Gandikota

The Assassin

He towered at a height of 6 feet, his shoulders firm and erect, as he walked the streets of Bijapur. His nose as sharp and curved, as the beak of a hawk, the thick dark beard, gracing his square set face. And those eyes of his, those eyes, set deep, with a glare so cold that pierced deep, and left some one with the feeling of being stripped away.  The loose cotton tunic over his upper torso, with long sleeves, and the billowing conical pants below, fluttered in the hot summer winds blowing across the lanes of Bijapur.

He had just finished his Zuhr, at a rather small, non descript mosque in the city. He preferred the solitude of such places, where he could pray with his mind only on Allah,not disturbed by any one around him. The noon sun beat down harshly on him, but the heat scarcely impacted some one who had been bought up in the harsh deserts of Persia.

Abu Hassan, born in the city of Qom, where the shrine of Fatimeh Masumeh, the sister of Imam Reza was located, had come to India, along with Abd-al-Razzāq Samarqandī, the ambassador of Shah Rukh, the Timurid ruler. Seeking to explore the world from long, he was fascinated by the accounts of merchants and travellers to India,and it's fabled riches. And when he had stepped into the fabled city of Hampi, the sheer grandeur swept him away, the magnificient mansions,the wide streets, the sprawling bazaars where gems, diamonds, rubies were traded in the open. 

But there was something more he saw, the people, they dressed differently, most men, were dressed in a white robe, below the waist,tucked in folds, they called the dhoti. And the upper part, was almost bare, except for a robe that was draped across the shoulders.  He saw some richer men, wearing brightly colored suits. travelling in what they called a palanquin, borne by much darker men,who stripped to the waist down, in a more coarse dhoti. And the women, so bewitchingly attractive, with a tanned, dusky complexion, and their faces not covered, unthinkable in his native Persia, where at the least they would have to cover their heads. 

And then he saw them idols all over, large, small, dotting the streets, he saw them praying to the idols, and in the middle of the city, he saw a massive idol of what seemed to be a half human, half lion,and people bowing before it. He saw temples, where the idols were placed, and people worshipping there.

The idolaters,  how were those sinners still existing in this land.  This when the idol worshippers had been wiped out in Persia, Arabia, Syria, Egypt, how were they still surviving in this land. Why had they not been crushed and wiped out, like in the deserts of Asia? Why were those grotesque icons standing tall still? 

And the answer to his question lay in the city of Bijapur, to the north of Hampi. The most powerful of the Bahmani sultans in the Deccan, the Adil Shahis, who had ruled over vast territories north of the Tungabhadra river.  And that is when he had heard of their constant battles with Vijayanagara,  that often went back and forth. But he still could not understand why the idolaters were not crushed,why were their temples still standing tall?

And that is when he came to know of the other Bahmani Sultanates- Golkonda, Bidar, Ahmednagar, which once had been a powerful kingdom, before it broke up. Aah disunity, the bane of most Muslim empires, in the Middle East, as they fought each other, Persian vs Arab, Fatimid vs Abbasid, it's no surprise the Mongols had swept through their lands like a tornado, destroying empires and civilizations with impunity.  

It was no suprise that the idolaters could strike at will, and thrive, because the Sultanates had spent more time quarelling among themselves, instead of comming together for a common cause. And that is when he decided, he would stay back here, and fight for the cause of Islam. He would not leave until this land was purged of the idolaters,their temples destroyed, the statues of their false gods broken and dismantled.

And so he had joined the army of the Adil Shahis, fought in various campaigns with them.  He had defended Bijapur against a combined attack from Golkonda, Bidar, Ahmednagar and later the capture of Sholapur, from the Nizam Shahis. And had also witnessed the humiliation at Raichur, that had left him seething for revenge.

And now the time had come, as the Sultan, had beckoned him. This was however not a regular assault, this was a far more dangerous mission, where he had no army to support him. For Abu Hassan, had a skill that was one of the deadliest ever, he was a professional assasin. Ever since he had stabbed to death, the minister Kamal Khan,on the orders of Punji Khatun, the Sultan's mother, he had embarked on the path to be an assasin.

An often lonely path, as barring the Sultan and his minister,no one even knew about this.  This was why he often choose rather, small, non descript mosques to pray.  Why he lived all by himself and had never married. His hand shook when he first plunged the dagger into the heart of Kamal Khan, the terrified, pleading look in his eyes, his legs kicking to stay alive.

But over due course of time, he had come to love it,the sheer power he had over his victims, the look of shock and awe on their faces, as they realized they had  been trapped.  While he initially just stabbed his victims, over the years, he began to enjoy the feel of torturing them to death. Stabbing them all over, as they begged for a merciful death, and then plunging the dagger straight into their chests, watching the blood gush out. 

With the idolaters, the fact that their upper torso was often exposed, made him peel off their skin, their screams of agony, sounding like music to his ears. Everytime an idolater had been brutally murdered to death, it was more disbeliever less on the earth for him.