HBAS Chat corner

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Many years ago, a boy used to stand the same way in the empty kitchens of his Abbu's mansion, his weakened shoulders leaning against the wall, while his eyes scoured the place for signs of food. Even at 12, he was a handsome youth, but one would have to see through layers of sweat, tears, dirt, blood, illness, exhaustion and scars of abuse to recognise that.

It would be late noon by the time he would complete all of his chores, like it was now, and his body would be famished. But there would be nothing left. The members of that house would have eaten. The managers would have eaten. Why, even the maids would have been fed. But not this fatherless boy.

Yet, no one would care. And those who did, were too frightened to raise a voice.

All, except one - Abbu's old servant, who swept the kitchens.

When no one was watching, the elderly man would ravage through whatever ingredients he could lay his hands on and whip up a hot meal for the child. Some days wouldn't be so fortunate, and he would have to go so far as to steal a few pieces of bread so the boy wouldn't go to bed hungry.

'Made this especially for you...' the man would say, as he'd secretly place the plate in front.

'Thank you...' the boy would say, and gobble up the meal. The salt in the food would sting his chapped boyish palms and bleeding knuckles, like acid on a burn - but raging twinges of hunger would numb all of that. The rice would be under-cooked and coarse, the meat over-spiced. But, he would relish each morsel.

And, not only did the kind old slave feed this youth, he clothed him too - many-a-time stitching up the rips on the tunics himself. And this he did not only so it'd keep the boy protected from the weather, but also so it would cover the tracks of burns and lashes on his back - marks which other children chose to ridicule him about.

'Chacha jaan...' the 12 year old would smile with gratitude ever so often 'when I grow older and become a big man... I'll take you away with me... I'll care for you... and I promise... I'll eat no one else's food, but yours... I've become so used to your delicious dishes...'

'Thank you...' the servant would respond with a warm smile. Of course, he assumed that those words were merely a hungry boy's appreciation of his efforts.

But for the 12 year old, those words were a pledge he'd meant with all of his little heart. A promise he would keep up many years later too.

After all, it was the selfless service of an elderly servant, which served to remind a boy during his most vulnerable years that not everyone had abandoned him yet. That not all people were out to abuse him. That humanity was still alive.

Today that boy had grown into a powerful young man, with the world at his feet. If he wished, he could have the finest Mughalian chefs working in his kitchen. He could afford to order a banquet in the noon, a feast at night, and there'd be numerous servants waiting to do as he pleased.

But how much ever this young man might have hardened up, there were some scars that could never be forgotten. And for all the power that he might have accumulated over the years, there was still a small corner of his heart that anguished over the home that was snatched away, over the innocence that was cruelly lost.

And Chacha jaan's barely-edible food was one of the few sane memories from a very muddled adolescence that continued to remind Akbar of that lost innocence. That he could continue to relate to, as the 'home' he never had.

Guest Quarters, Aidabad..

'Baisa...'

'What is it now?' she sighed at the unexpected intrusion - if this was another problem Gokul had brought her to tackle, the timing couldn't possibly be worse. She turned around, tempted to offload her exasperations upon the young guard - but the sensible young lady that she was, Heera managed to curb her reactions in time 'Yes, Gokul?'

'Baisa... I just wanted to inform you...'

'Yes...'

'Khan Sahib arrived... a short while ago...'

'Oh!' Her limp fingers instinctively stiffened around the borders of her veil 'Khan Sahib arrived a short while ago?'

'Yes baisa... for the luncheon... in fact he must have finished his meal, by now...'

'So he DID come?' Her worry lines gradually lightened - a sign that the befuddled thoughts in her mind had begun levelling out. Heera wouldn't disagree - the news had left her a little surprised.

'Baisa...' Gokul paused, unable to determine what to make of his baisa's ongoing silence 'we didn't inform you earlier .. but, don't worry... Daya banna was there, to supervise the arrangements... and Maharaj kakasa personally served him the food.'

'Thank you Gokul...' she nodded - before temporarily setting aside all other duties and proceeding towards the reception rooms, to take on the short role of a hostess.

'Anyway baisa... you needn't worry about the luncheon here...'

'Yes baisa... it went very smoothly...'

'Khan Sahib enjoyed the meal...'

'There... he's sitting there...' the ladies parted, making some space so she'd be able to have a better view.

'Can you see him, baisa?'

But before Heera could reply, the enthusiastic maids had drowned her words - they apparently had more titbits that they couldn't wait to share

'Kadhi... achaar... kichdi... ghewar...'

'Dal... gatte sabzi... rice... Marwari mirchi...'

'He ate it all...'

'He liked most of it...'

'But baisa, what he loved the most, were Maharaj kakasa's laddus... he must have eaten at least 4 of them...'

'And the khoba roti too... kakasa made fresh khoba rotis, especially for Khan Sahib...'

'Hush! You silly ladies...' shushed another group of maids playfully 'you'll end up casting an evil eye on his plate...'

'It's not manners to speak that way...'

'I agree... he is a well-built young man... he must have been hungry...'

'Moreover, this is a household without women in it... he mustn't have tasted the kind of feast he tasted today...'

Heera had said nothing - she'd realised that it was entertaining enough to watch them in silence, as they continually spoke over one another, to give her a detailed account of the feast.

At first, the scenes of dining on the other side of the screens, were a hazy blur. But once her eyes had adapted to the new surroundings, Heera found herself struck by a second wave of surprise.

Encircled by the pleasant company of his men. Attended to, by maids and guards. Accommodated quite comfortably amongst bolsters and cushions of red velvet. Presented with a rich array of Marwari food. And served by the renowned Maharaj himself.

The young man who was at the centre of it all, looked a far cry from the 'lone stranger' she'd met a week ago. Instead, he looked every bit like the head of a large household, like the lofty 'Sahib' of this haveli.

Of course, he was still his typically reserved self - unruffled by the attention, laughter and mirth. However, today, he didn't seem averse to all that ruckus either - at least, not as averse as she assumed he'd be. It was as though Khan Sahib didn't mind - at least for a short while - the change in lifestyle and routine.

Why, even his attire indicated the same. Having abandoned his rustic cotton tunics, the young man had chosen to don a more appropriately formal Persian-styled attire of fine red silk, embroidered with threadwork of beige and gold. His sharp features had somehow forgone their severity too, trading it for expressions that were more peaceful. Expressions that made him appear charming. And refined. And gentlemanly.

'Harka!' hurriedly reminding herself that she'd been staring for longer than she should have, she averted her gazes, in case the maids assumed something wrong.

But those longer-than-should-have stares hadn't gone entirely unnoticed.

Despite the distractions, and the screens, and his apparent preoccupation with the feast, this 'charming gentleman' was well aware of how closely those gazes had been observing him - and for how long too. So, he decided to return the favour.

Once he'd washed his hands in a bowl of rose water and patted them dry with a muslin, he stood up, marking the end of that sumptuous meal.

Then, tying his hands behind his back like a true aristocrat, he directed his glances straight at her. Through the screens and the veils, he beheld her graciously, ensnaring the Lady's attention once again.

It was for a rare moment, but he didn't flinch or blink. Neither was he concerned by the people watching him.

Maybe it was the continued gratitude he felt towards her for having saved Bahadur's life that prompted him to do it.

Therefore, before returning to his desolate existence; he wanted to look her in the eye, and thank her once, for bringing a few rays of sunshine into his dim world. For giving him this opportunity to taste a selflessly satisfying meal. And for giving him a glimpse of how a real home felt.

Raising his right hand, Akbar tilted forth and brought the palm up to his forehead as an official 'Thank you', leaving Chacha jaan, Ibrahim, Sayyid and Azeez literally astounded with this gesture. This man, who was no fan of courtly formalities, had offered this Sahiba an 'Adab'!

But Akbar had done it, because it was the symbolic Mughal gesture offered to those who were either high-ranking, or respectable - and Harka Sahiba was both.

As soon as Heera realised what it was that the Sahib was doing, a soft gasp replaced the half smile that'd been adorning her lips. Her stoic features that'd never known of any such emotions, felt their first rush of heat - leaving her fair cheeks a few shades closer to the colour of her glossy lips.

And just as she was coming to terms with the unexpected 'adab', she believed she spotted something else quite astonishing - something that'd stopped her thoughts in their tracks. She believed she'd spotted the smallest hint of a smile on his face, as he brought his palm up!

'But, a smile? From Khan Sahib?' her sense of logic was quick to dismiss the notion 'Unlikely...'

Sadly, this was a question that would remain a mystery - for, she could neither see clearly, nor ask anyone else about it. And of the few instances in life that she regretted suffering from poor sight, this was one.

Nevertheless, Heera subsequently reciprocated, with the traditional Rajasthani salute that conveyed her honest answer 'You're welcome'..

( Journey Continues)

'Ai Khuda... what a long day it's been!'

A steady breath escaped his lips, as he stood still - as still as the darkness around him. Till an odd gust of wind barged in through the large window to his left, and brought with it a distant sound of a chirping cricket.

Resting his forearms upon the dresser thereafter, he viewed the contents of a large brass bowl - chilled water infused with scents of sandalwood-musk. However, instead of taking his tunic off, splashing his face with a few handfuls, and be done with the routine nightly ritual, he glanced up. At the mirror hanging in front.

The reflection showed the face of a young man, who often sought as his loyal bedtime companion, the black shadows of midnight - since this young man had learnt the hard way that 'sleep' would cheat him often, leaving him abandoned on many-a-night.

Tonight was possibly going to be no different.

Additionally, there were plenty of issues to keep him awake too. The day had been quite an erratic one - even by his standards. At first, the accident. Followed by, the theft. Then, Bahadur's surgery. The feast. Problems with the Hakim. And plenty more to list.

Yet, for whatever reason, that face-in-the-mirror was not as worn out as it should be. It appeared to possess a strange sense of serenity.

'Serenity?' he mused at his odd choice of word, as he took his hand to the top knot of the red silk tunic - the one he'd worn for the feast.

He undid the first knot. And then the second, revealing a taut chest that possibly cradled a heart somewhere in it. This was a part of him that'd felt quite empty from within for many years now. So empty that it never let him enjoy any sense of 'serenity'. And definitely, never let him find a reason to smile.

Yet somehow, today, he'd been tempted to smile. Not once, but twice.

'Could you possibly sing him a song, then Khan Sahib? To try and lull it into a slumber... so I might start the treatment?'

Was a woman's innocent smile always this intoxicating? And this contagious?

Despite being sick and injured, it was a strong beast, heavier than five grown men, and mighty stubborn too. It did not like the smell of that strange medicinal powder, and would not touch it - how much ever they tried!...

* * * * * *

This morning in the Stables...

'Does Bahadur like music?' Heera asked softly..

'Huh?' Akbar huffed with a shrug 'Maybe...'

'Could you possibly sing him a song, then Khan Sahib?' her tone sounded sincere 'To try and lull it into a slumber... so I might start the treatment?'

'Absolutely not... ' the flustered young man was about to protest - so engrossed had he been in the exhausting exercise that he'd initially failed to see her suggestion for what it was - a joke.

Till she broke out into a soft fit of giggles.

Akbar looked up with a piercing stare, to defy the lady who was amusing herself at his expense. But the confrontation that followed, was not the kind of confrontation he'd set out to achieve.

Because it was a trap - and he'd fallen right into it.

The young man hadn't stared in her direction all along - mainly out of respect, but also to dodge those enticing gazes of hers - which'd kept him immune to her charms.

Till he met the marvel that were her smiles. Heard the music that were her giggles. And witnessed the bewitchingly feminine manner with which she bit down upon her tender lips.

Never had he caught her smiling before - or he would have known to steer clear of this trap. For, it was an addicting sight. A sight, which the mind wanted another glimpse of. And another. And another. Till the viewer was thoroughly sucked in...

...

* * * * * *

His conscience had begun taunting him, slowly rehashing incidents from all of last week!

'What have you been doing?' it seemed to ask 'Don't you realise that the ground you're treading on, is extremely risky? One step more, and you'll fall... worse, you'll pull her down with you. The Sahiba doesn't know the truth... that's why she's breaking out into fits of innocent giggles... and inviting you to a luncheon... but YOU are aware of the truth, aren't you? Then, why are you indulging her smiles...' he heaved a few more dashes of water on his face - possibly so the rough reminders would hit home harder 'At first, you returned the 4 dams because you did not want her money... fine... but why carry on with the conversations thereafter... what's this never ending fascination with her vision and skills about... why the need to communicate in Marwari... or to talk about your charity work? And the conversations don't even end there... so, what are you trying to prove, Akbar Khan? And, to WHOM?'

'Ridiculous!' his conscience jolted him out of the lull 'It IS your fault... you shouldn't have allowed it get to this... because it's YOUR decision to adopt a lifestyle so dangerous, that it has no place for women in it... and, why are you bridging gaps now... that too, with THIS Sahiba, out of all ladies! What would you gain by knocking on this door now? Is it to find out if she holds the cure for this never-ending pain of yours? Even if she has the secret remedy, you'll never live to enjoy it... you'll die and get her killed too! So muster that adamant determination of yours... don't let your wall of resistance show cracks... you need to show discipline... fight temptation, now more than ever!'

'Yes... you're right!' hurling aside the towel, he grabbed a fresh cotton tunic from a trunk nearby and slipped it on 'I have to leave tomorrow morning to catch up on my work... wouldn't return to Aidabad for two days... hopefully, the Sahiba and her party would've left the haveli, before I get back!'

One large camp.

A group of 40 boisterous men.

A seemingly long half-an-hour had passed.

And yet, there was absolute stillness. No movement anywhere.

Except, of course, for the men at the centre - two of them to be precise.

Because the soldiers knew -

That their Huzoor, the Shehzaade, preferred it quiet when he was engaged in a game of cards.

Especially, when the card game being played was Ganjifa.

And all the more so, when one of his favourite opponents was part of the competition!

'Ustaad...' Shehzaade mulled under his breath, looking at the Wazir card sitting beside the Safed-shah card in his hand 'how do I win this round against you?' And in order to win the round, he had to figure out his opponent's winning cards and moves. So, he subtly glanced up - to see if he could guess from his competitor's expressions, what sort of a set he was holding.

Testing his luck further, Shehzaade tried taking a peek at his opponent's hand. As expected, another futile pursuit. The clever manner in which the deck of cards had been tucked between the fingers meant no one would be able to steal a glimpse, any which way. How ironic that a pair of strong hands that were capable of crushing enemy skulls with brute force - were just as capable at handling a deck of precious Ganjifa cards with splendid tact.

Well, the man wasn't called an Ustaad, a 'Master', for no reason.

'I'll win this round...' the prince vowed.

He had to use the last trick he knew - a few clever mental calculations to figure out his odds at winning the game. So, while his mind started doing the maths, the sly man decided to buy some time by delving into idle chatter..

'Ustaad...' he spoke up, his authoritative tone dispelling the still air 'What is your opinion on the tribes up North? That war shows no sign of ending... and I'm running out of resources and ideas.'

'My opinion? Pardon my insolence, Huzoor...' he mused 'but isn't it true you want my opinion now, only so you can divert my concentration from the game!' The remark was polite, but the tone had an unmissable blunt edge to it.

'Ya Allah!' the prince laughed off the shrewd guesswork 'You KNOW I always value your opinions, don't you?'

Ustaad said nothing in reply for a moment.

And that telling moment was enough for the prince to sense that the man's earlier remark hadn't been made in jest.

Surprised by the scepticism, Shehzade put down his cards and slowly arched forward from the backrest - thus dragging down the light-hearted ambience in that camp to a sure death 'Value your opinions? Then, WHY do you think I've been calling you by your title 'Ustaad'?' he queried, returning the man's steady glances with firm glares 'Because, if the 'heir to the Mughal Empire', calls you by that title... everyone else... younger OR older to you... HAS to call you by that title too! Now that is the kind of regard I've showed, over the years... so do not repeat the mistake of bringing up this subject... next instance, I might not answer so patiently...'

'And I've always appreciated your gestures...'

'Then speak up... what's on your mind...'

'If you value my opinions so highly, why is Khalil still a free man?' Ustaad asked, without so much as batting an eyelid - something very few would've dared to do so, since this particular Shehzaade was notorious for being more ill-tempered and impulsive than anyone else in his family. Then again, unlike the others, Ustaad was never fearful of saying or doing what he believed in 'Khalil and his soldiers are turning into something we'd never stand for... something Islam never stands for!'

Shehzaade immediately raised a stern palm in response. And the rest of the members took the hint - that they must leave.

Thereafter, the remaining players at the table surrendered their cards and exited the tent, one by one.

Then, the soldiers followed suit.

Once they'd been left alone, the prince did something he generally never had the patience to do - decided to clarify his stance to the man, just this once 'I despise what Khalil's done... which is why, I punished him by removing him from this assignment... I banished him to Kabul, while I hid the fact that I'd already handed over the Parnagarh assignment... all this, despite the fact that he could've been winning wars for me here...' a sarcastic huff escaped his mouth 'whatever his flaws, Khalil still remains my most powerful general... take pride in what you've created, Ustaad... besides, most of your recruits have turned out to be fine soldiers, otherwise!'

'Pardon me Huzoor... but as a soldier of Islam, I cannot take pride in the fact that I mentored Khalil into something so powerful... the man's literally unstoppable now!'

'What more must I do? Have him imprisoned? Killed?' Shehzaade scoffed 'When I come to power, I will make laws... and punish all those who defy Islam... but at THIS point, I am in need of supporters... if I start punishing soldiers who've committed crimes, I'll be left with no men!' By the end of that declaration, he was nearly yelling. Swiftly realising that the subject was taking an unpleasant turn, he decided to shift the discussion in another direction - at least for a while 'Forget about all this for now... tell me, my dear friend... any news of the Farmaan yet?'

Following a tense pause, Ustaad placed his cards, facing down, on the table 'Not yet, Huzoor!'

'That darned Farmaan! Have the cursed fires of Hell swallowed it?' the prince grit down on his teeth, whelmed by a quiet surge of frustration 'Such a simple task... and yet, it's been eluding my best men...' it took him a few deep breaths and a few verses from the Quran, before he could return to his cold-composed self 'nevertheless... any news about the Sahiba?'

Ustaad's glances grew guarded.

'I mean... any news about the younger heiress, Harka Sahiba? Any updates... or thoughts on her?'

'Nothing much' he frowned, as his attention veered away from his Master's glares for the first time, and towards the tent flaps in the backdrop, to observe Mother Nature's own painting of a sunset oblivion beyond it.

ANY thoughts on her? Well, he had plenty. Plenty of news and updates too that he could convey if he wanted to, as part of idle talk. After all, he'd stumbled across quite a few small facts about her over the past two weeks, which they hadn't known about at the start...

'I am blind... actually, partially blind!'

[Journey continues]

Flappp

The scroll went flying all the way from chaise lounge to the table at the opposite end, knocking down a vase with all of its blooms and organic water over the floor.

'Hukum?'

Mahendar grabbed a goblet of liquor from a dresser nearby 'That worthless degenerate has called off the deal...' he downed its contents in one go, letting the bitterness burn his throat 'He blames me for it... blames ME... can you imagine? I'd given him all the details of the haveli... explained everything... but that pervert messed it up... and now blames ME for misleading him! And this Ustaad... WHY the hell is he involved in the Parnagarh mess now?'

Watching the outburst from a distance, Tej Raj couldn't help but smirk scornfully at the idiocy of it all 'That is what happens when you team up with brutes like Khalil...'

'Tej Raj!' Slamming his chalice on the dresser all of a sudden, Mahendar thundered up to his opposer 'I've told you a million times... our Hindu kingdoms have sold themselves to the Mughals... our Rajputana is going to ruins... If we don't act soon, this Shehzaade will ensure there are no Hindus left in all of the Empire!' He moved closer, slamming his furious features right into his cousin's meeker face 'Which is why we need Parnagarh... it'll give us a stronger voice... make us more favourable in court... so as I act a true Rajput, doing all I can to safeguard Hindu future, you stand in a corner and smirk away to glory... if you have something sensible to say, spit it out... or shut up!'

Tej Raj took a step back 'True Rajput? Durga Bai is the true Rajput... she died a noble death for the sake of her lands...'

'Oh really? Your very noble Durga Bai was supposed to be in love with me... but she didn't even bother mentioning the 'Farmaan' to me... didn't even trust me with the document, when I'd asked... had she handed it over then, she would still be alive today...'

'We can't blame her for not trusting you now, can we? Your principles may be good, Mahendar... but, your methods are horrible...'

'What was I supposed to do?' the Kunwar broke out into a series of cackles 'Months... it took me months... MONTHS of planning to get Parnagarh... and just as I was about to wed Durga Bai and get control of the place... the issue of this Farmaan springs up from nowhere... then, Khalil is made in charge... if I didn't strike this deal, I would've lost everything...'

'And you presume Khalil would've kept up his end of the deal if he'd got the Farmaan? You really think they would've shared their profits from the mines with you? Helped you, a Hindu, gain power in court? If so, you're a fool!'

Infuriated, Mahendar lurched forth and grabbed the man by his collar, snapping in two a string of pearls as he did so 'Do you think I took pleasure in selling out my betrothed to the enemy?' he grit his teeth 'Khalil was so determined to get his hands on the Farmaan... at least by being a part of this plan, I thought I would gain something out of it...'

Slowly letting go of his victim's tunic, the Kunwar straightened out the parts that'd been crumpled within his grip. A hint of deviousness soon flashed through his eyes 'Anyway, all is not yet lost... the Farmaan must be with Harka Bai... all I have to do is find her, before the Shehzaade does!'

Aidabad.

Upon getting down from his horse, Akbar exercised his stiff shoulders and then looked up to the Heavens. Breathing in a lung full of Aidabad air, Akbar muttered a silent prayer. It was a ritual he followed without fail. Whenever the young man stepped foot out of his city, he never knew if he'd come back alive. So on his safe return, he made sure to thank the Lord for it.

Yet, he couldn't afford the luxury of taking some rest now. The braying of horses and hollering of stable boys in the backdrop hinted at the numerous duties that beckoned him. Soon, the sun would start beating down upon them - and he had many chores to finish before work at the stable-yard would slow down.

But just as he began making his way towards the haveli, he saw something in the distance, across the patches of greenery. Something he hadn't expected to come home to. An unusual spectacle.

Unusual, but appealing.

Akbar took a few strides closer, till he could get a better view.

His best buddy Bahadur looked well on the road to recovery, out and about on his feet, enjoying the fresh air - which was a comforting sight indeed. But what was unusual was that it was 'out and about' around the fences that encircled the gardens of the guest quarters - a spot that Bahadur never really visited before.

Then again, Akbar could guess why his pet had made himself so comfortable there - it was busy enjoying the benefits of the warm company of the Sahiba.

Bahadur's not the type to become snug with strangers... when did the two strike such a friendship?'

Akbar soon heard the familiar quickening of his mate's footsteps, from behind.

Straightening up his relaxed shoulders, he tied his hands behind his back and assumed a formal stance, before welcoming the man approaching him 'Salaam Ibrahim...'

'Salaam Akbar... welcome back...'

'I see Bahadur has grown very comfortable around them...' Akbar indicated towards the group 'but, why haven't they left yet?'

He thought he sounded impatient as he posed that question.

But Ibrahim had heard something else in his master's tone instead - as though there was a sense of 'relief' that they hadn't left yet.

He hushed down his pitch and asked 'so, what did Huzoor have to say?'

Akbar's answer was just as cautiously low 'Informed him about Chota Faizan... about Khalil's men... and also mentioned that we haven't found the Farmaan yet... by the way...' he raised a questioning brow 'have they sent out any further messages?'

'Yes... one scroll went out to the province of Balaur yesterday, but we've seized it. Anyway, how did Huzoor react... to the fact that she's been sending out these scrolls... and to the messages we've confiscated?'

'I'll inform him... the next time I ride to the capital...'

'Oh!' Ibrahim turned to his master with a confounded frown, not knowing what to make of the fact that he hadn't disclosed such a significant matter to the prince yet. But before he could question him any further, he was interrupted.

'We'll discuss it later' said Akbar, before whistling out a loud tune - a tune that Bahadur instantly recognised as its telltale call.

The elated pet peeped over its back to locate its Sahib standing in the fields, as did the rest of the retinue from the gardens.

And for whatever reason, when Heera spotted his silhouette, her first thoughts were 'Welcome back'.

The very presence of him, posing handsomely tall with his hands behind his back in the midst of his lands, seemed to bring some 'life' to a place that'd felt quite forlorn the past 3 days. Maybe that's why there was a saying - however crowded, a house is empty without its master.

'How ironic' she thought the very next moment 'that someone so quiet and reserved could breathe 'life' into a place!'

[Journey continues]