Double update 1.0

Summary: "That's the best kind of weapons- ones that doesn't know they are weapons."
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June, 1928.

Rain - less thunder rumbles in the sky, casting blinding flashes on the empty lawns and dimly lit passages. The air is thick, hanging heavy on notes of delayed rainfall. All seems well in Shrighar.

If there are guards posted on these hallways, they have mastered the art of discretion. The late hour has muffled any possible sounds. Preet still makes a double take before dodging into the shadows. 

In her clammy hands she clutches her own dupatta, wrangling it this way and that incessantly with each of her steps. Her jaw is clenched, her lips pursed. There is a particular expression in her eyes that her bowed head and pardah manages to obscure.

With each step she pushes herself forward to take Preet puts distance between the sounds ringing in her ears and herself. Sounds that none but her could hear.

They are stark even when the loudest of thunders boom - and Preet thinks she would go deaf before her task is completed.

Karam may think nothing of triggering a little event in view of winning the king's favour, he may even manage to assure her of the "white - lie" quality of it.

But at the end of the day, Preet was no soldier, she may be loyal, may want a little bit of glory and praise - may even have a taste for an extra coin or two - but she was not a woman to wield a weapon for it, or to actively seek danger. Or, Preet was learning anew, indifferent enough to push others into danger for that.

The attack was supposed to be a hoax. A faux danger staged to give her an opportunity to display a little heroism, while Rani sahiba was away with her younger son, taking a good portion of the nursery staff away, the older Prince is left vulnerable; his wellbeing left in the hands of two maids - Menka and Preet.

Menka was older, established and wide to the head of guard - there was no lack of honor or praise to hunt for. Preet was still a newcomer in her shadow, apart from Karam who himself is struggling to make his place in the king's guard, she was a stranger to everybody.

So when he had proposed this stunt - it might have been the heat or the workload of the day, it had seemed like a master stroke.

Now that she had seen those men, shrouded in shadows with their sinister blades - it didn't seem as bright an idea - or as fake as Karam had convinced her it would be. Preet had already seen them cut into the front guards - there was nothing faux about those blades or the blood they spilled. Her heart thudded in her ribcage. If those men got anywhere near the Kuwar Sahab - no - it was a shuddering thought.

The door opens a crack, despite her clammy hands losing the grip on handles quite a few times.

The darkness inside is rather forbidding. Preet is certain that she had been faster than those men, her knowledge on shortcuts far superior - its not possible that they had beaten her in reaching the child.

But everything is dark and ominously still. Lightening casts the room into a flash of reddish purple for a moment and she sees the curtains by the balcony swinging in the rain heavy breeze.

The spark dies in the sky and everything is thrown into pitch black once more.

The presence of wind signalled of an open balcony. Her heart is sized with a new fear. Had the men found other ways in? Had they scaled the walls and climbed straight into these chambers?

Preet creeps her way towards the balcony, passively noting that the bed was empty of the usual sleeping child. There was no sign of a struggle.

The curtains were still swaying, as she neared the open balcony doors she could smell the scent of rain in the air. Another lightening cut through the darkness and Preet jerked when something grabbed hold of her sleeve.

She had a fleeting thought of brandishing the knife she had concealed - another of screaming - but the gentle tug made her look instead.

The prince had a recent and odd fascination with climbing everything he could get his bony arms to wrap around - including poles, posters of his bed and occasionally legs of his guards. Had the fear not already half numbed her senses Preet wouldn't have been so astonished to find the little monkey half way up one of the two pillars that held the balcony doors, concealed by the swinging curtains and watching the lawns down below.

"Reeti," he says, having only caught her name in the passing he had only a vague recollection of it now. "Shh!"

He tugs at her sleeve again, urging Preet into the shadows beside him.

"Bad men - down there, keep close."

Preet feels overcome for a moment, at the thought that this child, who is in obvious danger than she would ever be through this night, meant to protect her - with no benefits in mind.

It makes her earlier thoughts seem rather small, and Preet shifts against the discomfort that creeps into her conscience. Her urge to protect the child no more fueled by a desire for to be known. Instead she wraps an arm around the boy's slender frame - urging him down from his high vantage point.

"Come here, Veer Baba," she whispered urgently. Just in time it seemed as shadows outside moved in a violent rising along with voices that rang in the night.

"There - upstairs! I see the little brat!"

The woman and the child she cuddleds sink in to the shadows. The silence that engulfs them is punctured with footsteps, crashes and bangs. Preet doesn't ask the prince where his guards are, even corned and pressed to the edge of a blade, she wishes to shelter Karam's scheming a little longer; he had been her first true friend.

Veer struggles out of her hold, pressed forward either by curiosity of a four year old or ill luck, he is out of Preet's grasp at the same time the doors are thrown open.

Two men stumble in;  edges of the cloth of their head gears drawn to cover the lower half of their faces. Still in the streaks of thunder, Preet recognises one on left as the often inebriated new stablehand.

The other and the two more behind them could have been any angry villager with just enough liquid courage. On their hands, streaked on their clothes, glistening on the weapons they brandish is still fresh, blood.

If this was the staged opportunity Kareem spoke of, his supporters had stepped way over the mark.
Preet springs up on shaking feet, ready to snatch the foolish child back. Veer pauses on his own accord, small head tilted to afford a good look at the men.

"This is a private wing," he tells them. "Whoever let you in?" The four men pauses at the tone a four year old - unarmed and undefended uses on them. Veer is looking at the stable hand, then his gaze shifts.

"You two are guards, aren't you? What are you waiting for without arresting them?" He directs this at the two men in the back. Two men of whom Preet knew nothing.

It seemed the same had occurred to one of those men, who approaches the boy now, cover of his face falling away carelessly to reveal a sneer. Noticing the gleam of silver that he pulls at rather secretively, Preet too fumbles for her concealed dagger.

The man crouches down before the prince.

"Know me?" He asks.

Veer nods simply. "I know everybody. "

"All the more reason for you to go then-"

Preet doesn't waste time to think, to plan that particular maneuver. She pulls the child away and behind her at the same time her dagger armed hand sinks into the crouched man, producing a howl that spurs his companions into action.

Preet had not a bone of hero within her, or sense apparently for otherwise she would have considered the odds against her that were much greater. But she makes up for the lack with a daring she wouldn't have trusted herself to possess.

When the first man falls she pulls out the dagger and turns, already prepared to thrust it at the next man to attack them.

But the stable hand seemed to have anticipated the move. He grips her raised elbow and twists her around, her wrist in his clutch rendering the dagger useless.

"Run Veer Baba!"

The boy watches her with terrified eyes for a moment, before brandishing whatever in his hands at one of the approaching men. It is only when the man crouches clutching his head with both hands that Preet notices what it was; a bat, probably custom made to suit the child prince.

Preet stomps on the foot of the man holding her and turning with the chance bites the grip on her wrist. The man howls letting her go for a moment, yet the dagger rattles on the floor. Preet clutches at the child instead, sinking back into the shadows.

"You shouldn't have done that," the man has nerve to advice her.

Thunder flashes off the edge of his blade as he raises it. Preet knows then that the men never intended to act it out - whatever Karam believed. It is not something she could live with - no - not the death of a child.

"Run -!" Pushing Veer towards the door with all her might, Preet hurls herself at the man and the sword with a guttural cry.

That unexpected weight of her, combined with speed takes them both to the ground.

Preet only briefly glances at the door to make certain the boy had managed his escape as the man's hand finds her throat, rolling them over as his grip on her windpipe tightens.

Preet claws at his face, at the clothe that covers it - and notices that the prince hadn't moved either.

Instead another man stands in the fringe between shadow and dimlights of the hallway.

Not one, but several. She could see their silhouettes beyond the first man's shoulders and her vision is starting to blur.

Before she could croak out a warning, the child is already running towards the men. Poor thing, she thinks, trusting and convinced of the righteousness of these people.

"No -" She gasps. "Veer Baba no!"

But the man is on his knees, scooping up the child, and the hands on her throat are easing up. Preet gasps for breath and blinks away the tears that burn her eyes as the assailant is hauled off of her. She turns over and coughs, wheezing as she tried to get her bearing.

There were too many men in the room now, doing nothing but securing the parameters - or dragging away an already injured attacker.

It is Shravan Singh, Menka's husband who approaches her with a hand stretched out in help.

"Are you alright - behenji?"

But Preet brushes him off, her eyes trained on the prince. The prince who now turned from his father's embrace to meet her eyes.

"Reeti -" he says, a bony arm slang around his father's neck. "Saved me."

Preet meets the Rana sahab's eyes for the first time and immediately wishes never to be the subject of that scrutiny again.

He was only, slightly older than Karam, but those eyes - those eyes had in them a bloodied sharpness of hundred betrayals. The corners of his mouth tighten.

"I see," Mahendra says heavily. His eyes softens when he turns to Veer.

He ruffles the boy's hair and in a rather unprecedented display of affection drops a kiss on the top of his head. It seemed rather normal between this pair of father and son that Veer simply burrows deeper into his father's chest. Mahendra looks at her over Veer's head.

"Shrighar owes you a great debt."

His words are cordial, his tone even - it is his eyes that carry the chill of knowing in them. If the Rana had a certain fate planned for Preet he doesn't speak of it, not unless he has seen to his absolute satisfaction that his son was in safe hands- already dozing off, after the initial action of the night.

"How much of it were you aware of?" Is his first question to her.

Preet blinks, not daring to make light of those words. Not for a minute does the king's gaze waver. His hand remains raking through the sleeping boy's hair, a gesture of affection that is rather absentminded.

"I don't know what you mean - Rana sahab." She keeps her gaze with the boy too. Sweet Veer baba - so very unlike his father.

Mahendra shifts, suddenly weary of this entire charade. He has been making plans to send Veer away to England - where Usman and his bagham might be able to give him the sort of childhood that he deserved.

But then his greed to keep his kin close, keep this only person who truly loved him within an arms reach - had almost cost Veer his life.
Mahendra was angry with himself for allowing things to escalate to such an estate.

"Let me rephrase myself," he is nothing if not calm, if not capable of phrasing his words cuttingly. "What were your orders?"

"Nothing!" Preet says quickly and then bites her lip as the king laughs.
"Oh? Then they didn't even tell you yet," he rises, hands clasped behind his back. "That's the best kind of weapons- ones that doesn't know they are weapons."

"Rana sahab - I really had no intention of -" Preet doesn't even bother about completing her sentence, instead she falls on her knees. "I wouldn't dare - I wouldn't!"
"Please -!" Mahendra waves off her pleading. "Rise. You saved my son. I will not forget that..."

He helps her to get up and withdraws, observing once more with those keen eyes.

"But I'd be able fool if I don't see I'm not intended to forget either. You see - Preet - you've been planted in the front line of this chess game. A recipient of my trust - of my protection. Well positioned to betray me."

Preet draws a loud inhale.
"Rana Sahab - I'd kill myself before I have to -"

"No," he cuts her off. "Your death has no meaning Preet. You are but a pawn. Easily replaced. If you fail they will bring another. Then another. Then another more. They can fail thousand times but I only have to fail once to lose everything. No. I'd rather not lose the pawn that I have in my palm now."

The way he phrases it, makes Preet shudder, but she knows better than to disturb her king when he is speaking.

"You know the importance of a pawn Preet? It may not decide where it is going- but it may decide which side it bongs to. You too - may decide now. Pawn you are. But whose pawn will you be?"

"Anything you say Rana sahab."

"They will ask you to kill me."

"I wouldn't do it."

"Haan - but I want you to do it Preet," answering her startled gaze he continues. "You will do as they say, but the peace and the timing - I will choose that for you."

"But - but -"

"Following commands doesn't make you a sinner," he tells her with the slightest of smiles. "It is your duty. Your duty is to do as they say and survive - survive as a witness, the weapon I've cultivated - to one day bring them all down. If you are a pawn Preet - your goal should be to survive, no matter who falls around you - what goes down - your goal should be to survive and reach the end of the board- become that all powerful weapon through nothing more than your endurance alone. And once you become that all powerful weapon - your goal is one, only one - and that you must do it with your life in line."

**

"What was it?" Veer doesn't turn to look at them, his eyes remain staring out of the window, his fingers clasped around one of the bars in a white knuckled grip. The stress that holds his shoulders rigid tells Amrit that he knows the answer to his question long before Preet speaks of it.

"You - Kuwar sahab. Keeping you safe. Keeping you untouched from the plots that could have ended up taking your life ...that was my goal."
Veer turns finally, there is a bitter sort of understanding in his eyes.

"You had a hand in Papa sahab saving me at the cost of losing Prem - that day on the cliff."

The woman fidgets with the ends of her dupatta, hanging her head low.
"I've given a good part of my life into making him a better man - in exchange of that."

Veer says no more. Questions that he may have, doubts weighing on his mind he leaves with a heavy sigh.

"Prem," he says instead. "Now is a good time for you to make a stand."
He doesn't wait to see the reaction to his words. Or the meeting between the separated mother and son.The way he leaves; shoulders hunched beneath the weight of the world; makes Amrit's throat burn with unshed tears. In the corridor outside, Veer is almost swallowed behind his guards, closing ranks quickly to retreat after him.

They pause when they see her, looking rather torn between their duty to follow the master and their goodwill. Amrit moves them with a wave of her half raised hand, eyes trained on the hunched back of her husband she follows after - tearing through the ranks.

Veer walks until he had put a good distance between the meeting room and himself. Back of the Awaz building with its barred windows open to the disollate street awaits them in companionable silence. Veer moves to stand by a window, leaning forward until his forehead is pressed against the bars.

From where she stands Amrit cannot see his face. Sunset streaming through the gaps between the bars cast him in the darkest of bronze. He sighs after a moment, running a hand through his hair.

"Bolo," he tells her, without as much as a glance or a tilt of his head. "Iss sannate ka kuch karo Biwi Sahab."
Amrit goes to him on silent feet, to lean against the same window, to share the same view of day coming to an end in the streets below. Then she turns her back to the sunset that burns her eyes, with her back to the window, Amrit raises a hand to Veer's hair. He welcomes the touch, moving just so to borrow more into her palm, into her arms.

She reaches for his hand and he allows her to take it. Entwining their fingers Amrit brings Veer's hand to rest against her abdomen, caressing just where their hope grew. Veer's inhale is hushed against the crook of her neck, his arm sneaking around her waist to hold her closer yet.

Amrit closes her eyes to the cooling off bronze light allowing his sigh to wash over her. Small flutterings of the child had grown over the weeks, she could feel from time to time small insignificant movements that managed to fill her with a sense of overwhelming longing. Now that she held his hand against her skin - she hoped.

"Is that -" Veer starts, a tremble of awareness running along his frame. An unconscious smile tugs at Amrit's lips and she nods.

"That's Indra - finally awake," her voice is tinted with a self indulgent laughter. "You know, Menka Ma says babies who are more active during night hours before birth carry on that habit into their first few months."

"What is he doing?" Awe softens Veer's tone.

"Contemplating - you should know Kuwar Sahab, your son keeps making plans. Going by the amount of time he keeps tossing and turning I'm sure they are pretty serious stuff."

He laughs at that, the rich, deep sound of his laughter fills her with contentment. When their eyes meet again his gaze had lightened to sun warmed brown.

"I can't wait to spend long - long hours discussing his plans." His fingers trailed along her face, her jaw and throat. The words he leaves unsaid brims in his eyes. Amrit swallows.

"Na -" she says before he begins. "Shukriya ada karna mana hai."

He borrows into her arms instead.

"After everything, Prem still has a mother to go to," he begins, his voice barely a press of warmth against her skin.

"A good mother - a pure hearted mother. A mother who loves him, who brought him up. Who still cares and I -" he dabs his eyes on her shoulder, turning his face sideways.

"I didn't have much to begin with."

Amrit cups his face and strokes, overcome with grief for the child he had been, the child he yearned to become.

"Humare bas mein hota toh app ko jahaan de deti."

"Tum ho. Jahaan ke zaroorat nahi,"
They stare at each other for a moment, knowing and allowing the question to remain a while longer. Finally it is Amrit who voices it.

"Ab kya honga?"

"Prem may not betray Preet ji, but Ma sahab wouldn't pin all her efforts on one single man - even if it is the most beloved son."

"She has other sources of information." Veer tilts his head at that. "If we know, she knows."

"But you don't mind?"

He shakes his head.

"If only she knows would she take an action. If only when she acts would she give value to what Preet has to say."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. When Panchayat meets to discuss the validity of Baba sahab's will - and the fate of Shrighar."

**

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