Chapter 1
The morning sun had barely risen over the horizon, casting a faint golden glow over the desolate battlefield. Jalaluddin Muhammad...the great Mughal emperor...stood at the edge of his encampment, his piercing eyes scanning the remnants of last night’s chaos. Soldiers moved in slow, exhausted waves, tending to the wounded and burying the dead. The air was heavy, not just with the stench of blood and sweat, but with the unspoken grief of lives lost.
Jalal’s armor gleamed faintly under the soft light, but he didn’t feel like a victor. Battles always felt hollow once the dust settled. He was a man burdened by the weight of a throne that demanded more than just his strength; it demanded his humanity, a quality he feared he was losing with every swing of his sword.
A soft cough broke his thoughts. Turning, he found Abdul, his loyal aide, standing a few steps behind.
“Sultan-e-Hind,” Abdul began, his voice low but steady, “the wounded have been accounted for. We’ve set up makeshift tents for their care. Supplies are running low, but reinforcements should arrive by tomorrow.”
Jalal gave a curt nod. “And the enemy?”
“Retreated under the cover of darkness,” Abdul replied. “But they’ll regroup. They always do.”
Jalal’s jaw tightened. Of course they would. Victory was fleeting, and in his world, peace was nothing more than a mirage. He dismissed Abdul with a wave of his hand and turned his gaze back to the horizon. The war would never truly end. Not on these lands. Not in his lifetime.
~~
On the far edge of the battlefield, a different kind of movement stirred. Jodha Bai...the Rajput princess known as the Rose of the Desert....sat astride her mare, surveying the scene before her with a mixture of anger and despair. She was flanked by her trusted handmaiden, Moti, whose face mirrored her mistress’s unease.
“This is madness, Jodha,” Moti whispered. “Coming here was madness.”
Jodha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And staying behind would’ve been cowardice. These are our people, Moti. I can’t just sit in the safety of our fort and pretend this isn’t happening.”
“Your brother would say otherwise,” Moti pointed out, casting a nervous glance around. “If he finds out you’ve come here…”
“Then he’ll find out,” Jodha interrupted, her voice firm. “Let him. I’m not a caged bird, Moti. And so I refuse to act like one.”
The mare beneath her shifted, sensing its rider’s agitation. Jodha leaned forward, stroking its neck to soothe it. She wasn’t here to fight. Not today. She’d come to see the aftermath for herself, to understand the cost of this endless war...a war she feared would destroy everything she held dear.
~~
The sun climbed higher, burning off the morning mist and revealing the full extent of the battlefield's horror. Jalaluddin Muhammad strode purposefully toward the makeshift infirmary. His soldiers saluted him, though he barely acknowledged them. His mind was already spinning with calculations....of men, of supplies, of what needed to be done to ensure the empire's survival.
Inside the infirmary, the air was stifling. Cries of the wounded mingled with the hurried commands of medics. Jalal paused at the sight of a young soldier clutching a blood-soaked bandage over his abdomen. The boy couldn’t have been older than sixteen, his face pale and drenched in sweat.
"Your Majesty," one of the healers called out, bowing hastily.
Jalal raised a hand to stop him. He knelt beside the boy, who struggled to sit up.
"Stay still," Jalal commanded gently. "What's your name?"
The boy’s lips trembled. "Faisal, Your Majesty."
"You fought well, Faisal. Rest now. The empire needs men like you to recover."
The boy’s eyes glimmered with a mix of pride and pain. Jalal rose, gesturing for the healer to continue, then stepped back outside. Every face he saw...soldier or civilian...etched another crack into his resolve.
~~
Meanwhile, Jodha dismounted from her mare, her gaze fixed on the distant Mughal encampment. The fluttering banners of the empire stirred a pang of fury in her chest. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. This was the enemy....led by a man whose ambition had turned fertile lands into graves.
Moti stepped closer, her voice low. "We should leave soon. If they see us here...."
Jodha cut her off. "I know. But look around, Moti. These are our fields. Our people. Do you think they care who wins this war? To them, every victory is a loss."
Her voice faltered as she spotted a child among the wreckage, clutching a broken wooden sword. The boy stared blankly at the ground, oblivious to the two women watching him.
Jodha approached cautiously, her silk dupatta billowing in the breeze. She knelt before the child, her heart breaking at his vacant expression.
"Where is your family, beta?" she asked softly.
The boy didn’t answer. His eyes flicked to the sword, then to the horizon. Jodha looked up, her own gaze narrowing. Somewhere out there was the man responsible for this carnage.
Moti touched her shoulder. "We must go, Jodha. Now."
Jodha hesitated, then scooped the boy into her arms. "We’ll take him with us. He doesn’t belong here anymore."
The child didn’t resist. He clung to her neck with the feeble grip of someone too exhausted to question safety when it was offered. Moti glanced around nervously, her gaze darting between the battlefield remnants and the distant horizon.
“Jodha, this is reckless. If we’re caught…”
“I know,” Jodha interrupted, her voice sharp but not unkind. “But what would you have me do, Moti? Leave him here? He’s lost everything. He’s just a child.”
Moti sighed, knowing there was no arguing with her mistress when her mind was made up. She adjusted the shawl around her own shoulders and reached for the mare’s reins. “Let’s move quickly. If anyone sees us, they won’t care why we’re here.”
The two women made their way toward the forested edge of the battlefield, the boy still clinging to Jodha. His small body felt impossibly light, a stark reminder of his hunger and the hardships he’d endured. Jodha’s heart ached for him and countless others who had no say in the wars fought over their lands.
~~
By the time they reached the shelter of the trees, the sun was high, casting dappled shadows on the ground. Moti dismounted first, scanning the area before helping Jodha down. The boy stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open for a brief moment before closing again.
“He’s burning up,” Jodha murmured, placing a hand on his forehead. “We need to find water and something to cool him down.”
“There’s a stream not far from here,” Moti said, pointing deeper into the woods.
They made their way carefully, the sounds of the forest replacing the grim silence of the battlefield. At the stream, Jodha set the boy down gently, using her dupatta to soak up water and press it against his fevered skin.
“What’s your name?” she asked softly, hoping to coax a response from him.
The boy’s lips moved, but his voice was barely audible. Jodha leaned closer.
“Arif,” he whispered.
Jodha smiled faintly. “Arif. That’s a strong name. You’re safe now, Arif.”
Moti, crouching nearby, looked up. “Jodha, we can’t stay here long. We’re too close to the Mughal camp. If their scouts find us…”
“I know,” Jodha said quietly, her eyes fixed on Arif’s fragile form. “But I couldn’t leave him, Moti. He’s a symbol of everything we’re fighting for. If we don’t protect the innocent, then what’s the point of any of this?”
Moti didn’t respond. She knew Jodha was right, even if the risks were monumental.
~~
As the sun began its descent, the three of them resumed their journey, heading toward Amer. The terrain grew more challenging, but Jodha refused to let go of Arif, even as her arms ached from the weight. Moti glanced back frequently, her unease palpable.
They reached the outskirts of the Amer territory just as the horizon blazed with the colors of dusk. The gates were guarded heavily, and Moti urged Jodha to let her speak first.
“Princess Jodha,” one of the guards greeted, his voice a mix of relief and concern. “Your brother has been looking for you. He’s furious.”
Jodha stepped forward, her tone firm. “Let him be. This boy needs care. Send word to the palace that I’ve returned and prepare for us to enter.”
The guards exchanged uncertain glances before opening the gates. Inside the walls of Amer, the world felt less hostile, though the tension lingered.
Jodha carried Arif directly to the palace infirmary, where the royal healer examined him.
“He’s weak but resilient,” the healer said after a thorough check. “With rest and nourishment, he’ll recover.”
Relief washed over Jodha, though she knew her work was far from done. She sat beside the boy’s bed long after he’d fallen into a peaceful sleep.
As the palace settled into the quiet of the night, a servant entered with a message.
“Princess, your brother requests your presence in the council chambers,” the servant said nervously.
Jodha stood, straightening her posture. She knew this confrontation was inevitable.
“Tell him I’m coming,” she replied, her voice steady.
She cast one last glance at Arif before leaving the infirmary. Her resolve hardened with every step. She would face her brother’s anger, but she wouldn’t regret her actions.
Because for Jodha Bai, the fight was not just against an empire....it was for the soul of her people.
~~
The council chambers were dimly lit, the heavy scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. Jodha entered with her head held high, her steps echoing against the polished stone floors. At the far end of the room, her elder brother, Raja Bhagwant Das, stood by the window, his back turned to her.
“You’ve finally returned,” he said without looking, his voice heavy with restrained anger.
“Ji,” Jodha replied evenly, stopping a few paces away.
He turned sharply, his expression a mixture of relief and frustration. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Venturing onto the battlefield? Disobeying my direct orders? You could have been killed, Jodha!”
Her gaze remained steady. “And what would you have me do, Bhai Sa? Hide in the palace while our people suffer? I saw the aftermath with my own eyes. If you had seen what I saw, you wouldn’t be able to stand here and lecture me about propriety.”
“This isn’t about propriety!” he thundered. “It’s about survival. You’re a princess of Amer, Jodha. Your life is not your own to risk. You are the hope of our kingdom, and if something happens to you, what then?”
Jodha clenched her fists at her sides. “And what of the lives of those who have no one to protect them? What of the children left orphaned, the mothers left destitute? Are their lives not worth fighting for?”
“They are!” Bhagwant Das retorted, his voice softer but no less firm. “But your place is here, within these walls, where you can inspire hope through diplomacy, through strength of will....not by throwing yourself into the chaos of war.”
The room fell silent, the tension between them thick and unyielding. Finally, Bhagwant Das sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What am I to do with you, Jodha?”
“Trust me,” she said softly. “I know the risks, Bhai Sa. I’m not reckless. But I won’t sit idly by while our people bleed. That boy I brought back, Arif....he’s a reminder of what we’re fighting for. He deserves a chance at life, just like everyone else.”
Bhagwant Das studied her for a long moment before nodding reluctantly. “Very well. The boy can stay. But Jodha, promise me you’ll stay away from the frontlines. If you want to help, do so from here. I can’t lose you.”
Jodha hesitated, then nodded. “I promise.”
It wasn’t a lie, not entirely. She would stay away from the battlefield for now, but her heart told her this war would demand more of her than diplomacy and kind words.
~~
Days passed, and the palace settled into its usual rhythms. Jodha divided her time between overseeing relief efforts for the wounded and spending time with Arif, who was beginning to regain his strength. The boy was quiet but observant, his dark eyes often watching her with a mix of curiosity and gratitude.
One afternoon, as Jodha sat by the palace gardens, Arif approached her hesitantly. He clutched a small wooden carving in his hands, rough and uneven, as if he had shaped it himself.
“For you,” he said shyly, holding it out to her.
Jodha took the carving, a faint smile gracing her lips. It was a simple flower, its petals slightly lopsided but endearing in its imperfection.
“Thank you, Arif,” she said warmly. “It’s beautiful.”
He nodded, his expression softening. “You saved me. I wanted to give you something.”
Jodha felt a lump rise in her throat. “You owe me nothing, Arif. But this…” She ran her fingers over the carving. “This means more to me than you know.”
Arif smiled for the first time since she’d found him, and in that moment, Jodha felt a spark of hope. Perhaps, even in the shadow of war, there was room for small miracles.
~~
Far from the palace, Jalaluddin Muhammad stood at the edge of his camp, his thoughts weighed down by the countless decisions he faced. Abdul approached him, his expression grim.
“Shehenshah, our spies report unusual movement near Amer. Their forces seem to be fortifying, and there’s talk of the Rajputs rallying more allies.”
Jalal’s jaw tightened. He had expected this. The Rajputs were nothing if not tenacious.
“Send word to our generals,” he said. “We must prepare for the next campaign. This war is far from over.”
As Abdul departed, Jalal turned his gaze toward the distant mountains. In his heart, he knew that the battles to come would test not just his empire but his soul.
~~
Back in Amer, Jodha stood on the palace balcony, staring out at the same mountains. She didn’t know it yet, but her path and Jalal’s would intertwine again, not in war but in something far more complex.
For now, though, the two remained on separate sides of a growing storm, each preparing for what lay ahead.
~~
The rains came late that season, and with them, an uneasy calm settled over the kingdom of Amer. The monsoon’s arrival brought brief respite to the parched lands, but the looming specter of war was never far from anyone’s mind. Jodha busied herself with preparations for the coming months, overseeing the storage of grain and the fortification of village walls. The people relied on her strength, and she offered it willingly, though her own worries often threatened to overwhelm her.
One evening, as she walked through the palace gardens, she found Arif sitting cross-legged under a neem tree, engrossed in carving another small piece of wood. He had grown stronger in the weeks since she had brought him to Amer, and though he rarely spoke of his past, Jodha could see the light returning to his eyes.
“What are you working on this time?” she asked, crouching beside him.
Arif looked up, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’s a bird,” he said, holding up the rough shape of what would eventually become a sparrow.
Jodha studied it, her heart warming. “A sparrow. They’re resilient creatures. Did you know they always find their way home, no matter how far they stray?”
Arif nodded thoughtfully. “I want to be like that. To find a home, even if it’s a new one.”
Her chest tightened at his words. “You already have a home here, Arif. And you’re part of our family now.”
The boy’s gaze softened, and he returned to his carving, the steady rhythm of his knife against the wood echoing in the quiet garden.
~~
Far from Amer, Jalal stood in his war tent, surrounded by maps and reports. The air inside was thick with tension as his generals debated the next move.
“The Rajputs are consolidating their forces,” one of them said, jabbing a finger at a map. “If we strike now, we can disrupt their plans before they gain too much strength.”
Jalal listened in silence, his expression unreadable. His mind was elsewhere, drawn to thoughts he couldn’t shake....memories of the battlefield, of the faces of the wounded and dying.
Abdul, standing at his side, leaned in. “Shehenshah, your command?”
Jalal’s gaze lingered on the map. “We’ll wait,” he said finally. “Let them gather their forces. We’ll use their confidence against them when the time is right.”
The room fell silent. His generals exchanged glances but knew better than to question his decision. Jalal was not a man to act without reason, and his strategy, though unorthodox, had won them many victories.
As the council dispersed, Abdul lingered. “You seem troubled, Shehenshah.”
Jalal exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Troubled? No, Abdul. I’m just... tired. Tired of this endless cycle.”
Abdul hesitated before speaking. “Peace is not an easy prize to claim. But perhaps, one day, it will be worth it.”
Jalal looked at his aide, a faint, bitter smile on his lips. “Perhaps.”
~~
The rains continued for weeks, turning the fields of Amer into lush green expanses. But the beauty of the season could not hide the preparations for war. Soldiers trained in the courtyards, blacksmiths worked tirelessly to forge weapons, and scouts brought news of Mughal movements.
Jodha spent her days in the palace, coordinating relief efforts and ensuring the villages were supplied. At night, she found herself unable to sleep, her mind restless with thoughts of the future.
One such night, she wandered to the palace’s rooftop, where the cool breeze carried the scent of wet earth. She gazed out over the city, its flickering lanterns like stars scattered on the ground.
“Jodha Baisa.”
She turned to see Moti approaching, a shawl draped over her shoulders.
“You should be resting,” Moti said, her voice gentle but firm.
“I could say the same to you,” Jodha replied with a faint smile.
Moti joined her at the edge of the rooftop, their silence companionable. After a while, Moti spoke. “Do you think this will ever end? The fighting, the fear?”
Jodha didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the dark silhouette of the mountains loomed. “It has to,” she said finally. “If it doesn’t, then what are we fighting for?”
Moti nodded, though her expression remained doubtful. “And if it doesn’t end in our favor?”
Jodha’s jaw tightened. “Then we’ll find another way to survive. We always do.”
The two women stood there for a long time, the wind tugging at their shawls as the rains fell softly around them. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled...a reminder that the storm, both literal and metaphorical, was far from over.
Edited by nushhkiee - 6 months ago
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