Dilaşub Sultan

The heat wave of midsummer 1641 was more intense than any in memory. For
weeks on end sunshine cascaded down from the sky in waves of angry flames
turning Istanbul into a scorching furnace. The citizens, desperate for a
cooling breeze, find shelter in the shade of ancient plane trees that have
spread their leafy branches over entire squares. They listen to the music of
tambours and reed-flutes being played in the harem. The melody is the lilting
and sensual “Mahur”, a prelude composed by Gazi Giray Han. It excites souls
and arouses appetites despite the stifling heat. Dilâşub Sultana is of
Crimean origin. She has crossed her legs and tugged them under the hem of her
white, large-sleeved chemise. She holds one of her hands on her knee in a
royal gesture. She has unbuttoned her florally printed dress down to her
cleavage in an effort to cool off. Her caftan, with the yellow prints on a
red background, sits lightly on her shoulder. The diamonds on her purple
crest dazzle the eye as they reflect the sun’s rays. The odalisque attending
the Sultana offers scant comfort with an ornate fan. Dilâşub’s emerald-green
eyes glance again at the letter that she has put down on the mother-of-pearl
inlaid coffee table. She has read its message countless times already, but it
still fills her with joy, brightening her face with contentment, making the
heat entirely tolerable. It is from her husband, Sultan Ibrahim, the
sovereign of all the Ottomans. “My beautiful Dilâşub! I am your slave, your
most devoted servant. My love has no bounds. I surrender my body and soul and
heart to you. I am at your mercy. It feels as if I would die without you. My
prayer is that you come to me tonight. To love me and be mine. I am desperate
for you.” Dilâşub has roused such great passion in İbrahim’s heart, that his
only happiness is to embrace her and be embraced by her.