Jazeera- Legend of the Fort Island

by Yash Pawaskar

  The stage hosted various plays in the evenings and dazzling dance performances by Arabian beauties, as the evenings aged like fine wine into intoxicated nights. However, the stage was now occupied by three angry men who took turns to speak to the crowd, which was a mix of fuming men and crying women.

  The visitor merged with the audience and looked up to the man who was speaking.

  ‘This has to stop,’ the man shouted.

  ‘Our kids are missing, and there is no one to hear our pleas. We must take matters in our own hands. The Sultan is not concerned about us at all. He is only bothered about filling up his treasury. He sleeps merrily after enjoying his toddy while we lay awake at night fearing the lives of our children,’ said the man and almost everyone surrounding the stage bellowed, ’Hooh hooh hooh,’ agreeing with him.

  ‘This is what I am talking about. Did you hear the power of our voice? Our collective voice. This voice has the power to shake the Sultan’s throne. We have made a low-keyed island into a glorious city it is today. Our blood and sweat has gone into making this island a hub for sailors and merchants. It is us who make the trade of Jazeera’s exquisite toddy possible.

  ‘We give and we give, and the Sultan simply keeps taking everything. We are taxed heavily, offered unsanitary conditions, and the merchants exploit us by not paying enough. That is our fate. It is sad enough that we do not have a benevolent Sultan. Almost a hundred children have now vanished. All we want is for our children to stay safe. Am I wrong in asking this? The Sultan should tell us why and where our children have vanished.’

  ‘Hooh, hooh, hooh,’ the crowd screamed continuously.

  The man raised his hand and commanded the audience to stop chanting. He continued, ‘In a few moments, the Sultan is going to pass by from the South Gate to his palace. I want our voices to reach his ears. He is answerable for our children. Let’s shout together and express the wave of truth that will force the Sultan to take action.’

  The crowd echoed, ‘hooh, hooh, hooh.’

  The other two men on the stage joined the man, ‘Hooh, hooh, hooh.’

  The crowd responded, ‘Hooh, hooh, hooh.’

  ‘Hooh, ho…’ The three men abruptly stopped the chanting. An arrow fiercely shot through the air and found a home in one of the men’s neck. Before the other two could figure out what happened, they also met a similar fate.

  The crowd was shocked and looked around them for answers. A hand in the crowd pointed at a towering figure standing on a carriage at a distance. The massive silhouette looked threatening against the distant blue sky.

  Zorawar, Jazeera’s Sultan, had arrived on the island from his trip to the north. He made his presence felt by shooting down the three dissenting voices. He had fired the arrows, with absolute accuracy, standing at the top of his regal four-horse wagon. Having silenced the rebels, he ordered the wagon-rider to proceed towards the palace.

  Simultaneously, the Island Guards also marched from the other side to suppress any trailing troublemakers. With their sharp spears and strong shields, they forced the crowd to disperse. It was chaos. People pushed each other; some fell and were gasping for air. It quickly escalated into a stampede.

  The visitor also got caught in the mob. However, he managed to sneak out of the crushing crowd and stood against a wall near one of the lanes. A woman fell at his feet and was about to be kicked by an Island Guard. The visitor jumped and pushed the guard. He looked at the woman and gave her a hand. It was Urmila. She quickly grabbed it and was up on her feet.

  The guard was about to get into a position to launch his spear at Urmila but got kicked by the visitor on his shield and fell two feet behind. She looked scared, but the visitor went near the fallen guard, kicked his face a few times, and the attacker lost consciousness.

  Both Urmila and the visitor fled from the scene into the winding lane and stopped only when it was safe. Both were panting and walked hurriedly to Urmila’s house, which was nearby. She thanked him for saving her.

  9 – Urmila’s House

  Urmila made her guest sit on a mat while she stood near the door hoping her husband doesn’t see her with a stranger. Her younger daughter was asleep.

  Urmila couldn’t be rude to him. She offered him water and asked, ‘You do not look like you are from here. Who are you?’

  ‘I am from a village called Wai near the mountains across the Mahavan. My name is Shravan. I came here with my five-year-old daughter last week.’

  On noticing Urmila’s intriguing eyes, he continued, ‘I am a tailor. We were to sail northwards to the land of seven seas with a merchant. He said our fortune will change if we come with him. He had some plans,’ he drank the water and stared at the wall lost in thought.

  His answers interested Urmila even more, ‘Where is your daughter. And your wife?

  ‘My wife died after giving birth to my daughter, Sharda. She went missing the day I came here. We were supposed to sail that evening, but someone took away my Princess.’ His eyes moistened.

  Urmila said, ‘We are sailing in the same boat. My older daughter was taken last night.’ She couldn’t control her tears. ‘God knows what sort of black magic they are going to perform on children.’

  ‘Black magic!’ Shravan was appalled.

  ‘Why else would someone take so many children. There are whispers saying that the Shadow is doing this to wake up Timingila. This is what is going to happen,’ she said sounding convinced.

  ‘Who is the Shadow and what is ‘Timingila’?’ asked Shravan placing the clay tumbler on the floor.

  ‘I do not know much, but there are stories going around that the Shadow is feeding the children to the sea monster, Timingila. Legends say that the Timingila is so big that it sucks in and spits out giant waves and eats whales.’

  ‘And do you believe that?’ he asked.

  ‘How does it matter whether I believe it or not. I only know that my child is missing, and I want her back.’

  She paused for a while and said, ‘My husband would be back any minute.’ Shravan took the hint and stood up to leave immediately. He said, ‘May God bless you for quenching a man’s thirst.’

  ‘I do not believe in God anymore,’ said Urmila and went inside.

  Shravan walked towards the narrow market street towards his rented quarters and thought about Timingila, black magic, and the Shadow.

  10 – Court Hall

  The afternoon sun had become milder, as it began to submerge under the ocean in the evening. Zorawar had freshened up from his journey and sat strikingly on his throne in the lavish court hall situated on the first floor of the palace.

  He had summoned the Wazir to discuss pertinent matters. The Wazir in his black pathani followed the Sultan’s orders obediently. He appeared in front of him and bowed. He stood erect at the foot of the stairs leading up to the throne and was ready to face the music.

  Zorawar looked towering even when he was seated. His six-foot frame seemed bulkier in his green sherwani. He wore a grey turban with a peacock feather in it, which he felt went well with his dark skin. The turban also covered his thick, bushy, curly hair.

  He looked at the Wazir and said mockingly, ‘It is not how it seems. I was about to—. Things are under control.’ The Wazir did not respond and maintained a stoic expression on his wrinkled face.

  Zorawar continued, ‘This is what you will say, Ubaid Khan. Am I right? This is what you always say.’

  ‘Sultan, I had ordered the Island Guards to march in as soon as you crossed the market. I did not want to cause any inconvenience to your convoy,’ explained the Wazir.

  ‘And what were you going to do afterwards?’

  ‘The Island Guards would have killed the rebels and controlled the crowd with their spears and shields and…’

  Zorawar interrupted, ‘No, no, Ubaid Khan. Death and chaos. Not capture and control. This is where you lack aggression. Attack venomously at the first sight of resistance, and you suffocate a rebellion in the womb.’

  The Wazir
nodded unconvincingly.

  Zorawar continued, ‘What about the murder in my palace grounds? What sort of security do you have in place? Someone died in the guest house, Ubaid Khan. Do you understand the gravity of this situation? How will our guests feel safe? How will the Queen Jahanara and my Prince Aadil feel safe?’

  ‘You know I will not let anything happen to my sister or my nephew,’ assured the Wazir.

  ‘If that happens, Ubaid Khan, you will lose your head. Did you hear that clearly?’

  The Wazir’s eyes were locked with Zorawar, ‘Yes, Sultan.’

  ‘And what are these stories I keep hearing about the missing children? Haven’t you sorted that issue yet?’ enquired Zorawar.

  ‘It is not how it seems, Sultan. There’s more to this than the missing children. The Officer we had summoned from the Northern Sultanate to get a fresh perspective on this issue was attacked in the woods by the Junglees before being killed in the guest house. As you had ordered before leaving for your trip, I was neck-deep working on our existing taxation policy and trade agreements. If you want to contest for the throne in the Sultanate, then—’

  ‘When I contest for the throne, Ubaid Khan. Not if. I have ruled Jazeera for two decades now, and ultimately, I want to rule the Sultanate. If a slave from Ethiopia can rule an island city, the ruler of an island city can certainly rule Bharatvarsh.

  ‘The Sultanate is in disarray as King Taufiq Muhammad has truly gone mad. He shifted the capital from Delhi in the north to Daulatabad in the south to conquer the Deccan, but his move has backfired. As people found it difficult to cope with the terrain, Taufiq moved the capital back to Delhi. Imagine the chaos!

  ‘This is what I was discussing with the Afghan rulers when I went there. The Sultanate is weakening. Tribes and kingdoms in the south have come together as the Sujaynagar Empire and have pushed Taufiq Muhammad back. Ubaid Khan, we have to flow with the current and make the moves for the next twenty years so that I can become the King of a mighty nation and not just remain the Sultan of an island.’

  ‘Your wish is our command, Sultan,’ muttered the Wazir.

  ‘Those Junglees are no threat to us. It is good to have a toothless enemy like that. The citizens have something to talk about and stay under our protection. But before we make massive plans, sort out the menace of the missing children. I do not want the Sultanate to think that their vassal state is incapable of handling a petty issue,’ said Zorawar.

  He dismissed the Wazir and walked through the heavily guarded corridor of the palace overlooking the landscaped gardens to the Prince’s playhouse on the second floor.

  He stood outside the room and overheard the conversation between the young Prince Aadil and his caretaker, Mirabai.

  The middle-aged woman had an ensemble of miniature clay animals in front of them as she taught Aadil some math. The eight-year-old Prince had a fascination for ponies.

  Mirabai placed ten ponies in front of the little Prince and asked, ‘Prince Aadil has ten ponies. Mirabai takes six from him and keeps them hidden in her room. How many ponies does Aadil have?’

  Aadil looked perplexed by the question. He stood up from the cushioned mat they had been seated on, unsheathed a wooden sword from his scabbard, and pointed the sword at Mirabai, ‘Aadil still has ten ponies because he defeats Mirabai in battle and gets his ponies back.’

  ‘Shabbash, my Prince,’ laughed Zorawar, as he ran into the room and lifted his son.

  Mirabai bowed in front of the Sultan and excused herself from the room.

  ‘Sultan, why did you take so long to come back to the palace?’ the Prince asked.

  ‘That’s because I was searching for the white pony you wanted,’ said Zorawar pinching the Prince’s chubby cheeks.

  ‘And did you find one?’ the Prince asked widening his eyes in anticipation.

  ‘Yes. Your gift is waiting for you in the royal stable,’ Zorawar smiled.

  ‘Really. A white pony? For me?’ Aadil slipped through Zorawar’s arms and hurried outside. Zorawar watched his son run downstairs and smiled. He took the stairs up and halted near the Queen’s chamber.

  He noticed from outside that the Queen was engulfed in an elaborate beauty ritual inside her chamber that involved sandalwood, lilies, herbs, and several other ingredients. He thought for a second whether to meet the Queen or not and then deciding against it, proceeded to his room on the opposite end of the Queen’s chamber.

  11 – Cave

  The evening was giving way to darkness.

  Guru Ashwath walked into the cave and saw Kashvi giving directions to a bunch of women. He sat on a flat piece of rock near the mouth of the cave waiting patiently for Kashvi to finish.

  She turned and walked towards the Guru. ‘Pranaam, Guru Ashwath,’ she greeted him. The Guru reciprocated the greeting with folded hands and an acknowledging smile.

  Kashvi filled a tumbler with water from a pot and offered it to him. He noticed the busyness in the cave and the noises from within, and said, ‘Seems like the mother bee is keeping the bees fully occupied.’ He drank the water and placed the tumbler down.

  Kashvi sat on the floor near the Guru’s feet and responded, ‘The activity inside the cave has been going well. Chitrashi is keeping the women motivated with her folk songs.’

  It had not yet become dark outside, and the Guru noticed Kashvi’s eyes wandering near the cave’s entrance.

  Guru Ashwath said, ‘You will have to wait a bit longer to see your daughter, Kashvi. Avni went directly to the camp after the leopard hunt.’

  Kashvi nodded. He observed a hint of sadness in Kashvi’s eyes. She managed to hide her craving for Avni and asked, ‘Did Goraksh safely reached the fishermen’s village? I worry for him. He is not a trained warrior like my child.’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Guru Ashwath. ‘Now that his father, the Village Chief, Sarayu sees what we see, it is natural for him to ensure that his son can fight when the time comes.’

  ‘How are the alliances turning out?’ asked Kashvi.

  ‘Sarayu was always on our side. After the leopard incident, the Adivasis have also agreed to become our allies. And as expected, the Southerners have not accepted our request for an alliance. They have formed an alliance of their own in the form of the Sujaynagar Empire and have managed to halt the Northern Sultanate’s juggernaut. Because of their resilience and the mistake of making Daulatabad the capital, King Taufiq’s might has weakened in the south of Bharatvarsh. The Southerners have a strong defence, and they are focusing on fortifying it.’

  ‘So, are you saying your diplomatic visit down south did not materialise?’ she asked.

  ‘Diplomacy cannot be white and black. It flourishes in the grey. They have agreed to share military animals and weapons with us. And I have asked for the choicest of them as per our requirement,’ said Guru Ashwath stroking his beard. He asked, ‘What about your brother in Pune?’

  ‘Since you were away, I was going to ask Bagha to get my word across, as he can move quickly through the Mahavan. However, his ego might have been bruised since he failed to kill the Sultan’s guest.’

  ‘But I heard the guest has been killed,’ replied the Guru.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes. The word going around is that he died under mysterious circumstances. So Bagha feels he has failed. You know him. It is impossible for us to talk to him when he is angry. Only you can talk to him now.’

  ‘I can talk to him. But I am not sure if he will listen. Let’s see.’ Guru Ashwath got up to leave.

  ‘Guru Ashwath,’ said Kashvi and he stopped. She continued, ‘We need to hurry. We are just days away as per the prophecy.’

  ‘Ah, the prophecy,’ said Guru Ashwath and turned. ‘Control what is in your control, and you shall never feel out of control,’ he said and walked away.

  12 – Camp

  The spike fencing around the camp couldn’t control the breeze as it found its way to play with Avni’s hair. She tucked it behind her ear as she prepared for Iravati’s duel with Brinda.<
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  Like all the girls in the camp, Iravati was also dressed in an orange kanchuka and white antariya. The attire was designed for complete mobility and placed functionality over aesthetics for they were training for battle.

  Iravati appeared confused as she was blindfolded. She was two years younger than Avni and the same age as her opponent, Brinda.

  Iravati and Brinda stood inside a huddle of fellow trainees, all women. The fighters and the audience held a thick bamboo stick in their hands.

  Avni stood behind Iravati and asked her, ‘What do you see, Iravati?’ The novice was panting. Beads of sweat formed on her temple, and she started shivering. Unlike her, Brinda wasn’t blindfolded and was in position to attack.

  ‘Iravati, what do you see?’ Avni raised her voice.

  Iravati replied this time, ‘Nothing, Avni. I see nothing.’

  ‘Well, the enemy isn’t going to wait for you to see things. Let the battle begin,’ shouted Avni, and everyone forming the huddle took a few steps back to give the warriors space for the duel. They added to the chaos in Iravati’s mind by thumping their bamboo sticks on the flat, muddy ground and creating a peculiar beat.

  Brinda took a few steps towards Iravati and hit her left leg with the stick.

  ‘Aaargh! How is this fair?’ yelled Iravati.

  ‘Battle isn’t fair. Concentrate,’ Anvi instructed.

  The blindfold had made it difficult for her to focus. That along with the thumping raised Iravati’s heartbeat manifold. Whack came another blow from Brinda. This time on Iravati’s right shoulder.

  Avni said, ‘Battle is brutal. Being active and fit is not enough. Perhaps, it can help you survive for a while, but if you have to win, your senses need to be hyperactive.’

  Brinda bent and caught Iravati off-guard. She swept her opponent off her feet in one clean strike.

  ‘Get up, Iravati. The weak fall and stay fallen. While the strong rise after falling. Do not depend on your eyes for vision. See through your ears. Body. Skin. Listen to your enemy’s feet hitting the ground. Train your mind to focus on your enemy’s heartbeat. Feel the gentle whiff of the stick before it hits you. Sense the grains of soil falling on your skin when the opponent moves the stick. And then, even your blindfolded eyes shall see,’ said Avni recalling the instructions given to her by Guru Ashwath years ago when he had trained her to become a fierce warrior.