Roopmati felt insulted at the praises of Mubarak and what he was insinuating. He was a good friend of the Sultan of Malwa, and she did not want to be a hindrance to their alliance. Did it mean Baz Bahadur would give her up to his friend? Was she to leave Malwa forever? So many thoughts crept into Roopmati’s mind and unsettled her to the core of her soul. She cried out in frustration, hoping to muffle her tears in the pillow once again. The sound of footsteps outside her chambers made her sit up, alarmed. Was Mubarak back? Did he want to finish what he started? Who gave him the direction to her chambers? The Sultan of Malwa? Before she could reach for something to protect herself with, the door was opened, and Baz Bahadur walked in. The guard was about to enter to light the lamps, but stopped at his hand gesture. Relief swept across Roopmati’s face when she saw his silhouette at the threshold. Without any thoughts or contemplation of consequences, she ran to the Sultan and fell at his feet, crying. “Please do not send me away from Malwa. Please don’t give me away to him.” Baz Bahadur was startled at first, and then he picked Roopmati up firmly by her shoulders and surprised her with a reassuring embrace. “You are not going anywhere. And you will no longer perform for anyone in public.” Roopmati broke out of his embrace, a little startled as tears trickled down her cheek. “Then what will I do? If I am not doing my appointed job? Will I be sent back home?” Baz Bahadur wiped away her tears gently and smiled. “I have something to confess.” Roopmati’s brows narrowed slightly as he held her hand. “The first time I set eyes on you, I had a will to possess you. My intention in summoning you here was not because I needed a musician. It was because I needed you.” Roopmati’s heart thumped on her chest as he continued. “Then I saw how scared you were, and realised you would perhaps never want me had I been so upfront with you. So I started focusing on your music. I had assumed I would stop obsessing over my thoughts of owning you if you were entertaining everyone. I was wrong. I had decided that you were nothing but a precious Gulokar in my Mehfil. But today I realised I can’t lose you.” Roopmati inhaled as he smiled. “I am grateful that you are my patron, Your Highness.” A sudden urgency took over Baz Bahadur’s being. “I am not talking about losing that. I am talking of losing YOU. I can’t.” His words made her throat feel dry. He wanted to kiss every inch of her body, savour the taste of her skin in his mouth, but almost like a teenager in love, Baz Bahadur wanted her to respect him, want him, love him in the most innocent ways he had ever loved.
“Come away with me to the hunting trip, Roopmati. Just you and I…”
“Then what? I will be shamed even more by the people…” Roopmati frowned. “I am a woman who sings. My respect, the very little I have left after today…”
“Come with me, as my queen then.” Baz Bahadur made her gasp.
“You are intoxicated, Your Highness.” Roopmati was brash. “You know not what you imply.” She tried to move away from his embrace as he pulled her back to his chest. “You know what I imply. Is it that scary, Roopmati? To love me? To choose me?” Roopmati was at a loss for words. Love? She never gave the feeling much thought. She had lost her home and people she called her own; she was at the mercy of the Sultan now. Women in the palace hated her despite her kindness. Whom could she love? Was she even allowed to? Roopmati was standing before a man who respected her, took care of her, and defended her. He understood her love for music and shared her respect for art. She respected him immensely for that. Was all that love? Baz Bahadur was waiting for his answer.
“I will come with you to the hunting trip.” Roopmati barely managed to whisper. Baz Bahadur’s happiness knew no bounds. “Then I will declare you my queen before the trip, I promise.” He reassured her. Roopmati expected him to stay the night. But he did not. Instead, he went to check on Mubarak and sent him back that night itself. In a royal palace, even the walls had ears. These ears heard what Roopmati was promised and formed lips to whisper the secrets of Baz Bahadur’s heart to the upper zenana. The queens grew sleepless in fear of losing their power.
Roopmati felt like she was in a dream. At first sceptical and almost scared of the idea of going hunting with Sultan Baz Bahadur alone, Roopmati soon realised that with each passing day, as the day of departure arrived, she became more and more excited, looking forward to the trip. To the ladies of the zenana, to whom Baz Bahadur had declared his intention of marrying Roopmati and elevating her position as the queen, Roopmati’s excitement read as a way to manipulate the Sultan. She had suddenly received a place in the upper palace dining hall, and every move she made, every smile she smiled was over-analysed to be something against his other queens. They were sure she was trying to snatch their power, the only thing they had left in the limits of the Jahaj Mahal, because their husband lost interest in them months after they had stepped into the palace. On one hand, that was the hope the chief Queen lived with. Soon after acquiring a precious gem or horses, Baz Bahadur often lost interest in them quite easily and moved on to the next unconquered territory. If that was the case, as she hoped and prayed, Roopmati’s happiness was short-lived.
Only Roopmati knew that she never looked forward to the trip because she wanted to spend time with the Sultan. Of course, now that she was going to be his wife, she had to cater to his needs and serve him as he pleased, but Roopmati knew that away from the palace at Mandu, she would finally breathe, she would see the river, and explore the forest. To caged birds, freedom was all they lived for and hoped for. At first, Roopmati was intimidated by the way the Sultan of Malwa was showering her with gifts, promising to come visit her soon, once he had taken care of some administrative issues. Within a few days, Roopmati’s room needed more chests for her jewellery, more trunks for her new clothes and finally a talking parrot perched on a stand beside her jharokha to entertain her. Roopmati often stared at the bird longingly. Its leg was tied to the chain and the stand. It fluttered its wings and talked to her. One afternoon, when everyone was having their siesta, Roopmati tried to release the bird. She unchained it, held it delicately with both hands and went up to the lawn to release it. To her disappointment, Mithu kept flying back to her, confused by her gesture. Roopmati was sadder to realise Mithu had forgotten about his long-lost freedom and home. The thought of homemade Roopmati wonder how her father was. Could she send someone to look for him? Could she make a trip back home one last time? She would perhaps not like the small hut and poverty anymore, but it was still her home, where she grew up, with memories of her parents… Roopmati wondered if she could ask the Sultan as his wife.
It seemed as though the day of their departure arrived in the blink of an eye. The entourage of elephants and horses was huge and intimidating as Roopmati bowed in courtesy to the Chief Queen. She waved her hand carelessly, dismissing her from her presence, but she smiled a smile that worried Roopmati. Was something wrong? She never smiled. She was taken away by the maid accompanying her to her designated palanquin. The Sultan was yet to arrive.
“Pardon my audacity, your highness.” The Prime Minister folded his hands in prayer. “If rumours are to be believed, Akbar is sending his men everywhere around Rajputana. Soon they will reach Malwa too. I don’t think you should take this hunting trip now…” The Sultan smiled at the minister.
“Have you ever been in love?” His question startled the man, “You have a wife, don’t you?” The man nodded. He had more than one.
“Then you must know what Viraha feels like when you count the days to see them again?” The man looked uncomfortable. The Sultan smiled, amused. “Look, I am not going somewhere you can’t find me if anything happens…”
“What about your safety?” The minister asked worriedly.
“Roopmati’s prayers will keep me safe.” The Sultan adjusted his turban “You know the gods of every religion only listen to the purest souls.” The minister was silenced. He bowed and left to meet the council of ministers. They needed to know that this new musician girl must know some kind of witchcraft or sorcery to bind the Sultan to her in such a way that he did not care for his state or his people. They needed to make sure she did not harm them if they stood up against her.
The first time Roopmati saw the Sultan was when the entourage had stopped at a clearing for the day. She stared at his calm face as he instructed the men about the course of the trip and then turned to her with a smile.
“I apologise that I kept you waiting. My time is all yours now. Tell me what you want to do…” Roopmati was waiting for this moment.
“Can we take a stroll in the forest?” She asked, surprising him.
“A stroll?” He asked with narrowed brows. “We can take the horses for a ride…”
“I don’t know how to ride.” Roopmati bit her lips. Baz Bahadur smiled. He wouldn’t leave this opportunity to impress his bride. He gave her his hand. “I will teach you then, in the clearing beside the river.” Roopmati’s eyes shone. The river was nearby.
Baz Bahadur had no idea why Roopmati stood at the bank of the river for a moment in silence, and she was then on her knees, not caring for her clothes as she took some water from the Reva in her trembling hand and touched it to her forehead. She was in tears. Baz Bahadur cleared his throat.
“Is something wrong?” She shook her head. He waited for her to come back to the horses and smiled. “It's time for a ride.”
The next day, they reached the hunting house in the middle of the forest. By evening, they could hear the birds and animals around them, the crickets and bees buzzing, and the fireflies lighting up the trees. Roopmati stood in the open balustrade of the arch, looking at the darkness that engulfed the hunting house. Baz Bahadur crept up quietly behind her and held her by the waist, startling her.
“You are brave.” He whispered in her ears. Roopmati’s eyes narrowed questioningly at him, “Why?” She asked.
“Because any other person coming on their first hunt would have been intimidated to stay here.” He turned her towards him, “I was, as a child, when I came here with my grandfather.”
“You forget where I belong from, my lord?” Roopmati smiled dryly. “I have grown up…” She could not finish reminiscing about her childhood days. Baz Bahadur kissed her passionately as if he wanted to make her forget the stories of her roots and her home and melt away in his arms and drown in whatever he had to offer her. Roopmati, in her few years of puberty, had never known the touch of a man. This new, scary, painful, addictive feeling of desire was an unexplored territory for her. She submitted herself to him, sure of what he was doing, trusting him with all her heart. The days passed into months this way. In the morning, they would hunt; in the evenings, they would sing together, sip wine from the ivory cups, melt into each other’s arms and make love till dawn. The administrative letters started piling up, and her knitting kit lay in a corner gathering dust. Music and pleasure went hand in hand for Roopmati and Baz Bahadur. Often, he would sing to her verses of love, and she would sing back to him, expressing to each other their deepest affection and desires through the strings of the Sitar.
One evening as they lay together in bed, Baz Bahadur remembered an old tradition, the groom gifted the bride something and upon its acceptance, the bride accepted his proposal.
“Did the numerous gifts you sent me in the palace not count?” Roopmati asked, a little surprised. “Mithu… I wonder how he’s doing…”
“No, that was me courting you.” Baz Bahadur drew her closer in bed. “Tell me what you want…”
“Can you give me what I want?” Roopmati asked teasingly.
“I am the Sultan of Malwa; there is nothing I can’t do.” Baz Bahadur twirled the end of his moustache vainly, making Roopmati smile.
“I want the Reva to flow in Mandu.” Her words made him sit up, startled. “I want to bathe in her water, pray to her, see her every day…” His face now wore a frown. “Can you do that for me?” Roopmati asked almost like a challenge, “Of course you can’t.”
The next day, Baz Bahadur ordered that they go back to Mandu. His sudden plans made Roopmati wonder if she had offended him in some way. It scared her. He was lost in thought and did not interact with her at the palace. Upon reaching the threshold of the Jahaj Mahal, he walked away without sparing her a glance. Roopmati was pale with fear. The news spread into the palace. The Chief Queen happily gave away her pearls to the maid who brought her the news. It was sooner than she expected. Roopmati spent the night talking to Mithu, going over the possible consequences of her stupidity.
