Chapter 3 -- The Voices in the Groove
The distant crowing of a bird woke Mahira. As streams of early morning light filtered through ventilators, she decided it was safe enough to come out. As if on cue, Jamilah came knocking, asking her to freshen up and begin a new day in name of God,''Ek saath bismillah kare.''
Mahiras eyes welled at the unconditional love the coupled had bestowed upon her since her arrival. She didnt want to take advantage of their generosity.
"I cannot possibly take anything more without promising to repay.'' She sighed mournfully.
Nafar however looked unfazed. ''Kaun si badi baat hai chokri!" he laughed good naturedly.
"You want to pay us back ? Fine. Grab the pots and start scrubbing. Help Jamilah lay the tables during rush hours and try your hand at cooking.
We do not have many helping hands. Jamilah likes doing things with her own hands but she is getting old now. There is plenty to make you feel useful and wear you out at the end of the day, so rest your conscience.''
Mahira nodded gratitude and gathering the pots and pans that needed washing, she headed outside.
It had been long since she'd been around people who did not try to hurt her physically and emotionally. The thought of living here in peace was rather comforting. The bruises under her kameez-an array of angry blacks and mottling blues and yellows- would slowly fade. With time, she hoped, even the deeper wounds would heal.
But then... She would never be able to honour her father's teachings if she remained hidden as a scullery maid in a modest village inn, hiding from Zaroon and his vicious sidekicks.
What if their search proved fruitful and they found her here? Zaroon and his equally brawny friends had little imaginations... They would come like hounds sniffing her trail, she felt it in her bones.
Just the thought of it sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine.
If they came here, would they extend their retribution to Nafar and Jhamila for providing her shelter? What could she possibly do to save the couple from Zaroons cruelty? If she managed to escape again, she would have to go further and seek help from someone powerful and of rank. Like Kadir Khan maybe ? He was powerful and a connoisseur of her father's herbal remedies. As was Khan Jahan-e-Hind, Ali kuli Beigh. He once commissioned a book to his father for Humayun Badshah's library.
But how she hope to reach such great men, penniless and destitute as she was? As her troubling thoughts chased after each other in endless circles, Mahira squatted down on her haunches and scrubbed a large particularly black saucepan with unnecessary force until her palms were rubbed raw.
*******
A week had passed since Mahiras arrival and in between her chores at Nafars inn, she had managed to explore the village. The inn was one of the biggest buildings in the village.There were several small thatched cottages scattered along mud paths. Beyond the shield wall, the ground rose towards a wooded hill. At the top, a high stone wall could be glimpsed above the canopy of Sal and Deodar. No doubt that was Janjgarh killa, the one where the terrifying chieftain resided, apparently in hiding.
The fort looked older from afar. It had probably changed hands during Badshah Babur's expedition. Situated strategically high above the surrounding terrain, it made an excellent base for a jaigirdar. It would be a fort Afghan rebels would kill to get hold of.
Mahira wondered how long it would take to get someone to take her there. She had even gone to meet Pir Nawaz Sahab at his Muktab, but he was absent and some other cleric had informed her that the Maulavi had been unwell for the past several days and he knew nothing about his impish student Mir. Baksh !
Mahira cleaned the hall after the last customer left the inn and went to sit by the window. Soothing autumnal air played with the wisps of hair that escaped her tight,long braid.Her mind flew to the direction of the fort again. It pulled her relentlessly with its silent grandeur. It stood apart, immersed in mystery, sad and alone. The ancient granite shone even from a great distance giving the appearance of a fallen angel waiting endlessly for his salvation.
Outside the window Nafar was speaking gruffly with someone unfamiliar. Mahira's ears picked up words sporadically.
''a kitchen-boy''...'' fear of monsters''...''nobody wants to serve ''...'' a scholar ?''...''old persian script''...''Maulavi's ill''...''go back to your hellish master.''
The interesting turn of conversation brought Mahira to the door where a large, square jawed man with a long,curved sword on his belt was in the middle of an argument with Nafar. The man was gripping the jeweled hilt ferociously to rein in his temper. He stood deathly still for a moment glaring at Nafar. His glare flickered toward her for an instant and then turned back without any formal farewell. Soon, like a brief unpredicted aandhi ( sandstorm) he disappeared out of sight.
''Who was that man, chachajan ? Some one important ? A tax-collector ?', Mahira inquired as soon as Nafar entered the inn with a pile of firewood.
''Who ? Ah that was Adaq Ali, old wolf !'' Nafar spoke while settling the pile near the large mud oven.
"Our chieftain's most devoted attendant. He came here to complain about the boy I sent from the village to work there. He ran away after 2 days. Poor orphan lad ! Who knows whats become of him. The spirits could've eaten him alive!''
Mahira had no patience for Nafar's wild imagination regarding the supposed ( and highly unlikely) death of an ill-fated kitchen boy.
''What about scholars and scrolls ?''. She asked bluntly
''Oh ! that was funny !'', Nafar snorted,"He was asking for a scholar who can read and write Persian and If I knew someone from this village or other neighboring places. Our chieftain needs someone for some special work. Mad son of a sheep ! Who is that educated here?''
Mahira's heart stopped for a moment and then began thudding furiously against her breast. Her head felt light.
Nafar continued,''we are uneducated simple village folk here. The muktab teaches Arabic which serves practical purposes. High and mighty Persian and Turkic are for aesthetic pleasures of aristocrats, poets, seers and diplomats. Who would waste time learning those picturesque alphabets that take hours to form a line ! And if some learned adventurous youth of Emir khandan ever reaches here, why would he risk his life going to that God forsaken place! ''
''I would go''. The words flew from Mahira's mouth before she could think
''I can read and write languages- Arabic, Persian , Turkic. My father was a Sufi learned man, he had taught me everything. I must follow that man. He can take to me to the jaigirdar. And I can get help.''
Nafar regarded her incredulously at first and then a concerned frown creased his brow. He was looking at her like she had finally gone mad. Mahira did not wait to watch his reaction. She ran to grab her trunk and throw her frugal belongings inside. Every moment lost would lessen her chance to catch Adaq Ali.
Nafar shook himself from his surprised stupor and in his haste to stop her mad ravings, he stumbled over wood pile.
''Baukhlayi gayi kya, chokri ?!". Nafar sounded extremely alarmed. "You want to go to the devil's den all by yourself ? You want to commit suicide? Whatever difficulties you have, we would help you. We would become your family''
Jamilah came out of her room hearing all the commotion.
''You may think of what we said as stories and mere imagination of villagers, but we speak the truth. Stay a little longer and discover it for yourself. We may be simple villagers but we would take care of you. You would live like a daughter in this house. We would seek a worthy groom for you'' Jamilah's voice quivered in an attempt to stop herself breaking into a sob.
"Lass, don't run to your own ruin.''
But Mahira would hear none of this. She pleaded with them to let her go, she had find her destiny. It was a sign from Allah that the chieftain would need a scholar just when she was trying to find a way to reach him.If she could please the jaigirdar, he might help her find Kainath and perhaps even protect her from Zaroon.
''Zid ke liye maufi, Chachajaan. But I must leave now or I wont catch up with Adaq Ali janab at all.''
She thanked them again and again for the love and kindness she received from them and and promised to visit again very soon.
*******
Mahira had hurried as quick as her legs would carry her but there was no sign of Adaq Ali. She headed up to the pathway under large sal and teak trees. The forest air felt chilly and nervous around her. She took a narrow path which she thought would take her straight uphill to the fort.
''Afterall the walls are so clearly visible. How far can it be from here'', Mahira wondered as she picked up the thickest track to climb higher. Her legs began to ache as the path grew steeper and wound around the hill leading her into the prickly bamboo grove.
Something brushed against her right cheek. An insect, she thought swatting it away. Another in her hair, she pulled her braid to get rid of it.
On her left shoulder, no, on the right one !
She whirled around in fright as her eyes searched for possible intruders. There was no one there, only the profound stillness of the groove greeted her eyes. Not even the wind swayed the lanky bamboo stems, no birds raised their voices, no crickets buzzed in the bush.
Her ears picked up something that sounded like voiceless whisper, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
''Foolish imagination'', she muttered and quickened her pace.
She had only gone a few paces when something grabbed her right knee. And words,soft , intimate, tickled her ear. This way... take this twisty path.
She looked to her right and saw a smaller path with velvet green ferns sparkling bright in filtered sunlight. Bamboos from both sides clung to each other on top to form a natural grand archway.
This way dear...come to us. The voice persuaded.Shuddering Mahira ran in the opposite direction.
Follow us...We will take you to your destination. The voices sang in chorus around her.
Mahira skidded through puddles,climbed rocks, jumped across crevices,fell flat on ground stumbling over harmless looking stones, bruised herself on slapping branches but did not stop. She began to take shuddering breaths as her body fought to keep up with the relentless pace.
The voices continued to taunt and jeer. Go back, foolish girl ! You dont listen...You do not belong here.''
Mahira came upon a large Kalshirish tree and grabbed its smooth bark to catch her breath. The voices had finally stopped. On each side was a dense blanket of bushes, ferns and bamboo trees standing tall like an army in waiting.
''Lost, are you ?''
A voice boomed near her and she nearly fainted in shock.
Behind the stout trunk of a gigantic Peepal tree, a man emerged. He was tall and fair. The expensive clothes and the jeweled turban atop his dark hair screamed nobility and wealth. In the oppressive gloom of the forest he seemed like a mirage.
''Fair maiden, have you lost your way ?''. He repeated as one shapely eyebrow arched, while a curious smile tugged at his lips.
Yah Allah ! Who is this ? The Jaigirdaar himself ?
Mahira stood frozen staring at him while her head furiously worked out an appropriate response.
Shall I bow down in a curtsy just as Abbu taught me,when greeting a person of aristocracy or a respectful adaab will do ?
The man took a step closer and a dark shadow emerged from behind him. Courtesy forgotten, Mahira let out a strangled scream and nearly bolted. Her startled gaze met alert amber eyes. It was quite possibly the largest dog she had ever seen. As she eyed its menacing jaws wearily, the man spoke.
''He wont bite''. He said offhandedly. "Where are going? Uphill or down ?''
''I am trying to reach the fortress,'' Mahira tried to calm her voice. If the dog knew she was afraid he would definitely attack.
''Shiraj, hush ! Dont be a bully" The man commanded and the growling stopped, but the amber eyes stayed on her and conveyed the subtle threat.
''Noble Sir ! I beg your perdon. Am I speaking to the lord Jaigirdaar himself ?''
Mahira's wits returned at last.
''What ? Jaigirgar ?? Hell, no !'', the man threw his head back and laughed, his eyes shining like a pair of playful marbles. But he did not introduce himself.
Definitely someone important and very close to the jaigirdar then.
''Adaab ! I am Mahira...I am going to meet the chieftain about the scholarly help he had asked for. I want to work for him''.
The man ran a cursory glance at her and a moment later uttered ''Wonderful !''
Mahira held her hand out for Shiraj to smell and waited for his reaction. The dog sniffed for a while and then put out his massive tongue to lick the back of her hand. She smiled at the ticklish sensation.
'Arre wah ! Shiraj has already taken to you'' The man grinned.
''He is not so friendly to all. Mohtarma, no male can stay immune to your charm...even if he is a dog''. He added cheekily.
He led her back onto the real path that ran through bamboos and large towering saal trees. Very soon the fort loomed ahead. It was much larger than it looked from down in the village.
''The gate is on the other side. Take this path and don't stray away. Allah Hafiz!''. The man lifted his palm in a posh gesture of farewell.
''Wait ! Let me thank you. Do you live here ? Do you work here too ?''
The man halted. A shadow passed over his handsome face.
''I work for no one.''
The shadow dispersed as if it were never there,''Yes, I live here. I am one of Mirza clan. Rafiq Amad Mirza.''
With that He turned on his heel and strode back down the path , Shiraj following him silently.
Mahira stood in front of crumbled gate of an ancient fort. Offering a silent prayer to God, she summoned all her confidence, pride and grace and stepped inside with her head held high, shoulders straight.
[to be continued... ]
Read Chapter 4 : The rarest of blue Kachnar
Writer's note :
I am writing a historical fiction for the first time although I have always dreamed to write one...plz bear with me even if it falls short of your expectation. I would be delighted if u add constructive criticism and appreciation in your comments. plz do not forget to press the like button.They mean happiness and inspiration.
Special applause to PurpleCrayon Baisa, fairy Godmother of my FF, who has willingly taken the trouble of editing, correcting and polishing the rough edges and transform my ugly duckling drafts into breath taking perfect chapters. 😃
Thank u all for your lovely reviews ! They are helping me push my limits higher and imagination further 😃
Edited by milinda.shreyz - 9 years ago
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