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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 home with the same thought, what was to happen to her? All she wanted to do was save him. Roopmati contemplated riding the horse he had gifted her, with a dagger or sword perhaps slung to her waist and meeting him at the battlefield. But she knew better not to disobey him. She knew better not to upset the zenana further. Roopmati stayed indoors, her food served to her in the room, and occasionally took strolls after the maid made sure nobody was on the lawn. The more days passed with the Sultan away from Mandu, the less people saw of her. One evening, she was in the garden when one of the concubines gasped as she picked up a flower.
“She is killing the plants.” She cried. Roopmati stood stunned as the women gathered around her and spoke in fearful whispers. The Chief Queen walked in with her entourage.
“What is going on?” She asked the women who stood in silence. Roopmati cleared her throat.
“I was just taking this flower for Mithu, he likes the honey in it. I was not going to harm the plant.” The queen stared at her for a while.
“Well, we cannot have these petty fights anymore, especially when Malwa is in such deep trouble.” Her announcement made the women gasp and cry. “I received news that all is not well.”
“The Sultan?” Someone whispered.
“By God’s grace, he is fine and wants us to be safe too. I think we should move.”
“Where will we go?” Roopmati asked.
“I don’t know.”
“ Perhaps you can use your sorcery and tell us.” The Chief Queen’s handmaid snapped. The women smiled at each other, amused. Roopmati’s eyes were filled with tears.
“Believe me, I…” Nobody heard her. When Roopmati walked into the room after another hour of roaming endlessly around the garden, she ran to Mithu. His lifeless body lay on the cold stone floor. A few specs of grain around it.
“Poison.” Her maid gasped. Roopmati knelt and picked up Mithu with both hands and wept. She wept for the bird. She wept for her fate. She wept for the Sultan. But mostly for herself.
“Quick, they said we have to leave. I am sure they will not take you with them.” The maid said in urgency. “We will pack our things and leave at the crack of dawn. Perhaps find our way back to your home? Or to my village?” Her suggestion made Roopmati stare at her like she was seeing a ghost.
“I cannot leave. The Sultan will come back here.” She snapped. The maid almost smiled.
“He will not come back here if the enemy takes over the capital. Trust me, I have seen wars. We need to go.”
“I can never find my way back home.” Roopmati shook her head.
“Then we will go to my village.”
“Do you have the Reva flowing there?” Roopmati asked. The maid shook her head.
“No, but we have a lake and enough water to…”
“I can’t leave. I can’t. The Reva will be angry with me. I have abandoned her once, now I can’t…” Roopmati ranted, and the maid stared at her, rumbling as if she made no sense.
“What is it with you and Reva?” She snapped almost. “You have to be alive to…”
“When I lost my mother, she reassured me that Maa Reva would be my mother.” The maid was stunned into silence. Roopmati stood up calmly, tears still streaming down her cheeks, as she handed Mithu over to the soldier. “Bury him in the garden.”
“If you don’t leave by your own will, I will force you to. I must keep you alive,” her maid said. Roopmati did not speak anymore. She stood by the balustrade and watched the water of the Kund silently.
The sudden bells and horns alerted the zenana to awake.
“We are under attack.” Someone shouted in the dark corridor. The maid forced Roopmati up. “Come with me.” She pleaded.
“What is going on?” Roopmati asked, alarmed.
“The enemies are at the gates. They say our Sultan escaped.” Roopmati gasped. That’s cowardice. He would never do that. He promised to come for me.
“Impossible.” Roopmati shook her head. “He told me to wait here.”
The maid ran out of the room to check on the others. A sudden chaos was heard. The sound of swords clashing, men screaming, and women wailing all died down for Roopmati as she stared at the flickering light of the lamp as if in a trance.
“The witch is at it again.” Someone shouted. Roopmati stood up and reached for her chest of jewellery. In it was her collection of poems she was penning to surprise the Sultan with. She held them to her chest and wept. She promised herself that he would receive them somehow.
Adham Khan was amused at how the Malwa Sultan escaped and accepted defeat at his hands. He happily looted the capital and arrived at the palace, intending to write to Akbar about his success. That was when he was informed that the zenana was full of royal ladies. His eyes shone. This was unexpected.
“Who is the prettiest of them all?”
“Rani Roopmati.” The captured ministers quipped. In their hearts, they hoped that the temptress attempted her black magic on the enemy, captivating him the way she did to their Sultan. Adham Khan ordered for her to be brought to his presence.
Roopmati held her veil firmly, refusing to look up at the man who circled her like a vulture on its prey.
“So you sing?” Roopmati nodded. Her jaws were tight. Adham Khan was amused.
“You would be a perfect gift to the emperor then. You know about him?” He did not wait for her reply. “The greatest of all the kindest of all, he will treasure your talent, pay you more than you can ever imagine. You can live in his court and perhaps even marry one of his closest aides.” Adham Khan chuckled at his implication. Roopmati lifted her face to see him.
“Oh, really?” Adham Khan was amused. “And did you know he fled?” He chuckled, “Like a scared puppy.” He watched Roopmati’s demeanour closely. Her standing up to him was indeed brave. All the other women were screaming and wailing, but not her. There was something about her that was…
“What will I get in return for serving the emperor?” Her words made him smile.
“I see that you are an intelligent girl. You can get all the riches you want once you impress him. What do you want? Clothes? Jewellery?”
“I want you to release the rest of the Zenana. Let them go where they want to escape. You will be no braver hurting innocent women or robbing them of their honour.” Roopmati stopped for now. Adham Khan’s cold dagger blade was on her warm skin, close to her throat.
“Be careful when you speak to me, Rani, you are at my mercy.”
“Killing me will not earn you any favour. I know you want to impress the emperor with me; allow me to be of service. But let them go.” Adham Khan was impressed. Her voice did not tremble, and she knew she held the ace. He agreed.
“But it will take more than just your singing.” He said hoarsely. “Come to me at night, dressed in your finery. I want to own and savour you. I always wanted to have a celestial nymph at my services.” He chuckled again as Roopmati clenched her jaws.
“Let them go before that, then, and I am all yours.”
Roopmati watched the entourage of women leave the palace throughout the day. None of them came to say their goodbyes. They were scared and uncertain. With teary eyes, her maid dressed her up in the attire she chose. It was a red one like her people wore at weddings. The Sultan had expressed his desire to see her in one and brought it for her. She did not get a chance to wear it for him. Roopmati gave her maid the poems she had composed.
“Promise me you will give this to the Sultan when he gets back. Tell him I am sorry I could not wait for him.” The maid had no heart to tell her she did not think he would come back. Last she heard, he had been seeking asylum from Mewar and Gwalior after escaping Malwa and leaving it in danger. His sons were dead in the war. The towns were plundered, civilians raped and massacred. Malwa stood as a skeletal corpse, only a reminder of its golden days. She took the poems, silently wiping her tears.
“I will leave you now. I have to go back home to my village. My children are waiting.” Roopmati nodded. A soldier walked in, “The general wants to see you in the next Prahar. Be ready.” he was about to shut the door behind him.
“Wait, I want to take a stroll by the Reva Kund, please.” The soldier knew his general’s instruction was to be respectful when Roopmati was cooperative. He agreed. Before walking out of the chambers, Roopmati searched her trunk. The soldier watched her with hawk eyes as she took out a shabby-looking veil and put it over her head. She sniffed. It still smells like Mother.
It was late in the evening when Adham Khan asked his soldier to bring Roopmati in. He was intoxicated with the wine from Malwa’s cellar, and the dancing girls entertained him. The soldier rushed to the empty chambers and traced his way back to the Kund, confused.
The Reva was always the mother’s lap that Roopmati had preferred to go back to. Why would her last day be any different? The soldiers found her floating on the water of the Kund. There was no way she was going to submit herself to the enemies. She was not a coward. She was Malwa’s queen. She chose the water of the Reva carefully. She did not want her people to know or remember her as someone who poisoned herself, someone who had poisoned herself in the first place, the witch, the temptress, the magician, the sorcerer. She was Rani Roopmati, the musician, poet, lover and beloved.
That night, it rained on the plains of Malwa and poured on the streets of Mandu. The rain drenched the thirsty soil and flooded the banks of the Narmada. The Chief Queen stood on the banks in tears. She knew that Reva was crying for her favourite child.
