RAABTA

“Love comes unexpectedly, like a gust of wind in the summer afternoon.” The morning was gloomy at Bijoliya. Rawat Chundawat and Rao Ramrakh Punwar sat with dejected faces that showed that they had been insulted enough for their idea of peace by the Rana. Kunwar Partap sat rubbing his hands with a frown. Kunwar Shakta fumed at his father’s irrational behaviour. “I apologize.” Kunwar Partap broke the silence “On his behalf, for your insults.” Rao Ramrakh looked up at the crown prince joining his hands before him, in shock. “No No Kunwarsa!” He held his hands humbly “You need not apologize. Ranaji is right. This is his decision, we cannot…” His words faded out as Rawatji placed his hand gently on his shoulder. “It cannot be his decision if it is Mewar’s future at stake Raoji.” Kunwar Shakta fumed. Kunwar Partap shot him a warning glance that made him stop. Kunwar Shakta was angrier at what Rawatji mentioned. Their father had even gone to the extent of breaking personal ties

“A title comes with a lot of responsibilities; those who succeed trust their capabilities.” Rukaiya Sultana Begum was watching over the preparations for a grand fest in Kabul. The garden was decorated with flowers and a carpet was laid at the entrance. She inspected the decorations of the tents; the dancers brought for the evening feasts and praised Nasir. She then moved to the kitchen area where the meal was being prepared. Jalaluddin Mohammad had successfully made a stronghold in Hind and he was going to march against Hemu at Din Panah. Jalal informed her, about his movements, in formal letters with seals since the day he left Kabul. But Rukaiya did not complain. At least, she knew about him that way. The celebrations, however, were to welcome their paternal aunt, Gulbadan Begum, to Kabul, along with her first cousin Salima was the daughter of her own aunt Gulrukh Begum, a daughter of Babar. Jalal had informed them officially to Rukaiya, who was now the Padishah Begum,

“True Love grows slowly, in the tender heart, like a sapling grows into a tree. It is this love that survives all storms.” It was dusk when Kunwar Partap was alerted by the sound of a familiar anklet walking towards his guest quarters. He stopped shining his sword and turned to see Kunwar Shakta at his threshold with a very reluctant Ajbante Kanwar in toe. She was nervous from the looks of it, and unlike all the other times, her dupatta was not laid over her head, and her hair was neatly tied in a braid, falling over one side of her shoulder while her dupatta occupied the other side. “I wanted you to hear out what Baisa has to say Dadabhai.” It was Kunwar Shakta who met his approving nod and entered his room as she stood at the threshold. “Come in.” He spelt it out for her, making her look up from the carpet momentarily at his face before she crossed the threshold and entered his chambers. Ajbante Baisa could not help but notice the small idol of Mata Bhavani that was kep

“Everything comes with a price. Your success is determined by how much you are willing to pay for it.” The sound of footsteps resonated through the Kabul palace. “Rukaiya Begum!” her mother’s warning voice couldn’t make her stop; Rukaiya almost bumped into her mother and ran to her room. “Let her go.” Hamida Banu spoke with a hint of laughter in her voice “Jalal has sent gifts.” Rukaiya stopped at the threshold of her room. She had waited almost a year and a half to hear from him. With every message that arrived of his success and Khan Baba’s wars, Rukaiya had grown impatient to see him again. The room was lit up with lamps. It was filled with gifts wrapped in velvet covers of all shapes and colours. She scanned the room; clothes, jewellery, boxes of perfumes of all colours and bottles, books, and paintings. A maid presented herself before her. “Shehzadi Sultana Begum I am your maid in waiting. Padshah, send me here at your service.” She approved with a smile. “Did he…

“Uncertainties often bring out the true character, and ego often burns down the image of a man.” Maharani Jivanta Bai frowned a little at the messenger who stood at her threshold. She was not an official letter bearer, but a maid. Her veiled face could easily pass her as one of the maids of the Chittorgarh Palace itself, but Maharani Jivanta Bai’s keen eyes knew she wasn’t one of them. Kunwar Partap was seated on the couch in her room, savouring some freshly picked mangoes when the sound of the girl’s anklet alerted him. “Ghani Khamma.” The girl seemed uncertain. Kunwar Partap’s hand stopped before he picked up the last mango. “I… came with a message from…” Before the girl could complete her sentence Kunwar Partap had walked up to her and snatched the letter from her hand. “You may go.” His voice was monotonous. The girl stared at him a little scared from behind the veil, bowed to the queen and left in a hurry. From the sound of her anklet, it was evident that she was