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daughter to raise, my dear wife. You can do no wrong with her in my eyes. Continue with your tale now, for Yasaman will not rest until it is finished, will you, my little love?”
    Yasaman shook her head most vigorously.
    “Now, where was I?” Rugaiya wondered aloud, remembering quite clearly where she had stopped, but enjoying her daughter’s excitement.
    “The little girl had been conceived and born of love,” Yasaman prompted her.
    “Ahh, yes,” she said, and then continued, “When the child was but a half a year old, a wise man came from Candra’s native land. He brought terrible news, and Candra was forced to leave her beloved daughter and the emperor, Akbar. She did not want to go, but more important, she did not want to leave her child. Akbar, however, would not allow his little daughter to be taken from him; and so Candra placed her baby into the keeping of her friend, Rugaiya Begum. ‘Be the Mama Begum to my child as I cannot now be,’ she said, and Rugaiya Begum, whom Allah had not blessed with a child of her own womb, happily agreed because she loved her friend, and she loved the baby. Candra left the emperor’s lands, never to be seen again by him or the others who loved her.
    “It is known that she reached her own land safely, and each year upon the birthday of Yasaman Kama Begum, the emperor, Akbar, sends a perfect pearl to Candra’s mother, who is Yasaman’s other grandmama, that Candra’s family may be reassured that the child thrives.”
    Yasaman’s eyes were now shut tightly. Her breathing had slowed and her left thumb crept slowly into her mouth. The two adults rose from their places at the side of her bed and departed the room. Rugaiya Begum led her husband to the small dining room within the palace, for he had come to take supper with her.
    “I must apologize for the simplicity of the meal, my lord, but you did not give me a great deal of notice,” she said.
    “I enjoy your simple meals, my dear wife,” he told her. “Each day in the main palace I must eat in state. There are a minimum of five hundred dishes served to me. No one eatingwith me can touch a morsel until each of these dishes is presented to me. It is exhausting.”
    Rugaiya lowered her head to hide her smile. Akbar was the ruler of this vast land. He might complain of all the pomp surrounding his daily life, but if he really desired to make that life more simple, he had but to command it. The truth was, he generally enjoyed all the fuss, although occasionally, like this evening, he sought a more simple life. Raising her eyes, she signaled her servants to begin serving them.
    The meal began with a watermelon sherbet to cleanse the palate for the delights to come. A honey loaf sprinkled with poppy seeds was put upon the table, followed by a leg of delicately cooked baby lamb, chicken in a mustard leaf curry, a river fish with red chili, bowls of carrots, tiny, sharp herbed pickles, and saffron rice. Akbar tore the loaf in half and helped himself generously to each of the dishes offered him. When he had finished, a lemon sherbet was brought to him, and then lychees, peeled, in a dish of light wine were set before him along with a tray of fresh fruits, a bowl of shelled pistachios, and a plate of rose petals encased in crystallized honey.
    He ate with gusto, and when he was finished he said, “I sleep better for your simple meals, my dear Rugaiya.”
    “So do we all, my lord,” she answered him with a smile. “We are no longer as young as we once were.”
    “I am not that old,” he protested.
    “Do not forget, my lord,” Rugaiya teased him mischievously, “that I am well aware of your exact age. We are cousins, after all, as well as husband and wife.”
    He chuckled. “It is true,” he agreed, “but I am still young enough to enjoy a comely maiden in my bed.”
    “Is any man ever too old for a comely maiden?” she replied wickedly. It pleased her that after all these years she could still make him laugh. Now,