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“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 the other was his son, probably.
“Are you looking for water, Brother?” The
younger man asked.
“Yes.” The soldiers were pleased with the
travellers offering them water from their pitchers. “Thank you for your
kindness.”
Within an hour, the guards lay lifeless
under the tree. Their clothes were adorned by the travellers who smiled at
their success, and their weapons were taken away.
“He defeated us, insulted me” The older man
clenched his jaw “The boy will pay.”
“Yes, Hukum.” The younger man agreed. “The
spies say he will travel through the forests any minute now.” He looked around
“And we can accompany him towards Sirohi, as his guards and…”
“When the time comes…” The man smiled.
“Sweet sweet time!”
“But Hukum,” the younger one frowned, "Are
you sure he won’t be able to recognise you?”
“Not a chance.” He smiled, checking his
false moustache. “Shams Khan is no fool.”
“Hukum Hukum!” The soldier from Bijoliya
had reached the palace courtroom in a hurry. “I have some news.”
“What is it?” Rao Ramrakh Punwar got up
from his seat, agitated. He was a man, perhaps in his late thirties, with a
twirling moustache and beard and a stout figure. From the look on the soldier’s
face, it seemed to be bad news. His wife and daughters were at the temple
outside the fort for the Gangaur festivities. Were they safe?
“Hukum, we found the bodies of two of our
soldiers at the Bundi border in the forest.” The soldier stopped. “Their
clothes and weapons were missing.”
“Bundi attacked again?” Ramrakh Punwar looked
worried. “But…”
“Hukum, if I may…” his court advisor spoke.
“Yes?”
“Hukum, Kunwar Partap is going to travel
through those trails to meet his friend at Sirohi this afternoon. With the
news of an alliance between the prince of Sirohi and his sister, everyone knows
he will travel this way. He…” The man stopped, “Just defeated the Afghans at
Chittor, what if it’s…”
“Shams Khan!” Raoji looked troubled “Send a
messenger to Kunwar Partap with a warning. And order all troops to report to the camps for a background check, now!”
“But Hukum…” The man frowned, worried, “Kunwarsa must have left Chittorgarh by now, and knowing him, he never takes
the normal route through the forests, our messenger will never find him
before…”
“Hay Eklingji," Raoji exclaimed, “Alert the
borders, send troops to the forest, I will go there myself. We need to find
Kunwarsa!” He walked away to the stable, worried. Kunwar Partap was not just Mewar’s future; he was…
“Daasi.” He called the nearest lady in
waiting, “Tell Ranisa and Rajkumarisa to return to the Mahal immediately, Bijoliya
might be in danger; we need to shut the fort down, now!”
“Yes, Hukum.” The scared maid ran to the
temple.
Somewhere, miles away, in the rugged lands
of Kabul, a well-built, tall man with dark eyes had his eyes fixed on the
road. He had stopped where he was instructed to by his master. His skin was
tanned from a long journey, and his eyes looked weary.
“ Janab!” The old keeper of the inn frowned
at his gaze “Are you a soldier?”
The man shook his head with a smile, “Just a
trader.” He stared at the man who seemed convinced by his words. Carefully, he
had hidden his battle scars under the layers of thick clothing.
“Are you waiting for someone?” The old man
asked again.
“Yes.” He gave a polite smile to the
man who seemed to be observing him.
“Who is it?” The old man asked, making a
bubbling sound on his Hookah. “Someone important?”
The man did not like this curiosity, although he didn’t show it on his face.
“Yes, my elder brother and nephew are coming
back from… The Middle East.”
“Ah! Traders?” The old man nodded wisely.
“Yes, carpet traders.” He agreed.
His eyes stopped at the road where a small
group of travellers were visible. His eyes glittered in happiness. He ran to
reach the two men on horseback.
The older man, in his late forties, was
also as tall as him, but not very well built. He seemed tired from the long
journey. Perhaps unwell too. He smiled at the sight of this man, a little
relieved as the man was about to bow to him. He pulled the man in a surprising
embrace.
“Bairam Khan” It was almost like a whisper.
“Don’t bow, we may be watched.”
“Yes.” He shook his head proudly at his
master, “Nasir Bhai.” He remembered the name Nasiruddin Mohammad Humayun had
used in his letter. His eyes travelled to the boy, barely twelve, sitting on
the black horse. He smiled faintly at the man. The boy seemed to be tired from
the long journey, but his eyes showed intelligence. He, who was destined for
greatness, sat in ordinary rugs, tanned and scarred from the journey with his
father. Bairam Khan felt remorse at the sight of his master’s plight.
“Come, I have arranged a room for the
night. We will start our journey again at dawn.” He saw the boy smile at him in
relief.
The year was 1553 -1554 A.D. While the Afghans, after the sudden death of Sher Shah Suri, engaged in a power struggle under the general Shams Khan, they were defeated at Chittorgarh, which is attributed in history as the first war in which Prince Partap Singh of Mewar participated and made an impact. On the other side, Humayun travelled with his son and a few trusted people around the Middle East to gather help for winning back Din Panah (Delhi). Their Harem is stationed in Kabul and adjoining areas in small numbers.
