Love or Obsession?

The next morning the Jahaj Mahal was woken at dawn by the sound of constructions on the roof. The women flocked to the lawn to catch a glimpse of what was happening. A pathway was being cut to the hill. On top of the hillock a pavilion was to be built, the soldiers informed. A pavilion for what? The women contemplated.
“Rani Roopmati’s view point of the Reva.” Suddenly all eyes of the palace were on her. Roopmati stood there stunned. Baz Bahadur had called his best builders and chosen the highest point of Mandu to build a pavilion for his new queen. If she stood on its edge and looked at the horizon she could spot a thin silver line right where the sky met the land. The Reva. The queens were displeased. A pavilion for her? What about them? Where did she find the audacity to ask for it? But their surprises were not over yet. By mid-day builders arrived to dig out the lawn.
“What is happening?” One of the concubines gasped. “Our beloved flowers are being plucked out. Why are you digging such an ugly hole?”
“This Kund will contain the water of the Reva for the queen.” The Upper and Lower palaces united against the woman stirring their peace, Rani Roopmati.

“This is insane. Have you ever heard of such a thing?” The ministers whispered. “A man in love he claims…” The Prime Minister jested. “A madman perhaps.”

“We can’t afford to spend so much of our treasury on this.” The finance minister looked worried. “Especially when we can be at war any time with the advancement of the Timurid troops.” The Defense minister agreed. “But who is going to tell the Sultan?” Everyone stared at each other in silence.

Baz Bahadur was getting his portrait done by one of the artists he met at a Mehfil. He sat on his high chair posing when the soldier announced the arrival of the Chief Queen. The painter was dismissed and the aisle witnessed only a half-done face of the king when the queen stepped in. She praised the painting, making Baz Bahadur smile amused. She had no idea it was not even done. She sat down and offered him some fruits she had chosen for him. Baz Bahadur refused.

“The ministers are worried.” She said, plucking a grape from the bunch with her Heena-painted hands.

“About what?” Baz Bahadur frowned.

“The treasury. They say Malwa is not safe and we should focus on war.”

“And they said that to you instead of me?” Baz Bahadur asked. The queen smiled.

“Perhaps because they can barely reach you now.” She said truthfully. “All of us barely see you. And now the Pavilion…”

“That is the issue, isn’t it?” Baz Bahadur got up angrily, startling her. “You are jealous of her. of her talent, beauty and grace. You are jealous that I love her.”

“My Lord, I am your queen and the queen to your people. It is my duty to remind you of yours if you have forgotten …” Baz Bahadur threw the ivory cup in frustration on the floor. The pieces scattered and hit the queen on her foot. She let out a groan and stared at her husband in shock. He was not the man she knew anymore. With the little respect she had left amidst his harsh words and accusations, she stood up to leave. But at the threshold, she turned to say what she came for.

“It is better if you understand the difference between love and obsession before it is too late. I pray it is never too late.” She struggled away from the king who watched her bleed onto the floor leaving partial imprints of her toes as she walked away. Baz Bahadur knew the only thing that would calm him was Roopmati’s singing.

As her voice rang through the silent night, the chief queen wept inconsolably on her pillow. She never had his love, but she lived knowing he respected her thoughts. That evening she lost everything. Her tears and accusations against her husband broke the dam of hope she had kept in her heart hoping that one day he would love her back. With resentment for the Sultan came a bounty of hatred for the woman who ruled his heart.

Roopmati was up in the pavilion under construction to catch a glimpse of the Reva. She had waited so many months for this. But her imagination made her think that the Reva would appear clearer and closer in distance than it was in reality. Unfortunately, she would have to almost close her eyes and see well to catch an illusion of silver thread on the horizon. On clear days when the sun shone, it was easier than on days of cloud or fog. But she knew now that she could pray to the Reva and touch and taste her water whenever she pleased. She was grateful to the Sultan for it. The little doubt she had in her heart about her feelings for him was washed away by this grand gesture of love. She was in a dream she wished never to wake up from. But that is never to be. For that afternoon when the Sultan left the palace for administrative work in the nearby town, the chief queen visited Roopmati. She was startled by this sudden visit more so because she knew in the few years she was in the palace that the Chief Queen always summoned others.

“Was there a summon I was unaware of?” Roopmati bowed as she asked worriedly. She could see the woman’s eyes hover around her home, at her new curtains and bedsheets, jewellery stacks and clothes, then at Mithu cleaning his beak.

“No, my dear. I dare not have the audacity to anger the Sultan by calling his favourite queen and ordering her around.” The Queen flashed a smile and Roopmati’s throat was dry.

“He told me how sorry he was that he hurt you.”

“Well, he told me nothing so…” The queen shrugged. “It's fine, I am here to reconcile with you. There is no point fighting when I have to accept the fact that it is you who will now rule his life and heart.”

“I have no intention of overstepping …”

“Nonsense, Roopmati.” The queen snapped. “I would have believed that before your own private Kund and pavilion perhaps, not since you ordered the Sultan for those.”

“I have not even thought of having the audacity to order him…” Roopmati appeared calm although her heart raced.

“There is something you should know. It is about Malwa and hence it concerns me, I do not concern myself with the affairs of our husband anymore.” The Queen sat down as Roopmati stood by her waiting for her to talk. Baz Bahadur never talked of the palace, its affairs or his administration with her. He never mentioned the ministers or treasury. It was as if all the politics would take away the innocence he so craved in Roopmati. For the first time in her life, Roopmati became aware of the consequences. Of her wish, of emptying the treasury, of impending doom on Malwa that the Sultan could not see.

“If anything ever happens to Malwa, the people, the ministers, the ladies of the zenana and I will hold you responsible, Roopmati. Remember that.”

Roopmati did not know that those would be the last words she would remember when she chose the boon of death over the curse of life.

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Roopmati had watched the troops leave. She had stood behind the chief queen as she traditionally bid goodbye to her sons. She had waited for the Sultan to come to her. He did. He was confident that the sudden advancement of Akbar’s foster brother Adham Khan could be curbed. It was not war, just precaution. He reassured her. Malwa would never bow to the Timurids. And he would not let anything happen to her. To Her. Roopmati felt suffocated by her husband’s affectionate hug. She felt trapped in the scrutinising eyes of all the people in the palace. Angry blaming eyes. She tried to pace herself and sing but her voice cracked in fear. Her melody was drowned in tears. Every evening a messenger would come to the chief queen with the news of war. Roopmati was kept in the darkness. She was not told about anything. She knew the rumours. She was a witch. A temptress who caused doom to the Sultan of Malwa. She was a spy of the enemy planted in his life to destroy him. She wondered if he came back

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