A Journey To Discover Life

The entourage was too large and extravagant for a musician. Roopmati remembered that as a child, during festivities, she would ride on her father’s shoulder to see the entourages pass by the main streets of the town nearby. She had seen many a musician. None had such a huge entourage. Roopmati frowned a little, unsurely as she took her father’s leave. His warning rang in her ears. “Remember what you do, how you behave will all come back to me.” She nodded.  The chief queen was at a loss for words. She had never seen the Sultan himself step into the Mahal to check the chambers to be allotted to one of the girls who were coming in. She was not one of the girls. She was a musician. The queens were curious. What would her position be then? She could not be a concubine, and she was not a queen. A musician in the royal palace of the ladies? Had the Sultan lost his senses? Or did he have some other agenda? If he wanted someone, he had them. He was the Sultan. There was no way he was tryin...

A week was enough for the master to be pleased enough with the new student to tell the Sultan that she was ready for her first performance. The Sultan was extremely pleased and rewarded him with a gold chain. As the master bowed to leave, the guards announced the arrival of the chief queen. Sultan Baz Bahadur sat upright. She was his first bride, a childhood alliance his father had forced upon him when he did not even know what marriage implied. Now he only saw her face when she had complaints about the inner palace and its inhabitants. Honestly, he expected her to be there since Roopmati arrived. His queen did not like changes, especially if those changes were threatening to her position. The Chief Queen arrived with her maids, dismissed them at the threshold and came up to her husband to bow and greet him. “What brings you here?” Baz Bahadur asked, with a lingering smile on his lips. The queen could hear the hint of taunt in his voice. She forced a smile. Her marriage to this reckles...

The next morning, the Jahaj Mahal was woken at dawn by the sound of construction 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 viewpoint of the Reva.” Suddenly, all the 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 midday, 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 di...

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...