Turban Tales & Crescent Moons

A rebellious son chafing for control. A drunken father lost in the arms of his latest wife. A helpless land watches as a power struggle unfolds.

Although he was the third in line he was the best. There was no doubt for his brothers were a bunch of drunkards. The eldest, the gentle one beloved of his people, had succumbed to a bout of diarrhoea…that had been the official report. The truth had been carefully guarded and the father mollified by his lovely wife. Her aunt was after all the empress who wielded her charms over her drunken husband.

‘For a few kebabs and a cup of wine I have sold the crown of Hindustan.’ The words were often on the emperor’s lips.

But now the empress had turned against him. The brother that was second in line assumed the duties of the heir and chased him across the country. With his wife and his children he fled to Udaipur. The maharana was a friend and offered him rooms in his palace. But he preferred a place of his own. An island in a lake was taken over and the maharana’s unfinished summer palace modified.

A dome was raised above which glittered a crescent. Carpets from Turkey were strewn on the floors and jasper, cornelian and agate adorned the walls.

The prince and the maharana exchanged turbans taking the oath of brothers in blood.


He left after a few months and after about an year took his place upon the throne of Hindustan as Emperor Shah Jahan. His turban remains even today in Udaipur.

The maharana’s son added the finishing touches to his father’s summer palace but left the crescent moon atop the dome undisturbed.