17TH CENTURY, INDIANSUBCONTINENT
Darkness was taking over my vision. Every step felt heavy… as if I wasn't alive, just being dragged forward.
Today… was the worst day of my life.
Both my hands were bound in cold iron shackles. With every jerk, they cut into my skin.
"Walk faster. We're almost there."
His voice…
Hatred burned through my veins.
My father's murderer.
I suddenly stopped.
"What happened? Why did you stop?" the slave walking behind me asked.
Slowly, I raised my head… and looked straight into his eyes.
"I will not obey a single word of that man," my voice was cold. "He said to walk faster… so now I won't move."
Tension appeared on the slave's face.
"Seems like you don't value your life…" he said in a low but firm tone. "Walk quietly… or you'll be killed."
I smiled faintly.
"A life like this… is worse than death."
For a moment, he just stared at me — as if trying to decide whether I was mad or brave.
"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"
That voice shook my soul.
Slowly, I turned…
And he stood before me.
A thick beard. And on the left side of his face, a deep scar.
And with that scar… the scene came alive before my eyes—
my father's slit throat…
my sister's screams…
My hands clenched on their own.
I said nothing. I just stared at him with pure hatred.
He smiled.
And that smile… felt like someone was slowly tearing my heart apart.
"I like it when people look at me like that…" he said.
He stepped closer to me.
"…the way you're looking at me."
I stayed silent. Just kept staring at him.
"Do you know why?"
A brief silence.
"Because it is proof of my victory," he said with a light laugh. "I have won again."
A faint smile appeared on my lips.
"Who knows…" I said softly, "…this victory might become the reason for your death."
He burst into laughter.
"I will wait for that day."
Then he looked toward the sky. The sun was about to set.
"But for now…" his voice turned cold, "…you will wait for your death. In my captivity."
He gestured.
"If we don't reach the mansion before sunset…" he pointed at the slave, "…you will witness his death after your father's."
The slave looked at me nervously.
I closed my eyes.
Do I have any other choice?
Can I take someone else's life… just for my pride?
The pride inside me… slowly broke.
And I started walking.
After a while, a very beautiful mansion appeared before my eyes.
I asked the slave beside me,
"Which place is this?"
"This is it… your destiny now. This is Nawab Ahmed Khan's mansion… your father's murderer. From now on, this is your prison," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I gave the mansion a sorrowful glance and walked forward.
After a short while, we reached the front. The gates opened. A servant ran forward and said loudly:
"Nawab Sahab! Your daughter was missing you a lot. She sent a message that as soon as you arrive, you should be sent to her immediately."
Grief and hatred swirled inside my heart at the same time.
"Even people like him have families… yet they destroy others' families without hesitation." I thought
Ahmed Khan immediately got off his horse and went inside the mansion, and the door to the prison was opened for me.
I was thrown into a cell. The darkness was deep.
There was another man in the cell with me, around fifty or sixty years old.
I went and sat in a corner. The shackles were no longer on my hands, but the wounds they left behind were burning with pain.
"You're very young…" the man said, looking at me.
I remained silent.
"Seems like the journey here was quite difficult," he added, noticing my wounds.
I smiled faintly.
"There's no need to pity me… Pity that cruel man instead, because his life is going to turn into hell very soon."
He smiled at my words.
"May Allah grant you success, son," he said, then turned to the other side and lay down.
Just then, a girl's voice came from the prison door:
"Iqbal Sahab…"
The man immediately got up and walked toward the door.
I saw a young girl standing there.
"I brought this for you… you like it, right?" she said, holding a plate of sweets.
"Thank you very much, my child," the man said and began eating.
The girl smiled and watched him. Then her gaze fell on me.
"Who is he?" she asked the man.
Hearing this, I avoided eye contact and sat back in my place.
"An innocent boy… Ahmed Khan's new cruelty," the man replied.
The girl looked at me with sad eyes.
"Do you want some?" she asked me, her voice full of sympathy.
"Giving food to prisoners can lead to severe punishment," I said, looking at her.
She smiled.
"Yes, it can… but I'll only be punished if I get caught."
I turned away and lay down. The girl took a deep breath.
"If you don't want it, then fine," she said, then looked at the man.
"You can eat it, Iqbal Sahab."
"Oh, I definitely will," he said, placing the plate aside.
"Tell me… he hasn't troubled you again, has he?"
"Leave it… forget these things," the girl replied. "You tell me, what would you like to eat tomorrow?"
"If I could get pulao made by your hands…" Iqbal Sahab said.
"Alright," she smiled.
The girl stood up to leave, then looked at me and said:
"If you need anything, just tell me."
I stayed silent.
Iqbal Sahab signaled her not to insist.