NOVEL~*Hiding behind a Stranger*~THREAD 47-CHAPTER 52, TSR for 53 UPD

OSR CHAPTER 52

'But...' He cleared the sigh curling up in his throat, his mind wandering farther down the maze of his own concocted despair.

So long had he been standing at this spot that he could barely feel his feet kissing the cold floor. His gaze, however, would not come apart from the large golden mirror staring him in the face. There was nowhere to turn to anymore, but to his own reflection, for answers.

In God, he'd trusted. In books too. Neither had given him the answers he sought. Instead, with every passing hour, the Shehzaade found himself losing a few more grains of peace. Nights were the worst - not a single one of them lately blessed with an unbroken spell of sleep. Lengthy walks did not help, nor did the company of a loving wife. If his eyelids ever did drag shut from their swelling weight, eerie voices in his head would soon jolt him awake - endlessly battling with one another as the hours tardily ebbed away.

'He was your best soldier'

'But are you going to allow yourself to be labelled as a partial ruler?'

'Well... he was kith and kin... more than your own family have ever been! Isn't that why you haven't been able to give up the idea of pardoning him yet?'

'Stings your soul, doesn't it?'

'Could you not come up with some reason... ANY reason... to avoid a certain death?'

'But that you loved him like a relative is what makes the sting of the betrayal even more ominous...'

The threads of sanity were barely holding up - showing true signs of wearing out. What if those threads were to snap?

'Huh?' His pupils jumped to a corner. A shadow had just drifted behind him. 'What moved?'

The Shehzaade spun around. Keeping his poise steady and expressions smooth, he briefly scoured the spaces behind him - scouring shadows of articles. And then, the silhouettes of his staff.

'Ohhh...' he heaved, his chest deflating. It was the muslin curtain - merely dancing to a rare symphony of the breeze.

'Huzoor?' The staff nervously blinked at their master 'What's the matter?'

'Nothing! Let me be in peace'

He curtly pointed towards the entrance 'NOW!'

'Y... yes... Huzoor'

With a hasty adab, they scooted out, quicker than a herd of sheep.

'I warned you' spoke a fresh voice in his head 'You're reducing yourself to a madman... laying awake in the darkness... fearing shadows that don't exist. When Akbar was around, you rarely suffered from such anxieties'

'Get rid of your ego... and get him out of this case... it's obvious... he spoke these lies because of his love for a girl - nothing beyond that. In the very least spare him for political reasons! He will always be of use to you. Besides, no one else can match his skill... at least not yet. In several ways, the 'Ustaad' is irreplaceable and you know it!'

'Irreplaceable?' His forehead abruptly creased into welts from sheer annoyance.

'No!' He cocked his head to a side 'He CANNOT be irreplaceable! No one is indispensable' The Ustaad had served his purpose. He'd find another. Someone BETTER!

As if under a spell, his gaze drifted back to the mirror, seeking out his reflection in it once again.

'The Shehzaade!' Now, HE was indispensable, for he'd soon become the Shehenshah - an Emperor - who'd take this vast Empire to new heights of greatness!

'Shehenshah' He observed his simple Taj sitting on a tray aside, a sharp glow erasing parts of the frown that'd been clouding his features. The lone lion in this treacherous forest of politics, he alone was 'irreplaceable'! 'Yes'

'Huzoor? You have a visitor'

There was a fuss of steps around the thresholds of the doorway.

'Ugh!' Having recognised the stealth in those footsteps, the prince could feel heat pooling around his jaws at the very thought of meeting his first visitor that morning.

'Yes, Farooq Sahib?'

'Huzoor... would you please grant your loyal servant a few moments in private? I must speak with you at once, I'm afraid'

'As always!'

The old man knew how to make his way in, didn't he? Uttering the sort of phrases that could not be overlooked. Using the sort of tone that could not be dismissed. But, restless as Farooq Sahib's presence might already be making him, he'd have to shut down all signs of insecurity. As it is, his mind was roaming in a maze of his own concocted despair. He couldn't let this sly fox prowl into his head, and lead him further astray.

'Do come in...'

Veins of impatience on his temple split into sight, as the advisor emerged - along with an assistant, balancing two large books in his nervous hands. 'What is it now?'

'Oh dear!' The sour notes in his master's welcome were a slap to his old ears. He didn't have much time. A few moments at most. He'd have to get in as many words as he could by then!

'Huzoor...' Farooq Sahib offered a swift adab 'As part of the ongoing investigations on Akbar Mahmoud Khan, I've found something that I wanted to show you...'

A flip of his fingers and the assistant rushed forward with the books, gapingly open at two particular pages. 'These are account books... of Akbar Khan's business dealings' His fingertips stalled beside two specific entries, compelling the Shehzaade to have a closer glance at the numbers 'It shows the man has been making plenty through his horse-business. However... he has never cared to reveal any of this to us, has he?'

He paused 'Akbar let us believe he is a simple man all through... while he's been secretly stashing money away!'

An entire stretch passed - the advisor closely observing the glow fade from the prince's profile, bit by bit.

'Well' sighed the Prince at long last, before the prickly silence would sprout anymore thorns 'Farooq Sahib... you speak as if YOU haven't done the same... as if you haven't let us believe you're a simple man all through!'

'Wh... what?' Stammered the advisor through an awkward smile. The Prince had to be jesting! 'Huzoor... I don't quite understand'

'Why so surprised?' The Shehzaade allowed a hint of suspicion to show up in his tone 'You always profess about having no wish for money or power... and yet, you own a glamorous summer house out in the country somewhere, don't you?'

'Wh...' the old man's mind slid into half a daze.

Wasn't it the Ustaad, whose crimes were under scrutiny? Wasn't it Akbar who was meant to be flogged today and sentenced later? Then, why was HE - the royal advisor -repeatedly facing accusations? Worse, the Shehzaade had apparently become even more guarded after the happenings at the court yesterday! 'That cursed Akbar!'

'Anyway...' The Prince ended the short argument with a smirk 'Akbar doesn't reveal all those amounts because he needs that money to bribe others for information... to maintain his safe-houses... and to recruit an army of spies'

'An army of spies?' Farooq Sahib stared on, the daze that'd briefly dulled his foxy mind gradually beginning to lift off. An army of spies! Yes, THAT could be the opening his wits had been scampering for.

'Well Huzoor... Akbar might be using the money to recruit an army of spies' he stifled a cough 'OR, he might be using it to build HIS own armies too... who knows?'

A heavy silence hammered within the pillars of the Prince's chambers.

'Armies!' The prince spun around, his teeth quietly gnashing 'ARMIES, Farooq Sahib? I warn you - THINK before you mumble! Your remarks are beginning to sound absurd!'

'But...' the advisor dragged his attention down to the floor 'my remarks cannot be more absurd than... than... what we saw yesterday, can they Huzoor? Trained soldiers paid by Your Highness, serving you... but, daring to stand against you... publicly... in court. This has never happened before!'

The Shehzaade wore the mask of coldness well. Familiar he was, with such mind games. Indifferent he generally remained, to them. But today, behind that mask, something was unfolding. A word was starting to scurry within the narrow walls of his head. Like an insect. Nibbling away at its sides. And each nibble left a small puncture that ended up oozing further bad blood. 'Armies...' He tried every trick, but it simply wouldn't hold still. 'Akbar's own armies?'

Exploiting the impasse, Farooq Sahib leaned towards the Prince's ear, reducing his voice to a whisper. 'Huzoor... are you aware that there's been an increase in the number of Hindus in the capital ever since this trial has come to light?'

'What?'

'Do you know that Akbar Mahmoud Khan... and his Begum... are beginning to enjoy a lot of support and empathy from the masses?'

'Ha' scoffed the Shehzaade. 'And how EXACTLY did you find that out?'

'From my sources...'

The Mughal heir refused to stir.

'I understand... Huzoor finds it difficult to trust my warnings after the allegations that Akbar Mahmoud Khan flung on me yesterday...' His turbaned head hung low 'but if you send your own spies to make enquiries in the streets outside, they shall return with the same news...' His sentence came to a slow halt.

'And there's more...'

'What?' A fresh burst of agitation jostled his already-frayed nerves. 'Darn!' WHY wouldn't this man stop? All doors to his own mind were meant to stay shut, weren't they? Then, why was this old meddler continuing to gain entry into his head? 'Don't let him go on! Dismiss him... at once...'

He glared at the advisor's lowered head for a hard blink or two.

'But...' What if Akbar Mahmoud Khan truly WAS beginning to enjoy the support of the masses?

'So... what else did these sources of yours find, Farooq Sahib?'

'I...' the old man crossed his palms in front, as a bloated display of humility 'I...'

'Go on...'

'I... I... I... cannot...' His lips parted, but the words choked up from shame 'I cannot bring my tongue to repeat such abusive language... not against my own Huzoor!'

'God!' That was more theatrics than his facade of composure could take in a day!

'Please... GO ON!'

Farooq Sahib held fast onto the coral beads dangling from his fingers. 'T... the general consensus amongst the subjects... and even our own nobles in court... is that...' his voice had dropped so low, it shook 'is that...'

'Is that...'

'That you appear hesitant... vague... weak when coming up against Akbar, Huzoor...' the old advisor hastily looked up to meet eyes with the prince 'of course, this is NOT my opinion whatsoever!'

'WHAT?' The pests began scurrying faster within the chambers of his head. And multiplying - their parasitic stings squeezing out enough paranoia to begin poisoning whatever sanity there was left. 'Weak?' What an ATROCIOUS allegation, if the man's words were true!

'No... it cannot be true!' His heart slammed at its chest with such fury that he could feel the heat in his mouth, nearly suffocating him.

But on the surface, everything managed to stay deceptively calm. 'All lies!LIES!'

'Lies?' his eyes grew wide 'Ya Allah... I wouldn't lie to YOU, Huzoor'

'Why, Farooq Sahib... didn't you tell me earlier, that Akbar and his Hindu Begum were considered an outcast amongst most? So, HOW did the facts change, all of a sudden?'

'Unfortunately Huzoor... Hindus will be Hindus! It seems they will support their own... even outcasts!' He shrugged falteringly 'Besides, Durga Sahiba is growing to become somewhat of an iconic figure amongst the masses... we must get rid of Harka Sahiba as soon as possible... it would solve a lot of your problems!'

'If THAT is the case, I'm beginning to see how getting rid of Khalil would solve a lot of my problems too! He is the one who started it all!' As if the suggestion wasn't unsettling enough, he served it to his visitor with a sizzling chunk of sarcasm too. 'Don't you think, Farooq Sahib?'

Removing a kerchief from a pouch, he dabbed the new lines of sweat weaving across his wrinkly forehead. 'Huzoor... Khalil IS a sinner... I wouldn't deny it!' He swallowed, pushing the lump of unrest down his throat 'But, at least, he's not been mobilising Hindu support... he's not the one who's trained armies of men, who dare to oppose you publicly... everything changed after a Hindu came into Akbar's life...' he shook his head from regret 'anyway, I'd advise you to finalise the date of her hanging as soon as possible... it'd be a good warning to those, who dare to double cross you!'

'A good warning to those, who DARE to double cross me?'

Strutting up to the old man, the Shehzaade bore into his face. 'What about YOU then, Farooq Sahib? Mustn't I punish YOU for DARING to double cross me too?'

He didn't air the thoughts lurking within. But the freshly fermented disgust in his eyes did a perfect job of passing the message on.

Till the stillness briefly evaporated, to make way for an unexpected boisterous princely laugh.

'Huzoor?' Farooq Sahib missed a few breaths, the echoes of the master's laughter sending shudders through the length of his spine. 'I only advise you, because I want the best for you'

'Want the best?' The laughter died an abrupt death.

The Shehzaade stationed himself squarely in front of his advisor. Yes, the old man was a good few inches taller than he was, but that would only make it perfect for his clenched fists to grab at his scrawny neck and twist it in one firm clasp if he had to!

Crack!

Alas. His fists were compelled to take out the urge by banging at the wall beside him instead. 'Damn you, Farooq Sahib!'

As it is, he'd suffered huge losses. Lost his best man. Lost his best general. Lost the trust of several Hindus in court. He couldn't afford to lose the support of the all-powerful Islamic advisors too. And that is precisely what would happen if he punished Farooq Sahib.

'I am in no mood to welcome your advice anymore...' he spat venom 'LEAVE my presence... and pray I do not get to see your face for a long, long, long time!'

'Y... yes Huzoor' stuttered the old man, the skin on his face losing colour till his features were glassy, the blue veins underneath pulsing faster than ever.

'Allah Hafiz' Following a hurried nod, he turned around and walked out as quickly as his feet would allow.

It was the day of the 'flogging' - the day Shehzaade was going to have Akbar punished. The mania of the lonely Prince had been successfully fanned in such a manner that he wouldn't be tempted go 'light' on his best man whatsoever.

If it all went to plan, the outcome of the flogging would render Ustaad a weaker opponent - leaving Khalil a much happier man behind bars!

'THAT should be good enough to bring my secret pact with that rotten man to an end!' Surely, the risk he'd undertaken just now was a solid repayment for that brute's help earlier, in dredging up information about the safe-house, against Akbar!

'A SOLID repayment! Hopefully it'd get him to stop sending his thuggish friends after me again'

Yet, the old advisor knew it wasn't from Khalil that his life was in most danger. It was from the Mughal heir himself. The very volatility and paranoia of this royal that'd been manipulated into destroying Akbar could come back to destroy him too - if he didn't stay away!

'Farooq... you spotted these dangerous Hindu influences gaining power under the Shehzaade... managed to stop most of the disease from spreading... got what you wanted... unfortunately, with each passing week, this case has gotten increasingly complicated... and dangerous... time for you to steer clear, till it all blows over'

The Imperial dungeons and prison fort

'Stop that...' the lady elbowed the pesky one standing beside her

'Move on...' The pesky lady elbowed her back

'I want to be able to see what's going on...'

'Well... I haven't seen her before either, have I?'

'Shush women...can't you be quiet?'

The scenes were the same in many-a-spot. For, every square inch of those narrow verandahs running around the two floors of the tall tower, was brimming with ladies like the tunnels of an anthill. Women of all ages and traits had abandoned their chores and chambers, and swarmed out in groups - falling over each other, for a single glimpse of the newest resident to join their midst.

Well, many of these women had spent most of their lives here and rarely did anyone ever recall such an 'interesting' resident turn up in their building.

But today, in their midst, being led towards their quarters, was the 'Sahiba of Parnigarh' A partially-blind 17 year old whose beauty was the subject of poetry! A headstrong orphan, who'd turned down the tempting chance to become the 'Chief-queen' of a powerful kingdom Manswar, only to be outcast by her community. A mystical healer who'd raised her voice against the injustices of the army generals to fight for the cruel murder of her sister - thus awaiting a death sentence for it now. But most importantly, the one who'd stolen the heart of the feared phantom Ustaad.

Some stood there, in disbelief. Some out of plain curiosity. Some awed by the very sight of her persona. Some adored her already. Some jealous. But everyone who watched, was vying for the best glimpse they could of this 'Sahiba'.

'Maids and slaves who have no use in the royal harem, stay here...' was what she was told. That and the fact that the largest room in the top floor was where a couple of notable women had spent their last days on Earth. 'Ma Bhavani...'

Her failing vision was reliant on her instincts to keep her poise while she was being escorted towards the tall building on the left. But Heera needed no special powers to sense that she was the sole object of hundreds of ominous stares and murmurs.

Little wonder then that the unfamiliar grounds of the Imperial Fort felt as unwelcoming as a haunted ruin site.

Adjacent to the main palace grounds and accessible through a single guarded entrance, lay the extensive grounds of the Imperial Fort and prison. Dotted with clusters of several odd buildings - its compound walls were thick and tall enough to cordon off the site from the rest of the world. Its barren tones were mellowed in places by patches of grass and dashes of potted green. But those scatterings of beauty were lost amid the harsh stone overlooking it. Understandably, the structures here did not boast the sophisticated artwork and grand masonry of the palace buildings. But it did not help that the place didn't enjoy much care either.

And the situation was quite the same on arriving at what was meant to be her own quarters too.

As sunlight pushed its way in through the lattices, it left a visible trail of thick dust inside crevices and atop window frames. The once-bright colours on the walls were fading - its shades nearly matching the plain grays of the floors. And the dull curtains smelled of old incense and ittar - left behind by its previous residents, no doubt. A modest room of sorts, it was. But a far cry from the promise the Shehzaade had made her

'Born a noblewoman... will be treated like a noblewoman till she lives...'

Regardless, a prisoner she was, and expected nothing further. If anything, the first emotions thrumming through her veins were pangs of guilt. Seeing how her Sahib had it far worse. Infinitely worse.

'Imagine being housed with murderers and deranged psychopaths instead... imagine having nothing to look at - not even something as basic as light... imagine being restrained in shackles... physically tortured and tormented!'

The fingers that'd been hanging by her sides, still as icicles, twitched up to her stomach. Her eyelids pressed down, the skin on her face turning pale. The knots inside had coiled up into painful ulcerous cramps, triggered by severe angst - the angst worsening with each reminder of the physical horrors that were to be unleashed upon him. 'NO!'

And to think that SHE had brought this tragedy upon him!

Waiting for the cramp to settle, Heera opened her eyes, slowly.

'My love' Her gazes escaped through the window 'Where are you?' He couldn't be too far. Probably locked up in one of those buildings in the distance, in an underground dungeon somewhere.

'MENN NN NN!'

Her grim trance was abruptly broken by a coarse voice scraping against her ears.

'Drop the trunks in that corner...' hollered the head-guard

'Open everything... thoroughly check their contents...'

'Whatever appears suspicious... bring it over'

'Anything that resembles a weapon, or poison...'

And it seemed it took the group of guards not more than a few fiendish moments thereafter to tear their way through her belongings. Locks were cracked open. Contents of trunks toppled. Bags tossed about as if they were dead rubble. And clothes strewn across recklessly.

Heera decided it best not to look at the demeaning scene. There was nothing she could do to stop it, and there was no point in giving them the pleasure of having her watch on helplessly. Instead, she thanked the Heavens above that the idol of Ma Bhavani was away from the carnage, and safely tucked in Gauri's hands. Because, if there was one recourse she could turn to, amidst the angst in and around her, it was the Goddess alone.

'Sahiba'

The head-guard pranced up to them, all of a sudden, and positioned himself opposite the young Lady. 'I understand...' he cleared the gurgling sounds of mockery in his throat 'you must find it unsettling... humiliating... to have us men go through your personal belongings... but' he shrugged 'we don't intend to be disrespectful... we are only following the Shehzaade's orders'

Heera dressed up the anguish on her features with a smile.

As a lady whose honour lay with her husband, she'd been dishonoured the instant Khan Sahib had been stripped of his dignity in court a day ago. As a woman whose sense of belonging lay with her people, she'd become alone when they'd taken Parnagarh away. As a self-respecting woman, she'd endured grave disrespect by unveiling her face and kneeling down, in public.

When she could manage to survive all of that - what were but a few mere strewn clothes?

'It's alright... I understand...'

'Daroga Sahib...' A soldier butted in 'I found something... hidden inside... a poison ring...'

'Confiscate it...'

'And then this...' he handed a parcel over.

'What's in it?'

Heera peered hard, trying to make sense of the parcel's cloudy outline.

'I asked - WHAT's in it?'

'Herbs' Gauri answered for her mistress 'Our baisa is an herbalist'

'Oh I see...' nodded the head-guard, his stare poking its way through the Sahiba's veil. 'Men...' he then signalled at the verrandah outside 'bring it in'

Soon thereafter, a planter was dragged indoors and placed beside Heera's feet.

Splosh hhh hhh!

The entire parcel was thrown into the dirty pool of moss, right in front of her face -rendering all of those life-giving medicines useless.

'What books are these?'

'Oh God... no!'

Darting her chief maid a heavy glance. Heera pulled her eyelids down to a shut, unaware of what she must say. And afraid of what would come thereafter.

'Sahiba!' The question was thrown back at her face once more, in a tone that was louder. And uglier. 'WHAT books are these?'

'Books... on various subjects... medicine mostly...' she dragged the syllables out 'please... I request you... they are harmless papers... nothing but...'

Flappp ppp ppp!

Off went the book flying outside the room, much like a blow to her face.

Then the next.

And the one thereafter.

Till none of it was left.

No books.

No scrolls.

No quill.

Nothing left to read, no written words to give this scholarly young lady company.

All along, she'd managed to wall in her emotions. But on hearing the last flutters of papers vanish into nothingness, the cracks showed, letting a few tears quietly flee down. Well, it wasn't mere bundles of sheets that were being destroyed. Some of it were blessings from Vaid kaka - carrying priceless nuggets of information that'd taken years of research to amass. Some of it cherished gifts from dear Bapusa. Memories aplenty. And they were all gone now.

Click!

'What was that?' She darted her moist lashes up.

That sound. The 'Click' - it was all too familiar. 'No' Her lifeless persona awoke. 'No... they cannot...' A flash of worry flared up her features, as if she'd been possessed. 'No... no... NO!'

Her feet began rushing forth, pulling her frail body towards the guards as fast as they could.

'Sahiba, WHAT'S in this?'

'Please... please give it to me...'

The blaze in the darogah's scowl tempered down to a smug twinkle. 'Finally... a reaction!' So, what precious secret did this box really hold?

'Hmmm...' he flicked open the lid, his arrogance fed further by the sight of her growing restlessness. 'Ohhh...' he studied its contents with a disinterested look. A lens of some sort, it was - framed within a jewel-encrusted ivory holder. 'What is this?'

Her terror-tinted pupils eyed the silhouette of the magnifying lens in the box that the head-guard was flipping about so recklessly.

'No!' It was a memoir from her beloved husband. 'No!' She would be completely handicapped without it. She could not let this be thrown off like the rest of her belongings. And then, they'd find the binoculars. Destroy it too. She had to do something. Anything.

'It is a magnifying lens...' Her palms nearly reached out for it 'please let me have it...'

Picking the lens up, the head-guard twirled it within two fingers. 'And what does it do?'

'It... it helps me see...' Heera fought to keep her breath steady and voice balanced - seeing how the fate of Khan Sahib's cherished gift, was dangling precariously from the palm of a sadist.

'It's quite magical... makes everything appear larger... if you'd prefer, I can show you how it works...'

Following her cue, the intrigued head-guard held the lens above his palm. 'Interesting...' he nodded with sheer delight, seeing how wide it made his own life-lines appear.

'Pity, I can't let you have it though...'

'What?' Grimaced the young lady, before launching her frantic mind towards the next idea.

'Well...' she got her voice to drop to a calmer - an almost enticing whisper 'how about I pay you for it?'

'Oh...' The darogah cocked his head aside.

'How much?'

Her glances rolled down towards the jewel on her finger. 'How about a diamond ring?'

'A diamond ring?' Tempting! Very tempting indeed!

But, he wasn't interested in getting himself in trouble with the higher powers.

Letting the Sahiba wince and wallow in uncertainty for a while, he finally put the lens on the ground, beside his feet.

'No... NO PLEASE wait...' On hearing the sole of the soldier's boot grinding, ready to stomp the treasured memoir to bits, she pleaded with folded palms and dewy eyes - piling the flattery on, fast and thick 'You don't have to do this... you are a kind man... please show this lone lady some empathy'

'Huh?' With a guarded furrow on his brows, the darogah studied the Sahiba. And at the heart-stirring expressions in those almond eyes, partly visible through the veil -probably a tad longer than he should have.

'WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?'

Travelled a booming voice along the corridors that froze the guard's attack mid-air.

Arms stiff by his sides, the Mughal heir walked in - at a pace that the retinue behind him found tough to keep up with.

'Shehzaade?' Gasped Heera.

What was he doing here? Stopping by to flaunt authority? Or, to rub her failures in her face, before heading off to the dungeons to torment her husband?

'Huzoor?' Gasped the darogah.

When did the prince get here? And why was there no prior announcement?

Grabbing the lens from the ground with faltering hands, he hurried towards the prince.

'Adab Huzoor... g... glass... we found it in the Sahiba's belongings... how could we let her keep it?'

Clinching the borders of her veil, she approached the Prince - unsure if her lungs must heave a sigh of relief or catch another breath in fear.

'It is only a magnifying lens, Huzoor... given to me by Khan Sahib... to help me read... I request you not to have it destroyed' She brought both shaky palms together for the second time. 'Please'

The Shehzaade pinned a harsh glare upon the Sahiba - trying not to let the Hindu idol that her chief-maid tucked in just as he'd entered, influence his temper.

'Are you done with your searches here, guards?'

'Huzoor... we found a poison ring... dangerous herbs... all manners of books... we've thrown them all away...'

'Your Highness...' Heera swallowed the hurting lump in her throat 'they exaggerate'

Alas. The heat from the prince's glares showed no signs of abating.

So, she let her gazes drop softly, like a ribbon of silk landing at the ground beneath the Shehzaade's boot. Yes, she'd let a few more precious petals of pride wither from her being. But, the man in front was the punisher of her husband and she'd already suffered sinister feelings about the day - she dare not do anything to aggravate him. Besides, nothing had gone her way here either. Humbling herself to feed the prince's narcissism was her only chance at saving the lens and binoculars from a mindlessly cruel end.

'Khan Sahib always spoke highly of you... of how you are a man of your word... you gave your word, in court, that I would be treated like a noblewoman till I live. Surely Huzoor, a noblewoman could be shown a little more mercy within the walls of this compound?'

She pointed no fingers at the shoddy state of her belongings. But, the mess around was plain for all to see.

The Shehzaade watched the Sahiba closely.

With her gaze lowered and a few petals of pride now withered from her person, she seemed susceptible. Exposed. 'I would advise you not to be too kind on Harka Sahiba... the Hindus are manipulative'

Was the Sahiba being manipulative here? Or, simply desperate? Either way, she was crossing paths with him. And be it a defenceless ant or a susceptible flower - he would crush anything that came in his way, with no remorse whatsoever. 'Surely Huzoor, a noblewoman could be shown a little more mercy...'

No! There'd be NO mercy here.

His hard-line frown turned spiteful, out to tear his prisoner down.

However, a few blinks on and he realised he wasn't getting too far. Somehow, the features on the other side of the veil owned a natural defence he wasn't prepared for - a nascent innocence that was making it impossible for him to rip her spirits apart, if he tried.

'Darn' he eventually lashed back, the annoyance on his features simmering to an unhealthy shade.

'Huzoor?'

'Return the lens' He grunted bitterly to her face.

The darogah turned towards his fellow-soldiers, confused.

'You HEARD me! RETURN the LENS TO the SAHIBA!!!!'

'Y... yes, Huzoor!'

With stumbling fingers, the head-guard immediately shut the box and handed it back to the Lady 'My ap... apologies... p... please take it, Sahiba...'

'End the search... and get out!' His fingers snapped an aggressive snap 'Hereafter... no man will enter this room while the two women are being held here... UNDERSTOOD?'

As the prince stormed off, Heera finally let go of the air that her lungs had been holding in so long, the lucky lens clasped close to her heart.

'Thank you...' She guided her grateful glimpses towards the idol of the Goddess. 'Please bless HIM with such luck too... and strength!'

The dungeons

He balanced his weight on the left foot. Followed by, the right foot. And then, back on the left. Once he'd had enough of that, he took his fiftieth stroll towards the rear end of the tiny cell - keeping a twig's breadth away from the wall that reeked of all sorts of unpleasantries - before returning to the grill bars at the front of his cell. This was his routine - morning, noon and night. Except, of course - while praying, eating, sleeping or spending the hour reflecting on thoughts of his beautiful wife and memories of his beloved home.

At times, it was a difficult exercise to keep up with, whenever the guards conveniently 'forgot' to unshackle him. But most days he was fortunate enough to have use of his ankles and wrists.

Either way, the young man had learnt to quietly accept whatever was thrown at him, to avoid tempting the sadistic streak that lay buried in every jailor and guard around here. It was, after all, the best chance for survival in this hole. And over the course of a week, it was also how the former-Ustaad had managed to meet a face or two that was not too spiteful.

At least 'not-so-spiteful' was what the expression of one particular guard seemed to be, when he'd passed by his cell whistling a tune earlier in the day - before mouthing what appeared to be the word 'visitor'

Was someone going to pay him a visit today? 'Azeez? Ibrahim? Have they decoded my clues already?'

'But...' How could they've managed to make it down here? Impossible! Perhaps he'd misread the guard. Perhaps, he was wishfully thinking, desperation playing games with his head 'Khuda... keep them safe... away from the sight of palace guards'

He tapped his nail against a few grill bars.

'Anyhow' Visitor or not, these thoughts were flickers of light to look forward to, in a day that was otherwise filled with perpetual blackness. It gave him something to be restless about - and in a good way. Something that'd help him overlook the sight of that smelly dish of broth in the corner that hadn't been cleared in four days - so much so even ants and flies touched it no more! Something to muffle out the sounds of shrieks and tortures coming from other cells.

'But...' What if he wasn't mistaken?

'Visitor?' His fingertips strummed along the metal 'If not Azeez and Ibrahim, could it be...'

'HEY!' The not-so-spiteful guard stuck his features through the bars right into Akbar's face 'ENOUGH with the music'

Sliding his pupils either side to ensure no one was eavesdropping, his warning quickly dropped to a murmur 'The jailor is busy having lunch... your visitor is here... I'll give you quarter hour with him... that's it!'

And before Akbar could respond with anything beyond a nod, the prison-guard was gone, down the long corridors.

Soon, his wary senses caught an unfamiliar scent in the air. An exotic scent of sandalwood that brought a puff of freshness to this rotting cave.

'Oh Khuda... yes!' The sharp curve above his eyebrows, eased off. Finally! The efforts had paid off. 'Kunwar Tejraj'

A series of crisp footsteps later, a figure emerged on the other side of the prison bars, lurking behind the shadows of an oversized shawl.

'As-Salaam-Alaikum...' spoke the man in antsy stutters 'you wanted to meet me?'

'As-Salaam-Alaikum?'

Akbar was tempted to crack open a smile at the irony. It'd been a while since he'd been greeted so decently that it almost sounded soothing - in spite of the Urdu pronunciation being abysmal!

Out of habit, his glances coursed their subtle way down and then back up at the man behind the cloak. The Kunwar had dressed-down, using an oversized cloak to hide his identity. The get-up might have fooled others. Not Akbar though. Not for a moment. The footwear was simple, but made of finest leather. The tunic was cotton, but sported hardly any creases on its folds. That extended Rajpooti moustache had to be regularly oiled and trimmed by an expert barber. And most importantly, the rounded face carried a set of august features wearing not a hint of fickleness on them.

Here was a gentleman at his door after many days, bearing the only hope Akbar had for saving the life of his Begum, and other lives that mattered to him. The first promising sign in ages, it was. His shattered spirits had every reason to celebrate. But he'd take it one step at a time - for there were still a few hurdles to cross.

Clearing the finesse in his voice, he took on a boisterous baritone. 'Kunwarsa... Khamma Ghani...' He greeted the prince back, but in Marwari. It'd be quicker this way than waiting for the Kunwar to be bumbling in Urdu. Besides, the Ustaad was well-aware that the best way to gain a man's trust was by using his native dialect. But more crucial that all of that, was the information he was about to pass on. So risky, so perilous was his plan now, that it made sense to use a lesser-known language - in the little chance that anyone else decided to eavesdrop.

'Thank you for coming here...'

'Khamma Ghani?'

Kunwar Tejraj let the guarded frown linger on. Simply because the man spoke Marwari, didn't mean he was going to trust him.

'Thanking me for coming here... AFTER leaving me with little choice... by kidnapping and torturing my friend to get to me!'

'And yet somehow... from what I heard... your friend returned to his family, safe and unhurt...'

Kunwar Tejraj paused, his lips pinched shut.

'I was sent by my uncle, the Rana of Manswar, to follow up on the situation here... and what do I find - that Mahendar is currently under close watch... that he's pledged his name in a duel - ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!' he snarled 'Ustaad... lived up to your cruel name, haven't you?'

Akbar looked on with a stare as straight as darts. 'Yet something tells me that I don't need to explain to you HOW exactly Kunwar Mahendar ended up bringing it all upon himself!'

'Well... WHAT do you want me to do?'

'You are a good man... a prince, with authority... if you approach the Shehzaade... and tell him the original story... he will believe you! It might force him to rethink a few decisions...'

'Are you asking me to deceive my own cousin? And the family who've sheltered me?' The Kunwar agitatedly pulled off his palm that'd been shielding his nose from the prison stench. 'You seem to be quite familiar with our affairs... which means you must have guessed that I would do no such thing!'

'And I am also aware that if it were Kunwar Mahendar in your place, he'd give you up in a jiffy... besides...' he clicked the sides of his tongue 'since when has punishing the guilty and protecting the innocent been labelled as 'deception'?'

From the corner of an eye, Akbar noticed the man fidgeting with his holy Navratan ring. A sin-fearing God-fearing man, he was! A few extra heaps of guilt piled on - and his conscience wouldn't be able to take the weight!

'You stood by and did nothing, as your cousin cheated an innocent woman and then sold her off to the enemy to die... at least help protect the innocent woman who's still alive...'

'Ha!' Kunwar Tejraj flinched. 'Manipulating me with guilt!'

Having said that, the manipulation did not mean the Ustaad's remarks were wrong. Or untrue! 'You expect too much from me... I am a prince without a kingdom of my own... why, I barely have any authority back in Manswar... I can't save your wife here... not from the Shehzaade... as it is, he suspects my cousin!'

'But you can at least help my men, who are trying to keep her alive!'

'HOW?'

'The scroll that my Begum Sahiba sent out... I am sure you've heard of it!'

'Yes... what about it?'

'No one had read its message, because I'd made sure no one would get their hands on it...' Akbar tightened his rough palm around the prison bars 'now... everyone shall get their hands on it... everyone shall read its message... in the capital, and beyond!'

'What do you mean?'

'I know that letter... word by word... I shall dictate it to you... please convey its contents to my men... they shall then quietly spread the message'

'Wh...' The Kunwar's jaw dropped from disbelief 'It's the inflammatory contents of that scroll that's got Harka Bai in trouble, in the first place!'

'And hereon, it is the inflammatory contents of that very scroll that shall save her life too!'

'How?'

'The atrocious details of Durga Bai's last moments have been painted in SUCH a gripping fashion in the letter, that it'll arouse the sentiments of anyone who reads it... readers will feel compelled to raise their voices against Khalil, and in support of Harka Bai... a hundred voices will soon multiply into thousands... thousands into tens of thousands... the Shehzaade is powerful... but the Hindus are mightier in number... eventually, it might compel him to reconsider his stance... and reduce her sentence!'

'Are you off your head?' Kunwar Tejraj darted a nervous peek behind him as he spoke in ghostly whispers. 'A revolution? That truly would be betrayal, then... of the highest order!'

'Betrayal?'

Betrayal!

BETRAYAL.

That accusation had been wrongfully thrown at him so many times off late, that it didn't quite sting the Ustaad as much now. Who knew, maybe he'd grown immune to it!

'Betray... whom, exactly? We save an innocent life from the gallows... punish criminals like Khalil... no one is plotting against the Mughal heir... none of us want power, wealth or fame... and we definitely do NOT want the throne!'

A sordid pause befell the duo.

The tiny specks in his dark pupils turned fierce - their intensity building up, and up, till his glare sent the Kunwar's insides curling into knots. 'Anyhow, call it what you must, Kunwarsa... but, I will do ANYTHING to protect those whom I care for' He'd done so, a million instances in the past, for his master. He would do so today, for his beloved. 'My conscience is clear'

'NO!' Kunwar Tejraj hissed 'I will not get myself involved! I am not the man for this...'

'But there is no person more suited than YOURSELF, to help us, Kunwarsa! That letter was written in Marwari... in YOUR native tongue... you will bring out its essence flawlessly, while dictating the letter to my men! As a prince, you understand the mind of the subjects... as a Hindu, you empathise with the emotions of your fellow-men...' Akbar threw an assertive palm in the air 'You don't have to utter a single word against your cousin... at least help save the life of a fellow-Rajput, and lighten your conscience! Please approach my men... they are trying to locate you...'

'Stop!' Kunwar Tejrarj withdrew from the jail-bars 'If this mission gets exposed, I will be charged with treason... I have a family... I have sons...'

'Then do it for their sake... to show them that their father is a courageous honourable man... not a man who sides with murderers and backstabbers!'

'Find someone else, Ustaad...'

'This humble message comes to you... from Harka Bai of Parnagarh, the land of valleys...'

Akbar began reciting the contents of the letter, calm and steady, to make sure every syllable of it was heard - even as the Kunwar began taking one faltering step behind the other. And he continued reciting. On. And on. And on. Uninterrupted - till he reached the very end.

'HEY!' The not-so-spiteful guard banged a stick beside the young man's face, an arrogant grin skewing his jaw 'You can stop muttering... your visitor has left...'

'I realise that' Akbar leaned his forehead upon the jail-bars, his eyelids coming down to a heavy close - the celebration that his spirits had been planning to break out into, stranded midway. He'd met with the Kunwar. Showed him the truth. Crushed him with guilt. Planted a few ideas. Passed on the message. In under quarter hour, he'd done all he could. And taken a massive risk. Hereafter, it was up to fate and the Kunwar's own conscience to take a stance!

'HEY! Do you know what hour it is? The guards shall be here soon... to take you... for your punishment - the flogging' Had Akbar not had his eyes closed, he would have noticed the man's arrogant grin briefly dissolve.

'I have something for the pain... stashed inside... if you want, I'll give you some... provided you promise to teach me that famous aim of yours!'

For the pain? 'Thank you, but I'll be alright...'

Akbar came away from the bars, sighing through a soft smile. 'As for teaching you how to aim... I'd do that anyway'

Enroute the dungeons

The Mughal heir blitzed ahead - the buildings he paced past, a blur; the greetings from all those that stepped aside, fading out.

'Ya Allah' His teeth ached from biting back rage for so long. What a horrible day it'd been. The morning had been ruined by Farooq Sahib. And now, he'd only made it worse for himself by stopping by at the Sahiba's quarters, to oversee the ruckus. He tried denying it at first, but it was true - his ego felt half as healthy as it was, before he'd met the Lady.

'Everything changed after a Hindu came into his life... I tell you they are manipulative and corrupt... I would advise you not to be too kind on Harka Sahiba'

Kindness was not an emotion that was meant to be on his agenda that noon. Then, why? Why had he caved in? Why hadn't he let her suffer? Why the moment of hesitation?

'You appear hesitant... vague... weak when coming up against Akbar...'

His fist clenched. 'NO!' It was because of a darned silly promise given in court that he'd caved in. Not because he'd turned hesitant. Not because he was weak. 'I am anything BUT weak!'

The very notion was inflammatory. Like fuel upon the wrath that'd been kindling up at his core all day. Each repeated reminder, feeding the intensity over and over. Its molten form spilling across with no means of a release - working its way slowly through his torso, spreading to very the tips of his fingers 'Ya Allah...' It burned so much he couldn't even feel his hands anymore. It'd consume him whole if he didn't find quick relief.

'Stop! You are allowing that sly Farooq to prowl inside your head!'

It was a whisper of reason, trying hard to be heard. 'His words are leading you astray'

Alas. That whisper was short-lived - dying an instant death under the roar of the other howls in his head.

'You fool, his warnings are true... you have just proved it!'

'You are hesitant and weak when coming up against Akbar... and against his Begum too!'

All of a sudden, the voices were forced to quieten. Something in the distance had yanked his attention, dragging his feet to a standstill. A strange scene. A sort of scene he hadn't witnessed before. Two guards were chattering amongst themselves. Why, one of them appeared to be sniggering too - oblivious to the Mughal heir approaching their presence! The audacity!

A disturbing reminder, it was...

'The general consensus amongst the subjects is that you appear hesitant...'

Were Farooq Sahib's words coming true? Was he losing the command, the respect he once had? How else would mere guards seem to have no qualms sniggering away in his presence now?

'SOLDIERS!'

'Huzoor?' The retinue rushed in front, worried.

'Anything wrong, Huzoor?' Unable to quite fathom the extent of the storm beneath the surface, they awaited orders - gaping at the smoky pupils of their prince that were like two embers of the devil, ablaze but soulless.

The Shehzaade cocked his head in the direction of the sniggering guards, his jaw deadset. 'Throw those two guards in a dungeon... where they never get to see light of day again!'

They wouldn't feel the urge to snigger so much anymore, would they - their entire lives wasted over a random joke? THAT should teach them a lesson! Hereafter, he'd let no one disrespect him. 'NO ONE!'

He then glanced up at the skies 'Evening...'

It was time.

His attention gradually shifted to the rugged structure, far out. 'The dungeons'

The torture dungeons

His mind tried hard to think straight. His heart convinced itself that he was almost thinking straight. His ego was certain he was thinking straight. He wasn't though. Far from it. His thoughts were as twisted as the jagged steps of the torture dungeons that he was descending. 'What are you doing here?' He looked up, into the hellish darkness that lay ahead, where the lulling groans of death's doors could be heard.

He had punished two fools who'd committed the crime of showing him disrespect. Proved a point. Calmed some of the fire in his fists. So, what was he doing here?

'You want to witness him being flogged?'

Something about this felt wrong.

But, it didn't feel wrong enough to get him to stop. A part of him wanted to see what lay at the end of this journey to hell. In fact, hungered for it, despite how damning it'd be to his soul.

'He's been mobilising Hindu support...'

'He's trained armies of men, who dare to oppose you publicly...'

'YEARS!!!' Years he'd spent fighting stigma.

Battling his enemies, driving fear into their hearts blow-by-blow, to ensure they wouldn't dare think of him as unfit. Battling his father, the Shehenshah - repeatedly trying to prove himself a worthy successor of the throne. And now, these rumours were going to ruin it all.

'AKBAR MAHMOUD KHAN!'

A few gritty pieces of stone came crumbling to the floor from his shoulder having struck the wall as he charged towards the chamber where his biggest betrayer was being held.

The ambience wore gloom in its thickest hue - the two suspended torch lamps hardly helping. Hours could fleet by and one would not know - for the only time in the dungeons was night. Seasons could drift by and one wouldn't be able to tell - for, the only weather was cold.

The cobwebs that embellished the walls were thick as sheets, trailing from the ceiling like curtains. Green moss ran all along the corners forming wide silken borders.

From one such corner hung a frightful array of whips. And at another corner sat the prisoner.

Forcibly made to kneel on the floor with his back to the jailers - his blue wrists were shackled above his head to iron rings dangling from the ceiling. His features pushed so close to the rubbled wall, he could see little else.

'Akbar Mahmoud Khan'

Maybe it was the way the prisoner had been shackled. Maybe it was just his own psyche. But the first thought to cross his mind as his eyes fell upon the stretched and cuffed torso in the corner, was that Akbar somehow appeared larger than he last recalled. Was it because he'd never confronted the man in such dark a circumstance before? Was it because he'd never had to size him up as an enemy earlier? Or, was it because he was simply comparing this man to other prisoners? Whatever it was, after a month-long solitary confinement and a full week in these pitchy dungeons, most others shrivelled to half their size!

Not the Ustaad though!

Stubborn, he always was. Must have resolved not to allow the shackles to break him. As if he were invincible! 'Ha! Let's see...'

Armed with that menacing sneer, the Shehzaade stepped in.

'Huzoor?'

The jailers and guards fell back in line, still as the walls behind them - a lone question flitting through their minds when they caught sight of the emerging shadow. Why was the Shehzaade here?

'What is Huzoor doing down here?'

It was the only question rattling his psyche too - ever since he'd heard the all-familiar boot-fall of the prince come charging around the corners. The Shehzaade rarely stepped down here, to these Godforsaken parts. Why today, then? Had there been a change of plan? Or, had he come to witness the flogging? And horrid as it might seem, his agitated instincts kept twitching towards the second option.

'To witness the flogging?'

A rush of thoughts began wandering and flowing across every chamber of his head. Even creeping through crevices sealed shut. Till they gradually carried him back to the images of when his body used to be flogged, while his stepmother and stepsister watched. 'Darn!' His wrists twitched for the first time in those chains, battling to keep his head and mind above the deluge of suffocating flashes - the omens could not be worse.

'Hand me the whip!'

'What?'

'Huzoor?'

'Huzoor?'

'I said... HAND ME the whip!'

Akbar's pulse spiked up and stayed up.

'Huzoor?' His throat was stuck with the most painful lump he'd ever dealt with - for the stony wall staring him that instant appeared softer than the heart of his former-master.

So, Huzoor was ACTUALLY going to deliver the punishment himself! Pick up the whip, and strike him with fifty lashes. Turn what would have otherwise been an unpleasant ordeal, into the most excruciating one of his young life. In another time, his master might have done such a thing to spare Akbar from the pain of the jailor's lashing. But today, the Shehzaade was going to nurse his crackled ego by inflicting agony upon a tied-up body. The Mughal heir was going to let his royal palms chafe and peel only so he could show the former-Ustaad that he was above all.

'Ai Khuda' With a sharp shudder, Akbar tugged his mind back from the past - from memories and experiences, from the sacrifices and gains, from relationships built and brothers lost - from the journey, the rise and the fall!

Then, he shut it all out - or, it'd only make each lashing infinitely more unbearable. 'No place for emotions here!' The lines of angst on his temple steadily smoothened up. 'Lid those sentiments forever. Just because you are tied-up, doesn't make you defenceless... you have something... you have pride... use it like a shield... similar to how you did, when badi ammi used to thrash you senseless... it'll make it all bearable!'

'Huzoor...' With a wavering frown, the jailor passed on the whip.

A fresh sneer curled his left lip as the prince eyed the leather whip being handed. The former-Ustaad was a man who'd faced more blade-tips and sword-edges, than any man standing. What use was a leather whip on him? What message would it convey to the world, if he couldn't so much as punish a betrayer properly?

'Not this!'

Raising his finger, he pointed towards another one. The last whip hanging from the hooks. The one that was generally reserved for the most deranged of criminals. The one with bristly steel on its ends - razor-sharp pins sewn into its rope like snake fangs. Enough to jab through skin thick as animal hide.

'Huzoor?' The guards' mouths fell ajar, as they stared at each other and then at the barbed whip, to ensure that they weren't misreading the orders. The man meant to be punished today, was the Ustaad. The USTAAD. The famous mentor of the Shehzaade's armies. A man whose tales of bravery were often the subject of discussion amongst their own friends.

Yes, they'd heard the whispers. Yes, they were quite familiar with their Huzoor's molten temper. Yet and still, wasn't this step quite extreme? For chances were, there'd be no coming back from this - seeing how most mighty men perished under the skin-shredding ferocity of that whipping blade.

'He has a duel in two weeks, Huzoor!' The bolder of the guards manage to slip out a meagre reminder.

'Oh really?' glared the Shehzaade, as if he were devising the guard's death in his mind. 'Now, hand me the whip'

'Yes, Huzoor' Unhooking the barbed whip from its holder numbly, the jailor handed it over - hoping the prince knew what he was doing.

'Step back!'

And they fell many generous steps back. At once. All of them.

'Wh...' Akbar couldn't look over his shoulder or catch much in the darkness. Nor could he overhear the conversation at the other end of the chamber. But he could sense the shifting tension and that was enough to yank his spirits down to a fatal abyss. 'What's happening?'

Just then, the crunch of boots was heard, approaching from behind - this time, along with the slow drag of a whip.

'But wait...'

The 'slow drag' did not belong to the muffled sounds of leather on the floor. 'No!' It was sharp. Shrill. It was the screech of metal against stone, sending an echo of chills within the chamber walls.

'The barbed whip!'

His features paled with horror - even mud and grime wouldn't hide the extent of it. 'NO!' The muscles in his arms stretched themselves to a point of agony, as he threw a glimpse behind him - in the futile belief he were somehow mistaken.

'Ai Khuda!' The corner of his eye caught the glint of steel lugging its way towards him. Pins of the barbed whip planted kisses of death on the stone as they drew closer, thirsting for his blood.

'No... no... no... ' Perspiration drenched the skin on his neck, while terror sponged out his life dry from within. Had someone put the Shehzaade up to this satanic act? Was it the heinous Farooq Sahib? Surely, he'd committed no crime that deserved such an inhuman end.

'Oh God... help me here'

His pulse soared to a nauseating pace, his thoughts racing infinitely faster. However, try as he might, he could not see any means of escape from the torture. 'DAMN!' He was no stranger to blood and gore. But today, fear was beginning to wrap itself in a vice grip around every nerve and vein. Fear of fate. Fear of death. A fear for HER sake. For the sake of his men.

'Ya Allah!' What if he didn't make it out of this alive? Even if he DID somehow live at the end of the day, it'd take him several weeks before he could stand again - forget fighting a duel in an arena in fourteen days. What about his plans to end their enemies? What about his promises to her?

'Huzoor...' cranking his neck as far as he could, Akbar cast another long glimpse over his shoulder from desperation, hoping to plead mercy 'Please... hear me out... has something happened? Whatever is the matter, we can discuss it... but, please give me a chance to explain myself'

The pleas went unheard.

A reckless red ran to the prince's face as his arms raised upward. Slashing through the air with a hissing sound, the whip connected with Akbar's back, flailing the skin on it.

WHAMMM!

Shock jolted his body forth. 'Arrrgh' His tongue caught between his teeth so hard that it bled - a wave of spasms searing through each cell of his torso, as if he were being daggered alive.

'Huzoor... did Farooq Sahib put you up to this? Please... please... just listen once... to what I have to say!'

WHAM!

Came the second lashing down instead.

'Arrrgh!' His body fluctuated sharply between a burning fever and cold paralysis as the whip clawed through skin with each fresh strike. Reopening old wounds. Inflicting new ones. Wounds that felt worse than acid on raw flesh - both, physically and emotionally.

'Huzoor... pl... please... listen to what I have to say... you declared in court, that I'd fight a duel in 14 days... I would not be able to... '

WHAM!

The third lashing descended upon his back, harder than before, sending a trail of blood splattering across the adjacent wall.

'Ai Khuda!' It sent the guards gasping - even their hardened spirit that witnessed violence every day, finding it difficult to stomach the scene. They'd worked the dungeons long enough, and they could predict that such needless barbarism never ended well.

'H... Huz...' His lips quivered convulsively in a bid to explain himself before he'd pass out. Pain owned him now. Taking control of his resilient body. Dominating his thoughts. And punctuating his words. 'H... Huzoor... I b... beg you... hear me ot...'

WHAM!

Arrrgh! 'H... Huzoor!'

WHAM!

Arrrgh! 'H... Huz...'

WHAM!

Arrrgh! 'H...'

WHAM!

Arrrgh! 'P... pl...' Vague murmurs mixed with drizzles of blood spluttered from his mouth 'please... listen to wh...'

WHAM!

'KHUDAAA!' Akbar swallowed back the scream with all that he had, before his eyelids fell from sheer exhaustion. The Huzoor wasn't planning on listening. He had tried - till all his strength had allowed him to. And more.

But now, that life-giving strength was being drained. Literally. Blood dripped from the discoloured skin on his back, through the shredded holes in his tunic. And with each drop he shed, with each droplet lost, he felt his strength wane, his resolve ebb away.

WHAM!

WHAM!

'At least, it isn't... my men... at least, SHE's seen none of it...'

WHAM!

'At least... at least, SHE's seen none of it... stay safe, my love'

WHAM!

'At least, she... stay safe, my love'

WHAM!

'Sta saf, m... my lov...'

By the time the 40th strike had been struck, the young prisoner had reached a place afar, beyond where any form of human suffering could be felt. Ironically, that is when the Shehzaade started feeling the effects of his maniacal exercise - his cut wrists beginning to sting, his arms throbbing acutely.

Panting like a rabid beast, he threw the whip down, rolling his shoulders backwards and forwards to straighten them. No one would dare belittle him hereafter, would they?

'No, they wouldn't' With a scoff, he gazed at his mighty hands.

Oddly though, the colour of his own skin was unrecognisable. His hands had become a violent red, drenched in the blood of his victim. Every inch of it. His boots fell half-a-step back and there was red beneath his feet too, from the splatter that'd trickled down his elbows forming a pool on the floor.

The prince gradually spun around to face his guards - reminding himself to hold his head up while doing so.

'Guards...' he was about to spit out his next set of orders, but his sentence faded to a gradual halt.

Their profiles had turned to effigies of terror - a sort of terror as if they'd witnessed their prince switch bodies with the Devil. Several such moments later and not an eyelid was batted yet - seemingly in fear even THAT might him set their Huzoor off.

And much as he fought to deny it - through their expressions, he saw the image of a deranged man. It was not the image of a prince revered! Not the image of a royal who commanded power. Not the image of one with the strength of will.

Overcoming the shudder that was about to travel his spine, he cast a second glance at his victim.

Bathed in blood from scalp to sole, the body was dangling upright at the mercy of two suspended giant hooks, its chains gently rocking his limp shoulders to and fro. For now, he was no longer the Ustaad. No longer formidable. No longer invincible. Nothing beyond a criminal who resembled an animal skinned alive.

'What the...' A shudder returned, throwing him off guard.

The sight of his decimated betrayer should have healed his pride. Tempered his aggression. Sated his arrogance. But the damned shudders told of another story! Was he truly going insane?

Crunching his fingers agitatedly, he shoved aside the voice warning him to look away.

Barely visible through the red carnage, was a set of features somewhere. Handsome features of a man he once knew. And it reminded him, vaguely, of the outline of the boy who'd approached him, many years ago. A 12 year old boy with dreams in his eyes and a dash of spunk in his spirit, as he'd quietly pledged his little life to a hero.

'Darn! No!' He swiftly began wiping the blood off his hands on a stray rag. It wasn't the first instance his hands had been bloodied. But all of a sudden, the sight of this particular stain of red was making a part of his insides squirm. 'Get me a clean cloth! Now!' He scrubbed as fast as he could, hoping it'd wash the stain off his conscience. Hoping it'd wipe the slate clean. That would settle the jitters, wouldn't it? 'Yes'

But like guilt on a dirty conscience, the blood stayed. Stuck in the nooks of his nails. Stuck between the webbing of his fingers. It just wouldn't go!

'Damn!' The Shehzaade finally flung the cloth away, trying to get a grip on the frenzy 'Change his clothes... wrap him in bandages... and throw him back in his cell' he had to swallow hard 'make sure no one sees him this way'

'B... but...' A slow stutter eventually tripped out of the jailor's lips 'Huzoor...'

'WHAT?' He came up against the jailor and the guards - their startled features rampant with questions unasked. 'SPEAK UP!'

'H... Huzoor... he is nearly dead... and the duel...'

'Announcements have been made...'

'People are going to wonder...'

'The Kunwar of Manswar... he'd want answers...'

'What must we tell everyone?'

'Yes... yes... the duel' he huffed, nodding his head 'That darned duel!' True, today hadn't been one of his best days. True, a couple of decisions might have been made out of impulse - even his egotistical self wouldn't deny that.

But frankly, he'd had enough of others telling him what to do. Enough of people reminding him of his word in court!

'Well...' Reinstating some royalty in his arrogance, he tied his wrists at his back 'we'll see if he can hold up till the day of the duel... if he manages to stagger into the arena, so be it... if not, the duel shall be cancelled. Meanwhile...'

He paused, to clear a prickle in his throat - before turning off his conscience, just like that. 'Meanwhile... spread the news that Akbar Mahmoud Khan got involved in a nasty brawl in the dungeons... harmed other inmates in the brawl and had to be disciplined severely'

As for the other two betrayers he'd deal with them, in his own effective way, in good time.

That night...

That night, the corridors of the Imperial fort so deathly and haunted,

were beset all over again, by silent echoes of horror that shook the most undaunted.

The laments of a lover at the callous lashings bleeding dry her beloved.

The woes of a woman mourning the plight of her man who lay fatally wounded.

The cries of a companion unable to care for her partner castoff and isolated.

The sorrow of a soulmate grieving HIS precious life sinking and devastated.

So spine-chilling those silent echoes sounded,

that it's said, for many moons its sordid effects lasted.

So heart-tugging were the several prayers that'd gone wasted,

that it's believed, that night, even the Goddess above was awoken and stirred.

'Why, Azeez Shah... do you presume I wouldn't lay my life for Akbar?' Ibrahim pointed at his own chest - at the spot around where his depth of emotions lay. 'But, our Sahib did not train us as highly-skilled spies, only for us to end up making brash decisions when faced with a crisis... he did not reform the lot of us, merely so we go off on murderous rampages to prove a point!' His stern glares briefly halted upon Sayyid, before returning to Azeez. 'We are aggrieved, but we cannot let ourselves get emotional... the palace guards are on their highest alert - with special instructions to watch out for the men of Ustaad... if so much as ONE of us gets caught trying to slip in, it would be enough to push the Shehzaade into taking his wrath out on Akbar all over again... maybe this time, on bhabhijaan too!'

The heated words that were meant to roll out of their tongues, paused - promptly.

'Fine... fine...' A few moments later, the young chap took his deepest breath, allowing the tears to dry out HOW do you propose we get them help, then?'

'How?'

How?

HOW?

With the palace Hakim having ruled there wasn't much hope left for Akbar, HOW could they help him?

His lungs still catching up on wind, Ibrahim let his misty glances travel to a distant realm - his mind wading through the maze of dangerous choices and options that stood in front of them then. 'Let's work it out step by step... those instructions and clues that Akbar had signalled to you... let's start with that fir...'

'Shhh hhh...' Azeez abruptly shot his palm up 'wait... wait... everyone... do you hear that?'

The group stiffened up like sentries on watch - their senses sifting through every murmur and movement in the air around.

And there it could be heard - a 'creak', in the distance. The creak of a few wheels. Like those of cart-wheels coming to a slow halt. There was a bustle too. Tussle of feet, and shuffle of voices. Like those from a horde of people descending upon the place.

'Watch out!' The men of Ustaad reached for their belts and daggers.

Bajrang banna, however, stayed put. Then, as if something had just come over him and lifted off a few loads of stress, his tense shoulders dropped.

'Please wait here...' Breaking away from the group, he glided his way towards the street outside.

That commanding baritone.

Those familiar words.

That uneven footfall.

'He's here!' Bajrang smiled his first smile in days 'And he's brought our folks along too... Mohan banna!'