Drafts and Scriptitation

Scriptitation #1

It was early in the evening. Salim and Suleiman waited, hidden in a bush, right in front of the gates to the Palace. There was exceptional silence, with nobody the usual guards standing at the gates. The Durbar seemed to be having an unusually long session today. Salim sat debating with his brother the possibilities of news they may hear from their contract within the Chihalgani when the session ended. Suleiman was least interested in having a conversation like this, but at the moment, had no alternative to listening to the wild guesses of his brother, following each other in quick succession like horses in a race.
"There was a messenger, or someone with a document. I'm certain he headed inside."
"Hmmm..." Suleiman's reply was the same as any other.
"I've heard there's been some unrest along the frontiers. Some kind of rebellion."
"Mhm hmm..." Suleiman remained indifferent. As long as it did not threaten them, safe and sound in Delhi, there seemed no point in worrying about any uprising in the hinterlands of the Sultanate. More importantly, nothing hinted at any likelihood of a Templar involvement.
"I've even heard that Amir Altunia himself fears the invaders!"
Suleiman got up with a start. Salim thought he'd finally gotten his brother curious. Suleiman turned around, gazing in one direction for some time. Salim followed his gaze to see a dark-complexioned, tall, muscular man walking out of the palace.
They waited for a while as the man came closer and closer, then, when sufficiently close, Salim whistled a feeble tune.
"Arrey isse to kutta bhi na sun paye (This would even fail to draw the attention of a dog)," Suleiman remarked. "Tajurbe waalon se seekhen, ji! (Learn from your betters, sir!)" He started repeating the same tune, a little louder.
The black man turned, having heard the sound, then walked towards the bush. The brothers stopped humming the tune. It did not take the man long to spot the two, and he greeted them, "Salaam, janaab. (Peace be upon you, sir.)"
They exchanged greetings. Salim asked if he'd brought news from the Durbar.
"Ji, janaab. (Yes, sir.) Bematlab ki baaton mein waqt zaaya na karte hue... (Without wasting time with irrelevant details...)" He took out a piece of parchment, then started reading. "A messenger from Bathinda brought a message from the Governor addressed to the Sultan."
Suleiman interrupted, "And what does the Amir ask?"
"Unhone kaha hai ki unhe Sultan ke huqm ka intezaar hai - kya vah lashkar taiyar karein aur aage badhen, ya Bathinda mein hi qile ki suraksha ka intezaam karein? (He has said that he awaits orders from the Sultan - whether to assemble forces and march forth, or hold his ground at his fortress in Bathinda?)"
"And how does that concern us?" Salim asked.
"Tomorrow, the Sultan marches with his best men to aid the Amir. Aur unki gair-hazari mein... (And in his absence...)" The black man paused. "Mujh ghulaam ka isse saaf kuchh bhi kahna munasib nahi. (It will be inappropriate for a slave like myself to say it more openly.)"
The man turned to go, but Suleiman stopped him, calling out to the man. "Quwwat-ul-mulk... (Commander...)"
The man turned to face the two men, standing side-by-side. Salim started speaking, "I'd ask you to focus on the task at hand."
Suleiman said the rest - "We've understood your concern and will do our best."
The slave nodded, and, as he left, said, almost under his breath, "Fi Amanullah... (May God protect you...)"
After the slave left, Salim and Suleiman turned to face each other, each faced with the impossibility of the task they'd just agreed to carry out.
Suleiman began with a scathingly mocking tone, "Khumaar charha hai? (Are you intoxicated?)" He moved his face, smelling his brother's breath, then continued, "Vaise to nahi lagta, Magar baaton se to yahi jaan padta hai. (You seem to be fine, but what you said strongly hints at it.)"
Salim shot back, "Oh, I'm at fault! Ab kah dena ki Sultan ke liye kaam karne karne shauk bhi mujhe tha. (I suppose you'll say that I was insistent on working for the Sultan.) Naqab pehna kaam hai jannat, naqab utra to jahannum? (The unknown job was your paradise, but now it seems like hell?) Waah bhai waah, bade miyaan, Subhanallah! (That's great, big brother, great indeed!) We've done countless challenging jobs so far, what's the big deal now?"
"It's different this time," Suleiman tried to explain, calmed down now.
"What's so different? Pehle shaitaanon ka saamna nahi kiya? (Haven't we dealt with devils before?)"
Suleiman said darkly, "Kiya hai, mere bhai, magar shaitaan shahzade Ka saamna nahi kiya. (We have, my brother, but never an evil Prince.)"
***
Writers' note: 791 words. A small draft.
We're not exactly sure where or how this will fit the larger story, but as of now, this will form a part of it.
Because this is a mere draft, and not the final version, we're not putting effort into changing the Arabic/Persian/Urdu to inscript form, choosing instead to keep it Romanised.
Some questions for readers:
1) Can you guess the historical setting?
2) Would you like the lead characters to be twin brothers, or twin brother and sister?
3) How do you like the exchanges between the twins?
4) What is your opinion on the use of vernacular? How could we improve (e.g. use more/use less/improve word choice etc.)
5) (with reference to to 4) Do you know any of the languages besides English used in this draft?

Also, while answering (4), we'd like you to keep in mind that certain lines may get lost in translation; for example, "Fi Amanullah" literally translates to "May God protect you," but is also a parting greeting. Here, one may read it to mean both.

Thanks for reading, and we hope you'd like the final form of our story.