Originally posted by: --cute.manasi--
so soo sooo wonderfully penned...👏
Originally posted by: sashashyam
My dearest Lashykanna,
This one has quite a different tempo. There are no heart-tugging sequences like the one with the Strangler and Raftaar, but there are other kinds of horrors, that appear at the beginning and the end, and in one sense, bookend the chapter.
1.I cannot even begin to imagine the terrible shock to poor Sayyid when he sees the mangled bodies of all the murdered guards who were assigned to manage the Aidabad safe house. And worse, he has to pretend to a member of the gloating mob that he too, as a staunch Hindu, was delighted that these Mughal men, who were accused to pursuing the messenger held captive there, had been killed. It must have been like a paralyzing punch to his gut, and he reels under it.
But Akbar has trained his men, especially those of his inner circle like Sayyid, superbly, and this shows in the celerity with which Sayyid picks himself up, emotionally speaking, and gets on with the dangerous job that faces him: of finding out what precisely the messenger might have blurted out to Kunwar Mahendar, and how much of that might have reached the Shehzaade. He is prepared to risk his life for Akbar any time, but the vital thing this time is not to die in Akbar's service, but to stay alive and get any news that he can gather to Akbar without fail. When one sees the calm courage with which Sayyid faces this task, one understands what bravery really means!👏
2.The next segment is emotionally very draining for poor Heera, who learns, first to her shock,and then relief, that Akbar had made Mohan Banna completely au fait not only with his identity as the Shehzaade's chief of intelligence, but also as the man who had trained Khalil. It must at first have been like having the ground pulled completely from under her feet.
She loves her Khan Sahib more than anyone or anything else in her world, but she belongs to Parnagarh and its people, and their acceptance and love are as necessary to her as the air she breathes. To be forced to lie to them in such a vital matter must be eating into her inner being, her conscience, like acid, and the relief she feels on learning that at least one Parnagarhi, and that too the one she has cherished the most, almost like an elder brother, all her life, not only knows the whole truth, but understands it and does not condemn her, must have been like a magic potion that revives her spirits and her body alike.
Akbar's decision to take Mohan Banna completely into his confidence, holding nothing back, proves, if at all proof was n needed, how excellent a judge of men he is, and how far sighted.
3. The truth is often very bitter to take. So it is with the news, conveyed by Ibrahim to Akbar, that the Hindu prince Khalil had met recently was none other than Kunwar Mahendar. For Heera is now Akbar's be all and end all, and he sees any development first and foremost in terms of what it would mean to her emotional well being. And this one is a shocker, which will rip apart the shrouds in which she has managed to cocoon the memories of the night when Durga was murdered, and bring her face to face again with that unspeakable horror.
The cold fear that clutches at his heart is eloquently described in the passage below, which I loved.
..the sight of that small study lamp - its fire flickering in his ebony pupils. From where he sat, its heat was insignificant, its light almost invisible under the bright light of day. But come darkness and it'd be another story altogether. Left unchecked, and it could burn everything down to the ground.
How was he meant to douse this fire without getting himself burnt? More importantly, how was he meant to do so while making sure not a single stray ember reached her?
This is what is meant by the saying that when you love someone, you have given a hostage to fortune.
4. Love is best seen not in grand declarations, expensive gifts and extravagant attentions, but in the small gestures that speak eloquently of caring and affection . Like when Akbar puts his hand in front of the sharp corner of the desk to protect Heera's back. And in delightful little details: Akbar being distracted by the wayward curl on Heera's cheek, by the fragrance of the dhoop (sambrani in Tamil) from her hair, and most tellingly of all, by the very sight of her, standing in the beams of the sun. What a truly lovely passage this is, Lashykanna!
'Pure'
THAT was the first sentiment that crossed his mind. So pure that her aura stood out despite being bathed under a thick beam of sun. So pure that his chest felt refreshed merely from breathing the change of air that she'd brought with her.
And yes, in the careful protectiveness with which he refrains from revealing the depths of Kunwar Mahendar's treachery to her out of the blue, so to speak, but plans to lead up to it slowly. To whip up her emotions, through the excitement of the chausar match, so that when she eventually faces the truth about Durga's murder, she is moved to a white hot pitch of anger that would divert her from the gut wrenching pain the old memories would conjure up, and focus her mind and heart instead on the need to punish this villain for his crimes.
5. The game of chausar is beautifully described, and Heera's cunning attempts to distract her opponent, her fulminations when she seems close to losing, when, for one little moment, she even considers cheating, and finally when she exults like a kid in her unexpected victory, form a delightful read.
When Akbar finally leads up to his real maqsad, the passage below shows, more clearly than anything else shown to us thus far, what Akbar and Heera really are. Not just husband and wife. Nor just lovers. They are that rare commodity, a true team. A team that will stand firm against any storm and any earthquake that might threaten to destroy their lives.
'Imagine then...' propping his chin against his fingers, he halted - making it quite clear there was another idea lurking underneath 'imagine if we both were to play on the same side... we would make a formidable team against our enemies, would we not?'
Heera watched him, her eyes brimming with a fresh surge of excitement. 'Formidable?' she bit her lip 'We are already formidable... if we played on the same side, I would've thought that would make us invincible'
So it did not surprise me that when she had faced the ugly truth about her sister's end, and tried her best to close her eyes to it, she finally comes round, and her fighting spirit, the spirit of her Rajput blood, surfaces fiercely. Akbar has won this battle.
The visuals were chilling, but a fighting fire was born within. A small fire that she stirred and stoked, till it spread through, lighting the embers that'd gone cold from terror.
But even amidst this new resolve, what matters most for Heera is her beloved , and his safety. She would want him kept safe even at the cost of not being able to punish Mahendar. For she loves Akbar, truly, deeply, and above all else.
'I do not care what happens to our enemies... but...' her hands shook his, to make doubly sure he was paying heed 'but, YOUR safety Khan Sahib... I DO care about! So, I do not want you putting yourself in harm's way... while solving this grisly mystery.'
6.Finally, I thoroughly enjoyed the pen picture of Mahendar, surrounded by men way below him in class and intellect, having to put up with them when he would gladly have kicked them all out pronto. He has nothing but searing contempt for them, their foolish, vain, lying boasts, and their patently false claims to bravery and resilience.
Sitting where they sat an hour ago, most of them were idling away - some with their pot-bellies sticking out, and mouths still stuffed. The scene reminded him of a herd of buffaloes, lethargically grazing. If only he had a few more athletic like-minded friends, who could've accompanied him on this hunt. Mates who would've ridden beside him and matched him in skill, while sharing a laugh over it.
Mahendar has good looks, noble birth, excellent breeding, and an acute intelligence. What could he not have been if he had also had a noble, moral nature! But the gods who presided over his birth, and gave him all these gifts, withheld that most important one of all.
So now he rejoices in the thought that he has now, through sheer luck, and the mistaken loyalty of Heera's dying messenger, secured the one weapon that could bring down Akbar Khan, aka the Ustaad. The devil looks after his own.😡
I was also wracked by sorrow at the way in which the poor, loyal, trusting messenger unknowingly drags his beloved baisa into a treacherous whirlpool from which she, and Akbar, will find it very difficult to emerge unscathed. Such are the inscrutable ways of fate, that even the gods cannot check or alter.
By now, you would have grasped the general idea, that I liked this chapter too a very great deal! More later.
Affectionately,
Shyamala Periyamma
Anupamaa
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