** Outskirts of capital city of Delhi, Feb 4, 1557 **
Within the dimly lit hut, Damodar, a seasoned peasant of fifty-seven winters, sat with worry etched upon his weathered features. His brow furrowed deeply as he confided in his wife, Bhagyashree, "Bhagyashree, I don't know what to do. This year's harvest has been meager, and we barely have enough to feed ourselves, let alone pay the taxes to the zamindars."
Bhagyashree's eyes mirrored his concern. "I know, Damodar. It's been a difficult year for us. But we must find a way to make ends meet for our family."
Outside, the sound of footsteps heralded the return of their sons. Damodar's gaze shifted toward the door. "Here they come. Let's see if they've had any luck finding work."
The weathered door groaned open, and their youngest sons, Vinod and Punit, shuffled in, their faces heavy with the weight of their futile search for employment.
Vinod, nineteen years old, spoke first, his voice tinged with despair. "Father, Mother, we've scoured the village, but there are no opportunities. The fields lie fallow, and no one is hiring."
Punit, twenty-one, added, "I fear we may go hungry tonight, Father. There's nothing left for us to eat, and our options have run dry."
Damodar's heart sank at their dejected faces, the responsibility for his family's welfare pressing down upon him. "I understand, my sons," he murmured. "We're all in this together. Somehow, we'll weather this storm."
Bhagyashree placed a gentle hand on Damodar's shoulder, her eyes brimming with unwavering resolve. "Let us not lose hope," she implored. "Perhaps our eldest sons will return soon with news of relief."
Suddenly, a joyous voice pierced the gloom. "Father! Mother!" it called out, announcing the arrival of their eldest sons.
Gopal, the eldest son, burst into the dimly lit hut with an air of excitement, his eyes alight with anticipation as he shared the incredible news he had uncovered at the market earlier that day.
"Father, Mother," he exclaimed, "you won't believe what I've heard. In the aftermath of Samrat Hemu's victory, there's talk of a ground-breaking reforms. The zamindars have been ordered to waive the taxes on our land for this season.
And that's not all ; there's an opportunity for us to lay claim to some wasteland as our own. Plus, if we decide to continue leasing land from the zamindars, they won't be able to levy more than 60 percent of the tax from the next season."
Ramesh, the second son at twenty-five years old, jumped in with joy, his voice full of excitement as he talked about what he found out.
"Father, Mother," he chimed in, "I ventured into the markets of city today, and let me tell you, the streets were buzzing with news of reforms that promise to revolutionize our lives.
There's a massive recruitment drive underway, guaranteeing employment opportunities aplenty with assurance of no discrimination. They're hiring mercenary soldiers, factory laborers, and workshop workers and so much more."
Suresh, the third son at twenty-three, eagerly added his own piece to the conversation, his voice filled with enthusiasm.
"And that's not even the half of it, Father," he interjected. "They're also seeking recruits for local militia training, with the chance to ascend to officer rank within the local police service.
Candidates selected based on stringent criteria will receive comprehensive training at the police academy, fully sponsored by the government. And even if not selected for officer training, there's still the opportunity to apply for constable positions within the ranks of the local police force."
Youngest son Vinod's eyes widened in surprise, a sense of hope blossomed within him at the prospect of steady employment for his family.
Vinod exclaimed, "This is welcome news indeed! With the tax waiver and the opportunity to claim wasteland, we may finally have a chance to turn our fortunes around. And if there's work available with the prince's merchant group they call something like hind company, we must seize this opportunity."
Bhagyashree nodded eagerly, her eyes sparkling with a newfound sense of optimism for their family's prospects.
She responded, "Yes, we must explore both options. With hard work, we'll overcome these hard times and build a better life for our family."
Damodar listened intently to his family's words, his heart torn between happiness and disbelief. He turned to his second son, Suresh with a mix of excitement and scepticism.
Damodar inquired, "Can you all explain each of these opportunities in more detail? It all sounds too good to be true when heard in passing."
Then, Damodar confirmed with disbelief, "So you're saying we won't need to pay taxes for this season?"
Suresh nodded in affirmation, replying, "Yes, Father."
Overwhelmed with gratitude, Damodar uttered a heartfelt expression, "Thank you, oh Lord Rama! You have saved us."
He then turned back to Gopal, seeking further clarification. "And you're saying we have the opportunity to acquire more land from wastelands or forests for free if we claim it as our own?"
Gopal confirmed, "Yes, Father. We just need to clear the fields, till the land, or build some property on it. Then we can claim it by fencing it off and reporting it to the Niwas Kalyan office in the city. They will provide us with deeds certifying the land as ours. The only condition is that the land should remain undivided and in a single plot enclosed by a fence from all four sides. We can acquire a maximum of 10 acres in this manner."
Damodar, still in shock, echoed, "Really?" Gopal simply nodded in response.
Damodar furrowed his brow, a hint of puzzlement in his voice as he addressed his son.
Damodar expressed his concern, "But, Gopal, how do we handle the wastelands? They're 5-7 kilometers away from here."
With unwavering determination, Gopal responded confidently, "Father, the land we claim can become a permanent residence for our family. We're entitled to up to 10 acres, and we can even rebuild our house there."
Bhagyashree, her face creased with worry, interjected with a concerned tone, "But what about this house? Though it's small, it's our home. It would be a shame to leave it behind."
Gopal reassured his mother with a comforting smile, "Don't worry, Mother. We can manage. The officers at the Niwas Kalyan (Residence welfare) office are also registering houses alongside the lands. We can register the location of our house there, obtain the property deed, and then sell it once we've relocated. Rumour has it that the Niwas Kalyan office will expand to the level of big villages by next year, so it will become a common practice."
As Damodar and Bhagyashree exchanged glances, a mix of apprehension and hope flickered in their eyes, contemplating the choices that lay ahead.
Damodar's worry etched deeper lines on his weathered face as he voiced another pressing concern.
Damodar asked, "But what about the crops? We don't have any money."
Ramesh, his eyes shining with optimism, stepped forward to offer a solution.
Ramesh replied, "Fear not, Father. There's news of the Imperial Bank newly established in the capital. If we register the cleared land and claim the wasteland for more than 5 acres, they'll provide us with 2 gold mudras, equivalent to 200 rupees.
And here's the most important part. We'll only need to pay an annual interest of 10 percent of the principal, with the reclaimed land as collateral."
A wave of relief washed over Damodar as he processed this information, his eyes widening in surprise.
Damodar replied, "Annual interest? Not monthly? So we won't need to sell the house to relocate? We can keep our house and even register it as empty? Are you serious?"
Suresh the favourite son of Damodar, nodded vigorously, affirmed his father's realization with unwavering confidence.
Bhagyashree's brow furrowed with concern as she voiced her apprehension.
"But what if we can't sell the produce? How will we manage to pay then?" she asked, her worry palpable in her tone.
Gopal, ever the pragmatic one, reassured his mother with a calm demeanor.
"Don't worry, Mother," he replied soothingly. "There will be a Kisan Sahayak (farmer relief) office in each village to assist with that. They'll buy our crops at a minimum price set by the government, ensuring that we have a safety net. Additionally, they'll issue tax relief passes if our crops fail due to any natural causes."
Bhagyashree's worries began to ease as she listened to Gopal's explanation, grateful for the support system that was being put in place to assist farmers like themselves.
Gopal replied, "Precisely, Father. It's all part of a new reform, rumoured to be initiated by the rumoured son of Samrat, Prince Aditya. He's the one behind these transformative changes."
With a sense of gratitude and reverence, Damodar and his family praised Prince Aditya as a godsend, a beacon of hope in their time of turmoil.
In the midst of the conversation, Vinod and Puneet spoke up with determination evident in their voices.
Puneet declared, "Father, I want to join the military. I can see potential for improvement in our lives. There are reports that they don't discriminate based on caste, and it's an honorable job."
Vinod, the youngest one, offered his perspective. "As for me, Father," he said, "I want to join the textile industry. I'm more interested in the cloth business, and perhaps I can learn from the experts there."
Suresh nodded in agreement, his eyes reflecting a similar resolve. "I agree with Vinod, Father," he chimed in. "I also want to work as a labourer in the Prince's blacksmith factory and learn blacksmithing. It offers a stable income with honour."
Bhagyashree interjected with concern, "But if you all go to other jobs, who will till the land and acquire it? The land we are granted will go to waste."
Gopal proposed a solution, suggesting that they all first claim the lands within two days. Once done, the rest could apply for recruitment later. Everyone nodded in understanding.
Ramesh gave his opinion, stating that he would help in claiming the land but would take over the current land on lease, as the zamindars couldn't take more than 60 percent. His proposal gained approval from everyone.
Damodar listened to his sons' aspirations with a sense of pride, knowing that each of them had their own dreams and ambitions. He nodded approvingly, his heart filled with hope for their future.
** Lahore fort, Pakistan Empire **
As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, in one of the luxurious quarter of lahore's fort, Bairam Khan lay naked on his bed facing his stomach with exposed back, feeling tired and wanting a break from the busy day.
Silk curtains rustled softly in the breeze, and the scent of exotic perfumes filled the air, enhancing the luxurious atmosphere.
A beautiful maid, adorned in delicate silks that clung to her ample curves, moved gracefully around the room, attending to his needs with practiced efficiency. With skilled hands, she applied fragrant oils to his tired muscles, her touch soothing away the tensions of the day as she loosened her robe, revealing more of her body for the upcoming massage..
Bairam Khan closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the blissful sensation, as the maid's gentle soft touch of her bare body, melted away the knots of stress that had accumulated within him. The warmth of her naked soft body pressed against his own sturdy back sent shivers of pleasure coursing through his veins, and he sighed contentedly, allowing himself to drift into a state of tranquil serenity.
Suddenly, the quiet room was disturbed by the sound of fast footsteps coming closer. Bairam Khan's eyes snapped open, alert and attentive, as a guard burst into the room, a small parchment clutched tightly in his hand.
"My lord," the guard announced breathlessly, "a pigeon post has arrived for you."
Bairam Khan waved a dismissive hand, gesturing for the maid to pause for a while. She bowed gracefully and moved to the corner, leaving Bairam Khan and the guard alone in the dimly lit room.
With eager anticipation, Bairam Khan unfurled the parchment and began to read while staying in that posture, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The message contained within brought news of great significance, and he could scarcely contain his excitement.
"Allahu Akbar," he murmured reverently, his heart swelling with gratitude. "Praise be to Allah."
Turning to the guard, Bairam Khan issued swift instructions. "Send a pigeon post to Ansari immediately. Tell him that the target is in route to Rewari in month's end. Instruct him to coordinate the timing with our informant in Delhi and eliminate the target without delay. This is our top priority task. All other missions can wait."
The guard nodded in understanding, his expression solemn and determined. "Yes, my lord. It shall be done."
With the door closed behind him, Bairam Khan settled back onto the plush pillows of his bed, a sense of satisfaction washing over him.
As the sweet smell of fragrant oils mixed with distant tunes, Bairam Khan let himself sink back into relaxation. He motioned for the maid to continue as he shifted to lie facing the front. With each stroke of her hand, he melted into a state of blissful euphoria, overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure coursing through him as she expertly handled his body.
But deep down, a storm brewed in Bairam Khan's heart. Despite enjoying the moment, he couldn't shake the burning rage inside. He imagined the guy who'd wronged him, picturing the fear when he would faced his wrath.
Even though he appeared calm, inside he was on fire with determination. Bairam Khan swore to himself that he'd get his revenge, reclaim what was his, and make his enemies pay dearly.
In that peaceful chamber, Bairam Khan's heart simmered with a thirst for vengeance, a fire that wouldn't rest until his justice was served.
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Author's Note: At the times of 16th century, 200 rupees can be considered as equivalent to 2 lakh rupees currency in todays value.