A sepoy enters, in what seems like a meeting room. "Maharaj ki jai ho!" He bows to a figure reclining on the seat of the head of the long black wooden table.
Translation: Hail the Emperor!
"Kya khabar laye ho?" A man, currently in his mid forties, sitting adjacent to the former asks. The authority in his voice and the expensive attire he carries screams aristocracy from far. By his language he seems to have his roots from the Persian soil.
Translation: What is the news?
"We are reported that the army of Sindh has accepted their defeat." A smile spreads across the man's face at the news narrated by the royal soldier. "The region belongs to you, sire!"
The person dwelling at the seat of head remains taut without showing a bit of movement. The other man has to gesture to the sepoy to leave. With an extreme glee he churns towards the former, whose large form has been concealed in a large black cloak, hood falling at his back. The modesty and kindness blows in his orbs like a gentle breeze of wind as his features are pulled terse not allowing any emotion to slip.
"Mubarak ho Shahenshah!"
(Congratulations Emperor!)
The Emperor frowned at the words of his vizier. His gaze flicks resting at the old man from nowhere, an eyebrow instinctively raises up. "Why are you congratulating me and why Shahenshah?" He remains calm unlike how excited his vizier seems like.
A proud smile stretches across the latter's face. "Zill-e-illahi (your majesty), you are soon going to be conqueror of the great land of Hindustan! After capturing a few more regions you'll be the most powerful Emperor in the world," taking a breath he proceeds, "entire Hindustan will bow to you, the people here, the soil here will serve you, Alampanah!" (Your majesty!)
The Emperor's jaw ticks at the petty words used. "Enough! The land of Hindustan never bows to anyone. It has neither bowed to Mughals nor to the Mauryan Empire." His head high with pride. "And neither do I want the people to be my servant." The Emperor exclaims of agitation.
"Lekin huzoor yahi to hota aaya hai yahan." His vizier explains the customs Hindustan follows. Despite the agitation explicit in his words the latter appears rather calm talking to one of the most powerful men in the entire world.
Translation: But sire, this is the custom here.
The Emperor heaves a deep breath calming his nerves, glaring at nothing in particular he nods curtly. "Aisa hai toh phir thik hai. Agar kal ko hum Hindustan ke badshah bane toh hum puri riwayat badal denge. Hume logon ki khidmat karni hai na ki un par hukumat!"
Translation: Is it? If I become the Emperor of Hindustan in the near future, then I will change the whole tradition. I have to serve the people, not rule over them!
"Pardon, sire!" The vizier flashes a perplexed look at his if statement. His gaze flicks at the old man, apprehending his statement.
"Few regions are yet to conquer, like Rajputana, Burma, Persia and Aparanta."
The vizier nods, resting his gaze at the map before them as does the Emperor. The first region to capture the former's eyes is Burma, situated in the western portion of mainland Southeast Asia.
"Burma will never go against the order of Badshah. One notice and they will willfully bestow the reins of their kingdom in your hands, huzoor." (Sire)
Then flicks his eyes at the farthest region situated from the Indian subcontinent, a dominant nation of western Asia, called Persia. His eyes pool with hesitation while speaking about the region.
YOU ARE READING
The Crown Prince
Fanfiction"Many times in history, the emperor had to come as a warrior to save his kingdom and prove his worth for the throne." ________________ A tale of a spoilt, arrogant and beastly Prince, his cruelty, pride and narcissim is hidden to no one. And a strug...
