How we cite our quotes: (Chapter.Paragraph)
Quote #4
"They chanted his name and thanked Allah for his presence. You see, he only fights with Muslims. Hindus he sends to me. And they come gladly."
"What does Father think of this split?" I asked, aware of the distant beat of drums.
"Father," Dara responded, "wants to continue the peace between us and our Hindu friends. But he's reluctant to curb Aurangzeb."
"As he should be," Mother said. "A father's strength is revealed in his sons. The artists and politicians adore you, whereas the soldiers flock to Aurangzeb. It's a sound combination." (5.60-65)
Come on, Mom—you know better than that. Father's pride may be swollen, but the odds of your sons ruling Hindustan together are essentially nil. Then again, mothers tend to love unconditionally, so maybe she's blind to her sons' shortcomings.
Quote #5
I didn't move from his touch, but neither did I respond in kind. "You make a mistake," I said quietly, "in treating him like a brother."
"Possibly. But he is our brother and I can't treat him any other way. I won't hurt him, for enough pain already exists in this world without brothers hurting brothers." (10.74-75)
Sweet, sweet Dara. Your ideology is sound, but brotherhood is not always the most peaceable of sibling relationships, especially when a throne is involved. Brothers tackle each other to the ground, smear each other's faces in the dirt, engage in quick rounds of pink-belly and then act surprised when one of them gets hurt. So get ready for some pink-belly, Dara. It's gonna sting.
Quote #6
Foremost atop the orderly pile were several poems from Father, which I glanced at but left unviolated. Beneath the yellowed papers rested objects from our childhoods, including a boy's first slippers, drawings of elephants and a ribbon-bound lock of my hair. I smiled at these treasures, my grin widening when my fingers embraced a clay incense burner that I'd once crafted for Mother. As a child, and indeed, still today, I lacked any semblance of artistic ability. In consequence the burner was so misshapen that I was unsure whether it was a turtle or a toad. Brushing aside a tear I whispered "thank you," adoring her for having placed such treasured memories in her safe. (11.67)
Moms are weird. They love us for our little quirks and shortcomings as much as for our successes, so it's not strange that Jahanara's mom kept that ugly little incense burner as a memento.