Sikander, Don't Die

chapter sixteen: meet in next life

Ever wondered if the flickering flame of candles and bright lamps would threaten to blind? Did it ever cross the mind that the joyous shrieks and clapping would deafen the ears? That the colours of the silky curtains, of the marvellous chandelier, the dancers akin to majestic blue peacocks– they would all appear so very engrossed in vanity and a show of flamboyance?

To Hridayank, the palace seemed like a prison. A golden cage. Or perhaps this was a play. He was an actor, with powder dabbed on his face, kohl lining his eyes and rose water sprinkled on his attire. He was there to smile and greet, stretch his lips and strain them to be happy. Welcome guests, take gifts, give compliments. Half-hearted. Half-dead.

Half. He was just a half.

There was no match made for him. The one that he thought would fit his emptiness completely now had found peace in another hollow. His abyss was rejected.

Hridayank would stare at his reflection in the eyes of the men who wished to make acquaintance with the eminent hazarahpatish. In those orbs he saw a brilliant man, someone sculpted in the flesh of god– such was his beauty. His skin was molten gold shining under the sun, and his eyes the door to jannat. It was obvious that everyone would flock to him like moths to fire. His power, his magnetism and charm hypnotised all, pulling power like earth calling upon a rain shower.

Yet, all these failed when he looked at the Shah. No, he wouldn't call him by his name. They had left that in the memory lane.

The Shah was giving gifts to his wife. He looked happier than any other day, surrounded by well-wishers. Somehow, his wife looked tired. Maybe it was the pregnancy that was taking a toll on her. Hridayank really didn't want to go and ask if she was fine. He was sure she would be soon if not now.

She had people to look after her.

There, a minister came and inquired him about taxes. About the new schools being open at the wish of the Shahamsaram, then the canals and the library under renovation. Hridayank entertained the man a lot, engaging in intelligent conversation. His eyes drifted to steal a glimpse of the Shah then and now, hoping that his upset lover would give him some mercy.

It happened. Hridayank smiled and nodded his head. In earlier times, Sikander would beam from ear to ear and quickly come at his side.

Alas, Sikander only blinked and gave a parched confirmation of acknowledgement before turning to his guests.

Hridayank listened to what the minister had to say. He was trying to give advice on the brimming rebellions.

"The Shah is young. It's good that his wife is pregnant. We will get an heir."

Hridayank gulped. "Yes. But long live the Shah."

"Definitely. But we must be cautious. You are his close friend. You should tell him to sire more children after this. We must ensure that at no cost the empire falls at wrong hands."

"I-I will. I must." I must.

"We need sons. Sons of Persia. Strong boys who will take upon his father."

It must be lovely to be a parent. "Excuse me, I would have to see if the food is ready to be served. The feast need to be started."

Everything around was so happy– laughter echoing in the hall, chalices overflowing with wine, anklets chiming to the melody of the flute. Hridayank felt like a stranger amidst all this. It was so sickening, suffocating. Something clawed at his windpipe, scratching his throat and making his tongue as heavy as iron. His shoulder dropped low, his head hanging as if it were at the brink of execution.