Princess Ladli Begam's
CHAPTER XV: EPILOGUE
1857
Two Englishmen sauntered down the village path. They knock on the house, waiting for answers, sometimes having to force it. The Englishman wore a tight suit, a book-collar, high boots, and a long-barreled shotgun hung on his left shoulder. They observed one or two plants, inhaled them, and then came back to knock people's homes. But, there's no answer. People have left, and they're just evacuating. They walked again, now faced with a place that is almost uninhabitable. The houses have been destroyed, some of the houses have been peeling off. Wooden windows hang over a garden that has turned into a bush, then collapse to the ground. The Englishman put up a watchful period, then walked slowly north.
The Mughal Empire has collapsed! In quick succession, this Lahore land had been overrun by different powers. The Afghans, the Sikhs, and in the end, the British ruled over the entire Indian subcontinent. They had invaded the entire country, exiling the last Mughal Sultan, Bahadur Shah Zafar to Myanmar with all his children and wives. Today, Hindustant is a British Commonwealth country. Queen Victoria in London has reigned as Queen with the widest empire in the whole world. And England, which was originally just an island with wool commodities, turned into a superpower in Europe.
The two Britons passed through the thickets, pulled out a dagger from the waist, and threw it into a sharp bush. When they finished, a place of red sandstone was beautifully designed. Around it, green gardens form a walkway, although the conditions are very alarming. One of them ran for joy when he saw a fruitful apple tree on the edge of the building.
“Don't eat that! You don't know if it's poisonous or not,” shouted another person.
But the Englishman plucked it, satisfying the hunger cravings that were calling out on his body. He bit the flesh of the fruit, until the water seeped from his dry mouth. He continued to climb, pluck again, then sat hanging on top of a powerful branch.
“Come. It's okay,” he said as he continued to eat.
“Forget that. We have to get back to the beach this week. We still have to check out seven more villages. You'll miss the ship in Goa later.”
He came down, then his black boots hit the earth. “No. They'll be waiting. Besides, you know what it is?” He pointed at the building from the red sandstone, looking at it as if he had seen, somewhere. The man walked over, leaving his friend. He entered the curved pillar, circling around it. They often witnessed buildings like this all over Hindustant. But they did not know that a magnificent place had stood in the former village of Shahdara. The man approached the sarcophagus from the marble. On top of the sarcophagus, there is Persian writing. He swung his hand to call his friend, then asked. “What's written there?”
“Here lies Nuruddin Muhammad Jahangir. Only God is in power.”
“Who is he?”
“A Sultan, if I'm not mistaken. He has been with the British East India Company before. But, I don't know much. A British ambassador was here when he came to power. His name ...” He remembers, pitches to the ceiling, then flicks a finger. “Ah, Sir Thomas Roe.”
“Ah, Roe, yes?” The other one nodded. “I've heard of it. There's one more there.” He pointed next to the building. They again walked through the park, stepped over the fence at will, then poured into the tomb there. Curved pillars, architectural decoration that they did not understand, all felt very familiar with the previous tomb. The decorations were almost the same, but as they approached, there were two sarcophagi there. “What is written here?”
Friend squinting. “Here lies Nur Jahan Begam. Only God is in power.”
“Who is he?”
The other one laughed. “Do not joke. Women have no voice behind the veil.”
The man shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know. Maybe it's just gossip.”
They sat on top of the sarcophagus, behaving insolently to the body lying underneath. They looked around, but there were no decorations to steal here. They have heard that the tomb at Agra, or the Taj Mahal, has a star-like decoration. People have plundered many jewels there, but here, there is nothing but abandoned village debris.
“We forgot this one,” said one of them, who had been talking more, but was blind to Persian writing. “See, the tomb is smaller. Who's this?”
His friend sighed, then squatted. “Here lies Ladli Begam. Only God is powerful. We've got to go. I'm hungry and I want something to eat,”. He raised the rifle, aiming it forward. “We have to hunt. I heard the forest here has nilgau and antelope.”
“You want to eat nilgau?”
“Why?”
“It's disgusting.”
“Taketh no harm in trying.”
They move slowly while patting the dusty back. This tomb itself is more like an old place that is not taken care of. They goosebumps alone when they stay there. When one of them patted the back in front of the tomb, he called his friend again. “Hey, we occupied something earlier.” The man puffed up a pile of dust, then his friend approached.“What is written here?”
“In this poor stranger's grave, leave no lights or roses. Let no butterfly wings also chant nightingale.”[]
