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1599 Bhadra (August) – Lahore, Capital of Hindustan, the Mughal Empire.
Returning from the war, as I sat by the king’s side, Love came to me and asked, “Will you die for me? Will you walk through fire for me? Would you forsake the sweetest of wines and the greatest of feasts to never let go of my hand?”
She glanced up from her instrument, golden rings upon her fingers, dressed in the most beautiful greens and jewels, her feet bare upon red tiles of very best of the courtesan quarters which Emperor Akbar, my father, had given her. Her long, brown braid lay over her shoulder where it spilled onto her lap. Seeking to deny me her smile and the beautiful warmth of her sun-colored eyes, she returned to her instrument, gently playing as she inquired, “And your answer to love was?”
“My answer,” I repeated following the shapes on the ground—green and gold on the other layer, following the pattern to her. “My answer was as Love expected.”
“Love expects nothing. Not even love in return,” she murmured, her hands and eyes still fixed on the instrument.
Reaching the red flower pattern right behind her I placed my hand on the side of her cheek and she leaned on it. “My love does,” I whispered as I stroked her cheek. “So I said yes. I said yes to love. What is life without you? Let me die for I wish never to know. What is fire to one whose heart is ablaze? For I am fire for you.”
“And what of wine and feast?” she asked as I sat down beside her.
“That I could not release.” And before she could look away I placed my thumb on her pink lips. “For the sweetest of all wines are your lips, and greatest of feasts are the ones in which I may share with you.”
“Salim.” She giggled. “You are a prince in this life and yet you are still a poet.”
“Anarkali.” I grinned. “Who would not become a poet at the sight of you?”
“I do not care about who else…not even the Emperors.” She hung her head and with the crook of my finger, I lifted her chin. Her face was more serious than I’d ever seen as she said, “I am not his courtesan.”
“You are not.” I agreed and as she relaxed I said, “You are mine.”
“You!” She reached out to smack me but I was already on my feet.
“Why do you not like the word courtesan?” I teased and as she lifted up her lehenga to chase after me, her odhani fell which offered me a clear sight of her waist and belly, allowing her to reach out and grab me in my distraction.
“If I am the only woman you touch again,” she whispered in my arms as I placed my hands upon her skin and drew her waist closer to me. “And if no man but you touches me…then I shall accept the word courtesan proudly.”
“And wife?”
She reached up, her fingers lightly touching the scar upon my eye. “This time you are the Prince of Hindustan. I cannot be anything more than a courtesan.”
“Everything I am changes, but my love for you. You are my wife until we are no more. Of all of Emperor Akbar’s sons, I am his favorite, I will request you as a reward for victory in the war. You shall become my courtesan. I shall have no other but you, and when I am the king of Hindustan, when no one can stand in our path, you shall be my wife.” I had more than hope. I could see it. How possible it was for us to finally be together and she could too, which was why she threw her arms around me and pressed her body against my own.
“Anarkali! Anarkali!”
We broke away quickly as the woman’s giggling voice reached us, and Anarkali dashed to pick up her veil while I hid in the corner behind the mirror where I was unable to see her as the girl came inside.
“Mansi? Do not run—”
“Anarkali you are the luckiest woman in all the world.” The woman sighed happily. “Oh if only the Emperor would call for me!”
“The Emperor calls for me?” She repeated much more softly and hearing the words once more, reassuring me it was not a nightmare but the force seeking to keep us apart in this life…my father.
“I came to see if you wanted help with preparations. And do not forget me tomorrow when you’ve truly become the Emperor’s—”
“No!” She hollered.
“Anarkali?”
“I am unwell, Mansi. Before they arrive tell them I am unfit to see the Emperor.” I heard footsteps close in until they were beside me. I glanced to my left, watching as she took off her veil, and select one of the scented oil from her trunk. She allowed a few drops to fall upon it before returning the oil and walking away. Never once did she look to me. “Have them give him my veil, and I will come for it tomorrow.”
“Anarkali…why are you unwell? Do you need—?”
“My chest pains me but do not worry. Go. Do not keep the Emperor waiting,” she replied. Saying she’d return, the girl left just as loudly as she came.
It was only when it was silent that I came out from behind the mirror. She stood in the middle of the red flower of her room with her arms wrapped around herself. Looking up to me as if she were already the Queen of Hindustan she ordered. “Save me from this or I shall rather die and meet you again elsewhere.”
