CH#2 The Mughal Eclipse
Meerut Garrison, Meerut
'Will there be a day when this slavery be ended?' Ashoke didn't look towards Umer but kept on scrolling the stick in the flowing muddy water in the small channel.
'Yes, it will...I believe one day we'll be free from these white aliens who have grabbed our land by their vicious conspiracies. This is the right time to strive for it,' Umer replied thoughtfully.
'My grandmother told us the stories of peace, justice, and prosperity when Mughal Emperors were ruling here. I sometimes want to travel back to that time or want to observe that period again,'
'Ah! those rulers are no more, my friend. Many of us have doubts about the capabilities of Mughal descendants but we've no other choice....,' Umer stopped listening at the Maghrib prayer. He got up and looked up in the sky.
‘It looks that the Ramzan moon will be sighted tonight,’ Ashoke chased his eyes.
'No, I'm telling you the first fast will be the day after tomorrow.' Umer tried to find thin Hilal and moved to the near the mosque.
Almost every sepoy Muslim or Hindu were gathering at the mounting places to sight the Ramzan moon.
'The sky is clear and the moon should be sighted. I think the first fast will be the day after tomorrow,’ Umer Khan was being impatient.
‘We should wait till the announcement from the mosque,’ Niaz Din interrupted him.
‘That is here. I see it first. Moon is sighted,’ Just then Aneel Kumar announced loud.
‘Where!’
‘Look behind that tree branch!’
‘Look right!’
‘I see it!’
‘I can’t…where it is?’
‘Oh yes!’
‘Ramzan Mubarak,’
A mystified joy overpowered the intense atmosphere. Muslim sepoys started their preparations for Traveeh prayer. The preparations for sehri and iftar also geared up in the garrison mess.
Delhi
‘Silk dresses, bangles, earrings, rings...Get on cheap rates...Eid special new variety.'
'The number of street hawkers has increased as soon as the Ramzan started,' Angeline responded on a call from outside. The family was taking tea on the front lawn.
'I should also see this woman. I may find some reasonable gifts for Christmas,' Katherine went out when she saw a neighbor British lady bargaining on a few items.
'Do you want anything?' She asked her daughter loud.
'I wish street hawkers also sell some books but I just forget... this is India and books are merely available in markets even,' Angeline answered while grinning.
'That why these dumb Indians are very annoying people. They are poorly bothering us nowadays. Some real action is needed to tame them,' General Nichloson took a sip of tea thinking deep.
'Oh, God! I wish my daughter start behaving like normal girls. Call the woman here,' Katherine ordered the Indian servant to open the gate and to call the hawker woman inside.
There was a hustle-bustle in the markets because of the approaching Muslim festival Eid Ul Fitr.
Red Fort residents were also preparing for iftar dinners and Eid parties. King Bahadur Shah was resting in his room when Price Khizar approached there.
'...Why didn’t you say anything, Abba
Huzoor? We are frustrated with the disgusting and humiliating behavior
of the British East India Company. We own the legacy of great Mughal emperors,’ Prince
Mirza Khizar Sultan instigated his father to snub General Nicholson’s rude
attitude.
‘No, it’s still here. These were Mughals who ruled and maintained their writ on the multicultural and multi-religious society for centuries. Mughals actually made this area appear on the globe with the zenith of architecture and literature. Mughal magic still prevails that Indians are spellbound to its might. Just peep out of your vision.’ Prince Khizar Sultan enforced his point but had to stop when King granted permission to his servant to come in.
‘Badshah Salamat, the famous poet Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib with his chum Dagh Dehlvi, Momin Khan Momin and Ibrahim Zauq have turned up here for tonight’s poetic session (mushairas),’ one of the servants informed the king.
‘What! How can you keep busy yourself with poetry in such a tense situation? You have arranged another enlightened poetic sitting with these ineffective poets,’ Mirza Khizar gazed at his father amazed.
‘Poets and artists are never ineffective my dear,’ Bahadur Shah Zafar got up with bowed back, held his stick, and moved to the door.
‘There should be a mouthful Iftar
dinner in the evening as per norms of Mughal traditions for all poets. Don’t forget
about the fresh murabba (jam) of raw mangoes from the fort garden for Mirza Ghalib.
Pack few with all of them,’ Bahadur Shah instructed the servant while pointing
towards the fruit-bearing garden in front of Diwaan e Khaas.
Parrots were pricking from Guava and Locate trees all around. The sun was down to Asar prayers. The castle servants and children were plucking the fruits. The hustle-bustle and aroma of delicious food at the royal kitchen was mounting at every second as the time of Iftar was approaching near.
‘Maybe by flattering these artists of words, I could be able to survive my language, my civilization, and my legacy. I can’t construct the masterpieces like Taj Mahal. I’m unable to seize land from Kabul to Deccan like Aurangzeb but at least I’m endorsing a strong base for the survival of Urdu literature in the subcontinent. Pen and pencil are left with me as my weapons to fight with my helplessness and misery of this Empire,’ Bahadur Shah Zafar took a bundle of his Ghazals from his room, murmured to himself, and walked away feeble.
Lagta nhi dil mera ujray dyaar mein
‘Have you gone mad, Prince Khizar? British Army is not your wife whom you beat brutal and sense yourself, a champion. Be a man, prince. We can’t take any risk to displease the British. They can seize our pension…,’ Mirza Mughal turned to Mirza Khizar Sultan raged as soon as King left.
‘I’m least interested in your suggestions…I’ll do whatever I’ll feel right and you don't have any right to talk about my private matters,’ Prince Khizar Sultan replied and left the place.
‘I just don’t understand these sepoys; when British are paying and facilitating them then why they need to be overactive at every case? Most important why they’re looking to the Mughal king for support?’ Prince Mirza Mughal clenched his fist thoughtfully. The news from Meerut was not satisfactory.
‘Aadab, chacha huzoor(uncle),’ Prince Abu
Bakar (A teenager son of Prince Mirza Mughal) spotted Prince Jawan
Bakhat chirping the pigeons on the fort roof. Prince Jawan Bakhat looked at him and just ignored.
'I hope the prince is not waiting for any love letter from Lady Angeline,' he paused.
'Believe me, no one noticed when Angeline offended you yesterday,' Prince Abu Bakar caught a fluttering pigeon and checked its feet looking at Prince Jawan Bakhat.
‘Mind your own business otherwise...,’ Prince Jawan Bakhat held his freshly mature mustaches to show his creditworthiness.
‘No one can mind its business in this fort residing among 14 princes, 32 princesses and amid a list of grandchildren which keep on adding the number day and night. My 81 years old grandfather has personal cavalry of a brood of all ages,’ Prince Abu Bakar cackled.
‘Stay within your limits. You’re talking about a Mughal King,’
‘Pardon me, chacha huzoor, he’s my grandfather too, but sometimes I fascinate about his sexual life. This is the only Mughal norm, he’s carrying by heart. Look his sons are younger than his grandsons. We’re of the same age but you’re my uncle. I’ll surely follow this norm of my ancestors. When I would be a king after my father Prince Mirza Mughal, then I'll keep Angeline in my haram and will have…,’
‘How you dare to call Angeline’s name from your dirty mouth. The world will witness when I’ll wear next crown and will root out you from here.’ Prince Jawan Bakhat attempted a punch upon Prince Abu Bakar which he didn’t wait to reciprocate with a mightier one.
‘In your damn dreams; you can wear the crown. My father will be next king soon and I’ll heir his throne and I’ll order to hang you in the first attempt,’ Prince Abu Bakar was fast enough to throw another punch.
‘Hey…hey…stop…you both…I said put down your anger…,’ Princess Hamida Bano approached there in time.
Hamida Bano was 28 years old beautiful princess that loved arts and poetry. After the demise of his brother Crown Prince Farukh Shaheryar, she stayed out of fort’s matters.
The two princes continue broiling intolerant unless the fort servants hardly managed to drag them at opposite sides.
‘You’ll have to pay for this,’ Prince Jawan Bakhat wiped his blood which was coming out of torn lips and walked aside furious.
‘And I’ll wait to hit you again…A son of cunning lady…Queen Zeenat Mahal…,’ Prince Abu Bakar yelled from behind.
When the Mughal princes were busy brawling on women then local sepoys of East India Company were trying hard to suppress their rage against their alien masters just a few kilometers apart ...To be Continued Click for CH#3
Above complete novel
of 'THE MUGHAL ECLIPSE' is also available KINDLE AMAZON
Disclaimer: All characters of the story are imaginary. They bear no
resemblance to anyone living or dead.
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