HBAS Chat corner - Page 52

Originally posted by: Sandhya.A

The strength of an author's words lies in the impact it has on the readers. The collective shock, floods of tears, desperation, fury at the hands that whipped and pathos at the man that bled...Lana's rush into hibernation to cry her heart out ... ...all show the effectiveness of your writing Sahiba.

thank you so much, Sandy... thanks a ton... I know I have taken my time to come back to this... but, you have no idea how many times I have read your words... it's one of (if not actually) the best review you have penned and I consider it an absolute honour to be at the receiving end of one from Sandy Begum herself - an intelligent young lady with a sharp mind and fluid fingertips 👏

You brought the dark and gloomy dungeons with its horrors and pains alive in this extremely effective chapter. Take a bow dear.

Thank you, Sandy!🤗

The descent of the prince from a proud and prejudiced master with conscience in dilemma over his instincts and best judgement against his self importance to a deranged freak and a heartless tyrant has been beautifully described.

It seems most readers found that part the most intriguing of the story🤔 If that is the case, I am glad then, that I got that delicate balance right... because to show a strong man (from the exterior) have weak moments that lead to his crumbling (From the inside) could go either way!

Loved certain descriptions and choice of words...

Instead, with every passing hour, the Shehzaade found himself losing a few more grains of peace

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

Thank you da 😳 and I notice you've chosen grey instead of your usual colourful purple.. was this deliberate?

The voice of reason ...

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!

Versus The voice of the devil...

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

Thank you... thank you (hope you have't tired of reading it yet)🤗

The picture of the Shehzade in dilemma was apt.

STEP 1.

Enter the sly manipulative wicked deplorable despicable old bat wanting to shut any ray of reason or mercy to enter the Shehzaade's warring mind. Like Manthra feeding Kaikeyi the drops of poison of political insecurity that ended up destroying what was precious to her, the evil black devil in flowing white robes poisons the Shehzade with a lethal dose that kills his sense of justice and blinds him to the truth staring at his face.

Ugh... as we have all surmised, FS has come out of this looking worse than ever (if it was even possible) and I agree with every curse word, with every spark of anger that you feel against him! Loved your analogy of poison here btw... that killed justice.. 👏

1. Khan Sahib has been raising an army with the stashed up money.

2. His men get paid by the Shehzade but defy him on Khan Sahib's orders.

3. There is public support for Khan Sahib and his Sahiba and in comparison Shehzade is rumoured to be weak and indecisive.

Wah FS! Wah! Were you classmates with Manthra and Shakuni mama or were you their tutor?

🤢 Agree! 🤢

But look at how you've outlined it all, step by step! Wah Sandy wah👏😆😉

STEP 2.

The Shehzade now wants to first prove to himself that he is not weak. Why else would he be coming to her quarters at that time?

Probably to convince himself and his conscience that he was not wrong in putting her to death. To deride her for daring to rise in revolt against him, HIM the all powerful and being the cause of the downfall of her Ustaad.

See the most basic reason was that there was a ruckus going on in her quarters and he wanted to know what was happening.

Two, curiosity and it so happened that her building was enroute the prison chambers anyway (he wouldn't have dropped her a visit going out of the way to meet her - that would be beneath him)

and third is the reason you gave - to find out how she was doing as a prisoner... to rub her ill-luck in her face?

But her natural defense and nascent innocence and humble stance combined with his own principles not to disrespect a respectable woman makes him grant her request and he comes back without spilling his fury and hatred on her. Now that makes him seem weaker in his own eyes.

EXACTLY👏

'Why wasn't i able to be harsh! Am i really weak as FS said it is rumored? No, i am not. I will prove it."

STEP 3.

The poor guards who probably shared a joke and didn't notice his sudden entry...they seemed disrespectful to him and mocking at his weakness. I AM THE BOSS. And i will prove it. This is what you call - Arandavanukku irundathellam pei. (Jo dara hua hai, uske liye chaya bhi bhoot dikhtha hai.) When you wear red goggles everything appears in a shade of red.

>>>👏

The poor unsuspecting guards were doomed to darkness forever and would never know for what. ( What will you call that Rosejaan... how would their families feel... that is royalty.)

Exactly... and talk of being in the wrong place at the wrong time!

STEP 4.

The fury that stemmed from FS's poison and rekindled by his inability to refuse and insult Heera and fanned into a wildfire at the guards' seeming mockery was all directed to the unsuspecting Khan Sahib whose skin he ripped apart by the barbed whip and soul he ripped by his unfair and biased ego.

😭 Oh Sandy... how beautifully you've sketched this all out

The whips...oh my...dear Sahiba...you made them so real that we felt the pain. The little by little shattering of Khan Sahib's spirit and body... the bloodied stone walls and the hardened jailors were shocked beyond belief at the Shehzaade's insanity. We are all but Khan Sahib's well wishers. Aapne tho hamara haal behaal kar diya.

😭 Awww

The memories of being flogged in childhood...the very man who restored his self esteem and erased the pain of those scars, now tearing and ripping his self esteem again with a barbed whip and giving him more pain and scars...

That is what it was... he was broken enough when he knew his former-brotehr would be whipping him... bringing back all those nightmares.. once he realised what was happening... tab tho

Every drop of blood spilled will take away any remnants of loyalty AMK still possesses. The Shehzade has now given him valid and irrefutable reasons to consider the debt of devotion repaid.

Everu drop of blood spilled has made the Shehzade fall in his own eyes. Instead of satiating his pride, they only made him worse.

Undoubtedly👏

Every drop of blood spilled has garnered a thousand drops of tears. Kya likhi hai aapne...

Seriously? Omg

Again certain choice of words were very powerful...

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.

Turn what would have otherwise been an unpleasant ordeal, into the most excruciating one of his young life.

Perspiration drenched the skin on his neck, while terror sponged out his life dry from within.

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!

Excellent writing Authoress Sahiba. You have proved the power of the pen. How much pain it coyld cause...even more than the sword.

Omg really? I feel so honoured, Sandy 🤗

Now the Shehzade has crossed the limits of cruelty that he himself realises that the stains are indelible. I have always wondered at why he is the Shehzade and not the Shehenshah at the time of the story. Yes. He needs to be answerable to a higher authority. When the rebellion rises in favour of Heera by the Hindu majority, he will face the consequences of his madness. He will need Heera and AMK to help him. Fingers crossed.

Wait and watch da! 😊

Thank you for this cracker of a review... any number of words would not be enough to express my gratitude for it...

Love you loadssessess 🤗

At the age of 19, he'd began venturing into the complicated competitive world of buying and selling horses. Inheritance, he had none - be it, money, house or family. Yet, his brilliance, hard work and self-learning won over all odds. By 25, he had learnt everything there was to learn about horses. Mastered every aspect of commerce that could be mastered. By 25, he was monopolising most of the horse-trade, south of the capital.

And no, this wasn't an achievement that could be sustained by hard work alone. There were just as many instances where he'd had to be street-smart and manipulative too.

For instance, much like the homeless outcast he'd once been, most of his staff were people who'd been picked up from the streets. Sharing a similar background with his men meant he could understand their sentiments well - but it also meant he knew how to play tough to get what he wanted. Gifted with an uncanny knack of being able to spot an honest man, Akbar trained the men he chose very well, while keeping the shrewdest tricks of the trade to himself. This gave him the advantage of having an efficient and loyal work force - but, it also ensured his position remained unchallenged.

Thence, if not gratitude, it was awe. If not awe, it was fear. Any which way, the authority he commanded was irrefutable.

As a master, Akbar preferred lofty actions from his people, not such lofty gestures - and his employees were well aware of his preferences.

Because, they knew that every skill they'd learnt, every rupee they earned and thus every meal they ate, wouldn't have been possible if it were not for the hard work of their 25 year old master, Akbar Mahmoud Khan.

At Aidabad..

'The manner in which he dismissed that boy was frightening... the manner in which he dismissed me was humiliating...' Bindhiya wiped the last tear off of her pretty cheeks 'I must confess, I do not think very highly of thisstrange man!'

'Me neither...'

'Me too...'

'No wonder he lives all alone...' a disgruntled maid added 'He's found no wife yet...'

'Obviously... who'd want to marry a man like him?'

'Actually, that's not entirely true!'

Everyone fell silent, gaping at each other dubiously, before turning to the one who'd baited their curiosity

'Dhani?'

'Well...' Dhani shrugged in defence, for having ruffled their illusions 'I spoke to the washerwoman who works at the haveli...' she explained, revealing how she'd come to know of a few things that no one else knew 'And she says that... several people have approached her master with marriage proposals... but, he's the one who has turned them down!'

'WHAT!' numerous audible gasps floated through..

'Not only that... apparently, he doesn't visit women... doesn't touch alcohol... in fact, he doesn't even smoke the hukkah!'

'WHAT!' So far-fetched did those facts sound, that they refused to be convinced by any of it

'That is unbelievable!'

'That washerwoman must be lying, Dhani...'

'A powerful young merchant with no wife, no mistress and no weaknesses! Imagine that...' they dismissed the very notion.

'A handsome and powerful young merchant' Dhani added, unable to help her usual prankish self 'With no wife, no mistress and no weaknesses! What a pity!'

Heera, continued to gaze outside the window, her expressions betraying nothing, while her thoughts were on a slightly different tangent.

Despite being familiar with their blatant fondness for gossip, the 'realist' in her was surprised by how their moods shifted so swiftly. Until a few moments ago, the maids hadn't been too pleased to learn that he had mocked them. Now that the women had found some fodder for their favourite pastime, they were doing just the same. Nevertheless, she'd wisely remained quiet all through. Neither did she want to sound preachy, nor did she participate in their daring speculations.

However; there WAS one fact she couldn't deny.

Unlike her normal etiquette, she was beginning to find herself paying quite some attention to their banters about this mysterious 'Khan Sahib' - more attention than she'd paid to any such frivolous banters before.

Later, that night...

Holding the lens over the reading table, Heera gave the scroll a quick read. It carried a message for Maharaj Chitranjan that she'd just finished dictating - a message outlining the unexpected problems they were facing and their latest whereabouts.

'Seems fine...' returning the lens to her maid, she handed the letter over to her manager 'Can be sealed and sent, kakasa...'

'Yes bitiya...' rolling the scroll up, he cast a quick glance at the dark skies blanketing the windows of the reception room 'It's late now... you must be exhausted... don't you plan to retire for the night?

The lady said nothing for a while 'I have been putting something off...' she confessed eventually 'Something I must do without further delay...' her sentence paused. Her voice started to choke up midway, as the lump forming in her throat felt too profound to swallow back 'I... I... need to dictate a letter... to jijasa... offering him our condolences...'

Thereupon, a touching message of sympathy and consolation was thoughtfully composed for Kunwar Mahendar. Though reliving the heartache all over again while doing so, Heera reviewed its words just like she did every other scroll. Following that, it was rolled up and set beside the other messages, which were meant to be sealed and sent off in the morning to their respective destinations.

Elsewhere in the Capital..

The proud prince picked one up from the many arrays of weapons displayed on a long table - a fresh cargo of weapons he'd imported from foreign lands 'I think our cavalry will love this...' he said, showing off its virgin blade 'What do you think? Just feel its weight..'

His visitor ran an experienced hand over the lethal edges of a Tahar, a battle axe and pronounced, 'It is distinctive'

One of the favourite hangouts for his recruits, the 'arena' was a massive training field, exclusively used by the military. An area filled with sweltering pits of sand, where soldiers could practise combat manoeuvres, by pitting their strengths against one another, while they got to test the latest weapons.

'Huzoor...' he finally pronounced his verdict, as he saw a group of men on horseback ably wielding the battle-axes in the arena 'They seem to be comfortable with the new weapons. It's good!'

A look of contentment diffused the prince's features on hearing the approval.

After all, this visitor was a man who knew more about weapons and warfare than all of his other generals put together. Serving on the battlefield until 2 years ago, this man's loyalty and expertise had been put to even better use ever since. He was now an appointed mentor, an 'Ustaad' - who recruited fresh trainees and coached them into becoming the fearsome warriors that the Shehzade's powerful army needed. A master of many arts and yet a man of few words, Ustaad reserved his compliments for the absolute best.

No doubt then that any advice from him was considered valuable - and praise from him good as gold.

'It's European steel, Ustaad!' reiterated the prince, replacing the Tahar back upon the stand 'Cost me a fortune... this is why we need our own iron ores... this is why I need places like Parnagarh! '

'And yet, I was removed from the 'Parnagarh' assignment!' a voice from behind rumbled with calm contempt 'Adab arz hai, Shehzaade...'

'Khalil!'

Shehzaade turned to face his unexpected caller with a wry frown 'You've been posted at Kabul... better be on your way there!'

'Huzoor...' Khalil eventually addressed the prince 'Have I ever fallen short before?' clawing his nail around the sharpest point of the weapon, he shifted his stares to his Ustaad 'Have I ever failed an assignment before?' With no warning whatsoever, he whipped the axe around like a firebolt - till it stopped precariously close to the neck of one the guards, nearly nicking off the first layer of his victim's skin as he did so..

'Can any of your other recruits wield a weapon like this, Ustaad Sahib?' he asked, deriving quiet pleasure from the sight of nervous sweat trickling down the guard whose neck he'd only just spared.

One answer for all your questions...' replied the Shehzaade, trying to restrain his rage as he did so 'Durga Sahiba...'

At the mention of the fateful name, Khalil retracted his axe slowly.

'None of your previous assignments shared the fate of Durga Sahiba...'

Khalil didn't reply.

'Sad waste of life...' the prince mused at the irony of the circumstances 'Actually, I would have liked to meet her... she's proved she really WAS everything that was said about her!'

The general glared on, still saying nothing.

'I admire you, Khalil... and you remain my most trusted general... but even the best soldiers suffer a bad day, and this seems to be yours... besides, it's better this way... stay away for a while... the Hindus will be out for your blood, very soon!'

'She killed 5 of my men..She challenged me... and my pride...'

'I don't care...' the prince retorted, displeased by the dangerous manner his general was using to show off both, his skill and his frustration 'When I'd said use any means to get me the Farmaan, I thought you were shrewd enough to NOT let things go this far... that too, with a Mansabdar's daughter! And to what means... she fooled you... despite everything you did to her, you ended up with a fake document, not the real Farmaan.'

'One chance, Huzoor...' he gave it a last shot 'I shall find the Farmaan and gift you Parnagarh!'

He slowly withdrew the weapon from the guard's neck, much to everyone's relief. But before anyone knew what was happening, he'd whirled it in the other direction the very next instant, faster than a flash of lightning 'I'll sniff out the younger heiress... wherever she's hiding... and have that wretched lady delivered at your fee...'

Suddenly, it came to a halt - both, his claims, and the hair-raising speed at which his battle-axe was descending down to toy with his next scapegoat's neck.

As a frightful stillness pervaded, Khalil glared at the hand that'd challenged his speed and strength..

'Salaam Ustaad Sahib...' he frowned at the man who'd taught him those very moves 'I sense greater hostility in your stance than before... I AM attacking like how you taught me to, am I not?' saying so, he used the force of his weight to gain footing over his mentor and the might of his fist to pry the handle out.

But, the Ustaad's grip was no easy one to shake off - as the general already knew. Neither did his mentor lose footing, nor did the axe move 'I taught you well, Khalil... but, you've forgotten many lessons!' he cautioned 'Forgotten how to rein in your temper... forgotten when to let go...'

The general intensified his efforts, but, it didn't get him anywhere - the man on the other end was no less of an opponent. Their quivering fingers turned whiter from the stress of the tussle and their palms chaffed from the heat of the friction. But the axe stayed stubbornly midpoint

The general managed to maintain his typically tranquil exterior, but the veins in his eyes were turning red 'I now realise, Ustaad Sahib...' he whispered through his grating teeth 'that you are the one who put Huzoor up to this...'

Ustaad disarmed his aggressor's threats with an unperturbed stare 'I cannot admire a man who lacks self-control...'

'That's enough, Khalil...' Shehzaade shouted aloud, growing tired of the increasing friction within his group 'The task of locating Harka Sahiba and finding the Farmaan... will now be delegated to someone else...' he showed him the exit emphatically 'You leave for Kabul now... and THAT'S AN ORDER!'

A direct order had come from the Shehzade. Of course, it hurt his pride immensely to do so. Backing out and bowing down, was not how he'd got to be the right-hand man to the Mughal prince. But in this instance, his master's saying had rung true 'Even the best soldiers suffer a bad day...' - and this was his.

Nevertheless, the vindictive general was going to ensure this 'bad day' didn't last long. After all, Khalil was not one to take failure lying down. Which meant, he wouldn't leave any task unfinished - be it a small fight or something bigger like 'Parnagarh' and its heiress 'Harka Sahiba'.

In Aidabad..

Five days had passed since they'd arrived at Aidabad - a halt longer than Heera had expected it to be. No wonder then that despite the tender care being nurtured upon them, some of those precious leaves of the potted herbs were beginning to wilt. Precious leaves that she was currently using to treat the injured Mohan and Daya.

If their sensitive roots weren't replanted in deeper soil soon, they would perish - something she could not afford to let happen at this point.

'But...' she mulled 'for planting them in the haveli's gardens, I would need permission... and...'

[Journey continues]