Chapter 1 -- Road to Janjgarh 1556, Unnamed village in Ajmer province
Adil Shah Suri could proudly claim that patience was one of his strongest traits. Sequestered away from the prying eyes of his enemies, his keen gaze had hardly ever strayed from the Royal house hold of the Mughal Empire. Over the years a faithful network of spies had kept him abreast of the goings on in Delhi while he patiently bid his time, waiting for an opportune moment to strike.
They didn't call him Old Fox for nothing.
The Great Mughal Humayun was dead. A wee lad of thirteen wore the crown on a poor coronation ceremony, eyes puffed and red, still mourning for his loss, while theProtector-mentor guarded him feverishly like a faithful Great Dane and the Nurse fretted on his lack of appetite. Jalal,the boy was called.
That moment had arrived. He would win back Turk-Afgan claim to the Royal throne of Delhi, seize what was rightfully his. Adil Shah quickened his pace across the stone floor of his shabby chamber as his face broke into a ghoulish smile.He could see a great battle, looming on the horizon.
... ... ...
Far far away from this cauldron of conspiracy, a carter brought his ikkagari ( horse drawn carriage) to a sudden halt, at a place where three roads met.
''Get down here'', he impatiently ordered.
Dusk was falling over a arid, rocky landscape.Shadows of thick woodland shimmered at a distance. Apart from clumps of grass and wild lily bushes,a gigantic grandfather banyan tree with branches spreading to all directions and a bleating sheep tied to one of his innumerable hanging roots, there was nothing. A lilting voice of protest flew out of the carriage window,'' But it is nowhere !''
''This is as far as your coins bring u, Shahiba ! That was the arrangement, remember ?'' , the man said,unpurturbed.''Now get down fast. It is getting late and I dont like lingering in this part of the country after nightfall''.
The veiled figure sat frozen in her seat clutching her trunk so tightly that her knuckles turned white. This man couldnt leave her alone in this god-forsaken place, could he ?
The man got down from his seat to stand face to face with her. His face and tone changed dramatically. ''You can ofcourse come with me, lady ! I have a roof above my head,food,a bed to keep you warm. A pretty little thing like you, there is no need to worry about payment,'' the man leered his eyes all over her body, as if she was a large chuck of meat.
The girl's reflexes kicked in and her body jumped into action frantically. Clutching her sole possession, she took a leap from the carriage and fall into a heap on ground amidst the taunting laugh of the carter. She quickly got up and without any thought scampered towards east dragging her trunk behind. A little while after she heard hoof beats and creaking of wheels fading into nothing, she allowed herself to relax a little and look around.
There was absolutely no sign which direction to pursue. A thin hint of a path made possibly from years of cattles trudging to their grazing field led her more deeper into the terrain and after sometime it began to climb up to a densely wooded area. Sal and Deodar towered over smothering blanket of cacti and other wild thorny bushes. her veil kept catching on things and after a few unsuccessful tugging and wrenching, she gave up. It was almost tattered and was of no use to her.
Suddenly she stumbled.The light was fading...in the pale yellow last light of the day,she found herself on her knees all alone in a strange land, her feet bleeding,and stomach rumbing, her veil in shreds and the expensive peswaz (a type of kameez worn those days) torn here and there damp with sweat,dust and occasional blotches of blood.
The strength in her limbs that had borne her this far had finally fled.Hopeless tears gathered in her eyes as she massaged her sore knees.
She was in a foreign land. Alone. Lost. Hungry. He favorite veil was in shreds and the expensive peswaz (sort of kameez worn those days) was now riddled with holes and drenched in sweat.
Help me Abbajan!
A pathetic whimper escaped her parched throat as she lowered herself to the ground and wept her misery into the still night. Merciful darkness claimed her after a while and she knew no more.
Approaching footsteps woke her up with a start.
How many hours had passed?
Two pairs of feet stopped a short distance from her. She traced them upward to the faces of two men. One was tall and thin and the other short and slightly rotund. The tall one approached her cautiously with a polite smile and cut an elegant adaab, while the other gaped at her in open surprise.
''Have u lost your way, Mohtarma or have u flown from jannat to grace the earth ?''
The tall guy cut an elegant adaab. His bright olive green robe looked impressive and a gold medallion hung from a chain around his neck. The other one was clad in a coarse brown tunic and sandals of eccleciastical apprentice. His face looked bright orange in blinding firelight but he had now schooled his amazement and his warm smile assured her almost passed out in panic heart.
''We see few travellers in this path, are you headed towards Janjgarh gaon ? '',the tall man courteously inquired.
''Huh ? Ja...gaon ? Yes, ofcourse, I was hoping to reaching there'', the girl stammered , uncertainly.They exchanged a glance but did not say anything.''Janjgarh gaon'' the Maulavi's apprentice pronounced slowly and clearly to let her know the name properly,''is on our way. If you allow, we can walk with you and help you reach there safely''.Bahut sukriya,Bhaijaan'', the girl's eyes almost misted in gratitude.
For some unknown reason she felt absolute safe and comfortable in their company.''Latif.'' introduced the tall man in olive green cloak .''and my companion is Mir baksh, he is a disciple of our saintly Maulavi Pir Nawaz.''
''As-salam alaykum ! I am Mahira, daughter of Abdoor Hasan Ali, the scholar.''
''Walaikum Salaam ! Let me carry your box. It looks heavy enough''
''No !'',Mahira nearly shrieked,''no, I can manage it myself.Sukriya'', she softened realising how harsh she sounded.
As they headed towards the village, Mahira waited for them to ask why a woman of respectable household was wandering alone so late but strangely none of them said a thing to her.Although they kept shooting inquisitive glances at her from time to time. With her ragged clothes and dishevelled appearance, nobody would believe she was daughter of a much revered scholar, a girl of a good family, fair and dignified. And she had so less resources left. Suddenly an idea struck her.
'' Mir bhaijan !''
'' Ji mohtarma ?''
''I have understood u are student of Muktab ( educational institute for Islamic studies). Is there any Mazaar or retreat for orphan girls ?''
Mir Baksh smiled making his round face alight like a large oil lamp ( diya).''several days ride from here, Mahira. And do you seek a life of abstinence, spinsterhood and prayer ?Mahira blushed, she had hardly given it a thought.
''Mauf kijiye Bhaijan ! I was seeking a place that offers refuge...''
''Are you short of funds ?'', Latif was openly blunt.
''Nothing like that'',Mahira's voiced raised in a sudden alarm, the lecherous carter had made her wary...surely these men were well mannered but she should trust no one,''I can earn my own living. I am educated, I have studied astrology,mathematics ,alchemy and medicine under my father's guidance.''
Mir Baksh's eyes widened in open admiration while Latif only huffed in response. Surely he found the idea of a woman surviving on her own amusing. But he uttered nothing.As they walked in silence Mahira wondered when was the last time she walked with such ease and confidence. Surely long time back, months, when her abbu was still alive and she, apple of his eyes.
Mahira shook her head to ward off her depressing thought and eyed Latif's clothing and the medallion intently.''A token of authority'',he saw her looking. ''I was once a Jaigirdar's chief councillor'', there was a note of terrible sadness in his tone.
It was impossible to find the right response without asking awkward questions. Why once and not now ? This area was under Mughal Badshah's rule. The chieftain Jaigirdars would be ruling the parganas on behalf of him. While traveling, Mahira noticed villages and towns raising mud walls and digging defensive trenches to confront bands of Afgan rebels. If a chieftain needed his councillor, it was now.
''Sorry if I was being intrusive'', was all she mumbled. As the path spiralled downwards, a small town with blinking lights appeared in front of their eyes.
''Is that, the village, Janjgarh gaon ?''
The three of them halted looking ahead. A formidable barrier surrounded the settlement. Against an army of rebels, it would not last long but it made a real deterrent to travellers. Flame torches were set on top of long poles and the whole area was as bright as broad daylight.Within the wall, men were maching around but a thin veil of mist made details obscure.Mahira eagerly headed downhill towards the village.
She was about 12 feet from the wall when something came hurtling towards her.she ducked,shielding her head. Several stones followed.
''Away with you, shaitan ka khala'',yelled one,while other voice added,''go back into hell with devil companions''.
''ya Allah ! what is this ?'' Mahira tremblingly peeked from behind her sheltering arms. Has the journey transformed me into a witch, she wondered and why on earth Latif and Mir Baksh are standing silent !''
Mahira turned her head to speak but nobody was there.
[ to be continued...]
Read Chapter 2 : When Nightmares come Hunting
Writer's note :
I am writing a historical fiction for the first time although I have always dreamed to write one...plz bear with me even if it falls short of your expectation. I would be delighted if u add constructive criticism and appreciation in your comments. plz do not forget to press the like button.They mean happiness and inspiration.
Special applause to PurpleCrayon Baisa, fairy Godmother of my baby ( the FF, its my dream project) who has willingly taken the trouble of editing, correcting and polishing the rough edges and transform my ugly duckling drafts into breath taking perfect chapters. She has wonderful command over language and a keen sense of precision and taste for dramatic flair. Afsos, she is not writing a FF herself. She has reconstructed many of my lines, gone line by line through my sleep deprived brain's gibberish product to remove spots and blemishes. She has perfected the paragraphs, given me suggestion which font to use and which technique to use while opening a historical fiction. . This story has become hers priority equally.She is making my dream come true.
Kruti, I really dont know how to express my gratitude and appreciation. Words wont suffice, so I hope my upcoming chapters would live upto your expectation and make your editing job less dull and more intrigued with flow of actions. Thank you, once again !
Edited by milinda.shreyz - 9 years ago
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