Chương 55: Nubians

“Rest easy, Gods can’t die…”

I utter those words, a faint smile playing on my lips.

A pang of vulnerability sweeps over me, a nagging feeling that I might have divulged too much. Yet, I nurse the hope that my assurances might offer Gini some semblance of comfort. Her earlier conviction, that she won’t die, bolsters my faith in her. I trust her implicitly.

After a prolonged silence, with the only discernible sound being the quiet hum of electronics, I suspect that Gini has drifted into sleep. Quietly, I slip off my headphones and step out of the dim ambiance of my bedroom.

The palace’s atmosphere has palpably transformed since Nala ascended to his father’s role. There’s an accelerated rhythm to things now, a marked contrast to earlier lethargic days. Presently, Nala and Auntie Nishaa are deep in a strategy discussion with the separatists from Marathi and Kannada, plotting their next offensive against their adversaries.

Venturing into the tranquil space of the inner garden, my eyes are drawn to a familiar figure. He sits gracefully by the pond, the blue luminescence from the dome casting his long, raven-black hair and beard in a dreamy glow. Sensing my approach, he turns, bestowing upon me a gentle smile.

“Is the Lalasona Princess gracing me with a visit?”

The cat nestled comfortably on his lap purrs in contentment, echoing his relaxed demeanour.

“My presence here is driven by a burning question,” I reply, giving him a respectful bow.

He feigns a look of mock sorrow, “Oh, so it isn’t a casual chat with your dear father-in-law-to-be? What a pity.”

Maintaining a cautious distance, I muster courage, “I promise a leisurely conversation, but first, I seek answers.”

“Is it that age-old question that has haunted our interactions?”

“It is the very same.”

He leans back, his demeanour changing, a sly smirk gracing his lips. “Given the shifting sands of power in Jamani, why presume my stance remains unaltered?”

“As the chosen partner of Jamani’s new leader, I wield significant influence. Now, Kunal, drop the façade. Who murdered my parents?”

He chuckles, a chilling sound that sends shivers down my spine. “Such audacity. Nala’s reign and your newfound power are but fleeting. Loyalties are fickle, and they’ll soon forsake him as they did me. And when that happens, I will reclaim my rightful throne.”

“ANSWER ME!” My voice trembles with anger. “You claimed friendship with them. Why withhold the truth? Speak to me not just as your son’s betrothed, but as the grieving daughter of those you called friends. Do you know their betrayer?”

His laughter grows more maniacal. “Indeed, I do.”

Blind rage courses through me, and my hand instinctively grips the hilt of my kirpan. “Name them. NOW.”

His eyes glitter mischievously, “You offered conversation in exchange for one answer. I’ve upheld my end. Join me, and let’s discuss the weather.”

“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!” My anger propels me forward, my every intention focused on exacting vengeance. But before I can reach him, the butler Sahej materializes from the surrounding shadows, blocking my path.

“My apologies, miss, but this cannot proceed.”

My grip tightens on the kirpan. “IF YOU DON’T REVEAL THEIR KILLER, I’LL ASSUME IT WAS YOU!”

His laughter continues, a deranged melody. “A shame, really. I was quite fond of them.”

“DAMN YOU!” I lunge, but Sahej’s reflexes prove quicker. He swiftly hoists me over his shoulder, restraining me.

“Miss, I implore you to reconsider,” he murmurs, his voice strained with the effort of holding me as I thrash in defiance. Still, he manages to carry me out of the serenity of the garden, leaving behind the haunting echoes of Kunal’s laughter.

 

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“Alright, thanks for the meeting. Let’s keep in touch for our next move,” I say, the tension in the air palpable as I shut down the computer.

Auntie Nishaa, her poised presence next to me in the dimly lit office, looks contemplative. I exhale deeply, attempting to shake off my nerves. “Marathi and Kannada supporting us is a beacon of hope.”

“It certainly is,” she agrees, her eyes scanning some scattered papers on the desk. “However, our forces still pale in comparison to the vast British army. We need as much reinforcement as we can muster. What’s your stance on their suggestion of seeking aid from the Umayyads?”

I scratch my chin, apprehensive. “It’s an intriguing proposition, but I have reservations.”

“Perhaps it’s a path worth considering,” Auntie Nishaa muses, leaning back in her leather chair. “The Umayyads harbour deep-seated animosity towards the Brits. The south-west once flourished under their rule before being ousted. They also share historical alliances with the Mamluk Sultanate in the distant west.”

“But, what if they demand their territories back in return? Or even worse, lay claim to more?” My voice echoes my concerns.

“That’s a plausible scenario,” she admits with a shrug. “But in our precarious state, it might be a risk worth taking. While the British’s primary stronghold isn’t in Punjabi but further south, they perceive us as a minor nuisance. If they unleash their full might, our survival looks bleak.”

My mind flits to another powerful ally, “What about China, Asia’s dominant force?”

She frowns, her brow creasing with concern. “While China doesn’t harbour animosity towards the Brits, they enjoy a robust trade relationship. Currently, they’re preoccupied with their conflict in the Japanese isles. Seeking their assistance could backfire, potentially outing our plans.”

I lean back, the weight of the situation evident in my posture, casting my eyes upwards as if seeking divine guidance. “Isn’t there another option?”

After a contemplative pause, Auntie Nishaa ventures, “There is one… Nubians.”

Nubia, a titan in the global arena, owes its ascendancy to its strategic location along the Nile. Its booming economy, rooted in antiquity, saw an exponential surge in the late 19th century, thanks to judicious trade and shrewd political alliances. Despite boasting the most formidable military might, Nubia rarely resorted to warfare. Their alliance with Africa’s second-largest power, the United Amazigh Empire, bestowed upon them dominion over the entire Mediterranean and land stretching from the Atlantic to the Indian Ocean. Such an ally would not only level the playing field but tilt it in our favour. Their storied history of fighting European colonizers to free oppressed African nations only adds to their appeal.

The idea ignites a spark of hope. “That sounds promising. How do we establish contact?”

Auntie Nishaa rises gracefully from her seat, the weight of our discussion evident in her tired eyes. “I’m unsure for now, but I’ll delve into it. You should rest; the hour is late.”

I watch her retreating silhouette, the door clicking shut behind her. My mind buzzes with a whirlwind of thoughts, and the prospect of sleep feels distant.

 

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I traverse the palace’s dimly lit corridors, lost in thought, when the distant sounds of agitation drift towards me from the vicinity of the inner garden.

Drawing closer, I find a distraught Rohini, her face flushed with fury, locked in a standoff with Sahej. He stands firm by the door, acting as an impassable barrier, urging her in measured tones to return to her quarters.

“Rohini?” I gently tap her trembling shoulder.

She jumps slightly, startled, before her gaze locks onto mine. “Nila…” Her eyes, swimming with a myriad of emotions, betray a sense of vulnerability.

“Prince Nila,” Sahej interjects, attempting to maintain a veneer of calm, “your presence is timely. Might I request you to accompany Lady Rohini, allowing me to return to my duty of overseeing your father?”

I nod understandingly, casting a sidelong glance at Rohini. “Of course, Sahej. Rohini, shall we?”

She gives a hesitant nod, and I delicately take her hand, guiding her away from the palpable tension. As we navigate the mosaic-tiled corridor, the gentle echo of our footsteps accompanies us.

Once we’re at a comfortable distance from the garden’s heavy atmosphere, my curiosity gets the better of me. “Rohini, what transpired back there?”

“Nothing,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

I try a different approach, hoping to coax more out of her. “Did your conversation with Gini conclude?”

She sighs softly. “Yes, about an hour ago.”

An uncomfortable silence envelops us. “I see…” I genuinely want to understand her anguish, but if she’s not ready to confide, I won’t push. “The night grows deeper. Perhaps it’s best we retire.”

She nods, gently extricating her hand from my grasp. “Agreed.” With that, she drifts towards her quarters.

I watch her retreating silhouette, a pang of sadness tightening around my chest. While I yearn to know what weighs on her heart, I trudge towards my chamber with a heavy heart.

 

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In the muted light of pre-dawn, I rendezvous with 1st Lieutenant Kalakuna at the camp’s entrance, preparing for our departure to the Karachi base.

“Good morning, Major. Did you find rest last night?” he inquires, his voice echoing softly in the morning stillness.

“Not in the slightest, 1st Lieutenant Kalakuna. And you? Did sleep grace your eyes?”

He shakes his head. “Negative.”

A chuckle escapes my lips. “I had a hunch.”

We approach the jeep, the hum of its engine cutting through the cool morning air. A sergeant waits in the driver’s seat, ready to take us to our destination. Surprisingly, 1st Lieutenant Kalakuna doesn’t protest, a departure from his usual insistence on driving.

“What’s the change in routine, 1st Lieutenant Kalakuna? No driving today?”

“Correct, Major. I’ve been awake for 42 hours. It’s imprudent to drive in such a state.”

“Always lecturing me on rest, yet you seem to be the one depriving himself of it.”

His eyebrows rise playfully. “And who would manage affairs while you rested, Major?”

“And when I forgo sleep?” I retort.

His smirk grows. “Who would handle the tasks you assign during your sleepless nights?”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you testing my patience, 1st Lieutenant?”

His gaze shifts to my face, settling on my eyewear. “Wouldn’t dream of it. But, Major, why don those sunglasses when the sun hasn’t peeked over the horizon?”

Caught off guard, I struggle for a moment. Truthfully, I had hoped to steal some shut-eye during the journey, thinking the sunglasses would hide my intentions. “Anticipation, 1st Lieutenant. When the blinding rays of dawn break, while you squint against the onslaught, I’ll be survey-ready, no adjustments needed. We’ll see who made the wiser choice then.”

He smirks. “You intended to nap, thinking I’d be none the wiser, correct?”

Flustered, I blurt out, “Who planted that absurd idea in your head?”

A sly smile crosses his face. “It’s a tactic I’ve employed several times.”

Sizing him up, I retort, “You never don sunglasses, though…”

A twinkle appears in his eyes. “True, Major. But I often wear a mask. No need for shades.”

Exasperated, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “When did you ever nap in my presence?!”

His grin doesn’t falter. “Sorry, Major. That’s classified.”

“1st Lieutenant Kalakuna, you are truly insufferable.”

After what feels like an interminable journey, the sprawling Karachi base comes into view. The base, a pivotal post-war establishment, acts as an administrative checkpoint and customs hub for all maritime and air traffic in the region.

The colonel, along with his lieutenant colonel, personally greets us as we disembark. After salutations, we’re led to the heart of the base. In a well-appointed office, three distinguished black men, clad in crisp suits, await us. The tallest among them rises, extending a firm handshake.

“You must be the Major overseeing the Punjab region. I’m Nugud, Nubia’s ambassador. I’m here to request a peaceful withdrawal of your troops as we assume control of the situation.”

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