The next day, I was woken up by the khidmatgars (servants), who led me to a washroom. Thankfully, as the son of Zafar's favourite wife, I had one of the best facilities in the Red Fort, complete with a toilet and water closet. After that, they took me to my bathing room. It felt odd to have someone helping me bathe, but maybe due to the muscle memory of this body, it wasn't too much of a problem.
I then asked the khidmatgars to take me to the Mumtaz Mahal garden, named after my mother when my father started ruling here.
When I reached the garden, it was a blissful sight. Not much time had passed since the end of Fajr (sunrise), so there were many birds. Unlike modern times, where most birds are missing, it was both beautiful and mesmerizing.
I sat on the grass, thinking about my plans.
First and foremost, I needed to maintain my physique—it was my most important asset, so I had to exercise.
Next, I started pondering why we failed in the independence war of 1857, despite being so close to gaining independence in most parts of Northern India. The only conclusion I could come up with was that we were too divided and lacked a strong leader during the revolution. My father was too old; despite being the leader of the revolution, he had little power. The Mughals were more of a symbolic force, primarily controlled by the British.
Rani Laxmibai, while a fierce fighter and leader, only started fighting against the British when they didn't allow her adopted son to rule. Other leaders also fought for their own benefits. There was no collective sense of nationhood; ordinary people lacked the pride they should have felt because they were merely servants to the British.
A prime example was Man Singh, who changed sides multiple times based on where his interests lay. But you can't blame these people, as this was the British strategy from the start: to divide us so thoroughly that we couldn't trust one another. They knew they couldn't stand a chance against a united India. The British had a strong navy, but their army was one of the weakest in Europe.
After a lot of contemplation, I devised a plan. First, we needed to foster a sense of collectiveness among the ordinary people of India. Then, we should make diplomatic moves against the British, as Russia, Germany, France, and Spain were always at war with each other. We could easily persuade them to help us with various supplies.
Next, we needed some sort of intelligence organization. It's crucial to have intelligence; with it, we could easily sabotage British communications and telegraphs, delaying their contact with mainland Britain and thereby stalling or stopping their reinforcements.
To bring these plans to fruition, I needed to make a name for myself and identify trustworthy allies, properly formalizing and designing my strategies.
Before proceeding further, I had to understand everything about this land and how things worked here. I needed as much information as I could get.
Just then, a khidmatgar came running to me and informed me that my mother was searching for me. I asked him to lead the way.
After walking for about ten minutes, I saw my mother sitting under a tree with my elder brother, who was already in his twenties.
When I reached her, my mother asked where I had been.
"I was in your garden," I replied.
She said I should have called her; we could have enjoyed some time together.
"I'll do it next time," I promised.
My brother then told me that our father had asked him to inform me that my education would start tomorrow, and I would begin by learning languages—mainly Urdu, Arabic, Hindi, and English.
I was a bit startled, but I was ready for the challenge. It would be best if they thought of me as a genius, which would help my reputation if I wanted to become a leader during the revolution. But it also made me a prime candidate for elimination by the British.
My mother asked me to change into a kurta-pajama and come to the dining hall since it was already time for breakfast.
I got up and asked my personal khidmatgar to bring the clothes to my room as I started walking toward it.
As I walked, I thought about meeting one of India's most famous fighters. He hadn't been able to do much for independence, but he was always the face of the revolution. He had sacrificed so much, especially in his old age, from being presented with the heads of his children as gifts from the British, to having his family's dead bodies placed around Delhi to quash further revolts, to being exiled to Rangoon.
Lost in thought, I reached my room. My khidmatgar was already waiting outside with my clothes. He asked if I needed help changing, but I refused. I took the clothes and entered the changing room, where there was a large silver mirror. I looked at my reflection: nothing special (no sword-like eyebrows, emerald pupils, or skin as white as milk). I had light brown skin, normal brown eyes, and black hair—just an average Indian.
I quickly changed my clothes and asked the servant to lead the way.