NOVEL~*Hiding behind a Stranger*~THREAD 53 - CHAP 58 (Pt 1&2)- 4th - Page 77

1) Capital market!

2)The meadows

Bringing his footsteps to a gradual halt on a spot of green not far from where she reclined, he observed her.

Strangely, she hadn't reacted to their arrival. Was everything fine? Was she fine? Was she sleeping? It was hard to tell.

While his companions darted each other hesitant glances, Akbar decided to call out to her

3)Drink it up, my man...' came the trusted pat on his bony back again - as if that'd reassure his fears. 'Drink it, before it gets cold... I CAN get you another serving if you want, you know? This bowl doesn't have to be your last!'

But, what if it WAS his last?

'Oh Lord!' he threw a few panicked glimpses around him.

Everyone in that bustling hall was stuffing their mouth with refreshments. And anyone not doing so, was too busy dabbling in light-hearted debates over a drink.

Then, why must he be the only one missing out?

'Darn it!' He gulped the drink down.

'Ugh' It could've tasted far better. But the nerves had wrung his guts - much like the clothes he wrung by the riverside daily. 'Yes, Mirza Sahib... I'll have another...'

'Why, of course...' Ibrahim clicked his fingers at the attendant, and before long, the empty bowl was replaced with a fresh pot of steaming broth 'go on... help yourself

4) The Kotwal sported an awkward smile 'Sahib... you see... this town's Caravansarai is not a convenient place to set up camp... especially, not for noble women... this haveli is Aidabad's most prominent landmark, and its guest house should be an ideal place for aristocrats like yourselves! It needs a tidy-up... that's all!'

'Ideal?' asked Maharaj kaka, taken aback by the man's description of such a drab place.

When the exhausted group had been led through a series of Mughalian archways and a massive wooden door, a short while ago, they were definitely not prepared for the spectacle that lay in front.

Though the guest wing of this mansion did not lack in size, it unquestionably lacked in charm. Shoddy rooms. Arbitrary pieces of dark furniture. Faded drapes. Unhinged window frames. This residence had been neglected for months, if not years. In fact, its murky ambience reminded one of a cellar - since there were more cobwebs here, than there was furniture.

5) HEY!' The not-so-spiteful guard stuck his features through the bars right into Akbar's face 'ENOUGH with the music'

Sliding his pupils either side to ensure no one was eavesdropping, his warning quickly dropped to a murmur 'The jailor is busy having lunch... your visitor is here... I'll give you quarter hour with him... that's it!'

And before Akbar could respond with anything beyond a nod, the prison-guard was gone, down the long corridors.

6) Parnagarh

A few hours past noon - the warmest time of the day. The sun was a strikingly radiant orange.

It ought to have been unbearably hot.

But a regular waft of Westerly air that blew in from the hills softened the impact of the heat.

The man looked up from the backyard of his thatched hut, when another such flutter of breeze had cooled the sweat trickling down his neck, his gazes observing the landscape on the other side of the straw fence. Not only did the wind that swept over endless sheets of glistening greens bring the village welcome relief from the heat - it brought with it the aroma of damp Earth and the fragrance of flowers too. It brought with it the rhythm of a distant water well, and sometimes, the melody of a pair of cuckoo birds too.

Only in the cradle of a green unspoilt valley could a phenomenon like this be experienced.

'It's beautiful, isn't it?' came his friend's remark, mirroring his own thoughts

'Yes'

7) Shehzaade approaching Khan sahib in the dungeon! 🤔

8)The winds were more merciless than a pack of hungry wild dogs - tearing their shawls from their bodies any chance it got, its fine dust scratching and pricking at their exposed limbs. And with every fresh gust, their boots got pushed deeper down into soft ground forcing them to face a neverbefore horror of being eaten alive by sand. Why, the hardiest sons of the desert - the nomadic tribes - would not dare venture out when the 'Haboob', the deadly desert storms, decided to let loose their forces.

9) Having offered Ma Jagdamba her prayers, Durga strolled out of the holy shrine.

Retracing her steps through opulent hallways and past stately rooms - now pitch black with most of their lamps doused, and absolutely quiet with everyone asleep - she briefly stopped beneath a large set of twin paintings.

Her eyes studied the impressive replicas of the two sisters that proudly hung from one of the mansion's main walls - paintings created by a gifted artist as a token of gratitude, when Heera had tirelessly strived day-and-night to revive his sick son from near death, a year ago.

'You're proud of us, aren't you maasa... bapusa?' she asked her parents, like she did every night - before she let her gazes trail from the terrace towards her favourite scenery on the floor below -

The magnificent inner courtyard. The 'aangan', the heart and soul of the Parnagarh Haveli.

10) Walking the lengths of the stables with his hands behind his back, Akbar's glimpses combed through every nook and cranny of the dynamic scenes around him. Even amongst that large group of very brusque and brisk men, he stood strikingly tall and prominent. And he commanded that prominence despite the fact that he was no elite highborn like other merchants - if anything, he believed in rolling up his sleeves and getting his hands dirty whenever the need arose. The sole reason he commanded that level of prominence was because of his personality and achievements.

"Horses make a landscape look beautiful."

'Ai Khuda...' Taking a breather from those stressors for a while, Akbar leaned over the short wall - the wall that overlooked paradise.

'Paradise...'

It was obvious why the people of this sleepy town were so proud of this slice of Heaven on Earth. Having said that though - what resembled paradise, did not feel like 'home' to him. At least, not yet. Not the fault of the place or the people. Merely that after his one true home had been taken away from him as a child, no other place had ever felt like home again. Not the tents at the soldiers' camp. Not even Aidabad.

Nonetheless, even if this wasn't his home, he wanted to save it for those whose home it was. It was beginning to give him a sense of purpose in life. Like how rescuing those abused orphans had given him a purpose in life all these years.

And apart from it being her only haven, there WAS another reason why he did not want to see this place destroyed - it served his own self-interests too. And the reason for this was out there in the distance - a tiny black speck prancing about the fields on all fours. 'Bahadur'

It'd only been a month, but Bahadur seemed to love the change. As did Sufi, and the chestnut brown. As did the greys, the beiges, the dark-reds and every other horse he owned.

His pets. They were thriving here.

Still under construction, the enormous structures had broken what used to be a seamless skyline of greens and blues by occupying one of the best spots of Parnagarh - its barns, sheds and training fields covering an area five times the size of his plot at Aidabad.

Heera wasn't impressed.

But strangely, the Parnagarhis weren't so fazed.

If anything, they were becoming quite intrigued by the sight of these exotic horses - and fascinated by how they raced!

About this time daily, the racehorses were sped against each other, as part of their training. And this was steadily turning into an attraction of sorts. After all, it WAS an expensive kind of entertainment that most had never witnessed before.

The first couple of days, only the Haveli's stable-boys and gardeners stood and watched. Soon, they were joined by the guards and the maids. And since yesterday, villagers - children, men and women too - had started walking up the slopes to add to the audience.

Now, as baisa, she would've objected if the distraction was beginning to affect work. But since it wasn't so, she kept her opinions to herself, while others did whatever it is they wanted to do during the hour.