Early morning, Agra

  The sun had just begun rising and spreading its vermillion rays over the metal windows of the Agra Fort. Roosters were crowing with unmatched gusto, sparrows were flapping their wings about and singing to each other in sweet-sounding tones, and men were roused from slumber. Some groaned, for they resented another day of toil and tribulations; others sprang from their wooden charpoys or the hard ground, washed their faces, and went out in search for novel ventures.

  Women were roused from sleep too, but an hour or two earlier than their men. Stretching their veils down to their chins, fastening the sashes around their petticoats, and covering the half-worn sarees with a cloth, they crawled into the little kitchens-cutting, peeling, and washing the vegetables, putting dung out to dry, or checking on the availability of spices, milk, and butter. Some women chose to begin their daily chores by washing utensils, if their men were industrious enough to provide any; most households ate on leaf plates and cups made of clay.

  Even in prosperous cities like Agra, not everyone could afford two meals a day. Poverty and malnutrition were rampant in and around the city-fortress. All of this, and the fact that their husbands were often indolent (and indifferent to their plight), meant that the women of the household were beset with difficulties from a young age and furnished with no means of respite. This did not, however, deter them from seeking pleasures central to human existence; they chattered away with members of their community through windows, in alleys, and in dark nooks and corners of the slums where they were relatively free of male condescension.

  The circumstances in which the wives of the nobles found themselves were, as any astute person would guess, far superior to those of the commoners. Having been blessed with affluence and afflicted with the extravagance characteristic of the rich, the noblewomen spent their days decorating their varnished faces, gossiping about their men behind their backs, pouncing upon one another for the little vanities each of them possessed, or better still, grumbling over the sad dispossession of a diamond ear-ring.

  Their husbands were men of short tempers and massive egos, the latter aspect of which dictated their day-to-day lives. Taking offence at the slightest and most trifling of aspects had, with due time, become the defining feature of these portly, moustache-bearing dandies.

  And of course, when their wives weren't looking, they spent their nights elsewhere.

  As the sun rose and the roosters cawed, the watchtowers were slowly flooded by half-asleep, half-staggering chowkidaars. Some of them half-heartedly looked through the huge tubular binoculars, and stopped in their tracks; some were even startled.

  An entire cavalry company was advancing rapidly towards the city.

  The chowkidaars were alarmed and some ran for the trumpets; some even blew them, signaling the troops at the gates to secure them and close all possible entrances to the city. This sudden change of events disrupted all engaged in toil and a day's work; an irrepressible panic gripped the market-dwellers as they threw their belongings astray and ran helter-skelter.

  One of the "watchers", a stout man of fifty, observed that the emblems the flags bore resembled those of Alwar.

  "These are our troops; there's no need to panic," was his calm declaration.

  "They cannot be more than a hundred in number, perhaps two hundred. Open the doors and let them in, I guess."

  And so, they were allowed to enter the city, and Oh! They were greeted with spontaneous cries of astonishment. The market-goers, the shopkeepers, the women drying clothes on the terraces, and the darwaans: all stopped in their tracks to chance upon a very confusing spectacle: about a hundred and fifty cavalrymen, most of them suffering from disfigurement, deep cuts and lacerations, and loss of limbs and ears and noses, strode slowly into the City Hall. Their horses, having turned crimson with blood, left a trail of that red liquid wherever their short strides impressed themselves.

  The officers patrolling the streets around the City Hall led them to the local garrison where a company of about one hundred soldiers greeted them with a gasp of surprise. They couldn't grasp what their eyes were seeing: their very own comrades in a sorry state; bruised, battered, and utterly defeated. Their manliness, their vigour and natural aggression: all seemed to have vanished into thin air.

  As the injured men alighted their horses, a lean-looking figure approached them. He wasn't wearing any armour; just a small turban on his head, a rusty scabbard dangling from his waste, and a loose undershirt with a dhoti fastened around his waist with a muslin sash. In the beginning, the soldiers thought that some new recruit was coming at them, and as such didn't pay heed to his presence. Visibly disturbed at their insolence, the man took off his turban, and striking the scabbard against the rough ground, spoke in an assertive tone.

  "What mischance occasioned such a dire state of affairs, my upright men?"

  The voice, soft yet uncannily chilling, straightened the ears of the listeners. They couldn't muster up a befitting reply, owing to fatigue or shame or both. For some moments, the oddly dressed man continued staring expressionlessly at his "upright men", and with swiftly fleeting time tiny beads of perspiration appeared on their flushed faces.

  "Silence is not an answer."

  "Maalik, the Rajputs,"

  "The Rajputs?"

  "Yes, the Rajputs.....they besieged the Alwar Fort"

  "What?!"

  "We weren't prepared for the attack. They were swift, they were brutal, and they were victorious."

  "Victorious?"

  "Lord, they breached all of the protective walls, infiltrated the inner quarters of the fortress, bombed the Diwan-I-Khaas to oblivion and took hundreds of our men captive. One of our commanders had told us that he had the consent of the kiledaar to ask for reinforcements, and seeing that Agra was the closest city we could reach, we galloped with all our might towards it,"

  The man didn't know what to make of it. Was the soldier fooling them? Was he exaggerating the events? Or...had their stronghold in the Rajputana crumbled into dust? All of this was too surreal to believe in, at least immediately. It was as though Delhi had fallen in a matter of days and nobody could even realise that.

  "This cannot be happening. Alwar was one of the most important strategic strongholds we had in Rajputana. If what these men are telling us is true, then we are totally doomed. With Alwar gone, they will definitely go for Bharatpur and Jhunjhunu.."

  "Sir,"

  "Yes?"

  "I believe that we must apprise the Court of this development. The Emperor is sojourning, so that might be an advantage."

  "Ha! An advantage? Who was the one who overreacted to some trifling issue and started this in the first place?"

  He did not receive a reply, but in some cases silence spoke volumes.

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  "Well, the empire cannot be left dying due to some playboy's lustful adventures, so I'm galloping to the Fort. In the meantime, please allow the medics to attend to the wounds of our men."

  The guard nodded and scurried away to perform the instructions. As the "daunting" figure saw him disappearing in the streets, he turned to his horse, and with a heavy sigh, began his journey to the Fort.

  ***

  "THIS IS RIDICULOUS!"

  "ALWAR TAKEN?"

  "THE IMPERVIOUS FORT BREACHED?"

  The courtiers, astonished and thrown into disarray, expressed their tribulations through impassioned outbursts like those described above. The more eccentric among them had lost their balance and fallen face-first onto the carpeted floor, while the more solemn held their foreheads in their hands, deep in thought. This was no laughing matter. One of their chief strategic fortresses had fallen to the enemy, and they could not conceive of any feasible plan to retrieve it.

  "Sire," began a courtier.

  "Kya hai?"

  "Maharaj, please try understanding the gravity of the situation. The fall of Alwar means that our connection with Rajputana proper has been severed. We no longer possess strategically advantageous positions to retaliate. The remaining fortresses do not have sufficient men and resources and are poorly guarded."

  A minister whispered, "They wouldn't have been, had this man not wasted his entire wealth on his prostitutes and merrymaking like nobody's business,"

  "The only business he deals in is the business of rocking beds" said another.

  "In Rajputana ki itni himmat ki ye aapki avahelna karein?! (These Rajputs dare oppose your suzerainty!)"

  "Your Highness, common sense dictates that you formally declare war on Rajputana. In doing this, not only will you assert your superiority but also subdue their proliferating power!"

  "Yes, Sire! They need to be crushed lest they become potent enough to threaten your authority!"

  The older courtiers, more nuanced and pragmatic than their younger counterparts, could realise the economic, military and political futility of this war. Their empire was swiftly dwindling, treasury paltry, and military practically inefficient. There was a looming threat of a popular rebellion, as news of the armed mutiny at Awadh had reached their ears. Under such dreadful circumstances, another war would prove suicidal.

  The same old man (the one who had called the Emperor an 'ayyash') stood up, cleared his throat and began, "My Lord, I have something to say-"

  The old man had been employed in the Indian Court since the reign of the Late Emperor Avaneesh. Owing to his wit and pragmatism, the emperor had appointed him as his personal political advisor, and in this capacity he had served him faithfully for ten long years, until certain pressing issues forced the former to abdicate. Now aged over seventy-five and feeble, although he possessed the profound wisdom, the vigour of his earlier days was gone.

  "What do you have to say, chacha ?"

  "Gareeb-nawaaz is gustaakh pe raham karein. Janaab, in lakarabaggho ki na suniye, ye heere-jawaaharaat aur peeth thapthapaai ke muhtaaj hain. Inhe aapka bhala nahi dikhta; inhe sirf apni khushamadi se matlab hai. Zindagi me jisne jang ke maidan me apne rui jaise haathon se shamsheer na uthayi ho, ya jisne auraton ko apne waalido ko jang me supurd-e-khaak karte na dekha ho, wo bhala kya jaane khun ka khel kya hota hai?"

  ("May the Protector of the Poor show mercy to this insolent wretch. Sir, do not lend an ear to these jackals draped in silks-they thrive on jewels and hollow praise. They care nothing for your well-being; they care only for their own flattery and gain. What does one who has never raised a sword with hands as soft as cotton or seen women bury the fathers who fell in battle know of bloodshed? Such men know nothing of the cost of war.")

  "Get to the point, old man. We don't have all day!"

  "Sabr nahin hai isiliye to jahannum me jaa rahe ho! Are dekha bhi hai khazaane ko? Hukka phoonkne aur cheelam chusne se agar fursat mile to nazar dalna ki saltanat ka sooratehaal kaisa hai!"

  ("It's because you have no patience that you're heading straight to hell! Have you even laid eyes on the royal treasury? If you could take a break from puffing your hookah and sucking on your chillum, perhaps you'd care to glance at the state of the empire!")

  "We don't have the men, we don't have the money, and we don't have the guns. Neither do we have a trustworthy ally. What we do have are innumerable bloodthirsty, vengeful enemies prying for favourable opportunities to topple you from the throne!"

  "And it would be akin to putting the nail in the coffin if we go on a full-scale war against the Rajputs!"

  "Are you suggesting that we should show cowardice and do nothing?"

  "No; what I mean to suggest is that we should show pragmatism. The infiltration of the Fort of Alwar is a breach of your authority indeed and the Rajputs deserve punishment. However, natural wisdom dictates that one must negotiate-"

  "NEGOTIATE?! With the enemy? And at this juncture? Old man, you're becoming white from within," said the Emperor.

  "Well, you're facing armed rebellions and peasant uprisings. Your treasury is dwindling. Your men are famished and malnourished. You were the one who forced your will on the Rajputs and caused the Court inexplicable embarrassment when you ordered for the arrest of the ambassador. You aggrieved them, and now you should take the responsibility of assuaging them, for if you do not, they will strike and they will not miss."

  He continued,"I have not forgotten the day you married that noblewoman. Neither have they, Your Majesty."

  All fell still. The courtiers, taken aback at this unusual display of anger from a rather moot man, stared at the Emperor's fuming countenance. His mouth was beginning to froth, and the courtiers thought that it was in the best interests of the old advisor to leave the court immediately, lest he face the wrath of a man in the brink of delirium. He probably understood the subtle signs, and without further protests or grumbling, turned his back on the raging mess of an emperor and paced towards the exit.

  It was at this point that the Crown Prince entered the court. He was naturally perplexed to find it in such consternation. His glance fell upon his father, and a chill ran down his spine.

  He had never seen his father so flushed with fury.

  Curtsying hurriedly, he asked, "Your Highness, pardon my intrusion into your affairs, but may this loyal son and servant of yours know the very reason behind your vexed disposition?"

  "Rajkumar! Come, my son, I need you,"

  The prince hesitated. His father never showed any emotion, and this took him by surprise. He was so used to his mindless outbursts that this sudden expression of filial affection irked him. For he was not close to his father; nay, he viewed him with disdain. His infidelities, his lackadaisical approach towards the fostering of his children, his coldness towards the late Crown Princess: all turned his son bitterly against him. He was not yet eight when his mother had passed away, and barely ten when her only sister, the girl he adored unabashedly, was snatched away from him. His grandfather tried to fill the void of motherly love with the tenderness of governesses, but the child, inseparably attached to the image of his mother, frustrated his efforts. Left with no choice, he gave the custody of the boy to his unmarried sister-in-law, Nandini, without consulting his actual legal guardian. Nandini, then a woman of fifty, had been childless for decades and desperately needed companionship during her widowhood. Although the Prince felt somewhat at home under her tutelage, the wistful yearning of his true mother never really withered away.

  "Abhij?ān, son! Come to me!"

  Despite his mind advising otherwise, his heart, the triumphant organ, dictated his feet towards the service of his father. Lowering his head, he said, "How may I help you?"

  "My son, I know that we are not on the best of terms and that you still hold a grudge against me for your mother's death and your sister's separation. These are things which I shall not be able to redeem, and I can only muster up enough courage to seek your forgiveness-"

  "Lord, please do not humiliate your humble servant. To even think of any possible loss of love on the part of the servant amounts to a sin. I hold nothing against you."

  "I know you do, but your refined breeding and filial piety stops you from saying the obvious, notwithstanding how outrageous it may sound,"

  Silence.

  "Son..."

  "Yes, my Emperor?"

  "Save me..."

  "What do you-"

  "All of this nonsense. Rebellions, revolts, peasants' demands, the ever avaricious nobility, the ambitious gentry, grumpy clergy: all seem to have overwhelmed me...."

  Abhij?ān goggled at the Emperor. He resembled a shadow of his former self. Devoid of charisma and a commanding personality. Devoid of the nuanced breeding of the aristocracy. At that moment, he realised that he was facing an ordinary man. An ordinary man with extraordinary problems.

  And the problems had begun tormenting him.

  There was something uncannily revolutionary about the entire affair.

  For the son could look through the ruse of grandeur and fury and behold a broken man inside.

  "Do not worry, father! No harm shall befall the empire as long as I, its sword, live. Let the Rajputs come! One fort does not win wars."

  All that Avinash could manage was a sigh.