Hijr: Again?

"The Department of Archaeology & Museums, Pakistan, in association with Archaeological Survey of India, celebrates 100 years of the Indus Saraswati civilisation," read the banner at the conference inside the Partition Museum.

Scripture expert intern Hoor Bhat stared at the board for quite some time. They were witnessing a historical event. Two countries at loggerheads had come together for the hundredth year celebration of discovering culture in the subcontinent they call home. She proudly wore the tricolour badge representing the country. She showed her ID card and walked in to be greeted by her seniors.
"Meet Taraksh Chauhan. He's joining us from across the border and is your teammate." Taraksh extended his hand while Hoor did the adaab. He nodded politely.

"So you are a scripture expert too?" She asked, hoping that the small talk would ease their tension.
"Symbols, actually. Heard we are trying to decipher the scriptures. The latest findings have a lot of new letters in them, it seems. If not words." His voice was very professional.
"Let's get to work then." Hoor was a woman of few words. Especially at work. The team head introduced them to the gallery where they would work.
"In one of our recent excavations along the river banks, we found these seals and cave paintings. The pictures on the table are close-ups of the seals and paintings. The symbols are very interesting. If you study them, you will see that the language, if you may call it that, seemed to be changing over the years under the influence of cross cultures. Our symbol and script experts here have a week to submit the reports that would be evaluated by both organisations. All the best."

Hoor's eyes scanned the table. There were ten of them there, all interns, eagerly looking across the table. Her eyes fell on a symbol. It had the shape of an eye, much eerily similar to the Egyptian ones. Her hand landed on the printed enlargement of the seal. Taraksh, at the same time, wanted to see the eye symbol up close. His hand stopped as Hoor picked it up. He smiled.
"We'll make a great team, Mohtarma." He smiled. "I was intrigued by this one, too." Hoor nodded.
"Let's get to work. First, I will set up the table." Taraksh offered.
"I will grab any similar kind of stuff I find here." Hoor smiled. "We have to start somewhere."
"So, where are you from?" He asked, making a similar image in his notebook.
"Umm… Ajmer. You?" She asked without looking up from scrutinising one of the seals with a magnifier.
"Lahore." He smiled. "It's a historian's paradise."
"I'd love to visit someday." Hoor smiled.
"Be my guest." Taraksh nodded. "You want coffee?"
"Tea, please. Thanks." Hoor didn't look up again as Taraksh walked away to grab some.

An interesting thing to note here is that the Indus Valley script can be read both ways, it is symmetrical and hence doesn't have a mirror image or direction of reading unlike other scriptures which makes it more difficult to decipher, not to mention the political tension between the countries prevent this hypothetical situation of working together towards the mystery of the oldest and largest of civilisations even more difficult.

My Everything

Kunwar Pratap stormed into the Mahal at Gogunda amidst uncertainty and chaos. Happy faces of the chieftains and soldiers welcomed him as Rawat Chundawat, and some other chieftains stopped the ongoing Raj Tilak. A visibly scared Kunwar Jagmal looked clueless at a visibly angry Kunwar Pratap. Rani Dheerbai Bhatiyani hadn't expected Kunwar Pratap to show up, that too, despite her conveying to him his father's last wish of crowning Kunwar Jagmal. Twenty-one days after Udai Singh's death, she was finally close to a dream she had dared to dream since Jagmal was born. He was not informed about the Raj Tilak as per Dheerbai's instructions. She eyed Rawat Ji. He must have assembled the chiefs to this revolt against her son, against the dead king. No one except them knew where Kunwar Pratap was staying. It was for the safety of his family. " What are you doing, Chotima?" A disappointed voice was directed at her. She could stoop down so low? For the first time, an anger...

Happy Ending

Dheer had a sleepless night. Yes, she had killed the Maharani, but to seek revenge for her son. Jagmal was all she had for a dream, and Rana Pratap's first decision was to banish him. He had never been that tough with his other brothers who went with Akbar, then why him? Just because he wanted to be a king? Just because they brought a false letter and bought a few witnesses? Her son died in Ajmer, so young. And she had always blamed Ajabdeh Punwar for Rana's hard decision. After all, ever since she came as a support for Jaivanta Bai, she had been like his shield, even though creating misunderstandings didn't help Dheer Bai Bhatiyani. Ajabdeh had done the impossible, showing him the real face of his Chotima. What bothered Dheer now was whether he remembered anything, and most importantly, if she did. Dheer had turned pale at the song and smile Pratap gave, but if he knew she had killed Ajabdeh, it meant Survi remembered her walking to a dying Ajabdeh and confessing that ...

Begum Sahib: Forbidden Love

2nd June 1634, Burhanpur. " My heart is an endowment of my beloved, the devotee and lover of his sacred shrine, a soul that enchants mine." The Raja of Bundi had arrived at Burhanpur after a win in the war of Paranda. He had met the crown prince Dara and was honoured with a sword and elephant before he came to pay his respect to the Padishah Begum as per the norms of the court. Jahanara was writing in her room. Her maid came with the news, “Begum Sahib, the Raja of Bundi has arrived at court; he is at the Bagh to pay you his respect.” “Tell him to sit in the courtyard of my bagh, I will be there.” She had risen from her place, covered her face in the veil of her dupatta and walked to the place where he waited. “ Begum Sahib”, he had acknowledged her presence with a salutation. She returned the bow with a nod. She was sitting inside the arch while he was on the other side of the Purdah, the sun shining over his head as he took his seat on the velvet carpet th...

Queen of the Heart

Kunwar Pratap was in the Dangal Sthal practising his moves. Ajabdeh decided it was fair to know his strength before she summoned him. Sword in hand, in a white female warrior attire with only her face visible, she hid behind one of the large watchtowers of the Dangal, watching him move. She heard Rawatji say, "Your left hand is still weaker than the right one with the moves. Both should be perfect." A smile curved her lips. Knowing an opponent's weakness always helps, which is one rule of war she always remembered. Kunwar Pratap swung his sword with his left hand and turned around. He could sense someone watching; his sixth sense was never wrong. He looked around. Ajabdeh again peeped at the grounds to see that it was empty. He had left. She walked towards the empty ground, sword in hand. Suddenly, the cold blade of a sword was felt on her neck. She stopped still. " So someone was spying on me." His voice had a hint of taunt. " No, I was ... walking by......

His Wife

" Where is the Kesar, Rama? And the Kalash?" Ajabdeh looked visibly displeased at the ladies who ran around. " They are at the fort gates, and nothing is ready yet!" She exclaimed. She was clad in a red lehenga and the jewellery she had inherited as the first Kunwarani of the crown prince. Little Amar ran down the hallway towards his mother. " Maasa Maasa... who is coming with Daajiraj?" His innocent question made her heart sink. " Bhanwar Ji." Sajja Bai called out to him. " Come here, I will tell you." Amar rushed to his Majhli Dadisa., " Ajabdeh." She turned at Jaivanta Bai's call. "They are here." " M... My Aarti thali..." Ajabde looked lost like never before. Jaivanta Bai held her stone-cold hands, making her stop. She patted her head and gave her a hug. The hug gave her the comfort she was looking for as her racing heart calmed down. Jaivanta Bai left her alone with her thaal. " Maa sa!" ...

Sibling's Day

Shakti always had a very strict sibling equation with Pratap. Though they were only two years apart, the siblings had very different tastes and preferences. For Shakti, Pratap's disciplined and well-planned life looked like he was missing out on a lot of things. He sometimes didn't even approve of how impulsive Pratap was when he was emotional. Shakti, on the other hand, prioritised experiences over plans. He never found a need to feel deeply for anything the way Pratap did, and over the years, mostly in Pratap's absence from the family, he had managed to find a way with his parents. But he didn't really have any other elder sibling figure. All his cousins' sisters were close to him and younger. But with Ajabdeh, he had developed this very strong connection over the past few weeks. As a child, Shakti's playmate in the house used to be Sajja, while his father worked, his mother ran NGOs, and Pratap was always found with his head in a book. Ajabdeh was up for an...

To Protect You

Kunwar Pratap was in the court with Rana Udai Singh. The Mughals were conquering a huge part of the north courtesy of Bairam Khan and Mewar on their routes to the ports of Surat. " Daajiraj, we need to secure the roads leading to Agra and also towards the west. The attack-prone areas should always be under surveillance." " Yes, Ranaji. Baojiraj is right." Rawatji agreed. In the Rani Mahal, everyone was preparing for a grand lunch. Ajabdeh was making a drink for the princes and princesses, and in a hurry, she forgot to add the Kesar and Badam on top. As she served the smaller princes, including Kunwar Jagmal, Dheerbai came to inspect her eldest son's food. " What is this? Who made this? Kokoiaji?" She stormed to the kitchen with a bowl of sweet dishes. " Kunwaranisa did." Came a scary answer, from Veer Bai. " Ajabdeh Baisa." Her words let out a silent gasp from the lesser queens who stood witness. Calm and composed, Ajabdeh walke...

Begum Sahib: An Introduction and chronology

Note to the readers: Women behind men in history fascinate me. I had been reading about the mothers and wives who changed men’s fortunes. But what about daughters and sisters? A few months back, I was looking for books on Mughal Ladies, mainly Noor Jahan and her work. In the bibliography credits, I had chanced upon “The Life of A Mogul Princess” By Jahanara Begum, the daughter of Shah Jahan. I had no idea about the book and thought it was another autobiography. Previously, I had read only about how she was imprisoned along with her father at Agra, and her involvement with Dara Shikoh, her younger brother, in connecting the two realms of Hinduism and Islamism and the establishment of Sufism. All of these and the chronological events of history can be found in various books. As I read each page of her diary, cross-checking each point with Jagunath Sircar’s “History of Aurangzib” and R.C. Majumder’s “Mughal Empire” as well as numerous other sources on the Mughal Harem, I discovered ...

The Adventure of PI Ved: The Case in London

There is something funny about the phrase “as dead as a doornail.” Why? Because I am dead and I don’t look like a nail of any sort. I lie on my living room carpet, hands stretched out, the knife stuck to my back...such a backstabber. I hated them all my life! And what is the purpose of killing me? It is not like I would have lived much longer, I was eighty-five, for God’s sake! I lay here, the blood turning thick as I stared at the painting on the wall. It is such a hideous painting. I bought it for so much money, I was duped. I am waiting for the morning when my caregiver arrives to discover me on the floor. But I feel they are still around, looking for something. Searching every room. It is around 7 AM that she rings the bell. She bangs the door. She yells out, “Mr Smith!” Oh no, she is going back. Come back here, you fool! The criminal must still be upstairs. I hear them come down the wooden staircase and exit from the back door. Now the useless caregiver lady is back. Oh, she ...

Scheme of Things

The ousting of Shams Khan and his troops from Chittorgarh earned Kunwar Partap Singh overnight fame across the land as tales of his bravery made their way through the dunes and hills, across rivers and borders to lands far and beyond. At thirteen, he had commanded an army troop to take over the fort of Chittorgarh and restore Mewar’s borders to their former glory. People started comparing him to his forefathers, the great Rana Kumbha, who built forts across Mewar and his grandfather, Rana Sanga, who had united all Rajputs against external threats. As bards sang praises of the prince, gossip soon followed. Gossip was the most entertaining one could get in the mundane city lives and village gatherings, and it often travelled faster than the fastest Marwadi horse. So alongside the tales of his absolute bravery and how he hoisted the Mewari flag on the fort, were the stories of how his life was in danger, the king and queen did not quite get along and how he was made to live in poverty by ...

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