ishq-e-sultaana (akdha ss/ff) - Page 6

1 week for 1 chapter better post a long one

Update soon ;)

promised i'm not alone (💖🕌🛕)

i'm crumbling into feelings i hate
how can you just watch me fade away?
i'm addicted to your sight but I lost my fight
it's a long hard road right back to my side
distance in the way of the road we made
don't let us fade away
promise you're coming home by zanha

a letter is sent to a man who cannot easily read, but when read out loud, emotions run wild, creating an explosion that ends up going south for both parties.

The sun had made its descent down Agra's horizon, bringing with it darkness and the lit lamps which quelled the darkness, leaving a soft glow in the khaas mahal.

In the spacious room stood a hardwood table, red velvet lining the furniture as it held scrolls—unread scrolls and an untouched goblet of the dark red sura. At the opposite end was a seated Abdul with his crutches reclining on the side.

Typically, Jalal would be seated on his divan as he'd hear his friend read out the contents of the scrolls, but this was not a typical day by any means.

Instead, here he was reclined on the divan, his mind far away as Abdul read out the scrolls—one about some situation in Kabul, perhaps an intelligence report or an export—he wasn't listening.

No, his mind remained trained and affixed on one person—Jodha Begum. His eyebrows knitted as he toyed with the royal ring on his index finger.

Why is she distant?

This was unlike the day after their consummation. No, this one felt different, and for once, he could not place a thought on what it could be.

Is it me? Did I say anything wrong? Was it something I did?

Or was it...something else?

But what would make Jodha cease contact with the world and with him?

A sharp gust of air escaped his nostrils, his body in his khaas mahal, while his mind veered off so far away he barely caught a word Abdul read out.

A sound of payal would be the one thing to pull him out of his thoughts, except this was not the shuffle he came to associate with her presence—no, this one was more hesitant and seeing the person at the door made more sense.

Moti, her bandhi.

Even Abdul paused his reading, a quick nod of acknowledgement from him as the young woman pressed her palms together in a silent Pranaam. Between those hands was a scroll, causing a frown to deepen on his face.

"R-Rani Jodha ka ek patr, Shehenshah," Moti stammered through with a stiff smile on her face, his frown deepening even more.

A letter?

A hardened mask fell upon his face as he curtly nodded at Moti—an unspoken command for her to hand over the scroll to Abdul.

Seconds passed, and the rolled paper passed from one trembling hand to Abdul's firm hand. With another nod from him, she was out of earshot, the sound of her payal dulling with distance.

Mindlessly, Jalal's hands reached for the sura, the thick, dark, slightly bitter liquid hitting his tongue and burning through his throat as he swallowed.

"Read it."

It was a simple command from him — cold and void of emotions.

The sound of paper unrolling made its mark in the room and there came the silence — uncharacteristic silence which came from the man who was typically quick to throw in some snarky statement when the situation called for it.

Jalal frowned again as he looked up this time. What he saw was enough to have him stare at Abdul in suspicion as the disabled man held a pale face — one that displayed a blend of shock and disbelief.

"Bataao," he said in a low and measured voice. "Kya baat hai?"

He was met with a stare—not quite blank but enough to have him on the edge of his divan and then...

"Mubarak ho, Bhaijaan."

The world stopped on its axis with a short, low and puzzled chuckle from Jalal. What was it? Some victory at a battle he was not aware of? Another family event in Amer or...

No, this was too sombre for any of those.

His tone grew snappier and more clipped. "Mubarak ho? Kis baat ki?"

Abdul hesitated again and in a bout of impatience, Jalal snatched the paper from him, his eyes trained on the paper — none of it made any lick of sense as the words danced in some undecipherable pattern.

With a growl of frustration bubbling in his throat, he thrust the paper back at Abdul with another clipped command.

"Read it out loud."

A moment of hesitation passed again with Abdul clearing his throat as he held the khat at arm's length, reading the full content.

"To Shehenshah Jalal-ud-Din Muhammad," he started, the formal tone of the letter enough to have Jalal grit his teeth so hard a molar almost cracked. "For a week, I have found myself at war on how to relay this information to you and with certain consideration, I decided that you needed to hear this from me."

Abdul stopped which earned him another glare that read "Continue the damn letter."

"I am with child—your child. It is all you need to know, Shehenshah. Signed, Begum Jodha Bai."

Time stood still, silence and tension fell upon the room where Jalal could hear his heartbeat through his eardrums. His chest heaved, and his fingers drummed against his thighs like a metronome.

His throat ran dry and cracked, and the world stalled as the words replayed.

I am with child—your child.

Mubarak ho, Bhaijaan.

He stood to his feet, a loud chuckle leaving his lips as his feet heavily paced across the floor. A chuckle of disbelief and rage.

Abdul looked up, his face twisted in concern. This spelled anything but good, especially if the Tiger of Agra let out a chuckle so dark it could suffocate the whole of Hindustan for months.

"A f*cking letter," he said so hoarsely as his juttis slapped against the thigh heavily like they were a death sentence. "That was all she could do—a f*cking letter?!"

He ran a hand through his hair, his body steaming with rage.

"What happened to all that fire? That boldness, uh?" He chuckled mirthlessly again. "The same Jodha Begum who would storm in with fire blazing in those eyes, that tongue sharper than her dagger."

His heart pounded even faster.

This was the same woman who had sung about the sins of the Mughal Sultanate right in his face on their post-nikah jashn. This was the same woman who never hesitated to let him know how much she loathed him. The same woman whose hand was swift enough to strike him across the face within this very same khaas mahal, knowing fully well that it came with consequences.

"Yet she does the most cowardly thing of sending me a letter?"

Abdul could only shake his head—not out of pity—but at the tragedy. His voice was contrite as he weighed his words.

"Could it be that Bhabijaan is afraid of what facing you while sharing this news might bring? Could it be the reason why she settled for this instead?"

Jalal found himself stopping, a glare on his face as he focused on the disabled man.

She is afraid of you and what you could do should you know, his words seemed to read, and the thought of that broke him more than he could admit to himself.

What type of man are you if even your devi fears you?

The anger left him and was soon replaced with something else—denial.

It cannot be? She cannot be with child, can she? This has to be a jest, his mind tried to rationalize.

But Jodha was not the kind of woman to jest, especially not with something as serious as this.

What if the hakim is wrong? These things do happen. Misdiagnoses, something like that, he found himself grasping at straws, at anything.

"F*ck," Jalal swore, pinching the bridge of his nose. "F*ck f*ck f*ck."

A child.

A f*cking child.

"It can't be," he found himself scrambling. "There has to be an error. She can't be with child. I'm not ready for this. I do not want this!" The last sentence came out as a yell as he pushed his hair back again.

Fatherhood.

That came as a gilded cell wall under the shimmer of expectation and legacy.

He was no naive man, he knew fully well what the court expected from him — heirs to take on his legacy and not just his but also that of the empire.

But he did not want this, especially not now. How can he be a father when his childhood was marked with blood and betrayal? How can he hold a tiny, helpless baby when his childhood left no space for tenderness? How can a man as broken as him make an innocent mind whole?

He knew the story behind his birth—a heavily pregnant Hamida Bano Begum who had to make the frightful journey to seek refuge in Umerkot during a siege laid by Sher Shah Suri.

He was born in a small kingdom, not Agra. And even then, his Ammi could not hold him in her arms because the empire had given her the sadistic choice of either her duty to her husband—and the empire—or to her infant son.

That choice made him grow into a bitter man with a cold and strained relationship—a chasm so wide it would take him years to try and bridge it with her, his Ammi.

Other kids were raised with lullabies, colourful festivals and children's play, while his childhood was marked with the strict ustadh striking the back of his hands with wood for not reading a single alphabet in Farsi, the clash of swords and blood.

He knew the price of being a Mughal prince who was not allowed to enjoy his boyhood, and he would not wish even a quarter of his childhood on any child.

What if I repeat this cycle? What if I make them a monster like me? What if I ruin them?

"No, it can't be," he found himself repeating for the hundredth time that night, and for once, he could not stand still with this conflict pressing on his mind.

No, he has to see her. He has to look at her. She needs to tell him to his face. He can't—

Without sparing a second glance at Abdul, he was out and on his way to the one person whose words could make or break him.

promise you're coming home
but you don't care
you're not here
by now you probably realize I'm gone forever
promised i'm not alone
but you don't care
you're not here
you're not here with me
promise you're coming home by zahna

words, when spoken in rage and fear, cannot be easily taken back

Jodha deeply exhaled as she leaned against the jharokha, her sight falling on nothing in particular from the comfort of her hojra.

This state of calm brought with it its deception because she knew deep within her heart that by sending that khat, she was luring the storm out and bringing it right to her doorsteps. It was just a matter of time before it would leave destruction in its wake.

"Khat? Is this a good idea? What will he—?"

An honest and piercing question from Moti's trembling lips had her rethinking her decision again as she let out another sigh.

So impersonal. So formal. What if he takes it the wrong way? She pondered to herself, but did she have any other choice? She wished she could walk into his khaas mahal and announce to him — in person — that the affair they had nursed in the shadows and between silk sheets had now borne fruit in her womb. And she intended to bring that life to term.

But the question remained unanswered — how would he react?

She smiled sadly only for a sound — one like the tremor of an upcoming earthquake — broke through her reverie. Her feet touched the ground as she braced herself.

He is coming — the storm she had summoned with a letter was about to make its impact right on her sanctuary, and then, the door swung open without ceremony, the sound of heavy breathing filling the air.

Do not turn. Don't turn, Jodha. In all that you do, do not—

The room fell silent, the diyas seemed to have dimmed in intensity upon his entrance, and the sound of his feet meeting the floor filled the room.

Clutching onto her dupatta, she leaned even closer to the jharokha as his boots got heavier.

"Would you at least have the decency to face me?" His voice rang through, causing her skin to break out into goosebumps. Slowly, she stood to her height, her breath coming out shakily as she turned to face him.

There was that look — one that betrayed hurt and rage. In his hand was the khat, she had drafted and given to Moti to send to him, squeezed tightly and furiously with his rings, making a print on the paper.

His chuckle was dry, bitter like the taste of karela in the mouth as he held out the paper.

"Ek khat, Jodha Begum," his voice rang out low, cold and hollow — the perfect calm before the raging storm. "A f*cking letter. I have to give it to you, you know? I had to learn about this from the lips of another man."

Her complexion paled at that as her head snapped up. This was not what she planned. She had intended that letter for his eyes only. How—?!

He paced about the tensely silent room like a wounded tiger, barely tame and still dangerous enough to inflict damage should he decide to pounce.

"Where was all that bravery, uh? You never hesitated to state your disdain for me, your reservations over my policies and my rulings, but this—this earns me ink on parchment? What changed?"

I'm sorry.

I didn't want it to be like this.

I was scared.

She wanted to say. She felt the urge to rationalize her feelings, her reasoning behind her decision, but from that cold expression on his face, none of them would land.

The man standing before her was not the Sarkar who kissed her neck and had her gasping as he'd whispered her name. He was not the man who'd listen to her read out Meera Bai and then recite Rumi from memory.

No, this man before her was the Shehenshah — the tiger lurking between the trees, waiting to pounce on its unwitting prey and rip off its head — and she had to tread carefully lest she trip him off.

"You had to know," she said, calmly and carefully.

Even to her ears, those words came across as cold and detached, cruel in fact, as he paused to look at her. She swallowed thickly, willing herself to stay still as he drew closer.

"How long?"

"T-two moons," she murmured, doing the math as she mentally calculated when she noticed her cycle's cessation. Maybe more than two moons. "I only noticed a week ago and—."

His eyes snapped up at her, and he chuckled darkly and mirthlessly at that as if he was slowly putting the pieces together.

He then looked away from her, the air so thick and heavy with tension that she held her breath.

Then came the bombshell.

"How could you be this reckless?"

She flinched.

Perhaps it would have been better if he yelled at her or something of the sort, but she's been married to him for about two years now, and for a man like Jalal, they did not need to yell at you to break you. No, a still and low voice was good enough to render enough damage.

"You are not naïve," he added, his attention back on her. "You are not some foolish girl who doesn't know how to prevent this—this from happening, so tell me, how could you be this f*cking reckless?"

She stepped back, a shuddering gasp escaping her lips, and her eyes pricked with tears. Her body went still, shattered as she found herself rooted right where she stood.

This was the very scenario she feared for the past week — that the father of her child would not be a partner but a man who would make her feel ashamed for carrying what they created together. It was one thing to bear that fear, but another to witness it becoming a reality — the fear that she'd have to do this all alone.

He is blaming me.

All this time and—

"I was reckless?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper as she stared at him. Then came the rage, one that boiled in her veins as her eyes heated just as fast. Was he seriously blaming her for this, as if she had gotten herself pregnant?

"How dare you?!" She hissed, her voice equally as low but threatening as she took a step toward him. He was about to bite back when she put a foot down. "No, you do not get to do this, Shehenshah. Not today, not ever. Don't you even think about it."

"Or what, Jodha Begum?!" He shot back at her, his tone mocking and his eyes feral. "Do you think I want this? Whatever this thing is? Maybe if you had taken the measures against this, you would not be in this mess. Ever thought of that?"

A short, curt and biting laugh was her quick response to those words, her disbelief at his words evident. "You think I also wanted this? You think I did not spend nights in isolation, nights crying because of what this means? Do you think I lay down on that damn bed willing this pregnancy into existence? Do you think this was some virgin birth, Shehenshah?"

She jabbed an index finger against her sternum, her voice unwavering despite the broken dam of tears threatening to spill over.

"I did everything right, Shehenshah. I took every precaution, I crushed those damn herbs, drank those bitter concoctions all because I did not want this. Because I knew if something went wrong, I would be the one to deal with the fallout," she said, dropping the bombshell and watching his face fall even by a fraction. "But I guess we don't always get what we want, hai na?"

"Jodha—," he cut in, but she was having none of it as she directed that finger at him, silencing him for good.

"I am the reckless one, right?" She asked, her voice deadly calm as she stared at him. "You think I conjured this child from thin air? You think I planted your seed in me just from mere imagination? And yes, I let you in. I let you touch me because I wanted you to. That was my choice, Shehenshah. But you will not make me feel small for something we both did."

She stepped even closer, her eyes burning as her hands shook.

"You were the one who took me like a man possessed, Shehenshah," she added with a bitter smile. "You were the one who gripped on so tightly to me, swearing that you saw Khuda between my thighs each time you released your seed in me with no thought to the consequences. So, don't you dare point that finger at me and act like I was the reckless one!"

Then, she stepped back, her body almost swaying as her chest tightened in adrenaline, rage and concern — concern for her unborn child.

This is exhausting. This is not healthy. Not for me. Not for my child. She stopped, her hand touching her temples and the other instinctively reaching for her lower abdomen as she steadied herself.

"Jao," she whispered, her order final.

He hesitated, his feet making a step toward her when she held her hand out. She knew what she was about to hear, and honestly, she desired none of it. Not especially right now.

"Bas, Shehenshah. Just leave. Nikal jao yaha se!" She repeated, more harshly as she turned away from him, not willing to grant him the dignity of seeing her tears — the tears he caused—as they rolled down her cheeks.

The room was filled with the shuffling of feet against the floor, the reluctance in his steps evident until he reached the door. A moment of silence came, and then, the door shut behind her.

Now alone, she slid down to the floor, with her knees hitting the floor. Her hand pressed to her lower abdomen as, for the first time since she had learned about her pregnancy, she let out quiet sobs.

Tears for believing, even for a bit, that maybe he would accept this child.

That she would not have to bear the burden of this pregnancy alone.

That he would rise to the occasion and support her at least.

But here she was.

I am going to do this alone. I'm on my own.

What started as a nightmarish scenario ceased to be hypothetical. It was real, and it would not be ending anytime soon. She was going to raise this child without his support.

Something stirred inside her, her trembling hand pressing firmly enough as she whispered.

"It's fine, mera bachcha. It is going to be alright. I am still here."

closing notes: I am so sorry this chapter was a bit short but the next chapter will be longer, I promise. I will not be able to update next week as I have a family event coming up and I will be very busy during that week. to anyone wondering what will happen next, don't worry, Jalal will have his epiphany in the coming chapter 😄. thanks for reading, and I'll love to read your feedback 😄💜

I just updated rn 😭🙏🏾. I wish there was a way I could schedule updates on IF ngl 😩🥲

Originally posted by: MideOfTheShadow

I just updated rn 😭🙏🏾. I wish there was a way I could schedule updates on IF ngl 😩🥲

This was amazing dude

Loved it

Jodha's outburst .. Jalal's reactions .. super 💜💜🤗

I hope Jalal realizes his mistake ..

Oh so u will update after 2 weeks? This one was soo short

Originally posted by: nushhkiee

This was amazing dude

Loved it

Jodha's outburst .. Jalal's reactions .. super 💜💜🤗

I hope Jalal realizes his mistake ..

Oh so u will update after 2 weeks? This one was soo short

I'm so sorry it was short 😭🙏🏾. it would have been longer ngl but there were some parts that did not fit the theme of the chapter, so I did not include them in this chapter. the next chapter, however, will be longer (~5.5k words)

Jodha definitely was not going to take his accusations lying down because he was blaming her for something they both did. while his reaction is due to trauma of having a less-than-ideal childhood, he has no excuse for doing that. however, if she had continued, it could have killed her or led to pregnancy complications like preeclampsia.

as for Jalal, we're not done with him. in fact, the next chapter will have him going through his 'Joseph/Yusuf' arc but first, he has to address the root cause for his reluctance which he will do in the next chapter.

I really wish I could upload the next chapter next week but unfortunately, I can't 😭🥲. but I appreciate your comment 😄💜

Originally posted by: MideOfTheShadow

Jodha definitely was not going to take his accusations lying down because he was blaming her for something they both did. while his reaction is due to trauma of having a less-than-ideal childhood, he has no excuse for doing that. however, if she had continued, it could have killed her or led to pregnancy complications like preeclampsia.

as for Jalal, we're not done with him. in fact, the next chapter will have him going through his 'Joseph/Yusuf' arc but first, he has to address the root cause for his reluctance which he will do in the next chapter.

Yup .. I agree

But then i hope Jo understands his point of view as well

Childhood trauma and all

Well I can only say update ASAP🤗😂

we'll get to see that in the next update 😄😄😄

hi!

I apologize for the delayed response as I just settled in. I appreciate your feedback, and thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts on this chapter, especially on the emotional arcs of Jodha and Jalal.

regarding the line in question, I completely understand how inappropriate it felt to you. coming from a person of faith myself, I want to clarify that it was not my intention to belittle or mock anyone's beliefs. I apologize if it came across that way.

the line in question is a reflection of Jalal's extremely fractured and deeply flawed relationship with faith and belief in IES. his understanding of God is extremely strained — born out of trauma and a distorted sense of worth — that it borders the line of blasphemy (he even refers to Jodha as his devi, which, in Islamic theology, would be considered shirk). this line is not a reflection of millennia and decades of theology across faiths, nor is it meant to offend any faith or belief. instead, it is an intentional reflection of a man who is going through the motions with his own faith that he feels spiritually grounded in one person outside of it — her.

however, I do understand your concerns, and I agree wholeheartedly: God, however one understands the Divine, is infinite and far beyond all things and our understanding. I will be more mindful of this in future scenes that engage with sacred themes. I appreciate the grace and honesty in your response. thank you again for reading 😄🙏🏾