The Twentieth Wife: The lives of the Mughal Kings and Queens

Mughal Empress Nur Jahan, who was erudite, gorgeous, and ferociously smart, has aroused the curiosity of numerous historians in general, and feminist researchers in particular. Her impact is vast, ranging from large monuments and distinctive styles of needlework to commemoration in money and art.
Yet, in modern media and culture, it appears that much of Nur's life and achievements have been overshadowed almost entirely by either subsequent Shahjahani records (which almost always replace Nur with Mumtaz Mahal as the face of the ideal romantic Mughal heroine) or by quasi-historical narratives that aim to paint her as a manipulative and power-hungry woman who exploited her husband's drunkenness to maintain her hold on the empire.
In the manner of Catherine, the Great or Anne Boleyn, the image of Mughal India's most powerful female queen has remained a source of debate throughout the years.
Indu Sundaresan's novel The Twentieth Wife may be a reaction to this argument. This fictionalized history, the first in The Taj Mahal Trilogy, aims to humanize Nur by charting her chaotic, fascinating life: birth to childhood, courting, suffering, marriage, and finally, her ascent to power as Jahangir's twentieth wife, and the most cherished of all.
The novel begins with the scene of Nur's birth in the Qandahar desert. Following Shah Tamasp's death, Persian courtier Ghias Beg and his wife Asmat Begum unwillingly decide to abandon their newborn child, whom they affectionately name Mehrunissa (the Sun Among Women), after realizing their poverty would prevent them from providing a good life for their daughter. However, as circumstances force her return to her parents, coupled with an unforeseen turn of events, Ghias realizes that fate and divinity are working together to preserve Mehrunissa: "Allah does want us to retain this child."
The first section of the book is devoted to Mehrunissa's stay in Lahore: her loyalty to her parents, her comfortable connection with her brothers, her first view of the young prince Salim (Jahangir), their following mutual adoration, and her peculiar kinship with the strong matriarch Ruqayya, Akbar's Padshah Begum. Sundaresan expertly blends facts with a fairytale-esque narrative technique to create a vivid portrayal of 17th-century India. The novel is at its best when it dwells on the tactile, aesthetic components of daily life: colorful bazaars, rich descriptions of food, ladies weaving rangoli patterns in a courtyard, the intricate jewelry and embroidered garments worn by the protagonists, and, of course, the splendor of Akbar's palaces. Lush imagery keeps the plot afloat throughout some slower parts, such as the earliest scenes of Mehrunissa and Salim's romance, which could easily devolve into purple writing and maudlin rhapsodies. The author should be complimented for the amount of study that went into her world-building.
However, the story collapses after the war ramps up, as a result of Mehrunissa's unexpected breakup with the crown prince due to her political marriage with officer Ali Quli. The majority of the chapters alternate between Mehrunissa's unhappy, frequently brutal marriage and Salim's ongoing rebellion against the aged Akbar. This tone of unhappiness and hatred becomes tiresome after a while, especially as Mehrunissa's journey is relatively slow-moving and uninteresting for the protagonist. After such an erratic pace, the denouement, while inevitable, feels rather overdone.