difference between the characterizations of the two women - both were smart, strong-willed, beautiful, influential, and bold enough to go against tradition and create scandals. If at all someone clipped a section from one of the books and asked me to identify the woman being described, I would be at a loss. Almost all the characters had the same “voice” of the narrator - all their dialogues were erudite and poetic, and it was unrealistic to me. There was no distinct characterization, except probably for Aurangazeb; even Shah Jahan started resembling Jahangir.  This might partly be due to the domination of third-person narration in the book. This may have still not been problematic had the narration not focused excessively on the romantic details. The story itself was like a small fruit, sitting inside layers and layers of flowery, extravagant husk. For instance, the description of Jahanara walking down a corridor in the palace easily ran up to (and sometimes more) than two whole pages, while Aurangazeb’s final coup and displacement of Shah Jahan and his brothers, also comes to around two pages. Since there was so much narration and little dialogue or interactions in comparison, parts of the book sounded like a history text - a lyrical one, though.

Despite my quibbles, I surely appreciated reading about Aurangazeb and Jahanara. Until now, I hadn’t paid attention to the fact that Aurangazeb was a staunch Muslim, who went against the principles of tolerance and secularism that his predecessors had embraced. In stark contrast, Jahanara was ahead of her times, well read and balanced in her views. However, it is ironical that Aurangzeb, a man who was so steeped in social and religious propriety, committed categorically callous and amoral deeds by killing his own brothers and snatching the Empire from his ailing father.

Digested Thoughts: It was interesting to read about Princess Jahanara, and the construction of the Taj Mahal. Indu Sundaresan’s writing is always a treat, but I wish the lovely writing was wielded to give more depth and flair to her characters and the historical events. 

 

Reflections: The Feast of Roses

The Feast of Roses is a sequel to The Twentieth Wife. Both books bring to life Empress Nur Jahan and the trials and tribulations of the Mughal dynasty. The Twentieth Wife told the story of the rise of Jahangir after Akbar's demise, of Mehrunissa (Nur Jahan), her long romance with Jahangir, and the culmination of her marriage to him as his twentieth wife. Its sequel narrates Empress Nur Jahan's swift rise to power against envy and hatred in a man's world, and her eventual fall from her pinnacle after Jahangir's death. History leaps off the pages and comes alive, entrapping the reader in a bygone era, where power and wealth blinded people, when a Mughal woman ruled a vast empire with an iron fist, where life everyday was a calculated game of revenge, manipulation and diplomacy, so much so, that even kinship was brutally disregarded for kingship. Despite the beautiful prose embellishing and romanticizing the events and the characters, the bitter taste of a callous dynasty lingers.

Indu Sundaresan has to be commended for her efforts at dusting the pages of History and polishing the multiple facets of Nur Jahan. Jahangir was enamored by her, loved her so much that he, a Mughal Emporer, trusted his Empire in her hands. Veiled and hidden behind a lattice screen, she intelligently ruled the Empire, squashing all her adversaries in shrewd battles of manipulation. So much manipulation startles me, and the meager exercise of reading about them fatigues me. But these are the men and women who have left their marks on history, immortal for centuries to come. It's a sad fact that Nur Jahan abused many of her powers, her pride and temper interfered and resulted in impulsive and bad decisions, that towards the end, it feels fit that she was brought down from her seat of arrogance. On the other hand, one can't completely blame her, for she was in the heart of a jungle, surrounded by treacherous people, all intent on somehow clambering towards the throne. She could trust no one, not even her own brother. The game of survival had to be played with equal measures of cruelty and tyranny. And it's impressive that Nur Jahan could play such an aggressive game, that too having not been trained in any way.

With Nur Jahan's fall came the ascent of Shah Jahan, as the Mughal Emperor to take over Jahangir's place. It's aggravating that history repeated itself over and over again in the Mughal dynasty. Every son hatching a plot to secure the throne at the expense of his brothers, cousins and own father, is appalling. Indu Sundaresan burnished the character of Prince Khurram (Shah Jahan) and made him valiant, compassionate and like-able in the beginning of the book, but no matter how craftily she weaved the story, he invariably soiled as a despicable Prince who mercilessly instigated so many murders within the family, to capture the crown. And I know that his son Aurangzeb, administered on his father and brothers, equally horrible treatments to grab the throne. Some karmic cycle, with each son trying to overthrow his father and murder and imprison his brothers to amass power. Despite the strict adherence to religion, where was the spiritual/moral grounding on all these princes?

The whole era was burgeoning with so much wealth and greed, attracting the British and Portuguese who acted like ants scrambling towards mounds of sugar. Jahangir managed to deflect the British requests for treaties, but we all know how things turned out later. It's frustrating that so much wealth was squandered and lost under profligate monarchs. Although it was a treat to read about the extravagance of that era, the cloying materialism gets to the reader; that even the Taj Mahal fails to impress me as a monument dedicated to love. Shah Jahan wanted to be immortal, to be known and be praised as an Emperor who built an exquisite and opulent tomb for his wife. If Shah Jahan really were such a sensitive person to recognize and appreciate love, he wouldn't have committed such heinous crimes against his own family. An Emperor needs to assert his mark in more than one way, and Shah Jahan did so.

Well, enough of me and my idealism. One cannot change history, but the book vividly plays out the events and gives dimensions to the important characters, while nurturing awe and bitterness.