The Nawab's Secret : A story of timeless Love

Chapter 1 : The Study

It was a crisp December morning. The sun filtered through the frost-kissed window panes of the family estate, casting intricate patterns of light on the floor. Tajdar, a handsome boy in his early 20s with tousled hair and a heart full of youthful ambition, stood before his grandfather in the opulent study.

The room exuded old-world charm, with its dark wooden shelves lined with leather-bound books, an antique globe resting majestically in one corner, luxurious sofas with silk cushions and heavy curtains with intricate patterns. They were the Nawabs....old money rich..

His grandfather, an elderly man with a dignified air, sat in an ornate armchair, his Nawabi Kurta and topi adding to his timeless demeanor. He meticulously packed a pinch of tobacco into his ivory pipe and lit it, the fragrant smoke curling around him as he took a deep puff. His eyes, though dimmed by age, remained sharp and penetrating.

"Do you know why you're here, my boy?" his grandfather's voice resonated with a blend of authority and tenderness.

Tajdar, feeling the weight of tradition and expectation, nodded silently. The old man's gaze was unwavering as he continued, "When I was your age, I had more adab. I respected my elders. I don't know what schools are teaching these days..." He trailed off, his eyes studying Tajdar's face, looking for some sign of acknowledgment.

Tajdar, knowing better than to respond to such a loaded statement, remained silent. His grandfather leaned closer, the smoke from his pipe adding a mystical quality to his features. "Show me what Urdu they've taught you, boy."

Feeling the pressure, Tajdar recited an excerpt from a classic Urdu text, but the words felt hollow compared to the weight of his grandfather's expectations. The old man listened with a critical ear, his expression unreadable.

"Enough," he finally said. "You need more than bookish knowledge. You need experience. And for that, you will travel...."

Tajdar's heart raced. "You will travel"-those words echoed in his mind. Travel where?What school or institution taught Urdu and Adab(etiquette) in the 21st century? Even if there was one...what was the need for it?

He was already content with the Maulvi Saab, who had been guiding him through the intricacies of the language and etiquette. Frankly, he didn't care much. His dreams were set on France after graduation. He yearned to explore the lavish lifestyle of the French, savor their famed wines, and indulge in their exquisite cuisine. The idea of more lessons with the old Maulvi didn't appeal to him at all. After all, he would soon be leaving. Yet, somehow, his rebellious attitude always melted in his grandfather's presence. He became docile........even a little afraid.

But on that day, buoyed by the confidence of his graduation, he mustered enough courage to speak. He asked hesitantly, "Where must I travel, Dadajan(grandfather)?"

Nawab Ashfaq Khan seemed slightly surprised by the question. He was accustomed to issuing orders, not fielding questions. But he decided to indulge his grandson. "Lucknow. Under Rehana Begum's supervision, you will refine your Urdu and manners to a level befitting our elite circles."

Frustration welled up inside Tajdar. The last thing he wanted was to go to Lucknow, and to be trained under a tawaif....? Was his grandfather out of his mind?!

Though tawaifs were once revered for their literary knowledge and their role in training young Nawabs in the making, but that was way before India's independence... maybe in the 1800s. The British rule had reduced them to mere sex workers. And now, in the 21st century, Lucknow was known more for its culinary excellence in kebabs and intricate handicraft than for its lost opulence.

"I'm sorry, Dadajan, but I won't go. I plan to go to France after I get my degree. I'm no longer interested in all this. We're living in different times. The world has progressed so much, yet you are still stuck in the past. I have learnt enough Urdu...."

"Does being modern mean we should burn our roots?" Dadajan's calm demeanor caught Tajdar off guard; he had expected fury, frustration or even an outburst..but the calmness scared him more.

"No... but what is the point of learning something I'll never use? Some things should be allowed to become obsolete with time. That's the law of nature," Tajdar replied with firm conviction, then waited.

His grandfather studied him for a full minute before turning to face the wall on his right. Above the grand mantlepiece hung an old painting of a young, handsome man in his early thirties-his great-grandfather, Nawab Zoravar Ali Khan.

Tajdar saw the strong family resemblance in the man's features; the likeness was uncanny. After a moment, his grandfather spoke, "I want to show you a document, Tajdar." He rose from his armchair and went to a table. There, inside a red velvet cover, was a document. Tajdar recognized from the stamp that it was a legal document. His mouth fell open as he began to examine it. It was his grandfather's will. That much was clear from the title and legal stamps, though the rest was written in pure Urdu, which he could barely read. "That is my will. I have left all my wealth and properties to you, my only grandson, provided you fulfill my wish of going to Lucknow. Otherwise, it will all go to charity."

Tajdar needed no further persuasion. He knew his grandfather was a master of his craft. He could only bring himself to ask one last question, "But why Lucknow? Can't I stay here and learn?"

Dadajan simply replied, "It is necessary..."