HBAS Chat corner - Page 91

Elsewhere, at the forests...

A royal camp.

While they continued to nibble away at the juicy bits of meat from one of the animals he'd hunted earlier, the young prince dabbed his lips with a silk kerchief again, waiting for his troupe to finish. His profile regally still as the skies above, he inadvertently took stock of the company being entertained that night 'Noblemen... a couple of ministers... high-ranking soldiers'

'Men... I meant to ask...' he cleared his throat, waiting till he had their undivided attention 'earlier today... what was the body count of...' he rolled his fingers around dismissively, trying to recall the right word 'oh yes... the guards of the safe-house'

'No... 8'

Came the proud voices, as they spoke over each other.

'8...' Mahendar tapped his fingers 'And how many of OUR men had them surrounded? 82, to be precise...' The Kunwar raised his brow. 'And how many hours did we have them surrounded before they were brought down?Half a day! We knew WHERE they were... we knew HOW many men were there... and yet it took 82 armed men nearly 12 hours to take them down!'

'But they were cowards, Kunwarsa... chasing down one injured man like a pack of dogs...'

'Had that poor man not reached our camp in time, seeking protection, he would have suffered a dishonourable death at the hands of those Mughal rogues...'

'Those safe-house guards were spies... and they fought like spies! Their prisoner escaped, but they managed to track him down many towns away... and when they knew that they were surrounded by an army, they resisted capture till the end... died fighting for their master' he rubbed the edge of his armrest 'Now tell me... do WE have such well-trained men in our army?'

'Of course...'

On any other day, he would have banged the table right then, before splashing a glass of cold water on the first person who dared to insult his intelligence with such lies.

But today, he would just let it be.

'Kunwarsa' one nobleman cleared his throat - after what was a very a long stretch of silence 'I wonder why they had him locked up...'

'What was he hiding?'

'Before he succumbed to his injuries... he spoke to you in private...'

'Did he tell you why those guards were holding him against his will?'

'Did he tell you why those guards were holding him against his will?'

Offering his men nothing beyond a vague shrug for a response, Mahendar reposed backwards, his attention shifting up to the tent ceiling. And through it, at the starry skies.

Then, he let loose the devil within that'd been chained up so long, its arrival marked by a deviant grin halfway through his lips.

'Hukum...' the senapati leaned in by his master's shoulder 'you seem to be in a very good mood today...'

'That obvious, is it?' sneered Mahendar. Yes, he was very happy.

A week earlier and he'd have missed that foolish messenger. A week later, and it would've been too late. But here he was, his trip perfectly timed for that messenger to have made it to his camp. And for that deluded man to eventually wheeze a confidential message into his ears, as he lay dying on a makeshift bed.

Fortunately for that poor messenger, his soul would now rest in peace, knowing he'd accomplished his life's mission. Unfortunately for him, he had no idea that in his bid to deliver an old message, he'd unwittingly ratted out his own Mansabdar and baisa. That too, ratted them out in such a way - that merely imagining its far-reaching effects was enough to leave the young prince in a euphoric high. And to think he hadn't even downed a sip of liquor yet!

'Kunwarsa, please save Parnagarh... Harka baisa is appealing to Hindu kingdoms... seeking justice for Durga baisa, by sending messages and scrolls against the Shehzaade's army... but, it was all stopped... and it turned out, the guards who stopped us, are working for Akbar Mahmoud Khan - the man we ended up staying with, at Aidabad... Kunwarsa, he's enslaved our baisa at Parnaagrh... and his men have imprisoned the messengers who wouldn't yield... they tortured us to get us to quit our mission... we suspect they burned the rest of her scrolls too... but, we didn't give in to those Mughals... instead, we rehearsed the contents of her scrolls over and over, to make sure we NEVER forgot it...'

Ah! What a beautiful melody those wheezy words were. 'We rehearsed the contents... to make sure we NEVER forgot' Contents from Harka Bai's original message that he had since rewritten in a fresh scroll, as recited by the dying messenger. A scroll that was now safely put away in his personal vault. 'Tch... tch... Ustaad Akbar Mahmoud Khan... you might have burned down all of your lover's letters to keep her from trouble. But you couldn't destroy the message in it... you seem to enjoy making enemies, don't you?' Mahendar held his fingers up as he began counting - the rest of the men too drunk to notice. And anyway even if they did, he was too drunk with happiness to care 'Khalil... is already baying for your blood... I, the Kunwar of Manswar, have plenty of scores to settle with you... once the Parnagarhis come to know of your reality, you'll have no friends there either... and your Huzoor - the Shehzaade... when he learns of the grave secrets you've been keeping from him... when he learns of how the very man who's in-charge of eliminating his traitors has been hiding Harka Bai's treacherous scrolls - he'll have some pretty interesting plans lined up for you, I suspect... Oh God!' His eyes danced a wicked dance between the four fingers 'Which enemy must I unleash upon you first? One? Two? Three? Four? One? Three? Four? All at once?' So many choices to choose from, it made him heady!

'But no...' he exhaled through the fresh layers of lustre bathing his features. He would not get carried away. Thus far, each one of his carefully-laid plans to gain power had crumbled to dust. This time he'd leave nothing to chance. He would not commit the blunder of involving fiends like Khalil. In fact, he'd trust none - the information was his alone to exploit. And this time, he'd leave nothing till it got too late.

'What if...' his mouth parted from awe. What if he didn't return to Manswar straightaway? After having journeyed all the way out here, it was more sensible to make this small detour to the capital now, was it not?

And IF his plans worked out as hoped, he would be meeting the famed Mughal prince in person, for the first time. With a very interesting proposition to offer. 'The Shehzaade!'

... ...

Dragged down from his trance by the force of a few abrupt noises, Mahendar sat up, straightening himself. 'What's going on?' The noises were muffled, coming from somewhere outside the tent 'What IS going on?'

But no answers came. Instead, the voices outdoor steadily grew louder, turning the stir amongst the inmates of the tent increasingly uneasy.

'WHAT'S GOING ON?' he peered at the Senapati, who summoned his men in right away.

'Kunwarsa...' the soldiers rushed inside.

'WHAT?'

'There's someone out there...'

'And we think he might not be one of ours...'

'So... we... we...'

'Not one of ours?' growled the Senapati 'Then, why wasn't he caught earlier? What was such a man doing here?'

'Bring him in...' Mahendar cut in 'I want to see who dares trespass the royal encampment of the Kunwar of Manswar'

'Kunwarsa...'

'What are you waiting for?'

'K... kunwarsa...'

'We... we...'

'Well... BRING HIM IN!'

'We h... have been searching for him...'

'But all of a sudden, he's n... nowhere to be found'

*** ***

The Capital..

Tuc.

Tuc.

Tuc.

Tapped the sole of his royal sandal on the shiny marble floor in swift sharp notes, as he took his nth peek of the interiors. A thick smog of incense was hovering over him like clouds - as if a parade of holy men had marched through. Yet, the surrounding ambiance was not stuffy, with several ornate arched windows drawing in the twilight breeze.

In fact, he still couldn't make out if the place he'd been received at, was a reception hall or a meeting chamber - and he'd been looking around for nearly an hour.

'One damned hour of studying furniture!'

Well, WHAT else was he meant to do to bide time while sitting put on that velvet armchair? Particularly since random bursts of anxiety had been springing between vast stretches of boredom?

The anxiety was hardly surprising though. First off, he'd been lying for months to the Ranasa, his father; and deceiving his family and subjects, to come this far. Of course, it was all for a worthy cause. But the list of lies were getting too long. Secondly and more importantly - he was going to be pitting his wits against the most powerful yet ruthless Mughal politician soon. If it worked, he would be bringing great profits for Manswar, greater power for the Hindus.

But if all went awry...

His fingers rolled into a loose fist 'THIS is how they treat a royal guest here... 24 hours since I've arrived... nearly an hour since my Senapati was ushered away... while I've been made to sit here... I'm certain a Muslim prince wouldn't be made to wait...'

'Please do accept my heartfelt apologies for having made you wait so long, Kunwar of Manswar'

Drawn to the parade of pointed leather shoes making their way towards him, Mahendar stood up in his spot, straightening his robe out as he did so. 'The Shehzaade!'

For so long he'd been wanting to meet the man. Now that they were face-to-face, he couldn't think of what to say right away. Thankfully, at least his expressions kept from betraying much.

'Khamma Ghani Shehzaade' he offered the prince a regal Marwari salute.

'Khamma Ghani?'

A heavy stare later, the Shehzaade pulled up a smooth smile, sizing up his royal visitor as he did so.

Young. Handsome. Hot-blooded. Spoilt. Proud. But most importantly, manipulative.

Bringing his palm halfway to his face, he finally offered the Hindu prince a proper prolonged Islamic Taslim 'Salaam... Kunwar of Manswar'

Mahendar's palm instinctively trailed up to the handle of his sword - the symbol of Rajputi pride - as he watched his host closely.

With a very pointed chin that made him appear mean rather than handsome, the royal looked almost twice as old as him. Twice as hot-blooded. Twice as proud. But most importantly, twice as manipulative.

'So...' he managed a smile as smooth as his host's 'we meet... at last'

'At last?' For some reason, those words from the Kunwar rang an odd tune. 'Been waiting for this meeting a while, I take it?'

'A while?' If only the Shehzaade knew!

'Well... in all fairness, we should have met earlier... after what happened at Parnagarh...' Mahendar dropped his pitch by a bit, so he wouldn't sound too condescending 'Durga Bai WAS my betrothed'

The smoothness of the Shehzaade's smile gradually roughened up. 'Yes... of course' He hadn't forgotten THAT.

Waiting for the meeting to turn slightly more 'private', he resumed the seemingly-delicate conversations thereafter. 'I admit... what happened was unfortunate' he shrugged a slow shoulder 'I do owe you and Manswar, a formal apology'

'Oh?' Mahendar could almost feel a euphoric shudder ripple his spine. How gratifying would it have been, if Khalil's master was forced to make it up to Manswar in some way! If the MUGHAL heir was forced to personally apologise to him!

But no. He would have to be a saint and shirk away from that temptation. For, neither did he want to upset the Shehzaade now, nor did he want to draw attention to Durga Bai's murder - what with his own name unfortunately involved in it too.

'Shehzaade... I'm not here to rehash the past...' he wore a kind look 'it's someone else that I've come to speak about'

'Discuss? About whom?'

A twinkle gleamed in his youthful eyes. 'Harka Bai of Parnagarh'

'Akbar's Begum?' The Shehzaade found himself beginning to fight irritation by this point.

This Kunwar didn't seem too angry concerning the death of his own betrothed - but had come all the way out here, to speak about another man's wife? Such a man's intentions couldn't be trusted.

Yet, what was more irritating, was that he couldn't help but WANT to listen to what the man had to say! 'What about her?'

'Shehzaade, I hear... that one of YOUR own... close... men decided to settle down with her'

'Yes' his frown deepened 'So?'

Peeking over his host's shoulder, Mahendar returned to the man's features. 'Certain you want to talk about this, with these two soldiers around?'

'Yes... yes... go on...'

'He goes by the name of Akbar Mahmoud Khan, doesn't he?'

'Yes... so?'

'He also goes by another name... because...' Mahendar let his gazes roll towards the concealed dagger in the Mughal prince's coat 'because of the kind of work he does for you, I hear...'

The Shehzaade could feel his teeth whinge, from biting down harder. It generally took his instincts less than five moments to decide if he liked a man. It was well past five moments and he'd already made up his mind regarding THIS Kunwar. 'Leave us alone...' he snapped at his personal guards. Evidently, this was a matter of greater security than he presumed it to be at first 'Go!'

When there was no scuffle of feet behind him straightaway - what with the soldiers hesitant to leave their Huzoor alone with an unfamiliar visitor - he repeated his orders, loud and clear. 'EVERYONE OUT. AND MAKE IT QUICK!'

'Nice!' So, he had the Shehzaade's unadulterated attention now, did he?

'Shall I?' Mahendar pointed towards the armchair that he'd been made to wait on, endlessly. 'We could sit down... and discuss it further... at length'

'USTAAD Akbar Mahmoud Khan...' the Kunwar let a pause hang 'isn't that how he's known amongst his closest?'

The Shehzaade lifted an unconvinced brow. 'Go on...'

'He is assumed to be your most loyal man...'

'He IS my most loyal man'

'Alright...' smiled Mahendar 'all the more reason then... Your Highness should be interested in some intriguing information I've stumbled across... about your 'most loyal' man...'

All of a sudden, the simmering conversation was put on hold when the puny attendant waltzed in carrying a tray - freshly plated with several varieties of traditional Marwari refreshments.

'Salaam Huzoor... here are the snacks you ordered for... Salaam kunwarsa'

'Thank you!' The Mughal prince grounded the puny attendant with a glare that disclosed how close he was to giving up his masks of decency. 'Now put them down... and be gone... I don't want ANYONE disturbing us again... you hear?'

'Yes...' the attendant instantly scurried off, as if the devil was on his heels. 'Yes Huzoor!'

'So...' hummed Mahendar - glad to be able to hear the sound of his own voice again 'where were we...'

'One moment. Before anything else, Kunwar of Manswar' the Shehzaade began drumming his thumb upon the armrest 'tell me what it is YOU hope to gain by giving up this information...'

'But Your Highness... wouldn't you want to hear the information first...'

Riverside..

Musical and mellifluous were the morning greetings that chatak birds tweeted down to one and all, from the comfort of overhanging branches. Alas, their sweet dawn songs were drowned by the not-so-melodious chatter and bustle of men arriving at the riverbank in groups, to complete their morning routines.

There were men brushing teeth and toes. Men bathing. Men beating their clothes to a pulp. Men barking orders to their slaves. And it was how each morning at the otherwise tranquil riverbank went - unharmonious, unremarkable.

But on this particular daybreak, lost amidst those random scenes, was the quiet chatter of two seemingly-ordinary men. Two acquaintances, who met up at the riverbank every now and again to catch up. Especially if there was information to be passed on.

'An unexpected visitor?' murmured the first man, through a finger-full of clove powder being rubbed onto his teeth 'Who was it?'

'Kunwar Mahendar...' replied the second man - the puny attendant - while chewing on a neem twig.

'Oh...' The first man sipped water from his flask 'What did they speak of?'

'The Ustaad... and his Begum Sahiba'

'WHAT?' Gargling his mouth a couple of rounds, the first man spit the mouthwash out 'And what did he say?'

'Apparently, this Kunwar Mahendar has stumbled across some very intriguing information about the Ustaad...' the puny attendant threw the neem twig away 'I couldn't overhear anything else... I was forced out by the Huzoor... wait...' he smirked at the sight of his fellow-spy packing away the grooming kit 'are you not going to bathe?'

'No time for that... have to rush all the way to Parnagarh, to my Sahib with these updates first... Khuda Hafiz!'

A place... not far from Aidabad..

'Wh... what...' he awoke with a start, feeling an unpleasant tingle along the skin of his neck. 'What was that?'

His puffy eyelids wouldn't open all the way up.

But he could tell it was dark. Cold. Quiet.

'Am... am... am I still buried under my shawl? Hiding?' How long had he spent here? 'Hours! Precious hours!' He tried peeling off the brown shawl he'd heaved over himself to camouflage his body from the enemies who'd been mercilessly tracking him down. 'Ai Khuda... I need to move... I cannot afford to fall asleep... or slip into unconsciousness... no, I need to get back... home... to Parnagarh... to my Sahib... or all will be lost... b... but...' he patted his body thrice. There was no shawl! 'H... how?'

His deadened fingers frantically crawled down to the ground beside him. The floor was stony. And his body was laid out on something that felt like a straw mat.

'Wh...' he pried open his eyelids with force 'where am I then?'

It was a dingy room, with pink paint peeling off its walls. Sadly, he could see little else. Had he been captured? Was he being tortured for information? Is that why his mind, body and senses were so numb? But one thing his senses had caught on was the smell - a putrid stench!

'Sayyid... you need to get up'

Pushing himself against his elbows, he tried propping his shoulders up. But he didn't get too far. A shooting pain at the back of his ribs rudely yanked him down. A curt glance at himself and he spotted the cause of that agony - clumps of bloodied bandages wrapped all around his torso.

His giddy head fell back in brief defeat.

'I was shot'

With his presence having raised a few suspicious brows at the Kunwar's royal encampment, he'd promptly subdued the three soldiers who'd found him out by snapping their necks like twigs. Unfortunately, the disturbance alerted four more. Those four were also silenced in a jiffy, but within the time he could jump on his steed and be gone, a few more came. And within the time he could tackle those few, the message had already spread - alarms sounded and drums beaten.

The entire taskforce was being set upon him!

Jumping on his stallion, he'd made a dash for it, enjoying a good head start over groups of disbanded sleepy soldiers. And he did give them an excellent chase thereafter - enjoying the advantage of knowing his deft way through dark wooded groves. Branches and vines whizzed painfully past his face throughout - as if nature was also awaiting an opportunity to catch him off-guard and knock him off balance. However, he clung onto his horse for life, ducking lethal hurdles at a breakneck pace for several miles.

Soon though, light from a hundred torches began forming a distinct orange wave against the black horizon, behind him. 'Mounted archers!'

The first whistling whoosh of an arrow by his ears, and he'd realised he had no chance of dodging this assault. Not when a hundreds arrows would be coming at him. Fighting had got him so far. Fleeing had got him further. Time had come for him to hide.

'If you must hide, hide where the common man would fear to tread' was the Ustaad's often-given advice. And that was what he'd planned to do. But before he could identify the ideal hideaway, missiles were raining heavily upon him. And before he could put his thoughts into action, two of the dastardly arrows had found their mark on his back - one after another, slicing through moving flesh.

'Argghh... hhh... hhh!' No, he could not afford to slow down. Or even utter a loud cry of despair. For, he could NOT die. Not yet, at least. Pulling out the embedded blades with his left hand, he'd deflected his steed onwards and right - his bloodied perseverance against the paralysing spasms, a war in itself. For, however crudely the fibres of his muscle tore from the flight, however wet his clothes got from blood wasted, he had to continue fleeing his thousand enemies - a thousand other lives depended on it. 'I HAVE to stay alive...'

Thus stopped he did, only when he'd reached the very fringes of a precipice - steep enough to scare the best of riders. Bringing his pet to a halt behind a wide tree trunk barely a metre away from a deadly drop, he whispered a few calming commands to the faithful animal and then lay flat on its saddle - hauling his shawl atop as camouflage.

With his horse a rich shade of grey and his shawl a dark purple, the night was his ally. Eventually, entire regiments of troops passed by in their futile hunt for the lone spy, without a clue as to where he was.

The last memory he could remember thence, was of an emptiness shrouding his sight and mind - blanking all of his senses like a hood forced around his face.

'H... how did I get here then?'

With every recollection as hazy as one could get, he slapped his head - hoping it'd help him think clearer. This wasn't a prison cell. 'And that putrid stench... it's... it's not...' No, it wasn't the stench of death. Rather, the stench of chemicals mixed with blood. 'Ai Khuda...' he winced as his fingers scuttled underneath to cop a feel of his back. 'Stitches!'

This was a Hakim's surgery hall!

'Darn! I have to get going... ARGH!'

'Oh finally... you're awake...'

A pair of heavy footsteps hobbled down the stone stairs into the cellar.

'Wh... who is this?' Sayyid attempted to prop himself upon his elbow once more, squinting his eyes far ahead. At this point his vision was nothing beyond blurry blobs. But he could already tell from the man's casual gait and confident tone that this unfamiliar visitor was the host - most probably the Hakim who'd stitched him up. A Hindu Hakim! 'H... how did I get here?'

'You must drink this up... and then lie right back down... you're much too weak...'

'Food?' He wouldn't touch it. He wanted answers first. Besides, as Ustaad's pupil, he knew better than to accept food from strangers.

'N... no...' Sayyid cleared his barren throat about to turn down the offer. However, his body betrayed him to it by letting out an audible grumble. His starving insides were craving for a hot meal, and his senses would welcome the smell of any aroma to muffle the stench of chemicals.

Clenching his jaw, he angled his face away 'I cannot have your food... I have to get going...'

'I know... to save lives'

'WHAT? How is HE aware of...'

The young man returned his curt attention to the man's silhouette. 'How did I get here?'

'It's the drugs I've given you... to take the edge off the pain... they aren't helping you think clearly... your horse brought you here... actually...' the old man shrugged 'you dragged yourself here, on your horse...' he placed the bowl of broth down 'young man... do you realise that the soldiers who were hunting for you, marched right through our village?'

'Wh...' his nostrils flared as his pitch rose 'THEY DID?'

'I might have gotten a handsome reward for giving you up... but...' smirked the healer - as if mocking his own choices in retrospect 'I decided to take you in...'

'A... and why was that?'

'You appeared noble... well-fed... with a decent attire and leather boots... I hoped you were no thief or murderer... if I gave you up, you would have died... I would be doing my Guru's teachings a disservice then'

'Oh... th... th...' Sayyid muttered begrudgingly - still not entirely comfortable with placing his faith in a stranger's lap 'thank you... for that... and...'

'Well... you knocked on my door, exhausted'

'Exhausted...' Yes, from the endless miles of frantic journeys he'd been undertaking over the past 10 days or so.

'You were famished'

'You were in shock'

'Shock?' Yes, from having witnessed several distressing incidents ever since he'd stepped foot in Aidabad.

'You were giddy'

'Giddy...' From the loss of blood maybe.

'But it was none of those that made me want to take you in... it was what you said, before you dropped unconscious from your saddle that night... that you HAD to stay alive because you needed to save lives'

'Wait a moment...' Sayyid narrowed his hazy eyes - something didn't add up. 'That night? How long ago was all this?' A fresh fear began churning his guts into nasty twinges - overriding those hungry rumbles and grumbles. 'One night ago, right? Or, two?'

'No...' laughed the old man 'This was about four nights ago. You've been unconscious ever since...'

'WHAT?' The words having slapped him into a fresh shock, the young man battled exhaustion and agony to finally push himself up on his elbows. 'I have to leave... I don't have time... Ai Khuda... four nights since Kunwar Mahendar met the messenger...'

'You will not make it back alive... not in this state...' Watching his patient reach for his clothes, the old man scowled from frustration 'At least have the broth... to give yourself some strength'

Sayyid stared - a long sceptical stare.

By the following blink, his hands had grabbed the bowl, his famished lips downing the broth in heavy gulps.

'My belongings?'

'Stubborn man!' The healer pushed forward a bag from a corner 'There... your belongings... travel safe'

He looked up in the direction of the old healer, his reddened eyes softer than they were an instant ago. 'Thank you for everything Haki...' he paused. To amend his address. 'Thank you Vaid babu' Picking four of his ten coins, he slowly placed them in front. 'This is for taking care of me...'

'You're welcome... your horse... it's tied outside... in the porch'