NOVEL~*Hiding behind a Stranger*~THREAD 48 - CHAPTER 53

'You have to stay back and take care of all this when I'm gone!'

Heera's empty glare drooped down till it fell upon the two artefacts nestled within her cold palms - a diamond ring and a small urn of ashes - precious artefacts that not too long ago formed the very identity and essence of Durga Bai

'I didn't even listen to your last words, jiji!'

'We beg you... save yourself choti baisa... if something happens to you, we will be orphaned!'' she recalled their pleas and cries as she lay grief-stricken beside her sister's still body 'Those murderers warned they'd be back for you... and you're the only person standing in the way of their ambitions!'

'With Kunwarsa away in Gujarat, you have no protectors... please stay with Maharaj Chitranjan till the situation here becomes safe! The Maharaj would find you a powerful husband, who would end this uncertainty and protect our future!'

'You may not be a fighter like your jiji... but, you're a survivor choti baisa!'

Traipsing up to the wooden footbridge, she placed a cautious step on each plank - one after another. However, three footsteps in and she recognised how unstable the structure was beginning to feel. The planks were creaking as though they were going to split apart, and oddly enough, the ropes were swaying far more than they swayed before. She wondered, unsure if she must retreat, or swiftly cross over by completing the remaining 12 steps.

Deciding to make a dash for the other end, Heera took her fourth and fifth steps in quick succession, but by the sixth one, any hopes that she might have had were quashed. The structure was clearly giving way and a further move, either way, was going to bring the platform down ! Stranded in the middle of a collapsing footbridge atop a gushing stream in the middle of the night, was a crisis she was least prepared for.

She could barely see anything through the darkness, so she had no idea about the depth of the canal, but from what she could hear, the currents were strong - too strong for a poor swimmer like her to battle. Thus, she was left with one lone option 'Help... somebody...' she shouted, hoping the alarm would alert her people when they came searching for her 'Help... I am caught...' but she'd barely finished her second sentence, when an unsteady plank beside her sunk down, sucking her feet into a trap, as it did so.

'Argh' she screamed, noting how her ankle was lodged in a narrow space between two sharp wooden boards, before looking up at the forlorn emptiness ahead.

Her world was crashing down and there was not a soul in sight to share her heartache, but she would not give up hope - not just yet. Wrestling with pounding beats and whirling scenes, Heera overcame the temptation to hurriedly yank her feet off. Tightening her clasp around the ropes with her shaky fingers, she carefully tried to wiggle the entrapped foot out.

Many cautious attempts later, she was free.

Alas, the joy was short-lived.

The gentle tussles were greater strain than those ropes could take. Thus, split they did. The first one ripped, causing the structure to swing recklessly over the waters below. And when the next one split, it brought the entire footbridge down with it, plunging her into the stream beneath.

The force with which the coldness hit her face and then sucked her under, rendered her senses momentarily numb. Immediately fighting off its paralysing effects, Heera pushed her face up through the oppressive tides, before her lungs could start filling up with liquid.

'Pleas... Some... one sav... me...' her screams for help muffled, she whipped her hands and legs in a frenzy, struggling to stay afloat for as long as she could. But it was not long before the rapids pulled her below again.

Several such struggles later, she had worn out her resilience.

Just as her distraught mind began dreading the possibility that she might vanish into oblivion something abruptly happened. Something that stopped her body from being washed off.

It was a steely grip around her elbow.

Heera frantically clung on to her captor's clutches, with no intention to let go of the sole refuge she had.

Recognising even in that dazed state that the one who towed her so harshly, could not be a gentleman, the desperate young lady prayed that the rescuer was not, in reality, out to harm her. But he had thrust her somewhere close to the edge with glaring indifference and turned around to tend to the base of the footbridge - like the terrible accident had not even happened.

Heera was still in shock, her feet still hadn't found their footing in running water and the tall banks were proving too slippery to hold onto. Therefore, without much thought, she did what a survivor would - clenched the furrows of his broad back for support.

He jerked his shoulders, freeing him of her grip. But that, in turn, compelled her unbalanced body to react adversely. Lunging forward to stop herself from sinking, she caught onto the next thing she could hold onto - the cummerbund that wrapped around the many ridges of his well-sculpted ribs.

Aggravated by her presence and her actions, the boorish man briefly stopped the repair work, and pried her fingers out of his cummerbund 'What do you think you're doing?' his pitch echoed like a roar, though he kept his tone low. And curt. And deep. And thick. And dominant.

'The voice...' her startled eyes slowly widened

'WHAT are you doing?' he grit his teeth..

Removing her tight clamp from around his arm like it was child's play, he spun around and probed into her eyes.

She now came to face with him for the first time - her lungs that were still gasping for air, pitted against his unshaken breath.

'He IS the stranger...'

'Are you blind, or are you plain bizarre?'

*** ***

Barely few strides on, and Heera stopped in her tracks - she recalled how she'd done something else that she hadn't done lately.

Sometime earlier, she had almost smiled.

Her mind blank at first, feelings of bewilderment slowly started seeping in, succeeded by a pang of regret. She looked up to the dark skies, wondering what could have made her momentarily overlook her current frame of mind 'How? And why?' she asked herself the question, over and over. But ultimately, the only explanation she found was a vague one, which she settled for 'By seeking some peace, you wanted to forget about your problems briefly Heera... instead, a temporary spell of distraction helped you achieve that!'

*** ***

Once the third cord of her choli had been twisted into a neat knot, Heera gently flung the long lengths of her damp tresses behind her shoulders. Leaning back upon the low chaise, she let the bevy of maids flurrying around her, carry on with their tasks.

'I still fail to understand...' the chief maid resumed the subject that hadn't been resolved so far 'What was the need to wander off? You should have seen the uproar the guards raised, when they couldn't find you in the gardens or in the meadows...'

'I was preoccupied... lost...' she replied

'By the way... what made you decide to swim at such an ungodly hour?'

'Swimming? I said I went for a dip...' she corrected - and did it so smoothly that the tone tricked all the maids into believing her story. Well, all her maids, but one!

'A dip?' Gauri asked, closely observing Heera's reactions in the mirror - but before she could probe any further, the other maids had chipped in

'We were so worried, baisa...'

Heera let out a deep breath 'I realise I have put you all through a lot of trouble... please excuse my reckless actions... I'll take care not to be so negligent again...'

However, Gauri remained unconvinced. As she set aside the dhoop holder and began plaiting the lengths into a loose braid, many doubts lingered in her mind.

Well, the Harka Bai, who was seated upon that chaise now, somehow appeared less demoralised than the Harka Bai who'd left the haveli a short while ago. And she couldn't help but wonder what had brought about that change?

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]