opening notes: a warning for a "slightly" unhinged Jalal in this chapter. that being said, let's get reading 😄

The sun had only begun to bathe the earth with its beams and one of the signs that clued Jodha to the fact that they were finally at their destination was the sudden lack of movement from the durbaans who carried her palki before setting it down on the ground.

A few seconds passed before a silhouette appeared before her holding out his hand for her. Taking it, she felt the warmth of his palm in hers as he led her out of the palki.

Her eyes took a while to adjust to the brightness before she could finally take in the sight that met her eyes. There stood the dargah, its vast marble structures shimmering under the sun and the air echoed with the sound of qawwalis rendering their devotion.

Jodha adjusted her dupatta as she momentarily allowed herself to marvel at the intricacies of the architecture - a testament to the devotion and artistry of its creators. She could not help but feel the sense of peace that accompanied the sight of the sacred environment she found herself in.

Wordlessly, she walked beside Jalal not just out of respect for the sanctity of their current setting but also from the unresolved tension between them. As they approached the entrance of the dargah, she noticed a small group of men seated at the entrance, their wares spread out on a mat—textiles of different materials, modest trinkets and handcrafted vases.

The closer they got, the more her curiosity was piqued as she greeted the men with a warm Pranaam and wasted no time in making inquiries.

"Adaab, Begum Sahiba," one of the men greeted with a slight bow of deference. He seemed to be fairly young, maybe about her age but his face was worn down and marred by apprehension, sorrow - perhaps a blend of both. Her face fell as she gently nodded for him to proceed. "We are from a nearby village. A few weeks ago, a flood had befallen us, leaving in its wake destruction. We ventured down here to raise funds to rebuild our homes."

Jodha's heart clenched as she looked past him to the other men, equally as worn down but with dignity as they came together to sell their goods, some of the utmost importance just to ensure their survival and that of their neighbours.

Without any second thought, her hand crept down to her wrist to slide off her golden chooriyan - one of what she brought down to Agra with her from Amer. If these were going to ensure these people got to rebuild their lives, then so be it. However...

"Jodha Begum," that deep commanding voice from behind her made her halt in her steps. She had almost forgotten his presence until now. "Step back."

Her eyes narrowed as she accorded him a sharp look of incredulity. Did he really think he could just order her to step back?

Her lips parted, about to argue with him but the unreadable expression on his face had those words dying in her throat.

There was no hesitation from him as he removed the necklaces adorning his neck, setting it aside on the table. His rings were next, glimmering in the sunlight as they joined his necklace as well.

What would have her eyes widening and send a wave of disbelief through her, however, was when he removed his pagri and it seemed Jodha was not the only one uncertain about this as the man before her protested.

"Shehenshah," a flicker of hesitation crossed his face as his gaze moved from Jalal to the pagri. "You don't have to... it will be unbecoming of the Hindustan ka Badshah to walk without his crown."

A slight smile lifted the corner of his lips as Jalal set down his pagri. "You would be right by your assertions," he looked down momentarily before staring up at the younger man. "But as the Shehenshah-e-Hindustan, it would also be unbefitting if I let my queen walk without her jewelry," his gaze flickered briefly to her before returning to the man. "And it would be equally unbefitting if my subjects' state of wellbeing remained neglected. This pagri," he gestured to it, "costs more than enough to feed a village."

The men seemed convinced as they eventually offered to tie a turban - a humble replacement for the decorated royal pagri Jalal had walked in with, which he accepted without any arguments.

The couple left the stalls after the men offered their blessings for the pilgrimage. Jodha's mind remained in disarray and dissatisfied that he had stopped her from offering her jewelry to the men's cause.

It would be unbefitting if I let my queen walk without her jewelry, he had given as a rationale for his actions.

"You could have let me offer my chooriyan at least," she broke through the silence, a frown on her face as she regarded him. "They would have sufficed as well"

He cast her a side glance as they made their way over to the entrance of the dargah.

"And let a Mughal queen walk in looking like a pauper?"

Her eyes narrowed and her tongue was swifter with a retort of hers, "Yet, the Shehenshah-e-Hindustan walks into a dargah without the symbols of his nobility. You are not the only one who walks in with a humble outlook, Shehenshah."

And what was with him suddenly referring to her as a "Mughal queen" after referring to her as his queen?

"I may part with my crown, Jodha Begum," they both paused in their tracks. "But if you think I'd let you part with yours..."

He left the rest of his words lingering in the air between them and unfinished as they made their entrance into the dargah.

It was no use arguing with him, Jodha reasoned, not when they were about to offer prayers and especially not when he chose to remain elusive with his intentions.

These days, she could only ponder where he operated from; from a genuine place or his sense of duty or his pride. It could be all three as well, her mind added as an option.

With each step they made into the dargah, the scent of incense thickened the atmosphere as the sounds of the qawwalis grew more distant. Having ascended several marble steps to the shrine, they finally came face-to-face with an elderly saint. The man was draped in a simple flowing white robe, with a white beard and eyes that spoke of mystical wisdom far deeper than what the common man could comprehend.

"Asalaam alaikum, Shehenshah, Begum Sahiba," he greeted in a voice reverent as he led them over to the sacred grave of Khwaja Moinuddin Chishti. "May the blessings of Gareeb Nawaz be upon you."

Jodha pressed her hands together, her head bowed respectfully as she took the blessings

"Wailakum salaam, Qutb Ibrahim Qadiri," Jalal replied, on the other hand. "It is an honour to have you receive us, for we have taken this journey on the advice of Pir Allah Rakha to offer our prayers."

He carried on with a comfort associated with a man who was familiar with such as this. She, on the other hand, had a layer of discomfort around here despite the facade she put on and the welcoming smile the elderly saint gave. She was an outsider - a Hindu queen in a sacred space unfamiliar to her.

Even as the saint complimented Jalal on his decision to come in without his pagri, the discomfort grew wider as she momentarily looked down at her gold chooriyan.

Silently, Qutb Ibrahim extended his hand, gesturing for them to move into the shrine's inner sanctum. Following Jalal, Jodha found her eyes straying over to him - even as they knelt in front of the shrine.

His posture was impeccable - way too perfect like he had done something like this numerous times and if going by history - he had. After all, it was from a trip as this her rishta with him had been fixed by Bhapusa.

She gave him a side glance as she followed his gestures, her hands held up just like his hands were. Her fingers twitched as the fear that she was doing something wrong poked at her and her eyes lingered on him.

His form, posture - everything - came as natural as breathing to him while she was out of her momentum with this. While offering prayers in her way was nothing new to her, here, she felt like a stranger.

"When one offers prayers to the Almighty, Jodha Begum, they do so with their head raised," he said so suddenly and so gently that she was almost startled and realized that her head had been down. "However, if you do not wish to pray, you do not need to."

"Still, I will pray, Shehenshah," she replied as she stared back at him. "People of different religions and creeds have made their way over to honour Gareeb Nawaz, a man whose reputation and legacy precedes him. His messages of peace and unity have reached far and wide. His legacy is worth my honour, so, I will render my prayers, Shehenshah."

The saint, who had noticed the quiet exchange, interjected with a soft smile, "Subanallah, Begum Sahiba, you have spoken well. Regardless of what our faith and paths may be, our prayer is what links us to the Divine."

She held a faint smile at the encouragement, nodding as she resumed the prayers in her own way.

It was a matter of minutes as the final echoes of their prayers faded. Upon opening her eyes, the sun seemed to have completely risen, casting a shadow through the latticework of the windows.

The couple stood before Qutb Ibrahim and under a canopy as the elderly saint's eyes lingered on the both of them. "Shehenshah Jalaluddin Mohammad," his gaze was on Jalal before veering over to her. "Begum Sahiba Jodha Bai, your very presence in this place is no accident. Khuda, through His divine will, has brought you two together for reasons He will reveal in His own timing."

Jodha stiffened, her hands gripping tightly on her ghagra at the enigmatic words of Qutb Ibrahim. Divine will. Where had she heard those words from again? Ah, yes, Shaguni Bai! As revealed to Maa Sa, except it was attributed to Fate, not Khuda. Now hearing those words again had her on the brink of shivering.

She suppressed the urge to display any signs of freezing as Qutb Ibrahim's focus shifted to her, his gaze softening as he regarded her as if he knew what burden had followed her here. "Begum Sahiba, you have made the journey to this place willingly and with an open mind which seeks answers to the questions you bear in your heart. Regardless of the separate path you might walk in, Khuda hears all those who call to Him."

Was she seeking answers? Or was she here to ask for the strength to bear the cross she had been thrust into carrying? It was one question she could not answer for herself, regardless, she found herself nodding along.

The saint then turned his attention to Jalal, "And Shehenshah, may you live long to see the results of your legacy. You may bear the burden of ruling an empire but Khuda has granted a companion - one who is as steadfast as she is fierce. For her strength will guide you in all that you do and her love will illuminate your pathway."

At that, Jodha swallowed as her hold on her ghagra tightened to the point she was sure her knuckles were pale. Love?! If not for the fact that he was a respected saint and his words were divine, she would have scoffed at the notion. The concept of love seemed so distant at this point in their relationship, it was almost laughable too.

"Nafrat aur mohabbat ka rang laal hota hai, Shehenshah." Those were words she had said days ago as she had hoped that she could at least bridge the chasm between them but now, it seemed that the only shade of red that would mark their relationship was nothing but the one that corresponded with conflict and strife. Still, she dared not turn to look at him as a part of her feared what she might find in his expression.

Still, Qutb Ibrahim was nowhere done with his words as he raised his hands in blessings, "May your love overflow like the waters of the Sindhu. May it continue to endure the test of time and, by the timing of Khuda, may this union also bear the fruit of an heir - one who will continue your legacy."

Jodha's breath caught in her throat as time suddenly came to a standstill for her. An heir? This time, she took the risk of glancing at Jalal who remained motionless. On his face was the most unreadable of expressions but with a flicker in his eyes - one she stood unable to decipher. This was another one of the times she wished she could catch a glimpse of his mind as he showed no visible signs of the saint's words affecting him.

As for her, heat rose to her cheeks and her heartbeat accelerated. Love, union, an heir. How is this possible when we are both-? What fruit could their "union" possibly bring when what stood before them was a wide chasm? How could their union bear fruit when it lacked the very foundations for it?

"Shukriya, Baba," Jalal's voice broke through the silence. Despite the reverence he granted the man, his tone gave away none of the emotion he could feel at this moment.

As though the man was aware of the tension simmering between them despite their outward composure, Qutb Ibrahim only smiled at them as he let them leave.

Their journey from the sanctum to the jhaali was steeped in silence even as she tied the taweez to the lattice board. She could not help the trembling of her fingers, even as she prayed for a sense of calmness to wash over her.

An heir...love that overflows like the Sindhu. What could it all mean?

"So, tell me," Jalal's voice came softly, breaking through her reverie as his presence beside her grew more unmissable. "What did you pray for?"

Peace of mind. Stability. Your well-being. She wanted to answer but instead glanced at him, blinking for a brief moment before returning to the task at hand.

"If I tell you, then my prayers might never be answered," she replied with a murmur instead. "After all, they say that a shared prayer loses its strength."

A chuckle escaped him, mingled with a smug tone. "Superstitions," he teased as she perceived him rubbing his chin from her peripheral view. "Yet, if you had asked me, I'd have told you mine."

She only snorted as her fingers left the taweez. Her attention was now on him, and she raised an eyebrow in question.

"Would you?" She asked, her tone dripping in light sarcasm. "Was it for more victories in battles? More territories to conquer, Shehenshah?"

He drew closer and it took every strength within her to stay rooted to her spot. He leaned slightly forward and his voice was low enough for her to hear him. "What if I told you I prayed that Khuda granted you every desire of your heart? Would you believe me?"

She paused—no, she froze—in her tracks as she slowly gazed up at him in search of a hint of jest, yet there was nothing to indicate this was anything but the truth. There was something about how he said it—soft, gentle, and sincere—that caught her off-guard.

"Every desire of my heart, you say?" She bit back, repeating his words as she slightly shifted her weight. "And if my heart's desires included my escape from this bond?"

There was a change that came in response to her question as a wide smile grew - slow and deliberate - on Jalal's face and a predatory glint flashed across his eyes. "I'm afraid it will only remain a dream at this point, Jodha Begum," he said in a deceptively gentle voice which had Jodha wish she had not poked the tiger at all.

Her instincts warned against further provoking him but it seemed her self-preservation mattered less as she pressed on. "Is that an underestimation of my will or an overconfidence in yours, Shehenshah?"

Jalal's gaze darkened as his teasing gave way to something way more intense that it had her heart pounding against her ribcage. "The only way you can truly be free, Jodha Begum, is you on that funeral pyre," he said in a low murmur that was enough to send shivers down her spine. "And even then," his grin widened with his tone almost sinister. "If I have to wrestle your gods and mine just to bring you back, main Khuda ki qasam khata hoon - I will."

The air was charged with tension as Jodha's breath caught in her throat. Was it a threat or a solemn vow? Or a blend of both? With him, everything was complicated and unpredictable.

"And if you die first?" She forced herself to ask again, a subtle challenge which he rose to as he recognized it for what it was.

His smirk was tempered but that predatory glint lingered. "If I die first, I'll haunt you. Your waking thoughts, your dreams, you cannot escape me. Not in this world, not in the next world. It is not a threat, it is my word and I intend to keep it. Not even Death will separate us, Jodha Begum."

For a moment, the best thing Jodha could muster was her silence. That was...reassuring? Unsettling? Silence hung in the air as she tied the final knot of the taweez on the jhaali.

Despite saying no more words, his presence loomed heavy in the background, a perfect reminder of Qutb Ibrahim's blessings and their recent exchange.

After offering their prayers at the dargah and with the aftermath of their charged exchange in front of the jhaali, Jodha Begum retained her distance as she took the opportunity to interact with the other pilgrims. Yet, it got more obvious to Jalal - his words had rattled her to the core and she needed space and time to come to terms.

Even as they journeyed back to Agra and set up their camp along the way, Jalal could only chuckle at the futility of her avoidance. Amusement filled him at the fact she thought deflection would temper whatever it was that tied them together. Once upon a time, he had told her that he despised her and that she was nothing more than a war trophy but he knew deep within himself and even then that those were lies - spiteful words to smother the burn of her rejection.

If he truly despised her, why had he initiated a war against her homeland? At first, his motive was purely conquest but the moment she crossed his radar, it evolved into something else - one that transcended territorial expansion and involved his emotions. It became something dangerously personal.

His need for her to be near him or within the same space as he was baffled him, even to the point of fear. If only she knew what power she held over him, over his thoughts. If only she knew what lengths he'd go to ensure she was bound to him. It clawed at him like a thirst he could not easily quench and it terrified him.

Could it be that he was slowly melting for her? Did his feelings go beyond his need to assert his dominance and control over her? Did they go beyond his desire to let the world know he had the untamable Registan ka Gulab under his thumb?

He wanted to laugh at this, have that rational side of his mock the absurd notion of him having feelings that went beyond...

"Shehenshah."

Speak of Amer's Rose and she appears behind you, his inner dialogue came as he turned to face her. She stood poised and resolute, her posture firm as she held his gaze.

"You summoned me."

Even her tone was sharp and defiant as if she was asking him to keep things brief and get straight to the point. Too bad, Jodha Begum. Not when a gun lay at a distance, resting against the tent's frame and he could tell she had seen the weapon as she let out a scoff.

"You are unbelievable, Shehenshah, seriously?" She was quick to express her disapproval. "We have just returned from a pilgrimage, and you are already planning a hunt? Is this the appropriate time for such an indulgence?"

Ah, there she was - his tempestuous unyielding Rajvanshi bride. He raised an eyebrow at her as he picked up the gun with a deliberate sense of calm, "Do you not have hunters in Amer? Or is this one of the many lectures you have in your endless arsenal, Jodha Begum?"

Her eyes narrowed at him as she answered him, "It is one thing to hunt for survival, it is another to hunt for sport. I know damn well this hunting expedition is not because you are hungry but because you want to impose your dominance on those creatures out there."

He chuckled darkly, shaking his head as he stared down at her. Khuda has granted a companion - one who is as steadfast as she is fierce, Qutb Ibrahim's words reverberated in his mind and he could only agree with those words. The woman who stood before him was like a tempestuous storm - relentless and ready to upend everything that stood in her path - including him.

"I had summoned you to accompany me, not chastise me but here you are anyway," he stepped closer towards her. "Tell me, do you get a kick out of this? Being a painful thorn at my side?"

She stood rooted to the ground as she looked away, "Think of me as the voice of your conscience," she, then, faced him, her dark brown eyes hardened as she regarded him with a sharp tone. "That is if you ever bother listening to that as well."

With a grin on his face, he said nothing as his focus narrowed on the musket, loading it with bullets. He could not miss her tense stance or the way her fists were tightly clenched by her sides.

"Pout as much as you want, Jodha Begum," his focus was back on her. "It won't change a thing. I do as I please."

"I will stop you."

He stopped in his tracks at her words. There was a way she said it; it was with such unshaken conviction as if this was not the first time she would ever do something like this.

"Just the same way I had previously saved that deer from you and Begum Ruqaiya," she added with a steady voice, answering his unspoken question.

"So, it was you," he flashed a knowing smirk at her.

It was back in Mathura with him and Ruqaiya who had set up a hunting trip to grant him a moment of distraction from Khan Baba's passing. Ruqaiya had sworn murder and hell for days upon the individual who had interfered with their hunt. If she found out it was none other than Jodha Begum...

She said nothing more, even as they ventured out on the open field. Before leaving, Jalal had left instructions for Atgah Khan to set up a camp at the far side of the Basawad Jungle as a gesture to appease the older man who had expressed his wish to follow along.

Behind him was Jodha Begum, her silence louder than a thousand words as she followed along. There was a reason why he summoned her to his tent, after all, they had a lot of words to exchange, especially in regards to Qutb Ibrahim's words. Did they weigh on her mind the way they did to his?

He glanced over his shoulder, addressing her, "What has you so quiet, Jodha Begum?"

Her attention snapped over to him, her fingers fiddling with the end of her dupatta. "Those men at the Dargah..."

Stopping in his tracks, he turned to meet her. There was a way she phrased those words that had him tighten his grip on the musket and for the first time, it terrified him "What about those men?"

"Their village got devastated by a natural disaster and somehow, the news of such an incident was not brought up in the diwans," she frowned to herself. "This is not the first time such neglect as this will occur. The masjid at Kinari Bazaar..."

He loosened his grip, a frown on his face as he took the time to digest the implication of her words. He stepped closer, his voice lowering as he asked her carefully. "What are you trying to imply here?"

Of course, he knew exactly what she implied but he needed her to be explicit.

She did not falter as she continued, "I had gotten word that the masjid had attempted to address the contamination of a wudu station but they got no word back with some of the adherents considering the option of tayammum. In this case, a flood came and left behind a great loss of lives and properties. How does such news escape the notice of the palace until weeks after the fact? Could it be that...?" She trailed off, suspicion clouding her features.

"You believe there is foul play?" He added in.

"I do not believe so," she said firmly. "I know that. When the subjects do not feel heard by their rulers, they often resort to their desperate devices. If the news of their plight had reached the palace, they would not have resorted to selling their possessions to rebuild their homes, to survive."

There it was and the fact that she had to point this out to him - again - had his jaw tightened. He was fully aware that snakes existed in his court and after what took place at the Sadar Bazaar, he knew corruption abound.

Who, in his court, would dare withhold such information and why? Whoever it was, they had something to gain from this interception.

His relationship with Jodha Begum might be fraught with conflict but she would not make baseless statements. A corner of his lip curled into a smirk and she frowned at him. "Did I say something funny?"

Now, it grew to a full-blown grin. "No, I was just thinking," he said, pausing to see her reaction. Just as he predicted, frustration marked her expression. "If you were not my begum, you would make a great advisor like Badi Ammi."

Her frown deepened before evolving to a subtle and subdued expression - one he could not readily decipher - before electing to walk ahead of him.

Such temerity. She thought she could end the conversation on her terms when he was not done with her. Not now, not yet. Not until he gained insight into why they were alone in this field.

"We're not done, Jodha Begum," he called out to her. "We still have much to discuss"

And with that, she stopped in her tracks. This, he decided, was far from over.

closing notes: hello hello. I sincerely apologize for this cliffhanger I left here and I am afraid it will be here for the next two weeks as Christmas will be coming up and it is an important season to me. to those who celebrate, I wish you a Merry Christmas. to those who do not, I wish you a Happy Holiday! also, Happy New Year in advance and I hope to see you guys in 2025 and all the best!