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 gave 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 within 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 her home made her 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 lip. 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 ear. 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.
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