Skip to main content

Book Review: The Mistress Of the Throne

An insight into the intriguing lives of the Mughal dynasty, especially their women and in particular their daughters... The Mistress of the Throne is a semi fictional memoir of  the unsung princess Jahanara and how she played a defining role in shaping India's history from behind the veils.
 A powerful, independent and strong character, born  perhaps about 500 years ahead of time, her remarkable life, her vision and her sacrifices appear to be the less chronicled aspects of what undoubtedly was the Golden Era of the Mughal Rule.
Her unparalleled love for her eccentric family is remarkable. As an adolescent she was thrust into the forefront of royal responsibilities soon after her mother , the legendary Mumtaz Mahal breathed her last, yet this Persian beauty wore the title of Shah Jahan 's Empress and that of a foster mother to her siblings with grace and dignity.
The melancholy of her own life not withstanding, she was the will behind the Taj Mahal, thus immortalizing her parents' epic love story. Her architectural vision also lead to the design of Delhi's famous Chandni Chowk, whether this was a tribute to her own lost love I do not know.
The book also delves into the bonds shared by Emperor Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal's children, their early lives and how it shaped Indian and Mughal history eventually.
Mistress of the Throne by Dr. Ruchir Gupta is a very interesting read, a book as mesmerizing as the times and the woman it chronicles.  

Comments

Mickey said…
This comment has been removed by the author.

Popular posts from this blog

To World Peace...

To all those whose world was shaken on the 11th of September,2001, a chapter finally comes to an end. I still remember, watching the events unfold... it was just past six/seven o' clock in the evening,and as an 11 year old, I barely understood what was happening. My parents, of course, watched CNN broadcast the attack on one of the towers, and everyone was awestruck. And yet, as we were watching, another aircraft, flew straight into the other twin tower... The world had never ever seen such a thing. Shock and awe it was indeed! And as the twin towers (an emblem of America's financial power), came crumbling down, so did the dreams of hundreds of thousands... in one way or another. For some it was the loss of a near/ dear one,for others it was the loss of a dream, but for all it would come to mark the end of a lot of freedom, peace!The start of a brand new era marred by claustrophobic security and surveillance, mis -trust, unrest, paranoia ... and of new age terrorism. I...

Short Story

My entry for DH short story contest 2012 KISS AND TELL Chapter 1 “Nearly done, there you go!”, he commented, putting down the saw and admiring his handiwork. His tall frame was drenched in perspiration, but his eyes sparkled with the satisfaction of having completed his task. Though a shade over sixty five, the former lawyer, thought his wife, looked… well resplendent. Despite the generous sprinkling of silver hair, the lines of wisdom which creased his temples, he still radiated the same powerful ‘something’ which drew her to him all those many years ago! A shy smile homed in on her face, as the memories of the glorious past streamed in. The first time she set her eyes on him, as a gawky eighteen year old in the bus, she thought him attractive, but it was only when they spoke, a long time later, that he truly won her heart. The courtship, the romance, she was well and truly swept off her feet. He was witty, intelligent, handsome, yet there was a mysterious something ab...

ONE NIGHT AT THE DOCKS

This story was written back in 2010 as an entry for the Deccan Heral Short Story Competition. Back then I was a second year medical student, and was fascinated by diseases of the mind. Now having taken up Psychiatry as a specialization, I re read it, and I must say it's quite an accurate description( save for fictional liberty).  .................................................................................................................................................................. ‘Raman, how much exactly is eight times thirteen?’, I queried.  It was the fag end of the day, my feet were aching and I didn’t exactly pride myself with regards to my mathematical abilities. All I wanted was to tally the change, finish the cursory submission work and head home. ‘One hundred and four’, rapt came the reply. This boy had a sharp mind. Pity he didn’t put it to much use but to place bets at the bar that he’ll shortly be heading over to; to intoxicate himself to the p...