“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 Defence 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 in 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 in amusement. 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 henna-painted hands.
“About what?” Baz Bahadur frowned.
“The treasury. They say Malwa is not safe, and we should focus on the 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 had come 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 a 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 that in the few years she was in the palace, the Chief Queen always summoned others.
“Was there a summons 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 the 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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