Seven Lives Together-The Mughal Warrior, Page 3

Chapter 2

  Nadirah, The First Woman

  Fighter of Mughal Era

  Iqbal knew women were the worst sufferers when there was a war. The victor not only captured the land of the conquered. The senior officials sometimes started hunting beautiful women; i.e. both married and unmarried for their perverted lust. Even junior soldiers did not renounce the chance. They also casted their evil sight on the women who were spared by their seniors. Most women surrendered and spent the rest of their young life as mistresses. Once their youth was over, they did not get any support from their captors’ and ended up in begging. Some committed suicide. It is probably an escapist attitude and not the solution. Some women escaped from the captor and tried to go back to their families. That was another sad part of the story. Many families disowned these women for fear of social out casting.

  This happened not only when there was a war. Some of the provinces were not proficient in maintaining law and order. The Emperor had appointed Subedars (Governors) to regulate and control Subas or provinces. The performance of the Subadars was judged from how much tax they collected and deposited in Royal exchequer and how faithfully and efficiently they could keep the enemies away. Maintaining law and order was of secondary importance. Sometimes the family members of these Subadars and those of their top officials misused their power to satisfy their carnal desire and women were not safe in those provinces.

  Saira’s mother Nadirah was not only exceptionally beautiful when she was young but was also an accomplished singer. Those days’ women from respected families were not allowed to perform before audiences. Iqbal facilitated her to sing before selected audience. She was not singing for money. She had never been to sing in Mujra (dance performance by courtesans during Mughal period in particular houses called kothas). Mujra was popular in Mughal period. It was involved dancing and singing by women, mostly Muslims. Women who were performing in Mujra were considered a separate segment of society. Women and girls from the noble families rarely pursued Mujra as a career. This was like one way street. Sometimes patrons from noble families were falling in love with women performing mujra. Thus, it was an opportunity for them to be part of noble families. It was not that easy. Sometimes hostility from elders of noble families could be tough. This could be clearly seen how Emperor Akbar was fighting with his own son prince Saleem over his marriage proposal with Anarkali, the famous dance girl.

  Iqbal took his sister to some selected gatherings where the traditional Mujra performers were not invited. Nadirah’s voice was mesmerizing. Her name was spreading in the noble circle as an undercurrent as Iqbal was extremely picky about the audience for his sister’s performance. He was avoiding the congregation when any rouge element was seen in the audience.

  Ashfaq few times got the chance to be in such selected audience, and it was no surprise Nadirah’s singing talent overpowered him. He became a diehard fan of hers and visited Allahabad regularly to get a glimpse of her. One day he approached Iqbal asking for her hand. His personality and position in Emperor’s army impressed Iqbal and Nadirah became Ashfaq’s second wife.

  Few years were passed by quietly. Nadirah was still practising singing without any outside audience in Bharatpur (previously known as Lohagarh). Ashfaq didn’t let her to appear before public in his hometown. But she was still performing when she was coming to Allahabad.

  Nadirah’s reputation about her talent and beauty reached Niyaz, the younger brother of Wasim, the Subadar (Governor) of Allahabad. By the time he planned to be part of the selected audience, Nadirah was already married to Ashfaq and shifted to Lohagarh. Niyaz was disappointed, but there were lots of Mujra in the city where he might have spent his otherwise idle time and easy money. He had never seen Nadirah. He had never heard her songs. He just created a mental image of her which was much more attractive than her real beauty. His coterie periodically added fuel to his curiosity about Nadirah. None of them had actually seen her or heard her singing. They just gathered information about her reputation from various sources, added spices and cooked entertaining stories about her to deliver to their mentor Niyaz, the second most powerful individual in Allahabad. Together they attend the Mujra and then start drinking. The most preferred topic was to compare the performance in the Mujra with that of Nadirah. The real fact was that Nadirah was not a dancer. Drinking continues till late night and then alcohol starts drinking Niyaz and his friends. Then imaginary Nadirah starts dancing before them uninterrupted till the group becomes almost senseless and then she disappears.

  Nadirah was back in Allahabad for few months when her daughter was two years old. Iqbal’s best friends were her fans when she was performing before her marriage. Few of them approached him if Nadirah can play again for them. She was exited. Iqbal planned a gathering and only extremely close friends and relatives were invited. She did practice almost for a month. She wrote few new songs when she was in Lohagarh and sang them to Ashfaq and his first wife Naureen. Ashfaq liked her songs but never encouraged her to sing in public. Probably he thought his family’s reputation would have been degraded as people might identify her with women who appeared in Mujra. Few times he allowed Nadirah to sing in the immediate family gatherings only.

  The day came for the performance. Iqbal’s friend Rafiq owned a large bungalow in the city. It was a summer evening. He made extensive arrangements for the melody evening. His yard was decorated with shamiana (decorative tent for outdoor functions). A small stage was prepared for Nadirah and her team. The band consisted of Iqbal and his friends who played musical instruments. Iqbal played Dholak (a small barrel shaped drum). Besides dholak, there were only Sitar and Flute. The instruments couldn’t be compared with prominent Mujra groups where usually able singers, dancers and instrument players performed. This was essentially an amateur performance.

  The evening started. Guests were mostly family members of the close friends. Performance continued. The full moon from the sky also joined to provide vibrant ambience with participation of different forms of white clouds.

  Midway of the performance, a man came and told something in the ears of Rafiq. He was none other than his trusted servant Akhtar, a man in his late fifties. He has almost worked his entire life for Rafiq. Once he started with Rafiq as a field hand when he was in his early twenties. After few years, he almost became his family member and gradually won his confidence. He became the manager of the entire operation of Rafiq, so it would be wrong to call him as a servant. Rather he should be addressed as Rafiq’s Deputy.

  Rafiq’s glowing face suddenly changed tone as if a dark cloud covered the clear blue sky. He couldn’t give any response to the man, just blankly looked at him. He looked at Iqbal who was busy playing Dholak to the theme of his sister’s melodious song. The show was almost moving towards its climax, and the crowd was totally in a new world of music. No one was paying any attention to what was happening.

  After some time, Rafiq realised that he was not in a position to take any decision. He slowly got up, left the yard and moved towards the front door of his bungalow. There was large horse carriage with four horses pulling it was standing at a little distance. The carriage moved slowly and stopped in front of him. The coach was large but was not decorated as expected by Rafiq. He was expecting a magnificent horse carriage with a vibrant canopy and bright coloured seats. Rather, the car which came, was covered from all sides. The body and doors were so horrible that had it not been a full moon night it would have been trying to see that a horse carriage was standing on the road.

  A long Afghan looking man with a short beard got off the carriage. He was wearing a Pathan style turban and off white Salwar Kameez. His looked at Rafiq but didn’t show any reaction as if he lacked any sort of emotion. He was wearing a sword and a dagger tied to his waistband. He coolly went to a side and stood silently facing the coach. Rafiq couldn’t decide whether to greet him. He tried to greet him with mixed reaction of fear, nervousness, surprise but fake smile. But when he saw that the man was not showing any reaction
, he also remained silent.

  The following person who got off was of medium height, dark complexion, but solid built. He was also in similar clothes like the first one, but there was no turban. His waistband was holding a sword and a swivel gun. He must have been superior to the first one as he held the swivel gun, normally allowed to only senior military personnel. He didn’t look at Rafiq. So Rafiq also couldn’t get the chance to meet him. He stood at a little distance from the Afghan looking man facing towards the carriage. He took out the swivel gun from the waistband and kept in ready position.

  Three more men got off the car. Rafiq was nervously observing them. All three possessed some weapons with them. They all stood by his side facing the coach. Finally, a young and fierce looking man dressed as a Nawab got off. Rafiq couldn’t immediately recognise the person but correctly guessed that this guy needed proper greeting. He slowly moved towards him, stood at a safe distance and bowed down. His lips were moving indicating that he was saying something, but no sound was coming out. His worst nightmare came true when he was addressed by one of his men. It was Niyaz, the most dreaded being in Allahabad. He desperately hoped that Niyaz had no news about the cultural show going on in his Courtyard. He was wrong. The song and the instruments were faintly audible from the street.

  Niyaz kept his left hand on the right shoulder of Rafiq and gently squeezed. Rafiq felt as if his shoulder bones were going to break. He tried to remain calm and not reveal his anguish.

  ‘Hello Rafiq Mian!’ Niyaz said sarcastically, ‘will you drink all the delicious sura (liquor) and eat all the juicy meat? Shouldn’t you pass on something to this poor fellow?’

  Rafiq was not prepared as to what to answer, ‘I do not drink sir. In fact, no one here is drinking.’

  ‘Do not pretend to be innocent,’ Niyaz laughed, ‘what is going on here if you are not drinking?’

  Rafiq now could see his gesture, ‘There is nothing unusual sir, just a family get together.’

  ‘Have you become so rich that you can hire the best singer of Allahabad?’ Niyaz continued with his trademark sarcastic smile, ‘do you know, even Nawabs and Sultans are longing to hear such beautiful melodic songs.’

  Rafiq was now convinced that things are getting out of hand, ‘She is not a famous singer sir, and she is my best friend’s sister. She does not make public performance.’

  ‘I think you didn’t recognise me. I am not anyone from the public!’

  ‘Sorry sir! I didn’t mean that. I meant she sings only in front of her family and relatives. She is not at all a famous singer.’ Rafiq vainly tried to undermine Nadirah’s ability.

  ‘Don’t worry Rafiq Mian; I will make her famous if she is not so far! And I will soon become a family member if not until now! Also, I think it is not wise to break into your courtyard like a trespasser. Shouldn’t you invite me?’

  Rafiq didn’t find any other way, and before he formally invited Niyaz, he was in the courtyard among the audiences. All the bodyguards remained outside.

  Iqbal was so much involved in the program, even though he saw Niyaz, he didn’t realise what was going on. Nadirah was grown in a secure environment throughout her life. She was never aware of a world outside the caring and warm environment provided by her brother Iqbal, brother like Rafiq and lately her warrior husband; i.e. Ashfaq. She thought some acquaintance of Rafiq joined the congregation.

  After a while, the program was over. Most of the audience went away. Only the family members of Rafiq and Iqbal remained. Niyaz by that time could arrange the data that Iqbal was Nadirah’s brother. He didn’t waste more time, ‘Congratulations Iqbal, your sister is obviously a talented singer.’

  Iqbal responded with a warm smile. He had got used to such congratulations. Nadirah also looked at the floor and smiled. Usually men folk who were not particularly close to the family salute the man in the family instead of congratulating woman. This was a way of maintaining a respectful distance from the opposite sex. Niyaz was not that civilised. He reached the next step, ‘Have you planned for the future of your beautiful sister?’

  ‘She is not a professional singer sir,’ Iqbal said nervously politely as Nadirah looked curious, ‘she sometimes sings only for the family or relatives. Her husband is a senior officer in the army of the Emperor.’

  There was no effect on Niyaz, ‘You can be rich and famous by offering her hand in a royal family.’

  Iqbal now got the hints. Nadirah was packing her instruments. She got so much shock that she quickly slipped out and went inside leaving the instruments there. Niyaz’s vulgar eyes followed her every move till she vanished as Iqbal looked nervously at Rafiq. Rafiq looked down without any answer. He thought for a while and said, ‘I would love to make the relationship in a royal family, but my daughter is only six years old. Let she be of marriageable age.’

  ‘I am not referring to your six year old daughter,’ Niyaz’s voice became abusive, ‘I am talking of this woman; your sister Nadirah.’ He was prepared with all the facts about her.

  Iqbal never felt so much unsafe before. The law and order situation during Emperor Akbar’s administration was one of the best in ancient India. An emperor can’t enforce all the laws himself. He was delegating them to local Governors; i.e. Subadars. What will happen if the Governor’s own brother breaks the law? If justice is impartial, Niyaz wouldn’t have roamed freely. He should have been behind bars or beheaded. Iqbal felt confused, ‘She is already married sir. She has a baby girl also. His highness can get a more attractive single girl as wife. Any single pretty girl in Allahabad will love to be your wife sir.’

  ‘I know,’ though Niyaz was already having more than one wife, ‘but I have fallen in love with your sister Nadirah. Ask her to divorce her husband and marry me.’

  ‘She is a devoted wife to her husband….’ Niyaz snatched the words before Iqbal completed, ‘Ashfaq. I know. If I want, I can direct him to serve the Governor of Allahabad. He will have to move from Agra. He will give talaq (divorce) and send her to my harem.’

  Rafiq’s wife came out to notify that dinner is ready. Rafiq politely requested Niyaz to join them for a dinner. Iqbal also joined him to invite. The smell of fresh cooked Mughlai dishes was too tempting to make anyone hungry. Both Iqbal and Rafiq were miles away from the temptation because of their fear. Niyaz, on the other hand, was planning something more gratifying than enjoying the food. Niyaz stood up and started walking out without accepting the dinner invitation.

  Nadirah was listening to the conversations from inside and was trembling in fear. She requested her brother to bring her back home immediately to her daughter and send her to Agra as soon as possible preferably next day. Agra is in a different province, and Niyaz had no jurisdiction there.

  Rafiq was of different view, ‘Sister, if you go to Agra now, maybe you will be safe. But your brother and his family will be at Niyaz’s mercy forever. He can’t force a marriage upon you, I bet. Islam does not accept any woman to be forced into a marriage against her wishes and I am sure he knows that.’

  Iqbal and Nadirah sighed in relief as now they were convinced he would try different methods but never use force to get her. That night, both decided to go back, even though Rafiq advised otherwise.

  Iqbal should have paid attention to Rafiq’s advice and stayed back. Niyaz was awaiting him on the road with his gang and successfully abducted Nadirah without any physical resistance. All Iqbal could do was to appeal Niyaz himself knowing extremely well that the appeal has no effect. Any physical opposition from his side would have cost him his life, and it was futile as he had neither weapons nor manpower to stand against the mighty gang of Niyaz. He didn’t know how he would face the little Saira without bringing her mother back home or how he would face Ashfaq. He felt like committing suicide. Suicide was not the answer. The tiniest creature of the world also resists if attacked. Can’t Iqbal get the justice against this heinous crime! Afterall, he was a citizen of the legendary Emperor Akbar.

  Rafiq
came to know only in the morning. He had not slept probably thinking how Iqbal and Nadirah might have reached home. He was extremely surprised when he got the news of the abduction. He remembered the Sanskrit verse which means a person who stands by you in joy, sorrow, pain even in death bed is a true friend. He didn’t spend time to go to Iqbal’s house and plan for the next movement.

  Iqbal was actually not in a position to fight back. He couldn’t sleep in the previous night when Nadirah was abducted. Sleeplessness, nervousness, and fear all took the toll on him, and he slipped into depression and self-pity. But it was brief. Rafiq reminded him of his brave Afghan father who had died as a hero in the battle with the enemy of the Emperor. He also reminded him about his birth from a Rajput mother, who would prefer him to fight and die rather than hide. Iqbal became normal.

  Both planned to approach Wasim Khan, Subadar of Allahabad and older brother of Niyaz. The office of the Subadar was not far away. It was just the stones throw away from the Mughal Fort, one of Emperor Akbar’s darling. Once you reach this part of the city, it seems as if you have come to another part of the world. Beautiful wide roads were surrounded by vibrant buildings of Allahabad’s rich and famous. Most of them were owned by senior servants of the Mughal administration. Besides a number of buildings were owned by wealthy businessmen; i.e. Interstate traders, arms factory owners who supplied arms to the empire, shipping merchants who have ships engaged in export and imports ferrying through river Ganga to other cities. So many horse carriages were running on the roads that sometimes it was difficult to cross the road. The markets of this part of the city were fascinating. Shops have garments imported from Persia, Iran, Afghanistan and even Portugal.

  Iqbal or Rafiq were not unknown in this area. Iqbal has come here before few times. He had done shopping with Nadirah when he brought her for buying her wedding garments just before her marriage with Ashfaq. He came around again after her daughter Saira was born and bought clothes and other fashion items for her new born baby. He even bought so many things for Nadirah and her souten (co-wife) Naureen.  The market seemed so busy then. But today it was different. May be this was not a festive season, so the market was sluggish. Iqbal didn’t realise that he was depressed. He spent hours in just gazing different shops and the customers, especially beautiful young women customers with stylish dresses. He has dreamt if his only sister can also marry some rich and famous person in this posh area and will get around in this market one day. That dream was of course before her marriage to Ashfaq. Today probably she has been kept in some of these palatial houses by the second most famous person of Allahabad. This is called irony of life.

  Finally, both reached the office of the Subadar. The entry of ordinary men to his office was severely restricted. Rafiq asked Iqbal to sit down and have some rest while he went around finding out if some known person is available who would make their appointment with Subadar Wasim Khan. A Subadar in large Mughal Empire was equal to a powerful king. He could use all the powers of a king and also could lead an army. The only difference was he was appointed by the Emperor. Unlike a dynasty, the power was not inherited by their offspring. He found a lower ranking officer who couldn’t facilitate their appointment but could just tell them that Wasim Khan has gone to an official visit of the area and might be back after few days.

  Iqbal was disappointed. He didn’t want Nadirah to spend one more night in the custody of Niyaz. The longer it takes to arrange her return; the remote would be her chance of the survival of her marriage. He couldn’t accept his sister to live with Niyaz. Had she not been already married, probably he could have digested a relationship with him, but not at this stage. Rafiq understood his predicament. He was almost in his shoes and understood the mental condition of a brother’s love for his one and only sister. But he remained calm. ‘Impatience is not the solution of any problem,’ Rafiq explained Iqbal, ‘she has already spent one night with her abductor. Nothing more damage can happen to her.’

  ‘Do you suggest we should go back and come after few days?’ Iqbal questioned.

  ‘No, never, we can’t sit quietly now. At least, we can try to find out where he has kept her.’

  ‘He is a well known person. Let’s ask someone where the bungalow of Niyaz is.’ Iqbal suggested.

  ‘You should never utter his name so openly Iqbal,’ Rafiq advised, ‘he will soon see the wind and that will not be beneficial to us you know.’

  ‘How can we know his house without asking anyone?’

  ‘Do you think a rich man like him will have only one mansion?’ Rafiq said ‘he must have few houses in Allahabad. It is sure he will not take her to the usual place where he lives with his wife, probably wives. He knows that the woman he has abducted is not a street girl, but from a respected family. He also knows that her family or at least her in-laws can reach higher ups.’

  Iqbal was somehow satisfied with this answer. His sense of being powerless took a positive turn, and his composure got a little boost.

  ‘We should not identify ourselves on the lookout of your sister,’ Rafiq continued, ‘rather we should look as we have come here for shopping or something different.’

  ‘Should we go to the market and buy few things we even do not need to show that we are just shoppers?’ Iqbal asked.

  ‘No, we can pretend that we are traders. Then we can go to some big businessmen with a business proposal. This will be a pretence to move around in the city. If we are lucky, we may also find out her whereabouts.’

  ‘Do you think she will be somewhere in the market, and we will see her?’

  ‘No, but let’s hope she has been kept in some of these bungalows.’ Rafiq suggested.

  Iqbal again became emotional and started looking at the castle like bungalows. He imagined that Nadirah was looking out of some window. He saw few women actually protruding their heads out of their windows or balconies and looking at the street. None of them remotely looked like his sister. None of them seemed to be crying also. Both started walking around the markets, bargaining items they actually didn’t want to buy and simultaneously vaguely looking at the people especially women who were also out for shopping. It was not that easy to find out a woman on the busy streets and markets of a big city like Allahabad. They spent hours without any progress. They didn’t even get a single familiar face among the crowd as if they were some strange, that too in a city where they lived on the other side of the posh area.

  Hours passed by. Sun rose to the middle of the sky. Sunlight became stronger and started pinching when they were in the open. Tiredness and less sleep in last night engulfed both friends and led to helplessness. Suddenly Iqbal saw, at a distance, a man and woman got off from a magnificent horse carriage. He could see their back side only. The woman was wearing almost similar outfit as Nadirah was wearing that fateful night. She was crying, and the man was holding her hand while both were entering the gate of a bungalow. He immediately started walking towards them. He knew even if he found his sister there he couldn’t grab her from her abductor. Rafiq didn’t exactly realise why his friend immediately started going towards them, but he also followed him without uttering a word. He didn’t want to convey to the people what they were doing in this part of this city. When Iqbal came closer, his vision became clear, and he realised that the weeping woman was not his sister. Rafiq didn’t want to be noticed, but the duo felt these people were observing them and turning back towards them. The woman was still weeping. Iqbal was disappointed but realised that he was being noticed by them. He continued moving on the footpath, pretending he was just casually going towards that direction. He crossed them without looking at them and continued walking. Both again turned towards him. Iqbal then realised that the road has come to a dead end, so had to go back and face them. The weeping woman by now became curious about his strange manners and probably forgot that she was weeping. All four of them came face to face. Rafiq’s eyes met the eyes of the man, and both recognised each other.

  Iqbal and Rafiq got a shoul
der to cry on. The shoulder belonged to one of the rich and famous of Allahabad’s finest quarter, Govind Chandra. The tired two at least got invited to take rest in Govind’s palatial residence. Both were hungry, dehydrated and exhausted. Govind came to them as a Godsend. Rather both the friends were guided by God to his place. Initially it seemed bit tricky to both of them as they are coming to get help of a person when his family was going through some sad phase as the lady of the family was seen crying sometime before.

  ‘I think we came at an odd occasion when probably you are not happy,’ Rafiq said.

  ‘Not at all, we are perfectly alright,’ said Govind.

  ‘Then,’ Rafiq thought how to continue.

  Govind smiled. A calm and satisfied smile naturally, ‘Oh! That is nothing,’ he could see the indication, ‘we just sent our only daughter to Varanasi, to her in-laws place. She boarded the ship. Her tears are perfectly normal; a mother’s tear of love.’

  Govind was a wealthy merchant of Allahabad. His business was mainly in the river Ganga, transporting passengers and cargo across cities on the banks of Ganga and Yamuna- two famous rivers. Ganga has waters all-round the year thanks to the ice melting into the water in Gangotri of Himalayas. Rafiq had business relations with him for a long time in the past. They were never particularly close friends, just friends. They never realised when a gap was created in the course of time when there was no business transaction between them. Both have never communicated in last few years. Luck or one can say bad-luck has brought them together.

  Govind was not surprised to hear the case of Nadirah. He listened to every detail patiently when his wife Renuka recharged both the exhausted friends with her genuine warmth. Iqbal felt satisfied though he didn’t expect any result from him. At this time, Govind’s manager Jiten came to report him. Govind wanted him to go away so that he can spend time with Rafiq and Iqbal, but the manager was there with some urgent message. So Govind had to divert attention.

  ‘Today Niyaz occupied a part of the ship to Varanasi, but refused to pay the fare. We were afraid to ask for the fare, you know, he is always accompanied by those musclemen.’

  ‘Niyaz!’ Govind’s eyes were enlarged.

  ‘Yes master,’ the manager said, ‘I am sorry for the loss.’

  ‘Who else was with him other than his bodyguards?’ asked Govind.

  ‘I am just reporting this incident to you sir,’ the manager continued, ‘but my advice to you, please accept this loss. Life is more expensive than money. We can’t fight with him.’

  ‘I am not worried about the loss,’ Govind assured him, ‘did you see any woman with him?’

  Jiten didn’t immediately realise what Govind wanted to know. He then looked at the four fervently looking eyes at him. He had extensive experience not only in business but also life itself. He immediately guessed the situation without being told. He drank a glass of water which Govind’s servant just kept in front of him, removed his turban and slowly kept on the table in front of him. He then looked around to make sure that no one else was listening. Even walls have ears. Govind understood this and gestured that there is no such danger.

  ‘I actually believed, ‘Jiten paused for a moment and continued, ‘I think he has abducted a woman. The looks of the woman show she is from a respected family.’

  ‘How did you know she has been abducted?’ Govind questioned.

  ‘She was almost been dragged into the ship while she was crying.’

  Govind looked at Iqbal and Rafiq in case they would like to ask something. Both looked dumbfounded.

  Jiten continued, ‘This is not new for him. He has done such thing in the past also and ferries them out of Allahabad to some secret destination. This is his way to prove himself innocent. He thinks he has a birth right over every beautiful woman.’

  Rafiq tried to be composed and asked, ‘Many thanks Mr Jiten for all your information. We both are the unfortunate brothers of the poor woman he has abducted.’

  Jiten looked at him with the compassion, ‘You both are my master’s friend. I consider your sister as my own sister. I will do whatever possible to help you out.’ He then looked at Govind. Govind nodded in agreement.

  Rafiq continued, ‘Do you have any idea what had happened before when he abducted any woman?’

  ‘That is the reason he hides all such women in a secluded spot away from Allahabad,’ Jiten answered, ‘so that he will plead innocence before the Subadar (Governor) Wasim. I know there is no justice if you complain against him. Wasim will just pretend of an investigation and free him of charges. After all, the whole inquiry is against his real brother. My advice is if possible approach the Emperor.’

  ‘I am seriously thinking of approaching the Emperor,’ Iqbal started, ‘her husband Ashfaq is left hand of Purujit Singh, a close confidant of the Emperor.’

  ‘Purujit!’ Govind’s eyes were enlarged, ‘I must say you have every chance of getting justice.’

  ‘I have not yet informed her husband,’ Iqbal continued, ‘I was hoping if she can be rescued before the word spread out. In fact, our neighbours also don’t know this and all our family members have been instructed to keep tight-lipped.’

  ‘I can see brother,’ Govind said, ‘I would have done the same thing had I been in your shoes, to preserve family pride. Still I will advise you should go through proper channel. He should get a chance to do justice before a complaint is sent to the Emperor.’

  ‘He is right,’ Rafiq commented, ‘and while approaching just tell your relations with Purujit. That may have some impact.’

  ‘Wasim is strong in his own right,’ Jiten commented, ‘he is in excellent books of the Emperor. That’s why he is still surviving against so many complaints against him. I don’t think he will do any justice because you can approach Purujit. Only acceptable outcome will be that Niyaz will not hurt you. You are physically safe.’

  ‘Jiten is right Mr Iqbal,’ Govind suggested.

  Both finally approached Wasim. Wasim listened patiently to them. He didn’t show any surprise in his action. He must have gotten several such complaints against Niyaz before. Probably he had already a planned, and several times tested course of action in such cases. The first action was to listen, order for investigation and take time, weeks and even months. Time solves many problems. Most of the time abducted women begin to empathise with their captors and even they defend their actions. In the Stone Age, when the human race was not civilised, groups of men would fight one another, and the victor would claim women as “prizes.”  The women who protested such incidents were invariably killed while the ones who accepted the captor as life partner captors survived.

  Both Wasim and his brother Niyaz were experts in this aspect of human psychology. They were not real scholars but the knowledge had been gathered out of their past misdeeds.

  When investigation couldn’t be finished even after three weeks, Iqbal lost patience, ‘What is the meaning of such investigation and justice if it takes months? What will he do if his sister comes back after being made pregnant? She will have nowhere to go. The society will not probably accept her again.’

  He lost no time and rushed to Agra, directly to Purujit. He had earlier met Purujit in the wedding ceremony of Nadirah and Ashfaq. He had met him again in Agra while visiting her sister and her husband. He could be described as a down to earth person in spite of his high position and standing with the Emperor. He was reluctant to face Ashfaq. He was not in a position to accept the fact that he couldn’t save his sister’s honour. He was now feeling guilty for taking his sister to appear before an audience when Ashfaq had never encouraged her to play. Purujit would be the means to reach the Emperor. He would also convince him to calm down Ashfaq.

  Purujit was in his famous Kala Bhavan. His guards recognised Iqbal and took him and Rafiq direct to the Kala Bhavan. It was an evening, just like the evening few weeks ago when Nadirah was performing for the small private audience in the compound of Rafiq. The hall looked like a
beautifully decorated lobby of any king. The female singer was from Lucknow. Purujit didn’t want to be disturbed while enjoying the musical evening. Still he came out for a moment, welcomed both Iqbal and Rafiq, took them inside the hall and offered seats.

  Iqbal could have thoroughly enjoyed the show, but today situation was different. His art loving eyes couldn’t compliment the beautiful chandeliers, the tall lamps or the Persian carpets. He had seen such decoration in the bungalow of Wasim in Allahabad. They reminded him of the painful moments in Allahabad. The melodious songs pinched his ears like the thorns of rose. He looked around at the audience to find out Ashfaq. He was not there. He took a sigh of relief. He was not yet mentally prepared to face her abducted sister’s husband.

  The musical night was over. Purujit politely invited both to have dinner with both. Both were hungry after a long and tedious journey. Iqbal was about to start about the incidence Rafiq hinted him to stop and accepted the invitation. Purujit took them to the dining hall where there was already arrangement for them even before he formally invited them. Rafiq slowly told Iqbal that requesting someone when he is hungry may not have a positive result.

  Purujit formally asked them whether everything was all right in Allahabad; Rafiq described the incidence in detail. Purujit was taken aback; he never expected such an unfortunate incident which could happen to the honour of his close aide Ashfaq.

  ‘What is Ashfaq’s reaction?’ he asked.

  ‘He doesn’t know,’ Iqbal replied, ‘and I hope if she can be rescued before Ashfaq knows about it.’

  ‘I can see your anguish,’ said Purujit, ‘didn’t you approach the Subadar of Allahabad? I am in a different state you see. Also, I am a Mansabdar (official in charge of a large section of the Army in Akbar’s regime) and Subadar is always superior to a Mansabdar.’

  Rafiq and Iqbal both were disappointed, but Rafiq didn’t lose hope.

  ‘We know Mr Purujit,’ Rafiq insisted, ‘we have not come to the Mansabdar of Agra. We have come to the protection of our brother-in-law’s best friend who is also so near the Emperor of India. No other Subadar is so reputed for his bravery and so close to the Emperor as Mansabdar Purujit. You also know Wasim will not allow any justice to your friend’s wife. He is just buying time so that the poor girl may find it difficult to come back to face the society.’

  Purujit seemed to be satisfied with his reverence though he tried to hide his emotion. The satisfaction was, however, momentary. He was from a Rajput family. As per Rajput culture for a woman losing honour was worse than losing life. Many Rajput women have even committed suicide after being exploited of their honour. This almost became a benchmark of the community and even other communities unconsciously started following the trend. Suddenly this aspect of the incident came to his mind. His smiling face hardened as if a judge delivered a death punishment.

  ‘The worst has already happened.’ Purujit said and looked at Iqbal, ‘If this happens to my sister, daughter or my wife, I am not sure whether I can take them back. Rather I will pray for their death.’

  The sentences were delivered mildly but were too harsh for Iqbal. His eyes became moistened.

  ‘I understand the importance of honour, Mr Purujit,’ he said, ‘but for me my sister is more valuable than my life and the honour defined by the society. It is possible that she may not be accepted by her husband. Why, because a husband can take another wife. Think of her small child. Can she get another mother? I will bear all the taunts of the society for that innocent girl.’

  ‘We would be practically punishing the victim by not accepting back into the society,’ Rafiq added, ‘wouldn’t be a blessing to people like Niyaz to commit more such violation? Who knows the next victim will not be close to you?’

  ‘You are right Mr Rafiq,’ Purujit agreed, ‘Nadirah is no less close to me. She is not only Ashfaq’s wife; she is also my rakhi (sacred thread) sister. The relations between a husband and wife can change but never between a brother and sister. Anyhow he needs to get justice so that other women will remain safe.’

  [Girls and women tie a coloured sacred thread called rakhi on their brothers’ wrist. This symbolises sister’s prayers and love for brother’s wellbeing and brother’s lifelong commitment to protect her. Sometimes they tie this to men who are not real brothers thus making them rakhi brothers.]

  Iqbal and Rafiq both saw some light at the end of the tunnel. Purujit was the only means to reach the Emperor. None of them knew how and when that was going to happen. It was possible that they would take a letter to the Emperor. That might not be effective as it might well be delegated to someone to look after. Wasim had a firm hold over a number of significant officials in the capital and they can easily distort the facts to Niyaz’s favour.

  ‘I came to realize that the Emperor is travelling in Baluchistan.’ Purujit continued, ‘I don’t know when he will be back to the capital or whether he will travel to some other place. As soon as I know when and where I can meet him, we will leave without delay. Both of you will be required as you people are the only witness to the incident. Please stay in my guest rooms.’

  ‘What about Ashfaq?’ Iqbal asked.

  ‘He needs to know anyway,’ Purujit replied, ‘Nadirah is not only his wife, but also mother to his only little daughter. He will also help in the operation. Besides he needs to be mentally prepared. This will be a crucial turning point in his life.’

  Iqbal and Rafiq remained silent and just looked at each other. No one was clear what was right. A servant guided them to the guest rooms. The room was large with stone walls and marble flooring. There were two single beds made of some imported timber. Purujit was an art lover. There were paintings hanged on the walls. Iqbal could recognise one of them, it was a Persian painting. Servant informed that the other is a Portuguese painting. The duo was feeling bit relieved after discussion with Purujit. Nobody knew what is Portuguese. The attendant told them that there is a country called Portugal far away towards the west. There king sends envoys to the Emperor and Purujit has met them in the courts of Akbar. They might have gifted the paintings to Purujit. Besides he knew nothing about Portugal. The servants also told them that the room given to them is one of few specific rooms which are reserved for mostly royal guests. Both were satisfied that Purujit was undoubtedly going to take care of their problem.

  The servant wished goodnight and left. Rafiq opened the only window of the room. The window opened to a beautiful backyard. The half moon was throwing enough rays so that the guests could appreciate the beauty of the carefully maintained flora. The refreshing breeze took out the weariness of both and soon they were in deep sleep.

  Someone knocked the door. Both got up and looked outside through the still open window. There was a still lot of the night left and moon could be seen at the horizon. ‘Has the servant been instructed to be at our service before dawn?’ Rafiq signalled Iqbal not to say anything. ‘Could Niyaz know that they are planning against him with Purujit? It is possible.’ Very few people in Allahabad knew that they had gone to Agra. Their family members had strictly been informed not to open mouth outside about their ventures. ‘Who knows Wasim and Niyaz have not sent spies after them to track their movements. By now they must have known that Nadirah is Ashfaq’s wife and Ashfaq was close to Purujit, who is equally strong if not less than a Subadar (Governor). It is true that his power was due to his closeness to the Emperor and not his position in military. Niyaz must be living in fear now. He has abducted many women before. Every time he has manipulated the situation to his advantage because none of those unfortunate women or their family members had any connection to the power hierarchy. Some of them who didn’t accept their fate must have been dead now. Others must have accepted their fate as his sex slaves in his harem.’ For a moment, Iqbal was thrilled that Niyaz genuinely feared him.

  There was another knock. Rafiq whispered Iqbal that it was extremely difficult to attack them when they were in Purujit’s compound. He went and opened the door t
o be surprised to see Purujit standing patiently there; with full war costume. Iqbal pushed the wick of the bronze oil lamp slightly so that area would appear brighter.

  ‘May I come in?’ Purujit politely said.

  ‘Yes, please,’ answered Rafiq and offered him a place.

  ‘There is no time to sit and discuss,’ he said, ‘I have gotten instructions to proceed immediately in a confidential operation.’

  ‘Mission!’ Rafiq asked.

  ‘Yes, I can’t discuss much about that,’ Purujit continued, ‘but it is possible that I may get the opportunity to meet the Emperor after that. So I thought, if you both can accompany me, we can reach the Emperor after the operation is over.’

  Rafiq looked at Iqbal in disbelief.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Purujit assured, ‘I will take care that you both will remain safe and secure; this is the word of a Rajput warrior. I will request you to be prepared within an hour, and we shall depart for the expedition.’

  Purujit left. A horse-coach came, and the coachman came to their room to collect their bags. Both followed them and took their seats. It was a six seater carriage. Purujit was already seated in. Rafiq was seated on a side near the window. The carriage started moving. To the surprise of both, the coach didn’t go towards the gate. Rather they moved to the back of the Chandra Mahal, and for a moment the coach stood in front of a wall. The coachman got off and with a large key unlocked something on the wall, and a large shutter opened up. The shutter looked like a stone wall. The road was wide enough to accommodate two such coaches side by side. The road suddenly sloped downwards and then there was a sharp turn. Coachman stopped and went again to close the massive shutter. Suddenly the place plunged into darkness. The small lamp with the coachman was showing little of the road ahead. The inside was so dark that nobody can see each other’s face.

  The coach moved at its normal pace. The driver must have been extremely familiar with the road so that he needed little light to go ahead. The coachman had to stop three times and open shutters with different keys. Each time he was closing them once the coach crossed the gate. After few hundred meters, the coach finally stopped. The coachman got off and opened another shutter with a big key. This shutter was also painted to look like a wall. As soon as the shutter opened, lights from nearly a dozen lamps brought brightness to the place. Purujit got off signalling others to do same.

  He led both through the house. Rafiq and Iqbal were looking at each other while silently following Purujit as if they were both going through a strange dream. Rafiq pinched his own hand to check whether he was in a dream or real life. The house was full of lights from the oil lamps kept at different places. All servants and guards were eager to assist. Iqbal looked outside through a window and guessed there was still two hours for the arrival of dawn.

  Purujit asked one guard, ‘Is everything done?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ the guard reported, ‘fifty soldiers and five war horses are already in the Nagin of Yamuna. All the weapons have already been loaded.’

  He didn’t waste time and quickly moved. Rafiq and Iqbal just followed. They came out through a door and went to the jetty. By now Rafiq and Iqbal knew that they were going to Yamuna to get into some boat. It was difficult to understand from inside the house how far it was from the river. Instead, they saw a large canal type system with barricades. The water in the canal was making waves which seemed strange to them. Both leant to see the water and saw a giant crocodile was just swimming across. The massive ship was looking like a queen in the water. There were so many lamps lighting outside and inside the boat that they couldn’t even count them. The cable tying the ship was unfastened and slowly it started moving. Purujit, Iqbal and Rafiq all went to the deck. All five war horses were standing on a temporarily covered area. Rest of the deck was open. The sound of crocodiles giving way to the house boat was evident in the dead of night. The boat stopped after sailing for some time. The Yamuna was clearly visible. Two men were standing on both sides of the canal each holding a lamp in their hands. The head sailor told both in a voice which was not loud but enough to be heard by both, ‘Open the gates.’

  ‘Gate!’ exclaimed Rafiq, ‘where is the gate?’

  All they could see in the dark River Yamuna at a short distance and the end of the canal where the ship was halting. Purujit couldn’t listen as he was standing near the horses and combing one of them with lots of affection. Both saw two gates towards the backside of the ship were coming from the bank and making a wall in the canal. Then two gates in front of the boat opened towards the side making large enough space for the boat move into the river. The water level rose bringing the ship to the water level of the Yamuna. The boat moved slowly crossing the front sluice gate. Immediately afterwards the gate closed again to separate the river from the canal. Then the backside gate was opened to the sides so that the wall made in the canal was removed. The water on both sides merged, and the canal water went to a different level than that of the river.

  All these were fascinating to Iqbal and Rafiq. For some time, they forgot that they were going through one of the tensest stage of their life and they were also part of some covert military operation. Boat started travelling towards the downside of the river. About twenty rowers were sitting on both sides of the boat facing towards the front and rowing continuously. The masts of the ship were lifted to provide wind power to propel the boat.

  Purujit came to them. There was still time for dawn to arrive.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Rafiq asked.

  ‘Even I don’t know,’ he replied, ‘I have been asked to steer downwards. The Emperor will send me message when time comes.’

  He led them through the stairs to the bottom floor of the large boat. A bedroom with two beds were kept ready for them. There was a bronze oil lamp with a large reflector hung on the wall. The strategic location of the lamp ensured proper spread of light inside the room. They could feel the fragrance of a light pleasant smell in the room. It was the same aroma which was in the Kala Bhavan.

  ‘None of us has got enough sleep tonight,’ Purujit was looking tired by now, ‘so, please get some sleep now. Our destination is probably days away, so you may sleep till late morning as there is nothing to do tomorrow. I am sleeping in the adjacent room. We will meet tomorrow. Good night.’

  Rafiq and Iqbal slipped into their beds. So much had already happened during the night they were going above their head. None was feeling tired. Iqbal asked, ‘Is this a boat or a ship?’ It is enormous.’

  ‘You may call it an extra large boat or even a ship,’ Rafiq replied, ‘I have seen the ships of Govind which carry passengers and cargo to various cities across Ganga. This is almost similar in size. This seems to be a war ship.’

  ‘Warship!’ Iqbal exclaimed, ‘what is that?’

  ‘This vessel can carry fighting in the water and also carry weapons and soldiers to distant places much quicker than road.’

  Iqbal didn’t realise how long he slept. The oil lamp was not lit anymore. The sunlight was coming through the stairs, and he could hear people talking and moving outside. The only window of the room was closed. He got up and opened the window. He saw outside in disbelief: fishes were flying. Is this another dream? He looked at Rafiq who just woke up and also started looking at the same window. Iqbal pointed the finger towards the fishes, ‘How is this possible?’

  ‘What?’ Rafiq asked.

  ‘Fish… Fishes are flying!’ Iqbal said.

  ‘You are using the wrong language,’ Rafiq smiled at him as he exactly understood what he was implying, ‘they are swimming in the river.’

  Iqbal looked out again and realised there is water outside the window.

  ‘We are in the lower floor of the ship, which is below water,’ Rafiq explained, ‘I have been to the ships of Govind few times.’

  Someone knocked on the door. A servant led them to the deck where a table and few chairs were placed towards the front of the deck. Purujit was seated looking at the river. He o
ffered seats to both Iqbal and Rafiq. A servant served breakfast to all of them.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt your sleep,’ Purujit started, ‘we are already late for the breakfast.’

  ‘No worry,’ Rafiq affirmed, ‘we were already up.’

  ‘I think the ship is not moving!’ Iqbal asked.

  ‘You are right,’ Purujit replied, ‘Emperor has instructed us to stay near Firozabad.’

  ‘Firozabad!’ Rafiq asked, ‘I have never heard of it!’

  ‘You must have heard of Chandwar Nagar!’ Purujit asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Chandwar Nagar has been renamed as Firozabad in 1566. Todarmal, the Finance Minister of the Emperor, was passing through Chandwar Nagar on a pilgrimage to Gaya (a holy city in North India). He was looted by robbers. On his request, Akbar sent Faraz Shah Mansabdar to set up a cantonment here. He renamed the city Firozabad.’

  ‘We both are new to all these, War, Ship etc.’ Rafiq said, ‘Is this a war ship?’

  ‘No,’ Purujit smiled, ‘this is my own house boat. It is large enough to be called a ship in a river. This is often mistaken as a war ship as I always travel with arms for my security. Look at there,’ he pointed his fingers at a ship which was almost a kilometre away, ‘that is the Royal Moghul Yamuna Navy ship.’

  Both looked at them blankly. He understood. ‘The Emperor has a fleet for river warfare. They can easily carry soldiers and weapons to different places much fast than by road.’

  The battle ship came nearer. Purujit went and gave some signals to them by hand and different colours of flags. They were quite indecipherable to an ordinary man. Rafiq and Iqbal both curiously looked at the ship. It was much longer than ‘Nagin of Yamuna’. There were more than twenty rowers on each side of the ship ready to pedal when masts can’t help due to adverse wind or when more speed was required. There were cannons placed at various places ready to rumble and shoot at the enemy. There was a level completely for the horse cavalry.

  ‘Nagin of Yamuna’ started moving. The battle ship followed her. Purujit moved to the war ship. As the duo had nothing to do but walk around, they explored the ship and the river. Everything seemed strange. They went to the kitchen to help the cooks. Instead, they made friendship with the head cook Madan and started gossiping. Madan was a man in his late forties, strong built and decent height. He was there for almost twenty years. He was the head cook in the Nagin of Yamuna. When the Nagin of Yamuna was not sailing, he was cooking in the secret palace of Purujit. He was originally from Allahabad but moved to Agra with his parents when he was a child. Rafiq was expecting him to be a quiet person, as those who serve at the sensitive places are expected to be secretive in their behaviour. Rather he looked like an open and friendly guy. Rafiq was curious to know so many things about the war ships and river warfare, but was reluctant to question everything to Purujit. They got another way to quench their thirst for knowledge.

  Iqbal asked, ‘Yamuna is merging with Ganga in Allahabad and Ganga is meeting the ocean in Bengal.’

  ‘Yes, then?’ Rafiq questioned.

  ‘All the territories on both sides of these two rivers are in Northern India and part of the empire of Akbar the Great. So, where is the enemy Purujit is going to fight? If the river goes to the south where there are independent kings, there is explanation of sending war ships to invade their territories. These ships can never go to the south as the river ends in Bengal.’

  ‘You are right,’ Madan said with a smile, ‘but Ganga meets the sea in Bengal. Is it not possible the battle ship can go to the ocean and reach the border of many South Indian states?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rafiq commented, ‘it is possible.’

  ‘Does it mean we all are going to travel in the ocean?’ Iqbal’s body language clearly showed he was afraid of an ocean journey, that too for a war. He had never seen a fight in his lifetime. The rule of the Emperor Akbar had brought political stability to a major part of India. The Moghul regime was militarily so strong that there was hardly any chance of any invader coming. Several times in the history of India outside invaders have created havoc in the life of ordinary unarmed citizens.  Genghis Khan, Mahmud of Ghazni were few of them who had killed hundreds of thousands of innocent unarmed public and looted lots of wealth from the country.

  Madan noticed his uneasiness and smiled again, ‘we are never told where the ship is going as it is always a military secrecy. Sometimes even Purujit himself does not know where he was going, but from the arrangement I can be sure we are neither going to travel in the ocean nor going to south.’

  ‘How is it possible that even Purujit does not know where we are going?’ Iqbal enquired, ‘he is so superior in the hierarchy.’

  ‘Yes it is possible,’ Madan replied, ‘no one is superior to the Emperor himself.’

  ‘That means we are in an unknown expedition,’ Rafiq commented.

  ‘From the arrangement I can figure it is just an exercise,’ Madan said, ‘sometimes soldiers and commanders practice dummy wars with the intention to be prepared all the time.’

  This statement soothed both Iqbal and Rafiq. As long as the tour is free from the risk of enemy attack, it is as enjoyable as a pleasure trip. They did not disclose their intention of going with Purujit. Madan was also not interested to know much about them or their intent. He was just playing a gracious host.

  ‘Nagin of Yamuna’ moved tirelessly ripping the blue waters of Yamuna. The warship followed her maintaining a safe distance as if they didn’t want to convey the message that both were going together. It was extremely difficult to know whom the royal navy was afraid of in the heart of the powerful empire of the Emperor. Ships were going eastward. Sun went down slowly towards the backside of them as if both the ships were slowly moving away from the sun towards darkness. Sky was crystal clear. Both Rafiq and Iqbal stood at the backside of the ship watching the sunset. The burning rays had been scattered on the blue waters of Yamuna. The beauty of the colours could make waves in the mind of a poet, but the duo was just observing that all the fishing and passenger boats were slowly disappearing from the river. Only ‘Nagin of Yamuna’ and the warship were slowly moving eastward. They saw a small boat was coming swiftly after them. A man in the boat was showing a flag and a burning light towards them. They couldn’t know anything and stood silently. The speed of ‘Nagin of Yamuna’ was reduced significantly until it came to a final halt. The warship, which was also moving at a distance, came to a halt. Purujit appeared there, and the boat came extremely close to them. One of the sailors dropped a rope ladder to the boat as the man dropped the flag and light and climbed quickly on the ladder onto ‘Nagin’. He came straight to Purujit, saluted him and handed over something which looked like a velvet fabric wrapped over one foot long piece of decorated bamboo rod. Purujit smiled as he accepted the salute and said thanks to him. The man was looking like a Moghul soldier. He quickly got off the ship in the same ladder to his boat. The boat speedily vanished towards the side of the river. Purujit was looking at the disappearing boat without unfolding the cloth. The sun had already disappeared leaving the moon in charge of spreading light on the earth. A servant brought a lamp to Purujit as the light dispersed from the half moon was not enough to read a letter. He held the lamp at a height, and Purujit opened the fabric from the holder. This was a letter, a letter from an important person. This was evident from the impressive looking fabric and holder, and the fact that it was delivered only to Purujit.

  Purujit read the letter, not once but few times. By that time, the head sailor was already there expecting instructions. Purujit wrapped the letter and looked at the head sailor, ‘Continue till Varanasi.’

  He smiled at Iqbal and Rafiq, ‘We will meet at dinner,’ and went away.

  Both headed again to the kitchen. Where else they could have spent time in the evening? There was Madan, engaged in cooking the dinner. There were several other cooks also, absorbed in cooking for the crew. Madan smiled at them as if he could read their faces and knew what they
were after. He came and stood in front of them, ‘He was the messenger sent by none other than the Emperor. I am sure this is some significant expedition and that’s why the Emperor sent order directly to Purujit. He is such a trusted person.’

  ‘We are then going to Varanasi,’ Iqbal was almost certain.

  ‘I am not sure. We were planning to make a stop near Kanpur for the night. We would have bought provisions in the morning before continuing our journey. You know we started in a hurry, and there was no time to organise for enough provisions for both the ships. Now, instead of halting at Kanpur we will sail directly to Varanasi.’

  ‘How will then you will feed to such a large crew?’ enquired Rafiq.

  ‘There is enough for tonight, we need only for tomorrow,’ assured Madan. ‘The Emperor not only gives the command to execute perfectly, he executes his commands with finest precision.’

  ‘How?’ Iqbal couldn’t understand.

  ‘He has in his mind the well being of the lowest rank in the armed force. I am sure another boat will return to load the ship with the provisions.’

  Surprisingly he was right. They saw through the window, a servant was pulling one side of a rope attached to a large pulley fixed on a steel pole. The other side of the rope was hanging towards the river. Both came out immediately to find another boat floating parallel to ‘Nagin’. The rope and the pulley were transferring bags of provisions from the boat to the ship. After half of the boat’s contents were shifted the boat also did the same thing to the warship. Both the ships were loaded with provisions which they would have bought from Kanpur next morning.

  There was a sovereign ruler who was controlling a country which was claimed to be full of gold. He had absolute power practically to do or undo anything he wanted. He could satisfy all his worldly needs with his vast wealth and power. Still he was thinking of the well being of his subordinates who were going on a military expedition in the midnight to execute his command. He ordered them not to stop the warship at night. The command could never be violated. He knew this. Still he could feel the inconvenience the crew of both the ships would encounter without enough provisions, and he arranged them to be delivered in the middle of the river. This required lots of planning in the sixteenth century when sending a message from Delhi to Agra or Kanpur took days or even weeks.

  What a way to conquer the heart of the subjects after conquering the land! On the other hand, there was another ruler. He was not an Emperor. He simply governed a province and had been appointed by the Emperor. The appointment was not even for life. He was merely the agent of the Emperor and represented him for all his actions. The difference: the common man was not safe under his rule. His brother could kidnap any woman he felt should satisfy his hunger. Thank God Iqbal was not an ordinary person now. He was with the Emperor’s trusted person Purujit.

  He felt satisfied, but couldn’t know what the expedition could be. What was there in Varanasi? It was devilishly hard to imagine. Probably even Purujit didn’t know where he was going. Everything was strictly confidential. No doubt there must have been something serious. The name Varanasi evoked desperation in him. His dearest sister must be wailing in the dark corner of some palatial house in the custody of Niyaz. Her only little girl was with his wife in Allahabad, and he was going to some unknown place along with the warship. He couldn’t communicate with his wife what he was doing. Nor could he soothe the baby daughter that he was going to bring her mother back. Govind’s manager Jiten had confirmed Niyaz went to Varanasi. Would he find the whereabouts of his sister there? What if he found out? After all, he was the brother of Allahabad’s Governor. Purujit couldn’t have done anything to him even if he were one of the powerful Moghul commanders. He has to wait till the end of the expedition and try to meet the Emperor with Purujit to pray for his sister’s rescue. Who knows how many weeks it would take? It might take even months! Should he request him to make a stopover in Allahabad for a day? At least he could rush to his house and meet the little girl for a while.

  He couldn’t ask him. He knew the ship was not allowed a break in Kanpur as the Emperor had urgency for the expedition. The break meant further delay in meeting the Emperor. The expedition must have been top secret, that’s why the messenger came to bring Emperor’s letter in the evening and provisions were unloaded from the boat to the ships at night. A possible stopover in Allahabad might cause suspicion about the expedition as the enemy must have placed spies in an important place like Allahabad.

  He couldn’t enjoy his dinner with Purujit that night even though he tried to talk to him with occasional smiles. He didn’t want him to show his concern. Purujit might also be passing through lots of anxiety as everything was still under uncertainty. He could sense his concern clearly.

  He couldn’t sleep properly. He tried to see the outside through the glass window of his room. All he could see was dark as the room was below water level. He opened the door slowly as Rafiq was in deep sleep and tried to go to the deck. Unfortunately, the stairs to the upper floor were locked from the outside.

  The ‘Nagin of Yamuna’ and the warship both sailed uninterrupted without any other incident. Whenever a boat was seen, he was thinking, maybe another agent of the Emperor was approaching to deliver some significant confidential information. No such thing happened. They were either fishing boats or passenger boats. The provisions delivered near Kanpur were so much that there was no need to make another stopover.

  The next night also passed similarly. Purujit spent most of his time with the few soldiers on board of both the ships making plans for different types of conditions. The exercises were not kept secret from Iqbal and Rafiq. From the preparations, both could guess that no one knew what was the expedition for. Apart from the military exercise he was gossiping with Rafiq and Iqbal whenever he was free, most of the gossip was about the cities on the sides of rivers Ganga and Yamuna. He was careful not to discuss anything about the disaster for which Iqbal was there. He knew how essential to preserve the family pride when it involved kidnapping of a married woman. As the night came, Iqbal again moved to the state of anguish. Now he was not expressing his feelings to even Rafiq. He had already done enough as a friend and accompanying him for an indefinite period leaving all his business back at home.

  Tonight he didn’t try to see outside from the glass window of the underwater room while Rafiq was in deep sleep. He didn’t try to go to the deck as he knew the stairs were locked. Tension and fatigue from less sleep drove him to a deep sleep towards the end of the night.

  Rafiq woke up in the early morning and left the room for fresh air on the deck. He came back and mercilessly woke Iqbal up, ‘Iqbal, come. I will show you something unique.’

  ‘What is unique? Did any other messenger come from the Emperor? Let him come, I am feeling sleepy.’

  ‘No, please come to the deck.’

  Iqbal hesitantly got up from bed and went to the deck with Rafiq. It was a perfect dawn. The bright orange coloured sun was just rising from inside the blue waters of the river. There were hardly few boats around, but the river looked different today. Iqbal cleared his eyes and saw Purujit standing quietly and saluting the river. A little bit more effort he could see they were at the point where Ganga, Yamuna and the underground river Saraswati have merged near Allahabad. The sound of the bells of the riverside temples was creating vibrations in his mind. Even Madan and few other cooks and crews were on the deck doing some religious rituals. The three rivers have maintained their separate identities even after merging.  While the Yamuna is deep but smooth and greenish in hue, the Ganga is shallow, but forceful and clear. No one has ever seen the river Saraswati. Hindus believe Saraswati is hidden underground. The conviction was so strong that even many Muslims also believed there was a third underground river. The sunray of the dawn had created a kind of colour on the waters of the rivers. Believers on both sides’ of riverbanks were floating diyas (small oil lamps made from baked clay) in the river as part of their rituals. Hundreds of lamps were f
loating in the river. Iqbal had come their several times in the evening and had seen thousands of diyas floating in the water as part of religious rituals. For the first time, he saw the beauty of the meeting place of three rivers at dawn.

  For some time, he forgot that he was on a mission and enjoyed the scene like a tourist. Then he hoped if the ships made a brief stopover, he could quickly go to his house and meet the little girl of Nadirah and his own family. Anyway he was sure this was a viable option. Purujit had no right to decide where to stay and how long to stay. It was the order of the Emperor. Finally, he decided to write a letter. After some time, there would be hundreds of boats in the river. It was extremely easy to handover the letter to someone. If a reasonable amount is paid, anyone would agree to bear the letter. Rafiq also liked the idea and started writing a letter for his family. They approached Purujit with their request. He understood the mental condition of both. Their families didn’t know where they were now and when they would come back home. The unfortunate circumstances under which both had left Allahabad, their families must have been under intense concern regarding their whereabouts. He also wanted Iqbal and Rafiq somehow should contact their own families, but his hands were tied. He was not directing the movement of the troops. It was the Emperor who was sending all the directions.

  ‘We are, unfortunately, not even allowed to slow down,’ Purujit pleaded, ‘we need to go beyond the jurisdiction of Allahabad city before full daylight so that we are not noticed. In fact, we were ordered to cross Allahabad before morning which we couldn’t do. Two large ships in a row will be easily noticed in a multitude of small boats.’

  ‘This is not enemy territory Purujit,’ Rafiq commented, ‘who has the guts to challenge the army of the Emperor Akbar in the heart of his own territory?’

  ‘Emperor Akbar is not afraid of anyone in his own land,’ assured Purujit, ‘but you must know that he doesn’t want anybody to get hints of the expeditions directed by him. Even so far I don’t know what I am going to do and exactly where we all are going. Even for your own convenience no one in Allahabad should know that you are with me. The news will pass easily to Wasim, the Governor of Allahabad. This is not suitable for the security of your families. I will recommend waiting till we reach Varanasi. I will arrange someone to take your letters to your families, and Wasim will not even suspect.’

  ‘This is not bad idea’, Iqbal and Rafiq thought. Varanasi was not far away, only few hours from Allahabad by river. Niyaz must have kept Nadirah somewhere in Varanasi. Who knew he might surrender his sister to him if he sees Purujit with him. He knew the power circle in the capital. He must have known the clout of Purujit in the Mughal administration. Maybe they wouldn’t have to approach the Emperor.

  ‘Nagin’ was travelling in Ganga like a serpentine as if it was a real Nagin (female cobra). As the daylight progressed, the number of fishing and passenger boats increased in the river. The ghats (series of steps leading to the river) became crowded with people taking holy dip in the sacred river. One could hear the sounds of temple bells, which were everywhere, along the river bank. There were hundreds of small and magnificent temples for various Hindu deities with different types of temple tops. The temples with tridents on the top indicated that the temples were of Lord Shiva. The temples with Chakra (small wheel) on the head indicated they were for Lord Vishnu. Occasionally there were mosques also. There were magnificent houses with their own jetties for their boats. Iqbal was eagerly looking at each such palatial house lest he could find out Nadirah. It was extremely challenging as ‘Nagin’ was sailing in the middle of the river, and the faces on the riverbank were blurred. Rafiq was standing near him and also was trying to recognise the faces on the riverbank. He gently touched the shoulder of Iqbal and indicated at Purujit. He was standing at a distance and looking at something through a small one feet long cylinder. They slowly moved so that they could stand near Purujit. He took his eyes out and smiled at both. Then he handed the cylinder to Rafiq.

  ‘What is this?’ Rafiq asked.

  ‘You can see far-flung objects more clearly,’ he replied, ‘businessmen from Portugal sometimes come to see the Emperor. Last year, I bought this from them.’

  Rafiq looked through cylinder which had round shaped glass on both sides. ‘This is miracle,’ he said as he handed that to Iqbal. Iqbal was not curious to know about this incredible tool which was capable of showing distant object look bigger than they were in naked eyes. He wanted to take this opportunity to look at the courtyards of the palatial houses on both sides of the rivers if anyone was looking like Niyaz or if any woman was looking like Nadirah. He could find none.

  ‘Be careful,’ Rafiq warned as Iqbal stood close to the side of the boat as if he can have a better look, ‘this is a rare instrument. Your entire properties will not be sufficient to purchase this in case it falls in the river.’

  Iqbal hesitantly handed that back to Purujit. Till now he was looking at both sides of the river. Then he realised the ships were looking slightly different. He told this to Rafiq. He was also surprised, ‘yes they are looking different.’

  ‘Something has changed, but what is that?’ Iqbal exclaimed.

  ‘I think many things are looking different.’ Rafiq added.

  The cannons positioned on various strategic parts of both the ships had vanished. The sailors in military clothes were wearing civilian clothes. Even the names of the ships proudly written on the sides had been covered with vast clothes. All these had probably been done in the previous night when the world was sleeping. The idea was crystal clear. Two ships including one military ship sailing among hundreds of small and large boats in broad daylight were clearly visible to everyone which was not desirable in view of the confidentiality of the expedition. Even the sailors didn’t know the purpose of the trip. So much precaution was not taken when they were near Agra. Maybe the close they were to Varanasi, the more the necessity of keeping out of the prying eyes. They still remembered the directions given to Purujit by the messenger, ‘Continue till Varanasi’.

  Varanasi was not far away. They felt both a sort of comfort and apprehension. Comfort, as probably one part of the travel, would end soon. Apprehension, as the military campaign might start which was highly uncertain. Varanasi was approaching. Rafiq and Iqbal were in a dilemma, whether they should enjoy the scenery on the deck or go down to the safety of the lower level compartment. None of them had seen a war before. They still were not sure what kind of war might happen when there was no enemy territory near.

  Purujit, on the other hand, was looking anxious and walking from one side of the ship to the other. The ship slowed down slightly as the smaller boats from backside were able to take over. The battleship was moving steadily, keeping the same distance between both. A servant came to Purujit with five different fluorescent colours and designs of flags. A soldier climbed on a ladder, to obtain a higher level enough to be able to see distant objects. Purujit was looking intently through the cylinder with glasses on both sides which enabled to see distant objects clearly. Then he indicated something to the soldier who was on the top of the ladder. The other soldier made an arrangement of three different flags and handed over to him. He waved the flags. They could see another boat from a distance waving a combination of flags. It was difficult to see them clearly. But Purujit could clearly see them with the Portuguese instrument. He indicated the soldier to change the mix of flags. This went on for some time with several different combinations of flags. Rafiq was aware of the sign language, used by the armed forces, to communicate where voice couldn’t reach or to maintain the confidentiality. Unlike the previous occasion, no messenger came to deliver the message of the Emperor. The boat which was waving the flags also vanished. The soldier climbing the ladder got off and went inside with his flags. Purujit also went away from the deck, probably to his cabin. He seemed to be under pressure. This was not the time to go to him and bother. He might be consulting with his deputies about the oncoming action. Something was going to happen
soon. If so the soldiers of both the ships should be prepared with their weapons. This was no such indication.

  Varanasi was not too far. Might be they were already near it. Anytime they might be asked to get off the ship and go into Varanasi. Everything seemed highly uncertain. They could see the temples, palatial houses and ghats. This means anytime they might alight from the ship. Rafiq and Iqbal went to their cabin to start packing. Purujit’s cabin was next to theirs. The doors of his cabin were open, and he was not within. They spent some time gossiping in the cabin. The ship must be preparing to stay in Varanasi. Then they went to the kitchen. Madan, their friend smiled at them while still engaged in cooking for lunch. The window of the kitchen was above the water level, and it was probably the best place in the ship where you could work and enjoy the outside view at the same time.

  Iqbal wanted so start the gossip, ‘Which temple you want to visit in Varanasi Madan?’

  ‘Temple! Varanasi!’ he showed his surprise.

  ‘Yes, I think we are already approaching Varanasi,’ Rafiq confirmed.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Madan went to the window and looked out intently, ‘we are already past Varanasi.’

  Rafiq and Iqbal both were surprised and also came to the window.

  ‘We thought we were disembarking in Varanasi. Didn’t the messenger of the Emperor come to the ship and convey the message Continue till Varanasi?’ Iqbal looked at Madan in anticipation of getting a positive reply.

  ‘The message was ‘continue till Varanasi’, not ‘go to Varanasi.’ Madan again smiled while adding dry chillies to the heated oil in the big fry-pan. The chilli mixed smoke from the pan filled the room and almost everyone started sneezing. Two assistant cooks ran to open the doors and windows to let the smoke to escape. ‘You were on the deck when the boat from a distance was sending the message with different combination of the flag?’

  ‘Yes, do you interpret those codes?’ asked Rafiq.

  ‘I don’t,’ Madan confirmed, ‘but I was told that we are not stopping at Varanasi.’

  ‘Where are we going then?’ Iqbal asked.

  Madan cleared the situation, ‘Last time it was almost dusk when there was hardly any boat in the river. It was possible for the courier to come near the ship and handover the message. Today it is a clear day-light of the morning with hundreds of boats moving around us. So the runner didn’t come near us and sent the coded message from a distance.’

  ‘I agree,’ Rafiq said, ‘I have seen the boat which came to ship to handover the letter. Today also I have seen the boat though it was at a distance. I am sure both are different.’

  ‘You are right,’ Madan confirmed, ‘Akbar will not like the same agent to communicate all the time so that there will be no trail. If some of them want to betray and pass on information to the enemy camp, complete information will not divulge.’

  ‘Are you then aware what is our next destination?’ Iqbal asked.

  ‘Yes, we are now going to Hooghly in Bengal. But I am not sure which part of Bengal we will continue.’ Madan confirmed.

  ‘Where is Hooghly?’ Iqbal questioned.

  ‘It is same as river Ganga,’ Rafiq explained him, ‘Ganga after entering Bengal is called Hooghly, and it meets the Bay of Bengal finally.’

  ‘I hope our destination must be to the city close to Hooghly?’ Iqbal asked.

  ‘I think so,’ Madan gave a short reply.

  ‘Is it also possible we will continue to Bay of Bengal through estuary?’ Iqbal added.

  ‘I am not sure, but in the past we have been to the Bay of Bengal.’ Madan confirmed.

  ‘Did you just enter the Bay of Bengal and come back?’ Iqbal looked nervous.

  ‘Do you think it is just a picnic so that the ship will continue to the sea and come back?’ Rafiq commented.

  ‘I mean they must have fought the enemy in the Bay of Bengal before coming back to the river through the estuary.’ Iqbal suggested.

  ‘You mean the enemy is already swimming in the ocean! The warship will go there, defeat the enemy and come back to the river as soon as possible!’ Rafiq laughingly commented.

  ‘It is possible if the enemy is a fish or shark,’ Madan laughed as Iqbal looked more nervous.

  ‘If we enter the Bay of Bengal, we will do that to go to South,’ Madan continued, ‘but don’t worry from now. The Emperor will never think of the South expedition with just two ships out of which only one is a warship.’

  ‘He is right,’ Rafiq assured Iqbal, ‘even though the fleet consists of two ships; only one is a war ship, whereas the other is just the personal ship of Purujit. South is mostly outside Mughal Empire. A large army and navy are required to complete a successful expedition.’

  Iqbal looked relieved. Madan’s assistant Anil was chopping vegetables. He is an old man in his sixties and was with the Moghul military since he was young. He was still strong and almost for last ten years he was working for Purujit. He always accompanied Purujit’s cooking team whenever he went to fight a war. Purujit thought he was lucky for him and never went to any war without Anil in the cooking team. So far he had not found a suitable successful replacement for him. Anil had decades of experience of Mughal combat though he was only a cook. The cooks have always gotten the privilege of getting close to the top officials of the military and Anil was not an exception.

  Anil was absorbed in his work but was keenly listening, ‘If the Emperor has plans to attack the South from the ocean, he must have arranged other warships who may join anywhere en-route. You must have noticed he is sending messages and even sending the provisions whenever you need. You can imagine how well planned and well organised the Mughal army under Akbar the Great.’

  ‘Anything may happen,’ Rafiq told, ‘we shouldn’t imagine before knowing what the Emperor wants.’

  ‘You are right Rafiq,’ Anil supported, ‘but as per my study there shouldn’t be any such possibility like South expedition this time.’

  ‘How?’ Madan asked.

  ‘Very few of Purujit’s unit is travelling with us. I know most of them. The warship, which is following us, doesn’t carry any of his regiment. Only few who are travelling in Nagin are from Purujit’s regiment. How can he lead a war without most of his team with him?’

  Madan nodded in agreement.

  Gradually the temples, palatial houses and ghats of Varanasi looked small till they vanished. Iqbal and Rafiq retired to their cabin. Iqbal was looking worn out.

  ‘Till now I was counting down when Allahabad will come or Varanasi will come,’ he mourned, ‘we have passed both the cities. Purujit didn’t even make any arrangement for sending our letters in Varanasi.’

  ‘I think Purujit is also powerless in this case,’ Rafiq consoled him; ‘didn’t you see he got coded message from a distance? He was also expecting Varanasi is the destination.’

  ‘Was he?’ asked Iqbal.

  ‘Yes,’ Rafiq continued, ‘I have heard he was even planning a religious ritual in the temple of Lord Shiva.’

  Iqbal didn’t say anything, just looked at him.

  ‘You know Lord Shiva temple in Varanasi is one of the four most sacred places in Hinduism,’ Rafiq continued to hold Iqbal engaged, ‘he was talking to Madan about that.’

  ‘I am getting too much fun here,’ Iqbal commented, ‘I am enjoying the sightseeing, enjoying the magnificent food. On the other hand, I don’t know whether my sister is alive or dead. What is she doing now? I don’t know how my family is coping without getting any communication from me. I can see the innocent face of the little Saira every time I close my eyes.’

  ‘Don’t even think of death in case of Nadirah,’ Rafiq suggested, ‘I know her since she was a little girl. She is like my own sister. That is the reason I am with you all this time. I know her extremely well. She is a fighter, not an escapist. She will fight with the enemy. She will fight against any odd.’

  Iqbal stopped counting hours and days. Anil was telling, Hooghly is too far from Varanasi. It might take days to
reach there. No one knew what instructions would come from the Emperor. Purujit met them during launch. Iqbal just exchanged pleasantries, didn’t ask anything about expedition.

  Purujit came with them to their cabin after the launch, ‘I was hoping to visit the temple of Lord Shiva in Varanasi, that didn’t happen.’

  ‘We know,’ Rafiq said, ‘Maybe you will be successful while returning.’

  ‘I still think I am lucky,’ Purujit looked confident, ‘It is the desire of the Lord. He might have different plans for me. If I am successful in the expedition, soon I should be able to meet Akbar. That will be the best time to request him about Nadirah. Please don’t take tension. I am as much concerned as you are. Have enough rest. We may require real energy when we reach the destination.’

  He then retired to his cabin.

  In the afternoon, Anil came to meet them in their cabin. He had visited many places during his long career as military cook. Besides cooking, he was also a living book of various places of interest. His talk certainly took people to an environment of joy and happiness. He didn’t know why these two were travelling with Purujit. With his extensive experience with life, he could imagine they must have been under some serious problem. He didn’t try to get any information out of them, but opened up loads of information.

  ‘Have you ever been to Bengal?’ asked Anil.

  ‘Never,’ replied Rafiq.

  ‘So, it will be your first trip if we are lucky to call Hooghly our destination.’

  ‘Is it a prominent city?’ Iqbal asked without much interest.

  ‘You must have seen the telescope Purujit uses to look at distant objects?’

  ‘You mean the little cylinder with two glasses on both sides?’ Rafiq said.

  ‘Yes, that is called telescope. He bought that from a Portuguese trader. Actually Hooghly is a Portuguese city.’

  ‘You mean Portuguese city, which is not in Portugal?’ Rafiq corrected him.

  ‘Yes, you are right. Emperor Akbar has allowed Portuguese captain Pedro Tavares to build a city in Bengal province. He was even allowed to choose the location where to build the city. He chose Hooghly.’

  ‘Why Hooghly? Is it such a prominent place?’ Rafiq asked.

  ‘Few decades ago a Portuguese sailor called Vasco-Da-Gama came to India through Goa. It is said that he is the first European to come to India. He came to Hooghly along with other Portuguese traders. Sultan Mahmud Shah gave permission to the Portuguese traders to trade in this area. Hooghly River was the main route for transport, and it is a port also. Within decades, Hooghly city became a Portuguese commercial hub. So when Akbar asked them to choose a place to set up a city, Hooghly was their natural choice. From Hooghly their ships were sailing to Bay of Bengal. The ships would go up to Kanyakumari, the southernmost point of the country. Then they would enter the Arabian Sea to reach Goa.’

  ‘How do you know so much? Have you ever travelled with them?’

  ‘Yes, I have, before joining Mughal Army as a cook.’

  ‘You are more a historian rather than a cook!’ Iqbal said who was almost speechless till now.

  ‘I had also travelled when Mughal fleet sailed for the first time to South. I was more of a guide rather than a cook. I told them to go to Bay of Bengal and then move southward in the sea. It was actually a study by Mughal as a plan to invade South India.’

  ‘I have never seen a sea in my life.’ Iqbal said.

  ‘Me too,’ said Rafiq.

  ‘Then you both will be lucky if actually we are instructed to navigate to the South this time.’ Anil suggested.

  ‘No, no,’ both Rafiq and Iqbal said together.

  ‘Not this time please.’ Rafiq told as if Anil was about to decide to sail into the sea.

  ‘Actually we are on a special mission,’ Iqbal stopped abruptly as Rafiq looked at him intently. He forgot that their mission was more sensitive than the expedition instructed by Akbar the Great. There was no chance that disclosing the facts to Anil would result in leaking the story to Wasim or Niyaz. Anil was old confidant of Purujit. But he must have been well known to Ashfaq, the deputy of Purujit and Nadirah’s husband. There was still a faint hope that Nadirah would be free from Niyaz and this tragedy could be kept secret from her husband, who otherwise might doubt about her chastity.

  Anil was able to assess their mental state and didn’t try to uncover the matter further. Rather he continued his conversation in the line of travelling and Portuguese only. Besides getting lots of information about sailing in the sea, both Iqbal and Rafiq could divert their attention away from their tension. They had plenty of time and virtually nothing to do. Anil was mainly engaged in cooking. Still he was finding time to spend with Iqbal and Rafiq. They both always welcomed him as he was narrating the adventure of Vasco Da Gama. Not only that, he also narrated his heinous acts of cruelty, especially the Pilgrim ship episode.

  ‘What is that incident?’ Iqbal showed interest.

  ‘It was in his second voyage to India. He intercepted a ship of Muslim pilgrims at Madayi travelling to Mecca from Calicut. The ship had four hundred passengers including nearly fifty women. He looted the passengers, locked them and burned them to death. The pilgrims offered their money in exchange of their lives, but he didn’t forgive anyone. He looked through a pothole as the women offered their gold and held their babies to beg mercy. This was one of the worst cold blooded cruelties of the century.’

  The stories till now were going well with Rafiq and Iqbal except the last one. They both became visibly uncomfortable, and Anil couldn’t guess the reason. He had narrated the stories to so many people in his life, and nobody ever felt sorry for the cold blooded massacre. Actually people rarely relate the stories to their own life events. He was about to move to a better story when Madan appeared.

  ‘Our provisions will barely last for tomorrow morning’s breakfast only.’ Madan informed.

  ‘We must get replenished by someone sent by the Emperor on the way.’ Anil replied.

  ‘What if no one comes?’ Madan was apprehensive, ‘We will pass through Hooghly by morning. If provisions are not sent in time and we don’t buy in Hooghly, we are in real problem.’

  Anil didn’t say a word, just got up and went up to the deck. Madan, Rafiq and Iqbal all followed him. The broad daylight has already given way to the twilight of the dusk. The blue waters of the river have been illuminated by the sun which was almost hiding in the horizon. Fishing and passenger boats were on their way to their place at the end of the day. There were few villages on both sides of the river. A city can be seen faintly at a long distance. Anil confirmed that it was Hooghly city. They could see a tall building even though they were away from the city. Anil told it was a Church, the place of worship of Christians. They had never seen a white man before. The telescope of Purujit might allow them to see the city roads and rare white men from the ship. But the night was approaching fast. Anil should have come to the deck much earlier. If they don’t stop at Hooghly, this is their last chance to see a white man, practically aliens to them.

  Purujit came. He looked confused. Madan and Anil both could observe his thoughts. The previous command from Akbar was ‘continue till Hooghly’. They were now almost at Hooghly. There was no further instruction. The provisions stored in the ship were almost finished. They need urgently go to a market otherwise tomorrow everyone would remain hungry.

  ‘It is possible we will be asked to attack Hooghly!’ Madan suggested.