The Burning Lotus

1. The Price of Treachery

Ranthambhor, present day Rajastan, circa 1303 A.D.

The Sultan of Delhi was exhausted. Alauddin Khilji had spent what had seemed an agonizingly long time to break Ranthambore. He had been repulsed once and had suffered heavy losses before his men had breached the walls. Yet those Rajputs hadn’t stopped until every last one of them had been cut down by his men. Damn these Rajputs and their stubbornness! They never knew when to give up.

He would have liked nothing better than to find a nice bed and a nicer woman to warm it. Only, there were still matters to see to and besides, there were no women in the fort, unless he wanted to bed some ashes. That didn’t sound like it would be very interesting. Whatever possessed those foolish women to burn themselves? He had been looking forward to enjoying their company, especially since it had been rumoured that Ranthambore’s natural beauty had only been rivalled by that of its women.

The loot his men were still pulling out of the treasury was little compensation. Although the amassed gold, silver and jewels had made the Imperial Treasurer’s eyes pop out of his head, Khilji was still sore at losing so many men.

He had spent nearly all day on horseback and his body was sore from all the fighting. At least tonight would be more comfortable than sleeping in a tent pitched in the middle of a military camp. His clothes were soaked through with sweat and his armour only served to add to his discomfort. He desperately wanted to hurt somebody, although he had just left a bloody trail behind him on the battle field.

That stupid woman Chimna Begum and that fool Muhammad Shah. What a pair. They had actually conspired to kill him. They should have known better. His spies were everywhere. Even his spies were spied upon. It had been necessary to kill that idiotic girl. Not that he regretted it; there were better females in his harem. Nevertheless, she had begged so sweetly, offering him things that were his by right.

The fool, Muhammad Shah, was a different matter. He had the audacity to flee. Khilji had been sure that none would offer him sanctuary. It would have only been a matter of time before Khilji soldiers caught up with him.  Hamir Dev had surprised him. He had a certain amount of grudging respect for his late enemy. The man had been a fearsome warrior and an even better leader. He could not remember the last time he had personally faced such an enemy.

Khilji had offered to end the siege and return to Delhi if Hamir Dev chose to give Muhammad Shah over to him. The man had refused. He could still remember the messenger. The young man had stood trembling before him and could barely stammer out the message. It had been one of Khilji’s own soldiers.

“The Maharana Hamir Dev  thanks the Sultan for the kind offer but regrets to inform Your Majesty that the Maharana is Rajput and unlike the slaves that rule Delhi, when a Rajput promises to protect somebody, even if he is charged with treachery, he will do so with his life.”

That had done it. The army was growing tired of the siege and there were urgent matters to see to in Delhi. The reply had been polite but Khilji rankled at being called a slave. The slaves no longer ruled Delhi, but he certainly did.

Besides, his sources in the Ranthambore army had informed him that Muhammad Shah had counselled the Rajput to give him up rather than fight such a hopeless war. Better to sacrifice one than many, he had said. Then again, the traitor had some amount of common sense. Too bad he hadn’t used it while plotting against his Sultan.

The old bear had refused and stood his ground. Khilji cursed the Rajputs and their code of honour. If it had been him, he would have given up the criminal without a second thought. After all, his skin was worth more than the hide of a traitor.

“Sire.” The voice of his general cut through his thoughts.

“What is it?” he snapped. He disliked being disturbed, especially when he was so tired.