Her, Of the Moon

~

The moon tries every month in vain

To paint a picture of your face;

And, having failed to catch its grace,

Destroys the work, and starts again.*

~ 

Nisha Bibi jutted her head out the window, scanning the surrounding foliage for any sign of the bulbul bird, its bright red under-plumage seemingly impossible to miss. The jungle had become devoid of the songbird's melodies a while back, and it was only until fat droplets of water tickled the girl's nose that she realized why.

Beginning to enjoy the cool water, an oasis in the midst of a combination of extreme humidity and heat, Nisha shut her eyes until a firm hand yanked her back. " What are you doing??" Nusrat, her mashi, looked worried as she wiped Nisha's face with a cloth. " I've told you many times- If you get wet in a monsoon, you're bound to get sick.."

Fretting, Nusrat rubbed Nisha's face affectionately, and the older woman seemed pleased when Nisha smiled back childishly. Placing Nisha on a stool, the mashi began to comb through her hair. In the mirror, a bright eyed twelve year old girl with golden brown skin and thick, rich hair grinned back at her.

"By the way," Nusrat began, " Your mother would like you to show the Nawab your new recitation today," Beginning to sulk, Nisha slouched and concentrated on her clothes, counting the stitching while Nusrat began to rattle off the rules and manners required when meeting the prime minister, clearly rehearsed many times before. Though Nusrat referred to 'Qamari Ma' as Nisha's mother, she was actually her aunt.

Born to a military official father from the Mughal Emperor's court and a famous courtesan mother from Rajasthan, Nisha's mother had decided to give her to her childless sister; Qamari was the favorite consort of the Nawab Rukn-Al Dawla, and though that meant that he heavily doted on Nisha, it also meant that she had to live up to his expectations. Joining the Nawab in his sparkling court, Nisha sat next to Qamari, while the latter discussed literature with the many bejeweled officials that were ensconced in the Diwan-e-Khas.

Though Nisha tried to pay attention, she had to fight her restlessness, sitting patiently, breathing in and waiting for the session to end. Looking around the room, her eyes settled on a boy who seemed to be around her age. His attentiveness evoked curiosity in Nisha, and she began to examine him further.

The boy wore a pastel pink mulmul kurta that complimented his warm skin tone, and his dark curly hair emerged from a small silk turban that seemed to be a bit too loose. But what Nisha would always remember were his eyes- big and bright, they seemed to encompass the whole universe in them. To her mortification, he caught her gaze, but he flashed a dimpled smile that made her giggle. Pretending to ignore him, she stared at her mother and listened to the proceedings. The rest of the session seemed to pass as swift as the tiktiki that darted across the castle walls. 

-

"Good!" The Nawab laughed heartily and applauded Nisha's performance. "Praise to you, my radiant Qamari. You have raised a daughter who shows great promise in the arts. Very well then, Nisha, you may continue with your archery and horse riding training. One day, you will become a fine young woman. For now, you are dismissed,"

-

Nisha lay amongst the grass, watching her target. A beautiful wild boar stood in a vibrant clearing, snorting as it gobbled up the leaves on surrounding plants. Drawing her bow, Nisha focused on the patch of fur behind the boar's front legs. Looking in the boars eyes, she felt a pang of guilt and noticed its swollen stomach. Was the boar pregnant? Losing her resolve, she loosened her hold on the bow in her hand. An arrow whistled past her ear and she watched as it struck the boar in its chest, causing an immediate collapse of its heart and lungs."Disappointing, Nisha Janan,"

She stiffened, warily turning around to see who had been standing behind her. A thin man, ornately dressed, deftly strung another arrow on his bow," You know, that boar has been terrorizing the local village for quite a while. Because of your decision, another few people could've been injured, or worse killed,"

Nisha rustled, interjecting, " I was going to kill it, but you did first.. I didn't even get the chance to!"

The man sighed and drew his bow, " In this world, Nisha, there are many different types of people. They will swallow you up and destroy you before you even get the chance to set your arrow. You are young right now, but eventually you will have to survive how you can, by currying favor, or completing your own accomplishments. But the thing you need to remember the most is how corrupt most people are. If you don't strike them first, they will," He turned towards her, and released his arrow. Shocked, Nisha froze, and watched the arrow barely miss her cheek. She brought her hand up to her face, and was surprised to feel that there was not even a graze left behind by the arrow's trail. 

Though the man's methods may have seemed harsh, Ghulam was one of the only people in the Nawab's palace who truly cared about Nisha and her aunt. He was Nisha's archery and horseriding tutor, and had been watching over her since she was very young. Though Ghulam may have come from humble beginnings, he learned how to thrive in the competitive and unrelenting environment the court provided him. For as long as Nisha could remember, he was always there for her. After aiding some servants in carrying the boar away, Ghulam beckoned Nisha to walk with him back on the path towards the palace gardens. 

The pond in the garden was full of lotus flowers, which bloomed a vibrant pink, reminding Nisha of the boy at court.

This revelation prompted a conspicuous smile, which Ghulam noticed instantly, "Now whatever are you musing about to bring such a look on your face?"

Nisha blushed, "I was wondering,"

"Yes?" He replied.

"There was this boy at the court today, around my age. He seemed to be of high status and wore bright pink clothing. Who was that boy?" Nisha questioned.

Ghulam turned away, and hid the frown that appeared on his face, " That boy is the son of the Raja of Ujjain, who has come to discuss the conflict in the Western region with the Nawab. He is the son of a king, and you-"

Ghulam paused, " You still have much to learn," 

- 

That night, a heatwave plagued the chambers of the Zenana, and Nisha drifted off to sleep, dreaming of fiery arrows and war elephants storming the palace. 

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