CHAPTER 14
“How much time will you take?” Pragya asked in an annoyed tone.
Guddu looked extremely guilt while holding the stepney. “Baas, ho gaya Madam! Very sorry Madam!”
Pragya sighed looking at the watch. They were supposed to reach Fatehpur by now if this tire puncture thing did not take place. They were at the side of a road, near a small tea stall. The young boy of the stall is helping Guddu to fix the tire.
Rohan was sitting on the bench of the stall. Pragya reluctantly sat beside him. “It will be over soon.” She told Rohan.
Rohan nodded unmindfully.
“Tea?” Pragya offered. And ordered two teas instantly without him affirmation. “I am a teacoholic, you know?” She smiled.
“Yeah, me too.” Rohan smiled back, though there was no comfort in his smile. The incident of last night has taken a lot from him.
The owner of the stall handled two little cups. Pragya juggled them while giving one to Rohan’s hand. Rohan took a long breath of agony before taking the first sip.
“How are you holding up?” Pragya asked quietly.
“I don’t know! I seriously don’t.” Rohan’s voice broke. “You know, I was always a carefree man who could enjoy his life; and one day suddenly these weird things started happening, my life shattered in pieces, and I have no idea where is it going! As if someone is forcefully intruding my life and stealing the moments from me to place his own life over mine. I had a nice job, a stable life, a woman whom I really loved… and today I am roaming around a different state, with a woman whose face I frequently see in dreams but nevertheless both are completely different, searching for memories from the debris which are not exactly my memories but I have to forcefully carry them. I mean…” he sighed and looked at Pragya’s eyes with genuine gratitude. “I can’t thank you enough for not leaving my side, you know! After what I have done, you should have….”
“Hey…” Pragya patted on his arm cheerfully. “No need to thank me, okay? We are in a same boat now, and we are going to sail to the shore together. There is no you and me in this mission anymore, there is only us.”
“What are you saying… I dragged you in this and…”
“No Mister, my destiny did.” Pragya laughed. “Don’t underestimate me Mr. Sengupta, ok? If you were Emperor Akbar, then I was Empress Jodha Bai remember?”
Rohan could not help but chuckle seeing the through of her words. “Being Akbar is no fun.” He sighed then.
“What do you mean?” Pragya’s tea was finished, she threw the plastic cup and opened her notebook. Rohan distressfully ran his fingers through his hairs.
“You know, in Kolkata these visions are like vague dreams before. Slowly they became more and more vivid. But still I was able to distinct myself from those dreams back then. But here, especially after tomorrow I…”
“What?” Pragya was writing down like storm.
“I cannot differentiate between two visions and reality anymore.”
Pragya raised a brow. “What does that mean? You are Rohan, looking completely stable and fine talking to me, I cannot detect any tress of noticeable change in your behavior like I have observed before. Then?”
Rohan smiled sadly while staring at the cup of his hand. “Can you see that big banner just at the side of the highroad?”
“Yeah?”
“And can you see the small store of cigarette just beside our tea-stall?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well I can see them too.” Rohan smiled. “I can see them now. But just a moment before they were not here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Yes… Instead of this stall, here was a small well. A single source of water for over five small villages across this dry place. And there, just across the road, underneath the banner, there was a hut. A saint lived here.”
Pragya stared at Rohan. He was clearly seeing things, but he does not look agitated anymore. Not even lost. He looks very casual, very normal. At this moment, which is shockingly critical.
“What can you see now, Rohan?” She asked in a delicate tone.
Rohan closed his eyes. “The hut. The saint. He lives the simplest life. Lives on the fruits, the boiled leaves and the grains the villagers gives him as a sign of devotion. He does not brag, does not forecast. Just sometimes tells some very nominal things about life, very small advices of greater living. The villagers love him, they come to him, he blesses them… The women show their devotion to him, he blesses them with the most beautiful child… Who knew, his very simple blessing will change the life of a desperate man completely? Will revive the most powerful man from his doom?”
“Rohan?” Pragya touched Rohan’s hand. Rohan looked at her. “Everything is so changed, Pragya. How many years have passed? Centuries? They said it right… the scent of the soil changes with time. The structure of human soul changes with time. When I close my eyes, I can literally see the holy man’s soothing smile, his calm eyes emitting peace and harmony; numbers of various man and woman sitting in front of him, their eyes full of devotion… and when I open my eyes, everything is gone. All is left is an empty field, a vacant road with vehicles running without caring about anyone… and the air of selfishness polluting the soil. Where did the holy shrine of Salim Chisti go? Where did the peace, the kindness, the harmony lose?”
Pragya sighed deeply looking at his eyes. “Tell me more about him.” She said.
Rohan looked at the highway. Highway? No. A patch of greenery in front of a hut. A man sitting at the door. The birds singing cheerfully around him; the flowers smiling happily… The nature has filled the little hut with all the treasures of the universe. The glow of an emperor’s wealth is dimmed in front of that unlimited treasure.
“What do you want, my son?” The man asked.
“Pardon me, Sheikh Sahab. I am the emperor of the land. My troop is in a journey towards Ajmer. Some people from the royal family are thirsty and we are out of water. Asking for your permission to use the well.” He said in a modest tone. Though he is the ruler of the land, all the waterbodies on this earth belongs to him, he could not just ignore the old saint before allowing the troop to fetch water. Is it the effect of his royal etiquette, or the divinity of the saint, or the play of destiny, God knows!
The old saint smiled. There is such a strange peace in his smile. “Am I really worthy to quench your thirst? You have to quench your thirst your own, Son.”
He looked confused. The old man smiled again. “Water is the gift of God. Who am I to allow you to drink it. Go ahead…”
He bent his head out of respect. The saint looked at him with the same holy smile glowing in his lips. “But you did not answer my question, Majesty.”
“Pardon, Sheikh Sahab, I could not follow…”
“You did not tell me what do you want. What are you searching for? What is the reason which is not letting you to sleep?”
He looked startled. He is the Emperor. The whole world bows in front of him. The Sun kisses the crown of his empire when he rises. His empire shines even in the darkness of the night. What else could possibly he want? He stared at the saint with amazement. The saint was still looking at him. As if he is reading all the letters in his heart through his eyes. As if he has witnessed how poor the emperor really is amidst of all these wealth and success.
“Is it so easy to tell what we really want, Sheikh Sahab?” He smiled sadly.
“The greatest question lies here, Majesty.” The saint told gently. “This very question chase everyone throughout the eternity. Human runs and runs, spends lives after lives behind this question… But he does not get the answer.” He slowly came forward to him, touched his heart gently. “Stop running and listen to your heartbeat, Majesty. The answer to your question lies there… The moment you will find the answer, you will win over your soul.”
Something happened inside him. As if he was swirling through a long dark tunnel with no end, but this old saint has shown him light. Maybe it is only a thin line of ray, but the only guide for him in this dark tunnel. He signed to his guards to leave them alone and camp somewhere outside. Then he held the holy man’s hand with utter respect. “Sheikh Sahab…” He uttered in trembling voice. “I need that answer. Would you help me to find that?”
“Then?” Pragya asked in strangled excitement. “Rohan?”
Rohan looked at her. His smile had touched a different level of mystic. “Then what? Is this really so easy to find the answer? The day passed, the night came… The sun rose in the East in the dawn… But the answers was still far away. The question is not so easy… It can convert a king to a beggar, it can put the crown of universe on a homeless saint… Is it really so easy to find the answer?”
“Your people are waiting for you, Majesty.” The holy saint said with the same gentle smile.
“The whole world can wait, Sheikh Sahab… How can I go when I am not able to free myself from the tangle of this question?”
The saint chuckled. “Your Majesty, a saint can chase behind the question selfishly through his whole life to find his soul. Can an emperor do the same? If you leave home to find your soul who will take care of these thousands of men whose lives depend on you?”
He smiled and touched his feet. “Then bless me Sheikh Sahab, so that I can fulfil my duties to the people whom I serve.”
The Saint bent and kissed his head. “I am a very common man, My Son. I have nothing to bless you. But I can assure you of something… You might have to go a long path to find what your soul truly wants. But you will soon acquire something which will reduce the burden of tension from your shoulder. Majesty, you will soon be blessed with a son. A son who will keep the Sun of your Empire glowing after you.”
“Sheikh Sahab…” He stared in awe. His eyes were slowly becoming blur. “You don’t know how much it means to me. I have everything I could ask from God, Sheikh Sahab, but I don’t have someone who will carry on the legacy! For years I have yearned for a child, but God has kept me aside from that happiness! I have become father before, more than once, but due to some unknown curse they were snatched from me before they could become flowers from blossom. The thirst of fatherhood has dried me from inside, and it has snatched all my peace. I had come here to quench my thirst for water, Sheikh Sahab… But you have quenched the biggest thirst of my life!”
“Hold yourself together, Majesty. Go back to your palace. Live your life, fulfil your duty.” The voice of the holy man sounded divine in his ears. “You will soon be blessed with a son. The queen you love the most, the queen to whom your heart is bonded forever, will give you the child. The child would be the blessing of God, Majesty… The blessing of love…”
“The queen I love?” He looked startled. He has a lot of women in his Harem. He is fond of some of them, he really cares for some of them. But love?
The saint smiled. “Oh poor Emperor! You dream to conquer the world, but blind about the crown of your heart? Believe me Majesty, when you will find your love, when you will conquer your love, you will find the answer of your ultimate question. Then only your soul will be free.”
“And after that?” Pragya asked in mesmerized glare. Her face was glowing in a content smile.
“Then?” Rohan laughed out suddenly. “Then everything changed. In a glance. Overnight the lonely nameless ground became a populous place with different swarm of people gathering together. Because a fort was being made… Because the land was expecting a good news… The prince was coming…”
“The prince!” Pragya repeated. Her eyes was full in dream. “What about the emperor? And the queen?”
Rohan smiled slightly. “Showered with the bless of love, but still searching for love inside heart… who am I to understand what was going on inside?”
“Meaning?” Pragya frowned. But Rohan got up. The tire was changed already, Guddu was calling. They are in the way of Fatehpur Sikri…
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Despite the unavoidable noise pollution and really annoying crowd, when they at last managed to stand in front of the great Buland Darwaza after saving themselves from attacks of tourist guides, Pragya felt goosebumps all over in her body. As if the time she belongs to has magically transported back some centuries, and thus she is standing in the front gate of an iconic Historical era. The vast gate of Buland Darwaza, or the door of victory, made of red sandstone, which was built by Akbar to commemorate the victory over Gujrat, is the main entrance for FatehPur Sikri. Passing through the beautifully adorned passage from the gate, they stepped into the open yard in front of the famous mosque and the tomb of Salim Chisti. The place is normally crowded like any other religious places of India, the local guides and shopkeepers shouting misinformation about the History of the place, promoting mythical stories on Salim Chisti- how his greatness resulted Akbar having his first son Salim. Some of them almost dragged both of them inside and started talking gibberish about newly married life and blessing of a child in life. Pragya had no intension of falling into their trap though, so she almost snatched out Rohan from them and decided to leave this part after visiting the shrine for once. The tomb was originally made of red-sandstone, and later reconstructed with marble. Maybe there is no sign of old days anymore.
But as she stepped inside, she felt something she never felt before while visiting a holy place. As if a touch of peace and sooth swept through her heart. In this common sight of gathering and pandemonium, she felt as if she was far away from all these, as if she is floating around in the wave of mystic, her existence becoming a mystery to herself among all these... Why, among all these unknown, the core feeling is so known to her heart? Why does she feel as if she has seen these, as if each of the dust particle of this whole place is written in her heartbeat, each brick of this building knows her own story which she has forgotten? What is happening to her?
Breaking the spell forcefully, Pragya looked at Rohan. He was just beside her, but Pragya could now say in a glance that he is not Rohan anymore.
“Rohan?” Pragya touched his shoulder slowly. “What are you thinking?”
“The day when Sheikh Sahab passed away... The sun did not rise that day.” Rohan sighed, as if he was reminiscing an old grief for someone close. “There won’t be a man like him ever!”
“Do you remember anything more?” Pragya asked carefully. Rohan looked at her. There was a sheer affection in his eyes, which was odd. “Let’s go to the palace.” He smiled.
And before Pragya could understand anything, he headed out towards somewhere.
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There were now standing at the middle of the yard of Jodha Bai palace.
The pretty gorgeous structure made of red-sandstone is well maintained by the ASI, and a world famous tourist attraction spot. A lot of Indian and Foreigner tourists were roaming around, the guides were telling stories- some factual and some local myth. But as they stood right in the middle of the yard beside the dais where the Tulsi Manch used to be, two beautiful structures in front- summer and winter Mahal of the queen as stated by the guides, Pragya felt a tide of unknown emotions storming inside her heart. She kept on staring at the beautifully sculptured walls in front, the designs that amalgamate Rajput and Islamic culture together in such a delicate way. Fatehpur Sikri is a lively example of Akbar’s secular perspective, they say. He created his own religious philosophy of Din-I-Ilahi sitting in the Ibadat Khana right in this place. His Harem consisted of well-maintained temples right at the side of Muslim Queens. Pragya unconsciously touched the edge of the Tulsi Manch, a chilling shiver passed through her spine along with a soothing warmth. How much influence did the Rajputani Queen had on the Emperor, that provoked him to think about his beliefs on religious perspective? How much respect he had on that woman; how much honour he did give her in his whole life; how he kept that respect alive forever in his thoughts, in his works; how he scripted all of it in each of the bricks of this great grand architecture and made it immortal for eras...
Did the queen know she will receive so much value and respect throughout her whole life when she rejected the desire of the Empire with cold indifference at their first night?
How did their story end? Did they accept the love for each-other? Did they conquer the wall of indifference between them and reached out to each other with mutual respect and understanding? Or the sheer sense of ego and angst kept them far from each other their whole life, and in their afterlives, era after era...
Unknowingly a drop of tear rolled down Pragya’s cheek. She has to know their story. She has to finish their story...
“Sekhu fell down here once...” A slight murmur suddenly brought Pragya back in real world. She looked at Rohan, who was staring at a nearby stair without a blink. There was a strange look in his eyes... Some emotions that are very familiar, yet very unknown in those eyes... the emotion of affection, the emotion of fatherhood...
“Sekhu?” Pragya repeated. “You mean...”
“Salim.” Rohan looked at her. He still had a lost smile in his lips, but his eyes said he was back in reality. “The very awaited heir of Mughal throne. The apple of eyes of the whole Mughal Family. Salim. Nur-ud-din Muhammad Salim... Jahangir.”
Pragya smiled too. She never knew why she suddenly felt so relaxed and happy while Rohan depicted the incident.
“Maybe Salim was a problematic child afterwards, but when he was merely a toddler, he was so adorable that no one in this world could not help but love him. He was adored by all, loved by all. But he did the impossible thing which no one could do in this whole world. He could touch the heart of his father, he had won his father the moment he opened his eyes. Here he was, running though the passages to flee from the caregivers, and then he sees his father to walk past the yard; he became so elated to jump in his lap that he tried skipping two stairs over there, and fell flat on his face. Ohh, poor boy cracked his forehead and lip, bled so much; cried so much... No matter how great warrior he would become later, the first drop of blood from the son always breaks the heart of the father! And the poor father, the so-called ruthless warrior of that time, could not stop himself from tearing up while pacifying his crying little son.”
“Then?” Pragya asked in a spellbound voice.
Rohan smiled looking at her, saying nothing...
He was standing at the door, unable to get in, unable to knock. The Emperor of the whole world was sneaking into the private moments of his queen, and no matter how much shameful action this had been for him, he could not help but to stare inside the room quietly, his heart flooding with tide of emotions. He could not move, he could not do anything but to fill his heart... because it was the best moment of his life; the best he could ever deserve to witness.
The pure smile of the queen as she is playing with their child in her lap.
He gazed and gazed, drowning himself completely in the flow of love radiating from the queen and the prince. This is the image of motherhood he never knew he yearned to see... this is the picture of family he never knew he lived for...
He would have stood there all day, but little Sekhu spotted his father suddenly, and as expected, started jumping in his mother’s lap to reach to his father.
She turned, smiling. There was no mask of queenly courtesy in her smile. She was welcoming him in this picture, wholeheartedly.
“Why are you standing over there, Majesty... Please come in.”
He came inside, placed a hand on Sekhu’s head. “I came here to see how is Sekhu. He lost a lot of blood today.”
“Lot of blood?” She laughed out with her heart. And his heart melted. Has he ever seen her laughing before? Has he ever seen her this happy before?
“It was a small accident, My Lord. He is the heir of Rajputs and Mughals; he has to be fine.” She announced with a little glimpse of pride in her eyes. His heart filled again. Is she really proud of her son’s legacy; that he inherits the blood of a Mughal besides being the son of a proud Rajput?
Does this mean his dream of unifying his land coming true? Rajputs and Mughals are blending together; everyone is blending together, accepting each other... The dream behind building this new city is coming true... the foreshadowing of Salim Chisti coming true?
Meanwhile little Sekhu started playing with his mustaches. And she giggled. “He is the bravest soul of the world. He has the ability to touch your mustaches!” She exclaimed playfully.
Is this what content mean?
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Pragya was walking through the cold floors of the old, cold palace, slowly caressing the designs curved in wall with her fingertips. Rohan was nowhere around, not in this building. But all of a sudden Pragya did not care. There was some people talking around, guides lecturing about the heritage of the architecture... but Pragya was not listing to anything. She did not know where her mind was strolling, why she felt so connected with every brick of this abandoned palace, why she feels she knows every corner of this whole place by heart. She just let herself to shut down her thoughts, to keep on strolling through the side of the walls to capture the cry of every brick, and to let herself be lost in somewhere far away, the place she never knew, the place she never thought to visit... the place where her own existence becomes void and mingles with many unclear images, the unknown images...
Like now... as she was peeping through the small holes, she could clearly see a boy of merely 6 or 7 trying to grip the sword with shaking hands, his eyes full of nervousness. And suddenly the boy looked at the eyes...
“What if I cannot do it, Ammi? What if Abbahuzur gets mad at me?”
“Your Abbahuzur can never get mad at you son. Give your best and you will make him proud.”
Or that boy, now 10 or 11, just after losing a swordfight or horserace, looking at her with distress. Because he has seen a cloud of disappointment in his father’s eyes.
“I failed him, Ammijaan.”
“You cannot, son. You are just learning. Keep your head straight to your target and keep on learning. Failure is the greatest teacher, don’t forget.”
“But the way he looked at me... I know I would never be as great as him...”
“You don’t need to be. You will be like you, and that is what your father wants.”
“But what if he thinks I am not able to rule his Empire?”
“Don’t try to be the emperor, Salim. Try to be a man before.”
She slowly came out of the palace, started walking towards the other portion... towards the Panch Mahal, Diwan-E-Aam, Diwan -E-Khas...
The boy has grown old now. Like 16-17 or elder... Old enough to not to look at his mother after every failure, every disappointment. Maybe he has grown enough companies to fend him, to tell him things he wants to hear. As she stares at her sons proud steps on Diwan-E-Khas from her seat, she tries to be proud, but all she feels is fear. Her son has grown up to be a powerful warrior, a benevolent prince. But the hunger of power in his eyes makes him far distant from her. She could never get closer to the father, and now the son is also going away from her...
The desperation of power and ambition makes her remind someone else... and the fear grows more... Because his fight was with the whole world. Salim’s war to gain the power was to be fought against his own father.
As he stepped down from the Diwan-E-Khas, anger visible from each of the steps, his eyes fell on her by chance. She was scared to see those eyes. She could clearly read what his eyes were asking her.
“After all the battles I won, after everything I have done for him, I am still not good enough for him Ammijaan? Why he does not declare the next heir of his throne? He better does, or I have to snatch my rights forcefully!”
All she could do was to stare, because her son does not come to her for answers anymore.
She did not know how to be a wife because she was forced to be a pawn of politics before... Now she could not become a successful mother as well.
As she looked around the walls of the dream city of Fatehpur Sikri, she could see everything... the smile of a newly achieved motherhood to the sigh of a failed mother, each of the brick of Fatehpur Sikri has witnessed all the moments of it.
Suddenly a loud music rang, snatched Pragya away from her thoughts in a pull. She grasped as her mind hit with the reality with all the force, and she took a good amount of time to get a grip on herself. Yes, here she was, Pragya Mukherjee, and here her phone was ringing. Everything she was imagining inside her head was purely trash and nothing to do with the reality of who she is.
It was her mother calling, but the it went to her missed-call list for now. She has no time to chitchat with her mother right now. She gulped and wearily ran her palm through her face. What the hell was happening to her? Was she under some kind of spell? How could she see all of those right in front of her eyes, like some old memories being flashed all of a sudden?
Is this the same thing Rohan feels? Is this the way all of it started for Rohan? Is she losing herself too like him? Maybe she is getting so involved with Rohan that she is imagining herself as a part of his story?
Or all of these are true? All the stories, all the incidents that happened here years and years ago has started unveiling themselves. All the pain and despairs these rocks have buried under is slowly venting out. Because maybe those two souls need to vent them out through someone else, because only then they can be free... only then they can get what they truly wanted!
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Rohan was sitting in front of Anup Talao- the water tank just in front of Akbar’s private room. He was staring at the water peacefully, a quiet smile in her lips. Pragya stood beside him and he turned. He looked very normal.
“Where have you been?” He asked. “Lost in the queen’s palace or imagining yourself as queen?”
His question had a touch of normal humour, but it sounded very cruel to Pragya. “What the hell is happening, Rohan?” She asked rudely.
“What?”
“After last night, and what you said today morning... about you being able to see me in your visions and...” Pragya stopped suddenly because she did not know what she was actually asking. She pinched the bridge of her nose very tiredly. “How are you feeling?” She asked Rohan.
“Never felt so good for a long time.” Rohan answered.
“Nothing haunting?”
Rohan laughed. “No haunting. It is like everything is crystal clear like a picture. Like someone has found me the old album which helps me not to struggle with the faded memories.”
“And what about the identities collapsing together?”
Rohan sighed a little. “It’s all sorted. They are all one.”
Pragya frowned and her voice raised alarmingly. “What do you mean Rohan? You cannot distinguish yourself? You are not able to recognize who you are?”
A sudden fear gripped her senses suddenly. Rohan cannot disappear in the shadow of the great Historical personality of the History books... Rohan has to find himself, in this reality, in this real life. She cannot lose Rohan. Rohan does not need to be an incarnation of a 400 years old Emperor, he can shine in his own light of empathy and kindness. Rohan is good, and his goodness cannot lose while struggling with a ghost of greatness. For once, another thought peeped into her mind. Maybe her fate is also going to be like Rohan’s, maybe Pragya Mukherjee will lose herself eventually. But it did not even bother her for once. All her panic, all her concern centered to that single point only. She will not let Rohan lose, no matter she has to lose herself for this.
“Don’t worry.” Rohan suddenly reassured. His voice calm. “I know where to go from here. Everything will be okay.”
“Where to go from here?” Pragya asked.
Rohan did not answer, instead threw another question. “Want to know what I was thinking sitting back there?”
He was standing at the window, the soft breeze was touching his face, but still unable to sooth him from the burning pain of his chest. Why? Why? Why? The question kept on storming inside his heart, and he was unable to close his eyes for a while. In an instance all his achievement becomes worthless. Why the harsh truth of reality keep on hitting so torturously even after the person reaches to the end of his breaking point?
A calm and soothing touch made him flinch as he turned around. She was looking at him. There was tears in her eyes.
“Do you want to say anything, Begam Sahiba?” His voice was unnecessarily rough in order to hide the distress.
She sighed and shook her head. “I brought you dinner, Majesty. You need to eat something.”
“I don’t intend to eat now. I already told my servants.”
She sighed tiredly. “You did not eat anything from yesterday, Majesty. This way your health will deteriorate. You know you are not young and juvenile anymore to do whatever you want.”
He chuckled humorlessly. “Sometimes you really sound wifely, Begam Sahiba. I don’t even know what to say.”
She kept on gazing at the tired, broken shadow beside the window. The Emperor has aged as per the rules of nature. His grey hairs has escalated his personality, his majestic aura, his excellence. But perhaps it is the first time he looks old. He looks broken. He looks like he cannot carry the burden anymore, he wants to quit.
“Looks like you have something else to say, Begam Sahiba?” He asked curtly. She shook her head.
“Really? Nothing regarding how I should forgive Prince Salim? You don’t want to remind me that Salim is my first born, Salim is the one who gave me the taste of fatherhood? You won’t say me that a father should always forgive his son, no matter how many times the son keeps on stabbing him with dagger through the heart?” He was agitated, his voice was breaking in excitement. All the anger, agony and wound that he kept buried inside with all his effort tried to break the wall and vent out. He could not keep the regal aura intact anymore. The cry of the frustrated father was clearly visible under the mask of the Emperor.
She was exceptionally calm in the other hand. “No Majesty, I won’t say that.” She stated. “No matter what the whole world says, I won’t say it. Because you are the Emperor, and Salim is nothing but a rebel. And you are the father, and he is the son who crosse his limits. He should get punished, and you have the right to show him his place. I just want you to know whatever your decision is, I will support you.”
He looked at her eyes, stared for a long time. As if he was seeking for the much needed peace from that gaze. Then he sat on a couch, all shattered.
“He is my first born! He is my only son who is alive! How would I even think to condemn him? I have buried all my children with these hands, I don’t have any strength left to raise weapon against the only alive one with them anymore... does anyone understand this? Everyone from family comes and tells to forgive him, to call him and pacify him... as if I am the one who wants this! No one understands, Begam Sahiba... no one!”
“I do, Majesty!” Her eyes flooded with tear.
“I would have forgotten everything. All the harsh words he said, all the rebellions he started, all the conspiracies he is working on against my back, all the time he keeps of counting the moments of my death for the throne- all of it! I would have bowed down first to negotiate...Hell, I wanted to do it when I sent messenger to him... but...” He could not stop the wall of patience from breaking anymore. “He killed Abul Fazal! He killed one of my true friends! How do I forget this, Begam Sahiba! How do I pretend that nothing happened and move on with everything, tell me!”
She came closer and placed a hand on his weary shoulder. After almost forty years of marriage life, still these kind of tender touches are very rare to him. They have been proximate for countless times, they have given birth of a son together; but still they are unable to touch the string of each other’s heart. Still the tenderness, the care and the familiar touches feel stranger. But today he felt as if she embraced his soul with all her heart with that simple touch. He silently kept his hand on her hand.
“Why he became my enemy, Begam Sahiba? Why he desperately wants me dead? For throne? The chair adorned with jewels and power is more important to him than his father?” He said helplessly. “Salim is the only thing I desperately wanted from my fate. He is the only one to whom I poured all my love, all my dreams- to shape him as the greatest gem of this world. All of these is the reward of that?”
“Perhaps this was where it got wrong, Majesty!” She uttered quietly as silent tears dropped from her eyes. “He got all of it wrong. He was always eager for your approval, he always kept on thinking he was not good enough; then the greed of the crown became the priority, and his insecurities made him mad for it. Now because there is a lot of difference of opinions in court he is even more eager to be the next Emperor- because it is not about his greed anymore, it has now involved with his self-respect, his prestige to his people... Perhaps he also cannot stop now even if he wants to.”
“I never thought I have to wedge a war against my Sekhu!” He sighed with all his agony.
“May I tell you one thing, Majesty?” She told with a pinch of hope in her voice. “I still believe he wants to stop everything just like you do. Because I can say it surely that he loves and adores you the most in the whole world still today under all this pile of fake hatred, and your one nod of approval will bring him to your feet!” She sighed deeply. “But again, that is my thoughts of hope. That does not nullify the seriousness of all the offences he has done over the year, and I won’t pursue you to forgive him or anything... Just...” She readily wiped her eyes. “He will understand, Majesty... He understands. He is a father too; he has to understand.”
“I am afraid that when he understands the poison will be at the core of the Mughal household. Maybe he will understand when he has to wedge a war against his son, and then this poison will go on and go on... Decades after decades; generations after generations... all the men of this clan will die shedding each-others blood!” He wailed. “God, is there nothing to stop this?”
Her voice broke as she clasped his hand unknowingly. “Maybe I could have stopped this from happen! I should have seen this beforehand, I should have stopped this from happen. When the distance of father and son grows, it is the duty of the mother to hold that bond together by becoming a bridge between them. But I could not become Salim’s bond to his father.” She chuckled as her tears fell. “I spent my whole life from the distance of a glasshouse to protect the debris of my pride, to protect the peace of the reclusiveness by not involving into anyone’s life even though my duty was significant there. Neither I could become a wife, nor a mother. When I opened my eyes it’s too late... too late to change anything!”
“This is not your fault Begam Sahiba...” He cupped her cheeks affectionately as tears rolled down from his cheek. “This was written in the destiny of a royal father, you could have done nothing. Don’t blame yourselves... Just...” He said tearfully. “Thank you so much for being here for me... Thank you!”
“I wish I could forever, Majesty...” She murmured.
“Then?” Pragya asked at their way back at the hotel. Rohan sighed and looked at her. “Rest you know. History wrote it in details. In 1604, Akbar marched to put an end to Salim’s disobedience and rebellions and reached to the banks of Ganga when his Mother called him back from deathbed. Salim also came, and attended her funeral as well; they reconciled at the pursuance of Queen Mother.” He chuckled sadly. “Akbar slapped his Thirty Six year old son for the first time. Maybe that slap was the wake-up call for the prince to remind the son’s duty. Soon after the Emperor passed away and he declared Salim aka Jahangir the next Emperor against a lot of presumptions.”
“And what about the queen?” Pragya said anxiously.
Rohan laughed. “When the History cares to tell about the life of the woman behind the veils, Madam? But you know what I think? Maybe she has smiled from her heart and sighed of relief when her son and husband reconciled again before going back under the curtain of reclusiveness.”
Pragya smiled too and closed her eyes leaning back to the seat. “So... that’s where the story ends?” She asked.
“No... The story never ended, Pragya...” Rohan said in a lost tone while staring at the sky. “The story will never end. These stories never end, they keep on flowing like rivers- from life to next life...”
“Then? What are we going to do Rohan?” Pragya asked.
Rohan smiled. “All I need to do is to find something. Like I promised...”
“Find what? Where are we going from here Rohan?” Pragya asked impatiently.
Rohan smiled. “Sekendra...”
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The news did not hit like a thunderstorm. Rather, the world was prepared for it for a long time. Some of them were even waiting for it secretly with a growing tension in their heart. The fall of a powerful Emperor like him raises a lot of questions in politics, especially when the future of the royal court is so disturbed and uncertain with all the difference of opinions. Everyday a cold war between two groups is taking place, everyday a game of manipulation is going on underneath. Among all these, the real concern for the Emperor’s heath lost somehow. Perhaps the Emperor knew it too; that’s why he had been so calm and excepting of his final fate from a long time. He even started building his own tomb, long before he seriously became bed-ridden.
But however, they all expected the incident to be one of the biggest Historical event. A larger than life personality like him cannot go palely without any significant turn of event. But at the last breath of him, He proved to the world that he was actually a human. A human whose soul has been tortured and burnt in many ways, and who had kept on fighting in spite of everything, and found peace on his own. After a whole level of deterioration finally he was getting better. He had slept well last night. He smiled once looking at his son, who was not leaving his side for once, and his last declaration of making him the next emperor did not seem to matter at that point of time. Then everything was calm, very calm.
She was in her temple in morning, praying for his health. But she could not bring herself wishing for his whole recovery anymore. Something was stopping her repeatedly. The whole world around has drastically changed, the Emperor who has ruled the whole world under his feet is now counting his last hours while witnessing his own clan fighting with teeth and claws. Sometimes recovery might become a prolonged agony...
She sighed, and prayed for his peace. He never lost in his life, he never turned his back from his responsibilities, and he deserves peace when he is done...
And the news came just then. The sky did not clouded, no storm indicated the great loss, the nature did not announce anything... the news came in a calm, quiet way...
She hurried to his room. Her steps firm, her heart beating in a steady way. Something in her heart was still burning, her head felt dizzy, but she did not break down for a while. The royal family members had gathered near the deathbed, the crowd just started to gather. She was unable to reach near him. The people who were closer to him had surrounded by, shedding tears... She was never close to him, she was always the distant wife... No matter her royal status, her rights as next queen-mother, she perhaps does not belong there...
So she leaned her head at the nearby wall, and stared blinkless at the edge of the bed. The burn in her heart increased, but she could not shed a drop of tear. As her gaze intensified, his voice rang in her ear... Something he said to her just a few days back, when he was still full of life...
“Sometimes it is not enough only to understand! Sometimes it is necessary to hear too, to proceed… I wish I could!! But too late… it is too late now!”
It is too late now! It is too late! They did not have the chance. They never gave themselves a chance. The wailing started to echo in her heart as she unknowingly held the nearby pillar for balance. Someone from the family- probably wife of the youngest prince, held her and led by the bed. Their son was sitting at his feet, head pressed on them as his whole body was trembling in grieve. She looked at him- the sign of their ‘love’, the blessings of love gifted by God… They could be a beautiful little family story written on flower and glee. Why cannot the real world be a fairy tale as well?
“I failed him, Ammijaan… I failed him.” Their grief-stricken son could not hold his royal dignity as his eyes met his mother’s. “I only brought pain to him in his whole life, I did not give him a moment of peace, and still he forgave me… He forgave me… Abbahuzur, don’t forgive your Sekhu, punish him; take back everything you have given to him and throw him out of your life… Just don’t leave him, I beg you, don’t leave your worthless son alone in this mess! God… why I did not come back earlier? Why it is always too late? Why it is always too late?”
It is always too late!
She could see his face now. The ailing, tired, lifeless pale face has at last found the peace. As she kept on gazing at his closed eyes, she could not see the elderly emperor anymore. The radiant face of the confident, victorious, youthful emperor suddenly flashed in front of him. The fierce valiant youth she first met at a desert sandstorm, the proud, ruthless emperor who traded her hand from her father in order to win her and scarred her self-respect for the whole life, the respectable man who gave her the honour like no one, the benevolent human being who changed himself with time and changed the perspective of the whole world along with him, the helpless father who came to her to seek solace after getting hurt from own son… all the pictures started overlapping with each other…
And as she gazed with mesmerisation to those images, she thought what if the beginning of the story was different? Would they be able to write the fairy tale then?
Well, they lost their chance this time... Maybe they will find again, at another life!
As Pragya passed through the silence of the dark passage leading towards the grave, she felt numb inside... disconnected to herself, to the world; detached to all the emotions, all the feelings. The only thing that she could feel was a burn deep inside her heart, which she could not fathom. The beautiful mausoleum is an epitome of calm and peace. An aura of purity was mixed in the air, in every plant of the garden. The structure is beautiful as any other Mughal architecture, the designs in the walls and the construction style tells the story of communal harmony. But the striking beauty of the place was no longer attracting Pragya. As she looked around she was no longer seeing the old structures of an old historical building. She was under a transparent veil and the whole scenario was drastically changing around her, all she could see a mourning crowd and a overall feeling of peace and finality that fills the heart. All though, while standing in front of the main tomb of Akbar, nothing mattered to her anymore. She was no longer aware of who she was, and not concerned about what was happening to her. As if the entity of her soul has lost in an ocean of time, as if she no longer belongs to the current dimension and was floating around...
So here is where the story ends... Or is it where the story begins? Someone murmured in her mind.
She kept on gazing at the tomb forever, no idea of how time is flowing. Something had bound her with a spell and she was unable to move her eyes. She did not even have any idea of where Rohan is, what was his reaction. All of a sudden, a sheer wailing snatched her back to the reality with a bang.
“I cannot find it! Where is it? Where is it?” Rohan’s frantic voice almost echoed the chamber. Thankfully there was not much of a crowd to be bothered. He rushed towards Pragya and grabbed her by shoulders, his eyes again got back the insane look of that night, he was panting. “I cannot... I cannot find... I cannot...”
“What are you searching for?” Pragya asked, she was surprised to hear how broken and tearful her voice has become without any reason.
“The reason I came here... The reason...” Rohan murmured in monotone while suddenly staring at the grave. “It was supposed to be here... I must find... I promised... I have to...”
“What did you promise, Rohan?”
Rohan looked at her, his eyes was slowly coming back to normal. “That I will come back. Over and over. To say the word I could not say...” He touched her hand all of a sudden, and gazed at her eyes with amaze. “I have to fulfil that promise...”
Pragya sighed to get back her balance. “You have to tell me what exactly you are looking for.”
“I don’t know...” Rohan muttered looking back to the tomb. His eyes went cloudy as he smiled delicately looking at it. “But I would know when I find... I searched this whole place over and over when you were in here. I ran into every corner, I looked at every grave... but no, I could not..” He sighed a little before he chuckled. “Am I wrong then? Death is the end of everything, and we cannot find those who have lost in the ocean of time?” He directed at the tomb again. “Everything ended there? Nothing is left?”
Pragya shook her head with all her strength. “It cannot be. It can never be!” She uttered with strange desperation. “You have to find what you are looking for. You have to fulfil your promise... You have to complete the queen’s story!” She added in a whisper.
They started searching again. They looked at the adjacent graves of Akbar’s daughters, they looked at the halls, the rooms, the floors, they searched the garden, each of the trees, all over the grasses... But what were they looking for?
Rohan sat down at the porch suddenly. He exhaled deeply and became quiet.
“What happened?” Pragya said desperately. “You gave up?”
“My story ended there in that tomb.” Rohan uttered in a tired voice. “How I am supposed to know the rest of it? I cannot find it! I cannot!”
Pragya sighed and sat beside him. She touched his shoulders and looked at the sky. No, they cannot give up after all of this. The story must be finished; she cannot let the queen’s story to be unfinished!
The Emperor’s story ended right in the tomb... Where the queen’s story ended?
Pragya closed her eyes...
As the pale moonlight enveloped the yard of the mausoleum with silvery glow, she slowly walked through the garden of the newly constructed tomb. The new Emperor has built the place with great respect to his father after his great demise, just like he wanted it to be- she thought. There is a engaging calmness in this place... A strange sensation of peace that embraces the heart and soothes everything... She slowly walked and sat on a porch, her eyes staring at the moon... “You can leave. I will stay here the whole night.” She instructed to her Lady-in-Waiting. “Marium-Zamani, I think you should rest in your bed instead... you are not well...” The lady tried to say, but she stopped her immediately. “I will take it from here, thank you.” She cut her off.
There was not a soul in the place now. She was all alone. Or not alone... she was here with him. He was resting under this tomb, forever... detached from all earthly possession and pain; resting in peace. A part of her envies him for this, and the rest of her only wants one thing... to get the peace where he is.
Does death open the path of reunite again? Or death is truly a new beginning... the start of a whole new life... Maybe in that life everything would be different... the names, the status, the attires... but souls? The souls would be the same... And if the destiny permits, those two souls would complete the love story one day which they could not complete in this life...
“I know you will find me, Majesty... Till then, I will keep on waiting, right here...” She murmured. “When you find me again, we will write the new journey together!”
Pragya grasped opened her eyes. She was not sure when she closed her eyes and started imagining things, but one thing she knows now; that she is the one who has the key to finish this story.
“Come on Rohan!” She poked Rohan once and ran towards the exit door. “Excuse me Bhaiya, want a small information... Where is Marium Zamani’s tomb situated?” She asked one local guide at the gate.
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The tomb of Marium-Uz-Zamani is situated at near about 1.5 kilometer distance from Akbar’s tomb. Made by Jahangir as a tribute to his mother, the tomb is the nearest one from Akbar’s than his other wives. As they reached the place, a sense of isolation covered the heart all of a sudden. This place is well maintained like other sites, but anyone can see the striking difference between the other popular Historical places and this almost forgotten tomb of a almost forgotten face from History. The place is less adorned, secluded... not even a single tourist was in the sight.
As if the queen lived her complete life in reclusion, even after death the loneliness never left her. She is lying here all alone, waiting for the day when He comes, fulfils his promise...
Pragya walked passed the greenery and went inside the construction, followed by a stunned Rohan. Like the other Mughal architectures, this mausoleum has its own designs on the wall; but they are not as graceful as the previous ones, they are not proudly displaying the glory of the past Mughal Empire... perhaps they are only depicting the tears of the lonely queen who hid from love to secure her dignity, and who is waiting for her love to come and conquer her now, to begin a new chapter.
Pragya paced inside intuitively, as if some external energy was controlling her. Holding Rohan’s hand she went inside, came to the center which leads to the basement where the grave is securely protected. They walked through the dark passage, and stood in front of a locked gate in dark... inside which the Marium-Uz-Zamani is resting peacefully...
Pragya exhaled deeply and touched a stunned Rohan’s shoulder affectionately. “Have you found the end of the unfinished story now, Rohan?” She murmured while a trail of tear rolled down of her cheek.
Rohan moved forward, clasped the grill with all his strength as he tried to look past the darkness of inside. The silhouette of the grave was prominent from outside. As Rohan stood in front of it, his shadow fell directly onto the grave. And in an almost silent, broken voice, Rohan whispered- “See, I kept my promise... Begam Sahiba, I told you I will come back to you again, I will find you from anywhere, I will recognize you in any disguise... and I will say the words I could not say before...”
As his shadow embraces the surface of the grave, just like two lovers mingling into one, he uttered- “I love you. I have been in love with you at the first sight, and that love increased every day, every moment as I got to know you... While trying to own you, I could not win you... Because I was young, I was naïve... and that would be the biggest regret of my life. I spent my entire life figuring out how to touch your heart, how to make you smile, how to bring peace in my turmoiled life... but never knew that love was always there, we only had to recognize it, had to give it a chance... I made a mistake. We both did... We were too late... But this won’t happen again... Jalaluddin has come back to you, to confess his love, as he promised... Accept me Jodha. Accept my love and complete me. Complete both of us...”
There was a pin-dropped silence all over as Rohan’s voice echoed; Rohan’s voice? Or the voice of the hundreds of years old soul finding the way to eternal peace? Pragya does not know... Because at this moment in this basement, they did not have any identity... they were just two floating souls swimming in the ocean of time to meet with each other... They have met in middle, where Rohan’s existence mingles with the Great Emperor Akbar effortlessly; and Pragya’s mingles with the queen resting in peace under that grave of the basement... And as Rohan and Pragya found each other; as Jalaluddin Akbar has fulfilled his promise to his Jodha; as the wait of Marium-Uz-Zamani has completed, finally this is the time for the storm in that ocean to stop. Finally this is the time for peace...
Pragya’s vision blurred as her eyes got teary. At last the unfinished story has come to an end.
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Tajmahal was not in the list of visiting places in this trip. Still they have come to visit Tajmahal once. Tomorrow they will flew back to Kolkata, to their own lives, back to their reality where no memory of previous birth come to haunt them.
Rohan was sitting at one of the bench of the garden, staring at the heritage of love silently. Pragya was doing some photography, she sat beside Rohan when she was done. Rohan was humming a tune in lost mind. Pragya knew the song.
“Amar swapne bibhor hoye jonmecho bohubaar
Ami chilam tomar kamona bidroho chitkaar
Dukhho peyecho jotobaar jeno amay peyecho tumi
Ami tomar purush ami tomar janmobhumi.
Jotobaar tumi jononi hoyecho totobaar ami pita
Koto sontan jwalalo preoshi tomar amar chita.
Bar bar ashi amra dujon bar bar fire jai
Abar ashbo abar bolbo sudhu tomakei chai...”
[You took birth many times while floating in my dream,
I have been your desire, your revolution, your scream
You have found me in each moments of your turmoil
I am your man, where you belong I am that soil...
I have become father whenever you have tasted motherhood,
My Love, so many times our children have burnt our ashes together...
We come back again and again, and again we go...
I will come again, I will say again that I want only you in all my lives...]
“So this is it. Tomorrow we are back to pavilion.” Pragya said in a cheerful voice.
“Indeed.” Rohan stopped humming and looked at her. “All adventures ended. Now back to the boring life again.”
“Not so boring for me... With all the case-studies and researches I am going to have some busiest days ahead.” Pragya smiled. “Oh and I have to handle some break-up drama after getting back. How did I forget!”
“Lucky you. And I have to gear up and find a new job, then same boring life of a corporate slave... what to do!” Rohan scoffed. “From the Emperor of India to the slave of foreign company. What an elevation of life!”
Pragya giggled. “Looks like you are missing the ‘old’ you?”
Rohan smiled. “No I am good with me.”
“You are feeling completely normal now, right?” Pragya asked.
“Yes. I can’t even remember anything now. Like all these memories are gone forever.”
“It has. Again buried under the pile of real memories of today.” Pragya smiled.
“And what about you?” Rohan asked. “You feeling ok?”
“What about me?”
“I know you saw something, Pragya. Don’t lie now.” Rohan said. “You were the one who knew where I have to go to...”
“Yes...” Pragya nodded. “I guess the story of the queen is finished now, my need of remembering these memories have completed.” She inhaled deeply. “Now only look forward to the future... No more haunted life...”
There was a pinch in her heart as she said it. Did she want all of it to disappear like nothing ever happened? The story of the queen ended, but where is the new beginning? Who will tell her that story?
Perhaps Rohan was thinking in the same line as well. “I have a request...” he said. “While looking forward to the future don’t forget this man.”
Pragya smiled. “My successful case-study of reincarnation- how I can afford to forget you?”
“I don’t want to remember me as reincarnation of Akbar or whatever...” Rohan said. “I want you to remember me as Rohan.”
“Maybe I won’t have to struggle if you don’t forget to keep in touch.” Pragya said. “Or maybe ask for coffee once or twice. Or maybe we could go on a date?”
Rohan swallowed a little. “Did you just asked me out...”
“If it is okay... I mean look at us, both have become single in the tangle of this previous life so maybe we...” Pragya tried to dilute the situation but could not. Rohan was staring at her with a mesmerized smile at his lips.
“What?” Pragya chuckled. “Did I say something...”
“No.” Rohan chuckled too. “Just... you robbed my chance of proposing with some great lines by asking me out first. For your information, I was kind of planning how to do it from a long time.”
Pragya tried to laugh but could not. A little blush on cheek made her smile more sweet.
“Well, you have the record of delaying the proposal part for lifetime it seems. So I kind of thought to...” She said.
“Right.” Rohan touched her fingers with his fingers while looking at her intensely. “Although you don’t have the lines like me.”
“What is your famous catchline then, Your Majesty?” Pragya giggled.
Rohan did not laugh. He grew more intense and clasped both of her hands while looking at her eyes. “Will you be the queen of my new story, Dr. Pragya Mukherjee?”
Pragya could not help blushing and lowered her eyes. After some moments she looked at him affectionate. “I am already the queen of your story.” She said.
Both of them grew closer, embracing each other in arms... The Sun was just about to set, the blush of dusk covered the white marble of Taj Mahal, who stood there to witness the beginning of another new story.
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