The Longing Mother

Gradually…..slowly….her eyes shined. The wet sparkle of her eyes seemed glitter in the dim light. Her beauty was still shadowed by the influence of darkness but the steep edged jewels which draped her body, marked their presence with any ray of light which passed by. A sound evolved. The soft clayey mud felt to be compressed beneath silent steps. Someone was sure to approach. Her corners of the eyes noticed two hands touch the heavily crafted wooden railing erected at her front. “Is it time?” a fragile yet completely dry voice slipped from the woman. A throat is cleared and in the eeriness of the morning, the particles round them jolted. “Yes Amma” The person drifts his head down to gaze at the sharp talwaar (sword) which was adjusted in between pieces of various shiny cloth. ‘Amma! Don’t you worry about me” he spoke. The lady turned her head…furious maybe she was, and in moments pushed the tears out. “Amma! Your courage gives me courage, your tears build my fear. I beg at this uncertain time not to demoralize me.” It was just the dialogue of the man which energized the surroundings for not a response was heard from the lady’s side. She raised her left arm, in accordance with the height of the man, and lay forth her palm on his cheek. At the very second does the first beam of sunlight fall at them and reveal their self’s.

The lady was but painted with freckles, and bobbing veins trailed from her fingers, twirled at the wrists and vanished in her arms. A tremendous round shaped purple cap, saturated with the highest ranking gems and threads, rested on her weakening head. It paired with a single sleek feather, gold of appearance, which formed an antenna for the cap. The rest of the outfit in particular favored the cap. Besides her, for the man which stood, was half taller than her, broad and shaped, young and somewhat brave of eyes. He too, was wrapped in the finest of cloths whose threads sparkled even in the faintest of photons.

A sudden thunder of shouts from below did scream their skeletons and the words cracked, “Badshah-e-Salamat! At your orders we are here to depart, at one signal of yours shall we kick our horses and leave for the mission!” Both the lady and the man moved not. “I must go now Amma, let’s go down.” and he presented his hand. “Son….” But her emotions were too strong to allow her to complete the words. The clash of metal and steel and the spectacle armors were the only clatter. Echoes of a million men distracted each other’s conversation. However, the affection with which the son and the mother held hands defeated every distraction for them. As the first of their steps touched the damp ground, a sense of hurry conquered their breaths. Carts aligned at their front and the herds of polished horses whined in continuous pattern. The armored army stood in perfect lines classified in various groups. Twenty huge elephants bore the weight of decorated traditional Emperor takhts or seats. Both the lady and the man halted in front of the army. The man’s father and with utter obviousness, the lady’s husband, sat already on one of the elephants, gazing not at his family. The man caught hold of his horses reins and raised up to climb on it. “Amma! I cannot promise for my return but indeed can I promise for my love for you forever, Even if I die, I will always love you, for your hands made this man out of a baby you bore.” The sentences were much more for the lady to digest and sobbed, but silently, for an Empress is at least strong enough. “Then I am not an empress” she thought as her eyes only stared at her young man. “Proceed!” came a voice from the elephant’s side and the Emperor had now but signaled. The complete area shivered with might and galloped the thousand horses, hundred carts and even more elephants down from the bricked passage way and out from the Alamgiri gate of the Lahore Fort. What left behind amidst the roaring dust, awakened by the army, was the lonely Empress.

“Mehrunissa! Mehrunissa!” a healthy little woman, aged with the prevailing conditions, hurried towards the Empress. Her heels took a rest and bent her knees for respect. However, continued her words with increasing harshness, “What sort of an Empress are you? Ha! I have never seen in my life a more cowardly woman than you” and with that came the thunderous voice of the Empress, “Stop your tongue! What languages do you use in front of an empress? Or do I need to arrange training sessions for you?” She lowered her lids and apologized, “I am sorry but your majesty, we cannot see your defeat can we?”, “I will stay strong as long as my soul accepts but for my own child, this soul would crash” the Empress returned. After a small commotion, the other lady said, “Come inside. Sit and share your distress. I am there for you”. Their steps lead towards the Zenana (the special area for women only).

The hall was warm and cozy, the sofas embellished with the sequins of the sub-continent and mirrors intricately designed to give the complete majestic look. The two lady’s took seats and spoke not a word, approximately for fifteen minutes. Then at last the silence broke with the initiative of the Empress. “My son is too young for a fight so intense.” And her lashes raised at the ceiling. “The more young he is, the more early he will learn war techniques” the other Lady spoke. With a laugh, the Empress refuted, “The ‘more early’ he is, though he would learn, but early he is prone to die and leave me alone. Have I any other son expect him?”, “This is the tradition. Don’t act so childish, you need to control your emotions. Previous empresses have lost all their families but still they ruled excellent empires” the other gave her advice. “Do I live only for thrones and empires and riches? Not my family? Not life?” and a sense of frustration spilled from the Empress’ accent.

The war, however, was to begin in the morning and both armies had shortly camped near each other. Meetings for war development stretched to the whole night and every heart over there certainly pumped at its peak. Night had fallen much quicker than before, especially for the Empress, and she had found her self standing in the Sheesh Mahal. The moon was of the 14^th date and reflected off light from its complete diameter. The little lake of fresh water, containing standard marble fountains, lay in front of her. Alone was she in the cool night with the Moons light bouncing off from the fountains and hitting the million pieces of glass which filled the walls of the Mahal. Their reflection brought the three-walled room to life and lightened up every corner which could have been spotted out. The Empress however, paid no attention to the beauty created by the room and only lived with her thoughts which acidified her stomach. “How fortunate would it be when my son returns home with the flag of victory in his hands and the same smile on his face from which he greets me” were the words she could hear banging within.