RAABTA

“Love is best expressed in actions, than words.” Rukaiya Sultana Begum had accompanied her mothers in law Bega Begum and Hamida Banu Begum to the garden of Babur.  The occasion was indeed special. After years of struggle, Humayun had won back parts of Lahore, against the Suris. It was a long stretch of difficult days that had finally seen some sunshine. Rukaiya, clad in fuchsia pink silk attire embroidered with gold and pearls, appeared before the marble tomb of her late Grandfather, of whom she had only heard tales. Rukaiya knelt before the tomb to offer her prayers, of thanks and gratitude. She knew that today, Jalal would be happy. He had not accompanied his overprotective father and Bairam Khan at war, but was under the care of his tutors instead, near Lahore. It was he who had sent a messenger with the happy news to his mothers. The ladies were relieved. At last, Babur’s dreams were coming true. Rukaiya Begum was happy for a different reason altogether. The messenger had

  “The greatest love often goes through the biggest tests.” “Your feet are soar, Ajbante Baisa, what are you doing?” Bhagwati passed her the milk as Ajbante Kanwar Baisa stirred the kheer now, “There, I am almost done.” She insisted. “If Ranisa gets to know that you…” “Hush!” Ajbante warned checking the sugar “She shouldn’t.” “Then listen to me, let’s go to your chambers, let the cooks do this. You have already cooked four dishes ...” Bhagwati insisted. “Besides, you were running a fever yesterday, you fasted all day. You should rest today.” “Just this and we are done.” She smiled “Daata will go to the Khema with food and it is our reputation in question…” “Lies!” Bhagwati giggled. “It’s Kunwar Partap in question! Your first chance to feed him.” “ Quiet.” Ajbante looked alarmed “Someone might hear you.” She blushed. “So? You are his would-be wife!” Bhagwati giggled. “Everyone here knows that!” Ajbante Kanwar got up to put the kheer in the bowl and her head felt he

“Love is the purest, when innocent.” The Harem at Kabul was buzzing with activities. Flowers were spread all over the corridors. Lamps were lit and servants, maids and eunuchs rushed all over the place in urgency. The small procession was visible from atop the towers and the foster mothers made sure that the rooms were well-organised for the tired travellers . Amidst the commotion, in one of the chambers, a princess was getting bathed by her ladies in waiting. After applying honey and milk, they sprinkled rose water. She was then clad in a very gaudy red Sharara belonging to her mother.   She checked herself in the mirror at last. Her Paasha was placed right over her parted hair, her eyes drawn with Surma, her lips red with Laali and the ladies sprinkled scents on her. Her braided long hair, adorned with Jasmine flowers, covered with the fine transparent veil, she hurried with her jewellery , her heart thumping in her nervous giggle. All of eleven, she looked more like her mothe

“The heart is a sacred shrine, where you have been worshipped since eternity.” The silent land leading out of the forests of Bhilwara towards the borders of Bundi was echoing with the rebellious sound of tinkling anklets. She ran across the land, her maangtika swaying like a pendulum over her careless locks that fell over her shoulders, her bare feet red in the hot barren sand of the afternoon, her heart thumping against her chest. She ran breathlessly towards the camps that stood at the banks of the Bijoliya Lake. She had no idea how long she was running, perhaps an hour, or longer since she managed to escape from the heavily guarded palace complex. Her knees were bruised against the thorn bushes on the path that often caught the corner of her simply embroidered beige lehenga; her blue dupatta flew away from her head in the afternoon wind. She held on to it as she ran. Worry swept across her face, her doe eyes looked restless, perhaps teary, the kajal complimenting her deep dar

“How you see the outcome of a war often depends on whose side you are on.” The forestland  of Bhilwara was dense. It was also the border between Mewar and Bundi, the most powerful states of Rajputana. The borders were being constantly patrolled by the guards of Mewar, owing to the recent win over the Afghans. Sher Shah Suri’s general had been defeated at last at Chittorgarh, the capital. But the borders in this area were never safe, especially with so many villages near it. Apart from enemies, there were looters and dacoits on the route too, who often troubled the travellers . Not far from the forestland  was the Chambal basin of the Aravallis. It was a very hot summer afternoon. The guards stopped beneath a tree, tired and thirsty in search of water. Two travellers  were resting there, one was an old man, who seemed to have weak limbs, and another his son, probably. “Are you looking for water, Brother?” The younger man asked. “Yes.” The soldiers were pleased with the