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Of Reign & Romance


1605, Lahore Fort

“Move out of the way!” She heard her voice tremble as she ran frantically down the winding road. The child sat in the middle of the narrow mountain road, playing with his pebbles.
“Move!” Her voice didn’t seem to reach him as the rhythmic sound of approaching hooves increased. She ran towards the child as he looked up at her worried face, clueless.
In the nick of time, she had managed to save her little boy. She held him tightly in her arms in relief.
“Shah Ammi!” The voice resonated from afar. “Ammi! Ammi.”
The urgency of the voice made the mountains fade away into the darkness, then the unwinding roads plunged into it, and finally, the boy she held in her protective arms was no longer there. She tried to hold on to anything she found around her, the trees, the boy’s hand, the sound of hooves, and even the mountains before her eyes in vain as everything faded into darkness. She jerked awake as her son tapped on her shoulder. She opened her eyes at the sight of him, a little relieved, but the faces of the others in the room made her heart sink.
“He is not responding, Padshah Begum.” The eunuch had hardly finished the sentence as she pushed the crowd aside and ran as fast as she could, barefoot, towards his Khwab Ghar. Her son followed, worried. It just couldn’t be. Not this soon. Not now.
Dawn broke into the darkness that day.

1608, somewhere in Bengal.

“You know what you have to do, just do the right thing.”
His words resonated in her ears as the wind howled. She held her child close to her bosom as the horse sped through the forests towards Agra. The cold blade of the sword brushed against her skin, warm from the scorching summer sun, and her heart pounded in her chest against her sleeping child’s breath. She checked the forehead for any signs of fever. Relieved, she stared ahead at the clearing from where smoke rose up to the sky. The horse stopped at the side of the clearing. She needed to be careful. The line between foes and friends was blurred now. She needed to be sure. The blood on her muslin angrakha had still not dried. His blood. She tied the horse to a tree away from sight and sighed as the child fluttered her eyes. The sound of careful footsteps behind her on the dried leaves alarmed her as she turned, ready to attack.
“Asaf Bhaijaan!” The relief in her voice reflected in her face as she sat down on the forest floor on her knees, her tired body surrendering to her sobs, as the child in her arms wailed.
The man standing in front of her was quick to pick up the crying child in his arms and stared at the sister he always loved and pampered, silently.
“We don’t have much time, Mehr. We need to move.” He gave her his hand.



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