Tyaag

Prologue

The gold inlaid ceilings of Diwan-i-khas which shimmered brighter than the sun even at night time appeared to be mourning the loss of natural light, seemingly staring at the drawn curtains, making pleas to the breeze to allow the fabric to billow so they could paint the marble floor with their dancing shadows again.

The air didn't seem to heed, it was still, as if afraid to move on its own. It didn't even dare to flicker the flames blazing from the oil lamps, even the slightest as to not dare disturb the two men who stood in a stormy silence, in the heart of the chamber that was usually filled with plethora of courtiers and state guests that were often present to provide their wisdom. 

Today, the walls that were adorned by floral patterns and inscribed with verses had no sound of chatter to pulsate through them, not even hushed whispers. The inner most court had been emptied out for the Sultan-e-hind and Sartaaj, as the emperor affectionately called his treasured senior general.

A title, the man with dark onyx eyes holding the depths of tatarus despised. For he was no mere prince.

He was a ruler. A king. He was destruction wrapped in satin and silk.

The traces of his footsteps could still be found on the lands that were once lush green but were no more than ash and charcoal after he was done taking whatever he pleased.

People told their children stories of the king, who they said was the incarnate of Yama except he was the very embodiment of evil, and not righteousness, like the god of death, he was being compared to.

The arrogant king found the title given by the emperor disrespectful for he had made cities stood like skeletons and states wither away like barren wastelands, all on his own. And yet, the Muhammadan dared belittle his accomplishments with ridiculous name calling and pats on the back as if he were a domestic pet. 

He felt acid exploding in his ear and mouth every time he heard the word but he swallowed the burns and nodded nonetheless. A true king never lets a monarch get even a whim of his intentions, especially if he intends to overthrow him.

The Badshah studied the patterns of all the states he had yet to invade and rule on the parchment that was sprawled in front of him. The miniatures of the royal moss green flag displaying a golden sun and lion were placed carefully all over the map and covered most part of the northeastern continent. The emperor glanced at the states and scratched his dark beard as he pondered over the assets and liabilities of acquiring the southern sultanates.

"The rebels are in great numbers in the south." He said after a while, his ruby adorned finger absently tracing circles on the parchment, scratching the papery surface. 

The general felt a wave of disgust at the mention of those rebels whom he considered vermin. His calloused palms grabbed hold of one of the miniature flags, his cold gaze lingering on the  southward states as he twirled the wooden piece in his rough fingers, thinking about how much he would love to have a taste of the southern ocean before turning the waves into stagnant crimson pool of death and decay. He placed the flag on the yellow parchment and smirked, "Rebellions are meant to be crushed." 

The monarch let out a hearty laugh that boomed across the ceilings, filling the chamber with echoes of the sounds of his laughter, making the hall resonate as if the walls were hollow and not piers made of marble, "Masha-allah, Sartaaj. You speak like a true ruler." 

"I am one." The man said with the calm of an impending storm and earned a pat on his back from the emperor as he grinned, "Beshak!"

Unlike other times though, the Sultan didn't remove his hands from his taut shoulders but gave him a tight squeeze instead, one that was intended to cause a bruise and it surely would've on any other person but had no effect on the man who was made of granite except of course, he received the message loud and clear as if the words were spoken directly in his ear.